#no one spoil me but god i hope the wives break up - even if the cops don't fuck it would probably lead to a more prominent

[marley-manson]

decided to watch Deadloch on a whim after seeing like 2 gifsets of Eddie looking like a fun character, knowing absolutely nothing about the show, and was instantly rewarded with surprise lesbian sex 👍

(Between the main character and her wife, not the buddy cops, buuuut they're having marriage issues and there's fun chemistry and many sex jokes between her and Eddie so the vibes are excellent and i'm having a great time so far)

[cottoncandy-cult]

Tough Talks

Shiva X Reader

(This is just a little something I did based off an OC of mine I plan to elaborate on over on my Ao3, I did this as a reader insert and if you're interested in seeing what OC of mine this is based on hop over to Ao3 or drop a comment and I'll drop her Bio!)

The little sea nymph skipped through the halls of Helheim, searching for her dear uncle Hades in need of advice in regard to her father Poseidon. Hades was the uncle that watched her most as a child when her father was busy, so she was a normal face to see in the underworld as she often visited and came to him for sound advice on things she wasn't comfortable bringing to her father. "Lady (Y/n)? I didn't know you were here." This had been her older cousin Hermes; despite her smaller stature she was only a couple hundred years younger. "I came to see Uncle Hades; do you know if he's in the throne room." The young woman turned to face the tall male, arms crossing in front of her as she rocked on her heels. The older male chuckled, nodding his head as he pointed down the hall. "Yes, he is, I just came from there to deliver a message from Lord Zeus. Is everything ok?" This made the girl giggle; she knew how much of a gossip her cousin could be, so she decided to tease him some. "Oh yes, I just need some advice on approaching my father about something." That clearly got the male's attention as he crossed his arms and cocked a brow, leaning forward some. "Oh? I do hope you aren't in trouble. You've always been such a good girl." The male was now teasing back, causing twin grins to break across their faces. Of course, their teasing was all in good fun, both were quite friendly when they'd see each other. "No, no trouble just… I believe I've found the relationship I would like to be in." She was purposely wording it in a way to avoid giving him information, she wanted to speak to her father before it burned through the family like wildfire. "I see, so it's about a love interest. I'll not keep you waiting then, the sooner you talk to your dad the sooner I get to tell the others." He gave her a playful wink and wave before he turned to leave, letting the young woman resume her way to the throne room. She knocked gently at the door after greeting the guards, waiting for her uncle's permission before she entered. "I hope you aren't busy Uncle; I have something Important I need to talk to you about." The sweet little nymph practically skipped towards her uncle's throne, moving to sit in one of the small thrones beside him. "Never too busy for you darling, what it is you need?" The older male gave her a smile as he turned to face her, Poseidon had many children and her being one of the youngest she only really got to spend so much time with he father. Hades would often watch her for her father as her mom was often "busy" whatever that was supposed to mean. Hades had a few of his own and his favorites to raise were his daughters, so he had instantly melted over his niece when she came to be in his care. He'd spoil her if he felt she was being treated fairly, even spoke to his younger brother when one of the male's mistresses would step out of line in regard to the little one. Needless to say, little was more important than his niece. "You see, I have been talking to and spending time with a god and his wives from another pantheon. But he wishes to talk to dad and get his permission to date me to avoid stepping on his toes, so I need to set up something for them to talk. But I don't know how to bring it up to dad especially since I don't know how he feels about the god in question." She blushed deeply; she knew her uncle could probably guess who it was based on how important it was to her. Afterall, she had the same crush since she was a preteen, none other than the god of destruction himself Shiva. She had met him a few times growing up from accompanying her dad and uncles and even cousins to certain events and meetings, she had never spoke to him though and simply fangirled and flustered herself from a distance.

It wasn't until she was officially old enough to drink that she had actually met Shiva's 3 wives, it was at her birthday celebration that she had truly got to socialize with many of the other gods. Zues had thrown a big party, inviting a large number of gods and goddesses from across the pantheon. Dionysus had even showed up to serve as a bartender, making for plenty of variety. Kali had approached first to wish her a happy birthday, giving her a necklace from the 4 of them. It was made by some dwarvish artisans with a bunch of gemstones handpicked by the group, figuring if she was important enough for Zeus to throw such a party then she was worthy of a thoughtful gift. "I see, so Shiva has finally noticed you?~ Congrats sweetheart." He chuckled and gave her a head pat; he knew she'd probably tell him all about how this all came to be later. "Well, your father and him have never really spoke much as far as I remember, so if he dislikes Shiva, he has never made it known. I don't think you'll need to take any special precautions, just approach him when he isn't busy and let him know that Shiva would like to meet with him to discuss courting you. My brother isn't the type to freak out, and everyone knows how far Shiva would go for the people he cares about so he has no reason to believe Shiva would do you wrong." He could see her relax some, despite how calm he was her father was still quite intense at times and most daughters would be apprehensive to approach their fathers about a man wanting to date them. So, her anxiety was very real and understand able, but Hades knew well everything would work out. "Would you like me to accompany you and wait outside the door just in case?" The older male chuckled as he pinched her cheek, knowing she'd most likely deny him but still wanting to offer. "No that's fine, I think you're right and I'm just overthinking it." She nods her head and moves to stand, stretching some as she took a deep breath. "Now to go home and get things settled, Hermes wants details and if it takes more than a day or two, he'll be teasing me about being a scaredy cat for the next millennia." She pouted as her uncle laughed, nodding his head. "Alright darling, be safe on your way back. I'd hate to think of what the god of destruction or my brother would do if something happened to you on your way back." His comment made the girl giggle as she bid him goodbye, practically jogging out of the room to go and see her father.

It didn't take her long to get back up to the heavens, and back to the home she and her unwed siblings shared with their father. But she took her time once inside the castle, rehearsing her words in her head to make sure she didn't mispeak or leave anything out. She had been on her way to her father's throne room, spotting one of the many servants walking down the hall. "Excuse me, is father in the throne room?" The servant had been quick to turn and bow, giving a curitous yes as they kept their eyes on the ground. Her father refused to let the servants treat his children any less than him, as since he was perfect that meant his children were aswell. "What do you know of his mood? I'd prefer not to bother him if it's been a particularly frustration day." With that the servant stood straight, though kept their eyes on the ground. "It's been a quiet day so I don't believe he is upset. Though you know your father best." (Y/n) simply nodded, turning to continue on her way to her father's throne room. She entered quietly without knocking, her father always telling them that it was their home and they have no need to tiptoe about as no one would dare scold them for adventuring through their home. "Hello father, is now a good time?" She walked over to his side, standing patiently as he flipped through his book. "I suppose it isn't a bad time, has something happened?" He tilted his head slightly to look at her, he saw his children as his equals as far as their existence went and so he had no problem looking at them. Something that used to piss off Adamas, as the other male hated how Posidon doted on his kids in a way most other gods would never understand and the fact his neices and nephews received more respect from the male than he did enraged him. "Nothing bad, I promise. It's just… There is a god who would like to speak with you about courting me." Now that had the blonde closing his book and setting it aside, he took the relationships of his children seriously and he'd never sell them off to just anyone. "Oh? I'm assuming you wouldn't bring this to me if you weren't interested in him as well. So which god do you want?" He spoke as if he was going to get her a puppy, no doubt that's how he saw the gods who he allowed to be with his children. "It is Lord Shiva… I've spoken to him and his wives for some time, and they'd like to move forward with a relationship. But Shiva doesn't wish to cross you and so he wishes for your permission."

The older blonde sat quiet a moment; he didn't have any particular qualms with Shiva. The male could be somewhat loud, but he was also strong in his own right and only a foolish god would be unaware of Shiva's devotion to the things and people he cares about. "I see, I suppose I can make time tomorrow to speak with him. You can go out with the other women; I'll speak with Shiva man to man." He nodded his head, watching his daughter smile in relief before she hugged him. His daughters were the only ones that could get away with such actions, the only thing they'd receive is a pat on the head in return just as she did. "Thanks dad, I'll go let him know." It wasn't until she was out the door and down the hall that he let himself chuckle, his little ones were growing up so fast. Soon they'd all be married off and having their own families, it was odd for him to think about given how long he had been living in a full household.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Prompt List #9 - Historical Aus/Prompts (Requested)

@viseriyen I know your focus was more 18th century France, but I never covered that during my degree, my focus was more 19th century Britain. This has a variety of historical aus/prompts, they won’t all be relevant and I can’t guarantee their historical accuracy for France, but I hope they help, give you ideas etc. 

“I can’t...you know I have no control over my marriage. I can’t even divorce him...I have nothing to hold against him.” “Then give him something to divorce you for.” “And tarnish my good name?” 

AU in which character a is desperately in love with character b, but can’t divorce their husband because divorce laws make it nigh on impossible for ‘wives’ to divorce their husbands without a ‘legitimate reason’. 

Intense heated love letters because we have to keep our distance and can’t do anything that would jeopardise our positions or our reputations. But, I can send you lusty love letters that you hide under your pillow instead. 

Illegitimate child/unwed pregnancy and the trials of being together, loving your child together but knowing they have little standing in society and the way people treat you because of that.

Fan language AU -> https://raulersongirlstravel.com/language-of-fans/#The_Language_of_the_Fan 

My parents are trying to marry me off and you're the latest person they’ve brought to show me off to and I don’t want to like you, but I kind of do. You clearly don’t want to be here anymore than me. 

The smallest touch is the most intense. 

You went off to war and come back after a long campaign the papers have been reporting on. You have appear gruff, mean, and cold to everyone else, but are soft with me. 

The typical trope of hardened, gruff character a who melts around character b. 

(19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. 

Sweetheart trinkets, like embroidered handkerchiefs, engraved jewellery, hidden message rings, carved trinkets etc. Especially a ‘here I made this for you or I had this made for you’. 

Letters that were never sent. After character a’s death the letters are found and posted to or given to character b revealing the unsaid feelings. 

We compete for top spot in school in spelling, mathematics, science etc. School rivals.

Character a bathing in a river, character b awkwardly stumbling upon them all apologetic or alternatively character a bathing in a river and character b protecting them from some no good ruffians. 

Horse rides; for leisure, maybe character a was stranded and has to share a horse with character b, being stuck in a carriage together. 

Childhood rivals who finally see each other after years of being apart, maybe because of boarding school/finishing school or otherwise. The horrible realisation that your rival is now hot and also can keep up with you in conversation. 

Those gentle kisses to the top of a hand or gentle touches between gloved hands. Gentle hands!!! Gentle kisses!! All demure and totally appropriate but with hidden meaning and heat. 

Childhood friends who haven’t seen each other since they were little and are now betrothed and oh my, you’re beautiful/handsome and I am not prepared for this.

We’re betrothed but have only ever communicated through letters and this is our first ever meeting and i’m petrified you aren’t going to be the person I know through letters

Perfume scented letters, secret code, love poems, and dried flowers. Sent long distances to you with love. 

Contraception catalogues and the very specific packaging of sheaths (aka early condoms) as things like pill boxes, ladies power boxes, cigarettes, etc. to hide them. Do with this as you will. 

I am spinster, you are a bachelor and we have a rivalry because how dare you get paid more than me and while i’m compared to a rotten egg. Alternatively, I am spinster by choice and refuse to marry, but you are making this very very hard. 

Gals being pals, boys being ‘mates’, the known cases of boarding school love between same sex couples and also we’re both spinsters/bachelours and work together in our intellectual studies and we’re totally not in love...no sireee. 

Oscar Wilde had a thing working class and military kink so do with that what you will, i’m sure you could make a upperclass/working class au/couple. One’s rough, resilient, hard working, and one’s dainty, far too spoiled and brattish but they both like each other somehow. 

You’re gruff and rough/snappy, rude, but I can see how sweet you are to horses, animals, kids, and I know there’s a softer side beneath all of that. 

It’s my first ‘season’ and you save me from all these men/women sniffing around me trying to get my attention. 

Scandalous private time i.e. we’re supposed to be chaperoned but here we are in the garden on our own together or in the woods alone or in a small corner without a chaperone and what would people say. 

Character a defending character b’s honour. 

You’re my second in a duel/I’m your second in a duel, please don’t die

All the duels, duelling each other, duelling for the other, defending the other’s honour etc. 

You look beautiful but dear god why are there so many layers! 

I just spent an hour drawing you a bath bucket by bucket because I love you, but i’m a hot mess right now as a result. 

You break social convention for my comfort. I.e. something like you forgo allowing people to watch our wedding night because you want me to be comfortable or you refuse to allow some other stupid tradition that you know scares/intimidates/upsets me. 

Over the top professions of love. 

“I would die, without an answer to my feelings. I would die here. My breath would choke in my throat, my blood run cold, and my selfish heart stop. I cannot live without answer, without knowing whether my feelings are returned or not.” 

Character a being the dotting husband/wife/partner and helping character b get out of all that ridiculous clothing so they can cuddle and sleep. Who needs maids and servants when you have a life partner. 

I want a partnership, a kindred spirit, a soul mate, not a servant.  You want the same thing. I am awed by this.  (possibly + we’re rivals, childhood enemies etc.) 

Your family don’t approve of me, and mine don’t approve of you. I wish we could simply run away, but that’s a foolish dream. 

Educated woman expects man to talk about her wandering womb and how education will make her insane and barren, instead finds man actually wants to hold an intellectual conversation with her and they strike up and unexpected friendship and then love. 

Character a denying themselves of character b because they don’t feel good enough or because they feel it would be selfish maybe because they’re in a war or because they can’t provide what they feel character b deserves. Character b is not here for this bullshit. 

We get trapped in a small cabin in a snowstorm together wild west au. 

We get trapped in any small space in any time period au

I would say we should stop having children but I love each and every one of them and I love you too. Large family AU.

We’ve just lost our child in infancy, grief, hurt/comfort. 

You’re in labour and i’m terrified for you. I am not allowed in the birthing chamber and the midwife would murder me if I tried. 

Alternatively, I refuse to not be present for the birth of our child and don’t care what anyone says. I'm here to support you and will be physically in the room. 

You’re competing for my affections but you never had to compete because you always had them. 

You do not have to duel everyone for me over the smallest slight, look now you’ve gone and hurt yourself and I suppose I’ll have to give you my favourite handkerchief to deal with it.

I am pro royalist and you are pro-republic. I should hate you, you should hate me, but god if you aren’t all consuming. 

You’re one of my suitors and the gifts you bring me aren’t jewels or flowers, but books, microscopes, telescopes, knowledge. I like the way you think and seem to seem me.

I am nearly trampled by someone’s horse in the street, but you step in just in time to get me out of the way even though it puts you in danger yourself

Despite the cost of sugary treats you always turn up to my parlour with some sort of sweet and I know they’re not the cheapest. 

Anything involving a copper bathtub is a vibe. 

I always look for your seal on my letters. Yours is the first letter I read and the one I treasure most. 

I have kept every note, every little, every little thing you’ve ever written or drawn for me.

If images inspire you you might find my other blog @theillustratedmagazine helpful. It has 20th and 19th century illustrations. 

[lisinfleur]

The Light in Your Eyes

The request:

Author’s Notes | It took me an era to produce, but I really hope you like the final work as much as I liked it!

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Ubbe x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @curioiscat

Words | 3022

⁑ Warnings: Some ANGST.

You were fully strange to him now.

The two of you were childish friends and Ubbe's strongest memory of you was your smile, always open, always making you shine. But now, it wasn't there.

You were always sad, looking down or far away. Especially when you were speaking to him - and he noticed you would still smile to Hvitserk or Sigurd, even thou it was small smiles not even close to the ones you used to have. But for him, nothing. Just that darkness inside your eyes, sometimes bigger, sometimes deeper...

It was like the girl he always knew for being the sweetest around him was slowly becoming bitter inside and Ubbe just didn't know what to do to make you feel better.

Ivar told him several times he shouldn't care so much about this since you wouldn't become his wife anyway, right? Of course, he would care!  You were his best friend! And Ubbe couldn't pretend he didn't think of making you his wife when the time come for him to get a family.

Now he was still having fun with Hvitserk and Sigurd and that slave of theirs, Margrethe. And he even thought about claiming her to avoid Sigurd's passion could spoil their game. But he was a prince, after all, right? He could always get divorced and marry again or have another wife of his choice when the time was right...

The truth was that Ubbe liked you. He always had an eye on you. But he didn't want to get himself collared too soon and lose what the good things of youth could bring for him.

However, you were the best thing in his life and somehow, Ubbe felt he was losing your light. His mind was upon this situation all the time and maybe that was the reason why he failed Margrethe that afternoon.

"Is there something bothering your mind, Ubbe?"

"Yes," he sighed, getting his trousers up to sit on the sand and start putting back his shirt. "You should search for Hvitserk. I'm not in the mood today."

"Do you wanna talk about this? What is it that bothers you?" she tried, with silky hands caressing his shoulders.

However, those weren't the hands he wanted and Ubbe wasn't really on the mood for her.

"Go search for my brother, Margrethe. Tell them I'll get home later," he completed, getting up and straightening the cloak over his shoulders.

"Where shall I tell them that you went?" she tried.

As if Ubbe didn't know Margrethe's jealousy in her tone. He would have giggled in a different situation - what audacity of hers to think she could control her master's steps! But he was too worried to give a fuck about her feelings.

"To walk around," he answered, generic, starting to walk away without waiting for her to get dressed.

His mind floating in the numerous possibilities of reasons that could be numbing your eyes that way as his steps were carrying him towards your house.

He thought about knocking on your door, speaking to you, asking what was wrong. But the sound of sobs coming from your bedroom's window caused him to feel his heart clenching inside his chest.

What could be causing you to cry that way?

Curiosity kicked in and he sneaked through your garden, approaching the window, hearing someone was inside with you as you were sobbing words he would never believe if weren't coming from your mouth.

"He's in love, I can see this. He walks around her all the time, smiles at her, his eyes shine at her! What does she have that I don't have, sister? What is it that Margrethe has that attracts all of them like that?"

So, you were speaking of one of his brothers... And surely wasn't Ivar, since Ivar wasn't in love with Margrethe so... Was it Sigurd? Or Hvitserk? Maybe Sigurd, who was all over the place for Margrethe, speaking flowers of her all the time... Oh, poor you and lucky bastard his brother was! Ubbe looked down thinking how hard it would be if Sigurd could ever discover your love and decided to take you as his wife - to live his life with you as his sister in law would be excruciating! He wanted you to himself! But knowing you loved his brother, then he would never claim his right as the older brother over your heart or your feelings... His heart clenched inside his chest as your sister's voice started sounding in between your heavy sobs.

"He's a prince, Y/N! What were you waiting for? Princes have women around all the time, they get laid everywhere... And she's their bed slave. I don't really believe he's in love with her since he shares her with his younger brothers all the time!"

Younger brothers?

Ubbe's eyebrow got lifted: Sigurd was the younger of the three of them. And Ivar wasn't in the game so it couldn't be Hvitserk or she wouldn't be saying "brothers", but "brother"... Were you in love with...

"Ubbe is a Viking, sis! He has no such bullshits like jealousy when it comes to his brothers. And you said well: she's their bed slave. She belongs to all of them. But once he decides to marry her - and I've heard he's thinking of it from Hvitserk's mouth! - then I bet he'll stop sharing her with them. Oh, gods, what will I do? I rather throwing myself from the waterfall than making myself a dress to stand at his marriage!"

It came like a heavy stone over his head: you were in love with him! With him! Not Sigurd, nor Hvitserk, with him! Everything made sense now that the truth was revealed!

The many times he saw that darkness inside your eyes becoming bigger; when you tried to flee from speaking to him... Whenever Margrethe was around, you would be sadder. Since he started walking around with her and that game with his brothers, you started speaking lesser to him and he noticed you were becoming distant, but now everything was clear like water for him: you knew what he was doing.

And it was hurting your heart.

"You should forget this, Y/N," your sister's voice spoke and Ubbe tried to pay attention one more time.

He was feeling terrible for spying you like that, but the gods would forgive him - somehow he could feel it was their doing he was there to listen to those things so he would take this as their providence and take his chance to understand what was happening so he could decide what to do.

"Fadir is not here anymore. We have almost nothing to offer. Let us be honest, my sister, I know your love is the purest, but they're princes all of them. I hardly doubt queen Aslaug would accept a peasant like any of us to be their wives. I hardly doubt this marriage you say will effectively happen! She's a slave! Queen Aslaug will surely be against it, but anyway, this is not our matter, my sister. Try to clean your heart. There are plenty of men from our level that would want to get married to a beautiful lady like you. Choose one of them... We focus on our lives and try to save our father's farm and then you'll see this will pass soon and your heart will recover from these broken dreams. Maybe Iklos' brother...".

No!

Ubbe knew your father passed away not far from that month, but he didn't know you were passing through hard times! He knew your sister was about to get married to your neighbor's son, but he couldn't let her cross your ways with her brother in law! Not when he wanted you so badly!

It was enough of hearing behind your window: Ubbe walked towards your door, knocking on the wood, sure of what he wanted now.

It was your sister who came to open it for him.

"Prince Ubbe?" she said, surprised by his presence when the two of you were speaking of him about a moment ago.

"Y/N. I wanna talk to her," Ubbe said, kinda impolite.

But he was nervous inside... He was sure she would be able to understand it later on.

"Y/N is not in her best moment. Is there something I can..." she started, trying certainly to prevent you from having to show up with your face marked by tears.

But you came through the corridor, and your eyes found his blues, wide and certain of what he wanted.

Ubbe passed your sister and walked towards you, ignoring the surprise in your face or the way you gasped to exclaim his name, taken aback for his sudden appearance in your simple home.

"Prince Ubbe, I..." Your voice silenced when he touched your face, wiping your tears slowly.

That terrible way of calling him "prince" you got in the last months now sounding even sharper than before to his ears.

"We need to talk. Please," he said, getting you worried.

"Y/N," your sister tried, but you calmed her down.

It could be something important - after all, you were still one of his mother's seamstresses and you had delivered a package for the queen not far from that day.

"It can be something important," you said.

And he reinforced.

"It is," Ubbe said. "It is the most important conversation we ever had."

It was enough to have your eyes looking at him with more than that darkness inside of them.

But it was fear, apprehension... Could nothing good come from him for you? How far did he go in that cliff he was throwing you in?

Where was the light he loved so much in your eyes?

"I'll give the two of you some space..."

Your sister wasn't that safe about that conversation and he could see it in the way she squeezed your shoulder - a classic and mute sign that she would be ready to help if you wanted.

But soon, the two of you were alone in the living room and you walked away from him - the usual movement you were taking to get some distance, maybe to hide what you were feeling from his eyes. - going towards the table, reaching for the amphora of mead to serve him a cup.

Ubbe walked after you. And held your hand over the amphora, catching your eyes one more time.

"No. We don't need it. I didn't come for your mead nor for your services."

He took your hands into his. Your eyes were so full of doubt and fear...

He'll invite me to his marriage...

Or ask me to be by his side...

He'll give me something important to do, like her dress or her crown of flowers...

He'll break my heart...

Ubbe could see all those sentences dancing in the darkest well he'd ever seen in your eyes.

"Then... Why did you come? What is it that's so important, Prince Ubbe?"

Your voice was trembling.

Ubbe decided he wouldn't lie.

"I came for you, Y/N. I came because I have been noticing the sadness in your eyes. This bottomless well of darkness staining the light I always thought was so beautiful into your eyes. And I can't stand it anymore."

Your expression changed. Now, there was something like surprise... And shame.

"Am I this transparent?" you asked, not daring to keep your eyes on his.

This time the sadness was visible and the sentences were written in your eyes, but coming from your lips.

Ubbe gently lifted your face, caressing your chin.

"You are. You always were. At least, to me, you were always clear like the waters and maybe this is why I was so bothered by the fact that I couldn't understand this sadness in your eyes. You were always enlightened and your smiles could make my days bright even when the sun was hidden. But you weren't shining anymore and I didn't know why. So, I came to ask you... But your tears gave me the answer before I could ask."

The shame became bigger and he lost your eyes once again, but not before he could notice the thick line of tears drowning them.

"You were hearing us? You've heard my sister and I? This... This..."

You wanted to say it was disrespectful! That he was sneaky and had no right to listen to your intimacy like that! But you didn't need to.

Ubbe lowered his head, continuing to speak, pouring his heart through his lips.

"This is disrespectful, I know! I'm deeply sorry for the way it happened and I know I should have warned you I was there or stopped hearing your conversation but I was so sure I could help you... When I heard you speaking, I thought for a second you could be in love with Sigurd or Hvitserk... I thought I could help this sadness to go away from your eyes even thou it would cost me dear."

His words attracted your eyes once again. What was he talking about?

But he didn't stop. Instead, Ubbe looked right into your eyes and you could see he was really trying as much as he could to save you from whatever he thought was causing you that pain.

"But it wasn't any of them. It was me."

His eyes became sadder, almost ashamed. And he caressed your hands in a gentle way.

"I was the source of your pain. I was the one unable to see that what I wanted was already mine. I was blind... But I'm not anymore."

Your face gained some more wrinkles and it got a smile from his lips. The sadness in your eyes was giving place to surprise and doubt.

Ubbe then released your hands just to cup your face with both of his, warming your neck, bringing you gently closer, smiling as the whole darkness in the bottom of your eyes converted in confusion and, at some point, hope.

His thumbs caressed your cheeks and he lowered his head, touching your forehead with his.

"I'm not in love with Margrethe. We got our moments, I won't lie. But she's a game I like to play with my brothers. My heart, however, belongs to you. And maybe I have been too immature to notice it is passed the time to be a man and stop playing childish games with my life..."

You froze. The words left your mouth and your eyes, for a second, had a glimpse of that glow once again. Ubbe's heart filled with hope and he brought you closer, nuzzling his nose to yours, sweetly.

"Mother is right... I'm passed the time to have children. And I see my unborn children in your eyes, Y/N. They always kept inside of them the family I wanted to build, safe with my best dreams. Now, this darkness inside your eyes is swallowing my dreams into them. Your tears are drowning them and I was afraid I had lost them forever in this vortex of sadness you're always in. I was a fool, not noticing I was the cause of your cry. I was the reason why you were so lifeless, colorless. Tell me I didn't lose it. Tell me I can still fix my foolishness and make you my wife."

Your tears were rolling down your cheeks to meet his thumbs gently caressing your skin. Your mouth was lying agape, speechless.

Never ever you thought he could feel anything like this for you. Not even in your best dreams, he had such words for you.

You always knew Ubbe was the owner of your heart. But you never really knew how easy it was for him to melt it into your chest.

"I... I don't know what to say... I thought," you started, stuttering with the words and unfinished sentences in your mind. "I thought you would marry Margrethe..."

Hvitserk told you! He said Ubbe was going to marry her!

"I thought of doing this," he confessed, confusing you even more just to untie the knots of your mind with his soft words. "It doesn't worth my life. My dreams... I told you: it was a childish game, Y/N. A game I thought about keeping, but that doesn't worth losing your heart for. I'm losing you. I can see it. I've heard your sister speaking about marrying you to another. I can't stand it. I can't stand seeing you beside anyone else. Nor Iklos' brother, nor my brothers. No one!" he insisted. "If losing Margrethe is the price I have to pay to have you by my side, then I would gladly forget she ever existed into this world. Y/N, I love you. And all I want is to see this sadness vanishing from your beautiful eyes."

Ubbe's eyes were never that close to yours. And for a moment, you lost yourself into them, as you used to do when you were a little girl and he was nothing but the promise of the beautiful man he grew into. And for an instant, all the sadness into your eyes disappeared. And Ubbe smiled, seeing his favorite glow replacing that darkness into them.

"Tell me you want to be my wife, Y/N. That's all I need to hear." he insisted.

And so, as if you were mesmerized by his words, your lips answered before your brain could really understand it was happening indeed and you were not just dreaming once again.

Your voice sounded like a whisper into Ubbe's ears.

Like Midsommar's loud laughs and songs in his heart.

"I do..."

The curve in his lips became an open smile. And he giggled in satisfaction before kissing your lips. A passionate kiss, full of joy and love, and his spicy taste you were sure you would never forget in your life.

Your first kiss was his. Your whole life would be.

The darkness wasn't there anymore. And he smiled one more time.

There were enough tears in your life.

From now on he would ensure the light of your eyes would never stop shining once again.

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[crowleyellestair]

Sun and Moon - Geralt OS

AN// This turned out much longer than I intended. Send in requests!!!

Summary: An old wives tale leads to the marriage of Geralt and Y/n.

  Adrenaline pounded through her as she rounded the hill, practically sliding down the rest. The rocky bottom kicked up dust as her landing was rough, and she stumbled as she tried to run immediately after the landing. Her feet slid as she tried to move faster than they were able, but Y/n still pushed forward. The door to the cottage built into the hill appeared in her view, and she tried to calm herself. Geralt would have heard her approaching, so he should be ready when she breaks in. Another deep breath was pulled through her before she put everything into kicking the door. The wood slammed into the wall as it opened, but what she found froze her instantly.

The old woman was scurrying around the witcher’s legs, her hunched back making her as tall as his waist. A large cape was draped over his broad shoulders and he looked astounded. Despite the door being thrown open, the woman paid Y/n no mind. Geralt’s golden eyes shown in her direction, but didn’t look like he needed help. The lady dragging a chair to the front of him took her attention. She struggled, but with Geralt’s help, the lady stood, shaking arms reaching to place a crown on his head. She still couldn’t reach, so he bowed, letting her crown him. His arms circled her, helping her from her stool and the woman turned to face Y/n once her feet planted on the ground.

“Ah, High-noon, you’ve finally arrived.” Y/n’s brow shot to her hairline as her gaze bounced back to Geralt’s. “Give me a moment, if you will grace me with it.” She shuffled into the next room, and Y/n rushed to her witcher’s side. Her hands shot out, lifting the cape, and looked for any injury. Her hands flew to his cheeks, moving his face about to try and catch any distortion in his eyes, but found none. He was perfectly safe.

“What happened? Why did you leave without me?” Geralt tilted into her left palm as he quirked with confusion. His white hair framed his face, some strands lacing through his new crown. It was made of blackened twigs and some sort of silver herb. Dark scarlet berries scattered throughout, and seemed to have a golden base that held it all together. As if the crown was made for him. The cloak was black, with an even darker fur lining the edges. Geralt truly looked like a god, though she couldn’t place what his power would rule over.

“I told Jaskier to tell you.” Y/n’s hands slid from their spot to find purchase on her hips.

“The bard is entertaining to try and make up for all the coin he owes me. He kept losing, and I told him his bets could go on credit. He really is bad at Gwent, and I don’t know why he keeps playing me.” Y/n easily went on a tangent as she lost herself in the deep treasure of his irises. She shook her head, before looking to the ground. “So why did you come alone?”

“Realized it wasn’t any one of those ‘crones’ they had asked us to take out. The trail of magic turned out to lead to the Pellar.”

“Soooo why are you here then?”

“Tabitha knows me somehow, so I followed her. She keeps calling me Midnight, but she knows me.” Her gaze shifted back to his features that were turned to look at where ‘Tabitha’ disappeared. There was a look of wonder, but another she hadn’t seen before. One would call it fear- she would call it fear, and Y/n knew he felt it. How a small woman could pull it from him though, was the wonder of it. Y/n’s hand rested on an arm under his cape, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Said woman came back from the room hold a flowing armful of silk and another crown. Tabitha reached a hand out, and Y/n quickly realized the older woman was blind. She placed her hand into the woman’s, and the lady’s free hand gestured to the ground. The younger woman kneeled after looking for confirmation in Geralt. Yellow silk was thrown around her shoulders, intricate embroidery of different hues of gold lacing throughout it. It was lined with white fur. It was something that only a queen would be seen wearing. Tabitha’s hands cup her cheeks, letting her thumbs rub along the skin before pulling the crown off her arm. It was full of strong green leaves and different white flowers. Little, pale orange ribbons fell from it, twisting into her hair more with every turn of her head. Y/n stood, not knowing how to feel, but thanking her anyways.

“She’s deaf.” Her gaze gave a quiet thanks to her witcher before grabbing the woman’s hand, and placing a small kiss to the back of it. Tabitha started giggling, and playfully swatting at her.

“Oh, you’re too kind. I already have received your blessings. You don’t need to spoil me.” She still gave a sweet smile before her head snapped towards the door. The two companions look as well, a strange orange painting the sky. “It’s time! Go! Go and wait for me in the front!” Tabitha quickly shooed them out the door, and they were both entranced by the view.

An eclipse was taking place and the moon almost fully covered the sun. They shared the sky, painting it a color Y/n had never seen before. The sun gave the warmth of orange, but was tamed by the chill of the moon. Looking to Geralt, she found the warmth kissing his face, but the chill setting throughout his hair, almost igniting it in a cold flame. He truly looked ethereally beautiful.

Y/n didn’t understand what was happening. Why they were dressed in capes and crowns was a mystery, but she went along because Geralt had. She would always follow in anything he would get into, and this strange moment was something she’d happily do again. Despite the unease she witnessed earlier, the calm that seemed to wash over him made it all worth it. His gaze left the sky to turn to her, successfully stealing her breath, just as he had her heart months ago.

Tabitha rushed out, standing in front of them. Her hands launched into the air, holding a long sash. One end had a beautiful laced sun, and the other a just as fair moon.

“The Gods of Fortune now join us in witnessing the eclipse. The moon and sun finally sharing the sky, becoming one.” She turned back to them, grabbing their hands, and placing them into each other. Quickly, she tied the sash around the linked appendages. “With the flame of love, sun light and moon light are married in the sky. As the Gods as our witness, their children are now linked.” Still, the younger woman didn’t pay much attention, still not understanding, and getting lost in the feeling of Geralt’s fingers linked in hers. It wasn’t until she could feel him freeze that she looked up to him. A look of shock covered his face as he looked between her and their hands.

“What?” Her tone was calm, and her smile was soft. She couldn’t explain it, but contentment washed over her and the overwhelming feeling of peace pushed her to serenity.

“We… We’re. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what was happening.” He quickly tried to unwrap the sash, but Tabitha started to belt a tune unfamiliar to the younger woman. Geralt’s eyes snapped the sky, and let out a soft curse.

“What?” She was starting to panic at his hastiness, and it only got worse when he stopped. His eyes found hers, full of guilt.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“As you’ve said.”

“I should have figured it out sooner.”

“Figure what out sooner?”

“This is a binding spell. A… marriage, in the eyes of the Gods.” He started to scold himself, and she looked to Tabitha, who was aimlessly dancing. Her brows furrowed as she raked her brain. She had heard this story before, but she couldn’t remember what had happened.

Until she did.

It was an old tale of elves, who were so opposite, it was like day and night. They had hated each other, but they found a rhythm, sharing the duty of watching over the world. They soon started to fade as the pain of loneliness set in. They chased the other, but kept missing them by showing up to a council meeting too late, or joining the wrong hunt. One day, they finally found the other, much like an eclipse. They embraced, and upon the joining of the sky, they connected and linked their souls together for as long as the sun and moon spun in space. Their love was brought to the surface, and was so powerful, that whenever he looked to the sun, or she the moon, their souls connected through the magic the Gods blessed them with. They never again felt lonely, and no matter how far apart they traveled, they were always together.

But that story had mutual love.

Oh.

Her eyes stayed on the blind, deaf, dancing woman. She looked for Geralt, and knew that Y/n would show up. Tabitha paused, turning to the woman, and smiled. The young woman finally then noticed- the pointed ears of Tabitha. The older woman nodded, and continued to dance, and Y/n looked to Geralt. He still struggled with the not, trying to untie it with one hand. As she blinked, she felt tears in her eyes, but knew they sprung from joy. She placed her free hand on his, effectively stopping him. He looked to her, and again she smiled.

It made sense now. He really did seem like one who would be the child of the moon. His hair made of moon dust, and his eyes like stars. They were sometimes black, washed out by the vastness of space, but they always shone after a while. His quiet and cold demeanor that reflected warmth only when it beamed upon him first. If he was now her moon, she would accept it whole heartedly.

Geralt’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear from her. He looked demolished with guilt and self hatred, but it turned to shock and hope when she said,

“My moon, huh. I happily accept.”

[littledreamybeth]

Daddy to be

A/N: Even though I read through, it still hope there aren’t any grammar, spelling etc. mistakes. Enjoy! Like, Share, Comment!! ❤ (Pictures are not mine)

I have never expected that two lines would bring me so hard to tears that I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Sitting on the cold tiles of our bathroom, I cannot help but stare at the positive pregnancy test in between my thumb and index finger while every second another hard sob hits me, desperately escaping my mouth. I place my hand in front of my lips to mute and control the cries. The tears blurry my complete vision, I can’t see anything properly. Even if it doesn’t seem like it in the first place; I’m still so relieved and happy.

Long enough have I been waiting to see this result.

‘Thank you… thankyouthankyouthankyou’ is the only way I can describe how I’m feeling right now. When the two lines have slightly appeared at the beginning, I thought I didn’t see right. But then they’ve become more and more prominent, and well, here we are. I’m a future mummy. Hopefully.

I get up to clean my face. Cold water hits my skin, brining me back to my senses. Once I have dried my face, I immediately grab my phone to call my gynecologist. I really hope that this time we’re lucky, and the test doesn’t turn out to be a false alarm.

***

Only a few days later I find out that I’m indeed pregnant. The days until then have dragged on endlessly, so that it almost drove me insane. It has been another challenge to keep my feelings hidden from Harry, who has no idea about anything yet. I didn’t want to tell him until I had a final confirmation.  I have been a shaky mess when my gynecologist called me into her office after some test, and only with pleasure has she announced that I am 100 percent and truly pregnant. I couldn’t believe my ears but deep down I have already felt it. Since I’ve seen the positive test, I’ve known that I am going to be a mother.

Now I’m sitting here and thinking about how to tell my family and friends about the entire thing.

Harry is currently at the studio, letting me have enough time to come up with a surprise. And since it’s Friday today- a day in which both of our families and Harry’s former members and friends gather around at our place to have a good time- it gives me the perfect opportunity to do everything at once.

After a while, I have the perfect idea. I go to my study and look for a card, which I find in my cupboard. Angels are drawn on its cover. It really fits to our situation. Then, I’m turning on my laptop in order to google how I can announce a pregnancy. Truth to be told, I’m not as creative as Harry is, which makes me dependent on the internet, but I hope it doesn’t matter. Clicking on Pinterest, I finally find a sentence that I want to use.

It’s just one sentence but very simple, and the message is clear and understandable.

Once I’m finished with a few changes, I shove the card into an envelope and place it into my favorite book at our bookshelf that stands in the living room. I’m sure no one will even spare a glance at it. Then, I maneuver myself into the kitchen in which I spend the next few hours to prepare some snacks for our guests. This time I’m extremely excited because after this day, nothing will be the same anymore. Our lives are going to change.

***

The evening is going very well so far. Children’s laughter fills our entire house. My parents converse with Anne, Harry goes around and distributes drinks on a plate to the 1D boys and their wives, Gemma chats with my brother. And I- I just watch the whole scenery with a smile adorning my face.

I haven’t had the guts to tell them yet, but I know that every passing minute is wasted time. I need to tell them.

“Do you want a drink, love?” Harry, who suddenly stands in front of me, asks. I flinch. I must’ve been very lost in my thoughts.

“What?” I look down at the plate. “Oh, no. No drinks for me tonight,” I smile.

“Why is that?”

You need and excuse, Y/N. Hurry! “I don’t feel like drinking,” I state. I can badly tell you that I’m pregnant, darling, or it will spoil the surprise.

“Okay…” Harry reacts, eyeing me weirdly. I really hope he doesn’t suspect anything yet. He knows I never turn down a drink, no matter what. I sigh out when he distances himself from me.

I have to do it, I tell myself.  Now or never. Well, not ‘never’, I have to do it eventually, but you know what I mean.

My legs lead me to the bookshelf where I grab the envelope out of its hiding spot. No one really notices me, too occupied with something else while I’m minding my own business.

Then I clear my throat, gaining everyone’s attention. My fingers begin to tremble just as myself, and I’m afraid of losing my voice when I start to talk. My gaze wanders at my parents first, who spread a feeling of safety and calmness whenever I look at them, then at Gemma and Anne who accepted me from the moment I’ve met them and who welcomed me into their hearts, and finally my eyes meet the ones of the young man that I love so much. My heart beats against my chest, threatening to burst out. I take a deep breath before I let my voice echo in the entire room.

“Harry, I have something for you,” I say. “Can you please come here?”

My husband looks at me confused just like the others, but he still fulfills my order.

“What’s this about, love?” he asks once he stands next to me. Instead of answering his question, I place the white envelope into his hands.

“What’s in there?”

“Please just read it,” I urge him, “it’s very important.”

“Y/N, is everything alright?” My mother speaks to me. I don’t know why she thinks that something’s wrong, but I ease her mind by assuring her, “Yes, mum. There is nothing to be worried about.”

When I turn back to Harry, he has already torn off the envelope and now holds the card in his hands. He looks at me again, trying to read anything from my expression, however, I’m not giving away anything. I stay neutral as much as possible.

“Is this something like a confession?” he laughs, you could see his nervousness. How he hit the bull’s eye with his suspicion!

“You’ll find out when you read it,” I shrug with my shoulders.

My husband finally opens the card. I can hear the rhythm of my heartbeat. Bum..bum… bumbumbumbum. Heat rushes through my entire body.

I repeat what I have noted down on that card in my head over and over again.

“The butterflies in my stomach will turn into 4 tiny feet.”

Harry observes the written words for a little moment, and his eyes widen as he understands what they mean. He looks like as if something had punched him in the stomach, stealing the air from his lungs. Different emotions are displayed on his face, but only one dominates- shock. I notice his shaky fingers trying to keep the card in his hands. His mouth opens and closes, not being able to find the right words to express his feelings. I cannot blame him though- I even had no proper words for it.

Everyone directs their gaze on Harry, and worry is written on their expressions. They are probably wondering what has caught him so off guard. There aren’t actually many things in the world that makes Harry speechless- this one, however, clearly does.

After exchanging a few glances around the room, Gemma is the first one to cut the silence.

“Harry, what’s wrong with you?” she asks him. She is just as oblivious to the news as her brother had been a few minutes ago. Like I said, I haven’t truly told anyone. Harry, who still disbelievingly eyes the card, finally breaks from his frozen position, and looks directly at me. His eyes speak volumes.

“What’s written on that card?” someone questions from the back. Niall, I believe.

Suddenly, a heavy sob overwhelms my husband, making him instantly fall down on knees. He cries loudly like I have never seen him cry before, with both arms raised up to the ceiling as if he wanted to thank god for this wonderful, life-changing blessing. I can contain my own tears only with difficulty, instantly crouching down to his eye level. The tears in his eyes run down his cheeks like a waterfall. I bring my thumbs up to wipe them away.

Anne, followed by Gemma, has reached us, lifting up the card Harry has let fall down from the ground and reading it with her daughter. It doesn’t take too long for them to connect the dots.

“No way!” my mother-in-law screams. “No way!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Gemma joined in, “Are you kidding me, Y/N?! Pregnant?! And with TWINS?! Holy shit!!”

My mum jumps out of the couch, also with a scream escaping her mouth. “What?! What?! I’m gonna be a grandma?!” Then she collapses against my brother, who still doesn’t seem to be able to register what’s going on. My father shouts, “Really? Really?”

I look at them with a genuine smile on my lips. It’s confirmation enough. Meanwhile, I can hear the others either clapping or sharing our joy, congratulating us, which I reciprocate with gratitude. Gemma slings her arms around her mum, hugging her tightly, and I can see how excited they are to become nana and aunt. My own mum is still overwhelmed, but I know that she feels the same as we do.

“Oh my, I cannot believe this.” Gemma breathes, fanning with her hands to suppress her emotions.

Around that chaos and conversations, I try to lift up Harry back to his wobbly feet. His cries lessen from one second to another, and he looks at me again. Deeply. I take out a handkerchief and gently begin to clean his face.

“Are you serious?” Harry croaks, his eyes full of happy tears, yet I can see a light glint of doubt behind them. “You’re not joking, right? This is true?” I shake my head hard in agreement while I wrap my arms comfortingly around his middle, pressing my front against his. Of course, it is not! Never- I stress, never could I bring myself to joke about a serious issue like pregnancy. Especially not in front of our family and friends. I know how bad Harry has wished to become a father- so bad that whenever we unfortunately had a negative result, he would lock himself in our bedroom and only come out after hours with puffy, red eyes- so why would I traumatize him by pulling such horrible a prank on him?

The burden of not being a father weighed heavily on his shoulders for months, and the failed attempts to have a baby dragged down his mood every passing day. I’ve seen it many times. Especially after the way he would gaze at his friends’ children whenever we babysit them, the way he would interact and hold them in his arms, and play with them. His green orbs are always full of love. It was at those moments that I had the urge to give him a child as soon as possible, just as he craved for, however, not everything works the way you want it, does it? I’ve tried to encourage him, myself included, to be patient and keep trying- that one day we would be lucky enough to become parents. Patience has a limit, I am aware of that, and the long wait would often tear a little bit of it down. But I’ve talked to myself into believing that at the end, the wait is going to be worth it. And it totally has been! We aren’t blessed with only one but two angels who will join our family soon.

“When did you find out?” Harry questions, burying his nose in my hair.

“Only a few days ago.”  

“How far along are you?”

“8 weeks.” 

“And you’re telling me this now?” he asks, a hint of fake offense underlining his voice.

“I wanted to make sure that the test was correct, so I immediately booked an appointment with my gynecologist. And of course, I had to plan how I wanted to deliver the message.”

Harry laughs, delicately kissing my forehead.

“So, we are really pregnant, aren’t we?”

“We definitely are.”

I grab the ultrasound picture I have hidden out of my jeans pocket.

“Look,” I say, as a point at the little shapes depicted on it. “That’s Baby A and this one is Baby B.”

I watch him as he observes the sonogram with awe. He looked very intensely at our tiny babies, marking them not only into his mind but also into his heart.

“I still cannot believe this is happening,” he admits.

“Right? It seems like a dream to me.”

The others in the room are long forgotten and it feels like as if only Harry and I exist. We are in our own bubble. From the back I can faintly hear someone saying not to disturb us for a little bit and let the newly parents enjoy the announcement. I cannot focus on anything else anyway. I only have eyes for the ultrasound picture and my husband.

“We deserve it,” Harry stresses determined.

“We do,” I agree.

Harry bends downs to me and places a tender kiss on my lips. I can feel all his emotions that he pours into our kiss, making my heart flutter and burn with love. His warm hand gently touches and caresses my belly, drawing circles with his fingertips. When we pull away, he rests his forehead against mine, his minty breath hits my lips again when he whispers, “I’m gonna be a daddy.”

  tags ❤ : @hes-writer, @hes-writer2, @sad-little-asshole, @tpwkal

[queensdivas]

Family Christmas!

Alright Alright! Just got done watching 6 Underground and Jesus so many shorts and fics are coming. But of course after the requests and update on the great mazzello are updated. But doesn’t mean I can’t start the outline!!!

Thank you @not-john-watsons-blog​ for this request cause I thought it was super cute and just in time for the season!!!!! 

If you’d like to request something please do so and if you want to be tagged let me know!!!!

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday this year!!!!! 

Masterlist 

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The House of Christmas

By G.K. Chesterton

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening

Home shall men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

Do I regret our elopement? No. Never in a million years do I regret our elopment in Blyth during his tour up around there. But I regret not being able to sit down to meet the rest of his family besides his mother. According to what I’ve seen in his photo albums. He’s got a bunch of aunts and uncles because his family is known for ummm. A lot misfire is exactly what I think is the right word for it. Now one of his Christmas presents I’ve unveiling tomorrow would be considered a misfire to most but to me I’m extremely excited. 

Our three hour drive was coming to an end as we reached his home just right outside Leicester England for some big Christmas Eve tradition that’s been breaking since he started with Queen. Which was three years ago so not only am I meeting most of his family for the first time, and not being around for three years, we’re kind of screwed! 

I rubbed my eyes a little as I sat up in the car to see John was tapping his hands on the steering wheel at the light. Gosh, it was only a three hour drive yet I felt like I’ve been asleep for about two weeks! 

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.” John had his cheeky smile on as I looked over at him to then pull down the visor to make sure I didn’t look like absolute shit. We’re good! 

“Sorry I fell asleep. The car was toasty and you know that listening to really jazzy Christmas piano always makes me relax.” Going into my purse to apply a fresh layer of lipstick. 

“Relax Iris. You look absolutely beautiful.” 

“Yeah well I’ve never had to meet a family before with us being married already so you can understand my nervousness!” Growing up in an orphanage then not being adopted can cause a little different mentality. But no sob story! It’s family time! 

“Iris. They’re going to love you no matter because you’re the only women who has stuck by my side longer than most. Like c’mon you already survived a tour schedule like mine so I knew you don’t plan on making a run for the hills.” 

“That you’re aware of Deaks.” Smirking at him as we turned into the driveway of the house to see a bunch more cars were all lined up. Before we even climbed out of the car he leaned over to cup my face to start leaving kisses all over my lips then trying to make his way down my neck. Going to be honest we haven’t done the deed since I found out because I’ve been getting cold feet, not sure why. 

“John I don’t want to smell like sex meeting your mother.” I pried him off me with a little disappointment groan coming from him. He’ll know tonight and hopefully he’ll understand especially after the idea how I’ll be unveiling this idea. I got John pair of baby shoes, and his mother a cute onsie that says “Grandma’s spoiled angel”. Thought it would be appropriate and hopefully if things go well tonight they’ll enjoy the surprise. 

We climbed out of the car as we heard the house was blasting with Christmas music, laughter, and even the sound of popping champagne bottles. What kind of parties does this family enjoy throwing for the holidays? He grabbed the box of gifts as I wrapped my scarf around my neck as we began approaching the house. Before we walked inside I stopped in front of him as I grabbed the box from him, putting it down on the ground then giving him one long kiss. 

“I love you John. I know I’ve been acting a little funny these past few weeks. I promise it’s nothing you done because you couldn’t do anything. Except when you accidently dropped the coffee machine right next to my feet.” 

“For the hundreth time Iris it was a complete accident!” I always remind him that because seeing him so angry just makes me giggle! I cupped his face again for a quick peck as we saw the light coming from the house. 

“HEY! YOU TWO LOVEBIRDS GET IN HERE!” A women screamed as we let go of each other to then begin our journey into the world of what most people say a family hell hole. Never experienced one of these before so get ready Iris, a cultural shock is about to happen. 

We walked inside the house to see everyone condensed into the living room, children running all around the place, and what looked like an old man sleeping soundly on the recliner. How is that even possible. 

The whole room went dead silent as every single person looked directly at John and I with our layers of coats making us look stuffed. I gulped as I began unzipping my coat till a little girl came running down the stairs. 

“UNCLE JOHN!” She screamed as she wrapped herself around his leg. 

“My goodness Aurora you have grown!” He laughed as an elderly women came out of the kitchen in a minnie mouse apron. She starred down John as she came marching out of the kitchen, even the child walked away from John. Is she his mother? I’ve always been told (by Chrissy) that if a mother doesn’t approve of their chosen girlfriend then it’s game over oh my god! 

She stood directly infront of John as we both looked at her in absolute fear from the fact she might pounce at us! I light wrapped hands around his arm just incase I have to use him as a human shield to protect our child. Sorry John I love you but this baby is a whole lot more important and I know you’d do the exact same thing for me. 

“John. You’ve gotten much skinner.” Ya know what no! If I can carry a baby in my body for nine months then I can handle any mother come at me! Okay! Here we go! 

“Mrs. Deacon. I’m Iris. I’ve heard such wonderful things about you.” Coming from behind John to hold my hand up to her ready to shake it. She looked directly into my soul as she manuvered herself infront of me with a facial expression I couldn’t even read. She gripped my hand then placed her other one ontop of it. Is his when the mother pile drives you into the floor!? Oh dear God she’s going to kick my ass!

“It’s very lovely to meet you Iris. Please come and get acquainted with everyone. And please call me mom because Mrs. Deacon makes me feel so old.” She began walking me through the living room to see everyone making room for his mother and I to sit down. Looking back at John as he just stood there with his bag of presents in complete utter shock. 

“So Iris. I’ll try to quickly introduce everyone before I have to back to into the kitchen to make sure dinner isn’t burned to a crisp. Sitting on the reclriner is great grandfather Phillip. To the left of you is who you would consider your cousin Jessabell and her husband Thomas. They’ve got their children running around here somewhere by the names of Ezekiel, Nathaniel, and Esther. And then to your left is great aunt Piper and great uncle Samuel. Now their children are Booker, Sam, Tara, and then their youngest being Natalie. I’d tell you more but I have to get back into the kitchen.” Trying to remember all these names makes me feel drunk I can’t even drink a glass of wine to help me with this whole meet and greet. God is it weird I kind of need John to bring some sort of easiness at the moment. 

“It’s lovely to meet you all.” I squirmed out of my coat for John to grab it and place it behind the couch. He then sat down next to me as I grabbed his hand as he began smiling and greeting the aunts and cousins. 

“Wheres your family Iris?” I believe Aunt Piper asked if I remember correctly. 

“I umm. Never really had a family till I met your nephew..er if that’s the right word.” They leaned forward in their chairs so eager to listen. 

“Let me guess. It was one of those situations where you rebelled from your parents because of them not liking the beatles.” They laughed as my grip around John's hand went a little tighter. I know this stuff still shouldn't bother me but there’s a reason why I don’t enjoy talking about my past because I sadly don’t have one. But at the same time when I do have to meet family and they these kinds of things, I just enjoy coming directly at their necks with this line. 

“Well I wouldn’t know teenage rebellion since I never had parents.” With the biggest smile on my face as they sunk back into their chairs as I believe Aurora brought us two cups of water. She climbed up on top of Johns lap. 

“Are you my new Aunt?” She asked as I gave her a small nod. 

“Yes. I plan on being the coolest Aunt you’ve ever had in your life!” Grabbing her from Johns lap to put her on mine. I bounced her on my legs a little as she was laughing her little head off. 

“Dinner is ready!” His mother yelled from the kitchen as she darted off my lap into the kitchen. Everyone went into the kitchen as I sat on the couch with my thumbs going in small circles. I’m still extremely nervous and the fact that ham is now the main course and me being pregnant is making me nauseous. And trying to hide this from John is just the greatest idea I ever had in my existence! 

“Feeling better?” Nodding as the smell of that ham slithered its way into the living room and around my nose. My stomach twisted in every possible way but I took in a deep breath to try to hold it back. 

“Iris. Is there something you’re not telling 

“Are you two planning on joining us or run off?” I think that was one of his uncles came into the room as we got up from the couch to walk in. 

I sat down next to his mother as everyone began passing around the serving bowls of mashed potatoes, cranberry, ya know the usual Christmas meal. The rolls were placed infront of me as I grabbed one then the ham appeared before me. Oh boy. I bit the inside of my cheeks to grab one thing of meat and passed it along. Just keep it down! Crap I can’t even have wine to help with the whole stomach thing! 

“So John. How’d you find Iris?” The green beans were next as I scooped some onto my plate as John swallowed his roll he had in his mouth. I think they’ll enjoy our little meet and greet story yet I somehow find it a little embarrasing still. 

“I was out with the boys one night with a few of our first performances. She was at the bar with her friends and I noticed her from the stage. When we got done I started talking to her and well.” My cheeks were beginning to turn red from what was going to come next. 

“This guy came up and was trying to tell me that he already had eyes on her from the other side of the bar.. She punched him in the face when he tried to take my seat.” My hnads covered my face as all the eyes landed on me in complete embarrasment. He kept trying to take his seat what was I supposed to do? Just John get pushed around? Dear God. 

“You punched someone?�� His great aunt asked as I slowly nodded my head. I promise I don’t believe violence isn’t the answer for everything. But he was literally going to throw John from his seat and I couldn’t just let that happen! 

“Awesome!” I moved my hands away from my face to see everyone nodding and then his uncle clapping at what I did. Phew. 

“So Iris. What do you do for a living?” His mother asked me as I ripped off a piece of my roll. 

“I’m an art teacher at St. Gerard in Basingstoke.” I began diving into the green beans as the rest of the table began chit chatting. 

“You know something Iris. It’s been quite sometime since I’ve seen John so bubbly and happy. Not sure if he’s told you that his father died when he was young, and when it happened he changed. Became a brand new person who was afraid to get too close to people. But now to see him here playing with his cousins, it’s really wonderful to see him smile. Enough about that depressing matter, you’re an art teacher?” I nodded as I leaned forward to watch John laughing with the cousin that I don’t think I’ve put a name to a face. 

“Yes. At first I just wanted to be an artist for most of my life, but found teaching much more fun.” 

“I used to be an artist. Maybe after dinner we can swap some sketches.” She smiled which made my heart feel all warm. 

“I would love that.”

The rest of the dinner was getting to know his family, turns out John wanted to be a race car driver as a kid, had a very large interest in all kinds of flowers, and threw his cat down the stairs to see if it would land on all fours. It worked of course because that cat lived on to hate John for the rest of his life. While they were telling me this, I could tell John was completely embarrased but I still found it absolutely hilarious. 

“Now John was a lovely child of course, but also extremely sassy which he got from his father more than me. I assume you know about his sassiness?” His mother turned to me as I smirked on his face. 

“Of course. Our first date was to see MASH and when the ticket person asked if he needed two tickets. He straight up told him. “Oh my god you can see her? I thought she was just a figmant of my imagination.” Then did that stupid cheeky smile and the guy almost wouldn’t let us in.” John nodded as his mother chuckled a little as I finished the last of my Christmas pudding on my plate. 

“Alright I say it’s time for presents!” 

We sat down in the living room where himself and his mother sat down with me on the couch as everyone grabbed their gifts. They all began putting their gifts in the middle of the room but no name much be attached, consider it a secret santa yet John and I had no idea. That tends to happen when you’re busy with music and being a primary school teacher. None the less were about to be a very busy family. 

The little girl began passing out presents to everyone as she was eager to open hers and even everyone elses. She placed Johns in his lap as he was eager to open his since his curiosity was going absolutely wild. I was given a small box that even got me a little curious as well because truth be told i wasn’t expecting to get anything from anyone. 

“We want you to open yours first Iris.” His mother told me as everyone was starring at me again. I ripped apart the wrapping paper apart to see it was a jewlrey box which kept me in even more suspense. 

“Even though you just became apart of the family with the rest of us, we’re glad you became apart of it. We thought John was going to grow old alone.” It was a beautiful cameo necklace with a dark gold chain, the pendent was a dark blue with a white marble cut out of a woman on it. I was almost brought to tears as no one in my life has ever given me anything like this before. 

“You..you..you’re going to make me cry.” I laughed a little as I got it out of the box to hold it up. 

“John. Should’ve told me you’re family was going to make me cry.” I laughed as he helped me to clip it as I kept looking down at it. 

“Alright let’s keep going! By the way. I’m cousin Booker from Exeter.” He crawled infront of me as he passed John his gift as he recognized the wrapping paper from our little apartment. The rest of the presents were passed out to everyone as John was in complete curiosity of why giving him the present now instead of on Christmas. His mother had the same wrapping paper as well as I sat there waiting for them to open it. 

We finally made it over to John who was eager to open his box. He tore the wrapping paper to shreds immediatly as I kept my smile at bay as much as I could. He’s not expecting this and I know damn well the rest of the lot isn’t as well! Please find the little shoes adorable please find the shoes absolutely adorable!

He opened the box as confusion waved over him as he picked up the little white baby shoes. Looking at me. Back at the shoes. TO me..the shoes..to me..the shoes! C’mon John I know you’re smart! The shoes dropped as the rest of the room waited for him to say it or for it to finally click! 

“We’re..you..we..” It looked as if he was going to pass out right infront of us till he pratically threw himself ontop of me as everyone began freaking out. 

“I’m going to be a dad!” He smiled as I moved the hair out of his face as cousin Booker pratically pild ontop of us. 

“Now do I get to be the cool uncle or what?” Wait what? That..that’s not how that works..at least that’s not how I think it works. Oh well! 

“Wait get off don’t squish the baby!” John barked as we looked over to see grandma holding up the onsie in front of her. 

“It says Grandma’s spoiled Angel!” Mother cried as I managed to get John off me to see her just starring at it. 

“Hope you enjoy being a grandma!” I told her as she put the onsie on her lap to give me a very big hug!  Her only son to have her first grandchild has completely made the fact that him and I didn’t have a true wedding has been completely forgotten! Phew. 

[artificialqueens]

ancolie (trixya) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - she’s writing trixya? and lesbian au? at the same time? has she gone mad?

yes. yes i have. enjoy!

[for meggie, for being the best pseudo-mum a gal could ask for. chin up love, you’ve got this <3]

*

I can see us in a small town

You count the stars up in the sky

She pulls pink carnations together with yellow roses, hopes the message will meet in the middle as one of friendship and a woman’s love. It’s a candy-coloured wonderland of a bouquet with the colour mixing and melding like a fruit salad chew. They were always her favourites. She finds she has very little hope anyway but the pink of the carnations almost matches the pink of her dress and, god , she is smitten.

She retouches the red of her lipstick till it matches the roses they keep in the back of the store, lets its brightness give her a little bit of confidence as she heads out to finish opening up the shop. It’s small and quiet, opposite a patisserie owned by one of the softest people Katya has ever known. She’s just lovely. She creates tiny delicacies that have her mouth watering like nobody’s business, all sweet and saccharine sugar (a little bit like her). Katya cannot get enough.

She rolls a black glove onto her tattooed arm as she slowly and carefully fertilises the opening display. Across the street, she can see Trixie opening up shop a little earlier than usual (although they’ve both been there since five,  so she’s not hugely surprised.) Once she’s done, she ties a pastel pink ribbon around the base of the bouquet and walks it across the street, letting herself in with the spare key. They do their morning dance, an awkward shuffle around each other as (even three hours after getting there) neither are quite awake enough to face their relationship head on. Katya takes out yesterday’s flowers and places the bouquet in the vase on the counter, grins eagerly as Trixie boxes up the spoils of the morning - it’s a fair trade if it means Katya gets to see her face every day. With a shy smile, Trixie waves her out.

They’ve been doing this three years.

Never thought that they could fall down

Onto your suit or on the tie

She reckons she could buy a mortgage with the amount she’s wasted on these flowers, she thinks as she creates the morning bouquet. It’s all yellow today, chrysanthemums, tulips and poppies; precious, hope and success.

She waters the succulents with care only given to her plants and then sketches new tattoo ideas until she sees Trixie pull up the blinds of Yellow Cloud Patissiere - it’s an unspoken rule, helps keep them in check. She serves a couple of business people that she always gets on a Friday morning (she’s started opening earlier to catch them). They always need a bouquet for their wives, an apology for some sort of wrongdoing, and Katya can’t say she minds helping them as they bustle in, flustered and impatient. She has a blackboard behind the counter with ‘EMERGENCY FLOWERS’ scrawled onto it in cursive, it details the apology bouquets she does and their exact meanings - it’s gotten her a lot of coverage in the flower shop community, and she’s grateful for Trixie’s handwriting.

Once she’s decided she won’t look desperate, she heads over the road with a spring in her step, lets herself in and replaces the flowers. Trixie has decorated one of her fuckups with a red flower today and Katya is touched but also just really wants to eat it. She doesn’t say that.

She almost falls as she leaves and as the door swings shut behind her, she can hear Trixie’s cackle catch in the wind.

Across the table at a French place

I lose my way into the wine

She’s brainstorming dates on a Monday as she ties together the bouquet. It’s a French colour theme with blue roses, white lilacs, and red daisies completing the fantasy, and she loves it. She wants to take Trixie to Paris and stroll on the Champs-Élysées , taking their time, sipping wine meant for two as they stare out across the water. She wants to pick roadside flowers, weave a bunch with some grass and present it to her, make flower crowns, and tuck buttercups in the blonde’s hair when she is distracted. She wants to take her to an art gallery, the Louvre maybe, or the Centre Pompidou so they can stand a foot away from the paintings and examine them until they start laughing. She wishes more than anything that she could hold her tight against her in the cold evening air, watch the Eiffel light up at midnight and ring in a new day with her. She would do anything.

But instead, she dutifully arrives with the flowers, takes Trixie’s baking and leaves.

She tries a new truffle on her lunch break, hands smelling like fresh flowers and pesticide - the air thick with moisture that’s dripping down her back as the shop heats up like a greenhouse. It’s perfect for a florist, not so good for the sweatiest woman alive.

She opened ‘Fine and Dandy’ three months after finished college. She got a degree in design with a minor in business and to be honest they work pretty damn well for a woman who once said she wanted to become a shark gymnast - whatever that might be. Her parents hadn’t agreed at first but now she’s a thirty-three-year-old woman with an award-winning flower shop and she does it all herself - they’re proud of her. She’s proud of her.

The truffle tastes of gin and regret and it’s a little too close to home. The others are half melted - she bins them.

With your glasses on your pretty face

We can go up, baby we can float up

It’s a bouquet of forget-me-nots on a Saturday morning.

It’s a sprig of lime blossom surrounded by arum on a day where she just wants to make jokes. (fornication and purity - it’s days like these she hopes Trixie cannot read flowers)

It’s Asphodel, Basalm and Balsamine. (regret, ardent love and impatience)

Trixie’s pastries taste more and more like things she knows - like sorrow and sadness and hope. They taste like old cigarettes and new heartbreak, longing and desire and unrelenting pain. She wants to hold her tight, qualm the fears she bakes into her food because god knows it only takes a taste to see every little thing she’s poured into it. Katya’s been around long enough to know Trixie’s baking - she knows that she only uses blueberries on rainy days, that passionfruit is saved for deserved occasions and that grapefruit is a bad day.

Why does everything taste like grapefruit?

Say we’ll never come back down

To the place in the yellow cloud

Things go back to chocolate, vanilla and peach when the weather picks up and Katya’s bouquets get bigger and brighter as each month nears summer. A regular casually describes one as ‘carnival in a vase’ or so Trixie retells one morning as Katya snorts on her danish. The cinnamon is strong and so’s the girls’ humour, so she barely chokes it down before she has to gesture for water to clear her throat. Trixie’s cackling so hard though, that water begins to run out of Katya’s nose. It was a mistake she deems as she’s wiping the counter down from her nose-water. It was a mistake to ever start this - this… She falters in her thoughts. She doesn’t even know what this is; it’s never been discussed and yet she feels closer to the patisserie owner across the street than she does her roommate.

She would hesitate to call it love - then again she only knows love as pansies and cloves and gardenias.

She builds more apology bouquets for businessmen and asks them why they love their wives. None of them can give a straight answer and she begins to wonder if maybe that’s the point - love isn’t really a straight line - it sort of loops round and round and over itself. It slaloms around the major arteries and gets caught in the capillary net.

(She also asks a man who, it turns out, is buying for his mistress. It’s an apology for getting her pregnant but he gives the most straightforward answer out of the lot so she keeps it as a data point.)

Yours forever, thumbtack down

Ooh, ooh

Trixie comes into the shop at 6 p.m. on a Thursday in June. It seems like a negligible detail but Katya wants to remember it for the rest of her life. She hears the bell go about an hour after she flipped the closing sign, as she tidies the small shop away to make room for her Friday morning craziness. She comes to the counter with a purpose, requesting a bouquet that has Katya at a happy medium between screaming and sobbing (mentally of course).

She knows all the plants’ names, wants exactly what she wants and Katya blindly agrees until she takes a look at the bouquet and realises what she’s made. It’s good news, admiration, beauty, and love in all seasons. Devotion and an invitation to dance. (iris, gorse, heliotrope, hibiscus and viscaria)

It’s beautiful.

Trixie pays quickly with a shy smile and goes to leave the shop but she turns around before she reaches the door. Instead, she slowly walks back towards her with a steady step and a quiet grin. Katya has started to shake now, she knows what’s happening (or at least hopes she does) and she can’t tell if she wants to sob or scream - she does neither, it’s not the right time.

They meet between the ambrosia and the roses, Katya’s favourite aisle, the sun backlighting Trixie til she glows a soft gold. It casts a halo on her hair and Katya swears she’s never seen an angel look so beautiful.

Trixie hands her the bouquet wordlessly but her eyes, wet and happy, reflect all she doesn’t need to say. When they kiss, Trixie tastes like passionfruit and gin and hope - undying hope that glistens in the summer sun. She hopes it’s a flavour that will stay on her lips forever.

Say you’ll never come back down

To the place in the yellow cloud

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, booksrockmyface!

Today, we wish a Happy Belated Birthday to EBG’s own @booksrockmyface! We hope you had a wonderful day back on April 28th, and got all the presents you wished for! To bring the party back, the lovely @dirtycomputeme has written a story just for you!

A/N: I’m really sorry this is so late, I hope the length makes up for it! I based this off the song Sucker by the Jonas Brothers (from the prompt), but also the music video, which was filmed at the Hatfield House, a.k.a. the mansion that the movie The Favourite was made in. I’m also taking some liberties with the personal lives of the Jonas Brothers, so please no one base this in any sort of reality!

As soon as Peeta stepped into the mansion where the Mellark Brothers would be shooting their latest music video, he already felt overwhelmed. The expansive latticed windows, the high ceilings, and sparkling linoleum floors all caught Peeta’s artist eye as he was shepherded through the massive hallways. Peeta had watched an indie film on the plane ride to London that had also filmed at this location, and it seemed that the Hatfield House estate was even more intimidatingly glamorous in person.

“Okay, boys! Here you are! We are getting the first shot set up so just sit tight!” Their handler Effie’s incessant squawking interrupted Peeta’s ruminations. Rye and Bran rolled their eyes as usual, but Peeta tried to force a smile; as the youngest, he was often the peacemaker of the trio: first at home, and now in his professional life, since the brothers’ small town garage band had surprisingly gotten signed by Capitol Records ten years ago.

Since the trio's meteoric rise to teen boyband stardom, the brothers had each suffered various highs and lows in the spotlight, but recently their careers and personal lives had been slowing down. It started when they decided to pursue solo careers and end the Mellark Brothers, but it also had to do with all of them growing up, at least a little. Even the once-notorious party boys Bran and Rye had both finally settled down—their wives had both flown in to pose as love interests in their first music video as the Mellark Brothers in five years. But Peeta had no significant other, so his friend and Instagram model Cashmere had volunteered for the job.

Amidst the chaos of the production crew, Bran and Rye marched across the room to embrace their wives: Delly and Johanna, respectively. Peeta smiled at his brothers embracing their wives; it was if they had been separated for several years instead of several hours. He felt another pang of loneliness, one that was becoming all too common in the constant presence of the two happy couples. While he had met some lovely famous women through the years, he was a small town boy at heart and missed the authenticity of the regular girls from back home. In fact, Bran had even married his high school sweetheart Delly for the same reason. Peeta saw his brothers get their happily ever afters, and wanted one for himself.

He was startled from his self-pitying reverie by a rough jostle to the elbow of his black blazer. A quiet gasp and a “sorry” turned his head to face a slight brunette struggling to hold a giant plastic tub of lavalier mics.

“That’s okay,” Peeta smiled, trying to put the overwhelmed girl at ease.

He reached out to help her hold the tub, but the girl scowled and barked out: “I got it.”

Peeta was shocked by the hostility in her tone, since most people treated him like a god, and she seemed shocked by it too. They spent an awkward moment eying each other, before the crusty music video director Haymitch yelled out: “Katniss! Get your butt over here and stop flirting with the talent.”

The girl ran off, looking murderous in her fury, and Peeta watched her go with regret.

———————————

Peeta tried to make eye contact with Katniss throughout the morning, but since she appeared to be Haymitch’s PA, she was never not in motion and not completing about thirty tasks at once. So he had to content himself with noticing everything about her instead: the way she tugged on her braid with her pen when she was thinking, the way she managed to calm Haymitch down when no one else could, and the way she would stop what she was doing to talk to every boom operator and makeup artist if they looked like they needed help. She seemed to be as beautiful inside as she was on the outside, even in the most battered combat boots and military jacket Peeta had ever seen. Haymitch and his brothers had to keep snapping him out of his daydreams and observations—and Cashmere didn’t seem to relish his attention being on someone else besides her.

During the lunch break outside, Peeta saw Katniss venture towards a nearby apple tree by herself, and finally he saw his opening. He had been waiting all day to hear Katniss’ musical voice again, and every time he had to stare into Cashmere’s blue eyes and sing: I’m a sucker for you, he wished he was singing into Katniss’s silver orbs instead.

It seemed like every shot the set pieces and costumes got more elaborate, and the less time Katniss spent returning his glances (but he knew she had returned a few). Now, Peeta tugged at the tight collar of his black turtleneck and decided to give it a shot. Haymitch said the shoot might even finish in one day, thanks to Katniss and the crew’s diligent work, so Peeta knew he didn’t have a lot of time left to waste.

Once he reached the apple tree, Katniss seemed to be lost in thought and examining the bark closely.

“Hi,” Peeta said simply, and she startled and jumped around.

She frowned: “Oh..hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.”

This seemed to trouble Katniss further, and she added: “And I’m sorry about this morning. I just didn’t want anyone to think I was bothering you, or that I needed someone to help me do my job.” She looked down at her feet. “Haymitch already gives me enough grief as it is.”

“I understand.” Peeta said simply, floored at the response he was getting. He could already tell Katniss wasn’t the type to speak too much, especially to a total stranger and a celebrity no less. “It seems like it must be tough to be women in this industry.”

“Yeah. It is.” Katniss suddenly seemed to remember who she was talking to. “So..um…are we cool?” She smiled timidly.

“On one condition.”

Katniss looked confused, but Peeta smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

Katniss’s eyebrow twitched: “What?”

“That’s my deal. In order for me to forgive your rudeness, you must volunteer some vital personal information to me.” Peeta made sure to exaggerate his facial expressions so she knew he was joking. He learned that people often assumed celebrities like himself were spoiled brats, and it was important to seem as normal as possible.

Katniss seemed to be fighting a smile. “It’s green,” she mumbled softly, “like this.” She gestured at the dark green leaves on the tree.

“Beautiful.” Peeta said, not really talking about the color…but Katniss seemed to pick up on that.

“What’s yours?” She said, looking away to hide what looked like a faint blush. “Seems only fair.”

“Orange, like the sunset. It was the first thing I ever painted, actually.” Peeta smiled, wistfully reminiscing on the hobby of his youth.

“You paint?” Katniss seemed genuinely shocked to hear this.

“Yes, I actually applied to art school. But when our band got signed, it all kind of fell to the wayside.” Peeta knew it was hard to complain about his new life in wealth and privilege, but part of him still wished he was just that kid just painting the sunset outside his bedroom window.

Katniss’s face finally opened up; he couldn’t read the emotions crossing her face. “You should paint again. Really.” When Peeta looked unconvinced, Katniss sighed. “When I was younger, I used to hunt in the woods with my dad. Now that he’s gone, I would do anything to do it again, but I can’t.”

She didn’t seem comfortable elaborating further, but Peeta felt the weight of her confession.“How about this? If I start painting, you have to go hunting.” Peeta offered this playfully, but he secretly hoped she wanted to stay in touch after today. The hours on set together and their thirty minutes of conversation had sealed the deal—he officially had a crush.

“Well..okay.” Katniss looked uncertain, but Peeta knew he would surprise her and assuage her fears in time.

“Okay.” And they both shared another shy glance and smile; this time without any interruptions.

[ineffablecolors]

CSJJ Day 12: Not One of Those Lives

I’ll try to keep this brief (and probably fail). First, I have to thank everyone who has read and enjoyed this verse - it is most certainly my favourite thing I’ve ever written and all the love and support and excitement for it brings me so much joy and inspires me to keep adding to it. And I’ve added quite a bit - this is the most I’ve worked on a OS/part so I hope you like it and thank you - you are magical and truly my muses! 

Second, thank you to @csjanuaryjoy and everyone involved in it (especially all the gorgeous ladies in the Discord chat that has also added so much joy to my January!) - you are all so talented and inspiring and I haven’t read a single fic written for this that hasn’t melted my heart!

Not One of Those Stories was written for last year’s CS January Joy but you do not have to necessarily read any of the previous 4 parts to get this one (but I’ve heard they are not too bad).

“So she never used to rent nice apartments because she knew she’d be vacating them at some point anyway. She never used to buy the extra fluffy blankets and pillows because she knew they took a lot of space when moving. She never used to get the fruit that caught her eye at the market because of some irrational fear that it will spoil before she even got the chance to eat it. She never got a dress she truly wanted to own because of the very rational fear that her next perp might ruin it to hell and the very rational assumption that she won’t be going on any dates she would want to dress up for.

Emma Swan had learnt her lesson. She didn’t get to keep things like that. Hers was not one of those lives.“

Not One of Those Lives; ~ 14,500 words; FF.NET @icecubelotr44 || AO3

About 8 years into her existence Emma Swan learnt how to navigate life. From then on – well, it wasn’t easy but at least it was manageable, at least she didn’t make a fool of herself and she didn’t let others make a fool of her either.

The trick was to accept that, while she might have good things from time to time, she never got to keep them. Because everyone lucked out from time to time, even Emma. It’s not statistically possible to be dealt a bad hand every single time, every day of your life. Emma caught a break on occasion as well, it’s just that her breaks never seemed to last.

A fair newborn baby girl Emma should have been out of the system in no time. And she was. And then she was back. 3 years old and carrying the damning brand of the “returned”.

She had a family – one she hadn’t even known wasn’t her own, and then she didn’t. She was a family member and then she was unsatisfactory (unneeded) merchandise. And the thing about returned merchandise is that it’s very hard to resell. You try telling people that the previous “owners” just decided to produce their own merchandise. Everybody wonders what the problem was, what was wrong with her. No one wants someone else’s sloppy seconds.

She remembers that phrase like it was thrown at her yesterday and not 27 years ago. She still perfectly recalls the curled lip of the little girl, the inflection on the words. Sloppy seconds. That was her.

It took her another year to learn that all important lesson but yes, at the ripe age of 8, Emma Swan thought she’d found the answer to her life. She watched the little blonde cherubs that had never been brought back with the receipt get into the white SUVs of their new families and knew hers was simply not one of those lives.

She watched the girls in her school showing off their pencil cases and backpacks to each other – the brands that were in, with the most popular fictional characters on them. (She used the box from some colouring pens as a pencil case.) She watched the kids who sat together at recess – their lunchboxes colourful and full to the brim.

Later she watched men running around cars to open doors for their wives or girlfriends and tried to roll her eyes and scoff. (Neal ran around the Bug alright, whenever he was in a rush to get inside so they wouldn’t get caught by another guard in another convenience store.) She watched couples inside restaurants, sharing intimate smiles over candlelight.

Those pretty, colourful and well-lit lives were not hers to have.

Frankly, the system can fuck you up in a myriad of ways. Emma went through some shit but she managed to avoid the worst of it. A few hang-ups here and there are nothing to cry about, if you ask her.

So she never used to rent nice apartments because she knew she’d be vacating them at some point anyway. She never used to buy the extra fluffy blankets and pillows because she knew she’d only have to constantly drag them around. She never used to get the fruit that caught her eye at the market because of some irrational fear that it will spoil before she even got the chance to eat it. She never got a dress she truly wanted to own because of the very rational fear that her next perp might ruin it to hell and the very rational assumption that she won’t be going on any dates she would want to dress up for.

Emma Swan had learnt her lesson. She didn’t get to keep things like that. Hers was not one of those lives.

Emma Swan is carrying a shopping bag containing a dress that she won’t fit into for at least another five months. It’s a soft pink, elegant, billowing skirt and lovely lacework at the hem. It’s a dress made for an evening out and she does not regret buying it.

What she does regret is pulling this stubborn shit on Killian and insisting that she will finish off the month and then stop going into work.

It’s December, it’s freezing, she is 7 months pregnant and she had fuck all to do at the office all day. Now her feet are cold and her back hurts and she just wants to get home and not think about life lessons that she has been gradually unlearning.

She might have bought the dress to make a point. To fate or the universe or the snotty shopping assistant that was looking at her like she’ll never fit into a dress like that again. It might have cost as much as half of all her other dresses combined. She doesn’t have that many. It’s not that bad. She was making a point.

She sighs in relief at the sight of their apartment building. Then once inside she groans at the sight of the staircase.

“Sure, let’s get the place without an elevator. Cardio is good for you. It will help us stay in shape. Ugh. Idiots.”

The fact that she actually considers calling Killian and making him come down to carry her up the stairs the way he has threatened to do a couple of times already is testament to exactly how absolutely exhausted she is. It takes her twice as long as it should to reach their door.

When she walks in, she is surprised she couldn’t feel the heat radiating off said door.

“God, Killian. What’s going on here?”

He comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hand on his sweatpants before he cups her cheek and brings her into a soft kiss.

And here we have the reason Emma Swan has gone back on the life philosophy she’d held since she was 8 years old.

Killian Jones is the very best thing that’s happened to her and she decided some time ago that she is most definitely keeping him.

Emma hums and pulls back, only to be greeted with a frown instead of the smile she was expecting.

She has a love/hate relationship with the fact that Killian never fails to greet her with a kiss when either of them comes home. Alright, mostly just a love relationship but it leaves her all melty and totally unprepared for when it turns out that he is actually in a mood.

“You’re chilled. Please tell me you took a cab home?”

She tries not to cringe and smiles innocently instead.

“I took the subway?”

“Emma.”

It’s not a whine, Killian doesn’t really do whining. It’s worse – it’s deep and gruff and a little frustrated and probably has the exact opposite effect on her to the one he was aiming for.

“I am not taking the Bug out of hibernation or hailing a cab for a few blocks,” she slides into his personal space as much as her baby bump allows. “Look on the positive side, my love – you get to warm me up now.”

Killian gives her a look that clearly says that he is neither amused, not deterred.

“Oh, I will.”

He takes off her hat and murmurs his displeasure when she tries to take her coat off herself. Her scarf goes and then the coat. He glowers at her gloveless hands and she tries on another one of those innocent smiles. Nothing. Damn.

“I really gotta start preparing for the role of the fun parent,” she mutters half to herself.

Killian bends down without a comment and tugs lightly on one of her boots, only lifting her foot when her hand has settled securely on his back, leaning most of her weight on him. She furrows her brow and scrunches up her nose, wondering if her feet smell after a day in thermo socks and winter boots. They should really get one of those small shoe cupboards for the hallway – just so she can sit on them and take her own damn shoes off. She switches hands when he switches feet and can’t help but wiggle her toes happily in the soft slippers.

She is promptly taken to the couch and covered with a throw blanket.

“Really now?”

His look advises against her trying to get up. It’s only as Killian heads to the kitchen and Emma realizes how hot she is that she remembers her initial surprise.

“Why does it feel like our flat is a walk-in oven?”

“Because you were walking outside in the frigid cold for five blocks.”

“This is not human temperature,” she yells in the general direction of the kitchen even though she knows it really annoys him when she insists on having a conversation from separate rooms – she is really not helping her case.

“I assure you, Swan” his head pops around the corner and really, she’ll argue that the kitchen and living room are basically one big room anyway. “It is the outside temperature that is not advisable for humans.”

“And boiling alive is all the rage this season?”

He is gone. Emma sighs and finally fully sinks into the couch. OK, so this is not terrible for her aching back and tired feet but he really doesn’t need to know how much she hated making the trip from the subway. Or going to work in general.

She feels the movement inside her seconds before the light kicks start. Her hands settle over the spot where their baby is making her presence known.

“Is someone happy to be home?”

She twists her head around to find Killian leaning over the back the couch, his hand holding out a mug of tea. She keeps one hand on her daughter and wraps the other around the warm porcelain.

“She missed you.”

“Oh?” he struggles to go on with his teasing despite the smile that’s deepening the lines around his mouth. “Is she the only one?”

And Emma is about to pick up his tone and the little glint in his eye and tease right back, and then just like that she feels her own eyes fill with tears instead.

“No. And I’m not going into work anymore. I’m not going out at all.”

“Emma?”

He is beside her in a second, taking her mug again and setting it on the coffee table with a hasty thud before he pulls her into him. She is all too willing to bury her still cold nose in the scorching heat of his neck, her hands wrapping all the way around him.

“Shhh. Swan, what’s wrong? I’m sorry I was a pain—“

She shakes her head against him, squeezing him tighter.

“No, no, I— I was bored and restless and uncomfortable all day. And I just sat behind my stupid desk and that chair is absolute hell and my feet have been cold all day and then on the way home and—“

She sniffs a little, trying to hold back the tears from actually falling. Killian has never once used the phrase “pregnancy hormones” but Emma uses it plenty.

“And that means she was cold,” she whispers against his warm skin and can’t help thinking that their daughter would never be cold, if she was with Killian all the time.

“Oh, Emma. You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

He says okay and continues to rub her back with his stump and her belly with his hand until both girls calm down and only then he goes back to contradict her.

“Darling, it is biologically impossible for her to have been cold. It is also impossible because you’ll never let that happen.”

“But I did.”

“Swan—“

“Why am I still going to work?”

That shuts him up. They both know Killian suggested that she start her maternity leave a month ago. They both know the #1 reason he sold his cabin in Storybrooke in a hurry – even outranking his definite lack of desire to ever go back – was that she will be able to take as much time off work as she wants when the baby comes.

“Why am I out in freaking December?”

He frowns at that.

“Swan, I know you, you’ll go stir crazy, if you—“

“What does it matter? So I go a little crazy? This is already risky ‘cause I’m over 30—“

“The doctor said—“

“I’m keeping her! We are—“

“What are you on about? When was this even a question?”

There is a tinge of panic mixed in with his confusion now. Almost unnoticeable, unless you are Emma, unless being attuned to Killian’s emotions is one of your life goals.

“No, never, I— not like that, I just— Oh, God. Killian, I…”

She drops her forehead on his shoulder and breathes deeply, grateful that his arms are still around her, grateful that he hasn’t pulled back in his confusion.

“I was just…,” she sighs heavily and wraps her arms around his left bicep, rolling her head back and forth, trying to order her thoughts. “My mind’s been so… all day. And I guess I’ve been thinking how nothing good ever lasts for me and... I freaked out. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, love. I think I’m still ahead in the freak outs tally.”

She snorts and it’s choked and watery and she reaches up to wipe his shoulder.

“Also,” she feels the rough pad of Killian’s finger under her chin, angling her head to the side and up until she meets his gaze. “I thought I classified as a good thing that’s currently lasting.”

He sounds almost shy about it and she will laugh, if she wasn’t worried that laughing might lead to crying. So she sighs instead and smiles in a way that she thinks most people will probably define as smitten.

“Yeah, we’re just hoping you’re not the exception that proves the rule or something.”

“Emma—”

“I know, I know,” she straightens a little and Killian smooths out her hair and tucks it behind her ears.

“Everything is going to be alright. We’re going to keep you both warm and happy over the winter and in a couple of months you’ll have another exception to your frankly outrageous rule.”

Her hands settle on his cheeks, the stubble prickling her pink and oversensitive fingers and she drops her forehead to his and smiles.

“I’ll call my boss tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to rush—”

“No, really, I’m not… even if I had actual work to do, there’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate. All I can think about is if we need more baby bottles.”

“We have four packs of different baby bottles.”

“I know, I’m surprised I didn’t buy another one today.”

“You didn’t?”

She pinches his left ear.

“No. I bought a dress I might never fit into again.”

Killian’s eyes darken a little and he leans further into her, his hand sliding down her spine and boldly helping itself to some of her ass.

“Tell me more.”

“About the dress I won’t fit into?”

“It matters not, darling. If you don’t fit into it, you’ll just be naked that much sooner.”

Her burst of laughter is probably not the reaction he was going for but it seems to satisfy him nonetheless.

///

She finishes her tea and manages to talk Killian into dinner on the couch, using how warm and comfy she is as her unbeatable arguments. Now her feet are tucked under his thigh and she is appreciating the way he rubs her calves and only half paying attention to what Kevin McAlister is doing on her laptop.

“So, Christmas?”

Killian blinks at her and she pushes up the black frames that have almost slid off his nose.

“You want to do something different?”

“Well, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to break the wine and tragic backstories tradition.”

“Thank the gods, I was running out of ruined relationships to tell you about.”

“Ha ha.”

Actually Emma has always been quite proud of how non-Grinchy she and Killian are. Sure, they’re not overly zealous about it and haven’t really bothered with a tree or many decorations the last couple of years but for the most part they seem to have avoided letting their aloneness and their loneliness spoil the family holiday for them completely.

“I actually had an idea of sorts,” Killian lets go of her leg and tugs on his beard.

It’s getting long again. She kinda likes it – all the black and white and ginger mesh together beautifully.

Emma bends her knees further and shuffles closer, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her palms. She looks up at her boyfriend and blinks expectantly. He huffs in undisguised amusement and cards his fingers through her hair.

“I was thinking that we’re rather lowkey about the whole holiday.”

“We specifically put on Home Alone for the second night in a row and last week you tried to make me a peppermint hot chocolate.”

“I did make you a peppermint hot chocolate, the fact that you dubbed it “totally gross” is another matter altogether.”

“Totally the same matter,” she fires back even as she leans her head to the side so his hand can slip lower and massage her neck. “I eat like a billion times better thanks to you but your taste in hot drinks is shit, my love.”

“That is not at all what you said the first time I made you a proper Irish coffee.”

Killian might not whine but Emma most certainly does. It’s plaintive and just a little angry.

“Why would you say that right now? Coffee and alcohol are two of the things I miss the most.”

He leans over and replaces his fingers with his lips, leaving a damp trail along the curve of her neck.

“My apologies, Swan, but there are other Irish things you can have any time you wish.”

She hums in faux contemplation.

Emma would be a shameless liar if she said she didn’t freak out a bit around the fifth month of her pregnancy when she realized exactly how limited their sex life was about to get and exactly how unsexy some parts of her were already getting. If Killian’s indignation and reassurances took her 70-75% of the way to being secure in her sex appeal again, his sex drive (and her own for that matter) over the last couple of months have definitely boosted her up to around 90%.

So she untucks her feet (still in their Christmas-y socks – what is he even on about – they have holiday spirit to spare) from under Killian and carefully swings one leg over him, adjusting herself so she doesn’t completely crush him but she can press her full breasts (that side effect she isn’t complaining about) against his chest.

“Tell me the thing first and then I’ll take a closer look at those things.”

“So demanding.”

“Killian.”

“Alright, alright. Hmm, just the short version or…”

His fingers come up to play with the zipper of her hoodie and she can feel his left forearm tapping a nervous rhythm against his own thigh so she reaches out and grabs both, bring their hands between them. Killian tugs her knuckles to his lips and she mirrors the action with his left arm. His breath hitches a little. Emma has his stump all mapped out and she can navigate with almost perfect accuracy the parts that have no feeling in them and the little spots that are almost hypersensitive.

“Long version. You know I always want the long version.”

He snaps his slackened jaw shut and his eyebrow shoots up and yeah, alright, she walked right into that one.

The thing is, she is still caught by surprise sometimes. Turns out Killian Jones likes few things better than a good innuendo. Emma thinks it started only after they moved out of Storybrooke though she can’t remember the precise moment. What she does remember is sliding to the floor from too much laughter, Killian leaning on the kitchen counter and looking down at her with sparkling eyes and her asking where on earth he came up with that stuff. She remembers the way the skin under his scruff reddened slightly, the way he cleared his throat and focused on his drumming fingers – caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement – as he joked that it’s an old skill she has made him rediscover. She remembers that last part – coupled with his looking at her from under his lashes and biting his lip – working for him better than most of the ridiculous innuendoes.

By now she is perfectly capable of recognizing the signs – the way his brows twitch, the mischievous little sparkle brightening his blue eyes, the way his tongue pokes out and swipes over his chapped lips. Basically the way he looks right about now.

“Focus, my love,” she chastises. “Storytime first, playtime after.”

“How do you know there’s a story to it?”

“You’re nervous about it.”

He huffs and the eyebrows settle, his eyes flickering all over the room for a moment.

“It’s not… it’s not nervous per se.”

She lifts a skeptical eyebrow.

“I just want you to tell me honestly, if it sounds silly. I don’t want you to automatically agree because there is a sentimental aspect to it.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Killian?”

“Mm?”

“Remember the first snow last year?”

“Errr… I suppose?”

“Remember telling me about how you and Liam used to bury each other under the snow – the way normal people bury each other under sand on the beach – to see which one of you will last longer?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Do you?”

“Yes, Swan, I remember. You made that same “normal people” point back then.”

“And did I agree to do that with you?”

“You most certainly did not.”

“Proceed.”

He gives her a look and she just grins smugly, fully aware that he is more than satisfied with the point she has made, even if he is all huffy about the way she made it.

“Alright. Well… I’m a little fuzzy on the details. It might have been Liam she did it with and I just helped. Or it might have even been both of us. But… I’m pretty confident it was me and my mum. I think we only did it for a couple of years before she took ill and all.”

She squeezes his hand and nods. It seems they simply can’t do Christmas time without some backstorytelling. Wine or no wine.

“The house wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination but there were still plenty of brilliant hiding places. And I remember searching for hours sometimes. I think she gave me hints sometimes. Like a game of hot and cold?”

“What were you looking for?”

“Christmas gifts.”

“Oh.”

“Aye. I… I think she hid a bunch of them – little things really, just… a lolly, a pair of socks – things like that. Yes, it might’ve been both Liam and I looking… There was always something hidden around the house, every day of the week leading up to Christmas. Or maybe just for a few days— I don’t—“

He shakes his head and frowns at his inability to recall the obviously happy memory completely. Emma feels her heart clench a little – she knows the feeling. Some of her happy memories are nothing more than vague feelings of warmth, yet she can still recite word for word the cruel words thrown at her 7-year-old self. It’s not fair.

“No matter, it’s just that… I was putting a book away the other day and I thought “this would make a good hiding place for a present”. Yet it was obviously too small to hide Christmas gifts. And then I remembered that game. The search, the excitement.”

“It sounds like a super sweet thing to do.”

“Aye. And I was thinking we could do it for…” his hand lets go of hers to settle over her belly.

Emma looks down and then her eyes shoot back up. Her eagerness must be plain to see because Killian grins happily back at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Totally! We can start with really easy places when she is little and then make it harder and harder until she is too old to bother with us.”

Killian laughs her favourite laugh – deep and joyful and absolutely unrestrained.

“That’s the idea, yes.”

“It’s brilliant.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so, love. Because I was also thinking we could test it out on you.”

“On me?”

Killian nods simply.

“There are only about five days till Christmas but if you’re amenable, I might be prepared with your first couple of gifts.”

“Really?”

“Mm, I thought what’s the harm – if you didn’t want to play, I’ll just give them to you on Christmas. And they’re nothing special, just—”

“But I’m not prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“With tiny presents for you.”

Killian laughs again and smiles at her.

“Darling, I’m a bit too old to play hot and cold. Or to receive multiple gifts on Christmas.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.”

“Swear jar.”

“Ugh, whatever. She can’t even hear me yet.”

“Oh but she can hear when I tell her bedtime stories?”

“Yeah ‘cause your voice is deeper and it’s… like… different wavelengths.”

Killian lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and just nods in the general direction of their brand new swear jar.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I’m scavengerhunting for gifts then so are you and that’s that.”

“And if we pick the same places? We only have so many rooms.”

“So we just laugh at how cute we are and pick different places.”

Killian sighs in a way that always signals that he knows he has lost the argument but is not ready to admit it just yet.

“You’ll have to worry about finding me things and—“

“No, I won’t, I love buying you presents.”

Another sigh.

“Swan.”

“What?”

“I wanted to do this for you.”

“Yeah, I can see that, my love. And it’s so stinking cute I’m pretty sure I haven’t processed it yet.”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to her lower back, pressing gently to bring her closer for a kiss. She keeps just out of reach.

“I just feel like it’s gonna be even more fun, if we both get to play the kid.”

“Alright then. But I warn you I have already found a couple of marvelous hiding places. If you turn this into some sort of competition, all you’re going to do is embarrass yourself.”

She gasps in indignation and pulls away to glare into his laughing eyes.

“Oh, yeah? See if the first thing I hide aren’t your glasses. Then we’ll see who’ll be embarrassed, old man.”

“Experienced, Swan. Us old people prefer the term “experienced”.”

“Do you now? And do you have anything to back up that “term” with?” she punctuates her questions with the slow grind of her hips against his and smirks triumphantly at Killian’s gulp.

“Indeed.”

His grip on her tightens, wrapping her legs more securely around his waist and he whispers a raspy “hold on” in her ear before he stands up with a groan.

“Killian!”

Her hands clamp around him and her thighs squeeze him in a vice grip even though she knows he just needs to release them and she’ll safely reach the ground.

“Now. About those Irish delicacies we were discussing,” he huffs into her shoulder and turns in the direction of their bedroom.

“Put me down. You’ll fuck up your back again.”

“Swear jar.”

“Killiaaan.”

“Swan, you’re toying with my fragile male ego.”

“You don’t have a fragile male ego. You are 5.9 and have a fully grown beard and a very nice cock.”

His laughter shakes them both.

“No abs though. Also – swear jar.”

“Cock is not a swear word. Abs are overrated.”

Her arms tighten automatically around his neck as Killian starts slowly lowering her down onto their bed.

“So says you.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls him to stand between her thighs, her hands eagerly slipping under the hem of his t-shirt.

“And here I thought you cared about what I say.”

Killian tosses his glasses on his nightstand and drops to his knees so she can easily tug his t-shirt over his head.

“Always,” he murmurs in the space between her breasts. “Especially when you tell me how you want to have me?”

“Mmm, such a good question. Is it a multiple choice? ‘Cause I happen to have multiple answers.”

///

“Warmer… warmer… and now we’re getting cold again.”

“Ugh, I’ve checked every corner of this room! Where the fuck did you hide— I swear to God, Killian, if you say the words “swear” and “jar”, I will throw something at you.”

“You have to put a dollar in the glass container for expletives and obscenities.”

“Jesus, you’re infuriating.”

“Mildly annoying at worst.”

“No, you’re infuriating. Being a smartass only makes you more infuriating.”

“Ah, ah, you’re heating up again, Swan.”

“I’ll heat up your ass!”

“Is that a promise?”

“God.”

///

“Emma, love…”

“Shut up.”

“I do not wish to judge but—“

“Seriously, shut up.”

“The bathroom cabinet? I must say, I’m insulted more than anything else.”

“It was behind my pads!”

“Alright?”

“It said it was the best place to hide something from your boyfriend!”

“What did?”

“The internet!”

“Love… did you… google hiding places?”

“Remember when I told you to shut up?”

“Bloody hell, you’re adorable.”

“Jones—“

“Oh, love, come here.”

“Go away.”

“I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ve never played hide and seek, ok? Or this… hot and cold thing.”

“Well, that’s why we’re playing now. So you can have some practice, or our little lass will run circles around you.”

“She will anyway.”

“Probably… Did you really google “where to hide things from my boyfriend”?”

“… maybe.”

“Bloody hell, that sounds wrong.”

“Yeah… I don’t think any of those articles and forum entries were made for the purpose of hiding presents from your significant other.”

“They also give rubbish advice.”

“I’ll have you know, the pads and tampons thing was everywhere.”

“Darling, I buy you those most of the time.”

“Yeah, but… yeah, ok. Shit advice. For shitty boyfriends… and shitty girlfriends when you think about it.”

“Just go with your gut from here on, yeah? I’m confident it will yield much better results. No need to cheat, Swan.”

“Ah! I did not cheat!”

“Of course not. I jest. This was most certainly not a very unsuccessful attempt at cheating. ”

“Shut up.”

///

Emma finishes her chapter and leafs through the pages of the next. 15. Then she drops the book on her lap and looks up into the amused eyes of her boyfriend.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing her ass. Now the corners of his mouth are twitching as well.

“You don’t have nothing face.”

“No? What kind of face do I have?”

“A very nice one.”

He huffs a little laugh but his ears immediately turn a shade pinker.

“Ah, excuse the inaccuracy. What kind of an expression do I have?”

She looks around. No one in the café is looking at them and Emma is not even sure why she feels self-conscious saying it but—

“The one you get when you think I’m doing something cute.”

Now Killian flushes with pleasure, the lines around his eyes crinkling along with his smile.

“You are doing something cure. Endearing, if I may use a more appropriate term.”

“You may also tell me what it is.”

She lifts her knee a bit so the book doesn’t slide off her lap and reaches for her cocoa. Killian purses his lips and narrows his eyes, seemingly in deep thought. Emma rolls her eyes over the rim of her mug and gives him a look.

“Oh, come on.”

He sighs but smiles nonetheless and sets his newspaper on the table between them. It’s a nice table. It’s a nice place.

Emma’s life was not one of those lives. Nice cafés, quality hot cocoa, a man who finds her “endearing”. And now—

She wasn’t a “regular” before Storybrooke. That’s to say she never really cared to have her name and order memorized by a barista whose name she was also aware of. She didn’t visit the same burger joints all the time, she didn’t order from the same pizza places and she most certainly didn’t go to the same coffee shops and sit around, making herself at home.

Storybrooke of course didn’t give her much of a choice. You either ate at Granny’s or you cooked for yourself. But once they moved to Boston she naturally fell back on her nomadic ways.

Killian was a whole different story. If he’d ever been a regular at Granny’s, that was over and done with long before she arrived. So Emma really didn’t expect him to develop a partiality for some random diner or coffee shop when they moved.

Then again, The Caffeinated Bookworm is hardly any random café. It is, Emma has not too begrudgingly come to admit, one of the most charming places she has ever been in, made even more so by its multitude of bookshelves you can borrow from, its extremely friendly and enthusiastic owner named after the most bookish princess of them all and its small but extremely well-mastered collection of beverages.

Emma cringes at the thought of ever setting foot in a Starbucks or a Costa again. Though she definitely misses the muffins but Belle keeps saying she can’t bother with all the permits she’ll need.

It didn’t take nearly as much convincing to get Emma to come to The Bookworm again and again and again as she thought it would. Mostly because it’s now Killian’s favourite place to spend a Saturday, if they are not at home, and maybe because she wanted to see this Belle with all the good book recommendations and the fantastic coffee.

She loves Belle now, don’t get her wrong. She just—

“You do this thing.”

Emma blinks a couple of times and focuses on Killian who is looking at her with his head tilted to the side and oh – his eyes are really soft now.

“What thing?”

“I can always tell when you’ve finished your chapter because you always leaf through to see how long the next one is.”

He says it likes it’s this miraculous thing she does and not just a silly quirk.

“Well, I like to be prepared.”

Killian laughs and reaches across the table to take her hand, bringing it to his lips.

She will do the silliest things 24/7, if they make him smile like that.

“This is a public place, you know?”

They both look up to see Elsa standing beside their table, a perfectly formed eyebrow cocked up in barely suppressed amusement.

“Yes, and we are so indecent.”

Emma rolls her eyes as Killian hides his smile into another kiss to her knuckles before he gets up.

“The way you’re looking at each other is. Don’t think I don’t know how this happens.”

Elsa waves at her baby bump and Emma tries to laugh off her blush.

“I should hope so. Otherwise sex ed in Norway must be truly appalling,” she looks at Killian shrugging into his coat and gathering his phone and newspaper and frowns. “You’re not staying?”

“Ah, afraid not. There is a… project that needs some finishing touches. I thought I’ll make use of the time while Elsa keeps you company.”

She narrows her eyes slightly, knowing he is not working on any boats in the dead of winter, but decides to let it go. He gives her a grateful smile and a kiss that might go on a couple of seconds longer than Elsa will deem “decent”.

“I can’t believe you still buy an honest-to-god newspaper,” Elsa grins at Killian teasingly and kisses him on the cheek.

“They still sell them.”

Emma thinks forty years ago he might have stuck his tongue out at the other blonde but Killian just grins at Elsa’s eyeroll and winks at her before he leaves.

Elsa goes to get herself a cup of coffee and when she comes back Emma can see the suspicion in her eyes. To be fair, Emma’s grin is a bit evil.

“You know you’re one of my closest friends,” she starts. “But for future reference, you really shouldn’t kiss the man of a pregnant woman right in front of her.”

Elsa laughs one of her rare laugh – loud and unexpected, shaking her shoulders slightly, her braid reaching her seat as she tips her head back.

“Alright, tell me about that lab girl.”

Emma’s expression sours.

“Ugh, don’t get me started.”

“It was obviously what you were angling at, seeing as I’m pretty sure you’re not jealous of your very devoted husband and your very asexual best friend.”

“Not my husband yet.”

It’s been more than a month since they talked about it and she still has two wedding rings stashed in her jewelry box but no ring on her finger.

Not that a month is a lot. Or that she needs a ring. She doesn’t. She doesn’t need anything but to be 100% that Killian wants it as much as she does, that it’s one of those things that she can give him – that they can give each other.

Elsa just hums and takes a sip of her drink, her back perfectly straight again and her elegant, pale fingers wrapped securely around the little cup. She is waiting. Emma sighs.

Emma’s life was not one of those lives either. Best friends she could talk to about boys. Boys she’d want to talk about. And now it is.

“So we were getting my regular blood tests done, right? And Killian’s there, of course. And there’s this lab assistant or whatever, I don’t know, she wasn’t even the one taking my blood so I have no idea why she was hovering around. I mean – I do. She kept going on about how wonderful he is, how nice it is when the father is so involved, how few men are, blah, blah.”

Elsa’s light cough might have been a laugh. Emma just glares.

“I know, ok? I just… ugh, she was so… ugh.”

“What did Killian say?”

Emma rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair.

“He didn’t see it until I said something. Then he found it hilarious, said she could be his daughter.”

Elsa lifts an eyebrow.

“Look, you do not flirt with a pregnant woman’s man. Do you know what is going on inside our heads? And inside like… everything?”

“Yeah, Anna was the same.”

“Your sister?”

“The one and only. She got pregnant just a few months after they got married. Kristoff was working on this reindeer farm back then. She went absolutely mental over how much time he was spending with the owner.”

“Well, can you blame her? Work environments can be very—“

“Emma, she was a lovely woman in her late 50’s with a husband and three children.”

“Oh. Well…”

Elsa laughs her delicate, barely audible laugh this time but her eyes are warm and sparkling.

“It’s just… the two of you have two of the most honest and faithful men I’ve ever met and—“

“I know, I know,” Emma waves her hands around before she drops them on her belly, laughing a little as well. “It’s… It’s not a real thing we’re really worried about just…”

“Flirty nurses are a bit much.”

“Way too much… She definitely wasn’t a proper nurse.”

///

“Names.”

“Hmmm?”

“Names, my love. How have we still not talked about names?”

“Because we’ve been too preoccupied with making sure everything was alright with the babe and procuring any amenity she could possibly need?”

“Mm, when you put it like that… it doesn’t make us the horrible parents I was afraid we might already be.”

“Never. It is simply impossible that you will be anything but wonderful. So much so that you will hardly allow any of my shortcomings to turn truly horrible.”

“I’m not even going to argue with this. I’ll just wait and let her come out and be all smug when you’re amazing at everything.”

“Let me get this straight – you will be smug over me being amazing at everything.”

“Of course. I totally get to be smug about picking you to procreate with.”

Killian chokes.

She giggles, kisses the space behind his ear and moves back to her chopping board.

“I love you.”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“Stop. I cannot bare for my love for you to grow anymore because you use the word “procreate” in casual conversation.”

“It’s a word. Also, this is not just any conversation, we were discussing baby names.”

“I don’t think we ever got that far.”

“And we should. Names, Killian. Girl names.”

“Have you ever thought about it?”

“Procreating with you? Repeatedly.”

“Swan.”

He sounds like she’s physically torturing him. It might have something to do with the fact that his only available hand is currently engaged in stirring some sauce that apparently needs to be stirred constantly. If the way his jaw is ticking is any indication, he wants it to be engaged in other ways. She laughs and goes back to chopping walnuts into really tiny walnuts.

It’s her assigned task. She doesn’t know why. Killian is not very good at explaining recipes.

“Sorry, sorry. Baby names? Not seriously. I mean… yeah, okay, I… I had some moments with Neal. Not when I thought I might be— Before that. Before it all went to shit.”

God, Neal was an asshole. She can’t believe she considered having babies with him. It’s probably not fair comparing— No, you know what, screw that, it’s totally fair. Neal was nearing 30 when they met.

Man, someone would think she has a thing for older men which she honestly wouldn’t mind, she doesn’t see anything wrong with it when both parties are adults. Except she doesn’t like how it seems to cheapen what she has with Killian. She didn’t like Neal for his presumed maturity or experience. She loved him with her own inexperience and innocence and insecurity. Mostly she loved him with her need to be loved.

And she would be lying, if she said she doesn’t like Killian’s moments of staggering sensibility and measured maturity, his old-fashioned manners and considerable experience. But that’s like, just somewhere down the very long list. She loves Killian with everything she is, with her certainty and her confidence and even her crankiness. Mostly she loves him with her need to love and her faith in being loved.

“Emma?”

Killian is in front of her, his hand cupping her face. His thumb runs slowly across the rounded edge of her jaw. His fingers are rough but his touches are always so soft.

“Everything alright, darling?”

“What happened to your needy sauce?”

Even his chuckle is soft.

“It will survive. My attentions are yours and yours alone until a certain little lass comes around.”

“Hmm.”

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. Just thinking how much my taste in men has improved.”

“I selfishly hope it will not continue to improve.”

“Nope. I have officially peaked.”

He hums, kisses her cheek and takes a few steps back to check on his demanding sauce.

“Good. So would it be rather strange, if you told me the baby names you considered back then?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so? I didn’t like, actually consider them for a baby I actually wanted to have. It just… made me think about it for the first time. But if you mind—“

“I don’t mind. What did you like?”

“I liked Angela for a girl. Or Alexandra. I dunno what’s with the A’s.”

She chuckles and it sounds nervous even to her own ears.

“I like Alexandra,” he says lightly, softly. “I like that you can shorten it to Alex.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No?”

“No. I mean… I still like the names but… there’s nothing special about them. They’re just names I like the sound of.”

Killian hums in understanding. As if her ramblings make perfect sense. She supposes they do to him at this point, he is very good at listening to her ramble and has been doing so for over two years now.

He is also really good at letting her get to her point or letting her talk herself to whatever decision she needs to make. She has developed the questionable habit of calling him, saying what she needs to figure out and then just talking until she has come to a conclusion or a decision, Killian mostly just humming and guiding her along with the right questions. Maybe she feels like she can figure anything out when he is there to watch her do it. That makes it sound less silly.

“So would you like to look up names with certain meanings?”

“Maybe. Although I don’t really feel like naming our daughter Lucasta.”

“Are we big enough fans of Lovelace for that?”

He says it so seriously, brows furrowing in contemplation. She can’t help but laugh. She swears she has laughed more since she met Killian Jones than in all the years that came before. It makes perfect sense to her.

“I don’t know, my love, you’re the resident bookworm. But I don’t really like Lucasta. I just looked up names meaning “light”.”

“Light. That’s quite lovely, Swan.”

She shrugs as she feels her cheeks heat up a little. She just googled it, it’s not like she knows stuff like that. Killian probably knows stuff like that but—

“But I thought maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“Well, this is really all up to you, since I can’t be of any help whatsoever in that department—“

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I really can’t, I’m not being modest or some bullshit like that.”

Killian has finally taken his damn sauce off the stove. He comes up behind her and his teeth sink lightly into her shoulder, so tender she almost doesn’t realize the bite is meant to be an admonishment.

“What happened to that swear jar?”

“I said “bloody” should count as a swear.”

“Ah, right.”

She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out at him.

“Are you offering that to me, love?”

She sticks it out further and keeps it that way until he leans in and draws it into his own mouth. She licks lightly at the roof of his mouth, tickling him on purpose until he bites at her lip. She still doesn’t feel admonished though her neck is staring to ache a bit.

Killian pulls back first, leaving a series of kisses on her forehead – so innocent she would laugh, if she wasn’t worried that will make him stop.

“So what is this thing only I can do?”

“Oh.”

She draws her own lip under her teeth even as his mouth continues to press lightly now to the top of her head.

It’s— She didn’t realize how much she wanted it until it’s time to ask him. Shit, she really hopes he says yes. And she really hopes she can temper down her disappointment, if he says no.

“Do you have any… family names you might like us to use?”

Killian stops kissing her. That’s never a good thing in Emma’s books no matter the situation. He pulls back and turns her around carefully so he can see her face fully and she can see the perplexed way he is blinking at her. He might be floored, he might be upset. She really hopes for the former.

Her hand slides up his neck, her pointer finger fitting perfectly behind his right ear and stroking the lobe gently.

“Like… a grandmother… or your mom’s maybe?”

“You—“ Killian clears his throat, it sounds very businesslike to her but then his voice comes out a little breathless the way she has only heard it a few times. “You want to name her after my mother?”

“Only if you do.”

“Have I ever told you her name?”

Emma shakes her head. He has told her a lot of stories about Liam but very few with his mother or father present. Their little Christmas game is one of the few. She supposes those are a bit more painful. She doesn’t think he has ever mentioned their names.

Part of her wonders if he doesn’t want to tell her too many family stories that she can’t meet with any of her own. She should tell him she wants to hear more.

“Umm,” his tongue flits restlessly over his lips, a sure sign that he is a little nervous and she settles her other hand over his heart. “My grandmother’s name – my mother’s mother was Catriona. I think my father’s was Nora but I never met her and I can only remember him mentioning her a handful of times.”

She nods encouragingly and tries not to look too eager.

“My… my mother’s name was Alice.”

Alice.

He swallows and looks at her from under his lashes.

“Do you like it?”

His voice is so soft – a little uncertain, more than a little hopeful.

God, Emma wishes she could say that she wouldn’t have saddled her kid with some difficult, old-fashioned name but she is looking into the blue, blue eyes of the love of her life and she is just damn grateful her daughter lucked out with such a beautiful name.

“I love it.”

If she comes off a bit breathless and emotional – well, this is a pretty damn big moment. They just picked their kid’s name. She hopes.

“Truly?”

She really hopes the way Killian’s eyes are shining is a good sign. She nods.

“Can we? Please?”

“Bloody hell.”

His lips crash onto hers almost violently, almost like he couldn’t quite wait to determine the strength with which to drop his mouth on hers. She doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind one bit. His beard really needs trimming though.

“Of course. Emma— Gods, of course, I— You truly wish to?”

“I may or may not be incapable of imagining giving her another name now.”

Killian groans in what is definitely approval and delight and a whole lot of other emotions. And then he kisses her again.

///

“Swan.”

She beams at him, her hands clasped behind her back and an unapologetically self-satisfied smile on her lips.

“This is not a little present, love.”

“Actually it’s pretty tiny. It fits in your palm.”

“You know it is not the size that matters.”

“Huh. I never thought you would need to use that phrase.”

“Swan.”

He doesn’t give so she sighs and sways closer, her eyes earnest and bright.

“You eye it every time we go to The Bookworm.”

“I eye yachts at the marina as well.”

“Yeah, well, those weren’t going to fit in my shoe box. I had to compromise.”

Honestly, if she could, she would’ve gotten him every yacht in the damn marina. If she could, she would get Killian Jones every single thing he could ever wish for. Unfortunately, she has to be content with what’s within her power to give him.

Killian sighs and gently sets the small book on the table before his hand and stump settle on her hips.

“Thank you,” he leans down, his nose brushing hers sweetly, reverently, before his lips press against hers – the skin of them rough and warm.

“Is it my turn?”

If her eyes shine with excitement and slight impatience now – sue her. No one has done anything like this for her.

She used to date a guy. A few years after Neal. She was wary at first, the way she was with every guy after Neal. But he kept calling her and he kept buying her flowers and then he started buying her lingerie and then jewelry.

Emma likes to think she is not a material person. There have been times in her life when she went hungry, there have been times when all she had were the clothes on her back. Emma is the kind of girl you can impress with a single flower and a cup of coffee, some seashells and a pair of gloves. But maybe that was exactly why the expensive presents seemed all the more fairytale-like, why they seemed to imply such strong feelings. If people who got you pizza and tickets to your favourite movie, cared for you, what could a man who bought you dozens of roses and gold bracelets feel?

Apparently, anxiety that you would find out he was married. Or maybe guilt over two-timing you and his wife. She didn’t stay long enough to find out.

Emma never cared for lavish gifts. And after that she became downright suspicious of them.

She was most certainly not suspicious of the gorgeous pair of earrings Killian got her for her last birthday and yet. She likes this better. All the small presents that he found for her that make so much sense – from the exclusive hot chocolate flavours and orange and cinnamon candle to the duckling socks and the Princess Bride bookmark – all the thought that obviously went not only into the presents but into their hiding places as well, seeing as she has yet to find one in under 19 minutes and 30 seconds.

“Aye, your turn.”

Killian takes a deep breath and she smiles at him in amusement. He is acting as if he is about to be scouring their apartment for half an hour. That’s her average time.

“Alright then.”

She looks around eagerly and heads for the small hallway.

“Warmer.”

Good. Three options then – bathroom, bedroom or their soon-not-to-be-spare bedroom. They’ve both used the bathroom already so she puts her hand on their bedroom door.

“Colder.”

Killian’s breath stirs the hair on the back of her neck and she feels the goosebumps erupt under her sweater.

Alice’s room it is then. She opens the door and feels Killian right behind her.

“Warmer,” they say in unison.

“Confident are we?” he teases but his voice sounds the tiniest bit uncertain and Emma grins – she can already taste her victory.

Killian’s record for gift-finding is a whooping 6 minutes and 46 seconds. She is sure he has put on the timer and she can’t be more than a couple of minutes in. She looks around the room and heads for the large window. She learnt not to rule out any place after she found one of her presents literally hanging among the drapes in the living room.

Pulling the ephemeral white curtain however reveals no secrets and Emma rolls her eyes at herself. Of course he wouldn’t use the same trick twice. She looks around again. There is the changing table folded in the corner, the crib whose assembling alone would’ve bankrupted them if they’d stuck to the rules of the swear jar.

She is just about to check it from all sides when the mobile above it catches her eye. Or rather the way it is slightly leaning to one side. Emma circles the crib and grins. There, in one of the small boats, is an even smaller box.

She can’t hold in her little whoop of triumph as she reaches out and relieves the boat of its cargo.

“I hope you set the timer because this was definitely less—“

Emma turns around, holding the box proudly.

“Oh.”

He probably didn’t set the timer. What with the kneeling and everything.

“Emma Swan—“

Killian’s voice comes out very hoarse and as he clears his throat, she feels her fingers clutch the velvet box so hard that it dents a little under them.

“I-I know this is far from a grandiose proposal. And, believe me, I have debated every way, place and time that I could do this so it will be… so it might at least come close to what you deserve.”

She bites her lip and tells herself to be quiet. Knowing Killian, he has most certainly thought way too much about what he will say and the last thing she wants to do is cut him short.

“But… nothing about us has ever been grandiose except… except how we feel… how much we… bloody hell.”

He swallows again and Emma lifts her free hand and actually bites on the side of her thumb in an attempt to stop herself from smiling like an idiot. If Killian’s relieved little laugh is anything to go by, she is probably not doing very well. He smiles right back at her and this time his voice comes out stronger and clearer.

“Emma, my darling, my love, I never could have imagined you. Even in my wildest dreams and hopes, I never could’ve conjured up anyone as brilliant, as passionate and beautiful and kind. And I would’ve never dared to.”

No, Emma would’ve never dared to imagine that she can have someone like him either. Someone who will look at her like that. Someone she can keep forever. Hers was not one of those lives.

“Having you in my life at all, having your friendship… changed everything for me. It brought me back to… It quite literally gave me new life. But you and only you would dare to take it so far, to take us both so far, that we end up here.”

He looks pointedly around the room and she can’t help the laugh that comes out or how watery it sounds.

“You have filled my poor old heart with more happiness than I thought it could handle and it is nothing but yours. It will never wish to be anything but yours. And I’m hoping – I would be so bold as to say I believe – yours would be willing to be mine just as long.”

She feels herself nod and she sees Killian smile up at her, though he is a bit blurry.

“Right. Well then… Emma Swan, would you fulfill our hearts’ desires? Would you, once again, take me further than I have ever thought it possible to go? Would you marry me?”

There’s no amount of wishing or fantasizing or watching movies or other people’s happiness unfolding that can ever prepare you for the moment when your whole world is one person and the whole world is yours.

Maybe hers is one of those lives. It’s so much better than she could have ever imagined.

Emma bends her knees slowly, Killian meeting her half way to help her kneel down easily. The permanent crease between his brows deepens – simply from concentration as he helps her but her thumb reaches for it on instinct, smooths it out, preparing the ground. In the next moment her forehead meets his and she exhales – loud and long, something between a laugh and a sob.

There’s a “yes” somewhere in there as well. She repeats it about a dozen more times just to be sure.

She has no clue who initiates the unceasing rain of kisses but somehow she manages to pull away. She has good reason. She really wants that ring on her finger. So she opens the box and she takes it out and she places it in his palm.

Killian grins at her and his lips are more kiss-swollen than she has seen them in a while, they are too dry and chapped from the winter winds at the docks and there is a little blood in the corner where the skin of his upper lip has split open under the pressure of her kisses. She leans over to kiss it away as softly as she can. Like the weirdo she is all she can think about is how symbolic it feels somehow.

“God, I love you so much.”

His eyes sparkle and his grin grows and he captures her mouth again and again – uncaring toward the tender skin unlike her.

“And I you.”

He pulls back and nudges the hand pressed to his chest with his stump as his own hand brings the ring between them again.

“Shall we see if this fits?”

It needs a bit of a push and Killian seems to hesitate for a second.

“A bit tight.”

“No, it will be perfect once I’m back to regular size.”

He huffs a little but laughs along with her and with a bit of encouragement pushes the ring all the way onto her finger. She looks down at it and can’t help the little flutter of pride, of possessive preening. And then—

“I can’t believe you gave me shit for an old book when you got me a diamond ring!”

Killian’s eyes go wide for a second – probably just as stunned as she is that that is what came into her mind right now – and then he bursts out laughing. He doesn’t stop until she cradles the back of his head and pulls his lips back to hers.

They stay there until their knees start to hurt. It’s only as Killian helps her up and she looks around that she becomes aware of the tear tracks on her face.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming at all.”

She can hear the awe in her own voice and Killian wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in so he can kiss her forehead.

“It was alright, aye?”

She looks up at him in shock. There might be a bit of indignation there as well.

“Uh, no. No, it wasn’t “alright” – it was perfect.”

He grins proudly at her.

///

Emma doesn’t know if it’s the little kid inside her or if it’s the kid inside her that wakes her up bright and early on Christmas day. She can feel the early morning light on the back of her eyelids. She can use some more sleep. Maybe.

She runs her hand over her face and feels the press of cool metal. Her lips pull up. Or maybe she could get up and make her fiancé breakfast. The combination of his schedule and her own reluctance to leave their warm bed earlier than absolutely necessary rarely allow her such an opportunity.

But then she turns her head to the right and sees that once again Killian has made it out of bed before her.

“Damn.”

She will probably have to settle for being the recipient of breakfast in bed. Again. Hers is not an easy life. Emma stretches and grabs her phone, scrolling for a few minutes before she realizes how quiet it is in the apartment. Curiosity manages to overpower her innocent laziness and she drags herself out of bed.

Killian is nowhere to be found though. Bathroom, kitchen and baby room are all empty and quiet.

“Huh.”

Emma feels her daughter moving inside her and places her hands on her stomach, smiling down at her.

“What do you say, baby girl? Shall we make breakfast for when daddy comes back?”

She connects her phone to the little Bluetooth speaker on their kitchen counter and puts on her favourite playlist as she goes about making Killian’s favourite breakfast.

///

“Swan?”

“In the kitchen, my love.”

“The one time you were supposed to oversleep.”

Emma hears him mutter more to himself than her and quirks an eyebrow.

“Could you perhaps go into the bedroom for a spell?”

“I will but I’ll have you know I made French toast and eggs just the way you like them and you are being difficult.”

“You are an angel and I should like nothing better than to enjoy your efforts. In exactly five minutes.”

Emma rolls her eyes and leaves the prettily arranged – if she does say so herself – plates on the counter and heads toward their bedroom.

“I’d appreciate it, if you come and get me when I’m no longer under bedroom arrest.”

“Your wit is one of the things I love most about you, Swan.”

She snorts and grumbles but she doesn’t even think about peaking over her shoulder. Killian isn’t one for over the top surprises and he has yet to pull one that she has not loved so Emma plops down on their bed with a little smile and a healthy dose of excitement fluttering inside.

Less than five minutes later there is a gentle knock on their door and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at it.

Killian pokes his head inside and beams happily at her.

“Good morning, my wife-to-be.”

She closes her eyes and leans her head back, humming in undisguised pleasure.

“Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

She gasps in surprise when she feels his lips on her throat.

“Sneaky,” she breathes out and feels his laugh against her skin.

“Just a spot of payback for all those times you’ve snuck up on me.”

“I haven’t been sneaking up on you nearly as much recently.”

“Well, you are a wee bit bigger now.”

Her eyes pop open. Her gasp is laughably dramatic, the slap to his shoulder is very much for real.

Killian grunts and chuckles, catching her hand so he can bring it to his lips.

“My apologies. Perhaps you will accept your Christmas gift as penance?”

“My Christmas gift?”

“Aye,” his eyes sparkle with excitement but all she can do is gape at him.

“What do you call this?”

She waves her hand in his face almost aggressively.

“I call it an engagement ring, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “And a pretty solid gift.”

Killian shakes his head resolutely.

“No, no, no. That is a completely separate affair. I am rather offended you thought I was going to use our engagement to kill two occasions with one gift.”

“One? You’ve been buying me gifts all week.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Are you trying to say that you do not wish to see your gift?”

“No. I’m just saying… you’re showing me up.”

“Nonsense. You have given me the best present by accepting to wear this,” his thumb strokes slowly over the ring on her finger. “And you made French toast.”

She rolls her eyes and uses his shoulders to push herself up.

“Come on, smartass. I want my present.”

“There’s my girl.”

///

Emma is kneeling on her daughter’s bedroom floor for the second time in the last 12 hours. Her palms run over the smooth wood – rich and dark with a gorgeous red tint to it. Maybe it’s cherry. It swoops beautifully, the chair legs turning into arm rests or maybe the other way around – it all flows so smoothly. Forming the shapes of two swans – supporting, guarding the soft seat between them.

“Oh my god.”

She rocks it gently with her hand, not daring to sit down just yet.

That corner has stood empty the whole time they were arranging the room. Right beside the window. They always knew they wanted a rocking chair there, they just could not seem to find the one. And now it was here.

“Where on earth did you find it?”

She hears Killian move behind her. He kneels and spreads his legs, caging her between them. His arms come around her and his chin settles on her shoulder.

“I didn’t it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t?”

“I didn’t find it, Swan.”

His hand runs over the dip of her waist the way hers runs over the chair’s leg.

“Did you… make this?”

She twists around, her nose bumping his cheek. She feels the moisture and she’s not sure if it’s the emotions choking her or simply how wide her eyes are right now. His own blue eyes are warm in the morning light and his smile is both shy and a little sleepy and full of delight.

“I was given advice and directions from someone far more experienced. Did you know August’s father is a carpenter? Marco?”

“You talked to August?!”

He chuckles and looks down.

“Come now, love, I’m a grown man. I can be civil.”

“Sounds like you were more than civil.”

“Not to alarm you but I believe I got along with the old man better than with his son.”

She laughs lightly and shakes her head. When she looks up he is staring at her with a hint of trepidation.

“There are some imperfections, you’ll see. Marco was rather kind, said they give it character but—“

“Killian, it’s… God, I sound like a broken record but it is perfect. I can’t believe you made me a rocking chair.”

“Now, Swan, let’s not be greedy. I made us a rocking chair.”

She shakes her head again and turns further in his loose embrace.

“Thank you.”

She kisses him – quick and sweet and so happy. She never knew she could be this happy.

“Shall we test it out then?”

Killian gets up and gives her a hand then he turns and drops into the chair, letting it rock him for a moment until the motion slows down. Then he gives her hand a tug and pulls her into his lap, her legs thrown over one swan armrest and the rocking motion starts anew.

“Hmm, it’s like we’re at sea.”

“Do you think she likes it?” he asks softly, his hand settling over her baby bump.

“Mhm. We’ll make a sailor out of her.”

“I have just the boat in mind.”

She snuggles further into the softness and warmth of him.

“My French toast is getting cold, Swan.”

“Just a minute.”

He hums in slight protest but his arms only tighten around her.

///

The morning slips into an unseasonably sunny day and after bundling up (or rather bundling each other up – Killian insisting she wear gloves and Emma wrapping him up in the scarf and hat she gave him their first Christmas together) they venture outside despite the chill in the air.

Emma has never been afraid of awkward silences. Aging out of the system comes with a whole lot of waiting around in hallways and offices, in bare bedrooms that she was moving into or moving out of, on lumpy sofas or in the back of cars. New families meant awkward silences, new schools meant small talk that inevitably lapsed into awkward silences, social workers meant questions that made you long for awkward silences and new group homes meant a very specific kind of silence – the silence that underlines too much noise that you are not a part of.

By the time she was “out in the world”, she was used to awkward silences and she preferred them to intrusive questions or insincere niceties.

But the concept of comfortable silences was more or less completely foreign to Emma before she met Killian Jones. To her people fell into 3 categories – ones that wanted to talk about themselves, ones that wanted to make her talk so then they could talk about themselves and ones that were silent and she did not see the point of hanging around to be silent with.

Killian doesn’t like talking about himself too much. Yet, he wants her to know him and she wants to know him and Emma can always tell when he just naturally starts telling her something personal without even realizing it and when he is consciously making an effort to let her in. She likes to think that it’s been more of the former recently. He doesn’t try to make her talk either, but when she starts, he doesn’t wait for his turn in the conversation – he sits and listens.

But it’s the silences that get to Emma the most sometimes. Because when Killian doesn’t seem to have anything in particular to say to her, he is perfectly content to just walk beside her or read his book with her half on top of him and just… be. And Emma is perfectly content as well – with him, together, silent or not, whenever, wherever.

It took her awhile to realize this is what people mean by comfortable silences, that this is what it feels like to want to be with someone even when you’re not really doing or saying anything. When you are just holding hands and wandering down the street, looking at closed shops and people carrying presents under their arms and others walking their dogs and yet others – good god why – jogging on Christmas day, walking to the same slow rhythm and swinging your hands between you just because and looking at each other from time to time and letting your breaths mingle and that’s that.

And it’s lovely. They’ve been walking in perfect silence for over half an hour and it’s just… lovely.

And then he is licking his lips.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing you do with your tongue.”

His eyebrow reaches the edge of his beanie and his grin is overly smug.

“That’s not what you usually say.”

She doesn’t even spare the second to roll her eyes.

“I’m serious. It’s freezing, you shouldn’t lick your lips. That’s why they get chapped and split.”

Killian takes more than a second to roll his eyes at her.

“Are you saying you don’t like kissing me anymore, Swan?”

“I’m saying the exact opposite,” Killian huffs a little but when she wraps her hands around his arm, he pulls her a little closer. “I’m saying I want to kiss you all the time and I’d like to not cause you pain when I do.”

“Never,” he turns around and kisses her cheek to prove his point.

She kisses his split lip to prove hers. It hasn’t had the chance to heal, they’ve probably had too many occasions that required a whole lot of kissing. Like him winning all the “best Christmas present” awards, which—

“Let’s head home. You still have to open your present.”

///

“You are not excited to open your present.”

He shakes his head and she can see the amused little smile in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m excited about all Christmas traditions with you, darling. I simply have more self-control than a young lad and it’s time for lunch.”

“Yup, I’ll definitely get to be the fun parent.”

She thinks it is quite possible she fell irrevocably in love with Killian Jones when she first heard him laugh. But she is absolutely positive she has been falling further every time since.

“I have no problem with that, Swan. But you should really start your grilled cheese now, if you want it to be ready when the soup is.”

She mock salutes him and goes to take the cheese and butter out of the fridge. So they cook and eat and wash and dry the dishes and, deciding to play hard to get with Killian Jones for the first time in her life, Emma starts taking out cookies for desert afterwards.

The cookies, much to Killian’s chagrin, are so hard they can only be eaten with milk. This is fine by Emma. She arranges the slightly burnt and very misshapen stars and swans and Christmas trees on a plate and waits for the milk to warm up, all the while feeling her fiancé’s eyes on her.

If he is on to her game, he is not yet willing to say anything.

But when she hands him a mug and settles comfortably on the couch with her own drink and cookies and her computer in her lap, Killian finally seems to run out of that I’m-not-a-child-on-Christmas patience.

“Swan?” his chin fits perfectly between her shoulder and her neck, watching her browse the Spotify Christmas playlists.

Her only response is a deliberately distracted little hum. She can’t see if he rolls his eyes at her but she feels his nose skip over her bare skin before his lips press lightly.

“Can I have my present now?”

“Oh? Don’t you want to wait until New Year’s?”

He sighs and lays his head fully on her shoulder, his soft hair tickling her chin and her neck. She almost feels bad. She supposes that Killian’s exasperating patience and unconcern with his own presents has less to do with his age and more to do with him still being very out of practice with receiving any. Not that she has that much experience either. Which definitely shows in her mediocre presents. Dammit. She really shouldn’t have built this up.

She turns her head and buries her nose in his greying hair, inhaling the scent of his peppermint shampoo and sighing deeply. Killian doesn’t care how good or bad she is at buying and hiding presents. She repeats that to herself a couple of times before she gets up.

When she comes back, Killian has taken over two and a half of the three cushions and has a cookie stuffed in his mouth as he scrolls through her playlists, and Emma feels the tension between her shoulder blades release a bit. The way his eyes widen when he sees the rather large box in her hands helps as well. Or not.

“Ok, don’t get excited,” she warns way more sternly than she intended before she lowers herself onto the floor.

Killian follows suit so that the box rests between them and he is definitely curious at least. Nervous insects taking up residence with their baby aside, she doesn’t mind the way his eyes sparkle at her.

“So you know how men get their girlfriend lingerie and pretend it’s not a present for themselves?”

“I cannot deny that part of me would be flattered, if you got me a box full of lingerie but—“

“That’s not—“ she rolls her eyes and tries to give him a look but she still has to let him open this so it’s probably more nervous than reprimanding. “I mean that it’s kinda a present for me. I mean, it’s for both of us but I—“

“Emma.”

He grabs the hand that she is waving around way too much and smiles at her and—

She reaches over and runs her thumb over his bottom lip.

“Open it.”

Killian’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but he dutifully opens his mouth and her laughter is so loud compared to the soft Christmas song coming from the speakers.

“The box, Killian.”

It might be the quickest she has ever seen him blush. He ducks his head and lifts the simple lid to reveal all the other boxes inside.

“Ok, so this,” she reaches for the smallest one and shakes out the lip balm. “Is for your lips. It has no colour but it’s pomegranate flavor so you’ll like it.”

She doesn’t really look up to see his reaction, just powers on and grabs the next box.

“Since we definitely don’t have space for a dishwasher in that kitchen, hand cream it is. Mine is rosewater and yours is cucumber but we can totally exchange if you want. OK, on to the serious stuff.”

She keeps shoving boxes in his hand and sharing the information she spent more than a week accumulation. Unisex body lotions, a series of bath products that are supposed to help with loose skin – post her pregnancy, and sore muscles – post Killian’s every work day, an oil that is good for both old and new burns – and Killian keeps acquiring those in the kitchen, sunscreen with the highest factor and special protection against salt water, capsaicin cream and gel meant to help alleviate phantom pains, creams and lotions for her stretch marks, and a series of other ointments recommended for deep scars or muscle strains.

She is about to move on to the rolls and massagers when she looks up. Killian’s jaw seems a bit more slack than usual.

“Too much? Too girly?”

He doesn’t laugh, he shakes his head and pulls her into a kiss. She shoves the boxes to the side so she can move closer.

“Not at all. I hope that strawberry and vanilla one is for me,” he says against her lips and she laughs and nods.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Before Killian, there were only a handful of times when Emma entertained the idea of a serious relationship with an actual living and breathing human, but there were plenty – especially when she found herself in a particularly dreary apartment or her neighbours were a particularly cute couple – when she hypothetically wondered what being in a comminuted, full-time relationship will be like. To be quite honest, her mind also strayed that way when she got particularly lazy in the winter and stopped shaving for a month or two or when she woke up in the middle of the night with a little bloodstain on her bedsheets.

Overall, she gave a thought or two to how exhausting being in a full-time relationship might be – having to always be in a state in which you wouldn’t mind your significant other seeing you in, having to reign in your less than charming or downright disgusting habits.

And she honestly has no clue if people keep worrying about all that once they are in a relationship but frankly, now – there is no state in which she would mind Killian seeing her. No, when she thought “Shit. Pregnancy stretch marks.” her following thought was “Oh, I’ll get Killian to give me massages.”

And Killian – Killian was all about lights off, clothes on, “no, it’s fine”, “let me spend an hour between your legs but oh, no, you don’t have to” at first.

Now – she has to remind him of the benefits of sleep pants every other month and when he pulls a muscle at the docks, he doesn’t wait for her to offer him a massage so much as he butts his head into her arm or thigh like an over-eager puppy until she gives him her full attention. And she is far from displeased when—

“I do have a question though,” Killian picks up a bottle of body milk with aloe. “How is this at all similar to purchasing lingerie?”

She grins and turns her head to nibble lightly on his ear.

“Well… I don’t mean to underestimate you but these things are much easier to use with two hands.”

“Indeed.”

“So you might require assistance.”

“Emma, love… did you get me an outrageous amount of skin care products just so… you can regularly get your hands on me.”

He looks both shocked and so absolutely delighted by the prospect that Emma can literally feel her whole body sputtering in confusion, unsure whether she should blush or laugh or scoff or—

She buries her head in his chest and pulls the ends of his cardigan closer to hide herself. Killian folds her further into his arms and whispers silly things like how much he loves her.

She pulls back eventually, smoothing her hair away from her face and trying for a serious tone.

“Let’s get one thing straight though – I fully expect you to reciprocate.”

“Swan, have I ever been opposed to—“

“No, but this is not gonna be like… fun times. There will be like two months of no fun times. And you gotta help me do post-pregnancy damage control. While we take care of a baby.”

Killian smiles at her – lovingly and way too serenely in her opinion.

“I’ve… God, this is so stupid and vain and just— I’ve just really enjoyed being your young and pretty girlfriend, ok?”

His eyes are very blue. Also very wide, unnaturally wide.

“First, the word “pretty” is an insult to your radian beauty.”

She snorts and she blushes and yeah. This is her life now. Her husband-to-be says stuff like this.

“Second, you will always be my young and much-more-than-merely-pretty girlfriend and no marks of aging or stretching or anything could ever diminish that. Least of all ones that result from you giving birth to our daughter. And, bloody hell, if you worry about that, how am I supposed to feel?”

Her hand makes it under two layers of clothing for the delight that is Killian’s bare skin under her fingertips and she leans down to kiss his neck.

“You’re supposed to feel very good and very much like trying a few of these out with that woman who is constantly looking for reasons to get her hands on you.”

“She is a pain.”

She pinches his side.

“Ah-ah! But I supposed I should oblige her.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“I’m getting the strawberry and vanilla.”

Killian unearths the desired bottle from the pile beside them and helps her to her feet.

“You do realize I’m the worst massage partner one can have, yes?” he asks even as he tugs her toward their bedroom and Emma just frowns up at him in a mix of confusion and offense. “I have just the one very rough hand.”

He slips said hand below the stretchy waistband of her sweatpants and Emma feels anything but deterred.

“For the sake of honesty, I admit nobody else has given me a massage.”

Killian was rather outraged when he first found that out even though it works both ways.

“But, also for the sake of honesty,” she attacks his buttons with a speed that might be unbecoming for a pregnant woman but Emma really can’t bring herself to care. “I should say I’m perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.”

For what it’s worth, Killian doesn’t seem to find anything about her unbecoming as he assists her with the express undressing.

“Not yet. But you will be if I have anything to say about it.”

For the sake of honesty, she should add that nobody has ever touched her as softly as Killian does, as carefully, deliberately, reverently – his hand fitting perfectly around her ankle, along her calves and thighs and in the dip of her spine.

For the sake of honesty, she should add that the only thing she loves more than Killian’s hand on her is her hands on him – running the expanse of his shoulders, connecting all the little dots and marks on his back like a treasure map, her thumbs fitting perfectly in the dimples on his low back as her palms fit over his ass.

For the sake of honesty, she should add that she has never been more certain than she is in the golden afternoon light, with Killian spread out on their bed and their bedroom smelling of strawberry and vanilla, with her ring turning round and round – slippery from all the lotion on her hands, and her daughter making her presence known inside her – she has never been more certain that hers is not one of those lives she longed for and knew she should never have.

It's better.

[killmongersbootycall]

Princess 👑

Description:

Jamilah is a spoiled rich girl who doesn’t know when to stop acting up. Her doting father who never knows when to stop her in her tracks is scared to realization when she nearly kills herself in a drunken episode. New body guards are needed on the double. Then walks in Erik Stevens. Read as their lives intertwine in ways that are good, and some that are not so great. Besides, Erik seems to be hiding something. What is it? Read to find out.

(Minor Spanking, Minor Fondling, Angst, Flirting.)

~~~

Chapter 4

1 2 3 4

You’re a more than a little disappointed when for the next few days, Erik straight up ignores you as best as he can. What really grinds your gears though is how he pretends he can’t see how pissed off you are, no matter how much you show it. You hate it. The feeling of not getting your way. You always got what you wanted, be it through your fathers money or through your charms. Hell, even threats worked in your favor. But Erik was immune to it all, and that was really frustrating. You wanted him to pay attention to you. Yeah, he’s your bodyguard and he kinda has no choice in that but you craved it in another way. You wanted him to want you like everyone else did. It was the first time in your life someone didn’t react to you as everyone else did and that was beyond annoying.

Your yellow acrylic nails tap rhythmically against the table in front of you. You pop your gum loudly, ignoring the way customers seated in the fancy restaurant you were in flinched, glancing at you occasionally, disgust in their eyes. You glare at a particular woman who whispers to her husband about you and she stiffens and turns quickly back to her meal. Unbeknownst to you, it’s Erik’s glare from behind you that spooks her. You uncross and cross your legs under the table, getting impatient. Your father and his ‘wife’ were supposed to be at the table with you, but they both had to mysteriously use the bathroom at the same time.

The two come back to the table giggling, your fathers usually pristine hair a mess and his ‘wife’s’ face flushed. You roll your eyes, irritation rising in you and slight embarrassment due to the fact that Erik was here to see all this.

“Jam, I hope we didn’t keep you waiting to long. The line was... absurd.” Your father says, a guilty smile slipping into his face.

You love your father, so to keep the peace, you smile back at him and nod. “It’s no problem, daddy.” You reply sweetly.

He smiles back in satisfaction, his hand coming up to caress your cheek to which you beam at him. Your stepmother watches on with narrowed eyes.

“Ahem.” She clears her throat, bringing up a napkin to dab at her lips. You can’t help but roll your eyes and look at her.

Delores Manchester. At least, she used to be Manchester. You refused to acknowledge the fact that you both now shared the same last name. The woman was the devil in disguise. Your father had married her about two year ago and she would be another on his very, very long list of ex wives. Normally, you would never have bothered yourself in whatever new gold digger your father married, knowing they’d be around for a year at most, but Delores had lasted, and not only did that make you worry, but there was also something about her. She’d always sneak off to make phone calls, or disappear for days on end telling you father she had a business trip (obvious lie because what ex-model goes on business trips). Something about her was off, but in all honesty, you didn’t care enough to investigate. You just didn’t like the bitch, period.

“So, Jamilah honey-“

“Don’t call me honey.” You say interrupting her midsentence.

She falters and her eyes momentarily become cold but it’s just for a second, and then she’s beaming at you in that fake stepmother way stepmothers do when they’re trying to impress their husbands. Your father silently watches on, too pussy to say anything to his new wife.

“Ahem, Jamilah. How is everything with the business?” She asks, taking a sip of her wine.

You immediately get irritated. You had a side business running. A hair salon. The problem is that for some strange reason, it was like god didn’t wanna see you prosper, so there was always something wrong with the store. Mysterious fire. Robbery. Hell, y’all even had a lice outbreak once.

“It’s great. Business is booming.” You reply smugly.

A flash of amusement blooms in Delores’ eyes and you narrow yours at her for a second. It’s gone though. She nods with a plastic smile.

“That’s wonderful. About time really.” She says, a deeminging smirk on her face.

You feel your blood boil. “Excuse me?” You ask, finger digging into the table.

“I mean, some would say this idea of yours is the literal definition of insanity. All signs point to this... facility, of yours failing, and every time something heinous happens, you build it up from scrap again. I’m just worried as your mother, that’s all.” She states, all the while smiling and sipping.

You see red and you move to get up, but a hand on your shoulders sends you right back down to your seat and firmly holds you there. You turn around and see Erik looking at you with a cautious look, and you turn back around after taking a deep breath.

“Firstly, you’re not my mother. Second, don’t be worried about me and my business, we’re fine. Worry about how much longer your gonna keep your claws in my father cus from what I’ve seen over the years, your time is running out.” You reply, hate spewing into each word that comes from your mouth.

Your fathers hands slam the table. You jump and look at him. The whole restaurant has gone silent, and your father looks at you with anger in his eyes.

“That is enough. She’s asking because she cares Jamilah. Don’t you see that?” He asks, and it breaks your heart to see the pain in his eyes.

“But daddy, she-“

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jam.” He interrupts. You fall silent, and Erik’s hand on your shoulder softens, almost comforting you.

Tears well in your eyes and you get up from the chair, the sudden movement making Delores jump. You glare at her then at your dad before snatching up your purse and practically running out of there. You run to the main entrance and exit, then whip your phone out and call your limo driver. You wait for the limo not even noticing Erik behind you.

He clears his throat, not liking the awkward atmosphere. You turn around and see that its him, and a wave of anger comes over you. You dont mean to do it, but you immediatley take your anger out on him.

“What the hell makes you think you can touch me? What was that in there? You seem to forget that I’m the one who fucking pays you. I’m the one who lets you have food on your fucking table. Keep pissing me off and I will fire your ass faster than you can say ‘oops’.” You yell at him. At the end of your rant, your panting loudly.

Erik’s face is blank, and bored with the lack of reaction from him, you turn away from him with a huff. Behind you though, Erik silently seethes, and it takes the strength and patience of his ancestors not to each you the lesson you so deprately deserve. The limo pulls up and you step in, sitting far away from Erik. Erik enters and sits, still not speaking.

“Where to, Ma’am?” Your driver asks from the pane that seperates you from him. 

“Anubis. Step on it. I’m tryna get drunk tonight.” You reply with an eyeroll.

You hear a scoff next to you and turn your head just as Erik speaks.

“No you not. Straight home, Reggie. Thank you.” Erik says, then closes the pane.

You stare at him baffled. “Um, ex-fucking-scuse me? I said Anubis and I meant that shit.” You seethe, leaning forward to open the pane. 

Eriks hand stops you, yanking you back to your seat. You gasp when your butt makes impact with the chair and turn to look at Erik. 

“Sit down and shut up. You’re going home.” He says then looks away.

You’re reaction is instant. You hand collides with his cheek hard, a smacking sound resonating through the back seat. Your palm stings from the contact, so your sure Erik felt it. He doesn’t move for a second, just staring ahead, then his head turns towards you. His hand moves to the pane and opens it, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Reggie?” 

“Yes?”

“When I close this, this shit becomes sound proof, right?”

“Yes.”

“Aight, just checking.” The hand on the pane shuts it, then moves away.

In a sudden movement, Erik grabs you and you squeal as your sent sprawling over his lap. You bring your arms to brace yourself while asking what the hell he’s doing, but those arms are grabbed and yanked behind you, held securely against your back by one of Erik’s hands. You struggle and kick, but it’s useless.

“What the fuck? Let me up Erik!” You scream, feeling your face go hot from both the position your in and rage.

“Shut up.” He says, calm as can be.

You buck and fight, trying your hardest to get free from this man.

“You can’t talk to me like that you fucking bitch! Let me go right now! Erik, right no-“

Smack!

All thoughts in your head halt, as do the words leaving your mouth. It takes a second for you to register that the loud smack you heard and the stinging pain on your ass correlate. You look at the black leather car seat in shock.

“When I say something Jamilah, I mean that shit.” He grits, repharasing your words in a way that would usually leave you seething, but you’re in too much shock to react.

Seconds go by without you saying anything, but then common sense seeps back into you.

“Erik, let me up.” You say, and it borderline sounds like your begging because you didn’t mean for your voice to be that soft.

“No. Now shut up.” He repeats.

Your anger flares again and you put your head up to say something but another slap lands on your ass and all that leaves you is a gasp of pain.

You lay there silently for what seems like forever but is only a couple of seconds, and what brings you back to your senses again is the feeling of Erik pulling your skirt up.

“No wait!” You squeal, kicking your legs in an attempt to go free again.

He ignores you and pulls it up anyway, leaving your black lace panty covered ass on display. You whimper and struggle again, but it’s futile, so you give up, slumping against him.

Your breath hitches when his fingers are suddenly against your clit, your panties the only thing blocking him. You want to yell at him and ask him what he’s doing, but what leaves your mouth is a keen of need instead. His fingers don’t move much, just pressing slightly over and over again, and he’s so quiet, you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

Erik watches as your thighs spread open more, as if inviting him. That, and the sound of his name slipping from your lips in an airy, hungry tone snap him back to reality. His hand moves and your skirt is pulled back down.

Your hands are realeased and your pushed back up. Your eyes try to meet his, but he’s doing everything to avoid yours. You stare at him for a moment, your hands fidgeting, and as you open your mouth to comment on what just happened, Reggie’s voice fills the back.

“We’ve arrived, Madam.” He says.

You glance out the window and see people walking in and out of the building you reside in. This is usually a normal sight, but what makes a frown of confusion and curiosity slip onto both yours and Erik’s face is the fact that some of these people are obvious law enforcement while others have the word ‘coroner’ in large yellow print on the back of their navy jackets.

Your door opens and you startle, then you notice Erik had exited and was opening up your door for you. Your eyes meet his. His deep brown pools capture you in their gaze and for a moment, you’re distracted by the havoc moving in and out of the building you live in. You distinctly see his lips move and your snapped back to reality.

“What?” You ask stupidly.

Erik holds back a smile and repeats himself. “I said come out the car Jamilah.”

You nod and step out unto the side walk, then turn towards your building where a line of freaking yellow tape is being drawn. Your eyes widen and you walk towards the doors, only to be stopped by a cop.

“Um, sorry, but you’re gonna have to take your... business, elsewhere Hon.” He says, his eyes on your cleavage the whole time.

You feel your blood boil at the assumption that your a prostitute. What made it all the more upsetting is that you weren’t even dressed like a working girl normally would. This was an expensive ass dress that met the top of your knees. The assumption was based clearly off the color of your skin and that made you wanna rip this pigs head off. You open your mouth to speak but your stopped when Erik takes a step next to you.

“She lives here.” He plainly explains, his eyes trained on the cop with a glare that would freeze hell.

The cop barely holds back his scoff, but his eye roll makes it clear that he doubts your residence. You stare at the cop, arms crossing ass you prepare to tear him a new one, but your interrupted.

“Madam! What is happening here? Officer, let her in right this instant!” Timothy, the manger of said establishment berates, ushering the cop away from the entrance in order to let you in.

The officers shock couldn’t be more apparent, and an ugly hue of pink rises to his face, further reddening his already flushed tone. Erik visibly holds back his words, his jaw working away as he grits his teeth in rage. His hand finds its way to the dip of your back as he turns to walk in but you stop. You turn to the officer who stares at you in distaste and you pull out a card from your purse. You hand it to him and with a sneer, you tell him to expect a call from that number. You turn and walk away heading for the front desk with Erik in tow, and behind you, you miss the blood drain from the officers face as he reads the number of the city’s mayor.

The desk worker smiles and immediately attends to you, walking back to bring you your mail. Meanwhile, you watch the chaos around you. At the bar, not so far from where you and Erik are standing, different people do different tasks, dusting for prints, bagging what appears to be eveidence of some sort, talking animatedly. You listen in on a conversation a waiter is giving to what seems to be a detective.

“- and he just starts convulsing. First, I thought he was having a fit or something, but then the foaming at the mouth turns red and soon he’s just choking on his own blood. Everyone that had run to help him panics thinking it was ebola or some shit like that. Fucking scared the hell out of me, that’s for sure. I ran to the kitchen like my ass was on fire.” He explains animatedly.

“And did you notice anything unusual?” The detective asks, jotting notes.

“Nah. Like I said, ass on fire.” He finishes with a shrug.

“Here’s your mail ma’am.”

You turn back to the desk clerk and collect your mail, sifting through it as you turn away from her. You walk towards the elevators and for a while on your way up, you forget that Erik is even there. That is of course until you get to your room.

You look up when you hear a throat clear. You glance at him and register that he’s been there the whole time. Then of course, flashes of what happened in the car come flooding your mind and if you were pigmented challenged, you’d be a bright red color.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.” He says.

“Um yeah.” You reply, and you mentally curse yourself for being so dry.

The silence following is slightly awkward. You break it.

“What was that in the car?” You ask, suddenly brave.

Erik balks, not expecting the question, but he quickly answers.

“Honestly, you pissed me off.” He says, nonchalant in a way that aggravates you.

“So that makes you think it’s okay to put your hands on me?” You hiss, frown forming on your face.

He scoffs and crosses his arms. He takes a step towards you and the effect is instant. You stiffen and basically break your neck to maintain eye contact. Erik gazed down at you with a look so intense, you can’t help the shuddered sigh that leaves you. His dimples come out to dazzle, a little smirk forming on his lips.

“Baby, if I was putting hands on you, you’d know.” He speaks deeply, and though there’s no reason for you to take this in a filthy way, that’s all that you hear and it’s sets you on fire.

You stutter as you attempt to answer but he takes a step back, still smirking. He presses in the button for the lobby.

“Goodnight Jamilah.”

Just as you were about to speak, the elevator door closes in your face, and you left in the silence of your apartment.

“Huh.”

[loveofyhwh]

October 26: Jeremiah 13–14; 2 Peter 2; Psalm 107:1–22; Proverbs 26:21–22

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/october-26-jeremiah-13-14-2-peter-2-psalm-1071-22-proverbs-2621-22/

October 26: Jeremiah 13–14; 2 Peter 2; Psalm 107:1–22; Proverbs 26:21–22

Old Testament:

Jeremiah 13–14

Jeremiah 13–14 (Listen)

The Ruined Loincloth

13 Thus says the LORD to me, “Go and buy a linen loincloth and put it around your waist, and do not dip it in water.” 2 So I bought a loincloth according to the word of the LORD, and put it around my waist. 3 And the word of the LORD came to me a second time, 4 “Take the loincloth that you have bought, which is around your waist, and arise, go to the Euphrates and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.” 5 So I went and hid it by the Euphrates, as the LORD commanded me. 6 And after many days the LORD said to me, “Arise, go to the Euphrates, and take from there the loincloth that I commanded you to hide there.” 7 Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug, and I took the loincloth from the place where I had hidden it. And behold, the loincloth was spoiled; it was good for nothing.

8 Then the word of the LORD came to me: 9 “Thus says the LORD: Even so will I spoil the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. 10 This evil people, who refuse to hear my words, who stubbornly follow their own heart and have gone after other gods to serve them and worship them, shall be like this loincloth, which is good for nothing. 11 For as the loincloth clings to the waist of a man, so I made the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah cling to me, declares the LORD, that they might be for me a people, a name, a praise, and a glory, but they would not listen.

The Jars Filled with Wine

12 “You shall speak to them this word: ‘Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, “Every jar shall be filled with wine.”’ And they will say to you, ‘Do we not indeed know that every jar will be filled with wine?’ 13 Then you shall say to them, ‘Thus says the LORD: Behold, I will fill with drunkenness all the inhabitants of this land: the kings who sit on David’s throne, the priests, the prophets, and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. 14 And I will dash them one against another, fathers and sons together, declares the LORD. I will not pity or spare or have compassion, that I should not destroy them.’”

Exile Threatened

15   Hear and give ear; be not proud,     for the LORD has spoken. 16   Give glory to the LORD your God     before he brings darkness,   before your feet stumble     on the twilight mountains,   and while you look for light     he turns it into gloom     and makes it deep darkness. 17   But if you will not listen,     my soul will weep in secret for your pride;   my eyes will weep bitterly and run down with tears,     because the LORD’s flock has been taken captive. 18   Say to the king and the queen mother:     “Take a lowly seat,   for your beautiful crown     has come down from your head.” 19   The cities of the Negeb are shut up,     with none to open them;   all Judah is taken into exile,     wholly taken into exile. 20   “Lift up your eyes and see     those who come from the north.   Where is the flock that was given you,     your beautiful flock? 21   What will you say when they set as head over you     those whom you yourself have taught to be friends to you?   Will not pangs take hold of you     like those of a woman in labor? 22   And if you say in your heart,     ‘Why have these things come upon me?’   it is for the greatness of your iniquity     that your skirts are lifted up     and you suffer violence. 23   Can the Ethiopian change his skin     or the leopard his spots?   Then also you can do good     who are accustomed to do evil. 24   I will scatter youHebrew them‘>1 like chaff     driven by the wind from the desert. 25   This is your lot,     the portion I have measured out to you, declares the LORD,   because you have forgotten me     and trusted in lies. 26   I myself will lift up your skirts over your face,     and your shame will be seen. 27   I have seen your abominations,     your adulteries and neighings, your lewd whorings,     on the hills in the field.   Woe to you, O Jerusalem!     How long will it be before you are made clean?”

Famine, Sword, and Pestilence

14 The word of the LORD that came to Jeremiah concerning the drought:

2   “Judah mourns,     and her gates languish;   her people lament on the ground,     and the cry of Jerusalem goes up. 3   Her nobles send their servants for water;     they come to the cisterns;   they find no water;     they return with their vessels empty;   they are ashamed and confounded     and cover their heads. 4   Because of the ground that is dismayed,     since there is no rain on the land,   the farmers are ashamed;     they cover their heads. 5   Even the doe in the field forsakes her newborn fawn     because there is no grass. 6   The wild donkeys stand on the bare heights;     they pant for air like jackals;   their eyes fail     because there is no vegetation. 7   “Though our iniquities testify against us,     act, O LORD, for your name’s sake;   for our backslidings are many;     we have sinned against you. 8   O you hope of Israel,     its savior in time of trouble,   why should you be like a stranger in the land,     like a traveler who turns aside to tarry for a night? 9   Why should you be like a man confused,     like a mighty warrior who cannot save?   Yet you, O LORD, are in the midst of us,     and we are called by your name;     do not leave us.” 10   Thus says the LORD concerning this people:   “They have loved to wander thus;     they have not restrained their feet;   therefore the LORD does not accept them;     now he will remember their iniquity     and punish their sins.”

11 The LORD said to me: “Do not pray for the welfare of this people. 12 Though they fast, I will not hear their cry, and though they offer burnt offering and grain offering, I will not accept them. But I will consume them by the sword, by famine, and by pestilence.”

Lying Prophets

13 Then I said: “Ah, Lord GOD, behold, the prophets say to them, ‘You shall not see the sword, nor shall you have famine, but I will give you assured peace in this place.’” 14 And the LORD said to me: “The prophets are prophesying lies in my name. I did not send them, nor did I command them or speak to them. They are prophesying to you a lying vision, worthless divination, and the deceit of their own minds. 15 Therefore thus says the LORD concerning the prophets who prophesy in my name although I did not send them, and who say, ‘Sword and famine shall not come upon this land’: By sword and famine those prophets shall be consumed. 16 And the people to whom they prophesy shall be cast out in the streets of Jerusalem, victims of famine and sword, with none to bury them—them, their wives, their sons, and their daughters. For I will pour out their evil upon them.

17   “You shall say to them this word:   ‘Let my eyes run down with tears night and day,     and let them not cease,   for the virgin daughter of my people is shattered with a great wound,     with a very grievous blow. 18   If I go out into the field,     behold, those pierced by the sword!   And if I enter the city,     behold, the diseases of famine!   For both prophet and priest ply their trade through the land     and have no knowledge.’” 19   Have you utterly rejected Judah?     Does your soul loathe Zion?   Why have you struck us down     so that there is no healing for us?   We looked for peace, but no good came;     for a time of healing, but behold, terror. 20   We acknowledge our wickedness, O LORD,     and the iniquity of our fathers,     for we have sinned against you. 21   Do not spurn us, for your name’s sake;     do not dishonor your glorious throne;     remember and do not break your covenant with us. 22   Are there any among the false gods of the nations that can bring rain?     Or can the heavens give showers?   Are you not he, O LORD our God?     We set our hope on you,     for you do all these things.

Footnotes

[1] 13:24 Hebrew them

(ESV)

New Testament:

2 Peter 2

2 Peter 2 (Listen)

False Prophets and Teachers

2 But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, bringing upon themselves swift destruction. 2 And many will follow their sensuality, and because of them the way of truth will be blasphemed. 3 And in their greed they will exploit you with false words. Their condemnation from long ago is not idle, and their destruction is not asleep.

4 For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hellGreek Tartarus‘>1 and committed them to chainsSome manuscripts pits‘>2 of gloomy darkness to be kept until the judgment; 5 if he did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah, a herald of righteousness, with seven others, when he brought a flood upon the world of the ungodly; 6 if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction, making them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly;Some manuscripts an example to those who were to be ungodly‘>3 7 and if he rescued righteous Lot, greatly distressed by the sensual conduct of the wicked 8 (for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard); 9 then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials,Or temptations‘>4 and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment, 10 and especially those who indulgeGreek who go after the flesh‘>5 in the lust of defiling passion and despise authority.

Bold and willful, they do not tremble as they blaspheme the glorious ones, 11 whereas angels, though greater in might and power, do not pronounce a blasphemous judgment against them before the Lord. 12 But these, like irrational animals, creatures of instinct, born to be caught and destroyed, blaspheming about matters of which they are ignorant, will also be destroyed in their destruction, 13 suffering wrong as the wage for their wrongdoing. They count it pleasure to revel in the daytime. They are blots and blemishes, reveling in their deceptions,Some manuscripts love feasts‘>6 while they feast with you. 14 They have eyes full of adultery,Or eyes full of an adulteress‘>7 insatiable for sin. They entice unsteady souls. They have hearts trained in greed. Accursed children! 15 Forsaking the right way, they have gone astray. They have followed the way of Balaam, the son of Beor, who loved gain from wrongdoing, 16 but was rebuked for his own transgression; a speechless donkey spoke with human voice and restrained the prophet’s madness.

17 These are waterless springs and mists driven by a storm. For them the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved. 18 For, speaking loud boasts of folly, they entice by sensual passions of the flesh those who are barely escaping from those who live in error. 19 They promise them freedom, but they themselves are slavesFor the contextual rendering of the Greek word doulos, see Preface‘>8 of corruption. For whatever overcomes a person, to that he is enslaved. 20 For if, after they have escaped the defilements of the world through the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the last state has become worse for them than the first. 21 For it would have been better for them never to have known the way of righteousness than after knowing it to turn back from the holy commandment delivered to them. 22 What the true proverb says has happened to them: “The dog returns to its own vomit, and the sow, after washing herself, returns to wallow in the mire.”

Footnotes

[1] 2:4 Greek Tartarus [2] 2:4 Some manuscripts pits [3] 2:6 Some manuscripts an example to those who were to be ungodly [4] 2:9 Or temptations [5] 2:10 Greek who go after the flesh [6] 2:13 Some manuscripts love feasts [7] 2:14 Or eyes full of an adulteress [8] 2:19 For the contextual rendering of the Greek word doulos, see Preface

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 107:1–22

Psalm 107:1–22 (Listen)

Book Five

Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So

107   Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good,     for his steadfast love endures forever! 2   Let the redeemed of the LORD say so,     whom he has redeemed from troubleOr from the hand of the foe‘>1 3   and gathered in from the lands,     from the east and from the west,     from the north and from the south. 4   Some wandered in desert wastes,     finding no way to a city to dwell in; 5   hungry and thirsty,     their soul fainted within them. 6   Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,     and he delivered them from their distress. 7   He led them by a straight way     till they reached a city to dwell in. 8   Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,     for his wondrous works to the children of man! 9   For he satisfies the longing soul,     and the hungry soul he fills with good things. 10   Some sat in darkness and in the shadow of death,     prisoners in affliction and in irons, 11   for they had rebelled against the words of God,     and spurned the counsel of the Most High. 12   So he bowed their hearts down with hard labor;     they fell down, with none to help. 13   Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,     and he delivered them from their distress. 14   He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death,     and burst their bonds apart. 15   Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,     for his wondrous works to the children of man! 16   For he shatters the doors of bronze     and cuts in two the bars of iron. 17   Some were fools through their sinful ways,     and because of their iniquities suffered affliction; 18   they loathed any kind of food,     and they drew near to the gates of death. 19   Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,     and he delivered them from their distress. 20   He sent out his word and healed them,     and delivered them from their destruction. 21   Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,     for his wondrous works to the children of man! 22   And let them offer sacrifices of thanksgiving,     and tell of his deeds in songs of joy!

Footnotes

[1] 107:2 Or from the hand of the foe

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 26:21–22

Proverbs 26:21–22 (Listen)

21   As charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire,     so is a quarrelsome man for kindling strife. 22   The words of a whisperer are like delicious morsels;     they go down into the inner parts of the body.

(ESV)

[the-infamous-mister-gates]

The Fury of Mother Bangkok

          There’s a reason why you dream what you dream. It’s something you hope for, but know that you’ll never get it. It will never happen. I learned a long time ago that it wasn’t about capturing a dream…

          It was about chasing it.

         There was one dream I had, where I would be laying in a wide-open wheat field looking up at the orange twilight of the engulfing dusk.  A spacious blue sky littered with pink clouds shaped like mythic beings: dragons, slithering in the crisp air; a mighty phoenix, its wings spread over the horizon; angel eyes made of fire, burning with intense love and mystery. The poetic existence of all these mesmerizing creatures broke into obscurity in the wake of the night.

         There was nothing to chase in a peaceful dream like that. I could find books detailing symbolism, analogies, and possible meanings, but in a way that would spoil what I already have: A vivid realm different from my life that I could escape to.

.   .   .   .

         There were poets and dancers. There were male escorts and silver tongue pimps. There was the underbelly that smelled of cheap cigars, body spray fragrances, and ammonia. Neon lights reflected in marble polished columns and chrome bar counters. A jugular of festive business men stroking the legs of servers, who brought mixed refreshments poured in glittering glasses.   Entertainers were situated in the center of the abyssal ballroom where masked men and women copulated in a pit of velvet ambrosia.

         Many people came here to witness the cross-cultured display of feverous engorge; the execrable wonders of snakes molesting women in a pool of cloudy water.  Spotlights and stage lights spraying the bodies with a gleam of patronage, unwilling to remove their ethereal stare like a perverted God in the absence of an unforgiving way of life. Off-duty cops and underage girls drinking in leather booths where stains of blood and cum reside under their feet.

         I stand between it all, the lone American among the locals of a foreign city, with scars on my body hidden from sight until the audience is worthy to see them.  I don’t know what year this is or what day of the week it could be, let alone the month.  I did not exist for those things.  I lived in the now. Not the past or the future.  I traded a moment for a moment with brutality and blackouts; the occasional companion and the mornings after.

Excess, no less

Pushing fingers into flesh

Zealous, Jealous

Devil woman tell us

       Heavy synth music matches my pulse as I gaze over the occupants.  Some were laughing and talking, others motioning some to go under the tables and unbutton their pants.  Disco ball lights and shining stars reflecting in the glass frames of an elder gentleman petting a young man with cold sores on his lips and bruises on his face.

         My eyes see the truth in the complex feeding off of Mother Bangkok, the place where we go to die and be reborn in a stew of depravity. If I could cut open all these people and spill their guts, all there would be is sludge and gunk within. These incestuous machines eating and throwing up one another over candle lit tables, calling it love and nurturing, filling their wombs with worms and digesting fluids from oozing statuettes.

         I can see the show in the middle conclude.  A wave of applause scatters around as the horny little masked performers walk off the center stage. The custodian boys run quickly to clean the stage for the next act. I turn my head to the main bar.  The man there looks at me and raises his hand displaying five fingers to remind me of the time I have left until show time. I nod to him subtlety.  I walked away from the main scene to the bathrooms. I approached the urinal and relieved myself. I noticed graffiti on the rustic green wall:

Mother Superior sucked me off twice

And Daddy Vader put me in a vice

And so it all goes

Long live the show

It’s a maze and we’re the mice

         I flushed the urinal and walked up to the restroom sink.  My senses begin to absorb the surrounding nuances in the restroom:  The flickering of the half-broken florescent bulb above my head; the buzzing of the mating flies in the top corner window; the boosted bass of the outside bar music; the vacant reflection looking back at me in the fractured mirror.

   I crack my neck and my back loudly. I wash my hands thoroughly. I pull out some paper towels and dry my hands completely. I look at myself in the mirror.  I flex my arms and raise them in front of my asymmetrical face. I crack my fingers and my back again. I roll my shoulders and slap my face. I smack the paper towel dispenser and walk out. I go through the back dressing rooms. The blind masseur was loosening the muscles of the performers as I walk past the dark rooms where questionable things happen all the time.

   Before I walk out into the main stage, I look to my right and see her: a slim young woman in a blood red dress and dark make-up.  Her southeastern Asian complexion glossed with natural shine. She looked at me worrisomely.  I stared back and winked.  She forced a small smile in return. At that moment, ear-encapsulating electronica music summoned my presence into the small area of the central stage where just previously, seven people were fucking each other for a hundred people to see. As I walked out, cheers and hollers of praise could be heard, accompanied with an equal amount of boos and detestable rants. I removed my suit jacket and shirt when I walked into the middle stage. The spotlight beamed down on my body like an alien ship. I rolled my head and loosened my body, revealing the gratuitous scars over my muscular definition and vascularity, inflicted from past fights and brawls.

         My opponent was a massive South Korean thug for a local black market operation. He sat in a chair, infuriated and tense like some savage giant.  The bartender walks into the middle and calls for us to enter the center.  My opponent stands up. He’s tall, I’ll give him that, but there is no way he’s fast.

   The barkeep says his name is Dae-Su. As the fight is approved, Dae-Su lunges forward and tries to grab me with both his arms. Stupid first move.  I saw that coming a mile away.  I duck and swoop around, planting my hard knuckles into his side.  He swings around; I duck again.  He grabs a chair and hurls it towards me.  I raise my arms up and try to block the shattering wood.  I fall over, anyone would.  Dae-Su kicks me in the chest.  I can hear the cheering over the booming music. You would think this happens so fast, but to me, it’s like fighting on the moon.  I feel weightless and serene.  The sound is muffled over the vacuum of space.  Everything moves in slow motion: the blood, the fists, and the crowd; it’s beautiful.

         I grab a beer bottle and break it over Dae-Su’s fat head.  I see some blood fly as he yells in pain, trying to cover his face.  I raise my arm up and punch him right in the left temple.  He goes down but gets back up.  Dae-Su stumbles like a hippo with Down syndrome.  I thrust my knuckles into the side of his face and watch as a patch of skin is ripped open by the sheer velocity of my strength.  I knock him to the floor. The crowd demands I finish him.  They want me to fuel their bloodlust.

   I was their vicarious avatar for relentless rage. They didn’t see some goon getting beat up.  They saw their bosses, their daughter’s boyfriend, their wives, their school rivals, their wives’ lovers, their father, their mother, their church pastor. They even saw God there being pulverized and beaten to a pulp by me.  By the time I’m done, Dae-Su’s face looks like the inside of a cherry pie.

   I stand up from Dae-Su’s body. The cheering pencil-pushers and government officials soon begin to really look at what I’ve done.  The voices cease into an eerie silence that welcomes the feuding guilt to twist their stomachs.  Noticing the change in atmosphere, the club music of Mother Bangkok turns back on as a couple of guys take Dae-Su’s body to the back.  I look over the silent faces, all blinking and coming to terms with what they just experienced and how they felt about it: They enjoyed it.  They would be back for more no matter how appalled they might feel or how drunk they are.

Meretricious and vicious

Her lips so delicious

Crimson red, silky bed

Sins welcoming the dead

               I pull a towel from the back room and head upstairs.  I live in one of the many apartments above Mother Bangkok.  In my room waiting is my little diva singer.  Her red dress hung over my desk chair. She’s waiting for me on my bed.  She helps me in and puts me to sleep, watching me and cleaning my wounds.

   This place hidden from the all-seeing eyes, but seen from those with all views of humanity, my iron-crafted home where fury bludgeons the underground dwellers and profiteers as souls, deplete and run dry like a desert thirst.

   Among Elephant Kings and She-male prostitutes, I’m a wanderer and deserter with no dreams that can soothe the painful embrace of such a hell.  The diva’s touch keeps the wrath of the begging dragon at bay, but the dreams I pursue nourish my longing.

   How simple a dream is to obtain when it’s the sky of your home far away.  The voices of Mother Bangkok tempt and revitalize, never letting go, but infuriating my sole purpose to fight, to please and satisfy.  The Diva and I, both are children to a Dragon and a Fury that birthed the cataclysmic endeavor of lost dreams and never-ending brawls.

   My dream has been captured, and I go on chasing it and the ones that have claimed it.

[thesalvationofdoriangray]

Friends

Writing to Sleepy Fish- Space Cadet

Basketball always is my highlight of the week no matter how it goes. Kevin Gao is funny. Couldn't stop laughing with this guy. He wears these flamboyantly short shorts and jiggles his thighs in a way where it makes this hilarious sound. I call him the quadzilla because dude is not shy about showing off his quadricep muscles. I remember one time when Kevin came to Bible study wednesday night. He was asking very rudimentary questions about his faith and he was very serious about learning. I remember two people there that were laughing at him in a joking way but there wasn't anything funny about his questions. Seemed sincere to me. I recall Greg saying," What is so funny you guys?" I hope he was able to continue seeking and find what he was looking for.

Nice armpit hair Ray. Just a beast in his natural habitat. Ray always cracks me up. We always break out in laughing fits. He's going to move soon and marry Joyce. They make a mighty fine couple. Ray's got this innocent childlike personality that is hard not to love. I still remember when I first met him, we were laughing about something silly in the garage at OPD. I'm going to miss this kid when he's gone.

We had a conversation today about guns and he wants to go shooting with me. He said Joyce refuses to have a gun in the house. I mean these are honest, prim, and proper folks we're talking about here. Statistically they won't need a gun. But you never know. My boy Harvey is prim and proper and Mexicans shot at him while robbing his house in a nice neighborhood. Ray says in a home invasion, all he has to do is comply. Plus he doesn't want to put bullet holes in the way. This guy is asian as hell lol. Always thinking about saving money even in a life or death situation. He most certainly will be the first to become rich out of my circle. The hearts of men can be evil, they might put a bullet in between your eyes just to leave no witnesses. Plus all this is hypothetical. If shit hit the fan, I know he would be thinking about protecting Joyce. He will understand when he gets married. I love Ray. When I climb out of sheoul and meet the love of my life, especially if I have a kid, I'd kill every single intruder in that house to protect my family. Don't give me this pacifist BS about how I should have faith in God and how my fate is in God's hand. My puny brain is too minuscule to comprehend the wonders of God but I know for a fact that's not how he operates. I've been home invaded by masked men and on another occasion taken for over 22 grand in crispy one hundreds. What did David do when his wives, livestock, and spoils were taken by the Amalekites after the burning of Zilkag? He did what every man should do. He marched out with 400 out of 600, slaughtered them and retrieved everything. Nothing was missing great or small. I'll never forget being tied up and the way it felt when a crowbar was sliding against my teeth. Perpitrator quietly mutters in my ear, "Do you want your teeth? Tell me where your stash is located." Even when I hear random sounds in a house, it'll send off red flags if I can't identify them right away. I'm the way I am from my past. I will always be in support of firearms and it is our right to bear arms. When I die, I don't want anything ridiculous like spreading my ashes in the ocean. Just bury me next to my parents with my Bible and my pistol.

Pete got me the Apocrypha. He's known that I've always wanted to read it since it has the books of Maccabees in it but it was not allowed in OPD. I still remember secretly reading The Essence of Christianity by Ludwig Feuerbach and making it my mission for apologetics because it's actually a book defending atheism. Anyways, the Maccabean dynasty was an era between the last prophet and Roman occupation when Judas the Hammer emancipated the Jews from the evil Greek king Antiochus, one of Alexander's four generals after his death.

My landlord made me Ning Chi hotpot. This man spent a 1 hr and 45 mins talking to me a few days ago. Vincent is full of lot of wisdom and he's also a believer. He really put things into perspective. Jesus once said the light of the body is the lamp of the eyes. Essentially it winds down to how I look at things. My mentors in my early adulthood were dope fiends, drug peddlers, and criminals. I'll never forget my friend Mickey, miss him but he's probably doing hard time again. It's a blessing now that I have so many mentors who are men of God and I must give thanks.

Tammy invited me to watch The Chosen with Vertigo people. I have social anxiety right now. It's better to admit it then pretend I'm some kind of pillar of strength. I got some demons I have to decapitate. Let me keep it real even if it's embarrassing. If I'm embarrassed then good. Like my mentor said, "You remember this moment the next time you deviate from the righteous path." When I become a pillar of strength, I won't have to say anything. People will just know and believe me, that moment is in the near future. I'm tired of living in denial and either in 1st or 2nd Peter, it says the truth will set me FREE.

Sometimes I'm not sure why people think about me. I'm practically a ghost. I guess that's the love of God working through them and for that I'm thankful. I'm use to people calling me for dope and the moment they get their fix, they disappear. I guess I'm going to have to relearn what healthy friendships are.

Heavenly Father,

You are the most gracious and almighty Lord of the heavens and earth. You are the father of lights, the source from which all things came. Even when it is cloudy, you hold the the world in place emanating light and life. There is nothing out of your reach. There is nothing that's impossible with you by my side. I pray that you take this heart of stone and give me a heart of flesh. Help me to love and feel loved again. Please instill in me a heart of humility so that I may always see things truthfully. I give gratitude for all these wonderful people that you have strategically placed in my life. Each with a specific purpose and spiritual gift to show me about you and myself.

In the precious name of Christ, Amen

[sueboohscorner]

#Empire: S4 Ep8 *Cupid Painted Blind* #Empire #OMG

Episode Rating Scale: (10) Exceptional

The season is (1) episode away from it's fall finale. Diana Dubois has broken the Lyon cubs down. Between Hakeem, Jamaal and Andre; she broke Andre the worst. It's time for Cookie to end this battle but she can't do it alone. Lucious is needed. Never thought we would be craving for the monster and evil that lives inside of Lucious. However, Lucious always protected his family by any means necessary. They can even use Mama Leah right about now; she has no problem ending lives. Cupid Painted Blind, what does that mean? Let's recap and figure it out. 

After beating Warren badly, Thirsty discovers it's a warrant out for Jamaal's arrest. The entire family is at Jamaal's condo. Cookie makes it's clear Diana is taking her sons down one by one. Andre is next. At the same time, Cookie is looking for alcohol and pills in Jamaal's cabinets. She fears this heartache will cause him to relapse. He has worked too hard to fight that demon. I pray he doesn't relapse. Love hurts when it ends but doesn't mean you can't get over it.

The injuries Jamaal gave Warren was unbelievable. Angelo rubbed it in Warren's face. Angelo admits he knew Jamaal had it in him but didn't think Warren wouldn't fight back. It's funny to me how Angelo feel falling for a Lyon is a bad thang. Angelo fell for Cookie knowing her past and her family lifestyle. He could have walked away from Cookie. Warren could have been honest with Jamaal once he fell in love with him. Them Dubois need to accept some responsibility in their broken hearts. And Angelo, you aired your dirty dealings for the world to hear. So get off the blame game. But I am confused, how is Warren a Dubois? The fact that Angelo stated, "Mother, will still take care of your father. " So is Warren's father her brother or her husband's brother? I am kind of confused about that.  I felt sorry for Warren tho. He lost everything helping Diana. She blames him for falling in love not her need for revenge. Diana is heartless indeed. At this point, I don't feel it's about Angelo's career being ruin. I genuinely think it's deeper than that. 

Cookie drill Andre about any new things happening in his life. Andre insists he hasn't met anyone new, but that's a lie. He met Detective Pamela Rose. Lucious stops Andre as he was very sarcastic. He nails Diana's tactics perfectly. As Lucious stated, "she moves pass your brain and goes for your heart." Indeed she does. She snatched Hakeem's heart with his daughter and snatched Jamaal's heart with a good relationship. How is she going to snatch Andre's heart? That's what Cookie and Lucious are trying to figure out, but Andre is not honest. Hakeem is tired of the repeated denial from Andre. Jamaal is tired of them being in his house, and Andre is just tired of being questioned. Cookie is looking at all three of her sons like they lost their minds.  She calls them three stupid blind ass mice. Lmao. Cookie is genuinely trying to protect her family, but they instead drown in the sorrows of Diana's damage to their hearts. Andre and Hakeem head to Empire. Jamaal puts Lucious and Cookie out his condo. Cookie sees the hurt from Warren's betrayal in Jamaal's face. As she stares at him, she has a flashback of when she was in jail. Her most significant enemy in prison became her friend. Her friend in need.  She got pregnant by a CO. She went into labor and had a baby. Cookie helped her through it all. The memory was about that feeling of protection the first time you see your child. Protecting her kids is all Cookie is focused on. Cookie can't let Diana get away with the pain she has caused her children. 

Cookie needs Lucious back to his old ways. She makes it clear if he can't help her, paint a symphony somewhere. She can avenge this war for her family. Lucious is doing the best he can under the circumstances. Divide and conquer is his plan. He tells Cookie to let him deal with Andre because he is hiding something. Cookie takes off to find Warren. Warren is the only person that can keep Jamaal out of jail. 

Cookie pays Diana a visit. She brings Diana the engagement ring Angelo gave her. The ring is a family heirloom for the Dubois family.  However, the ring was just a distraction for Diana and her bodyguards. Cookie throws the ring in the street. Diana's bodyguards all run to secure the piece of jewelry. This was a distraction for Thirsty to take pictures of all of Diana's bodyguards. The plan worked perfectly. 

Back at Empire, Tiana is in the studio recording her song for 20/20 with Shine. Hakeem enters the studio. This the first time we see Tiana since Bella's trial. Shine calls Hakeem to the studio because he wants to put Hakeem on one of his tracks for the five albums he has to release on 20/20. I guess Shine wasn't informed that Tiana and Hakeem are no longer together. He tells Hakeem, " I thought your girl could talk you into it." Hakeem makes it's clear Tiana isn't his girl and he not interested in doing a track. See, this is the bratty side of Hakeem. Tiana didn't cause him to lose Bella. He lost his daughter all by himself. Instead of apologizing, he acts like a spoiled, entitled kid. I thought this part of Hakeem was gone and he grew beyond that. I guess some habits are hard to break. Tiana comes out the booth, and Hakeem tells her to put some auto-tune on her track. Enough was enough for Tiana. She smacks Hakeem with ones of those grandma cock hand smacks to your face. You go girl. Tiana doesn't deserve Hakeem's disrespect. She gives him a piece of her mind as well. Good job Tiana. Shine takes Tiana's side. Hakeem vows not to date anyone because it ruins everything. I like this scene because we see another side to Shine. Shine steps up to help Hakeem learn it's more about manhood and fatherhood. He tells Hakeem to come with him. What does Shine have to show Hakeem? I hope it's nothing shady. You never know with Shine. One minute he seems over the past with Lucious and Cookie, but then it's revealed he still in his feelings. 

Thirsty has all the pictures of Diana's bodyguards. He explains to Lucious that one bodyguard is on her payroll but doesn't be with Diana. That's the guard who is watching Warren. Diana knows Warren is in love with Jamaal. She also doesn't want her plans for the Lyons revealed. So, she has Warren in hiding. According to Angelo,  it's for his protection from the Lyons. But it's really for Diana's protection in my eyes. Love will make you turn on family sometimes. It looks like that's the dilemma Warren is in. Anyway, Lucious puts Thirsty on another project. I swear Thirsty gets the information and job done. What does Thirsty have to do now?

Andre approaches Pamela about her role with the Dubois. He makes it clear someone is after his family. He tells her about how Diana is destroying his family through their hearts. Pamela denies any involvement with the Dubois. She is hurt that Andre would even think she would play him. She walks off but not before letting Andre know; she felt they had something special. I guess Lucious asked Thirsty to watch Andre. After Pamela leaves, you see Thirsty calling Lucious telling him to meet him at the restaurant. He tells Lucious something is up with Andre. Andre sits at the table, apologizing to the customers at the restaurant for his outburst with Pamela. It just seems to be no love in the air for Andre since Rhonda's death.

Lucious and Thirsty walk up on Andre at the restaurant. Andre is shocked to see them. Lucious asked Andre is everything okay. Andre tries to hide the fact he was just there with Pamela; however Thirsty told Lucious Andre was yelling at someone. Andre finally tells Lucious about Pamela. He admits he is seeing her and explains she is a cop. That's why this has been his secret.  He describes how she is kind and beautiful. He tells Lucious it's over because he accused her of working with the Dubois. He tells his father, he didn't think he can feel this way about another woman after Rhonda. So he didn't have feelings for Nessa? Andre leaves, and it looks like his heart is broken. Does Pamela work for Diana? Is she there to take Andre down for the bombing that almost killed his father? Does she truly have feelings for Andre? So many questions about Detective Pamela Rose. Lucious tells Thirsty to find out all he can about Pamela. Will her secret now become exposed to Lucious?  

Back at Jamaal's condo, he is listening to  his song Love is Drug. Unfortunately, Warren is on that track. He hears Warren's voice and slams his laptop. Jamaal ends up with a bottle of wine and some pills he has hidden in his kitchen. I can't believe he is about to relapse over this. No, no, no Jamaal. Don't give Diana what she want.

Hakeem and Shine end up in a suburban neighborhood. Looks like Shine had a family of his own. It appears Shine has some sister wives set up for his kids and kid's mothers.   He also has alot of kids. Three sets of kids with three different women. Wow Shine. However, he gives Hakeem some good advice. Never eat where you lay, never let anyone come between you and your kid, keep your business out the streets and the only real connection you will ever have is family. As Shine said, tattoo that on your eyelids. It makes a lot of sense to me. Hopefully that wisdom helps Hakeem 

Back to Jamaal. He is in his condo hurt and facing his biggest demon; his addiction. What he is listening to Love is a Drug and reminiscing about that moment with Warren. He really shouldn't be alone, but he kicked his parents out.  He loved Warren. He felt he was the one. Making that song was the moment Warren first said I love you.  Jamaal is truly hurt, but pills and alcohol won't erase the pain. Thank God, Jamaal tossed the pills. He took a drink instead even though drinking was apart of his rehab as well. A drink is better than popping pills, so I am not too mad at him for that.  However, I feel Warren and Jamaal can work this out. Yes, Warren's intentions started wrong. Yes, Warren lied to Jamaal. Once he realized his feelings for Jamaal was real; he should have confessed. The Lyons isn't angels so Jamaal can understand family loyalty, secrets, dysfunction and lies. I hope this isn't the end of Warren and Jamaal's relationship. 

He caused damage but not to the point it's unforgivable with time. Love is more powerful than revenge. Warren broke trust. Now if that's Jamaal's deal breaker; then yeah this couple is done. But, if Cookie can forgive Lucious for everything he has done, why can't that be the case for Jamaal and Warren? A Dubois in the Lyon's family would be kind of interesting.  

Cookie has face to face with Warren. She enters Warren's room with a loaded gun. She is loaded, cocked and aimed.  She tells Warren they are going to have a little talk while pointing a gun at his face. Cookie wants answers. Hopefully, Warren gives her answers. She told Warren he would tell the police he threw the first punch. Basically, self-defense to clear Jamaal of assault charges. Because Warren truly loves Jamaal, he agreed to do it. However, his quick response to agreement shocks Cookie. Cookie not new to this game but Warren assures her, she has his word. Cookie said, 'Like my son had your word when you said you loved him." Warren admits Jamaal was the love of his life and he lost him. He feels clearing his name is the least he can do for the hurt he caused. For the first time, Cookie sees Warren does love Jamaal. However, she not there to feel sorry for Warren. She is there for answers. Warren asked Cookie to do him a favor, but Cookie makes it clear; he not in a position to ask for favors. But I believe she will do a favor for Warren. You could see Cookie believe his sincerity. She puts the gun away, that says a lot. She also finds out what Diana has brewing for Andre; thanks to Warren. 

Hakeem visits Anika. Unfortunately, he gets told Anika isn't home; she is at her boyfriend's house. Anika and Angelo is a couple now? When did that happen? Was that the deal she made with Diana for her help with the custody hearing? Anika just loves having whatever Cookie loved. Lucious, Hakeem and now Angelo. Anika, Anika, Anika!! Do you want to go down with the Dubois? Please set Ma Leah free to handle Anika aka Boo Boo Kitty. Hakeem misses his daughter. What will he do to get his daughter back?

Warren gave Cookie the information she wanted. Cookie tells Andre and Lucious that Diana was messing with his mind. The doctor Andre sees works for Diana. Andre was shocked to hear that. He gives Cookie the higher dose pills that were prescribed for him to take. Apparently, Diana had something heavy on the doctor for him to risk his career for her. Cookie drills Andre to remember what he told the doctor. The doctor has had Andre so high off them pills; he doesn't know what he told the doctor. All he remembers is telling the doctor he couldn't get an erection. Andre is happy to find out Pamela isn't playing with his heart. Cookie tells Andre to get a new doctor as soon as possible. Yes, he needs a new doctor. Andre is off the chain when off his meds. However, he just focused on fixing things with Pamela. He takes off to find Pamela. Cookie has another flashback to jail. She is looking for Pound Cake, and she questions the CO that got her pregnant. Pound Cake was forced to give up her daughter. Cookie promise to make the CO-pays. This flashback is because Diana is destroying everything she loves; her kids.  The same thing the CO need to Pound Cake.

Hakeem shows up to check on Jamaal. He can't believe his brother is drinking. Jamaal doesn't want a lecture and Hakeem agrees he is not trying to give him one. Hakeem tells Jamaal about Anika moving in with Angelo. He doesn't want to watch another man raise his daughter. Hakeem doesn't want to watch Jamal drink his self to death over Warren aka Trick. Jamaal has Love is a Drug playing. Hakeem like hell no when he hears Warren's voice. He erases Warren's verses off the track. Birthed is another hit from Jamaal and Hakeem. I swear when them two do a song together it's always fire. I love "Trapped." Yassss! It feels good seeing Jamaal and Hakeem together, doing music and being brothers regardless of the Dubois war. 

The last 15 mins of this episode revealed the best OMG moment this season could ever have. Then again, this was the best OMG moment of the entire series of Empire.

Andre is at his place calling Pamela. He is apologizing for everything he said. He wants to explain everything to her. He tells her how much he needs her. Then, there is a knock at the door. It's Pamela. She comes in and puts a gun on the table. Apparently, the gun is the weapon she used to kill the unarmed suspect. Pamela tells him to turn her in. Andre asked, "why would I do that?" Andre tries to explain, but she plays on the fact she did something awful and got away with it. She tells Andre he doesn't understand how it feels to carry a huge secret of guilt. At this moment I was yelling at the TV, "don't you tell her nothing, Andre." In my eyes, Pamela can't be trusted. She is only in Andre's life to find out who is responsible for the car bombing. Apart from me feels, she already knows Andre is behind it; however, she has no proof. She needs a confession from Andre. Andre is about to give her what she wants.... a confession. 

Thirsty arrives at Lucious mansion with some awkward news. Apparently, Pamela Rose isn't a cop. She has never been heard of in the NYPD. So who is Pamela? Is she a Dubois after all? Cookie calls Andre but he doesn't answer. Her and Lucious heads to Andre's apartment. 

Back at Andre's apartment, he let his feelings for Pamela cloud his judgement. He confess to the car bombing. Nooooo!!!! The look on Pamela's face said it all. As Andre tells her, " we understand each other". She responds with ....

Pamela makes her own confession. WTH? I knew it! She confesses to being an undercover cop, working for Las Vegas police. She has been after Andre all this time. She calls Andre the dumbest criminal. She admits to knowing about the car bombing and all the details behind it. She points a gun at Andre and tells him he is under arrest. Andre loses his mind. He attacks Pamela. Pamela ends up dead. Andre is freaking out. He is trying to revive her, but she is dead. Then comes a knock at the door. It's Cookie and Lucious.

Cookie and Lucious let themselves in Andre's apartment. They find Andre very hysterical and tripping out. He is rambling about killing her, trusting her and saying she was no good for me. He tells Cookie, she was right. She was a cop, and she was lying to me. Lucious tells him to calm down. He tries to help Andre. Andre yells, "how you going to help me Pop." For the first time Dwight, not Lucious, see Andre in a bipolar episode. The look on Lucious face was like amazement and unbelievable. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He never saw Andre like this before. Andre tells Lucious, "Look at what I did. Look at what I did". He tells Cookie, "I am sorry ma. I didn't mean to hurt her". Cookie tells Andre, "It's going to be okay." Andre just keeps saying, I killed her. I am a murderer." Cookie moves the curtains. Now, I am thinking she is going to use the curtain to cover and dispose of the body. But then, Lucious tells Andre...

OMG!!!! My mouth hit the floor.  What just happened? What is going on? Then Cookie starts yelling, "There is nothing there Andre." I was so confused for a second. What about you?  Cookie gets through to Andre. She finally gets him to see there is no dead body on his floor. Andre looks around. He is confused as ever. OMG!!! Diana Dubois didn't mess with Andre's heart. She messed with his mind. Pamela isn't real. All this time, the guilt of trying to kill his father and his meds being tampered with caused Andre to go insane. All this time we saw a figment of his imagination. Cookie and Lucious stared at their son, who is lost and trapped in his mind. They see him on the floor, in tears and confuse. They see him as a victim of Diana Dubois revenge against Cookie. This entire scene explains why this episode was called "Cupid Painted Blind." Diana Dubois just elevated her gangsta.  At the same time, Diana Dubois just went too far.

Diana Dubois has to go down. Hakeem can get his daughter back. Jamaal can get over a broken heart and love again. Andre may never get his sanity back. Was Angelo losing his career and getting his heart broke worth that kind of destruction? I don't think so. What is Cookie and Lucious next move? Was seeing Andre out his mind enough courage to bring Lucious entirely back to himself? Stay tuned in because the fall finale is this Wednesday, December 13. Does Diana finally get exposed to her two faces? I can't wait until Wednesday. Hail to the Empire.

Catch up on episodes of Empire on Comcast On Demand, Hulu or download the Fox Now app.

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Editor: Lattice Johnso

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 11

I don't think I've ever been happy for more than six months in my entire life since I was four or so. Is that normal? I don't know how to gauge that sort of thing because I really have nothing to compare it to. It seems normal to me, but that might just be because I am kind of fucked up in a way.

So back to the story. Everything that I had mentioned with my dad occasionally knocking me down to nothing was still happening. I was still getting picked on in Kendrick. I was still unpopular. I couldn't seem to manage to have a crush on any of the boys. I still drew on my papers, got sent to the offices. I remember the school lighting very well, and the creak of the boards under the school rugging.

My mother forgot my 11th birthday party three weekends in a row. Roxanne had chilled out about being mean to me at this time. She had decorated with a cake and streamers. After the third time we stopped expecting her to arrive. And when she did, she had just bought some stuff from the good will, some socks and a music box. We had moved out of the new place that we had rented, and we had taken up residence in this old house with a basement. It was a bit bigger in this place. I made the mistake one day of shaving my arms there. For some reason this memory sticks out to me. I was always told not to, that if I started I could never stop, but I wanted to see what would happen so I took that jump. The soft baby hairs were replaced by a forest of dark upright hairs. And now to this day I shave my arms.

It was disappointing and hurtful for my mother to forget my birthday so many times in a row, but it's also in a strange way relieving to know where you stand. I think my mom's absence made me more resilient when I got older and gave me a wider appreciation for nature to a degree which would be hard to explain at this juncture. Some kids with inactive parents pine and wonder if their parents care. I pretty much knew where my mother stood. Everyone was always hungover during the day, so we all had to tiptoe until four pm or so. David could wake her up sometimes. James eyes were always bloodshot and he was so high he couldn't tell what people were even saying to him half the time. He had smelled up this disgusting downstairs room up, and he him and my mom would watch a lot of 70's kung foo. I cannot imagine how gross it must have been to be them. To be drunk all the time, wasting what was left of their semi-middle age youth in that gross smelly room going nowhere being nothing and watching those dollar store movies. Spending the last of the divorce money.

Outside, there were two female cats that kept having baby kittens. I spent all my waking hours outside with those cats, until I felt like I was a cat myself. I remember growing to really understand that mother cats have a lot of depth, and they do each other solids a lot. Eventually, this one mother cat, when she was hungry or needed a break, trusted me so much with her kittens that she would do this communicative thing where she would give me this prolonged eye contact and I could read on her face that she was having me watch her kittens till she got back. I have met people who told me that cats cannot really communicate like this, but I know for a fact they do.

I also learned that male cats rape. It's one of those unfortunate elements in nature I guess. I really don't like it, and I think it might be in situations like this that give me a strong sense that there really is no god. Forget war. Why would any sensible god give male cats a barbwired dick? It seems like many animals do a somewhat voluntary exchange. But cats, an otherwise wonderful complex and naturally beautiful creature of elegance and grace, also have this fowl rape culture thing going on that is ingrained in their nature. What sense does this make? I mean, I might see it with insects or something, but why cats? I never liked it one bit. It bothered me so much that eventually I tried my best to stand guard and prevent the male cat from getting the female cats, who were already sickly from having had so many batches. And then one day, I went outside and he had one of the baby kittens bitten to the ground and he was raping this little baby. I know he probably could not help what was making him do this, but I was so infuriated. I ran up to him and I kicked him as hard as I could. I kind of considered the female cats like a family.

I eventually took one of the little female kittens home to father's with me, and I named her Pixie. I had her for a few  years after that. Eventually, while my dad was on vacation when I was in 8th grade, she scratched one of my nephews. This made Roxanne's boyfriend at the time creepy angry, and he took her and dragged her to death in the back of his truck. I didn't know it had happened for a long time after that, but eventually Roxanne admitted this to me. She wasn't apart of it, and had only heard it after the fact. She had been afraid to tell me for some time. It makes me deeply sick in the stomach just thinking of that.

For a short time we had a dog as well. She was on the side of the road. Someone had dumped her because she was obviously a handful. She loved to get loose and roll in dead animal. We named her Angel. Eventually she ran away and never returned. I can only hope she found a good home.

I started going to Sunday school, since the church was a two minute walk from my house. I was never religious, but the mythology of Christianity was very interesting to me. I liked talking about the symbolic significance of every detail in the bible, and going over it in class. I also liked the fact that it was brutal, unfair, and rigid. I suppose I was supposed to like the main characters, including God, but I didn't, which made the entire thing all the more fascinating. I always felt frustrated after reading the bible texts. I don't know why people think that stuff is comforting. At best, it's profound enough to where you really have to think about what it means for modern society, and at worst, it really makes you question why anyone in their right mind is buying this stuff. I was also fascinated with the genealogical order of genesis. I used to be able to name off all the prophets from Adam down to King Solomon. I often times knew their wives, and even their handmaids.

Honestly, I was a little jealous of the bible. Here I was drawing these squeaky clean Alien girls in their late teens, dressed in pure fashion and having names like Paprika and Daffodil, and there were these gritty ugly characters who were always struggling with and and under the psychosis of a sky god lunatic who were much better. And yet it addressed human greed, order, jealousy, betrayal, forgiveness, and all those things that my alien girls completely failed to.

My mom decided to start sewing for awhile. She sewed me a decent Halloween hippie costume, perhaps to make up for missing my birthday so many times in a row. It was one of the few times in that many years time that I really spent any time with her. She taught me how to sew – kind of. I remember her telling me that she was tired of telling her I hated myself. I said I hated myself a loud every day just about. But she really could not say anything really. Everyone in the house confirmed I was annoying, weird, funny looking, and obviously forgettable enough to forget my birthday. My mom also decided that she and James were going to get married. The dresses she had in mind would be green she told me. That might have been why she got her sewing stuff out. My Halloween costume was good though, and it made a splash at school. She made things into patches, and she added flare to all my sleevings of my pants and shirt.

Overall though, I was increasingly frustrated with rage and self hatred. She made me mad one day. I don't remember the reason, but I think it was because David was spoiled, or I had been overlooked or mistreated in some way. I wish I knew why, but I don't really remember. I lost complete and total control. We had about 40 board games in the closet. I found myself screaming and crying in a way I didn't ordinarily. It felt like no matter what I did I failed and I wanted to destroy myself, but I didn't have the means or the bravery to go through with it, and I wanted to tear something apart. I took every single board game, and all their parts and I poured them all over the floor. The entire room was covered in board game pieces. It was complete madness. Naturally, this didn't make anyone happy with me in the least. Everyone was told to ignore everything I said and did to make me feel like a fool. They told me to clean it up, but I wouldn't. I didn't feel good about what I had done either.  The monopoly man and the Plum dude from Candy land looked up at me accusingly. Eventually James came in and had his one little speech of things that he ever said to me for the four years I knew him. He said in this stoned hippie voice 'God man. How could you do this to your mother man?... after all your dad did to her, and now you wanna be just like him... it makes me sick... it just makes me so sick you would be so uncool. Your mother does so much for you and this is how you treat her? What's wrong with you?' and a tangent of other rhetorical nonsense.

David had grown so spoiled that I also was having troubles keeping calm in his presence. He started being very defiant and aggressive towards me and Allison and my mother. He was mean. I would find myself getting so angry, I would turn around and smack him in the face. Now, to be clear, I would not do this now. I was eleven, and this was kind of how I understood things were to be done. I was trying very hard to discipline David since he wasn't getting disciplined from my mother or father. I was so angry back then, and I didn't even have a clue on how to handle my own feelings. My mother would scream and cry and I remember she had a fight in front of the house, telling my dad over and over 'SHE'S GOING TO KILL SOMEONE DAVE!! SHE'S EVENTUALLY GOING TO KILL OUR SON!' My father didn't see me as the murdering type, and he seemed pleased that she was displeased in a postdivorce sort of way.

The most pivotal moment in this cat-house – as I have grown up calling it, though it isn't what someone might think it is by that name, was one night when I stayed up very late to watch Kiki's Delivery Service with Allison, who was four at the time. Allison had never stayed up past midnight before, and I wanted to keep her up to see what she was like. She seemed very loopy. She was babbling and talking about something or other about kitties or the movie, something a small child might talk about, and I was listening to her for fun. Suddenly, I started hearing this weird crashing noise in the other room. There was no door to that room. The windows did not open. Nobody was in that room. It was David's room theoretically, though he actually slept with my mom most of the time. I tried to ignore it, but I heard it again. It sounded like someone had picked up one of David's toys and threw it. It might have been my fear and paranoia at that point, but I felt like something in the house had gotten really wrong somehow. I didn't want to scare Allison though. If she was scared, that would make me even more frightened. She heard the noises too, but I was trying to pretend that they were not worthy of consideration so she didn't start to scream

As I sat there, what I suddenly saw blew me away and I could barely believe I was seeing it. This man figure walked through the hallway. Everything looked mostly normal, and then he just kind of moved through that part of the house, past the doorway where I could see him wandering past. He seemed to be made out of light, and I could not see his features. And then he was gone. I was beyond panicked. I was ready to start screaming and crying, but I was too afraid to even do that. I was too afraid to move. Allison seemed to have missed it. I was paralyzed for a few minutes, afraid to do anything. Nothing else strange happened, and the house seemed to return to a normal feeling, though I was still at this point so scared I was crying. Eventually I got my mother up, sure that she would see the significance. But she didn't seem to care. She was mostly annoyed that I woke her. I forced her to sleep upstairs on the couch anyway.

As an adult, and a skeptic, I can not be 100% certain what I saw was accurate. Perhaps it was my mind playing tricks on me? Allison confirmed for a fact that she heard the noises that I had heard, but she didn't see anything. It's possible, and not at all out of the realm of possibility that I might have been so scared by the initial noises that my brain made up something that wasn't there. I can never really know anything anyway now though, because the memory is a flexible unstructured thing. I generally don't go over this memory much anymore because every time you go over a memory, you change that memory. I haven't thought about a lot of these situations in years actually. I trust my memory a little better than some though. Part of the reason for this is that I have generally always written everything down, even when I was a kid. So I would memorize the words, or the story itself apart from my direct memory of it, but associated as well. Which definitely creates memory discrepancies of it's own, but at the same time it solidifies the story somewhat. All I can really do is try to be honest. And honestly, I felt with the entire fiber of my being that I had seen a ghost.

Anyway, until another sleepless night occurs.

If you want to read my life story so far, here are the previous parts.

PART 10 -  http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw  

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8