#i do write and draw but to keep the last of my dignity i am restraining myself to shitposting

[broiderie]

Lost Princessa: Meet the Reaper 21

I am SO sorry for the wait guys. It's been a tough month. I'm currently on a heart monitor for my issues. I'm writing as much as I can, but it's hard when you can't think well. I will do my best to get things out in a timely manner, but I have to beg for your patience.

I also need to ask for you to be gentle with this chapter. I went WAY out of my comfort zone. A little something to reward your patience. Minors DNI.

Warnings: Fluff, 18+ content. Let me know if I missed anything.

Once the food got there, Taza got Megan to swap back to her cowboy boots with a chuckle so that the others could come in to eat. Megan’s quince dress was moved back to Mama’s car so that the reveal wouldn’t happen unintentionally, and Diana called the men inside.

Coco, Hank, Angel and Gilly came in from working in the yard.

Megan smiled as Hank came inside with a huge grin. “Having fun, Princessa?” He leaned down to kiss her softly where she sat on a bar stool.

“Mmhmm. We had another dancing lesson and my dress fit just fine.” She smiled up at him. “It’s pretty.”

“I have no doubt it’s beautiful, mi amore.” He pressed another kiss to her lips. “I’ll go make you a plate. You wait right here.”

“‘Kay.”

He slipped off to make her a plate where it was spread out at the other end of the bar.

While Megan was waiting, Coco approached her. “Hey. Ma?”

“Yeah Coco? Need something?”

“Is this a good time for Gilly to grovel? If not, he can take his fucking plate to the yard to eat. Just say the word.” Coco slouched down onto a stool next to her, keeping his eyes on her face as he lit a fresh smoke.

Megan glanced around to see Angel watching Coco for some kind of signal. He had Gilly blocked from fully joining the family for lunch. She sighed. “Coco - he’s fine. He’s not the first drunk to hit on me and won’t be the last. Give him a break, okay?”

Coco shook his head. “Naw, Ma. I saw your face last night. He’s not getting off that easy. What he did was almost as bad as Angel scaring the shit out of you.” He took a deep draw on his cigarette. “Only reason he’s not in the ring already is ‘cuz you didn’t cry or panic. No means no.”

She sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Hank rejoined them and sat a plate on the bar beside her before running a soothing hand down her spine and feeling the tension there. He gently guided her face to look at him. “Mi reina, you’re tense as hell. Is it because you’re uncomfortable with him apologizing or are you uncomfortable with him being this close? Either way - we can take care of it. Just say the word.”

Megan swallowed a little. She closed her eyes and thought as Hank’s hand continued to soothe her. Gilly had been pushy as hell the night before. He’d tried to get her to drink even knowing how she felt about it. He’d invaded her space until Rex had been between them. But - he hadn’t been mean. He hadn’t hurt her, and he’d backed off when he was called on his bullshit. “He did scare me last night - but he didn’t mean to and he backed off once he really saw me uncomfortable,” she explained out loud leaning into Hank’s body. “Gilly wouldn’t hurt me - so him being here doesn’t bother me...”

Hank nodded. “But him having to do penance does, doesn’t it?” he asked gently.

Megan nodded. “It was a private mistake. A public apology makes it worse.”

Coco sighed, “Ma - he’s got to apologize. The public apology is to make the lesson stick - like the beating your tíos gave Angel…”

That made her frown. “He’s not a child, Coco, to be taught a lesson about being naughty. He’s a grown ass man who should be left some dignity.”

Angel left Gilly to stand by the door and came over to join them. “So - what’s the verdict? Are we beating his ass or what?”

Megan growled. “No one’s ass is getting beat!” She stomped her foot frustratedly. “Just let him come talk to me now that he’s sober and we’ll forget it ever happened!”

Hank lifted her good hand a pressed a kiss to her knuckles and then her lips. “Alright, mi princessa. Whatever you want.” He met her eyes. “But I won’t be forgetting it anytime soon. And he and I will talk - privately - after lunch. Alright?”

“Is that the best offer I’m gonna get?” she asked quietly.

Hank nodded.

“Fine -” she agreed with a sigh.

Angel waved Gilly over and then wandered off to find his own food. Coco remained nearby as well as Hank, simply because he hated the idea of his best friend hurting Megan.

Gilly made his way cautiously to the bar where Megan sat. He stopped well out of reach of her and tucked his hands into the pockets of his kutte as his shoulders drooped. “Megan - I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have let myself get that plastered around you before I had my feelings under better control.” He dropped his head. “I hate that I scared you.”

Megan hopped off the bar stool and stepped close to Gilly. “Hey - I’m alright. I’m not scared of you, Gilly. You backed off when you realized you were being an ass and you can’t make me believe that you would have hurt me or forced me to do anything even with you being drunk.” She reached out and gently touched his elbow. “Just… maybe lay off the booze for a bit, huh?”

He nodded emphatically. “Of course.” He finally met Megan’s eyes. “I really am sorry.”

“I know you are. As far as I’m concerned - all is forgiven.” She smiled.

Gilly snorted. “Hank’s gonna beat my ass, isn’t he?”

Megan rolled her eyes. “He assures me that you will be having a private conversation after lunch…”

Gilly just chuckled. “No more than I deserve, Princessa.”

Hank nodded meaningfully. “We’ve got that load of copper to deliver this afternoon. You’re with me.”

Megan sighed and looked at Hank dolefully.

“A conversation only, mi amore. Promise.” He smiled. “Come eat. Your food’s getting cold. Gilly needs to go make his own plate.”

Megan gently squeezed Gilly’s arm in encouragement before she made her way back to her stool next to her caballero.

Diana had ordered from a nearby barbeque joint for everyone and Megan’s plate had a large assortment of food on it. Her eyes widened comically as she saw the sheer amount of food Hank had gotten her. Hank grinned. “It’s not all yours, mi princessa. I figured we could share a plate since you haven’t tried this place yet.”

Megan’s shoulder relaxed. “Oh. Good.” She slid back onto her stool and leaned into his steady presence.

After lunch, the padrinos, Taza and Chibs all retreated back into Templo. Before Marcus followed the others in, he pressed a gentle kiss to Megan’s forehead. He smiled gently at her as he slid the Templo door closed behind him.

Hank smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple, drawing her attention back to him. “Alright, Princessa, we’ve got to get back to work. Gilly and I are going to deliver a load of copper to a vendor. Will you be alright? Taza will still be here.”

She smiled a little and leaned into him for a cuddle. “Papa and the tíos are close. So is Tía Diana and Mama. I’ll be okay.” Rex stretched from his dog bed nearby. “Plus Rex is here. When will you be back?”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour. Maybe two.”

“Okay.” She smiled up at him, biting her bottom lip. “Promise not to kill Gilly?”

Hank chuckled and nuzzled his nose into her hair. “Yes, mi reina. No murder and no maiming.” He kissed her deeply. “You have fun with your girls, okay? Call if you guys need us to pick something up.”

Coco stood and put his gloves on. “Alright, Ma. Headed out to get Letty. She just texted.”

Hank drew Megan close for a long kiss that left her breathless. “Angel and Creep will be around, mi amore. Call if you need me… or they will.”

Megan smiled up at him. “Alright.”

By the time six o’clock rolled around, the elders were still in Templo. Megan and all the ladies had fresh manicures and pedicures courtesy of Letty, they’d done face masks, and eaten all the snacks. 

Diana and Mama were packing away what was left of the beauty products Letty had convinced Coco they’d need for a “true girl’s day” as they chatted. Tessa was engrossed in a movie with Letty and Venud and Megan had a few minutes to themselves.

“Venus, can I ask you something?” Megan said quietly as they sipped cokes at a table.

“Of course, Sweetie. That’s what I’m here for.” She smiled softly at the younger woman.

“How do you do it? How do you keep the Sons… well… them, but still be you?”

Venus chuckled softly. “Baby girl, you just need faith in yourself. You stand your ground when something is important enough to you and you trust that your family will back you up. That’s all a club is. A big, rowdy family who would do anything for each other even when they disagree.” She patted Megan’s hand. “You’re doing just fine, Princess.”

“But Venus- a month ago I was completely alone in the world. My birth mother had OD’d and I was running from everyone. I don’t know how to be anyone’s family.”

Venus moved to hug her gently. “I know, Sweetie. It’s hard to get used to having people give a shit. If anyone knows how you feel - I do. Give yourself time. Trust your boys. They love you dearly. They’ll teach you how to be family. Mine did. Just trust your boys, Baby. You’ll be alright.” 

Megan hugged the tall woman back and nodded. “I’m trying. I really am…”

“We know, honey. We see it. Now - you just need time.”

Megan laughed. “And patience.”

“Oh you need that in spades, Sweetie, because these bikers - they’d try the patience of Job,” Venus said as she sipped her drink and grinned.

By the time Hank clocked out, the clubhouse was back to - mostly - normal. Tessa still had the t.v. remote, but other than that it was fine. The elders were still locked away. When Diana decided it was time to take Tessa back to Bishop’s, Hank convinced Megan that it was best for them to head home too. Mama left them with kisses and promises to see them very soon.

Diana knocked on the stained glass door and let the men know that they were all headed out. Marcus and Taza came out to say goodbye to Megan and Tessa.

As Taza cuddled Megan for a moment, he sighed. “Don’t wait up, Chica. Your tíos and I have a lot to work out. Eat something though, okay?”

Megan nodded and squeezed her papa gently. “Okay, Papa. It’ll be okay.”

Taza chuckled. “Sweet Chica, of course it will. Go. Enjoy having the house to yourselves for a few hours. I’ll see you in the morning if I get home after you’ve gone to sleep.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and released her so that he could get back to the meeting.

Megan gathered Rex’s things and smiled as she realized that her papa had stopped to say something quietly to Hank. Hank nodded with a soft smile and Taza patted his shoulder before closing the Templo door firmly behind him.

After a few more good nights, Megan and Hank loaded into the mustang and headed for the ranch.

On the way home, Hank stopped at the diner to pick up an order of food that he’d called in while he and Gilly had been out. Megan’s eyes widened seeing the amount of take out boxes in the order. 

“Hank! I’ve literally just spent all day being fed snacks by Mama…” Megan said uncertainly.

Hank smiled and leaned over the console to kiss her. “I know, mi amore. It looks like more than it is. I got a bunch of little things instead of actual orders. I didn’t think you’d be super hungry for a real meal after hanging out with Mama all day.” He chuckled and smoothed her hair out of her face. “I promise, mi princessa, it will be alright.”

Megan bit her lip and nodded. “If you say so…”

At home, Hank brought things in while Megan checked Rex’s food dishes. Once he was done, he leaned against the counter watching as she sat in the floor giving her giant dog belly rubs. Rex wiggled gleefully on his back with his tongue lolling out, making Hank chuckle. 

“You want a shower, mi reina?”

Megan smiled softly up at him. “Is it horrible if I say yes? Tessa had a blast playing with my hair, but I think it’s horribly snarled.”

He smiled softly. “Is she as enthusiastic about hair styling as she is everything else?”

Megan smiled and nodded. “Let’s just say I was grateful not to be tender headed.”

That made him laugh. “C’mon. Let’s get you detangled and into something more comfortable.” He offered her a hand up.

Megan took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She followed him to the bedroom where he sat her gently at her dressing table and proceeded to slowly and gently detangle her hair. Her eyes closed as he worked and she relaxed slowly. Once he’d gotten all the snarls out, he kept brushing for a few minutes just because he didn’t want to disturb her. “C’mon, mi princessa. I’ll help you wash your hair,” he whispered.

In the shower, Hank slowly and methodically washed Megan’s hair for her. Once the conditioner was in and setting, he sped through his own shower routine so that he could help her wash. After rinsing the conditioner carefully out, he soaped up a washcloth with the soap that smelled so nice on her skin. As he washed away the stress of the day, he gently massaged her muscles until she was as relaxed as he could get her. 

In the bright lights of the ensuite, he realized - Megan’s bruises were nearly completely faded. He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he helped her pull on a soft pair of leggings and tank top. She got her fuzzy socks on while he dressed in sweats and a hoody.

“Ready, Princessa?”

“Mmhmm.” She smiled at him and they made their way out to the couch.

Megan went to get drinks while Hank laid out the boxes he’d picked up at the diner on the coffee table. Sliders, onion rings, fries, hot wings, and for dessert - slices of pie and cake. He turned on the t.v. to play old superhero movies and turned the volume low.

After eating as much as they wanted, Megan laid with her head in Hank’s lap covered to her chin in a fuzzy blanket as they discussed the merits of different superpowers and Hank stroked her skin under her top.

“All I’m saying is that super speed would beat flying any day of the week…” Hank rationalized.

“Maybe, but super speed doesn’t hold up to super strength. Think how much easier some things are for you than for me because you have the strength to back you,” Megan pointed out. “Like in the ring - you can take some guys with one hit. I’d never be able to do that. I have to rely on speed and precision.”

“But someone with the right training AND speed can take out someone who only relies on power every time as long as they stay out of their reach. Speed is key.” Hank ran his fingers through her loose hair absently.

“But training and speed can’t beat super strength. Look at Batman and Superman. There’s no way Batman could beat Superman on a budget. It doesn’t matter how much he trains - it still takes something outside of that for him to stand a chance.” Megan yawned as she looked up at him from his lap.

“FLash is still faster than Superman thought - and he can do some serious damage to some metahumans who have strength.” Hank’s fingers moved to stroking the length of her jaw gently as her eyes fluttered.

“Not if one of them ever gets hold of him though - then he needs the rest of the Justice League to save his ass.”

Hank chuckled watching Megan struggle to keep her eyes open. “It’s late, mi amore. Are you ready for bed?”

Megan struggled upright and rubbed at her eyes. “Not sleepy.”

That made Hank laugh more. “Sure you aren’t, Princessa. So what would you rather do?”

Megan giggled. “You do realize that we have complete privacy for what feels like the first time EVER and all we’ve done is watch old superhero movies and debate them, right?” She turned to face him on the couch, kneeling between his knees.

Hank smiled. “Mm. You have a point.” He tugged her to straddle his lap. “And if you weren’t still injured –”

Megan opened her mouth to protest and Hank gently shushed her with a finger over her lips.

“And you ARE still injured, mi reina - if you weren’t injured, I might have been in trouble.” He pressed a kiss to her pout. “A few more days. A week at most. Once your sling is off, I’ll make sure we have all the privacy we need. I promise.”

Megan sighed and buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing kisses there.

Hank tilted his head away, giving her more room as he chuckled.

Megan nibbled gently on his tattoos. “That doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.”

He wrapped his hands around her hips and drew her closer to his chest. “What did you have in mind, mi amore?”

She giggled and nuzzled his ear. “That depends…”

“On?”

“What you’re willing to give me…”

He squeezed her hips and took a deep breath before catching her lips in a deep kiss. “Everything.”

Megan melted into him as he took control and leaned into his hands.

He nudged her face up until she met his eyes. “Will you trust me?” he asked her seriously, searching her face.

“Of course, Hank. Always,” she answered him breathlessly.

He smiled and kissed her deeply before standing up with her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked them into the bedroom, slowly, and guided her back to lay on their bed beneath him. He broke the kiss with a soft smile. “Easy, mi amore. Let me lock the door or your papa might shoot me.”

Megan giggled as he went and shut and locked the bedroom door before rejoining her on the bed. He shed his hoody and carefully helped her to remove her soft tank top before re-fastening her sling. Between kisses, he laid himself down between her legs and felt her hitch one up to wrap around his hips to keep him close. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her jaw and neck while he stroked her bare skin. “Easy. We’re going to take this slow, mi amore. And you better stop me if I hurt you.” He smiled as she tried to lift her hips.

The way he was laying - while it kept his weight mostly off of her - she couldn’t move. She could only take what he was giving her.

She breathily moaned his name as her slid a hand down to caress her still clothed thigh. “Shh. I’ve got you, Princessa. But only…” he stroked the skin just above her waistband - “.. if you…”-

he gently traced her panty lines as he thought about the innocent white panties he’d helped her put on after their shower - “trust me.” His fingers slid inside her leggings to encounter the cotton that was practically soaked through.

He smiled as her eyes snapped open and met his own when he pushed her panties aside to feel her wetness for the first time. Megan whined softly as he traced along her wet slit. “Be still now. Don’t hurt yourself. Let me…”

Megan reached to pull him into a messy kiss with her good hand with a growl, making him chuckle and slide his fingers through her wet heat to circle her entrance. He could feel her trying to press down on his fingers, but kept his touch light for now. The noises coming from her were muffled by his heavy kisses as he pressed his own hardness against her hip to relieve the pressure. 

Very softly, he circled one heavy fingertip around her entrance before sliding it inside as his thumb found her clit. Megan cried out softly as he stroked her and he felt her nails on his back, scraping his tattoos.

“Oh mi reina - you’re so tight.” He groaned into her skin and slid down to press kisses to her breasts. “And so wet. You’re going to feel like heaven on my cock.” He chuckled as he stroked figure eights over her clit and pumped his finger slowly. “Think you can take another?”

Megan panted and nodded, biting into her lip to try to stay still. She knew if she moved too much, Hank would stop for fear of hurting her injuries.

On the next stroke, Hank pressed a second finger inside her and gently crooked them. Megan jerked and cried out in pleasure. “Hank! There!”

Hank moaned softly and captured a nipple in his mouth to suckle as he sped up a little more, aiming his fingers for the spot he’d found and tightening the circles his thumb was rubbing on her clit. As Megan panted and tensed beneath him, he pressed his hard cock against her in the same rhythm as his fingers stroked. He caught her eyes with his own heated ones and smiled. “Cum for me, Megan…” he whispered before sucking hard on her nipple.

Megan’s breath caught and she exploded with a soft cry - clenching so hard on Hank’s fingers he could barely move them. Hank groaned into her skin and let himself go as well.

They both went limp, panting as they came down from their shared euphoria. Once he could breathe again, Hank slid his fingers out of Megan and moved to where he could hold her properly. He murmured to her in Spanish between soft kisses pressed everywhere he could reach.

When he felt her go limp in his hold, he smiled. “Better, Princessa?” he whispered with a chuckle.

“Mmhm…”

“Good girl. Let me get you cleaned up so you can sleep.” He kissed her gently. “Be right back.”

By the time he returned from the ensuite with a warm cloth, Megan was already fast asleep. He shook his head amusedly before gently guiding her out of her wet panties and leggings. He cleaned her carefully before redressing her in clean clothes.

After cleaning himself up and changing into clean sweats, Hank unlocked and cracked the bedroom door to allow Rex to move freely for the night before finally joining Megan in bed - to sleep. 

taglist:

@jemmakates

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@anaeve

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

yellow! its me again!! its much earlier now than the last time i messaged here😗 (though it is still admittedly late🤡) i think i am going to sleep soon but i wanted to tell you that i had begun reading your story for Kensington!

i am currently at Bonfire (i think that was the name? im sorry if i butchered or mistaken it for other fics i have been reading😖) and like your stories for Jesse, Kensington's story is also incredibly painful to read😭

i think its the fact that unlike Jesse, Kesi has (arguably) even less dignity as his status as an ouright slave rather than at least a pet or boxboy coupled by the fact he also has (definitively? at least in my interpretation) much much less external reason/s to continue struggling and living (i guess there is Miss Ashley🥺 but Jesse at least got to spend so much more time with the three sweet Bakeman daughters)(i dont want to spoil much to not ruin the others' experience)

i know the two squishy whumpees arent exact copies of each other but i still find it so deliciously heartwrenching that Jesse is much more submissive mostly in part because of the bbu brainwashing or mind/memory wiping (i think this is common in bbu whump so i think its okey for me to mention it explicitly?) while Kensi who (i understand/interpret) was born and raised and lived his whole life as a slave is much more stubborn and defiant.

again i apologize if im missing or misinterpreting something also i know i cant or at least maybe shouldnt draw direct parallels between the two because theyre from two similar but still different worldbuildings with their own set of messed up rules and hiarchies.🤸‍♂️💔

again again it is late and i hope to fix my sleep schedule soon so i can read your works and message you when my braincells can organize my brain goop into something more coherent. i really hope you understand that all this word vomit is laced with love🤕💗

-💌

When i tell you that yesterday and today's asks both made my crappy days instantly better --

First of all thank you so much for reading both of my boys' stories and I'm so glad you like them

Yes, Jesse is extremely submissive in part because of the brainwashing WRU does, but also because Joshua was like that too. His dad passing away when he was younger gave him pretty severe OCD and anxiety that made Josh an unassuming, nervous boy, so his already quiet disposition was only worsened when coupled with the torture he had to face. One thing that always stuck with him though is his protectiveness over those he cares about. WRU did not give that to him, that was just Jesse.

Kensington's story takes place in a different universe where they do have a slavery system where slaves are born and raised that way. I like that you mentioned that Kensi is more stubborn and jaded, because that was not how I meant for him to turn out originally! I meant for him to be more submissive like Jesse, but the more I wrote the angrier Kensington got until I really came to a head in his story (can't wait for you to read the next few parts!)

Never apologize for analyzing my characters! I live for it, and I actually appreciate you drawing parallels between these two. They may be from different worlds, but they both come from me and I enjoy seeing them compared to one another actually! We're to a point in both stories that I have been very excited to come to and this gave me the motivation to keep writing!

(Sorry if my response doesn't make sense or isn't what you were looking for!)

[felixiskandar]

Recently I have noticed I have followers so I think I'll present myself,

Hi, hello and welcome, my name is Samael and this is my Last Legacy blog (obviously)

I do also reblog or post things related to Fictif in general so there's that.

Usually for spoilers I tag "(story's name) spoiler" and "fictif spoiler"

Uhhh I am a homosexual with appreciation of women (i am heavily invested in them as characters and have no sexual nor romantic attraction to them♡), and I am also extremely aromantic which Is Funny considering, I know.

I simp mostly to: Felix, Miguel, Casimir, Rainier and Anisa because reasons unknown even to myself. Veteran simper of Julian, Portia, Muriel and Nadia♡ Hope that helps.

I welcome asks even if you do not follow me Because I Don't Care, I love listening to whatever people have to say and bounce off ideas I just. really don't want to use my main blog<3

Honestly I don't mind anything nsfw (I don't even have a tag for it which I should do something about it.) and if anything being sent in isn't Safe for Public Eye i'll respond privately.

I don't know why I am even doing this there's only 44 of you♡ which might as well all the people in the Last Legacy fandom♡♡

Some Links Because Otherwise This Isn't Complete:

Felix Iskandar and Anisa Anka name meanings

Playlists I made that give me extreme brainrot.-

Anisa Anka ♡

Felix Iskandar Escellun ◇

Sage Lesath ♧

Rime Solano Valera ♤

[nantes5]

Always💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Shawn knew he had messed up, knew he would have to make amends. But what he didn't expect was an irate Kay, banging on his door, forcing him to confront the feelings he had been so desperately trying to hide.

This is technically the middle of a much longer story that has been ruminating around my mind for a very long time. However, finally bringing myself to begin to write it out, it was this scene that I felt compelled to write first!

For context, this is set sometime around 1996/97. The roster at WWF/E is roughly what it was then. Kay has a family background in wrestling, and worked for a long time as a talent scout, before coming to work for Vince as an agent. She has spent the last six months working mainly with the Kliq, assigned to try and keep them in some sort of order. She has always maintained a strict rule against dating wrestlers, hence her reluctance to admit any feelings for Shawn.

                              💔 💔 💔 💔 💔 💔 💔 

Feeling the frustration coursing through her body, she stormed down the corridor, looking for room 405. Arriving, she thumped on the door.

“Shawn, are you in there? Open this damn door you arse. SHAWN!”

“What the fuck?”

The door opened to reveal a pissed off looking Shawn, hair dripping from the shower, a towel loosely thrown around his waist. Kay pushed past him, barely registering his nearly naked state, so determined to ball him out over his behaviour in the ring.

“Please, do come in.”

“Don’t be a dick, Shawn.”

With Kay now stood in the middle of his room, hands on hips, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disappointment, Shawn took a second to absorb just how truly beautiful she was. Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts and dreams that he knew could never be more than that, he closed the door behind him, lest the rest of the roster question why he was standing naked with only a towel covering what semblance of dignity he may still have left, with what was effectively his boss, in his hotel room. One set of judgement was enough for today.

“I’m not being a dick, at least I’m not trying to be,” he sighed.

“For once.”

“That aside, I’m just a bit confused why you are here?”

“Why am I here? Your confused!? You were supposed to be in that ring doing run throughs this afternoon. But instead, you throw some sort of hissy fit, get into a fight with two of the biggest guys out there, and storm out, leaving the boys to sort out your mess!”

“Look I’ll apologise to the boys, but they’ll understand. They have my back, it’s not a problem.”

“Not for you maybe, but it sure as hell is a problem for me. I have spent so much time convincing Jim, Vince and anyone else that will listen that you had sorted yourself out, that you can be relied on, that you will play the game, and do what’s best for business. Displays like that hardly help my case!” She paced across the room, gesticulating wildly, the anger and frustration rolling off her body.

“Look, I appreciate that, you know I do, and I’m trying. I haven’t touched any stuff in months, I’ve been training, I’m in the best goddamn shape of my life.”

He gestured to his naked chest, drawing Kay’s attention for the first time to the fact that he was stood there still glistening from the shower in nothing more than a surprisingly small towel. Taking a breath to suppress the wave of inappropriate images that swarmed her mind, Kay replied;

“I know, that’s what makes it so much harder to understand. Six months ago, you kicking off like that would have been the norm, easy to explain. But you have been trying, and you’ve been doing so well. I even had JR comment on it. So why Shawn, why throw away all that goodwill to get into a fight with a couple of mid card wannabes?”

Shawn took a breath. He knew he was an idiot. He knew he should have kept his cool, and walked away. But he couldn’t help it. Not when they said what they had about her. And now, after everything he had done to win her trust, gain her friendship, there she was, looking at him once again with disappointment, worse, pity in her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“Like what?”

Turning away, ignoring her second question, he answered her first;

“It was personal, they said some things, and I lost my cool. It was unprofessional and immature, but I swear I haven’t taken anything, it wasn’t down to that. Just a couple of dicks I let under my skin. I should have risen above it, and I’m sorry. I’ll take a drugs test, anything you want. Just..., I need you to believe me. I made you a promise, and I’ve kept it. I’ll always keep it.” He looked back into her eyes, willing her to see the truth and sincerity in his words.

“What did they say?” she asked gently, the anger subsiding, turning to concern.

“It doesn’t matter” he insisted.

“Of course it matters.” She sounded exasperated now. “You know this business better than most, you know the guys better than most. If they can find something that gets under your skin, they will use that. They will wear you down with that. They will exploit your vulnerabilities and that will end up with you in places you don’t want to be. Please Shawn, you know I only want to help. Perhaps if we talk about whatever it was, we can get it out of your system so they can’t use it.”

Shawn laughed bitterly. That was the last thing he could do. “This isn’t something I can get out of my system. Believe me, I’ve tried. This is something that has become a part of me. I have accepted it, and you know , I know it is a weakness, but I’m working on it. There are just certain lines, certain things I struggle to control.”

Kay looked confused. “It feels like you’re talking in riddles. And that has me worried Shawn. You need to be honest, if not with me, with someone. Do you want me to get Paul?”

“No” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “I am being honest; I could never lie to you. It’s nothing I can talk out; it just is what it is.”

“You may not be lying, but you’re not telling me everything either. There is something wrong Shawn, and you need to address it.”

“I can’t."

“Why not?”

“Because,” Shawn sighed deeply, struggling to find the words to make this all go away. “Because, I don’t want to lose what I have” he finished softly, gazing longingly at the unwitting object of his affections.

“What are you going to lose? I don’t understand Shawn.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Shawn…”

“Look, I can’t...ok. Please drop this,” he pleaded.

“Why not? Shawn. You’re scaring me now, has something happened? Did you do something? Did someone do something to you? What have they got over you?” Anxiety bleed through her words.

“No, it’s not like that...” he tried to reassure her.

“Then what Shawn, I thought we were friends, I thought we trusted each other. You know I care about you; I want to be able to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you, Kay. I trust you more than anyone.”

“Then tell me.”

“Kay , I...”

“Shawn, please.”

“Seriously, Kay, it’s not like that, it doesn’t matter...”

“If it’s upsetting you, of course it matters. If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

“I didn’t say it was upsetting me." He knew he was sounding defensive now, but he had to make her drop this.

“Well, you seemed pretty damned upset when you went for Mabel’s throat!” Her voice was rising again, frustration coupling with her concern.

“I told you, I over reacted, I’ll get a handle on it. Please stop pushing.” He tried to sound calm, ignoring the rising panic within, desperate just to blurt out the truth, but knowing that doing so would cost him the little he had.

“No, I need to know what is going on,” she insisted.

“Kay, stop, please.”

She took a step closer, placing a hand on his arm, all inappropriate thoughts from earlier gone from her mind, replaced only with worry over the obvious distress Shawn was in. Looking down at her hand on his skin, then back into those beautiful blue eyes, Shawn felt every inch of resolve within him crumble. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch her cheek, draw her to him, take her lips with his own. In that moment it all felt so hopeless, all his efforts to bury his feelings, futile. He was never going to get past this. Without any conscious thought, the words slipped past his lips.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“What??” Kay stepped back in surprise, releasing her hold on his arm. Shawn felt the loss like a cold knife to his heart. He looked at the shocked expression on her face, desperate to take back the words, to return her to her blissfully unaware state of just seconds ago. His brain scrambled for a response, for a way to save face, to salvage the friendship he had quite clearly just destroyed, to keep her in his life. But when he responded he seemed to have lost all control over his own mouth, as the words flowed without pause.

“I love you. I am in love with you. I have been since pretty much the moment we met. I love everything about you, your heart, your strength, the way you don’t take anyone’s shit, especially not mine. I wake up in the morning, and my first thought is of you. The highlight of my day is when I get to see your face, or even just hear your voice. I know that nothing is ever going to happen, even if you did date wrestlers, I am not the kind of guy you could ever think of that way. I’m an asshole. I know that. And a redneck to boot. But being your friend, being someone who not only gets to work with you, but to hang out, to talk to you, as a friend, that’s enough. Just to have that is enough. Just to be close to you is enough. I’ll get past this, maybe, but it doesn’t matter. All I want is for you to be happy, and to get to see that. But right now, I can’t help the way I feel. I can admit to feeling jealous when a guy flirts with you, and even more so when you flirt back, but I can deal with that . You’re not mine, you never will be, none of that is any of my business. But what I can’t deal with, what I won’t deal with, is guys like that talking shit about you. I couldn’t stand there and hear them say all those ugly things about you and just ignore it. I lost my cool. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have and I get that it is not my place, but it made my blood boil. And now its led me here, spouting all this shit, and I’m so gonna lose the one thing that was good in my life. Please, I’m sorry for being an ass. I can’t apologise to those guys, I won’t. But I can apologise to you for being unprofessional, and making you look bad. I know you have stood up for me when no-one else would, I know I let you down. Please, can we just forget everything I just said, put it down to my big mouth running off where it shouldn’t, let’s go back to being friends. I’m so sorry.”

Shawn’s whole body deflated as he finished his ramble. He should have felt self-conscious, stood there in only a towel, exposing himself even more emotionally than he was physically. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that. He only cared that they could fix what he had so clearly messed up, self-destructing as ever.

Kay just stared at Shawn. She knew he had given a long, rambling speech, but in truth, everything after the first three words was something of a blur. He loved her? Shawn… was in love with her? Her addled brain began to digest some more of what he said. He thought she didn’t, couldn’t feel the same? That he wasn’t good enough for her? She couldn’t even begin to fathom a response to that.

“Kay?” There was a desperate edge to his voice. “Say something please. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to say i...”

His words were cut short as she dove forward to capture his lips. A gentle hand traced the contours of his cheek, as the other caressed his shoulder, urging him towards her. That touch jumped started his momentarily frozen body into action. Kissing her back with all the love and urgency he possessed, his large hand caressed the back of her hair, running through her blonde locks, whilst the other, swept around her waist, resting on her lower back, pulling her closer. He realised his mistake as the towel he was strategically holding in place slipped from his body, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The pair staggered slightly from the force of the kiss, with Kay’s back coming to rest heavily against the bathroom door. Her hands greedily explored the expanse of his exposed back slowly making their way down. As she traced further, she faltered, realising that she was still touching naked skin rather than the towel she had expected. She pulled back slightly to look questioningly at Shawn.

“Apologies darlin', I don’t wanna seem like I’m getting ahead of myself or anything here, but ..”

“But suddenly I am feeling very overdressed,” she interrupted him, smiling mischievously.

Kay pushed back against Shawn, leaving him standing completely exposed in the centre of the room. Her eyes hungrily took in his fully naked form, unable to stop herself involuntarily licking her lips as she stared at his full, and very erect, cock. He masked his sudden feeling of vulnerability with a customary smirk. She took a confident step forward, reaching behind her back, and pulling the zipper on her dress down with one smooth motion. Shaking her arms, the dress slipped easily from her body, leaving her standing there in white lace shorts, and a paired lace bra. Shawn stared at her greedily, his heart pounding in his ears, fighting the urge to pinch himself to check that this wasn’t some particularly vivid dream. Kay slowly paced forward, reminding Shawn fleetingly of a predator stalking his prey. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leant forward to recapture his lips.

Determined to regain some semblance of power in this situation, Shawn’s arms went around her body, and lifted Kay from the ground, sweeping her legs around his waist. She squeaked in surprise, grinning into their kiss. Shawn strode over to the bed, kneeling down and lowering her gently to the surface, never once breaking the kiss. Once she was fully secured on the bed, he turned his attentions to her neck placing gentle kisses across her skin, slowly working down across her chest towards her breasts, the temptation of them in that angelic looking white lace too much for him to bear. Kissing across her cleavage, he realised that the bra fastened at the front, and desperate to release the garments hold, he paused to glance up at Kay. She smiled back down at him nodding at the question in his eyes, reaching forward to release the hook herself. Gently batting away her hands, causing a grin to spread further across her face, he reached for the clasp, feeling the moment the fabric broke apart, and her beautiful breasts fell free. He kissed each one reverently, gently stroking along the sides, causing shivers to dance through her body. A needy moan escaped her lips as his mouth covered her left nipple, tongue tracing delicately over the tip, his hand gently massaging the right. A part of him wanted to stay right where he was for the rest of his life, but the temptation to continue to explore her body overwhelmed him. Releasing her breast with a gentle pop, he continued his pursuit down her body, feeling the friction of his now throbbing cock against the bed sheet as he moved. He took a breath to control himself, not wanting to embarrass himself like a teenage boy blowing his load at the first sight of a naked girl. Regaining his composure, he continued his downward path, reaching the top of her lace shorts. Moving down the delicate garment, he breathed in her heady aroma, overcome with a desire to taste her. He could feel her writhing underneath his touch, as he reached for the edge of her shorts. Looking to her once more for affirmation, and receiving a heavy-lidded nod, he gently slid the shorts down her legs, discarding them to the floor. He turned back to admire his handiwork. Kay lay on his bed gloriously naked, her breast glistening from where his lips had been moments ago. He felt himself grow even harder, not having thought that was even possible he was so turned on. He leant down to fulfil his previous desire to taste her but was stopped as she reached for his arm.

“Shawn, I need you. Inside me. Now. Please.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, thick with desire. She reached out and pulled him back up her body. Claiming his lips once more, the pair poured all their passion and longing into the kiss. Breaking for air, Shawn stared deep into Kay’s eyes. “Are you sure?”, the self-doubt still lingering somewhere at the back of his voice. “Shawn, I have never wanted anything more in my life”, she returned, shifting slightly so her body was more fully under his. Kissing her again, Shawn lowered his pelvis to hers, parting her legs as he did so. Reaching down, he lined himself up and gently pushed forward. Kay raised to meet his motion, feeling a spasm of excitement course through her body as he entered her, his cock stretching her out in the most delicious way. Shawn thrust slowly forward, eliciting a pleasured moan from Kay’s lips. Once he was fully seated inside her, he stopped to look into her eyes. Returning his gaze, Kay gently stroked his face, unable to contain her smile. They kissed once again, this time filled with tenderness, as they slowly explored each other’s mouths, tongues entwining as he began his slow movements back and forth, each stroke deeper than the last, her body moving to match his rhythm and pace. Needing more she parted her legs further allowing him deeper still. Breaking the kiss to gain some desperately needed air, Kay arched in pleasure beneath him as she felt him stroking every nerve, so deep inside her, her body on fire with desire and pleasure.

“Shawn, oh god, I’m so close, oh god.” She could feel her climax building as he continued to move inside of her. “Fuck baby, feel so good, so perfect, god I love you” he gasped out, increasing the speed of his thrusts, pushing ever deeper inside her. “I love you too, oh god Shawn, I’m going to, oh god, Shawn, Shawn, Shawn”. His name fell from her lips over and over, unable to form any other words. He felt her come apart beneath him as her orgasm overtook her, triggering his own, feeling the pleasure roll off him. “Kay, Kay, oh god Kay” he gasped. Shawn collapsed, spent, onto Kay, overwhelmed in pleasure. As they both slowly came down from their high, Shawn lifted himself slightly, mindful not to let her carry his full weight, but not wanting to break their intimate embrace. As she caught her breath, he couldn’t resist capturing her lips once more, a kiss she returned with all the passion she could muster. Breaking once more for air, he pressed his face to hers. “I love you Kay”. She stared back into his eyes. “I love you too”.

Reluctant to move, but aware that she was potentially being crushed, Shawn gently eased himself up, slipping softly from her body. Her pouty expression at the loss caught him off guard, and he couldn’t help but lean down in an attempt to kiss her once more. He relaxed his body as he did so, giving Kay the opportunity to once again take charge of the situation, as she rolled the pair so he was flat on his back and she was straddled across his lap, shaking the limply hanging bra from her shoulders as she did so. Shawn couldn’t help but follow the motion of her breasts as she made the move, enjoying the view this new position afforded him enormously.

“My turn,” Kay seductively whispered, as she leant down to caress the sensitive skin around his neck. As she slowly worked her way across his chest, Shawn could feel her already hardened nipples against his skin. She gently kissed his own nipples, teasing him with her tongue, causing him to twitch involuntarily. She ran her figure tips down his sides, noting the lack of ticklishness, and slowly began working her way down his body, following the trail of downy hair that worked its way towards his belly button. Placing a sloppy kiss there, she continued her downward trail. He could feel himself hardening already, breath hitching as she approached his semi-erect cock. Now level with his member she gently stroked the inside of his thighs, tracing the outline of his ball sack, before lovingly running her fingertips down his shaft. She smiled as he hardened further before her, gently wrapping her hand around him, givin.g him a slow stroke, while passing her thumb across his still dripping tip.

“Fuck” Shawn breathed. “That was kind of what I was thinking,” Kay replied. “Oh really? And what exactly were you thinking darlin'?” cocky grin back in place, as he pretended he still had some measure of control in this situation. Kay looked contemplative as she continued to stroke his cock with agonisingly slow motions. “Oh, I’m thinking all sorts of things” At her words he felt himself fully harden, refractory period be damned. “In fact, if I were to tell you all the things I’m thinking about doing right now, it would probably take a very long time. But what I am currently thinking about the most is how much I want to ride your beautiful cock,” she purred. “Well, who am I to deny a lady such a polite request?” he smirked back at her.

Rolling her eyes, Kay released her grip on him, sliding back up his body, sitting up straight so her still soaking opening pinned his erect cock to his abdomen. He took a moment to admire the view once more, raising a questioning eyebrow. She lifted herself up on her knees as he reached down to position his rigid member beneath her. She slowly lowered herself down, moaning deeply as he impaled her. Once she was fully seated, she took a moment to relish how gloriously full he made her feel. “Fuck Shawn, you feel so good, oh god...,” the last escaping her lips as he thrust up into her. Regaining her composure, she lunged forward pining his arms at the side of his head. “I believe the lady’s desire was to ride you” she pointedly told him. “Yes Ma’am” he grinned back at her. She, ground down on him deeply causing him to return her moan. Sitting back up, she began to ride him slowly, still adjusting to his size inside her. As she found her rhythm, she ran her hands down her own body, stopping to gently tease her own nipples. Thoughts of watching her pleasure herself ran through Shawn’s mind. He filed that away for a later date, because right now he wanted to be the one making her feel good. He quickly pushed her hands away, replacing them with his own. She threw her head back in pleasure as his ministrations increased, cupping her breasts and rubbing his calloused thumbs across her nipples. “Oh god Shawn, feels so good, so good.” “Yeah, you like that, makes you feel good”. “YES, yes, oh god I’m so close.” “Tell me what you need baby, talk to me.” “ I need, I need...,” Kay struggled to find the words as she felt the intense pleasure course thorough her body. “So close”, she moaned incoherently. Taking his cue, Shawn moved one hand from her breasts, down to where their bodies joined. Gently, he stroked around her pubic bone, searching for that magic spot to help her fall apart. His exploring finger found her clit, and gently applied pressure. As he hit the right spot she gasped in pleasure, causing him to increase his motion. Kay cried out as her orgasm overcame her, riding him through her waves of pleasure. “That’s it baby, I got ya, cum for me darlin” . “Oh my, Oh god, fuck, yes, oh Shawn, oh, oh.” “As she fell limply forward, Shawn moved his hands round her body, holding her in a gentle embrace as she came down from her high. He grinned to himself at just how damn vocal she was, and how fucking much that turned him on. She fucked like she lived, open and honest, giving herself fully to the task at hand. And that was so goddamn sexy.

Coming to her senses after the intensity of her second orgasm, and finally catching her breath, Kay raised herself up to look at Shawn. “What are you thinking?”, she asked, returning his question from earlier. “I’m thinking about just how damn sexy you look when you cum”. She smiled coyly at his compliment. “And I’m also thinking how much I wanna see you look like that again.” She bit her lip, “Yeah,”. “Oh yeah”.

Holding her tightly he swiftly reversed their positions once more, hardened cock still firmly inside her. She gasped at the motion, moaning at the feel of him moving against her sensitive walls. As he raised himself up, she arched towards him, feeling her desire hitch, despite the intensity of her previous orgasm.

“Tell me what you want,” he asked staring at her intently. She stared back at him, a thousand words flooding her mind. What did she want? She wanted this, she wanted Shawn. Everyday. Always. She wanted to spend every night in his arms. She wanted to make love to him over, and over again. She wanted to be with him. Everywhere. Anywhere. She searched his face, the implications of the question thick between them. Everything he had said earlier still hung in the air, and really, had she given him a proper answer? Despite his outward confidence she could see that flicker of the real Shawn underneath, the self-doubt, the insecurity. As desperately as her body wanted him to fuck her, her mind wanted to tell him how much he truly meant to her.

“I want you. Always”. His face broke into an uncertain smile, the hidden tension behind his eyes relaxing slightly. “Yeah?”. “Yes” she answered confidentially. “But right now, I need you to fuck me. Hard. Fast. I need you so much Shawn, I need to feel you everywhere”. In response he thrust deeply inside her, causing her to gasp in pleasure. “You want me hard, fast. You sure you can handle that darlin’,” he challenged. In response she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper inside her. “I can handle anything you’ve got,” she retorted. Biting his lip, Shawn reached for her arms, pinning them above her head, against the headboard. She arched further into him, moaning in response. He pumped swiftly into her, increasing his pace as she gasped in pleasure. “This what you want baby?” “Oh Shawn, yes, like that, oh, god, fuck me, please, harder, fuck, yes”. Pushing up with his left arm, he raised his body, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, blindly driving into her, fucking her into the bed.

“You like fucking me Shawn” she gasped. “Oh god, yes”. “Tell me, tell me you like to fuck me” she pleaded, needing to hear him. “God, I fucking love fucking you Kay, you feel so good, so tight, so warm, so wet. I wanna fuck you till you cum, I wanna make you cum so hard, I wanna cum so hard inside you.” His words heightened her arousal even further, increasing the intensity of the waves of pleasure she was feeling. She felt like she could feel him in every nerve in her body, the combination of emotion and physicality almost overwhelming her. “Oh god baby, your so good, so perfect. I love the way you take my dick, the way you fit me like a goddamn glove. I could keep on fucking you forever, I wanna be right here, right inside you. Oh, fuck baby I’m gonna cum so hard inside you. Need you to cum for me baby, please oh god, I wanna watch you cum.” He could feel his arousal building, feel himself so close to cumming, determined to hold on until she was ready. He released his hold on her arms, using his now free right arm to support himself and let him push ever deeper into her. She gasped in pleasure, and he felt her body tighten. Thrusting deeply, he felt her convulsing around him, moaning out his name as she finally came. He watched her face as her orgasm passed over her, eyes wide open, cheeks flushed, still gasping out his name, As she opened even further for him, he felt himself slip deeper still, his own orgasm overcoming him, shooting thick ribbons of cum inside her. The sensation triggered another orgasm in her, as she shuddered around him, grabbing his face and kissing him sloppily as her body spasmed in aftershocks. As they broke the kiss, both breathless, he stared reverently down at the incredible woman beneath him, still barely able to believe this was all real. As she unhooked her legs, he lifted himself off her, causing her to wince slightly. “Are you okay, did I hurt you” the pleasure of moments ago replaced with the fear that he had taken it too far. She smiled “No, no, just a little achy. But in the best possible way.”

Reassured, Shawn lowered himself next to her, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she continued to come down from her high and catch her breath. Looking round, he reached for his discarded towel on the floor and gently wiped the remnants of their shared pleasure from her still trembling body. Doing the same to himself, he threw the towel aside and laid back down, opening his arms, into which she willingly fell. They lay on the bed, his chest acting as her pillow, their bodies damp with perspiration, hers draped across his, sated and satisfied, as he gently stroked her hair. Intending only to stay like that for a few moments, neither realised when the other drifted into sleep.

[writingwithcolor]

Space based story with prison camps: problematic parallels?

Trigger warnings:

Holocaust

Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post and resources)

ivypool2005 asked:

I'm writing a sci-fi novel set on Mars in the 25th century. There are two countries on Mars: Country A, a hereditary dictatorship, and Country B, a democracy occupied by Country A after losing a war. Country A's government is secretly being puppeted by a company that is illegally testing experimental technology on children. On orders from the company, Country A is putting civilian children from Country B in prison camps, where the company can fake their deaths and experiment on them. (1/2)

My novel takes place in one of the prison camps. I am aware that this setting carries associations with various concentration camps in history. Specifically, I'm worried about the experimentation aspect, as I know traumatic medical experimentation occurred during the Holocaust. Is there anything I should avoid? How can I acknowledge the history while still keeping some fantasy/sci-fi distance from real experiences -- or is it a bad idea to try to straddle that fence at all? Thank you! (2/2)

We are far from being the only people to have suffered traumatic medical experiments.. 

--Shira

TW: Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post, and all of the links)

Medical experimentation in history

Perhaps without intending to, you have posed an enormous question. 

I will start by saying that we, the Jewish people, are not the only group to have unethical, immoral, vicious experiments performed on our bodies.  Horrific experimentation has been conducted on Black people, on Indigenous people, on disabled people, on poor people of various backgrounds, on women, on queer people... the legacy of human cruelty is long. Here are some very surface-level sources for you, and anyone else interested to go through. Many, many more can be found.

General Wiki Article on Unethical Human Experimentation

US Specific Article  on Unethical Human Experimentation 

The early history of modern American Gynecology is largely comprised of absolutely inhumane experimentation, mostly on enslaved women (with some notable exceptions among Irish immigrant women)

An Article on Gynecological Experimentation on Enslaved Women

I  also recommend reading Medical Bondage by Deirdre Cooper Owens

The Tuskegee Experiment 

First Nations Children Denied Nutrition

Guatemala Syphilis Experiment

Unit 731

AZT Testing on Zimbabwean Women

Project MKUltra

Conversion Therapy

Medical Experiments on Prison Inmates 

Medical Interventions on Intersex Infants and Children

Again, these are only a few, of a tragic multitude of examples. 

While I don't feel comfortable saying, as a blanket statement, that stories like this should never be fictionalized, it feels important to emphasize the historicity of medical experimentation, and indeed, medical horrors. These things happened, in the real world, throughout history, and across the globe. 

The story of this kind of human experimentation is one of immense cruelty, and the complete denial of the humanity of others. Experimentation was done on unwilling subjects, with no real regard for their wellbeing, their physical pain, the trauma they would incur, the effect it would have on families, or on communities. These are stories, not of random, mythical "subjects," but of human beings. These were Black women, already suffering enslavement, who were medically tortured. These were Indigenous children, who were utterly powerless, denied nutrition, just to see what would happen. These were Black men, lied to about their own health, and sent home to infect their spouses, and denied treatment once it was available. These were Aboriginal Australians, forced to have unnecessary medical procedures, children given brutal gynecological exams, and medications that were untested.. These were inmates in US prisons, under the complete control of the state. These were prisoners of war. These were pregnant people, desperate to save their fetuses, lied to by doctors. These were also Jewish people, imprisoned, and brutalized as part of a systematic attempt to destroy us. 

The story of medical torture, of experimentation without any meaningful consent, of the removal of human dignity, and human rights, is so vast, and so long, there is no way to do it justice. It is a story about human beings, without agency, without rights, it's the story of doctors, scientists, and the inquisitive, looking right through a person, and seeing nothing but parts. This is not some vague plot point, or a curiosity to note in passing, it is a real, terrible thing that happened, and is still happening to actual human beings. I understand the draw, to want to write about the Worst of the Worst, the things that happen when people set aside kindness, and pick up cruelty, but this is not simply a device. This kind of torture cannot be used as authorial shorthand, to show who the real bad guys are. 

On writing this subject - research

If you want to write a fictional story that includes this kind of deep, abiding horror, you need to immerse yourself in it. You need to read about it, not only in secondhand accounts, and not only from people stating facts dispassionately. You need to seek out firsthand accounts, read whatever you can find, watch whatever videos you can find. You need to find works recounting these atrocities by the descendants, and community members of people who suffered. 

Then, when you have done that, you need to spend time reflecting, and actively working to recognize the humanity of the people this happened to, and continues to happen to. 

You have to recognize that getting a stamp of approval from three Jewish people on a single website would never be enough, and seek out multiple sensitivity readers who have personal, familial, or cultural experience with forced experimentation.

If that seems like a lot of work, or overkill, I beg you not to write this story. It's simply too important. 

-- Dierdra

If you study public health and sociology, it is often a given that the intersection of institutional power and marginalized populations produces extreme human rights abuses. This is not to say that such abuse should be treated as an inevitability, but rather to help us understand, as Dierdra says, how often we need to be aware of the risk of treating our fellow humans poorly. Much of modern medical history is the story of the unwilling sacrifices made by people unable to defend themselves from the powers that be. Whether we are talking about the poor residents of public hospitals in France during the 18th century whose bodies were used to advance anatomy and pathology, to vaccine testing in the 19th century, to mental asylum patients in the 20th century who endured isolation, lobotomies, colectomies and thorazine, one can easily see this pattern beyond the Holocaust. 

Even when we shift our focus away from abuse justified by “experimentation”, we have many such incidents of institutionalized state collusion in abuse that have made the news within the last 20 years with depressing regularity. Beyond the examples mentioned above, I offer border migrant detention centers and black sites for America, Xinjiang re-education sites and prisoner organ donation in China, Soviet gulags still in use in Russia, and North Korean forced labor camps (FLCs) for political prisoners as more current examples. I agree with Dierdra that these themes affect many people still alive today who have endured such abuses, and are enduring such abuses. 

More on proper research and resources

Given that you are going to be exploring a topic when the pain is still so fresh, so raw, I think you had better have something meaningful to say. Dierdra’s recommendation to immerse yourself in nonfiction primary sources is essential, but I think you will also want to brush up on many established works of dystopian fiction featuring themes relating to state institutions and the exploitation of vulnerable populations. While doing so, read about the authors and how the circumstances of their environments and time periods influenced their stories’ messages and themes. I further recommend that you do so both slowly and deliberately so you can both properly take in the information while also checking in with your own comfort. 

- Marika

[freddie-weaselbee]

Real//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, I think that’s it ?

Summary: One small favor. A trade. That was all it was. Mutually beneficial! Until things between Fred and Y/N and their new relationship get a little more complicated and cause too many prying eyes. 

Prompts: Fake Dating with dialogue prompts “we could have prevented this!” and “did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: Day 3 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge

 “I’ve made my list of rules which you will abide by and under no circumstances will be broken. Number 1: this ruse does not leave the shop. I don’t want random people on the street questioning me because you couldn’t keep your huge mouth shut. Number 2: I will allow you to kiss me on the cheek and forehead as  often as you like, within reason of course, and you can give me a peck on the lips 3 times in total. I will keep track. And Number 3: Don’t take up the entire bed any more or I will be forced to push you onto the floor. Sound good?”

“Bloody hell, you are crazy aren’t you?”

“Just a little bit.”

Fred was starting to regret his previous decision of making this arrangement with you, but a jingle of his shop bell and glance at who was walking in quickly made those feelings disappear. 

“Deal,” he said, eyes not leaving the woman who had just entered. “But we start right now and I want one of those kisses.”

You looked up at your friend, confused at his sudden nerves before you followed his line of sight and understood immediately. You sighed and ruffled your hair a bit, looking for a mirror to fix your makeup. “I’m on it, give me a few minutes.”

Fred nodded, still watching his target walk slowly through the aisles of his store. As she turned a corner you ducked into the back office, waiting for a good time to reemerge. 

“Freddie!” A high pitched voice pierced through the ear, equal parts flirtatious and absolutely unbearable. Fred glanced up, pretending not to have noticed the girl before. Putting on a fake smile, he set down the product he was pretending to tinker with and placed his hands on the counter table. 

“Brooklyn, hi! How are you?” he asked, hoping his fake politeness would pass as genuine. 

“Ugh I am so good. So SO good actually,” she said, twisting a finger through her hair. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you! I’m so glad you received my letter, I was hoping we could catch up, maybe over dinner sometime? I’ve had so many fine young men ask me out over the last few months, but none of them seemed to compare to you, my little Freddie Bear.”

He winced at the nickname, it bringing an onslaught of unwanted memories that he had desperately tried to forget. Brooklyn bit her lip and placed a hand on top of Fred’s, leaning in to accentuate her breasts and make sure Fred got a good whiff of her new perfume. 

Very calmly, Fred placed his other hand on top of hers, now sandwiched in between his strong grip. “Brooklyn,” he said, faking sympathy, “you’re a lovely girl, and I’m sure any guy would be lucky to have you, but--”

“Hey, love!” 

A voice interrupted Fred’s rejection, making a very surprised Brooklyn become absolutely enraged as she witnessed you come up and place a chaste kiss on Fred’s lips, smiling into him. Fred pulled his hands from Brooklyn’s grip and placed it instead on your hip, pulling you into him and placing another peck on your forehead. You both stared lovingly into each other’s eyes before a harsh cough stole your attention. 

“And who is this?” Brooklyn asked, arms crossed angrily. She was glaring daggers at you, not even trying to fake sweetness for Fred’s sake. 

Keeping his hand on your waist, Fred turned back to the girl who seemed as though she was about to explode. “That’s what I was trying to tell you Brooklyn,” he said, trying to keep his smile as pitiful as he could without it drawing suspicion. “This is Y/N, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”

You nuzzled into Fred’s chest for half a second before reaching a hand out to Brooklyn. “It’s so nice to meet you! Brooklyn, was it? I don’t think Fred’s ever mentioned you before, are you one of his childhood friends. Cousin, maybe?”

That had done it and you and Fred both knew it. He subtly fist bumped you under the counter as you watched the girl’s face become redder than Fred’s hair. 

She opened her mouth before taking a huge breath and stepping back. “No, actually,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m his ex-girlfriend. I left him to move on to much better things. Speaking of which--” she flipped her hair and smoothed out her skirt, straightening her posture to try to keep what little dignity she had left, “--I actually have a date. With a dragon trainer no less, and a very renowned one.”

“Oh really?” Fred asked. “That’s amazing. My brother, Charlie, is a dragon trainer as well, and he’s very well known in the community. May I ask the name of the lucky young man? Maybe Charlie knows him.”

Caught very off guard, Brooklyn rolled her eyes and turned to face the door. “That’s none of your business. I better be going, before we’re late to dinner at a very nice place, somewhere the likes of you most likely couldn’t afford.”

You felt Fred stiffen next to you and you squeezed his hand gently. “Have a nice time! It was lovely to meet you Bridget.”

“It’s Brooklyn,” she seethed. 

“Oh right, silly me,” you said, shaking your head. “Bye!”

As Brooklyn sauntered out of the store, you turned to Fred and whispered seductively, just loud enough for the exiting girl to hear. “How about we have a nice night in tonight? I got something the other day that I’d love for you to see. Maybe after seeing it you’ll make me scream even louder than last night.” Fred’s face began to grow red and he had to discreetly adjust his pants, hoping you didn’t notice exactly what your words were doing to him. 

Brooklyn slammed the door and practically ran down the cobbled streets, only screaming when she thought she was far enough away to not be heard. You and Fred both waited a few seconds before cheering and hugging each other, him patting you on the back for a great performance. 

“Y/N! That was incredible! I knew I could count on you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you said, “I’m amazing, I know.” You smiled up at him completing the high five he was waiting on. “When you told me you needed help with a crazy ex I didn’t know you  meant like actually crazy. She’s insane! How did you put up with her for so long?”

Fred shrugged, jumping up onto the counter. “She was hot and I was horny. Not much else to it.”

You rolled your eyes, jumping up to join him. A few days ago you wouldn’t have been nearly comfortable enough to lounge out on the shop’s counters like you were now, but that was before you were a permanent resident of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Before you and Fred had made the deal. 

“You want me to do what?”

“Please, Y/N, it would only be for a little while until this all dies down, I swear!”

You groaned and rubbed your temple, wondering how in the world a friendly visit to your friend’s shop would turn into something with much more commitment. 

“You’re telling me that you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? Why on earth would you need that?”

You were pacing around the shop, trying to avoid customers as to not involve them in this very personal conversation. Fred followed you, pleading for you to help him like the great friend you were. 

“I told you,” he said, “after The Daily Prophet did that expo on the shop and made me and George out to be rich sexy businessmen, and I mean where’s the lie, all of my crazy exes have been sending me letters and trying to get back with me. I can’t stand it, there’s so many!”

“Yeah, you were never one for long-term relationships, were you?”

Fred hmphed but quickly picked up with his pleading once again. “You don’t understand, Y/N, it’s absolutely unbearable. It’s common knowledge that George and Angie have been going steady for years now, so he’s got pretty much no one after him. But me? I can’t handle it.”

He dramatically threw himself on one of the empty product tables, causing a couple kids to glance in your direction before quickly becoming distracted by one of the exploding jokes across the shop. 

“Oh, woe is me, I have too many beautiful women throwing themselves at me, whatever am I to do?” you mocked, earning a nasty glare from your friend. 

“I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t of upmost importance,” he said, straightening his tie and assuming a more business-like manner. “Those girls are crazy. Hot, yes, but crazy. And all you have to do is pretend to be dating me for a few weeks, a month at best! What do you say?”

“And what do I get out of this?” you asked. Usually, you’d never say no to helping a friend, especially Fred, but pretending to date him and having him practically use you to make other girls mad? You didn’t like the idea in the slightest. Well, maybe seeing the mad girls would be a bonus. You never cared much for most of the girls Fred went out with. 

Fred’s face turned into an upward grin as he rolled his sleeves up and leaned forward. “I was hoping you’d say that. I hear that you’re looking for a place to stay, is that right?”

You nodded hesitantly, having an idea of where he was going. 

“Well,” he said, pacing back and forth, “to keep up this charade we’ll need to convince everyone, including George and Angelina. You see, Angie’s friends with Alicia, one of the girls who’s been constantly OWLing me, and if she knew this was fake then she’d blow our cover for sure. Which means…”

You gulped. 

“You’d have the pleasure of sharing the loft with me. You’d get a room, shared with me, and a nice living space all rent-free, and all you have to do is act all lovey-dovey and occasionally snog me. That sounds like an offer you can’t refuse.”

Unfortunately, he was right. You were tight on money at the moment and really had no other options. It was a deal you had to make if you wanted to stay afloat, no matter how much annoyance and embarrassment it would cost you. 

Sighing, you let your shoulders slump, a sign of defeat. “You do know how to negotiate, don’t you?”

“Well I am a businessman.” Fred stuck out his hand, and with a slow, drawn out motion, you shook it. 

It was the 4th night of living with the Weasley twins, or maybe 5th? The nights all seemed to blend together as you’d been having more fun than you had since Hogwarts. George and Angelina didn’t seem surprised at all when you and Fred told them your made up story about how you and Fred started seeing each other. In fact, they both said they always knew it would happen. You and Fred shared a laugh about that in bed that night, before he decided to take up all of the space on the small piece of furniture, prompting you to write your third rule. 

Overall, it had been a great experience. Couples game night, movie marathons, gossip sessions with Angelina about you and Fred’s sex life (which you didn’t have to fabricate too much, you already knew too much from the incredible amounts of detail he used to provide about his dates with other girls). It was like being thrown back into a dorm room, and your old teenage self was starting to shine through again. 

You stared at yourself in Fred’s bathroom mirror, very proud of how you handled Brooklyn earlier that day. She was one of the few girlfriends of Fred’s you never got to meet, probably because they only dated for a short period of time before she left him for the first rich snob to bat an eye at her. Out of everyone you could think of that he dated, she was by far the worst, which meant the next few days would probably be more difficult. It was easy making that bitch angry with smoke coming from her ears, but you didn’t know how good you’d feel about lying to someone a lot nicer than she was. 

After brushing your teeth and donning your pajamas, your Hogwarts house colors of course, you crawled into bed and joined Fred, who was reading one of the novels you had recommended to him. “You like it so far?” you asked. 

Fred took off his reading glasses and nodded, setting a bookmark in the book before placing it on his nightstand. “Surprisingly, yes. I didn’t think it would be my thing, but so far it’s actually really good.”

“Told ya,” you said as you laid down beside him. You and Fred were comfortable enough to share a bed with few problems except for his stupid long legs. You’d been friends for years and had grown way too comfortable with each other, so squeezing together each night wasn’t too out of the ordinary. 

As you snuggled into the covers, Fred following suit, you mentally went over the schedule for the week. 

“How many girls are there again?” 

Fred paused for a moment, trying to remember what he had sent to each girl. “A few I was able to ward off via letter, the more sane ones, but there are still two more girls who insisted they pay me a visit. Addison’s coming tomorrow and Alicia the day after that.”

You nodded, although you ducted Fred could see it from his position. “Got it. Addison’s sweet, I liked her.”

Fred scoffed, wrapping an arm around your waist as he had started doing while you two slept. It was nothing more than platonic, Fred was just a touchy person. You told yourself he would do this with any semi-attractive girl laying in his bed. 

“Yeah, sweet girl all right, until you come home to your entire apartment torn apart cuz she thought you were cheating on her because apparently you ‘took an extra 12 minutes of lunch break and it seemed awfully suspicious.’”

Your body reverberated with a small giggle, remembering how Fred had to crash with you at your old place while he was trying to replace all the furniture she had literally torn up. “That’s right, she’s almost as crazy as I am.”

“Almost.”

You wouldn’t have a hard time lying to Addison, you decided. It was actually kind of fun when you did it with Brooklyn. You could get really creative with this one. 

You released a deep breath and closed your eyes, nestling back into Fred as he spooned you, claiming it was the only way he wouldn’t sprawl out and kick you in your sleep, which you knew was a lie. He’d find a way to kick you somehow. The git always did. 

------------------------------

“That was surprisingly better than expected!”

You nodded gleefully, handing Fred a scone and coffee that you had picked up from a nearby bakery. Scaring off Addison had been even more fun than Brooklyn, you and Fred really getting into character and being as lovey dovey as possible. She seemed to take it well, but you wouldn’t be surprised if she triggered the security system tonight trying to break in and destroy the shop. 

“And if I’m being honest it was actually kind of fun,” you told him, settling in behind the counter. 

You raised your muffin to your mouth to take a bite but Fred’s huge mouth snagged a taste before you could, bending down and taking a chunk out before you could have any. “That’s disgusting,” but you had no disgust lingering in your tone. 

“I agree,” he said through mouthfuls of muffin. “It was an excellent way to spend the morning. Bloody hell she would not leave!”

“At least she was nice about it.”

Fred reluctantly agreed before making another move to your muffin, one that this time you anticipated and you swatted his nose with a nearby newspaper. “You have your own, you greedy pig.”

He yanked the paper from your hand, using it as a napkin before the front page caught his eye. He quickly crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a nearby waste bin, something you wouldn’t have been suspicious of had he not done it so nervously. 

“Fred, what’s in the paper today?”

He shifted to put himself in between you and the wastebin, his tall figure looming over you. “Not important, just more junk that no one cares about.”

You didn’t believe him for a second. “Frederick Weasley you move this instant.” You tried pushing him out of the way but it was like moving an annoying ginger stone wall. Trying another approach, you darted to the left before doubling back and running right, but before you made it two steps he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. “Fred!”

You wiggled with all your might and finally made it out of his grasp, snatching the paper and unfolding it to read the headline. 

Diagon Alley Playboy Finally Settling Down? Or Is Y/N L/N Just Another of Fred Weasley’s One Night Stands?

The color drained from your face and you slowly lowered the paper, reading the front page again and again. Attached was a blurry picture of you and Fred from the day before with you tucked into the side. The buggers at The Daily Prophet must’ve caught it through the store window. 

“I’m sorry,” Fred said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I tried to keep things quiet, but I guess the press always finds a way in.”

You rubbed your temple slowly, trying to ignore the dread in your stomach. After seeing Harry Potter be brutally torn apart by the press for years, the last thing you wanted was rumors about you going around. 

"We could have prevented this!” you exclaimed, slamming the paper onto the desk. “This is complete bullshit. We’re not even dating! I swear I’m going to march straight to their office and--”

“Don’t bother,” Fred said, completely exasperated by the constant coverage of his family. “It does absolutely nothing, trust me. As a close relative to a professional Quidditch player, The Chosen One himself, and his two best friends who literally saved the world, we’ve learned that nothing will keep them away. Especially since they pinned me as the player of the Weasley family.”

“But you’re not!” you said, getting angrier by the second. “So your relationships don’t last long, so what? You’re not some womanizing piece of shit that the papers say you are!”

Chuckling, Fred replied. “I know that, and you know that. But the rest of the world wants drama, so if they want to think I have a new girl in my bed every night I’ll let them.” He shrugged. “You get used to it after a while.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to,” you grumbled. “You’re one of the best people I know, and the world should know it too.”

Catching you off guard, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your torso and a head lay on your shoulder. “It’s ok, love, just one more day and then you can stay out of the papers forever, I promise.”

Sighing, you turned to face him and let a small smile shine through. “Thanks. But I still think it’s absolute rubbish what they’re doing to your character.”

“Me too, but at least you know what a charming and caring gentleman I am and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Aww,” you coed, “you love me don’t you?”

“Shh, don’t let the press hear! It’ll ruin the image they worked so hard to create.”

You hit your head against Fred’s chest. “Only one more day of this. One more to go.”

------------------------------

“Do you know you talk in your sleep?”

“What?” You were so busy trying to find something to wear that you had barely heard what Fred said. 

“Last night, when you fell asleep. You said something funny.” He was sitting on the bed, adjusting his work tie and pulling on his socks and shoes. He looked...confused. Like he was trying to solve a complicated problem and he just couldn’t git the pieces together. 

“Oh?” you said, growing nervous. Had you dreamt last night? You were racking your brain, hoping you hadn’t said something embarrassing. 

You definitely had a dream, and Fred was there. You were at the shop...and Alicia came in! And…

“You were saying ‘Alicia, no, Fred’s mine not yours, I love Fred,” and umm, other stuff like that.” His face was heating up by the second, as was yours. 

“Really?” you said through awkward laughs. “Must’ve been preparing for today, huh?”

Fred said nothing, instead choosing to focus on retying his shoes. 

“Well,” you said, finally picking out your outfit, “I’m going to change, I’ll meet you down there later, ok?”

He nodded, still confused, and you rushed to use his bathroom before things could get more awkward. 

You decided to take a nice, long shower to cool down, hoping that you could somehow wash away the embarrassment. So maybe you had a slight crush on Fred. Who could blame you? You’d been spending the last week cuddled up with him and spending so much time at the shop, not to mention acting like a couple in front of everyone. Who wouldn’t develop feelings?

But for some weird reason you had a feeling that this wasn’t a recent crush, rather something that’s been lurking right beneath the surface for a while. You groaned, hitting your head against the shower wall. This was not the time for this. You had a job to do, and Alicia would be here in 30 minutes so you had to hurry up. 

Scampering down the steps 15 minutes later after using a drying spell and getting dressed, you stopped in your tracks when you saw what was happening across the shop. Alicia was here early. 

From the looks of it, she had already made herself comfortable, leaning in to talk to Fred, who wasn’t doing anything to discourage the behavior. Instead, he was leaning in as well, laughing at a joke she just made. 

Fury burned inside you as you watched the scene unfold. You knew from the beginning that Alicia would be the hardest ex to deal with. Not only had she been Fred’s longest and most intimate relationship to date, but she was also a really nice person, meaning you had no reason to hate her. But at this moment you did. 

Alicia leaned closer, her nose almost touching Fred. What should you do? Did he want your help getting rid of her? Was he still harboring feelings and actually looking to reconnect? You saw him slowly lean in toward her, which you took as a sign to continue with your plan. 

You were almost running when you reached Fred, who turned and seemed happy to see you. “Just in time,” he said the Alicia, “Alicia, you remember--”

You cut him off with a kiss, the third kiss you’d promised him. Except this one wasn’t one of the pecks you described on your terms and conditions. You pulled Fred down into one of if not the most passionate kiss you’d ever had, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him closer to you.��

Almost immediately he pulled off of you, looking more bewildered than you had ever seen him. “I…”

“Well that was quite the spectacle.”

You looked over to where Alicia was standing, smirking at the two of you. Contrary to what you had expected, she actually seemed rather calm and actually amused at what she had just seen. 

“S-sorry,” you said. Fred tried to say something but he was too dumbstruck to even get a word out. He just stood there, eyes wide and mouth twitching. 

“Is this a bad time?” she asked. “I’m supposed to be meeting my fiancé for breakfast later so I can just come back another time if that works for you.”

“Your...fiancé?”

“Yeah!” Alicia beamed as she showed you her left hand, her ring finger adorned with the most beautiful engagement ring you’d ever seen. “Actually, the reason I’m here is because I just asked Fred if he wanted to be in the wedding as a groomsman. Or bridesmaid. Whatever works for him. Thankfully the big oaf said yes before you laid that on him, or else I think I’d be waiting a lot longer for an answer.”

Fred was still as frozen as ever, making you and Alicia chuckle. “Hey, it’s been forever since we’ve caught up, how about you and Fred go on a double date with me and Lee sometime?”

It took you a second to understand why Lee would be there, until it dawned on you. “You’re marrying Lee Jordan?!”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter at this, loving to see your reaction. “That I am! You’re obviously invited, I’m sending invitations out soon. I’ll hope to see you there, and don’t be afraid to reach out, alright?”

“Y-yeah, will do,” you said. Alicia looked up at Fred and then to you and winked, before waving goodbye and leaving the shop. 

You refused to make eye contact with Fred, too embarrassed to even begin to talk to him. Maybe you’d just take 5 and take a walk down the street? That would help distract your brain from whatever just happened. 

“Real?”

You turned around to the source of the voice, a now more interactive Fred. “What?”

“Real,” he repeated. He shook his head a few times, blinking rapidly. “Sorry, I just mean, that kiss was umm, it was real.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. The fact that you had kissed Fred, and an actual kiss at that, was finally hitting you. “Yeah, it was real, I guess.”

He took a step closer, his face assuming the puzzled look from the bedroom earlier. “Was...was what you said real too? From the dream, I mean?”

Now it was you who was frozen, feet stuck to the ground with no way out. What should you say? Confess your feelings and hope for the best? Or deny everything and try to work your way around this mess? You didn’t have time to think nor ration. Just act. 

“Yeah. It was real.”

Fred nodded, pursing his lips and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Cool.” He hesitated. “Would it be super crazy out of the blue if I asked you to maybe go out with me sometime. For real?”

A smile rose to your face, hoping that this wasn’t a joke. Slowly, almost shyly, you nodded. “Yeah, it would be a little crazy. But I’d say yes.”

Fred smiled too, a big toothy grin that only made you smile wider, before pulling you into a side hug. “Good, because you’re a little crazy too, so we’ll match on our date.”

“You’re a big dork,” you said, returning the hug. “What will the paper say when they see you with the same girl? They’ll probably explode!”

“I hope so,” he replied as he gave you a loving squeeze. “What I’m worried about is how we’re supposed to explain to George and Angelina that we’ve been faking this whole time and it’s only now getting real.”

“Eh, that’s a problem for another time. Right now, we’ve got some more pressing matters.” You gestured to the front window where a reporter was holding a huge camera, trying to snap a good picture of the two of you. 

“I’ll handle it, grab me the dungbombs.”

“Yes, sir!”

You ran to assist Fred, head rushing with thoughts of first dates and future ones down the road. Of attending Lee and Alicia’s wedding together and getting completely wasted with each other. Of sleeping together each night, holding each other in an embrace that was now true and deep and caring. In a relationship that was now real. 

Tag List:

@famdomhideout @amourtentiaa

[ramzawrites]

Rivals - Prince!Reader x Prince!Eret

Male

Pairings: Eret x Reader

Characters included: Eret

Warnings: n/a

Series: a request from 🌱🌟 my beloved <3 /p

Summary: Prince Y/N and Prince Eret hated each other. That was just a fact. Mostly causing trouble together in order to one up the other. Though over the time even their relationship can change.

Words count: 5367

Authors Note: I’ll be honest you hit me with this request at a very good time so I ended up writing 10 pages in one go haha

At the end I made the executive decision to finally cut it off or I probably would have written even more, for which I’m honestly don’t have the time at the moment. I hope it’s not that obvious but if it is I apologize.

Thank you for the request 🌱🌟

I am reposting it since the original post doesn’t seem to appear in the tags no need to check the original post but I wanted to give a reason why it’s twice on my blog

Prince Eret and Prince Y/N hated each other.

That was just a universally accepted thing and something that made sense. Just like how water is wet, the ground was made out of dirt, Eret and Y/N hated each other.

Both of their respecting kingdoms never had a good relationship to say the least. Way back in the day the two nations have wared against each other which almost ruined both kingdoms forcing the two to an act of neutrality with the behest of the neighboring kingdoms.

Though this was way off in the past. Nowadays they had rebuilt. Their forces and monetary situation stood strong but they stayed neutral. Eyeing each other closely for any slip ups, though they were also bound to contracts that would involve other nations as well should they begin to go to war again, which wasn’t in interest for both parties.

So they tried to mostly ignore each other which only worked to an extent. If you are a strong nation with an impressive military force or with a lot of money, other nations will invite you to their balls, banquets or whatever fancy party they have going at that point. And it was in your best interest to join these as well, to show off your might, wealth or to connect with other foreign powers.

The first time Y/N’s family took him with them to one of these balls, he was barely six years old.

For a six year old a ball was a boring affair. All the adults were courteously laughing and only sipping on their drinks. Occasionally walking on the stage to dance to the slow and boring music.

Y/N was busy watching two older women dance in tandem. Their dresses and silk moving together in a sea of fabric that seemed to hypnotized the child as he sat on the side of the stage. His parents were off somewhere else, feeling they could trust enough in his proper upbringing to not cause any problems, that they left him. Saying that he should try to enjoy himself.

Enjoy himself how? Dance with the lonely grandma that was busy drinking away all the wine in the castle? No, thank you.

Finally tearing his eyes off the dancing women Y/N noticed how someone else was cautiously approaching him. It was another kid in what he assumed was his age. This stranger had fluffy wild hair and had a sympathetic smile on his face. He wore a simple suit similar to Y/N’s but there were a ton of differences in details.

As he got closer Y/N could swear that something seemed off about him. Something in him was screaming but he couldn’t place why he felt like that.

“Hello.” The other kid greeted Y/N.

Y/N looked around the room for a second before setting his attention back on him “Hello. Who are you?” There was a small hope in him, hey maybe this boring ball won’t be so boring after all.

With a proud expression the kid did a proper royal greeting, bowing in front of Y/N for a second “I am Prince Eret from the mighty nation of-“

But Y/N interrupted him “Prince Eret?! I know of you! My parents warned me and told me to ignore you.” He then stuck his tongue out and made a point to look away from him.

Eret furrowed his brows, exclaiming loudly his confusion to this reaction “Huh? Why?”

Y/N rolled his eyes and got off the chair he was sitting on. Just like Eret, he did his own version of the royal greeting that he got taught by his etiquette teachers “I am Prince Y/N.”

He knew he didn’t need to say more which got confirmed by Eret’s worried and confused expression turning into a proper frown.

“Oh, yuck, so that’s what you look like.”

Y/N gasped in anger “What do you mean yuck? You are the yuck one here! Between the two of us I’m clearly the cooler prince!”

“Oh really? Prove it.” Eret huffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Now fired up Y/N looked frantically through the whole ball room but couldn’t seem to come up with anything, that was until he saw a servant of the local royal family sauntering around with a plate of drinks and even with a few cheese and meat skewers.

“I bet I could steal more of these skewers from the servants than you.”

Instead of backing down Eret now had a competitive glint in his eyes “You are on.”

And that’s how both Eret and Y/N got into their first real trouble with their parents and other nobles.

They snuck around the people, hiding behind huge skirts and trying their best to grab a skewer from the plate. At first they waited for the servant to look away while they were talking to someone but soon their maneuvers turned riskier and riskier. Jumping up to grab one or even trying to distract them before grabbing another.

At some point for whatever reason both jumped into the air at the same time, grabbing the same skewer which ended with them smashing into the servant who in return fell down, the drinks spilling onto a couple that stood closely by.

As the adults were trying to understand what just happened Y/N grabbed Eret’s arm and yelled “Run!”

The two begun running away, making their way into the garden, hiding behind a bush as they heard some adults screaming and running around.

Y/N didn’t care if Eret got caught by the adults but he was worried he might sell him out to them as well. No, he was positive he would definitely snitch on him.

Out of breath the two kids huddled together, keeping their ears open, trying to catch any sound that might come closer to them.

Eret looked at Y/N  “I clearly won.” He then showed off the skewers he was holding against his suit, effectively ruining it.

Y/N shook his head, showing his own off “Nuh-uh. I clearly won.”

For some reason or another they managed to acquire the same amount of food so they sadly had to come to the conclusion that this was a tie. As they angrily begun snacking on their loot, they still continued throwing childish insults at each other.

This only lasted for a few minutes until their parents found them and figuratively tore them away to yell at them. Saying things like “this is not the proper behavior of a prince! Now we have to apologize to all the people! Do you know what this could cost us?”

From that point on their rivalry really started. Every few months they would meet up again by proxy of being invited to the same noble festivities. In fact every time Y/N was on such a party he fully expected Eret being there as well.

He would arrive and keep look out for that oh so dashing prince from the rival kingdom. Y/N scoffed, Eret wished he thought of him like that but in truth Y/N probably knew the best what kind of idiot he could be. After all he had firsthand experience for this.

While they always ended up in some sort of trouble there was this one moment, when they were twelve years old, that always stood out to him.

As usual Eret and Y/N found each other during a banquet. Both immediately fell back into arguing and making fun of each other. The adults got so tired of it that they sent the two outside so they could, in their words, cool down.

“You look ridiculous in your suit.” Eret mumbled towards Y/N as they wandered outside into the garden. Y/N just rolled his eyes as a response, choosing to ignore Eret at this point, not feeling comfortable with being banished outside together with him.

The garden was beautiful, of course.

Different kinds of flowers were planted along all the sides of the garden. Between them stood a few Willow trees with their long leaves hanging above the flowers and seating opportunities while in the middle of the whole place stood a beautiful huge pond with a statue protruding from the middle of it. The statue displayed two unidentifiable human beings holding on to each other, both holding an urn up into the air together where some water was rushing out ouf down into the pond.

While this all, together with the moon light, looked almost magical Y/N was more concentrated on what was inside the pond.

As he walked over to the water he could see a few koi fish flitting around in there. He sat down and lazily begun drawing invisible patterns into the water. Sometimes the fish would come close only to immediately swim away once they either saw the hand or felt the movement.

Eret was just standing dumbfounded to the side. Staring at Y/N which infuriated him. He could feel his dark eyes lingering on him and it just annoyed him. Eret finally shut up but now he was just standing there in uncomfortable silence.

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh “Stop doing that.”

Eret looked bewildered at that “Stop, what?”

“Staring! I can see you staring! I know I’m handsome but come on.” Y/N snickered at the last part.

This time Eret rolled his eyes “Nah, I was just thinking how easy it would be to push you into the water right now and was debating if it was worth getting into trouble for it.”

“And what did your small brain come up with?”

Eret walked over and sat down next to Y/N “It’s sadly not worth it. I feel like I would get in even more trouble than last time when I was destroying you in that food fight.”

Y/N angrily shook his head “Oh, no! I was winning! You were lucky my father literally pulled me away from you or you wouldn’t even be standing here right now!”

“You wish! Your father saved the small bit of dignity you have!”

Ignoring Eret’s attempt to obviously rile him up and make him more angry, Y/N turned now fully away from him and instead returned to watching the fish. They looked more interesting and had more personality than Eret anyhow.

It was also definitely easier to look at the animals than Eret. Every time he would look at him even only for a little bit this fuzzy anger inside the pit of Y/N’s stomach would come up and by god he hated it. Unbeknownst to him this feeling was mutual.

Eret almost seemed chuffed that Y/N didn’t seem to react and instead chose to follow him suit with watching the fish.

“If we are already stuck out here let’s make it at least interesting.” Y/N broke the silence “Let’s catch some fish. I’m betting I can catch more than you.”

Eret was already getting rid of his jacket and pushed his sleeves up “I doubt that!”

Not wasting time Y/N shed his jacket as well and rolled his sleeves up only to jump into the water himself once the fish stayed out of both their reaches due to their incessant punching into the water.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Not losing!” was all Y/N said.

Eret not feeling too keen on possibly losing, jumped into the pond as well, trying to ignore Y/N who was inadvertently splashing water his way.

As a bit of a payback Eret threw some water towards Y/N which resulted in him loosing a prime chance for trying to grab a fish.

Everything is allowed in love and war after all and this was definitely war.

Though this action led to Y/N retaliating with spraying water back on Eret. Soon the two didn’t care about the fish anymore and were too busy trying to wrestle the other under the water. It wasn’t a full blown fight, no real punches fell but there was a lot of pushing and pulling.

They only stopped once they heard a blood curdling scream. Apparently the noble who owned the garden saw them inside her pond and was obviously not too pleased with it.

Yeah, there was a lot of anger and screaming afterwards but for Y/N and Eret it just fueled their hatred toward each other. If the other one wasn’t there, then they wouldn’t have this problem in the first place but since this wasn’t the case all they could do as proper heirs to their respecting kingdoms was to make the others existence pain.

Over the years their rivalry became infamous and nobles who invited both to their festivities either tried to keep increased watch over them or to the detriment of both sides of the families, tried to incite them. Noble people where a strange lot, trying to find entertainment in the weirdest places.

Not that Y/N or Eret cared too much. They were too busy trying to screw the other over though their methods changed over the years. As kids they were more physical with it while the older they got they tended to use their words more and more to the relieve of their parents.

A good example for that was when both were about sixteen years old.

At this point they learned to rein in their anger towards the other and instead concentrated more or less on their royal duties. Well, they tried but every time they saw each other anger would just flood their systems.

It was a typical ball really. The nobles were busy mingling with each other, spreading false compliments in order to gain the political or social upper hand. Some called it an intricate game but Y/N thought it was just stupid. Just say what you think and don’t sugar coat it. That was something and maybe the only thing he and Eret could agree on. As much as he hated that guy he wasn’t scared to tell Y/N what he thought of him.

He appreciated him for that. A shiver ran down his spine as soon as that thought crossed his mind and Y/N just shoved it away. Never in his life would he actually appreciate that mad prince.

That said it was a bit weird how he hasn’t spotted Eret yet. Not that he was specifically looking out for him or anything. He just wanted to be aware where he was so he could avoid him. Was he invited? His family was here but he seemed to be gone. Maybe he finally gave up trying to one up Y/N and stayed home.

Y/N doubted that though. The only reason why Eret wouldn’t appear to something like this was if he was seriously sick. It happened only once and Y/N ended up being bored to death. So what if he derived entertainment from his rival? That’s a part of the reason what rivalries are for, right?

Spending so much time thinking about him made Y/N uncomfortable. This one feeling in the pit of his stomach just flared up again which he didn’t appreciate one bit. Just another reason why Eret was so annoying. He was the only person this happened with.

Bored out of his mind Y/N begun moving through the ball room. There was one place Eret could be hiding away at. If anything Y/N could predict some behavior from him over the years. Making sure to stay away from all the dancing people and the conversations, not feeling interested to take part in it. Instead he moved towards the gardens.

It was just the place he and Eret would default to since at the slightest chance of trouble the other nobles liked to throw them out immediately.

So when he spotted Eret walking around the rose bushes it didn’t completely surprise him.

“And here I thought I spied a birds nest in between the bushes but alas it is just Eret’s hair.”

Eret visibly flinched once he heard Y/N. Apparently he had been so busy with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Y/N approaching him. He frowned at the other prince while he in return was just smirking smugly.

Sighing Eret walked over to a particular big rose and begun inspecting it“ And I thought I would finally be free of you. You arrived late, huh?”

“Hardly my fault, though I too was hoping you finally conceded and stayed home but here you are just staring at some roses like some hopeless romantic prince from some sort of fairy tale.”

When Eret didn’t immediately fire back and hesitated Y/N’s eyes widened “No! Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me you actually have a crush on someone! Who is the poor person?”

As he spoke the words out loud it felt like his chest was ablaze. Something about that thought rubbed him the wrong way. He just labelled it as a different way for his annoyance towards Eret to show up but it confused him nonetheless.

Realistically what did he care about his love affairs?

Finally Eret vehemently shook his head “No, nothing like that! Why was this where your mind went? I was just bored and am looking at the flowers. Even you can admit that they are pretty, right?” Eret chuckled “Or are you jealous somehow?”

“Only in your dreams.” Y/N responded with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Nightmares you mean.” Eret added before pulling one rose out of the bush.

Y/N looked around hoping none of the staff or someone else saw this “Dude, what the hell are you doing? If you get into trouble for stealing flowers and I’m around everyone will think I’m part of this.”

“They won’t notice, Y/N. Well, they will only notice it if you aren’t careful enough. You need to have an eye for such things and me begrudgingly knowing you as well as I do, you do not have an eye for that.”

This is always how it happens. Every god damn time. One of the two would make a statement that the other person couldn’t do a very specific thing and all bets were off.

A dangerous glint appeared in Y/N’s eyes “I’ll give you the most amazing rose bouquet without tipping anyone off.” He didn’t seem to realize what he just said but Eret did.

While Y/N turned around in order to scour out the place Eret was still standing in the back. A soft blush on his face. Almost angry with himself he frowned and turned to the opposite direction Y/N just went. He was just so frustrating to be around. Doesn’t even think before he speaks.

This whole endeavor took longer than both initially expected. Most of the time they would just saunter between the bushes only occasionally plucking a flower off. Often enough the two stood in front of the same rose, trying to act as fast as possible to get it before the other.

Eret clearly went for the flower first but once his hand touched the stem of the rose, Y/N was there as well, his hand brushing past Eret’s, holding onto the lower part of the stem.

“You’ve got be kidding me.” Y/N cursed.

Eret squinted his eyes as he looked at him “What do you mean? I went for it first! You still continued grabbing it like the brute you are!”

Y/N gasped in a fake display of disbelief. Acting like the biggest insult just got hurled towards him when in fact Eret has said worse things before or even the countless nobles who suffered damages due to their shenanigans.

Both stared at each other, not letting go off the rose. Their brows furrowed into deep scowls as they just continued staring at each other. Hoping that for some reason any kind of weakness would just magically appear or that someone will let go off the damn flower.

It was incredibly uncomfortable for the both of them. Y/N and Eret both stared directly into each other’s eyes. Pink dusted faces turned towards one another, not daring to move a muscle.

“God, I hate you so much.” Y/N grumbled.

Eret nodded “Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

After a few more seconds of staring and angry expressions they both let go at the same time.

There they stood. Two princes of enemy kingdoms holding each a small bouquet of roses with blushing faces.

If you would ask them about it they would immediately exclaim the blush was just a result of their anger bubbling out.

Eret let out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding “Tie?”

Y/N looked down at his own bouquet “Yeah, sure, let’s call it a tie. This is stupid anyhow.”

That was the last time they saw each other for a while.

Since they both were heirs to their respective thrones they soon got sent away to boarding schools in order to get properly trained for their future duties. Besides being educated and introduced what these duties actually entailed, they also got trained in the art of combat.

While most of, if not all, nobles learn how to fight it was something expected from Y/N and Eret. They had to get good at it. A tradition that still stemmed from the waring days of their competing nations.

So for the next four years Y/N was sent away to a boarding school inside his own nation, only later hearing that Eret befell the same fate, which didn’t surprise him.

The years dragged on rather slowly. Most of the subjects were boring but Y/N realized they were important so he put himself through the grueling task of proper studying. The daily training sessions helped him immensely by bringing some sort of change to his every day and tended to look forward to them. Mostly since he became good friends with his coach. A mercenary hired by his family to train him.

Becoming a friend to him, while others tried stay away from Y/N. Most didn’t dare to approach the only heir of their kingdom, others knew he was a bit of a troublemaker and stayed away from him because of it.

Y/N caught himself missing Eret from time to time. While he was annoying and infuriating at best, Y/N couldn’t help but think it was more enjoyable than spending his time alone surrounded by people around his age.

Every now and again his thoughts would always jump back to Eret. Hell, he even once considered writing him a letter before he stopped in his tracks, realizing what he was about to do. Silently chastising himself for it.

Y/N graduated when he was twenty. His parents amazed by his progress threw compliments towards his improved behavior.

“Guess Prince Eret was the problem all along.” His mother noted.

He scoffed, of course Eret was the majority of the reason for the problems. His mother only needed to mention him and Y/N already felt the same annoyance from back then again. Guess some things never change.

It was the time for a lot of nobles to graduate so one family took it up on themselves to prepare a grand ball in order to celebrate these young adults. It also helped to bring all the heirs and influential people together to form new relationships that could be beneficial for their future rule.

Y/N got invited as well.

As a graduation gift his parents bought him fancy new clothes made out of the finest cloth. While he thought it was a bit over the top, it was comfortable so he didn’t complain too much. They even fashioned him with a ceremonial crown that complimented the whole outfit quite nicely.

It was only then that it really sunk in what this all meant for him. He had to act proper no matter what from now on. While people were always aware of him, now they were really watching. This also meant he had to start to properly get into contact with other influential families and nations which meant he had to actually dance on this ball.

So when he and his family stepped out of the wagon that brough them to this event, his heart was beating fast. Y/N was nervous and yet he still managed to put on a confident smile. He didn’t go through all these etiquette classes without learning a few things at least.

When he walked into the ball room, a servant announced his and his families arrival which caused a lot of people to turn their heads. It was the first official outing of an heir to an incredibly strong nation, of course they wanted to see what he was like.

In fact it didn’t take long until Y/N got swarmed by multiple people talking courteously and making conversation with him. He returned the gestures and mingled with the others, curious to see if anyone interesting was here. It was the first time in a long time people didn’t seem to avoid him, even if it was purely for the purpose of forming new beneficial connections.

It beat sitting around alone.

Y/N slowly scanned the huge room with his eyes that’s when he spied something that made his heart figuratively jump into his throat.

In the corner stood someone tall with a shock of brown and fluffy hair that got pushed down by a crown. He wore an amazing suit made out of silk and with a variant of different purples completed with something that resembled a cape. As he talked to the person in front of him he had this huge, genuine, beautiful smile on his face that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

He was handsome that’s all he could say about him. Knocking all the air out of Y/N’s lungs.

Pressing his hand against his madly blushing face Y/N tried to look like he was deep in thought and not just silently checking out this one person way off in the corner.

“Be still my beating heart.” Y/N mumbled as he pressed his free hand on his chest. Feeling his heart beating fast and hard against his ribcage. Luckily no one heard him but he did receive a few worried and confused looks. Guess he wasn’t as sneaky about his display of emotions as he had thought.

Y/N took a deep breath in and coughed in order to calm himself down a bit “I’m sorry to interrupt you all, but I need to go. I need to find something out. It was an honor talking with you and I hope we can continue this later on.”

With all the confidence he didn’t have Y/N slowly made his way towards that person. Something was just pulling him towards him and he needed to at least know his name. It was like his heart and mind both yelled at Y/N.

While walking he could tell that his breath was short. He felt hot and he was certain that his face was still in a lovely shade of red.

Did he just develop a probably one sided crush? Perhaps.

Once he got close enough, he begun to tremble. His knees felt weak and by god he wanted to turn around but something in him just forced him to move on. As if this was his only chance to ever exchange even a word with that stranger.

Y/N was about to put on a polite smile and wave towards him but the stranger was faster and turned towards him.

The stranger audibly and unmistakably gasped. His eyes wide open as his face suddenly turned into a similar shade of red to Y/N.

“Hello.” Y/N begun speaking. He wanted to introduce himself but his voice failed him. Throat and lips dry out of nervousness.

“Y/N?” he spoke with a deep, soothing voice and Y/N had to admit he liked hearing his name coming out of his mouth.

Wait that handsome stranger knew him?

That’s when it hit him. But that can’t be! That was impossible, he would have recognized him immediately!

“Oh. Eret?”

Y/N put his hand against his mouth trying to hide the smile and blush. Why was he feeling like this? Why wasn’t his typical white anger returning? He still had that fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach but something felt different. Maybe it was the maturity from the years or maybe he just imagined it.

Eret was madly blushing and just staring at Y/N as he slowly lifted up his trembling hand “Let’s talk. Would you care for a dance?”

That feeling in his stomach increased as well as the beating of his heart and yet Y/N put his hand into that of Eret’s. Together they walked towards the middle of the room. Slowly beginning to dance.

Y/N was at this point biting his lip. He wanted to talk, say anything but his mind was running in overdrive. No proper sentences would form. Luckily some sort of muscle memory jumped in when it came to the dancing but everything else? No, he was completely screwed.

Why now? Why was he reacting like this?

“You look like you are doing well.” Eret suddenly spoke. His voice trembling almost as much as his hands.

Y/N nodded as he continued moving in tandem with Eret. Their feet skillfully moving around on the dance floor.

“You look good, uh, I mean, you look alright as well, you do look good but I mean you seem to be doing good as well.” After Y/N stammered that out he mentally begun cursing himself out.

He used to wrestle Eret into the mud, why is this happening to him? Why can’t he just go back to his anger, that was easier to deal with. Wait, is that the reason why their anger towards each other held on for so long? Sure, their families had always a rivalry but over time something must have subtly changed concerning their relationship that it managed to end up like this.

Y/N felt like a lovesick pre-teen and he hated it.

Eret suddenly let out a short laugh “I’m guessing you didn’t expect this as well?”

Y/N raised his eyebrows “I- I have no idea what you mean. Like, seriously, what exactly of this do you mean?” Of course his nervousness showed itself via him ranting his thoughts off.

“Us meeting like this again.”

“Seeing our past track record I feel like it was inevitable, though this time it certainly does feel different.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Eret smirked and gave Y/N a wink only to end up turning back into a blushing mess himself.

Now Y/N begun to chuckle, his blush ever present on his face, he pressed his forehead against Eret’s shoulder. Trying his best to hide his face from his view, not willing to give Eret the satisfaction that he succeeded in whatever the hell he just did.

Instead of stopping the two continued to dutifully dance. The best way for a private conversation was while dancing after all but the two were too busy snickering at themselves.

While Y/N had his head still pressed against Eret, Eret spoke up “I’m glad you are here, Y/N. Meeting you here like that again after these years, it made me realize something.”

“Like what?” The same was true of him, of course but he was almost scared of saying it out loud.

Y/N looked back up again but Eret hesitated. His eyes landed on Y/N’s lips only to immediately snap back up to his eyes.

So when he asked “May I?” Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

He gave him a nod which resulted in the two stopping to dance. Eret placed one of his hands against Y/N’s jawline and the other continued to rest at his side as he closed the space between their lips. At first softly brushing their lips for a small second but then Eret went back in pressing his lips properly on Y/N’s only to separate after a few moments.

Y/N put his hands on Eret’s chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart beneath his fingertips “I thought you hated me.” He noted smugly.

Eret laughed “I guess we both were wrong in some way.” He immediately dove back into Y/N’s lips, deepening the kiss, ignoring the confused and surprised noises from all the other guests.

[mrslilyrogers]

All I Have To Do Is Dream

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all. 

Author’s note: I know I’ve been gone for so long, I’m sorry!! I loved these requests and decided to merge them together. Took a while to write, I haven’t had much inspiration. I’ll keep this short and hope you enjoy this!! Let me know what you think!  

Requests: hi!! first of all i adore your writing (esp. betrayal)!! id willingly chop two of my limbs in exchange of ur writing skills hahah!! can you maybe write a oneshot similar to take my breath away, and the reader and steve are dating, but they’re actually in steve’s dream(like in age of ultron) and she is sad that steve’s still hasn’t moved on from peggy?? and can you make it extra angsty?? sorry if this is too much hehe!! thanks btw :))

Hmmm maybe angst w/ Steve or Bucky where a misunderstanding/bad fight leads to the reader leaving the team?

“Damn it, Steve! Would you just listen? Where the hell are you even going?” your voice boomed around your small apartment as you breathed harshly, trying your best not to pull your hair out of frustration. 

At first, it had all been just petty disagreements, you and Steve letting off some steam after the snap happened. You had thought it was normal at the time, a coping mechanism that needed to be flushed out of your systems never expecting that it would last for as long as it has. Five freakin’ years. By now, you would’ve thought you’d realize how lucky you were to still be alive, to still be together while others couldn’t say the same. And yet...

“Geez, Y/N. I am! For the past 30 minutes! And I’m telling you now what I’ve told you from the start,  I am not ready! You gotta give me more time, doll.” He replied, his voice just a tad calmer than yours but you didn’t miss the tick in his jaw as he walked out of your shared room, shrugging into his jacket. You knew his anger was just brewing inside, ready to attack if you pushed just a little bit harder. After countless back-and-forths, this had become a routine between the two of you with Steve always taking the role of the aggrieved party, ending arguments with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes before he walked away, deciding he had something better to do with his precious time than fight with you. While you, on the other hand, always found that more infuriating, making you impatient and mean, baiting and nagging him until you wouldn’t even recognize the shrill and whine to your own voice.

“And when would that even be? It’s been five years since the snap. When will—”

“Don’t you dare bring that up!” his voice rose, eyes glaring at you as he whirled around, his jaw clenched. “Don’t use that excuse on me, you know damned well I know it. Why do you think I chose to move on and be with you instead of helping Nat bring them all back, hmm?” He continued mockingly as if you were stupid enough not to understand. 

This was it, what all your petty arguments had narrowed down into;

Despite what he said, he still wasn’t ready to settle down. 

“But what the hell are we doing now, Steve? We’re not getting any younger! I want to have kids, a family, with you!” You knew you sounded pathetic, and desperate all at the same time but you couldn’t help but continue, the pretty picture already clouding your brain, 

“Can’t you see it? Having children of our own, their drawings hung up on the walls, the dog you’ve been wanting to have since forever running around the house, family barbecues...” your voice trailed off, a lump forming in your throat, your eyes glazing over with unshed tears. It was all within your grasp, so easily reachable if only Steve agreed with you. If only he wanted it too. Anger bubbled up to the surface while he bristled, looking annoyed. 

 “We can have all of that, you know. What are you even waiting for? Will you ever be ready? Because it really feels like you won’t and I’m the only one who actually wants this,” You were unrelenting, thinking of Tony Stark’s family, how they had gone off the grid and had their own little piece of heaven. Crossing your arms, you knew you wouldn’t achieve anything by becoming a nag but your patience was already wearing thin. 

“Jesus, Y/N! Why would you even say that? Of course I want a family with you! I’m just not ready for that yet! Just give me more time,”

Shaking your head, you let out a defeated sigh and looked away from him. You could hear him grabbing the keys from the counter, exhaling loudly before he went up to you and ran his hands down your arms soothingly, willing you to understand. When you didn’t budge, he just pleaded as he always had, 

“I love you, you know I love you. But I need to get to this meeting, those people need me, Y/N. Could we please just talk about this later?” He moved his head lower to meet your eyes and even in your state of anger, you knew you couldn’t say no to that. He took your begrudged nod as an assent, kissing your forehead before he turned to leave. What else were you going to say anyway? He was going to lead a therapy session for people who had lost their loved ones. Guilt ate at you for keeping him here when he so desperately wanted to save the world. People needed him too, not just you. They hung on his every word. They needed their Captain America, their symbol of hope. While, here you were, acting like a child because he wouldn’t let you have your way. 

Letting out another sigh, your gaze stuck to the floor, berating yourself at how selfish you’d become. You knew what you were getting into when you dated him. You had no illusions of being the center of his universe, it was always going to be the people. But still, it would’ve been nice to be put first for once. You hated the tandem feelings of jealousy and guilt that always crept up on you after your fights. You just wished he understood that while those people needed their hero, you needed your Steve too. But as time passed, it seemed like the man and the hero were indistinguishable and you’d been deluding yourself into thinking it could be different. You’d just have to accept that too because living without him wouldn’t even be an option. 

He paused by the door, catching sight of your slumped shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, striding back to you. 

“You know I love you, right?” he stroked your cheeks and you couldn’t help the turn of your lips. Nodding slowly, you rolled your eyes at how easy you were for him. 

 “I know. I’m sorry,” 

Ducking down to give you a quick peck on the lips, he reassured you again, “We’ll talk about this later, I promise,” then he gave you one last kiss to your forehead before he disappeared. But what once would’ve eased your worries did nothing to quell your nerves now. Your heart believed everything was alright but your gut said otherwise. 

_______________

He looked down at the worn, brassy compass in his palm, his mind years away from where he was, unaware that you were standing by the door. You watched his shoulders relax into a defeated sigh, his eyes never leaving her picture. You couldn’t remember when he ever looked at you like that, all the love and longing etched on his face. He brought his other hand up to caress the picture gently, as if he actually imagined she was with him, a small, sad smile forming on his lips. You felt the air knock right out of you while you scrambled out of there feeling as if you’ve intruded on an intimate moment. You couldn’t help the tears falling from your eyes while you convinced yourself it was nothing. He had just lost his best friends, she was a symbol of his past. He just missed that right? 

You paced around the kitchen, your mind running back to the times you’ve caught him staring at Peggy’s picture. All those times you pretended you didn’t notice how frequently he had been doing it these past few years. His voice, an echo in your head, 

“I’m not ready, just give me more time doll, please,” 

Closing your eyes, you buried your face in your hands. Oh, it would be so easy, you thought. All you had to do was get into his mind and see for yourself. One little, fast trip into his thoughts and you’d get your answers. He’d be none the wiser, no one need ever know except you. And your dignity, and your pride and your principles. Ugh.

He trusted you, you promised never to use your powers on him and yet, that was all you could ever think about now. Did he think of her when he thought of the family he wanted? Was it her face he saw, walking down the aisle to him? 

For the first time in your life, you hated your upbringing at the Xavier Institute. You hated the values and principles they instilled in you, the very reason you were adamant not to use your powers on the unwilling and unsuspecting for your own personal gain even though you were going crazy, craving for your own peace of mind. Deep down you knew, promise to Steve or no, you couldn’t go through with it. 

You looked at the clock, thirty minutes to go before his meeting ended. Grabbing your coat from the rack, you impulsively decided to go to him, promising yourself you weren’t going to nag and argue with him but have a normal conversation like you used to. You haven’t had a date in a long while anyway. Maybe a little spark of romance was all you really needed. 

_____________

Your steps echoed on the linoleum floor, walking past the empty hall to follow the directions to the room where the meeting took place. Rubbing your palms together, you spotted the room. The fluorescent lights hanging above casting a lonely pallor to the already gray walls while the rain poured heavily outside. The gloom, an inevitable reminder of what the world has become. It seemed everywhere people went, there was always a reminder of what they’ve lost. Even on an otherwise unblemished sunny day, the vibrancy was not the same, people were scarce and it was quiet. Too quiet. Which was why you were so adamant to continue on living, in order to honor the lives of the people you’ve lost. 

You could hear their faint voices outside the room. Your heart going out to those poor people who still held onto the past while you thanked your lucky stars you still had Steve.You fished for your earphones in your purse trying not to eavesdrop but his clear and deep voice interrupted you. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, you listened, a smile tugging on your lips while he commended the other person. He was always so good with words, always knew the right things to say and that never failed to make you proud. His words of encouragement lifted your spirits, making you stand a little taller, hope blossoming in the pit of your stomach. He talked about moving on, about finding purpose again. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

Your whole body went cold, the smile on your lips faltering, your hands suddenly gripping the edge of your blouse while his disheartened voice continued to try to reassure everyone including himself,

“I woke up 70 years later, you gotta move on. You gotta move on,”  

With a hand to your lips, you ran, your rapid, staccato steps filling the hall barely even muffling the sobs you desperately tried to hide. 

___________

Steve didn’t bother coming home straightaway after the meeting.  He told himself it was because he needed to check up on Nat despite the fact that he could’ve easily just called, despite knowing you were all supposed to meet for dinner in a few days anyway. He took his time getting to the Avengers Compound, embracing the uncharacteristic quietness of the city, giving him the chance to be alone with his thoughts. If he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t shake off the guilt that settled at the pit of his stomach at the thought of Peggy. The love of his life. Apparently, anyway. He had no idea where that came from, never really thought of it until it slipped from his mouth. And did he really feel that way? Was she really the love of his life? 

The thought of you came unbidden from his mind, your warm smile waking him up in the morning, your laughter setting the world to rights whenever he was feeling especially out of place. You’ve been through so much together, what you both had was real and it was beyond anything he could’ve imagined when he woke up from the ice and he knew he should take it a step further. He loves you, he is fully committed to you. There was nothing holding him back and yet… and yet, he still thought of her. He couldn’t help but think that if he had only stayed where he really was supposed to be, Peggy would’ve been the mother to his children, she would’ve been his wife. She would’ve been his life’s true love. But the very thought of that put a sour taste to his mouth, the truth was he could never picture his life without you. As much as he still dreamt of the past, how could it be the same if you weren’t there?

At first he thought falling in love with you was a balm to soothe his lost soul until he eventually realized you had crept up on him slowly but in a span of a heartbeat, wormed your way into his heart so suddenly he couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment he knew he loved you. It was plain and simple, he knew it as he knew the sun rose in the east, he loved you. It was so unlike the way he fell for Peggy where all it took was one look and he was already drunk in love. 

Was it possible then, to be in love with two women? 

________________________________________

You were already in bed when Steve got home, feigning tiredness from the day when your heart was really beating rapidly in your chest. How could you face him now knowing you were second best? You could hear him in the bathroom, oblivious to your inner turmoil. When he was done, he gave you a quick kiss goodnight and went to his side of the bed, his back to you. You turned to face the wide expanse of his shoulders and wondered where the hell do you go from here. Would you really be alright living in the shadow of his ex, one of the world’s most accomplished women, so extraordinary that Captain America couldn’t even move on from her? Could you really leave him if it came down to it? 

A tear escaped the corner of your eye and you laid on your back, the darkness of the ceiling reflecting the heaviness in your heart. You must’ve stared at it for hours, wondering just how far away you were from the man right at your side. He was with you physically but his heart? You always knew deep down, it belonged to someone else. If he had a choice to go back, would he leave you? With the way things were going, you knew he would. In an instant. There was always a part of him that he closed off from you and ever since the snap, it only worsened. The fights, the distance, it all made sense now. Heck, even tonight, he didn’t even bother to ask how you were doing and accepted your lame excuse to get to bed early. It was the weekend, you literally had nothing to do the whole day and yet, it never even occurred to him that something could be wrong. For once, you were sorely tempted to use your powers on him. Hearing his even breathing as he slept didn’t make it any easier. It would be over before he knew it, what would be the harm in that? 

As if on cue, he turned and faced you. His long lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, he looked like a man who didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked younger, more like your Steve. The Steve you wished would let you in and give you the family you’ve always wanted. 

“Just a quick little trip, no one would ever know. What would be the harm in that?” the little voice in the back of your head taunted.

What would be the harm in that? 

With your resolve weakening, you jumped right into the abyss, entering the mind of the man of your dreams, hoping you were his too. 

______

The sun shone brightly through the open window, letting in the warm summer breeze while his favorite vinyl record played in the background. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It’s been a long long time 

The air was crisp and the smell of pancakes and cinnamon wafted from the doorway of the kitchen into the living room of the small, suburban house. The yellow walls were adorned with children’s drawings with a few marker drawings on the wallpaper here and there. The faint sound of giggling could just be heard from where you stood by the stairs. Your children, you thought to yourself, a smile creeping up your lips. This was it. This was what you’ve been picturing too, what you’ve told him countless times over and over again. He dreamed of it too. You turned your attention to the living room, your heart giving a little leap at the mess. It looked like someone had tried to tidy up but gave up on the last minute, some toys still scattered about. You noticed the pet bed by the couch, and you couldn’t help but be excited and hopeful, it was everything you thought of down to a T. You went towards the paper and crayons on the low table between the couch and the fireplace, inspecting one of the children’s current drawings there. It was of a family, their hands holding each other while they smiled in front of the house, a little dog at their father’s side. At the bottom, a scribbly handwriting of a preschooler wrote; Mom, Sarah, James, Dad and directly below the dog, Sam. You laughed aloud at that, clutching the drawing, hoping you could keep it for yourself and willing it into existence. 

“Come on, dance with me,” 

You heard Steve’s playful voice coming from the kitchen. A woman’s laughter rang out, you could just imagine yourself shaking your head at him in response, but something about the woman’s laugh caught you in your tracks. A little too shrill, a little too melodic. You inched closer to the open door, your heart dropping to your stomach. There they were, the picture perfect couple.  He twirled her around, her red dress hugging her curves so effortlessly, while she drew her head back and laughed. The dimples on her cheeks deepening, her curls staying in place even when Steve maneuvered her around. They looked so beautiful together, his golden locks and smitten smile never once leaving her face, he never looked so happy. 

Not even when he was with you.

That realization hit you like a train. You couldn’t even remember the last time he looked at you the way he looked at Peggy now.  When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you acted silly together? When was the last time you were both happy? That was what hurt the most. You couldn’t even remember. It felt like a weird sort of deja vu except now, it was an actual woman instead of a picture on a compass. You tried to gather your pride and step away but you couldn’t, you were rooted into place, a sadistic part of you welcomed the pain because you should’ve known. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

You should’ve known.

 But instead, you choose to play the fool.

There must’ve been a shift in the air that only they understood because Steve gathered her in his arms now, their eyes locking into each other, gentle and longing. 

You'll never know how many dreams

I dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

So kiss me once then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

He rocked her back and forth, bringing her hand up to his chest, turning into action what words fail to describe. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his heart, savoring their moment. He leaned his head on hers too, a satisfied smile on both their faces as they continued to sway to the music. You had never felt as small as you did now. You felt like a thief, intruding on their moment, stealing his dream away. And that’s exactly what you were doing. That’s exactly what you are. You felt so dirty, a desperate, pathetic fly on the wall he couldn’t get rid of. And worst of all, you destroyed his trust too.

As if on cue, the colors started to change, the song distorting and shifting and in this moment you knew, you had to leave. 

You have to leave. 

Part Two

[julies-butterflies]

“One of us is starting to fall asleep.”-jukebox?

cuddle dialogue prompts  ( no longer accepting )                         ( read on ao3 )

By now, Julie knows that  Luke  and  sleep  don’t exactly get along.

Like... peanut butter and coleslaw. Studying and roller coasters. Alex and high school athletics. Luke and sleep are polar opposites, and flat-out don’t have time for each other. Whatever fundamental sequence of Luke’s DNA, whatever weird criss-cross firing of neurons in his head looks at a good night’s sleep, and decides, “nope, not for me...”

Well, Julie doesn’t  get it, but that’s how Luke’s made. Apparently, it’s how he’s always been, even when he was alive. Everyone else just has to deal with it.

“You’re keeping me up,” she announces, drawing her fuzzy blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Luke’s head shoots up, surprised — and sure, he’s got a right to be, considering it’s almost two in the morning. No sane person would be up this late. Not by choice, anyways... and Julie isn’t  choosing  to be awake herself. Something inside of her — one of those lightbulbs in her chest that blaze bright whenever the boys are near, that can feel them like a low, humming frequency even when they’re out of sight — is still awake, and buzzing. Late nights are like this. Whenever Luke can’t put himself to sleep — whether his brain is too loud, or his body too charged with energy — Julie feels it. She doesn’t want to, and definitely doesn’t enjoy it... but this is what her life has become. Being kept awake half the night by cute, insomniac ghosts.

He lowers his pencil slowly, and pulls his notebook against his chest. Luke sucks his cheeks, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry. I, uhh, I was just —“ He gestures vaguely around the darkened studio. A few faint snores echo from the loft, where Alex has set up a private space for himself. Reggie is face down on the sofa in a pile of blankets, hugging them to his chest like a kangaroo protecting its baby. (Julie’s going to have to get him a stuffed animal to snuggle one of these days; half the reason Luke doesn’t sleep, she suspects, is because Reggie’s such a blanket hog.)

The studio is dark except for a single light, glowing in the corner of the room. Luke is curled up there, with his notebook against his knees… but he wasn’t writing when Julie slipped in. He was glaring down at the page like it personally offended him. Now, he sets the notebook aside without a second glance, turning his full attention on her.

“Just felt like there was a song in my head, and I had to get it out. But it’s, uhh…” He gives his shaggy head a shake. “Not coming.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re exhausted.” Julie crosses her arms. “It’s way past bedtime, Luke.”

“I’m a ghost, though.” He spreads his arms wide and leans back in his seat, like that’s something to be proud of. “Ghosts don’t  have  bedtimes.”

Without blinking, Julie crosses over to the couch and gives it a firm kick.

“Reggie? When’s your bedtime?”

Reggie snorts, popping his head up. “Ten-thirty,” he mutters… before faceplanting in the blankets again.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Reggie can have a bedtime if he wants to. I’m a free agent.”

“You’re an insomniac, and should probably talk to someone.”

“You know any good ghost doctors?”

Julie’s eye twitches. “We’ll  find  one.”

Tipping his head back towards the ceiling, Luke clicks his tongue. “I dunno, Jules, it’s been a while since my last checkup… I don’t got time for all the bells and whistles, you know? They’re gonna take that little hammer to my knee, and it’s gonna go right through me… they're gonna look for my heartbeat and be real confused... probably try to give me some spooky X-rays…” He gasps, and bolts upright. “Julie, they’re gonna find out I don’t have a skeleton!”

Okay, thinks Julie, the late hour is definitely getting to his head.

“Is that your excuse?”

The unexpected voice from the darkness sends them both jumping out of their skin. Luke flails, nearly falling out of his chair; blinking up at the loft, Julie’s eyes widen as a  phenomenal  mess of bedhead peeks out over the railing.

“We all know you’re afraid of needles. You haven’t had a booster shot in thirty years, Luke.” Alex glares down at them both. “Now, either shut up or go away, some of us are trying to sleep!”

Reggie holds up a hand, and mumbles something like “agreed,” into his pillow.

Clapping her palm over her mouth, Julie exchanges a sheepish glance with Luke. It takes every ounce of her self-control not to burst out laughing — Alex might actually start throwing things at them — but from the way Luke’s shoulders shake, she doesn’t trust him to hold out.

“Okay, sorry, we’re leaving,” she says in an hushed rush… and, before Luke can say another word, she snags him by the arm and pulls him with her.

They slip out the doors of the studio, and break into the humid night air. May in Los Angeles is just beginning to get hot -hot; warm enough to justify tank tops instead of sweatshirts, flip-flops instead of monster slippers. Julie’s pajamas aren’t anything interesting — Luke’s seen her in worse — but under the cool moonlight, his eyes still drink her in as if seeing her for the first time.

“You sleep with all those necklaces on?” he asks.

Okay, maybe he is seeing her for the first time, because Julie’s slept with her jewelry on since, like… sixth grade.

“You’re just noticing?”

“They’re pretty in the moonlight,” he replies, like it’s a foregone conclusion; then his brows furrow. “What if they choke you?”

“That’s not how it works, Luke.”

“Sure it is! All they need to do is get a little tangled up —“ He mimes, presumably, Julie doing acrobatics in her sleep. “And  wham,  you end up all strangled to death! I know we’ve got a gimmick, Julie, but we don’t gotta make it a full-phantom band so soon.”

“You say that like you’ve got plans for my death.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, the picture of innocence. “Not in the near future, but, y’know, we can't have you out-aging us…”

“Oh,” she says, beginning the long trek up the pathway to the house. “So I’ve got… two years before you guys decide to kill me. That’s reassuring.”

Luke follows after her, their footsteps echoing together. “Eh, we could stretch it to five. Six, tops. You’re tiny, you’ve still got a few good years left in you. Not like you’re gonna go all grandma on us  too  soon.”

Julie gasps, and swats at him. Luke accepts the hit to the chest with dignity, biting back a grin. He looks unfairly handsome in the moonlight… and Julie refuses to think about that, because it opens up a wole Pandora’s Box of issues, ranging from the obvious  (he’s a ghost eternally trapped at seventeen and, unless he somehow comes back to life through the power of music, I  am  going to get older than him someday)  to the serious  (he’s keeping me up at two in the morning).

Luke isn’t handsome. He’s a sleepless menace, and Julie shouldn’t entertain him a second longer.

They reach her door. Somehow, they come to a stop at exactly the same time, turning towards each other. Julie tugs her blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. Luke reaches out, and pulls the door open for her.

“I guess —“ he says.

“Yeah,” Julie agrees quickly. “Sounds good.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“Goodnight, then?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

They smile at each other for a second, close-lipped and quiet… before something in Julie breaks, and she lays a hand on his arm. Somehow, he’s always so warm under her touch, so solid. He feels like a promise always kept… a steadiness, a certainty. A comfort.

“Come on,” she says softly, taking them both by surprise. “My bed has room for two.”

---------

He’s still so very warm, in bed next to her, with their legs tangled and bodies brushing whenever they move. It’s too humid for covers, so Julie’s got her favorite sheet, instead. As soon as Luke sees it, he billows it up into the air, and lets it fall down on top of them both like a parachute. Julie claps a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles. Even in the darkness of her bedroom — lit by the dimly glowing fairylights she only put on to keep Luke from tripping over her carpet — his grin is blinding. As the sheet flutters down over them both, she stretches her arms up to welcome it; he laughs so loudly, it’s a good thing her dad and brother can’t hear.

“This,” she huffs, once they’re both hiding under the covers, “this isn’t what we should be doing. It’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Totally right.” Luke’s quiet for a moment — before shaking the covers again, causing a wave of air to roll over them. He makes a ridiculous whoosh! noise, and Julie snorts.

“Stop!” She swats at his shoulder again; the sound is harsher than the impact. Luke yelps and curls in on himself, feigning a mortal injury. Over his groans and moans and  “Julie, how could you”s,  Julie can’t restrain another fit of giggles.

Oh god, she’s gone for this boy. She really is.

It’s two in the morning, and she’s in hysterics in her bedroom over a boy no one else in the world can see… and he’s smiling at her like she’s the brightest star blazing in the sky, and his legs are brushing hers, and she can feel the pulse of his heartbeat, the warmth of his breath… which shouldn’t be possible, because he’s  dead.

Luke reaches up. Gently, he brushes a stray curl from Julie’s temple. His hand lingers, and Julie feels dizzy.

“This feels like heaven,” he says softly.

Julie’s breath catches.

“I… thought you said you’d never get there.”

“Yeah, well…” When he chuckles, his breath ruffles her hair. “I’m not much of a believer in the ‘all rockstars go to heaven’ kinda thing… I don’t even know if I buy into that stuff, period.” He shrugs, and glances down, at the bare inches of space in between them. “But this… is what it’d feel like, I think. Right here, with you. This kind of forever.”

“With...” She swallows past a throat that is suddenly too dry, forcing words together in a head that reverberates with  heaven  and  you. Forever. God, can they make this last forever?

Instead of speaking, her hand finds Luke’s in the darkness. Their palms press; their fingers intertwine. He is restless beneath her touch, all calluses and carelessness and nervous energy… but Julie holds him until she feels him relax, then slowly raises their hands up between them.

“I’d like that,” she whispers. “To stay here forever.”

His eyes shine bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallows. “As long as it’s with you.”

These are exactly the sort of confessions that could not be made any time other than late in the night, or early in the morning — that funny liminal space of existence, the hours where nothing is really real, and everything feels like it matters too much. Julie is floating, and Luke is right here with her. He’s smiling inches away from her face… and if she wanted to lean over, to close the distance between them, it would be as easy as breathing.

She doesn’t, though, because this moment feels sacred. She won’t claim it selfishly for herself — won’t turn it into something it’s not. This moment is shared, between her and Luke... secrets whispered in the dark for their ears alone. It should stay that way.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes softly, like it’s all he knows for sure.

“You’re amazing,” she replies, in the same voice.

“You’re a star.”

“You’re inspiring.”

“You make me feel alive again.”

“So do you.”

They exhale in the silence, the words floating through the air around them. Julie imagines she can see them glowing in the darkness. If she wanted, she could pluck them out of thin air, tuck them away in her dream box and save them forever. This feels like the sort of moment that belongs there — halfway between dream and waking, almost too good to be true.

For a while, they don’t talk at all. Luke plays with her hair, and Julie twines their fingers. Their breaths match each other’s in the silence. It feels like floating down a lazy river, and slowly, Julie can feel herself being carried away.

She’s only aware of her eyes getting heavier when Luke’s fingers graze her brow, and she can’t force her lids open to look at him.

“Looks like one of us is starting to fall asleep,” Luke teases, his voice soft.

Julie humms, and feels herself smile. “You.”

“Not me.” His voice is smiling, too. “You.”

“You need t’ sleep.” She exhales, and sees it ruffle his hair like leaves on a tree. His nose scrunches up. He doesn’t look drowsy — not like he’s drowning in it, like she is — but he’s not wide awake, either. His head is quiet, his soul is calm; the hive of bees buzzing in Julie’s chest has given up the ghost for tonight. (Little Luke-shaped bees, with beanies and guitars, who keep flying into everything because they’ve got too much energy…)

She bursts into giggles again at the thought. They spill from her lips like honey; she’s too tired to silence them, nevermind hide her grin. Instead, she slumps against Luke, muffling herself against his shoulder. He smells like pine needles and sunshine. His arms wrap around her back to steady her, and she can feel him smiling against her, and Julie thinks…

Julie thinks…

Forever.

“What’s so funny?” he murmurs into the crown of her head.

“Bees,” she replies, and giggles again.

“Oh yeah?” He hums, like this makes perfect sense. “I mean, yeah, they’re pretty hilarious.”

“Mmm.” She presses her face against his shoulder, and decides to stay there. “Mmm.”

For a long moment, he’s completely still — like the world’s most realistic stuffed animal, the coziest pillow ever made — before his hand tentatively begins to massage between her shoulder blades, running up and down her spine.

“You good, Julie?” he murmurs softly, and Julie humms again.

“Stay with me,” she manages to say.  Forever. “Sleep here… with me.”

Luke’s caress feels like a lullaby. The lips that graze her temple are a promise.

“Don’t worry, Julie,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow,  forever feels good enough for tonight.

[thedemonstherapist]

Tension Solution

Summary: “I think this tension between us needs resolving. Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”. 

Wordcount: ~4,2K

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x GN! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, Sexual innuendos, Small mentions of blood

Author’s Note: Here it is! My Kaeya enemies to fuckers piece. A huge thank you to @gnocchi-ghoul​ for Beta reading this for me! I had such fun writing this, and you all know I’m a sucker for some good tensioned sworfighting, and this smug bastard has been on my mind ever since starting to play the game. I know this is not my usual content, but I write when I want, about who I want, ok? I’ve had so little inspiration over the past months that I’ve got to take chances like these and go with them.

Banner is not mine! If you know who to credit it to, let me know, I couldn’t find it!

There he came again. That stupid coin between his fingers, flung into the air at random intervals. That stupid grin softening his face, cheerful greetings echoing through the noisy hall. Oh, and above all, that tremendously stupid way his eyes find you immediately, just trying to do your work.

You lower your gaze, pressing your pen down onto paper with renewed determination. Jean and her new open doors policy be damned, you couldn’t wait to slam it in his face. Of course it’s the last few minutes of visiting hours that he decides to come back from his commission. Three blissful weeks of calm while he was stationed out near the Liyue border, no comments, no irksome remarks, no-

“Don’t tell me you’re too busy to greet me”. 

You sigh. Kaeya observes you with his arms crossed, casually lent against the doorframe. His sword is still strapped to his back, droplets of water running down the blade, and he clearly hasn’t gone to take a shower yet, covered in dirt, mud and sporadic dried blood. 

“Captain”. You can’t help your displeasured tone. “I see you’re back”. 

“Inspector”. He raises a brow in retaliation. “I sent a notice stating my return three days ago”. 

“Oh, that”. You pick the unintelligible letter from your desk with two fingers, holding it at an arm’s length. “Apparently your messenger didn't go for a swim on the way here. Could you confirm?”

His jaw tightens momentarily, as you note with satisfaction, but it doesn’t deter the grin. “You should be used to my handwriting by now”. 

You place it back on your desk with contempt. “I am not. Hopefully your report to Jean is a little more… readable”. 

He shrugs, beginning to peel off his gloves. “She’s never complained about it”. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down. Kaeya tends to make you irrationally angry, and no, it wasn’t just the absolute nonchalante recklessness he treated his position and commissions with. You couldn’t count the times he’d risked more than his own life in battle, somehow always managing to pull it off in the last second. And of course, that was his surefire way to getting out of trouble, no matter how much Jean grilled him for it afterwards.

“Go clean up”. You try your best to make your dismissal abundant, leaning back over your work. “You’re dripping water on my carpet”. 

“Oh, we’re touchy today, aren’t we?” Kaeya’s grin widens into a smirk, pushing himself off the frame. “Did Fawks hit on you during your patrols again?” 

“That’s none of your business”. You shoot him a glare, tapping your nails impatiently. As if you still had the opportunity to go out on patrols, you’d been holed up in your office pretty much ever since becoming Inspector. You wished you could get out again, your body had been aching for some action for weeks, but he was the last person you’d ever confess that to.

Kaeya hums lightly, and instead of exiting, takes another step into the office. His eyes wandered your shelves with staged disinterest, but you knew he was looking for something to use as ammunition.

“I’m assuming you couldn’t hear me” you state, sarcasm adding a bite to your tone. “I told you to clean up. You look like you haven’t seen soap since leaving Mondstadt”. 

“Oh, Y/N, always so worried about my appearance” he muses, drawing closer to your desk. God, you hated that stupid cat-like expression he bore, so sly and pretentious. “I’d be more worried about yourself, frankly”. 

“I’m not playing these games, Kaeya”, you reply sharply, fingers tightening around your pen. “Go take a damn shower, and stop ruining my carpet. I don’t know why your immediate goal seems to piss me off, but I’d like to maintain some level of professional dignity between us”. 

He rolls his eyes. “By Barbatos, you really are wound up today. I doubt that’s just my fault”. 

“Be delusional, then”. You shake your head. “I don’t think Jean would appreciate another formal complaint, so do her the favour, if not for me, and get out of my office”. 

“Fine”. He turns around, but not before throwing you another glance, and damn it, you know he has one last trick up his sleeve, just by the way he says it. “However, before I forget-”. 

“What?”

“You’re pre-reading my report for Jean. Her orders”. 

---

“... and that bastard didn't even take the time to brief me about the mission outcome, the entire time he was dirtying up my office!” You end your rant with an angry flourish, slamming your hand down on the table. “I don’t know what he intended with that whole interaction, he just likes making my day so much worse!” 

Your friend chuckles, stirring her drink idly, an ocean of calm in comparison to your raging fury. “Man, if we weren’t close, I would never guess Kaeya to be such a pain in the ass. Each time I’ve encountered him he’s been so chivalrous and kind”. 

“He just can’t keep it in his pants”. You cross your arms, sitting back in your chair with a huff. “If you ever end up in his bed, I will personally hunt him down”. 

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t put you in that position”. 

“I just don’t understand it”. You run a hand through your hair, glancing around the tavern. It was unusually crowded for a Thursday night, you’d been lucky to get your usual table. “Why he has this stupid grudge against me. We used to be normal colleagues, back when we were both only trainee’s and officers, but then one day the switch flipped and it’s like we can’t stand the sight of each other ever since. The worst thing is, he has every last person in Mondstadt wrapped around his finger! So nobody understands my frustration!”

“First of all, Diluc exists. Second of all, aren’t you higher ranking than him?” she asks, and you regretfully shake your head. 

“No, Captains and Inspectors are on the same level. I personally didn't feel ready to be a leader in combat situations, so I passed on the opportunity. Now I miss active commissions so much, my poor sword is nothing more than an ancient relic at this point”. 

“Surely, you’ll still be sent out?” 

“I don’t have a command, the only times I might be are on extraordinarily dangerous or sizable sightings, or for assistance to Captains. Rue the day I get sent out with Kaeya”. You shudder at the thought. “That would end in total disaster”. 

“So you really have no idea why Kaeya began to dislike you so suddenly?” your friend inquires, tilting her head aside. You shake yours. “And there wasn’t some kind of incident that caused this?” 

“Not that I know of”.

A grin spreads over her face. “Hey, you ever considered that he likes you a little too much for his own good?” 

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit”, you snort. “Guys are rude to people because they like them, yeah right. That’s just trying to normalise shitty behaviour in the name of quote-on-quote love”. 

“I know that”. She gives you an exasperated look. “But… you have to admit that the two of you have some serious chemistry”. 

“What are you even talking about?” you question, downing the rest of your drink. 

“Every time you two interact”. She raises a brow knowingly. “Remember that time you were bickering on patrol through Mondstadt? I swear, even without a vision, I could see sparks between the two of you, and I wasn’t the only one, you got the entire town talking. You get on each other’s nerves because you have some unresolved tension you need to work out, and neither of you wants to admit it”. 

“Shut up”. Your cheeks suddenly feel suspiciously warm, and you firmly decide it’s the alcohol. “Fine, Kaeya’s attractive, but he’s so fucking annoying because he knows that. He messes with me ‘cause he knows how to get in my head, and gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from it”. 

Your friend makes an attempt to interrupt you, but you don’t let her, motioning to her to let you rant. “Let me finish. He was nice enough up until he got that damn ego boost after being promoted, I think, and even then I could still talk to him without the need to stab myself in the eye. He’s just so frustrating, never thinks twice about anything he does, and always gets away with it, plus he has this weird urge to always show off that stupidly toned chest of his and - by the Seven, I hate that idiot smirk of his, and the fact that he’s so damn perfect at his swordsmanship, I can’t even deny how good he is in battle, Jean has said he rivals her, and I despise that he knows he looks good while doing it, he-”

“So, how much longer were you going to let them just talk?” A voice offhandedly asks from behind you, and the blood in your veins turns to ice. Your friend smiles lazily, winking at you. 

“Oh, you know, however long they need. Y/N’s been ranting quite a bit this evening, you really get on their nerves”. 

You whip around, and sure enough, there he is, the cause of this mess. Kaeya has his arms folded, grinning down at you with thinly veiled satisfaction. You’re pretty sure half of the tavern is watching, and your blood turns from freezing to seething within seconds. 

“How long have you been there?” you ask stiffly, glaring at your friend. She pulls an innocent face, leaning back in her seat with performative disinterest. Traitor. 

“Just long enough to hear what I needed to”. Kaeya’s grin is threatening to split his face in half. “You really think I’m that attractive, huh? I never would have guessed”. 

You jump up from your chair, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Fight me”. 

He actually laughs, a few of the tavern occupants joining in. “What? Are you sure you’re not mixing up a couple words there?”

You clench your jaw, deciding to just go with it. “Fight me. Knights of Favonius training ring, tomorrow morning. I’m sick of your attitude”. 

“Oh?” He cocks a brow at you. “I hope you’re ready after wasting away in that office of yours”. 

“I could beat you blindfolded”, you reply presumptuously, mimicking his stance, unable to ignore the fact that he smells a little too good for your tipsy state. At least he finally took your orders. You hold his stare regardless, unwilling to give in.

“Thank the Seven, you’re working this out at last”, your friend sighs, sipping at her drink. “And here I thought you’d take the sexual tension to the grave”. 

Kaeya’s lip twitches in amusement as he extends one hand. “Tomorrow morning at seven. I’ll try not to kill you then, for that sake alone”.

You give him a dirty look, reluctantly shaking his hand. “Your chance of me doing the same is decreasing with every word that leaves your mouth”. 

“I can live with that”. He suddenly leans closer, and before you can pull away, whispers in your ear, sultry tone leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. “You’re going down, darling”. 

Like Hell you are.

---

The training hall is usually relatively empty at this time of day. Some dedicated trainee’s use the morning to get their routine over, but otherwise, not many knights exercise this early. And though at least a few of them must have heard of what happened last night, not many are to be seen. Even if you could live with an audience, you decide this way is perfectly fine, especially in case of the (distinctly undesirable and should-be-impossible outcome) of you losing to him. You’re a bit out of breath from warming up, fixing your shirt before making your way over to the ring.

Kaeya is waiting for you there, clad in athleisure and in the midst of testing out a beginner’s sword. His vision is nowhere to be seen, and you curse him a little for not giving you something more to berate him for. Nevertheless, you straighten up as you approach.

“Good morning”, you greet him nonchalantly, walking over to inspect the racks of weapons. 

A grin flashes across his face as he turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Hello, darling”.

“Sweating already?” You raise a brow at him, deciding to ignore the nickname. “And here I thought I’d have a challenge”. 

Kaeya laughs, rolling out his wrist. “You are cute when you’re acting tough”. Tilting his head aside, he watches you take your pick of one of the swords. The morning light bathes him in a soft glow, falling through the high windows, hair tied up in a messy bun at the back of his head, and- wait. Your cheeks grow hot as you realise what absurd directions your thoughts are heading to. Your friend must have gotten under your skin more than you realised last night. 

Shaking your head a little, you roll your shoulders back and face him head-on. “Whatever makes you feel better. For the rules, as by training code, drawing blood is an immediate end”. 

“No visions, no hits near the head or vital organs, dull blades and stop means stop”, Kaeya counts up calmly, making his way to the center of the ring. His blue eye gleams playfully in the light, and he swings the sword near aimlessly while walking. You grit your teeth at his relaxed manner. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all, huh?

“Don’t worry, Inspector”. He winks as he comes to a halt before you, maintaining the mandated arm’s distance. “I know the rules”. 

“I’d hope so”, you reply, getting into position and watching him do the same. You decide to stir the pot a little, knowing it’s best to get into his head, and feign a smile. “I can’t wait until the rest of the knights hear about how royally I kicked your ass”. 

He laughs lowly, and is immediately on the attack. Anticipating such, after years of observing him in battle, you parry it easily, ducking aside to avoid the next one. You wait until he’s nearly backed you into the corner, ego visibly growing with every move he makes, and take a rolling dive, knocking his legs out from under him with your own. 

He manages to catch himself, and you’re relieved by the split-second of surprise in his expression. You withdraw towards the middle, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face and, in a rush of adrenalin, smirk at him. “Not so confident now, are we, Captain?”

“You’re not as out of shape as I anticipated”, he counters, slashing his sword through the air as he repositions himself. Brows narrowing playfully, he adds: “It’ll make it more fun to thoroughly take you apart”. 

You don’t give him more time to prepare. Blades crash onto each other as he masterfully deflects your attacks, and it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get out of breath. Neither of you can land a hit, no matter how feasible it seems. He handles the comparatively bulky sword with enviable ease, and you grow frustrated quickly, unable to break through his defences. In turn, you don’t let him back you into any corner, constantly keeping the playing field level and returning every new strike with your own.

“You know what, I’ve missed this”, Kaeya pants, quick to switch hands as you sidestep him, attempting to land a hit on his blinde side. 

“Huh?” is all you can answer in return, deflecting his counter aimed at your back, and darting aside. 

“Training”. He nearly misses the parry, forced to back up if not to risk a blow to his abdomen. “With you”. He shoots you a brash smile, easily twisting out of your range.

You huff, irritated at the fact that he still has the mind to flirt. “Your silver tongue isn’t getting you out of this one”. 

“I meant it”. And of damn course, his tactic worked, the point of his blade sinking into your shoulder. “Remember when we used to practise together?” 

“Before you became a dick, you mean?” you shoot back, attempting an aggressive strike at his lower thigh. Your body is getting sore, heart pounding against your ribcage, breaths coming out short and strained, but despite it all, you’re enjoying this. In any case, you’d rather die than admit to him that you’re having fun. 

You really needed to get out of your office more.

Kaeya laughs, equally exhausted, before advancing at an alarming speed. “I’ll give you that one, darling”. 

Your blades cross, metal clashing loudly, and you can see an opportunity form as he shortly weakens his hold. Rotating your sword in the opposite direction to try and hook beneath his, you’re so distracted by the possibility of disarming him that you don’t notice the satisfaction that washes over his expression as you do. One swift swipe of his foot and you’re falling backwards, weapon nearly ripped from your hand. 

Your back hits the mat with full force, air knocked out of your lungs, causing you to give a strangled gasp. Kaeya is smirking down at you, but he’s as out of breath as you are and there’s sweat soaking his shoulders. You don’t think before you move, so infuriated by the words you know are about to leave his mouth, fingers tightening around the handle. 

The hit against his shins sends him to the ground, but not sideways as planned, instead straight onto you. You don’t have the time or the mind to roll out of the way, and he tries very hard to catch himself, hands landing on either side of you. You yelp as most of his weight hits you, momentarily forgetting what’s even happening. 

 “Fuck”, Kaeya groans, arms shaking as he tries to brace himself. “You like playing dirty, don’t you?” 

Slowly regaining the ability to breathe after nearly being crushed, your eyes dart to see him dangling over you, legs and lower body resting on your own. If anyone hears of this out of context, you’re moving to the other end of Teyvat. He’s panting, no doubt as shocked as you are, strands of his hair tickling your nose. His face is mere inches away from yours, heat seeping through his clothes onto your skin. 

Decidedly too close.

Your blade kissing his throat is a much better sight. You know you’re technically breaking the rules, but the way his eye widens, corners of his mouth twitching and brows raising to the sky is just too good of a picture. 

“Get off me”. You growl, trying to steady yourself with your other hand. 

His laugh sounds astounded, but contrary to your demand, he does not. Instead, his chin juts forward, pressing the metal into his skin for earnest. There’s no blood, of course, all these swords are dulled to near uselessness, but it does leave you speechless at the amount of reckless pride he seems to possess. 

 Kaeya hums, clearly satisfied at your reaction. “I’ll be honest, this is not how I initially pictured you under me”. 

What a smug son of a-

“Oh, fuck off”. Your knee makes contact with his stomach and he rolls off you with a grunt. You scramble to your feet, grimacing at what you're sure will be a bruised tailbone later. He’s already composed himself, twirling his sword idly as you get a proper grip on your own. Looking you up and down, his grin widens into a smirk.

“Though you do look similar to the imaginary aftermath”. 

“I am going to kill you”, you hiss, red flashing before your eyes as you charge at him. Kaeya begins to laugh once more, but it quickly dies down as your moves become more and more aggressive, driving him out of the ring and towards the wall. The thought of whoever may be around again crosses your mind, but honestly, you can’t care about who may be watching, every last bit of strength you have left is focused on Kaeya and his stupid fucking face and the way he evades your strikes with a precision that only leaves to be desired to every onlooker. It makes you want to actually scream. You finally land two hits on him, arms beginning to shake from exhaustion and overwhelming adrenalin. 

But once more, Kaeya catches you off guard. The switch flips just as his leg hits the wall and you’re just beginning to notice your own smile, sure of your victory. His expression darkens, lip caught in his teeth as his eyes narrow down at you. 

Your blades clash as they did before, and of course he uses your own move against you, managing to perfect it. Your sword goes flying to the ground, and the moment you lose your grip is the moment you’re being slammed against the wall that he was nearly backed up against mere seconds ago. The tip of his sword is digging into the soft skin of your throat, positioned perfectly above your Adam's apple. 

Suddenly, it goes very quiet, the silence only interrupted by your laboured breaths. Maybe it’s the fact that he near literally has a knife to your throat, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. His hand is pressing on your shoulder, pinning you to the wall, keeping you in place. His leg is slotted between yours, barring you from moving an inch. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, you have nothing to do but to admire him. Sweat is making his hair stick to his skin, an exhausted flush upon his dark cheeks. His body is visibly tense, stare boring into yours with a kind of intensity you’ve only ever seen during active combat. There’s nothing unintentional about the way he’s restraining you, nothing hesitant about the placement of the blade against your skin. His chest is heaving, teeth digging into his lip in constrained effort, fingers digging into your shoulder as if expecting you to fight back.

You don’t. 

Instead, you let out a shaky breath. The adrenalin is still surging through you, but you can’t feel the constant urge to punch him in the gut anymore. Huh. Weird. 

“You won”. Your voice is calmer than it ever has been talking to him, accepting of your defeat. Plus, your body is beginning to realise that whatever just happened hurt, and quite a bit at that. You wince, knowing you’re going to need some ice to get through the rest of the day. 

Kaeya shakes his head determinedly, stare not wavering. “You had me in practically the same position less than a minute ago. You could have flipped me over with ease and won. You didn't. That’s the only reason I got you here”. His grip on your shoulder eases up. “We’re equal”. 

Withdrawing the sword from your neck, he takes a step back, relinquishing his hold on you. You feel strangely dazed, automatically reaching to check for cuts on your neck. “I guess?”

“You okay?” He sounds relatively quiet as well, nearly uneasy, which does not fit the overconfident persona he usually bears. Whatever tension there was before has yielded to something more cautious, like strangers navigating their way across broken ice. 

You nod, reaching to pick up your sword. “Fine”. You pause briefly, debating your words before meeting his eye again. “That was… good exercise. Thanks for fighting me”. 

He laughs a little, and you’re taken aback by how much you don’t feel like reacting. What was going on? At the latest after that laugh you’d usually be back at his throat. 

“Sure”. There’s the typical amusement in his face, but his smile is less egregious and smug. It’s… kind? “I’d have no problem repeating it”. 

You raise your shoulders, unsure of what to do now. “I guess… I wouldn’t either?”

“Good”. He runs a hand through his hair in an effort to fix the mess it’s become. You’re beginning to hear the confidence you’re used to re-enter his words, but it doesn’t appear to bother you. “Friday’s at seven, then. We’ll make it a regular thing”.

“Trying to kill each other?” You surprise yourself with the attempt to ease the tension, and why in the world do you have the urge to smile at the sight of his?

“If that’s how you want to see it”. He shrugs, placing his sword back on the racks. Glancing over his shoulder, he regards you for a long moment. “I think your friend is right”. 

“In what regard?” you ask, in principle fully aware of what that expression means for you. 

Kaeya’s shit-eating grin has made its way back onto his face. “I think this tension needs resolving. Whatever means it takes”. 

You can hear the words in your head before he says them. 

“Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”.

[terrm9]

you give it to me anyway (Tatum X Lina)

Set immediately after the ending of chapter 13.

Update (after the events of chapter 14): in this little series, Tatum does not go back to the army but is relocated to work as a bodyguard for some random politician in Rutherland. That's why this goodbye of theirs is not as heartbreaking as it was canonically. Therefore, shall the two other parts happen, they will not follow canon because I have them planned and I refuse to make new plans

WC: 3 600; rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, making out, mentions of smoking, alcohol consumption, adult situations; hurt/comfort

Author’s note: my first Foreign Affair fic - it was so much fun to write I forgot about my two idiot doctors for a while. This is supposed to be part 1 of three-parts mini series, but 1) I have no idea when those two other parts will happen and 2) if it goes by plan, they will be all completely okay to read as stand-alones so hopefully this will be enjoyable no matter what.

She could feel it. She could swear she could; she could pinpoint the moment her mind stopped working and all the energy normally divided between the gears in her head and the beating of her heart suddenly focused solely on the latter.

Her mind stopped working and her heart drummed against her ribcage twice as hard.

Lina doesn’t remember much after that, after bursting through the door and demanding an answer (“Why the fuck would you take Tatum off the team?”), her memories a messy blur of shouting (hers), a voice trying to calm her down (Demarco’s) and the one that mattered in the end.

“Lina,” Tatum put his hand on her shoulder, his face stoic – but she knew better, she could see his eyes, eyes pained, eyes pleading. “Get inside. I will be with you in a moment.”

“But-“ she opened her mouth to protest, only to be stopped by Tatum’s gentle squeeze and eyes more pleading.

Just get in and wait for me, he whispered and that’s how she has gotten here.

Pacing back and forth in her room, biting her lip so hard she feels blood. Her brain is working again, thinking and analyzing (overthinking, overanalyzing) and she needs a cigarette, a shot of vodka, she needs to punch something (someone), needs to just do something.

The tremor in her hands violent and she clenches them in fists, telling herself that it’s anger, a rage running through her whole body, but there is that traitorous voice that whispers – no, screams – that she knows this is more than that, that it’s fear.

A lump in her throat formed and unmoving and Lina swallows once, twice, keeps swallowing until she cannot catch her breath but the fucking lump is still there and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and-

No.

Line Monroe does not cry. She has learnt not to cry, hasn’t cried since-

She does not cry.

Tries to take a deep breath but it’s completely useless and Lina knows how she feels. Like a crystal vase in the middle of a big wooden table, beautiful and shiny and protected at all costs – all of it worth nothing when an earthquake comes. This is her personal earthquake, every second pushing her closer to the edge, sobs threatening to cut her open, to leave her mouth and never stop and she wonders if falling over the edge and just break into million pieces would be such a terrible thing.

She could beg. She would beg, if only that would help. She only begged once in her life.

(Lina has never been the picture of a perfect child – well, definitely not after Tatum left. No, she lived for making her mother’s political career an actual hell, she laughed into her face in the middle of a scolding. The First Daughter of Rutherland couldn’t give less fucks about what her mother wants, needs, asks for. Nobody ever asked what she wanted, needed, asked for.)

She only begged once in her life – she was seven and desperately wanted a puppy. (She could do it again at the age of twenty-two and desperately wanting her Tatum.)

Mom, I promise I’ll be good. (Mom, I promise I’ll be good.)

I will take care of him. (He will take care of me.)

I won’t eat sweets. (I won’t smoke. Won’t get drunk.)

I will do all of my homeworks. (I will go on as many fake dates as you want.)

I won’t watch TV. (I won’t cause another scandal.)

I will clean the whole house! (I will attend all the summits, I will, I will.)

Mom, please. (Mom, please.)

She never got the puppy. (She knows that no matter how much she begs, she will not get to keep Tatum, either.)

An earthquake and she is starting to accept her fate, awaiting the final shake, the strongest vibration that will make her fall from the table and shatter.

There is a soft knock on the door and she feels it coming, the magnitude strong enough to stir fear inside of people.

Tatum walks in, closing the door behind him carefully – and the Richter scale does not have enough values to describe how dangerous this earthquake has gotten.

“Lina,” he whispers softly, stretching his arms towards her and that’s it.

The crystal vase falls to the ground (into Tatum’s arms) and the shards cut skin (and the sobs cut Lina open).

It is easy after the first one – like the blood spilling out of the cut, like a plug removed and water pouring, flooding, destroying, the sobs leave her mouth and her shoulders shake and Lina hasn’t done this in four years, hasn’t shed a tear for so long but Tatum’s arms encircle her, strong and firm and safe and no, breaking into million pieces is not such a terrible thing after all.

She thinks she screams in one moment and Tatum only hugs her tighter, slowly dropping to the soft carpet, pulling Lina with him, his arms never (never, never) leaving her shivering body – and she holds onto him tighter than she holds onto her own life (own dignity, own worth, none of it more important that holding onto Tatum), hands still clenched in fists. Lina’s grip on his perfect white shirt must be uncomfortable and she is sure she is ruining the fabric, if not with her nails then definitely with her mascara-tinted tears.

For a long, long moment they stay like that – Tatum kneeling on the floor and Lina curled up against his chest, sobs wrecking her body and his hands drawing soothing circles on her back.

“We will make this work, Lina,” he whispers when the room falls into silence, the only memory of Lina’s ignominious breakdown being Tatum’s soaked shirt and her throbbing temples. “You are strong and the other bodyguards are capable. Demarco is a good agent, they will keep you safe.”

“I don’t care about being safe,” she scoffs. “All my life, everyone has only cared about me being safe. You are… You have always been the only one to care about how I am feeling. If I am happy. And now you are leaving again.”

Tatum pulls back a little – not enough to break the contact of his hands on her shoulders, just enough to look her into eyes – and with a voice that is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubts, he says: “I am not leaving you, Lina. I won’t be returning to army, okay? I am going back to Rutherland tomorrow and only then I will be informed about this move – maybe I am only being taken off for some time. This is not the same as the last time.”

“I cannot lose you again,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes. As if she was not sure about her decision to share such moment of vulnerability with him.

“You will not. Who is my toughest galyetas here, hm?”

Lina looks up at him at that, the initial shock from hearing the old nickname (the one she hasn’t heard in years, the one she has missed for years) soon replace by her smile, however faint and it’s like the sun peeked into the room all at once.

(Eyes puffy and red, cheeks wet from tears and lips swollen from biting and has she always been this beautiful?, Tatum wonders.)

“I am,” she chuckles before Tatum demands the answer and encouraged by the moment of clarity that has settled over them, she manages to stand up and open the closet.

Impulsive would be a great word to describe Lina. Unpredictable. Fierce. Mostly fierce, Tatum thinks and it should not be a surprise for him when Lina takes off her skinny jeans and light blue blouse, carelessly throwing them over the chair and it should not be a surprise when she follows the motion to take her bra off, no, it should not be a surprise for him and yet-

The heat in his cheeks is inappropriate, for God’s sake, and he should – he must – tear his gaze off her naked back, but he cannot (and how many nights he wished he was granted this? how many days?). He stares and stares as she ruffles through the closet and it’s his time to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“I should… I will leave you to change,” he finds his voice and it’s low and husky and inappropriate, but Lina just smirks as she turns slightly to face him better and he needs to avert his gaze, he must not stare at the curve of her breasts, so perfect above her ribcage.

“You have already seen me naked,” the smirk widens. “And besides, you should get out of that wet shirt too.”

Getting out of his clothes does not sound like a good idea to him, not in the slightest, but it gives him a reason to look down and unbutton his shirt – and that motion gives him some time to take a deep breath and respond.

“Yes, I have seen you naked. When we were five and swimming in a lake.”

He can swear he heard Lina mutter ‘time to check how much has changed in those fifteen years’, but Tatum doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in that conversation and so he carefully slips out of his jacket and the stained shirt and switches his radio off before putting everything in a neat stack on the top of a drawer.

Tatum sits down again after that, his back leaned against Lina’s bed and soon she joins him, soft grey cotton shorts and tank top on. She mirrors his position and they share a private smile, because it is their position, the one everyone knows them by – knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, (heart to heart), Tatum’s arm wrapped around Lina’s shoulders and her hand resting on his right knee. It is always this position for them and Lina can’t count how many photos they have together, where they sit exactly like this.

“Are we going to be okay?” she whispers, almost not daring to break the comfort they bring out of each other. But she needs to. She needs to know that they are going to be okay.

“Of course,” he nudges her knee with his own softly and smiles down at her. For a moment, she pretends she does not see the panic swirling in his eyes, giving away that he does not know, that there is no of course for them.

She nods, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on his leg and she is sure they are not that mindless, she knows that in a language only known to them she is writing her confessions, she is writing a love letter.

More mindless patterns and Lina feels Tatum’s eyes on her, caring and loving and worried, definitely worried, but she doesn’t look up at him because the emotions his gaze can stir inside of her are enough to send her into another breakdown.

“Do you remember Scott Diaz’s party?” she asks into the silence.

Tatum chuckles loudly and squeezes the shoulder he is hugging. “Of course.”

“It was the first time I got drunk,” Lina says as if it was an explanation itself, when in reality this conversation was not making any sense so far.

Scott’s party was the one which only Lina attended when she was sixteen – Tatum had to stay home to help his father with something (it was not important to Lina back then) and Lina didn’t mind that much because she liked Scott and she believed there were higher chances of her charming him without Tatum’s alert gaze directed at her.

“Yes, I remember,” Tatum decides to play this game that makes no sense with her. “It was my toilet you threw up into that night.”

“I remember getting drunk with Scott and his stupid friends and realizing that they were a group of idiots, with Scott being the greatest idiot of them all. But I was drunk and he was my first crush and I just wanted him to like me and I was ready to do anything.”

“Yes,” Tatum says again, this time much more quietly, though. “I remember your phone call at 2 AM. You were crying and asked me to come and rescue you because you are drunk and nauseous and Scott is a dick but you might sleep with him if I don’t come.”

There is a long pause and Lina thinks he might not continue. Even worse, she fears he might ask why she is bringing the story up now.

To her utmost surprise, Tatum laughs and continues: “I stole my dad’s car so that I could get you out of there faster. You threw up in the backseat and my dad almost killed me because he was supposed to take your mother to the airport the next morning.”

Lina laughs with him shortly and the room falls into silence once again.

Once again, Lina makes sure to interrupt the comfort it brings.

“And then you left and there was nobody to rescue me anymore.”

She is not sure why she said that. No, Lina does not want to tell Tatum about those years he has been away. She is scared (and she has never been that scared in her whole damn life), scared to share the failures and slips of her past, scared that he would get up and leave-

(Because that’s what he should do)

-scared that he would see what she sees every time she looks in the mirror and Lina does not care about the opinion of the others, she does not care if someone sees her as someone worthy or not, as long as that someone is not Tatum.

Deep down, she knows he would not, he will not leave, she knows Tatum - the same Tatum that strokes her upper arm now, giving her the space to sort her thoughts – will stay with her even in the moments she does not want to stay with herself.

And there is one fear that is bigger, greater, more terrible than the fear of being left – fear of hurting him. The idea of her past being the reason of his hurt, being the thing that puts the haunted look into his eyes, makes her want to throw up.

She will need to tell him eventually because if somebody deserves her honesty, it’s Tatum Mendoza, her best friend, her savior, her Tatum.

Eventually does not mean now.

Tatum wishes Lina could say something, anything, he wants her to share her demons with him and he almost asks her to tell him everything but before he can do so, she turns abruptly and looks at him, her eyes no longer puffy or red – glossy and bright and beautiful now and she doesn’t say a word.

She just looks at him like he is the only thing in the whole world worth looking at.

"It's your eyes," she says quietly, reaching to cup his stubbled cheek with her left hand.

"My eyes?" Tatum asks, surprised by the sudden statement.

Lina nods, tracing his left eyebrow with her finger before moving to stroke the skin under his eyes and finally reaching the bridge of his nose.

"There's no one else's eyes that could see into me," she whispers and her finger traces circles around his right eye now, soothing the wrinkles - reminders of their earlier laugh.

(She doesn't know those wrinkles are hers; nobody makes him laugh like she does)

Her gaze doesn't leave those eyes, not for a second and and the intensity she looks at him with is far more intimate than her naked form, bare torso and soft skin she shared with him moments ago.

Tatum is sure he must be blushing.

It’s the moment her thumb traces his lower lip when they snap.

The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and mutual understanding so deep it ignites further fear changing into the one of passion and need and fire, fire, fire, burning inside and outside, the moment their lips meet.

He has kissed many girls and he knows Lina has kissed many people too and fuck, they even kissed each other before but this kiss is different, filled with more than just years of friendship (years of love) – filled with years of separation, years of longing, years of pain.

They kiss as if the pressure of their tongues against each other’s could be their private painkiller.

A moment later they are on the bed and Lina is not sure how they got there, she can’t remember they mouths parting but it must be so, because she is laying on her back, her hands firmly against Tatum’s shoulder blades to pull him closer and it still feels like he is not close enough, one of his hands next to her head and the other tangled in her hair, pulling on them and massaging her scalp all at once as he kisses her the way she has never been kissed before.

Lina’s hand moves from his upper back to his shoulder, caressing the old scar there and moves to his chest and his stomach and she feels him growl against the skin of her neck at the touch, the vibrations sending shivers over her whole body; she reaches his waistband and her finger fumble on the button of his trousers as he kisses her collarbone.

His fingers circle her wrist suddenly and he moves her hand away from him, gently (as he always is with her, gentle).

“You don’t want-?” she doesn’t know what to say. Me? This? Us?

“I want everything with you, Lina,” he sighs and it’s almost painful sound. “But I cannot take an advantage of this situation. You are – we both are – worried about your future, exhausted and uncertain and I don’t want our first time to happen under such circumstances. You deserve much better.”

There is a part of her that wants to cry again. Sob again and punch someone, because of course he is right.

(It is every single part of her, actually. Every single part wants to cry and sob and punch)

He is right, as he always is. He knows what she needs even when she doesn't know it herself – he always had known. Five years apart did nothing to change that.

Lina traces the lines of Tatum naked torso with her eyes and perhaps it should scare her how familiar it feels. She knows his body, every (almost every. Almost, she reminds herself) scar and every freckle, his flexed muscles and long fingers, she knows his body, even though she grew up getting to know a body of a boy and now her fingers are caressing a body of a man.

She hates how vulnerable she feels and how much she wants to share everything with him. But that's now what she has taught herself, no.

And so, despite the disgusting feeling of tension in her throat, she smirks and asks: "Why do you care about the first time so much?"

Tatum chuckles and makes a show of rolling his eyes (not leaving his position above her, not even now), biting his lower lip deep in his thoughts.

When he looks down at her again, however, his gaze is tender, too tender and intense and Lina has to avert her eyes because surely he can see into her, he can see all that she has done, all that she has caused while he was gone, not there to save her, to take care of her.

"It's not the first time I care about," he speaks softly and any hints of amusement are gone. "It's the first time with you."                                                                    

She almost asks him about his first time – she knows it must have happened after he left. There is the part that is Tatum’s childhood best friend and is simply curious. They shared everything with each other – first crush and first kiss and first platonic love, she knew his and he knew hers. Of course she is curious about his first sex or how many firsts there were, how many people that got to know him in the way she has never gotten.

There is another part of her, a bigger one, she realizes with dread, that hopes he would tell her that he has lost count, that his five years in army were filled with infinite excesses and that he would rather not talk about it – maybe then her deeds would be justified.

She cannot ask him because it’s Tatum and he would ask back.

What would she tell him?

She laughs to herself, a sardonic sound lacking any hint of joy it is supposed to carry.

I have no idea. I am not sure about the first nor about the last time. I cannot count them, I will never be able to count them because I do not remember.

I do not remember.

“Lina,” he whispers, still hovering above her. “Don’t do that. Stay here with me.”

“I-“ she opens her mouth – for what, she doesn’t know. To explain or to apologize?

“We do not have to talk, mahal. We can just lay next to each other until the morning comes, alright?”

Tatum lays down next to her and wraps his arms around her without further questions and as she puts her head on his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, she feels calm for the first time in weeks.

“Alright,” she whispers back.

They lay next to each other through the night, listening to each other’s hearts and breathing and Lina thinks that even though they don’t talk, there are novels of conversations exchanged between them that night, written in the softest of sounds they make.

  *** *** ***

Ever since finding out that Tatum is Filipino, I felt this desire in my heart to throw some (nick)names for Lina in his native language here and for him to use them. I can’t see him calling her darling on daily basis, but I can see him muttering it in the language he grew up with when the moment asks for it

galyetas = cookie, biscuit (Tatum’s nickname for Lina since forever)

mahal = darling, sweetheart

 I am not exactly happy with how the ending turned out but it’s not going to get better so you have to suffer through it with me

Thank you for reading!

[the-pontiac-bandit]

If you're still answering tortall prompts, how about Raoul + family?

wow why NOT write 2000 words of blatant, shameless fluff about families you make for yourself??? inspired by this quote from tammy: “[Raoul and Buri] have glorious sex under trees, in tents, in lakes…. In carriages. I think at some point they’ll probably adopt. By the time they’re attached Buri’s getting a little old to have any of her own. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of orphans around.”

As Raoul stretched out, trying to make himself comfortable in his too-hard, too-small desk chair, he savored the warm feeling filling his chest and threatening to spill out and take physical form in front of him. In the midst of the most head-spinning, headache-inducing, sleep-sapping, joy-filled week he’d ever experienced, he’d had precious little time to slow down and simply exist within his new reality. He thought to close his eyes, the better to feel everything, but they only stayed shut for a moment before they forced themselves back open. He couldn’t stop looking at the scene in front of him for long.

Buri lounged cross-legged on their bed, far more relaxed than he had been at any point this week. Kel sat next to her, her back straight and her long legs carefully hanging off one side so as not to get dust from the practice courts on their bedding. Both had just returned from a full morning of training, sweaty despite a change of clothes and coated in dust despite a thorough washing, courtesy of a long, hot summer that had refused to give them rain.

Between them was the baby.

His son, he reminded himself. He thought the words a few extra times, even mouthing them once, as he had a thousand times in the last five days, as if forming them on his lips might make them feel more real.

None of this felt real to him yet. He supposed most people had nine months to get used to the idea before seven pounds of screaming chaos turned their lives upside down. He’d had exactly fifty-three days—he’d counted on Tuesday—so he supposed he still had some catching up to do. His mind was still reeling from the conversation that had led them here, and he wasn’t sure yet that he’d ever catch up.

He’d been sitting in this chair and pretending to read reports while mostly thinking about his right knee, which had been bothering him despite Duke Baird’s best efforts. He wasn’t sure why he remembered so specifically, since his days were nearly as certain to contain aches and bruises as they were to contain a sunrise. Buri had returned from a meeting with Thayet and Onua, although really, the word meeting conferred far too much dignity on what was more likely a combination of trick riding and palace gossip. They’d settled into the evening routine they’d shared for nearly a decade, working in comfortable silence with candles lit between them.

“Do you want children?” she’d asked, breaking the quiet spell of paperwork that gripped their nights.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he’d replied with a snort.

She’d thrown a pillow at him. He had caught it and thrown it back without even looking up from the thick stack of papers in his lap, with a rude hand gesture following behind.

“You know what I meant. Did you want children? Before?”

Something in her voice had shifted. He’d finally looked up to find her eyes already trained on him. Her face had been so unexpectedly earnest that he’d actually taken a pause, had slowed the speed of their consistently paced banter, to think.

“I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. There were friends, and then there was drinking, and then there was the Own, and then there was you,” he’d told her with a shrug. “I do like children, but I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

She’d chewed on her lip for a moment. He remembered being surprised by that. After nearly thirty years of friendship, she rarely took the time to think before she spoke with him anymore.

“Spit it out.”

“Do you want children?”

“And we’re back to the start,” he’d said with a grin.

“I spat it out. Now you answer it.”

“Hypothetically, sure, I’d enjoy a child. Now can I ask why you’re asking at all?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she’d started. She’d paused for a moment, holding her breath as though she was trying to decide whether she should speak at all. And then she’d let it all spill out at once. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have one. A child, I mean.”

She’d held up a hand and made a face before Raoul could even begin to formulate a joke about her monthlies or her aching hips or what they might do to make that happen. “Not like that. Thayet was telling us today about homes they’re opening in Corus, for children without parents. We were thinking about the children we traveled with back in Sarain, when Alanna found us all those years ago. Gods, it was terrifying, having Thayet and an infant to protect, especially when Thayet was ready to throw her life away for the infant. And I started thinking—we have money, and safety, and love, and there are all these children who have none of those things, and—”

She’d been speaking faster and faster, but she’d cut herself off abruptly at the look on Raoul’s face. “Never mind, you can forget—”

Raoul had smiled back at her, straightening up in his chair and marking his spot in the report on his lap before putting it aside. “So you want a child.”

The weeks that followed had been ones filled with paperwork and inquiries at the palace records about the process of appointing a common-born heir to a noble house and at the magistrate’s about drawing up paperwork for adoption. There had been careful planning and hushed discussions with only their closest friends about the best way to proceed. Buri had insisted on an older child, maybe eight or nine, saying that the few diapers she’d changed on the road to Rachia were enough for a lifetime.

Instead, five days ago, Buri had entered their rooms carrying a squalling mess of blankets with an air of forced nonchalance that had told him immediately what she’d done. Instead of clarifying, or teasing her, or asking if it was the smallest eight-year-old he’d ever seen, he’d simply held his arms out. While Buri had supplied endless explanations about Thayet ambushing her with a baby, he’d stared at the squirming mess of baby in his lap, blankets already coming undone, absolutely entranced.  

“He’s tiny,” he’d commented. His voice sounded like it was coming from someone else’s body. The baby was only just too large for him to hold in one hand, although he’d never try to prove it. The fragility of the life sitting in his lap was overwhelming.

“His mother died yesterday. Childbed fever, caught too late to help. The priestesses at the Goddess’ Temple were worried he might need more than the homes could give.”

Raoul had nodded, only half listening. The baby’s eyes were screwed shut while he wailed. His fine hair was dark, his skin tanned like that of the Bazhir babies Raoul had seen in his year in the Great Southern Desert. One of the baby’s hands had broken free of its blanket. It had waved in the air, keeping pace with his cries, which were far louder than he’d have believed such a tiny body could produce. He’d intercepted the hand with one finger and then watched in wonder as the baby had grasped it.

“Does he have a name?”

“Pathom,” she’d answered definitively, before belatedly remembering that names were the sort of thing parents might choose together. “That is, if—”

“Pathom of Goldenlake,” he’d cut her off with a smile.

The days that followed had been a blur. Thayet had found a wet-nurse and supplied an endless stream of goods that they’d have never known a baby required. Alanna had ridden in from Pirate’s Swoop at full speed to pronounce in a gruff voice that the infant was in perfect health. Gary had gifted them a bassinet and more blankets than any human child could possibly need. Dom had found a way to convert a standard-issue burnoose into an excellent baby sling, while Evin had given them a congratulatory note from George, who complained that Alanna had left before he could finish writing, and a cheerful promise that he’d never touch a soiled diaper. Onua had given them a set of unimaginably soft stuffed ponies, perfect replicas of the horses that roamed the highlands of Sarain where she and Buri had learned to ride.

Kel, away on business with Second Company at the Gallan border, had to wait almost a full week to learn she had a new godsson. He’d met the company when they’d arrived back at the palace long past dark the night before. They’d groomed Hoshi and Sparrow together while he thanked the gods for perhaps the hundredth time that her “testy pony” had finally found his way out of the Own stables and into a pleasant retirement.

Finally, when the last of the men had trudged towards the barracks and a well-earned nights’ sleep, she’d turned to him.

“Well?”

“There’s someone important I want you to meet,” he’d said, shoving his hands in his pockets with a smile that was equal parts nervous and eager.

“Sir, I’ve already met your wife.”

Raoul had let out a hearty chuckle. “But you haven’t met my son.”

Kel had frozen. Her face fell back into perfect stillness, the way it did when her mind was working its fastest.

After a second that felt like an eternity, she replied, “Sir, I saw Buri five weeks ago. If you’re telling me you’ve managed to grow a baby since then—”

“We didn’t, but someone else did. We adopted him from the Temple after his mother died in childbirth.”

Understanding flashed in Kel’s eyes while her face broke into a rare broad grin. She’d wrapped her arms around him in a fast, tight hug accompanied by enthusiastic congratulations that had gone suddenly silent in surprise when he’d added, a wicked glint in his eyes, “You really should come by tomorrow to meet your godsson.”

Buri had intercepted Kel on the practice courts the following morning with the dual goals of keeping her own skills sharp and ensuring that Kel would not be too polite to visit. And so now, he watched as Kel bounced his son with the brisk certainty of someone who had held a baby a thousand times. He could hear her cooing quietly at Pathom, softening her consonants while she told him all about forest campaigns in hill country. He knew he should ask her to speak up—if she was going to give her report verbally, she could at least give it at a volume he could hear—but he found he wasn’t particularly interested in the intricacies of the Second’s bowstring supplies. Buri made eye contact with him behind Kel’s back, laughter in her eyes. Buri could laugh if she wanted, but he was taking notes on Kel’s tactics. He would have sworn this was the quietest he’d heard his son in the entirety of his hundred-and-twenty-odd hours in the palace.

As his son stared wide-eyed at his former squire, Raoul was reminded of a comment he’d heard as they’d left Turomot’s offices the other day with paperwork making Pathom officially their own. “Well, that feckless Goldenlake dolt’s managed to start a family, even if it was too late to do the thing properly,” the Lord of Genlith had muttered at their backs as they’d left. Buri had elbowed him and whispered a quick “Feckless? I’ll show him feckless,” but her heart wasn’t in it. Before she’d even finished the thought, her eyes were back on Pathom, squirming against her chest in the burnoose that bound him to her.

And now, Raoul watched his son, passed between his wife and the woman who had been like his daughter long before any papers said he was a father. Stuffed Saren ponies lined the shelf above an intricately carved bassinet filled with beautifully embroidered blankets. A protection charm had been pulled from Alanna’s packs to hang at the head, while twin leather circles bearing the insignias of the Riders and the Own, no doubt carefully cut by mischievous commanders from the saddle packs of some unprepared trainees, was secured carefully at the foot. Raoul had to smile for a moment at Genlith’s ignorance—he’d begun his family right on time.

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 3 (Final)

It’s here! Thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me: @oquinn53, @reyeslonestar, @howtosingit, @a-l-ias, @mtnofgrace, @descending-into-the-crazies @pragmaticoptimist34 if I forgot anyone please let me know! 

Special thanks to my husband for reading this and making sure all my typos were gone :)

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 3/3 | This part: 10,877w | Total: 33,427w

Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Mr. Strand,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that your journey home was swift and uneventful. The entire house has been mourning yours and father’s departure since you left us. Mamà is convinced the lights are dimmer without the ambience of your father’s amusing anecdotes. 

Elena has been lamenting the fullness of the house as well. She is easily bored without some new distraction every fortnight, but she swears she will convince you to visit again someday. I dare say we all will thank her if she can manage it.

In deference to our conversation, I will not try. I know you would not appreciate my needling. 

Raquel cannot be bothered with the mundane occurrence of the comings and goings of visitors while she daydreams of castles and knights, so her opinion has not been asked. She still insists on helping Mrs. Smith in the kitchen, and Mamà still insists on having fits about it. 

I must agree with my sister and mother, however. The house is a little less bright these days. Usually we can count upon sunlight and laughter to get us through the day, but those seem fleeting of late. 

Flor misses you as well. She’s ornery when I ride her, as if she remembers a more beloved companion and I do not measure up. We lament your departure together when we meander the grounds. 

Jimena is not often in the stable, so her opinion has not been ascertained either. 

But enough of our melancholy!

How is it to be home? Travel can make us all weary, and you seemed so tired even before you set off. I hope you are feeling better in your own comfortable surroundings. Texas will always welcome you, but I know how good it is to feel your own dirt under your shoes. Please tell me something joyful, so that I can remember your face in gladness.

Your friend,

Christina Reyes

My dear friend,

As I sit beside the fire tonight, I am reminded of our last conversation. I am evermore grateful that you are taking on the no doubt immense burden of being my confidant while keeping our correspondence regarding these matters private from your family. Do not mistake me, if you at any time feel as though your obligation to me is taking precedent over your cherished feelings of love toward your family, please by all means give me but a word and I will cease my incessant pining.

Oh how I pine, dear Christina. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of the sound of rolling grass and smell wildflowers where there are none to be found. The city is bleak these days, and dark. What once was a welcome cacophony of life and commerce is now to me a teeming mass of sensation that I can barely stand for more than a moment. I long to feel the shift of earth under Flor’s hooves again, and for the caress of the soft breeze against my cheeks. 

But enough of that for now. You asked in your letter for something joyful. My father has secured a deal with a contractor out West, and his—our line will stretch right to the Pacific, culminating at the coast. A fully developed coast to coast line, my father’s dream. It makes me so happy to see him so elated when he talks of it, and of me taking over it in time. I do not like to talk of him being gone, but it is inevitable he says. Men grow old, and pass on. He says what matters most is that we make a mark on the world we can be proud of, and that we touch people in ways that matter. 

I cannot help but think that I have done neither. 

I apologize again for my melancholy. When I sit to write to you I never intend to make you sad. Please, rejoice for my father and his accomplishments, for they reflect on me as well. I will take comfort in his happiness, and you can take comfort in my feeling it. That is enough for now. 

Your friend,

TK Strand

TK,

I must address the most pressing concern from your letter immediately. You have touched us all, please know that. Please do not think you have not made a mark on the world, for our home would not have been the bright happy place it was while you were here without you to provide that light. Every day is a little darker, as I’ve said before, without you and your father in our midst. 

Everyone is a little darker. Especially my brot

But enough of melancholy, as you said. I am delighted to hear of your father’s immense accomplishment. We are all so proud to be a part of it, a part of the future. I shall like to make the journey coast-to-coast someday on it, to me that would be such a wondrous thing! 

I was wondering, would you tell me what Manhattan is like? I do admit I’ve only ever thought of it as bleak and loud and harsh, but surely folk as amiable as yourself and your father cannot come from such harshness. So please, tell me an anecdote of your days since you’ve returned. I’d love to hear of anything joyful. It would provide a balm to the monotony of country life. 

Thinking of you always,

Christina Reyes

Dearest Christina,

Thank you for saying such kind things. I’ve always felt as if I were on the periphery of life. I’ve skated through it mostly by way of parties and luncheons with people who have little to talk about other than themselves. I’m just now getting to a point in my life where I do want to make a mark on the world. I know I can do that partially when I inherit my father’s legacy, and I intend to do it the utmost justice. But I find myself adrift in that I do have family and friends who love me, however…I do not have a love that speaks my heart’s language. A love that is built of trust and companionship and intimacy. 

Please do not chide me for saying such things, we are friends and I feel I can talk about these delicate subjects with dignity. I thank you for your discretion. 

But yes, as it stands, I have made no such mark on the world, have no such intimacy with which to grow old. I feel that the things we do in life do have a way of defining us, but they are far overshadowed by the people we choose to love. 

In the past, I have chosen poorly, through no one’s fault but my own. I hope one day I can remedy that. But right now I feel, as I said, adrift. There is no one to hold me fast to the world, no one strive to do well for, after my father is gone. And I fear I may never have, as I have ceased looking. I cannot bear it at this moment. 

Forgive me, my dearest friend, I have ignored your other request until now. Manhattan is much as it always is, loud and harsh, as you said. But most days it is a good distraction to hear the hustle and bustle outside my window. I do miss the Park and the promenade, but  lately I haven’t felt well enough to venture out. I keep to my father’s study in our townhouse in Midtown while he visits the office near Gramercy and keeps me informed. 

As I haven’t got a joyful anecdote from the days since our return, I will relate to you one from the past that is near and dear to my heart. When I was a young boy of about ten, my mother—God rest her soul—took me to the waterfront one day when my father was stolen from us with work. We gazed out over the Hudson, and even in my young age I tried to imagine that, just across the water, began the vastness of the North American continent. I used to try and picture what the land was like, what exotic treasures it held. I had never been anywhere, though my father had been to Chicago and Philadelphia numerous times. 

I used to picture rolling hills, vast grasslands, and roaming livestock. I had been told most of the rest of the States consisted of farmland. I had never actually seen a bovine in person, but I had seen drawings. I childishly thought of it as one big zoo where all the animals roamed free, and the air always smelled crisp and clean. I imagined it was beautiful.

Funny thing is, I know now that that little boy of ten was at least partially right, at least about one particular place among that vastness. 

I hope I have made you joyous,

TK Strand

My dear friend,

Your letter has made me joyous, in some ways. I wish you could have seen our home with childlike eyes, but alas I think it was better suited to you as you are now, and I’m glad you have experienced it and that it was to your liking. It truly means the world that you think of it as beautiful.

However, I have cause for concern where you have mentioned you have not been out, that you are unwell. Pray, please let me know how you get on, we all worry over you so. I happened to mention that excerpt of your letter at dinner, and I fear I may have incited a frenzy. I am humbly asked by my siblings to enquire after your health. Please tell us what ails you, so we can worry properly, and send up our prayers. I know we cannot do a thing for you, as far apart as we are now, but you are always in our hearts. 

Mamà tells us that our business with your father is nearly finalized. I look forward to a ride on the line, hopefully with you as my guide. I must make the journey near winter, for I long to see snow. I’ve hitherto only read about it in books, a delicate powder that falls from the sky and blankets the world in white. How marvelous a sight must it be! 

Be well,

Christina Reyes

Dear Christina,

As for your family, please tell them I am alright. I did not wish to frighten them or you, and I’m sorry for that. Please trust that our cook keeps me well with sandwiches and fruits when I am able to eat them. Everything is well when father is around to take up my time with business discussion, and as I said I am well distracted most days by the cacophony of the city outside. 

I will venture out soon, I think, as my friends and acquaintances grow weary of my absence and I have left them all to their own devices for quite long enough, I suspect. I presume to know what they will want to discuss—an incident that took place just before our trip to Texas—it will be a drain on me to talk about it regardless. But I cannot put them off forever, I love them too much to deny them my company when they wish for it. Perhaps I’ll take a walk with one of them tomorrow, even if the air of the city is not nearly so keen and invigorating as the air of the country I have run from.

Please give my best to your family, I hope I have not caused anyone undue grief. I will only talk of happy things from here on out, when I eventually find them. 

With affection,

TK Strand

P.S. I believe you know deep down what truly ails me, so I’ll not speak of it further lest I lose all dignity. 

*

Mr. Michaels, the butler, stopped TK on his way to the dining room, handing him a card on a tray. He read it and smiled. “Miss Marwani called on you earlier, I told her you hadn’t yet come down. She left her card.”

“Thank you, Michaels. Will you send her a message that I’ll be free after luncheon today? I know it’s been so very long since I’ve made time to see her.”

“Yes, my lord. I dare say all your friends and acquaintances have been calling on us nonstop since your return home. But I trust it’ll take you a moment to get back into the swing of things after…your trip.” 

TK smiled sadly. He knew what the butler was going to say before amending it. He’d been an absolute wreck after finding Alexander and the footman and had left for Texas only two days later. The entirety of the household and all of his friends must think he’s still in a melancholy state because of the slight. 

If only they knew the truth. He might tell some of them, but only a select few he could trust. Michaels was a good man, and hadn’t overstepped. He’d practically raised TK since his father was so busy with the rail when he was younger. He knew the man was only looking out for his happiness. 

“Michaels?” he said before turning to go on to the dining room for breakfast.

“Yes, my lord?”

“If you were faced with a time limit on a decision that governed your whole life, would you wait until you’d found the right solution? Or would you take the first viable solution to come along?”

TK knew that Michaels knew exactly what he was talking about, but was too polite to call attention to that fact. “I think if it were me, I’d examine every detail of each choice before deciding on the one most beneficial to my life in the long run. After all, some decisions are for a lifetime.” With this, he gave a small reproachful smile to his once young charge.

“Yes, well. What would you do if you’d found the right solution, but it turned out to be impossible?” TK’s eyes looked up in earnest at the butler, whose expression had turned kind and commiserating.

“I do hope you don’t think you’d found the right solution to this problem just before your departure?” It was obvious Michaels thought Alexander was far below TK even before the scandalous tryst was revealed. 

“No, no. Nothing like that,” TK reassured. He was pensive for a moment, caught in his thoughts of rolling pasture and wildflowers, their scent dancing across his senses even from miles away. “I thought I had found the right avenue during my time away. It seemed a nice thing, a wonderful thing actually. I daresay my hopes were quite built up for a time. But in the end it proved, as I said, impossible.”

Michaels gazed at his young master for a moment, unmistakable pity in his eyes, but TK didn’t comment on it. He was too miserable. 

“I hold the utmost confidence that the right choice is out there for you. But, my lord, you will never find it unless you leave this house eventually. I am glad you’ve decided to start breakfasting in the dining room again, and I know that if you do go out later today your color might begin to return. I worry for you, my lord. I hope I am not impertinent to say so.”

“No, no Michaels. You’re not impertinent. I know I’ve been ghastly to be around these last few weeks, and I do hope to remedy that. To begin…moving toward the future, no matter how much I wish I knew its contents.” TK gave the butler a sad smile before turning away again, the weight of all he wished for still on his shoulders and bright, luminous brown eyes on his mind, no matter how much he wished they’d fade.

*

“I know you’re still mourning Alexander and his licentious ways, but I promise you, you can do much better. His family isn’t even that well connected! He’ll be a faint stain on your past and nothing more.”

TK looked over at his friend, the navy ribbon on her silk evening bonnet getting caught by the light breeze weaving through the Park. Her dark eyes held an intense shine as they often did when she went on a tirade. He let himself smile at her ability to be both vicious and diplomatic.

“Marjan,” he chided gently, “his family owns three quarters of the orange trees in the country! I wouldn’t say he’s not well connected. Half of Florida bears his family name in some capacity.”

“Oh, to hell with that,” she spit delicately. TK was also impressed by her proficiency in cursing with a velvet tongue. “Then he should be sent off to oversee them. Rid this city of his stupidity. Even further! Florida is too close, send him to the West Coast! Let him disappear. Society will be all the better for it, mark my words."

TK was brought up short by the mere mention of the opposite coast, since thoughts of that region gave in to thoughts of a certain eligible bachelor which gave in to thoughts of his intended that TK desperately wished was his own intended and—

It must have shown on his face.

“TK, my friend, trust me. He is nothing of consequence.” Her voice had turned gentle again, not the outrage on his behalf she’d been spouting for the past few minutes. TK could not help connecting her statement with his thoughts, even if she was off the mark at the moment. 

“I know that. It’s not him that unsettles me; he is firmly in my past and I shall not revisit my temporary lapse of judgement in giving him even a small parcel of my affection.” He patted her hand that rested in the crook of his arm as they walked leisurely around a small fountain, the sound of bubbling water serving to soothe his psyche for the time being.

She was silent for a moment before she tugged them to a pause on a semi-crowded knoll. “Then, pray tell, what has you so blue? Ever since you returned from the South you’ve been distant. I thought at first it was just lethargy left over from the long journey, but it has been over two months! I fear I shall never see you smile again as before. Please tell me what troubles you? Is it your father?”

Marjan was a close friend, and as such, she was privy to some news about his father’s health. The man wasn’t in immediate danger, but TK had confided in Marjan that his father had taken to being more…forceful in his demands that TK take a more active role in the business. He had a persistent cough but no fever as of yet. The doctors did what they could to alleviate the annoying ailment—as his father called it—but they all knew Owen Strand was beginning the downslope of his life. At nearly fifty years of age, he was nearing the last stretch of life expectancy and sometimes TK could see it plain on his father’s face. It made him apprehensive for the future, not to mention the fact that still stood: he had to marry before he could take over the business. 

And that thought brought him back around to his other melancholy. For if the desired recipient of his affection would return said affection, he’d be happily married yesterday. But alas, it was not to be. 

He dreaded a letter from Christina detailing an engagement. He knew it was coming soon, and he’d tried to resign himself to it. Perhaps she wouldn’t even tell him. After all, he’d asked as much of her. Nothing of Carlos, none at all; that had been his request. 

“It is, partially, my father’s health that concerns me,” he said as he came out of his thoughts and back into the conversation at hand. “However I…”

“What is it?” Marjan asked when he refused to speak further after trailing off into silence. “What makes your heart ache so? I can see it in your eyes that it is your heart that is broken. If it was not Alexander, then who?”

Trust Marjan to read him like a book. 

“I met someone. In Texas. Oh, Marjan—“ he paused a moment and could not help a smile crawling across his features at the thought of his week spent in bliss, before it all came crumbling down. “He is the most wonderful, kind, and beautiful creature I have ever met. At first I thought him a cad, as our first meeting was less than cordial. But upon learning why he felt as he did, I was persuaded to understand and to admire his candor. He spoke of his home with love and deference, and it was such a treasure to be shown the land with such a companion.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the apple orchard. Marjan caught his flush and smiled.

“And so? When shall we expect an announcement?”

TK’s smile quickly dimmed to a grimace, now tasked with completing the story.

“An announcement will not come, I’m afraid. He is betrothed to another. I found out on our second to last night in Austin, and I must confess I did not handle it well. I made a complete fool of myself and I’d like to never repeat it by seeing him again.”

“Wait, he did not tell you he was spoken for? And he courted you just the same and let you think you had a chance?” Her voice was angry and TK sought to soothe it with the truth.

“Truthfully, he never actually courted me. We were thrust together by circumstance, and he was a perfect gentleman throughout. It was I who read too much into each interaction, each conversation, each dance held in his arms. It was I who was a complete fool to let my feelings show on my face to all his family when they all knew nothing would ever come of it. I feel so stupid, Marjan. I practically begged father to cut the trip short. But…” he paused again, thinking of the dust kicking up behind Jimena’s hooves as Carlos rode out to meet their carriage after they’d already set off. The small bud of Indian Paintbrush was still blooming in a jar of water next to his bed. 

“But?” She prompted. 

“There were some moments where…where I could swear that he…but it was obviously a trick of my imagination. His betrothed is a marvelous gentleman, beloved by all, and he would be a fool not to accept an eventual proposal. As I said, it is well and truly over and out of the question that my pursuit would yield any happiness.” 

Marjan was silent while they resumed their walk, her hand steady in the crook of his arm. Eventually, she spoke softly. “Well, I must admit I am glad this melancholy is not on Alexander’s account, but I also must admit I am saddened by this turn of events. I know you to be a perfect gentleman, and I have always wished you could find someone as wonderful as you to share your life with. I know you’ll do great things and I know you want someone to share those triumphs with. If this man is who you feel is perfect for you, why not fight for him? It is not in your nature to give up so easily.”

“That’s just it, Marjan. He is perfect, and honorable. Which is why I could not jeopardize his honor by asking him to abandon a promise he made before he met me. I would never forgive myself if his good name was tarnished.”

They walked in silence until the end of the lane, where they turned to leave the Park and hail a carriage back to Marjan’s home up the avenue. 

*

When TK returned home later in the evening, Michaels stopped him in the entryway and held out a tray. “This came for you while you were out, my lord.”

TK took the proffered package and stared at it in confusion. The return address from from Christina, but usually all she sent were letters. This parcel was still small, the shape of a single letter, but thicker. It weighed little, giving no clue as to its contents.

“Thank you, Michaels. Is dinner set already? Do I have time to change?”

“You should, my lord. I shall call for you in about half an hour. Your father is in the parlor already, if you wish to check in with him, now you’re home.”

“Was he missing me? Did he need something?” TK wondered, a little worried. 

Michaels smiled. “No, my lord. He was actually quite content all day, and was happy that you’d gone to call on Miss Marwani. I only say to check in because he probably hopes to hear how happy a time you had.”

TK smiled sadly. He knew he was worrying his father with his refusal to leave his own rooms for the past weeks. It saddened him further that he could have possibly made his father’s condition worse by stressing him. He vowed to himself to make a better effort to get back into real life sooner rather than later. After all, as he’d told Marjan earlier, there was nothing to be done about…Mr. Reyes. That was well and truly over, in fact it had never begun. There was no reason to pine after a man who did not do the same for him. TK was worth more than that.

Yes, he must convince himself of that, and quickly. 

“Alright, Michaels. I’ll change quickly and meet him. Thank you,” he said with a small nod. Turning to ascend the stairs, he started to unwrap the small, delicate parcel Christina had sent. As he entered his rooms, his efforts revealed that there was, in fact, a letter inside. However it was nestled atop a small folded square of cloth, delicate and airy and fine. 

Setting the letter aside for the moment, he unfolded the fabric to reveal that it was a handkerchief, finely made and embroidered in bright colored thread. The edges were a gleaming yellow, reminding him of sunlight. On one corner, no bigger than his thumb, was the most intricate rendition of a yellow wildflower—he recognized it almost instantly. 

He moved to sit on the nearest surface, which happened to be the edge of his bed. The pads of his fingers caressed the tiny design reverently, as if touching it would somehow unravel all the thread that comprised it. As if by acknowledging that it was there, it was already in danger of disappearing. There was no doubt of the reference used—he had seen so many of those little yellow blossoms on his journey around the Reyes ranch. The breath left his body as his mind’s eye conjured a bright smile and the smell of clean sweetness on the air. 

After he’d regained some of his composure, he picked up the letter. It was shorter than most of her other letters, which stood to reason as he’d just received her last one a few days ago and he’d yet to answer it. She must have sent this just behind her previous one. 

Beloved TK,

I hope you are well. I know I have just posted a letter to you two days ago, but I saw this in a shop window and immediately thought of you. I know how you enjoyed the wildflowers around our home, and I wished for you to have a reminder of them—especially one less prone to wilting than the genuine article. 

You are always in my our thoughts, and I wished to keep us in yours. Please, think of Austin when you hold this token, and know that you are so dearly missed. 

Yours in heart,

Christina Reyes

TK stared. It seemed as though the letter had been written in some sort of haste, as it was unusual for Christina’s hand. The letters were slightly more slanted, and the spaces between paragraphs larger than her delicate way. Even her signature was off, as if it had been written by a proxy. And the contents…she’d never called him a beloved friend before. Well, no, it wasn’t even friend. It was just “beloved”. 

He wondered if she was growing melancholy herself for some unknown reason. The letter seemed sincere, but heavier than her usual correspondence, as if she was feeling his absence more acutely in this instance. 

Furthermore, he wasn’t sure he’d told her about what the wildflowers meant to him. He’d thought that was something he and Mr. Reyes had shared between themselves for the short time they’d been acquainted. But perhaps her brother had recited a few of their outings to her, and remarked on TK’s fascination with the surrounding flora of the country. 

Perhaps. 

He concluded that the whole parcel was a product of a hastily made decision when she’d seen the handkerchief in the window, and the oddities contained within the letter were the result of her haste to get it posted while she was still in town that same day. 

He gently tucked the gift into a box next to his bed, giving it one last longing stare before closing the lid and beginning to dress for dinner. 

*

“We’ve had a letter from the Doña,” his father said over luncheon a few days later as he perused said letter which Michaels had handed to him upon their arrival in the dining room. “It seems her agent agrees to our terms, and they are sending a liaison with the documents to finalize.” He set the page down on the table and picked up his glass of port. “I do believe we are almost settled with the entirety of the preparations, and we can begin construction early next year!”

“That’s wonderful news, father,” TK said quietly, his tone not matching his words. He was looking down at his plate with no intention of picking up his fork, so he missed his father’s knowing and saddened expression. 

“It is. Another piece of news that I’ve gathered from earlier today, is that the Vanderbilts are throwing a ball tomorrow night. Well, I suppose Mrs. Vanderbilt is, at any rate, and Mr. Strickland asks if you can accompany him.”

“I don’t know, father. I’m not sure I’m feeling well enough to socialize on such a scale. I’ll be a bore to everyone there and then you will have to answer for my behavior.” 

“I don’t think you’d be a bore to Mr. Strickland, surely. He’s been asking after you these last few weeks. I daresay he plans to eventually kidnap you from your rooms if you do not answer his calls. Surely he’ll want to hear how you’re getting on?” His father’s transparency was apparent, but TK did not call him out on it. 

“I don’t know, father. I’m not quite well at the moment so I probably shouldn’t be gallivanting about at parties.”

“You are unwell because you refuse to eat or see sunlight,” Owen said, not unkindly. His next words were suffused with affection and it only made TK’s heart ache more. “My son, I worry for you. The whole household does. Mrs. Talbot says you only ate half the small sandwich she brought you last night. And you haven’t touched your soup yet since we’ve sat down. I worry you’ll be skin and bones before long.” His words weren’t scolding, only concerned.

“I’m sorry to worry you, father, and the servants. I just find it…difficult to keep anything down. It all tastes like ash, and I know that description would never do Mrs. Talbot’s cooking justice.” At this, he made a gamely attempt to sip a spoonful of soup, and found his assessments confirmed. He swallowed anyway, and kept the grimace off his face with great effort. 

“Tyler,” his father said in that affectionate tone once more, “You must try to move past your heartbreak. I know that’s what it is,” he said as TK made to interrupt him, “I know it when I look at your face and see only sadness. I know it when I hear from Michaels that you have not descended the stairs all day while I’ve been at the office. I know it because that single flower is still thriving at your bedside.” At this, he had the decency to look only slightly chagrined. TK said nothing.

“I looked in on you a few nights ago. You didn’t come down to dinner and I was worried you’d gone hungry again. Your sleep looked restless. I also noticed a letter from Miss Christina.”

“You went through my things?” TK said without any real malice. He knew his father meant well but he had put a lot of private thoughts into those letters and Christina had answered them in kind. 

“I only ascertained that she wishes to see snow. You should take her up on her request to ride the line once it is finished. I know she would love to see you again. And maybe by then, it will be less painful for you.” Owen’s face was drawn. 

“Maybe, in a year or two. For now I am content with her letters.”

“What does she write of her brother?” his father asked.

“Nothing, because I asked her not to,” TK replied. He again missed his father’s pained expression of concern as he took another forced sip of his soup from his spoon. His hand trembled slightly at the most direct mention of Carlos since his talk with Marjan earlier in the week. 

Owen seemed to take this answer as a plea to end the subject of conversation. He simply watched his son silently, wishing he could help ease his pain and knowing he was unable.

*

“Mr. Cartwright has not stopped staring in this direction since we sat down,” Paul remarked over the swell of the music, another quadrille beginning causing cheers and the shuffle of feet to the dance floor. 

“Perhaps he’s trying to figure out a way to ask you to dance,” TK answered as he sipped his brandy. Paul was a dear friend, and he was happy to be in his company, he just wished it didn’t have to be surrounded by laughing couples and a revelry he felt entirely apart from. 

His friend gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? He’s been shamelessly staring at you,” Paul countered. “He’s practically mapped out every thread in your coat, the cad.” 

“I doubt that. No amiable gentleman would give me a second glance as I look now. Maybe a few months ago, but not now. I’m well aware the color in my cheeks and the bulk of my frame have left me. The servants, my father, you, and Marjan remind me every day of that. How could I be any object of desire?”

It had been a full week since his first venture out of the house with Marjan—and nearly three months since his return from Texas—and TK was trying for his friends’ sake to get back out into the world. Hence accepting the invitation to a ball at the home of some debutante or another of their set, with Paul as his moral support should he feel the need to flee the social setting at his earliest convenience. TK was still trying to get used to other people around him being so happy and carefree when he himself wished to crawl into his bed and remain there until the second coming. 

He knew full well that his behavior wasn’t healthy. He’d made the decision himself to try and get past his heartbreak, lest it cripple him forever which definitely could not happen if he wanted to give his father any peace of mind. 

“My friend,” Paul chided kindly, “you’ve always been a vision, sought after by many a connected suitor. You haven’t lost your appeal I can promise you. We harp on your well-being because we care about how you’re feeling on the inside, and the outside is a good testament to that. I dare say it’s made you more desirable, at least to those who’ve mourned your absence since your trip, that you’ve stayed away. It inflates the intrigue.” He gave a small chuckle that TK tried to match. 

“Well I’m afraid Mr. Cartwright will have to find another object of desire. I do not believe I could content anyone as a courting partner as of now. I need a bit more time to settle back in, I think.” That was as diplomatic as TK could be about it. The reality was that he’d still been unable to remove thoughts of Mr. Reyes from his mind, and it grew more difficult every day. He absentmindedly reached into his jacket pocket and rubbed the delicate fabric of the handkerchief between his fingers, feeling the bumps and valleys of the embroidery, and almost smelling the sweet scent of the country in the air. 

He hadn’t noticed he’d closed his eyes until he felt a brush of air next to his face as a reveler approached their table. 

“Hello, Mr. Strand,” Mr. Cartwright beamed. It seemed he’d worked up the courage to approach after all. 

“Good evening. Are you enjoying the festivities?” He answered, attempting cordiality. 

“Of course. And yourself, Mr. Strand? Wouldn’t you better enjoy things in their midst than here on the periphery? Fancy a dance on the next waltz?” The man sounded so eager that TK almost obliged. But his honor would not let him lead the man on. 

“I’m afraid I’ve quite exhausted myself already,” he said, even though all he’d done was make one round and plop himself into his current seat since arriving. “I do apologize for being unavailable, but I’m sure there is someone else dying to catch your hand for a waltz. Please let me do them the favor of leaving you available.” 

It was almost comical the way the man’s face fell, but TK was not in danger of showing any glee at it on his face. He understood far to well the melancholy of unrequited affection. But alas, he could not feign interest at the moment, so he let the man trudge away with only a bit of guilt. 

“He’ll get over it,” he said when he caught Paul’s glance. 

“But will you?” It was clear he wasn’t talking about Mr. Cartwright.

TK didn’t answer. He could not. 

*

The day of the arrival of the Doña’s liaison dawned and once again TK could barely face the sunlight. He wished with all his heart that he could place the blame on too much of the good-natured debauchery that plagued his set when they got into their drinks, but he knew he could not. He’d barely partaken in a full glass of brandy with his father after dinner the night before. 

He felt some guilt at not hurrying down to meet the man at his father’s side, as would be expected of an only son in position to run his father’s business someday, but could barely bring himself to nibble at the scones Mrs. Talbot had sent up the night before.

Sooner or later, however, he knew he must face the day. He finally got himself dressed near luncheon time, deeming his appearance presentable enough for a middle manager he’d never meet again. 

He straightened his collar and pulled his lapels taut just before Michaels announced him upon entering the parlor. As he surveyed the scene before him, his stride halted, all breath left his lungs, and the color drained from his face. 

Seated on the settee across from his father and wearing the most disarmingly beautiful smile, eyes dancing in the sunlight filtering in through the damask curtains, was Carlos Reyes. 

The man had clearly just been given some wonderful news, though TK couldn’t imagine what his own father could have told him to elicit such a response, but it was plain on his face that he’d just been told something truly delightful. However, when his eyes strayed to the entrance to the room upon Michaels announcing TK’s presence, the smile on his face faded slowly to a deep concern. TK didn’t miss the subtle perusal of his person, Carlos looking over his face with a slight furrow of his brow that grew deeper the longer TK stood there dumbfounded. 

Mr. Reyes, of course, was the first to remember his manners, though his employment of them seemed over the top to TK. He’d jumped up and nearly ran over to TK, taking his elbow in hand ever so gently as if the touch was nothing. As if it didn’t send TK’s whole world tilting. 

“Mr. Strand! I…please, sit. Should I fetch some water? You look like you’ll be ill any moment…” He sounded almost…afraid. Not disgusted and annoyed as TK thought he might have been upon their next meeting. After all, TK was the one who’d made a fool of himself by pining like an imbecile in front of the Reyes’ family and friends. He could only imagine how much Mr. Reyes regretted their time together, now that he’d had a few months to ponder it. 

“I’m alright, Mr. Reyes, thank you,” TK managed to croak out as the man ushered him to a chair across the room, seemingly careful as not to touch him. 

He must be master of himself! This was almost more embarrassing than what had initially transpired between them in Texas. “I…hadn’t known that you’d be coming as your mother’s agent. I was only…surprised to see you. Here.” He forced his lips to stop moving.

Mr. Reyes’ face had yet to lose it’s pinched brow and shining eyes. What TK had initially catalogued as fear now looked like…concern. But that was impossible. Only, maybe not, since Mr. Reyes was a quite honorable and sensible man, and TK knew he looked gaunt and lifeless on his best days lately.

Turning to look at his father, TK only noticed that he too was focused on Mr. Reyes, and TK couldn’t quite place his expression. He’d been smiling as well when TK entered, and now he seemed a bit subdued but no less mirthful. It was an odd juxtaposition. Just then, he turned to his son and gave him a gentle smile.

“Well, I must be off. Quite a bit to get finalized with the documents you’ve brought me.” He stood and offered a hand to Mr. Reyes. “How long did you say you’d be in the city?”

“A few days, sir. I had hoped…well, my mother wishes me to return with everything in order,” he answered cryptically as they shook. His face was hopeful though TK couldn’t think why. They had pretty well come to a mutually beneficial agreement through correspondence. The rest was simply formality at this point. He couldn’t think what else would need to be settled. 

“I’m sure she does,” Owen said with a smile and another odd look at TK. He could not figure what to make of the exchange, but truth be told he was still reeling from Carlos—Mr. Reyes, he reminded himself—being in his home so unexpectedly. 

His father was turning to him next. “Tyler, would you be a gentleman and show Mr. Reyes about for a bit? I’m sure he’d like to stretch his legs after his long journey. You could take a taxi to the Park?”

TK fought the urge to gape at his father. He expected them to be…alone? What would they even discuss? TK wished the Turkish rug’s threads would open up and sew him into the floor. 

He was however, as his father said, a gentleman, and he could not let his manners slip no matter how much he wished to be anywhere but alone in the confines of a taxi and then in the beautiful intimacy of the Park at dusk with Carlos Reyes. 

“Of course, father. It would be my pleasure.” Somehow the words left his lips without a tremble. Or so he hoped. He did not think his father could be so cruel, knowing TK’s heart. 

Mr. Reyes looked half ecstatic and half terrified. TK could relate whole-heartedly. 

As Owen bid them good night and made to ascend the stairs to his study, TK slowly turned to look at his circumstantial companion. Here they were once again, thrust into each other. TK thought back to that first morning they’d toured the ranch together; Mr. Reyes had been cordial, despite their initial meeting and his own hesitation about the Strand’s business with his family. He’d been courteous and knowledgable about the land, wishing to give TK a good impression which TK in turn appreciated. 

He vowed to himself he would attempt to do the same when showing Mr. Reyes his own home. 

With somewhat renewed countenance, TK took a breath. “Well, shall we, Mr. Reyes?” His voice barely shook. The man in question gave him a fond smile that melted TK’s very soul.

“Lead the way, Mr. Strand.”

*

The taxi ride proved to undo all of TK’s borrowed confidence. Sitting so close their knees brushed reminded him of riding through the apple orchard, which in turn reminded him of Carlos’ hand in his, which set his heart fluttering and mind whirling, which led to an awkward silence the likes of which TK never wanted to experience again. Mr. Reyes was waiting for him to speak, it seemed—as TK was ostensibly his guide in this place unfamiliar to him—and he was thoroughly incapable. All that accompanied them was the clap of the horses’ hooves on the stones and both their nervous breathing. 

When they arrived at the southwest corner of the Central Park, TK paid the driver and slipped out before Mr. Reyes could offer him a hand. He knew not what he would do if he felt that warmth upon his skin again in his current state. The other man looked a bit let down, but TK dismissed it as a trick of his longing imagination. 

They entered and set about the promenade which, even at this time of the evening, was still thronged with late perusers. As they walked among the fresh grass and beautiful tree lined paths, TK did his best to drum up the wherewithal to speak, to offer some manner of conversation lest he seem rude in his silence.

“I suppose it looks rather…artificial to you,” he said quietly. 

Mr. Reyes startled a bit, apparently accustomed to TK’s lack of voice thus far, but he recovered quickly with an eager smile turned to his companion. 

“Not at all! It’s all very…whimsical I think. This beautiful bounty of nature preserved in the middle of all that stone and brick. It’s…peaceful.”

“Yes,” TK thought aloud. “It’s quite serene. The further in you go, the less the city outside of it seems real. The sounds and smog melt away and you just feel…” he trailed off, words failing.

“Like we’re in our own little Eden.” Carlos’ eyes were like pools of shining dark chocolate in the gaslamp light. Sweet and alluring. 

TK could only nod dumbly, and try to look away. He accomplished it with much difficulty. 

They walked in a much softer silence for a time, passing a couple of people TK recognized from parties and balls around the city, but they never stopped to converse with anyone. Mr. Reyes seemed to want to keep his company for himself, which TK could not think what to do about, so he remained passively quiet. 

About half an hour into their journey, his companion spoke. 

“I’ve actually got something I’d like to…well, first there’s something I…I need to tell you.” Carlos’ face was unreadable, but his tone was quiet and reserved. TK’s heart clenched painfully. Carlos had been in an odd countenance since his arrival, and TK could only attribute it to the awkwardness surrounding his ridiculous assumptions about Carlos’ feelings and the utter embarrassment of his departure from Texas. 

“Oh?” was all he said, suddenly breathless with an ache he could barely stand. 

“I’m not sure if you were informed when you last visited, but—” he paused for so long, TK turned to look at him at his side, wondering what halted his speech. His face was still unreadable, but his voice now had a very slight tremble to it. TK tried to keep his own face open, so that Mr. Reyes felt safe to continue. 

“For several years now I have had an...understanding. With a gentleman from California, with whom my family is quite acquainted.”

The vice around TK’s heart clenched cruelly at the reminder. “Yes, Mr. de Castillo. Your mother and sisters—and some of those from the county—told me about him. Quite admired, he is, by all.”

“Yes…” His voice trailed off into silence again, and this time when TK sneaked a look he seemed troubled. TK wished he could put the man’s fears at ease, that if he feared a faux pas in tearing down TK’s feelings that he needn’t worry about it.

But that would have been a lie.

“Yes,” he said again, going on. “We’ve actually been courting these last months, not long after yours and your father’s departure.”

TK took the blow as best he could, with a calm countenance, when really he wished this torturous conversation would end so that he could limp back to his bed and curl up in misery until the second coming. Why on earth did Carlos feel the need to do this? Weren’t they settled in being apart from each other? No more than business acquaintances? 

The thought alone dealt his heart another painful blow. 

“About a month ago he—he called on me to...state his intentions.” His voice sounded flatter than TK would assume from a happily engaged man. Still, he tried to inject some light into his own tone when he answered.

“I am so happy for you, Car—Mr. Reyes,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster which, admittedly, was not very much at all.

However, his tone must have belied his utter devastation because Mr. Reyes abruptly stopped and gently tugged him to the side of the path, so that they would not impede other couples on the promenade. TK almost swooned at the touch.

“I’m sorry?” the other man said, a look of confusion and slight hurt across his beautiful eyes. TK was now confused as well.

“I...I only wish to convey my happiness on your engagement. You must be thrilled to have your future finally settled. Not only must it be a relief, but with such a fine gentleman as I have heard.” Carlos’ hand was still lightly holding onto his upper arm, and though it pained TK in the worst way to do it, he ever so deftly maneuvered his body so that the contact was dropped. 

“I think that...well I...that is…” Carlos was staring at him, that hurt look growing in his brown eyes and TK wanted nothing more than to take it away but he didn’t know how.

“Mr. Strand—TK,” he said so softly that TK could hear his own heart beat in the silence. “I think that you have...misunderstood me.” TK had been staring at a spot over Carlos’ shoulder until then, unable to meet his eyes any longer for fear he’d burst into tears in the middle of Central Park, but at the plea he shifted his watery gaze back to sink into the pools of liquid chocolate in front of him. 

“Mr. de Castillo—Fernando, that is—has proposed marriage to me, it’s true—” In the minuscule pause between these words and the next set, TK felt his heart slow to a stop with the inexorable weight set upon it by this conversation, “—but I have turned him down.”

And at this, that traitorous heart gave one slow, painful beat of hope that TK was powerless to tamp down. 

When he could find his voice, it was to incredulously say, “Whatever for?” 

Carlos reached down to take TK’s hand in his, and TK was sure he was trembling like a sheaf of paper caught in the wind. He brought it between both his hands, brushing the knuckles ever so lightly—so much so that TK was sure he’d imagined it. 

“Because I could not marry a man that I do not love, and I do not love Fernando. No matter how much of a wonderful and kind gentleman he is, and no matter how ashamed and saddened it made me to tell him so. But I cannot betray my own heart.”

TK’s legs were going to give out any moment. He had no other thought in his head but staying upright, using that tentative hold on his hand, still gentle as ever, as his anchor. He dare not let his thoughts follow themselves to any conclusions. 

“The truth is, TK, my heart belongs to another. It has for some time, and I was too stubborn with misplaced loyalty to give it a say. That is, until now. Which is why I imparted the information to you.”

TK kept staring into the man’s eyes, wondering if this was all some dream he’d tumbled into in slumber. He was sure this must be his own mind conjuring the conversation, guilty as it was of yearning for it. 

“I wish to apologize for taking so very long to come to my senses. I always strive to be honorable, and for a time I thought that meant that I must remain true to Fernando. But I’ve been made to realize that my thinking was wrong.” TK could only take the words in stride, adrift as he was on the roaring sea of his emotions. 

The man continued, while TK himself was made to listen to the most illogical combination of words his brain could have come up with in his current state. He was still convinced he was dreaming. Carlos reaching down and taking both his hands did nothing to bring him out of said state. Furthermore, it made him feel as if he was about to float away into the stars, unmoored as he was except for those twin points of contact. 

“You are the most optimistic, brilliant, engaging creature I have ever known. Your smile could light up a room if every candle failed. I find myself riveted any time you’ve got an anecdote to tell, and in these months of not hearing your voice I have conjured it in my dreams more times than I care to admit.

“I wish to spend the rest of my days making you smile and laugh, waking with the morning sunshine just to see how it dapples your face, and admiring you from across the dinner table every single evening for the rest of my life. TK, if I have been mistaken, and you do not return my affections, please stop me from making a further fool of myself.” This he said with a little nervous chuckle that cut straight through TK’s very soul. He looked up through his lashes at TK, nervous. 

TK, in turn, was struck dumb by the confession. Carlos apparently took this as a queue to continue to the most preposterously happy thing that had yet to be uttered in this very winding conversation that had had TK’s heart in knots since it began. 

“Mr. Strand. If I have not been remiss in my assumptions of your affection, I urge you, no I beg you to consider my humble plea. Would you consent to be my husband? It would make me the happiest man in the entire world.”

TK felt himself take in a slow, careful breath. It took several moments for him to find his voice, and then it was only to utter on a half-expelled gasp, “Truly?” 

“Yes, truly,” was the nearly equally breathless answer.

Again, it was a struggle to find volume behind the utter euphoria that had overtaken him, but soon enough, he pushed the words out in a little more than a whisper, lest he accidentally shout and call undue attention. “Then, yes. Yes!” Tears were already warming his cheeks and chin, but TK didn’t care a wit. He went easily as Carlos embraced him tightly, feeling warmth suffusing his entire body at every place they touched. 

Before long, they had to part, lest they invite accusations of impropriety.

“I…I had thought…well it doesn’t matter now I suppose,” he stammered, thoughts swirling with emotion and unable to tamp them down. Not wanting to. 

“I apologize again for taking so long. Your smile, your face is all I’ve thought about for months. The moment you were gone my heart sank to the deepest depths.”

“Mine as well,” TK admitted. “I have…neglected myself these last few months, I’m afraid. I thought I could learn to forget you in time, but alas…”

“When you entered the parlor, I was distraught to see you looking unwell. Please, I beg of you, please take care of yourself. I don’t know what I would do if…”

“I know. I apologize for my appearance. I did not mean to give you cause for concern.”

Carlos briefly reached up to touch TK’s slightly sunken cheek. “I hope you can forgive me, for it is my silence that has caused you such distress, but I also find myself elated that you feel the same as I do. I can still scarcely believe it.” His voice was rising with happiness, and TK felt drunk on it like the sweetest wine. “I must admit, though, I cannot claim full responsibility for coming to my senses. Christina was quite adamant that I was being an imbecile.”

TK looked down at the ground for a moment. “I…asked her—no, begged her really—not to speak of you in our correspondence.”

“She told me. It’s why I—“ Carlos stopped abruptly, looking chagrined. 

“What is it?” TK asked.

“Well I…I knew you did not want to speak to me, but I just had to…that is I…I sent you…something. I wrote a letter and signed her name to it. She laughed about it later, but she called me an utter fool for not being more courageous about it.

TK halted in the middle of the path. Immediately, he knew. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a delicate fold of linen edged in bright yellow. He held it gently in his fingers, caressing the soft folds that had cemented themselves after so long kept in his pocket. 

Even in the lamplight, he could see Carlos’ face flush slightly. 

“I wanted to court you properly, but circumstances were…well. In the end I was cowardly about it I suppose.” He ducked his head bashfully. 

“I think, deep down, I knew. I didn’t want to let myself believe, but…I’d never spoken to Christina about the wildflowers.” TK’s own voice was reverent. 

“She told me that. When I told her what I’d done, she told me you would see right through it.”

“You called me beloved…”

Carlos looked deep into his eyes. “Yes.”

TK nearly swooned again, new tears dripping down his cheeks which were positively sore with how much he was smiling. He tucked the treasure back into his jacket.

“We’ll have to tell my father, I suppose,” he said after a time, absolutely giddy as they began to walk along the path again, back to the streets toward the Strands’ home. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve already gotten his blessing,” Carlos answered with a smug grin to answer TK’s astonished expression. “That’s what we were talking about earlier today, before you interrupted us.”

“Well, you’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

“I think I’d like very badly to kiss you, but I’ll hold off. Wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize your good opinion of me, would we?’ His smile was absolutely radiant. TK thought to himself that if this were to be his life, staring at this gorgeous face full of love for all his days, he’d never be unhappy again. 

*

The fire was dying down and Carlos finally moved to take his leave. 

“Must you go?” TK couldn’t quite keep the pout from his voice, but at least now, he did not care too much if Carlos heard it.

“I’ve stayed too long as it is, people will talk,” he answered with an indulgent smile as TK walked him out of the parlor and into the hallway. The servants had long gone to bed, so it was up to TK himself to help Carlos on with his coat. 

“You’re my fiance now,” he said, glowing all the while and unable to help it. “People will have to get used to the fact that I want to be around you every waking moment of the day without pause.”

“Yes, but no one knows that yet and I wouldn’t want to besmirch your good name.” 

“When will I see you again, then?” He slid the overcoat onto broad shoulders, nearly letting his fingers linger a bit too long for propriety.

“I’ll call tomorrow to meet with your father again. We do have actual business to finalize after all. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Now it was Carlos’ turn to pout a bit, and TK was powerless against it. 

“Of course. Well, I’ll say good night.” He looked up into the face of the most beautiful man, the man he was going to spend the rest of his unbelievably happy days with. 

“Good night, my heart,” said Carlos, reaching up a hand to caress TK’s face so gently it caused an aching pang in his heart. Slowly, carefully, he moved his calloused thumb across TK’s lips, back and forth a few times as if trying to memorize the shape of them. TK gave a small shudder.

“My, Mr. Reyes, you’re being very forward.” He couldn’t help smiling. As the man had not removed his hand yet, TK pursed his lips ever so slightly, bestowing a chaste kiss against his thumb.

Carlos chuckled softly, covering an intake of breath. “Now who’s forward?” He was smiling so wide it looked as if it hurt.

“You’re my fiance,” TK answered against the warm skin, the word still feeling like glistening honey in his mouth, “I can be as forward as I like.”

“God in heaven, I want to kiss you.” Carlos looked like he might do it, but restrained himself as a gentleman should. They’d pushed the bounds of propriety enough for one day, TK supposed. Though he would have welcomed it gladly, as clandestine and salacious as it would have been. After a few more strokes, Carlos finally dropped his hand from TK’s face. “This will have to do for now, I suppose.” He took TK’s own hand in his and laid a gentle kiss against his knuckles. 

“But not for long?” 

“No, my heart. Not for long. I won’t be able to do with a long engagement. I will perish before I make it to the church if you make me wait for more than a couple of months.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But my father will want to invite the whole of New York, so you know.” He couldn’t help a roll of his eyes, however fond the gesture was. His father loved a good party, and the marriage of his only son—finally, he would probably say—was sure to prove one for the ages. 

“Ah, yes, and we mustn’t forget the entirety of the county back home, if my mother and Christina have anything to say about it,” Carlos said with another fond chuckle. “You have her to thank, by the way. For getting me out of my head and back on solid ground. My sister is your champion in sickness and in health. That is, until I get to call you my husband.”

TK shuddered again at the mere word. 

“I really should go,” Carlos said again. He made no move toward the door. 

“You really should,” TK prompted. He moved to open the door, and finally they broke their gaze from each other. 

As Carlos stepped out, he turned to smile one last time and it turned TK’s stomach into a whole flock of butterflies. “Good night, dearest. I’ll call on you and your father tomorrow.”

“I will be dying a slow death until that moment breathes me back to life,” TK lamented.

“As will I.”

TK watched him walk away into the night before finally closing the door against the chill of the Manhattan midnight. For several long moments, he simply leaned against the door and caught his breath, giving thanks to all the forces that managed to bring the two of them together so favorably. He’d have to write to Christina the moment he woke in the morning. 

[queerism1969]

Is it okay that I’m not loud and proud that I’m gay?

Every day before I go to sleep I dream of waking up to a better place, every day I hope to do a little good, how else am I gonna do that if I stop talking about human rights?

I don't have a lot of money I come from a very very poor family, I don't have a big platform but I do know this - words have power, ideas are immortal, and if my little platform can help even one person I am happy. I know it's not enough but I am trying and I will keep trying to the day I take my last breath.

Cishet people write poems about their love, make movies, write novels, draw anime & manga, can shout their lover's name in the rain but if I a queer man just passionately express my love for a man I am being loud? What is the definition of loud? who decides what's loud? And why do queer people always have to bow to cishet people? Why do we always have to be polite? Why do we always have to hide?

I don't believe that I am a loud and proud queer person because if I do that would be a real insult to the people who are actually working in the field directly & through social media, social working, and by being a human rights activist. For example, I am nothing compared to Beverly Palesa Ditsie, Érika Montecinos, Marsha P. Johnson, Menaka Guruswamy & Arundhati Katju. But to a conservative, we all are on the same level of a daredevil.

I don't believe that everyone has to fight for freedom or have to suffer for human rights but I do know that if you want liberty you have to fight for it. We, queer and trans people haven't got liberty and freedom yet and we have a long fight ahead. So if you don't wanna fight or don't wanna be ''loud gay'' just don't get in my way by asking shiitty questions like these. These types of questions divide the lgbt+ community and these are really unnecessary questions. If you aren't ''loud gay'' keep it to yourself, don't try to divide the community. and there is nothing wrong with being loud and proud gay, I would argue that's a healthy thing.

If everyone was silent women would still be in the kitchen, we all would the slaves, and people would be celebrating dead gays (in some parts of the world it still happening). You don't wanna fight that's is great for you buddy, just don't discourage others to do the same; otherwise, heroes won't be born.

What if Jesus was silent, would people get Christianity?

What if Muhammad was silent would people get Islam?

What if Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rehman was silent would people get Bangladesh?

What if Mahatta Kamarchand Gandhi was silent would people get India?

I am not a godly creature nor a nationalist, what I am trying to say is that silence is death. Revolution doesn't come from silence, change doesn't happen randomly.

Human beings are oppressed, killed, r**ped and you want people to be silent? What's wrong with you, buddy? I mean you do you but help the little one if possible.

Do you know why some gay people are silent but proud?

• They are really ashamed of their sexuality.

• They live in a shiite country where human rights don't exist.

• They are dead

• They have a very supportive family

I really hope the last one is true for you because the other three suck especially the first two - trust me buddy I was/am living those.

Lots of women don't support feminism, lots of trans women don't support the trans community, lots of queer people don't support the LGBT community; that's a morally gray area but we do need those support to make a better world so that our children can celebrate their differences. You don't wanna be loud for you, at least be loud for your children.

If pieces of shit like trump, Mirzafor, Hitler can be loud, why are you ashamed of being loud? Your loudness could save another person.

If anti-vaxxxers aren't ashamed to be loud, why are you?

If misogynists aren't ashamed to be loud why are you?

If a rapist isn't ashamed to defend themselves, why are you ashamed to defend your self-respect, your honor, your dignity?

I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.

There is nothing wrong with being silent but if your word could save a person and yours aren't using it what's the point of calling yourself human? What's the point of empathy? what is the point of anything? If you don’t celebrate your differences, the thing that's make you unique, whats is the point of living?

People should be loud and proud about their sexuality and gender there is nothing wrong with that.

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Beg ∣ Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: Hi, friends! This is my first time writing a fanfic piece, so of course it had to be for my love, Dr. Spencer Reid! This literally started out as a blurb in the notes app in my phone of maybe.... one line of dialogue?

Also, I am ready and willing to receive feedback! Please enjoy! 

If this opening scene was in a movie, the opening lines of Me & Mr. Jones by Amy Winehouse would be playing.

Nobody stands

In between me and my man

Me and Mr. Jones

(Me and Mr. Jones)

What kind of fuckery is this?

Category: Smut (and some cuteness at the end)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Dom!Spencer, PostPrison!Spencer, bondage, unprotected penetrative sex, con/non con, safe word mention (not used, just mentioned), mention of overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, indication of sub-drop? (then after care).

Word count: 3.0k 

Prison had changed Spencer. Obviously. Your once timid, tightly wound, germaphobe genius was now eerily patient, quicker to react, and able to eat in group settings with less hesitation. He was also more dominant with you in and out of the bedroom- just more assertive in general. Even his coworkers at the BAU mentioned his demeanor had changed when working on cases.

You had assumed it was due to him not feeling in control for those months he was property of the prison, and needing to exert his control in other aspects once he could eat and sleep on his own schedule. 

Before Spencer had gone away, your sex life was great- he was always sweet and attentive but rough when he needed to be. It was a mirror of his personality. 

Though you’d never know the extent of what happened in those concrete walls- and you’d never actually say this to Spencer- you weren’t terribly upset about the changes that resulted in the man who came out on the other end.

This man was more primally need-driven, more calloused and hungry than the Spencer you knew before. His words became fewer while his actions spoke volumes. He devoured you like you were his last meal on earth every time his hands were on you, like he was afraid this time might be the last time you two would be together. 

 His hands were more strong and confident with his touches, his mouth and movements more sure. Gone were the hesitant questions asked by fingers skimmed lightly over skin, and here to stay were imprints left from sure grips, unafraid to show signs of possession. 

His hunger and drive, these new deeper and darker urges had also allowed you to come out of your sex-shell. You weren’t afraid to ask for things that you feared my have intimidated Spencer before. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t ask for and nothing he wouldn’t do to you, for you. Did it make sense to trust him more now that he’d gone to prison?

You knew his newfound desires could be a sense of shame for him, but you wouldn’t let them be. If anything, you wanted him to be the one he explored them with more than anything. 

You rose to the challenge and arrived on the other side victorious- usually in a sweaty heap of bliss.

******

Murder in your eyes, you watched him cross the room to fasten your wrist in the restraint dangling from the bedpost. 

Once he was satisfied you wouldn’t be able to move from your slightly spread eagle position, he rounded the corner back to the foot of the bed, leaning forward to place his palms on the soft duvet, just staring. 

“Comfortable?” he asked nonchalantly, like he was asking about the fucking weather. 

You tried to lunge forward, but the restraints at your wrists quickly snapped you back, reminding you of what a not great idea that was. The fabric stuffed in your mouth as a makeshift gag caught most of the profanities you spat at him and turned them into nonsense. 

He chuckled and shook his head, “Glad to hear it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest quickening as you realized the gravity of the situation- you really couldn’t get out of these restraints. And you really weren’t sure if you wanted to. 

“Do you know why I like when you’re tied up?”

Attempting to keep your face as stoic as possible, you offered no reaction and turned your head away from him, opting to look at the artwork on the wall instead. 

“Because when you’re tied up, you can’t get in my way of taking what I want.” His voice was level and low, speaking matter of factly. 

At this statement, you couldn’t help but throw him an incredulous look and an over-the-top eye roll.  

“And you can’t stop me from fucking you and making you cum as many times as it takes to break you,” he continued. 

The idea of that kind of delirious pleasure instantly caused a pool of heat to flood your lower belly, spreading through your veins. 

He made his way around to the side of the bed, watching your face with a thoughtful expression. 

His hand caressed the side of your face, cupping your cheek before forming a strong grip on your jaw. You tried keeping your face turned away, but were quickly humbled by the sharp turn of his wrist. 

Your eyes searched his, trying to determine how much truth there was in his statements. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked softly. 

You nod, flexing your wrists against their restraints, and mumble around the fabric in your mouth. “Yeyow ng wed” you sighed, feigning annoyance. 

“Good. And if your mouth is full?” he prompted. 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your fingers for ‘yellow’ and snapping them for ‘red’. 

He hummed and left his position at your side and returned to the foot of the bed, content with your answers.

He crawled up on the bed and pulled your legs towards opposite sides of the bed with enough room between them for him to sit on his knees. 

You watched as he brought a hitachi wand from behind his back and place it in your line of sight. Your eyes narrowed, trying to unravel his plan. 

Suddenly his words made a lot more sense- You can’t get in the way. Make you cum as many times as I want. 

His finger traced the line between your clit and quickly dampening entrance, teasing with the lightest amount of pressure.

Your hips involuntarily made almost indiscernible movements to increase the friction, but with each movement, he would stop his ministrations and scold you with a ‘tsk tsk’.

His thumb found its way to your clit, drawing slow languid circles through the thin fabric. You tried your best to appear unbothered, but the fabric in your mouth wasn’t doing enough to stifle the whimpers slipping from your throat. 

“I bet if I checked right now, you’d be a wet fucking mess. Is that right?”

Even though you’d been betrayed by your body, you opted to test your luck with shaking your head no. 

“Hmmmm, see, I don’t think that’s quite right.”

His hands found their way to the edges of your panties and dragged them down your hips, thighs, knees and eventually off your body. 

Suddenly feeling very exposed, you pressed your knees together in an attempt to salvage your remaining dignity- well, what was left, after being bound to a fucking bed. 

He shook his head and placed a hand on each knee and forced them apart, staring at the apex of your thighs. His tongue poked out and made a quick sweep of his lower lip.

You knew, you just fucking knew you were in fact a wet mess, despite your best efforts to resist being turned on by the nonchalant, condescending, cocky fucking asshole he was being. 

He half smiled and chuckled, looking back up at your face. 

“Oh baby, was I right.” With that, he took a single finger and collected evidence of your arousal and brought it up to your eye level as proof. 

Without breaking eye contact, he popped the finger into his mouth, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, hollowing his cheeks, and slowly pulling it out of his mouth with a slight moan. 

Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of humiliation and raw attraction driving a fire to ignite and course through your veins. 

“God, you taste so fucking good.” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. 

Quickly returning his hand between your thighs, he dipped inside for a moment with one finger before adding another. 

The intrusion was dreadfully delicious, your hips bucking in an attempt to ride his fingers. An involuntary moan escaped your throat, muffled by the gag. 

Spencer started lazily thrusting into you, curling his fingers to meet just the right spot every time. The slow pace was agonizing- your head falling back, begging the gods above for him to grant you some sort of mercy. 

 Your head fell forward with a drawn out groan. Every time you tried to created more speed or friction, he would slow down or stop completely. 

You let out a frustrated whine, knitting your brows together to convey your displeasure with the pace he’d chosen.

Without warning, Spencer ’s fingers started plunging into you at a brutal pace, eliciting a surprised squeak and heavy pants from your lips. 

The muscles in your core tightened, your wrists pulling against the restraints as the breathy pants became moans of anticipation. 

The slow burn in your core continued to build, rushing to beat him before he decided to stop again.Your walls began convulsing around his fingers, indicating your impending orgasm.

Then, just as quickly as his fingers were there, they weren’t. Your eyes shot open, immediately searching for his. 

“Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?”

If looks could kill, he’d be one dead motherfucker. 

“I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, baby. I don’t think you want it bad enough”

Spencer’s other hand came to rest just above your mound, applying pressure on your lower belly while his thumb started circling your clit once more.

Between the deep pressure, stimulation on your clit and his relentless fingers fucking you blind, you were about to explode. Silent sobs left your chest, no air in your lungs made for a hard time breathing.

“I want to hear you beg me to fuck you” he said, his voice low and dark.

Reaching up, he removed the fabric from your mouth, tossing it to the side. 

“Beg.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat. Knuckle deep or not, there was no way you were giving in to him.

Arching an eyebrow he shook his head, reaching to his side, pulling something white into the space between his knees.

Your eyes widened at the hitachi wand in front of him, then darted to his face in an attempt to find any indication of his intention.

He climbed off the bed to remove his pajama pants. From your compromised position you had the perfect eye line to watch his dick strain against the waistband of his pants before springing free. 

Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth as a means of controlling the drool pooling in your mouth. Spencer’s laugh drew your eyes up his body until your eyes met. 

Pumping his fist a few times over his already hard cock, he climbed back onto the bed and towards you, gathering some of your wetness with the tip of his cock before positioning himself to enter you. 

Before he moved, a wicked grin flashed across his face as he reached for the wand and turned it on to its first setting, pressing it gently to the top of the hood of your clit. The introduction of the direct stimulation on your clit made every muscle in your body tense, white hot adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His thumb guided him to realign with your entrance, and he wasted no time with teasing. He quickly sheathed himself inside of you, now pressing the wand’s vibrations head deeper into your folds. 

God you wanted to fucking scream, but all that came out was a whorish moan. Your hands instinctively made a move to remove the source of the overstimulation, but were quickly reminded that wouldn’t be possible by the strain against your wrists. 

Your walls tightened around him, encouraging him to bottom out with each thrust. His aggression and moans mixed with curses let you know he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“Should I let you cum too?” 

His relentless thrusts did not show signs of slowing, and his clenched jaw and flared nostrils made him look, well... criminal. 

A quick flick of his wrist caused the wand to hit a sweet spot- eliciting a squeal. He pressed the buzzing head harder against the spot, wiggling it ever so slightly. Your hands formed fists as your head thrashed to the side, craning your neck- your breath hitched and came in short, shallow breaths as your body prepared to be pushed over the edge into bliss. 

That was, until Spencer removed the wand from its promising position, tossing it onto the bed beside your leg. The sound of buzzing against the sheets was dull in the background as your head swam at the loss.

In a swift motion, his arms hooked under your knees and pulled your bottom closer to the edge of the bed as far as your wrist restraints would let you. A surprised squeak left your lips as his hands positioned your ankles by his ears. 

This new position allowed him deeper access, hitting your cervix with each thrust. This new sensation caused your head to fall back against the pillow and eyes to squeeze shut. 

Quickly grabbing the wand from beside him, he matched the movement of the wand with the patterns of his thrusts, making it difficult to tell where the pleasure started and ended.

“Please please please I want to so bad,” you begged, “Oh my god, please!”

“Hmmm, want to or need to?” he asked quickly, chasing his own orgasm.  

“FUCK, need! I need to! Please I need to cum, please Spencer!”

“Cum.” It was one word, but enough to be your undoing. 

Your walls clenched around him as your hips buckled against the head of the wand. 

Your heels dug into his shoulders beneath you, arching your back off the sheets as he buried himself deeper into you. 

Air burned your lungs as they tried to force enough oxygen in between pants, a moan ripping the rest of the air from your chest. The waves crashed into you, over and over making up for lost time. 

Fire raced through your veins, curling your toes and causing your hands to form shaking fists in their tethered positions. You cried out senselessly for him to stop. 

“Good girl,” he cooed. “One more.”

You shook your head vigorously, unable to even able to wrap your head around cumming again.

“Yes,” he said. There was no room or invitation for argument. 

Voiceless pants left your throat, your mouth dry from gasping for air.

Your eyes begged Spencer to give you just a moment to breathe, which he promptly ignored. 

Setting the wand to its next highest setting, Spencer’s thrusts found a faster pace. 

His name came out between mangled moans and broken sobs. 

“Cum for me baby, come on,” he forced out between clenched teeth. You knew he had to be close too.

Your second orgasm tacked on to the tail end of the first and possessed your body with more power than you thought possible. The vibrations racked through your body leaving flames in its wake until you couldn’t register your body as your own anymore.

The feeling of Spencer throbbing inside of you, emptying himself only added to the pleasure, your walls continuing to milk him. 

Involuntary sobs escaped your lips as you came down, Spencer’s thrusts slowing, the wand returned to its lowest setting-allowing you to ride the rest of your wave down to planet Earth. 

Watching your chest heave, gasping for more air, he removed the wand from your clit and slowly withdrew himself from you.

Sweat glistened on your forehead, your cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, now dripping a mixture of your releases.  

“God you’re so fucking beautiful” he murmured, kissing the inside of your calf before gently removing your ankles from his shoulders and placing them on the bed. 

After a few moments, an overwhelming wave of emotion crashed over your body causing tears to spring to your eyes. Your lip quivered, but you bit it between your teeth in an attempt to collect yourself. 

“Shh shh shh,” he said, quickly undoing the restraints at your wrists and pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed around you. He sat on the bed and pulled you into his chest, his legs around your body with your legs thrown over one of his, gently rocking the both of you. 

“You did so good, baby. So good,” he said kissing the top of your head. 

You didn’t have any witty or snarky remarks for him. The hot tears slid down your cheeks as you pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around your body. 

His hand rubbed big, soothing circles into your back while he tucked your head under his chin. 

You pushed the blanket off your shoulders, needing to be closer to him than you currently were. He watched you turn and straddle his waist, wrapping your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck- grabbing your opposite elbows to bury your face in his neck. 

He let you settle before wrapping his arms around your back, hugging you closer to his chest. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said matter of factly between dropping kisses on the top of your head. 

You hummed in response, too tired for real words. 

He held you for a few more minutes, rubbing your back with small circles and offering praise. 

“Do you want to take a now bath, baby?”

You grumbled a sound of protest into his neck and felt his body shake with a laugh. 

You always wanted to take a bath, baths with Spencer were your favorite thing. But at this moment you were blissfully content and unwilling to move. 

He pulled you two apart for a moment to look at your face. Brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, he inspected your face for any residual tears.

 Your eyes met his and found a softness in his eyes you didn’t think was possible from the man who had just teased, edged and fucked you so thoroughly. 

“Five more minutes,” he conceded, kissing your forehead. 

You nodded and nestled back into your spot, pressing your lips into the side of his neck.

———

Tell me all about it!

[satikryze]

"To The Holes of My Butterfly Wings"

WARNINGS: Death, Tattooes, Hospital

Does she know how proud I am she was created, With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred. God, I hope that you're happier today. 'Cause I love you, and I hope that you're okay

" She's brain dead your highness, there's nothing more we can do."

Korkie was sitting beside his mothers bed. Various wires were connected to her body, connecting her to the machines keeping her alive. Not quite alive though.He listens carefully to the heart monitor, the steady beating of her heart the only thing keeping him grounded. The many times had he fallen asleep listening to her heart when he was young, specially after a nightmare, or a bad day, she would always be the person he went to, and the she would always be the first person who supported him.

It was the small things that he will miss. Her smile, her little snort when she laughs, the scent of fresh lillies that would linger when they hugged. Playing hide and seek as a little kid. How she would draw little patterns on his forehead to make him fall asleep faster. Doing homework in her office so she wouldn't be so lonely. Teaching him how to drive. Bailing him out and taking him for milkshakes after he got caught for speeding. That time they got matching butterfly tattoos, each of them had half a wing on their pinky.

The person who had given life to him, raised him, nurtured him, is now slipping away and he's trying his best to hold on, because he's not ready.

He clasped her hand with both of his, and held it close to her cheek. his eyes were red and sore from crying, his sobs can be heard around the room. He brought his other hand up to caress her hair.

"Mom" he whispered, as if trying to wake her.

"Mom" he tried again, his sobs now getting heavier.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying his best to calm himself down.

"It's okay"

"I know your tired. You can rest now, I'll always be greatful for being your son, but I'll be okay. You don't have to suffer anymore. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum buir, Bal Vor entye"

He took one last look at his mother, then called in the nurse to start unplugging.

One by one she removed the wires and switched off machines.

He never took his eyes off of her, and never let go of her hand.

When it was time to take her off the vent, Korkie placed a hand on her chest, feeling her exhale as the tube was taken out of her.

The steady beeping of the monitor was quickly replaced by a flatline.

Address the letters, to the holes in my butterfly wings. Nothing's forever, nothing is as good as it seems.

And when the clouds are ironed out, And the monsters creep into your house, And every door is hard to close.

Well, I hope you know how proud I am you were created. With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred. God, I hope that you're happier today.

'Cause I miss you, and I hope that you're okay

Korkie had no idea what to do from here, part of him wanted to go after his father, but he doesn't think he's ready. But he knows he's going to be okay. He is his mothers son after all, he was raised to survive, and to fight with dignity and grace, and so that's what he'll do.

The End (?)

NOTES: This story is called "To The Holes of My Butterfly Wings" because I remember reading a post where they say that the "holes" are meant to symbolize the people she lost and those are the people she's "addressing" the letters to (im like really bad at explaining) but it really inspired me to write this fic. In Korkies case the holes obv symbolize the loss he feels when his mom dies, and this is his kind of like goodbye to her. I also got the butterfly tattoo idea on tiktok. I saw a video of these two best friends getting each half a wing tattooed on their middle finger then I read a comment under that post that said she had gotten half a heart tattooed with her daughter on their pinky finger and I thought it would be so cool to imply that Satine and Korkie were 'that' type and that satine was korkies best friend. Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed this. There will be a prequel to this one but idk when I'll be able to get to that.