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nine-of-words · 8 months

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Something Borrowed (Part Two)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

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Wordcount: 3030

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

I hope this one is as fun to read as it is to write <3

The shop’s been much more lively this past week.

Not only because prime wedding season is beginning and bringing along with it an expected influx of customers, but at least partially due to you having an ever-present, talkative guest every weekday your shop is open.

You're honestly not used to having company anymore- besides customers, at least. Since Trevor broke up with you and you moved shop, it’s just been you.

But it's… kind of nice, having someone to talk to every now and then that isn’t just making compulsory, transactional chit chat. It’s made it rather hard to wallow in your sadness alone, as has been your mode of operation for months. You barely even mind that your guest is creating a leaf-litter of loose, discarded documents all over your countertop.

Kirby has taken a brief respite from their datapad to watch your work frosting a cake. This client specifically wanted the entire sides of the cake textured with rosettes, so you of course obliged. You turn the stand with one hand when necessary, confidently putting down the flowing lines of buttercream.

"You make that look soooo easy!" They say, grinning. "But if I tried that, there'd be a huge mess, hehe."

“Do you want to give it a try?” You ask, stopping the flow with an elegant flick. “It’s really nothing but some practice.”

“Oooo…” Their eyes light up “I want to, but I don’t want to waste all your product.”

"Oh, nothing to worry about there. If you pipe onto a clean baking sheet, it can go back in the bag after."

After they roll up their sleeves, wash their hands, and you’ve given them a short and simple demonstration, you suddenly have an intensely focused bureau investigator practicing buttercream rosettes by the dozens in your shop while you handle the customers starting to filter in.

“Aaaww, look at that one! It actually looks like a rose, haha!!” They pause and grin widely while they admire their handiwork, a glob of off-white frosting unceremoniously dripping off the piping tip they’re too distracted to pay attention to.

“It does indeed. You picked it up pretty quickly.” You laugh. “Do you want to keep going? There’s plenty of buttercream.”

“Ugh, no I’m good! My arms are already tired! You must have forearms of steel.”

You chortle in response, but any words you were going to say are cut off by the ringtone cutting through the shop.

“Oh, shoot. I guess I should actually do some work huh? This is probably that ex-client of yours I’ve been waiting to call me back.”

Kirby touches their bolo tie before picking up the call, and suddenly both the ringing, followed by their voice, is completely silenced, despite them clearly talking into their device.

You suppose it’s for the best. You at least have a little smile on your face as you scrape the buttercream off the clean parchment paper and back into the piping bag.

“Ohh, was there a little demo going on? That’s so sweet...” One of your regulars that you’re more acquainted with says as she approaches the counter, observing the small rosettes meeting their demise at the end of your spatula. She’s a tall, willowy Aurelian elf woman with dusty mauve streaks in her blonde hair to match the shade of her eyes and the tint of her skin, and a dainty, jeweled septum piercing. “That kind of enthusiasm makes me think of the little ones at the studio.”

“Haha, just a small one. Good morning Devin,” You say in a warm, compulsory greeting. “Any classes today for you?”

“Birthday party,” She nods, a dreamy smile breaking up her gentle features as you place the box containing her order on the counter in front of her. “It’s a full house this afternoon. Pookie and I have our work cut out for us.”

“Well, that sounds delightful. Maybe I’ll have to come by and paint something some time. When you’re less busy.” Devin runs the sip n’ paint pottery studio down the street, so your businesses tend to get quite a bit of synergy from parties and tourists, especially on holidays. It makes sense that you’d form a bit of an acquaintanceship, but it’s a bit embarrassing to think that you barely know her and she’s still the closest thing you’ve made to a friend since moving almost a year ago- at least until a certain bureau investigator forced their way into your life.

“Please do, we’d love to have you. For you, first one’s free as long as it can fit in your hand.”

You smile and nod. You don’t know if you could glaze pottery without thinking of Trevor… So it might take you quite some time yet before you’re ready to visit her shop in return.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Devin digs through her slouchy, beaded bag, and produces a cylindrical aluminum container you already know contains some homegrown loose leaf Rowenian breakfast tea. “My Gran just sent me a big batch, and I wanted to make sure you got some before I spaced and made it all into kombucha.”

“Oh, bless you.” You say and happily grab the container, immediately opening it to smell the fragrant leaves. You immediately are hit by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness for your home village, which as it so happens, is in the same half of the Queen’s Isle that part of Devin’s family is originally from. “I was running low. Let me knock a smidge off the top of your order for that, haha.”

“Thanks. I’m just so glad you moved onto this street, y’know? It’s so convenient, I used to have to get the party cupcakes catered from clear across the city. And yours are so, so good. They’re way better than the ones we were getting before.”

“Oh, thanks so much! I’m glad. It’s good to be here.” You say, only partially lying. There’s nothing wrong with your shop’s new location… but there are still days you strongly miss your old one. You certainly could’ve done without having your life uprooted.

Devin finishes her transaction and she’s out the door with the box in one hand, waving back with a few fingers wrapped around her keys as the shop bell jingles.

Not long after, the rush arrives. While you work, you can't help but let your thoughts wander back to that handsome customer from yesterday. You wonder when he'll be back? You need to make some less sweet options to put in the case for when he does…

Soon, it’s been an entire week since you saw your handsome stranger. You’ve begun to wonder if the interaction had even gone as well as you remember. Maybe he wasn’t flirting, but was just being polite? You did serve him bland storebrand coffee out of a cheesy mug your ex made you…

You’re almost ready to start tidying for the day when there’s an order jingle ringing out in your deserted shop. You try not to get your hopes up as you walk over to the screen, like you have several times this week- but then let out a huge heave of a sigh when you see the order details.

Carlyle does eventually intend to return to your shop, if his name popping up in your empty online order queue that evening means anything. And luckily for you, this time it’s with enough time before close to get a little something together for him.

First you handle boxing up his order, then after a brief moment of wrestling with whether you should or not, you relent and pop upstairs to make him a mug of coffee.

You don't have to mentally debate if you'll be giving him the embarrassing sentimental mug with the love hearts this time, though- you pick one of the demure, tasteful marbled beige ones from your regular set instead.

After the coffee has been brewed, you carefully bring the steaming mug downstairs, set it on the counter, and turn to observe your display case with a scathingly critical eye.

Something not too sweet. Still flavorful, though. Not too plain- impressive, but not overly showy…

You finally select one of the orange and red currant scones you made fresh this morning. You have to pick something to start with, and this seems as good enough a baseline as any.

Irresistibly dense and buttery, the slight sweetness of the dough is offset by the bright pop of citrus and the tartness of the berry. It's a humble baked good at heart, but it's a recipe you've made so much that you've nearly perfected it, in your opinion. It makes you think of home every time you make a batch as well, so there's no doubt that there's love baked inside. You’ll simply forgo the jam or cream, to fit his preference.

…You really hope he likes it.

You watch the door and chew your lip. Just when you're concerned the coffee will cool off before he gets here, you see him walk past the window and enter the shop.

You realize how weird it probably looks- you anxiously standing here wringing your hands and waiting for him- far too late to do anything about it.

"Oh, whew. Hi there. I'm glad there's not some other Carlyle in this city." You quip with a breathy, stress-relieving laugh. "That would've made this very awkward."

"Good evening," He says in his smooth, deep voice, and gives you such a radiant smile that you momentarily feel like you might just faint. "I didn't expect a whole spread."

"I thought you might like some coffee again this time."

“I absolutely would." Carlyle says in an approving tone, but raises an eyebrow when his eyes pass over the mug it’s in. He grasps the handle of the mug anyway, bringing the liquid to his lips for a sip before continuing. “It’s a shame it’s not in my favorite mug this time; it tastes better in that one. But, I’ll manage to survive somehow.”

Favorite… He’s not talking about the old embarrassing gift mug, is he?

"...Favorite?" You audibly repeat.

“Yes, the pink one with all the hearts on it. ‘World’s Best Boyfriend’?”

He is.

You feel your face heat up with the blood rushing to your face, and you fight the conflicting urges to cover your face with your hands or flee the scene completely.

“You… like... that mug?”

“I do. It’s a great aspiration to have, in my opinion.” You’d think he was taking the piss if he wasn’t clearly being so painfully, genuinely sincere. It’d almost be less embarrassing if he was joking, you think. "Gives me something to work towards.”

"Right. I can… I'll use that one next time, then. If you insist."

Carlyle simply smiles at you from behind the incorrect mug.

You clear your throat.

“Now- I'll have you know I take challenges very seriously,” You say in a forcibly flat voice, trying to regain some of your meager composure. You smirk and motion to the baked treat still sitting on the table. “Whenever you’d like to have a taste.”

Carlyle picks up the scone, inspecting it before finally taking a bite.

You hang on bated breath, trying to not watch his facial expression in an off-putting or intense manner, and most likely failing.

“...I think almost anyone else would enjoy this.” He says after several bites and a long moment of deliberation. “But it’s not for me.”

“Ah. Really? Too sweet?”

“Too sweet.” He confirms. “But the orange is nice.”

“Everyone likes my scones.” You can’t hide the surprised tone from your voice.

“I hope I haven’t upset you.” He says in response, obviously taking your tone to mean you're hurt; but that couldn’t be farther from what’s happening, the gears in your head already trying to come up with a new attempt at a solution. "In my defense, I did try to warn you."

“Upset? Haha, no! Try inspired.” You say with a cheeky grin. “There isn’t a soul on Hearth that hates every single baked good. I refuse to believe it!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. There has to be something sweet you’ll like, and I’m going to find it.”

"Alright then." He laughs, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. "Would you like more notes for what I’d enjoy or…?"

"No, no-" You start jotting down a few notes of your own on the scratch pad you keep behind the counter. "Figuring this out on my own is half the fun."

To Carlyle's credit, he has the grace to not waste your effort- finishing the whole thing even if it seems to have not been to his tastes. He even insists on paying for the scone, despite you intending on giving it to him for free.

“So, is there something special about Tuesdays?” You casually lean on the counter, trying to ask in a way that doesn’t seem like such overt information gathering.

“After-hours meeting at the law library with the ladies. I’m at the library most evenings honestly, but on Tuesdays we all tend to congregate and tackle some of the larger research tasks together.”

“You know, these must be some lucky ladies,” Better to rip off the bandage now, you think, rather than getting your hopes up and then find out all of this playful flirting has been courtesy from someone with an incompatible orientation. “For you to be buying cupcakes for them every week, haha. Anyone you’re interested in…?”

“No, nothing like that. They’re my colleagues. My department is entirely women the same age as my mother or older.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides me, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

“It has its benefits, it’s sort of like having a bunch of my aunts doting on me at work. On the other hand, they keep trying to set me up with their daughters, daughter’s friends, friend’s daughters, random women off the street… You get the idea.”

“I don’t see why you’d need any help in that area.” The words fly out of your mouth before thinking, and then you internally scold yourself for being so forward. But Carlyle doesn’t seem phased in the least- smirking at you and letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Hah. Perhaps I could get you to convince them on my behalf, then?” He says, his voice a deep rumble as he takes the pink box containing his order from you. You see a glint of his fangs as he speaks. ”If you feel so strongly on the matter.”

Though you got to chat for a bit longer this time, it still didn’t feel like enough. As soon as it’s over, you’re already anticipating getting to talk to him again next week, just with a bit of extra glow.

The next morning, you must look as light as you feel, because someone picks up on it right away.

"You know, you seem a little peppier today." Kirby rests their chin on their palm when they’re done taking a call. "Did something good happen?"

You hesitate to immediately spring into gushing about Carlyle. Kirby has been nothing but positive so far, but you've only known them a short time and you worry about scaring off any semblance of a friend you've had lately.

But they're just sitting there, looking at you expectantly, now…

They have told you to tell them everything…

"That guy I told you about before? He came back." You say, unable to hide your giddiness.

“Oooooo! How exciting!”

“I know. I couldn’t have dreamt this man up if I tried. He was somehow even more charming this time. He’s just… so smooth and well put together and he smiles.” You can feel the blood rushing to your face just talking about seeing him again, however briefly.

“He smiles??? Honey. Everyone smiles! Your ex must’ve been the most boring man on the planet, geez.”

“Maybe a wee bit.” You admit. You do wish Trevor would’ve been more emotive in general, sometimes. You cross your arms, trying to mitigate some of the embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’d have to see it to understand?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s it, hehehe.” Kirby says, clearly not believing you for a single second.

“And remember how I told you I accidentally gave him that tatty old mug from my ex to use? He asked to use it again, even.”

“Hahaha- Oh wow!! That’s bold!” Kirby giggles. “Did he like the stuff you made?"

"No, he hated it!” You laugh, grinning. “But I'm going to figure him out yet."

"Oh. Well, then-” They cock an eyebrow at you in confusion before swiftly recovering. “Did you ask him out?”

"Uh, no…"

"What? No?" All of Kirby's energy seems to deflate in an instant. "Why not???”

“Good question, I don't know,” You say in a deadpan manner. “Maybe the whole love curse business? It’s a wee bit discouraging for romantic pursuits.”

"Huh? What’s the worst that could happen?”

"I don’t know. …What if…"

"What if???"

"Well, we don't know the extent of the curse yet. What if he explodes like one of the cakes, or… or something worse?"

"Hehehe, he's not a wedding cake!! He's not going to explode!" Kirby wheezes in amusement. "It takes a looooot more juice for a curse to explode a whole person, silly!!"

"Oh, good to know… I think." You find yourself laughing as well at the absurdity and slightly ominous implication of the statement. "I'm a little bit concerned to hear there's a precedent."

"Don’t worry about it! You see a lot of things in my line of work!" They beam mischievously, in the way only someone who is giving unsolicited love advice can. "You should ask him out! I mean, if you're into him, of course. But you really seem like you are, so you should."

"Is it that obvious…?"

"Uuuhhhh… Yes. Super."

"How embarrassing." You groan and hold your forehead with your hand. "If you think so… It sort of seems like tempting fate…"

“Hey, curses can always be broken! You can’t just stop living because something bad might happen.”

"...Right.” You sigh, wishing you could believe them. “I'll keep that in mind."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mxm #mlm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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saltymongoose · 1 year

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Hi Salty~ Hope you're doing great in college! Here's the next set of gifts! You were correct in guessing Hoffnar!

With how I saw tricky was drawn before by Krinkles, I decided to not make him chubby, Instead, I gave him less definition in the musculature.

Speaking of Tricky, I needed to make him gross. Hank shot this guy a lot.

And finally, Sheriff. He was rather fun to do, I only noticed when I colored him that he looks like my dad a bit. oops.

Krystal, these are fantastic. Just straight up, I almost don't have words for how good these are haha. :D 💕

To actually give feedback though, starting with Hofnarr, I really like how friendly you made him seem, it's almost like he's ":-)" incarnate. Given his job, it also makes a lot of sense that he'd be devoid of any of the scars other grunts would have, and it's the same with his softer pads. Also, I find it really funny that he's technically taller than Sheriff, but it makes complete sense given how Tricky is. I guess I never considered how tall Hof actually would be, so this is cool. I also don't believe I've mentioned it before, but I think you do the profile view of grunts really well; you show just enough features to make it realistic and allow them to wear glasses and such, but don't abandon the fact that grunts don't have human features like us. It's just perfect.

And the doodles for Hof too, omg, he's so sweet in them. 100/10, would absolutely watch T.V. and be friends with him and Jeb as Phobos and Crackpot fume in the background.

With Tricky, I really like how you drew him in general, I think the shades/colors you went with fit together nicely. To get more into it though, I love how you detailed each of his injuries (including those on his hands, which are a very nice touch), and I can actually recognize some as being from the animations. It's just amazing attention to detail and continuity, as always haha, and that's not to mention the little doodles on the side again too! I always feel like you capture the characters so well with them, and here it's especially obvious with his facial expressions (and his ongoing feud with Hank lol). Honestly, I feel like this made me love Tricky even more, which is an achievement haha.

Finally, with Sheriff (who apparently looks a bit like your Dad lol), I absolutely love the fact that he's unharmed except for the shot to his head, and that he has soft pads. Given his [cowardly] disposition, it makes sense that he wouldn't have too much damage or signs of serious work. Yet he has his claws sharpened for supposed combat, which could play into the whole thing he has of acting more intimidating than he actually is. With the doodles, I also like the clothing you went with for him (especially the bolo tie, it's the perfect touch!) and again, I really like the varied emotions you give him here.

Really, I'm just blown away yet again, thank you for these! They're going in the ref pile with the rest of them. :) ❤❤❤❤

#Also I love that the Player was wearing Hank's shirt #you're just so good at this I cannot lol #Sheriff's definitely gonna have a tough time with Church and Jorge there haha #FAV #krystalkitdemi #other's art #Look at this. I love this.#chat tag

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calliedion-dungeon · 10 months

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𖤓Sore Kisses

Picture Kath on Pinterest

Chapter 3. Bitter Fuck

Read on ao3 here <<<

Summary: The dreaded day of the dance arrives, terrible but exciting, for once you would like to be the crowd and have a good time, although there are many signs that this is not your place.

Warnings: MDNI +18, Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Fluff and Angst (later) Swearing, Crossdressing (later), Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Blonde Mary Goore!! Everyone is a Little Shit in here, later it gets all Soft and Smutty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Trope.

You walk towards the ballroom or rather you trot, you're glad you don't wear high heels to your friend's dance if it weren't for that you would already be tired, you stir in your dress to make sure the dress isn't too tight on your figure, Frank looks at you from afar and waves at you happily, thanks to him you’re there, not only for his invitation, but because you had fallen asleep and his persistent calls alerted you that, compared to what you thought, the dance is that very night and not the following weekend, so you got ready in half an hour, a new record. You weren't going to miss the chance to try to dance and hop around a bit.

“Hey! You look good” Frank looked very well groomed; his black bolo tie drew a lot of attention.

“Thanks, it’s thrifted” you point to your torn dress and stockings.

“Nice, this is lifted” he points to his shirt that fits him perfectly, you chuckle a little “I’m not kidding, Mary left it laying around and I took it ‘cause it fits me better”

“Ugh… is he inside?” the smile fades from your face and you squint.

“Now, Y/N…”

“Let’s get inside already”

You avoided sitting in your reserved place for the moment, where Frank's friends were, almost all of them had their hair down as usual but at least they had brushed it, of course they were all in black, and if, much to your regret, you admit that they look good, even... him, maybe the low light makes him look better than he actually was, anyway, everywhere you've seen him there's little light, so you couldn't even say you know his face well.

To keep yourself busy as long as possible, you asked a young man if he would dance with you and he accepted, you had seen him before in other meetings that Frank took you and this guy always smiled at you, he always complimented you on your clothes, but you had never spoken, he was not unpleasant to look at, a little strange, but nothing repellent.

“I like your necklace” he timidly approaches his hand, as if asking for permission to touch it.

“Thank you, my grandma gave it to me, it was hers…”

“I didn’t ask you who gave it to you, it looks cheap, I can give you one better” His tone changed from one second to the next, his reaction was so unexpected, he even sounded offended that you wanted to share a bit of information about yourself “Wanna dance?”

“Sure…” some things he did that you didn't like at all, he wasn't as friendly as he seemed, in his movements he did seem chivalrous, but once he opened his mouth... at least dancing he shouldn’t be talking and you could get what you want, to dance.

There was nothing extraordinary in the way anyone moved, your desire decreased as the songs went by, you saw that Mary looked at you from the punch table while he was hiding a hip pocket flask in his pants as he smirked mischievously and disappeared through the crowd.

In that second that you had looked away to see your dance partner again, another person stood between the two of you, turning their back on you, that person simply began to dance with the guy you had invited, both pretending that you were not there, he didn't do anything about it or rectify the situation, you rolled your eyes and walked out of there. There was no other choice but to feel humiliated, even if that guy wasn't even nice, what was the need to do something like that?

You internally debated if you should do something about it, it is very likely that you will not see those people again, but they are not worth it either, besides, Frank would not like it. You go to an empty area near the lobby, it had comfortable seats, it seemed stranger to you that there weren't couples hiding there groping each other, you sit and sigh trying to swallow your anger playing with your necklace and your frayed dress.

You wonder why you've had such bad weeks lately, it's exhausting that nothing goes right, your chest is heavy, you try to regulate your breathing by yourself, but your resentment is getting the best of you.

“Nice dress…” you hear a voice near you, you don't feel like turning around or chatting with anyone, you just look out of the corner of your eye that it's Mary.

“Not now, Goore, I'm not in the mood” either way he squats next to you.

“Not surprised, I bet that's why you're always off the handle” he teases smiling, but it doesn't seem as malicious as he sounded, it was strange, unfortunately you were too upset beforehand to notice.

“Why are you even here? At least I tried to have a good time” you snapped at him suddenly as you stand up, he huffs dismissive at first “Instead of semi-dress up and act like I’m too cool to be here, then why are you? They don't even care if you dance tonight or not. Nobody's watching you. And if you're just looking for someone to pick on, too late” You don't raise your voice, but you're over the top pointing your finger on his face.

“Woah! Woah! What the hell…?” he stands up to face you.

“And at least I put effort in what I do even if it goes all wrong and not just for show, because I'm not afraid of what people say and I have a heart unlike you!” you’re not sure what you’re saying, but you feel strongly about it.

“You finished!?” he grunts, lowering his eyebrows.

“With you? I haven’t even started, tough boy” your fist clenched as well as his jaw, you stare at each other in the dark lobby. You can't see his face very well, and even though he isn't raising his voice either, you assume he's just as upset as you are.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night, I came in peace…” he starts considering if he should go.

“What?” for a second you froze leaving your mouth slightly open.

“But you're… well... maybe I deserve it after all” his face still harsh.

“You think?” you gesticulate sarcastically.

“We may not get along, but at least you haven't called me names, which I did…”

“Yeah, with a mic and a room full of people!” yes, you take advantage of the fact that he already feels bad about it.

“And uhm… I’m sorry” You do remember when you referred to him as “dickhead” behind his back, you fell silent still, it seems that he is stomping on his pride to tell you all this and that is appreciated.

“What do you have in the flask?” You kept yourself from looking at him.

“Uhh… tequila, you want?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flask.

“Accepted” hardly looking at him, you sit down again, he does the same and shares his drink with you apprehensively.

“You mean…the drink or…?”

“Both, now give” you take the bottle from his hand, your fingers brushing slightly, you dismiss the thought of how that felt by sniffing the mouthpiece and taking a big gulp, you were surprised that there was no burning when swallowing “Dude, this is practically water”

“I didn’t know you were alcoholic” you click your tongue with a scowl on your face, you give him back the drink and takes a few sips making a face afterwards, although he tried to hide it, he gives the flask to you.

“You don’t know shit about me… dickhead” If you already referred to him that way, it might as well tell him to his face, the little insult was added mid-drinking, he snorts chuckling, you don’t look at him directly not once, even when you feel his gaze on you.

The dance didn't seem to end soon, you looked from afar at everyone who was dancing and drinking, even the table you refused to sit at was empty, it surely means that everyone was having a good time, that was the goal, and although in the beginning you wanted to be part of that, you were calmer where you were, sitting in a corner in silence, although not alone.

More than once, Mary was about to take his life into his hands to invite you to dance, but he didn't dare, maybe it wasn't the time, it was also more than obvious that he wouldn't be the person you would accept something from, maybe just a drink.

While you do all your strength not to look at him, not to look at his black shirt and pants, you think you've noticed before that his tie was also black, but you're not sure, you try not to admire his loose hair and for the love of Snoopy don't look at his face, for once it's clean and he smiled at you when he looked at you when he spoke, shit, shit.

#Sore Kisses #mary goore fanfic #mary goore x reader #mary goore #repugnant #repugnant band fanfiction #mary goore repugnant

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incorrectshantaequotes · 3 years

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Shantae Headcanons - The Half-Genies

This is a bit of a weird one for me, not gonna lie. Mostly because, well...you've kinda seen some of my headcanons already! Aside from Harmony, the half-genies don't really get that much screentime (well, Shantae does, but she's in a different post), so I've had to figure out their characterization myself for their quotes. Don't worry, though, that's not all I'm covering here. In any case - onto the headcanons!

Harmony

Harmony is a lot of things. A mentor figure, a guide, a gentle hand - she does great in a crisis, and does wonders helping others through their own. It's no wonder the other half-genies looked up to her. She does have one glaring weakness, though...she cannot do casual social interactions. At all. The other half-genies figured this out rather quickly when they went into the Half-Genie Festival; she did spectacularly with her performance, but during the afterparty? Harmony was doing her best to either not be seen, and what conversation was sparked between her and the partygoers was rather stilted and awkward. The reason for this? Well, it actually ties back to how well she does as a calm and collected leader...

Harmony's mother was well aware of the dangers of Quake Magic. Used without thought or care, it can cause mass devastation, as Shantae herself can attest to. So, to help Harmony when she was gone, she slipped in some instructions into the scrapbook to tell Harmony how to train herself. The catch was, she had to completely isolate herself from civilization first, to avoid any potential harm to innocents while she was still learning to control her magic. Harmony followed said instructions to the letter, only coming out of her training when she felt she was ready to fulfill her role as Guardian Genie. As a result of this nomadic lifestyle, Harmony's calm, disciplined, and can use her magic incredibly well, but it doesn't really make for a good social life.

Thankfully, the other half-genies have been able to help with that, letting Harmony loosen up and enjoy herself. She's still more naturally introverted, but she is rather open around the other half-genies. She has a lot of time on her hands, as very few actually want to be on the other end of her Quake Magic, so Harmony rarely has to actually step up to defend her town. That's not to say it doesn't happen, of course...

Harmony's town is completely landlocked, so she hasn't had to deal with Risky Boots. Instead, the main threat she deals with is Ammo Baron and his army. See, Harmony's town is in a similar position to Scuttle Town in that it's a great tactical position to launch an assault on the palace of Sequin Land. Unlike Scuttle Town, however, Harmony's town has a mayor who's never even considered firing Harmony, meaning that it's never been in the vulnerable position that let Ammo Baron take over Scuttle Town. As a result, 85% of Harmony's job has mostly consisted of dealing with Ammo Baron's plan B: brute force. Thankfully, her Quake Magic helps tremendously in this effort, frustrating Ammo Baron to no end. It's why he switched targets to Scuttle Town in the first place, and why he was investing in a flying armada in Half-Genie Hero. Easier to deal with earthquakes if you're not touching the ground!

Zapple

Zapple is very impulsive. You'd think that her paranoid streak might make her a little more cautious, but no. If anything, a common reason for her to head off on some crazy quest is whatever conspiracy happens to be in her mind. Thankfully, Vera's always been there to help bail her out when she gets in over her head, with the other half-genies helping in this endeavor as they've gotten to know Zapple better.

As the Guardian Genie of Armor Town, Zapple is an expert blacksmith. Who do you think made that armor? She actually ended up forming an unexpected friendship with Bolo because of this, thanks to their similar backgrounds. She also managed to figure out that Bolo's mom is the Squidsmith (more on that in the post I linked earlier) thanks to her spending some time on Siren Island for the Half-Genie Festival, and thinks it's absolutely hilarious that Shantae hasn't connected the dots yet. She's definitely not telling anytime soon, that's for sure.

After the whole Empress Siren thing, Zapple's relationship with Shantae ended up becoming...something between inspiration and friendly rivalry. Like everyone else, Zapple saw the fight between Shantae and Empress Siren's giant form. Like everyone else, Zapple agreed that it was impressive. So much, in fact, that it made her think, "Well, damn, I better step up." And soon after the dust settled, Zapple started training herself and her magic, hoping to do just as well defending her hometown someday. This also lead to challenging Shantae whenever she visited, as a benchmark of how far she'd come since they first met. Shantae was fine with this, knowing it was all in good fun...even if it was a bit unnerving how intense Zapple could get about it. However, after the return of the remaining Sirens (read here), Zapple's need to prove herself significantly died down, so the "rivalry" part of their friendly rivalry has been kinda phased out.

Vera

As the other resident half-genie on Siren Island, she and Zapple have been friends since childhood. Though from completely different walks of life, they get along very well, with Vera helping to ground Zapple's more manic moments, and Zapple always being there to cheer Vera on with her electric pep. Though Vera's been relieved to have some relatively subdued people in her life with the other half-genies, she does still gets along best with Zapple - even if her spontaneous plans and adventures can be a bit much. Someone has to be there to pull her out of the way of angry Bonk Tortoise, after all.

Beyond Zapple, though, Vera gets along very well with Lobster Siren, helping her understand the surface world better and come out of her (metaphorical) shell. This may have something to do with her Refresh Magic and connection to life making her one of the best at understanding Siren, second to only Shantae herself. She serves as a great translator for Zapple and Harmony, as their Spark Magic and Quake Magic provide little or no help understanding Lobster Siren.

Vera is an excellent dancer, knowing all the traditional dances from Tree Town and beyond. She and Shantae actually had a dance-off during the Half-Genie Festival when Vera saw how good Shantae was at it. Though, at the end, both were so impressed with the other that they couldn't decide a winner, and ended up calling it a tie (although a certain zombie and a certain electric genie were a bit vocal on who they thought won).They agreed to send each other tips when they had the time.

Plink

With her psychic powers, the threats Plink protects her town from tend to be ones they can't see. Specters, wraiths, curses - her Seer Magic gives her a better view on all of them, and she combats it by either seeing if she can talk to the haunting entity or warding off the area to ensure no one goes in by accident and causes something they might regret. It's not really flashy or spectacular, but Plink does her job well, and is one of the best people to talk to regarding the supernatural.

Runs a fortune telling booth in her spare time. She doesn't use her magic or anything, she's just well-versed in the world of fortune telling and thinks it's fun, even if she can't exactly predict the future. Plink does try to make it explicitly clear that she's not an actual fortune teller to those who come by, though, as she doesn't want people to come based on false advertising. It's definitely made for a fun party trick to show the other half-genies, though.

Plink knows Poe and Abner, running into each other when the latter two briefly rejoined the zombie caravan. The zombie brothers were a bit surprised to see another half-genie, to say the least, but were able to laugh it off. They talked a bit, ended up exchanging notes regarding what they knew about the supernatural, and going their separate ways. Ironically, though, Plink didn't connect the dots between Rottytops and the little sister the two mentioned until the Half-Genie Festival was nearly over. She really felt compelled to indulge in a facepalm when she did.

#shantae #harmony #zapple #vera #plink #not a quote #headcanons

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djmarinizelablog · 3 years

Note

Levihan, Fluff 11? Please, again? Lol

#11.) Levihan, Fluff: “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…” I think I was drunk when I wrote this draft, so, uhm, my apologies.

Summary: Levi is dead, dead, dead, and he is very, very confused. Crack fic, beware.

Rating: M

Only the Good Stories Remain

Levi thinks he’s a goner; his butt has been kicked by that stupid monkey because Zeke—fucking—Yeager pulled the pin of the thunderspear. Waiting sure makes revenge more satisfying. He wants to say, “A shithead like you has no one on your side.” He wants to chop him up with the Executioner from Hell and feed him to the dogs of Marley. Like bad boys with their bad toys, because sticks and stones may break his bones but whips and chains excite him. Zackley is in the corner, using his torture device on Pixis and Nile. Once he’s done, the Prime Commander sets them all on fire, and Levi thinks this is okay. Hands off, Chief. If Zackley ever touches his face, Levi’s gonna break his bones. He almost had it all, but what they gave him was his angst. He is just the right kind of lost, like a sour, wrinkly grape waiting to rot. It’s him, a painful death, and all the heroic stories in between. But heroism is also a deadly flaw. Like hubris or vanity or snorting soap suds to calm him down. That’s why he thinks he should do away with it. There is something wrong about him so he looks down and sees himself naked. His nose twitches. Somebody comes up to him and grunts, “Fancy, huh?” He glances to the side and sees Farlan and Isabel. They’re cleaning and scrubbing every inch of him. “The fuck you’re doing?” Isabel laughs and splashes an entire bucket of tea onto him, upset that he’s held it the wrong way all these years. He stares down the cup and sees his reflection: it’s a sad blob of smoke and blood. The handle is more fragile than his ego. Behind him, his horse is whinnying; it’s wild and free and the next thing it does is a somersault in the air with his ODM gear. It spins in the air, just like what he does when he’s slashing at Titans in full rage. And then the horse transforms into Erwin without notice. There's no mistaking that blond hair, blue eyes and eyebrows thick as worms. “Erwin, what the hell?” The Commander is running to him with a huge pastry the size of his thigh. “I’m here to keep you high.” He turns around and sees Erwin covered in cream and chocolate. “Surprise, I’m the pastry.” Levi is disgusted and his face does not hide it. But he still wants to bite it even though he might choke on that. It probably tastes like wild berries and bratwurst. Or beef jerky. And all that Levi does is imagine. Pretend he’s not a 30-year-old man who hangs out with teenagers because all his friends are dead. It’s like when they say the history is written by the winners—stories don’t grow in Paradis; they come out of Marley’s ass. Put that on loop and you’ll get a new season. Out of nowhere, Mike keeps on sniffing him; he doesn’t know why but he knows he smells of grapefruit and mint. The next thing he knows is Mike sneezing like it’s the end of the world. He keeps wheezing until Wall Maria falls once again, and then it topples over Sina and Rose. “Oh my god,” Sina blurts out from the afterlife. “Did you mean goddesses?” Rose flips her hair and winks. Oh my us, indeed. Next to him, Nanaba is laughing out loud. She’s a blonde version of Levi, but her hair makes her look like a banana. Maybe that’s why her name is like that. He believes blondies on board do the trick; they’ve all developed a kink for napes. It’s an awkward question if he asks her to confirm that. But he’s waiting for secrets to come out. Blondies should die their hair a different color so people don’t think they’re dumb. And now Levi’s tired because all of his rabid fangirls are trying to ship him with anyone and everyone; he doesn't have enough holes for that. He wants to strangle them all with his cravat. But nobody really dies a virgin because life fucks them all. He’d rather break their bones because they have 213 of those. Nothing here makes sense, he says, seeing Kenny and Kuchel run around chasing knives. His mother is angry at Kenny for raising Levi like a homeless rabbit. So she skins her own brother alive with a backhand grip. And now they’re even, his Ackerman clan. Maybe it’s all about riding out the pain. Or just getting high. It’s a shit show. “Heya, midget!

Shit happens, right?” Kenny spits out the apple seeds from his mouth. “Don’t listen to him, baby.” His mother puts a finger on her lips, but Levi says, "I'm not a baby anymore." He might be growing old but he refuses to grow up and the dead just keep popping out of the dark like daisies. Lynne and Henning are beside Gelgar chugging mugs and mugs of beer. Bizarre and off the wall. He’s mad because nobody gave him an invitation to drink. And now the drinks are on him. Somebody’s throwing up in the back, it might be Kenny or his mother. But it’s actually Sasha, who choked on an entire potato because it wouldn’t fit inside her mouth. She throws up and all kinds of titans come out of her mouth. But they don’t eat anyone; instead they just crawl to the ground with their faces flat in the mud like Rod Reiss did. Even Rod Reiss says hi but Levi doesn’t give a shit. He can keep his face down in shit for all he cares. It’s like dreaming that he’s Historia and Eren is the person who got her pregnant. There’s too much riding and moaning for horny kids and he’s only got sore joints and eyebags from being a veteran. Petra is spanking Oluo for imitating him again. Watch her back; it might break again. The girl acts like a wife to this copycat avocado. Everything is like fish sauce and gin; they don’t make sauce but you still want to hear about it. Gunther is doing bondage with the harnesses, and it excites him, but now he doesn’t know how to free himself from it. “O Captain, My Captain,” Eld says, as if he’s reciting some lines out of a play or a poem. But that does not stop him because Levi cannot appreciate art. He thinks art is for fuckers who think they’ve achieved something good in life. Why be normal when he can be fab? He’d rather be something than nothing. Erwin’s voice is booming. “Do you believe in it?” His bolo tie is slipping. “Do you, do you, do you?” Erwin’s voice keeps repeating: do you, do you, do you, do you, until Levi himself finally has had enough and says, “Fuck this, get out of my head.”

“...Levi?”

Hange is looking at him. There’s no one else around. It’s just them, a bonfire, a tent, splintered wood, and a cart of supplies in the forest, and he’s fucking naked and there are bandages around his face.

Oh, and his fingers are missing.

“We’re all good here, right?”

Hange nods, slowly. “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

“What?”

“...Maybe rest some more?” Hange puts their hands on his shoulders and gently pushes him down the mat.

It’s like camping. In the midst of war. And they’re out here, roasting marshmallows with his hand that has two less fingers. But he’ll be fine, who knows?

Then the cart explodes right behind them.

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agoodpersonrose · 3 years

Note

You want to WRITE again and I want you to WRITE again so #20 You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

I KNOW this is a meet-cute prompt, but I also knew that there is already an INCREDIBLE fic based on this very concept right here by chthonicheart, and I couldn’t work out a way to write it without stepping on their toes. So, instead, I made it a mini canon divergent fic, I really hope that’s okay!

Patrick is desperate.

He’s really desperate, and he’s terrified. He truly had no idea when he woke up this morning that it would be such a momentous- such a life altering day.

But then, David was making a fuss over a man asking for a gift receipt, and then he was asking Patrick about birthdays, and that could only add up to one thing. It all came tumbling out after that; the invitation to dinner, the suggestion of 8pm (the universal date time), and then of course, the water out of the spray bottle, all over the carrots that Patrick then spent the next ten minutes dabbing anxiously with a piece of tissue, trying not to look too flustered.

But the truth is, Patrick is flustered; he finally did it. He finally asked David Rose out on a date. The same David Rose who has been the sole focus of all his attention; all his affection ever since he wandered into Ray’s house all those months ago.

It’s for this reason that Patrick is desperate to find some way to make this date go well. He needs it to succeed, because if it doesn’t, then he just knows he will always look back on this night as the one where he missed his chance. Where he lost out on the one thing he knows for sure that he really wants.

Except as soon as Patrick gets home, he finds that he has little- no, nothing that he could possibly wear that could live up to his expectations for this evening.

He’s still got five hours, so he tries not to panic. There’s plenty of time to hurry down to the clothing store in Elmdale, although, even if he did do that, there’s no guarantee that he could find something that he would like; something that would be worthy of sitting across from David’s monochrome glory.

He should have thought this through properly.

“Patrick? Are you okay in here? I hope you’re not intending on wearing that shirt soon, it’s going to need some considerably good ironing to get it back to the usual Brewer standards!”

Ray’s voice in his bedroom doorway startles Patrick out of his thoughts, and he looks down to find the one shirt that was in the running crumpled up in a ball in his hands.

“Patrick?” Ray repeats, stepping further into the doorway and looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just- I need to choose something. To wear to dinner. Tonight.”

Ray brightens up at the statement, seeming excited just to be involved in this important discussion. “To dinner?” he asks, suddenly turning sly. “I didn’t know you had a dinner planned for tonight. Anyone I know?”

Patrick can feel himself heating up and just laughs brokenly. “Ha, um, well, actually. It’s David’s birthday, so I asked if he wanted to go for a meal?”

“Oh, a meal?”

“Yes, a meal, and--”

Patrick pauses, thinking hard about what he’s about to ask, but eventually he gives in to the impulse.

“What are you doing this afternoon, Ray? I could really do with your help.”

This is how Patrick ends up accompanying his roommate/landlord/former boss on the forty-minute drive to one the only clothing stores in Elmdale.

Ray had agreed almost too quickly, seeming eager to get Patrick ‘out of his comfort zone’ and ‘into some colour’. Patrick is trying very hard not to regret his decision to bring his only friend along on the shopping excursion, though that is getting harder by the minute, as Ray rattles on and on about differing pattern swatches, and fabrics, and “ooh, maybe a little bolo tie!”

They pull up at the only viable store in the area, Ray shooting out of the driver’s seat in a fit of golden-retriever-like frenzy and rushing Patrick in and over to the men’s clothing section.

Surprisingly enough, Ray is conservative with some of his choices. Sure, there is a crocodile patterned vest thrown in, and a sweater with a cow on it which really would cause David to lose any affection he might possibly hold for him at this stage.

“I think these should do for the first round,” Ray says cheerily, bustling them into Patrick’s arms and pushing him in the direction of the changing rooms. “Go and try them on and I’ll be right with you with the next load.”

Patrick goes, unable to argue when Ray is acting this way, and wanders cluelessly past racks of shirts, suits, and jeans.

He smiles politely at the changing room attendant, and slips into one of the empty stalls, immediately letting out a huffed breath and glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to find something today. He’s going to look for his date, and he is definitely going to sweep David off his feet tonight.

And he’s going to kiss him.

That one he’s less certain about but he’s working on it.

Patrick slowly unbuttons his blue shirt, one white button at a time, and pulls it off, placing it carefully on a spare hanger while he slips on a bright orange sweater over his under shirt. He looks again in the mirror, wrinkles up his nose at the gaudy pattern, and goes to take it off.

“Patrick?” he hears Ray’s voice, and groans internally as he pulls the curtain back for his opinion. “Oooh, wow, well I think that’s a winner! What do you think?”

Patrick winces and looks down at the sweater, pulling the sleeves over his hands and making an uncertain noise. “I think maybe the colour isn’t quite--”

“Say no more, I’ll be right back with the next selection. Try this next!”

With that, another handful of clothing, this time majority black fabric.

“Ray, what are you--”

“Try them on, Patrick!” Ray calls without turning back, already disappearing behind another clothes rack.

Patrick does as he’s told again, stepping behind the curtain and pulling on a tight black fluffy sweater, leaving his work jeans on. It’s surprisingly, nice; soft fabric and a tight cut, and Patrick finds himself smoothing his hands over his chest several times with a pleased hum.

“I don’t know Ray,” he calls when he hears footsteps heading into the room. “I just don’t think David is going to be that impressed if I show up to our first date looking like his twin.”

There’s a small intake of breath, but Patrick pays it no mind, and instead steps out into the brighter lighting of the corridor, turning towards the large mirror leaning against the far wall.

Patrick whistles air between his teeth. “I’ll tell you what. It’s soft though, it’s pretty touchable,” he says, turning to one side, his hands continuing to skate along his own shoulders and arms. “Maybe too informal, you know? I want to impress him tonight; I just don’t know what he’ll think about this.”

Suddenly, a hushed conversation and some fast footsteps heading out of the changing rooms alert Patrick that something is happening, and he turns to look behind him.

“Oh. David.”

David Rose is standing in the changing room across from him, impeccably dressed and pale with surprise as he stares down Patrick from three doors down.

“Hi--”

“What are you doing here?”

David looks embarrassed all of a sudden, as if he is the person who just admitted in front of his crush that he was trying to impress him. “Well, um, Stevie actually brought me, she thought she might need a new outfit for- for tonight.”

Patrick’s heart drops through his stomach. “You’re going out with Stevie tonight?”

“Well, no, she was kind of under the impression that we all might be going out, um, after dinner. So, she wanted to get an outfit ready to collect some Randoms, not that that means much more than a vile new flannel shirt and jeans off the clearance rack, but you know.”

“Stevie is coming tonight,” Patrick says slowly, and then finally stops his hands where they have continued to brush against his sweater in an almost self-soothing manner. “To our dinner, tonight.”

David winces, looking uncomfortable.

“Okay, Patrick. I have a few more options here for you. Now, I know that blue is perhaps your statement colour, however, have we considered trying something a little more out there that I really think will catch David’s attention.”

Ray appears in the doorway and holds up a sequin covered sweater which changes colour from purple to pink when pushed in the opposite direction.

“Oh, um--”

“I don’t know Ray, I’m really quite enjoying his current get-up, don’t you think?”

Patrick blinks and turns toward David, who seems to have regained his confidence and is smirking at Patrick with his hand perched on his chin as if deep in thought.

“I think it looks touchable,” David continues. “And we all know how important that is for a first date.”

Ray looks between Patrick and David with an expression of pure elation on his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything else in response, Stevie is suddenly back in the room too.

“Ray, I’m so glad you’re here. Do you think you could give me some advice for a--” she hesitates a minute, clearly coming up with something on the spot. “For a business meeting, that I have.” Ray’s grin grows ever bigger, and he is soon rushed away back to the store, though Patrick doesn’t miss the thumbs up Stevie shoots at David as they round the corner.

As soon as they’re alone, David steps up to Patrick and puts his hands on his shoulders. His touch is tentative and careful, but warm, as he slowly rubs up and down the seam of the black sweater.

“Mm, very touchable,” David hums, “But aren’t you supposed to ‘be yourself’ on a first date?”

“David--”

“I for one, will be wearing my very favourite Neil Barrett sweater. It has a lightning bolt across it, and my tightest pair of jeans.”

Patrick lets out a breath and slowly raises his hands to David’s waist. He’s still in the heart sweater from this morning, and the fabric is soft and warm from his body heat. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“I just think it shows off my best assets.”

Patrick clicks his tongue and leans back, pretending to look behind David for a while. “I don’t know, these seem to be doing the job just fine in my opinion.”

The laugh David lets out in response is miraculous, and his grip tightens on Patrick’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a date?” he asks, dropping his voice slightly. “When you asked me to dinner.”

“I thought I’d made it obvious!” Patrick exclaims, unable to stop himself from feeling embarrassed despite how close David is standing to him. “And I’d hoped that if you didn’t know before, then you would know by the time you got there.”

“Not if Stevie had come and crashed it!”

“Mm, well, that just sounds like poor planning on your part.”

David pulls a face and sways closer. “You should kiss me now,” he mumbles, almost nervous in the way he’s pawing at Patrick, and dropping his gaze.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” Patrick manages to get out before David’s lips are on his.

It’s a short kiss really, considering how long they’ve been waiting, though not by Patrick’s choice, as he makes a disgruntled noise of annoyance when David’s mouth is pulled away, and moving.

“Wha--”

“I said, how set are we on the café for our first date?”

Patrick blinks incomprehensibly, unable to stop his gaze from straying back down to David’s lips. Not that he knows what they feel like, how they taste, he can’t help but want to dive in for a second try.

“It’s just- There’s a diner down the road from here, I was thinking we could maybe--”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” David says, grinning and kissing Patrick quickly again. “Go get changed. This is lovely, but I want to go on this date with the blue-button-up, discount jeans Patrick who has been driving me mad these past few months.”

Patrick kisses David again, just because he can, and hurries off to change.

He’s got a date.

#David Rose #david x patrick #patrickanddavid #DAVID AND PATRICK #david #Patrick Brewer #Patrick #schitts creek fanfic #schitts creek #schitt's creek #fan fiction #meet cute #oneshot #prompt fill #my work

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soukoku-rivals · 4 years

Text

Summary

My darlings, it’s been over two years and we’re done with 2 part out of 3 of this comic. And I am amazed that I actually got this far, that you got this far. Really, without your support, all the comments, likes and reblogs, and of course the coffee, it wouldn’t be possible.

There is only one last part of this comic left - 3 chapters and an epilogue. But before that happens, you voted to the summary so here it is!

It’a very short and I probably skipped some parts one may consider more important than others but I hope it still serves it purpose.

Read under the cut!

Atsushi and Dazai go to a shopping mall where they meet Chuuya. Chuuya is angry at Dazai [as always] but he puts his feelings aside when the mall is attacked by a small gang aiming to rob the patrons. All three of our heroes need to work together in order to stop the bad guys.

Atsushi is amazed at Soukoku’s partnership and Chuuya ends up giving him a few helpful tips on how to fight. Chuuya also identifies the gang as the Wolf School whose leader is a Polish ability user, Sapkowski. The knowledge comes in handy when Dazai and Atsushi come back to the agency and it turns out that the Wolf School not only aimed to rob the shopping mall but also kidnapped a person.

The person kidnapped is Alexandre Dumas, a French ability user with the skill of The Three Musketeers which allows him to see what abilities other people have, can amplify them through touch or contact with his blood and can make regular people physically stronger. His partner, John Locke hires the agency to get him back.

It is again Dazai and Atsushi together on a mission and they meet Chuuya once more, deciding to join forces. This time Atsushi is supposed to join the shorter part of Soukoku and retrieve Dumas first before Chuuya destroys the Wolf School gang. Dazai hangs back.

Chuuya and Atsushi talk about Dazai and how Chuuya hates the other man for always manipulating and using other people. For manipulating and seemingly not caring about mafia while he seems to care about the agency. Atsushi still believes that Dazai is a good person but the conversation is cut short when Chuuya reminds them they have job to do.

They manage to find Dumas after killing two gang members guarding a room. Dumas is unconscious and Atsushi has to carry him out. On their way, however, they are discovered by other members of the gang members and this is when the fight starts.

Sapkowski is an ability user who can turn into mythological and fictional monsters with the help of his skill, The Witcher. However, using Dumas’ blood he amplifies his power and turns all his people into monsters and himself into a dragon.

At disadvantage with Dumas unconscious and needing protection, Atsushi and Chuuya hide when Dazai comes back with Akutagawa as the cavalry. Shin Soukoku face the enemy while Chuuya and Dazai have a talk about how Dazai manipulated Chuuya again with Dumas – kidnapping people and imprisoning them for fun seems to be a sensitive topic for Chuuya.

Before Dazai manages to say something in reply, Akutagawa gets badly hurt and then Dazai falls unconscious after a hit in the head. With three people down, and only Chuuya and Atsushi able to fight, Chuuya decides to take a drastic step. He tells Atsushi to get the other three out into safety while he himself activates Corruption to fight off the enemy after bestowing his hat to Akutagawa.

Dazai wakes up while Atsushi is already out with all of them and manages to get to Chuuya before he dies from overusing his power.

In the mafia infirmary Chuuya remembers how Dazai always used to be there for him after using Corruption, even gifting him with his iconic blue gem bolo tie that’s supposed to symbolize how Dazai will always love Chuuya and won’t let him die. Until one day Dazai is gone and so is the tie. Though Dazai seems to be wearing it now, and what does that mean for Chuuya? However, Kouyou is there this time, ready to comfort him.

Back at the Agency, Locke is there to pick up his partner. As it turns out, he has an ability as well and with it he can take away people’s memories. He erases all memory of Dumas’ power from the agency minds, unknowingly leaving out Dazai, who is unaffected for obvious reasons.

At night Chuuya decides to get rid of the remnants of Wolf School where he meets Locke. He figures out what Dumas’ power is and Locke says he has no choice but to take Chuuya’s memories as well. Locke’s power, Tabula Rasa, wipes the mind completely without Dumas’ The Three Musketeers to control it better and so Chuuya ends up as a blank slate.

Locke tries to get him back to the agency but on his way Chuuya is intercepted by an unknown person working for Fyodor while Dazai watches from the window, having no idea what just happened.

Later, Locke has nightmares caused by Chuuya’s memories and figures out his partner and Chuuya grew up in the same facility. He is in trouble for hurting his partner’s childhood not-friend.

[That was only part 1, this is so long, and I skipped so much, I’m sorry]

Part 2 starts with a flashback of how Chuuya and Dazai first met, Dazai already thinking about suicide and Chuuya desperate to have a happy life. They fight.

In the present, Dumas and Locke arrive at the agency hoping to find Chuuya there but mysteriously he’s not. Dazai invites them for a coffee to talk things through. This is when Dumas finds out what Locke already knows – Dazai is immune to abilities – and Dazai finds out that Locke and Dumas are members of Trickters, ability group specializing in mind control. While trying to contact Chuuya, Kouyou tells them he is missing.

Atsushi gets called over to test if Locke can actually bring memories back – he can – and to bring the footage of CCTV recording from when Chuuya was seen last outside the agency. Dumas identifies the man who took him as Mikhail Bulgakov, another ability user with the power of The Master and Margarita, which marks one person as the ‘Master’ and other as ‘Margarita’ and makes Margarita believe in every word the Master says and support them.

[This never came up but this is as good place as any to point out, I never said Alex can tell a person’s name just by looking at them. Bulgakov is actually a member of the Tricksters as well, and that’s why Hella works with him, and his code name is either Woland or Satan.]

Dazai is terrified of what that implies since Chuuya is with Dostoevsky and obviously, Fyodor would use that power against them. Dazai excuses Locke and Dumas saying he will contact them once they have Chuuya back. They leave not before advising Dazai that he may get Chuuya back as his boyfriend if he just tries, exposing Soukoku’s past relationship to Atsushi.

In the meantime Fyodor convinces Chuuya that they are actually dating. Of course, Chuuya being the loyal bastard he is, promises to prove his worth to Fyodor even after he lost his memories.

Dazai has a small breakdown and Atsushi is there to comfort him.

In another flashback we see smol Chuuya alone in the gardens as he help Rando/Rimbaud find Kouyou’s house. Rimbaud worried about the cold leaves Chuuya with his scarf and hat. Chuuya has very confusing emotions about all of this and is approached by Dazai who witnessed the conversation. Dazai explains that Chuuya bottles his emotions and that causes them to be too much and Chuuya to violently blow up hurting people around. In Dazai’s opinion, Chuuya just needs to let himself feel. Together they go back to Kouyou’s house, holding hands, and Rimbaud takes back his scarf after Chuuya thank him, but let’s the kid keep the hat.

In the present, it is quite some time after Chuuya disappeared. Dazai holds a meeting explaining which places is Fyodor most likely to attack using Chuuya. Kouyou is frustrated at the lack of their progress.

Meanwhile, Chuuya after all his training with Corruption is in a visibly bad state but still determined to carry out Fyodor’s orders still believing Fyodor is his partner and that he has friends there – Hella, Behemoth and Koroviev – who like to play poker with him. Of course, he can’t let them down.

Shin Soukoku and Kyouka [who, the author believes, should always work together, have you seen Dead Apple?] are observing one of the targets and lo and behold, Chuuya appears.

They notify Dazai, who immediately sets out with Yosano to their place, and set out to keep Chuuya there until Dazai and Yosano arrive. Chuuya has no trouble fighting the kids, apparently using Dumas’ blood which Fyodor got from the Wolf School, to control Corruption. Fortunately, Dazai arrives and pins him to the ground. In order to get out, Chuuya tricks him into kissing and then stabs him in the arm [aiming for the throat] and gets out.

In the last attempt to stop his escape, Atsushi attacks, slicing through Chuuya’s gravitational bomb and chopping off his arm. Chuuya, hurt and bleeding escapes. Dazai rushes after him and finds him in an abandoned warehouse where Chuuya loses his consciousness.

In another flashback we find out why Dazai ‘broke up’ with Chuuya by making Chuuya hate him and pretending to hate him in return. He tells Odasaku, that Chuuya loses his control when Dazai’s safety is involved and is willing to hurt himself in order to keep Dazai safe. Being the death seeking person Dazai is, he is worried Chuuya will end up hurt because of him and it’s better that they are not together.

In the present, Dazai understands that his ways were wrong and he should have spoken to Chuuya instead of just leaving him. He wishes for another chance but only when Chuuya is back to normal.

Atsushi arrives to see Dazai and Chuuya in the room together, Chuuya sleeping strapped to the bed and Dazai holding his hand. Dazai explains that Chuuya is most likely still brainwashed by Fyodor, even though he nullified The Master and Margarita and because of that they need to keep him from going back to the rat. It’s a hard decision for him, since Chuuya had his choice taken away from him since a very young age – being an experiment subject in a research facility in France and later caught and sold by human traffickers to Japan. He states that for Chuuya going back to the mafia would be the best.

Chuuya was only pretending to be asleep and heard everything but then he ‘wakes up’ officially and falls back into his old bickering with Dazai even though he doesn’t necessary remember him.

While in the ADA, Chuuya is visited by Kouyou and Akutagawa who show deep care for him and Akutagawa actually brings him the hat, Chuuya recognizes from the pictures he saw at Fyodor’s place. Chuuya is confused.

Later that night, Chuuya and Dazai sleep together, Dazai removing his bandages to keep constant contact with Chuuya in order to nullify his powers. Still, Chuuya escapes through the window taking Dazai’s coat and his hat.

We see Dazai open his eyes and call Atsushi telling him that Chuuya escaped as planned and is on route that should make him meet Dumas and Locke ready to give his memories back. Dazai predicts they may need Yosano.

Meanwhile, Fyodor dismisses Bulgakov and his group but tells Hella to stay behind. Hella is the daughter of Locke and has been spying on Fyodor for his dad and because of that, Chuuya was able to get to the agency safely and get his memories back so he can go back to Fyodor in perfect condition. Fyodor kills Hella for her services.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #Nakahara Chuuya #Dazai Osamu #fyodor dostoevsky #atsushi nakajima #Alexandre Dumas #alex #John Locke #loki #fan comic #doujinshi #Double Black #soukoku #soukoku rivals #update #summary

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andsotheuniverseended · 3 years

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cephas my beloved

so i don't know if what you meant here was "answer all thirty of the dnd meme questions for cephas" but that is how i'm interpreting it so i'mma go ahead and put it under a cut

(also for those not in the know, Cephas (they/she/him/any pronoun you like) is my stone construct witch. yes those are both homebrew things I found online. i use this witch and just recently updated them to the 3.0 version and i'm very excited about it)

1. if one of their friends was jumping on a bed and asked your character to join them, would they?

Yes, absolutely, of course. The bed would then immediately break because Cephas is a couple tons of solid rock, but that's on their friends for not thinking it through. Or maybe that was the plan. Either way, Cephas is on board.

2. would your character carry around a tiny bath and body works hand sanitizer? if yes, would it have a specific scent?

I mean, Ceph does carry around smelling salts enchanted to smell like whatever would make someone feel better in the moment? Which is kind of the same thing? But anyways the real answer is Probably Not unless it was a gift, because Cephas has no sense of smell and has no need to sanitize.

3. does your character paint their nails? do they wait for them to dry fully afterwards?

Technically he doesn't have nails but Cephas will happily allow themselves to be painted over any part of their body, and will stay completely still until it's dry. I know because the party his done this to them before.

4. if you cut open your character’s heart and there was something inside, what would it be? why?

Hm. I mean. Literally speaking, no heart, you just find stone in there. Figuratively speaking... a jade earring. representative of their first steps towards freedom.

5. do/would your character carry lots of hair ties on their wrist?

Nah, not unless one of the other party members asked.

6. what parts of your character’s voice/manner of speaking are distinct, if any?

Hm. Mostly just that their voice is pretty rough and low. Otherwise I think they talk pretty normal??

7. what’s the first thing your character’s eyes are drawn to on a map?

New places. To all the parts of the world they haven't seen yet, and want to.

8. how did your character feel when they left home for the first time?

Okay I'm going to go with the definition of home that means Cephas has to feel like it's home, which would mean the place where they lived with their BFF Effie. And I think the first time they left there, with an intent to go out and adventure, they felt really excited, happy, and like they were finally doing what they were meant to be doing. They'd been feeling very restless up until that point, so it's kind of like scratching an itch. Very satisfying.

9. where does your character look when they’re the only one walking down a road?

All around. She likes to see everything and doesn't get particularly worried about other people or robbers or things like that, so there's a lot of being generally distracted by whatever scenery they're passing through. Sometimes he'll just stop and pretend to be a statue on the side of the road and people watch for a while, if there's time for it.

10. does your character have tattoos? were they alone the first time they got one?

Being made of stone, my darling Cephas can't get tattoos. If they had actual flesh I do think they'd wanna get some.

11. if a button came loose from your character’s shirt, would they make sure the replacement matched?

Cephas doesn't wear clothes, and if they did 'matching' would not be the thing they cared about, so for sure No.

12. how loudly do they cry?

Gods I feel like a lot of these answers are just "Cephas is a stone construct and therefore cannot/does not do the thing" but like Cephas is a stone construct and cannot cry. There have been a lot of times where they wished they could, but their body wasn't built for it. Typically if they're sad, they're quiet about it, reserved.

13. does your character like holding hands? do they do it often?

Yes! But he doesn't do it very often at all. Stone isn't comfortable for other people to hold, and they have to be careful not to hurt people when touching them, so it's generally more dangerous for whoever they're holding hands with than its worth.

14. is your character more likely to wear a necktie, a bowtie, or a bolo tie? (if any at all)

Again, no clothes. But I think Cephas would enjoy a good bolo tie.

15. have you ever said something as your character that stuck with you for a while after? what was it?

Oh lord. Uhhh... hm, well there was this one thing but it is very dependent on the context of the moment. Which is that they were talking with another character who was frustrated about not knowing things, and talking about how in order to be people you have to ask questions even if you don't get answers, you have to keep asking questions. And then they discovered something that was a step in a mystery they'd been trying to deal with and Cephas said "and sometimes you do get answers" and I don't know why but that one did stick with me.

16. what does getting flustered look like for your character?

Stuttering. Awkward hand movements. Maybe reverting to the old "I am but a simple construct with no consciousness" trick if they're really feeling out of sorts.

17. does your character have to glance at their hands to remember left and right?

Ha, no. Cephas knows what they're doing, unlike me.

18. does your character have stuffed animals? would they if they could? what kind?

Hm, no, xe doesn't. But I think they would if they ever settled down and stopped traveling. Even if Cephas can't really feel the softness, they would like it. And they'd be very careful with them too. As for the kind... I'm thinking those, like, huge round ones? Fuck there was a name for them. Squishables?? I think???

19. does your character walk or run down stairs?

Walk, typically. Running could damage things lol

20. if your character saw a turtle stuck on its back, would they flip it over?

Oh yes 100%. And also try and talk to the turtle and see if it needed any further assistance.

21. has your character ever climbed out of a window? would they do it again?

I don't have a moment in mind specifically, but there's no way Cephas hasn't, and they would absolutely do it again.

22. what’s your character’s ideal way to wake up? what usually wakes them up?

Cephas doesn't so much sleep as... go into Obedient Construct mode for four hours, which is to say they will obey any order given to them. Ideal way to wake up from that is in some weird/compromising position because it means his friends were messing with them and they love that. And they can't be woken up unnaturally, so its just that after Four Hours something in their head goes Ding and they're back.

23. what’s the pettiest thing your character’s ever done?

Dyed a nobleman's hair bright pink because he was kind of rude to them when they were pretending to be a normal construct.

24. what made your character the angriest they’ve ever been?

Cephas... doesn't really do anger, generally. But! There was a man who pretended to be a prophet of a god, and collected a small group of true believers. And then he took over a town, and made the townsfolk slaves. And that really got to Cephas, in a very personal way. (They did take care of the man and they still have mixed feelings about doing it.)

25. how does you character smile?

With great effort. Cephas wasn't built to emote, so any facial expressions are subtle and take a lot of concentration and effort to make happen. Over time they've gotten more practiced at this and can do it almost without thought, but it's still the smallest movements for a great amount of toil.

26. does your know the names of their constellations? how did they learn them?

I think, some of them? Cephas lived with her best friend's family for a long time and I think they would've learned some of them there. But then they also definitely made a game out of making up constellations and naming them whatever they wanted, so it's a toss up whether what they know is a real constellation or one they made up and then forgot they made up.

27. do/would your character draw or write on themself?

Oh yeah, for sure.

28. would your character race someone to the top of a tall tree for bragging rights?

Not for bragging rights, but absolutely yes Cephas would race someone. And they would lose because they are big and heavy and not made for climbing, but its more about the fun of it than the winning or the losing for them.

29. is there an artist whose style you associate with your character? (visual or otherwise; poets and musicians, etc. count)

Hmm... not really?? I don't really associate artists with my characters. My friend drew Cephas once, so I think that's the closest I'm gonna get to that. Maybe Delta Rae? I feel like Delta Rae has got those witchy vibes, and that makes me think Cephas.

30. how has your character’s first impressions of their party members changed since they met them? have they stayed the same?

Oh this is delightful because when Ceph first met the party, they were pretending to be a normal construct, so the DM was 'playing' them. Which meant I got to sit there and watch, and so I wrote down what Cephas was thinking. They only met the first three members of the party that day, but I literally have it written down that it was three "good first impressions" because one of them stole a book, another one turned invisible to draw a face on a trash can, and the third called Cephas 'interesting'. Overall impression? A group of messes who just went through something tough and are not dealing with it super well.

Current impression? A surprisingly competent group of messes who are working through some stuff, and very much don't like talking about their feelings. Also, I'm invested.

Seriously though it started out as Cephas thinking they seemed fun and wanting a distraction, and now Cephas is like actually really invested in all of them and their growth and wants to help them as much as they can.

#Cephas #dnd #this was. long. but also fun.#also anon u called cephas 'my beloved' and i was like Ah? did i send this ask to myself??#maybe i did maybe i willed it into existence #anyways i love Cephas they're weird and beautiful and love their party and they have to leave soon and i am sad #Universe Answers

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pollylynn · 4 years

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Title: Ditto WC: 1100

He thinks that if he had written Zhang as a character—if he had written the particulars of Henry Graham’s murder into one of the Nikki Heat books—he’d have ended up scrapping the whole damned thing for being too on the nose.

He doesn’t really see it as anything more than an unfortunate coincidence at first. She is uncharacteristically forthcoming about the problem with the newly minted Captain Klemp, and he’s not a fan of the way he muffed that entire interaction by assuming that she wanted to dish on an enemy or a friend who’d failed his way upward.

The smallness of her voice when she admitted she feels like she’s fallen behind is still rubbing his heart raw when they get to the crime scene, and he stumbles again. He means to tell her that he’s been there—that he has any number of postgraduate degrees in professional envy—but it comes off as dismissive when he calls it Patterson Syndrome. It make her laugh, and that makes him hope she’s bouncing back from the Klemp Catastrophe, but he wishes he could strike the right note here.

He especially wishes he had as the Zhang situation develops. He’s delighted by the legend of Zhang while it consists mostly of Ryan and Esposito eating a little humble pie. He is less delighted once it includes her impressive personnel file and Gates’ rapturous tones when she hands it over to Beckett. But it still seems like little more than an unfortunate coincidence that’ll need just a touch of course correction on his part.

That’s before Beckett turns into him.

It happens at the Jade Temple and it’s like a slow-motion car crash. Zhang is beyond pushy, beyond abrasive, beyond out of her you-are-here-as-a-professional-courtesy lane, and it knocks Beckett back. It has her scurrying across the restaurant, stiff armed with her badge extended before her. It has her standing, gaping, deprived of her witness by this week’s Special Guest Villain, who seems to think she’s Gotham’s OG Caped Crusader.

That’s when the hard, terrible truth comes out—she’s been web-stalking Zhang. She has some company in her gaping, then, as she zooms in on the husband, on the adorable children. Lord knows his jaw more or less hits the white tablecloth, because when did she even have time to web-stalk Zhang? More important, how is possible that she does not realize that her completely baseless feelings of inadequacy have taken her deep into Richard Castle territory?

He doesn’t have time to ask his rhetorical questions. He barely has time to recalibrate his Sense of the Problem Sensors before it’s not just Zhang, but the damned case itself that’s pushing her buttons like a bespoke button-pushing thing. There’s a swaggering FBI agent in a who does everything but actually Little Lady her in his outside-his-head voice, and it’s almost a shame he holds back. He thinks, quite possibly, that finding the absolutely most creative way to murder a man with a bolo tie might go a long way toward renewing her confidence in her inimitable bad-assery.

But Glassman does, just barely, hold back and the federal meddling stings. It echoes off wounds in the distant and not-so-distant past and he knows she must be thinking how differently this would be going down if she’d played it smarter and held on to the DC job.

He knows by the time the girls’ night comes up that Zhang and Henry Graham’s murder are entirely too on the nose for any unnecessary interaction with Zhang to be a good idea. But she goes. He gets waylaid by the boys and ends up doing an informative bit of self-owning.

This is my third marriage. I think I know what I’m doing.

But the thing is, he kind of doesn’t. And the boys are idiots—who, by the way, got simultaneously disarmed by Zhang, and he is in no way going to let them forget that—but the condescending assertion that people in a relationship need space is, coincidentally, on the nose.

He can’t fix the problem of Zhang for her. He can’t undo the fact that Henry Graham has got to evoke Mike Royce, that flying in the face of federal directive to stand down in the midst of a murder investigation is exactly the reason she got turfed by the Bureau, and by extension, exactly the reason she feels like she’s treading water at the NYPD.

He’d like to highlight–delete the whole damned thing for her, as lazy and trite a literary conceit it is, but he simply can’t. So he waits it out. He hangs back and bites his tongue when she gives him the whispered download about Zhang’s fraying marriage. He doesn’t suggest the couples web-stalking he would be very much into. He nods in sympathy as she explains how Zhang feels responsible for Henry’s death. He hangs back and gives the two supercops space to do their thing.

It turns out to be a painful thing—a collar that brings precious little satisfaction to anyone, but they both know how that goes, and at least they’ll bring down Mimi Tan. At least Zhu Yin will be free, as Henry had wanted her to be.

When he sees her with the laptop in bed, he wonders for a fleeting second if she’s given into the temptation again. He wonders for a fleeting second whether she’s him again and what on earth he’ll do about it.

She is him, sort of. She’s not web-stalking Zhang and her estranged husband. She’s not wondering if the juiciest details will be in Cantonese or the good old English-language tabloids. She’s writing, though.

She’s highlight-deleted Zhang and Henry Graham and all the on-the-nose resonances of the last few days. She’s pulled the thread and unraveled the problem and she’s starting with a list. That’s more her than him, of course, but there’s something else that’s the two of them together. It’s him plus her plus the accumulated lessons of the mistakes they’ve made.

She’s looking him in the eye and making the promise that he—that they—rank high, and any choices she makes about her career will happen in the full light of day this time. He feels unexpectedly a little teary. She’s pulled a thread within him, too—one that in his concern for her, he hadn’t realized needed to be pulled. He’s a little teary with relief.

It’s him plus her. A/N: The object is Beckett’s browser history on her phone? Hmm

.images via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 7 #Castle: Hong Kong Hustle #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Javier Esposito #Kevin Ryan #Victoria Gates #Mike Royce #Fic #FanFic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Hmm

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whattimeisitintokyo · 4 years

Text

Somos Familia Ch 39: It Hits the Fan

Chapter 39: It Hits the Fan

Today was the day!

Miguel's birthday!

Héctor chuckled to himself as he finished shaving and wiping off the leftover shaving cream off his face, leaving behind the little tuft of hair that was his goatee. He had often considered shaving it off completely, being too old to have such juvenile facial hair, but at this point in his life it was practically trademarked. All his official photos and even illustrations of him all had it. He was practically stuck with it.

He chuckled again, letting his mind drift over these trivial things that made him smile. Any thoughts that didn't include what this day also was. Yes, he would put items on the ofrenda for his beloved daughter, tell her how much he missed her and loved her. Even give a respectful nod to Ernesto's foto. But other than that his thoughts were only on Miguel's birthday party. All the family would be there, everyone would feast on Miguel's favorite meals, presents, games, laughter and love. If he just concentrated on that then the pain wouldn't be so bad.

He didn't sleep well last night. He never did on the days leading up to Dia de Muertos. He vaguely remembered waking up crying once last night, but he was soon lulled back to sleep by his wife's calming presence and he was fine afterwards. She didn't even say anything when he awoke the next morning, and he was thankful for that. He could pass off the dark circles under his eyes on his age, and no one besides Imelda would notice.

He stepped into his walk-in closet and pushed aside Imelda's beautiful dresses to get to his clothes. He was feeling particularly festive today and pulled out his royal purple suit jacket off the hanger. Thinking about which tie would go well with hit, he looked up and saw something gleaming in between the hanging clothes.

The golden tooth of a grinning skull.

Immediately his mood dropped as he blankly stared at the headstock of his once prized guitar. He didn't feel any pride or joy in looking at it, hadn't even played it for over nine years, but he couldn't bring himself to hate it either. Many times he had considered giving it away or, in his more depressive states, simply throw it into the dumpster where he felt it belonged.

But he never could. Because his beloved wife had given it to him on his birthday, oh so many years ago.

'Y-you… bought this for me?! I don't know what to say…'

'You don't need to say anything Héctor. Feliz Cumpleaños. Now stop saving your money for it and go buy yourself some food, tonto.'

And then she had kissed him for the first time ever. On the cheek, yes, but it had made his whole head burst into flames and his ears buzz. It was the true beginning of their relationship, and this guitar was the key. It was a precious moment in his life: a fond memory. So no, he couldn't get rid of it so easily. But it wasn't going to stay in the closet anymore either. He'd have a talk with Chente later about sending it off to Rivera de La Cruz Records to be put on display to the public if they wanted it. It would still be his, but he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Picking up a red necktie he pushed a bunch of clothes over the guitar, concealing it again, and walked away.

--------------------------------------

"Facundo! Don't smear icing on your sister's dress! Anselmo! Osvaldo! Stop fighting, you're in front of company, show some respect! Ay, Dahlia hold the baby for me, would you? You're the oldest, you need to help Papá."

Miguel walked into the courtyard with Victoria to absolute mayhem, with Victoria pulling him out of the way just in time before a sticky pastry struck the wall where his head was. Nodding his thanks to his niece he looked out to see Elena and Charlie playing with five other small, very rambunctious children dressed in their best church clothes. Soiled in mud, breakfast foods and sans shoes of course, but there was an effort to get Martín and Rosita's children dressed nicely for the special occasion. Martín was standing over them, trying not to be knocked down by the running, screaming children as he also tried not to drop the baby girl in his arms. Matty was also seated at the table set outside, holding Clara and looking very smug that his own children were behaving themselves properly, and Julio was looking out at the chaos with a thousand-yard stare.

Sitting down after finally passing the baby to his eldest, Martín slumped into a chair with a groan and leaned towards Matty in exhaustion. "Remember the Nazis? How easy it was with them? They were so neat and organized. Precise."

"They blew your leg off, amigo."

"At this point in my life, I wish they blew something else off."

"Papá, Papá!" One of Martín's sons came up to him, pulling on his sleeve and smiling with gapped teeth. "Charlie wants to play horses! Can we, por favor?"

"Ay, all right." Reaching down underneath the table, Martín fumbled around a little with belts and straps before pulling off and giving the child his prosthetic leg. "Don't get it dirty and do not, I repeat, do not… stick forks in it again."

Suddenly Julio sat up with a smile and shouted. "Hey everyone! The birthday boy is here!"

All the little children stopped immediately to look at Miguel standing in the doorway, before screaming again and running into him for hugs. This time Victoria didn't help, and Miguel let out a squawk when he was bombarded with seven sticky children. "Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!" several little voices yelled out.

"Agh!... Gr-gracias… AHH! You guys are squeezing me to hard!"

"Ah, there you are mijo." Imelda swooped in and managed to pry the little ones off her son, brushing down his hair and giving him a kiss. "Fashionably late to your own party, I see. You look very nice today."

"Gracias, Mamá." Miguel said, pulling down his sleeves to cover up the wristbands that Victoria had made for him. 'I've gotta look nice for my performance tonight.' He said to himself. It wasn't a charro suit that he would have liked to wear, like a professional mariachi, but the bolo tie and shiny new boots were a nice touch.

"Well I hope your hungry." Imelda said. "We've been cooking up a storm all morning in that cramped little kitchen. And Wanda has made a delicious surprise for you."

"Cinnamon rolls!" Wanda said happily, placing a tray of pastries absolutely dripping with icing and candied nuts on the table. "My grandmother's recipe. I really hope you'll like them, but if you're anything like your brother then I know you're going to love them Miguel."

"No, I don't love them." Matty said, already double fisting the freshly glazed rolls with hungry eyes. "I'm damn near addicted to them. I crave them all day every day. But they're considered a Sunday food, and I'm forced to go without all week! It's torture, hermanito, pure torture."

"Which reminds me, since I'm making them on a Friday that means you've had them two times this week. So, we can skip them on Sunday and have them the next week."

"What?!"

"It's actually a little funny." Wanda said as Matty started to hoard as many rolls as he could in front of him. "Rosita's had three so far, but she's been pouring lime juice all over them. Lime juice! Can you believe it? How can you eat something so sour with something so sweet is beyond me!"

The others laughed a little and started to doll out the rest of the pastries to everyone else, with only Matty noticing the way Martín's face had turned pale white and he sunk lowly in his chair. "Lime juice?… Oh, no no no no nooo…"

Matty shook his head with pity, but mostly with exasperation, and ate his cinnamon roll. "Cochino…"

Breakfast was delicious, of course, and the party continued throughout the day. There were party games, cake and ice cream and even more sugary delights that threw all the little children into an even more manic frenzy until they had finally passed out underneath the shade of the tree. The ofrenda had been set up, decorated with flowers and offerings for Imelda's parents, Leti, the late Facundo and even Matty's friend Barto, while the adults shared stories of their dearly departed despite Héctor's best efforts to divert their attention to another party game or business idea he had. Even Chente and his best friend Javier had come to whish him a happy birthday to join the festivities. They always seemed really cool to Miguel, and he also felt like they understood his frustration with the lack of music.

Miguel absently kept checking the clock every so often, time seeming to move achingly slow as it creeped towards seven. He had hidden his guitar underneath the ofrenda table, somewhere he knew his father wouldn't be near that much, so it would be ready to be picked up when he left.

But for now his concentration was on opening the last birthday present, then he could go get his real gift. "Wow, sneakers! Gracias Tío Oscar y Tío Felipe!"

"Not just any sneakers." Felipe said proudly.

"But the new Rivera Freeflyers!"

"The new line of children's shoes-"

"-that goes on the market next year."

"Designed by us of course."

"But you're the first kid to wear them!"

"Feliz cumpleaños!"

Smiling, Miguel set the shoes back in the box. "That's really cool. Thanks again. Is that the last present? Aw man, that's sad. But I guess good things can't last forever. Well, if we're done I have some stuff I-"

"Atata. Not so fast, Miguel." Héctor walked up to him, smiling widely. "Because I also have a present for you."

Sitting back down, glancing at the clock again, Miguel's smile drooped a little in uncertainty. "Okay…"

Clearing his throat theatrically, Héctor stood next to his son in the center of the room spoke loud for all to hear. "Twelve years ago today, Miguel Rivera… beloved nephew, tío, brother and son… was brought into this world. A harrowing, frightful day for the whole family, especially for his dear mother, mi diosa, but one that ultimately ended in triumph. For that tiny baby was able to grow into a healthy little boy, and who has now grown into the fine young man standing before us all today."

"And since you are on the brink of adulthood, it's high time that we start thinking about your future, Miguel. Specifically what you're going to do for a living when you grow up. Now as much as we, and pretty much the whole world, loves your Mamá's shoes I get the feeling that's not where your passions truly lie. But after having a talk with Chente yesterday, we came to the conclusion that maybe your future lies with… Rivera de la Cruz Records."

Miguel noticed the way his father flinched at saying Ernesto's name, like he always did, but that didn't matter at the moment. There was a sudden bubbling of excitement and anticipation welling up inside of him, and he happily looked over at Chente for a confirmation. The former assistant, now CEO of the biggest movie and music production company in Mexico, gave him a silent smile and thumbs up. Turning back to his father with a big smile, Héctor continued.

"So your mother and I talked about it last night, and we both decided the best opportunity for you would be-"

Miguel could see it now: His name in lights, the crowd chanting his name, strumming a guitar just like, no better, than Tío Nesto's. Singing songs that he had written himself, the crowd singing along with him because they were so good, so memorable. Immortalized for all time by doing the one thing he truly loved to do: Playing the guit-

"-to start training you in business, just like your brother! And to start with that, we're going to enroll you in business management classes!"

…..

"… What?"

There was not a sound coming from anyone else in the room. Wanda, Julio and Coco looked at each other in complete disbelief and mild disgust, Matty slowly bringing his hand over his eyes in complete exasperation. The other adults in the room cringed and suddenly became very interested in their plates of leftover food and cake, except for Vicente and Javier. Poor Chente stared at Héctor like he had just condemned the man to his death, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, while Javier was bent nearly in half in his chair. Shoulders shaking and biting down on his clenched fist, Javier was doing everything he could to not just bust out laughing at the entire fiasco in front of him. Oblivious to everyone's obvious displeasure of his grand announcement, Héctor continued.

"There's a school nearby. In San Benito. They specialize in training children for college. Mateo, you went there, remember?"

Nodding and smiling painfully, Matty said, "Yes, Papá. I remember going… I remember willingly going-"

"Well, you did so well there that we thought Miguel would too! Now, they've got a new program where they include room and boarding, and you can do your regular schooling there."

"Which" Imelda interjected, "I have already vetoed. They still have just the same smaller classes every other weekend that you went to, Mateo. I don't want our little boy to be away from home for so long."

"Right," Héctor said. "I agree with her. You'll still go to school here, so don't worry about that. You won't miss your friends or your family. But I feel like this is a great opportunity for you."

Miguel felt like congratulating himself for how well he was hiding his displeasure from his parents. No, displeasure was too light a word for how he was feeling. He felt like his face was about to break and shatter for how long he was holding the rictus of his earlier smile, and his heart and stomach freefalling down to his boots. He felt like he was slowly dying, and yet his parents were looking at him like they were doing this for his own good. And they were proud of it too!

Maybe it was his own fault: being so secretive about who he truly was and what his interests were. His parents didn't know who he was at all and thought he would be glad that they were practically dooming him to a fate worse than death.

Swallowing painfully, almost as if he felt like he was about to cry, Miguel croaked out. "W-well… That's… a lot to take in."

"It's just an idea, mijo." Héctor said gently, as if finally sensing that his son might not be totally ready for such a radical change in his life. "And you've got plenty of time to decide. We can talk about more in the morning alone."

"It's just that that- uh…" Miguel fumbled a little with his wristbands hidden under his sleeves. "I'm not like Matty was when he was my age. I mean… I'm more like a normal kid, you know. Not a nerd like him."

"…Hey…"

"I mean I not as smart as him. I won't be any good in a school like that."

"Don't worry about that, Miguel." Imelda said softly, placing her head gently on his head and smoothing his hair. "You'll have your family here to guide you. We'll help you every step of the way. You won't be alone."

"And to help you even more, here's another present!" Héctor said. From behind his back he pulled out a small briefcase, made from leather dyed in a brilliant shade of red, and the letters M.R. embedded on the front in solid gold. Placing in the boy's hands, Héctor smiled widely and clapped his hands with pride. "Look at that. Another businessman in the family! You look so professional already! Ha ha!"

Glancing down miserably at the briefcase, as if he were handed a live grenade instead, Miguel nodded and once more looked up at his parents with that same faked, gritting smile. "Gracias Papá… Gracias Mamá…"

"Aw, feliz cumpleaños, my boy!" Héctor said as he hugged his son happily. "And don't just thank me. Thank Chente, since this was also his idea!"

"Ohhh…." Vicente moaned, trying to ignore the way Javiar was applauding loudly next him with that stupid smug grin of his. "Please don't thank me…."

"Better watch out!" Héctor jokingly said. "One day Miguelito here will take your job out from under you!"

"…I'll do that…"

As the adults carried on with their conversation, Miguel kept looking at the briefcase in hands. It really was a beautifully designed briefcase, something that Matty probably carried around all the time and would probably love having himself, but all it did was make Miguel want to cry. This wasn't what he wanted at all. This wasn't him. And the fact that his own parents didn't see that in him, couldn't see that, broke his heart.

He would have started crying then and there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw Victoria standing next to him, giving him a look of sympathy and understanding. But also of defiance. Glancing down at the briefcase in disgust, she said, "Put that thing away and go get your guitar. Wanda and Papá will distract Abuelito and everyone else. It's showtime, Tio."

With a start Miguel looked over at the clock and gasped. All his inner turmoil had made him nearly forget about the contest! And it was in twenty minutes! With Victoria giving him an encouraging smile and a slight shove Miguel took off to the ofrenda room. Ducking underneath the tablecloth he flung the accursed briefcase underneath it and grabbed his prized guitar, feeling so much better now that it was in his hands. Glancing to his late sister's foto, and then to his Tío Nesto's, Miguel gave them a watery smile.

"Wish me luck." He whispered, and then headed out the doorway.

No one noticed he, Victoria, Matty and Coco leave the party at all.

Except for one little girl with a big mouth.

---------------------------------

Picking up a small, fried grasshopper from the bowl on the side table, he twisted it to and fro for his grandson to see. It was such a lovely surprise: Here he thought there wasn't many chapulines left for the season, and then all of a sudden Julio gifted him with a heaping bowl of the crunchy little things! Then Wanda had come up to him, saying that his grandchildren wanted to spend some time with their grandfather and to tell them stories. He was more than happy too, even if it was odd that he and the children were practically shoved into the kitchen and the door was slammed shut. But for now, with Clara babbling happily in his arm and with Charlie's rapt attention, he continued his story.

"So at the end of the day, there I was: Scratched up by dried alfalfa, bitten all over by every mosquito there ever was, and with a bag of caught grasshoppers slung over my shoulder. I took it to old Señor Perales and he would fry them up for the customers, and for my pay he would give me a handful of them on a stale tortilla. Sometimes that would be the only thing that I would get to eat for the whole day. But I didn't mind much, it was worth it for me. They're good, no?"

"They're salty." Charlie said as he crunched one with a grimace.

"Sí. Salty, crunchy and my favorite snack. And that was the first job I ever had at four years old. Your age, mijo! Grasshopper catcher extraordinaire."

"My friend Timmy likes to pick out earthworms from his Mommy's garden and eats them too, even with dirt on them! Is that the same thing, Grandpa?"

"No, your friend's just odd."

"Oh."

The sound of the door being opened caused the three of them to look, only to see Elena poking her head in. Héctor was immediately worried: His granddaughter looked very troubled, staring at the floor and lip trembling, trying to decide if she should come in or not. Shifting the baby in his arms to free his hand he held it out. "Elena? Is there something wrong?"

Nodding a little, she slowly edged her way in and closed the door. "My tummy hurts…"

"Aww, too much cake and ice cream, huh?" Héctor asked kindly, squeezing her hand when she took it. "I guess it also didn't help that your cousins gave you too much excitement as well. Well, if you want I can walk you home-"

"It's not that, Abuelito." Elena said softly. "My tummy hurts because I feel guilty."

"Guilty? Did you and your sister have a fight? Because if you said or did something to make her upset I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's what a family who loves each other does, mija. We always forgive each other with time."

Eyes widening, Elena looked up at her grandfather with a slight glimmer of hope. "Really? Family forgives each other for anything?. They don't… get really mad and hate them for it?"

"Of course not."

Elena smiled a little at that, looking like she felt a little better. Then her smile faded, and she shook her head. "No, no… Papá says that I should always do what my parents say…"

Blinking in confusion, Héctor nodded in agreement. "Uh, yes… Yes, children should do what their parents say. Your Papá's right."

"Buuuut…"

"…But?"

"But you're Mamá's papá…" Elena said slowly, nervously picking at her fingers and biting her lip hard in agitation. "So, she has to do whatever you say… right?"

Now he was growing concerned. Pulling his granddaughter close to him, Héctor made Elena look at him squarely in the eye. "Elena, if something is wrong with your Mamá you need to tell me, claro? Now, what's going on?"

"….Well…"

------------------------

"Congratulations, Señor Magallanes."

"Oh you too, Mrs. Rivera."

Chuckling and clinking their mugs of coffee, Julio and Wanda sat on the old boarded up well and each took a sip of the hot brew. They watched as the Reyes children ran around the courtyard in a wild frenzy, having woken up from their sugar comas and putting an end to their parents' moment of peace and quiet, and smiled smugly to themselves. Both because they were thankful that their own children were not as wild and rambunctious, and also for a job well done.

"Nice work on getting the fried grasshoppers so late and getting so many. I'm told they're a seasonal…delicacy." Wanda grimaced at the word.

"Gracias. And that was a nice move of giving him your kids. 'Charlie wants to hear all about you when you were his age!'" Julio chuckled at that. "It really was a nice distraction."

Wanda hummed and gave a sultry smile, gazing off into the distance. "Well, Matthew has always said that I am… a master of distraction. In more ways than one"

"…Uh, right…" Taking an uncomfortable gulp from his coffee mug and coughing awkwardly, Julio changed the subject. "So when should they be back?"

"Well Miguel is the first act." Wanda said. "So it'll start at seven, he'll sing his little song, then Matthew and Coco will bring him right back. So I guess they should be back in about half an hour? Plenty of time before anyone notices they're gone. And if they ask we'll just say he went to a friend's house."

"Thirty minutes?" Julio asked, a little downhearted at the thought. "So, he won't get to stay to see if he wins?"

Wanda nodded in sympathy. "Yes, it is a shame. But honestly do you really think he would win? I mean, I know he's very good, but he'd be going up against musicians who have been playing for much longer than he's even been alive. It seems a little unlikely, right?"

"Sí, you're right… It still would be amazing if he did, though."

"Honestly I think the poor boy just wants to be heard. Can you blame him? Especially after that… gift his parents gave him. Ugh…"

"Sí. Let him have some fun for one night." Julio nodded, bring the cup back up to take a sip. "Thirty minutes. Plenty of time. Go out, perform, come back. No one will suspect a thing."

"All will be well." Wanda agreed.

The sudden slamming of a door hitting the wall startled everyone in the courtyard. All the children skidded to a halt, the adults stopped talking immediately, and all eyes turned towards a very livid Héctor Rivera.

"MIGUEL IS GOING TO PLAY THE GUITAR IN THE PLAZA?!"

Clara started to cry in fright in her grandfather's arms, but Héctor paid her no heed as he marched up Julio and Wanda. "Elena just told me that Miguel's playing in the contest! Julio, is that true?!"

Julio stared at his father-in-law, chalk white and looking like he was about to drop dead on the spot. His mouth worked itself up and down, but all that came out was choked squeaks and croaks. "Uh-uh…uh uh…ah…uh."

With a growl, Héctor turned his glare to his daughter-in-law. "Wanda, did you know anything about this?!"

Wanda, also much whiter than usual, managed to give a nervous half smile and shrugged with a weak chuckle. "Uh… No hablo es-pan-ol?..."

"Forget it!" Héctor shouted, placing the now screaming baby in her mother's arms and turning out to the exit. "You all want to go behind my back?! Fine! I'll put a stop to this myself!"

As Héctor left the courtyard in a mad dash, Julio wilted with a moan. "No no no no! This has all gone to hell. We had one job to do and we failed even that! Matty and Coco are going to kill us!"

Wanda shook her head, trying to calm down her poor baby. "No, they won't!"

"You're right. Only Coco is going to kill only me!" Julio cried. "Elena, why did you tell Abuelito?! You promised you wouldn't!"

Elena was sobbing by now. This wasn't supposed to happen: Abuelito had said that he wouldn't be angry, that he wouldn't hate Miguel for what he did. But it was all a lie! "You don't keep secrets from family, Papá! I couldn't stand lying to Abuelito!"

"What is going on here?!"

They all turned to see Imelda, Rosita, Martín and the twins coming out of the ofrenda room, confused as to why everyone was either in shock, scared or crying their eyes out. With a sigh Wanda came up to them. "Oh, Mamá Imelda, you might as well know now. Miguel was going to play the guitar at the music competition in the plaza-"

"What?!"

"- and Papá Héctor just found out. He's going after them to stop him. I've never seen him look so mad! I think he's going to do something-"

"Stupid…" Imelda finished, hitching up her skirts to run as fast as she could in her high heeled boots. "Dios mio, Héctor! Héctor come back!"

"Oh Rosita, could you take the baby?" Wanda asked as she handed Clara to Rosita. "I need to go to! Matthew might need my help! Come on Julio, Coco needs you to!"

"Wait! Coco will need my help as well!" Rosita cried out. "Martín, mi amor, hold the baby and hold down the fort. Oscar, Felipe! Let's go!"

"Wait, what?!" Martín cried out, watching helplessly as all the adults ran out of the Rivera complex, leaving him alone with nine children all under eight years old, screaming and crying with fright. Looking at Clara in one arm and his own crying daughter in the other, Martín growled in frustration. "Oh sure! Leave all the kids with the one guy who can't run away! I see how it is! This is discrimination! I am a war veteran, I deserve some respect and a break!"

"Don't worry, Tío Martín…" Elena sadly said, taking Clara away from her uncle and holding the baby close. "I'll help you with the babies…"

"Ay, gracias Elenita." Martín sighed in relief, patting her head gratefully. "You're a good kid."

Burying her face in her little cousin's blanket, Elena tried to hide as the tears came pouring out again with her sobs. She wasn't good. She didn't deserve the praise. She deserved to be punished, not Miguel. Miguel was going to be kicked out of the family. Abuelito hated him now.

It was all her fault.

----------------------------------------

"I knew it." Miguel moaned as he, his siblings and Victoria made their way to the plaza. Clutching his guitar for dear life, as if he was afraid it would be ripped away from him, he hung is head low while Victoria guided him by his shoulders. "I knew Papá would never even consider letting me play music, he just hates it too much. I'm gonna have to play in secret for the rest of my life."

"Yeah." Victoria sighed with a pout. "I guess I'm going to have to as well. I'll never get to dance in the likes of La Scala or the Royal Opera House. I'd even settle for dancing at a rec center at this point."

"Cheer up, both of you." Matty said. "Miguel, you know Papá doesn't hate music. He just… has some hang-ups about it that is hard for him to overcome. A lot of bad things happened to him, and he attributes it to music. You understand, sí?"

"No, I don't." Miguel said. "And that's easy for you to say. Papá sang and danced with all three of you and let you play instruments. I never had that."

"That's not true, Miguel." Coco said. "Papá used to sing to you all the time, especially when he tucked you into bed. And he played his guitar for you, don't you remember that?"

"No. I was a baby, Coco."

Coco tsked and shook her head in mock sorrow. "Well that is a shame. You should remember stuff like that. I, for one, can remember stuff quite vividly all the way from when I was about two years old. It's a gift I possess."

Breaking out of his current funk, Miguel looked up at his older sister and smirked. "Gee Coco, maybe you should be the one in the talent show instead of me."

Matty barked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah, you could tell everyone what you had for breakfast in May of 1936."

"Or recite an old shopping list you made ten years ago." Victoria added.

Coco huffed and crossed her arms with pout. "All right, all three of you can go kiss a burro."

"Well we can't do that now, because," Matty said as they rounded the corner, "we have arrived at our destination."

As they all walked into the plaza, Miguel smiled when he saw the gazebo decked out in the familiar decorations for Dia de Muertos: garlands of cempazuchitl flowers, papel picado and, most excitingly, posters for the contest. He also saw several other musicians dressed up in charro suits and practicing on their own instruments. They had probably been practicing for much longer than he ever had and were probably better than him too. But Miguel didn't care if he won or lost the contest, he just wanted to perform in front of people. To show them all that he had what it took to be a musician. And luckily for him there were plenty of people who had come to watch.

A very… large amount of people.

Practically the whole town. Even other kids from his school were there.

Suddenly Miguel felt a nauseous curl in his belly, and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. Without realizing it he took a step backwards, softly bumping into his sister, and flinched in surprise when she knelt down to speak to him.

"Miguel?" Coco asked softly. "If you're nervous you don't have to go up there."

"Wh-what?" Miguel asked, wincing when his voice gave an unexpected squeak and trying to cough it away. "Nervous? I'm not nervous!"

"You're really pale Miguel, and you started sweating bullets in less than five seconds." Victoria pointed out. "It's actually quite impressive."

"Callate!" Miguel grumbled.

"It's alright if you've changed your mind, Miguel." Coco said and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We can just go right back to the museum, and Papá will have never known you were here."

The very mention of his father, how much he hated music, how he would be forced to play music in secret again if he backed away now, how this might actually be his last chance to perform before he was to go to that stupid business school, steeled something inside of Miguel. Straightening up, jaw clenched tight and his guitar held up like a shield, he shook his head vigorously. "No! No way! I'm gonna play in mariachi plaza if it kills me!"

"That's the spirit!" Matty said. "And good thing too because it looks like you're on now!"

"What?!"

"They're beckoning you over! Knock 'em dead and break a leg, gordito!" With a hearty slap on the back Matty propelled his little brother towards the stage. As they all watched the boy meekly walk to the contest coordinators, Matty leaned into Coco. "He can sing, right?"

Coco nodded. "Of course! He has the voice of an angel, you're going to be blown away."

"Either that or he's going to blow his dinner all over the stage floor." Victoria said.

Miguel took his place next to the steps of the gazebo, turning back to wave at the siblings and niece, who all returned it with a thumbs up. With his back turned to them again Matty sighed wistfully. "Papá would really love this. He would be so proud. If… you know…"

"If he was like he used to be?"

"Si…" Matty nodded. "It just doesn't feel the same without him here. Miguel is so much like how our father was: Filled with a love of music, bursting with creativity. Miguel may look up to Tío Nesto, but I see Papá in him more than any of us."

"You're right." Coco sighed. "I wish Papá were here to see this too."

"SOCORRO! MATEO!"

Coco and Matty immediately felt their hearts stop, blood seize up, insides clench and air leave their lungs as they heard their full names bellowed out from behind. Turning around they saw a sight they had never seen before. Héctor Rivera, normally so jovial and mild-mannered with all he encountered, marching towards them red-faced and glaring holes into their very souls. As he got closer and closer to them, Coco whispered, "Itakeitback, Itakeitback!..."

Placing himself in front of his sister and niece like a shield, Matty leaned causally on his cane and smiled shakily. "H-hola, padre! Qué tal? I d-didn't expect to see you come to the plaza today. They're having a music contest right now so you might want to go back and-"

"Would you both care to explain to me," Héctor said as he reached them, very close to seething like a bull. "why I had to hear from Elena that my son is going to play the guitar, on a stage, in front of an audience?!"

With a loud groan Matty turned to glare at Coco. "You told la Lengua Larga about the plan?!"

"I told you it was a bad idea, Mamá."

"So this was your idea!" Héctor growled as he glared at Coco. Distantly they could hear Imelda calling out as she was making her way to the plaza herself, but they all ignored her for the moment. "You're letting your brother perform? After what nearly happened to you? What did happen to your godfather?!"

Coco glared back. "What happened to Tío Nesto was terrible, but it was an accident that could have happened anywhere! It had nothing to do with music! Why can't you see that?"

"It has everything to do with what happened to him!" Héctor shouted. "And I will not have the same thing happen to my-"

"Put your hands together for our first contestant, Miguel 'De la Cruzito' Rivera!"

As a loud smattering of applause and cheers erupted, the family turned to see Miguel taking the small stage of the gazebo. Smiling nervously and waving at the crowd, he didn't seem to notice the brewing turmoil taking place amongst the audience. Héctor gritted his teeth and was about to make his way towards his son to put an end to this nonsense, when one of the nearby bands decided to strike up some intro music for the young guitarist. After all, the son of the world's greatest songwriter, the patron of Santa Cecilia, deserved a grand entrance for his musical debut.

And they couldn't have picked a worse song.

As the trumpets blasted the upbeat version of Remember Me and the audience clapped along to the beat, Matty and Coco moaned in dread and instantly went into damage control. Coco and Victoria shouted in vain over the crowd to get the musicians to stop, but their voices were lost among the deafening cheers and song. Imelda heard the song playing from the distance, and with a curse tried to run even faster to her husband. Matty grabbed his father by the shoulders and shook him, trying to direct his attention to him. "Papá! Papá, listen to me. Listen to my voice. It's okay. It's just a song. Come with me, we'll get you out of here…"

It had been about a year since he had heard that song last. Not intentionally, of course, but when a song is that popular people are bound to either sing it aloud or try to play it themselves. One such incident occurred when he was out with Elena for a treat of ice cream, when suddenly he had heard it. A quite lovely rendition on a violin by that scarf-wearing kid with the weird facial hair whose named escaped him. But it was enough to do the trick. Several painful minutes of him hunched low to the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears hard, trying to get his breathing under control. His own granddaughter, seven years old at the time, was forced to take action herself: Swatting that kid with her shoe in order to stop him from playing, then sitting with him silently and comfortingly until the panic had finally passed. They had both lost their ice creams on the ground that day, but the two had grown even closer due to the experience.

But those same feelings were rushing back just like that last time: Nothing had changed. Immediately his heart started hammering and it became hard to breathe, his insides squirmed and clenched painfully and those awful visions flashed in his mind again. As the song continued he didn't see his eldest son frantically trying to get his attention, but his youngest daughter wheezing her last breaths in his arms. Of Ernesto walking away from him to the stage, underneath the bell that would eventually turn him into nothing but a smear. And the blood, so much blood. He could smell it, practically taste it.

He was about to try to block out the sounds like he always did and then curl up in a ball, when he happened to glance at the stage again. Ernesto was there, about to perform with the bell perch precariously over his head. But no, that wasn't Ernesto standing there. It was-

"MIGUEL! NO!"

Breaking Matty's grip on his arms he made a run for the gazebo, pushing and shoving others out of the way. He didn't hear their exclaims of alarm and pain as they were roughly shoved aside or to the ground, nor the cries of his family as they begged him to wait, to come back. No, all he heard was that damned song playing loudly in his head, now a ticking timer to the point where, at the end, his boy would be no more.

Miguel didn't notice his father parting through the crowd at breakneck speed, too busy tugging on the emcee's sleeve to tell him to make those musicians stop playing the song 'That's the song I'm going to play.' But it was too late, and as the band played the last triumphant note he turned back to the crowd with an eye roll and hefted his guitar up to begin to play the song everyone had just heard.

Just in time to see his father diving straight for him.

Imelda reached her oldest children just in time to see Héctor tackle Miguel and send them both flying to the back of the gazebo. The incident was so shocking that aside from a large gasp from the crowd, it became so still and quiet. Quiet enough that everyone was able to hear the sickening crunch once the two of them landed in a crumpled heap.

A flash of terror made it's way down Imelda and her children's spines. "No…" she breathed, and then quickly made her way to the gazebo herself, the others following her.

The song was over, put panic was still surging through Héctor as he got up and immediately started checking over his boy. "Miguel! Are you all right?! Sit up, let me see!" He patted his body up and down, trying to see if there were any injuries, thankfully finding none. But the boy seemed shocked, and frantically he cupped the boys face to look in his eyes. "Did you hit your head? Look at me, mijo-"

"Papá…"

Miguel's eyes were widened with shock, but surprisingly the wind was not knocked out of him nor was he scuffed or marked in any way from the surprise tackle. The guitar in his hands, however, was not so lucky. It had taken the brunt of the assault and protected the boy from harm, but it had not survived. Three of the strings had snapped right off and were coiled in bent angles, the body was completely caved in from the center hole and up, and the neck had broken cleanly in half, now only connect by the remaining strings. His beloved guitar was now destroyed. His father had destroyed it.

"What-? Why?... What have you done?" Miguel whispered as he gripped the broken neck and tried in vain to get it to stick back into the position. "It's ruined…"

Héctor looked down at the broken guitar in his son's hands, taking in the cheap gold paint that had been sloppily painted all over it. The crude designs done in brown, and the headstock. That same mocking skull that looked so much like his own, except for the one personal detail that he had made for his older brother: The thin mustache above perfectly white grinning teeth. His worries and concerns over his son instantly vanished. He was fine. Now what came back was more comfortable, easier for him to handle: Rage.

"Where the hell did you learn to play guitar?!"

Miguel's attention snapped back to his father, and he shrunk back at the ferocious anger meekly. Before he was able to squeak out a pitiful answer, he felt eyes on him. Turning slightly he paled when he saw everyone in the crowd looking at him with morbid curiosity. The whole town had watched as his supposed debut had crumbled to ash, his most prized possession had been reduced to kindling, and his father was now bearing down on him about to start a very public fight.

It was all ruined. It was too much for him, and the poor boy broke.

With a choked-out cry of heartbreak Miguel flung what was left of his guitar away, shot up to his feet and fled from the gazebo. The crowd gave him enough room to make his getaway and he was grateful. He didn't want to be held back, didn't want to be touched by anyone. Especially his family. He heard his Papá angrily yelling at him to come back, his Mamá pleading with him to do so as well. But he couldn't even look at anyone right now.

He just ran and ran, broken sobs escaping as he gasped and panted.

He hated his birthday.

#coco #coco pixar #pixar coco #coco fanfic #Hector Rivera #miguel rivera #mama imelda #mama coco #worst #birthday #EVER

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daffodeela · 4 years

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nama belakang

Summary: Mikasa wants to keep her surname. [Commander!Jean, Corporal!Mikasa]

Notes: Attack on Titan by Hajime Isayama.

Warning: grammatical errors.

Available on AO3 and FFN.

The barrack is always deserted not long after the supper is done. The long corridor is vacant, just filled by some people who have the need to go to the toilet. Mikasa is one of the people who echoes her low footsteps that sound hard because of the lack of noise pollution. Her destination is not the same as two other people who walk in the opposite direction behind her. Her feet minimize the distance between the commander's room and her.

Mikasa still remembers the first years she came to this barrack or the other ones. There was no spiderweb on every corner of the room, not even a string. Corporal Levi would never let that happen—either he executed it by himself or depleted his squad members' energy for that. But, this time, although the room is counted as clean, Mikasa's eyes catch one spiderweb that was missed from the cleaning session. Or maybe that spiderweb was formed right after the cleaning session was over. She makes a mental note to clean it right after her business is done.

Her destination is right under her nose. She dimly hears the sound of a stroking pen and noises from papers. She lets out an exasperated breath before knocking the door. After she hears Jean answers with 'come in' from the inside, she opens the door with no doubt.

Mikasa brushes the wall on her left side to find the electric switch and immediately presses it after she finds it. From the dim light that only comes from the lamp on Jean's desk before, she already knew where his position was. The turned-on main lamp makes everything clearer.

Jean's eyes that have thick eye bags beam at her. She tries to hold herself from rolling her eyes while giving him a salute. His gaze is still on her fist until she puts her hands on the side of her body. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"You're still formal, Corporal Ackerman." His smirk is widened.

Mikasa ignores his words. "I didn't see you in the dining room earlier, Commander Kirschtein."

Her hands cross in front of her chest. She walks to Jean's work desk. The parchments that filled the desk were only illuminated by the small lamp there. Mikasa presses the bridge of her nose.

"Why do you like to work in darkness so much?"

"I can't concentrate if it's too bright."

“Oh.”

Mikasa is about to open her mouth to repeat her reprimand regarding Jean who was absent from the supper again, but his movement that drums the tip of the bowl silences her.

"I've already eaten," Jean says.

He pats the bed that is only separated by one meter from the chair he sits on. Mikasa ignores his gesture that asks her to sit there; she thinks standing will intimidate him more.

"Were you really that busy until you couldn't join the supper with the others, Commander Kirschtein?"

Her gaze is sharp on him. The intimidation shows no hatefulness or indifference, her concern for him holding the biggest role for it.

"Mikasa." The tension on her muscles is lessened after she hears Jean calling her first name. They only call each other using their first name if the conversation is not related to the soldier business or touching personal topics. "You came here just to check on me?"

Mikasa expels a long breath. She stares on his palm on the bed. She finally decides to sit. Her gaze is straight to Jean's face. Maybe, maybe with her being like this, he will listen to her more.

"You know you shouldn't force yourself and forget to rest."

"The new member recruitment is in a few days." Jean turns his body a little to take some of the papers and show them to her. "About that, do you need a new member in your squad, Corporal Ackerman?"

"No."

"Alright. I'll take a note of that."

Jean turns his body again. He bends his neck while scratching ink to the sheet in front of him. When his hand movement stops, he doesn't immediately face her unlike what she thought. He is busy sorting the papers on the desk, piling them up, then tapping the bottom and right side of them to the desk to make them tidy. After Jean puts the pile of sheets on the desk, Mikasa calls, "Jean."

A sincere smile rises on Jean's face when he looks at her again. He is always like that every time she calls him by his first name.

"What is it, honey?"

The affectionate pet name slides easily from his mouth. She could never be related to him about that. She is still too stiff. Nevertheless, happiness is tickling under her ribs every time he calls her so. A slight red comes to her cheeks.

Mikasa rubs her nose. The realization about what she is going to say to him will automatically change the atmosphere around them makes her suddenly feel awkward. But, she needs to utter this.

"I want to maintain my surname," she says. Red is still on her face.

She doesn't cut her gaze on his expression at all. She anticipates annoyed expression—even upset—but what comes to his face is just the expression of curiosity.

"Why?"

"You know about the history of Ackerman," she says. She takes a long breath because what she is going to tell him next feels heavy. "I feel like … that name weights my shoulders. If my last name is no longer Ackerman, it feels like I leave everything behind."

Jean nods. "I understand."

Mikasa is shocked he didn't argue at all.

"Is it okay?" she tries to make sure. Her eyes still analyze every change of his expression. She keeps staring at his eyes.

"It doesn't change anything, Mikasa. It doesn't mean you want to cancel our marriage plan, right?" Jean is silent for a while. His face looks stiff. His eyes are slanting with a hint of panic when he whispers, "Does it?"

Mikasa shakes her head and gives him a convincing smile. "I still can use Kirschtein-Ackerman. As long as Ackerman is not gone."

Jean lets out a long breath, seems relieved. "Just decide what you think the best. I won't demand anything." He touches his bolo tie around the collar of his shirt. "After all, two Kirschteins in here will confuse people. Commander Kirschtein, Corporal Kirschtein. Moreover for the new recruits."

Mikasa can't hold herself from snorting. "I remember you said it would sound cool," she says. "That's why I thought you wouldn't like this."

Jean shakes his head. "It's okay. I understand."

"Thank you." Mikasa rises from her seat to kiss his cheek. Her hands cup his face and straighten him to face her. She gives him an absolute gaze. "You have to take a rest now. Your work is done, isn't it?"

Jean clears his throat. "Not yet, actually."

Her gaze is directed to the pile of papers on the desk. She frowns. "But you had piled them up."

A smile shows on his face and she knows what is the intention of it. He grins. "How can I concentrate on my work when there is a beautiful woman that I love so much near me?"

She feels a tickling sensation inside her stomach. She doesn't show her amused face. What she gives him is just a roll of her eyes that she routinely replies to him when he starts teasing her. Her hands stroke his hair.

"I don't want to know. You have to rest." She points at her eye bag. "Your eye bags are too dark already."

"Roger that, Corporal!" Jean responds as if his authority is not higher than hers. She smiles slightly.

She turns off the lamp on his desk to emphasize her words. After that, she rises from her seat. She gives him a salute while saying, "Good night, Commander Kirschtein."

Jean responds to her salute. "Good night, Corporal Ackerman."

Mikasa shuts the door after she passes through it. Her remaining business tonight is just the spider web she needs to clean that she found earlier.

Notes: This is a shameless plug but I reaaally need this. I’m opening a writing commission for my medical bills. If you’re interested, you can check it out here. Thank you!

#jeankasa #jeanmika #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #my fic #fanfiction #aot #snk

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shreddedleopard · 5 years

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Inktober - Day 1: ‘A Captain’s Promise’

PROMPT - Ring

Okay so, here goes nothing. Inktober day one - a scene from AQR universe between Levi and Historia.

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Levi watched with amusement as Historia’s feet carried her slowly about his room. The neat bump at her abdomen seemed to have come out of nowhere, and it surprised him how quickly she’d begun to show - perhaps it had something to do with the smallness of her stature and frame. She carried it beautifully, though, and it made his heart swell with a pride he never thought himself capable of. “What is your fascination with my stuff?” He mumbled at her from his comfortable recline in his worn, red armchair. It wasn’t often Historia managed to sneak into his place for their secret evenings together - more often than not, it was easier for him to steal up to her quarters using 3DMG, or meet her at the Orphanage. But this night was different. “I can’t help it,” she threw back with a grin. “It still amazes me that I’m in The Captain Levi’s room, touching his personal belongings.” She turned back to where she was stood near his desk, picking up his stationary and examining it all one by one. “This is a lovely pen. Did you buy this yourself?” He rolled his eyes at the realisation that she was probably going to do this with every damn item in the entirety of his quarters. All he really wanted to do was pull her back on to his knee; wrap his arms around her like the stupid soft shit she’d made him. But he didn’t. He humoured her, because the smile on her face was a bit too beautiful to resist. “No. That one was a gift from Erwin. I ...” he fumbled for a moment, not really wanting to admit to her the story behind it, but also unable to deny the truth of it from her curiously wide, azure eyes. He sighed, resigning himself to his answer. “When I first came here, from the underground, my reading and writing wasn’t especially good. Don’t get me wrong - it was a lot fucking better than most of the poor bastards down there, but that’s not saying much. Never really bothered me; I was hardly writing love letters to titans before I disposed of them, was I?” His fingers reached to his throat to straighten his cravat, but then he realised it wasn’t there; he was in his casual shirt and pants after sharing a bath with her. His fingers curled awkwardly on the empty air as his hand lowered. “Then Erwin decided to make me Captain. It wasn’t a promotion I especially wanted, to be honest, but when he explained to me what it entailed, it made sense for me to take it to support him. The only fucker was, it involved a lot more paperwork than I’d been exposed to in the past. Almost made me back out of the whole thing altogether, to be honest.” He felt her gaze intensely; almost as though it were boring into his skin.

“That would have been a huge loss for the Survey Corps.” He shifted uncomfortably with a small ‘tch.’ “What changed your mind?” He grimaced, hoping that she wouldn’t think of repeating this to anyone. Especially not the person it was regarding. “Honestly? Hange did. Stupid Shitty Glasses went on and on about how she could get me up to speed with my literacy skills in no time; I hadn’t even told the cheeky shit that’s why I wasn’t taking the promotion. But she fucking knew, of course; like she always does. Anyway, in the end, I agreed just to shut her up. And, quite clearly, she was true to her word. Although fuck me, is her handwriting atrocious. Good job she’s a half decent teacher. Anyway, Erwin gave me that as a gift when Hange told him I’d re-thought my decision. Four Eyes has a matching one. If I’d have known then just how much shitty paperwork there was involved, I’d have thrown it at his stupid thick head.” He met her eyes finally, and found her smile had spread right up into her cheeks, creating little dimples. “What?” She shook her head. “Just you. Commander Hange is a saint.” He spluttered, incredulous. “She’s a saint?” “Yes.”

Damn his Queen and Commander for becoming so pally lately. She turned back to his desk, and her fingers swept over the draw handles. His heart lurched uncomfortably as his mind shifted to the mahogany box containing the little squares of fabric emblazoned with the wings of freedom that resided in his bottom draw. It wasn’t the fact that he’d have minded her finding them; more the fact that their evening had been so sweet so far, and the idea of it turning to darker topics dismayed him. Thankfully, they settled on the top drawer instead. She pulled it open slowly, peering inside unashamedly. “You’re such a nosy shit, you know?” “Just checking there aren’t any secret love letters in here, now you’re adept at writing.” He cocked a brow at her. “You’ve seen the extent of my penmanship in that department.” He left the chair, moving to stand behind her, a palm coming to rest atop her protruding abdomen. “I’m better with actions.” She twisted to look at him, and shit, if those eyes couldn’t draw the right words from him then he knew absolutely no fucker could. He lifted a hand to her chin, tipping her lips up gently to meet his in a soft kiss. “Mm-hm,” Historia murmured against his mouth in agreement. He couldn’t help smiling a little into their kiss. No one made him smile like she did, stubborn brat that she was. She withdrew from him after a moment, her attention turning back to his drawer. “Hey - who said I was done?” He cocked a brow at her. “Me,” she fired back at him without looking, her hand reaching into his drawer. “Fair enough.” He rolled his eyes again. How could he argue with that? Her fingers reappeared, and wrapped around them was a medal on a bolo tie. The medal she’d placed around his neck after Shiganshina. “Huh ...” she whispered. “I’d almost forgotten ...” Levi frowned at the medal. “Feels like another lifetime, you giving me that.” He felt her lean into him, her head resting against his shoulder as she turned the item over in her hands. “I wished I could have been there. Fighting beside you all.” The thought made his heart constrict uncomfortably. “I’m glad you weren’t.” She turned back to him properly then, her face suddenly twisted with an emotion Levi was unsure of. She seemed to search his eyes. “The thought of you going back ... to something like that ... I ...” He knew what she was trying to say. He felt it too; the idea of them being apart - him having to leave her for a battle he may not return from. But no matter how much he felt what she did, he couldn’t reassure her. Couldn’t promise her that there wouldn’t be another battle like Shiganshina, or worse. And he most certainly couldn’t promise her he wouldn’t be there, fighting beside his comrades as always. “I know.” He curled his fingers around hers, pressing the medal to her palm. His eyes closed, and he inhaled, merely revelling in the feel of them being there, together. All three of them. He wondered how many of these moments they might all be allowed, in the future. Best not to ask himself those questions. Fuck; if things were different ... if they were in a different situation, a different time ... But they weren’t. He opened his eyes, and brought their clasped hands up between their faces. “Listen, Historia. I’m going to be honest with you here; I can’t offer you what most men could - I told you this from the start. No cozy home, no stable lifestyle, no reassurances, no fucking gold ring.” He grit his teeth between the words. “But if I could ...” No. No use talking like that. She lifted a pale, dainty hand to cup his cheek, and right there and then he hated himself. Hated himself for stealing the heart of this pure, young girl that he didn’t deserve. Robbing her of the life she should have, with a better man. “I don’t want all that, “ she whispered, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I want you. This. Us.” He stared into her sweet face for a moment, before pulling her roughly into his embrace. Damnit. He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t help himself greedily clinging to her with every fibre of his being. When he stood back, he unwound the bolo from her grasp, and pulled the strings taut together until the loop was tiny. Small enough for a finger. He clutched at her left hand, lifting it to his face as though inspecting it. Left was the hand for your ring finger, right? He took a long, deep breath, wondering if he was actually going to make an idiot of himself and actually do this. Fuck it. He knelt down awkwardly before her, and his mind was suddenly cast back to the day she placed the medal around his neck. Back when they were nothing more than comrades; acquaintances; Captain and Queen. He refused to let his eyes part from hers, crowned by crinkled brows as she gaped at him. “What are you ...” “I can’t give you a ring or any of that shit, Historia. But what I can give you is my life.” His fingers pulled the loop of the bolo tie gently over her ring finger, and he adjusted it so that the little medal was facing upwards, Wings of Freedom glinting symbolically up at them. “Levi-“ “Let me finish,” he cut across her, willing the stupid fucking blush he could feel at his shirt collar to stay put and not rise to paint his features. “I promise you, and our child, that I will serve and protect you both until the day I die. No matter what, I will fight for you; anything you ask of me, I will give you - my blades belong to you.” It sounded a lot less cheesy in his head. He averted his eyes finally, waiting for her to laugh at him, or tell him to get a life. But neither of those things happened. Instead, Levi saw a wet, glistening globe smatter on the floor before him. He looked up to find her face streaked with tears. Rising swiftly, he pulled her to him again. She fit so snugly under his chin - it was as though she’d been crafted especially for him. The little ray of fucking sunshine to his gloomy cloud. And here he was robbing her jovial light again. He rubbed her back as he felt her breath hot and hurried against his neck. “Shit; sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t want to upset you. I ...” “No,” she pulled back to look at him, and there was that damn irresistible smile again. “These are happy tears.”

#inktober #inktober writing #inktober day one #inktober prompt #inktober ring #rivahisu #rivahisu fanfiction #Historia Reiss #Levi Ackerman #snk #snk fanfiction

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