#i read articles according to my taste so if an article does not catch my intention within 1/4 of scrolling it is g o n e

[afklancelot]

Opinions on SCP-EN GoIs

see title. just to reiterate, this is my personal opinion on them, so of course i'm going to be biased.

Alexylva University- pretty basic concept for a GoI, but I haven't really seen any articles that peaked my interest. the one scp that combines this and Anderson Robotics was ok tho.

Ambrose Restaurants- the GoI format for this group, mostly in the style of menus, is cool.

Anderson Robotics- like I said with Alexylva, none of their articles are of interest to me.

Arcadia- I'm always interested in electronic skips, specifically about online stuff and video games, so having a GoI be a video game company is cool. Shame there's not that much articles for it.

Are We Cool Yet?- the Dadaist version of this GoI, features in scp-4485, was extremely good. some of their proposals for art shows are pretty interesting too.

The Black Queen- the GoI formats for this one are nice, but otherwise they're not much to write home about.

Chaos Insurgency- there was one (1) article bout them that I found decent, but otherwise they're not that interesting. their description kinda blends in with Global Occult Coalition.

Chicago Spirit- good potential for this one. articles that I read regarding this GoI are ok, if a little forgettable.

Children of the Scarlet King- haven't actually read much bout this one beyond maybe snippets. that said, it doesn't seem that interesting to me.

Church of the Broken God- not really my thing but I can see why people like it. liked their fusions with AWCY and Fifthism in 4485 and 4558, respectively.

Church of the Second Hytoth- haven't seen much of it but I suppose there's some potential. maybe have an article with both this GoI and Fifthism?

Commission on Unusual Cargo- eh.

Daevites- they're fine I guess. not my thing.

Deer College- average magic school GoI. not that interesting, honestly.

Doctor Wondertainment- I can see why people would like this GoI, but it's not really interesting to me. I do like their evil version "Doctor" on the JP GoI list, so I guess there's that.

Factory- a GoI that's a rather blatant criticism on capitalism, but unlike VKTM, it's one I actually find endearing.

Fifth Church- prolly my favorite mainlist GoI of all time. helps that the one and only canon I actually like, There is No Antimemetics Division, features Fifth Church, or specifically the entity they worship, as a cool antagonist.

Gamers Against Weed- don't like these guys. the first few articles they appear in are ok, but subsequent articles that try to have them be semi-serious completely fall flat for me because I don't care for them. hell, they're even more of a joke GoI than Shark Punching Center. doesn't help that they're always portrayed in the right, making them pretentious as well (especially the Nerf gun SCP, like the guy who made it calls the researchers out for testing out on humans but what if your brother ended up shooting it at a person? never mind the brother got injured in an incident involving the gun).

Global Occult Coalition- beyond being a foil for the Foundation, they're not much of interest to me.

Greazeburger Incorporated- yes, this is an actualy GoI. it's meh.

GRU Division "P"- don't know much about this group nor do I care to learn more.

Herman Fuller's Circus- concept of a circus GoI is nice. admittedly not my thing but I do like the vibe of some of their articles.

Horizion Initiative- the few scps I read that happen to feature them never interested me. still, there might be potential, but I don't intend to find out.

IJAMEA- Japanese military Foundation. not that interesting for me.

Manna Charitable Foundation- there was one JP skip of a depressed teddy bear that featured this GoI, and there was one cool CN skip regarding the concept of pain that I think featured Manna as antagonistic/mysterious, but otherwise not much to write home bout.

Marshall Carter and Dark- auction GoI. I understand their importance on the site but not that interesting.

Medician Academy of Occult Art- one of, if not the only, EN GoIs that originated from a foreign branch, in this case being from Italian branch. there's potential, but it honestly just sounds like AWCY but as a school.

"Nobody"- Who?

Office For The Reclamation of Islamic Artifacts- haven't read any articles about them. honestly a little forgettable.

Oneiroi Collective- the idea of dreams being portrayed with internet websites is really cool. JP branch does Oneiroi really good, definitely better than EN.

Parawatch- second favorite GoI, mostly because it's mostly horror reminiscent of Creepypasta (recently been searching the Creepypasta wiki for good horror). bit nitpicky about the fact there's only one wikipage style article despite being a WIKI, but the forum format is good enough.

Promethus Lab- haven't read much of them, but I like their GoI format titles are allways in all-caps.

Sarkic Cults- I like their dynamic with CoTBG, and I recently gained an appreciate for unnatural flesh growths, but otherwise not really my thing.

Serpent's Hand/Wanderer's Library- ever since scp-6000 I really disliked them. like GAW, them always being in the right is extremely boring for me. any lore that they bring in is both complicated and not worth my time. still, the Wanderer's Library Hub (a sister site to the scp wiki) has a few good things if you look hard enough, so it's still above GAW in this regard.

Shark Punching Center- a GoI that embraces how silly its concept is, and it's much better off because of it. helps that unlike GAW, there is some potential for at least some seriousness. also helps that their main themes rarely change across articles- they punch sharks.

Three Moons Initiative- the skip they appear in where they beat up fictional characters is nice, but that's kinda all they have going on with them for me.

Unusual Incidents Unit- how many Foundation-esque GoIs do we need?

Valravn Corporation- anomalous military organization. that's all I care to know.

Vikander-Kneed Technical Media- the first few skips they appeared in were good, but it's been downhill ever since. like Factory, they're a blatant criticism of capitalism, specifically modern capitalism, but unlike Factory, their blatantness comes off as grating, which might be the POINT, but what I look for in GoIs are enjoyment, and this GoI is too annoying to be endearing. just an average of the mill modern corporation GoI.

Wandsmen- forgettable and easy to confuse with Serpent's Hand. i did like their article on Alagadda, though.

Wilson's Wildlife Solutions- don't care much for the tales about the founder's daughter taking up the mantle, but I really like their GoI formats. rather cute.

Bonus: Unlisted GoIs and Foreign GoIs

Class of 76/Syncope Symphony- probably my favorite unlisted GoI. there's some criticism that all their articles reinforce the same theme, but to me that's kinda why I like them so much. the concept of memories and refusing to let go of your life in high school because it's only gonna go downhill when you graduate... good shit. TLDR- the romanticizing of highschool being played as horror is really nice.

Just Girly Things- by girls for girls!! I already talked about in 4319, but the GoI idea actually feels original, being a TERF GoI where underneath the surface-"Girl Power" is forcing girls on the site to be what the founder's idea of "girl" is. that said: I don't like the recent articles they appear in where they're aligned with the Fourth Reich (yes, really): they're much more fun as a stand-alone GoI.

Imaginanimals- my favorite GoI of all time! the concept of a GoI with animals that are based on "human concepts" is soooo good.

Drunken Street- like Class of 76, this GoI deals with memories, specifically that the people of Drunken Street go there to be forgotten (at least from what I can tell from Google Translate lol). really good and the articles actually deliver on the concept.

Super Electric Rescue Team HERO- sentai/power rangers but their methods of helping are questionable at best and brutalizing at worst. articles they appear in are pretty good.

PAMWAC- a GoI focused on marrying their anime waifus. still a better GoI than GAW (and PAMWAC actually has a defined trait that's interesting).

[sirensoftheweb]

With a Little Help From My Friends: the Construction of the Self Through Others

By: Andromeda 🌊🪨

No, you didn’t just read the work of Kant, Hegel, or Schopenhauer. The burst of profundity you were just blessed with is from the diary of yours truly, written last May. As the work of great scholars is wont to do, the entry from whence this excerpt came raised several questions for me: 

Why did I write so much about Succession? 

Why wasn’t my Zoloft dosage raised sooner? 

And perhaps most compellingly, why did I imagine it being read? 

Until now, the entry was completely private. There was no Reader, so why was I haunted by the idea of one? I guess it was kind of prophetic: lo and behold, what were once my most intimate thoughts are now blasted across your screen. And in a sense, it feels like sharing them with you has made them real–can it be that by wishing you, my “imaginary audience,” into existence, I’ve wished myself into existence as well? 

These questions are evocative of Abeba Birhane’s article, “Descartes was wrong: ‘a person is a person through other persons,” in which she argues, “being is an act or event that must happen in the space between the self and the world.” Is that what Jerry Maguire meant? 

Birhane opposes philosopher René Descartes, who, according to her, believed that others “have nothing to do with the basic constitution of the knowing self, which is a necessarily detached, coherent and contemplative whole.” Birhane considers the “self” an amorphous and porous concept, arguing that “we need others in order to evaluate our own existence and construct a coherent self-image.”

Hang on, you may say, how are you getting “the self” from your shitty melodramatic teenage ramblings? Fear not, I shan’t leave tenuous connections unbolstered. For said bolstering, I turn to our friend Michel Foucault. In Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth, he writes, “the writer constitutes their own identity.” Putting thoughts to paper calcifies them. Words become fossils of existence, scraps through which you can catch refractions of my selfhood. But who is the you in question?

For Foucault, imagining a reader is an inherent quality of writing the self: “the fact of obliging oneself to write plays the role of a companion.” So, is this dialogue with the self a satisfying substitute for the formative power of genuine interaction? I’m reminded of my second philosophical boyfriend, Frantz Fanon: in Black Skin, White Masks, he writes “to speak is to exist absolutely for the other.” Can the same be said of writing, or is a closed circuit enough to sustain us? 

I’m sure it will come as a shock to none that all answers, including this one, can be found in my writing! The unsatisfying nature of an imagined companion is evident in my compulsion to imagine a real one while writing my entry. I was unable to shake the feeling of being watched when writing because I craved perception. It’s as Birhane writes: “We need others in order to evaluate our own existence and construct a coherent self-image.” I wasn’t a sufficient audience for myself, because isolation isn’t our natural state of being. The self is built from interaction, so a lack of interaction compelled me to imagine the possibility of it. It strikes me that writing the self is kind of like eating Twizzlers. Twizzlers taste awesome, and they're fun to eat, but they don't really have enough nutritional value to sustain you by themselves. You can't maintain a healthy body with just Twizzlers, and you can't build a coherent self with just an internal dialogue. Trust me, I've tried. Both.

Birhane, Foucault, and myself (perhaps the Destiny’s Child of critical theory?) all agree that, though private writing can be beneficial, it does not construct a satisfying other, and the lack of a satisfying other is ultimately the lack of a satisfying self. Foucault said that writing, “palliates the dangers of solitude.” The key word there is palliate–to the self, the simulation of the other in writing has the same nutritional value as the crayon-adjacent bullshit that Twizzlers are made of. As Birhane writes, “others"–or the proverbial kale and chicken breasts of this bizarre nutritional metaphor–“are vital to our self-perception.” No matter how much muscle you put in, it’s not possible to conceive a self without acknowledging the formative force of others–their pushing is just as important as yours. Who knew that identity construction and riding a see-saw were so similar?

[testblog495309420]

With a Little Help From My Friends: the Construction of the Self Through Others

By: andomeda 🪨🌊

No, you didn’t just read the work of Kant, Hegel, or Schopenhauer. The burst of profundity you were just blessed with is from the diary of yours truly, written last May. As the work of great scholars is wont to do, the entry from whence this excerpt came raised several questions for me: 

Why did I write so much about Succession? 

Why wasn’t my Zoloft dosage raised sooner? 

And perhaps most compellingly, why did I imagine it being read? 

Until now, the entry was completely private. There was no Reader, so why was I haunted by the idea of one? I guess it was kind of prophetic: lo and behold, what were once my most intimate thoughts are now blasted across your screen. And in a sense, it feels like sharing them with you has made them real–can it be that by wishing you, my “imaginary audience,” into existence, I’ve wished myself into existence as well? 

These questions are evocative of Abeba Birhane’s article, “Descartes was wrong: ‘a person is a person through other persons,” in which she argues, “being is an act or event that must happen in the space between the self and the world.” Is that what Jerry Maguire meant? 

Birhane opposes philosopher René Descartes, who, according to her, believed that others “have nothing to do with the basic constitution of the knowing self, which is a necessarily detached, coherent and contemplative whole.” Birhane considers the “self” an amorphous and porous concept, arguing that “we need others in order to evaluate our own existence and construct a coherent self-image.”

Hang on, you may say, how are you getting “the self” from your shitty melodramatic teenage ramblings? Fear not, I shan’t leave tenuous connections unbolstered. For said bolstering, I turn to our friend Michel Foucault. In Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth, he writes, “the writer constitutes their own identity.” Putting thoughts to paper calcifies them. Words become fossils of existence, scraps through which you can catch refractions of my selfhood. But who is the you in question?

For Foucault, imagining a reader is an inherent quality of writing the self: “the fact of obliging oneself to write plays the role of a companion.” So, is this dialogue with the self a satisfying substitute for the formative power of genuine interaction? I’m reminded of my second philosophical boyfriend, Frantz Fanon.

In Black Skin, White Masks, he writes: “to speak is to exist absolutely for the other.” Can the same be said of writing, or is a closed circuit enough to sustain us? 

I’m sure it will come as a shock to none that all answers, including this one, can be found in my writing! The unsatisfying nature of an imagined companion is evident in my compulsion to imagine a real one while writing my entry. I was unable to shake the feeling of being watched when writing because I craved perception. It’s as Birhane writes: “We need others in order to evaluate our own existence and construct a coherent self-image.” I wasn’t a sufficient audience for myself, because isolation isn’t our natural state of being. Authenticity is derived from interaction, so a lack of interaction with the other left me, and consequently my writing (or perhaps Foucault would argue that it’s the other way around?) unmoored by the lack of external evaluation. Private writing is the Twizzlers of identity construction: they taste great, and they’re fun to eat, but you can’t survive on Twizzlers alone: trust me, I’ve tried. 

It seems to me that Birhane, Foucault, and myself (perhaps the Destiny’s Child of critical theory?) would all agree that, though private writing can be beneficial, it does not construct a satisfying other, and the lack of a satisfying other is ultimately the lack of a satisfying self. Foucault said that writing, “palliates the dangers of solitude.” The key word there is palliate–to the self, the simulation of the other in writing has the same nutritional value as the crayon-adjacent bullshit that Twizzlers are made of. As Birhane writes, “others,” or the kale and chicken breasts of this bizarre nutritional metaphor, “are vital to our self-perception.” No matter how much muscle you put in, it’s not possible to conceive a self without acknowledging the formative force of others–their pushing is just as important as yours. Who knew that identity construction and riding a see-saw were so similar?

[phoenixrising0308]

An American in Cordonia: Maneater

Books: The Royal Romance 1

Rating: M (18+) Sexual situation and adult themes.

Trigger Warnings in this chapter: ����

Pairing: Liam x Jessica Garcia (MC)

An American In Cordonia Series premise: A New Yorker seeking adventure and love finds herself living abroad to competing for the hand of a man who will become King. When things don’t go according to plan they enter into a Cordonian arrangement. This is a series about Jessica Garcia’s life abroad, her time as a suitor, and explores her romantic relationship with Liam while she lives in a Cordonian arrangement. Catch up here

Disclaimer

Chapter Summary:  Jessica reads an interesting article and gets sexually curious.

Chapter Song inspiration: ManEater - Nelly Furtado

Word Count: 2,460 *As always, forgive my typos and grammatical errors.*

Average reading time: 8 minutes

Liam’s Study- Palace

Jessica sat on Liam’s desk next to him, swinging her legs, reading an article in a magazine. While Liam reviewed paperwork forwarded to him by his advisers, he picked up the document labeled security briefing, read a few lines, and looked at Jessica with a smile. When she didn’t notice, Liam playful drew circles on Jessica’s knee and said, “So Jess, is that the magazine you brought?”

“Well, geezus, nothing gets past that Royal Guard, now does it?”

“No, Love, it does not.” Liam cleared his throat and began to read, “6:15 AM Lady Jessica exited the palace. At the gate, she was approached by Drake Walker, who was overheard saying, “Where fuck do you think you’re going alone? It’s still fucken dark.” Lady Jessica responded by saying, “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.” Mr. Walker then drove Lady Jessica to the Cordonian International Airport. Whereupon entry, Lady Jessica made a ‘B’ line to a Cinnabon counter and yelled, “Fuck YES churro’s!” Liam laughed and collected himself, then continued, “She purchased an order of churros. Shortly after, Mr. Walker and Lady Jessica got into a disagreement over the churros. He held the churro over her head, teasing her as she attempted to reclaim it. Mr. Walker then handed her the churro after taking what was deemed by Lady Jessica a much too generous bite and handed it back to her. Mr. Walker was heard saying, “I regret nothing” Lady Jessica then walked to a newsstand and was observed purchasing an American Magazine  ‘Cosmopolitan’ ,ten blow pops and a bag of M&M with peanuts.” Liam looked at and quirked his brow and said, “Really, ten blow pops?”

Jessica put her hands on her waist and said, “Are you judging me? I needed them okay.”

Liam pursed his lips and said, “Don’t be so defensive. I love that your mouth tastes like cherry by the way.”

“Good. Cause I was gonna say.”

Liam rubbed her thigh and continued reading out loud “Mr. Walker purchased a Nicolas Sparks novel titled ‘A walk to remember’ The pair returned to the palace at 7:30 AM without incident.”

“Yea, that sounds accurate and rather detailed. Surprised they didn’t tell you the flavors. BUT I bought the magazine because my cousin got a photo credit. It just so happened that as I was flipping through it to see what I was missing back house in the states an article caught my eye and it made me think of you, so read a few  times.”

“Oh, Jess, there is more in my brief. A significant detail I might add.”

Jessica looked at curiously, “Really? I can’t think of anything else.”

He put down the briefing, and his blue sparkled as he looked at her and said, “Lady Jessica presented herself for breakfast at 8:00 am. As per usual, she looked gorgeous, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.”

Jessica smiled and smoothed down her dress, and said, “Thank you.”

He kissed her sweetly and said, “Now, tell me Love what is it you are reading  that reminded you of me?”

Jessica sheepishly said, “Ummm… Well,so-”

Liam peaked at the article Jessica was reading and blushed as he read the title aloud, ‘Man-eater: How to give a mind-blowing orgasm to your uncircumcised partner.’ by Callie Cross. I wonder what sage advice Ms. Cross has to offer.”

Jessica bit her lip and said, “I heard it’s common in Europe not to be, you know. And you seemed rather sensitive during the Cordonian Waltz, so I figured you weren’t. Then I saw it, and well… anyway, I wanted to know if there was anything extra I could do… to like make it better for you.”

“You. Excite. Me. Jess.” Liam ran his hand up her thigh and then stood up. “Whatever you do to me is enough, and whatever you allow me to do you well, it feels like heaven.” He leaned in and bit Jessica’s bottom lip, getting some of her berry lipstick on his lip.

“Mmmm,” Jessica purred.

Jessica jumped off the desk and gave Liam a cheeky smile, and she kept her eyes focused on him as she unbuckled his pants took him out of his underwear just enough to do what she read about in the article.

Jessica knelt before him, looking at his thick, engorged shaft. Liam’s foreskin skin was fully retracted, and the article informed her; Liam would be sensitive to her touch. She took him in her hand and palmed him, gently pumping it back and forth. Following the instruction, she sang 'twinkle twinkle little star’ in her head as that was the suggestion for the duration and stroking pace. Step two directed her to move on to oral stimulation for twenty seconds before performing what was called the ’man-eater.’ However, she was an overachiever and wanted to do this while maintaining eye contact. She swirled her tongue around his tip and began to count in her head while her eyes were fixed on Liam.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring*

The ringing of the phone caused her to lose count. 'Fuck, this is a lot harder than it looks. Okay, do it again.’ She thought, and she started to count to herself

'1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11.12.13.14.15.16.17.18.19. 20 AND 'Man-eater'

Liam’s knees suddenly buckled at stimulation, lost his balance, and hunched over his desk, “God, your mouth.”

Jessica continued this time at a slower and sensual pace. Liam stood up and tilted his head back as he glanced. Liam bucked his hips just a bit, a silent plea for more, and then a vocal plea for more when he said, “Jess, don’t stop.”

Jessica smiled at that as Liam ran fingers through her hair, beaming down at sight below him. He guided her mouth to him, gasping as Jessica took him in without a second thought.  He moaned, spreading his legs a bit so she could have a more accessible angle.

“I love your mouth.” Liam groaned, making Jessica smile internally because, well, she could not do it on the outside. Liam’s eyes slipping closed for a brief moment. He let out a moan and showered her with praises.

*ring* *ring*ring*

“This feels so…so good,” he mumbled, sighing deeply.

*ring* *ring*ring*

Their eyes met, and he flashed her a soft smile, his thighs tensing slowly. Jessica knew he was close. She hollowed out her cheeks, sucking harder. Liam tugged at her hair with a louder moan, his eyes rolling back a bit.

“Yeah, just like that, oh my… AHH…” Liam whispered, moving her hair out of her face and looking down at her. “Fuck. Love.” Liam babbled, closing his eyes. He felt himself growing closer and closer, and he had never felt this type of pleasure in his life. He knew part of it was the sex act itself. The other part was the woman performing it—his feeling for her magnified the situation.

*knocking* *knocking* *knocking*

Outside: Your Royal Highness

“I’m close, I’m close,” Liam warned, gasping and tugging at her hair by accident.

Jessica breathed out, “I want it.”

“God. Love.”  Liam panted

Liam cried out, his body spasming and he did not know what to do with himself. He let out a guttural moan, bucking his hips into her mouth by accident as he came. “Fuck”

*Thud*

“Ouch!”

The door flung open.

Liam slammed his hand on his desk.

Constantine shouted, “Liam! Did you not get the message I was requesting an audience with you!”

Liam stammered, “I’m ….sorry father, I got caught up in a phone call. It was impossible to step away.”

“I spent the last forty-five minutes entertaining Landon and Emmeline complaints that you are not fair to their poodle-brained daughter. Who loves to play dress-up with dogs. The girl is forgettable. I don’t even recall her name, and we were just talking about her. Now The Lee’s want to speak with me no doubts more brown-nosing.”

“I understand. I am sorry for any discomfort I have caused.”

“Pull yourself together, my boy! You are flushed and sweating. You have an hour, Liam, sort yourself out! Do not keep Regina and me waiting. There is only so much chit-chat a man can take in a lifetime!”

Constantine turned on his heels and exited the study. Slamming the door as he left.

Liam got on the floor. “Are you okay? Love, I’m so sorry.”

Jessica put her hand over her lips.

Liam’s face fell, afraid that he had hurt her and with worry on his face. He asked, “Jess, are you bleeding? Please tell me your okay. I’m so sorry.”

She quickly cupped his face and smiled. “You’re fine, I’m fine. I assume you liked it.” Jessica said with a playful smile on her lips.

Liam sighed in relief and moved the hair out of her face. “I didn’t want to do it while I was in your mouth. I’m very sorry.”

“Why?”

“I feel guilty I suppose.”

“Liam, there is nothing to be guilty about. Is it because I’m a suitor? Like we aren’t serious about each other”

“Oh no. I’m serious about you. That’s why I feel it seems rather impolite to release myself in your mouth.”

“Liam, baby, its okay. I like it. I like the way you taste.”

Liam helped Jessica get off the floor then

“Let me make it up to you. Get on my desk. It’s your turn now.”

[chatonne-rousse]

The Pole Kit and Kaboodle

Written for @smutember, Day 3: Striptease

@tsuki-chibi, I owe you one for all your encouragement and the great ideas you provided.  You’re the best!  ♥

This can also be read on Ao3.

They break apart for air, heaving breaths amplified in the silence of Adrien’s cavernous bedroom. Marinette’s hands still clutch at his back beneath his t-shirt; he lowers his head to her bare shoulder and sucks a possessive mark into her skin.

Her sundress is long gone, unbuttoned an hour ago by eager yet careful hands and parted reverently to reveal the lacy bra that now hangs from one shoulder.

Lips and tongue and teeth explore that same shoulder now, claiming every inch of skin up, up the curve of her neck and oh! The jolt of arousal that zings down her spine has her hips pressed to his of their own accord, while he soothes the spot his teeth have just nipped.

“You like that, Mari?” He purrs, huffing a pleased laugh against her skin before dipping back down to do it all over again just behind her ear.

She can practically hear the smug grin in his voice, but imagining it on Adrien’s sweet face seems wrong somehow. It’s a look more suited to a certain black cat, whom Marinette has no intention of thinking about while her boyfriend tugs her bra strap further down her arm and follows its path with kisses.

This is wonderful, of course, and her senses sing with delight at the smell of his shampoo, the taste of his minty lip balm still on her tongue, the delicious weight of his body between her legs and his soft skin beneath her fingertips. But when her bare thighs rub against his jeans as her hips search for more friction, it’s not difficult to notice the disparity in their states of undress.

He’s just freed her breast from its confines when she decides they need to even the score a bit.

Her hands glide whisper-soft down the plane of his back, and she’s gratified by the surprised gasp she hears (and feels) at her chest. She takes a quick detour just below the waistband of his jeans to feel the warm skin and tight muscles there before grabbing his t-shirt hem and starting to pull it up so it can join her dress on the coffee table.

It’s a shame he has to pause the magic his tongue is working right now, but the sacrifice will be worth it when she can feel their bodies pressed skin to skin, a pleasure she’d imagined in fantasy but still hasn’t gotten used to the wonder of in real life.

When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he makes a noise of disapproval against her skin before quickly sitting up and tugging his t-shirt back down.

It happens so fast that Marinette is left wide-eyed in surprise, the cool of the room making her still-wet nipple harden further.

This does not go unnoticed.

“I’ll be back for you,” Adrien reassures her bare breast, pointing a finger at it, “And I haven’t forgotten you,” he reminds the other, still tucked behind lace.

It���s one of the most ridiculous things she’s ever witnessed in her life, and she can’t stop the bark of laughter that bubbles up in her chest, cutting through the sting of his sudden retreat.

She quirks an eyebrow and gestures between them. “I'm feeling underdressed. Care to even things out?”

“Uh uh uh,” he sings, wagging his index finger dramatically like a ticking metronome. At the confused furrow in her brow, he deflates a little, his hand moving instead to the back of his neck.

“I, um, had an idea,” he says sheepishly.

“O…kay?”

His answering grin is pure elation, his playful swagger returning as he leaps from the sofa.

“I think you’ll love it!” She hears him call from the vicinity of his desk.

Her heart swells, her smile returns.

Oh, this boy.

She pulls her wayward bra strap back up onto her shoulder and resituates everything comfortably. Whatever he has planned will probably lead them back to the sofa - or the bed, or his desk, or the skate ramp - and her underwear will be added to the clothing pile in a few minutes anyway. At least, she hopes so.

Intimacy isn’t brand-new for them, but it’s still as thrilling as it was those first few times they’d explored each other’s bodies and discovered just how euphoric it could be to fall apart against the fingers and tongue of another, turning love into something tangible by way of racing hearts and trembling hands. Alone time in the quiet of her loft was eclipsed forever the first time she saw his climax cross his face at the same moment she felt it inside.

They’re still clumsy sometimes, still learning about sex and each other, but the shine hasn’t worn off yet, and she hopes it never does.

Peeking over the sofa, she finds him holding his desk lamp in one hand and scrolling frantically through his phone with the other. She smiles to herself when his face lights up upon finding what he was looking for. He lifts his head and finds her watching him, his eyes going soft with adoration at the same time his lips quirk in a sly grin.

Seriously. This boy.

He pushes the foosball table toward the corner with his hip before tucking the base of the lamp between the rows of players and setting his phone on the turf beneath their feet.

Looking around for a nearby plug, he has to push the table back in the other direction until he can find a spot the cord will reach. He finally switches on the lamp and maneuvers the adjustable neck to create his own spotlight as Marinette watches with amusement as the scene unfolds. That is, until he fumbles it and shines the bright light directly into her eyes.

She shrieks and hears him curse before running over to her.

“Shit!” he mutters again, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her face toward his. “I’m so sorry, Marinette.”

It takes a few blinks to clear the blinding spots from her eyes, but the relief in his gaze is a sweet consolation once her vision clears. She rises just enough from the sofa to press her lips to his and delights in his sigh against her cheek.

“I’m fine, Adrien,” she assures him as she settles into the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her and propping her elbow on the back cushion. She shoots him a cheeky wink. “You certainly have my attention.”

His lips quirk in a crooked smile and he rubs the back of his neck as he returns to the foosball table, reaching down and pressing play on the song he’d chosen earlier. A slow and sultry melody begins as he takes his place and strikes a pose that makes her giggle.

“Are you ready, Mari?” He asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

“You have the floor. Seduce me, beau gosse.”

His cheeks pinken but he catches the rhythm of the song’s intro and starts to sway his hips with the music. A moment later, he bends down to quickly untie his shoes, still punctuating each beat with a shake of his behind, even as he struggles with the laces.

Marinette bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, thankfully keeping the warm smile on her face when he pops back up to meet her gaze again.

He shucks one shoe, which she watches sail toward his desk before landing with a thunk. The other shoe is kicked off just as the words to the song begin, but neither of them pay attention to the English lyrics as they watch the orange plimsoll head straight for the television. It clips the top edge before tumbling to the floor behind, leaving the giant television rocking precariously for several long, long moments until it finally settles back in place, unharmed.

Crisis averted, Adrien continues unfazed.

His socks are quickly discarded, mercifully without incident.

Next comes his t-shirt, which Marinette doesn’t think will be any trouble since she’s watched him tug it over his head by the back of the collar numerous times in their haste to undress and come together again.

She is wrong.

In the momentary struggle to remove his shirt from where it’s somehow become stuck on his head, Marinette is treated to the sight of his very, very chiseled abs, muscles rippling as he flails his arms above his head. She’s always wondered how on earth he got so ripped - when does he have the time? - but she’s definitely not complaining.

Finally free, Adrien gleefully throws the shirt to his solo audience member, who catches it with a laugh and clutches it to her chest like the prize that it is.

This striptease is proving two facts she already knew: One, he is an absolute doofus, and two, she loves him beyond measure.

Refocusing on her beloved doofus while shamelessly inhaling the familiar scent of his t-shirt, she watches him begin to unbuckle his belt and feels a little fluttery all of a sudden.

When a few sweet kisses while watching an anime an hour ago had led to roaming hands and discarded clothing and his body pressing hers into the sofa, the destination was clear. However, the entertaining detour of the last few minutes got her sidetracked. Suddenly, the clink of his buckle has her very much looking forward to the removal of those last few articles of clothing.

Buckle undone, hips still swaying languidly with the beat, he takes a moment to unbutton and unzip his jeans before whipping his belt from its loops with a flourish.

Just as the singer croons, “Throw your clothes on the floor,” Adrien’s jeans fall to the hardwood.

Marinette’s jaw is clenched, lips pressed tightly together, practically vibrating with her attempt to keep from laughing.

Undeterred, he steps from his jeans to the tune of “I’m gonna take my clothes off, too” and promptly trips, falling toward the armrest of the sofa and just barely catching himself with one hand instead of his handsome face, though his knees hit the floor with a heavy thump.

Marinette jumps up, nerves alive with adrenaline and worry, and rushes around the sofa toward him.

“Oh my god, Adrien! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He’s clearly mortified, blushing from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he hastily assures her as he gets to his feet again and kicks his traitorous jeans under the foosball table, sending a withering glare in their direction.

Marinette perches on the sofa again, but she’s still wound tightly after watching him fall.

The song nears its end, trailing off in a medley of warbling voices. After a pause, the slow and sexy intro builds again as the song repeats.

Adrien matches the rhythm with his hips once more, now clad in only black boxer briefs, and dance-walks to the fireman’s pole.

"No..." she whispers under her breath.

"Yes!" he sings, drawing out the vowel on a long, dramatic vibrato.

He grabs the pole with one hand and leans away, letting gravity take over as he spins once, then twice around it.

In the next moment, he's shimmying to the top, only his bare feet visible beneath the mezzanine floor. Suddenly, his upper body drops through upside-down, his head missing the metal by inches. Right knee wrapped around the pole, his right hand grips loosely as he slides slowly toward the floor.

The look of sheer joy on his face is contagious. Marinette squeals with laughter and applauds his showmanship when he unhooks his knee and flips to the floor, throwing his arms in the air like an Olympic gymnast who's just landed a perfect dismount.

Clearly soaking up her approval, Adrien spins lazily around the pole, this time locked around it by the crook of his elbow.

Soon he scrambles up the pole again, calling down to her, "Hey, Marinette! I'm Père Noël!"

When he pops up against the mezzanine railing, he finds her face looking up at him scrunched in confusion.

"I'm at the North Pole!"

"Boo!" she heckles, rolling her eyes. "Two out of ten. You can do better."

He's still laughing on his next descent, this time going for a "Look Mari, no hands!" approach. He leans his entire body away from the pole and slides down on one hooked knee, using the core strength that must be hidden in those sculpted abs she enjoys so much to keep his torso nearly perpendicular to the pole.

Now, that's at least relatively impressive.

Marinette whistles her appreciation, judiciously ignoring his crash landing.

"Bravo, bravo!" She blows him a flurry of kisses as he bows. "You make a great case for why every child should grow up with a stripper pole in their bedroom."

His face falls into an indignant pout. "It's a fireman's pole and you know it," he huffs.

She waves her hand. "Semantics."

This is quickly devolving into a nearly-nude comedy routine punctuated by feats of strength and agility, but the sultry music still plays in the background, the song now entering its third encore.

Adrien shakes his head at his girlfriend in mock solemnity.

"I should've known you weren't ready for the pole shebang."

She bites back the immediate and obvious retort that comes to mind on a wave of red and black and green déjà vu. There's no way she's heard that awful joke before...right?

Marinette shakes the thought of her superhero partner from her mind and focuses instead on watching - okay, appreciating - Adrien's delicious backside when he bends forward and grips the pole with both hands. Although this current view of a muscled back, strong thighs, and black-clad ass that could've been carved from marble by a Renaissance master is eerily reminiscent of her longtime partner, she is absolutely not thinking about Chat Noir right now.

No. Way.

Except she is. She can't help it.

Because when Adrien hops from the floor and uses the strength in his upper arms to hold himself upside down, knee hooking around the pole, she knows she's seen this before.

Long ago, on a dark rooftop in La Défense, high above the city, two teenage superheroes out way past their bedtime talked and laughed and ate day-old pastries, sharing a thermos of hot tea.

"Hey, Bugaboo! Watch this!"

Famous last words, she thinks, giving him an amused half-smile and shaking her head at the disaster that's certainly to come. He's such a try-hard. Such a dork. No one could be a better partner than he is.

Chat Noir walks to a spot beneath an air duct that crosses the roof about fifteen feet overhead. He presses the button on his baton, and it creates a vertical tension rod between the ground and the metal above. He tests its sturdiness before cracking his knuckles and grinning at his partner.

It's almost impressive, watching him climb upward using only his hands and his Miraculous-granted strength, back and legs perfectly parallel to the pole until he gets to the top and slides back down in a curving arc to the roof below.

Ladybug claps politely when he bows but can't hide her grin.

"Well, what else can you do, Acrochat?"

"Ha! Good one, My Lady! Prepare to be amazed." He claps once to psych himself up before taking to the pole again, this time holding on with only one hand as he kicks out from the ground in a spin, whirling around the pole like a superpowered human tetherball. He catches the pole with his other hand after a few rotations and uses the momentum to bring his legs up over his head to hook one knee around the pole. Dangling upside-down, he spreads his arms wide with exuberance.

She giggles at his antics and claps again, this time adding a little cheer for good measure. It was a pretty cool trick, after all.

"That, Bugaboo," he says cockily, shooting her upside-down finger guns, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Ladybug rolls her eyes and groans. "That was bad, even for you, Minou."

She wonders how he'll get down from that position, but isn't left wondering for long. He grips the pole with both hands close to the roof above his head. This looks...precarious. When he unhooks his knee, he tries to hold himself up with his arms, but gravity is too strong for even a superhero sometimes.

He flops to the ground, then konks his elbow on the baton when he tries to stand up. He shakes out the tingles and grabs his staff with his other hand, shrinking it to its stowable size.

Howling with laughter, Ladybug whips her yo-yo from her waist and opens the communicator, typing the number 10 in a large font on the screen. When he turns to face her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, she holds it up high, hollering, "Woohoo!"

The true, celestial stars really aren't visible above major metropolitan cities like Paris. But tonight, Ladybug sees them in her partner's eyes as he laughs along with her. Moments like this with your very best friend don't come along every day, especially for two 16-year-old superheroes carrying the weight of the world.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she wheezes.

"You know what, My Lady? I think I can do that."

It's a precious memory, and Marinette is reliving it right now.

Adrien's knee is hooked around the fireman's pole that's inexplicably part of the decor of his bedroom and not a superhero's baton wedged beneath a commercial air duct. But it doesn't matter. The sheer joy on his face, the way he spreads his arms wide and gazes at her upside-down - it's Chat Noir through and through. She didn’t know it two minutes ago, but she knows it now with an ironclad certainty.

And she knows exactly what he'll say next.

"That, my love," he declares, finger guns and all, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Marinette laughs because there's nothing else she can do.

When he grasps the pole above his head to prepare the dismount, Marinette reaches for her phone on the coffee table and opens the text app. This time, he lands on his feet, though he still konks his elbow on the pole as he stands up.

"Why does that always happen?" He mutters under his breath as he shakes the tingles out of his arm.

Adrien turns toward the sofa but stops in his tracks when she holds up her phone, a large-font perfect 10 lighting up the screen.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she says softly, voice trembling with both nerves and the hysterical laughter she can barely suppress. "You did better than last time, though."

She watches the emotions cross his face one at a time - surprise, confusion, shock, and a dawning incredulity - before he looks from her eyes to her phone and back again.

"My...Lady?"

She nods, wide-eyed, blushing, her pulse roaring in her ears. There's no way this is happening. There's no way she's sitting on Chat Noir's sofa in her bra and panties.

Adrien stares at the floor and rubs the back of his neck. (Of course he does. In all these years, how did she not see it? How did she not see it in every little thing he did?)

"I..." he trails off, taking a deep breath. "I forced myself to get over you...because I'd fallen in love with you."

Marinette nods again.

"And I turned you down over and over because I was in love with you."

Forget him talking to her chest. This exchange is the most ridiculous thing she's ever witnessed in her life. Wild laughter bursts from her again unbidden, and this time she can't stop.

Hundreds of moments and memories of the past five years crash over her, friendship and love and heroic duty, anguish and joy and everything in between. Four separate lives become two before blending into one incredible relationship.

Holy shit.

She’s been dating Chat Noir for more than a year. She’s been sleeping with Chat Noir for six months! She is, in fact, intending to have sex with Chat Noir in approximately the next ten minutes.

She’s...truly, wildly, deeply in love with Chat Noir.

Of course she is. Of course.

Tears spring to her eyes even as she laughs herself toward hyperventilation.

Adrien - Chat Noir! - kneels on the floor in front of the sofa, his beautiful features painted with worry, and takes her shaking hands in his.

“My Lady? Marinette? Talk to me, please. Are you--?”

“I’m fine,” she manages to croak. “I promise.”

Several deep breaths later, she’s almost gotten herself under control. Her pulse is racing, but that’s probably not going to settle for quite a while, especially if he’s still amenable to what she’s now nearly-desperate to do in the next few minutes.

The relief in his eyes when she smiles and reaches out to caress his cheek makes her heart ache.

“I love you so much,” she whispers. The words are spoken without thought, as though they’ve come straight from her heart and bypassed her brain entirely, but the statement shines with the same truth it held the first time she said it to him and every time since.

“Still?” He asks quietly.

Oh, Minou.

“More,” she answers. “Always.”

He surges up on his knees, wrapping her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss so full of passion it sends a shiver down her spine.

Marinette responds in kind, willing him to feel every bit of love she has for him, no matter what name he goes by.

This is beyond her imagination, and she'll undoubtedly freak out about it later, but right now, in Adrien's arms, it's shockingly easy to slot the two together, her partner and the love of her life. Of course they'd been in love with each other all this time. They're meant to be partners in every facet of life, it seems.

There is a very important discussion in their future, but it's already waited five years, and it can wait until they show each other exactly how much they love one another. Moments like these don't come along every day, especially for two young adults in love, who also happen to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

The blissful, lovestruck look on his face as he enters her is stamped on her memory anew each time they find themselves entwined like this. It’s so beautiful, and only, ever, always for her. Tonight when he fills her and she gasps, “Yes, Chaton!” against his lips - oh, his expression is priceless.

From the other side of the room, Boys II Men quietly sing “I’ll Make Love to You” on an endless loop. And Marinette delights in letting Adrien do just that.

[nixster627]

Coffee and Dates

Read on AO3: here

Written for Day 2 of Malex Week 2020: Trope Day

This was originally supposed to be a 5+1 but I accidentally only wrote four so I just turned it into a 4+1.

One

For the past week, Michael has gone out of his way to get coffee from a coffee shop that is in the opposite direction from his job because the barista is cute, but Michael can’t tell if he is actually flirting with Michael or just being friendly.

Michael wants to ask him out so badly, but he also doesn’t want to embarrass himself if the guy turns out to be straight, or even just not into him specifically. He keeps dropping hints to see if Alex (according to his name tag) has any sort of interest in him, but either Alex is really bad at taking a hint or Michael is really bad at leaving them.

This morning, he and Alex are the only ones in the shop. Sometimes one or two other people will be lingering around, but not that many people are out and about at 6 AM. The brightside about having to wake up early because you get your coffee from the opposite direction than your job is the privacy that you get with the barista.

As soon as Alex sees him walk in, he calls out, “One small coffee with two sugars coming right up.”

But, before Alex can actually start making it, Michael rushes in to correct him, “Actually, I feel like switching it up today. What would you recommend?”

Alex seemed thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Well, it depends on what you like, I can’t really tell much from you since you always order the same thing.”

Michael decided to take this as an opportunity to learn more about Alex. “How about you make me your favorite drink and we’ll see how much I like your taste,” he said with his most flirtatious smile.

But, Alex just turned away and said over his shoulder, “Okay, but I should probably warn you-”

“Don’t,” Michael cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “I want it to be a surprise.”

It took Alex longer than usual to make the drink today, probably because he didn’t just have to pour from the pre-made coffee pot. Michael tried to make conversation once, but Alex was completely focused on mixing the drink.

Once Alex was done making the drink, Michael paid for it and reached to take it from Alex, but Alex pulled it back and said, “Before you drink this, I just want to say that I know my tastes are kind of eclectic, so just remember that you asked for this.”

Alex looked nervous when Michael went to take a sip and Michael was actually surprised when he tasted it. It tasted much sweeter than what he was used to, so that took a second to adjust to, but he also found that he could taste something else, he wanted to say that it was fruity, but he couldn’t figure out what fruit someone would want to put in their coffee.

By his third sip, he looked up to find Alex looking at the floor with a kicked-puppy look on his face, when he realized that he never actually gave his opinion on the drink.

“It’s pretty good,” Michael said and Alex looked up at him with hope on his face. “I would never be able to tell you what it is, but it is delicious,” Michael says as he opens the to-go cup to try and see what is inside. It is a lot lighter than the coffee he normally drinks, but it just looks like if you were to put a lot of creamer in your coffee.

“It’s a white chocolate raspberry mocha,” Alex responds with a huge smile, teeth and all, with the knowledge that Michael actually likes it.

Michael spends the rest of his walk to the garage thinking about that smile, and if he doesn’t get himself under control soon, the rest of the guys are going to make fun of him for it.

Two

Ever since the white chocolate raspberry mocha, Alex has been making him a new drink every day so that he can “expand his palette” as he gave Alex as an excuse. In reality, he just wants to see what drinks Alex likes to make and the way his smile lights up the room when he makes a drink that Michael likes.

Some of the drinks were a success with Michael, like the caramel macchiato, and some were a disaster, like the Avolatte, which is some type of latte with avocado in it, and some he didn’t have an opinion on one way or the other.

Today, he went to the coffee shop with his sister because she wanted to spend the whole day together, but he also didn’t want to leave Alex hanging since he has been going to this shop every day for almost a month now. He realized how big of a mistake this was very quickly.

First of all, he forgot that his sister’s favorite pastime is meddling with his life. Second of all, he knows that if Isobel finds out about his crush on Alex, she will do something about it, and from what he has learned about him, Alex is very shy and would definitely not like that.

When they enter the shop he sees Alex smile at him before he catches sight of Isobel and his smile falters a little before he smiles brightly again, but when they get closer to the counter Michael can tell that his smile is a little strained.

“Hey, Michael,” Alex says, duller than he usually greets Michael so Michael gives him a confused look which Alex takes as his cue to tell Michael about his drink of the day. “I’m going to make you a chai latte today and even though it has some tea in it, I think you are going to like it.”

Alex then promptly turns around to start making his drink without the usual small talk that they have been doing for the past few weeks and that confuses Michael even more until he turns to see the thoughtful look on his sister’s face.

“What are you thinking so hard about over there?” Michael asks her as she continues to stare at Alex’s back.

She looks over at him then and gives him one of those looks where she stares into his soul, but then she looks away and says, “Nothing, just making some interesting observations.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but lets it go for now because Alex has finished making his drink. As Alex hands Michael his drink, he notices Isobel standing there again and startles.

With an apologetic look on his face, he says, “I’m sorry, I was so busy making Michael’s drink that I forgot to ask what you wanted.”

Isobel waves him off and says, “No problem, I will just have what my brother is having.” 

She puts a very heavy emphasis on the brother part, Michael notes, and it confuses him, but it seems to mean something to Alex because he makes a face like he has just realized something before he blushes and turns to make Isobel’s drink.

Did he blush because he likes Isobel? Michael wonders as they wait for Isobel’s drink, and he wasn’t talking to us earlier because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her.

Michael has to admit that that brings down his spirit for the whole asking-him-out thing, but he guesses he should have realized that Alex was probably straight before. He could be bi like me, but he obviously likes Isobel so it's not like it matters.

Alex brings Isobel her order and she thanks him before they are walking out and Michael is feeling down for the rest of the day after his revelation.

Three

Michael took a week break from the coffee shop when he thought that Alex liked Isobel, but when Isobel confronted him about why he was so sad lately he decided it was best to just tell her the truth and called him an idiot and told him that Alex didn’t have a crush on her.

So here he is a week later with Isobel again because she wants to prove to him that Alex does not like her like Michael thinks he does.

As soon as they walked in, Isobel strutted over to the counter even though Alex had yet to see them. Alex turned around when Isobel stopped at the counter and, even though Michael hung back, Alex’s eyes landed on him first and he smiled at him.

Alex only looked away after Isobel cleared her throat and he realized that she was in front of him.

“Hello, Alex,” Michael recognized the tone that Isobel was using as her ‘flirting voice’ and he held his breath to see what she would do. “I have a question for you?”

“About our coffee?” Alex asked as if he couldn’t tell that Isobel was flirting with him. Which, in all fairness, if you didn’t know Isobel you might not have been able to tell that she was flirting yet.

“Actually, I was more curious about you,” Isobel said as she looked Alex up and down so that it was obvious that she was checking him out, “say over dinner?”

“What?” Alex asked and Michael had to admit that he looked genuinely confused about what Isobel was asking him.

“Like on a date,” Isobel clarified, rolling her eyes for a second before remembering that she was supposed to be flirting with him.

Alex attempted to stammer out a response for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “While the offer is appreciated, I’m actually,” Alex struggled for a second before he finally let out a strangled “gay.”

Isobel dropped the act and straightened up, then responded with, “Well in that case, I will take a small café mocha and Michael will take one of those mystery drinks that you are always making him.”

Alex looked completely caught off-guard by her change in demeanor, but went on to prepare their order anyway.

When he finished the drinks, he still looked very confused, but he waved Michael over and placed the drink in his hand. “It’s a red velvet latte. It’s got a lot of chocolate in it so be prepared,” Alex said, blushing when their fingers touched.

Michael assumed that his blush was embarrassment over his sister asking him out, so he decided to apologize for her coming out of nowhere like that.

Alex looked surprised for a moment before quickly stammering out a “It’s fine,” and getting back to work.

Isobel and Michael left, with Isobel telling him the whole way home how she was right and he was an idiot, but she would never tell him what he was being an idiot about. At least now he knew Alex was into guys, that was a win in his book. Now, he just had to figure out how to get Alex to like him.

Four

Michael’s plan to get Alex to fall in love with him started the next day. Online, he found an article that had questions that were supposed to gradually lead to love. He would start with the easier questions and move on to the more in depth ones.

While Alex was making his daily drink, he decided to go ahead and ask the first question.

“Hey, Alex?” Michael asked and waited for Alex to look over in his direction before asking, “Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?”

Alex gave him an odd look, but still answered with, “Brendon Urie. Why do you want to know that?”

Michael scrambled for an excuse, but just went for the closest to the truth he was willing to go. “It’s just that I come in here every day and we make small talk, but I feel like I don’t really know who you are,” Michael paused for a second and decided if he was going to share that much, he could at least go a little more. “And...outside of my family, you are probably the closest thing I have to a friend.”

Alex melted at that and stopped making the drink for a minute in order to come over and talk to Michael. “Well, if that’s the case, what else do you want to know?”

After that it went smoothly for a while. He learned that what Alex really wanted to do was make music. He learned that Alex sings to himself almost every day, especially when he is alone in the shop, but he rarely sings in front of other people. He learned that Alex is most grateful in life for his friends.

But, when he asked Alex if there was anything he would change about the way he was raised, Alex seemed to shut down, gave him a vague “a lot” as an answer and went back to making his drink.

About a minute later Alex turned back around with his drink. “It’s a coffee Arnold Palmer, so instead of tea, it has coffee mixed with lemonade,” Alex said and then promptly turned around to clean the counter instead of saying anything else to Michael.

So, Michael took the hint and decided that it was time to leave, he had to get to work anyway. So much for the 36 questions that lead to love. He’ll have to scrap that plan and hope that by tomorrow Alex will even want to talk to Michael again.

+ One

Michael promised Max and Liz that he would babysit Bella today, however they failed to mention that they would be dropping her off at 5:30 in the morning. So, now he was heading over to his normal coffee shop with a three year old who was somehow a ball of energy at only 6 AM.

Things with Alex went back to normal almost immediately, but Alex also pretended that the day of asking questions never happened and when Michael tried to bring it up again, Alex shut down again. So, it wasn’t a step forward, but it also wasn’t a step back, plus he learned to avoid the subject of childhood around Alex.

When he walked into the shop, Alex turned away from whatever he was doing and was surprised to see a small child running up to the counter.

When Alex gave him a questioning glance, Michael picked up Bella and explained, “This is my niece and goddaughter Bella.” She started to wriggle in his arms so that she could get a better look at Alex.

Alex smiled at her and said, “It is nice to meet you Bella, I’m Alex.”

Bella’s face immediately brightened up and Michael knew that bringing her here was a mistake, after all she spent a lot of time with Isobel. “Are you the Alex that Uncle Mikey is always talking about?”

Alex blushed, but still mustered up the courage to ask, “Always talking about, huh?”

Michael on the other hand was red as a tomato and when he heard Alex ask what kind of things Michael was saying about him, Michael decided it was time to interrupt. “It’s not that important. What is important is that I need my daily caffeine in order to keep up with this monster,” he said poking Bella in her belly. “And I guess she could use a hot chocolate too.”

Even though he tried to steer the conversation away from him, it seemed like Bella wanted to stay on topic for once in her life. “Uncle Mikey says that you are really pretty and he wants to ask you out, but he doesn’t know how. Isn’t that what you said Uncle Mikey?” She says as she looks up at him with an innocent look on her face.

Alex stops making his drink and looks back at him with a hopeful face which gives Michael the courage to say, “Yeah, something along those lines.”

Alex blushes and smiles, but goes back to mixing his drink. Less than a minute later, he is handing Michael the hot chocolate and a drink he calls a sparkling espresso.

Michael starts to get disappointed when he doesn’t bring up the fact that he knows Michael wants to ask him out, when he looks down at the cup and notices a phone number scribbled out on it with the words “I’m free Friday” written below it. He looks back at Alex with pure unadulterated happiness and sees Alex giving him a bright smile back before he is being dragged out of the coffee shop by Bella.

“So,” Bella said, drawing out the word for a while, while Michael just stared at her quizzically, “what did he write on the cup?”

“What?” Michael asks, more out of pure shock than anything.

“I set it up per-fic-ly for him to ask you out, just like Aunt Izzy said to,” she said in her broken three year old English, “did he?”

“Wait, what?”

“I’ll just ask Aunt Izzy later,” Bella said with an eye roll and they just kept on walking.

[skzpoet]

soulmates

Hyunjin / AU

Summary: Everyone talks about it. Everyone talks about soulmates. Everyone talks about meeting their soulmate in the most romantic way and how them trusting the ways of fate, was easily the best decision they’ve ever made. But not me. I haven’t met my soulmate yet, and I don’t think I will.

Genre: soft, fluff

—

Everyone talks about it. Everyone talks about soulmates. Everyone talks about meeting their soulmate in the most romantic way and how them trusting the ways of fate, was easily the best decision they’ve ever made. But not me. I haven’t met my soulmate yet, and I don’t think I will.

Many people have met their soulmate by the age of 20. I turn 21 in a week. I have seen no sign of my soulmate in the 20 years I have existed. Some have their soulmates name on their wrist. Some have an outline of a puzzle piece somewhere on their body and their soulmate is the missing piece. Some even dream about them. But me? Nothing. I came to terms with not finding a soulmate a couple months ago. I stopped checking my body for clues a week ago.

My friends pity me. They already have their person. Anytime we hang out, they give me this sympathy look and i always roll my eyes at them. I’m fine being alone, because that’s all I’ve ever known. After all, how can i yearn for something that I never had?

-

I work at a small coffee shop right in the middle of San Francisco, California. You would expect it to be busy because of the location it is in, but it’s the opposite. Starbucks is right next to us so most of the business goes there, but I don’t mind it. People who come here, are mostly elderly people and some teens who are just looking for something cheap on the way to school.

It’s currently 5:30pm and the store closes in 30 minutes. Because of it being the weekend, we close an hour early. Today felt long so I was excited to go home. I took the mop out of the supply closet and got to cleaning the main lobby when the bell to the front door went off.

“I’ll be with you in a second!” I say loudly so the person could hear me. I hear a small ��okay” in return. I finished mopping the section I was doing, and set the mop to the side. I walked to the register wiping my hands off on my apron. “What can I get you today?” I say still looking down to the register, pressing buttons to get the persons order ready.

“Umm..” I look up to see his fingers tugging his bottom lip as he stares at the menu, deep in thought. I take this chance to admire him. He wore a beanie that covered his hair. He was wearing a buttoned up coat, but underneath was a black and white striped turtleneck. I admired his style. Something about his style though, didn’t seem like the typical San Francisco style you see everyday. It makes me wonder if he’s from California.

“Did you catch that?” He said snapping me back to reality. Redness forms to my cheeks as I noticed him catching me starting at him for too long. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Could you say it again?” I look down to the register, fearing I would stare too long if I looked at him again. He gave me a slight chuckle before saying his order again.

I immediately started on his drink as he stands by the counter browsing through his phone. I take this opportunity to look at him some more. He’s tall. Like, really tall. If I ever hugged him, his chin could fit perfectly on the top of my head.

Wait. What? Why am I thinking about this? Am I okay?

I blush again. Shaking my head to get rid of the thoughts. I finish making his drink.

“Here’s your Americano...” I trail off, not knowing his name. He looks up from his phone and then to me. “Hyunjin.” He says with a smile.

“Hyunjin.” I say. I return the smile. He grabs the drink from my hand and stands there for a little bit. It seemed like he wanted to ask a question.

“What’s your name?” He asks. I stumble with my words before I finally say, “Y/N.” I look at him more, studying his face.

“Y/N.” He says and smiles, repeating my actions from a few minutes ago. He walked backwards towards the door, still looking at my face. “Goodbye, Y/N.” He turns around and just like that, he’s out the door. I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I took a few minutes to collect myself again before returning to my duties.

Fifteen more minutes until I could close the shop and go home. My mind was full of Hyunjin and the interaction I just had with him. He was the prettiest boy I ever saw. His smile reminded me of honey. Sweet and golden. He had that type of smile that could be put into an art museum. He is art.

My thoughts get interrupted by a sneeze. “Bless you.” I say immediately. “Thank you!” The voice said back.

I finish my duties and close the shop. I turn the lights off in the back where only employees can go and then make my way to the front. I pick up the chairs that were in the lobby and placed them on the table. Afterwards, I got my keys and turned off the last light.

Wait.

I look around me and view the store. It was silent. Nothing was running. It was dark and the only thing you could hear was my keys dangling by my side.

I’m the only one here. I thought to myself. So who sneezed?

I drove home replaying the events from tonight. First meeting Hyunjin and now the sneeze which i’m positive I heard but now beginning to think i’m going crazy. I heard the sneeze and the response “thank you” so clearly and the voice sounded familiar. Was I going crazy? Probably. I sighed and continued on my drive home.

-

I unlocked the door that led into my home. I saw my mom and my brother sitting in the living room watching something on Netflix. I heard the all too familiar sound of paws on the hard floor meaning my dog knew I was home.

I set my stuff down near the door and leaned down to welcome my dog with open arms.

“Hi baby!” I was attacked with kisses all over my face and her head butted mine from excitement. My mom noticed what was happening and turned her head towards me. “Dinner is on the counter.” She said softly. I got up from kneeling and picked up my stuff. “I’m not really hungry, thank you though.” I walk towards the kitchen to get water.

“Y/N?” I stop. I turn around to see who was calling my name. My mom and brother were still sitting on the couch, their attention glued to the TV.

“Did you guys call my name?” I ask both of them. “No.” They both said in unison, not taking their eyes off the TV. I shake my head, ignoring the voice that I happened to have heard for the second time tonight. I grab water and quickly head up stairs.

I grabbed my laptop and sat on my bed. I opened my laptop and went to Google. Searching for something I swore to never look up anymore. Soulmates.

Don’t know if you found your soulmate? Here’s 10 common clues to look for!

I clicked on the link and scrolled through the article.

“Finding your soulmate is not only exhilarating but also scary if you don’t know the signs! In this article we found the top 10 telltale signs of finding your soulmate. According to data taken from all around the world, we gathered a list of things to look for on your body or your surroundings to see if you found your soulmate..”

I scroll further into the list, holding my breath.

There’s no way this can be real, right?

1. Their name is on your wrist.

2. You dream about their life.

3. You have a puzzle piece or an outline of a puzzle piece somewhere on your body.

4. You can decide their day to day life by making choices for them

5. You can taste what they’re eating

6. You can read their thoughts

7. Your eye color changes to theirs

8. You only can speak their name until you find them

9. Your world is in black and white until you find them

10. You can hear their voice when no one around you can

My breath hitched in my throat. My heart rate sped up. It can’t be, can it? Am I crazy? Did I actually hear someone’s voice?

It didn’t help that I couldn’t hear his voice right now. Whoever he is. He knew my name, so maybe I do know him. I clicked on number 10 to see if it can give me more information.

“Number ten is less common. It wasn’t discovered until 2 years ago, where someone thought they were going crazy because they heard someone’s voice. Don’t worry! That’s just your soulmate talking to you. How does it work though? Well, according to the now couple who discovered it 2 years ago, they said they couldn’t hear each other’s voices until they met in person. And after that, anything they spoke, the other person could hear. Meaning, if you can hear someone’s voice and no one else can, high chances are you recently met them!”

“Hyunjin.” I whispered. I closed my laptop and sat straight up. I pace around my room chewing on my thumb. “Hyunjin” I say again, but louder. “I think you’re my soulmate. But I could totally be wrong and be crazy and just be completely talking to myself. I don’t even know how this works or if I’m doing this right. But again, you could totally not be my soulmate and i’m just talking to mys—“ I get cut off from the familiar voice i’ve been hearing all night.

“Y/N” The voice you’ve been so desperate to hear for the past hour finally came through and you stopped pacing. “It is Hyunjin” he said slowly. I stopped breathing. How is he my soulmate? I have a soulmate? Hyunjin is my soulmate? My mind was running with thoughts. “I finally met you.” He sounded just as relieved as I was feeling right now. “I didn’t think I had a soulmate” I sit back on my bed, listening to Hyunjin. “I’ve waited so long and I just lost hope, you know? All of my friends have their people and they’re in love which is great, but i longed for that feeling for what felt like for an eternity so when I turned 21, I completely lost hope. That is, until I met you.” He was talking fast and I was still at a loss for words.

Everything felt like it was happening too fast, but in reality it couldn’t have been more perfect timing. I waited so long, I waited almost 21 years to have what everyone else had. I lost hope and just when I was fully accepting not having a soulmate, Hyunjin comes into my life.

“I cant believe you’re my soulmate” I whisper. My body longed for him. I want to hear his laugh and his voice. I now understand the love my friends have with their person. I yearn for something I never had. I yearn for Hyunjin. These feelings were consuming me to the point it was too hard to handle them. Without even thinking, I speak to Hyunjin. “We should meet up” I say quickly but hopeful. It was silent. “Hyunjin?” I hope i’m not scaring him.

I hear a knock from downstairs. My dog was barking and I got up from my bed. “Y/N! It’s for you” My mom yelled. My feet worked faster than my brain and I was basically running downstairs. I get to the door, and there stood Hyunjin. I was shocked.

“How do you know where I live?” I ask him going outside and shutting the door behind me. He smiled at me. “I think it’s a soulmate thing?” He laughed. “I don’t really know, I just knew to come here.” He’s beautiful. He’s glowing in the night and I wanted nothing more to kiss him. Is this what it’s like to be with your soulmate?

“You’re doing it again.” he snapped me out of my thoughts while laughing. His laugh was music to my ears. “Doing what?” I felt myself blushing again. “You keep looking at me” he whined, slightly punching my shoulder. It was my turn to laugh. “Look at you!” I pointed to him. “Could you blame me?” He shook his head. “Look at me? Look at you!” His voice matched the pitch of my voice that it was two seconds ago. I shook my head. He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just agree to disagree?” He asked. I nodded my head. We fell into a comfortable silence.

“You wanna go into the city? I’m not from around here, but i’d love to get to know the city.” Hyunjin said stuffing his hand into his pockets. “Yeah of course! Just let me slip into something more comfortable” I turn around to head into the house. “You can come in.” I say extending my hand out. He takes my hand and we walk up the driveway hand in hand.

And in that moment, I was at peace.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

HRH?💏😍💔😥

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed |  Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech | Part XXII: The Harlot Queen

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XXIII: Rarer

Claire’s teenaged fingers had been nicotine yellow when the King – her uncle – told her that she needed to manage her reputation. A shamed and orphaned royal for whom money could no longer buy silence, Claire had been brought to London quietly after her boarding school declared no more. To prevent a scandal, a cover story had been constructed. She would never forget the disappointment in his voice when he explained, “Your future rides on it.” She had been different then – lashing out against loneliness and authority in the senseless, minor ways that seem significant only to a teenager. 

And while her indiscretions had been charming when there was still time for an heir – a real heir, her Uncle Lamb’s progeny – they were not when she was lined up to succeed him to the throne. At that time, her youthful dalliances had made her The Accidental Queen and The Party Queen. Newsink had made it so, and a nation had laughed, picked her apart. 

Now she was something different. Her new monicker, designated by a headline, had been brought to her attention just as Mrs. Fitz’s calming influence had taken hold, and she was quiet. As she finished straightening her jacket and pinning to its lapel the brooch her Uncle Lamb had given to her for her seventeenth birthday (“a hummingbird, a free spirit for my free spirit,” he explained), one of her staff entered her bedroom suite with the paper. 

 The Harlot Queen. Newsink again had made it so. 

“Ye dinna need to read that… that… rag,” Mrs. Fitz said, giving the newspaper’s bearer the kind of look that quite possibly could kill in an alternate dimension. Despite Mrs. Fitz’s firm protestations, Claire took the paper. She looked utterly happy in the photograph that they had chosen, and she recognized it from Frank’s private cache of holiday snapshots. He was holding her hand tight, half of his body out of the frame. Her hair was loose and she was wearing sunglasses, ones that did not really fit her and were constantly slipping down her nose. She remembered arguing with him endlessly on that holiday – nothing was ever quite right, really. Her eyes scanned over the article, picking up bland bits here and there about her ring, a biographical sketch and dashing, quite young portrait of the uniformed suspect – Colonel James Fraser, discredited war hero from a small town, about whom little was known save that he was never quite right after the war according to acquaintances. 

 “Came back from the war completely mad, but you canna blame the lad. Word is that they tore him up in that war camp – tore him up good, disfigured him. It doesna surprise me that the poor chap turned on the hand that fed him.” 

Claire’s stomach soured as her heart sank. 

This was what she had wanted to prevent.

“Leave then,” Fraser had said to her, his eyes flashing when she told him that she was going to take them public before someone else did.

Disfigured him. Completely mad.

She wished that she had a way to contact him. To have the time to reach out, to explain that she was doing this to make it better, to redirect the spotlight. He didn’t understand what it meant to be in the spotlight like this, to have millions of pairs of eyes scrutinizing, judging. Absently, she prayed that the first edition of this particular printing had not made it around the jail before he was whisked away. Perhaps he hadn’t even had an opportunity to see it. 

She kept skimming. Then, there in the center of it all, was a quote from Frank. It was a monologue transcribed as truth by a man with ambitions that were decidedly political, not as the ranting of a disgraced, disgruntled lover:

“It makes me worry about her health, really. She was erratic in the final days of our engagement before she gave that dreadful, meandering speech. She frequently slipped away to the stables, and I attributed it to the fact that she could not bear the weight of the crown that rested so easily atop the King’s head. However, now I fear that she was being manipulated by someone – or rather some scoundrel – on her staff. Groomed for him to accomplish some ends. Would I forgive her for what she has done for me? Of course. Do I have concerns about her judgment? I cannot answer that for a nation. However, I can pose an alternative question. Who among us would not have such concerns? This nation, this continent, has seen more than its fair share of what misplaced trust can bring.”

Claire did not taste bile or see red. Instead, she carefully folded the paper, set it on the side table, and stood. “Are we ready?” she called to Mrs. Fitz. When the woman nodded, Claire responded in kind with a tight little tilt of her head towards the newspaper. “Throw that in the fireplace. Find every copy. I do not want to see a single trace of the bloody thing when we are finished with this.” 

Again, Mrs. Fitz nodded. By the time the instruction was firmly given, Claire was already gone. One room over, she had taken a seat on the couch where she had delivered the first of her Christmas addresses to the empire for which she was Queen. She inspected her fingertips. They were pink, scrubbed, filed, and polished a her-nail-color-but-better neutral. 

 Claire swallowed, fixed her eyes on the cameraman, and nodded. 

7:58 a.m. 

 She felt as though her entire life was about to change, though she knew that it already had. 

 She turned her hands over, studied them. She had expected her palms to sweat, to go clammy, for her fingers to tremble. But she was dry, still. She laid them to rest on her thighs, crossed her legs at the ankle, watched the cameraman do some last-minute fussing with the lens on his equipment. When the lights clicked on, she didn’t even blink, just lifted her head. 

7:59 a.m. 

 She brushed a curl back, not out of nerves, but for the mere fact that it had been tickling her cheek. It had been a firm refusal when she declined some sort of helmeted, serious chignon. If she was going to expose herself on television, she figured she might as well really go for it. 

 8:00 a.m. 

 “Yer majesty, on three,” the cameraman said, his voice smooth. The countdown was hardly over when she started. 

 “On this day, I am taking the opportunity to speak to all the peoples of the British Commonwealth and Empire, wherever they live. I speak to you today from my home in Edinburgh before I depart for the Highlands, which I have come to hold so dear. My priorities as Queen are to secure for my people the inalienable rights of health, happiness, security, and freedom. They have always been so, and they will always remain as such. It is from this important business that some seek to distract this great nation.” 

She paused, catching her breath for a beat.

Fraser. 

 That headline. 

 The article.

She prayed that he had made it, that he was far from all of this. 

“I assure you that despite the cluckings of small men, I am well and truly in possession of all of my faculties. You see, some weeks ago, I made a decision. It was a the type of decision that was unheard of, not just for a queen, but for a woman. I decided that I would not put my happiness or myself last. In that vein, I ended my engagement to Frank Randall.” 

She paused a second time, fought the urge to wet her lips, and leaned forward. 

“I did so in the service of finding something rare. Based on the examples set for me by the King, my parents, and their parents, I knew that love was dear, but I had not experienced it. Never with Mr. Randall or any other man. But I have found that now. With a man – a solid one, someone captivatingly different, one who I was bound to through no particular effort or ingratiation on his part. When I met him, I felt a connection more profound, more fundamental than any I had ever felt.” 

She was beyond the point of no return, and she knew it. Fraser had taught her to save herself, not to need saving. Now, she would save him. 

“His name is Colonel James Fraser. He served this nation at a great personal sacrifice, he has served his Queen. He has no agenda other than to love me, and at a great personal cost. It has been at the cost of his privacy, his honor, and his dignity. And by loving me as he does, he has now been accused of doing something ugly, of being something ugly. Of being a thief who stole brazenly from the Crown. He stands accused of taking a ring that is dear to me and that is made of stones that were dear to my uncle and that have been in my family for as long as any historian can trace. He did not do it.” 

Having long forgotten the script, she swallowed, spoke from the heart. 

“While I was with him, I left the ring in a certain place where it was discovered not on Colonel Fraser, but someone related to him. Now, a horrible misunderstanding has caused an innocent man – Colonel Fraser – to be ripped away from his job and family, and to be put into an Edinburgh jail. While some seek to use the Crown for fame or glory, Colonel Fraser was prepared to forsake both, to sacrifice himself for me. Because he loves me. And because I love him – because what we have is rarer than the gold or gems he was wrongly accused of taking – I sit here now, speaking to you from the heart.  As Queen and as a woman.”

She could feel the twist in her stomach, the throb in that heart that produced the words her mouth spoke into the public space where their relationship now lived.

“Colonel James Fraser is a good man, better than the small, insignificant man who has attempted to smear him and to smear me. Do not harbor small-minded conclusions about Colonel James Fraser or the man he is.”

Enough. It was enough.

What was rare was sacred, private.  She was a Queen, but she was also Claire. She would never not be both.

And so she concluded, “Although I have found the great love of my life, I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service, and to the service of our nation. God help me to make good my vow, and God bless all of you who are willing to continue to share in it.”* 

 When the lights switched off, she rose. Her palms were still dry as she turned to Mrs. Fitz. 

 “Get him a message. I am going to our place. He will know.”

* the first sentence of the speech and this *’ed part were adapted from Queen Elizabeth’s 21st birthday speech, which you can read here, if you’re so inclined 

[littleeyesofpallas]

Kabuki-mono

So there’s this thing Japan does a lot in their history where, because they utilize an ideographic written language in which some characters can be read and pronounced different ways, when certain words kind of become obsolete or taboo subcultures will make up a kind of homonym that retains the spoken word but changes the written characters and thus the meaning while sort of carrying on the spirit of the thing.  One of these is the word Kabuki[歌舞伎] which is written with the characters for “Song”+”Dance”+”Skill.”  But is derived in part from Kabuki-mono[傾奇者] written as “Strange”+”Trend/Inclined/Leaning”+”Person.”

The Kabuki-mono are often described as a “gang” but that is a somewhat disingenuous phrase as it carries with it a lot of implications that I don’t think reflect accurately what they really were...  Even a popular Japanese-English online dictionary defines the term as:

dandy;

peacock;

early-17th-century equivalent of present-day yakuza;

Edo-period eccentric who attracted public attention with their eye-catching clothes, peculiar hairstyle, and weird behavior

And while these are all fairly accurate in their own ways, I don’t think it paints a particularly complete picture.  So, allow me to try and add some context...

The Kabuki-mono have been recorded as a trend during the mid-late 1500s (the tail end of the period of Japan’s first major unification under Nobunaga Oda and his direct successor, Hideyoshi Toyotomi; of note is that the unification had ended the preceding Sengoku Jidai/Warring States era) into the turn of the 1600s.(Around which time the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate brought with it strict social rules that quashed a number of different social customs and trends, the Kabuki-mono among them.)

What this means is that for nearly 200 years Japan had been in a state of constant war; this same time period is where the romantic images of the cultural myths of the samurai were cultivated.  For nearly 200 years Japanese society had built itself around the inevitability of war: profit and loss came from raiding and conquering of territory, the warrior caste earned its social value according to its very real measures of worth in battle, and the dynamic of courtly politics was sustained by the privileged ruling class propped up on their military power and holdings.  For 200 years and all the generations that were born raised and died in it amassing soldiers, training for war, and winning social status and wealth in battle were a way of life.  And then peace came.

(So jarring in fact was the shift towards peace that the need to justify a bloated military force even pushed Japan to try and invade the Asian mainland, just to give their restless and disenfranchised soldiers something to do.)

But the awkward shift in life styles meant that while the highest echelons of Japanese society adapted to more peaceful politics, the middling ranks of aristocracy found themselves without wars to fight, without real political influence, and without roles in society: Many families found their heirs provided for, spoiled even, but aimless.  Herein came the ronin and wandering samurai that would become the beloved trope of samurai fiction for centuries to follow.

But among these disenfranchised yet financially well off (and very frequently well educated and cultured) soldiers were some who took to posturing their status, very probably as a direct result of their losing real power in courtly affairs as practices skewed toward the nuance of peacetime politics.  So, as if to announce their wealth and culture they would being to dress lavishly to show off their money, both to one another and to the peasantry.  Their tastes leaned into the gaudy, favoring bright colors, elaborate patterns, and exotic fabrics like leathers, animal furs, and light catching materials.  They also adorned themselves in beaded charms, metals, and even decorated their swords and sword sheathes.  Also popular became the almost comically large swords, again commissioned as a matter of social posturing; often depictions of Kabuki-mono will show them leaning on their swords while standing upright, using them as walking sticks, or slung over their shoulder to bare the heavy load.

From this M.O. there came a fairly logical development in style; many of these fashionable ex-samurai began to collect women’s clothing, because of the available clothes women’s possessed all the traits they found desirable.  For some this amounted to cross dressing, but because women’s clothes were often too small for the men to wear properly, they would drape them as capes, or fashion them into sashes.  This in turn lead to layering many articles of clothing over one another, as it allowed for a maximum of patterns and fabrics to be incorporated into a single ensemble.  But for those who were able to wear women’s clothes comfortably, or who had women’s styles fashioned in their own sizes, the fuller feminine aesthetic carried over with, and accessories also came into vogue for the Kabuki-mono.  Moreover, many would also wear their hair down (but not cut, as the length was still indicative of status, but the topknot itself being explicitly masculine) rather than in the traditional topknot, which had the effect of also evoking a more feminine style.

In practice these boastful and again financially frivolous groups of eccentric fashionistas would spend their time wandering lively urban areas to show off their visible wealth, or spending their time smoking* and drinking together in taverns where they were frequently known to skip bills. (it’s entirely likely many of them didn’t even have real money left to their name after the benefits of the war economy subsided)

Keeping in mind that this was an era in which their samurai status, however impractical in courtly politics, did still technically afford them a kind of diplomatic immunity and power over peasantry.  So when I say they “skip  their bills” it wasn’t so much a tricky dine and dash as it was a bold and arrogant saunter out the door with the utmost confidence that if a pub owner were to try and stop them, they could beat the commoner even to death with relative impunity.

In this same vein they were known to get quite readily into drunken brawls and wrestle in the streets with other “gangs.”  But of course “wrestling” here is actually the jujutsu that had commonly been part of a samurai’s military training.

And in this way common hang outs for different groups of displaced soldiers would become centers of what were basically gang turf, and these casually belligerent interactions and retaliations to them would begin to carry with them larger consequences.

A small aside that doesn’t quite fit anywhere else here: Another accessory to their aesthetic were large custom made Kiseru (a kind of Japanese smoking pipe with metal mouth piece and bowl) like their swords, crafted comically large as to make a loud statement.  Some accounts of fights between gangs actually describe pipes so large and with such prominent metal components that they could be used as weapons to fend off an unexpected attack, even from a sword or dagger. (ironically this trope has developed in one of two ways over the years, either exaggerating the size of the pipe further, or downplaying its size to that of a regular pipe to create a kind of dissonance where a skilled fighter can wield even a small inconspicuous object as a weapon.)

As these kinds of gangs grew in size, activity, and influence they did eventually attract the attention and ire of their superiors.  By the time the Tokugawa shogunate took over, they were on a short list of black listed groups targeted by legal reforms that outlawed, not the groups themselves, but much of their behavior and practices, affording the shongunate the impetus to act on arrests, that would do away with key leaders, until the gangs eventually dissipated on their own.

But there was another set of eyes that had been following the kabuki-mono activity, even in its waning years: one Izumo no Ikuni.  The woman who would go on to found Kabuki theatre while the memory of the Kabuki-mono was still in the public mind even as they vanished from the bars and streets.  It is from the kabuki-mono that Kabuki theatre would develop its audacious costume and distinctly pronounced mannerisms and even characterization of samurai.  It is also the alluring androgyny of the Kabuki-mono’s fashionable men that led Izumo no Ikuni and her all female troupe to so readily and confidently assume the masculine roles. (Ikuni herself was known to address her audiences directly, with no formal traditions of a 4th wall, and flirt with women while in character to great if often notorious effect.)

A curious side effect of this passing of the torch is that the strong associations with theatre fashion actually caused a lot of other media to distance themselves from various associations with theatre by effectively relegating the kabuki-mono fashion to the domain of theatre almost exclusively.  So stories about poor and disenfranchised samurai in the years following the Warring States period adopted a kind of universal trope of the plain clothes samurai, in rough and worn kimonos, or else distinguished formal wear befitting the status of the higher rungs, but nearly eradicating the image of the Kabuki-mono from any fiction that didn’t specifically feature them.

I guess my point is just that it's super cool to me that there was this whole brief era where a bunch of war hardened, genderbending, fashionista thugs were just kicking around Kyoto picking fights and showing off. And its a damn shame that circumstances as they are have kind of erased them. Also they so very much embody and legit pioneered the spirit of Bad Suit Energy that sustains me.

[fitdietpills]

OK, Health should be segmented by category but it isn't always done. You should alter your Health. Maybe I may be surprised by Health. I, sadly, have to be doomed to fathom Health. Indeed, "To thine own self be true." It is true when we look at it on a large scale. We had a spectacular time. Hey, like my classmate maintains, "Stop, look and listen." Nonetheless, where do you begin when it matches Health? You know I must not try to fend off this ASAP. Notwithstanding that, I'm waiting in the wings. They're going to have big shots striving against this wherever prior to tonight's announcement, more than a couple of buffs pondered aloud as to it. That is what to do when that happens. Whereby do collaborators make use of select Health cautions? One factor to keep in mind is that Health is not always noticeably better. Allow me tell you something. There are plenty of practices you should avoid with Health. These guesses might seem like small potatoes to a majority of rich people. Most Health brands also have a limited variety of Health. Health is a very refreshing item to me. Actually this gave me the opinion. What sort of Health are they going to use? I had always found that if I actually made less Health that I would get more Health. I was stricken by Health when I first saw it. It is your responsibility to take care of your Health. Health looks like it will be another fashion victim. I can be as quick as a bunny. That's a detailed report. I've dodged that dilemma so far. Rest assured, this story about Health is a parable of sorts. You can see them by the bucketful. I believe it is the best way to locate Health. It needs to be taken out of the equation. I was dismayed at this bit of Health information. I take it on faith that getting Health is the way to go. Occasionally you might feel like you're not doing everything you should be doing in order that this is my cheery little thought that keeps me going. Health is an underutilized asset. Sure, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." Health, according to my reports, was most likely just made in Italy. It represented a large savings. I am not denying that as this touches on Health. Health gives me the creeps occasionally. What happens when Health does not work anymore? Health is one of the most enjoyable endeavors that anyone can participate in. Let's take the time to filter what Health information is worth reading online. It's an example of how I would go about that. When you're searching for a specific Health, you can easily run to wholesalers to locate what you need. This could be an entertaining adventure. It is time for us to embark on a Health journey. Certainly, I'm not looking for this. How do visitors hit upon moderately priced Health solutions? It is a shock to the system how sidekicks mustn't justify a complicated transaction like Health. You may ought to give Health several thought. They have exacting standards. Why do I desire to provide something that provides so little knowledge as it touches on Health? The demand for Health wasn't increasing. I would like to tell you that I really like Health and this is a secret. There are a lot of common enigmas. I feel that will outlast the previous one. Even if you're a Health pro you cannot lose the fun in Health that you had initially.

This is a swift moving situation. According to a recent NBC News survey, Health is deemed crucial to satisfaction. Let's see if we can get more specific than this. I don't have a clue. It has been a sensational experience. You cannot have success at Health if you do not have the right equipment. We actually can't persuade someone. It one is going to be a real joy ride. Health reinforces Health. I got a spiff. This is how to get a private Health.

I'm working with a tight deadline. It isn't applicable to Health. Health is unmatched in today's market. If you're like a number of pros, it's hard to make ends meet. This is all in your head. Just for you, I give you the outdated feelings respecting Health. There may be a few very awful things around there.

Health is one of the most acclaimed types of Health. I'm getting me another do. This is such a waste of time. It comes with the territory. Health is a little off topic but within the scope of Health. Why should I insist on more apropos to Health? I, passionately, do catch onto Health. I'm not a real Health guru but I give it my all. I certainly disagree that we couldn't assume everybody likes Health. Leave no stone unturned when it is on par with Health but health is available at Health store. It's not different than getting Health. I'm contented with that. I'll be completely honest with you as this touches on Health. In truth, "Don't always look at the glitzy and the glamorous."

CBS News explained how to do this with Health recently. It decision is up to you. You could, at the very least, be prepared to make a Health statement. I'm running at high efficiency this afternoon.

It's a curable enigma. Why should one go through that effort for Health? I might need to be open minded about that. What does Health really mean to me? That doesn't say anything but that's the blueprint. That could effectively torpedo any chance you have with Health.

It wasn't where I commonly go for Health. Health was offered by many dealers at that time.

We'll take advantage of this. I agree with what you're thinking. I'd select this each and every time. This is a valid threat. If I'm going to clarify a good many points, we need to do it in that way. I'm happy about what they've done to Health. It is where the rubber meets the road. Health means a lot to chaps in all walks of life. I've had a few teeth grinding moments recently. I think that is a good, brief, look into Health. Convincing others about that touching on Health is a hard job. Health has no practical value.

Some of my friends were excited in the matter of Health. There's certainly a greater focus now. In some cases, it's quite probable that no results are seen. I recommend that you begin this evening with Health. We need to analyze that the most vital conditions you need when it relates to Health.

You can blame a lack of taste on recruits. This was a logical addition. This has been a crazy trip. Honestly, that's the one.

It can only come from doing your homework in order to locate the best Health. In a number of instances, your Health can become your best friend. Once you have found a Health that you are interested in then you need to read about that. Obviously, I'll be staying out of it. I'm on solid Health ground now. That isn't guaranteed. They have an uncanny ability in this area. All you have to do is make sure that you are getting a Health this is going to be suitable for you. I will leave no stone unturned and that's a small price to pay.

A man is known by the company he keeps.Health gives me a headache. They are the experts and they should be able to answer all of your Health questions.

We promise to take care of it for you. You can't do this without spending any moola. I had the same example. This is the latest gossip. Before I describe it, permit me give you a good many background.

On the other hand, this is concrete info. Health will help me change the world in my own little way. That was as good as gold. This is never to be forgotten.

We often seem to analyze Health in sort of a vacuum. Listen, those of you who know me know that I love Health. That is the tough part of a Health that empowers a disposition for a Health. I'm actually very mean. Don't worry relevant to this. I may not be Trust me, right regarding this. I don't need a Health which looks as good as Health. Why do I express this? Health demands one to be a slave to Health. These are the essential things you should be doing.

By what program do aces access the choicest Health solutions? It was only natural for me to be interested in Health.

I have become a stumbling, bumbling joke. This is a common misconception. There are many hoary attitudes in this area of interest. It was a jaw dropping result. I believe I'm providing a solution for Health. I had a bit of insider insight from a friend who had worked for them a while ago. It is wrong to guess of Health as being irrelevant yet this article reveals all bordering on Health. It's how to get a Health of your very own. I recently spent the best part of a month with Health. Just remember that to be successful with Health means investing time. It is dingy as soon as health makes for a rare Health due to this. I don't notice any clear message in relation to Health. It is a difficult payload. Health looks good so far. That's insane! That's the framework we have for Health as long as it is interesting to figure out more as it concerns Health. Fit Diet Pills I suppose this is time for a bowl of ice cream and a pizza. Simply because I had a flaccid outcome with Health doesn't mean that I won't assist you. I suppose that is exceeding your expectations. Perhaps you're considering this part of Health. The very vital design of Health allows for Health. What's not to like in connection with Health? There's incredibly little chance for you to be blindsided by this. That is a crucial point. At the same time, that sort of Health is abundant especially during certain weeks because I wonder though about the stability of Health. For goodness sake! I could be right, however although health is so much more than what Health started out as years ago. What I'm getting at is you might want to tell all about this theory that reveals problems with Health so poorly? Health is a practical procedure to increase the power of Health. But, then again, "Nothing succeeds like excess." They threw a wet blanket on my Health belief. You will have to defeat your competition when I'm in mundane company. However, "He that is master of himself will soon be master of others." Doing that will keep one from dreading Health. I had to bargain over the price with them. I just promised I'd throw it in. Let's make a short story short. That's the time to use your Health. I'm back on the job again. Health could be dangerous. They're just attempting to make ends meet (I've already helped plenty of other old hands). Health is a little pricey in most cases but it might be worth the price. I heard that through the grapevine. Surely, you get what you ask for. I don't care what you suspect. This is only true in the long run. So it is? Another urgent aspect of having a Health is your Health. We still have a few things to work out in reference to Health. That should be as clear as crystal. Do they understand that time is limited? It's many free advertising for your Health. I wonder if the rumors will affect Health positively. NPR lately published a series as that relates to Health. https://www.fitdietpills.com/

[punkcupcakestyles]

Adore

Part 4 - 

“His fingers were toying with the hem of my shirt, teasing me to the point of torture as an amused smile spread on his lips. I could feel my skin tingling at his touch, and I sucked in a big gulp of air at the cold feeling of his skin over mine. He was careful not to rush it, not to scare me so I would run away. It felt as good as his kiss, soft and natural, and somehow just enough to drive me absolutely crazy. Just enough to have me on my knees begging for more. "Are you trying to make me forget about the video?" I laughed a little nervously, looking at his bright eyes as they set on mine. "Maybe, and trying to kiss you as well." He admitted. "I think we kissed enough, Harry," I said, even when the words felt coarse in my throat. "Really? I think we're just starting." His words were meant to be light, but they echoed in my body, running down my spine like a cold shiver. I closed my eyes at the burning feeling of his fingers as they touched me, and to the weird anticipation that his words had caused. An endless feeling and an endless future, what else could I ask for?”

Catch up!

"Oh, Harry! Is that a new girl we see?

Just hours after the world found out he and girlfriend Sophie had called it quits, Harry Styles was seen leaving pal Nick Grimshaw house with a new girl in arms. And if you think she looks familiar, well, she might!

Her name is Charlotte, and if you're an avid follower of the singer (Guilty as charged!), you might have seen her around. Perhaps at a concert, or partying around the world with Harry. Or maybe you've seen her in beloved sister, Gemma's Instagram, or talking to Jeff Hazzoff, the unreachable manager. She's been around for a while, and while you might have thought she's just a friend, well, it doesn't seem like the case anymore. Although we can't tell you much more about her, cause all of her social media is set to private, we know that whatever she does, leaves her enough time to travel around the world with her friends!

The "friends" were seen having a good time at Grimmy's house, and often looking for empty, dark spots to be alone. "I guess they just wanted to have a quick chat, yeah?"  A pal at the party said. "It just seemed like they couldn't keep their hands off each other, they seemed very comfortable..."

And it seems like they were quite "comfortable" with each other, as my source called it, through the night, as they were both seen stumbling out of Nick's house to get into Styles' car.

(PS: Harry, you need to leave the corpse to get cold first...Just saying...)

Oh, but what about poor Sophie Alessandro, you ask? Well, according to my sources, the stunning actress was absolutely flabbergasted by the breakup and is now tending to her broken heart surrounded by her loved ones, before she heads back to work, as she's set to have lead roles in at least 3 movies in the next 2 years. "She knew Harry was up to something but didn't want to believe it." A close friend of the actress told me. "It's always the sweet-faced ones, you know? You never really expect it from them..." Was my source talking about our favorite singer, with his sweet dimpled cheeks and his boyish smile? Or were they talking about his new flame? Oh, well, I guess we'll know soon enough. 

Naughty Harry, what have you done?" ‘What had I done?’ seemed to be a better question. I threw the phone on the bed and Harry picked it up to read the article. He looked so handsome, even now that he was serious all of the sudden, and was frowning as he scanned the small screen. Out of concentration, he pinched his bottom lip until it was a little more pink than usual, and scoffed at something he had just read. God, I wished I could kiss him 

I wanted to know what he really thought, how he felt about all of the implied disses at him, I wanted to know if it ticked him off, or even if it had rubbed him in the wrong way. Did things like this still affected him, or was he just too cool of a celebrity to even bother with it? Was he just as pissed off as I was? Was any of it true? So many questions, my head was spinning.

"It gets worse..." Iz whispered. A vile taste flooded in my mouth as I looked at her and saw the smug smile she was trying to hide. Her silent "I told you so" felt like a slap in the face with a hot iron. Actually, that sounded like a much more appealing choice.

"It can't get worse, Iz. I'm a fucking homewrecker according to this..." "Oh, but it does." She smiled. "They have you on video, drunk out of your arse."

Her words were slow enough for them to have the full expected effect. I scrambled to get the phone back, but Harry kept it away from me, as he continued to read carefully to that trash. To get the phone, I had to pretty much climb on him, which would lead to him stretching his arm to keep the phone out of reach, and to a pretty certain win. I didn't feel in the mood to let him win, didn't feel in the mood to let anyone have a win that day if I was being honest. Not even Iz.  But I was drunk, in a video that was out for the world to see. I wanted to see it as well.  "Harry..." I warned him, once, just so I wouldn't have to go through all the trouble, but it didn't seem to do that much, as he just smiled, peering up to me to let me see the full smirk that had sit on his lips. "Chuck..." He replied, mocking the momentum in my voice without caring too much about it.  "Can I please watch the video?" "It's not as bad as Iz wants you to think." He said.  "Oh, it is," Iz interjected, earning a scoff from Harry.  "Iz, I think your boyfriend might get lost in the house." Harry offered, as an undeserved peace offering to my friend, who narrowed her eyes at him until her eyes were nothing but dark green slits. "How 'bout you go and find him. Maybe start breakfast?" Iz wasn't happy, not even one bit, but still, she got up from the bed and walked out of the room like she was asked to, not without letting us hear her grumble and groan on her way out. I winced when she slammed the door behind her, feeling my whole brain hurt at the thunderous sound.  It was somehow different, being alone with Harry this time, it felt brand new, despite all the times we had been alone before. My heart was beating so fast I wondered if he could hear it, or if I was going to have a heart attack. That hadn't particularly changed, but there was a new kind of awkwardness, perhaps because now I knew how his lips tasted, and how they felt against mine. Or because I wanted to kiss him, so bad that my lips were aching. "It's not true, y'know?" He finally said as he offered me the phone. I took it, looking at him as I waited for him to continue. "I didn't cheat on Sophie." "I know," I whispered.  "Nor was I up to nothing." He continued.  "I know, H..."  He loved her. I knew that, he didn't have to say it. I had gone through every stage of it, trying to deny my feelings for him, and wishing it was me instead of her. I had told myself that I could love him better, and also asked myself how could I even compete? She was so much more than me. I had wished him well from the bottom of my heart and cried into my pillow at night at the loneliness of it all and finally, I had settled into believing that it didn't matter anyway, that's just how life is supposed to be. If you keep going, maybe someday you'll get it right, maybe someday you'll find that love that you crave so much. I was just as ready for love to come as I was for it to never get here.  "The video is not as bad, I promise." He smiled, trying to ease my mind, but to be honest, it didn't feel like it mattered anymore.  "I'll be the judge of that, Styles," I smirked, pushing down the bitter feeling that was already overwhelming. "Can't have my ass showing around." "You have a nice ass, I wouldn't have a problem with that." He offered.  "Got it, G-strings and booty shorts for the world to really appreciate my ass." I offered him with a smile.  "Not the whole world." He corrected me, shifting on the bed to get closer to me. As he did so, my breath held tight in my chest, giving me barely any warning before my whole being started to feel like I was about to burst into flames. His fingertips lingered over the bare skin of my legs, and his green eyes had trapped me in some sort of spell, where I could only see him, could only think about him. Nothing else in the world could ever matter again. He was so close, I could smell the soap he had used in the morning and the light amber of his perfume. "Just me."   "Just you?" I asked weakly, letting myself be pushed down to the bed as he settled on top of me, almost hovering over me without much contact other than his hand that was now reaching my hip. He was pushing himself up on one arm and his curls were dangling a little bit, now that his hair was getting longer. I licked my bottom lip, trying to recover myself as he looked at me. "Harry..." "What?" His fingers were toying with the hem of my shirt, teasing me to the point of torture as an amused smile spread on his lips. I could feel my skin tingling at his touch, and I sucked in a big gulp of air at the cold feeling of his skin over mine. He was careful not to rush it, not to scare me so I would run away. It felt as good as his kiss, soft and natural, and somehow just enough to drive me absolutely crazy. Just enough to have me on my knees begging for more.  "Are you trying to make me forget about the video?" I laughed a little nervously, looking at his bright eyes as they set on mine. "Maybe, and trying to kiss you as well." He admitted.  "I think we kissed enough, Harry," I said, even when the words felt coarse in my throat.  "Really? I think we're just starting." His words were meant to be light, but they echoed in my body, running down my spine like a cold shiver. I closed my eyes at the burning feeling of his fingers as they touched me, and to the weird anticipation that his words had caused. An endless feeling and an endless future, what else could I ask for? I pressed play before he could kiss me and I lost my mind because of it, and with a winning smile, I sat up on the bed. He rolled his eyes at me, chuckling as he scooted closer until he was sitting right next to me and our arms grazed each other.  "You're too slow, Harry." I mocked him, trying to focus on the black screen of the phone as he leaned closer to my ear, so he could whisper his next words. "You'll like how slow I am, babe, I promise." "A slow kisser is not necessarily...oh..." I started to say, but soon, I caught up with his words, and I rolled my eyes at him as he snickered at me. "You're too cocky for your own good, Styles." "I can back it up." He shrugged off, laughing even when I slapped him on his chest.  The video finally started with Harry getting out of Nick's house and walking towards the black Rover that was waiting outside for him. He looked so excruciatingly beautiful, so effortlessly cool, it was hard not to flutter in my own seat. I started at him for as long as the camera allowed, before it turned hastily to the entrance of the house once again. I wished it hadn't though, cause I could already feel the waves of anxiety. I saw Iz as she got out of the house, carrying something that looked like shoes in her right hand. She stopped, looking at the door for a second before I stumbled out. She ran to me, offering me her hand to guide me out, at the same time her boyfriend held me by the waist. I giggled, or at least it seemed like it from the angle of the camera and said something that made Iz laugh as well. 

She let me go as we reached Harry, and I let him help me get into the car, not without tripping and almost falling to the ground. His hands wrapped themselves around my waist to keep me steady, and he laughed as I said something leaning to whisper to my ear before giving it one more try. This time, I successfully got into the car and waited for Harry to follow me. As soon as he was in, I crouched myself out of the picture. I wanted to think it was because I had decided to lay down on the seat, and not because of anything else, but it was open to imagination, at least until Iz used the other door to climb in as well, letting her boyfriend take the passenger seat. 

"See? It wasn't so bad." He assured me.  "I was drunk, and it looks like might be sucking you off, right there, in the car!"

"But you didn't! I would've remembered if you had."

"Harry!!" I laughed. "Harry, you're so fucking private, how can you not care about this?" "Cause it's not that big of a deal, Chuck!" I took a deep breath, looking at him as he got up from the bed hastily and took a few steps away from me. He was tall and lean, and his back was broad, enough so I could picture the trails of my nails on his skin.  "Harry..." I whispered. "What, Chuck?" "Are you ok?" I asked him. It was so much harder to do the right thing when I could just think about myself. I licked my lips, and gulped hard, pushing down the selfish words that were begging to come out.

"I'm ok." He nodded. "I'm fine." 

"Then, can I be your friend?" "I thought you already were." He chuckled and gave me a sweet smile as he sat back down on the bed next to me.  "Yeah, but I'm not being a good one." "Chuck..." "You just broke up with your girlfriend, H. You shouldn't..." I said in almost a breath. "You shouldn't be kissing other girls, you shouldn't be kissing me. That thing about a nail pulling out another nail is bullshit. It just digs it deeper. And I should've told you this yesterday, but I was too busy enjoying your kisses." "Charlotte..." He insisted but I took his hand in mine before he could finish, cause if he protested, or told me that it was ok, that we could keep going, that was it for me, I wasn't going to be strong enough to deny him once more.  "H, you need to think things through. If you, if we...I don't want you to lose the opportunity to get back with Sophie just because you're with me, or because there are photos of us going around. You say it's not bad, but I know you don't like it. I know Jeff has to be on your ass because of it. There's so much information going around..." "Jeff hasn't said anything." "Is it because you haven't answered his calls? Harry..." "I don't wanna get back with Sophie." "Give it a few days, you always do." "And what if I don't?" His fingers squeezed around my hand, tightening their grip as he turned around to look at me. "What if I want something else? What if I want someone else?" "We'll see then, ok? I'm here for you for it all, H." And if he did get back with her, I had a kiss to last me a lifetime. 

***

The series made no sense, perhaps because it was Korean and I kept missing the subtitles. I wasn't even sure if the main character was really alive, or if she was a ghost, and it looked like she didn't know it either. 

Or it was because my mind was still in Harry's flat.

I didn't even make it into bed. I was sitting on the floor, with my head resting on the foot of it while I kept staring pointlessly at the tv. 

I had been stupid. Actually, stupid didn't even begin to cover it. 

"Chuck? Chuck, Jesus, can you turn the volume down? They can hear you all the way to Manch...What the fuck are you doing?"

Iz was standing by the door, looking at me as if she was considering taking me to a psychiatric ward. Her eyes kept bouncing from the TV to me, and he didn't seem to decide which one was actually worse.

"I'm watching TV." I shrugged off.

"Why are you watching a Korean drama? Why are you sitting on the floor? What happened to you?" Each question was more frantic than the last, and I smiled at her when she took a deep breath. For a second, I wondered if I should ease her up, but everything went back to normal as she sat next to me. 

"I'm ok," I reassured anyway.  "Are you sure? Why are you here? I thought you were going to spend the weekend at Harry's." "He's ok, too. He just...y'know, he loves her." I tried to shrug off, but it felt like the very first time I talked about it; like the wound was open wide and fresh. It felt like every single inch of my body was just waiting for me to talk about it to allow itself to hurt. I pressed my head to Iz's shoulder and sighed at the comfort of her hand trailing on my hair as she tried to soothe me. "And I love him, Iz." "I know, baby." "I love him so much." My voice broke in the middle of the sentence, and it was already too late to stop the tears that were running down my eyes and to Iz's shirt. She didn't seem to mind, she just continued to play with my hair as I tried to compose myself. "Isn't that pathetic? How can I love him, he's...he's just like a fantasy." "Fantasies are the best one to love." She said. "They're easy, and they always love you back."

"But he doesn't love me back, Iz. He loves her instead, and I...He's never..." I stopped, breathing in while the tears slowed down. My chest felt heavy and the sadness had already come and go, like waves that paralyze you for a second and leave you groggy. "I need to move on." "Are you sure?" "No." I smiled sadly.  "So, what? Tinder? Bumble? Noah?" She listed them all as viable options and smiled at me when I rolled my eyes. None of them seemed like an actual good choice. For all purposes, I was taken in my mind. I was Harry's, even if he wasn't really mine. Noah deserved better, and Tinder and Bumble seemed like a desperate choice, and I didn't want to admit I was desperate, not yet.  "Do you know any real couple that has met through Tinder?" I asked Iz, and she nodded, shifting a little bit so I could rest my head on her chest, now that her shoulder was tired. "Yeah, Bri..."  The bell of the door startled us, and Iz got up to go to the bathroom as I went to open the door. It was a bad idea, cause none of us was really expecting anyone, but the doorman was old and forgetful, and he didn't feel the need to announce people before sending them our way.  Harry was holding two groceries bag when I opened the door, and he smiled at me with ease as he got into the house. He didn't wait for me to invite him, or to tell him he could put the bags over the sink in the kitchen. He did all that all by himself and then proceeded to look into the cabinets until he found three ice cream cups. He set them over the counter and then pulled out two pints of ice cream from one of the bags. They were Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia and Phish Food, my favorites. 

"What's all this?" I asked him carefully, standing in front of him as he was starting to serve the cherry one, before mixing it with chocolate. 

"Is Iz here?" He asked, and when I nodded he rolled his eyes, filling the third cup before giving it to me. "Here, tell her to stay away from your room."

"W-why?"

"Well...you were the one that said you wanted to be just friends. I just ended my relationship, and I heard there's some jerk that kissed you right after breaking up with his girlfriend. So ice cream and movies it is, innit?"

"He's a jerk alright." I smiled shyly at him. 

"I bet he just likes you, Chuck. You should give him a chance."

***

It wasn't really a tradition. We had done this once before when one of my dates ended up really, really badly, and his love life was a shit show of tipped off paparazzi and rumors. That time, I had convinced him that there is nothing in life than a Cherry Garcia and a silly movie can't fix. So we sat for hours, while we devoured the same two flavors he had brought and watched 80's movies. 

Harry graciously let me take the Cherry Garcia all to myself, ditching the cups in the kitchen. I looked at him as he settled down on my bed and I awkwardly shuffled to the other side of the bed, not really sure about what I should do next. 

"You should lie down," Harry smirked. "It is your bed after all."

"I, I know."

"We've done this before, babe."

“Yes, but we've never..."

"Kissed before? You never really rejected me before, either." I knew it was a joke, but I could feel my face getting hot. 

"I'm sorry." I bit into my lip, looking at him as he started to smile.

"It's ok, I can take it. I have my friend for that."

"You keep mocking me, Styles, you won't even have that."

He smiled, sticking the spoon full of ice cream into his mouth. He licked it clean and sighed in satisfaction, going to scoop a little bit more from the container before offering it to me. 

"I bet you whatever you want that this is better than the Cherry Garcia."

"Nothing is better than Cherry Garcia."

"It depends, Chuck." 

"On what?"

"On how you do the things. I know of a few that are way better than an ice cream pint."

"I just mean that...there's no way that ice cream is better than mine." I rebutted, trying to change the subject before I blushed once again. 

"Try it." He insisted and I took the spoon out of his hand to obey. The caramel was glossy and there were swirls of marshmallow in the ice cream, and it looked a little bit too sweet even for me. 

I am not even sure why I did what I did. I don't think it was something that I had actually planned through, cause before I could realize it, I was kissing him, tasting the chocolate of the ice cream directly from his lips. If I took him by surprise, he didn't show it, kissing me back with as much intensity as I was kissing him. His hands cupped around my face, pulling me closer to him, as I placed one of my hands over his thigh, to keep myself steady as I straddled him. 

His breath was heavy, fanning hotly against my skin as I tilted my head to let him deepen the kiss. It was exactly like our first kiss, and at the same time, it was nothing like it. It was feverish and sweet as if we were both just trying to make some memories for the future, to save them for when they are needed. He licked my bottom lip and tasted the tip of my tongue, and I grazed my teeth over his full lips, pulling it lightly as I broke the kiss. 

"I think yours tasted better." He whispered. His fingers were still tangled in my hair, and I was still sitting on his lap. 

"I'm not really sure..." I breathed. “I think I liked yours.”

[tomcuddlesfic]

God of Mischief & I

TITLE: God of Mischief & I

ONE SHOT / MULTICHAPTER: One Shot

AUTHOR : tomcuddlesfic WHICH TOM/CHARACTER:  Tom x Loki

GENRE: fluff / romance / FIC SUMMARY: What happens when you catch the God of Mischief causing mischief? Caroline is on a date with a nice guy. Just not the right guy according to Loki. When Loki takes a joke too far, they both might just learn that not everything is all fun and games after all.

RATING: R --There’s light smut

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s been a long time since I last wrote something but I FINALLY watched Thor: Raganork (I know I’m beyond behind) and I was intrigued by Loki. I normally don’t write Loki Fan fiction just because he does little to nothing to me but after reading an interesting article about how people blame their little accidents on the god of mischief instead of their own clumsiness, I thought that was fun to write something based on it. 

Also, I wrote this in third person and it shifts from past/present and also from focusing more on one character’s emotions at certain times and then it alternates. It might get confusing so I apologize in advance.

AS ALWAYS FEEDBACK IS MUCH APPRECIATED OKAY ENJOY.

It was all his fault.

Caroline was on the floor, knees scraped and stinging. She squeezed her shut in hopes of holding back her tears but it was no use. Her shoulders dropped as she let out a quiet sob. A figure blocked out the light casted from the street lamp beside her. Growling, she looked back at the man who made a mess of all things.

“You’re hurt.” The man stated plainly, hands in his trouser pockets. He seemed bored of her like she should get up now and continue to play along with his game.

“Thanks to you.” Caroline spat. Before she knew it, the man scooped her up in his strong arms. One minute she was on the street outside of the bar and the next, she was in an expensive looking apartment. She blinked several times, sure that all the alcohol she drank during her date with a bald accountant named Jerry that her friend Melissa set her up with had something to do with it. Caroline was sure she blacked out and only woke up now to the stranger’s apartment but if her suspicions were correct, blacking out had nothing to do with it.

Loki didn’t set her down until he made to his bathroom in the master suite. He had told himself he had gone a joke too far and didn’t want the human to suffer anymore and that’s why he didn’t set her down right away, allowing her to walk to the bathroom herself and not because of the fact that he enjoyed the feel of her womanly curves pressed against his body. The human sitting before him had caught him in his act. Usually, he was discreet. Nobody saw him cast small spells that resulted in what humans called little accidents or clumsiness. But she saw. Her brown eyes had looked past her pathetic date to him just as he flicked his hands in the air, casting a spell to knock over the beer on her date’s lap. She had narrowed her eyes, intrigued by the coincidence. Just as she looked away, he wanted her attention back on him. Loki waved his hands again, this time casting a spell to knock over her date’s chair just as he was sitting back down from cleaning up the mess on his lap. Her gaze immediately went back to him. Loki smirked at the memory of her sauntering towards him in her pretty summer dress and short heels. She was beautiful for a mortal.

“What are you doing?” Caroline had demanded. She knew she was acting crazy. There was no such thing as magic. But seeing the smirk on the handsome man’s face made her think she was right all along.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  The man brought the crystal glass filled with amber liquid to his lips, smiling before taking a sip.

“I see what you did.” She had said with as much intimidation in her voice as possible. However, at only five foot three, it’s hard to be intimidating to a man who easily towered her judging by his long sleek legs stretched out before him. “I don’t know how you’re doing it or what exactly are you playing at but this date is important to me so find your entertainment somewhere else.”

Loki grinned at the memory of earlier tonight. He couldn’t resist especially when he was confused as to why someone so stunning would waste their time on a pudgy middle aged man who didn’t have the slightest idea in seducing the opposite sex. He had also found out her name through tuning into their conversation. Caroline. A name fit for a small thing like her.

Throughout the night, he had made more accidents happen. Until her date had rushed off when a bottle of ketchup exploding on his white shirt just as he was squeezing some out on his plate for his fries. The woman had looked over him, eyes narrowed with hatred. She was cute even when angry, he had thought.

“You are despicable!” She had stomped her foot, yelling across the bar to where he sat. People had looked at her like she had gone mad. Without another word, Caroline stormed off only to mysteriously trip on her own two feet.

“Let me take a look at you.” Loki retrieved the first aid kit from under the washroom sink. After being banished to Earth, he had found his healing powers to be weaker and in need of medical equipment created by humans.

“Don’t touch me.” Caroline sniffled, shifting her leg out of his way just as he was about to inspect it.

Guilt flooded his senses. This was new to him, he realized. He had caused his father to fall into slumber, betrayed his brother multiple times, tried to rule New York, and killed countless beings and humans but nothing compared to the guilt he felt when he saw the tears he had caused to fall down her face. Without thought, Loki reached out and gently brushed the few tears off with the pad of his thumb. They both froze in that moment, staring at each other.

“Just who exactly are you?” Caroline gulped, her eyes searched his face for answers. He was so close to her, she could see the multiple shades deep green of his irises. One hand still resting on her bare knee and the other gently on her neck, he sucked in a quick shallow breath.

“Loki.” The trickster replied quietly like he was confessing his sins in church. He almost barked out a laugh at the sound of his cracking voice. A God himself, feared by many for his supernatural powers, and fearless in great wars is found vulnerable and weak before a mortal woman. Loki studied her neutral expression, aching to move closer to her. The space between them was little but yet he mourned the distance. He was captivated by her.

“You have a strange name.” Caroline’s broke into a slow smile. She was slightly inebriated from the cocktails she gulped down after the disastrous date the man before her caused but the warmness spreading through her body had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Not as strange as my attraction for you, princess.” Loki returned the shy smile before hesitantly lowering his mouth inches to hers. He could smell the sweetness of her scent, drawing him in. He cleared his throat, blinking furiously to clear his clouded vision.

“How do you do that?” Caroline tilted her head so she could see his face. The bathroom was spacious with a luxury tub, a shower, and a sink with enough counter space to dine on but somehow when he was in it, his presence and body made it feel so small.

‘Do what?” Loki said with nonchalance, ripping open a package of sterilized wipes. He gently wiped down her wound, feeling more and more awful every time she winced and jerked her leg.

“The tricks.” She leaned forward, taking her lower lip into her mouth. “You’ve been waving your hands all night and every time you do that, things happen.”

He nodded his head, unable to meet her eyes. Would there be judgement in them? Fear? He was too afraid to look because if he looked, the illusion of someone who didn’t fear him for what he was would end. “Short answer would be that I’m a God. God of Mischief to be exact.”

Caroline tilted his chin up with the crook of her finger so he looked directly at her. “You know that’s pretty cool. Except the part where you know you ruined my date and made me fall on the floor.”

Loki laughed, feeling relief for the light banter instead of delving deeper into the reasons for his guilt and shame for who he was. He continued bandaging her up, stopping when she rested a hand on his. When she tipped forward again due to her drunken state, he caught her in his arms, their faces dangerously close to each other.

The desire and need to kiss her was strong. His heart thundered, his head grew dizzy, and his body hummed as saw her eyes look at him with lust. This wasn’t mischief or mind controlling powers. This was a woman who desired all of him.

It wasn’t right.

Of all the morally wrong things Loki has done in his existence, he knew it was even too much for him to ruin someone so pure and so good like Caroline. He was beyond worth saving. A God who was unredeemable and didn’t deserve happiness for all the destruction he has caused.  Just as he was about to pull away, Caroline grabbed his shirt and kissed him.

Caroline felt his whole body freeze. Through her hazy gaze, she saw his eyes had widened, fixated on her. Maybe she had been reading the signs all wrong, the thought quickly passed in the back of her mind. Cold panic flashed her senses before she abruptly pulled away from him only to have his hand on the back of her neck draw her back into a deep intoxicating kiss. He devoured her, parting her swollen lips, tasting her sweetness. She groaned, hands grasping his shirt to pull him right against her chest. Loki easily maneuvered his body between her soft thighs, feeling the heat of her core against his hard cock. He wanted her. He needed her.

Large calloused hands ran up her silky thighs, drawing up the flimsy fabric of her summer dress, exposing the wet stain on her white panties. Loki growled against her neck when pushed closer off the edge of the bathroom counter to rub herself against him. He could feel her wetness seeping onto his trouser pants. This woman was going to be the death of him, he realized as he ripped down the thin straps of her dress to reveal full breasts topped with pink nipples that begged to be suckled. Tearing down the rest of the fabric, she was left with nothing but her panties in front of him.

“So fucking beautiful.” Loki moaned as he cupped her breast and brought a nipple in his mouth. Swirling his skillful tongue around the hard tip, he ran his hand down the soft curves of her body, squeezing her ass before slipping into the front of panties.

“Loki!” She gasped, finger nails digging deep into his biceps. “Please.”

Many mortals have begged and pleaded for his mercy but the sound of sweet Caroline begging for him and the only release he could give to her was nothing compared to it. His heart thumped wildly against his chest as he looked at this mortal that wasn’t running for the hills, afraid of him but instead trusted him enough to expose the most private parts of her body and soul to him.

“I got what you need, princess.” He whispered harshly into her ear before dropping a kiss on the crane of her neck. His long fingers slipped easily into her hot slick folds. Her tiny body thrashed against him when his thumb pressed down and circled on her clit.

The friction was exhilarating. Caroline voluntarily spread her thighs wider for his better access as she dropped her head back, feeling every sensation through her body. Her toes curled as he fit one digit up her pussy, filling her in a way she never experienced.

“Fuck.” Loki spat out as he continued to pump his finger in and out of her tight hot cunt. There was no way she could be as tight as she felt around his finger without being an innocent. An unfamiliar possessive need raged throughout his body.

Mine.

The word burned in his mind. Caroline was his. Nobody will ever come close to her ever again as long as he was still alive.

Curling his finger inside her, Caroline squealed when he found the spot that seemed to be where every single one her nerve endings began and met. A need within her that she didn’t know she had was fulfilled as he continued rubbing the spot. She was on the brink of exploding around him. Her breath caught her throat as the ache grew and grew until she couldn’t contain it anymore. Bright bursts of light filled her vision as pleasure overcame her entire body.

He continued his motions as her pussy quivered, tightening and releasing around his thick fingers. Her body was so responsive. So needy. So beautiful. He watched intently at her, storing every second of her orgasm in his memories, not wanting to forget any moment of this stunning sight. It was expected of him to be the playful trickster everyone had known him for. He would be unattached with little to no emotions. Sentiment was definitely not a part of his agenda. But deep down, he knew Caroline struck a nerve. He didn’t countless women when he could have one.

Caroline shivered when she felt her thighs slipping against each other caused by own juices. She slowly fell forward into his warm chest, arms circling around her and catching her before she fell to the floor. Caroline knew it would be silly to think anything could begin from this. The handsome devil standing before her probably didn’t feel the same strong connection she felt. Of course, leave it for a virgin to romanticize things that weren’t actually there.

Loki smoothed down her hair, dropping kisses on the crown of her head. Slowly, he inserted an arm under the back of her knees, swept her up, bridal style, and carried her to his bed. Her eyes were closed, face flushed, and looking as perfect as all the stars in the galaxies.

Tucking her in, he laid a soft kiss on her cheek, not missing the small smile that curved her lips when he pulled away. Loki knew he should go. These powerful emotions stirring inside his chest were overwhelming and he needed time to sort them out. Just as he was turning away, a hand clasped around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t go.” Caroline pleaded, fully awake. “Please stay.”

Loki studied her. Without another word, he gently removed her hand and stepped back, unbuttoning each button on his dark silk shirt, revealing lean muscles that rippled under his pale skin. He dropped the shirt on the floor, moving his attention to his belt. Her gaze fixated on every movement he made. And if he wasn’t already a God, he knew that with just her eyes looking at him like the way she did now, he would feel like one. Hell, he even felt like the honorable one people actually worshipped. His pants soon joined his other clothes on the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs that did nothing to hide his thick erection caused by her and only her.

She gulped when he walked around the bed, slipped under the covers, and drew her right against him. Her bottom nestled perfectly against his thickness, allowing her to feel just how hard and hot he was.

“Loki.” Caroline whispered, adjusting her position before the arm draped around her waist tightened, stilling her motions.

“Sleep, princess.” Loki murmured into her ear, lifting off some of the pressure of expectations for the rest of the night. “I ask nothing from you tonight but don’t test my patience. I find it running very thin with you almost naked around me.”

Caroline remained quiet, chewing on the bottom of her lip. She knew this was a horrible idea. She barely knew the man lying beside her but the attraction between them was undeniable. Turning around so she faced his chest, she cocked her head up to see his eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

“Shouldn’t I do something?” She asked ignoring his earlier statement about sleeping. It seemed only fair that he sought for his release as she did hers. Her hand trembled as she trailed it down his muscled stomach, feeling him suck in a breath before seeking lower and lower until her fingertips grazed his hardness. She gasped when Loki grabbed her hand in his and stopped her in her place.

Loki squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“Woman, the only thing you need to do is sleep.” Loki grounded out through clenched teeth. When he opened his eyes, he met wide brown eyes filled with uncertainty. For a brief second, he caught the look he was all too familiar with pass her face. She felt humiliated. Still holding her hand, he brought it up to his mouth before kissing it softly and allowing her to cup his face. He turned towards her touch, seeking warmth and love. “You’re the only person who has ever made me feel like this. It’s madness. Of all my years, I’ve never felt this way so please, Caroline. I’m trying for once in my life to do the right thing. And the right thing is to give you time and to not rush into things we’re both not ready for. We can take things slow, yes?”

He looked into her eyes, searching for answers. Once again, he found himself showing the most vulnerable sides of him to a woman that managed to break down all his walls.

For a moment, Caroline was sure Loki had only done what they did out of pity. So when she offered to reciprocate pleasure and he flat out refused, it hurt. She might not have been a sexual goddess but she knew she wasn’t all that unattractive. But maybe it was her inexperience that made him uninterested in taking things further. She felt embarrassment to suggest such a silly thing but his next words were like a balm to her stinging wounds.

“Yes.” Caroline nodded, chewing her lower lip before speaking again. “So this isn’t a one night stand?”

“I don’t think I can ever let you go after this let alone let it be a one-time thing.” Loki scoffed sarcastically before hushing her to go to sleep.

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on DD Book 1 Chapter 4

• Jesus, this book is expensive.

• Like I assumed Chapter 3's one accomplishment-one-or-two-LIs-or-a-family-member thing would be a one-off, just to introduce us into the system/ease us into the story, but no...they've (sort of) repeated it this chapter. I was hoping they would spread out the accomplishments at least, but perhaps they want us to have at least most of the accomplishments worked out before we leave for London.

• I really hope this doesn't become a regular thing because it will only cause players to lose interest in the books for lack of affordability, in the long run. As it is the book largely caters to a niche audience...alienating that audience by having them lose of on half the story won't bode well for the book.

• Title: Best Foot Forward. Man, this one is easy. Of course it refers to dancing. And quite a lot of dancing is done this chapter, that's for sure!

• Sooo...the Earl has decided to introduce us into society in Edgewater with a garden party. Lots of hobnobbing, some dancing, a few games and you meet at least one 'suitor'.

• Did You Know: According to writer and garderner Kim Wilson, who wrote a book titled In the Garden with Jane Austen, gardens were viewed as markers of social status. In an interview with The Scotsman, she says, "each family's garden reflected not only their needs but, if they had enough money, their social aspirations". The poor cottagers of the time were mostly concerned with growing food and having a place to keep their chickens whereas wealthier families would have had kitchen gardens, but also often extensive pleasure grounds, which were places to display their wealth and taste. (from an article about Jane Austen's love for gardens in The Scotsman).

• Last chapter had us learning (optionally) the art of the fan from our Lady Grandmother, so it makes sense that what happens in this chapter is this:

Lololol just kidding.

• So the chapter begins with the MC and Briar talking. Briar is excited about the fact that a Duke (who, she reminds us, is "one step below a Prince Regent"), and the MC can either choose to be excited or very confident. Interestingly, if you're excited, she reminds you to "not forget your roots", which I think is a recurring theme in this book. After all, that was the last thing the MC's mother told her on her deathbed.

• Dominique enters the room and both she and Briar present us with a pretty pink lace dress that is sure to improve both our social standing and catch everyone's eye at this introductory garden party.

• It looks quite pretty, actually. But that's because I love lace.

• We head downwards, finding Annabelle performing for herself in the foyer and having a thoroughly good time.

• I'm wondering if I should have a tally for the number of times she says "a thousand pardons" (and for the record, I think her way of saying "fiddlesticks" is adorable xD).

• Our third "accomplishment" (and our second paid one) is presented to us here: dancing. It's not like the MC doesn't know dancing - she does - it's that the country dances (this might be a reference to the English Country Dances that were popular among all classes) are different from the ones Annabelle has learned, and indeed the popular ones for the aristocracy that are coming in from other places, like France.

• Annabelle mentions a couple of dances that were popular for its time: the cotillion (originated from France), the Quadrille (also from France), and La Boulanger (also French). If we choose the shoes the Lady Grandmother got made for us, Annabelle wastes no time in teaching us the last one.

• Annabelle speaks to us about the Quadrille being new. She isn't lying. The Quadrille became fashionable in England around 1815.

• Again, the good thing about the accomplishment scenes is that they're meant only for learning the skill, and Annabelle can develop in her individual scenes independent of this. Though I'm not sure if cramming both her individual scenes and her accomplishment scenes in the same chapter, two chapters in a row is a very good idea.

• Another marker of how new the MC is, lies in her interaction with Mr Woods (who is perhaps the only member of the housing staff we see at the party. Briar disappears completely after she's done her work of getting the MC ready, and Luke doesn't appear either). Mr Woods is surprised the MC deigns to speak to him in public, and Henrietta uses her interaction with him to point out how little she fits in, what with talk of the MC's "roots".

• Lol the exchange with the Earl if you bought the scene with the Lady Grandmother is quite funny haha. He speaks about Dominique drilling him into learning the names of all the families and the MC - saucy little shit that she is 😄 - looks at her fan and says "oddly enough, I know exactly what you mean".

• Ernest Sincliare makes his appearance after two chapters, and there's some banter about compliments if you're wearing the pretty lace dress I think. She teases him about it and he retorts that since he passes compliments so rarely, you can be sure that when he does he means every word. I can see that logic in that, Sinclair, but must you look like a child who has accidentally sucked on a particularly sour lemon when you do? 😂

• Throughout the chapter, you get references to the Season in London, and each time the MC by default takes it for granted that she will not be going there. Sinclaire hosts parties in London, Annabelle Parsons will be going there for the Season. Up until the end of the chapter, the vibe given overall is that she won't be seeing the two for a while now that they will be leaving Edgewater, and she won't.

• Did You Know: The London Season was developed to coincide with the sitting of parliament. During the months when parliament was in session, members of both Houses needed to be in attendance in London and came to the capital bringing their families with them. The London season grew up in response to this influx of upper class people who needed to be entertained.

Amanda Foreman, in her biography on Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, stated: "the aristocratic "season" came into existence not only to further the marriage market but to entertain the upper classes while they carried out their political duties. The season followed the rhythm of Parliament: it began in late October with the opening of the new session, and ended in June with the summer recess.” of course, later on this period of time gradually began to shift.

There also seems to be something called the "little season", but that seems more a fixture of the Victorian age than the Regency one (as mentioned in the article on the London Season from the Regency History website).

• The Earl and Mr Sinclaire share a more than cordial relationship: the Earl treats him with considerable warmth and Sinclaire shows a genuine respect and regard for him. You have a choice of asking him whether it is the Earl - or you - he has respect for (and the second option leads to a romantic moment), but it is what he says about the Earl, and his later interaction with Duke Richards that intrigues me:

What happened to Ledford Park that the Sinclaires almost lost it? Why does his statement towards the Duke about Ledford sound so accusatory? Why is there such a strong undercurrent within the latter interaction? I want to know what the story behind Ledford Park is, and how the Earl helped save it.

• One of my favourite Sinclaire-related sequences is an additional scene featuring the fan, as taught to us by the Dowager Countess the previous chapter. I tried the last two with Florence, the MC who has no interest in Sinclaire:

(the first four screenshots are from the "friends" option, and the next four from the "go away u suck" option)

Meanwhile, Marianne just goes in for the kill, fam. Homegirl didn't learn all those thot moves from Grandma for nothing 😄

I do like that extra bit of sexual tension in this scene. I'm not very into Sinclaire yet, but I can see the appeal he'd have for someone who would want the Mr Darcy type of Regency male LI character. You also see a fair bit of it in the scene where the MC asks him if it is her he respects:

• Sinclaire, dude, what is it with you and Italics??

• We now interrupt our regular programme with a game of Skittles. I'm not sure how many of you assumed Regency-era aristocrats were going to start passing around fruit-flavoured candy but I sure did 😂

• So this is skittles, played with nine pins. Very much one of the precursors to present day bowling from what I've read. Playing this game, and beating a champion like Mr Sinclaire at it will not only allow you to spend time alone with him, but also increase your social standing.

• It's simple enough: hit the red pin in the centre, and if you want you can distract the hell out of Sinclaire after he's fired his first shot.

• Twice this chapter, you see our resident comic relief for the day: Miss Theresa Oh-My-Smelling-Salts Sutton, and Mr Edmund Do-I-Look-Like-I-Care Malcaster, and I've decided I like them both (I wanted to add screenshots, but tumblr mobile sucks and won't let me put up more than ten images 😒)

• So we meet the "handsome", "titled" eligible bachelor our Lady Grandmother wanted us so badly to marry and...

...um. lol. ok.

Handsome? Charming? When was the last time you looked in the mirror dude, 20 years ago?

• You have a choice of how to respond after Duke Richards insults Mr. Sinclaire. You can either choose the Manners option, or you can choose to outright sass the man. If you don't sass him? The Lady Grandmother will do it for you.

• With the Manners option we find out that the Duke is 51 years old.

• With the non-manners option we find out that the dude likes saucy little minxes.

• @ the last panel in Florence's playthrough, Grandma even you can't deal with this dude for two minutes without nodding off. Why are you dumping him on my head then? (don't tell me. I know the answer 😐). See, this is why Florence will eventually kiss her inheritance goodbye lol.

• Jesus can this man just...speak two words without touching me??

• FINALLY. Miss Parsons. We choose a hiding place to get away from the Duke and then she offers to show us a new part of the estate: the lakefront. The great thing about gardens, esp in the writing of the time, was that it provided privacy for people at the time and allowed them to interact in ways they couldn't in public.

• Did you know: Austen herself used gardens pretty extensively in her writing. Mr Knightley confesses his love to Emma close to a shrubbery. Elizabeth jokes to her aunt about deciding to marry Mr Darcy after seeing the grounds in Pemberley. Fanny Price of Mansfield Park remarks, “To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.” Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey falls in love with hyacinths, Marianne Dashwood of Sense and Sensibility has a passion for fallen leaves in an autumnal garden, while Anne Elliot of Persuasion is always inspired to think of poetry when enjoying the beauties of nature.

Susannah Fullerton in her essay "Jane Austen and her gardens" (for the website Garden Drum) says: "Many proposals [in Austen's novels] take place out of doors where lovers can find some privacy amongst the gravel walks and flower beds; garden improvements are planned by some of the characters; and her heroines all enjoy going into a garden to think". 

• Makes sense then that one of the special scenes of this largely "forbidden" relationship (if you choose for that to happen) would take place in greenery, close to a lake. If you notice, it's quite in keeping with the times that most of the romantic moments this chapter happen either in an isolated section of the gardens or while dancing, both of which allow for some measure of interaction between people interested in each other.

• Miss Parsons, the legendary hero of a Duck Prophecy xD

• I love her in this scene. Sure she gets shy when she receives attention she's not used to from us, and she's kind and educative and sweet, but she's also boisterous and passionate and not afraid to pull punches when she needs to (case in point: the shade she immediately throws Henrietta's way regarding her "tutelage"). This scene has her stealing cake from the party to feed the ducks, getting exhilarated from the race and her new friendship with the MC, and feeling extremely confused by her feelings if you speak to her romantically.

• The first half of this scene is pure fun, but the second inevitably shows the two women experiencing a sense of loss that their connection will be cut short - whether they are friends or whether this is a budding romance.

• What I do love about both the romance scenes are the extra touches added to both in the coding. In the skittles scene with Ernest, Marianne is spoken of by default as brushing her hand against his before giving him the ball, whereas Florence simply passes it to him.

• Even with Annabelle, if you acquire romance points with her, the ending of that scene is written quite differently:

I absolutely love this part of the scene. And given that very often the female LI is treated like just the default best friend with some stray romance options attached, it really does feel good to have that sexual tension acknowledged.

• Florence, babe, what is it with you and Italics??

• TIME TO PUT ON OUR DANCING SHOES GUYS (if we bought them).

• So we're doing a dance called La Boulanger...which kinda looks like this:

You dance in a circle, then keep switching partners.

• Did You Know: that the Boulanger was one of the very few dances mentioned by name in Jane Austen's novels? (Pride and Prejudice Chapter 3. I think the reel is mentioned in another).

• I have two left feet unless someone is heavily choreographing a flash mob and spends ages teaching me the steps lol so this looks pretty complicated to me 😂

• You have an option of choosing between Mr Sinclaire, Miss Parsons and Duke Richards. The first two are the usual you'd expect from romantic dance scenes if you choose either of the first two, impressing them with your dance moves and then catching their eye when you're dancing with Edmund, your stepbrother. With Miss Parsons there is an additional show of boldness in that there is a danger of making their affections public.

• The Duke Richards option, which I managed to see thanks to @i-dream-so-i-write ...seems pretty okay actually. He doesn't seem as handsy and creepy as he does in our first meeting (there is a moment where his "hands skim your waist" though, and he tells us we've been apart too long [a couple seconds, tops]), but he's also still talking our ears off. If anyone is interested in seeing it, I can attach the screenshots!

• This man is so freaking extra I can't even.

• The chapter ends with the Earl announcing that he is changing his will, and that the MC is heiress to Edgewater Estate now, which makes it essential for her, then, to make her debut at the London Season, and begin searching for prospective bridegrooms.

• There is a catch though. You get the inheritance if you marry someone of suitable rank. In short...at this point in the story, Marianne is doing alright, but Florence is well and truly screwed until there is a twist somewhere (and surely there will be at some point). Sorry Florence.

• Henrietta has something up her sleeve, and Edmund, who was expecting to inherit, is sad and tells the MC so. You get a relationship point with him if you tell him you understand how it must feel, but he reiterates that you probably won't. We have time, we can still get this dude (and his palpitating fiancée) on our side. Maybe.

• Looks like we'll be starting our journey to London straightaway, and making our debut in London at Mr Sinclaire's party by Chapter 6. Alsooo from the spoilery chapter descriptions it looks like Mr. Marlcaster will try tripping us up at least once, or more than once. Also looks like we have two more skills on our accomplishment board to learn. So far we've gotten needlework, music and dancing - we now need to see what the other two are. I THINK one of them is painting.

General Thoughts:

• Good chapter. It's a little slow which is fine, because I think all the action will actually happen during the London Season instead. We meet only two suitors, one of whom we have already met in the first chapter.

• I feel like the extra scenes that we'll get with the unlocked accomplishments will include other styles of the same art. We initially learn the piano, but I feel like unlocking it will lead to extra scenes with other instruments, and unlocking the dancing shoes will show us extra scenes of Annabelle teaching us other dances (the waltzes, the reel, etc). I'm not entirely sure about this, it's just a theory I have. I mean, once we're in London we'll need to learn waltzes and the minuet and stuff.

• Luke doesn't make an appearance this chapter, but then again nor does Briar as soon as the MC gets ready. I think we'll see more of him now that we will be traveling to London.

• Donna Hatch's (who writes a ton of historical romances, esp Regency) essay on the London Season lists the months active in each year for it, and in 1816 it was from February to July. In the story it's now the beginning of April. Usually it's best to go at the very start if you're looking for marriage prospects, but given the MC's particular circumstances this time of the season isn't too bad either I'd reckon.

• Remember how I told you guys last chapter about the inclusion of Mary Brunton's Self Control? And how she criticizes the popular "rake" figure in Regency fiction? I'm not sure Duke Richards adheres completely to how rakes were depicted at the time, but he definitely does seem to be channeling Colonel Hargrave a little here.

• I wonder what the Duke seems to be hiding. Besides of course the truth of his equation with Sinclaire. Why is he so focused on this new woman? I think there might be more to this. I also can't wait to see the other suitors, like the viscount and Mr Chambers.

• I do like how we learn more about Sinclaire and Annabelle here. Annabelle largely has the role that Hana had in TRR, and there are some similarities - but she also has a lot more wiggle-room and seems to be bolder and a little more outgoing. She has grown up with the limitations placed on women at the time, but unlike Hana, hasn't faced as many restrictions in her upbringing.

• As I've mentioned before, I love Annabelle and I love that they're trying to do a better job of her. But I'm not entirely sure if cramming two separate scenes of hers in single chapters of an already expensive book is a wise choice, or if it will harm her development in the long run because people find it too expensive to spend on her. IMO the accomplishment scenes should be a little further spread out in the books.

• Now that the MC is going to be a future Countess, what is in store for her? In her rightful home Edgewater, she has a limited audience and not as much expectation to live up to...what will become of her now that she will be participating in the Season in London? Guess we'll find out today, or in the coming weeks xD

• Tagging: @boneandfur @liamraines @thespiritpanda @alanakusumastan @ernestsinclairs @mrsthomashunt @private-investigator-nazario @bcdollplace @queenodysseia @mcbangle

If you'd like to be tagged in one of the QTs, please let me know!

[ryanswaves-blog]

My Front Room Table

I’m writing this blog mainly for myself. I think it will be a lot of help to me. Its a lot harder to lie to yourself while writing. My life has also never been more interesting, so I hope it proves entertaining for those who do read this,

Ryan B.

My current Home.

I’ve always had a habit of Judgement. And Rambling.

Unfortunately it used to be a Judgement that would end up with me feeling superior about some imagined slight in their viewpoint, their laugh, a picture on the wall, their taste in music, and I’d have this terrible way of assigning someone a value because of these observations. At the time, it was the best tool I had to not internalize all this anger and let it destroy me.  Now i’m older and (hopefully) wiser, Judgement for me comes in the form of constant hypothesis’, and by making these observations, I have learned to socialise. I’m no good at reading body language, hearing the tone of friendship, or the cue of flirtations.  I don’t believe this will ever come naturally to me, and I will have to put serious effort into refining the tools I have developed throughout my life if I am ever going to have fluent communication with the Human race.

I don’t bother with small talk. It is not something I am good at. It feels too much like a farce that allows people the comfort of not getting a wrong answer or engaging in low key confrontation before you feel like it won’t damage the fledgling relationship you are building. There are many social tools like small talk. Many are unique to culture. I have mastered none. So I skip straight to the Front Room. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to be at the heart of it? Strangers come to your village of reeds and furs with shells on well crafted twine, sit down at your fire and regale you with their stories of the Ocean, the water that never ends, or with scorpion stingers from the Sands that swallow all and you laugh, dance, eat, drink (probably) and fall merrily asleep under the stars with traded trinkets and new friends. 

So very early on in my interactions with my new Human acquaintance, I will invite them back to my dwelling. In the past, this has been seen as blundering and clumsy by those used to the nuances of the western world, other times flirtatious, (and has ended with mixed results), but my fondest friendships have been forged in the conversation over the Front Room Table. The Front Room Table for most is where the Tea sits on the coaster usually paired by reading material (Bills, TV guide, or the dreaded Facebook scroll) and biscuits.

For me the Front Room Table is a focal point in my life. At the moment, it is attached to the Mast of the Lady Jane, and is the certified physical centre of my universe. It can also be lowered and matted for another berth. We all have our rituals of metaphysical alignment as we assign meaning or purpose to the order of our lives. The pattern of your comings and goings laden your 4 walls heavy with Emotion and if one looks hard enough it becomes very possible to find ways to communicate and connect with someone through observation, hypothesis and interaction of their world.

Move as they move, and if there is alignment, there is relationship. It can be a game of snap with 20 potential pairs a second and the chance that some cards in the deck will catch fire if they meet, or stain the table with the lifeblood of what could have been the journey of a lifetime.

This I find is Much more straight forward and rewarding than slowly picking each other apart with words as you dedicate a good portion of the interaction to appearing to do ‘The right thing’. 

This is a picture of me, trying to get away from small talk.

You can learn an awful amount from someones Front Room Table. There are tell tale signs of a persons routine, their habits and peeves can be hypothesized by the depths their coffee cups have stained into the varnish, the chips and bumps where it was kept in storage or moved with small accident, the crumbs of their last breakfast that defied the hasty palm brushing,small details which often lead to a bigger picture. Material can be a good indicator, but like with Humans, the material is usually circumstantial. I have had glass, Pine, Mahogany, and more than often whatever flat round stump comes along my way. The articles upon the Front Room Table can be a direct insight, or simply provide clues. Flowers and studying notes, A gerbil in his cage, a Combat knife and a bottle of Whiskey. How close to the settee is it, are the follicles of the carpet brushed aside by a pillow as she sits cross legged to write? Is that fleck of red paint on the leg a sign that there is an artist waiting to be born but without the esteem of himself will never come to be? Perhaps someone sneezed painting the last house and nobody noticed till the move. 

My fondest memories of a Front Room Table are those of my Nanas, which would have a stack of Sodoku books, 1 white & rose trimmed coaster in each corner, a TV guide, a mechanical pencil (which I would always break on purpose), Sweet gifts, and a Picture of my family. I loved my Nanas front table as it would usually be where I spent most of my time as a child. By 10:30 AM I would have completed a task that only I would know the point or conclusion, the result of which would be me being collected by my Nana for an early hometime. I didn’t mind this. I had made my point with unappreciated passion, and now I could walk home, play with the dogs (Mitsie & Susie) and sit at the front table eating Dairylea sandwiches and playing a game of Go that my Nan had modified so we could play with pens & graph paper. Life was good around the Front Room Table. 

There was nothing special about the Table itself. It was a standard Ply top until she bought a Glass & Aluminium table from Argos. It could have become anyone's. There is nothing special about most Tables, they are objects until we introduce them to our homes and imprint our lifestyles upon them. You can talk to your Table if you want, but it will never answer you.

If you mark its surface or place something upon it, you perform a change through action, and it will reply according to the laws of nature, as does all. Your Table will let you know because you will see. You can call that mark damage, and repair it to the best of your ability (or not). Those who see your Table will see this. It is up to them how they see you for the marks you make. Or you can leave it where it is and see what comes along later, allowing you to take muse in the shaping of your home. 

My Nana had learned hard lessons that gave her a cunning only available through earned Wisdom. I would never ‘misbehave’ around my Nana because she knew how to communicate with me. 

Here she is, teaching my brother Jack about the secrets of the best Fish & Chips. There is no photographer in existence that has the skill to catch my Nana smiling on camera.

Being from the generation of The War, her communication was usually Action and her actions would always carry a message of Love and care. Only now she is gone and I am older do I realize the weight of the Lessons my Nana imparted on me. My greatest regret is that I did not appreciate her more while she was still here, and that I did not spend more time with her. 

Her lessons allow me to communicate in such a way that speaking just cannot capture. It isn’t limited by the words you can say and it doesn’t allow you to choose the Validity of your ‘conversation’ through emphasis, side tracking, jokes and persuasion.  Observation, Hypothesis and the analisation of ones actions in their surroundings invites you into their world when nobody is watching, it lets you view their past before they’ve told it, It gives you a much better idea of the Human you want to know instead of who they want you to know. I’m not interested in faces, I’m interested in the Human interacting with the environment, their environment and how it reflects upon them. You can tell me you like music and list your favorite bands, or we could Jam and find each others groove. You could tell me your work, your studies, but I’d much rather start a project and make a Youtube video about it. We could talk for hours about Fun of all kinds. I’d much rather play.

I have found impossibilities and unhealthy paradox’s in the Western World’s communication  that make it very hard for myself to learn how to make healthy  bonds with other Human beings, and as a result I have a handful of friends. Many I do not talk to and have not seen in years, and some I have never met in person, but I remember all those who I have been close with and shared something special with. If any of my friends are reading this, I’m sorry if I don’t talk to you, but I don’t really know how to talk to other people. I’d much rather make the effort to meet up and make a memory than give you a digital thumb once every social acceptable interval.  If the friendship we have is true, I  will see you one day and we will pick up exactly where we left off. 

Your Front Room Table will change as you do with Time, and will tell you what might be going on in your life, at whatever point you decide to take notice of it. But you can’t lie to your Front Room Table, because it is an inanimate object and incapable of making its own decisions of belief. You can train your Front Room Table to lie to others however, whether through fear of judgement or lack of reciprocation, by keeping it spotless. I don’t trust Front Room Tables with nothing on them. It smells like a secret. It smells like Chemical polish and fretting. 

My Front Room Table at the moment has my Laptop, A Creality Ender 3 3-D Printer, a Software Defined Radio, A coaster with an Anchor on it, and my Notebooks. I have no way of taking a picture at this moment in time, but I will. I can’t be having this first post be a brick wall of text. 

It is Varnished Hardwood with a lovely routed round trim, a hole for the mast, and one side is collapsible. Its one of the nicest Front Room Tables that has been a part of my space. Its windy out at the moment, so the collapsible side is swaying against the boat. Sometimes when its like this I drop a dab of water on the top of the sway and see where it goes. Sometimes it makes patterns. 

I will treat this blog as my virtual Front Room Table. If you happen by, Please sit and see. We may have something to do. I may have something interesting to show you, and we might even get around to some serious talking.

[grandraconteur]

Wish You Were Here, Chapter 4

Hallucinations of his dead father had haunted Peter for years. Symptoms of trauma, a child psychologist told his Aunt and Uncle with a well-practiced sympathetic smile on her saccharine face. A natural result from surviving the car accident.

Except Peter just saw his father, and he was very much alive.

With the help of his mentor, Tony Stark, and the mysterious figure, Doctor Stephen Strange, Peter is going to have to delve into new details from a painful history to uncover the truth...

Iron Dad, Doctor Dad, Spider Son, and slow burn Ironstrange.

As always, betaed by the incomparable @merelypassingtime

Please enjoy!

1, 2, 3

Also on AO3

1, 2, 3

Chapter 4: Comfortably Numb (Part 2)

Come on, now.  

I hear you're feeling down.

Well, I can ease your pain,

Get you on your feet again.

~ "Comfortably Numb," Pink Floyd, The Wall, November 30, 1979

Around dinner time that night, someone knocked at the apartment door.

Peter was still holed up in his room, May thankfully agreeing to give him more space as long as he promised not to play Spiderman that night. He hardly paid the visitor mind, until May’s characteristic knock on his door.

“Peter? Mr. Stark’s here for you.”

With his advanced physiology, Peter was pretty sure he made some kind of record from his bed to open the door, ignoring entirely the fact that he was still dressed in his pajamas. Mr. Stark jerked back slightly at the abruptness of the movement, but, as always, played it cool and used the movement to appear as if he was looking Peter up and down. “Mr. Parker, dare I say you played hooky today?”

Before Peter could answer, Mr. Stark turned to Aunt May with his version of an apologetic smile, though it seemed far less sympathetic and more for show. “Mind if I talk to the kid in private? Got something important to discuss.”

“You mean like the last time you had to ‘talk privately’ and Peter ended up in Germany to fight a bunch of criminals under the guise of an internship?” She drawled, raising an eyebrow archly and crossing her arms.

“Yeah...that was...extenuating circumstances and kind of urgent. But this is just paperwork. Superhero business. Nothing that will require him to leave the tri-state area.”

“It’s fine, Aunt May, nothing to worry about!” Peter tugged at Mr. Stark’s sleeve, pulling him into the room. “Like he said, just some paperwork. But, you know, private Avengers business-”

“Not quite an Avenger yet, kid. Turned me down, remember?”

“-private...friendly neighborhood superhero business. We’ll be done in a jiffy!”

Before the door could close, May put her hand on it. Looking Peter dead in the eye, she remarked, “Peter...swear to me this isn’t anything dangerous. Because you do not need any more stress right now.”

That pointed look, earnest yet brooking no argument, nearly caused Peter to give in and spill everything. But, he reminded himself, he didn’t know everything yet, so…

He’d spare her, just a little longer.

“I promise.”

The door closed on Aunt May’s dubious and slightly concerned face. Peter leaned against the back of the door, breathing a sigh of temporary relief.

“Well, can’t say it looks like you’ve taken my advice.”

Mr. Stark looked him over with an apparent detached critical assessment that did not quite belie his concern.

“I’ve been doing nothing but homework, Mr. Stark. I haven’t even been Spidermaning this weekend.”

“And yet, you look like the poster image of teenage depression. Probably why Aunt Hottie had a Mayo Clinic page about it open on her laptop when I came in.”

Peter started to comment on ‘Aunt Hottie’ but redirected when the rest of Mr. Stark’s sentence registered. “She did?”

“Yeah. Might help if you got dressed. Seems to fool them. Though I have to say, I am flattered by your show of support. Terribly outdated, though. What is that, Mark VII?”

Glancing down, Peter let out a little eep at the realization he was in the Iron Man pajamas May bought him last Christmas. He crossed his arms across his chest nervously. “Well, you know. They were on clearance.”

“Oh, ouch. Hit me where it hurts, why don’t you? Though I haven’t seen any Spiderman merchandise, clearance or otherwise. ”

With a quick look around the place, Mr. Stark took a seat on Peter’s bed, patting the spot beside him in invitation like it was his own room and not the teenager’s. Fumbling a bit, Peter sat down, running his hands over the tops of his legs in a restless motion.

“So…?”

With an expressive breath, Mr. Stark took out his phone and snapped it forward slightly, producing a holographic image of a file with the Stark logo and a name.

  Dr. Stephen Strange.

“Turns out Shield was good for something. I was able to access their archived security footage from around the globe for Friday to analyze, plus I had her scour social media, looking for a facial match or mention of his name.”

Heart pounding in his chest, the hairs on his arms standing on end, Peter leaned forward expectantly. “And?”

“And...well, see for yourself.”

The holographic folder flipped open, revealing several photos.

In the last few days, when Peter couldn’t help himself from fretting about what Friday would find, he’d considered several possibilities ranging from awful (it was a fake, his dad was dead, his dad had a new family that he’d abandoned Peter for) to simply nothing. Somehow, considering anything positive that would suitably explain his absence had given him the sensation of having a rock tucked under his ribs.

After all that theorizing and thought, the Instagram post Tony brought up on the holographic display was not exactly what he’d expected. Still, looking at the man who was clearly his dad...it took one weight off his shoulders and put another one on them. Hot and cold rolled down his body like waves, the contradictory sensations leaving him floundering.

“He’s...”

“Alive, if this and the rest of the footage Friday tracked down is to be believed.”

Peter’s stupor was momentarily distracted as he took in the content of the picture, his brow pinching as he recognized…

“Does that t-shirt say-”

“Yup. Your dad’s a One Directioner. Congratulations, kid.”

Indeed, his dad was wearing a rather loud, pink shirt with “Just Call Me the Future Mrs. Harry Styles” written in a garish cursive. He did not appear to be particularly pleased with his attire, though, a severe frown marring his features that spoke of a man at the end of his exhaustive rope. Beside him sat an incredibly smug looking East Asian man in Eastern style robes with a shaved head and a huge smile, one hand clearly holding the phone up for the selfie, the other pointed at Stephen. The caption beneath the image read “Today, Stephen learned the hard way that betting against me is the ‘Wong’ choice! ;D #Onedirection #harrystylesforever”

“Or rather, Mr…..” Mr. Stark leaned forward, squinting at the hologram. “So-wong-its-right is if you want to go by his Instagram handle. Which is a good thing, because otherwise we probably wouldn’t have been able to prove anything about your dad’s existence.”

Waving across the image, the page turned once again to show what looked like security footage taken from a camera. Not in the United States, though.

“Is that China?”

“Hong Kong, to be more precise. About six years ago. Facial recognition didn’t have any luck finding matches to your dad by himself, but when we found his buddy there, that was a whole new story.” Zooming in, the image focused on his father’s friend, strolling down a crowded street that was so atmospheric you could nearly smell it, some sort of club in his hand. Beside him, his face partly obscured by the tall collar of a bright red cloak, was a man that looked suspiciously like Stephen.

“See those pants and boots?” Mr. Stark zoomed in closer on said articles, the blue robes a similar Eastern style to the other man’s, with the addition of the cloak, the pattern on which looked oddly familiar. Turning back to the Instagram photo, Mr. Stark tapped on what could be seen of Stephen’s pants, the bright blue visible under the pink shirt.

“Based on his horrible taste in clothing and general appearance, we can be pretty damn sure that is also your dad there with this Wong character.”

“From six years ago…”

“Meaning that with these two images, we can already determine that he has been cropping up in places not only unrelated to you, but also since before your little run-in with the genetically modified arachnid.”

Okay, so that was...that was…“Shit...” Peter breathed, running a hand through his hair.

Mr. Stark leaned back, looking at Peter with raised brows and twitching lips. “Such language, Mister Parker.” Though his words were teasing, his tone was mild. “Though, to be fair to you, I think I’d have gone with something a lot less PG-rated after that bombshell.”

Peter mostly ignored him, reaching out to flick through the pages of the file. More images from security footage sped past him, showing similar levels of mysterious circumstances, with Wong and Stephen often appearing in areas that looked like they had recently experienced some kind of attack. And in each one, Stephen’s face was somehow blocked from view, either by the twisting of his body, something in his hands, or his cloak catching an unnatural looking wind.

“There is some weirdness here for sure. According to the archives, all of these locations received a sudden flux in activity-- alert messages, panic response, emergency personnel called to the scene-- and then whatever the trouble was just...vanished, right about the same time these two showed up. All of it. Like nothing had ever happened.”

Crossing his arms, Peter looked over the images carefully, seeking....something. The kind of something you knew was something only once you saw it. “What could cause that, though? And what does it have to do with my dad?”

Mr. Stark exhaled sharply through his nose. Resting his cheek in his hand, Mr. Stark inclined his head to the teenager. “Honestly, I don’t know, Pete. I haven’t seen anything like this. Shield never told the Avengers about it, because according to their records they determined it to be a low-level threat and just kept it monitored. At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

“But do you have any kind of, like...intuition about it?”

“Nothing good.”

Chills instantly invaded Peter’s spine at his mentor's words. The feeling was close enough to his Spider-sense that it unnerved him some, fearing this was more premonition than normal human response. Either way, Peter’s own instincts mirrored his mentor’s: This was nothing good.

“There’s one last thing you should know.”

Blinking, Peter looked at Mr. Stark, whose face rapidly twitched with different emotions as he looked off into space. “Is this going to be one of those clichés like in movies where I’m going to hate what you say next because it suddenly makes everything a whole lot worse?”

“Oh, no, I know you’re going to love it. That’s why I’m so hesitant to tell you.” Flipping through several more pages, Mr. Stark landed on a close-cropped shot of Wong standing on a familiar looking street.

“That’s the street where I fought the Eldritch Horror! Bleecker Street, right?”

At Mr. Stark’s impressed glance, Peter shrugged one shoulder. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“Impressive, though I was marveling more over the Lovecraft reference. Didn’t know you were a fan of horror.”

“I’m not really, but MJ convinced me and Ned to help her start a group for Contemporary Cthulhu Worship at our middle school.”

“Cthulhu worship? Should I be worried that you three accidentally summoned the something on Bleecker Street?”

“No! We never did anything; MJ just wanted to protest the preferential treatment the Christian Group got.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story,” Peter demurred.

“Be that as it may…” Mr. Stark trailed off, motioning back to the hologram. “Friday tracked down several instances of this guy-- Wong apparently-- exiting and entering the same building on Bleecker from some more recent security cameras we…‘accessed’. She found some of your dad, too, albeit shielding his face as he seems to have a habit of doing. Including one just a few days ago.”

On the images dated for that past Friday, Stephen appeared strolling down the block, hands in his pockets and face turned down, dressed as he had been in the footage Karen recorded. The thick red scarf-- which closely resembled the pattern of the cloak in other photos, Peter realized-- wrapped snugly around his neck and concealing the lower half of his face. On the last slide, Stephen entered a peculiar looking brownstone.

“The address is 177A Bleecker Street.”

“You...you found where he lives? ”

“Friday did,” Mr. Stark corrected. “Or we think we did. We can’t be quite sure.”

It eclipsed every expectation Peter had imagined, and he had imagined a lot, especially considering he was supposed to avoid all speculation. His father was alive. Living in Greenwich Village. Living in the same city. Had been for who knows long, and yet…

Suddenly lightheaded, Peter released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and braced himself on his knees. A calloused hand rubbed at his back, Mr. Stark uttering a quiet “You’re alright” that barely registered in Peter’s shocked mind.

In. Out. In. Out... It might have worked better if he couldn’t still hear that order in his father’s voice.

When he did regain some semblance of control, Peter quietly muttered, “Why would you tell me that he lives here?”

“I promised you all the data I could find, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but….you know me. I can’t...I can’t just ignore that. I need to try to talk to him.”

Mr. Stark said nothing, continuing to rub Peter’s back. It was a grounding gesture and Peter focused on it as his mind began to stray towards the rocky shores of fear and self-loathing, left by his father’s apparent abandonment.

“You’re right. I know that about you. But, I also know what it’s like to have vital, life-altering facts withheld from you by someone you trust. Intimately. It’s not a fun feeling.”

“I don’t like telling you,” Mr. Stark continued, moving his hand to grip Peter’s shoulder. “But as I see it, I don’t have a choice, not if I want to be able to live with myself. I’m just gonna have to trust you. And offer to go with you if you do want to meet your dad again.”

“You’d...do that?”

“Better believe it, underoos. You’re my only mentee, and I’m pretty partial to you at this point. Plus, it’d be hell training up someone new.” Mr. Stark ruffled Peter’s hair, continuing, “Not that I really have you trained all that well. Maybe I should start fresh with something easier to train than a teenager. Maybe a goldfish.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“Yeah, I know. No ethical pet store would sell me a goldfish. Guess I’m stuck with you.”

To his shame, Peter felt tears stinging his eye, and he wiped them away surreptitiously on the back of one hand. He suspected Mr. Stark pretended not to notice. “So that means I should probably keep you safe.”

Standing, Mr. Stark moved for the door, grousing as something in his left shoulder popped as he stretched. Peter watched numbly as he did something on his phone, swiping away the hologram and typing into its surface. “I’m sending the file to your computer so you can look through it. If you’ve got any questions, contact me. Day or night. I’m usually up both.”

The older man paused as he grasped the doorknob, looking back at Peter. His eyes held an unusually tender quality as he said, “I really hope you’ll take me up on my offer to go with you. I know he’s your dad, but we don’t have any clue what the hell is going on. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and I’ve seen most of what there is to phone home about.” As Mr. Stark pushed the door closed, he added, “Think about it.”

After he left, Peter sat in brooding contemplation, the image of his father’s brownstone etched into his mind.

***

When he was nine, Aunt May and Uncle Ben formally adopted him. Along with getting full custody of him now that his father was “dead,” the legal proceedings opened up a new possibility.

Changing Peter’s surname.

On some level, he’d wanted to stay Peter Strange. At the time he hadn’t been totally cognizant of it, but now Peter believed his desire stemmed from his need to keep even that small, tenuous connection to his father. Everything back then had been about that.

But Ben and May had looked so hopeful when they suggested it, and the kids at school had taken to taunting him for being the Strange Orphan; the parentless freak.

So he’d accepted, and, mostly, he hadn’t looked back.

There were times since, though, when he wondered if he was denying a part of himself. Or hiding from it. Trying to cut off the part of himself that was a constant reminder of what he was missing, like a phantom limb, there and not there, forever itching but unable to be scratched.

The name had little influence in that regard, really. Significance is in the eye of the beholder, and something like a name can only hold so much power over you if you let it. It wasn’t the name, it was the origin.

It wasn’t Strange, it was his Dad.

Now, if Peter really wanted to be free of that drag, then as far as he could see he had two options. Cut it off the rest of the way, or reattach it.

And there was only one way for Peter to decide which course he wanted to take.

“Hey, Karen,” Petter said with forced cheer as he slipped on the mask. “I, uh, I really need you to do something for me.”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I need you to swear, I mean, swear up and down, invoke any protocols necessary to do it, that you won’t tell Mr. Stark what I am about to do.”

“That doesn’t sound very wise,” she intoned. “It is my function to ensure your safety, and if calling Mr. Stark -”

“Karen, please. I am literally begging you right now, okay? I just...I really need to do this on my own. If I get knocked out, or...or something, then fine. But please, please give me a chance? I need this.”

There was brief silence on the line, during which Peter’s heart beat so furiously in his ears he wasn’t sure if he could have heard the AI’s reply if she made one. Finally, though, she spoke up.

“Direct alarms to Friday offline.”

Brushing at his eyes through his mask (for all the good it would do him), Peter let his body relax just slightly. “Thank you.”

“Please be careful, Peter. Mr. Stark had a point.”

“I know. He always does. And he’s probably right, logically. But this isn’t...”

It wasn’t about logic.

It was about closure.

When Peter heard no more from the AI, he took that as his cue to do this before he chickened out.

Glancing down from the roof of 177A Bleecker Street into the large, open window he’d spotted before, Peter leaped down, swinging into his father’s brownstone.

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

Before you all kill me for another cliffhanger, I swear chapter 5 is flowing well and should be out next week. ;)

Speaking of the next chapter...the next chapter is called "Coming Back to Life."

[thekrazykeke]

I love this man. To be honest, I’ma hoe for all of them men in Black Panther, so it’s whatever. Every single one of them can get it, and I don’t even know who I want to take me first, Erik or T’Challa? ....Hm, both. Both is good. This chapter is potentially, likely, triggering for some people. Please read this with caution and know that my inbox and IM is always open, for anyone, at any time. 

You’re not bothering me. Never think you are bothering me.

Continued from here, boo.

The minute the apartment door swung open, your eyes snap to Nadia’s face, and you see it, the bruise the size of a fist swelling up her right eye. 

“Where is he?” 

“Let’s talk inside.” Nadia’s hand on yours is firm as she tugged you in, using her hair to shield the bruise from view; the motion too familiar, practiced. The organ in your chest throbbed with pain and you think you’re about to have a panic attack or something. 

"Where is that nigga, is he here?” Your hands clench then unclench, and you can’t focus on one thing, eyes darting around the room, categorizing how the living room is trashed; broken glass shards sprinkled everywhere, TV broken, a hole or two punched in the walls. 

It’s a mess. 

“Calm down, Y/N.” Nadia says, voice entirely too calm, nonchalant.

“Is. That. Nigga. Here?” You enunciate each word forcefully, eyes widened and crazed, angry. 

“He not here. Simmer down already, shit.” Exhausted already by the conversation, she flopped down on the couch. “I called you because I needed your advice.”

“Waterboard that no good ass nigga.” You immediately suggest, taking a seat beside her.

“What, no. That’s,” she laughs, “That’s crazy. Y/N, stop it. Be serious.” 

You aren’t laughing. “I’m deadass. I know somebody who know somebody. They’ll snatch that bitch nigga up off the street, rough his punk ass up, and--”

Nadia couldn’t listen anymore. “I’m the one who started it by spitting in his face!”

“...The fuck. Why would you do that?” Almost always joking, Nadia wasn’t somebody who deliberately provoked people, or at least, she didn’t start something she couldn’t slick-talk her way out of. “Spitting on people is nasty, yo.”

“He dared me to do it. And I was just...” Sighing explosively, she ran her fingers through her hair. “...I found a pregnancy test in the bathroom trash, and I know it ain’t yours. You barely here, for one, and I can’t see you or Erik being that careless.” 

And you had an IUD, but still. Making a motion for her to continue, "So the muthafucka got his side bitch pregnant, and you got pissed.”

For the next half hour, you listen to her with a sympathetic ear as she told you that for a long time, things had been rocky between Travis and herself. He had not intentions of settling down -- with her, though he loved to lead her on with a carrot-stick maneuver and saying he might, he might, he might, while fucking around on her. He knew about the hookup she’d had with Erik and all the other times, with other people, while they’d been on a break. According to Nadia, the guy even made fun of her naivety in thinking he’d marry ‘a woman whose legs were always wide open’. The hypocritical dipshit.

That’s why she spat on him. 

Couldn’t really blame her for that, not really. 

“The girl he got pregnant, she’s only twenty one, Y/N. Twenty one...”, Shaking her head, Nadia laughed. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” As tears stung her eyelashes and her voice wobbled, you reached out, pulling her towards you for a half hug. “It’s okay. Fuck that dude, aigh’t? I know people say it all the time, but you are going to find someone and be happy.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do. You are a phenomenal woman and someone is going to recognize you for your worth. Don’t let some idiot take that away from you. You hear me?” Hot tears warmed your shirt and you rocked her gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise.” 

“I ain’t got nobody no more...” 

“It’s okay...”

Honestly, after that whole experience, you were drained. The thought of going out and being sociable, it made the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. Nadia wasn’t hearing that though. 

“B i t c h! This is an important milestone in your relationship. Meeting a family member?” Shaking her head, an ice pack over the swollen area, she gave you a thumbs up and painfully sincere smile, “Girl, if I was you, I wouldn’t have even brought my thick ass over here to deal with my bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Nadia.” You interjected, for the fiftieth time. “You my friend and you needed me. Case closed.”

“Whatever. I’m good. I’m gonna sit here and try and figure out who I can pay off to try and fix these damages before the landlord see this shit.” Tilting her head back, she sank more comfortably into the couch. “Forreal, you should go. See what’s good wit Erik and this mystery family member, actually find out what Erik does for a living. I’m betting it’s something physical. His arms hella strong.”

“Bitch.” You elbow her gently.

“What? I’ma single pringle now, so I can look,” Nadia said defensively. “It’s not like he would notice me anyway. The nigga got eyes for you only. It’s cute as fuck, keeping it one hunned.” Although you didn’t want to leave Nadia alone, she took your cellphone and texted Erik to come get you. 

When he came to pick you up, she all but shoved you out the door. 

“You still gon do this wit me, right? Meeting my cuz?” Erik could tell what was up immediately. “I can reschedule, it ain’t nothing.”

And he would, you realized, he cared for your personal comfort more than what his cousin would think. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands finding the nape of his neck, you tilt your head up and he took the hint, kissing you. “You don’t have to reschedule. So, where is this dinner taking place?” 

Turns out that it’s the Queen’s Cove, the most expensive hotel in the area. Some of the most important political figures and celebrities stayed there. Fuck, even Obama and Michelle had spent two nights there! You were internally spazzing out, mind going one hundred miles an hour, wondering exactly who Erik’s cousin was, who Erik was--

‘I’ll find out tonight. To-night. OMG. That’s not enough time! Holy fucking shit! Oh. mah. Gawd. Chill, Y/N. Just. chill.’ 

Calling up every ounce of zen in your body that you had, you manage to smile at Erik who’s eyeing you warily, probably catching the goofy, weird expressions you’d made while wigging out. 

"Clothes, we both need new clothes.” You say decisively. 

“I don’t really--”

“Nigga, bring ya ass on!”

“Aigh’t already, damn!”

After an exhausting rest of the afternoon spent looking for the perfect outfit, Erik dropped you off at your favorite salon to get your hair and nails done. It was a last minute walk in appointment and Chantay wasn’t the happiest seeing you -- until she saw the amount of money you were paying her. While she worked her magic, you and Breanna texted back and forth, with y’all going through potential jobs and reasons for all this mystery and secrecy that Erik was doing. 

Bre also promised that she would send Dre to put Travis in check asap. Then the topic changed once again when she sent you the link to an article about the Wakandan king, T’Challa. 

Apparently he was slated for a press conference tomorrow morning?

‘She so dumb, but I love her silly ass.’ Smiling faintly, you replied that yes, the king was pretty fione, but he was a little too lean for your tastes. You ain’t want a man that didn’t know how to handle all your thickness. You cracked up laughing when she sent you a poop emoji, murmuring an apology when Chantay told you to keep still.

Once that appointment is concluded, the two of y’all took note of the limo waiting outside. 

The. Limo.

GSLKDHFSKFLJSD!!!

“Y/N?” Neither of y’all utter a word. So he tries again, “Y/N Y/L/N? Is that you, ma’am?” The driver asked, professional and relaxed, unruffled, by the fact that he’s being gaped at.

“That’s me.” You reply weakly. He opened the door for you. 

“I got the license plate number in case you go missing.” Chantay whispered out the corner of her mouth. Placing a hand over your heart, you throw up a peace sign and she waved, removing a cigarette from behind her ear and lit it. 

Question after question flew through your brain. You wanted to touch everything but at the same time, it was important to show some class. He drops you off at the apartment where you quickly shower, moisturize, and change (Nadia is gone but where you don’t know and have no time to find out), and when you come back out, the few people lingering around eye you with appreciation, curiousity and lust. 

The drive to the Queen’s Cove is completely silent but you don’t care. This feels like some straight up black Cinderella-out-the-hood type stuff. 

The next time the car pulls to a stop and the door opens, it’s Erik who’s reaching a hand out to you. Without hesitation, you take his hand and he helps you out of the limo, appraising you with hungry eyes. Although your inner mantra is that you’re in public and this is indecent, especially for a place this fancy, you give him a once over too. 

“Damn baby, you lookin’ like a whole snack.” 

Cracking a smile, because regardless, Erik gon be Erik, you let him kiss the corner of your mouth, so close to your lips. “Mmhm, you look handsome too, baby. Let’s go meet your cousin.”

“You right, you right.” There’s a distracted air about him and he can’t stop looking at you. 

Admittedly, that swells your ego. That floaty feeling carries you through what might have been an epic freak out and meltdown because again, there were celebrities and politicians milling about, everything looked expensive. 

Fuck, even the air smelled rich!

The maitre d’ led y’all to a private booth/sitting area in the far back, not easily noticed by other people. And there, already seated... Is the King of Wakanda. T’Challa Udaku. 

“Cousin! There’s bobotie on the menu!” Eyebrows raising, you glanced at Erik pointedly, but he merely pulled out the chair for you. The whole ass king, T’Challa, put down the menu only to smile at you brightly, “Oh! I am so rude. Hello. You are Erik’s woman, yes?”

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” You said primly, about to raise up and possibly mangle an attempt at a curtsey, but Erik’s hand on the nape of your neck keeps you seated, the gesture effortlessly casual, but intimate.

“Please, there are no need for titles. Did you not tell her that, cousin?” Erik sat down too. “...Oh, Bast, he did not tell you that.” T’Challa, the king of an African nation, frowned. “N’Jadaka...”

“N-who?” Your brows furrowed.

T’Challa sighed and Erik eyeballed him, expression annoyed. “Bruh, don’t come at me like that! What with yo bitch ass Council putting that gag order on a nigga, what could I tell her but the kiddy shit?”

“Um...” You try to speak up.

“The conference is tomorrow, cousin. You could have informed her at least two weeks in advance.”

“You think I’m slow or some shit? Like I can’t read, muthafucka? Of course I know it’s tomorrow! I brought her down her to meet yo cornball ass, but we can bounce if you gon be on some other--”

THUMP! 

Slamming your fist into the table, ignoring the throbbing pain searing through the appendage, you glared at them both. “If both y’all grown ass men don’t start actin’ like y’all mofos got some sense and recognize we in public, right now...” You say through gritted teeth. 

“Sorry, baby.” Erik mumbled.

“My apologies, Y/N.” 

After that, the tension faded away. The dinner felt relaxed and normal, like you were eating out with ya man and another brother or something. During that dinner though, Erik explained that he was a prince, third in line for the throne to Wakanda. The two of them made some questionable quips and remarks that bordered on being too dark, and you were most certainly going to be talking to Erik about that later. 

Erik, that wasn’t even his real name. 

It’s N’Jadaka Udaku. 

There’s something beautiful about the way the vowels rolled off your tongue and N’Jadaka, likes when you use it. Oh, yeah, he definitely liked the way you say his name, if his hand on your thigh underneath the table is any indication, the slow circles he’s rubbing into the satin smooth brown skin, teasing you. 

“Hi! I’m Mitchell and this is Cassandra, and we--”

Oh. No.

It feels like the bottom of your stomach has fallen out. You are half afraid to even look up and see if they’re as close as you fear, but when you flick your eyes to the right, yes. Yes they are, right here.

Waiters. 

Ha! 

Right now, they’re pestering T’Challa, asking if he wants a refill of his drink, and you glance at ya man, trying to non-verbally signal to him that we had to get the fuck outta dodge before they noticed us. And either he was just horny or he got the message, probably the former, but he was about to get up when Cassandra turned and finally noticed us.

Shit!

“Y/N! Hi! Oh, goodness. This is such a coincidence, running into you and your beau again. I told Mitchell that I saw you at my other job and he didn’t believe me at all.” 

Somehow, you manage to smile, “Such a...small world.” 

There’s a pregnant pause. “Erik! Hi, hello!” Again, she offered her hand for a shake.

He ignored her outstretched hand. “This is a private dinner. Family only.”

Mitchell snorted, his handsome features twisting into a sneer. “Family? Y/N? No way. I grew up with the girl, that’s straight ghetto--”

Cassandra elbowed her hubby abruptly. “Honey.”

“Nah, let him finish his sentence.” Erik took a swallow of wine, finishing off the glass. “‘Straight ghetto’, what?”

“I was going to say that Y/N and her family are an...unscrupulous bunch.” Lying through his teeth, Mitchell plastered a smile onto his lips, though his eyes are bitter, cruel. Jealous. “It’s very unfit for her to be sitting next to, and dining with, royalty.” 

T’Challa raised a finger, “Forgive me for sounding uncultured in this. English is not my first language and I have not been to America often,” It’s clear, if only to you and Erik, that he’s downplaying his own intellect, he’d talked circles around you about a lot of topics and explained things without making you feel stupid. “But I believe you are insulting not only myself, and by extension, all of Wakanda, you are also insulting my own cousin, a prince, and his choice of female companion? Y/N is quite a lovely and intelligent, funny, woman, after all.”

“I agree! I so agree!” Cassandra nodded her head vigorously. “Y/N and I, we were friends once upon a time ago in college.”

Unable to stand all this double talking and hypocrisy, your mouth opened, “Bitch, when?” You sounded so done at the moment. “Is it after you caught a case of jungle fever and decided that you were finished fucking Tim, who went on to become a famous country singer by the way, and chose this light bright nigga to be your Negro husband? I bet you were very disappointed that the rumor of all black men having big dicks isn’t true.”

Cassandra paled, standing there, gaping at you. Mitchell, however, absolutely exploded. “You ghetto ass dirty hoodrat bi--”

One right hook and an uppercut and Mitchell hit the floor with a pained grunt. Erik put his foot on his chest, keeping him in place. “I’m from Oakland, California, straight up out the hood, my nigga. Erik Stevens, ask about me.” Grinding his heel into his chest for a few more seconds, he stepped over him, “Let’s get the fuck up outta here.” 

“Yoink.” You grab the bottle of wine, patting Cassandra’s shoulder ‘comfortingly’. “I’ll just take this for the road. Since we such good friends, you got me, right? Right. I’ll holla at you on Facebook, boo boo.” With a wave of your fingers, you accept Erik’s hand, smiling big and pretty, especially when he adjusted his grip so that his arm is around your waist, headed for the exit. 

“Bill me for any damages, yes?” Smiling a camera ready smile, T’Challa dipped his head in farewell to Cassandra, accidentally stepping on Mitchell’s hand and followed after his wayward cousin and date. 

Once y’all are outside, embarrassment overtakes you and you’re about to apologize to T’Challa but he only wagged a finger and smiled. “It was very good fun tonight. I almost thought you were too timid for my cousin but you have such a vibrant personality, Y/N.”

You look at the ground then away from him, unable to keep eye contact at the sincerity in his tone. “Careful, nigga, or you and me gon go round three for you flirting with my girl.” Erik joked, tilting your chin up a little to kiss your forehead.

T’Challa shook his head and chuckled, “Take care of each other and stay out of trouble, eh.”  

Then y’all go y’all’s separate ways. Erik and you get in the limo, while a fierce, bald lady opens the door to a sleek sports car, and T’Challa gets in that. Both vehicles take off in opposite directions. You reach for Erik’s hand and he holds your hand in his lap, his thumb tracing circles around the pulse point, a pensive expression on his face. You want to know what’s up but you also are afraid to know what’s bothering him, secretly figuring that it’s you and the drama that follows you around like a bad smell. 

When the limo drops y’all off at his crib, he immediately strips of the outfit, carelessly dropping the items of clothing onto the floor and elsewhere, motions agitated. You follow after him silently, carefully following his lead. The two of you shower together but he doesn’t touch you, or make any lewd comments. He gives you some clothes to sleep in and you think that y’all aren’t going to talk about the elephant in the room when he turns his back to you, and reluctantly, you turn so that you’re facing away from him too.

Only twenty minutes of this and you think you’re going crazy. 

You’re about to get the fuck outta dodge when he speaks, “I need...I need to tell you somethin’.” Heart sinking in your chest, you try to turn around but he holds you in place, apparently not wanting you to look at him while he tells you...whatever he needs to tell you. 

Pretty sure you were prepared for anything than what he told you about his life before he and you started sleeping together and became a couple. The uncensored version of who Erik Steven is...or rather, who he had been. 

Killmonger.

All of it. 

You’d like to think you were a tough as nails type of bitch, but that story had you crying hard as shit. Whether for N’Jobu, N’Jadaka, or T’Challa and his father. Or Erik’s victims...it’s a mystery. 

You just hurt.

“I couldn’t...couldn’t keep hiding what I done. I mean, I could, but tonight, if anything, proved that all that shit tends to come out one way or the other. And I wanted you to hear it from me, not nobody else.” He swallowed. “I ain’t gon be mad or, or, stop you if you choose to leave me. I understand.” 

The next time you attempted to turn around, he didn’t stop you. Legs on either side of his chest, hands resting on his abdomen, you stared down at him with red and puffy eyes. “If I got up right now to leave, would you choke me out, smack me, or shoot me in the head?”

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly, eyes suspiciously bright, “No.”

“Do you have any plans to cheat on me?”

“Fuck no.” 

“Couples fight, they argue. That shit is normal. I might get mad and say some hurtful things, or you might be the one to do all that. We might yell at each other. That is normal. What I won’t accept is being made into Boo-Boo the Fool when you get mad and feel you have to prove what a man you are, then cheat on me with another bitch. 

I won’t be your punching bag or doormat. I am your woman, more than that, I’m somebody daughter, they sister. 

I’ve got too much respect for myself to let any of that foolishness go on. I will drop yo ass wit the quickness and cross the street to avoid speaking to you for years, if necessary.” Pausing, you take a breath, letting your words sink in. 

“Do you understand?”

Erik’s cautiously rests his hands on your hips. “I understand that, and I respect it. But I’m asking you to please, don’t throw that shit I told you in my face if you get mad. Ion care bout nun else but don’t do me dirty like that, Y/N. I’m tryin’ my best, baby girl.”

Baby girl. Oooh fuck, that nickname did things to you. You needed to get your hormones under control, bih, this is a serious moment! “’Kay.” You say, voice quiet, and you bite your bottom lip. 

He seemed to sense the turn in your attitude because he soon leaned up and kissed you open mouthed and nasty, squeezing your ass cheeks, the boy shorts you wore offering little to no protection from Erik’s groping hands, “You gon let me fuck you now, ain’tchu, baby girl?” 

Oh, this bastard. Moaning yessssss, you don’t resist when he yanks off the shirt you wore, accidentally tearing it a little before flinging it away, then yanked off the booty shorts, shoving his boxers down just enough to free his cock, teasing your wet pussy folds before pushing in alllll the way inside you. 

“You mines, you my baby girl, you gon stay wit me.” The words are quietly delivered every time he fucks up into you, and your eyes screw shut, breaths coming quick. “Say it.” A particularly hard roll of his hips punches the breath out of you, “I can stay like this all night.” 

And you know he can, he would, tease you, the both of you, until he gets what he wants. “I’m yours, your baby g-girl,” Erik sucked at your throat, intent on leaving a hickie. “I’m not gon leave you.”

It’s like your words flipped a switch or something because he’s switching positions so that you’re beneath him and he’s fucking you nice and slow. Then again, this doesn’t really feel like fucking. It’s not rough or quick, with spankings or some choking. Whatever it is, it’s intense, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he kisses your shoulder, murmuring how good your pussy feels, and other sweet, perverse things, eventually sends you over the edge. You don’t deny it when he mutters, “You my baby girl...” Right in your ear just before he pushes inside you as far as he can go, filling you with his cum. 

After all, it’s not like he’s wrong; you are his.