tag and i said that really they were more like a little fluffy orange cat

All The Kids Love Wimbo!

He did charity work at the hospital first, coming in and doing little shows for the sick kids. That’s how Carla’s mom found out about Wimbo. I wasn’t invited to Carla’s party, but my friend Kiera was. She was the one who told me all about how great that fucking clown was. So when my seventh birthday was approaching, I told my mom that I absolutely had to have Wimbo the clown there. That’s how I met him.

I was so excited I that I could barely sleep the night before. I remember waking up and going downstairs at just past dawn, still in my pajamas. Already, my parents had hung up streamers saying “HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEMMA!” A small pile of presents sat on the coffee table, entombed in pink wrapping paper decorated with kittens. I sat on the couch for about an hour, impatiently watching the hands on the old grandfather clock slowly advancing toward the time when my parents would wake up and I’d be able to open my presents. It felt like so much longer, though. 

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Something fluffy and self indulgent and idk… therapeutic, in a way. idk I like the idea of supportive relationships and a person being able to look at something they hate about their body in a different light. Sometimes they just need help to see it in that different perspective. idk first thing I’ve managed to write in what feels like a month soooo…..

When Victoria’s hand came to cover MacCready’s - as he knew it would - he broke the kiss they were sharing and stood to his full height to put some space between them. Victoria stared at him confused, almost a little dazed and quirked a brow.

“Why do you do that?” Asked MacCready.

“Do what?”

“Whenever I try to pull your shirt up, you grab my hands and stop me.” He plucked at the material of her t-shirt for effect. Victoria glanced down at his hand. Her brow furrowed.

“I do?”

“Yes.” MacCready poked her side making her jerk. “Every time.”



“Why what?”

“Why do you stop me?” He cocked his head to one side. “You always keep a top on when we’re in bed. I’m just curious why.” He watched Victoria bite her lips, her mouth twisting into a frown. She gripped the front of her t-shirt with both hands scrunching the material up. MacCready waited for her to say or do something. He sat at the foot of the bed letting the silence build and watching Victoria visibly seem to wrestle with herself.

She puffed her cheeks out on a sharp exhale. “Stretch marks.” She said bluntly. “While I was pregnant I developed really predominant stretch marks and I haven’t been able to get rid of them. I think being frozen made them more obvious and I guess I’m kind of self-conscious of them…” Victoria worried at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth and pulled her hair over one shoulder. “Given the state of the world it probably seems very selfish and stupid–”

“No, no,” MacCready shook his head. He lifted his hands and rest them on her hips guiding her closer until she stood between his outstretched legs. “I get it. Everyone is insecure about something. Stretch marks are your something.” He tilted his head back and offered a crooked smile while Victoria wound her fingers through his hair. He pursed his lips and sighed. “So… why won’t you let me see?”

Her fingers stopped and she tensed. “What?”

“Why won’t you let me see? I mean… I understand you’re self-conscious, but I’m not going to judge or be disgusted.”

“You don’t know that.” Victoria muttered, eyes wide and cheeks flooding with colour. “You could see them and think I’m repulsive. Or find you never want to touch me again. They’re really ugly.”

“Vee,” MacCready held her steady in his hands and levelled her with a cool stare. “That’s never going to happen. I think you’re gorgeous, you know that.”

“Yeah, but–”

“I think you’re gorgeous when you’re covered in dirty, sweaty, and haven’t bathed for a week. I think I can handle stretch marks.”

Victoria made a small, annoyed grumbling sound and dropped her gaze. Her mouth pinched into a thin line and MacCready could see the internal struggle again. Whether to show him, or not. He rotated his thumbs at her hips in small circles. She touched the hem of her t-shirt where it ended mid-thigh and stretched it between both hands. She came across as immature, almost small in that moment, combating her unease and personal feelings. He worried he was pushing too hard.

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to.” He explained. She fidgeted and fiddled with a stray thread. Her hair partly curtained her face obscuring most of her expression. “You don’t have to show me. I just want you to know that they don’t matter to me.”

“It’s…” Victoria huffed again blowing strands of hair out of her face. “I haven’t…” A small growl left her and in one motion she pulled the garment off over her head and dropped it on the floor to her left. She remained standing in her bra and curled her fingers into fists at her sides.

MacCready leaned back a little to examine her body almost completely bare before him. By Commonwealth standards she was average. Days of hiking and hauling weapons for miles had toned up any flab or fat from before the Great War. The skin under her clothing was more pale than that on her face, not as exposed to the sun or the elements. There were a handful of scars, from bullets that had met their mark and from the claws and teeth of some of the Commonwealth wildlife. The stretch marks stuck out as darker than the rest of her. Deep red puckered marks most obvious either side of her belly button. They stretched down in a curve over her abdomen until they disappeared beneath her underwear. Some of the scars were only surface, others had some depth and texture to them. MacCready ran his fingers along several of them and smiled to feel her muscles twitch involuntarily in reaction. They looked like lightning strikes on her skin or like stripes. No one mark the same as the other.

“I like ‘em.” MacCready said with a smile up at Victoria’s waiting and apprehensive face. “They remind me of… uh…” His mind emptied and he snapped his fingers in the effort to recall words and images from books. “What’s it called? Uh- big cat from before the war. Lots of stripes. Orange. Oh man, I know it’s something…”

“A tiger?”

“Yes!” He grinned. “They’re like tiger stripes.”

“Tiger stripes?”

MacCready nodded. “And I don’t think they’re ugly or repulsive.” He slipped his arms around Victoria’s hips clasping his hands behind her. “By that logic, neither are you.”

“Tiger stripes, huh?” Victoria pursed her lips while winding her hands through MacCready’s hair. She climbed onto the end of the bed forcing MacCready to inch further up so she could kneel over his lap. He supported her while she steadied herself. He reclined a little, putting his weight on one hand behind him and smiled into the soft kiss she placed against his lips. “I guess that’s not so bad.”

As I said, fluffy and self-indulgent. 
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