#this was meant to be a lighting/coloring practice but I got invested

[murderbees]

Rectification

I hope this isn't too dark, I tried to look at it earlier and saw a black screen on my computer

Versions and Close-ups below

the darker one is the original, the lighter one is so I could actually see it in the sunlight, and the lineart was just for fun :D

Proud of this coloring (rendering?) I feel like the structures came out pretty well

[leona-hawthorne]

Hi Leona, congrats again on 1k! I'm here to request for latte art please. I'm a Slytherin and my favorite class is divination. Thank you.

ahhh thank you so much bb 😚💝 divination happens to be my favorite too 👀🤭

1k celebration navigation latte art

ミ★ GOOD AS NEW... lorenzo berkshire

You carefully navigated the aisles of Professor Trelawney's dimly lit classroom, clutching a crystal ball in your hands as if it held the future itself—which, according to Trelawney, it very well might. You’d stayed behind after class to help straighten up, which meant the room was almost empty now, save for a few stragglers and the lingering scent of incense. The crystal ball felt cool and fragile between your fingers, and you found yourself mesmerized by the way the light fractured across its surface.

You barely noticed the figure moving toward you until it was far too late.

Just as you took a step forward, someone barreled into you, shoulder first, with enough force to make you stumble. The crystal ball slipped from your grasp, spiraling through the air before you even registered what had happened. You watched in helpless horror as it plummeted to the floor, shattering with a piercing crack that echoed around the room.

"No!" you blurted, crouching down, eyes wide as you stared at the sparkling shards scattering across the stone floor. The idea of explaining this to Professor Trelawney filled you with a strange dread. It wasn’t just any old crystal ball; it was her favorite.

“Are you blind or just in a rush to ruin someone’s day?” you snapped, not bothering to even look up at the culprit as you carefully inspected the shards.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry!” came a voice from above you, laced with genuine regret. You glanced up, immediately recognizing him: Lorenzo Berkshire. You’d seen him around the common room and maybe once or twice in the halls, always with that easy, confident air. Slytherin, like you, though you’d never actually spoken to him.

Until now.

He stared at you with an apologetic look. “Honestly, I didn’t see you. Are you alright?” His voice was warm, softer than you’d expected, and there wasn’t even a hint of that usual arrogance you’d associated with him.

You sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as you gave him a dry look. “I’m fine, but I can’t say the same for this,” you replied, gesturing to the broken crystal.

Lorenzo winced, dropping to his knees beside you. “I’m really sorry. That was entirely my fault. Here, let me fix it.” He gave you a small, almost sheepish smile as he pulled out his wand. “One second.”

With a practiced flick, he muttered, “Reparo,” and the pieces of glass lifted from the floor, slowly reassembling until the crystal ball hovered, whole and gleaming once more. He caught it gently and held it out to you, his expression softened with what almost looked like genuine remorse.

“There,” he said, his voice quiet. “Good as new. I… really am sorry about that. Guess I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

You took the crystal ball, feeling some of your initial irritation fade. He did seem genuinely apologetic, and there was a hint of nervousness in the way he watched you, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually forgive him.

“Thank you,” you said, tucking the crystal against your side as you both stood. “I suppose I can let it slide this time.” You raised an eyebrow, adding with a faint smirk, “But you should probably consider slowing down. Or, you know… investing in glasses.”

He laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. “Fair point. I’ll add glasses to my next shopping list.” His smile softened, a touch of playfulness in his eyes. “I’m usually more coordinated, I promise. I guess I just… got distracted.”

“By what, exactly?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a faint pink tinge coloring his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… I don't know, just… my own clumsiness. Honestly, thanks for not hexing me.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “Let’s just say you got lucky this time. Next time, though, I can’t make any promises.”

“Noted,” he said with a grin, clearly amused by your feigned threat.

He shifted, as if about to say something more, but then hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the crystal ball. “I’m sorry again… uh…” He trailed off, a little sheepish, clearly realizing he didn’t know your name.

You felt a small thrill at the realization that he was curious enough to want to know. You offered him a slight smile. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, nodding as if committing it to memory. A small, almost shy smile crossed his face. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” you said, hugging the ball to your chest as you started to turn away, a smile playing on your lips. “And try not to break anything else, Lorenzo.”

His eyes widened a little in surprise, clearly not expecting you to know his name. But he recovered quickly, offering a lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best, Y/N.”

[stabbyfoxandrew]

More angel Neil please :))

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 238)

“Will you answer a question first?”

"If I must." Andrew says, flicking his fingers. “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask if it’s still just Neil.”

“Just Neil,” Andrew repeats, confused. “Are you asking if I have more than one angel?”

"Sort of. I’m asking if you’ve met anyone new or seen anything else strange recently.”

"No," Andrew lies. Then he blows air when he thinks of something. "Yes."

Betsy latches on. "Care to talk about it?"

"Sure. I found a feather on the roof a while ago.”

“That’s nice, but not really what I meant—”

“It glows sometimes."

"Oh.” Betsy says, changing her tune. “What color is it?"

"White. But it glows blue." Andrew tells her, thinking of the cerulean light that illuminates his pillow.

"That sounds pretty." Betsy says with a smile. "Out of curiosity, have your roommates seen the feather?"

"No. I didn't show them."

"But you kept it?" Bee asks. At Andrew's nod, she continues. "So, we've got an angel and a glowing feather. Angels have wings, so I’m told. That makes me wonder, did the feather come from Neil?"

Andrew was not expecting her to ask. It's such a simple conclusion to reach. Betsy doesn't like simple things. 

"I think so."

"Did you ask him?"

"No," Andrew says. It's not quite a lie. He'd asked, but Neil thought Andrew was scheming to see his wings again. Andrew's heart leaps. Neil's wings. It's his birthday. He's going to see them today. Later. Soon.

"When does it glow?"

"When."

"Is it constantly or a specific time of day?" Bee asks. She’s genuinely curious if her expression is to be believed. Andrew doesn't understand why she's so hung up on the feather, but he glances down at his shoes and thinks about it for a moment.

"At night."

Betsy gets a look on her face and sort of nods to herself. "Okay."

"No. No 'okay'. What was that?"

"I just know you aren't fond of nighttime." Betsy says, making Andrew bristle. Damn her for being good at her job. "And I know you sometimes have a hard time sleeping. Maybe the feather is a subconscious plea for you to invest in a nightlight."

Andrew laughs. He is not afraid of the dark. Only the monsters that lurk in it.

"Oh yes, a twenty-year old man with a nightlight. I'm sure my roommates would just love that."

"It might help." Bee says with a smile. For a split second, Andrew considers buying a fucking nightlight. If nothing else it would at least piss Aaron off. That's almost enough to convince him. Then he realizes he's basically just been using Neil's feather as a nightlight. The glow of it brightens and dampens. Sometimes it's so bright he can hardly sleep and other times it barely lights up at all.

"Enough about the feather," Andrew says, shaking his head. "I answered your question, you answer mine."

"I'm sorry. What was your question, Andrew?"

"I..." Andrew has to think about it. His fucking meds are eating holes in his brain. "Why would Neil suddenly start showing up in new places? It used to be just the roof. Now it's the roof and practice and Nicky's."

"He's your friend, Andrew. Why wouldn't he go where you go?" Betsy's voice is calm and even and it's annoying.

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Now, back to my questions. The reason I asked about any new," Bee fumbles for a word, "Things. Is because of the study I read this weekend. It was about a young lady who is taking medication similar to yours. I wanted to see if anything lined up."

"This girl had a guardian angel?"

Betsy opens her mouth. "I can't tell you all that."

"She's not your patient, Betsy. She's a case study." Andrew points out. "No confidentiality clause between you."

[voidheartkisses]

Okay hello hi hello,

First off you're amazing and a gift to the world, I wish I had even half your talent. Your last piece blew my mind and I just HAD to ask,

How long have you been drawing/painting for? I imagine forever but I'm always curious how long it takes before artists reach these sorts of levels where it evolves into full-scale projects as opposed to smaller hobbyist crafts. There are so many beautiful art pieces on this platform as a whole and I'm constantly baffled by it all

Sorry if my excitement is off-putting that piece is heavenly and my mind is blown. Hope you're doing well!

Hi and thank you! That's a good question

So I've been drawing since I was born, but I've been drawing digitally for 8 years. I think in the very beginning most artists should just focus on having fun, you'll basically improve by default

after a while you will want to improve. It will be slow, but this is the stage where you'll recognize what you need work on

I'd say the turning point is when you've finally gotten far enough into your art journey without any sort of formal training (ie, a lot of artists dont learn the basics/fundamentals first, which is fine since most of us start as hobbyists) But I think learning them really did help me a lot. You start to think more about how light and shadow lays, depth, 3D objects, and more.

I highly recommend watching this video about levels of art, it's been really helpful and motivating to me throughout the years

This part is going to be long so you don't have to read it but I just wanna give my personal journey and how I got to now if anyone thinks it'll be helpful:

(2017) With digital art, I started off on ms paint and occasionally ibis paint x. Mostly using anime deviantart bases (EMBARRASSING), but after a while I developed my own style based on the people I was inspired by at the time, I was just happy to draw and didn't care much about improving at this time

(2019) The people you look up to artistically will naturally change over time (and thats okay), after a while I decided to switch to firealpaca, where I guess I got more invested on how light and shadows work, as well as making my characters look a bit more natural and develop my own style, your preference in aesthetic may also change over time which is noticeable here

(2021) Eventually, I began to lean more into semirealism (which isn't everyones preference and thats okay! realism shouldn't be the ultimate end goal of art) but I really enjoyed making stylized characters look 3D and in natural looking environments, since I felt it spoke to my own experiences, a lot of artists draw from real life experiences. I focused more on anatomy at this time as well as textures and environments, composition also became a big deal for me at this time, as well as wanting to use different colors

(2024) The change from LINEART to DIGITAL PAINTING in 2022 was the hardest for me once I switched to clip studio paint, it was basically like starting all over and I was so lost. I had a lot to figure out on my own but I knew it was a transition I had to make to draw the kind of art I wanted. But I began to study and take more things into consideration, I didn't like my art so I simply kept going "I can do better", learning from my previous mistakes and slowly making something I would be more satisfied with. At this point art felt more like "projects" then anything, because I wanted to make pieces that were of quality and had time and care put into each of them, sure it meant there was no longer much quantity. but hey that's what my smaller Cult of the Lamb lineart drawings are for!! 💙

I'm still growing and I definitely have a long way to go, but I am very proud of my progress this year, and I'll continue to grow until I'm satisfied (haha im stubborn) I also want to develop my secondary lineart style that I do when I'm not painting, since I feel that is important too

in short; time, practice, dedication, and passion are the most important, draw what you love above all else because it will be your drive to keep going, staying motivated was the most important for me

Sorry for the long post 😭

[mamamittens]

Glad I scaled down my event, already looking at Sunday-Friday next week with an extra hour Monday-Friday. And it's not even Black Friday yet. Or Cyber Monday...

Got in two asks so far, finished uploading the Spooktober fics to AO3, and am already in bed an hour early. Not that I'm going to sleep yet, never works like that when I want it to lol

So! Rambling time!

I had more thoughts about the Omega verse/yandere au with Nikia, Thatch, and Izou!

So, I was thinking about some of the cultural whiplash Nikia experiences in this new world. She has zero context for all these new instincts, nor the assumed instincts people have adopted.

Like, how much contact is appropriate with a stranger and where. Luckily for her, the scent glands are in pretty intimate places already. How often do you touch the base of someone's neck/shoulder? A total stranger at that? So she doesn't usually step on any toes--not that any of the WBP would hold it against her or think too hard about it since they know she's not from their world and is very new to the ABO stuff.

And Nikia has a few unconscious biases about assumed behavior, usually centered around wings, so she's confused a lot by accident. Like, a lot of the time, she doesn't register flirting because she's used to it being accompanied by deliberate displays of the other person's wings. Typically slight flutters, extensions to show off well groomed edges of their feathers, or a hidden display of colors. Or if they're bold, wing contact as soft brushes and puffed up feathers to briefly interlock with the other person's wings. Like grabbing someone's hand and kissing their knuckles--its so intimate and viewed as romantic in her world, but also stupid bold for strangers.

She's even naturally capable odd vocalizations and her pupils act... Very odd sometimes. (Briefly debated how bird like she should be and tbh, I'm giving her more bird eyes than human eyes... She still needs glasses but instead of very close vision like normal, it's because she's got REALLY GOOD distance vision but it's... Really really far distance. Not practical day to day indoors). She pins her eyes a lot without meaning to, so she constantly looks startled and scared, when it's actually the opposite and she's curious or invested! She can coo, chirp, and screech very loudly but hates being so noisy and has learned restraint over the years. Combined with her new Omega instincts, her growls and snarls are... Very piercing and give anyone that hears them pause.

Though only Marco knows about it at first, Nikia's body is also a lot hardier than expected. Meant to handle at least basic flight with modest covering, her skin is pretty durable and doesn't bruise or get pierced easily. Compared to them, where certain parts of their body has thinner skin but they heal up very well with minimal scarring.

Anyway! Social shit!

This divide is made pretty clear when they stop at an island for restocking and there's the obligatory 'threat but not a real threat just a test to the relationship' scene. Fueled by Izou and Thatch being... Well, handsome, famous, Pirate Commanders. They usually have a few hopefuls flirting with them, either hoping for a eventful night or an easy in with the crew. Having a very well scented, new mate does not deter some of them.

A few ladies trying their best to scent their interest and test compatibility by brushing their scent glands (the light ones on the wrists) across theirs. Izou and Thatch ain't having it, concerned that Nikia would flip since she's struggled with territory issues for a while now.

But Nikia is just lost in thought like

Ah, they're pretty confident to get so close to pirates -- I mean, they're great, obviously, but I'm pretty sure pirate still means criminal here. Oh, but they are famous, maybe Whitebeard has a good reputation so this isn't as risky as it seems. They're kinda touchy as fuck though, is everyone this bold or is this desperation? Wait, Izou and Thatch look uncomfortable, should I say something? Do I need to? They don't seem too bothered but they keep looking at me... Weird.

The ladies in question are smug as shit at first, certain that Nikia is threatened by them. But as the 'testing' goes on, they get weirded out by her intense stare and how... Detached she smells. Her scent not communicating anything but polite interest and then mild concern. The boys are equally thrown.

Turns out, being super snappy when other people do light scenting in a social context is a learned behavior. Not ingrained. Marco takes very interested note of that.

But when an alpha tries to flirt with her, doing more or less the same thing as earlier, her literal everything is just looking at him like

She's leaning away from them, nose wrinkling as the outdoor space no longer diffuses their purposefully flexed scent. Wings snapping close to her back, eyes wide as they try and press harder for a positive response.

Her body language a tad confusing in this context. Pupils flashing rapidly. Her scent potent in confused inquiry.

She seems to be very loudly, without words, asking "What the fuck do you want?" But her body is screaming "You have the sex appeal of a manure farm in summer rain". Very startling.

Luckily, Izou and Thatch are quick to (literally) soothe her feathers and shoo away the stranger. It takes a bit for her to relax again.

Oh! Speaking of wings! It takes a while for her to start instinctively attempting to 'bond' with people. But they have no idea that's what she's doing and she's too thrown by the lack of reciprocation or denial to explain properly.

Mainly, when she starts to feel for them, she instinctively tries to lace her feathers with Izou and Thatch's non existent wings. Only to meet only air. When they're debating someone else, she hovers an open wing behind their back, just shy of touching and is disappointed when she doesn't feel the light push back and settling of wings. When she's startled or anxious, feathers quivering and shuddering out of place, no one idly preens her.

She wasn't the most social, but she's close enough to several people that, had this been her home dimension, they would have done any number of these gestures. But she knows they can't, so she just tried to curb her expectations and disappointment. Much to the bafflement of everyone in scent range cause she's smelling increasingly like a kicked puppy and no one knows why.

Until one day she happens to be taking to Ace when he passes out mid conversation. And she knows the game by now, so she just settled down and waits patiently. Her wing draped over his back as she idly braids his hair. Finally, her original instincts are being soothed, though still not reciprocated. Izou and Thatch both being invested in their personal appearance enough she hadn't gotten the courage to ask.

Ace ends up sleeping for a while and hard at that, feeling oddly settled when he wakes to several braids in his hair and soft feathers over his shoulders. He definitely blushes when she smiles and asks if he rested well.

He did.

Very much so.

Thatch seethes in the background with jealousy and Izou is no better when he hears. Still, they barely manage to control themselves and ask wtf that was about and why she smells so content.

She's embarrassed but is eventually able to explain how big mutual grooming is back home. Even strangers would settle ruffled feathers if someone was having a breakdown.

Thatch immediately offers to preen her feathers and she goes bright red. (Doing it is one thing, but asking is equally romantic and intimate, because usually it implies something more than just sorting out feathers). She caves and they cuddle in her bed (Thatch is so fucking smug to be covered in her scent and leave his own in her space). Thatch encouraging her to lay on his chest while he handles the rest. It's not ideal, which is why she protests, but he reaches a good bit of it all.

Taking the time to play with her hair as she falls asleep absolutely boneless. Later, he stared in the mirror. Izou confused until he breaks down.

"....I want her to play with my hair too~! But--but my style--it cant--i want...." Sad baby hours while Izou rolls his eyes.

"Then do it before bed, dumbass."

Suddenly all is well.

Had the fun idea Nikia was pulled mostly by her hand or maybe soul mates are indicated by glowing bite marks depicting their future mates' teeth and shes yanked by that. And she fights it. Really hard. Izou and Thatch having to physically assist in pulling her through where she fights it the entire way. Luckily for them, she's super out of it once she's pulled through and starting to get hit with Super Puberty. Also really good ears, not that she's in a state to notice anything being said at the time.

Thatch ends up with her hair ribbon and is super normal about it while she recovers. Izou stealing it every other day impatiently.

[matriarchjojo]

─── [𝘚𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘠 𝘉𝘖𝘠𝘍𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘛𝘠 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓𝘍𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘋] <3

⌗ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 + 𝐁𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝟏𝟖+, big size kink, dacryphilia, choking, fingersucking, oral, throat fucking, praise kink, use of safe 'word', spanking, fingering, daddy kink/ddlg, vaginal sex, manhandling, hair pulling, finger sucking, all characters are over 18, readers skin color is not mentioned

You're boyfriend comes home and sees you all dolled up, what is he supposed to do other than mess it up by making you cry in pleasure?

✧ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 ✧ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘!!

Jason left at 7pm, it was now 2am and you were still awake..

While trying to fall asleep you found yourself watching random videos on your phone and scrolling through various apps, finding cute outfit ideas and just clothes overall. Then you got bored and decided to read some of Jason's books under the bed, they were really good and you were invested but you suddenly felt the need to put on makeup..and boom, you're wide awake and now waiting for your big boyfriend to come back.

And just as you were done with admiring yourself and your work in the mirror you heard the window open, meaning jason was home.

You hopped up and opened the door from your bedroom to make your way to the livingroom, you stopped for a second and froze as you took in the image of your tall, downright scary looking boyfriend. The red practically glowed in the dim light on the moon shining through the window.

"You're just gonna stare, huh?" His slightly moduled but still deep voice snapped you out of it. He turned around and god..he looked even more terrifying "why’re you awake, babe?" He asked as he walked towards you "hm?" He questioned again with his cold fingers against your warm cheek "couldn't sleep.." you smiled and looked up at him through your falsies.

He hummed and took his masks off and smiled down at you, god you never really took in how fucking tall he was..he literally towers over you.

"Who did you get so dolled up for?" He asked softly and so lovingly, he adored you quite frankly..I mean how could he not? How couldn't anyone see you and not fall for you? Jason's lucky to have you, and you're lucky to have him. It goes both ways of course, cause who wouldn't want a goddamn handsome man like him? He was smart, respectful, educated, fucking hot and he knew how to fuck.

You smiled at his question and grabbed his gloved hand "no one actually..I was bored and wanted to try this style of makeup i saw" he chuckled and shook his head "looking so pretty cause you're bored, hm?" Jason's hand went to your waist and down to under your big shirt to grab at your soft ass "how about we make the most of it?"

You tried to contain your grinning but ultimately failed as you teasingly asked "what do you have in mind, mister red hood?"

Jason chuckled deeply, that name coming from your lips got him excited. really, really excited.

"I think you know, little miss civilian"

You cocked your head to the side, more into his touch and Jason put his thumb on your bottom lip as you immediately wrapped your glossy and plump lips around it, staining his gloves with the sticky lipgloss. You started to suck and didn't break eye contact with your big boyfriend.

Jason just groaned at your innocent look and slowly ran his other hand back up again to stop and softly caress the sides of your neck before he breathed out "can I?" He asked almost desperate. He always asked, but the way he asked right now meant that he'll be rough with you tonight.

You hummed around his digit in excitement "mhm~" as a 'yes, fucking please!'

As soon as jason got your consent he slammed you against the wall behind you by grabbing you neck in a tight grip. Jason was already breathing quite heavy and his pupils were blown wide, leaving very little of the pretty green color left in his eyes, he had the Adrenaline from being out on patrol and beating people half to death still pumping through his whole body, making him feel almost high. He was already rock hard thinking about how he would pound your poor pussy into the mattress.

Jason pulled his thumb out and shoved his index and middle finger down your throat "yeah, take it, baby..good girl" he huffed and groaned softly at your cute choked noises as you gagged on his fingers. His cock ached and throbbed in his tactical pants at how goddamn pretty you looked gagging on his fingers and him holding you up by your throat with your toes barely touching the floor.

"Fuck you drive me insane.." he hissed through gritted teeth. Your hand suddenly went down from his chest to his abs and then finally his weeping cock, making the man hiss and moan, that was the last straw for him, he needed to feel you "fuck—get on your knees, baby—get on your knees for me"

you happily did as he said while his hands helped you down to the ground. Jason unbuttoned his pants and shoved them down far enough to let his fat cock bounce up and down infront of your face, It pulsed and twitched as your eyes could only look at his veiny cock, your mouth began to water and gap at the sight.

"Open your mouth, pretty girl" Jason hummed "and give me your hands" he demanded as he already grabbed both your wrists and placed them on his strong chest. "Don't want you touching my pussy without permission, hm?" Your head was trapped between his big built and the wall behind you, it made you feel so vulnerable to him, you loved it.

Jason pressed the wet head of his throbbing cock against your lips and pushed you harder against the wall in the process as you let him slide his fat cock inside your mouth. You instinctively started sucking him in as far as you could, relishing in the needy and absolutely horny moans from Jason.

Jason choked a broken moan out as you started suckling on the salty with precum head of his cock, you moaned at the mere taste of him and you knew you were already embarrassingly wet. "And remember, baby..three taps on my chest and i'll stop, okay?" You nodded and sucked harder on his tip, but that wasn't enough consent to him so he pulled out of your mouth with a hiss "I need a yes, baby, I'm about to face fuck you dumb, I need you to understand your safe word."

You almost moaned at the way he scolded you but you decided to be good and nodded "y-yes I get it..three taps.." your eyes kept switching between his emerald ones and his red and dripping cock "good girl..you deserve your reward now, hm?" You nodded frantically "mhm!" and waited for his 'go ahead'

"Oh my god—fuck..you little vixen.." he cursed. Jason couldn't fucking stop himself from rutting into your mouth and moaning at your gags. His cock felt so heavy on your tongue and in your throat, god this felt almost therapeutic. It made you feel so good, airheaded, no thought in your head, no worries in the world, just fucking good.

Jason started thrusting harder into your tight and warm throat "ohh..f-fuck!" He cursed through gritted teeth.

Your manicured hands started to grab at his chest and dig your nails into him. Fuck you were so wet it was getting so uncomfortable, you needed relief so bad that you just clenched your thighs together just for the smallest friction on your throbbing clit.

Jason held your hands against his chest tightly while moving his hips against you and basically using your throat as his pretty fleshlight.

Jason fucking loves getting blowjobs from you, it's his favorite thing when he gets back, just you hungrily sucking him off. So desperate to drink his hot and bitter cum. He still thinks a lot about that one time he came home and you immediately came over to him and got on your knees for him, it was a little awkward cause the door was still open and the neighbor just passed your apartment at that moment, but that just made it hotter. He wants everyone to know that you're his. he would fucking die for that moment to happen again. You were so horny that night, just wanted to suck him off so, so bad. But truly nothing beats being inside of your hot and tight cunt, just swallowing his cock whole as you grind your hips against him and he plays with your clit.

Jason pressed his forehead against the wall and almost came when the both of you made eye contact, just your teary eyes looking up through your pretty lashes, eyeliner and mascara running down your cheeks. Something about knowing that he caused this just fucking did it for him, he made a mental note to take a picture of you after he's done with you.

Jason threw his head back and just kept fucking your throat as he began to huff and groan almost animalistic, then the need to be touched became way too much for your poor body to handle and you tapped on his chest. Jason, being the decent man he is, immediately pulled out of your mouth and kneeled down to your level, cupping your pretty but messy face, drool covering your mouth, tears streaming and makeup already ruined.

But he couldn't focus on that right now, "are you okay, baby? Did I go too hard?" He asked out of breath and worried that he might've hurt you. You immediately shook your head "n-no! Just want you to fuck me, jay.."

You gave him a fucked out smile and his cock was never that hard before, you looked like a dream..maybe a wet one but those are always the best.

Jason just let his hand wander your soft and curvy body as he grabbed your neck again with the other to kiss you, neither of you really wanted to make the kiss romantic. Right now, you two just wanted to fuck like rabid bunnies.

Jason had his fingers and nails dig into the plush skin of your waist "shit..m gonna ruin you tonight."

You shivered and yelped as jason suddenly yanked you off the floor and swung you over his shoulder with your ass right next to his face, he could've sworn he was able to smell your sweet cunt. jay was literally unable to resist the urge to play with your wet pussy while you're over his shoulder, so he basically ripped your panties off your ass and yanked them down your legs to throw them onto the floor "jayy~" you whined, grabbing onto the red jacket "don't tease me—" your breath stuttered once Jason's fingers easily slipped into your cunt "oh fuck.." he said under his breath, just barely audible "sweetheart, you're so fucking wet for me.."

Your hips started to jerk into his touch while Jason just curiously played with your folds and wiggled his finger inside of your cunt. "S-stop!~" your pleads just made him chuckle and smile "you say that, but you keep clenching and bucking your hips" he paused and striked a harsh slap against your ass "bad girl" he said, the grin in his voice was very evident, he loved playing with you like this, just getting you as desperate as possible. "Jason~ fuck—please just f-fuck me!"

Jason kissed your ass and walked over to the bedroom and swinging off his shoulder so that you were laying on the edge of the bed and you immediately spread your legs for Jason as you watched him take the rest of his get-up off and then drop to his knees "your pussy's the only thing I'd get on my knees for.." he placed a kiss on your clothed cunt and spoke up again "maybe for you too but..this ain't the time to talk about that" he mumbled and kissed your pussy again before hooking his fingers underneath the waistband "how much were these?" You steadied yourself on your elbows and breathed out a "huh?" Jason rolled his eyes and looked up at you "were they expensive?" He asked again to which you shook your head "not really.." "not really?" He repeated with a chuckle "yeah, why—" you got cut off by the loud sound on cotton ripping, Jason just ripped your panties in half..fuck that sheer strenght of his made your pussy clench around absolutely nothing. But you wanted to clench down on his cock so bad.

Jason grinned up at you through his black hair and then just started making out with your pussy lips, grunting and growling at the taste of your sweet pussy. You were writhing on the sheets and grabbing them as your back arched off the mattress "ohh—f-fuck! D-da.." you trailed off, not sure if you wanted to say it but then jason stopped fucking you with his tongue and just slid his fingers back into your pussy as he got onto the bed "yeah? What did you wanna say, hm?" He huffed as his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and his red, hard cock pressed against your thigh, once he got up, twitching and leaking on your skin "I'm listening, baby" he groaned out in such a sweet but deep tone while he looked down at you. you bit your bottom lip, choking down some moans as his fingers rubbed against your g-spot, jason knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew what made you twitch, writhe and scream.

You finally spoke up "daddy.." and Jason's soft face turned dark with lust and a grin telling you that you aren't gonna be able to even sit tomorrow.

Jason grabbed your waist and flipped you over, showing his your beautiful ass and your arched back "fuck, look at that ass.." he mumbled as he just admired your beautiful body, he loves every fucking curve, dip and stretch mark of your body. He could kiss every inch of you every second of the day and he'd die happy.

Jason's strong hand came up to your pussy and sank in two fingers, but not moving them. Leading to you whining and crying "don't whine baby.." he began and slapped your ass "how about you just shake your ass on my fingers?" He grinned and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth "and if I'm feelin' nice, you'll finally get this fat cock in your needy pussy, yeah?"

You immediately nodded "o-okay!" You mewled but you then recieved another slap on your ass "what was that?" He asked while squeezing the plush flesh "m-meant yes, daddy" you corrected and started shaking your ass to feel more of his fingers, making you lay your head on the sheets and bite them to muffle your moans and embarrassing whimpers.

Jason enjoyed the show greatly, he watched your ass bounce up and down on his fingers so intently. He chuckled and pulled his fingers out of you to quickly suck them clean and grab his cock "fuck..you're such a good girl, baby..the best girl, aren't you?" You hummed in agreement, your mind was at that point that you just agreed with anything jason said without even knowing what he was saying. And Jason knew that, so he will ask you to repeat what he said so you know exactly what you agree to

"then say it, baby" Jay rasped and grabbed your hips with one hand while the other is grabbing his cock and teasingly prodded it against your clit and then through your folds. "H-huh?" You asked, mind confused and clouded due to his cock being so close to being inside you

Jay grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back so you looked him right in the eye "say you're my good girl" he groaned and softened his tone as he trailed off, seeing your glossy, pretty eyes..with no thought behind them "my pretty, favorite little sweetheart.." you grinned dumbly and opened your mouth just to get cut off my a gasp as jason pushed the head of his cock inside, causing jason to already huff and groan. "C'mon now, say it, smart girl" he mocked and shook your head in his hand.

You whined and wiggled your ass, you tried to push against him to get more of his cock inside but his hand on your hip stopped you, again, jay was way bigger and stronger than you. And having you fight against him, knowing you'll lose got him so hard. Your play fights always turned into rough sex

"'M your good girl, daddy! I'd do anything for you, daddy!" Jason grinned and moved his hand down from your jaw to your neck again and roughly manhandled you to turn over so you were laying on your back and he had all of that pretty body on sight. "Look at you.." he said, with a deep but soft voice as he was watching you over like you were some type of meat to him. He chuckled once you reached your arms out and made grabby hands so he'd kiss you again "so needy.." he smiled down at you and did as you asked, you happily wrapped your arms around his neck and hummed once he kissed you.

Before you knew it, jay was pushing his cock past your pussy lips and slowly pushed further, "mmpff!—j-jayy!" You whined at the stretch and dug your sharp nails into his back, he winced a bit, but God did he love your nails scratching his back open. Jason dipped his head down to kiss at the soft skin on your neck to suck a few dark spots into it. Jay loved seeing the marks he left on you the next morning, and of course also seeing the marks you left on him, sometimes he even verbally encourages you to suck hickeys into his skin.

The stretch of his cock certainly wasn't unwelcomed, but it was still a bitch to get it inside..Jason looked up again and quietly checked up on you "you okay?" Even though he was trying to keep his persona going, he still cared about your well being.

You nodded happily and kissed him again while your legs wrapped around his waist to get him to go deeper. once his tip finally brushed ever so slightly against your cervix, he let out guttural, animalistic growl to be then followed up by a whimper. Jason didn't waste anytime to start thrusting in and out of that little piece of heaven you got between your legs, because God knows jason would go feral if he tried cockwarming with you. He just needed to fuck you at any given moment, he's a desperate mess just like you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He cursed through gritted teeth as his hips continued to slap against yours and his cock hammered in and out of you "you feel so fucking good, baby—" Jason whimpered and groaned once he felt your pussy clench and throb around him, jason knew just how to fuck you so you'd fall apart almost immediately. Your nails were scratching at his strong back "you gonna cum for daddy? Already?" He scoffed and as you nodded he pulled out, leaving you moaning and frustrated as he just grinned down at you

"I want you to ride me, can you do that for me?" He asked with a cocky grin while you whined and pouted "j-jaee..." you slurred and grabbed at his arms, jason tapped your forehead and chuckled "can't be this dumb already, babe..c’mon" he ordered and laid down on the pillow before grabbing your hips and pulling you onto him. Once you were ontop and could see his smug face again you pouted sadly "Jay—" "when you ride me you can get to cum as much as you like, how does that sound, hm?"

Jason grinned again at you staring down at his cock, almost hypnotized "c'mon, be a good girl and ride Daddy's thick cock" he urged by massaging the fat of your wide hips "k-kay, daddy.." you mewled and slowly aligned his cock with your dripping hole to immidietly drop down on him with a loud and long moan.

Jason clenched his teeth and gripped your hips tighter "shit—Baby, you feel so good..fucking everytime feels like the first fucking time" he cursed and let his head fall back, he looked so pretty like this. Relaxed, face flushed with heat and his hair stuck to his forehead while the other hairs decorated the pillow nicely. "Bounce for me, babe..bounce on my cock" he groaned as you started lifting your hips slightly and dropping back down, finding a rhythm you both enjoyed. You desperately rolled your hips and threw your head back, so lost in the pleasure. You put your hands on those that were on your hips to help you steady yourself.

You thought you had a nice view before, but you're not seeing what he sees..he just sees his fucking angel making herself feel good on his fat cock, so good that she doesn't even know what's going on anymore, his pretty little airhead angel..

You choked out a moan and felt your thighs burn, but you were so close again..that burning in your legs wasn't going to stop you. Jason felt your hot walls throb and convulse on his cock, making him grin again and let his dominants hand travel down to play with your clit, he's always happy to make you cum faster.

"Yeah, baby..fuckin' cum on me" he huffed and watched you closely as your thighs started shaking "make a fuckin' mess— good fucking girl" Jason looked up was was not ready for that sight..

You were sucking and biting on your own fingers as your mascara and eyeshadow running eyes stared him down as you came on him. Jason cursed, gritted his teeth and grabbed your wrists to slam you under him as he fucked you into the mattress like a feral animal "f-fuck, baby..you damn angel, huh?" Jason ripped your fingers out of your mouth and replaced them with his own "so fuckin' pretty..damn.." he groaned and began to thrust harder, forcing another orgasm out of you. You whined and mewled as you bit down on his fingers and came on his cock.

"P-please, daddy! C-cum inside me!" You cried, muffled due to your mouth being full. Jason couldn't even think anymore after everything you just said and did, his thrusts became more sloppy as he moaned into the mattress next to you. "Fuck!" His yelling drowned in the mattress as he creamed your pussy full to the brim.

You don't think he ever came that hard...and that much..after good 10 seconds he was still cumming and moaning before pulling away from the mattress with a string of spit connected to it and his lips "that was...fucking good..." he chuckled and grinned down at you, he held his weight up to not crush you and just look at you and the marks he's left on you.

"My pretty girl..fuck you look so good" he said in a soft and loving tone as he wiped your hair away from your face, "I could just look at you all day.." you giggled at his compliment "no you couldn't! You'd try to fuck me" Jason let out a soft laugh and kissed your forehead "let me run you a bath, okay?" As he was about to pull out, you pulled at his bicep to get his attention "wait, you forgot something.." you mumbled with an almost shy grin. Jay smiled and ran his finger over your cheek "n what would that be?"

You bit your bottom lip with the same grin "you wanted to take a photo of me.." you mumbled and Jason's eyes widened a bit before kissing you "you're right, baby.." his grin widened and reached down to the side of the bed to reach into his pants to get his phone.

Once he got it, he pulled his Softening cock out of you and groaned out a hushed "fuck..look at that.." as he saw your cunt drip with his cum. Jay turned on the camera and made sure to get both your overflown pussy and your pretty face in the picture "say 'I love my daddy'" he encouraged as he held your thighs open you giggled happily and said "I love my daddy!"

He took the picture and smiled at it before throwing his phone behind him on the bed and threw himself onto you to leave kisses all over your face "jayy~ you wanted to take a bath!"

"Just one second.." he mumbled before grabbing your face and kissing you on your pouty lips "I love you, baby.."

You kissed him back and giggled into the kiss "I love you more~"

⌗Tagging ☆ @spaceace5834 @winterbimbwo

[bao3bei4]

fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all. 

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

fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

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

victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

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

it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

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

japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

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

i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you. 

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances. 

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves” 

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women. 

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other. 

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how: 

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers. 

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese? 

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

finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power. 

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry. 

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition. 

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people? 

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game) 

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects. 

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too? 

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it? 

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

some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood! 

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :) 

[tfwlawyers]

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

-

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

-

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

-

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

-

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

-

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

-

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

-

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

-

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

-

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

-

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

He

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

-

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

-

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

-

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

-

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

-

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

-

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

-

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the  proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

-

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

-

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

-

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

-

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

-

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

-

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

-

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

-

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

-

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

[mercy-burning]

Say You’ll Remember Me (Songbird Chapter 1)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: After performing at open mic night at a bar downtown, Reader meets someone that could change everything for her. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (oral sex - male and female receiving, fingering, male masturbation, cockwarming, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie), Language Word Count: 7.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

***

Love never came easy to me. Truth be told, a lot of things never came easy to me, and I was okay with that, but love was probably the one thing I wish I could just let myself feel with no problem.

For as long as I could remember, I've wanted to be in love with someone as much as I'd seen my parents love each other. My older sister got a boyfriend when she was 17 and I was 11, and they've been together ever since. They're married with two children now, and just as in love now as they'd been when they met.

I've never seen anyone love the way I've seen my family love, but for some reason I was never able to give as much as them. I mean, I felt love obviously, but it was never that all-consuming, life-changing love that was supposed to make your head spin and your soul ache.

Maybe I just never found the right person, but every relationship I've ever been in ended because of my inability to give out as much love as I was given. And that's not to say that I didn't care about the people I've dated, they were all really great people in fact... But I could never fully be in it, you know? Some people give their all to another person, would do anything and everything for them if it meant they got to spend the rest of their lives together, but I never felt that. Sure, I could have settled in any of my relationships, but if I was going to actually spend my time building a life with another person, I was going to really feel like I needed it to survive. Or, like I deserved it, if I was going to go that far.

For the past few years I've pretty much given up on relationships. I've been on a few dates, had a few hookups here and there, but at this point I was almost certain that love wouldn't find me any time soon.

However, the one thing that filled that love-shaped void in my soul was music. Words, melodies, stories... It all made me feel the way I was convinced love was supposed to make you feel. Even if I never wrote songs about my (positive) experiences with love, I loved love songs, and most music in general. That was the one thing I was sure of. Music was the one and only love I knew I could count on. It kept me safe, it ensured that I wasn't alone, and it hugged me in a way where I've never felt more at home.

Which would explain why I was here on a Friday night, singing in front of an entire crowded bar. Performing and sharing my music with people was the best way I knew how to outwardly show... well, anything about myself, really. I didn't go to open mic nights often, but when I did it felt better than anything in the world.

Tonight was... different, though. Not in a bad way, of course, but there was something in the air that made me feel like something great was going to happen.

It was the same feeling I got whenever I knew I was about to get laid.

Now, say what you want about it, about me, but even if I sucked at finding love I sure knew how to have one-night stands. I loved sex. It was another way I was able to get that happy rush of feelings while being with another person without actually having to be in love with them. Truly, sex was the perfect outlet for me, and my music was a great tool that helped me get it. Not that I needed help—if I wanted sex bad enough I could easily look for it—but the fact that I could play several instruments and sing well definitely made things easier.

And tonight I wanted it bad.

I hadn't realized it until I tried to figure out what song to sing for open mic night, and in turn came to the conclusion that I hadn't had sex with another human being in about a month. Which wasn't a bad thing by any means, but it didn't change the fact that I wanted someone else to help me out in chasing that high this time.

So I opted to go with a cover of a song I knew would do the job no matter what. I brought my electric guitar with me and mirrored the Wildest Dreams performance that Taylor Swift did from the GRAMMY Museum. The song itself was sexy and sweet, but with the electric guitar and the electric guitar only, it made for less sweet and more sexy. I'd always loved that performance from the second I saw it, so as soon as I was able, I bought an electric guitar and taught myself to play it. It was a hit every time I performed it.

I was wearing a maroon, long sleeved turtle-neck crop top that exposed my belly-button ring (which was sparkling silver and caught the light in the bar beautifully, if I were to say so myself), a pair of tight jeans, and black glittery heels that I only ever pulled out when I was feeling brave. My hair was half-up and half-down, leaving a good amount of my face exposed which donned silver eyeliner, sheer lip gloss, and my eyebrow ring. Paired all together with my black and white guitar and shiny nail polish that matched the deep maroon of my shirt, I felt hot as hell. Better than I'd felt in a while if I was being honest.

It felt even better when I was performing. I was confident in my abilities as a musician, to which I considered myself fortunate. If only I could have been that confident in other departments, I feel like I would have been dead-set for life.

But tonight I didn't want to think about that.

I played the song just as well as I had every other time. Probably even better, if only for the fact that I was working to get myself a lay. But whatever the scenario, I was feeling good and that's all I'd ever wanted to accomplish.

I saw him immediately after I sang the last note and the final chord of my guitar faded out into the applause.

He's just... where my eyes decided to wander, I guess. I don't know exactly what it was, but I was thankful for it, even though I almost forgot to breathe with the way he looked back at me. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were because of how far away he was, but I'd have bet on my life that they were some shade of brown. He bit his lip rather nervously when he noticed me staring at him, unable to tear my eyes way, but nevertheless he kept his gaze trained on me. It was so strong I could have sworn they burned holes into my soul.

Or, more likely, my libido.

Either way, I knew it then, when I packed up my guitar and walked through the crowd to find him, that I wasn't going home alone for the first night in weeks.

That was a good feeling.

So good, in fact, that I allowed myself to be a little more vulnerable than normal. It wasn't anything huge, but it also wasn't like me at all.

While generally, guys are more notorious to be the ones kicking out the women after a one-night stand, I always found it the opposite. I hated waking up in the morning and having to kick some dude out of my apartment. They always put up some sort of fight when it came time to leave, and I didn't get why. All the women I've hooked up with were easier to communicate with on that front, so I didn't mind as much, but still made it a point to be the one coming and going no matter who I slept with.

There was something different about this guy, though. Again, my sex drive was probably getting the better of me, so it maybe wasn't the best idea to let him come to my apartment, but I truly believe that a part of me wanted this man to see where I lived. I... don't know what it was, or why it happened, but it felt exciting. It felt new. It sparked some newfound adventure in me that I didn't really know I craved until I had it.

That being said, I could almost tell immediately within minutes of talking to him that he was going to be a hard one to get to leave. But the thing is...

I didn't mind that.

Something deep inside me wanted to feel what it was like to wrap this man around my finger, to have him so invested in me that he didn't want to leave me, and it was a weird feeling. I didn't know what to do with it, exactly, other than test the waters and see what was going to come of it.

He was about to tell me his name. That's when I started to realize it was a bad idea, and I was already in a vulnerable position. So I held my hand out to his face, pressing my pointer finger to his lips and seductively licking my own.

"No names. Is that okay?"

Something in those brown eyes (I was right) practically begged me to let him say his name, and a part of me wanted to know what it was just so I could scream it. But I knew that if I knew his name, I was ultimately going to be in trouble.

Like I said, there was something different about him. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to know because if I did, then I was going to be even deeper in uncharted territory. Besides, if anything the mystery of having no names would make this even sexier. Right?

Reluctantly he nodded, and I slid my finger down his lips and under his chin, then over his throat. I saw the goosebumps form on his skin as I went lower, lightly over the navy blue sweater he was wearing and stopping at his lower stomach. I grabbed one of his belt loops and pulled him close to me, smiling softly as his eyes never stopped searching mine.

"You ready to show me a good time, Pretty Boy?"

He exhaled at the nickname , but I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or what... Either way, he said, "Yes," and I twisted his belt loop tighter with a wink.

***

She was the most captivating woman I think I'd ever seen.

She commanded every room she was in, made everyone pay attention to her, and even if she couldn't sing or play the guitar the effect would have been the same. Granted, I only ever saw her in the bar. So, technically only one room.

But it was about to be two.

I didn't even want to be in the bar, and I was going to leave since Derek, Emily, and Penelope ditched me for their own endeavors, but at the very last second a voice in the speakers cut through the radio-generated music announced that someone would be performing, officially kicking off open mic night.

It wasn't that that stopped me. But it was her name.

Y/N.

I had to wonder if, when she said, 'No names," she remembered or even knew that I'd already known it. Or maybe she just didn't want to know my name. Whatever that meant, it didn't deter me in any way from trying to take up any space or time that she had. After she locked eyes with me on stage, I sent out so many signals, hoping to whatever higher power was up there, if any, that she would come to me. I just... needed to know her. To see her up close.

Truthfully I don't know what made me think I had the right amount of confidence or skill to do anything other than babble incoherently or just stare in her presence, but thankfully she didn't have much of a knack for talking.

When she finally stood in front of me, I didn't know where to look. I knew ultimately that I should look at her face, but damn it if I couldn't help but look at all of her, my stomach naturally doing flips when I caught sight of her belly-button ring, and... Her hands... Good God, I couldn't stop staring at her hands. I realized once she was closer that that's mainly what I looked at while she was on stage. The way her fingers worked the guitar, making it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, it was enough to send me into a tailspin.

Truthfully I don't think there was one single flaw about her. Naturally all human beings have flaws, but as far as I could tell, from this first meeting, this woman was nothing but an angel sent from Heaven, specifically to destroy me.

My favorite part about her, though, was by far her voice. I didn't listen to much mainstream music, but if it sounded anything like that, then I wanted to hear all of it.

Forget angel... She was a siren.

Yeah. That was the perfect way to describe her.

And when she touched me...

I'm pretty sure I blacked out.

I say pretty sure, because I distinctly remember telling her, "Yes," when she'd asked me indirectly to leave with her, but everything else only came in one-second flashes. A moment where I was in her car, and more clearly a moment when she pulled me out of it and shoved me against the door after she closed it, running her glorious hands through my hair and attacking my neck with harsh, sloppy, butterfly-inducing kisses.

But I made myself remember when we were actually in the apartment, because there was no way I was going to let myself forget that moment.

So I was completely well-aware of everything around me when she unlocked the door, pulled me inside, and shoved me against another door for a second time that night. This time she kissed my lips, and I all but melted into her. Her tongue didn't waste any time slipping into my mouth, but I didn't waste any time trying to fight it. I would have given her anything she wanted, she didn't even have to ask for it.

That being said, she broke away from me, looked me dead in the eye, and asked, "Can I take your pants off?"

I nodded eagerly, choking out a breathy, "God, yes," as best as I could.

That seemed to be what she was looking for, because she all but groaned as she squatted on the floor and worked at my belt. I didn't know what to do with myself, my hands seeming to wander aimlessly before settling behind me on the door. Once she got my pants down, she looked up at me through those silver-painted eyelids and leaned forward, pressing a hot, wet kiss to my dick through my underwear.

Any other time in this sort of situation, I most likely would have felt embarrassed by whimpering the way I did, but seeing the primal lust widen her eyes as I did it completely erased any doubt I ever had. By the time she pulled my boxers down and licked a large, slow line up the underside of my dick, those doubts were completely wiped off the board, no evidence of them ever having been there.

I wanted to look at her more than anything, to memorize the way she looked wrapped around me, but my eyes wouldn't stay open. Everything I was feeling, every sensation that ran through my veins, every hot lick of her tongue as it swirled around my tip, every small stroke of her hand when she took a break to whisper filthy things to me... It all rendered me completely unable to think straight.

At one point I was almost at the breaking point, and she knew it, too, because she pulled away from me completely and stood straight, running one of her hands along the inside of my thigh as she went up. I opened my eyes to meet her, her mouth slick with a smear of her lip gloss and her saliva. She looked like she was on the brink of tears, but none of them had fallen. But the gleam in her eye, that's what stood out to me. She was so utterly consumed with burning desire that I would have done anything to satiate every need she had.

She waited a beat, studying my face and the way my lips were no doubt still smeared with her lip gloss. And then she grabbed one of my hands and brought it to cup her crotch, tilting her head to the side and practically sighing at the touch.

"Aren't you going to return the favor, Pretty Boy?"

My first instinct was to tell her I needed a second to breathe. But somehow I knew I wouldn't be breathing well regardless of what happened. I stumbled out of my shoes and pants as quickly as I could, using my hand to lightly rub along the seam of her jeans. As soon as I was free of constraints, I made a point to turn us around so she was the one with her back against the door. I helped her pull her pants off, and once they were, along with her heels, I draped one of her legs around my shoulder so the process would be easier for the both of us.

I've only ever gone down on a woman a few times, so it was safe to say I was a little nervous that I wouldn't be able to satisfy her. But even if I hadn't had much practice, I knew I was a good listener. I practically read people for a living, and I knew how to read behavior and body language. So I knew that that would be my strong suit here.

That being said, I did have some idea of where to start. So I looked up at her while I brought my tongue out to her panties, lightly dragging the tip of it along the seam that met the corner of  her thigh. On my way to the other side I pressed the lightest of kisses to where her clit would be through the fabric, and then repeated the process a few times, feeling her squirm beneath me. Once I could tell she was getting close to frustrated, I made it a point to drag my tongue upwards in a long swipe until I reached her clit. I kissed it again before using one of my fingers to come up and slide under the fabric, though not pushing it entirely aside.

She sighed out as my finger ran along the very tops of her lips. When I pushed it in just the slightest, gathering her wetness as my tongue still gently worked at her clit through her panties, I took the moment to look up at her.

If she wasn't already the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and in that moment she was even more perfect, her lip bit and her eyes on the verge of fluttering closed, I could only imagine what she would look like when I was inside of her.

I almost collapsed thinking about it, but went back to my task quickly, knowing that if I stopped thinking for once in my life then I wouldn't have to imagine it, and I could experience it instead.

So I finally pulled her panties aside and used the tip of my tongue again to taste her, just as lightly as I'd done it before. Only rather than fabric I was met with the smooth, slick taste of her pussy. I think I could actually hear her tremble under me as I flicked my tongue over her clit a few times, though everything I was feeling in that moment was so strong that it was more likely that I was losing every ability to think straight.

As time progressed I deepened my every movement, bringing my tongue deeper and harder through her gradually until the point where I was practically eating her out like a man starved. You could argue that I was starved for her in every sense of the word, but that moment wasn't about me. I was focused solely on making her feel good, paying attention to how tightly she gripped my hair when I briefly sucked on her clit, or the way she bucked her hips forward whenever I pushed my tongue inside of her as far as I could will it.

She seemed to like it best, though, when my fingers pumped slowly in and out of her in tandem with each swirl of my tongue around her clit. I took my time, savoring every second I could as my eyes stayed shut. I could barely keep them open.

When I finally did look up her, that seemed to finally be the thing that pushed her over the edge. Well, started to, anyway.

"Wait," she breathed, and for a second I thought maybe I'd done something wrong. I pulled away from her and raised an eyebrow, and all she did was look down at me, her eyes just as lust blown as they'd been before, if not even more. "I want you to edge me, can you do that? Just... keep bringing me there, but don't give me what I want. Not until I tell you to."

"Anything," I told her truthfully, keeping my eyes locked with hers as I brought my tongue to her once more. She shuddered under my touch as I worked at her clit again, quickly flicking over it as my fingers came up to hold her hips. It wasn't long before I brought her to the edge for the second time that night, and this time when I pulled away, I leaned my head into her thigh, pressing soft kisses to the inside. She was so focused on watching my face that she must not have noticed my fingers coming to slide into her again. She fluttered her eyes closed and leaned her head against the door with a soft thud as I fingered her, quickly picking up the pace as my tongue came out to lick at her thigh before I bit into it softly.

"Fuck, you're so fucking good with your hands," she managed to say through a moan.

I laughed a little, glancing over at her hands briefly and just letting the words fly from my mouth. "You're one to talk. The way you played that guitar? The way you touch me? Good God..."

She hummed hungrily, opening her eyes and pulling me up by my hair to pull me away from her. Her leg dropped from my shoulder and I stood up to meet her, towering over her by a good four to five inches.

For a moment we just stood there and stared at each other, both pants-less and desperate for each other but unwilling to do anything about it.

Until she pulled at my hair, craning my head to the side so she had access to my neck before running one of her hands down the side of my face, neck, and finding purchase gripping my shoulder. Her nails lightly scratched at my skin, sending a mess of goosebumps down my whole body, right before she took the other one and grabbed my bare ass.

"Baby, I've barely even touched you, yet."

I don't know what it was that made me so bold, but I smirked as both of her hands squeezed, causing her fingernails to leave indents into the skin on my right shoulder and my left ass cheek. "Touch me, then."

She was more than happy to oblige. Within seconds, both of her hands were slipping up my sweater and roaming my back and stomach as she leaned up and kissed me again. I met her lips happily, allowing her all the access she wanted to my tongue. At this point I was growing restless, wanting more than anything in the world to have her push me onto the bed, or the couch, or even the floor, and do to me whatever she saw fit.

My desperation must have broke the surface somehow, manifested in a way I hadn't noticed, because she laughed against my mouth, pushing me away and ripping off her shirt in one fluid motion. Which left her in only a grey bra that matched her panties.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

I didn't hesitate, doing as I was told and tossing it on the floor with our other clothes.

"Go sit on the couch."

I went there as quickly as I could, only feeling slightly embarrassed being the only one completely naked. But almost as soon as I sat down on her couch—truthfully one of the most comfortable ones I'd ever been on—she'd come up behind me and started massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes at the way it almost lolled me to sleep. If she did that any longer, I'm sure I would have.

Eventually, though, she slid her fingers down my neck and over my shoulders, resting them finally on my bare chest and drawing circles. She brought her lips down to my right ear and grazed it with her teeth before whispering, "Touch yourself for me? Go slow."

I didn't have to be told twice. As I'd quickly learned, I was pretty sure this woman could have done anything she wanted to me and I wouldn't have rejected her.

My hand firmly gripped my dick and went slow, just like she'd asked. With every long, meaningful stroke, she mirrored it with a swipe of her tongue along my neck. Her hands remained at my chest, reaching down to circle my nipples in very light, goosebump-inducing motions.

"Faster," she told me, and I listened. Each stroke of my hand was met with even faster, sloppier kisses along my neck and jawline, and I could have sworn I felt her fingernails digging themselves harshly into my chest.

"Faster."

By this point I was occasionally bucking my hips forward to meet my hand, and Y/N laughed lowly against my jaw, mumbling against it. "You wanna cum, Pretty Boy?"

"Not... Not yet," I stuttered truthfully.

"Aww," she cooed, tilting my head to the side and giving me a kiss on the mouth. It was probably the sweetest kiss we shared that night. "You want to cum inside me, don't you?"

She kissed me again immediately after she said it, and I moaned into her mouth, my hand working faster. If she didn't stop me, I was going to be done for, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go again. Not for a few hours at least. And I didn't know how long she'd want me to stay, or what we would even do while we waited.

Thankfully she seemed to take some semblance of pity on me, because she brought her hands away from my body, pulling back completely and telling me to stop.

I removed my hand and practically sighed in relief. I waited for further instruction, a sound, a touch, anything... But I almost had the wind knocked out of me when she appeared in front of me, having taken off her bra and underwear. What I found shouldn't have surprised me, but somehow it did. This woman was just full of surprises.

She had nipple piercings that matched the silver color of her eyebrow ring, not sparkly like the belly-button ring, but it was the cherry on top to what I'd already found practically perfect in every way.

As she sauntered to me, I couldn't decide where to look. Much like before. So I started from the bottom and worked my way up, eventually meeting her eyes when she straddled me on the couch and took my face in her hands.

"You clean?"

"Yes," I stated clearly, not wanting any signals to get crossed. I even nodded to accentuate my point.

"Good. Me, too. And I happen to be on birth control, so..." She leaned into my ear again and ground her hips into mine, the hot wetness of her pussy slightly grazing my dick. I almost fainted right there. "You can cum inside me all you want..."

She bit down on my shoulder then, and I groaned, bringing my hands to rest at her hips.

Then she pulled back and looked me in the eye again, grabbing my dick and lifting her hips to hover above it. She sunk down completely and quickly, letting me adjust to the feeling for all of two seconds before she gripped my chin in her right hand and smiled, batting her eyelashes. "But only when I tell you. You can't cum without my permission, got it?"

I breathed out a weak, "Yes," and then she got up and sank right back down, setting a quick and steady pace right away.

Both of her hands gripped my shoulders while mine stayed planted firmly around her waist, and if they were too tight she didn't say. In fact, by the look on her face I judged she probably enjoyed how tightly I was gripping her. So I decided to test it out. And sure enough, every time I let up my grip on her waist she would clench around me and move a little faster, making my grip tighten, and then she hummed, digging her nails into my shoulders.

Every high moan and whimper she let out as she rode me was just as melodic and beautiful as her voice when she sang. Added to the way she moved and the way she worked her hands, she was a rhythm all her own, constantly creating some sort of song, some piece of art that begged to be heard, to be felt in the deepest part of any soul that would embrace it...

I wanted it to last forever. I wanted to drown in her song forever.

Maybe that was a little dramatic. I mean, I only just met this woman under two hours ago at least (I wasn't sure how much time had passed truthfully), didn't know a single thing about her other than her first name, her musical ability, and her body. And all she knew about me was... well, my body.

Regardless, I was determined to make this last as long as I could, so I let go of her hips and brought my fingers to comb lightly through her hair, bringing her head up from the crook of my neck to meet mine, our foreheads touched together.

As if she knew what I was thinking, she slowed her hips, and then pressed her lips to mine gently. I'm pretty sure I felt my heart melt.

"What's wrong? Not gonna last much longer?"

I couldn't tell if it was a taunt or a genuine question. Either way, I shook my head and cradled her face. "I don't think so... But I want this to last."

"Hmm," she contemplated, but not for long, because seconds later she stopped moving her hips altogether and stayed sitting on my dick. She leaned back a little, bringing her hands to rest on her thighs as she took me in. "Well, then I guess I'll have to get creative."

I genuinely had no clue what she was about to do, but when she moved one of her hands to her breast and pinched at her nipple, I didn't care one way or the other. I was curious, sure, but ultimately I knew I would welcome whatever she did.

"I noticed you've been eyeing my piercings all night," she said sweetly, continuing to play with her nipples. She bit her lip softly before grinding down onto me and making me suck in a breath. "But I have to say, these two are my favorites... Aren't they pretty?"

"Fuck, they're beautiful," I breathed, splaying my hands over her stomach. "You're beautiful..."

"Aww,” she drawled. “Thanks."

Then she promptly removed her hands from herself, grabbed my wrists, and brought them to her breasts. My hands instinctively squeezed, feeling the contrast of soft skin and cold metal in my palms. I licked my lips before flicking my eyes up to meet hers. "Can I?"

"You can do whatever you want, baby," she purred, grinding her hips once more. A groan ripped from my throat before I leaned forward and brought her right nipple into my mouth, immediately swirling my tongue around the metal of her piercing. I think she might have groaned also, but I was so caught up in the way she grinded onto me and the feel of her skin on my tongue that I couldn't tell you for sure.

I kissed across her chest until I reached her other nipple, and gave it the same careful attention. Meanwhile I suddenly felt her hand slip down between our bodies so she could touch her clit. I brought my head up and peppered kisses up her neck.

"Let me help," I whispered against her skin, bringing one of my hands to replace hers.

She grabbed my wrist before I could get there. "No, keep doing what you're doing. Please..."

And that was that. I moved my mouth back down her neck, down the slope of her breast, and went back to flicking and swirling my tongue over her nipples. Eventually I took one and just slightly tugged at it with my teeth, causing her to buck her hips forward and send a shockwave of energy through me. At that point I was pretty sure I was almost feral with need, not caring how long it took anymore.

So right after she brought herself to orgasm, the movements on her clit slowing to a stop, I shifted our weight and pinned her to the couch so that her back was arched off the armrest. With an amused laugh, she wrapped her legs around my waist as I held one of my hands to the back of her head, the other on her waist, and pushed into her with one, long, fluid thrust forward.

I didn't waste any time with adjustments. I didn't care that my knee was only slightly hurting at the angle it was placed in. The only thing I cared about right then was fucking this woman so good she'd have to remember me. Which wasn't like me at all, but I didn't care.

So that's what I did. My hips set a ruthless, quick pace that had her sliding back until she was almost off the couch, the only thing keeping her anchored being my arm cradling her neck and head and her legs wrapping around my waist. Her heels dug brutally into my lower back, and if I had to guess, they were probably going to leave bruises. Not to mention her hands were clawing desperately at my shoulders to hold on, grabbing any skin she could as I pounded her into the arm of the couch.

I tried to keep my head up, but I was falling into oblivion. And I think she knew it, too, because she used her hands to keep me upwards, even doing so much as looking down between our bodies as best as she could to see me drilling my hips forward. The sight seemed to send her into a tailspin, because she bit her lip and groaned out.

"Fuuuuck, baby, just like that, don't stop, don't stopdon'tstopdon'tst—"

She came hard and fast, trying her best to keep her eyes open, right before looking up at my face. She clenched around me, and I knew I was done for. Any second now and I would finish. Just before it happened, she slid her hands up my neck, brushed the hair from my face, and brought me down to kiss her.

I moaned in her mouth as I came, keeping my hips pressed flush to hers and holding myself deep inside her. She moaned right back, swiping her tongue against mine as she squeezed her whole body around me and pulled me impossibly closer to her. In that moment, I didn't feel like it was just an orgasm... Which might sound cheesy and kind of stupid in retrospect, but it really felt that way. Right then, with her whole body holding mine and daring itself not to let go, it felt like every sense I had was stripped away and all that was left of me was her. As good as it felt to cum, it felt even better just being wrapped up in her in every capacity.

And that was why—even after we were finished and exhausted—we stayed just like that, wrapped up together on the couch with our lips moving lazily together until I felt myself start to drift off.

At that point, she'd somehow managed to pull me off of her and lean me back into the position I'd been in before, and my eyes struggled to stay open.

"I'm gonna go clean up," I thought I heard her say, and I wondered how she had the energy and stamina to stand up and walk around. But then again, I was so exhausted that I wasn't sure if anything that happened after we came down from our highs was even a coherent experience.

That being said, I managed to mutter an "Okay," while she disappeared and I tried to catch my breath. It only took about a minute before I realized that I was alone, and that she'd left to clean up the mess that I made. That seemed to snap me out of it, though not by much; I was still a little light-headed when I got up from the couch and started to collect my clothes from the floor.

I almost had my pants all the way on when I heard her voice from behind me.

"You don't have to leave... if you don't want."

I turned to face her, noticing that she was wearing a large nightshirt and probably nothing else. Even after she'd just gotten obliterated on the couch she still managed to look like the most angelic thing I'd ever seen. Or maybe I hadn't actually done as well as I thought, and she was the one who'd obliterated me... Either way, I felt bad for staying, especially knowing that she didn't even want to know my name.

So I shrugged, stifling a yawn. "No, it's fine, I... I should go. I don't want to intrude or anything, I—"

"Oh, please," she scoffed, walking up to me and placing a soft hand on my forearm. "As far as intrusion goes, I think we're way past apologies, don't you think?"

I smiled at that, admittedly leaning into her touch as her hand drifted up and to my cheek. "Okay. But only if you let me sleep on the couch."

"Don't be silly. You just fucked me on said couch, it's okay if you sleep in my bed with me."

I only shook my head, placing my hand on top of hers. "You didn't even want to know my name, which tells me that you probably aren't the type of woman to let men sleep in your bed with you after sex. Which is fine, don't get me wrong, but... I don't want to make you uncomfortable. And, I... I feel bad enough, I didn't help you clean up, I should have—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," she said, removing her hand from my cheek and placing it on my bare chest instead. "That right there is why I don't mind if you sleep in my bed. Plus, it's late, you don't have a ride, and I can tell you're sleepy because you've been nodding off as we've been standing here. You can barely stand straight."

I didn't know what to say. Probably because she was right and I was nodding off right now.

She spoke again. "At least stay and rest for a few hours before you leave. And if it'll convince you to stay... You can have the couch."

I smiled lazily, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be gone before you wake up."

"Well... In that case, can... Can I kiss you one more time?"

"You can do anything you want to me," I told her truthfully, and not even a second passed before she pressed her lips to mine.

Despite everything we'd just done and the fact that I was almost asleep, it was the hottest kiss we shared that night. I was sure of it. It was lazy and wet, and so filled with the aftermath of all that we'd experienced together that I almost fell to my knees, and not because I was tired. Her tongue grazed mine in the most purposeful way I'd ever felt in a kiss my entire life. The way she held me to her, her hands weaved in my hair and mine pressed firmly to the small of her back, had me tingling from head to toe.

To this day, it's still the best kiss I've ever had.

I swore to myself I would never forget that kiss, and I never have. I couldn't have, even if I tried.

When she pulled away, I almost chased her, but I let her go, opening my eyes to stare deeply into hers. She didn't move for the longest time before clearing her throat and taking a small step back.

"Goodnight," she whispered softly. She looked almost as dazed as I felt.

"Goodnight," I whispered back as she turned around and padded into the darkness.

***

As I stood at her kitchen counter four hours later, a pen in hand and hovering over the back of a receipt she'd had crumpled on it, I tried to think of what to write, even though I knew it probably didn't matter to her one way or another if I said anything at all...

At the very least I wanted her to know just how much that night meant to me, even if she didn't feel the same way. Even if she didn't want to remember my name, I needed her to at least remember my face, remember what we did... Remember me...

I recalled the song she sang. And then I wrote it down.

I had the best night, thank you. Say you'll remember me... —S.

***

"Nothing lasts forever But this is gonna take me down."

—Taylor Swift, Wildest Dreams

***

TAGLIST:

@bluesunrise02 @meowiemari @teenwolfgirl90

[let-them-read-fics]

Youth With You

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,113

HC Count: 31

This is a mix between headcanons and a one shot

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Little Hot & Heavy, (Public) Teasing, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my first writing for Lisa; I’m pretty proud of it! Feel free to let me know what you think. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Becoming a new trainee was terrifying in every sense of the word. The media, the practices, the tests -- everything. 3 months into your coaching, however, things hit an all time high: you gained the opportunity to enter the competition Youth With You, as an independent trainee. Your freedom and right to expression was important to you, so it wasn’t an accident that you were going in independently. A company would only put pressure and bans on you, restricting your creativity and keeping you from being your most authentic self.

Finding out that Lisa was a mentor only made your nerves worse; at the same time, though, you’d never been more excited for something in your whole life.

Having friends in the industry proved to be an important factor as you prepped for the show. Producers and managers gave you advice, knowing exactly what each of the teachers looked for and demanded from their groups. You worked tirelessly to ready yourself for the whirlwind that was sure to come.

When you arrive at the production building, you’re in awe; the interior is ginormous, with insanely high ceilings and huge doors. Everything is coated in various colors, all of them pristine and beautiful. The labyrinth of halls that winds throughout the building before you is quite intimidating, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself of your reasons for being here. It’s far too important to chicken out now.

The staff had tipped you off to the fact that the mentors would be there today, but they neglected to tell you when. You had surely expected them to come in after everyone got settled. Alas, you were sorely mistaken; thus, you can imagine the surprise that etched into your features upon entering the main room.

Ella and Kun were invested in their papers, flipping through the stacks and whispering to each other; Jony J was turned to his right, chatting with Lisa. Your presence was announced by the rather loud thud that echoed through the room at the closing of the door.

The bright lights nearly blinded you as you turned to face them again, dread creeping into your mind.

“Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words came out cooler that you had expected, and you patted yourself on the back for remaining so calm. You’re known for managing to hide your nerves well and remain professional, but that’s no easy task with this group of talent. Especially her.

You purposefully tried to avoid looking at her, knowing you’d blush and get majorly sidetracked. You feared you wouldn’t be able to recover from that.

“I see that you’re an independent trainee,” Kun said, a smile spreading across his lips. You swallowed at the sight, knowing the questions were about to come rolling in. “Yes, that’s correct. I prefer working alone; I only have to rely on myself.” He studies you, head tilted to the side as he considers your answer, and you nearly melt under his astute gaze. “I was the same way. It’s never easy, but the mentors and I will be right beside you during your time here.” Knowing that these 4 amazing people were here to share their experiences and guide you through your troubles made the task at hand much less daunting, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Despite the intensity of the competition, you felt at ease, knowing they genuinely want the best for you.

“Ah, look at that face! So cute,” Ella coos, grinning back. You hide your face behind your hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone chuckles at the sight, and you join in. With the atmosphere officially comfortable, you allow your eyes to trail over to Lisa. To your surprise, she’s already looking at you, lip between her teeth. 

“I see that you have 2 special talents listed.” Lisa starts, leaving room for you to elaborate. “Yes ma’am. While studying abroad in my youth, I learned 3 languages in addition to my native English.” The mentors look pleasantly surprised, and you continue with your other skill. “My mother is a professional chef, and we’ve always been close. She’s trained me over the years, and that’s something I’m very thankful for. During my time away from home I was fortunate enough to learn new techniques and styles from across the world.”

As you finish talking about yourself, you look to each and every one of the judges separately. You know it’s important to have a good connection with all of them, and you use this chance to do just that.

Upon locking eyes with Lisa again, your breath hitches. The light blush that rests on her cheeks, combined with the look she’s giving you, is enough to make you swoon. It’s innocent enough, the way she’s watching you; after all, she can just blame it on her role as a teacher -- she has to get a good understanding of her students. However, though, behind the innocent facade lies a much more sensual reason for her behavior. You don’t miss the way her eyes rake up your body, nor her smirk as she notices your hands mindlessly toying with the band of your shorts. You do your best to keep your attention on the others as they ask you questions about your resume, but that’s easier said than done.

Once they’ve finished with their questions, they invite you to take a seat anywhere you’d like. Despite your desire to book it next to Lisa, you don’t want to be impolite; that’s also not to say that you didn’t enjoy the company of the others -- you truly did. Clearly, though, no one can compare to Lisa.

You give them all another smile, the dimples of your cheeks on full display, and approach them one-by-one to shake their hands. They appreciate the gesture, and you’re confident that you’ve won them over that much more.

As you make your way to the seat beside Lisa, your heart beats wildly. It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress your anxiety for the time being. Letting your control slip now is definitely not an option.

In contrast to the heated look she had been giving you just moments before, Lisa now dons an adorable smile that nearly makes your heart burst. In the moment, you almost reach forward to touch her puffed out cheeks. 

You sit down beside her, and she takes a minute to look you over again. It’s baffling how she can go from so wholesome and adorable to flirty in such a short period of time. 

As the time ticks on and the mentors work through the list of contestants, the two of you continue to steal conversations and teasing glances.

Things are ramped up, however, when Lisa’s hand finds its way to your thigh, settling there for a bit. You attempt to push the intrusive thoughts from your mind, but they come flooding back the second she leans in to whisper something into your ear.

“You look gorgeous,” she tells you, warm breath fanning over your neck. Her slight accent only adds to the effect that her words have on you. All you can offer is a breathless thank you, thoughts completely jumbled at having the stunning woman do such things to you.

Before anyone can get suspicious, she backs off. The disappointment must’ve been evident, because she chuckles lightly and pats your knee in response. Thankfully no one had been paying you two any mind.

~~~ Practices ~~~

It wasn’t often that you came into the studio upset or exhausted, considering you knew you’d soon be cheered up once you saw Lisa, but she made sure to take care of you when those times came around. She could read you like a book, easily knowing when you’d had enough and needed a break. That’s not to say that she lowered her standards, though -- she was firm and demanding, but she checked on you often. She respected all of her students, but she couldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for you. You lived for her soft gaze and gentle touches on the days you needed them most.

Other days, though, you got a kick out of teasing her; playing dumb, purposefully missing steps, ignoring her instructions -- anything to pull a reaction from her. 

          ↪“Eyes forward,” she would call out, voice strong, upon catching you talking to a fellow trainee when you were meant to be practicing. Her jaw would be set, eyes menacing.

          ↪“You keep messing up. Here,” she’d declare, demonstrating the moves directly in front of you. She knew exactly what to do to get you going, and sometimes your plans backfired a bit.

          ↪Those times that you’d play dumb were by far the best, both of you secretly loving the back and forth of it all. “I’m sorry, miss. I just can’t seem to get the moves right.” You’d say, appearing innocent and sweet all the while. It was hard to contain yourself when she’d approach you from behind, pressing her body against your own. “One here,” she’d inform, placing your hand on your hip; “...and one here,” she’d finish, correcting your position once again. When the music restarted, she counted next to your ear, keeping time as her warm hands held yours, guiding you through the positions.  

And of course, the majority of the time, you were a great student for her. Her praise had a mighty effect on you, and there existed a mutual love for it. Being a strong dancer often worked in your favor.

~~~ Performances ~~~

Anytime you were set to perform, Lisa made sure to settle in and get ready to enjoy herself. The two of you had spent many weeks getting to know each other better, growing closer in the process. She found you captivating, and always loved to watch you on stage. The same can be said for you; seeing her dance was always the highlight of your day.

The two of you made sure to play things up, having a knack for getting the other riled up and squirming in their seat.

Watching her cool demeanor falter and ultimately crumble before you was one of your favorite things in the whole world. One of its only rivals was how she had to attempt to conceal it, knowing the cameras would be on her often. 

“I-I loved it. I’m very proud of you, Y/N.”

You smirked at her stutter; no one else was capable of making her blush as much as you did

~~~ Bonus: Backstage ~~~

“You all did so well. I loved that dance break in the middle of the song.” You gushed to a group of your fellow contestants, smiling at how happy they were. Over the course of the competition you had become something of a “celebrity” yourself, noticing that the other girls would always approach you for help and get giddy when you agreed. Not to mention that the mentors were always proud of your progress and dedication to the craft. The conversation continued, and you settled into a comfortable rhythm; everyone taking a turn to share their favorite part of their performance. Seeing these girls -- your friends -- so proud of themselves was a wonderful thing. Everyone worked so hard, day in and day out, to put forth their best effort in everything that they did. Celebrating each other’s wins just felt right, despite the fact that this is a competition. It always hurt to see anyone go home, considering you spent so much time getting to know each other. These were the people who were there for you when you needed it most; all of you know how hopeless it can feel, and you wanted to protect the others from that in every way possible. 

“Y/N!” The sound of someone calling your name pulls you from the conversation, and you send a quick bow and goodbye to the girls before departing. 

Your eyes travel across the crowded stage, searching for the source of the noise. You spot Lisa looking at you, hand beckoning you towards her. A familiar warmth spreads across your body at the action, and you don’t even attempt to stop the smile that takes over your features.

“Yes?” You ask sweetly, approaching her. Her hands slip into yours, fingers lacing in a sweet embrace. “I want you to come to my dressing room once everyone goes back to the dorm. You impressed me tonight, but you still have some things to learn.” As that last sentence falls from her lips, your blood runs cold. Her voice had dropped lower, and you feared what she meant by that. Had you mixed up the choreography without realizing it? Surely not. The only thing you were sure of in that moment was the way she was studying you, almost intimidatingly. Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, and you swallowed thickly upon noticing this. “Of course. I appreciate the feedback.” She smiled, seemingly pleased with your answer.

With a swipe of her thumb across your knuckles, she was gone.

A sigh left your lips, your mind racing at all of the possible things to come.

~~~ Bonus: A Private Meeting ~~~

“You wanted to see me, Lisa?” You announce upon entering the room and shutting the door behind yourself. The two of you had long ago left the formalities behind, opting instead to be on a first name basis. It was much more intimate, and you preferred things to be that way with her. Of course, occasionally you would use her official title just to get a certain reaction out of her. Slipping it into conversation when around the other instructors always worked to get her attention and catch her off guard. It was easy to see that she enjoyed it, the innocent way it rolled off your tongue. 

You sit down in the chair opposite her, feeling the coolness of the leather press against your calves as you get situated.

“Good job tonight; you get better and better with every performance.” You thank her, both well aware of how much you enjoy her praise. Her expression turns more serious, and you take a deep breath. Here goes. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be so close with some of the other contestants, though. Not all of them are interested in gaining your friendship for the right reasons.” With furrowed eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, you look at her. “What exactly do you mean?” Her expression turns unreadable, and you sink into your seat a little more. “Some of them may want to get into your head to throw you off your game. Despite what you want to believe, Y/N, this is still a contest.” You sigh, now a bit upset that she’s treating you like a child. “I’m aware of that, Lisa, but I can take care care of myself.” At the change in tone, the air around you shifts into something more tense. “Are you sure? Because you seem to be pretty oblivious to their actions.” She bites back, shifting her seat to get a better look at you, and crosses her arms.

When you don’t respond, she takes this as her cue to continue. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I see the way they look at you, so entranced. They know that acting helpless will get your attention. It’s just to distract you!” She says, exasperated, jaw set and eyes cut, just like earlier.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a contrasting tone of accusal and uncertainty in your voice. No turning back now.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Of what?” Her eyes setting on you again, a cocky expression on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you start, toying with her; you know exactly what to say. “Maybe at the fact that they get to be so close to me all the time, like you want to be. Or maybe that we sleep together, especially when it gets cold in the dorms.”

It’s her turn to be speechless. “I’m more observant that you act, miss.” She gulps, and you bite back a smirk. “I see how you look at me; your desire is obvious. We’ve both known it for a long time now… Why don’t you just admit it?” The teasing tone in your voice is thick, and it’s clearly getting to her. Who knew you could make her feel like this with just your words?

“Y/N…” Lisa says your name almost as a warning, knowing that you’re on the edge of crossing the line. She failed to deny your claims; after all, it would do no good. She can’t disguise her feelings for you.

A surge of confidence washes over you, and you take that as a sign to scoot closer to her. Soon, you’re mere inches away from her, your body pressed against the side of the seat as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, soothing her lips.

You take her in for a moment, enjoying the sight. Her long dark hair tumbles past her shoulders in loose waves, and a blush takes residence upon her cheeks. Having her like this was something you only dreamed of in the past; seeing her so aroused because of you truly made you think back on how far the two of you have come.

To put an end to the silence, you loop two fingers underneath her chin, successfully coaxing her into meeting your gaze. Your eyes fall to her lips as you ask, “Am I wrong?” Before you can continue, her resolve fades. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Any ounce of doubt that you had before melts away as she pulls you closer.

With inhibition and processing skills long gone, you slip from your chair and into hers, settling in her lap. One of her arms wraps around your waist to hold you steady, while her other hand tangles itself into your hair. A swift bite to your lip, paired with a flex of her warm thigh beneath you, sends a jolt through your body and earns her a low groan. She shudders against you, and that simple act works wonders in boosting your confidence.

All too quickly, a sudden noise from just outside the door startles you; reluctantly, Lisa pulls away. You nearly gasp at how dark her eyes have gotten in the heat of the moment. “I’m going to go see what that was,” she informs, gently setting you down in her seat as she stands up. Before turning to walk away, however, she plants another kiss on your lips. “Don’t even think about moving. I’m not done with you yet.”

[unstoppableforcce]

ghosts

—CHAPTER TWO: little things

pairing: Javier Peña x f! reader

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: a little look back in time, a little insight into what’s going on, a lot of pain and angst but maybe some hope ? these two a easily carving out a place in my heart, I hope y’all are as invested as I am bc there is def more to come

Falling in love with Javier had happened pretty fast. 

It wasn’t the exact moment you saw him, but it may as well have been. 

There was a gorgeous kind of levity to him as he hid his laughter behind the neck of the bottle of beer dangling so casually from his grip, a beautiful kind of stoicism to him as the mood around the table died off and the blonde man sat beside him pulled himself to his feet, tossed a few bills down and shuddered him with a sturdy hit to the shoulder. He surveyed the crowd out of what seemed to be genuine curiosity, scanning the field just like all the single men seemed to be, but there was a reverence in the delicious color of his deep eyes, something you didn’t know how to quantify as they landed on you. There was a depth to him that words could just never come close to describing. 

Maybe it would have saved you a lot of hurt if you had turned away the second you caught sight of him across the bar, but even at his worst, even as you cradled yourself, desperate for warmth beneath the thick woven stitch of the dark tones of the afghan blanket thrown over your shoulders, you couldn’t really imagine doing it different. 

No one made you grab your glass and meet him at the bar. It was all you. 

You just couldn’t help yourself. You just had an eye for beauty, you couldn’t look away. 

“Would I mind if you took a picture of me… I’ve got to be honest, baby, that’s quite a line.” His chuckle was like honey and god, two second in and you were ready to drown in it. 

He didn’t leave you an inch of personal space and you wouldn’t have it any other way as he crowded you into the bar counter, a hidden smirk growing beneath his distinct mustache. A fleeting touch along your back as you laughed into his radiating warmth, a graze of his knuckles against your knee and thigh, the careful brush of his hand against yours as he forwarded your newest drink your way; this man knew what he was doing and who were you to fight what you wanted. 

Another sip, another gasping inhale. “I’m serious… there’s something about you.”

“Something about me… you look in a mirror recently? If anyone here is special, it isn’t me…” He knew what he was doing. 

It should have bothered you how practiced it sounded, how easy it was for the words to leave his lips, but his presence was practically a drug, leaving you just short of catching your breath, leaving your head floating on another cloud. 

It had been a long day, a long exhausting day of being alone, and yeah, he looked like a mistake on two legs from a mile away, but it was just too easy to lean into him instead of standing on your own. 

Another drink. Another touch. He moved his stool impossibly closer, pressing the length of his jean-clad thigh along the length of your own, his hand resting heavy and without hesitation on your knee. 

“How about this…” He hummed, sipping at the last dregs of his glass as he heard the bartender signal for last call across the bar. “You come home with me and I’ll let you take as many pictures of me if you want…”

“Promise?”

The two of you didn’t even make it to the parking lot. 

His hands were everywhere. Firm and resolute on your hips, pinning you back into the wall. Adventurous and grounding, scaling the length of your thighs and up your sides. Warm, gentle, comfortable and… and absolutely intoxicating, like the drinks you had been steadily drowning for the last few hours had meant nothing. Lightheaded didn’t come close to adequately describing it anymore, your head was floating away from you but his hands were everywhere else, keeping you on the ground and keeping you steady even as each press of his lips threatened to send you soaring. 

“Javi…” his name was new on your tongue, but you could get used to it, letting it fall like a prayer from your lips. You wanted more of him, as much as you could get your hands on. His shoulders, his neck, his hair, his back, his waist—

He stopped your hands inches from the gun in his waistband. “Baby…” 

“Hmm?”

His head pulled back, lazily, deliriously enticed by the taste of your lips but not so much so that he wasn’t aware of where his gun was, where the two of you were. “Let me take you home.”

Things were never supposed to get serious. It was meant to be one night, maybe two, a few rounds of mind-blowing sex, a few pictures stolen in the moonlight, maybe even in the morning light, but nothing more. If you knew what you were getting into, maybe you would have thought twice, maybe you would have hesitated before you let him undress you in the backseat of his car, and again before you let him take you on his couch, and in his bed… It was never supposed to be real. 

He was never supposed to be a man you lived with, a man you trusted. 

You were never supposed to be curled up on the couch, equal parts furious and desperate to be held by him just one more time. There was never supposed to be any pain or heartbreak, not like this. It was supposed to be mindless fun. 

You had just felt so alone, and the way he held you tight told you he felt the same. In that moment, that was all that seemed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to be real. 

“What’s your favorite picture?” The words swirled from his lips in a smoky kind of honey, rough around the edges but almost gentle as they floated through the air, following his stare to find you perched by the window, camera pressed to your eye. 

“That I’ve ever taken?”

“Not necessarily.”

He hadn’t struck you as the type for mindless small talk, not at the bar where he eased your mind with simple answers about who he was and why he was in Colombia, not in any of the quiet moments in between rolling off of you and lighting a cigarette. But he sounded serious. He was seriously asking. 

With a languid turn back to where he sat, perched upright against a mountain of pillows, a collection of sheets covering a meager amount of his lap and legs, with a cigarette dangling carefully from his lips, you turned the lens hesitantly his way, snapping a picture before he could protest. “This one.”

His smirk quickly upturned, jostling the cigarette. Amusement was a good look on him. “Yeah?” 

Maybe everything was a good look on him. 

“No, wait…” you snapped another picture, “This one.”

No. It wasn’t a smirk, it was a smile. You took one more picture, and he just chuckled into the smoke billowing from his lips. 

It was a good smile. 

In that moment, you didn’t know he wasn’t really one for smiling. You didn’t know what he did for a living, not really, you didn’t know what the gun was for beyond what you could assume, you didn’t even really care. You didn’t have to. It wasn’t supposed to be serious, he could just be fun for the night, anything more than that didn’t matter. Not in that moment. Not as he waved you back over with the quirk of his chin. 

“I want the pictures when they’re developed… and the negatives…”

You chuckled, crawling back under the sheets and cuddling in effortlessly to his side, like you two had known each other for years, been lovers like this for a lifetime. “But I just told you they’re my favorites.”

“Well… at the very least, it gives me a chance to see you again.”

It was never supposed to be serious. But you brought him the pictures after you developed the roll, and when he asked you to stay for a drink, you did. Eventually you just didn’t leave. 

Maybe you should have. 

Was there some kind of metric for gauging whether or not the love and happy memories outweighed the heartbreak and honest-to-god agony that was tearing through your chest? How many kisses, soft or otherwise, how many late-night conversations in hushed whispers, how many nights when you just held each other until the sun came up in the morning… how many good moments did it take for the bad moments to disappear. 

The way he snapped when you asked about his day…  he didn’t raise his voice or put any real anger in his tone, he saved that side of himself for work and tried as hard as he could to never bring it home, not to you, but he did snap. He was curt, dismissive, shorter than short, like he was hardly even there. The way he looked at himself in the mirror when he thought you couldn’t see him… like he was some kind of monster, he couldn’t even meet his own stare. Mirror days were the kind of days where he wouldn’t utter a word, wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t let you touch him, not even to squeeze past him reaching for your coffee in the kitchen. The way he flinched… you couldn’t hurt a thing and he knew that, but he flinched, out of your touch and away from you like your hands were a flame and he had just been burned. 

“Javi, baby…”

“I’ve got to go to work.”

He didn’t raise his voice, no shouting, no heat, but god, you might as well have been burned by the heat as he dashed from the kitchen leaving his coffee behind on the counter. 

How much love did it take to outweigh that kind of cold?

“Talk to me…” you pleaded to him, night after night. 

“I’m fine.” He snapped, again and again. 

There was something missing in your heart when he wasn’t himself. Day after day, you wandered the city and hiked up mountain tops, framing beautiful waterfalls and vibrant buildings with your camera’s eye, and you still couldn’t find it, whatever it was that was missing, it was just gone. The photographs paled in comparison to the ones you were taking when you first met him, when you were riding the high of an electric connection you thought would have been impossible to dull. There was something missing. 

Honestly, you had to wonder why you even got the call about the Brazil contract, it wasn’t like you had anything they would want… Not anymore. 

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t even heard him come in the room. 

His shoes were in his hand, like he was afraid to wake you. It was a courtesy, he was trying to be respectful but… if you were being honest, it felt condescending. Did he actually think you were going to sleep when you left him in a huff in the middle of the night and found your way to the couch? Maybe he didn’t mean for it, but it just felt insulting. 

Maybe you were just on edge, not sleeping tended to have that effect, but you couldn’t help but scoff as he continued his way to the kitchen without even sparing you a glance. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Yeah.”

His mug clattered on the counter as you sniffed back your first tear. 

“Baby—“

“Do you still love me?”

Javier Pena wasn’t the kind of man who said “I love you”. He didn’t leave you in the dark, you would have left a long time ago if that were the case, but it wasn’t, he just wasn’t the kind of man to say it. 

There was a picture of you. A case of strawberries tucked beneath one arm, a bag of assorted groceries over your other arm, and the strawberry you had taken an adventurous bite out of still held between your lips, he called out to you just in time to snap a picture with your smile pulled tight around the bite. It disappeared from the stack of newly developed film the second you sat it on the counter and you hadn’t thought twice about it really, not until Steve told you he kept it in his wallet. 

It had been late one night and since you had cooked, Javi was cleaning and since Javi couldn’t truly be trusted, Connie was keeping an eye on him in the kitchen while you and Steve sat back, sipping your wine and mindlessly chatting.

Chatting about nothing. Nothing until your curiosity got the best of you.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much about him, darling.” The southern blonde had chuckled as you mentioned Javi had a bad day. It really wasn’t anything, you knew that now that you had truly seen him on his bad days, but it was still early, you didn’t know then what you knew now. Still, Steve talked you down with an easy smile. “Saw him smiling pretty bright when he opened his wallet to pay me the five bucks he owed me this morning.”

“His wallet?”

Steve quirked his head, realizing just how quiet Javier kept his love. “Yeah, he’s got that picture of you in it, folded up, with those strawberries and that smile.”

The smile you tried to hide behind your bottle.

He didn’t have to say it for you to know. 

He used to leave his gun out on the counter, but the second he realized you didn’t like having to navigate around it, he never left it out. When a picture from your semi-weekly batch of freshly developed photos struck him a certain way, he’d pull it from the stack and tape it to the fridge, sometimes replacing one, sometimes just adding another. And every single time you went out with him, meeting him after work at the same place you always did, there was always a drink waiting for you when you got there, your favorite drink. 

It may have sounded cliche and Javier was anything but a man who dealt in cliches, but it was the little things. For a man who couldn’t vocalize what he was feeling, he had no trouble showing it. 

Even at his worst… but god, it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. 

“Baby…”

“It’s a simple question, Javi.”  Your hand reached up, futile against the beginning wave of tears breaking at your lashline. “Say ‘yes’ and I’ll stay. Say ‘no’ and I’ll take the job in Brazil.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Okay, mind telling me where you’re getting stuck because to me—”

“I have to go to work.”

The scoff that tore out of your chest was broken, even your annoyance couldn’t come out whole. You were shattered, broke to the bone and he… he hadn’t even left the kitchen. “Fuck… then go.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t be surprised if I’m in Brazil when you get back.”

“Baby—”

“I thought you had to go.” You scoffed one final time, wiping the tears away as you fought to keep anymore from falling, wrapping the warm blanket even tighter around your shoulders despite the suffocating heat boiling in your chest. 

Without his shoes on, you couldn’t hear him step around and out of the kitchen. Maybe it wasn’t his lack of shoes, maybe it was the ringing in your ears. This was it, wasn’t it? 

Over a year and—

“Baby…” you flinched as he settled down beside you on the couch, not necessarily away from his touch, nor into it. “Look at me… please baby.”

“It’s a simple question.”

His hand found your shoulder, running up to the back of your neck as you refused to even come close to his stare. “Look at me.”

“Answer the question—”

“Baby, I am out of my mind in love with you, will you please just look at me.”

He had these beautiful eyes. A reverence in the deep, dark color. A levity in the golden speck that sparkled when morning light hit them just right. 

“Baby, it’s not that easy...” he caught himself as he held your stare, something on his tongue that he just couldn’t get out, not until he pressed a soft, barely there, kiss to your lips. “I have to go, I’m sorry, if you want the job, then… just please don’t go yet, be here when I get home.”

If you had the breath, you would have countered him, you would have told him that it mattered what version of him came back home. But he had your breath. 

He had your whole damn heart. 

And there wasn’t a damn thing you could seem to do about it. 

Three aggressive knocks echoed out throughout the whole hollow apartment, the brutish southern violence shaking the door, shaking both of you out of your empty, silent trance. “Let’s go, Javi.”

He couldn’t even give you a moment, one simple moment. It was never supposed to be this complicated, he was never supposed to drag you down with him like this. He needed to let you go, to free you from the mess he was making with his life every day he poured every inch of his being into his work, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t let go. 

With his hand on the back of your neck, he just couldn’t let you go. Gentle in his touch, as grounding as he’s always felt, even as a stranger that first night. 

“Now, Javi. We’re going to be late.” Steve hit the door again, from the sounds of it, he was just a few seconds away from breaking down the whole damn thing. “Javi—”

“Just a minute please, Steve…”

You didn’t need to be able to see through the door to know that the sound of your voice had frozen him on the spot, backing him away from the door in a red-cheek kind of embarrassment. You could hear it in the seconds of silence he let hang between the door and where the two of you sat in a similar kind of quiet, you could hear it in the way his voice cracked when he finally came back to his senses. “Yeah, ‘course, sorry ‘bout that.”

Steve was a good man. Javier was a good man. It just wasn’t a good world. 

It just wasn’t that simple. 

Your lips pressed gently to the corner of his mouth, a brief moment of indecision catching you between kissing his cheek in stubborn defiance and hitting his lips in effortless routine. “You can’t keep him waiting, you need to go.”

“Baby, I’m not leaving if you’re in Brazil when I get home—”

“I’ll be here.”

“Baby—”

“Just go, Javi.”

That was the last thing he wanted to do, didn’t you see that? 

He wanted to wrap his arms around you and never let you go, to hold you until nothing else mattered. The mere idea of you leaving, taking a contract in another country, no matter how much you deserved it, made him sick to his stomach and not being able to do a damn thing about it made it even worse. Of course he loved you, how could you even ask him that? How bad was he if he couldn’t even do the simplest thing right? He couldn’t even love you right… He couldn’t even talk to you about the simplest things, he couldn’t talk to you about anything, he couldn’t even talk. 

All he had were his actions, and leaving you…. What did that say?

“Javi, go…” 

“Baby…”

If he wasn’t going to go, then you were making the decision for him. If he couldn’t get up, you were just going to have to get up for him. 

Fighting your way out of his grasp didn’t end up being as difficult as you expected. The second you sucked in your last shaky breath and wiped away your last tear, his grip grew loose around the back of your neck. The second you got to your feet, he fell back into the worn creases of leather, catching the blanket as you pushed it back off your shoulders, moving for the door and giving him no choice but to follow you. 

“Baby—” you put his shoes in his hand. You wouldn’t touch his gun, but the shoes were the last push he needed to snap out of his head. You’d talk when there was time. 

That had to be enough for now. 

He slipped his shoes on and pocketed his gun while you moved for the door. “Sorry about that Steve, he’s coming.”

The blonde pocketed his hands, folding in on himself as he halted his pace in your doorway, and as he took in the sight of you hanging on the door handle, he quickly flushed red again. “No, darling, it’s nothing to worry about, sorry about the knocking… you doing okay?”

“Yeah, just not sleeping well…”

“I’m sorry about that, darling—”

“Let’s go.” Javi shouldered his way into the doorway, placing a careful hand on your back as he wedged his way into the conversation. “We’re late.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

One stern look from Javi and Steve just melted away, back down the hall. You weren’t folding that quickly though. The second he stepped the rest of the way through the door, you caught him by the shoulder and held him back, just for a second, just for the kiss you missed earlier. He was the one who held you in a second longer, even as the chime of Steve’s impatient fingers tapping on the building’s doorjam echoed through the hall. “You’ll be here?”

You nodded against him. “Yeah.”

Yeah. Yeah. That was enough for now. 

But the second you shut the door behind him and he heard the lock click, Steve gave up on trying to hold his tongue. “Is it even worth me asking?”

“Nope.”

Steve unlocked the jeep and climbed in, but it did nothing to help him bite his tongue. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah.”

He scoffed into his chest, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You don’t deserve that woman, Javi, you’ve gotta fix that.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Javi moved his elbow to the window, directing his attention anywhere but towards the infuriating man beside him. “Good thinking, Murphy, why didn’t I come up with that.”

—

tags: (let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged) @tiffdawg @gravegoth @xjaywritesx @leonieb @burnt-august @doodlingbreak @mistermiraclee @theocatkov @lovinglokiforever @friendscall-me-mom @lazybeeches @sesamepancakes @rogueonestan @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @paperbag33 @witchyavenger @littlevodika @hoodedbirdie @nominalnebula @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thehippiequilter @anu-simps @republicansithlord

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Music for the Soul

Summary: Soulmate AU where the song your soulmate is thinking of gets stuck in your head. 

This fic is inspired by and gifted to @yellowpaintpots.

Notes:  canonical, this is S2 E6 and a little beyond but it’s not exactly like the show obviously.

AO3

Kurt Hummel was used to not fitting in. At McKinley High, he was often an odd man out. He did partner projects alone, he held his tongue around bullies and had no one to complain to, and most days, he had an entire lunch table to himself. No one sat with the kid in weird, homemade clothes unless there was no other choice. 

What kept him going was music. He had one earbud in as he walked down the halls. Choosing from playlists his mother used to listen to, Broadway soundtracks sung by people still performing on stage today, and to the thrill of his father, rock classics. If Burt Hummel had passed anything onto his son, it was his music tastes and the fantastical idea of soulmates. 

The image of a white knight coming to save him by serenade was one that haunted him before he fell asleep. A boy, which little eleven-year-old Kurt held close to his heart, picked out by the universe meant just for him. Even when he started to find the fantasy a little too cheesy, it kept Kurt going until he found the glee club.

No one could touch him or change him because there was someone out there who would love him exactly the way he was. 

The New Directions were a hot mess when they started, of course. The 5 of them weren’t winning any competitions when they first found themselves in the choir room but they were five misfits who finally had friends. People who understood the passion of music and an adult who shared that same passion and would hopefully guide them to their dream futures. 

Just months later, they became a mixture of a dozen sophomores and freshmen with a Sectionals win under their belt all ready to face the Dalton Academy Warblers in a few weeks. With Regionals looming over them, glee had become much messier than usual. With plenty of in-fighting about solos and song choices, the choir room was always a jumbled, loud mess. That is until Mr. Schue came up with the idea for a school musical. It was taking their minds off of Regionals for the time being.

Kurt was all too happy to be auditioning for a role instead of sitting in the back row wishing he had a shot at a solo. His voice was too unique for Ohio. But someday, he knew, it would get him to Broadway. He held that thought close to his heart while tuning out Rachel’s insistence bickering.  

Yesterday, Mr. Schue had decided their school musical was going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Kurt loved cult classics as much as the next person but he wasn’t sure how Mr. Schue had gotten this approved by Figgins. It seemed too risqué for high schoolers. 

He only hoped whoever his soulmate was enjoying the soundtrack he had stuck in his head this week. 

Kurt planned on auditioning for Riff Raff. Already putting mental outfits from his closet to wear. The wound of Mr. Schue assuming he’d play Frank N. Furter based solely on the fact that he was gay was still fresh but his audition was going to blow everyone away. 

He had chosen “Dammit Janet” for his audition despite it being a Brad and Janet duet. Quinn, who was hoping for Magenta, was going to be his partner. They had joked about the main roles already being off the table before auditions; it was clear Mr. Schue had chosen Finn and Rachel for the leads. It was hard to be upset when Quinn had instantly offered to do a joint audition with him. Their voices went so well together and Kurt liked spending time with her. 

Ever since Kurt and Mercedes had their stint as Cheerios, they had gotten closer. The three of them even had a weekend sleepover this past Saturday. Mercedes had dumped the Cheerios but Kurt stayed on and Quinn had just gotten back on the squad after her dismissal last year. Coach Sue had them sing during practice last week and Quinn was waiting for him after their showers with the suggestion of a double audition song. 

They had been having rehearsals in the auditorium during their shared free period and twice after glee club on days when it wasn’t already reserved. As the day came closer, Quinn offered her house to practice in since her parents were rarely home and so Finn wouldn’t become Rachel's spy. Though, Kurt assured her Finn was much too engrossed in video games to bother with their rehearsals. 

Since they increased their run-throughs, Kurt’s had one song in his head all morning. In case the lyrics weren’t already ingrained into his head, he had his own little concert in his head. Just after lunch, that changed. A mere 3 hours until his audition after school his soulmate’s music had taken root. As much as Kurt was willing to bow down to the queens of pop, what he wouldn’t give for 5 minutes of something other than Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”. This bubble gum pop song had gone from ‘oh, that’s a good song to scream in the car’ to ‘if I hear it one more time, I’ll rip my ears off’ fairly quickly. 

It hadn’t helped that his brain went from one song on repeat to another. 

As he sits in geometry, he tries to hear Mr. Finnegan’s explanation of arcs but his brain has other plans. 

Let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans. 

Kurt knows it’s just a song but the image is so clear in his head. 

Smooth, soft skin. Obviously, someone who used lotions regularly, Kurt expected nothing less from his soulmate. Neatly trimmed fingernails so they wouldn’t catch on Kurt’s pants when fingers trailed up to cup his knee. The grip would be teasingly light. He never let his fantasies get too far. Especially outside the privacy of his bedroom. In all honesty, even when he was alone in his bed at night envisioning the same kind of scenario, Kurt didn’t really know what came next. He wasn’t even sure what kissing really entailed. 

What if his soulmate is ready for...certain things...Kurt’s not even to verbalize yet. What if he’s imagining their first meeting very differently then Kurt, who’s hopeful they’ll have coffee or a meal together before they do anything besides maybe hand-holding. The touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, unless you ask Katy Perry it seems. 

He spends the rest of math wondering what the boy with Katy Perry in his head must look like. Kurt wonders if his soulmate wears bright colors like his idol or maybe Katy is a secret shame that he’ll only share with Kurt. 

…

Blaine liked fitting in. He enjoyed the uniform for many reasons. One, he thought the blazer looked stylish. It was also nice knowing what you had to wear every day, one less thing to worry about people judging you for. Plenty of people at his old school picked on him for his bow ties but at Dalton, everyone had neckwear. The standard blue and red striped tie. He liked how neat it was; there was a certain way to wear said uniform. 

Everyone was the same here. No typical hierarchy of jocks and cheerleaders. Only the Warblers stood out simply because everyone knew them. 

How could you forget a group of boys singing acapella at all hours of the day?

 Blaine might joke that they’re teenage rockstars but really they are just a group of talented guys who liked to sing. 

The Warblers were the first real friends he ever had. 

When he was still attending public school he held tightly to the idea of his soulmate since it seemed hopeless to wish for friendship. Not when he was being harassed for a sexuality he wasn’t sure of yet and being pushed to the ground in the parking lot for it. 

But a soulmate was a guarantee. Everyone had one. By the time Blaine reached eighth grade, he knew. All of those middle school bullies had used words Blaine didn’t quite understand until that moment. 

He was surrounded in the parking lot after school having missed his bus because someone had stuck gum in his curls during last period. That was the day Blaine started to seriously consider investing in some gel. Maybe that would prevent some bullying. Anyway, he was surrounded, being literally kicked around by a group of soccer players and friends. 

Other students had gathered to watch the so-called fight but Blaine thought their chants would only grab the attention of a teacher or so he hoped. No one came quickly. He had enough injuries by the end for his mom to insist on a trip to the ER. A big black eye and sprained his wrist along with plenty of bruising on his limbs. 

But he honestly didn’t remember getting hurt beyond the initial pushing to the ground. When the bullying got bad like this he pulled out those daydreams. This time around it wasn’t this blurry image of hand holding, there was a boy. Blaine hadn’t seen his face but his voice was soft and comforting, inviting Blaine in. There was an outstretched hand just out of reach for Blaine to take. Blaine knew then. His soulmate was a boy. 

When everything was over and he was being released by the doctor, all he knew was there was some boy built perfectly for Blaine just waiting to be found. Waiting for him. 

He hadn’t even been upset by his injuries because he was sitting with these thoughts of ‘how do I come out to my parents?’ 

Instead of deciding that day, he kept those daydreams close to his heart for the next year and a half. Until the issue of high school came out and Blaine didn’t want to go back to public school. To his surprise, both of his parents took it well. They were more concerned for his safety than his sexuality. Together, they decided on Dalton. A private school with a zero tolerance policy for bullies. That was that. 

He still had his doubts at Dalton. Was he really good enough to be a lead soloist let alone go onto Broadway someday? Could he make it out of Ohio? In those moments, Blaine still came back to his soulmate. Someone, no matter what came, Blaine would have by his side. 

When he imagined his soulmate, Blaine could never truly figure out what he’d look like. All he saw was that outstretched hand. Usually, people could draw up a picture in their heads based on the music they heard. 

For Blaine, the genre of music didn’t help. His soulmate was clearly someone with mixed taste. 

Today’s selection was...a musical. Blaine wasn’t familiar with the characters Brad and Janet but he had looked it up at lunch. Some kind of cult classic people went to see in the weeks leading up to Halloween. It was October so it made sense for the soundtrack to be stuck in his soulmate’s head. Blaine wondered if he had gone to see it, wondered who he saw it with. 

The Warblers thought he was crazy. Imagining that his soulmate was off with some other person. It was rare to date seriously before meeting a soulmate but Blaine always told them the same story of his parents. Both of them had been in very serious relationships before they met. Hell, his mother had been engaged. Neither of them thought they’d meet their soulmate, which was also fairly rare but had happened.  

When they met, they didn’t drop everything to be together. The wedding was put on hold but his father hadn’t broken up with his girlfriend right away. His parents wanted to be together only if they agreed with the universe’s choice. 

Blaine knew his dad had been wary of his mother’s music taste. Pam had been deep into her metal phrase in her early twenties. His dad, Robert, was not a fan. He loved classical music. Forever dooming Pam to hum music without lyrics meanwhile Robert was cursed with “nonsense yelling” as he called it. Lucky, both of their music tastes had shifted over the years to have more overlap. Though, Blaine and Cooper had been subjected to dinners with a mixtape of Def Leppard and Bach. 

They got together in the end, which was the important part, but what if they hadn’t chosen each other? What if Blaine’s soulmate was deeply in love with someone else and he’d spend the rest of his days loveless and alone?

When he voiced these thoughts aloud, his friends usually told him what a downer he could be, which tended to shake those fears away. If his parents, different as they were, still fell in love it would happen to him too. It was just a matter of when. 

…

The next day at lunch, Mercedes was fretting over her soulmate. 

“What if he’s super young, Kurt?” 

“What makes you think that?” He asked, stabbing his salad. 

“He’s got The Backyardigans theme song in his head again,” she sighed. “He got to be like 7. I’m just not comfortable with that.” 

“It’s an age gap for sure,” Kurt agreed, but he’s fairly sure Sam Evans was singing that song after PE today, “or maybe he just has younger siblings. Don’t let your only-childness cloud your judgment.”

She hummed in agreement and pushed her tater tots around. 

It was sort of a hard way to figure out your soulmate unless they were obvious about what music they had playing in their heads.

Some people, like Mr. Schue, we’re pretty obvious. He had been singing in the auditorium when Ms. Pillsbury found him. It was a pretty clear-cut match. As far as Mercedes was concerned, Kurt is sure she’ll overhear Sam’s humming soon enough. 

He doesn’t want to spoil anything for his best friend nor does he want to be wrong. Soulmate meetings only come once in a lifetime. 

Well, the first soulmate meeting that is. 

There are plenty of people, like his dad, who lose a soulmate too soon and are gifted another one later in life. Kurt was so happy when he introduced Burt and Carole at parent-teacher conferences. They had just been listening to the Wicked soundtrack in the car ride over and Carole Hudson did not strike Kurt as the type of person who knew “I’m Not That Girl” by heart. 

“Are you nervous about auditions?” Mercedes asked. “The list goes up today after glee.” 

“Not at all like,” he shrugged, “I think Quinn and I did well.” 

“Oh no, Kurt, we crushed it,” Quinn said, sitting down with her lunch. 

He smiled at her. Quinn went on to compliment Mercedes on her audition, having heard part of it from outside the audition. She would’ve been inside with Kurt to watch but Coach Sue wanted to meet with her head Cheerio about their upcoming competition. From what Quinn had told them via text, Sue was going all out at practice today. 

“She doesn’t want us to be late,” Quinn said. “That list better be up right away.” 

“We should change before glee,” Kurt suggested. 

“Good idea.” 

Once Quinn had sat down the rest of the New Directions filed in. With interlocking pinkies, Santana and Brittany wandered over taking the last two seats available. 

“Cheerios practice is gonna be hell, hope you’re up for the challenge Hummel,” Santana said. 

He shot her a short glare. 

“Kurt always understands the assignment, Santana,” Quinn quipped back. 

Brittany nodded in agreement smiling at Kurt from across the table. She gave him a small wave half hidden by her lunch tray. In return, Kurt waved back just as shyly. 

They had an interesting friendship. Kurt had kissed Brittany before. He was sure it hadn’t phrased Brittany as it had him. After all, she had kissed almost every boy in school. Some kind of record, he thought. 

They sort of dated for like a week when Kurt was trying to convince himself he was straight. When he firmly realized he was kidding no one, not even himself, they broke up. Since then, he and Brittany had remained close. They were both Cheerios and in the glee club, it made sense. 

He was happy to have Brittany in his life, even if that meant Santana by extension came with her. Santana was fine outside of the public eye. If the Unholy Trinity incited Kurt to their sleepovers, Santana was a different person. She put up a front at McKinley, extremely similar to the one Kurt attempted when he dated Brittany. 

Few are privy to why she did this, Quinn and Kurt knew and he was fairly certain Mercedes did as well. She was very perceptive that way. Brittany was Santana’s soulmate. It explained so much about their relationship. Always in sync, completing each other perfectly, a literal better half.

Honestly, it gave Kurt so much hope that everyone’s soulmate was like that. A missing puzzle piece. 

He really hoped his soulmate listened to more than just Teenage Dream because the lyrics were slowly creeping into his everyday language. 

Usually, Kurt found himself hyper-focused in glee club. He got an energy boost just from walking into the choir room. Like a light switch turning on. His focus wasn’t always on whatever lecture Mr. Schue was pursuing, sometimes he watched his fellow glee clubbers (catching himself up on drama just by sideways glances), or mentally mapping out his next performance. 

Today, Kurt wasn’t able to do any of those things. With the soundtrack of Teenage Dream (again) in his head, all he was thinking about was the center of a bulletin board with the cast list for The Rocky Horror Show on it. How far down the list was Riff Raff? How many names came before his?

Someone was snapping in front of his face. Kurt shook himself from his daydream to find Mercedes.

“Boy, wake up!” She said, “cast list is about to go up.” 

Either glee club had gotten shorter or Mr. Schue was putting it up early. 

…

Blaine didn’t really understand why the Warblers were concerned. Doing an improv performance was not new to them. In fact, Blaine had done three already this school year and he was only a freshman. 

The first one he did had been way back in September, he hadn’t even been an official Warbler yet. Warbler Tradition said: all potential freshman recruits were required to perform again after their auditions with the whole group. It was a solid way to see if they fit in well with the other established Warblers. Blaine fondly remembers vibing along with the older Warblers and fellow potentials to a medley of Pink songs. None of the freshmen had solos but it was still a fun time. 

At the time it seemed like all of Dalton fit into the choir room and surrounding hallways but in reality it was the entire freshman class. Improv performances weren’t something any middle schooler had seen before but the upperclassmen of Dalton knew the Warblers had plenty of improvs to come for the rest of the school year. The first one was special. Just for the newbies. 

Three days after that performance, Blaine had gotten word that he was to be a new Warbler and two months after that he was granted his first solo. Now, he was slowly becoming their go-to soloist for almost every performance for an audience. Blaine had become a vital part of all rehearsals for the most part. He was honored by their commitment to him honestly and he loved to sing however, a week and half of preparations was a tad excessive. Still, he walked his way to rehearsal positive that the council would have at least five points to discuss before they actually started singing. 

He walked into the choir room shaking his shake fondly and smiling at the Warblers already present. 

The council were always first to arrive. Together. Then it was a mixed bag of who followed. Usually Trent was there, punctual as always, and Blaine took the seat between Trent and Jeff. 

The room was mostly full already. 

Nick came in shortly after Blaine and sat across from him immediately asking if there had been a pop quiz in Stanton’s class earlier and was rather relieved to find out Jeremy was a filthy liar, who liked to start trouble. Before Jeremy could get on Blaine’s case about being overly sincere, the meeting began. 

Wes banged his gavel and welcomed everyone before gesturing for David to read off last meeting’s notes. Once the talking portion of the meeting was over, they pushed the furniture aside to make room. 

...

A week later Kurt was happy to have one musical under his belt but thankful the performance run had been short. If you thought the New Directions were dramatic during competition weeks, it was nothing compared to their musical rehearsals. 

Now, Mr. Schue was having the brilliant idea to host a boys vs girls competition. Of course, Kurt hadn’t wanted to work with the boys. They were sure to exclude his musical talents and he doubted he could get them to agree to any of his costume suggestions. 

This was hardly a challenge. It was bland and they had done it already. 

Kurt was sitting in the back of the choir room pouting. Yes, pouting. Full on arms crossed, head down, and bottom lip puffed out. Until, Mr. Schue had an actual brilliant idea, Kurt’s suggestion of course, to spice things up. 

The boys did not appreciate Kurt’s six hours of work putting two posters together. Even with the assignment to bring more feminine qualities into their performance, the boys ignored his input. So, when Puckerman suggested Kurt spy on the Warblers, he was thankful for a reason to leave. He packed up his projects and headed home to change.

When Mr. Schue found out who their competition was, Rachel and Kurt did some googling. He had seen the all-boys school uniform and was fairly sure he could replicate it with clothes he already had. 

He pulled some looks from his closet. Once satisfied he looked up directions to Westerville. 

Dalton was huge. It looked like a museum. How on earth was Kurt going to find their choir room? He hoped there were signs inside or a map. 

As he walked down a spiral staircase much too pretty to be in a school, he decided to just ask for directions. He was going to get lost if he kept walking without help. 

When the boy he stopped turned around, all Kurt could think was ‘I’d love to put my hands all over you.’ Which was a ridiculous thought to have because he didn’t know this boy and where had that even come from? Oh right, Teenage Dream was still playing in his head. Thanks, Katy. 

If only his soulmate knew he was using this song to fantasize about running off into the sunset with another boy. 

…

Blaine loved being in the spotlight. Wes would say it was because he didn’t get that kind of attention from his parents but that simply wasn’t true. Well, unless Cooper was around; he always pulled focus when it came to their parents. Older sibling privilege, he assumed. 

But he was running late. He stayed behind in class to ask a question which turned into his teacher rambling. Didn’t he know the Warblers had a performance today in the senior commons and Blaine was their lead singer? 

He was checking the time when someone stopped him on the stairs. 

A beautiful boy. Unlike anyone Blaine had ever seen before. He almost missed his name because he was caught up in memorizing his face. 

There was something said about being new, which Blaine doubted since he wasn’t in uniform, and Blaine mentioned a shortcut he knew of. 

It wasn’t really a shortcut. More like the long way to the Senior Commons but less crowded. Everyone was making their way to the Warblers and Blaine wanted as much time alone with Kurt as he could get. 

He wanted Kurt’s full attention. It was no wonder he instantly wanted to show off. Teenage Dream fit his vocals perfectly and Kurt was an excellent audience. In fact, Blaine was set on serenading him. 

He had no way of knowing that exact song had been playing all day long in Kurt Hummel’s mind. 

Afterward, Blaine lost himself in a group hug from the Warblers but Kurt’s beaming smile caught his eye. He pulled Wes and David aside, confirming his own suspicions that Kurt was spying on them first before convincing them to invite Kurt for coffee. 

The four boys sat at a table. Kurt seemed very nervous now. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was because he had been caught or something else was going on. In the end, Blaine thought it best for just him and Kurt to have a conversation. Not at all because he wanted alone time with him. 

This clearly wasn’t the time or place for romance. 

Once they were alone the whole tale seemed to flow out of Kurt: the name calling, locker shoving, his biggest bully. Blaine could relate. 

Sometimes he felt phantom pains in his right leg from Sadie Hawkins. At first, Kurt scoffed when Blaine began sympathizing. If he were Kurt, he might not believe himself. 

Private schoolboy bullied? Blaine sure didn’t look like someone who lacked friends. It was fairly common knowledge that Dalton had a zero tolerance policy for harassment. So, he explained. As brief as he could about his own experience with public school bullies. 

Kurt and he seemed to have more in common than a love for music. 

He doesn't have any plans to see Kurt again though Blaine has plenty of ideas on how they could get together. Coffee at the Lima Bean. Old musicals were playing at the revival theater. Maybe another high school was putting on a play this weekend. All Blaine needed was a good enough message to ask Kurt out. He drafted plenty but none sent. 

After school, Blaine knew Kurt might need an extra push. He was pretty sure classes at McKinley were done for the day. 

He sent a single word. Less second-guessing that way. 

Courage. 

Then, he walked to the library to start writing an essay on Lord of the Flies for English. 

However, he found himself unable to concentrate. Usually after a performance, Blaine had the song stuck in his head for at least a day or two afterward. In addition to humming in the weeks of rehearsals, of course. Instead, Blaine found himself thinking about Start Me Up by the Rolling Stones and oddly Livin’ On a Prayer. Both songs he thought better suited his father or Cooper’s tastes. It was a mashup of the two songs like his soulmate was hearing them simultaneously. 

When he started thinking about his soulmate, there was a clear picture of someone. It didn’t take long for Blaine to bring up those blue eyes and the soft complexion of Kurt Hummel. Which was crazy thinking. He had no idea if Kurt was his soulmate. 

Soulmates tended to be around the same age but just because Kurt was also in high school meant nothing. By that logic anyone at Dalton could be his soulmate too. 

During his brief time with Kurt this week, Blaine heard no music from his mouth. In fact, Blaine had done all the singing. Even with half his brain saying he was nuts to think Kurt was his forever, Blaine couldn’t let the thought go. 

…

Blaine’s text comes in in the midst of the girls’ performance. A wonderful mashup and excellent costumes. Tina had texted Kurt about the leather jacket idea early this week. He was very proud of how they managed to pull the looks together in such a short time. It was impressive. 

Altogether, Kurt was feeling great. The boys had their rehearsal, apparently their performance was turning into an apology. Kurt wasn’t sure what they had done to Coach Beiste but apparently, she was quitting. He and Blaine were texting periodically now. No one knew it but Kurt was surely developing a huge crush on the Warbler boy. 

Then, he confronted Karofsky. He didn’t want to feel the same regret Blaine did—no one messes with the Hummels. 

It seemed like mere hours but in reality, it was days, Kurt was enrolled at Dalton and saying goodbye to the New Directions. 

He was full on having a Vanessa leaving Troy moment here. Kurt Hummel has got to go his own way. 

God was he nervous to start at a new school. In the middle of the school year too. Being the new kid was going to be hard but not as difficult as staying at McKinley would be. 

When Kurt was greeted by Blaine’s smile outside the office on his first day, it made Kurt relax. At least he already had a friend here. 

It isn’t until they’re walking down the hall together—Blaine insisted on escorting Kurt to his first class—that Kurt noticed Blaine was humming.

“Is that High School Musical?” Kurt asked. 

“Oh, um, technically it’s the sequel.” 

“What about us…” Blaine sang, “what about everything we’ve been through?” 

“What about trust…you know I’ve never wanted to hurt you?” 

Blaine chucked. “Cheesy but true. Such a good movie.” 

“We should watch it sometime,” Kurt suggested. 

Instantly, he wanted to take it back. He’s been told he can come on too strong. Especially around cute boys. 

“I’d love too!” Blaine said. “I have it on DVD.” 

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine again until their one shared class of the day right before lunch. He sits across the room from Blaine during history but next to him at the Warbler’s lunch table. 

Most of the group has the same lunch so Kurt is introduced to them before his audition later this afternoon. 

“Nervous?” Wes asked, “you shouldn’t be.” 

“Yeah, from what Blaine's told us you're a great singer,” Trent added. 

“He’s barely heard me sing,” Kurt replied, poking Blaine’s arm. 

He only sang one line of a song to the other boy today. 

“Well…” Blaine rubs his neck abashedly. “I might’ve watched some New Directions videos on YouTube.” 

“Oh, I forgot Rachel uploaded those.” Kurt tunes to the other Warblers then, “I hope I don’t disappoint.” 

After lunch, Blaine walks Kurt to class again. “Between you and me, you’re a shoo-in.” 

“Really?” The Warblers were such an esteemed group. Not at all like the disorganized New Directions. They had also been a glee club for far longer. 

“Really.” 

***

Blaine has had High School Musical songs in his head all day. Whoever his soulmate is, at least he’s got good taste in Disney Channel original movies. Then as the Warblers were preparing for Kurt’s audition, the song switched. An Evita song. 

His soulmate sure did love musicals. Blaine was rather happy about that. He could already picture them sitting on the couch cuddled under a fluffy blanket with any number of classic musicals laid out before them. Arguing over if it was too soon to rewatch Moulin Rouge and whose turn it was to make popcorn. 

They’d be in a big city apartment. Somewhere where no one cared if they were gay. All anyone wanted to know was how they discovered they were soulmates. Their origin story. 

From that point, the daydream grew fuzzy. Blaine couldn’t come up with that meet-cute story. It hadn’t happened yet and nothing his brain could come up with would ever match up with his future reality. 

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the choir room. 

The room was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t every day the Warblers auditioned someone mid-semester. Of course, Kurt had special circumstances but the group was notorious for never breaking tradition. 

Blaine tried to focus but it was difficult without Kurt at his side. Lately, he had been distracted whenever Kurt wasn’t around. All Blaine could hear, despite the loud room, was the song in his head. 

I had to let it happen

I had to change

Then, Kurt walked in and music started to play. For a split second, Blaine thought he was imagining the words from “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” coming from Kurt’s lips. Surely he hadn’t chosen the same song as Blaine’s soulmate had in their head. He knew it couldn’t be his imagination when Trent leaned over and whispered to Blaine how much he loved this song. 

Like lightning striking a tree, Blaine had a realization. Kurt Hummel was his soulmate. 

Oh god, what was he going to do? 

His skin was burning as if it was burned away like bark. He drooped in his seat desperate for water to put himself out with. To put a stop to the tingling sensation bubbling up under his skin. 

All he wanted to do was reach out and touch Kurt. Some part of his brain was able to override that thought. He couldn’t ruin this audition for him. There was plenty of time to spend with Kurt after this, Blaine had all the time in the world to talk with his soulmate.

Soulmate.  

Never did he think he would find his soulmate this soon. Gosh, they were only teenagers. They had so much life to live together. This was rare, special, to find your soulmate so quickly in life. Blaine would cherish it, he’d be thankful for this gift for rest of his days. 

But how in the hell was he going to tell Kurt? It had to be romantic. Blaine always thought it would be when he finally came face to face with his soulmate, his one true love. There was so much work to be done and so little time to do it. Now that Blaine knew, he didn’t want to spend another day without Kurt knowing too. 

He used to dream about running dramatically in slow motion towards each other and embracing just as it started to rain, which of course led to a fabulous first kiss in the sudden storm. But Blaine knew how unlikely that would be. 

He’d just have to build a new fantasy, which he thought would be easy to do if Kurt was his so-called Prince Charming. Whatever happened was going to outweigh everything his imagination had come up with thus far. 

First and foremost, he’d had to sit through a discussion of this audition, which he was barely able to pay attention to. All he wanted to do was walk up to Kurt, cup his face, and kiss him. After Kurt was finished, the council dismissed him. Blaine knew he’d find Kurt just outside the choir room because they had plans afterward but now he had no idea how he was going to sit through coffee with Kurt and not tell him. 

“He’s very good,” Trent said, nudging Blaine. 

He nodded in agreement. It seems most of the group concurred, Kurt was a good fit for them. 

Kurt Hummel was the perfect fit for Blaine too. Even if he didn’t know it yet. 

***

Kurt didn’t consider himself to be a good reader of social cues especially when his own emotions were involved. See, Finn Hudson and Sam Evans. Crushes on straight boys never ended well. With Blaine, he swore things would be different. 

They were friends, classmates, and hopefully, soon they’d be fellow Warblers. Kurt was not going to mess this up. Even if Blaine was really cute and friendly and super kind and understanding. There was so much to love about Blaine, Kurt found it hard to find something he didn’t like. 

He had found focusing on his dislikes of a person kept his feelings at bay. Like how messy Finn could be really shut down any romance fantasy Kurt had drawn up. Except, Blaine didn’t dye his hair like Sam, he was completely organized (Kurt had seen his dorm room; spotless), he was modest and genuine. 

It made sense that everyone at Dalton wanted some of his attention. Blaine embodied Kurt’s idea of a gentleman and then some. 

After his audition, Kurt sat outside the choir room waiting for his results. The council would discuss with the full group, release them, and regroup tomorrow with a vote. Kurt was waiting for Blaine to be dismissed because Blaine had promised to buy him a cup of coffee. 

Some of the Warblers who were leaving had some pretty nice things to say about Kurt’s performance. Just general praise which soothes some of his initial nerves. Mostly, he just wanted Blaine to walk out with a big smile on his face. That boy couldn’t keep a secret. Kurt would know if he was in or not just by looking at his face. 

Kurt was joined on his bench by a boy who introduced himself as Duncan. 

“I was super nervous after my audition. I just got in at the beginning of this year so I know what you’re going through.” 

Kurt felt his shoulders drop in relief. As much as Blaine tried to assure him the audition would be perfect, Kurt felt like he couldn’t relate much as the star of the glee club. Back at McKinley, Kurt rarely had center stage. Here, Blaine always had everyone’s attention. 

“That’s actually great to hear,” Kurt said, with a slight chuckle. 

“Seriously, Kurt, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m a little concerned they’ll kick me out just to have your voice,” Duncan teased. 

They keep talking about what it’s like to be a new Warbler since Duncan is positive Kurt will be getting good news shortly. He offers up some pointers to get on the council’s good side. 

“I loved your song choice by the way, so weird because Evita had been in my head all day.” 

It feels like someone’s dropped an ice cube down his back. He sits up quickly. 

Oh, Kurt thought, is this it? 

“You did?” He must’ve heard wrong. There’s just no way. 

“Yeah, I love that musical,” Duncan confirmed. 

Could it be this easy? He wondered. 

“We should hang out again soon,” Duncan told him, “I’d love to get to know you. Newbie Warblers gotta stick together.” 

Kurt gives Duncan his number before the other boy wanders off. Before Kurt can get too deep into any fantasies of his soulmate, wondering if that soulmate has just left him or not, Blaine comes out from the choir room. 

“Hey you,” Blaine greeted with a big smile. 

“Are you allowed to give me any inclination?” 

He shook his head but was still smiling wide which made Kurt feel like good news was in his near future like Duncan had said. Kurt was telling Blaine how long he had practiced the song over the weekend with Rachel and Duncan reassurances when Blaine blurted, “Duncan Samuels?” 

“Yeah, we just met.” 

Should he tell Blaine about them being soulmates or wait until he was sure? 

But Blaine just nodded. Something was clearly bothering his friend. For now, Kurt was going to let it go because he was sure Blaine would come to him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t want to force it out of Blaine. 

Kurt couldn’t even get Finn to talk to him during their warm milk chats at night. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the information out of Blaine if he tried.

“Anyway,” Kurt said, continuing his previous line of thought, “Rachel has this whole stage setup in her dads’ basement.” 

“I don’t find that hard to believe based on everything you’ve told me about her.” 

After that comment, their coffee date is back on track, Kurt doesn’t bring up his potential soulmate meeting. 

***

Duncan Samuels was his lifelong nemesis. As far as Blaine was considered his life began when he figured out Kurt was his soulmate and if Duncan was going to interfere with that they were now enemies. Since their coffee date yesterday, Blaine hasn’t heard a word about Duncan but he also had yet to see Kurt today. They only had one class together after lunch, which Blaine was on his way to now. 

Kurt saved him a seat and delivered the news. 

“Duncan and I are going for coffee today.” 

Those words were devastating. 

In normal circumstances, Blaine would’ve asked Kurt why he wasn’t going to rehearsal but of course Kurt wasn’t a Warbler…yet. Blaine knew the Warblers were going to announce Kurt’s membership at the end of day, which meant this was the last rehearsal Kurt wouldn’t attend. 

So instead of a calmly said, normal statement, Blaine spent the next minute freaking out. 

Duncan was the worst! He was going to steal Kurt away from him before Blaine ever got the chance. Well okay, the rational side of him thought, Kurt isn’t being stolen he’s going willingly. 

“That’s nice,” he finally said. 

There was no way for Blaine to stop Kurt and honestly no reason to try since Duncan posed no threat to Kurt. He didn’t need a protector. Blaine knew they were soulmates and he’d find a way to tell Kurt later on. At the end of it all, Kurt was his soulmate. He just knew it. 

“Are you free when I get out of rehearsal?” 

“For you?” Kurt asked, “of course, I’ll probably still be in the cafe.” 

“I’ll come find you,” Blaine told him. 

Still, all throughout Warbler rehearsal, Blaine’s attention was elsewhere. He needed to get out of here and meet up with Kurt. Wes knew it too because he pulled him aside at one point while David ushered the guys into a new arrangement.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, “I need you focused for competition.” 

“I will be,” he vowed. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Blaine looked back at the other boys but they were already harmonizing. 

“It’s Kurt.” 

Wes smiled. “Don’t worry about him. He’s in, I can’t believe we have a countertenor on our team now. We’re going to wipe the floor at regionals.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wesley. McKinley already knows what a talent Kurt is, he won’t be a surprise to them,” Blaine reminded him. 

“Ah, but they didn’t utilize his talent,” Wes said, “it’ll shock them to see Kurt in the spotlight.” 

Wes patted Blaine’s back and guided him back to the group to finish up rehearsal. 

Blaine couldn’t help but check his phone again before he tuned back into rehearsal. He knew Kurt was getting coffee and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone. 

One of the best things about Kurt was when you were with him everything else was put aside. Blaine was sure if things got really serious, Kurt would shut his phone off entirely to prove a point. Right now, it was annoying as hell. Blaine needed to see a reassuring text that Kurt wasn’t running off into the sunset with Duncan Samuels. 

What if his phone was turned off because the two of them were standing at the altar? Everyone turns their phones off in church. 

He really really needed to talk to him. Blaine didn’t want to be the type of soulmate that holds onto that information too long. It’s like he’s lying to himself not being with Kurt. 

Once rehearsal was finally over, Blaine rushed over to the on-campus cafe where he knew Kurt would be. He had to be there. 

When Blaine pushed his way through the door, he saw Kurt was sitting alone nursing what looked to be a cup of tea. When Blaine approached him he could tell it was Chamomile. 

“Can I sit?” 

Kurt nodded but didn’t say a word as Blaine hung his bag across the back of the chair and removed his blazer. 

He expected a question about the Warblers, perhaps an inquiry about his status to become one but nothing came. Kurt wasn’t even drinking his tea. 

“What’s wrong? Did Duncan say something to upset you?”

“I’m fine, Blaine,” Kurt said, “Duncan didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me as usual.” 

Blaine didn’t understand. 

“Am I that unlovable?” 

“What?” 

Kurt was the most kind, sincere person he knew and Blaine had only met him a few weeks ago. He was most certainly lovable considering Blaine fell for him in just under 3 weeks 

“I can’t really blame him,” Kurt continued, “it’s not his fault we aren’t soulmates.” 

“You thought he was your soulmate?” 

Maybe telling Kurt wouldn’t be too difficult after all. 

“It’s just he made this comment yesterday that made me think…but of course I got too ahead of myself again and really I should know by now,” Kurt mumbled the last bit, “nothing ever goes to plan.” 

“You can say that again.” 

This cafe wasn’t a romantic candlelit dinner. He didn’t have rose petals to scatter around. There was no champagne to toast. But he had the most important thing. 

Blaine reached across the table to grab Kurt’s hand. “Think of a song.” 

“Why?” 

“Just do it,” Blaine said. 

Kurt’s face was scrunched up in a “I’m confused but I’ll trust you” kind of way. 

As soon as the song hit him, Blaine opened his mouth to sing, “this could be the start of something new…it feels so right to be here with you.”

“How did you—?” 

Blaine smiled at him. “Pick another song.” 

“Your cares and troubles are gone. They'll be no more from now on.”

His mouth opens slightly. 

“Your turn,” Blaine said, “ I want you to sing what comes to mind.” 

Wasn’t the best way to prove they were soulmates to test each other? 

Blaine wanted Kurt to have his own moment of realization even if he engineered it. He didn’t want their “how-did-you-know” story to be him informing Kurt about their connection. Instead, he wanted to tell people about listening to Kurt’s Warbler audition and thinking how odd it was to know the song he was going to sing before it began. Kurt’s story would start with a laugh because he imagined someone other than Blaine as his soulmate the very same day. 

And wasn’t that just so silly of him? 

Rather than have Kurt just sing to him, Blaine harmonized with him. This was the proof. He’d sing everything Kurt could come up with and vice versa. 

“But baby, can't you see there's nothing else for me to do? I'm hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “We’re….”

He nodded. 

Before Blaine even realized it, Kurt was out of his seat leaning towards him, they’re kissing. Kurt’s fingers are curved around his chin and his other hand is tickling the curls at the back of his neck. The tiny wisps of hair that always escape the gel by the late afternoon. 

Blaine would happily keep his curls loose if it meant Kurt would keep his hands in his hair always. Especially, if it meant they’d never stop kissing. 

Eventually, Kurt has to pull away. They’re still close enough to feel each other’s breath. 

“Soulmates,” Blaine whispered. 

It had been quiet while they kissed like everything else in the world just stopped. All the sounds of Dalton came rushing back all at once. The students in the halls, coffee orders being called out, and the shuffling of chairs as people came and went. 

“When did you know?” Kurt asked, sitting down again. 

Blaine pulled his seat around so they were closer and Kurt immediately reached for his hand. 

***

3 months later. 

Blaine hadn’t been upset to lose to McKinley at Regionals. How could he have been when he got to sing with his soulmate in front of a crowd? Their duet was so in sync and the crowd could tell. He doesn’t think he ever received such a loud applause. 

Blaine had wanted to just be in that moment forever—staring into Kurt’s eyes hearing the words in his head just before they were said aloud, gripping his hand before pushing him into the spotlight to soak up the audience’s love. 

No, Blaine was happy about Regionals. The Warblers had worked hard on the set; their second place trophy sat on the right corner of the council’s table at meetings now. What Blaine was concerned about was Kurt’s leaving. 

His dorm room was empty now, the last suitcase zipped up. Blaine was sitting on his boyfriend’s mattress taking in the last moment that Kurt was a Dalton student. 

“I’ll miss you too, you know, a lot,” Kurt said from the doorway. 

“I know,” Blaine replied, “it’s just sad.” 

Kurt took a seat next to him on the bed. 

“I’ll sing to you.” 

Blaine smiled. “Promise?” 

“Everyday.” Kurt kissed his cheek. 

They were going to be okay. 

[mshermia]

A Dream Or A Nightmare

By @mshermia for @blackchessknight

Rating: Teen & Up

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Helen Cho, Steve Rogers, Ned Leeds

Summary: Peter gets hurt during a mission. When he wakes up, it dawns on Tony that Peter doesn't remember a few things; he didn’t just forget about Tony but also being Spider-Man. While Peter thinks he's living his teenage dream spending time with the freaking Avengers, Tony is petrified he might never get the kid back who remembered being his son.

Many thanks to @friendly-neighborhood-exchange for all their work on this! This story is part of the Friendly Neighborhood Exchange #4.

AO3 Link

There were post-mission problems - like when Tony had to iron out the kinks in his suit - no pun intended-and had to pick up the bill for the remodel of a skyscraper - but then there were post-mission problems - like when his kid was passed out in a hospital bed, both his legs and one arm in a full cast.

Like right now.

It had been a few hours since they had patched him up, but so far, there was no sign of consciousness in Peter. Cho had reiterated once or twice that his body simply needed the rest and Tony would just have to be a little patient for his healing factor to pick up the pieces. It would take a little time and a lot of energy and Tony would just have to sit there and let Peter's body do its job.

Which was just great. Really. Just awesome, because patience, well, patience was one of Tony's core qualities. He was great at it. Top tier.

With a groan, he buried his face in both of his hands. They were at 8 hours and 47 minutes now. 8 hours and 47 minutes since Cho had rolled Peter out of the treatment room, her face solemn but not unkind.

"Just go lie down, Tony," she had said. "It'll be a few hours before he wakes up. Just get some rest."

Like that line had ever worked on him. Like he had ever left Peter's side after a mission before. No, even if the thought of May's ghost coming back and haunting his ass for leaving Peter would have had its perks, he'd made a promise and meant to keep it. The kid was it for him. His responsibility. His job. Out of all of them, by far Tony's favorite job. His life, really.

There was no version of this where he would move from Peter's side.

The idea of sleep at this point was a farce. Whenever Tony even attempted to close his eyes, the memories of that afternoon washed back up. No matter how deep he tried to bury them, they just wouldn't stay covered. He could still see it, the force with which Peter had been smashed into the building. Could still hear the white noise of his racing heart as he had desperately tried to move the debris under which Peter had been buried. He didn't need the nightmares that were waiting for him to just give in, to rest and sleep. No, when Peter would wake up that was when he'd even start to think about getting some rest.

With all his determination - and the frequency that Tony had spent time next to Peter in the med wing over the last year or so - you'd think he might have invested in a few more comfortable chairs but there was something about him being in discomfort that made waiting for his kid to wake up a little more bearable. Only this time, it took a little too long. This time it wasn't just Tony's back that was strained and his legs that were cramping. His nerves were on edge. 8 hours and - now - 48 minutes. 

It felt like it was a little too long. He couldn't remember Peter ever being out cold this long before.

It took another 2 hours and 21 minutes until - thank the gods, all of them - Peter's eyelids fluttered. Slowly at first, confused and dazed until he squinted to the side, looking right at Tony.

"Good morning, sunshine," Tony greeted him, the smile on his lips entirely genuine.

For what felt like an unusually long moment, Peter simply looked at him like he didn't really see him. Like Tony was part of the wallpaper rather than sitting there, leaning in closer. The poor little buddy was still all punch-drunk, a little lost even.

"How's your head, kid?"

Peter blinked a couple of times, his eyes growing a little rounder, definitely wider, but his gaze never left Tony's face. "You... You're Tony Stark."

Panic flashed through Tony faster than lightning, goosebumps rising on his arm. Was he... did he not remember?

Peter's eyes on the other hand grew a little wider if that was even possible. "OMG, Iron Man... you're Iron Man." The corners of his mouth pulled into a wide smile.

That little prankster... Tony huffed out a breath, one hand clutching his heart. "Jeezes kid, you almost had me." Adrenaline was still pulsed through him but he couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't often, that Peter's pranks worked on him.

"H-had you?" The smile on Peter's lips faltered just as his brow furrowed. "Oh... oh, what the..." He pressed his eyes shut. Fingers and thumb of his right hand - the one left cast-free - rubbed across his temples. 

As fast as Tony's cramping legs allowed, he rushed forward, one hand on the back of Peter's head, the other on the side of his face. "It's okay..." With practiced ease, his fingers ran through Peter's hair, tracing back and forth across his skull with just enough pressure that it should help ease the pain.

Little by little, Peter's heavy breathing slowed, the tension on his face slowly ebbing away. 

"FRI, let's tilt up that headrest a bit." As the bed was moving Peter into more of an upright position, Tony tried to catch his eye. "That better?" 

When their eyes met, he couldn't help but flinch at the look of utter confusion on Peter's face. "Y-yeah," he mumbled, never looking away from Tony.

"Where else does it hurt?" Tony's fingers were still rubbing back and forth through Peter's soft locks, the pressure low just like Tony knew May used to do for him. Like he had done so many times ever since it had been just the two of them.

"I... I'm not..." He couldn't seem to find the words. "What happened?"

Tony tried to swallow the rising panic attack that was brewing just below his skin. "You don't remember?"

Just then, the door edged open. Natasha stuck her head into the room. "Well, look who's back amongst the living!" She smiled warmly as she stepped in.

Peter's face on the other hand went a little paler. "It's... it's the Widow," he mumbled to himself, then sucked in a shaky breath. "Black Widow and Iron Man. Black Widow and Iron Man. This is... this is... wow."

Nat glanced over at Tony, her eyebrows slowly rising. "Uh-oh... that doesn't sound good."

Tony swallowed hard. "FRI, can you get Helen for us? Fast."

 "Right away, boss."  

Peter's eyes blinked up to the ceiling. "Shit, that's so cool."

"Hey, buddy..." Tony's hand on the back of his head gave it a soft squeeze, just enough to get his attention back. "Pain level? On a scale of 1 to 10, where're we at?"

"Erm..." He wasn't even blinking, just staring at Tony.

"1 is stubbing your toe, 10 is Toomes dropping a building on you." His heart was racing but this was absolutely not the time for Tony to have a panic attack.

"A... a building," Peter asked, dumbfounded.

"Fuck." Tony's hands were starting to sweat.

A glance at Natasha didn't help his nerves at all. A deep frown and an unambiguous sense of worry had replaced the cool facade she usually displayed.

Once again, the door to the room was pushed open. Helen Cho was on the other side of Peter's bed before Tony had even blown out a deep sigh of relief. With Helen, Peter was in good hands, the best hands.

"Hi there, Peter." Helen smiled down at him before her eyes moved back to the monitor displaying his vitals. "It's good to see you up."

"Er... hello."

"His memory," Tony spluttered. "Please, do something!"

"Alright, relax..." Natasha stepped up next to him, her hands on his arms pulling him away from Peter. "Give her some room to work."

"It's okay. I got him, Tony." Helen gave him a smile that was surely meant to look encouraging. It was everything but that though. It resembled the one that she had given him right after the last time Tony had needed a long-ass session in the cradle, resembled it a little too closely for Tony's liking. Her smile turned a little warmer when she looked back at Peter. "Do you know who I am, dear?"

"You..." Peter blinked a few times, his cheeks turning pink. "You're the doctor? M-my doctor?"

"My name is Helen."

"Oh, right..." Peter gave a swift smile. "He-hello Doctor Helen."

"Do you know who this is?" She pointed at Tony.

The nervous little laugh that bubbled out of Peter would have been cute in any other circumstance. "That... that's Tony Stark," he whispered, repeatedly glancing at Tony, then added "Iron Man" just as quietly and with just as much awe.

Helen's smile didn't falter though. "Do you remember when you met Tony for the first time?"

"Er... well, yeah actually, it..." He rubbed a hand through his hair, eyes now on the sheets. "When I was... er... when I was 8. He..." The color on Peter's cheeks turned a little darker. "well, we didn't like meet-meet but kind of... met at the Expo. He... he helped me. Erm... blasted one of those Hammer drones away that... that was right in front of me."

Helen stole a glance in his direction but Tony could only shake his head. He had no idea what Peter was talking about. 

"Okay, what is the last thing you remember doing?"

Peter opened his mouth, then frowned. "I... er..." For a moment he just sat there, blinking at her, mouth still open. "I... I don't know."

"Alright. That's okay. Look at me for a moment." She leaned towards him, a little flashlight in her hand. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Er..." He struggled to keep his eyes open as Helen moved the light from one eye to the other.

She studied him closely, her frown deepening. "What year?" 

Peter didn't even try for an answer this time. His face fell a little with every passing moment, panic steadily replacing the awestruck expression on his face. "I don't... I don't know. I don't know!"

"It's alright," Helen soothed, patting his shoulder.

With wide eyes, Peter turned to Tony like he had all the answers but he was completely useless, struggling to even think of how to start fixing this. "What's happening, Helen? What... what do I need to do? Talk to me!"

"Okay, let's just... let's just stay calm." Natasha took another step forward, positioning herself between Tony and Peter's bed. "Tony, I'm looking at you."

His eyes shot up at her but the loud drum of his heart thundering in his ears made his head hurt.

"Right," he breathed.

"Listen, this, er..." Peter's voice was quiet, close to shaking. "Thank you, you know, but I... I should really call my aunt and uncle. They... they're probably worried and I don't want them to have to worry because if they worry then I worry and I—"

"Alright, just..." Tony's heart was racing. "We'll... we'll figure that out, okay?"

It took all the strength he had not to go running from that room. If his nerves had been rising before it was no contest to the adrenaline that was now pumping through Tony's veins. 

Peter didn't remember. Ben and May Parker were dead and the kid didn't remember.

Instead, he was staring at Tony, eyes wide in starstruck wonder. "Oh, okay," he nodded, cheeks burning. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

Before Tony could even think about how he was supposed to deal with telling Peter the truth, once again, the door to his room was pushed open. This time it was Rogers, positively humming with his never-fading good spirits.

"Hi there, Peter." Steve cringed as he took in the casts on both his legs and arms, then winked. "You look a little tied up there."

"Captain America... Captain America knows my name," Peter mumbled as if to himself, eyes wide in awe. 

Eyebrows raised, Steve's glance shifted to Helen, then Tony. "Yikes."

The room was getting too crowded, giving Tony a fresh vibe of claustrophobia. Like she could smell it on him, Natasha grabbed him by the arm. 

"Maybe you should discuss the details of the situation with Helen in her office, hm?" 'Or anywhere but in this room' - was what her eyes were saying instead. 

"No," Tony mumbled. "I can't— I won't—"

"Nat and I will keep Peter here some company," Steve chimed in before flashing a toothy smile at Peter. "Sound good, kid?"

Mouth a little gaping, Peter nodded slowly. 

"Nat can tell you about the time she went to Kalkutta and tried to outsmart Bruce Banner," he smiled even wider. "That sound good to you?"

"Really... er... really good," Peter mumbled.

The idea of leaving Peter had Tony's anxiety spike but not as much as the thought of having to tell him about his uncle's murder and his aunt's illness. He didn't resist, letting his feet fall in front of each other one step at a time as Helen tugged him by the arm.

"We'll figure this out, Tony," she said after she closed the door behind them. "Just take a breath."

"I'll take a breath when I know he'll be okay," Tony hissed through his teeth. "What is going on? You said you did a scan! You said he'd be fine!"

She held up her hands like it was going to calm him. Like he was a fucking horse that got a little spooked.

"I'll have to run some more tests but with how you described his crash, it is likely that he suffered a traumatic brain injury which affects the memory-storage areas of his brain, which is why we originally did the first scan when you brought him in."

Goosebumps erupted on his skin and had him shiver in reaction. "He's got amnesia."

"Right," Helen nodded. "We'll have to monitor him to figure out how much of his memory he has lost and if it's limited to a retrograde amnesia or also impairs his ability to form new memories."

"Jeezes." His face buried in both his hands, Tony had trouble focusing on one coherent thought himself. He swallowed hard, eyes back on Helen. "Well, when are his memories going to be back?"

Helen's face was somber. "It's something we will have to reevaluate step by step."

"But..." Panic, worse than before, was making his heart race. "But he is going to get his memories back, right?"

"I don't know, Tony." Her sympathetic frown was not helping with his panic at all. 

"Well, what do you know?!" 

"Hey..." The door to Peter's room had opened and closed. Steve was next to him in a matter of moments. "You need to keep it down out here." One of his hands was on Tony's shoulder and led him further down the hallway as his head bowed towards him. "We'll figure this out, Tony. Just breathe, okay?"

It was easier said than done. Tony's lungs were reluctant to work. With every frantic beat of his heart, panic seemed to vibe in his core a little stronger. 

His focus was still on Helen. "There has to be something we can do, just... just tell me what I have to do!"

"I'm sorry, Tony, there is just too little that we know. With his healing factor, the injury to his brain might have been more severe than we could detect by the time you brought him to the Compound. It's possible that his body had already started the healing process and what we see now are the lingering symptoms from the injury." 

"He can't... he can't even remember his aunt and uncle dying! What..." Tony tangled both hands in his hair, pulling hard like the pain of it would ease the agony of his racing mind. "What am I supposed to tell him?"

"It's a difficult situation," Helen said, entirely unhelpful.

No longer able to keep his feet still, Tony moved away from her, back towards the door of Peter's room only to remember that behind lay his kid that didn't remember ever really meeting him. Didn't remember the months of agony after May's death they had overcome together. Tony couldn't do that again. He wouldn't be able to bear it, to see the kid hurting like that again, not now when Peter had finally managed to brave the heartache of his loss.

Tony turned away from the door to stalk down the corridor, running as far away as his trembling legs would let him, only to be stopped by Steve.

"Just sit down for a moment, okay?"

Tony shook his head. He couldn't sit. He couldn't keep the panic at bay any longer. He was going to combust.

But instead, two strong hands pressed down on his shoulders and he found himself sat in one of the chairs that lined the med wing's hallway. As fast as his knees gave way, so did his emotions finally bubble out of him. His face hidden behind both his hands, Tony tried to cover up the tears, his unsteady breathing as his anxiety got the better of him. Steve's hand that lay heavy around his shoulders actually didn't hurt. It grounded him just enough to cling to some of his composure.

"You should get some sleep," Steve mumbled. "He's not gonna be awake for long anyway with his body still healing. Just... lie down and rest and—"

"No," Tony croaked. Steve's arm slid away as Tony sat up straight again. "I'm not going anywhere." Repeatedly, he rubbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face. "I'm all the family he has left. Just me and—" 

Right, there was one more person that was like family to Peter, like a brother.

"FRI!" Tony's eyes flickered up to the ceiling. "Get Happy to pick up Ned Leeds. Tell him to hurry."

 #

 For an hour and a half, Tony allowed Steve to distract him in the communal kitchen. He ate some of Sam's lasagne, snuck about 4 cups of espresso until FRIDAY finally announced the arrival of Ned and Happy.

It wasn't Ned's first visit to the Compound. Even though Tony and Peter usually lived at the Tower, he had taken the boys out to the Avengers complex upstate for a number of weekend trips. It got Peter's mind off his worries and the awestruck look on Ned's face was always a picture.

This was likely the first time that Ned refrained from gawking at the high ceiling of the lobby, his eyes on Tony.

"Let's go," Tony mumbled, dipping his head toward the med wing.

Ned didn't hesitate, his tension visible in his clenched fists. "What happened?"

Tony gritted his teeth, pushing the memory back down that wanted to send him spiraling once again. "He got thrown against a building and that hard skull of his brought down the whole thing on top of him."

Ned blew out a shaky breath. "But he's awake?"

"Yeah, only can't remember m-much." Tony had just about stopped himself from a 'remember me' slipping off his tongue.

Ned glanced at him. "And you think me being here will help?"

"He doesn't remember that May and Ben are dead. I think maybe... maybe a friendly face will help. Even if it doesn't trigger anything. Just to..." Tony sucked in a sharp breath, "to soften the blow."

Ned cursed then his head turned back to Tony. "Wait, but..." He shook his head. "He still knows who you are, right?"

Avoiding Ned's face, he tried really hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. "He remembers Iron Man."

Before Ned could say another word, Tony pushed open the door to Peter's room. Natasha was still sitting next to his bed but quickly receded to the back wall as Peter's enthusiastic voice echoed through the room!

"Ned! You're here!" Awkwardly with his legs and one arm a little elevated in their casts, Peter waved at him with his good hand. "Hi there, Mr. Stark," he added, his cheeks once again blushing profusely.

"Shit, dude, your legs!" 

A little hesitant, Ned moved closer to the bed. But when Peter stretched out his hand, ready to greet him with their signature handshake, the tension in Ned's shoulders lifted.

"I know right? It's sick!" Then he shrugged. "At least it should get me out of PE."

"For a little while at least." 

Helen had made her way back into the room right after them. She placed a hand on Tony's upped arm, squeezing it reassuringly. This is where they were supposed to start. Talk about Peter's physical recovery before they headed down the dark winding road of his amnesia.

"When you've eaten, we'll have to get a couple more scans in but right now," she continued. "But right now I see no reason why it should take you longer than the normal ten days for multiple broken limbs until the casts can come off."

"Ten days? What," Peter snorted. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"Dude..." Ned's eyes were wide, as he glanced over at Helen.

"I... I'm sorry! So sorry," Peter's face turned beet-root-red. "I just... last time I broke my arm it... it took like seven months till the cast came off. Re-remember, Ned? I...I couldn't even play with your new playstation all summer!"

It didn't come as a real surprise to Tony, not at this point. He didn't remember being Spider-Man. Tony had feared as much since Ben Parker had died a few weeks after Peter's bite.

"Yeah, but..." Ned looked right at Peter. "But that was before."

"Before?" Peter frowned at him, then shook his head. "Before what?"

Both Ned and Helen turned to Tony, waiting expectantly for him to say something but Tony couldn't find the words. He didn't know where to begin. Before panic could take hold of his body and soul once more, it was Natasha who stepped up.

"Before you got your powers," she said like she was talking about yesterday's weather.

Slowly, Peter's eyes shifted from person to person before he glanced back at Nat. "My powers?"

"Yes, that was before you were bitten by a radioactive spider and developed superhuman strength and healing abilities." She tilted her head a little, studying him like this was the key that would bring back the kid's memory. "You also stick to things. Like walls."

"Radioactive spider?" Peter's eyebrows slowly rose closer and closer to his hairline. "And I stick to things." After another glance at Ned who nodded enthusiastically, Peter bit his lip. "So, I have superpowers. And I guess... I guess being here with you..." there was another pause while he gnawed at his lip a little harder. "I guess that means I use those powers to like help you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Correct." 

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched. It was painfully obvious how he tried to suppress a wide smirk. "Can you imagine?" He turned to Ned. "May finding out I'm a superhero? She'd lose her mind."

"Er... Peter..." Ned's face was long and a little spooked.

"What?" Peter mumbled, the smile falling off his lips. He looked from one person to the next waiting for someone to offer up more information.

Tony's chest was tight but there was no way around it. This was his responsibility. He would have to be the one and he'd catch Peter once again when he would crumble under the news.

"Peter, I'm afraid your aunt and your uncle, they are no longer with us." Tony did his best to keep his voice clear, his tone sincere. He edged a little closer to Peter's bed then sat done at the foot end of it, ready to pull him close. "Ben died a little more than 2 years ago. May a year later."

"Oh." For a moment, Peter's face was blank, then he grimaced. "Damn, that's a little harsh, killing off the family to hang out with the freaking Avengers. Your brain's messed up, Parker," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm gonna have to bake them a cake."

"Pete..." Tony frowned and reached his hand out, not quite finding the confidence to take Peter's hand, he awkwardly squeezed the side of his bed instead. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, no, right..." Quickly, Peter nodded, his eyes on the hand Tony had edged towards him. "Me too. Me too. That's... that's not cool. I mean like... like bad."

Dread was crawling up Tony's spine. 

"So then," Peter cleared his throat. "I guess I'm not staying in the apartment anymore or did I..." He squinted at Natasha like she was the best source of good information. "Did I get a job?"

"No," Ned shook his head, a subtle sense of irritation swinging in his voice. "You live with Tony."

"With Tony?" Peter followed Ned's finger that was pointing straight at Tony's chest. "I'm living with Tony." His hand flew up to cover his mouth a little too late to cover the snort he hadn't been able to hold back. "Sorry, of course I do..." Peter mumbled through his hand as Ned turned around looking right at Tony, his face full of shock. 

All Tony could do was sit there. This was worse than he would have thought. This was a whole different level of denial.

"I'm sorry," Peter mumbled again then pointed at Ned, "you'll get such a kick out of this." The hand now rubbing across his face, he shook his head and mumbled, "God, I hope, I'll remember this when I wake up."

Tony's heart sank. It sank all the way to his stomach where it lay like a heavy undigestible piece of useless flesh. Which was worse, Peter's refusal to believe the painful truth or that the idea of him living with Tony was such a joke? A sense of bottomless sorrow washed over him unbroken as Natasha pulled him out of the room by his arm.

"He'll get there," she mumbled, squeezing both his shoulders. "It's a lot to take in all at once but there is no way around it."

"I... I don't know how to do this," Tony whispered.

"We're here with you." One of her hands forced his chin up, forced him to look at her through his tears. "We're right here with you. Every step of the way, okay?"

###

Of course, I couldn't resist making this a longer story, so there'll be a second chapter (probably) tomorrow ;)

[macaronnya]

So I just saw the announcement about the EN server shutting down or at least dicontinued (hopefully just for now) and I might just burst into tears 🥲 I want to put my thoughts or rather feelings of the journy up until now on here to come down but maybe also as some form of comfort for anyone who needs it? It's very long and might have some broken english as it's not my first language so do keep it in mind please 😅

Anyways, I started A3! last year on march 7th because I saw a youtube video of people cosplaying Sakuya and Sakyo. At taht point, I already knew of A3! somewhere in my distant memories back when it was JP only. I decided to try out the game since I was getting bored of my current mobile games and the few reviews I could find of it were relatively positive. I had no idea just what a big part of my life this game was about the become 🤧

Btw I'm listening to some A3! songs right now, specifically Sakuya's 2nd character song, and it's not helping me 😢 So at the time, lockdown just started 2 days ago, which left me with a lot of time playing it and, I kid you not, I gulfed the main story down like it was the last slice of cake at home. I have 2 siblings. I think I finished it in a week or so despite it being only unlockable through leveling up, and if my memory serves me right, you need to be around lvl 75 to unlock all 4 episodes. As one can see, I was VERY invested in the story. It was just so....nice? I don't know how to exactly describe it but I was surprised by how likable everyone was. Of course I didn't hold such strong feelings for everyone back then as I do now but I was intrigued enough back then of nearly everyone, which is kind of rather rare in such types of games, no? At least for me it is, although I haven't played terribly a lot (Love Live, MLQC, Mystic Messenger).

I really like how the story actually continues through the events and how it alternated between stories exploring certain characters more (show events) and stories focusing on just them having fun. Getting to know everyone bit by bit and seeing how everyone grows closer to each other, not only within their respective troupes but the whole theater, makes me really all warm and fuzzy and it's found family, what more could you want?

Also, I really like Izumi, our dear MC 🥰 Even though she's supposed to be our self-insert, I found myself really enjoying reading her thoughts, observing her reactions to other characters' shenanigans (like her 'I do not see' to the members plan of faking their identity to bail Citron out lol) and just....her personality. Trying not to digress here but she has a lot more personality than other MCs in these joseimuke games and it makes her interactions with others not only bearable but even enjoyable. I'm not saying that this is what a perfect MC looks like or that she's superior to bland self-inserts. After all, it depends on the story, gameplay and other things. It's just a nice bonus I'm very grateful for. I mean, I got really emotional when Izumi performed with the other staff members all of the plays the actors have put out so far for the first anniversary. Her realizing she gained a new dream for her lost one just really took my heart, broke it in thousand pieces and then mended it again.

I also love A3! songs ❤ I did wonder how they would work in this franchise since it's not about idols but actors, though I guess there was nothing to worry about. I really like the duets because it's always a different duo and hearing them singing together, harmonizing with each other, complimenting each other, just fills me with undescribable joy. Of course the songs also slap pretty much every time. Even by limiting my options to 1 troupe, I still wouldn't be able to pick only one favourite (I like the majority of Winter's song tho, like Shoutai is just 🤌 and my sibling blasted Unmasked non-stop so I can't get it outta my head anymore). Gosh, I was so excited for 'Double Solitaire' since it would complete trilogy of the Hyodosakas singing together. I was really looking forward to getting all the songs and I was even saving up for Summer Troupe's 6th play.

If I had to describe the game A3! in one word, it'd be "charming". Coming to game itself, there are so many little quirks, that on their own aren't anything groundbreaking or big but together give the game its own flair. Live 2D is pretty common to see nowdays in games because it brings the characters to life through movements like 3D models. But I think A3! is able to illustrate it just as well, if not even better with their 2D sprites. Citron moonwalked by flipping the image over and sliding across the screen, Hisoka appeared out of nowhere by coming from above the screen, they do a little jump when they're happy, they go down a bit when they're sad. And that's just things with their whole sprite. The little drops when Tsuzuru finds himself in an awkward situation or is worried, the little note when Sakuya is happy, the hearts when Kazunari is lowkey flirting with Izumi, it's so cute! Or Omi's O.O face, Taichi's crying face (the usual one, not his face when he cried out of guilt of betraying Mankai), Yuki's done expression, H O M A R E AHA! They each have at least one personalized expression and also quote. Can you hear Kazunari's Yoropiko~☆, Citron's humming, Taichi's loud ass whining and scream of terror, Tsumugi's awkawrd laugh? It's brimming with life.

But also the UI (?how it looks) is joyful. The main screen's background cascading shapes changes depending from which Troupe your current character is from, the loading screen has sakura petals and a bird, the colors are very bright and saturated fitting to the overall color palette of the whole game, the little notebook during practice showing all the necessary infomation and a little sketch by the characters. It's just really charming.

As frustrating as it was, not getting halloween Tsuzuru after 110 pulls or Valentine Omi after 120, it was my first time ever understanding why gachas are called hellholes. Through my strong connections to the characters, their cards automatically appealed to me more. But the art is also so good???? Azuma is always looking flawless obviously but Omi's unbloomed Wolf card, where he is standing in the sunset looking at his camera or Kazunari's Shinobi card, unbloomed all concentrated on his panting and bloomed all shiny smiling like the fireworks in the background? Breathtaking everytime. I also appreciate it not needing multiple copies to unlock the whole backstage story.

I think I'm slowly running out of things to say, which might be good for whoever managed to come this far. I have to say though, A3! helped me through the pandemic. Being a perfect distraction to the world's chaos and more importantly my crushing schoolwork and worries for personal future. I'm a very pessimistic person but seeing the characters overcoming their hardships through the help of their to-be "family" and just being happy doing trouble, gave me a little hope and light for a bit every day. I came to cherish everyone, even those I like the least. I haven't felt like this since Mystic Messenger, which was also a game, that helped me through a difficult time. I can only wish to a shooting star, that it's not the end for the EN Server yet. While yes, the JP server is thriving and I could just switch to reading fantranslation, through my experience, my enjoyment considerably sinks playing like that and I wish to fully enjoy A3!.

Anyways thanks for reading (maybe again). Sorry for all the possible errors on the way here. I'm writing everything directly without too much thought. If you want, you can also share your experiences in the comments. It's always nice to share good memories with others.

Edit: I accidentally posted it already but I wasn't actually done 😓 When I said I had a lot to let out, I meant A LOT

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3 

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going. 

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it. 

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.  

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air���was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?”

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they  spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man���s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved... unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange​

Chapter 1: Life offers you many surprises

Berlin, Französische Straße Friday, 25 July 2025, 8.50 a.m.

         Five minutes earlier, Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp had entered the large, light gray house, built in the neo-Renaissance style that dominated the whole Forum Fridericianum. In the lobby, which was dominated by marble and dark wood, Claire was greeted by a receptionist. She was asked to sit down for a moment in one of the dark leather armchairs, of which four were grouped around an elegant round table. As she waited, her eyes wandered up the high walls of the entrance hall. A few steps of a staircase led out of the hall through a large glass door that ended in a round arch at the top, reminiscent of a gate entrance. Above it was a large ornament of dark stones inlaid in the light marble. The ornament showed a circle, which, as it seemed, was formed from a belt. The words "Je suis prest" could be read in the curve of the circle and in the center of the ornament was the head of a stately stag, which looked directly at the observer.

“Französische Straße Berlin” by Jörg Zägel / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

         Claire knew that the French motto meant "I am ready!", but just as she was wondering what the sign meant, an older lady approached her. She introduced herself as Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons. This employee, whose blue costume gave the impression of a uniform, led Claire down various small staircases and long corridors to the room where she was now sitting. Wherever they had gone in this house, it had been extremely quiet. The heavy, dark red carpets that covered all the stairs and hallways, had swallowed every sound of their footsteps. Now she sat in a room whose furnishings were characterized by dark wood and light brass and whose dimensions were more like those of a hall. But it was the antechamber of the CEO’s office of "Fraser & Son International" and behind the large double-winged door that Claire was now looking at was the study of Dr. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, one of the country's leading business owners.         Until two weeks ago, Claire did not know the man's name or that of his company. She didn't care about the gossip press, which also reported on the local "high society" in Berlin. But then Geillis Duncan, her best friend, came by one evening and showed her a job ad from the "Wirtschaftswoche" newspaper. At first Claire was completely surprised. How did Geillis, who loved to read the gossip press, come to show her an ad from Germany's leading weekly magazine for managers?

         "Dave left it on the kitchen table, and since I didn't have anything else at hand, I looked into it while having breakfast. But now take a look at this job ad!"

Geillis had emphatically pointed to an ad that featured the same ornament as the one she had seen in the lobby.          Claire had started reading. A pedagogically trained caregiver was needed for an almost seven-year-old child. The woman should speak fluent German, English and French. Further foreign language skills were welcome but not required. Furthermore, an extensive general education and an impeccable curriculum vitae (i.e. no entries in the Federal Central Crime Register) were expected. Special emphasis was placed on the knowledge and practice of the literature written by Adolph Freiherr Knigge. Three times the current monthly salary was offered, 30 days paid vacation, free board and lodging, private health insurance 1st class.

         "Just imagine Claire!" the girlfriend had exclaimed enthusiastically, "If you got this job and worked there for a few years, all your problems would be solved!”

         Geillis was right, well, almost. Surely not all her problems would be solved. But the financial problems she had to deal with could at least be significantly reduced by this job. She had to acknowledge that and so Claire, Geillis and her friend Dave met that very evening to write a letter of application. Dave, who worked for a large media company at Potsdamer Platz, immediately agreed to help her with his knowledge. The next day, Claire had sent off the application. Then she had bought an updated edition of "The Knigge" and started reading it. Shortly after, Geillis came and brought her a large pile of current newspaper clippings so Claire could learn all she needed to know about the person of James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and the family business he ran.

         She learned a lot about the company from various business magazines, but the person of James Fraser seemed almost like a phantom. It seemed to her that this man also didn't care about the so-called "high society" and obviously he didn't deliver any headlines to the gossip press. There was neither an article about him nor a photo of him on the company's homepage. Even a Wikipedia article with his name only gave the basic data (birthday, place of birth, family, studies) and otherwise dealt more with the globally active company. "Fraser & Son International" was one of the few family-owned companies that to this day had no shareholders and, having invested in a wide range of economic sectors, not only survived the financial crisis of 2008 well, but had even emerged from it stronger. In this Wikipedia article, however, there was a photo by James Fraser. It showed him with a group of business leaders at a national conference. However, this picture was over eight years old and also very pixelated. At some point everything turned in Claire's head and she hoped that she had not learned all this information for nothing. If she would at least be invited for a job interview.          Ten days later, she hadn't dared to hope that she would ever hear of Fraser & Son International, and to her surprise, her smartphone rang just before the lunch break began. A Dr. Ned Gowan called on behalf of the company, explained that he was the lawyer for "Fraser & Son International" and asked if she could come for an interview at the company's headquarters two days later at 9:00 am. She told him that she had to ask her department head to give her time off first and would call back. As the summer vacation period was over, it was no problem to get a day off and so she called Dr Gowan fifteen minutes later and agreed to meet him (and Dr. Fraser!) two days later. Claire had to be extremely restrained not to cheer out loud. This would have immediately drawn the attention of her colleagues in the department, and she definitely did not want to tell them about it. During lunch break, she left the clinic and sat down on a bench in a nearby park. From there she called Geillis and told her the good news. Right after the end of her shift, the friends met in the parking lot of the clinic to go into town together and pick out a suitable "outfit" for Claire's job interview. Geillis, who had worked as a freelance fashion consultant for many years before she met "the rich Dave", dragged her friend directly to the fashion department of the KaDeWe. There, after a while, they found a muted dark green business costume that emphasized Claire's figure but still looked respectable.

“Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) - Foto by Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

         "That's perfect," exclaimed Geillis as Claire stepped out of the dressing room.          "Yes, perfectly too expensive for me. Have you seen the price?"          "Don't worry about that," Geillis replied. Then she whispered:          "I'll pay for it. If the job doesn't work out, we'll just give it back afterwards. And if you get the job and want to keep it, you'll give me the money back when you get your first salary.”

         They bought the costume and also a matching blouse and shoes. Claire was not allowed to think about the amount of money they had spent within a few hours or she would get sick.          But that was all forgotten at that moment. Now it was time to concentrate and make a good impression.          Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons had led her into this room and instructed her to use one of the twelve large brown leather armchairs. With the words          "You will be called in when it is your turn,"          she had said goodbye.          Claire had taken a seat and scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible. Seven other women sat in leather armchairs of the same type, which were set up on three side walls of the room, each separated by a small table. On the tables were glasses and bottles of mineral water, but none of the other women had made use of them. Claire had not intended to drink anything either. She was far too excited to drink, and she was afraid that she might have to go to the bathroom in the middle of her upcoming job interview. Slowly, her gaze wandered across the light-colored carpet to that large, two-winged mahogany wooden door. On each of the wings was a coat of arms, divided into four sections. On the upper left and the lower right quarter were three white flowers on a blue background. The upper right and the lower left quarter each showed three red, pointed crowns on a white background. Behind this door, Claire assumed, must be the director's room. What would she expect there? She did not know. Why had she only gotten involved in this thing that Geilis Duncan had suggested to her? Out of desperation? She wasn't sure. Only one thing was sure: she had never thought that she would have to have another job interview at the age of almost 30. But that was her life. Much of what had happened in her life had not been planned, nor had she ever expected her life to be like that.          Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp, almost divorced Randall, had lost her parents in a car accident when she was five years old. For the next fifteen years she was raised in the loving care of her uncle 'Lamb'. Dr. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, an archaeologist and Egyptologist whose research focus was on the Old Kingdom of Egypt and who was highly revered by his students, came to Berlin in 2015, where he taught at Humboldt University in the last years before his retirement. There Claire had also met her future husband, Dr. Frank Randall. He had been assigned to her uncle as a research assistant. Randall had courted her like no man before and they had already married in May 2016. The first four years of their marriage had gone in a way that Claire would still describe as happy today. Although, she was no longer quite so sure. What did happiness actually mean? Was there a definition for this term? And even if there was a definition for the term "happiness", was it really valid for all people? In any case, the first four years of her marriage had not been very negative. Together they had made regular trips to Paris, Madrid, Prague, Budapest, Dubrovnik, Palermo, Venice, Turin, Marseille, Amsterdam, Florence, Milan, Barcelona and Bruges.

“Palermo/Sizilien” by  nataliaaggiato 

         Claire enjoyed getting to know these cities and experiencing their cultural particularities. When Lambert Beauchamp died unexpectedly in February 2019 as a result of a stroke, Frank had been kind and, in her opinion, very sensitive to her needs. But in the spring of 2020, a strange development had set in with him. At first Claire had blamed it on the effects of the corona pandemic. After the start of the lockdown, Frank was mainly at home, giving lectures via Zoom and otherwise writing a new book on the history of the Scottish Jacobite uprising in 1745. Claire, on the other hand, was working as a nurse in the children's clinic of Berlin's Charité hospital, as she had been before the crisis. Frank had insisted that Claire should give up her job. The possibility that she could become infected with the virus seemed too high to him. But Claire could not bring it over her heart to leave her fellow nurses alone, especially in such a severe time, and thanks to the strictly observed precautions she got through this difficult time without any problems. While she could be happy about the successes in her profession, the problems in her marriage with Frank seemed to become bigger and bigger. At some point, she felt that Frank was becoming more and more monosyllabic and that they were drifting apart rapidly. But evem then she thought this was a temporary phase that would end after the pandemic at the latest. At least she hoped so. When a vaccine against the virus was finally found in July 2021 and became available in December 2021, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She and Frank would get vaccinated and then they could travel again. This would change Frank's mind and make her marriage blossom again. But it all turned out differently. Once they were vaccinated, Frank suddenly didn't feel like traveling anymore. Again and again he put off his work. Regularly he worked until late at night at the university and sometimes he spent whole nights there. It was always about important analyses, which he published in specialist publications and for which there were tight deadlines. Even on evenings when Claire was off, he was rarely at home, and whenever she tried to initiate a little marital tenderness, he was too tired for that. In the spring of 2022, they had slept together for the last time. A few months later, Frank had stopped kissing her goodbye, as he usually did when he left the house.          What happened then had the potential to throw her completely off track. By the fall of 2022, a hunch that Claire had suppressed again and again had been confirmed. Frank had a mistress. When she returned from her work at the children's hospital one evening in October, she saw Frank saying goodbye to a slender blonde at the door of their shared house, kissing her intensely. She stood there frozen. Everything inside her urged her to turn around and run away. But then the anger that built up within her gained the upper hand. Like a burning ray that shot out of her stomach through her whole body, he took a breath. She ran to the front door, unlocked it and found Frank standing at the sink in the kitchen, where he was just rinsing out two wine glasses. He turned to her in surprise, but before he could say a word, Claire's purse hit him in the left half of his face with full force. Frank had lost his balance and had fallen over. His glasses had come off his head and had broken when he hit the kitchen floor. Claire no longer knew what insults she had used to call him. Frank had picked himself up and collected the parts of his glasses. He had not even set out to explain the situation or apologize.Claire would not have listened to him either. She had turned on her foot and had run into the shared bedroom. When she arrived there, she had taken Frank's bed linen, run back downstairs with it and threw it all into his study. Then she ran back into the bedroom again and locked herself inside. She did not know how long she had cried angrily. But before she had fallen asleep, she had made a plan. The next morning she went on the morning shift. During a break she called a lawyer and that same afternoon she went to see her to discuss the formalities of a divorce.

“Brille” by  jottbe

         Frank had had the injuries Claire had inflicted on him treated, but had not reported them to the police. It was only later that he let it show that he had orchestrated the whole situation. He had simply been too cowardly to have a conversation with her about a divorce, as two adults normally do. He probably wanted to make her feel guilty, too. Claire was convinced of that, at least. Frank had always been against her going back to work. When she accepted the job at the children's hospital a year after their wedding, he had expressed himself very negatively about it. What kind of impression would it leave on his colleagues if the wife of a prospective professor went to work? And in the last year of their marriage he had not missed any opportunity to tell her how much he felt neglected.            It took three months before Claire was able to move into a small room in one of the Charité nurses' homes. During these three months she did everything she could to avoid Frank as much as possible. Anything she couldn't take with her to the nurses' home, she stored in her friend Geillis Duncan's basement. Claire hoped that the divorce would be finalized in October 2023 after the obligatory year of separation and that she could finally start a new life. But this time, too, everything turned out differently than she had hoped.          It was a rainy autumn day in September 2023 and it was to be the last day in the life of Dr. Frank Randall. On a country road near Lübeck, where he had attended a conference for historians, Frank's car skidded for some unknown reason. The car broke through the barrier and then came to a halt in a field. There it was discovered the next morning by a farmer. When the police arrived at the scene of the accident, Dr. Frank Randall was strapped in the seat belt and sat in the driver's seat as if nothing had happened. He was uninjured and even still wearing his hat. But Frank Randall was dead. An autopsy performed later revealed that Frank had had a heart attack that caused him to lose control of the car, causing it to veer off the road. It was, as the police later said, very lucky that no other car had been hit. Claire was shaken.

“Lübeck”  by scholty1970 

         But an even greater shock struck her on the day of the reading of the will. On that day, the notary told her that she would not inherit any money, only debts from Frank. Her still-husband had bought a condominium for his mistress for 250,000 euros, which he had signed over to her. For this gift Frank had gone into debt and Claire, who was still married to him by law, inherited his debts. It was one big nightmare. Although Claire had also inherited the rights to Frank's books, these reference books sold only in very manageable numbers and brought in little money. With her salary as a pediatric nurse, it would take her decades to pay off Frank's debts. Meanwhile, Sandy Travers, this  bleached ...., was sitting in her apartment, probably enjoying herself with her next lover. Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire's heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore her from these thoughts.