#or a tabloid RUMORING they had a daughter (those hurt her more than she admits) it bites to have famous supermodels for parents 🥀😵‍��

[thedeadthree]

lila thoughts under the read more <3 🥀✨🌹🎸

lila getting with griffin / g reign and having their little thing in “secret” not only bc it’s what her parents did to each other to get back at the other for slights and arguments but also bc she wanted to not only get back at seven but also to be like “oo look at me i can pull griffin freaking reign i won teehee.” and then the clown catches real feelings for griffin and calls jazz near in tears bc she’s just like her mom 🥀✨🎸🤡 and using someone she loves to get back at someone who she loved may or may not have even loved (i think she did but loved more the idea ? it’s complicated!) but loved the IDEA of seven loving her? dear you know it everyone knows it you want to be loved so bad!!!!!! the sooner you admit that lila the sooner you’ll be much happier my love! so excited to see where things go for her ! and things for her and her beloved g!!!!!

(x) for the divider <3

[alyssadeliv]

The Forgotten One

First      Previous

Chapter 5

Ladybug and Chat Noir made their debut on a sunny Monday of September. Just as her master had feared that intense energy they felt was only the beginning. Hawkmoth started his reign of terror, releasing his akumas on unsuspecting civilians, using their strong negative emotions, and creating his champions. It was a vile move, attacking someone when they were vulnerable. But Marianne had to admit that he was good. She was trained to do exactly the same thing, to manipulate and exploit someone’s weakness, but at least she had the decency to never use her abilities for personal gain unless extremely necessary. She was a soldier, everything she did was by the order of someone. Her whole training so far had been preparing her for this moment. 

So when Stonehart appeared, she was ready. 

She knew everything she needed to do, she had been trained since birth for this. Her Master was confident that she had what it took to take down these akumatized people, and allied with the one he had chosen to wield the Cat Miraculous they would be unstoppable. He didn’t tell her the identity of the person he has chosen, but she knew he wouldn’t. For safety reasons, only the Grand Guardian would know the identities of the wielders. But she didn’t need to know his identity in order to work with him. 

Chat Noir surprised her a lot. She knew he couldn’t possibly have the same training she had, but he still knew how to fight. He’s trained in fencing from what she can tell by his style of fighting, and he’s very good. After some time they became the perfect duo, always in synchrony and ready for anything. It’s nice to have someone on her side, in the League she mostly acted alone, so having someone that had her back full time was new. 

It took two years to defeat Hawkmoth. In those two years that she lived in Paris, a lot changed. First was her name. In order to live completely off the radar of the League, she needed a new name. They had lost contact with the League after the attack, so they never discovered what exactly happened, or who won in the end. She was glad the Mayor of Paris decided that it would be better to ban any rumors of a supervillain in the city from the outside world, fearing that that would cause the tourism to diminish. That allowed her some security, but one could never be too careful, the League was known to have spies everywhere. So she changed her name. In the documents that her godmother forged, she was called Marinette Dupain but preferred to be called Mari because that was closer to her real name. Daughter of a kind baker and his traveler wife, her backstory was that she spent most of her childhood traveling the world with her mother, but now her parents decided that it would be good for her to stay in the same place for more time. She would be homeschooled by Sabine, which was enough for social security to allow her to be kept from attending school. It was kind of funny that she lived so close to a school but didn’t study there. 

Another thing that changed was that for the first time she had people she could rely on. Before it was only Damian. He was the only one that she ever told about her fears and insecurities, confiding in him was something she missed in those years apart. They were very close before the attack, and after two long years of thinking she was dead, she wasn’t sure what would happen when they finally reunited. But she hoped it would go well.

When she first transformed, she felt invincible. It was something she would never forget, feeling that kind of power was memorable. It was normal for the suit to incorporate traits of your personality, but it still was a surprise when she saw herself as Ladybug for the first time. She wore a black skin-tight suit that covered her entire body from the neck down, in her torso making the illusion a corset, a part of the suit was red with black spots. She also had boots and a jacket to complement her look, also in red with dots. Her hair tied back in a ponytail was rather practical and allowed her better motion. On her right leg strapped to her tight was a knife holster with a small dagger that served for surprise attacks, her specialty. Around her waist was where she tied her yoyo when she wasn’t using it. To conceal her identity, she wore a domino mask also in red.

In the beginning, she wanted to use another name for her superheroine self, one that paid tribute to her Arabic roots, but Master Fu thought it better to go with a more generic name, that way it would be harder to obtain any type of information about her. In the end, she relented and went with Ladybug. 

When Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared, most of Paris newspapers and tabloids started to question the origin of their superheroes. Some believe them to be aliens, which her Master thought hilarious. Others were certain they were metahumans, born with their powers, and their Miraculous just served as an amplifier, and Hawkmoth wanted all Miraculous to increase his power to the maximum level, in Mari’s case they were partially right about the part of the powers. The one that came closer to the truth was the writer of the Ladyblog, the amount of research she had was impressive for someone so young. She discovered that the Miraculous were older than they thought, dating back all the way to the ancient Egyptian Empire, other than that she was way off. She had this theory that the Miraculous holders were a group of immortal entities that always appeared in ties of need, but recently one of them must have gone bad, tired of centuries in hiding, and the others are trying to defeat them and restore peace. It was a good theory that had some truth behind it, but still very exaggerated. It didn’t help that Ladybug was obviously experienced and that only served to fund this theory even more.

It became a game for Ladybug and Chat Noir to find the funniest theories and share them during patrol. Chat was really good in that, normally he just asked one of his friends what they thought. Mari, not having friends to ask just bought stuff the media printed. These kinds of games helped them relax a little after a tiring battle.  

After two years of fighting evil forces, it was impossible for the two superheroes not to be close. Their kind of relationship always reminded Mari of her brother, and she often felt guilty for not being able to reach him. But that only motivated her more in defeating Hawkmoth. Only then she would be able to leave Paris. 

Living in Paris was nice, for the first time in her life she created a routine for herself. She had training with Master Fu in the mornings and she helped at the bakery during the afternoons. Every other day there would be an Akuma attack and she would step into her role as Ladybug. Other than that her life became pretty calm compared to what it was at the League. She even got the time to explore her creative side, drawing and sewing became her favorite hobbies.

But nothing ever stays the same for long, not for her. 

It was about one year and a half after the attack on the League, just as her Master was getting close to discovering the exact location of origin of the source of evil energy. They knew the owner of the Butterfly Miraculous knew how to read energies, being that what alerted him of the Ladybug Miraculous being activated after Mari was brought back from the dead, but they weren’t expecting him to be able to track them. Her Master energy was easier to locate, even with him being the Grand Guardian, because of his old age. 

To this day she wasn’t sure what exactly happened, only that one afternoon she felt as if the energy around shifted and became unbearable. Fearing the worst she went to her Master in search of guidance, but when she was nearing his house she saw him. Hawkmoth in the flesh. Around him were five Akumas previously defeated.

He was at a rooftop engaging Master Fu, who at the time had already transformed with the Turtle Miraculous, in a heated duel. At the side was Mayura, trying to reach the Miraculous Box that was secured inside a green dome. Not wasting one minute she transformed in a nearby alley and went into action attacking the Peacock wielder. She was ruthless in her blows, never leaving space for the other woman to attack. Chat Noir arrived a couple of minutes later and went for the akumatized people, but at that point it was already too late. Master Fu knew that would be his last day on earth, he didn't have the strength to fight and maintain the Box inside the safety dome, so he did the only thing he thought possible. He relinquished his position as the Grand Guardian of The Miraculous to Ladybug. 

The box immediately disappeared from the dome and appeared in Mari’s arms. Without wasting a second she used her hidden weapon and stabbed her opponent in the thigh in order to subdue her. Her cries of pain were enough to attract Hawkmoth's attention from Chat Noir, with whom he had just engaged in battle. He immediately went to comfort his partner, using his champions as a barricade to protect them. He escaped. Or rather Mari let him escape. Because she couldn't stop looking at her Master’s body. He was dead. Died protecting the Miraculous. Inside her she felt some piece of her break. Death wasn’t new for her, but it felt surreal to believe the man that saw her grow and taught her almost everything she knew was dead. But there was no time to mourn, a soldier only mourned after the war, and this war was far from being over. But at that moment, looking at the lifeless body of her Master she made a vow to herself. 

She would not rest until Hawkmoth perished.

And she would make sure that before he did, it hurt

Next

Another fresh capther for all of you. To be honest I had planned this chapter to be compleatly different, but I was inspired and just lost myself, and when I realised I couldn’t finish this chapter anyother way. Hope you all liked it! Fell free to leave a comment with your theories of what’s going to happen next! (Also, the taglist still open)

WARNING: Major character death; description o violence.

Ladybug suit was inspired by this drawing from Eden Daphne 

Taglist:  @macncheesemonster @jumpingjoy82 @silversaphire12 @jinx-jade @swiftie-miraculer13  @greatcatblaze @megaafangirl @ramos123 @theamityislife @maskedpainter @toodaloo-kangaroo @nyx-in-line @ketchupqueenboiiii @blackroserelina @lozzybowe @user00000003 @kashlyn @msshadows97 @ira-sairain @stackofrandomstuff @myazael @frieddonutsweets @asrainterstellar @our-preciousss @laurcad123 @nyaabinch @rverfades @thefangirlwholiterallydies @astoriaandromeda @unnamed2357 @little-lady-bird @imdaqueenie @meismu @dorkus-minimus @a4-machete @arty-shadow-morningstar @catthhay @sizzling-fairy-oil @poodapup @charme-de-malchan @jayjayspixiepop @fusser90 @adrestar @iloontjeboontje @buginetye @macncheesemonster

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: High Hopes

Been a while!

Trying to get back in the saddle with this Claudeth thing that won’t leave me alone. So if you’re a FE3H fan, hope you enjoy! <3

~Reyna

________________________________________________________________

The folder thudded against the desk, the weight of its importance impressive...to anyone else. As it happened, his daughter just glanced at it before continuing on with the paperwork already under her nose.

“What’s that?”

“Your new contract.”

Byleth’s pen stayed, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his. Every day, Jeralt was stunned by the spitting image his daughter painted of his wife. Well, the painting was a forgery in one aspect--Byleth’s smiles were a work of fiction.

“I’m not taking new contracts.” Her tone, flatter than usual, brooked no argument. Jeralt frowned. He supposed it was his fault that his child had turned out so stubborn. He had done his best with her, of course, but even so...

When Byleth showed every intention of ignoring the file, Jeralt decided to level with her.

“Look, kid: I know your last contract didn’t...work out.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. It was enough to let Jeralt know that he was treading into dangerous waters. They did not discuss the Blaiddyd contract in this house.

“But what’re you gonna do, not work for the rest of your life?”

Byleth spun in her chair, giving her father her back. He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. How on earth had his wife talked him into having children?

“Despite what happened, you’re still good at what you do, kid. Damn good. It’d be a shame for you to quit now.”

“I can get another job.”

The notion was half-hearted, and they both knew it. Jeralt seized that wavering tone he could sense just beyond her words.

“Aren’t you just a little curious? This offer came straight from Boss Lady herself.”

Byleth’s head perked up then. Jeralt smirked as she turned just enough to side-glance at him. As much as he hated the hold Rhea seemed to have over his daughter, he would admit that maybe this was just what Byleth needed to shake off the funk she’d been in lately.

“....” Byleth spun back around, her eyes bouncing between the file and Jeralt. Ah, there it was--that little spark of intrigue. That was all Jeralt needed.

“There’s been a stir in the politics game lately,” he explained, turning to the television in the corner of the office. He raised the remote and clicked it on, the sound muted. Sure enough, there he was, splashed across their chosen news station: his daughter’s new assignment. “He’s been saying a lot of stuff that’s a little too idealistic, if you ask me. But his charisma is unparalleled. People’re callin’ him ‘the face of Fodlan’s unification.’” Jeralt set down the remote and eyed his daughter. “Some of the stuff he’s been sayin’ has put a target on his back, too.”

Byleth’s gaze was more unimpressed than usual as she watched the young man onscreen gesticulate in front of an enraptured crowed.

“Is he a politician or a peacock?” she grumbled. Jeralt laughed at that.

“I’ll leave it up for you to decide.” Just as Byleth was slowly reaching for the file, however, Jeralt snatched it up, regarding her raised eyebrows grimly. “But I’m not gonna give ya the job if you’re gonna be half-hearted about it. If you’re gonna do this, kid, ya gotta be sharp. Understand?”

Byleth seemed to understand his meaning: as much as he wanted her to get back in the game, he would not encourage her at the cost of her life. If she wanted the job, she had to let go of the past.

That wasn’t always so easy to do--Jeralt knew that perfectly well. But as much as his own shadows haunted him, he’d be damned if he would let the same fate befall his daughter. He had raised her to be better than him, so better she would be.

Byleth straightened her shoulders and gave a firm nod. At that signal, it was only with the barest hint of concern that he handed the file back to her.

“Go get ‘em, kid.”

________________________________________________________________

For the life of her, Byleth just couldn’t understand why anyone believed buildings had to be this big. Did they fancy themselves close to their gods when they built structures that reached the sky? Did the Tower of Babel teach them nothing?

Shaking her head, Byleth quieted that ancient griping at the back of her head. Thoughts that went on diatribes like that often came out of nowhere; whenever she voiced them, her father would laugh and call her an ‘old soul’. That wasn’t quite it...but since she had no other explanation, she would just nod along. It was better than being the alternative.

Her new assignment was situated on the top floor--of course. Byleth suppressed her eye roll as she stepped into the elevator. The tinkling music playing overhead did nothing to settle her nerves, so she did her best to soothe herself with breathing exercises, measuring her breathing as the elevator changed floors. It didn’t bother to stop in between any other floors; Byleth wondered if the elevator she’d been directed to had exclusive access to the top floor, despite having buttons for every other floor. Or was it just coincidence?

Before she could figure it out--and it was part of her job to figure it out--the elevator chimed, and the doors opened right into a lobby of some sorts. As Byleth stepped out of the elevator, the pink-haired woman behind what was presumably the secretary’s desk hopped up in surprise.

“Oh, hi~! Um, excuse me, but are you lost? This is kind of a restricted floor.”

Byleth stepped forward, assessing the woman. Dainty, gilded, hardly a threat...at least, she wouldn’t be, if Byleth couldn’t see that can of mace hidden behind her back. A part of her was impressed.

“I’m Byleth Eisner,” she introduced herself, slowly retrieving her business card from her breast pocket so the ‘delicate flower’ wouldn’t jump the gun and do something regrettable. “Your boss is expecting me.”

The pink-haired woman’s rose-colored eyes took in the business card before she blinked up at Byleth, her lips pursing.

“Is that so...”

She sounded like she didn’t believe Byleth. It wouldn’t be the first time. A part of Byleth was annoyed by the perpetual underestimation she had to go through, but the more practical part of her did what any woman in her position would do: she used it to her advantage.

Before she could ask when she could expect to see the man in question, a door to her right opened, and the man himself stepped into the lobby. He was dressed smartly in a tan suit; Byleth could see the black vest underneath as he was shrugging his blazer into place. He wasn’t focused on the room; his eyes were staring in the distance as he was finishing a phone call.

“--as I said, Lorenz, you catch more flies with honey--yes, I know, he was abominably rude to you, but what do you expect from a dictator? Besides, we only have to make nice until he’s ousted, which from the protests we’ve been seeing, that won’t be long. Now please let it go. Yes, I’m on my way to see you now, when am I not? Honestly, with how much you demand me to see you, the tabloids will start stirring up rumors that we’re sleeping toge--I’m joking! Please calm down before you permanently furrow that alabaster brow of yours, all right? I’ll see you in twenty.”

He finally hung up his phone, tucking it into an inner pocket of his blazer as his eyes found his secretary.

“Lorenz is getting antsy. Can you forward my calls to my cell?”

“Sure, but...” the woman’s eyes flickered to Byleth. “You have a...guest.”

The man was in the process of putting on his sunglasses, so Byleth had to watch him do the exaggerated once-over over them as he took her in. His eyes were a deep shade of green; they reminded her of deep acres of forests, the kind that held ancient secrets hidden from the everyday view of the common man.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, pulling his sunglasses off again as his face lit up in a hundred-watt smile. Byleth was interested to see that said smile did not reach his eyes; those remained distant, careful. Calculating. “How can I help you, Miss--?”

“Eisner. Byleth Eisner.” Byleth stepped forward, holding her hand out for a handshake. “I’m your new bodyguard.”

The man paused, reacting a little late in shaking her hand.

“Really?” He looked her over once more, as if he’d missed something. “You’re from Saint Seiros Co.? The woman they call ‘The Ashen Demon’?”

Byleth’s expression was neutral as she gave a nod. She wasn’t particularly fond of that nickname...but work was work.

There was one more glance-over--focused longer on her breasts than she liked--before his eyes met hers once more.

“Well. You’re not what I expected.”

Byleth’s eyebrows flicked upwards.

“I rarely am,” she admitted. That managed to get a genuine smile from the man, much to her surprise.

“I like you,” he decided, quite abruptly as he gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Claude von Riegan.”

“I know who you are.”

“I suppose you do,” he agreed with a laugh. He finally released her hand, carding it through his dark hair. “I suppose you also know why you’re here.”

Byleth nodded.

“You’ve been receiving death threats.”

Claude winced at the simple words, a hand over his heart like they were wounding him physically.

“Just a couple,” he agreed. The pink-haired woman scoffed.

“‘A couple’?! We had to order the post office to stop our mail for a whole month!”

“No one got hurt, Hilda.”

“Still,” she sniffed, her dainty nose wrinkling in disgust. Claude patter her head sympathetically, and was rewarded with a swat and a complaint of messing up her hair.

“So yeah, my granddad figured I could use some extra muscle.” Claude raised his eyebrows at Byleth. “Lots of scary letters threatening my imminent demise. That means papercuts. Thousands of ‘em. Think you can handle it?”

In that moment, Byleth cataloged several things at once: 

One, Claude von Riegan was not a very serious man. At least, he appeared not to be. His true nature had yet to be determined.

Two, it was most likely his grandfather’s idea for him to run for office--in Byleth’s research, she had taken note of the von Riegan family history, and concluded that politics ran in their blood. This most recent iteration of von Riegan was straying a bit from the party line, though...for what reason? Money? Publicity? She’d have to figure that out soon as well.

And three, whoever was taking the time to send him a never-ending barrage of death threats wasn’t playing games. They were serious about wanting his life. Which meant that Byleth certainly had her work cut out for her, whether Claude von Riegan knew it or not.

A shrill tune rang through the air. Claude tutted, frowning at the screen.

“I’d better go. Lorenz is going to start having kittens at this rate. Can you hold down the fort, Hilda?”

“Way ahead of you,” Hilda replied, sitting down at her desk once more and returning to the very busy work of filing her nails. Byleth spared her a glance before she made to follow Claude. This seemed to surprise him.

“Yes?”

Byleth stared at him. What did he mean, ‘yes’?

“I’m accompanying you.” At his blink, Byleth’s gaze went flat. “That is what a bodyguard does.”

“Oh, I’m just meeting Lorenz. There’s no danger there,” Claude assured her with a bright grin. Byleth remained unmoved.

“With all due respect, sir, I would be negligent in my duties if I did not accompany you from now on. What could just be a meeting to you could turn sour very quickly, if you don’t know what to look for.”

Claude’s smile faded, his eyes becoming critical again as he stared at her.

“I really think I’ll be fine,” he insisted. Byleth took a step closer to him.

“You will be,” she agreed, eyes never wavering from his, ��because I will be there to protect you. Even if you find it unnecessary.”

Silence fell between them as they sized each other up, Claude testing the metal that surrounded Byleth’s resolve as she took shape of the glass he used to barricade himself from others without them even noticing. The staring match was only interrupted by the clearing of Hilda’s throat.

“Claude, if you don’t leave soon, Lorenz is going to start calling me.”

That must’ve been an undesirable situation; Claude shot her an apologetic grin over his shoulder before he returned to his stride to the elevator.

“Sorry, Hild. I’m going now.” As he pressed the button for the elevator, he turned once more to look at Byleth. “After you, Miss Eisner.”

“Byleth’s fine,” Byleth corrected him, preceding him on the elevator as he requested. His eyes twinkled with interest as he followed her.

“As you wish, Miss Bodyguard.”

Byleth leveled him a flat look. Something told her they were going to be having a lot more battles in this regard. She’d better get to work sharpening her blades.

[mariequitecontrarie]

People Will Talk: Part 1

Summary: Atticus Gold and relative newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Rating / Word Count: T / 2700 A/N: This is the Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. There’s a Snowing rescue, Alice Jones, Wish!Hook Killian Jones, Curious Archer, even a little Nealfire because this is my AU and I can if I want to. It’s my thank you gift for your support and friendship for these three years. Hope you enjoy!  A/N 2: Written for the May @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Fake dating/arranged marriage AU  Thanks to @maplesyrupao3​ for your beta awesomeness!

ON AO3

“Is that egg?”

“Miss French!” Gold jumped, dropping the sponge he was using to scrub his front door. Soapy, slimy water dribbled down the front of his charcoal pinstripe suit.  

Belle bit her lip and frowned. She’d been Belle just last night when they were cuddling on the sofa in his den. She had even kissed him before she went home, a brief brush of his deliciously rough cheek with her lips, hovering as close to his mouth as she dared to come.

“I’m sorry!” She touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No matter.” He shrugged and dabbed at the wet spots on his chest with his pocket square, as though having his house egged and washing the door in his finest apparel was an everyday occurrence.

Belle recognized the cut and sheen of his three-piece ensemble. Brioni, and tailored to fit him like a glove. When he’d been alive, her father had an entire walk-in closet filled with dozens like it and Italian hand-stitched shoes so shiny she could see her reflection in the gleaming leather.

“Here, let me.” She plucked the pocket square from Gold’s fingers and began patting it down the front of his suit, frowning at the orange-yellow streaks of egg yolk, half-cooked in the sizzling 90-degree heat. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to buy him a new one, but a proud, self-made man like Gold would never accept or understand the gesture.

She drifted closer, swallowing a noise of delight as she ran the silk over the lean muscles of his chest. In the stifling summer heat, his alluring scent of tobacco, vanilla, and warm male skin wafted toward her. He stiffened when she reached his ribs, his posture rigid, his eyes looking straight ahead. When she snaked a trail downward toward his stomach, he closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from continuing. Sweat beaded on the stubble above his lips, and she had the crazy urge to rise on her tiptoes to lick it away. His thumb pressed into her wrist, and she wondered if he could feel the hammering of her pulse.

Breathless, Belle lifted her chin to meet his gaze; his honey brown irises wide and troubled. Like a spring, he released her and jerked away as though he’d been burned.

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “This is crazy,” she said, looking at the stained house. “We’re nowhere near Halloween. It’s not even October.” Outraged at the idea of someone egging Gold’s house, she gestured into the late July sunshine with a frown.

“Pranks know no season in Storybrooke,” he muttered with another shrug.

She sighed. She’d moved halfway across the world from Melbourne to Storybrooke about eight months ago and was still learning all the quirks of life in small-town America. Lord knew her parents tried to shield her from the worst of it, but her family’s high-profile shipping empire had made them the target of ridicule and speculation all her life. When Papa had been alive, the Australian tabloid paparazzi followed him everywhere. With her father’s death came the end of their interest in the life of Belle French. But here in a small town, everyone was famous, and news traveled around faster than lightning bugs in the wood.

Belle wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and painted on a brave smile. The least she could do was help Gold clean up the mess. “Do you have another sponge?”

He gave her a passing glance, then went back to scrubbing the door. The sticky viscous substance had dried on the leaded glass pane in the oppressive heat, making the consistency as tacky as dried glue.

When her stomach rumbled, she pulled out her mobile phone. “If you’re not going to accept my help, I’m calling for takeout. Does Thai sound good, or would you prefer pizza? I wouldn’t say no to a garlic butter crust.”

There was a long moment of silence and he continued to rub at a stubborn spot beside the door knocker. “You needn’t have troubled yourself by stopping by,” he said at last.

Her empty stomach did an uncomfortable flip at his brusqueness. “But it’s Thursday,” she said with a teasing smile, trying to push past his formal tone. “And even if it wasn’t, it would be weird for me not to stop, especially when I see you outside. You’re on my way home. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

Belle owned a rambling Victorian only two blocks away from Gold’s, and the walk between her home and the library meant she passed his house twice a day, five to six days a week. The day they met he was standing on the porch cursing at knotted strands of Christmas lights. The decorations were a surprise for his son Neal. He lived in New York City and had made the last-minute decision to spend his the holidays at home instead of in Boston with friends. She’d stopped and offered to help Gold untangle the strings, and they’d struck up a conversation about Charles Dickens.

“You’re better with books than with people, Belle,” her father would say, patting her on the head with a laugh. Like the dutiful daughter she was, she took the advice to heart and learned to talk to people about books.

Unfortunately, no matter what she said today, Gold was doing an excellent job of impersonating a mime.

An uncomfortable cord of silence stretched taut between them. Belle’s hands started to tremble and sweat dripped down her back. Disappointed, she eased her phone back into her handbag. They always met up for carryout dinner on Thursday evenings, sometimes at her house, but mostly at his. Once in a while, they ventured out, but the best times were when they curled up on the couch barefoot for food and conversation. It was so simple and normal; a stark contrast to the silent, chef-prepared meals at the long dining room table she’d grown up with where you had to hike a mile down the table to pass the green beans.

The company was the best part. Gold was witty, charming, and handsome and always had a funny anecdote to share about a tenant or a pawnshop customer. Given the choice, she would have spent every evening for the rest of her life talking and laughing with him.

But he hadn’t invited her.

“Gold.” She touched his shoulder again. “Talk to me. Do you have any idea who did this, or why?”

He tossed the sponge onto the porch next to the bucket, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve told you before, Miss French, I’m not well liked.”

Determined to banish the dark clouds gathering over them, she forced a smile. “The name’s Belle, remember? And I like you just fine.”

“All right. I’m not well liked, Belle. People don’t want to see us together. It’s a shock to the senses, or so I’ve been told.”

Her mouth opened in surprise. “Atticus, what—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. If we’re walking down the street side-by-side or having a bite to eat? Nasty stares? Concerned whispers? It’s always the same story: Gold the cradle robber, taking advantage of sweet, innocent Miss French.”

Belle balked. “I’m twenty-eight, not in nappies.”

“You know what I mean.” His small, ironic smile made her heart hurt.

Belle chewed her lip, thinking back over the past few months of their friendship. The truth was, no, she didn’t. She didn’t have the first clue what he meant. Being with Gold was like reading one of her favorite books: when they were together, she was too captivated by the man at her side to notice anything or anyone else. The way his hair glinted in the sunshine, the way his dimples bracketed his hard-won smiles, and how sweat beaded on his upper lip when he was warm and agitated.

“Jefferson’s aunt came into the shop to compliment me on my beautiful daughter.” He sighed. “Last week when we were at Granny’s and I took the liberty of ordering your cocktail while you were in the restroom, Ashley Boyd asked me if you were old enough for a drink.”

“Who cares what they think?” she retorted, hands on hips.

An ugly laugh spilled from his mouth. “You’ll care a lot when you’re denied library funding by the town council, or people cross the street to walk on the opposite side so they don’t have to walk past you. Maybe they’ll throw eggs at your bedroom window on account of your reckless decision to spend time with the town pariah.”

“Bullshit.”

His jaw dropped in surprise. Good; she'd gotten his attention.

She wanted to boast that she could buy and sell twenty libraries one hundred times over without making a dent in her bank account. But she couldn’t say that, any more than she could admit she wrote anonymous donation checks to the library once a month, or confess she acquired new children’s and art history selections last week because she was bored. People believed she was eeking by on a meager associate librarian’s salary when in reality she accepted the paycheck to keep up appearances and be polite. Her position at the library was about sharing her passion for reading, not making money.

Money she had plenty of, but what of friendship and love? Those came at a premium she couldn’t pay for.

“I mean it. I call bullshit.” Her fingers dug into her hips. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“More like hurrying nature to take its course.” He waved her concerns away with a hand. “Look at me. I’m nineteen years older than you. My hair is graying, my wrinkles are multiplying, and my leg aches worse today than it did yesterday.”

“I am looking at you. And I like both what I see, and the man I know. Very much.”

He shook his head as though he hadn’t heard her. “You don’t have to trouble yourself, sw...Belle.” He gestured at the door. “Over this or me.”

The compassionate words were at odds with his cold, hard tone, as though he was chipping ice off a block. His face, usually so open to her, had hardened into an impenetrable mask. Many times she’d seen him look at others with the same cool appraisal, but she never figured on being on the receiving end of his bitter stare.

At a loss, she shivered in spite of the sweltering evening heat and wrapped her arms around herself. Gold was her friend, her best friend in town, really. She didn’t want to lose their relationship over the say-so of some silly busybodies.

“What about your other friends?” he asked, still scrubbing away at the stupid door.

Belle chewed her lower lip, considering. There was Ruby, and Mulan, and Ariel. Mary Margaret and David Nolan were kind. She liked them all, but her connection with Gold was special. At least she thought so.

Still, he continued to scrub, all his attention on the now spotless mahogany door. The sponge scraped against the door in a maddening rhythm that matched the sick pound of her heart. She grabbed his wrist, wrestling the sponge away from him. “You’re my best friend.”

“You should stop coming here.” He swallowed. Forcing himself to send Belle away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even more difficult than facing his ex-wife’s midnight departure from his and their son’s life almost twenty-five years ago. “Before people get any more wrong ideas.”

Belle squeezed the sponge, wringing it out between her small white fingers. “You don’t want to be around me?”

“No! Yes. I mean no!” Frustrated, he ground his back teeth. She wasn’t understanding. The problem was him, not her. It was always him, couldn’t she see? “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You shouldn’t want this. Not with me.”

Quips from Jefferson’s sweet maiden aunt and snide remarks from the likes of Ashley Boyd weren’t the worst of it. More than one well-meaning town denizen had taken him aside at great risk to their rental agreements to explain how disgusting and improper a relationship between two people so far apart in age was. How it would be better for everyone if he left the young librarian to herself and allowed her to make some real friends. Phrases like “old enough to be her father” and “sugar daddy” peppered the one-sided conversations. In each case, he’d told them to mind their own bloody business, pretending to be unaffected, but the interactions left him feeling shaken and sick.

Yesterday when he came to collect rent, the Widow Lucas had stared him square in the eye and handed him a stack of bills. “You’re closer to my age than you are to hers, Gold. And making a fool of yourself. As long as she’s associated with you, she’ll never have a chance with anyone else.”

Never have a chance.

Gold was furious, but even his legendary temper couldn’t rival the pain of knowing Granny was right. They all were. They were playing upon his trust issues, exploiting his greatest fear: Belle was humoring him until someone younger and more attractive captured her time and attention. And he was falling for it.

“Surely you’re tired of playing games with an old man,” he said, bitterness leaking into the words.

He watched the blood drain from her face, nausea rolling through his gut. He grappled for the cane he’d leaned against the porch railing to steady himself.

“People talk.” She jerked her chin, whispering the words through barely parted lips. “Let them say what they want. I don’t care.”

“I see. You think this is only about you.” Ruthlessly, he hammered another nail in the coffin of their relationship. Dizzy, he looked down at the porch, watching an army of ants carry a crumb towards a crack. Anything was preferable to acknowledging the tremble of her jaw, those striking blue eyes brimming with tears and wreathed with dark circles of pain.

“Why...” she seemed to curl up on herself as she spoke, her voice becoming small as well as her body, and his heart shriveled even further. “What about...what about what we want? You can’t help who you like spending time with, can you?”

God above, he was a bastard. A sick, sadistic part of him was actually enjoying her reaction. She really did care about him, and he didn’t deserve to spend another moment in her company. Not as her friend or as anything else he might desire.

“I’m too old for you, Belle.” He winced the moment the trite excuse left his lips. He thought of their trip to the beach last week, and how she’d coaxed him to take his shirt off for the first time in ten years. How he hadn't even minded the way her warm gaze roamed over his skinny white chest. “The last several months have been...pleasant...but it’s time to move on.”

“I thought we were friends.” Her voice was raw, and she twisted the sponge.

He shook his head, aghast that she still believed the problem to be on her end. “No, sweetheart. It’s me, not you. I’m sure there are some younger people who would be better suited...” he made a helpless gesture.

“I can’t believe this.” She was pulverizing the sponge now, choking it, probably imagining it was his neck.

He pushed on, driving her further away. “Talking about me is one thing; I’m used to it. Talking about you because of me...well, that’s another matter entirely. It’s no longer only one person’s reputation at stake. I can’t bear it, Belle. Us not seeing each other anymore...it’s the only way I can protect your reputation.”

He turned around and faced the door again. There was a long, tense silence, and he could feel the sad weight of her stare.

“Protect yourself, you mean, don’t you?” she retorted, her voice choked with tears.

He heard the splash of the sponge in the bucket and he hung his head in shame. He’d gotten what he wanted, though. She was leaving.

The only sound he could remember for the rest of the evening was the clatter of her heels down the steps and out of his life.

###

[allthingsteenmom]

https://www.theashleysrealityroundup.com/2019/09/10/jenelle-evans-david-eason-finally-admit-david-killed-jenelles-dog-nugget-here-are-the-reasons-the-former-teen-mom-2-stars-say-he-did-it/

After denying it for months, Jenelle Evans’ husband David Eason is finally admitting that he did, in fact, kill Jenelle’s dog, Nugget…and his new interview may have landed him in hot water (again!)

While Jenelle admitted that David had shot and killed her french bulldog in April, she later recanted her statement, claiming in court that she “couldn’t remember” if David had admitted to committing the crime. (The dog-killing incident led to Jenelle being fired from Teen Mom 2 and ultimately replaced by Jade Cline.)

Now, almost two months after Jenelle made those claims, yet another version of the story has come out—in this one, David is finally admitting to shooting and killing Nugget.

This week, David and Jenelle sat down for an interview with PeopleTV’s People Now where they attempted to justify David’s actions, blaming everything from Nugget, to David’s “country lifestyle” (um?) to social media for the dog’s death and the chaos that resulted from it. The fact that David did, indeed, admit to killing the pup has caught the attention of investigators at the Columbus County Sheriff’s Department, according to TMZ. The authorities are apparently now looking into opening a new case to investigate David for animal cruelty.”

“We’re told the department is deciding whether to open a new probe into the killing and potentially charge him with animal cruelty,” the site reported on Tuesday. “It should be noted … cops have NOT officially reopened the case, yet. However, we’re told if they do go forward, it’ll be a new case started from scratch … and this interview will be a big part of it.”

During his interview with People, David explained why he felt he had to kill Nugget. “It was a situation where my daughter [Ensley], her health, her safety was in danger,” David said. “This was something that nobody want to ever have to do. The dog was aggressive. Yes, she might not be huge or whatever, but you know when a dog bites a child on the face more than one time, then it should never be around the child again. If you give the dog up for adoption, one day it’s going to be around children again.”

David went on to claim that if he would have called authorities, the law says the dog would have to be euthanized—-something he preferred to do on his own to save money. “I’m not going to pay anyone to euthanize my dog when I could do it myself,” he said.

David also claimed that killing Nugget was not something he wanted to do. “I mean, I loved that dog,” he said, mustering up a tear. “I still think about her every day. It’s really hard for me. A lot of people put me down for it, they hate me for it, but like I said it was not something that I wanted to do.”

Jenelle then jumped in to defend David by pointing out that Nugget’s death was supposed to be a “private family issue that happened within our household.” She said the news only got out because she told a friend of hers who then told Nathan Griffith. “[Nathan] called the cops and said, ‘Check on my son.’ TMZ got a hold of that 911 call and that’s how it got brought up in the news,” Jenelle said.

(This is not accurate, by the way. The friend called 911 first, and Nathan called for the welfare check on Kaiser after that.)

Jenelle oddly attempted to then blame David’s actions (and behavior in general) on the “country lifestyle” in which he was raised.

“David has grown up in the country lifestyle — he hunts, he fishes. The way he was raised is really different than a lot of other places,” she said. “We understand that people are scared of the whole gun thing, [but] they just don’t understand it from David’s perspective.”

“His father taught him, ‘Don’t let any animal hurt you’ … and he just thought what he was doing was best,” she continued. “He does realize that what he did was wrong, and he does realize that he shouldn’t have done it.”

Jenelle echoed David’s claims of being remorseful for what happened, stating that David didn’t realize how bad Nugget’s death was going to hurt everyone. Despite David’s alleged remorse, he said he still didn’t think Nugget would have been better off in a new home.

“I don’t think the dog should have been re-homed, no. Regardless of what I did, the dog would have been euthanized,” he said. “…The law says if you don’t euthanize a dog that bites somebody, within a reasonable amount of time, you are held liable for neglect.”

While the couple (or David) didn’t feel that Nugget should be re-homed, Jenelle said the could did choose to re-home their pit-bull Jax recently after he killed one of the pigs on The Land. “ … So instead of David saying, ‘Well let me euthanize the dog,’ [he said], ‘let’s just give the dog away.’ So we gave the dog away instead … So he’s even taken the initiative to correct his actions and not repeat the same mistakes he’s made before,” she said.

Even with the couple re-homing Jax, they still have at least two dogs living on The Land, as The Ashley previously told you. Jenelle also explained away David’s post-Nugget-death Instagram posts, in which he seemed to be justifying killing the dog. “He didn’t realize how big that was going to be if it did get out,” Jenelle said. “He also isn’t used to social media or being on TV or anything like that. I’ve been around it since 2009. I know my actions from the past have made me learn not to do those mistakes again. David is learning from everything that is happening.”

This is the same tactic Jenelle used to defend David’s actions after he was fired from ‘Teen Mom 2’ for posting a homophobic Twitter rant in 2018. At the time, she said, “David didn’t understand how offensive people would get or how Twitter even works. Now that he realizes his voice is very strong within media/tabloids he has deactivated his account. He agrees he will keep his comments to himself from now on.”

Jenelle shared that the reason she was so upset (i.e. “crying every day”) about the dog’s death was because David didn’t tell her he was going to shoot the pup. “Instead of conversating with me before it happened, he just did it,” Jenelle said. (And, no, ‘conversating’ is not an actual word, in case you were wondering.)

Jenelle shared a photo from her and David’s interview on Instagram where she thanked People for letting them “squash rumors about so many heavy topics.” She also assured that she and David were “moving on” with their future.

David– who was scheduled to be in court in North Carolina on September 9 to answer for charges he incurred for self-towing a stranger’s truck last year– had his case continued (again). The Ashley can confirm that his next court date is scheduled for October 8.

After TMZ posted their report about Columbus County possibly opening a new animal cruelty investigation against David, Jenelle took to Instagram to voice her thoughts on the site’s story.

She later added, “I would appreciate if my family can put this behind them and move on. This is ridiculous and emotional for everyone involved. Thanks.”

You can watch the Nugget portions of Jenelle and David’s interview with People Live via the video clip below.