#And yet art colleges seem to expect you to know everything before accepting you anyway

[queen-vv]

Question: Did anyone here actually get taught anything in school art classes? I had to teach myself everything (and incompletely at that) despite taking art for literally my whole time in school, and I’m wondering how universal that is.

[moonctzeny]

First Times

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

He pulls you closer to him, making your face rest on his naked chest. He smelled like sweat and that intense body spray, like those days he came back from his basketball practice to meet you under the treehouse. He smelled like home.

pairing: childhood friend/ceo! jaehyun x fem! reader

genre: smut, angst

word count: 6.584k

warnings: loss of virginity, then not so virgin sex lol, squirting

summary: “Jaehyun had been your best friend ever since you were 7 years old, but after a certain incident he disappears, without informing you of his whereabouts. You had come to terms with the fact that you’ll never see him again until your paths cross unexpectedly, meeting as boss and employee”

a/n: I feel like ceo! jaehyun fics are overwritten so I tried to focus more on the childhood friends to lovers aspect, giving it a little twist

———————————————————————

There was no way that was him.

When you were 10 years old you couldn’t wait to have your first kiss. You were plain obsessed with the romance dramas that were playing on tv, your mom complaining about having to witness the same unrealistic tropes over and over again, but you stayed frozen in front of the screen.

Why were the characters so caught up in the thought of seeing each other? Why were they willing to risk everything they had for the other person? You were curious to find out about the love the grown ups talked about, and playing mommy and daddy with the neighbor’s son, Jaehyun, wasn’t cutting it anymore.

He was waiting for you in his treehouse, preparing his toys for your playdate. A table of pots and cutlery on one side of the room and a battlefield with ships on the other. He preferred when you two dueled for the “fate of your country”, but he knew you liked to play house so he compromised. One hour of what you like and one hour of what he liked, that’s what his mom had said.

You stomped inside, your pout not matching his excited smile.

“Finally, you’re here! Can we play my games first? My uncle got me new soldiers, look!” He ran up to you, a bunch of different green miniatures in his hands. You didn’t bother to spare him a glance, too caught up in your personal drama.

“I don’t want to play games,” you whined, “I want a boyfriend!”

Jaehyun blinked a couple times, confused. “But you have one, me. I am your friend and I am a boy”

You threw your head back in frustration, groaning so loudly that the rest of the neighborhood probably heard you. “Noo it’s not the same! We don’t kiss on the lips and stuff!”

The little boy came closer to you, scowling. He was starting to get really impatient with your whining over these dramas that you liked so much. So what if you don’t kiss and stuff? It’s no big deal anyways!

He grabbed your ears, bringing you closer to his face and he gave you a small peck. Your first kiss.

“There. Will you play with me now?”

When you turned 18 you exchanged your love for dramas with a love for art. You also exchanged your calculus workbooks for oil paints and acrylics, busy with piecing together a portfolio that would get you accepted into art school. There was one thing that stayed stable in your life, however, that followed you from childhood into adolescence.

“Hey, sorry for being late, basketball practice took longer than I expected”, Jaehyun apologized and joined you at his backyard. The treehouse had gotten too old for inhabiting but the trunk you were currently lied against served its purpose as your current hangout after school.

“Hey”, you sniffled and he finally noticed how watery your eyes were. He dropped his sportsbag immediately, and sat next to you on the slightly moist grass, your arms touching.

“I’m guessing Mark denied your offer to go to the prom with you?”

You nodded, hiding your face in his embrace before he sees you crying. Being Jaehyun’s friend wasn’t always easy. His easygoing personality and good looks on top of being president of four school clubs made him one of the most popular kids in high school. You reminded yourself that he’s still the same boy you’ve always known, that you don’t have to feel threatened by the army of girls always clinging by his sides, but it was hard. It was hard to recount your rejection from this morning when he probably has never truly felt that feeling before. Even with his college applications pending, you knew he’d be successful. Any institution would be crazy to miss up on him, and the rest of the world felt that way about him too.

“I don’t wanna talk about it”, you mumble, leaning back before you stain his t-shirt even more, “Did Mina find the dress she is gonna wear after all?”

Your genuine worry for his prom date, even after your failed promposal, broke his heart. You were always so empathetic, so selfless, so nice to him. He didn’t have it in him to let you stay in your state of misery.

“Nothing”, he blurted, rushing to explain after seeing the confused look on your face, “she bailed on me last minute”.

That was a lie, but you didn’t have to know that. Jaehyun cancelling on his date would be a dick move, he knew that, but you being happy was his priority. It always has, at least as long as he was still here. “So if you didn’t mind, I was thinking we go together? As friends of course”

“Jae! I love you!”

You tackled him with a hug, the grass tickling his neck and he just laughed at the adorable screech you let out. You both stayed there enjoying the chill evening, talking about renting cars and matching outfits.

He let you rant about the dress you’ve chosen to wear and he promised to convince his parents to leave his house empty for the after party.

The prom night was the last time you saw Jung Jaehyun. There you two were, sprawled out on his bed and tired off your asses, spending what seemed like the most fun night of your life together. Your feet were in blisters from all the dancing, head spinning from the after-party vodka. Jaehyun had turned his head towards you, tie undone and staring at a piece of glitter that had fallen on your collarbone. He looked as handsome as ever in his suit, red eyes glued on you and a satisfied smile on his face.

“Your parents are gonna be so mad when they see the mess on their carpet. I told you not to get Jungwoo drunk”

Jaehyun laughed, his deep laugh reverbrating through the room. “Not if you tell them in the morning. They can’t get mad at you. You told your mom you’re staying over, right?”

You nodded, maybe shaking your head a lot longer than needed but your tipsy self wanted to make sure you got your message across.

“You know”, you started with a snicker, “she gave me like a million condoms for tonight. Probably thought I was planning on losing my virginity like any teenager with a social life”

He kept staring at you, eyes lazily taking in the sight of your pretty smile. “Yeah, same with my dad. I think that’s the only reason why they gave me the house”

You whipped your head to face him at the speed of light, mouth gaped open and  staring at him incredulously. “Jae, you’re a virgin??”

It was hard to believe. I mean sure, you hadn’t had any experience in the sex department either but you were, well, you. Shy with new people, horrible at flirting and a bit standoff-ish if you were being honest. But your best friend, as likable and good looking as he was, had never been with a girl before?

“Well, yeah, I was just kinda- I was waiting for the right person, you know? Someone to make it memorable”

You sighed, relating with his words but also...

“I just wish I could get it over with”, you confess and you saw Jaehyun gulp visibly. He was glancing at the nothingness on his ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

“Yeah”

The silence lasted for a few minutes, only the distant sound of a passing police car interrupting it. He sat on his knees, the conversation sobering him up significantly. “Remember when you wanted to have your first kiss and I just did it so you wouldn’t complain about it anymore?”

You smile fondly at the memory, waiting for him to continue. There was somewhere he was getting at.

“Well, we both want to not be virgins anymore, right? So let’s just do it”

You felt an electric tension growing between you. It was like you were holding two magnets, begging to touch each other but you still held them apart, because if you let go you just knew things would never be the same again.

Jaehyun leaned in, dunking his head at the last minute and kissing your neck instead. It was tentative, a kiss that tested the waters. He was still holding back, wanting to make sure you wanted this as much as he wanted it too. You scooted closer to him, placing your legs to frame his closed knees, putting his face gently in your hands.

His pupils were dilated, shifting to a million places but your voice managed to make him concentrate to your eyes solely. You could hear his heartbeat bumping in his chest.

“Jae, I love you. You have to trust me, ok?”

“Okay” he nodded, eyes wide open and sincere, “I love you too, so much”

You kiss him finally, and the room around you spun even more. The feeling was strangely comfortable, yet your lungs were struggling to do their job. In that moment, it felt like everything in the world was the way it was supposed to be, and you two were a part of that bigger, perfectly orchestrated picture. 

He grabbed you by your waist, bringing you over his lap. His fingers danced from your thighs to the zipper of your dress, the cool midnight air spreading goosebumps on your back. You help him out by pulling your straps down, staying in your strapless bra.

“If I knew what was gonna happen tonight I would wear cuter underwear”, you mutter and Jaehyun chuckles. Why did your heart skip a beat at the sound? It’d be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at your best friend a minute too long in the past, but tonight- Tonight the effect he had on you held an intensity that you’ve never felt before.

“Underwear can only help you out so much. They can’t do wonders”

“Wow Jae, way to make me drier that the Sahara desert”

He dipped back down to your throat, sucking at the soft skin over your collarbones and earning an embarassingly high-pitched moan from you. You felt him smile against your neck as he licked over the nibbled flesh in little circles, wishing he would repeat that motion on another part of your body.

“We’ll see about that”

As if he wanted to prove his point, he grinds you over his erection, lighting your insides on fire. Your dress was short, meaning that you could feel all of him-and it seemed like a whole lot- over your panties that were damping up.

“Show me your tits and I’ll show you mine”

Jaehyun laughed at your comment; ridiculous yet successful at calming his ragged breath down. The buttons of his dress shirt opened one by one, each of them revealing another inch of his smooth chest. His skin was glowing, and his abs proved that puberty was starting to work its wonders on him.

You trace your fingers over two moles on his chest, leaving soft kisses over them. You could feel his pulse on your lips, fast and pumping blood all over his body. Despite his attempts at staying collected over the loss of his virginity, you realized that he was probably as nervous and scared as you are.

“Your turn”, he whispered, bringing you back into the moment. You reach back to unclasp your bra, freeing your boobs, and a smile cracked on your lips at Jaehyun’s reaction.

He stayed frozen and gawking at your chest, hands twitching and not knowing what to do with the sight you so generously offered him. Bringing his hands into your own, you place them over your mounds, guiding him into squeezing them. He continues on his own, pinching your nipples as he leans forward for another kiss, probably to hide his evident blush from you.

The making out continued, leaving you both with only your underpants on. He places you on your back, and starts petting your clit over your panties, the motion so soft it drove you insane. Hungry for more. 

You started whining, grinding forwards against his fingers and he chuckled, pulling the fabric away to leave you uncovered. The chilly air was quickly exchanged with the feeling of his warm digits, causing a different kind of shivering. 

When he inserted the first finger in you, you felt like your whole body was burning up with a high fever. You’d done this again, with your ex-boyfriend in summer camp but it definitely didn’t feel as sinful and delicious and pleasureable as this. It pulled at a knot in your stomach, begging to be untangled and Jaehyun was taking his sweet time with you. Quick circles on your swollen bud and a nibble on your neck, that’s what it took for him to enjoy you shaking through an orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful”

You looked angelic with the sweat trickling down your chest, skin glowing in the limelight and Jaehyun would just sit and stare if it wasn’t for the tent in his boxers that was screaming for attention. Pulling at the soft fabric, you sprung him free and the boldness that came when you did started to evaporate. It hit you in that moment, that he had seen all of you and now you saw all of him- yes you had been best friends for years but this intimacy was unprecedented. And you liked the feeling.

You put him in your grasp, moving your fist in a pivoting motion with his precum as your lubricant. He throws his head back with a grunt that almost made you cum a second time and urged you to pick up the pace. Unsure of what to do next, you licked your other palm and started to massage his balls hoping he liked it. He did by the sound of his moans, but stopped you abruptly, scaring you that you accidentally did something wrong in your inexperience.

“If you continue like this I’m gonna cum. Let’s do this“

You swallow on nothing and reach to your jacket on the floor for the condoms your mum gave you. 

“Want a pink one? A green maybe? Blue?”, you joke and he pets your hair lovingly, looking down at you.

“Blue. Your favourite colour”

You smiled warmly at his response, satisfied with your decision to share this moment with your best friend. With someone who knew you so well.

Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the rubber over his hardness with shaking hands, following the instructions as best as you could. Jaehyun leaned down over you, planting a dozen kisses over your face as he positioned himself over your entrance.

“Ready?”

You nodded, giving him permission to dip his tip in, the first inches stretching you out nicely. The wetness caused by your orgasm helped your situation a lot, the slickness allowing him to dive a little deeper. Then, the stinging started, making you hiss and he kissed you immediately, trying to soothe you.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. We have to go through the hard part now ok?”

The nickname playing over and over again in your head gave you the patience needed to endure him bottoming out, along with the first thrusts. It was uncomfortable, but the feeling of him inside you, of the two of you coming together as one, released some chemical in your brain that made most of the pain go away. He took his fingers from your hips to gently pat away the teardrops staining your cheeks.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so well”

His words and the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls drew a moan out of your half open mouth, the sound carrying on the air you two shared and landing on Jaehyun’s lips. There was a tension on your belly and something told you it wasn’t just physical, more like an emotional revelation, a fire already ignited but flared up by this incident. Your feelings towards your childhood friend, a love that was more than platonic.

For you, at least.

Jaehyun was young and you felt so tight around him that he didn’t take long to finish. He pulled out last minute, taking the condom out and spilling spurts of his cum all over your stomach. It earned a scowl and an eyebrow raise from you but the way he apologized, saying you “looked too beautiful to resist”, was too cute to stay mad at.

You laid back on his bed, holding hands and trying to register what just happened. The ocassional car drove by, the lights illuminating Jaehyun’s eyes that you noted were glossy. Maybe it was just as intense for him, you thought and squeezed his hands a little tighter.

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

He pulls you closer to him, making your face rest on his naked chest. He smelled like sweat and that intense body spray, like those days he came back from his basketball practice to meet you under the treehouse. He smelled like home.

 “Forever”

Forever must have a different meaning in the Jungs’s dictionary, because after that night, Jaehyun was unreachable. You tried to text him, call him, only to be ignored and faced with stupid excuses.

You thought long and hard about why your best friend suddenly decided to ghost you. Maybe he didn’t like the sex. Understandable, since it was your first time, but it’s not like you promised him a night of mind blowing love making or anything. You decided that he probably felt too awkward to talk to you after that night and you told yourself to give him some space.

Three days passed, then another, then a week and still no sign of Jaehyun. Tired of the radio silence and irritated by his attitude, you got ready to visit him at his house, confront him one-on-one.

No, you didn’t wear your favourite perfume for him. It just so happened that you chose to put on that dress he had complimented you on before. You didn’t hope for him to call you beautiful again, or have a retake of the prom night fun. The butterflies in your stomach were probably the heavy lunch you ate. Yes, it was all coincidental.

You walked down the stairs with a pep in your step, storming through your parents in the kitchen.

“And were are you going so happy, young lady?”, your dad chirps and you smile at him.

“I’m gonna go see Jaehyun real quick!”

“Real quick? To a different country? He came back already?”

You stilled at the sound of your mother’s words, confused.

“A different country? I’m going down the street to the Jungs, mom”

“Honey, the Jungs are there but not Jaehyun. He moved abroad to study Business. Didn’t he tell you?”

The ground beneath your feet seemed to melt and pull you under the third level of hell. How could he get accepted to a university and not tell you? How could he move countries and not even say goodbye? How dare he make you fall in love with him, give you the best night of your life and then leave you hanging like that?

You ran upstairs to your room, wailing in what seemed like a mixture of rage and sadness. You felt so dumb, in your sundress and shaved pussy and cute underwear you chose out for him. It was all so, so unfair and the feeling ate you alive. The feeling that you hated Jung Jaehyun.

So now, when he stands from across the room, all suited up but with the additional rank of CEO on his shoulders you couldn’t believe that it was him.

Your portfolio did get you into an art school after all, majoring in product design. Your innovative work of rebranding the latest releases, taking on the aesthetic part of the marketing, landed you a great deal in J industries. The product was good and your skills were better, so when the sales went off the roof you weren’t surprised. What you didn’t expect however, was that the boss of your boss, who was currently staring at you from across the launch party, was your childhood best friend.

Ex-best friend.

“Damn, y/n, Mr. Jung hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night, huh?”, said Sook, the assistant marketing director who was working by your side on the project.

“Well, he should have come over and congratulate me by now. I did help save his company”

She laughed lightly, unaware for how deeply rooted your dislike for the man really was. You continue your conversation when you suddenly see her turn visibly tense, sweeping her hands on the front of her dress. Oh, you should have watched what you wished for.

“M-Mr. Jung, how are you enjoying this party? This is y/n, she did most of the designs for the campaign-”

Eyes widening in shock, you get lost in some passerbys, meddling with the other coworkers in the gathering. Sook left a little yelp when she realized you had dissolved into thin air in seconds. You could still faintly hear her apologizing merrily.

“Oh I swear she was sitting right next to me Mr. Jung”

Chatting up with friends and even strangers, you made sure you never stayed in the same place for too long. Jaehyun’s eyes were still boring holes into your face no matter where you went, a smirk plastered on his own every time he caught you checking out for him.

In a last attemp to turn invisible, you find cover on a small couch, slightly hidden by some ballon decorations and you shoved a book to your face, faking interest. But alas, a dip in the furniture next to you and the familiar woody smell soon rang a bell of danger in your head.

“You know your book is upside down, right?”

Wincing at your fatal mistake, you turn around to be faced with a pair of brown eyes you thought you’d never see again. You noticed how they’re glowing in pride and ambition and remembered how they shined that night from tears, how you tried to read through him, just like now.

“Jung. Got bored of your little staring game?”

Jaehyun had grown an inch or two since you last saw him, you notice, standing even taller in his exemplary posture. He still stuck with his long hairstyle, locks styled back sleekly and exposing his defined cheekbones. His skin was even paler than usual, glowing in the dark room. Being a CEO probably meant staying inside a lot, making tanning for his complexion almost impossible.

“Considering you applied to my company, y/n, I figured you’d come to me now as well”

Why was he using that voice around you? You‘d made fun of him numerous times in the past for that deep tone, only coming up when he was trying to woo some girl.

“I didn’t know it was your dumb company”, you start, rolling your eyes in annoyance, “I’m surprised you even remember my name”

“How could I forget the girl I went to prom with?” And took my virginity, you wanted to add but knew he censored his words on purpose. “Also, Sook mentioned your name like, five minutes ago”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about”

His silence was uncomfortable, thickening the atmosphere even more. You saw regret and guilt in his features, lips struggling to find the right words and hands fumbling with his tie.

“I know you’re mad, rightfully so. But please, come over to my place for a drink. For old time’s sake”. The deep voice was persistent and that’s when you realized that Jaehyun wasn’t a teenager anymore. So many years had passed since that summer, enough to mature you both physically and emotionally, yet the wound stung still so freshly.

“You can’t just choose when to re-enter my life so easily”, you huffed and started to walk away from him, when you felt his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

“y/n, please. I’ve missed you. One drink, that’s it”

It was so annoying, you thought as you entered his condo, how his dimples were still so effective at convincing you. It was quite luxurious, definitely bigger than your apartment and by the looks of the fancy furniture, his hard work as CEO surely paid off. 

“You like it?”

“Not as much as your treehouse but it’s okay”, you reply him and he grins at the reminiscence of your old shenanigans as children.

“I’ll bring the wine”

You snooped around a bit more, examining the decorations of his living room. It was quite minimalistic, an abstract painting or two, a weird sculpture, no family pictures in sight. You always hated places like that, so lifeless, so impersonal. Jaehyun had too rich of a personality for that.

He sat on his leather couch, placing two glasses of white wine in front of him and motioning you to sit down as well. You took a seat as far away from his as possible and he winced at the distance you kept, now also turning physical. 

Jaehyun started a conversation by asking you about your work at the company, then moving on to your personal life. You politely answered him, even joked about how single you are. He started recounting the start of his company, how he got the idea to begin from scratch and the hardships that came with it. As it was expected from the bachelor’s vibes his place emitted, CEO position didn’t allow for enough free time for him to meet someone new, let alone something serious. Your little meet up seemed to be going well. Too well to be exact. One glass down and you finally had enough of feigning ‘happy old friends catching up’.

“Why did you bring me here Jaehyun? Really bring me here”

The man sighed at your tone, running his fingers through his hair and messing their gelled-up styling. Getting up from his position, he finishes up his second glass and sits closer to you, body facing yours.

“I guess... I owe you an apology. For back then. I should have told you I’m moving abroad”

“Yes, Jaehyun, you should have. Especially after what we did before you left”

He closed his eyes in shame, glossy after he reopened them. A serious expression darkened his features, looking as solemn as that last night you saw him before his disappearance and hanging from your lips. “Do you regret it? Going through with it?”

“No”, you answer immediately, because it was the truth. All the guys you’ve slept with in your time as an adult, though more experienced than high-school Jaehyun, were missing that one factor that none other than your best friend could offer you. Connection, vulnerability, care. True love.

He sighs, once again, clearly relieved by your answer but still speaking in a bittersweet tone.

“Good, I would really hate myself if you did. I was just, so scared you’d forget about me. I had to know you’d remember me. Then you said this whole thing about wanting to have our first time and-“. You knew it was the wine in his system that caused his rambling. Jaehyun wasn’t one to stumble on his words, definitely not sentimental like that. But alcohol seemed to bring you closer when in need and at the right time so you let it, once again, and you let him finish. “-and you looked so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself. If I knew you’d grow up to look like this I would have never-“

He stopped himself mid sentence, regretting sharing more. You, however, weren’t done with this conversation yet. There were so many years spent repenting your friendship, so many questions running through your head, and you weren’t leaving this room until they got answered.

“If you didn’t want me to forget you that much then why not tell me you got accepted to a university abroad? I was your best friend!”. Your words were emotionally charged, unwillingly making your voice turn up in volume. It was as if you turned back into the little girl crying in her bedroom, finally getting the chance to say all those things she was screaming in her pillow. “I would be so happy for you, I loved you”

“Yes you did! You literally said that every single day!”, Jaehyun yelled back, startling you, “And every single time it was as if you jabbed a knife in my chest! Did you know how much it killed me? To hear this from my best friend I’d been in love with for the past 10 years?”

“You- you were in love with me?”, you ask dumbly, voice light in disbelief, a stark difference from Jaehyun’s a second ago.

He settled his breathing, hands fixing his hair once again in abashment.

“I knew that if I told you I had to go abroad you would get all sad and start crying and I wouldn’t be able to see you like that. I knew that the moment you’d tell me you miss me I would drop everything to be with you. That night that we had sex.. I didn’t plan it but I thought it would be better for you if I made you hate me. And when I saw you again today- it felt like not one day had passed since high school. I didn’t know how to approach you, what to say. I’m sorry”

You sat there in shock, connecting the dots in your brain. All the feelings you were trying to repress around him, the lingering glances and butterflies in your stomach, were reqruited all along. You knew exactly what he meant earlier, about time seeming to freeze. The way he looked at you now, all teary eyed and red and shaking was utterly and overwhelmingly the warm Jaehyun that met you every night after school. And you wouldn’t let another day go to waste.

You lean forward, capturing his lips into a kiss long overdue. It was tentative and you started pulling back when he places both hands on the sides of your neck, keeping you from letting go. His fingertips grasp part of your hair and you lean your face sideways, melting into the kiss and his touch. A lick on his bottom lip and now your tongues were touching, groaning at how much better he got at this and wanting to put his skill to better use. Tugging on his soft locks, he moans and his baritone voice made the hairs on your arms stand on edge.

You moved your hands on his chest, palming the defined muscles and deciding you wanted to treat your eyes, ripping his shirt open in one move. Jaehyun grabs the meat of your thighs, hands gripping the edge of your dress and pulling it upwards until it falls over your head. He dipped into your neck immediately, sucking and nibbling passionately right in the middle, your moans sounding breathless with the pressure he puts on your throat. Trailing down, he left a path of open mouthed kisses, now focusing on the mounds of your breasts that your bra wasn’t covering. A flick of his wrist and the piece of underwear was gone, lips surrounding your nipple, releasing it with a loud pop.

You moan out his name and his growl’s animalistic, nails digging on the softness of your hips.

“Fuck I love that sound”

He probably made it a goal to hear it again as he started kissing on your inner thighs, the bruises he left behind teasing you to the point of begging. You lift you hips to discard the skimpy underwear you chose for tonight, Jaehyun’s breath fanning your clit. A few kitten licks and your back is already lifting from the leather, his hands intertwining with yours to keep you in place.

Practice makes perfect and Jaehyun must have had a lot of it, the interchanging of sucking, licking and spitting on your pussy making you lose your mind in the most delicious way. You were in the midst of murmuring a mix of praises when he finally finds that spot that has you trembling under his tongue. Riding out your high, you grind against his face, the pleasure not leaving any room for shame. Chest heaving and vision restored, you glance down at Jaehyun, looking as irresistible as ever wiping his wet lips and chin.

You were fully prepared and willing to return the favor so you motioned him to stand up, positioning the back of your neck over the hand rest of the couch. After opening your mouth wide he got the point, quickly ridding himself off his pants and boxer briefs, spitting profanities at how hot you looked for him right now.

You were upside down, but you could very well see Jaehyun’s hard and angry cock staring back at you. You always thought that maybe, since he was your first, you might have overestimated his size in your head. But your brain apparently hadn’t manipulated that memory in the slightest because that length and grith would definitely be a challenge for you. And hell, did you want to take it on.

He pushes through your lips, and your tongue is quick to engulf him. Licking up and down his shaft as best as you could, made Jaehyun grip the couch in an effort to keep his knees from buckling from pleasure. The position allowed him to push even deeper inside you, filling up your throat. He places his fingers over the bulge on your throat, watching it itently with every move of his hips.

Your eyes teared up and your throat started to burn but the sounds Jaehyun let out with every thrust made it all worth it. He finally pulls out, a string of saliva and precum landing on your lips and he is quick to to clean you up with his fingers. Collecting the wetness, he pushes his digits inside your mouth, and something changes in his glare, eyes darkening in the most lustful expression.

“I need you inside me”, you mumble with his fingers inside of you and he nods, asking if he should go get a condom. You search through the contains of your handbag, hands trembling with the way he is pushed up agaist you, erection digging in the softness of your ass as he’s nibling the skin on your shoulders. 

You handed him the square foil and as soon as he takes it in his grasp, he pushed you down to the arm rest, back against the cushion and legs in the air. Moving your hand between your legs, you distracted him by playing with your pussy, speading the juices around and pushing your folds apart to direct him to your opening.

The first thrust felt divine, thick cock filling you nicely and making your head fall back in pleasure. Jaehyun threw your legs over his shoulders, eyes glued to yours as he kissed your calves, picking up his pace. The moans started rolling off your tongue, echoing inside the big lounge and accompanied by the skin slapping sound of your bodies.

“I missed your body so much”, he muttered as he gripped your waist, setting an incredible pace that had your feet flexing. You turned your head to the side, catching your reflection on the huge window leading to the balcony. Tits bouncing, Jaehyun’s flexed arms, his dick digging inside you. What a sight.

“See something you like?”, he chuckled darkly and you smiled up at him, grazing your nails over his biceps.

“Show me something to remember you by”

Jae halted his thrusts, turning you over to your stomach swiftly, ass in the air. He kneaded his hands over your ass, giving it a little spank and spread your cheeks apart. Placing his right knee on the arm rest, he dives inside you again, and the moan you let out barely sounded like you. His cock was so deep inside you that you had to close your eyes to relish the feeling of fullness, amplified by the light pain of the stretch. Jaehyun collected your hair in his fist, pulling your upper body against his chest as he wrapped an arm around your own.

“Open your eyes. See how nicely you take my cock. Think you’ll forget that?”, he growls in your ear, thumb digging in your cheek and palm slightly muting your sounds. The dirty talk, his cock grazing against the spot that drove you crazy and Jaehyun’s godly reflection pounding the shit out of you brought you over the edge again. He didn’t let you take any time off, hips continuing to bruise against you as feverly as before, and you thought you just might combust.

“Jaehyun, p-please, it’s too much”, you plead with as much power is left in your system, and he pulls out, only to start rubbing quick circles over your clit that had you thrashing in his arms.

You melt into his arms, a pressing feeling in your belly that you had never felt before and soon you climax for the third time, droplets of cum squirting out of your pussy and dripping onto the wooden flooring.

“This is so fucking hot”, Jaehyun mutters and starts thrusting inside you, trying to coax as much cum out of you as possible.

The waves keep coming, gushing out of you every time he pulls out, until he can’t take the sight anymore, coming with a shiver and a ragged breath.

You were sweaty and exhausted, smiling faintly as he showered you with kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up”

You try to stand up futilely, knees wobbling and unable to keep your balance. Jaehyun chuckles at the sight but helps you up like the gentleman he is, moving you to the floor’s bathroom.

You hop in and he joins you, letting the water run down your body and helping you soap up. It was very intimate but comfortable at the same time, his gentle caresses belonging to your skin. Everything felt right.

He was occupied with running his fingers over two hickeys he had planted on you earlier when you snap him out of his thoughts, voice barely audible over the running water.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to me to go study abroad. I think it’s pretty obvious after what we just did that I liked you too, but... I still would have let you move. Force you even.”

“You’re right. I’m sor-“

“I mean it Jaehyun. I’m so proud of you”

His eyes glimmered at your praise, wet eyelashes framing them and fluttering closed as he leaned down, pressing the sweetest kiss on your lips. It left you breathless, almost hurting when he pulled back. You could kiss him forever.

“I know you said I can’t just come back to your life like that but I want to try. I’ve seriously missed you”

“How about taking me to a date tomorrow night? To catch up some more”

He grinned brightly, eyes turning into crescent moons and dimples making your heart burst.

“Wherever you want”, he promised and took a step closer to you, hand snaking down your ass and pulling you against his wet body, “And speaking of making up for lost time... How about a round two?”

[alinastracker]

for the prompt thing: 62 or 69 <3

you got it bb <3

prompt: I wanted to tell you that I liked you before prom but chickened out and now we’re about to graduate college and I can’t hold it in any longer

i can’t fight this feeling any longer (and yet i’m still afraid to let it flow)

"Mal, I love you."

Alina frowns, shakes her head, and tries again.

"Mal, you've been my best friend for so long, and I love our friendship, but you see, I'm also head over heels in love with you."

She blows out a frustrated breath, her newly chopped bangs briefly floating off of her forehead. Telling her best friend of nearly six years she’s in love with him should not be the number one thing on her mind right now. It’s graduation day, for Saints sake. A day she hadn’t been sure she would ever see. But all she can think about is Mal.

She had met him on one of the worst days of her life. Alina had been transferred to a new foster home in the middle of her junior year of high school. There were few things worse in adolescent life than moving to a new school in the middle of the year — especially in high school, in a small town where everyone seemed to know each other. 

Alina had walked the halls that day clutching onto the straps of her backpack, late to nearly every class because her sense of direction was shit, and had even gone as far as to eat lunch in the bathroom like a stereotypical teen movie, the thought of walking into the cafeteria with all those eyes on her nearly ruining her appetite entirely. She had been stared at enough as it was. 

Her last class of the day was art, and she was praying for it to be the reprieve she so desperately needed. If only she could fucking find it. The warning bell rang, heightening her already raised anxiety. Alina took a corner too fast and slammed right into a wall. No, not a wall — a boy. 

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the papers she made him drop. 

“All good,” the boy reassured her.

Once the two of them had the papers off the floor, Alina looked up and nearly dropped them again. She was looking into the warm brown eyes of possibly the hottest guy she had ever laid eyes on. He had a strong, defined jaw, grown out hair that wasn’t too shaggy, but still long enough to run her fingers through. And Saints, his lips. She was already imagining what those lips would feel like, subconsciously licking her own. 

One side of the boy’s mouth quirked up, just a hint of a smirk, like he was used to having this effect on people. Shit, had he noticed her staring? Say something, Alina. 

“Um, sorry,” she managed finally, handing him the pile of collected papers. 

He chuckled. “You said that already.”

She tried a laugh of her own, but it came out all wrong, choppy and nervous. “Right.” 

The boy stood to his full height, and for fucks sake, he had to be tall, too? She rose from her knees and he still towered over her. It was extremely attractive. 

“So you’re the new girl,” he said, not a question but a statement. “I’ve heard murmurings about you today.”

“Murmurings?” 

“Nothing bad. It’s just a small town. When someone new shows up, people notice.” He smiled, stuck out his hand. It took everything in her not to think about how long his fingers were. “I’m Mal.”

She took his hand, her own so tiny in comparison. “Alina.”

“Nice to meet you, Alina. Where are you headed?”

“220B? History of Traditional Art.”

Mal nodded. “Well, I can’t say that’s a room I’m super familiar with. I’m a shit artist. These hands are much better for other activities.” Her eyes must have widened, revealing just how filthy her mind was, because he quickly added, “Sports! I meant sports!”

A look passed between them, and then they were both laughing. It felt so good to laugh after the day she’d had. 

“Anyway,” Mal continued, “I can help you find your way. I might not visit the art hall often, but I know my way around.”

Alina shot him another pointed look, and Mal groaned. “My way around the school! Saints, I’m really shooting myself in the foot as far as first impressions go, aren’t I?”

She grinned, but only said, “You’ll be late for class.” The final bell was going to ring any second. 

Mal waved her off. “That’s all right. What poor representation of Stag Spirit would I be if I let the new girl walk around like a lost puppy? And besides,” he shot her a grin to match her own, “we can’t have you running around, terrorizing other kids and their poor papers now, can we?”

Alina let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “I said I was sorry!”

He turned, walking backwards toward the stairs. “Did you? Must have missed it.”

She shot daggers in his direction, but she smiled the whole way to the art room. The next day, she dared to actually step into the cafeteria for lunch. People were still staring, but after yesterday, she expected it. Part of her was hoping she would find Mal in the crowded space, but she doubted it would matter even if she did. After some social media stalking last night, Alina had discovered what she should have known from the start — Mal was popular. He would already have a flock around him, friends he had known since childhood, who were just like him — attractive, athletic, alien to a kid like Alina who preferred quiet cafes and sketchpads to football fields and pompoms. He had been nice to her yesterday, sure, but that didn’t mean—

“Alina!”

Her head popped up, scanning the sea of tables until she saw him, standing and waving her over. Sure enough, Mal was at a table filled with pretty, sociable looking people. But there was a space open next to him, and she realized with a little jump of her heart that he had saved that space for her. 

It was the start of the fastest and fiercest friendship she would ever have. Mal was popular and sporty, yes, but he was also kind, funny, smart — and most surprising, had grown up in the foster care system, too. Alina made friends with his friends, a few of her own from her art class, but none of them matched what she grew with Mal. Suddenly she was a football field kind of girl, dressing from head to toe in school colors for each match, cheering for her best friend so loud she gave the cheer squad a run for their money. Over the next year and half, they were entirely attached at the hip. 

And while it had truly started as a friendship, by the time senior prom came around, Alina had to face the fact: she was head over heels for the boy. Hell, she had noticed how attractive he was from that first fateful meeting. Mix that with how genuinely good she knew he was — how caring, how attentive, how it felt to have his head rest on her shoulder as he fell asleep during a movie; who could blame her for falling for him? 

“You have to tell him!” her friend from art class, Yelena, had insisted. 

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I’ll do it at prom.”

They were going as a group — her, Mal, Mikhael, Dubrov, Yelena, and a few others from their meshed circle of friends, brought together by the two of them. But Mal had still matched his tie to her dress, a stunning royal blue. Mal had still bought her a corsage — a delicate thing of mostly blue irises, her favorite flower. He was not her date, yet in every way except in name, it felt like he was, and Alina basked in the feeling. 

But as song after song played, Alina found herself backing out each time she tried to approach him. Yelena was shooting pointed looks at her all night, murmuring as she passed her, “You’re running out of time.”

Then a punky pop song came on, one of her and Mal’s favorites. She called him over. “Dance with me!” she exclaimed, and laughed as he all but pulled her onto the dance floor. Neither of them were good dancers, but they were enthusiastic, at least with each other. As the song neared its end, Alina sucked in a breath.

“Mal, I have to tell you something.”

He raised a brow, waiting for her to speak. The song ended, and their principal took to the stage. “All right folks, it’s time to announce your prom king and queen!”

Everyone was cheering and turning to the stage, but Mal was still looking at her, still waiting for her answer.

Alina opened her mouth, closed it, then finally said, “Thank you for the corsage. I really love it.”

Mal gave her a quizzical look, lips tugging down — and was that disappointment in his eyes? Before she could fully read him, his face smoothed, his usual charmed smile returning. “Of course, Lina.” 

“And your prom king is,” the principal was saying, “Malyen Oretsev!”

The crowd roared. Mal’s smile turned sheepish, and he took to the stage to accept his crown. Ruby was named prom queen, to no one’s surprise. Alina watched them dance together in the middle of the room to a romantic song that would now forever be ruined for her. A little later that night, Mal came up to her, said, “You can get a ride home with Yelena, right?” He motioned behind him, flushing a little even as he grinned, to where Ruby was waiting. “I’m gonna head out.”

Alina swallowed the stupid lump in her throat and nodded. Mal pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then he was gone. She would spend the night at Yelena’s, crying on her shoulder that she had missed her chance — if she’d ever had one to begin with. Because of course Mal would choose Ruby. Beautiful, blond Ruby, much more his equal than Alina could ever be. 

Graduation came, and it was happy. But in all of the pictures and celebrations was Ruby — no longer just captain of the cheer squad Ruby, but Mal’s girlfriend Ruby. She watched them partake in a summer romance that she was guiltily happy to see fizzle out once college came and split them apart. Luckily, her and Mal were off to Os Alta University together, home of the Firebirds. They forged a new friend group there: the twins, Tolya and Tamar, Nadia, David, Genya, Zoya, Nikolai. Mal didn’t really date freshman year, sticking to little flings that Alina told herself didn’t matter. In sophomore year, the tension between him and Zoya finally snapped, and the two of them had a brief . . . something together. 

Of course, Alina had her own dabbles in romance — Alexei being the sweetest, Aleksander nearly making her swear off men all together. Her next two flings were with women, both because she had finally fully accepted her bisexuality and because she truly had lost trust in the male species. She even made out with Nikolai a couple times, but they had both just been using each other. They’d spent one night in a club so obnoxiously all over one another that Zoya had stormed out. Her thing with Mal had been off and on at that point, and the next morning, she texted him that they were off for good. 

Two weeks later, Nikolai and Zoya were dating. Mal was single. 

And still, she hadn’t made a move. 

Alina stares in the mirror now, watching the tassel on her graduation cap sway back and forth. In an hour, she’ll be moving it from the right to the left and leave Os Alta University in the rear window. It hadn’t been easy getting here — nothing is easy for a foster care kid, especially one who wants to be an artist. But she’s done it. She’s graduating with top honors. Saints, she even has a job lined up. Everything she worried about growing up — making a future for herself, being swallowed by the system, figuring out who she is without the guidance of her birth parents — she has faced all of it head on. At every step, she’s run after what she’s wanted and grabbed it by the hands until it was hers.

Everything except Mal. 

And try as she might, she can’t imagine a future without him in it.

He’s not seeing anyone — for now. Last night he texted her, laughing about how Ruby of all people had hit him up. She’s going to be in the city this weekend, apparently, and asked if he wanted to get a drink. It felt like prom all over again.

“Alina, come on!” Genya calls. “We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” she calls back.

Alina follows Genya and Zoya down to the car, sits numbly in the backseat as they drive to the giant building holding their graduation ceremony. 

“Look alive, Starkov,” Zoya says as they get out of the car, linking their arms. “Today is for happy things. New beginnings.”

Genya takes her other arm. “No pouting about boys unless you’re going to do something about it.”

She smiles, and for a little while, it’s not forced. There’s a rush of excitement as they walk inside and find their seats. Genya isn’t too far off from her, but Zoya’s a few rows ahead. In the rows between them, still too far to talk to but not too far to make out the back of his head, is Mal. He’s talking to the guy next to him, even though she’s pretty sure he doesn’t know him. But that’s Mal, blooming wherever he’s planted.

Alina knows she shouldn’t, but the ceremony hasn’t started yet, so she stands and calls out, “Mal!” 

Somehow, he hears her over all the ruckus around them. The smile he gives her has her heart beating double time. “I’ll find you after!” he shouts back, though of course, she already knew that. Mal always finds her.

As the ceremony starts and a handful of different people come up to make speeches, she finds herself slipping into her thoughts from earlier. In her head, she sees Mal and Ruby, meeting for that drink. They pick up right where they left off. Ruby moves to the city, moves in with Mal. Alina’s there through all of it, supporting Mal like she always has, always will. On the sidelines she stays, watching him as he gets married and has ridiculously beautiful babies. None of it is real, not yet, but the thought is so painful she has tears in her eyes. 

Well, at least she can blame the tears on emotional graduation bullshit as she watches her friends walk the stage, cheering for each of them even though they’re not supposed to. Tamar and Tolya, the latter looking pretty emotional himself. David, who walks quickly even though he’s probably the most awarded student of the whole graduating class. Nikolai, who dramatically presses a kiss to the hand of the Os Alta University President after she hands him his diploma. Zoya, who walks the stage as if she owns it. 

Then Mal’s name is called, and she cheers so loud she’s pretty sure he hears it, if the grin on his face is any indication. Genya crosses, graceful as always. When her own name is called, she’s not expecting much. She has no family here save from the one she forged for herself. But as she walks, she can hear a very distinct cheer from a very distinct voice, and butterflies swarm drunkenly in her stomach. 

In the minutes that pass between her walking the stage and the last name being called — poor Nadia —Alina knows what she’s going to do. No backing out this time.

“Congratulations, Class of 2021!”

Everyone cheers, and graduation caps go flying through the air. Alina tosses hers with everyone else, and then she takes off, pushing through her classmates as they jump and shout, running until she finds the right row, forces herself through the bodies in her way, until she’s in front of him. Until she’s found Mal. 

“Alina,” he says in surprise. “What are you—”

“Don’t get a drink with Ruby.”

Mal frowns. “What?”

“I said don’t get a drink with Ruby!” she says, louder this time.

“I heard you. I’m just confused.” He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “Why shouldn’t I have a drink with Ruby, and why did you run to tell me this right now?”

Because I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you. 

Because I wanted to tell you at prom, but I chickened out. 

Because I’ve watched you kiss other girls for almost six years now, and I can’t stand to just watch any longer.

Alina doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she presses onto her tip toes, takes his face between her hands, and kisses him. 

Mal stiffens, but doesn’t give her time to worry before he relaxes again, pulling her body against his, lifting her so she doesn’t have to stretch so far anymore. All around them are the happy cheers of a group of people at the end of one road stepping onto another. Families in the stands hoot and holler for their children, wipe tears and think, they made it. 

But for Alina, it’s like being in a room where nothing exists except her and Mal, her best friend, her constant, the most important person in her life. She’s kissing him, she’s finally kissing him, and he’s kissing her back as if he’s been waiting for six years to do this, too. Like maybe he’s wanted her all along.

“Alina,” he breathes when their lips part, their foreheads pressed together instead. “Thank the bloody Saints.”

She giggles, actually fucking giggles, like a lovestruck school girl. “I’ve wanted this since prom. Before, even.”

Mal smiles, shakes his head the tiniest bit. “Me too.”

They laugh, so close that they’re breathing each other in. Two idiots, that’s what they are. But there’s no room to groan about what could’ve been sooner, no room to drown in regrets. They are young, and there is only room for joy in knowing they have the rest of their lives to make up for lost time. Starting now. Their lips meet again. Mal is steady and warm against her. He feels like home. It’s everything she’s ever imagined. It’s better. 

Alina can see her future so clearly now, because she knows no matter what comes next, she’ll have Mal beside her to navigate through it.

He is all she’s ever wanted — her forever person, who won’t leave when she’s being unreasonable, who’s love is not conditional. He is all she’ll ever need.  

[morifinwes]

Lauraa I finished all the fics, apart from decay (currently reading that now) and I love it sm! Especially the lip gloss one lmao the whole thing was so hilarious to me XD but also like the concept of lwj wearing lipgloss is >>> -yibobibo

@yibobibo then i'm going to rec you some more!! the lip gloss one was !!!!! ajsksks yes!! lwj wearing lipgloss is just so!! good!!

modern

this one is the painful one i talked about:

visitations by var_abelasan (12K, wip, divorced wangxian, post divorce, most of this is angst, uhm lowkey don't but also do want wangxian to end up together, it's messy, the jiangs & lans are shitty, wwx was in prison (brief mentions of that but it's kind of a major plot point), mxy & xy are the little brothers he never wanted but wwx picked them up anyways)

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry." 

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine. 

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

 

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae (3K, partly deaf!wwx, lwj notices, nobody else does though, idk wwx is like made out of fucking steel or some shit)

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

light by redkosmos (10K, blind!lwj, which causes angst, but they manage it, best friends to lovers, fluff, lwj being insecure and feeling like a burden, college au kind of? but it doesn't matter too much)

The realization slowly dawns on him.

He can never again see the brightness of Wei Ying's eyes, the way they crescent when he smiles, never again see the rich black of his hair, the mess of it in the early mornings, never again see the beautiful tan of his skin, the beauty of the scars and marks adorned on it, how he wears his clothes, how it hugs his frame beautifully, how he looks like he's adorably swimming in cloth when he wears Lan Zhan's, and-

(Lan Zhan loses his vision in a car accident and learns to cope with it.)

don't leave me by trippinonskies (19K, brief very brief mention of lwj cheating, he doesn't but wwx is afraid lwj is cheating on him or just wants to break up with him, (he doesn't), marriage proposal, lwj acting distant = wwx's insecurities show up, fluff, angst and comfort)

Lan Zhan! Where are you lost today?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, at the end of his patience.

Lan Zhan looks a little guilty as he looks at Wei Wuxian, “Sorry, just a lot of work to deal with.”

Lie.

If there is one thing Lan Zhan can’t do, it’s lying. Especially to Wei Wuxian. But he doesn’t question Lan Zhan. He just accepts the reply, too scared to know that he is right. Too scared to know the truth.

// or where Lan Zhan is too hung up in planning the perfect proposal and ends up accidently ignoring Wei Wuxian making the other think that he wants to break up //

want you closer by xiaobucephalus ((3K, HORSES, only in the background tho, but wwx is an equestrian vet, which is so fucking valid bro, the lans own horses, a sick bunny, lwj the bunny parent!, super cute, dark bay throughoutbred chenqing is honestly so valid)

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed again, his voice warming the chill of fear that had settled in his chest. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get into your hutch for a while anyway.”

safe in your thoughts by anonymous (20K, it's a cherry magic au???? (i haven't watched it, but you have i think?), horny lwj but only for wwx (always for wwx))

Wei Wuxian learns three very important things on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday.

One, that Lan Wangji is ridiculously funny, which Wei Wuxian had known before but what Wei Wuxain hadn’t expected was Lan Wangji to be funny at his brother’s expense.

Two, that Wei Wuxian had finally gone mad, absolutely mental at the ripe age of twenty seven because nothing else would explain the third thing he had learnt.

Third, and the most unbelievable of the lot, that Lan Wangji wants to fuck him.

iura by yoo_im_finally_writing (1K, only added bcs op is right and wwx would've the cutest german accent, it's more fun if you understand german so hit me up if you want translations for the german sentences)

Wei Ying calls in the middle of the night to talk about German law, and Lan Zhan tries very hard not to fall asleep. Or at least, not to let Wei Ying notice he's falling asleep. (As best friends do.)

breathe in the air, the last of its kind by wereworm / @neverdoingmuch (27K, getting together, jealous!lwj, but also kind of supportive, brief mention of cheating bcs of miscommunication, no actual cheating tho, college au, lwj pov)

Following Wei Ying’s line of sight, Lan Wangji can barely prevent a smile from crossing his lips when he sees the short row of rabbit statuettes placed at the front of the display. Silver, with bright gems for eyes, they look elegant yet lively and animated.

“A-Yuan would love one of those,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost as if to himself.

Lan Wangji frowns; the rabbits, while cute, don’t seem like a suitable gift for Wei Ying’s A-Yuan.

...

It’s only when he glances back at the rabbits and notices what has been placed on display behind them, that the pieces fall into place. They’re engagement rings, there’s no doubt about it. Lan Wangji feels his heart sink – Wei Ying isn’t just dating A-Yuan, he wants to propose to him.

Or: the five times Lan Wangji thinks that A-Yuan is Wei Ying’s boyfriend and the one time he learns the truth.

paint smears on sunny days by snowshadowao3 / @angstsexual (53K, getting together, art teacher!wwx, single parent!lwj, they're rich if i remember right, wwx & lwj are both good with kids!!!, this is so good actually, fluff)

To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

He comes close, though.

By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

“Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.

(Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

no bunny compares by gusucloudbunny (4K, god this is cute, fluff)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cornered his friend one week before his birthday. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow at Wei Wuxian, not exactly sure how to answer that question in a truthful manner that didn’t involve confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Wei Wuxian is on a mission to get Lan Wangji the perfect gift for his birthday. What Wei Wuxian doesn't know is that the only thing Lan Wangji truly wants is him.

wei wuxian's week of realizing things by photojenny (12K, i have read this multiple times, i always forget what happens, idk why but my notes say it's good, the tags say drunkji makes an appearance and i'm always up for that)

"Lan Zhan, do you like Mianmian?" asked Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji blinked, and stared. It was not the first time Lan Wangji had questioned the perceptiveness of the boy he had a crush on. Wei Wuxian had been smart in the class they had taken together. Yet time and time again, Wei Wuxian had tested the old wisdom that there are no stupid questions.

---

Lan Wangji must figure out how to confess when Wei Wuxian is the most oblivious person he's ever met.

are you my wisdom tooth? because i'd like to take you out by yellowcarnations (1K, crack, fluff, lwj stop flirting with a stranger, even if he is your husband, drunkji but make it to max level)

Lan Zhan wakes up and he has no idea where he is.

There are bright lights and his jaw hurts, he doesn't who this man next to his bed is but oh he might be in love, maybe, probably, definitely.

–

based off that guy-forgets-who-his-wife-is-and-hits-on-her vid but its wangxian.

beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (3K, fluff, lwj is like "he, he likes me right? he likes me" and everyone is like "yes, yes he does")

“Wei Ying’s heart monitor,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wen Qing blinks at him. “Yes?”

“It beeps.”

“That’s… what they generally do, yes.”

“The beeps change,” Lan Wangji continues, “when others are around.”

*

Wei Ying’s heart only sings for Lan Wangji.

canon

obedient and bellicose by thunderwear (19K, lwj is cursed by the lan elders, they notice too late, fix-it fic kind of?, lqr being a good uncle and lxc is a good brother, wwx accidentally uses the curse but he doesn't know about it)

It took Lan Wangji a long time to realize he was cursed. Too long really, anyone else would have noticed so much sooner. The problem was, he liked following the rules.

Ella Enchanted AU that no one needed but I wanted.

hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (10K, amnesia, fluff, wwx taking care of lwj, so much fluff and softness, angst too but not that much)

The issue is, Lan Wangji brings his thoughts back before they stray too far, that it is impossible for someone to be in his bed, unless Lan Wangji himself invited them. He has not. He would remember doing so, and besides, all his night clothes are still on and there is no headache to imply that he was inebriated last night. No, the situation is simple.

There is someone in Lan Wangji’s bed. It is impossible for anyone to be in Lan Wangji’s bed, and yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped the stranger.

or lan wangji wakes up, and wei ying is there. he doesn't understand how or why, and he can understand even less why his hallucination of wei ying is so insistent on bathing him, and braiding his hair, on holding him and fixing his clothes. why the hallucination of wei ying seems so happy to see him.

teach me the way by likeafox (58K, rogue cultivator!wwx, horny wangxian, lwj wants wwx to teach him how to be a good lover, ....wwx is a virgin, the porn is the plot, but there's less of it than i thought)

"I do not wish to leave my future spouse… dissatisfied with my intimate knowledge,” Lan Zhan says, very seriously. “I am hoping to find an instructor, to better prepare myself for such matters."

Wei Ying feels his mouth drop open. He's pretty sure the Second Jade of Lan just told him he's a virgin who wants to learn how to do sex good.

Rogue Cultivator Wei Wuxian is the stuff of local legends. Some of those legends are even true! The ones about his tremendous experience in bed, on the other hand, are not so true. Which becomes a problem when Lan Wangji, on the verge of an arranged marriage and worried he won’t know how to please his future spouse, enlists Wei Ying's help to teach him the art of love-making. Wei Ying's great at improvisation, though, and is pretty sure he's got this sex mentor thing under control. What could possibly go wrong

other aus

of god: my love unholy by tunnelodfawn (3K, tw blood / war, dark!lwj, god!wwx, kind of poetry)

Lan Zhan takes everything as a sign from his god. The blood staining his fingertips—a holy anointment. He sanctifies himself through blood. The strings of his guqin gleam red in the sun—a divine blessing. This is an instrument of destruction. A single note—a cry of power—and in this note the voice of his god unravels the earthly threads tethering man to earth.

The Yiling Patriarch blesses Lan Zhan with war. Wei Wuxian blesses Lan Zhan with agility. Wei Ying blesses Lan Zhan with love.

The base of the Yiling Patriarch’s shrine is the home of Lan Zhan’s knees. He worships. There is something of the blasphemous and the unholy in his prayers. He prays not for victory but for the sight of Wei Ying. Bless me with your presence, he begs.

Or, wherein, Lan Zhan bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine—the worshipper and the god—with blood.

the river and the sea by sasamelons / @sasamelons (7K, soulmate au, arranged marriage (wangxian with each other), they're both kind of dumb but i love it)

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, wishing to just be left alone. "I am looking for my soulmate," he ground out.

"Oh."

It took Lan Wangji a few moments to realize that Wei Wuxian had stopped following him. When he looked back, the other boy seemed to be frozen to the spot, eyes wide and lips still parted. He quickly looked away when he saw Lan Wangji looking back. "I see. Well, have a good trip!"

--

At six years old, Lan Zhan met his soulmate on the streets of Yiling and promptly lost him again.

At sixteen years old, Lan Wangji met his betrothed and was determined not to like him.

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series. 

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present? 

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore. 

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy. 

Until today. 

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her. 

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration. 

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do. 

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful. 

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her. 

I understood the feeling. 

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people. 

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent. 

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile. 

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down. 

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter. 

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her. 

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question. 

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting. 

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask. 

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen. 

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features. 

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something. 

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark. 

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot. 

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?” 

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded. 

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich. 

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?” 

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket. 

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods. 

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar. 

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand. 

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand. 

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks. 

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across. 

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that. 

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow. 

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be. 

But like I just told him, I’m a college student. 

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys. 

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him. 

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him. 

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile. 

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real. 

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care. 

Who the hell is this guy? 

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting. 

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?” 

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true. 

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause. 

And really, really contemplate my life. 

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery. 

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information. 

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous. 

~

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state. 

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming. 

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas. 

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment. 

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door. 

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine. 

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work. 

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear. 

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels. 

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door. 

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent. 

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it. 

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle. 

I. Am in. So much. Trouble. 

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone. 

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care. 

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on. 

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me. 

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back. 

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment. 

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already. 

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding. 

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down. 

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship. 

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird. 

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand. 

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us. 

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them. 

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth. 

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress. 

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him. 

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.” 

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?” 

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?” 

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas. 

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.” 

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me. 

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode. 

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens. 

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything. 

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. 

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures. 

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special. 

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. 

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together. 

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss. 

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there. 

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it. 

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair. 

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him. 

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together. 

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive. 

And then the world goes dark. 

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg. 

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support. 

What the hell was that? 

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley? 

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.  

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought. 

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street. 

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good. 

It feels like the beginning of something. 

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good. 

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again. 

_________________________________________________

Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2​ @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @bamchickawowow​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[shackermanwrites]

Lifetime

Summary: When everything's falling apart in your life, and you don't know what to do anymore, maybe asking the universe for something isn't a bad idea after all. In which Sol Reader finds herself in another reality after begging the universe for something. Everything is going well not until she was put into Levi's squad.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Warnings & Content: Angst, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe, War, Politics, Sad, Fluff and Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Reality Shifting.

A/N:  This is a y/n story, but I will still put a name since I am more comfortable with that. Also, for those who don't know what reality shifting is, it is basically moving your subconscious to another reality, and that's where I got the inspiration to write this. There are also no titans in the story except for the 9 titan shifters. The story will revolve around the war between Paradis and Marley.

Lifetime Masterlist

Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

The sound of chirping birds and a peal of faint laughter from the other room are the first thing you had noticed as soon as you woke up from sleeping. You can’t recognize whether it's already morning or noon because of the sunlight beaming through the grass yet being danced by the wind.

You were taken aback by the beautiful scenery in front of you as you sat on the bed and stared at the large window beside your bed, yet soon realized that you don’t know where you are.

You started to look around to observe your surroundings; there are two teacups and a small saucer that contains crumbs of bread sitting on top of the bed stand beside your bed, which explains the faint smell of tea and woods that smells refreshing to your nose.

The room is quite spacious and clean considering seeing a bunch of toys scattered on the floor; who lives here, you thought to yourself. You slowly got up from the bed despite feeling nervous, you can’t recall this room, but you feel like this is not the first time that you have seen this room, let alone the feeling of being inside that house is somewhat familiar to you.

You carefully tiptoed as you went out; you don’t know what is happening, nor where you are right now, yet you did not find yourself panicking.

“Careful with that and don’t make a mess, okay?”

You followed the voice that seems to be coming from the kitchen, the voice was followed by a giggle that appears to be from a child. As soon as you reached the end of the hall, you slowly peek to see that your guts were right, the voices you heard were from the kitchen.

A table with four chairs and a child sitting on one of it back facing you is the only thing you manage to see so you decided to peek even more and there your eye saw a black-haired man that seems to be cooking as he slowly stirs the pot in front of him, you assume that he did not notice your presence.

Yet the child did; the moment you turn your gaze back to the child’s back, she was already looking at you with a slight smile painted on her face and a lovingly look that she had given you.

“How was your nap? You fell asleep while reading earlier in the living room, you must have liked the tea I made earlier” You looked at the man that has stopped chopping potatoes to look at you.

You locked eyes with him and you noticed the similar eye color of the child, you suddenly felt the urge to run into his arms and cry. You wanted to feel his embrace. You felt home as soon as you saw him, almost like you completely forgotten that you don’t know where you are, but somehow you felt safe, especially around him.

“yeah, my sleep was okay” you gave him a soft smile to lighten up the mood

As you were about to walk over to him, your vision is suddenly getting blurry, and everything was spinning, and your vision goes black.

-

“Hey, wake up, Sol” you felt a hand on your shoulder trying to shake you from your deep slumber.

You slowly open your eyes and crap was the only word you could think of when you realized that you fell asleep in class, not just any class but one of your major subjects this semester.

You look around and see your professor shuffling a bunch of cards that have your class names on it, ah random recitation again if your hunch is correct which made you groan in annoyance.

You aren’t the type of student to burn yourself out just to ace your subjects, but you are managing to pass them, and luckily for you, your grades are much higher than what you are expecting, although you are still not sure if it just because you’re still in your second year in college.

Initially, you were supposed to take up a course related to arts because ever since you find art, specifically drawing and painting, it is your safe place. You love to draw and paint ever since you were a child. Still, you had to bury those and convince yourself that doing all of that was just a hobby, so instead, you took a course related to medicine.

Going back to your senses, you immediately smiled at your friend beside you, that’s now scanning through her notes. You’ve been friends with Petra since the first day of freshman year since the two of you met in an embarrassing way. Both of you were wearing the same necklace that day, so people assumed that the two of you were dating. After that incident, she always sat next to you in class and eventually became friends with her up until now.

“so, since none of you failed the exams, the project that is due after Christmas break will be moved at the end of the semester” the room was quickly filled with cheers and chatters after hearing the announcement of your professor.

“so? You have plans this Christmas break?” you looked at Petra while she stuffs her notebooks inside her bag with a smile on her face, you can’t deny the fact that she is indeed beautiful.

“Yeah, I might go back to Germany tomorrow morning since Christmas is in five days, so” you scratch the project on your to-do list in front of your bag before putting it inside your bag.

Petra gave you a brief look before smiling at you for a second “yeah, I think you should, it’s been two years since you were home, right? Hey besides, I’m right around the corner here, so if you decided to come back early, let me know.”

“Yeah, I will, anyway. Aren’t you late for your job?”

“oh, dang it, I am, I got to go first, sol. My manager will kill me.”

You can’t help but giggle at her reaction when she realized that she’s late. “sure, take care and call me tomorrow.”

You could only watch as she leaves the room in a rush. You let out a sigh and grab your bag to leave the room. Your parents are the reason why you choose to pursue medicine instead of arts, the moment they knew what you want to do for the rest of your life. You immediately saw how disappointed they are, so instead, you took a course you think they can be proud of.

Medicine isn’t that bad, especially being trained and learning how to be a medical technologist, It's fun to learn, and you are adapting and finding yourself enjoying as you engage more and more. Yet, deep inside of you knows that you’re just pushing your doubts and negative thoughts aside, and that includes your passion.

The dorm isn’t that far from your university; it will only take a maximum of 4 minutes when walking. You removed your coat and shoes and decided to slump down on your bed. You don’t have the energy to take a shower considering that you just did two hours ago; you’re still okay, you thought.

You honestly can’t stop thinking about what Petra said earlier, home. It must be nice to feel that you're home.

Your parents are acceptable it is just that they don’t care about what you feel and think, maybe its because you’re their first child and they are still learning when they had you, but the way they treat your little sister says otherwise. Although, you love your sister you can’t deny the fact that you sometimes feel jealous, you just want to be a daughter and a person to your parents, you mentally slap yourself.

It would be best if you weren’t thinking like that.

You let out a loud groan while staring at the ceiling.

“I should probably pack my bag now if I’m leaving early,” you mumbled to yourself.

You quickly got up from the bed and grabbed your suitcase under your bed, and you don’t know how long you will stay but just in case.

You filled it up with your clothes and toiletries neatly. You can be organized if you’re in the mood, and that is something Petra can’t do; the girl is just messy and unorganized, which is why you’re glad that you’re there for her.

“that should do it, I did a great job.”

Once again, you slump down on the bed, face buried on the pillow, you’re tired physically and mentally drained, once again you thought about home, this is why you don’t like it when you’re doing nothing, it leads you to overthink.

You closed your eyes and thought about the things you want in life, which slowly leads to imagining them and making up scenarios as if that is already happening. “I just want to go home, home is where I want, this is bullshit but universe please I just want to be home, no matter what the cost is, no matter what the cost” you beg in your head, you grew up not being heard but deep inside of you clings on a hope that the universe might listen to you.

You stayed like this for almost half an hour; even though you are flinching, you didn’t move an inch. You had to convince yourself that you're probably just tired. Your eyes are getting heavier every minute, and you were about to fall asleep when you noticed that something’s not right, you felt dizzy and cold, yet you decided to push those thoughts and drifted to sleep.

Little did you know, the universe is always listening.

[galacticlamps]

Tagged by @the--highlanders​ ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

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

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

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

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

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

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

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

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

[tsarisfanfiction]

In Your Shadow

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott

Random thing that wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it, so here it is.  Missed half a very important meeting because I lost track of time writing this, whoops...  More Scott&Gordon because I will die on this hill.

“Tomorrow, they’re not gonna say ‘that’s Gordon Tracy, the Olympic Champion!’  Tomorrow, they’re gonna say ‘that’s Scott Tracy’s little brother!’, and I’m gonna say ‘damn straight I am.’”

The lights were off in his brother’s room, but that meant nothing.  Scott had been sent to bed by the combined parental force of Grandma and Dad, and Gordon knew for a fact that John had been recruited to freeze all his electronics to make sure he didn’t sit up doing something all night instead of sleeping.  So, if Gordon didn’t miss his guess, Scott was going to be staying up all night doing nothing, just staring blankly at the ceiling, the wall, the view out the window, and working himself up about tomorrow.

There had been straws pulled between them to decide behind Dad’s back who went in and knocked some sense into him.  Gordon won. Gordon may have rigged the whole thing, but Virgil’s suspicious brown eyes could prove nothing.  This was something he needed to do.

Sure enough, as he slunk into the room, door shutting silently behind him (he’d had years of practice on that one), the body on the bed first rolled over, then sat up as Scott identified him in the dark (Scott had had years of practice at that).

“Gordon?  Is something wrong?”

And still he worried before being suspicious.  Any of his other brothers would be looking for the prank right about now, but Scott’s default would always be concern for him before concern to himself.  Gordon rolled his eyes and padded silently over to the bed, poking Scott until he moved over.  He did, arm shooting out to wrap around his shoulders the way he always did when Gordon had a nightmare.

Gordon was man enough to admit that the last time wasn’t as long ago as maybe people thought, but that wasn’t the reason tonight and he dodged the arm, catching it and using the opportunity of catching Scott off guard to roll his brother over onto his side.

“Gordon?”

Before he could roll back, Gordon dove onto the bed, wedging himself behind him and wrapping his arms around his biggest brother tightly, burying his face in the back of Scott’s neck and feeling his brother tense up.

“Gordon, what’s wrong?”

“Hey, Scott,” he started, voice still low so no Dad or Grandma caught him – there may have been some implications that all of them were to leave Scott alone tonight – even though John was supposedly running interference to make sure they didn’t. “When did you last celebrate your own achievements?”

The concerned set of his brother’s shoulders gave way to a confused one instead.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t remember so much as a graduation party when you finished college,” Gordon pointed out. He didn’t mention the medals, locked away in storage where Scott refused to look at them.  Those didn’t count.

Scott didn’t answer, and Gordon decided against voicing the observation that Scott hadn’t celebrated any of his own achievements since the Zero-X.  This would be the first one, and he was all too aware that the only reason Scott wasn’t ducking out of it was because Dad wouldn’t let him.

“John had one,” he said instead.  “You didn’t let him escape it.”

“John graduated early with the highest grades in the university’s history,” Scott pointed out, and Gordon huffed.

“And you were top of your class.”  He’d checked the records before coming in.  “How did you even talk Grandma out of it?”

“What are you trying to say, Gordon?”  That was a non-answer if ever he heard one.  Gordon squinted at the back of his brother’s neck but let it slide.  For now.

“John’s graduations,” he started.  “John’s books.  Virgil’s graduation.  Virgil’s art shows and piano recitals.  My acceptance into WASP.  My medals. Alan’s everything.”  There had been a lot of parties for the youngest – getting his pilot’s license, youngest astronaut in history, anything Scott could remotely justify.  “You haven’t let any of us miss a single achievement.  But yours…” he trailed off meaningfully, but Scott was still tense in his hold and didn’t say a word.

Gordon sighed.

“Your achievements matter too, bro,” he said.  “Stop skulking in the shadows and directing the limelight onto us all the time.”

Scott made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff.  It sounded sad and a little pathetic.

“You guys do so much,” he said.  “I’m proud of you.  All four of you.”

Aha.

“And we’re proud of you,” Gordon retorted.  “That’s why you’re not getting out of tomorrow.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Scott protested.  “I-” Gordon cut him off with a scoff.

“You piloted that jet.  You broke the airspeed record.  Professor Kwark is getting her dues for designing it – you know you’re not taking anything away from her achievements so stop pretending you think you are – but you piloted it.”

“Because she asked me to,” Scott pointed out, and Gordon rolled his eyes.  “She could have chosen anyone.”

“And she chose the best damn pilot in the world like a sensible woman, and don’t even try and tell me anyone else would have even been a consideration.”  Gordon jabbed him in the chest with a finger.  “Her own attempt last year ended in disaster, so she picked the most experienced high-speed pilot in the world for the next one. Sounds like a smart decision to me.” Scott was gearing up for another counter-argument; he could feel it in the way his chest tensed.  “They didn’t have to pick me for the Olympics,” he continued, switching to the reason he had absolutely rigged the straws to be the one in the room.

When it came to wrangling Scott, Virgil was definitely the most experienced, with John hot on his heels. But Virgil and John weren’t world record holders.  Gordon was.

“You were the best in the team,” Scott immediately shot back.  “They’d have been daft not to pick you.”

Exactly, but Gordon didn’t say that, just waited for Scott to realise he’d cornered himself.  It didn’t take long, shoulders slumping with a fondly exasperated sigh.

“That’s different,” Scott tried to argue.  “You still had to beat the other seven swimmers.”

“And you still had to beat the record.”  Gordon shot that argument back down.

“The jet-”

“Would not have beat the record if I was piloting it.  Hell, if Virgil was piloting it.  Even Alan’s not that good, Scott.”  He squeezed his ridiculously stubborn brother tighter, a grin slipping onto his face as Scott let out a quiet oof.  “That was all you, Scott, and I know you know it, despite what you’re trying to tell me.”

Scott didn’t say anything for several moments, and Gordon didn’t break the silence even if he pressed closer to his brother’s back.  He knew what it was like, those few hours – days, weeks, even – after breaking a world record.  The state of disbelief that he’d actually done it.  Scott had stepped out of what they had nicknamed Icarus II (not actually called that, after the original Icarus had proven too close to its namesake, but Gordon didn’t really care for the jet’s actual name) less than twenty-four hours earlier, breathing hard from the adrenaline and excitement of Mach 23.8 to congratulations and jubilation from Professor Kwark’s team and his family.  What he’d actually managed hadn’t properly sunk in yet, but the official celebrations were tomorrow, complete with paparazzi from all over the world, and Scott was doing his best to escape it.

“…Why are you here, Gordon?”

Gordon was there to tell his brother he was being an idiot, and hammer it home that they were all ridiculously proud of their big brother for doing the thing they’d always known he would one day, and convince him it was okay to be proud of himself. He didn’t say that.

Each of his brothers always required a slightly different touch, and Scott needed to be caught off-guard. The head-on approach never worked; he just headbutted it back with twice the force because he was stubborn like that. Unless you were Virgil but Virgil could just keep throwing it back again with interest until he wore him down.

So instead, Gordon plucked at a different string – one of those little things Scott thought they didn’t know about but really didn’t hide that well once you knew how to look for it. They all knew.

“You know how many people I’ve heard complain about some ‘shadow’ their older siblings cast?” he asked, rhetorically.  Scott froze so suddenly he could have sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees.  “Whining on and on about how no matter what they do, their sibling’s always there, always the one everyone sees?”

Scott seemed to be holding his breath; even pressed up against him with his arms wrapped around his chest, Gordon couldn’t feel any rise and fall.

“Well, I don’t agree with that,” he said firmly.

“What?”  He felt Scott startle, clearly not meaning to say anything but caught off-guard.

“I don’t agree,” he repeated.  “You’ve never overshadowed us.  Any of us.  John’s got the books to prove it, Virgil’s got the paintings and recitals, I’ve got a gold freaking medal.  Even Alan’s making his own name for himself in the gaming community and he’s a home-schooled kid most of the world has never seen out of uniform.”

“I-”

“How long have you been worrying about that?” Gordon asked, overriding whatever feeble attempt at disagreement Scott was about to make.  “At least since the Zero-X.  I know that for certain, but I bet it’s been longer.”

Scott didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect him to.  Scott was annoying like that – he’d say everything you didn’t want him to, and nothing that you did.  The answer was probably the first time he’d ever heard anyone mention something about an older sibling’s so-called ‘shadow’, anyway, knowing Scott.

“You know,” he said, fully aware that Scott didn’t know, because he was an idiot of a big brother who cared too much about them and not enough about himself, “sometimes I like sitting in your shadow.”  Or John’s, or Virgil’s, but this conversation wasn’t about them.

Scott’s second startle was a full-body thing, a twitch topped off with a jerk of the head, but he still didn’t say anything.

“I doubt you get it, because you don’t have a big brother, but sometimes it’s nice lurking there,” he continued.  “Here.”  He pressed up against Scott’s back again, making sure Scott couldn’t possibly miss that he was plastered against him.  “Maybe it’s because I know you’ll never try and keep me here and I can go wander into the spotlight whenever I like,” he admitted, “but I like it.  The others do, too.”  John and Virgil never left Scott’s so-called ‘shadow’ unless they had to, both content to do their own thing and let Scott handle the world while they handled Scott, and Gordon knew all four of them still found safety in their biggest brother even if they never said it in so many words.

“Gordon, what are you trying to say?” Scott asked.  He sounded genuinely confused, and Gordon swallowed another sigh, because trust Scott to be a brilliant leader and fantastic big brother but not understand just how much they appreciated him.

“I’m saying that tomorrow, they’re not gonna look at me and say ‘that’s Gordon Tracy, the Olympic Champion!’” he said bluntly.  “Tomorrow, they’re gonna look at me and say ‘that’s Scott Tracy’s little brother!’, and I’m gonna say ‘damn straight I am.’”  He grabbed a handful of Scott’s pyjamas and made a fist, right over his brother’s chest. “Because tomorrow is your day and I – we – are damn proud of you, Scott.  So don’t you dare run away from this and try and put us in the limelight instead.  Not this time.”  Not any time it was Scott’s achievement, but Gordon was well aware that was too much of a push right now.

He’d just bring out the pep talks again, and again, and again, until Scott got the message.

Scott was silent, but his breathing was steady, Gordon’s fistful of fabric rising and falling with his chest, so he waited while his brother thought it through, looking for loopholes and – hopefully – finding none.  Gordon didn’t think he’d left anything, but Scott could be slippery when he wanted to.

It was several minutes before he got a reaction, Scott making a decision like the commander he was. An arm moved, brushing against Gordon’s as it did, before a hand wrapped around his fist.  The touch was firm and warm, but not restraining or trying to pry him off.  Instead, it just stayed there, squeezing lightly before falling still.

“Thanks, Gordon.”

Victory.

“Any time, bro,” he grinned, wriggling around to get comfortable and throwing a leg over Scott’s, just because he could.  “Now get some sleep.  Big day tomorrow.”

“Voice of experience?”

“Yup.”  He popped the ‘p’ just because he could, and because it always made Scott roll his eyes.  “You’ll need all the sleep you can get.”  He kicked the covers until he could reach them with the hand not grasping his brother’s top and pulled them up.

“Aren’t you going to go back to your room?”  Scott sounded amused, with some put-on disgruntlement that Gordon ignored.

“Nah,” he dismissed, settling back down and wrapping his arm back around his brother again.  “I’m comfy now.”

Scott laughed a little. They both knew Grandma and Dad had placed a ‘do not disturb’ order on Scott and that he was at least somewhat avoiding being caught sneaking back out.  There wouldn’t be time to tell him off in the morning while they were rushing around ready for the party.

“Night, Gordon.”

“Night, big bro.”  He burrowed down against his big brother’s back and closed his eyes, content that he’d got at least somewhere in pounding some truths into Scott’s stubborn head and genuinely comfortable where he was.

Sometimes, his big brother’s shadow was his favourite place to be.

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg y'all mind if I continue this travesty (part 1)

Heads Up- Part 2 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

The sun shone brightly through Joseph's window, its dazzling radiance rousing the exhausted artist from his slumber.

Well, that was a strange dream, he thought.

He remembered everything that took place last night. When he started seeing things, perhaps having a nightmare, fueled by his anxiety about finishing college. About graduating, becoming a professional, chasing his dream.

Anxious enough to dream that his creation started talking to him.

Joseph sat up and saw himself staring at an empty table across the room. There was nothing there, save for a few pencils and sheets of paper.

"C-Caesar?" he asked, somewhat reluctantly as if refusing to affirm the name from last night's dream. No reply.

He walked out of his room, heading toward the kitchen to make himself his morning coffee. And first thing he saw, resting atop the kitchen table, was his bust, his magnum opus, resting still and silent with vacant eyes staring into nothingness.

Like any proper sculpture should.

Joseph sighed and began to pour himself a hot cup. He turned his back on the bust for a moment, stirring his coffee and taking a sip.

And then he heard a voice.

"Well, Joseph, didn't expect you so early," it said.

Joseph flinched, spitting out his coffee from sheer surprise. He wheeled around with a confused frown, his shirt and face drenched in hot coffee, only to come face to face with his bust--once again animate, expressive and alive, like last night.

Caesar.

Caesar made a few small hops to face himself in Joseph's direction and chuckled lightly to himself, his eyes once again bright and alive.

"Y-you're real..." Joseph said, pointing at Caesar. "You're...not a dream, are you?"

"Suppose not," Caesar said matter-of-factly. "And you'd left me here on this table all night."

Joseph scratched his head.

"Ugh...sorry about that," Joseph said, sheepishly.

"Would you mind setting me down on the floor?" Caesar asked, somewhat annoyed in tone. "I've been so uncomfortable here being so high up and afraid of falling..."

Joseph set down his coffee cup and dried his hands. "Sure thing, I guess," he said with a shrug, and with a little strain lifted the heavy sculpture and rested him gently on the ground.

"Thank you," Caesar sighed, looking around the house now that he was on a more comfortable level. He turned his neck from side to side as he took in his surroundings, looking around from side to side.

"You've got a pretty cozy place to stay, don't you?" Caesar said, as he began to hop. Joseph just stared in confused acceptance of the situation as he watched the flesh-toned bust, looking every bit like a truncated stump of a man, slowly and clumsily make its way toward his living room.

Joseph watched as Caesar hopped, making heavy thumps as he went. He was certainly as heavy as he looked, made of dense clay, and with hop his tiny residue of a torso barely just cleared the floor, propelling him forward a few inches each time.

Joseph felt a pang of guilt seeing how difficult it was for Caesar to move. He felt responsible for his sorry state. Not that Caesar seemed to mind as of the moment, thumping along slowly but surely toward the living room to inspect its contents.

"I better just leave you on the floor for now," Joseph assessed. "Wouldn't want any nasty falls ruining my perfect artwork."

"You're such a tease," Caesar replied.

With a smile, Joseph retreated into his room to check on the rest of his work. With Caesar on the floor and the door locked, he figured he should let Caesar get a chance to look around for a bit after being stuck on the table all night.

-----

Caesar looked around with curiosity and fascination around the house as he hopped his way along. With all the furniture, appliances, and even Joseph himself towering above the living bust, just a bit over a foot tall with only a head, neck and a bit of chest and shoulders, everything appeared huge in comparison to Caesar from his perspective on the floor.

Caesar felt so small.

But why? Wasn't he only created yesterday, as Joseph had said? How come he felt like he should be bigger? That something felt missing? If he had been alive only for a day, how come he knew the names of the things in Joseph's house, like the whirring thing called a refrigerator, or the noisy thing called a television?

As if he'd seen them before?

Yet in his current state Caesar's reduced form didn't feel...wrong. Just... strange. He didn't know whether it was strange in a bad way, or a good way, but he decided he shouldn't be bothering himself with such thoughts as of the moment, as his curiosity got the better of him and he continued to explore the house.

-------

Meanwhile, in his room, Joseph was trying to study. The bust--no, Caesar,-- was his final project, due in two months, but he still had other things to work on, reflection papers, sketches, that were to be passed sooner.

Joseph figured he'd deal with those first and foremost, before he had to figure out how to pass his semester with his project now turned into his unexpected roommate. That problem could wait for now.

But as Joseph attempted to finish his sketches, some heavy thumps from outside, along with faint, strained groans of effort, caught his ears. He tried to ignore it at first, but soon it began to bother him as a few hours passed.

Thump. Ugh. Thump. Ugh.

Joseph dropped his pencil and buried his head into his arms with a sigh.

Had he condemned Caesar to exist as such? As a half-formed, incomplete creation, that also happened to now be a living person?

Joseph wondered if he could complete his project, or rather, add more to it. He after all had only planned Caesar to be a bust--but now that he was alive and aware, was it wrong to keep him a bust?

He didn't know how to sculpt bodies, which why he'd stopped with a head in the first place. He pictured how much extra clay he would need, how long it would take, weeks maybe, and whether he should set aside his other projects to make Caesar complete.

What was more important right now? His semester, or the being he accidentally ushered to life?

It was late afternoon by the time Joseph surrendered in his attempt to finish his sketch. His stomach grumbling, he left the room to fetch himself dinner.

--------

Joseph opened his door to be greeted by a series of bouncing thumps. He looked downward and saw Caesar hopping toward the kitchen.

"You seem to have gotten quite good at this," Joseph said, amused.

"I've been practicing," Caesar replied. "It's all I got going for me."

Joseph watched amazed as Caesar continued to hop around. He'd learned how to thrust his head forward with each jump, and, able to move his residual shoulders ever so slightly for added momentum, was able to catapult himself for longer, more stable jumps, managing to maintain his balance upright with each landing on his now-flattened base, which had rubbed off a little paint but was otherwise intact.

Joseph wondered if it was uncomfortable for Caesar. Did he get tired? Did his muscles ache being forced to move this way?

But looking at Caesar, as he inspected the cupboard under the stairs, he felt not. He hopped like he'd always had, despite his earlier complaints last night about not having a body, and being made of clay, Joseph supposed he didn't have any muscles for him to ache, anyway.

It was surprising how quickly Caesar managed to adapt.

"What are these?" asked Caesar, as he hopped over to a small box on the floor. Using his lips, he gently picked up a small object--a paintbrush-- and turned to look toward Joseph with the brush in his mouth.

"Those are my art supplies," Joseph scolded, as he came over and took away the brush, placing it back in the box and lifting the box onto a table, out of Caesar's reach. "Please don't mess around with them." Caesar frowned in disappointment.

"Though I do have to admit, I'm impressed," Joseph chortled as he placed the box of art supplies onto the living room table. "Looks like you've also learned how to pick up and hold objects with only your mouth."

"It's not like I have a choice," Caesar replied with a shrug, or at least the closest approximation to a shrug that he could manage. "I have no hands, remember?"

"Like I could forget," Joseph snarked back, kneeling down to be closer to his level and playfully poking a finger into Caesar's partial chest.

"And since you've figured out how to move around, and pick up and hold stuff, perhaps I ought to teach you how to do some tasks and activities, so you won't be all too helpless, even though you're...well..." He gestured toward Caesar's stub of a torso, prompting an annoyed grimace from the clay figure.

"Hmph, oh well," Caesar grumbled. "At least that sounds kind of nice to have something to do, it's been dreadfully boring the entire night on the table."

Joseph smiled down at Caesar, but before he could reply, a knock on the door caught both of their attention.

"Joseph!" said a cheerful female voice from outside the front door. "I'm just here for a visit!"

"Suzi!" Joseph exclaimed, panicking. "We can't let her see you!"

---------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

**A Chris Evans Story**

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, strong language, generally a bit awkward

Notes: This is a long chapter, sorry. Any comments welcome, good and bad.

Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

“Let me just bring up your booking here, one moment please.”

The lobby of The Langham was an ocean of grey and blue. The sun was shining brightly outside, the hottest day of the year so far, and it reflected in every surface of the space and accompanying bar. It was sparse on the usual detailing, instead preferring a minimalist approach; the check-in desk consisted of a mere iPad and one lily artfully growing from a tall, geometrical glass vase. Random art hung from all sides. One looked vaguely like a donkey, Sarah was sure. There was also what she thought was an ash tray balanced on a pillar to the left of where she was standing but she didn’t dare to investigate it any closer in case it cost the price of a small car.

It had the same over-perfumed odour as the fragrance section of a Macy’s. The tiled floor look so clean and fresh you could be forgiven for thinking it had only just been laid that very morning. Sarah felt a pang of guilt walking in wearing her scuffed Converse. She always felt so out of place in places like this. It was the kind of place she would run a mile from if she had the choice but Greg had an “in” with the manager and now here she was. 

“So that will be four nights in our Executive Suite with Central Park view. You also have the bar allowance of $150 per night. You just need to take the elevator up to the 32nd floor and it’s the second door on your left. Would you like a hand with your bags, madam?” She motioned for the concierge to come over but held her hand up when she spied the puzzled look on Sarah’s face.

“I’m really sorry but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I didn’t book a suite, just a standard double and I don’t think I pre-paid for any bar allowance. I didn’t even know I could do that to be honest.” Sarah chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it fell on deaf ears. She handed the key card back to the lady, unsure of what else to suggest.

The lady showed practically no emotion at the possible mistake and simply took another look at her records before confirming that she was in fact correct with the initial room choice. “It’s definitely your suite, and...everything is paid for in advance. Could it have been made on your behalf? It looks like it was upgraded yesterday afternoon.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if she was asking her a question or telling her. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t biting her hand off but she hoped she hadn’t made some kind of horrific error her bank wouldn’t forgive her for. She could barely afford the double room she’d booked as it was and she’s sure the college wouldn’t have upgraded her without letting her know in advance. It made zero sense. They couldn’t have that kind of money going spare, putting students up in posh suites. She had no clue what could have happened.

Unless...Chris?

No, it wouldn’t be. He was less than pleased to hear she’d be away as it was. Except...well, who else? Sarah rolled her eyes a little too obviously before accepting the key card back. “That’s OK. I think I know what’s happened. It’s only the one bag. I can manage it.”

The lady nodded her thanks and, smiling politely, pointed her back towards the elevators. Sarah couldn’t move away from her fast enough.

Arriving at her floor, Sarah emerged from the lift expecting someone to come running up to her to confirm that they had in fact made a horrendous mistake. She slipped the key card into her door before pushing her way in to find her new home for the week.

The bedroom was large, uncomfortable so, with the bed positioned just off the middle in the room. Sarah figured the designer for a psychopath. It was big but not as empty as the lobby would have had her believe. In fact, it seemed reassuringly cosy despite the windows, so many windows stretching around the suite. There was a soft blue curved sofa opposite a screen that she’d seen smaller versions of in a cinema. Cushions fucking everywhere and fluffy white slippers she’d probably never take off again.

Everything seemed to be controlled from an iPad set in a stand by the bedroom door; the lights, the curtains, the air freshener, some background music for ambiance if she wanted. The windows tinted darker to block out the sunlight. Even the $1300 coffee machine was remote controlled; she had recognised it from the last edition of Home & Country Jocelyn had mailed to her, the exact one Shanna had been dropping hints about to Chris as a potential Christmas present.

The lounge offered her the clearest view of Central Park and with the light at this time in the afternoon, it was beyond stunning. She snapped a picture and considered texting it to Shanna but thought better of drawing attention to where she was staying. There was no way she could pass this off as a standard room even with her best efforts.

It was almost a shame to waste all of this on just herself. This room deserved romance, she thought.

Around the same time, Chris was on his third beer of the afternoon and lounging on his sofa. He had a new script in one hand, one he wasn’t particularly keen on but offered to read as a favour for a friend. He was so relaxed now that he had to re-read the last ten or so pages simply because it wasn’t landing. The whole room was lit softly by the sun outside. It had gone 4 o’clock when his phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Bernette! How was the journey?” he smiled into the phone as soon as he saw who it was.

“The bathtub is the size of my entire bathroom.” She announced, not giving him room to breathe. She heard him laugh heartily at the end of the line and could picture him looking smug and proud of himself, the dick. “I could have an orgy with the Patriots and still have room left.”

“Hey, don’t go getting any ideas.” he jostled with her. He placed the script down on the tablet to give her his full attention. “So, you like it, huh?”

“It’s...it’s absolutely gorgeous and utterly ridiculous. Seriously, dude, you did not need to do this.” She could sense his growing pride from here. “I’ve never stayed in anything like it. I have, like, a hundred towels.”

“That’s why I did it in the first place. Not for the towels, obviously, but just because you deserved something different. Something nice.” He enthused. “Don’t fight me on this, Bernette.”

“You should see the view. It’s so beautiful. I think I can see the museum.” She was stood on her tiptoes, pressed against the glass, looking at the tiny people milling around on the street so far below her. 

“i know,” he responded. “You’ll be there for a week and best to be comfortable, right?”

She didn’t want to argue with him. She was tired and extremely grateful for the kind gesture. She’d be able to enjoy the place and her time in the City more if she could firmly separate her work from any space in which she could chill out. It wasn’t like she was going to be raving all night nor have much chance to see places at this rate, so more space was probably a good thing. She hadn’t had an unbroken night’s sleep in...she couldn’t even remember when.

“Thank you, Chris.” she spoke softly after a brief pause.

“You’re welcome.”

She put her phone down on the bedside table and set about removing her clothes from her suitcase. Well, “clothes” in the loose sense. What she’d packed was basically gym gear, sweat pants, t-shirts, nothing remotely attractive, and a simple paid of black trousers for the exam day itself. Who was going to see her anyway? Shanna had thrown a jumper in the mix without her realising, dismayed at her insistence that she was not going out to bars to hook up with someone.

“But you’ll be gone the next day! It’s. The. Perfect. Crime!” Shanna had said, exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in dismay.

The majority of space in her suitcase has been taken up with journals and textbooks, ones she hadn’t see since she left medical school and had long since expected she would never see again. Funny what opportunities life threw at you when you least expected it.

She was soon feeling the push and pull of the day and had planned on spending at least a couple of hours studying that evening, so she had a clean-up and threw on the first set of sweatpants that fell out of the closet. She tied her hair up and out of her face, pulled out her notepad and switched her Macbook on. The TV was showing some repeat of a gameshow with the sound on low, more for background company than anything else, and she finally figured out how to get the coffee machine working thanks to a small tome buried inside a drawer underneath the coffee table.

Chris 9.44pm: All OK? Need company yet??

Sarah 9.45pm: I love you guys bt I can’t tell u how amazing it is having space to myself. Been a looooong day

Chris 9.51pm: ah

Chris 9.52pm: OK maybe don’t look outside your door

Momentarily confused, she rubbed at her eyes trying to come up with a pithy response.

Chris 9.56pm: well this is awkward...........

Sarah looked at the door and then back at her phone. Looking up at the door again, she unfolded her feet from underneath her and slowly walked towards it. Pulling it open, she found Chris looking up at her through his lashes, sheepishness drenching his entire body.

“OK, funny story,” he said. “But I thought this might be romantic and then I got carried away and now I’m here and I can absolutely go if you need me to...?” He half-turned his body in the direction of the elevators. “I’m so sorry, honey. I just thought it might be nice and not at all annoying but it’s annoying, isn’t it? It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. Dammit, I really thought I pitched this right.”

“Chris, it’s fine.” Sarah finally found her voice to speak. “Honestly. I’m...I’m just really surprised is all. I was not expecting you to...drive? All this way?”

He nodded. “Yeh, I just bombed it down the ‘95.”

Awkward silence fell between them as they stared at each other unsure of what to do next. Finally picking up on the fact he remained in the hallway, a backpack thrown over his shoulder, she moved out of the way and he entered the suite. Relieved, he placed his bag down and turned to see her close the door behind him. He looked mildly embarrassed and she was all too aware she wasn’t welcoming but it was getting late and her eyes had started to hurt a little as she rubbed at them with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, that’s a long couch.” he announced, taking his black suede jacket off and placing it over the armrest nearest to him. He glanced over and saw papers strewn over the coffee table, her laptop light blaring brightly and looked back to her. She was working hard and he had ruined it.

“I am so sorry. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go home, I promise.” He held his hands up by way of an apology but she shook her head in response.

“Stop apologising.” she chuckled. “Do you want a beer?”

He nodded gratefully and looked so adorable that any annoyance she might have felt finally dissipated. “How about I give you a hug and then leave you to it? I need a shower and I can amuse myself in there for a little while. I don’t know why I just said that.”

Sarah laughed again and a little more relief moved through him. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous when he had been so confident of his decisions in the car all the way here. He’d rehearsed his lines and imagined her big smile when seeing behind the door. He had wanted to stop off and buy flowers but he was so eager to see her, he’d just kept driving. No daydream could live up to the reality of seeing her face up close.

*

He watched her from the bathroom doorway. She was cross-legged on the bed, studying the thickest textbook he’d ever seen with colour-coded notecards laid out across the duvet. He had earlier glimpsed a page over her shoulder but decided against pursuing medicine as a new career when he was faced with photographs of god knows what. He tried to remove the images from his mind by drinking another beer and thinking of Sarah in her scrubs. That tended to work well for him these days.

She looked so cute sat on the bed, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. He wanted to come up with a joke, calm the tension a little that had grown between them in the meantime, but she looked pretty hot. More hot than usual and it was distracting. Like a sexy Librarian and for the second time this month he discovered something else he was into.

One pen was stuck behind her ear but she’d forgotten she’d put it there and was now using a different one. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in a messy bun that she hadn’t touched since she’d arrived, more and more strands falling loosely around her as the evening wore on, framing her perfect, round face. She seemed to engrossed in what she was doing.

He was still a little wet from his shower and pondered whether she would notice if he just whipped his towel off and offered himself to her. There really wasn’t anything he wanted more at this moment in time than to have her touch him, to have her run hands gently over his chest, to tease him a little bit. There’d be some time, he reasoned, and right not it was just was exhilarating to think of her being here alongside him knowing it would be just the two of them for a little while.

He perched on the end of the bed in front of her. She barely moved, barely seemed to notice him. He took one of her blank notecards and carefully placed it on the open page so as not to lose her place. She leaned back slightly, allowing him to gather up the papers and place them in a pile on the floor besides the bed before turning back to lean in towards her, one arm stretching out across her legs. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. She wanted peace and quiet and he decided to rock up just because he could. He sighed to himself. He was such a dick sometimes.

“Do you mind me being here?” he asked her, fully resigning himself to leaving if she now asked him to as hard as that might be. He’d got so caught up in his idea of surprising her that he hadn’t fully registered just how important these exams were or how well she wanted to do. Passing them wasn’t an option for Sarah; she wanted to knock it out of the park. She wanted to do better for herself and the more he got to know her like this, the more it became his favourite thing about her. And he related. He related perfectly. He knew exactly what that was like. “Cos I can go if you need me to.”

“Chris, I’ve said it’s fine. It’s nice that you’re here. I would just hate you feeling bored if all I’m doing is studying all the time.” She nervously twirled the pen between her fingers while taking in how amazing he looked following a shower, a little steam rising off his skin.

“I won’t get bored.” he assured her. “It’ll be nice hanging out with you. Just the two of us.”

He plucked the pen from behind her ears and she rolled her eyes realising the mistake she’d made. He tucked strands of hair back and leaned in placing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. He smelled like her coconut shampoo and she just now understood how truly spontaneous his trip had been.

“Listen, there’s another reason why I’m here. There’s something I need to talk to you about and I couldn’t wait until you got home.” he stroked her arm gently, looking down into her lap. “It’s been going around in my head and I’m not entirely sure what to say about it to be honest, but...it looks like Jenny’s done an interview with a magazine. A full thing with a photoshoot and stuff and it looks like I might be involved.” He closed his eyes for a second before correcting himself. “Not might actually, it’s pretty much definite that I’m in there for a large portion of it.”

“OK.” Sarah nodded. He for sure seemed weary of the whole thing and she felt for him.

“I just, I know she can be pretty unfiltered at the best of times, so-”

“-but she won’t have said anything negative, right?”

“No, no, not negative. I’m not worried about that exactly. It’s just that...” He was struggling to find the words. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, about me and her. I expect she’ll have this hyper-romanticised view of things and I guess I didn’t want you thinking it was some great love affair which is what I think she’ll spin it as.” He couldn’t quite meet her eye while he was talking. “I’m not proud of myself or of what I said or did at the time but I was low and she was there and it was...easy, I guess.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words. As much as he wanted Sarah to understand, he didn’t want Sarah to think he was dismissive of his relationships in this way. “Matt’s figuring out some damage control with them. Hopefully, it’ll go away as quickly as it comes.”

“You think he’ll be able to clear it up?”

Chris nodded. Matt was a formidable guy and he was assured things would look and read much better by the time it went to print. He placed his hand on her thigh and it was only now she registered just how close he was to surrounding her.  “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve all too often but when I do, they know about it. I want to make them aware of exactly how I feel about them and I didn’t do that with her.” He dipped his head to catch her eye line. “So, when I do something for someone, it means something, y’know?”

“Yeh, of course. You’re a good guy, Chris. Everyone knows that.” She took his hand and lightly interlocked their fingers together.

“I guess I just didn’t want you worrying about her ‘cos there’s absolutely nothing there for me. Never had been.”

“You don’t need to explain this to me, I’m not going to hold anything against you.” she stroked his chin with her thumb and felt him relax into her hand. He glanced down at the mess he’d made on the floor and started picking a few things back up.

“How much left do you have to do tonight?” he whispered as his lips closed upon hers for a fleeting moment.

“I could do with finishing some notes but...half an hour, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” he kissed her again and got up from the bed, lifting her books back on top. “Just come get me when you’re done, yeh?”

*

Finishing up in the bathroom, Sarah switched off the light and moved towards the bed. She kneeled alongside Chris who was lying flat out, naked except for the duvet bunched across legs, reading what she assumed was the hotel magazine only to find upon closer inspection that it was in fact one of her medical journals. She giggled as she grabbed the moisturiser from the bedside table and began rubbing a small amount up and down her arms, regarding him as his nose creased up in apparent disgust at something he’d just read. 

“Did you know the body has ten times more microorganisms living in it than actual human cells?! That’s bacteria, Sarah. Living, gross bacteria. All over us.” he looked at her, shock and horror crossing his fine, perfect features. She wasn’t sure whether to pat him on the head or laugh.

“It’s mostly good bacteria, though. Only, like, 1% of it is bad for us.”

“And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?!”

She creased up laughing and flopped on to her side next to him. “It’s all information that’s out there for the world to see. Remind me not to tell you about eyelashes.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever removed from somebody’s ass?” he asked.

“What? Why is that always a question people want an answer to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird. Humans are weird.” he muttered, turning back to the pages in front of him. She was glad he had chosen one without pictures. That was the last thing she wanted to see before falling asleep.

“So, have you learned something new?” she asked, curling her legs under the duvet.

“I have. I think you should test me and if I get a question wrong, you can do whatever you like to me. Deal?” he asked, smirking. She shyly smiled and he tossed the book onto the floor. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She repeated. She watched as his eyes slowly travelled down her body. It was unreasonable how much he managed to disarm her with only a look.

His hand reached out to gently caress the side of her thigh, nudging the duvet slightly down before moving back up to her hip, a ticklish area he’d picked up on the last time they were together. He leaned in and kiss her on the side of her jaw, so feather-like and soft she barely felt it if not for his warm breath she could feel on her neck.

“You smell nice.” he whispered, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes. “We could have showered together, y’know? Save the planet?”

As much as she was getting used to the little things he would do when they were alone, rubbing her arm, tucking hair behind her ears, saying nice things about how pretty she looked, having him here in such close proximity with no else around to distract them or force them into the light...it was getting risky. Not that Chris ever pushed her, mind. He’d been nothing but understanding and respectful and she was grateful for that but also growing concerned he was perhaps a little...bored. Why else would he drive over state lines to see her. None of this was normal and the more time went by, the more she became fretful of what they were doing.

“What are you thinking about?” he kissed her shoulder. “Is it dirty? If it’s dirty, I wanna know about it.”

Sarah smiled and placed her hand on the side of his face, running her fingers gently over his beard. He’d thoroughly given up shaving but she liked how soft it still felt under her finger tips and judging by the breath he released as he closed his eyes, so did he, relaxing into her hand. He kissed her again. She was hoping he’d take charge so she could put off talking to him a little longer but instead, he refrained from pushing them any further and leaned back a little, looking into her eyes. “Talk to me.”

She could feel his hand move slowly and deliberately up her arm until he reached the back of her neck, his fingers playing with the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her messy bun. There was no getting away from this.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? It’s OK for you to tell me what you want.” She could feel his breath on her skin, his voice low and rough. His fingers moved again and she felt them touch her lips, one of them running back and forth over her lower lip until she parted them ever so slightly and his finger softly dipped inside her mouth. He seemed to like that and kissed her again, a little harder this time.

“Just keep kissing me.” she whispered, relieved that se finally got some words out.

He smiled at her, satisfied with her response, and kissed her again. Slow, wet, a kind of kiss that was full of promise of what he wanted to do and it made her whole body thrum with anticipation.

One hand now resting on the bed beside her and the other moved from her cheek back down to her thigh. She was frozen to the spot, this man focussed on her so intently, prepared to give her whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, expressing so much in a kiss that she didn’t register when her hand began moving slowly, grazing a finger ever so slightly over the waistline of her shorts.

“...and what else?”

A little more, he moved his hand until his fingers dipped inside her underwear until he felt her skin, hot to the touch. She broke the kiss momentarily to let out a breath, one hand resting on the back of his neck for leverage as he continued tenderly moving his fingers until he got to where he wanted to be. Feeling her wet for him seemed to spark something inside and she felt him push her carefully until she was lying back on the bed, head just off the pillow, and he leaned over her. He adjusted his hand ever so slightly until she could feel his fingers pressing at her entrance before moving in small circular motions, riling her up.

“Look at me, honey.” he whispered, his voice rough and turned on as he wanted her grabbing at the covers as he stroked her. She tried to but she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing again, zoned out with only his smooth and confident movements to focus on. It was almost getting too much with him hitting her at just the right spot for her to lose herself completely when, just like that, he pulled his hand away and grabbed both sides of her underwear to pull them down and off her legs. The next thing she remembered was the feel of him skilfully grabbing her from underneath her thighs, his tongue swiftly taking over.

It didn’t take long for her to feel like was she coming undone and him feeling proud of himself. She couldn’t fight it and with one arm draped across her lower tummy, he certainly had not intention of letting her get away. Any feelings of awkwardness were soon a thing of the past as she let the gentle, unbridled bliss he was giving her wash over her completely. She honestly couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like this before, she was so out of it. He was covering her completely, her wetness mixing with his own, his beard rubbing against her smooth skin adding another level of pleasure. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up. His tongue hit her clit again and again causing her to give him a short, sharp pull. His groan was so filthy and deep from within him, she felt it reverberate through her, raising goose bumps up and down her skin.

He wanted her on the edge as much as he felt he was. He wanted her to want him, to tell him exactly what she wanted him to do. He wanted her on fire. He wanted to hear her beg.

Just as she was on the edge for a second time, he stopped and blew softly across her wisps of hair. He chuckled when he heard what sounded like a quiet yet frustrated groan leave her lips, followed by a chuckle, something innocent and familiar. Her hands loosened from his hair as they stared into each other’s eyes, their mutual breathlessness the only sound they could hear.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered, the breath from his words scorching her skin. He moved his tongue just a little lower, not breaking eye contact, and she felt him dip ever so slightly inside of her, his arm wrapped around her thigh and the pad of his thumb taking care of the rest. He did this a second time, then a third, and when he returned to pressing his tongue over her clit, drawing her into his mouth, she was soon grabbing at him in any way she could in a futile attempt to take the edge off the orgasm that was coming at her like a freight train.

She was close. He knew she was so close now and he held his arms tightly around her to keep her close to him. One more swipe of his tongue right....there...and she was gone.

When her breathing even out, she slowly opened her eyes to see him move up and over her, placing soft, wet kisses on her hip, her tummy, her neck, and finally on her lips. He seemed cautious to kiss her, unsure of whether she wanted him to but she grabbed his face with both hands to pull him back down to her, kissing him as passionately as she could manage with what felt like no energy. She could taste herself and it was so much more erotic than she could ever have imagined. 

She felt him smile into the kiss as he carefully settled his body on top of hers, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. He moved the hair that was sticking to her forehead and stroked her face with one finger, gently mapping her eye and her nose and her cheek. She couldn’t reconcile this being the same man who had minutes earlier been so dominant. He had so clearly wanted to say something at that point if only his hardness hadn’t been so distracting. He mover one arm under her neck, using the other hand to move hair from where it had clung to the side of her face. Holding her as close to him as possible and feeling blissful when he felt her legs wrap around his own, he entered her and held still, enjoying the moment.

“We should’ve done this years ago.” he spoke and for a brief moment, without realising, she was pulled from their intimacy, a pang of guilt taking its place.

He was too busy pushing into her, needing whatever she had left to give him. He grabbed at the back of her neck to keep her in place, his face buried into her hair. She felt her skin heat up all over from his breath as he panted at her side. It was more frantic than he’d wanted it to be as he groaned and moaned and pushed his whole weight into her with force. It was really all she could do to just hang on to him as he fucked her deeper, as he surged towards his own orgasm, then letting go when she felt him shudder insider her minutes later. He sounded helpless and as much as he tried to hold himself up from collapsing on her, he soon gave up trying and laid his head on her shoulder.

His warm breath continued covering her skin as she ran her hand gently over the back of his head. She felt him chuckle a vibration into the top of her arm before a wet kiss landed just underneath her ear, a place he had deigned his own after he realised how sensitive she was on that particular spot.

Finally rolling off her to lie on his back, he kept his arm stretched across her lower tummy and rubbed his fingers across the apex of her thigh. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in this position but at some point he leaned over her to turn the bedside light off plunging the room into complete darkness and they continued to lie there in silence not really sure if the other was asleep or not.

He eventually turned onto his side to face her, keeping a firm grip on her waist. He was across her pillow and she could practically feel the flutter of his eyelashes as he watched her in the dark, a soft outline gradually appearing as his eyes adjusted to the blackness of the room, making out her features. she felt his hand move up and down her ribcage and over the inside of her elbow, another sensitive spot that made her shudder and him chuckle again when he realised she was in fact still awake.

She turned onto her side to face him and his hand moved to her lower back where it finally rested over her hip. She pushed her leg in between his and he seemed content and comfortable in how they were existing in this space, both aware they didn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon. He was running his fingers up and down her spine in slow, circular motions and it felt wonderful. Too wonderful. And there was that guilt again.

“What will you do tomorrow?” she asked.

He took a deep breath in contemplation at her unexpected question. “Gym looks pretty good. I have a book and a couple of scripts, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” she murmured but he knew she was dwelling on something.

“I wanna be here for you if you need anything and if you don’t, you won’t even know I’m around. I promise.”

“I know that, too.”

She could sense him smile at her even in their dark. “Good.” he said. “It feels nice knowing I’ve made a good decision for a change.”

*

[livingdeadinsideyourhead]

Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

[strayen-fx]

Secrets, Stars, and Protein Bars

Han Jisung x Reader

You hated each other. Or at least, you told yourself that you hated each other. But everything changes when one night, you got stuck outside campus grounds with your one and only sworn enemy, leaving the two of you under the stars while sharing a secret and a protein bar.

Genre: Fluff, Slight angst, Fantasy

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: mild violence

A/N: I actually enjoyed writing this… #selfpromotion hahaha. Anyways this is my first decent au in three months because college #sucks. Enjoy~~~ (gif not mine)

“What are you doing?”

Jisung walked up to you, a scowl evident on his face. The fact that he had to spend the whole midnight in the woods was already beyond disdainful for him – did he really have to be stuck in the wilderness with his sworn enemy? You could do basically anything to him – throw a snake at him, push him off the cliff, lead him to the pits of hell – and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight you off. Not that he can’t, if he’d want to. But he knew he won’t. Jisung sighed internally. Why did it have to be you?

He was getting antsier and antsier as time went by. He was hungry, for one, and it didn’t help that it was practically freezing out. Why am I still feeling cold? he wondered. His gray sweatshirt didn’t offer much comfort, and he was suddenly envious of your hand-me-down jacket that was a few sizes too large for you.

Plus, he’s hungry.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to turn around and look at him. “I am basking under the moonlight, Han Jisung. What else do you think am I doing?”

You were feeling more and more frustrated. The castle lights were bright and enchanting from where you stood, and suddenly the idea of a late-night study group didn’t sound intolerable at all. The library was less than half a mile away – across the stupid moat that was busking with hungry water ghouls, across the stupidly ginormous lawn that stretched from the ramparts all the way to the ornate courtyard of your school. Some overly dramatic chancellor, you thought. Why did they have to enchant the school borders? They afraid of some stray dogs, or sum’n?

“I do appreciate the fact that you are enjoying your night with me,” Jisung replied, his voice equally dripping with sarcasm. “But, if you don’t mind, can you please make use of your precious brain and think of a way for us to get back in?”

You whipped your head towards Jisung’s direction, now failing to maintain your nonchalant demeanor. You were trying to think of a way to get back in – but having Jisung in close proximity wasn’t helping with your brain cells. At all. Your mind was stuck on RED ALERT, with the bright lights blaring on max, because Han freaking Jisung has entered your one-meter radius. The brunet, pale-skinned, sword-wielding prick who knew nothing but to torment your life on a daily basis. (You envy his sword. You’ve been trying to make a sword materialize by command, but you just couldn’t perfect it.)

Why the two of you were in bad terms, you don’t actually know for sure. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was a pureblooded warlock of royal descent, and you were a lowly sorceress with muddied bloodline. Perhaps it didn’t help that he was a very powerful magician who could command a spell by pure instinct, and you were a lowly peasant who was barely getting by with your diligence to learn in class. Perhaps you were annoyed by how charismatic he was and how he could easily get people to kneel by his side. Or perhaps you were most deeply annoyed by the flirty remarks he was sending to your direction whenever he gets the chance.

Or perhaps it was the fact that you actually liked him, and you knew that never in a billion years would the Hans allow a half-blood taint, let alone touch, their royal bloodline.

In a faux-cheerful voice, you asked, “May you please remind me – who was the one who scampered off from guard duties because he thought he saw a werewolf? Who led us deep into the forest, made us lose our way, made us fail to catch the curfew and get us trapped outside the castle for the whole night?” You squinted your eyes at him. “Was it even a real werewolf that you saw?”

“Not like I tied a leash for you to follow me around, baby,” he remarked, completely ignoring your question. “I don’t take it against you, though – it is perfectly normal to get attracted to me and tag along wherever I go.” He winked, wearing his signature lopsided grin. “Just tell me everything, baby. You’re the happiest when you’re with me, right?”

You opened your mouth to utter a nasty response, but you decided against it. You actually followed him off campus because, well, you have never seen a werewolf face to face before. You were curious as to how they actually look like. You were a huge fan of dogs, and a part of you believed that werewolves were just a bigger, undomesticated breed of the house pets you endearingly snuggle with back home. Explaining all these to Jisung was not worth the energy, though, and would probably sound idiotic on your part. You brought your eyes back to the tower which homed your comfortable bed.

God, even the endless chitchat of your roommate would be heavenly as compared to this.

“Why do you always have to act like a menopausal aunt?” Jisung asked.

He didn’t mean for the two of you to start off with the wrong shoe back in your freshman year. But now that he knew how much your hatred has grown for him, he had no idea how to fix it all. He did what seemed to be the most fitting action he could: reciprocate your hatred. And, that was the tale of how the two of you have become sworn enemies. He hated it, though, if he had to be honest. He would have chosen a simple, non-dramatic relationship with his seatmate in his Potions class.

“Maybe because I’m tired of seeing your panda eyes all day. Seriously, do you even get sleep? You look like shit,” you told him with a blank face.

“You don’t look grand, either.”

“Of course, that’s ‘cause I’m stuck with you. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jisung held his chest, feigning hurt. “Don’t be like that, baby. Our future children won’t be happy to hear that coming from you.”

You began saying something, but Jisung has already moved on to whispering another spell. It merely bounced off the invisible barrier. He tried kicking, pushing, slashing, punching – all of which was to no avail. (He looked cool with his sword, though. You had to give him that.) The both of you knew there was no way you could get around the castle defenses, at least not with your current levels as magicians. The only way was to have someone from the inside create a small passageway for the two of you to sneak in. But no matter how hard you tried racking your brain, you couldn’t think of a single plausible idea that could make way for that situation. And so you just stood there idly, watching Jisung, your hands in your jacket pockets as you fiddled with your last pack of protein bar. You weren’t starving just yet; you decided to save it for later in case you find yourself starving in the middle of the night. Was there a spell in your advanced classes that could enchant someone to sleepwalk and possibly lift the barrier for you?

Jisung finally gave up, deciding to save his energy for the long night ahead of him. He sat beside an acacia tree, sighing deeply. You were wary of the silver sword he had in his hand, but deep down you knew the young man wasn’t going to use it against you. At least not for the time being. Your little skirmishes were limited to harsh words that were meant to annoy the other party, and it was nothing more than that. You didn’t know why, but you knew you actually trusted Jisung. That didn’t mean you could handle close contact, though. You chose to sit on a tree several feet away from where he was.

Just as you were beginning to accept your predicament (you were actually trying to remember everything from your girl scout days), your ears picked up the sound of twigs snapping from a close distance. A total silence followed, and then the bushes shook violently it was practically busted in half.

A gray werewolf – a beta, you reckoned – stood with all its might and grace. Its eyes glowed gold in the moonlight, its fangs bared and dripping with saliva. It released a guttural growl that made your hair stand on end.

Blood was pumping in your ears, and while you do see the resemblance of the creature with a dog, you knew by the way it flexed its muscles that it was way, way more dangerous than your average household pup.

“I-It was real,” you whispered stupidly.

“Surprise, surprise,” Jisung groaned. “I told you I wasn’t making things up.”

“I didn’t say you made it up. I was just saying you don’t have a 20/20 vision.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The werewolf growled once more, exasperated by your little banter. It stepped closer, painfully slow, calculating its preys’ every movement. It had its eyes trained to Jisung and his silver blade, but that didn’t offer you any sort of consolation. Once it’s done with Jisung, it’s gonna take you.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

The creature leapt, aiming for your chest. You stood there, dumbfounded, and you thought: so this is how I am going to die.

You thought: I haven’t beaten Jisung in Dark Arts yet.

What happened next took you by surprise. Jisung shoved you out of harm’s way, and his sword met the giant hound’s skin. The creature seethed in pain and scrambled backwards as blood trickled from its front limb. You sat there on the ground with your heart pounding on your throat while Jisung stood in front of you, shielding you as he took on a defensive stance.

Jisung didn’t wait for the werewolf to attack again. With his sword drawn close to his body, he charged and jabbed at the enemy. Despite its size, however, the werewolf’s speed was something of its own league. It easily parried Jisung’s attack, making the latter’s sword spin and vanish into the thickets. Jisung hadn’t expected this. You could practically see him calculating his next move, but the creature was faster. He jumped and pounded against Jisung’s back, causing the lad to fall on his knees in pain.

You had to do something. You knew you had to do something, but panic was swirling your thoughts. You knew a handful spells that could either disable the werewolf’s movement or cause it heavy injury, but you were worried that it could crush Jisung underneath it. Even worse, your aim could be off and you could harm Jisung instead. Heck, you weren’t even sure if your spells work for special creatures. You were never confident with your wizarding skills – what if it bounces back and hit Jisung?

Jisung and the werewolf continued wrestling against each other. They were rolling on the grass, fighting each other off, and you can see blood tricking from Jisung’s arm. Your desperation to save him was overpowering your fear. Just as you were about to steeple your hands and whisper an incantation, all movements stopped.

Jisung laid underneath the wolf. He wasn’t moving. A pool of red was beginning to form at his sweatshirt…

…blood.

A surge of newfound energy flowed into you. Fear, sadness, pain – everything combined into a ball of anguish that materialized into balls of flame at your fingertips. It smelled like sulfur and vaguely of cayenne. The scent gradually became overpowering, and just as you were about to throw a forbidden curse, a voice broke your stupor.

“Your aura smells nasty. Calm thyself, L/N.”

Just like that, your anger went down to drain. You fell on your knees, chest heaving, cheeks cold and wet.

Were you crying?

“I-is it dead?” you choked out. You wiped your cheeks harshly as you forced your legs to stand up. You managed to heave yourself to where Jisung was just as he was pushing the dead creature off of his body. He sat up, and suddenly you felt like your soul has again left your body.

Jisung’s plump cheeks were now tinged with color, unlike his usual paper-white complexion. The bags under his eyes seemed to have diminished. His lips looked fuller and redder…

…of course, because blood was dribbling down from it.

Jisung grinned, flashing his bloody fangs.

“I should probably clean up,” Jisung said casually, as if werewolf blood wasn’t dribbling down his chin. He pushed his deceased enemy farther away from him. Mere seconds later, it disappeared into a small pile of ashes.

Jisung tugged his shirt to wipe the traces of blood on his lips. He whispered a simple spell upon himself, and just like that, his clothes and skin were back to how they used to be – as if the whole assault was just a manic dream. Even the wounds on his arm has completely vanished. Jisung fell back down on his back, sighing deeply. “I’m still tired. A soft bed sounds about perfect.”

You blinked once. Twice.

Your heart has already gone back to a steady pace. It was still beating loudly, though, like a colossal drum stuck on your chest. Strangely enough, you were able to react to the revelation pretty calmly. Your knees felt like jelly, though, as you were still a bit shaken by the werewolf encounter. Reluctantly, you sat a small distance beside Jisung as you continued eyeing him carefully.

He’s a vampire, you thought to yourself. Your sworn enemy is a vampire. Finally – after all those years of trying to get an information that could be valuable for your clan, you finally found an incriminating secret that is so huge, it could probably boost your clan’s status beyond imagination. The Hans’ heir is a vampire, and you were the one who discovered it. You could be the one to lay this information in front of everyone. You could be rewarded for uncovering the most powerful clan’s unforgivable sin. No one would make fun of you anymore, especially not Jisung. You were supposed to be delighted. You were supposed to be celebrating.

But somehow, you felt different. Your chest was bursting with an explosion of emotions, and triumph wasn’t one of them.

You fell on your back, just a couple feet away from your vampire classmate. If you reached out your arm, you could probably hold his hand.

“You didn’t have to save me, you know,” you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“I could tell the chancellor and the professors. And everyone. I could rat you out.”

Jisung actually laughed at that. “I know.”

“Is that the reason why you were always hotheaded these past days? Because you weren’t getting enough blood?”

Jisung laughed again, and it was the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. “Wow, I didn’t know you were paying that much attention.”

The night was just beginning; a part of you was worried that something – another magical creature, perhaps – was going to jump out of the shadows to feed on you. First a werewolf, then a vampire; could your night get any worse? You knew you should be up and alert for whatever may come to attack you, considering that you were out in the open and totally defenseless – considering that a vampire is literally lying next to you – but you thought, to hell with it, and you let yourself get enveloped by the comfortable silence.

The sky was dotted with innumerable stars, and it was the most number of constellations you have seen in your entire lifetime. You allowed yourself to take in the sight before your eyes.

You felt Jisung inch close. He moved until your shoulders were already touching. You rolled to your side, watching Jisung’s profile. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were even fuller than you last remember. His skin glowed, you thought, or was that a trick of the moonlight?

You didn’t have time to think this through, though, as he moved his face and his eyes met yours. His eyes looked more black than brown, you noticed. They had a soft and warm look in them, and they looked different than when the two of you were bickering and annoying the hell out of each other. They shone like stars – no, they shone as if they held an entire galaxy. Maybe there lied the reason why you have hated him all these years: because you didn’t want the way his eyes made you feel. You felt like putty under his gaze, and you didn’t want to admit it.

Jisung grinned from ear to ear as if he could see the cogs working on your brain. (Could vampires do that? Read minds?)

“If you had been hungry this whole time, you could’ve just told me,” you whispered. “I still have a whole protein bar in my pocket.”

“Flavor?”

“Chocolate.”

“I bet that would be delicious,” Jisung whispered back. You watched as he licked his lips, his eyes darting from your eyes to your mouth.

“You are a vampire, Han Jisung,” you whispered, letting your face inch forward. You thought of everything that had passed over the boy’s lips – blood and bile and curses.

But Jisung’s mouth was soft now, and he tasted like apples.

[ladylynse]

Forewarning: All Dipper knew was that there was something buried in some special thermos behind the shack; all Danny knew was that he had no idea how he’d gotten here. Inspired by this artwork by @hashtag-art​ and begun for @bibliophilea​

Happy New Year, everyone!

Chapter 2 [FF | AO3]

-|-

Danny knew magic when he felt it.

Well.

He could recognize it, anyway. Usually. Unless the magic came with a memory wipe. Between Desiree, Dora’s amulet, Circus Gothica, the Reality Gauntlet, and everything else, he was getting pretty good at picking out it or its effects.

That’s why he knew it was magic that held him in this stupid circle.

It was also why he wasn’t wholly sure he could just burn through a part of the chalk drawing with an ectoblast without bad consequences.

And just about when he was ready to risk those consequences (because he did not want to know what an attempted exorcism would do to him), he found himself with the unfortunately familiar weight of a clockwork medallion around his neck.

Clockwork floated on the edge of the circle, not far from the two kids who had released Danny and then trapped him here. Clearly, whatever bound Danny wasn’t strong enough to bind him. Not that Danny really expected it would be, with Clockwork being who he was and the kids possibly targeting Danny after seeing him earlier. But if Clockwork was here now—

“You are where you need to be,” Clockwork said as Danny opened his mouth.

Danny frowned. “Yeah? Why can’t I call Jazz’s cell? Where am I? When am I?”

Danny didn’t really expect Clockwork to give him a straight answer—it was Clockwork, after all—but the ghost shifted to that of a child and replied, “Welcome to 2012.”

Ice filled his chest. 2012? 2012? He’d been stuck in a thermos for five years? No wonder his call to Jazz hadn’t gone through! She’d be in college now, maybe through college by now, or trying to get a masters degree, or a PhD, or—

Or she might not be.

No. He wasn’t going to jump to that conclusion, wasn’t going to assume this was like last time, not when this was all he had to go on, not even when Clockwork was the reason he was here. Clockwork, who wasn’t supposed to interfere. Clockwork, who refused to interfere more often than not. Clockwork, who saw it all from above and had very clearly forgotten what it was like to be part of the parade, if he’d ever even known that.

“Are you serious?” Anger was safer than panic, and he had good reason to be angry. Clockwork had never talked to him about this, whatever this was. Not like the last time he’d sent Danny to the future. “My family probably thinks I’m dead!”

“Technically speaking, you are.”

Danny hissed through his teeth. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to rip me out of my life and shove me in a thermos and stick me somewhere on the other side of the country. You can’t just put me wherever you think I need to be! I just lost five years of my life thanks to you!”

“You’ve been held in stasis for over thirty,” Clockwork said mildly as his form changed again. “You’ll be returned to your own time before your friends and family realize you’ve taken a detour.”

A detour? That’s what he was calling this?

“This isn’t a detour! Just because you can put me back where I came from, doesn’t mean I haven’t still lost that time. And what do you mean, thirty years?”

Clockwork’s expression didn’t change even as his face shifted, growing younger again. He didn’t deign to argue with Danny, instead saying, “The tapestry of time is scarred here. Further interference is…discouraged.”

Danny crossed his arms. “What the heck do you call this, then?”

“A correction.”

“Why do I have to be the one to fix it? It’s not like the Observants don’t know to watch me. If they think I’m meddling in the timestream again—” Danny broke off. “Wait, what do you mean further interference? What did you do here before?”

That earned him the barest shadow of exasperation crossing Clockwork’s face. “The interference was not mine.”

“Until now.”

That might be a slight thinning of the lips. It was probably as much as he was going to get from Clockwork, anyway. “Seeking to repair what others have damaged before reality becomes unstable is hardly unwarranted interference.”

“So a stitch in time saves nine? Wow, I did not realize that expression could be applied literally with time travel. But that still doesn’t explain why me.” Clockwork said nothing, and a horrible thought occurred to Danny. “Except. Wait. You said thirty years. I…. You’re trying to interfere without the Observants knowing, aren’t you?” He pulled a face. “Why thirty years?”

“That was the point of least interference, when your placement would have the smallest effect.”

“So how come I don’t remember anything?” He tried not to let it show how much that bothered him, but it did. He wasn’t sure what he’d been doing before this. Hanging out with Sam and Tuck? Fighting? School? Homework? Nothing seemed clearer than the rest.

He couldn’t remember if he’d been in the Ghost Zone, but he definitely didn’t remember seeing Clockwork.

Still, he hadn’t come out of the thermos wearing one of Clockwork’s medallions, so it’s not like Clockwork just ambushed him, sucked him into a thermos, and dropped him here. And…it must still have been Clockwork, right? Because point of least interference was still interference, and thirty years was definitely time travel when it was thirty years in the past. Or twenty-five and— Whatever. This had to be Clockwork. That had to be why he was here now. Not whoever else was messing around with time.

“You’ve seen the dangers of an uncontained future,” Clockwork said, and it took Danny a second to realize he was ignoring Danny’s question instead of answering it. “Similar destruction is almost certain here. If they stay on this road, they will find themselves on a path from which they cannot turn away. You must warn them.”

“How is that my job?” Danny wanted to ask why Clockwork didn’t just warn them himself, but of course that would be interfering. As if this weren’t already blatant interference. “Why can’t someone else do it? Anyone else? I don’t even know these guys.”

“Perhaps not yet,” said Clockwork as his form shifted again, “but you know the dangers they face. They wish to pierce the fabric between dimensions, between realities, and will release more than they realize if they succeed.”

Danny scrunched up his face. Too bad he couldn’t just straight up tell these guys not to mess with interdimensional portals, but Clockwork wouldn’t be happy with him spelling out the future like that. Even if he did, Mabel and Dipper wouldn’t believe him when he had no other details than that. They’d just think he’d spied on them. Telling them would probably make them more likely to keep doing everything they were doing. “Let me guess: containment of whatever they let out isn’t gonna be simple?”

Clockwork didn’t answer, but Danny supposed he didn’t really need an answer. Clockwork wouldn’t have said anything about it if it was easy. And Danny wouldn’t have been dragged out here to interfere if these people weren’t playing with fire. Or rather, interdimensional portals.

“There’s, um, a path where they win, right, when they don’t listen to me and do this anyway? Because that’s going to happen. Nothing I say is going to make these two trust me.”

“You must warn them,” Clockwork repeated.

Danny didn’t know if that was a yes, but it hadn’t been a no, so he counted it as a win. This was Clockwork, after all. Danny knew there were lines, and he knew he’d crossed those lines, but he wasn’t entirely sure where those lines were—and which ones Clockwork was happy to ignore. More than the Observants were happy with, sure, but beyond that….

“Can I go home after this?”

No immediate answer. Bad sign. Very bad. There shouldn’t be any reason Clockwork wouldn’t just say yes if all he had to do was give these guys a warning they probably wouldn’t listen to. If nothing else, Clockwork would know it would be a way to make Danny immediately play nice and do what he was told. So for him to say nothing….

That meant Danny was supposed to do something else, something Clockwork figured he’d do if left to his own devices. Something Clockwork didn’t think was worth telling Danny, or maybe that he didn’t think Danny would actually do if he were told about it, or—

“I do get to go home after all this, right? There’s not some other detour you expect me to make first? I just need to warn them not to do whatever they’re thinking about doing, and then it’s over, and we’re done, and I can go back to Amity Park the same day I left it?” Because that was part of the problem. He couldn’t just go home from here because it wouldn’t be the home he knew. And even if next to nothing had changed (unlikely; his parents were inventors, after all), he couldn’t risk being caught (especially if his parents had five years worth of ghost tech he’d never seen before). That would require too much explaining.

Unless they already knew everything, in which case it would take less.

Or next to no time at all, if they didn’t take it well and he had to—

But he didn’t want to think about that possibility. He much preferred thinking that Jazz was right, that they would accept him, even if it took a little while for them to get used to the idea or even if they asked him a bunch of rather intrusive questions. And, right now, he much preferred not knowing, just in case the little voice in the back of his mind was right and ignorance was bliss. And—

“Why…why am I really here, Clockwork?” His voice came out as a whisper, drained of anger and instead tinged with desperation. What was he missing? Surely Clockwork wasn’t just being cagey because he didn’t know. Or maybe…maybe he didn’t want Danny to get involved in whatever the kids were doing? Or maybe he did, and just couldn’t risk saying it without the Observants noticing what he was doing?

“Warn them about this path,” Clockwork said gently, “and your own will become clearer.”

Danny hated that answer. It told him nothing. It guaranteed nothing. It was too vague when things mattered this much.

But he also had a better idea of when he could push Clockwork, when begging or wheedling for favours would work, and this wasn’t one of those times.

Danny sighed, settling down in the middle of the circle and holding his head in his hands.

Clockwork was probably being as helpful as he could, even if there was a chance a part of him was also being lowkey as spiteful as he could after Danny’s last time travelling fiasco. Danny kind of owed him for that. There had probably been some pushback from the Observants, and Clockwork must have borne the brunt of that because Danny had never faced any consequences once the timeline was back on track. And this…. It should be simple enough. There were worse ways to repay a favour.

But still.

A little warning would’ve been nice.

-|-

Dipper didn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t going to trust the phantom—if it even was a phantom, since for all he knew, it was just a different sort of ghost trying to trick them into thinking it was a phantom by calling itself one. At least, it wasn’t living up to the whole ‘phantoms cause pain to those who summon them’ bit in the journal. Not that he was complaining. It would just be nice to know what he was dealing with for once.

Maybe the pain part didn’t come until the phantom escaped the summoning circle?

“What….” Mabel hesitated and looked at him, but he didn’t know if asking questions would make things worse. She plowed on when he didn’t stop her, asking, “What are you talking about?”

“If you stay on this road,” Phantom repeated, “you’ll find yourself on a path you can’t turn away from. That’s it. That’s the message. I’m apparently a messenger now. Don’t shoot me.”

“Who are you supposed to be a messenger for?” Dipper asked. The strain of keeping Phantom contained was worth it to get some answers. The journal…. He couldn’t figure out why Phantom’s section in the journal had been coded differently, and he would rather find out as much as he could.

“That’s…not really important.”

Assuming Phantom would be helpful. Dipper should’ve known better than to hope he’d be forthcoming about everything. “How is that not important?” he demanded. The author of the journals—

“You won’t know who it is anyway. He’s, uh, not supposed to interfere as often as he does.”

Interfere? What was that supposed to mean? Interfere with what?

“Try us,” Mabel said, crossing her arms. “We’ve had an interesting summer so far.”

Understatement. And maybe a bit more information than Dipper would’ve liked to give away, even if it was completely vague.

“Fine.” Phantom looked defiant now. “His name is Clockwork. Happy now?”

No. He’d never heard of Clockwork. Dipper had no idea who he was supposed to be. Or, more accurately, what.

“Why’s he sending us messages? And through you?”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just really unlucky. And maybe because he thinks you’ll listen? Clockwork’s not the most helpful guy out there. I’m surprised he interfered at all. I’m surprised I got dragged into this.” He said this last part with a sneer, looking to Dipper and Mabel’s right.

Dipper didn’t need to look to confirm that there was nothing there—nothing visible, anyway—but he did anyway.

The apparent absence of something did nothing to reassure him.

Phantom sighed, his annoyance draining away. “Okay, look, I’ll be straight with you. I don’t know why I got drafted to play messenger boy, but it’s probably because I owe him a favour, and he’s not supposed to be doing this kind of thing. Interfere, I mean. Which means that if he is, it’s big and you should listen to me. So stop whatever you’re doing. Drop it. Walk away. Your future selves would thank you for it if they had the chance. It’s probably a lot of pain and suffering or it wouldn’t be on Clockwork’s radar.”

“Pain and suffering, huh?” Mabel echoed, glancing at Dipper. He knew how she felt; he hadn’t expected Phantom to warn them of the pain he was going to bring in an attempt to trick them into releasing him, but it just meant they needed to be on their guard. If they hadn’t had the journal, they might have fallen for it.

Phantom nodded, not noticing or not caring how uncomfortable they were. “Clockwork wouldn’t interfere for something small. He thinks other people are messing around, though—I don’t think just you guys? I mean, not you you, you’re too young, and if this started thirty years ago or something, it couldn’t be you…unless you’re time travellers?”

“Did you want us to be?” Mabel said slowly.

Phantom blinked. “What? No!”

“Then we aren’t,” she said, and Dipper glared at her and kicked at her leg. He couldn’t really put any strength behind it, and she’d probably been half expecting it, since she didn’t flinch. Phantom might not have noticed the movement, though. Or the glare. If he did, he didn’t react to it.

“Time travel is impossible,” Dipper said pointedly, switching his gaze back to Phantom.

Phantom just stared at him. “I’m a ghost, you’re keeping me trapped inside a magic circle, and you draw the line at time travel?”

Dipper nodded. “It’s not possible. You can’t go faster than the speed of light.” He wasn’t a great liar—Mabel was definitely better, and she wasn’t particularly good, either—but he wasn’t about to tell Phantom that they knew time travel was possible. Or that they had time travelled and run into another time traveller. Phantom might tell them more if he thought they were ignorant of that.

“You’re using magic. And talking to a ghost. What part of that do most people consider possible?”

“Actually—” Mabel started.

“Forget I asked,” Phantom interrupted. “My point is, if you don’t believe in time travel, you should, and if you don’t believe in interdimensional travel, you should, because something along those lines is in your future if you don’t stop all this. Which you should.”

“Because you said so?” Mabel asked, and Dipper kicked her again, this time less subtly. He didn’t care if Phantom noticed that one.

Phantom snorted. “Because whatever it is is bad enough that it merits forewarning. Courtesy of Clockwork. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Bit of a circular argument,” Dipper muttered, not quite quietly enough that they wouldn’t hear him.

Phantom groaned. “Fine, ignore me. Just let me go.”

“No. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

“Who said I was going to hurt anyone?” Phantom spluttered. “I’m not! Seriously, I’m just the messenger here.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’d say if you were planning on hurting someone and wanted to trick us into letting you out.”

He caught Mabel’s eye again and saw the trace of worry on her features. She knew he was bluffing. She knew he couldn’t do this forever, that his strength would give out and the magic within the circle would fade. The symbols could only hold power for so long. With Phantom being as strong as he was—or Dipper being as weak as he was; whichever was the main reason behind why it had taken so long for the spell to work in the first place, though it might be both considering he was still fairly new to magic—Dipper wasn’t sure they had much longer.

Judging by the increasingly frustrated look on Phantom’s face, though, he didn’t know that. Which at least meant the magic wasn’t noticeably weakening yet. It would buy them a little time, but—

“If you insist you’re not going to hurt anyone,” Mabel said, “then you don’t need to keep secrets from us. Keep talking, and then we’ll let you go.”

That was one way of putting it. If the spell was going to collapse on him anyway, at least they might be able to get something out of Phantom. Not that they’d know if it was truth or lies, but at least it would be a starting point. And that would be better than nothing.

Phantom threw up his hands. “I gave you guys the message already!”

“No, she’s right,” Dipper said. Mabel smiled at his words as if she hadn’t expected him to approve. “You’ve hardly told us anything. What do you know about the author of the journals?”

Phantom looked confused. Dipper didn’t think it was feigned, either. “What journals?” He looked at the open book and added, “So that’s not a magic book? Or is it just a journal full of spells that you’re not calling a magic book?”

“It’s a resource, not a book on magic.” Not alone, anyway. But if Phantom didn’t recognize it or know anything about it, he wouldn’t be able to help Dipper figure this out. And it meant if this Clockwork person had written the journals, Phantom didn’t know about it. Dipper flipped the book cover up just enough to show the symbol on the front with the three emblazoned on it, but Phantom just shrugged. Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely didn’t know anything.

Which was funny, considering he was in it.

Mabel clearly had the same suspicions, since she said, “You have to know something. The author of the journals is the reason we found you.”

Phantom frowned and flicked his eyes to the still-empty spot beside them. Dipper couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. After a few long seconds, Phantom admitted, “I don’t remember how I got here. I’m not lying, okay? I really don’t know. And it’s bugging me. That’s why I wanted to know if you knew Vlad. This is the kind of thing he’d do to me. And then Clockwork….” He trailed off. “He won’t tell me my own future or anything else about yours. But if you’re trying to find out more about whoever wrote that journal, and if they wrote me into it, well, that’s probably what Clockwork’s warning was about.”

“The author hasn’t been wrong about anything that’s turned up before,” Dipper said.

Phantom crossed his arms. “Well, from the way you two are looking at me, he’s wrong about me. It’s not like I’m going to snap and kill everyone. Seriously, let me go, I’ll be gone, and everything will be back to normal.”

He’d been forced to summon the phantom, and now it was trying to trying to trick him into releasing it.

Of course, if they didn’t do something soon, it would get free anyway.

“How did you….” Mabel broke off, bit her lip, and looked at Dipper. Then, turning back to Phantom, “Danny. The boy who was in here earlier. What about him?”

Phantom swallowed. “His name is Danny Fenton.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, and Mabel knew to hold her tongue, too. Phantom squirmed, one hand reaching up the rub the back of his neck. They waited, but he didn’t volunteer any other information.

Dipper sucked in a breath, deep and long, and let it out slowly. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He clenched his hands into fists, afraid that if he didn’t, it would be too easy for Phantom to see him shaking. “And?” It came out as a growl, and Phantom flinched.

“And he’s a friend.”

That was a lie. It had to be. Dipper looked at Mabel and saw that she didn’t believe Phantom either. But Phantom had straightened up, and though Dipper couldn’t see it, he could feel Phantom reaching one hand behind him to prod the boundaries of the circle. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but trying to hold the spell together was becoming more and more like trying to hold water cupped in his fingers. It was draining fast now, and—

“Look, just stop this business with the journals and finding whoever wrote them,” Phantom said. “What’s coming if you keep going the way you’re going isn’t good. It’ll be like…like you’ve opened Pandora’s box. The one from the myth, not her actual box, although that, too, if it’s on the wrong setting….” He trailed off. “Please?”

“We can’t,” Dipper said, hoping it would get Phantom to argue with him. But his voice was shaky now, and he couldn’t—

The spell dissipated, and Phantom smiled before vanishing.

-|-

“Is he gone?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Dipper admitted. He leaned back against his bed and closed his eyes. “Probably not, if the journal is right about phantoms.”

“What if that’s not what he is?” Pain and suffering might be in their future, but it hadn’t started immediately. What would Phantom gain from waiting? He already knew they expected it, and he had to know Dipper was weaker now than he would be in the future. Sure, he didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to exorcise him, or at least that she’d never tried doing that to a ghost before, but it shouldn’t stop him from jumping on an opportunity to strike while they were down.

“I don’t know.”

Mabel tried to swallow down her fear at Dipper’s repetition. The cryptic message about Phantom had been coded differently than anything else in the journal, and it hadn’t even been near the pages on ghosts and exorcisms. Maybe he really wasn’t a phantom like he pretended. Maybe the author hadn’t even known what he was. Maybe that’s why the author had never specified what was in the thermos that Dipper had found.

There’s something stuck in some special thermos buried behind the shack….

She wished Dipper had had a chance to examine the thermos before Phantom had taken it.

“What about his warning?”

That prompted Dipper to open his eyes. “We can’t stop. He’s not really here just to warn us. We wouldn’t have found him where we did, the way we did, if he’s telling the truth about everything.”

Mabel said what Dipper didn’t: “And that doesn’t explain Danny.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Dipper must have no idea what did, no real idea that he didn’t think was too much of a stretch, or he’d have said it.

“So we don’t listen to him?”

“He hasn’t really given us any reason to trust him.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said quietly, “that’s what I thought.” But she couldn’t get Phantom’s abrupt change out of her head, the way he’d been pleading with them to let him out before breaking off mid word and moving faster than she’d been able to see. He’d…changed. In a split second. Still asking them to let him go but with less desperation than before.

He’d claimed that he didn’t know more than what he’d told them, but she didn’t believe that any more than she believed that Danny Fenton, whoever he was, was just some friend. As if they couldn’t see the similarities. As if they had never been tricked before by someone pretending to be someone—something—they’re not.

Even if Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom weren’t the same person—ghost, creature, whatever—they had to be connected. Why would Danny Fenton have come here? To scout out the territory? To try to find Phantom, if Phantom hadn’t sent him? But then there had been the phone call to his sister, before he ran out….

“He talked about other dimensions,” Mabel said slowly. “Do you think he’s from a different dimension?”

Dipper didn’t answer, instead pulling the journal towards him and flipping through it.

“Do you think it was the author of the journals who wrote that note about him? Or do you think it was someone else?”

More silence. Mabel didn’t like that. She much preferred Dipper to talk her ear off with explanations or theories, at least when she had none of her own. She’d rather ignore his ramblings than not have them when they needed them.

“Is this a trap?”

“I hope not,” Dipper finally said, settling on a page in the journal and showing it to her, “but we better be ready for when he comes back in case it is.”

(next)

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Three

Marcus smirked as he watched Chris mess with the straw in his drink, “Man, whoever she is has got you messed up bad.”

Chris jerked his head up and frowned in confusion, “huh?”

“You have completely zoned out on me, Bro. What’s going on?”

“Just thinking.”

“So your divorce? What happened?”

“I wasn’t any good for her. It just wasn’t gonna work out.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Not good. I’m surprised she hasn’t put a hit out on me.”

Marcus chuckled, “that woman loves you too much.”

“Loved.”

“Loves. I said what I said.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Do you know she hasn’t dated since your divorce?”

“No. I never bothered to keep up with her.”

“Really?”

“I don’t have the right to. Why keep up with her life if I didn’t have the decency to stay in it?”

“You got a point.”

“So who is the new girl?”

“There is no new girl. Just somebody I’m getting to know.”

“So there is a new girl.”

“No.”

“Chris, we can play with semantics all night but be honest, do you like her?”

“Yes but we’re just friends.”

“For now.”

“She’s still in love with her ex-husband. I’m not in control of my life and neither of us are looking for anything serious.”

“Then what’s the harm in making her your new girl. You both know whats the deal up front.”

“Besides she doesn't want to meet me anyway.”

“You’ve never met?”

“I met her online. I only have a vague idea of what she looks like but we’ve never actually seen each other or spoke to each other.”

“Really? I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I set it up out of boredom but I got lucky with talking to her. She’s really nice.”

“What she do?”

“She’s a Vet. Owns her own clinic and shelter”

“Nice. Is she local?”

“Not sure. I know her business is in the city. Never asked if she lived there or not.”

“Chris, you might know her already.”

“I doubt it besides I think the not knowing her is the best part.”

“No identity, no expectations.”

“Exactly.”

“Well more power to you. Hope you don’t miss out on an amazing woman wanting to be all mysterious and shit.”

“I’m not concerned.”

A: How has your day been?

C: Hectic. My daughter caught the flu so I’m out of commission for the next few days

A: Aww...poor baby. Is this the first time she’s been sick?

C: No so I’m pretty prepared for the theatrics that will be coming my way

A: She’s that kind of kid, huh? Lol

C: Lol regardless of the fact that she’s three, she gets sick and reverts to an infant but I love babying her. Just don’t tell her that

A: Lol, your secret is safe with me

C: How have you been?

A: Good. Finalizing details for this gala a certain someone got me to attend

C: Lol, you made the deal, I just accepted

A: Yea. Whatever.

C: Did you decide on a date for our virtual outing?

A: I mean you have the child

C: It’s not like I’m gonna be leaving my house though

A: That is true

C: Are you nervous?

A: No, it’s not like you’re gonna hear my voice or see me. What’s there to be nervous about?

C: I don’t know I’m asking you

A: Are you free this weekend?

C: 8 pm Saturday?

A: Works for me

C: Cool

A: You know you could’ve just picked a time and told me

C: Yea but it was your idea so your choice

A: Hmm...I guess

C: What you thinking about?

A: If I should send you a sneak peek of my dress

C: You have it already? I thought the gala wasn’t for another month

A: A month goes by fast especially if you own your own business, time is not of the essence

C: Ah, very true. Are we still doing text to speech or?

A: I have some equipment I can use for voice changes. You?

C: I work at a college, I’m sure I can find some

A: Cool

C: Is your voice that distinctive that I’d be able to figure out who you are from hearing it?

A: Yes.

C: Ah, now I’m curious

A: It’s not that I’m worried about knowing you but I’ve been interviewed and stuff before so hearing my voice would definitely be a dead giveaway and ruin the mystery

C: I understand. 

A: Does any of this make you uncomfortable?

C: No. It keeps things simple and uncomplicated. No complaints from me

A: Cool

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn quickly composed herself as she posed for the picture in front of her phone. The self-timer clicked and she grabbed the device to see her handy work. She smiled at the successful shot. No identifying marks but it captured her body and clothing perfectly. She sat down and logged into her dating app to send the picture to Chris. Not wanting to be consumed with nervousness, she logged out completely before taking off her clothes and heading to take a shower. Their double blind virtual outing was tonight.

Chris smiled as his phone pinged and he clicked on the new message. The long-sleeve navy blue dress hugged every curve of Anna perfectly. She was completely covered but it still felt just as sexy as if she was naked. That was an art. The message read, “I probably could’ve waited a few weeks to send you this but I figured what the hell. What do you think?”

Chris rubbed his hand along his chin then through his hair as he stared at the picture. Was he making a mistake letting this stay just an online thing? Could she really be as amazing as she seemed? Maybe it was just the lust talking. He had sworn off women the past few years so it wasn’t like he had many outlets for any kind of attraction. Anesa was with his sister and cousins for the night while he had his virtual outing with Anna. He really didn’t understand why she just didn’t call it a date but then again they aren’t supposed to be dating so it makes sense.

Robyn shook off any nervousness as she sat down in front of her computer. It was easier to not be tempted to use the camera if she didn’t have one so she decided to use her desktop instead of her laptop. The older monitor was wired for sound but not video. She had emailed Chris a link to the video chat site with its autoset to start at 8pm. She glanced at the cover of the screen and sighed as the clock flipped from 7:59 to 8:00.

“Hi Anna,” an auto generated voice came through her speakers

“Chris, it’s nice to hear your voice.”

Chris laughed, “well something like my voice. How are you?”

“I’m great. You?”

“I’m good. Thank you for the picture.”

“Eh, I was trying it on and thought why not. You never answered my message”

“Well, I knew I was gonna talk to you soon so I figured it’d be easier to say what I was thinking than writing it”

“Ah, so what do you think?”

“I think you look incredible. It’s hard to be sexy and completely covered from neck to toe but you definitely pulled it off.”

“Why thank you. My friend was a little upset that I picked that dress.”

“Why?”

“She thinks I need to show more skin.”

Chris laughed, “well you’re single, no harm in doing that.”

“Single and not trying to mingle though.”

“If you look as amazing in the face as your body does. Nothing short of staying home would keep people, men especially, from trying to talk to you.”

“Oh don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Still don’t say it.”

“You’re afraid of dating?”

“No, just not prepared for it. I don’t really want to like anybody else.”

“Not even me.”

“You are a very pleasant and partially unwanted surprise. I don’t think I could not not like you though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment”

“Good because I meant it as one,” Robyn laughed, “Feel weird yet?”

“Nope. This is a lot easier than typing though.”

“It is. 

“So how was your day?”

“It was good. I had the start of auditions for my upper level songwriting and music composition classes.”

“Really? How do those work?”

“The student either performs live or brings in a recorded piece that they wrote and/or composed.”

“Do they have to be the performer?”

“It is preferable but no. I get my share of duos from time to time.”

“Is it easier to audition as a duo or solo?”

“To me, neither. I try to be equally as hard on all my students.”

“Did you work in the music industry before?”

“Actually no, just a dream deferred, I guess.”

“What about your divorce made you switch careers?”

“Music has always been healing for me. I had no desire to be famous or anything like that but I wanted to deal with music. Teaching did that for me.”

“Were you healing from your marriage?”

“No. My mother had passed away and it just threw my life into a spiral.”

“Were you close?”

“Not like we should’ve been. I was raised by another family member and my mom wasn’t really around most of my life.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s life. You learn to make the best of it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you did.”

“To be honest, I didn’t at first. I was mad at everything and everybody. I just gave up.”

“And your marriage was a casualty of that.”

“Yup.”

“And you still love her?”

“I don’t want to but I do.”

“I know that feeling. So you were adopted by the family member or they just took you in?”

“Just took me in, nothing official.”

“Oh ok.”

“You have a good relationship with your family?”

“Yea, I think we still sit on different sides of the fence when it comes to my ex but other than that nothing major.”

“Why?”

“They loved him. He was my high school sweetheart so we kind of grew up together.”

“Same here. Do they want you guys to get back together?”

“Absolutely.”

Chris laughed.

“Sometimes I wonder if there were things he told them that he couldn’t tell me.”

“It’s possible. It's easier to open up to somebody you don’t feel responsible for. Men worry a lot about looking weak in front of their spouses. We wonder if women will still trust our judgment if they think we’re more emotional than logical.”

“Any woman worth her medal knows men are more emotional than logical, y’all just like to play with semantics. Just because you don’t deal with your emotions doesn’t mean they don’t exist or magically go away. Y’all just have different methodologies than we do.”

“Were you a therapist in a past life?”

Robyn laughed, “No, I took basic psychology classes in college.”

“Definitely sounds like you took more than the requisite elective.”

“I did. Almost had enough for a minor but I overloaded on vet classes to try to finish my bachelor’s early.”

“Did you?”

“Just a semester early, nothing too major.”

“That’s awesome. Were you always a vet?”

“Actually no. I took a few years off after veterinary school, did a bunch of odd jobs before I came back to my chosen profession.”

“Ah, good deal.”

“It had its perks.”

“How’d your husband feel about that?”

“We weren’t married initially but he didn’t seem to mind even after we did get married. He had a bit of an old school rearing and liked being a provider, I can admit.”

“And all that time you never had children?”

“I don’t think he could’ve emotionally handled children but then again, we might have fought for our marriage more if there were some involved.”

“You think so?”

“We both grew up in separated families, raised by a single parent or guardian. Two parent households weren’t the norm for either of us.”

“Ah ok.”

“We had always maintained the idea of having children once we got married but then we got married and things just didn’t work out. I wanted to try immediately after the ceremony but he kept stalling. First, it was getting his career off the ground then the timing just wasn’t right and by then we were divorced. I don’t think he wanted children with me.”

“You know being a parent isn’t something to take lightly, from what it sounds like it wasn’t you, he just wasn’t ready. At least, he was self aware to know that.”

“And your wife?”

“After the first year, we barely had sex.”

“Were you not attracted to her anymore?”

“I was. I just didn’t really like myself anymore and it made it hard to be physical with her. We had years of having sex and making love. I wasn’t the same so it didn’t feel the same, I felt like I was shortchanging her.”

“Sounds like you made a lot of decisions for her.”

“I know she would’ve stayed if I didn’t leave but I also knew she wasn’t happy. I couldn’t say I love her and subject her to an unhappy marriage, it’s not fair.”

“Why didn’t you just get help?”

“I did that’s what led me to ask for a divorce.”

“Your help told you to get divorced?”

“Not explicitly. My therapist told me that I needed to take time to focus on myself with no distractions. My mother had died, My father showed back up in my life. It just felt like everything was falling apart and then I had my wife. Trying to be supportive but completely unhappy and walking on eggshells. It felt like I was torturing her and I didn’t want us to live like that. I didn’t want her to live like that. When I tried to explain what was going on, it just made everything worse.”

“What you mean?”

“I broke her. In such a short marriage, I broke her and I didn’t know how to undo what I had done. I also wasn’t in the space to undo it. I just wanted to die and I didn’t want her to see that.”

‘Did you try to-”

“It was a week after she had moved out. Complete nervous breakdown.”

“Chris, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was bound to happen. The mind can only take so much before it has to reset itself.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No. I made my family promise not to say anything to anyone either. I made her leave for that exact reason. Sometimes you can just feel when you’ve reached your breaking point.”

“True. So she had no idea?”

“No. If she had, she probably would’ve came back and never went through with the divorce. I didn't want her spending her life fixing my mess, that’s my job.”

“Wow. I appreciate you telling me this.”

“I’m surprised I did. Had this been a year or two ago, I probably would’ve stopped talking to you as soon as you asked about her.”

“Really?”

“Yea. Failure sucks.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you failed. It’s not like all avenues had been exhausted.”

“If your ex-husband had did this, would you be so accommodating?”

“If he had actually told me all this happened with him, absolutely. This is so much different than the silence and moping around that I got.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“I mean I definitely have to get over feeling so betrayed first. Ten years of a relationship and he couldn’t trust me enough to let me in, that’s a hard pill to swallow.”

“Yea but it happens. I imagine my ex-wife would probably feel that exact same way.”

“I might not know you well enough to say this but I really think you should find her and talk to her. The years may have softened her.”

“I don’t think it would be right. I caused her enough issues, the last thing she’d probably want is to be reminded of me.”

“There you go making decisions for her again. You never know until you find out.”

“I guess.”

“Unless you don’t want to find out.”

“What you mean?”

“I think you’re afraid that you really did break her and she never bounced back. I think finding out that she hasn’t moved on scares you more than anything.”

“I-”

“You love her and I don’t think you will ever stop, so you want her to be happy. You want her to have forgotten about you and got everything she ever wanted in life. But if she hasn’t, you’d have to realize that though you did everything to protect her, you made the biggest mistake making her go especially when she didn’t want to. As a woman who’s been there and still there, you didn’t give her a chance to be what you needed because you were so worried about not being what you thought she wanted, even though you never asked.”

Robyn pulled her covers up under her chin as she laid back staring at her ceiling. Talking to Chris, really got her to thinking about her ex-husband. Did something happen to him to make him shut him down? Did he really walk out to save her like he told her? If so, why didn't he trust her to be there for him? At least this Chris is healed but clearly she has a penchant for damaged men. Is she a damaged woman? Did her ex really break her to the point she could never recover?

Chris sat on the phone with Anesa, half listening to her ramble about her day. He was going to go get her from his sister’s house but after talking with Anna, he needed the night to himself, to regroup. He couldn’t say that she was wrong. He never really thought about if his ex-wife was happy or not since he left. At least not out loud. Like what right did he have to shake up her life again after shaking it up in the first place? That’s why he never asked about her. It wasn’t right to be about her life if he made the initiative to walk out of it. Anna really showed him the other side of the situation, it really wasn’t as pretty and hopeful as he thought it would’ve been. He never thought of his divorce as a mistake but did he really ruin something that could’ve been fixed?

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x Reader  (Chapter Summary- At a party, Keanu and Y/n meet for the first time and here, more than ever, first impressions count.)  Warnings- Age-gap, sexual insinuations (Releases on Wednesdays)

Chapter 1

Y/n never understood it, how she could manage to feel so alone in a crowd so big. Even with friends, the center of attention, just as she had been for so much of her life; the girl who everyone liked, who everyone wanted to be. The offspring of a socialite and the president of a company that ran the world’s fastest growing hotel and resort chain, rubbing elbows with the best of almost every industry. She came from a long line of old money, the finest of everything at her fingertips, being raised to be as influential as her parents, attending the parties, the fashion shows, taking the vacations. Y/n should have been happy, it was the optimum of the American dream and she hadn’t done a thing to deserve it. It was merely the luck of birth. She should have been happy, but she wasn’t, not really. Empty, maybe; she always had a hard time finding the same joy her parents had. 

Things had gotten a little better after Y/n had returned from college, re-integrating into the life, but to say that she was truly happy would still be a reach. Sure, her empty laughs weren’t as hollow and her persistent frown had turned into a line, usually painted in deep red, but that was about it, at the end of the night, when everyone left their house, Y/n still just as lonely as she was when they were there. 

“The guest list this time is insane,” someone said beside her, her cousin, just about five years older; Jillian. They usually found each at events like that, sticking together, with Jillian typically being the one to pull Y/n into crazy escapades that otherwise weren’t allowed.

Summoning a wide grin that she hoped would reflect pride, Y/n turned to Jillian, who looked much like herself. If their families weren’t so famous, if everyone didn’t know them, people might mistake them for sisters. A beautiful pair, who had been as genetically blessed as they were in every other way, had grown up extremely close, their families’ kinship intertwined; their fathers were brothers and their mothers were sisters, because after all, money was usually only ever attracted to money. At least, that was what they had learned. “It is,” Y/n nodded, “My mom met some people in Paris a few months ago, when she was there for fashion week. Some of the models brought their boyfriends.”

“Ohhh,” Jillian sang, “They must be the hot guys holding the purses. You think their open to infidelity?”

“What about Robert?” Y/n laughed quietly, for real that time. Robert was Jillian’s fiancée, but if they lived in nineteenth century, he might have been called her betrothed, with their relationship coming from family politics rather than love. He was a handsome man, probably in his early thirties, though his snotty demeanor and constant scowl had added another five years to his age. Robert’s family, like their own had descended from riches, and he was set to inherit millions in addition to a chain of companies. His still new relationship with Jillian, which had been an arranged one, was what their parents liked to call a “good match” and if Y/n didn’t start looking soon, she might be half of the next one. 

“What about him?” Jillian scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Rob usually has a stick so far up his ass that he’s blinded to everything else. Besides, he’s terrible in bed. We tried once and he kept licking my cheek.”

“That’s....really fucking weird,” Y/n cringed, walking arm in arm with Jillian around the edges of the room as they surveyed the crowd, or rather, its selection of men. Looking around, one might have thought that money could by looks; most of the people there, especially the ones around their age were gorgeous; from models to movie stars along with other, pretentious looking faces filled the Y/n’s home. Some lingered in the grand foyer while several others had gathered in the dining room and in the living room on the other side. “He’s hot,” Y/n pointed out a man near one of the bars, holding a wine glass, talking with an older couple. 

Jillian hummed in agreement, “He is,” she giggled, “And look at his hands, that means he has a big dick, right?”

Y/n shrugged, “I guess, but I thought it was shoe size,” she frowned, in all actuality, stumped on the issue.

“I don’t know. But at this point, it doesn’t matter, I just need to get laid,” Jillian grabbed Y/n’s hand, their fingers lacing as they placed their wine glasses on the table, “Come on,” she pulled her along towards their prey.

Keanu stood near a set of stairs, caught in conversation with people he didn’t even know. He didn’t know why he had accepted the invitation, maybe it was because when his manager had gotten the call, his publicist had insisted it wasn’t an invitation he could reject. They were too much of a prominent family, not going might have seemed like a snub which would only mean months of bad press. 

So, there he was, faking smiles and pretending to like everyone. Keanu had only been there for about an hour, and he had yet to meet the hosts but already he could tell he wouldn’t like them. Who threw black tie parties in the middle of he week without any foreseeable cause anyway? Worse yet, their house screamed ‘pretentious snobs’; reflecting the highest levels of French luxury. Walls lined with art from internationally famed artists framed shiny marble floors which in turn surrounded a grand staircase with a glittering chandelier hanging above. Two hallways stretched into a seemingly never-ending distance and the rooms on either side of the foyer were enormous, decked with imported furniture and cream and gold embellishments. It was the kind of place that made people scared to sit anywhere, that looked as if it belonged in a magazine or on display. There was no personality, no one thing that might reminded the guests that it was a family’s home.

Keanu couldn’t wait to get home, and hopefully, never get invited to another one of their parties ever again. With a heavy sigh, he wiggled his way out of yet another polite conversation, “Excuse me,” he cleared his throat, already stepping away, “I’m gonna head to the bar.” His leave was greeted with stiff nods, polite smiles and empty promises that they would all talk soon. 

Keanu journeyed to the bar, carefully avoiding any other interaction; he didn’t think he could stand anymore eye-rolling conversation without some sort of intoxicating buffer. 

As Y/n scurried to follow Jillian her hand had eventually slipped out of her cousin’s. Gigging too much to pay attention to her surroundings, she ran straight into someone, “Oh my god,” she gasped, barely evading their spilt drink; her mother might have had a heart attack if Y/n ruined her brand new dress, it had been a gift from the designer himself. For a minute, she watched as the whiskey made a pool near the edges of the navy blue silk and Y/n even had to lift her dress a little to spare it. Thankfully though, the glass hadn’t fallen too, else that might have been worse. With her eyes still cast to the floor, she was given the opportunity, Y/n was given the opportunity to look at the other party’s shoes; a pair of worn brown boots that looked like they were more suited to hiking as oppsed to attending elaborate parties in Beverly Hills, “I’m so sorry about that,” Y/n mumbled, her eyes travelling up, settling on his face. She almost had to stifle a gasp, never in a million years would she expect to see him at one of her parents’ parties, it didn’t seem like his style. Then again, she didn’t know him, not personally. Longish dark hair framed a handsome face, ending just above broad shoulders and his trimmed beard peppered with hints of grey handsomely complimented chocolate eyes. You’d have to be living under a rock to have never heard of him. Keanu Reeves.

He smiled at her warily, finding it a little cute that she stood several inches below him, “It’s fine,” he waved her off, “Maybe I’ve had too much anyway.”

Y/n chuckled quietly, shaking her head, “If you’re not leaving drunk, then I can assure you; you haven’t.”

“Is that so?” Keanu cocked a curious eyebrow, “What makes you say that?” Even as he spoke to her, Keanu found that the girl before him seemed oddly familiar, like he had seen her before. She was beautiful too, the kind of gorgeous that didn’t go unnoticed, still, he couldn’t quite place her face.

“Well,” she began, not in the slightest bit star-struck or phased that she was in the company of one of the world’s most famous movie stars- Y/n had had her her fair share of famous meets, “That’s what these parties are for. There’s propbaly more booze than there is water here tonight, and there are three pools in this place, so if you aren’t getting drunk, it’s all a waste.”

“You don’t seem drunk,” Keanu shot back, his handsome features taking on an interested smirk.

Y/n chortled, rolling her eyes, “Not yet.”

At that, Keanu scoffed; for a girl probably no more than twenty five, she sure seemed to have some fire in her. For a minute, they both just stood there, drinking each other in, and when he could barely hold her challenging stare for any longer, Keanu offered his hand, “I’m-”

“I know who you are Mr. Movie Star,” Y/n took his hand, her own easily dwarfed by his, giving it a slow, firm shake. It took a beat, but Y/n finally relented, ready to give up her own name when she was rudely interrupted by Jillian ‘rounding back towards them.

“Hey,” she greeted, smiling as she looked between them and Y/n reclaimed her hand, “You’re mom’s looking for you. She’s in the living room.”

Y/n sighed reluctantly, “Alright, to be continued?” She glanced to Keanu, cocking an eyebrow.

“Sure,” he obliged, watching carefully as she and the other woman, who looked much like her, they must have been sisters, he thought as they disappeared into the sea of people.

”Mom?” Y/n called as Jillian deserted her in search of more male entertainment.

“Honey!” Her mother returned cheerily, her father holding out an arm, pulling Y/n into a sideways hug, “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve heard,” Y/n responded coolly, “What for?”

“Why else?” Her father was in a jovial mood, a sign that the alcohol had already shaken of his usual seriousness, “Our guests need to meet the future president of Warren Enterprises!” He explained, as if it were already plainly obvious, “Come on” with one arm draped loosely over her shoulder and the other secured around her mother’s waist, Y/n’s, father led them to and up the first landing of the stair case.

Loudly, he cleared his throat and clinked his glass with a spoon someone from the wait staff had provide. Y/n’s mother stood close to his side, smiling warm and proud, her hands circling his middle. Y/n’s scanned the crowd, for some reason, stopping when they locked with those of a familiar celebrity. From where she stood, she could almost see his mouth ‘o’ with recognition and she had to bite back a sly smile. When he had almost everyone’s attention,  her father began, “Goodnight ladies and gentlemen and thank you for taking the time to join us tonight. Most of you know probably know my family and I, but for those of you who don’t; I’m Michael Warren and beside me, is my beautiful wife, who’s way out of my league; Heather Warren,” Y/n’s mother blushed, lightly slapping her husband’s chest. Nearly thirty years of marriage and they were still every bit it love, depending on the day, Y/n would either find it extremely sweet or nauseatingly annoying. After he had quickly kissed her cheek, Michael continued, “And finally, we have the apple of my eye, our greatest achievement and the future president of the Warren chain of companies; Y/n Warren, my daughter,” at that, the crowd erupted in a round of polite applauses. When they died down he kept going, “In a few years, I know that Y/n will lead the Deliciae hotels, along with all our other endeavors  towards greater excellence, as she has done with everything else.”

Michael raised his glass and Y/n nodded in thanks, trying to ignore the bubbling anxiety that usually came with the thought of having to take her father’s place one day. As an only child, it was obvious that she’d be the one to do it, it was a fact that she had been sure of since she was twelve, but it never made knowing  easier. Sure, she had gotten a degree from an ivy league school, graduating at the top of her class, she was being trained for it everyday, shadowing her father since her return from Philadelphia a few months back, but still, Y/n didn’t think there was enough education or training in the world that could ready her for running a multi-billion dollar company. “To Y/n,” the words broke Y/n out of her thoughts and she forced herself to smile, whispering a quiet thanks as everyone rose their glasses

Not long after, everyone dispersed again, the quiet hum of chatter all around filled the house once again. Excusing herself from the company of her parents, with shaking, nervous breaths, Y/n decided that she needed some air and a drink. Collecting a glass of champagne from one of the trays being carried around by a waiter, she hustled towards the nearest patio door at the side of the dining room. Waiting until she had burst through the wide screen doors, cool air hitting her like a much needed slap in the face before her breathing grew heavy and ragged. As the panic from in the troubling thoughts grew in her chest, she fought burning tears, trying desperately not to sob right then and there.

“Are you okay?” A familiar male voice asked, coming from the side.

Y/n almost jumped at his question, turning wide eyed to find Keanu coming out from a dark patch near the bushes, tossing a cigarette to the cobble stoned ground, putting it out with the toe of his boot. Quickly, she turned away, downing the contents of her glass and swiping under her eyes, “Yeah,” she nodded stiffly, her voice breaking just a little, “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he commented casually, stuffing his hand into his pockets as he stepped closer, “That’s a lot of pressure for a.....”

“Twenty-three,” Y/n provided her age with a huff, sniffling, embarrassed that Keanu had caught her on the verge of tears.

“For a twenty-three year old. That’s what’s bothering you, right?” He smiled sympathetically and Y/n’s face fell a little further, admitting he was right. Keanu rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling a little ridiculous for checking her out when they had first met. She was just a kid, way too young to be worrying about keeping a business of that size successful and worse, too be befriending a man his age. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/n scoffed a laugh that didn’t really have any humor behind it, “No.” Casting her gaze towards the awning land that spanned about a mile before it was blocked off by a high wall, she discarded her empty glass on the near by outdoor table. “I don’t know,” she shook her head, “I guess, I always knew that I’d have to do it one day. I mean, they aren’t gonna be around forever, but just knowing, thinking about it.....it’s horrifying. I’ve never even planned a birthday party or a family dinner I can’t run a company.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Keanu shook his shoulders, going to stand next to her, sure to leave an arm’s length between them, “Maybe you’re gonna suck. You could fuck it up, run the whole thing into bankruptcy, lose all your family’s money. You could do so terribly that all people will associate with you is failure.”

Y/n’s jaw slacked and her eyes widened with horror, “Well that’s not helping,” she scoffed, her lips quivering ever so slightly.

“You’re right, it’s not. But it’s also what you’re telling yourself. That you can’t do it. And you’re right to think it, because it is a real possibility. But you know what else is a possibility?” Keanu folded his arms, turning to face her.

When he didn’t offer anything further, Y/n loosely mirrored his stance, tilting her head, “What?”

“That you kick ass and you become one of the best presidents that your family’s company has ever seen,” when Y/n finally smiled at the positive thought, Keanu did too, pleased with himself that he had seemingly managed to help her mood. Then he continued, that time a little lighter, “Or you know, you at the very least, manage to keep it afloat.”

Y/n huffed a quiet laugh, playfully slapping his shoulder, “A plus advice,” she complimented as she grinned a little wider, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, but I don’t give advice,” he brushed off.

“Ohh?” Y/n raised her brows, curious, “So what was that?”

Keanu shrugged uneventfully, “Thoughts,” once again, he returned his gaze to the far off wall.

“Well whatever you call it, thank you,” Y/n said once again and they fell into comfortable silence.

For a while, they just stood there, but eventually, Keanu abruptly announced, “You know, I don't think we’ve been formerly introduced. Keanu Reeves,” he held out his hand.

Biting back a smile, Y/n once again took Keanu’s hand, marveling in how they could be soft and calloused at the same time, “Y/n Warren. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Keanu beamed, “I knew that you looked familiar.”

“Yeah? Y/n giggled, her hold on his hand steady, “Do you know me from that time I got drunk in Bali on Spring break or that ridiculous family of the year article on my parents?”

“Both good references,” Keanu agreed, finally putting together all the places where he had gotten a glace at her name or a peek of her picture somewhere on the internet, “But it was actually on that Time’s piece on top 20 heirs of the decade. If I remember correctly; you liked double chocolate ice-cream and your first car was a red BMW for your eighteenth birthday”

“Good memory,” Y/n giggled, her eyes sparkling, “But it was actually a Mercedes for my sixteenth birthday.”

Keanu nodded wistfully, rubbing his fingers through his beard, “That’s.....just as fancy. Mine was a Volvo,” his tone was light and teasing, highly unlike the annoyance she’d get from people who never saw past the money.

Y/n joined his quiet laugher, sighing as it died down. “What are you doing here anyway? No offense, but you’re not the kind of guy that I expected to see at one of these things.”

“And what kind of guys do you usually expect to see?” Keanu probed, admittedly interested in what Y/n meant.

“Arrogant pricks,” she offered bluntly, “But you,” she squinted dramatically, “You don’t seem arrogant, or like a prick.”

“Thanks?” Keanu chuckled, “I stayed at one of dad’s hotels a couple months ago and we met. It was probably for just a couple minutes, but I got then invitation about two weeks ago and my publicist basically said that I had no choice in the whole thing. So,” he gestured widely with outstretched arms, “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Y/n mirrored, blushing for a reason that she couldn’t point out. It usually took a lot to make her blush, but something about Keanu made it easy, or maybe it was the alcohol. 

“So you were forced,” Y/n mused, “I can totally relate.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Keanu chortled, trying to ignore how much more beautiful Y/n seemed now that she was smiling. 

Y/n snorted in a way that her mother might have deemed ‘unbecoming’, “You think I wanted to spend my Wednesday night talking about proposals and mergers? And worse yet, how available everyone’s son is,” Y/n’s eyes rolled at just the thought of all the conversations she had had that night, about how much time she had spent running around with Jillian dodging anyone with a single son her age.

Keanu’s head fell back in laughter and Y/n thought, that for a man old enough to be a father, she was immensely glad that he wasn’t, considering how attractive he was. Rugged handsomeness; Y/n had seen the movies and the pictures, Keanu had aged like expensive whiskey, if only she could have a taste. “People have been trying to set you up?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Minus the pony show, it kind of felt like a county fair.” Their laughter eventually became reduced to twined smiles and as the space between them lessened, “I’m not interested their type though.”

“Their type?” Keanu’s brows furrowed, “What’s their type?” He licked his lips, looking down at her close to his chest, as much as he had resisted it, Keanu had drawn closer to her. God, his mind whispered as their close proximity clouded his thoughts, she’s so beautiful, a doll wrapped up in fine silk. 

“Boys,” her voice had grown hoarse, in a throaty whisper, “I don’t like boys, they’re so.....immature and inexperienced.”

Keanu hummed in a agreement, “Sounds like you need a man.”

“It does, doesn’t it? A man with experience, who knows what he’s doing,” as she spoke, Keanu’s hand went to her waist, running the side of her torso before going around her, settling on the small of her back.

“Aren’t you something?” Keanu chuckled lowly, Y/n a little closer, “And here I was thinking you were a good girl.”

Y/n gaze darkened and she smiled suggestively, “Is that what you want me to be?”

All the alarms in his head had started to go off by then. She’s too young, half of his mind insisted, but every other part of him pushed him to submit, to kiss her and then some. Y/n looked so delectable, already in his arms, pressed to him. Keanu could feel her heat through the barrier of their clothes and the inviting view of her cleavage aided by the low cut of a dress that didn’t allow for a bra wasn’t really helping either. “Fuck no,” he breathed, his hand sliding a bit lower, cupping her backside. Keanu would have liked to think, that by all counts, he was a pretty decent guy. The kind that followed the rules and didn’t typically grab a girl’s ass an hour after meeting her, but Y/n was so enthralling that she was reminding him that under the right, or rather; the wrong circumstances, he could be anything but decent.

Licking her lips one last time, Y/n’s arms circled Keanu’s neck and without another word, he leaned down, his lips hovering a bare centimeter away from hers. It was a hair away from happening, and Y/n knew that she wasn’t ready for it to end there. She could feel his breath on her face and she cocked her head to the side to get a better angle, closing her eyes as she did. 

“I have terrible timing, don’t I?” And just like that, they sprang apart, both sucking in nervous breaths. Y/n’s hand went to clutch her chest, ignoring the sinking feeling she got as the moment got further and further away. 

“Jill?” Y/n groaned, disappointed. 

“Sorry,” she cringed, “You two were in the middle of something. My bad,” Jillian held up her hands defensively, “I swear I wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded and when Jillian didn’t go on, she gestured with her hands, Well, what is it?”

“Oh yeah! Um, they need you inside.....it’s urgent,” for another minute, Jillian lingered in the doorway, her eyes flicking between them, “Well, I’ll give you two a minute and meet you inside. Okay? Okay, I’m going now,” she waved awkwardly.

Once again nervous, Keanu stuttered, “You should....”

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded hurriedly, “I need to.....get......I’ve gotta go,” she shook her head, scurrying off.

With a heavy sigh, Keanu ran his hands though his hair. Half of him was disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to at the very least kiss her, while the other was relived that he hadn’t, the former being a little more overwhelming. Turning on his heel, he was trying to clear his head, when he heard the clicking of heels behind him, “For the record, you know where I live, and I’ll be here tomorrow if you’re still interested.”

“Alone?” He offered a intrigued smile.

“Completely,” Y/n winked, once again hurrying off. At her final exit, Keanu scoffed, still smiling, she really was something, and he could already tell that Y/n was up to no good. 

[dyaz-stories]

Because I need AAALLL the kisses, fluff prompt number 10! :D Pretty please~

10. “Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you”

Hey! I’m really sorry it took me so long to do this. The last week has been… complicated to say the least, I had problems with my registration to college this year (it’s a very stupid but also very stressful for me story that’s fortunately resolved now) and I just didn’t feel like writing/couldn’t write during it? Writing is usually good to let out my stress, but I just felt empty and useless for days and couldn’t even consider opening the document to keep writing. Erm, sorry about that anyway, just wanted to explain why I’ve been gone in case anyone had been wondering.

Back to the subject — here it is, Keiz, sorry about the wait, and I hope you’ll enjoy it, I really loved writing it!

Tagging: @shinidamachu​ @sailorbabydoll92​ @sweetchcolate @clearwillow​ @zelink-inukag​ @cstorm86​ @digital-art-monster​ @danycontreras90​ @redflamesofpassion​ @lost-amidst-the-stars​ @eternalnight8806-3​ @desiree239​ @ashleys-canvas​ @mustardyellowsunshine​ @keichanz

Inuyasha growled in frustration. He should never have accepted to participate in Kagome’s training. He was glad she wanted to improve her powers and learn new abilities, obviously, he welcomed anything that could help in protecting her, but this exercise in particular… He didn’t like it.

She had decided in the past weeks that it was high time for her to put her barrier abilities to the test. She’d been working on them with Miroku and Kaede, and now she wanted to see if she was capable of using them outside of the usual setting, in a situation as close to reality as possible. Since Inuyasha wasn’t exactly keen on her trying that in front of an actual demon, he’d offered to test them on him, and Kagome hadn’t seen a problem with that.

Miroku had set his protections around Inuyasha to dim his senses, while Kagome ran into the forest. The first few times, the barriers had been incomplete or had fallen easily, and Inuyasha had worn his win proudly, bragging about how good he was at this — and, well, he was. Kagome’s barriers had been strong, no doubt, but not enough to hide from his nose.

Which, though he would rather die than admit it to her, might have to do with how well he knew her smell. He just had to catch the faintest whiff of it to recognize it and be able to locate her.

Well, until today. He hadn’t thought much of it when he hadn’t found her immediately, and he’d started covering what he assumed was as far as she could have gone.

And there was nothing.

He ignored the painful spike of fear that pierced his chest and spread all the way to his hands as he realized that her scent was gone.

N—No. He refused to think about that, about how she wasn’t anywhere, about how he couldn’t find her. They’d done it before. Surely, if he just focused…

A couple minutes later, panic was bubbling in his throat as it became more and more obvious that he wasn’t finding her and that he simply had no ideaabout what could be happening to her. Reason would have suggested that she was safe — if he couldn’t find her, there was probably no one who could — but reason was not something he seemed to have access to anymore.

“Kagome?”

Another time, maybe he would have winced at the desperation peeking in his tone, but he didn’t even notice it. Instead he stood still, waiting attentively for a response of any kind.

Nothing.

Yeah, maybe— maybe she was just out of reach. Unlike him, she was limited by human hearing after all.

“Kagome!” he shouted as he started jumping from tree to tree, not really caring if Miroku, Sango and Shippo could hear him. “Kagome!”

“You fucking won, okay? I don’t know where you are!” he yelled, stopping on high branch, hoping to spot something, anything that could lead him back to her.

After his words, there was a long, terrifying second of nothing again. And then, suddenly, her scent was there again, floating in the air to him, surrounding him, and he could breathe again.

It took him only a few moments to land in front of her, and the proud grin she was wearing dropped quickly as she studied him, worry shining in her eyes as she took in his tense shoulders and his sagging ears.

“Inuyasha?” she called carefully, quickly taking a step forward to fill the space between them, reaching out for him almost instinctively. “Is everything okay?”

He didn’t think as he wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in a warm, close hug and acting on pure impulse. Shit. He hadn’t planned for any of that, hadn’t expected it. Not the panic that filled him when he couldn’t find her when she should have been there, not the relief when she had reappeared, and definitely not the sudden temptation building up inside him when he’d finally gotten close to her again.

“Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you,” he mumbled hoarsely, parts of him practically praying that she wouldn’t hear him.

Kagome’s eyes widened. This was— new, to say the least. Moments of intimacy between them had been rare, and done more on impulse than anything. They’d both initiated it, so she probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but to hear Inuyasha actually say it…

He let go of her quickly, coughing awkwardly, and she realized with horror that she hadn’t replied to him.

“We should go. The others are probably freaking out,” he muttered, glancing down to avoid her eyes.

Oh, no. No, she refused to let that go just like that.

Gathering every ounce of courage within her, Kagome took a step forward as both of her hands moved up to his face, and Inuyasha stopped breathing. He was incapable of understanding what was happening. What— Was she—

Pushing herself up, Kagome slowly moved closer, and Inuyasha’s mouth opened just a little as he managed to move just a little to close the gap between them and to, finally, taste her.

The kiss was soft, tender, a careful exploration of each other, finally in a situation when they didn’t fear they would never see the other again. Her hands gently traced his jaw while one of his set itself on the small of her back, the gentle pressure all he dared to do in fear of hurting her.

But her tongue was dancing with his, her lips moving softly against his mouth without seeming to care about his fangs, and it was all he’d ever dreamed of and more.

When Kagome pulled away, his eyes were still closed, and he didn’t let go of her just yet. He wanted to remember this. Every part of it.

He didn’t say anything when he opened them. He didn’t need to. Kagome’s smile told him that she knew everything he could have wanted to tell her. And when she slid her hand inside of his to go back to the camp, he didn’t even think of protesting.