#he has strong political opinions he shares at the dinner table

[themuskrater]

I just had a dream that convinced me Santa Claus was Jesus' weird uncle. Like he's Mary's brother. He shows up to family events, but the other half of the family secretly hates him, and Mary knows what he's like but doesn't want to exclude him because he's her brother

#he has strong political opinions he shares at the dinner table #im not christian please dont fill my feed with bible verses just because i mentioned jesus once #santa #dreams #weird dreams #santa claus #christmas #jesus #xmas #jolly old saint nicholas #funny dreams #christ #family #sacreligious #blasphemy #kris kringle #that gay little elf

[panelshowsource]

this was my first time seeing tim and also getting a chance to say a brief hello! (though, i’m not particularly keen on meeting celebs or comedians and rarely take the opportunity, tim just seemed so approachable and that "this really could be my only chance ever" feeling hit hard, so i did it!; that said, i am incredibly disappointed having missed richard osman's book signing last month, but now i’m digressing…) he seemed so, so chuffed at the show being sold out and people being so happy to see him, it made my heart happy 🥹 and, yes, totally polite! (and quite hairy?) i said this before, but one of the best things about nyc shows is watching artists brim with pride — nyc brings out the 15-year-old dreamer in them that they used to be, you can see the "holy shit i really did it" in their eyes... never gets old!!

(this is a follow-up to a question about which 3 comedians i’d want to have dinner with!)

i think people would typically approach this question one of two ways: you want to meet the people you really, really love no matter what or you want to meet the people you really, really want to know more about. those two things can overlap, but sometimes a person you adore has already shared so much, written so many books, created so much, done so many interviews and answered so many questions that you might feel it's a greater privilege to see behind the door of a fiercely private person instead, if forced to choose. stephen fry and simon amstell are great examples of people i've loved so long, respect so much, find endlessly funny and interesting and inspiring — but they've been so generous with their lives and thoughts that there are other comedians & writers i'd never know 1/100th as well even after a three-hour dinner and their undivided attention, and i may selfishly, desperately want to. i say "may" because i don't really blame anyone who would prefer to live in ignorance about their favourite comedians & writers and just enjoy them through their work. sometimes i think that's how i feel about victoria; she's so witty and so smart and represents so much of what i respect about women in her industry that i love her to bits, but because her opinions can be so strong and even acerbic i'm intimidated by the reality that we may clash in some of our ways of thinking — and, selfishly, i don't necessarily want to face that. anyways—

if we were having dinner all of us together, i think it'd be nice to pick 3 people who are friends and would have a lot to talk about amongst themselves — since i'd mostly be there as a voyeur, or to ask a question to spurn on more stories. there are also comedians i'd pick in this scenario because they'd do much better amongst their own kind than a one on one with a normie...

do you ever regret asking me these kinds of questions bc my answers are always so long and qualified and boring like i type this shit out thinking "who would ever read all this or care even half as much just list the fucking comedians" im so sorry for who i am

...like, really, someone like alex horne...he'll be much better in a group, with his friends to play off of...but fock he's kinda hard to fit in with my other faves...

OKAY

i think for a group dinner i'd enjoy so much seeing catherine tate, lee mack, and david tennant. how epic would be that? the oldest of friends, who used to be in a group on the circuit as kids, and the long-time colleagues and icons, who have ruled tv culture with their talent and their charisma; three open, warm people, all legends in their own rights, with endless stories, who may not otherwise show lower-key sides of themselves. i'd sit at that table forever, i think, learning about the comedy scene, the acting scene, television and movies, how the industry circles have overlapped and evolved and helped and hurt. i could sit at that table forever, i think.

as for one on one dinners, it's too difficult not to say david mitchell (is that so predictable ╥﹏╥ ), who is someone who feels close but far; i think — apart from his love of history — he's offered many more scratched surfaces than deep dives, and i deeply appreciate the spectrum of his career and interests. i couldn't keep him too long because i don't think he appreciates going on and on about himself, and i'm sure i couldn't be too interesting, but man what an experience that would be no matter if it was just a short tea! otherwise, i would say sean lock and...as a kind of wild card...richard osman. i think a lot of people will relate to sean, just wanting to see him again, just wanting a moment of his humanity, his great balance between accepting the harsh and coping what we can. richard is a strikingly fascinating person — the younger brother of a famous rockstar and a massive comedy nerd who went on to become one of the richest comedy tv producers and now a crime author? talk about containing multitudes. he's been around for so long but really hasn't given much of himself away — i'm so curious about his life! and he seems such a polite, gentle, intelligent, insightful person, i think the conversation would just be so enlightening!

as you can imagine i have about 15 other people i'd be dying dying dying to have dinner with but i stuck with the prompt!!! sorry i was so word vomit about it >.<

the thing is julian has 0% dad energy — what he has is INTENSE rich childfree aunt energy. she’s gonna come around for dinner once in a while and wear that fake smile around the kids that makes it very obvious she’s not into them but is happy for you and talk about her recent trip to paris and after about two hours she has to leave 1) to go to the theatre but mostly 2) for her own sanity. as for lucy and sam, i saw an amazing exchange (i think on tiktok?? idr) discussing the quite serious difference at the foundations of james acaster’s and sam campbell’s comedy, since they’re being often erroneously compared, and someone made a point that went more or less like this: “the basis of james’ comedy is the fact he is a deeply angry, self-loathing and mentally ill person. sam is just a toddler who has had way too many lollipops.” and…that’s it. older sister lucy and younger brother sam have had too many lollies — you can even find some in their hair 🍭🍭

well you know what i watched an episode of pointless where THIS FUCKING CLUE got 86!!!!!!!!!! 14 people didn’t get sheep!!!!!!!!!!!!!! so frankly i don’t trust this audience anyways!!!!

hahaha no i just threw it together for that ask post that’s why it’s so sloppy 😂 you can use it if you want!

BONK

aw anon that's so nice! like i said, someone else made that action and i would love to know who (well, i know their name is ana, but have never found their blog in all these years) — the whole community is built on sharing resources and tips! hope you're having fun :')

get out of here!!! these were so sweet. thank you so much. to echo my answer to the anon before these, it's a huge community effort and the people who rip this content are my heroes. i'm happy you have some resources to help you smile and laugh 🥹

—

WATCH LINKS MASTERPOST / FAQ / TAGS / ASK

#a

[cheeriecherry]

hi!! how are you? can you write for baku, deku, & todo where they meet their s/o family for the first time & they’re super scary? they’re all super tall, buff, full of tattoos, loud, aggressive, mean & the fam is super overprotective over s/o & the 3 are just freaking out bc s/o is the opposite? s/o is super sweet, calm, bubbly & short so the last thing they were expecting was this & they’re just freaking out & trying to get on their s/o’s family good side? sorry if that sounds complicated 😭

The more specific the ask, the better! I’ll see what my brain can come up with, I’ve just had couch medicine so

Requests are temporarily closed so I can catch up on them!

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

-Loud boi isn’t gonna let anyone know that he’s intimidated.

-He’s already a little nervous to meet your family for the first time, though he’d never admit it. You were so hesitant to ask him to come over, and at first he thought it was because he was the loud and aggressive one.

-But that Saturday afternoon when he walks up to your house and your dad answers the door, he’s like ‘oh’ and it all clicks into place.

-He loves you a lot, so he wants to make a good impression, but he also never backs down from a challenge. So he and your dad have a stare down in the doorway, until you stroll around the corner and see them.

-You scold your dad and tell him to stop being rude to your boyfriend. Your dad doesn’t say anything, but he sighs and lets Bakugou in.

-The fun doesn’t stop there, though. You tug Bakugou around the house from room to room introducing him to your family, and every single one of them gives him the same cold, mildly threatening stare.

-Ngl your uncle who lives in the basement apartment kinda scares him, but he doesn’t say anything and tries to play it cool. The guy is built like a brick house and covered head to toe in intricate tattoos.

-He doesn’t mention it, but you can tell that your boyfriend is wondering about potential ties you have to the mafia, with a guy like that living in your house. But you assure him it’s just your uncle’s quirk that gives him the art on his skin, and that he’s actually pretty shy about it and doesn’t like going out.

-The last person he meets is your mom. With everyone being so much taller and physically stronger than you, he assumes that your mom is gonna be the person you got your tiny genes from.

-Lol no

-She’s at least six feet tall, and without a doubt the most intimidating person in the house. She’s got the face of an angel and the grace of a butterfly, but behind her smile Bakugou can see the willingness to kill anyone who hurts her baby (you).

-Lunch with the fam is a little awkward at first, until your younger cousin goads Bakugou into a spice eating contest. Then the shouting at the table begins, everyone placing their bets on who they think will win. You’re the only one who bets on your boyfriend, and you get like a hundred collective bucks out of your family members when he wins.

-He’s earned the respect of your cousin, who’s like eight maybe and now deems Bakugou a respectable opponent. Bakugou is torn between yelling and patting the kid on the head, so he probably does both and shouts at the kid to keep practicing so they can try and beat him one day.

-At the end of the visit, your boyfriend is surprisingly calm. You’re walking him home, arm in arm, not really saying much. Though you do tell him that he’s taking your living situation pretty well.

-He’s like wdym? And you explain to him that most of your friends and potential partners are scared of your family and refuse to come over because of them.

-Bakugou just scoffs and is like ‘of course they are, because they’re chicken shits. As if I’d be scared of a bunch of-’ and he pauses because you start laughing, not at him, just about the situation.

-Your family actually really likes him and find him a suitable boyfriend for you. They know you’re strong, but they want someone who can protect you and who’s loyal to you, and they see that in Bakugou. They probably invite him to the next family gathering.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

-A nervous boi

-He wants so badly to make a good impression on your family, to get their approval of your relationship. He knows you’re close with them, so he doesn’t want their potential opinions of him to sway your desire to be with him.

-He dresses casually but tidy, and while he waits at the door he fiddles with his shirt a bit.

-Almost has a heart attack when your sister opens the door and glares down at him with the rage of 1000 suns.

-He does his best to introduce himself formally and be polite, but your sister is making it awfully hard for him to stay focused. She doesn’t say anything to him, so he just continues chattering until he’s off on a tangent and saying way too much.

-And you’re like ‘I feel my boyfriend danger senses tingling’ so you go downstairs and lo and behold. 

-Ofc he’s not in any actual danger, just the danger of making a fool of himself. You set a hand on your sister’s arm, and the moment you do it’s like all the anger in her body dissipates and she turns into a sweet, smiling bean. Then she skips away to go do her homework.

-You pull Midoriya inside and give him a once-over anyways, just to make sure your sister didn’t burn holes in him with her glares. But he assures you he’s alright, and he’s a lot more relaxed now that you’re around.

-Probably says something like ‘I can see why you were so nervous about bringing me to your house, your older sister seems really protective of you’

-and you’re like ‘um,,,,actually she’s my younger sister’ and he’s like ‘wot’ and you’re like ‘also she’s the least scary of everyone’ and he’s like ‘wOT’

-You waste no time parading him from room to room to show him off, all while his soul slowly escapes his body.

-Your parents actually scare him the least, like, of course they’re protective of you, but they have the common courtesy not to exaggerate their scary qualities. They still tower over both you and Midoriya, but they’re mostly civil in terms of interactions.

-Your older brothers scare him a little bit more. They share the basement suite, so you drag your boyfriend downstairs to introduce them all to each other...and interrupt their poker game with their friends.

-All of them have some kind of tattoo visible, nothing Midoriya recognizes as any gang symbol, but he’s still wary. However, he manages to say hello and all the pleasantries, and actually gets a smile out of one of your brothers, who tries to rope him into a game of cards.

-Thankfully you save him with the excuse that you still have more family to show him off to, but he’s left with the promise of ‘later, then’.

-Lastly is your sister, who he’s technically already met. She’s arguably the scariest of everyone. She’s easily almost six feet tall and looks like she could bench press the two of you with ease. You promise him that she’s a literal sweet pea, but when the two of you walk up to her room, Midoriya isn’t so sure.

-She glares at him hard, like she’s judging him about everything and if he doesn’t pass she’ll snap him in half. He has to swallow the lump in his throat, and quickly looks around the room for some kind of thing to ask about that might get her to open up.

-And he sees it. One of the rarer All Might figures from an old merch line, one that he also has, so he’s like ‘do you like All Might’ and it’s like a switch is flipped.

-You breathe a sigh of relief as the two of them start nerding out about their favourite hero, sprouting facts and recalling films and old news videos. When he mentions that All Might teaches at his school, your sister honest to god squeals, and starts asking all kinds of questions about what kind of teacher he is, what he’s learned, what it’s like to be a protogee of such a great hero. He answers everything with glee, all his former fears forgotten.

-When it comes time for dinner, your sister insists that your boyfriend sit next to her, which is apparently a very high honor because one of your brothers sulks off to the other end of the table. (You assure your brother later that it’s just temporary and that your sister just really likes your boyfriend).

-But seeing the two of them interact warms your heart, it’s usually hard for your sister to make friends because she’s so intimidating, so you’re glad they’re getting along. And so does the rest of your family! They see Midoriya’s kindness and hardworking attitude, and they warm up to him pretty quickly.

-It ends up being a really enjoyable night, despite the rocky start. Though sadly yes your boyfriend does eventually get roped into a game of poker, and yes your brother’s cheat, but you cheat too, and you’re all betting in chocolate coins. You share your hoard with him.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

-He goes into it being not nervous, and ends up being Quite nervous once he meets your family.

-When he arrives, you’re thankfully the one to answer the door, so he doesn’t get hassled, so everything seems pretty normal right off the bat. Until your cousin walks through the room and is like ‘???? who’s this pipsqueak???’ and Todoroki is torn between being his usual snarky self and being polite.

-He wats to throw shade right back, but for your sake he wants to make a good impression. You’re used to his manners (or lack thereof) but he doesn’t want your family to think he’s not worthy of you. He really loves you a lot and wants to stay with you.

-So he goes for a formal introduction, even going in for a handshake. It’s kind of funny, because your cousin is like ‘lol what are manners’ but your glare forces him to return the gesture. His hand completely dwarfs your boyfriend’s, and you have to hide a snicker.

-And then the guy awkwardly wanders out of the room.

-You and Todoroki kind of just stand there for a second, and then he’s like ‘is this what you meant when you said your family was intimidating’ and you’re like ‘:3′

-You give him a tour of the house, a nice modest place with traditional aspects. It’s nowhere near as big as his, but he like it that way, it makes the place more homey and warm.

-You introduce him to family members as you come across them; your younger twin nuisances cousins, who are more mischievous than dangerous, your aunt and her wife, who look like they could get away with murder, your brother and his friends, who mostly only glare at Todoroki to try and make him uncomfortable.

-Thankfully he’s used to the stoic and slightly scary expressions, thanks to his dad. He wonders momentarily if you’re safe here, but then he realizes that everyone in the house is especially kind to you, and very affectionate when they think he’s not looking. He doesn’t even bother asking the question.

-Lastly are your parents, who are in the kitchen preparing dinner. They’re a little perturbed that you’re both in the kitchen when they’re working, but they seem to be less purposefully intimidating than everyone else. They’re still a little scary though.

-Then he notices that your parents are making soba. From scratch. Which is particularly difficult to master, so he figures they must be pretty well practiced if they’re so good at it.

-Without thinking, he asks if they’ve made soba before, and soon your parents are sprouting off about their culinary careers and the restaurant they run. You were supposed to take over one day, but you ultimately chose a different path in life, even after they taught you so much.

-Todoroki didn’t even realize you could cook, but now he wants more than anything to try your meals someday, or learn a few things from you and make dinners together.

-It startles him a little that he’s thinking so far ahead in your lives, but honestly if you’ve managed to get him as a boyfriend then you’re likely to have him for your whole life, if you want him.

-He talks a little more with your parents about the food, expressing in his way that he’s looking forward to a dinner that’s had so much hard work go into it. And you can see the little light go on in your parents’ heads, the light that signals they approve of your choice in boyfriend and have started making room in their hearts for him.

-Dinner is nice, pretty peaceful aside from your twin cousins causing their usual trouble, but he’s nonplussed by it. he still wonders how you managed to come out so small in comparison to everyone else, but it doesn’t bother him too much. He can see that you’re loved and well cared for, and a little piece of him hopes that one day he’ll be able to get to know your family even better.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #Anonymous

[route22ny]

    Politicians and pundits often like to compare the COVID-19 pandemic to a war. Nothing in most of our lifetimes has had the society-changing impact of the COVID-19 pandemic — and this kind of feels like the way that our parents say their parents described the Great Depression or World War II.

    But World War II ended in a singular moment. Treaties were signed and people rushed into the streets in jubilation. The COVID-19 pandemic, which has plagued our lives for the last 14 months, won't end in a singular moment. There'll be no major "pandemic peace treaty," no all-out party. Perhaps, at best, there'll be a bunch of little ones. And that forces us to ask: How will this end?

The virus isn't going to disappear.       

   Our vaccines are incredibly safe and effective. For those who are vaccinated, they are a ticket back to "normal" life. Indeed, though rushed and poorly messaged, the CDC's guidance allowing vaccinated people to go unmasked both indoors and outdoors is based in strong science. Evidence has demonstrated that the risk of serious infection in the real world is astoundingly low, and that the viral load in the nasopharynx of vaccinated people is lower — likely explaining the reduced risk of transmission.

    Yet, some people aren't getting vaccinated. And worse, the distribution of vaccinations isn't even. If, for example, unvaccinated people were evenly distributed in the population, the probability that they would be exposed to the virus if 70% of eligible people were vaccinated would be quite low. After all, 70% of the people around them would be vaccinated and therefore far less likely to pass the virus on. That's how herd — or community — immunity works. The problem though is that just like the virus itself, the behavioral scourge of vaccine rejection spreads from person to person in localized communities. So those who are unvaccinated are more likely to live among others who are unvaccinated, increasing their collective probability of infecting each other.

    The likely scenario is that while communities with high vaccine uptake will get to a point where outbreaks are small, self-delimited, and rare — other communities that remain poorly vaccinated will continue to experience larger, more common, and more deadly outbreaks. And the virus will remain a looming concern in the U.S.

    The other issue is viral evolution. New seasonal variants will likely spread among us every fall and winter akin to seasonal flu, which kills tens of thousands of Americans every year. Some COVID seasons will be milder, some far deadlier. And just like the flu, we'll likely need annual boosters against it.

    Some things change.                                      

    But the virus isn't the pandemic's only ingredient — just the foundational one. For people who never got sick, COVID-19 still changed their lives. There is, of course, no singular pandemic experience. For millions of low-income "essential" workers, the pandemic meant fearing every day that you might be infected at work, or worse, bring the virus home with you to infect someone you love. For millions of healthcare workers, the pandemic meant watching your patients die without their loved ones as you struggled to manage the overflow. For others privileged enough to work from home, the pandemic meant endless days of Zoom calls while your kids tried to learn across from you at the dinner table.

    As I wrote previously, work from home is going to be a much more common feature of American life. Small businesses, major corporations, and even some government agencies have found that their workers are surprisingly productive from home — and have reconsidered plans to come "back" to work in the office. And workers themselves have found they like using their own bathroom and eating out of their own fridge at lunch.

    Indeed, as many workplaces begin to plan to come back to the offices, workers are pushing back. After Apple CEO Tim Cook sent a note to Apple employees requiring them to be back in the office on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays beginning in September, Apple employees circulated a letter in response:  

    "We ask for your support in enabling those who want to work remotely / in location-flexible ways to continue to do so, letting everyone figure out which work setup works best for them, their team, and their role — be it in one of our offices, from home, or a hybrid solution. We are living proof that there is no one-size-fits-all policy for people. For Inclusion and Diversity to work, we have to recognize how different we all are, and with those differences, come different needs and different ways to thrive. We feel that Apple has both the responsibility to recognize these differences, as well as the capability to fully embrace them. Officially enabling individual management chains and individual teams to make decisions that work best for their teams roles, individuals, and needs — and having that be the official stated policy rather than the rare individual exceptions — would alleviate the concerns and reservations many of us currently have."

    Other companies, like Dropbox, have preempted this demand simply by offering work from home options permanently.

    Beyond employee preference, companies attempting to go back to a brick-and-mortar office space will face the question of risk tolerance. As we well know, some eschewed any sort of pandemic protection — be it a mask or a vaccine — from the jump. Others, despite being fully vaccinated, remain hesitant to share enclosed space. How to navigate lower risk tolerances remains a serious challenge. Part of making workplaces safe may mean mandating vaccines, which has prompted serious pushback in the courts of law and public opinion by anti-vaxxer activists who want to use the pandemic as another line of attack. Navigating these challenges is, in part, what is pushing more and more employers to offer alternative working arrangements. Needless to say, some alterations to working conditions because of the pandemic are likely here to stay.

    Other things stay the same (again).                                      

    Some pandemic experiences were universal. For children, the pandemic has been a catastrophe. Not only has learning lagged, but children have been robbed of valuable socialization and milestones. Indeed, the consequences have been far worse for poorer students, disproportionately children of color, for whom access to quality WiFi and reliable computers are limited. All indications suggest that kids will be back to school in the fall as vaccinations among teachers and students press on.

    Access to other people and the venues in which we enjoyed their company was limited if available at all. Restaurants, concert venues, theme parks, theaters — even stores and shopping malls — had limited access.

    But that's changing. Prompted by the CDC's new guidelines for vaccinated people, many of these venues have rushed to reopen, and Americans are slowly but surely taking advantage. Flight traffic is increasing. Last week, LAX, one of the country's busiest airports, logged a 2021 record. And businesses can't hire people fast enough to accommodate their needs.

    Though worries about COVID-19 exposure — particularly for children who cannot yet be vaccinated — persist. Yet as cases continue to fall, and vaccines are approved for younger and younger children, these, too, will subside.

    The doomsday scenario.                                      

    But there remains a possibility that experiences of the pandemic we haven't had since last fall come crashing back. Cases climb, hospitals fill up, and thousands more Americans die. And that's a resistant strain.

    We've now identified several variants of the virus that are more transmissible, and some more deadly, than the original garden-variety ("wild type") virus we experienced through most of 2020. Thankfully none of them have fully evaded our vaccine-mediated immunity. Yet.

    Every single unvaccinated person presents an evolutionary opportunity for the virus. And even as the U.S. and other high-income countries approach a virus-stifling level of vaccination, the rest of the world continues to lag. Some countries have yet to get their first vaccines. New variants with frightening capabilities continue to emerge in these countries. Indeed, last week a new variant with aspects of the Alpha variant and the Delta variant emerged in Vietnam. So even as vaccine manufacturers roll out boosters to protect against the growing plethora of new variants, a doomsday scenario, where a more transmissible, lethal variant evolves, becomes more likely.

    And so, we can't take for granted that this is a truly global pandemic. And until the rest of the world receives what they need to "end" this pandemic, we won't see our end either.

***

    Dr. Abdul El-Sayed is a physician, epidemiologist, public health expert, and progressive activist who served as Detroit's health director and ran for governor in 2018. He is the author of Healing Politics: A Doctor's Journey Into the Heart of Our Political Epidemic and Medicare for All: A Citizen's Guide, as well as the newsletter The Incision. Get more at incision.substack.com.

#covid-19 pandemic #coronavirus vaccination #delta variant #public health #abdul el-sayid

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 26/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: An invitation, a decision, and touch of regret.

Notes: Oh my gosh this got so long and there’s so much dialogue and uuuugghhh. Sorry. It was necessary I guess. Also idiots got all cute with each other and *hands*

[AO3]

Gold stared at the crown in the center of the wax seal, his thumb running back and forth over the thick, raised edge.

He knew what it was, particularly given the extra embellishment on the outside of the paper, and any other year it would have swiftly been tossed into the fireplace and forgotten, but this year he found himself in a different situation. The seal cracked easily, a few bits crumbling to the desk as he unfolded the letter. Inside was a card made of a heavier parchment and embossed in one corner with the sigil of the royal family. Across the card, in an elaborate calligraphy style writing, were the words... Lord & Lady Gold

He sat back in his chair, momentarily startled by the titles written together, much as the near daily realization that he was married did. Setting the card aside, he scanned the letter, noting the usual pleasantries and flowery phrasing. It was the expected invitation to the royal court’s New Year’s ball, an extravagant one night event, surrounded by some of the most tedious and disingenuous people he’d ever met. Still, Lady Ella would be there, and he supposed there would be other acquaintances of Belle’s that she might like to see. But a solstice celebration at Thornhill was a far cry from the royal court. Accepting the invitation would mean being seen in the most public way possible, at one of the largest events in the kingdom.

Then there was the small matter of the dance.

He rubbed at his leg idly, remembering the tight ache from a few days ago. The dance he’d shared with Belle had taken up residence in a corner of his mind, rather persistently. It kept coming to the forefront in the late hours, and he couldn’t sort out how he felt about it to put it to rest. There was a moment at the end, after he’d spun her around one last time, delighting in her bright smile, where they had been very close, and he could admit that for that brief instant he’d been almost spellbound. The thought of kissing her sprang to mind, shocking him, and had then been swiftly dismissed.

It was absurd for him to even consider. A beautiful woman in close proximity would naturally raise such ideas, if one's guard was let down, and he was only human. But that was simply not the way things were with Belle. Their marriage was becoming a strong, capable partnership, one where they were working together for the prosperity of two estates and all those who depended upon them. Romance, lust, too much wine, whatever that brief instant had been had no place in that plan. Never mind that Belle would likely be aghast at what he’d been thinking. She trusted him, and he couldn’t risk doing anything to disrupt that, certainly not something so silly and fleeting.

“What’s wrong?” came Jefferson’s voice.

Gold sighed and set the invitation down on the far side of the desk before looking up at his friend. “That.”

Jefferson frowned and picked up the page, his eyes jumping back and forth, getting wider as he skimmed it. “Well...”

“Hmm.” He sat back in his chair and motioned for Jefferson to sit. “That was my thought, or lack thereof, exactly.”

“Are you going to accept?”

Jefferson handed the invitation back, and Gold folded it closed. “I have not decided, but I should probably speak with Belle before I do. The palace may have become a dangerous place for us now that we’ve disrupted George’s plan to take Avonlea.”

Jefferson smirked. “Yes, I think your wife’s opinion on the matter would be interesting.”

He gave Jefferson a flat look and shook his head. “She likely wouldn’t want to go, and I can’t say I blame her.”

“Nor I,” Jefferson agreed. “There’s also the small matter of politics when one is at court. It’s a game I don’t imagine Belle would want to play.”

“Very true.” Then Gold sighed. “So, to what do I owe this visit from you in the middle of the afternoon?”

Jefferson suddenly looked deadly serious and sat forward in his chair. His voice was low as he spoke, as though he was afraid of being overheard. “On the heels of your little coup at Avonlea, I’m told that the King is attempting to subvert your victory by getting the council to take it away again.”

He made a face and then frowned. “Is it reliable?”

Jefferson nodded. “I believe so. Everything else I’ve received from this source has been, and they are very well placed with the royal court.”

Gold leaned his elbows on the desk as his eyes fixed on the invitation card for the New Year’s ball. “Belle will be the named heir to Avonlea now. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“But the King does not know that yet,” Jefferson said. “As far as he understands, the estate is yours by rights. Maurice signed it over, those were the papers were sent to the palace.”

He met Jefferson’s gaze and huffed. “That may be true, but the council would have to believe that it was done under some sort of false pretense, that Maurice was coerced or otherwise not in his right mind.”

Jefferson’s look was pointed. “Do you really believe it will be that hard for the King to convince them to agree with his proposal? Enough of them dislike you sufficiently to believe you are capable of willful deceit as it pertains to Maurice and Avonlea, whether or not it’s actually true.”

Gold scowled and made a begrudged, grumbling reply. He knew Jefferson was right. A number of the other nobles thought little of him, whether because of his past, or because of how he had helped George ascend to the throne. They were forced to treat him as an equal, though they clearly despised it, which he always used as a source of amusement. That the same derision with which they regarded him was now directed at Belle pained him, and further reinforced that he was nothing but a bastard for trapping her in a marriage.

“You’re right,” he said finally, nodding to Jefferson and sighing. “He would need Belle to support his petition to the council, and to support the claim that Maurice was forced to give up his land.”

“He probably believes she would if he promises to give Avonlea over to her heir.”

The words nearly startled Gold. Of course the King would make that sort of stipulation, it was the only way to ensure the misery of everyone involved, and the result that he desired which was Avonlea under royal control. Gold abruptly pushed to his feet, his fist thumping hard on the desk before he turned and stalked to the window. The cool draft off the glass was a welcome sensation on his face, and he knew it must be furiously red as dhis heart rate increased along with his anger. There would be no heir, and Belle would be forced to watch her home be given to whatever lord or lady prostrated themselves the most.

Jefferson came to stand beside him, his hands folded behind his back. “What do you want to do?”

“What I want to do, and what I should do, are very different things,” he said.

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as he tried to calm himself. What he wanted to do was take George Spencer’s legs right out from under him with his cane, crown or no crown.

“Maybe...” Jefferson began, glancing sideways at Gold as he hesitated. “Maybe you should go to the ball.”

“What?” he snapped, turning to Jefferson. “You just agreed with me that it was a terrible idea to subject Belle to that viper’s pit, and now you’re suggesting I do exactly that?”

Jefferson smiled slightly. “Yes, I am, but what if - “

“Jefferson...”

“- what if...” he continued, ignoring Gold’s interruption, “you and Belle attended, and presented a very... united front? One that would imply the King would not have Belle’s approval for his proposal to the council.”

Gold looked out of the window at the snow heaped up over one of the planters as he pondered what Jefferson was suggesting. If the King got the impression that he and Belle were truly partners, that they were of one mind when it came to Avonlea, then it might be enough to thwart the entire effort for good. Without Belle to reinforce the assertion that Maurice was coerced into signing over his estate, the council could dislike him all they wanted, it would mean nothing.

“It could work,” he said finally. “Though it’s not without risk.”

“You would need to appear as aligned and together as possible,” Jefferson warned. “You know what the palace is like. Many eyes will be on you, both those you can see and those you can’t.”

Gold nodded. They would have to share meals, dances, everything including a room, the same as all the other couples. Everyone would be wondering about Belle, wanting to see how Lady Gold carried herself, and how they behaved together. It would be uncomfortable at best, and at worst she might return to Thornhill hating him. But Belle was strong willed and smart, and he believed she could do it, if she was willing.

Jefferson leaned to the side, bumping his shoulder against Gold’s. “You know it isn’t you I’m worried about, right?”

Gold glanced sideways at him. “I know. I will speak with Belle before dinner, let her decide how we proceed.”

Jefferson nodded, and left the room, leaving Gold alone to contemplate how to break the situation to his wife.

Belle sat tucked into the corner of the sofa in front of the fireplace of her library, several letters spread out on the cushion beside her.

Gold stopped in the half open doorway and knocked gently, a smile playing at his lips as he watched her. “May I come in?”

She looked up and grinned. “Of course. Come sit with me.”

“Heard from Desmond again?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she hurried to pick up and stack the papers she’d laid out.. “He wrote two days ago.”

Gold frowned and sat at the other end of the sofa. “Two days? Why did it take so long to arrive?”

Belle set the letters on the side table and then gave Gold a flat smile. “Apparently the road from Longbourne is nearly impassable with snow and ice.”

He made a face and shook his head. “Should have guessed. We’ve gotten quite a bit more since the solstice.”

“Apparently his son, Liam, took a hunting party out on Sunday, hoping for a deer or two,” she said, giving him a wry look. “But he lost his footing, slid down the side of the gulley, and nearly ended up in the river.”

“Good heavens,” Gold said with a light snort. “I presume he’s well?”

“He has a very hard head, he’ll be just fine.”

They laughed and then she added, “Unfortunately, they were only able to get two pheasants and a rabbit, and so the issues continue with supplies at Avonlea. It seems they can’t manage to find any good fortune of late.”

“Indeed,” he muttered. He let his gaze drift to the fire for a long moment as he pondered whether or not the news he brought and the question that came with it would help or hinder the situation.

Belle tilted her head and leaned forward, trying to catch Gold’s eye. He seemed preoccupied with something, and she hoped that he would tell her about it, whatever it was. “Cameron? Did you come find me because you couldn’t bear to wait until dinner to see me, or did you have something to ask?”

At the sound of his name he startled and then sighed. “Sorry. Yes, I have something to ask you, and no I could not bear to let it wait until dinner.”

She laughed again and shook her head, but then noticed he wasn’t smiling. “You seem...out of sorts? Are you well?”

Gold reached over and took her hand, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine, I promise, but we have something to discuss that I thought was best kept between us.”

At that her expression turned serious, and she shifted closer, holding his hand with both of hers and resting their joined hands in her skirts. “What is it?”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve received an invitation,” he said, “from the King.”

Her body stiffened, and she knew he felt the change from the way he looked at her, the lines at his mouth betraying his concern. “I see.”

“It’s for the New Year’s ball, and in normal course I would politely decline, but given the circumstances I thought it might to our advantage to accept.”

Belle bit her lip and frowned as her thumb passed back and forth idly over his knuckles. “How so?’

“Jefferson received a letter this morning, from one of his sources in the palace,” Gold explained, lowering his voice as a precaution.

Even talking about their potential ruse within his own house made him uneasy. If Jefferson had spies within the palace, who was to say that the King hadn’t done the same in return? All of the staff, save Astrid, had been there for years, and were well vetted beforehand, but now that the thought was in his head, he couldn’t ignore the possibility.

“It seems,” he continued, watching Belle’s face as he spoke, “the King may be continuing his attempts to take over Avonlea. Word is that he is going to petition the Royal Council to grant him temporary control, on the assertion that your father was coerced into signing the contract with me.”

She blinked and her fingers stilled. “What?”

Gold swallowed and put his other hand over hers. “The King would need your support to have a chance of succeeding, which right now he believes he would have if he promised to turn over Avonlea to you, or your heir. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but there are enough on the council who dislike me, that they would happily go along with it, whether they believed your father was being taken advantage of or not.”

Belle blinked, her mind only registering that the torment which she had thought they’d laid to rest was back, full force. Immediately, she sprang to her feet, anger propelling her from her seat with her fists clenched at her sides. She could feel a heat creep up her neck and a fierce pounding in her chest that made her stalk towards the windows for relief. The cool air drifted over her skin, and though it did little to assuage her ire, it did make her feel a touch better. She breathed in and out and closed her eyes, until she felt a presence at her side.

“Belle?” came Gold’s soft voice.

“I’m fine.”

His hand touched the middle of her back with a gentle pressure. “No, you’re not not.”

She gave him a tired glance. “Sorry, I’m - I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head as her throat tightened. Many times she wished to be alone when she was like this, but right now she felt in great need of his company. “No, no, please don’t. I - I just need a moment.”

He waited patiently for her to collect herself, his hand began to move up and down, a soothing sensation against her back. Finally, she blew out a breath and turned towards him, standing no more than the length of their shoes apart.

“I’m sorry.”

Gold winced and caught her chin when she looked down, drawing her gaze back up. “None of that now.”

Belle closed her eyes. Her head felt heavy, and there was a disconcerting tension in her temples that felt like a belt cinched too tight. She knew it was her nerves getting the better of her, but that didn’t mean she could stop them from doing so. Cameron was calm and solid as he stood in front of her, as though nothing could move him from this spot except her word, and she gave in and let herself fall against him. Her forehead rested on the soft linen of his shirt as her fingertips brushed the paisley patterned stitching of his waistcoat. His arms came up around her, hands near her shoulders, holding her without crushing her to him, and after a long moment, she exhaled.

“Is there ever going to be an end to this?”

The words were muffled, but he could hear them clear enough and sighed. He wanted to tell her that it would, more than anything, that he would do whatever it took to achieve that peace for her, and, abruptly, he became aware that he would if she asked it of him. There were things he knew, things he could do that would upend the entire kingdom, and if that was what was needed, if this latest plan did not set the matter to rest for good, he would do it. Yet, he knew Belle would never ask for such a thing, not if she knew the chaos that would result. She was too good, and would see her own happiness lost before letting it come to that. It made his chest ache to

“I can’t answer that for certain, but I think if we were to attend the ball, we might be able to put it to rest, yes.”

She sniffed and looked up, surprised to see his face merely a breath from hers. His eyes were warm, his expression comforting, and the simple presence of his arms bolstered her. If they faced the King and the royal court together, it would send an unmistakable message. She could do this; they could do this. Suddenly, she was very glad she had married Cameron Gold, and her lips curved in spite of all her anxiety.

“Then we should go.”

His eyebrow quirked. “You don’t want to hear my reasoning?”

She nodded and stepped back, the chill of the window making her immediately miss the warmth of being near him. “I do, but I also trust you. I imagine that if we go, and make every effort to present ourselves as being truly united, then the King would know that no matter what he offered me, I would never agree to it.”

Gold’s mouth curved slowly as she spoke, marveling silently at how she had arrived at the same idea as Jefferson.

“What?” she asked as soon as she noticed him smiling.

He shook his head slowly. “You are brilliant, do you know that?”

She made a face and then let out a short laugh. “Well, I do try.”

“You know it won’t be easy,” he warned. “There will be all sorts of people there, friend and foe. The whispers and rumors, the politics...”

“I know.” She blew out a breath and nodded again, feeling strangely calm now that she had let herself think about things rather than just being angry and upset. “I’m not afraid of them.”

“Even Milton and Sir Gaston?”

Belle reached out and took hold of his hands. The mention of their names set her nerves on edge, but she could tell that it had less of an effect than even a week or two ago. She owed some of that to Cameron, and trusted that if he was by her side, then she could weather seeing a few unfriendly faces at a ball.

She lifted their hands out to either side and stepped closer. “I’m not going to let them deter me from having another chance to dance with my husband.”

His lips twitched, and he freed one of his hands to rest it at her back, lifting the other to the side as she came to stand toe to toe with him. They took a few small, circling steps together in the space between the windows and the end of the sofa, less wide and graceful than their previous dance together, but drawing smiles from both of them all the same. Once again, he surprised her with a brief spin, and her soft laugh settled his mind on the matter. They would attend the ball and leave no doubts as to where their alliances lay - with each other, and no one else.

Belle twirled back towards him, coming to rest with her hand on his chest, and immediately pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. When she dropped back, she was smiling, and he was gratified to see she had recovered from her earlier distress. Her faith in him seemed to be unwavering now, and he hoped that when all this was done it would remain so.

“So, we agree?” he asked, letting her pull away from their impromptu dance.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We accept, and we put this nonsense to rest once and for all.”

“Then I shall reply immediately.” He gave her a brief bow, pleased at the way she rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled in spite of herself, and left her to finish reading her letters.

It was late, and Gold knew he should follow Jefferson and Belle’s examples and go to bed, but he had told Belle that he would reply to the King’s invitation and he was committed to doing so before the end of the day.

Unfortunately, the day had ended some hours ago, but before dinner there had been a frustrating matter with one of his tenants losing two horses that required a quick, coordinated search party to recover the animals. After dinner, the lure of cards with Belle and Jefferson was far greater than penning a perfunctory letter, but he was finished now and that was what mattered. He scrawled his signature at the bottom, and then scanned the page to ensure it had all of the required fluff and politeness.

He pushed to his feet, waving the paper idly to dry the ink, and crossed to a small table set in the corner between the bookcase and the window, tucked away where few would notice it. On it was an ornately carved box with a lock on the front, and he set the paper down next to it before reaching up to a shelf just over his head. He pulled out a book bound with green dyed leather and held it aside as he felt around on the small space its absence made on the shelf until he found what he was looking for.

The key was old and tarnished to an oily black, as was the lock it fit in, and he held his breath until it clicked open. It was a habit from so many years ago, and even now a faint smile graced his lips as he remembered the sly smile on his aunt’s face every time she pulled the box out from under her bed.

Gold opened the box and set the invitation card to the ball inside, pausing to stare at the small stack of papers inside. He swallowed hard and reached in, his fingertips lifting the card out of the way to reveal a letter, folded closed with the addressee and direction visible. His jaw clenched as he read the name for the hundredth time, penned elegantly above the broken wax seal of the royal house.

Lord Maurice Faure, Avonlea

Shaking his head, he pulled it out and then lifted up the rest of the papers inside the box to slip it back in at the very bottom. The invitation card went back on top, and he closed the lid of the box hard, exhaling heavily as he finally clicked the lock back in place. He quickly replaced the key on the shelf, followed by the book, and walked over to his chair by the fire. He lifted the glass of brandy he’d poured earlier and downed the rest of it one gulp, closing his eyes as it warmed its way down his throat.

He gave the fire a long look, and then his gaze shifted to the locked box across the room, wondering not for the first time if he shouldn’t burn the whole damn thing. Instead, he sighed and replaced the grate over the fireplace before heading off to bed.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #my rumbelle fic #fic #in all things

[brattyfics]

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Daya Galindo [Black OC]

Word Count: 4,681

Synopsis | Masterlist

Chapter One

On the last leg of a week-long trip to San Diego, Daya Galindo did her best to remain engaging, open, and approachable.

Along with thirty other members of San Diego’s elite inner circle, she occupied one Petco Park’s most expensive and exclusive Skyboxes. Many of her nights were spent in the same Skybox attending the Padre’s baseball games.

This time, however, the Skybox has been transformed into a ballroom of sorts. Several circular tables were spaced out in the large room, eight chairs provided at each. Simple but elegant centerpieces decorated the tables.

The $10,000 a night Skybox opened up to the empty stadium on one side, and a breathtaking view of San Diego’s skyline on the other side. The sliding floor-to-ceiling windows were closed, and Daya found herself missing the fresh air she enjoyed on game days.

Most attendees remained inside, adding to the suffocating feeling in her chest.

Her husband, commercial real estate mogul and serial entrepreneur, Miguel Galindo, was one of the few people outside on the brick terrace. He used the balcony to take a private call.

“You look so pretty!” Marcy Stevens, the wife of a potential business partner, complimented Daya in a chipper tone.

An eight-hundred dollar silk cocktail dress stopped just above her ankles. An equally expensive pair of nude heels complimented the deep red of her dress. The front was designed to cover her breasts, giving the illusion of modesty while the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her shape. Thin straps were tied intricately on the back of the low cut dress. The ensemble was on-brand for Mrs. Galindo, a perfect balance between sexy and classy.

The big, springy curls that framed her heart-shaped face, bunching around the top of her shoulders, were also on brand. Her makeup was done simply, shades of brown and gold to complement her features.

Marcy was right. She did look stunning.

Regardless, Daya did her best to appear humbled by the compliment. It wasn’t that she was cocky or arrogant. The truth was she had become numb.

“You too! I love your lipstick. What shade is it?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure.” The middle-aged woman considered it for a moment before ruffling through her compact.

With a bright smile, she held the tube of lipstick up victoriously. She passed it over to Daya to inspect.

After pretending to take note of the brand and shade in her mind, she passed the tube back to Marcy. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t care less what shade of lipstick the woman wore, but the name of the game was flattery. Fundraising galas, country club banquets, and art exhibits had all become a blur of polite one-liners one after the other.

“It’s so nice to see you.” She lied even when it wasn’t.

“We have to have dinner and drinks soon.” She said to be polite, even when she’d rather not spend her time discussing the newest fashion releases with bored housewives.

“How are the kids?” She asked, although she had no interest in listening to parents ramble on about how great their mediocre children were.

“I love your dress. Who designed it?” Chances were she didn’t care.

A lively buzz of murmurs was standard for these events. Conversations flowed as freely as the champagne. Whether it was to foster relationships or just pass the time, people desperately spewed out the words like they would die if they couldn’t get it all out.

The constant chatter annoyed her, but Daya was able to connect with almost anyone on some level.

She knew a little bit about a lot of things, so conversations about sports, stock-trading, or even spa treatments were right up her alley. She never would have imagined herself as the type of woman to participate in meaningless conversations daily, but alas, she was. Her experience as a member of California’s high society was a far cry from her upbringing.

Daya Galindo was born Dayana Sims inside a community hospital in Hawthorne, California. Her mother, Denise Sims, settled in Cali sometime during her pregnancy. Denise didn’t talk about her life before Daya much. Her daughter knew almost nothing about her mother’s family or her reasons for moving to California. She didn’t even know her dad!

Daya was as inquisitive as any kid. She often wondered about him—who he was, what he looked like, where he lived, and if he ever thought about her. Her mother shut down any questions about him. The answer was always ‘stay in a child’s place’ or ‘grow up and let it go’. That was her mother’s response to anything uncomfortable, and inadvertently she taught her daughter to shrink herself to avoid conflict.

It was one of many bad habits that years of expensive therapy hadn’t completely fixed.

Denise had also taught her daughter to not form attachments. They moved around a lot when Daya was young. Most times it was only a few cities over, but each time she left someone behind. There was no explanation for why. That’s just how it was. She made it through her teens and early twenties without feeling the need to set down roots.

Her husband, Miguel, changed that.

On paper, Miguel Galindo was everything any woman would want in a husband. He was wealthy, smart, handsome, and charming when he wanted to be.

An honors graduate of Stanford, he quickly established a name for himself in business. Fresh out of college, he moved to New York and started a career in luxury real estate. From there, his interests transferred to commercial properties, and thus the entrepreneur in him was born. Miguel now owned successful businesses on both the East and West Coast.

When Daya met Miguel, he was new to Santo Padre and adjusting to his new lifestyle. The man who raised him died, and his mother, Dita was a wreck. Miguel vividly remembered the sounds of Jose beating Dita a room over, and the way he viciously chose his words to cut her down. Everyone thought she would be excited to start the next chapter of her life without him, but Dita took his death the hardest.

Becoming the man of the family meant his own complicated relationship with Jose was put on the back burner. His mother needed him, and the family business desperately needed tending to.

As the couple’s only child, he was the obvious heir. Regardless of his feelings about it, it was inevitable. Miguel’s future had been decided before he was even born.

Through the crystal clear glass, Daya watched Miguel’s face contort in annoyance. With a quick wave of his hand, he gestured for his head of security, Nestor Oceteva, to join him at his side. A few words were uttered between them before they were making their way inside. She expected Miguel to rejoin her at the table, but instead, he made a beeline for the elevators.

She was a little concerned, but not alarmed. If anything had gone seriously wrong, Miguel would be by her side, excusing them for the evening. He probably just needed more privacy.

Daya stepped up in his absence, focusing on the Stevens’ project in front of her.

Tom Stevens was Marcy’s husband and the owner of a chain of hotels in downtown San Diego. Property value in San Diego was higher than ever and steadily increasing, which made the hotels a worthy addition to Miguel’s portfolio.

An epiphany inspired Tom. He was passionate about the hotels because he built them from the ground up, but he realized his passion was better suited for home.

Marcy was a forty-something widower who decided to give love another chance with Tom. He was ten years her senior and even more unlucky in love, but he didn’t let his previously failed relationships stop him from trying again. The couple were newlyweds, and it showed with the way they giggled and grinned at each other every few seconds. It was cute watching them interact like love-struck teenagers.

Daya and Miguel had their moments, of course, but what they had was much different than the Stevens’. The young couple had gone through their rough patches and made it out on the other side, but the newlywed glimmer was definitely gone. Tom and Marcy were still open to each other and hopeful for the future. Willfully naive in Daya’s opinion.

No, what she and Miguel had was much more complicated. Neither of them trusted anybody completely, even themselves.

In between light conversation, she admired the night sky. In the distance, she could see the top of their hotel. It would be at least another hour before she could go back there, sinking into the king-sized mattress for the night. The Egyptian cotton sheets were calling her name.

“I was out in Brawley the other day, and I saw some of your signs up. What are you guys working on out there?”

If she remembered correctly, it was Luke that was speaking to her. Daya turned in her chair to face him as she responded.

Mama always said, “A woman’s work is never done.”

Another fifteen minutes passed before Miguel rejoined them, the vein in his forehead also present and in attendance.

Daya took a quick glance over her shoulder in search of Nestor. He wore a similar expression, confirming her suspicions.

They hadn’t resolved the problem.

Her hand found her husband’s thigh, softly stroking the strong muscle through his slacks. They sat close enough to the table that the movement was hidden. She smiled at him innocently when his eyes found hers for a second, a clear warning behind them.

A young woman with toffee-colored skin, and a short coiled Afro, approached the table, introducing herself as Eva.

Daya scanned her slim frame in the bright green dress she wore while Marcy explained how they met. Seven months ago, while volunteering at Skid Row, apparently.

Tom stood to offer Eva his seat, hand resting on the back of Marcy’s chair.

Eva talked about her non-profit organization, speaking passionately with her hands about what needed to be done to eradicate poverty. She shared her personal experience with homelessness, and how it shaped her life.

The expression on everyone’s faces said they were listening intently, but Daya knew better.

Millionaires didn’t care about poverty, because their wealth depended on it.

Daya had never been homeless, but she had been poor, and it wasn’t fun. Helping to dismantle capitalism was the last thing on her to-do list. She knew it was selfish, but she didn’t care.

While Eva spoke, Daya’s fingers inched up her husband’s thigh. She wasn’t surprised to find he was already half ready for her, his length thickening underneath his expensive slacks.

Miguel leaned over to whisper in her ear, the hairs of his beard just lightly tickling her ear.

“Watch yourself, conejita.”

The words sent a chill down her spine, but she didn’t remove her hand. Shifting in her seat, she crossed her legs in a poor attempt to dull the subtle throb below.  

To her left, Luke asked Eva a question, diverting everyone’s attention to him. Daya used it as an opportunity to push her man further.

“Or what, papi?” The term of endearment rolled off her tongue with ease.

“Keep it up and you’ll find out.” He whispered through clenched teeth, speaking without moving his mouth. It reminded her of a mother scolding their child, and she resisted the urge to laugh.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She warned Miguel, tapping his knee patronizingly.

Miguel’s arm came up to rest on the top of her chair, and his head dipped to whisper in her ear once more.

“Brat.” The word triggered something in her, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

A better woman would be annoyed by the nickname, or even insulted. Along with other words a wholesome woman wouldn’t appreciate, brat was a term of endearment between them.

Daya straightened, trying to clear her mind of dirty thoughts. The heated looks they were giving each other weren’t appropriate for the topic of discussion.

When she and Eva made eye contact, she nodded politely. When the woman stopped speaking, she would need to have something of substance to add to the conversation.

“Are you ready to go?” Miguel asked his wife, hand resting on her hip. She sighed with relief at his words.

The two of them had left the table under the guise of socializing, only to slowly make their way out onto the balcony.

"I've been ready. I hate to say it, but Marcy is working on my last nerve." Daya groaned as she remembered how Marcy kept her locked down for the past forty minutes. She had left the woman inside, and she hoped Marcy had found someone else to occupy her time.

"I don't know how many more fake bathroom breaks I could have taken before she noticed it was just to get away from her."

Miguel smirked at his flustered wife. She had a good poker face and tried to sell that nothing could face her. It was always a little entertaining to see cracks in her facade.

“I just hope this is all worth it. I have a headache from listening to everyone talk, and I can feel blisters forming on my feet.” She complained, pouting up at him.

Miguel dropped a quick kiss to her lips in apology before sparing a glance at her feet. "You don't have blisters, honey."

“You don’t have blisters, honey.”

“How do you know?”

Daya’s eyebrows raised, challenging him.

“I just do.”

“Well, how about you inspect them tonight when you’re massaging them?” She asked in a sweet tone.

Miguel laughed.

“Is that your way of asking for a foot massage?”

Daya nodded.

“Come on, loca. Let’s say our goodbyes, so we can get out of here.”

Locking hands, the couple began the slow process of trading goodbyes and promises for later dates. Another fifteen minutes later, they made it outside into the chilly night air, the California breeze kissing their skin. Daya was more than relieved to see the fleet of black SUVs that waited for them.

Nestor Oceteva stood by the truck in the middle, opening the back door for them. “Thank you, Ness.” Daya told him, accepting his help up into the vehicle.

A driver and Nestor's second-in-command and cousin, Antonio Oceteva, occupied the front seats. Daya greeted them both warmly as she crawled across the leather seats.

"I can't wait to get out of these shoes." She said to no one in particular.

With no answer, she slid across the seat to see what the hold up was. Miguel stood outside of the car, several feet away. In a heated tone, he and Nestor discussed something she couldn't make out.

Antonio turned around in his seat to stop her, hand stopping just before it touched her knee. She eyed his hesitant hand for a moment before she met his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Antonio was all business when he gathered himself to speak. "He'll be with you shortly, Mrs. Galindo." She huffed in response.

Daya craned her neck to look out of the window once more, but it didn't do much good. From her vantage point she could see that Nestor wasn’t happy, but not much else.

"What's going on?" She asked Antonio catching his hazel eyes in the rear view mirror. He didn't look worried, and that helped to soothe her some. At the same time, she knew it could just be his military training at work.

"I'm not sure, ma'am." He spoke in an even tone, giving nothing away. She thanked him but continued to look out of the window.

Daya didn’t need to know every single gory detail, but Miguel knew she hated being left in the dark. It created distance between them and made her feel shut out.

She could almost hear her therapist telling her to slow down and think. Logically, she knew Miguel meant no harm, but it reminded her of her childhood, making her feel small and insignificant.

He found her in the backseat with her arms crossed, eyes closed, and heeled feet tapping impatiently against the floor of the car.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, mi amor.” With a simple nod, he signaled for the driver to take them to the hotel.

His warm hand found her belly, holding her there while his tongue slipped past her pouty lips into her mouth.

She responded the way he expected, melting under his touch. Soft hands cupped his face, deepening the kiss. His hands slid down to rest on the curve of her ass as she leaned into him. With each movement, Daya felt less tense. Several moments passed before they broke apart.

“What’s happening?” Daya asked, breathless from the kiss. Her eyes scanned Miguel's face for answers.

“It’s nothing you should worry yourself about.”

Miguel’s hands roamed her body, but she knew it was a distraction.

There’s a saying, “You either tell your wife everything, or nothing.”

Miguel often found himself stuck somewhere in the middle. There had been a time where he told her almost everything. Now, he operated on a need-to-know basis.

“That’s your favorite thing to say these days.” Daya said it with a smile, but her eyes told a different story.

“I didn’t mean it that way, mi alma. I just mean it’s not important enough to bother you with. I’m going to take care of it tonight, and then it’s done.”

“You’re leaving tonight?” She didn’t bother to hide that she was upset anymore.

The couple had spent the last three days in San Diego, occupying the penthouse suite of a downtown hotel. Their home was located in Santo Padre, a small border town on the outskirts of Calexico, two hours away from San Diego. Miguel had several meetings in San Diego during the week--with Tom, one of his lawyers, and the event. It just made more sense to stay in town for the week, rather than make the trek back and forth.

“I know I promised, but...yes. I have to take care of this tonight.”

The young couple had agreed to use the few days as a mini-vacation to recharge and spend quality time together. He had kept his promise so far, but she wasn’t happy their time together would be ending early.

“I understand.” Business came first. Always.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything. I said it’s fine.” She pushed down the anger she felt bubbling in her chest. “Seriously, I’m not upset. There’s no point. You’re still going to do what you have to. Right?”

He nodded, watching as she checked out of the conversation. She faced the window, staring out of it at the blur of lights.

“Do you want to go home? If that will make you more comfortable, they can take you tonight.”

“No. I’m okay. I don’t want to be on the road in the dark." She told him with a grimace. "I’ll find a way to entertain myself.”

The blur of neon lights transitioned into shades of shadowy grey as they entered the parking garage of the hotel.

“Nestor’s going with me, but Antonio will be here along with…” Daya tuned out as he named the guards that would stay in San Diego with her.

“They’ll take you home in the morning.” She nodded, gathering her bearings as the driver parked.

“Will you be there?”

“I’ll try.” She was disappointed in his answer, but at least he wasn’t getting her hopes up.

Antonio opened her door, and she accepted his warm, calloused hand as she stepped out of the vehicle.

Miguel met her halfway at the back of the truck, opening his arms for a hug. She stepped into them, the smell of his signature cologne washing over her. It relaxed her, and she forced herself to enjoy the moment. She was annoyed at her husband, but she loved him and wanted to appreciate every moment with him.

“Be good.” He whispered in her ear, tone gentle, but serious.

“I can’t make any promises.”

Antonio averted his gaze, turning his back to them. Nestor and the guards followed, choosing instead to focus on different parts of the garage. There were plenty of shadows for a person to hide in, and the couple needed privacy.

Miguel’s arms tightened around her waist, squeezing to let her know he was serious.

“You heard what I said.”

Before she could get a smart response out, she felt his manhood poking against her belly. Miguel wasn’t a tyrant, but he liked to play King of the Jungle sometimes; backing her into corners, and giving her silly ultimatums that he knew she’d rebel against. It was a fun game because it elicited a carnal response in both of them to fight for dominance.

“Be good or else I’m going to have to spank this fat ass.” She gasped as his hands cupped her ass. He squeezed the fat in his hands before jiggling it.

Daya moaned quietly, pinching her plump bottom lip under her teeth.

“You’ve told me what’s behind door number one. Now, what do I get for being a good girl? ‘Cause I have to say door number one doesn’t sound so bad right now.”

He pretended to think, cocking his head to the side. “What’s the saying, ‘happy husband, happy life’?”

Daya pressed a kiss to his chin. “That’s definitely not the saying, but fine. I’ll be good, but you owe me a foot massage for skipping out early.”

“I thought I owed you one because of the heels.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She would also have to pack his luggage for him. “Three. You’re in the hole for three foot massages, mister. I expect full payment by the end of the month. Got it?” There were plenty of people with better massage skills than her husband, but for some reason, they felt better when they came from him.

“I have no idea how you calculated three, but yes ma’am. I miss you already, conejita.”

Her arms circled his neck, pulling him for a kiss. “I miss you more."

Years of learning each other made it so they were in sync when their lips met, stoking fires in each other that wouldn't be extinguished any time soon.

“I. Love. You.” She told him in between greedy pecks. “Call me when you get a chance, ‘kay?” He nodded, understanding she meant for him to call when he reached the border. She would probably be asleep by the time he made it there, but it made her feel better when he checked in.

“I love you too.”

Entering the luxurious penthouse suite, the first thing Daya did was free herself from the designer death traps disguised as shoes.

There were plenty of amenities for her to enjoy— a jacuzzi style bathtub, and a spacious balcony with a breathtaking view of the bayfront. She intended to make the most of her time alone.

After assuring Antonio she was in for the night and wouldn't need his services, she stripped down to her birthday suit and ran a bubble bath.

The purple bottle was nearly finished from all the bubble baths she'd taken during the week. Whiffs of the lavender essential oil flowed up through her nose as she eased herself down into the rectangular tub. Powerful jets massaged her aching muscles with hot water, washing the day away.

Her hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head, loose strands clinging to her neck. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her hair puffed up with frizz, but she didn't let it bother her.

Old school R&B played on her phone. She could barely hear it over the sound of the jets, but she crooned right along with the singer enthusiastically.

Eventually, the water was too cool to stand and she was forced to get out. With wrinkled palms, she dried herself off with the fluffy white towel.

Wrapping it around her midsection, she settled into the low chair of the vanity. It took some time, but she carefully removed her makeup and moisturized her skin.

Staring at herself in the mirror without all the bells and whistles was always a little humbling. It felt dramatic, like she was in a cheesy coming of age movie or something, but it was eye-opening. So much of her time was spent pretending for others—dressing her body up, and her personality down.

The exclusive parties and expensive accessories were fun, but they weren't everything. Most people that came across her thought she was superficial, but in reality, she was the opposite. She would never be able to convince them otherwise and that was fine.

The people that knew her understood her, and that was all that mattered. She had a close-knit, but complicated relationship with her friend group. Most of them had known each other for years, so there were layers to their relationships.

Daya, her very best friend, Ariel Castillo, and Ezekiel Reyes made up the core group.

The three of them met freshman year when Daya moved to Santo Padre. Along with the pressures of going to a new school, she had to deal with being the small fry in a group of big fish. Ariel and Ezekiel had been there to make the experience bearable. They connected through honor classes and bonded over their shared desire to go somewhere else, and be someone different.

Miraculously, all of them ended up stuck in Santo Padre.

Ariel received a full-ride scholarship to UCLA. She made it through the first year and a half, completing all her core courses, but then her father got sick. She came home to take care of him, but couldn't bring herself to leave again when he got better. So she settled, forgot her dreams of being a surgeon, and went to nursing school. Ariel was great at her job, the best Santo Padre Medical had to offer, but it hadn't been her dream.

Ezekiel hadn't even made it through his first year of college when his mother was shot and killed in his father's store. Her unexpected death made him spiral, sending him on a witch hunt to find out who was responsible. One thing led to another and he made a fatal mistake that ended him up in prison for eight years.

Daya never left Santo Padre for college. She was good with academics in high school, but always had a passion for art. Her mother didn't have any money to put towards college, and she wasn't particularly excited about spending another four years in school. So, she did what she was good at, designing web pages for business owners around Santo Padre. 

It didn't pay great, but it allowed her to make connections. People were impressed with her work and shared it with their friends and partners. With a stroke of good luck, she was able to form the connections and save the money to start her own web development and design company. In thirteen years' time, she expanded the business across California from Santo Padre to Los Angeles, becoming one of the most popular and successful in its industry. Daya had touched more money than she ever thought possible.

She had traveled for a while, creating new stations took time and a lot of energy. In between, she went on trips out of the country, learning about new cultures and customs. It was hard to do with a growing business, but the experiences were worth it.

Eventually, she met Miguel, a kindred spirit who wished to be anywhere but Santo Padre. It was ironic that it was the very place they were both forced to settle. Miguel out of duty, Daya out of love and stability.

People came to Santo Padre from the north, south, east, and west.  From Northern Cali, Arizona, or Mexico. The quaint town was like a vortex, drawing people towards it from all sides. Most were smart enough to pass through, but those that stopped stayed forever.

GENERAL TAGLIST:

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @ifoundmyhappythought @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @thesandbeneathmytoes

“DEARLY DEPARTED” TAGLIST:

@buttercup812 @princesscornbread @oa-zidan @tian-monique​ @lovebennycolon @aria725​

#mayans mc #miguel galindo #miguel galindo x black!oc #miguel galindo x black oc #miguel galindo x reader #please let me know what you think

[nxrthmizu]

-Lordbug, Robin and Kitty Noir- Chapter Twelve: In Which Lila Lies

---

/Part One//Part Eleven/

---

The school was abuzz with chatter. Students everywhere gossiped about MDC’s show, everyone sharing their opinions about the newly-debuted designer. Some people sharing their opinions more than others. 

“I knew her since we were four!” Lila declared. “When we were kids, I used to be her model.” 

The girls in the class fawned over the fact that Lila, yet again, knew another famous person. MDC had bloomed into an overnight sensation- ‘Majesty’ crowded over magazine covers, but the Lordbug and Kitty Noir outfits were not overshadowed. Many pages were dedicated to the fashion show that had taken place the previous day, each and every article complementing on the designer’s skill and talent- And she was so polite, too! (Not to mention she was really pretty~)

Aurore was smiling widely as students flocked her, asking how she’s managed to get an interview with MDC before MDC even debuted. She smiled and brushed people off politely, saying that she was just lucky. The sour look on Alya’s face was unmissable, so Lila quickly jumped to the chance. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Alya.” The Italian pouted as she apologised. “I did mention you to MDC, but she said she already found a blog to interview her. I’m sure she’ll ask you to do the next one, though! She was really sorry that you didn’t get your chance since she already asked Aurore.” 

The ombre-haired girl brightened up immediately. “Gosh, that’s so nice of you, Lila! And there’s no need to apologise.” She cast a dark look at Aurore. “She got in by luck, I’ll get in for talent.” 

Across the classroom, Chloe snorted. The trio had been lounging at the back, listening to the conversation with… Various feelings about it. Damian was downright furious. How dare Lila claim she knew MDC when MDC was bullied by her everyday? Chloe was rather amused- She couldn’t wait to see Lila’s face when Marinette revealed herself after their graduation. Marinette was rather… Unbothered. Karma would be back for the Italian girl when the right time came- There was no need to get her own hands dirty. 

“I still feel so sorry you didn’t get the chance, Alya.” Lila pouted and shedded a tear. “To make it up to you, I’ll ask MDC to do a commission for you. She always said that since I helped her to her success, she’d make a dress for me anytime.” 

Awe and jealousy glinted in every girls’ eyes. Alya beamed enthusiastically. “Lila! You’re always so kind, thank you! I’d love to get a dress from MDC!” 

“Too bad she’s not actually getting one.” Chloe glanced at her nails, a bored expression on her face. Marinette shot her a playful look, which the blonde shrugged off. 

Luckily, Chloe’s remark was unheard by the excited girls, who continued to crowd around Lila until Madame Mendeliev snapped her book on the table, yelling for everyone to get back to their seats. Still, the excitement lingered in the class, and the skip in Alya’s pace spoke enough of how disappointed she’d be on the next day.

—

“Alya, please forgive me.” Lila sniffed pitifully as she cried. “I asked MDC, but she said she was flocked with commissions overnight and she can’t get to yours until she’s finished all the rest!” 

Alya’s face fell as her eyes dulled in disappointment. She’d been looking forward to good news from Lila, but clearly, the only thing that the day had brought was bad luck. The ombre-girl tried to keep a straight face as she reassured her friend. “It’s alright, Lila. I’m pretty sure she was really busy anyway.” She chuckled and shrugged it off, but everyone could see the stiffness of her body, the slump of her shoulders, and the tears prickling on her eyelids. 

Damian let out a little chuckle, his green eyes twinkling in satisfaction. “What did I say?” 

“Pft.” Chloe laughed softly, her amusement clear in her eyes and her relaxed position. “Too bad, Cesaire.” 

Marinette glared at both of them. “Play nice!” She hissed. Her two friends took one look at each other and shrugged, uncaring of the disappointment and lies that constantly hovered over that class. 

It was no longer, their class, after all. 

—

The call was pretty much expected. 

“Damian.” The stern voice of his father made it clear that it was unarguable. “I demand to meet the girl.” 

Although it was already a made decision, it didn’t mean Damian had to be happy about it. “Fine.” He grumbled. “I’ll ask her. But no promises.” 

Bruce made a grunt in his throat, his excitement not showing through his facial expression but his eyes. Blue orbs sparkled in excitement as the papa bat waited patiently to meet his little robin’s newfound mate. 

—

“Um, Marinette…” Damian coughed awkwardly into the phone. “My… Um, father wants to meet you.” 

The bluenette blinked in confusion on the other side of the line. “Um… Why? Did I do something wrong?” Damian heard his heart crack a little at the concern in her voice. No, you didn’t do anything wrong, my dad just wants to see you. Because he’s a busy body who can’t keep his nose out of my business. 

“No, no it’s nothing like that.” Damian sighed, shooting a sharp glare at Tikki, who giggled as she munched on a sugar cube. “It’s just- Um- He kind of guessed that you’re MDC and he’s impressed.” 

Marinette sighed in relief. “Oh, then should I bring Chloe as well?” 

The green-eyed Gothamite wanted to groan. No, not Bourgeois. But on second thought, Marinette would be more comfortable and assured with the blonde there. “Ye- Yeah, actually, why not.” 

“Great! I’ll call her now. Do I have to dress formally? Where are we meeting your father? Should I bring any gifts? Macarons? There’s still time for me to bake a cake!” Marinette’s frantic rambling made a little smile creep up the emerald-eyed’s lips. Tikki giggled at how hopeless her miraculous holder was- And at how frantic Plagg’s holder was. 

“We’re meeting him at a restaurant, so maybe dress formally. And no, you don’t need to bring any gifts, ange-” Before he could finish, he was cut off by the bluenette’s insistent rambling.

“You know what, I’m going to bake a cake. I saw a really nice recipe online the other day and I think it would be a good idea! I’ll, um, get started now, does your dad like cheesecakes? What about peaches?” 

Damian wanted to laugh. Gosh, he loved the bluenette. “Yes, he likes cheesecakes, and yes, I’m pretty sure he’s fine with peaches as well.” 

“Alright then! I’ll get going now, I have a cake to bake! See ya in a bit, Dami!” 

And then the phone call ended. Damian laughed to himself, Tikki watching with a warm smile as the emerald-eyed boy fondly thought of his bluenette classmate. 

—

Chloe was leaning leisurely on her bed, flipping through a fashion magazine. And then her phone rang. 

She frowned, picking up her phone. The caller ID read ‘Bluenette’. The blonde sighed, clicking the answer button. “What is it, Dupain-Cheng? This better be important. You interrupted my magazine reading session.” The blonde grumbled. 

“Damian’sdadwantstomeetusapparentlyheknowsI’mMDCandsoyouneedtocometoobecauseyouwereoneofthemodelsand-”

Chloe blinked. “Okay, go over that again, but slower.” 

Marinette took a deep breath. “Damian’s dad wants to meet us, apparently he knows I’m MDC and so you need to come too because you are one of the models and I’m baking a cake to bring and we have to dress formally because it’s going to be a formal dinner.” 

“Okay.” Chloe breathed. “And this has to do with me because I need to go?” 

“Yes, and I’m calling because do you want some peach cheesecake?” Marinette’s bright voice made a little grin dance across the mayor’s daughters lips. Really, it was impossible to not laugh when you were talking to the world’s brightest little bluenette. 

Chloe sighed as she got off her bed. “The cake better be good, Dupain-Cheng.” 

—

The bakery smelt of cream cheese and peach syrup; Chloe sighed as she breathed in the satisfying scents. “That isn’t actually half-bad, Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette giggled. “Well, the big cake will be for Damian’s father, you can have all the tarts if you want.” 

The bluenette baker had baked seven cakes- A giant cake, and six miniature versions of the cake- Tarts. The bottom of the cake was a strong layer of sponge cake, followed by a cream cheese mixture. Atop the cream cheese was a layer of raspberry jam. After that was a jelly made from peach syrup- And inside the translucent jelly was cut up pieces of peach. Marinette had garnished the cake with some decorative flowers, sprinkling some strawberry powder above everything for the final touch. The baker girl delicately slid the cake into a pretty, white box, tying a perfect ribbon to top everything. 

“That, is really not bad.” Chloe hummed. “I appreciate this, and much more, for my birthday.” 

The bluenette laughed. “Sure, Chloe.” She smiled warmly at her blonde friend, bluebell eyes twinkling in happiness. 

Ding! 

The front door of the bakery opened, and Sabine called out for the two girls at the back of the kitchen. “Marinette! Your friend’s here!” 

“Coming, mama!” Marinette replied, hastily (But carefully) lifting up the box, tugging the ribbon one last time to her satisfaction. 

“Marinette, that ribbon is the definition of perfection. Stop fidgeting with it.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Let’s go!” 

The bluenette hummed, following after her blonde friend with a bright, happy smile on her face. 

Little did she know, she was about to meet her father-in-law. 

—

“You must be Marinette.” Bruce smiled warmly, holding a hand for Marinette to shake. The girl panicked, awkwardly trying to figure out which hand to use to shake Bruce’s hand as she held the cake box in her hands. Damian resisted the fond chuckle that was building up in his throat, reaching over to take the cake from Marinette as the bluenette shot him a grateful look. 

“You’re Bruce Wayne.” Chloe deadpanned, shooting glares at Damian. “Damian never said he was the Damian Wayne.” 

The boy shrugged. “I was going under Fu’s name since I was living with him.” 

Bruce nodded. “And you must be Ms. Bourgeois.” The blonde smiled, reaching over to shake the billionaire’s hand as well. 

“Um, I baked a little something for you.” Marinette smiled shyly. “I hope you like cheesecakes?” 

Bruce’s eyes conveyed nothing but surprise. “You can bake?” 

“Father, Marinette is a baker’s daughter. Her parents own the most popular bakery in all of Paris.” Damian cut in, his emerald eyes practically yelling threats at his father. 

“I see.” Bruce nodded approvingly. “Ms. Dupain-Cheng is truly a very talented individual.” 

The said girl blushed fiercely, spluttering out her thanks. Bruce smiled at how polite and awkward the girl was- Truly, his future daughter-in-law was one of a kind. 

—

/Part Thirteen/

---

A/N: Yes, I’ve been MIA for a very long time, sorry... Exams were clogging every part of my schedule. I’ll hopefully be getting back to writing so here’s an update for now! :) Have a nice day everyone, and thanks for putting up with my hectic update schedule... *Insert laughing face* 

My grandma’s birthday is today, so I rushed this before her birthday party! Once again, contact me if any mistakes are found. 

On another note, I’m sorry to announce that the taglist is closed.

Tag list! @yin-390@mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog@constancetruggle@the-navistar-carol@never-neverland@rayray384 @mystery-5-5 @black-streak@bluerosette23@seraphichana @you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mikantsume@graduatedmelon@thebookwormfairy@crazylittlemunchkin@shizukiryuu@screamingtofillthevoid@serenacross200@zestyzealot@redscarlet95@roseinbloom02 @beautym3@resignedcatservant@sizzling-fairy-oil@tinybrie @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@lunar-wolf-warrior@northernbluetongue@dannyelric301 @daminett4life@loysydark@sparkle9510@erick-rose99-stuff@nataladriana9@maya-custodios-dionach ​@myazael ​@sassakitty ​@clumsy-owl-4178 ​@emootaku-666 @moonlightstar64 ​@r0sebutch ​@maggiecc12 @gaeasun@miss-mysterys-blog​@bluefyoto94 ​@sam-spectra ​@toodaloo-kangaroo ​@queenmj10 ​

#daminette #damian x marinette #marinette dupaincheng mlbdc #damian wayne mlbdc #bruce wayne mlbdc #chloe bourgeois mlbdc #miraculous ladybug x dc #mlbdc #cadenceh2o #lordbug #kittynoir #robin #lordbugrobinandkittynoir

[just-horrible-things]

[Warning - eye gore.]

Send a message, the letter reads, in the familiar elegant curls of his mother’s handwriting, to Inquisitor Bright. He has a location – not to find the Inquisitor herself, of course, but somewhere that her agents can be found. Return her acolyte – or what remains of her – with an apology. Remind her that misunderstandings are tragically easy, and that the affairs of Navigators are perilous.

Privately Tacitus thinks that it might be wiser to allow the Inquisitor’s minions their investigations. He has nothing to hide. If Cavarr have sins worthy of the Inquisition’s attention, Tacitus knows nothing of them and therefore cannot betray any secrets. Rebuffing them like this will surely just raise suspicions. Even Navigators aren’t entirely beyond the Inquisition’s reach.

But it isn’t Tacitus’ decision to make. And the House feels that the insult of such blatant snooping should not go unanswered.

“I will take dinner with the prisoner,” he informs his valet as he folds the letter carefully for storage. “See that she’s cleaned up, and find her something to wear, please. There’s no need to humiliate her. If she will wash herself, let her.” “What should she wear?” “Hm, I don’t know. Find her something respectable, would you? Black, I should think, the Inquisition always seem to be in black. I shall be informal.”

“Of course. Leave it to me.” “Thank you.”

They share a smile, then Tacitus turns back to his desk. He should write back to his mother, and while he won’t be able to finish the letter until after he has dealt with the Inquisitorial woman, he has plenty of other topics to cover.

---

The unfortunate throne agent is waiting for Tacitus when he enters the dining room. Not that she has a choice in the matter. She’s been dressed in a nice tunic with pleated patterns, and a decent jacket. Her hair is up like it was when he first met her. She sits with her spine straight, glaring sullenly at Tacitus as he walks in. There’s a slight flush in her cheeks and he wonders if bathing was a traumatic experience for her.

“Interrogator Ariadne Milonas,” he greets her with a thin smile. “Lord Cavarr.” She inclines her head, but her expression doesn’t warm. “I’d stand, but I don’t have that option.” Her left hand is cuffed to her chair, Tacitus has been informed. “You’re proved quite the enterprising opponent so far,” he observes. “Precautions seem… prudent.” “Are we enemies, Cavarr?” she demands. “We needn’t be. I am a loyal servant of the Throne. If you are as innocent as you say, we should not be enemies!” “Interrogator,” Tacitus chides mildly, one eyebrow quirked. “I haven’t even had a chance to sit down.”

She watches sourly as he sits down. But she doesn’t press the point, and she accepts his offer of amasec. Soup is brought in almost immediately, with bread pre-broken so that her single free hand isn’t an impediment. “If you think two loyal servants cannot be enemies,” Tacitus tells her, “You must be naive. And I find that difficult to believe of the Inquistion.” “Two loyal servants shouldn’t be enemies,” she argues. “We should all place cooperation in the name of Throne and Imperium above our differences of opinion. But yes, I’m well aware that pettty squabbles are commonplace, thank you.” Tacitus resists the urge to tell her she is welcome. He takes his soup thoughtfully, and lets her speak. “But my only loyalties are to the Holy Ordos. I have no stake in any political or economic disputes. I am not concerned with quibbles in the interpretation of the Creed. I don’t care about violations of the Lex. I care only for the good of the Imperium. There is no reason to consider me an enemy.”

Tacitus sighs softly. “Your loyalty may be owed directly to the Throne,” he allows, “But I am a Scion of House Cavarr, and I owe mine to my elders and my Novatora.” Milonas hesitates, but her voice is serious as she asks “Would you put that loyalty above your faith, and the good of mankind?” “Eat your soup, Interrogator. It will go cold.” She looks almost shocked at the rebuff. Insulted – as expected. And surprised. Tacitus expects her to argue. But she sullenly takes his advice. She hasn’t, he supposes, had hot food in at least twelve days.

She doesn’t let go of the topic, though. “You are more than just a tool of your family,” she tells him in low tones, while running bread round the bottom of her bowl. “You are an individual, in the eyes of the God-Emperor.” Tacitus chuckles. “That is so. But shall we not place faith in our superiors? Has not the Emperor placed them, in His wisdom, above us for good reason?” “That depends what those superiors are doing. You are not an idiot, I know that you would recognise heresy or treason if you saw it.” “Interrogator, I did not lie to you when I said that I have no reason to suspect any such thing of my relations. Of course you cannot take my word at face value, but I promise you – House Cavarr is loyal. There is no conflict between my loyalty to my House and my loyalty to the Throne.” She is visibly skeptical, but the main course is being brought in, and she does not press the point.

They eat seafood from the last world, grains from storage and greens from hydroponics, spiced and served in a rich sauce. Milonas maintains her composure, but she is quiet, and her concentration on the food betrays her hunger. Tacitus talks about the food idly, and she is polite enough to acknowledge it with terse compliments.

While they wait for dessert, Tacitus brings the conversation back to more serious matters. “You are mistaken in your belief that the Inquisition is an apolitical organisation,” he tells her. He can almost feel her attention sharpen to a narrow focus. “Many Inquisitors have a political agenda, and I doubt that Lady Bright is any exception.” He smiles at the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Yes, I know who you work for. “And even beyond that, the Inquisition as a whole has a vested interest in maintaining its own power. Which necessarily involves butting heads at times with other Imperial powers. Such as the Navis Nobilite.” “I don’t have any problem with the Navis Nobilite,” she responds. “There is a long-standing understanding,” he explains, “that the Inquisition does not pry into the affairs of the Nobilite. We police our own ranks for mutation and heresy. And naturally we take such matters very seriously. As a matter of faith, of course, but also because if we did not, then we would not long retain our privileged status.” “No one is beyond investigation by the Holy Ordos,” she protests with some indignation. Tacitus cannot suppress – or rather, chooses not to suppress – another chuckle. “You are wrong, Interrogator. On paper that may be so. But in practice… here we sit.” Milonas glowers at him.

“Inquisitor Bright will not take this lightly,” she says. Inwardly, Tacitus smiles. It is an admission of her own helplessness, whether she realises it or not. “I hope not,” he agrees mildly. “Truthfully this is larger than either of us. You have your Inquisitor to answer to, and I am still barely an adult in the eyes of my kin. We each do as we must. More amasec, Interrogator?” She nods and mutters a terse “Please.”

He would not describe the rest of the dinner as ‘pleasant’ per se. She is sullen company. But he thinks that he sees a fraction less hostility in her and a fraction more resignation. He cannot count it as a victory. He has her in the palm of his hand already, he doesn’t need to talk her around to his point of view. Very soon it will not matter.

He picks at his dessert with sombre spirit. Milonas is not exactly a charming conversational partner. She is a stone-cold killer and has been a difficult, violent prisoner. Her duties in the Inquisition are doubtless often unpleasant. But for all her personal flaws she seems sincere in her faith. It is a shame to break her. He hasn’t the stomach to do it with protracted violence. Who knows how long it would take? He doubts anyone rises to the rank of Interrogator without a certain strength of spirit. No, he’ll do this the quick way and be done with this unpleasant duty. Strong or not, she is only human.

Once the table is cleared and the staff have departed, Tacitus sighs. “I am sorry,” he tells the Interrogator, “that circumstance has made enemies of us.” She is watching him uneasily, clearly picking up on his tension. He is not trying particularly hard to hide it. “What happens next?” she asks quietly. “Next?” He offers her a wan smile. “Next I return you to Inquisitor Bright. It would not do to hold one of her agents hostage.” She starts to relax fractionally, but he is not finished. “Unfortunately now, before I do that, I must make sure the message sent is very clear.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and then start to widen in shock as Tacitus reaches for the veil that covers his brow. Her free hand flies up to shield her eyes, but it will not help her. 

If she is strong she may survive this. If she is very strong she may even recover, in time.

He lifts the veil in a smooth, practised motion. His Eye snaps open. Warplight floods the room. His soul sings as he channels raw power.

The Interrogator screams. The hand that she clamps over her face is no defence. The Warplight shines straight through, like a knife. She sees what Tacitus Sees – the Warp, in all its senseless, unfettered splendour. The intensity of his Gaze burns.

She tries to stand, and falls back against the chair as the shackles on her wrist and ankles restrain her. Her scream pitches upwards through terror into raw agony. Her back arches and she throws her head back. Her fingers claw at her eyes, raking bloody paths through the bubbling flesh, pain insufficient to stop her from trying to rip out the visions of madness seared into her brain.

Tacitus screws his Eye shut, but the screaming does not stop. He feels queasy. He has only had to do this once before, and that was in defence of his own life.

The room stinks of burning flesh.

She screams and screams – a wild, wretched sound no living soul should ever have to make.

Tacitus scrambles round the table to her side, catching her wrist and trying to pull it away from her face to stop her doing herself any more damage. He shouldn’t care, but he can’t just watch. She struggles against his grip with shocking strength, and he finds himself shouting for assistance.

A minute or more passes in a whirling, nauseous blur. She stops struggling, at last, beneath the weight of hands pinning her against the chair. An aide holds her head still while another tries to fit a chilled dressing across the mask of charred and ruined flesh that is her upper face. She keeps making awful low moans, full of horror and pain. How much of her mind remains is impossible to tell.

Tacitus swallows grimly. He hopes that she is sufficiently destroyed. He hopes that he can send her back to Bright and let the Inquisition do what they will to save her. If she is still too much herself…

He does not want to have to do this again.

#my writing #my ocs #tacitus #ariadne #au: whumper tacitus #what if #tw gore #tw eye gore #tw burns #tw mindbreak

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4333 Chapter: 27/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

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Chapter 27

A formalized academy with structured learning and standard knowledge shared across all the children of the village no matter the background they came from; the very idea of it was enough to curl Tobirama’s toes with joy. That it had been his own husband who came up with the idea only thrilled him even more. Every time he thought he had Madara all figured out the man turned around and gave him something new to consider – and every new piece of the puzzle was more fascinating than the last.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as asking his brother to raise a new building and piling all the children inside. Before anything else they needed to decide what to teach the little buggers and when, what subjects would match with different learning abilities at what ages. What jutsus should be standard? Should tests be more practical or written? With a formal environment in place it would only be too easy to guarantee literacy and basic life skills for even those children without parents around to teach them such things. Should civilian children be given the same base education so that they understood the shinobi who shared their village or should they be taught in separate classes?

With more questions than answers chasing each other around in his mind Tobirama floated through the new few days with his head practically up in the clouds. Every breakfast and every dinner he let his meal grow cold and ignored the amusement in Madara's eyes as he rambled on about all the new ideas he was considering for this project – and they hadn’t even brought it up with the council yet. Madara had said he wanted a solid outline in place first to convince the traditionalists who would surely cling to the old fashioned idea that clan children should only be taught by fellow clan members. As many strong fighters as that had produced in the previous generations it also made for quite narrow-minded soldiers who were only exposed to one style of fighting and never realized their true potential.

The first time it was brought up with the council went surprisingly well considering how many different voices there were to throw opinions around, though the biggest surprise was the lack of fight from either end of the table. It was a little suspicious, actually, but Tobirama was still riding high enough on such an incredible idea from his own partner that he chose not to be suspicious just this once. Miracles did happen after all; maybe his miracle was letting Madara's brainchild come to life without any drama around it.

Or at least no more drama than the entirety of the village being treated to Tobirama’s overbearing pride at having a husband so amazing and strutting both of them around the village with endless smug expressions.  

It took more than half a week for Madara to finally roll his eyes and tell him to shut up, dragging him out of the house on their day off with instructions to talk about literally anything else for a while. They ended up wandering through the marketplace with Kagami running ahead of them, enjoying a stroll while his student made a game out of trying to find hiding places Tobirama wouldn’t spot him in, training made fun and easy.

For the most part he kept his promise not to talk about the academy that was slowly coming to life in his mind, though Madara did indulge him in a bit of a ramble about how far Kagami had come since they started working together. Beyond that they chatted about whatever crossed their mind as they examined the wares displayed in various stalls or traded the latest gossip about their more lackluster coworkers in the administration tower. Working in so many different circles meant there was always something going on with someone and it was the bread and butter skill of a shinobi to gather information.

Such was their excuse, anyway.

Tobirama was eyeing a passing fruit stand, inspecting for any late season blueberries and wondering if he could convince Susumu to teach him her tartlet recipe, when a hand entered his vision holding out a small basket of the indigo treasures he’d been looking for. Following the delicate fingers up a long arm, he found a half-familiar tanned smile looking back at him fondly.

“Ikuo,” he greeted the man quietly, not taking the bundle. “You must have returned with my cousin. I hadn’t realized.”

“And what an interesting homecoming it’s been. How are you? I’ve heard a lot of rumors but it’s always best to get information from the source.” Ikuo widened his smile and brought the berries he was holding a little closer to his chest with no hint of offense for having his gift rejected.

“Life has taken us all to some interesting places.”

Ikuo laughed delicately and from the corner of his eye Tobirama noticed Madara sidling a little closer, eyeing this strange man with a sharp, narrow gaze. He wondered what his husband saw. Curious, he opted not to introduce them until one showed any interest in the other. He did make a little sidestep to avoid the warm brown hand coming down as though to brush the edges of his sleeve; he’d never been all that fond of casual contact.

“You can’t even give me an open answer? I thought we were closer than that!” Ikuo’s tone was gentle and teasing but there was a suggestiveness in the way he angled his body, an openness in the way he stood, that he had to know Tobirama could read from a mile away.

“We haven’t seen each other in nigh on a decade,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t reconnect, hm? Go on, put my curiosity to rest. Are the rumors true?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be a little more specific.” Tobirama rocked back to stand a little more on his heel without bothering to conceal the movement in any way.

As he should have expected, Madara picked up on his discomfort immediately and stepped forward with an adorable little frown on his lips. “Sorry, who are you?” he demanded gruffly. Tobirama stifled a smile as Ikuo looked Madara down and back up with lifted brows.

“Senju Ikuo. And yourself?”

“His husband,” Madara growled. Tobirama bit the inside of his cheek to hold in a smile.

A flash of jealousy from his partner was well worth the discomfort of Ikuo’s bold assumptions and twice as amusing when it was followed by a brief moment of disappointment in his clansman’s eyes. He could tell exactly which rumors Ikuo was hoping weren’t true and he was all too happy to let Madara prove that they were.

“I see. It seems that congratulations are in order.” Ikuo bowed, too much of a Senju to make a scene but absent from their culture long enough that he allowed some of his petty frustration to show. “Let’s hope you’re up to the task, Uchiha-sama, I hear this one is hard to keep up with these days. It has indeed been many years since we saw each other but he was quite something even back then.”

“Those days are long behind us,” Tobirama said mildly. He said nothing more but that was all he needed for Ikuo to cough and compose himself a little better.

“Worry not, I won’t intrude myself on you any longer, I know how to take a hint. May your life together be long and happy.” He even managed to sound sincere in his well-wishes.

Madara, obviously, was not convinced. He watched suspiciously as Ikuo bowed to them both and moved to step around them, obviously intending to leave them alone as promised. As he watched the man walk away from them Madara crossed his arms and jutted his chin out obnoxiously.

“What exactly is he to you?” The question was for Tobirama but Ikuo, not quite out of earshot yet, turned back to give him a wink.

“I was his gay awakening. Do enjoy my finest work.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, though if he had the only one he would have gotten would have been the violent twitch in Madara's left eye and the curling of both fists as he strove to keep his temper in check. If not for the encroaching winter season keeping the air cool around them Tobirama was sure there would have been some steam rising from the top of Madara's head.

Allowing himself to feel a little smug over his husband’s reaction, Tobirama turned back to the fruit stand he had been inspecting before and watched Madara in his peripheral vision instead, allowing the man a modicum of privacy to stomp and fluster and glare menacingly down the street where Ikuo’s back had already disappeared in to the crowds. He didn’t seem very satisfied with Ikuo’s easy acceptance of their marriage. Or maybe it was that easy acceptance which angered him, denying him the fight he was so obviously eager to have. Whatever the case it took a few minutes for him to gather himself enough to storm over to the fruit stall and glare up at Tobirama with a pout that worryingly resembled his brother’s.

“I don’t like him,” he declared.

“You know, I think I picked up a hint of that,” Tobirama replied in a light drawl. He noticed the vendor giving him an amused smirk with his change but didn’t comment.

“What the hell did he mean by that?”

“Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private, hm?” Gently steering them both away, he led his husband off in the opposite direction and leaned over to poke a misshapen lump in a passing stack of crates. “Your henge is decent, Kagami, but you’re not suppressing your chakra enough. Come along and try again.”

Smiling at the sight of his student scampering out of the crate pile to take off ahead of them, Tobirama made sure to entwine his arm with Madara's so the man wouldn’t get any thoughts about pulling away for one reason or another. He set an easy pace and a straight path towards one of the less populated areas of the market where the streets weren’t so choked with people one had to be careful with one’s steps. When Kagami leapt up out of sight on to a nearby rooftop it gave the illusion that they were nearly alone in this hidden alleyway, their only companions a handful of wooden signboards left out to alert passersby that there were indeed a few shops tucked away in this area.

“Ikuo,” he murmured once the sounds of the street had faded a little, “was my first kiss.” Madara stiffened at his side.

“Hmph. I don’t like him. Did you…”

“We were not intimate in that way, no. I was only twelve and puberty was making me curious so I found a boy who looked pretty to me and I asked him to kiss me.” Despite the intentionally casual tone he was using it was easy to see how very un-casually Madara was taking this.

Squirming a little under the weight on his own embarrassment for asking such questions, Madara almost half shouted when he asked, “Did you kiss him a lot?”

“A few times,” Tobirama admitted. “I suppose you could say we dated in a very innocent, young sort of way.”

“I don’t like him!”

“Yes, you mentioned that. More than once.”

“Because I don’t! He- he doesn’t seem good enough for you! And he’s not even really that attractive! And he doesn’t even know you or else he wouldn’t have tried to touch you like that or get up in your face!” Madara snorted, nodding sharply once as though to put a punctuation mark at the end of his rant.

Tobirama really hoped Kagami had found a good hiding spot and wasn’t looking because he couldn’t stop himself from pulling Madara around and bestowing him with the gentlest kiss he was capable of.

“I am a married man,” he murmured quietly. “If he isn’t you then I have no interest in him.”

Both the color and the heat rising in Madara's cheeks could have rivaled flame. He ducked his head with embarrassment, grumbling at their toes that he wasn’t jealous at all. Tobirama opted not to tell him that his jealousy was not only quite obvious but also very appreciated; there was no need to rub salt in any wounds just yet. After a moment of letting that sink in Madara looked to one side with a light huff.

“How do you know that though? You were forced in to this, you didn’t choose me.”

“Perhaps I didn’t then but I would now.” Tobirama smiled when Madara's head snapped up to stare at him, probably trying to determine if he was serious or not.

“You would?”

“I would.”

Looking away again, Madara breathed deeply. “That’s…that’s good.”

“At the time I had no attachment to the event; I wish I had paid more attention on our wedding day.” With a wry shake of his head Tobirama sighed at his own stupidity. “I spent more time memorizing the seals in your clothing than how you looked in it. If there is one regret for how we began it’s that I wish I could remember what you looked like on that day. Your hair was up, that’s all I can recall.”

“Would you like to see?”

“What?”

“BOO!”

Madara and Tobirama both leapt two feet in the air, spinning in place to land in defensive postures, sharp blades appearing in their hands as they readied themselves to fight – Kagami. Smug little Kagami who stood at the end of their brandished kunai and laughed until it seemed like he might be in danger of splitting a seam.

They’d forgotten he was there.

A specific shinobi brand of shame fell over Tobirama that he had let himself get so situationally unaware as to let a mere child sneak up on him yet at the same time he couldn’t help the pride that flooded through his chest. Kagami really had learned so much in the few months they had been training together. No matter how wrapped up he was in his own moment he would have felt someone coming if they had been broadcasting their presence the way a body as boisterous as Kagami’s usually did. The boy had to have been properly suppressing himself as he’d been told and muffling his footsteps like they had been working on in order to get close enough to startle them.

Unable to be angry, Tobirama still narrowed his eyes at the wildly grinning boy while he pocketed his blade. Madara's face seemed to be the major source of amusement so he brought attention back to himself with a hand scrubbing roughly at black curls.

“Well done, Kagami. You listened and employed what I told you to and you waited for the right opportunity instead of rushing in. Excellent. I think that’s enough for today, why don’t you run and tell your mother everything you learned, hm? I can feel her only two streets over by the textile shops.”

Still laughing, the boy turned and hurried off to carry the tale of their shame home. Tobirama wanted to regret not asking him to keep that moment quiet but he knew that the smallest moments could humanize those who stood above others in a clan’s hierarchy. By tomorrow everyone in the Uchiha clan and several outside would know that the two of them had been human for a short moment, so wrapped up in their own romance they forgot the rest of the world. Nothing worked better to bridge the gap between ranks.

“I love him dearly,” Madara grumbled, “but I could learn to hate him a little too.”

“He was only doing exactly as he’d been asked to,” Tobirama offered quietly, though that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. “What did you mean about me seeing…?”

Madara perked. “Oh, I just meant that I remember what I looked like on our wedding day. I took a memory of it. So I could show you if you like.”

“Took a memory of it? With your Sharingan, I assume you mean?”

“Yes.”

“And you could show me?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Madara's lips turned up in a slow smile. “You do remember what a henge is, yes?”

The idea had not occurred to him, though he now realized it should have. Tobirama cleared his throat and mumbled that he was allowed to forget things sometimes too. “I would be very grateful if you would allow me the chance that I missed that day, to appreciate you as you should have been appreciated.”

“Ugh, as long as you quit being so sappy.” His husband wrinkled his nose uncomfortably and a wave of fondness swept over him, leaving him to do nothing more than nod.

Madara's eyes turned distant for a moment as he ostensibly slipped back in his memories to bring up the moment he had captured forever with his dōjutsu. When he came back to the present he disengaged their embrace enough to bring his hands together in a familiar sign, his body disappearing briefly behind a wall of smoke.

When he appeared again it was like all the air around them had disappeared and there was no more oxygen left to breathe. Tobirama’s lungs paused and failed to draw his next breath but for a moment that was fine. He never needed to breathe or blink or beat his heart again as long as he could take this image with him. Madara was, in a word, resplendent. Long hair twisted up in an elaborate top knot, traditional kimono perfectly in place and pinned to accentuate his form, the beautiful face so few people got to see in its entirety bared and blushing under the weight of Tobirama’s awe. Delicate kanzashi shifted with his every movement as he looked down and brushed his fingertips against the sealed fabric Tobirama had been so distracted by the first time he was treated to this vision.

“Jogging your memory?”

“I was a fool to not appreciate you before,” Tobirama whispered. He reached out unthinkingly to trace the shape of his husband’s face, reverence thick in every fiber of his being.

“What’s to appreciate?” Madara grumbled. “It’s nothing more than a change of clothes.”

The answer made him blink and tilt his head. “A change of clothes, a fancy new hairdo, powders on your face if I am not mistaken. This look is a work of art and if I want to appreciate you I will. You look wonderful, anata.”

He only realized what he’d let slip when he saw Madara's eyes widen comically, briefly disappearing behind a wall of smoke as he lost his hold on the henge.

“A-anata?” Madara's throat bobbed in a thick swallow, his lips parted, and then they closed again as he couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Tobirama cursed himself for a distracted fool.

“I apologize,” he hurried to say. “It’s- I did not mean to say that and make you uncomfortable.”

“Do you…think of me that way?”

“Well…”

Brows folded together, Tobirama looked at his partner with a helpless expression. Of course he thought of the man that way, of course he thought fondly enough to address Madara with pet names and endearments, but until now he had been so careful not to say anything of the like aloud. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that he had only recently come to the decision that he wanted to let Madara help him set the boundaries between them.

“Does that bother you?” he asked without truly giving voice to his answer. He waited with baited breath until the other man shook his head slowly.

“I wouldn’t say it bothers me, no. Maybe makes me feel a little guilty. You know that I–?”

Tobirama cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m aware of where you stand. What we have is…it’s enough. What we have makes me happy.”

“But you want more,” Madara surmised.

“I do,” he admitted because it was true and there was no point denying it when he had already unintentionally outted himself. “I desire many things but that isn’t to say I had any plans to force you. Perhaps in this we can implement the same rule as in other things, that you tell me if I do something which makes you uncomfortable. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Very reasonable.”

Both of them hung suspended for a few moments, neither sure what to say, and Tobirama found himself wondering if there were an earth jutsu somewhere that might actually make the ground open up and swallow him whole. He made a mental note to ask the Nara and the Akimichi, two clans with a notable amount of earth users among their ranks. The distraction was enough to occupy him while Madara worked through the revelation that his husband felt more than just a budding affection for him, more than the interest of a curious first fall, though he hoped the other still did not realize quite how deep he was in. There was no need to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

Eventually standing in silence grew much too awkward and they began to shift their weight back and forth until Madara huffed and leaned forward in a motion that could more accurately be described as a lunge, butting his head against Tobirama’s chest and throwing both arms around him in a hug more akin to an attack.

“It’s all so confusing!” he growled.

“Feelings always are,” Tobirama agreed, gathering the man in to a tight embrace, grateful his slip hadn’t ruined the day entirely.

“I don’t want my feelings anymore, I’m getting rid of them.”

“Let me know when you figure out how to do that.”

Madara grumbled a bit and squirmed but didn’t pull away and it was nice to know that he was still considered a source of comfort. After a few consoling pats to the back Tobirama gently suggested they leave this little side street and continue on with their shopping excursion. Nothing had to change just because Madara knew more about his feelings now, this didn’t have to make things weird.

When they turned the corner Kagami spotted them from where he was bouncing at his mother’s side and chattering a hundred words a minute while she inspected different bolts of fabric from a young man’s display of silks. As soon as his eyes alighted on them Kagami bid his mother goodbye and rushed through the crowd, ducking under legs and hopping over boxes, just to stand at Tobirama’s feet with bright eyes and a hopeful expression. That was a familiar expression. He could only want one thing with his eyes so wide and hopeful like that.

“Can we train more now please? You guys are done talking about adult stuff, right?” He clasped both hands together and fluttered his eyes until both Madara and Tobirama scoffed at his efforts.

“Perhaps after dinner,” Tobirama bargained.

“Mom!” Kagami immediately turned and hollered back down the street. “Can I have dinner with sensei?”

Looking up to meet their eyes with a questioning glance, the boy’s mother waited for Tobirama and Madara both to nod their assent before giving her child an exasperated yet fond affirmative. Kagami whooped and demanded to know what other shopping they had left, offering to help by running around and fetching things for them, a clear ploy to get them home a little faster. Luckily for him they were willing to indulge his efforts. Why do the work themselves if there was such a willing energy ready to do it for them? Taking advantage of opportunities was practically a shinobi tradition.

Glad to have smoothed their way past a moment with potential for so much more awkwardness than they had allowed themselves to be affected with, Tobirama reveled in the feeling of Madara's fingers reaching for his with no sign of hesitation. Things would be alright between them. He knew very well that his husband cared for him in some sort of romantic way. If it took time to build that romance he was willing to put that time in; he had a little more than four more years, after all, until Izuna would have a reason to start buzzing in his brother’s ear about moving on.

He was so lost in his thoughts of planning out their future together that Tobirama nearly missed seeing Tajima’s face in the crowd as they passed another side street where the man stood half cloaked in shadows, arms folded with the body language of a person waiting for something or someone. As they passed each other Tobirama saw the way Tajima looked at him, saw the way those cold eyes slid down to the hands entwined between he and his husband, then he saw when Tajima turned his gaze ahead to little Kagami so eagerly attempting to purchase an eggplant with the money Tobirama had given him. What thoughts might be hiding in that piercing gaze he could not have said but there was a distinct sort of sharpness that almost made him want to hide his loved ones away where Tajima could not see them anymore.

The next moment a door opened and his father-in-law turned away to enter the building he’d been waiting outside of but as he disappeared from sight their gazes met again and Tobirama felt a stone settle in his gut. Madara tugged on his arm to catch his attention, asking what the matter was, but he held his silence because he was unsure of how to voice his worry. Allowing himself to be pulled back in to a discussion about what to have for dinner that night, Tobirama wondered if he was worrying over nothing.

Or if he should start sleeping with one eye open.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #kagami #fanfiction

[hookedonapirate]

The Princess and Her Sultan

Summary: Crown princess Emma of Misthaven is second in line to the throne, her brother Leopold ll being the first, but her parents see her with a future as a great ruler. King Rumpelstiltskin of neighboring land, strikes a deal with King David, promising to uphold the peace between the kingdoms if Emma marries Prince Baelfire. With the promise of his daughter becoming future queen of the Dark Kingdom, David accepts reluctantly.

Before her wedding day, the princess is kidnapped and taken overseas. She is sold as a slave to a palace where Crown Prince Killian of Neverland ascends his father’s throne and is sworn in as Sultan. Meanwhile, Killian’s mother pressures him to sire a prince and presents him with gifts for his birthday, one of them including a blonde princess from Misthaven. Dazzled by Emma’s charm, intelligence and beauty, he summons her to his bedchambers every night and eventually finds himself casting aside his harem and centuries of tradition.  

A/N: We're back and we'll be moving along a little more quickly and getting closer to resolving things I know some you are anxious to see resolved. This chapter is just the beginning of that process. I'm excited to post this chapter, and all I have to say is not everything is as it seems, unless I've made it too obvious, then it's exactly as it seems. Ya'll just need to trust me, okay?

Thank you @gingerchangeling for your wonderful suggestions and ideas for this story, and also @ilovemesomekillianjones for gifting me with your wonderful editing skills at. I also want to give a shout out to @onceuponaprincessworld for being my sounding board, constant cheerleader and good friend, thank you, darling! This story wouldn’t be the same without these lovely ladies!

And all of you have been so supportive and awesome, thank you all for following along and for your feedback!

Rated: Explicit

AO3 l FF.N I Prologue l Ch 1 l Ch 2 l Ch 3 l Ch 4 l Ch 5 l  Ch 6 l  Ch 7 l Ch 8 l Ch 9 I BTS

“How was your night with the maiden Emma, Your Majesty?”

 Killian looks up at James from their chess game. He must have noticed Killian’s big smile has been cemented on his face since the moment he left his precious swan. “It was…” He’s uncertain how to describe his night with her in words. It was easily the best night of his life and he wishes he could revisit it repeatedly. His grin widens, and he stares wistfully at James as he awaits an answer. “It was magnificent,” Killian finally answers, but it’s an understatement. “Being inside her, being with her is like being in paradise.”

 James shifts uneasily, his features contorting as he clears his throat and picks up a game piece, considering his next move on the board. “I’m glad to hear, Your Majesty.” He smiles, but Killian can tell it’s a bit contrived. 

 He studies his friend suspiciously. “What is it?”

 James’ eyes widen at the question as he meets Killian’s gaze. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just—I have some news to share with you. But I didn’t know if I should wait and tell you or not. I didn’t want to pull you down from your cloud of bliss.”

 Killian raises a brow at him, his smile fading as he waves his hand for James to speak. “Please tell me.”

 A grin takes over James’ face, and this time it’s more natural than before. “Your Majesty, Ruby is with child.”

 Killian’s lips pull into a smile again, a smile that lights up his entire face, and he stands from his seat, walking around the chess table. James takes his cue and stands, letting Killian pull him into a hug. “Congratulations to the both of you.”

 “Thank you, Your Majesty. The baby will be born in May.”

 Killian is elated by the news as they pull away from the hug. He is happy James is starting a family. He only wants the best for his friend. In fact, he has made a decision regarding James’ future. James has been loyal for a long time, so Killian has a promotion in mind for his friend and confidant.

 Killian fears if he were to leave the world too soon, his half brother, Declan, would swoop in to seize the throne. His throne will always be threatened as long as Declan is alive. If Killian were unable to defend his throne, even if he had sired a son, his Grand Vizier would take over his role and guide the prince before he is old enough to take over the duties of the empire. Gepetto, the current Grand Vizier has also been very loyal, but he is very old and does not stand a chance against a threat to the throne. He will retire soon, so Killian has to choose a strong leader who will protect his future son and guide him before he can take over the duties as Sultan. The rest of Killian’s viziers are all new, for he had banished all of his father’s men. They were corrupt and could not be trusted. Killian has turned over many rocks since taking over the throne and unearthed many secrets of his father’s that have proved to Killian once again, his father was not a good man.

 No, there is only one man Killian trusts above all, and that man is James. He will make him Grand Vizier. 

 ~*~

 The next several weeks are a pleasant blur for Emma. The Sultan summons her every night and only her. She happily complies, and most nights, they are both wrapped up in a passionate embrace and left breathless, picking up the shattered pieces of themselves. They’ve made love on every surface possible in his bedchamber; they’ve made love on the divan, on his desk, the floor and the low table by his bed. They’ve also made it past the terrace and made love in the garden, and one night they snuck off to the pool and made love in the water. They’ve only been caught twice by some servants who immediately scurried away, blushing profusely when they saw Emma and Killian naked and consumed in the thrall of their passion.

 The physical aspect of their relationship certainly isn’t lacking anything. Both are always left completely satisfied and content afterward, but they also spend much of their time engaged in chess, simple conversation and getting to know one another. They talk about their pasts and the people close to them. Emma shares details about her friendship with Elsa and tells him how close they’ve become since they arrived at the palace. Killian talks about James a lot and how they became friends. He was sold to the Jewel of the Realm when Killian was young, and since then they’ve stuck together through some very dark times. 

 The Sultan also tells her how James got the scar on his cheek. A lonely old widow owned James after he was taken from his family, and she’s the one who took a knife to his cheek when he wouldn’t obey a command. Emma feels terrible for what her uncle went through, but she is glad Killian has found a friend in him and treats him well. He talks about the adventures they’ve had, but she can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if James were never taken and remained in Misthaven. Would he have been king? Would he and David get along?

 She wants to tell Killian that James is her uncle but she’s conflicted. She’s not sure what the Sultan will do. Will he be mad and banish one of them from the palace, or will he be understanding about it? Emma likes to think he would only be happy about this knowledge, but she doesn’t wish for anything to happen to James if it angered Killian. So she keeps her relationship with him to herself, at least for the time being.

 Killian tells her frequently how she casts a light over his darkness, and she doesn’t wish to be the cause of that darkness. She doesn’t want what they have to change. 

 Every single time they’re together, he treats her with courtesy and compassion; he respects her opinions, her mind, her body and he completely adores her. When the day wears him down, she can flip his mood around with only her presence. She can ease his mind with a kiss or excite him with her dancing. She brings a smile to his face with her laughter, soothes his soul with her wisdom and his body with her hands. 

 Killian expresses to her on various occasions that not only is she his lover but also his friend. Her heart always warms at the sentiment. The Sultan doesn’t confide in many people or look to them for advice, except for James, but Killian enjoys reaching out to Emma about court politics since he knows she is shrewd beyond her years with experience and has an innate grasp of the intricacies of these matters. She’s also not afraid to call him out when he is wrong about something. Nor does he feel threatened or angered by her for doing so. In fact, he finds it rather refreshing and is quite open to it. He isn’t ashamed to go to a woman for advice. 

 She has opened a brand new world to him, just as he has done for her. 

 He also isn’t ashamed to join the maidens of his harem for dinner to get to know them. This is unheard of in Neverland society, but after the initial surprise, the women are accepting of it (apart from Merida, who remains dubious of him). And this way, they don’t feel left out, even though Emma is the only one he calls to his bed. He grows quite fond of Elsa, just as Emma has, and she can’t help but worry about the Sultan calling on her next. It frightens Emma to her core, no matter how much she tries to accept this possibility.

 The Neverland nights grow colder and November quickly arrives, but Emma’s blood never appears. She thinks nothing of it until one morning when she wakes up feeling ill. She carefully sneaks out of the Sultan’s bed while he sleeps, and looks at her reflection in the mirror. She notices immediately how pale she is and doesn’t wish for Killian to see her like this. Though he’s seen her in worse conditions, she doesn’t want him to worry. She softly knocks on the door, so as not to wake him, and Nemo escorts Emma to her suite and sends for the doctor.

 When Emma finds out she is with child, she is full of emotions. She’s overjoyed but also sad. She doesn’t want her time with the Sultan to end. She loves him too much. She loves him so much it hurts. A tear slides down her cheek, even as Elsa is clapping her hands in excitement. 

 “Emma, aren’t you happy? You will soon be the Master’s Kadin.”

 “I am happy, but what if Merida is right? What if the Sultan tosses me aside when he finds out?” Emma’s heart tightens at the thought, tears pricking her eyes. “I’m not sure I can handle it!” Emma cries for the first time she has been to the palace. “I love him, Elsa, I cannot bear him to take another maiden.” Her heart stings as the truth comes rushing to the surface, tears falling down her cheeks. 

 “Oh, Emma…” Elsa scoops her up into her arms, letting Emma cry into her shoulder. Elsa holds her tightly, whispering soft words of reassurance, taking some of the burden off of Emma’s shoulders.

 Maybe it’s her emotions from being pregnant or maybe she has concluded she cannot accept the Sultan, her Sultan may take another to his bed. It feels like an act of betrayal. It feels worse than Graham’s betrayal. 

 That evening before Emma is to go to Killian, his mother invites her and Elsa to her suite to celebrate Emma’s pregnancy. She’s a bit surprised, to say the least as they enter Kira’s suite. She and Elsa are dressed in their best clothes, Emma is wearing one of the outfits and the jewelry Killian had given her. The pelisse Emma is wearing hides the small swell of her belly as she rests her hand there. 

 She’s not very far along, but she already feels protective of her baby. And truthfully, she doesn’t care if the tiny human growing inside her is a boy or a girl. She will love her child either way. She hopes Killian will too; she has a feeling he will, by the way he had spoken of having children. He wants a family, not barbaric sons who will rival for the throne, so it makes no difference if their child is a boy or a girl. 

 Emma will become Kadin, and if she has a daughter, her position will remain intact for the time being. She has no doubt she will retain his favor once she has a boy, but that doesn’t mean Kira or someone else won’t try to convince him otherwise. Kira sent Nemo to acquire four wives for Killian, not one, so Emma knows his mother will not rest until she has four grandsons from four different mothers so Emma cannot influence the Sultan. The more power Emma has, the more Kira will feel threatened. 

 Emma is not exactly sure what to expect by accepting Kira’s invitation, but when she sees her, the woman’s eyes light up and she opens her arms. “Come and sit beside me, my dear daughter.”

 Emma swallows thickly as she and Elsa make their way over. Regina is on the other side of Kira, her eyes shooting invisible daggers at Emma. She guesses Regina doesn’t like anyone competing for her mother’s affections.

 Kira kisses Emma’s cheek, cupping her face in her hands, saying prayers to the soon to be mother and her child. “I am delighted with your news. May the child be strong and healthy.” The woman gazes at Emma in admiration, a vast contrast to how she has treated her before.

 Emma bows her head. “Thank you, my Sultana.”

 They gather around on cushions at a low table, laid with sherbert, melons and sweet desserts. 

 “Have you told my son he is to be a father?”

 Emma shakes her head. “No, I have not, my Sultana. But he has summoned me for this night, so I will tell him when I go to him.”

 Kira nods in approval. “Very well. The news will overjoy him.” She gestures to her maids. “My daughter, I have some gifts for you.”

 The maids present her with many beautiful fabrics.

 “I will make the fabrics of your choice into maternity clothes, for when you grow big with child.”

 Emma smiles weakly when she looks over them. 

 When she is big and lonely and the sultan has another maiden to bring him pleasure.

 Kira must sense Emma’s sadness as she studies her in concern. She gently takes Emma’s chin in her hand, urging her to lift her eyes. “Do not worry, my daughter, Killian may summon you no more after tonight, but you have motherhood to look forward to, and that is more important. And if you have a girl, you may return to his bed.”

 Regina scoffs before taking a sip of her sherbert.

 Kira scowls at her. “Is there a problem, Regina?”

 “Why must you console her? Not long ago she was breaking the rules and rightfully thrown in the dungeon. She is a mere slave. Now, she has my brother and you wrapped around her dainty little finger. She hasn’t even had the baby yet, and you treat her as though she is your real daughter.”

 Kira becomes outraged by Regina’s words. “How dare you speak to me like that? You may be my daughter, but you do not have the right. Emma is your brother’s Kadin now, so you are to treat her as such.”

 Emma is shocked Kira is speaking up for her.

 “She is not his Kadin yet. I hope she is poisoned like Milah was.”

 With those words, Regina rises and storms out of the room.

 Kira and Elsa are mortified. Emma is mortified.

 “Please excuse my daughter, she has apparently misplaced her manners.”

 Kira stands up and follows after Regina.

 “Wow. Regina does not like you,” Elsa says to Emma quietly. “Maybe she feels threatened by you?”

 Emma shrugs, fear rippling through her, but she maintains a casual demeanor. Now that Emma will be Kadin, she will have new enemies and must watch her back at every turn so she doesn’t end up like Milah.

 A few minutes later, Kira returns and sighs as she reclaims her seat next to Emma. “Please do not mind my brat of a daughter. She did not mean what she said.”

 Emma knows she did, though.

 “She is just bitter, that’s all. She had a husband many years ago.”

 Emma lifts a brow and turns to look at Kira. “What happened to him, if you don’t mind me asking, my Sultana?”

 “He became very ill and died. Regina was with child, but she lost the baby. The doctors say she can never carry a child to term.”

 “Oh,” Emma says faintly.

 “It doesn’t excuse her for misbehaving, though. She doesn’t like any concubines who rise through the ranks. She feels threatened by them. She can never be Sultan, and any wife of Killian’s will have more power than her. And she cannot stomach the idea.”

 “Oh, I see.”

 “You must not worry, my child.” Kira takes Emma’s hand in hers. “My son will purchase the best taste testers and personal bodyguards there are and we will take extra precautions in the palace. I am the one who encouraged my son to sire a child, so it is my duty to make sure that happens. We must protect your son or daughter at all costs.”

 Emma nods, but somehow she doesn’t feel comforted by those words.

 “Now go to my son and tell him. You will have this last night with him.”

 Emma’s eyes prick with tears as she manages a nod. “Yes, my Sultana.”

 ~*~

 Emma goes to Killian with a swarm of emotions rushing through her. She doesn’t know exactly how this evening will go. He will be delighted with the news of course, but what will happen after tonight? She has no idea, and that scares the hell out of her. She slowly exhales as the doors open and she steps inside Killian’s bedchamber. He is waiting for her at his desk. His eyes brighten when he sees her, a big smile overtaking his face. 

 He stands and strides over to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. Her heart fills with warmth as she feels his soft lips on her skin. “I’ve missed you, my love. When I woke, you were not in my arms or my bed. Are you alright?”

 Emma nods and offers a small smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I was only feeling under the weather.” She debates about whether she should tell him now or later. But she deems it better to rip the bandaid off now, rather than let a million questions she has, linger inside her. She takes his hand and moves his open palm to her belly as she maintains eye contact with him. “I am with child, my Sultan.”

 Killian’s eyes widen, his sparkling blue depths pooling with emotion. He peers down at her belly and drops to his knees, pushing her skirts away until her stomach is bare. “Emma,” he whispers against her skin, his lips and hands caressing her belly. “My little love.” He moves his hands to her hips and makes a trail of sweet kisses down her slightly protruding belly. Emma closes her eyes, enjoying the way his lips feel on her skin, so soft and warm. This isn’t supposed to feel erotic, this is supposed to be a beautiful moment between a father and his unborn child, but Emma feels a stir of desire for him. She can’t help it. Killian is good and gentle and loving. Being with him makes her rethink everything in life. 

 Killian’s hands move up her sides as he continues to kiss her belly, and Emma runs her hands through his hair, enjoying his gentle words as he whispers sweet nothings to her stomach. When he rises, she can see the love he has for her in his eyes. The love he has for them. She doesn’t want that love to fade; she doesn’t want what they have to end. 

 She wants to capture this moment forever. She wants to capture all of his kisses and touches and sweet words forever. She never wants to lose the affection he has for her. She basks in these moments of happiness, for she does not know when she will lose them.

 Emma’s not sure if it’s her pregnancy hormones or the depth of her love for him that overflows her body with emotions, but the thought of losing him overwhelms her completely, and she weeps. 

 Killian’s expression clouds with concern and genuine worry as he cups her cheek in his hand, using this thumb to wipe away her tears. “What is wrong, my love?”

 Emma shakes her head. She can’t possibly tell him what troubles her. She can’t be so selfish. She feels so foolish and stupid for crying. She wants the father of her child to be happy and if that means he must take another woman to his bed then she must accept this.

 “Please tell me, heart of my heart.” His voice cracks with worry. “Has someone hurt you or threatened you?” 

 Emma can see the storm brewing in his eyes at the prospect of this.

 “I will kill whoever lays a hand on you or threatens the life our wee one.”

 She can hear the protectiveness in his voice. Is this really a man who wants to be with anyone else?

 Emma shakes her head and wipes the rest of her tears away. “No, my Sultan. Nothing like that. I’m only sad because this may be our last night together.”

 His brows knit in confusion. “What makes you believe such a thing?”

 Emma sniffles and shakes her head again. “Because I’m with child. Custom demands a man no longer take a woman to bed once she’s pregnant, as it may risk hurting the baby.”

 Killian nods and lifts her hands to his lips, pressing soft kisses to her knuckles. He sighs sharply, deep in thought.

 Emma braces herself. It’s the moment of truth.

 After a moment, a small smile curves his lips as he gazes into her eyes. “My love, just because we cannot make love doesn’t mean we can’t find other pleasures with each other in other ways. Merely holding you and our child in my arms is all the pleasure I will ever need.”

 Emma lifts her eyes to his, completely stunned by his words, relief washing over her. “Truly?”

 “Truly.” He kisses her forehead as a grave expression takes over his features, his quivering breath fanning her skin. “I shudder in repulsion at the thought of taking another woman to my bed. They would not be you. Not even close.” He holds her tightly in his arms, resting his forehead against hers. She can feel the emotions bubbling inside him. She can hear them in his voice. “The thought of being with anyone else hurts like the worst level of hell. The thought of betraying you or bringing you pain hurts like hell.”

 Emma’s heart explodes with happiness upon hearing his words. Tears of a different kind sprint to her eyes and a grin blooms across her lips. 

 “I love you, Emma.” He moves his hand to her belly, caressing her skin again. “I love both of you. I will never love another woman unless that woman is our daughter.”

 Emma wants to capture those words and keep them forever. “I love you too, Killian.” It’s the first time they’ve ever exchanged these words to one another. 

 Killian smiles and kisses her lips, both of them sighing in utter relief. “But what will the people of the palace think?” she has to ask. She doesn’t wish to ruin his reputation or how the people of the capital look at him. 

 He thinks about her question a moment before pulling away and answering. “Emma, do you trust me?”

 She nods confidently. “With all my heart.”

 “Then trust me when I say I have a plan that I think will appease everyone in the palace.”

 “I trust you, Killian. Whatever happens, I trust you. ”

 Killian smiles and wraps his arms around her and captures her lips. He kisses her breathlessly and lifts her up, carrying her to the bed. They have one last night of passion before they can no longer engage in lovemaking while she is carrying their unborn child. But it’s certainly a night to remember, full of soft kisses and caresses, full of Killian stroking her belly and speaking to their baby. 

 Afterward, they’re breathless and panting, trying to reassemble themselves. Emma nuzzles her cheek into his chest and takes his hand, placing it over her belly as they lay there naked. She’s not showing very much, yet they both love their baby with everything they have, already. Emma can see he does in the way he gazes at her belly, she sees it in the way he touches her there, the way he kisses her there. 

 Killian tells her he will leave in the morning to personally find an expert taste tester and two bodyguards. “I will make sure no harm ever comes to you or our baby. I would rather die than let anything happen to either of you.” 

 Emma’s heart flutters at his words as he holds her and tells her everything will be okay. She lifts her head and captures his lips. 

 ~*~

 “I will miss you, my Sultan.”

 Killian smiles and draws Emma into his arms, kissing her deeply. He kisses her like he’s never kissed anyone before. He kisses her like this is his last day on earth. He strokes her belly while their lips are still connected. He wants to capture this moment and hold it inside his heart forever. They break for air, his hand still on her belly through her clothes, his forehead resting on hers. “I will return soon, my love,” he breathes, his voice shattered and wrecked. 

 Emma licks her lips and nods. “I will be waiting most patiently, my Sultan.”

 He caresses her hair and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, beloved queen of my heart.”

 Emma smiles, her cheeks filling with blush. “I love you, too.” She rubs her belly. “We both love you.”

 He doesn’t know if her pregnancy has made her more lovely or if her beauty simply magnifies with every passing day, but he swears she is even more exquisite than the day he met her, and that’s certainly saying something.

 He has to wrench himself away from her and looks at James. “Guard my precious treasures, will you James?”

 He nods. “With my life, Your Majesty.”

 Killian’s concierge is the only uncastrated man he trusts with Emma. He can see the love James has for Emma, but it’s much different than what Killian feels for her. Emma’s only been to the palace for a handful of months, but James already sees her as family. Killian feels completely secure leaving his wife and child with him.

 He kisses his beloved and her belly once more, whispering to his little prince or princess how much he loves them already. He pulls away from them and mounts his horse, smiling at Emma from his saddle. Even though he will not be gone for long, he will still miss her and their baby terribly.

 Emma’s eyes are warm, full of love as she rests one hand on her belly and waves at him with the other. “Return to us soon, my Sultan.”

 He nods and winks at her as he turns the horse around and gallops off, his escort of lost boys following behind him.

 Emma and James watch her Sultan off as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and kisses her temple. “Congratulations, my niece.”

 “Congratulations to you,” she says, smiling at him. “I heard you and Ruby are expecting.”

 He grins as they turn around and head back inside the palace.

 “Perhaps our children will be good friends.”

 Emma nods, but he can tell her mind is running nonstop as she looks at him. “We should tell him, James.”

 He nods and looks ahead as they walk. “We will, my niece. You will remain here at the palace no matter what, now that you’re pregnant with the Sultan’s child. Nothing will happen to you, but we know not what will happen to me when he finds out. So, after I meet my son or daughter, we will tell him, I promise. We will tell him.”

 ~*~

 Killian returns to the palace two days later with the things he’d promised. He brings Emma two castrated bodyguards, an expert taste tester who was highly recommended to him and a slave who has already proven her loyalty. She will help Emma by making sure she has everything she needs to feel comfortable throughout her pregnancy.

 The taster teaches Emma a few tricks and gives her a potion that will make her and the baby immune from any poison she digests if it comes to that. No one knows this though, except for Killian, Emma and the taster.

 There is only one more thing left for Killian to do to ensure Emma’s and their child’s safety. He’s thought about this over and over during his trip to retrieve Emma’s gifts. He’d meant what he’d said to Emma; he can only stomach the idea of being with her, but perhaps it’s better if not everyone knew of this. Everyone expects him to take several wives, in fact, anything less would be unacceptable, to his mother and to everyone. They will tell him being with one woman is unhealthy. They will tell him he will be left feeling deprived. Unsatisfied. They will tell him if he only has one woman, that woman will let the power go to her head. They will tell him she is only trying to control him. 

 Perhaps it’s better if everyone is oblivious to the fact that Killian only wants one woman. One wife. One mother to bear his children. He only wants Emma and that will not change, no matter how long they cannot make love.

 He needs to keep Emma and their baby safe and also keep people from interfering with his life. Perhaps he can do both simultaneously. 

 Perhaps he can kill two birds with one stone. 

 And he has just the plan that will hopefully accomplish that.

 ~*~

 The next evening, Emma and Elsa are chatting pleasantly on the couch when Nemo enters Emma’s suite. Both women turn to look at him.

 “Elsa,” he begins, bowing his head. “Our Master summons you to his chamber.”

 Elsa’s face pales as she glances at Emma and then at Nemo again. “What?”

 “The Sultan requests your presence this night at the ninth hour.”

 “But, I cannot possibly…”

 Fear strikes him, for no one refuses the Sultan without grave consequences. “You defy the Sultan’s orders?”

 She looks at Emma, studying her reaction. “Emma, I am so sorry, I do not want this,” she whispers. “You are my friend. I never wish to betray you.”

 Emma offers a confident smile and takes Elsa’s hands in hers. “You must go to him, Elsa. I will escort you this evening.”

 Elsa’s face washes over with shock and bewilderment. “You are not upset?”

 Emma shakes her head. “No, if he is to choose anyone else, I want it to be you. Besides, we made a promise, remember? We will remain friends no matter what happens, right?”

 Elsa nods. “Yes, of course.” She looks relieved, but still unhappy about this, her loyalty to Emma shining through. It only makes all of this easier.

 “Now you must go and get ready for our Sultan,” Emma tells her.

 Elsa studies her friend one more time to make sure Emma is sure about this. 

 Emma is sure. 

 Elsa stands and goes to Nemo as he escorts her to her room. Emma doesn’t know exactly what Killian is up to, but she has complete faith in him. She places her hands on her protruding belly from her spot on the couch. “Don’t worry, baby, our Sultan loves both of us very much,” she whispers, peering down at her stomach. “He will take good care of us.” 

 She stands up and leaves her room to meet Elsa when it’s time to escort her to the baths, not a shred of worry in her mind or her heart.

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @nikkiemms @followbatb @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @snowbellewells @artistic-writer @ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @lovepurplepumpkins @kiwistreetswan @therooksshiningknight @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree @superchocovian @emeraldwitches

#cs ff #captain swan #cs ff au #the princess and her sultan #my fic

[lilyvandersteen]

Facing Your Dragons Chapter 7

Author’s Note: I know, I know... It's been ages!! The fact of the matter is, though, no matter how much I like writing this story, I have no real plot for it, and it's going to be shelved after this chapter until I figure out where to take it. I know that I want Sam to end up living at Blaine's house, and I know I want to keep the tone of the story light and upbeat and fluffy. Apart from that, it's all a big blank. Suggestions are more than welcome. Please help me shape this story, so that I can bring it to a satisfying conclusion.

Chapter 7: Back to School

When he felt his phone buzz with a text message notification, Blaine got off his motorbike and sighed.

Show time, I guess.

He’d arrived at school early, had parked his bike near the back entrance and had been waiting for Kurt and his girls to turn up.

From: Kurt

We’re under the bleachers.

Blaine made his way to the bleachers, his eyes darting left and right to check for jocks with a grudge, but there were none. Too early in the day, perhaps.

Kurt was leaning against a metal pole, his eyes half-mast and his lips curled into a lopsided smirk.

Blaine couldn’t help grinning, and Kurt beamed back and met him half-way for a kiss.

“He’s cute, Porcelain, I’ll give you that,” a smoky voice behind them drawled.

Blaine turned around to look at the three girls under the bleachers. One blonde and two brunettes, all sporting the same smirk he’d seen on Kurt’s face just now. Had to be a Skank thing.

“Nice butt,” said Brunette no. 1, peering at him from over her glasses.

The blonde gave Blaine a slow once-over and then an approving nod. “He clearly works out. Great biceps, and look at the thighs of him!”

Kurt huffed. “Stop objectifying my boyfriend.”

They quirked an eyebrow at him – eerie how in tune they were – and said in unison, “No.”

“You bring us a piece of man candy, we’re gonna look,” said Brunette no. 2.

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned to Blaine. “Okay, so… These are my girls: Lauren Zizes, Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray. Girls, this is Blaine Anderson, my boyfriend. Look all you like, but don’t touch. He’s mine.”

Santana snorted, and Lauren murmured something like, “Making no promises.”

Blaine smiled at the girls. “Nice to meet you.”

Quinn smiled back politely. “Pleased to meet you too.”

Santana snorted. “No need to dust off your country club manners for us.”

“At least I have manners,” Quinn bit back. “And they’ll help me get out of here after high school.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll go to an Ivy League school and become a big-shot lawyer and fight for women’s rights in America. Tell that to someone who’ll believe you. None of those snobby schools is gonna want a teen mom.”

Quinn’s spine stiffened. “That’s behind me.”

“It’s all in the records. Like your Lucy Caboosey period. It’s gonna come back to haunt you forever.”

“Fuck you!” Quinn snarled, and she stalked off in a huff.

Kurt swore under his breath and went after her, talking to her in a low but urgent voice, and eventually bringing her back.

Lauren grinned and seemed to gear up for another attack, but Kurt stopped her. “Don’t. Okay? I know you’ve got ammo enough to make all of us miserable, but let’s face it, everyone else here at school already has it out for us, so it would be nice if we Skanks could have each other’s backs. All right?”

Lauren shrugged. “Sure, ruin my fun.”

Kurt smirked at her. “Oh, I’ll give you plenty of fun. Blaine here knocked Karofsky into hospital, and his football buddies will no doubt try and get even with him. So girls, stick with us and show those jocks why nobody messes with us.”

The three girls grinned at Kurt, their good humour restored at once.

“I can defend myself,” Blaine grumbled.

Kurt rubbed his arm in comfort. “I know. But one more strike and you’re out. And I want you to stay here at McKinley. So let us deal with the blockheads. They won’t come anywhere near you with us around.”

Blaine gave in with bad grace, and went over his schedule for the Skanks’ benefit. He shared each of his classes with at least one of them, and promised to stick with them to keep safe.

He soon found out that Kurt was right. Everyone, even the jocks, gave the Skanks a wide berth.

“We can fleece them with our snark, kill them with our glares and hurt them in a million ways,” Kurt explained during AP French. “We’re not boxers, but Quinn and Santana and I used to be Cheerios, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of our high kicks. You really don’t. And Lauren is a champion wrestler.”

Blaine blinked at Kurt. “You were a what?”

“A Cheerio. That’s what the cheerleaders are called here.”

Blaine looked at his boyfriend, trying to picture him in tight spandex, showing off his acrobatic prowess. Nice!

“So why did you quit?”

Kurt shrugged. “Quinn got kicked off the squad when she got pregnant. Santana got kicked off when she got a boob job. At least, I think that was the reason. And for me, it was the community service that did me in. The Cheerios’ schedule is insane. They train for hours and hours every day, even on weekends. And Coach Sylvester didn’t like me skipping training on Wednesdays and Saturdays to go sing and tell stories at the home. At first, she cut me some slack, ‘cause her sister lived in a home too, and ‘cause she has a soft spot for me, and ‘cause I always trained at home by myself those days. But then my forty hours were up, and I just kept going to the home, though I didn’t have to anymore. And she told me I had to make a choice: Cheerios or volunteering. I bet she thought I’d snap out of it fast. But I’d already lost my friends Quinn and Santana on the squad, and volunteering made me happy. So I handed in my uniform and left.”

Blaine pouted, sad that Kurt no longer had the uniform, because oh, the possibilities…

« Monsieur Hummel et compagnon, comme vous semblez avoir une opinion très forte concernant Baudelaire, vous pouvez venir ici et nous en parler ! » (Mr. Hummel and company, seeing as you seem to hold a strong opinion on Baudelaire, you can come here and tell us about it!)

Blaine looked up at the teacher, aghast, but Kurt wasn’t intimidated in the least. He went to stand at the teacher’s desk, and gave a passionate speech about Baudelaire, and about his work being censured for the themes it contained. All in French. And he ended it by reciting what he said was his favourite Baudelaire poem.

Blaine’s mouth wasn’t the only one hanging open when Kurt stopped talking. Even the teacher needed a minute to regroup.

“Intéressant. Je vois que Baudelaire vous passionne. Et vous, Monsieur… ? » (Interesting. I can tell you’re passionate about Baudelaire. What about you, Mr. …?)

“Anderson,” Blaine hastened to supply. “Comme je viens de dire à Monsieur Hummel, je préfère l’œuvre de Verlaine. J’adore sa musicalité. » (As I just told Mr. Hummel, I prefer Verlaine’s work. I love his musicality.)

Just then, the bell rang, and Blaine felt his anxiety ebb away.

The teacher smiled at him. “Très bien. La semaine prochaine, vous pouvez nous en parler plus en détail. Cela compensera pour les devoirs que vous avez manqué les jours passés. » (Very well. Next week, you can tell us more about it. That will make up for the homework you didn’t make the previous days.)

Blaine nodded and jotted down the assignment before gathering his stuff and following Kurt out of the classroom.

“Your French is impressive,” he told Kurt, who grinned and told him he looked forward to hearing Blaine’s views on Verlaine.

In the cafeteria, Kurt steered Blaine towards what he said was the glee club table, and he introduced Blaine as his boyfriend, which made Blaine’s stomach swoop happily and made him beam like an idiot.

The only one at the table Blaine recognized was Rachel, who greeted him and asked if he was joining glee club.

“Oh… Uhm… I…”

“Your singing voice could use some work, but it’s got definite potential.”

Kurt rolled his eyes at Rachel and then turned to Blaine. “So that’s Rachel. You already know her from the home. Next to her is Finn, and then there’s Artie, Tina, Mercedes, Puck, Mike and Sam.”

“Sam’s the one from the superhero club?” Blaine whispered to Kurt, and Sam perked up when he heard the club mentioned.

“Yep, that’s me. Blonde Chameleon at your service! What’s your super alter ego?”

Lunch hour flew by as Blaine talked superheroes with Sam, and he had to be reminded by Kurt that the bell was about to ring, and that Quinn was waiting for him to go to AP Biology.

Blaine quickly exchanged numbers with Sam and then hurried away.

That afternoon, after a history class he shared with Lauren, Blaine was accosted by Rachel, who asked if he was going to the home.

“N-no. I’m scheduled tomorrow.”

“I see. Well, think about glee club, okay?”

Blaine nodded, and then his face brightened when he saw Kurt coming towards him, Sam by his side.

“Mind if Sam joins our cooking lesson today?” Kurt asked.

Blaine grinned and shook his head. “Awesome. Are your brother and sister coming too?”

Sam grinned back. “Yep. We were just about to go and pick them up from school.”

“Come to my place,” Blaine said. “So you can borrow that comic book I was talking about at lunch. And there’s a big garden to play in, and spare bedrooms for when your brother and sister get tired. Mom won’t mind a bit, I promise.”

Kurt frowned. “Dad won’t like that. He had to make his own dinner yesterday, and grumbled about it.”

“Well, today at yours and tomorrow at my place, then, maybe?” Blaine asked.

Kurt bit his lip. “Friday Night Dinner is sacred for Dad. Can’t skip it. But you and Sam can cook by yourselves. I’m thinking vegetable wok. I’ll write down the recipe for you.”

Blaine looked at Sam. “What do you say? Can we do this? Stevie and Stacie can help, too.”

“We can do this! I do have a shift delivering pizzas starting at eight p.m., though, so we’ll have to make it an early dinner. Today too.”

“No problem,” Kurt promised.

Stevie and Stacie proved to be just as outgoing and friendly as their older brother, and instantly enamoured with Blaine when he told them the story of Jack and the Beanstalk while they were cooking.

When Burt got home, he grumbled a bit about Kurt always bringing more people home, but soon enough, he was talking cars with Stevie and football with Sam and Blaine, with a wide smile. And when Stacie fell asleep on the sofa soon after dinner, Burt was the one to suggest Sam’s siblings could stay over and sleep in the spare bedroom.

“And you can kip on the sofa,” Burt said to Sam, “after your shift. Kurt will give you the spare key.”

Sam looked at his sleeping sister, bit his lip and nodded, walking out of the living room. “I need to call my mom.”

He came back a few minutes later and said it was okay. “I asked for tomorrow, too, Blaine, if you were serious about us staying over?”

Blaine beamed at Sam. “Totally! It’s going to be amazing!”

Sam carefully woke Stacie so she could get ready for bed, and Kurt and Blaine went to the attic to find her and Stevie some pajamas from when Kurt was little, sharing some sweet kisses while they were alone together.

As soon as the children were tucked in, Sam and Blaine left, and Blaine dropped Sam off at the pizza place. “See you tomorrow! Can you find someone to bring you back to Kurt’s?”

“Yep, no problem, Puck will come and pick me up. Thanks, man!”

K&B

On Friday morning, Blaine had his first altercation with a jock since he’d come back. He was securing his motorbike when something hit the back of his head. Hard.

A voice hissed, “You think you can put my best friend in hospital and then come back here and parade your nancy boy around school?”

Blaine turned around slowly, and saw a tall black teen glaring at him.

“Adams! No fighting or you’re off the team!”

The jock turned towards his coach and opened his mouth to retaliate, but she stopped him. “No, I don’t need to hear it. I know what happened to Karofsky, but I also know it was provoked. I know that under Coach Tenaka, you could do as you pleased, but I’m telling you now that I don’t condone fighting. Nor bullying. I don’t care how well you play. I WILL throw you off the team if you so much as touch this boy again. Leave him alone.”

The jock glared at her. “And let him get away with almost killing Dave?”

The coach sighed. “Don’t exaggerate. Karofsky was never in any danger of dying. And it was five against one, hardly a fair fight. Can’t fault the boy for wanting to knock you guys out as fast as he could. I would have done the same. Why were you picking on him anyway?”

That seemed to take the wind out of the jock’s sails, who shrunk and shrugged.

“Just for the fun of it, huh? Well, that stops now. I’m going to work you guys so hard that you won’t have any time or energy for shenanigans.”

The jock grumbled under his breath.

“How many games have you won so far, Adams?”

More grumbling.

“My goal is to make you winners. So you had better apply yourself, or I’ll find a replacement for you. Is that clear?”

The jock nodded.

“Now clear out and leave this boy alone.”

The coach stared the jock down until he turned and left, and then turned to Blaine. “I know the fight wasn’t your idea. And I promise I’ll keep an eye out for you, pumpkin.”

“Thank you, Coach.”

She smiled at Blaine. “Feel free to join our power training on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sometimes we do some boxing, and I think my boys can learn a thing or two from you.”

Blaine grimaced. “I’m not sure I want them to learn how to beat me up.”

“Adams and Karofsky tend to skip power training, pumpkin. They’re lazy. As soon as I find decent replacements for them, they’ll be out in a heartbeat.”

Blaine stared at her. “Won’t their parents make a fuss?”

“More likely they’ll be mad at their son. I’ve won the championship with every team I’ve ever coached. So if their child doesn’t make the team, they’ll blame him, not me.”

She winked at Blaine and walked off.

K&B

That afternoon, Sam and his siblings came to the home with Blaine, and together, they told the story of the Four Clever Brothers, who saved a princess from a dragon.

Like Dolores had said, Sam was great at doing voices, and the children listened as if spellbound, and cheered when after the story, Blaine announced they still had time for a few songs.

Sam played the guitar this time, and they all sang together until the hour was up.

At Blaine’s house, they did their homework before starting on dinner, Blaine pairing up with Stacie and Sam with Stevie to help them where needed.

When Pam came home, Blaine and Sam were wearing Star Wars costumes from Blaine’s chest of Halloween apparel, re-enacting a fight scene to the loud encouragement of Stevie and Stacie.

Pam quirked an eyebrow at Blaine and inquired, “New boyfriend already?”

“Mom!!”

She smirked when Blaine hotly denied having swapped boyfriends, but her eyes softened when he introduced his new friends. Clearly, she remembered what Kurt had told them about Sam’s family, which was probably why she didn’t say a word when Blaine mentioned all the Evans children were staying over.

The next morning, when Sam’s parents came to pick up their children and thanked Pam for her hospitality, she reiterated what she’d told Kurt. “You know, this house is WAY too big for just the two of us, and I’m having a hard time covering the rent on my own. So if you like, you and your family could move in here temporarily, until you get back on your feet. You could have the second and third floor, and share the kitchen and the living room with us.”

The Evanses looked taken aback, and Pam waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, this is sudden, and we don’t know each other yet, and I’m probably weird for mentioning this straight off the bat. I know, I know. I don’t expect you to decide right away, of course, but think about it? Our children get along well, and it would help out both our families.”

Mrs Evans nodded and thanked Pam again, with a smile that was a bit brittle around the edges, but genuine nonetheless.

Her sad eyes haunted Blaine the whole weekend.

#klaine fanfiction #my fic #facing your dragons #chapter 7

[authors-dumpster]

Have Faith

The last time I set foot in a church was not by choice, but because my mom wanted the whole family to attend the Mother’s Day mass. It was May of 2017, and it was the last place I wanted to be. I had to sit through the whole service, bored out of my mind, unable to focus on anything the priest was saying. I tried to appear somewhat sharp for my mother’s sake, but to no avail. I can’t remember exactly when I decided to drop my affiliation with Catholicism, but it has been awhile since I had much faith in the Man Upstairs.

I sincerely believe that my loss of faith has something to do with the fact that my elementary and middle school education was in a private, Catholic institution. Maybe it was the teachers, or maybe it was my classmates that spoiled it for me, but upon reaching the eighth grade, I started to question basically everything that I had previously believed in under the Catholic faith. I clearly remember one day in late February of  2014 where I had my own little epiphany about my faith, or rather my lack of it. I was walking home from school. It was a particularly warm day in February- at least, as warm as it can be during late winter in Michigan. The sun was shining brightly, and the rays were bouncing off the dripping snow mounds that bordered the pavement. I was at the age of developing my own opinionated and rebellious thoughts, so naturally I was lost in my own mind as I dragged my snowboots across the icy ground. I began to wonder about a lot of things. What makes the snow so white? How does snow collect in such a way? Why is it that the sun rays don’t melt the snow faster? What is the sun? What’s up with our solar system anyway? All these questions, of course, could be answered easily with “God made it so”, but that was not good enough for me.

When I mentioned my questions to my parents at the dinner table, they gave me the expected answer. “Well, because that’s how God wants it. He wants the snow to look like that, so it just does.” This made me even more confused and frustrated. Obviously it could be explained with science, so why did they insist on this deity instead? I tried not to delve into this too much, and focus on what really mattered: my confirmation ceremony. At least, I thought it mattered. I was wrong about that too, but more about that later.

I remember a time when I thought that dropping your religion was something shocking, even scandalous. When, back in my elementary days, my best friend told me that her brother didn’t go to church anymore, I was shocked (and secretly intrigued). I suppose that even then, I felt that “church” was a boring place where I wasted my time. I never paid much attention anyways, no matter how stern the nuns were, no matter how funny the homilies were, no matter how many bathroom breaks I got.

I think it was sometime around my junior year of high school when I completely dropped religion as a part of my life. At 16 years old, I was very sure of this; it was a world “with which I no longer wanted to have anything to do,” as Hermann Hesse stated in Demian. Before this, though, religion was something obligatory for me. What I mean to say is that after my confirmation ceremony, I really did not feel the sense of community that one should apparently be feeling when you get that blessing from the Bishop. In the Catholic religion, the confirmation ceremony is the final step for a child before they become an “adult” in the community, similar to a Jewish bar and bat mitzvah. But I felt no different leaving the church than I did walking in. So much for faith, right?

Something else that I have come to realize is that I never felt that religion was a big part of my life. I had a subconscious set of rules that I followed, which had formed based on my exposure to Catholicism for my entire life, but that’s where the line is drawn. As I mentioned earlier, I never had that special feeling of being “fully integrated into the community” when I got confirmed. I never had that special epiphany. My soul (whatever that is) was neither touched by nor filled with the Holy Spirit. I think that that point in my life was when I really doubted all the things that were being told to me by my teachers, my family members, and the priests.

Going to a public high school really turned my life towards the better. I didn't have to go to religion class. I wasn't tested on how well I knew the 10 Commandments. I didn’t have to memorize the Apostles Creed. I didn’t have to sing questionable hymns in a dimly lit church full of kids who all wanted the same thing: to play outside on the playscape, and then go home. I can still appreciate churches and cathedrals for their architecture, though, and the purposes that they served. Not only a beautiful meeting place for people of a strong community, but also a safe house. Namely, the grand cathedrals in England that served as shelters during the Blitz of World War II, so that’s something.

My decision to be an ex-Catholic (as dramatic as that sounds) has had some negative repercussions amongst my family. My parents, naturally, attempted to support me in my endeavours, and said that they would “try to respect my opinions”. After the first child, it gets easier. My sister, too, is an ex-Catholic. She was more discrete about dropping her affiliation with the religion, though. First, she stopped going to mass. It always starts with that. Then, she just stated that she was no longer Catholic, one day in the summer. It was quite a surprise for my parents, but they dealt with it easily. It was definitely more smooth than me literally answering my mother’s question of “How was your day at school?” with “I’m not a Catholic anymore,” but I digress. Perhaps my sister had something to do with my own loss of interest in religion. I did look up to her, after all. She was the original, and I was the CNTRL C + CNTRL V. Old habits die hard, I guess.

My parents are fine with it now, but there were definite instances where my “atheism was getting in the way”. Evenings at the dinner table were always fun, when they didn’t end up with someone stomping off to the porch to angrily fume in the outside air. We tried to keep the conversations away from anything politics, religion, and/or business-related, but sometimes the conversations were as wild as a mare, and we were unable to control it when it got out of hand.

As I think it over, I’ve come to the conclusion that religion has, in a way, held me back in many aspects of my life. There are certain morals based around Catholicism that I still hold to myself, but these morals have restricted me in building lasting relationships with people. What’s more is that I was very biased against many different kinds of people for most of my childhood. Due to how my parents connected religion to politics, I remember being furious when seeing the final results of the 2008 Presidential Election, only because my dad was angry that a Democrat had won. I did not know a single policy of the government at that time, but since the Church and the State was so connected in my family, I equated one party with good and moral people (Republicans), and the other with the exact opposite (Democrats). This too, has changed for me. In this way, I was held back from realizing my own political views, which are very different from my parents. They now set me apart from all members of my family, which can be very alienating.

I never got the chance to choose my religion, so that could also be a contributing factor to the grand question of why I dropped religion. Do I want to follow a different religion in the future? This is something I have definitely thought about and strongly considered, but to no avail. There are so many options that I could explore and research; but would I be able to find the right one for me? This calls for me to do some reflecting on myself, and what morals I hold close. I could be a Deist, a Wiccan, an Atheist, a Druid, a Heathen, an Agnostic, a Taoist- the possibilities are truly endless. For now, however, I simply wish to leave that part of my life empty. Maybe one day, if something really calls to me and draws me in, then I’ll see where it takes me. Would I ever go back to Catholicism? No. I had quite the ride, but it was not the one for me.

As for myself, I can acknowledge that I fall under the “agnostic” category. Maybe someday, I’ll find a faith that I can follow willingly. Maybe someday, I can be a part of a community that shares the same beliefs, and has utter confidence in those beliefs. Maybe someday, I’ll find a group of people that practice what they preach, and they will accept me into their company. But as for now, I can only twiddle my thumbs and wonder about a lot of things. What makes the snow so white? How does snow collect in such a way? Why is it that the sun rays don’t melt the snow faster? What is the sun? What’s up with our solar system anyway? 

Even now, in all my adult confidence, I have a hard time admitting that I do not follow any religion. I’ve been so used to simply saying “I’m Catholic” that saying anything else still feels odd. I don’t go into details unless someone asks; the story is not that extravagant anyway. It is even more challenging for me to admit that I am an agnostic. It’s less acknowledged than Atheism, but still relevant. The part that really throws people off is how different it is than Atheism, and different still from not following a religion. Agnosticism is, in simplest terms, that the existence of any deity or higher being is unknown. There’s something unexplainable going on, so I couldn’t explain it to you if I had all the time in the world. For now, I am neither denying, nor agreeing with anyone. I’d like to keep it that way for a while.

#my work #my writing #nonfiction essay #faith #loss of faith #tldr: im an atheist

[purpleshellsforyou]

The Room

Daddy Jefferson

Part 5 of 7

Original writer (@yrs-forevr) version here!

TW: Period-typical Sexism (ish)

AN: My dumb ass forgot I already wrote this. 

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1777

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5- you're here!| 6 | E

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Letters from Alexander Hamilton had been coming in every day now, insisting that Thomas consider supporting his debt plan. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the multitude of papers arriving at his office but it was Hamilton, so he had come to expect it. Jefferson didn’t reply often, but that never stopped Alexander from continuing on the warpath of spreading his argumentative opinions.

The best part of Thomas’s week was when Asher ran into his office every Thursday to tell him that lunch was ready. Today the two-year-old practically bounded into the room, his face lighting up at the sight of his somewhat-adoptive father. The paperwork had never been filled out to make him a legal guardian, but he fathered him as if he had.

Asher was wearing a little blue coat that almost ran to his ankles. The color of the fabric was barely lighter than his blue-gray eyes. He was always so happy around this time of day. Y/N, Asher, and Thomas always visited the graveyard on Thursdays with a picnic lunch. Of course, the young boy didn’t really understand death yet, but he knew who his father was and why he could never come and visit. All he really recognized was that he got to spend some time eating outside with his family.

“Daddy, come on! Mamma says that it’s time to go!”

“I’ll be right there, Ash.”

“Okay! Momma helped me write a letter to Papa today! She said that if we leave it in front of the rock door, then he could read it.”

He had a goofy grin on his face that could only stay with innocence. It took everything in Jefferson not to jump up from the desk and lift Ash up in the air, playing and giggling as they went to go to lunch. Growing up in a big family, Thomas never felt alone amongst his siblings. He wanted Asher to feel the same sense of family, an assurance that he would never be alone. The Jefferson siblings, specifically his brother, visited on occasion, but never stayed long. None of them approved of his choice to live with an unmarried woman and her son. None of their critiques were worse than those in his own head.

He’s not even your son, really. You wouldn’t be a good father anyway. Think of all the women you used. If it didn’t happen then, it wasn’t meant to happen. Give it up, you’ll never be a good father, let alone a good husband.

He shook off his thoughts, faking a smile as he playfully shooed the boy from the room, promising to be down in a minute. He turned his attention to the last page he told himself he would finish before the picnic. The ink in his quill felt thinner than it was before the welcome interruption. His older brother’s words echoed in his mind:

Don’t fool yourself. You’ve grown up strong. Get power, and the happiness will follow. Men don’t love, Thomas. They take.

“I will discuss it with Madison, but I cannot make you any promises, Alexander. As amusing as it is to see you beg before me like a lost dog, I cannot set aside my values, nor can I speak for James.”

“This debt plan must be passed, Jefferson. This country needs it passed.”

“You always want everything to go through. Sorry, Washington isn’t going out of his way to make sure you get everything you want.”

Thomas stepped back through the front doorway, making a move like he was about to shut the door on Hamilton. He was truly feeling desperate to come and ask Thomas Jefferson for help. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’, but one of ‘how far are you willing to go?’.

“Wait.”

“What?” the democratic-republican snapped.

“What if you got something out of it?”

Thomas sneered back at the man: “I’m not the one that needs something out of it.”

“We can negotiate something. Something that can help the Southern states.”

“The South doesn’t need your hel-

“Please.”

Jefferson paused, thinking about what he and Y/N had been teaching Asher the previous night. Although you may not agree with everyone, listening and being polite can be the most important part to changing their mind. Breathing in through his clenched teeth, Thomas seethed:

“Come over Sunday night at 5 pm. We can talk then.”

Hamilton smirked and nodded before he turned back to his carriage. Jefferson rolled his eyes and slowly let out a full breath, finally closing the door. This wasn’t going to be fun. Now he had to go see Madison and, more importantly, he hated bringing work home. His house was, with the exception of his office, somewhere that he didn’t have to be a politician.

Sunday dragged along as a fury of angry conversation wracked the halls of the Jefferson residence. James had agreed to join Thomas for dinner, but he knew something was wrong when he was the only one to show up at the front door. When Thomas ushered him inside and explained the situation, there was nothing stopping the bickering.

It was unusual for Thomas to request that Y/N not speak with him, but it was painfully clear that he didn’t want to prevent her or Asher from joining him in the first place. It was all too likely that whatever was to be exchanged was not going to be appropriate for Asher to hear in the first place. It was decided that they would all go out together the next day to make up for the evening and, with any stroke of luck, celebrate.

Y/N had taken her less than enthusiastic son upstairs, promising mac and cheese to encourage him to come upstairs. He bounded up alongside her, but not before turning around to wave at Thomas as he turned the corner.

Place cards had been set around an old oak table and courses for the meeting had been determined- all standard for political gatherings. However unconventional it may be, Jefferson tried to set things in a good light by separating his home life from the shared political discourse.

James was still grumbling his disdain for the meeting as Alexander arrive. As the three politicians made their way to the dining room, they attempted to discreetly size one another up. The air, an intoxicating mixture of parchment and cheese, hung heavily over them lazily. The first course has been set out on the table for their arrival. Every movement from the men was strategic, a test of where the power in the room was held. As the dining room doors thumped closed behind them, the atmosphere only grew more stiflingly uncomfortable.

It was an hour later when a side door into the room creaked open. The pitter patter of small feet entered, unaware of what they had just interrupted. The politicians paused their conversation, looking up from the documents they were assessing to see the two-year-old hop up onto a chair and reach for the bowl of mac n’ cheese.

Jefferson was the first to break the silence.

“Asher, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The boy looked up, some cheese sauce stuck around his mouth.

“Mama fell asweep.”

“She fell asleep?”

“Mmh Hmm. She was reading the book you made again, but she stopped and went to sweep. I know because she’s breathing loud again.”

Hamilton glanced to Madison, wondering what his take on this was. If he expected a reaction from James, he didn’t get much of one. All he really looked like was a man trying to hold in a cough.

“Alright, little soldier. Let’s get you to bed. You need to have lots of dreams so you have energy for all the fun we’re going to have tomorrow with your mom.”

Asher’s eyes lit up with excitement and happily took Thomas’s hand to lead him upstairs.

Alexander looked like someone had slapped him in the face. James turned his focus to Hamilton, seemingly unaffected by Asher’s appearance.

“For your debt plan to have the slightest hope of passing-”

“I didn’t know he could act so fatherly.”

Unsure of what to say, Madison pulled out his handkerchief and quietly coughed a few times. He had seen Thomas with Asher several times, taking him to see his office or meet new people when Y/N needed a little time to herself.  Alexander still appeared to be tripping on his tongue, clearly thinking out what he wanted to say next. He opened his mouth several times before deciding to say;

“I thought Jefferson was more of a… um… catch-and-release type guy.”

“He was.”

“He isn’t now?”

James smiled cryptically before he answered “If I would have once called him a player in the game of lust, I would now say that he has traded his spades for hearts.”

“I never considered Jefferson one to fall for love.”

Hamilton looked perplexed and somewhat calmer, but Madison was clearly displeased with his comment. There was no mistaking the subtle venom in his voice as he quipped “Many would say the same of you, Alexander. Greed and lust leave a man far more vulnerable than love ever could. Although he may not be the man you thought you knew, he is a better father than you imagined him to be. All he is doing is trying to be there for a boy without a father, a position he has filled wholeheartedly.”

For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, the dining room was completely silent.

When Thomas found Y/N sitting on the rocking chair, he couldn’t help but grin at the small gray blanket that had been placed somewhat haphazardly over her legs and part of her abdomen. The person that tried to put it over her had clearly not been tall enough to reach, despite being on his tiptoes.

When Asher tugged at his hand questioningly, he focused his attention on getting him to go to sleep. Jefferson made sure to brush the little boy’s teeth- he had eaten again after all -and put his favorite stuffed animal in the bed with him.  As Asher finally fell asleep, Thomas went back over to Y/N.

She was sleeping so peacefully. It was rare that she got to sleep early, so Thomas took great care not to disturb her as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across the hall. Y/N was in her nightclothes already, and he just slipped her into her own bed and closed the door behind him as he left, choosing not to acknowledge the warm feeling in his chest as he did so.

#thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #daddy jefferson

[ardentmuse]

Wild One (Eggsy x Reader)

Kingsman - Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin x fem!Reader

Summary: You are a Statesman agent brought in to assist the Kingsman, but Eggsy would much rather seduce you. If only you’d succumb to his advances.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: mild cursing, heavy petting, talk of sex

Masterlist

(NOTE: courtesy of google. Credit to original creator)

God, Eggsy had screwed up. Big this time if Harry’s sideways glances were any clear indication. He didn’t mean to offend you and you didn’t seem offended, at least not really. But Harry had trained him to be a proper gentleman, so this slight would not go unnoticed.

When Eggsy had seen you standing outside the Kingsman tailor shop, how could he have guessed you were the biological weapons specialist Tequila requested to come from Statesman for your latest mission. You were just an attractive woman standing on the curb, cheeks colored by the cold, with a look of confusion reading on your face that brought your lips into the most kissable pout. You seemed so out of place compared to the otherwise dull street. Eggsy was not a man to pass up an opportunity to win a date with a breath-taking woman. Plus, he still had ten minutes to kill before his meeting. He might as well help you find your destination and get your number in the meantime.

“‘Ello, Gorgeous,” Eggsy called to you as he approached with confident strides. “Can I help you find something?”

When you turned to meet his eyes, he felt the wind knocked out of his chest. You were perfect. Literal perfection standing before him, lips quickly turning into a precious shy smirk that he initially read as innocence but now realized must have been exacerbation.

“Actually, I’m quite alright, thanks,” you said with a polite nod before you turned back to face down the sidewalk. The man before you was near flawless, so masculine and refined, with a strong jaw and beautiful smile, your two biggest weaknesses. But if he wanted to get your attention, you’d prefer something more direct and real, not flippant words or false chivalry.

“Sweetheart,” Eggsy said before taking a step closer and leaning back into your line of vision, “Are you sure I can’t be of assistance? Anything you need? I’d be happy to escort you to your destination if you’re lost.”

You laughed at his insistence. “Actually, I’m right where I am supposed to be. I’m meeting a friend here.”

“Your friend has a strange taste in meeting spots,” Eggsy said, now moving fully into your view again, hands casually in the pockets of his slacks, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders. “Maybe I might be able to show you a better time?”

Before you even had a chance to finish your eye roll, you heard Tequila call to you from the opposite street corner.

“Rosey,” Tequila hollered with near endless enthusiasm, “I’ve missed you!” After a few seconds, he had made his way towards you, picking you up by the waist and hugging you close, twisting you side to side like a beloved childhood toy. You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend’s exuberant attentions.

“Hey there, T,” you said into his ear as you nuzzled into his shoulder.

Eggsy stood stunned at the scene before him, of the casual intimacy that you shared with his newest colleague. His brain put the pieces together and he was immediately dreading having to work alongside you for the next several weeks.

“Eggsy, this is Rosé, the best biochemist Statesman has to offer and my closest friend in the entire world,” Tequila said, his words dripping with pride as he pulled you into his side.

You blushed at the compliments and nudged Tequila with your shoulder, “I’m the only biochemist Statesman has to offer.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not the best, sugar.” With that, Tequila pulled you into the tailor shop, leaving Eggsy out on the sidewalk still stunned and embarrassed.

When he finally made his way inside, Eggsy found you in the middle of introductions with Harry.

“And you must be Agent Rosé, is that it?” Harry asks, still confused by the Statesman naming system.

“Yes,” you said, taking Harry’s outstretched hand for a proper shake, “But I believe little Galahad here renamed me outside.” You turned to look at the now nervous young man standing at the door. “What was it now? ‘Gorgeous’? Or was it ‘Sweetheart’?”

Eggsy flushed at being called out on his shameless flirting. He felt Harry eyeing him but refused to look his way. He didn’t need to feel anything else. He was already overwhelmed with embarrassment, but also this heat in his chest at your boldness, so quick to retort. No one ever gave him sass back, but you did. You had spirit unlike any girl before you, and he knew he couldn’t move on that easily. 

After a few days of prep for this mission to destroy the bio-weapons currently being perfected by an organization based in Morocco, Eggsy still found himself infatuated, but no closer to winning you over. During a particularly dull meeting in the Kingsman board room, Eggsy leaned over to engage Tequila in conversation.

“Bruv, she’s perfect,” he says, flicking his chin across the table to you, attention rapt in the conversation currently being exchanged between Harry and Ginger on the other end of the conference line about security in the dessert estate that served as headquarters for the terrorist organization. “How do I get her to notice me?”

“Don’t bother,” Tequila said under his breath, “I tried for years. Nothing gets her.”

Eggsy sighed, staring at you like some lovesick fool. But in some ways, he was exactly that. Your beauty drew him in, but then you teased him, stood up to him when he tried to treat you just like any other pretty girl. Now every day listening to you discuss your work in detail, lighting up as you impart your knowledge on the group, passion and joy making your face glow with each word, he couldn’t stop finding new and lovely things about you. Your wit, your charm, your adorable little laugh, everything was cute to him.  Even that sneeze you let out yesterday when you and him went into the storage closet to find some of Merlin’s communication prototypes was beautiful. If he learned one more new thing about you, he was sure he’d be fully and irrevocably smitten.

Each day, he tried something new. He tried discussing the mission with you and getting your opinions on things outside of regular meetings. He tried asking you about biology and chemistry so you could impart your expertise. He tried anticipating your needs, bringing you coffee before meetings. He even tried giving you a gift in the form of flowers he saw as he walked around the Kingsman grounds. But each thing only earned him a curt thank you before you ran off to join Tequila, laughing and chatting in your easy companionship.

And so before you packed up your things to head with Tequila to Morocco, Eggsy decided he’d do what he’d never done with a woman before you; he’d leave all the flirtatious words behind and just be honest with his feelings.

As you stepped into the dressing room to try on your own Kingsman suit, as you and Tequila needed to match in order for the ruse to work, you felt a hand catch the door and slip in behind you. You instinctively yelped and turned, fists in the air ready to strike.

Eggsy threw his hands up in surrender, “Y/N, it’s just me.”

You lowered your stance, but crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Why did you follow me in here, Eggsy?”

“To tell you that I like you. And that I am sorry for being so forward on the sidewalk when we first met. And for trying so hard to impress you every day since. I guess I’m just not used to a woman not being interested so I’m having a hard time accepting that from you. But I’m going to do better. I just thought you deserved to know,” Eggsy lifted his eyes to meet yours and took a deep breath before turning towards the door.

You interrupted his movement with your words. “Who’s to say I’m not interested?”

Eggsy turned to you and laughed. “You do. Every day when you ignore my advances.”

“Maybe it is the advance I don’t like, not the man making them.” Your cheeks blushed as you smirked at your own boldness.

Eggsy took a step closer to you. “How’d you like me to advance, love? Whatever you say, I’ll do it. You have me completely enchanted.” With those last words, his hands came up to gently hold your wrists to match the pleading of his words.

“This honesty is a good start,” you said as you stepped deeper into his touch.

“And what might be a good second step?” Eggsy whispered as his hands slid up your arms towards your elbows, pulling you so his lips now ghosted over your forehead.

“Maybe ask me on a proper date?”

“Y/N, I would love to get to know you better. Would you join me for dinner tonight?” Eggsy asked as he held your gaze, a smile already on his lips as you had already made your answer clear.

“That sounds nice,” you said, smiling in return. “A kiss also sounds nice, especially since we have all this privacy, don’t you think,” you continued suppressing a laugh at your own mischief.

Eggsy was stunned for a moment by your boldness, but quickly recovered, pulling you now flush to him, whispering his next words directly into your ear, “Rosé, I didn’t take you for such a naughty little vixen.”

“Well, you definitely have a lot to learn about me,” you said before taking his earlobe between your teeth for the briefest of moments, now allowing yourself to fully succumb to your wicked side.

Eggsy growled and quickly moved his mouth to your neck, beginning the delicious kissing and sucking that you knew was going to lead you to do more than was probably appropriate before you’d even had your first date.

Within seconds, the door of the changing room was flung open, Tequila on the other side. He looked shocked at first as you both pulled yourself from your embrace, your neck reddened from where Eggsy practically attacked your pulse point. Tequila just laughed.

“Good job, Eggsy. I knew you’d figure it out.”

Eggsy took a second, “You knew how to get her to like me?”

Tequila chuckled a little once more, “No, man, I already knew she liked you. You just needed to figure out how to tell her. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to help you. If you couldn’t get the balls to be honest, then you didn’t deserve this precious sweetheart.”

Tequila really was the best friend you could hope for. “Thanks, T. He’s taking me out tonight,” you said, beaming. You shuffled past the two men, taking your new clothes with you. “See you tonight, Eggsy. Text me a time and place, yeah?”

Both men’s gazes followed you as you near skipped out the store.

Tequila leaned in to whisper to Eggsy, “Bring some condoms. That girl there is a wild one.”

Eggsy laughed, unable to contain his happiness at the change of events. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

All tags: @fangirlandnerd​, @aerdnandreaa​ 

#eggsy #eggsy unwin #eggsy x reader #eggsy imagine #kingsman #kingsman imagine #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: the golden circle #reader insert #agent!reader

[purpleshellsaremyfavorite]

The Room

Daddy Jefferson

Part 5 of 7

Jay (@yrs-forevr) x Thomas Jefferson

Reader insert version here!!

TW: Period-typical Sexism (ish)

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1777

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5- you're here!| 6 | E

Letters from Alexander Hamilton had been coming in every day now, insisting that Thomas consider supporting his debt plan. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the multitude of papers arriving at his office but it was Hamilton, so he had come to expect it. Jefferson didn’t reply often, but that never stopped Alexander from continuing on the warpath of spreading his argumentative opinions.

The best part of Thomas’s week was when Asher ran into his office every Thursday to tell him that lunch was ready. Today the two-year-old practically bounded into the room, his face lighting up at the sight of his somewhat-adoptive father. The paperwork had never been filled out to make him a legal guardian, but he fathered him as if he had.

Asher was wearing a little blue coat that almost ran to his ankles. The color of the fabric was barely lighter than his blue-gray eyes. He was always so happy around this time of day. Jay, Asher, and Thomas always visited the graveyard on Thursdays with a picnic lunch. Of course, the young boy didn’t really understand death yet, but he knew who his father was and why he could never come and visit. All he really recognized was that he got to spend some time eating outside with his family.

“Daddy, come on! Mamma says that it’s time to go!”

“I’ll be right there, Ash.”

“Okay! Momma helped me write a letter to Papa today! She said that if we leave it in front of the rock door, then he could read it.”

He had a goofy grin on his face that could only stay with innocence. It took everything in Jefferson not to jump up from the desk and lift Ash up in the air, playing and giggling as they went to go to lunch. Growing up in a big family, Thomas never felt alone amongst his siblings. He wanted Asher to feel the same sense of family, an assurance that he would never be alone. The Jefferson siblings, specifically his brother, visited on occasion, but never stayed long. None of them approved of his choice to live with an unmarried woman and her son. None of their critiques were worse than those in his own head.

He’s not even your son, really. You wouldn’t be a good father anyway. Think of all the women you used. If it didn’t happen then, it wasn’t meant to happen. Give it up, you’ll never be a good father, let alone a good husband.

He shook off his thoughts, faking a smile as he playfully shooed the boy from the room, promising to be down in a minute. He turned his attention to the last page he told himself he would finish before the picnic. The ink in his quill felt thinner than it was before the welcome interruption. His older brother’s words echoed in his mind:

Don’t fool yourself. You’ve grown up strong. Get power, and the happiness will follow. Men don’t love, Thomas. They take.

“I will discuss it with Madison, but I cannot make you any promises, Alexander. As amusing as it is to see you beg before me like a lost dog, I cannot set aside my values, nor can I speak for James.”

“This debt plan must be passed, Jefferson. This country needs it passed.”

“You always want everything to go through. Sorry, Washington isn’t going out of his way to make sure you get everything you want.”

Thomas stepped back through the front doorway, making a move like he was about to shut the door on Hamilton. He was truly feeling desperate to come and ask Thomas Jefferson for help. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’, but one of ‘how far are you willing to go?’.

“Wait.”

“What?” the democratic-republican snapped.

“What if you got something out of it?”

Thomas sneered back at the man: “I’m not the one that needs something out of it.”

“We can negotiate something. Something that can help the Southern states.”

“The South doesn’t need your hel-

“Please.”

Jefferson paused, thinking about what he and Jay had been teaching Asher the previous night. Although you may not agree with everyone, listening and being polite can be the most important part to changing their mind. Breathing in through his clenched teeth, Thomas seethed:

“Come over Sunday night at 5 pm. We can talk then.”

Hamilton smirked and nodded before he turned back to his carriage. Jefferson rolled his eyes and slowly let out a full breath, finally closing the door. This wasn’t going to be fun. Now he had to go see Madison and, more importantly, he hated bringing work home. His house was, with the exception of his office, somewhere that he didn’t have to be a politician.

Sunday dragged along as a fury of angry conversation wracked the halls of the Jefferson residence. James had agreed to join Thomas for dinner, but he knew something was wrong when he was the only one to show up at the front door. When Thomas ushered him inside and explained the situation, there was nothing stopping the bickering.

It was unusual for Thomas to request that Jay not speak with him, but it was painfully clear that he didn’t want to prevent her or Asher from joining him in the first place. It was all too likely that whatever was to be exchanged was not going to be appropriate for Asher to hear in the first place. It was decided that they would all go out together the next day to make up for the evening and, with any stroke of luck, celebrate.

Jay had taken her less than enthusiastic son upstairs, promising mac and cheese to encourage him to come upstairs. He bounded up alongside her, but not before turning around to wave at Thomas as he turned the corner.

Place cards had been set around an old oak table and courses for the meeting had been determined- all standard for political gatherings. However unconventional it may be, Jefferson tried to set things in a good light by separating his home life from the shared political discourse.

James was still grumbling his disdain for the meeting as Alexander arrive. As the three politicians made their way to the dining room, they attempted to discreetly size one another up. The air, an intoxicating mixture of parchment and cheese, hung heavily over them lazily. The first course has been set out on the table for their arrival. Every movement from the men was strategic, a test of where the power in the room was held. As the dining room doors thumped closed behind them, the atmosphere only grew more stiflingly uncomfortable.

It was an hour later when a side door into the room creaked open. The pitter patter of small feet entered, unaware of what they had just interrupted. The politicians paused their conversation, looking up from the documents they were assessing to see the two-year-old hop up onto a chair and reach for the bowl of mac n’ cheese.

Jefferson was the first to break the silence.

“Asher, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The boy looked up, some cheese sauce stuck around his mouth.

“Mama fell asweep.”

“She fell asleep?”

“Mmh Hmm. She was reading the book you made again, but she stopped and went to sweep. I know because she’s breathing loud again.”

Hamilton glanced to Madison, wondering what his take on this was. If he expected a reaction from James, he didn’t get much of one. All he really looked like was a man trying to hold in a cough.

“Alright, little soldier. Let’s get you to bed. You need to have lots of dreams so you have energy for all the fun we’re going to have tomorrow with your mom.”

Asher’s eyes lit up with excitement and happily took Thomas’s hand to lead him upstairs.

Alexander looked like someone had slapped him in the face. James turned his focus to Hamilton, seemingly unaffected by Asher’s appearance.

“For your debt plan to have the slightest hope of passing-”

“I didn’t know he could act so fatherly.”

Unsure of what to say, Madison pulled out his handkerchief and quietly coughed a few times. He had seen Thomas with Asher several times, taking him to see his office or meet new people when Jay needed a little time to herself.  Alexander still appeared to be tripping on his tongue, clearly thinking out what he wanted to say next. He opened his mouth several times before deciding to say;

“I thought Jefferson was more of a… um… catch-and-release type guy.”

“He was.”

“He isn’t now?”

James smiled cryptically before he answered, “If I would have once called him a player in the game of lust, I would now say that he has traded his spades for hearts.”

“I never considered Jefferson one to fall for love.”

Hamilton looked perplexed and somewhat calmer, but Madison was clearly displeased with his comment. There was no mistaking the subtle venom in his voice as he quipped “Many would say the same of you, Alexander. Greed and lust leave a man far more vulnerable than love ever could. Although he may not be the man you thought you knew, he is a better father than you imagined him to be. All he is doing is trying to be there for a boy without a father, a position he has filled wholeheartedly.”

For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, the dining room was completely silent.

When Thomas found Jay sitting on the rocking chair, he couldn’t help but grin at the small gray blanket that had been placed somewhat haphazardly over her legs and part of her abdomen. The person that tried to put it over her had clearly not been tall enough to reach, despite being on his tiptoes.

When Asher tugged at his hand questioningly, he focused his attention on getting him to go to sleep. Jefferson made sure to brush the little boy’s teeth- he had eaten again after all -and put his favorite stuffed animal in the bed with him.  As Asher finally fell asleep, Thomas went back over to Jay.

She was sleeping so peacefully. It was rare that she got to sleep early, so Thomas took great care not to disturb her as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across the hall. Jay was in her nightclothes already, and he just slipped her into her own bed and closed the door behind him as he left, choosing not to acknowledge the warm feeling in his chest as he did so.

#Jay x Thomas Jefferson #daddy jefferson

[iliketowrite1996]

Tying Shoelaces and New Faces 15

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- Breaking up, taking a break, ignoring a significant other, insecurities, paranoia, disapproval of parent. 

once again, @chaneajoyyy was a huge help!

A break.

   That’s what you and T’Challa had decided on.

   A break.

   Well. that’s what you decided. That it’s best for you, him, and your relationship if you take a break. He’d reluctantly agreed, knowing that once you makeup your mind, there's little to no use in trying to persuade you away from your decision.    

So he finds himself distracting himself. It’s June and he’s enjoying walking around Wakanda with his family and friends.

   ‘’See that spot over there, Autumn,’’ Nakia tells their daughter, ‘’That used to be my favorite restaurant all of Wakanda. My parents took me there all of the time.’’

   ‘’Wow!,’’ Autumn looks up to her mother, ‘’Can we go there?’’

   ‘’Sure, as soon as my parents meet up with us.’’

   They’ve only been in Wakanda for two days, and Autumn is already fascinated by everything. Her eyes are wide as they walk through the streets. She sees people making clothing, weaving vibranium into it. She hear the sound of people laughing and bargaining to lower prices. She smells the spices and the foods that waft through the street. She tastes a hunger to learn more, even at four-years-old. She’s an explorer, just like her mother. T’Challa doubts she’ll stay in one place when she gets older. Just like her mother.

   But she’s four and she still has a lot of growing up to do, so T’Challa doesn’t even begin to entertain the thought of his baby girl leaving the nest any time soon.

   No, not yet.

   She’s fascinated with the kimoyo beads that Nakia is wearing, and she waves at her grandparents, both sets, as they alert them that they are on the way to meet them for lunch.

   T’Chaka rented out the private room of a restaurant as soon as the vacation plans were finalized.

   Right now, T’Challa doesn’t want t be bothered. The only people he can actually stomach being around are Autumn, and… well, that’s about it.

   N‘Jadaka and Sanaa have barely left their hotel room since they got here. And they're not even doing anything- just watching movies and ordering room service, enjoying their first vacation together.

   Ugh.

   His mother and baba are looking at all of the sights, reliving all of the good memories that they have made in their beautiful homeland.

   Shuri is always on her phone, instant messaging Peter about new ideas. When she’s not, truth, she’s hanging out with Autumn.

   Even his uncle N’Jobu has brought his newest girlfriend, a woman he grew up with here in Wakanda.

   It all makes T’Challa think one thing- he messed up with you, and he messed up big time.

   He just wishes that he could pinpoint the source of your insecurity, your discomfort with this relationship.

   ‘’Hey, cuz,’’ N’Jadaka speaks as he and Sanaa enter the  restaurant, hand in hand.

   ‘’Erik!.’’ Autumn cries as if she hadn't seen him only yesterday, pushing away from the table ,running and leaping into Erik’s arms.

   ‘’Hey, Little Bit! Have you grown since yesterday?!’’

   ‘’Mommy and baba say I’m getting bigger all of the time!,’’ Autumn nods enthusiastically, ‘’I can tie my shoes all by myself because baba’s girlfriend taught me!’’

   He does his best not to show how much hearing about you breaks his heart at the moment. He’s excellent at putting on facades, and so he does so now. He ignores the way Nakia glances at him and keeps it moving.

   ‘’She sure can tie her shoes! No more velcro straps for baba’s little girl!’’

   The rest of the family piles i, and , like most family dinners, it’s loud, hilarious, and more than a bit uncomfortable.    

   ‘’Shuri, your uncle N'Jobu has told me so much about you,’’ N’Jobu Udaku’s girlfriend stares, ‘’He says that you are looking to graduate early?’’

   ‘’I am,’’ Shuri sets her water glass down, ‘’I am due to graduate in December, and I have chosen to go to NYU in the spring, should I be accepted.’’

   At that, T’Chaka chokes on his own water, ‘’I thought your dream was to come here and go to the University of Wakanda?’’

   Shuri shrugs, nonchalantly, ‘’Things happen to change, baba.’’

   ‘’This wouldn't have to do with your nerdy boyfriend, would it,’’ N’Jadaka teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness to it.

   ‘’Peter has nothing to do with my decision. N’Jadaka,’’ she rolls her eyes playfully, ‘’I do know that he’s planning on going there but this decision was made without him in mind. I just feel like my calling may be there.’’

   ‘’Instead of here,’’ T’Chaka finishes for her, obviously upset.

   ‘’Rest assured, baba, I applied here as well. Where my path will actually end up taking me, I do not know. I just hope that you’d all be supportive,’’ the second youngest member of the Udaku family says pointedly.

   The tension is quite thick and could be cut with a knife. Thankfully, Nakia’s mother breaks the silence.    

   ‘’And who is this lovely girl, N’Jadaka,’’ the older woman eyes Sanaa.

   ‘’This is my girlfriend, Sanaa,’’ N’Jadaka states proudly, ‘’We’ve been dating for almost a year. It'll be a year in November.’’

   ‘’Then it’s not almost a year,’’ Sanaa jokes, ‘’It’s only June!’’

   ‘’Why you do me like that?’’

   ‘’As you can seem,’’ N’Jobu states, ‘’They are a match made perfectly. I’ve never seen anyone that can match N’Jadaka’s intelligence, humor, and pettiness.’’

   ‘’Hey!,’’ the two lovebird chorus.

   ‘’Baba, what’s pettiness,’’ Autumn questions, the almost-five-year-old looking up at her baba in confusion.

   ‘’Intomba, pettiness is what you and your cousin Erik and Miss Sanaa are both very good at.’’

   Autumn is without a doubt the most loving child. She’s the sweetest person that T’Challa has ever met in his life. However, his little girl is a tad bit petty, and he doesn’t know if N’Jadaka or Shuri are to blame.

   ‘’Ohh, okay,’’ the kindergartner needs, satisfied with hat answer.

   ‘’So, Sanaa, what do you do for a living,’’ Nakia’s dad questions.

   ‘’Oh, she’s  a middle school teacher,’’ T’Chaka states, turning to Nakia, ‘’Isn’t that something that you were interested in as well?’’

   ‘’Yes.When I was 14,’’ Nakia says politely yet pointed, ‘I’m sorry, Sanaa, what do you teach?’’

   ‘’I teach sixth, seventh, and eighth grade science. In the accelerated program. I’m also the coach of the dance team,’’ she admits, ‘’And I’m trying to get a workshop started to help girls improve their self-esteem, and eventually for boys, too.’’

   ‘’Looks like you  have a lot going for yourself,’’ Ramonda responds with a soft smile,unaware as to how talented and well-rounded her nephew’s girlfriend interests are.

   ‘’That’s a matter of opinion.’’

   ‘’To be fair, Mr. Udaku,’’ Sanaa turns to T’Chaka, ‘’I do what I do because I care about helping the children. Not impressing anyone else.’’

   The awkwardness comes back, and as usual, two people at the table are completely oblivious- T’Challa and Autumn.

   And, really, only the four-year-old has the excuse.

   So again, T’Challa is one step further from seeing the true cause of tension in your relationship.

   He’s two steps further from doing anything about it.

   And he’s three steps further from ever winning you back…

   Until he makes the step in the right direction.

   That’s what you’re screwing over now as you spread out your ingredients, separating the dry items from the  wet items. You���ve already baked a peach cobbler, a banana pudding, and an apple pie.

   You’re getting started on your fourth dessert when your phone rings. You sigh, wiping your hands on your apron and answering the call.

   ‘’Hello?’’

   ‘’Hey, girl. How have you been.’’

   That velvety, familiar, smooth voice makes you freeze instantly, but a smile spreads across your face like butter on a roll-easily and meant to be there.

   ‘’Hey, Lucas! How have you been?’’

   ‘’Oh, you know, here and there. Where the road takes me. But I’m in town tonight. Gonna be here for about a week. Was wondering’ if I could maybe see you tonight?’’

   Here’s how it usually goes- you and Lucas have been friends since freshman year of college. He sat next to you in the dining hall, started talking about how boring your shared class of freshman level English was, and you’ve been friends ever since. He is the definition of handsome in your book- his round, brown eyes are soulful. His ‘’coffee with cream’’ (his words, not your own)  skin stretches across a defined jaw and his curls always look bright and moisturized.

   You’ve always found him attractive, and he’s always thought you were beautiful. He has told you so on many occasions, none of which wherever appropriate. Such as when you and a group of friends went to your college’s homecoming dance and he told you, ‘’You’re always stunning’’. In front of your date. And his.

   Not to mention the time that he blurted it out in math class when you two were supposed to eb solving problems given by your professor together.

   Then again, subtlety has never been his strong suit. If he likes something, the world will soon know. If he dislikes something, he turns into the town crier and shoots it out for all to hear. He’s always been like that concerning politics, social events, movies, music, food, people…

   And especially you.

   Maybe that’s why the two of you have a… history together.

   He asked you out the summer between your freshman and sophomore year of college. It was a spur of the moment thing, as far as you were concerned. Little did you know that he’d been planning it for a while.

   See, he was gonna be all romantic. He was gonna get you flowers and dress up real nice and ask you at the charity banquet that you were attending with him that night.

   Instead, he asked you that morning, when you were sitting on his couch, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and playing video games with him.

   He is not ashamed to admit that, as typical as it may sound, he had never seen you look so beautiful.

   The two of you dated for five years after that, and breaking up was the hardest thing. But he wanted to travel and work for his mother's charity, and that wasn’t your life. SO you broke up, but you remain friends. It’s why you can understand how T’Challa is friends with Nakia.

   Then again, you never married Lucas and had a kid with him, and his parents never made you feel awful while he sat there and did nothing.

   But that’s a duty for a different day.

   You agree, requesting for an hour to change and dress up. You quickly store the baked goods, clean your area, and rush off to the bathroom.

   After a quick wash up, you step into the same dress that you wore to the gala with T’Challa. Your makeup is done in that smoky eye look you know Lucas loves and your lipstick is fire engine red.

   He’s knocking on the door by the time that you’re slipping into your heels, and you answer it with a smile.

   ‘’How do you manage to look more and more sunning every time I see you?!’’

   You laugh at that, hugging him and kissing his cheek as he does the same to you, ‘’I should be asking you the same thing! Who you modeling for? Come on, show me that runway walk.’’

   Lucas does his best to put on a mini fashion show for you, strutting up and down the living room a few times before you both dissolve into laughter.

   ‘’Oh, I’ve missed you,’’ you hug him again, ‘’I’ve got so much to catch you up on!’’

   ‘’You sure do,’’ he raises an eyebrow, ‘’You’re dating THE T’Challa Udaku? Moving on up from me, huh?’’

   The bitter taste that began the night you decided that you and T'Challa needed a break returns, and you nearly feel sick to your stomach.

   Lucas catches on fairly quickly, and attempts to amend the situation before it can burst apart any further, ‘’Or we don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about anything else. You can get your mind off of him for one night.’’

   ‘’That would be lovely,’’ you sigh, grabbing your purse, keys, and the phone.

   You take the arm that he offers, looping your arm through his.    

   You’re ready for a night on the town, and to have fun at this charity event as Lucas’ impromptu date. You’re ready to kick your heels off and dance with him, inevitably when anything that you two danced to in college comes on.

   But most importantly, you’re ready to forget about T’Challa.

   At least for one night.

   Because forgetting about him at all is a task in and of itself.

   ‘’Nakia, where are we going again?’’

   T’Challa has had his phone turned off all day. Just to resist the urge to text you. He saw you post a few f the cakes and pies and treats that you made last night on social media, and he know that this means one thing: you’re stressed.

   He’s most likely the cause of that stress…

   But he simply wishes to know why that is.    

   ‘’I told you. You need to be distracted from your phone and I’ve got someone that I want you to meet.’’

   ‘’I want to spend time with my daughter.’’

   ‘’She’s literally asleep, T’Challa. So is your girlfriend,’’ she shrugs, ‘’Now come on.’’

   He begrudgingly follows his ex-wife into the restaurant, wishing that he was at home, asleep, just like his daughter. In his own bed and away from other people that he really, eally doesn’t want to be interacting with because they are not you. 

   Until he sees who it is he’s meeting.

   Nakia and T’Challa made one trip to Wakanda right before she discovered that she was pregnant with Autumn. She introduced him to her friends Ayo, W’Kabi, and M’Baku, and he introduced her to Okoye. The small group of friends now has a group chat, meets up whenever one or more of them are in the same area, and just generally keeps in touch.

    But seeing them all here together after five years?

   That’s something special.

   So hugs are given and polite greetings are exchanged. Hands clap backs and cheeks are kissed and everyone is son sitting down at the table, the six friends catching up.

   ‘’How’s my favorite little girl?,’’ Okoye questions, leaning into W’Kabi.

   ‘’She’s doing well. She’s excited to start kindergarten.,’’ Nakia begins.

   ‘’She also apparently has a boyfriend. Tony Stark’s kid.’’

   ‘’Aww, they grow up so face,’’ Ayo chuckles for, her spot next to ,M’Baku.

   ‘’I’m sorry, I just can’t help but notice this new couple alert,’’ T’Challa raises an eyebrow as he gestures at W’Kabi and Okoye, ‘’When?’’

   ‘’Two months ago,’’ W’Kabi answers.

   ‘’Officially two months ago. We began seeing each other, and, well, others, four months prior to that.’’

   ‘’Okay, I see you,’’ Nakia chuckles, already picking up on Sanaa and yours habits.

   ‘’Anyway,’’ M’baku begins, ‘’So, where are N’Jadka and his girlfriend?’’

   ‘’Aww, I knew ya’ll would be bored without us.’’

   As if on cue, N’Jadaka and Sanaa stroll in, hand in hand.    

   And T’Challa is happy for his cousin and Sanaa, he really is. He just can't help but think that could have been the two of you had he brought you to Wakanda.

   You assume that he’s ashamed of you. He’s not. He is so in love with you, and he wants the world to know.

   The reason he didn’t invite only on this trip?

   Nakia.

   No, there’s nothing happening between him and Nakia. For reasons he’s still not completely aware of, that relationship sunk along time ago. It’s for the best, though, because you make him happy.

   But Nakia was his first real love and the mother of his child. So when she suggested this trip to Wakanda, he agreed. They both agreed to raise Autumn together, as much as they can do that with how often Nakia is away. So any time the three of them can manage to spend some time together, they go for it. He didn't invite you not so you wouldn’t get in the way of him and Nakia…

   Instead, it was because he wanted to be as present as possible. Nakia will be taking care of Autumn for all of July. He will miss his baby girl’s fifth birthday, her experience events that only take place in Wakanda, and so much more. Nakia also does not get enough time with Autumn. She knows Autumn adores you, and you adore her. So maybe, just maybe, he feared Autumn would give you more attention than Nakia and he wanted to prevent all parties from being hurt.

   Now that he’s thinking about it, if he had communicated this to you, you probably would have seen his side of things and agreed.

   He thinks about that all night, stewing over it even as his friends and cousin enjoy their dinner. He’s participating, though. He laughs and jokes with them.

   He just can't stop thinking about you, though.

   It’s when dessert is near that Nakia gets a call and excuses herself outside.

   When she returns, she’s holding the hand of a man who is about the same height as T’Challa, with dark skin and kinky curls.

   ‘’Hello, everyone. This is Kevin. My boyfriend.’’

   Oh. Her boyfriend.

   So that’s who she’s been giggling about when she’s messaging.

   T'Challa is the first to stand, bringing the other man in for a hug, ‘’It’s nice to meet you. I’m T’Challa.’’

   T’Challa is very much someone who likes his boundaries, but he can’t help himself. This is the man that makes Nakia happy, because she wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t. So if he makes Nakia happy, well, then, he’s good enough for T’Challa.

   So more greetings and pleasantries are changed. Then T’Challa, N’Jadaka, Sanaa, Nakia, Kevin, Ayo, M’Baku, W'Kabi and Okoye have dessert and talk and laugh some more.

   T’Challa goes back to his room in high spirits that night, grateful for the distraction. He decides it’s time to message you. To tell you that he wants to speak to you when he gets home.

   Instead, he goes to social media.

   There, he sees a candid photo of you and some man he doesn't know, but you two obviously know each other.

   He can see it in the way the man’ hand is reign on the small of your back. He is looking at you with an expression akin to adoration as you throw your head back, laughing.

   Okay. So that’s how it is.

   He tries not to be hurt. After all, you two are on a break, right? You can have guy friends.

   Or… did a break turn into a break up real quick and he didn’t notice?

   He asks the same question to N’Jadaka at breakfast the next day, pulling his cousin aside to consult him.

   ‘’Bruh. BRUH. What, are we in high school again? You’re worried over nothing. This is a picture, T’Challa.’’

   ‘’A picture speaks, a thousand words, N’Jadaka.’’

   ‘’And what are the saying to you, then, cousin,’’ N’Jadaka crosses his arms in front of himself.    

   ‘’They’re lying to me, I’d better do something to see how to resolve my relationship. And fast.’’

   DISCLAIMER- I OWN NO MARVEL CHARACTERS, OR THEIR FICTIONAL WORLD,S UNIVERSES, CITIES OR COUNTRIES. I own Autumn, Sanaa, Kevin and Lucas as my original characters. 

@ashanti-notthesinger​ @destinio1​ @afraiddreamingandloving​ @starsshines-blog​ @airis-paris14​ @syreanne​ @chaneajoyyy​ @90sinspiredgirl​ @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @bidibidibombaclaat @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21

SNEAK PEEK OF NEXT CHAPTER- TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES: Mentions of pregnancy, parental disapproval of significant other, insecurity, revenge, and pettiness. 

You know what you’re doing is petty and wrong, but you don’t too much mind right now. T’Challa has definitely been watching your story on social media. Which definitely means that he’s seeing your pictures.

    Okay, let’s get one thing straight. It’s not your attention to hurt T’Challa. Or maybe it is , because he’s hurting you… you don’t know. You just know that Lucas has come along for a visit and he's making you feel extra special. It’s why you’re posting different pics with him. It started off innocent enough but this last post…

    It was out of pure malice.

    It features Lucas whispering something in your ear, and you’re eyes are cast down, smiling shyly.

    ‘’You know you’re wrong for this right,’’ Lucas tells you, lounging across your couch and scrolling through his own social media feed.

    ‘’I know, I know. I’ll delete it,’’ you sigh, raising your thumb to do just that.

    ‘’Delete it because you want to. Not because I told you it was petty and childish.’’

    ‘’You ain’t say all that!’’

    ‘’My facial expression did!,’’ he points at his unamused face, to which you roll your eyes.

    ‘’Babe,’’ he sits up, using the nickname he uses on you, Sanaa… all of his close female friends, ‘’Does he even know why you’re mad?’’

    ‘’He should! He acts like he doesn’t know what his dad is doing.’’

    ‘’Okay, here me out,’’ Lucas raises his hands in front of himself,’’Maybe… he really doesn’t see it.’’

    ‘’How could he not see the fact that his dad doesn’t like me?!’’

    ‘’From what you tell me, T’Challa idolizes his dad. He wants to be as good as a dd and as good as a husband and as good as a businessman as eh sees his dad being.’’   

    ‘’And?’’

    ‘’And… he idolizes him, yeah? So he probably doesn't see his flaws as clearly as someone who is able to see T’Chaka Udaku for what he is-a flawed human. Just like the rest of that.’’

    Your bite your bottom lip and focus your eyes on the photo of you and Sanaa in college that hangs on the wall, wondering why you didn’t think of this before.

    ‘’Besides. I don’t think you're mad at him,’’  Lucas leans back, ‘’I think you're mad at yourself and you don’t know if you can trust him.’’

    ‘’Oh, you’re the expert now,’’ you try to keep the venom form your voice, ‘’Do tell me why.’’

    ‘’You were hesitant because you know T’Challa and Nakia still love each other, even if they aren't in love with each other, and they are taking their daughter on vacation. Strike one.’’

    ‘’Go on,’’you lean against the armrest of the couch.

    ‘’You also see how he's with his dad, and it makes you question your place in his life. Strike two.’’

    ‘’Okay’’ you not, knowing that he’s right, even if you don’t wanna admit it.

    ‘’And strike three… I found that pregnancy test in the bathroom. The positive one.’’

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