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pengychan · 4 years

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[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 20

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Well, time for Coco to show up.

***

“What does it mean, you have a date?”

“I find your incredulous tone more than a little insulting.”

Sofía’s own tone is light, but Ernesto knows her well enough to tell she is not entirely joking there, and wisely decides to drop the matter. “All right, fine. I guess I’ll have to find someone else who is up to spend an enjoyable evening.”

“Oh yes,” Sofía mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I am sure you have men and women lined up waiting for the chance to ride your dick.”

“Of course I--”

“Come on, it’s obvious you don’t,” Sofía cuts him off. Ernesto can vaguely hear her TV going in the background. “You must be on your last leg to call me now. Desperate, desperately horny, or both. I’m guessing both.”

All right, so that hit close home, but he has precisely no intention to admit as much aloud. To her least of all. “I just figured I’d be generous to you, is all.”

“Clearly,” is the deadpan reply.

“But since you have no taste, I will make someone else’s night.”

“Right. Good luck with that,” she chuckles, and pauses. “... Seriously, though, how are you?”

Ernesto bits his lower lip before glancing out of the window. It has rained most of the day, but now there is only a drizzle. On days like that, they’d-- no. No, he shouldn’t go there. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“... Better, either way. I’m doing much better.”

“That’s good to know. All right, maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow. Over lunch break, the place across the street from my salon?”

“Sure. Can’t wait to hear all about your date,” Ernesto says, a slightly mocking tone on the last word, and ends the call. And then… he proceeds to call no one else.

It’s not that he’s run out of phone numbers to call or women to contact on social media, but so far he’s had depressingly little success. As it turns out, disappearing on every fling for a full year without so much a message and then just reappearing with no explanation given - much less a convincing one - is not a winning strategy to get them back in bed with him. Who’d have known.

Well, one did say yes, so they met at her place - only for her to step out, smack him across the face, and then go back in without a word. Ernesto had no idea what he may have possibly done to deserve it, but he knew better than to ask: there might just be a long, exhaustive answer to that question and he didn’t want to hear it.

With a sigh, Ernesto leans back on his couch and checks Instagram. His followers count is going up and up, especially after he and Héctor appeared on TV, and maybe he could go looking for someone interesting among them… but each time he opens a profile, he can barely focus on it at all.

All right, this is not working. I need something else.

He downloads Tinder again - when did he uninstall it? - and logs in, determined to give it a go. An hour and an undefined number of left swipes later, he briefly muses whether he should try again with Grindr. In the end, he throws his phone aside and leans back with a sigh.

Back to his old life, he said.

No strings but those of my guitar, he said.

Easier said than done.

***

This is the first time, as far as she can remember, that Imelda does not celebrate Día de los Muertos in Santa Cecilia.

It’s a simple matter of common sense, really: eight months into the pregnancy, getting on a plane to Oaxaca sounds like an all-around bad idea.

“I mean, if she’s born on the plane, she might get free flights for life with the company,” Héctor joked when they first discussed their options. “I heard it happened before.”

A lifetime of free flights sounds like a good perk, Imelda has to admit, but not worth birthing her child thirty-five thousand feet up in the air, possibly without doctors and with only a curtain separating her from the rest of the passengers - who, she suspects, would be less than thrilled about the disruption to their flight.

The alternatives, a long car drive or God forbid an even longer bus ride, were entirely out of question. In the end, the only practical solution was for her parents to come over, so that they could spend those days together in Mexico City. They set off that morning, and Héctor is preparing to go pick them up at the airport.

They’re running later than expected because the flight was delayed, which hopefully won’t be too much of a problem for Ernesto. He’s going to see his parents for Día de los Muertos - ironic, that the one year they’re not going to Santa Cecilia, he goes - and he’s asked to borrow their car, so that he can go with his dogs instead of leaving them with someone else.

“Didn’t appreciate me being gone last time I tried,” he’s said, causing Héctor to chuckle.

“Could leave them with us, they’re used to being with us.”

“... I think you’ve got your house full as it is, amigo.”

There was a brief silence, which had been broken before it could turn sad, and of course they had agreed to let him borrow the car as soon as they’d used it to pick up her parents.

“Do you need me to get you something while I wait for them, mi amor?”

“Yes, thank you. I left you a list on the table.”

It is a long list, mostly items with enough sugar in them to sustain a small army, but Héctor makes no comment; he picks it up, just barely manages to get his facial expression under control before his eyebrows can shoot all the way up to his hairline, and steps over to kiss her. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Good luck.”

“The stuff you need isn’t that hard to find.”

“I was referring to driving my parents.”

A chuckle, another kiss on the bridge of her nose. “Your father’s fine,” he says, politely adding nothing about her mother before he leaves. Imelda glances out of the window to see him go… and Ernesto arrives. They stop to talk by the gate, Héctor probably apologizing for the delay in giving him the car, Ernesto shrugging in a way that is probably meant to convey it’s not a problem, he’s not especially eager to get going towards Santa Cecilia anyway.

And yet he’s going. That’s… odd, even taking into account the reconciliation with his parents which he still describes as a work in progress. Ernesto never cared all that much for the tradition, and as far as Imelda knows he never made an ofrenda of his own. He’d be more likely to go out partying, and pick up someone to spend the night with. How many times has she seen him from that same window, heading to the entrance with a man or a woman at his arm? More than she can count, although admittedly that has not happened… in a while.

Ever since things became serious between the three of us. And even after it ended, did either of us see him coming home with a date? Did he bring up a fling while talking to me or Héctor, brag about a conquest?

They haven’t and he didn’t. As far as Imelda is aware, Ernesto hasn’t been with anyone in the past few months.

So much for bouncing back, she thinks, and lets the curtain drop with a sigh while trying to ignore, with very little success, the part of her that has the audacity to be relieved at the notion.

***

“Hey! How are you doing?”

“Congrats on the album! Saw you on TV!”

“What about Héctor and Imelda? They’re not here, is their baby born yet?”

“Tell them I said hi!”

“Tell them to visit! Will they come to have her christened in the parish?”

“Hey, can I have an autograph so I can sell it?”

The walk to the cemetery and back - he promised Héctor to have a look at his parents’ grave for him, give it a clean-up, put on fresh flowers - was short, but it seemed to last so much longer with so many people recognizing him and stopping him for a chat. It’s not usually something he’d argue against, but there is a sting every time they ask about Héctor and Imelda and whether or not the baby is born yet.

He really hopes said sting can dull into something more bearable quickly, because it isn’t long until Coco is born and he’s expected to stand in as her godfather, which he’d really like to be able to do without feeling like something is squeezing his heart.

It will pass. It must pass, he thought, and took care to walk back to his parents’ home through a different route with fewer people. Walking back in to be greeted by his dogs did help a little. His father did mutter that they are more like guinea pigs, but at least he appreciates the fact they cannot climb on the ofrenda to steal the offerings. Though not for lack of trying.

The ofrenda at Ernesto’s family home is rather one-sided - which is to say, only her mother’s family is on it. Her parents, both dead by the time he was born, a couple of aunts, grandparents and so on. Plenty of García, a couple of Martinez, and not a single de la Cruz among them.

Then again, it’s not a name that comes with a lot of history attached; it simply filled in a blank space on the birth certificate of a child surrendered at birth.

“You ever thought of looking for her?” Ernesto asks suddenly, while his mother is away to get more flowers and his father is watching the food on the stove. He’s drinking some kind of bland, alcohol free beer that Ernesto has found himself drinking as well out of solidarity.

Estéban glances at him, a little confused, but comprehension dawns when his gaze moves to the doorway, onto the ofrenda in the next room over. He looks at the photos that are there, but mostly at those that are not. “... A couple of times. Never tried, though.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t want me. I had better things to do than chasing someone who didn’t want me.”

Ernesto thinks back of the night he was kicked out and swore he was never, ever coming back. He thinks of what he desperately wishes he could have back, but cannot. He smiles bitterly. “I understand.”

“... I know you do.”

A brief silence, and once again it’s Ernesto to break it. “Might have had reasons. Might be that she wanted you, but-- couldn’t. Maybe things happened.”

We need to… to make some changes, Héctor said when breaking him the news. Even if we don’t like it.

Ernesto half-expects a scoff, dismissal, but what he gets is a thoughtful hum; he faintly wonders if his father discussed this while in therapy, but he knows better than to ask. He swore his mamá he would pretend not to know about the therapy part and, unlike her, he plans to keep his word.

“Guess it’s possible. Makes no difference, though. Did well enough regardless.”

Except for the part where he was an alcoholic for a couple of decades during which he also kicked out his only son because he happened to like dick, Ernesto thinks, and the part where he had in general the emotional capacity of an uncooked tortilla and the temper of a rabid coyote. But he supposes that, aside for those neglectable details, he hasn’t done too bad.

“Could have done worse,” he concedes.

Could have killed me, I guess.

“... Don’t patronize me. I know I haven’t been perfect--”

“Understatement.”

“-- but I am trying. And I don’t think digging in the past would help.” Estéban de la Cruz finishes his can of non-alcoholic beer in a long swig. “I was an asshole. No point in trying to pin that on my mamá not wanting me.”

That wasn’t precisely where Ernesto was going, but to be entirely fair he is not sure what point he truly had in asking his father something so personal, so in the end he just nods and finishes his own beer. If his father is wondering why he even asked he makes no mention of it, and to be entirely honest it is a relief.

While he appreciates his efforts there are some conversations they are simply Not Having, and Ernesto’s personal business with his best friend and his wife is one of them.

“I’ll go take a photo of the ofrenda,” he finally says, causing Estéban to raise an eyebrow.

“A photo? Why?”

“To put on Instagram.”

“Is it that website your mother hounded for photos of you?”

Ernesto hums, the notion of his mother going through his Instagram account and all the implications of it not really registering in his brain. There is an unread message flashing on the screen, distracting him - Héctor.

Everything good over there? Your mamá feeding you?

Ah, right, he was supposed to get in touch after visiting his parents' grave. He was so busy trying to avoid people he knew on the way back, he entirely forgot to.

I’m putting up a kilo a day. All good, he writes back, and sends over a photo of the grave, all cleaned up, with flowers and all. Ricardo and Emilia smile from the photo on the headstone, and it’s hard to tell whose smile Héctor’s resembles most.

Ernesto finds himself smiling faintly, too, as Héctor replies. Gracias. I owe you a favor.

You owe me nothing.

A drink, then.

I’ll take that, Ernesto writes, and puts the phone away without snapping any photos of the ofrenda, feeling just a little better.

***

If he had to describe that Día de los Muertos, Héctor supposes ‘bittersweet’ is the word for it.

It’s odd, not being in Santa Cecilia for it. Imelda is there with him, of course, as is her family, and there is an ofrenda in their living room - but not getting to visit his parents’ graves on the day is an odd sort of sting. He’d feel guilty, if they didn’t have excellent reasons not to travel that year.

Héctor is rather sure his mother would hit him over the head with a wooden spoon if he so much suggested putting his daughter at risk of being born on a plane or a bus in order to visit, and that helps. It also helps that Ernesto is there, looking after their grave in his stead. He is a good friend - the best friend he could have asked for, now more than ever before, and he’s glad he didn’t lose him. It’s good to have him back. And yet… and yet.

Gracias. I owe you a favor.

You owe me nothing.

A drink, then.

I’ll take that.

Héctor smiles a little, and… doesn’t click the screen off just yet.

Only to drop the phone with a yelp when Imelda’s voice rings out right beside him.

“All good back-- hey! Careful!” Her hands shoots out and somehow manages to catch his phone in mid-air, sparing him the utter pain of having to replace the screen or maybe the entire phone. She sighs. “Try to make this one last longer than three months,” she mutters, and glances at the screen. A moment of silence and then she gives a small, soft smile that Héctor suspects mirrors the one on his face only moments ago.

“Nice of him to take care of it.”

“Yes. We could have him over-- for dinner, or something. When he comes back.”

“Of course.” The smile on Imelda’s face fades a little, and she gives him back the phone. “Would be nice to have him over. We’ll tell Óscar and Felipe to be somewhere else for the evening. Cinema or something. Or maybe they can start getting some furniture in the room they’re renting,” she adds.

Imelda is in equal parts amused and somewhat concerned by her brothers’ decision to move into a room in a house a few blocks away - their bid for freedom, as they call it, though they are still very close by in case any help is needed once Coco is born. Héctor likes having them around, but he cannot deny he looks forward to having the apartment all for Imelda and himself in the few weeks left before Coco’s arrival.

And right now, it doesn’t escape him that she admitted she’d rather not have them there when Ernesto comes to visit. He glances at her, a mute question, and Imelda bites her lower lip. “... In case he needs to talk,” she says. Héctor nods. Of course - of course, it makes sense: if there are things yet unspoken, and God knows there are, they must be discussed without anyone else listening in. That need for secrecy is part of the reason why their arrangement couldn’t continue.

Maybe the twins will understand, Héctor thinks, and he finds he actually believes they would. They’re young, open-minded in a way their parents - and most in Santa Cecilia - are not. Still, he doesn’t voice that thought: it would mean discussing the possibility that maybe, just maybe…

“I’ll tell him to bring a bucket of ice cream for you,” Héctor says instead, and Imelda laughs, smacking his arm lightly before she returns in the next room over where her parents and brothers are. Héctor clicks the phone’s screen on, and follows her - knowing full well that an honest conversation is just delayed, and wondering who will wind up cracking first.

***

In the end, they never do find out who among them may have cracked first. The dinner never happens, because something else does crack right before they sit at the dinner table.

Break, more like.

And Imelda’s waters were not supposed to break for another two weeks at least, as Héctor repeats no less than seventeen times during the car ride to the hospital.

“We’re almost there, mi amor - stay calm, all right? Stay calm,” he is now saying to his remarkably calm wife, not at all calm himself. Ernesto chooses not to remark on that and keeps his eyes on the road instead.

All right, so it’s time. This is happening.

He’s had complicated feelings over the upcoming birth of Héctor and Imelda’s baby - his goddaughter, it’s easier if he thinks of her as his goddaughter - and he’s been bracing himself for her arrival as you do for an emergency landing: knowing that it’s coming no matter your feelings on the matter, that the plane must land and hopefully all will be well once it does.

Now, however, everything is moving so fast he has no time to think, much less to feel anything other than urgency. One moment he’d been sitting at the dinner table, one moment Imelda had emerged from the next room over, pale but in full control, telling them it was time for her to go to the hospital. Héctor sprinted to retrieve the small suitcase she had prepared beforehand while Ernesto rushed to get the car, and he’s now in the process of weaving through traffic and ignoring the GPS’ suggestions in favor of a route that he knows will be somewhat less congested.

There is a groan, a sharper breath, and he glances in the rear view mirror. “You all right there?”

Imelda looks back at him through the mirror, and for just a moment he can see how pale she is, how truly concerned for this monumental, frightening task ahead of her - deliver a new life into the world. And then she manages a smile.

“Just cursing over all that good food growing cold back home. The dogs and Pepita must be helping themselves to it. I won't be cleaning that mess,” she mutters, and Ernesto laughs, taking a turn. Even Héctor starts laughing - far more high-pitched than usual and somewhat frightened, but laughter it is. Imelda manages a chuckle before hissing again, a hand resting against her belly just as Ernesto takes another turn and gets right into the hospital’s parking lot, barely slowing down.

Imelda takes in a deep breath before opening the door. “I can walk to the entrance - they will be waiting for us, I called them before leaving,” she says, and steps outside. Héctor is immediately by her side, suitcase in hand, offering her his arm. He turns to look at Ernesto, eyes huge.

It’s happening, those eyes say. I am about to be a father, they say. I’m terrified.

But when he speaks, Héctor says none of those things. “Thank you,” he tells Ernesto. His voice is calmer, but the grip on the suitcase remains so tight his knuckles are almost white. There is something stuck in Ernesto’s throat, and he forces himself to swallow it; the weight seems to settle in his chest. Ernesto clears his throat before speaking.

“Well, someone with a still functioning brain had to drive. Go in, I’ll-- I’ll park the car and get in the waiting room. Are you going to, uh, go in the delivery room, or…?”

“He’d better,” Imelda mutters, and there is more snickering. The rock-hard thing in Ernesto’s chest melts away a little. “Can you let my brothers know?" she adds. "They’ll tell our parents. I’m ready to bet they’ll be on the first plane back.”

“Of course,” Ernesto replies, and watches them walk to the entrance before he sighs and goes looking for a parking spot. It is only as he steps in the waiting room and reaches for his phone that he realizes there is a slight problem.

He has absolutely no idea what Imelda’s brothers’ phone numbers even are.

***

It is amazing, Imelda thinks, how much a newborn can look like a grouchy old man.

“Mi amor, she’s beautiful.” Héctor’s voice is a little nasal as he still blinks away tears, cheek resting on top of her head and eyes fixed on the baby in her arms.

In Imelda’s opinion she is most decidedly not beautiful - newborns just out of the birth canal, she finds, are some of the ugliest things one can imagine, skull still misshapen and features flattened - but she has no doubt whatsoever that Héctor absolutely means it. Must be the tears of joy, or love goggles, or both. Either way, it gets a tired smile out of her.

“Well worth the hassle,” she says, and oh, she means it. Labor was exhausting, if relatively short, and she wouldn’t wish the pain that had followed to her worst enemy - but for the tiny thing in her arms, blinking blearily up at them with the expression of someone who’s just had the worst day, Imelda knows she’d do it all over again. She strokes a tiny hand with her thumb just as Héctor speaks.

“Hola, Coco,” he says, so much tenderness in his voice it almost hurts. “I’m your papá. Actually, wait, more importantly-- this is your mamá. She made you.”

Like she’s a pair of shoes, Imelda thinks, and chuckles. She cannot recall being this happy with any of her creations up to now. “Your papá helped,” she says, kissing Coco’s forehead. “Don’t ask how until you’re older.”

“Wha-- oh! No no no, don’t ask at all!” Héctor exclaims, causing Coco’s eyes to shift back to him. She blinks, and Imelda can almost believe it’s out of surprise. “You’re just here, I’m not ready to think about giving you the Talk! Best if you ask your mamá about it, really. And about shoemaking. But if you want to learn how to make some good music-- what is it?” he asks, blinking, when Imelda bursts laughing.

She cannot answer right away: she just laughs and laughs and laughs, causing Coco to start wailing, as though to join in, while Héctor looks at them both, saying nothing, taking in everything with a wide smile on his face.

***

More. More coffee.

Ernesto lets his last few coins drop into the machine, rubbing his face with his free hand. It’s been… three hours? Feels like more. There hasn’t been much for him to do, other than calling his mother with the odd request of trying to contact Imelda’s parents - he has no clue what their number may be, maybe she can find out or even visit them, they’re in the same damn town - to let them know what’s going on.

For the most part he’s been sitting in the waiting room, with a growing pile of empty plastic cups on the floor in front of him. He goes to sit again, drinks the bitter hot coffee in one gulp, adds the cup to the pile, and leans back.

He tells himself there is no reason to be nervous, of course giving birth cannot be done in a pinch, but the more he waits the more uneasy he feels. What if something went wrong, two weeks early shouldn't be cause for concern, but-- no, surely Héctor would come tell him-- or would he stay in, unable to leave her side while… while…

“ERNESTO!”

Héctor’s cry and the bang of the door slamming open causes several people in the waiting room and Ernesto to jump several feet up in the air, all hair standing on end, letting out a shriek he’ll barely manage to pass off as a grito later.

He has barely enough time to land again before Héctor throws his arms around him, laughing and crying, trying to lift him and failing miserably, dragging him into a clumsy half-twirl. “She’s here! Coco is here! She’s beautiful, the most beautiful baby girl you’ll ever see!”

Something aches just a little, a part of him that is still bitter and spiteful over being cast aside for her sake, but Héctor pulls back with such a wide smile it’s near impossible not to smile back. And he does.

“Imelda…?”

“She’s fine, she was amazing. Resting now, but we can visit later. Oh! They’ll take Coco to the nursery, there is a window - want to come take a look at your goddaughter?

Ah, yes. I have a goddaughter now.

The ache grows duller, and Ernesto’s smile grows a bit brighter. “I would like that,” he says.

And means it.

***

A/N: Imelda's reaction to Coco is kinda based off my grandmother's when she first saw my brother a hour after birth. He was ugly. Just, so damn ugly. All she could say looking at the crib was "... so, it's this one?", clearly hoping to be told that no, it was the next one over. And while grandma was never known to be the nurturing type, when an Italian grandmother cannot manage to pretend her newborn grandchild is cute, you know it's one ugly baby.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #hector rivera #coco #mind the gap

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toyhenoctus · 4 years

Note

What's your take on MTFL? I noticed that you said in a comment that you've been avoiding the book

The short answer: It’s boring?

The very long answer: My Two First Loves stirs up a lot of hard, confusing feelings for me so while I don’t want to read it, I also want to see where PB takes it. My boredom actually comes from how the chapters are so short; they’re almost like a waste of time because as soon as the plot goes anywhere, the chapter is over. To combat this, I’ve decided to start reading it in week intervals so it’s not gonna be blink and it’s over chapters. With seven on so chapters, I can actually hunker down and engage the story without it feeling like time wasted

But part of me also doesn’t want to read it because while the MC is demonstrating an attraction to guys like I did in high school, I also started questioning my sexuality a lot when I was in the 8th grade. I guess a part of me wished the story was more nuanced to include some options where MC questions herself (but like, the book just started and I haven’t read the last five or six chapters so maybe they did idk) and it’s just reminding me of how much I used to tell myself that I was straight because that’s what I was supposed to be

I grew up in a Christian household and I don’t mean “Oh, I had to go to Mass sometimes for an hour, and then we’d hurry home to watch the game”. No. My family is from Trinidad and my parents are Spiritual Baptists. Just look it up, I’m not getting into all of it here but the point I’m trying to make is that my religion was intense and key in my upbringing. My parents are both ordained ministers, my godfather was my pastor, I was christened at birth, baptized at 8 in the ocean after fasting for three days and then I went on a guided pilgrimage for seven days blindfolded at 15 to prove my devotion. It was some serious shit, so imagine my absolute terror when I realized that my eyes were lingering on girls. I buried it as far as I could and I asked out one of my friends and became his girlfriend

When I was 16, my brother came out to me and family and that opened up the wound again. My dad was chill about it, like really truly chill. My mother asked questions at the dinner table but she seemed okay too. I backed my brother fully openly because he’s my brother and I love him and I thought “Okay, this good. Maybe...Maybe...” and then I found out that my mother went into the bathroom to take a shower so she could cry about it. Later, she told me to my face “I think something happened to him when he went to college. Maybe he was raped by a man or something. I can’t believe that he’s saying these things. That is not my son.” My little bubble of hope? Destroyed. The closet door slammed shut. I was straight. I was straight. I was straight

I wasted maybe six or seven years dating my friend Vincent because of what she said. When I finally came out, I promised to never hide again. I’m a lesbian and I’m proud of that shit. Now that said, I really don’t want to have to play a character questioning her sexuality like this if it’s not going to be done right. It’s mixed up in so much pain and confusion and lies for me that I don’t wanna experience this story if it’s not worth it

I mean, I’m trying? I named Mason after Vincent to help make a connection because even though I’m not in love with him, I still love him. He was kind and funny we played Yu-Gi-Oh together every day at lunch from 6th grade on and he was a big part of my life. I thought he was a safe choice and he was good to me. I named Noah after another guy that I thought I had a crush on (tho looking back it’s clear that he was #bodygoals and I just liked him because I wanted to be fit like him because we were both athletes) so I’m attempting to make a proper connection to this book without it hurting so much

I mean, half of my MCs are bi so I feel like I shouldn’t be having such a hard time with this book since it’s so good for bi-rep but I just do so I’ve been avoiding talking about it. I just really, really, really hope that this book turns out good and that they do the themes justice. I can’t dredge up all these feelings and have it be for nothing

#my two first loves #mtfl #tw rape mention #ask #Anonymous

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lamptracker · 5 years

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Hi mum, I was wondering if you could maybe write an agnsty but then fluffy blurb on how the reader is really angry and jealous that she's having a hard time getting pregnant while Tom's brothers are having babies and how he himself just became a Godfather to his cousins baby and is just overall frustrated that she can't do the one miracle that a female's body is able to do?

“Well,” Tom says, smiling broadly. “Will and Kara just named me Claire’s godfather.”

“That’s great, babe,” you reply, giving him a tight-lipped smile in response.

“They’re going to ask Kara’s sister to be godmother, and the christening is... okay, what’s going on?”

You shoot him a confused glance. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been acting strangely for the last few weeks,” Tom says bluntly. “First, when Harry and Rachel had Jack. Then, a few weeks ago, when Sam and Elysia announced they were having twins. And just now, you smiled when I told you about being Claire’s godfather, but I can tell when your smiles aren’t genuine. And that, my love, was not a genuine smile.”

You sigh deeply. “Okay, fine. I’m... I don’t know what I am, Tom. I’m jealous, I know that. I’m jealous that Harry just had a baby, and Sam and Elysia are having two, and I don’t even get to give you one. We’ve been married two years, I should already have one by now. And I’m mad, mad at myself. A woman’s body was designed for having babies, right? It has one job. And mine can’t even do that. I want a baby, Tom, I want your baby. But...” you bite your lower lip, willing yourself not to cry. “I just can’t seem to...”

Tom’s eyes grow slightly wider in sympathy. “Oh, darling, no. It’s okay, it really is. I want to be a father, I do. And I know you want to be a mother, it’s just... it’s taking us a little longer, that’s all. I know you’re sad and frustrated but it’s okay. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” You sniffle as the tears start flowing down your cheeks.

“If it doesn’t,” he replies, gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs, “then we adopt. I’m going to make you a mother one way or another, I promise.”

“You... you’re not mad at me?”

“Why on Earth would I be mad at you?” Tom smiles softly at you. “Tell you what, we give ourselves another month. Then, if we’re still not pregnant, we go through fertility testing. Okay?”

You return his smile, your hands coming up to rest atop his. “That sounds like a plan.”

Tom gently kisses your forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Tommy.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #ugh lol #Anonymous

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ninatheauthor · 4 years

Text

Modern AU headcanons (2)

Previous post / Following post 😚

Languages

Hans: Peruvian Coastal Spanish (mother tongue), English (fluent), Quebec French (beginner)

Moblit: English and Quebec French (mother tongues)

Nanaba: Quebec French (mother tongue), English (fluent), Wyandot (semi-fluent)

Mike: Caribbean Spanish (mother tongue), Quebec French (fluent), English (fluent) He knows LSQ, Quebec Sign Language

Erwin: Chilean Spanish (mother tongue), Quebec French (fluent), English (fluent)

Levi: Brazilian Portuguese (mother tongue), Egyptian Arabic (fluent), English (fluent), Hebrew (semi-fluent), Quebec French (beginner)

Erwin, Mike and Hans taught each other Chilean, Colombian and Peruvian expressions. Hans and Levi speak English with a small accent Both are bad at French. If their friends switch in that language in the middle of a conversation, they can't follow. Moblit often complains about his Frenchie colleague ; Monsieur doesn't understand "his ugly accent" and the words he uses. Sometimes, he wants to shove a dictionary down his colleague's throat. They have nicknames for each other:

Hans - Hansi, Four eyes Erwin - Winnie Nana - Nanaba, Ananas José Miguel - Mike, Miguelito, Jo Levi - Lee Moblit - Mob, Mobby, Moburitto, Moblitto, Potato, Gringo

Family

Moblit

Mr Berner had a lot of inspiration the day his son was born. He named the newborn Moblit because: - The Godfather is one of his favorite movies - He's a dad now, which is "lit" Instead of making fun of his name, people compliment it.

Moblit and Darlene took after their mom. You see them, you know they're Mrs Berner's children. (I was inspired by @oeilvert's drawing for this headcanon)

A couple of Darlene's friends had a crush on her older brother. He was completely oblivious until his sister told him lol.

His nephew calls him "Uncle Mob"

During each family meeting, his aunts nag him about marriage. "Do you have a girlfriend? Not yet?!" "When are you going to tie the knot? You're nearly 40!"

Moblit won't come out in front of his family. He doesn't know they will react if he reveals to them that: - he's bisexual - he has two significant others

Hans

They haven't talked to their parents and siblings since That Incident. Despite what happened, they miss them.

Hans cooks Peruvian dishes for special occasions.

Their close family members wonder if Hans is doing well in Canada. Others (aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents) still pretend that Hans doesn't exist.

Helena will call Hans one day. She would use their current name instead of the older one, apologize, cry a lot. Hans will be very emotional as well.

After this first exchange, they will contact each other more often. Hans would reach out their younger brother and parents. They will introduce them to their friends and significant others.

Levi

He's very close with his mom. They text and call each other at least once a week.

He has found memories of his dad. He always visits his father's grave when he goes back to Santos.

Levi has a good relationship with his maternal grandmother. He can spend an hour on the phone with her in Arabic. Levi likes to hear stories about Kenny, Elias and Kuchel's childhood.

Grandma Ackerman shared many of her recipes with her grandson. He has used some of them to make pastries for his tea shop.

Yael and Hayim attend a secular school from Monday to Friday and a Jewish children school on Sundays.

Erwin

He's been told that Ophelia could have become a model: she's tall - 176 cm - and has the Looks. The woman became a general practitioner.

His mom and sister call him Jadiel or Jadi. His middle name is the Spanish version of Yehudiel, one of the archangels. Erwin calls them Mama and Zephy.

Some schoolmates bullied Erwin in elementary school. Mike, Nile and Marie defended him against them. After Ophelia threatened them, they left her brother alone.

It was quite difficult for her to accept Erwin's bisexuality. On the top of that, she barely tolerates his husband. Ophelia does her bit for her three children, niece and nephew: they love their uncles and she's very attached to Yael and Hayim.

Maite and Kuchel are able to communicate despite the language barrier.

Nanaba

Once she learned about the concept generational trauma, she could finally explain what happened during her childhood.

Nana faced a huge dilemma: should she send an invitation to her father for her marriage or not? She decided to invite him. He went with her mom.

Her grandparents helped her to embrace her cultural heritage.

She gets along with Mike's parents and siblings. Nana learned sign language in order to communicate better with Angelina.

Daniel brags about his cool dad and badass mom to his friends sometimes.

Mike

He asked for "a little brother or sister", he got four siblings. The Zacarías' house was very lively.

Mike rarely fought with his brother and sister ; he was often the one who stopped fights.

Baby Rosanna grabbed and threw the pastor's wig while he christened her. Marie, Mike, Erwin and Nile nearly split their sides laughing.

He teared up during Emilio and Maricela's weddings. All of his siblings cried the day he got married to Nanaba.

He discovered through his mom that some of his ancestors were Jewish. While his great-grandmother reverted back to Judaism six years ago, Mike and his siblings preferred to explore their cultural background. Levi helped him a lot.

#snk #aot #hanji zoe #moblit berner #nanaba #mike zacharias #erwin smith #levi ackerman

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animebw · 5 years

Text

Short Reflection: Dororo

And so my continued love/hate relationship with Studio Mappa marches ever on, in which they consistently put out ridiculously ambitious projects with stunning first episodes that regularly push the boundaries of what modern anime is capable of, spinning dangerous, unique, memorable, thoughtful, massive, and utterly memorable narratives with insanely intricate productions, and always, without fail, stumbling over uneven schedules and overstepped ambitions that lead to the finished product having very noticeable holes and frustrations that drag it down from genuine greatness, but the level of passion and dedication on display is so riveting that I feel pressured to give all those missteps a pass. Every season, it’s the same song and dance with these lunatics, yet no matter how many times I’m burned, I always find myself coming back. Say what you want about Mappa, they don’t do safe, and if there’s one thing this industry could use more of in the modern day, it’s that kind of daredevil risk-taking. I value this studio’s talent and dedication, and while I can’t outright say I trust them, I never cease to be blown away with how far they’re willing to push themselves. We need more people like the Mappa team working in the industry, more people willing to go the extra mile and take the risks necessary to achieve something truly transcendent. So when I say that Dororo is a flawed, uneven creature, know that I criticize so heavily because I appreciate so much of what this show does, and I just wish it ended up being even stronger than just quite good.

Based on a tale from the pen of Osamu Tezuka, the godfather of anime and manga, Dororo takes the Devilman Crybaby route of updating this classic manga with modern sensibilities and a hard-bitten edge. In the times of the samurai, Lord Daigo’s land is suffering from famine, and in his desperation, he makes a deal with demonic forces to keep his people alive; prosperity in exchange for his newly born son. The baby is stripped of all of his features, his limbs, his senses, his skin, even his face. Daigo orders the poor thing to be put out of its misery, but the midwife takes pity on it and sets it down the river, Moses style, to find a second chance at life. Flash forward about twenty years or so and the baby has grown into an ass-kicking, demon-slaying warrior outfitted with a prosthetic body to replace everything that was taken from him, including arms that can open up into razor-sharp sword blades for maximum bloodletting. He’s on a quest to slay the demons that stole his body, reclaiming all the remnants of humanity he never got a chance to taste. And along the way, he finds himself an unlikely companion in Dororo, a fast-talking, quick-witted, streetwise kid who takes a liking to the mysterious renegade. From there on, the story spools into a series of episodic adventures building to a grander narrative as Dororo and the newly christened Hyakkimaru travel across the land, slaying demons and reclaiming Hyakkimaru’s lost body piece by piece, Dororo acting as the unworldly warrior’s guide through the dangerous landscape (and as a spirited one-sided conversationalist, to keep their journey from being completely silent until Hyakkimaru eventually regains his voice). But the forces of Daigo are stirring to war, and the scars left on the lost boy’s family long ago are slowly rising like a plague in the plenty of the land his sacrifice helped save.

So, you know, just another day at Studio Mappa with a production requiring a ridiculous amount of ambition and skill on a near weekly basis. An adaptation of a classic work from the godfather of manga that needs to be updated into a more modern context? With swordfights and crazy plotting and out-there conceptions of demonhood and humanity to be explored? You can almost hear the animators chomping at the bit to dig into such a tantalizing prospect. And unsurprisingly, watching it all unfold is like a cross between the Icarus myth and a rejection of the same. You can hardly believe how much effort is being poured into this endeavor, nor how much of it actually succeeds. Much like Masaaki Yuasa did with Devilman, the team behind Dororo fundamentally understood how to translate this ancient tale into something vital and fresh today. It’s a heavily tonal piece, shrouded in the pale papyrus colors and rough painted surfaces that suggest a scroll painting brought to life, timeless in its aesthetic while riveting in its ideas. If anything, I wish it had adapted harder at points; there are a scattered handful of moments where it tries to do the Samurai Champloo thing of slipping into radically different, much goofier styles for a one-off episode or two, but it comes off as awkward and disjointed because it was doing such a good job not being a rollicking showcase. There’s a part of me that wishes this entire production trusted itself a little more in that regard. Again, ambition outstrips means here, and you wish someone had stepped in and put the reins on Mappa a bit to direct them down a more beneficial road. There is so much power in the story’s heavy shadows peppered with moments of light, and I wish it wasn’t in such a hurry to be anything but that.

In fact, my overall appraisal of Dororo is that this is what I wanted Samurai Champloo to be: a strong, character-focused narrative that merged its badassery with genuine human connection. The tale of Dororo and Hyakkimaru as they quest to restore his body carries a heavy weight, their encounters ranging from light and silly to gut-wrenching and tragic. There were no shortage of moments across the first half of this show that made me suck in air through my teeth to keep from gasping out loud in pain. As Hyakkimaru slowly pieces his body back together, he starts down an increasingly bleak path, every return of what was stolen from him ironically pushing him farther and farther from the humanity he seeks through the trauma he must endure to recover them in the process. Meanwhile, the more insight we get into Daigo and the family he’s build in the time since giving his first son away, it becomes harder and harder to see the ultimate villains as truly irredeemable. It’s a bitter, hard-edged, often painful narrative, but it’s also peppered by joy and giddiness, courtesy of Dororo’s unflinchingly optimistic spirit that draws the lonely warrior out of his shell. There is so much in this show that plays to the best aspects of samurai storytelling and the kind of chaotic brilliance it can entail... which is why it’s a shame that it struggles to keep that energy going in the second half. It’s not so much that the show gets worse as that it starts running into more roadblocks, story beats that feel a little rushed, twists and pile-ups that don’t feel as hard-hitting or vital. And it also doesn’t help that by this point, the usual Mappa issue of an uneven production is in full effect and there are far too many episodes that lack the polish of the earlier endeavors. It’s plagued by a million little annoyances, kinks that really should’ve been ironed out at some point before giving the go-ahead on the final product.

And yet. For all the complains I might have about potholes along the road, Dororo still swept me away. I got lost in its aesthetic, its ideas, its characters, its ethos, and its overwhelming ambition to keep striving past its limits, no matter how constricted those limits became. And nowhere is that strength clearer than in the show’s spectacular action, which might legitimately be some of the most fluid, chaotic, blisteringly intense swordplay I’ve ever seen put to animation. When I say that Dororo took my breath away, it’s these sequences more than not that I’m referring to. The clash of steel and flesh in this world is a thing of raw, tempestuous beauty, a vortex of sound and fury that barrels through your senses with stunningly fluid animation, blows coming heavy and hard one on top of the next, a relentless barrage of hard-hitting sakuga cuts and nail-biting editing that refuses to let up until your ass is knocked flat on the ground. Seriously, if for no other reason, watch this show for the action. Watch for the whirlwind of chaos and violence that defines this show at its peak, the crystalization of everything it excels at. I wish the entire thing could be as good as any random battle across any of its episodes. But man, is the ambition on display still riveting to behold.

Dororo is far from perfect. It’s let down by an inconsistent production and a lack of faith in its sense of self. But more often than not, I found myself dragged into caring in spite of myself, swept away by the scintillating beauty of everything this show has to offer. It’s a dangerous, mystical, enchanting, frustrating, and utterly winning adventure story, and no matter how flawed, I consider it worthy of my highest respect. To that end, I award Dororo a score of:

7/10

One day, Mappa will make a perfect show. And it’s going to be stunning to see.

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #dororo #hyakkimaru #dororo to hyakkimaru #winter 2019 sr

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catalinda04 · 6 years

Text

Carried Away Chapter 30: Christmas Eve Morning

Masterlist

NSFW

Christmas Eve morning Henry awoke curled around Lucy, his arm wrapped around her waist, and her bottom nestled into his groin. Lucy awoke to Henry’s hands gliding over her body, and his lips caressing her neck. She sighed warmly as his hands explored her curves. Lucy turned her head to kiss his sleep warm lips.

Her hands reached behind her to grasp his hair, as his fingers plundered between her legs. As her body responded to his caresses, Lucy’s hands slid south, to return his intimate attentions.

When at last he lifted her leg to wrap around his hip and entered her with one long smooth stroke, Lucy let out a groan of approval, her body welcoming him. Their bodies rocked together, drowsily greeting day with their shared moans of pleasure.

As Lucy rested her head on Henry’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, he spoke their first words of the day. “Do you know what my favorite thing is?” He asked, absentmindedly running his hand up and down her spine.

“Morning sex?” She replied cheekily.

His laugh reverberated against her ear “No, though that’s pretty high on the list. It’s waking up with you; waking up and knowing when I open my eyes, you will be the first thing that I see.”

After a moment, Lucy spoke, her voice wavered slightly, “That’s my favorite thing too.” She agreed.

Much later, as they considered getting out of bed to start the day, Lucy asked, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Henry couldn’t stop his smile, planning was in this woman’s DNA. “Sometime after breakfast, we’ll all go to mum and dad’s. My brothers will go shooting this morning, before returning for lunch. Mass is at 4:00 before we return home for dinner. Tomorrow everyone will meet for breakfast to watch the little ones open presents from Father Christmas, before our big Christmas lunch.

“If your brothers are going shooting, what are you doing? Are you not going with them?”

“I thought I’d stay with you.” Henry replied kissing her forehead.

“If your brothers are going, and if this is something you do every year, you should go. I’ll be fine back with the other women. I’m sure your sisters-in-law will be nice to me. Your mom already likes me.” She reminded him.

Lucy and Henry were the last to arrive at the house that morning. After some good natured ribbing about having a hard time getting out of bed that morning. Henry and the boys left to shoot skeet, leaving Lucy with his mother, and 4 sisters-in-law.

The women chatted about their lives, and their husbands. They asked Lucy questions about her life and her relationship with Henry. They were all friendly, but there was an icy distance about them. Lucy got the feeling she was being very stealthily interrogated.

About an hour before lunch, Henry’s sister-in-law Eva stood-up when a baby cried from the next room. She returned with a chubby baby in a hunter green sleeper.

“Oh, my goodness. Who is this sweet little one?” Lucy asked, her eyes bright.

“This is Benjamin. Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh, my goodness.” Lucy whispered, gathering the little boy close.

“How old is he?” Lucy inquired, bouncing the little boy in her arms.

“8 months.” Eva replied.

“He must be the christening that Henry mentioned this summer.” Lucy said, putting the pieces together.”

“Yes, Henry is his godfather.” Eva confirmed.

The ladies continued to talk while Lucy played with the little boy, occasionally adding her own input.

“You’re a natural there, Lucy. I don’t think he’s giggled that much with anyone else.” Eva commented.

“I have a niece and nephew of my own. I just love babies.” she explained.

“Any plans for any of your own?” Sienna, Nik’s wife, asked.

“Oh, well,” Lucy stammered, “in the future, yeah. I’d love to have kids, but right now, well it’s a little complicated. Henry and I don’t even live in the same time zone, and it’s only been 6 months. Though I’d love to have a baby with Henry,” She gestured to the kids playing on the floor, “The Cavill men obviously make very pretty babies. But I’m just old fashioned enough to need to be married before I get pregnant.” Lucy didn’t mention that she and Henry had already discussed babies, and how they might fit into their lives. She’d leave that for maybe her second visit.

The men arrived home just in time for lunch. Henry walked into the living room to find Lucy. She was there with his brothers’ wives, and she was holding his nephew Ben. Her smile practically lit-up the room. She looked up when he entered. And though it seemed impossible, her smile grew even wider.

“Hi babe.” She greeted him. He walked over to give her a kiss, before seating himself on the arm of her chair.

“Hank, not in front of my kid would you.” Simon called from the doorway. At hearing his father’s voice, Ben’s head turned. He smiled and lifted his arms to his daddy. Simon crossed the room to take his son in his arms before claiming a spot next to his wife.

Lunch was a very informal affair with sandwiches and “crisps” as Lucy was corrected, when she called them chips. After lunch was eaten and cleared, Henry announced he was going to take Lucy for a walk to show her around.

“Just be sure not to take her too far, there Hank” Charlie said suggestively, ever the little brother.

Henry opened his mouth to respond, but Lucy beat him to it. “What would be the fun in that?” She winked at him as Henry took her by the hand and led her out the door. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and he draped his arm across her shoulders as they walked along the road.

“I can’t believe how beautiful it is here. And warm.” She commented lifting her face to the sun.

“This is actually quite a chilly day for the island. Ordinarily I would have said cold, but given the temperatures when we left Minnesota, this seems practically tropical. London will be cooler, and probably rainy.” He said leading Lucy down a track that crossed the road.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see. This was my favorite spot when I was a boy. It’s where I came to do all of my big thinking, or get some peace from my brothers.”

“Do they like me?” Lucy asked self-consciously.

“I’ve heard good things. That comment before we left, will no doubt raise you in their esteem.” He chuckled.

“I don’t think your sisters-in-law like me.”

“Why do you say that?” He puzzled.

“They weren’t rude or mean, but it was a bit frosty in the room this morning.”

“I’m sure it’s all in your head. They’re all amazing women. We Cavill men have spectacular taste in women.” he said pulling her closer to kiss her temple.

They arrived at a waist high stone wall, in the shape of a U, obviously the remnants of some long forgotten building, with what appeared to be a seat built of some of the fallen stones. “Here it is. My fort.”

“Your fort. How cute.” Lucy, covered her mouth, picturing a young Henry, tromping out to this place to be away from his brothers for a bit.

“It’s not cute, it’s rugged and adventurous.” He defended.

“Of course it is.” Lucy replied sitting on the wall. “So what kind of things would you think about when you came here?”

“Mostly girls.” He laughed sitting on the wall beside her.

“And how many girls have you brought here?”

“Including you? One.”

“Now, that sounds like a line.” She laughed.

“It’s true.” He defended. “This has always been my place. I haven’t had anyone else I wanted to share it with.” He confessed, sliding his arm around Lucy, pulling her close for a kiss. He kept his arm around her, as she laid her head against his chest.

“If I asked you to marry me right now, what would you say?” Henry asked quietly.

Chapter 29

Chapter 31

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill Fanfic #Henry Cavill fan fic #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Carried Away

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hellomissmabel · 7 years

Text

A thirst for whiskey and gold (3)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Lance Tucker x photographer!plus size!reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Soulmate AU where people see their whole life flash by before their eyes when they first kiss their soulmate. After Y/N receives word of her husband James’ death, she moves to Ohio where her best friend Karen has just given birth to a baby girl, hoping to find some piece of mind. Karen has asked Y/N to be the godmother and it just so happens Lance is the godfather to this little bundle of joy. One night, Lance gets drunk with some of his friends and they play ‘truth or dare’ which leads to an unexpected discovery.

This is written for @whotheeffisbucky her writing challenge. I know this is terribly late (life got in the way) but I poured a lot of love and soul into this, so I hope it makes up for my tardiness.

Series masterlist can be found here

“Y/N, would you please let me in?,” Karen begs you from the other side of your bedroom door, her voice a tad hoarse from screaming at Ethan and his brothers for four days straight. “You’ve locked yourself up in there for three days already. The christening is in two. And you have a dress fitting in one hour!”

Your friend leaves a dramatic pause, pressing her ear against the surface of the door to see if she can hear you move out of the bed. But no such luck, you’re still firmly secured underneath an abundance of cosy blankets, with your laptop in your lap and your headset blocking out Karen’s words. It’s been four days since Lance kissed you, four days of avoiding any social or human contact for that matter and four days that you’ve been listening to the same song on repeat because it reminds you of Lance somehow.

“Y/N, please! Lance won’t talk to me, you won’t talk to me… I just wanna help you.”

With a deep, shuddering sigh you take off your headphones and close your laptop, struggling to get the blankets off you as your footsteps are softened by the woollen carpet underneath. While you turn the key in the lock and open the door to reveal a very distraught Karen, you see two other girls have gathered behind her, the redhead Melinda and Mimi with her voluminous hairdo dyed a nightly blue-black, both looking equally worried.

You immediately crawl back into bed, your three girlfriends each taking a seat on the bed. Melinda sits cross-legged on your right as Karen shuffles under the covers next to you, Mimi keeping her distance at the edge of the bed.

Karen cups your hands in hers. “Ethan told me the boys were playing a game of truth or dare and that it got a little out of hand. He wanted to tell them about James, but it was already too late.”

As soon as she mentions James, your eyes shoot from Melinda to Mimi and back to Karen. “They know, Y/N,” Karen whispers very softly, casting her eyes downwards as she squeezes your hands. “They know why you’re not wearing your wedding ring anymore.”

“Then I guess it’s time I tell you the whole story,” you exhale discreetly, “About me an James, and what happened between me and Lance…”

Your words shattered by Mimi as she mumbles under her breath something inaudible. Slowly getting up from the bed, she shakes her head and excuses herself. “Just admit it,” she laughs bitterly. “Lance kissed you and you kissed him back. It’s as simple as that. I don’t need to hear more about your ex.”

Melinda reaches out for Mimi but her hand merely brushes her arm. “Let her go,” you say to both Melinda and Karen, having noticed the tears welling up in Mimi’s eyes. When the door falls into the lock after she has left your bedroom, you smile sadly at Melinda and lay your head to rest on Karen’s shoulder. “I’ve been keeping this a secret for a very long time.”

“James wasn’t my soulmate,” you breathe out in a rush, feeling your two friends gasp at your confession. “To me, James is the reason the sky is blue, but he wasn’t my soulmate.”

You can sense the mood has shifted, an uneasiness lifted from your chest as your heart still beats in your throat but the weight of your secret has vanished. And then a flood of words follows, the need to let it all go too great to hold back.

“When we first kissed, I didn’t see any flashes. When you kiss your soulmate for the very first time, you’re supposed to see flashes of your life together. And James definitely saw flashes because he couldn’t stop kissing me.” A small giggle slips past your lips. “Then he told me about what he saw. Us moving in together, getting married,…”

“At first I thought it was me, that maybe I didn’t see anything because I was overstressed… or overweight. But then I read a column about soulmates in the same position as me. I read it was possible only one soulmate experienced visions and flashes when you don’t believe in soulmates. Which I didn’t, until I met James.”

Absentmindedly your fingertips touch your lips and you smile giddily. “But then Lance kissed me and… I saw the same things James talked about. I saw Lance propose to me, I saw us holding hands before the wedding while standing on opposite sides of the door because I didn’t wanna risk any bad luck. Yet I also saw much more than that. I saw my belly grow as I was pregnant of our kids. James never said anything about kids, meaning there were never any kids part of the big plan, the big soulmate plan.”

As your voice trails off and eventually fades into a whisper. Karen cards her hands through her dirty blonde hair and you can see some of her dark roots flash through her bleached locks. “Are you saying that…?”

“Lance and I are soulmates,” you confirm with a determination you didn’t know you had in you.

Karen clutches her hands in front of her mouth as her lips part in astonishment. “But how?”

“Actually,” Melinda murmurs as she looks at her hands in her lap. “There’s something called shared soulmates.”

Both yours and Karen’s gaze fix on Melinda instantly. “What’s that?,” Karen pipes up, her brows knitted together in confusion.

Melinda asks if she can borrow your laptop, saying she saved all her information in the cloud. “I came across this very helpful site while researching one of my father’s old cases,” she says as her fingers type away on the keyboard, logging into the cloud and searching for the right folder. “He is a divorce lawyer and last Christmas he told me about the hardest case he’d ever won, about a man who filed for divorce because he claimed to have found his true soulmate.”

With a small smile, she turns the laptop so you can read along as she explains further. “There’s a difference between soulmates and true soulmates. Much research has been done after the origin of soulmates but they have purposefully overlooked true soulmates. So when they asked my father to take on this case… it was a huge media scandal because nobody knew what to believe anymore. That’s when I decided I would do my own research into true soulmates.”

“It is rumoured that at one point there were more bodies than there were souls, and thus the universe decided to split souls in two to assure that everyone had a soulmate. This however caused a lot of problems, since both halves of one soul are each other’s true soulmate and this bond will forever be stronger than any other link.”

Taking your laptop back from Melinda, your eyes eagerly scan the pages for more information. “Even though it’s very rare, it’s possible for someone to be the soulmate of someone and the true soulmate of another,” you read aloud, Melinda nodding in confirmation.

“So if I understand it correctly…,” Karen concludes, her eyes still drawn to the screen as she tries to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. “You were James’ soulmate, but Lance is yours?”

“Exactly,” Melinda confirms before you can speak up. “And Y/N is Lance’s soulmate.”

“There’s something else…,” you mumble as you scroll down to the end of the page. “What’s this about, Melinda? What are soul marks?”

“Soul marks?,” Karen gasps as she albeit tears the laptop away from your hands and pulls it into her lap, reading avidly. You share a look with Melinda as the blonde gazes up from the screen with astonished eyes.

“What are soul marks?,” you insist as you nudge Karen while Melinda runs a hand through her red hair in thought.

The redhead clears her throat. “Nowadays, soul marks are a myth, Y/N. They used to be frequent when people still married their soulmates and solidified their link. But then more and more people had a hard time finding their soulmates that they ended up falling in love with other people instead. That’s how soul marks just disappeared from common knowledge.”

“They originate from within, which is why they’re called soul marks,” Karen nods frantically. “At first, it’s an excruciatingly painful, burning sensation.” She rolls up her sleeve and shows you a small mark, almost like a feather and very beautiful in it’s delicacy. “I know this because Ethan and I have one.”

“A burning sensation?”

Your mind races back to that night, when Lance’s lips on yours changed everything. At first his tongue would slide across your bottom lip and he’d squeeze your ass so your lips would part in a surprised moan, the perfect opportunity to dip his tongue into your mouth and caress yours passionately.

But then all of a sudden he’d pull away, taking a couple steps back as he groans loudly while a scorching pain takes over his veins. Lance then abruptly took off his shirt to reveal a sliver of his tattoo down below, but more importantly, of the string of red marks appearing on his collarbone, the shape of an arrow.

“Y/N… Don’t tell me…” Melinda’s voice is a hushed whisper as the laptop finds it way into her hands again and she clicks open the link to the page on soul marks.

You nod softly, grabbing your phone from the night stand and showing your friends the picture of Lance’s mark. “We didn’t know what was going on… I – I didn’t feel anything.”

“According to this site, there are three reasons why you didn’t feel anything,” Melinda researches immediately, keen on finding out the truth, her interest spiked by anything that poses a mystery. “When the other soulmate doesn’t believe in soulmates, which could be true since you married James and didn’t expect this to happen.”

You shrug since you’re open to the possibility, but know that somewhere deep inside you there’s a part that never stopped hoping. “Secondly, it’s when one of two soulmates doesn’t recognise the other as their soulmate.”

Melinda gaze over to where you’re pouting your lips, pretending to not have heard the second statement. Looking down at your nails in avoidance, you try to sound as innocently as possible. “What? It’s not that I’m denouncing him or anything…”

“But you’re not exactly willing to give him a chance…,” Karen chuckles dryly, gesturing to Melinda to carry on.

“And the third reason is of course in case of shared soulmates,” the redhead sighs knowingly, “When one of two soulmates has been linked before. You were married to James, and you obviously still love him a lot, meaning the link is also still very fresh. That could be why you didn’t feel anything.”

Something catches Karen’s attention and before Melinda can close the laptop, she beckons her to hand it over again. “But it also says this… if one of the true soulmates has been linked before, a new soulmate link will not be established unless they can convince the soulmate with no mark that they are in fact, true soulmates. If they fail, the mark will fade eventually and when it does, the unique bound between two true soulmates with vanish permanently.”

“W-Wait… Come again?,” you stutter in shock as the blood stopped rushing to your cheeks and your face pales promptly.

Melinda sad eyes lock with yours. “It means that if Lance can’t convince you that you’re meant to be together, you will just be two people without a soulmate once the mark has faded.”

“Hey Lance, check this out,” Mike calls out for the brunet from the living room. He’s got Melinda’s purse in his hands, a collection of papers having fallen to the floor as he wanted to move her bag to the other end of the couch.

The gymnast emerges from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower with drops of water still sticking to his skin. He didn’t want to spend the night alone at his apartment, victim to the soulmate flashes. So he asked Ethan’s brothers Mike and Oliver if he could crash at their place under the pretence of a broken heater back at Lance’s apartment.

“What?” His eyes quickly scan the pages, two words in particular standing out. “What’s this all about? Soul marks?”

“And something called shared soulmates.” Mike gently puts away Melinda’s bag and goes through the papers. “Melinda is very meticulous and thorough. She loves spending hours in front of her computer, just doing research and such. So my guess is that she dug this up for Y/N.”

The youngest brother hands over the documentation to Lance, whose mind is trying to catch up to all the information his eyes are taking in. “What’s all this crap about shared soulmates?,” he mumbles under his breath, immediately dismissing the notion. Y/N doesn’t have another soulmate, or so he believes.

“Soul marks!,” he exclaims loudly as he grips Mike’s shoulder to show him the right page. “That’s it! That’s what I have.”

Meanwhile Oliver has woken up from his afternoon nap, working most nights as a police officer and thus always sleeping during the day. He joins his brother and friend in the living room, starting up the computer and joining in on their scavenger hunt.

“Soul marks, right? Well, the first few hits that pop up is that it used to be very common like two decades ago,” Oliver says as Lance reads along over his shoulder. “But then modern times kind of ruined it. People started to forget about soulmates and marry whomever they liked and loved. Soul marks nowadays only appear when true soulmates first kiss each other.”

“But Y/N doesn’t have a mark. At all,” Lance whispers somewhat discouraged.

The brunet softly drops his head, until Oliver comes to the rescue. “It also says here that it’s possible the other soulmate doesn’t have a mark.” At these words, Lance’s heart is already fluttering a little higher. “When the other person doesn’t believe in soulmates at all, when they don’t believe their soulmate is actually their soulmate or when they already have a soulmate.”

Mike is quick to correct Oliver, informing both men that it’s not so much about having another soulmate, but having already established a link with someone else regardless if they’re your soulmate or not.

“Nobody can have two soulmates, it’s simply impossible. If what I read about shared soulmates is true, it is however possible that person A is the soulmate of person B, while person C is the true soulmate of person A and vice versa, A is the true soulmate of C. It’s got something to do with splitting souls in two because there were more bodies than souls and the universe wanted everyone to have a soulmate.”

Lance shakes his head, carding a hand through his wet locks as he secures the towel around his waist. “I think that Y/N doesn’t believe I’m her soulmate. That must be the reason why she doesn’t have a mark as well.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Oliver chimes in, closing the laptop and turning towards the two brunets. “She gave you a nice shiner, pal. I didn’t know she had such a mean right hook.”

Grimacing at the recollection, the gymnast drags a hand over his face with a low groan. Just as soon as Lance pulled away to inspect the aching discomfort on his chest, Y/N’s palm struck him right across his cheek. She was clearly very pissed about the kiss, but when she notices something was off, she quickly stepped closer to help him. But Lance is Lance and he told her to back off, yelled at her that it was her fault that he was in pain. And then she punched him again. Now every time Lance looks in a mirror, he sees his black eye and is reminded of how cruel he was to her.

“The soul mark will disappear again if you can’t convince her you’re soulmates,” Mike announces after having finished up on the final pages of Melinda’s research. “Usually this is like a month after the first kiss and the flashes and such.”

“So since the first week is almost over, you’ve got a little more than 3 weeks to change her mind about you, Lance,” Oliver says dryly, a wry smile playing on his lips.

Lance chuckles darkly, encouraged by both the challenge of winning Y/N over as well as the flashes that promise him a happy future, a future he has always longed for. “Lance Tucker never shies away from a dare.”

“And no woman has ever resisted the charm of Lance Tucker,” he mumbles as he walks back to the bathroom the retrieve his clothes, followed by an almost inaudible, insecure “So let’s hope my soulmate feels the same.”

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @bhuckys @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @pineapplebooboo @curvybihufflepuff @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67 @ssweet-empowerment @cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @jo-l-ab

Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @jughead-wuz-here @jasmineladjevardi @sonofadeanwinchester @3dsaunt @marvel-at-bucky @nothin-after-79 @sexy-sea-basss @shesmade0fcandy @wtfisalltherandoms @mrs-dr-strange @disneymarina @secondsandstars @brandybucky @metal-armed-dino@amethyst09 @sydsmut @princess76179 @marvelsdaughter @newtmastark @beautifulbri26 @allyp1023 @ivannalinaje

@ineffabl-y @tsukuyomi011 @ourdreamsrealized @aquarian-psycho @toniinhere

Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

#whotheeffisbucky writing challenge #lance tucker x plus size reader #a thirst for whiskey and gold #lance tucker x plus size!reader #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker #lance tucker fan fiction #sebastian stan #the bronze #fan fic #fan fiction #fan fic writer

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jamesginortonblog · 7 years

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For a man telling a terrifying tale, Misha Glenny is startlingly chill. During an interview in Toronto last week, Glenny (an author, BBC correspondent and Guardian journalist) walked me through the world of McMafia – both his 2008 non-fiction bestseller and the new, eight-hour BBC/AMC drama series that's been spun from it, of which he's a producer.

What a tangled, treacherous world it is, where the collapse of the Soviet Union, the loosening of international monetary laws, the rise of the internet, the globalization of capital, the greed of bankers and politicians, the ease and anonymity of cryptocurrency and the cunning of cybercriminals come together to create a dark economy of human trafficking, gun running, drug smuggling and money laundering. Much of the latter takes place via shadowy real estate purchases in Vancouver, London and New York – hello, Trump Organization.

Since the series premiered in Britain on Jan. 1 – it arrives in Canada and the United States on Feb. 26, and will be shown around the world on Amazon – not a day has gone by in British news without some McMafia reference. Not on the TV pages – in the international, business, crime and comment sections. The Russian embassy tweeted objections. The Russian papers called Glenny for interviews. Two weeks ago, the British Parliament proposed legislation that would allow the assets of foreigners to be seized if they couldn't prove they were earned legally; it was instantly christened "the McMafia law." The series's star, James Norton, has been touted as the next James Bond. The 10-year-old book is back on bestseller lists, and hit No. 20 on Amazon. Glenny's next book, Nemesis, about the cocaine lord who ran the largest favela in Rio de Janeiro, has been optioned for a feature film.

Growing up in London, Glenny, 59, was forever being cheek-kissed by the Russian guests of his father, Michael, a translator and academic, now deceased. Droll, Oxford-educated, alarmingly intelligent, a speaker of Czech and Serbo-Croat, Misha Glenny spent his 20s as a political activist, smuggling books and dismembered Xerox machines into Eastern Europe to aid opposition movements such as Poland's Solidarity. As a freelance journalist in the eighties for papers including The Guardian and the Toronto Star, he chronicled upheavals in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. In the nineties, he watched as nascent capitalism in Russia became linked with the emergence of vast organized-crime networks.

In a wide-ranging conversation, Glenny discussed international syndicates, whether he fears for his life (surprisingly little) and the power of television. Here are some highlights:

Is Canada part of McMafia?

It helps to divide organized crime into zones of production, such as Colombia and Afghanistan; zones of distribution, such asYugoslavia or Mexico; and zones of consumption, such as the United States and Europe. Canada is fascinating because it's all three at once. It produces a lot of marijuana and synthetic drugs such as MDMA. It's also a distribution hub because the U.S./Canada border is unpoliceable at the moment. And you have the sensitive issue of First Nations territories that cross the border, which are used occasionally for shifting product. And the icing on the cake, which we also have in London, is that Canada is a currency-laundering centre. Half of the top 100 properties in Vancouver, nobody knows who the owners are. They hide behind anonymous companies. They could be KGB officers, bent Canadian businessmen, Colombian drug dealers, Nigerian oilmen. We don't know.

You spill a lot of secrets in your work. Have you ever feared for your life?

My friend Roberto Saviano wrote Gomorra, about the Camorra, the Naples crime syndicate. He detailed secrets and named names. Now he lives surrounded by seven guards, moving house every night, with his family in witness protection. I do something different. I go around the world, talk to gangsters and map the world of organized crime – but also its absolutely critical twin, the corruption of bankers, lawyers and politicians. After money laundering, crime syndicates move on to reputation laundering. They may get upset with me, but because they're trying to appear straight, the last thing they would do is go after me.

How did you and the series's creators, Hossein Amini and James Watkins (who also directed all eight hours), fictionalize such sprawling information?

Hos, James and I started talking in early 2013. Hos makes no secret that one of his biggest influences is The Godfather.

The main character, Alex Godman [Norton], is the London-born son of a Russian gangster. He begins Episode 1 as an upright banker. Then, like Michael Corleone, he's pulled into crime.

Some of the characters are fictionalized composites of real people. And all of the crime storylines are true. In Episode 2, we watch a Russian woman kidnapped in Cairo by Orthodox Christians, taken across the Negev desert by Muslims and Bedouins and then handed to Jewish Israeli gangsters. That's all true. In organized crime, national and confessional divisions are frequently meaningless. They all work together.

You spent three weeks in the show's writers' room. And you brought in special guests.

The writers were able to ask me, would this product be moving from Mumbai to East Africa or South Africa? I'd tell them the routes and the groups involved. I brought in a guy who was a close associate of several Russian organized-crime syndicates in the nineties. I brought in a criminal hacker. He happened to be there on the same morning as the director of Europol, the European police force. We had to take the hacker out the back route.

You do a cameo in Episode 5.

I play a BBC reporter, so it was falling off a log. James rang me up the week before, "Can you get to Split, Croatia, on Monday?" I said, "Hold the front page, I'm there." I got my own caravan [trailer]. Which was James Norton's caravan, because he wasn't working that day. It was fantastic fun. I also visited the set in Belgrade, Zagreb and London. We shot the exteriors in France, Russia and Prague. The interiors, deserts, beaches and fancy houses are done in Croatia.

What can TV exposure bring that a book alone can't?

This subject is deeply important. It goes to the very heart of the crises we're seeing in the world today. Cybercrime has completely revolutionized crime. It requires no violence whatsoever. You can sit in Kazakhstan, attack someone in L.A. and cash out the money in Dubai. People need to know about this, and with a TV show, you can reach tens of millions of people at the same time.

What can be done?

The battle is on. Since my book was published, McMafia culture has spread – the financial crisis, the rise of authoritarianism in the West, the rise in political corruption, which is always a midwife of organized crime. But we've also seen forces of resistance emerge. The publication of the Panama and Paradise Papers was really important. You have NGOs such as Transparency International or Global Witness, which have been uncovering this stuff and publishing it. At the heart of all of this is the gobsmacking rise in economic inequality over the past 40 years. Manufacturing and traditional capitalism have been seized by financial capitalism, which is one of the most parasitic phenomena history has ever witnessed.

Sounds like good material for Seasons 2 and 3.

We've already got them arced out. We're just waiting to be renewed.

Are you hopeful?

We're quietly confident.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

#McMafia #misha glenny #james norton

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justanoutlawfic · 7 years

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Story Summary: Emma has a pretty good reason for disliking Happy.

I'll say this now, this fic is anti-Happy. I know his character never did anything wrong, but his actor (Michael Coleman) has tweeted homophobic things. As a result, they all started making quips about him on air without explaining it...so this is my explanation. Mentions of homophobia and Frozen Swan as well.

Also on AO3

“Didn’t you already christen him?” Emma asked. The family was gathered around their usual booth at Granny’s, having lunch. It had been so long since they had a peaceful moment, but with Ingrid long gone, there was finally an opportunity.

“We shared his name in a proper Enchanted Forest ceremony, but this is something that people do in this world,” Snow explained as she fed her son. “You have godparents you know, Ruby and Leroy.”

“Well, I don’t really need them, Neal can just have mine.”

“No, they’re still yours.” David flashed her a smile. “I was thinking maybe Regina for godmother, she’s part of the reason why we were able to save Neal in the first place.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Snow said. “Now, all we need is godfather. I’d say Robin, but we don’t really know him that well. How about Happy? It’d keep up the tradition of using one of the dwarfs.”

David was about to agree, when he saw a frown cross upon Emma’s face. He knew that Emma wasn’t Happy’s biggest fan, but she never really explained why. It wasn’t as if they ever had any experience interacting with one another. He was technically her uncle, all the dwarfs were. It was important to him and Snow that they have a good relationship.

Emma stood up, putting down a couple of bills. “You know, I better head to the station. I have a lot of paperwork to finish up before I have my time with Henry. I’ll see you later.”

Snow frowned as she watched her daughter walk out of the diner. “She’s gotten like that whenever we mention Happy lately.”

“I don’t understand. I know she doesn’t feel comfortable around the dwarfs since she doesn’t know them well, but she’s normally not like that.”

“Maybe we should try getting them together. If he’s going to be Neal’s godfather, I want them to get along.”

Little did they know that Emma had no intention of getting along with her mother’s “brother”. She had once liked all the dwarfs fine. They could be a little intrusive and not know boundaries, but they meant well. Leroy especially had helped them with a lot of problems that faced the town and Sneezy always seemed to have her favorite candy whenever she came into the shop.

She hadn’t had much interaction with Happy when it happened. After returning to Storybrooke and going on one date with Hook, she realized that he wasn’t really for her. Elsa was there, though, and she found herself drawn to the queen. She was beautiful, strong and highly intelligent. They bonded over their powers and a small relationship developed with them. Emma had always know that she was bisexual and while Elsa would eventually have to return to Arendelle, she wanted to make it last.

One night during game planning, the two were enjoying a rare moment of silence and cuddled up together, stealing kisses in between exploring files. There had been a rough cough and they looked up to find Happy standing there, not living up to his name at all.

“Your parents wouldn’t be pleased if they knew about this,” he had said once Elsa had left. “Aren’t you with Hook?”

“We went on one date,” Emma replied. “My parents know we’re not together anymore and are perfectly fine with it.”

“Well I don’t think they’d be okay if they knew with all this. You’re a princess, Emma, certain things are expected of you. One of them being that you find a prince charming, just like your mother did.”

Happy was proven wrong, Snow and David had been thrilled when they found out about Elsa and Emma’s relationship. They even encouraged her to try to make it work when the former went back to Arendelle. Emma was relieved, but it didn’t change Happy’s words. She didn’t want to tell her parents. They loved Happy, he was a member of their family.

So, she put distance between them. It was easy for the most part, Happy didn’t come around the loft very often and at any celebrations, she could avoid him like the plague. At the end of the day, she would pick anyone but him to be Neal’s godfather, but it really wasn’t her choice.

Snow made her way into Aesop’s Tables, a bar that had appeared after the second curse. The Rabbit Hole was still around, but it was more for the wild crowd. Snow was what Regina called “classy”, it was much quieter. The dwarfs would often gather there, play darts and just overall relax with a few handcrafted beers.

She spotted Happy sitting by himself at the bar and he looked up smiling upon seeing her. “Hey Snow. What are you doing here? Night off from the baby?”

“No, just a few minutes. I heard you were hear and wanted to ask you something.” She slid onto the stool next to him. “We’re going to christen Neal in the way that parents do in this realm, so he needs godparents. Emma’s are Grumpy and Ruby, so we were hoping that you and Regina would be Neal’s.”

Happy grinned. “I’d be honored. And I’m sure Regina would appreciate the distraction from the Marian and Robin drama.”

Snow chuckled. “Great. I’m working on the guest list right now, we’ll have the ceremony at the church. Of course the after party will be at Granny’s, she’s already planning the menu. I know Leroy will bring Nova, Regina will hopefully be able to bring Robin and Roland, Elsa’s coming in to be Emma’s date…”

“Wait, Elsa?”

“Yeah, Regina’s perfected portals and Emma’s kept in touch with her.” She let out a content sigh. “I am just so glad that she’s found someone. After Neal the first, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to let herself love again.”

“She’s dating Elsa?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Snow frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Of course I am. She’s a great person. I know she put up the ice wall, but she really worked hard to make up for it and she helped Emma when no one else could…”

“It’s not that. I just can’t believe you’re okay with your daughter dating a woman.”

Snow felt her stomach sink. No, this wasn’t happening. The Enchanted Forest was more accepting of same sex couples, it wasn’t like their current realm. Sure, there were a few homophobes here and there that truly believed that marriage should stay between a man and a woman, but not too many. They would be considered the outlier where they were from. Happy wasn’t like that…was he? Surely he knew that Snow had once been a romantic relationship with Ruby, just as David had with Kristoff.

“Why wouldn’t we be? It’d be a tad hypocritical not to be, considering I’ve been with a woman before David and he was with a man before he met me.”

Happy made a face. “You cannot be serious. I guess I could understand it coming from David, but you? You’re a princess, Snow.”

“So? What does that matter? Love is love. I can’t believe this is coming from you.”

“I thought Emma would’ve told you how I felt.”

Snow’s muscles tightened. “You said something about this to my daughter?”

“I caught her and the Ice Queen cuddled up on the couch, I made my feelings quite clear. I figured she told you and you set her straight.”

“There’s nothing to set straight! There is nothing wrong with being bi, gay or anything like that! Princess or not! I cannot believe you would treat your own niece like that.”

“If she’s in a relationship with a woman, than she is no niece of mine.”

Snow’s eyes narrowed, getting off the stool. “That’s fine by me, I don’t want someone like you in our family.”

“Snow…”

“No. You know, I wasn’t going to go with Robin as godfather because we barely know him, but I think that he’s the better option. At least he’s always supported this family and has no issue with my daughter’s sexuality.” She shook her head, hiking her purse up over her shoulder. “Stay away from my family or you’ll regret it.”

Storming out the door, Snow was seeing red. She knew she should head back to the loft and tell David all about what happened, but she had a stop to make first. Getting in her car, she headed straight to the station. It was one of Emma’s rare shifts where she was working by herself, so she knew she’d be alone. She walked straight in and sat in front of her desk.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Emma looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“What Happy said, you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh.” Emma frowned. “Well, when you found out about Elsa, you were accepting. That’s what matters.”

“You still should’ve told me. I’m your mother, if you had told me, I could’ve chewed him out…”

“And that’s not what I wanted. Mom, he’s family, your brother. He was there for you in the Enchanted Forest when no one else was. I wasn’t going to make you pick between us.”

“I will always pick you, Emma.” Snow took her hand and squeezed it. “You know he’s wrong, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. He’s not the first homophobic person I’ve come across.”

“I never saw it coming from him.” Snow frowned. “He is definitely not the type of man I want as the godfather to my son.”

“Wait, Mom…”

“No. I am so sorry we kept bringing him around you, Emma. If we had known…”

“But you didn’t. Look, I don’t care what he thinks. What’s important to me is that the people in my life are supportive and you are, Dad is.” She smiled. “Screw Happy.”

“I’m still sorry. If anyone ever talks to you like that again, tell me so I can kick their ass.”

“You didn’t kill Happy did you?”

“No, I was far too angry. But hey, maybe I can replace him when Leroy kicks him out of the dwarfs, because I guarantee he would.”

Emma chuckled. “Angry the not-so-Dwarf. I can see that.”

#mama snow #mama snow au #charming family #charming family au #anti happy #anti michael coleman #tw; homophobia

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historyrepeatsitself-phff · 7 years

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Chapter Seventy-Five

A/N: Hey guys, so I’m back!! I know it’s a bit earlier in the day than expected, but I’m moving into my uni halls today so I wanted to get it published before the stress starts. As I said, I start uni today but I will do my absolute best to post consistently. And so you can expect a chapter every sunday and wednesday, around 7pm GMT 😊 As ever, let me know what you think please, your feedback means the world and helps me make the story better 😚💖

P.S. Read carefully as there is a time jump in this chapter 😊

HRH Princess Grace Diana Sophia of Clarence was beautiful. The whole world had fallen in love with her within hours of her leaving the hospital, when her pictures had been sent across the world.

Endless congratulations had come flooding in, some via Twitter, some via post and others via phonecall. The first day at home with Grace, Emmy had spoken to several of her friends – Emma Watson, Crown Princess Victoria, Margaret (the head of HeForShe) and several other people whom Emmy had worked closely with through charity work – between all the visitors. Pink New Baby Girl cards were everywhere, covering every surface of Nottingham Cottage and also decorating the offices in Kensington Palace, for Emmy had wanted all the cards up – even those from strangers.

After Elizabeth and Philip, Skippy, Taylor, Jake and Zoe had come round to meet the little one. Later, William and Kate had come round too, giving Grace a chance to be introduced to George and Charlotte, who were confused but excited by the presence of their new little cousin. Everyone who met her adored her. And no one adored her more than her doting parents.

Neither Harry nor Emmy could comprehend how they had so much love for this little tiny person. Grace had immediately become the sun around which both of their worlds now orbited.

It wasn’t as hard as both were expecting. As long as they were gentle – which they both were, considering they were terrified of hurting her – everything was fine. They’d managed to get used to getting up to change her and feed her in the night, but she wasn’t crying nearly as much as they had expected. Although Kate had warned them that it was still early days.

But the time when Grace became really difficult never came. There were the days where she wouldn’t sleep through the night, there were the days where she would cry and cry until Emmy could stand it no longer and would cry herself until Harry came home to take over, but Harry and Emmy rarely found themselves sleep-deprived. And they never, ever wanted a break from spending time with their daughter.

Within the first month of life she’d learnt how to hold her own head and how to smile. Within the next, she started smiling, she started recognizing her parents’ faces and she started making noises too, cooing a little. In her third month, she laughed for the first time.

She’d grown quite a bit, mainly getting chubbier and slightly bigger, and she had more hair, which was a beautiful golden on her head. In the first photographs that they had released of Grace, the press had gone wild for the beautiful little girl who looked like she could be something out of Tangled, a true life princess.

It was almost February, and life had been busy for the Duke and Duchess of Clarence since the new year had rolled in. Harry was very often out of the house, at charity visits or important meetings related to his charities – HIV and mental health in particular – and he was also reprising his role with the Ministry of Defence, going in to help soldiers prepare and to help veterans recover.

Emmy, meanwhile, hadn’t had too many engagements. Enough for her to not feel like she was trapped in the house, but few enough for her to be able to spend most of her time with Grace. Grace was her best friend now, and she was learning to smile whenever Emmy laughed – a very useful tactic for when Grace was crying her head off.

Grace was smiling now – Emmy was gently rocking her in her arms while making one of her favourite toys Bunny talk to her. Bunny was telling her a story about a little princess who was loved by all the land, and Grace was staring sleepily at him, her mouth tugged up at the corners. She hadn’t yet learned to grab, nor to reach, nor to do much else other than smile or giggle. But she was good at falling asleep when Emmy and Harry wanted her to.

“But to be the prettiest princess,” Bunny was saying. “The princess has to get a lot of beauty sleep every night. And so do you, Grace. Sleepy time? Sleepy time?”

Grace’s wide blue eyes rose to her mother’s face, and Emmy smiled, gently tucking Bunny in her arms before rocking her back and forth, making soothing shushing noises to calm her to sleep.

The news was on in the background as Emmy sank down onto the sofa and cuddled Grace close, stroking her soft golden hair. She watched the coverage of Harry’s engagement that day, smiling as he spoke eagerly of Grace and how she was doing. He told someone in the crowd that she was always smiling, and she’d even laughed a few times.

“We’ll be seeing Princess Grace in public for the first time since her birth next month,” the news reporter was saying. “Her christening is to be held on the 5th of February at St James’ Palace, just like Prince George’s was. We have not yet been given any other details of the christening, but speculation is rife about the identity of the godparents. Regardless, one thing is for certain: everyone is very excited to be seeing the little princess again.”

“Did you hear that, Grace?” Emmy whispered, kissing the top of her head. Grace’s eyes were closed now, and Emmy knew she was close to sleep, if not already dozing. “They’re all excited to meet you.”

Emmy was surprised by how un-stressed she was about the christening. Her and Claire had been on top of the planning, and everything was already ready for the big day even though it was still three weeks away. The invites had been sent out, and the only thing her and Harry had to do now was to ask each of the godparents to be, well, godparents.

Emmy had chosen three, and Harry had chosen three, and together they had decided on the seventh godparent. There were to be three godmothers and four godfathers, and Emmy was excited to ask each of them.

She’d chosen Taylor, her older brother Benedict and Harry’s cousin Beatrice. Harry had chosen Skippy, his cousin Zara and Prince Seeiso, and he’d also suggested Edward which Emmy had instantly agreed with. Although she wasn’t sure how Edward would react – he was always very awkward and uncomfortable around Grace, and he put it down to lack of experience with children.

Grace was asleep when Harry arrived home. He’d had a long day in the public eye in Cambridge, and he was exhausted as he stumbled through the front door. It was freezing out, the January weather dismal and rain falling in icy sheets. He shook the water from his hair before closing the door behind him. Emmy appeared in the living room doorway, Grace cuddled into the crook of her neck, dozing.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, guessing that Grace was asleep and tip-toeing over to kiss Emmy’s lips. He’d missed her that day, he missed her accompanying him on engagements, and he made sure she knew it as he deepened the kiss.

She pulled away, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Don’t,” she hissed, amused. “Grace is asleep!”

“Oh good.” He smirked, hand dropping to her waist and pulling her slightly to him. “So we won’t be interrupted.”

Emmy’s mouth dropped in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, and then she laughed. “No, Harry. No.”

Harry chuckled, kissing her again. “I’m just kidding, I’m too tired out.”

“Long day?” Emmy asked, as they moved into the kitchen and he started undoing his tie.

“You could say that,” he replied, sighing as he clambered onto one of the stalls. “Okay, let me have cuddles!” He reached out for Grace.

Emmy gave him a stern look. “She’s just got to sleep, so be gentle. I don’t want her waking up again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said playfully, saluting, before carefully taking his sleeping daughter into his hold. Grace’s chubby cheeks looked even chubbier now that they were squished against his chest, and he smiled down at her peaceful expression, at Bunny tucked under one arm. “Hello darling.”

Emmy leant back against the counter and smiled at the two of them. “What do you want for dinner? I was thinking a stir-fry?”

“Sure,” he said. “Try not to burn it this time.” He was grinning.

She threw him a roll of her eyes. “I’ll have you know I was distracted-”

“I’m sorry, is it best that I go, then?”

“Not by you!” she hissed, fighting the amusement at his teasing. “By our daughter.”

“Of course, I apologise, but it is an easy mistake to make,” he said, his tone playful. “I mean, you’re so often distracted by me.”

Emmy paused, glaring at him for a few moments, and then her composure crumbled and she giggled to herself, turning away. Harry chuckled too, watching Emmy as she started to prepare the chicken. His eyes roved over her figure, slender once more, for she’d been out running whenever she had the chance and had already lost all her baby weight. The internet said she would with a little exercise, as she was so young her skin was still very elastic and so would snap back with only a little help.

The only thing that remained enlarged were her breasts, and Harry wasn’t complaining.

“So how was your day?” she asked after a while, and Harry looked up from Grace.

“Good, quite long, four engagements all in Cambridge,” he said, with a sigh. “Very tiring. But everyone was asking about Grace, and the christening.”

Emmy smiled. “I saw on the news, you telling them that she laughs now.”

“Hmm, they loved it. A lot of people I spoke to today said they were going to come down to London for the christening to try and catch a glimpse of her,” he said.

“Wow,” she replied, now worried that it might be a busier occasion than planned. “Maybe we should have it at Buckingham instead. They’ll be further away from the palace if we did-”

“Em, it’ll be fine,” he said soothingly. “They’ll just stand there and take pictures anyway.”

She nodded, cutting up peppers. “I’m going to see Taylor tomorrow, I’ll ask her about being godmother.”

“Ooh, exciting,” he said, grinning. “I’ll probably phone Skippy tomorrow night then.”

“Do you think they’ll say yes?” she asked, nervous.

“Of course, everyone will want to be her godparent,” he answered. “Stop worrying about little things, Em.”

She smiled sheepishly, as he grinned at her. “Can you take her up to bed? I want to start cooking but I don’t want the noise to wake her-”

“Sure,” he said, getting to his feet and cuddling her close. He moved to kiss the back of Emmy’s head once before clambering upstairs and taking Grace to the nursery. The nursery was Harry’s favourite room in the whole house, just by how pretty it was. They’d rapidly added more things after her birth, including a comfy white armchair so they could sit down and rock her, and Harry sat in it now, sitting back and gazing down at her in his arms.

He was loving being a father, it was the best thing in the world. To see Grace break into a smile when he returned home and came to cuddle her was the most uplifting thing. To hold her in his arms and soothe her when she cried – he felt like he had a new purpose, and that purpose was to protect his daughter and make sure she was happy at all costs.

He stroked her blond hair now, his fingertips gentle, and then he leant down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t stir, sleeping on, her pink lips in a slight pout as she slept. She was the prettiest baby he’d ever seen – but maybe he was biased, he wasn’t sure – and she was so lovely too, such a good baby. She was very curious, always getting distracted by things and watching them with a crease between her eyebrows. He kissed her again before gently putting her in her cot.

Harry returned to the kitchen with the baby monitor in his hand, and he went up behind Emmy, wrapping his arms around her. She gasped in surprise, before melting back into his hold and shuddering as his lips kissed along her throat.

“You’re in a good mood,” she mused. “Did Arsenal win or something?”

“Oh ha ha,” he said against her skin, receiving another shiver. “Grace is asleep, how about we take advantage of our alone time?”

A torn breath hissed through Emmy’s nose. On the one hand, oh my god she wanted him so bad, he was so hot when he came home from work in his sexy suit and tie and went into Daddy mode. But on the other hand, she was still a little sore, and she felt as though this sex would not be the slow, loving kind.

“Only,” she said slowly, turning in his arms to peer up at his face. “If you’re gentle.”

“When am I not gentle?”

She raised an eyebrow.

A few days earlier they’d “taken advantage of their alone time” in the kitchen, both of them horny and hot and desperate, and it had been quick and desirous, but Emmy had paid for it. She was still kind of sore. Harry grinned sheepishly.

He leant down and captured her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, letting his tongue delve inside and explore, his hands roving down her slender body and squeezing her curves. It was soft and sweet, and Emmy melted into him, at the love bleeding into her.

“Okay,” she sighed, and it took all her might not to moan into him.

Harry smirked, that grin that told her he knew just how turned on she was, and then he patted her backside encouragingly as he led her through to the living room.

Within a week all but one of the godparents had been asked, and they had each agreed. Now it was only Edward who had to be asked, and Harry was almost apprehensive. He was the one whose reaction Harry was the most unsure of, and yet he was the one Harry wanted the most. No one had had such a good impact on his life as Edward, and no one was as indispensable. Harry truly could not live without his secretary. It seemed only fitting to make him part of Grace’s life too.

Harry waited until the weekly meeting. Initially, for the first two months, Claire and Edward had come to Nottingham Cottage to save Emmy and Harry the hassle of taking Grace over to the palace, but now that Grace was two months old and Emmy was getting more confident about taking her out of the house, the meetings were back in the offices.

They were going to take Grace for a stroll through Hyde Park afterwards, and so they pushed her in her pram across the grounds towards the large Palace. They nodded at the gardeners, they waved at Kev who was leaving to do some shopping and they called greetings to one of the cleaners, Marge, who had come to help Emmy with housework during Grace’s first few weeks.

Edward and Claire were both ready for them, and Emmy cuddled Grace to her chest as she and Harry took their seats opposite. Grace gurgled slightly, then cooed at Harry as he made a funny face at her. Grace had only just started making noises other than burps, yawns and giggles, and it was the sweetest thing to hear. Harry chuckled lightly at her, reaching over to let her grip his finger, before turning to the secretaries.

Claire smiled. “How’s everything going?”

“It’s good, it’s going well,” Harry said, throwing Emmy a grin. “She laughs now.”

“I heard,” Claire said, beaming. “Emmy told me.”

“Your visit to Cambridge went down incredibly well,” Edward said to Harry. “Everyone is very excited to see Grace at her christening too. We’re in a very good position right now, your grandmother sends word that she is very happy of how we’re doing and is very proud of you both.”

Harry nodded – after everything his grandmother had put them through, her praise meant very little any more.

“Emmy, are you ready for February?” Claire asked. “I know you’re still technically on maternity leave but the engagements you accepted mean that you have a pretty busy month, much busier than December and January, and you’ve got the christening too-”

“I’m really fine, Claire,” Emmy said gently. “I’m ready to start going to engagements more. Harry’s happy to stay and babysit, I think it’s good for Grace to spend more time with him.”

Claire nodded, satisfied, then looked at Edward. “Are you going to…?”

“Hmm.” Edward sighed, tapping on his tablet before looking at Harry and Emmy. “I…have some things I need to discuss with you both. I’m not sure how you’re going to react.” He glanced at Emmy particularly.

“Just hit us with it,” Harry said, although trepidation sparked within him.

“It’s around this time of year, the start of the year, when we start confirming and organizing any overseas trips for the next twelve months, and invitations come flooding in, too. Your grandmother’s advisors have selected some visits they wish for you both to carry out.”

“Abroad?” Emmy said, her voice rising an octave in worry. She didn’t want to leave Grace as she went travelling to a different country. Harry sensed her panic, he felt the same, and he leant over to give her knee a squeeze. Grace saw his hand, and she looked up at her Daddy, who mustered a smile for her.

“Yes, a joint tour and some solo visits too,” Edward said.

“Solo?” Emmy quoted, even higher.

“Well, the Invictus Games are on in Canada in September, and it has been widely agreed that a visit to Canada from you both would go down very well, as you have not been there yet,” he continued. “And that leads on to the second part. We were thinking that a tour to the US and then to Canada would be good.”

“US and Canada?” she murmured, turning wide eyes to Harry. The only thing she could think of was how long that would take, and she still could only just bear being away from Grace for a few hours at most.

Harry frowned. “And how long are you thinking?”

“Buckingham would like you to go for three weeks,” Edward said. “And that doesn’t include the week of the Invictus Games.”

“So four weeks?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Emmy said. “No way. I’m not leaving Grace for that long! I don’t care what shit parenting went on when you and your father were little-” She looked at Harry then. “I’m not leaving our daughter for a month! She needs us here!”

“Emmy,” Edward quietened her. “Grace will go with you, of course.”

She didn’t know what to think about that. “She’d…come with us?”

“Of course, we don’t expect you to leave her here,” he said gently.

Harry gave Emmy’s hand a squeeze. “I would never let us go without her, you know that.”

She hesitated – she still didn’t like the idea of a month-long tour. A month in the public eye, a month being scrutinized and examined and tested, being bullied by the press, having to fake interest and smiles for people she would never see again. But she sighed – the order came from up above, and she knew they had no choice.

“Okay,” she relented. “Fine.”

“This is still a very rough plan,” Claire said. “It might not even be that long in reality. And if it’s an issue you could always come home, you don’t need to be there for the Invictus Games.”

Harry looked hurt by this, and Emmy raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I’m going to the Invictus Games, Claire.”

Grace started to cry then, and Emmy took her outside to try and calm her down. Once she was gone, Harry turned on the secretaries.

“These solo visits better not be for Emmy,” he said protectively.

“Afraid so,” Edward said. “Just the one.”

“It’s too early!” he hissed. “I don’t care how popular Emmy is, she’s got a newborn baby and you’re sending her away? On her own?!”

“It’s for two days. Just one night, that’s all. She’s been requested to visit a few countries, but your grandmother wants her to accept only Denmark’s invite,” Edward explained. “Like I said, one night. A few engagements. No different to when she’s here.”

“Except she’ll be on her own,” Harry growled. “You should have told Granny no!”

“By all means, tell her yourself,” Edward said, looking tired. “But I doubt you’ll get a different answer. Your grandmother isn’t the one calling the shots, you know that.”

He huffed, nodding, and he was spared answering by Emmy’s return. She came back, Grace suckling from her breast, Emmy’s hand protecting her modesty. She smiled apologetically.

“She’s hungry, she wouldn’t feed earlier,” she murmured, as Harry pulled her seat out for her and she sank into it. “What were we discussing?”

“We were just discussing solo visits,” Edward said, trying to smile reassuringly at her. Emmy glanced at Harry’s face, and her stomach dropped at the scowl on it. From the glare he was aiming at the secretaries, Emmy knew exactly what Edward was about to say and was therefore unsurprised. “You’re being asked to undertake one.”

That didn’t stop the horror though. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Abroad, on her own?! Deal with foreign press, foreign media, all without Harry to protect her from it all. She would be totally exposed, totally vulnerable. The world would see exactly how inexperienced she is!

“Me?” she breathed, eyes widening in her terror. “Where?”

“Denmark,” Edward said, with a smile. “You’ll get to meet the Danish royal family, see a lot of Copenhagen.”

“Make a fool of myself,” she added, looking nervous.

“You won’t make a fool of yourself,” Claire said gently. “Why would you? You don’t when you’re here, why would you over there?”

Emmy didn’t have an answer for that, she just knew it. She knew not having Harry there would make her nervous, would put her on edge, and then she would make mistakes because she wasn’t focusing.

“Unfortunately, Emmy, you don’t have a choice.” Edward looked awkward to be saying that. “It’s been requested of you, on behalf of Her Majesty. You’ll be representing the Queen-”

She gulped – no pressure then.

“What about me? I’m going to Australia, aren’t I?” Harry said, trying to move the conversation away from Emmy and her trip. “For the Invictus launch?”

“Yes, and you’ll be stopping off in Singapore on the way there for the Sentebale polo match,” Edward said.

“Australia?” Emmy breathed, dropping her attention to Grace and playing with her tiny hands. She wished she could be Grace, to not have to worry about anything, any tours or any engagements. To simply watch the bracelets on Daddy’s hand and giggle every time he made faces at her. “You’re going all the way to Australia?”

“You know I am,” he said gently, reaching over and taking her hand. Grace’s eyes followed their entwined fingers. “We discussed this before.”

“I didn’t realise you were going to Singapore too,” she said, anxious.

“It’s still only for a few days, Emmy,” Claire reassured her. “Three days without him. You’ve done far worse before.”

“I didn’t have Grace then,” Emmy said, dropping her gaze to her daughter, who was still sucking gently.

“You had much worse,” Harry said. “The rat. You got through that. You don’t need me here to help you look after Grace.”

Emmy managed a smile, but inside she was still terrified at the thought. How could she cope with Grace and paparazzi all on her own?! Now she had another worry added to the list.

The rest of the meeting didn’t take long. Grace finished feeding and then dozed off in Harry’s arms, while Emmy and Claire discussed some of her upcoming engagements for February, including some the day before and the day after the christening. They went over the arrangements for the christening too, the schedule for the day, and then, finally, Edward switched off his tablet and Claire jumped to her feet.

“I better go,” she said. “My niece’s birthday is today, I’m taking my daughter over to see her. Well, have a good night you two.” And she left them to it.

Edward smiled at the Clarences, his eyes dropping to Grace who was tucked safely in Harry’s arms. “I hope the christening goes well. Is everything ready? I know you’ve still got a week but I’d rather we were prepared-”

“Everything’s ready,” Harry confirmed, with a nod. Emmy mumbled something about going to the bathroom, and then left them to it, and Harry knew why. This was the perfect time to ask Ed to be godfather – and he felt oddly nervous. “Except, well, I need to ask you something.”

“Ask away,” Edward said, tidying his papers away into his folder.

“Would you-” Harry took a deep breath. “Would you like to be Grace’s godfather?”

Edward dropped his pen.

“Grace’s g-godfather?” he stammered, surprise written on his face.

“Yeah,” Harry said shyly. “I mean, you’re a good friend to me, you’ve done more for me than most other people really, and I’d really like it if you…were…you know…a part of her life…” He trailed off, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

Edward could feel tears creeping into his eyes, but he blinked them away. He had never, not for a second, anticipated this. He had never expected to be asked this, to do Harry this honour, never. But now that Harry had asked, Edward felt the proudest he ever had.

“I’d love to,” he managed, swallowing.

“Great,” Harry said, and he broke into a grin. “I mean, you’re like an uncle to me after all.” He was teasing.

Edward scowled. “I thought we’d decided on ‘brother’, as opposed to uncle?”

“You might’ve decided,” Harry replied, and the two men shared a chuckle.

That was it – all of Grace’s godparents had been decided and the christening was merely a week away. Everything was ready, all the guests had been invited, Mario Testino had been chosen for the portraits again and the world was waiting for their next glimpse of the tiny princess.

And Grace dozed on, snug in her father’s hold, oblivious to it all.

#historyrepeatsitself-phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic

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forbidden-phff · 7 years

Text

Chapter One

A/N: Hello all, this is a small introductory chapter to a new fanfic I’m writing. I expect this idea has been done before, and I apologise if it has, but I just really wanted to write a fanfic about Harry having an affair with a married woman. With that said, enjoy xx

It was sunny when Harry first met Ellie.

He was stood on the balcony, lounging on the barrier in his pin-striped trousers, hands in his pockets pushing back the tails to his suit jacket. His eyes were closed, his skin absorbing and enjoying the sunlight as it bathed him. Beside him, his brother William chatted animatedly to a friend, Matthew. Harry blocked out their conversation – while the races weren’t on, neither was he.

“I wonder where he is,” William was saying, and the confusion in his voice caught Harry’s attention. He opened one eye to see his brother craning his neck.

“Who you looking for?” he mumbled, closing both eyes again.

William huffed. “John Beckett. Remember? I told you on Saturday! John’s moving back here from Italy.”

“Oh yeah.” Harry vaguely recalled his brother saying something of the sort. He was too disinterested to try and jog his own memory.

“He said he was definitely coming,” Matthew was saying. “I mean, maybe he had to cancel? I swear they only arrived back yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I think it was the day before,” William said. “I hope he turns up, I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Oh, we had such a good time when we went out there for Arthur’s stag weekend, didn’t we?” Matthew said, a grin in his tone. “Damn, I’m glad he’s moved back.”

“Me too, I’ve actually missed having his stupid face around,” William agreed, and they both laughed. “Of course, he’s married now.”

“I know, but we all are. Shouldn’t change much, should it?”

“There’ll be no weekends away at Highgrove, though,” William said, chuckling. “Well, I suppose I could always ask Pa if we really needed a night off.”

Again, there was laughter. Harry sighed, turning his back on them and leaning over the balcony, looking down at the people below. When was the next race starting, he was tired of all this socializing?! He squinted out over the racetrack, the sun now in his eyes. He should probably move back a bit, into the shade, before he could get burnt.

“Yes, there he is!” Matthew exclaimed behind him.

“Beckett!” William cried out, and the two men laughed almost raucously. Harry, amused to hear his brother sounding like a teenager again, turned to see the newcomers.

He recognized John Beckett. Putting a face to a name reminded Harry that John had been one of William’s best friends at Eton. Along with Matthew and a few other guys, they had spent every weekend together. Harry had always been too young for them at that point – he’d never been friends with John. But now he remembered when John had moved to Italy with his girlfriend. It had been quite a few years ago, and he’d moved to start breeding this rare breed of Italian racehorses. Harry recalled William being devastated that he was leaving.

And now Harry remembered how happy William had been when he’d told him that John would be moving back from Italy.

John was beaming at his old friends, arms open wide, and William pulled him into a hug, the two of them repeating how good it was to see each other, before John swapped William for Matthew, clapping him on the back. Harry watched the exchange, before moving to turn away. As he did so, his eyes fell on the woman accompanying John.

Damn, it was like a kick to the gut – she was gorgeous. She was small, petite, in a classy dress that highlighted every inch of her slender curves. She had long auburn hair, not ginger like Harry’s but a deep rich red, the colour of leaves in the autumn. Her skin was pale and smooth, and her face was thin, with dark lipstick highlighting her smile as she watched her husband greet his friends. She tipped her head slightly to the side – she was wearing a large-brimmed hat that shielded her face from the sun.

As though sensing his attention, her gaze flickered to Harry. Without thinking, he immediately looked away, at the potted plant that stood to her right, and he felt a blush creeping up his neck.

“Ellie, darling, you remember William and Matthew?” John said, holding out an arm to welcome her into their midst, and at those words Harry thought it safe to look at her once more.

She shook William’s hand, dipping into a slight curtsey which he instantly waved off, and her smile was sincere as she met Matthew. Then her eyes flickered curiously to Harry.

“Oh, this is my brother, Harry,” William said, and Harry had no choice but to fully turn round to greet the two of them, straightening up to his full 6ft 2 inches and turning his back on the racecourse. “John, you remember Harry, right?”

“Of course,” John said, beaming and stepping forward to shake his hand. “How are you, Harry?”

“I’m very well, thank you,” Harry said politely, and he broke into his default charming smile as Ellie held out her own hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” she said, her voice soft, musical almost. She smiled, and it met her green eyes as he shook her hand. He would’ve been over-exaggerating if he said he felt electricity flow between their skin, because he didn’t, but he felt how soft her skin was and was overcome with the desire to feel more of it. Swallowing that feeling, he broke their linked hands and stepped away, smiling to cover it up, and his back met the balcony, jolting his heart in surprise.

“Oh, good, looks like the next race is starting!” John said. “Darling, let me show you which horse I’ve got money on.” He gently pulled her to the edge of the balcony and started pointing with a hand, his other resting on the small of her back, very close to her backside. Harry decided that if he stayed much longer he’d regret it, and bid goodbye to William, saying he was going to get a drink.

“But you’ll miss the race,” William said. Harry shrugged, not caring.

He hoped that John and Ellie would’ve gone by the time he got back, but to no such luck. They were still stood with William and Matthew, although they’d migrated into the shade. From the sound of it, John was describing an exciting game of polo he’d played in Italy. Oh yes, Harry thought, as he remembered that John was the friend of William’s who also liked to play polo.

Harry returned to them, but stayed close to the barrier of the balcony, squinting out over the field as the next group of horses prepared to race. He ignored the lively sounds of conversation coming from behind him, and was so lost in his own thoughts that Ellie’s voice caught him off guard, coming from right beside him.

“Do you have money on any of those horses?” she asked politely.

He jumped, startled, but was determined to act cool. “No, I’m just here to watch,” he said. “You?”

“My husband does,” she said, looking out, then smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I don’t know which one though.”

He chuckled. “I prefer watching the technique, I’m not a gambler myself.”

“Do you race?”

“No, but I like to ride them,” he said. “I play polo throughout the summer.”

“Oh, where do you play? Professionally?”

He barked a laugh. “No, just at the grounds in Gloucestershire. William and I play there.”

“That’s where John’s just registered,” she said. “He loves polo too, I swear he taught some of our Italian neighbours how to play.”

“Oh yeah, Italy, I heard. How was that?”

She shrugged, looking like there was more to it than she was letting on. “Okay. It was lovely there, but we were never really immersed in the culture. John was too passionate about his business, and we didn’t learn the language. We even sent the kids to an English school.”

His eyebrows rose, intrigued without even noticing. “Kids?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Twins. Boy and a girl. James and Lily. They’re four.”

“Congratulations, I guess,” he said, not really knowing what to say. “Oh actually, now you say that, I think I remember William flying out to Italy for the christening.”

Ellie laughed lightly. “Yeah, he’s one of the godfathers.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Harry didn’t know what to say, part of him didn’t want to speak to her anymore and fuel the attraction that he was feeling right now, and the other half never wanted to stop speaking to this gorgeous lady. “Are you happy to be home, in England?”

“Yeah, I never wanted to move away really,” she said, then glanced back over at John. “But he wanted to.”

“Surely you had a choice,” Harry said gently.

“I did,” she said, then her green eyes were on his face once more. “I chose to be with him, so…”

“Ellie, darling, come and tell the guys about that little restaurant we went to up in the hills,” John said then, his loud voice booming over. Harry glanced back at John, then smiled at Ellie.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” he said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yes, at polo,” she said, smiling too. “Nice to meet you,” she added, as she made her way back over to her husband.

“You too,” Harry murmured, watching her walk away, and then his eyes flickered to John. John was staring at him, watching him watch his wife, and Harry mustered a casual smile, trying to look innocent, before turning back to the racecourse.

He was being stupid, he just needed to go home and never see Ellie again and these feelings would go away. It was probably because he was just horny, he hadn’t been with a girl since he and Cressida broke up.

Eventually Harry disappeared to go to the bathroom, and when he returned John and Ellie had gone home.

“Do you remember John?” William asked Harry in the car on the journey back to Kensington Palace.

“Vaguely,” Harry said. “I remember playing polo with him.”

“Yeah, he was one of my best friends.”

“I don’t remember Ellie.”

“No, they got married in Italy,” William said. “I’d only met her a few times before they moved. It always surprised me – they weren’t together too long before they moved away.”

“She’s…very nice,” Harry said. “I was talking to her earlier.”

“Yeah, she’s very sweet,” William said. “She was always very nice to me whenever I went over to see them. John adores her.”

Harry felt jealousy begin to claw at his insides, and he tried to ignore it. “Does he?” he asked politely.

“Definitely, he’s always going on about her,” William said. “He likes showing her off to his friends.”

“Hmm.” That sounded like an odd thing for a husband to do, in Harry’s mind, but he dismissed it. He probably wouldn’t see Ellie again, not for a long time. Besides, these feelings would be gone by the time he arrived back at his apartment.

Right?

#forbidden-phff #prince harry #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcollection #royalfanficcentral

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pengychan · 5 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 15

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: You know that thing little kids do, where they throw a tantrum, break a toy, and then cry because they realize that now they're one toy short and got no one else to blame? That's it, that's Ernesto here.

***

“Car seat.”

“Mmmh?”

“We’ll need a baby car seat. I mean, a car seat for the baby.”

A yawn, and Imelda shifts on her side, eyes still shut. “Yes,” she mumbles. “We’ll need a car seat.”

“We can go buy it tomorrow,” Héctor suggests, eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling.

“The baby is not due for another six months, Héctor.”

“Well-- sometimes babies are born early! Months early.”

“If that happens, I suspect the car seat would be the least of our problems.”

“If something goes wrong--”

“Héctor.”

“Sí?”

“Don’t even say that. All is going well.”

Ah, right - right. No need to fear nightmare scenarios, is there? Imelda sailed through the first trimester without a hitch, after all, but bringing up things that can possibly go wrong is not something she needs. Not something either of them needs.

“Right. All is well,” Héctor sighs, and turns to kiss the bridge of her nose. Imelda’s eyes stay shut, but the slight frown smooths into a sleepy half-smile. “Our baby is well. Got the best mamá,” he adds, only to mentally kick himself a moment later.

Was that something he was supposed to say? What if something does go wrong, and Imelda thinks of what he’s just muttered now and thinks that she isn’t the best mamá after all and-- no, he can’t think like that, it’ll drive him loco. What was he talking about in the first place?

“... The car seat. Right. I’ll write it down,” he mutters, bolting off the bed and stumbling over his discarded trousers to get to the desk and jot that down. Imelda groans.

“It’s three in the morning, Héctor.”

“I know, I know, just making sure I don’t forget. Oh! Speaking of forgetting, it needs to be the kind with the alarm.”

“The alarm?”

“So that it sounds if we forget the baby in the car!”

“Why would we forget our baby in the--”

“It can happen, I read about it, and small children can die of heat exposure if left in the car too long. This guy in Guadalajara did just last summer, and the baby--” he trails off, too anguished to finish. Imelda notices, and sits up as well, holding out an arm in a silent invitation. Héctor is back in bed with her the next moment with a sigh and he leans down, arms around her and face tucked against her throat. Imelda hums, brushing back his hair.

“No such thing will happen,” she says. “But if it helps you relax, we’ll get the car seat with the alarm. All right?”

He smiles against her skin, a little sheepishly. “All right. Sorry, I’m just-- worried. Ernesto always says I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t firmly screwed to my neck. Said I’d probably forget the baby at the park or something.”

“Oh, is that what he says?” Imelda asks, her voice a little colder and frame stiffening, as always when Ernesto is brought up.

Ever since they ended the arrangement, he and Imelda have hardly met. At first Héctor found it normal; he was angry and hurt. For a time, Ernesto didn’t really want to see him either. Now they met regularly for gigs or to discuss new songs or the upcoming launch of their album over a drink with their manager - so… mostly for work, really.

It’s not like before, of course, but Héctor is fairly sure it is only a matter of time before they’re friends as always. Even though Ernesto’s jabs and jokes are a little heavier than before, his smile just a little more like sneers, and he hasn’t so much mentioned Imelda or the baby in his presence - let alone asked how they’re doing.

He never asks. Like it doesn’t matter. Like neither exists. But surely, it’s only a matter of time. When he asks him to be his child’s godfather he’ll be delighted, just as Óscar and Felipe were excited beyond words at the prospect of being, in their own words, the cool uncles.

“We’ll teach the baby everything we know,” they told them, causing… some concern.

Unaware of his thoughts, Imelda speaks again. “You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” she mutters, and Héctor sighs, pulling back a little.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it, mi amor,” he says, although he’s… not entirely sure of that. And judging from the look she gives him in the dim light, Imelda isn’t either.

“You are a wonderful husband,” she tells him, brushing back his hair again. “And you’ll be a wonderful papá. Don’t let him or anyone tell you otherwise.”

“He doesn’t mean--” he begins, then he pauses, and nods. “... I won’t. Next time, I’ll tell him to shut up,” he promises with a small smile, and leans back against her, shutting his eyes.

Except that doesn’t. Never in his life was he ever able to really tell off Ernesto. They have been friends since Héctor can remember, and after hurting him so much he really sees no point in making a scene over… over what? Jokes, that’s all they are.

He only means to joke, as they progress to going out together every once in a while for a drink. He certainly doesn’t mean to be heavy-handed as it feels like, commenting on how he can hardly imagine him ready to be a father, he’d probably fuck up all that he can possibly fuck up as a parent, and Imelda will probably be impossible to deal with after the birth, what a mess he got himself in, huh? The end of his life as a free man, he mutters, and laughs.

It’s only friendly teasing. They go way back. Ernesto knows him like the back of his hand, knows his doubts and insecurities and fear better than anyone, and he certainly wouldn’t purposely hit him where it hurts. He wouldn’t purposely tear apart his confidence, fuel the doubts Héctor can barely keep off his mind. He… he wouldn’t.

… Or would he? Little by little, snide remark after snide remark, the doubt grows and something thins out, ready to snap.

***

When he gets to the cantina and spots Héctor sitting at one of the tables outside, Ernesto groans inwardly: he can tell, from the big dumb grin on his stupid face, that he’s going to be absolutely insufferable.

Look at him, acting like he hasn’t just ruined his entire life by knocking up the bruja he decided to marry. Is he doing it only to piss him off? If that’s the case, Ernesto may as well knock him down a peg or two. He walks up to the table and sits, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Sorry I’m late, my date for the night didn’t want me to--” he begins, only to trail off when Héctor shoves something in front of his face - his phone. On the screen there is… a mass of gray static. It takes a moment for Ernesto to realize what he’s looking at, and Héctor almost sings it out the next moment, absolutely ecstatic. It hurts, how can Héctor not see it hurts?

“It’s a girl! We’re having a little girl!”

Ernesto grimaces, pushing the phone away from his face. “My condolences,” he says dryly. His obvious lack of enthusiasm does nothing to dampen Héctor’s mood.

“All is going well, and we’re thinking up names! We both like Socorro, but I also would like Emilia, after my mamá. Maybe it can be her middle name. Imelda suggested--”

“When?”

“Oh, we just found out this morn--”

“I mean, when did I ask?”

Finally, that sours Héctor’s good mood. The smile fades, and while it brings no relief to the painful knot that seems to have taken residence in Ernesto’s chest, at least it gives him some measure of satisfaction. If he expects him to care about the brat Imelda is carrying - what a convenient way to get him out of the picture - then he’s in for a long wait.

“I believe you had mentioned a new song,” Ernesto says, waving to catch the attention of a waiter, and Héctor hesitates a moment before he sighs.

“... Right. I wrote it last night and it needs some work, let me show you…”

The song isn’t Héctor’s best work - clearly, the upcoming brat is distracting him from music - but it’s not bad, either, and it could work with a few changes. They discuss it, their drinks arrive, and Ernesto feels a little better. This is a lot more productive than watching gray blobs and trying to guess which part of it is supposed to be a baby. Yes, Ernesto thinks, he can make this song a success if Héctor follows his advice and adapts it to his voice.

Of course, Héctor just has to ruin the mood by bringing up his family again.

“So, uh, about the baby-- of course there will be the christening and all that. We want to do it in Santa Cecilia - I mean, Imelda’s family is there, it makes sense - and I know that’s not ideal for you, but, er… Would it be too much or a problem? To come to Santa Cecilia?”

… Is he an idiot or what? Not only he expects him to be there for the christening of some little monster who straight-up replaced him, patting him and Imelda in the back - he also wants him to come back to the one town he’s sworn to never set foot in again? Ernesto looks at him, arching an eyebrow. “Come to Santa Cecilia?” he asks, his voice even.

Héctor knows him well enough to tell that when he speaks like that, he’s nowhere as calm as he sounds. He shifts. “Well… we would like you to be her godfather.”

All right, this has got to be a joke. Ernesto would laugh, if not for the fact the ache in his chest is there again, worse than ever. What the hell do they think they’re doing? Are they trying to mock him? To throw a bone his way so that he’ll wag his tail and be happy with what they’re willing to share with him? He wants to laugh, he wants to yell, he wants to hit him - but he does none of those things. In the end, he sneers.

“We,” he repeats. “I don’t believe for a second that this was her idea.”

“Well, it was mine, but-- I always said that if we had kids, you’d be the godfather of at least one, no? We talked about it again, and Imelda agrees--”

“Oh, of course she agrees,” Ernesto snaps, slamming the glass back down on the table hard enough to make some of the beer splash out, and Héctor wince. “She can’t wait to rub her latest creation in my face.”

That gains him a confused look. “What? No, we both really think you should be her--”

"She must be having a laugh," Ernesto mutters, glaring down at his glass and entirely missing the way Héctor shakes his head.

"Of course she isn't laughing," he protests. "You should know her better than that."

"Pfft, as if. She saw her chance to--" the words 'hurt me' almost make it past his lips, but he'll curl up and die before he lets them out; that is more than he's willing to admit. "To get back to me, and she ran with it. She always hated me, hell knows why."

Héctor frowns. "That's not--"

"She probably started this whole thing so that she could kick me out of it when I had started to--" again, the words refuse to leave his mouth.

He just scowls, and takes another swig from his drink as Héctor shakes his head and reaches across the table to put a hand on his arm. "That's not true, Ernesto. Not a single word. You don't really believe that," he says, and lifts his hands at Ernesto's glare over the glass. "Listen, I know you're hurt and--"

"I am not hurt," Ernesto snaps, slamming the glass down on the table hard enough to make the beer splash over his hand, again. At this point, the glass is almost empty. "I'm just angry as fuck with the puta you went and married and got yourself shackled to."

The first hint of anger shows in Héctor's gaze, but Ernesto is too furious to notice it. "Don't call her that ever again."

Ernesto scoffs. "Call her what? A puta?"

"Stop that," Héctor bristles and oh, look at that, he's angry now. He won't side with him, but look at him rushing to her defense. "You're being unreasonable. She didn't say we can't-- you still have me.”

“I don’t want you,” Ernesto snaps, and it’s only partly a lie. He does want him - he wanted him before Imelda was even really in the picture - but not now, not just him. It would only remind him of what they had, the three of them, and he can’t have again.

Héctor recoils a little at the viciousness of his tone - does he really have the guts to look hurt now? - but doesn’t back down. “She only called herself out of it. She just thought that this... us... wouldn't work. Not all three of us. Not with our baby on the way."

Oh, sure. The baby. A cluster of cells without a working brain that is already so much more important than him, and he hates it more than anything. "Your baby, yes," he mutters, and finishes his beer. "If you're so sure."

That causes Héctor's eyes to narrow. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, his voice suddenly cold, and that's good. Ernesto wants nothing more than hit him where it hurts, so maybe he'll see where he's coming from.

"How do you know she didn't screw someone else? Maybe right now, while you're here with me? I mean, why would someone like her settle for you?"

Héctor recoils as though physically struck - must have hit a nerve, of course, because that was the intention. Isn’t that what Héctor has always been afraid of? Never being enough?

"She wouldn't go behind my back and you know--"

"Never let me in her because she hates my guts, but I bet she let half the neighborhood between her legs," Ernesto says, and grins at the fury crossing Héctor's features. "She's got you on such a tight leash, why let you hang with me? If you want my guess--"

"Shut up. You don't know what you're--"

"My guess," Ernesto repeats more forcefully, leaning forward with gleeful spite, "is that lets you hang with me because it keeps you out of the way while she keeps being the neighborhood puta. I'm ready to bet you're not even the father. I'm ready to bet--"

Héctor moves faster than his eyes can follow, his fist a blur of motion, his cry of anger sounding so very far away. There is a blow and he’s on the ground, pain blooming on his face and a coppery taste in his mouth, his vision swimming. He tries to speak and something warm drips down his chin; somewhere in the distance he can hear yells and voices, but he’s aware of nothing but Héctor, towering over him, holding his right fist in his left hand and features twisted with fury. He’s the only thing he can see clearly, and the sight causes his breath to catch in his throat.

He’s never seen Héctor so angry, and realization - too far, I have gone too far - seizes his heart like a cold hand. “Héctor,” he tries, but he’s met with a scoff.

“Imelda was right about you, right at the start,” he mutters. “You only care about yourself. You don’t give a damn about anyone else’s reasons. She was right to bring the arrangement to an end. It could have never worked because you’d put your own wants before a baby’s needs, you always did. What you want you get, and if you don’t get it then you push me around until you do! Well, no more!”

“I-- I--” Ernesto stammers, but Héctor silences him with an angry wave of his hand.

“Save your breath. I’m not your little brother anymore. I grew up, you did not, and I’m done putting up with you. Stay away from me, Imelda, and our baby. Stay away from my family.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Ernesto tries to speak, tries to reach out for him, but Héctor is already marching away, ignoring the several people who have approached, asking what the hell that was about. Ernesto lets his hand drop, lets his head drop, and closes his eyes. Somewhere above a man is asking how he is, telling someone else to call an ambulance, telling him that he should stay awake, might have a concussion there, amigo, stay awake and talk to me.

He stays awake, but talks to no one. Things go badly when he opens his mouth and talks, and now he’s lost Héctor, too. He pushed him, he always pushed him, but now he’s pushed him too far and something snapped and he doesn’t know what to do.

He fucked up, and he has no idea how he can even begin to put the pieces back together.

***

When Héctor returns home he’s stiff, silent, and close to tears.

Imelda almost asks him what happened, but she does not, because she knows her husband - she knows that’s how he gets when he’s devastated and angry at the same time - and she also knows who was it he went to meet that day. Ernesto happened, clearly.

So much for hoping he’d move on as time passed.

“What did he do?” she asks quietly when Héctor sits on the couch, stroking Dante’s head absently. Dante may not be a smart dog by any stretch of imagination, but he seems very attuned to their moods - and lately he won’t start the day without giving her belly a gentle boop with his nose - and now he whines, leaning his head on Héctor’s knee.

“... He’s an idiot,” Héctor mutters, his voice tight. “He said things-- Enough. We’re through.”

Imelda is silent for a few moments, trying not to speculate what he may have said, then she slowly sits by him, puts an arm around his shoulders. Héctor leans into her touch, and lets out a long, heavy sigh. She kisses his cheek, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She’d hoped things would get better once Ernesto got over the initial disappointment, not worse.

With how he’s been treating her husband lately, he probably deserved to be told off; some time on his own, without faithful Héctor there for him, will clear his head. But it hurts to see him so anguished; even more so knowing it is her, in the end, that Ernesto takes issue with.

A child throwing a tantrum. Of course he wouldn’t be any better than that, isn’t that why I knew it couldn’t work? I should have known he wouldn’t make peace with being denied. The entire thing was a mistake. My mistake. I shouldn’t have given an inch, stopped it long ago.

“Lo siento,” she finally says, and he shakes his head.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs, and his hand rests on her belly. He manages a weak smile, and speaks again. “Socorro is a really nice name.”

She puts her hand over his own. “It is,” she agrees, and that is the end of it. For the following days, they don’t so much mention Ernesto; the wound is still too raw. So they wait, hoping he’ll reach out - apologize to Héctor, at least, for whatever it is he told him.

But, in the following days, they hear nothing back.

***

“So, you just decided to move into my apartment with your dogs? Not that I mind - at least your dogs are cute - but if you don’t plan on going home, we should probably consider splitting rent.”

Still catching his breath and face pressed against Sofía’s shoulder - why won’t she ever shut up, wasn’t a decent fuck enough for her to keep her mouth shut ten minutes? - Ernesto lets out a hum, and hopes she’ll leave it at that.

She doesn’t.

“Why did you have to leave your place in such a hurry, anyway? Angry lover?”

It’s a lighthearted guess, but of course she just had to nearly hit the nail on the head. Ernesto shuts his eyes tighter, resolving to pretend he’s already asleep so that she won’t prod for more information. It’s been three days - three days without a word - and it still hurts.

Except that he finds himself talking the next moment. “They hate my guts.”

A pause, and he feels her shift. “They? Did you date two women at the same time and they found out about each other? Again?”

Ernesto looks up, blinking. “Wha-- no!”

“Did you date two men at the same time and they found out about each other?” A pause. “... Again?”

“No. I--”

“Did you date a man and a woman at the same ti--”

“No! They knew about each other, all right? They were together in the first place, and then-- I mean, we were all-- I thought we were, but-- It’s complicated,” Ernesto says with a frustrated sigh. Sofía’s fingers are running through his hair, and he leans into the touch, trying to focus on that over the throbbing ache in his chest, the hammering thought that he fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up. Sex with an old fuck buddy wasn’t enough to get rid of that.

“I was just the third wheel," he finally says, and it feels like the most difficult thing he's ever had to utter. "And they didn’t need me anymore.”

“Oh,” Sofía says, and adds nothing more. He could stop talking now, but he cannot. It feels like something is stuck in his throat and it aches, and he fears it will get worse if he stops.

“There weren’t supposed to be any strings attached. You know, I always said--”

“No strings but those of my guitar?”

“Yes, that. But then there were. Strings, I mean,” he says, and pauses. “... Not guitar strings.”

“I’d worked out that much,” Sofía says, and the hand goes down to rub the back of his neck. “And you thought it was mutual.”

“Sí. But I was wrong, or… or maybe not, but then she got pregnant--”

“Wait, did you--?”

“No, not me, she never let me-- er. It was Héctor.”

The hand on the back of his neck stills. “... Wait. Are you talking about your best friend and his wife?”

Oh. Right. He hadn’t meant to say that, but now it’s out and there is no point denying it. “Yes.”

She tilts her head. “... And to think you told me she’s a complete stick in the mud.”

“Well, she is now,” Ernesto says sourly. “They’ve got a baby on the way and suddenly she’s got to be the perfect wife and mother. I can still fuck Héctor, she says, like that’s all that there was to it, but God forbid it’s under her roof or if I so much look at her. No more fooling around, because clearly that’s--” Ernesto trails off, and he doesn’t like the tightness in his throat, doesn’t like it at all. He turns on his stomach, draping an arm around her and pressing his face against her stomach, and he feels Sofía sighing before she resumes rubbing his back.

“And being his fuck buddy isn’t enough anymore, huh?”

He shakes his head, saying nothing.

“Ah, damn. Didn’t think I’d see the day, but you’ve fallen hard. And for two people, no le-- are you sniffling?”

“No,” Ernesto sniffles.

“... Of course you’re not.”

“They just-- discarded me.”

“Well… if it helps at all, it sounds like it wasn’t about you. It’s about the baby.”

Ernesto scoffs, face still pressed against her skin. “Yes, that was her excuse. Said it would be too difficult to explain their brat what’s going on.”

“To be fair, it’d be a complication,” she says, but Ernesto ignores her. Can’t she just let him vent without bringing common sense in it? Fine, so maybe Imelda had reasons, but what about him?

“And he sided with her. He always sides with her.”

“Well. She’s his wife.”

“And I was his best friend.”

“I’m picking up a past tense.”

Stay away from me, from Imelda, from our baby. Stay away from my family.

“... Ernesto?”

He tries to answer, he really does, but he finds he cannot force his voice out. His throat hurts, his chest hurts, and eventually all he can let out is a low keening sound. He doesn’t fully register that he’s weeping at first, and when it hits him the shame is even worse than the ache.

This is ridiculous, a voice in the back of his head, the one that sounds an awful lot like his father’s, chides him. You’re a grown man. Act like it.

“I fucked up,” he chokes out. “I didn’t know when to shut up and I fucked up and I can’t fix it.”

Her fingers comb through his hair again, the other hand rubbing his back. “Can’t you call to apologize? I know Héctor. Unless you skinned his cat, an apology will be enough.”

That’s what he’d have believed until a few days ago; until Héctor had struck him and he’d seen the fury on his face as he towered over him. Suddenly, he knew he went too far.

What you want you get, and if you don’t get it then you push me around until you do! Well, no more!

Ernesto shuts his eyes, and shakes his head. Sofía sighs, and strokes his hair again, but says nothing. He lets him have a cry, and promptly pretends to have forgotten about it the next morning - something Ernesto is… rather grateful about. Crying himself to sleep is not a good look on him. Christ, he probably looks awful, with puffy eyes and whatnot.

He doesn’t really want to look into a mirror, so he lets Sofía go into the bathroom first instead of hogging it, and starts getting dressed. The trousers are a big tight, did he gain weight? He sure hopes not, it would be the cherry on top of a pile of shit. Maybe it’s just been too long; last time he wore them was months ago.

Ernesto makes a face, sticks his hands in the back pockets… and pauses when he realizes there is something on the left pocket. He blinks, pulls it out, and finds himself staring at an envelope with his name on it, written in his mother’s handwriting. The letter Héctor had brought him from Santa Cecilia.

“Oh,” he mutters, still standing in the middle of Sofía’s bedroom, belt unbuckled and four chihuahuas running in circles around him, waiting for their breakfast. He entirely forgot about the letter; he took the envelope, stuck it in his pocket, and… maybe he wanted to throw it out. Surely he wanted to throw it out, and then he just... forgot about it.

Well, he can do it now. He will do it now. He has no intention to read a single word that woman said or wrote.

I bet she turned on the waterworks, he’d said. Go figure. Easy to think I’m the ungrateful bastard, making my poor mamá cry.

Well, she can cry as much as she wants. She can cry enough to put la Llorona to shame, he doesn’t care. No amount of weeping changes the fact that he begged her to say nothing and yet she ratted him out - got him beaten up by that animal she’s chosen to marry, standing in a corner and turning on the waterworks while it happened, useless as always.

Ernesto snorts and glances down at his dogs, who stopped running in circles and are staring up at him, heads tilted. “I don’t care what this says,” he informs them. “She fucked up.”

I fucked up.

“I-- I don’t have to give her a moment’s thought. Let alone another chance. If she’d kept her mouth shut--”

I didn’t know when to shut up and I fucked up and I can’t fix it.

His eyes prickle, and it’s too much. Ernesto snarls and tears the envelope in half, then in half again, throwing the four pieces to scatter on the floor. “There. Now it’s gone,” he snaps. “Come, I’ll feed-- what--?”

Before his confused gaze, his dogs don’t bolt as usual at the mention of food. Suddenly each of them picks up a piece of the envelope, the letter still tucked within. Normally they would bound away with their prize, leading him to a merry chase, but this time they don’t; they only stand there, tails wagging, staring at him, waiting. It’s unlike… anything they’ve done before. It’s surreal. Ernesto stares, blinks, and the chihuahuas just stare back, unmoving.

And finally, slowly, he kneels to take the pieces out of their mouths.

***

Mijo,

I hope this letter finds you, and that it finds you well.

I know you’re making a name for yourself, a lot of people here talk about you and Héctor and what you’re doing in Mexico City. I was sure you would make it, you have so much talent. Everyone could tell, since you were in the church choir. Or in the Nativity play. I was so, so proud of you, and I don’t feel like I have told you that enough.

We bought a computer - please, don’t laugh - and I got Mirela’s daughter to show me how to make it work. The poor girl almost tore her hair out, but now I can see your videos and your photos. It’s nice to see you smile, mijo. I have that photo of you after a concert framed and I show it to anyone who comes to see us. My handsome boy.

Your papá won’t say that aloud, but he likes your music. I caught him listening behind the door when I played your videos, so I always play them a little louder for him. He’s doing better now, a lot has changed since you were here last time. He began going to meetings to stop drinking, and he’ll celebrate three years dry soon. He has also been seeing someone for his anger, a therapist. He doesn’t want people to know that part, but you of all people know how bad I am at keeping secrets, no?

I know we both did wrong, your papá and I. You trusted me and I betrayed you - I thought I knew better than you how to deal with it, and I was wrong. And your papá should have never reacted as he did. He knows that now. He’s sorry. We are both so sorry and so proud. We miss you so very much.

You don’t have to write back if you don’t want to. I only wanted you to know this - that we’re sorry and we love you and we hope you’re happy.

With all my love,

Mamá.

***

Once she’s done showering and walks out, towelling her hair, Sofía is rather taken aback to realize Ernesto has left without even a shower. The dogs are still there, yapping and clearly hungry; all that she finds is a scribbled note, asking her to look after them until he’s back, promising her he’ll pay back for their food and whatever they may chew up when he returns.

With a sigh, Sofía lets the note drop and looks down at the dogs.

“You better not chew up anything,” she mutters, and makes her way to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast and to see if she has something suitable to feed those four little demons.

***

[Back to Part 14]

[On to Part 16]

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

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