#a whatever its been in my drafts forever and i dont resent it so

[mobagehelllocal]

“chain ‘round my neck”

a/n: my wrist won’t let me draw :c but my delusions never end ! bye dont mind that i wrote this ages ago this is inspired by these stupid 22000 yen necklaces. (it is pictured below)

this is dedicated to @hanafubukki my favourite person ever.

warning: possible outdated characterisations (im sorry :c), possible delusional characterisations (im NOT sorry)

when you wonder how you got into this situation, you’ll think back to that one lunch break where you bet ace trappola that he could never plan “the perfect date”.

how unfortunate for you that he took that as a personal insult.

now, here you are: having lost said bet. and by the looks of that insufferable, cocky grin that curled his lips, he knew it too.

the idea of a perfect date was entirely subjective to the people involved in said date. and trappola had not wasted a single moment he had spent with you, to craft something so magical and utterly destructive for you. you.

brunch in a sun dappled cafe at a quarter past twelve (and oh perhaps you grew a little jealous of how the sun kissed the little curls in his hair, the soft squish of his cheeks). then a quick duck into an old time arcade with the sun at its peak, where he proceeded to beat the shit out of you at all the music based games (and you can't really get mad at him when you're a little in lo infatuated with the way he smiles). escaped the arcade near sundown to explore an open market where you spent your thaumarks on little trinkets and street foods (and he gripes and moans and refuses but he holds your stuff and spends a second too long thinking about how the warmth of your hand suffused into your things-).

before finally, he took you home (to ramshackle). hands behind his head with an insufferable, cocky grin on his stupid, smart-talking, clever mouth.

“so, didja enjoy it?”

you bit your lip—did you really want to tell him how well he did, knowing he’d lord it over you for (probably) the rest of your lives? ace smirked at your uncertain expression; his hand lowered into his pocket and fiddled with his final card.

because he wasn’t quite done with you—no.

he was going to get you to admit that he had done a perfect job, and he had planned the cherry on top for your wonderful day.

“maybe.” you managed; he barely held his snort in and you glared at him. cheeks flushed with embarrassment, with the inability to admit defeat… to him, of all people.

“then it’s good I’m not quite done yet.” he watched in delight as your expression changed from indignant to confused.

“you…” you began before he shushed you loudly and gestures for you to turn around. which you did, almost immediately (barely considering how far have you come that you’d trust ace trappola with your back!?).

and with your back to him; he has a second where he loses his breath. because if he were to be honest (and he’s not one for honesty); this part wasn’t really in the plan. he had added it in as a silly ‘heeheehaha’ moment because he wanted to ruin you.

but this would ruin him too; him and all his ‘love is just a pain’ speeches.

but your back was to him, and you’ve already started fidgeting and with every shaky inhale you both make, the awkwardness only lengthened; and he’ll do it just so you wouldn’t ever think (in the future) there was a possibility that he almost chickened out (because he actually was, and fuck why was his hands sweaty, now?).

you flinched as you felt something touch the nape of your neck. in the next second you realised that the featherlight touch is the tips of his callused fingers and in the second after; it’s cool metal��a necklace. your shoulder twitched, but you hold yourself steady. and was it wishful thinking that his hands lingered a second after he fastened the necklace properly?

he cleared his throat and you turned slowly. your hand raised to touch the necklace, fingers fiddled with the pendant that now hung around your neck. every twist of your fingers was in time with the beat of your heart.

“how about now?”

it takes you a breath (maybe two) before you remembered he was asking you about the perfect date. (you were a little lost by how close he was). about the bet. (you were a little lost by the cherry red of his eyes).

you nod, incapable of words that could summarise the internal warring over the destruction of your peace of mind and this overwhelming desire to just—just—

‘if there was nothing left between us then—’

but ace pulls back; and the second that could have been your forever, shatters.

“great.” he grins, hands tucked into his pocket (not at all sweaty, certainly!) “then i’ll expect you to tell everyone i won.”

“… yeah.” because was there anything else you can say to him?

“—see you monday.”

“monday.” you echoed.

and you both turn around; ever more keenly aware of that thing that hangs, that lingers, that remains, that grows, that blooms... between the two of you.

-

"i want to wear his initial "on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck not because he owns me but 'cause he really knows me."

[medellindemexico]

Draft 1: revised (kind of)

I grew up with consistently saying I have crazy aunts. That my family is crazy and so Mexican, whatever that meant. I bragged about my family in Los Angeles to my school friends. Telling them what presents they would buy me and all the cool places they would take me. I love my mom’s side of the family. Her older and younger sister are my favorite aunts. They still are. Tia Rosa and Tia Mary. Two beautiful crazy women who helped shape who I am today. 

Lets start with how “crazy” they became and how, as I grow older, see their craziness for humanity.

Tia Rosa is hardworking, badass, sailor mouthed woman- who will not take any ones shit. She has tough skin but a merciful soft heart. Born as the oldest of five children, she was a mother to all. Carrying, literally the burden of motherhood at the age of 7 and forever. She was the first one to see and experience the land of opportunity and all its tragedies. Crossing the border with her mother at 13 gave her another layer of skin that would later be very useful in her life. The first sister of five to work 12 hours a day alongside her mother at a sewing sweatshop in downtown Los Angeles. My mother describes her as “chigona para coser” which mean she was a badass on the sewing machine. She would sew hundreds of belt loops on jeans an hour. This was essential in sweatshops (still is) time is money, and she more than anyone knows the importance and stress of time. Her hardworking green money would be sent across the border to brown Mexico where her three siblings were waiting in for her and her money to survive. Where they waited days, months, years to be reunited with family. Tia Rosa loved working, loved helping her mom and dad put a roof over their heads. She is the main reason there was enough money to send back and buy a home in Hollywood California, where it still stands today. Tia Rosa has been described as a beautiful woman with dark curly hair and fair skin. She herself still talks about the heels she would wear everyday when she was my age. My crazy tia was a young, healthy, hardworking, beautiful woman that was human and in love. Her betrothed came from a different village in Mexico where our family isn't from, and has no relation to. He came in the Hollywood home and asked her father for her hand. “ Ella creia que no vi su pansa cuando entro a las casa, pero yo sabia que estaba embarezada”. My mother recalls the time she saw her older sister walk through the door with a baggy blouse and dark man in front of her, leading her into the kitchen. Tia Rosa was at her parents home to let them know she was going to get married. A child was on the way but no one spoke of it, neither my mom who can clearly identify the bump under her shirt or her, who had her head lowered in shame. 

Tia Rosa married a man that as my mom’s side of the family label as “un Moreno feo, con una muchacha tan bonita”. He was seen as undeserving of my aunt and sometimes I think he was. This man was her husband, father of her children, her lover. He was also human though, a man that was not loyal or lovely. He was a man with a sick sense of humor, dirty shirts, and dirty actions. Till this day I dont know if they married for love or because they felt they had to. Sometimes I feel like pressure of marriage and staying together bled throughout their entire time together as “couple” and their offspring. And many times is see the proof of their resentment first hand, every time I visit them.

Her husband Sebastian has helped my mother and father with loans and loyalty, always looking out for his wife’s younger sibling like a father. A father and a mother. Sebastian loved the bitter taste of tequila and beer, and even better when they were mixed together. He loves cantinas and he loved other woman’s bodies more than his wife’s. He would cheat. Again and again and again. This hurt my tia. A lot. It didn't help that they had three children and home to look after.