Summary: When Tre and the reader meet at his fraternity’s party they have no idea the kind of bond heading up to his room is bound to create.
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I was in my junior year of college when you met Tre. A totally different person; stuck up, condescending and exclusively committed to your artistic pursuits. I felt disconnected from my culture but connected to my ancestry unable to find beauty in the mundane everyday stuff that makes black beautiful. Guess surburbia and privilege can do that to a person. My mother decided to take a sabbatical and my father being a dean organized my special permission to have a roving semester. I was never interested in my mother’s mystification of the south or how she spoke about it with all its lore.
I was mortified to hear my cousin Toya didn’t know what to do with her life. But tapping into my inner artist you listened anyway considering it might be good inspiration for some work. While both of my parents went to survey some family land Toya painted my face.
“You ever been to a college party?” She asked.
“Of course… I’m in college” I stated obviously making Toya snicker.
“You’re a real bitch you know that. But still you my cousin - that’s what this family does they judge me. But you see, I’m a real bitch, I’m not gonna let you go out sad in whatever this shit is. Aren’t you supposed to be an artist?” She asked the real deal from then. “Is it avant garde or some shit I don’t understand?” She added making me smile.
“Some shit” I nodded.
“Yeah well you ain’t about to wear them rags around me. What size are you?” She asked.
“12”
“I’m sure my mama got something laying around that looks better than those rags. Cause I bet you’re into that classist sustainability bullshit too huh” Toya snapped.
“Yes I am, but I think it should start with the corporations and the rich. The lower classes naturally practice many sustainable methods.” I acknowledged.
“Good, then you ain’t all the way air headed” she commented pulling out a dress.
“I’m not a scholar I’m an artist” I clarified.
“They make y’all pay for that too? Any of those niggas in museums degreed up?” Toya asked smug as always.
“You’d do well in intellectual circles.” I commented putting on the dress and denim jacket.
“And you’re about to tear up this party” she smiled looking at me in disbelief.
The ride to campus was short and we could hear the music from the house once we got out the car. I’d never been to an HBCU before. I especially stayed away from fratboys. I watched as people greeted Toya with familiarity.
“Who’s your homegirl?” One of the guys asked. Clearly high ranking in the sorority by his confidence and posturing.
“Met her at the hair store, you said you want pretty girls” Toya justified omitting our familial relations, taking his hand and disappearing. It wasn’t until about an hour or so later that she returned and him and a few other guys got into line that I saw Tre. His movement in the stroll caught my eye and so did his arms.he had this elegance and the way the light his his skin was perfect. I didn’t realize I was staring until he was beside me. I got a closer look at his biceps .
“Tre, like what you see?” He introduced and I snickered wiping my eyes at his confidence.
“You crossed the room” I noted.
“I thought it was the right thing to do with you staring so hard” he commented. He kept talking but my mind was wrapped up on all the pieces I could create with him as the subject. My final project was on black version of renaissance art.
“What does your penis look like?” I asked interrupting him with a raised eyebrow.
“Wow, you came in with Toya right? That happened pretty fast” he swallowed as his air of confidence deflated slightly.
“What’s it look like, you have pictures on your phone?” I asked.
“Is it a prerequisite?” He asked and nodded.
“Actually it is” I responded truthfully. The tiny penises on the most renowned works of art never sat well with me. Appreciating the beauty of the sculptors work only so see those tiny members always was a sore point. Tre motioned for me to follow him in his room. I noticed eyes on us, even Toyas. He closed the door and I looked around a bit noting the minimal design.
“I bet that bed is filthy”
“Nah, I like clean sheets” he commented taking his shirt off leaving his gold chain. It made me smiled as I decided to add that touch.
“How tall are you?”
“Six feet” he noted as you stored the I information in my memory bank trying to consider how expensive it would be to do a life size sculpture in dark stone.
“Fuck” I muttered making him smile.
“You don’t want no foreplay or nothing, we can just get to it?” He asked dropping his pants and by far the best shaped and well endowed nude model I’d ever come across. Not to mention he was handsome. I circled him using my gift - a laser accurate photographic memory. I needed the body to be perfect. I could ask him for pictures of his face later I thought.
When I got up from looking at his member there was sheer confusion in his eyes.
“What, you want me to sit?” He asked confusing me.
“You can put your clothes back on.” I commented ecstatic.
“What the fuck?” He asked dressing. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
“I’m sorry, you just had perfect biceps. I’m an artist and I think you’d be an excellent sculpture. I’m probably gonna sketch you when I get back home” I told him as he grabbed his shirt. He was dumbfounded and annoyed.
“What kind of-“ he started about to blast me so I pulled out my phone finally coming back into reality and the evident danger.
“Look, I’m an artist - senior year I want to have a collection, enough for an exhibit. I’ve been waiting for the perfect subject to model a sculpture after. Michelangelo’s David is beautiful. He may have me in skill but you have David by at least six inches. In scale” I explained tempering the tension and complementing his manhood. The fire faded in his eyes as he looked through my digital portfolio.
“You did all this” he looked surprised and impressed.
“Yeah, I think it’s important for black people to enjoy art they can see themselves in” I admitted.
“You’re lucky you think my biceps are beautiful any other guy would have been fucked up with you getting that close and not sucking” he said frankly.
“My sincerest apologies.” I admitted and he smiled. “Think Toyas ready to go?” I asked.
“Nah” Tre said telling me she was occupied with his eyes.
“Alright thanks, thanks for being cool about my request” I nodded.
...
Tre was different than any other subject. It was like he was iridescent. I got another dimension another colour, more depth anytime I looked at him. Toya came home from her work one day saying Tre wanted me to call him. She never asked about that night so I didn’t say anything. We talked all night. Then there was another party and this time I went with my sketchbook and coals he stood with shirtless as I tried capturing his chest and shoulders having finished his rough outline.
Then he was visiting museums with me. Stopping by my makeshift studio in the sabbatical house nearly shitting himself every time pops came in to inquire about my progress. He was there when I cursed out suppliers and cried at the cost of a life sized adaptation, immortalization through art. He was there when the sabbatical and semester were over and we were heading back home. Then there was a Tre sized hole with me. I missed him, I missed our conversations and somehow all the art school politics, drama and preoccupations meant a little less. I found myself drifting away from superficial and towards real. My renaissance was happening at the same time I was preparing my exhibit. My Mona Lisa had brown skin and cornrows — it was Toya.
Tre and I didn’t cross paths again because of my travels until my graduation. He was visibly absent from the exhibit and frustrated about it. I’d never put out anything wit I’m that wasn’t perfect. I showed him my favourite places, I just got my own place afforded by my art instead of my parents wealth. We had sex that night, a fitting way to celebrate. He’d made a comment about not seeing me naked and how it wasn’t fair. I told him he wasn’t going to. Wrapped my insecurity on the moral high ground of not living for the visual satisfaction of men. Tre being Tre - a good man let me get away with it. Still we ended up in my unlit living room going at it on the couch. He used his hands to make mental notes. He took his hands feeling every curve, every roll every imperfection before showing me sex with artistic geniuses and proteges was nothing. I knew I loved him when he woke up and covered me over respecting my wishes about being seen. Somehow that night turned into every night for two weeks. Then he moved in three weeks later. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
I slide my stool back looking at the life sized sculpture of my man. I swallow a little emotional about it finally coming to an end. I swallow standing and daring to probe it for imperfections as my greatest critic. No one knows this body like I do.
“Tre!” I scream. “Tre!” I repeat with urgency like it can animate and walk out of the studio. He comes sleepily leaning in the doorway with his eyes barely open.
“What’s wrong babe?” He asks.
“Babe, it’s finished, four years later it’s finished” I squeal jumping into his arms and it’s a miracle he catches me smiling as he holds me close. I’ve never toiled at anything this long.
“So are you sick of looking at me yet?” He teases and I smile as he kisses me.
“No”
“You said once you finish we can start our family” he says with a one track mind.
“You’re not sick of me yet?” I retort.
“No” he admits.
I smile having denied him kids for the past two years since we’ve been married. The first year we were honeymooners and then the pressure for kids began. He stood with me in solidarity for the public while wearing me out behind closed doors. I stopped taking my birth control six months ago and have been neglecting my real husband for the art piece.
I step down from his hold taking off my glasses and gloves.
“Tre?” I ask putting things back in their place.
“Yeah?”
“I need you for something else” I admit and he swallows nodding despite his agitation the greatest husband ever. I can never thank Toya enough for dragging me to that party.
“What babe?”
“Let’s get started on our greatest masterpiece yet” I smile and it takes the double-entendre awhile to set in before he smiles ready and we get started.
I’m gonna preface this by saying that I know nothing in the MotU franchise is ever written with critical analysis in mind. You are not meant to actually think about Masters of the Universe, you’re just meant to buy them.
That being said...
How did Nick Powers/the Faceless One raise an infant in the isolated ruin of Zalesia?
Zalesia is a ruin. A destroyed city. The only residents, himself and his daughter. Its located in a remote and dangerous to cross desert where literal fire pits up from the sand like the Fire Swamp from the Princess Bride. The Faceless One cannot leave Zalesia. He is cursed to stay there.
People have no reason to come to Zalesia so there aren’t gonna be any caravans or other travelers or traders coming to Zalesia to bring supplies. Faceless can’t leave so it’s not like he can just pop on down to a grocery store for formula and diapers.
So, like, how in the hell did he manage to keep an infant alive? Never mind raise her to adulthood!
Finally watching Burning Sands because I figure that if I can recognize Trevor Jackson's sex scene from the film in about 2 seconds- I should at least know the premise of the film.
