#Marius come catch this smoke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unbindingkerberos · 1 year

Text

Lost Kitten

Warning(s): Violence

Author's Notes: Probably the first fic that I've put much effort. The fic is named after a song after METRIC and it makes a brief appearance in the fic. Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 2971

Tags: @poisonedtruth @unpetitoiseau @chadillacboseman @children-of-epiales @infinitewhore @shegetsburned @linoleum-ice

Smoke wafts in the air as the scene in front unfolds. Debris scattered the ground and the black marks on the walls that made them. Men and women alike wailed in pain as they were struck with wounds; some minor and some dealing fatal blows. Gustave and a handful of other medics surround the scene treating the wounded while the other operators help.

This wasn't what Marius was expecting when he returned from a mission. He had completely forgotten about his teammates and rushed to the scene, hoping Henry was alright. But his fear, the coiling sensation in his stomach, increases when he can't see him anywhere. He hears himself calling his name but is met with silence. Marius searches aimlessly, his voice close to a scream.

Marius should have stayed-- helped with the others fending them off. But who could have started this? Deimos. It was Deimos. It was obviously him. He had been getting more bolder with his attacks.

Something shiny catches his eye.

It shimmered in the soot of a broken wall that splattered like dried blood. He steps closer and crouches down. He picks up and shakes the soot off of the object. Marius felt his heart stop and his eyes went wide. His hand shakes as he moves the item closer: the familiar head of Henry's Leeches. He feels his world crashing down; spiraling uncontrollably.

He hears a pair of footsteps behind him. Marius turns to see Jordan and Emil-- who recently joined. "Jordan?" He brings himself to his feet and approaches them. His feet never felt so heavy and each step he took was painfully tantalizing. "Jordan.." He lets Leech's head clatter to the floor. "Jordan." Tears sting Marius's eyes as he puts both of his hands on Jordan's shoulders. "Jordan, where's Henry?"

Emil looks to Jordan with a puzzled expression. "He knows the mole--" "Marius." Jordan gives Marius a weak smile, breath hitching once in a while with an uneven pacing.

"Marius, there's something I have to tell you."

"What?!" Jordan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Emil narrows his eyes, leaning closer. "How else would Deimos expect your attacks and penetrate your defenses?" Jordan pinches the bridge of his nose. The situation was getting worse by every passing second.

"You're telling me there's a mole within RAINBOW?"

Emil nods, making him groan in frustration. There's over a dozen operators and personnel inside the facility. Whoever had done this made sure to cover up their tracks, adding to his pile of problems.

Jordan knew all of the people in the facility-- some even close friends with him. It feels so wrong to engage in a witch hunt but this was the fate of the lives of the people they're talking about here.

He clasps his hands together, trembling slightly.

"You've got anyone in mind?"

Emil sees him sometimes. The man with the motorcycle helmet.

The man would often watch from afar, observing Emil work with Deimos spectating beside him. Other times he'd come close and personal, striking a conversation with him about the formula he's been working on. Although he didn't know Deimos well, Emil very well knows that his employer doesn't allow most of his mercenaries the privilege to show Emil's experiments. Whoever this was, they were important.

Later on, he'd find the mystery man's company to be somewhat tolerable.

"Tell it not to touch that…"

Emil eyes the man's drone, close to remove a vial from the rack. He had forgotten the first time the man let his drones roam in his laboratory. Emil had found them to be quite a nuisance: breaking lab equipment and scaring off his assistants. "Let it have its fun." The man replies, sultry and playful voice muffled by the helmet. Emil huffs. "And let it break another vial?" The man shrugs, watching the drone lay flat on its back after successfully extracting the vial. It chitters erratically and struggles to flip over. Emil notices this and pauses his work, flipping it the other side. "They cost a lot, you know?" With a careful tug, the empty vial is free of the drone's grasp. It walks away with a defeated chitter. "Right, but our employer can supply another batch."

"You abuse his generosity." Emil groans as the mouse begins to claw itself to death, cracking the containment glass. "And you abuse his patience. You know full well he demands a perfected serum." Emil glares at the masked man, nostrils flaring up. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" Sensing his rising anger, the man chuckles.

"Already have and now I'm here to kill time, something wrong with that wolf boy?"

Emil rolls his eyes. He hated that nickname. "Yes, you're interrupting my progress-- you and you're--" Emil trails off seeing the drone sliding a drawer open before burrowing its entire weight inside, shredding papers in the process--"pet…."

"Aww, don't be like that Fenrir." He pinches Emil's cheeks eliciting an annoyed growl from the Norwegian. The audacity that the man has to treat him like some sort of child. "I know you enjoy their company." While he doesn't like to admit, Emil those somewhat find amusement with the drones. He'd compare them to puppies-- if they were weirdly shaped and have a surveillance camera for a head.

Something vibrates in the man's pocket and he curses. He steps away and brings the phone to his ear.

"Yes… I already did." Emil glances at the other, listening quietly. "I've seen that the NIGHTHAVEN equipment would reach the designated coordinates… No doubt, they'll send us to ambush them…" The man scoffs. "Trust the process, I'll make a distraction for Cohen and her lapdogs then I'll give you the intel. No changes." He hangs up.

"Who's Cohen?"

"I didn't take you as an eavesdropper, Fenrir." The man slings a backpack on his arms, the straps fitting nicely. "But I suggest you don't ask anymore questions." The man flashes a look. "For your sake." His hand was floating on the door handle when Emil called for him. He tosses something and the man intercepts, chuckling upon viewing the object. "Nearly forgot about you…" The drone chitters angrily before crawling into a pocket.

"Wait.."

"What now?"

Emil steps forward. "What are you and Deimos really up to?" There has been some growing suspicion that everything wasn't as it seems. Everything doesn't add up and the questions he's asked about his employment is ignored or belittled. This time the man steps forward, too close that sends Emil retreating into a corner. All the playfulness from earlier vanished and was replaced into something else.

For the first time, the man lifts his visor up revealing cold brown eyes-- devoid of emotion and he feels like staring into the eyes of a predator. "Do your job and I do mine. Ask the wrong questions and you'll regret it."

The man leaves and Emil is left with more questions.

What has he gotten himself into?

"Mr. Trace.." Henry looks up to see him surrounded by armed guards. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Jordan sits in front of him. The people in the cafeteria fall silent and watch. Henry feels his blood throbbing violently and his finger itches for a trigger. Something clangs to the table only for it to be one of his Leeches. He musters up a forced smile. "M16, what did you do this time?" A figure steps forward and Henry's smile nearly drops.

Emil Svensson stands behind Jordan, eyes focused on him. Henry bites his lower lip and flashes a look at the Leech who seemed to understand the situation. He taps his feet to the floor, feeling the many crawling legs of his Leeches depart to the floor.

Fuck.

"It's him." Emil says and Jordan nods to the guards. Henry groans when his head hits the table, arms positioned to his back and wrists cuffed. For good measure, one of the guards takes off his watch, a scowl present on his face.

"Jordan, what's going on?" Elias enters the scene, glancing at Henry then back to Jordan. "Don't worry, we'll explain everything to you later.." Henry struggles and catches a glimpse of the German's horrified expression. "Take him to interrogation." Jordan orders and Henry groans in pain when the guards force him up. He hears the growing argument between Elias and Jordan as they leave.

"I had a feeling it was you." Henry stares at Emil. "The moment they said that a member of Deimos's organization defected to RAINBOW, I knew it had to be you…" Emil's face hardens and he gives Henry a fierce look. "Deimos is a dangerous man who won't stop killing millions to get what he wants." He points a damning finger. "And you helped him.."

"Their deaths were necessary.."

"Necessary for what?!" They've stopped now and the guards' grip on him tightened. "What kind of future do you see with the deaths of millions of lives?" Henry smiles. "A peaceful one-- who'd want to start a war knowing the cost of lives that made it possible?" Emil's fist clenched but made no move to strike. "You're insane."

"And so is this.."

A group of Leeches latch on to the guards, crushing their bones with ease. They squirm and groan in pain as they struggle to free them of their flesh. Emil moves to draw his gun, but is stopped when one of his Leeches launches itself to his face, knocking him out. Onlookers screamed and ran away from the scene but Henry ignored them as T7 freed him from his cuffs while Z20 took his watch from a guard's pocket and tossed it to him.

"Great teamwork everyone." Henry looks over to the exit. He makes a run for it with the Leeches trailing behind. He hears voices behind him followed by zipping bullets. One manages to hit his shoulder but he doesn't stop running. Another grazes his side and still he doesn't stop. His Leeches scatter to the walls and ceilings. "A12 stop.." He's managed to get outside now, the sun heating him up and wind tugging at the loose flesh from his open wound. The Leech in question stops itself from joining the others and chirps curiously. He picks it up and whispers something to it before letting it scurry away.

"Adler!" He looks up to see Jordan with a couple of operators, guns pointing at him. "Adler, stop what you're doing." The man orders the others to lower their weapons. Despite the unease and protests, they comply. "Adler… Please don't make us do this. Think about him-- about Marius." Henry clenches his jaw tightly. He gulps.

"Don't--" he lifts his arm up-- "talk to me about Marius…"

Jordan's eyes widen and he looks up to the ceiling then to the walls. "Everyone, fall back! RUN!"

His shoulder felt so heavy, feeling the blood trickle of the fresh wound. Henry smiles widely and his finger presses a button on the watch. The Leeches began rapidly beeping and panic fuels the operators, encouraging them to run faster.

"Boom."

And Henry sends Hell to RAINBOW's doorstep. Using the chaos to his advantage and gathering his remaining strength, Henry gets on his bike and drives off amidst the smoke.

He'll understand. Marius loves me and he'll understand. His arms tremble at the thought. He'll understand… He has too. Henry closes his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun and dripping sweat. I'm doing this for the fate of this world. Of course he'll understand… Right?

He opens his eyes. There's no turning back now and he's reached the point of no return.

Marius slumps against the door and slides down. He engages in a tight embrace with Henry's motorcycle jacket. Henry's room was cleaned out for inspection. They've taken most of his things and Marius could only retrieve a few. He buries his face into the leather, breathing in his scent. He left in a hurry. He forgot to take his jacket with him. Everything felt like a bad dream and Marius hoped that he'd wake up soon. But everytime he opens his eyes, Marius is painfully reminded that this was reality. That everything happened.

Did he use him for information? Did Henry actually love him? Marius wouldn't dare to delve deeper into those questions, knowing it would hurt him more. He'd try to counter it back with that memory of Henry saving him from that explosion and all those genuine moments they shared with each other. But it wasn't enough to drown out those thoughts. Instead it amplified them and Marius wished they would just disappear. He feels his phone vibrate but he ignores it. The first thing that will be on its screen would be a photo of Henry; smiling widely as they sat on the beach, watching the sunset.

He just wishes everything would go back to the way it is.

Something crashes inside the vents. Marius's head is quick to spring up, staring intensely at the source. The grating comes off and a familiar shape falls to the floor.

"You.."

Marius recognises the Leech, A12-- the drone crawling towards him. Everyone said that Henry used his entire stock for his escape but it appears they were wrong. Marius offers his palm and A12 hops to the surface. "What are you doing here?"

It chitters in morse code, Marius listening carefully. The German tears up upon the last word.

With this drone, I'll always be with you.

[NOW PLAYING "Lost Kitten - METRIC"]

He chokes on his tears as he brings the Leech closer to his chest. The moment was short lived when a knock sent Marius tensing up, wiping away his tears.

"Marius--" it's Elias--"are you okay in there?" Marius looks over to the Leech now staring at him. Logic dictates for him to bring the drone over to Elena and the others to extract footage from the camera. But he can't. He won't.

"Ja, I am…"

("Don't say yes, if you can't say no~")

"Alright, then.. Take care, I'll give you more time.." Unseen footsteps trail off, growing fainter and fainter.

Ever since he had heard the news, the other operators came to his comfort. Elias being one of them. He admires his fellow German's personality and is grateful for it. But it isn't enough to get him back into high spirits.

("Victim of the system, say it isn't so~)

And he's back to being alone. He returns his focus to A12 still in his palm, snuggling its entire weight against his hollow chest. ("Squatted on the doorstep, swollen on the blow~") His smile returns even for a quick moment. ("Leaving without you can't say no~")

Komm zu mir zurück, Liebling.

("Halfway starts with happiness for me~")

("Halfway house, lost kitten in the streets~")

The sun begins to set as Henry continues to drive. His vision starts to get hazy no doubt from the blood loss. He doesn't know how long he's been driving and he jokes that this is some sort of purgatory and that he's already dead. The looming complex from the distance comes to his view. ("Hit me where it hurts, I'm coming home to lose~")

Nearing the base Henry is stopped by guards. He identifies himself and the guards allow him passage. Henry parks his motorcycle near some vehicles and steps off. The moment his feet reach the ground ("Kitten on the catwalk, high-heeled shoes~") he loses his vision and his whole world goes black.

The moment he regains his consciousness, Henry feels like shit. His wound was all patched up but everything else hurt. His head throbbed ("No more hard-headed Saturdays~") and his eyes strained from the harsh lighting. Deimos pays him a visit and Henry can tell even with the mask that the man was irritated and amused by Henry's current predicament. They exchanged some "friendly" banter and poorly disguised threats before they went straight to the point.

"It was Svensson wasn't it?"

"Who else would it be?"

Deimos sighs, fingers twitching. "He was always weak-minded-- failing to see the bigger picture." ("They got it, they want it, they give it away~") Deimos lets out a low dry laugh. "Oh well, the plan will carry on, with or without Svensson." Henry must have made a face because he feels a sudden grip on his chin. "What's the matter Babel?" Henry gasps as Deimos pushes his chin up to meet his gaze. "Made some friends there? Having--" the grip on his tightens, the texture of Deimos's gloves digging into his skin-- "second thoughts?"

Henry glares daggers at Deimos, heart pounding in his chest. He would never let this man make him fear him. ("Tell me one thing that you would never do~") "Then I would have never come here in the first place." Henry bites back, restraining himself. Deimos hums. Despite not being satisfied with the answer, Deimos lets him go.

"Report to me first thing tomorrow morning." Once Deimos was gone, Henry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

He puts on some clothes that were laid out for him. I didn't know you're thoughtful, Henry sneers. He finds himself sitting alone in infirmary, finding no energy to leave. With his thoughts running loose, Henry's mind wanders but all he could see was him ("I was looking for a hooker when I found you~").

That reminds him.

He checks his digital watch and checks A12's live feed ("You've got my eyes, you've got my eyes~"). The screen crackles to life showcasing a sleeping Marius and Henry smirks. You've finally slept early. His finger reaches for Marius but he draws it back ("You'll never be mine, ahhh~"). He turns the screen off, the black mirrored surface reflecting Henry's blank slate of a face ("But you've got my eyes~").

Goodnight.

[PAUSE SONG]

#rainbow six siege #rainbow six oc #r6 oc #henry babel adler #r6 oc babel #r6 jager #r6 fenrir (brief appearance)#r6 thermite (brief appearance)#r6 blitz (brief appearance)#r6 deimos (brief appearance)#r6 doc (mentioned)

10 notes · View notes

bandedbulbussnarfblat · 11 months

Text

Sucker Love chapter 2

read it here or below

The best thing about Bianca is she understands. It isn’t just the Marius of it all, though she had been part of them for a while. His family had known hers for years, so it was only natural that she should befriend Marius’ foster children. When she was eighteen, she had begun dating Marius in secret. They had spent nearly a year together, the three of them.

Then Marius had ended things with Armand. Not Bianca, though. No, that betrayal had come some weeks later. She had caught him with his ex, Pandora, trying to convince her to come back to him. He had promised to leave Bianca for her. Bianca had been heart broken.

The funny thing was Pandora hadn’t even wanted him back.

But Bianca understood what it was to be forced into something you didn’t want. (Not like Armand; not like how it was before Marius took him in. Nothing like that.) But her family demanded things from her. They didn’t love her. Not unless she was perfect.

So she knew what it was like to be hungry. To have that vacuous black void inside that could never be filled, that need to be needed. That always present plea, love me, love me, love me.

Not that they ever spoke about it. But Armand knew she saw it reflected in him, just like he saw it in her. It’s why she’s one of the few people he can trust. She needs him.

The worst thing about Bianca is she hogs the sheets. Armand snatches back the blanket, then immediately loses it. The vibration of his phone catches his attention. Armand grabs it from the nightstand and reads a text from Louis, telling him to meet him later at the Azalea.

Bianca snuggles up to his side and flops her head on his shoulder. “Is Lestat bothering you this early?”

“It’s nearly noon.”

Bianca nods, then yawns. “Yes, waking before noon during the summer is barbaric.”

“It’s Louis. We’re meeting later.”

Bianca propped up on her elbows and looked down at him, golden curls framing her face. “What about this Daniel Molloy?”

Armand waves a dismissive hand. “I have all summer. He can wait till tomorrow.”

The Azalea seems the best place in town to get a drink. It certainly has enough people his age hanging out, though that could be explained by the owner’s kids being in high school. Daniel only has his confidence to get him a drink; his dad found his fake ID a few weeks back.

Daniel needs a drink. His dad up and moved them here to New York without consulting Daniel first. He had to leave behind his life and his friends. He doesn’t even have a paper to write for anymore. Not that his school paper had been anything special, but he needs to write something if he wants to get a journalism scholarship.

“What’s in the bag?”

It’s a kid that can’t be much older than him, with a truly out of place accent. He has perfect brown skin and beautiful brown eyes. He’s smoking a cigarette and nursing what looks like whiskey. He smiles Daniel’s way. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Daniel says, not paying him much attention. The boy keeps looking at him, so Daniel says “Work, my work is in the bag.”

The boy looks at the bag. “Is it a gun? Are you an assassin? Am I the man you came to kill? I did a terrible thing once, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Oh, he’s flirting. It’s such an odd way of going about it, Daniel can’t help but reply “I’m a writer. Or I will be. Just gotta write the perfect story for this scholarship.”

The bartender approaches and looks Daniel over. He’s an older guy with long hair and plenty of tattoos. He looks tough. Daniel puts on his most charming smile. “I’ll take a Grasshopper.”

The man laughs. “You? You’re a fetus.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

The boy turns to the bartender. “Give him what he wants; he’s with me.”

“Louis de Pointe du Lac, I let you drink because your parents own the bar,” the bartender says with a stern look. “Once his daddy starts paying my bills, then he can drink.”

Daniel shrugs. He hadn’t really thought he’d get far anyway. “Louis de Pointe du Lac, that’s an interesting name.”

“I’m from New Orleans. Just moved out here last year.”

“Ah, that’s the accent.”

Louis smiles at him. “What about you? Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m Daniel,” Daniel says. “Just moved here so my dad could be headmaster of some school for rich schmucks.”

“You’re Molloy’s son? Heard he had one my age.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Daniel says with a sigh. “So what’s this place like? You seem alright.”

“Full of parasitic, emotional vampires.”

“So typical high school?”

“More or less,” Louis says with a smile. “Hey, you wanna get a lay of the land? I can show you around before school starts.”

“Yeah, man.” Daniel feels a flicker or nerves. This Louis is smoking hot, and he has no idea how to go about this. He has to be careful here. He isn’t out yet, and his parents can’t find out.

Louis glances off, then waves a hand. Another boy comes to the bar and stands beside Louis.“I was just offering to show our new friend around. Care to join?”

Daniel feels his mouth go dry as the boy looks him over. There’s a searing moment of eye contact then the boy looks away dismissively. “No, you have your fun.”

Daniel can’t stop staring at the other boy. Dark hair and eyes and flawless brown skin. He’s the most beautiful thing Daniel has ever seen. And then he’s walking away.

He can’t help but blurt out as soon as the boy is out of earshot, “Whose that?”

Louis looks off at Armand’s retreating figure then back to Daniel. “That’s Armand. I can tell you all about him…”

Daniel listens and for the first time, thinks maybe this move isn’t so bad.

#iwtv fic

3 notes · View notes

voidselfshipp · 2 months

Text

Too Sweet

Cw:mentions of blood,implications of Gore,slaughter, war, mania attacks + ptsd flashbacks.

Summary: during one of their sieges, The Mechanisms split off to take care of the occupying forces of King Cole's army. One of them gets too close to Jerico and Tim sees red.

>no rbs, please.

Adrenaline surged through tims body as he laid there hands dripping with blood, a soldier dead before him.

His body shakes a manic grin on his face as he looks at the bloody corpse, laugh starting to echo from his throat. The world around him is a blurr,his eyes are wide and his pupils are small dots in his gorgeous brown iris.

With shaking hands, he lets go of his victims throat-- I told you not to touch her--He muttered with a shaky unstable voice,laughter soon leaves him.

"Thats- thats what he gets- thats what they get for- for touching her! Haha! Nobody touches my- My girlf- my friend" he thinks, slowly straightening up from his half bowed position.

--Hah-- He scoffs, smoothing his beautiful brown curly hair with his bloodstained hand-- hah, wanker...you really thought...you could hurt her

Around him the world is Fire,burning and crumbling buildings, dead bodies all around, vehicles no more than scrap and black smoke clouds rising from the pyres up to the Sky

The Mechanisms had come here to fight against an occupying force, one of the soldiers tried to stab Jerico in the neck...and Tim saw red and ripped the soldier appart with hands and teeth.

--Tim...--calls out jerico,lowering her sniper rifle. She grabs one of his hands Gently,it smothers with blood-- Tim im okay

He turns to her,eyes still wide and fingers twitching-- Doll....doll-- he throws himself at her,cupping her cheeks and looking for any scratches--Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do- do I need to call Marius?! Please tell me youre okay- i cant- I cant lose you,I cant lose you like bertie...!

She takes his wrists and says--Tim, Tim its okay im okay,im safe

Tims eyes look around her face and body,his hands pressing against her waist,her shoulders and her hips,staining her clothes with crimson sploches.

--Its okay,im not hurt,you saved me--She cooed, bringing Him in for a tight hug. His forehead falls limply on her shoulder as she strokes up and down his spine.

A shaky breath leaves him, his twitching hands unsure where to rest. Even when he tries he accidentally tugs at her clothes,gasping for air.

--I cant lose you,I cant lose you-- He whispers,tears threatening to spill-- dont die- please dont die...dont die on me I cant-- with a quivering Lower lip-- I cant- I love you so much, please dont leave me...dont leave me forever

His words take her by surprise,she squeezes him into a tight hug and his hands finally settle on her Lower back--I cant live without you--He mutters, hot tears falling down his face and onto the exposed shoulder of his companion.

--Easy,Tim. You saved me, see? 'M okay-- she promised-- see? Im alright --He nodds weakly-- c'mon lets go back to the ship

Trying to tug him along, he stops her by not moving and squeezing her. Shes quick go get the memo and nodds.

--Oooooor we can stay a little longer, thats alright too--She added, understanding he needs more time.

Both stand there among the rubble of the crumbling,blazen And charcoal blackened city. Civilian,soldier and resistance laid dead across the floor with blood and ash mixed into a paste of death, they only Hear the distant Shouts of the ongoing battle,the crackling of the pyres anf the ocassional crumble of debries.

Tim can only concentrate on that orchestra of destruction and Demise,the images of Berties death passing through his head over and over again. Its vivid,its Like hes there again holding his best friend in his arms.

--It can't be said I'm an early bird--She sings softly--It's ten o'clock before I say a word

Baby, I can never tell

How do you sleep so well

It catches tims attention, slowly bringing him back to earth,to present time,to safety.

--You keep tellin' me to live right

To go to bed before the daylight

But then you wake up for the sunrise

You know you don't gotta pretend

Baby, now and then-- jerico puts her hands on his biceps and rocks Him side to side softly.

Silken voice fills his ears and eases his heart and mind,it wraps around his soul like a blanket.

--Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake

Smellin' like a bonfire, lost in a haze?-- she continues and he slowly humms along--

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great

But while in this world

A shaky sigh leaves him,his body relaxing and laying on her for support-- I think I'll take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three-- both entone,tims voice slowly gaining more strength---

You're too sweet for me

I take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

She smiles and he joins In with those side to side movements. One hand on her waist and the other holding hers,fingers entwined as if both were dancing.

--You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me-- He sings at her, as if he didnt deserve this softness.

He pulls her to waltz,turning slowly. Tim hasnt moved his head and he'd rather not, he feels safe in her embrace.

The world still burns around them with the ash falling like a tragic snowfall, the air smells of smoke and gunpowder.

--I aim low

I aim true and the ground is where I go --He takes the lead,singing to her,meaning the words--

I work late where I'm free from the phone

And the job gets done

But you worry some, I know

But who wants to live forever, babe?

You treat your mouth as if it's heaven's gate

The rest of you like you're the TSA

I wish I could go along

Babe, don't get me wrong

His voice gets flirty again as it usually is, she feels him smile against her skin and his head rises just enough so their eyes meet.

They spend a few more minutes dancing and singing softly. When he feels better and back with his boots on the ground, he looks at her and says--C'mon,lets go back before the guys freak out

And leading her by the hand they return to the Aurora. The Group asked if everything is okay and why they took so long to get back, and jer just dismisses it.

Nobody questions why Tim leads jeri to the showers, or why they spend so much time in there.

She scrubbs off the blood from his fingers,the same song they were singing now playing from a radio she took into the room.

《You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

Until that day》

He watches her with tired eyes--I- you dont gotta do it...

--Its okay,I want to take care of you--She answers, taking his still bloody hands and kissing his knuckles.

Tim sighs under his breath and softly says--I dont...I dont deserve it

--Yes you do,dont say that.

In silence he lets her scrub off the blood from his hands and his mouth,then comb the hair products on his brown locks that now stick to his face

《I'd rather take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

You're too sweet for me

I take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me》

His hands rest on her waist and he helps her out a little,as much as his shaken up nervous system could allow.

--Sorry...sorry I cant be of no more help-- He mutters,voice weak and tired.

Jeri shakes her head-- Dont be,its okay

After the shower they change into something more comfortable, casual "at home" clothes to unwind. Then,they go to the 'livingroom' of the ship where everyone was.

Its not only so everyone could take stock of one another to make sure nobody was missing so it calmed their anxiety, but also a way to make everyone unwind and feel safe.

Merchant has Tim leaning on her shoulder,drifting off to sleep while she crochets Him a small headband with a sprout growing out of It

Nastya is playing her violin, the toy soldier and Ivy play checkers. Raphaella and Ashes are leaning on one another on another couch,asleep. Meanwhile,Marius, brian and Jhonny are playing poker.

Its good to see Tim resting up and feeling better, he was a very light sleeper and the few things that couldnt wake him up was Nastya's violin,quiet chatter and the purr of the octokittens.

Like that,the crew settles down and relaxes after a long day of slaughter.

#platonic f/o: gunpowder Tim #t.m (band) s/i #cw blood #tw blood #tw fire mentions #cw fire mentions #tw mania #cw mania #cw flashback #tw flashback #ask to tag #cw feelings of unworthiness #tw feelings of unworthiness #tw feelings of unworthyness #cw feelings of unworthyness

0 notes

tartagilicious · 3 years

Text

the aftermath // marius von hagen 🍇 w.c 0.5k, not edited

“find me again,” he whispers, his voice fading in a broken melody as he pushes you around a safe corner. it scratches unbearably at your ears and thrums deeply in your chest, so uncomfortable for a moment that you can’t tell if it’s smoke fumes you’re inhaling or just your own stark disbelief.

“i’ll fix this, you need to get to safety."

he is telling you to leave him amongst the chaos of the venue around you, but all you can think about is how the man that holds your shoulders is absolutely insufferable.

yet your worried eyes betray your thoughts, and your heart betrays every sensible instinct you have.

“you’re the worst attempt at a hero i’ve ever seen.” you try to sound condescending, to remind him of just what situation you’ve gotten yourselves into, but your voice, too, betrays you. you talk to him with the care you hide in the hidden corner of your heart — the care that is so undeniably pure that marius has a hard time responding.

“listen to me.” you plead, dominant hand raising up to take hold of his tie and bring his face closer to yours. “you can’t fix everything, and there’s nothing wrong with that. so please,”

“think about yourself too."

it was a simple trap you set, the chance of failure present no matter the strings you pulled. you just hadn’t imagined the counterfeit painter to come to the showing armed with such a startling backup plan. a smoke bomb lays sputtering somewhere around the painting meant to act as bait, no doubt covering the tracks of the inevitably stolen piece of art.

it’s not within either of your capacities to go after them alone, and for fear of the smoke fumes doing collateral damage… your lips thin in anticipation. quickly, you let go of marius and cover your nose and mouth, ushering for him to do the same.

“i’m sorry, i wasn’t expecting them to go to such lengths."

your lips twist into a slight frown as his shoulders drop. on the flip side, marius had been rather confident that tonight would go down without a hitch, with appraisers and officers alike at the ready for the fraudulent “Z”.

“none of this is your fault.” you finally speak, eyes turned to his as you shake your head. “I wasn’t expecting it either."

a few empty moments pass before he takes your free hand in his and leads you away from danger, making the decision that you can only pray proves to be fruitful. the venue is big, very much in tune with marius’ extravagant style. but as you go through the twisting halls, you can’t help but notice that it looks more and more like a crime scene.

people linger on the outer edge of the building, the last bits of the crowd still trying to get into the open as red and blue lights flash in the near distance. you sneak a look at your companion’s face, and are unsurprised to find his expression tense.

you squeeze his hand that still grips yours, sending a reassuring smile as soon as his gaze finds you.

“we’ll catch them.” leaning slightly into his side to whisper the words only he can hear, you’re relieved to see the small smile that gradually curls at his lip.

“i know we will."

#this is based on his personal story except i’ve only played one chapter of it and idk what’s going on #:D #marius brainrot #tears of themis #marius von hagen #tears of themis x reader #tot x reader #lu jinghe #marius von hagen x reader #lu jinghe x reader #marius x reader

126 notes · View notes

rangercorpses · 3 years

Text

This is going to appeal to me and only me bc this is so fucking niche but, hear me out

Mechanisms/rangers apprentice crossover

Screenshot of my og idea:

And some more under the cut that was supposed to be a quick outline but turned into a bullet point fic:

There's these bandits that are just. Devastatingly destructive, and witnesses swear they're wielding some sort of magic sword that can shoot fire out the end???

Anyways Halt and Will and Gilan and Horace get recruited into catching them bc ofc they do <3

They find the bandits - it's not hard, they're not even bothering with being subtle about anything, so they just have to follow the trail of destruction.

They arrive and scope out the situation, and find..a group of four people, sitting in a(n empty, half aflame) bar just..laughing and.....playing music?

(in a bar that's burning to the ground. A bar. That's burning. To the ground. Horace can't quite get over that. Will is eyeing one of bandits, who's playing a mandolin. He looks suspiciously like he's assessing his chances of nicking it (it's a very nice mandolin after all).)

They can't reasonably go into a flaming building for four bandits, even bandits as dangerous as these four are, so they use the opportunity to scope it out

It's almost an hour later when the bandits finally leave the bar

(as if their presence had been the only thing holding it up, the bar collapsed in a wave of smoke and sparks behind them. One of them, dressed in grey and black with bright red hair blew a kiss back at the flaming wreckage)

Now that they're out of the bar, Gilan pursues them, staying carefully out of sight, the other three staying behind to wait for him to report back.

Several hours later, he returns, sheepishly in tow behind the four bandits. Halt had an arrow nocked and aimed at the redhead in moments, whom he'd deemed to be the leader. (Not that it seemed to have any effect on them, save amusement)

"So this is who's been following us," the one with the red hair said, looking each of them up and down judgmentally.

"They're Not Very Stylish," another said, pouting. It seemed to be..made of wood? Will tried not to think about it too hard, with little success. The wooden man, seeming to sense his confusion, somehow smiled wider.

Halt, still aimed at the redhead, very calmly said, "Let Gilan go."

"Oh please, he's not our prisoner, we're not barbaric," the third said, seemingly the only normal-looking one in the group.

The fourth nodded, the light glinting strangely off his skin, making it seem almost metallic. But metal skin is impossible, right? "It's wrong to hold someone against their will," he said pleasantly. "He's free to go back to you, if he wishes."

Both groups are silent for a moment, before Halt jerked his head, motioning for Gilan to come back over.

The moment he was over, the third beamed. "See, was that so hard? And really, you can lose the bow and arrows, those won't do much. Though you are welcome to try," he said with a wink.

Slowly, Halt lowers his bow, reasoning that now that Gilan had been returned, things were..not safe, but more stable. The bandits certainly weren't acting violent or destructive (at the moment, anyways).

It seemed almost like..they were humoring them

"You four are the bandits who have been looting and burning towns and villages, right?" Will asks. They're being so not murderous that he feels the need to be sure they've got the right people. In his gut, however, he knows they are.

The wooden man starts nodding immediately, its hat nearly falling off from the vigorous motion. The normal-ish man gives a sweeping bow. "The ones and only."

The metal(?) man shakes his head though. "I haven't committed any crimes though, I'm not on the right setting for that." The rangers and knight all unanimously decide to ignore that.

"In that case, you're all under arrest," Halt says, ready to fire of the bandits show any sign of fighting back.

However, they merely nod amicably. Again, the feeling of being humored lays heavily over the group as they quietly attach thumb cuffs and tie their wrists, searching for any weapons and tossing them aside.

Will handled the wooden man's mandolin with care, and it smiled at him for it. "That's Very Polite Of You," it says. "Much More Polite Than Jonny."

Will says nothing, merely continuing, and trying not to think of how the wood of it's fingers were warm.

Horace gives a shout of surprise when he discovers that the most normal looking if the bandits has an arm made out of metal. The man simply wiggles his eyebrows and detaches then reattaches one of his fingers, smirking mischievously

The metal man holds out his arms in front of him for Gilan, allowing him to put on the restraints without complaint, even going so far as to point out several hidden weapons, stating that "a lie of omission is still a lie." This is met with groans from the other bandits.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow as Halt approaches, to which Halt raises an eyebrow back. This goes on for a minute longer than Halt will admit to before he finally attaches the thumb cuffs and ties them up.

Once the bandits are all tied up, there's nothing left but to take them back to Castle Araluen.

The ride back is heavy with the tension of knowing, with complete and utter certainty, that the bandits could break out at any second with ease.

Instead, they are laughing and talking amongst themselves. As they talk, they refer to each other by name, and they learn that the redhead is named Ashes, the man with the metal hand is Marius, the metal man Brian, and the wooden man the Toy Soldier. They are rather disturbed to learn that there are at least three more like them- though where they are, none of the Araluens can say.

At one point, Halt whirls around at the sound of a violin. "Where did you get that violin?" he snaps, unknowingly echoing another's words, a millennia and several dimensions away. Marius startles, looks down at the violin in his hands, and for some reason, looks sad.

Will quietly sidles up next to Brian and asks why his skin is made of metal, and how it works. Brian laughs. "It's not just my skin," he says. "Everything but my heart is mechanical."

Will doesn't know whether to be horrified or curious. "Why?" he asks.

"I was shot into the sky in froze in space," Brian says easily, as if this is something he's commonly asked.

Will, for once, doesn't ask any more questions.

They do finally arrive at Castle Araluen, and when the bandits are sentenced to death, neither Halt, Will, Gilan, nor Horace are even a little surprised when they get right back up after being killed.

#ra #ranger's apprentice #halt o'carrick #will treaty #gilan davidson #horace altman #FUCK i was blanking on horaces last name and the only thing i could think of was pancake bc of knight of the pancake sjdkskkskfkdkfk #UM fo context since ik prolly not many ppl will know abt the mechs?#to keep it simple theyre a band of immortal space pirates who like to have violence!#theres nine of them but only four are in this!#im.. hyperfixated so hard on them AHSJDJ #anyways i figured these four would be up for humoring the rangers+horace <3 rather than just outright murdering them AHDJSJKS #they thrive on the confusion and chaos they spread <3 #if anyones curious and somehow knows both the mechs and ra. jonny and tim are over in hibernia. nastya is with the aurora in skandia.#ivy has been hitting up every major library in every country #and raph is gathering data across the globe for her unethical science <3 #there is NO way for this to fit into canon but i dont care #canon has no meaning in this place #ANYWAYS um sorry if anyones out of character this is meant to be silly so i didnt worry too much abt proper characterization #also i wrote this at like one in the morning and i cant focus enough to edit/revise it now that ive slept so. uh yeah #sorry if its kinda wonky

22 notes · View notes

sockablock · 4 years

Note

Hi! All the political and ocean concerns in the M9 have me thinking about Astrid and Eodwulf and Sabien. Hmm I know this is a reaching prompt, but something about Caleb and Fjord and people that you used to know? Thanks for all your amazing work, and stay safe during these crazy times! 💜

The beach is mostly trashed by the end, so they spend an extra few days on Rumblecusp to help the villagers clean up.

Which isn’t so bad. The food is good, if...adversarial, and the people now formerly of the cult of Vokodo take to wine-making like, well, former cultists.

Beauregard apparently has opinions about their process, but it’s not like they can get Marrow Oak on a tropical island; and anyway, it hasn’t stopped her from drinking any.

It hasn’t stopped Fjord from pouring a cup either, which he sips as Caleb emerges from the gloom. Behind him, sounds of clean-up and commotion, the curling grey smoke of a bonfire reaching toward pinprick stars above.

“Did they kick you out too?” Fjord dips his head. “I always feel like Marius when they start the heavy lifting.”

“Jester said I was getting in her way,” Caleb sighs, and plops down onto the bench beside him. He’s close enough that Fjord can see the glow in his eyes. “I decided that was a good enough excuse to take a break.”

“Man, at least Yasha was polite about it,” Fjord commiserates. “All she had to do was throw the cart over her head, and I got the message pretty fast.”

Caleb answers with a muted laugh, and a lock of hair slips out from behind his ear. Fjord smiles too, and offers his cup.

“So it’s over now, huh?” he says as Caleb takes a sip. “Time to head back soon.”

“I suppose so,” Caleb nods. “It feels like only days since we arrived on the island.”

“It was a few days ago, wasn’t it? Er...you would know, I mean.”

“Yes. If you want to be technical, we arrived ten days ago.”

“And it’s only been, like, ten hours since the Traveler ‘ascended.’” Fjord makes the appropriate air quotes. “Did you see him at the celebration dinner afterward? I’m pretty sure he ate eighteen cupcakes. Maybe nineteen.”

“I can see where Jester learned it from. Although,” Caleb adds dryly, “they were not bad cupcakes. I am still impressed that Caduceus managed to make icing on a deserted island.”

“Vegan, too.”

“Yes. Will wonders never cease.”

Caleb passes the cup back and Fjord gently swirls the liquid inside, a violent mishmash of pinkish-purple that doesn’t seem to settle either way.

It’s cool in his hands. He looks up and takes a slow breath.

“Do you...that is...it seems a bit pointless to ask, since, well, it’s not like he’s your god—”

“Hm?”

Fjord considers the torchlight on the water. “Do you think we did the right thing?

Caleb is quiet for a while.

“I...do,” he says, eventually. “We...helped the Traveler accomplish what he wanted, and we gave the people a new—we gave them something. Perhaps their collective belief will be enough to scrape out a new deity entirely, if the Moonweaver decides to pass.”

“Can gods...do that?”

Caleb shrugs. “They are gods. What would we know?”

The waves whistle as they wash against the shore. Then Fjord says:

“But...what about Jester? I mean, I know he promised he’d still be around, and I’m pretty sure Beau would kill him if he wasn’t, but it still feels like an end, doesn’t it? Like the old days are over. There’s no going back.”

Caleb makes a faint humming sound. “The old days had been over for a while.”

“Right,” says Fjord, “but—”

“I understand.”

In the distance, someone tosses another log onto the bonfire. It’s probably Yasha. Cheers go up.

“A lot of things have been changing. Have changed already, for all of us, I think.”

Fjord looks over. “How do you mean?”

He is surprised when he finds Caleb staring back at him. The firelight glows on his skin.

“You are a prime example, no? Think of what has changed for you.”

“Er...”

“The boat,” Caleb clarifies. “The explosion. The sword, then losing the sword, then...well.” And he gestures to Fjord, going up and going down, landing firmly on his symbol to the Wildmother.

“Oh.” Fjord suddenly feels a bit embarrassed. “Well. Yes. But...I think I was overdue for some changes.”

“You don’t miss them, then?” Caleb asks. “The old days?”

Fjord shuffles a little on the bench. His feet leave a groove in the sand.

“Well,” he admits, “it’s not...not like I don’t. It’s just...they were long ago, now. I’m not sure I’m that person, anymore. I...definitely don’t think I want to be.”

Caleb’s glance shifts to the ground. “Yes,” he says. “That, I understand.”

Fjord passes him the cup again. He takes it.

In quiet sort of voice, he says, “You aren’t. For the record. I mean...I don’t think you’re like how you were...like before.”

Caleb looks at the wine. “You didn’t know me.”

“You’ve...filled in some of the details for us, and I have an active imagination. Besides, I’ve been around you for nearly a year now.”

Caleb drinks. It’s his longest swig yet. When he finishes, he exhales and wipes at his mouth.

“You have, haven’t you?”

He hands the drink back.

“Everyone has,” Fjord says.

It’s Caleb’s turn to watch the tide. The breeze moves his collar. Without his coat on, the wind ruffles his shirt.

“I believe...that is what changed me, in the end. If not for y—for everyone, I would not be who I am today.”

“Yeah. We’re all made by who we stick with, I think. In the past and the present. It’s all a matter of luck.”

“I don’t know if ‘luck’ is the word I would use.”

Fjord snorts. “I don’t know if I would, either.”

“Gods,” Caleb says suddenly, “that was—your situation—”

“It’s okay,” Fjord says. “It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been brainwashed by evil wizards who wanted to...what? Turn me into an assassin? Use me as a weapon? Force me to kill innocents?”

“It was a mixed bag. Maybe all of the above? But at least I had a loving family, first.”

From anyone else, it could’ve sounded cruel. Fjord has long ago gotten used to the weird way the Mighty Nein choose to express themselves.

“Do you miss those old days?”

Caleb’s smile comes back, but this time it’s a little stale.

“Sometimes...hah. Sometimes I even miss the days that came after. Not everything about Soltryce was so bad, you know. And even the...as you say, the ‘evil wizards,’ they were...at the time, despite it all, I enjoyed it.”

“At the time.”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

The smile flickers. “A mixed bag.”

Fjord lets the sickly sweet wine dance on his tongue.

“I have a feeling I know what you mean. I miss...I miss some parts, too. I miss some people, actually, or...I miss the way I used to know them.”

When Caleb is quiet, Fjord finds himself pressing on. He’s not sure if he even means to.

“I hated the orphanage,” he whispers. “I hated it. I hated everything about it, which just made...it just made...” he blinks, “it made me all the more grateful at least Sabian was on my side. I...I used to think he always would be. I always thought it would be me and him against the world, and then...then...gods, I’m sorry—”

“No,” Caleb shakes his head. “Don’t be. He was important to you.”

“Of course he was.” Fjord huffs. “He used to be my whole world. We did everything together. We even signed up together. And then...”

Caleb’s voice is hesitant, but he still asks, “What happened?”

Fjord laughs. “My world got bigger. I...once I met Vandren, got used to sailing, I...I don’t know. It could be selfish, but sometimes I wonder if Sabian resented the fact that he wasn’t the only person in my life anymore. Though I doubt my feelings are important enough for them to be the reason why he betrayed us.”

He all but spits the words out. It’s only then that that he realizes he’s been crying into the mug.

"Gods, I’m—”

He feels Caleb touch his shoulder. It’s still hesitant, but he does.

“It’s alright.”

“...and I’ve ruined the wine.”

“We can always get more.”

A pause.

“I...the worst part is not knowing. Not knowing, and...and not being able to understand. Why. Why did it happen? Was it always my fault? Was...was it always like that, and was I too blind to see? What if it was never even what I thought it was?”

“...yes.”

Fjord looks up.

“Did you ever think of talking to them again? Not...gods, not Tr...you know, him, but...maybe that classmate—”

Caleb sucks in a breath. Again, “Yes.”

“Did it...help?”

He lets go. “Er...to be honest? No.” Then he catches Fjord’s expression, tacks on hastily, “Er, in your situation, it could—”

Fjord bites into his laugh. “It had better. I’m paying good money to find him, actually.”

Caleb doesn’t ask for more details, which isn’t totally surprising. Apparently they’d had similar ideas anyway.

The tension drains away slowly, and Fjord finds it in himself to ask:

“Was she different?”

Caleb shrugs. “In many ways...yes and no. She had changed, but those changes had been in her always. I could see where they came from. I could see why they happened.”

“She was unlucky,” Fjord tries. “The people around her...”

“Yes. She never got the chance I did.”

“No,” Fjord nods. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t feel entitled to Caleb’s expression at that. He doesn’t look, instead stares at the water and counts the seconds as the waves skim by.

“Do you think that Sabian—”

“No.”

“Right.” He hears Caleb breathe out. “Probably not. If it, er, if it counts for anything, though, I am of the mind that...though I did not know you before, you...you are a good person now. Our past...experiences to the contrary, you are a person that I would want to be, Fjord.”

Fjord nearly spills his cup into the sand.

“You—what?”

Caleb, to his shock and delight, looks offended. His face reddens to match his hair.

“I just—well—yes,” Caleb gets out, “I just mean...I think you are a good person. You cannot—that cannot be so hard to believe, unless—I told you, didn’t I? That I forgive you for the sword incident—”

Fjord decides to come to his rescue. He puts the cup down and waves his hand. “Right, right, you did, you did.”

“In case you had forgotten. Your memory is...”

Fjord raises an eyebrow.

“Nevermind.” Caleb amends hastily. “My point is, if you are...worried about your past, and the people who have...who have shaped you to who you are, I just want you to know that I...the you that you are now, Fjord, is an admirable person.”

A pause. Then:

“Thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb leans back on the bench. “Of course.”

They sit there in the silence for a little longer, watching the moon pull slowly on the tide, tracing the shape of clouds on the night sky.

“I—yeurk. Oh, that’s bad.”

“Hm?”

“The wine, I definitely ruined it. I, ah, think we might need a new glass.”

A laugh.

“Come on. Let’s go get one, then.”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

#critical role #critfic #critrole #fic #fanfiction #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING IT IN THOUGH HOLY SHIT <3333 #fanfic #caleb widogast #fjord #widofjord #if you squint #jay writes #jay fills requests #jay answers #hsdjkghkj <3333333 #long post

199 notes · View notes

richincolor · 3 years

Photo

New Releases

A whole slew of books coming out this week, many we've been looking forward to for a while. I can't wait to add some of these to my TBR pile.

Perfectly Parvin (Perfectly Parvin #1) by Olivia Abtahi G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers

Parvin has just had her heart broken when she meets the cutest boy at her new high school, Matty Fumero–with an emphasis on fumero, because he might be the smoking hot cure to all of her boy troubles. If Parvin can get Matty to ask her to homecoming, she’s positive it will erase all the awful and embarrassing feelings He Who Will Not Be Named left her with after the summer. The only problem is Matty is definitely too cool for bassoon-playing, frizzy-haired, Cheeto-eating Parvin. Since being herself has not worked for her in the past (see aforementioned relationship), she decides that to be the girl who finally gets the guy, she should start acting like the women in her favorite rom-coms. Those girls aren’t loud, they certainly don’t cackle when they laugh, and they smile much more than they talk. Easy enough, right?

But as Parvin struggles through her parent-mandated Farsi lessons on the weekends, a budding friendship with a boy she can’t help but be her unfiltered self with, and dealing with the ramifications of the Muslim Ban on her family in Iran, she realizes that being herself might just be the perfect thing after all.

The Marvelous Mirza Girls by Sheba Karim Quill Tree Books

To cure her post–senior year slump, made worse by the loss of her aunt Sonia, Noreen is ready to follow her mom on a gap year trip to New Delhi, hoping India can lessen her grief and bring her voice back.

In the world’s most polluted city, Noreen soon meets kind, handsome Kabir, who introduces her to the wonders of this magical, complicated place. With Kabir’s help—plus Bollywood celebrities, fourteenth-century ruins, karaoke parties, and Sufi saints—Noreen begins to rediscover her joyful voice.

But when a family scandal erupts, Noreen and Kabir must face complicated questions in their own relationship: What does it mean to truly stand by someone—and what are the boundaries of love?

Check out Crystal's Review: The Marvelous Mirza Girls

Made in Korea by Sarah Suk Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

There’s nothing Valerie Kwon loves more than making a good sale. Together with her cousin Charlie, they run V&C K-BEAUTY, their school’s most successful student-run enterprise. With each sale, Valerie gets closer to taking her beloved and adventurous halmeoni to her dream city, Paris.

Enter the new kid in class, Wes Jung, who is determined to pursue music after graduation despite his parents’ major disapproval. When his classmates clamor to buy the K-pop branded beauty products his mom gave him to “make new friends,” he sees an opportunity—one that may be the key to help him pay for the music school tuition he knows his parents won’t cover…

What he doesn’t realize, though, is that he is now V&C K-BEAUTY’s biggest competitor.

Stakes are high as Valerie and Wes try to outsell each other, make the most money, and take the throne for the best business in school—all while trying to resist the undeniable spark that’s crackling between them. From hiring spies to all-or-nothing bets, the competition is much more than either of them bargained for.

But one thing is clear: only one Korean business can come out on top.

Tokyo Ever After by Emiko Jean Flatiron Books

Izumi Tanaka has never really felt like she fit in—it isn’t easy being Japanese American in her small, mostly white, northern California town. Raised by a single mother, it’s always been Izumi—or Izzy, because “It’s easier this way”—and her mom against the world. But then Izzy discovers a clue to her previously unknown father’s identity…and he’s none other than the Crown Prince of Japan. Which means outspoken, irreverent Izzy is literally a princess.

In a whirlwind, Izzy travels to Japan to meet the father she never knew and discover the country she always dreamed of. But being a princess isn’t all ball gowns and tiaras. There are conniving cousins, a hungry press, a scowling but handsome bodyguard who just might be her soulmate, and thousands of years of tradition and customs to learn practically overnight.

Izzy soon finds herself caught between worlds, and between versions of herself—back home, she was never “American” enough, and in Japan, she must prove she’s “Japanese” enough. Will Izumi crumble under the weight of the crown, or will she live out her fairytale, happily ever after?

On the Hook by Francisco X. Stork Scholastic Press

Hector has always minded his own business, working hard to make his way to a better life someday. He’s the chess team champion, helps the family with his job at the grocery, and teaches his little sister to shoot hoops overhand.

Until Joey singles him out. Joey, whose older brother, Chavo, is head of the Discípulos gang, tells Hector that he’s going to kill him: maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday. And Hector, frozen with fear, does nothing. From that day forward, Hector’s death is hanging over his head every time he leaves the house. He tries to fade into the shadows – to drop off Joey’s radar – to become no one.

But when a fight between Chavo and Hector’s brother Fili escalates, Hector is left with no choice but to take a stand.

The violent confrontation will take Hector places he never expected, including a reform school where he has to live side-by-side with his enemy, Joey. It’s up to Hector to choose whether he’s going to lose himself to revenge or get back to the hard work of living.

Enduring Freedom by Jawad Arash & Trent Reedy Algonquin Young Readers

On September 11, 2001, the lives of two boys on opposite sides of the world are changed in an instant.

Baheer, a studious Afghan teen, sees his family’s life turned upside down when they lose their livelihood as war rocks the country.

A world away, Joe, a young American army private, has to put aside his dreams of becoming a journalist when he’s shipped out to Afghanistan.

When Joe’s unit arrives in Baheer’s town, Baheer is wary of the Americans, but sees an opportunity: Not only can he practice his English with the soldiers, his family can make money delivering their supplies. At first, Joe doesn’t trust Baheer, or any of the locals, but Baheer keeps showing up. As Joe and Baheer get to know each other, to see each other as individuals, they realize they have a lot more in common than they ever could have realized. But can they get past the deep differences in their lives and beliefs to become true friends and allies?

Off the Record by Camryn Garrett Knopf Books for Young Readers

Ever since seventeen-year-old Josie Wright can remember, writing has been her identity, the thing that grounds her when everything else is a garbage fire. So when she wins a contest to write a celebrity profile for Deep Focus magazine, she’s equal parts excited and scared, but also ready. She’s got this.

Soon Josie is jetting off on a multi-city tour, rubbing elbows with sparkly celebrities, frenetic handlers, stone-faced producers, and eccentric stylists. She even finds herself catching feelings for the subject of her profile, dazzling young newcomer Marius Canet. Josie’s world is expanding so rapidly, she doesn’t know whether she’s flying or falling. But when a young actress lets her in on a terrible secret, the answer is clear: she’s in over her head.

One woman’s account leads to another and another. Josie wants to expose the man responsible, but she’s reluctant to speak up, unsure if this is her story to tell. What if she lets down the women who have entrusted her with their stories? What if this ends her writing career before it even begins? There are so many reasons not to go ahead, but if Josie doesn’t step up, who will?

#new releases #weneeddiversebooks

18 notes · View notes

thefairylights · 1 year

Text

I wanted to add in more but couldn’t so I am going to do it this way. Also because I literally just woke up and can barely see I couldn’t see your username at first and thought it said anon. So. Forgive me! I’ve literally been awake for ten minutes now but it’s been great because this messages has been making me smile.

First of all, yes. Because yes. Because everyone is meant for someone so why not have David and Marius together?

Secondly, it makes all the sense in the world that QOTD was able to spring this ship onto the world. That movie was so horrifying that something as dark and twisted as David/Marius makes complete and total sense.

Thirdly, this is so funny to me because l've been thinking about it. Marius and David can be together and live on an island far away from all our resident vampires and be grossly in love together forever never to be seen or heard from again. They can be gross. And nasty. And creepy. But together! Good for them. If they need to stay in contact they can send an email. An email that may or may not be read because their addresses may or may not be blocked!

Let me imagine this. Benji, as the resident little tech vampire, choosing to keep his vibe going and decide hey, we should block these two emails! Definitely block them. And voila, said emails don’t work. And because Lestat is Lestat, he won’t question it because he’s too busy not really understanding emails or podcasts or whatever else and he can go be happily and blissfully ignorant with Louis. Far away from Marius and David.

We will pretend that they can’t all communicate mentally btw. Maybe the island is so far it’s absolutely and completely impossible. So so far away.

And Armand, because he has transcended so high from this, can have his own happily ever after away from his abuser. And he can be as weird as he pleases and Daniel can just smile and pat at his head because how precious is our gremlin? So precious and murderous and crazy and the most special. Armand deserves some blenders for all this wonderful freedom of those two problems.

And Pandora can be her boss ass bitch self.

Omg And Bianca too! Maybe they can chill.

I feel so happy right now. Thank you.

Marius Mishap March haha. The upcoming ides of March has got me feeling some type of way. 🔪

#team dead david is the best david #Marius come catch this smoke #marius de romanus #david talbot #the vampire chronicles

7 notes · View notes

angelaiswriting · 4 years

Text

The Contest (1 of 7) | some R6S guys x fem!reader

✏️ Pairing: Bandit / Blitz / Glaz / Jäger / Tachanka x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: Dominic Brunsmeier can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when it comes to eating pussy, and that’s how Y/N found herself being drafted to be the judge of this pussy-eating contest. (Straight out of a dream @kind-wolf had)

✏️ A/N: I... ehm, am a hoe, whoops 🙊 y’all, enjoy! Thank you, Alice, for always having great dreams and for letting me write about this. 🥰 The first actual part is coming soon, I just want to write a bit more of part four to avoid dishing everything out now and making you wait for the rest.

✏️ Warnings: nothing yet, but still 18+ only for sexual themes (oral sex f/r) being discussed.

✏️ Word-count: 1,937

✏️ The links to the other parts are in the masterlist linked in my bio.

THE CONTEST | >> part two: elias >>

When Y/N entered the lounge room, the conversation was already flowing and as she was already tired from the testosterone-filled day spent at the practically almost empty base, she didn’t make much of an effort to join it. She simply reached the alcohol cabinet, poured herself some whiskey, and sat down in one of the empty armchairs, ready to allow her drink and her friends’ voices in the background to fully relax her.

The day she had ahead was another one of those boring days. She was base-bound for the time being: other teams had been sent on various missions and only a bunch of operators had been left behind “on hold”. It wasn’t that bad: it meant having some days off, but those days often felt way too long and their emptiness brought up a heavy boredom she didn’t always know how to banish.

Her head had just leaned back against the cool faux leather of the armchair when her ears picked up bits of the conversation the boys were having and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Eating pussy is not a hobby,” Glaz was saying matter-of-factly.

Y/N’s eyes shot open, and the sip of whiskey that was halfway down her throat almost choked her.

“That’s something someone who doesn’t know how to eat pussy would say,” was Dominic’s reply. His eyebrows were knitted together and his lips almost pursed in disbelief at what his friend had just said. But then, when his gaze swept over and settled on Y/N, sitting right opposite him with the low coffee table separating them, his expression relaxed and his free hand, the one not holding his beer, came up to stroke his beard. “Have you ever eaten pussy so good you start considering learning how to breathe out of your ears?” he said and although he wasn’t talking directly to her, he was talking about her. He had told her just that a couple of weeks ago; he had groaned those words right against the chafed and tender skin of her inner thighs as she was still shivering with the aftershocks of her umpteenth orgasm, and she had breathlessly chuckled out loud at the mental picture that concept had painted in her mind.

At that, Marius laughed, a sound right from deep down his throat as Elias coughed in the attempt not to choke on his own drink. “You know no discretion.”

“Of course not! This motherfucker just said eating pussy can’t be considered a hobby!” Burning with disbelief, Dominic took a long sip of his beer and as he did so, he settled better in his armchair and allowed his ankles to cross as he rested his feet on the coffee table. “You learn how to eat delicious, juicy pussy, Glazkov,” he continued, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, “and then we’ll see if you still don’t change your mind.”

Timur groaned something in Russian and Alex cackled next to him. “I already know how to eat pussy, Christ. I bet I’m even better than you at it. You’re just boasting, but it’s all smoke in the eyes.”

Alexsandr proclaimed his agreement with a raise of his drink and before Dominic had the time to speak again, Y/N intervened, hoping to put an end to the discussion.

“Are you guys really arguing about your oral skills?” she scoffed, pulling her knees closer as her head leaned back against the headrest of the armchair. “How old are you, fifteen?”

“Listen, you know I’m right.” Dominic’s insistence threatened to make her smile, but hiding it was easy behind the rim of her tumbler. “You have to get down eye-level with your woman’s pussy and give it your fucking best. If you don’t go down on her like that’s the best thing you’ll ever do in your days, then you better leave the room to the pro.”

“Who, you?” Marius scoffed, eyeing his friend up and down before rolling his eyes at his Well, yeah, of course.

“Oh, fuck off. What are you, the self-proclaimed Cunnilingus Lord?”

“I don’t see anyone else worthy of that title here, so yeah, sure.”

There was a sudden uproar of “You clearly haven’t seen my women with me between their legs,” and “I’m sure you don’t even know where the clit is,” until Glaz’s voice seemed to drown out the others.

“You’re so full of bullshit, Brunsmeier.”

“I won’t let a child with his mom’s milk still on his upper lip insult me!” And while everyone’s words felt heavy and tense in the silence of the base, they all knew it was just a way to tease each other in the vain attempt to liven things up in these days’ placidity. Maybe an impromptu fight was just what they needed to have some fun.

But then, as Timur and Dominic stared each other down, Y/N’s soft laughter catalyzed the men’s attention onto something else. “I can’t believe you’re really about to fight over this. Why don’t you just sit in a circle and jerk each other off? The tension in here is palpable. When was the last time y’all had an orgasm?” She smirked and when she turned and caught Alex’s almost-shocked facial expression, something she never thought she’d one day see at the mention of sex, she chuckled some more. “You should place bets, and then come back and see who’s actually the best. The winner wins the money and the title of Cunnilingus Lord.” It was a joke, one she didn’t think would have a follow-up.

Silence ensued, and she would swear she could hear their brains work at maximum capacity as they mulled over her words. She knew how filthy-mouthed and filthy-minded these men could be — and she had spent more time with them than she had ever done before the past week — but it was still somewhat surprising to catch them red-handed as they fought about who had it bigger — or, in this case, who ate pussy out the best.

“What about a contest?” was Alexsandr’s proposal. He was sitting with his legs spread open and his hands in-between them, still holding onto his shot glass.

Everyone seemed to agree on his proposal and for a moment, as they spoke their minds, Y/N let her eyes close once more: if they wanted to challenge each other to a stupid contest, let them. The peace didn’t last long, though, because at some point, just as she was contemplating a nice bath instead of a shower before hitting the sack, someone called her name, and her eyes shot open just in time to see Dominic’s mischievous grin before it disappeared for good.

“I was saying,” he spoke up again, voice slow and measured as his feet came to rest on the floor and his legs spread a little wider, catching her eye, “that you would make an excellent judge.”

“And a partial one,” complained Marius, to which Dominic complained with a But she loves getting head! “We all know you two spend more time in the same bed than you do in separate rooms.”

She scoffed at that, more annoyed at the thought that someone would think she’d make someone else win on purpose than she was at the fact that she had just been brought into such a game. “Just because I’ve seen his dick more than I’ve seen yours doesn’t mean I don’t know how to judge good oral skills.” She frowned.

“It’s settled then.” Timur was grinning and his eyes seemed to twinkle under the lights of the room. “We eat you out, and you proclaim the winner.”

“Slow down, I never said I’d participate in your silly game.”

“But you also didn’t seem that opposed to it a second ago,” Dominic remarked. He was smirking again, and she knew he had something in mind. “You make the rules, and drop out if things start getting uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, no hard feelings,” Elias smiled, trying to look more innocent than she knew he was. “We care about you; you know we’d never push anything that could cause you discomfort.”

She eyed them all, one after the other, pondering the pros and cons of having these five men’s faces between her legs and not because of some chokehold during training. She had no problem saying yes to Dominic — she had been saying yes to him for longer than she could actually recall, and he had never disappointed. But it still felt rather weird to know that while it was just sex and they weren’t exclusive, that man was okay with that. He knew how to be possessive, but he wasn’t exactly jealous, and although they had never talked about it, she had never thought of him as someone who would share so willingly.

Unless his ego was at stake, though, apparently.

“There won’t be any dick involved,” she decided eventually. “I don’t know about clothes yet, but if I say you must keep them on, you will keep them on, understood?”

There followed a chorus of Yes, Ma’am and although her body relaxed against the leather of her armchair, she found herself squeezing her thighs together.

“No toys allowed, but fingers are fair game,” she added. “Scratch that, their use is highly encouraged. We can do it anywhere you want as long as it’s somewhere private. But absolutely no exhibitionism: there’s only going to be me and one of you in the room at a time. Only one person in a day, for God’s sake, I have other things to do other than being the judge for your stupid game.”

“Deal,” was Elias and Timur’s rushed reply and they exchanged a look at the simultaneity of the action.

“I’m not done,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’d say the rule is only one orgasm per participant but if you’re good at it — and you’ll understand it from my reaction —, you have free reign to give me another.” It was a plain attempt at riling Dominic up because it had been clear, just a few moments ago, that he thought he was the best, la crème de la fucking crème when it came to giving head to a woman, and a sick part of her wished she could be able to challenge him that tad bit more. “I don’t care about the order you decide to follow, that’s your business. I’d just like for you to let me know at least the day prior, so that if I’m busy with something Rainbow, we can reschedule.” She sat back for a moment, thinking of something else to add, but she came up empty-ended. “Now, if you accept these rules, you’re in, otherwise forget about getting close to my pussy.”

They all agreed, and they all promised they’d be good boys and behave.

“What’s the final prize?” Alexsandr inquired after a while, almost absent-mindedly.

“The knowledge that the winner is the best in this room at eating pussy? I thought that would be enough,” she laughed. “You can bet real money, that’s your business. But,” and she stared right in Dominic’s eyes as she prepared herself for what was to leave her lips, “another go between my legs could be put up for grabs.”

Dominic’s That’s out of discussion! put the others’ exclamations of jubilee to silence. “You go down on her only once, you fuckers. That’s it.”

Her grin at his reaction only widened when Timur spoke up again.

“What are you worried about?” And then, to the others, barely holding back his laughter, “Maybe the expert isn’t really that great after all.”

Feedback is always welcome if you want to drop old me a line 💛

Original pic used: https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-clouds-and-blue-sky-4870972/

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ASK)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi @becs-bunker

53 notes · View notes

catstrophysics-fics · 4 years

Text

Live Like You Were Dying.

(Canon era Enjoltajre, but Enjolras gets sort of premonitions of the things to come.)

•••

So, Enjolras gets visions. Flashes of things, blood and cannonfire and the sound of someone shouting in pain, and he chalks it up to nightmares. To apprehension. To an overactive imagination. He doesn’t pay them any mind until the pieces start to come together, and he realizes the man shouting is Prouvaire, and the shape staggering up the stairs in the flash he sees when men in uniforms surround him is Grantaire.

He realizes they’re going to die fighting on their barricade, whenever they build it.

Suddenly, everything anyone says embeds itself deeper in his brain, filed away and replayed a thousand times over just in case it’s the last time he ever hears them laugh. He tries not to tear up during meetings. (He tears up during meetings.) Grantaire’s jokes from the corner no longer twang on his nerves, but instead make his heartbeat quicken and something quiet and forbidden that he’s been ignoring for too whisper insistently in the back of his mind.

(He sees Grantaire’s limping shape between the guardsmen’s heads behind his eyelids. His breath catches in his throat.)

It feels like the end is near. The dreams get longer, more detailed flashes, another second on either end of the visions. Marius crying over a body he doesn’t recognize, shoulders shaking. Grantaire pushing past the guards, towards him, eyes wide in fear. Feuilly choking out a sob, just out of view past the other side of the barricade.

They’re dying, slowly. Not yet.

Grantaire cracks a joke about the end of the world at the next meeting and Enjolras feels hot and cold all at once. (He should tell him, shouldn’t he? How it ends?)

(He doesn’t tell him.) Enjolras catches him after the meeting and takes his hand in his own, saying a silent prayer to the world. (It isn’t the first time he’s felt the calluses along Grantaire’s palms, but it is the first time outside a nightmare.)

Grantaire looks taken aback, startled, but eager in a quiet, nervous way.

He didn’t tell him how it ended. Just pulled him closer, into a crushing, deep embrace, taking in the smoke and wine on his coat and the leathery warm scent of his skin where he tucks his nose into the crook of his neck, and he calls that enough. At least.

Grantaire doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t unfold from Enjolras’s arms, but instead melts into the touch. “Why?”

There isn’t much of an answer. “I had to,” is all Enjolras could come up with. (He didn’t say why.) And then, with a gentle thumb on his lip: “may I?”

Grantaire nods. It’s short, sweet. Been so long since Enjolras had any wine, but tasting it off Grantaire’s lips is the only way he’d have wanted it.

•••

It all went exactly as he saw it all in the dreams, his friends falling one by one until he was the only man standing, back to the wall and gunmen before him. Grantaire stumbled through the door.

He knew how it ended. He’d seen it all.

He took Grantaire’s hand.

The bullets forced him to stagger backwards, and a whispered “I love you” was all he managed before everything disappeared into blackness.

#enjoltaire #exr #enjolras #grantaire #les mis #exr fic #fanfic #fanfiction #les mis fanfic #my writing #me rambling #angst #canon exR

77 notes · View notes

intervieweird · 3 years

Text

@deromanum

He had known that call, hooking itself into his mind like a long white finger: crooking, come.

So he does - or he searches - mortal faces blurring into a smear of color, and Daniel pushes past them, through them, chasing the ancient resonant voice behind his eyes as much as he had ever learned to run from it. He laughs suddenly, in the crowd, at the thought of it - and the crowd parts around him, fins flashing, scales of jewelry catching the light - and surges together again once they pass. Oh, but it’s so fucking funny, because he finally gets the punchline.

And he’d come, hadn’t he, whenever he’d felt that old, persistent tug? Because Daniel had learned to love him, because he could draw the flat, subtle shape of Marius’ mouth when he worried, because he’d felt the debt burning holes in his pockets.

He shuffles through the riot of seething, human heat around him, shoulders shrugged up against his ears. This is what Armand had done, hadn’t he? Rifling through hundreds of teeming minds as carelessly as a tape-deck, his beringed fingers crawling over the smudged, half-glimpsed images of himself, a composite cobbled from a dozen different eyes. Funny, how he’d broken into fractals of himself, pieced back clumsily together with modeling glue and the scrape of a brush. And yet he doubts Marius had ever actually liked cubism.

The swell of thought maddens Daniel. The chattering crush floods him, turning, turning, turning. He’s blinded by flashbulb impressions of white-blonde hair and the crooning murmur of a man that lived, and lived, and lived and the red below it and the red in his blood and the red strokes of paint and he had remembered a conversation once about how the red he knew was not the red that had been, and Daniel had dreamed of beetles in scarlet shimmering carapaces crawling under his skin because he had been red and raw and red — and he finds him. Marius, the Roman, blood of his blood, the ancient one, lingering in this upscale Manhattan bar full of the low hum of conversation. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world... And somehow, somehow Daniel still wonders if he’s wearing red. He opens the door.

His eyes flash, refracting the low light and glinting too brightly as he churns forward in wolfish, loping strides. Someone else has dressed him, someone else who loved him and would not let him wither away in fraying, filthy band tees and worn acid wash jeans. His pelvis abuts the bar, his narrow, high hips in black, expensive denim. It looks brand new. There’s a faint smell of aftershave clinging to the square points of his jaw, and the coiling smoke of menthol behind his teeth. His mouth quirks, hovering on the edge of something.

“Hey, good-lookin’.”

You could’ve given me the name.

#deromanum #verse: modern.#(oh my god just literally tell him you're at an applebee's)#thread: burying the lead.

12 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 4 years

Text

Take the New Texas out of a boy

Jonny still carries a lot of internalized biases and prejudices against himself from growing up in New Texas, which wasn’t progressive. Aboard the Aurora he undergoes a journey of self-discovery in a safe space.

This started as ‘Ooh, wait! What if Jonny wears a corset’ and it somehow ended up as ‘Jonny deals with internalized homophobia, internalized misogyny and self esteem issues, figures out his gender expression, which finally leads to a Jonny centric polycule’

On AO3

Ships: Jonny/ Tim, Ashes, Marius and Brian, but the focus ismore focused on the frienship between Jonny & Ashes & Tim while he discovers himself

Wanrings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, internalized misogyny and self esteem issues. Tell me if I missed anything else!

~~~~~~~~~~~

New Texas was many things, well that was not true, New Texas was barely anything at all really, but one of the things that it most certainly wasn’t, was progressive.

The backwater asteroid that claimed to be a planet with potential for life was nothing, but filled with rot and people who would never be more than the dust on their clothes and the smoke in their lungs, who would rather see you dead for being different.

Jonny had never fit in there.

He’d always known he was different, as cliché as that might seem. He wanted more than getting drunk in a casino, playing away his last bit of money so that he could forever be enslaved by the casino boss to become a killer for hire.

That wasn’t for him. He did it out of necessity, but it wasn’t the end goal. Once he would have enough, he would get out of there. He hadn’t figured out how or to where, but he would not rot between these people.

The first moment he’d realized that, was when Henry from the mill had been hung on top of his own propellers. He’d heard that they’d found out he’d tried to pay another man for services, if you knew what they were saying. Apparently it hadn’t gone over well with the other guy.

Jonny had seen the man hanging there, swaying in the wind and a fear had gripped his heart.

You see, just the day before Jonny had been trying to come up with a good way to tell Ronny that he thought he was pretty, well, pretty. He didn’t know why the other boy got his heart racing, but he did and Jonny, being a naive youngster, wanted to do something about it.

Henrys death had quickly discouraged him from that. He still wanted to hold Ronnys hand, but it wasn’t worth dying over and when he’d started to pay attention to his fathers drunken rambling afterwards, he knew who would be the first to do him in for that.

So, he resolved to get out of there to a place where he could hold Ronnys hand if he wanted to. He knew it was probably futile, but it was a dream he clung to when things got too hard.

His resolve strengthened after he sold his life to Jack and his famous casino.

Jacks casino was famous not only because it was the only one in town, but also because Jack had show girls. The only ones there were no other bar where you could see them, Jack made sure of that, they were good for business after all.

They would be decked out with feathers, fishnets, tiny slips and corsets all on high heels. And Jonny adored them. Whenever he would need to be in Jacks casino, whether it was to deliver something or to get new orders, he would stare dreamily at them dancing.

Most of the patrons made fun of him for being in love with the show girls and Jonny would tell them to piss off, pretending they knew the truth.

The real truth was that Jonny wasn’t in love with them. No, they couldn’t be further away from his type. He was, however, in love with their outfits.

He dreamed of how the fishnets would hug his legs and how the corset would make him delicate and how whoever saw him would be taken aback by his beauty like the men in the casino were with the show girls.

Jonny knew that was a futile dream.

He’d heard from many different mouths that he wasn’t really appealing to look at and he was also slowly resigning himself to being stuck on New Texas forever, the idea of getting away only further out of reach with each passing day.

But with the arrival of a Doctor that idea suddenly seemed so weird.

She took him with her, but with how she twisted him and made him into her puppet there wasn’t really time to explore his newfound freedom away from home.

He tried to fight against every new member, but it wasn’t enough. She never stopped until he got rid of her, not that he’ll ever admit it was him. And he could never forget her either.

By the time she was gone a status quo had arisen on board of the Aurora. Jonny had automatically situated himself in a position from where he could fight. He was the though one, the first one, the one who would take the blows. Effectively shutting himself off from any chance to be dainty or delicate.

His new friends were more accepting, though. Ashes was respected, no questions asked, Nastya was allowed to be herself with her girlfriend and any comment made by the others about hot people of the opposite gender, were barely even blinked at.

Jonnys heart felt lighter with that, although he would always catch himself before he could say something. The fear of a lifetime still deeply ingrained in his mind.

After a few centuries the others had picked up on it and Ashes had laughed: “Hey, Jonny, it’s not a crime to be straight. If you’re feeling too awkward to comment, ‘cause of us, feel free. Don’t worry. Marius is also allowed to make comments about girls as well as the blokes.”

“Uh, what? No- huh, I don’t- I’m not-” Jonny had cleverly responded, so taken aback by it.

“Oh that’s okay too, Jonny.” Tim had smiled at him and it wasn’t mentioned again.

Jonny was glad no one expected anything of him, even if he felt guilty about pretending to be someone he was not. But he’d done it his entire life, what were a few millennia more?

But then he got more comfortable over the course of time and after a while the lie weighed too heavily on him, so he’d awkwardly called together the crew. Most of them were raising his brow at him and when he’d struggled for a couple of minutes, Ashes said: “Just spit it out, man.”

He took a deep breath: “I’m not, uhm, I’m not aroace. I’m g- I’m gay…” he rushed to add: “I’m sorry I know I should’ve said it when you all assumed, but I just didn’t- I couldn’t and then it was too late and it was nice to not have expectations, but then I felt bad and I really did want to tell you, but it never seemed to be the time and-”

“Breathe, Jonny.” he got interrupted by Brian, “It’s alright.”

“Really?” Jonny asked, still a bit fearful.

“Yeah,” Tim smiled and cheered, “one of us!”

Ashes pushed him over and said: “Already was, dumbass.”

“I know, but I meant it as one of me and Brian, you know.” Tim agreed.

“We shouldn’t have assumed, god knows us of all people shouldn’t have and you shouldn't feel guilty about waiting until you were ready.” Brian told Jonny with a gentle smile.

Carefully Jonny smiled back and was promptly tackled into a hug from Marius and Raphaella, who had snuck up behind him. Laughing while taking him down to the ground.

After that life continued as normal. The first time Jonny had made a comment about a guy, he’d looked around with fear, only relaxing when Tim smirked: “Well spotted! You should go up to him.”

Jonny had frantically shaken his head. Just making the comment had been scary enough, the idea of actually putting himself out there with people he didn’t know was too much.

“Okay, no problem.” Tim assured him quickly, “Do you mind if I do?”

“No, go ahead.” Jonny had squeaked, watching as Tim chatted the guy up and moments later disappeared with a wink over his shoulder.

A bit of jealousy crept over Jonnys spine and he didn’t know what he was more jealous off. The fact that Tim would be getting laid or the fact that Tim had the confidence to walk up to someone like that while knowing he could get murdered for it.

They couldn't die, of course. Jonny knew that, but the fear was still there and he didn’t think his heart could take it, despite the strong metal it was made of.

As the years passed he got more comfortable, however, until he could flirt like he’d always wanted to when he watched men at the casino try to get a free drink from the bartender with the tiny low cut shirt and the red lipped smirk.

But while he was living one of his dreams, there still was another he kept hidden.

His mind often wondered back to the show girls with their corsets, especially when he saw a dolled up boy on a planet they were visiting or dancers, like back home, in a club. His fingers would itch to try for himself, but he couldn’t.

Jonny d’Ville was a macho man.

He liked violence and weapons, he swore like, well, like a sailor. He was masculine and tried to project that as much as possible. It was a defense, he knew it was, but he didn’t know how he could break that wall down.

Still, he allowed a wistful gaze to linger on display windows, but only after checking if no one could see.

It was doomed to fail, since everyone aboard the Aurora was much more observant than Jonny gave them credit for, so after years of catching Jonny staring out of the corner of his eye on a thousand different planets, Tim commented: “You can steal it if you like it, or buy it.”

Immediately Jonny stiffened, before snapping: “What are you on about, Tim? You think I fucking want that?”

“Well, why else would you be staring at them like they’re your star-crossed lover.” Tim rolled his eyes.

He didn’t see the shot coming, but he did hear and feel it as he collapsed to the ground, only coming to a bit later, slung over Brians shoulder with Jonny nowhere in sight. Tim knew better than to mention it again and life went on. Jonny pointedly never looking at the displays, no matter how much he wanted to.

But even if Tim never mentioned it, he did not let it go. He himself had always regretted never shooting his shot with Bertie and he used this life to never pass up again. Jonny deserved the same even if it was about something different.

So when they were planetside again, he went looking. It had to be something subtle, something believable.

At the end of the day he returned to the ship and loudly exclaimed: “Everyone gather around, here, here, come on.”

“What is it, Tim.” Ashes called out from the kitchen, where they were making themself a drink.

“I shoplifted a bunch of stuff, not really looking, just shoving shit in pockets, you know. I already filtered out what I liked, so now you can fight over the rest.” Tim explained.

“Bold of you to assume we like the same things.” Ashes replied.

“I just told you it was random, there could be stuff you like. And I have impeccable taste!” Tim defended himself.

The rest of the crew had gathered around the table where Tim had dumped a pile of stuff. Jonny was already rooting around in it and Tim waited until he had found it. Bingo, he thought when he saw Jonnys eyes light up as he pulled the gigantic belt from the pile.

He held it up to inspect it, it was brown leather a good 6 inches broad with a big golden buckle, exactly something Jonny would like and the others wouldn’t and it was something that could subtly function like a thing such as a corset, making a figure appear more feminine.

Ashes saw it and joked: “I don’t think that’s your size, Jonny.”

“Yes, it is. Fuck you.” Jonny shot them a glare.

The others were now looking as well and Marius commented: “Are you sure this was all random, Tim? That is too much Jonny to be coincidence.”

Jonnys glare now became suspicious as he turned to Tim. Tim held up his hands and said: “I swear, really. I probably took it because it was shiny.”

“Magpie.” Jonny teased.

“Like you’re one to talk.” Tim stuck out his tongue. Jonny did the same, before shoving the belt in his pocket for as much as that was possible and diving back into the pile.

Once the pile had disappeared into the hands of the crew, they set to drinking together.

The next day when all had awoken en slept off the hangover, Tim saw Jonny again. The First Mate was shooting at an octokitten, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he was wearing the belt. It was a sitting around his waist, a bit higher than normal and it seemed like it had been pulled a hole too tight.

Tim smirked and congratulated himself on the success.

He then went to attack Jonny and save the octokitten from Jonnys violence, because even if he was sure that the critter had probably earned it, it didn’t deserve it.

After that the belt became every day attire for Jonny, so with that in mind Tim set to the next part of his plan. He again snuck off when they were on a planet, he thought Ashes was feeling the need to burn something and Nastya didn’t want that on her precious Aurora.

Coming back he again called everyone together and loudly proclaimed: “I robbed a jewelry store.”

“Since when are you such a thief? This is the second time already.” Marius asked him.

Tim shrugged: “There isn’t much else to do and I thought why not take it before it gets burned, you know. It’s a pity to let it go to waste.”

He looked back and saw Jonny poking the pile with a mixed expression on his face, like he wanted to take it, but wasn’t sure if that would be okay to do.

The others had already grabbed the few things they liked, so Tim decided it was fine before he said: “Just take them, Jonny. They’re going to be in the way otherwise and I’m sure your collection of useless shiny things is far from complete.”

Jonny looked like he was going to protest, before he deflated and grabbed all the leftover jewelry and grumbled: “It isn’t useless.”

Then it was playing the waiting game again.

It took a few weeks, but finally Jonny arrived with a few bracelets dangling around his wrist and a blush high on his face as he tried to hide them and cringed every time they clanked together.

Later he was wearing a chain around his neck and a while after that he’d filled up the holes Tim hadn’t realized were in his ears. He couldn’t know Jonny had pierced them himself just for this, of course.

Tim made sure to complement him each time he saw a piece of jewelry. The first few times Jonny had given him a wary look, but Tim had tried his best to look earnest and now he’d gotten to the point where Jonny would come up to him to show him the jewelry.

When that became normal, he waited a few more days, before laying down on the opposite couch and sighing: “I wish I could paint my nails.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Jonny perk up, then the fake uninterested reply came: “Why can’t you?”

“I don’t wanna do it alone.” Tim pouted, “And Brian doesn’t have nails, not really, same goes for The Toy Soldier. Ashes, Ivy and Nastya don’t like me enough. I don’t trust Marius not to psychoanalyze me over it and Raphaella will turn it into some sort of experiment.”

After a beat of silence Jonny said: “You didn’t name me.”

And now came the important part. Tim sat up with a grin and concurred: “Exactly, I didn’t.”

Jonny seemed to realize what he was implying and shot up saying: “No, I’m not doing that. Don’t involve me in your dumb wishes.”

Mentally Tim rolled his eyes at Jonny, but externally he pouted: “Please, Jonny. I don’t wanna do it alone and you’re the only one who I can trust, please. I promise I’ll try my best. You can even pick a color.”

Jonny bit his lip while he thought about it. He didn’t have to think long, already having decided that this was too good of an opportunity to pass him by, and agreed: “Fine, but you so owe me after this.”

Tim cheered, before getting his stuff.

When he returned Jonny had slid off the couch and was sitting next to the small table waiting for him. He smiled at Jonny and put his nail polishes in a row, letting Jonny pick a color.

He picked black and Tim snorted. Getting defensive, Jonny snapped: “What?”

“Nothing, just expected that already.” Tim said, grabbing the silver bottle for himself and setting the rest aside.

Taking Jonnys hand, Jonny asked him: “Aren’t we doing your hands first?”

Tim shook his head: “No, you need to see how to do it first before I allow you to potentially fuck up my nails.”

“Hey, who says I’m gonna fuck it up.” Jonny exclaimed indignantly.

“Me, because you’re already not paying attention.” Tim told him.

Jonny snapped his gaze back to Tim, who had already started painting Jonnys nails. The First Mate had kept his hands still despite the protesting, something Tim found quite funny.

Soon Jonnys first coat was dry and it was his turn to try and paint Tims hands.

Tim had to fight to keep the smile at bay as he watched Jonnys brow furrow in concentration and his tongue poke out while he carefully painted Tims nails. They weren’t the best, but definitely good for a beginner. Tim told him that, not missing the small blush that appeared.

Tim was fully expecting the nail polish to be gone the next day, but to his surprise Jonny still had black nails during breakfast. Ashes saw them and commented: “Nice nails.”

Jonny froze for a second, then he replied: “Uh, thanks, Tim did them.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to do mine alone, so I roped Jonny into it. Look!” Tim inserted himself into the conversation and showed off his nails as well.

They got some more complements and Jonny relaxed further. The nail polished stayed on until it was completely chipped away.

Up until then, Tim had acted alone in gently forcing Jonny to explore his more feminine side, but for his next part he needed help. So he went to Raphaella.

“Oh, hi Tim! What can I do for you?” she asked, removing her science goggles and setting aside her flame thrower.

“I was just wondering if something was true and since you’re our Science Officer, I thought you would be the best person to ask.” Tim told her, watching her light up at the word ‘science’.

“What is it? What is it?” she asked excitedly.

“Well, you know how some of these planets have these stupid gender rules?” Tim asked.

Raphaella nodded and he went on: “So, I was wondering how much truth there was to the heel thing, because it doesn’t seem that hard to walk on heels, but they’re out there pretending it’s only women who can do it, but I don’t know how to test that.”

Clapping her hands excitedly, she said: “Oh, I know how we can test that. It won’t be a big sample size, but Nastya and Ivy have never walked on heels, so we could pit them against two of the boys. Hm, Brian wouldn’t be a good fit and Marius has one heavier side, so it would be you and Jonny. Oh, this is going to be fun!”

“Nice, I knew I could count on you, Raph.” Tim said, “So, what do we need?”

Tapping her chin Raphaella listed: “Heels in the right sizes, all the same height too, a course to walk and, of course, willing participants.”

“I do the heels and course, you the participants?” Tim asked.

“Sounds good.” Raphaella answered.

Tim got the right parts for the course and the heels, you don’t want to know how he knew which sizes he needed, but he got them pretty easily. It was Raphaella, who was having trouble with her part.

“No, I’m not walking on fucking heels, because you’re some weirdo with some sort of shit experiment.” Jonny seethed.

“Please, Jonny.” Raphaella asked again, “Nastya, Ivy and Tim already agreed and Ashes has already put up a betting pool.”

“They did what?” Jonny shrieked.

“A betting pool. Most money is on you going flat on your face within five steps.” Raphaella told him, let it be known that Raphaella could be manipulative and she wasn’t afraid to use Jonny competitive streak against him.

“Oh that absolute asshole.” Jonny groused, “Fine, I’ll do it. Tell Ashes I want money on me being the best.”

Raphaella smiled cheerily, before skipping away with an: “I will!”

The next day their time had come. The four of the were standing at the starting line, Raphaella had a clipboard in her hands and the rest was cheering them on or trash-talking them.

It was a simple course, walk 20 feet, go down 6 steps then zigzag between four cones.

They hadn’t been allowed to practice and had to put on the heels right at the start. It was alright just standing, but Tim dreaded having to walk. Jonny was so going to owe him so hard after he told him how much he’d done for the guy.

Speaking of Jonny, he glanced over to him. Jonny had a determined look on his face, but his gaze also flicker down from time to time always softening as he admired the sleek black heels with a look of wonder and a small smile.

The signal was given and they were off.

Nastya faired pretty well, she’d been royalty and a certain amount of grace had been needed for that, Ivy on the other hand was struggling. She loved to be with her books, usually walking around barefoot so that she could feel it when she’d accidentally stepped on one.

Tim also wasn’t doing much better, his arms had turned into propellers as he wobbled and shook, he was almost certain he would not be surviving the stairs.

Next to him, Jonny was actually doing very well. No one knew that the First Mate would walk around on this tip toes, pretending to have heels on just to know what it would feel like and the force of knowing that doing good would piss Ashes off kept him walking with a straight back and minimal amounts of stumbling.

In the end both Tim and Ivy fell down the steps. Ivy broke her neck and was out of the race and Tims heel had broken off, so he’d hopped the last part.

Nastya and Jonny finished around the same time, both collapsing on the couch when they were done. Nastya immediately kicked off her heels, but Jonny kept them on, throwing his feet on the table to turn back and laugh at Tim.

Once everyone was alive and well. Raphaella came with the verdict: “It seems like gender rules around heels are baseless according to our findings here, of course, if we really wanted more concrete answers we would need to do a bigger experiment with more people, but we since we can’t really do that this will have to do.”

“Was that what this was about?” Ashes asked, “We all already knew that gender rules were stupid, no need to fucking test that.”

“It was more curiosity and personal amusement, although that didn’t really work in my favor.” Tim told them.

He got an eyeroll from them, but they seemed to find his answer acceptable. They instead turned to Jonny and asked: “Are they glued to your feet or something?”

Jonny cracked open and eyes and looked down, blushing when they saw the heels and quickly saying: “Oh, I totally forgot.”

He was about to pull them off, when Tim said: “I bet my caliber 14 laser rifle you can’t function an entire day in heels.”

His hands stilling, Jonny gave him a look and asked: “What if I loose?”

“If you loose I want the goggles you stole from Hermes, don’t lie and say you don’t have them.” Tim answered, demanding something with high enough stakes that Jonny wouldn’t call bluff, but not high enough he wouldn’t take it.

“Deal.” Jonny said, hands retreating.

“I bet he gives up after an hour.” Marius called out.

“Yeah, me too.” Nastya agreed.

“Hm, I think he can make it through the day.” Ivy mused and Brian agreed: “Yeah, I also believe he can do it.”

Ashes got up and grinned: “Wait, I’ll write the bets down.”

Tim rolled his eyes, nothing to get the crew moving than a few bets. It didn’t matter that most stuff was practically shared and that they never spend money, instead robbing stores if they wanted something.

After a while the excitement had died down and it was just Tim and Jonny together. Tim needed to keep an eye on Jonny to see if he didn’t cheat after all.

“You can’t just sit there and look at your feet the entire day, that’s also cheating.” Tim broke the silence.

Jonnys head snapped up from where he was admiring at the heels. He covered up the fact that he got startled when Tim had called him out, by crossing his arms and huffing: “That was never specified.”

“Yes, it was. You needed to function in heels and I know you’ve never just sat around for an entire day.” Tim said.

“Why do you even care so much?” Jonny asked.

“I want the goggles.” Tim said with a tone like Jonny was stupid.

Jonny frowned, but didn’t meet his eyes as he repeated: “No, I mean about all this. Why do you care so much?”

Had Tim been caught? Had Jonny realized? He decided to play dumb and asked: “I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”

“I mean about all this, about me doing all the, you know, girly stuff.” he whispered the last part as if he was afraid that if he said it louder the words would explode.

Okay, so he had caught on to what Tim was doing and Tim needed to make sure Jonny did hate him after all this. Fuck. He was never good at that sort of thing, he’d hoped Jonny would never find out until he was completely comfortable, but no such luck.

So he thought carefully about his answer, then replied: “It seemed like it was something you wanted, but you didn’t do, so I don’t know, I thought I would help, sorry.”

“No, no sorry, just why would you do that? Don’t you think that it’s weird?” Jonny asked him.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird.” Tim told him, “Why do you think it’s weird? It’s just clothes, no one here aboard cares if you want to wear something that makes you happy. You heard Ashes, gender rules are stupid.”

“Who said it made me happy.” Jonny pouted.

“You’re ignoring the question, Jonny. Besides, I have good vision, surprisingly enough, I see how you get when I convince you to do something more girly.” he used Jonnys word, thinking that feminine might not go over well.

Jonny moped for a bit and said: “I don’t think it’s weird.”

Tim sighed: “Jonny, you just asked me if I thought it was weird and something is obviously stopping you from doing it. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, but you don’t get to lie and say that something isn’t stopping you.”

It was quiet for a few seconds after that, it seemed Jonny was building up the courage to tell Tim something, so Tim waited patiently until the other was ready. Taking a deep breath, Jonny said: “I saw Henry hanging, when I was little.”

“Who’s Henry?” Tim asked, confused and not expecting that answer.

“Just a guy in my town, tried to pay another guy to have sex with him, so they hung him on his own windmill. Threw away all the bread that was made with his flour too and left him hanging there until he fell.” Jonny told him, “I saw him. I think I was ‘round twelve.”

Tim suddenly remembered how scared Jonny had been to admit he liked guys, how they even thought he might be straight at one point, because he had hidden it so well. It was crazy to see how much he’d grown since then.

“That must’ve been terrible.” Tim replied, unsure how else to react.

Jonny shrugged: “Wasn’t the first body, but it did leave an expression. I think what was shittier was how my dad talked about him afterwards, you know.”

“I can see how something like that would stop you from ever trying something that wasn’t considered safe,” Tim told him, choosing his words as carefully as he’d chosen his steps I a minefield “but we all aren’t your father, Jonny. The Aurora is not New Texas. You don’t have to hide here, if you want to walk around in high heels and a skirt with bright red lips and corset then you do that.”

“Everyone will think it’s weird if I suddenly did that. They’ll think it’s a joke and laugh at me.” Jonny was close to tears at this point.

“No, they won’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Tim said, putting a arm around Jonnys shoulders in a comforting manner, allowing the First Mate to lean into him.

“Why are you so nice about this? To me?” Jonny mumbled.

Tim let out a breath and decided that Jonny deserved some honesty in return. So he said: “I loved Bertie, you know, never told him that, but I loved them. When he died, and then I died, I regretted it, but I’ve gotten a new chance at life. I promised myself to never miss an opportunity again, you also deserve to do the things you never dared when you were mortal, Jonny.”

“I’m sorry about Bertie.” Jonny told him.

“It’s alright, I made peace with it, well, sort of.” Tim replied.

After that they fell quiet for a few minutes, just sitting with their sides pressed together. Jonny broke it: “You really think they won’t laugh?”

“Of course not. No one laughs at Ashes either, do they?” Tim said.

“That’s different, they fall in between, I’m still a man. They probably think I’m making fun of them and kill me for it, I would deserve it too.” Jonny retorted.

“It is different, but that doesn’t mean what you’re doing is bad. Everyone expresses themselves in different ways, I do it with painting my nails and braiding my hair or with my goggles and you do it your own way.” Tim said.

“I’ll think about it.” Jonny finally decided.

It was the best Tim could hope for. It was also clear that Jonny wanted the conversation about this to end, so Tim nodded: “Alright, now get up and help me sort the armory.”

“Why?” Jonny asked.

“You need to function on those bad boys and I want those goggles really bad, so walking it is.” Tim replied with a grin, “Chop, chop, we don’t have all day.”

Jonny rolled his eyes, but he seemed better as he pushed himself off the couch and slowly followed after Tim.

By the time the day was over, Jonny was richer and the proud owner of a caliber 14 laser rifle. He also was pretty good in walking on heels, although his feet hurt like a bitch and he complained about it the entire night.

After his conversation with Jonny, Tim tried not to push him any further. He had done his part and now it was up to Jonny to see what he would do with the things Tim had told him.

He still kept a close eye on the First Mate and was glad to see that Jonny still wore the jewelry and the belt, he also noted that his eyeliner had become a bit more elegant.

A few weeks, later Jonny also shyly asked Tim to paint his nails again, so Tim didn’t worry about Jonny spiraling into the wrong direction.

The heels didn’t come back though, but when Tim left his ones by Raphaella in the lab, he saw that one pair was missing.

They had been planetside a few times after that when Tim noticed something one day.

Jonny didn’t have a terrible posture, but he never stood up that straight, his belt was also a bit tighter, so Tim said: “There is something different about you today, can’t pinpoint it.”

His eyes widened and he blushed. He quickly looked around to see if anyone else was there, before he lifted his shirt and showed Tim the corset underneath. He said: “It’s just for me, I just wanted to know what it was like.”

Tim smiled and said: “Well, you look great.”

“Thank you.” Jonny returned the smile.

“Wanna race to the kitchen? I heard Marius was baking today. Loser gets shot, winner dibs?” Tim asked.

“Sure.” and Jonny was already sprinting, a bit more out of breath at the end, but otherwise just business as usual.

It didn’t happen every day and it wasn’t all that noticeable, but Tim could see when Jonny would be wearing the corset. He also got a few more flow-y white blouses and boots with a thicker heel than he normally had.

Months went by like that until one night Tim got awoken by a knock on his door. Grumpily he opened and squinted against the light with a harsh: “What?”

“Uh, sorry, I forgotten how early it was.” came Jonnys voice.

“Is there a reason for waking me?” Tim asked, still waking up, but a bit less grumpy with Jonny there.

“I need you to help me.” Jonny told him.

“Help you with what, Jonny? I don’t have the brainpower for your dancing around what you want me to do.” Tim rubbed his eyes.

Jonny dawdled for a second, then he softly said: “I wanna wear this outfit, but I don’t want anyone to laugh at me, but I also don’t wanna talk to them about it and I hoped you might help, but if you don’t that’s okay, sorry for waking you. That was dumb, sorry. I hadn’t thought about it and now it’s too-”

“Jonny, shut up.” Tim recognized the anxious rambling from when Jonny had come out to them and ended it as soon as possible, “I’ll help.”

“Uh, oh, thank you.” Jonny stammered.

“No, problem, now go back to bed.” Tim said, closing the door again.

He made sure to be up before Jonny and went to the common area near the kitchen. Everyone except Jonny was already there, which was good, so he cleared his throat and said: “People, quick little thing.”

“What is it, Tim?” Ivy asked.

“Jonny is going to come in with an outfit that you’re maybe not used to and everyone is going to be nice about, okay. I know you all like to tease, but not today.” he gave them all an intent looks until he was sure that all would listen.

“Of course.” Brian said.

“How is it differently then?” Ashes asked, “I’m not going to do anything, just curious.”

“Haven’t seen it, he just asked me to tell you.” Tim shrugged.

“Why you?” Nastya asked.

“Me and Jonny are friends.” Tim pouted, a bit offended at the suggestion that they weren’t, “We talk.”

Then the door creaked open and Jonny poked his head around the corner, before walking in. He had his black leather boots with the small heel on, a pair of tighter gray-brown pants that pleated out at the top, tucked in the pants was a papyrus colored corset, one of his white flow-y blouses coming from the top. He also had a few golden bracelets around his wrist, dangle-y earrings and two belts hung loosely around his hips.

He looked at the floor for a second, before he met their eyes and softly waved a: “Hi.”

Tim smiled and said: “Look at you! You look great, Jonny.”

The others realized what Jonny had been so afraid off and all fell over themselves to tell Jonny how much they liked his outfit and how well it suited him.

Slowly Jonny lost the tension and bashfulness he’d showed up with and by the end of breakfast he was roughhousing and yelling like normal and he’d already shot Ashes for finding out they’d cheated during their card game yesterday, like he hadn’t had a stack of cards up his sleeve the entire time as well.

They were about to bring away the dishes, when Jonny coughed and in an uncharacteristically vulnerable voice he said: “Uhm, thank you for not being assholes about it.”

“Why would we be, Jonny?” Brian asked, “It’s just clothes and you look good, comfortable. We wouldn’t be assholes about it.”

Jonny looked helplessly at Tim, who nodded and explained: “New Texas was a shit place, definitely not the best planet to grow up on if you’re someone like Jonny, or any of us for that matter.”

Understanding came over the others as they nodded with sympathetic expressions. Ashes slung an arm over Jonnys shoulders and said: “Well, fuck them anyway. You’re better than that.”

Grinning at them, Jonny agreed with a cheer: “Fuck yeah.”

Over the course of the next few weeks Jonnys outfits became more feminine. He still wore other stuff from time to time, but he seemed happier in the new outfits he wore, less like something was weighing on him. No one had seen the invisible weight until it was gone.

When they landed on a planet, Ashes loaded a gun and told Jonny: “We’re robbing some clothing stores, grab Tim since you’re so attached to him and come along.”

“What?” Jonny asked.

“We’re getting you more nice clothes, come on.” Ashes repeated, then they called out: “Tim!”

Tim poked his head around the corner: “What?”

“We’re robbing stores for nice clothes for Jonny, wanna come?” Ashes asked him.

“Heck yeah.” Tim yelled, running to join them.

“You don’t- I don’t- it’s not-” Jonny was stammering.

“Don’t be daft, Jonny.” Ashes told him, “You look nice and happy, you deserve more of those clothes. I know some of them got ruined with the blood and the bullet holes, so you need more. We’re getting them, no complaining.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Jonny was utterly confused.

Ashes gave him a smile and said: “I know how nice it is to have clothes that make you happy inside, now come.”

With that Jonny shut up and let them and Tim drag him along to the giant shopping center the planet had.

At first Jonny was hesitant about grabbing stuff. His eyes lingered on delicate necklaces, some socks with bows and even a dark blue skirt with a copper cog pattern on it, but he didn’t dare to touch them. So Ashes just ripped them of the rack and sternly stated: “You better start grabbing things, d’Ville.”

And so Jonny did, he started taking things from the racks. He got fishnets, heels, dresses, skirts, a few pants, dungarees, jewelry, makeup and hairpieces.

He still had a blush on his face throughout the whole thing and he didn’t make eye contact with Ashes or Tim, instead wordlessly handing them the clothes, but at least he was taking stuff he wanted.

It was all going well until Jonny stilled in front of a display and gaped at the feather fans, boas and hip pieces.

He swallowed heavily and stared, not noticing how Ashes and Tim gave him questioning looks and tried to get his attention. After a while of ignoring them, Tim put his hand on Jonnys shoulder and asked: “Jonny?”

Jonny snapped his head around and mumbled: “What? Oh, uh, nothing. I’m fine.”

His eyes drifted back to the display, ignoring Tim once more. So Tim spoke up again: “Want to get the feathers?”

“Oh, no, it’ll be impractical and they’ll get ruined and, you know, it’s stupid. Feathers don’t really fit with the whole aesthetic we got going on either, no matter how pretty they are.” he tapered off at the end, voice getting dreamy.

“We can make feathers steampunk.” Ashes told him.

Jonny bit his lip and looked at the display once more. If he had been hesitant about everything else, that couldn’t match up with how he was hesitating now. He shook his head softly and murmured to himself: “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why wouldn’t it be the same?” Tim asked.

Startling a bit, Jonny said: “Oh, it’s weird and doesn’t matter. Never mind.”

“We’ve been over this before, Jonny, spit it out.” Tim pushed him fondly.

“It’s just, this going to sound weird, but back home, back on New Texas, Jack he had- Well, you see he had these show girls in the casino.” Jonnys cheeks were burning as he explained, “They danced with feathers and all dolled up and stuff. I always- I, uh, I always wondered what it would be like to- to, you know, to be one of them.”

His voice was barely a whisper at the end and he buried his face in his hands as he whined: “See, it’s weird and embarrassing.”

Ashes lit up and said: “Jonny, we’re making you the prettiest show girl there is.”

“What?” Jonny squeaked.

“Oh, come on, this is what it’s been building up to, isn’t it.” Ashes said, “It’ll be fun, besides I have nothing against you walking around looking like a hot show girl, it’ll be just as good for me as it is for you.”

“I agree, I think it would be amazing to see you walk around like a cute show girl.” Tim agreed.

It looked like Jonnys head was going to explode from the heat on Jonnys cheeks as he scream-whispered: “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” Ashes said nonchalantly, “Now, go pick out some show girl outfits.”

They pushed him into the store and Jonny didn’t fight. This was it, a dream he’d had since he was fifteen. He walked through the store like it was holy ground and he touched all the pieces with reverence.

Tim and Ashes made themselves comfortable on the couch, setting down the enormous amounts of bags they had acquired throughout the day.

They didn’t get to see the outfits Jonny tried out, but he returned an hour later with five more bags and a small smile on his face. He said: “I think I have enough clothes now.”

Returning the smile, Tim said: “That’s nice, wanna go back?”

Jonny nodded and took some of the bags from them. The way back to the Aurora was silent, but comfortable. They took the bags to Jonny room, but before they could leave Jonny stopped them and said: “Uh, thank you, this means a lot.”

“No problem, Jonny.” Tim told him.

“Nah, did it with love.” Ashes winked.

Throughout time they saw more and more pieces they’d helped Jonny pick out and he looked very happy with his new stuff, and after the others had realized how he’d gotten the new outfits and accessories, they also started to leave little gifts for him, making him smile and blush every time he opened them.

Overall he still acted the same, except now he just kicked Marius in the nuts with a twirl of his skirt instead the swoosh of his vest, but they never saw the show girl pieces.

Not that they were going to ask about them either, from what Jonny had said it was clear the outfits were personal, but that didn’t stop them from talking about them.

“I just wonder what he looks like, you know.” Tim slurred, one night when it was just the two of them, draped over the couch with too much alcohol in their systems.

“You’re right, he’d probably have heels and like, ugh, legs.” Ashes tried to get their point across.

Tim understood them perfectly: “Yes! Legs. Oh, and waist. Yeahh.”

Ashes groaned: “We’re so fucked for the dude, aren’t we.”

“Yeah, we are.” Tim slid further down dramatically, “At least he’s pretty. And I think most of the crew is fucked at this point as well. Especially Brian and Marius.”

Agreeing Ashes took another swig, then they toasted: “To Jonnys legs and waist.”

Tim grinned and raised his bottle as well and echoed: “To Jonnys legs and waist.”

Unbeknown to them, it wasn’t just the two of them at all. Jonny had been on his way to join them again, finding that he couldn’t sleep, so drinking was a better option. He had stilled just outside the door to listen when he had heard the conversation.

After the toast the two fell asleep on the couch and Jonny backed away. His head was spinning with the blood that had rushed to it and the information that swirled around in his brain.

He’d put on some of the outfits before, a few times already, just in his bedroom. He’d looked at himself in front of the mirror inspecting every angle with a happy bubble floating in his chest. He liked looking like that, he liked feeling pretty, but the fear of looking stupid or being laughed at or killed had stopped him.

It didn’t matter that the others hadn’t killed him or laughed at him before for his outfits and told him it was okay, this was so much further than those things and he didn’t think he could emotionally survive it if they decided that it was too weird.

But now here were Ashes and Tim, toasting to the idea in that outfit. They liked it, despite the fact that they’d never seen it. That did funny things to him.

He didn’t fall asleep that night, instead he laid in his bed and replayed the conversation over and over in his head until he had analyzed it in a 100 different ways. He wanted advise about it, but the only people he trusted for advise about all this were Ashes and Tim, so he just tossed and turned instead.

The conversation he’d overheard played heavy on his mind the next day and it seemed the others picked up on it, because Tim cornered him and asked: “Hey, Jonny, are you okay? You look like something’s bothering you.”

On one hand Jonny didn’t want to admit what he had heard, but on the other he desperately wanted to know what they had meant with it all and what he was supposed to do with it.

He bit his lip then said: “I, uhm, I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t sleep and I knew you and Ashes were still awake, so I thought I’d come back, but then I heard you talking and it, uh, it was about me so I, I listened.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Jonny.” Tim said mortified, “We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all. Sorry that you had to hear that. God that’s so embarrassing, sorry, really.”

“It’s okay, I just don’t get it.” Jonny replied.

“What?” Tim said.

“I don’t get it.” Jonny repeated.

“What don’t you get, Jonny, I’m still not a mindreader.” Tim told him gently.

Jonny bunched the fabric of his skirt, the dark blue one with the copper cog design, as a nervous habit and confessed: “Why you like the idea so much. For me it’s about liking myself and feeling pretty like the show girls, but I’m not them and I look dumb in it, honestly, so why would you two like it so much?”

“Did you ever think about the fact that we might think you look pretty in the clothes, Jonny?” Tim asked him.

“But I’m not pretty, I know I’m not.” Jonny exploded a bit, “I’m short and stocky with wild hair that never sits the way I want it, I’m a maniac and you can see that in my eyes. That’s not pretty, Tim, don’t tell me that it is.”

“Oh, Jonny.” Tim sighed and pulled him into a hug.

He kissed the top of Jonnys head and said: “Me and Ashes seem to disagree with you. We think you’re very pretty. You never see how lively you look when you’re beating Raphaella to a pulp after she’s pissed you off or how excited you get when someone gets you a little gift. You look very pretty then, there’s a reason the crew keeps giving you them.”

“But they don’t me-”

“Shush, Jonny, let me talk.” Tim ignored the interruption, “You can’t see everything in a mirror, dear. You’re very pretty, especially when you’re happy or violent. I loathe to think, you dislike yourself. We like the idea of you in those clothes, because to us you’re very pretty, beautiful even, and we think those clothes would accentuate that beauty even more.”

Jonny was quiet. He stood there in Tims arms and let the words wash over them. He’d never thought of himself as pretty or beautiful, the clothes made him feel like that, but there was always a voice in his head that told him it wasn’t true.

He swallowed thickly as he tried to get his emotions under control. He didn’t succeed only managing: “You called me dear.”

Like he was burned Tim let go and apologized again: “Sorry, Jonny, sorry, I let it slip out that was uncalled for.”

Jonny blushed and said: “I liked it.”

“You did?” Tim asked, not believing his ears.

“Uh, yeah, it’s nice?” Jonny replied uncertain.

“Oh, can I- can I keep doing it?”

“Please.”

Tim smiled and said: “Well, then, dear, I just want to say you’re very pretty, beautiful, just absolutely gorgeous and if you want to you can wear those pretty clothes and feel pretty, but you don’t have to, I just want to tell you that none of us would mind.”

“They’re a bit extravagant and impractical.” Jonny argued, unable to handle the complement and therefore ignoring it.

“Well, I’m sure that your task around this ship is nothing more than sit and look pretty, which you are very successful at.” Tim teased with a smirk.

Jonny spluttered a bit not able to come up with a good reply.

“Just think about, okay. Just like last time. I’ll be here.” Tim assured him gently.

Still not in control enough to speak Jonny nodded and hugged him again, giving him a small peck on the cheek, before hurrying down the hall, the click of his heels echoing behind him.

Once he’d disappeared Tim slid down the wall and touched his cheek, then he softly, but passionately whispered to himself: “Fuck.”

Before getting up to find Ashes, because they needed to know what had happened. He needed to be able to tell someone and he couldn't think of anyone better to vent to about this particular subject than Ashes.

Except maybe Brian and Marius, he knew those two were staring at Jonny and not all that subtly if he might add, but he and Ashes were the only ones that knew about the show girl outfits and it would feel like a break of trust towards Jonny to tell someone else.

After he’d told Ashes everything they decided that it was completely unacceptable that Jonny didn’t think he was pretty, so they decided to dial up the complements, leaving Jonny flustered. They also gave him the nickname darlin’.

With Tim and Ashes both calling Jonny a pet name of sorts the two others had decided that it was now law. So, Brian called him sweetheart and Marius addressed him as princess. Only The Toy Solider and the wlw aboard the Aurora referred to Jonny by his name.

At first Jonny had squeaked and hid when he was spoken to with a pet name, but now he only flushed a bright red.

It was during dinner when Jonny, with too much nonchalance to be normal, asked: “Is there anything unusual happening tomorrow?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, princess.” Marius said, “How so?”

“Oh, uh, nothing in particular, I wanted to wear this outfit, but it’s a bit impractical, so if there was going to be a lot of action I’m not going to put it on.” Jonny tried a laid back tone, but the thrumming nervousness was still clear.

Tim and Ashes visibly perked up at his confession and Jonny moped: “Okay, calm down. You caught me, I wanna wear one of the outfits, you happy?”

“What outfits, sweetheart?” Brian asked, very interested.

Jonny then realized that only Tim and Ashes knew what he had meant and that he was now going to have to explain it to everyone there what he had been referencing. He gestured vaguely and mumbled: “Oh, you know, uhm, an outfit with, uhm, feathers ‘n stuff...”

He trailed off at the end and ducked into himself, Tim made a questioning noise and Jonny gave him a nod, so Tim said: “Jonny has a very pretty outfit that Ashes and I haven’t seen either. It’s like a show girl. They used to have them back on New Texas, it’s where all this started.”

As red as a cherry, Jonny nodded and mumbled: “It’s just stupid, but it’s fun? It’s not special or anything.”

“Of course it’s special, darlin’.” Ashes exclaimed, “And it’s not stupid, you’re going to look gorgeous in it and if I’m honest I will be looking forward to tomorrow if that’s in store.”

“Ahw, princess, it’ll be nice, getting all dolled up for us.” Marius smiled.

“But it’s so extra. You know what I’m not doing it, it’ll be dumb, serves no purpose. It’ll be weird.” Jonny was already back paddling.

“Dear, no.” Tim said, “It doesn’t have to serve a purpose, do you think I need these goggles for my job? Or Brian and Marius those hats? Or The Toy Soldier that uniform? Of course not. It’s all extra things that make us happy. You wear that outfit if you want to.”

“Alright.” Jonny gave in, making them all smile, “But now it’s blown out of proportion, it’s really not that special.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Brian told him.

The rest of the dinner passed quietly, Jonny hightailing out of there as soon as he was done, not meeting anyones eyes. When he was gone Nastya groaned: “You’re all being disgusting, you know that right?”

“Like you and Aurora didn’t annoy us for centuries.” Tim rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s cute.” Raphaella smiled, “Jonny seems happy, don’t you agree, Nastya?”

Nastya was silent for a beat, then she threw her hands up and said: “Fine, I guess, he is and that’s good. He deserves it after everything, but that doesn’t mean I want it rubbed in my face, he’s like my brother and it’s weird.”

“I recall one time you told him, you quote ‘fuck the ship’, so I think he’s earned a bit of retribution.” Ivy reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Nastya dropped the subject.

After that they all went their separate ways as they thought of what tomorrow would bring, hopefully Jonny confidant in a show girl outfit, but who’s to say. If he backed out, he would and they couldn’t fault him for that.

The next morning, Jonny was standing in front of the mirror inspecting himself. He’d put on his favourite of the outfits, even some makeup to match, but he wasn’t sure.

Yes, the others had liked the idea, but what id he couldn’t live up to it? Or what if they had the wrong idea and when they saw him they would laugh at him? He could still back out, but that would disappoint them and he didn’t want to do that either.

He sighed and twirled again.

In the end it was the Aurora, who made the decision for him. A panel appeared with the message: The others are getting worried, if you’re not there in ten minutes I am 99% sure they’re going to look for you.

Ten minutes, that wasn’t enough time to get this all off and the last thing he wanted was for them to find him half dressed as he hurried to get undressed. He just had to take the plunge and hope they really did like it.

Tim had barely stood up to look for Jonny, when the sound of heels clicking at a fast pace called their attention to the door. A bit winded Jonny stopped in the doorway and breathed heavily as he apologized: “Sorry, lost the time.”

Four mouths hung agape as they stared at their First Mate.

The corset was a light pink that was dripping in pink rhinestones and lace. It was pulled tight to make his waist a few inches thinner. The hip pieces were a combination of feathers in the same pink and white, accentuating the hourglass figure the corset was giving him.

Underneath, he wore sheer white stockings with white lace on top and matching pink heels.

Around his fingers he had a few silver rings and rings with pearls. He also wore velvet pink gloves that went up to his elbow and he had a huge fan made from white feathers in his right hand.

To top it all off, he had put on a light shiny eyeshadow that sparkled along with pink lipstick and sharp eyeliner. On his head rested a silver headpiece, which also had pearls to make it all complete.

Once he noticed them all staring, he realized what outfit he was wearing and promptly hid his face behind the fan.

With the movement Tim came back online and he said with wonder: “Fuck, how are you so unbelievably pretty, dear.”

Jonny peaked out from behind the fan and slowly made his way over to the seat under the scrutiny of everyone else.

Since the others were still processing and Jonny was clearly still a bit uncomfortable with the lack of reaction from most, Nastya sighed and said: “I have to admit, Jonny, I didn’t think you could clean up so well.”

The complement wasn’t as laden with affection nor filled with words his mind couldn’t wrap around, so Jonny shot her a smile and did a little bow as he said: “Thank you, I tried.”

That got the others to function as well and they all told Jonny how nice and pretty he looked. Nastya rolled her eyes at the mushiness, but she couldn't be mad at them for making that smile appear on Jonnys face, not really.

After breakfast Ivy left on her own, while Nastya guided Raphaella and The Toy Soldier away to give the five of them some privacy.

Brian had meanwhile walked up to Jonny and offered a hand. He asked: “Can I have a dance, sweetheart?”

Jonny had never been more grateful for the fan, it really was perfect to hide his blush behind as he accepted the hand and allowed Brian to twirl him around.

He made him spin till their arms were stretched and then Jonny was taken over by Tim, who dipped him before swaying him from side to side, holding him so that he could hide his face in the crook on his neck.

He was then offered to Marius, who made him dance to a faster silent tune, putting his hands on his waist as they spun around the room with quick steps. Marius ended their little dance by picking him up and depositing him in Ashes arms.

Ashes held him for a second, before they carefully set him down on his feet and pulled him into a proper waltz. Jonny couldn't for the life think of where they would’ve picked that up, but this was Ashes and Ashes was full off surprises so he just let it be a delightful surprise.

After the impromptu dance session he was settled on the couch, smile high on his cheeks. They all settled down around him and with a happy sigh he stated: “I don’t know why you’re all so nice to me, but thank you.”

“Because we like you, dear.” Tim informed him.

With wide eyes Jonny looked as they all nodded with a smile. He then frowned and asked: “Really? All of you?”

“We tried to make it obvious, darlin’.” Ashes told him.

Apologetically Brian added: “We didn’t mean to spring it on you like this, sweetheart, and we want to assure you that it is completely fine if you don’t like us back.”

“Oh, no, I do, I just-” Jonny squirmed in his seat, before the word dam broke: “It would be cheating or something wouldn't it? I mean, it’s selfish and weird if I love all of you and I don’t want to make you feel bad or pick one of you or something, you’re all too nice for that and, oh, what would the others say or maybe I’m not- I’m not what you all assume and then you want to leave me or-”

“Dear.” Tim tried to cut him of, “Dear, stop, please. For us?”

Jonny stopped and gasped for air, fiddling with the fan as he vibrated in his seat with anxiety.

“It’s not selfish or weird.” Tim told him, “You just have a big heart, dear, and that just makes us love you more, okay. We’re also not going to make you pick, we don’t mind sharing, really, if you’re willing to love all of us, we would only be honored.”

“And Nastya already gave us as much of a blessing we’re going to get out of her.” Ashes said, “So don’t go breaking your pretty little head about that, darlin’.”

“You don’t have to give us an answer now, princess, take your time.” Marius assured him when Jonny stayed silent for a few moments.

“No, it’s- just processing.” Jonny said with a chocked off voice.

“Would it help if we hugged you?” Tim asked.

The nod Jonny gave was small, you would’ve missed it, if you weren’t paying attention. Luckily they all were paying very close attention, so they quickly gathered him up in their arms, until Jonny was sideways in Ashes lap with his feet thrown over Marius lap, while Tim hugged him from behind and Brian from the side.

They sat like that for a while, until Jonny broke the silence: “I, I do really love you all and I’d be, I’d be honored to call you all my partners, but I’m no good at that and I can’t promise you that I can be what you want me to be.”

“We just want you to be you, sweetheart.” Brian petted his hair softly.

“Yes, you say that now, but…” Jonny replied.

“And we’ll see how it goes, we just need to talk a bit together and see where everyone stands.” Marius said, “But we’ll figure it out. You won’t disappoint us, trust us.”

“But we can talk about all that later.” Ashes lifted the quiet, serious mood, “Because we really haven’t talked enough about how breathtakingly beautiful you look today, darlin’.”

With the temporary breather, everyone relaxed as they again lavished Jonny in complements and praises, this time also softly giving him pecks and hugging him close while they praised him. Until Jonny was flushed entirely red and beaming with pride, practically emitting a happy glow.

He was happy, they were happy and they had an eternity to be happy together.

New Texas was not a lot of things, but it was a shit place to grow up in if you’re someone as special and beautiful as Jonny d’Ville. However, if you managed to take the New Texas out of the boy, you were left with someone amazing.

~~~~~~~~~~

I know I normally only do A/Ns with AO3, but I thought these were too important for that:

All sexualities and stuff are headcanons, not a reflection of the band members or the characters if they see it differently.

Also, aroace people are queer and 100% valid and I will fight whoever says differently, (just in case that wasn’t clear, I love you all, be proud!)

Clothes are for every gender, fuck anyone who tells you otherwise, you can come to me and I will make sure their kneecaps are gone if they harass you.

In my mind this was just Jonnys gender expression/presentation not identity. For me, he wanted to be part of that world of glamor and attention, so here he still identifies as male with he/him pronouns, but if you want to think this is pre-exploration that will make him later realize he’s trans or non binary or any other gender, feel free! It’s up to your interpretation!

Although most the polycule ID’s as gay that does not mean Ashes isn’t the proud enby that they are, exceptions can be made and if the person is alright with their partner ID’ing as gay despite being with them then that’s their choice, as long as communication is there. It depends on the situation.

I didn’t really include the discussion of boundaries between them, because I am not in that sort of relationship, so I don’t think I would be able to write it down properly and I wouldn’t want to do the beautiful poly community a disservice :D

#RR writing #trigger warning #tw: homophobia #tw: internalized homophobia #tw: internalized misogyny #tw: self esteem issues #the mechs #the mechanisms #jonny d'ville #ashes o'reilly #gunpowder tim #drumbot brian #marius von raum #raphaella la cognizi #nastya rasputina #ivy alexandria #the toy soldier #aurora

32 notes · View notes

fortunebuoyed · 3 years

Text

Daniel/ @sittimoranimiinterfectorem‘s Armand, mention of past Claudmand, 3.5k, beta read.

The music chasing after his fleeing feet paints Armand an altogether joyous thing. As he dances through the corridor, its high windows setting the streetlights to illuminate his hair like a blaze, the Vampire seems more a child than Daniel has ever seen him. Meandering after him, Daniel is led past a dozen eras, the Caliphate blurring into the Romanesque only a doorway apart, past a hallway offering glimpses of Velazquez and Goya standing at odds across from one another. This Spanish gallery offers a myriad of delights, if the pair have the time and inclination to discover them.

There are better museums in Spain, though. The terrible pair had not traveled so far just to settle on a speck of locked up art for its own sake. All that matters tonight is a single painting tucked away somewhere in a corner of the Renaissance exhibit. Peering again at the leader of their expedition, Daniel realizes too late that Armand has been talking, babbling about the piece they now seek. Words flicker through his pounding head, ‘furs’ and ‘silks’ and every decadent luxury that is a dozen lifetimes removed from Autumn 1982. Pulling his faded denim tighter around his frame, the mortal fishes in his pocket for the painkillers that will banish the previous night from the present..

The headaches come so often of late, spurred by a poor diet and endless adventures across his nights. In fact, the artisan of his migraines proceeds with an airy laugh through the empty gallery, offering a little spin of delight. These games always bring him joy. The sound of his laugh echoes inside Daniel’s beleaguered skull as he takes the pills dry. The things he does for love.

Armand vanishes through a doorway in a flash, before his name can properly form on the other’s lips. He calls it regardless, stopping adjacent to the path that had dragged the vampire away from him. “Armand--”

“I’ll catch up,” comes the reply. Violet eyes raise to study the placard beside him -- Romanticism. The soft lines and endless layers of the style seem ill-suited to the artist’s tastes, but Daniel proves grateful for the chance to let the pills percolate in his bloodstream anyway. Carelessly, he hounds the corridor for an out, ever obedient to the directions the sweet-faced woman at the desk offered him. Twenty minutes to closing, she advised, Castilian accent rounded out with matronly care. The words had chased him, Armand already tugging him along on their great quest.

As she had said, the Renaissance collection stood to the left of the endless stroll, nestled into the furthest corner of the first floor. He cannot fault the layout. The collection is worth the wait. His steps echo across the parquet flooring, shadow looming across the pale marble figure that stands guard over the paintings lining the wall. Harsh shadows and demure womanhood paint a fine enough contrast to soothe his aches. Snippets of frescos hang liberated above his head. He thinks, it is a pity Armand did not follow. Whether he feels at home or not doesn’t much matter. The exhibit is a feast for the senses, the kind that Armand’s breed so adores.

The boy ancient has a wall to himself, just as promised, his bare ass peeking out from between a silk-draped divan and the vibrant fur of some golden beast. The modern Narcissus stares spellbound into the mirror set before him, reflecting features that have remained unchanged in the long centuries since. Marius was -- is? -- a master of his craft, and the appearance is so accurate as to set the human desperate to touch the canvas, as if there will be flesh against his touch rather than pigment.

He is in love with himself, Daniel decides, studying the awed expression that stares back from the mirror. Scoffing, he digs his fists into the pockets of his jeans, fleeing the rooms in totality. There is nothing left in the display to compare, and besides, their twenty minutes is almost up. If Armand is to discover this portrait of his unending youth, then he must be led swiftly to it. He is not, in fact, catching up. Abandoning the Renaissance without a glance towards the neighboring Gothic and Neoclassical rooms, Daniel tells himself that he must still be a little drunk, that the effigies seem too lifelike through the door out to the sculpture garden.

He has grown too accustomed to marble flesh and unsettling gazes. Yes, the statues appear alive to him now, but never in the way that Louis has described. His nails form perfect half-moons around his palms.

Armand’s stillness is so complete that, for the briefest moment, Daniel mistakes him for part of the collection. The redhead has not made it past the first room, stagnant in appraisal of a piece. It’s not like him. The terrible, unmoving moment seems wrong to tread upon, wronger still to permit. Rocking to and fro on his feet, the mortal casts a glance about the collection, looking at the pastel displays of nature and portraiture. Among this ephemeral flood, what can there be to possess his companion so? Slowly, cautiously, he approaches the other. How long has it been since I’ve hesitated with him?

Her dress is carmine, her hair a dark coil of curls braided around the crown of her head. The otherwise pleasant expression stares defiant out towards her audience, night-black eyes fierce despite the distance. Settling beside Armand, he recognizes the style immediately. The former stands there a long, long while, studying her features, his own brushwork. Daniel comes to settle beside him, feeling ceaselessly awkward for intruding. The apparent youth is no longer Narcissus staring into his own abyss. This face is a stranger.

Unnamed Mulatto, the little gold placard reads.

“Who was she?” Daniel whispers.

“They were the last human I fell in love with,” comes the confession, comes the breath catching in Daniel’s throat. He studies her, then the chain of gold around her neck, clutches the locket against his shirt.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, because what else is he meant to say? This dark woman, frightfully made, defiant even in facsimile, gives him little else to go on. There is something discordant in that face which makes him a liar, her soft smile at odds with her sharp stare.

“You should have seen them swordfight.”

“I didn’t think women could do that back then.”

And he's already thinking, what in me will you admire after I am gone? He studies those dark eyes, which seem so lifeless to him, a dark abyss in a sea of white, a grave come to swallow him. She is dead. He knows that as surely as his own name.

“They weren't a woman. But at the same time they were.”

Daniel doesn't understand it. He can't, in the parlance of the era, except that she -- they -- are singular in Armand's eyes. Or perhaps they make a matching set, he and this lost muse. Her warm oval face, offset by the chill of his realizations, seems unfathomably more abhorrent in the ensuing silence. Her mortality is his. It sours in his pit.

He doesn’t recognize Armand’s absence, his searching around for something sharp enough that he could rectify some flaw in the presentation. All Daniel registers is the horrific scraping as the vampire scratches their name into the placard: Claudia di Montoya. The spell breaks. Autumn 1982 rushes back into focus. Inhaling, Daniel discovers that the room is suddenly too hot for him. Sliding out of his jacket, he forces a new purpose into the air.

“Right. So. we have less than ten minutes, if that, before security picks us up, and I have to show you where I finally found your ass in this gallery--”

Bloodless fingers trace the new marks carved into gold, lingering over the syllables of Claudia, brown eyes boring into their own. The hand drops, and Armand drags himself up from the depths of memory. “Alright, Daniel. Lead the way.”

He knows that he must have done so, that they stand studying the canvas depicting a then human boy. He knows that Armand does not react with his commonplace amusement, his rundown of the events leading up to the pieces creation. This is not like Naples, or Prague, or Ontario, where they have found similar depictions of his life as a muse. The most the immortal offers is a slow smile, a hushed “There it is,” and Daniel understands very well what the difference is between Naples, Prague, Ontario, and Leon.

Why are they always named Claudia?

The question hounds him on their escape, down the city streets, into the bar where Daniel carves out a small meal of hot tapas. The two of them remain quiet among the ebb and flow of locals seeking a snack between dinner, and it’s so unlike Armand. It’s unlike Daniel, too, to go without his customary drink. Armand has dragged him around the world so he could be a part of it, but he sits consumed, contemplative. In this walled world of smoke and voices, a dozen languages flowing like wine, Daniel imagines the other a world way. In his own mind, the vampire must still be in another room, far from Venice, long before this bar. She dances up to him, crimson swirling around her ankles as the band plays a waltz through a gilded palace. She’s staring his keeper down like a shark, that awkward smile a threat, and like any proper storybook villainess, she devours her target whole. Skin, blood, curls, and lace, Armand is engulfed into her, a wooden puppet fed into flames. Daniel holds his glass all the tighter.

That pensive mood fails to pass as they leave. There are no further stops along their walk to whatever passes for home, the rented room in a crumbling piece of ancient architecture. Daniel decides that he is tired of history, though he turns his question over until it is worn smooth.

It is the sole question he can tolerate. It is the only one without a clear or meaningful answer, and if he dares to branch out from it, he’ll be heading straight for bedlam. The overlap of names can mean nothing but coincidence. The golden chain, the choice of words, the melancholy that has settled inside of his jailer, these things carry far greater meaning. Thoughts, and his desperate attempts to block them, consume him so deeply that he hardly notices Armand slipping away when the moon is at his highest. In his absence, Daniel finds little to do but lean against the worn metal lining the balcony and smoke.

Armand returns, but not alone. Like an alchemist, he has gathered his tools, ready to perform some magic on the task he has chosen. He places the late beloved upon the desk with such care, the rags and chemicals he has brought along burning at mortal senses. His paints and brushes are at the ready, and Daniel feels fire build in his chest. Uncaring, the other begins his careful undertaking, hardly needing light to go about his restoration.

Daniel hates it, actually. hates this memento mori lurking under this rented roof, hates that this is all he will be one day. In another hundred years, will Armand point at some ash-haired man in a gallery and say to someone else 'That was Daniel, I loved him very much, he was a fool, but he was beautiful when he was in his right mind' ? His latest cigarette burns too close to his fingers. He drops it, careless, to the streets below, staring at the tiny, irritated mark it has left behind. Nothing is said, but the night grows cold, and his tactical retreat is pyrrhic. There is warmth within, yes, but also the ghost Armand chooses to set between them.

Shutting the door to the world outside, the pair become locked into that harsh company, the spectral Claudia with her hands around her lover’s throat.

Slumping into what passes for his chair, the human passes the next hour in silence, so pointedly ignoring the work that it consumes his every thought. Dexterous digits dance along the desk, seeking oils, seeking brushes, seeking that which will return his dead beloved to him. Daniel’s own hands twitch uselessly against the arms of his seat. Here, he is powerless, less than a thought, less than a long-dead stranger. The silence is broken at last by the devil himself.

“They never believed me, about any of it. I told them everything, Vampires, my past, and Claude always thought I was lying through my teeth. Even faced with proof, they blamed my theatricality and my staff’s skill with stagecraft. It never broke them, the truth, not like others.” Fondness colors his voice in spite of it. For every way in which this person might spite him, his voice is heavy with reverence.

Daniel must ask, in that soft, hesitant voice, “Is that why you never turned them?”

“No.” Armand does not pause as he speaks, a slip of a brush still swirling against the canvas. “They had a life. They loved someone else, their princess, named Haydee. They had children eventually. They had a human life, and I wouldn't take them away from that.”

How gracious, then, for the bloodsucker to show restraint with those that desired it. He’d never done a damn thing for those that actually want anything from him, after all. “Good for them,” Daniel says, and he reaches for his cigarettes, lights one. Standing, he resigns himself to the curiosity that colors his distaste, clears the distance between them to study Armand's undertaking so far. There's so much yellow paint. and he thinks, I am here, and I love you, only you. What does a human life have to offer me? But he simply exhales, silent, as smoke hangs in the air between them.

If he loves himself in death as he did in humanity, then Daniel need only reflect the vampire as clearly and coolly as Marius’ mirror. If he loved another and let them go, then there are no assurances between them, no safety net to catch Daniel as he struggles towards death or immortality. The architect of his salvation could choose to damn him instead, wholly untouched by his plight. He imagines the pitiless creature before him pristine as the white button up clinging to his form, absent of any trace of paint. The palette of Daniel’s desire for him, for everything he is, might never reach him.

Armand must feel the emotions rolling off him, but he ignores it in favor of continuing to fix the painting. The restorers cannot have ruined the original too deeply for as quickly as he rights their wrongs. The whole of his focus narrows to knifepoint over the abyss that had so captured his companion, which remain defiant in the dim of their quarters. Daniel watches her stare blaze to life under Armand's steady hands, gilded and bright. People have always spoken of his own eyes, like violets. Is this what the other likes best, the fire in eyes that give the rest of the world pause?

Once the golden irises are right, the master artist goes to refining the rest. The changes are small, but somehow urgent. Armand moves furiously to make the portrait as it should be, as it was originally. The barest twitch of his fingers transforms the image into something greater. Red curls slip free of the scrunchie that bunches his hair to a low bun against his spine, turning the vampire to a mess as he keeps at his artistic endeavors.

His lover might have kissed that pallid neck and drawn him from his efforts, were Daniel any more forgiving of this intruder and how Armand forces her into their life.

“She's not smiling anymore,” Daniel notes at last, when the change is finalized. Her face pulls into harmony as her mouth turns to a hard line. “Was that her mood then, or yours now?”

There’s age in the way he sighs, true age. For a moment, Daniel imagines himself catching a glimpse of what Armand should have been, had the chance to grow and dedicate himself to his first talents. Hunched over his workspace, world narrowing to his subject alone, the youth becomes a master. Daniel hates this, too, this thought that would mean his master’s death, nothing other than a historical footnote. He deserves more than that. He deserves more than this momentary obsession that tears at whatever trust the two have rebuilt in the months since Daniel’s return.

“They're not smiling because someone dared to touch their portrait that was not my hands. It's what they would want.”

Those hands dance smoothly across the stolen art, ensuring his vision return to the world. He must not want this ancient Lenore to return from her sepulchre to damn him for the mistakes of other artisans. Dead is dead, the mortal knows, and they are owed nothing. When had Armand last spared a thought for this loved and lost before the museum so rudely reminded him of her existence? She doesn’t belong here, this poorly lit room with yellowed wallpaper, because it is theirs, and she is worth far more than the entire building.

“Mm,” Daniel hums, and doesn't have much else to say. In spite of his mood, there is something riveting in this, actually, watching the master at work. He had been born far too late for the Palazzo, for the golden days when the boy in front of him assisted in his Master’s artistic pursuits. He’s only ever been left with the aftermath of that golden age, the pieces scattered across museum displays and private collections the world over. This should be a great gift, watching his lover keep at his ancient craft. But he's still so bitter about the shape his night has taken.

“What pendant is she wearing?” he asks, once he is properly braced for the possibility that the locket around his neck belongs to a cycle. He had once thought it was his own, a gift passed between lovers that said whatever else his keeper was, he was protective of what counted as his.

The other offers a comfortingly familiar shrug that sets his shoulders colliding with his ears, saying simply, “Some pendant. I don’t know. Perhaps a piece Haydee gave them.”

Daniel relaxes. Comforted, he steps away from their shared obsession, slumps into his chair, snuffs out his cigarette on its upholstered arm and flicks it towards a pile of books. Dragging a hand through his hair, he concedes there exist small mercies in Armand's presence.

He does not know what time passes in the euphoria of that small victory. He keeps time in the fact that it has been long enough for him to get lost in his thoughts, for the night to grow ever smaller. Whether it is minutes or hours later, Armand finishes his first phase of restoration and throws himself into Daniel’s orbit. The former’s body fits perfectly against his, straddling him, pushing him backwards with insistent hands as kisses the warmth from Daniel’s lips.

“You and Claude are not the same. For one, you love me back. For two, they are long dead. I loved them once, but that love is in the past. I only wish to honor them now by making sure their portrait is in hands that will care for it properly. I'll send it off to the Montoya estate in Sardinia once it's finished being restored.”

The mortal lays there, dispassionate, as he listens to these assertions. and what can he possibly say to that? God, his lover thinks he's jealous. If he compares himself to this fallen woman, it isn't in self-pity -- it is to outdo her, to look at where she failed and he might yet succeed. But he allows Armand to kiss him, kiss his lips cold as marble, and says nothing of how he refuses to be another portrait to be repaired. His mind is made. All that’s left is to make a plan of it.

Armand keeps up the kissing, down to his neck, to play at biting only to merely drag his teeth along pale skin. His hand reaching down to rub Daniel through his pants, falling into a pattern so familiar that it would be boring were it any less fulfilling. He recognizes what Armand thinks, mind gift or no. Perhaps sex will get his mind off of all this.

He lets Armand believe that it will. Lets himself give in, already deciding to make his stand, yet another escape. Tomorrow, perhaps, when the sun is up. Perhaps taking the unfortunate girl with him. It will be cruel, beyond any attempt he’s made in the past, to deprive the vampire of his companionship and a newfound project. It must be done, however, to speak what cannot be conveyed properly in words. There will be a statement in this even if he does fall again, consumed by the need for Armand, for his slender arms and white-hot blood.

He won't be content to be art.

#let's hear it for rock bottom [ DANIEL ; WANDERING ]#cutting each other without even knowing [ DANIEL X ARMAND ]#heaven sends and heaven takes [ claude & armand ]#drabbletagtba #this is the first longform oneshot i have written in.... years.

5 notes · View notes