#checkered maternity dress

[aaruviverma]

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[nataliawrites]

Labor of Love // Max Verstappen

You were regretting all of your life choices. The pain was intense, the situation was less than ideal, and, worst of all, Max had been proven right.

You were 39 weeks pregnant and, despite missing Max’s last few races due to the travel restrictions your doctor placed on you, decided to attend the Monaco Grand Prix considering you lived here.

Max had spent the last few days trying to convince you not to go. But you showed him that while he had Dutch stubbornness, it was nothing compared to the will power of a heavily pregnant woman who put her mind to something.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly when you arrived at the track with Max by your side on a beautiful Sunday morning. You both went through your typical race day routines and, with the exception of some intermittent back pain (which you were rarely without at this point in your pregnancy), you felt great.

“Stay safe for us. We love you so much,” you hugged your husband as he was about to head to his the car.

“I will, schatje. I love you both,” he promised as he kissed you and then bent down to press his lips against your bump.

He made one last detour, making his team principal promise to keep an eye on you, before finally getting into his car and fully immersing himself in the race.

And that’s how you ended up watching the Monaco Grand Prix from right next to Christian Horner of all people on a surprisingly comfortable chair the team magically acquired for you.

Everything was going smoothly and Max managed to maintain the lead as the laps went by until your back pain got too extreme to ignore and you quietly gasped, trying to play it off with a nod as Christian looked at you concerned.

But the pains continued to come and go, growing more and more intense, until you felt the tell-tale wetness against the front of your maternity dress.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not here.

There were five laps left and you refused to be the reason that Max missed out on topping the podium. As discretely as possible, trying not to draw attention to something being wrong, you started the breathing exercises your doctor taught you.

The laps seemed to go by in slow motion.

In. Contraction. Out. Four laps. In. Contraction. Out. Three laps. In. Contraction. Out. Two laps. In. Contraction. Out. One lap. In. Contraction. Out. The checkered flag! He did it.

You dimly heard Christian congratulating Max on P1 over the radio before the contraction died down enough for you to get understandable words out.

“Christian,” you groaned, “tell Max that he needs to go straight here. Right now. I’m in labor.”

You’ve never seen the infamous Red Bull team principal as shell shocked as in that moment. He went pale before stammering your message to your husband and turning to call for someone to bring down his wife and track down the medical car.

Unusually gentle, he then asked you how you are doing.

“I don’t think -“

Breath.

“I’m going to-“

Breath.

“Make it to-“

Breath.

“The hospital.”

You almost laughed at how ridiculous the situation was as he tried to keep you calm, “Max, Geri, and a doctor are on the way.”

You almost cried tears of relief when your husband came rushing towards you, haphazardly handing off his helmet to the first person he saw.

He kneeled by your side, “I’m here, schatje. Tell me what you need.”

“It’s happening really fast-“

Breath.

“Won’t make it to the hospital-“

Breath.

“Driver’s room.”

Breath.

He quickly rose and helped you up from the chair as carefully as possible, “okay. Let’s go. Whatever you want.”

You make slow work, eventually realizing that even with Max helping you, between your contractions and pained waddle you won’t make it to the motorhome in time.

You reached the back of the garage when you give in and slide down the wall, setting off Max’s alarm bells.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We won’t make it,” you explain. “It’s happening here.”

Max freaks out even more, “What do you need? Do you want a chair? Do you want to lay down? Do you want to go to the nearest office?”

“I’m not walking anywhere else,” you emphasize between pained breathes.

Between your groans and Max’s random mutterings, you could hear Christian swearing somewhere down the hall and the sound of multiple shoes running towards you.

The sight of Geri Halliwell and a race physician approaching calmed you down slightly.

Max delicately adjusted you to position himself on the ground behind your body, his chest supporting your back.

The new arrivals froze at the sight of you two before another screech left your mouth and they both jumped into action. Geri knelt down, letting you grab onto her hand while petting your hair with her free one.

The doctor rapidly checked you over before confirming that your labor was progressing rapidly and you would have to deliver the baby as you were.

You hated yourself for not noticing the signs sooner. You hated yourself for not just listening to Max when he begged you to stay home. And you hated that you’d have to bring your child into the world on the floor of the Red Bull garage without any pain relief.

Max realized your next contraction was particularly bad as you tensed and leaned into him before arching away as you screamed. You drew comfort from his solid form supporting you and the tender woman at your side. The cycle of pain continued, Max’s attempts at praise and encouragement largely ignored as you were lost in the pain.

“Great job,” the doctor reassured, “I can see them crowning. The head’s almost out. Just keep pushing.”

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“One more push, Y/N. You’re almost there.”

And then a brief second of silence before the most beautiful cries you’ve ever heard reached your ears.

“Congrats mom and dad, you have a little girl.”

You collapsed against Max, exhausted. When you looked up, the awe and tears on his face mirrored your own.

“Max, you should take off your race suit and top. Y/N, you should lower your dress. Some skin-to-skin contact is important,” the doctor advised and you both quickly did so.

The doctor handed you a tiny little bundle wrapped in a team branded towel and you stared at the perfect mix between you and your husband, completely in love with the baby resting against your chest.

You shifted, letting Max take your daughter against his own bare chest as you watched, engraining the moment in your memory.

“Emilia.”

“Hmmm?” Max sounds.

You clarify, “I want to name her Emilia.”

Max’s head snaps up, “After me?”

“You’re already the best husband and father.”

Both of your tears started up again, the intense love you felt for your daughter and each other overwhelming you.

“Emilia Y/N Verstappen,” Max decides, “A little bit of you and little bit of me.”

You almost forget about Geri until you hear the familiar click of a phone camera and look to your side to see her taking photos of your young family.

“Thank you, Geri. For being here for us and for capturing this memory.”

She’s also teary eyed, caught up in the sheer emotion of the moment, “She’s absolutely beautiful, you guys.”

Soon enough, paramedics come rushing down the hall to load you and Emilia onto a stretcher and take you to the hospital for proper checks.

As they rolled you out, Max’s hand never leaving your own, you passed by the front of the garage full of anxious team members and drivers from around the grid.

You motioned for the paramedics to pause for just a moment and turned to face the room of people who you considered family, “May I introduce you all to Emilia Y/N Verstappen. Like her papa, she raced into the world.”

The muted congratulations, so as not to scare the baby, reminded you that Emilia will have dozens of aunts and uncles to dote on her.

It may not have been how you anticipated welcoming your baby, but it was perfect nonetheless.

[loreleyfromouterspace]

Lab Work

Fandom(s): The Sandman, Quantum Leap Pairing: Dr. Ian Wright x afab!Reader; Desire of the Endless x afab!Reader Description: In Ian's lab, certain rules have to be followed. Warnings: Workplace romance and associated power imbalance (all consentual), Oral(both giving and recieving), Fingering, Unprotected P in V, Cum, Roleplay, My attempts at writing comedy/witty banter Note: I have never seen Quantum Leap lmao Wordcount: 3.100 Read this and my other Desire x Reader fanfics on Ao3

“Could you come here for a minute? I think I need your help.”

You looked up from the documents in front of you and saw Dr. Ian Wright standing at a desk, looking over to you.

“Sure. What’s wrong?” you asked as you stood up and walked over to your superior, being hit by the pleasant smell of their aftershave but quickly distracting yourself by surveying the papers lying on the table.

“I’ve hit a wall with these calculations, and maybe a fresh pair of eyes…”, they paused, looked you up and down, sighed, and pushed their glasses up with two fingers, “I’m sorry, I really don’t want to do this, but I feel like at this point I have to say something.”

You knitted your eyebrows together as they looked at the ceiling, seemingly unable to meet your gaze.

“I… I really need you to dress more appropriate for this place. It’s been going on ever since you’ve started here, but this…” they gesticulated at your outfit, “Is taking it too far!”

You looked down at yourself, at the blouse and the checkered skirt, and leaned against the desk. You had been hired less than a month ago and really liked the work and the colleagues, and this was quite unexpected.

“I don’t understand, is it not cute enough or something?”

“It’s not about how your clothes look. It's about the fact that this is a lab, a lab that has important safety precautions, and you are wearing a chiffon top with lace details and a skirt that is really more of a big belt. Of… of course you are free to do whatever you want with your body, but as long as you are in this lab, you at least have to wear pants! Did you not have labs in college? Your grades are excellent, how can you not know the appropriate clothes for a place like this?”

Their bleached hair bounced softly as they became more and more agitated. Now it was your turn to look away, away from the physicist who was always dressed extremely well but at the same time rarely showed anything more than their forearms.

“Dr. Wright I…”

“Ian.”

“Ian. I did have labs in college, but there was the lockdown and then I did my internship and then the professor who was supposed to supervise the labs went on maternity leave two weeks earlier than expected… so I didn’t have as many as I should have had.”

“Still, you signed a pledge that you have read and understand the safety measures…”

“I’m sorry, nobody ever reads these! Have you read them?!”

“Yes, I have, because I wrote them! This is the US military hon, we are dealing with time jump technology. What if, tomorrow, we have some sort of accident, and you get transported 500 years into the future looking like this?”

“With the way climate change is going that is probably the most fitting outfit for that scenario!” you pouted.

They leaned over you and despite being scolded, you desperately tired not to blush from the proximity.

“I understand that this is your first job straight out of college, but this…” they halted as their eyes seemingly got distracted by something and immediately shot up to the ceiling in embarrassment, “for the love of science, please tell me that you’re wearing underwear right now.”

Now you definitely blushed and tried to conceal this fact by looking at your shoes, who, now that you thought about it, were probably also not suited for this kind of environment.

“My washing machine broke, and I didn’t have the time to go to the laundromat last night.”

“So your only choice was to come into work commando?!”

You sighed, defeated.

“Sorry.”

This was especially bad because you actually liked Ian, with their unique style and warm, dorky demeanour, and getting lectured by them on dress code violations put reality back into perspective: They were your boss, and not somebody it was okay to fantasize about.

“Listen,” they said after a brief silence, taking on a softer and more forgiving tone, “This isn’t about me controlling you. You are my assistant, and as such I have a responsibility to keep you safe, and part of that is unfortunately enforcing safety measures. Again, what you do after work is none of my business or concern, but from now on, at least cover your knees while you’re here.”

While they were talking, one of their hands with which they had been propping themselves up on the table dislodged itself to gently smooth the folds of your skirt, and then came to rest on your thigh. You noticed this and glanced at their hand, and it made Ian blush and withdraw it quickly.

“Sorry,” they said apologetically, “Now I’m being inappropriate.”

You batted your eyelashes and reached for their hand to place it on your thigh again, a bit higher than been before, making it touch the hem of your skirt, almost dipping under it.

“If I didn’t know better…”, Ian murmured, “I would say that you have been wearing these clothes not because you didn’t know about the rules, but because you want to appeal to certain people in this facility.”

“Porque no los dos?” you asked coquettishly and shifted your leg so that two of their fingers actually slid under your skirt, caressing the sensitive skin of your thigh, “I contain multitudes.”

“What am I going to do with you, little star?” they sighed while pulling you closer, allowing you to feel the bulge growing in their black slacks.

“I suggest,” you answered coyly and gasped as their hand slid around you to grab your ass, “we do whatever we like.”

“You are going to get me in so much trouble” they sounded hoarse as they leaned forward to kiss you hungrily, their lips trapping yours beneath them and only interrupting the kiss long enough to moan when you grabbed the front of their pants, tracing their length with your fingers.

In what seemed like a ferocious heat, they lifted you up and set you down on the desk, letting their lips move on past your jawline to your collarbone, but immediately stopping when they felt you tense up in their arms.

“What?” they asked, a little out of breath. You were looking at something behind them, and when they followed your gaze, they chuckled lightly.

“Oh that,” they gently patted your leg to redirect you attention from the surveillance camera pointed at you behind them, “that thing is fake. The machines in here interfere with nearly all modern cameras, so they put the dummy up there to at least pretend. It’s perfectly safe, don’t worry.”

That calmed your nerves enough for you to begin nestling with their belt buckle, but you still bit your lip, uncertain.

“And if you’re worried about Jenn, don’t be”, they assured you, “What we have couldn’t be further from exclusive or monogamous. If anything, she’s probably going to be salty that I got you first.”

“Then yes,” you answered their unspoken question and threw yourself at them, crashing your lips together. Your knees moved apart almost without your doing, allowing Ian to have even more access to your body.

“Please let me touch your tits,” they grunted in between two kisses as you pressed yourself against them, “please, I’ve never wanted anything so badly.”

Your lips being occupied, you managed to wriggle your hands free and opened your blouse with trembling fingers. Ian lost no time whatsoever, immediately starting to grope your chest and freeing your tits from the cream-coloured bra you were wearing. Your nipples turned hard under their massage, and it made you gasp and moan. It almost distracted you from your mission to get into their pants, but eventually you managed to open their belt and pull down their zipper, but when you slid down from the desk to kneel on the floor and came face to face with their bulge, you froze.

Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Ian asked above you, “We can stop any time, you know. You don’t have to…”

“No, I want this,” you asserted with a shaky voice, “I’m just…”

They were so big, even in their underwear.

“…not sure if you’ll fit.”

“Oh baby, don’t worry about it,” they gently ran their hand through your hair, “I’ll make sure you’ll be fine, okay?”

Reassured, you nodded and began to wrestle their erection from their boxer briefs, running your hands along their shaft once their cock was free, delighting at how they hissed from the touch. Tentatively, you leaned forward and licked over the tip, which made Ian moan and tighten their grip onto your hair. Emboldened by their reaction, you parted your lips and took them into your mouth.

“Fuck,” they sighed above you as you began to bob your head, trying your best to take all of them, “You’re so good at this, is this was you did instead of attending your labs?”

Your throat tightened around their cock, and they grunted, a sound that made you tremble. You continued to blow them, taking them into your mouth fully and tasting their precum on your tongue, until they moaned louder and louder, gripped pulled your hair, and came down your throat.

“Fuck,” they repeated and watched as you swallowed their spent, “let me take care of you now!”

“Yes,” you exhaled and allowed them to pull you up and lift you onto the desk, feeling a rush of adrenaline from the prospect of Ian’s lips on your skin once again.

Ian parted your legs enthusiastically and kissed you with a hunger and passion that you had never experienced before. You gasped as they moved down your neck to your breasts, taking the time to pop each one once or twice before pressing a trail of kisses down your body. You arched your back as they dipped their head under your skirt, and you shivered as you felt their hot breath on your sensitive skin.

“Des- Ian!” you groaned and tried to squirm forward to meet their face, “Please, I want you so badly!”

You could have sworn that you heard them chuckle, but no time to dwell on that, as half a second later, you felt their tongue running over your slit and circling your clit, making you almost scream and feverously grip onto the desk and Ian’s head in order not to topple over.

“Please don’t stop!”, you moaned as the physicist continued to suck your clit while sliding one finger into you. Soon they had worked themselves up to two and three fingers, all while practically drinking the juices coming from you. It took an embarrassingly short time for you to reach your high, with Ian working their fingers and tongue together and you grinding your hips on their face. After you had tightened around them, they reemerged from the floor, but showed no signs of letting your orgasm stop you from what you had been doing.

After a moment in which both of you caught your breath, they rushed forward to kiss you once again, and you excitedly opened your mouth to allow their tongue to slide in between your lips. The taste of your juices on their lips combined with the remnant of their cum in your mouth made excitement pool between your legs all over again, and when you reached between your two trembling bodies, you wrapped your hand around their still rock-hard erection and began rubbing it up and down, running your thumb over their cockhead and spreading their new precum along their shaft.

“You are insatiable,” they chuckled with a desperate edge to their voice, indicating that they were as willing as you to keep going.

While you continued to jerk them off, Ian interrupted their attention to your lips to pull open one of their desk drawers and reached into it, clearly searching for something.

“Shit,” they muttered, making you stop.

“What?”

“I’m out of condoms!” they said and pointedly shook an empty box.

Had you been in a different state, you probably would have asked why they had condoms in their work desk, but right now, you were way to horny for that, so instead you said:

“I’m on birth control, and all clean.”

“Me too!”, Ian beamed, “Do you still want to?”

“Yes!” you gasped and wanted to resume giving them a handjob, but they stopped you by bending over and licking over your slit again before pumping their cock up and down and gently teasing your already raw pussy with their length.

“You are horrible,” you rasped and tried bucking your hips, “Such a mean…”

You wanted to continue, but before you could, Ian slid halfway into you, forcing the air out of your lungs and making you gasp. They kissed your shoulders while staying still inside of you to give you the chance to get used to the feeling of them inside of you. Their cock felt even bigger up your snatch than it had felt in your mouth, but luckily you were still wet from your previous orgasm. It felt so good to be full of them, and your walls clenched around them in a wave of pleasure.

Ian noticed your reaction and took it as a sign to bottom out. A loud moan escaped your mouth in response and your eyes rolled back into head for a moment, their cock almost hitting your cervix and stretching you to an almost impossible point.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” they grunted and pressed their hand to your lower back to bring you closer to them while using the other hand to steady both of you on the table, “How am I ever going to get that feeling out of my head?”

Before you could answer Ian began moving back and forth, emptying your brain of all possible words. Out of your mouth only came moans and gasps as they pounded you, before their hungry lips crashed into yours and effectively silenced you. You were desperate for something to hold onto and could only dig your fingernails into the skin on their shoulders, especially once their hand found it’s way between your bodies and began to circle your clit.

“I think ‘m gonna cum!” you moaned once their lips had released yours.

“Me too, fuck”, they answered and intensified their thrusts, “You are so damn wet, so wet for me.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged them, even though it was clear that it this point that neither of you would be able to stop even if you wanted to.

Then you came around their cock, lust clouding your eyes and making you grip onto their hair. You second orgasm was more intense then your first, and you ground your hips against Ian to steal as much pleasure as you could.

“Do you want me to come inside you?”, Ian asked after you were done riding out your high and your leg were shaking.

“Yes!” you gasped and after a few more thrusts, they collapse against you, and you felt their hot cum coat your insides.

For a few minutes, you remained like this, in each other’s arms and occasionally exchanging soft, languid touches and kisses. Then, Ian straightened their back and moved out of you, the friction making you moan softly.

“Wait,” they instructed you, pulled open another drawer and handed you something, “I think these should fit.”

They had given you a pair of cotton underwear, which you slid on before sliding off the desk and pulling your skirt down before trying to fix your blouse with trembling fingers.

“Let me help you,” Ian had closed their pants and belt in the meantime, “Unfortunately I also have to tell you that that bra is also not okay to wear to work.”

“Why not?! You can’t even see it!” you objected as they carefully closed the buttons.

“It’s not about seeing. If you consult the rules that nobody ever reads, you’ll find that metal wires like these,” they stabbed their finger into the still exposed foam cup, “can be a serious safety hazard when dealing with high-powered magnets and are therefore not to be worn in lab environments.”

“Fine”, you conceded, “I promise that tomorrow, I’ll walk in here in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, closed shoes, and a non-wired bra.”

“And panties.”

“Yes, and panties, Christ alive!”

“Perfect,” they praised you, “That’s all I’m asking for. Can I kiss you?”

“You cock was inside me five minutes ago,” you laughed, “You are literally dripping out of me right now, and you are asking if you can kiss me?”

“Consent is important!” they protested with pink cheeks, but you shut them down by getting on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around their neck.

“The answer is yes,” you said, “Yes, Dr. Ian Wright, you may kiss me.”

Their lips were soft and gentle, and it made you relax into the touch. Once you opened your eyes again, the lab had disappeared around you and Ian Wright had turned back into Desire, who smiled mischievously and pulled you against them.

“What kind of Physicist has fresh underwear in my size in their desk?” you joked and smiled.

“I suspect it’s the same kind of Physicist that keeps condoms in there!” they parried and pressed another kiss to your cheek.

“Did you like it?” you changed the topic, a bit shy about asking.

“Sweetness, you always ask what I want and what I like, and I always tell you that I love seeing you happy and fucked out. So, did you like it?”

“I did,” you blushed.

This had not been the first immersive roleplay you and Desire had tried. In the past, you had been the mistress to a famous singer working in a 1920s nightclub, a concubine to a tyrannical ruler, an escort being hired by politician, and many more, but being Ian Wrights assistant was new. You had been a bit shy about suggesting it since it felt kind of elaborate, but Desire – as always – had been excited and had worked to make your fantasy feel as real as possible.

“I liked it a lot, actually.”

“That’s what I thought”, another kiss, “I’m sure Ian Wright will need you help again at some point, so we are ready to go back to the lab whenever you like.”

“Sounds incredibly tempting,” you said with a smile, “But before that I’m going to need a shower.”

“Say no more,” Desire purred and swept you off your feet to carry you to the bathroom.

[citylighten]

Tagged by @cinamun​ 

Some attention for Evie!

Are you named after anyone? “I was named after my maternal grandmother. Her name was Evelyn, but my mother shortened my name to just be Eve.”

When was the last time you cried? “I’m too embarrassed to say! But um, it was when I was rewatching a old Disney movie.” It was not getting cast as The White Swan

Do you have kids? “No.”

Do you use sarcasm? “I think I’m mostly direct, for better or worst...”

What’s the first thing you notice about people? "Um...visually...probably the way they dress. You can tell a lot about a person’s interest or lifestyle based on their fashion sense.”

What’s your eye color? “Brown.”

Scary movies or happy endings? “I don’t like scary movies, period! I like to watch movies that will put me in a good mood and will keep me in a good mood when they’re over.”

Any special talents? “I can dance well, but I wouldn’t say that’s a talent, a lot of hard work goes into dancing. Throughout my life there’s always been a few people who tell me I’m good at drawing, but I’m not nearly as good as I was in high school.”

Where were you born? "Willow Creek.”

What are your hobbies? “Dancing - which may sound cliché but it’s true, I really like to listen to music and come up with dance routines for them for fun. Journaling. Boxing...I’ve been pretty invested in a local yoga class too!”

Have you any pets? “No, but when I was a little girl my grandmother owned a black and white Cocker Spaniel named Checkers! He was so sweet, and lived for a long time, too.”

What sports do you play/have played? "I remember playing volleyball in high school, but in recent time I haven’t done that.”

How tall are you? “5′4.”

Favorite subject in school? "Physical Education - but not in grade school, those kids didn’t know how to act.”

Dream job? “Um - I’m really honored to be one of the youngest company members at the Newcrest Dance Company, so this is technically my dream job.”

[kits-shrine]

“What about these?” ‘Howl’ asked him, holding up five garments.

He immediately shook his head and pushed the first one away. It was a bright and cheerful yellow sleeveless top sheer with a chemise under it "Mom doesn't like her arms being 'naked' and she's really not too keen on stuff that's so see through." he gave the man an amused smile before moving to the next.

The next two was a simple but tasteful coral graphic tshirt the other a slightly more dressed taupe shirt with a cream striped cardigan not to far unlike some that Rebecca wore normally, though he'd picked out closer to her size than the larger baggier ones she wore "I think she'd like those pretty good.

'Markl's' nose curled at the next dress shirt and pencil checkered skirt "No." While it was classy it looked utterly too snobby like his maternal grandparents.

The last one gave him pause. It was an ombre peachy hued dress with long airy sleeves and multiple layers in the skirt with a ribbonisque bow. Not too casual but not to formal. A nice day dress or even a date night dress. "I like it... you think mom would?"

[customknitfactory]

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[danicadenniss]

Dean Tao Dizon

Aliases: Babe By Alexandria, Nerdy By Marvin, Geeky By Mandy and her friends

Elements: Air

Abilities: Air Bending, Flight, Wind Breathing, Mist Breathing

Date of Births: June 5th, 2007

Occupation: Student At Titan City School, Ninja

Species: Human

Ethnicity: Asian (Half Chinese Filipino, Half Indian Indonesian)

Height: 4’10

Hair Color: Dark Bluish Black

Eyes Color: Dark Brown

Skin Color: Light Brown Tan

Skin Types: Freckled

Family Members: Diwata Isa Dizon (Mother), Muhammad Yuga Asan Dizon (Father), Mr. & Mrs. Dizon (Partial Grandparents), Unnamed Partial Great Grandparents✝️, Rizka Yani Asan✝️ (Maternal Grandmother), Bayu Amir Asan (Maternal Grandfather), Emperor and Empress Vihhan and Diya✝️ (Maternal Great Grandparents) Dizon Ancestors✝️, Asan Ancestors✝️

Love Interest: Alexandria Sora Hamato-Casoy (Girlfriend)

Voiced By Guillian Yao Gioiello

Appearance:

Dean Tao Dizon is a Chinese Filipino and Indian Indonesian pre teenage boy (later teenage boy to young man ongoing season), of average height with an athletic muscular physique, shoulder length curly dark bluish black hair, kept in a small ponytail or a bun with bluish gray hair tie, narrow black eyebrows, dark brown eyes, light brown tan skin with brown freckles on his cheeks. He wears pairs of koi fishes hanafuda earrings, a ebony black mask that’s covered his mouth, a bluish green sleeveless collared top with light blue trim, forest green and teal blue checkered kimono with blue obi hanhaba around his waist, navy bluish black chocho zubon pant, a blue belt around his waist, pairs of black zori with green straps and dark brown kyahans on his calves. At Titan City School, he wears a white collared button up shirt, a dark blue neck tie around his neck, navy bluish black blazer jacket, navy bluish black dress pants, a dark brown belt with a rose gold buckle around his waist, dark gray socks and black loafers. Since in causal clothes, he wears a golden dragon kanji chain necklace around his neck, dark green gakuran jacket, sky blue collared short sleeve top with dark blue trim, a teal long sleeve undershirt, dark gray cargo pants, navy bluish black leather with a white gold buckle around his waist, white cuff crew socks and navy bluish black combat boots with black laces and soles.

Personality:

Dean is a brave, curious, fearless, smart and strong person.

Trivia:

Dean’s Ethnicity from Caucasian to Chinese Filipino and Indian Indonesian descent.

Dean is an air bender from his mother.

[maryperry27]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Isabel Maternity Purple White Checkered Maxi Dress.

[allnewsreport24]

Kareena Kapoor Khan does maternity style proper in a dainty pink and white checkered maxi costume

Kareena Kapoor Khan does maternity style proper in a dainty pink and white checkered maxi costume

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Home / Fashion and Trends / Kareena Kapoor Khan does maternity style proper in a dainty pink and white checkered maxi costume Stepping out for a stroll whereas cradling her child bump, Kareena Kapoor Khan was noticed slaying the maternity style in a simplistic ankle-length pink and white checkered costume

fashion-and-trends Updated: Nov 06, 2020, 12:49 IST

Kareena Kapoor…

[wastelesscrafts]

I have a health issue that causes a lot of bloating, so there are days/weeks where my clothing fits completely differently. For example, my favorite pairs of jeans either have to be worn with a belt or are too tight. A t-shirt might be loose some days and other days it's riding up because my stomach has expanded. There isn't much in between. Is there a way to alter existing clothing so it can accommodate those issues? I used to have pants with adjustable waists and I miss them.

I'm sorry you have to deal with that. There are indeed ways to alter clothes to accommodate this issue. Adjustable pants a good example of this, as you mention. Let's take a look at a few techniques.

Fluctuating sizes:

Introduction:

There are many reasons why someone might need adjustable clothes. Health issues, pregnancy, fluctuating weight, growing children,... All a normal part of life, yet quite frustrating when your clothes don't grow or shrink with you. I've already done posts on upsizing and downsizing clothes in the past, but let's look at some more flexible options today.

Generally speaking, it'll be easier to start off with clothes that fit well on your larger days than clothes that fit you on your smaller days as you'll have more fabric to work with. This gives you more leeway.

Lacing:

Throughout the centuries, lacing has been a popular choice to make clothing adjustable to your size. If you need to go up a size, you loosen the lacing, and if you need to go down, you tighten it. Check out these regency maternity stays by Romantic History, for example: they have lacing in the stomach area to allow more room for an expanding belly. The same goes for shoe laces: if you have feet that swell up easily, laces can be tightened or loosened depending on the state of your feet.

Adding lacing to an existing shirt is pretty easy. Trash to Couture has an example of a DIY laced t-shirt: she's added eyelet strips in the front and back of a shirt. While these were intended for aesthetic reasons, you could also employ them for practical reasons if you make them strong enough. You could add them in on front, back, or the sides of your garment (or whatever other places cause you trouble).

(Image source) [ID: a woman wearing a white t-shirt with loosely tied corset lacing in the front.]

There's a few ways to make eyelets for a project like this. You could use grommets (metal eyelets), which require some hardware but aren't too hard to install, or hand-sewn eyelets. Another option is to use a strip of eyelet lace: that way, you don't have to make any holes yourself. Loops to string your lacing through are also a fun way to make this work. Use ribbon, string, or shoelaces for your lacing.

Elastic:

Elastic's an easy way to give you more control over a garment's size as it stretches along with you. The best-known version are narrow strips of elastic band, but you can also buy them in larger sizes (e.g. corset elastic).

You can add elastic to the waistbands of existing trousers or to existing skirts to make them a bit more flexible. If you don't like the look of an elastic waist, half-elastic waistbands are also a thing.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a pair of gray checkered pants with a half-elastic waist.]

As for shirts or dresses, you could add a single line of elastic at the waist (or wherever you want it) to make it look a bit more fitted on smaller days. If you've got access to a sewing machine, you can sew the elastic straight onto the fabric.

If you don't feel like doing that or if you're sewing by hand, you could also make an elastic channel. To do this, draw a straight line on your garment where you want your elastic to sit. Make a fold on that line on the inside of your garment (works best if you want the elastic to go around the entire garment) and sew it down, leaving a gap to thread your elastic through, or find a piece of ribbon that's wider than your elastic and sew it in place on top of the line (inside the garment to hide it, outside the garment as a decorative touch), again leaving a gap to thread your elastic through.

Note that if you sew your elastic directly onto your fabric instead of using a casing, it'll be harder to replace later on if it ever wears out because you'll have to undo all of your stitching.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a white piece of fabric with a white elastic sewn on top of a seam using a zigzag stitch.]

If you'd like to sew your own elastic waist pants, check out the Paco pants pattern on Freesewing.org. For skirts, take a look at this skirt tutorial by Break n Remake.

you can also make adjustable waists by using buttonhole elastic. Adding this type of elastic to pants or a skirt allow you to down- or upsize your garment on the fly.

(Image source) [ID: close-up of a gray waistband with the ends of buttonhole elastic peeking out of holes in the fabric.]

Shirring:

A step beyond a single line of elastic is elastic shirring. This is a technique to add a panel of elastic to your clothes. These panels will stretch along with your body, but still look form-fitting. Shirring can be both cased or uncased. You can either open up your garment's seams and add in a new panel of shirring, or add shirring to gather up loose garments.

If you've got access to a sewing machine, one way to add in shirring is to use elastic thread rather than bands.

(Image source) [ID: a panel of green fabric with white polkadots, shirred with elastic thread.]

If you don't have access to a sewing machine or if you don't want to fiddle around with manually threading a bobbin, you can also add in panels like these with elastic bands rather than thread.

If you want to make a cased panel of shirring with elastic bands, you'll need to double up on fabric. By sewing channels through both your layers, you'll create spaces for your elastic to sit between. This technique needs more material and is a little fiddlier, but using channels makes replacing elastic much easier as you just need to open up the channels rather than removing all of your stitches.

To make these without channels, refer back to the above link about sewing elastic directly onto fabric. The only difference is you'll be sewing several bands above each other rather than a single one.

Combine shirring with lacing for a more fitted look.

(Image source) [ID: the back of the top of a light blue dress with shirring, lacing, and waist ties.]

You don't need to limit yourself to panels when it comes to shirring. Fully shirred clothing is an option.

(Image source) [ID: a gray fully shirred sleeveless top with white lace and bows and elastic shoulder straps.]

Drawstrings:

Adding a drawstring is another method you could try. This combines several techniques we've already discussed: using string to tighten or loosen a garment, sewing channels, making eyelet holes,... You can add these to waistbands, shirt waists, necklines, or whatever other spots bother you. Add a channel to the spot you want your drawstring to sit at, and either leave the ends open or insert eyelets, then thread your string/ribbon/shoelace through your channel.

(Image source) [ID: diagram of the front and back view of a shirt dress with a drawstring at the waist.]

Waist ties:

Waist ties can also help control the fit of a garment. They're basically two strips of fabric you sew at the sides of your garment and tie at your back. By tying them more loosely or tightly, you can control how the garment's fabric falls at your waist.

Check out Megan Nielsen's blog on how to make waist ties. Try to find a fabric that compliments your garment, or use ribbons. Either sew them on top of your side seam, or open up the side seam a little and wedge the end of your tie in there, then sew it shut again. Another option is to sew a button at your waist, then add buttonholes to your waist ties. This results in removable waist ties that allow you to choose whether you want to wear them or not on the fly.

(Image source) [ID: back view of a gray chiffon blouse with shirring and removable waist ties.]

Conclusion:

This post is not exhaustive: these are just a few ideas on how to make clothes more adjustable to size fluctuations. I hope you'll find something that works for you!

[angryschnauzer]

Castle Under The Stars

Summary: You always worry when its a full moon and your husband is away on assignment, but this full moon is different as he comes home to be with you. Will it be for good? And just how much fun can two werewolves get up to during the full moon when they have a child to look after?

A continuation of Moonlight On The Sand

Pairing: Werewolf Captain Syverson x Werewolf Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Werewolves, Breeding, Breeding Kink.

Typos are free range and organic, allowed to run wild and free. I do not operate a tag list but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll get an alert each time i post something new. Past works can also be found there.

Castle Under The Stars

You stepped out onto the back porch and propped the door open with a boot, the warm summer's breeze blowing softly at the net curtains on the kitchen windows, bringing in the scent of the roses in from the garden. Wiping your hands on your apron before hanging it on the little hook by the door, you grabbed your garden shears and flower basket, and headed out with bare feet onto the cool grass. The windows of your cabin all stood open, allowing the warm breeze to flow through the house, but also so you could hear if your little one cried from his nursery.

Quietly you stood and let the breeze push your light skirt against your legs as you carefully selected roses from the overloaded bushes. Small clouds skidded across the night sky, and for a moment you turned your face to feel the soft moonlight on your skin. The reflection of the sun's rays on its surface from orbit made your skin prickle, as if someone was pouring champagne over your limbs, but that was as far as your transformation would go, with the exception of the ring of fire in your irises.

You had been Sixteen when you had been turned. On a geology camping field trip, nature had literally callen and as you’d been in the bushes relieving yourself that’s when the lupine had got you. It took a few months to realise what had happened, and it was only when your monthly period bleed coincided with a full moon did you turn. With irregular cycles through your teens and early twenties, you probably only turned twice, maybe three times a year, but eventually you got used to it.

It had however been a bit of a shock to your new husband, Sy, when you had turned for the first time. He’d knocked you up on the first day he met you, so it took a good 11 months before your cycle had come back, two months after the birth of your precious baby boy. That first night had been a challenge; dealing with a newborn whilst both parents were howling at the moon, however you were thankful that Edith who lived in the cabin down the lane knew of these things, and upon hearing the howling had rushed over in her nightgown. 

Since then Edith had been like a surrogate mother and grandmother, as it turned out her late husband had the lupine tendencies too. Your deployment had ended whilst you were on maternity leave and you’d chosen to leave the Army entirely rather than take a desk job. Sy was special ops and in the middle of another deployment, but you had no idea when that would finish because of the nature of his assignment. Looking up at the moon you wondered where he was, hoping he was coping with the full moon and his monthly transformation. You weren’t ashamed to admit you actually really enjoyed when he was at home for a full moon; he was even more attentive and the sex was mind blowing. Standard sex with Sy left you bow legged and exhausted, but with the added power of the moon… well, it was out of this world and you’d had orgasms so strong you’d actually passed out a couple of times. 

The sounds of the occasional truck on the highway a couple of hundred feet away sporadically filled the night, and you thought about that time Sy had driven out to the lake with you and you’d spent the night fucking under the moonlight in the flatbed which he’d covered with blankets and throw pillows. You’d been seven months pregnant but good god it was some of the best sex you’d ever had. 

As you shifted to reach a particularly large rose you could feel your panties stick to you, just the thought of Sy was making you wet and ready. You wished you knew when he would be home, taking matters into your own hands wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the real thing from the man you loved.

Just then you heard a pair of owls hooting in the distance, a truck on the highway honking its horn, so you didn’t notice the sound of tyres on the long grassy driveway that ran up the hill to the cabin. Humming to yourself you were running your fingertips over the soft petals of a trailing white rose when the first hint of his scent reached you on the wind. It made you stop and doubt yourself, before it hit again and you felt the heat in the pit of your stomach bloom. Dropping the basket and shears on the grass you ran to the front of the cabin, the breeze catching at your skirts before you finally saw him, standing at the open gate to the garden, his large duffel hanging from his shoulder, the fire in his eyes as he finally saw you.

“Sy!”

He let the bag drop to the floor as you ran into his arms, launching yourself at him, your legs were wrapped around his thick waist as you kissed him. His deep laugh as you peppered his face with soft kisses, the tears of happiness rolling down your cheeks;

“I’m here Darlin’” he practically growled, and that’s when you remembered the moon.

Pulling back you looked him in the eyes, the golden ring of fire matching your own, and as he took long strides across the grass you felt the coupling connection again, just like that first night in the desert. 

He set you down on the lawn, laying you softly on the grass as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck. Grasping the front of your dress he let out a growl as he ripped the garment clean in two, humming his appreciation at your swollen breasts where you were still breastfeeding and soft belly, before your soaked panties met the same fate as your dress. His lips continued their path down your body, until he reached the apex of your thighs and inhaled deeply, his eyes shining bright in the moonlight before he dived in and licked a wide stripe through your soaked folds. There under the soft caress of the moon’s rays your lupine husband pulled the first of many orgasms from your body that night, surrounded by the wild calls of nature and the overwhelming scent of the roses. 

-

Sitting at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight streamed in through the windows as you flipped the pancakes on the skillet, smiling as you watched your two boys have breakfast. Michael sat in his high chair, babbling away as Sy seemingly understood every word of gibberish that came from his son’s lips. 

Sliding the pancakes onto a plate, you set it down on the table before you felt a strong arm around your waist and Sy pulled you across his lap, his massive hands smoothing over your bare thighs where all you wore were panties and his t-shirt;

“Steady there Darlin, making me want more than just pancakes for breakfast if you’re walkin’ around in just this”

Just then there was a knock at the screen door, all three of you turning to see Edith smiling and waving from the other side;

“Edith! Come in girl, been looking forward to seeing ya!” Sy called out, a huge grin on his face that got even bigger when he spied the basket she was carrying covered in a red and white checkered napkin.

You reluctantly climbed off your husband's lap, excusing yourself to quickly grab your robe as Sy and Edith talked;

“Big Sy, i knew it was your truck that rumbled past my cabin last night”

“Was indeed, home with my girl and my little man” he paused as Edith set the basket onto the table; “Those aren’t….?”

“They sure are” she pulled the napkin up and underneath were her famous peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.

Sy quickly pulled one from the basket and snapped it in two, handing half to Michael who happily chewed on the freshly baked treat.

“Hmmmnnnn, Edith, i could get used to these”

“You staying this time Sy?”

“I sure am Edith”

“Does she know?”

“Nope, wanna surprise her later”

“Moon’ll be up again tonight, you want me to watch Mikey?”

Just then you walked into the room, catching the last of the conversation;

“Are you sure?”

Edith stood and smiled, rubbing a finger over Michael’s chubby little cheek;

“Absolutely, why don’t I drop by after he’s had his supper?”

-

Setting Edith up with everything she would need for an evening of watching Jeopardy as your son slept peacefully in his crib, you grabbed the picnic basket and blanket and gave Michael a kiss, before stepping out into the night air. Sy had already taken off, with the moon rising before sundown he got antsy, but he would meet you at the lake. He’d set everything up ready, and just told you to drive his truck down, he’d set off on foot earlier, wanting to burn some energy in the calmness of nature.

The truck's tyres crunched on the gravel as you parked up, the lake a still mirror for the pink purple skyline as the sun set behind the mountains in the distance. But none of those were what you were looking at, no, what drew your attention was your husband quietly sitting on a rock at the shoreline, his boots resting beside him as he let his feet cool in the waters. With your sandals left in the truck you walked across the soft sand before reaching the shoreline, sitting beside him as he wrapped his big arm around your shoulders.

“Sy, what are you thinking about?”

He looked at you, his smile warm as his eyes shone amber in the low light;

“Lots of things Darlin… how lucky i am to have you in my life, how i don’t think i could have coped with what happened if it hadn’t been for you”

“Oh Sy…” your eyes watered; “I love you so much”

“I love you too Darlin. You and Mikey are my world…” he paused, poignantly; “There’s something else i wanna tell ya Darlin…”

For a moment you heart sank, dreading what he was going to say;

“Sy…”

“Ya know how Walt’s construction business is expanding and he needs a new site manager?”

“What?” whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that

“Well, i got a surprise…” he pulled you onto his lap, his hands resting on your ass; “I’m done with the Army”

“No! You’d better not be fibbing…” your eyes were full to the brim, nervous tears threatening to spill

“Not fibbing… i’m done. Wanted to keep it a surprise until i knew for sure that the assignment was completed”

Crying happy tears you wrapped your arms around your husbands shoulders, burying your face in his neck as you sobbed joyfully that he wasn’t going away again. 

When you had finally settled down and Sy had reassured you for the 10th time that it was definitely true, he was definitely staying home for good, the pair of you stood and started to walk along the shore of the lake barefoot, the warm sand beneath your feet as you clasped your hand around his.

The gentle sound of the water coupled with the feel of your skin touching his calmed Sy, even though the moon was out high above the pair of you, he didn’t feel the need to turn, the sense of utter contentment a balm on his soul. As you had rounded the lake he stumbled on a pebble, and in turn a giggle escaped your lips. Steadying himself he smirked and kicked at the water, splashing you a little as you let out a shriek at the cool water hitting your warm skin. Retaliating you splashed him a little more than you were expecting, soaking one side of his cargo shorts and he paused and looked at you with a feral smile spreading across his lips;

“Oh, now you’re in for it Darlin…”

Your legs carried you as you ran through the surf, knowing Sy would eventually catch you, yet the thrill was in the chase. You could hear his heavy footfalls gaining on you, but you had the advantage of being light on your feet and made a sharp turn into the woodland, the soft grass beneath your feet dry and coarse. You realised he wasn’t behind you and you slowed, turning to try and figure out where he went, when suddenly he emerged from the bushes, his eyes glowing amber in the darkness and he tackled you to the ground, yet somehow managed to turn your bodies so you were on top of him;

“Gotcha!”

He pulled you down so he could kiss you, turning your bodies until he was on top, shifting his knees so he could nestle between your thighs. Your skirt had rucked up in the tussle, and the harsh brush of his shorts against the soft skin of your thighs had your hips bucking up against him, eager for friction as your arousal grew. With the quick fumbling of eager hands you were both soon naked, Sy kneeling between your spread thighs to take in the sight of you, your nipples hard and your arousal a sheen between your legs. Grabbing your hips he pulled you up his thighs, your back arched and your shoulders still on the ground as he thrust into you, spearing your flesh with his own and you both let out a howl of pleasure. 

Sy couldn’t tear his gaze away from where your bodies were joined, watching each time he pulled out and saw your juices glistening on his shaft, or how your cunt stretched open as he pushed this fat dick back into you, parting your walls and you cried out in pleasure. He fucked you like the feral beast he was, claiming his mate and catching the tell tale scent that drove him wild;

“Fuck, you’re ripe… gonna breed you and give you another pup. Thought i caught the scent last night but now i know for sure… can’t wait to see your belly round and your tits even fuller…”

He drove into your fertile body, feeling you cum around him yet he pounded through your orgasm knowing your cervix would be wide open now that you had cum and ready to take his seed. You were whimpering in his grasp, desperate for more but overwhelmed at the same time; 

“Sy… please… please put a baby in me…”

“Almost… there… Darlin’...” he grunted through thrusts, before his body went rigid and he threw his head back, filling your womb with pump after pump of his thick seed, a broad smile on his face as he even held you in place knowing that gravity would help get every last drop of cum through your cervix and flood your fertile ground. 

When he had finally finished coming he carefully settled the two of you onto the soft grass, holding you tight as your bodies were still joined, knowing that he would stay hard for another two or three goes. By the time he would be finished your bodies would be battered and bruised from the intensity of your lovemaking, yet the power of the moon would ensure by morning you would be healed, no outwardly visible signs that the feral carnality of the nights pleasures left behind, even if it meant you’d be sitting down tenderly on a cushion for the following 48 hours. 

It was well into the early hours when the pair of you finally limped back to Sy’s truck, resting your head on his shoulder as he carefully drove home, the moon having set early thanks to its cycle. 

When you arrived back at the cabin Edith was having a cigarette on the porch, the baby monitor resting on the rail next to her;

“Got it outta your systems?” she grinned as she took one last drag before crushing it in a plant pot of sand that sat at the doorway. 

“For tonight” Sy smirked as he carried you bridal style up the steps of the porch; “Can we book ya for tomorrow night too?”

“Sure thing Big Sy, but you’ll owe me”

“I’ll come fix the drainpipe around your porch once the full moon has passed”

“Deal… you’re a good-un” the old woman smiled as she grabbed her keys and slid the baby monitor into your lap as you quietly snoozed in your husbands arms; “It’ll be a girl this time”

Sy’s eyes went wide;

“How do you…?”

“I just know Sweetheart… my husband wasn’t the only one that’d turn ya’know…”

Sy held you as he watched the old woman make her way down the grassy lane to her cabin;

“She’s full o’ surprises is that one…” he looked down at you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, before catching the screen door with his booted foot; “Lets get you to bed for some rest… gotta recharge for tomorrow night… maybe make it twins…”

You shifted in his grasp;

“That’s not how it works” you mumbled sleepily, a smile on your face, but the truth was neither of you knew how it worked when you were lupine… really, anything could happen.

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[hockeynascarfan91258]

Chapter 7

Chase was finally able to take Eden home to the house they had just bought in Dawsonville.   Eden supported Chase as the season started to wind down.   He had made the playoffs and now was in contention to win the Championship.     They celebrated their first Halloween together at Cindy and Bills big Halloween Party they have every year.   Chase went as himself and Eden was a cat.    Fletch was Superman.  They had so much fun.   They carved pumpkins, painted her belly, took maternity pictures and just had a good time.

It was a fun time.  Cindy and Bill had gotten a female Doberman and they decided to breed her and Fletch together.     It was a success and Chase and Eden were going to keep two of the puppies once she had them.   October faded to November.    They were headed to Phoenix Raceway for the final Cup race of the season.    Eden was happy she was able to go because she hadn't reached that no fly zone.     It was race day.    They were getting ready to head down to the track.

"Are you nervous?" Eden asks as they walked hand in hand down to the track.

"Nope.   If it is meant to be it will be." Chase replies.

"That is true baby." Eden says.

"Besides I already won my prize, I got to marry my best friend and soul mate and we are about to welcome two healthy babies into this world." Chase says.

"Aww baby." Eden replies.

"I mean it.   If I win the Cup it will just be icing on the already perfect cake." Chase says.

"I love you Clyde and no matter what happens you are a champion in my eyes." Eden says.

Chase kisses her head.   They then headed down to the track.   Chase did what he needed to do.  Finally they were standing at the car during the National Anthem.   Eden had her arm looped through Chase's and had her head on his shoulder.   Chase had his head leaned against hers.   Finally it was time for Chase to get into the car.

"Good luck baby." Eden says kissing him.

"Thank you baby." Chase says.

Eden grabs his hand putting it on her belly.

"Lil Chase and Baby Girl say Good luck daddy." Eden says.

"My whole world." Chase says kissing her rubbing her belly.

Finally Chase gets into the car.   Eden with the help of Bill and Allan gets onto the pit box and takes her seat.    Eden was so excited and nervous.    Cindy and Bill climb up along with Casey's parents and of course Fletch.   Eden didn't go anywhere with out him.

"I am glad you guys are here.  I have a question I want to ask." Eden says to Casey's parents.

"What is that darling?" They ask.

"So our little boy is going to be William Clyde Elliott the third and I want to name our little girl Casey Leeann Elliott after Casey.   But I didn't want to do it without asking first." Eden says.

"Oh Eden, that is so beautiful.   We would be honored for you to name your little girl after our Casey." They say.

"Yes Eden that is a very touching tribute.   I know it will mean the world to Chase as well." Cindy says.

"Yes it will.   Also like that you are carrying on Chase and the Elliott's  name by naming your boy after Chase." Bill says.

Eden smiled.   She was so happy that she got a long with Chase's parents.   

"So when are you guys going to get re married in front of family and friends." Cindy asks.

"I am not sure.  I think we are playing it by ear.   Want to welcome the twins before we think of anything else." Eden replies.

"That is probably good. " Bill says.

They chat about everything and anything as they watched the race.   It kept their nerves down.    

The laps were winding down and Chase was leading.   Eden started to get excited but nervous at the same time.

"Come on baby, come on baby, come on baby." Eden chants.

"Eden honey calm down.   All this excitement isn't good for those little ones growing in your belly."  Cindy says.

"Nope specially with you being so close to being due." Bill says.

"I know but trust me they are kicking so they know their daddy is about to win." Eden says.

And Chase won the race and the championship.   Eden was so happy.   They all leave the box and head to victory lane.    After Chase did his burn outs he finally pulled into victory circle.   He gets out of the car and Eden swarmed him with a big hug.

"I am so proud of you baby." Eden says.

"Thank you princess. " Chase says kissing her not caring that it was on TV.

Eden grabs his hand putting it on her belly.

"The twins say congrats daddy." Eden says.

Chase bends down kissing her belly twice.

"Daddy loves you both so much. "Chase says.

He then looks over at his dad.

"Do you have it?" Chase asks.

"Yes son I do." Bill replies.

He then hands him a small box.

"What is going on?" Eden asks.

Chase drops to his knee taking Eden's hand, "Eden Rose will you marry me?" Chase asks opening the ring box.

"Oh Clyde, yes yes yes yes a million times yes!" Eden exclaims.

Chase slips the ring on her finger.   He then gets up and kisses her.   Everyone cheers.   They take pictures lots and lots of pictures.   Chase made sure she was in most of them showing off her ring.   Chase had media and lots of it.   As things were winding down Eden grabbed the checkered flag and headed back to the coach with Fletch.      She heads to their bedroom and strips out of her clothes.   She wraps the flag around her and waits.

A little bit later she hears the coach door open.

"Eden baby." Chase says.

"Bedroom baby." Eden calls out.

Chase enters a few minutes later still dressed in his firesuit.   He looks at Eden as she kneels up on the bed.

"God you are so beautiful baby." Chase says.

"Come and get your prize." Eden says.

Chase walks over to her.   He pulls her in for a kiss as he takes the flag off her throwing it.    Eden starts to take his firesuit off pushing it down to his waist.   She then lifts his under shirt up over his head throwing it.   She runs her fingers down his chest to the band of his boxers.

"Eden." Chase moans breath hitching.

"Is that a champagne bottle in your hand." Eden asks.

"Yeah baby I have plans for it later but please finish what you started." Chase begs.

He throws the bottle on the side of the bed as Eden finished undressing him.

"Always so hard baby." Eden says licking her lips.

"Just one look at you baby. Beautiful full of me and I get hard." Chase says.

"Good. Now what do you want to do Clyde it's your night." Eden says.

"I want you to ride me if you can." Chase says.

Eden grabs him pushing him down on the bed. She then climbs up in his lap.

"God baby you are so sweaty and icky and god it's turning me on." Eden moans rubbing his tip along her entrance lining up.

"God baby don't tease." Chase moans.

Eden pushes down onto him and starts to move up and down.

"Fuck." Eden moans it felt so good.

"Eden baby." Chase moans moving with her.

Eden kisses him as she moves. They move their hips together in sync. They kiss as they battle for control of the kiss.

"Chase." Eden calls out his name like an animal as she cums hard.

"Eden god." Chase groans as he cums inside her.

They ride it out. Chase then lays her back onto the bed.

"God please." Eden begs needing more.

"Soon baby but first I want to do something with you. Do you trust me?" Chase asks.

"With my life." Eden replies.

"Good now prop your self up on some pillows baby." Chase says.

Eden does as he asked. She watched as he got the champagne bottle. He pours some down her belly until the top of her pubic bone. He then licks and sucks it up.

"Chase fuck that's hot." Eden moans watching.

He pours a little bit more onto her pussy and starts to drink up while he fucked her with his tongue.

"God that's it baby right there." Eden moans.

Chase kept going knowing what she liked.

"Chase fuck." Eden moans as she came again.

Chase lapped it up licking her clean. He then pours a little bit of champagne into his mouth. He hovers over Eden. He leans down taking her mouth with his dropping it into her mouth. Eden sucks it down as Chase pushes into her.

They fuck until they could barely move and then head to shower before laying in bed.

"I think I need to win more championships." Chase says.

"Trying to fuck these babies right on out of me. But seriously baby congratulations I'm so proud of you." Eden says.

"Thanks baby." Chase says.

They end up falling asleep both exhausted yet content.

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 9

Buster hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and stared up with admiration at the 120-foot crane. Having been delivered to the set in multiple pieces by a fleet of huge trucks, the workmen had just finished putting it together. “Beautiful, ain’t she?”

At his side, Joe grimaced. “Did you have to?”

“ ‘Course I did,” said Buster. “How else are we going to lift the hospital off me in the cyclone sequence?”

“I just didn’t expect it … it’s so big, you know?”

“Damn right it is.”

“How much did it cost?” “How much did it cost? Really?��� Buster said, feeling like Joe had just stuck a pin in his mood and popped it. “It cost what it cost.”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at the crane. “I just wish you’d said something first. Harry’s worried about going over budget.”

“Tell him he can blow it out his ass,” said Buster. “I’m getting damn sick of Harry. Didn’t we all sit down and agree a cyclone was just fine?” He bit his tongue and didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ because if they’d stuck to the original plan, there wouldn’t have been a crane. He wasn’t sure how much the cyclone had run them so far, but it was already over $20,000.

“Yeah, I guess we did. Just try to—” said Joe. “Well don’t go overboard, is what I’m getting at.”

Buster, who had already handsomely paid to go overboard, kept his silence again. “Sure.”

They took a street car to K Street. The sidewalks were still busy when they arrived at the Senator theater around 6:30, everyone parading around in their Saturday night finery. She felt good about the ensemble she’d chosen, a short-sleeved dusty peach cotton dress with a mauve straw cloche hat and silk stockings. Inside, the Senator was cool. She’d been to a picture there only once before, but it was enough to make her fall in love with the place, which had been built just two years prior and was new like everything on the West coast was new. It was adorned in velvet drapes and jardinières heaped with fresh chrysanthemums, plush wall-to-wall carpeting, and fringed lamps, but her favorite feature was the painted dome and the enormous multi-tiered chandelier hanging from its center.

As she and the Kimbles took their seats in the balcony, she looked to the box seats on either side of the theater, half-expecting to see Buster in one, but she didn’t. Maybe he was in the crowd, but there was only so much gawking she could do before attracting attention. She saw him in person nearly every day now, but always at a distance and always when he was busy in front of or behind the camera. River Junction had been a bustle of workmen and noise in the mornings as they rebuilt sets for the cyclone and put together the biggest crane she’d seen in her life. Bert allowed her to take breaks a couple times a day to watch the filming. Even though she was behind the scenes now and could see everything, from the cluster of noisy cameras to the even noisier rain machines, the sight of Buster falling into a puddle up to his waist or being blown off his feet by a gust of wind was still a laugh. On Thursday, she’d been called upon to place an order for five large loaves of bread from a bakery, but they were spirited off to an unknown part of the set and their purpose remained a mystery. 

Her brief acquaintance with Buster seemed to have come to an end and she wasn’t inclined to press it any further, having made an ass of herself the first day in his dressing room and then later after the party at the blind tiger. It was enough that he knew her name. She’d begun hoping that the company would keep her on when they wrapped filming and packed up for Hollywood in a few weeks. The more she stuck around, the more people would know her face, and the more people knew her face, the greater her chances were of being recognized by a studio.

She shared Joe and Maggie’s jumbo box of Junior Mints as the lights went down and the opening short started. An organ in an arched box with pillars provided accompaniment. 

When the opening credits of Buster’s feature began, Nelly’s pulse quickened a little bit. It was surreal when he finally appeared on the screen, walking beneath an umbrella with his mother in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin; she’d gotten used to him as a flesh-and-blood person. She now knew how his production company made that rain and that there were cameras in front of him tracking his every step. She also knew that the person inside the truck driving down the street in the background was an extra. Nevertheless, the scene still looked believable, and pretty soon she was sucked into the story like the rest of the audience.

Buster played a brainy college freshman without a lick of athletic ability, which happened to be the only thing his girl cared about. He spent most of the picture trying out for sports to impress her and failing miserably. Buster often took two or three-hour lunches to play baseball with his production team, so Nelly couldn’t quite buy that he didn’t understand the rules of the game and couldn’t hit a ball to save his life.

As the movie wore on, she became aware—and it gave her an unpleasant sensation, like an itch—that he was better-looking than she remembered. It embarrassed her somewhat to see him in his skimpy track outfit. In one scene where he sat on the sidelines, the shorts rode up so high she could see where his tan ended and his natural skin tone, considerably paler, began. She was almost glad when the movie ended. The last few seconds had been queer, besides. The scene of Buster and his girl walking out of the chapel after being married had melted into a scene of them sitting at home while their children played in the background, then one of them in old age, before concluding with a shot of two headstones.

The organ died away and the lights went up. 

“What on earth did that ending mean?” said Maggie, with a look on her face.

“I don’t know,” said Nelly, but it had given her a bad taste. Judging by the expressions on their neighbors’ faces, they weren’t alone in their confusion. Even in Shakespeare’s time, everyone knew that you ended a comedy with a marriage. To do otherwise was to let your audience down. The abrupt, morbid ending brought her back to reality and reminded her that the real Buster was not to be confused with his handsome, whimsical on-screen counterpart.

Joe was the only one who seemed to find the ending funny and tried explaining it as they made their way up the balcony and down the stairs. Nelly was busy searching the exiting crowd for Buster’s face and only half listened. They made it out onto the sidewalk before she accepted she wasn’t going to see him that night. 

Maggie proposed getting hamburgers before they went home and Joe and Nelly agreed. They found a diner on L Street and sat in a booth with a checkered red-and-white tablecloth.

“So what’s he really like?” Maggie said, after their food arrived and they were tucking into burgers and coleslaw. She was a heavier girl, pretty, with auburn hair and freckles on her nose. Her claim to fame was that her maternal grandfather had been one of the original inhabitants of Sacramento when it was first incorporated. She’d asked Nelly the question before, but Nelly didn’t mind answering it again. Buster had rubbed off some fifteen minutes of fame onto her and there was no sense in not using them. Of course, she hadn’t told them that he was her savior the night of the party; in her untruthful retelling, Bert had played that role. They did know, however, that he had invited her to be an extra and that she’d baked him cookies after his accident with the baseball.

“Not much like that,” said Nelly. She looked up and scanned the faces in the other booths as if one might belong to Buster, but they didn’t. “He smiles in real life, but you know that, I’ve said that before. He can be very solemn. He’s not boyish like he is in pictures. I think he’s a kind person, mostly.” She was almost surprised to hear herself say it, but it was a conclusion she’d come to in spite of how he’d appalled her at their first meeting. He’d been a gentleman through and through when he rescued her at the party and took her back to his hotel room, and she couldn’t help but alter her opinion because of it. “He keeps a lot to himself and sticks to his own pals. And he’s very funny, just as funny as his movies.”

“He’s a real athlete too,” Joe said. “He can’t hide that.”

Nelly agreed. “Yes, he plays a lot of baseball with his team.”

“I liked the picture anyway. The gags were funny,” said Joe.

“It was alright,” Nelly said.  

Maggie added, “I’m still not keen on that ending.”

“No,” said Nelly. 

They ate their burgers and the conversation moved to the Senators game (everything was called Senator here since Sacramento was the capital) and how, according to Joe at least, the team hadn’t been the same since Brick Eldred (whoever he was) left. It was getting late by the time they left the diner, and they took a taxi back to 22nd Street, Nelly and Maggie deciding that they’d forgo the dance hall for the evening. 

Nelly had almost forgotten about Buster by the time she crawled into bed around eleven. She tried to drift off by boring herself with thoughts of baseball. Her father and uncle liked the White Sox, but she’d never really understood or cared for the game. Her only memory of the game she’d been taken to as a little girl was of eating hot dogs and popcorn and wandering the stands with Ruthie. Although she couldn’t say why, fantasies of men had not been satisfying since the incident with Tommy, not even her go-to of John Barrymore. The idea that a man might take up baseball or another sport he was abysmal at in order to win the love of a girl seemed laughable now that she thought about it, but Buster had done it—and more—in College. He’d even rescued the girl from his rival who was trying to ruin her reputation.

Her eyes shot open. She hadn’t thought of it until now, but Buster had rescued her that night at the blind tiger. Of course, he hadn’t done it out of a sense of love and there was no reading into the coincidence since the picture had been shot long before she’d met Tommy or Buster, but it struck her regardless. Maybe Buster’s pictures did reveal something of his character. As she puzzled over it, her thoughts got hazier and hazier, until finally she dropped off to sleep.

Note: Bonus update this week. I think you all deserve it after current events! Also, do admire this screengrab where Buster’s tan ends and his normal skin color begins. 

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Chess Not Checkers

Summary: King Liam and Queen Kendall finally have a meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella to discuss the betrothal treaty.

A/N: The final part of this Fracture trilogy, and probably my favorite one to write. Who knows what the writers have planned for Auvernal’s hostile takeover of Cordonia, but I’m not letting that shit fly not another damn second. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!

Catch Up Here

Tags: @senseofduties @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @badchoicesposts @drakewalker04 @canknot @sirbeepsalot @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @eadanga @the-unconquered-queen @flyawayboo @aestheticartwriting @ao719 @zaffrenotes @kingliam2019 @aworldoffandoms 

~v~

“Do not wear a blue tie!” Liam hears his wife yell from their walk-in closet.

Liam drops the tie in his hand and steps away from it, suddenly suspicious. “Why not? Is something wrong with them?

Moments pass and Kendall walks back into their bedroom, slipping on a pair of heels. “Nothing is wrong with your ties. But the color blue brings out your eyes, and we aren’t going for a warm and friendly aura. Wear red. You’ll look bold and commanding.”

Today is the day for their meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella. For the past week, he, Kendall and their group of close friends have been talking and going over plans to get Eleanor out of her betrothal to Bradshaw and Isabella’s son. While Olivia wanted to ambush them and have them killed as soon as they stepped foot in Cordonia, Kendall wanted to be as quick and civil as possible. While she isn’t above starting an international war, she doesn’t want that to be her first option.

Liam decided to step back on this and let Kendall take the lead when it came to dealing with Auvernal. He’s willing to intervene if the need arose, but for now, he is perfectly content with just silently supporting his queen. She has a solid plan of attack, and he’s excited to see everything play out.

“Red it is.”

Kendall finishes putting on her lipstick and drops the tube onto her nightstand, as Liam puts on a deep red tie. He slips on his jacket to complete the look, checking the pockets a few times, and the couple walks out of their private quarters, headed to Liam’s study, a guard a few steps behind, watching from a safe distance. Kendall demanded that they get better security, so they are currently in the process of testing out a few ex-military men and women.

Bastien greets them at the door to the study with a quick bow. “Your Majesties.”

“Hello Bastien. I take it our guests have settled in?” Liam asks.

“Yes, they’ve been in here for about 10 minutes.”

“And they haven’t caused any trouble right?”

Bastien shrugs. “They’re about as well behaved as we can expect them to be. No red flags, sir.”

“Very well.” Liam squeezes his wife’s hand, and she squeezes back. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bastien steps aside and lets them in. Bradshaw and Isabella are there, Isabella checking her nails, a bored expression on her face, Bradshaw standing at the bar cart, sipping on a glass of scotch. Liam bites down on his tongue in order to prevent himself from berating Bradshaw and calling him a tacky piece of shit for taking it upon himself to get a drink.

Kendall squeezes his hand once more before dropping it. “Bradshaw, Isabella! How was your flight here?”

“Nice. Thanks for sending your jet to get us.”

“No problem.”

“I will say your security detail is extremely...thorough,” Bradshaw continues. “They took all of my wife’s jewelry, all of our electronics. I couldn’t even keep my lucky handkerchief.”

“It’s a new security protocol,” Liam says. “This palace has been through...trying times recently, so we decided to take the necessary precautions. Surely you two understand.”

“Of course!” Isabella says brightly, trying to keep things as light as possible. She looks Kendall up and down, silently appraising the new mother. Kendall looks good, with her dewy skin, long brown hair drawn into a low ponytail and simple black dress. “Kendall, you look amazing! I could barely get out of bed for the first month after having my twins and I looked like a whale, but you’re glowing.”

“Thank you, Queen Isabella.”

“Yeah, you’d think after such a...traumatic birthing experience, you’d be lying low,” Bradshaw adds. “You must be made of steel.”

If the mention of her labor brought up any sort of emotion, Kendall refuses to show it. Liam studies her, and she remains absolutely calm, as if she didn’t hear Bradshaw at all.

“I’m from New York,” Kendall says with a shrug. “We’re tough people. Resilient.”

“I can see.”

“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Liam suggests. “There’s a lot that we have to talk about.”

“First and foremost, congrats on the little bundle of joy!” Isabella says excitedly. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Liam confirms. “Named Eleanor after my late mother.” Isabella coos.

“A little princess! A future queen.” Bradshaw nods approvingly. “Congratulations.”

“Where is the princess?” Isabella asks. “We’d love to officially meet her.”

“She’s with her grandmother right now,” Kendall says. “And she’s only two weeks old, so she’s not accepting visitors at the moment.”

Isabella falters a bit but she quickly recovers. Kendall can tell she wasn’t expecting that as a response. “Very well. I guess we’ll have to meet her at another time.”

“When the rest of the world meets her at her anointing ceremony,” Kendall says, her tone short. “And not a moment sooner.”

“Now, now, Queen Kendall, simmer down,” Bradshaw starts. “You’re mighty tense for someone who’s practically family at this point.”

Kendall reels back, mostly in shock that Bradshaw had the audacity to get so familiar with her. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“The condescending orders may work for you and your marriage, King Bradshaw, but please never again make the foolish mistake of telling my wife what to do, especially in our home,” Liam warns, his jaw getting tense. “And thank you for bringing up this marriage alliance, because it’s the perfect segue.”

“When should we make the announcement?” Isabella asks. “I was thinking we could host a small gathering first, just so the kids get acquainted with each other first. I’m sure Isaac and Lyra will absolutely adore Eleanor.”

“That won’t be happening,” Kendall says with a shake of her head. “But speaking of Isaac and Lyra, I found out some wonderful information not too long ago.” Kendall sits back in her seat, beaming. “You two are married in name only.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear, and it’s a pretty straightforward concept to grasp. Bradshaw needed a wife, Isabella was a gold digger and just cunning enough to get what she wanted. Match made in Hell if you ask me. You guys both have people on the side, and you live separate lives.”

Bradshaw is visibly flustered, but after a few tense seconds, he chuckles. “With all due respect, our marriage is none of your concern. And that had nothing to do with our children.”

“Oh, but it is and it does,” Kendall says. “Bradshaw, you don’t appreciate the art of storytelling. I’m building to my point. You guys are married on paper only. Which is fine, live how you want to live. But on my maternity leave, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. And I’ve been particularly fond of Auvernese history and inheritance laws.”

“What about it?”

“Six hundred years ago, your ancestor, King Marshall, married a woman named Catherine. He was still the Crown Prince at the time, they were young and in love. Sounds simple enough, but Catherine had been previously married, and that marriage produced a son, Harold. This was quite a scandal, for multiple reasons. But Marshall and Catherine wanted to be married. Marshall’s parents were against it, no way the heir could marry a divorcee, with a child. But Marshall persisted. After a long standoff, the then king Erik relented, but on one condition. He put it in writing that under no circumstances could a non-blood relative receive land or titles through royalty, and heirs were only legitimate if they were conceived within the marriage. The monarchy was to flow solely through the bloodline, come Hell or high water. Marshall accepted, and the amendment was added to your country’s Constitution, a document that can only be added to, never taken away from. It’s a harsh, strict law, and many people have fought it, but your country’s Supreme Court has never overturned it, nor has the European Court of Human Rights. Anyway, Marshall married Catherine, and they lived happily ever after, having 3 children of their own.”

“Now that I’m done with my history lesson, I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is,” Kendall continues. Her eyes flicker over to Isabella, who’s glaring daggers at her. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

Bradshaw looks between the two women, “Tell me what?”

“That your treaty mandates that the Crown Prince or Princess of Cordonia, child to King Liam and Queen Kendall, is to marry Prince Isaac, or Princess Lyra of Aurvernal, child of King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella, thereby uniting the two countries. Those are the exact words, your words. But Bradshaw, the problem with that is, you don’t have any children.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bradshaw, don’t listen to a word this woman says,” Isabella orders.

Kendall rolls her eyes at the demand. “Bella over here, was very reckless and wasn’t cautious of her ovulation cycle or taking precautions, because she didn’t get pregnant with your children. The twins belong to someone else. I did a little digging, and voila!” Kendall moves her arms dramatically, the boisterous New Yorker coming out. “I found the truth.”

The silence in the office is so thick, it threatens to stifle everyone.

“I don’t believe you,” Bradshaw says.

“I don’t care. Notice how your wife hasn’t jumped in to defend herself or deny my allegations.”

Bradshaw turns to Isabella, his glare so cold, it could’ve frozen her on the spot. “She’s lying, right?” She doesn’t say anything in response and he bangs his fist on the table in front of him, making her jump. “RIGHT?!”

“Bradshaw, I’m sorry. They’re still yours in–”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you!” It’s one thing to cheat. Bradshaw doesn’t care about that. But his wife’s recklessness could crumble the monarchy.

“She could’ve gotten away with it, because those children are a spitting image of their mother, it’s almost scary. No one would bat an eyelash or ask questions.” Kendall thinks back to the spy mission Olivia completed last week, a trip to the hospital the twins were born at. This information came about after she knocked out a few guards and scoured the family’s medical records records. “But it’s simple biology. A woman with type A blood, and a man with type AB blood cannot produce two children with type O. Now, as for the true, biological father, that is something I don’t know, but Isabella is currently sleeping with her personal bodyguard so it may be him.”

Liam waits on bated breath as he watches the exchange. Bradshaw’s face is beet red, and Liam is on guard, defensive just in case the other king decides to do something stupid. 

“So you see, Eleanor isn’t going to be marrying your son, ever. Or your daughter.”

Bradshaw dismisses Kendall’s words with a hand wave. He’s not letting go so easily. “I signed their birth certificate, I am their father. Your husband signed a treaty, whether you like it or not. And the fact that you just admitted to breaking countless laws with your little espionage scheme is grounds enough to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Prove it,” Kendall challenges. “Prove that I had someone access those records, and that I’ve been collecting intel. I’m already done so you didn’t catch me red handed, and there’s no proof of my admission. The two of you were thoroughly searched and stripped of any cell phones, recorders, and cameras. Our guards have 24/7 security footage in this office, so on the off chance you were able to get in here with any of the aforementioned items, you would’ve been caught planting them before this meeting began. And besides, you push this issue any further, I will demand a paternity test on the world stage, and then all eyes will be on us. You’d rather die than publicly admit your wife cheated on you and someone else fathered those children.”

“I’ll have children with Bradshaw, easily,” Isabella says quickly. “Problem solved.”

Kendall grimaces sarcastically. “You specifically named Isaac and Lyra in the treaty. Had you not done that, your plan could’ve worked. Nice try though, and kudos for the quick thinking.”

Bradshaw glares at Kendall and then stands. Clenching his fist, he tries to breathe, to calm down. “You insolent, little girl. You think because you’ve read a few history books that you’re so smart and you can play politics? You think you can blackmail or extort me?” He scoffs before turning to Liam. “I know she gets your dick wet every once in a while, but you’re letting your commoner wife dictate you and shape international diplomacy?”

Liam’s nostrils flare but before he can reach across the table to attack Bradshaw, Kendall’s places a comforting hand on his shoulder, signaling for him to remain seated. There’s no need for violence when they clearly have the upper hand.

“I don’t think I’m smart. My bachelors degree from Brown in Policy Analysis and my Master’s from Columbia speak volumes all by themselves. There’s no need for vulgarity and petty insults because you aren’t intelligent or mature enough to comport yourself professionally.”

“I figured you wouldn’t back down after the whole paternity fiasco, and that’s fine.” Kendall shrugs with nonchalance. “We can involve the United Nations and the International Law Commission, and have them review that treaty if that’s what you want. But when I get in front of an audience and turn on the waterworks, crying about how my unborn daughter and I nearly died in the middle of a hostage situation, and instead of helping though you had the means to do so, you strong-armed my husband into signing a sham treaty, I don’t think that’ll go over too well for you.”

“It’s politics,” Bradshaw snarls. “You got bested.”

“No, it was a shitty coercion attempt. And a direct violation of Article 51 of the Vienna Convention Treaty, something your ancestors signed.”

“You don’t want to go down this road with me, with Auvernal,” Bradshaw continues, his eyes getting black as coal. “We want to be adults about this alliance, but please don’t force my hand. We can either be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.”

“You’ve been not-so-subtly hinting at war or a hostile occupation of Cordonia for over a year, and we’re not afraid of it. Like I’ve told my husband, I am not afraid of war. In this case, I’d welcome it gladly..”

“Ooh, such big fighting words.”

“Bradshaw, stop it!” Isabella hisses. He was always one for threats and brute force, when it wasn’t necessary.

“Shut up, you traitorous whore.” Bradshaw keeps his eyes on Kendall. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Well, the choice is yours. Excuse me, the choice belongs to the monarch. I keep forgetting who is who, considering your husband lets you wear the pants in this relationship.”

Liam sighs. Bradshaw wants to get a rise out of him for some reason, and it’s almost amusing. 

He gets out of his seat and starts walking around the office. His movements are poised and he glides across the room, until he’s standing where Bradshaw is. “Unlike you, Bradshaw, I actually respect my wife. She’s strong and intelligent, and she has my full support in whatever we do. Your attempts to belittle her for being my queen consort are weak and baseless. And because she doesn’t want me to react, I won’t.” 

“Of course not.” Bradshaw smirks. “Oh, King Liam the Gentle Hearted. You’ve always been the weakling, the coward. Too afraid to actually do something, opting to always play it safe. Tell me, how’s that working out for you? For your people? All the bombings and assassination attempts? How’d that work out for your precious daddy, Constan–”

Bradshaw can’t finish the question because in a flash, Liam pulls a dagger out of his suit pocket and trains it at Bradshaw’s throat, the tip of the blade just barely touching his Adam’s apple.

“Ohmygod!” The words fly out of Isabella’s mouth so fast, she stumbles over them. Liam motions for her to stay calm and seated.

“What was that?” Liam asks. “Please continue to speak on my late father, I dare you. Go on, I want to hear what you were about to say about him.” Bradshaw stays silent, his eyes trained on the dagger. “Eyes on me, Bradshaw.” Liam hits Bradshaw under the chin, forcing the other man to look him in the eye.

“I am so sick and tired of people mistaking my kindness for weakness. I try to be a good leader. Thoughtful and compassionate. I just don’t want my people to fear me, to cower in my presence. It’s so easy to rule like you do, through fear and intimidation. That’s the true cowardice. And yes, I am a kind man, but don’t ever in your poor excuse for a life attempt to write me off as weak or cowardice. The Queen was correct, you do not scare us in the slightest. You’re nothing more than a little man with a Napoleon complex and a need to overcompensate for your own shortcomings, with a wife who honestly couldn't care less if you live or die. Your country is broke and falling apart at the seams because all of your resources go to an oversized military and flashy attractions, so you bulldoze your way into other territories to offset the damage, but hear me well when I say Cordonia will not be one of them.”

Kendall’s breath hitches in her throat at the unexpected action. Liam pulling a dagger - no doubt a gift from Olivia - on Bradshaw wasn’t part of their plan. But she wants to see where this goes, what his next move is. She’s known Liam to get upset before, but this is something new, this tense, tight-lidded rage. Where Bradshaw is one to puff out his chest, yell, and make threats in order to cause confusion and chaos, Liam moves like a ninja, swift, direct, and lethal.

“You want a war? We can go, in an instant. This country may be small and peaceful, but we descend from strong leaders and brave warriors. And be advised, that I’ve been through a lot this past year, and I have a lot of rage inside of me. Keep poking the bear, Bradshaw, and I will not stop until I personally kill you with my bare hands. I will not rest until I witness the life leave your eyes, and your country is nothing more than ashes and rubble. Just say the word, and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Don’t forget, darling,” Kendall stands to join her husband, but she keeps a watchful eye on Isabella. But the woman is practically frozen in fear, not an imminent threat in the slightest, “that if we go to war, it won’t be just Cordonia and Auvernal. It’ll be Auvernal and the small countries that they’ve seized against Cordonia and her allies. Greece, Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom, Australia, and my home country, the United States.”

“Oh right! Silly me, how could I forget? Thanks for the reminder, my love. So Bradshaw, Isabella, how about we forget the whole alliance and treaty fiasco, right here, right now. Or we can go to war.” Liam shrugs and presses the blade deeper, still careful not to break the skin. “Or how about I end this right now, slit your throat, and let you die a slow death, bleeding from your jugular and choking on your own blood. I don’t want to do that, because it’ll stain my very expensive floors, but I will. The choice is yours.”

“We withdraw!” Isabella exclaims, finally standing. “We’ll forget the whole thing, we’ll call it all off! Just put the weapon down, please!”

“Isabella, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

Liam tsks. “Listen to your wife, Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw, are you truly prepared to die here?” Isabella asks. “Is all of this worth it? Put your foolish pride aside for once in your damn life! It’s over.”

Bradshaw looks Liam in the eye, knowing that the other king isn’t bluffing. Slowly, he raises his hands in the air. “We concede.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard was it?” Liam lowers his dagger and Bradshaw releases a sigh of relief. “But just one more thing.”

“What?”

Liam extends his arm, the dagger slashing out and quickly plunging into Bradshaw’s side. Shouting in pain, Bradshaw falls to his knees. “I may not kill you for your disrespect towards my wife, holding her life over my head, and threatening war against me, but I can’t let you leave unscathed. But fear not, it’s a minor wound and I didn’t hit any arteries, because unlike you, I’m a skilled fighter and I know what I’m doing.”

Isabella jumps out of her seat, and rushes to Bradshaw's side, pressing into the wound to stop the bleeding.

Kendall takes in the scene. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the pathetic man-child writhing in pain on the floor, or his wife for that matter. Had Liam killed him where he stood, she probably would have have batted a mascara-covered eyelash. “Bastien!”

At the urgent calling of his name, the King’s guard enters the office. His eyes immediately fall onto Liam and Kendall, before taking in Bradshaw and Isabella. “Is everything alright in here, Your Majesties?”

“Excellent!” Kendall exclaims. “We’re actually done here, so if you could see to it that Bradshaw gets that nasty wound patched up and send the happy couple on their way, that’d be great.”

Bastien nods. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Bradshaw, Isabella, it was a pleasure having this meeting with you, and our attorneys will be in contact soon.” Kendall reaches for Liam’s hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

~v~

Liam’s feet dig into the soft carpeted floor of his bedroom as he walks into the en-suite. His eyes immediately land on his wife, who’s in their marble tub, covered in bubbles, sipping out of a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Slow down, Speed Racer,” he teases.

“Eleanor doesn’t need to get fed for a few more hours, and I think I deserve this champagne.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I just don’t want you to get a headache.”

“I’ll drink a few glasses of water before I go to sleep.” Kendall holds the bottle out to Liam, offering him some, but he declines. So she just sits it on the floor. “Is Nori asleep?”

“She is. I swear, she’s the most alert and stubborn newborn on earth. She did not go down easily.”

“You’re already being bested by our daughter?”

“I know you two have been conspiring against me while she was still in the womb.” Liam smiles softly. “But I am still the champion, she eventually settled.”

“Good.”

“Enjoying your bath?”

“Yes. Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Liam chuckles. “Your skin will get incredibly dry and wrinkly.”

“I’m sure that’s nothing a few spa treatments and some heavy duty shea butter can’t fix.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Kendall answers with a dramatic sigh. The day was long and she’s been running on pure adrenaline, it’s easy to forget she did push out a human just two short weeks ago, under very extreme circumstances. “And sore. I never want to wear heels again.”

Liam crouches down, getting on his knees at the edge of the tub. Reaching in he grabs one of Kendall’s feet and pulls it out of the water. Carefully he presses his thumb into the arch.

“Mhmm. I always forget that you moonlight as a masseuse.”

“Only for you.”

“It better be,” Kendall shoots back with a smirk.

“After the day we’ve had, I say you’ve more than earned a foot massage.”

“Ugh.” Kendall slips further into the tub before resurfacing. “I cannot stand those smug, overbearing assholes. Thank God we’re done with them.”

“Do you really think we’ve seen the last of them?”

“You probably pissed Bradshaw off when you stabbed him,” Kendall says pointedly, the mischievous look on her face betraying the seriousness in her tone. “But I do. They’re underhanded and sneaky, the threat of us exposing them publicly and involving superpower countries is enough to stave them off. But like we both said, war is on the table if push comes to shove.”

“Can I just say that you were absolutely amazing today.” Liam can’t get rid of the goofy grin on his face if he tries. He’s in awe of his wife, of her wit and strength.

Liam switches feet and she sighs in content. “Yes, please sing my praises.”

“I cannot believe how courageous you were, how absolutely brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone able to stand up to Bradshaw the way you did.”

“The same could be said for you. You were ready to kill him then and there. By the way, I was not anticipating that at all, but you had them scared shitless.

“The only reason I was able to do that is because I knew I had you in my corner the entire time.”

“I’ll always be in your corner, Liam.”

“I know, and I need to trust that. But all praise aside, I should have never put you in this position to begin with you. You should be spending this time relaxing and being with our baby, not getting involved in dirty politics.”

“Stop it!” Kendall wrangles her foot out of Liam’s grasps, and hits him in the chest with it. Liam looks down at the sudsy print on his chest incredulously. 

“Did you really just hit me with your foot?”

“Yes!” He’s going down that slippery slope of insecurity and self loathing. “I’m the Queen, I know my job will never be done. This past week has been stressful, yes, but it has not taken away from my maternity leave or my time with Eleanor. I can multitask, you know.”

“I know, I just wish you didn’t have to be burdened with the weight of the crown at a time like this.”

“Stop apologizing,” Kendall orders. “I’ve forgiven you and it’s all in the past now. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, a hint of a smirk on his face. He loves his wife’s commanding side. He leans over the tub so he’s hovering above her. “As you command, my queen.”

“The Queen also commands a kiss.”

“That can be arranged.” Liam surges forward, one hand reaching out to cup his wife’s cheek, the other getting tangled in her now damp hair and captures her lips in a kiss.

Kendall hums in satisfaction and sits up to deepen the kiss. Water sloshes out the side of the tub, soaking Liam’s pajama bottoms, but neither of them care. Her hands travel to his back, pulling him closer.

Too soon for either of their liking, Liam breaks the kiss with a groan. “4 more weeks. That is a depressingly long time from now.”

“Do you have the willpower?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not test it and disobey doctor’s orders.” Liam kisses the tip of her nose. “As soon as you’re cleared, I’m taking you to Valtoria, and we’re going to spend a few days in the small cottage you had built on the property. And I’m not letting you come up for air.”

A chill runs down the length of her spine. “Mhmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, Rys.”

“Oh, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” Liam reaches back into the tub and pulls the drain. He grabs a large towel and unfolds it. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Liam helps his wife out of the tub and drapes the towel across her shoulders. She shivers dramatically, her teeth clicking together for added effect. He knows she’s putting on a show, but he curls her into his side, which is what she wanted.

After changing into the closest pair of pajamas she can find—really just a pair of Liam’s sweats and an old Knicks t-shirt—and peaking into the bassinet at their bedside, Kendall finally collapses onto their bed. Liam joins her, loosely slinging his arm around her midsection. The smell of whatever fruity bubble bath she was just using invades his senses, but he welcomes the scent, his eyes closing instinctively. Kendall smells like home to him.

Kendall turns around in order to look at her husband’s face. For the first time in a long time, he looks peaceful. The outcome of the day instantly took 5 years off of his appearance, and she’s glad. She hates that he carries so much stress with him at all times. 

“Hey Liam,” she whispers, poking his arm.

“What is it?” He asks, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I love you.”

That gets a smile out of him. His grip on her tightens slightly. “I love you more.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus another infinity, for good measure,” Liam shoots back.

“One of these days, I’m going to win.”

“But not today. Now get some sleep.”

Kendall gets closer to Liam, until she’s practically on top of him. His heartbeat is slow and steady underneath her head, and the rhythmic thump slowly pulls her into unconsciousness.

Today was a victory. Sure the kingdom of Cordonia had other things to face, but Kendall takes comfort in knowing that she’ll face them with Liam, as a team. The two of them together are unstoppable.

Today was officially the start of their happily ever after.

[abovethemists]

This Secret Is Safe - Chapter 11

BANNER COURTESY OF MY GORGEOUS FRIEND @timelordthirteen!

Summary: Belle finds herself knocked up at the most inconvenient of times. If only she could stop making a mess of her life and the lives of those around her, she might find the ingredients for a happy ending. Or, Raven saw Waitress and this happened.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10]

Read it on AO3

Belle had never been to a State Fair before. The closest thing she could imagine was the annual Miner’s Day Festival that took over the town square every spring. But that small festival was nothing compared to the sheer crowds at the fair.

Her bus had arrived on time to the station outside town and a shuttle had taken her to the fairgrounds another fifteen minutes away. They drove past a field containing more parked cars than Belle had ever seen in her entire life and she suddenly felt small and silly. The fair was huge and her measly little pies didn’t stand a chance in the face of so much competition. There must have been thousands of people here, milling about outside the ticket booth, queuing up for food and drink, playing the silly carnival games, and waiting around the various event tents for competitions to start. Belle's stomach pitched and rolled, her nausea, for once, having nothing to do with her pregnancy hormones.

The fog had burned off by mid morning, the sunlight streaming weakly from a latticework of clouds and the humidity causing the tendrils escaping from Belle’s ponytail to curl up around her face. She picked at the skirt of her floral printed maternity dress, her nerves almost getting the best of her. She wanted to do nothing so much as hightail it back to the bus station and forget the whole thing. Her baby chose that moment to do a little somersault and it was just the reminder Belle needed. It wasn't about just her anymore.

She found her way over to the event tent where she checked in for the contest and received a name tag. She was then directed to a long row of tables beneath a red tent emblazoned with the logos of at least twenty different sponsors from Blue Fairy brand flour to Pied Piper Pest Control. The plastic tables were covered in red and white checkered tablecloths and Belle found one about halfway down the line with a placard reading “Belle Stone, Storybrooke, Maine”. She took a deep sigh, setting her cooler down beside the table and casting an eye at the competition.

Three tables down from her a portly woman with steel gray hair was setting out what looked to be three separate fruit pies stacked atop each other that she was frosting to mimic a cake. A man to her other side was placing pies with the most elaborate lattice work she’d ever seen onto a multi tiered gold plated cake stand.

Belle shook her head, desperately hoping these were cases of style over substance. There were a few other pies that looked simple like hers, but she was certainly in the minority. Showmanship appeared to be part and parcel of the event. Belle could have kicked herself. It was silly of her not to realize that presentation would be judged as well. Her pies tasted good enough but she'd never made anything worthy of a magazine cover. She glanced down at the white styrofoam cooler she'd borrowed from the diner and nudged it further under the table with her foot. No need to embarrass herself until the last possible moment.

At ten there was an announcement that the judges would be entering the tent at half past and Belle couldn’t put it off any longer. She pulled her three Spicy Rumplestiltskins from the cooler, setting them as artfully as she could on the otherwise empty table. The man with the golden cake plates cast a derisive eye over her offerings.

At least they had survived the trip, the crusts were flaky and perfect and the filling set firmly. All she had left to do was apply the edible gold leaf as the garnish and they’d be judgment ready. She added a generous dollop of whipped topping to the pies, placing the gold leaf artfully on top and then stood back, awaiting judgment as her heart tried desperately to beat through her ribcage.

A few minutes later the judges entered the tent at the far end from Belle. They took their time stopping at each table, jotting down notes on their respective clipboards as they sampled the pies. Belle watched them closely, feeling equal parts dread and excitement.

The judges included a local food blogger Jacinda Vidrio, restaurateur Baron Samdi, and last year’s winner Sabine Dupré, a woman with a wide, warm smile and a twinkle in her eye that immediately put Belle at ease as they approached her table.

“Good morning!” Sabine said, leveling Belle with the full force of her smile. She was bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “It’s a gorgeous day for pastry, isn’t it?”

Belle nodded, swallowing nervously as Jacinda picked up one of Belle’s pies, turning it this way and that. She set it down again without comment, picking up the knife and cutting a piece to place on a paper plate.

“A nice firm bottom,” Jacinda said, tapping her fork against the underside of the crust. “With a filling this wet it’s a miracle you’ve managed to avoid any sogginess.”

“A tablespoon of flour and a teaspoon of sugar in the bottom before you fill,” Belle said. “That’s what my mother always told me to do.”

Jacinda gave her an approving nod.

“What did you use to thicken this?” Mr. Samdi said, gesturing at the filling.

“Oh, um, tapioca flour.”

“And why did you choose that?” Mr. Samdi asked.

Belle shrugged. “It felt right.”

Sabine was the first to sink her fork into the pie, loading up a good-sized bite before popping it in her mouth. Belle held her breath, watching the other woman chew thoughtfully.

“Oh my God!” Sabine said, her eyes rolling back slightly before she looked back at Belle. “This is perfection! The rum is coming through beautifully and there’s something else in there, something acidic.”

“A little bit of coke,” Belle said. She’d thrown it in on a whim, liking the way the carbonation made the mixture bubble up before baking. “I like rum and coke. Well, I did before…” she gestured at her belly and Sabine let out a laugh.

“Lucky the alcohol burns out,” she said, giving Belle a wink. “Have a celebratory piece! You did great!”

Jacinda and Mr. Samdi weren’t quite as effusive as Sabine had been, but they both looked to enjoy it. Belle wished she could see what they were scribbling down on their clipboards, wondering how she was measuring up to her competitors, but there was simply no way of knowing.

The judges moved down the line to the next pie and Belle gave a sigh of relief. For better or worse, she’d done it. She’d entered the contest and followed through. Even if she didn’t win or even place, no one could take that away from her. As much as returning to Storybrooke empty handed would hurt, at least she could hold her head high knowing she’d done her best for her child. Her little peanut gave a forceful kick as if in encouragement and Belle dropped her hand to her belly pushing back gently.

“We did it,” she whispered.

She eavesdropped on the tail end of Mr. Golden Cake Plates’ evaluation where they complimented his latticework but were noticeably silent when it came to taste. Then the judges moved down the line out of earshot and Belle had no way of knowing how she stacked up against the competition. The other bakers started milling about, talking to each other once the judging was done but Belle stayed parked behind her own table. It felt like leaving the tent, talking to anyone else, even going to find the bathrooms, would pop the bubble she was living in. Right this very moment the judges were deliberating and choosing a winner of the $20,000 grand prize. Belle felt if she left her table with her nameplate on it she would simply cease to be and the whole day would disappear like a popped balloon.

After 20 minutes, a blonde woman in a pink cardigan mounted the small dais at the far end of the tent where a microphone and speaker system were set up to announce that the judges had made their decision. They filed one by one on to the stage as the woman bowed off, going to stand behind a small table where a collection of trophies for first, second and third place stood. Each had a little cherry pie mounted on top. Alongside the trophies were aprons emblazoned with the emblem of the state fair and a handful of coupons from the various sponsors.

Belle’s heart hammered in her chest as she gripped on to the side of her table. But when they had announced the third place and second place winners without calling her name, Belle resigned herself to her loss. There wasn't a chance in hell a small town waitress had actually beaten all these other bakers. She leaned against the folding table, trying to ease her aching back for a moment, and trailed a finger through the whipped cream on top of her pie, popping her finger in her mouth with a wet sound. She tried to steel herself for the disappointment. So she’d failed at her only chance for financial freedom. It wasn’t as though she’d be going home any worse off than she’d been this morning. Hopes and dreams were silly things, after all, intangible and impermanent. Losing them couldn’t hurt you, not truly.

“And the winner of this year’s Bangor State Fair Pie Baking Contest is…” Sabine announced, making a drumroll sound with her tongue. “Belle Stone from Storybrooke with her Spicy Rumplestiltskin Pie!”

Belle nearly slipped off the table, catching herself at the last moment, the rickety table rattling precariously. She shook her head, sure she'd just hallucinated. They couldn't possibly have called her name.

“Get on up here, Belle!” Sabine called to her as applause rang through the tent. Belle shook her head again, unable to believe what was happening. She won. She actually won!

In a daze, she walked up toward the dais. Mr. Samdi had pulled an oversized novelty check for $20,000 from somewhere with her name on it and handed it to her. Someone was snapping photographs and Belle noticed he was wearing a press badge around his neck. Apparently she’d be in the paper. The judges all congratulated her and a few more photos were taken of all the winners with the judges and the contest organizer. Jacinda approached her to ask her to pen a guest post for her blog about her winning recipe. Before Belle knew it, the tent was clearing out in preparation for the hot dog eating contest to be held that afternoon and she was left alone, gripping the novelty check to her chest, the real one tucked safely in her purse.

Her heart was still thumping wildly in her chest, the adrenaline she’d been feeling all day not quite leaving her system. It was strange. So much of her focus for the past few weeks had been geared toward this one moment. She hadn’t actually thought much about what would come next. The future seemed like a yawning chasm, infinite and vast and capable of swallowing her whole.

For the first time ever she had money to her name, money Gary had no knowledge of. Only a few days ago she’d have stolen home, packed her bags, and left Storybrooke forever without leaving so much as a forwarding address. She didn’t have that luxury anymore, not now that Max knew the truth about the baby. Instead she’d have to figure out a way to make a life for herself in Storybrooke apart from Gary. From the moment she'd realized she was pregnant, Belle had been focused solely on running away. She'd never dared to take a moment to consider staying. It appeared that moment had arrived.

She finally left the tent, walking aimlessly around the fairgrounds. The scent of funnel cakes was in the air, the fried dough and sickly sweet powdered sugar making her stomach growl with the reminder that she hadn’t eaten all day. She’d been too nervous.

She stopped by one of the food vendors, buying herself a celebratory order of onion rings before meandering through the throngs of people. It had turned out to be a fine day and Belle lifted her face to the sun, reveling in its warmth. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just enjoyed being outdoors.

It was a cumbersome walk between her onion rings, the large check tucked under her arm, and her purse laden down with her first place trophy, but she made it work. She finished up the crispy onion rings, tossing the paper container in the trash and licking the salty crumbs from her fingers with a contented sigh. Then she made one last sweep of the fair, past the large Ferris wheel and carnival games, heading toward the edge of the fairgrounds where the shuttle would take her back to the bus station. There was no real reason to hang around even though she knew the bus wouldn’t leave for another couple of hours yet. Still, it was nice to have nothing scheduled, to have freedom. No one knew she was here. She was completely anonymous.

As if to contradict her rare moment of peace, she caught sight of a looming specter on the edge of the parking lot. The hulking form of Gary was walking purposely across the field next to the fairgrounds. His arm was still bandaged, hanging from a sling. His nose was bandaged too, the eye that had been swollen shut the day before now an ugly purplish color, the white of his eye turned red and yellow.

Belle froze, unsure of what to do. The fairgrounds were less crowded over here, most of the throngs of people congregating near the food stalls, music stages, and rides. There were only a handful of people milling about and none of them were paying Belle the least bit of attention.

They were in an open field, nowhere to hide unless she made a run for the port-a-potties. In a split second, Belle decided she was tired of running, of hiding, of making herself small. Today, she would stand her ground, once and for all. She shifted the large check under her arm, letting her success bolster her confidence, and walked toward her husband.

He caught sight of her, making a beeline for her and she met him next to the partition of hay bales marking off the fairgrounds.

“Gary!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Gary said with a grimace. “You want me incapacitated in a hospital bed so you can sneak off without my knowledge. What are you doing here?”

Belle motioned over her shoulder in the vague direction of the contest tent.

“There was a pie baking contest,” she said. “Granny thought I should enter. She said it would be good exposure for the diner.”

“Bullshit!” Gary snapped. “What’s this then?”

He reached out with his good arm, grabbing the oversized novelty check from her hands and Belle stumbled forward with the momentum.

“I won,” she said in a small voice. There wasn’t much point in hiding it when he was holding the evidence in his hand.

Gary looked from the novelty check, to her face, and back.

“What are you going to do with the money?” Gary demanded.

Belle faltered, her hands going to her stomach.

“It’s for the baby,” she said, truthfully. Her child was the only reason she’d entered into the contest in the first place. She hoped to give them a better life. “They need things. A crib, diapers, blankets…”

Gary folded up the cardboard check in his hand, rending it in half before tossing the pieces to the ground.

“No it’s not,” he growled. “This isn’t about Granny or the baby or anything else. This is about you being a selfish bitch. You were gonna leave me, weren’t you? You were going to get yourself a nice chunk of change and then disappear.”

One of the stitches across his nose had popped, blood soaking through the bandage and dripping down his face. He looked deranged, grotesque, the outside finally matching the ugliness within his soul.

She took a step back, not deigning to answer his question. Gary grabbed her by the upper arm, squeezing and she gasped.

“We’re leaving,” he said, turning and dragging her across the field toward the parking lot. “We’re going home and you’re going to explain just why the fuck Mr. Fucking Gold seems so protective of you all of a sudden. Keith said the rumor around town is you’re fucking the old bastard.”

Belle dug her heels in, her shoes skittering along the soft earth, kicking up clumps of dirt and grass. Despite Gary’s injuries and his arm in a sling, he was still twice her size and far stronger. There wasn’t much she could do to stop him physically.

“His name is Maxwell,” she said. Gary stopped and Belle tripped forward, slamming into his side.

“What?” Gary asked, rounding on her, her arm still caught in his death grip.

“His name isn’t Mr. Fucking Gold,” she said, her voice only trembling slightly. “It’s Maxwell. Max. He’s good and kind and he’s twice the man you’ll ever be.”

One moment Gary’s seething face was in hers and the next there was crack against her skull, pain shooting through her face as the back of Gary’s hand collided with her cheekbone. There was a gasp from somewhere to her right, one of the fair goers witnessing the domestic disturbance. She looked across at them, a horrified woman covering her mouth with her hands. When Belle’s eyes met hers she turned and walked the other way. She wouldn't be relying on the kindness of strangers then.

Belle righted herself, still seeing stars dancing across her vision from the force of Gary’s slap. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but it wasn’t from fear. It was anger.

Gary gripped her arm once more, hauling her to him.

“Belle you come with me right now or so help me God…”

“You’ll what?” Belle cut across him. “Beat me to death in front of all these witnesses? In the middle of a state fair? Even you’re not that stupid.”

Gary’s nostrils flared with anger, his jaw clenched so tight she was surprised it didn’t shatter his teeth.

“What the fucks gotten in to you?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. There was a time when that tone would have terrified her, but those days were gone. Gary had rendered her so numb for years on end. Numb to love, even for her own child. Numb to the pain of living with him. Numb to everything but the uneasy feeling in her stomach, the little spark of fear that accompanied her day in and day out, the panic that lived in her chest so long she couldn't remember life without it. But she was free of Gary. He wasn’t the father of her child. He wasn’t a paycheck to keep a roof over her head. Soon he wouldn’t even be her husband. He was just a sad, small man and more than anything, she pitied him.

“Self respect,” she hissed, trying to pull her arm from his grip. “I won. I did that. Without you or anyone else, just me.”

“Big fucking deal,” Gary scoffed. “You baked a pie.”

“I baked the best pie,” she countered. “You always told me I was no Sara Lee. You always told me it was a stupid hobby. Everyone raves about my pies except for you and now I know why. You wanted me to think I was nothing without you when the truth is you’re afraid you’re nothing without me.”

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” Gary said, yanking her toward the parking lot.

“Let me go,” she said, her voice steely.

“Never!” Gary roared, attracting attention from around the field. Good. Let strangers witness this. Let everyone see how pathetic Gary Stone really was. “You are my wife. You’re mine, you hear me?”

“No,” Belle said, pulling away from Gary again. “I’m not yours.”

“So what, you’re Gold’s now? Is that what this is all about?”

“I’m not anyone’s property,” Belle said. “You can’t love someone if you want to possess them. You’ve never understood that and you never will.”

Gary grabbed her wrist, twisting it in his grip until she had no choice but to stumble toward him.

“You are mine,” he whispered roughly against her ear. “I love you and you love me. That’s how it is.”

She looked up at him, at the black and blue marring his face. The eye that wasn’t purple looked desperate and, more than anything, afraid. He was terrified of her leaving him and he always had been. It’s why he’d crushed her self worth and independence for so long. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

“I don’t love you, Gary,” she said, more sure of that than she’d ever been sure of anything in her whole life.

“What?” he hissed out, his eyes darting around at the few stragglers still in the field. Belle wondered if he was measuring his chances of being able to hit her again without consequence.

“I don’t love you,” she repeated. “You’re cruel and selfish and arrogant. I’ve wanted out of our marriage for years, almost as soon as it started. We don’t need you and we never have.”

Gary dropped her wrist, shoving her back from him. Belle stumbled, her foot catching on an uneven patch of ground and she went down hard, her hands instinctively cradling her belly instead of shielding herself from the fall. She landed on her side, the wind completely knocked out of her. After a stunned moment she felt wetness in her underwear and realized with abject mortification that the baby must have landed on her bladder, causing her to wet herself. She'd read such a thing was possible, but she hadn't even felt the urge to go. She just sat there, shamefaced for a moment while an ugly smirk crossed Gary's face.

“Is there a problem here?” came a cool voice from behind her. Belle craned her neck to see Sabine from the contest. She was holding the two halves of Belle’s discarded award check in her hands, her brows drawn together in concern.

“No,” Gary said, using his good hand to grab Belle by the arm and haul her up to stand. Gary started dusting grass from her skirt and Belle shoved his hand away. Gary turned back to Sabine, giving her one of his usually winning smiles, the kind that earned him adoration in Storybrooke. The effect was somewhat ruined by the bruises across his face and the blood dried across his nose from where his stitches had split. “Just having a little conversation with the missus. She's real clumsy.”

Sabine looked him over slowly, her eyes raking over his haggard appearance with disgust.

“Do you need me to call the police?” she asked Belle, her eyes never leaving Gary.

"No," Belle said. “Gary was just leaving, weren’t you?”

Gary's smile faltered, his gaze going back to Belle.

"Don't you need a ride?" he asked, his tone light in spite of the fury she could feel coursing beneath his words.

Belle shook her head. "I've got everything I need. You can go."

Gary bent his head a little, his voice low enough that Sabine couldn't hear.

“This isn’t over,” he snarled.

“Yes,” Belle said, amazed at how little her voice wavered. “It really is.”

An off duty police officer in a black shirt marked “Security” stepped up, standing next to Sabine and Gary eyed him, particularly the gun sheathed at his hip. Another security officer was approaching from the other side and Gary cut his losses. He turned in a huff, stomping away, and Belle gave a sigh of relief at his retreat.

Sabine stepped up behind her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Belle said, turning with a nod. "For the first time in a really long time, I think I am."

Sabine smiled, giving her shoulder a squeeze, but Belle's attention was stolen by someone else.

"Max!" she exclaimed.

He was standing a few yards away, resplendent in his three piece suit as usual, leaning lightly on his cane. He looked incongruous standing in a sun drenched field, framed by the Ferris wheel at his back. The State Fair was hardly his natural habitat and yet here he was.

Sabine glanced behind her and then back to Belle, her eyebrows lifting. "I'll, uh, see you later," she said, giving Max a once over as she headed back toward the fair. She shot Belle a thumbs up from behind his back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as he approached, stopping a few feet away from her, keeping a respectful distance.

“I, uh, came to rescue you,” he said, giving her a self deprecating smile.

Belle snorted, shaking her head. “I told you before, I don’t need rescuing. I never have.”

Max nodded. “I can see that."

There was an awkward silence, the two of them unsure of what to say next. Everything was still so tense between them. They were in love, they were expecting a baby, and nothing was as simple as it should have been.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked. She thought she'd effectively snuck away from Storybrooke for the day but all her troubles had followed her.

“Ruby,” Max said. “She told me that Gary was looking for you. He attacked Ariel. I came to stop him from hurting you.”

“He did what?” Belle exclaimed. Gary had never been bold enough to hurt someone other than her. She hated to think that her actions had driven him to attack one of her friends. “Is she alright?”

“Fine,” Max assured her. “But I’m certain she’ll press charges. Gary there is headed home to an arrest warrant, I’ve no doubt.”

Belle jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in the direction Gary had stormed off.

“I doubt that’s the last we’ll see of him, but at least…” she trailed off, her hand dropping to her stomach. Max was at her side in a flash.

“Belle?” he said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, breathing through the twinge of pain that had just flared to life in her lower abdomen. “Just a little cramp. I think I’ve stood up for too long today.”

Max didn’t look entirely convinced, but he stayed silent, wrapping an arm around Belle’s shoulders and helping her through the parking lot.

"We should get you looked at," he said. "Just to make sure the baby is alright. I saw you take a fall."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Everything hurts when you're this pregnant. And it's not as though I'm lacking in cushion at the moment."

"Belle, please?" he asked. "I haven't been there to help you through this for the bulk of this pregnancy. Let me help at the end."

“Fine," she agreed as they reached his Cadillac. "But I can take the bus. You don't need to drive me back."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Max said with a toss of his head. “I’m here and I’m headed the same place you are. Why shouldn’t we ride together?”

Belle cast an eye over him as he helped her into the passenger’s side seat, her hand rubbing absentminded circles over her belly.

“Because,” she said. “Milah, Neal, the town…” she trailed off.

“Milah knows,” Max said as he slid into the driver’s seat with fluid grace Belle couldn’t help but envy in her current cumbersome state. “I told her last night.”

Belle couldn’t contain her shock, her mouth gaping open.

“You told her?”

Max nodded.

“She already suspected. I hardly think it was a shock,” he said as he turned the car on and started to ease out of the crowded lot. “She also agreed to a divorce.”

Belle shook her head, certain she was having an aneurysm. She couldn’t imagine a world where Max not only left Milah, but got her to agree to a divorce.

“How?” she asked, otherwise speechless at this new information.

Max smiled, glancing sideways at her as he turned on to the interstate headed back to Storybrooke.

“We had an honest conversation,” he said. “Our first in probably a decade. We came to the conclusion that we would both be much happier if we went our separate ways.”

“But, what about Neal? What about the new baby?” Max had spent months insisting that staying with Milah was best for his children and now in the span of one night he'd done a complete 180. Belle had the uncomfortable feeling it was because of her pregnancy. On her own she hadn't been enough incentive for Max to leave his wife, but now that she was pregnant with his child she suddenly was. A swell of resentment bloomed in her chest and she turned, staring out the window unseeingly at the blur of trees on the side of the road.

Max shrugged.

“Neal is adaptable. I've already spoken to him about it and, as uncomfortable as that was, I think he'll be alright. As for the new baby, she isn’t mine, though I’ll give her my name if no other father comes forward. And I realized something yesterday.”

“What?” Belle asked, the dull pain in her abdomen becoming sharper, cresting before ebbing away again. She hissed in pain, her teeth grinding together at the feeling.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Max asked, taking his eyes off the road to look at her with concern. “Are you having contractions?”

Belle shook her head. “Braxton Hicks,” she said. “I read about them. They’re false contractions that get your body ready for labor, not the real thing.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’m only 33 weeks. It’s too early. The baby isn’t due for almost two months.”

Max still looked concerned, his eyes darting back and forth between Belle and the road before them.

“Babies are born preterm all the time, Belle,” he said. “And you’ve been through a lot of stress today.”

“I’m not in labor!” she nearly shouted. “I’m 33 weeks pregnant, okay? Everything hurts, everything is sore, my ankles, my back, my fucking vagina, all of it! And on top of that I was slapped in the face by a 200-pound man today, so no, I’m not feeling my best. But I think I would know if I was in labor.”

“Gary hit you?” Max demanded, the car swerving to the side as he jerked to look at Belle.

Belle arched an eyebrow at him. “Shocked that you hitting him didn’t stop him hitting me?”

"I'll kill him next time," Max growled and Belle shivered at his tone. She didn't doubt him for a minute.

"Please don't," she said wearily. "He's not worth it and the last thing I need is you going to prison."

Max was angry, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and his jaw set. Belle cast around for something to distract him, some way to lessen his rage. She didn't want him going after Gary again. No matter how she hated her husband, she didn't want him dead. She didn't want that on Max's conscience.

"So what was it?" she asked. "The thing you realized yesterday?"

"Ah," Max said with a nod. "Only that my whole life I’ve tried to do what was right for the people I love and, despite my best intentions, I’ve only ever made things worse. I try to make them happy, and I fail. I try to keep them safe, and they resent me for it. I have made mistake after mistake and now I realize I've approached it all wrong."

"Oh," Belle said, unsure of where Max was going with this.

“So instead of doing what I think is best, I’m going to do what makes me happy and hope that happiness spreads."

Belle raised her eyebrows at Max's new outlook. As long as she'd known him he'd been unhappy. She could see it in his eyes, weighing on him with his ever present scowl. The town thought he enjoyed being miserable, but she'd always known the truth. She relished the moments of true happiness they’d had together, when his smile lit up his face an his eyes looked lighter.

“So step one of this new track is divorcing Milah I take it?”

Max nodded.

“So what comes next?”

"Well, working out a custody arrangement for Neal," he said. "My gut instinct would be to let him live with his mother in our home but I've decided to fight for my rights as a parent. I'll take Neal's wishes into consideration, of course. But I won't lose him. After that I plan to find myself a place to live with plenty of room for my children. And after that I plan to take you to dinner."

Belle's eyes widened. She didn't think she could be more stunned by what Max had to say but he kept one upping himself.

"Are you asking me on a date?" she asked haltingly.

He glanced sidelong at her, suddenly seeming nervous.

"I am," he admitted. "Belle, I sped here from Storybrooke, breaking every possible traffic law. The drive took me thirty-nine minutes when it should have taken close to an hour. And every one of those thirty-nine minutes was agony because I was terrified I'd lost you. All I could think is that I let you walk out of the shop last night without telling you how much I love you. I know you're angry with me, as you have every right to be. And I know it's possible that you might never want a real relationship with me out in the open. But..." he glanced her way again, giving her a small smile. "I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't ask."

"Oh," Belle said, rendered momentarily speechless. She tried to gather her thoughts. She loved him too, more than she'd ever loved anyone. But was he only acting this way because of the baby? If she hadn't been pregnant with his child would he be doing any of this? Was she just Milah 2.0?

She didn't realize she'd asked the question aloud until the car started to pull over on to a weedy slice of shoulder and Max threw the car into park.

He turned to face her on the wide bucket seat, taking her hands in his own.

"I love you," he said fiercely. "You, Belle. Yes, I was worried for our child as well, but you were foremost in my mind. If you told me right this moment that the baby isn't mine, that it's Gary's or anyone else's, that wouldn't change. I want you not because of the baby, but because you're Belle."  

Belle surged forward, gripping him by the sides of his face and pressing her mouth to his. She had only ever wanted to be chosen, to be good enough. For it to happen twice in one day seemed an embarrassment of riches.

"I love you too," she murmured against his lips. "It's been killing me how much I love you."

Max chuckled, smoothing his hands through her hair.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I didn't want to leave you," she said, pressing her forehead against his. The seatbelt was cutting into her hip uncomfortably, but she didn't care. All the aches and pains of the day, even the dull throbbing in base of her belly, seemed to fade away. "It was tearing me apart."

"Don't leave," he said, pressing fluttering kisses to her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks. "Stay with me. Move in with me. Marry me. I want it all. I want you."

Belle shook her head and Max's hands dropped from her hair as he pulled away.

"Oh," he said with a nod. "I understand. It's too much and too soon and..." he trailed off noticing the look on Belle's face. "What's wrong?"

Belle gripped her belly, it had tightened, her flesh rock hard against her palms. Pain like she'd never experienced ripped through her, her breath catching in her chest. The wetness she'd felt when she fell, when she'd thought she'd peed herself, started to pool beneath her on the seat, rushing out of her in a steady stream.

"Oh no!" she gasped.

"What is it?" Max demanded.

“Either I wet myself, or my water just broke on your leather seats.”

Max’s face had gone very pale as he glanced down to where Belle's sundress was sodden.

“We’re still thirty minutes from Storybrooke,” he said.

Belle felt another contraction then, this one worse than previous ones put together.

“Then drive faster!” she yelled, her hand gripping the door handle so hard she was surprised it didn’t break off in her hand.

“Right,” Gold said, pulling back on to the road and accelerating far past the speed limit. “Hold on, sweetheart. Everything is going to be just fine.”