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lucysarah-c · 2 years ago

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95 in Math

Summary: A little tale from my Teen! modern au Levi stories. Zeke had been getting on Levi's last nerve and they solved it as teenage boys know to.... beating eachother and posting it on snapchat. Words: 2920 Paring: Teen! Levi x Teen! Reader Warnings: cursing and slightly sexual mentions. Also violence from the fight but nothing too graphic.

If you want to read more stories from me, this is my masterlist! under the banner "Lele's tale" its all my Teen! Levi modern au world. Or you can click here!

There was a well-known fact, Levi despised No! Levi hated Zeke Jaeger with all his soul. It was an established rivalry since they were toddlers. Anyone must know about it. It didn't help at all that each one went to the biggest two schools whose rivalry on matches was popular too.

God, if they were in the same frag party, It was certain that they would at least exchange a few words if Erwin managed to retain his best friend from beating Zeke up. The tall blond would usually say "Come on Levi, do you want your mother to get mad at you for having to hear another of Diana's speech about Zeke's bruises?"

There was something else that didn't help, both of them belonged to respectable noble families. Jaegers and Ackermans have been throwing glaze at each other since the Titan war. One exception was the new wife of Grisha Jaeger, Carla, and Levi's mother, Kuchel. Both women knew each other since their high school years and they had done their modelling career together. Another special case was Eren Jaeger, he had an unusually good relationship with the Ackermans' kids, Mikasa and Levi. Probably because of his mother’s influence and, perhaps, the wish of pissing his father off.

Especially after he joined the Scouting Legion Academy and received the deep green and white letter jacked with the wings of freedom in them as a prize of belonging to the School team. Another fact that grew the bad blood between the two teens was that both of them were leaders of their respective teams. Of course, Levi was an Ackerman and, as any respectable member of the family legacy, he was good at any sport that he played. Ackermans had been the pride of the scouts for generations.

However, if there was one extra straw that was last needed to blow their bad blood out of proportion it was . . . Y/N

It's quite pointless to get into details of how YN and Levi began to date, that could be a story for another day but these two were high school sweethearts. It was not a secret, almost everybody knew about it unless that person lived under a rock. The way that she would run into his strong arms with her tight little navy blue and white cheerleader dress after he achieved another victory under the school uniform. Kuchel adored her, treating her as her own daughter, and, believe it or not, Kenny tolerated her.

Perhaps the question would be, what is the correlation between the rivalry of the two teens and the brand new relationship that Levi held. Long story short, jealousy. Before joining the Scouts prep, Y/N used to live in Marley and while being a cheerleader there, she encountered members from other schools. For example, Zeke. And apparently, Levi's new sweetheart got along with Pieck, who was close friends with Zeke.

One connection led to another and Zeke wasn't particularly jumping for joy when he heard from his little step-brother that the girl he spends three whole parties talking to, moved to another country and ended up dating Levi fucking Ackerman in less than a year.

On the other side of the tale, Levi fucking Ackerman wasn't happy hearing out from, guess who, Eren (Aka Zeke's little brother) that his biggest enemy since he used diapers had a crush on his girl. Zeke commented and liked all her pictures on Instagram and he replied to her stories? Levi was on a blink on asking Kenny for the family private plane, travelling to Marley and paying a visit to the other side of the Jaeger's household. The young Ackerman had beaten the living shit out of Zeke for less, way less.

No, things weren't looking good. It wasn't good timing for having the final of the baseball teams between the two schools. There were too many hormone teens in the same field for the game to end up good. The tension was rising like boiling milk, it was a matter of seconds until it blew out of proportion.

It was an early morning, Levi left Kenny's apartment around 5 to 6 am to arrive first to the field as the good captain team he was. Then the rest of the team arrived late, he almost freaked out when Eren was nowhere to be found but he arrived late, as always. When the young Ackerman was almost ready to go to the field, his backpack was vibrating. He picked up his phone and read "Come outside, I've something for you" from YN.

He peaked out of the changing room and she basically jumped into his arms.

"mhm" He groaned against the curve of her neck, feeling the sweet vanilla perfume from her smooth skin, the tight embrace of her bare arms around his neck and his strong arms were quick to find their place on both sides of her hips after the sudden hug.

"I came to kiss you once 'cause you had to wake up too early on a Saturday," She said before pressing their lips together on a quick peak. Before Levi could lead on and deepen the contact a bit, she parted away.

"Kiss you twice because the match is going to be alright" she repeated before leading on another kiss. This one lasted a little bit longer. “I’m going to be cheering for you!” “Try not to fall like in practice last thursday,” Levi teased back earning a little push from her, faking taking offence.

Levi’s team was winning but, at what costs? Marley’s side was playing so dirty that to stand a chance they had to go down to the same level. There were a bunch of “unprofessional game attitudes” and Levi himself had to stop Eren a couple of times from starting a fight.

There was something that Levi had to give it to Zeke and it was that he was a hell of a pitcher. If it wasn’t for his Ackerman reflexes the ball would have crushed right into the middle of his face. Luckily he squatted on time to avoid it.

“Sorry!” The apologises that left the blond felt anything but sincere. He was smirking as he chuckled with another member of the team under his breath. Levi was dedicating him his best death glance, he was meditating inside his head that it was his duty as a Captain to show professional and mature gaming attitude

The grandstand held their breath in a quick general gasp as the second ball was thrown way too close. Levi dodge it, again, but this time he was growing heavily and his teeth hurt from pressing them.

Hange was really active shouting about how Zeke was going to leave with his ass kicked if he kept with that attitude. Erwin held eye contact with Levi as he slightly shook his head, as the leader of the School’s student council, he had left it clear that they didn’t need another video of them fighting going viral online.

Levi hit the ground a couple of times with his bat and tried to remain focused. Breathing deep as he swore to himself that he wasn’t going to let it get on his head. When he turned, she was looking eyes with him. Worriness covered her features as she tried to tie up together with a smile of reassurance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I would leave him as brand new,”

Maybe it was that his Ackerman’s powers blessed him with extraordinary abilities, perhaps another person wouldn’t have heard that comment from the distance they had. It would have been great if Levi hadn’t heard those words leaving Zeke’s lips as he dedicated the girl a sassy side smirk. It would have… but that didn’t happen. Levi heard it, clear as if it had been whispered to him.

Zeke didn’t even see it coming when he turned around, Levi had already tackled him to the ground. The public screamed, some of them in surprise, most cheering for one guy or the other.

“You like to eat earth, fucking monkey? Eat earth!” Despite the fact that Zeke was easily 10cm taller than the dark haired boy, he could barely hold on. Levi was pushing the Marley’s team guy’s face to the soft ground of the field, covering his face in mud as he grabbed the golden locks and tugged them.

“Mike! Do something! Stop them!” Erwin screamed to the other team member that was on the field watching interested.

“Wait, he’s winning,” Mike replied entertainingly.

“Of course he’s winning! KICK HIM IN THE GUTS” Hange screamed from the top of their lungs as they filmed the scene.

Reined tried to jump in in defence of their captain but Eren, who was easily rallied up, stopped midway. Soon the game was a disaster, professors trying to ease out the confrontations but they did little to no effort in stopping Levi.

One of them even said, when the principal told them to stop it “I’m not messing up with an angry Ackerman, I value my own life”

Each second that went by was loudly announced by the hanging clock in the room. Still in the muddy uniform of the team, Levi sat down, legs parted and elbows resting on his knees as he waited. The principal office was always quiet, but on a Saturday with no students in the school, the silence was overpowering.

No, phone, they had taken that away. Zackly was calling anyone at his household that would pick up. The game was over and as Erwin said “you’re lucky that any university would take you in no matter what, Zackly is 100% going to suspend you for a while”

The waiting room felt stupidly big at those hours that the cheerful slightly old-fashioned secretary wasn’t there to offer those old candies that she always had. The amount of available seats was tempting to raise his muddy boots and take a quick nap considering the time he had woken up. But he didn’t, his list of disrespect to the authority was quite crowded that day.

The office with the frosted glass on Levi’s right gave away the movement of someone in the attached room. The door with the golden plate on it opened up and revealed a furious Diana, whose heels echoed in the tiled floor as she hastened up. Before leaving the office, the blond woman (that Levi liked to call Karen because of the haircut) dedicated her best dead glance.

The teen just kept a stoic attitude, this wasn’t the first time Diana was mad at him and he feared it won’t be the last one either. Grisha walked slowly after handshaking with the principal, looked at Levi and kept going.

Levi did no movements, except from his eyes who looked up to his right. Slyly looking without turning to the principal who definitely didn’t expect to spend his Saturday’s lunch time dealing with angry parents after a baseball match.

“Nobody is catching up the phone in your house,” the adult affirmed.

“I told you. Kenny works at night, he must be sleeping until 3 to 4 pm and my mother is shooting a new HBO show in spain.” Levi repeated the information he had been giving since he was dragged to the office “Even if Kenny picked up the phone, he’s not gonna come,”

“Well, you’ll spend the entire weekend here until an adult comes to pick you up and signs your suspension,”

The old man left the place, probably searching for a coffee. Levi’s curses under his breath filled the empty room.

The entry door opened up again revealing an enthusiastic Eren.

“Dude! I took a picture of Zeke crying in the nursing room! Hahah I post it on snapchat,” Eren, who had a black eye from fighting with Reiner, sat down next to Levi as if nothing was going on “You beat him up so good!”

Eren passed the pictures on the screen of his phone with his thumb, tilting to the right for Levi to see.

“Have you seen twitter?”

“They took my phone,”

“Ugh, Zackly it's been a pain in the ass since his wife left him”

“Yeah, fucking old man. Can’t get it up anymore and want to cut my balls because he’s frustrated,” Levi commented on gossip as he slacked against the uncomfortable chair “If they wake Kenny up, he’s going to kick my ass for real,”

“You’re fucked, because they asked Mika’s mother the number of Traute to get in contact with Kenny,”

Levi groaned loudly “Fuck! Come on! Zeke started! Why aren’t they suspending him too?!”

“Maybe because he’s going to lose one week of school recovering,”

“Oh yeah… the asshole can’t take a punch,” Levi replied and both of them began to chuckled “You should have seen him complained because earth was getting in his contact lenses,”

Eren left when Mikasa came to pick him up, the girl only said one thing “you’re dead, Kenny is coming over to pick you up. It was nice knowing you, cousin”

Gentle parenting? Kenny hadn’t heard of it. He was a man not made to deal with kids and Levi had known that from a young age, he was left on his supervision only when his mother couldn’t be around. Kenny always complained loudly about it until he could use his nephew in his advance, which wasn’t frequent but it happened more than Levi liked to admit. Skipping work under the excuse that he was trying to have quality time with his only baby nephew to what usually involved sending Levi away to a friend's house so Kenny could have the house for himself.

No, Kenny wasn’t a father figure. He wasn’t even a responsible adult. But he was a man who hated to deal with brat stuff and Levi was sure as hell that he felt his soul leaving his body when a tired barely woke Kenny showed up in the Principal’s office.

“Prepare your ass, rat. You won’t be sitting for a while,” Kenny murmured as Zackly invited them in. Both Ackermans sat down in front of the desk. Levi on the left chair, trying to make himself invisible. Kenny was slacked against the chair on the right, legs obscenely parted and hands on pockets.

“What’s the deal? I’m a busy man,” Kenny tried to get it done as soon as possible.

Zackly went through heavy detail on what happened earlier that day, making the young man grimace expecting his death sentence.

“You’re telling me that this rat,” Kenny pointed with his thumb to the left where his nephew was. “Kicked the living shit out of the Jaeger kid, got 2 other men out of his back to keep bitching the brat. All by himself?”

“Yes,”

Levi felt himself melting in the chair as he remembered being grabbed by two other Marley’s players trying to push him away and him throwing both guys out of his back. Maybe he did get carried away.

Cold big hand landed loudly with a pat on his head as Levi closed the eyes as a self reflect. His whole body moved as Kenny ruffled his dark hairs strongly.

“That’s my boy, a fucking Tiger. Unstoppable.” Kenny smirked proudly at him as Levi felt himself straighten his back as his uncle kept roughly tangling his hair. “That’s what we Ackermans do, we fight and we win.”

“Mr. Ackerman with all the respect, Zeke Jaeger has two teeth broken!”

“Nice,” Kenny replied, smirking all the way, turning around to Levi who was suddenly feeling really cocky “Did you use the kicks that I taught you?”

“Yes!” Levi replied quickly.

“Sir-”

“Look, if you want to teach morals. Talk to his mother. I think that assholes that flirt with your girly deserve a good punch, boys will be boys. They need to unleash energy” Kenny’s uninterested tone and slightly problematic tendencies weren’t what Zackly was searching for when he called for an adult. The old man sighed loudly as the two Ackermans raised from their spot

“Come on, rat.” Kenny’s towering figure abandoned the room without even caring to hear anything else, Levi was quick to follow.

“I’ve a party with the guys tonight, we won. Can I go?” Levi’s voice echoed in the empty corridors as he kept up with Kenny’s fast pace.

“As far as you don’t bust my balls, you’re free to go to another country as far as I care”

The Ackerman’s teen felt as if he had dodged a bullet, his uncle wasn’t angry, they won the game and he had won a free week from school. A win is a win.

However, when the following Monday morning the door of Kenny’s apartment opened up loudly and the voice of his mother screamed from the first floor “LEVI ACKERMAN, GET DOWN HERE IN THIS INSTANT!”

Levi dragged his feet down the stairs grimacing uncomfortably as he faced his mother that still had the luggage in the front door. Slightly wavy dark hair framing his mother’s complexion as he frowned at him deeply. Crossed arms and her feet tapping the floor.

“Something to say in your defence, young man?”

Levi looked at Kenny searching for an alibi, but his uncle just walked to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. Side eyes that said “you’re on your own, kid”

Kuchel raised an eyebrow, expectant.

Levi tried to force an innocent smile, searching for his mother’s lovely nature “... that I got a 95 in maths?”

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sheepwithspecs · 4 months ago

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Movie Night:

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated E ||

Ao3

One of my few remaining Disney-Pixar Coco fanfics from 2018. In the novel, it's mentioned that Héctor never really had a reason to watch movies after he died; maybe he'll find a new appreciation for them now... 😏 Summary: Before coming to stay at the Rivera household, Héctor never cared to watch movies. However, Imelda's newest DVD has him seeing the appeal of a private movie date.

The Rivera household had almost always been a place of shoes. Only a few blustering old men—Imelda's papá and tíos—ever bothered remembering when the Rivera name meant a stone quarry in Santa Cecelia. Imelda and her progeny had changed it into a shoe business, an empire that spanned both the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead. Perhaps it was just a modest shop in a nobody's neighborhood; what did that matter, when the Riveras had crafted shoes to fit some of the Land of the Dead's most influential celebrities?

After Día de Muertos, however, the nature of the household had begun a metamorphosis. Not only a house of shoes, it was now stretching to accommodate the striking sounds and rhythms that it had been long denied. No one, not even the stringent Victoria, could say that the addition of music to the family was unwelcome. It had always seemed just out of reach, riding on the coattails of a man whose face was a cryptic mystery to all but the apex generation. Now, with the inclusion of that man—that musician—into their lives, things had changed.

For the most part, things went on as they'd always been. One night hadn't been enough to fully change the shape of a lifestyle, despite being its catalyst. There were still orders to finish, designs to create, shoes enough to fill up the week from Monday to Friday. Even with it's inclusion, music hadn't torn the family apart from their duty. In that, at least, Imelda's fears were thankfully unjustified.

The stools at the long workbench were the same as they'd always been. Julio, Oscar, and Felipe sat at the same places they had in life, hammering soles or cutting leather beneath the low hanging electric bulbs. The empty stools stood waiting for family members in the living world who had yet to join them. Julio kept the patch of bench next to his own workstation clean, the stool free, for when Coco joined them. He was a patient man, but a fastidious one; everything would be ready for when the love of his life arrived.

Victoria's table stood in the corner, her old sewing machine taking up most of the workspace while a basket of thread and supplies sat near the antique foot pedal. She refused any offers to buy her a new machine, insisting that changing from the one she'd used for so long would ruin her work. She was efficient, despite the machine's limitations, and her expert skills could handle everything from intricately embroidered slippers to plain-stitched work boots.

Rosita didn't have a station, but instead moved between all of them to help out wherever she was needed. She was the family jack of all trades, her size doing little to hinder her movements as she bustled around the zapatería. She could be at the workbench sewing tongues, running between shelves with a legal pad and pencil to take inventory, serving customers through the large window that doubled as a counter, or working the polisher at a steady pace. She was always brisk and smiling, though now her work was punctuated with clear, bright humming.

One corner of the southern wall had been saved for Mamá Imelda's workspace, which served as a type of office. Her brothers had bought her an antique secretary desk for her 100th birthday, the kind that had a curved wooden lid that folded down to keep off the dust. A more modern two-drawer filing cabinet had been fitted beneath one half of the desk, the other half free for her legs when the wooden chair wasn't tucked beneath it.

The window above the desk gave the best light no matter what time of day it was, and there she sat for hours settling figures and writing letters to customers. A gas lamp sat on one of the desk's upper shelves, ready for overtime when the sun went down. Imelda had never enjoyed the harsh buzzing of electric bulbs when trying to work, and even with the strain on her eyes she'd rather work in near darkness then with headache-inducing white noise.

There was one empty corner between the desk and the first shelf of leather rolls; it had once held a coatrack, but the twins had commandeered that for one of their experiments and, after the resulting fire, hadn't been able to return it. That was now where Héctor sat, cloaked in enough shadow that he sometimes startled customers by standing too quickly. He'd chosen it himself on his first visit after the holiday, dragging the proffered chair into the corner and, as he put it, "out of the way".

It hadn't taken long for the Riveras to notice that Héctor's idea of 'out of the way' was usually synonymous with 'as close to Imelda as possible'. Tortolitos, Rosita called them, ignoring the absurdity of the term. As if Mamá Imelda, shoe tycoon and a familial force to be reckoned with, could be stripped down to something so childlike. It was like pouring hot sauce instead of cream into tea; the very thought of it was just plain wrong.

And yet, Imelda warmed to the músico faster than anyone (except, perhaps, the twins) had thought possible. It was awkward the first few weeks; they were like two gears that had once fit together seamlessly, only to be disjointed by rust and time. They were both perfectly civil to the other, overly polite and nervously stepping around any topic beyond what was happening in the moment.

That had graduated to sly glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, apprehensive smiles, fidgeting hands. He'd started against the shelf, but slowly migrated across the gap a little further each day until the chair was flush to the desk. The family was reminded of the proverbial frog in the pot, heated so slowly that it never realized it was cooking. They couldn't decide who the frog was in this situation: Mamá Imelda, Héctor, or themselves.

He eventually took the smallest possible corner of her desk for himself, pilfering a few sheets of paper and a pencil. He wrote songs, as far as they could see, scribbling away between bouts of playing his guitar. He explained that he only worked on them when he had bursts of inspiration, and that he was a little out of practice besides; before Miguel's arrival, it had been years since he'd even looked at a guitar.

No one was allowed to look at his notes, and he refused—firmly, but not unkindly—to play any melody he hadn't finished. He begged leave to wait until he was entirely through, and then they could be the audience to his first concerto in the Land of the Dead. They didn't have it in them to argue, making do with curiously watching as he muttered under his breath, running hands through his hair and tapping tempos with his fingers and toes. Oscar and Felipe were the only ones not surprised by this; he had been the same as a living man. There was, as they later explained privately, only one exception to his rule.

"Tell me what you think." There was always an old, tricky gleam to his eye whenever he said the words, handing Imelda a half-crumpled sheet. She would read it over with a neutral frown, blinking slowly as she followed his tilted script along the page. Only once did she ever look to be on the brink of something, her mouth slowly pursing before she met his gaze steadily.

"I think your chorus is too fast," she replied stoically, handing him the paper back. The family had slowed their work, not meaning to eavesdrop but unused to hearing something that seemed like teasing from their matriarch.

"Only as fast as the pounding of my heart, m— 'Melda." He'd actually winked at her, a satisfied grin on his face as he'd picked up his guitar and began the first chords of Un Poco Loco. Imelda had turned back to her figures, but not before the family had seen her lips twitch up into a smile. Moments like those only increased as their long, muted conversations after supper slowly turned towards lighthearted banter, often sounding suspiciously like flirting.

When Mamá Imelda wasn't around he still played to them, old favorites or requests. Today it was a cavatina he'd heard in the plaza, his fingers sliding along the strings as he plucked the notes from his memory and made the men—and Rosita, who'd stayed behind to watch the counter—a song.

The twins had subconsciously slowed their hammers to match it, the harmonic tempo trundling along as they worked in perfect sync with both each other and their cuñado. Rosita's polisher stuttered along, dipping in and out of rhythm as she sanded soles to a smooth finish. Julio's knife slid cleanly through leather, water dripping its own additions to their strange symphony as he wrung the sponge to dampen his work. The only things missing were the coarse scratching of Imelda's expensive pen, and the rapid-fire ticka-ticka-ticka of sewing machine's needle.

"We're home." Everyone halted as the door banged open, heads twisting to see what was the reason for such a violent entry. Victoria inched sideways through the door, both arms loaded down with plastic sacks from a number of stores. Imelda followed her, her face hidden behind more purchases.

"What on earth?!" Rosita's jaw dropped, her eyes darting as she took a quick inventory of the number of bags. Julio slid from his stool, knife dropping to the table as he rushed to help his mother in law. Victoria took the easier route, letting her arms separate from her shoulders. The sacks slid to the ground and she called them back, bones rattling as they flew up to snap into place. She gingerly rubbed one forearm, wincing.

"Mamá Imelda, what is all this?" Julio grunted as he took the brunt of her load, stacking them by the door. Some of them were heavy, his bones visibly separating from each other as the tension pulled them downwards. He made a face, hidden by his thick mustache. "I thought you two were just going on a supply run."

"We did," Imelda answered curtly, toeing one of Victoria's sacks back into place as it started to sag to the side. "We bought groceries, the sawmill and the tanner have their usual orders, and we even managed to get a few odds and ends knocked off the list."

"A few?" Oscar laughed.

"That looks a full shopping spree," Felipe agreed, browbones rising. It wasn't like their sister to waste money on what she considered to be frivolous expenses, but they couldn't believe the family needed everything that was in those bags. There was just too much; even if they were a larger household, they went to market at least once a week and never fell behind on groceries.

"It is," Victoria admitted, her mouth pursed in clear disapproval. "There was a sale at the fabric store, and someone just had to go inside and look at every single thing in every department." Julio's brow furrowed, and he opened one of the sacks to peer inside.

"Fabric… yarn…a quilting hoop?"

"She would have bought a loom, if they had one." Victoria shook her head, frowning. "As if we can't go to the store and just buy our clothes like anyone else."

"You don't waste a sale like that," Imelda scolded, hands on her hips. "Fabric doesn't go bad. You can use it whenever. And besides," she added, "store-bought clothes are a waste of money! You say all the time that nothing ever fits you right. If you let me make your clothes, they'd always be a perfect fit."

"Not everyone in this house wants to walk around in dresses that went out of style a century ago, Abuelita." Victoria crossed her arms. "And anyway, I can agree that getting one or two yards of fabric is fine. But ten yards of lawn in three different colors is excessive!"

"It was a good bargain." Imelda reached into another sack, pulling out the end of a bolt of wrapped cloth. "Lawn is good for Sunday best. We all need new dresses, and you said yourself the purple pattern looked very nice."

"If you're a grandmother."

"I am a grandmother, mija." Imelda squinted at her, letting the cloth drop. "Besides, you're leaving out the part where we visited the bookstore. That certainly wasn't my idea. Which reminds me." She turned to Julio. "You need to speak with your daughter about her excessive habits! She spent who knows how much on two bags' worth of those awful novelas románticas!"

"Ah… oh…." Julio chuckled nervously, fingering the edge of his collar. "I mean… if it's her money…."

"It was." Victoria held her ground, scowling. Héctor crept around her to listen in, fingers brushing his goatee as he curiously looked over the loot. "It's not anyone's business what I do and don't buy with my own savings." She lowered her voice, addressing Rosita. "I bought the one Doña Lara told us about the other day… Antes del Amanecer."

"Ooh!" Rosita giggled. Imelda set her jaw, glaring at the two younger women.

"In my day," she began, ignoring the way Victoria rolled her eyes, "In my day, a young woman would have been mortified to be caught dead with those vulgar novels! Why, I'm a married woman and I'm embarrassed to even look at them. If you wouldn't bring it into a church, you shouldn't bring it under my roof."

"Who said I wouldn't bring it into church?" Victoria retorted, barely hiding a smile as her grandmother gasped in horror.

"Victoria!"

"Oh, what does it matter?" she groaned. "You're the one who picked up that movie everyone was talking about not too long ago."

"What?" Imelda looked confused. "The Dove's Last Cry? Why were they talking? I saw it in the theaters, and I certainly don't remember there being anything wrong."

"It's suggestive," she quoted, fingers embellishing her words. "Every entertainment magazine was saying how the rating went up just because of one certain scene."

"What are you—oh!" Imelda's eyes lit up, and then she clicked her tongue dismissively. "That scene. That was nothing. Why, unless you have a dirty mind, you wouldn't know what it was about."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"You doubt as you please." Imelda smiled at Héctor. "You and I can watch it tonight. I bought it on deev'd."

"Eh?" Héctor tilted his head. "A what?"

"A deev'd," she repeated patiently. Héctor had little experience with movies, and even she was puzzled when it came to newer terminology.

"A what?" Oscar exclaimed, baffled. He looked at Felipe, who shrugged.

"A deev'd! De-e-e-v'd!" She made a gesture with her hand. "You know! One of those little diskey-things! That's what they call it, it's on the box." She dug around in the bags, sifting through the reams of fabric before coming up with a flimsy case wrapped in plastic. "See?" she said, pointing to the letters over the title. Victoria peered at the case before sighing, rubbing her temple with the flat of her hand.

"It's DVD," she corrected, making a face. "You say the letters."

"Dee—what? Why?" Imelda scowled at the case. "What does Dee Vee Dee mean? That means nothing."

"It's an abbreviation," Felipe replied. "It's—"

"—Some English phrase, I think."

"Dee vee—tch!" Imelda threw up her hands. "First the Vee-Ech-Es, then the Dee-Vee-Dee. Next… what? A-B-C?"

"I'm going upstairs," Victoria muttered, pressing her palms against her head. "I've got a headache; I need to be alone for a bit."

"DVD." Imelda frowned at the back cover. "No matter what it's called," she vowed to Héctor, "we're watching it. Tonight!"

Héctor had never gotten into the whole movie craze.

For starters, there hadn't been any spare money. He and Imelda had scraped by for years on 'just enough', using eggs from her pet hen and vegetables from the garden to supplement scantier meals. Imelda had a knack for making something from almost nothing, the two of them silently scraping most of their share onto Coco's plate while ignoring their grumbling stomachs as best they could. Any money he managed to earn went towards their needs, and there had always been too many of those: the leaking roof needed to be fixed, Imelda needed cloth to make them clothes, the cupboards needed to be filled, Coco needed new shoes.

Besides, there hadn't been a theater in Santa Cecelia anyway.

On the road he'd been chasing dreams, not premieres. He and Ernesto moved on as soon as they finished shows, breaking their backs to get into one more club, to make their names known before moving on to something bigger, brighter, better. Even if they'd had the time, any money he could spare was sent home. He barely kept enough for his own needs, scrimping and saving anywhere he could for one more crumpled bill to send back with his love-filled letters.

After his death, he was too busy in different aspects to worry with movies. For the first year everything was fine—well, he was dead, but other than that—and he even managed to get odd jobs here and there to support his meager existence. And then… Día de Muertos.

Didn't you want to go back, amigo?

Was there home trouble? Is that why you're here now?

You can go back… can't you?

To let anyone know that he couldn't cross over was a death sentence… figuratively. No one wanted to hire someone that could be forgotten at any time. Los Olvidados were hinderances on the job—not that they tried to be, of course. Glowing bones, falling apart, losing strength and being unable to stand: it spelled disaster on a jobsite, and disasters were expensive. It was less costly to pay for advertising and turn away those who didn't have loving families putting up their photos. A person could hide it temporarily, but word always got around in the end.

No job meant no money, no money meant no house, no food, no nothing. There was nowhere to go but down, to live in dark squalor at the base of the river, in a place where no one wanted to be. Those who made it to Shantytown had no dead family to care for them, to hold their hands as they passed into the Final Death. They didn't even have living family who cared enough to make sure they were remembered. He became a charity case. Charity cases didn't get recreation, at least not the kind that costs money.

And so, he'd never really understood much of the appeal of the cinema. Oh, he'd seen clips here and there, of course. He'd even done a few years as a tour guide, showing excited skeletons famous actors' houses while spouting canned jokes that made his insides crawl. The Land of the Dead's entertainment industry was a cinephile's dream come true, newer actors and actresses staring alongside some of history's most famous movie stars in new features exclusive to the dead city.

But he'd never watched a full movie until after moving into the Rivera house. His first movie had been one of Imelda's favorites: La Diosa Arrodillada. The novelty of it had been cut by the sheer amount of living people on the screen; he wasn't used to seeing so much skin, and he'd honestly forgotten a little too much about what people looked like when they weren't bones.

He'd enjoyed it enough, but his real attention had been on his wife. It was actually more fun to watch her watch the movie, shaking her head at times in disapproval of Raquel's actions. I'd have never been as stupid as that girl, her expression had told him. I'd have never looked twice at that idiot of a man. His amusement was second to the excitement of just being close to her, close enough that the fabric of her skirts tickled the back of his hand when she moved. He would have gladly sat through twenty movies full of hapless Antonios, just to have her near him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to do that. Imelda had a small collection of movies, one of her rare 'modern' hobbies. She had died just before VHS tapes became popular, and so her movies were mostly Land of the Dead exclusives with a few living flicks thrown in after they'd been able to make their way—late, as with most things—to the other side of the bridge. This wasn't a problem for him; he found it easier to watch skeletons. There was less living flesh to distract him from the movie's plot, and there were certain situations that only people with exposed bones can empathize with. He thought he was dying of laughter when watching El Conductor, his wheezing drowning out the onscreen screams as the driver's skull bounced down a steep incline, the headless body working the streetcar controls to chase after it.

He even began to develop favorite genres. Mysteries were interesting, especially the ones full of twists where nothing, and no one, was exactly as they seemed. Comedies were lots of fun; the more slapstick, the better. Romances were okay; he didn't care much about sordid affairs or star-crossed lovers, but Imelda liked them. It was enough for him that she unconsciously snuggled up against his side during the mushy scenes, her fingers biting into his arm or his thigh during dramatic moments.

But his favorites were the action movies, the adventures with lots of treasure and daring heroes, the spy thrillers full of dapper men and glittering women, the western sharpshooter cowboys, the musketeers, peril at every corner and nail-biting tension that left him on the edge of his seat—he was spellbound every time. He could feel Imelda's eyes on him, watching him the same way he watched her during all those climatic lovey-dovey scenes, but he didn't care. She seemed content with the fact that he was enjoying himself.

The only ones he couldn't stand to watch were horror movies. To their credit, not a single one he'd seen had poisoning, or the Final Death, or anything like that. Horror movies in the Land of the Dead were full of chop shops selling body parts for profit, prolonged tortures where the unfortunate victims couldn't, wouldn't die, seedy gang members dismantling children in front of the parents' eyes and grinding them to dust piece by piece in the name of debt collection. Nothing he'd ever personally come across, and things he almost certainly… hoped… didn't exist in the real world.

Nevertheless, something about them unsettled him. He could be fine during the movie, jerking with shock whenever a jump scare flashed on the screen. He could be fine after the movie, chatting with Imelda before heading up to bed. But for weeks afterwards he would find himself waking from forgotten nightmares, his heart pounding as he frantically tried to piece together the darkness and remember where he was. His stomach ached every morning from these attacks, and he was exhausted from waking up multiple times each night. It was easier to just forgo the movies, to watch something else and leave the bony horrors behind.

From the pictures on the case, tonight's movie was another romance. He was fine with that; the week had tired him out a little. He'd hit a roadblock on his newest piece, the tricky chorus he was aiming for eluding him to the point of frustration. He wasn't in the mood to focus on a heavy plot; thankfully most of his wife's favorite romances were standard fare, from what he could tell. At least, she seemed to choose the ones that followed a certain pattern, and he'd only ever watched what she put before him.

There was a real reason for this: he didn't know how to work any of the equipment. The television was an old CRT, usually kept hidden in a cabinet until anyone wanted to watch something. It was bulky, heavy, filled with static and an entire row of buttons that he had no idea what to do with. If someone wanted to change the channels, another person (usually one of the twins) had to stand at the cabinet and twist the metal prong-antenna-thingies until the pictures showed clearly… or rather, clear enough that everyone could put up with it.

He tried not to even look at the black movie box. It sat on its own shelf: slim, sleek black plastic with even more buttons, flashing lights, and a clock with no hands. There were trays that popped out for the discs, or if the movie was another black plastic thing it had to be put into the rectangle holder door. And then if the movie started bouncing Imelda had to take it back out and wind the shiny tape back into the plastic thing and—it was too much, and looked too easy to break, so he didn't dare lay a finger on it.

Thankfully you didn't have to. There were other little boxes called remote controls (finally, a name that made sense) that you could do almost everything with. There were still too many buttons but he knew how to make the sound louder or softer, and that was all he cared about. Imelda gladly did the rest, which left him breathing a sigh of relief. If something broke, it wouldn't be his fault.

He half-reclined in his corner of the sofa, spine cradled in the gap between the back cushions and the right arm. Imelda had this weird thing on the back of the cushions; she called it an antimacassar, but it looked like a giant lace handkerchief. Whatever it was, it was scratchy and rubbed uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. She didn't like him moving it, but while her back was turned he stealthily folded it until the corner was just past his shoulder; any more and it would look uneven, any less and he'd have to sit as still as a statue to keep from feeling it against his scapula.

He looked around as he waited for her to finish up, taking a moment to appreciate the calm. After supper they usually went into the family room together, since the women liked to watch primetime television and the men often had nothing better to do. But whenever he and Imelda watched movies, the rest of the family was suddenly busy with their own personal projects. In trying to be subtle, they always made it too clear that they were leaving the two of them downstairs for some alone time; it was one of those things that no one commented on, but everyone knew.

Even though he treasured every evening he could sit with them after mealtime—part of the family, something he thought he'd lost forever—he found that he loved these quiet times just as much. The Land of the Dead was loud, even if it wasn't a holiday. It couldn't be helped, with so many people crammed into one vertical space. There was always a party: weddings, birthdays, public dances, shows and plays. Not to mention the streetcars that ran twenty-four hours a day, their bells ringing and wheels scraping, wires buzzing as the air-trams flew overhead. Above all the rest of the noise there was the never-ending construction, always building more and more for the new arrivals.

He'd grown used to it, living on the streets. Even in Shantytown there was the pulse of the city above, the water below, and the muted conversations trickling from thin walls. But here, in an actual neighborhood of houses and family-owned businesses, nighttime was nighttime again. It was peaceful, quiet enough to hear his thoughts, the windows covered with shades and curtains to block out the city lights.

It was cozy, he decided. Cozy didn't always exist everywhere you went, but movie nights were cozy. The dining area, visible through the open entryway, was dark. A single florescent bulb over the kitchen sink remained lit constantly, but from the family room its light was a pale reflection off the dining table. The tableside lamp cast the room in a warm glow through its cream-colored shade, a muted newsreel flickering on the TV screen. In the absence of sound, he could hear it prickling with static fuzz.

"There, now." The newsreel flashed, changing to a menu. He straightened as Imelda came to join him on the sofa, creating what he hoped was an inviting space between his ribcage and his arm. She ignored it, taking her usual spot in the center cushion with her skirts folded demurely around her legs. He didn't let it deter him; this was a normal occurrence. He wasn't sure if it was her personal pride, a sense of modesty, or some other lingering emotion that had her putting space between them. It was a fruitless effort, no matter the reason; she always managed to gravitate towards him as the movie went on.

"A ver—" She squinted at the remote, finding the arrow keys and moving through the menu. He watched her with a sense of pride, a warmth that swelled to fill his ribcage. Mi esposa inteligente…. He smiled to himself; it was only recently that he let himself start thinking of her as his wife again. Before the holiday she had been Imelda: a woman he loved, but was entirely detached from. She'd wanted nothing to do with him, and he'd tried his best to honor her wishes no matter how much it hurt.

But she'd called him the love of her life, her love—hers. He was possessed, and could possess in return. He could call her his, now, without guilt or pain. At least, he could in the back of his mind. It was still too early to make those kinds of sentiments known… wasn't it? After all, they'd only recently graduated to goodnight kisses: one peck before separating, her to her bedroom and he to the guest room. For some that single kiss might have been little more than a tease, but he cherished it. Even that was more then he'd dared to dream of, living apart from her. He'd grown so disillusioned with his life that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to hope.

"I'm excited to see this movie again," Imelda admitted, pulling him from his thoughts as the first preview began to play. She settled against the cushion, the remote on the empty seat next to her and her hands in her lap. "Suggestive," she snorted, allowing herself to be derisive while they were alone. He'd noticed that while she played the maternal figure, she kept back many of the emotions he knew she was capable of. "I need to tell that to Lucía when I call her. We saw this on one of our ladies nights; I'm sure she'd have liked it a lot more if it had been suggestive."

"She really hasn't changed at all, then." He knew Lucía from his Santa Cecelia days. She was Imelda's oldest and closest friend, both in life and in death. He hadn't reunited with her since coming to live at the house, and was a little afraid to meet her again; from what he could remember she hit harder than Imelda, and wasn't afraid to wield whatever was closest as a makeshift weapon. She was sure to have a few words about his leaving town, no matter how happy she might be to see him again afterwards.

"Oh, you know her." Imelda shook her head. "She'd stand in the street, in broad daylight, and watch…" she hesitated, looking to the entryway before lowering her voice, "pornografía, if she knew she'd get a good laugh out of it. And we both know Fernando wouldn't lift a finger to stop her, either." Héctor had to agree; he hadn't seen Fernando in a century, but the man had always been more than lenient towards his wife.

"You wouldn't?" he asked, unable to help teasing her just a little. After all, it wasn't as though anyone was around to hear them talking…. "Watch, I mean." Still, moment he said it he realized that it sounded risqué. Her resulting expression was unreadable; she was shocked, but he couldn't tell whether it was from the nature of the question itself, or the fact that he'd asked it.

"I—of course not!" she hissed. Even without flesh, he could still tell that she blushed. "I'd never watch someone… watch them… do…" she struggled, caught between the modesty she was taught and the words that she knew. She gave up after a moment, switching gears.

"And besides, those books are bad enough, aren't they? Writing it all out, as if they want you to imagine it happening; why anyone would want to read something like that I'll never understand. They lure you in with an honest romance, and then you have to wade through acts that are better left behind closed doors. Why, in our day a woman didn't know about that until her wedding night; we were probably better off for it, in my opinion."

"Hmm." His jaw worked as he tried to decide whether or not to say what was on his mind. Oh, what the hell. "You seem to know an awful lot about what's in those books," he pointed out. She glared at him and he held it, waiting; she broke eye contact first, clearing her throat guiltily.

"I might have looked in one or two… but with good reason! After all, my granddaughter is reading them. I wanted to make sure there was nothing too inappropriate. What I saw shocked me, but Julio is bound and determined that she can do as she pleases. I just hope Coco has more sense."

"You didn't like any of them?"

"Shh." She turned her head, focusing squarely on the television. "The movie's starting." He grinned, obediently falling silent as she turned up the volume. It was one of the newer movies, shot in brilliant color and full of both old and new faces. He prided himself on being able to pick out stars from other movies she'd shown him, even recognizing one he'd only seen in living pictures. And, as he'd predicated, it was the usual spiel.

The plot centered around two families. In the Land of the Living they're business partners and good friends, united by the young love of Jonas and Edita. However, in the Land of the Dead they're bitter enemies, and have been for countless generations. The night before their wedding, the opening credits announced, the two swerved off the road in a terrible storm and fell to their untimely deaths. They awoke in the Land of the Dead, startled and confused, only to learn of the terrible past history of their families. Torn apart, they're told to renounce their love for the sake of family, duty, and honor.

Héctor watched their plight with his usual detached interest, chuckling under his breath at some of the youngsters' dramatics. Jonas was ridiculous and Edita absurd, but it was to be expected. After all, they were young and in love; when the two were combined, intelligence might as well be nonexistent.

Even though they were the same age as him physically, he couldn't help but watch with the mentality of his hundred-plus years. But he couldn't really blame them, either; he remembered that euphoric high, the near-obsessive passion that blocked out all common sense. Young lovers were reckless, which was why parents were expected to stand in and stop them from making life-altering mistakes. Not that true love was a life-altering mistake… they were just going about it in the wrong way. If they'd all—adults and kids—sat down to talk it over, there wouldn't be any conflict. But then, he considered, there also wouldn't be any movie.

Imelda rested her head against his shoulder, a sigh brushing across his ribs. Her focus was on the screen, but she'd already managed to work her way across the cushion and into the crook of his arm. He draped it across her shoulders, welcoming her touch and wondering if the sigh meant she was tired. She had fallen asleep on him before, during other movies; he stayed still until well after the credits had rolled, holding her against him for as long as she slept. He would have gladly remained there all night, the cadence of her breathing reminding him of the old days. She did wake up, however; he always pretended to sleep too, just to keep from embarrassing her.

Just as he began to lose interest there was a fight scene between the two families. The movie began to resemble a telenovela as the mothers argued and spat insults, relatives from both sides coming close to engaging in a public fistfight while the two lovers looked on helplessly. It came to a head when Jonas and Edita announced their decision to marry despite what the families thought, reminding them that if the living could bury the hatchet, the dead should be able to as well.

Good sentiment, bad timing, he thought as the altercation escalated even more. Kids really don't know when to keep their bright ideas to themselves, do they? The plot thickened even further as the two made plans to elope in the dead of night, sneaking out of their houses and running away together. Jonas made it alright, but Edita had to scale the side of her family's cliffside hacienda. It was a straight drop to the river, countless stories below; halfway down the outer wall her heel snapped off in a brick, leaving her dangling in the air until Jonas came to save her.

"She should have never chosen old heels for climbing," Imelda mumbled, shifting even closer to him. "Pobrecita… stupid girl." He glanced down at her, unable to see her face. The light caught the pouf of her wig, drawing his attention to it. He had the sudden urge to pat it down, to see how far it would compress. Or, even better, to run his fingers through it until the hair came loose, sliding to fall over the back of her neck.

He resisted, knowing she'd protest, and contented himself with resting his head there instead of his hand. It was thick and soft beneath his cheekbone, the way he could barely remember her real hair being in life. Who gave the dead such detailed instructions about something as nonchalant as hair? Who, he wondered, had told the powers that be to make sure his hair was wiry and untamable? The wigs had to have come from somewhere… some sub department of the city's sprawling bureau?

He nearly burst into laughter as the two lovers, penniless but married and determined, descended into Shantytown. That was the most un-Shantytown he'd ever seen in his life; it was absolutely ridiculous! Clean, perfectly built docks lined by neat, shabby buildings that clearly had floor plans, and weren't cobbled together from whatever could be found floating down the river.

Whoever had made the set had clearly never set foot in the actual neighborhood. Where were the houses built from little more than empty canvas and metal ridgepoles? Where were the gaping holes in the walkways? The strings of lights and scanty decorations where the Forgotten tried to make their houses as personalized as possible? The empty bottles, the crushed tin cans? The clotheslines?

And the people. No one in Shantytown looked so glum and gray, not like these actors and actresses shuffling around sadly in the background. They lived their lives the best they could, with laughter, games, music, and friends. They were a family, not a bunch of funeral-goers. He wished, somewhat sadly, that his old forgotten friends could be here to see this. They'd all get a real kick out of what the Remembered thought their underworld looked like. Chicharrón, especially, would have had a laugh; he could almost hear the old codger now.

Why the hell are they even in Shantytown? They're just poor, not Forgotten! Don't they realize they can just pawn off their offerings like anyone else? Or were they too stupid to bring more than the clothes on their backs?

At least the newlyweds acted the way most Remembered did when seeing Shantytown up close for the first time. They crept along the docks, jumping at the slightest sound and nearly falling in the water in an effort to keep from touching anyone or anything. As if being Forgotten was something catching, spread like a plague from person to person once they passed the graffitied gates. They found a woman—her bones not the right shade of yellow, and her markings still too bright—that rented them a room for the night. Another discrepancy; there was no renting what was always freely given. Folks helped others in need in the slums, they usually didn't ask for money. There was no telling if they'd be around long enough to spend it.

"Relájate, mi amor. It's our wedding night, after all." Yeah, Jonas. Lighten up. He was acting like they were going to be jumped and mugged at any minute. What a joke. He let a breath sputter across Imelda's hair, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. At least Edita was more realistic, trying to relax and make the best of things. That was the real Shantytown way.

He nearly lost it when the camera panned to a bed in the room, holding his breath to keep from startling Imelda with helpless peals of laughter. No one in Shantytown would bother with owning a bed; the mattress would mold with the first flood! Everyone slept in hammocks: a cocoon made from an old tent or even a quilt was easy to raise along with floodwaters. Besides, if the water rose high enough the bed might be carried away entirely.

They stood together by the bed, hands locked as they renewed their vow of everlasting love. More sweet sentiments, but who was there to hear them? They were all alone in a dusty shanty. Perhaps that was the point, but a part of him couldn't be bothered to care. It would have been different if Shantytown was some hellish existence. He'd seen worse, sitting in the holding cells of prisons on Día de Muertos and waiting for daybreak. Those people—the murderers, the drug lords, rapists and thieves—had their own communities, nestled in the crooks and crannies of the city. If they'd wanted a sympathetic reaction from him, they'd have sent the lovebirds there instead.

He lost interest when they started to kiss, wrapped in the sweet caress of young love. His mind was still absorbed over the bed detail, wondering if he should start advocating for proper Shantytown exposure in film. Who would he send a complaint to? The studio? They could at least do proper research if they wanted to include it in their movies. People did live there, even if they'd never see the film they were being portrayed in.

And wasn't it false advertising? Why, if that's what everyone thought the shanties looked like, wouldn't they be in for a surprise when—

His mind blanked at the sound of a sudden, sharp, obvious feminine moan. That was a sound he hadn't heard in quite some time, but still knew exactly what it was. His head jerked, his attention instantly back on the movie. What on earth?!

"I never want this dream to end," Edita said, laying back on the bed. The faded quilt and overstuffed pillow did little to mar her beauty, brown hair spread just so to frame the adoration in her eyes. Ah, so that's what they had to put the bed in there for? Maybe he hadn't seen that many movies, but that was just a little… cheap.

"It doesn't have to." Jonas had lost his shirt between cuts, it seemed. Héctor's browbones rose, along with a bubble of laughter in his throat. The two began to kiss passionately, limbs tangled as they lay together on top of the quilt. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, not wanting to sound immature. This must be the scene they were talking about earlier. Well, all things considered… it wasn't so bad. He didn't know much about movie ratings, but this didn't seem to warrant a—

Oh.

Could—Could they really show that on TV? What if there were children present in the audience?! That was a very creaky bed, and certainly some loud breathing, and those shadows on the wall were—ay, Jonas! Think of your back, amigo! He could certainly understand now why others had called it indecent; anyone with a brain and two ears could tell what was clearly going on in that shanty!

Imelda, this is highly suggestive! Even you can't say no one would realize what's happening!

Imelda didn't seem very shocked by the scene at all. She wasn't even paying much attention; she shifted on the cushion, trying to yank her skirts out from under her leg without standing up. She managed to untangle her feet, adjusting the fabric to rest on her knees before leaning back against him. Her hand landed on his thigh and he froze, eyes widening. It was an innocent gesture, one she'd done plenty of times during movie night. But right now….

He swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of her body. She was close; why had he never noticed how close they were? He could feel the curving rise of her ribcage, expanding to press into his with every breath. Her fingers felt absently along the outline of his femur through his pants, tracing the pinstripes. She rested her cheek on his shoulder again, the top of her head nestling beneath his jaw. Another little breath ghosted over his ribs; this one seemed to linger, highlighting the edges of every bone.

Oh. His mind slowed to a crawl, unable to move past the one word. A spark slipped down his spine, tickling the vertebrae before settling into his lower pelvis. Oh. He blushed, the heat radiating in the place where his ears used to be. He barely had time to brace himself before a shiver ran through him, tingling like the shock from an exposed telegraph wire. Every part of him was on fire with something he could almost name, centered around the parts where their bodies rested against each other. He hadn't felt this way in years, decades.

He closed his eyes, trying to get some semblance of control. Memories flashed in the back of his mind, as if waiting for him to let his guard down: Imelda. The Imelda he'd known, the Imelda he'd dreamed about, coveted, delighted in. Memories he'd pleasured himself to, alone in the hotel room while Ernesto was out finding his own entertainment. He could still recall the sweat on the back of his neck, muscles clenching as he gasped out her name, her latest letter pressed against his heart.

Imelda, her skin warm and supple—soft, perhaps. He thought he could remember it being soft. Her dark hair, so long that it seemed to go on forever and ever when he wound it in his hands. He loved burying his face in it, hiding in it, breathing in the fragrance of kitchen and sunshine and woman. The freckles along the rise of her breast, darker where her dress exposed them to the sun. The sharp angle of her collarbone, tracing out a premade line for him to kiss. Her eyes, shining up at him in the dark from their bed, her gown glowing in the moonlight, his hands two dark splotches that smoothed the fabric up her legs.

There was no sense in thinking about that, he tried to assure himself. It's not like he could have that again. His traitorous mind obeyed, changing the scene and sweeping the rug from beneath his proverbial feet. Imelda, her skin replaced by gleaming bone, silver trails highlighting her hair. The same smiling eyes, the same angled clavicle; her body bared for him, only for him. In his mind he bent over her, their ribcages sliding without the soft friction of clothing to separate them. It shouldn't have been as arousing an image as it was; maybe he'd just forgotten the joys of flesh, trading them for touches he could imagine more easily after a hundred years in a bonier body.

Want. He wanted her.

He glanced automatically to his trousers, but of course there was nothing amiss. He didn't have the anatomy to give himself away anymore; everything was as shapeless as ever, cinched around his hipbones by the rope he'd won in a card game. The heat in his stomach clenched, a delicious ache; he set his jaw, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Ay, dios… he needed to move. But there was no excuse to try and adjust himself; he didn't even have anything to adjust!

It shouldn't have surprised him. He should have been ready for this. He wasn't some innocent, bumbling teenager on his first foray into the adult world. He'd known good and well that sex didn't die with flesh. He was a man, after all; he'd heard plenty of braggarts embellishing their exploits in the local bar. And his Shantytown neighbors had sometimes been the frisky sort; thin walls had given him plenty of reasons to visit primos on the other end of the docks.

But in those situations, sex was an avoidance. He hadn't wanted to hear about how many women had been unlucky enough to lie with Anthony, and he certainly didn't want to hear the things Tía Kate screamed when her boyfriend had her up against the wall. How long had it been since he'd thought about pleasure for pleasure's sake? A hundred years, his body informed him, burning. A century without her, and now she's here—

Here in body, yes, but also watching a movie and completely oblivious to him. Physical urges in the Land of the Dead were a matter of conscious thought. They were just bones, at the end of the day, no matter if their soul or memories or… whatever they could be called resided with them. Bones didn't get hungry, thirsty, hot, or cold. Not on their own, anyway. It took a certain mentality to get in the mood, as it were. When it was summertime they felt hot, because they expected to feel hot. When there was food in front of their faces, they became hungry.

Apparently, the same could be said for desire as well.

Imelda was clearly not in the same boat, or if she was she hid it a little too well. There was a strong possibility that even if he did tell her about his feelings she would be puzzled, or at least not in the mood… quite literally. And it was a little embarrassing, to admit that a movie scene was what got him into this state—he'd been the one teasing her about watching dirty films. Not to mention they were still taking things slow. It was a big leap to go from one kiss per day to lovemaking, and she probably wouldn't be willing to skip so many other, equally important steps. It would be like… oh, what did the kids call it nowadays? A fling?

He consulted his options, no longer the least bit interested in the movie. The kids could both go to their Final Deaths and he wouldn't shed a tear. He had more important matters to consider. He could continue to do nothing, but to do that was to suffer. He could tell her outright—no, bad option. He could make an excuse to get up, leave the room, cool off. A better option, but still bad. What excuse? There was no restroom to excuse himself to. A drink of water? The kitchen was too close to walk off these urges.

What if he… indulged?

He glanced at her, looking up and down her body. She looked so tiny; even her feet dangled above the floor, her legs not long enough to reach the ground. It was so cute, how itty-bitty she was. Even her tiny hands, the perfect little fingerbones that could run through his hair or trace the designs on his face, or slide in the gaps between—

Focus, Héctor.

He needed something mild: enticing, but enough to sate his hunger. The trick would be picking something that would keep her in the dark; he didn't want to bother her or make her move away. A voice, small but imploring, piped up in the back of his mind. This is a bad idea…. True, but he'd had worse. Besides, he was the king of bad ideas. One more wasn't going to put him in the grave… again.

What about a kiss? That could work. Imelda liked kisses, mostly. Sure, she complained when he covered her face in enthusiastic smooches, but this would be smaller scale. Something simple, chaste, indulging himself without frightening her away. Now, what was the most unsexual place to kiss her? He glanced her over once more, unable to trust himself with anything below her neck. He knew his own limits.

Her cheek? No, that wouldn't work; it was too close to her mouth. Ditto for her nose and chin. The forehead was a viable option, but too hard to reach. He needed something he could aim for without moving from his spot. The patch of bone between her hair and forehead seemed to call out to him. ¡La sien! Of course! He bit back a smile, leaning down to plant one firm peck to the side of her head.

Never had a simple kiss been so difficult.

It became a hands-on test of his restraint from the start. The warmth inside of him sputtered, startled, and then flared even brighter. He had to resist the urge to nuzzle into her hair, or squeeze her, or prolong the contact in any way. It seemed natural, almost instinctive, for him to seek her out. She was taunting him without knowing it, her body so close and yet off limits. He couldn't ask her to cuddle, not like this; he was barely keeping control as it was.

He forced himself away, putting the same distance between them as he tried in vain to watch the movie. He was utterly baffled at himself, not sure why he felt so… hot. He couldn't remember being like this as a living man. Was it just because it had been so long? Or was it that after he started thinking about it, it was the only thing he could think about? A vicious circle, that's what it was. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt, and the worse he felt the more he thought about it.

Imelda stirred, the kiss enough to take her attention away from the movie. He nearly whined, his body protesting as she pulled away just enough to look up at him. Her eyes softened in a smile, accepting his affectionate gesture for what it was. He tried to return it, not wanting to startle her. His heart pounded in his throat—at least it felt that way, even if he didn't have a heart—and the discomfort of it must have shown somewhere on his face.

"Héctor?" The smile faltered, wavering at the edges as her browbone creased. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no!" he assured her, only to wilt at the hoarse rasp. That was not the voice of someone at ease, trying to enjoy a movie. Her eyes widened, blinking and uncertain, before narrowing into a familiar expression he'd seen countless times before. What's going on? Her mouth pursed, forming a thoughtful frown as she studied him. He tried again to smile, a nervous chuckle spilling out of his throat.

Shit. She knew that laugh, just as well as he knew her expressions. He all but trembled on the cushion, his heart sinking as he waited for the hammer to fall. She was going to find him out, and then what? Laugh? Oh, if only that was all he had to worry about. What if she was repulsed with him? Or even worse, angry? That would probably be it. She'd get angry, and kick him out with instructions to never come back to sully her doorstep again. That'd be the end of it.

Good going, Héctor. You ruined everything again.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that when she moved, he automatically flinched away. His eyes scrunched, preparing for the first wallop of her boot against his undeserving head, but it never came. Instead, he felt something lukewarm and familiar against his chin. Wait. Wait, wait, wait… wait. No boot? Not anger, or disgust, but… reciprocation? He cracked one eye to see her smiling again, one hand resting lightly on his sternum.

"Uhm…" he managed to croak, as eloquent as ever. Their eyes met and it was her turn to laugh awkwardly, her hand jerking from his chest as though her fingers had been scalded by the inferno melting his nonexistent guts. She looked away first, trying to smooth hair behind an ear that didn't exist.

He choked, overwhelmed with how adorable she could be. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't resist her charms; what man would be unmoved by something so sweet and lovely? There wasn't enough resolve in the world, much less his own bones, that could keep him away so long as she was happy to have him there. It took everything he had in him to keep from pinning her to the cushions, swallowing her startled gasps and reminding her of what they could accomplish together.

"I didn't…" she trailed off uncertainly. His mind was still spinning its wheels on the fact that she wanted to kiss him; before he knew it, they were both mumbling over each other.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize—"

"I guess I should have asked—"

"You don't have to—"

"I just thought—"

"We can, still." Bad idea! The little voice in his mind was stomping its feet, but it was quickly being overrode by another, louder one. Do it again, that voice chanted. Do it again, do it again please, I won't mess up this time, do it again, Imelda— "Imelda. I-If you want to." They stared at each other, his hand squeezing the life out of his right wrist. He pressed until the bones protested, waiting as patiently as he could muster for an answer.

There was a sharp pop of gunfire and he jumped in his seat, gasping; he'd forgotten entirely about the movie. Shooting a gun at a dead person? He turned without thinking, wondering who would be dumb enough to do something so pointless, and then froze as her fingers brushed the side of his face. She turned his head back, her poignant little frown scolding him for taking his attention away from her.

"I want to." Her voice was just above a whisper, barely audible over the movie. He didn't have the sense to reply, mouth falling open at the words. The way she was looking at him, the lamp behind her illuminating a halo around her head… oh, mi diosa. He was at her mercy, surely she knew that. He could only nod dumbly, forcing his fingers apart and opening his arms to welcome her back into his embrace. She leaned up to meet him, head tilting automatically even though there wasn't any danger of bumping noses, not anymore.

He completely melted at the first touch of her lips, mind blanking as her fingers traced the prominent yellow designs on his cheek. His eyes slid shut, leaning drunkenly into the touch as ripples ran up and down his spine. It was hardly more than their usual nightly kiss, only on the sofa instead of in the hallway. He'd been content with it—should be content with it now—but it wasn't enough. He wanted to press into her, to caress her, move against her, experience her.

He wanted more.

She rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling. For the first time, the thought hit him that she might, just might be interested in more than a little kiss. Her hands smoothed over the rumpled collar of his shirt, her eyes opening to see him watching her closely. She leaned back and he followed unthinkingly, not wanting to separate after just one kiss. He didn't want to stop, not now that he'd had a taste of what he'd been missing for the better part of a century. Was she rethinking her earlier statement? Had she changed her mind, or was she giving him the chance to say no?

"Imelda, más—" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, the imperative dying with a whine in the back of his throat. He felt the sting of embarrassment, not enough to stop the desire curling at his bones. It was sprinkling water on a raging fire, producing nothing but a bit of steam that manifested in a hot blush she couldn't even see.

An apology stood ready, but before he could voice it he fell back against the arm of the sofa, hands fumbling to find purchase on the faded upholstery. He'd been worried about losing control and pinning her, but now she was trying her hardest to pin him. He hadn't expected her to jump on him, her weight nothing compared to a flesh body but still substantial enough that he could enjoy her, kinetic energy and cloth warming what would otherwise be solid, cool bone.

"Imelda?!" he managed to sputter, twisted sideways on the sofa. She made a desperate little noise in return, her arms looping around his neck as she kissed him fiercely. It wasn't the kind of kisses he was used to from her, the pressure of her mouth hard enough to hurt if it hadn't felt so damn good. The sound she made vibrated through his jaw, and he gladly surrendered the fight against his conscience. Everything in him was finally on the same page: don't stop.

He found his bearings, settling against the back of the sofa. He managed to find her hips, dragging her halfway onto his lap before giving up when she made a protesting noise. He instead cradled her jaw with both hands, taking control as he deepened the kiss. They battled for a brief moment, she trying to regain power while he sought to keep it. Her frustrated hands grabbed at his vest, distracting him as he tried to find the right angle; it was hard without a tongue or noses to guide him, but he somehow managed. Her answering moan was a white flag, fingers digging into his upper arms.

"No," she muttered irritably when he broke the kiss, his hand guiding her jaw. He ignored her, running on autopilot as he turned his attention to her bodice. He hadn't thought much about it before now, but he wanted… he wanted to…. He watched his hands as they slid over her shoulders, tracing the outline of her collar. She looked down as well, eyes slightly dazed as his fingers began counting the ribs exposed by the low cut of the cloth. He smoothed the patterned fabric, following its curve to the flat ribbon cinching the dress at her waist.

"I don't… not anymore…." Her mouth twisted, lipstick smudged at the edges. He wondered if some of it had rubbed off onto him; a thrill ran through him at the thought, still able to mark his body even if he didn't have skin to tease.

"Who cares?" Who needed breasts, when the sloping curves of her ribcage were his to explore?

"Tch." She scowled, only to bite back a gasp when he pressed his fingers into the gaps between her ribs. The fabric pulled taunt against her bones, outlining them in dark shadows of purple as he counted them, all the way back up to her clavicle. She murmured something under her breath, panting softly as he leaned down to kiss the top of her sternum.

"Hmm?"

"N-nothing." She averted her gaze, chewing on the pliant bone that served for her lower lip. He waited, but she remained quiet. He went back to exploring her ribcage, running his long fingers over the bones offered up to him by her bodice. There were only three, not counting her collarbone, but he was more than happy with that. He followed their shape until he met the cloth, slipping through them to feel the undersides.

When even that wasn't enough he pulled her closer, his lips following the path his fingers had taken. He kissed over every rib, committing them to memory as his fingers traced them beneath her arms and around to her spine. She squirmed on his lap, her hands tangling in his hair to hold him still, or pull him back after he tried to move on to another spot. He tried to take note of what she seemed to like, but the friction of her hips though their clothing was driving him wild. He began to rock unconsciously, trying to prolong the contact even as he fought to keep still.

"Héctor, what—" Her voice was breathy now, sending a shudder through him.

"Te necesito." There was no point in beating around the bush now. "Quiero hacerte el amor." Her eyes bulged, mouth falling open. It took a lot to render Imelda Rivera speechless, and he took some pride in the fact that he'd managed it at all.

"Here?!" she managed to stammer, her eyes flitting nervously towards the entryway; its wide, curving arch offered a perfect view for anyone coming through the kitchen. "Héctor, w-we can't! Someone—they'll hear—"

He said nothing, leaning past her skirts to reach the remote. He barely glanced at it, his thumb finding the volume button. He turned up the movie to a louder, yet still acceptable level. With any luck, the others would think that they just couldn't hear the quieter bits. He glanced back at her, brows raising silently for her approval. She sighed, looking between him, the TV, and the entryway before shaking her head firmly.

"I—no. No, we can't." She gathered her restraint, both hands on his chest as she pushed him back against the cushion. "Someone's going to hear, or see, or—"

"They leave us alone for a reason," he pointed out blithely, his palms smoothing over the rise of her hips.

"Not this reason!" It was easy to tell that she was a blushing mess, even without the blood rushing to her cheeks. "For heaven's sake, Héctor: I'm a grandmother, I can't be—I'm not—"

"You're Imelda to me." He watched her in the lamplight, the flashing TV playing with the shadows on her skull. "Besides, I'm a grandfather. What does that matter?"

"W-what does it matter?! We're supposed to be… I don't know!" She threw up her hands. "Old, or something!"

"We are old." He hooked one finger under her clavicle, drawing her forward. She followed, protests dying in her throat as he kissed up towards her neck. "Please, Imelda." She groaned, eyes screwing shut, and then with an impatient growl she jerked the remote from his hand. Muting the TV, she turned her eyes to the ceiling. He mimicked her, the two of them listening to the marked silence. There wasn't a peep from upstairs, not even the creaking of floorboards.

"This isn't right." She unmuted the TV, jaw working as he settled her on his lap. Her knees dug into the cushion on either side of his bony hips. "We shouldn't." Her hands shoved at his vest, pushing it off his shoulders. He let go of her long enough to slide his arms through the sleeve holes, letting it pool behind him. She cupped his jaw in her hands, pressing kisses to his willing mouth. "We really shouldn't…."

"Then stop, mi amor."

"Hush." She grabbed the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. "Don't… call me… that," she muttered around his frantic kisses, eyes fluttering shut. "Don't… Héctor—"

"That's what you are." He nipped at her collarbone, grinning when she squeaked. He'd missed all the sounds she used to make, wondering if she remembered them as well as he did. He'd gladly spend hours finding out, if she let him… "You said it yourself."

"I never—" She gulped, her breath ragged as she fisted handfuls of his hair. "I only said—"

"I know what you said." He rested his chin on her sternum, thumbs drawing circles on her hips. "The love of my life, that's what you said."

"I was just saying things!"

"I don't believe you." He gently tugged, drawing her down to kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips. "Tell me, Imelda."

"Hmph."

"Tell me." His hands reached down, searching for the hem of her dress. There wasn't time to undress properly, but he doubted she really cared about that right now. She'd probably complain more if he did try to take her clothes off. As if that would matter at this point; anyone walking by would know exactly what they were doing, with his shirt gone and his neckerchief wrapped in her questing fingers. "I can't do anything until you tell me what you want."

"You alre—"

"I can't have you saying things," he teased, taking his kerchief and tossing it onto the other side of the sofa. She huffed, pouting.

"I… you know."

"What if I don't?"

"H… hazme…" She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. "Hazme el amor."

"Sí." He gathered her skirts, reveling in how familiar the feeling was. "With pleasure."

"Shut up." She braced herself against him, boot scraping the side of the sofa as she lifted her legs to help free the cloth. He paused at her knees, reaching beneath the billowing fabric to feel her femurs. She shivered helplessly, the back of one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the soft moan that escaped.

"More?" He looked up at her, asking permission both verbally and with his eyes. He'd never force her to do anything, not as long as it was in his power, but he'd forgotten just what she could do to him. She nodded, chest heaving. She was so beautiful, so fierce; he never understood why men said they wanted passive partners, when the real passion lay in her fiery responses. Maybe they were just made for each other, maybe that's why they worked so well.

He wished that he had a tongue, just to lick his lips and ease the tension. His hands gathered the fabric as neatly as possible, exposing more of her legs until he finally reached her pelvic bones. He stopped, awestruck and wide-eyed like a young boy experiencing his wedding night all over again. The shape of her was… perfect. He stared unblinking at the circular basin of her hips, wider than his own, their daughter's first cradle. Long before he'd ever known Coco she'd been here, resting in the embrace her mother's body made for her.

"What?" She craned her neck, trying to see over her skirts. "What is it?" She stared at her bones blankly; they were just another body part to her, like her limbs or her skull. She couldn't see the sweet, marvelous perfection that he could. Would she like his? Would she not care? He brushed those thoughts aside for the moment, focusing on her body.

They didn't have a lot of time; despite his objections, she hadn't been worried for nothing. They weren't alone, nor were they in the privacy of a bedroom. He couldn't linger the way he wanted, not if they were going to get done anytime soon.

"Can I touch…?" She gave a little shrug in reply, noncommittal.

"I suppose you'd want to, anyway." Well… she knows me, at least. He reached out and caressed the smooth plane of her right ilium, tracing the angled dip as it lowered to her ramus. He watched her face, letting the bones guide him down towards her center; her mouth twisted before parting, a broken moan slipping out as her hips rose to meet his hand.

"Does that hurt?" He ran his finger back and forth over her lowest point, stroking softly until she grabbed his wrist. He paused, waiting. "Should I stop?"

"No!" she cried, too loudly. "I��I mean, no, it's just…." She opened her eyes, her thumb rubbing the inside of his wrist. "It's been a long time for me, Héctor." She swallowed anxiously, her vertebrae jolting with the motion. "Longer than I've been dead," she admitted in a small voice.

"It has been for me, too."

"A hundred years…."

"Sí." He smiled reassuringly. "A hundred years." Her expression softened, overflowing with warmth and affection. He basked in it, happy to remain there forever; she had different plans, reaching down to the rope at his waist. Her hands brushed over his bone through his trousers and his earlier urgency returned, spurring him to hastily shove the suspenders off his shoulders. His hands joined hers, loosening the rope just enough to slide his pants down towards his knees.

"Oh." She stared at him, fingers pressed to her mouth. He winced, waiting for her judgement, but she didn't seem to notice. Her other hand faltered, reaching for him only to pull back at the last moment. Her mouth pursed and he suddenly imagined her kissing him down there, leaving purple imprints over every inch of his pubic bone. The thought was almost too much to bear, his toes curling into the throw rug as he pulled her towards him. Another time, perhaps….

It was only when he went to lift her that he realized one small, but important thing: he'd never done this before. At least, not like this, with no anatomy to speak of and even less of an idea about how it might possibly work. He hesitated, staring at their bones like two halves of a puzzle. He let out a low hiss, cursing the damn movie, its actors, producers, directors, and anyone else involved. They give him the bright idea, but left it up to the viewer's imagination! How was he supposed to know what to do?!

"What?"

"It's just…" He tilted his head. "Do you know how?" He thankfully didn't have to explain, as she joined him in staring at their lower halves. "I never thought about it, but I don't have… you know."

"I never thought about it, either." She frowned, and he grimaced in return. He was just as inexperienced now as he'd been their first time together—no, more than that! At least back then he'd had a basic idea of what went where! Wasn't instinct supposed to take over at some point? Did the dead not have any innate sexuality? "No importa."

"What!?" She rolled her eyes at his exclamation, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling into his hair.

"No importa," she repeated, her voice lowered to a purr. He ached at the sound, twisting beneath her. "Bésame." He obliged, a moan rumbling in his chest as he slid one hand up to trace her spine beneath the dress. She inched forward, teeth teasing his neck as she straddled him, her hips—

Her hips.

They broke apart with startled yelps, shocked as their hips collided with a dull clunk. Imelda's hands bit into his shoulders, her eyes darting from his face to his chest. Neither one moved, their torsos meeting with each breath.

"Did you?"

"Mhmm." She took a sharp breath. "I did." Their eyes met and she gingerly moved, rocking against him. His head hit the back of the sofa, a soft groan escaping as his hands found her hips. Yes, there… ay that's it— From her little mewl of pleasure, she had to have been feeling the same thing he was. He pushed up into her experimentally, increasing the pressure on their bones until he couldn't stand it.

It felt nothing like the living world, but he was beyond caring. After a few tries they found a rhythm that left them both breathless, gasping and grabbing at whatever they could get their hands on. Her arms cradled his skull, face buried in his hair as he peppered opened-mouth kisses along her bodice. The sound of their bones scraping and clacking seemed loud, even with the movie; some tiny semblance of clarity had him reaching for the remote, bumping the volume up another notch.

He knew they didn't have the time to prolong anything, but he should have realized he wouldn't have lasted long anyway. It had been far too long; even without the wet heat of her living body, the raw pleasure eating its way up his spine was too much to handle. He thrust up to meet her, trying to hold her hips still as she ground against him.

That thudding sound… was that the sofa? He hoped not, but it sounded a little too much like they were being very loud. He kept waiting for her to say something, to stop them, but she only held him tighter. She felt so good, her entire weight pressed against him, surrounding him, rocking into him until he couldn't think of anything else but her, her, her. Mi Imelda, mi amor, el amor de mi vida, qué… qué—

"Héctor…" He made a sound, almost a whimper, as she moved to speak right into his ear. Her arms slid up beneath his, grasping at his shoulders. No fair, no fair! She couldn't say his name like that and expect him to hold out any length of time. But she wasn't through, whispering as she rubbed her cheek tenderly against his. "Te extrañé mucho—soy tuya—más, mi amor—te amo—"

The heat in the base of his spine arced and he knew it was too late, too fast, too much. He tried to say her name, to—what, warn her? beg her? Her hand covered his mouth, muffling his hoarse cry as her breathy laughter echoed in his ear. She knew, she did this to him, she was the only one who could ever reduce him to this, she knew and she loved it, she loved him— His back bowed, hips stuttering as he rode the delicious wave of white-hot pleasure coursing through him from head to foot. His heels dug into the rug, head flung back as he fought to fill his lungs with one good breath of air.

He slumped back against the cushions, pulling her with him as one final moan escaped with a sigh. He'd forgotten… he thought he'd remembered, but he'd really forgotten just what it felt like to be utterly sated, the sunny warmth of an afterglow. The exhaustion of the Final Death had nothing on this. A part of his memory suggested sweat, exertion, sore muscles, but he felt only sleepy and satisfied.

"Good?" She sounded smug, and rightly so.

"Mmmm." He opened his eyes, returning her grin with a lazy smile of his own. What had he ever done to deserve her? Even now he didn't deserve this, but only because he was resting before the job was through. He stirred his weary hips back into motion, slower but with firmer strokes.

"Again?"

"For you," he mumbled, one hand holding her steady while the other traced up and down her femur. "You didn't."

"I don't have to."

"But you want to?"

"I—well—"

"Let me show you." He sat up, or tried to, his feet sliding on the gap of hardwood between the rug and the sofa. "Let me show you how good it is, 'Melda."

"…Alright." She leaned forward, grabbing him in a tight embrace. She buried her face in her arm, releasing a shaky breath across his collarbone. He moved his hand to her spine, holding her close as he gently rocked them both. She felt so small like this, something to be held delicately, protected.

He remembered something, the memory old and hazy but still there, still tangible in the back of his mind. Imelda used to like…. He moved from her femur to her pelvis, carefully stroking along the inside of her rami. He searched lazily, intent on finding a certain spot but in no hurry to do so. The longer he kept looking, the longer he had a reason to hold her this close.

"Ah!" She smothered her cries in the crook of her elbow, a shudder rolling down her spine. "Héctor!" Ah, there it is. He rubbed tentatively on the spot, delighting in her barely muffled squeal. She broke her own rhythm, wriggling as the flat of his palm rolled over the entire length of her bone. Her hips moved with a new vigor, pushing her face further into her sleeve.

"Imelda…." He tapped out his new song there, fingers drumming that same tricky chorus to the beat of her helpless moans. Mi música, mi esposa, mi vida... eres mío, mi amor. It didn't take as long as he thought it would at all, her body curling into his with a painful, raw sound. He caught her, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her hair, anywhere he could reach as he eased her down from her own high. She clung to him, her frantic breaths sounding dangerously close to sobbing.

"Héctor." She turned her face from her arm to his neck, burrowing in as far as she could. "No me dejas." Nothing could tear him from her now, save herself. Even then, she'd have to personally kick him to the curb.

"No," he promised. "Never."

"Stay." He squeezed her to his chest, rubbing her spine soothingly.

"I will. I'll stay."

"Don't go."

"I won't," he assured her, kissing the side of her head. "Shh. I won't go, I promise." She sighed in relief, going limp against him. He hummed under his breath, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. She was so vulnerable under all that spitfire; how could he have ever forgotten that? He sat there, fighting sleep, one ear open for the sound of movement from upstairs. He'd stay here as long as she needed, but… it was getting a little chilly without his pants.

"Your hair is a mess." And there she is. She untangled herself from him, smoothing back her own frizzed locks and fixing her rumpled bodice. One final kiss: a peck to wrap things up, the bow on a gift. She crawled off of his lap, heading back for her middle cushion.

"It's always a mess." He reached down for his trousers, hiking them up his legs and sliding the suspenders back into place. They could hold his pants up for the moment; he was too tired to bother with the rope. The movie was relatively quiet now that they were through, and he had no clue what was even happening on the screen anymore. He winced, praying that it was just a mind trick. Surely they hadn't been that loud… right? He slumped in the seat with a grunt, feeling the last flickers of passion sliding right out of his bones and into the floor. Like all sensations, once he was filled the need went away, ready for the next time.

Hopefully there'd be a next time.

"Oye." He glanced over at her, seeing that she'd put herself to rights far more quickly than he had. "Sleep in my bed tonight." It was a command, not a request, and one he had no qualms with. He nodded once, drowsy. "And don't think this is going to be an everyday occurrence, either. Just because you did good once—"

"I did good?" he repeated sleepily, a happy note in his voice.

"I—I mean—" He didn't even have the strength to tease her, resolving to doze until she told him to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow she'd recant her statement, especially since they'd already be in bed. The thought of snuggling up to her beneath the sheets was nice; they could curl up the way they used to, her little body fitting perfectly within his larger one. Or even better, she might fit herself around him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Either way would be great, better than great. "Héctor, are you listening to me?!"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, not listening at all. "You said I did good."

"Ay."

#coco #disney pixar coco #dp coco #imector #Imelda Rivera #Héctor Rivera #my writing #oldie but goodie #fanfiction

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knickynoo · 9 months ago

Note

Do you have any of your own headcanons of what happened to Alex (also maybe Mallory and Jennifer) in the years after moving out of the Keaton household?

Hello! Sorry this is being answered so late, anon. Here are some headcanons!

ALEX

• Like most Family Ties fans, I headcanon that Alex and Ellen eventually find their way back to each other. They simply have to. Ellen changed Alex, and even though he does attempt to "move on", I don't think that deep love for her ever leaves him. Plus, he's single at the end of the series! I like to believe he stays that way for a while, moves to NY to settle into his new job and life and such. Eventually, Ellen returns from Paris and reaches out to the Keatons for info on how to contact Alex. Because even though she likely dated other guys after him, she too realizes that she can't shake her love for him. They meet up, and maybe it's awkward at first, but they soon rekindle what they had.

• Alex does end up quite successful, but it's not the type of success he grew up imagining for himself. No giant mansion, immense power, or people falling over themselves to do whatever he says. He isn't fabulously wealthy or anywhere close to his dreams of world domination. But he gets married to Ellen, and he has a job he enjoys, and he's really good at it. He's fulfilled. Happy.

• I also like to think he matures a good deal and becomes someone his coworkers and acquaintances genuinely like to be around, rather than the "not this guy again." Perhaps something happens in his first few weeks on the job to take his ego down a couple of notches. Then, being back with Ellen helps even further, as she always had a way of being able to smooth his rough edges and bring out the kinder side of him.

• Alex stays in very frequent touch with his family and visits them often. He's on the phone with at least one family member every day, and they take trips to see him a lot as well.

• For some Alex and Ellen as parents headcanons, see this post I had made a while back

MALLORY

• Of course, Mal and Nick end up married. Art is still a big part of Nick's life, and he either finds a way to earn a living off of it or finds another job he enjoys while still doing art on the side. Mallory pursues fashion, and she finds a lot of happiness and success there. There's an episode where she talks about eventually wanting to end up in NY as well, so let's go ahead and say that happens.

• LOL, Mallory and Alex cannot get away from each other even if they tried. Which, honestly, they don't want to. Despite their constant squabbling and Alex's relentless teasing, those two love each other much more than they'd like to admit. Both being in NY gives them lots of opportunities to meet up often, and they find themselves growing closer. Alex becomes genuinely invested in Mallory's career and loves hearing how happy she is. Although he isn't too interested in the latest news from the fashion world, he jumps at every chance to give her advice to help her advance her career or spread the news about her designs.

• Despite her insistence in the "Read it and Weep" episodes that she can't test out her clothing designs on Alex because he "has a weird body," she does frequently use him as a model for some of the men's clothing. He grumbles and complains every second of it but never turns her down. He tests out the more formal wear and Nick tests out the more casual designs.

• I don't have fully formed thoughts on Mal as a mother, but I do think she and Nick end up with a handful of kids. (Nick is shown to be amazing with kids, and he would be thrilled to find out he's going to be a dad.) Oh, Mallory would be such a wonderful mom—every bit as warm and loving as Elyse. Her children would always be the best dressed no matter where they went.

• I personally think it would be hysterical if Mallory ends up with a child who likes to dress formally at all times and is obsessed with facts and figures and acts like a tiny adult from the time they can talk. She goes to Alex like, "Is this your influence??!" (It may or may not be. I also think it's funny if the Keatons just have a gene that produces a strange little businessman child at random)

• Mallory and Ellen spend a lot of time together and are best friends. Naturally, Alex and Nick also spend a lot of time together. Nick is thrilled to get to see his "little friend" so often.

JENNIFER

• Jen definitely takes after her parents the most out of the Keaton kids, so I think she goes into some type of activism or charity work. I can see her being involved in an organization that helps animals or the environment.

• I can't decide if she stays close to home or becomes the type who's always traveling all over the place. If it's the latter, it becomes a running joke in the family to play "Where in the World is Jennifer Keaton?" because none of them ever know what she's up to, and so they're always trying to piece clues together or come up with wild scenarios to explain her whereabouts.

• Jen stays single for a long while (or maybe doesn't even marry) and just sort of does her own thing. She pops by to visit her siblings in NY frequently and enjoys catching up with them, getting fashion news (and some new clothing) from Mallory and talking business with Alex.

Thanks for the ask!

#family ties #alex p keaton #apk #mallory keaton #jennifer keaton #ellen reed #nick moore #asks

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lya-dustin · 1 year ago

Text

All is Bliss

Chapter 20

Cw: mentions of consenual undersge sex, misogyny

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @aemondx @ewanmitchellcrumbs @sweethoneyblossom1

Gif by @bonniebird

The grandiosity of Aegon’s coronation is somehow outshined by Aemma’s simple one.

Some claim the dragons roared, even the wild ones, when Rhaenys Targaryen crowned her.

Helaena had turned her back on her own family and went as far as carrying the crown in the procession.

Either way it was the only thing anyone spoke about.

Even worse, the name the lords and smallfolk gave her was impossible to silence.

Aemma the Great.

Long live Queen Aemma the Great.

Alicent scoffed at the name.

“Rather presumptuous to call her great when her reign has just begun.” She comments to the witch who’s now part of her household.

Aegon had tossed her aside the moment he discovered the miscarriage and sent for Ellyn Flowers at Jena Wylde’s request.

Little Ellyn was to be paraded around as if she were trueborn because he thinks Aemma will become jealous and come running to him.

Pigs will fly before that ever happens, which is why they must go with Lord Baratheon's plan.

Now Alys Rivers is her handmaiden, charged with the most intimate of works now that Talya had been disposed of.

“She is quite devoted to reform, if she were to enact to full scale the changes she did with what little power she had, she may grow into it.” Alys shrugged not caring her words were skirting treason.

Aegon was born to be king, it was his birthright and with the proper advisors he would be a good king.

To say his wife, a girl of seven and ten, was better suited was just not done.

Sure, she was just as loved by the smallfolk, and Alicent could admit that her schools had not failed given the guilds were flourishing with new members, but she was a woman.

Women do not go to war.

Women bear sons who will be maesters, high septons, warriors and kings.

Women are not equal to men; it is the reason they are the gentler sex who must use what the gods have given them to make up for what they lack.

They are to stand behind the man, not be the man.

Alicent thought Alys understood that.

“I cannot change fate; the gods wanted her to be queen just as your son needed to be king as well.” The witch spoke as if she read her mind.

“I can read minds and see things in the flames and birth horrors instead of children, your grace.” Alys adds with a lovely smile as she undressed her for the night. “These things and so many more.”

And now at her service.

Had she known she could have had her, Alicent wouldn’t have debased herself with her brother.

Alys had the looks she thinks. Long dark tresses and blue eyes that knew the end and the beginning, had a touch and a voice that whispered tantalizingly to her secret desires.

“Have you ever lied with a woman, your grace?” the witch asks noticing the intensity of which her mistress observes her as she gently slid off the chemise she wore.

When she let Criston fulfill his fantasies of her one night, she had found it as a tedious as it felt to lie under Viserys.

Perhaps she has never been interested in men, and all that was a mere façade.

There had been some kissing games, some fondling and once, one time long ago, Alicent had let Rhaenyra teach her about that glorious feeling of the princess’ fingers in her quim when they turned five and ten.

Rhaenyra had read it in A Caution for Young Girls, read how Saera in these very rooms had discovered self-pleasure.

The morning after, Rhaenyra was told Alicent was to marry her father.

After that no more stolen kisses, no more hidden caresses and no more sharing a bath or a bed together.

Tonight, she turns her face to the woman and slowly, but surely kisses the lips that taste like the most divine of poisons.

She’s already damned, why not enjoy it?

The last thing Aemond said about his sister was cruel.

Had he had he known she would have died that same day, maybe her wouldn’t have called her a whore.

There was no love nor affection ---save the one they had for Aemma, the only good thing that ever came from his sister--- between them, but at least his last words about her will not go down in the annals of history as having been that.

“Here is some silver, and if you speak to anyone about this, I will take your eyes after I take out your tongue.” He had threatened the scribe who had written it down for the Grand Maester.

Half the shit Orwyle has written about him is already bad, but Aemond much like the rest had learned which threats and which bribes work for each of the grey rats.

“Look at this shit Eustace wrote.” Aegon brandished the barely dry scroll with his crown askew ---in the great irony of life, Aegon’s head is too small for his crown--- and already drunk. “he says I was with the daughter of a wealthy trader who was well cared for, I was at a sept. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

“Because I was there, and I still cannot.” Aemond says wryly before complaining about his recorded history. “He did get your words right, I had to correct mine.”

“‘Is Aegon king?” he had asked Ser Willis Fell, “or must we kneel and kiss my sister’s hand?’” Aegon read and snorted. “Where is the real scroll, ‘Mond?”

Aemond begrudgingly hands it over, he should have burned it the moment he took it from the scribe.

““Is Aegon king?” he had asked Ser Willis Fell, “or must we kneel and kiss the old whore’s cunny?”” Aegon laughs, a good laugh that does not have the rage nor bitterness he’s had since he was crowned a week ago. “Oh, Aemma is going to kill you.”

She would, especially when she learns his wedding to Cassandra has been moved up to keep Baratheon away from her ranks.

He is to leave later today and wed her tomorrow.

Tomorrow he is chained to a woman he knows he will never love.

“Not as much as she wants to kill me, likely blames me for Rhaenyra’s death. Had I just ran away, she’d be alive.” Whether it is guilt or the wine or the feeling of brotherly companionship, Aegon’s voice quivers and he swallows the guilt with another swill of wine. “If it were up to me, I would have gladly stepped aside for her. I am shit at this, Aemma was the one who was supposed to do this and let me drink and wench myself to an early death.”

Speaking of Aemma, she had been crowned yesterday.

Crowned as if she were a mythological creature and not a woman of flesh and bone like them.

Even in its simplicity, her coronation has put Aegon’s to shame.

Aemma the Great.

No one knows who began calling her so, but apparently the smallfolk ate it up with their free bread, meat and ale given to them by decree of the first queen regnant.

“I am afraid it is too late for that,brother.”

Silver against Gold, Wife against Husband.

Had Aegon not been his brother, Aemond wouldn't have hesitated to join Aemma and become the king to her queen.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #all is bliss(in the court of aemma the great) fic #all is bliss fic #aemond targayen x oc #alys rivers/alicent hightower #alys rivers #ewan mitchell #alicent hightower #aegon ii x oc x aemond

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ninjago-forever · 7 months ago

Text

Shades' take of the Q Update

Let's get this straight here and now. I flat out hate this update.

I'm pretty well known among the members of the Anything Ninjago Group; I was the mascot, and invited many of the existing members. As such, I've grown to be fairly close with everyone. I have read almost every message exchanged there. It was my home. And now it's gone... Perhaps I better start from the beginning.

I live in an extremely isolated household. I only ever see immediate family members. I am homeschooled. I'm technically not allowed to touch anything more high-tech than a TV remote thanks to my "dad" whom I don't consider my father and will be hence forth referred to as Will. (Mom=JJ). JJ is the one who let's me use her phone when he leaves, but she also uses it to get me to do whatever she wants. My childhood... Has been very difficult. The way I grew up... Put me in a very bad mental state. Because of my isolation, I thought I was the only one who suffered like this. I thought friends were extremely overrated. I... I hurt myself almost daily. I can't remember anything past 5 years ago, and those 5 years... I wish I could forget.

Except the last one.

I found Q while looking for Ninjago Quizzes. I snuck on here as often as possible to take them. I had no clue people cared about this TV show like I did. As I'm sure most people who are like me do, I found precious little refuge in fiction worlds and characters. Ninjago was and is the love of my life. When I finally got an account, I messaged three people off the bat. Ninja was the first. I found her through her rp quizzes, and had to ask about the shoelaces code on her about (I mean, what are you supposed to do if the person is wearing sandles!?!). Next was Rose is a Fighter. I met her through a link on whatisthis wants old Q back about. Couldn't message him, so I went to her, and met him through her. Soon enough, they all followed me and not long later, Rose invited me to her small Ninjago group.

As time went on, I became closer and closer to them. I met new people and invited them to the group much as Rose did with me, hoping they'd come to love it as much as I did. The most active of those people were Lnaax says Q managers should just sleep and Whitewolf is a Puddle Slime, though they were certainly many others. And ofc I wasn't the only one inviting people. Plus there were those who found it on their own. Anything Ninjago grew to be Quotev's best, biggest, and most active Ninjago group, no lie. It was the top of the list if you searched Ninjago groups. We had over 100 members. We were active every day. We sent several thousand messages a week. Believe me, I read every one.

I loved almost every moment I had there. We were a tight-knit group, but not inclusive. Compared to other groups, we rarely had drama. Actually, I'd say it only happened once. This was my home. Our home. Our little online haven. A place where so many of us who struggled irl could be with others who would listen, accept them, and fight for them.

This group of people found me at the edge, and walked me away. I'm so much healthier now thanks to them. I'm not 100% yet, I still fight depression and several other things too, but I stopped hurting myself (mostly...). I quit the attempts. I'm learning to open up. I'm starting to understand my feelings. And I know I'm not the only who's better thanks to our group.

And now I can't have private conversations here. My home is gone. I'm standing in ashes. We've rebuilt our group on Discord, but it's not the same. Not all of us can make it. We can't write stories, take surveys, or make quizzes. We can't share our art. We can't double reply. We can't edit each other's messages. We can't race to the end of the chat. We can't go find a specific page to find a past convo we want to reread.

What I used to do on one website, now takes 5. And that makes it all the harder for me when Will comes back from work. In fact, JJ only allows me on Q, so now I have to hide from both parents. The best thing about Q was that it was the perfect combination of fanfictions, quizzes, roleplaying, and OG stories. It let us create and communicate unlike any other website. AO3 is really only good for fanfics: it's next to impossible to make friends, and OG stories don't get much attention. Wattpad? You can't talk like you can here. I know there's roleplaying sites, social media, Discord and whatnot, but Q was all those things mixed up in the perfect way. And anyways, none of those have quizzes and surveys. Now my friends and I are jumping from website to website trying to do what we once did here.

I guess what I'm trying to say is...

Bring back old Quotev.

Please.

Bring back our home.

#ninjago forever #bring back old quotev #quotevianresistance #calling all quotevians #ninjagolegionofthequotevresistance

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honeykngdom · 1 year ago

Text

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | 𝚎. 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

Pairing: Embry Call x Original Character Summary: Join Ainsley and Embry as they embark on a journey where they are forced to question everything they thought they knew, and embrace the pain that is inevitable to avoid in love. An imprint story. Self-discovery. Angst and romance. Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: mentions of abusive relationship, alcoholism, drinking Taglist: @leilaniers - message / comment if you’d like to be tagged in new chapters (or for Embry content in general)!

It had been about two weeks since the last time Embry and I spoke. We saw each other on two separate occasions: once when Jennie and I visited Billy for lunch and a few of the guys had been outside trying to clear his driveway from the snow that had barricaded him inside for the last few days, and again at Jared’s when Kim and I stopped by to pick up some of her things from his apartment.

Both times Embry tried to talk to me, and both times I tried to avoid having to speak with him in the nicest way possible. I wasn’t particularly proud of what happened, and definitely hadn’t heard the last of it. Maddox suggested that perhaps I had taken it too far, and had even gone as far as trying to encourage me to go see Embry and work things out.

“Mistakes happen,” he mumbled, picking a stray strand of hair from his pant leg, “we both know he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.”

Maddox had had a point, but I still wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not yet.

Currently, we were occupying the Cullen’s downstairs quarters, lounging on opposite sides of the couch, trying to make it through whatever movie Emmett left on before he left with Rose and Esme for their hunt. I spent less time at home, after being at odds with Trent. He had the audacity to thank me for keeping his name out of the mix, sparing his relationship with Leah. For the first few days, I bit my lip and pushed through it, but after a week I was over watching how happy he was privileged to be.

I hadn’t wanted to help him in the first place, hadn’t wanted to talk to Maddox. Trent had been the one to drag me to Ink Obsession that night – what unravelled from thereafter was completely on me, sure. But it wouldn’t have happened if Trenton hadn’t pushed it and put me in a corner.

Damn that fucking obligation and family loyalty and all that other shit.

I comfortably settled into the Cullen household — while I slept in my own bed each night, I spent most of my days catching up with Maddox and Renesmee, and learning about what it meant to be a vampire in today's day and age. I learned how each family member turned, and even become quite chummy with Emmett and Rosalie.

The further into the new year we went, the less Maddox needed me to help with learning control. Not wanting that to stop me from visiting, he invited me over for an afternoon of video games and movies — he accidentally broke the controls for the gaming station, so we resorted to stealing the basement to separate ourselves from the rest of the vampires.

“Have you called him back yet?”

I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time, shaking my head a little bit. He was as bad as Trenton. “No, I haven’t.” I drawled lazily.

“You should.” He pressed, kicking my foot with his, “Jacob mentioned something about Embry losing his mind, sounds like he’s not doing too well.”

I raised my brows, unsurprised. “First of all, that’s not exactly out of the norm for Embry.” I folded my arms and rested my head against the arm of the sofa. “Second of all, him not doing too well is precisely why we broke up in the first place.”

“I feel bad.” Maddox muttered angrily, looking down at his fists. “I know how important he was to you. I feel like my being here ruined what happiness you had.”

I paused for a moment, trying not to let myself agree with anything he just said. “No, Maddox. You didn’t ruin my happiness, because my happiness didn’t just come from him.” I felt the need to spare him the part where Embry had been a large part of my happiness, and that without him I couldn’t help but feel as though he were right. I knew there was more that made me incredibly happy. Working with such amazing people that had these big, warm hearts gave me much of my happiness. Being at home with my mother, talking to my best friend about what upcoming projects I would be working on for the school semester was part of my happiness.

But much of my happiness had also come from laying in bed Sunday mornings with Embry, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warm fingertips run along my spine. Waking up at three in the morning and feeling him pull me closer, and bury his face into my neck. Walking hand in hand through the forest from my place to Emily and Sam’s – the overwhelming sensation that I was always safe, always well protected and cared for made my heart swell and sing.

And here I was, weeks later, trying to convince myself that it was okay to walk away from things. That despite it all, the relationship couldn’t be healthy if we continuously hid things from each other. I understood why Embry decided to keep what he was from me for so long – a part of me wishes I didn’t know at all. It would be easier that way. But I was here now, and I was fully stuck in the middle of the supernatural world, despite being totally human.

So, I decided I needed a break from everything supernatural. While I might have been unable to work, I was still able to hangout with Angie. In an effort to keep Jennie from knowing about Embry and I (truthfully I wasn’t ready to tell her), I had been staying at Angie's house on and off for the last two weeks to keep her in the dark.

Provided Travis hadn’t already said something.

Maddox sighed, pulling me from my trance. “You know you should talk to him.” He said finally. “You’re being stubborn and it’s ridiculous. He’s your soulmate.”

I kicked his leg, eyes cutting sideways to glare at him. I really didn’t want to hear it. Not now.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I shivered against the cold wind, pulling the hood on my jacket up as I waited for the gas pump to register my card. I had been running on fumes since I left Forks, and desperately needed to refill before heading back into town to Angie’s for the night. My fingers gripped the frozen pump reluctantly, and I squeezed.

It was nearly nightfall – the sun was setting behind the mountain tops in the distance. Despite being less than thirty degrees, the Peninsula was absolutely gorgeous during this time of year. I admired the way the reds in the sky mixed with the frosty mountain and tree tops, setting them ablaze with warm hues. In my peripheral vision, a red Rabbit pulled up on the other side of the pump; Jacob exited his vehicle and pursed his lips together.

“Ainsley.” He said curtly, zipping his sweater a little higher to keep his neck warm.

I rolled my eyes; Jacob had been another individual in my life I decided to cut out for the time being. I hadn’t appreciated his involvement in the situation, nor had I appreciated him giving Embry any reason to rush the Cullen household. He evidently caused a mess of things – but to Jacob, I was the one being completely unreasonable.

“Still not speaking to me, huh?”

“I don’t have anything to say, Jacob.” I sighed, shaking the nozzle of the pump in my tank. “I’ve said everything I needed to.”

He leaned against the back of the Rabbit and folded his arms. “And you still haven’t talked to Embry?”

“Is my shoulder still sprained?”

Jacob then rolled his eyes, pulling his lips back into a sneer. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s quite literally beating himself up over it.”

“You know,” I started, placing the pump back in its original place, “a lot of people have been saying that. You, your dad, Maddox, Trent – and I’m really sick of listening to it.”

“Ainsley, if you would just talk to him.”

“I don’t want to,” I shouted, holding my hands out at my sides, “that’s the thing. He’s not any better with me than he is without me. I can’t deal with the whole inner animal thing, Jake, and I definitely can’t do it if I’m going to keep getting hurt like this.”

“I still don’t get how you ended up pissed with me.”

I gawked at him for a moment before I turned to place the cap back on my tank angrily. “Because you have a big fucking mouth.” I growled, slamming the lid on my tank shut. “You could’ve not said a single word to him, you could’ve just left it alone –”

“No, Ainsley, I really couldn’t.” He growled, sticking his head between the stations to get closer to me. “You don’t think I didn’t weigh both sides before I made my decision? If I hadn’t said anything, if I had protected you and lied to everyone –” he shook his head, “and they found out? They’d question my character as an alpha.”

“So, you did it because it was more beneficial to you?”

“It was just the right thing to do. He deserved to know.”

Damn Jacob. Damn that stupid fucking loyalty they had.

“No, he really didn’t, Jake, but you keep telling yourself that.” I sighed, moving around the hood of the Jeep to open the passenger door. “Look at everything now. Was telling him worth it? Because he and I are done, and my relationship with Trenton is essentially destroyed because he lucked out – because Maddox failed to mention to you that he was also part of why he ended up at the Cullen’s.”

Jacob blinked and closed his mouth.

“He and Leah are fucking perfect, which is wonderful for him – but I can’t keep hearing how happy he is that I kept him out of it. I didn’t even have a choice in the matter. Instead, I was dragged down. I’m so happy that everyone else has benefited from this.”

“Not everybody did, Ains.”

“Embry’s actions ended with consequences. He showed me that he isn’t capable of doing anything except reacting with emotion instead of logic right now. If he had just talked to me instead of deciding he needed to do something right then, right there, this would be an entirely different story and conversation.” I slammed the Jeep’s door, and walked around the hood to where Jacob stood. “I get that you all have some genetic thing that makes you hate who they are, fine. I don’t agree with it, but I get it.”

“Then what is the issue?” He asked exasperated.

“Embry saw Maddox as a threat, and for a while I thought it was just because of what Maddox was. If that were the case, he would’ve come to me and asked me if I was safe, and comfortable. And if I had answered yes, he would’ve accepted it and moved on.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “This wasn’t about what he was, moreso of who he was – he reacted out of jealousy and anger, and was trying to use the whole vampire-wolf hate thing as an excuse for his actions.”

“That’s not it at all.” Jacob dismissed, moving to pick up his own gas pump.

“It is.” I sneered, turning around to head back towards the driver's seat. “And the fact you don’t see it means you’re willing to make excuses for him – also why I don’t really have an interest in talking to you.”

“Did you forget I can read his mind? You’re being ridiculous!” He shouted over the sound of my engine.

I have good reason, I thought to myself, pulling the Jeep into drive to pull out of the gas station.

𝙴𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚢

Embry’s back settled into Emily’s couch for the fourth time that week; after spending a solid seven days in isolation, he had decided that it was about time he got off his ass and tried to attempt to be a normal human being. He didn’t typically make an effort to really associate, mainly sat in his corner with a beer in hand, watching whatever was on the television. He hadn’t gotten the chance to really clean up after his fiasco a two weeks ago.

Embry thought back to that night, grimacing.

He had narrowly missed Jared’s head when he hurled the door down the stairs, and put several holes in the drywall of his room. Jared – with great effort – managed to wrap his arms around Embry’s body, constricting his arms tightly. In between his fits of rage and anger, the reality of the situation had dawned on him, causing Embry’s knees to give out on him. The pair had fallen to the floor, Embry’s cry echoed throughout the empty home. Broken sobs had ripped through his chest, a sound he had never in his life managed to make before.

Seth and Jared tried to clear some of the mess Embry had created in his tantrum, but it seemed futile. Shards of glass were embedded into the carpet that he wouldn’t be able to remove until he purchased a vacuum, and seeing as he rarely spent any time out of his bedroom, he hadn’t considered it a priority.

Most of the house remained in ruins. Jacob was rightfully pissed.

“You look like you could use another one.” Sam tapped Embry’s shoulder with the cold bottle, offering it to him with an empathetic look.

“Don’t do that.” He grumbled harshly, taking the bottle from Sam’s hand.

The former alpha shook his head, settling into the recliner across from the sofa. Sam watched Embry for a moment, taking a large swing from his beer before he sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, “You should really consider showering.”

“Fuck you, I’ve showered.”

“Have you eaten?”

Embry almost rolled his eyes, moving his neck just enough so he could look at Sam with narrowed eyes. “No, Samuel, just let me wither away.”

“Embry, look, I know things have been flipped upside down and you’re not really sure what to do at this point but I think it would be really good for you if you just –”

“Just what?” He snapped angrily, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just call her? Just talk to her? Just get over it? Just move on? Just live my damn life? I don’t know if you realize how fucking shitty this is, Sam – not everything works so perfectly like it did for you and Em.”

“You think we had it easy?” He asked casually, honestly, as he relaxed in his chair.

“You’re married and expecting your second child. How bad could it have been?”

“So, what happened with Leah was no big deal?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. When Embry pressed his mouth shut, Sam continued, “Leah may not have been my imprint, but she was my first love. The way everything worked out ruined me. Having to walk away from something I had seriously invested myself into made me angry and bitter. I know exactly what it feels like to lose someone you love because of something you couldn’t control.”

Embry sat on that thought for a moment before he leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “Not the same.”

“And why not?”

“Because Emily’s the one.” Embry stated. “Regardless of how much you loved Leah, regardless of how shitty you felt about it, she was the one. Do you really think you’d be any more put together than me if she decided she didn’t want any part of this anymore? That she wanted out?”

“I have considered that.” He nodded. “I thought she was going to leave after the accident.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t.”

They sat in silence, watching each other. Embry didn’t really feel any better; Sam and Emily’s accident was just a painful reminder that far worse had happened and Emily had loved him regardless. Ainsley belly upped and walked away, and Embry was certain that so long as he lived, he would never love another woman. And it wasn’t the imprint bond talking - that was simply how it was. Relationships had never been Embry’s thing, nor had he ever found any girl really worth the effort. Until Jessica. Until Ainsley.

“You’re really lousy at trying to make people feel better, Sammy.” Seth quipped as he entered the room, collapsing onto the couch next to Embry.

“The point I was trying to make was that mistakes happen,” he concluded, crossing his ankles together, “I think Ainsley is having just as hard a time as you are.”

Seth tried to disguise the look on his face that might’ve revealed otherwise, instead opting to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. “Ease up, Embry. We’re all here for you.”

Embry shrugged him off, swiped his drink off the table and downed half the bottle quickly. If this was going to be another night of listening to his brothers give him a pep talk, Embry already decided he wanted to be as far from sober as possible. Well, he could try, at least; it never lasted for very long.

It was always easier to pretend they were right when he was drinking.

After what seemed to be hours, Embry and Sam were almost two cases deep, with Jared and Quil not too far behind them. They had overthrown Emily in her kitchen, laughing loudly from the mix-matched chairs in the dining room, the deck of cards spread between the four of them as they finished the last of what alcohol they had. This was the fourth night this week Embry had managed to drag one or more of his brother’s out of sobriety with him. Drunk was always less lonely when everyone else was drunk, too.

He glanced at his phone, fingers aimlessly scrolling through the hordes of messages before he finally hit the phone icon in the top right corner of the screen. He held his fingers to his lips as he pressed the receiver to his ear, listening intently.

She had never picked up before - Embry was certain today wouldn’t be any different.

By now, he was simply doing it because he missed her voice, and her answering machine was the only thing keeping him completely sane.

“The number you have reached is not in service.”

Embry’s blood ran cold. His smile faded as his mind tried to push past the drunken haze and the liquor to process what that meant.

She changed her number.

He pulled the device back, watching the call screen exit to reveal the background image of them. He had his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady in his lap as he looked at her, smiling for the camera in her ridiculously oversized, horrendous Christmas sweater.

His fingers tightened around the phone, watching the screen crack and crumble around their faces before the screen went black. In the next instant, he stood from his chair as he launched the phone across the room, the device smashing into pieces as it hit the back wall of the kitchen.

Embry hadn’t really felt like explaining himself. Instead, he stumbled towards the door, grabbed his jacket and slammed the screen shut behind him as he pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Walk it off, Embry.” Sam ordered from the doorway, face stern as he glanced down at the keys.

“Fuck you, Uley.” He spat, shoving them back into his pocket as he turned away from his truck and headed into the forest.

𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

I watched Angie run her hands through her cropped hair, trying not to snicker when she half-screamed in frustration. “It’s absolutely insane,” she cried as she looked at her phone for the billionth time that evening. “I’ve been on my own for nearly two years now as my father still feels the need to check in on me every single day.”

“I think it’s sweet.” I mumbled as I flipped through the channels on the small television that sat kitty-cornered in Angie’s living room.

“He’s a Navy seal,” she grumbled, leaning over the back of the couch next to Ainsley’s head, “he literally thinks everyone is out to get me.”

“Is he wrong?” I asked, popping another Twizzler into my mouth.

Angie rolled her green eyes, and flipped over the couch to join me. “He just worries.”

“Typical dad stuff?”

Angie pursed her lips, folding her legs underneath her bottom. “Not … exactly.”

I pulled my brows together, shaking my head slightly when I decided it wasn’t my place to press for further details. “Whatever you say, Ang.”

We rearranged ourselves on the couch, Angie’s head resting in my lap while I scrolled through my phone. After twenty minutes of silence, she finally spoke up. “Has he called you?”

“I changed my number, remember?”

“Which I still think was a horrible idea – Embry seemed like a really sweet guy.”

“Stop.” I sighed, pushing Angie off my legs. “I don’t need it from you.”

Angie tossed me a look that should’ve been paired with her hands on her hips and a condescending sigh. “If multiple people have to keep repeating the same thing, then maybe you should listen.”

“It’s not that easy, Ang.” I grumbled, pulling my knees up to my chest. “There’s so many things that outweigh the good right now, I can’t see past it. He’s not going to change – and this isn’t ‘boys will be boys’ crap, it’s borderline terrifying.”

Angie gnawed on her bottom lip, pulling another Twizzler from the bag as she watched me fold in on myself. “You want to know what’s really borderline terrifying?” She asked, swallowing what doubts she had about disclosing her next piece of information. “Coming home to a drunk, and hoping that he doesn’t decide to pick a fight with you simply because you weren’t home in what he deemed ‘appropriate timing’.”

I raised my brow.

“Or locking yourself in the bathroom because he’s screaming at you from the other side of the door, angry because his friends had asked about some bruises that you should’ve spent more time trying to cover up. Thinking about running away from him every night, but never able to move because you’re absolutely paralyzed with fear that he’ll hear you and wake up. Finally being able to do it and moving seven states across the country to put as much distance between you and everyone you ever knew because there was nowhere to hide from him in such a small place.”

“Ang –” I started.

Angie interrupted.

“I know what an abusive relationship looks like, Ains. Embry is not abusive. Embry is a man who, yes, tends to react out of anger instead of logic right now, and yes it can end incredibly horrible under the wrong circumstances. But he is not someone who is trying to hurt you maliciously. You are not his property, you’re his equal.” She sighed, moving forward to curl into my side again. “I love you, Ains. And I know that being away from him is killing you probably as much as it’s killing him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly, linking my arm around hers. “All this time, I’ve been going on about it, trying to determine whether or not it classified and you –” I shook my head in disbelief, unable to speak the words. It was odd to think that it happened to the best people. Life had a funny way of sucking the sunshine out of every beautiful human being, giving bad hands to the people that were least deserving of them.

“I’ve never really told anyone.”

“Who was he?”

Angie got quiet then, almost as though she were afraid he might hear, “Avery. He was a few years older than me, graduated top of his class, super charming and a total ladies man.” She laughed disdainfully. “He took me to prom, we moved out into an apartment, he had even proposed.”

I pulled my brows together. “What happened?”

Angie shrugged, “I don’t really know. He started gambling, started drinking a little more. I was never really sure if he was touching anything hard. He’d come home late, if he came home at all. It started out with little things - like he’d yell at me, call me names, but he’d always apologize.

Then he stopped apologizing. And it started to feel like I was doing something wrong, like I was the reason he was so angry all the time. I found out from a mutual friend that he had been seeing another woman, and tried to confront him about it. Threatened to leave because I knew I deserved better than what he was willing to give. And that was the first night I really thought I was going to die. I had never seen something so hateful.”

I leaned into Angie’s side, resting my head against my friend’s shoulder.

“I was so scared to leave. He told me that even if I tried, he’d find me. That I belonged to him, that I would be good for him. My money was his money, my time was for him only - I stopped seeing my family, stopped seeing all of my friends. He always made me feel like I was nothing but a complete burden. When he started getting physical, I was terrified someone might say something, and that I’d lose what I thought was the one person that tolerated me enough to stick around.”

“Ang –”

“Ainsley, just promise me you’ll talk to Embry.” She sighed, bringing a hand up to cover her eyes. “That you’ll take the time out of your day to talk to him. Just consider it – because as much as I understand your worry and concern, believe me when I say that Embry is not a man capable of even imagining putting you through that kind of pain.”

I wanted to press the topic further, but the sadness in Angie’s eyes encouraged otherwise. I simply wrapped my arms around Angie’s frame, kissed her cheek and muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

#embry call #embry call x reader #embry call x oc #embry call fanfic #jacob black #kiowa gordon #abusive relationship tw #violence tw #alcoholism tw #the twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #series: SAH #* mine

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luxetm · 3 days ago

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take a peek at some wanted connections & subplots wanted by our members below !!

romantic

kang moon-sik our kim kibum fc is currently looking for their ex gilfriend/muse 30

victoria li elliot our michelle yeoh is currently looking for their secret lover.

victoria li elliot our michelle yeoh is currently looking for their husband.

sunan kasem our dew jirawat is currently looking for their girl friend/mother of his child.

MUSE 1 and MUSE 2 grew up as children of the families running rival tech companies. throughout their lives they only heard negatively of the other, their parents obsessed with developing technology faster than their competitor, always feeling that their ideas were being spied on and that the other company was nothing but evil. MUSE 1 and MUSE 2 met when they both found themselves attending the same university in new york and became fast friends and quickly even more than that and now have to work to keep their relationship a secret from not only their parents, but the world as well.

MUSE 1: jaeha park MUSE 2: open

MUSE 29 and MUSE 30 have been that on and off again couple that everyone knows. they are constantly making headlines for whatever recent breakup has went down, and how publicly it always does. some people believe that it’s all just for publicity but they are really just that messy. they have just broken up for yet another time but everyone is wondering, is this time for good?

MUSE 29: kang moon-sik MUSE 30: open ( see wc )

MUSES 31, 32, and 33 are the most unlikely pairing. each of them are vastly different in personalities, careers and interests but they are attached at the hip, completely and utterly in love with one another. however, a part of them does fear that perhaps their differences will be the reason they are unable to make it in the end.

MUSE 31: caius bailey MUSE 32: open MUSE 33: open

platonic

hwang taemin our lee jongsuk fc is currently looking for their three best friends.

mikey miyoshi our jacqueline sato fc is currently looking for their best friend/business partner.

familial

lucienne bourbon our monica bellucci is currently looking for their daughter.

kang moon-sik our kim kibum fc is currently looking for their younger, twin, sister.

mikey miyoshi our jacqueline sato fc is currently looking for their mother.

caius bailey our jacob anderson is currently looking for their younger brother.

the yeo family is a family that is a household name. their life has always been lived in front of the world, the children having grown up with cameras in their face and paparazzi at every turn. MUSE 5 put the family on the map with their luxury brand, married MUSE 6 and had three children. MUSE 7 is the eldest and has been living in the limelight for years now and has grown tired of it, wanting nothing more than to be out. MUSE 8 is the middle child and is always striving for more, no matter what it might cost, and MUSE 9 is the youngest, always striving to make their own identity outside of their family, often leading them into trouble and peer pressure.

must be of korean descent MUSE 5: 50+, open MUSE 6: 50+, open MUSE 7: 25, elise yeo MUSE 8: 24, open MUSE 9: 23, open

the miyoshi family is a family of old money and there are whispers that they have finally lost their riches due to decades of bad deals and investments. their matriarch is trying to marry off her five children, MUSE 10, MUSE 11, MUSE 12 and MUSE 13. MUSE 10, the eldest, inherited their father’s sense of fun rather then the mother’s sense of duty to try and get the family out of their desperate situation, MUSE 11 is a hopeless romantic who wants nothing more than to marry for love and is desperately searching for their right person before time runs out. MUSE 12 is fiercely obsessed with the lifestyle they once had and is absolutely on board, looking for the most wealthy single to marry and MUSE 13 wants absolutely nothing less than to be married.

must be of japanese descent MUSE 10: mikey miyoshi MUSE 11: open MUSE 12: open MUSE 13: open

#rich kids rp #skeleton rp #subplots rp #appless rp #mature rp

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tenjin-no-shinja · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1: An Alternative Approach to the History of Shinto

Meiji and the Formation of Shinto as a State Cult

Rather than making a radical break with the past, NAS opted to hold on to too many elements of the Meiji state cult. It retained the leadership of Ise Shrine, and to this day the organization makes a great effort to distribute Ise deity amulets (jingū taima) to households throughout Japan, for both ideological and financial reasons. The imperial rituals instituted in the Meiji period have a prominent place on the ritual calendar of member shrines, just as they did before the war. Perhaps most importantly, NAS inherited the Meiji view of Shinto as a non-religion. This partly explains Shinto's weakness as a religious identity. NAS sees Shinto as a "public" ritual system open to all members of the community irrespective of their private beliefs, not as an exclusivist religion. Thus, if Shinto does not function as a religion, this is primarily due to a choice made by the shrine organization itself.

—Pages 12-13

It should be noted that Ise Shrine doesn’t have any active participation in whatever Jinja Honchō chooses to do.NAS: National Association of Shinto Shrines (Jinja Honchō)

Example of the Jinja Honchō recommendations for how to set up a kamidana. Alongside examples of what Jingū Taima from Ise Shrine look like.

Shinto as Folklore

...we should not be tempted to believe that before 1945 shrines were simply stages for patriotic ceremonial. If that had been the case, Shinto would indeed have imploded in the aftermath of Japan's capitulation. The fact that the number of shrines hardly decreased at all after the discontinuation of the state shrine cult must cause us to pause, because it proves that the imperial cult was never more than an ephemeral superstructure. Even when nation building was at its most intense, state ritual was not all there was to Shinto. In fact, the evidence suggests it was not even the most important part of Shinto.

—Page 14

Many shrines performed so-called enemy-quelling rites attended by the local politicians and officials, and those rites attracted much attention. But at the same time, mothers and wives fasted, performed ablutions and carried out such practices as o-hyakudo [making a hundred successive shrine visits].

[Writing from 1918 by Yanagita]

...Yanagita was much more impressed by the private acts of sincere faith performed by the 'folk' (jōmin) than by official ceremonies such as enemy-quelling rites... For him, shrine worship and other local practices (though not those rooted in Buddhism) bore testimony to the oldest and deepest layers of Japan's culture.

—Page 15

The separation of Shinto first from Buddhism, and then from "religion," excluded many traditional practices from shrines. Healing, divination, rites of possession as a means of communicating with ancestors or protector spirits, and many other kinds of rituals were banned from shrines, as were the practitioners who engaged in them. Of course, demand for such rituals persisted, and they never disappeared; their practice simply moved to another location or went underground (Bouchy 2003; Liscutin 2000). Even in their new hideaways, though, practitioners of what authorities regarded as "primitive superstitions" had to live with a constant fear of police harassment, and many felt pressured to either give up on their calling, or find a government-sanctioned way to carry on.

—Pages 15-16

Itako (a form of shamanism performed by blind women), and tortoise shell divination examples.

From the End Notes: "Kokutai, often translated as "national policy," was the stick with which dissidents were beaten into submission, especially after 1933. It defined Japan as a divine family state, ruled by an imperial lineage unbroken since the days of the sun-goddess Amaterasu, and it stressed within this state all Japanese are unconditionally, naturally, and gratefully loyal to their National "father," the emperor."

#A New History of Shinto #Shinto #photos

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sweet-vanilla-sims · 9 months ago

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Year 1671 - Part 2

The night before the wedding the family spent the entire day getting what used to be their guest room ready for the new couple the small family of four would hopefully be growing soon but by the look on Giuliano's face when Giulia mentioned future grandchildren, she had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps they weren't going to be as far into the future as the wedding might allow.

The wedding ceremony was attended by all of their local family members and was very heartfelt as both families were delighted to see their families come together through love.

The young couple was very much not subtle when they snuck off to enjoy some alone time while their families mingled.

Ashley's other cousin couldn't help but be somewhat jealous at her cousin's match though she tried to keep it hidden how attractive she found Giuliano.

The other guests were excited to just be there and meet their new extended family. Gianna got to know Katharine and Orsa and Orsolina got an extra chance to catch up given the big family event. Orsolina was also glad to make friends with her brother's mother-in-law and despite the age difference they both made fast friends as widowed mothers who raised or are currently raising young children.

Orsa was happy to steal the groom for a bit to get his thoughts on marriage and was relieved to hear that her brother was happy though was slight exasperated to find that their mother's suspicion had been true that Ashley was expecting but she was happy nonetheless for her little brother. A wife, a thriving farm, and a baby on the way.

Despite how well they had been hiding it, the day of activities wore on Ashley and now that she was officially married they saw no more reason to hide their new arrival and she went in private to loosen the corsets she had tied to hide the pregnancy.

It was immediately clear that they had been hiding their pregnancy for sometime when she returned to the party but in the spirit of keeping things lively they decided to simply not mention it... at least for the rest of the ceremony.

Of course the wedding was rife with emotions and Gabriella couldn't help but cry at the sight of her eldest married and expecting, clearly grown up and moving away. Though Ashley was sentimental at the idea of moving away she couldn't help but laugh since she wasn't moving all that far, in fact, the Morosini home was just a little bit further from the Torricelli home than it was the Carlisle-Rossi home so it wasn't as if they wouldn't see each other. Still, the tears were happy tears that both mother and daughter shared.

Wrapping up the year, Ashley officially moved into the Morosini household and Giulia was happy to get to know her daughter-in-law better now that they were to share more of their lives together.

#Giulia Morosini #Orsolina Collari #Orsa Rossi #Gianna Rossi #Gabriella Torricelli #Katharine Montez #Giuliano Morosini #Ashley Torricelli #Ashley Morosini #Giovanni Cesare Morosini #Olimpia Morosini #Shayna Taroni #The Carlisle Chronicles #Decades Legacy Challenge #1671 #1670s #ts4

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guessimate · 2 years ago

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I’m sorry this is going to be slightly shorter, but I played the family only till the weekend for now, so the adults had not yet aged up. I’ll fix it later, but I’m going home for my birthday and Easter, so I had to ‘pack’ my save file before I went…

I’ve also tried the new infant update in TS4 (I have only the base game) and I was considering doing the Ultimate Decades, but it’s just way too long for me… Time somehow flows way more slowly in TS4… eleven considering how long rotations can take in TS2.

~*~

I put the want trees that allow teens to get adult WooHoo wants into my game, as there is one married couple of teenagers in my game thanks to a ROS. However, I don’t think these want trees allow for marriage/baby wants, unfortunately.

I am also using an updated ROS doc, which has 20 more scenarios… though the Carbonneau family still somehow rolled a low number of 5 [out of 120]. This scenario says just to throw a party, which is not bad, but it’s nothing to write home about.

They threw a party after Cyprian had come home, on Eleonora’s birthday. He had just met this baby of his and it’s already growing from toddler to a child! I’m sure everyone invited came to the party to congratulate the head of the party on coming back home safely rather than to see the age up...

~*~

Cecilia was rolled to be a Family sim. I love it, especially that she was adopted. She doesn’t even want her first kiss, she just wants her very first WooHoo. Just don’t get yourself into any scandals there, ok? I don’t think anyone would turn a blind eye to an adopted teen getting pregnant out of wedlock… She learnt Couple Counselling because she wanted to.

Later on, at the weekend the Venditor family came over (the head of the family and his daughter). I think they might be interested in getting their heir married to Cecilia. I think that’s a decent match for an adopted daughter - marrying into the merchant class.

~*~

Eleonora aged up, having learned all the toddler skills and the nursery rhyme, plus some creativity. ~*~

I seem to be having issues with maxing out Tinkering enthusiasm for Aubrey by just repairing objects around the house. I might have to get him some hobby item. Perhaps the woodworking station.

At the end of the round Cyprian got on the typical Fortune sim ‘buy this object’ spree, but I allowed it, as he wanted to buy some plants and other things for the outside, which is great for Aubrey, as Nature is his One True Hobby.

I had to sell some of the things Aubrey crafted because they were not really era appropriate, and then I replaced them with the objects they wanted to get. I’m not going to be using the woodworking station much, unless someone is a woodworker, or I really need to max out the Tinkering hobby. I like the object, but it might be a bit too profitable.

~*~

Writing novels and eating cheese seems to be all Eustacia wants to do at this point (plus going on a date with her husband, occasionally).

I also realized neither Cecilia nor Cyprian like talking about Grilled Cheese, so it seems like only Eustacia’s biological children will be putting up with her talking about her interests…

I also finally figured out why I wasn’t getting the best seller popups… I simply didn’t have a phone, which prevented my sim from getting royalties. I allowed Eustacia to use phone just this round (especially that they had to throw a party anyway), and I felt like she deserved at least one bestseller memory. Her magnum opus turned out to be worth 2,964$.

~*~

They started with 18,872$, and they bought stuff worth 1930$, so they should have ended up not with 22,366$ but with 24,296$.

They got a horse carriage, because 3 household members wanted ‘a car’, and they needed some sort of a promotion item.

That means they earned 5424$.

They dug up a treasure chest worth 5,000$, which can serve as a dowry for one of the daughters.

3000$ – rent.

542$ – tax.

1000$ – treasure tax.

4542$ = to the Royal Steward. The Monarch has earned 133,500$ total so far.

542$ – tithe rounded up to 550$. The Church has accumulated 22,150$ total so far.

They’re left with ~18,000$ in the bank (because of all the woodworking...).

#ts2 #thesims2 #sims2 #mcc #medieval charter challenge #custom #hood #neighbourhood #custom hood #gentry #autumn #fall #military #writer #historical #play

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more-than-a-princess · 8 months ago

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She was so accustomed to Gundham valuing his space. Animals of all sorts were able to penetrate his foreboding and mysterious aura, but people...they were not to be trusted, it seemed, to him. Class 77-B was reminded that he was the Supreme Overlord of Ice quite frequently, and yet despite the acute chill of his skin, Gundham Tanaka was the picture of warmth. Of closeness. Of human compassion and the need to not be left in solitude. He'd folded himself against her so easily that Sonia barely had time to register what was going on. And coupled with a voice so feeble that, if she wasn't present to witness it, she would've doubted it had come from him...well, it was clear that something truly dire occupied his thoughts.

Forget understanding how the battles centuries-old were conquered, she had a new, far more important undertaking at hand. "You are most welcome," She murmured in response. She'd tell him time and time again that he didn't need to thank her, not really: they had a friendship that went deeper than the usual, common graces. An acknowledgement that when one was in need, the other would provide, no questions asked.

She listened beside him, careful to remain quiet and contemplative until he was finished. "The unloading of burdens is part of what one embraces as a friend," She reminded him, smiling. Advice she could freely give but had trouble incorporating into her own life. As much as she wanted to remove the crown whilst at Hope's Peak, it still weighed on her when the pressures and trials of life did too. No one will pity a princess. Her family's advice echoed through her mind whenever she was on the verge of tears: she had more resources than God at her disposal, she felt. When she was filled with anguish, she needed to utilize them to solve her own problems. And when her friends were filled with anguish, she needed to help them however she could.

"That is quite a lot to manage on your own," She agreed once he'd finished, reaching up to pat his shoulder gently. He'd tell her, she knew, if he did not wish for such comforts. "Are there people you might be able to ask for help right now, to help with your mother or with your animals? Or perhaps having needed items sent directly to where they need to go, so you need not go retrieve them yourself," Admittedly she wasn't an expert in solving this sort of problem: for someone who grew up with dozens of members of household staff, the bigger concern to Sonia would have been his mother's health versus ensuring all errands were complete. But she understood that this was not Novoselic Castle and he was not royalty: he was, despite being the Supreme Overlord of Ice, a young man who deeply loved his mother and his animals and would give every bit of himself to ensure their health and safekeeping.

Sonia smiled: his selflessness had drawn her to him immediately, the day they'd met. "Would you allow me to help, if I am able?"

Once given permission, Gundham had all but curled himself into Sonia, his legs being tucked under himself as arms wrapped tightly around the princess' waist. Despite the ever-present chill to his skin, he was apparently a very good hugger. "Thank you..." Small, uncharacteristically so as he heaved a sigh into her shoulder.

"I simply...I have much on my plate, as of late. My school work aside, I've had a large influx of new additions to my animal sanctuary in need of extensive care, and my mother...the change of seasons has not been kind to her health. She has required more assistance with her everyday tasks, as well as needing transportation to medical appointments every other day. I've just spent the day acquiring nessecary groceries, as well as tending to her home, ensuring she has suitable meals, and-" He stopped suddenly, only just realizing how much he had been talking.

"Apologies, my Dark Queen, I do not mean to unload my burdens unto you. All I seek is a moment of respite, and then I will be on my way."

#the-ultimate-muses #Non-Despair AU: Hope's Peak Academy verse #(resident Princess solves problems with money and personnel)#(She's trying to keep in mind she is the weird one because of this)

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mrspellcaster · 2 years ago

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THE BEE AND HER FLOWERS

- Steve Harrington x Nancy’s childhood bsf F!Reader

summary: reader is nancy’s childhood best friend that is returning to Hawkins after a few years. Hawkins is slightly more handsome than she remembers word count : 2.9k

warnings: intermediate mommy issues for reader (mom disappeared), karen wheeler <3, me pushing my ronance agenda, angst for a moment, swearing, use of “baby” non romantically, just pretend with me here

a/n: thank you so much for the love on the first chapter of this series it truly makes me so happy i can’t express my appreciation, i’m sending everyone all my love and good wishes. thanks for reading !

1/3 2/3 3/3

That same Wednesday in August you met Steve you also found out your new home was adjacent to Max Mayfield’s. It was your assumption the reason you hadn’t noticed the fiery haired girl with a temper to rival yours, was because she, also like you, was an unsanctioned member of the Wheeler household.

You liked her. She was bright, fierce like Nancy with a similar level of composure. Max also had a similar dynamic with her mother as you and your father, with the parent always working but a pair inseparably tied together by loss and love.

The next morning you again found yourself at the Wheeler residence.

At this hour you decided it would be better to use the front door, which just as you assumed was unlocked.

You closed it gently behind you and caught sight of curly blonde hair, bigger than you remembered, bouncing around the kitchen. Karen Wheeler.

She turned around at your quiet hello, so very beautiful and so very happy to see you.

More quickly than you would’ve thought possibly she has you wrapped in her arms. “Oh my dear!” She rocks you side to side. “Nancy told me you were coming back and I am just so glad to see you.” She leans backward to look at you, “And good gracious aren’t you gorgeous.” You turn sheepish under her fawning eyes.

Karen’s eyes shine as she places a delicate hand on your cheek,”I know your mother would be so proud of you.”

There it is.

Karen Wheeler was one of the few people who knew of your mother’s disappearance. Of course when you and Nancy had become friends your mothers’ bonded, you’d both made sure of it.

Your mom was always the unconventional one. A self proclaimed medium who you whole heartedly believed in. Who you knew loved you and saw you. And maybe that wasn’t anything magic beyond a mother’s intuition but she was everything to you.

Her break came in the form of many visions. Children hurting, hurting others, some great unknown evil. Pain in Hawkins, a terrible danger looming overhead, or perhaps underneath.

She couldn’t take it. Not in the town she decided to call her home, where she decided to raise a family, to raise you.

You remember the night she came into your room when you were sleeping. It was too dark to tell but you knew from her voice she was crying. She had whispered I love you over and over again, I’m sorry.

You always wondered what would’ve happened if you’d done more than sleepily tell her you loved her back. Your father never let you blame yourself, when you went downstairs the next morning he hid his tears and within the next month you moved to the city.

Mrs Wheeler took another long look at you then swiftly turned around to dab at her eyes. There was a brief pause as she collected herself, placed her hands on the front of her apron, then she decided to go back to the eggs she was frying. “Breakfast will be ready in a second if your hungry. Nancy hasn’t been down yet so I think she’s still sleeping but she shouldn’t mind you waking her. The boys are still asleep in the basement.”

You hope your voice is half as grateful as you feel right now. “Thank you Mrs Wheeler.” Its a moment where you wish you were better with your words, but at her look you understand she sees exactly how you feel.

You get up a few stairs before you hear her voice again,”Baby I hope you already know but this house is your home whenever you want it to be.”

The love you see in her, the patience and kindness. What a woman. “Thank you Mrs. Wheeler, you’re too good to me.” Her laugh is like music.

When you reached the top of the stairs you were hit with a wave of immense deja vu, so much you felt like staggering backwards. The hallway you ran up and down over and over as a kid, the door leading to your safe space, the carpet where you scrapped your knees.

You knock firmly on Nancy’s door and hear her groan, “Leave me.” In your head you can imagine her face half buried in a pillow and are met with that exact sight as you open the door.

Gently you close the it behind you, Nancy lifts her head, all bedhead and rumpled clothing at the soft noise. She gives you a tired smile and places her face back into the pillow, “Beee.”

There’s a beat before she rolls over to make room for you on the bed and your comfortable enough to climb under the covers next to her.

You look around her room, the Tom Cruise poster you got her, the still pink walls, her dainty bed frame. A large sigh escapes you and Nancy turns her head to peek one eye at you. You fill the silence as you stare at her ceiling,”I missed your mom.”

“I know. She missed you too.” She comes to rest her head on your shoulder. “Not as much as me though Bumblebee.” You snort a laugh. “How are you feeling? About being back and all.”

Another big breath. “I don’t know how to describe it. I know it’s stupid, but it was easier to imagine my mom stayed in Hawkins when we moved. Like she would always be here on the other side waiting for us, for me.”

Nancy takes your hand and you huff away the your heartache. “Anyway, tell me why was Steve Hairy Harrington in your basement last night?”

You feel her hushed laughter on your neck, “It’s “the hair” Bee.”

“Oops.” You couldn’t care less.

She chooses her words carefully, “It’s not- I’m very grateful for him you know? He’s been very helpful with the kids always watching their backs making sure they’re safe. It wasn’t any bodies fault we broke up, there were things, big things we couldn’t have expected or known how to deal with. But he’s a friend, he’s always gonna be a friend to me.”

An inexplicable weight on your chest is lifted, you try not to think about it. You push her lightly,” So what I’m hearing is Nancy Wheeler is on the market.”

She is silent for a moment and you look down to find her blushing furiously. You turn so suddenly you knock her head from your shoulder. “You have a crush! Nance that’s the best news I’ve gotten since they decided to make a sequel to a new hope!”

You didn’t know it was possible for someone to turn so red, but there was a sadness, a shame in her eyes that made your heartache return tenfold.

Your voice becomes much quieter, softer. “Nance?”

She looks up at you with big watery eyes. “Do you think you could ever hate me?” Your heart breaks into a million pieces.

You wrap her in your arms and hold her tightly to your chest with a tone of voice that leaves no room for doubt. “Never. I could never hate you Nancy, not now not ever.”

“Even if I liked girls?” Her voice is so quiet.

“Oh baby no, I will always love you, always. I love you so much, I would walk through hell for you. Fuck I would fold paper 8 times for you.” She laughs, it’s watery, and you can’t help but hold her tighter. “You’re my best friend Nance, I’d probably still have your back even if you killed someone.”

She holds you tighter back. “I love you.”

You smile brightly at her, “I know. What else is new?”

Nancy shoves you gently with her shocking strength and counts off a ridiculous list, “I shoot guns, I’m probably on a government watch list, I fought a giant monster made of flesh and bones.”

You laugh and she smiles at you. Again her voice goes quiet, “The girl from the basement yesterday, Robin.”

“She’s gorgeous.” Now probably wasn’t the right time to say you’d clocked them as soon as you saw them in the same room.

Nancy’s head falls back dramatically on her pillow. She sighs dreamily, “Isn’t she?”

“I think she likes you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I saw the way she was looking at you Nance.” The way they both blushed under the others stare, the way they spoke each-others names.

You’re smiling at each other so brightly, a battle of two suns.

Nancy’s expression turns more playful, an eyebrow raises, “And I saw the way Steve looked at you.”

You bite your lip to keep your expression neutral. “Isn’t that like girl code or something?” For some reason you can’t meet her eyes.

She’s laughing at you, “You guys are like my best friends. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t want to see you happy?”

You turn back to her, “Nance, I think he’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Nancy smiles smugly,” And he’s a great kisser.”

You whack her with a pillow.

————-

The second time you see Steve Harrington you’re sitting on the top of your house. He was pulling into Max’s driveway in his pretty maroon BMW and you spotted Robin in the passenger’s seat.

You watched them bicker about something animatedly before Robin noticed you, abruptly stopped talking; Steve didn’t. You watch her say his name, once twice until she got his attention, and his eyes followed hers straight to you.

His mouth opens slightly and you’re betting what little money you have the sound that escaped him was a soft, “Oh.”

You climb down using the back porch and see Max at the same time locking her door. She takes off her walkman when she hears you call her name.

Steve rolls his window down when you both reach the car and places his elbow on the frame. “Hi- Hey! It’s good to- It’s good to see you! Here, where you live.” You lean over him with a hand on the roof of his car when Max climbs in, and he blanks. “At your house.”

Robin slaps him on the shoulder

and he yelps. “Smooth.” He glares at her and she raises her hands in defense,”No seriously Romeo, I think this is some of your best work.”

Steve frowns and tries again, “We’re gonna drop Max off at the arcade on our way to work. You should stop by, to see us sometime, If you want, no pressure, I just, you know, would like to see you. But don’t feel like you have to-“

“Okay I will.” His big eyes blink up at you and your easy response.

Maybe you were wrong. In the daylight his eyes looked more hazel than the brown you’d first thought they were. You think it would be nice to spend a long time picking out the different shades in them.

“I’ll be seeing you, Steve.” You lean in closer to the window to say your goodbyes, “Bye Robin, bye Max.”

You take a step back. It takes him a minute but at both Max and Robin’s responding waves he says bye back airily. Steve wonders when he got so breathless.

His car pulls out slowly, stuttering on the turf road and you watch as it disappears behind a corner, out of sight, heavily in mind.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped pacing for the past 30 minutes. Not since he invited you to Family Video, his job, where he works.

Or maybe he didn’t invite you, maybe he did the opposite, maybe he was too insistent on the idea that you did not need to come. Maybe he should’ve been more selfish, left it at he wanted to see you. Curse his big dumb heart.

Robin’s guess was that your definition of sometime was different than his; which in his head he could make sense of, his heart on the other hand couldn’t.

It was 5pm, their shift started at 11:45. That had to mean you weren’t coming “sometime”, now was sometime wasn’t it?

But Steve was just as afraid you would show up. That you would see him and his five a’clock shadow, him too tired and restless for his usual charm. He tried to make peace with himself that you weren’t coming, and that was okay, and his heart had no business aching quite as it was right now.

Still when the store’s bell rang he nearly broke his neck only to greet a hobbling elderly couple.

The second time the bell rang Steve was turned around, organizing the same few tapes for the twelfth time that day, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to turn around to see someone that wasn’t you.

Whoever it was they rang the desk bell, something Steve was unaware they had and he was forced to turn around. “Hi. Welcome to family video-“

You.

“Hi.” You. Smiling at him so beautifully. Steve thinks the room has grown ten times brighter, he wonders if the weather can explain it, maybe the clouds opened up for a moment to bathe you in a halo of light. Probably.

Steve wasn’t lying about the vest, if it’s possible you think it makes him even more handsome, it compliments his skin tone, his warm eyes.

All the air leaves him in one rushed breath, “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” You look down at your hands you’ve placed on the counter. “I’m sorry it took so long- I, I took uh, Mike’s bike here and I wasn’t exactly sure where here is.”

“No, no I’m just- I’m glad your here.” And you smile at him so brightly he feels his heart flutter in his chest.

Robin comes out of the back room,”Steve are you still pouting she’s not-“ Her eyes widen into saucers when she sees you. “You’re here.”

You nod still smiling,”I’m here.”

She sighs in relief, “Thank god I was afraid Steve was gonna start crying like a baby.” You laugh, and Steve rolls his eyes but the tips of his ears redden.

That’s his favorite sound he thinks, your laugh. He thinks it’s a shame he went most of his life without hearing it.

Robin comes around the counter to wrap you in a quick hug. “Let me know if you need anything, or just want a break from this idiot.” You nod again and watch her return to the back room.

“You see how mean she is to me?” Steve tries to keep a straight face but your smile is so contagious he can’t help himself. He shakes his head still grinning. “Here I want to show you something.”

You follow him as he leads you to one of the few isles. He’s warm, you feel it radiating off him in waves. You like standing next to him, it feels like the right place for you to be; a moth to his flame.

Neither of you are sure who’s fault it is the two of you end up standing so close together. And neither of you want to move away.

Your shoulder brushes his arm every time you breathe. He smells so good, something fresh and clean and woody and undeniably Steve.

“I thought you would appreciate this.” You look away from his face, hoping he didn’t notice your staring. He did, it’s half the reason he’s blushing so hard.

The Science fiction isle, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life, or now maybe the second. Blade Runner, The Star Wars trilogy, ET, The Terminator, Back to the Future ..Weird Science?

You pick up the tape, squinting to read the back synopsis.

Steve’s already looking at you when you look up at him, staring at you so intensely you feel warmer than you should inside the air conditioned store.

He cocks his head playfully offended,”Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”

You bite your lip and dark eyes follow the movement, “I haven’t seen it.”

It’s hard for him to pull his eyes away from your mouth. But he does, only to take the tape from your hands, big warm fingers brushing yours, and hold it next to his head.

“This, this is peak cinema. It’s a classic I don’t know how you haven’t seen it.”

You take another look at the cover, “Peak cinema huh.”

“You gotta trust me on this one.” Something flickers in his eyes. “Or you don’t. You could come over and watch it sometime if you want.”

“You must really want me around Harrington.” Steve likes the way you say his name, likes the way you’re grinning at him.

He leans over you, grinning back,”Maybe I just want to prove you wrong.”

Hot breath fans over your face, Steve can feel yours on his neck. Neither of you mean to go quiet, but neither of you can think to speak when you can hardly breathe.

A large crashing sound comes from behind the counter and the spell is broken. You take a step away from Steve and he wants to chase you, chase your warmth.

Robin stands there sheepishly and nobody is safe from the embarrassment.

Her voice is a few pitches too high,”Did I hear someone say movie night?”

part 3

284 notes · View notes

elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years ago

Text

You’re a Mystery to Me

Chapter One | Part Five

CW: language, a few dirty thoughts from Rowan, assault (non-sexual and with minor injuries)

Masterlist//Moodboard//5545 words

Her mouth tasted like strawberries. Her lips were soft and refreshing, and entirely playful in the way they slid against his.

Rowan pulled her closer, smirking as she nipped at his lower lip. He let one hand slide to her waist as he parted her lips with his tongue, and the other went to grasp her hair. Those beautiful golden locks that could only belong to—

Rowan jolted awake.

A moment passed as Rowan tried to rewire his brain.

Where was he? He was in bed at Orlon’s mansion.

What had happened? He had had a dream.

What was he doing? Generally freaking out.

That dream had been about… a girl. A blonde girl with lovely lips. That could be anybody. Positively anybody.

Rowan promptly jolted into a sitting position, then threw the covers off. Breathing hard, he got to his feet and aimed for the bathroom, stumbling around in the dark.

Flipping the light on and squinting at the sudden brightness, Rowan made for the sink and immediately splashed some water on his face.

Not Aelin, not Aelin, not Aelin, he repeated in his mind. That was not fucking Aelin.

Turning off the faucet a bit more harshly than was strictly necessary, Rowan looked in the mirror. He looked like a mess. He felt like a mess.

Trying to snap out of it—and failing miserably—Rowan groaned and cursed. He stormed out of the bathroom and made his way into the hall, looking for something to distract himself with.

Rowan was as quiet as possible as he moved down the hallway, not wanting to wake anyone. Not wanting to wake one person in particular.

He got to the end of the hallway and started around a corner he hadn’t been before, mentally marking the direction so that he hopefully wouldn’t get lost on the way back.

Rowan went a ways down this new hall, then aimlessly turned again and paused, breathing hard. He couldn’t stop imagining what it had felt like to… No. Nothing had happened. He needed to forget about the slightly dirty dream that had been about some random girl that he absolutely did not know at all.

He decided to head outside and go for a jog, perhaps in the woods where no one would see him, and where it was likely dark enough that he would trip and bump his head on a rock and get amnesia and forget about that fucking dream. Yes, that sounded like a lovely plan. Rowan started down the hall, knowing he was lost and not giving a shit. Hell, if he got desperate enough he might just climb out the first window he came into contact with to avoid searching for the front door.

Rowan turned another corner.

And ran into someone.

And was slammed back against the wall as the person clearly freaked out.

Rowan was pissed. He had no idea what had just happened or why, but no one got to push him around and get away with it.

He pushed off of the wall and started forward. There was zero light in the hall, and all he could do was blindly reach forward. His hand caught what was most likely an arm and Rowan tugged, savoring in the deep grunt that left the person’s mouth.

Out of nowhere, an elbow knocked him in the stomach. “Shit,” Rowa hissed as he was thrust again the wall, this time face-first.

This wasn’t a member of this household getting freaked out in the middle of the night and reacting. This was something else. Maybe it was a robber. Frankly, Rowan didn’t care anymore. Now he just wanted to beat the shit out of this motherfucker.

Rowan tried to kick his leg back, but he was in a really bad position. The person grabbed him by the arm and flung him into something that fell to the floor with Rowan and smashed. Something delicate apparently.

The noise of it hitting the floor beside him as he rolled to avoid the damage wasn’t like glass, it was deeper. Rowan couldn’t be sure in the dark, but he got the feeling one of the family’s treasured statues had toppled to the floor.

Thoroughly angry, he got to his feet unsteadily. Rowan could see just enough as his eyes adjusted, perhaps from a distant lamp reflecting around several corners that hadn’t been enough before, that he could make out a hazy figure. He took a step toward him, but that was as far as he got before the person shoved him against the wall once more, and something cracked against his head.

Rowan groaned, his head swimming. Distantly, he heard a dog barking, and footsteps. Footsteps that didn’t belong to the intruder.

A light snapped on. Rowan winced at the light and squinted around to see a figure in black, wearing some sort of goggles, spinning around toward the disturbance. Aelin stood by the light switch, surveying the scene with wide eyes.

Rowan tried to say something as a furious expression crossed Aelin’s features and she took an angry step toward the intruder, but no sound came out.

Luckily, before Aelin’s fury got her hurt, the figure spun around and darted down the hall. Aelin took another step, then looked over at him, hesitating. All Rowan could do was cling to his head as a sticky substance dripped down the back of it. Blood.

Muttering expletives that had Rowan gaping, Aelin gave one last mournful look in the direction the intruder had stormed, likely imagining how Rowan had cost her the chance to hunt them down. Then Aelin turned to him and hurried over the last few steps.

“Are you okay?” she asked, not a trace of tentativeness as lifted a hand to his head. Rowan winced at the feeling of the damage being prodded.

“Just dandy,” he murmured, still trying to focus.

The barking continued, but didn’t come nearer. Fleetfoot must have been locked up in a room. Aelin sent another look down the hall where the person had run and grabbed Rowan by the arm.

“Come on. You need to sit down.”

Rowan started to protest, but words failed him. Aelin’s slender fingers were firm around his bicep, but gentle as well, if that was even possible. She wrapped the other arm around his back, helping him over to an antique chair in a corner.

“Aelin?” a voice called. “Was that you?”

It was Elide’s voice, and Aelin made sure Rowan was seated before calling back, “Over here, Ellie.”

Elide wandered in cautiously, her face transforming into horror as she took in the area. Rowan, who had missed quite a bit of the scene as the light had been off, surveyed the room as well.

He had been right about the statue. A medium-sized old thing was on the floor. It was just chipped enough around the edges that Rowan couldn’t tell what it had been of. On the other side of the hallway was a mirror, tilted and clearly struggling to hang on to the wall. The glass was smashed and blood coated the surface, and Rowan realized that was what he had been pushed against. Wincing at the sight, Rowan looked back to Aelin, who was frowning at his head, and at a gash in his arm he hadn’t even noticed previously.

“Elide, call the police.” Aelin’s voice was strong.

Elide gulped and nodded, but didn’t move. “What happened?”

“Someone attacked Rowan.”

Rowan grunted in agreement.

Elide did not look satisfied with this response. “Who?”

“Some dude,” he muttered.

Aelin shot him a glare. “Be quiet, Rowan. You’re in pain.”

Rowan rolled his eyes instinctively, bending over in pain as the vertigo took over and he only proved Aelin’s point.

Sighing, Aelin said, “Go, Elide. Get your phone.”

She quickly took off down the hall, headed back to her room. Rowan rubbed at his forehead in pain.

“Did anything get taken?” he asked. “Or did we scare them away first?”

Aelin frowned. “We didn’t do anything. Intruder dude seemed content to hang around until I showed up.” She glanced around, then answered his previous question. “Nothing that I can see from here, but I’m not about to go looking. Besides, at least you’re okay. That’s the important thing.”

Before Rowan could wonder if he’d heard her right or if his mind was conjuring things, she added, “Too many questions.”

Rowan sighed. He opened with mouth, but Lorcan appeared in the hallway before he could say anything.

“What the fucking fuck did you fuckers just—” Lorcan cut himself off as he took in the scene in front of him, blearily rubbing at his eyes.

Aelin sighed and started explaining.

—

“I’d like to report an intruder.”

Elide had almost said burglar, but she wasn’t sure if anything had been taken. Hell, it probably hadn’t. It was likely the creep who’d been “haunting” the house, not some robber.

The creep that Elide was now nearly certain was not a member of the household, judging by the blood smearing the wall. None of the family would do that to Rowan.

And with this conclusion came a small, but definite, pit inside of Elide’s stomach.

Guilt.

She and Lorcan had known about the secret passage; they had know that someone, whether with malicious intent or not to be determined, was sneaking around in the night. And Elide had instructed Lorcan not to say anything.

Which made whatever had happened to Rowan her fault, and hers alone. But wherever the blame may lie, Elide was now adamant that she would find the culprit, and she would not be leaving until she did.

Elide gave the emergency operator the basics—she hardly knew anything more herself—and hung up after being assured a police car and a paramedic for Rowan were on the way.

Then she turned back to the door. Elide had locked herself in her and Aelin’s room just in case, and now she hesitated to re-enter the hall.

Steeling herself and trying to feel brave, Elide slid the lock back over and slipped into the hallway quietly.

Elide peered around a corner on the way back to her friends, and very nearly screamed. But it was just Uncle Orlon, appearing from another doorway.

“Elide? Is that you?”

Elide released a breath and hurried over to him. “Yes, Uncle O, it’s me. Someone went after Rowan. I think he came across them in the hall.”

Uncle O didn’t even look surprised. Elide frowned internally as he said, “Shouldn’t be wandering in the night with Brannon walking the halls. Should’ve known better.”

Elide just gave a tight smile and grabbed Uncle Orlon’s arm, assisting him down the hall.

“The cops should be here soon,” she added.

He halted. “The police? El, dear, there’s nothing they can do. They’re not paranormal investigators.”

Resisting the urge to slap him silly, Elide just said, “Too late now. Let’s go.”

They made their way back to the spot Elide had found Aelin and Rowan. Lorcan was there as well now, kicking some remnants of the statue aside.

They all looked up upon seeing Elide, then relaxed. She was loathe to admit how on edge this ghost business had gotten everybody.

Elide cleared her throat. “The police are on their way. How are you feeling, Rowan?”

He squinted. “Bit dizzy. Mostly fine, though.”

Elide nodded, pretending she wasn’t as concerned as she really was, and asked, “What exactly happened?”

Rowan glanced over his shoulder, seemingly in paranoia. “I was walking out here, and I ran into somebody. They kind of freaked and pushed me and whatever, and there was some elbowing, and it was really dark, and I was pushed into the statue and then the mirror, and I did grab them at one point, and then Aelin showed up and turned the light on.”

Elide scribbled this all down in her notepad, having withdrawn it when Rowan started speaking. She wrote his little tirade word for word, despite the apparent confusion of the statement. After all, human memory is a very fragile thing. Elide wanted it all fresh. Time would only muddle his thoughts further.

“And Aelin, what did you see?”

“Hmm, like a person in black. And some goggles. Like actual night vision goggles.”

Rowan nodded thoughtfully as if he hadn’t processed this. Elide was starting to lean toward concussion.

“And the intruder just kinda shimmied out of there real fast. I gave them my mad face, so I’m not really that surprised.”

Elide sighed. What incompetent witnesses they were. “In which direction did the intruder shimmy?”

Aelin nodded to a dark hall to Elide’s left. “There. They ran off that way.”

“Could you tell anything about this person from what you saw? Gender? Height? Skin, hair, or eye color?”

Aelin frowned in thought. “No color of anything, they were covered completely. But maybe it was actually a guy? I can’t be sure, but the hips and shoulders were kind of mannish. As for the height, I don’t know. Estimation’s not really my forte. He was next to Rowan though, and I didn’t notice a big difference there. So about Rowan’s height I suppose.”

Elide wrote her account down, then turned to Rowan. “Do you have anything to add to that?”

“No,” he replied wearily. “I didn’t even notice that much. The light was off the whole time and I was a little too distracted to catalog their/his/whatever measurements and shit.”

Elide nodded slightly. “Aelin, go to the front door and wait for the cops. You know how to get back here. Lorcan, go with her, just in case. Uncle O, you’re going to stay here with Rowan. Take this”—Elide handed him her cell phone—“and call Emrys and make sure all three of them are alright. Don’t tell them to leave their cottage, though; I don’t want them in danger. I want to look around a little, but I’ll stay close.”

Elide’s fears seemed to have vanished now that she was around others, and now that she had a problem that needed fixing. But she would likely be scared all over again when she ventured off the check the area. Pushing her worries aside, Elide made sure everyone was okay with their role and started down the hall.

Elide started looking at each damaged area around the open space in the hallway. First the mirror, then the statue. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Or rather, nothing was unsurprising. The mirror was bloody and cracked, the bust irreparable. But no other clues were to be found at the scene of the attack.

Uncle Orlon seemed in shock beside Rowan. He kept muttering the same thing, something along the lines of, “Brannon was never depicted as violent.”

Elide frowned, then turned and started down the hall the intruder was said to have left from. She kept her footsteps light and her body tense, continuously on guard.

The hallway quickly darkened. There was a lamp on a while back, but not in this area. Fighting back fear, Elide reached for the light switch she knew to be right next to the doorway beside her. Then she paused.

One sense at a time. That was something her mother said to her sometimes, when there was an especially different problem she couldn’t work out. So Elide not only left the hall pitch-black, but she tuned out all noise and reached a hand to the wall.

The wallpaper was peeling in this area. She knew it would be that ugly flower print that had gotten updated in most of the rest of the house. Elide started walking, trying to clear her mind. No more thoughts about the wallpaper, or theories on what she was looking for. Now was the time to just feel.

Elide lost herself in her head, so far away that even her fears of being alone in the dark after an attack dissipated. She kept walking, her fingers trailing along the wall lightly. Elide came to a turn, or so she surmised from the edge of the wall, but she only followed it around the corner in the darkness.

Elide was waiting for it, waiting for something, anything. She was just about to stop and turn the light on when her fingernails caught on a protuberance.

Trying to keep her breathing steady, Elide hooked her fingers in the small crack in the wall, making it just barely not level, and tried to pry it open. She pulled out first, as that seemed the easiest way it would open. She also dug her fingers in both ways, not knowing which side of the crack would reveal an opening.

Elide frowned as nothing budged, then tried pushing.

No luck.

She turned and felt around the wall for a light switch, finally finding one a little ways down the hall. The narrow corridor, a place Elide knew to be quite a few rooms away from where Rowan and Uncle Orlon currently were, was illuminated dimly. Most of the house had updated appliances and light fixtures, contradicting the old style, but some of the unused sections of the house, such as this one, revealed flickering, yellow bulbs and peeling wallpaper.

Elide scanned the hall, but she couldn’t locate the crack. She ran her hand back over the wall and found it, then tried locating it with her eyes once more. Knowing where it was allowed Elide to just barely focus on the minuscule imperfection.

Brow furrowing in concentration Elide dug her fingernails deeper into the gap and started tugging.

Minutes passed. Too many. Elide yanked on the crack both ways, then shoved her body into the hall, trying to force it open. She knocked and pounded. She scowled and huffed. Nothing happened.

Elide decided she was behaving like a madwoman and the crack in the wall was just a crack in the wall. She pulled one more time with all her body strength, in one last desperate effort before she gave up. Just as Elide was deciding to let go, her fingers slipped and the momentum sent her tumbling onto the floor with a yelp.

Something clicked. Elide groaned and looked over to see what had caused the noise. She was splayed across the wooden boards in a position she had absolutely no clue as to how she arrived in. Elide found her elbow against the baseboard. A small rectangular section of the dusty, white baseboard was now pushed in. Like a button.

Elide sat up as her eyes widened. Her elbow, removed from its spot, wasn’t touching it anymore and it had fallen back into place, seamlessly fitting into the rest of the board. A victorious glee flowed through Elide’s blood as she brought her hand to the spot and pushed it in again.

Another click. This one louder, as the mechanism unlatched.

The wall folded in silently and smoothly, leaving a small gap in the wall.

Elide scrambled to her feet and pushed the door-shaped bit of wall open farther. She pressed her toes against the baseboard experimentally, marveling at how easy it would be to lightly kick it on the way out, not even having to bend over to open the door. To someone unsure of the presence of a door, it would be nearly impossible to find, but to someone rushing down the hall with an exact location in mind, it would be so easy to leave.

And to come inside.

The black space suddenly assaulted Elide with the knowledge that someone had left through there after attacking Rowan. That they could still be inside.

Elide stepped away from the inky unknown, pulling the door back closed. Her breathing was heavy and afraid.

“Elide!” she faintly heard someone call. It sounded like Aelin.

Elide swallowed and spun around, headed back to the others.

—

Fleetfoot was not happy.

Not only had she been trapped in the room while Aelin got to go investigate the noise, she had not been allowed to lick the blood off of Rowan’s head either—out of pure concern, of course. And on top of all this unfairness, now no one was listening to Fleetfoot as she barked, announcing the presence of a piece of black fabric caught on a nail close to the floor.

Humans were so clueless.

—

The interrogation was not fun for Aelin. Well, perhaps she was being dramatic in calling it an interrogation. But she didn’t enjoy being questioned when she had so many questions herself.

The police officer taking her statement was quite fed up with her by the end. Aelin had received several glares at her snarky responses and half-answers. In truth, there was a dangerous, raging fire in her veins, livid and ready to set the world to flames.

And burn whoever had attacked Rowan to ash.

Not specifically because she cared what happened to Rowan, but because she didn’t approve of someone breaking into her house, destroying her property, and possibly being the same person who was “haunting” them and driving her uncle to madness.

It definitely had nothing to do with Rowan.

Speaking of Rowan, he had been taken to the hospital almost immediately after the cops had shown up, despite his many, profuse complaints. In spite of the brave act, he’d been woozy enough by the end of it that he hadn’t made a single comment about how unnecessary the ambulance was.

Elide had reassured everybody with the guess that it was just a concussion, which should be easy to treat. Lorcan had certainly been glad to hear it—Rowan was his best friend, after all.

Everyone had responded to the police’s questions with the unsaid agreement not to mention the ghost of the manor. Even if the cops believed it, though they certainly wouldn’t, there wasn’t anything they could do quite yet. The staff—Emrys, Malakai, and Luca—had been called up from their cottage on the grounds with a police escort, just it case. None of them had been asked nearly as many things, having been unaware of the entire incident. Only Malakai, taking out the compost, had been questioned nearly as much as them; he hadn’t seen anything, and the police quickly lost interest.

And Elide… Aelin knew her best friend better than anyone else in the world, and she would be a fool not to notice something was wrong. She’d been worried about Elide’s safety when the petite girl had announced she was going to look around by herself, but Aelin had known better than to argue with that obstinate look in her eyes. And now she was acting shifty and her gaze kept flicking back to the hallway the intruder had run down. Aelin had received only a curt ‘later’ when she asked Elide what she’d found.

Which meant one of the gang was out of action and another was withholding information from her. Great. Like Aelin could possibly feel any more useless.

The officers left after a long inspection and a promise to follow some leads, whatever the hell that meant. Rowan was long gone, and all they knew was that they would be contacted with any important information when the time came, again leaving much to the imagination. The house was left empty once more, aside from the periodic barking of Fleetfoot.

Emrys, Malakai, and Luca all offered to stay with the remaining family and guests for the night, but their cottage seemed the safer place to be and Aelin and Elide sent them back. Uncle Orlon was tired enough that he didn’t much protest when the girls moved him across the hall from their own room and next to Lorcan’s. They’d also stuck Fleetfoot, who eventually settled down and stopped barking, in with him as a precaution.

Elide disappeared into Lorcan’s room as soon as she had a chance, and Aelin could only watch in disbelief as the brunette tugged the man into his room and firmly shut the door on her.

What the fuck was going on in this bloody mansion?

Aelin was probably expected to go back to sleep. As if there was any chance of that happening. Instead of heading back to her room alone, Aelin started down the hallway.

An hour passed.

In that time, Aelin learned three things about herself.

1. She did not know how to look for intruders.

2. She did not know how to look for ghosts.

3. She needed a nap.

Just when Aelin was heading back to her room, intent on pushing all worries aside and crashing on the bed, a knock sounded on the door.

Frowning, Aelin turned. She was in the foyer, having recklessly searched the house for clues of some sort and coming up with zilch. They were supposed to receive a call for updates on Rowan and not nearly enough time had passed for the police to be back.

Cautiously, she padded down the thick carpet and went to the front door. A small amount of light was shining in through the stained glass panes on either side of the door, as morning was just arriving. Aelin peeked through one window and squinted as she tried to make out the figure, distorted by the stained glass.

As soon as Aelin realized who was impatiently standing outside the door, she cursed out loud.

Aelin flipped the locks and yanked the door open, glowering at the man outside.

He scowled right back at her, taking in her ragged appearance and surprised face. “I hope you didn’t forget I was coming,” Darrow uttered stiffly.

—

“It’s not your fault,” Lorcan said.

Elide shook her head. “I knew someone was creeping around. I knew someone could have gotten hurt.”

“So did I,” Lorcan countered.

“And I told you not to tell anybody.”

Lorcan sighed. “Look, you want to feel bad about this? Fine. It’s all your fault. Rowan’s in the hospital because of you. You’re a threat to society.” Elide blinked. “But that’s not really important right now. Stop moping and start thinking, woman. What the fuck is going on?”

Elide, gaping, opened her mouth, but no sound came out. A moment passed, then she said, “I guess we should check out the secret door again, both of us this time.”

“I guess we should,” Lorcan replied.

Elide nodded, seeming to regain some of her confidence. Lorcan sent up a quick prayer of relief that she was back on the job.

She led Lorcan to the area Rowan had been attacked, then past it, down another hallway. He followed with baited breath, on edge after the intruder’s attack. Gods forbid he have Elide take him back here only for her to get injured, so he kept himself ready to jump in front of her at a moment’s notice. Lorcan knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, but keeping her alive was the least he could do. For Aelin’s sake, of course.

Elide paused. “It’s somewhere over here.” She extracted her notepad and consulted the pages. Apparently the door was so hard to find she couldn’t even remember where it was an hour after finding it.

“Here,” Elide eventually whispered, so quietly Lorcan wasn’t sure if it was meant for him. She delicately kicked a bit of baseboard and Lorcan went slack-jawed as a portion of the wall swung open.

“Damn…”

Elide murmured her agreement. “Should we… go inside?”

Lorcan hesitated. “Probably, yeah.”

Elide nodded, but made no move forward. Lorcan stayed put as well.

“Do you think he’s still…” Elide trailed off.

“Let’s check another time,” Lorcan suggested. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

Elide swallowed, and to Lorcan’s surprise, squared her shoulders and lifted her head. “No. I wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt. I need to look.”

With that, she stepped into the darkness. Lorcan quickly stepped inside as well, never one to be called a coward. He stepped too far and ran into Elide, already swallowed by darkness.

“Sorry,” Lorcan muttered. “You wouldn’t happen to have a flashlight, would you?”

He heard Elide release a breath that sounded awfully like a laugh. She made a faint rummaging sound and pulled out… a flashlight from not even the gods knew where. He could suddenly see as the click illuminated a musty corridor following the wall on either side, narrow enough he would probably have to walk sideways.

Lorcan shot Elide a glance. “If we get lost in the woods one of these days and you pull out a tent, fire-starter, and fourteen-day food kit, I’m not going to be surprised.”

She grinned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Lorcan shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Lead the way, Indian Jones.”

Lorcan was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the faint blush gracing her face as she muttered a reply and turned around. He smirked as he started after her.

The corridor led in two directions, and the one they chose led them quite a ways down, then they reached another bypass. “Which way?” Lorcan whispered, both of them under the silent agreement not to be noisy.

“Neither. Look right here,” Elide replied.

Lorcan looked at what she way tracing with her fingers. She directed the flashlight on it and suddenly Lorcan could make out the frame of a door. “Another entrance.”

“Yeah,” Elide said. “How do you think we open it?”

Lorcan shook his head, even though he was behind Elide and she couldn’t see the motion. “How was the other one opened from this side?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know,” said Elide. “That’s why I left the door back there open. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, lost in thought. Then she said, “I’ve been counting our steps and keeping track of the turns. We’re just outside the living room now.”

“Which one?” Lorcan asked drily.

“The one we were sitting in last night,” Elide returned, ignoring the jab. “We don’t need to spend time trying to open the door. We can just go back out and open it from the outside, since we know how to do that.”

They decided to go back out and try it, still finding no way to get the door open from this side. Lorcan was handed the flashlight as it was too cramped to switch positions, and he led the way back down, his broad shoulders forcing him to walk sideways.

All sorts of ugly scenarios raced through Lorcan’s mind as they walked, much to his embarrassment. Perhaps they would pass the door somehow and be lost in the tunnels forever. Or maybe the “ghost” was waiting for them. Or they could find the door, but it would be closed and they wouldn’t know how to open it.

Despite his concerns, they found their way back quickly enough, and the opening was still there. Lorcan exited a bit more quickly than necessary, and decided to ignore Elide’s look at the movement.

They shut the door behind them and dusted themselves off, covered in all sorts of cobwebs and woodshavings from the unfinished walls.

“Ready to check out the other entrance?”

Elide shook her head, surprising Lorcan. “No.”

“Because…?”

“Because I changed my mind.” Elide looked at him. “We can do this all day, finding the doors, mapping them, figuring out where this thing goes. But what good will it do us? We need something more concrete than finding secret entrances in places we would expect to.”

Lorcan’s first thought was that she was just scared and unwilling to go back inside, but as he thought about it, he realized Elide was right. As much as something needed to be done about the tunnels, they were in no position to be the ones to do it, and having the knowledge of where each door was did nothing for them. They needed something more to exert themselves on.

“Then let’s go back to my room and talk it out some more,” Lorcan said.

“Talk about what, exactly?” Elide retorted, and Lorcan got the sense she was losing her self-confidence all over again.

“Well, about what’s going on on the first floor, for starters.”

Elide frowned. “The first floor?”

Lorcan smirked, pleased to have figured out something Miss Know-It-All hadn’t. “The floor plan was missing for the first floor even though these tunnels are on the second. And they’re too thin to show up on the plan. Something else is down there.”

Elide frowned, probably trying to think of all the reasons he could be wrong, then her face blanched. “Gods.”

Lorcan crossed his arms. “We couldn’t make out where the entrances were on the floor plan because they all blend seamlessly to the rest of the wall; we could only make out the general space in the walls. But the first floor was missing, and as you said, there was no other reason for it to be gone. So why was it taken?”

Elide eyed him sideways.

“What?” he asked gruffly, caught off guard by the assessing look she sent his way.

Elide just tilted her head. “You’re smarter than you look.”

Lorcan frowned, ignoring the compliment. “I don’t look smart to you?”

“No,” Elide replied bluntly.

Lorcan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could he was cut off.

By a blood-curdling scream.

———

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