★ NEW UNIVERSE ! ★ Project Sierra AU -> a young engineer, neck deep in the project of a lifetime.
inspired by this prompt answer by @ccyberretchh
They felt like a show pony.
They’re not allowed to rake their hand through their hair, supposed to stop fumbling with their braid.
What are they here for? Just for show? They certainly do not seem to be allowed to be themselves.
Their usual prosthesis is too unsightly. Too… odd. It looked and worked just fine, they thought, especially in comparison to the dainty synthskin replacement, but apparently it was not acceptable for the sponsors gala their mother had dragged them off to, excited to introduce her fresh blood to everyone.
They had been excited themselves when she’d first told them about it- many well known scientists, colleagues and bosses of their mother, and professors whose revolutionary work they’d gotten to read in their preparation for the project. The thought of getting to be in one room with so many bright minds had made them giddy with anticipation, nervous to see what the gala would be like.
It hadn’t turned out as they’d imagined it. Naive of them, in hindsight.
Certainly, fascinating conversations were happening. Projects discussed across the table that usually were passed quietly under it; it was thrilling to hear some of the theories that were being worked on.
But they felt so small. Surrounded by these imposing adults, decades older than them. The only people they’d seen even remotely close to their age were the wait staff, who’d sent them small smiles that didn’t reach their pitying eyes as the young engineer tried and failed multiple times to speak up in conversation.
The lights were so bright and the constant chattering was so loud, but the conversation was interesting enough for a diligent student to remind themselves to breathe, grit their teeth, and hold on just a couple minutes more…
The attention they had once sought out so eagerly is thrust upon them, as they are suddenly pinned by the eyes of the entire table when their Mother begins talking. About how they’d excelled at their studies, how much potential they had in their aid to the project.
They try and muster the friendliest smile they can, and the expectant stares they get in return make something tighten in their throat, squeezing its way down and curling uncomfortably heavy in their gut. Nauseating.
A glass shatters.
The entire room becomes silent. Broken, an hour of a second later, by a babble of apologies. Then the shouting begins.
They excuse themselves as quickly as they possibly can in light of their mother’s dismay in order to find any place less shrill on their painfully ringing ears.
They don’t know how far they walk, how long. Only the sounds getting quieter. The push on a cool, heavy door.
They breathe in the fresh air of the terrace and feel the relief rushing all throughout their body, all at once.
Silence.
Only the freeing pressure of wind on their skin, raising small hairs. The grounding cold of the marble.
They sigh loudly into the air, slumping over onto their arms, resting fully on the railing.
Exhaustion feels heavy in every cell of their being. They had barely slept the night prior, and the night before that. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d even racked up a full, undisturbed 7 hours.
It was normal, they’d been told. The start’s like that for everyone.
New systems, new programs, new languages to learn. Years of research to catch up on. Some of it had been fed to them before they received clearance, get a head start on the languages at least, but most of it was simply so new they’d have to find their way around it now, thrown right into the workload ahead.
Even with all the shielding, extended only due to their Mother’s place in the project, the work load was still so much. They had been prepared for it, to a certain extent, but their body hadn’t been.
They wake with a start. The sound of a heavy door being opened, footsteps, closing. Some sort of clattering of a small case. Metallic, they note groggily. They have goosebumps. They hadn’t realised. They remove their freezing arms from the railing and observe how they can barely sense them. Curious.
They work to blink the tired haze from their gaze as their eyes attempt to locate the disturbance. A young man, as far as they could tell. From here, and in the dark. they squint. Can’t tell if he’s looking at them or not.
“Hey,” they wring out, and almost flinch at the sound of their own voice. Loud. Hoarse. Tired. They repeat themselves, quieter, with a little motion of their hand, a sorry excuse of a wave, “hey.”
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They’re frowning, mask dangling off one ear to make sure he sees it on them as they power-walk towards him.
“Vaughn-!” a quiet scowl, almost hard to hear over the intensity of the rain on the asphalt, the tires on the wet ground. Crowding his space as they raise the umbrella high enough to cover them both, at least partially. They reach for him, reflexively; take his hand in theirs.
Rain drips off their umbrella into his nape as they stare down at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips pursed, “I’ve tried calling you like 10 times! I got fucking worried-!” Their hand squeezes his, as though to punctuate. They don’t seem to notice.
@ccyberretchh : hellow I am here to say that I luv revvy a lot he's very special to me he's so blorby and pathetic and you do him justice ⚖️ very much so I've loved seeing ur writing on my dash and also have a good day feel free to send more asks Abt anything ur curious Abt okay bye x3
brb changing his bio to "blorby and pathetic"
eeeeee thank u so much!! it means a lot to be told I'm doin' him justice, being authentic to the character is always a big goal for me when writing a canon chara. I write them because I love them, so when I can get other people to love them or when people who already love them can see the character they love through my writing, that's huge for me ❤️❤️❤️
HAVE A GOOD DAY TOO TY FOR FEEDING ANGEL WITH WRITING & REVHOUND we love siren song'ing people to obscure fandoms and niche ships in this house
caught by a colleague in the hallway. and it had taken them a good minute to talk their way out of conversation, excusing themselves to the bathroom.
he was already at the railing, smoking. elbows leaned on it as he watches the cars below, as so often. looked their way as they lean next to him, offering them the packet still loosely held in his other hand. it was always a different kind; they’d almost think he actively avoided buying his own.
they take one with a breathy thanks, shooting a grateful grin. fumble for their lighter, cigarette waving between their lips. he’s faster; leaning in smoothly, which halts their movements, and a practiced gesture guides and docks his lit cigarette against theirs. it’s not fully stable in its connection, as they stare at him. as he stares back.
“breathe in.”
they do, slightly perplexed, and it puffs fitfully.
he lets out a laugh, “no, small ones, like this,” he demonstrates, wisps of smoke twirling up his face.
they imitate him, and the paper sparks and burns. clumsy in its path, slightly uneven. but burning nonetheless.
he pulls away as they still stare. he meets their gaze and only then do they realise it, looking away. the cars stop and go at the lights. their face feels distinctly hot. they pray it is not noticeable in the dim lights.
it was the gentle stroke of his fingertips on their cheek that had them hum out a soft breath, lean into it. caught in the delicious daze of semi-consciousness where their dreams still clung to them like damp fog, brushing them off as they fill the space with a reality that still barely feels real.
hazy quiet, muffled by soft blankets. just their breaths mingling. just the hushed rustling of the fabric as they pull each other closer. they must still be dreaming.
they shiver pleasantly as his finger trails their skin, lazy, lopsided grin spreading on their lips. he was so warm against them. his breath ghosting on their skin as he peppers soft kisses along it, following the little catches in their throat, hairs rising in its wake. clumsy hands roam, tug him closer with sleepy weakness in their limbs. he follows their guidance as though their pull is inescapable, as though he could not disobey even if he wanted to. slots against their achingly waiting form, melds with them. catches their breath for them.
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“ I LOVE complaining! You can’t take that away from me! ” ( ◜‿◝ )♡
[ -> ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF ]
They snort loudly, their attempt at suppressing amusement so clearly failing, hands deep in cleaning his chest chassis, which apparently can feel ticklish, “okaay tough guy, can you do it with LESS wiggling, though?! I’m almost done here-!”
They grin down at him for a smitten moment, before glancing down at their hands and continue their work, one leg on each side of his hips. Each spray of pressurised air seemed to make Vaughn squirm in their grasp, yet they are undeterred in their thoroughness of cleaning his insides. this was LONG overdue. and the cleaning process LONG from over.
But at least the dusting was done.
One final corner, before their hand pushes down hard on a strut to keep him pinned. Then all it takes is a meticulously purposeful spray of the nozzle against a particularly sensitive wire node, and they watch his attempts at jerking away from their tickling antics with nothing short of sadistic glee.
@ccyberretchh : [ 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 ] : receiver is hugging a coat / cape / etc. that belongs to the sender 👀 —maybe during (one of many) turbulent eras.... u choose 😈
[ -> for you i would ]
they try not to cry from it.
it’s what they have left of him. the most prominent, at least. the most hands on. the physical proof he had existed in their life, had taken it by storm, had spun their head around until it ceased to exist as seperate being, and then ripped a gaping wound all the way through them as he left. they kept it hidden away, at the back of their closet. tried to.
everything reminded them of him. every speck of their being touched, changed, by him. but this was all they had. they felt stupid. so, so stupid.
it’s no use. their sniffles muffle in the soft, brown fabric, but they know, and it’s pathetic. they bury their face deeper to stifle their sobs, breathe him in. they shouldn’t have; it smells like home. the fabric is damp with them. they hate this, they hate him. they wish they could hate him.
