#abuelita ate that up for real
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my american non-eurofan friend's take on nebulossa (winner of benidorm this year!!)
#benidorm fest#nebulossa#zorra#benidorm 2024#benidorm fest 2024#eurovision spain#abuelita ate that up for real#the cuntiest thing we'll ever see at eurovision for sure#it was so cunty#she came to serve and serve she did my god
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One day off
This is the sick day prompt from the #BarsonBingoAugust2021 created by @simpforbarba
Warnings: none? It's just a sick day, and they being a lovely couple.
Words: 1194
Disclaimer: English is not my first language.
“Okay… you just rest, let me handle everything else,” Rafael said while he went out of the bedroom. Last week Olivia had a cold, but she had refused to get some rest. Now, that cold has become the flu. It wasn’t a surprise to Rafael, that she wasn’t a good patient, but he was a really good
“Where’s mommy?” asked a soft voice.
Rafael turned around and saw Noah in his pajamas, hugging the stuffed elephant named Eddie. He smiled at him and softly said “Mommy it’s not feeling so well now, so we are going to let her rest, okay?”
“What about breakfast or school?”
“Don’t worry, I can make breakfast and take you to school.”
“Are you sure?”
“This ain’t my first rodeo.”
“We are not in a rodeo,” Noah laughed.
“And you are right about that. Now, let’s prepare breakfast.”
Rafael took Noah to the kitchen, where he served the cereal and milk for the kid's breakfast in his favorite bowl. He had recently moved to the Olivia apartment officially, however, the last few weeks before moving in, he had practically lived there, so he was already familiar with the morning routines. Even when that was the first time he had to take care of Noah completely by himself, he felt confident about it and he knew it was an overcome challenge.
Rafael took a cup of coffee and some toasts and while Noah ate his cereal, he asked about school and his friends, determined to get to know each other better and enjoy the time they were spending alone. Then he took care of him getting dressed up for school and he did the same. Before they left, Noah said goodbye to his momma standing at the door of the bedroom. She sent them flying kisses from the bed. She seemed cheerful, but behind all that mood, she was feeling really bad. Her eyes burned every time she closed them, and her throat was killing her.
When he reached the apartment, it was almost lunchtime and he could hear Olivia speaking on the phone. From what little he got to hear, he knew she was talking with Fin about a case. It wasn't something he was supposed to get into, but when Olivia said she could go to the station, he decided it was time for him to intervene.
“No, no, no… you are not going anywhere.” Rafael put the grocery bags on the counter and approached Olivia.
“Fin, give me a minute.”
“You are sick” he insisted “you need to go back to bed and let me take care of you. Now, tell Fin you are not going for today. He is a Sargent, he can handle it for one day.”
Olivia sights “Fine” she took back the phone in her ear “Fin… oh, did you hear that?” She glared at Rafael “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone. “Fin says hi to you.”
He smiled at her and approached. “I know you don’t like to stay doing nothing, but you need to rest, so tomorrow you can go back to kick some asses.”
Olivia frowned “You are annoying… and cute.”
“And you are a workaholic, and I love you.”
They both laugh. Rafael kissed her forehead, then he pulled away from her, looking at her worriedly. He looked for the thermometer. Olivia sighed resigned that she would have to let him take care of her, especially when the thermometer pointed that she had 102.4 F fever.
“And this is how you wanted to go to the station? How is your head?”
Olivia closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose, with a grin that she had been caught “Not that well.”
“Okay, this is what we're gonna do. You are gonna take this aspirin, then you’re going back to bed. I’ll prepare lunch, then I’ll give you the special magic my Abuelita uses.” Then he showed a small jar with a tag saying Vick VapoRub.
“That is not a real remedy.”
“Of course it is! It worked every time. Now, go to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You are bossy,” Olivia laughed before she went to the bedroom.
Rafael didn't like to brag about it, but he was a really good cook. Years ago he had learned to cook with his Abuelita, and thanks to that he had learned several of her recipe tricks. So he organized the kitchen and then prepared vegetable soup, great for any flu. Some minutes later he was in the bedroom, sitting next to Olivia.
“Are you gonna be my doctor?” she asked playfully and she settled down on the bed. “Should I open my pajama shirt?” Then she opened the first button.
“Oh… Don't start something you won't finish” he answered, raising an eyebrow.
Olivia put on a mischievous smile and opened the second button. He shook his head, then took the Vick VapoRub and opened it. The room was flooded with the scent of eucalyptus. Their gazes met and following the game that Olivia had started, Rafael took some of the ointment with two fingers and ran it over her chest. He stroked her skin in such a way that, if she wasn’t sick, could have been a way to turn her on.
The moment was interrupted by the kitchen timer, which indicated that the soup was ready
“I guess we'll have to leave this for another occasion.”
Then he closed the Vick VapoRub and went to the kitchen. He served the soup and took it to the bedroom, so Olivia won’t have to leave the bed. They ate lunch together and then Olivia took another nap. He worked a few hours before going back to school, to pick up Noah.
“How’s mommy?” he asked.
“She’s better, but we have to take care of her at least until tomorrow, ok?”
“Okay… Just like she does when I’m sick.”
“Exactly. Would you like to help me prepare chicken soup for her?”
“Yeah!”
When they reach the apartment, Rafael helped Noah with his homework, and then they prepared dinner together. He took care that everything seemed like a game to Noah, he even let Noah be the main cook, telling him that he was the chef, while Rafael only took care of helping him with trifles such as light the fire on the stove or cut the vegetables with the sharp knife.
When the soup was ready, the three of them ate at the big bed. Rafael measured Olivia's temperature again and found that it had dropped to 100F. Her throat still ached but her eyes didn't burn anymore and her headache had gone. Soon she would be fine.
“It's thanks to my boys,” she said “I know you will always take care of me.”
#barsonbingoaugust2021#barson#olivia benson#rafael barba#fanfic#sick prompt#happy family#svu#law and order: svu#my gifs
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So I finally finished all of On My Block season 4 and I got some thoughts
This final season was kinda trash but of course Jamal and Abuelita carried the show on their backs as always ( but man, I’m gonna miss them to death)
Vero is so fucking cringe, I can’t even stomach her. Lol she really thought she ate 😂😂😂
Cesar has been nothing but a wannabe Pooh Shiesty 😂🤣🤣 trynna to be gangsta and shit like boi sit your ass raggedy down
I can’t believe Cesar had to audacity to take Vero to prom instead of Monse.
Don’t come @ me when I tell you I sort of foresaw Oscars death before even watching the first episode. It truly was sad that he had died cuz he was actually trynna turn his whole life around and he couldn’t live to see the birth of his first child 😢😢
I’m so proud of Ruby cuz even though we wasn’t elected class president or some shit like that, he WON PROM KING. I guess that was gods plan all along
May Abuelita rest in piece. She was a real G 💯💯💯
Can’t believe Jamal gave up Juanita 🤣🤣🤣
The one thing I appreciate from the shows final moments is that they have not mention Olivia at all (not even once, thank god)
Last thing before I forget it was about time they showed Lil Ricky. I been dying to know what that fucker looked like since season 3. Glad they cleared that up
#on my block#omb spoilers#omb season 4#Netflix#here is one of my many rants#this has been in my drafts#for quite some now#sorry for being late
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Chapter 3. Beautiful chords (Willow Series)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)
Word count: 955
Trigger Warning: singing and guitars, Bucky falling in love. Sad Family history(?). Taylor Swift music. Fluff
Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original Characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.
General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist- Abuelita Rivera Spanish Lesson- The Val Playlist
Gifts and pictures aren’t mine
Silk Lavender blue knee length dress with three quarters sleeve, a nice ballerina bun keeps her hair in place, but the thing that actually calls Bucky's attention is the cute dance she was doing on her way to her hut, he knows that is her victory dance, something good happened.
"They said yes! THEY SAID YES!" ends screaming to the air with what she calls her Oprah impression" They said yes to my proposal! I'm fucking awesome!" she kept yelling, until finally disappeared in her hut, with her heels in hand and her cute blue backpack on her shoulder.
For the very first time since he left cryogenics, he allows a soft laugh and a real smile, a brief moment, but he surprises himself, what the hell was happening to him?.
It was late, past mid day, probably Val was coming soon to him with their evening coffee, probably she would tell him the reason for her happiness.
It was after four when Val approached him, two empty cups, her usual thermo with coffee, two containers and two spoons.
"Hey!" she greeted, with a big smile
"Hi" he gave a really small smile, almost imperceptible.
She has changed her clothes, wearing now black sweatpants, a white t-shirt and her usual Black combat boots, as always, wearing the necklace with the lilies pendant, and her wild hair in an half updo.
"Are you okay if we eat this in the lake?" Bucky takes the thermo with his hand when finally finished his work, answering her question with a nod.
They walk in a very comfortable silence, just enjoying the nice surroundings. When they finally get to the lake, they sit down, facing each other. Valentina opens the containers, using the lids as a small table for the spoons and the cups while he starts pouring the coffee when it's safe to do, it was their little ritual, the same hour, during the whole week and the same chores. He would never know if things were destined to be that way, but that little sensation of routine and normality was one of the little things keeping him sane now, or at least he wanted to believe that was the routine and not entirely the women in that routine.
"No sugar?"
"Aha" she answered, taking the cup and enjoying the first sip" I brought tres leches, probably the sweetest thing that I ever ate in my life. I really hope you enjoy it."
Bucky took the first spoonful of the famous tres leches he heard since day one, she was right, it was highly sweet, wasn’t his thing, but wasn’t that bad either.
She starts talking about her day, how successful it was when she spoke with the University board about her findings in the research, how happy she felt when they approved this new approach on her research.
She was passionate, undoubtedly, with a contagious emotion and happiness that made it impossible for him not to smile or laugh with her, she was a kind of light capable to warm his sadness and make his past bright.
That night, Bucky dines in Valentina’s hut, some vegetables “al dente” and meat in tomato sauce, his mind kept repeating her: “the real tomato sauce, not that fake one in cans”.
They end after dinner, sitting in front of the hut, with the nice illumination of the moon and a bonfire, each one with a nice cup of coconut water, they end playing a silly question game.
"What happened to your dad? You barely mention him" he finally asks
"Dad left during my childhood, he had another family in Portugal, one day he took a plane and decided to never come back. His mom… my grandma, she was so angry, his whole family was so angry that he never returned to America to visited them"
"His mom is the grandma that raised you?"
"Yes, his whole family chose to help and support my mom more than him, which is weird sometimes in Latino families, but it was a win. They are a really big awesome support, I love them, deeply"
"Sounds that there is a happy ending"
"I wouldn’t call it ending but yes, a happy development" she smiles, a tired smile" Now, my turn… Favorite contemporary music artist?" Bucky grins, he clearly didn’t have an answer for that" Seriously?"
"Dead serious, doll" doll? Was the first time he addressed her with that nickname, but she didn’t correct him.
"You don’t know a name? Taylor Swift maybe?" he moves his head as a negative answer for that" You don’t Know who Taylor Swift is?! THE Taylor Swift?" once again, he move his head as a negative answer "Stay here"
She stands up and walks inside her hut, returning minutes later with a guitar in her hands. It was a white guitar with draws of roses, and then she sat down, adjusting her position so she could accommodate her guitar.
"Tonight is the night that you know who Taylor Swift is"
She started to perform, just for him, she was an artist, or that he thought, it was very clear how used she was to sing and play in front of people.
That was the moment, Bucky understood there why he loved so much to be around her, it wasn’t the feeling of normality or the routine, it is her: her voice, her laugh, her silence and her ability to observe, is her wild hair, is her light and love to share the things she like with him. It is entirely her reason he is happy around her, is her the reason why he is falling in love.
Luckily, he isn’t the only one falling at the feets of the other.
Tags: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders @autumn-and-rain
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x oc#bucky barnes x original female character#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x latina
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Relatively Relativity-part 5 (Ford gets forcefully decaffeinated and Dipper gets chest hair)
Seeing how freakishly big and hairy his arms were (at least compared to how they were just yesterday) told Dipper that no, it wasn’t a dream, he really was an old man now. Great.
Mabel was already out of bed, so Dipper started to sit up-and immediately tried not to groan as he realized that Stan’s comments about how much your joints ached first thing in the morning at this age had not been exaggerated.
Oh man...I hope my body’s not going to be this badly in shape when I get old for real. Is my back supposed to make that kind of noise?
“Ow, ow ow ow…” Dipper swung his legs around to the side, and went through the arduous process of standing up. Once he was actually on his feet, he felt more or less okay.
Until he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sounds of yelling from downstairs.
Dipper sprinted downstairs as fast as he could (again, not as fast as when he was thirteen), following the sounds of yelling towards the kitchen. A million horrifying scenarios flitted through his thoughts as an explanation.
Had a monster broken in and attacked? Was something on fire? Worse, was someone on fire?!
He skidded into the doorway-and saw Mabel standing with a hand pressed flat against one of the cupboards, keeping it shut, while Grunkle Ford appeared to be trying to climb her, and Grunkle Stan stood at the stove looking far too amused at the level of conflict that was taking place (then again, this was Stan we’re talking about).
“What in the heck is going on here?!” Dipper demanded.
Ford finally seemed to manifest how undignified his current behavior was; he immediately let go of Mabel and hopped away, attempting to smooth down his clothes. “Ah-good morning, Dipper. We-were just-having a small disagreement on proper morning sustenance-”
“Mabel wasn’t lettin’ him have coffee,” Stan translated.
“He’s too young for it!” Mabel retorted.
“Oh for-we are not actual children, Mabel! In case you’ve forgotten, I am more than forty years your senior!” Ford looked a little like he was about to stamp his foot.
“Not right now, you’re not!”
“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to side with Mabel on this,” Dipper reluctantly admitted. Immediately he found himself having to shrink away from his mini-grunkle’s withering glare. “Considering what you guys were like with the Mabel Juice yesterday, it’s probably not good for you to get high amounts of sugar or caffeine in your systems!”
Ford looked like he was about to snarl out something indignant-but then the truth of Dipper’s words sank in, and he slumped down in reluctant acknowledgment. Grumbling wordlessly, he stomped to the fridge and yanked out the carton of apple juice that was in the door.
Stan snickered-and then swore when he realized that the batch of scrambled eggs he was making had started burning due to his not paying attention.
“Language!” Ford scolded.
“Sorry. Guess I’ve spent too long away from kids.”
Mabel blinked. “Wait. Since we’re the grownups now, does that mean we can use those words?”
“No!” Stan hurriedly shuffled the eggs around until he’d gathered the blackened ones into his spatula, allowing him to shake them into the trash. “I don’t wanna haveta explain ta your mom why you came home with a bad case of sailor mouth!”
“We’re in junior high now, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper reminded him as he sat down, “We already hear all of them several times a day.”
“No excuse.”
Dipper was tempted to try figuring out how to make coffee just to see what it tasted like (okay, and maybe to annoy Grunkle Ford a little). But he decided he wasn’t ready to try experimenting with the process yet, and so he just had juice along with eggs and cereal.
“Where’s Soos?” he asked as the rest of his family sat down.
“They got some early tourists, so he’s showing them around the exhibits while Melody runs the gift shop,” said Mabel. “And it’s shopping day, so Abuelita’s getting groceries.”
“Hope they weren’t freaked out by all the racket.”
****
Elsewhere in the Shack
Soos nearly jumped out of his skin at the sounds of yelling, which could be heard from all the way on this side of the house, but he rolled with it.
“Whoa, sounds like the Summerween ghosts have started up early this year.”
A small child at the front of the group raised her tiny hand. “What’s Summerween?”
Soos knelt and put a large hand on her tiny shoulder. “We have much to discuss.”
****
For a little bit everyone ate in relative silence; finally, though, Dipper cleared his throat. “Melody suggested we should try wearing some kind of protective gear in case the flowers act up again.”
“I made us all masks!” Mabel held up four strips of brightly colored cloth with elastic straps at the ends, and their names stitched onto them surrounded by rainbows and flowers and stuff.
“That probably depends on whether it was just ingestion of the pollen that changed us, or if they needed to make contact with us,” Ford mused, rubbing his chin. “We should probably prepare for both outcomes, just in case. I think I have what we need in the basement.”
He hopped off his chair-and paused to give himself a slightly annoyed/confused glare at having done so, before shaking his head and making his way out of the kitchen.
When he returned, it was with a large, clunky-looking watch thing strapped to his wrist.
“This generates a small force field system that can completely envelope the flower and prevent the pollen from spreading; it also makes things levitate.”
“Whoa.” Stan’s eyes grew ridiculously big and shiny. “Can I use it?”
Ford narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Are you planning to try and pick pockets with it?”
“...No…”
“Uh-huh. I think I’ll hold onto it for now.”
“Hmph. Whatever.”
****
The mini-grunkles were still in their clothes from yesterday, which were kind of filthy, so at Mabel’s insistence they changed into some of Dipper’s spare things.
Stan held up a blue-and-white striped T-shirt, tilting his head quizzically. “If you got all these clothes, why the heck do you wear the same outfit every day?”
“And when do you take time to wash it?” Ford asked, wrinkling his nose.
Dipper flushed. “Don’t you guys start!”
“HA! See, I’m not the only one who thinks your hygiene practices are gross!” Mabel crowed triumphantly.
Dipper shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the attic.
****
Eventually everyone took the time to get dressed before their new expedition.
Mabel had made herself a brand new sweater (purple, with “HOT GRANDMA” written on it in sparkly bright blue letters), and borrowed one of Abuelita’s old dresses to wear under it. Dipper, meanwhile, had pointedly put his clothes in the wash, and borrowed a pair of Stan’s khaki shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt.
Well, at least I finally have chest hair, he thought as he buttoned up the shirt, examining his torso in the mirror. At least there was one thing to enjoy about old age.
Unfortunately, it was accompanied by a large quantity of stomach hair...and arm hair...and ear hair...basically a lot more hair than he’d been expecting.
He was only stopped from seeing if shaving some of it off would be more effective than it had been for Stan by the realization that his family was probably waiting for him.
“Took ya long enough,” Stan scolded when he returned to the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s go already!”
They headed out the door-and immediately ran into Wendy, who had at last showed up for work.
****
Aw, crap.
Dipper realized he had forgotten to text her about what had happened.
“Uh-hey, Wendy. Believe it or not, it’s us.”
She did a long, slow blink. Then, raising one eyebrow, she asked, “...Do I want to know?”
“We had an accident with a magic flower,” Mabel explained. “So now we gotta get another one to figure out how to change us back to normal.”
“Ya wanna come?” Stan asked.
Wendy smiled at him. “That’d be awesome, Mr. Pines, but I got work.”
Stan’s face contorted into an expression of shock. “Wait, what? You’re passing up a chance ta slack off work?!” He reached up a tiny hand to feel Wendy’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?!”
She snorted and shoved him off. “Soos pays me extra if I stay through a whole shift. And I’m trying to save up for a car, so I need all the help I can get.”
“...So the secret to keeping you from slacking off was to pay you more?” Stan pondered this for a bit...and then shook his head. “Nah, it’s not worth it.”
Wendy laughed and punched his shoulder. “Later, dorks.” She started to walk past, before spinning around on one heel. “Oh, Dipper-loving the new hair. Gives you a kinda silver fox look.”
...Despite himself, Dipper couldn’t help blushing and grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. And then he sighed as he ignored a smirking Mabel and headed to the car, ready to share joint custody of the driver’s seat with Stan again.
The fact that Wendy only ever saw him as attractive when he was way older than her was probably a sign that he’d made the right choice in stopping pining over her.
Heh heh...pining.
Because he was a Pines.
...Oh crap, now he was starting to think dad jokes were funny.
We gotta get changed back soon.
********
...Sorry, Wendip fans, but I just don't see it happening.
It's not even the age difference, so much as that personality-wise, she strikes me as just staying a "cool big sis" figure to both him and Mabel.
(Also I'm kind of biased towards Dipcif-)
Nothing, you didn't see that.
Moving on.
#gravity falls#grunkle stan#grunkle ford#age swap#relatively relativity#ford wants coffee#getting ready to go#not wendip#sorry
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Food Brings You Together...Probably.
@elisheva9467 asked for a little slice of story with Stan and Ford. Ended up being a little longer than I thought. I have a headcanon that Stan likes to cook and this happened. Thanks for waiting elisheva
Stan was going to have to swallow a bit of his pride but it would be worth it if his plan worked.
“Hey Ford, I’m headed to the store. Would ya mind coming with me?”
His twin perked his head up from designing something for the boat at the question. A soft and understanding smile crossed his face.
“Of course.”
Now Ford thought he was coming along on the rare chance there was a memory incident. Ever since the not end of the world, Ford had been doing his best to help Stan out and he appreciated it, he really did. The real reason Stan was dragging him along though was to get his stubborn brother to eat a real meal. Ever since coming home Ford had consumed nothing but coffee and some sort of alien food pill. His hope was that Ford would eye something good and want to eat it. If not Stan had a few other ideas.
Three isles in and it was looking like the con man was going to have to appeal to his brother’s since of practicality. He started putting in every unhealthy food item he saw. He had cut out so many of his vices in his life that junk food had become one of the only ones Stan let himself indulge in but this was reaching ridiculous even for him. Ford finally noticed.
“Stan...do you really need 3 cartons of ice cream?”
“Eh, I’m old. I think I should eat what I want.”
To Stan’s frustration Ford didn’t argue. Alright time to pull out the big guns. He casually walked over to the stakes and started picking out nice ones. (Two of which went into his jacket pocket because good meat is too damn expensive)
“Besides everyone knows I’m the better cook in the family.”
“Now who says that?”
Bingo
“I might get a lot of take out but I also learned how to cook pretty good. I was always the one helping Ma out in the kitchen. You couldn’t make cereal without burning it.” Stan chortled.
“It’s cook pretty wel...I mean. I can cook just fine thank you.”
“Okay then, prove it. You cook dinner tonight and I’ll cook it tomorrow. Who ever makes the better meal is the better cook.”
“We both know we’ll pick our own meals Stan.”
“So we get Soos and his abuelita to be the judges. Don’t let them know who cooked what.”
Ford pondered for a moment then smiled. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me I have a few things to go get.”
While Ford was distracted Stan returned the ridiculous amount of junk food and got what he needed for his dinner. A few times Ford came up to Stan asking for a few weird things (”Does this store carry Ignatriumsis?” “Ford that’s not a real word in this dimension.”) they checked out and headed home.
Having grown used to cooking over an open fire Stan helped Ford pull out the old grill and then settled into his seat to watch TV. The shack was oddly quiet. Soos was finishing packing up his stuff in his old place and his abuelita was at bingo night. He missed the noise of the kids but a chance to relax was nice too. The old man began comfortably dozing.
Until there was the sound of a large fire roaring to life.
Stan scrambled to the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher and ran outside to quell whatever mishap his brother had created. Running outside there was a thin column of fire rising out of the grill at least 15 feet into the air but thankfully dying down. Behind the grill was Ford, smiling wide. If anyone were to summon hell fire to cook it would be Ford.
“What the actual fuck Sixer?”
“The coals refused to light so I did a little improvising.”
Stan threw the extinguisher at Ford who caught and went back inside to get his heart to stop racing a mile a minute.
Dinner was served around six. The four of them sat comfortably around the table. Still a little quiet without the kids but still pleasant. On their plates was grilled chicken, corn covered in Mexican crema and cotija (Stan knew what Ford was up to. Playing up to the old ladies’ nostalgia. Clever.) and green beans. It honestly did look very good. Ford had marinated the chicken in something zesty which was delicious but the chicken was a tad bit burnt. Soos’ Abuelita hummed in pleasure eating the corn and which lead to a few stories of her childhood. After dinner the twins did the dishes while the other two went to watch TV.
“Alright. I can admit when I enjoy a meal,” Stan said.
“Why thank you Stanley.”
“But I’m going to blow you out of the water tomorrow.”
The next day Stan found himself itching to get to dinner time. In all honesty he liked to cook, was decent at it too if you asked him. One of the few things he let himself enjoy after being financially stable enough was good food. Nothing fancy really (unless he could sneak it out of the store) but it was nice to have three square meals a day after going so long wondering where his next meal was coming from. The only reason he ate out with the kids so much this summer is those little gremlins took up a lot of energy. Between that and the portal he was wiped most days. It was nice to be cooking again.
Stan seasoned the steaks and let them sit a bit while he got the baked potatoes ready. There was even going to be a fancy cesar salad with shaved parmesan. Salad was normally classified as ‘rabbit food’ but Ford would like it.
Stan downed each of the stakes in butter and garlic careful to make it how he knew everyone liked it. This wasn’t the first time he had made dinner for Soos and his abuelita and maybe that was slightly cheating but he didn’t really care. Let’s see...he liked his rare, Abuelita liked hers closer to well, Soos liked a nice medium, and he figured Ford would like it that was as well.
Dinner was once again nice and pleasant. Stan had finally gotten used to having people constantly joining him for dinner. It was weird at first but he found that he rather enjoyed it. Soos was almost done with moving and the boys shared their plans to go to the coast tomorrow. They would be getting home late but the perfect Stan of War II was waiting to be bought. Before after dinner clean up Stan cleared his throat.
“Okay before we head off for the night we got something to ask you two. Which dinner did you like better?”
Their judges pondered for a moment.
“I liked tonight’s the best. Love me some steak,” Soos said.
“I actually liked last night’s dinner better. Not that tonight wasn’t delicious as well.”
Ford chuckled, “Perhaps we needed a third judge.”
“Meh doesn’t matter. Got you to do what I wanted so I’ll call that a win.”
Ford shot him a confused look. “Was this a...what exactly was your goal here?”
“To get ya to eat a real damn meal.”
“Oh.”
Soos and his abuelita quietly left the kitchen although Stan was certain they were still listening.
“Look I know I don’t eat that well but living off alien pills and coffee can’t be much better for ya. Besides I’ve learned to be a pretty good cook. ‘Bout the only thing I’ve gotten good at. You’re going to be doin’ all the science stuff on this trip the least I can do it cook shit but that doesn’t help if ya don’t eat.” Stan stood and began aggressively scrubbing at the dishes.
“Stan you’re not just along to be the cook or to be some sort of help. I want to go on an adventure with my brother. We could go anywhere really as long as we’re having fun.”
The old man turned “Can that include a warm place or two? Maybe pick up some babes?”
“I will schedule babes into the itinerary. With three...or at least one square meal a day.”
Stan barked out a laugh, “Only one?”
“I’m trying to be realistic.”
The next night the boys got home very late but with a new boat to make their own in tow. Stan had planned on just hitting the hey when they got in but the twins were met with the most heavenly smell when they opened the door. They found Soos in the den already in a food coma and his abuelita setting out two plates with some of the most mouth watering food they had ever seen. Beef tamales with a slight bit of steam rising off of them and cilantro rice.
“You were so nice to cook dinner the past two nights I figured it was my turn.” She chirped happily.
Ford and Stan dug in and Stan was pretty sure he ascended to heaven for a moment. Everything was melt in your mouth good. He looked his twin in the eye.
“She wins.” They said at the same time.
#Gravity Falls#gravity falls fanfiction#My writing#Requests#food mention#lots of food mentions#swearing#unbeta'd#do not tag as stancest#that goes for all my stuff but just felt the need to repeat it
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Carnival: Trial by Fire
This story was written for @vic-kovac for the @b99fandomevents Fall 2019 Fic Exchange. Vic-kovac, I was SO EXCITED to get you as my prompter because I love your writing so much and your prompts were all fantastic (in fact, there may be a second story coming along...). I hope you like this!
Thank you to my always amazing beta, @fezzle. I don’t want to think about what I’d do without you, Z.
The prompt I chose: The Santiagos have an annual family tradition and Amy takes Jake along (fluff, early established relationship). To the story! (Or read on A03!)
Part 1: Amy
Jake had splurged on express delivery but the new mattress still wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the weekend, so they were at Amy’s apartment, in Amy’s bed, under Amy’s floral comforter when she dropped the bomb.
“I talked to my mom today,” Amy said, casual-like, her nose in a crossword puzzle. Maybe too casual-like.
“Hm,” Jake said. He was playing a game on his phone. Amy peeped over his shoulder at the screen. It looked like it involved harvesting pumpkins, which was season-appropriate, at least.
“I told her about us.”
Jake gave her a side glance, then set his phone in his lap. “You did?”
“I did.”
Jake waited while Amy pretended to return to her puzzle, tapping the cap of her pen against her lower lip. Finally he chuckled and tore the paper out of her hands.
“Jake-”
“What did she say? Are we in the clear or is this going to be a Romeo and Juliet situation?”
“For the last time, we’re never going to be a Romeo and Juliet situation.” Amy said, scowling at him. “Do you still not remember how that play ends?”
“No, and stop trying to avoid the question.”
“Jake, it’s a double suici-” But she noted the stormy look on Jake’s face and caved. “She’s happy for me – for us. She’s only disappointed that she can’t be here for Thanksgiving so my dad’s going to get to meet you before she does.”
Jake chuckled. “Is everything in your family a competition?”
“Yes.”
Jake gave her a slow nod at that, the look on his face part bemused, part concerned – Amy figured she was going to see a lot more of that when it came to her family – but then he smiled. And it was a smile that made his whole face go soft, his eyes wide and warm, and she couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss his mouth.
“Thank you,” Jake said, gentle and sincere, when she’d pulled away.
“You’re welcome,” Amy said.
They both sat back against the headboard again, phone and puzzle in hands. Amy bit her lip and glanced at his profile. He looked so relaxed, so content, that she almost felt bad.
“Mom also said this means you have to come to the annual carnival.”
Jake hummed his acknowledgment again, then his brows knit in bemusement and he said, “What now?”
“It’s a Santiago tradition,” Amy said. “You’re going to love it.”
In truth, she thought he might hate it. There was a slim but real chance their relationship might not survive it.
“A carnival,” Jake said. He nodded to himself and then grinned at her. “Sounds fun, babe.”
She did not correct him.
Part 2: Nick
The carnival was really more of a neighborhood block party, started by Victor Santiago back when he was a sergeant in the 103rd precinct. The Santiago children had been enlisted as volunteers since the very first carnival, when it was just a barbecue and some folding chairs and kids kicking rotten Halloween pumpkins in the street. Over the years it had become a neighborhood institution, with hundreds of people turning out over the afternoon and into the evening – it was a way for families old and new to reconnect, for residents to take pride in their community, and for the local cops to show their soft underbellies and let kids throw pies in their faces.
Victor and Camila had moved away years ago, but the Santiago siblings by unspoken agreement had kept up their participation. Though the Santiagos no longer organized the event and none of them lived in the neighborhood anymore, they always attended, along with a growing cadre of Amy’s nieces and nephews and associated girlfriends and boyfriends and in-laws. Not one sibling had missed a single carnival – not Amy when she’d been sick with pneumonia, or Ivan when his wife had given birth two days before, or David, who had turned down a commendation from the mayor so he could attend the 2012 fair. (He got the medal anyway, in a private ceremony at the mayor’s own home. Bruce Willis had been there. It was a long story. Amy planned to never tell Jake.)
Some might say it had become a competition among Amy and her brothers to see who would attend the most carnivals. Amy just called it a nice family tradition.
As she walked hand in hand with Jake up the subway stairs, she could hear the screeches of small children and the familiar strains of Cuban salsa coming from above. The exit deposited them half a block from the carnival, which was just getting started, volunteers hustling around with arms full of raffle tickets and platters of meat to be barbecued even as the first families with young children began meandering among the booths. Autumn-colored streamers were strung between tents and someone had dusted the ground with straw to add to the seasonal effect. Amy could already smell the odd but intoxicating aroma of roasting meat and pumpkin spice.
She insisted on paying the $5 entry for each of them, then paused to take a deep breath and smile at the familiarity of it all. She turned to Jake to ask what he thought, and his eyes were warm and bright as he took it in. She took his left arm in both her hands and snuggled in close to him, suddenly so happy to have him here in this place like home.
And then he was tugged right out of her hands and she looked up to find Nick with an arm slung around Jake’s shoulders – or more like his neck – in a fairly aggressive way.
“Nick!”
“Sorry, sis, this is Jake, right? I need to borrow him for a minute. Jake, I’m Nick, Amy’s favorite little brother.”
“Uh-” Jake said.
As he was dragged away, Jake looked back over his shoulder at Amy, all the warmth from just a moment before replaced by wide-eyed fear. Amy waved at him and called after Nick, “You’d better not break him! Nick!”
An hour later, after helping one of the neighborhood abuelitas sell raffle tickets, Amy excused herself and went hunting for her boyfriend. She found him in a booth amid the snack tents. He was grinning madly as he handed an enormous pile of cotton candy, wound precariously atop a cardboard stick, to a girl who couldn’t have been older than 5, and whose mother looked horrified. The spun sugar was bright pink and larger than the child’s head.
Jake saw Amy and his eyes went wide and he frantically looked all around the tent, then mouthed “help me.” He had wisps of pink and blue sugar in his hair and the wild-eyed look of a man who’d been eating samples of pure sugar for an hour. Amy grabbed his sticky hand and hissed, “come with me,” and snuck him out the back, right under Nick’s nose.
Part 3: Omar
She took him to one of the family restrooms to wash up, though there wasn’t much they could do for his hair – the sugar seemed to have embedded itself in his curls. Amy had only the faintest memories of eating cotton candy as a child, of the way it melted on her tongue like something ephemeral and unnatural, not entirely of this world. She was afraid that some kind of chemical reaction had taken place on Jake’s head.
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what Nick was thinking putting you on cotton candy duty right out of the gate,” Amy said, as they left the bathroom, Jake still scrubbing his hair with a paper towel.
He shrugged and smiled at her easily enough. “I love cotton, and I love candy, I just had no idea that when you put them together things got so…sticky.”
“You know that cotton candy isn’t cotton.”
“You’re so cute when you’re wrong,” Jake said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Anyway, Nick was nice.”
“Nice? Nick?”
“Sure,” Jake said, shooting her a bemused look. “Is he not nice?”
“He’s not not-nice,” Amy said, which seemed to confuse Jake even more. “He’s just-”
But then Omar sprung up between them, as if out of thin air, and slid his arms around both of their shoulders.
“Amy! I can’t believe you haven’t introduced me yet!”
Amy rolled her eyes and said to Jake, “Jake, this is my brother Omar. Omar, Jake.”
“Much better. Now off you go, Amy. Mrs. Hernandes was asking for you over at the cake walk,” Omar said, and began to push Amy away, definitely with more force than a cake walk required.
She reached for Jake’s hand, but Omar batted her away. “I’ve got your boy,” he said. “Jake, you look like a man who knows a thing or two about ring tossing…” And they faded into the crowd.
When Mrs. Hernandes released her from the cake walk – “Uptown Funk” was going to be playing in her head for the rest of her life – Amy wandered back over to the game booths, and found Jake easily enough. The ring toss was surrounded by kids five or six deep, and when she squirmed her way to the front she couldn’t even manage surprise at what she saw. Jake and Omar stood side by side, fire in their eyes and plastic rings in hand as a bedraggled looking volunteer straightened the lines of two-liter bottles they would be aiming for.
“Best of ten tosses,” Omar said.
Jake narrowed his eyes and smirked, and Amy instantly recognized his game face. “I win, I get to date your sister.”
“Hey!” Amy said.
“Oh hey, babe,” Jake said cheerfully, grinning at her before returning his stony stare to Omar.
Omar glowered and said, “I win, you still get to date my sister and you have to play Santa Claus at my kids’ Christmas pageant.”
They shook on it, and Amy honestly was so embarrassed for both of them that she couldn’t bear to watch.
“The trophy is going to see if they need any help with the puppet show,” Amy said, and squeezed her way back through the crowd. She rolled her eyes as the kids erupted into cheers when someone scored a point.
Part 4: Ivan
Amy ate lunch with a few of her old neighbors, laughing over plates of carnitas as she got caught up on all the gossip on the kids she’d grown up with. After, she figured it was about time to hunt down Jake again and make sure he hadn’t been handcuffed to a lamppost by one of her brothers as a prank. She shivered at the recollection of the Carnival ‘03 Incident.
She’d gone two circuits of the carnival, and was starting to get concerned that he’d been smuggled off-site, before she found him – and did an immediate double-take. He was in the face-painting booth, eyes narrowed as he carefully traced the delicate, unmistakable lines of a butterfly wing on the cheek of a little boy. Jake was intensely focused, his tongue stuck in one corner of his mouth, hand holding the child’s head in place while he worked. It was sweet to see him so attentive, but that wasn’t what had caught Amy’s eye.
It was the pink unicorn painted on one of Jake’s cheeks, with a rainbow of poop shooting out of its butt and across his forehead.
Amy smacked her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Her only option was a hasty retreat. She backed up a few steps, careful not to draw his attention, then spun on her heel and prepared to make a run for it. Only she ran smack into Ivan, the tallest and widest of her brothers. He caught her around the forearms and steadied her when she bounced right of his chest.
“Whoa, where you off to so fast?” Ivan said.
Amy looked back over her shoulder at Jake, but he was still working on his butterfly. Her eyes watered from the effort of not laughing.
“I have to help with the, uh, thing,” Amy said, waving her hand vaguely. She was glad Ivan was not the brightest of her brothers.
“Okay, just look where you’re going,” he said, and Amy nodded vigorously.
She started to walk away, but turned after a moment and said, “Ivan, what do you think about Jake?”
Ivan looked back into the tent at Jake, and shrugged. “Seems like a good guy. He’s kind of a shitty face painter, though.”
Part 5: Tony
“Amy! Hey, Amy! Santiago!”
Amy looked up from the table where she was making beaded friendship bracelets with a group of 9-year-old girls. Tony was poking his head through the back of the craft tent.
“What’s up?”
“Your boyfriend, does he have any allergies?”
Amy frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. “Bees,” she said.
“Okay, but no, like, food allergies?”
“Not that I know of,” Amy said.
“Does he have a heart condition?” Amy shook her head. “What about phobias? Fear of heights? Enclosed spaces? How is he with spiders?”
“Tony-”
“Oh! There he is. Later, sis!”
Tony disappeared and Amy wondered if she should follow him.
“I think your boyfriend might be in trouble,” one of the 9-year-olds said.
Amy propped her chin in her hand and nodded.
“Do you think he’ll break up with you if he gets bit by a spider?” another 9-year-old said.
“No, he’d probably think that’s really cool,” Amy said.
The girls all nodded sagely.
“Boys,” one said.
“Men,” Amy said, and knotted a new bracelet for Jake.
Part 6: Eddie
She wasn’t dumb or naïve. She’d expected her brothers to run Jake through the gauntlet at the annual carnival. She just hadn’t expected to see him sitting atop a pony that her 3-year-old nephew was pulling along by a rope.
“Isn’t he a little big for the pony?” Amy said to Eddie, who was leaning against the fenced enclosure and chewing on a blade of hay.
“Mason was scared so Jake offered to show him it was no big deal,” Eddie said.
Amy nodded and hoped that Mason didn’t noticed the white-knuckled grip Jake had on the saddle horn. At least it was a large pony – she thought it might actually be a small horse – so Jake probably wasn’t going to break its back. That would really freak out the children. Amy dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and debated briefly over whether to take photos or video, before deciding on both.
“Jake’s all right,” Eddie said, after the pony had trotted a few loops.
Amy slipped her phone back in her pocket and crossed her arms over the top of the fence, and hummed her agreement. Jake was the first boyfriend she’d brought to one of these carnivals, and though she’d been nervous for him because her brothers were all competitive jerks (she loved them, really), she hadn’t doubted for a second that they would like him. Her parents were going to be the real test.
When Mason finally called the pony to a stop with a very firm “whoa,” Jake slid off the animal’s back and walked a bit bow-legged to where they were watching.
“Nice riding, cowboy,” Amy said, grinning up at him. The pooping unicorn paint-job was still in remarkably good shape.
Jake kissed her on the cheek and tilted his head to one side to say in her ear, “If you tell anyone-”
“I already sent the photos to Gina.”
She kissed the corner of his mouth and backed up with a little wave.
“You’re a demon!” Jake called after her. “A harvest demon! That’s a thing!”
Amy blew him a kiss as Eddie threw an arm over his shoulder and pulled him back to the ponies.
Part 7: David
Amy was sipping Mexican hot chocolate, watching the older couples dancing as the sun started to set and everything was turning golden and a little fuzzy around the edges, when Manny sidled up next to her and gave her a one-armed hug. She knew they were both thinking about their parents, and how they’d always closed down the carnival dancing, until they were the only couple left on the floor. When Amy was a child, the carnival wasn’t over until Victor dipped Camila and kissed her in front of everyone, and all the old men and women whistled and cheered and the kids groaned, and finally the last of the colored lights strung up and down the blocks were turned off.
“Where’s Jake?” she said to Manny, after they’d watched in silence for a while.
Manny fumbled in his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. “According to the group text, he’s in the first aid tent with David.”
“Group text?” Amy said with a frown. “I haven’t had anything on the group text all day.”
“Oh, right.” Manny scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Uh-”
“Oh my god. I’m not on this group text,” Amy said, a cold realization washing over her. “You guys really are trying to break my boyfriend.”
“Not break!” Manny said, throwing his hands up. “Just, you know, bend. A little.”
Amy groaned and rolled her eyes. “You guys are aware that it’s 2015 and I’m in my 30s and basically half of you are younger than me, right?”
“Yeah, we know-”
“Also, Jake can handle whatever you losers throw at him so bring it,” Amy said, and downed the rest of her hot chocolate. “And yes, I know I’m being a hypocrite but I’ve got the moral high ground here.”
She gave Manny a quick hug and punched him – hard – in the shoulder and took off for the first aid tent. Though David was probably the least likely of her brothers to cause physical damage to Jake, she was still deeply unsettled by the idea of them spending time alone together. Amy knew she was being just a little bit hysterical, but still: What if Jake liked David more than he liked her?
As Amy neared the back of the tent, she heard David before she saw him. “And now you peel off the plastic strip – no, not both sides at once! Wait, here, let me-”
“I know how to put on a Band-Aid,” said Jake.
“But there’s the correct way and there’s the way that lets flesh-eating bacteria fester,” said David.
The sudden loud sob of a child cut off the rest of their conversation. Amy smirked to herself and poked her head into a break between tent flaps. Jake was crouched beside a chair, and a curly-haired little boy was clinging to him like a monkey, face buried in Jake’s shoulder. David stood over them, cleaning his hands with a disinfectant wipe.
“I’ll radio the on-duty officers and see if they’ve had any luck finding his mom,” David said and headed toward the front of the tent.
“Yeah, you do that,” Jake muttered. He stood with the child still hanging off him, then settled himself in the chair and arranged the kid so he was curled on his lap. The boy looked like he was 4 or 5, and he had a fresh bandage on one knee and tears smudging the tiger stripes painted on his face.
“What’s flesh-eating bacteria?” the boy said with a hiccup.
Jake stroked a palm over the boy’s hair and said, “It’s like cooties, but for adults. And don’t tell anyone, okay, but that guy? He’s covered in flesh-eating bacteria.”
“Is that why his face looks so stuck up?” the boy said. Amy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Yep,” Jake said, patting the kid on top of the head. “You’ve got it.”
Jake and the kid made up a long, complicated, very detailed story about the origin of flesh-eating bacteria and how David got it. Amy watched them until the boy’s mom showed up, and he gave Jake a hug and made Jake kiss his knee. Both of her legs were asleep by the time she stood up and limped off to her next volunteer assignment. It was worth it.
Part 8: Manny
“There’s no way I can do this, Ames. I give up!”
“Oh- well, okay. You want to go home then?” Amy tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. He’d been doing so well.
“What? No! I meant how am I supposed to pick a winner when they all look the same?” He gestured desperately at the costumed kids lining up on the parade route. “There are like 20 Jedi knights out there!”
“Oh yeah,” Amy said, peering over his shoulder.
Jake had been “randomly selected” as the sole judge of this year’s costume contest – the main event of the carnival for the neighborhood kids. (It was one of the holdovers from the earliest carnivals, which had always taken place around Halloween. The year they’d moved the carnival into mid-November they’d canceled the contest, and the kids had revolted. Nick, the youngest of the Santiagos and the only one still dressing up for Halloween, had led the riots.) Manny had told Jake that costume judge was a position of high honor as he placed the paper crown on Jake’s head. But Amy could tell Jake wasn’t buying it.
Indeed, it was a vastly unenviable job. There were three dozen eager, doe-eyed 3- to 10-year-olds vying for the prize. And 11 of them were Santiagos.
“You know, back when I was a kid we valued creativity,” Jake said, still staring down the Jedis.
“Oh yeah?” said Manny, who was half-heartedly trying to get the kids to line up by height. “And what’d you dress up for Halloween?”
“Are you sure you weren’t John McClane very year?” Amy said.
“I will give you ages 7 through 14,” Jake said.
“Fourteen?” Amy said, horrified.
“I meant 10,” Jake said. “Anyway. Before that I was a scarecrow-”
“Cute,” Amy said.
“E.T.”
“Adorable,” Manny said.
“Airline pilot.”
“Oh, that’s sad,” Amy said.
“Yeah. Then the next year I was George Michael.”
“Wait-” Amy said. “What?” Manny said.
“I was 6 and my mom was going through some stuff and listening to a lot of ‘Careless Whisper’ and you know what, never mind,” Jake said.
Someone blew a whistle then, loud enough to make a bunch of kids start crying. Amy wasn’t surprised to see David was the source – he was waving his arms wildly at Manny, clearly annoyed by the chaos on the parade line. Amy kissed Jake on the (non-unicorn) cheek and wished him good luck, and took her place with the rest of the volunteers wrangling kids. Jake sat alone on a folding chair that had been draped in fake orange velvet, with crepe-paper autumn leaves stapled all over. The costume judge was also deemed the carnival king (or queen), though Amy didn’t think anyone had told Jake that. They also probably hadn’t told him that when the judging was over he’d be manhandled to the official pie-throwing wall, which was sort of self-explanatory. Amy quickly checked her phone to make sure she had plenty of storage.
“Monster Mash” suddenly blasted out over the speakers mounted around the parade block and the first kids marched off in front of Jake. Amy stepped back and watched with a grin as Jake sat straight in his chair, the same focus in his eyes that she’d seen a hundred times when he was surveying a crime scene, not missing a thing. Manny came up on one side of her and Omar on the other, and she felt more than saw them make eye contact over the top of her head.
“Stop talking about me,” she said, nudging them both with her elbows.
“I’m just saying, if he doesn’t pick Matthew, your boy’s in trouble,” Omar said.
“Oh please,” Amy said, “that little Taylor Swift’s got it in the bag.”
Part 9: Amy
Amy toed off her sneakers and climbed through the flap of the bounce house. It was well past dark, but in the dim, checkered light cast by the streetlamps, she had no problem making out Jake, sprawled spread eagle in the middle of the plastic floor. His eyes were closed, and tufts of whipped cream still clung to his curls, and though most of the painted unicorn was long gone she could still make out a smudge of rainbow poop across his brow.
She smiled to herself and crawled toward him, the inflated structure squeaking and wobbling under her weight. She stretched out beside him, and rested her head against his chest. He smelled like ponies and apple cider and sweet-rotten pumpkin and barbecue – like all of her best childhood memories. When he lifted a hand to stroke back her hair, she saw that he had about a dozen friendship bracelets on his arm, and a gauze bandage wrapped carelessly around his palm.
“Did I pass?” he said, voice still a bit croaky after all the yelling during the pie-throwing.
“With flying colors,” Amy said, and snuggled deeper into his side. She took his hand and kissed the palm, not sure if she wanted to know what had happened there. “Are you okay?”
“Hm,” he hummed, and she glanced up to see that he was smiling.
Amy let them lie there for a while, listening to the faint, familiar strains of bossa nova and imagining the couples dancing under the fairy lights. Maybe one day she and Jake would be one of those old couples, closing down the carnival while their sleepy children watched quietly and drank the last of the hot chocolate. She knew she was getting way ahead of herself – they’d only been dating a couple of months, after all – but she let herself indulge in the fantasy, just for now.
When she finally started to get cold, and she could hear the calls of volunteers tearing down tents, she sat up slowly and kissed Jake on a clean spot on his forehead, and then again on the mouth. She couldn’t resist lingering there, lips parting without a thought. She felt his sigh as he opened his mouth to her, letting her in. She was just starting to get warmed up when she went to run her fingers through his hair and got caught in a sticky tangle of sugar-coated curls. Amy chuckled into his mouth and pulled away.
“Come on,” she said, wiping her hand on her jeans, “let’s go home.”
He groaned sleepily and said, “This bounce house is home, Ames. I live here now.”
Amy laughed and tugged on both of his hands until he reluctantly sat up. “That new mattress isn’t going to break itself in, you know.”
At that Jake ducked his head and laughed, and they both clambered awkwardly out of the house, and crouched to slide their shoes back on. Amy took his hand again and led him away from the lights and the noise of the clean-up crews – she figured they’d earned an early exit.
“Next year I think I’ll just stick with the ring toss. Maybe face-painting if I can get Ivan to teach me how to do a dragon,” Jake said.
“Next year?” Amy said.
“Yeah,” Jake said, looping his arm over her shoulders. “And next year, David is carnival king.”
THE END
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The Air Between Us
Chapter Seven: Mari turns eighteen and Oscar finally lets her in.
Warning: this fic deals with dark themes, including but not limited to teen pregnancy, rape, drug abuse, murder, abortion, underage drinking and underage sex.
Read the other chapters here
I wrote 90% of this when I was sick and by the time I finished I couldn’t be bothered going back to proofread so I apologise if parts of it don’t make sense.
The Martinez house was full - Mari didn’t know this many people could fit in this tiny four-bedroom. That was part of the problem though. It was Saturday night, Mari’s birthday. Abuelita had made her a gorgeous dress - deep red, crushed velour with spaghetti straps and a hem that fell just above the floor - though Ruby took part of the credit as he bragged about how he snaked Mari’s phone and scrolled her Pinterest boards for inspiration. She felt beautiful, like a star, she was far from the centre of attention.
Most everyone here was extended Martinez family and Ruby’s friends and while she appreciated the effort Ruby had made, she really didn’t know what to do with herself. When people would come to speak to her, it was usually a friend or family member of Geny’s who only wanted to get the scoop on Ruben’s long lost daughter.
She felt suffocated and overwhelmed, but at the same time she felt alone. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had eyes on her everywhere she went, yet no one seemed to be taking the time to get to know her. She never thought she’d miss the birthdays she spent alone at her mother’s house, but at least there, she didn’t feel like a sideshow act.
She hadn’t heard from her mother since the other day, though she also had made a point of not answering private numbers. She blocked her mother’s number and she didn’t mention to anyone because she didn’t want to make a big deal of it. She was fine here, at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Fuck,” she muttered to herself as she glanced around the room, desperate for a distraction, something to keep her mind occupied, her hands busy and her nerves down.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, Jasmine - one of Ruby’s classmates that she had met earlier tonight - walked past with a plate of what looked like mini fajitas.
‘Food, perfect!’ She thought, reaching out an arm to stop Jasmine.
“Girl,” she said, taking the plate from Jasmine’s hands, “gimme that food,”
Without hesitation, Mari bit the fajita off the toothpick in one clean bite. And then the second, and the third. And the fourth. And the-
“Damn, girl!” Jasmin said with a smile. “I gotta admit, you looked like another one of them skinny bitches but shit, you can eat! Oh, but girl, don’t worry; I’m into it, I’m into it,”
“Jasmine, these are so good!” Mari said, eating a few more. She liked Jasmine, the girl seemed genuinely interested in knowing Mari - when she wasn’t trying to get the goss, anyway.
“I know right!” Jasmine replied, popping one in her mouth, “my mom made them a couple weeks ago and she was just going to throw them out but I was like damn, what a waste! So I just reheated ‘em girl, no big deal,”
Mari stopped eating immediately. “Wait, weeks? Jasmine, this is chicken - how old are these?”
Jasmine shrugged, “like two, three weeks? Don’t worry though, I heated them up for lunch yesterday, they’re fine!”
“Yesterday? How many times have they been reheated?” Mari shook her head, “actually, no. I don’t wanna know,”
Resigning herself to the fact that she probably just contracted salmonella or something, Mari headed for the bathroom.
“Mari!”
Ruby. She really didn’t know if she could deal with his right now - there were too many people she didn’t know staring and whispering about her and she just ate three-week-old chicken.
“Ruby, I’m pretty sure I just got food poisoning from Jasmine’s chicken fajitas so I really need to go and vomit now,” she said, exasperated. She didn’t mean to be rude, but she was over it. “Is this important?”
“No, that’s perfect!” Ruby said, eyes lighting up. He grabbed a nearby chair and climbed onto it, standing so that he could yell above the crowd, “Yo, everyone! Mari ain’t feeling well so she’s gonna go throw up! I’d avoid the bathroom until she comes out!”
Mari gaped at him until he clambered back down.
“Ruby, what the hell?”
“It’s fine,” he said as he opened the bathroom door and shoved her inside, “have fun!”
The door closed behind her and she stood for a moment, unsure what the hell just happened, and then she noticed something.
To the side of the window that was opposite the door, there was a piece of lined notebook paper stuck to the wall. Written in colourful markers, that paper read “EXIT THIS WAY”, complete with hand-drawn arrows pointing to the window. Beneath that was a chair with another note atop it. She made her way over to the chair and picked up the sticky note.
The note read: I know it’s small, but it’s the only window without bars on it. Sorry! :(
Mari giggled and curiosity got the best of her. She dragged the chair to the window and, though it took a bit of contortion, she shimmied her way out. When she was finally outside (and breathing fresh air for what felt like the first time in years) she looked around and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped when she saw what was waiting for her.
Standing near the gate was Oscar, clad in his usual shorts and white socks, complete with a black wife-beater, but in his hands was a small cake with a handful of candles on top.
“Ruby thought you would be feeling a bit out of place,” Spooky said plainly, as though just the sight of him wasn’t making her heart beat so hard it could break her ribcage.
What was he doing here? After everything that had happened between them that week, the last thing she was expecting was Spooky to turn up.
“So he arranged me a...you? With a cake?” She asked with a laugh as she walked over to him.
“The cake was my idea,” he said and handed it to her, “it’s red velvet; the red colour comes from beetroot, sounds weird but it tastes good,”
She smiled down at the cake, too embarrassed to face him with her bright red face. He made her a cake? What was he doing to her?
“Well, Ruby knows me well,” Mari said, “I couldn’t wait to get out of there,”
Spooky gave a half shrug and offered a simple solution. “So, lets get out of here,”
From the moment he said it, Mari knew she shouldn’t leave with him. It would be rude - to Ruby, who planned this, and Geny, who was letting all these people trash her house, and Ruben who would be so worried - but the idea of going back in there made her throat close up.
The answer was simple; she wasn’t about to pass up some time with Oscar.
“Let’s go,” she said with a nod and a smile. It was a bad idea, she was only going to cause herself more embarrassment and heartache, but he had this power over her and she couldn’t stay away.
“You look good in that dress, mami,” he said. He was taking care to stay about a foot away from her, but she didn’t miss the way he eyed her up and down, “real good,”
“Thanks, Abuelita made it for me,”
He cleared his throat and said, “it, uh, fits real well,”
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.
“I wanted to,”
The line gave her all kinds of contradicting feelings; a deep heat in her stomach and a cold, icy hand that wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
She couldn’t keep this up, she needed to get over him and he wasn’t helping.
Mari stopped walking and turned to him. “Then what I mean is you can’t keep doing this,”
He paused and asked: “and why is that?”
And then he continued walking. With a sigh, Mari walked with him. Maybe this conversation would be easier if they weren’t facing each other.
“Surprising me,” she said, “the cake, telling me you aren’t involved, letting me know I look good. You know I’m into you and you’ve made it clear you aren’t into me. Doing all of this shit isn’t helping me get over you,”
At some point as she spoke they had reached Oscar’s house. The lights were on but the place was quiet; Mari suspected that this was a rare occasion no one was home. Spooky didn’t say anything as he unlocked the door. Neither did Mari.
Did she want to know what he was thinking? Yes. He looked so deep in thought though, cute frown on his face and a small pout, and Mari didn’t want to push him in case she pushed too hard and he put those walls up.
He led her inside and locked the door behind him. Oscar took the cake from Mari’s hands and set it on the kitchen bench on their way through. His hand was pressed against her lower back as they walked through the vaguely familiar hall to his room. His hand was warm and Mari was loving the feeling of his hands on her. The tingles were back.
“When did I say I wasn’t into you?” He asked as Mari sat on the edge of his bed, making herself comfortable.
“At the party, when I kissed you,” she answered.
He made his way over to her and sat beside her. This situation was all too familiar and she was starting to get antsy. Why did this feel so intimate?
Spooky looked at her, he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke. “I said it wasn’t a good idea; I never said I didn’t want it,”
“So...what are you saying now?”
“That,” Spooky shrugged and looked away, “maybe you triggered my chemical reaction too,”
It suddenly became too hot and Mari’s hands were getting clammy, her heart racing. What is he saying? She shut up as he continued.
“I didn’t know for sure at first, that I was into you. I knew you were fine,” he raked his eyes down her body, “and I knew I wanted a piece, but it wasn’t until I saw you at the store the other day. I was with you, and then she walked in and it just sorta clicked in my brain. I wasn’t interested in her. Not when you were around,”
Mari’s world was spinning. Her feelings were returned - she wasn’t crazy! She wanted to kiss him again, but she wouldn’t risk it yet. He had to make the first move this time.
Instead, she asked: “and what does that mean for us now?”
His answer broke her heart all over again.
“It means I still don’t think it’s a good idea,”
“Why?” She snapped. She couldn’t keep doing this. She wanted to leave, and she was definitely going to, but she needed answers to get closure, “Is it my age? My family? What is it?”
“It’s my life!” He yelled back, “You can’t be safe with me, Mari. The Prophet$...they’re unpredictable. Yeah, most of the time they won’t shoot when your woman is around, but that don’t mean they won’t use you to get to me. I won’t risk you,”
Mari wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. He had good reasons and she had to respect his decision.
But she couldn’t deny she still wanted him.
Maybe they couldn’t be together long-term, or in any sort of serious capacity, but did that mean they couldn’t be together at all? She wanted him, that much was simple, and he wanted her back.
“One night,” she said, turning to him and letting her hands rest on his knees, “just give me one night. I like you, you like me. Sex has never been presented to me as a positive thing and I want to change that. I want my first time to be with someone I trust. It doesn’t have to be a thing, no strings and...no feelings. Tomorrow we can act like nothing happened and go back to being just friends,”
“I don’t know, Mari,” he said, “Aren’t there already feelings,”
“So,” she said as she scooted closer, “call it closure,”
Oscar paused and glanced at her lips, covered in a thin layer of gloss all plump and shimmering. He knew it was a bad idea, but he wanted her. One night wouldn’t hurt, right? Closure. Right. One night with her and then he would know what it was like to be with her and he could finally get it out of his head.
Right?
The devil on his shoulder won out once again as he cupped her cheek and captured her lips with his. The gloss tasted like strawberry and her lips were softer than he had imagined. She let out a small whimper as she melted into the kiss. The sound urged Spooky on and he took it as an invitation to swipe his tongue across her lower lip and slide it into her mouth.
She fumbled a little but picked it up quickly as she returned the kiss with fervour. She pressed her body closer to his and he let his hand fall to her hips. He grabbed her tight and pulled her onto his lap as they kissed. She knelt across him, knees on either side of his legs and dress pushed up to her thighs.
Spooky’s hands found their way to her ass and slid under her dress, pushing the dress up further and grabbing handfuls of her thick backside as she started to slowly grind against him. Oscar’s hands fumbled with the zipper on her dress as he relished in the friction she was creating.
“Look at me, mami,” Oscar’s gravelly voice ordered, sending shivers down her spine. She obeyed, meeting his hooded eyes with her own.
He stood from the bed with her in his arms and kissed her once more before he set her down gently. The spaghetti straps slid over her shoulders and the dress fell to the floor in a cascade of crushed velour. In only a pair of peach, nylon-seamfree panties, she would’ve felt embarrassed were it not for the way Spooky’s eyes darkened with lust at the sight of her. Instinctually, she brought her arm up to cover her chest.
“Your turn,” she ordered, feeling brave despite her pounding heart.
Mari enjoyed the show as Oscar removed his own clothing. She noticed the way each of his muscles moved as he pulled the wife-beater over his head, revealing his tan skin. The sight sent heat pooling to her core, she could already feel the wetness between her legs. Once he was clad in only his briefs, he bridged the distance between them. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her body into his. Mari felt his erection press against her and she wondered briefly if he is going to be gentle with her. He took her face in his hands and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, that alone was enough to dispel any doubt.
Oscar’s blood boiled as he felt her breasts press against his chest. Her black hair was still perfectly curled, but her cheeks were rosy, her lipgloss was smeared and her lips were kiss-swollen. She was truly beautiful and for just a moment, he wondered what the hell she was doing here with him. He brushed the thought aside quickly. He couldn’t think of a time he had wanted anyone else this badly. He wanted to rip off that dress, turn her around and take her. If it were up to him he would have, but this wasn’t up to him. This was Mari’s night and he wanted to make sure he took his time worshipping her.
Feeling bold, she slid her hand down his chest, past his stomach to his growing bulge. She touched him gently at first, but the way he began to press into her hand urged her on. Mari closed her eyes and let her head drop to his shoulder so he couldn’t see her blush as her instincts took over and she moved her hand up and down. He moaned softly into her ear and she could feel his thick length pulse.
With a growl, he threw her back onto the bed, as she landed she let out a small giggle. The sound was music to his ears and he smiled as he climbed over her, propping himself up on his elbow. His free hand tangled in her hair and he pulled her back for another kiss. She tasted like cheap champagne and cherry lip gloss and it was addictive. He kissed her hard, with confidence, but she could feel the hesitation on his tongue as it glided over her own.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t hold back. Kiss me like you mean it,”
He didn’t need to be told twice. All hesitation gone, he kissed her like it might be the last chance he got. His hand left her hair and found its way to her knee. His fingertips tickled the skin of her inner thigh as it trailed higher, higher, until he found the elastic of her panties. Pushing them aside, he let his fingers slide over her wet heat.
Mari’s hips bucked into his hand, begging for more friction. She had never felt anything like this, her body was on fire in the best way. Oscar sucked and nipped at the skin of Mari’s neck, then slid his tongue over her skin to soothe it. He repeated this as his fingers entered her, doing his best to distract her from the unfamiliar sensation. She cried out, a little in pain but mostly in pleasure.
“Want me to stop?” Oscar mumbled against her ear.
Mari shook her head.
“No, I want it,” she said. He continued pumping in and out of her, slowly at first but picking up speed as her hesitant whines turned to needy cries. Her back arched off the bed, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open. He couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to hear dirty words coming from that pretty mouth of hers. As much as he’d love it, he didn’t dwell on it. He wanted her to be comfortable, not pressured or pushed outside of her comfort zone.
A needy whimper escaped her lips when his fingers left her. She had never felt anything like that in her life, so euphoric and intimate and she never wanted it to end. Still, she couldn’t wait for what was still to come. When she glanced down, between her knees she could see the outline of his length straining against his briefs. From what she could make out it wasn’t too long, not that she had much to compare to, but he was thick and she wanted to feel him.
Oscar started to move off the bed and within a second Mari had grabbed his arm to stop him.
Where was he going? Was he having regrets? Did he not like it?
Mari’s mind, the part that is so afraid of rejection and being alone that she usually hides so well, was on overdrive.
“Where are you going?”
She hated the way her voice shook as she asked but then he looked at her with a soft smile, as though he was reading her mind. Warm, chapped lips met her forehead with a small kiss, something that felt both too innocent and too intimate in the moment.
“I’m getting a condom, baby,”
Mari tried to ignore the butterflies she got when he called her baby as she replied. “I’m on the pill, it’s okay,”
She wasn’t sure where the courage to say that came from, but she didn’t care when a cheeky smile spread across his face.
“You sure?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow in that way that makes Mari melt because she doesn’t understand how a single person can be that attractive. She could only nod, pulling him back to his position between her thighs.
She hooked her fingers around the band of his underwear, tugging them down as far as she could in his kneeled position. His cock sprang out of the cotton confines; he was bigger than she had thought and it excited her, but it also scared her. She bit her lip a little too hard to get rid of any hesitation and grabbed the base of his length, stroking him with a steady confidence, reminding herself it’s okay she has no skills because he already wants her.
Oscar hissed a “fuck” under his breath and, curious, Mari looked up at him to gauge his reaction. His brow was furrowed, but his mouth was slightly open and his deep brown eyes were staring at her with an intense hunger. Oscar made a low, guttural sound and grabbed Mari’s thighs hard. She almost hoped he’d leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints so that when she wakes up tomorrow she has some tangible proof that this actually happened, for just one night she had him.
“Take off your panties,” he ordered and she was quick to obey, watching with a wanting gaze as he removed his own briefs. “Lie down,”
He hovered over her, forearm by her head to hold himself up.
“Is this okay?” He asked.
“Yeah,” she said, “this is good. I-Is this good for you? Don’t guys like-”
He cut her off with a kiss and she could feel him aligning himself with her entrance.
“I like this,” he said, “I want you to be comfortable,”
“Oh, okay,” she exhaled into a smile and wrapped her legs around Spooky, locking her ankles behind his back and pressing him into her. “I’d like you to fuck me now, Oscar,”
And then he kissed her again, though it wasn’t enough to completely distract from the sting of pain she felt as he presses into her. He filled her up completely and though it was a foreign feeling, she loved it.
“You good, mami?” He asked.
“Yeah, I- Oscar, I need more,” she whined, using her legs to pull him closer to her.
The pain persisted but Mari focused her attention on the feeling of Oscar’s tongue on her neck and the smell of cigars and Corona on his breath until she barely noticed the sting. She pressed a kiss to the Santos cross on his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin as she traced the ink with her tongue.
Oscar touched every inch of skin he could reach until he settled between her legs once more. He rubbed her with practiced movements while he thrusted into her, steadily losing the pace he had built up.
Mari’s orgasm crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, almost worried that the neighbours would hear but not caring enough to do anything about it. Her legs shook and her back arched off the bed as her nails raked down Oscar’s arms.
“Shit, Mari, I’m gonna fucking come,” he warned, and the sound that Mari made in response tipped him over the edge as he reached his climax, spilling into her.
Once he’d come down, he looked at her and brushed a stray curl from her face.
“How do you feel?” He asked, his eyes searching her face for an answer before she spoke.
Mari met his gaze and felt her face burn. “I feel good. I feel really good,”
He smiled and kissed her gently. She could still feel him inside her; was a strange feeling, stranger still when he pulled out of her - she felt disconnected, like the intimacy between them was gone and the curtain had been pulled back to expose the reality that they were still no more than friends. But that was her idea, so she has no right to feel so hurt about it. This was what she wanted, what she asked for, and he had been perfect.
Oscar took some time to clean her up with an old t-shirt that had been draped over a chair by his bed by a bookshelf (full of books that Mari wanted to ask about, but felt that wasn’t the time) before he went to his dresser and handed her a large tee. She felt a funny sense of deja vu - the last time he did that was right before he rejected her advances and now here they were.
“Thank you,” she said as she slipped it over her head.
He nodded and grabbed a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray atop the dresser. He had already put it between his lips and had started to light it when he spoke.
“The bathroom is just across the hall,” he said, and then, “you should probably go,”
Mari felt like a bucket of ice had just been poured over her as the words hit her.
Only friends. Just sex. She reminded herself.
“Okay, yeah, uh, I should get home,” she agreed, trying to act cool as she sat up in the bed and scanned the room to find her clothes, “everyone is probably wondering where I am,”
Spooky laughed. He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her to him. She hit his solid shoulder with a soft thud and let out a small “oof”.
He tilted her chin so that she was looking at him and scooped down to capture her lips in a languid kiss. It was different to all the others they had shared that night, somehow. It wasn’t as hasty, as needy, as desperate. It was slow, all plump lips and warm tongues, like a beautiful dance instead of the battle it had been before. She liked it and she couldn’t help but think that it didn’t feel like a one-last-time.
“Mariana,” he breathed her name as he broke the kiss, “I meant you should go to the bathroom, not go. I want you to stay tonight,”
And she wanted to stay too. So that’s just what she did. She ran to the bathroom and rushed back to him, not wanting to waste any of the time she had convinced him to allow her. That night, as she lay in his arms, she felt warm and safe and so very not alone. She couldn’t help but hope that, just for this perfect night, the nightmares wouldn’t come.
.
Taglist: @grayberrydolan @lostgirl219 @kseniainneverland @ravengreystone @weediskindabad @moistdollerbills @javoqetal @kenzie44469 @goddessate @blackdepressoexpresso @classyputa @babygirl-htx @wonderlandlovelove @agent-femmefatale @elliesshitofablog @daydreamer0307 @lucyfuh @harduy @elizabeth-santana-98 @lonelyyblues
Message me if you’d like to be added to the list - if you have already done so and haven’t been tagged it’s because Tumblr won’t let me, sorry!
Also, I just want to remind everyone that this is a side blog so if you have any questions about the story/plot/characters please send me an ask so I can reply xxx
#I'm sorry the gif of her is so big I just love her#netflix#on my block#netflix on my block#netflix omb#omb#spooky diaz#Oscar diaz#spooky imagines#spooky Diaz imagine#Oscar Diaz imagine#Oscar spooky diaz
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Love Is For Everyone-Chapter 8/Epilogue: Another Beginning
Summary: A year has passed since Roman was found..
Pairing(s): Moxiety
AU: Family AU. Human AU, Monster!Roman AU
TW: Referenced Past Abuse
Prev | Masterlist | AO3
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It had been one year since Roman had been revealed to Patton and Virgil.
One year of familial love like he didn’t know was possible. One year of him being the light of Patton and Virgil’s lives. There were so many changes in that year that Roman wasn’t sure what to do.
He actually went to school, he even finished his school year being on the same level as most other kids. The bullying thankfully had calmed down quite a bit. Elliot was his absolute best friend in the entire world. They even wore their best friend necklaces every single day. He had two loving grandparents and a really loving great grandmother. He adored them as much as they adored him.
Today they were going to celebrate the fact that he was their son, they were also using this day as his birthday as the most that they know is that he was born in the summer. This day was as close as any other day in the summer was, so they may celebrate both things.
For the early part of the day his parents took him and Elliot out to a spa where they treated Elliott and Roman like royals for the whole day. (They even got crowns to wear for the day, Roman’s being a bit bigger since it was his day.) They got a foot rub and were able to use these nice smelling lotions that made their skin feel great. They were also able to get pedicures and manicures. Elliot chose a real pretty gray color and Roman went with a bright “royal red” as Patton had said when he showed him the color. They got to go to the store and Roman and Elliot both got to pick out one small toy, which they were both grateful for. They chose tiny stuffed animals that came from the same set. Elliot choosing a black cat and Roman choosing a small dragon.
“To go with my other one that you got me,” Roman had said when Virgil asked him why he picked that one.
“Honestly I just think cats look cool,” said Elliott. This made Virgil snort and Patton chuckle, so it was still very nice.
When they eventually finished they went back home, and Roman was surprised to see another car in the driveway. When the group went inside he looked and saw his grandmothers and great grandma inside.
“GG? Abuelita? Granny? What are you doing here?” he said, his smile blinding, excitement running through his veins.
Rosa brought him in for a hug first. She picked him up. “Do you think we would miss our grandson’s first birthday with us?”
Matilda came over and took him. “Yeah Ro, we wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
GG than finally got her hug, “We are so happy to see you!”
After talking for a little bit longer, Patton and Rosa started on dinner. Elliott and Roman started imagining a scenario where two royals had to save the beautiful princess (Matilda) from the evil dragon witch (Virgil) and they were given advice from the wise queen (GG).
Soon the food was done, and it was time to eat. The two had made pasta, Roman’s favorite food, and garlic bread. As they ate they enjoyed a nice conversation and talked about how everything was.
When they finished they brought out the cake.
Roman had asked for a chocolate cake with chocolate icing and that was what he was given. Patton had finished it this morning and even had made the icing himself. He then put seven candles on it. VIrgil grabbed his phone and recorded Roman blowing the candles out. They then cut the cake. After they ate, it was time for presents. GG had knitted him a sweater, while Granny and Abuelita gave him some toy cars as well as a barbie doll (Two things Roman had wanted a lot). Elliot's family had gotten him a small bag with some things like a tiara and a new toy sword, which Roman was very happy about. Finally, his parents got him a few new shoes, a couple of toys, and even a little bit of (cheap) makeup.
After presents it was time for Elliott and his grandparents to go home. They all left, his grandparents kissed Roman goodbye and Elliott promised him that they could hang out over the summer again.
Before she left to join her daughter in the car, GG turned to Roman. “I’m so proud of you my child. You are going to grow into someone great, I know it.”
And grow he did, Roman grew and grew over the years.
Before any of them knew it, Roman was 8 years old. When he was eight his parents adopted a 13 year old named Remy. They were accepted as Roman had been, with as much love as physically possible.
Around three years after that, they adopted another child. He was only 5 and was named Dee. His short but painful past left him with a lying habit but through hard work and support he broke it. He was accepted as everyone else was into the Sanders. That’s the Sanders family way. You accept people as they are. You love them, and if someone is in need, you do your best to help.
And as Roman grew more and more, he remembered this. He held onto it and blossomed with it.
Soon Roman was 17 and unpacking his car at the college he was attending. His parents were there, Patton crying tears of pride and even Virgil was shedding a few tears.
Soon they had to go and Roman was introducing himself to his roommate Logan, who happened to be the same type of monster as him, and also happened to be very pretty.
After that Roman couldn’t tell you. His story was far from over, it was just unknown. And that was alright. Roman’s world was changed drastically in a way he could have never known and it continued to change and change and grow into something lovely.
And it would continue to do so. But for now it was his freshman year and he had the rest of it to live.
It was after all, life, was beautiful as it can be.
-
As the Prince ended his journey he realized that the gifts he had gotten were nothing compared to the love he found. So when he returned he brought many of his friends, and those who did not want to come he kept in contact with for the rest of their lives. He had found that the love and memories that he had found, were some of the most valuable things he could ever earn. Something that was nearly free. After all,
Love Is For Everyone
A/N: I honestly don’t know what to say.
I’m so glad that this au is finally posted on here I mean just ahhh!
This story has been a big part of my life for a half of year before but it’s idea started long before that.
I’m so happy to be able to share this with you all! If you have any questions, or even want to know more about this AU feel free to send an ask to my Tumblr lamp-calm-sanders! I’ll happily elaborate on some things or give head canons (Besides on the other fics in this universe I’m planning ;))
Did you really think I’m saying goodbye to this AU forever? XD
A huge thanks to my friends and betas Cye, Z, and David!
Find them on Tumblr at @omni-hamiltrash, @enteryourfandomhere , and @davidthetraveler!
Thank you to my partner Colin! You can find him @iongnadh or @thekingtrickster for being there from concept to completion!!
Please leave comments, kudos, and other feedback! It’s incredibly appreciated!
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Honeymoon
@deardani68 asked: I've been binging on your Rafael Barba fanfics and the latest wedding one <3 <3<3 First and formost, thank you for writing all these! They're getting me through finals... I wanted to put some prompts/asks in along the lines of the wedding fic? I'll just put a few ideas in hopes that something sparks your interest cause I can't get enough of your writing! Ideas: Honeymoon Adventures, Newlywed time (maybe lots of "husband/wife" calling), finding out she's pregnant, maybe more about age gap?
Thank you so much!!!!! I love writing and glad you like them! Here is this, hope you like.
It’s your honeymoon!!!! Kinda a sequel to this
Warnings: Cursing. Food, alcohol, and sex mention.
Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75 @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army @sweetsummertime99 @obfuscateyummy @lifeisbetterwithbarba @lyssa1385 @hux-me-up @bowieisawizard anyone else ask!
Also I have a Kofi (link in blog description) if anyone wants to donate!
After you and Rafael got married the reception went by in a blur. There were toasts and food and dancing. But all either of you remembered was being unable to stop staring at each other. Neither of you were sure you ate, but you had. You made sure Rafael ate and he you. When it was finally time to leave, you were relieved. People threw birdseed as you drove off to your home.
That night you made sweet love by candlelight for what seemed like hours before you both fell asleep. The next morning you were up bright and early in Sonny’s truck going to the airport. For your honeymoon you were going to Cuba to see the places Rafael’s abuelita used to talk about. At security and beyond it was “my wife” this, and “my husband” that. People started to get annoyed but you didn’t care.
On the plane your seats were in the back of first class, it had the most privacy. As soon as you sat down you couldn’t keep your hands off Rafael. His fingers danced up and down your arms and thighs. It didn’t take long after you were in the air for you to cross the seat divider and start kissing him.
“Wife,” Rafael panted, “what are you doing?”
“Kissing my husband,” you returned your lips to move against his sweetly.
“At least do it right wife,” he pulled you to sit half on his lap and deepened the kiss. You got lost in your own world, interrupted by a stewardess clearing her throat.
“You must be our newlyweds,” she smiled fakely, “hot towel?
“No thanks,” you blushed and hid against Rafael’s neck.
“One person per seat,” she glared and walked away.
“Fine,” you pouted and moved back to your seat. The rest of the flight was spent talking and sneaking kisses. At one point you pretended to sleep and fondled each other under the blanket. But you decided to save the mile high club for the return flight because it was at night.
The second day of your two week honeymoon you went to the beach, the first night and full day was a nonstop sexfest. This beach in particular was a nude beach, so you were laying out topless trying to tan while Rafael dozed on and off.
“Hola bonita,” a deep voice made you jump.
“Hi” you shielded your eyes to get a better look at the man talking to you.
“Let’s ditch your dad and go have some real fun,” he winked.
“Actually—“
“Come on, he’s sleeping. Who comes to a topless beach with their dad anyway,” the man teased.
“He’s my husband,” you snapped, now livid.
“You sure,” he raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” you showed your ring then flipped him off, “Adiós pendejo.”
“I like it when you’re feisty,” Rafael chuckled and leaned over to kiss you.
“Let’s go get in the water, I think there’s a small place over there we can hide and fuck,” you got up and Rafael trailed along, eager to be inside you again.
At dinner a few nights later the waitress was around Rafael’s age and kept flirting with him, ignoring you for the most part. You were very obviously together, holding your left hands on the table. But she didn’t care. She took forever taking Rafael’s order, switching between English and Spanish when she thought you didn’t understand but you did.
“ID please,” she pursued her lips when you ordered a mixed drink.
“The legal drinking age here is sixteen. I am plenty older than that,” you shoved it into her hand, “just because you want to fuck mi esposo doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”
“Thank you,” she gave your ID back and left. The rest of the night she was scarce, only there when she needed to be. Back at the hotel you stormed into the bathroom and took a shower, the first one without Rafael since you got there.
“Are you made at me,” Rafael asked timidly from the bed when you emerged drying your hair.
“No,” you sat down and he came to brush your hair for you.
“Then what’s wrong,” he kissed the crown of your damp head.
“Is it always going to be like this,” you sniffled back tears.
“Like what,” he kept brushing without missing a beat.
“People shitting on our age difference and you not doing anything so I explode,” you whispered.
Mi amor, no,” Rafael came to crouch in front of you, “let me explain.”
“Okay,” you fiddled with his wedding band.
“I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks of our relationship. That’s why I don’t engage,” he kissed your ring then your chin.
“I only care because I don’t like people saying mean things about you…or being mean to me,” you mumbled.
“Do you want me to say something next time,” he raised an eyebrow.
“How’s this, you say a little more and I’ll say a little less,” you kissed his nose.
“Deal,” he pecked your lips and climbed on the bed behind you.
“Besides, defending me will get you rewarded,” you seductively crawled up the bed and pounced on Rafael.
True to his word, Rafael defended you the next day. You were helping him recreate pictures of his abuelita when a guy started flirting with you and calling Rafael your father again. You didn’t react, but Rafael went off in Spanish. Loudly. Shortly after you were pulling him into a public bathroom to suck him off.
Coming home was a hard slap in the face. You flew back on a Saturday so you could decompress on Sunday and do laundry. Come Monday morning you were both sulking, trying not to be late after operating on your own time for two weeks.
“Goodbye husband,” you kissed him and pushed the lunch you’d made into his hand.
“Thank you wife,” he kissed you, lingering longer than he should, and rushed off to work. At the office you played catch up and tried not to pull your hair out. A rose and sunflower bouquet was delivered after lunch. Te quiero mi esposa. You could get used to this.
#rafael barba#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba fanfic#rafael barba imagine#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfic#law and order svu imagine#svu fanfic#svu imagine#law and order special victims unit#law and order special victims unit fanfic#law and order special victims unit imagine#mine#my writing
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Belated contribution to Elena of Avalor Ship appreciation week - Day 2 - Alonso/Carmen -Adventures in Love - Chapter 001
Well... this was meant to be a contribution to the Elena of Avalor ship week on the Discord server, but it came out far later than I expected due to how much it started growing out of my control.
I even decided to post it in parts eventually because it was just getting so big. I hope you enjoy this first one. The pairing is Alonso x Carmen, and it was meant to be on the ‘Adventure’ day, with the crackship theme.
The usual disclaimers about me not owning anything in the series apply.
Chapter 1 - Customer Importance
A bit over a week before Avalor's third Navidad after Princess Elena's exit from the Amulet of Avalor...
A growling stomach would usually not be described as something to be proud of, but as Alonso followed Avalor's new magister of trade into Café Angelica, he knew none of his body parts had ever spoken up at a better time.
Yes, Julio Guzman meant well, and it was remarkable he tried so hard to be good at his job, and it was good he had become more confident in his position since they first met at the last Feast of Friendship, and it was true Alonso was still trying to better himself. But there were limits for everything, and while Alonso had learned to be polite enough to not outright say so to the man, he was sick of hearing heaps of proposals that traders, whether Avaloran or not, had regarding partnerships with Cordoba.
Thankfully, his stomach's growl had served as an effective stopper to those, for the time being anyway, and Julio had suggested a meal on the house before he left for Cordoba to spend Navidad with his family.
At first, Alonso had accepted just to have some way of escaping this conversation, but as he smelled the divine whiffs coming from the kitchen even before he entered the place, he knew it had been a good idea for more reasons than one.
As he walked in, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort at the soft glow of the lights, the warm golden-orange on the walls, and the blue tables and chairs set about in an organized but not geometric fashion, each of them simple but well-crafted and sturdy.
It all seemed to give a feeling of being part of the family, like he heard Elena said she wanted her guests to feel, although this café looked far too old to have been set up by her.
"Here, Prince Alonso," the man instructed, pointing at a table for two right in front of the door. Alonso circled it so he could face the door and sat down as he removed his messenger bag from his shoulder. "Do you have anything in mind, or would you like to read the menu?"
Alonso picked up the list before him. "I think I'll read the menu. I don't know enough about Avaloran cuisine to ask for anything beforehand."
Julio nodded, standing at attention by his table like a soldier, his hands behind his back.
Trying to keep a calm expression, Alonso said, "Relax, will you? I won't terminate the alliance with Avalor if you just sit down for a bit."
The magister of trade did not sit down, but at least did stand in a more relaxed fashion, his arms now falling alongside his body.
Not as far as Alonso had suggested, but maybe it was better not to be too pushy, he decided as he started looking at the menu.
He recognized some dishes in it, like locro and guacamole and paella and enchiladas and tacos, but there were others which he had never heard of, like morisqueta and aguachile and puntas and milanesa and chicharron.
It might be interesting to try some of those out, but given it would be quite some time before he could eat again, and he might end up being accidentally rude by conveying through his expression that any given dish would be bad, perhaps he should go for something a bit more familiar.
Sounds like you're not trying all that hard to be better, after all. A reproachful voice pointed out at him.
Alonso suppressed a frown. He had been trying hard. The fact he still remembered all the proposals Julio Guzman had conveyed to him proved it, he thought.
But maybe he could try even harder. After all, his father went through even worse ordeals during his rule. If Alonso couldn't even be trusted to show gratitude for food he didn't like, he could hardly hope to be the kind of king who'd be a good ruler.
Not that he could hope that anyway, but he could still try his best.
Just pick something! Alonso told himself as he willed his eyes to pick something out from the list.
They landed on a dish at random, and he voiced his request to Julio.
"I'd like some rissoles with arroz rojo," he said. "Please." he added at the very last minute as he remembered his manners.
"I'll ask my sister to make some right away," Julio replied.
Saying so, he jogged someplace behind him, probably the kitchen to tell his sister. Interesting. Alonso would have thought the man would have called out the order rather than leave his guest alone, but perhaps he also felt the talk of trade matters had run its course and didn't feel comfortable around Alonso without it.
Shrugging to himself, Alonso settled more comfortably into his chair. He wouldn't say that to the man's face either, but he could do with some peace and quiet for a bit.
///
Sitting at the kitchen table, Carmen looked up as she heard the kitchen's double doors creaking open. Normally she barely blinked at the noise, but something about it was different enough this time that she raised her eyes from the new recipe she was outlining on paper before trying out for real.
Indeed, Julio had a rather strange halted skip to his step as he approached, his eyes glowing with eagerness and yet the rest of his posture strangely tense.
"You'll never guess who agreed to come to the café!" he whispered at her like an excited kid who'd gotten a toy he'd been wanting for months.
Carmen set down her pencil. "Hello to you too."
Julio stopped as if trying not to stumble on a sudden obstacle.
"Yes, yes, hello." he conceded. "Did you have a good day?"
"It was quiet. Enough people came here to turn in profit, but not enough to overwhelm the staff." She could see from the way he was tensing up that he was just dying to keep talking about his topic, so she added "I'm guessing you had a pretty great one. Who came here with you?"
"One of the best guests we could have!" Julio leaned forward and 'loud whispered'. "Prince Alonso of Cordoba!"
Carmen could actually feel her eyes widening.
"You mean he stayed with you all day long to listen to everything you wanted to tell him?"
Even without knowing him, she was impressed. Julio had had quite a lot of proposals to share, even though he had spent the better part of two days discarding lots of suggestions whether because they were repeated, too impractical to implement, or, in some rare cases, so asinine that they didn't deserve to be taken into consideration.
"I was impressed as well," Julio remarked. "Especially after Princess Elena's warnings about him."
Carmen shrugged. "Maybe he's trying to change?"
Julio nodded. "Maybe, but from how he acted with me, he either really changed a lot or wasn't that bad to begin with." Before Carmen could reply, her brother made a gesture as if pushing a heavy burden to the side. "Point is, he's here! And he's going to eat your food!" In a more normal tone, he finished. "He asked for rissoles with arroz rojo. Let's get them done."
Carmen narrowed her eyes. "We're almost closed. I'm not sure I can have those ready before then. Can't you ask him to order anything simpler?"
"We could close a bit later, can't we? This is an important customer, after all." He looked like he was ready to throw his arms up from the grandeur of his following statement. "And if he likes it, maybe word will spread to Cordoba, and other visitors from there will come here, and we'll get more money!"
Carmen tried not to frown.
"I think we're good on the money front for a while."
Julio folded his arms. "That's why we need to have enough to save up in case we ever end up on the wrong side of poverty again."
Carmen held back her remarks. She could see where Julio was coming from. Even with the café's success, it had taken over a year to pay off all the bills and debts that had built up during the dark period in their lives. Still, she didn't exactly like Julio's excessive concerns with money. They were well off by now, at least enough that she didn't see the need to seek for a source of profit everywhere.
"I'll help you." Julio added, opening his eyes wider and pouting like a puppy.
Carmen sighed. "I think you're overdoing it." She took a deep breath to gather herself. "But let's make the rissoles with arroz rojo."
Julio broke into a relieved smile. "Thank you, Carmen."
Despite herself, Carmen spared him a smile of her own before she put away her pencil and the book she had been writing on.
Here's to hoping he can appreciate good food. She thought as she picked up a piece of bread to be turned into crumbs. She knew some royals could be really picky about what they ate. Granted, that might be undeserved reputation in some cases. She didn't have motives to complain about any of those she had actually met, and no one had ever disliked any of her abuela's dishes.
Carmen closed her eyes, a jolt of pain cutting through her heart. Even years later, she could get bouts of sadness when thinking about abuelita. And she had been getting a lot of those lately with the approaching Navidad.
She willed the thought to leave her brain as she set the bread down on the table and went to get the onion. Her point was, Prince Alonso sounded like he would be the first royal she served who was a picky eater. Though Julio's words had hinted he was trying to be better, it was hard to say if he had become good enough to be polite about food he didn't like. Doña Paloma had spoken of his comments on single lettuce leaves after all.
Well, let him think whatever he thought. Carmen would do the dish he had requested, and would do her best job, like her professional and personal pride always compelled her to.
And if Prince Alonso didn't like it, all the worse for him.
#elena of avalor#fanfic#prince alonso#carmen guzman#alonso x carmen#crackship#belated contribution#elena of avalor ship week
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Tagged: @obfuscateyummy @giraffe-puppy @madpanda75 @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @lyssa1385 @onelovesr
Word count: 1585
Raine: 16
Dominick: 11
Raine was just starting her sophomore year of high school. As she brushed through her brunette hair that she has just straightened, she glanced at herself in her mirror. Over the last few years, her mother, aunts and uncles hand helped her with her makeup and hair. But there was one thing she was lacking in her eyes, breasts. Even if her estrogen pills had helped them grow a bit, she felt like they weren’t big enough and people still saw her as a boy.
“Raine? Honey the school just called. They cancelled due to the snow.” Dante said as he popped his head into his daughters room.
“Are you home today?” Raine asked her father. He nodded with a small smile.
“Maybe we can go visit abuelito and abuelita if the snow lets up a bit.” Dante said as he walked down the wall to tell Dominick about the snow.
“Dad? Can I borrow your laptop?” Raine said as she walked out of her room. He nodded as he slowly began to open Dominick’s door.
“It’s on the kitchen table. Charger should be dropped over the back of the couch.” Dante told her before Raine ran down the stairs. Luna and Maverick where chilling on the couch and cuddled Raine once she got comfy on the couch with them.
Raine has talked to her parents a few months before about a few surgeries to get done within the next few years. Her parents had tried to reason with her to wait until after graduating high school before they seriously began to talk about it. Curious, Raine began to search for doctors to give her breast implants. She had done some light research on her phone a few days before when someone at school was making fun of her for still being in a training bra.
All afternoon, Raine did the research. When Macee got home from work, she greeted her family before helping Dante finish up dinner. The family quickly set the table, said grace and then began to eat. Macee watched Raine as she slowly ate and picked at her food. She’s only seen her like this a few times, usually whenever she gets bullied.
“Raine, you okay?” Macee asked. She looked up from her plate and nodded some.
“Well, sort of… you know that one kid, Alex? He was making fun of me. S-saying I’ll never be a real girl since I-I don’t have boobs…” Raine began to tear up. Dante looked at Macee as she shook her head.
“If I have to straight up go into lawyer mode with his parents, I swear to God. Raine, you don’t need breasts to show if you’re a girl or not. You really want guys eyeing you up like a piece of meat? It’s disgusting.” Macee said. Dante watched his wife and nodded.
“B-But there are surgeries I can get! To give me bigger boobs! I’ve done the research-“
“Is that why you wanted the computer? Raine, look. We’ve talked about it and we agreed that after you grad-“
“That’s two years! Alex has been bullying me since we started high school! Calling me a freak a-and other really mean words! I want boobs! Mami has big boobs and it’s not fair!” Raine shouted. Dominick looked between his sister and parents and slowly left the dinner table with his food.
“We’re doing everything your therapist has told us to do, Raine. We agreed you are to wait until you are an adult to get any type of surgeries. Attacking your mother for what she has is not right.” Dante shouted at the girl. Raine’s eyes quickly began to tear up.
“It’s not fair! You two do everything for Dom! You give him everything he wants and I ask for one thing and I’m told no! It’s not fair! I want to feel more like myself but you’re denying me!” Raine shouted back at Dante. Dante stood up and flared down his daughter.
“Raine Eleonora Carisi! You go to your room right now! You’re grounded!” Dante said to the teenager. She pushed herself away from the table, pushed her chair in hard against it before rushing off to her room. Dante sighed and covered his face when he heard her door slam shut.
“It’s okay, Dante. I’ll go talk to her, alright?” Macee ran her hand down his back to calm him down.
“I know she wants to be herself, Mace. She needs to understand that I don’t want her making this decision now and regretting it five years down the road.” Dante said as he sat back in his seat. Macee nodded and got up from the table and headed towards Raine’s room.
“Raine, sweetie? Can I come in?” Macee asked as she gently knocked on the door. A quiet ‘go away’ was heard but Macee slowly opened the door.
“I said go away!” Raine shouted as she threw one of the stuffed animals she had on her bed. Macee was hit in the chest with it as she sighed.
“Honey, I know you’re upset. When we do things for Dominick, it’s not like the stuff we do for you. We’re trying, love. We really are. Your father and I don’t want you making the decision-“
“Of what?? Becoming a woman?” Raine snapped back. Macee slowly inhaled then exhaled as she walked over to her daughter.
“I don’t like having bigger boobs, Raine. Trust me. If that’s the only reason you want boobs now, then you need to listen to me. I remember when I was your age and it was like they grew overnight. It sucked, a lot. Guys always eyeing me up, trying to get with me just because of them. Do you really want that? Is that the only reason you want boobs right now?” Macee asked her daughter. Raine slowly sat up in her bed and grabbed the one bear Macee had bought her a few weeks before.
“H-he’d stop bullying me. I-it’s not fair! You have big boobs and I have nothing. I’m still in training bras since I can’t wear a real one! You’re supposed to support me and instead, you’re tearing my dreams down! I hate you!” Raine shouted. Macee stared at her daughter with tears in her eyes before she got up and left the room. Dante was walking up the stairs and noticed his wife rushing towards the bedroom.
“Mace?” Dante asked as he followed his wife. When she finally got to their room, she burst into tears. “Macee, doll, hey. What’s wrong?” He asked as he pulled her into a tight hug. Macee sobbed against his chest and slowly wrapped her arms around him.
“S-she said she hates me! W-we should just… let her get the surgery..” Macee whispered against Dante. He sighed as she gently ran his fingers through her curls.
“She’s a teenager, Mace. They say they hate their parents a lot. I remember Mia doing that to dad once when he said she wasn’t allowed to go to a party. Hell, she ran away a few times, even if it was to Noah’s apartment. Let’s just give her some space, alright?” Dante said. Macee nodded as she looked up at Dante slowly. He smiled at her and gently kissed her before wiping the tears from her her eyes.
Macee and Dante soon returned to the kitchen to pack up the leftovers and do the dishes. The two then cuddled on the couch with Luna and Maverick while watching some movie. Macee was just starting to fall asleep when they heard someone walking down the stairs. Dante assumed it was Dominick coming downstairs but saw Raine standing at the bottom. Dante gently shook Macee as she slowly sat up and yawned.
“Mami? Dad?” Raine called our softly. Dante smiled some and moved over some to allow her to sit between her parents.
“Yes, honey?” Dante asked as Raine hesitated before sitting between her parents.
“I’m sorry. I just got upset. Alex has been bullying me for the last few weeks and saying I’m not a girl. I’m just… I’m saying I am so I can… see them naked…” Raine’s eyes quickly began to tear up. Macee rolled her eyes and looked at Dante.
“I’m going down to the school tomorrow. I’m going to talk to this principal and talk to Alex’s parents. I’m tired of this little asshole! He’s performing a hate crime and I’m not letting him sit here and do this to my daughter anymore!” Macee said. Dante sighed and shook his head.
“Raine, don’t you have something to say to your mother?” Dante said with a raised brow. Raine mumbled something. “What was that?” He asked.
“I said I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry, mami. I’m just.. I thought that if I got boobs, Alex would stop bullying me.. I don’t hate you. I love you.” Raine said as she hugged her mother tightly. Macee smiles and held her daughter tightly in her arms.
“I love you too. You wanna watch a movie with us? I think Wonder Woman is on next.” Macee teased. Raine’s entire face turned red.
“Just because I dressed like her three Halloween’s in a row as a kid doesn’t mean anything!” Raine said as she covered her face.
“I can find another-“
“No! I-I mean, we can watch Wonder Woman, it’s cool.” Raine interrupted her father. Dante chuckled as he turned the movie on and cuddled his daughter and wife.
#dacee family#dacee#dante and macee#dante carisi x macee barba#dante carisi#macee barba#raine carisi#dominick carisi
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Watch Your Back part 11!!!
Hi hello. :) Let’s celebrate this Wednesday night with the latest on the Barba family.
1207 words. Kinda fluffy a little angst.
Thank you for all your feedback, comments, likes, reblogs, ext! I read every one/all the tags on reblogs. Even if I forget to reply, please know that.
“Abuela, where’s Mami and Papi?” Macee asked.
“They are spending time with Emiliano,” Cesaria said.
“But I miss them,” Macee said as she put her head down while she ate.
“They miss you, too Macee,” Lucia said.
“Abuelita, when do I get to see Emiliano?” Macee asked as she climbed off her chair and onto Lucia’s lap.
“When he’s all better,” Lucia said.
“Was I sick when I was born?” Macee asked.
“No, you were very healthy,” Cesaria said.
“Then why is Emiliano sick! It’s not fair! I want Mami and Papi!” Macee said as she folded her arms.
“They will be out soon, la nieta. Go finish your dinner,” Lucia said as she kissed her forehead.
Macee hopped down and went back to eating her chicken nuggets. Rafael and yourself walked into the NICU waiting room where they were at a few minutes later. Macee jumped up with joy.
“Mami! Papi! I misses you!” Macee ran towards you and Rafael picked her up.
“We missed you too, Mija. Are you being good for Abuela and Abuelita?” Rafael asked.
Macee nodded her head. “I be so good. I got chicken nuggets cause I was so good!”
“I’m going to take her with me tonight,” Cesaria said.
“I wanna stay, Papi,” Macee said.
“You can’t mija,” Rafael said as he looked at you for some support.
“Y/N?” Rafael said. You didn’t answer, you just looked at Rafael as he spoke again, “You okay?” You simply just nodded.
“Mami! I misses you,” Macee said as she reached for you.
“I miss you too, Mija” you said as you took Macee from Rafael.
“Mami, when is Emiliano not gonna be sick so I can see him?” Macee asked you.
You felt your eyes fill with tears as you answered her, “Soon,” You said not knowing if it was the truth, as the tears fell from your eyes.
“Mami no cry,” Macee said as she took her hand and tried to wipe the tears away.
You laughed at the sweetness of your daughter, “I love you, Macee,” you said as you put her down.
“Mami I wanna see Emili..UGH!” Macee said as she folded her arm. “Mami, I no like saying Emiliano, it’s too many letters! Can I give him a new name?”
You looked at Rafael and the both of you laughed. “What do you want to call him, Mace?” Rafael asked as he bend down next to her.
“Can I call him ‘Ano?” Macee said.
Rafael looked up at you with a smirk. “You can call him whatever you want, Macee,” you said.
“YAY! I told you,” she said as she looked at her grandmothers and walked back to the table to finish eating.
“We told her you would say no,” Lucia said as she walked over to you and Rafael.
“Mami, you should’ve known I can’t tell her no,” Rafael said as he kissed her cheek.
“I will see you guys later,” Lucia said as she hugged the both of you, and Macee. “Mijo, call me if anything changes with Emiliano,”
“I will Mami. Do you want me to walk you out?” Rafael asked.
“I’m capable of walking by myself,” Lucia said as she left the room.
“Like mother, like son,” you said as you laughed and sat down next to your mom.
“How are you doing, Mija?” Cesaria asked.
“I”m...okay,” you said as Rafael sat on the other side of you and put a hand on your knee. You smiled at your husband.
“Abuela, I done,” Macee said as she hopped down from the chair and yawned.
“You look tired, too,” you said.
“I not tried!” She said as she ran to Rafael. He picked her up and put her on his lap.
“Macee, why don’t I take you to my house and we can rest?” Cesaria said.
“No! Mami and Papi!” Macee said as she clung to Rafael.
“Mija, you can’t..” you started to say as Macee sobbed louder.
“NO MAMI I STAY!” She screamed.
“Macee, Mami and Papi need to stay here with Emiliano,” you said.
“But I misses you,” Macee said as she leaned over and put her head on your chest.
You looked at Rafael as you tried not to cry. “Macee, mija, come here,” Rafael said she climbed back on his lap. Her tear filled green eyes looked up at him. “Mami has to sleep here again tonight so she can be safe. I’m going to stay here so her and Emiliano aren’t alone. Tomorrow, we will go home,” he said as the tears stopped.
“Real home?” Macee asked.
“Yes, our real home Mija,” Rafael said. “Now go with Abuela for the night,”
“Yes, Papi. I love you. I be so good for Abuela,” Macee said as she hugged him. She leaned over and hugged you, “I love you, Mami. Will you tell Emiliano I love him?”
You nodded. “Of course, Mace. I love you too.”
Macee jumped off Rafael’s lap and grabbed Cesaria’s hand as the two of them left.
“You shouldn’t have said that..” you said to your husband.
“Said what?” He asked confused.
“That we would go home tomorrow. Rafael we talked about this, you can’t promise her something you won’t keep,” you said as you stood up to walk away.
He put his hand on your shoulder, “What are you talking about? You’re going home tomorrow,”
“I’m not leaving Emiliano here alone, Rafael.”
“Cariño, I didn’t think of that, I’m sorry I..” Rafael started to say.
“Save it,” you said as you walked away towards the NICU to be with your son.
—
You stood in the room with Emiliano for only a few seconds before the nurse came back in. “He sure is handsome,” the nurse said. You smiled at her not saying anything. “He looks just like his father.”
Her words, sent chills through your body. “You...know my husband?”
“Who doesn’t know Rafael Barba? The ADA sure made a name for himself,” she said as she smiled at you.
Fear. You felt fear. You were not about to let what just happened to your family happen again. “Stay away from us!” You screamed as Rafael walked into the room.
“Hey, Y/N, stop. It’s okay,” Rafael said as he rushed to your side. “I’d like to apologize for my wife, Miss Wilson. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not a problem Mr. Barba, hope you are doing well,” she said as she walked away.
“What the hell?” Rafael asked.
“I could ask you the same thing. How do you know her?” You asked him as you backed away from him.
“She was a witness in one of our serial cases,” he said, “The case messed her up so bad, she transferred departments.”
“And how do you know she wasn’t in on the threats!” You screamed at Rafael before you realized how stupid you were being. You put your head in your hands as you cried.
“Is that what this is about?” Rafael said as he wrapped you in his arms. “We’re safe, mi amor, it’s over You’re safe with me. I promise.” In that moment, Rafael knew what he had to do. He had to do what was right for his family.
Tags! (To be added, let me know :)) @serendiptious-esparza @whatmarisays @dreila03 @eggo-poppy @sweetcannolicarisi @madpanda75 @sweetsummertime99 @fall-out-harto @lyssa1385 @sonnysdoll @santa-feigh @sleepylunarwolf @izzythefanfreak @reids-girl31699
#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba x reader#watch your back#law and order svu fanfic#law and order svu imagine#law and order svu#rafael barba#my barba family#gracie writes fic#if ya’ll are reading my tags i might have a surpise for ya’ll soon.
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[Coco] The Bedside Ghost, Ch.11
Title: The Bedside Ghost
Summary: The bell falls but, instead of waking up in the Land of the Dead, Ernesto de la Cruz finds himself with a broken spine - and an unwanted guest at his bedside who claims he can let him have the sweet release of death, if he gives back what he took from him…
Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Julio Rivera, Imelda Rivera.
Rating: T
Status: in progress
[This is the fic’s tag for all chapters up.]
[Also on Ao3]
A/N: Well. It was about the real Héctor showed up.
Keep in mind that this is set about 26 years after his death, so while he's not precisely living it up, he's not doing as badly as he is in the movie - he may not be talked about or able to cross the bridge, but there are several living people who still remember him well. I figure the real trouble for him started when they began to die out.
***
The day of Héctor Rivera’s long-due funeral, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as far as the eye could see; a warm, bright day that seemed almost an hymn to life.
Coco didn’t know how to feel about it. The sun shone, life went on without him as it had all those years and there was a new life growing in her, another grandchild her papá would never meet. Because there would be another; the doctor had confirmed as much.
Julio, bless his soul, had been almost more shocked to be told he would become a father for the second time than by… anything else she had told him, really, which would have been a lot to take in for anyone. She and her mother had reunited the family in the workshop - after sending Victoria off to a friend’s house despite her protests, because she was still much too young to hear the full story - and told them everything.
There had been shock, and plenty. Julio had hardly let go of her hand for a moment, and Rosita had cried once or twice, but neither of them had looked quite as stunned as Tío Óscar and Tío Felipe. They had known both her papá and Ernesto, after all. “I cannot be,” Tío Felipe had blurted out, eyes wide. His twin had immediately echoed his thoughts.
“They grew up together, they were...”
“... Two peas in a pod since before we knew them…”
“Like Felipe and me!”
“Well, almost like the two of u--”
“No, nothing like the two of you,” their sister had cut them off, forcefully, and they’d immediately fallen quiet, an identical apologetic look on their faces.
They all had promised to say nothing for a time; first they’d bury and mourn him, and make sure everyone knew he’d died only months into his tour - that he hadn’t, after all, ever meant to abandon his family.
“First we clear his name and give him a decent burial,” her mother had said, putting away the business card that Armando Abascal had left them. “We can deal with the rest later.”
Despite the fact the town was still reeling from the news of Ernesto de la Cruz’s death, and wondering whether the body would return to Santa Cecilia at all - talk that was impossible to escape, and that never failed to make her mother scowl - there had been quite a few people at her papá’s funeral; not only family, but also people who had known him before.
“Should have known he wouldn’t have walked out on you just like that,” elderly Raimundo, who’d gifted Coco wood-carved figurines when he came to buy his shoes from them, had said while placing a hand on her arm. “I saw him growing up. Should have known better.”
We all should have known better, Coco had thought, but just nodded in silence.
The funeral had been a simple matter, with the priest reading out a very predictable passage - “Because this, my son, was dead, and he is alive; he was lost, and now he is found” - as the casket was lowered in the ground. The attendees had stayed for some time, and then left; Julio had wanted to stay, but Coco had convinced him to go home with Victoria.
“You should rest, too. The baby--”
“It won’t be long,” she’d promised, and her husband had nodded. A kiss on the lips and he was off to go home, their little girl on his shoulders. Coco watched them leave, a stab of envy in her gut - how low of her, being envious of her own daughter for having a father, but she couldn’t help it - and then walked up to her mother, the widow, who stood in silence over the grave. Her black dress was stark contrast to the colourful flowers all around the tomb.
They stayed quiet for several long minutes before her mamá broke the silence. “He’s home.”
“Yes, mamá. He’s home,” Coco said softly, eyes resting on the wooden cross that would soon be replaced with a proper headstone. Another silence, and it probably would have stretched if not for the shrill voice that rang out suddenly, causing both to recoil.
“Abuelita! Mamá!”
Coco turned to see Victoria running into the cemetery and up to them, and she had no time to call out and ask what was wrong before Victoria reached her, gripped her dress and tilted her head up. “There is a woman at home,” she panted. “She says she has Abuelito’s guitar.”
***
Héctor was almost at his front door when he realized he was being followed.
He was usually much more aware than that of his surroundings, if anything because he’d stepped over a good amount of toes - especially in his attempts to cross the bridge - but at the moment, he was too busy thinking about his latest crossing plan to bother.
This time he would succeed for sure, because he’d had the best idea and only needed the right kind of fluorescent paint, a blanket, some rope, maybe fake horns. No one would question an alebrije crossing the bridge, would they? Of course not. He’d saunter right past the checks and, once he did, nothing could stop him. The crossing guards could babble all they wanted on how the bridge itself wouldn’t let him cross: Héctor would power through the entire damn thing if need be, but he would make it to the other side.
It was easy to think he could actually push through it: it had been a good week, and he couldn’t remember last time he’d felt so full of energy. Even the guys from the band he played with from time to time had noticed as much earlier that day, when they’d met to play for the quince años of a girl who had died only weeks before her fifteenth birthday, and whose grandparents had still wanted her to celebrate it on the day.
“Someone’s talking about you,” old Chicharrón had muttered as they took a short break.
That had snapped Héctor - who had been looking at the celebrating family, faintly wondering what Coco’s quince años had been like - from his thoughts. “Huh?”
“They say that when you feel good all of a sudden, it’s because someone on the other side is talking about you a lot,” Cheech had muttered. “Hope they stop soon, if it makes you this insufferable. Quit jumping around like that while we play, will you?”
Héctor had laughed it off, of course - Cheech was grumpy but not a bad guy, or else he wouldn’t had put in a word with the others to let him play with them a couple of years back - and gone on with the performance, more determined than ever to cross the bridge that year.
Celebrations had gone on well into the night and now, as he walked back home through empty streets, he began weighing his options. Where could he find the right paint? He knew a few people he could ask, but truth be told he’d sort of pissed them off a while ago. But maybe, if he managed to pull the right ropes, he’d--
A skittering sound snapped Héctor from his thoughts, and he stopped in his tracks. There was that noise again, closer, and he turned to an empty street. Still, he wasn’t alone; he felt it in his marrow. “Who’s there?” Héctor called out, turning, the guitar held up in front of him just in case. He’d been jumped only once or twice, but both had been unpleasant experiences he’d rather not repeat. “Anita, if it’s about that gambling debt, I already told you--”
“Yip! Yip!”
Héctor blinked, then laughed and lowered the guitar when he saw four tiny alebrijes - chihuahuas, more accurately - scampering towards him, tails wagging. He crouched down, letting them jump up at him. Two of them rolled on their back for a belly rub, which he was all too willing to give. “Oh, so you have been following me! You gave me a scare, half-pints. If you’re hoping for a snack, sorry, but I ate all the chupalines and--”
“Heel,” a voice called out, very quietly, cutting him off. Héctor looked up, startled; there was a man standing maybe ten meters from him, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt. He hadn’t been there before - maybe he’d emerged from one of the side streets - and Héctor couldn’t see his features and markings clearly enough to tell if it was someone he knew.
But it was someone the alebrijes knew, clearly: they immediately scurried back to him… or at least, two of them did. The other two stayed on their back, clearly expecting more belly rubs, only joining the others when the man called out again. “Diablo, Zita - ven aquí.”
As the dogs ran to the man, Héctor stood again, warily. He picked up the guitar, if anything to have something in his hands to swing if needed. It was beginning to look uncomfortably like the guy, whoever he was, had set his alebrijes out specifically to find him.
“Who’s there?” he called out, taking a step back. The man uttered something - an order for hs alebrijes to stay behind, it seemed, because they all sat - and, after a moment of stillness, he stepped forward, close enough to a streetlight for his features to become visible.
It was… not a face he recognized, exactly. Those markings looked very distinctive, but he had never seen them before. And yet… yet, that voice...
“... Héctor?” he called out, his tone hesitant and shoulders hunched, and for a moment Héctor felt as though something had hit him in the face. He was looking at a skull rather than the face he remembered, of course, and something about his mannerism felt wrong - his friend had always carried himself so proudly, his head held high, his voice loud and impossible not to recognize even from a distance - but still, there could be no mistake.
“Ernesto,” he gasped, dropping the guitar. It clattered on the cobblestones, and he paid it no mind at all. “Dios mío, then… you actually died, there were rumors from new arrivals… but they said you never showed up, we assumed they were exaggerating, there were talks you had died so many times since your accident…” Héctor babbled, and then words failed him.
He suddenly felt incredibly stupid for talking and talking like that, with his best friend there after so many years, and he crossed the distance between them to throw his arms around him. He didn’t even fully register he way Ernesto had stiffened, without returning the hug; after all, he was still probably not used to being all bones just yet.
“Ay, Ernesto, it’s so good to see you! I… how did you-- when did you-- how are you holding up, amigo?” he exclaimed, and pulled back, both of his hands on Ernesto’s shoulders. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” he added. That caused Ernesto’s features to twist for a moment, something almost painful crossing them, and Héctor mentally kicked himself.
Right, he was just deceased. Not the right moment for death jokes, was it?
“Look at you - you’re better looking than me even as a skeleton, how unfair is that?” he asked, a whiny quality to his voice, and smiled broadly when Ernesto’s mouth twitched in a smile of his own. It was faint, but it was there. “Oh, that makes you happy, doesn’t it, cabrón? Is that gray in your hair?”
“... Is that a golden tooth?”
“I like to think it gives me a roguish kind of charm.”
“Ah.”
“The right answer would be ‘yes, absolutely’.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Héctor laughed. “That was awful, but I’ll pretend it was convincing. Ay, I’ve missed you. I heard all about your accident five years ago - that must have been horrifying, I’m so sorry! How does it feel to be a free man again?” he asked. Few details about Ernesto’s condition had made it to the Land of the Dead after the bell had fallen on him, but what little he’d heard - that it had left him bedbound, unable to move or feel anything from neck down - had made his chest cavity ache for him. It ached now, too, to even think about it.
That finally got an actual smile out of Ernesto. “Amazing,” he replied, and Héctor smiled back, patting his shoulder. It was awful to think that his life had become so unbearable death had been a relief, but now that relief had come they may as well celebrate it.
“This calls for a toast. Come over, my place is just around the corner! I should have some tequila left. There’s so much I’ve got to ask--” he trailed off with a yelp when Ernesto suddenly grasped him, holding onto him as tight as Héctor had before.
He blinked, taken aback, when Ernesto spoke quietly. “Lo siento, Héctor.”
“Oye, oye, it wasn’t your fault,” Héctor protested, pulling back and causing Ernesto to blink. “Look, I’m sorry too. About that argument, for deciding to leave with no warning. I thought about it for a long time. I know we made up, but a fight wasn’t one of the last memories I would have wanted to have of you, you know?”
“Héctor--”
“And then that chorizo, stopping to eat was my idea, not yours. A stupid idea, that place was definitely seedy, but performing always made me hungry, you know--”
“No, Héctor--”
“... I just went and croaked in the middle of the street, you had to watch me die, it must have been a rough night for you as well…”
“I--”
“And having to break the news to my family, I’m so sorry it fell on your to - oh, you have to tell me everything!” Héctor exclaimed, realization suddenly hitting him like a bolt of lighting. That was his chance to know what had become of his family in those twenty-six years! Ernesto would know, Ernesto would be able to tell him how they were faring! Of course he would know in a few weeks’ time, because this year he would cross the bridge, but the sooner he could have news, the better.
“Imelda and Coco, how are they? I could never cross the bridge, something must have happened to my photo, but I think about them every day! Coco must be a woman now - and Imelda, how is she? You’ve been in touch, right? I mean, if she gave you the songs and all...”
Any expression on Ernesto’s face seemed to fade into something unreadable. “You could say that. I… let’s go to your place. I believe we need to talk in private.”
Something about that caused a chill to run up Héctor’s spine. “What… is everything all right? Ernesto, are they all right?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to let panic show in his voice, but it must have, for Ernesto reached to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes. Yes, they are all right. I made sure of it, I promise. All is well, they…” a pause, then, “You’re a grandfather, you know.”
If he’d had a heart in his chest, Héctor was sure it would have skipped a beat or two or twenty there and then. “I am… what?”
“Her name is Victoria. She’s almost five.”
Héctor could feel the biggest, dumbest grin spreading on his face. “Abuelo Héctor,” he muttered, and laughed. “My little girl has a little girl! This really calls for a toast! Come with me, and… aren’t your alebrijes coming?”
“... No. They can wait for me here,” he replied. Something seemed off about Ernesto’s voice, but Héctor assumed he was still reeling from, well, dying. That was all right, he thought as he led the way to his apartment, explaining how he played on his own or with other musicians at events and stuff to make ends meet. He’d feel better once he got used to it, and Héctor was ready to help every step of the way.
That’s what amigos are for, after all.
***
When they arrived home Griselda López was sitting at the kitchen table, a small suitcase and a guitar case on the floor by her chair, talking with Rosita over a cup of coffee.
She looked tired, and yet Coco could tell a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. That, she supposed, was understandable: she had been watching over a man’s slow agony for five years, after all, and it had finally come to an end.
“... Tiring, yes, but overall pleasant,” she was saying. “Last time I was in this part of Mexico it was… oh, at the beginning of the Revolution, I believe. Not a time of my life I look upon very fondly, I’m afraid - I lost both of my brothers in the space of a year, in opposite factions.”
“Oh! That must have been dreadful, I am so sorry,” Rosita said, shuddering slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Julio, or… oh, Coco! Mamá Imelda! Here you are!”
Her exclamation caused Griselda to look up at them, and smile. “Señora Rivera. Coco,” she greeted them with a slight nod, and moved as though to stand up. Coco opened her mouth to tell her not to worry, but her mother got there first and gestured for her to stay seated.
“Rosita, would you please give us a few minutes?” she asked, and Coco realized it was neither Rosita nor Griselda she was looking at: her eyes were fixed on the guitar case. “There are a few things I believe we should discuss in private.”
“Oh. Of course,” Rosita replied, standing up. There was some disappointment on her face - she was clearly very curious to know what the visit was all about - but she didn’t try to insist. As the door closed behind her, leaving only the three of them in the kitchen, Coco sat at the table across Griselda. Her mother kept standing, her expression unreadable.
“I don’t believe I had a chance to say I’m sorry for your loss,” Griselda spoke, breaking the silence. Coco opened her mouth to thank her, but her mother spoke first.
“Last I saw you, you stood between me and my husband’s murderer,” she said, very quietly.
Griselda looked back at her, unfazed. “Last you saw me, I was doing my duty.”
“Your duty to a murderer.”
“A duty of care towards a patient, and to keep you from doing something you’d regret.”
That caused her mother’s lips to curl into an odd smile. “I wouldn’t be that certain I’d have regretted it,” she said, and sat, the smile still on her lips. “Did you see him die?”
“I was with him until the very end, yes.”
“I wish it had been me in your place.”
“I wish it had been anyone but me.”
“Did he at least suffer?”
Griselda paused for a moment, and her gaze flickered towards Coco before she turned her attention back on he mother. “I have not come here to share details of his last moments in this world,” she said, very quietly, and reached to take the guitar case on the floor. She put it on the table, sliding it towards them; Coco heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath.
She says she has Abuelito’s guitar.
“One of el señor de la Cruz’s last requests to me was that I returned this to you.”
Slowly, as though moving underwater, Imelda Rivera reached for the guitar case and opened it. Inside was the beautiful white guitar Coco remembered in her father’s hands, the one Ernesto had stolen and played for the world - the one he’d stolen from him along with a songbook, and his life. The guitar her mother had gifted to him for their wedding.
There was a pang of something painful in Coco’s chest as she watched her fingers brushing over the decorated, polished wood in a caress, just as they had over her papá’s casket at the funeral, before it was lowered into the ground. Coco put a hand on her arm, and her mother let out a long breath, finally pulling her hand away from the guitar to place it on her own.
The faraway cast faded from her eyes, and she set her jaw before looking back at Griselda across the table, closing the guitar case with a clack. “My husband’s guitar. What was he hoping to gain by sending it back? Our forgiveness? Our silence?”
“He left instructions for it to be returned after he died, señora Rivera. He hoped for nothing,” was Griselda’s quiet reply, and she took something from her suitcase to place something on top of the guitar case - two reels of tape. “Not for your forgiveness, nor for your silence. I assume el señor Abascal has been in touch,” she added, and glanced at Coco, who nodded.
Armando Abascal and been in touch, yes - had even travelled to Santa Cecilia to speak to them personally, when they had both been in Mexico City. He’d left a business card, though, and Coco had called the number on it from a phone booth. She’d expected to talk with a cold, defensive businessman; the voice on the other hand had been hesitant at times, and even somewhat awkward, but he’d been surprisingly willing to listen.
“He told me he’s just learned that my father wrote the songs, and that he wants to put it right,” Coco said, and gave a small smile. “He talked about credit and royalties an awful lot. We will discuss those, I suppose, before we make it all public. We don’t care about royalties that much. All we care about is that my papá gets credit for his music.”
“That is good to know.”
Coco nodded. “He’s been nothing but helpful, for all that Erne-- de la Cruz said about the record company being a danger. I have to wonder if he made up the threat to keep me from--” she added, only to pause when, slowly, Griselda shook her head.
“Abascal has been nothing but helpful because he was left with no choice. El señor de la Cruz made sure that he’d stand to lose more if he worked against you,” she said, and Coco recoiled a little, suddenly reminded of Ernesto’s message at the hotel’s lobby.
Everything is sorted out. Worry of nothing but finding him.
Coco hadn’t wondered, then, how had he sorted it out; there simply hadn’t been enough time for her to. But now, she wanted to know. Slowly, Coco’s eyes shifted to the tapes. A thought hit her, almost too absurd to be possible. “Those recordings,” she said. “Did he…?”
Griselda nodded, and pushed a tape towards her. “He confessed to taking credit for your father’s songs, yes. He told Abascal that if anything happened to you, it would go to the press. I honestly do not know how much of a danger that man would have truly been, but de la Cruz decided to take... preventive measures.”
“Assuming everyone’s heart to be as black as his own,” her mother said coldly.
“Perhaps. He asked me to ensure you had it after his death, in case Abascal tried to back off. And here,” she added, handing her mamá the other tape, “he confessed to the murder.”
For a moment, neither Coco nor her mother spoke. They exchanged a quick, incredulous glance before turning back to Griselda. “Am I supposed to believe,” her mamá spoke, her voice tight, “that that monster’s dying wish was for us to be sent proof of what he did?”
“Not precisely his dying wish, but it was his wish nonetheless. He specifically asked me to ensure you received the guitar and the tapes. To give you leverage if you ever needed it, I suppose. And a choice.”
That caused her mother to fall quiet, and Coco found she didn’t know what to say either, an odd numbness taking her over. She could only stare at the guitar case, and the tapes - a full confession of all he had done, to be sent to them after his death, when it could no longer benefit him in any way - for several moments. Eventually, it was Griselda to speak again.
“I am glad to know your late husband will have all the due credit for his music. I know you have not made the truth on how he died public yet,” she said, very gently, and stood. “If you wish to, and lack of proof is what keeps you from doing so, that tape is all you need. He confessed to everything. What you decide to do with it is up to you alone.”
Her mother said nothing, gaze fixed on the tape in her hands, and Coco knew she needed a minute alone with her thoughts. So she stood, and accompanied Griselda outside.
“Thank you very much for coming, and for… for everything, really,” she said. “If you’d like to stay for the night…”
Griselda shook her head with a small chuckle. “Oh, no, not at all. I do believe it is best I leave you alone and go my way. I have a friend in San Luz; I was planning to get on the first bus there, and spend a couple of weeks with her. I do need some rest, I believe.”
“What are you going to do next?”
“I’ll probably retire. Age has crept up on me; in these past few months, every task has felt harder,” she said, and smiled faintly. “El señor de la Cruz has left me an exaggerated amount of money. I’ll donate most to the church, and the rest will still be more than enough for me.”
“I see. Have a safe journey to San Luz.”
“Thank you, dear. I wish you all the best,” Griselda replied, and turned from her as they reached the gate - only to stop after a couple of steps when Coco called out. There was something she had to ask, she had to know.
“Did he really ask you to give us the guitar and the tapes, or was it your doing?”
She looked back at her, and seemed slightly offended at the notion. “Of course he did. I would never lie over a such thing.”
“I apologize. It’s just… there are plenty of people who may still love him even after knowing he took credit for someone else’s songs. His last years were hellish enough for the public to be lenient on him. But a murder confession - we could destroy his reputation in minutes.”
“I am sure he was well aware, dear.”
“... I see,” Coco murmured. Thinking back of the red songbook, sent back to her at the hotel, she found the notion didn’t really surprise her after all. “Did he suffer, before he died?”
Griselda stared at her for a moment, as though debating whether to answer, then sighed.
“He did,” she replied. “Sepsis is… not a good way to go. But knowing of your blessing helped. He became unconscious minutes after hearing of it, and didn’t wake up again. He just let go there and then. If you hadn’t… I feel he may be still clinging to life, after all.”
Coco nodded. “I’m... glad I gave him that blessing, whether he deserved or not,” she said, and realized the truth of it only as it left her lips.
Griselda smiled. “You have a good heart.”
“Not as good as you think. I’m not happy he’s dead, I suppose. But I am glad that he’s gone.”
“I think anyone would be in your place,” Griselda replied. “Whatever you decide to do next, I do hope this gives you closure. Perhaps this is the reason why the Lord saw it fitting to spare his life, that day in 1942.”
Or maybe something above decided he simply deserved to suffer, Coco thought, but didn’t say as much. “Perhaps,” she murmured instead, and smiled a bit. “By the way - your hunch was right, you know. I’m twelve weeks in.”
Griselda López - who would go to sleep one night eighteen months later, and awaken to an afterlife that was quite different from how she’d always imagined it to be - blinked at her in confusion for a moment, and then smiled. “Ah, that is amazing news. My congratulations, dear. And you went through so much, too. I am certain your papá would be proud of you.”
Something in Coco’s chest ached, and yet she found herself smiling back.
“Never as much as we are of him.”
***
“A business of her own, really? I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s Imelda we’re talking about - of course she didn’t just get a job, no señor, she built a business! Isn’t she amazing?”
“Remarkable, yes,” Ernesto said, eyes wandering across the apartment - a small one, but better than plenty of places where they had slept in in their youth - before turning back to the glass of tequila in his hand. He’d drank with Héctor, of course, because he’d been expected to, but each glass had tasted more bitter than the previous, and soon enough he couldn’t force any down his non-existent throat anymore.
He’d busied himself talking instead, telling Héctor everything Coco had told him about her family - Imelda’s shoe-making business, Coco’s husband Julio and their daughter Victoria, a few anecdotes about her uncles and a sister-in-law whose name he’d already forgotten. Not a huge problem: unsurprisingly, most of Héctor’s questions were about his wife and daughter… and even so, he soon enough began running out of things to say.
Coco had told him a few things about her family when she was a guest in his mansion, but not that many. After he made him repeat everything twice, gushed over all of them some more and repeated over and over how he was going to cross the bridge that year, just watch him, he would see his granddaughter, there were a few moments of peaceful silence, a huge grin almost splitting Héctor’s face in two.
It was peculiar, how quickly Ernesto had grown used to seeing skulls everywhere he looked; it seemed more natural than the act of walking, of drinking on his own, of reaching up to brush back his hair. He could almost, almost believe it was all like it had been once, two old friends having a drink, still more boys than men and without the chasm of death and betrayal he’d opened up between them - like the past twenty-six years had never happened.
He found himself wishing more than anything that the moment - the one moment worth seizing, why had it taken him so long to see it? - would last. It did not.
“So, what about you? I know you got famous - the greatest, apparently! You really did it. I knew you would. How come your arrival isn’t on everyone’s mouth?”
Well, it was time. Ernesto kept his gaze on his glass for a moment, feeling the familiar lump where his throat should be, the voice in the back of his head crying out for him not to tell him, no one should know, no one must know. Just keep his mouth shut, pretend nothing had happened, try to pick up where they’d left off - take back what he’d thrown away.
Except that the Riveras knew and, perhaps, so did the world by now. It was only a matter of time before Héctor found out, whether from him or someone else.
It’s all done now. You moved Heaven and Earth, like you promised.
Except that he hadn’t. There was one last hurdle to move, now, even if it meant burning a bridge once again, and this time for good.
Lo siento.
Save it for the real Héctor, amigo.
“Ernesto?” Héctor called out, concern plain in his voice, and that made things worse. He hadn’t changed at all, had he?
“I didn’t tell them who I was. When I arrived,” he said. It wasn’t a reply Héctor had expected.
“Huh? Why? They’d have welcomed you like a king. You’re as famous here as you were in the Land of the Living, you know. They’d all have asked you to sign their ribs or something!”
Ernesto forced himself to swallow the tequila in one gulp, along with all of his fears. It tasted bitter as ash. He put down the glass, and forced himself to look back at Héctor.
“Your songs,” he said. “It was your songs that made me famous. But if you have heard about my career, you already know as much.”
He did; Ernesto could see it in the bitterness that crossed his features for a moment before he shrugged. “Sí. There was a song I’d rather you-- well. You couldn’t know it was private. But I didn’t mind you singing the others, really. I mean, music is meant to be heard, no?”
You know I would have given it to you if you’d asked, right?, the hallucination’s voice echoed in the back of Ernesto’s mind. You only had to ask.
His hand clenched on the glass, one of the involuntary movements he had yet to get used to again, but he kept his voice even when he spoke again. “You know I never gave you credit.”
Héctor made a face. “I do. That was kind of a bummer, yes. People kept saying I was loco when I told them we used to play together, let alone when I tried to tell them…” he paused, and the look on his face turned accusing… but only for a moment. Then he shook his head, and smiled again - that smile he remembered so well. “I figured it must have stung, thinking about me - let alone talking about it. I didn’t mean to die on you, amigo. I didn’t get a choice.”
“No,” Ernesto said, very quietly, glancing at the empty glass in front of Héctor. “You did not.”
“So well, really, it’s all right. After all that happened, and… now you’re here. I mean, we’re both dead - would be a dumb thing to fight over,” he added, and grinned. “So it’s a closed matter, amigo. I never cared to become famous, you know that. You just pay for my drinks for the rest of our after life, and we’re good. Or, better yet… ay, of course!” he exclaimed, jumping on his feet and causing Ernesto to recoil. “You can help me out with the bridge!”
Ernesto blinked. Héctor had mentioned crossing a bridge a few times, but to be honest he wasn’t entirely sure what it was exactly about. “Bridge?”
“Right, right, you’re new - didn’t explain you too much, did they?” Héctor muttered, running a hand through his hair before he began pacing back and forth. “The marigold bridge. It appears every year, on Día de los Muertos, to let us through and visit the living. But only people with photos or portraits on their ofrenda can cross - you can tell when your picture is up because the petals glow beneath you to show the path home. They never did for me, and I was never able to cross so far. But I did try, believe me. Every year, I tried everything to see my little girl again. They wouldn’t let me because my photo was never put up on the ofrenda. Something must have happened to it - my bad, should have had more pictures taken, even if it was expensive - but now you’re here! You can help me out!”
“... Héctor, about that--”
“I mean, you’re Ernesto de la Cruz! They won’t deny you a small request…”
“Héctor--”
“... And you wouldn’t deny a small favor to an amigo,” Héctor finished with a wide smile, and put a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be a friendly gesture. It felt very, very heavy. “Amigos help other amigos! We’re going to cross together in a month’s time, how about that? Back in our hometown! It’s been so long, too long. I wonder if the old cantina is still where it stood - we can check that out on the way to my place! Remember how we used to…” Héctor paused when Ernesto looked away and shook his head.
I want to go home, he thought, but of course he already knew that he could not. He’d burned that bridge, struck the match and watched it go up in smoke and ashes. No amount of marigold petals could fix it. “No,” he said, and drew in a long breath. It was odd how the instinct to breathe was still there without lungs. “You won’t need me to cross the bridge.”
“Well, I do have a really good plan this year, so probably not, but it would be so much easier if you put in a good word,” Héctor said, hope plain in his voice. “You said you’d move--”
“... Heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo,” Ernesto finished, and he felt really, really tired. “I did. I moved Heaven, Earth, and everything inbetween. Just not for you. Lo siento, Héctor.”
“Wha-- Ernesto, listen. It would only take you a few words” Héctor insisted, now very close to pleading. “It would mean everything to me. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, but my photos must have been lost and I see no other--”
“Your photo wasn’t lost.”
The grip on his shoulder suddenly went slack. “... Qué?”
With what felt like a terrible effort, Ernesto lifted his gaze from his empty glass to meet Héctor’s. He looked confused but, most of all, he looked worried. He must have known, Ernesto could guess, that perhaps his photo was neither lost nor damaged. He must have wondered, year after year, if the truth was different - if he’d simply been left off the ofrenda entirely, by the family he’d loved more than anything. More than anyone. More than him .
“They still have your picture, as far as I know. You could never cross the bridge because they never put it on any ofrenda.”
The hand on his shoulder was pulled back as though he’d suddenly caught fire, Héctor’s eyes widening as he took a step back. “What?” he muttered, hurt and surprise plain on his face. “Why… why would they keep me off the ofrenda?”
Ernesto closed his eyes, and swallowed. “Because they didn’t know it was needed.”
“But… all right, no one living knows for sure that the dead do return to visit ofrendas, but it’s tradition, I figure Imelda--”
“They didn’t know you were dead, Héctor.”
He spoke quietly, but his voice felt loud as a gunshot to his own ears, or lack thereof. Héctor’s arms fell by his sides like the limbs of a mannequin whose strings had been cut. He stared at him for several moments, mouth hanging open, as though battling to comprehend what he’d just heard.
“They didn’t-- but that can’t be! You… you were there, you saw me die, you would-- you must have--” Héctor sputtered, shaking his head, and then looked at him as though he’d just grown a second head, as though nothing of what he’d said made sense.
Looking back, Ernesto could only agree. Nothing of what he’d done made sense.
You know I would have given it to you if you’d asked, right? You only had to ask.
“Ernesto, answer to me! You told them I died! You must have! Look at me and tell me --!”
“I didn’t,” Ernesto choked out, causing him to fall silent for the second time in a minute. He kept his head low, hands gripping the edge of the table. Something in his chest cavity hurt, and each word was more difficult to force out than the next. He shut his eyes.
“No. No, it’s not true.”
“I never told them a thing. Lo siento, Héctor.”
“No. No, no, no,” Héctor was repeating like a broken disk. “That’s… all these years--”
Ernesto drew in a deep breath. “They thought you’d left them behind,” he heard himself saying, and opened his eyes. It took all of his willpower to look up, meeting Héctor’s horror-stricken gaze. “They do know now. I told them the truth. This year, they should--”
There was a cry of dismay and anger, drowning out his last words, and Héctor suddenly grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him up. He had never done that before, wouldn’t have been able to if he’d tried, thin as he was, but anger lent him strength. The next moment Ernesto’s back hit the wall, and he had a moment to panic at the sting - no not my spine please not the spine what will happen if it breaks again - before Héctor’s grip on the collar of his shirt tightened, and he gave him a violent shake, features distorted.
“How could you!” he screamed, shaking him. “You knew I was trying to go home to them! You knew I had died! You took the songs, took credit, and let them believe I had abandoned them? Why? Because I’d had enough of your stupid musical fantasy? Was that it?”
Ernesto reached to grasp Héctor’s wrists, but didn’t try to push him away. In some absurd way, he found his fury easier to deal with than his joy upon seeing him. That, at least, he knew how to respond to. “I couldn’t let them know how you’d died.”
Whatever answer Héctor had been expecting, that clearly wasn’t it. He blinked, some anger giving way to confusion. “Wha-- really? That’s it? You thought dying of food poisoning was too embarrassing to tell my wife and child? Dios mío, you can’t be seriously telling me--”
“It wasn’t food poisoning, Héctor. It was me,” Ernesto rasped, cutting him off.
Héctor fell silent to stare at him in silent disbelief. “Qué…?”
“I killed you,” Ernesto said. Once again, telling the truth felt like pulling out a rotten tooth with no anesthesia, and with no relief to follow: only a moment of stasis, waiting for the worst.
Héctor stared at him for a few more moments, then confusion turned into sorrow. “Oh. Oh, mi hermano, no,” he exclaimed, and let go of his shirt to put a hand on his shoulder. “Good God, was that why… did you really think they would blame you? It was never your fault.”
Wait, what?
“No, you don’t understand. It was. I--”
“You’re… you’re not well. Sit down. I’ll get you some water, sí?”
“Héctor--”
“You’re confused, happens to the recently deceased, you know?” Héctor was babbling, lifting up the chair that had been knocked over when he’d dragged Ernesto off it and gesturing for him to sit. “I should have realized, I’m so sorry I lost control. You’re not thinking straight, should have guessed. And I gave you alcohol on top of it.”
Oh, Jesus Christ. “Héctor. No. I killed you.”
“I really hope this is only a temporary thing, because I’d hate to think you blamed yourself all these years, mi amigo. Look, how about you eat something? No chorizo, bet you can imagine why I no longer eat that, but I should still have some--” he babbled on, only to trail off when Ernesto stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, holding tight.
“Héctor,” he called out, very quietly. His old friend slowly turned to look at him and there it was, Ernesto could see it in his eyes - the beginning of a gnawing doubt. “Do you remember when I called for a toast? Right before you stepped out?” he asked, drew in a deep breath when Héctor nodded. “I had rat poison on me. I slipped it in your drink.”
“No,” Héctor replied, almost matter-of-factly, but something in his voice shook. “You did not.”
“I did. I wasn’t certain it would be enough to kill you. For all I knew it may have only made you sick, but I was willing to face either outcome as long as you didn’t board that train. Not with your songbook. When you decided to leave with it, I… I couldn’t do it without your songs. You were taking all I had ever hoped and dreamed to achieve with you. I couldn't… I thought I couldn’t let it happen. I thought it was you or… or my dream.”
Héctor stared at him, transfixed, before shaking his head. “No, you can’t have done it,” he protested weakly. Ernesto looked down and let go of his shoulder, letting his arm drop.
“I was willing to do anything,” muttered. “Whatever it took.”
Héctor staggered back, shaking his head. He had to lean on the table for support. “No,” he repeated, but this time he sounded desperate - denying what he knew to be true. Ernesto would know: it was what he’d sounded like when he had tried to protest with doctors that he couldn’t be, he couldn't have been left paralyzed for good, it wasn’t possible.
“I poisoned you.”
“You’re lying. You would never. You were… you are my best friend, almost a brother, and--”
“And you were mine, and I still murdered you,” Ernesto cut him off, and sighed. It felt as though a weight had been lifted on his chest, only to be placed on his shoulders.
For several moments, Héctor said nothing: he only stared at him with wide eyes, the same way he’d look at him when they were kids and Ernesto had come up with an especially scary story - waiting for resolution so that it would be over with and he could laugh about his own fear, which would seem so foolish once his mind was back in a world where monsters didn’t lurk under the bed.
They lurked in a glass of tequila, and behind the smile of an old friend.
“Ernesto,” Héctor finally spoke, very slowly. Ernesto could almost see the gears turning in his head, the way he went through every moment of that night, every word, every gesture. “Tell me you didn’t do it. That it was just back luck. That you’re making this up,” he pleaded, and his voice broke up towards the end. “Tell me it’s some kind of sick joke and I’ll believe it.”
He would have, Ernesto was sure of it. If he denied everything there and then, he would choose to believe him. Somehow, it made it all even worse. He shook his head, ignoring the part of him that cried out for him to deny it, and shut his eyes.
“Perdóname,” was all he said.
He didn’t see Héctor lunging at him, but he heard his cry of anger and dismay, and felt the impact that sent them both tumbling on the ground, the weight on his ribcage, the blows that rained down on him. A fist cracked against his jaw, causing his skull to bounce against the floor, and his vision swam. He reached up to shield his head with a cry as Héctor kept hitting blindly.
“HOW COULD YOU! HOW COULD YOU! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!”
There were more blows, and he quickly lost count; all he could focus on was keeping his head shielded and teeth clenched. Trying to fight back, or get him off himself - he could do it, he was stronger, had always been - didn’t even cross his mind.
And then it was over. With one last cry and a punch that cracked one of the wooden boards next to Ernesto’s head, Héctor tore himself away from him and fell on his knees only a few steps away, cradling his right hand to his chest. As he sat up, if shakily, Ernesto could see cracks across the finger bones that hadn’t been there before.
“You rat,” Héctor choked out, eyes shut. “I just wanted to go back home.”
“You can now,” Ernesto found himself saying, his voice unsteady. His arms, ribs and jaw hurt, but he hardly noticed. “They… they know the truth now. The entire truth. You can cross--”
“Once a year,” Héctor cut him off, his voice hollow. “I should have had a lifetime with them.”
“Lo sien--”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he snapped, lifting his head to glare at him. There were fury and disgust to match Imelda’s, but far more hurt. “Some amigo. Get out of my sight, Ernesto. Now.”
“Héctor--”
“OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
The scream was more deafening than the final toll of the bell that had fallen on him, and it filled him with almost as much terror. Ernesto was out of the door the next instant, down the stairs and back into the road as though he had the devil at his heels - away from the man he'd killed, from the empty glasses, from the bridge he'd burned to ashes all over again. He kept running through dark streets until his legs failed him, and only then he stopped. He let himself drop on the ground against a wall, covering his face with both hands.
Nothing else I can do, he thought, and it was true; the only right thing for him to do now was leaving Héctor be, but where did it leave him? He stayed there, shaking, not knowing what to do, until he heard a whine. He tore his hands off his face to see his dogs staring up at him, eyes huge, tails wagging slowly. Zita - old Zita, the last of them to leave him behind in the Land of the Living, who'd died in her sleep by his side - stepped forward and nudged at his shin. Ernesto smiled weakly.
“Spirit guides,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, and stood slowly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Very well. Guide me, then. Where do I go from here?”
His dogs - his alebrijes - yapped and, with a wag of their tail, they were off. He followed wherever they’d lead him, leaving behind what had been his best friend, and his own name, for the last time.
From that moment on, no one would see Ernesto de la Cruz ever again.
***
“You haven’t listened to it, have you?”
“I have no desire to hear that snake’s voice again. Also, we don’t have a player.”
“Heh. True. But we could get one. Not to hear this tape, but…” Coco let her voice fade away, and there were a few moments of silence as she and her mother sat side by side on her bed. The guitar was on the bed, too, in its case, but it her mother's attention was fixed on the tape in her hands, the one with the murder confession. She slowly put it down on the small table by the bed before she spoke.
“Music,” she murmured. “He was murdered for it.”
“He was murdered because he chose us over it, and because Ernesto wanted fame and glory,” Coco replied. “We can never have papá back. But music... that we can reclaim.”
“... Lo sé,” her mother said, and gave a long sigh before she spoke again, her voice harsher. “We are never going to listen to any of his recordings. Not in this household.”
Coco nodded. It still stung a bit, to think that she’d only heard most of her father’s songs through de la Cruz - and the fact those recordings would keep existing. She was rather sure they could have them taken off the market if they pressed for it, but she was reluctant to do it. Even if through his murderer, her papá’s music had struck a chord with so many and she, more than anyone, knew how important a song can be in hard times.
“That goes without saying,” she finally said, and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, a hand reaching to rest on her own stomach. “You know, there was a song papá always sang to me. Our secret song. I kept singing at night when I was little, and I sang it to Victoria when she was a baby. I would like to sing it openly now, to her and to the new baby.”
Her mother’s lips curled in a faint smile. “I never knew.”
“I also dance in secret. I can be sneaky. ”
“Just like your papá.”
Coco chuckled, then her gaze fell on the tape. “... What are we going to do about it?”
Her mother stiffened. “I’d love to have it broadcast on the radio,” she said, her voice tight. “To tell everyone how your father really died. To scream de la Cruz’s guilt from the rooftops.”
“But…?” Coco asked, though of course she already knew the answer. There was one reason only why her mother could possibly hold back from doing all that - their family.
“We will tell everyone it was Héctor to write those songs, once everything has been dealt with. He’s owed that much,” was the reply. “There will be some upheaval - nothing we cannot deal with. But this…” her voice faded, but Coco knew exactly what she was thinking.
Making the murder public would cause a storm, and their family would be caught right in the middle of it, their quiet lives and maybe even their business turned on its head, perhaps beyond repair. They had a taped confession, yes, but they would also need to exhume the poor remains they had just now put to rest. The public may accept someone else had written the songs once the record company admitted as much publicly, but she knew plenty of people would refuse to believe Mexico’s most beloved musician may be a murderer - no matter what proof they showed.
There would be rumors, doubts, slander. He’d been sick, his mental state deteriorating; they’d say they had manipulated him to confess something he’d never done. On her own, she knew, Imelda Rivera wouldn’t hesitate to fight all of it with her head held high, a bastion refusing to bend to the storm, but she wasn’t on her own. Her family came first, little Victoria and the child yet to come, and she wouldn’t drag them in it. Coco took her hand and squeezed.
“Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be on your side,” she finally murmured. Her mother smiled.
“Thank you, mija,” she said, and took the tape. She stared at it for a moment before she opened a drawer, put it in, and shut it. “We know what happened. So will Victoria when she'd old enough, and the child you're carrying, and their children. We're his family. It was us de la Cruz owed the truth. Not the world.”
Coco reached to hold her, her mother held her back, and for a long time they said nothing.
***
“YOU DENSE MOTHERFUCKER”
-- Ernesto at some point, probably.
(Okay seriously now, only the epilogue left! I'll be traveling, these days, but it should be rather short, so I might be able to post it by next Friday. If not, I'll aim for the following Friday.)
***
[Back to Chapter 10]
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[FIC] I wrote a Coco thing! In the name of Destiny!
I guess for now this is the UnbornAU, but it could also be named Destiny. Or maybe I should call it Unborn Destiny...
Anyway!!
This whole Coco AU is kind of based on This Post but it also incorporates a bunch of other loose bits that don’t fit anywhere else and looked cool. There’s not much actually written down, but it seems to be a pretty solid collection of concepts in my head that rolled together well, so...I’ll see where this goes. Suggestions and thoughts are welcome.
Thus, for your reading pleasure (I hope), a brief random Unborn Destiny scenelet apropos of nothing. (No pizzas were harmed in the making of this ficbit.)
Unborn Destiny clip
(Setting: Land of the Living, Rivera house courtyard, early afternoon)
Miguel glanced from Héctor to the slice of pizza and back again, his smile fading. Pensive, he held it out to his grandfather. "You want some?"
"Ay, didn't we just go over this?" Héctor reached over and swiped at the bitten slice, bony hand passing through the boy's with no other sensation than a touch of slightly-too-cool air and the faintest tingle. "I'm a little insubstantial on this side of the bridge, mijo. Besides, it has your spit on it," he complained good-naturedly.
"We're family, we have the same germs," Miguel groused back, some of his good humor returning. "I just feel bad eating in front of you when you've got nothing."
"I'm not gonna starve to death, Chamaco." Behind his joking grin, the skeleton had that softly fond look in his eyes that he got whenever his family went out of their way for him. Like after a year it was still amazing and he didn't expect it all the time.
Miguel loved that look and mourned it at the same time. "I know that, but Abuelita says it's not nice to eat in front of people without inviting them."
"Such a polite boy." Chuckling, Héctor ruffled Miguel's hair—or pretended to, and maybe it only flicked in a slightly cool hint of breeze as he ducked away. "Anyway, I couldn't eat it even if I could touch it. Where would it go?"
Perplexed, Miguel watched a bony finger run up and down the empty ribcage like a clattery xylophone, softly musical. "Wait, we ate at Mamá Imelda's house, I've seen you eat and drink before...!"
"Yes, yes, you saw it," Héctor agreed, making calming gestures. "But that—" He pointed at the slice of pizza and its missing bite, still dangling in Miguel's hand. "—is real food, made of bread and cheese and sausage and...who knows what else they put in that thing. Anyway. What you see me eating—" A gesture at his own body again, the hollow slats of ribs and the slim tower of spine like a lone tree, as if to emphasize the lack of anything resembling organs. "—is the same as everything else in the Land of the Dead: A memory."
"You're eating memories." Miguel wrinkled his nose, pondering the concept. "So...it's like when you take your offerings from the ofrenda or the cemetery...or when you took your guitar. A...an echo. A reflection."
"Yes! Well, kind of. Mostly," Héctor nodded, still smiling. "The dead don't need to eat—it's just a nice thing to do now and then. So it's very sweet of you to offer, mijo, and you have my thanks, but it's really not necessary."
Nodding absently, Miguel stared down at the pizza slice. "A memory..."
"So finish up before it gets cold, Chamaco!"
Head tilting, Miguel took hold of the crust of his slice with both hands. He focused on the pizza itself, on the smell and the taste, the texture of the cheese and the warmth of the bread. Then he reached inside for that same inside-out-upside-down cold warmth that bloomed under his heart when he flipped through the borders of the world.
With both hands he pulled apart, and the world spun a little bit for an instant, but the pizza slice didn't tear.
There was a brief clatter of ethereal bone. "Dios mío—!"
When Miguel looked up again, his skeletal grandfather had startled into one of those artistic pretzels that happened when the current range of motion in his strongly-remembered form tangled with his mind's perception of how his limbs should be able to move after decades of loose-jointed neglect. His eyes were rather huge.
"Papá Héctor, are you okay?"
"Am I okay? What you just did—are you okay?" Disentangling his limbs with the ease of long habit, Héctor gestured expressively at the pizza in his grandson's hands. "That—that—I don't think that's supposed to happen!"
In his left hand, Miguel still held his slice of pizza, untouched. In his right...an identical slice, down to the missing bite, translucent and softly glowing a pale yellow. The cool tingle in his fingers was stronger than ever, almost like his hand had gone to sleep.
"Well," Miguel grinned, holding up the ghostly slice, "it worked. Here you go!"
Héctor gaped at him. "You just—without even Día de Muertos—and no cempasúchil—and you just say 'Here you go' like it's—"
"You said it worked like memory, so that's what I tried! Like the cemetery!" Miguel pushed the ghost pizza at his grandfather again. "And...you need to take this 'cause it's kind of starting to make my hand hurt—"
With a yelp, Héctor lurched forward and scooped the memory-food out of the boy's hand. This time, Miguel could almost feel the brush of warm-cool finger bones, hard and not quite smooth.
Clutching the pizza gingerly as if it might be a grenade, Héctor watched him shake out his fingers. "Are you all right? Let me see—are there bones? Did you—?"
"It's fine, it's fine!" Miguel waved him off; the tingling ache was fading already, leaving only cold fingers. "I think it was just a bit much, being on this side and trying to hold something from yours."
"This was a lot more than just picking up a leftover piece of Pan de Muertos, Chamaco." Héctor looked far more worried than impressed. "You just...out of nothing. There's supposed to be Día de Muertos and a lot of marigold petals for that to work."
"It wasn't nothing, it was memory," Miguel insisted, holding up his own cooling slice. "But I'm glad it worked, because now I don't have to eat alone."
"Ayy, this kid...!" The skeleton threw up his hands, almost tossing the ghost pizza. "Doing hopscotch on the border between worlds, playing with ancient magic like a toy, and he's worried about me getting lunch..."
"Aren't you going to try it?" Grinning, Miguel took another big bite of his own.
Héctor stared flatly at him.
"I'm just saying," Miguel went on after swallowing, unrepentant, "after all this effort, it would be a shame if you didn't even taste it."
Rolling his eyes with an affectionate I've-got-your-number,-kid snort, Héctor examined the ghostly pizza for a moment before taking a very careful bite.
"Well?"
The skeleton chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "...it's pretty good, actually."
Miguel's face split into a beaming smile.
"But it's still got your spit on it."
"We're family, we have the same germs!"
(end...for now)
#This is just a little piece of something that's probably going to turn out horrendously huge#There will be worldbuilding stuff#Anybody handy with mythologies around?#Yes Miguel is special#because destiny#And yes Héctor is visiting out of season#But he totally doesn't mind#It's because of a certain guitar (who is snickering about this I'm sure)#They're figuring this out by the seat of their pants#Since nobody's done anything like this in a few centuries at least#Not just your average psychic powers yo#coco fanfic#coco AU#coco spoilers#Please forgive and advise if you see mistakes!#unborn AU
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Pidge Tries to Cook (Plance Oneshot)
Another Plance oneshot for @cultofpokeshipping ! I hope this turned out to your liking--I have to say I’m slightly better at angst than anything else!
Still taking any and all requests!
It all started a few days ago when Hunk commented that the gadgets in the kitchen were pretty similar to the gadgets Pidge was always working on in her room and hanger. The only difference was that his robots could kill and his could cook.
Admittedly, she didn’t see his reasoning, but after watching him make dinner the night before, she found herself enamored with the endless possibilities of the kitchen tech. But, of course, the kitchen was Hunk’s domain, and she found herself too shy to ask for pointers after dissing his kitchen a few days before.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the castle was empty with all the Paladins on business aside from her and Lance. Shiro, Allura, and Coran were on a diplomatic mission to a small kingdom on a nearby moon and had brought Hunk along to serve dinner as an offering of goodwill. Keith was on a mission with the Blade, and that left Pidge and Lance on their own. Well, just on their own for dinner.
Lance was resigned to picking around at the snacks he’d gotten on his last visit to the space mall, so he was surprised when Pidge waltzed in his room and called him for dinner.
“I thought Hunk got too busy with some engine work so he didn’t leave us dinner?” Lance questioned as he followed the short girl down the winding hallways of the castle.
“He didn’t,” Pidge grinned but didn’t go into more detail. They entered the kitchen where two plates lay next to each other on the long table. When the paid stopped at their chairs, Pidge looked up at Lance with a wide smile and said, “But, I did. Dig in!”
Lance looked thrilled. Now his stash of alien candy would last a lot longer. But, as he turned his attention to the plate of food, he struggled to keep the smile on his face.
Hunk’s food always looked... interesting, of course. It had been difficult for the Earth-born Paladins to get used to different alien foods, except for Hunk, who took on the new cuisine as a challenge. He crafted amazing recipes that looked strange as hell but tasted out of this world... literally! The whole castle was constantly in awe of the creations Hunk whipped up both in the kitchen and in the engine room.
But this was... very different. Perhaps Lance had grown accustomed to the alien food because what sat on the plate in front of him looked strangely dull. Rather than the bright purples and electric blues that set the table each night, Pidge had whipped up something brown, orange, and a pale yellow.
“Wow, Pidge,” Lance said slowly as he glanced from the plates to the girl standing next to him. “This looks... so... cool?”
Pidge was so proud of herself for actually getting food from the fridge to the plate that she didn’t detect the hesitation in Lance’s voice. “Well, then eat up!” She said and plopped down in the chair. Lance followed her lead and sat down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Pidge watched on as Lance grabbed a forkful and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, then swallowed and she didn’t even notice as he fought the urge to gag. It was terrible, worse than when Lance’s Abuelita had left tacos in the fridge for two months and he ate them thinking they were good. But, Pidge looked so excited that she’d managed to cook dinner that Lance couldn’t bring himself to shoot her down.
“So?” Pidge questioned.
“Wow, Pidge. Really... good.” Lance lied. Pidge smiled and picked up her fork. Lance watched on as she took a bite, immediately turned an interesting shade of green, and spat the contents of her mouth back onto the plate.
“Oh my god!” Pidge cried. “This is gross!” When the realization hit her, a frown blossomed on her face and she looked up at Lance despondently. He immediately felt awful for lying. “You don’t really like this, do you?” she asked knowingly.
“Pidge...” Lance sighed and offered a small smile as he placed a hand on her folder. “You’re real good at like, fricking everything. You can fight and fly and build amazing stuff. If the one thing you can’t do is cook, I think you’re on the right track.”
Pidge felt better right away and hugged Lance from her seat. “Thanks, Lance. But what are we going to do for dinner?”
“I’ve got a stash. But, to be honest, uh. I don’t think I’m really very hungry anymore.”
Pidge laughed. “Me neither!”
After cleaning up, the two went to spar and then went to bed. Late into the night, Keith returned from his mission and found leftovers that Lance and Pidge missed. Needless to say, he wasn’t available for the morning brief the next day.
#plance#pidgance#flirty robot#im sorry keith lmao#fanfiction#voltron fic#pidge x lance#lance x pidge#lance/pidge
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