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tchallasbabymama · 5 months ago

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Ménage à Trois Part Deux: Chapter Two

I'm still here (Tisha Campbell voice.)

Y'all... I've been working on this chapter for over a year. I literally JUST finished it and can't even wait for beta readers; I gotta post this now!

Life's lifing, but I haven't forgotten about my stories 💕

As usual, check out my masterlist for more of my work, let me know if you want to be tagged in anything, and make sure you reblog and/or leave a comment if you like it!

Without further ado, here's chapter 2!

Word count: 6,043

CW: smut

Among the many visitors who made their way to Wakanda to experience the kick-off of Queen Zora’s student exchange program was Amanda Livingston, a reporter for the New York Times. She had been assigned the potentially life-changing gig by her editor, and although she wasn’t looking forward to visiting the continent due to all the horrible propaganda she’d heard about it over the years, Amanda eventually came around when she saw the technologically advanced country with her own eyes. Wakanda outdid her wildest expectations, but she wasn’t content with simply enjoying her time in the foreign land. She needed to dig deeper to find dirt on the country that welcomed her into their borders.

When Amanda arrived at the gala, she instantly became uneasy. Looking around at the other, much more stylish guests, she felt underdressed. Their ornate cultural attire, vibrant jewels, and intricate hairstyles made her feel dull and unimpressive for the first time in her privileged life. Her basic navy blue shift dress was a business casual bore against her pale, freckled skin. Despite the thick layer of greasy sunblock clogging her pores, she could already feel her skin turning red after just a few minutes of exposure to the setting sun. Amanda grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest server and downed it to calm her nerves before scanning the courtyard for shade, observing every person and their interactions. Unfortunately for her byline, both the Wakandans and visitors alike seemed to be enjoying themselves. No salacious stories had revealed themselves to Amanda yet, but she perked up upon noticing that a spot had opened up in the gazebo.

The journalist awkwardly squeezed her way into the ornate shelter, sandwiching herself between a prominent Congolese activist and a gaggle of excited Wakandan teens whose endless supply of questions grew louder and more animated as they listened to the visitor’s stories of grassroots organizing in his home country. Amanda listened along with the Wakandans while her eyes wandered around the rest of the gala, admiring the architecture and landscaping of the palace courtyard. It was so different from what she was used to in the States. Beautiful, sprawling, centuries-old fruit trees surrounded the space in lieu of carefully carved topiaries, and a large golden statue of a panther gleamed brightly as the centerpiece of a magnificent fountain. Amanda’s eyes fell to the water pooling beneath the towering feline’s paws, and she noticed unusual petals floating delicately on the surface.

Amanda whipped out her phone to snap a picture of the beautiful sight, but she noticed a familiar face just beyond the curve of the statue’s tail. Sure enough, there stood an old fuck buddy she hadn’t seen since her Ivy League years. In college, Mitchell Van Buren was a well-connected frat boy with a heart that appeared to be of gold, and fifteen years later, he was riding that squeaky-clean reputation all the way to the presidential campaign trail. Amanda had always thought that he favored the Ken doll she had as a young girl. As if he felt her gaze, Mitchell’s piercing blue eyes found hers, and he smiled as he recognized an old fling.

Amanda found herself standing next to Mitchell in no time flat, and the two of them lost track of time as they caught up on their lives. The friendly chat became more suggestive as time went on. They flirted back and forth until the queen’s speech, where Mitchell allowed his roaming hands to do the talking under Amanda’s dress. By the time Queen Zora returned to her seat, they were already sneaking off into the gardens to escape the crowd.

The politician and the journalist reconnected in a deep, dark corner of the gardens far away from the event. Their reunion was brisk, and as they straightened themselves back out, the sound of footsteps heading in their direction made them fear they had been caught. They stayed ducked behind the bushes as the queen swished her hips into view, followed by a very large man who stared at her with stars in his eyes. The two accidental voyeurs watched as he kissed her hand tenderly, and their eyes bulged in their sockets. Neither could believe what they were seeing. The queen of Wakanda cheating on the king…

The shock of it all made Mitchell freeze on the spot, but Amanda nearly salivated as she pictured the headlines. This was just the story she’d been looking for! Acting quickly and without remembering to turn the sound off her phone, Amanda snapped a picture of the couple. At that moment, the shutter seemed to be the loudest sound she or Mitchell had ever heard.

The queen and her lover pulled apart, and the mystery man barrelled towards them. Amanda and Mitchell ran in the opposite direction, but Mitchell tripped, nearly busting his chiseled chin on the ground. Amanda ran as fast as she could towards the gala until she rounded the last corner and noticed the Dora Milaje blocking the entrance to the garden. The much taller man shouted after her, and the guards turned around with their spears at the ready. Amanda froze and let go of her phone, but not before pressing send on a message that would surely cause a headache for the royals before the device could even crash to the ground.

“Th-the queen is a cheater! I saw it! We saw it!” Amanda yelled, purposely causing a bigger scene than necessary while squeezing out crocodile tears to gain sympathy points. Unfortunately, it worked, and the crowd turned around to gawk at the spectacle.

--------

Zora woke up to the sound of light snores to her left and warm breaths against her right ear. As usual, two heavy arms were slung across her body, but instead of starting her day filled with the joy of being in her lovers’ arms again, flashbacks of the night before played on a loop behind Zora’s eyes. She absentmindedly watched the ceiling fan rotate slowly and sighed as she cursed herself for slipping up, prompting T’Challa to tighten his grip on her waist.

“Stop thinking about last night,” he grumbled in her ear.

Zora turned to look at him questioningly, and he smirked without opening his eyes. She didn’t even bother asking how he knew what was on her mind, choosing instead to focus on the upward curl of his thick lashes. As if he felt her gaze, those lashes fluttered open, allowing the king’s precious gemstones to sparkle in the early morning sunlight.

“It was a disaster,” Zora whispered, trying not to wake her other husband from his deep slumber.

“Try not to focus on the ending.”

“I shouldn’t have gone into the gardens,” Zora whined. “I just-”

T’Challa cut her off with a kiss.

“You blame yourself too easily.”

He was right, but nonetheless, she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“How are you so chill about this?”

T’Challa brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

“I have watched you live a lie to the rest of the world since the moment you stepped into this role, Babygirl. And I have watched that lie eat away at you every time you have to uphold it. As a man, and a Wakandan one at that, I will never fully understand the pressures of living in a world that dictates you move in such a way. From my point of view, it seems exhausting.”

“It is,” Zora croaked around the lump forming in her throat and turned to look at M’Baku, still splayed out on his stomach and snoring away. “I can’t help but think I’m hurting him. He says he’s fine, but I wouldn’t be if I were in his shoes.”

T’Challa decided it would be better to let M’Baku express his own feelings later, so he held his tongue instead of confirming Zora’s speculation. M’Baku had recently confided in him that he wasn’t as fine with their public arrangement as he let on, but since he didn’t want his feelings to stand in the way of Zora’s success, he was wary of telling her.

“You should talk to him about it,” the king advised.

“I will, but I’m pretty sure the whole world knows by now,” Zora huffed as last night’s events played in her mind again. She relived everything from the shutter click in the gardens to the crowd’s murmurs at seeing the Dora Milaje with their spears trained on two guests. Nearly every phone was up recording the catastrophe as it unfolded, several of which were streaming live, and they all captured the moment Zora’s carefully crafted image shattered into millions of pieces thanks to colonizers sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

“No, they know what those people think they saw. The world has yet to hear your truth.”

“I don’t think the world’s ready for the truth.”

“Not everyone will be, but imagine what you will be doing for those that are.”

“You always know what to say,” Zora complimented him with a warm smile.

“Is that not why you married me?”

Before Zora could respond, he kissed her deeply, and she moaned into his parted lips. The sound coursed through T’Challa’s veins and woke up the rest of his body until his every cell ached for his wife. He hadn’t touched her body in two weeks, and the time apart was starting to catch up to him the longer he kissed her. With M’Baku being around and a very willing submissive for them both, the king wasn’t in need of release, but he missed the smell of Zora’s skin and the taste of her juices seeping out for him. He longed to feel her contract around him when she climaxed, and the memory of her screaming his name had him prying her legs open and sliding his fingers into her depths.

“Mmmm-”

“Quiet, or your husband will catch us,” he ordered softly in Zora’s ear, turning her on even more. It wasn’t often that they engaged in cheating roleplay, but when they did, it turned Zora into a sopping wet mess. “You don’t want him to know how filthy you are, do you?”

Zora shook her head and trapped her plump bottom lip between her pearly whites in a feeble attempt to quiet her moans. Her big doe eyes dared not look away from T’Challa’s piercing gaze when he found a spot inside her that made her release a noise much too undignified for a woman of her royal ranking.

“I said be quiet, Zora,” T’Challa sneered, his breath hot against her ear as his teeth dragged along the lobe.

“Uxolo baby, I-I-”

Zora’s desperate whispers tickled T’Challa’s skin, and his ears grew hot the way they always did when she spoke his native tongue to him.

“Thula!” he growled, pulling his fingers out and slapping her sensitive vulva. The small whimper that she managed to squeak out upon impact made him smile. She was trying to be good for him, so he let his wet fingers trail up her pussy lips to the bundle of nerves that poked out like a beacon of pleasure, calling out to be touched and handled with care.

Zora’s body felt electric everywhere T’Challa touched her skin. Her fingertips longed to feel him, too, so they found their way to the coils of his beard and pressed his face closer to hers. Time seemed to move slower with every stroke of his fingers around her clit and every filthy and loving word he uttered. His words came out in husky whispers at first before transforming into guttural growls the more his erection pressed into her thigh. Zora was careful not to wind her hips too much to keep from waking M’Baku, but the way T’Challa zeroed in on her pleasure zones and overstimulated her body made it near impossible to lay still.

Kisses to Zora’s collarbone made her heart beat out of her chest. Her head jerked to the left, and she locked eyes with M’Baku as she heaved through T’Challa’s tortures, making the king chuckle darkly.

“Look what you did,” T’Challa teased as he angled his hips so that he could slide into her wetness, his hand placed firmly around her neck. “You woke him up, and now he knows you're my little cumslut. How do you think it makes him feel to see you like this?”

Zora’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as T’Challa bottomed out inside her, but no matter how good it felt, she knew one thing: she better not let go of her legs, or there would be delicious hell to pay. Since most mornings consisted of the throuple making vigorous love to start their day, they often started in this very position when the queen was the center of attention. T’Challa would find a way to slide in either from the back or the side, depending on how Zora was lying. Every time, without fail, he would assign her the task of holding her legs back for him, and every time, without fail, he’d beat the breaks off her pussy so good that she’d lose her grip, making him fuck her harder for insubordination.

Today, he could tell by the strained look on her face that she was determined to be good. He hadn’t forgotten about her eight infractions over their time apart, but Zora wasn’t in the right headspace for punishments. Naturally, she was stressed and scared about how the previous night could affect her career, but most of all, her guilt over hiding M’Baku from the world, combined with missing them both, had made her soft, and she’d need a thick skin for what T’Challa had planned for her.

So, the king fucked her slow and deep and watched with an amused smirk as she struggled to grip her legs. As if he read both of their minds, M’Baku’s large hand covered Zora’s, and he easily held her thick bronze legs in place the way he knew the king liked. Zora’s eyes met his again, and she pulled him into a kiss, their tongues colliding before their lips ever touched. They got lost in a cycle of licking and sucking and biting at each other until Zora’s hand wandered down to M’Baku’s naked dick, hard as Jabari wood and throbbing with the desperate heat of a man that missed the feeling of his wife’s inner workings. He moaned into her mouth as she worked her hand up and down his thickening shaft, and Zora answered with deep moans of her own that were prompted by T’Challa’s even deeper strokes. His grunts of pleasure in her ear just turned her on even more, and the three of them soon became composers in a beautiful symphony of swirling notes belted into the air while the percussion of their bodies kept rhythm.

Beep, beep-beep, beep, beep-beep.

Zora went rigid with an influx of anxious energy that filled her body from head to toe, swiftly replacing the waves of pleasure that she had been immersed in before T’Challa’s kimoyo beads began ringing.

“Ignore it,” T’Challa ordered through gritted teeth. “They will call back.”

“It could be important.”

“It is too early. Leave it be for now,” M’Baku nearly begged as he thrust into Zora’s hand.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Zora’s beads began vibrating from the nightstand, and she released M’Baku, placing her palm on T’Challa’s chest. A growl escaped his lips as he pulled out.

“Zora, it can wait-” T’Challa cut himself off and turned towards the door with a curious look on his face just before someone’s knuckles banged against the vibranium.

“This can’t be good,” Zora murmured, untangling herself from M’Baku, reaching for her kimoyo beads, and sliding them onto her wrist.

T’Challa begrudgingly agreed with a nod of his head as he grabbed his black silk robe from the back of his chair. The knocks came again, this time sounding even more urgent than the first set, so when the king swung the door open, he was unsurprised to see Kidada, Bahati, and Dembe flanked by Okoye and Ayo. They exchanged the proper greetings and salutes, and upon hearing all the voices of those present, Zora’s heart sank to her stomach.

“Ugh, all hands on deck?” Zora groaned, burying her head into the pillow and covering it with the flimsy white sheet they slept under. M’Baku rubbed her back in comforting circles, but his eyes stayed glued to the doorway.

“We really hate to wake you up like this, but it seems we could not stop the footage of last night’s incident from leaking to the global press,” Bahati explained calmly.

Kidada held out a holopad for the king to scroll through news articles and social media posts. A thick silence filled the air as he read page after page of people’s disdain for Zora and her perceived infidelity.

“How bad is it?” Zora’s voice wavered, her mind already expecting the worst. She had been trying to gauge the degree of disaster from T’Challa’s responses, but his features were frozen in a carefully crafted poker face. He could hear her heart thumping wildly in her chest and smell the panic seeping from her pores.

“It, uh…” T’Challa trailed off as his eyes focused on a headline from a popular gossip column. The writer speculated how quickly the king should divorce his supposedly adulterous wife. “It could be worse.”

---------

Over the years, Zora had exposed M’Baku to her people's art, culture, and history. From the triumphant to the traumatic, he learned more about the Lost Tribe than he ever anticipated. He respected their tenacity and ingenuity in surviving their colonizer’s oppressive regime. Seeing her world through his eyes made Zora appreciate it more, but sometimes his inquiries forced her to interrogate the parts of her society that even she didn’t understand.

For example, Zora could never properly explain assimilation to M’Baku in a way that made sense to him. Probably because, at her core, she didn’t understand it either. Every answer she gave the man confused him more than the last, and after all this time, he still didn’t get it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around people who chose to side with their oppressors, specifically the Black folks who adopted conservative sensibilities.

In the wake of the gala incident, M’Baku’s confusion grew tenfold as those same conservative Black folks got wind of what was happening in Wakanda, and their collective reaction was even stronger than the KKK whites over at Fox. His eyes glazed over every time Bahati and Kidada updated the royals on the situation. News briefings and viral videos lambasting Zora’s behavior seemed to be coming out every second, and the global scale of it all made M’Baku feel small.

Handsy megachurch preachers with a penchant for inflicting the fiery numbness of the male gaze onto the young women in their congregation spouted whole sermons to their flocks about the importance of wives remaining submissive and faithful to their husbands. Longstanding problematic radio personalities lamented the fact that the women they deemed golddiggers didn’t seem to know their place anymore. Most perplexing of them all, podcast niggas laughed at T’Challa and called him weak from behind their shitty microphones set up in their mother’s moldy basement. What was left of Black Twitter was in disarray. The royal Wakandan wedding had broken the internet the year before, and the news of Zora’s philandering sent waves through the app again. In just twenty-four hours, Zora had been called everything but a child of god, and T’Challa’s masculinity was questioned by those who clung to the patriarchal idea that his woman’s behavior determined his manhood. Meanwhile, the whole world speculated on the identity of the mystery man caught canoodling with the queen.

Under normal circumstances, the royals could have easily avoided the ruckus of the outside world when safe inside Wakanda, but the scandal’s timing couldn’t have been worse. For the first time in its long and storied history, Wakanda was hosting hundreds of outsiders from all over the globe. Zora’s unprecedented position within the royal house had truly brought forth a new age of diasporic collaboration, but the second the scandal broke, so did the facade. Of course, her people and most of the visiting children were unbothered. After their second full day, the exchange students had taken to calling Wakanda their ekhaya, their home. It warmed Zora’s heart every time she heard their foreign accents dance around the Xhosa words with varying levels of ease. Even more surprising was the Wakandan children blending their own words and mannerisms so seamlessly with their guests. Seeing their exchange in such a short amount of time was the only thing that fueled Zora as her public life crumbled around her.

Even though the exchange was for the benefit of the children, and therefore, it was shaping up to be a success, the adults weren’t shy about making their displeasure known. Many of them showed their nasty true colors the moment Zora’s supposed indiscretions went public. Some went as far as returning home and dagging their helpless children with them. Those who remained were either chaperones forced to stay with the few children whose parents hadn’t withdrawn from the program, or just looking for more dirt to take back home with the hopes of collecting a check. Unsurprisingly, the journalists and politicians were especially heinous in their approach, and T’Challa was steadily growing tired of walking the paper-thin line between needing to maintain diplomatic relations and swiftly dropping them all over the border in Niganda.

In just two days, the program had already lost nine students, and three schools in two separate countries had pulled out of the partnership. In that same amount of time, M’Baku spoke maybe ten words, and Zora weathered four panic attacks. The first of which came shortly after Bahati, Kidada, and Dembe interrupted the royal throuple’s morning lovemaking to break the news of the international scandal. The second two were due to her fear of failure being triggered by the waning participation in her exchange program, but the last one caught her off guard.

It struck while she was visiting her mother. Shortly after Zora’s weddings, Cheryl retired from teaching AP English Literature, packed up her Atlanta home, and moved into the house that T’Challa had given Zora when she accepted the liaison position. She just couldn’t bear being so far apart from her one and only child, and the time change was too much for her to keep track of. Truly, the first time Cheryl visited, she knew she’d be moving soon. For Operation Stepdaddy, if nothing else, which commenced as soon as she set down her suitcase.

Cheryl was backstroking through the Wakandan dating pool. According to the exploits she would dish to Zora and Ramonda about, the quantity was low, but the quality was high. Most of the men in her age range were already partnered, and she wasn’t one for polyamory like her daughter. However, the generous handfuls of men she’d interacted with restored her faith in their genderfolk.

In short, Cheryl was living her best life.

Between her newfound social life and lending her expertise as an educator to help shape Zora’s exchange program, she felt more fulfilled than ever. Zora had noticed the change in her mother. It was a change she had dreamed of seeing all her life. Cheryl seemed happy. She smiled all the time now, her shoulders didn’t carry tension, and the only thing stressing her out was the heat. She seemed free.

Cheryl was so used to seeing that same look on Zora’s face that she immediately knew something was wrong when she opened her front door to greet her daughter. Her energy was just off.

“You ruin your fancy shoes stepping in rhino shit again?” she quipped with a raised brow.

Zora couldn’t help but crack a small smile as she stepped over the threshold and into Cheryl’s outstretched arms.

“That was one time, momma.”

“And I still don’t know how you missed that big-ass pile.”

Ayo stifled a laugh as she entered the familiar space and allowed Cheryl to embrace her as well. They all knew that nobody was exempt from her hugs.

Zora was quieter than usual as she made her way through her former home. Cheryl had already made it her own, filling it with plants that Zora would’ve killed within a week. The walls were a deep maroon and covered in locally woven tapestries and baskets, and the entire home smelled like warming spices. The abundance of natural light peeking through the windows kept the place bright despite the darker color palate. It felt like Cheryl’s Atlanta home, but bigger and with a higher budget.

As soon as Zora sat down at the kitchen table, Cheryl handed her a mango juice mimosa–their favorite. The second their glasses clinked, the queen downed her cocktail in one gulp.

“Oh, it’s that kind of day?” Cheryl asked, sipping her glass once before setting it on the kitchen table between them.

Zora nodded, but before she could open her mouth to explain further, a calendar reminder popped up on her beads that made her head spin. She had forgotten about her doctor’s appointment—the one where she was set to have the birth control removed from her arm.

The thought of juggling the complete dumpster fire her life had become seemingly overnight with the possibility of bringing life into the world overwhelmed Zora. She could feel her heart thumping in her eardrums, and her jaw tightened as she tried to breathe through the anxiety crashing into her.

“It’s too much some days.”

The queen’s voice sounded small, so her mother laid a soft hand on her shaking knee.

“What is, honeybun?”

Zora’s mind raced. Where to begin?

“Now I see why Wakanda stayed isolated for so long,” Zora sighed before walking her mom through the events of the last few days. As she laid down her burdens, heavy iron gears turned in Cheryl’s mind. She couldn’t help but try to figure out a way to fix her one and only child’s problem, but the politics of it all stumped her.

“I don't even know what to say, baby.”

They sat in a thick silence for several moments until Cheryl broke it by refilling Zora’s glass. This time, the royal sipped it slowly before parting her lips once more with a question that had been weighing her down since her calendar dinged.

“When did you know you were ready to be a mom?”

Cheryl’s heart nearly beat out of her chest, but she played it cool. She had never been one to push Zora to have kids, but it was one of her deepest wishes to grow old and experience being a grandmother.

“Not until I gave you your first bath,” Cheryl chuckled. “I was scared to death to hold you– you were so tiny. I just knew I’d break you.”

Zora remembered the many stories she’d heard over the years about Cheryl’s tumultuous pregnancy. How ashamed she was for ending up in that situation, and how alone she felt. That man really put her momma through it…

“Why do you ask?” Cheryl cut her eyes at Zora’s mimosa glass, “I know you ain’t pregnant drinking all that champagne.”

Zora shook her head.

“Not yet. I was thinking about having my implant removed, but now,” the queen shook her head and took another sip of mango mimosa. “My timing couldn’t be worse.”

“There’s no such thing as the perfect time, honeybun.”

“Yeah, but in the middle of a media shitstorm?”

Cheryl chuckled before turning up her drink and finishing the last drop. By the time she placed the glass down on the table, an idea had churned up between her ears.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Zora looked at her like she had two heads, but Cheryl continued, “They’d eat up a royal baby! Plus, you’d have an excuse to step out of the spotlight for a little while, and by the time you come back, they’d be too enamored with my grandbaby to give a damn about your sex life.”

“Momma, I’m not having a baby as a PR move.”

“Let me ask you something, Zora. Do you want to be a mother?”

Zora’s eyes softened as she pictured her future, and a saccharine smile hung on her lips as she nodded softly.

“And do your husbands want to be fathers?”

Zora couldn’t contain her giggle.

“You already know they’re just waiting on me.”

“Then you have that baby whenever you damn well please, and the rest of the world will just have to keep up. You’re a queen, Zora. You have so much more than I had, or my momma, or her momma. We had to deal with all kinds of stigmas and oppression that you’re free from. So, do what the fuck you want.”

---------

Those words danced around Zora’s head all that night, but she still chose to postpone her appointment. Not by long, just a few more weeks. However, Cheryl’s passionate refrain inspired a different course of action regarding the gala incident. Instead of praying that the ordeal would blow over, Zora and Bahati spent the next two days crafting a statement to take control of the narrative. After Cheryl lent her wordsmith expertise to the speech, Zora felt that it was finally ready for public consumption. But she needed to ensure it landed with her target audience before anyone else.

Excitement made Zora giddy, and she was barely able to sit still while Bahati quickly ran through her end-of-day update on the student exchange program. The remaining students and their chaperones had spent the day in the Border province, sharpening their language skills while learning about Wakandan agriculture and traditional cuisine. She had been missing out on so much…

When she and Bahati parted ways for the night, Zora checked her kimoyo beads to see where her husbands were. M’Baku’s avatar stood in the kitchen housed in their royal suite, which made Zora’s stomach growl in anticipation of whatever he had whipped up. Her eyes drifted to T’Challa’s avatar darting around the training room, and she wondered who his sparring partner was today. What lucky foe got to witness the Black Panther in all his sweaty, aggressive glory?

She licked her lips as she called him.

The communication bead buzzed in her palm, and seconds later, T’Challa’s glistening form came into view. His locs were loose, so he tossed them back out of his eyes as he caught his breath.

“Good evening, my queen.”

“Hello, husband.” Zora couldn’t help her lusting, “You look delicious.”

“Eish!” Okoye cursed off-camera, making Zora giggle.

“Uxolo, general,” she apologized with a smirk. “I thought you were done for the day.”

“She was, but I convinced her to stick around and lose a few rounds.” T’Challa dismissed Okoye and waited until she left the training room before turning back to Zora. “I still have a few more rounds in me, Babygirl.”

Zora stepped onto the elevator and let the doors swish closed behind her.

“Tempting, but business first,” she teased.

“What business?”

“Come home and find out.”

Zora ended the call before he could respond, smirking to herself. He hated it when she did that, but she loved pushing his buttons. Especially when he was already sweaty, shirtless, and revved up.

The elevator doors slid open, and she was welcomed home by the aroma of M’Baku’s home cooking. She tried to guess what it was, but it eluded her. It was definitely something she’d tasted before, but not often. The spices that swirled in the air hinted at local cuisine, nothing from the international cookbooks he had come to collect over the last few years. Something rare, as if for a special occasion–

Zora stopped in her tracks before she entered the suite.

The date.

She had forgotten its significance to her husband, and her stomach churned with guilt. She had been so busy dealing with her own mess that she forgot it was the worst day of his life.

Shortly after M’Baku won the Jabari chiefdom, his mother fell ill. Her lungs were weak, too weak to make it through the changing of seasons. His father wasted away slowly over the next year and finally wandered into the snow on the anniversary of her death.

M’Baku had spent the last decade without his parents, and it had been nearly as long since he’d last spoken to his siblings. Growing up, he was the eldest of four, and all Zora knew was that only three of them remained on this plane. M’Baku refused to speak about them, so she didn’t push him on it.

But Zora knew this day always came with heartache, so she slid out of her shoes and padded across the sunken living room to the open kitchen. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around M’Baku’s trunklike waist and buried her head in the soft fabric covering his back. She felt some of the tension release from his body at her touch, but plenty remained.

“How was your day, my sweet?” he asked softly, and she hugged him tighter.

“I should be asking you that.”

“No need; my answer would be bleak.”

Zora released him just enough to circle around and squeeze between his body and the stovetop, forcing his sad eyes to peer into her soul. Her hands on either side of his face brought him to the verge of tears.

“I don’t care how bleak it is. I want to know everything you’re going through, baby.”

M’Baku nodded and surrendered to her delicate kisses.

“I-” he began but stopped himself from voicing the words that brought him so much guilt.

“I just miss them,” he sighed. “Every day, my home reminds me of them. Every mountaintop, every fish in the river… I am tired of the memories.”

Zora let his tears fall from his tired eyes but wiped them away with her thumbs before they could reach his beard. She walked him over to the kitchen table and sat him down as T’Challa entered the suite. He took in the scene and understood immediately.

“I’ll finish dinner, baby.” Zora kissed M’Baku’s forehead and let T’Challa take over while she kept their yearly repast from burning. She kept an eye on them from the other side of the room, watching as they mumbled to each other. M’Baku let out his tears on T’Challa’s shoulder as the king comforted him. Every now and then, Zora and T’Challa would lock eyes, and their silent conversation spoke volumes. In all their time together, they had never seen this day hit him so hard.

M’Baku barely spoke through dinner, a haunted look in his distant gaze that unnerved Zora while they ate. It wasn’t until T’Challa cleared the table that a sigh escaped M’Baku’s lips.

“I want this more,” he stated, confusing the other two.

“This?” Zora asked, and the chief nodded.

“This. Normal life.”

T’Challa had been feeling inklings of M’Baku’s ambivalence towards his chiefdom for quite a while now. With the Jabari throne not being a blood right but a title only won through battle, M’Baku didn’t have the same sentimental connection to ruling his people. T’Challa often wondered if he would feel the same under different circumstances.

“What does normal mean to you?” T’Challa invited him to say the words that would free him.

M’Baku considered his words carefully. Over the years, he had grown to love living in the capital, far away from the ghosts that haunted the snow. The more time he spent away, the more he realized just how miserable he was at home. Since getting married, he’d spend four or five nights a week in Birnin Zana with his bride and her other husband. The Jabari elders hated him for his constant absence, but even they could see how much lighter he seemed every time he returned. The chief was unhappy being chief. It seemed that everyone knew it, and none of them could blame him, given the circumstances.

“I no longer wish to be chief of the Jabari.”

Next chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem , @theblulife , @motheroffae , @love-mesome-me , @toni9 , @brihann, @impremenior , @nahimjustfeelingit-writes , @brattyfics s, @cecereads209, @afriendlyblackhottie , @queengodiva619 , @musicisme333 , @dersha89 , @ljstraightnochaser , @bornamiracle , @xoxovivafics , @goddessofmischief0711 , @issahyland , @blkbutterfly816 , @judymfmoody, @novaniskye , @prettystringbean , @martakllv, @blackpinup22 , @mermaidchansons, @jadedjotun , @branium , @abeautifulmindexposed d, @prettyisasprettydoes1306 6, @reneinii

#cecewritessometimes #black!oc #black panther fanfiction #throuple #t'challa x oc x m'baku #polyamory #t'challa fanfiction #m'baku fanfiction #m'baku smut #m'baku fluff #Spotify

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blue-hair-and-pronouns-tourney · 1 year ago

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Propaganda

Chloe Price:

-she's such a disaster lesbian and i love her

-One of the most blue-haired pronouns-having bastards out there. Queer, rebellious, traumatized, and wreckless, she's got a tough shell but she just needs a fucking friend (and maybe a kiss or two)

-blue hair, pronouns AND she’s a lesbian what more could you want??? look at that shade of blue she is absolutely radiating blue hair energy and just to top it off she also has blue eyes!! absolute blue queen

-She has blue hair and pronouns since 2015, she's queer, punk, she was kicked out of her school and she and drives an old truck decorated with a pirate flag

Gumball Watterson:

-He has blue fur? And uses he/him. Does he count?

-Well he very clearly has blue hair. And what child named gumball is cis?

#chloe price #gumball watterson #life is strange #the amazing world of gumball #round 1

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silverior968 · 1 month ago

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Shudderkin propaganda for @sp-fanclub 's ship wars. You might notice that this is a polished version of one of the drawings from my last propaganda post :]

[Image ID: A digital drawing featuring two smaller drawings of Anton Shudder and Larrikin Fetter from the Skulduggery Pleasant series, the first having them pictured from the waist up, the second from the shoulders up. The background is dark shades of red and blue. The drawings feature somewhat painterly rendering and soft lineart. The drawing to the left has Larrikin, depicted as a chimeristic black person with golden brown skin, hazel eyes and ginger-and-brown curly hair, pictured from behind, their face obscured. They're embracing Anton, depicted as an irish-eastern asian man with dark spots under his eyes, a gaunt face and black hair with gray streaks, who is crying, his eyes squeezed shut and hands holding tight to the back of Larrikin's shirt. His hair is cut short and his face is pressed against Larrikin's shoulder. His clothes are all black. Larrikin has his hair in a ponytail with a yellow handkerchief, and is wearing a loose white shirt. He has a glowing golden halo behind his head. The second drawing has Anton pictured from the behind, obscuring his face. Larrikin is pictured from the front now, one of his hands on Anton's shoulderblades and the other in his hair. They have a serene smile on their face, and their pupils are glowing, shedding golden light on their face. The halo is still in place. The artist's signature, Silverior968, is overlayed over the image./ End ID]

#skulduggery pleasant #fanart #anton shudder #larrikin fetter #Shudderkin #Lsodm spoilers #Yeah this is them post lsodm #Hence the lsodm Anton design instead of his usual clothes and long hair

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pinkhairswagtourney · 1 year ago

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Not-Pink-Enough Tourney, Round Two

Kirio Propaganda: 1.): “First of all, his hair is pink and green. Second of all, they're really inconsistent with the pink. Does he have two different hair colours? Is it a weird way to show shading/lighting? Be consistent, I beg of you.”

2.): “boy is your hair IRIDESCENT? is this iridescence happening????”

K-Angel Propaganda: 1.): “Her hair is just barely pink, it’s like maybe 10%” 2.): “blonde, purple, pink, blue… too much going on to truly call her a pinkette”

#kirio nekoyanagi #the idolmaster #idolmaster #the idolm@ster #k angel #ame chan #needy streamer overload #nso #round two

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tohrinha · 2 months ago

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Mineral Cup Round 1: Topaz vs Spodumene

The last match of round one pits a widely beloved gem vs a widely used ore!

https://www.mineralcup.org/2024/vote/r1m16

TOPAZ

This hard silicate has claimed the place of one birthstone and two state minerals!

Name: From Greek τόπᾰζος, "green gem, chrysolite", which might be related to either τοπάζω, "to guess at", from the obscurity of the island where the ancient stone was mined, or to Sanskrit तपस्, tapas, "heat".

Bling: A strongly crystalline gem that comes in shades of orange (and more rarely, pinks or blues). Can also be polished until slippery!

Uses: Used as an abrasive and also an aid in steel smelting. Also gemstones.

Team Lick: Safe, but boring.

Didier Descouens. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

Rob Lavinsky, iRocks.com – CC-BY-SA-3.0

SPODUMENE

Double pyroxenes in this year's cup! This mineral's rainbow colors give way to valuable cinders.

Name: From Greek for "burnt to ashes", referring to its ash-grey color when refined.

Bling: A strong color-changer on top of its many base color options - changes color depending on the angle or light.

Uses: Source of lithium, which needs to be extracted by roasting! Also gemstones.

Team Lick: Safe, but boring. Research is ongoing on the hazards of spodumene dust, so don't inhale.

Rob Lavinsky, iRocks.com – CC-BY-SA-3.0

---

Due to sleep reasons, I'm going to stop doing writeups, but mineralcup.org has been hosting selections of propaganda for each matchup! Go #TeamQuartz >:3

#minerals #geology #topax #spodumene #mincup24 #big etymology paragraph to finish out round 1 #love an old word we're not sure about #i personally lean to the sanskrit interpretation because... pliny #but i don't know for sure!

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z0mbiekisses · 2 months ago

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part one- if i can change i hope i never know.

jasmine’s life was predictable. to say the least. she had a steady routine going on. her days often blended together, until good day dema came into production. jasmine was in charge of the show. well, not completely. there was always someone above her, it was dema after all. it was different. the set was filled with bright pastels. good day dema was created to dismiss the claims “clancy” made. propaganda. jasmine knew the was all an illusion, she’s seen the gray walls day after day. hell, one of the biggest rules about dema was no music. so it definitely surprised jasmine to hear they’re forcing tyler to write an entire album. jasmine knew deep down it was suspicious. but jasmine didn’t have a choice. jasmine didn’t have options, this was the life planned for her. jasmine didn’t know about anything else. sure, she’s heard of “the outside”. but this was her life, and she just accepted it because what else was she going to do?

jasmine was waiting backstage in a dressing room for tyler to show up. to be honest, she didn’t know much about him. jasmine knew he betrayed nico and escaped from dema. jasmine never read the letters or anything, it didn’t catch her interest. she often kept to herself the best she could. trying to get through each day. jasmine did feel bad that he was being forced to do this show, but she supposed there were worse ways to be punished. jasmine didn’t understand the severity of it all. oblivious of the reality. jasmine was snapped out of her thoughts as tyler walked into the room.

“hello tyler, i’m jasmine. i’ll be taking care of you today.”, she smiled reaching her hand out for him to shake. his face was blank, emotionless. which wasn’t unusual here in dema. there was never any true joy or any feelings around. just blank slates and coldness.

jasmine took in his appearance as he shook her hand. their brown eyes meeting briefly. she took interest in his soft brown curls. jasmine almost felt sad that she’d have to turn it into a bright pastel pink. she admired it for a moment before leading tyler over to a chair.

“okay so i have these two shades of pink, one is more softer and the other is brighter.”, jasmine held up the two bottles of dye to tyler. he looked confused.

“you’re asking me?”, tyler raised his eyebrow. jasmine laughed dryly at his skepticism.

“well yeah.. it’s your hair after all.”, but tyler wasn’t phased. he just rolled his eyes.

“just get this over with it.”, jasmine was a bit surprised by his short response. but jasmine understood he wasn’t too happy about the situation. they were both aware they had to make the bishops happy. they both didn’t have a say in anything. she mixed the bleach and began to lightly coat his hair. it was quiet at first, jasmine wasn’t much for conversation. she never knew how to start them.. or carry them. but she did know how to finish them.

“have you ever dyed your hair before?”, tyler spoke up. jasmine nodded her head.

“only a strand of my hair blue. that was before i was ordered to take it out.”, jasmine shared. she was happy tyler was trying to talk to her.

“blue is a pretty color.”, tyler commented.

“blue is my favorite color.”, jasmine smiled. it was hard having a favorite color that was pretty much forbidden. but the blue skies always spoke to jasmine. especially at night when the stars would light up. reminding her that she wasn’t alone at the end of the day. or the paladin strait she could see in the distance. tyler nodded, taking mental note of it. after jasmine finished with the bleach, it was quiet again. jasmine didn’t want to wait the 30 minutes in silence. so she decided to turn on the radio. though of course, the only songs it played were scaled and icy.

“sorry.. it must be weird hearing your own voice.”, jasmine laughed lightly. fidgeting with the silver bracelets on her wrist.

“it’s okay, i’m used to it.. i just wish they were MY songs.”, tyler sighed. jasmine was confused by this response.

“your songs?”

“well i made them, but these aren’t my thoughts.. my feelings. it’s what the bishops told me to sing.”, jasmine listened to tyler. that didn’t sound unusual for the bishops. jasmine was just happy she was able to actually enjoy music. jasmine felt bad for tyler, she could tell this was hard for him. tyler had songs that actually were true to him. but of course, they were absolutely forbidden here.

“well for what it’s worth, you have a great voice.”, jasmine complimented. which made tyler smile. jasmine spent the rest of the time listening to the album while she finished up on tyler’s hair. they actually had light conversations. it was the first time in god knows how long jasmine was able to actually enjoy a conversation with someone.

“here’s your mic pack, in-ears all that stuff. i’ll come back in 10 minutes before you go on.”, jasmine gestured over to the small vanity. as she was about to walk out, tyler spoke.

“jasmine, a gift from god.”, jasmine turned around. her name spoke a lot about her character. jasmine and tyler were on two entirely different ends of their place in dema. while tyler was this traitor, jasmine was highly praised. the bishops often favored her. though, jasmine was unsure why. she knew it had something to do with her family. they had a close history with the bishops. but jasmine knew it had to be more than that. her privilege was how she ended up being in charge of this whole production.

“yeah, why do you bring it up?”, jasmine raised her eyebrows. tyler just shrugged. tyler was taking into account how different they were; at least on that level. part of him wished he could leave dema WITH jasmine. to be able to show her the truth. but tyler wasn’t even sure he’d be able to leave again.

jasmine could hear in her own in ear she was needed somewhere. so she left tyler alone. eventually she came back to let him know it was 5 minutes before showtime. tyler was just sitting there, staring at the blank white wall. jasmine felt unusually sad for him. it was rare where she was put in situations where she felt these kinds of emotions. everytime she expressed them it didn’t end well. she was quite unsure how to handle it. but with tyler, she felt different. he was different. she sat on the couch next to tyler.

“pre-show jitters?”, jasmine suggested.

“i guess you can say that.”, jasmine gave tyler a small smile.

“i look forward to hearing you perform.”, jasmine’s eyes met tyler’s. there was a small spark. which was the first jasmine had seen. jasmine was normally intimated by eye contact. but with tyler, it didn’t feel threatening. both jasmine & tyler heard it was time to head up on set. jasmine could tell tyler was disappointed.

jasmine rushed around, making sure everything was perfect. she looked down at the checklist on her clipboard. on the leather couch was an older gentleman & woman. tyler barely mumbled a word to them. to be completely honest, even jasmine was confused on who these people were. but, jasmine knew better not to ask questions. not anymore. the countdown started for the show to air.

i know it’s hard to believe me but it’s a good day.

jasmine watched as the bright lights shined on the golden set. the yellow coated walls were vibrant & would practically radiate off the screen. exactly how it was supposed to be. jasmine watched as the two hosts talked, and tyler sat in the middle. however, he didn’t even look up at the camera. it was almost as if he was trapped in his own head. tyler didn’t even react to the hosts comments about his band name. tyler was just.. there. jasmine knew tyler didn’t want to be there. but this didn’t feel right. jasmine couldn’t focus on that though. this was what the bishops wanted. this was her job. she had to stay focus. besides, he only had one song to sing. soon enough this would be over. jasmine went off to grab the scaled and icy discs for the hosts to advertise. when she came back, the hosts looked different. the had wounds on their faces that weren’t there before. jasmine didn’t have time to worry about that. she set up the merch table, and listened as tyler sang.

“i was born a choker.. no one’s coming for me.”

jasmine was almost entranced by his voice. sure, she didn’t know many songs to compare it to. but she always loved listening to tyler. his voice easing the stress and worry she was facing. she loved listening to scaled and icy, even if tyler wasn’t too fond of it. it brought her comfort. a rare thing for jasmine. there was a pause and that’s when she called over the hosts to the merch table. jasmine noticed their eyes were both yellow. it was off-putting to say the least. but she moved over off camera & waited for them to begin the commercial break. she walked over to tyler who now looked.. sad?

“hey, told you you’d do great.”, jasmine smiled at him. trying her best to make him feel better. tyler still looked down at the ground.

“are you happy here?”, tyler asked, looking into her eyes. it was a sudden question. but tyler needed to know where exactly jasmine’s head was at.

“what else is there?”, jasmine answered honestly.

“trench.”, tyler spoke again. it was engraved in jasmine’s’ mind that there was nothing outside the dema walls for her, or anyone. and people who escape are merely fools leading themselves to slaughter. that’s what she was taught.

“i have everything i need here.”, jasmine answered simply. though, it felt more as if she was reading off a script.

“i promise, there’s more than this. you can do better.”, tyler tried to explaining to her. but this wasn’t an easy thing for her to hear. how was she supposed to believe tyler?

“and yet you’re still here.”, jasmine replied coldly. tyler frowned, his sad demeanor creeping back. he knew trying to convince jasmine to leave everything behind would be difficult. but he has to try. tyler knew jasmine deserved better then whatever this shitty place had to offer. it was time for tyler to finish his part of the show. jasmine walked away off set. she was taking apart the merch table as tyler finished singing. letting tyler’s soft voice help bring her some peace.

CUT!

jasmine went to go dismiss everyone from the set, but as she walked up she saw the two hosts bodies laying on the ground. their faces now fully wounded and bruised. their skin much paler than it once was. jasmine’s stomach felt ill. they were dead. the two people who were just up hosting a morning show were lying dead on the floor.

BAM!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

hiiii guys!!^^ i hope you enjoyed the first part of this series. like ive mentioned, this will be a shorter story if you will, however ive been very into the lore & stuff. plus im a big maladaptive daydreamer so!!! i’ll try my best to update when i can! thank you for reading it means so much!!!:3

- v 🩶

#twenty one pilots #tyler joseph x reader #tyler joseph fanfiction #tylerjosephfanfic #josh dun fanfiction #joshua dun #josh dun #clancy au #clancy fanfic #clancy imagines #clancy #twenty one pilots fanfiction #tøpfanfic #clancy x reader

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selkiewife · 1 year ago

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do you think we’ll get any dany/theon interactions in WoW or ADoS?

Hello Anon!

I really hope so! I think Daenerys and Theon interactions would be extremely interesting. They have such interesting parallels to each other and both of their narratives speak to the deep isolation of being displaced and yearning for their lost homes.

If you are interested here are some posts that I think do a wonderful job of describing their parallels and also expressing why some fans crave interaction between the two:

paralles all around exploring the missed opportunity of theon & dany meeting in the show in world (and fandom) anti theon & anti dany propaganda compared

I also have recently enjoyed thinking about the burning horse motif that is in both of their narratives- leading them to a rebirth- Drogo's burning horse in Dany's pyre where she is reborn as the unburnt- and Smiler burning with Winterfell as Theon is reborn as Reek :(((

I don't know what would have to happen in order for them to meet. But there is the Greyjoy- Dany connection that is being set up already through Euron and Victarion. And Dany will eventually come north to fight the Others and could meet Theon then if he is still in the north?

There is also Dany's House of the Undying vision about the corpse at the prow of the ship. Many people interpret this vision with having to do with Euron, Victarion, or Aeron. But when I first read it, I instantly thought of Theon. Of course, that could just be because of my own Theon goggles. But look at the quote:

A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly.

Theon has been starved and abused beyond recognition and could be mistaken as a corpse. The bright eyes show that he is not actually a corpse- but still alive. And he has grey lips instead of Euron's blue- and Theon describes his own skin as grey in adwd:

... his hair was white and thin, and his flesh had an old man's greyish undertone. A Stark at last, he thought.

Also the fact that the lips are SMILING sadly- which is more of a Theon thing in comparison to Euron, Victarion, and Aeron.

However, I do like the interpretation that it is Aeron as well. Aeron has been literally tied to the prow of Euron's ship. And the bright eyes could mean the visions he is seeing after drinking the shade of the evening.

But I really love the idea of it being Theon (even thought it's more likely Aeron) because it strikes me as more hopeful. Maybe he survives and is control of his own life- indicated by being at the prow of the ship. And the fact that he would be in one of Dany's visions indicates that she might eventually have contact with him, which I would also enjoy.

Thanks for the question!

#theon greyjoy #daenerys targaryen #theon & dany #theon & dany parallels #asoiaf #twow #ados #asks #anonymous

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sad-leon · 1 year ago

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i have really gotta read Ghost in the Shell, but there is not enough time ;-;

anyways-

heres propaganda for round 2 cuz im going up against Ghost! :D

Ghost: @amevello-blue/@bluepeachstudios

@tmnt-crossover-polls

#sad•leonart #two shades of blue #tsob #tsob propaganda #two shades of blue propaganda #ghost in the shell #gits #crossover polls #crossover propaganda #sobs

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tmnt-crossover-polls · 1 year ago

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Round 1 poll 4

Two shades of blue summary: Leon tries to portal back to the lair mid-panic, but ends up in the 2012 verse. He's gotta work through his issues to get home.

Lost but never found Summary: When attempting to make a deal with Big Mama to obtain the mystic collar needed to capture the Shredder Beast, Leo accidently meets a fighter. A mutant turtle fighter with no memories beyond the Battle Nexus who Leo names to Indigo. However during the battle against Kraken Tom, Indigo ends up injured so Leo sneaks him home, where the kids learn that Indigo is a biological match to "Hamato Yoshi" making this turtle their brother. But things dont add up as more and more contradictions appear, can the brothers piece together this turtle's mysterious past?

@sad-leon

@tmnt-obsessed-ace

#the polls #two shades of blue propaganda #lost but never found propaganda #tmnt crossover polls #musical battle

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itsaash · 1 year ago

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Hamptons Cubs continued....

We've got history together

The prompts from @noots-fic-fests have been invaluable in actually getting this AU written, with the character credit of course to @lumosinlove

Remember when personal chef Leo was invited by sweetheart Finn to bring his boyfriend up for the week to his house in the Hamptons? But then I left you on a cliffhanger on how Finn and Logan knew each other?? like 3 months ago?? Here's their backstory! (about 2000 words, rated T)

Read on ao3

Finn, for some unknowable reason, was taking History 1039: First Empires: Power and Propaganda in the Ancient World, and was actually looking forward to it each week. It was a smile in a crowd, a time slot highlighted deep green (which was the colour for good things, peaceful things), a moment to look forward to amid his absolutely manic final semester. And well, if he was being honest with himself, it was the time he saw Tremblay. Logan Tremblay. At a heavy wooden table, absolutely surrounded by reference books, he had learned Logan had played hockey as a kid, as Finn had too, and they’d traded hockey nicknames, seldom used now, and Tremzy had been a fixture in his colour-coded, highly precise day planner. Because if it wasn’t in the planner, it didn’t happen, and he needed those study sessions to happen.

Finn had known since freshman year that he needed another history class and had been putting it off, so here he was in his final semester, finally taking one. And the flutter in his heart whenever he sat down by Logan during the lectures made him appreciate his top notch procrastination skills.

The problem, one of the problems, is that history textbooks aren’t actually well written. Finn would find himself writing ‘we need to pick a theme here and stick to it’ in the margins. His book was marked up to the nines, comma splices fixed, bright orange highlighter over unnecessary details that only clog up the plot, and plenty of sky blue ballpoint pen notes of ‘where are we going with this?’.

But in this class he was expected to remember all those orange details? And had to write essays about the confusing dates and names and meandering themes? He should’ve picked a history class that covered a decade, tops. Any decade would do. This class was so broad it made his head spin. But, another class wouldn’t have had Tremzy in it, so.

So, their highly exclusive study group of two took up a permanent Wednesday evening slot of deep green in the planner. Logan could remember the dates and details and helped Finn with mnemonics so he could remember them too. They made up back-story and funny details to help Finn’s brain tie together a rambling plot. And Finn would read the textbook aloud to Logan on the days where he was too tired to read the English words and the scenes of ancient history would dance in the air between them as they helped each other learn.

The old fashioned study room had huge white candles in sconces around the room and the candles dripped their wax down the sides, within the glass containers. Finn stared at the patterns the wax made on the outside of the candle, tried to read them like tea leaves. Tried to remember dates and names and if that shade of green had always been the one associated with good things? The light from the candles sparkled off the glass holders and Finn knew that green would always mean good, now.

They were just weeks away from the end of the semester now, final essays in the final editing phase (the part Finn was actually good at. Logan may have learned quickly to send Finn his absolute earliest drafts, just to enjoy the sight of him opening his case of markers and highlighters with a flourish and smile). The sun was staying out later now, still shining as their evening study sessions went on into the night. They found themselves invited to a party at the hockey house after going to watch a Crimson game together. They had traded stories of their successes in junior hockey, and an injured player watching from the stands had joined their conversation and invited them to a party.

“Bruh, it’s gonna be summer vibes. We’re bringing on summer early. Wear florals or some shit. The chicks dig florals.”

Finn laughed, “I can probably manage that.”

“Make your outfit as colourful as your papers, Harzy,” Logan had teased. The player, Wags, upon hearing of Finn’s editing skills had desperately begged Finn to do just a quick edit of his last English paper. Finn agreed, laughing.

“Harzy, you’re a beaut! Fuckin comin through like a champ. Ok I gotta go join the boys for intermission pep talk but come by the house Saturday! Drinks all night for you two!” He pointed his crutch back at Finn and Logan as he walked away, “fuckin florals!”

Logan laughed and bumped Finn’s shoulder, “Yeah, Harzy, you beaut.”

Finn bumped Logan back. “Shut up. Roping me into editing in exchange for drinks. And you’re the one with flow,” he said, hitting the back of his hand into the bottom of Logan’s dark curls, which did flow just past his ears.

“Come on, as if your hair isn’t the nicest in any room,” Logan scoffed. He brushed his hand past Finn’s temple as if he was dismissing Finn’s thick red hair, but the touch lingered a bit longer than a dismissal would, and Finn drew his hand back as he felt the air thicken. Their eyes locked together for a long moment. Finn swallowed.

“I should head home,” Logan said, standing up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Essay to finish. Colour coded editing to decipher.”

Finn laughed, tried to make it sound natural and not high and tight.

“Yeah, ok. If we stay here any longer we’ll start calling each other bruh.”

“Yeah, put a red line right through that shit, Harz,” Logan laughed. And the air settled back to normal around them, for now.

But they did call each other bruh the rest of the week.

~~~

The party was fun. Wags came through with the drinks and introduced Finn in every room as “a total lifesaver, bruh.”

They’d danced, and played beer pong (Logan was unfairly coordinated, even amidst a house full of athletes), and debated music and majors with the other students.

But by midnight Finn and Logan were happy to leave the hockey players to their ever stranger games, and Finn walked with Logan back to his dorm. They collapsed into one of the couches in the sitting room off the main entry, it seemed no one was partying here tonight.

“Have fun, Tremzy?” Finn asked through a yawn. Logan tipped his head back against the couch and was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, it was fun. Do you miss it? Hockey? And the built-in friends?” Finn also tilted his head back, and turned his head towards Logan. He waved a hand in the air. “Yes, and no. The sport itself, I loved, would totally play some more. And I made some awesome friends. But the locker room culture overall isn’t quite where I wish it was? It made it hard, in the end, and I just stopped having fun.”

“Ouias, même chose. And I just wanted to focus on other things.”

They sat for a long minute beside each other, heads resting back and looking at each other. Something switched in the air, like one of the sconce candles had been lit, all of a sudden, on. And Finn leaned over and was kissing Logan before he even knew he was going to.

Logan was still for just a moment before he threaded his hand into Finn’s hair and pulled him closer. Finn held Logan’s jaw in both his hands, unbearably gently, and they settled into each other, the press and movement of lips against lips, jaw, ear, neck.

“I’m not gay,” Logan murmured against his mouth, after some minutes, and Finn backed away slightly.

“That’s ok, that’s fine,” Finn said. He kept his hand cupping Logan’s jaw, never wanted to touch anything else after this sacred skin against his fingertips. “I think I’m bi, but lately there have been more guys in my mind, so who knows.” Not guys, the inner editor in his mind corrected. Guy. Singular. Be specific with your words. It’s green eyes and broad shoulders that have been building a home in your mind. But Finn couldn’t make his mouth say these truths, not with Logan’s eyes looking that stormy and wild and worried.

He leaned in again, 80% of the way, ok maybe 95%, but then waited to see if Logan wanted more. Finn melted and felt like he might float away when Tremz leaned in to press their lips together again. It was soft and tentative but Logan’s grip against his bicep with one hand and side with the other transferred plenty of desire and care. Finn thought he might keep his hand on Logan’s jaw until his hand cramped, it felt so good and right there, the slight stubble soft enough to feel like the best texture toy in existence.

Their lips pressed together like a dance. For a while soft and sweet, just Logan’s fingertips on Finn’s biceps and Finn’s fingers in their new home. Then it turned hotter, deeper. They gripped tighter and moved skating fingers across each other’s chests and hips.

Finn slung a leg over both of Logan’s, still sitting beside him, not on him, but now turned fully towards each other so they could press their chests together in a gasp.

“I thought you liked girls,” Logan said, very unfortunately using his mouth to talk instead of kiss. “You talked about Hannah a lot back at the start of the semester.”

“I do like Hannah. I like a lot of people,” Finn said into the hinge of Logan’s jaw. I like you, his brain amended.

“Have there been, you said you’ve been thinking of boys? Have there been guys in your bed too?” Logan said slowly, accent heavy around the words, the sentence stumbling as his fingers traced up and down Finn’s side. Finn’s heart galloped ahead before he could answer. He pulled back slightly, feeling that Logan really wanted an answer.

“Well, no, not lately. I mean, I have … well I’ve had a lot of people in my bed honestly. But lately, no, no guys in my bed for ... quite some time.” At least two months, Finn thought. A bit more? Which in retrospect was not the norm for him, but he honestly hadn’t noticed the lack these past weeks. “Why? Are there guys in your bed? You haven’t told me about anyone you��ve hooked up with.”

Logan just shook his head, fingers gripping into Finn’s hips, but he didn’t lean in again. “No, there hasn’t been, I mean I’ve done stuff with girls, but I haven’t, merde,” Logan looked up at the ceiling before levelling his gaze at Finn. “Finn, you’re the first guy I’ve kissed.” Finn raised his eyebrows. “I honestly don’t know what, don’t know who I like,” he stuttered.

Finn traced his fingertips over Logan’s cheeks. “Do you like this?” He trailed his fingers down Logan’s neck. Logan nodded. “And this?” Finn leaned in to place a soft kiss just below Logan’s ear.

“Absolutely.” Logan tilted his neck to give Finn more access.

“Ok, well then, Tremzy, do you want to keep kissing me? You don’t have to. It’s so fine if you want to stop.”

Logan just leaned in and captured Finn’s mouth again and Finn let himself be kissed within an inch of his life.

Some time later they slowed, and stopped. They peppered small kisses across each other’s faces for a long time before actually stopping. Finn walked Logan up to his room holding hands. They kissed one more time at Logan’s door. Finn felt like the house around them may as well not be there, like he may as well be floating with Logan, under the stars, for as much as he took notice of anything other than the soft lips, the scruff of hair, the hard muscles under his hands. It felt a little bit like magic.

In the scheme of things, their history together included dozens of evenings together with books strewn about the heavy wood table, a difficult course that had been successfully navigated by the help of each other, moments of care and kindness and friendship. But that was one class, a handful of months, one kiss. Years ago.

They had continued to study after that night, proof-reading each other's essays. There had been more casual touching, a hand on a knee or a stroke across a back as they walked by, but they hadn’t kissed again. Finn thought maybe they would at the end of the semester. But then the semester ended in a whirlwind of exams and papers and best wishes from so many people and Finn had been travelling into the city to find an apartment on the weekends and doing job interviews at magazines and publishing houses. They just … hadn’t. And then he’d dropped his whole fucking bag onto the tracks that day in New York and he’d decided to switch to an android phone, and the kiss, and Tremzy, were a fond but distant memory.

Except, now here he was. Right in-fucking-front of him. At his house. For the next 10 days. With Leo. Leo was his boyfriend.

What the actual fuck.

#fic-o-ween 2023 #o'knutzy #Hamptons AU #characters by lumosinlove #harvard FinnLo

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