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kindness-ricochets · 3 years

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I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

#six of crows #wylan van eck #autism #actually autistic

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unabashegirl · 4 years

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Pax Romana; Part I

Author’s note: Hey everyone, here is the first part of this mini-series. I hope you like it! Let me know if you want to be on the tag list. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN only for H.

DISCLAIMER; I DONT KNOW ITALIAN! (only English, French and Spanish) I clearly used a translator. I am aware their translations are SHIT sometimes. Therefore I am sorry if I butcher it! I didn’t mean to!

masterlist

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Harry Styles, can still recall the first day he was enthralled by her conspicuous beauty. At first, he reckoned he had done the unavoidable. He had moved to Italy for the summer, and he had managed to fall in love with an Italian girl; that he had never spoken to. He had only observed her from afar — too shy to ever think of approaching her. Nonetheless, the young woman was a sight to behold. He promised himself that he would only watch from afar. It felt forbidden and somewhat illegal. The feeling that bubbled within him was enough reason to continue his study of her.

After his first visit to Italy, he had fallen in love with the country. Hence, why he had rented out a house in a coastal town. The country’s natural and effortless beauty inspired him to write new music for his upcoming album. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny mornings, the art, and the food brought peace and tranquility to him. It was the perfect place for him to hide — for a while. It was on one of his morning runs; he first noticed her.

She wore a bright yellow bikini that exposed most of her olive skin to the sun rays. She sat on a striped towel that she had laid out on the hot sand. Her hair was slicked back and wet after she had dipped in the ocean to refresh her body.

Of course, she never caught sight of his dilated pupils or the way he had leaned forward — lured by her beauty. Her attention was preoccupied with a hardcover of Pride and Prejudice; that she had brought along as a source of entertainment for the day. The young woman appeared too indulged in the printed words to notice his existence.

He watched her for a few hours. Now and then he would remind himself of the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t approach. He had even managed to take a few steps towards her. Harry eventually removed himself as soon as it became too much. He had beaten the temptation.

The first time he spoke to her was at a local restaurant. Harry had taken himself out on a late lunch date. He had dressed up nicely and had walked to the bistro. He noticed her presence after taking his first sip out of his freshly served Chardonnay. She sat on the table across from him. This time she wasn't submerged in a book. He could finally admire her natural beauty up close. The fullness of the apples of her cheeks, her long dark eyelashes, her red-tinted lips, and of course light sunburn on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

A few minutes later, her order had arrived. It was ricotta and mushroom stuffed ravioli in a black truffle sauce. She was stuffing her face when they made eye contact. Harry’s lips curved upwards creating a lopsided smile as she scrambled to clean the creamy sauce off her face. He hadn't said anything to her, but she already felt embarrassed.

”Sono deliziosa?” He had done it. He couldn’t just watch her and pray she’d take the first step. It was time to put his Italian to the test. He had been practicing his Italian and even though he already had a few weeks on the Amalfi coast; he still struggled to comprehend. Harry only hoped she would be able to understand him.

”E molto deliziosa” She smiled at him for the first time. She beamed, radiating an intoxicating wave of warmth and happiness towards him. Her lips parted open for a split second but before she could utter a word the waiter approached.

“Hai bisogno di qualcos’ altro?” He was asking her if she needed anything else. She understood what he was asking, but she couldn’t remember how to say cheese.

“Fuck” she said under her breath. “Queso. Fromage. Cheese” She had forgotten how to speak. All her languages had mixed in one and the wires had crossed. “How do you say it?” She whispered under her breath, her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as the waiter tried to comprehend.

“Formaggio. Ha bisogno di formaggio parmigiano, per favore” Harry interrupted, noticing her uneasiness and her inevitable embarrassment. He knew that it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation, but he had to help her.

The waiter turned his attention to the young celebrity. He was also a bit surprised that Harry had spoken for her. He had seen that Harry kept to himself. He usually attended dinner on his own and hardly even bothered to use his phone. “Inmediatamente”.

“Thank you” She thanked Harry as soon as the waiter had left in search of the parmesan cheese that she so craved. Harry’s excessive focus on watching the server carrying out her request had prevented him from realizing that she spoke perfect English. He had to stop himself from gasping when processed her delicate voice. She had an accent. Slight. Gentle. Barely-there and it wasn’t Italian. He would later learn that her R’s made it more prominent.

“It’s alright. It happens” She instantly recognized who he was. Her heart raced for a minute or two, but she restrained herself from making a huge scene. After all, it was Harry Styles. Whom she considered, the most stylish man of her generation. The man could wear a curtain and still pull it off. “I am Harry” He rises a bit from his seat, extending his right hand.

“Catalina” She shakes his hand with a smile. “So, what brings you here?” Even her name was attractive — he wondered.

“Is’not obvious?”

“Not really. Enlighten me” The stranger gives him a small smirk while placing her napkin over her lap after crossing her legs under the table. Harry purges his lips as he uses his index finger and thumb to slightly tug on his bottom lip.

His whole plan to stay away from her had failed. Did he regret it?. Hell no! He just hoped he had chosen wisely.

“The art” He reveals as he watches her cut one of her ravioli before putting it in her mouth. She responds by only nodding; too indulged in the explosion of flavors within her mouth.

“Music?” She hums as she brings the glass of wine up to her mouth. “ I thought you were more of a dolce far niente type of man” her mouth curved into a smile. Dolce far niente means pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. Harry instantly identified the phrase from Julia Roberts's famous movie — Eat, Pray, Love. She remembered reading somewhere that he was a rom-com fan.

“Are you?” He shot back. There was no doubt that he was intrigued by her.

“Si” She shrugged as she pushed around some ravioli.

“Then we have more in common than I thought, Catalina” Her name rolled off his tongue without any strain. It was as if he had been practicing for months. She had never heard her name sound so attractively. Sure, he had an accent, but it was still beautifully pronounced.

Harry’s order arrived moments later. He had ordered the classic spaghetti bolognese. He grabbed his fork and knife and right before digging into the plate, he looked up at her. Catalina had been watching him since silence had fallen upon them. His smirk grew into a soft chuckle as their eyes met. She giggled at him and first noticed his dimples. She now understood everyone's obsession with his smile.

“Would you join me?” Catalina spluttered after a few minutes of mentally debating with herself. She felt her heart beating in her throat and her hands dripping with sweat as other parts of her body. It was all very hot.

Catalina wasn’t the type of woman to initiate conversation. She rarely even texts first!. Her excuse is usually that she doesn’t want to bother or interrupt. In reality, she is scared shitless to make a fool out of herself. Therefore, she was quite surprised by herself to have asked him to have dinner together.

Harry cocked his head with his lips pursed. To her, he looked very pensive as if he was making a big decision. She didn’t blame him. He was on vacation and the last thing he wanted was to be photographed with a random girl and for questions to be asked. Although, he had already agreed in his mind. He just couldn’t come across as desperate. Even though he was. Harry wanted to know more.

His fingers tucked his clothed napkin into the collar of his shirt. A chuckle left his lips as he pushed his seat back and raised on his feet. He held his plate and utensils with one hand while his glass of wine with the other.

“So, where are you from?” Harry was first to ask, as he twisted his spaghetti around his folk. Catalina leaned back on her seat, her fingers clenching around her wine glass as she finished swallowing. “I am English” he laughs as if his accent didn’t give it away.

“Really? Bet my life you were Italian” Catalina bantered

“What gave it away?”

“The facial hair and the good head of locks” Harry grinned covering his face with his hands, feeling his cheeks heating up. He felt ridiculous for blushing at such a minuscule compliment. “But anyway, I was born in South America, but raised in Spain by my aunt”. She revealed playing with the small droplets around the cup of ice water that had been forgotten.

“And what are you doing here?”

“I study here” She had just finished her first semester. “Well not here, but in Rome. I am majoring in art history”.

The not so strangers sat for hours and indulged in one more bottle of wine. Harry encouraged her to pick but she politely refused. She said that she hadn’t spent enough time in Italy to know what was best.

She told him about her parents. Her father had walked out on her mother after she had told him that she was expecting. Catalina also shared with him how she felt after losing her mother to cancer when she was only ten. She was quite surprised at herself. She had never shared so much with anyone. Let alone, someone she had met that same night. Harry brought her some kind of comfort that she had no idea she needed.

Harry listened to her. She hadn’t finished speaking and answering his previous question and he already had another one formulated. He liked hearing her speak. She allowed him to pick at her brain and he liked what he saw. She was driven, independent, somewhat lonely, but incredibly smart. Catalina was also unbelievably wise for her age.

“What about you? Is fame all you thought it would be?” Catalina asked moments after they had been kicked out of the restaurant. They eventually had to close. Harry held what was left of the bottle as they walked down the isolated streets.

“That’s a heavily loaded question” He chuckled, “It’s way more complicated and difficult. I think I expected to never feel lonely by the continuous abundance of people around me. But in reality, sometimes it feels lonelier than when I was just Harry” Harry shrugged, masking the pain that the vulnerability that he suddenly felt.

“I get it. The screams and faces don’t match the number of people close to you” Catalina was not famous but she could understand where he was coming from. Sure, her aunt had raised her, but she had felt lonely for most of her life. Her mother's death had felt a gaping hole in her life that no one has ever been able to fulfill.

“M’not ungrateful for my friends but I do feel lonely. I guess I haven't found what I am looking for” Harry flashed her a reassuring smile as they walked down to the main road. “Let me help yeh” He had seen her struggling to walk over the cobblestone streets. She wore low heel sandals that complemented the white satin dress that she has opted for. Unfortunately, the heels were thin enough to slip through the stones making her overly cautious where she stepped.

Harry switched the bottle to his other hand and offered his hand for her to take. She stopped momentarily and stared at his massive hands. They were bare. His famous rings were missing as if they had gone on a vacation too. She took his hand and was slightly surprised at their softness. She had expected them to be rough but they were quite the opposite.

“Thank you”

“No problem” He wanted to spend more time with her. He wished that the night wasn’t ending. “I would invite you for some gelato, but it’s quite late. I doubt there is any place opened”

“How long are you staying?” Catalina asked as she noticed them approaching the entrance of her hotel.

“A few more weeks” the splendor of the lights of the entrance of the hotel illuminated her features. Harry couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked.

“I’ve had a lovely time. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“M’not planning on goin anywhere” Catalina reached up, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek.

“I’ll see you around then” She gave him a little wave as she walked her way through the doors. She would later realize that she hadn’t only kissed him because it was part of her culture and tradition but because he managed to ignite a flame within her — that one had ever done before.

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thomaslightwood · 4 years

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“What if Paris was the first time we’d met?” || Thomastair University AU

I wrote this because 1) anxiety and 2) the idea of what would happen if Thomas and Alastair had met for the first time in Paris is killing my soul so here you go

•

Thomas closed his notebook with a sigh.

“I know you want to say it,” Thomas grounded.

Lucie looked at him with big innocent eyes. “Say what?”

Thomas rolled his eyes.

Lucie smiled at him and while they both stood up, she said with a grin, “Okay, I will say it. I told you not to drink last night. I told you.”

Thomas signed again. “Yeah, you did. In my defense, that guy was cute and I was nervous!”

“No excuses!”

“Mr. Lightwood.”

Thomas stopped on the exit and looked at the professor. “Yes, Mrs. Jahanshah?”

Sona Jahanshah handed him a list. “Your paper. I wished to give it to you yesterday but well.” You weren't here was left unsaid but they both knew what she meant.

Thomas felt ashamed. His Farsi class was his favorite and Mrs. Jahanshah was an awesome woman. Strict and rarely allowing compromises but amazing teacher. Thomas didn't want to let her down by missing her classes to get drunk. Especially on the second day of the new semester.

He hesitatingly took the paper and looked at it. A small smile appeared on his face.

“Thank you Mrs. Jahanshah,” he said. He hurried to Lucie who was waiting for him at the door.

“Well?” she raised an eyebrow.

Thomas grinned but only said, “Nothing.”

“Come on, let me see!”

“Nope.”

Lucie tried to grab it from him but she was too small compared to him. And in general. In the end she gave up but said this wasn't the end.

“One day I will read your work, Thomas Alexander Lightwood, remember my words.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a smile.

Together they left the university and went to the near coffee shop where they were supposed to meet with Lucie's friend, Cordelia.

Thomas was a little jealous how Lucie could find a soulmate so fast. It has never been so easy to Thomas. It will never be. Maybe he was just too awkward. Sometimes he felt like his insecurities were written all over his face.

Lucie's smile widened. “There she is. It seems her brother is also here.”

•

“I have work,” Alastair said.

“We all have,” Cordelia said.

“Okay, I have a lot of work.”

“Come on,” Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “You should take a rest from time to time. Or else your brain would explode.”

“Sure,” Alastair said sarcastically. “Tell me again, why am I here? To rest? By meeting people?”

“It's just Lucie! And one of her friends, Thomas, who is a really adorable guy. It would be fine!”

Alastair wasn't convinced but didn't say anything. Cordelia was determined to make him talk with people for some reason.

“Oh, I see Lucie. She's right there.”

Alastair followed his sister's look. He spotted her friend, Lucie Herondale, a small but lively girl. They have spoken a few times but Alastair didn't really know anything about her except the things Cordelia told him.

Next to Lucie was a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a shy smile that was laughing at something Lucie said.

Alastair felt like someone kicked him in the stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You didn't tell me your friend is so cute.”

Cordelia blinked at him and smiled playfully. “I didn't know he is your type.”

“He is now,” Alastair stated.

Cordelia couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck,” Alastair said again looking at Thomas.

•

Thomas and Lucie sat on the table with Cordelia and Alastair. He was introduced to the Cordelia's brother and Thomas got worried he'd do something stupid and would make fool of himself in front of the beautiful guy next to him and-

Thomas forced himself not to space out too much but to listen to what the rest were talking about. He did his best to join the conversation but it wasn't easy to concentrate.

At some point Alastair said he's going to the bathroom and Cordelia went to ask for more coffee. Thomas breathed out and turned to Lucie.

“Why didn't you tell me your friend's brother is so cute? You know I don't know how to act around cute guys!”

“You are doing just fine,” Lucie said, trying to calm him down.

“Well, I was drowning in anxiety. But... I think it was sort of... the normal anxiety?”

“You mean...”

At this moment Cordelia returned to the table and Lucie didn't finish her sentence. Thomas was grateful. He was diagnosed with social anxiety and didn't feel comfortable talking about it in front of strangers. Only a few close to him people knew and Thomas did not want too many people to find out about it. It made him, well, anxious.

When Alastair got back he said he should hurry up for his next lecture and said goodbye. Thomas was a little disappointed.

Cordelia, Lucie and he had almost an hour until their next class so they remained in the cafe. Thomas wanted to know more about Alastair Carstairs but he thought asking Cordelia may look creepy and out of place. He may ask Lucie to do it. Or he himself to ask. Some day.

•

Thomas was nervous. It was his first time in a new class where he didn't know anyone (he didn't know many people in the university as a whole but still).

As he entered the room he tried to calm down. Took a deep breath. His anxiety was still there but after Thomas took his seat he felt like he wouldn't get an anxiety attack in front of the whole class and will survive this. Probably.

He prepared to take notes, took out a few pens (just in case) and tried to breath normally. He reminded himself no one was paying attention to him. There were a lot of people in the room, he was just another guy in it. It was going to be fine.

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Thomas turned to the person talking to him and blinked. Alastair Carstrais.

“Sure,” Thomas said after a second.

Alastair smiled a little and Thomas couldn't help it - he returned the smile.

“The room is just so full. I was worried there weren't any left seats.”

The room was indeed full. Thomas was happy he got here early so he could sit at a place he liked.

“Cordelia didn't mention you like history.”

“Cordelia is awesome but I'm not very close with her,” Thomas said. “And I'm a little bit of history buff,” he admitted.

“Enough history buff to take a class for it, it seems,” Alastair said with a small smile.

Thomas laughed. “Yes, apparently.”

The professor walked into the room and it got quiet.

Thomas listened with interest to the lecture, taking detailed notes. But he was also excited because of the person sitting next to him.

•

Thomas wasn't sure how much time had passed but he knew he was hungry.

“Hey,” Thomas turned to Alastair who had a little strange expression as he said this. “Wanna, like- I mean if you're not busy, to have lunch with me? Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?”

Thomas' stomach did a flip but it was a good kind of flip, nervous and excited.

“I would be happy to have lunch together.”

Alastair smiled. It was a real, warm smile. “Okay.”

They went out of the university and Alastair said he knew a good place in the area. Thomas followed, careful to remember the way to it. He may need to come here again, hopefully.

As they sat, menus appeared in front of them almost immediately. Thomas ordered tea, Alastair - coffee until they waited for the food.

They talked about the lecture. It was about the history of the Ancient Near East. Alastair was half Persian and Thomas was fascinated to hear a few curious history facts about the Persian culture from him.

“I admit,” Alastair said. “My love of the Persian stories and songs is influenced by my mother. Sometimes she says it's her duty as a teacher to tell us, Cordelia and I, as much as she could about our heritage. Which of course has nothing to do with her profession but we don't say anything," Alastair laughed a little.

“Your mother is a teacher?” Thomas said curiously.

“Yes, for a few years now. She's a professor here.”

Thomas' eyes widened. “Wait, your mother is Sona Jahanshah?”

“The same,” Alastair said before drinking from his coffee.

“Whoa,” Thomas said with a smile. “I should have thought about it earlier. You have the same eyes.”

Alastair's eyes sparkled at this. He looked amused. “Most people would say we share the same temper not eyes.”

“This too,” Thomas laughed.

The conversation went in different directions a few times. They found out they share a great love for music. That Alastair's favorite book is The Prince by Machiavelli. Thomas in returned said his is Rubaíyat́ of Omar Khayyaḿ. They promised to read each other's favorite books because they haven't read it before. Thomas found out Alastair can play a piano and sing. Thomas wanted to hear him.

“What made you choose to come to France?” Thomas asked at some point.

“It's mainly because me and Cordelia wanted to study here. Paris is one of the cities where we were the happiest. So we moved here.”

Thomas wanted to ask about his father but he knew from Lucie Cordelia and Alastair's father was a sensitive topic so Thomas decides to leave it alone.

“How about you? Are you a big fan of France?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas laughed nervously. “Actually, coming to France doesn't seem very wise. My father wanted me to go study in Spain or Wales. Which would be logical because I know Spanish and Welsh. My father has connections in Spain and Lucie's father is Welsh. I started to learn French only a year ago. But...” Thomas tried his best to explained it. When he was saying it out aloud it sounded like a stupid decision but it makes sense Thomas' head. “It's about the university. The history of this city. I admire it. Lucie and I talked about it and our parents let us study here only because they know we're together.”

The waiter came to serve them the food and Thomas paused. He even didn't remember ordering a second time.

“You probably think I'm silly," Thomas said, feeling stupid.

“No, no," Alastair shook his head. “Not at all. I think I understand.”

Thomas looked at his eyes. He believed him.

“Also, you speak Spanish, Welsh and learn Farsi and French? I'm impressed.”

Thomas smiled a little shyly at that. He didn't mind compliments but coming from Alastair felt different.

The time was passing and they barely noticed. They both missed their lectures but as much as it was unusual for Thomas he barely cared. He did not regret the time spent with Alastair.

They exchanged numbers and social media. Alastair promised to send him more book recommendations. Thomas kept smiling the whole day.

•

the tree: sorry luce i can't have lunch with you today

small bean: ooooh, and why is this, little john?

the tree: i'm just not hungry

small bean: yeah yeah and i'm cinderella

small bean: are you seeing someone? someone dark haired maybe?? 👀

Thomas blushed a little and put his phone back into the pocket without answering.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Thomas followed Alastair through the exit and together left the university.

They sat in the same place as the last time. Even on the same table. Thomas liked that.

“Okay, I suggest not to miss our lecturers this time,” Alastair said.

“Agreed,” Thomas said, laughing. “I can't survive this class only on Lucie's notes.”

They talked about books. They both have read each other's favorite book now and had thoughts to share. Alastair passionately talked about one quatrains of Rubaíyat́ of Omar Khayyaḿ while Thomas was eating from his toast. Since he left London he has forgotten the pleasure of talking about books with someone who was as much investigated in it as Thomas.

Same as the last time the conversation went in different directions. They talked a little about themselves.

“I miss my friends and family,” Thomas admitted. “We were always together, very close to each other. It was weird at first when I came here, without them being around.”

“Tell me about them.”

With almost every other person Thomas would think they were trying to make small talk. Alastair though, Thomas knew, didn't speak things he doesn't mean.

So Thomas told him. He told him about his sisters but not much about Barbara who had passed away because he felt like this was too personal. About the Merry Thieves and a little bit about how they're families were friends.

In return Alastair told him about the cities he had traveled to and what he likes about them, which places were beautiful, the history of them. After his parents' divorce when Alastair was almost 18, he, Cordelia and Sona moved to Paris because the siblings wanted to study here.

They could talk for many more hours but an alarm sharply interrupted them. It was Alastair's phone. He shut it down.

“This is for me. My lecture starts after ten minutes.”

“Oh,” Thomas couldn't hide his disappointment. “Okay.”

“Hey, do you want... to meet tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday?” Thomas said, confused. “We don't have classes.”

“I know,” a strange look appeared on Alastair's face. Thomas in shock realized it was nervousness. “Actually, I... I’m asking you to go on a date with me.”

Thomas' heart skipped a beat. It was impossible to stop the smile on his face.

“Okay.”

•

“You're nervous.”

“I am not,” Alastair said defensively. Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

“Try not to freak out too much. He's just a guy.”

“A guy with a cute smile.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia laughed. “But you're cute too.”

Alastair frowned at her. “Don't you have homework?”

“I have,” she admitted. “But I also have a brother who has a date.”

Alastair sighed. “He is far from the first guy I have a date with.”

“But he's the first after you-know-who.”

Alastair shook his head. “His name is not a trigger. You can say it. And it doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.”

It wasn't too long ago and Alastair maybe wasn't too happy about his situation with Charles but Cordelia didn't need to know this.

Alastair out on his shoes and coat. The weather wasn't too chilly.

“Actually, I meant... Doesn't matter,” Cordelia said. “Just have fun, remember he is just a guy as nervous as you and don't break his heart because he's Lucie's friend and I like her.”

Alastair couldn't help it but smile. He kissed his sister's forehead and went out.

•

Thomas saw Alastair coming and tried not to look too anxious or look if his clothes were okay.

And he tried his best not to stare at the gorgeous view Alastair was.

Alastair led them on the way to the place he had in mind. It was far from the center, in a small alley that had one beautiful fountain. As they entered the small restaurant Alastair said a few words to the staff member and she immediately led them to their table.

It wasn't what Thomas imagined. They went upstairs. This floor was definitely emptier than the first one - the tables were farther from one another, with only a couple of people on them.

Their table was on the balcony. Thomas' breath stopped when he saw the view. He barely noticed as they sat and the waiter put menus in front of them.

Paris was beautiful during the night. The city of lights. The Eiffel Tower stood gold and sparkling.

“It's beautiful,” Thomas said and turned to Alastair. He caught him staring at Thomas with a smile on his lips.

“It really is,” Alastair said and also looked at the view before opening his menu. “I got lucky to reserve a table here. Part of which was that my mother and the owner are good friends,” Alastair laughed.

Thomas smiled and also opened his menu. “So. What do you recommend?”

Alastair carefully scanned the page he was on. “The toast is awesome. And the desserts are unique. Here is the best tiramisu in Paris.”

“You really like coffee, don't you?” Thomas said with a smile.

“Yes,” Alastair said. “I admit, I do love coffee a hella lot.”

Soon the waiter came to take their orders. After he left, Thomas said, “I'm curious about something. How did you come out? Wait, are you out to your family? Is this a sensitive topic? Oh god, I'm so-”

“It's okay,” Alastair laughed. “Do you always ask every guy such questions on the first date?” he teased.

Thomas blushed a little. “Well. Sometimes,” he cleared throat. “Anyway! Answer my question. Or don't if you don't want to.”

“I'll answer,” Alastair said, trying to hide a smile.“I came out to Cordelia first, a few years ago. Then she convinced me that coming out to Mâmân wouldn't be a disaster. And she was right. It was difficult at first. But it's mostly fine right now.”

The waiter came with their drinks - ginger beer for Thomas and black decaffeinated coffee for Alastair.

“How about you?” Alastair asked after they were alone again. “Are you out?”

“I am kind of out to my family and friends too, yes.”

“Kind of?” Alastair arched the eyebrow.

“It's a funny story actually,” Thomas said. “At first, one of my cousins, Anna, came out as non-binary lesbian. Not long after this Matthew, one of my best friends, came out as bi. And you see, in some way they cleared the path for me. When I came out no one was even surprised. I think they kind of expected everyone to come out as gay at some point,” Thomas laughed.

He didn't mention how sickly anxious he was to come out because he was worried his parents would react bad. Or how he worried his friends and sisters won't understand. Or the irrational, freezing fear to let even one person know something so personal about him.

They talked more about London. Alastair said he was there only once but would like to visit again. They joked that Lucie would drag Cordelia there for the first holiday that appears.

At some point they started to talk about Paris. Which museums they have visited so far. Alastair was scandalized Thomas hasn't visited the Louvre yet. They agreed they should go to one museum together some day.

It was a beautiful night, warm, with a nice breeze. They talked for long, so long they were the only ones left in the restaurant. In another time, in another life the same was happening. They were both different people, with different pasts and so different memories, unsaid words and broken hearts. But as the city of light was watching over them tonight they had this sweet memory, echoing through the centuries.

#thomastair #thomas lighwood #alastair carstairs #tlh #tsc #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #tsc fanfiction #university au #feel good fic #sav's writing #paris #tsccreatenet #my post

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Bolero

Javier PenaxReader pairing

Rating: Explicit (duh)

7.4 K

What starts as just a job as an informant quickly turns into an attraction to Agent Javier Peña.

Essentially what I think it's like to dance with Javi. Plus having sex.

If you want to listen to the song I picture them dancing to it's called Dos Gardenias by Buena Vista Social Club. I know it didn't come out until the 90s but I really don't care.

___

You didn't like this part of the job. Hated it, actually. Your feet hurt in your heels and the humidity was making you sweat. But tips were tips, even if it involved fake flirting with old men.

The music ended and José spun you into a dip as the small crowd clapped. José was an excellent dancer and he made for a good partner when it came time to actually perform for the guests, rather than try to drag them onto the dance floor. Most people assumed you were a couple you danced so in sync, but it wasn't like that.

He was a good friend though. He'd gotten you the job at the bistro, and for the small pain of three choreographed dances a night plus a few private salsas, you were paid handsomely. Of course, this wasn't your dream, performing in a smoky, humid bar for tourists and old handsy men. You would rather be on the stage as a professional, performing only for the people who could afford a ticket, not just a watered-down tequila. But work was work and money was money.

Now your least favorite part. You leaned an elbow on the bar, sweeping the crowd for whatever gringo looked the least gross. The manager insisted you interacted with the customers, reeling them in with a sexy pose and a few awkward steps on the dance floor. They tended to drink more when you did that, which was good for the bar, and you usually ended up with a couple of extra bills in your hand, which was good for you. So you complied.

An older, slightly less creepy-looking gentleman had caught your eye, and you were about to approach when you felt a gentle hand on your elbow.

"Mind teaching me a few of those steps you just did?" The music was starting up again with a bolero, your cue to find the dance floor, so you figured you'd comply with the request. Except when you looked into the face of the stranger who had spoken those words, you were taken aback. He was young, or at least younger than most of the men in here, and taller too. Shining from his tanned face were chocolatey brown eyes, surprisingly sincere and kind. His dark hair was combed into place, though a few stray curls peeked out from behind his ears and at the base of his neck.

"Sí, señor." The Spanish came out as a force of habit, though he had addressed you in English and a perfect American accent. Men liked it when you spoke Spanish, even if they couldn't understand. It gave them the impression that you were exotic. But the man half expected that from you. He'd been watching you most of the night, analyzing the way you moved, the way you beguiled the guests into a dance and then a drink, the way you controlled a man's mood with the flick of your hips and slide of your hand up his arm. The perfect skill set of a secret plant.

Without any hesitation, the man took your hand in his and led you into the crowd of dancing people. He placed his other on your hip, though he left a respectful distance between the two of you. It was uncharacteristic of the guests to do so; they generally felt they had some right to press up against you as they stumbled around.

But this man was different. He already knew the three-quarter timing. He seemed a bit tense, like he was having trouble letting loose, but he wasn't clumsy at all. "I don't think you need my instruction," you said.

The man smiled, his mustache curling up to reveal a single dimple on his smooth cheek.

"No, hermana, I don't."

Maybe there was some Latino in that tan after all. But his reply caught you off guard. You hoped pulling you onto the dance floor wasn't his attempt at flirting. You'd made a pact with yourself to never sleep with the guests, and so far you'd held true.

But he wasn't flirting, though he desperately wanted to. You were exactly the type of girl he'd pick up on a boring night, or pay to have sex with him and share your secrets. But tonight was strictly business.

"Do you work here every night?" he asked. It was a strangely specific question, though maybe he was hoping to see you again, you thought.

"Only Thursday, Friday, Saturday," you replied. The bistro only ever needed you on the busiest nights of the week, which was fine with you. Three days of work made you plenty of money, and then you had the rest of the week off. "Why? Are you already planning a second dance?"

The man ignored his question to ask another of his own. "Do you make a lot of money?"

His questions were starting to sound a bit bizarre and he wasn't answering yours either. Why did he care what you made?

"Unless you're planning on hiring me and paying me more, I don't see why you need to know." It wasn't good to be snappy with paying customers, but this enigma of a man didn't seem like the average customer to you. And instead of getting defensive at your tone, his mood shifted quickly and he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh, just as gravely and melodious as his voice. He liked your confidence and your attitude. But then he was back to business just as quickly.

The man led you towards the back of the dance floor, away from the crowd and the watchful eye of the bartender, a move that made you worry and caused you to doubt his intentions. His eyes had gone serious, a wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows and crowding out the kindness.

"Actually, I would like to hire you."

You came to a stop in surprise but the man pulled you forward, urging you to continue dancing so as not to draw attention to the pair of you. He drew you closer so he could speak directly into your ear, forcing you to breathe in his scent with the proximity, cologne and cigarettes and the saltiness of a light sweat.

"You have a club or something?"

He didn't answer your question, just asked more of his own. "Do you know runs this place?"

You shrugged. "I think his name is Manuel, but I've only met him once."

"Keep an eye out for him, will you? See when he comes and goes, if he gets any shipments or deliveries. I'll pay you for providing information."

It was your turn to finally get some answers. "Who are you?"

"My name is Javier Peña." Javier spun you out before pulling you back into his chest.

"Well, Señor Peña, I don't know who you think I am, but I am not a spy and I don't give a damn about what my employer does. So why do you care what he does?"

"Let's just say the government has a special interest in your employer. But we'd like to keep this little piece of knowledge under wraps."

You eyed Javier suspiciously. Why would the government be interested in what your boss did with his bistro? And why would this man, Javier Peña, trust you to deliver secrets? But again, money was money. Little did you know, Javier Peña was aware of your lack of loyalty to anyone, as long as they were paying you, and he gambled on this fact to ease you into a deal.

"How much are you offering?"

"I'll double whatever you make now."

Double? Mierda. "Bueno, double it is. Not sure what you expect me to find, but I'll keep my eyes open."

That full smile returned, white teeth and all. "Un secreto, sí?"

You nodded in return as the song came to an end. Letting go of your waist, Javier pulled a pair of aviators from the deep vee of his shirt and slipped them on before handing you a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. He instructed you to call him if you saw anything, anything at all. Javier gave you a salute and turned to leave, though not before asking you one more question.

"And your name?"

Now is when you usually lied, telling whatever slimeball you'd just swayed into oblivion a made-up name, like Rosa or Maria. But something about this time was different. This time, you gave him your real name.

"Adiós, bailarina," he said with a grin.

"Adiós, Señor Peña." It wasn't until you were home that you noticed he'd slipped a small stack of bills into your pocket.

---

Standing in the living room of your apartment, you held the card Javier had given you almost a week ago. You hadn't been exactly sure what he was asking you to look out for. You rarely saw your boss anyway. But then tonight, as you'd arrived at work, a truck had been parked by the employee entrance of the bistro. Manuel was still nowhere to be found, but stacks upon stacks of boxes were being unloaded into the dry storage of the kitchen. And you had taken note of it all.

Finally, you picked up the phone off its cradle and dialed the number on the card, wrapping the thick cord around your fingers as it rang. A moment of silence, and then a deep voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Javier Peña speaking." It sounded like he had just woken up, his voice softer than you remembered and groggy as well. It was a bit late, after midnight, but you figured this was something he wanted to hear sooner rather than later.

"Hola, Senior Peña, it's me from the bistro." Another silence, some shuffling, and was that a voice in the background? "Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all. What's up?"

"You wanted to know if Manuel had a shipment, right?"

"Yes, yes, what did you see?"

"Hm, I could tell you. Or I could get my mi dinero first."

Javier sighed on the other end. "Right, of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Let's see, including tips, I made 300 this week."

"Fine, 300 pesos it is. Where can I meet you?"

"You want to meet right now?"

Apparently, he did. You gave him the address to a twenty-four-hour diner you liked and he hung up, saying he'd meet you there. You gathered your purse, double-checking that the small handgun you carried for self-defense was still there. Not that you were worried the mysterious Javier Peña was someone to be scared of. But better safe than sorry.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out into the heat of the summer air. The darkness of night did little to reduce the temperature, but the humidity had dissipated enough that you rolled the windows of the car down and blasted your music into the silent night.

Though you were sure you looked a bit frazzled and worn out when you parked, Javier only noticed the flush on your cheeks and the curl of your windswept hair as he watched you step out of the car through the window of the diner. You hadn't bothered to change out of your dress and heels from work, which left little to the imagination in the way of your long legs and curved waist. When he'd first approached you last week, he'd been polite and reserved, only letting his hands fall where they were meant to in a dance. But tonight, the ruching of your dress at your hips called out to be touched. Javier knew it was all part of your job, but part of him wished you'd dressed up like that just for him. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.

A little bell jingled over the door as you drifted into the warm restaurant.

Javier steadied his hands and composed his face, not wanting to reveal the true thoughts running through his mind as you plopped into the booth seat across from him. He looked ready to get down to business, but you were hungry and held up a hand to silence him before he could begin to speak. The waitress came and took your order, a burger and fries, before turning to Javier. He relented to whatever game you were playing and ordered as well in perfect Spanish.

"Where are you from?" you asked as the waitress left to place your orders.

"This little meeting isn't about me," Javier replied, sounding a bit preoccupied, distracted even. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and chest, as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Eh, that's not very polite. Did I interrupt a little midnight date with your amorcita?" You were pretty sure that had been a woman's voice in the background when you called him earlier. His response, or lack thereof, told you everything you needed to know. Emboldened by his reaction, you continued on with your one-sided conversation.

"I love American food. Are burgers better in Texas? That is where you're from, no?"

The look of shock that flitted across Javier's face was enough to satisfy you and you leaned back in your seat with a smile. You tried your best not to show how pleased you were with his reaction, but your comment got you thinking about what he was like in bed. That was not a direction you needed your mind to wander, especially when it caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Okay, detective, I think that's enough. You want your money or not?" Though he acted annoyed, Javier was secretly impressed. What had given it away? His accent maybe?

"Sí, sí. Although I am a bit interested to know where my money is coming from."

"I told you. The government."

"You haven't really proven that to me though. Besides, what if you're trying to put my boss out of business? Then I'm out of a job. A good-paying job."

"I am trying to put your boss out of business." The withering look you gave Javier didn't put him off, though you wished it did. If looks could kill and all that. But it did provoke him to pull something from his back pocket and hold it up to your face. "DEA. You know what that is right?"

"Mierda, was it drugs in those boxes?" You couldn't help the shock that spread across your face.

"Maybe."

You pulled a notepad from your purse as the waitress returned with your food. In between bites, you read off of the notes you'd taken.

"I got to work at 4:30. The truck was already there. Manuel was not. Some men unloaded the boxes into the kitchen."

"How many."

"I don't know."

Javier raised his eyebrows. If he'd learned anything from this conversation it was that you were an observant person. He doubted that you hadn't bothered to count them. He had only to wait for you to continue on your own.

"Bueno, forty or so. This big," you indicated with your hands, about the size of the box the tomatoes came in.

"And it wasn't just food in there? You're sure it was something different than normal?"

"Come on, don't you trust me?"

"No," was his swift reply, though it was said with a smile.

"Alright, then. I looked in one. Not food, for sure."

Javier nodded in understanding and pulled a billfold from his back pocket, ready to hand over your cash.

"Espere, Señor, you think that's all I've got?" you said teasingly as you finished your fries and sucked the grease from your fingertips. "You really have no faith, dios mío."

Javier watched you intently, scrutinizing the way your tongue licked away the grease from your thumb. He took a deep breath that sounded like exasperation to you but was really meant to release an uncomfortable knot building in his stomach as he tried not to imagine what else your tongue could do.

"At 5:30, a woman named Victoria called looking for Manuel. No one answered the phone so I did. She left this message." You read directly from the notepad. "I like chocolate ice cream better than vanilla. Maybe you can take me to la heladería tomorrow."

"You're joking."

"Not at all. She said that," you said defensively. "Even gave me an address."

You ripped the paper from your notebook at handed it to Javier as he rubbed a hand along his strong jaw.

"So what are you going to do? Maybe a stakeout, arrest some people, wave your armas around?"

Javier rolled his eyes. "The DEA isn't all about stakeouts and guns. But no, we aren't going to do anything yet. There's no need to reveal our plant. And we don't want you to end up dead so don't get caught either."

"How reassuring. I'm glad the United States has me in their best interests," you deadpanned.

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Oh, so you want to see me again? Next time you can buy me a drink."

"Don't flatter yourself."

You laughed in response. Sure, this was all about money, but it was nice to have a real conversation with someone who was witty enough to keep up with your banter. But he was still too easy to tease and you took advantage of it. You liked the way his eyes narrowed and his brows creased when you got under his skin.

"You know, I'll just take it as a compliment that you're only paying me for information and not sex as well," you said as you stood, placing a couple of bills onto the table as a tip.

Javier groaned in frustration. Talking to you was like walking through a hailstorm of bullets. He was bound to get grazed no matter how careful he was. "Eh, mujer, give me a break, por favor."

And yet, despite his protests, Javier liked your sharp tongue. It intrigued him. Normally, he didn't care much about who his informants were or where they were from. But Javier was curious about you. You were smart, skilled, and good at influencing people to comply with your desires. And yet you spent your weekends on a sticky dance floor, performing for gringos like him.

The glittering smile you gave him as you left him sitting in the booth lit a small flame in his heart.

"Buenas noches, Señor Peña," you said to him as you left, almost out the door before he called your name. You turned back. "Qué pasa?"

"Javi. Just call me Javi."

---

Several weeks went by like this, with you calling Javier late at night to let him know what you'd seen. The check-ins came every Saturday, as the shipments had been consistent and seemed to run on a schedule. Eventually, you got comfortable enough to let Javier come to your apartment and exchange information for cash on your couch. You had no idea, but Javier was beginning to expect your calls, anticipating the ringing of his phone around midnight and hearing your voice on the other end.

But when you didn't check in one week, he began to worry. It was past one in the morning. Surely you would have called by now. Maybe he had missed it? There was no way; he'd sat next to the phone all night. So Javier did something he never did. He called you instead. When you didn't answer, he started to suspect something was wrong. Javier told himself to calm down, that you had probably just forgotten, or that maybe nothing of note had happened this week, or you were already asleep. But he couldn't get it out of his mind that something had gone wrong, that you'd been found out and someone had hurt you.

It was nearly two when you finally got home. For some reason, the Saturday crowd had been extra lively tonight, keeping you much later than you wanted. As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped into your apartment, you pulled off your heels and unzipped your dress, peeling it from your sticky body right there in the living room. You needed a shower and you needed to call Javier, but all you wanted was sleep. It could wait until morning.

At last, you were ready for bed, windows pushed open to let in a breeze, sheets turned down, and in nothing but your dressing gown, when a knock sounded at your door. Who would be up at this time of night and disturbing your peace?

Looking through the peephole, you were shocked to find the last person on earth you expected to be standing in the hallway of your apartment building.

"Javi?" you said in confusion as you opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame, one hand on his hip, as if trying to look relaxed but totally failing at it. On Javier's face were written lines of worry, but they relaxed at the sight of you. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good, you're home. I was worried."

Maybe it was the exhaustion fogging your brain, but he sounded genuinely distressed. The normally confident, almost arrogant Javier had been replaced with someone entirely different. "Sí, of course I'm home, where else would I be?"

"Well, you didn't call. And then you didn't answer your phone. So I was worried something had happened." Javier had managed to miss the state of your dress, or lack thereof, when you had first opened the door. But now, he noticed you wore a cream-colored dressing gown and little else. One sleeve had slipped off your shoulder in your hurry to dress, revealing the lack of anything beneath.

Javier's breath hitched in his throat as he desperately tried to tear his eyes away from your shoulder. It was a just shoulder, for god's sake. It's not like you were standing naked in front of him. But then he was thinking about you naked and that was an even bigger problem.

For a whole month, Javier had gone without a woman in his bed and it wasn't until he saw you that he realized why. He wanted you, but in a way that was different from the way he wanted anyone else. He didn't want you for information or even a quick release, but something more intimate and intense. What was wrong with him? He had to leave before he said something he might regret. You were an informant, a contact, a player in this long game of chess, and nothing more.

"I'm gonna go," Javier said, finally looking away. He was acting strange, even your tired eyes could tell. He looked disheveled, the buttons of his salmon pink shirt left open at the top and half-tucked into his jeans. His hair was no longer combed flat, the way it usually was when you saw him. Instead, it stuck up in all manner of directions, curly and unruly. Javier rubbed the back of his head as he turned to go. You weren't sure what exactly compelled you, but you called out to him before he could leave.

"Do you want a drink?" So much for sleep.

Javier had been in your apartment plenty of times. So why did he suddenly not know what to do with himself? He stood stiffly in the living room, eyeing the discarded dress you hadn't picked up yet. When you handed him a glass of whiskey he barely noticed. His mind was clearly not in the apartment, though his body was. Finally, he sat on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees, the glass balanced precariously in one hand.

Javier's thoughts drifted from one place to another, relief that you were fine, embarrassment for having thought that you weren't, bliss at your invitation inside, and then shame for having accepted.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Only if you share," you replied, sitting next to him on the couch with your own drink. The pair of you sat like that for a while, in complete silence, passing a single cigarette back and forth. Javier had no way of knowing but your thoughts followed a similar path to his, a rollercoaster masked by a sense of calm.

Your fingertips lightly grazed his as Javier passed you the cigarette. He watched you take a long draw, pulling the smoke deep into your lungs and letting it numb the strange feeling inside you. You were hyper-aware of Javier's presence beside you, his shoulder and knee barely grazing yours, even though you stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning, it read. Perhaps it was something about the early morning hours, or the dim light of your living room, the only source from the kitchen, but the next words out of your mouth were the most sincere you'd ever spoken to him.

"Are you alright, Javi?"

"Sí."

"You don't seem alright." His voice was too calm. "Is it work?"

"No."

"Friends? Family?"

"No."

You paused, pretending to contemplate for a moment.

"Ah, I know. No pretty girls to warm your bed?" You couldn't help it, falling back into teasing him like that. But he didn't want to talk and it was the only way to draw him out.

"It's disturbing how observant you are," Javier said. It wasn't a true answer, but it was answer enough. He sighed and put the cigarette out before placing his head in his hands. "We aren't friends, you know."

It was a strange comment, almost like he was trying to convince himself of the fact, not you.

"Wow. I should be offended. But for your sake, I'll pretend like I'm not."

"That's not what I mean," Javier tried to explain. "I mean-- I mean I shouldn't be doing this." He waved his hand around as if it indicated anything about what 'this' was. But you understood. He shouldn't be accepting drinks after midnight and sharing cigarettes in dimly lit apartments. It was unprofessional. Then again, everything about your relationship was unprofessional, even the work only parts.

It had taken you a while to admit to yourself that you were attracted to Javier. But when you actually started to look forward to Saturday night, to your conversations, even though they revolved around your work, that's when you knew. It was something in the way he looked when he was listening to you, his eyes holding contact with yours, eyebrows furrowed, hand on his chin, that made you think maybe he felt the same way. His hands, what was it about them? They were big and strong and you hadn't yet forgotten the way they had held onto your waist as you danced the night you met.

Dance. You knew how to communicate with that. It was second nature. Perhaps it would let you both open up. So you stood and moved to the record player. The space wasn't big enough to truly dance, but you kept plenty of records on hand to practice new choreography alone. You pulled out your favorite, a gift from José, and carefully placed down the needle.

"The bolero is danced in 3/4 time," you said, holding out your hand to Javier. "But I think you knew that already."

Javier seemed to understand and only hesitated a moment. The music swelled and he took your hand in one of his, the other finding its place on your back between your shoulder blades. There wasn't much space to move, but he led you through the steps anyway. Rock forward, step right, rock back, step left. Repeat. Tonight, Javier held you close, your hips and chests pressed against one another in a way that was much different from the first time you'd danced. He was more relaxed as well, allowing his hips to move in time with yours. Javier leaned his cheek against yours.

When you'd invited him in for a drink, Javier hadn't been sure what your intentions were. He still wasn't, though something in the way you let his fingertips glide up and down your spine as you danced gave him an idea.

And yet, he couldn't read you at all, though it seemed he could have no secrets around you. You had picked up instantly on his strange mood and though he hated to admit it, he liked the way you were persistent in trying to draw him out from his shell. He found you alluring. You were beautiful, yes, and he imagined as he fell asleep at night what you might look like under your tight dresses and this deliciously thin robe. But he also liked you, liked talking to you, liked being around you, liked your incesant teasing.

The song ended and the next one started up again, but neither of you moved away. Somehow so starved for physical contact, you were drunk on one another's touch, swaying gently in the dark. "We shouldn't--" Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him.

"Stop with the should or should not, Javi. It's too late for that."

"Why did you invite me in?" Javier figured it was worth asking, just to be sure.

"Why did you show up at my apartment, uninvited, in the middle of the night?"

"Fuck," Javier cursed under his breath. "I'm tired of this. Your half-answers, my unanswered questions, dancing, literally dancing, around whatever truth there is between us. I just want to know what you're thinking and it's impossible to tell."

You were taken aback. You had been so preoccupied deciphering Javier for yourself you'd forgotten he was probably trying to do the same with you. The look in his eyes was desperate, needy, and untamed.

The sensible thing to do would be to kick him out, to end it here because this wasn't right. It wasn't professional. And it was breaking your biggest rule: never sleep with the customer. But you were anything but sensible with a drink swirling around your veins.

You pushed Javier away gently, and he looked slightly crestfallen before he saw what you did next. The drink may have given you a boost of confidence, but this desire was all your own. With a gentle tug at the tie of your robe, you let it fall from your shoulders, the silk pooling at your feet as you stood bare before him. Javier was frozen in place, but then his eyes widened in surprise before raking up and down your body unabashedly.

"Well, I guess that's some type of answer," he whispered. The clock ticked on the wall, counting down the moments.

"Your move, Javi." Your words stoked the flame in his heart that you'd lit so many weeks ago. But his brain struggled to keep up, still in shock at the sudden sight of you naked for him and him alone. He wanted to take in every inch of you and ravish you all at the same time.

Javier reached out a hand, hesitating slightly as if unsure if you were real or just a golden vision before him. In the dim light from the kitchen, you seemed to glow, wild hair swept behind your shoulders, chest rising and falling with anticipation. Finally, Javier's fingers made contact with your skin, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the plane of your stomach. You trembled when he finally offered you his touch, goosebumps following the path of his hand as he moved up your body toward the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, causing you to gasp and nearly jump out of your skin. But his hand didn't linger, instead tracing the lines of your sternum to your collarbone and up your neck.

Javier's hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb sweeping across the ridge of your cheekbone. You closed your eyes softly, relishing in the sensation of his skin on yours. His hand was calloused but surprisingly smooth, as if worn by years of the same work. You turned your face toward his hand, pressing your lips to his palm.

You kept your eyes closed, expecting him to kiss you, your lips burning with apprehension. But the kiss didn't come, only the soft sounds of him moving and his hand leaving your face. You opened your eyes, worried he'd changed his mind and was leaving you there vulnerable to the world.

Instead, you found him kneeled before you, like a subject before his queen.

A shiver had run down Javier's spine when you'd kissed his palm as he pictured placing his own lips to yours. But something about the way you looked in that moment, ethereal, celestial, divine, forced him to his knees in worship. He wanted to taste every inch of you, learn every curve and crevasse of your body. You were just as beautiful--no, even more beautiful--than he'd imagined alone in his bed at night. And here you were, offering up that smooth skin, those thighs, those lips. And he would fucking worship you.

One hand found your waist, gripping gently but firmly to hold you in place. The other pulled a knee over his shoulder, causing you to stumble forward and forcing you to grab onto Javier for stability. But his hands held you firmly as his fingers sunk into the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to his face, mouth sinking into you fluttering lips.

You gasped, fingers tangling into Javier's unruly hair and holding on tight, the sensation of his tongue against your clit making your legs go weak. A groan came from between your thighs, sending vibrations through your core and twisting your stomach into knots.

"Fuck, just like I imagined," Javier mumbled under his breath.

Like he'd imagined?

"You've pictured this?" you managed to ask between breaths. You could barely speak, the moans tumbling from your mouth leaving little oxygen in your lungs for anything else.

"Amor, you send me to sleep at night and wake me up in the morning."

Oh mierda, his tongue was continuing to swirl around your clit, leaving you unable to control your thoughts or your movements. Your hips shifted of their own accord, grinding against Javier's face as he ate you out. At some point, he would need to come up for air, but for now, he was perfectly content to suffocate between your captivating legs, drinking in your scent and swallowing the taste of you.

Javier was guiding you languidly toward your climax, savoring every shudder and twitch he pulled from you. The muscles of your pelvic floor seized and you let out a delirious moan. The tension that preceded your orgasm curled up through your stomach and into your lungs, drawing the strength from your limbs. Suddenly unable to hold up your upper half, let alone stabilize your legs, you slumped forward, chin hanging heavily against your chest, hands sliding down Javier's back and gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"Javi, please, I can't hold on." You needed to sit, lay down, anything, before you collapsed in ecstasy here in the living room. At your words, Javier picked up the pace, taking you from a gradual climb to a swift ascent. His acceleration told you everything you needed to know. Come for him, and he'd take you to the bedroom.

So you did, your orgasm shuddering through you at a staggering pace. It rushed through you, searing and urgent, and something told you this was only the beginning. A warm-up of sorts, leaving you unable to stand yet shivering for more. The last waves of your orgasm spread through you, Javier drinking them from you until your trembling subsided and your breathing came back to normal. He caught you as you eased back into your body, picking you up by the waist and slinging you over his shoulder. You giggled at the sudden change of perspective, now hanging upside down with an excellent view of Javier's ass.

"What are you doing?"

Javier didn't answer.

With a flop, you landed on the bed on your back. Javier stood over you, taking in the sight of you. Little did he know, you were doing the same, even though he was still fully clothed. You sat up on the edge of the bed and tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his tight jeans. Javier undid the buttons, letting out a soft groan as you took advantage of his proximity to palm the bulge in his pants. You wanted a taste.

His shirt now discarded, you worked at the button of Javier's jeans, placing a soft kiss on his stomach as you tugged them down. No underwear, why weren't you surprised? Javier's fingers curled into your hair, taking hold with a gentle yet solid grip as you freed his cock from confinement, precum leaking from the swollen head.

You looked up through your eyelashes, wanting to watch Javier's face as you swiped your tongue across the tip of his length, savoring the taste and earning a strangled moan from Javier's mouth. His eyes sunk shut and the image of you in the diner, licking the grease from your fingers danced behind his eyelids. He realized he was about to have that fantasy fulfilled, about to know exactly what your tongue could do.

The expression on Javier's face and his tightening hands in your hair made your stomach flutter. The absolute control you held over this man was ten times more satisfying than manipulating those men in the bistro because you were enjoying this too. Lightly, you dragged your tongue up his quivering cock, causing Javier to buck his hips and let out a hiss of dissatisfaction.

"Mierda, princesa, you gonna take me or just make me beg for it all night."

"You know I like to tease you, Javi." But the time for teasing was over. With one hand wrapped around him, you took him into your mouth, lowering your head as far as your gag reflex would let you. You began to move slowly, Javier's hands still in your hair and guiding your movements. Your other hand reached up and fondled his balls, pinching and massaging the tender skin. The sensation sent Javier hurtling toward the edge and he began to thrust into your mouth, matching your pace. It was good, too good. He was going to cum soon if you kept going.

Suddenly, Javier pulled away with a grunt, panting your name.

"Fuck, princesa, you're gonna finish me off fast like that." His voice was ragged with hunger. He wanted to taste you again, feel himself inside you as you came. "I'm not done with you yet."

Javier untangled his hands from your hair and placed them tenderly on your shoulders before pushing you back onto the bed again. He grabbed your ankles and hooked them over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt which was aching in anticipation of his cock, the size of which you had just fucked with your mouth.

You could feel the heat of him, so close, but Javier took his time, kissing his way down your thighs, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin until your legs shook. And still, he didn't slip inside you, instead caressing the tenderness of your stomach with his mouth. He'd kissed all the way up your body, from the jut of your hip bones to the freckle below your bellybutton to the supple fullness of your breasts. Javier's attentions left you squirming under his touch, but he wasn't done. He wanted to taste every inch of your exposed skin, both salty and sweet under his tongue.

Suddenly, Javier's touch left your body and he flipped you over. You squealed at the abrupt movement, your face in the pillows and hands gripping the sheets. Behind you came the sound of a condom opening. And then you could feel Javier hovering above you, his cock teasing your entrance, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair. And then his voice spoke next to your ear.

"Are you ready, princesa?" Javier asked, his voice heady and ragged.

"Fuck me, Javi." That was all the invitation he needed. Without a moment's hesitation, Javier lined himself up with your entrance and slammed into you. Your gasp of surprise, and all the screams that followed, dissipated into the pillows, muting the sounds that you knew would have been heard by the neighbors otherwise.

Javier crashed into you again, stretching and filling you more with each thrust. He started slow, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The hand in your hair pulled your head back, releasing the sounds trapped in the pillow to mingle with Javier's moans. The hand at your waist wrapped around to find your clit, his calloused fingers teasing the delicate bud, and Javier leaned over to run his tongue up your spine, chasing the shivers he was causing.

The combination of sensations, his tongue on your skin, fingers on your clit, cock buried deep in your pussy, built you again toward orgasm. You rose up onto all fours, trying to find that angle you knew would hit your g-spot, and Javier seemed to understand. He began to thrust harder and faster, rushing toward the edge he had narrowly avoiding sailing over when his dick had been in your mouth. But this was better, so much better. Javier's untangled his hand from your hair and wrapped his arm around your chest, lifting you so you were on your knees and pressed flush against his back.

This was it, the perfect angle. A tumble of incoherent Spanish curses flew from your mouth as Javier reached up to squeeze your tit in his large hand.

"Fuck, Javi, right there," you mumbled in between breaths. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Cum for me, princesa," Javier growled into your ear. "I won't cum until you do."

Javier's tongue flicked along your neck and up toward your ear, where he nibbled lightly. He thrust, deep and strong, into your trembling pussy and you came, in a searing white light of ecstasy. You choked out your sounds of pleasure, unable to breathe properly. As your walls clenched around his cock, your orgasm rushing in waves against him, Javier could hold it no longer. With a groan, he fell apart, grunting your name over and over as his twitching member spasmed inside you.

The two of you held still for a moment, unwilling and unable to move. Finally, Javier slipped out of you, leaving you feeling cold and empty. It didn't last long, however. Javier laid on the bed and pulled you down with him, holding you close to his chest. You curled against him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze drifting in through the open window.

"I have to admit, this isn't how I thought my night would end," Javier said. You giggled, still high on the euphoria of your second orgasm. The dopamine that clouded your brain began to clear and you looked into Javier's face, the tension and worry absent and replaced with a languid look of satisfaction and pleasure.

And then you realized something that made you sit straight up in bed. "You bastard," you said accusingly, pointing a finger at Javier's chest. He dragged a hand across his face.

"Oh mierda, what did I do now?"

"You never even kissed me."

It was true. He hadn't. He'd been so preoccupied with tasting the rest of you he'd failed to do the one thing he actually desired most.

"Alright, that's a valid accusation," Javier said, dragging you back down and rolling on top of you, pinning you to the bed. "I am a bastard, a lucky one."

Finally, with one hand on your face and the other lacing his fingers in yours, Javier kissed you. A real, proper kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip and tongue gliding along yours. He kissed you until he could hold his breath no longer and then came back for more, tasting of your orgasm and the shared cigarette. At last, he pulled away and buried his face in your neck.

You pulled the covers up and over the two of you. And then you wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him to your chest as tightly as you could.

"Have any plans for tomorrow?" you asked.

Javier grinned into your shoulder. "Ready for round two already?"

"Only if we get to sleep in first."

"Anything for you, princesa."

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena #pedro pascal #"javi smut #javier pena x reader #I just want to dance with Javi is that too much to ask #reader #xreader

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bellakitse · 4 years

Text

abrázame muy fuerte amor

“I’ve heard this before,” he questions, getting a gentle nod in return from his boyfriend. “You’ve played it a few times in the past,” he continues as the song picks up.

“It’s our song,” he tells him, chuckling softly when TK looks at him in surprise.

Carlos has a song he considers his and TK’s, only it’s in Spanish. He translates it for TK, leaving him in awe of the love Carlos feels for him.

Written for Day Three of Tarlos Corazonados Weekend- Love Languages @tarlos-valentine

There are just too many things to count TK Strand loves about Carlos Reyes and being with him. He loves how kind and caring he is with everyone around him, from TK to his crew, to his parents, to strangers on the street. He loves how attentive he is, shooting him a text just because he thought about him. Or how he’ll carry one of his APD hoodies in his car on the off chance TK might get cold and knows he enjoys wearing his clothes more than his own. He loves how affectionate he is, always quick to embrace TK, never making him feel his touch is unwanted or a bother. Instead, Carlos matches him touch for touch, kiss for kiss, each and every time. But most of all, he loves that Carlos just makes time to be with him. It doesn’t have to be a big production; he just makes sure TK knows he wants him around. Like now, with TK sitting on the kitchen counter staring at him lovingly while he prepares their dinner.

He teases TK about being spoiled as he doesn’t lift a finger to help but quickly shakes his head, walking over to kiss him in place when TK starts to get down and assist. He chuckles, joking about not wanting to deal with a kitchen fire on their night off, kissing TK again when he pouts in response.

So TK sits, watching the dance Carlos does around his kitchen as he chops veggies and stirs the sauce. In the background, music plays softly from speakers, some songs he knows, some he’s never heard before as Carlos has a wide and varied taste in music on his collection of playlists.

A song starts to play, the words begin low. He doesn’t know what they are, as the song is in Spanish, but he knows it’s familiar. Looking over at Carlos, he finds him looking back at him with a soft smile on his face.

“I’ve heard this before,” he questions, getting a gentle nod in return from his boyfriend. “You’ve played it a few times in the past,” he continues as the song picks up. The vocalist sings with so much emotion that even though TK doesn’t understand, he knows the song is about love. It’s powerful enough to cross language barriers.

“Who is it?”

“Juan Gabriel,” Carlos answers with a smile. “El Divo de Juarez they used to call him. I grew up listening to his songs, all about a love like no other love. Mom would play him while she cooked, and we would dance to his more lively songs.”

TK smiles at the picture that springs in his head of little Carlos dancing with his mother. “And this song in particular? You play it the most,” he asks, eyebrows raising in surprise when Carlos blushes at his question.

“Abrázame muy fuerte,” Carlos starts to say, and TK can’t help but smile. He loves when Carlos speaks in his native tongue. “It means ‘hold me very close.’”

TK nods, tilting his head to the side. “And – it’s special to you?” he questions, wondering if maybe it represents something in Carlos’ past.

Carlos’ face goes rosy again, but there is a sweet smile on his lips that makes TK’s heart flutter. “It’s our song,” he tells him, chuckling softly when TK looks at him in surprise. “I mean – it’s the song that makes me think about you every time I listen to it. So it’s kind of become our song in my head.”

TK takes in a deep breath as the love he sees in Carlos’ eyes threatens to steal it. “I’ve never had a song with anyone,” he admits quietly, his heart singing happily at the possibility of having one now.

“You can have this one with me if you want,” Carlos tells him, a hint of nervousness in his voice, and TK aches at the vulnerability he sees in his beautiful brown eyes.

“I would love that baby,” he answers gently, getting a pleased smile in return. “But will you tell me what it says? I want to know why this song reminds you of us.”

Carlos turns towards the stove, bringing the heat of the sauce to a simmer. He wipes his hands on a clean rag, and TK can see they tremble slightly. He holds his breath for a second as Carlos crosses the small distance between them. He parts his knees so Carlos can step between them, closing his eyes for a moment when he leans in to give him a gentle kiss.

Taking his phone, Carlos starts the song again to the low intro. “When you’re with me, is when I say,” Carlos starts translating, his voice just above a whisper, his eyes locked on TK. “That this – has been worth everything, everything I’ve suffered.”

TK can’t help the gasp he lets out at the first verse. He reaches blindly for Carlos’ shirt, curling his fingers around it to steady himself. Carlos smiles understandingly, swallowing audibly before continuing.

“I don’t know if it’s a dream or reality,” Carlos frowns for a moment, almost to himself, before the expression clears. “But when I’m with you, is when I can say, this love I feel is because you have earned it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers unevenly, feeling his eyes sting at the words, but more so at how strongly he knows Carlos believes them. His expression is wide open for TK to see all he feels for him.

The song continues to play, and Carlos continues to transform it for TK.

“I’m telling you, love, I have awakened again crying from happiness,” Carlos reaches up, cupping his face, his thumb drawing small circles over his cheekbone to comfort him. “By your side is when I feel like I’m living. Nothing is as it was yesterday.”

TK nods rapidly as he agrees, a wet shaky sound escaping his throat. “Yes, Carlos, yes, it’s the same for me.”

Carlos closes his eyes as the most beautiful smile takes over his face. He leans in, pressing his forehead to TK’s as the music picks up and the violins get louder. TK goes to grip his biceps, trying to pull him closer still, his heart in his throat from all the love he feels for Carlos and that he feels given back to him. His whole life, he has searched for this; it takes his breath away to know he’s finally found it.

“Hold me, because time passes and it never forgives,” Carlos whispers in the space between their mouths. “It has caused me pain.”

TK moves, pressing kisses to Carlos’ eyelids as he continues to translate their song. That’s what it is now. The words he previously didn’t understand, now spoken from Carlos’ lips, mean everything to him.

“Hold me, because time is awful and a very cruel friend. Hold me, because time is gold if you’re with me,” Carlos breathes out, now shaking slightly as his voice thickens with emotion. “Hold me close, very close, closer than ever,” he whispers, stumbling over some of it, and TK does precisely that. He holds Carlos close, tighter than he ever has, until his trembling starts to subside.

“I want to stay this way forever,” Carlos tells him when he pulls back to look at him, and TK realizes it’s both the next verse of the song and what Carlos truly means. “I’ll take advantage while you’re here to thank you for every moment of our life.”

TK shakes his head. It’s him who should be thanking Carlos. For sticking by him when any sane person would have cut and run. For never giving up on him – on them. For loving him more fiercely than anyone ever has.

“I am going to love you forever,” TK vows, the tears he’s been holding back since Carlos started translating breaking through. “Forever.”

Carlos smiles even as his own tears fall. “When you look up at the sky,” he says, his smile growing, it’s the sweetest smile TK has ever received. “For every star you see, know it’s an ‘I love you.’”

“Oh,” TK says softly, the love behind the line overwhelming him again.

Carlos gives him a gentle nod. The song continues for a moment before he picks up again on the translation.

“Hold me very close, love,” he tells him, almost pleading. “Keep me like this by your side.”

“Forever,” TK repeats once more, getting yet another adoring look from Carlos. He’s no longer tearful. He’s calm and steady, TK’s safe place as always.

“I appreciate everything you’ve given me,” Carlos continues, pressing his forehead against TK’s again. “I want to be with you every day, in one way or another.”

He doesn’t keep going as the song starts to come to an end. Instead, they stay quiet in their own little world, basking in their love and this moment that has cemented it.

“Hold me very close, love,” Carlos whispers to him as the last line of the song plays out, and TK nods, pulling him closer.

That’s precisely what TK intends to do for the rest of his life. He’s going to hold on to this beautiful, wonderful man who decided to love him out of all people, and he’s going to keep him forever.

He kisses him slow and sweet, smiling at the lovely sigh Carlos lets out as a result.

Pulling back to look into his eyes, his smile grows at the bashful expression he finds there. “I love our song,” he tells Carlos softly, biting down on his lip before he asks. “Play it again?”

The smile he gets in return is more beautiful than the last, and the song starts to play once more.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tarlosvalentine21 #tk x carlos #my writing #the sappiest thing I have ever written

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savrenim · 3 years

Note

What does a “mathematical brain” mean ? My math teacher told me he didn’t know why I couldn’t get good grades in math because I have the mind for it so I’m very confused by what having a mathematical mind is supposed to be.

I really don't think there is such a thing as a mathematical brain? Especially because math is a huge subject, and different parts of it require very differently skills and instincts. Writing off an entire subject as "your brain is just good or bad at it/ you're just pre-disposed to be good or bad at it" is bullshit, especially in math, where any given problem will have multiple solutions and especially when you're first learning standard maths taught through the calculus sequence and not where it all came from and how it all connects with each other the best way to go about remembering how to do everything in my opinion is find the one way that really makes sense to you, and then stick to it.

I will say that "I am bad at languages" / "My brain is just bad at languages." The actual truth of the matter is, I'm... not bad, like, I certainly don't have any sort of auditory processing disorder, but at the very least sub-optimal at purely auditory processing. I am very bad at remembering people's names or hearing them right in the first place unless I see them written down in front of me, rip my DM for having to send me character lists every new arc of gay murder elf bachelorette or I just will call everyone the wrong name, I cannot do 'listening to podcasts' really well, I don't bother with audiobooks, etc. Very specifically, if something is purely auditory with no visual component attached, it seems like my brain just doesn't interpret it or remember it correctly. And again, this definitely isn't a disorder or anything! I mildly prefer subtitles, but I watch movies without subtitles just fine all the time. I can listen to podcasts so long as I have an appropriate activity like driving or cooking or laundry that I'm doing at the same time occupying just enough brainpower. I have zero problems with my hearing, zero problems with speaking to people in English, zero problems in general with learning/ learning disability. But oh boy, trying to learn a different spoken language. I did just fine, in fact straight As because tests were written, in six years of Spanish and three years of French, but I cannot for the life of me understand a single word in one of those languages. Despite the fact that I can still somewhat read French. The spoken bit never clicked. Teachers asked me why I did not join the honors sequence or even the AP sequence for the languages I was in because I was so good at it and I externally went "my courseload is busy enough" and internally went "you mofos those classes would actually grade me on the oral bits, I can do this now bc I'm good at charts and grammar and written things and memorization, but that will not make me good at speaking the language."

I am fairly certain if I devoted years to it and tried really hard, I could learn to speak a different language. I deeply admire people who do learn other languages. But it's Hard for me and I've decided to use my time for Other Things, and that's okay.

The thing with math is that it's similar. If you're dealing with anything up to and through a college calculus sequence, there are specific skills you'll be using and depending on how those skills are taught, they may or may not align with your natural instincts. For me, math is pretty much visualization. A lot of working with functions and manipulating values and what-not is at least for me something that I did with internal sketches of what was happening the whole time. For example, why is the solution to |x-a|<b a single interval but |x-a|>b two intervals? Well, the picture in your head of a number line, and think of point "a" and distance "b" then you're either highlighting "distance b close to a" or "distance b away from a". Or what is the domain and range of f(x)=8/(x^2-16). Well, the picture of x^2-16 is a parabola but most importantly it has zeroes at 4 and -4 and a minimum of -16, so once that sketch is in your head you kind of. Instinctively reconstruct the reverse sketch of 8/(x^2-16) by thinking of where it's positive, where it's negative, where it goes to 0, to infinity, or hits a local maximum/minimum.

For higher maths, the only thing that I can really think of in terms of having a "mathematical brain" is training oneself in formal logic for proofs. But again, that involves way more learning of tools (proof by contradiction, proof by induction, proof by construction) and figuring out on your own how to make them work for you than any one given particular type of skill. A lot of actual math research though is fucking around playing around with things until you see what stuff actually sticks. Whole bunch of trial and error trying to get things to work, and them either working or not.

I think the public perception of what makes a "good mathematical brain" is probably something along the lines of: (1) an exact/precise person, whatever that is supposed to mean, (2) someone good at memorization, and (3) someone who seems logical/organized? But that is kind of delving into stereotypes and way less what actually makes people good at math. But also I'm pretty sure pretty much every person has their own internal stereotypes, and a teacher will probably have their own specific stereotypes after teaching a class for years about which general types of students are usually good or bad.

But mostly, flat-out? Any teacher who tells you something like that is a shitty teacher, and fuck them.

#if you're struggling I'd really recommend looking for things that teach the bits you need to learn #in different ways than was presented in class #if you can afford it/ if your school offers it for free tutoring can be super useful #for online resources khan academy is my default because I really like their videos and their step-by-step examples are useful #but really there's no such thing as a 'mathematical brain'#there are particular skills that will predispose you to be better at certain techniques #but nothing is ever set in stone for good or for bad

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Request #7

The Sniper/Spy Pirate AU! Here on AO3!

Each step taken on the wooden bridge made the planks of it creak under worn-out, heeled, leather boots. The gun's strap needed adjusting, so he stopped and tied it neatly again for the long barrel to rest across his back.

He gulped down his dry throat and thought to himself that a visit to the local bar would do him some good. After all, the past few weeks at sea had been tiring. So he raised his hand and his feathery companion landed on it.

“Hoo?”

The owl opened his eyes wide and round. In the dead of night, it could see perfectly.

“Let’s go.” The hoarse voice said and the owl jumped to the tall man’s shoulder.

After walking in town for quite a while, being offered the favours of women in ragged dresses and men in torn out coats, the man in the long, dark brown, sleeveless coat heard the familiar racket of a pub. Perfect. He pushed the door.

The songs of drunk men and the chatter of the way-past-tipsy were melodies that the scruffy man was used to. He entered the place and bent his head slightly, to not bump his head. Only the colourful feathers of exotic birds on his hat grazed the top of the doorframe.

He sat at a secluded table, and waited for someone to take his order. A beer, fresh and bitter, that's what he liked.

"I swear they exist!"

"Bah…! Nonsense, I've heard the stories."

Some other poor sailing souls were chatting loudly.

"What stories?" A young one asked as the man in the long coat paid for his beer with doubloons. The waitress bit them to check and moved away.

"Listen, kid. There are stories out there about the Great Nine." An old man recalled.

"What are they?"

"You mean who are they? They were the best pirates over all the seas! The bounties over their heads would clean a bank dry of all of its money! Countless folks tried to best them, none of them came back to tell their stories."

"They were? They're dead?"

"Rumour has it they're dead. But I could never believe it, nah…" The old man shook his head, his eyebrows were so bushy that he looked like he had just one going from one end of his face to the other.

"Why?"

"Cause every once in a while, you hear of them."

"Have you ever met one?"

"Nah, but I've heard the stories. Last somebody saw some was over in Europe! Some are here, in the colonies, and there's one that no one knows where he is."

"What's so special about him?" The young sailor asked.

"Some say he doesn't even exist. He could be anywhere. See that tree there?" The old man pointed through the window. "He could be that very tree."

Another sailor sat at the table with a pint. The old man went on.

"Some say he might be your mum right now!"

"Others say he might be with your mum right now!" The sailor who had just joined said and laughter boomed in the dimly lit bar. "He's a master of disguises, as loud as shadow, and so good with men and women that folks say he never sleeps alone! But he could be anywhere and anyone! He could be you, he could be me, he could even be-"

"Oh shut up! The Great Nine don't exist!" Another voice said and disturbed the peace of the man with the owl, who winced.

"Yeah, they do! I heard one of them is around these parts of the world." The old one answered.

"Really?" The young one asked. "Which one!?"

"They say he can see like a bird of prey, even at night, like an owl. Best eyesight on all the seas, can gun down anyone and any prey from any distance, even blindfolded, they say!"

"Bullocks!" Another one answered. "The Great Nine are the stuff of legend!"

"They aren't!"

Two groups formed in the tavern and the argument went on.

"But what's so special about them?" The young sailor asked.

"Each of them are experts in somethin'. Folks say they invented their craft!"

"What do they do?" The young one asked.

"One's said to put mountains to shame. Muscles that pile higher than what you've ever seen."

"Another one's said to have blown up an entire island with one eye. They say his eye socket is haunted!"

"Aye! And there's one who's said to jump so high and run so fast, you can't see him!"

"The fourth can build cannons that fire without being manned!"

"The fifth one drinks his beer only if it's set ablaze and he's the only pirate who can sail a wooden ship on flames!"

"The sixth blasts his gun with his hat over his eyes and can jump in the air with cannons!"

"And the last one is a healer."

"A healer?" The young one repeated, perplexed. "How can he be a pirate then?"

"Rumour has it he's sailing with the pile of muscles and can make him invincible with a secret potion. He also brought some folks back from the dead!"

"How would you recognise them?" The young one asked.

"Only in battle, kid. If you see one of the miracles we described to ya, then you'll know. Legend says some can also recognise each other somehow."

"And you said he was around these parts, the one with great eyesight. How do you recognise him in particular? D'you have to watch him fight?"

"He's got a gun like none other, with one very long barrel. Rumour has it he built it on his own, forged the metal and all. Besides, he's got an owl for a pet." The old sailor resumed. "They say he sees through its eyes."

"Yeah, that's why a lot of folks think they saw him. They see a man with a bird and get scared…!"

"An owl?" The young one repeated. "Like this guy?"

All the eyes turned to that one man with the long, dark brown coat and the hat with two exotic feathers on it. He stood up and took his leave, his owl firmly perched on his shoulder. He had heard enough.

A few days later, the man with the owl looked for a contract again. As a hunter, he was a patient man and could have waited more but he missed the sea. He looked around in town to find something suitable for him. He knew the basics of sailing but that wasn't his strongest asset. He much preferred being hired as an assassin.

In the past, he had had contracts to protect convoys or attack some. He also had hunting contracts for exotic and rare species. As he had spent a lot of time with the wildlife of the colonies, he had become quite the expert with the fauna.

"Hoo."

The owl flew from his shoulder to a sign where people pin letters, advertisements for jobs. The man took a closer look. He eliminated a lot of them until one caught his attention. He tore the paper out of the sign and shoved it in his pocket before heading to the address mentioned on it.

"Sir, a gentleman to see you, for business."

"Let him in."

The house wasn't a house. It was a bloody palace and a half. The governor of that area sure was well-off.

The old, heeled boots clicked and clacked with every step on the immaculate, white tiled floor, as the man with the contract in his pocket followed the butler. They eventually arrived in a spacious and luxuriously decorated room at the end of which was a desk and the governor sitting at it.

"Faites vite."

The man in the ragged clothes didn't move. Ah, yes, that was French territory and the governor was of course, French.

"I said to make it quick." The governor translated himself and one could hear the accent even though he could speak in perfect English.

The man raised a finger and his pet owl flew to it. He looked the governor in the eye and removed his peculiar long gun from his back, holding it firmly in his palm.

"Ah, I see you are here for the job?"

He nodded, the feathers on the hat brushed the air.

"Well, you are hired."

The butler's eyebrows jumped. The governor didn't even ask anything about that vagabond and just hired him?

"Let me give you some details. Pray take a seat."

The man with the long gun obeyed.

"My ship will transport some gold and sugar from this island to further up North. From there, the cargo will be transferred to a group of ships and transported back to Europe. Your job is to make sure that the first step of the plan goes smoothly. Namely, that all the cargo makes it up North. Am I clear?"

"Any particular risk of attack?" The man had finally spoken and his voice was deep and hoarse.

"Pirates." The governor said. "They are growing more and more numerous by the minute, reproducing like rats. The English are of course to be distrusted, and some reports tell us that even some Spanish ships were seen to roam around these coasts."

The feathers on the hat nodded slowly.

"Payment?" The hoarse voice asked.

"As promised on contract, and only when I have received a letter from France saying that they received all of it."

Again, the couple of exotic feathers bowed and bounced back up.

"Will I be alone on the job?"

"No, of course not. A group of my guards will be there."

"Why hire me then? Don't trust them?"

"A pile of gold can make a man's oath for service swing." The governor answered. "Any more questions?"

The man under the hat shook his head.

"Then I have one for you. What is your name?"

"M."

The governor's eyebrows twitched but he then promptly nodded.

"Fine then, Mister M. The ship will depart tonight, the crew will expect you."

M nodded and rose to his feet before turning away.

"M?"

He turned back to the governor.

"Here, take this letter with you. My crew will let you on board if you show it."

M took the letter and nodded before leaving.

It was still early in the day and when M exited the governor's palace, he decided to spend some time on his own, walking around town.

M wasn't a man of many friends. The owl he had, Hootsy, was his longest one. He had rescued it as it was but a young chick and raised it until it became a proud and grown up owl. M wasn't very talkative either. Some people would even say that his owl would speak more than him. But it didn't matter much to him. He was living for Hootsy and himself, he had no family either.

He had his parents back home but when he had come back to them with mountains of money, they had kicked him out. That was a mistake on M's part. Of course a beginner sailor couldn't make that much. He had tried to make them believe that it was all honest money, but of course, they didn't believe him and had guessed that he had joined some pirates.

So much for family and friends. He had none left. And what about love interests, hm? Wanting to start a family? Wave goodbye to the seas and stay on land with a woman and a few kids?

Nah. He liked the sea too much and the women so little.

The truth was that anytime he wanted a night to be less lonely, he would rarely go to women. It happened, sometimes, that he would try a woman again. But there was nothing that got to him more than a man's attention. Somehow, it was more honest, more true, and even if at the end of the day it was but a transaction - a service in exchange for doubloons - it never failed to make a spark in his heart.

And that spark, he had learnt to put it off, bury it and move on. M was cursed, not because he liked men - many pirates were like him - but because he had stepped a foot in a type of life that wouldn’t allow him to exit it. Being at sea, the salt floating in the air, the seagulls chanting the land and men chanting the waves, the bobbing of the ship, the thrill of a chase, of a fight, and emerging victorious against the authorities, against forces that deemed your job illegal and your whole purpose void; yeah, that was what M had developed an addiction to. Of course men would fall and die, people he would call “mate” for a trip, a voyage, they would leave him. And it seemed to him that however big the number of people he called “mate”, the number of dead men would always rise higher and death would swallow them all eventually like a gigantic hungry shark.

And the curse did not end there. M had to hide. He did not want people to call him “mate”. He let them do it, just for the purpose of the job and because it would seem unusual if he asked other crewmates to treat him differently. But the truth was that he was different, he wasn’t like any odd pirate. No, God had to make him special and on top of pushing away any semblance of friendship, the cruel one high above had to make M do the heart-breaking job of actively pushing people away himself. Why? Because if they knew who he was, they would try to kill him.

M looked at the sun and it barely started to go down. A cold beer would do. He shoved a hand in his pocket and felt the coins. Yeah, that should do for a pint or two. He headed for the harbor and entered a tavern there.

The setting was much different than that pub of the previous day. Everywhere around him were official sailors, people who had a wage and all for their work. There were even a few blue coats, officers of the French naval forces. M didn’t pay any attention to them. He went to the counter and placed his order, barely noticing the eyes riveted on him, the odd one in the crowd.

“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fait là? Il n’a pas l’air Français.”

[What the hell is he doing here? He doesn’t look French.]

“A mon avis, c’est un de ces pirates, ou pire, un Anglais.”

[In my opinion, he’s a pirate, or worse, he could be English.]

“Un pirate? Ici? Il tend le bâton pour se faire battre…”

[A pirate? Here? He is asking to be beaten up...]

M’s understanding of French was limited to sailing words. But no matter the language, he could feel the tension rising in the air and the animosity growing towards him.

“Hé, d’où tu viens, l’ami?”

[Hey, where d’you come from, mate?]

M kept on drinking his beer silently.

“Hé, j’te cause….!”

[Hey, I’m talkin’ to you….!]

The French naval officer came closer and pulled M by the shoulder.

“T’es Français ou non?”

[Are you French or not?]

M sighed and frowned.

“No.” He answered.

“Alors casse-toi avant qu’on te casse la gueule.”

[Then fuck off out of here before we beat you up.]

M did not want to attract any attention but… His pint was still pretty full and he had paid with the last few doubloons he had. In other words, he didn’t have much to lose. He whistled and his owl flew inside the pub, landing next to his glass.

"Une chouette et un long fusil… Est-ce que c'est…?"

[An owl and the long gun… Is that…?]

One sailor pointed at M.

"C'est personne! J'en ai vu des gens qui se trimballent avec un hibou et un long fusil. Ils s’habillent comme une des Grand Neuf pour effrayer les gens!”

[It's no one! Countless people I've met with a pet owl and a long barrelled gun. They just dress up like one of the Great Nine to scare people away!]

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Just a beer close to the harbour.”

The people in the bar looked at each other, intrigued. A man with a pet owl and an odd long barrelled gun on his back…?

“Leave him be.” Another officer said from his chair in the corner of the room. He spoke in English with a similar accent than that of the governor. “He paid for his beer as much as you did, thus giving his money to a French landlord. If more of the English scum did the same, we wouldn’t need to hire pirates at each other to help us in this war.”

“J’en ai rien à foutre. Qu’il dégage ou je vais le renvoyer chez sa mère vite fait bien fait.”

[I don’t give a fuck. He should be out of this place, before I send him back to his mum quick.]

People turned to the man who was in the corner, the one who had defended the stranger, and he stood up. He walked to the one who wanted to pick up a fight and looked them straight in the eye.

“C’est toi que je vais renvoyer chez ta mère si tu ne la boucles pas.”

[It’s you I will send to your mother if you don’t shut it.]

He patted his own shoulder where the sewn pattern of his rank was and the feisty officer froze.

“Oh, merde… Pardon, Monsieur!” He saluted him.

[Oh, shit… Sorry, Sir!]

M had ignored the whole conversation. He had asked for a bowl of water and Hootsy was now bathing in it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. The officer sat next to him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. I know you will join us on the governor’s ship tonight. My name is Capitaine de Belzyeux.”

M nodded in thanks.

“You the captain of the ship?”

“No, I will come as a guard with my squad.”

M nodded again.

“See you later.” The Frenchman said.

M finished his drink and the sun gently set in the distance, the sky turned from blue to pink and darker shades of violet in the distance. He looked at his owl and offered his hand to him.

Tick, tack, tick, tack.

Hootsy’s claws clicked on the wooden counter and the feathery companion climbed on his master’s hand, wrapping his claws gently around his fingers. M put him on his shoulder and exited the tavern, heading for the docks.

He walked along the ships, Hootsy flying above him until M located the governor’s ship. The sails were very distinct, his sigil was sewn there gigantically.

Embarking wasn't an issue for M, the letter vouched for him. But once aboard of course, people kept on giving him odd looks. He was the only one not wearing a blue uniform. But as the Captain from the tavern was there, no one attempted more than whispers or looks.

The ship departed from the harbour and was headed deep into the sea. The strip of land on the horizon shrunk to a line, and soon, nothing. The water was calm, one could only hear the occasional creaking of the wood on the ship, or the sails rolling, inflating under the soft wind before they deflated and let a gentle draft through. Orders were shouted left and right but soon, silence fell when the ship was sufficiently far from any land.

The night was deep and everywhere around the ship was an infinite sea, the ripples at the surface gently reflected the moonlight. Most of the crewmates withdrew to get some rest, leaving a few to keep watch.

“Mercenary?” M turned. The Captain from earlier came to him. “Follow me, please.”

M obeyed and went down the cargo hold of the ship, passing the crewmates' rustic beds.

“That’s where the gold is.” He pointed at crates. “Should things go pear-shaped, this is what my squad, me and you will die for.”

M’s eyes lingered on the crates. They were neatly arranged and piled up and he thought to himself that it was indeed a lot of it. Wherever that governor had got it all from was beyond him.

“As you see, there is only one way to get inside, through this door that I have led you through, and this entire level is below the crew’s level where some of my guards are posted. Whoever wants this will have to pass through three levels of the ship and even more levels of guns and guards to get here.”

“Thanks.” M nodded.

“No problem.” Both exited the room and the Captain locked it again. M saw him slip the key in his pocket. “Now, I am not one to be enthused at the idea of working with a mercenary.”

Both men resurfaced on the deck.

“Your kind are competition to the regular armed forces of any country. Besides, your presence here speaks at length of how much the governor trusts me and my men… But I suppose, with what both you and I have seen down there, it is only fair to doubt the loyalty of men. Some would kill for much less.”

They walked along the deck.

“But contrary to a lot of your bunch that I have met through the years, you don’t seem arrogant about it and you don’t provoke my men, or the regular guards in general. Quite peculiar.”

M nodded without adding a word. The Captain stared at him for a second and decided to leave the man to his own peace.

M climbed up to the crow’s nest. He leaned to rest his forearms on the bar there and just calmly watched the starry sky. He took a deep breath. Yeah, that was his life, and one he wouldn’t exchange with anyone else for anything in the world. Out there, at sea, not having to follow anyone’s order, doing a job, getting paid and moving on to the next. No strings attached.

Well, he sometimes wished he did have a few strings attached to something, to someone. M wasn’t getting any younger and the thought of coming back somewhere to a room with someone waiting for him tickled his insides warmly. But who? Who could accept to let him go periodically and perhaps not see him again? Because it was out of the way to stop being what he did best. After all, he was the best in his business for a reason and liked his job. It wasn’t always on the legal side of the line, but it paid enough and he wasn’t bothered too much about the causes or consequences of his contracts. Those were for other people to deal with, in their consciences. He was a means hired to an end. Some would argue he was doing the dirty work. In the eyes of the law? Yeah, very dirty sometimes. But for him? He was doing the exciting part, the part that in fact no one else could do.

His train of thought was broken by a sailor climbing up the crow’s nest. M let him come up and slid back down. His heels hit the floor with a wooden click. He went back to the edge of the deck and let the salty air gently lick his face.

“Capitaine! Pirates en vue! Nord-Ouest et en approche rapide!”

[Captain! Pirates! North-West and coming fast!]

The crew woke up fast at the jingle of the metal bell that resounded promptly after. M squinted in the direction announced by the sailor on the crow’s nest and yes, he could see it. A ship coming closer and closer.

Orders were shouted, sailors put all their efforts into trying to gain some speed but burdened as the ship was, they would never manage to avoid the confrontation. Some other sailors manned the cannons and got ready to fire. The racket of voices slashing the air, heavy cannons slowly rotated to get the right angle on their target as the rest of the crew took muskets and swords.

M whistled and Hootsy perched on his shoulder. He exchanged a few words with the bird before setting it free. M watched as the pirate ship got closer. He removed his gun from his back and loaded it to get ready. He took aim and was the first gunshot that anyone heard. All the eyes turned to him as he reloaded shot after shot. Sailors laughed at him. Taking shots from that far surely was a waste of ammunition. Thank God the man had a pouch with his own and wasn’t using the crew’s or they wouldn’t be laughing seeing his reloading and shooting relentlessly. The captain of the ship ignored the lunatic and went on shouting orders.

“Aux canons! Tenez-vous prêts!”

[Man the cannons! Get ready!]

The French Captain from the tavern took his spyglass out and took a look. His jaw dropped.

“Non!” He roared. “Ne tirez pas!”

[Don’t shoot!]

The sailors looked at each other, confused.

“Ne tirez pas, leur canonniers ont été abattus!”

[Don’t shoot, the pirates manning the cannons are down!]

The official captain of the ship took a look and his jaw dropped. His eyes went straight to M who was reloading with impressive speed and took another shot. Hootsy came back to his master and hooted to him a message that only M could understand. He raised his eyes to the French Captain from the tavern.

“There are more, they’re hidden in the ship and will come out when they’re within boardin’ distance.” He simply said and took another shot that split the air before it split a skull, leaving a bullet hole cleaner than what any pirate had ever seen before.

The pirate ship was helped by the wind and soon it happened. The pirates boarded the official ship and swords slashed, clouds of smoke popped everywhere on the deck where gunshots slashed through the air. The battle raged but the pirates soon manned their cannons again and started taking shots on the regular ship. The water started to flow inside the ship and it slowly rose, more and more. Each loud boom was accompanied by the sound of the wood crunching under the impact of the heavy cannonball piercing through the hull mercilessly. As the water flowed in more and more, the sailors were soon overwhelmed and some abandoned the ship, others were shot dead or thrown overboard.

M was of course caught in the middle of the fight. He put his rifle on his back again and picked up a sword. A pirate ran to him but he fell limply to the floor before he reached him. M turned to a group rushing to him. There was a gunshot and the blood sprang from them, as they were sliced open, but by whom? M couldn’t tell. In the dead of night, it was hard to see even for him.

“Hoo!”

M turned again and this time his sword slashed with an opponent. Soon after, the ship was set ablaze by the pirates and the flames devoured the wood mercilessly. M defended himself and managed to protect himself until he received a hit on the head and blacked out on the vision of hell; flames everywhere, and the smell of burning wood, ashes blown by the air.

When he gained consciousness again, He was tied in a cage like an animal and the French Captain from the tavern was there too, in another cage. M looked around. They were in the cargo hold of a ship, not their original one. And oh… His hat was gone, his braid of brown hair still laid on his shoulder.

“You’re finally awake? God bless you... “ The French Captain whispered. “We’re on the pirate ship and I’m afraid they didn’t make many more prisoners. It’s only you, me and a handful of others.” He nodded in the direction of a cage when other bruised men were tied up.

“Oi! They woke up down there!” A voice shouted in perfect English, which told M that it was one of the pirates. Soon after, a few of the scoundrels came in to examine their prisoners.

“What do we have here, eh? Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie and oh… You! We put you in a different cage cause you’re special. You’re not French.” The pirate captain had an impressively large, black hat with feathers as red as blood. He had a long, unkempt beard and dark eyes. The man was largely built too. “Who’re you, eh? Why’re the Frenchies keepin’ ya? Lucky charm? Well if you’re their lucky charm, we should toss you overboard, eh?”

The rest of the pirates cheered and laughed around him.

“Now, we found you with one hell of a weird gun.”

One of the pirates brought M’s rifle forward.

“You’re the one who took my men down from the bloody Moon, yeah?”

M didn’t answer. His head hurt too much and he didn’t want to even raise his eyes to the pirate captain, who went on.

“Now, some of my men here are scared of you, that’s precisely why I want to keep you. It’ll teach them to not fear anyone. Whatever you are, you’re human and we can kill you any moment. Now, for the Frenchies…” He turned to the French Captain. “You’re the chief there, aren’t ya? Are those your men?” The pirate nodded to the third cage.

“What do you want from us?” The French captain bared his teeth.

“From you? I want to know what was on your ship and if there are more like it coming. It sank faster than an elephant!"

"I won't say anything to some scum like you."

"Well then," The pirate Captain turned to his men. "Get one out of the bird cage and shoot'em."

M was still surfacing back to full conscience when the gunshot made his ears ring loudly. He winced and frowned, trying to catch as much force as he could. His mind was foggy but when he managed to open his eyes again, there were a few corpses on the ground. French sailors.

The French Captain couldn't do anything.

"I told you! We were the only ship with this cargo!"

"Yeah but you didn't tell us what you were transporting. Another one!"

Another gunshot and a body fell lifeless.

"Gold! We were transporting gold but it was the entire stack of it! I swear!" The bloodshed was enough for the French official soldier.

"Are you sure?" He gestured and another French sailor was executed.

"I swear!" The French officer shouted, tears welling at his eyes. The pile of corpses was growing and the man's conscience was gnawing on him.

"Alright then…" The pirate gestured and the French man's eyes snapped wide before his skull got pierced by a bullet and his body hit the floor limply.

M leaned back and sighed.

"Out with the bodies, quick!" The captain of the pirates ordered and his crew got to work.

"And what should we do with this one?" One of them asked, pointing at M.

"We keep him for now."

The bodies were dragged out and M was left alone in the dimly lit cargo hold. He fully woke up and started to move his wrists. Bugger, they were in iron handcuffs. He gritted his teeth and looked around him. That's when he noticed that his ankles were in cuffs too.

Well, time to think of something… Hm…

His eyes darted everywhere around him, as the boat gently bobbed left and right under the waves and the currents, when a smell tickled his nostrils. It was sweet, what was it? It wasn't sugar or honey, no, it was… It was… Vanilla?

He frowned and looked around him but couldn't see anything that could smell of vanilla. It intrigued him and distracted him almost well enough that he hardly heard a metallic click. M moved his wrists. He was free?

Tick, tack, tick, tack…

M thought it was Hootsy but out of the shadows a white cockatoo appeared and entered his cage, slipping between the bars.

"Hey there, baby bird." M pushed the handcuffs away from his wrists and offered a hand to the bird who climbed on his fingers. He petted it. "D'you have any idea how I can make it out of here, eh?"

The cockatoo raised his eyes to the man and nodded, bending his head down to enjoy more neck scratches.

"Sorry I don't have any treats for you. I used to have Hootsy's but they're meat. I doubt you'll like that."

The bird nodded again before jumping down M's lap and curling there. The man cupped him to bring him warmth and petted it, staring at it on his lap.

"There, there…"

Click.

M raised an eyebrow. The noise surprised him and as he raised his head to see in front of him, his eyes met with the silhouette of a man crouching in front of him, with a gloved finger on his lips.

M didn't make a noise.

"Good day, M." The stranger said low enough that the wood creaking almost covered his voice. "Now listen, I will get you out of here, but you need to follow my instructions closely."

The voice had a French accent too, was that one of the sailors? Nah, none of them knew his name.

"Do you understand me?" The stranger asked and M nodded.

"Good." He unlocked the cage and freed M before gesturing to him to follow him. The white cockatoo flew to the stranger.

“Perle, reste avec le Monsieur, ma chérie.”

[Pearl, stay with the gentleman, my darling.]

The bird flew from his shoulder to M’s and both men walked as silently as possible. M grabbed his equipment from the floor nearby, he put his rifle on his back and his hat on his head. When they faced the stairs to go up one level, they saw a pirate standing guard. The stranger motioned M to wait, and he obeyed. He watched as the man dressed with a long dark coat and a hood on his head slithered behind the pirate, killed him in silence and dragged his body down and behind the stairs. When he emerged from there, he was dressed and looked absolutely like the man he had just killed.

M's eyebrows jumped. How the hell did he dress up that fast? And the face? Was he the pirate's twin?

They progressed up level by level. The stranger's abilities were like no others. M saw him stab the pirates in the back stealthily, one by one, putting a hand on their mouths to cover any noise they would make, before disguising as them and progressing further. Sometimes, he would even lure them with a conversation before striking. M would hide behind barrels or crates and watch his improvised ally until they made it to the upper deck. M realised that an entire day had passed since the boarding of the governor’s ship as it was already night again.

"Now, I will have to handcuff you again momentarily and take your equipment from you. Follow me and you will find your freedom."

M nodded and got his wrists back in a pair of cuffs. The stranger took his rifle and his hat that he put on his own head before pushing M outside.

"Now, get outta there! Captain wants you out, whoever the fuck you are…"

M's eyebrows jumped again. Where the hell was the French accent gone to?

It didn't matter much because the acting fooled the remaining pirates who pitched in in the mocking of the unfortunate M, who played the stranger's game and walked on the deck. When he raised his eyes, he realised that the ship was actually stopped at some land. Where that was, M had no idea. But he needed to get far and away from these pirates right now.

The stranger pushed him out of the ship with the tip of a sword poking his back and into the harbour. They walked and walked until they ended up in a narrow alleyway where the stranger resumed his normal attire with the dark cloak in a flash and uncuffed M.

Hootsy came flying and landed on his master's shoulder.

"You must run and hide. Any minute now, they will realise that something is wrong." The stranger said.

M observed the man. His face was hidden under his hood and when the nearby street lamp light hit him right, he realised that he had some kind of scarf around his mouth and nose. Only his very light blue eyes flashed in the night.

"But I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay here, do you?"

"I don't even know where we are." M answered.

"Back where you started. But I doubt the governor will be happy with you when he will know that you lost his gold. So you cannot hide with him."

M nodded and lowered his head.

"Which is why I am offering you to follow me back to my house."

M's head jerked back up. That stranger was awfully generous…

"Who're you?"

"You know who I am and I know who you are too. The legends did not lie, you really have a pet owl and a very long barrelled gun."

M could hear the smirk even if he couldn't see it.

"Now, follow me, we shall go out of town."

They walked through dark and poorly lit streets, stopping every so often to let a group of patrolling guards cross their paths and walk away. After what seemed like eternity, they walked out of town and had to walk on roads never taken before by man. M pushed the dense foliage to follow the stranger not by necessity anymore but out of curiosity.

"Here we are."

Hidden deep in the jungle was a white house. It wasn't as big as the governor's palace but it was more than reasonable in size for a wealthy family.

“Hoo!”

The stranger knocked on his own door and a butler opened.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

[Good evening, Sir.]

"Good evening, Alexandre. Please speak in English as our guest here is not familiar with our tongue. Come in, please, M."

M was taken aback. How did the stranger know his name?

He followed him inside to discover that the house was richly decorated. And M's suspicions as to who his host was were more and more confirmed.

"I imagine you are quite hungry. Alexandre, please prepare some dinner for two, I will show our guest around."

"Of course, Sir."

"Follow me, M."

"Hold on."

Both stopped in the corridor.

"How d'you know my name?"

The stranger pulled his hood down and M saw salt and pepper hair combed back into a slightly long mullet. The front grey lock nonetheless fell between his eyes. M’s eyes went down to his host's attire and he realised that under the cloak, he was dressed as posh as his manners and his house.

"You may call me L." He simply answered with a smile that M finally saw as he removed the scarf in front of his mouth.

A slightly hooked nose, slim face and silhouette overall, and very thin lips under a finely trimmed moustache, French style, with a goatee.

"Now, follow me upstairs… Here are your quarters. Madeleine?" He shouted and a maid appeared. “S’il vous plaît, préparez un bain pour notre invité, il en a bien besoin.”

[Please prepare a bath for our guest, he could do with one.]

"Oui, Monsieur." She nodded and went on her way.

[Yes, Sir.]

“I shall leave you in the hands of Madeleine, M. See you for dinner.”

The expert hunter was so surprised that he didn’t know if he should thank the man or run away as fast as possible.

“Monsieur?” Madeleine’s feminine and gentle voice cut M in his astonishment and grounded him back to Earth. “Veuillez me suivre.”

[Please follow me.]

“D’you speak any English?” He asked as Hootsy flew straight to the bed, between the pillows.

“Euh, je, non, je ne parle pas Anglais.” She blushed and lowered her head.

[Uh, I, no, I do not speak English.]

“It’s alright, just go ahead, I’ll follow.”

Communicating with Madeleine turned out to be easier than expected. Sign language helped greatly. She showed him his room and started preparing the bath. M stripped naked and slipped in before she came back to scrub him clean with - oh - a vanilla scented kind of soap.

“Voilà, Monsieur. Monsieur L vous attend pour dîner et vous trouverez de quoi vous habiller sur votre lit.”

[Here we are, Sir. Mister L is waiting for your dinner and you will find what you need to dress up on your bed.]

M raised a curious eyebrow and Madeleine repeated herself with gestures, pointing fingers and miming actions.

“Ah, yeah, alright, I get it. Uh, merci.” He tried his best and Madeleine nodded with a wide grin on her face. She left the man alone in his bathroom to get out of the bath and go to the bedroom to get dressed.

When he entered the bedroom, M found a few different options of clothing on the bed. He went for the most casual one. A white shirt, with quite wide and puffy sleeves, and a pair of dark trousers. He put them on and slipped some socks. Even slippers were provided.

Hootsy flew to his shoulder as he went downstairs and stopped at the living room door, his hair still damp on his shoulders.

“Ah, M, please join me.” L gestured to him and he entered the room. “Take a seat and join me, I hope you will enjoy your meal. What does your feathery companion enjoy?”

M took a seat and his eyes raised to comprehend everything that was on the table. Chicken, lamb, beef, salads, fruits, vegetables, potatoes…

“Meat.” M answered.

“Oh, come here, then.” L raised his finger and Hootsy flew to him. He fed it some lamb and petted his head. “I like birds, their freedom is inspiring.”

M was still tense. He did not want to stay for dinner with that man. Why was he still there? And dressed by him as well…?

“What d’you want from me?”

“A few answers and a bit of company. But first, please, you must be starving. Help yourself.”

M went for a chicken thigh. He grabbed the large knife and cut it in one confident slice before going at it.

“I presume you know who I am.” L said.

“Have my idea.”

“Pray share.”

M raised his eyes from his plate to Alexandre and Madeleine still standing not far. L turned to them and nodded. Both of them left.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” M said.

“And so are you. I am delighted to meet you, a master hunter and sharpest of all shooters. I saw you in action and it was quite a feat.”

“You’re not bad with your disguisin’ and backstabbin’ either.”

The concerto of cutlery on plate resumed. They exchanged gazes with each other, the tension was making the air electric. Should one trust the other? What were his ideas? His intentions? Should one just ask?

“Why did you get me out of there?”

“I heard that someone dressed like you was roaming the streets.”

“Who told you?”

“Perle.” The Frenchman said and his snow white bird flew to him. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. People don’t mind what they say where birds fly free. Too bad for them, and quite good for me. Tiens, ma belle.”

[Here, my pretty one.]

He fed her some nuts that were in a separate little bowl.

“What d’you want from me?” M asked.

“Nothing. Or rather, I want to suggest something.” L said, becoming slightly more serious. “You might wonder why I was on that pirate ship you got captured in.”

M nodded, his face still deep in his food.

“Well, I could have retired or stopped. As you can see, I live very comfortably and do not need to continue pirating, looting, stealing and such.”

“But?” M raised his lagoon blue eyes to his host and saw the shadow of a smirk on L’s lips.

“But I like it. I like the thrill of it, the tension, the energy and sometimes, the chaos even. On the deck of the governor’s ship, I was there, fighting too.”

“Saw you.”

L’s eyebrows jumped.

“Did you?”

“Never saw anyone fight swords with a short blade.”

“Swords are preposterous, large, inconvenient and at the other end of stealthy. I like to do what I need to do while hiding in plain sight, as you have noticed. If I can make my way without making any noise, then I will.”

“Yeah, saw that too, and never saw anyone like you before.”

The Frenchman’s smirk grew wider.

“Likewise. The way that you took down those people manning the cannons was divine. If your gun had been silent, I would have had to sit down to breathe.”

M stopped chewing sharp. His irises darted left and right as the blush on his cheeks appeared. He cleared his throat and frowned, diving again in his plate.

“Workin’ on it actually.”

“Are you?” L cocked an eyebrow and M met his gaze for an instant.

“Still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Straight to the point, I like that.” L straightened his back on his chair. “Here is my proposition. I know you have nowhere to go and no one left. You cannot wave goodbye to that life of adrenaline either so I wonder, would you like to join me?”

M stopped eating.

“What do you mean, join you?” He asked.

“I regularly go and have fun on my own. My targets are dictated only by me.”

“Sounds… weird. Also, how d’you know things about me?”

“People think that my trade is seduction and disguises. Part of it is, yes, but I also possess means of gathering intelligence unlike you have ever seen.”

M cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair.

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning that I know things, like I know that you were supposed to transport thirty-eigth crates of gold from the governor from here to another city up North where it would then be split up to be transported to France. But, as you are here and the gold twenty thousand fathoms below the sea, you had better either leave or pretend you are dead, at least for this governor.”

M sighed.

“My proposition is simple. We continue enjoying what we do best, but we don’t do it for the money or for fame. I would rather people ignored my existence and if I could, I would wipe out their memories like water washes footprints on the sand.”

M noticed the slight intensity in the man’s eyes.

“Did stuff you regret too, eh?” The Frenchman failed to hide his vexation. “It’s alright, we all do. I guess it’s why we don’t stop. We just always try again to make it right. But it doesn’t change.”

Silence fell.

“Get out of this house.”

“What?” M raised his head off his plate.

“I said. Get out of my house this instant.”

A few minutes later, the hunter was out with his hat, his rifle and his misery. And he still had the slippers on. He looked down and sighed. Well, at least he had a bite. And the food was really good too.

It was deep into the night now but M shouldn’t risk going to town and meeting with a patrol of guards. Surely the governor had learnt about the shipwreck, because if M had the time to make it back, then that news sure did too.

He walked around the impressive white house towards the sound of the waves and after pushing leaves left and right, he found the sand, not far. He removed the slippers, left them there before treading in the still warm sand. The grains flowed on his feet as they sank with each step. The wind was gentle and helped dry his hair as his shirt waved under the gentle draft.

M sat down and crossed his legs looking at the waves roll and the froth periodically slide up to him, before withdrawing again.

What he had said to L, it was unfortunately true. He wished he hadn’t killed that many men, he wished he hadn’t killed the first one, he wished he hadn’t brought that money to his parents, he wished he hadn’t lost them that day, as he thought he would keep them happy forever but ended up disappointing them beyond repair. Maybe he should have just stayed on the farm with them, he shouldn’t have gone and lied for the day on a ship, he shouldn’t. Maybe it was better to be stuck there, with them, find someone to settle with and have a gentle life rather than be here, as lonely as he could get, no family, no friends, no shelter other than the starry sky. Remorse was maybe worse than regret.

M brushed the sand next to him until it was relatively flat. He then removed his shirt and folded it approximately, just so that it would be a square-ish mass of fabrics to use as a pillow. He lay down and stared at the now vertical front of the sea rolling to him and further away, repeatedly, tirelessly.

While him? He was tired. He had had enough. He wished he could live like L. Big house, far from people, and his meals, always hot and ready. And the butler and the housemaid as well… I mean, that’s some kind of company, right? That’s a few people to come home to, isn’t it?

Mundy sighed.

Mundy, that was his name, the name that his parents had given him and that he had decided to bury along with them, all those years ago, on that day that his life had flipped. From farmer to pirate. From son to orphan.

As the waves rolled and rolled, as his thoughts crept up on him and invaded him, he closed his eyes and let it all come to him. The regrets, the remorse, the feeling of being too big, taking too much space, being too visible, attracting too much unwanted attention. He wanted to be forgotten, just plainly forgotten. He wished he hadn’t been a burden for his parents, he wished he hadn’t brought that life of misery on himself. Yes, being a pirate had its moments of adrenaline rushes, of being absorbed into something that sucked all his mind and prevented him from looking back. But when he did, oh boy…

Vanilla.

Mundy opened his eyes. He could smell it.

“I do apologise.”

Mundy sat up and looked next to him. L was sitting there, his elegantly clothed derrière planted on the sand, right next to Mundy’s.

"I should not have reacted the way I did. It was impulsive of me."

"It's fine."

They let the wind and the waves speak for a while.

"Lucien."

"What?"

"My real name. It is Lucien."

"You're really French."

"A curse and a blessing, depending on who you ask."

They chuckled and their eyes met.

"Where are you from, M?"

"Mundy, and I'm from Australia."

"Oh… I have heard legends about that place."

"You ever been there?"

"Non, the seas never took me that far. I… I couldn't afford it."

"What, you always paid a ticket to travel?" Mundy chuckled.

"Non, it is not a monetary cost I am talking about, but an emotional one." Lucien crossed his legs and lowered his head. "If only it was something as easy to obtain as money."

"What was it?"

"I suppose you had a family at some point? Before this whole 'becoming a legend of a pirate'?"

"Yeah, my parents."

"No family of your own, wife, children?"

"Nah."

There was a second of silence.

"What?" Mundy asked, looking at Lucien.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why didn't you have a family?"

"Sheilas are odd. Never understood them."

"Do you prefer men?"

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?"

Lucien lay down on the sand, putting his hands below his head.

"I once was a father, and a husband."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"Really?"

"Oui." He chuckled with a distraught smile on his lips. "I had a son, Jérémy, and a wonderful wife."

"What happened?" Mundy lay down next to him and stared at the stars.

"I thought I could keep them away from harm's way and live my life with both of my passions, piracy, and them. It turned out I had to make a choice, and before I could, God made that choice for me. I lost the only woman I ever had any interest in, and our dear beloved boy."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed.

"There is nothing you or I can do about it, pirate legends or not. But thank you."

Silence fell for a while, the waves still rolled and spilled a few metres away from their feet.

"Have you ever met the others?" Mundy asked.

"The rest of the Nine? Oui, I have. After I lost my family, I was set on travelling and… Dare I admit, I wanted to take the lives of the people who took theirs. So I sailed and ruthlessly killed, left and right. At some point, I even ignored what faction those poor souls were from, for each time I was facing someone, I could not stop that voice in me, saying that this one might be the one who killed them."

"Gosh…”

“I travelled the world and met all of them. Remarkable people, some of them actually work together.”

“Do they?”

“Oui, Mikhail and Ludvig, the Mountain and the Healer work together. The Flame and the Hammer do too, how else would a ship be able to sail on oily flames if not for the Hammer’s ingenuity.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Oui. I… I suggested an alliance between them and myself.”

“Did they accept?”

“What do you think?” Lucien answered. “I am here on this beach with you now.”

“Oh… So they didn’t.”

“Non indeed they did not. Looking back at it, I understand. My trade is very different from theirs. They face their enemies frontally while my methods require more subtlety. It would never have worked. And I am not getting younger.”

Mundy chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re not that old, eh? And from what I’ve seen you do today, you could go on for years.”

Lucien smiled.

“I might. But I am… bothered by something.”

“What is it?”

“The solitude that this life condemned me in. I am restless and obsessed with the idea of some company.”

“I know a few places in town.” Mundy answered.

“I do not mean it in that way. If physical satisfaction was the only thing I was after, it would not be an issue, I would have any man or woman offer his favours to me in the snap of my fingers.”

“Man or woman?” Mundy repeated.

Their eyes met again.

“Oui.”

Mundy nodded to himself.

“I am looking for…” Lucien started.

“For what?”

Lucien turned his head and Mundy imitated him. Their eyes met.

“For exactly what we are doing right now.” The Frenchman answered with a smile. “Some company, some meaningful discussions, an exchange of ideas, opinions, a few laughs, why not?”

“You can laugh?” Mundy teased and Lucien chuckled.

“Believe me, I can, oui.”

“Still have to see it then.” Mundy smiled and it made the waves stop rolling for Lucien.

“Please, stay.” Lucien asked, almost whispering.

Mundy’s smile vanished and he looked away.

“I-I don’t know. Need to think about it.”

“Fine.” Lucien sighed. “I understand if you like your freedom better.”

“I don’t know.” Mundy repeated. “The bit you said about solitude. Makes a lot of sense.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and Mundy took a deep breath.

“I’m… I’m tired too; not of what I’m doin’, I’m tired of bein’ alone. No one gets what it feels like. People say that it’s great and excitin’ and all but at the end of the day, it’s just you, and you don’t want people to know who you are and bother you, of course, but that just pushes you to be more alone and… sad.”

Lucien stared at the man lying on the sand next to him, his rough skin, his odd sideburns and his long, wavy hair, his naked chest too.

“You’re really lonely?” Mundy asked, looking him in the eye.

“Oui, I am. I… This conversation that we are having is… a priceless gift you are offering me. It is more than I had hoped to have with anyone.”

“C’mon, you have yer Alexander and Madeleine at home. You can talk to them and all, you’re not all that lonely.”

“Non, Mundy. Their company is very enjoyable, oui, but it does not fill the emptiness that you presently are with your presence and your words.”

Their eyes lingered on each other.

“My words might seem strong to you but…”

“No.” Mundy blinked with both eyes. “I get it, I… I really do. The more you talk about it, the more I… Yeah… I uh… Yeah, I’ll stay, I think.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped wide and he rolled to his side.

"Are you sure? You may take your time thinking if you want.”

“No, I’m tired of waitin’. I’m tired of everythin’. Maybe this is what I need.”

The Frenchman smiled from ear to ear.

“But hold on,” Mundy asked. “I don’t have any money to pay anythin’, like rent or food. I need to go and get some work.”

“It will not be necessary. This house is mine, I am not renting it, and I will be glad to cover all the costs myself.”

“It’s unfair.”

“Non, you just did not understand what I said.” Lucien propped his head on his hand, still lying on his side in the sand. “I will repeat myself but your company is priceless.”

They exchanged a smile.

“You barely know me. Maybe I’m hell to live with?” Mundy said.

“Non, you are not. You have been the dream housemate so far. We even had our first argument.” Lucien chuckled.

“Yeah, and you kicked me out the house already, I’m tellin’ you, I’m terrible.” Mundy rolled on his side too, facing the Frenchman, and his hair gently fell on his shoulders and on his naked chest.

“Maybe you are terrible, but you are the kind of terribleness that I look for.”

“Heh, thanks. I like it better when you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Not posh and arrogant, but you just say what you want.”

“Should I tell you what I want now?”

“Go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at the sand and timidly raised his eyes to Mundy again.

“I… I…” His jaw was petrified as his mind raced to find the proper way to express himself. His eyes darted on Mundy, everywhere, his face, his body, his hair.

“I’d like someone for the night too.” Mundy said, and Lucien exhaled the air that he failed to transform into words.

“Fine.” Lucien stood up and started walking back home.

“Oi, wait.” Mundy jumped to his feet, his white shirt still crumpled in his hand.

“Oui?” The Frenchman stopped in the middle of the foliage, the distress still gnawing on him.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Well if you know a few places in town to find the company that you need, then I am only keeping you up and away from what you want. I shall go to sleep. I will tell Alexandre and Madeleine that this house is now yours too.”

“You idiot.” Mundy said and took the step that separated him from his former host, now housemate.

“Quoi?” Lucien failed to translate himself on the spur of the moment.

[What?]

“I don’t want to go to town or anythin’. I… I was meanin’ that maybe uh… I mean… I tend to get cold at night and uh… Hm.” Mundy frowned. “Y’know what? Forget it, it’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Non, please? What do you want?”

Mundy looked into Lucien’s light blue eyes only shimmering in the night.

“You asked me to stay with you, right?”

“Oui.”

“And it’s madness, right? I mean, we just met.”

“Yet we share more in common than I first thought, but oui.”

“Can I ask you somethin’ a bit… mad, too?”

“Pray do.”

Mundy dropped the shirt down and fiddled with his fingers awkwardly.

“Mundy…?”

“It’s a bit… weird. I mean, we just met - oh?” A gloved hand was warmly brushing Mundy’s cheek and he couldn’t help but close his eyes slowly and melt under the touch.

“Please.” Lucien insisted in a whisper.

And it gave him the courage, with his eyes nonetheless closed.

“Sleep with me tonight.” Mundy whispered with his hoarse voice and when he heard himself ask, he blushed and frowned, regretting it already. His hands hovered around the Frenchman’s waist.

“Avec plaisir.” Lucien pushed Mundy’s hands on his sides.

“What?” He opened his eyes and the sight of Lucien with half-lidded eyes made his guts melt further. And what a grin, how…?

“With pleasure.”

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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rosequartzstarswrites · 3 years

Text

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you @cheesyficwriter for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

351,699

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

As of now, I have only written for Harry Potter; however, in February I began several LOTR/Hobbit WIPs that I have not yet published. The first one is due out at the start of September though!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In Another Universe: Hermione Granger is brilliant: she completed her PhD in Linguistics at 25, and is the youngest faculty member at the University. Ron Weasley, an unruly quantum physicist... well, he's getting there. But when Granger gets stacked with a project she hates and has to talk to other scholars at the University, their paths cross and become permanently intertwined in a way neither of them could've ever anticipated. (Slow Burn Multichap Muggle Uni AU) Rated T.

Rosebury Grounds: Lady Hermione Granger has been reared up in society, to marry well and be a good housewife, like any good Edwardian lady, but that's far from what she wants. When a handyman by the name of Ronald Weasley joins the house staff, utterly disarming her from the moment they first meet, he might just be the opportunity she needs to break loose and choose her own destiny.Lord Draco Malfoy has a secret— a secret he knows would cost him everything if it ever saw the light. But it's getting harder and harder to keep it from his father, because Draco keeps bumping into a pair of emerald eyes and a head of lush black hair, and he can't pretend his knees don't buckle at the sight. Which would be quite alright, if not for one small problem: it's not a woman they belong to.Two tales of forbidden love, set in Edwardian England. (Multichap Muggle AU) Rated M.

Something Growing: Hermione’s pregnant— and she’s freaking out. She’s always been good at everything, but she’s not sure that’ll hold for being a mother; however, when Ron gets home earlier than expected, she realizes she doesn’t need to be great at everything so long as she’s got him beside her. (Oneshot) Rated G.

Big in Japan: Harry Potter is a famous rockstar out on a world tour— but when one too many meet-and-greets threatens to drive him insane, he takes an escapade out into the streets of Tokyo, where he ends up at an expat bar with a captivating redhead that seems totally unaware of who he is, or why she should know him at all, for that matter. (Muggle AU oneshot) Rated E.

Teaspoon Vindication: After escaping Malfoy Manor, Ron comes to visit Hermione in her room at Shell Cottage, and does the one thing that may be the hardest for him— talking about his feelings. (Romione oneshot)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try my best, though I don’t always get to all of them! My reasoning is that if folks are kind enough to tell me how much they enjoyed my writing, the least I can do is thank them for their lovely words.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

The Last Farewell! It’s a Wolfstar oneshot, set in canon universe, where Remus comes to Sirius’s grave to ask for his blessing (and forgiveness) to marry Tonks. It was angst central from the start and I even wrote it while listening to an angsty song.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I generally write happy, fade-to-black endings, but if I had to choose I’d say Truth or Dare. This is a male!Hermione x Ron summer camp AU born of a game of spin-the-bottle/truth-or-dare that ends with them figuring out their feelings go beyond friendship. I say it is the happiest ending because I think the “boy figuring out he likes boys” scenario has been overdone in angst a bit too much, and the fact that the feelings are reciprocated and they decide to stay in touch would make me giddy if I was their age and in their shoes. Anyway, it’s just a sweet ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

Not at all— I actually don’t like crossovers at all, so I have never even entertained reading, let alone writing, one. (No hate at all to those with imaginations large and strong enough to conjure up awesome crossovers— I am in awe of you all, they’re just not for me!)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Never, luckily, since the Romione community is so lovely and supportive! But, though not outright hate, for a while I had an anonymous FFN reviewer who left reviews on every chapter of Rosebury Grounds saying that my title was a porn/sex act...? I was distraught and scoured Google to see if they really were right and this was some obscure euphemism I’d entirely missed, but turns out it wasn’t, and they had gotten confused with a vulgar but similar term. So I ignored those reviews but they kept coming and then eventually one time I found a 500 word very graphic description of the sex act in question in my reviews, so desperate was the reviewer (apparently) to get their (wrong) point across. Yikes.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes! I’ve written a lot and of many kinds— explicit, implied, just foreplay, fade-to-black, referenced... I’ve written both M/F and M/M.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No— I didn’t even know that was something I should worry about!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I speak fluent Spanish, so I’m planning on translating In Another Universe and Rosebury Grounds myself once I’ve finished the latter.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, the most I’ve done is beta from the plot-building stage!

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Gahhhh don’t make me pick! Romione (HP) is first in my heart because I see so much of myself and what I want in it, but Samfro (LOTR) is, to me, the truest depiction of love in all of literature, ever. I will forever come back to it.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I hope to finish my Hogwarts Actually series that I started for Romionecom (hi, Discord friends!) inspired by Love Actually. I have it all planned out, translating all the relationships in the movie to HP pairings and friendships, and all I need to do is write— but I think I’ll come back to this periodically and unoften. Hopefully I’ll finish it!

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think that I write good and witty dialogue. I’m a theatre person, so I think my dialogue sounds mostly natural when spoken. I also have a good sense of beginning and ending, so most of my works/chapters start and end with a memorable phrase of some sort. I also have excellent grammar and spelling, so except for a few occasional typos, that makes the job of proofing much easier!

What are your writing weaknesses?

I think I sometimes write sentences that are waaaay too long and convoluted. I use words that are too big sometimes and just take approachability from my writing. Fanfic has been excellent to practice correcting this, though!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

As a bilingual writer myself— don’t write dialogue in other languages unless you speak it well or get it translated directly through someone who speaks it well. Though I appreciate the effort, I can always tell when something was put through Google Translate, and that kind of dialogue most often ends up lacking the context clues/colloquial familiarity of real language speakers, and ends up sounding stiff and forced.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m not proud of it, but I used to write MCR RPF back when I was 13 or so. It was a very brief stint and I have since deleted the works in their entirety, since my principles have evolved to the place where RPF to me seems disrespectful and invasive. Plus, it was on Wattpad.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

Again, don’t make me pick please!! I truly have had a lot of fun with Rosebury and I think it is a testament to how much I love it that I was able to keep the idea on hold for a full six months before I started writing it. I love the Downton setting and the Edwardian dialogue is a lot of fun to me. But I also have a soft spot for the In Another Universe original oneshot I submitted to the RFF2020— that work awoke my love for Muggle AUs (which I like to think I’m most known for), inspired me to start work on my first multichap fic, and keeps me coming back to it anytime I have doubt in my ability to write swoonworthy scenes. It was the oneshot that started it all.

Tagging: @accio-broom @be11atrixthestrange @folk-melody (and anyone else who would like to!)

#fanfiction #fanfic writer #rosequartzstars #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic author

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bunnyywritings · 4 years

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Hii! May I ask hcs with shinsou todoroki bakugou and kaminari with a korean s/o and she is able to speak lots of languages, please? I know korean, english, japanese and portuguese, for example! Thank you so much

reaction to fem!s/o who is multilingual

[a/n: I-oh my goodness that’s so impressive!! Thank you for the request anon! sorry for the wait 😣here you go! -yours truly, bunnyy ps. bro the only other language I speak is spanish...being multilingual seems awesome}

hitoshi shinso

☆ He would definitely ask you to “teach” him a few phrases but has absolutely no intention of actually learning

☆ like he just wants to hear you speak as much of any language you can

☆ because of his quirk, I think he has like a thing for someone with a nice voice so he just loves to hear you talk

☆ he’d bother you to help him with his english homework A LOT, especially if you’re fluent because you have such a high grade in that class

☆ I think I take that first statement back, he’d definitely want to learn any phrases you want to teach him to help strengthen his quirk

☆ he’d learn a few cheesy phrases just to surprise you with them and catch you off guard

☆ he’d be a sucker for your native tongue though

☆ he loves hearing you talk to a relative on the phone because he gets to hear how your voice naturally gets a little deeper, the way the syllables drip off of your tongue like honey and the little sound effects that come with it

☆ there was a time when the two of you were on a date and a foreigner came up to you with hopeful eyes and asked if you had spoken any english, his eyes filled with pride as he watched you effortlessly give them directions or help them translate something

☆ as you waved at them and wished them luck, you felt his gaze on you

“Toshi? What is it? Do I have something on my face?” you had slipped back into japanese so easily. You were confused when a small smile grew on his lips.

☆ “Nah, I just have the most talented girlfriend. That’s all.” His words made you blush profusely. “I really am proud of you, you know that?”

☆ “Of course I know Toshi.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, his instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulled you closer. “What’s gotten into you?”

☆ “Nothing, but I think there may be a problem.” You frowned at his words. “You’ve put me under your spell. I’m so in love with you.” Your eyes widened as he confessed his love in your native tongue. Dialect and pronunciation were perfect.

☆ “Well, you’re not the only one because I love you too.”

☆ the two of you shared a kiss then and there, even if he wasn’t a big fan of PDA

☆ he just had to kiss you or he might die

shoto todoroki

❆ transferring to UA and being a foreigner was weird

❆ everyone was drowning you in questions, asking about your quirk, why you moved, where you came from, it was just too much but you instantly noticed Todoroki

❆ not because he was quiet but while everyone (minus bakugou) was bombarding you with questions, he was unapologetically staring at you, his sharp bi-colored eyes sent shivers down your spine

❆ but instead of looking away, you stared back with the same intensity because he was strikingly handsome

❆ he thought the same about you, from the moment you walked into class and introduced yourself, he was entranced by your beauty

❆ he could tell that japanese was most definitely not your native language, he was impressed with how well you passed as a japanese native

❆ as time went on, he came to appreciate you as a person

❆ the way you held yourself to a certain standard without coming off as stuck up or your selfless nature when it came to your fellow classmates

❆ he remembers one time that he woke up at 2am to go get a glass of water when he saw you by the couch and he noticed the two slumped figures on both couches. Mina on one and Denki on the other

❆ you hadn’t noticed hid so he watched as you carefully lifted Mina’s head and slipped a pillow under it before making sure she was covered properly with a blanket, doing the same with Kaminari before muttering something to yourself in another language and going back to your room

❆ he frowned, what did you say and what language was it in? shrugging, he got his water and went back to sleep

❆ surprise surprise, it was you that confessed to him halfway through the year

❆ he was surprised but confessed his feelings as well before insisting on taking you on a proper date with full intention to max out his dad’s credit card

❆ one saturday, the two of you were in your room studying when you got a phone call. You apologized before going to answer and his eyes widened when he heard you speak, it wasn’t japanese

❆ he was enthralled by how it sounded spilling from your lips, the words were foreign to him but he couldn’t help but listen in

❆ “What was that?” he asked once you hung up, you explained that it was your mom and that was your native tongue, you then explained to him the different languages you could speak in

❆ I think he’d only ask you to help him learn english and maybe your native tongue

❆ “Why would you wanna learn that, Sho?” You asked as you were sat in his lap and brushed his bangs from his forehead

❆ “Well when I meet your parents, I would want to make a good first impression.”

❆ his words shocked you, he wasn’t really one to joke about things like that

❆ “You want to learn for when you meet my parents?”

❆ “Well of course I do but if you don’t want me to meet them, then that’s alright.”

❆ “You’re so sweet Sho, of course I’ll teach you.” You peppered his face with kisses, enjoying the way his cheeks slowly turned pink

❆ “I think you missed a spot, princess?”

❆ “Oh really, where?” He took you by surprise when he grabbed you chin softly between his fingers and tilted your head down.

❆ “Right here.” he planted a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling into the kiss as he felt the warmth of your hands on his cheeks

❆ your parents meet him and they love him

katsuki bakugou

☀ baby would be very confused when he hears you speak something other than japanese

☀ he heard you speak to All Might once in fluent english and he just stood there, eyes moving quickly between the two of you as he tried to keep up with what was going on

☀ he’d 100% get competitive and try to learn another language to 1-up you but it doesn’t work and he’d get all pouty

☀ “Why didn’t you ask me to teach you something? You know I wouldn’t mind.”

☀ he came up to you once and insulted you in portuguese, it was an accident though...he definitely learned that duolingo and google translate were definitely NOT good tools to learning a new language

☀ “Suki, why would you say that to me?” he frowned at the tears in your eyes

☀ ”Wait...what did I say?”

☀ “You basically told me that my face was uglier than a rats ass.” he panicked even more when the tears rolled down your cheeks. He cupped your face and kissed the tears away

☀ “I’m sorry, I was trying to say that you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve met.” You’re not really sure how he got that phrase but the guilt in his voice definitely told you that it wasn’t on purpose so you forgave him...on a condition

☀ “I’ll forgive you if you cuddle me for the rest of the day.” you had never seen this boy move so fast. He tackled you to the bed and wrapped you up on his arms

☀ during this cuddle time, he’d press kisses on whatever skin he could reach, murmuring an apology each time

☀ while you were in his arms, you taught him a phrase that he could easily say

☀ “You got it? Or do you need me to say it again?” You asked as you looked up at him, he had a scowl of concentration creasing his forehead

☀ “I think I’ve got it...” He muttered. There was a small silence before he took a deep breath

☀ “Y-You are sw-sweeter than h-honey...”

☀ “There you go!” You smiled proudly, it was such a corny phrase and not one he’d ever say in japanese too

☀ “So what did I just say?”

☀ “You said I was sweeter than honey? Is that true Suki? Am I sweeter than honey?”

☀ “Well babe, why don’t we find out?” He slyly brought you down for a kiss, lips dancing slowly and sensually against each other’s

☀ “Mmm you are sweeter than honey, so sweet it’s intoxicating.” His voice rumbled deeply against you as he brought you in for ‘another taste.’

☀ definitely would ask you to teach him all the curse words so he could curse people out without them being able to understand

☀ 1000/10 a good idea because hearing him curse in something other than japanese was hot

denki kaminari

ϟ you would definitely end up doing his english homework for his sometimes

ϟ when he heard you and Momo speak in korean denki.exe stopped working

ϟ he was completely obsessed with hearing you speak a foreign language

ϟ he’s a very proud boyfriend, he would brag about you to ANYONE who would listen and even if they didn’t want to...they did

ϟ he loves it when you call him pet names in your native language

ϟ he’d learn how to say silly things or lame jokes in your language when you’re having a bad day, the pronunciation was terrible but you still understood what he was trying to say and it would never fail to make you laugh

ϟ he admired you so much, the way you selflessly went out of your way to help someone or to translate something for a classmate during english class, it made his heart thump in his chest

ϟ he’d secretly enlist Momo to help him learn your native language

ϟ bless that girl for having the patience because it took MONTHS for him to be semi fluent

ϟ you noticed whrn you were talking to a family memeber on the phone, you had let him stay in the room because you thought he couldn’t understand you but when you said something about how you wish you could punch Mineta in the throat he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh

ϟ you heard him but because he was looking at his phone, you thought he was just laughing at something on there

ϟ you finally figured it out when he sent you a meme that was in your native language

ϟ when you saw it, you snorted but the amusement quickly turned into confusion when you saw the profile name

ϟ you made your way to Denki’s room and you could hear him chuckling away on the other side of the door, you knocked before he said to come in and you frowned in confusion

ϟ “Did you really just send that to me?”

ϟ “Yeah...why?” His smile dropped. “Was it not funny?”

ϟ “It was but how did you know it was?”

ϟ “Because I watched it? Geez baby, what kind of question is that?” he shrugged nonchalantly but that definitely made you more suspicious.

ϟ “You know, don’t you?” You narrowed you eyes as you asked him in your mother tongue

ϟ “I don’t know, maybe I do...or maybe I don’t?” He responded almost perfectly.

ϟ you were completely shocked

ϟ “What? Wh-when did you even-?” You couldn’t even form a sentence. “Why?”

ϟ “I wanted to impress you, sunshine.” He responded flawlessly once again.

ϟ “You’re the best, Kami. You know that?”

ϟ “Yeah, I know but it definitely doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” his goofy grin made your heart do somersaults

ϟ “I love you Kami, you’re so silly.” You nuzzled your nose against his in an eskimo kiss

ϟ “I love you too pretty girl, you’re just amazing.”

ϟ i have a soft spot for this idiot :(

#hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #anon ask #anon request #anon #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons

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anachronisticcrab · 4 years

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Nico and Portuguese

I don’t know if this bugged anyone else, but in the Hidden Oracle it didn’t sit right with me that Chiara and Apollo, who were both fluent in Italian, couldn’t understand Paolo when he spoke Portuguese, even though Nico could understand him because he speaks Italian (as seen in BoO when he read the Portuguese inscription in the Church of Bones, and when he was able to translate that Paolo wanted Apollo to have his lucky bandanna). At first I figured it was just weird Uncle Rick discrepancies and stuff, but then I figured why not do a bit of googling to see if I could find an explanation. I did a bit research on Italian dialects and second languages, as well as its connections to Portuguese, Catalan, and Spanish, and I think I discovered why Nico could speak with Paolo and understand Portuguese when no one else could

Just as a forewarning, I want to say is that I don’t speak Italian or Portuguese, I have never been to Italy or Portugal (or any other country that speaks Portuguese), and I am in no way an expert on the subject of any language. If you have any information on this topic, please correct any mistakes I make and feel free to add anything related to this. That being said, let’s get into this monster of a post

First of all, obviously Italian and Portuguese are very close together (they are both derived from Vulgar Latin, and have at least superficial similarities). However, this post will be looking into specific dialects and historical facts that would support Nico understanding Portuguese from Italian whereas the other two people who are confirmed to be fluent have no idea what Paolo says

I started trying to find out a bit more about Italian (because I knew there were differences in the language depending on where you are in the country, because everything in Italy varies from region to region). It turns out there are around 34 recognized spoken dialects within the country of Italy, and Standard Italian comes from Old Tuscany/Florence. The dialects vary from region to region, and even city to city in the country. All the different dialects are vastly different, especially between North Italy and South Italy. If you had a southern Italian speaking their native dialect and a northern Italian speaking theirs, neither of them would have any idea what the other was saying, unlike with different dialects in English, where you still know what the other person is saying. For example, in Venice, the dialect changes depending on the island you are on (ie. Burano to Pellestrina)

If we look specifically at the Veneto Region (where Venice and Verona are, and where Nico is from), one of the dialects is Venetian, although there isn’t a lot of information on the language that I could find, and even less about it’s roots. However I did find out that it is closer to Spanish, Catalan, and Portuguese than it is to Standard Italian (Tuscan), and the language isn’t just spoken in and around Venice, but also in Trieste, Croatia (which led me down the path of Croatia and Venice thanks to Nico visiting there, and I’m gonna make a post about that too now because it’s really cool to me and I’ve got ideas for that) , Slovenia, Mexico and Brazil

Apparently, in certain parts of Brazil, the Talian dialect of Venetian holds co-official status with Portuguese. (I couldn’t find a whole lot of info on this, so I’m not sure where or if this is a true/accurate fact). From around 1875 to the 1920′s, there was a mass boom of Venetian immigrants to Brazil, and of the largest place in the world for people of direct Italian descent is actually Sao Paolo, Brazil. The only article I could find on the Talian dialect cut off two paragraphs in and required a paid subscription to read more (which I couldn’t do since I’m broke), so all I know is that a Portuguese dialect of Venetian is spoken in some areas of Brazil, more of them down south from what I could gather

In my research on Talian, I found out about another dialect, this one of Portuguese. It is called the Paulistano dialect, and is spoken in and around Sao Paolo, the city I brought up before. Paulistano has direct influences from the Venetian language, as it was created thanks to Northern Italian immigrants who spoke with think foreign accents, and a new dialect was created, and preserves characteristics from Venetian

Not gonna lie, I think that they might just be different names for the same language, but I’m probably wrong about that. As I said, I really couldn’t find a lot of information on this topic so I’m probably very wrong by saying that

On top of that, historically, Venice and Portugal (the places that created both languages) have had extremely close relations. In the 15th century, the Portuguese kings used Venice’s ports to help with the spice trade from Asia, South America, and Europe. There were Portuguese and Spanish people coming in and out of Venice’s docks all the time. This is presumably why Venetian is much closer to Spanish and Portuguese than it is to Italian

As you can see, Venetian and Portuguese have deep rooted histories and simmilarities, and show how Nico would be able to understand Portuguese. Nico would’ve grown up speaking a very similar language to Paolo’s, and Paolo may have grown up speaking a dialect inspired by Venetian

I did try to use Paolo’s name to see if I could get an idea of where in Brazil he might be from, but I have absolutely no idea. Montes was originally a French or Spanish surname, suggesting he might have had French or Spanish roots, but that could also be pure bullshit, because I genuinely don’t know. If he was Spanish somewhere along the line, he most likely lived towards the south, closer to Sao Paolo and probably knew either Talian or Paulistano

At this point, you might be wondering why Apollo or Chiara can’t speak or understand Portuguese, and my answer is the following:

Apollo was probably only fluent in Standard Italian/ Tuscan after the country unified in 1861. After all, Italy is the capital of music, art, and is well known for being sunny and warm all the time, and Apollo is the god of all that stuff. Therefore, he probably learned the standardized language, and didn’t bother with any local dialects (after all, most people don’t speak the individual dialects with tourists/foreigners)

Now Chiara was a bit different. She was from Italy, so she would’ve known a regional dialect, and I came up with an issue there. She could have been from Venice, and that would have thrown this whole thing into the trash. That would have thrown out this idea, and mean that my research would have been for nothing, and that it really was just a stupid error on Rick’s part

So I looked up the origins of her name to check this out, praying to all the gods I could think of that my two days of research and googling wasn’t for nothing. The first thing I saw was that most Italian surnames with an ‘i’ at the end are from northern Italy. Just as I was about to start crying, I found a link on ‘The Noble House of Benvenuti’, and it turns out she was most likely Tuscan. Therefore, she probably speaks a regional dialect of New Tuscan or something of the like, and wouldn’t know Venetian

Also, after a bit more digging just to double check some of the facts in this post, I found out that even if she was Venetian, she might not have spoken it. Since Venice is a dying city, apparently Venetian is a dying language, and most people who are fluent in it are older, and there are lot’s of other dialects in the Veneto region anyways. Nico probably only knows it because he lived in Venice before the city started really dying out! The only reason Paolo can communicate with someone could be because of the whole hotel thing!

#nico di angelo #paolo montes #chiara benvunuti #apollo pjo #apollo #trials of apollo #toa #hidden oracle #tho #italy #venice #my research basically amounted to no one can tell me anything about venetian #really tho #no one knows if it's a language or a dialect #brazil #sao montes #portugal

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awkwxrdapple · 4 years

Text

“I’m Ok” - Peter Parker (Soulmate AU) Imagine

Summary: When Peter falls through the reader’s window, hurt and wearing the Spiderman suit, the reader learns two things. One that Peter Parker is Spiderman, and the other that she has a soulmate. (The lore of this specific soulmate AU is explained in the imagine :))

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of blood (Peter is hurt)

Peter had gone missing again.

How he managed to skip so much class, and still remain at the top, astounded you. Yes, you were at Midtown too, so were naturally clever and bright, but you found you still had to put the effort in with studying to make sure you had the grades you wanted.

He should have been in Physics with you this period. But his seat behind you was empty. You tried to focus on the practical that was part of your final grade, but you kept wondering and worrying, where Peter was. Why was he skipping class? His enthusiasm for learning has always been obvious throughout the time you'd been friends with him. Ever since the first day of high school when you'd both gone for the same seat in Math class, and he conceded graciously and let you take it, moving for a seat further back in the classroom. It was a weird encounter, rather awkward but at the same time... cute? You and him had become friends, along with Ned. Peter and Ned were very close, as you would expect two male best friends to be, but you and Peter were also close in your own way too. You couldn't imagine high school without him. And now, yet again, you were staring at his vacant seat.

After that period had finished, you found Ned at his locker in the hallway. He had Spanish with Peter next, so maybe he knew something. Maybe he knew that Peter would be back. You greeted him normally and then hit him with the question at hand.

"Ned have you seen Peter today?"

"Yeah I did first thing this morning, but I havent since. Why?" He asked, swapping a textbook from his locker to his bag.

"He wasn't in Physics." You state. "He's missing a lot these days. I'm worried about him."

You didn't mind admitting that. And you knew that probably Ned was too, if he didn't already know what was going on. But Ned's frown at what you had just said led you to believe that he knew as little as you did.

"I am too." He says, confirming your thoughts. "Whenever I ask him about it though, he just says he needs time off sometime. And he doesn't seem upset by anything, so I hope everything is fine."

You hoped everything was fine too. But this time you don't say it, just ponder silently on what Ned's said. You agree that Peter doesn't seem upset at all. If anything, he seems to have more energy. He still looks tired from time to time, but he seems to have more bounce in his step. Like he's been exercising more or something. Maybe that's what it is, Peter's decided he doesn't want to sit in a classroom for hours on end even though he enjoys learning, and that he'd rather be out running or something.

"Anyway, I'll see you later Y/N." Ned says with a smile, and trots off behind you to Spanish. You turn to your locker after watching him leave, and pull you gym bag from it. You go straight to the changing rooms as you might already be late after talking to Ned. As you expected, you are, as the changing rooms are deserted as everyone seems to already be in the gym.

Throwing your bag down onto the bench in front of your other locker, you realise how much time you had spent today thinking about Peter. You thought you were just worried about where he was, so you tried to stop worrying. But telling yourself to stop worrying was like telling a giraffe to stop being incredibly tall.

You pull off the shirt you were wearing and folded it to put into your locker. You caught a brief glimpse of your reflection in the mirror in the door. Your hair was already tied up off your face, you preferred it that way, made it more practical. But on your chest, right over your heart, were two words etched into your skin.

Soul-marks appeared sometime during childhood. No-one had yet worked out why, or when exactly they would appear for each person. It seemed to be random in timing, and showed no distinct pattern. Yours had appeared a few days after your eight birthday. You had overheard your parents discussing it one evening when they thought you were in bed. Neither could work out why then, and as you had yours so young, you didn't really notice it for most of the time.

They are sentences, or words, that are spoken by your soulmate to you, at the moment you realise you're in love with them. You're meant to know instantly that they're the one, apparently you just know.

Yours was staring back at you now in the mirror of your locker.

I'm ok.

You had always thought that was an odd mark, not that you had seen many others. People generally tended to keep theirs private, like it was a sacred thing that should only be shared between them and their soulmate, which you has figured made sense. But you had heard of peoples being their names, or lucky for others, their soulmates names. Some were dull sentences, some were peculiar.

You finished changing by pulling the shirt over your head and down your chest to cover your mark, and headed into the gym.

The rest of the day went fairly quickly considering your mind was wandering elsewhere. You tried to focus on the rest of your lessons but nothing was going in like it normally does. You couldn't throw yourself properly into anything.

As soon as the final bell of the day went, you started home and sent Peter a few texts on your way. You asked if he was ok, and if did need anything, that you would want to help.

You received no reply. You had eaten dinner and had studied for hours and nothing had come back from him. You hoped he wasn't sick. But it was unlike Peter to be sick. You kept trying to think of reasons but you just ended up going round and round in circles.

The sun had set over the buildings by the time you stopped working. The sky had turned an inky blue , but not black, the sky never turned black properly in New York because of all the lights. You had been so engrossed that you hadn't shut your curtains. Closing your textbooks and stacking them neatly again, you walked over to do so. But as you reached up something, or someone, fell to cling onto your windowpane.

You let out a strangled yelp before seeing who was there. You fumbled quickly with the lock on the window to open it. Peter was hauling himself up to sit precariously on your window sill... in the Spiderman suit.

Even though it was fairly dark, you could see he was injured. He really didn't look good. He didn't have the mask on, Peter is Spiderman... and he was clutching it in his hand. He had dirt all over him.

"Peter?!" To say you were shocked was an understatement. And you heard it evident in your voice. You could hear how startled and concerned you were.

He rolled off your window sill and landed on the floor with a loud thud. You winced because you hoped you parents didn't hear and then come to investigate, and also did Peter just hurt himself more? He already seemed so battered. Him falling literally through your window won't do him any favours.

He lay on your floor his facial features contorted into a grimace, showing you how much pain he was in. He was clutching his left shoulder with his right hand. Now he was in the light of your room, you could see a faint trickle of blood was seeping from under his collar bone there too, as well as half his suit being torn away from his skin. The initial shock of Peter being Spiderman has dissipated. You had no time to worry about that now because of his current condition. You could talk to him about that later. Right now, he needed your help.

You leant down onto the floor next to him, and carefully moved his right hand to further down his body so you could have a better look at what you were dealing with. You started to a feel an unfamiliar burning sensation in your chest, which you quickly realised was emotional pain for Peter being so hurt. It physically hurt you to see him in so much pain. You couldn't bare to look at his face as it just reminded you of that. So you kept focused on your task.

His suit was pealing away from itself and him. Leaving open to the air a flesh wound seeping blood slowly, which was good all things considered as it didn't look too deep. The blood could have been coming out much faster. And it was seeming to stop as if it had already begun clotting quickly to seal the wound. The skin that wasn't covered in blood, was bruised purple, which you guessed was causing Peter most of the pain.

"I need to get to you shoulder." You said as gently and softly as you could. You wanted Peter to trust you and allow you to care for him. But seen as he had turned up at your window, you hoped he already did.

You went to carefully remove some of the torn suit to get a better look when Peter spoke.

"I'm ok." He said, voice cracked from the pain he was experiencing, but it was so soft, and vulnerable.

Before he had even finished speaking you felt it. A strong surge of energy flowing right through your body, and coming to rest in your chest, right where you heart was. You looked at Peter now, looking straight into his eyes as you simultaneously felt ecstatic, and calm at the same time.

You loved Peter Parker. Peter Parker is your soulmate.

"Y/N?" He asked, his voice now full of concern for you.

"I..." You couldn't get any words out. You didn't even know what you wanted to say. He was lying bleeding and hurt on your floor and you couldn't exactly turn around and say, "I've just worked out that I love you."

You hand instinctively goes to your chest, your fingers lightly touching the words above your heart. You didn't even realise you had done it until Peter looked down to where your hand had come to rest. His eyes widened as he clocked what you'd done. He wasn't stupid.

"Y/N..." He said again but this time it wasn't a question. It was tender, with the concern still there.

You sat in silence. Both of you working out what to say to the other one. But you were both thinking the same. You both knew what had just happened. The pleasant buzz of energy still hadn't left you, making you feel high on it. It you weren't so overwhelmed you would have probably been grinning.

It was Peter who broke the silence.

"I have something to show you."

In one swift movement he lifted himself up on his better arm to sit facing you, and touched where you had been touching his suit. He very carefully tore more of the suit to show more of the skin on his chest, until four words were visible for you to see.

Sorry, you take it.

"Peter they're-"

"The first words you ever said to me, yes." He finishes for you, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. They're the words you said to Peter when you both went for the same seat in your first ever class together.

You're stunned into silence as it clicks into place in your head what this means. Peter loved you, since the very first time you met.

You sit back from him as your weight shifts so you're now properly sitting onto the floor. You hadn't realised that your had been sitting uncomfortably because of everything that was happening.

Peter loves you.

You love Peter.

This is what he's doing instead of being in class. He's Spiderman.

A soft, but forceful pair of lips on yours pulls you out of your thoughts. Peter kisses you like it's the last thing he will ever do on this Earth. And you kiss him back with just as much feeling.

Maybe you had always been in love with Peter. You had only just realised tonight though that you were. It took him falling through your window for you to realise that. It was just that final push of seeing him hurt and at his most vulnerable that made you see how you truly felt. Why you were so worried about him not being at school.

Peter has pulled you gently towards his lap, so you're half sitting on him and so your bodies are unbelievably close. You know you're getting dirty - but you don't care. Nothing else matters now. You've found a soulmate in your best friend, and you're currently kissing him. And it's an amazing kiss.

You stop kissing him for a second to rest your forehead on his and just to take in what's happening.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." He says breathlessly.

But you think you do. You now know everything. And everything is clicking into place.

Masterlist

#i'm actually really happy with this one #soulmate au #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #marvel imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #storyofavengers

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