12 Works by rbcch
Listing Works
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Summary
“Are you… Are you Arthur’s?” Ariadne gets out, voice cracking in the middle, the words scraping against her scratchy throat.
“S’il te plaît,” Mal says and motions at herself with one of her hands. Ariadne’s gaze is instantly drawn to the soft fullness of her chest, the arch of her waist, the daintiness of her prominent collarbones. “Arthur ‘as never seen a woman this way once in ‘is life.”
Or, by inheriting dreamshare from Dom, Ariadne gets more than she bargained for.
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Arthur leans against the doorframe, arms crossed on his chest, and watches Eames lower Pippa in her crib and tuck her in. Eames’ expression is soft, reverent, so very reminiscent of the way he used to look at Mal, and Arthur aches, he aches for what little is left of Cobb and Mal between the three of them, pieces of their souls and love like shards under all of their skins.
Or, Arthur, Eames, and Philippa form an unlikely family.
In which they hate each other and love her, until life, as they know it, crumbles all around them and changes everything.
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Five times that the Protagonist wanted to kiss Neil, and one time Neil kissed him.
Or, Neil and the Protagonist flirt. And happen to save the world on the side.
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Yvie freezes mid-movement. The voice is vaguely familiar, the breathy lilt of it, the purr-like timbre — but in the city of millions, that alone is hardly a happenstance. What really stalls Yvie is the unmistakable uniqueness of the order, the recognisable uncommonness. She’s heard these exact words before, never behind the counter, not in years, but the fact doesn’t stop her heart sinking with hopeless hope.
Or, Yvie and Scarlet don’t have a past, not really, and their future isn’t a given either.
In which they’re a classic case of the right person at the wrong time — twice.
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That hadn’t been the first painting Yvie had done of Scarlet, or the first one that Scarlet had seen, but it had been the one that made Yvie sure, as she held Scarlet flush against her and breathed in her shampoo instead of the acrid smell of the studio, that she wanted to paint only her, over and over again, until the inspiration ran out and all the colors made her eyes hurt. But that hasn’t happened, and Yvie has started to think that maybe, it never will, that maybe, she’ll get to wake up every single day with Scarlet right there, and new images of her to commit to the canvas spinning through her mind.
Or, Yvie’s falling, but Scarlet is there to catch her.
Series
- Part 2 of Brooklyn Babies
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Yvie processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.
Or, Scarlet takes Yvie’s cigarette, and Yvie takes her home.
Series
- Part 1 of Brooklyn Babies
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“Looks like we’ve got an audience, huh?” she drawls out, then licks Violet’s earlobe before taking it between her teeth and biting down with a fair amount of force. She doesn’t seem at all upset over the fact that her possessive displays of affection haven’t scared the redhead off. Actually, she sounds almost pleased with the situation. Her hands on Violet grow rougher, just the way they tend to when things start going exactly like she wants them to. She fits her palm between Violet’s legs, dangerously high, and fists Violet’s hair, her body tensed and radiating insane heat by Violet’s side, like her blood is boiling hot, and, oh.
“Pearl,” Violet says, thickly, struggles a little to form anything cohesive as her insides tingle with the realisation. “Is this… Do you… Do you like being watched?”
“Maybe,” she whispers darkly. “Maybe I like watching, too.”
Or, three’s not always a crowd.
Series
- Part 2 of airline ‘verse
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Eleven years later she’s here, leading the exact life she was so scared of when she was younger, living the existence she found avoidable and miserable earlier. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. She knows she’s not miserable, knows she enjoys the journey without the signs of the finish line, enjoys the quick changes in scenery and living out of suitcases far more than she thinks she would enjoy being rooted and trapped in one place, yet the irony of it all isn’t lost on her despite that, and she appreciates it in a way.
Or, Violet is homesick, and Pearl deems herself a stopover, not a final destination.
In which they are in the business of defying gravity, but they can’t deny attraction between them.
Series
- Part 1 of airline ‘verse
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Matt lifts his gaze and cocks his head slightly, trying to pin her down, figure her out. She looks like she belongs in another era, a different timeline, an alternate universe. A life where Matt wears three-piece suits and doesn’t drink to forget and isn’t scared shitless all the time. A life where Matt meets a girl like her and takes her on an appropriate amount of dates before popping the question and takes her up to meet his parents and spends every Christmas spoiling her with ’54 convertibles and yachts and Tiffany boxes. A life where he isn’t an outcast, and she isn’t a misfit, a life that isn’t real even if they pretend that it is for tonight.
“Matt Lent,” he says finally.
“Violet Chachki,” she introduces herself, offering him her hand.
Or, Matt spends his Christmas Eve getting drunk. Violet spends hers performing for a nearly empty bar. They meet.
In which they are two broken parts that find themselves fitting into each other’s hollow spaces.
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And there has been an enormous amount of fascinators in Pearl’s life. He’s been fascinated by smoke rings one of his flings exhaled when they passed joints between them after sex. He’s been fascinated by starry skies one can only see when the nearest city is miles away and forgotten. He’s been fascinated by the way the fragmented rays of sunshine have danced on his skin through the window glass still covered in droplets of rain. He’s been fascinated by the way music, lights, alcohol, all of it has pulsed through his body when he’s drunk and high and lost himself on the dance floor.
Oh, Pearl has been fascinated by a lot of things in his life, but the way Violet moves is by far the most magical.
Or, Pearl is drunk, high, and in love.
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You Will Never Feel Like You're Alone (i'll make this feel like home) by rbcch
Fandoms: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
21 Oct 2017
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Summary
And it's not like the two of them had ever been a thing. They hadn't. They had been a rapid-fire string of events, unconnected and insignificant. They had been a trail of sloppy kisses backstage, a messy handjob in a toilet stall in a club, a tangle of limbs and clothes and trying to touch as much skin at once as possible. They hadn't been each other's type. They hadn't been a morning after. They hadn't been a message or a phone call. They had been a silence. They had been over before they had figured out how to begin.
Or, Farrah is upset and Aja just wants to know why.
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Summary
Five things Pearl realises about Violet, and one thing that he realises about himself.
Or, Violet is a tease and Pearl is constantly sexually frustrated.