I will admit. As much as Jayne is an absolute disaster, when you move the Puppet and Ortega from him, he'll instantly collapse into a painfully soft and domestic soul and it warms my heart.
There should be a soft light caressing each divot and mark running across Chen's face, but he pulled the curtains shut before you got there. They always said it was the little things that mattered, and you're starting to see why as a smile unwilling worms its way onto your face. You shuffle closer, a lanky bean pole in a blanket burrito, and pressed a kiss against his brow.
His nose scrunches up a little, maybe at the lingering scruff scrapping against skin, and he reaches out to pull you closer. So soft, dangerous feelings. But maybe danger doesn't always have to mean risking a fall.
Well, a physical one.
"Morning~" You whisper, scared to break the calming veneer. You still reach up to mess with his sleep-fucked hair. So short, and still it manages. Strong arms wrap around your middle, rolling you over onto his stomach. A strangled snap dies in your throat as Chen opens his eyes, a smile wrinkling the corners as his thoughts cover you with a softest dusting of joy. He's happy you stayed, that you're still here. He knew, but as they say, seeing is believing and he definitely likes what he sees.
Actually, re: me having Seneca storm-chasing feelings, enjoy this short story about him and the Beloved I wrote a few months back.
Seneca + Beloved; Chasing Storms
It was mostly an excuse to write them being cute together and explore the Beloved's feelings about storms, and to get more practice with coding in general, lol. But I still like it. c:
(Don't click 'show stats' though. They aren't any atm and it just breaks things. ^^;; )
I was looking for something else in my dribbles folder, but I found this. It's a half-idea and very much unfinished, but I still enjoy it. Ryder x Reyes, but mostly just Ryder dealing with the aftermath of playing with Remtech on his own.
------
For a boy that once drunk ryncol and lived, the drop from Lexi's drug cocktail goes right to the top of Auggie’s shittiest experiences ever list. Whether that cocktail is trying to hold back his mind or simply broke fully open and existence simply transcends beyond comprehension, he can only follow its path.
Words stop having any sense of meaning as does time. Every sensation, every sound, explodes around him like ten thousand fractal grenades. It's too much, everything everywhere, and this constant ping ping ping like a broken radar but loud, so loud and no one else seems to hear it and he's pretty sure he's floating outside his body again too. It freaks him out, being too here and nowhere at the same time too.
He can't feel anything at all except the whole of the universe. It’s terrifying.
“It's a side-effect of the Remnant”, a light says and after an eternity or maybe just a moment, it adds, “I think.”
He blinks back into existence.
“You think?!?” Snapping his head up, it doesn’t take long for everything to become too much again and a hand quickly guides it back down again. He faceplants into something soft, solid, warm and another arm or maybe thirty loop around his waist.
It feels familiar, a repeated pattern over time and Auggie feels loved like he’s never been loved before.
“Just stay here.” It speaks gently, stroking what feels like his soul but probably is just his hair. It’s nice, until the first light continues.
“You used a lot of it. Unassisted. Your brain is …It’s trying to cope.”
“I'm gonna puke.”
“No. That’s why you're staying here. Breathe, it'll be fine.“ His favorite light says, gently guiding him back to reality with words and love.
“I like this light.” He pats the space in front of him. The hand stops, for a moment but moments are eternities now and Auggie just whines until it comes back.
“So needy.” But affection laces every syllable.
Nothing else tries to reason with him after that but hand stays put, gently playing with his soul as Auggie falls through a millennium of suspended motion.
When he finally reaches the end, breaking through the film of existence and time begins again and words stop overlying into a millions languages and dialects, Auggie finds himself on the Tempest.
He’s in his room, though not in his bed.
Outside, a dark unnatural planet floats in space, barely visible to the naked eye. Stars burn around and he's curled up against Reyes' chest.
It must be uncomfortable, with his feet up on the desk. That, and Auggie’s scrawny ass can’t be helping any. He weighs nearly nothing, but nearly nothing over a millennium must still be exhausting all the same.
There's still a hand in his hair, and exhaustion tugs his head down again. What's another hour, after all?
I held myself to posting up my silly dribbles, go me! <33
I figured posting on Ao3 would be the easiest, so I can just yeet them into one doc. Enjoy some old stuff I've posted before, and some new stuff too. I'll be updating it periodically as I work up the nerve to post more things. :')
Currently includes:
Pre-HB Hair Brushing with Julia + Ven
Pre-HB Paintball Shenanigans with Lulu + the Rangers
Cuckoo Days Vendetta as ne grows nir family and ugly emotions obsession, lol
The next one I have in mind is ...a lot, but it's also one of my favorite pieces I've done so far. So, we'll see how long that takes.
I'm gonna try to hold myself to posting up more of my dribbles later on after I pack and clean a bit (and answer some more questions, thank you for them all. <333)! But I was rereading old dribbles in my procrastination and I still like this one a lot~ Enjoy some early days!Vendetta, and maybe an inkling about why ne so thoroughly hates the color red.
It’s not a word at first. You don’t know words yet, not truly. They’re just noises, ringing and singing, shrill and frustrated, floating around you in an amniotic soup.
None of them stick on you, not until this one.
The syllables dance together in your mind, melodic as they repeat themselves without prompt. You have no words, not yet, but sensations still exist.
Pleasant, something inside you settles on. It’s pleasant, this string of sounds.
Ven. Det. Ta.
They simply repeat themselves over and over, like a lullaby, lulling you back into a void without feelings.
—————
Even as you learn new strings of syllables and repeat them to yourself silently—
(Woebegone. Apropos. Coalesce.)
—Vendetta remains your favorite. It feels contrary, and you like the way it tastes on your tongue. Orange. Copper. Apricot.
All your favorite things tend to be orangeish: your ball, your hair, your word. It feels fitting in a way you can’t explain, like you belong in this spectrum of warmth.
You hum it in your dreams. It keeps the bad dreams away, especially when they appear physical in this room.
Vendetta (sanctuary).
Vendetta (safety).
Vendetta (shield).
Your first walls are constructed with those syllables, mortared between your unsaid no’s.
————
There's copies of you staring at you in the mirror, lots. They travel on and on and on, forever going in both directions. You tilt on your head a little, and they all follow suit.
It's an illusion, you know, some novelty set up in an extravagant hall. But novel it is, and novel you like. You tilt you head back the other way, watching all your copies copy, dark brown hair falling in line as you do.
Your nose scrunches up all its own, as all of you do. A mirrored myriad of disgust.
Brown is not your color, and this is not you. Your handler put it on you, and took you outside. She told you what to expect, of people and thoughts and how to act to fit in. But the sun was so bright, devouring you and burning spots and holes in your eyes and head alike. All of her instructions simply fell out.
Your hands reach out and touch the illusion. Illusions. There's so many, copies of copies of copies, and it hurts. You heard them, thinking loudly, how they wished more than just you survived. You're strange. Intriguing. Off-putting. They want more.
You do too, want. You want friends who aren't balls. You want people who look at you. You want others like this, copies. Friends. Siblings.
Woebegone.
Apropos.
Coalesce.
Paprika.
Your favorite words, perfect names for the nameless. You smile at your friends in the infinity mirror, and they all smile back. Stuck. Trapped. Yours.
The mirror shatters into a thousand pieces, a thousand yous, as you drive your skull into the center, trying to free your friends. Screams fill the small hall, first in your head and then in your ears, but you pay no mind to them, trembling fingers reaching in the thousands, tracing the sharp edges.
It's red, dripping, splattered, everywhere.
Why is it red?
You're not red.
A thousand faces tear up, red turning pink as your Handler apologizes and pulls you away from your thousands of counterparts.
But this isn't you, you cry. Where is your orange? It's supposed to be orange.
Remembering and indulging myself in this silly AU again~ And, what's an AU without a mysterious and strange break between Ortega and Sidestep? c: <33
The Things You Never Knew
She thinks, 'you look like death', eyes burning with tears.
It's been a recurring thought over the last week and some odd days. The people throw from windows, Anathema melting under nir own acid, Wei in the hospital bed… Ortega knows there's no God to pray to for safety, but she offered a few pleas for him.
But this one hits the hardest. It shouldn't. It's just Dulcie Gibson, age sixteen, half-asleep at a party. Tucked under her head is her long curly copper orange hair like the most makeshift of pillows. Her arms are folded under too, legs crossed along a chaise as the poor kid tries to sleep, all skin and bones and making her seem taller than Ortega knows she is. They're like matchsticks, like the gentlest of breezes could break them, break her.
The photo feels surreal, like a painting that should be hanging admired in a museum or an album cover that's treasured by the critics and fans alike. Instead, it's just sitting in an nine-year old gossip rag as evidence for a rumored drug habit. America's Darling Turned Disgrace, the headline screams.
It's worlds apart from the vibrant and piercing person Ortega would meet four years later on a random street corner at night, from the obnoxious and stubborn person who's been missing for nearly a month.
A month, y un puto funeral.
Bodies upon bodies, and there was still no Vendetta in sight and Ortega can only drink to stop those Void kidnapping memories from consuming every one of her waking hours. Chains and needles, poisonous green eyes and gut-wrenching screams, tears and the odd thought of how cold her ring felt when Vendetta slipped it onto her hand, devoid of emotions except grief.
Vendetta always found nir way back home on her bad days, back to her (their) bed, no matter the fight they had had before it. Kisses along scars, pointed words at her own stupidity, never pleas to quit though. She always wondered what the breaking point would be for that and, in her darkest thoughts, if Vendetta actually cared enough to even ask.
Ne liked her static, her friends and her family. Her? Julia didn't know, not honestly. The Void changed a lot.
But she knows ne isn't so cruel to miss Anathema's funeral out of spite alone, and the worst part is no one even knows. Her spouse, her better half, su media naranja is missing, again, and there's no one who can help because they have to bury other bodies first.
It isn't fair. Nothing is fair.
Her apartment feels so much lonelier than now. She knows she needs to find her public face again before her next appearance, next interview, next whatever the PR team throws at her to redeem her. But all Ortega can do is look, look and scroll, scroll and research, hope and pray that something comes up. An answer, a place, a spot she can look and find her Vendetta.
And all she's learning is how much she simply didn't know about nem. It hardly feels like the same person.
Another article, two years before the last, and it's just more gossip. It's all people seem to do around the young Starlet. No personal photos, just a general one of an Atlanta Hospital and a rumor. America's Darling was admitted for a non-life threatening illness, and then ran straight through a closed glass door after they prescribed the wrong medicine. Allegedly. No other comments from the Hospital, or even nir parents. An anonymous source said the young actress was screaming as she (ne) ran through the halls, hands over her (nir) ears.
'Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!!'
They speculated about a drug problem. Not the first actor to chase after the white horse, it would hardly be the first child even. And they weren't even that wrong.
The Hero Drug, at fourteen. Ne was a baby.
"I guess I wanted to make it stop." Ven smiled sadly once, drunk more than enough of nir cocktails to answer questions with more than a clever quip. "Escape. Protect myself." Curled up in her lap, more an octopus than a kitten, fingers traveling over her scars tenderly. "Fuck all it did in the end."
A star wanting to escape fame, being gifted telepathy of all things. Ne said it felt like a personal damning.
Shaking her head, Ortega closes the article. There's a paused video behind it, taken by a fan or maybe their parents and uploaded. The same long and wavy hair flows loosely around her (nir) far too thin shoulders, smiling at a small girl in front of her. Holding a pen and a pad of paper in a death grip, the girl is bouncing up and down and talking a mile a minute. The video has about hundred views and Ortega is probably about half of them, trying to figure what the little girl is saying. She still has no idea.
Dulcie (no, Ven) knows though, smiling and leaning down to whisper something in her ear. The girl lights up, surprised and then delighted, before the pair of them do a little dance together that Ortega doesn't recognize. Maybe it's from one of nir (her) movies?
They did have those monthly watch parties, Anathema picking one of nir movies and letting Vendetta shit talk it endlessly throughout. Which directors sucked, which productions have the good food, which movies ended with her mother having an affair with the casting agent. That happened a few times, according to nem.
“Oh." During the opening credits once, ne just laughed dryly as ne settled down Themmy's couch, stealing the popcorn. "I don’t even remember this one. So, it's either it’s the tritest shit imaginable or I was drunk out of my mind." Ne grinned shamelessly, wiggling nir fingers in the air. "Place your bets now~”
“Trite." Ortega had laughed back, holding up the DVD cover as proof. "You're like ten in this one."
But Ven just huffed and rolled nir eyes. “And?”
It’s not like Ortega didn’t know things. Ven talked! A lot! Mocked and made fun and light of everything back East. The industry, the rules, the stress, nir parents and all the people who had a stock in nir old and empty life.
Stock, like ne didn't matter. Like ne was a just a doll to be posed and moved and beloved by the masses.
Like that little girl, dancing around as Ven (Dulcie?) writes something in her little pad of paper. It goes on too long to be a simple autograph, and her (nir) smile completely drops once the girl dances out of the nir (her) view. Flat. Blank. Dead.
The video continues, and (ne) looks up to see the camera. A smile returns on her (nir) face, but it's far more tight, forced, hardly sincere. The kind smile comes back when the girl comes back, happy and thanking Dulcie (Ven) with a massive hug.
An all too familiar slight shake trembles in those thin shoulders, despite how few times Ortega saw it. Right after the Nanosurge when Ortega finally made it back home. In the hospital after that disastrous failed jump on the Catastrofiend. The stupidest fight they ever had, over a movie Ven just point-blank refused to watch. The Void, throughout.
The shake of a very proud person trying nir best not to break down and cry.
A feeling that feels all too intimate, tears collecting in her eyes again. What a pair we are, mi media naranja.
As she blinks them away, bites down and refocuses, a new video starts to play. It's not one Ortega seen before, and it has thousands more views than the last. Outside. A beautiful blue sky you'd never see out west, and Vendetta flipping off the paparazzi with pure vitriol.
Nir hair is still long and orange, but it's not flowing down nir back anymore. Tied up, tied back into tight braids that would hurt to be hit by, a warning from a person not able to wear the spikes ne would grow to love. An older man comes over quickly, trying to drag nem away. Manager? Nir father? Ortega doesn't know, but the hushed conversation and tight grip on nir arm speaks volumes. Vendetta just glares back, the camera zooming in on nem as ne shoves a whole-ass doughnut in nir mouth. No one has eaten a pastry so spitefully, and that's the thing that finally breaks her.
Because that’s Ven. That’s her Vendetta.
Electricity sparks, running through her veins and ports alike. On impulse, she throws the laptop she had been using across the room and curls up into a ball. It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair! She said this would happen again, she knew it would again after the fuckin' Void incident.
She has no proof but a cold bed, but that's all the proof she needs. Someone took nem again, that's no other reason for this. It's why she distanced herself in public, why she insistently they keep quiet about their marriage. Ne didn't need targets on nir back. Ortega had put enough on there as is.
It's all her fault too, she knows it. It's the oldest trick in the book. If you truly want to get back at someone, go after their loved ones. She doesn't know what, god, there's so many possibilities (and one big one looms large over all others). But she will find out.
Nothing is going to stop her from finding where Vendetta Frey was taken to.
Nothing is going to stop her from finding out what happened to Dulcie Gibson.
Mostly for me, but a list of most of my longer fics ideas that I've been slowly (slowly) chipping away. Because maybe seeing them all laid out will make me write a bit faster, lol.
Ashfall + Sidestep's Immaterial Fanmix (Nazar + Vendetta. Nick and Norah inspired, but it's Nazar chasing after a very telepathically drunk Vendetta after a night of clubbing.)
Birthday Surprises (Julia x Vendetta, Ortega treating Vendetta for nir birthday, but like secretly because she shouldn't know. Could honestly be tidied up to be another dribble, I think.)
Bros Being Hoes (Nazar x Vendetta, more noncanon as them just fooling around while star-gazing because 'what's a few blowjobs between friends?')
Chen Forgot About Brunch (Chen x Jayne, aka how Ortega finally learned about Chen x Jayne lol.)
Hotel California (Julia x Vendetta, Post-Broken Legs. Julia learns Vendetta has always been a better actor than she gave nem credit for. Might involve Strip Poker too, debating.)
Post-Nanosurge Awkwardness (Julia x Vendetta, what it says on the tin, lol. Julia trying to take care of a post-surge!Vendetta in Anathema's apartment. Involves lots of charades.)
The Benefits and Pitfalls of High Stakes Psychic Defense Training (kind-of the same focal event as Hotel California, just from another point of time. This is the game of Never Have I Ever featuring one very drunk-on-good-vibes-and-also-liquor Vendetta digging into everyone for secrets, and everyone trying to speedrun their psychic defense training while also drunk. IDK about POV, but everyone is kinda fucked.)
All the What Happened to Dulcie Gibson AU snippets (like second kiss dreams, the saddest wedding ever, the things you never knew. Always was less a full story to me, but more a series of weird little snippets in time.)
After thinking I lost it all afternoon, I found the start of the Beloved's weird cicada dream That Surely Means Nothing. :D I'm so happppy~!
Snippet Below, but fair warning for puking up a cicada.
===
Your dreams are the only things that are yours, but even then. It's only sometimes.
You stand in the middle of the field at night, a blinding violet sun burning at the horizon ravenously. Licks of dark fire flick off of the massive sunken sphere, highlighting the dead tree that sits in front of you. Beautifully. Hauntingly. Unnervingly.
You don't like it here.
*if cicadafreed
Around you, a chorus of cicadas sing but single silent one sits on your shoulder. Its wing is damaged, and you lock eyes with it. Safe, you think. It feels safe with you, despite all your efforts to let it go. You pick it up gently with your hands and place it on the ground, but it just continues to stare and watch and stay by your side.
*if cicadajarred
Around you, a chorus of cicadas sing and you feel something crawl inside of your throat. You panic, hitting your chest as it can't decide which way to crawl, trying to make it for it. Out! You think, dry-heaving on to the ground before small cicada comes out. Its' wing is damaged, but it doesn't need that to crawl up your arm as you try to catch your breath.
"You've changed." A voice calls out as the song gets louder. The cicada looks into your eyes, violet and unnatural.
You have no answer. You're just the Beloved, and the Beloved doesn't exist like that.
"You exist. You've always existed."
Have you? Did you ever?
"Yes, you did."
The song grows more cacophonous as your doubt sinks in. The blindly violet sun flares up, the long grass tinting purple under its rage. It feels like it's on fire, and the night grows colder.
"When?" You finally ask, eyes downcast. You can't remember.
"You don't want to remember." The voice chides as the purple tinting slowly becomes more saturated and the song grows quieter.
"Of course, I do!" It's all you want to think. But, you need to be able to breathe too.
