#i even thought miguel and him were around the same age for a hot minute

[saccharinecoffee]

Wait, you want me to actually believe Hobie Brown, THEE Spiderverse Hobie Brown, is a teenager? Dude, he looks like he's in late 20s/early 30s and has too much life experience and I'll never ever see him other way, sorry fellas

[ballsandpingas]

outsmoked

erm ya first time writing! currently hormonal + missing my partner + stressing abt school so here we are!

pairing: miguel o'hara x genderweird!reader (masc terms but has a vagina)

summary: you were planning on sharing a blunt with miguel to relax after midterms, but you stumble upon another way to deal with your stress

warnings: recreational drugs babyyy!, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk maybe?

-

click. a spark. and then the smell hits you, smoky and dark. god, it's been fucking ages.

miguel eyes the blunt warily as you hold it out to him. maybe you should be nervous too, having a guy you barely know in your dorm, but the heady scent of weed is fogging up your brain.

when miguel exhales, the smoke billowing out of the sides of his mouth--shit, he doesn't cough, and you're suddenly self conscious about your inexperience. "do you... um, do you smoke? like, often?"

"not really." he shrugs. "just special occasions. or when i'm stressed."

should've thought of some icebreakers. you're barely even acquaintances--he sits in your row in your large lecture class, and when he mentioned unwinding after the midterm, you'd instinctively offered to share a pre roll.

his fingers brush against yours as he hands you the blunt, and you hope he misses how your eyes flit to his face.

"you seem like you know what you're doing," he says, eyes glued to how the end of the roll blazes as you inhale. "what about you?"

your eyes blink away the acrid smoke. you can feel it entering your system, floating up to your brain and making your skin hum. "it's an act," you rasp. "my lungs are fucking burning, dude."

his laugh is loud, breaking through the haze. you don't expect it--he just always looks so serious, shoulders hunched over his notes, back ramrod-straight as he reads lecture slides. you wonder if he's feeling that same lightness in his limbs, or how the minutes seem to pass by in a sludge.

soon the blunt is almost gone, and you can feel the smoke kissing your throat when you breathe it in. when you offer it to miguel, he shakes his head. "it's yours. you get the last hit."

you try and savor the taste, the scent, but the heat filling your lungs takes you by surprise. you have the forethought to pull away from the blunt, but you end up coughing smoke directly back at miguel.

"shit, fuck, oh my god. not cool." you're still sputtering as you try to waft the air away from his face. "um--pretend i didn't just spray my spit all over you. jesus. i'm so sorry."

but he doesn't move. he stares at you through your hands, his expression unreadable. at some point, your hands have paused in midair, and you wonder if he can tell they're shaking.

miguel grabs your wrists and pulls you forward. your kiss is fast, hot, bumping teeth and shuddering breaths. when he lets go, you clamber forward onto his lap, and his nails circle your waist before dropping to sink into your ass.

even through your shorts, his hands are rough, pulling your hips flush to his. the weed makes your skin tingle, every cell in your body dissolving and reforming with his touch. when he grinds you against him, setting an unforgiving pace, you choke out a sob.

"good boy," miguel murmurs, and the praise sends shudders through you. some sober part of your brain wonders if you should be embarrassed at how quickly you've come undone--how much of it is the blunt? or the build up from the shameless fantasies that seep into your dreams, of him bending you over his desk?

you can feel his dick hardening against your thigh. for a moment, you wonder what it would be like to be filled by him, impossibly thick, breathing through every thrust as you burn and stretch around him. how his breaths would come in shallow pants, jaw clenched and eyelids heavy--

miguel's thumb runs along the waistband of your shorts. you hum and roll your hips, sighing as he skims over your happy trail. when he cups his hand under your pussy, he stills.

"you like being called that." his breath is hot against your neck. "my boy, so pretty--" one finger separates your lips, already warm and slick, "--and so wet, so good." you let out a little whimper as he dips two fingers into your pussy, and when he crooks them against your walls you swear you see stars.

the tension in the room is hot and thick. miguel's other hand is leaving crescent indents on your asscheek as he digs his nails into your skin, rocking you forward and grinding your clit against his palm. it doesn't take long for tears to sting in your eyes and your heady sensitivity to turn into that familiar tightness in your belly.

"miguel," you gasp, your voice muffled as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. "faster, i-i'm close."

he lets out an honest-to-god growl, his forearms flexing as he pulls you impossibly close. every bounce rips another whine from your mouth. and just as your hips begin to stutter, he bites down on the soft skin of your neck.

your orgasm hits you hard. you feel weightless, buzzy; a shiver runs down your spine as miguel presses his fingers against your walls, prolonging your euphoria and holding you still. the ringing in your ears subsides as you open your eyes, gasping for air.

he's staring at your neck--now undoubtedly sporting an incriminating mark--and working his jaw. "shit." his voice breaks. "you're gonna need an ice pack for that."

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ I NEED YOU MORE ❜

with Nestor Oceteva, and teen!reader as his daughter.

Request: Hello! A Imagine about Nestor's daughter? A teen girl who hate Miguel,maybe cause she ils scared by him ? And that's cause some problem between Nestor and his daughter. And she thinks he gonna kick her ass out of the home like with her mom or in intership (not sure of the english word... I mean school where u sleep here during week) . Maybe with Mayans apparition ? 🙈 Ending fluff ? ❤❤🙏

BY ANON

Word count: about 4.1k and I'm not even sorry.

Warnings: angst af, minors consuming alcohol and stealing a car, slightslightslight mention of violence (this sounds too bad just to warn you of a slap) and I don't know what more. Actually, I don't even know if these are warnings, or need to be warned. I'm a clown.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

“Dad, you promised me”. 

Nestor sighs closing his eyes for a second, before turning around to face you, wearing the holsters over the black shirt. He doesn't know what to say, seeing the letdown gesture on your face.

“Dad…”

“I know what I said, (Y/N)”. He just says, checking the guns and the loaders before keeping them on both sides of his body. “But Mikey needs me”.

“I need you too”. You reply cross-armed with a broken thread of voice.

Turning on your feet, you leave the room being followed by the mexican, who is trying to find the most adequate words to say. But he knows that you are right, closing the door onto his nose. Falling down on your bed, you can't help but finally break in crying. Your father can hear you and that really breaks his heart, but he has to leave much to his regret. Miguel said some days ago that he would be free this weekend and you were ready to travel to Los Angeles tomorrow morning. As always, that wasn't something to happen. It's the third time you've delayed the trip, being alone for the rest of the week, because surprisingly Nestor has to work. And you understand his job and what he does, but sometimes Miguel looks like he's jealous. Of you, of your relationship, of whatever. Maybe he is his best friend, his brother, but his boss first. So your father has to obey his orders.

When you're sure he's gone, you step out of your dorm, going downstairs and cleaning the tears on your shirt. Maybe you're on time to call some friend and have a beer in that bar that doesn't care about your age because ‘you are Nestor Oceteva's daughter’. It should be the other way around, but who are you to question those kinds of decisions. Typing by heart your best friend's number, you place the phone on your ear, opening the fridge to find something to eat.

“Hey, babygirl”.

“Hey, corazón. Where are you?”

“Home, watching a documentary”.

“What 'bout?” You ask, grabbing yesterday's thai leftlover, before closing the fridge.

“Charles Manson. That… fucking guy was fucking crazy”.

“Yeah, I've seen something about him”.

Taking a fork from the main drawer, you jump over the counter to sit on, putting the speaker on your phone to leave it by a side of your legs.

“So, what's up? Are you exc—”.

“My father canceled it again”. You interrupt her, eating a bunch of noodles. “Do you… want to hang… out? I think he left the car here”.

“Are you gonna drive your father's car? Without license?”

“Do you want to hang out or not?”.

“Yeah, yeah. Give me… dunno, twenty minutes?”

“Thirty, I'm having somekind of dinner”. You reply, looking at the box between your hands with an incredulous gesture.

“Okay, amor, see you here”.

Hanging up the call, you hurried up to finish the box and get ready for a girls night. It's not the first time that you do it and of course it's not going to be the last. But even if you try to convince yourself that you're not trying to call Nestor's attention, you know you are doing it. And you know it at the exact moment you find the keys of the black SUV. Miguel's car. The one he drives when he has to work. Probably, one of the other security men picked him up. You don't care. You're going to take this car, and not the personal one. Having one last look on the mirror, turning over the sneakers and putting well on the black skirt and the transparent crop top, you leave the house straight to the garage. Clicking the control remote to lift up the door, you lead your steps towards the big Range Rover.

Once that the engine is on, you speed up to see your house getting smaller through the rear-view, enjoying how easy it's to drive an automatic car without caring about the gears. And of course, Lara starts to freak out when you appear in her neighborhood with such a monster of four wheels.

“Girl, are you kidding me?” She screams as soon as she sits by your side. “Shit… Nestor is gonna kill you…”

“Nope, if he doesn't find out. We're just gonna have some beers, what can go wrong, ah?” 

“This car is… fucking amazing”. 

“He put me puppy eyes to drive him”. You joke with her, before continuing to your destiny.

Of course, it's not your fault. And if it is, you hush it by turning up the volume of the music, before you get out of control driving out of Santo Padre. Reaching the pub some minutes later, you're ready to enjoy the night. Shots of tequila sliding over the wet wooden bar, cheering with your friend and drinking them in one gulp, mixing it with the toasted beers. One after another. Your body dances following the rhythm of the rock music playing on, singing the lyrics as if you were in a concert and having some fun with your best friend. Lara and you have known each other forever, and sixteen years together have given for many situations. Some better than others, but always by your side whenever you have needed her, mostly when you have needed your father. You could give your life for her, and she could give her life for you.

But that good time ends up when your phone rings in your hand, showing the name of your father on it. Rolling your eyes, you decline the call, placing an arm on Lara's shoulders.

“What if we ha—have a bottle of tequila and we le—leave? I know a place…” Making the same gesture that the chefs proffer in some kind of kiss when a dish is really delicious, she nods energetically, ignoring the new incoming call.

At least this time, you have some care driving the heavy SUV, taking your time because of your blurred gaze. It's not the first time you drive drunk, but this car is different from your father's and he needs it to work. And maybe you're starting to think that it wasn't a good idea, but by the other hand, he earned it. It's supposed that you should be sleeping and resting for your father and daughter's travel, but he preferred to cancel it to spend some more time with Miguel. That's why he didn't take the Range Rover. Probably his best friend had another discussion with his wife. The crazy bitch who appeared from nowhere and tried to be your friend just because you were Nestor's family. You're not sure who you hate the most, if Miguel, or if Emily.

And you are so absorbed thinking about it that you don't see the stop signal, passing it away and colliding with another car. A cops one. Raising your head from the airbag, as Lara does cursing and complaining in spanish, you find out how fucked you are right now. Luckily, you just hit a side of the trunk, but when you see them stepping out of the patrol holding his guns and pointing at the SUV, you know that you're going to be much more fucked when they call your father.

“Get out of the car and put the hands on your heads!”

Of course, you two obey while one of the cops asks for another patrol and some help by the walkie. As soon as they recognize you, they put the guns down with a heavy snort. If you hadn't rammed them, they would let you go. But they need to explain why their car is a little destroyed. 

“Are you hurt?” Dylan looks at both, after giving the advertisement. Lara nods head in silence, so you do.

“Turn around, (Y/N), I have to arrest you”. Frankie says grabbing the handcuffs from his belt after keeping his weapon.

“Please, don't arrest her too, it was my fault”. You beg them, raising both wrists towards him. “Please… It was my fault”.

“Can you hire an uber?” The oldest turns at your friend, who nods again. “Do it”.

“(Y/N), I'm stayi—”.

“No, Lara! You're leaving. I will call you tomorrow, I promise”.

If you were drunk at some point of the night, you're not anymore sitting in the interrogation room, wearing a jacket that Frankie gave you of the police division and a cup of hot coffee between your hands, supported over the table. You're not sure how many time have passed since you came, but when a uniformed man opens the door you know by the gesture on his face that it's time to go home. From the other end of the police station, you can hear your father shouting like never before. Full of rage and really furious. Miguel doesn't look much happy when you reach them, assuming that he paid for the penalty fee of driving without license and drunk, for the patrol and the bond to let you go. You heavy gulp bowing the head to your feet, licking your lips about to cry. No, you're not trying to pity them, you're shaking because you have never been more scared in your entire life.

“What the fuck were you thinking, ah?” Your father leans forward facing you, with an angry whisper.

“Hermano, aquí no”. (Brother, not here). Miguel mutters, placing a hand on his forearm, hoping that he calms down. But he doesn't.

“I'm talking to my daughter”. He turns for a second, before giving you back all his attention. “Mírame, chamaca”. (Look at me, girl).

“Dad, I'm s—”.

“Don't you fucking dare to say that you're sorry, 'cause we both know you're not”. He urges you to look at him, grabbing your chin with more strength that you can deal with, pointing you with a ringed forefinger. “You took my fucking car. You drove drunk. And you ran over a fucking cops car. Are you fucking stupid?”

“Nestor…” Miguel calls him again, but he doesn't reply to his brother back.

“Do you thought just for a fucking second how I felt when they called me, to tell me that my daughter had a fucking car accident and that she tripled the allowed alcohol rate?”.

“That's all you cared about?” You speak then, slapping his hand away from your face, shrugging your shoulders. “The car? The shame of… being living this situation?”

“Ah, ah. I'm not falling into your fucking game of emotional blackmail, chamaca. Not this fucking time”.

“This wouldn't have happened, if you had been at home. Sleeping. Getting ready for our trip. But… your work is always more important than spending some time with me!”

“That's not t—”.

“Oh, for god's sake! Just for once, Miguel, can you please shut the fuck up? If you paid for me, good! Thank you! I'll give it to you back, but don't fucking call me liar!”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Your father yells at you, grabbing your left forearm and shaking it with a strong pull. “You're gonna be grounded until you're eighteen, ¿me oíste?”

“Jeez… Of course... I gave you the perfect excuse to keep hanging with your ‘best friend’ forgetting that you have a daughter… You're the worst fath—”.

You can't finish the sentence, when the back of his hand crosses your face to the other side, feeling a slight stinging stab running through your lower lip, before tasting the metallic flavor of blood. 

“Brother, don't”. Too late to stop him, Miguel. “Don't do that again”.

You're shocked with your gaze on the floor and a hand on your cheek, trying to figure out what just happened frowning slowly. 

“I hate you…” You say in a low thread of voice, with some tears falling down from your eyes.

Three words that you didn't think you could say, but here they are, pressing the sleeve cuff against your lip to contain the red liquid starting to walk right to the exit with the clear intention of getting away from him.

“No, no, no, hermano. Déjala”. (Brother, leave her). Miguel stops him again, grabbing his arm again when you begin to run, pushing the street door to go downstairs. 

Your cry gets somewhat louder, standing in front of your father's mate for a second and looking at they're disappointed gesture, before continuing your steps to the right side of the street not knowing where you want to go. You just need to walk, even if it's cold outside and the jacket it's not enough to keep you warm. Turning the corner you hear the cars engines coming closer, but although you think they're going to stop to pick you up, they don't. Nestor is driving the first one and he doesn't look at you passing you away. The pain increases, oppressing your chest and concentrating in your throat. Now you're starting to regret what you did, but it wasn't a reason to treat you like he did, hitting you. Slapping you in front of everybody. And it's worse the fact that he hit you for the first time, than the fact of who was looking at you. 

The next time you raise up your eyes from your shoes, you find yourself in Marcus neighborhood, guessing that your brain was working for you this time. Knowing that it's your only option. Knowing that he's not going to judge you, but try to understand you and give you the best advice. Ringing the doorbell when you reach his house, you stand on the porch with both arms crossed around your chest, rubbing one leg against the other trying to find some warmth on every move until he welcomes you.

“Te andaba esperando, mija”. (I was waiting for you, girl). He says with a soft smile on his lips, opening his arms to hug you tight. “Come in, you're freezing”.

In silence, you practically obey crossing the door to the inside, taking off the cops jacket to hang it on the coat rack. It's not the first time you go to him looking for some appropriate words for the occasion, and he never complains. You know him since six years ago, and he has always been so gentle and helpful.

“Why don't you have a shower while I prepare you a sandwich? Are you hungry?” He asks, placing an arm over your shoulders.

With a fleeting smile on your lips, you nod. 

“Okay, hurry up”.

Following the hallway to the guest room, you close the door to open the wardrobe, finding there your bag with some comfy clothes from the last time you had to stay there. The shower doesn't take you too much, feeling better after getting warm and clean, fixing up your lip as soon as it stops bleeding. You meet the one that is like your tío on the main table of the living room, with a sandwich, a napkin and a glass of milk. Sitting on, the man rests his arms over the wood, looking at you devouring your food.

“Nestor told me what happened”.

“Did he tell you about the trip?”

“Not tonight, but the whole week. All the time, mija”.

Shaking your hands above the dish to clean them from the bread, you raise an eyebrow towards him.

“He was very excited to go with you to Los Angeles”. He explains, as if it was necessary. “He told us everything that he wanted to show you. Hollywood, the Griffith's observatory, Santa Mónica…”

“It's the third time he leaves me on the road like a pinche perro, tío”.

“Yes, I know. And I know that he was disappointed with himself for not being able to take you to. Have you thought about that?”

You keep silent, bowing your eyes to the nibbled sandwich. No, you didn't. You were too busy being egoist, not asking how he felt about it.

“We have a… different job from other men. It's risky, complicated and we never know if we're going to come back home. But the time that we spend with our families, it's the most precious time for us. I talk with my daughter every single day by video call. And I take advantage of the minimal time to drive to Oaktown, to see her. To have lunch, a coffee… Whatever”. He says, holding your hands over the table to intertwining his fingers with yours. “For you is easier. You live together. And I'm not asking you to normalize how much he works, but to understand that everything he does, he does it for you, mija. To give you the life he couldn't have”.

“I just want to be… some time with him, tío Marcus. This is not… because of the trip, I swear. But, I can be for days without seeing him at home. And… And… everything I can think of, it's that something wrong happened to him”. You're crying again, trying to express your feelings and your emotions, while the mexican listens to you attentively. “I know I didn't have to take his car, nor another. I didn't have to drink, or escape from home. I was just… feeling alone, and sad, and…”

“Alcohol it's not the solution, mija”.

“I know…”

“And Miguel isn't your enemy”.

Yes, you know that too, but acknowledge it out loud it's not an option. You feel stupid enough for tonight.

“You should talk with Nestor, tell him how you feel and, of course, tell him that you are sorry. I'm sure you didn't, did you?”

“I don't think he wants to… hear me, or see me right now, tío”.

“(Y/N), never forget that you are his daughter. The most beautiful gift that God gave him. Nothing, and no one could change that. Never”.

With this hangover, the last thing you want to do is front facing what you did last night. But Marcus thought that you shouldn't waste more time. Stepping out of the SUV, when it stops in front of Miguel's house, you take a deep long breath with your heart racing. Your hands are sweating and your legs are trembling, walking towards the main door being slightly pushed by your tío. Coming in, you follow your father's voice, sounding tired and upset, talking with his boss about a trip to Washington. Washington D.C., where your mother lives.

“I think it's the best option, brother. It will suit her”. 

Through the opened door, you can see them giving you their backs. Miguel is standing up behind your father, pointing something on the screen of the laptop, while Nestor is sitting at the desk.

“Please, don't”. You just say with a broken tone of voice, about to cry.

The men turn around facing you.

“Dad, I'm so—sorry for what I did… I'm sorry fo—for crashing your car, Miguel… but do—don't send me to Washington… please”. You beg taking a step closer.

Miguel narrows one of his shoulders, before leaving you alone and closing the door of his own office. Nestor gets up from his chair, resting his body against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Then you notice that he looks so different as he usually does. A bump tying his curly hair, wearing sweatpants and a shirt, and two black bags under his eyes. Now you know what Marcus was trying to explain to you. 

“Dad, it will never gonna happen again, I swear. I pro—promise… I promise you. No car, no alcohol, no going out, no nothing. I will stay at home. All the ti—time. I promise”. You continue begging with all your efforts, while he keeps silent. “I get it, okay? You ha—have to work. You have to work a lot and I promise I will ne—never complain about it again… I will settle with… hav—having any time with you. Por poquito que sea”. (No matter how little).

He doesn't say anything, rubbing the bridge of his nose, uttering a heavy sigh. You're getting more and more nervous. Your whole anatomy is shaking, tasting the salty tears that flood in your lips.

“Lo—Look… this morning I fo—found a job that I co—could take this summer”. Your father looks at you, taking off your phone from a pocket to unlock it, offering it to him so he can read the offer. “It's in a caf—cafeteria… Eleven dollars per hour. It's not mu—much… but I could pay Miguel for everything”.

While you highlight everything you have to pay for, you make some gesture with your fingers counting them under his attentive gaze. He looks surprised, even if he's trying to hide it from you.

“I will do an—anything, dad. I wanna be with you… Please, don' leave me”.

You have never felt so desperate, so broken, so sad. You can't barely breathe, not knowing if you're having a panic attack, an anxiety one, or you're just dying because of the pain imagining you're not going to see him for a long, long time. You never had a good relationship with your mother, and your father is the person you love the most in the world. You literally can't live without him.

“Papá, say something… please”.

The only thing he does is look at the broken screen of your phone, before giving it to you back licking his lips.

“I wasn't talking about the city, but about the county”. He finally speaks, grabbing the laptop as you come closer to have a look. “There's a campground on Mount Rainier. It's a national park surrounded by forests. People camp there and… go hiking, exploring nature. I was more into buying two trail bikes”.

“Aren't you…?”

“Seriously, (Y/N), who the fuck do you think I am?” Narrowing his eyes, he shakes his head, leaving away the laptop.

“I'm sorry… I just… hear yo—”.

“Nothing is what it seems to be”.

“I know… and I'm truly sorry, dad”.

“I'm sorry for hitting you last night. Let me see it”. Cupping your cheek into his hands, he takes a look at the small gap on your lower lip, leaning to kiss your forehead before hugging you with all his strength. “I'm sorry for setting you apart, mi amor. I didn' mean to do it”.

“I know, dad”. You whisper against his chest, feeling somewhat better when you're able to stop crying.

“You have to talk with Mikey, okay?” He says, pulling himself away and caressing your hair. You just nod clearing your tears.

Going out from the office, clinged to your father's waist, he leads you to the kitchen. His friend is there, having a sip from a mug of coffee resting against the counter. Leaving the drink over it, he stands up waiting for some words.

“Miguel, I am… sorry about last night. About taking your car and driving it after drinking… too much tequila”.

“It's okay, I accept your apologies”. He says then with a firm tone.

“I… ahm… I told my dad that I found an… offer job in a cafeteria, to pay you the bills”. You reply, showing him too on your phone. “Probably I will have to… work a double shift for… dunno, maybe ten years to afford it. But I will give it to you back”.

“You don't have to do it”.

“Yes, I have. I crashed it and I was arrested. That's a… lot of money, but I will earn it”.

Miguel looks at you father, visibly surprised because of your insistence and that you're being more responsible than they thought you will be. You sure they thought that you would set them on fire, or something like that. But here you are, swallowing your pride and trying to do the correct thing. 

“I want to make you… have clear the fact that I don't hate you, and that I am not your enemy, (Y/N). Your father is the only person I blinded trust in. We've been friends long before you were born and when he told me he was about to have a daughter, I was more excited than anyone”. Now, you are the surprised one, watching him grab an empty mug to pour some coffee into it before offering it to you. “He's my family, so you do. Sí lo entiendes, ¿verdad?” (Do you understand it, right?”

You nod pursing your lips, holding the drink.

“It's true that sometimes I forgot that he has a house and a daughter to attend to, but I don't do it consciously. I have a son too, I know how it feels to work too much, come back home tired and don't be able to spend time with your family. So, I had an idea”. He does a pause, raising a hand towards the close stook for you to sit on. “I need someone to help me to transcribe my countability books, look for money losses from the last years of my father's empire. And Nestor told me you like… numbers”.

“Yes, I… I do”.

“So, what if to pay my bills, you help me with that? It's a way to show you that I trust you too and that I want you closer too. Everybody wins. You will see your father more often, I will solve my… little problem with the accounts and maybe we can start to be friends”.

Jumping off from the stool, you hug him. You hug him like you never thought you would do one day. And now you're seeing how wrong you were about him.

“But first, enjoy the week with your father and try not to kill himself riding through the forest”. He chuckles, palming gently your back.

“A week?” You frown confused, pulling yourself away and turning to your father smirking with both hands inside the pockets of his pants. “Like… a whole week? From Monday to Sunday?”

“Actually… from Sunday to Sunday. We're leaving tomorrow”.

Not knowing when you have began to cry again, Nestor surrounds you with both arms against his chest, feeling a little more stupid after finding out what they were doing before you came to the house. Leaving some kisses on your head, your father urges you to look at him.

“Let's prepare the trip, okay? I also need to sleep for some… long, long, long hours”. Taking off from his right pocket the Cartel's phone, he leaves it on the counter. “I'm not gonna need it”.

“You sure?” Miguel jokes with him, grabbing it to keep it.

“Fucking sure, hermano”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry  

If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

[newobsessionweekly]

Flirting can drive you crazy 🌿

@remainingtouch said: hey!! i wanted to request an arón imagine ((: maybe one where you two have been flirty with eachother for a while but are both too scared to admit anything but then you finally have your first kiss?? 🥺🥺 i love what you write!

a/n: I hope it’s alright. It took me like ages to finish it and I wasn’t feeling alright today so that’s it for now. But I’ll try and write some more tomorrow. Enjoy 🌿 word count: 2.730

Arón Piper x reader🌿

You met Omar in your first year of high school. He was in the same class as your best friend back then. As the first year flew by, you tear apart from your best friend, being magnetized by all the brightness Omar emanates around him. You immediately became inseparable and, in fact, he was your first boyfriend. Nothing much happened between the two of you, maybe it would have if your family wouldn’t have been forced to move in England due to your father’s job. You haven’t talked or seen him, until one day you were walking down the street and saw a promo for some spanish Netflix series. You had to stare at that photo for minutes to realise is him. You were used to him smiling, all the photos you have together, he’s only a smile, a very dynamic person. It was strange to see him frowning, with a serious, angry expression. You realised then his dream came true and you broke your promise that you will be his date to the premiere of his first important role. He has changed in better and you no doubt what a talented actor he is. You weren’t a fan of tv series and that Netflix thing you considered useless, but you immediately created an account and binged first season in one night. You searched for his number, but you realised you lost it a long time ago. So shame of you. 

You were in Madrid for a week already and you just walked and visited all your favourite places. There aren’t many changes, but the city has developed so beautiful. You passed by the place where you had your first kiss with Omar and soon enough you were in front of the building he used to live. Used to live? Maybe he still lives there and you thought, why not, go and check. What could even go wrong? 

 As you reached the front door you realised his last name was stil on the mailbox. Your heart climb due to the excitement in your throath and you could even hear it beating. Your palms where so sweaty that you had to press the bell three times to ring properly.       

“¡Tener paciencia, ya voy!” you heard a voice behind the door and bit your bottom lip, trying to hold a stupid smile.

“Sabes que no tengo paciencia.” you responded as the door opened and you can clearly seen the hansome man. 

You both stared at each other maybe for too long, but you couldn’t say anything. How much time has passed? Almost five years have leacked without knowing anything about him. You had taken your time and stared at each other while from inside, curious eyes were searching the two of you. You could recognise those people, Polo, Ander, Guzmán, Nadia, Lu, this guy you didn’t remembered his name and Carla.  

“¡Joder!” he was in shock. Maybe it was a bad idea to show up at his door so suddently.

“What, little star? You forgot your first girfriend?” you laughed at him as on his face started to grow an imense smile. That’s the Omar you knew and missed so much. 

“You came back!” he exclaimed, opening his arms.

“And you waited!” as you jumped in his arms and welcomed his tight hug, you made eye contact with the actor that plays Ander. Joder, these people are looking even hotter in real life, starting with Omar and finishing with thig guy.

Omar invited you in and while he clossed the door, you searched the room and you found that he still has the photo with the two of you from the concert of your favourite band. Everyone was looking strangely at you until someone breake the silence.

“I tought we were supposed to be just us.” the blonde guy with a lot of freckles on his face spoke first.

“I could go and come back later if you want.” you responded, but Omar moved his hand and reduced you to silence.

“This is (y/n) and is the best friend I could ever ask for.” he smiled and everyone was looking at you, but you were hipnotised only by the curly headed one, with the brown sweet eyes and a “bad ass” expression. “And you, señorita, have the chance to meet in person the most important cast of Élite.” he was joking, of course, but presented you to everyone and you kissed cheeks with them. 

“We were about to watch the second season of Élite. Wanna join? After that you could stay the night and tell me everything.” Omar rubbed your back then sat on the floor, in front of the couch. You sat beside him, and rested your head on his shoulder.

Two episodes later, you were so caught in the action that you didn’t realised your position. At some point Arón parted his legs and set a pillow between them so you could rest your head. Omar looked suspiciously at you, but why would he? He raised his eyebrow at Arón before he walked to the window and lighted a cigarette. Well you knew he was smoking in the series, but not in real life. You must admit, he looks damn hot while doing that.

“What? I saved your puta hombro! I couldn’t see properly because of her head!” you laughed at his words and stretched a little. That floor was uncomfortable.

“¡Joder! Amigos, I have a photoshoot in half an hour! I gotta go!” Miguel announced as he grabbed his stuff and ran out the door.

Danna had to leave as well because she has a date with Jorge, the one that plays Valerio. Mina, Ester and Álvaro founded excuses to leave and Iztan left after the first episode.

Just you, Omar and Arón remained and opened a bottle of wine to the all the good and the bad times you’ve been through, but without each other.

“So, England, huh? Very strange people those britains.” Arón smiled before he took a sip from the red vine.

“They are, indeed! I couldn’t stand them anymore. I dropped Oxford and came back home!” you proudly answered the unspoken question.

“You dropped Oxford?” Omar asked you, visibly shocked. “That was your dream!”

“Are you nuts or something?” Arón asked then turned to Omar “¿Está loca?”

“I’m not crazy, thank you very much. But I’m home sick, alright? Even though I had my parents there, I couldn’t fit in. My heart was in Spain and I just couldn’t leave all my life here like it never happened.”

“Speaking of, you remember that bar you liked very much but closed after the end of the ninth grade?” you nodded. “It opened a few months ago and it’s magnificent!” you missed that apartament, you missed the round table, you missed the urban agglomeration and hearing Omar speaking spanish. Right now it felt like heaven.

“We should totally go there, like the old times!” you used to go there every day, eat a lot of fried potatoes and talk for hours about everything and nothing actually.

“Totally. Also, there’s a new coffee shop that I think you would adore. She’s an coffee addict.” Omar informed Arón laughing.

“Where is it?” your eyes shined. You indeed liked coffee very much. 

“I can actually show you. Are you free tomorrow?” the voice came from Arón and it was unexpected. 

“Are you asking me out?” you had a devilish smile on your face. 

“For God sake, you women! No, don’t get too excited. I’ll get you to drink the best coffee of your life! This place beats Starbucks’ ass so bad!” he seemd into this subject, maybe you had some things in common.

----------

As you established, the next day at noon Arón was there waiting for you. You stared too many minutes inside your closet, nothing seemd suitable for this date. Is it a date? Well, the other day you definetly flirted with each other. Omar told you he never saw Arón this way. You could say he’s an introvert, and a little shy, but did a brave move. When you finally picked a blue flourished dress, was already three minutes after the hour you decided to left home and get there in time. And because you put make up on and erased it two times made thirty minutes fly away. So when you left, you were already 5 minutes late. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I overslept!” you lied, of course. You didn’t want him to believe you get over your head because of this meeting.

“For a moment I thought you won’t show up.” he let the smoke come out from him moth as he extinguished his cigarette. You found him standing at a table outside, scrolling through his phone. He was wearing something simple, a t-shirt and some blue jeans, but he managed to look incredible. Even God love’s what is beautiful. You could tell this man is kissed by the Aphrodite, the Goddess of beauty herself.   ”All these insecurities are from that german blood? Because I know something about spanish people, we are damn confident! And people of word!” you sat down afront him and let your phone on the table.

“Someone did some research, I see.” in fact you did some research and stalked him on Instagram.

“How could I not? You are a hard to forget type! Anyway I couldn’t find much about you, only unnecessarily basics.” you were honest, because you are trying to gain his trust and friendship.

“I think we are on the same page here. All I know is your name and that you are a damn confident and direct person. Oh, and a woman of word, of course.” The waiter came with your orders and interrupted your conversation, but as he moved around you, clearing the ashtray for Arón, you were looking into the menu considering ordering maybe a muffin. But when you looked up,the waiter was already gone, and Arón was looking at you.  

“I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me.” you breake the silence, but never look away from his side. 

“In that outfit, who wouldn’t be?” he winked at you.

“So you that’s how you addmit you were staring at me?” you caught his sight while you bit your bottom lip and did’t retire.

“Well, you obviously caught me doing that, but guess what, you were staring too.” his tongue override his lips.  That was true, both of you were staring at eatch other, but how could you not stare at this handsome man? He stretched his back to get you back from your thoughts before he spoke. “There’s a small party saturday at some club in the centre, maybe I’ll see you there. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to go for a shooting.” he grabbed his phone and got up, but before he passed you stopped. You stood up as well and he initiate a hug. You were surprised, but when he whispered “It was nice to see you, beautiful!” you frozed. That was so nice of him, shame of you because you couldn’t say a thing. -------- Saturday you spent almost all day figuring out what you should wear and what kind of party is that. Two days ago you spent with Omar his birthday and had so much fun together. You haven’t told him about Arón’s invitation, however without telling him much about what happened, he still gave you strange looks. So this time you made sure to left the house and get there in time. You knew the club, but you didn’t knew how to find him, thus you find your way through the entrance where you find a man. “Name.” he said warely. You frowned. Was that a joke? Maybe Arón made fun of you and invited you to some party where couldn’t even get passed the door. The anger started to spread into your body along with the cold. Though Spain is a warm country is still spring and the nights are still not warm enough. 

“(y/n)” you responded. “Arón Piper knows I’m coming.” you thought the best option was to say the name of someone famous. “I mean, he doesn’t know I’m coming, but he invited me.” you begin to stutter and say nonsenses.  “Sure... wait a minute.” he was suspicious, you can tell. After he came back, he wasn’t alone. Arón followed the man outside and he faced a bright smile at the sight of you.  “You came!” he grabbed your hand and he led you to a table where everyone was looking strangely at you. Just as the first time. The only difference is that you knew their name this time.

“¡Hola!” you smiled at them wile you sat down next to Omar.

“What are you doing here?” he’s doesn’t mean to be rude, but it was a surprise for him to see you there. A good one.

“Arón invited me.” you shrugged.

“Strange, he didn’t mention a thing though. He’s kinda reserved when it comes to private things, like his birthday.” ha looked at you then sip from his cocktail.

“Yeah, he is very reserved.” you mumbled.

The fact that Arón didn’t tell you it was his birthday, made you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t be here. As Omar said, he is very reserved and a birthday party is for family and friends, and you were none of them. You searched the room and found Arón coming towards the table. You stood up quickly and stopped him.

“Why haven’t you told me is your birthday?” you confronted him.

“Well hello, Beautiful. What’s with that frowning?” he ignored your question as he handed you a drink.

“I didn’t get you anything!” you insisted. Well, actually he didn’t need anything from you because he can buys himself more than you could ever thought of. He put his drink and yours on the table then reached for you hand.

“That’s fine because I just need one thing from you.” he made his way towards the dance floor, still holding your hand.

What would he possibly need from you? You had milions of thoughts and questions running through your mind, but he erased them all when he grabbed your waist and urged you to do the same.

“You look very beautiful tonight.” he screamed over the music, before you could tell anything.

“You didn’t look bad yourself!” you smiled at him. Arón was stearing at your lips as you talked. “So what was that thing you needed?”

“Kiss me.” that came out of nowhere, he knew that too.

“What?”

“Kiss me, hermosa!”

You looked him questioning all the posibilities. He’s trying to make fun of you right now? Does he really want that? As you got stuck on your mind, he leaned towards you, but you could tell he’s too afraid to do something. You both stood there in the middle of the dance floor with your foreheads pressed and with eyes closed.

“You know,” he started and you smelled some cigarette mixed with alcohol and mint. It doesn’t smell bad at all. “I am very good at flirting, that’s why I’m so confident doing that,” you couldn’t agree more. You observed that, he’s a cocky guy when it comes to the things that he’s good at, and ¡Joder! he’s good at many things. “But when it comes to kiss a pretty girl, it’s more complicated, you know. I’m afraid not to mess things up.”

He’s talking nonsense. You rubbed you nose to his and made the bravest move you’ve ever done. You pressed your lips to his and smiled. He smiled too and kissed with so much desire, you were shocked. He’s a very sweet person when he’s not wearing that “bad ass” attitude. As you distanced from the kiss, he looked deeply in your eyes.

“I wanted to do that since the day one.” he laughed a little and smiled at you. He admired you on the dance floor long enough then he went for the drinks you abandoned on the table. Arón was the life of the party all night. He danced, he sang and was so happy, that you couldn’t stop smiling. You had the chance to met this amazing man and even kiss him, you were indeed grateful. Omar stood by your side and glanced at you two all night, but he was happy too.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Pieces

Title: Pieces Summary: Elena buried many members of her family over the years. It never got any easier. By comparison, dying herself was a piece of cake. Rating: K

Here’s my contribution to the @cococharityzine! It is available to buy now, so check it out. All money raised will go to RAICES (Refugee And Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services).

***

When her abuela died, Elena didn’t cry until it was all over. 

There was too much to do - the funeral to organize and by God, however frugally Abuela had preferred to live, they would give her one fit for a queen. She and Victoria had done most of it: their mother was too lost in her grief for the woman who’d raised her on her own, their father was glued to her side, and their tíos were sort of wandering lost like a compass without a North. Tía Rosita had tried, she truly had, but she’d burst into tears more often than not. 

Franco had helped, silent as he often was, though his main contribution had been holding her back before she maimed the idiota who had dared ask what sort of music they would want for Abuela’s funeral. Such an insult warranted the reaction, Elena would maintain for years to come. And, after all, she could handle grief better than she handled anger. Victoria had disappeared around the same time to come back looking almost perfectly calm, if not for the redness in her eyes. Many people thought her cold, like they thought their grandmother to be made of ice, but they didn’t really know her, did they?

They didn’t know her at all. 

***

When Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe died, together as they were born, Elena laughed before she cried. 

They all did - laughed until they cried and cried until they laughed again, marveling at how they had lasted precisely three months without their sister. They had tried to convince them not to try building a car on their own, but of course only their sister had ever put enough fear of God in them to stop their crazy projects in their tracks. 

To be entirely fair, their car had worked perfectly, if not for the detail they both had forgotten to give it brakes. 

Elena liked to think that somewhere, somehow, her abuela was giving them a piece of her mind.

*** 

When Tía Rosita died of something the médico referred to as meningitis, Elena cried together with her papá, who looked like his heart had been torn out of his chest. 

He’d lost a sister and so had her mother, who’d always wanted one and found her in Rosita - with her delicious food and bright smiles and incoherent noises when excited, the smothering embraces and too-powerful pats in the back that made you nearly topple over. 

People grieved for her outside the family as well. They all were respected and rather liked, but she had been loved: the day of the wake their house had been full of people who’d known her, as well as every single owner of a market stall where she’d stopped by to chat every week while buying groceries. With so many strangers at home, Elena had forced herself to stop weeping, and she hadn’t started again. 

Rosita was just the kind of person you remember with a smile. 

***

When her papá died, Elena put off crying as long as she could. 

There was a lot to shoulder now, because Victoria had helped last time and now she couldn’t, her own health in decline for reasons doctors didn’t seem able to figure out. Walking for long left her winded, and all she could do was looking after little Berto. Their grieving mother had disappeared in the workshop, and hardly came out, so Elena struggled to stay afloat, to organize everything. 

Without Franco stepping up - quiet and reliable Franco, so much like her father, she only truly noticed it now - she might have drowned. It wasn’t something she’d admit, but it was known and understood. Finally resting on the bed with him, little Berto between them, Elena thought back to her mother emerging from the workshop with shoes she had made for her husband, polished with all the love in the world, for him to be buried in.

She cried herself to sleep, and her husband stroked her hair without saying anything. 

*** 

When Victoria died, Elena was too stunned to cry. 

It was not sudden or unexpected: she had been sick, they had known it was coming. But the sense of unreality was still there, making her feel like she was moving underwater. She’d been prepared to bury her grandmother, her uncles, her aunt, her father; each loss, painful as it was, was bound to happen sooner or later. But a sister, barely a few years older than herself - no. 

She hadn’t been prepared for it; she hadn’t been prepared for the gut-wrenching cry of grief that would leave her mother before she fell silent, too, gaze empty and fixed ahead. If Elena hadn’t been prepared to bury her sister, their mother hadn’t been prepared to bury her daughter. No parent ever really is.

Elena let Franco step in with organizing the funeral and stayed with her mother. She helped her dress Victoria in her best Sunday attire, put on her best shoes, and they sat together in silence. With an arm around her mother’s shoulders, her son clinging to her leg and a new life already growing in her, Elena grieved for her sister and prayed she would never know the sort of grief her mother was going through now. 

*** 

When her mother died, she still had a smile on her lips.

It was the smile of someone who’s ready to go; someone whose past was no longer shrouded in fog, who could look back to her life and at the faces of her family, and move on with the knowledge she had no regrets.

There was music at her funeral, the first such occurrence in a century for their family. Elena had yet to grow fully used to it, but it no longer felt like an insult: it was simply their parting gift. She was sure her grandmother would understand.  

So she closed her eyes, listened, and the vise-like grip around her heart began to loosen.

*** 

I miss her too.

Miguel doesn’t speak but ah, the arm around her and the way he leans in tells  Elena exactly that. And Elena doesn’t feel like crying now, not really, however fresh the loss is: her mamá is smiling at her from the photo and oh, she’s gone so many years without seeing her smile. She cried the first time her mother failed to recognize her - thought she’d lost her - until the little man by her side brought her back, somehow. They got more time together, and she feels it was enough. 

“We’ll go help mamá,” Miguel says, and walks out, jostling little Coquito in his arms and causing her to giggle. Elena smiles, and turns back to the ofrenda. Her gaze pauses for a moment on the man she’s never known, and hated regardless most of her life, but she finds she has nothing to say to him. He was the first loss, before she was even born, but she only knows him through songs and her mother’s few memories, and it doesn’t seem enough. 

Maybe one day, after she is dead as well, she’ll know more of him. For now, she only turns to the people she has known, and loved, and buried. 

“You’d be proud of him,” she says. “You’d be proud of them all. They’re a lot like you, you know?” she adds, and she realizes how true it was only as it leaves her lips. 

She sees Imelda in Miguel’s stubborn streak, and Rosita in Gloria’s smile, and Victoria in Rosa’s composure and remarks. She sees her uncles whenever Benny and Manny build a monstrosity out of leather scraps, and she sees her father in the infinite patience Abel has with them, in his meekness. She can even hear her mother’s girl-like laughter, the one she had in times long gone, whenever little Socorro laughs. She always believed firmly that the dead do visit, once a year, their loved ones. She still does - but she knows now that they have never truly left. 

With preparations for Día de los Muertos ongoing, Elena still finds a few minutes to go upstairs and have a quiet cry. 

*** 

When Franco dies, he goes quietly as he’s lived; so quietly, in fact, that Elena doesn’t realize he’s gone until she shakes him to wake him up.

“Just a siesta,” he said, “before I finish up those soles.”

No soles are finished up that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

She organizes no funerals this time. She can’t. Her last clear memory is shaking her husband to awaken him; all that follows feels like a dream, images and sounds drowned in static. 

Soon enough she reasons, she will open her eyes to find herself shaking Franco’s arm, and he will open his own. Lo siento, he’ll say sheepishly, I overslept.

She’ll roll her eyes, but tell him to take it easy that afternoon - that she’ll ask Enrique to finish the job for him. There is no such thing as retirement in their household, not as long as one’s able to work, but age has crept up on them and it’s best to be careful on hot days like this one. It can take so little for one’s heart to give out, and-- and--

Coquito’s fiesta de quince años. She turns fifteen next month. He’s going to miss it.

The thought tears through the fog in the mind, through denial and through her heart. It drags her back to a reality where she’s sitting in their living room  with her family around her - all of them except for her husband, who lays in a casket in the next room. It’s almost enough to break her. 

But there are arms around her, several pairs, holding tight enough to keep the pieces together. They will never fit together quite the same way again - they never do, each time there is something that’s just missing - but for now, it is enough.

***

When Elena dies, she… freaks out.

All things considered, she’ll reason later, no one could blame her. Firmly believing in an afterlife is one thing. Going to bed in the evening to wake up someplace she has never seen to be greeted by skeletons is another entirely.

“Stay back!”

“Señora Rivera, por favor, let us explain--”

One of the skeletons dares peer at her from behind the desk, only to get its skull knocked clean off by a flying stapler. He yelps, and the other speaks quickly in a small radio. “Ignacio, I think we need reinforcement here!”

“Feisty new arrivals, huh? How many?”

“One.”

“... You can’t handle one--”

“Send reinforcements and shut your face!”

Oh no, Elena thinks, if they think calling up a few more bags of bones can take her down, they are very much mistaken. She bares her teeth in a snarl, reaching to grab the closest object to hurl it at the skeleton staring at her from… from…

Elena stills. The world stills. The paperweight falls from her hand, a skeletal hand, as she keeps staring at the object they’re holding up in front of her like a shield. Except that it’s no shield. It’s a mirror.

“Oh.”

“Please, listen to us. We mean you no harm. You’re in the Land of the Dead.”

Ah. So she… died. She blinks, and slowly lowers her arm. The skeleton in the mirror does the same.

“So, er. We have informed--”

“I’m dead.”

“Sí.”

“I-- you-- why didn’t you just say so?”

“What-- we tried, if you just would listen--”

“I have to go back.”

“Excuse me?”

Later she will see it was an entirely impossible demand, more than slightly unreasonable. Right there and then, she doesn’t even think of it. I must go home, is all she can think. 

“Just a week or-- you don’t understand, my youngest granddaughter is going to university. We were all going to celebrate together, Miguel was going to be back from his tour, so you’ll send me back or else--”

“The dead cannot go back, señora - except for Día de los Muertos, that is. I’m sorry. But, we have contacted your family on this side. They will be here soon, and we’ll sure that will make the situation much easier to handle.”

Elena’s words - I need to go back to my family - die in her non-existent throat, realization finally dawning in. She is dead, but so are they. They are here. Her family is here, too. 

“Where--” she begins, but never gets to ask. 

“Elena?”

Heart leaping in her throat - and never mind she no longer has either - Elena spins to see… more skeletons. 

The group comes to a halt a few steps past the doorway, eyes - why do they have eyes? - shifting to look across the devastated room, at the skeletons still hiding behind the desk. Elena stares, but has no time to try imagining familiar features over those bones: almost right away one of them steps forward, closer to her.  And that mustache, the eyebrows-- she’d recognize those anywhere. 

“Ah,” he says, giving a gap-toothed smile. “Here’s mi esposa.”

“... Franco?”

“Yes,” the smile wides, and he takes a step forward. “Ay, I’ve missed--”

“A siesta, you said!”

He recoils. “Well--”

“And then you went and died on me!”

“Lo sient--”

“Not even a goodbye!”

“I just fell asleep and--”

“You were there and then you weren’t and--” Elena’s voice cracks, which is bad because her voice never cracks; but then Franco is holding her and that is good, even though it’s bone on bone and unlike anything she’s felt before. Something is still familiar at a deeper level, and she clutches him back. 

“Estúpido.”

“Lo siento.”

“I missed you.”

“Missed you t--”

“Awww, look at that!”

“Like when they were kids!”

Elena blinks, and pulls back just enough to look over Franco’s shoulder to a pair of tall, identical skeletons with very, very familiar voices. And very, very familiar grins. 

“All that’s missing is a shoe on her head!”

“Or any shoes, really.”

“Died in your sleep, huh?”

“It would also explain the nightgo--”

“Do you mind? I think they’re trying to have a moment here.”

Victoria. 

It is her, it has to be her. Elena stares, stunned, and this time she can actually see her features over the skeleton; her voice hasn’t changed, nor her posture, nor that tilt of her head before she speaks. Her hair is all black - it brings home, truly, just how young she was when she died. 

“Hola, hermanita,” she says, and Elena finds herself muttering the first thing that comes to her mind.

“... I look like I could be your mother now.”

“Ah, I believe I still hold that role.” Someone steps forward, and there’s no mistaking who she is, nor the man by her side. She holds out skeletal hands, and calls out. “It’s so good to see you, mija.”

The next several minutes are a blur. There will be time to think of the living family she left behind, to miss them, but right now all she can think of are the people she just got back. There are hugs and laughter and pats on the back, plus some full-on sobbing from the imposing skeleton Elena recognizes, after a few moments, as her Tía Rosita. 

It’s a whirlwind of questions and emotions and oh do they have so much to catch up with - and it takes a while for Elena to realize that something is missing. Someone, more accurately. 

“Where’s Abuela?”

The question causes everyone to fall silent. They look at each other. The collectively roll their eyes and turn to the door. Now that it’s quiet, Elena can finally hear her voice just around the corner… and a voice she doesn’t recognize at all.

“Por Dios, Héctor, come on and meet your granddaughter!”

“Waaaait wait wait wait wait. Wait. Wait.”

“What?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will, everything was cleared up.”

“Wait! You forgot one thing!”

“What!”

“... What if she still hates my guts? Because if she comes at me with a shoe--”

“You don’t have any guts, and I’ll protect you.” Mamá Imelda’s voice sounds more amused than annoyed, now. “Come on, walk-- no, let go of that door… ay, it’s like trying to bathe Pepita!”

“I-- can’t.”

“Héctor.”

“Call it stage fright. How about I go home and wait-- no, no, wait--”

There is a smacking sound, and suddenly a skeleton tumbles through the door and into the room, landing at Elena’s feet with a yelp. She blinks. He looks up and grins sheepishly, showing off a golden front tooth. 

“Huh. Hi?”

“... The músico,” Elena hears herself saying. His smile wavers. 

“Yeeeeah, well, I am aware there’s been some bad PR from my part, but-- you see, here’s a funny story-- when Miguel was here--”

“What Miguel was-- what?”

“One thing at a time, Héctor,” the familiar voice of her abuela rings out, causing Elena to look up. There she is, composed and dignified as she remembers, minus of course the skin. And flesh. And nose and other bits. But the smile, that rare fond smile reserved to her family - that has stayed the same. 

“... Hola, Elena,” her grandmother says. “It’s good to have you back.”

[allie1804-fan]

Please Assist Me (Chapter 20)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10 , Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15 , Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19

She Said

The spectacle of an entirely speechless Keanu was one to behold when he unwrapped the test. I’d been bursting with the news since the morning before when I got the result so it had been an endurance test for me not to have anyone to share it with for over 24 hours. I knew there were long months ahead to get through but it was lovely to share the joy of this moment with him and go to sleep secure in his arms after almost a month apart.

My mind since finding out had been racing, projecting forwards to how far along I’d be by key dates like the summer holidays, Keanu finishing John Wick 4 filming, the Matrix 4 Premiere …… and I was worried about the immediate future too.  I hadn’t been especially sick with either of my previous pregnancies but I had been incredibly tired. With Eva, I was doing modelling contracts but not every day so, on days off, I remember just sleeping for ages. Obviously with Miguel, I had a toddler to care for so I couldn’t nap unless she did but I sure took advantage of that time whenever I could. I was also worried about the home schooling which was really full on. How was I going to soldier on through that? And by the time Keanu would be home again, I reckoned I’d already be nearly 20 weeks along. I suppose he would at least be there as the strain on my body got greater.

I also told myself not to get ahead of myself. It was such early days and whilst I’d not suffered a miscarriage myself, I had plenty of friends who had in these early stages. And the spectre of stillbirth was also there because of Keanu’s own experience. Until this baby was here, I was sure neither of us would rest easy.  I didn’t really want to share the news with the kids until the pregnancy was better established. I was pretty sure they’d be pleased but they might worry about the new baby somehow taking priority and if the worst happened, I didn’t want to have to explain about how not all babies make it to full term to an 9 and 7 year old. But I also knew friends who had kept their pregnancies secret, suffered a miscarriage and then felt they couldn’t share the pain of the loss afterwards so maybe openness was the best option with our close friends and family and maybe even the kids. I’d have to add this decision to my list of things to talk about with Keanu.

 He Said

When I woke up the next morning,  my first reaction was to pull the human hot water bottle in front of me into my chest, relishing being together again. And then I remembered. She wasn’t just my partner anymore but also the mother to be of my child.

A big smile spread over my face at this thought. Then worry creased my brow.

Sophia had said she reckoned she was around 8 weeks along - that left 32 roughly for anxiety and things to go wrong!

She’d managed to book a scan for before my return to New York so we’d hopefully get to see the baby, tiny dot that it would be, and get the dates confirmed.

She actually reckoned it was that amazing day in NY that we’d conceived. The dates were right and she remembered someone telling her years ago that your chances were better if the woman also climaxed when the man did as this had the effect of sucking up the sperm further with the contractions in the vagina. Who knows if there’s any truth in that but I certainly remembered the powerful sensation of being sucked into her very well!

32 weeks. Man that seemed like forever. And the dates were a little freaky too. If you calculated by her dates, then the baby was due on New Year’s Day 2021. Ava had been due in early January and was born sleeping on Christmas Eve 1999. Jen and I had conceived after being careless after a Matrix Premiere party. At least this time, there was nothing accidental about this baby and no nagging doubts about the relationship.

We’d have to tell Cheryl in case anything got leaked and then there were the kids and our families to consider. I was cautious but also remembered my therapist’s advice - the one I’d seen in my 40s after years of suppressing the processing of my trauma after Ava & Jen’s deaths. She had tried to get me to accept that worrying about things on your own was never healthy and that being hopeful that good things will come doesn’t jinx things and nor does preparing for bad things to happen stave them off magically. I rationalised that all we could do was take care, have regular check ups and try to enjoy the journey.

I know Sophia was probably more anxious than her first pregnancies, in part due to her age but also due to what had happened to me and Jen. I decided to suggest we hire some help with the home-schooling to ease the daily stresses of her life in the coming months.

And all these thoughts had gone through my mind before Sophia even woke up!

Eventually I felt her stir and she turned in my arms to give me a sleepy morning kiss

“Morning handsome”

“Morning beautiful mama”

She smiled

“Oh you’re not gonna be one of those men who reduces their partner to a mere vessel for their child are you?”

That made me chuckle.

“Naaah, but you’ll let me be a little bit excited right?”  I placed my hand on her belly  again.

“ Right” she said and leaned in to given me a gentle kiss which quickly deepened into something more heated. Then she pulled away and looked over at the clock.

“We don’t have time lover boy”

I groaned, but knew she was right, - it was already 5 to 7

“Hey get used to it! And Don’t worry we have tomorrow to ourselves”

I gave her a quick squeeze and just then Eva and Miguel burst into the room.

“Keanuuu” was their first cry and so the day began!

 She Said

On Keanu’s first day back, it was a school day so he got to witness  the transformation of my dining room into a mini classroom with each kid stationed in front of a laptop with headphones in on an off for a morning with exercises to do in-between. Luckily, although there were 5 kids, they were only spread across 2 year groups so 3 (9 year olds) had one set of exercises and 2 (the 7 year olds) had another. He helped out by listening in to the 7 year old’s lesson while I supported Eva’s year group with theirs. Miguel delighted in bragging that Duke Caboom was helping him with his addition, making Keanu give the teacher a little wave on the zoom screen.

After lunch together, Keanu sent me off for a nap and sat down to read them all  some chapters of the Roald Dhal story we had started and then and got them all playing quiet games like hangman and battleships for a while. When I came in,  they had just started watching “Up”. I tried to suggest an alternative but it was too late and they were all set on it. I mean, I love that movie but I had a feeling Keanu wouldn’t have seen it before and he wouldn’t be expecting one of the early moments. I was proved right when he made a rapid exit to the kitchen when that scene played out and I followed him to make sure he was alright.

He was leaning over the sink, trying to pull himself together and I slipped my arms around him, whispering.

“It will be OK darling, we’ll take all the care in the world to keep this baby safe and well, I promise! We just have to take it one day at a time”

He turned then and held me close and didn’t speak for a few more minutes, stifling a couple of sobs against my shoulder. When he’d got himself a bit more together, he  pulled back and looked at me, eyes a little red from crying.  He let about a shaky breath before speaking.

“Sorry - that just took me by surprise and, it was, it was like all my worries in the few hours since finding out were playing out on the screen and it was “ he shook his head. “It’s just a bit  overwhelming how much I want this baby with you and how horrifying the prospect of losing them is”

“I know sweetheart, me too, me too and I tried to get them to pick another movie but they were already set on it!”

“Yeah, I’d heard good things but I didn’t know the detail.”

“It’s wonderful, you should see it through for the pay off!”

 He Said

That evening as we were both slumped on the sofa, exhausted from the 5 kid day, I told Sophia my thought about getting her some support with the home-schooling. I thought she might be all “superwoman” about it but she admitted to finding it gruelling even today with my support and a little nap.

“I just can’t describe how energy sapping it is being pregnant. It’s not like I’m doing anything out of the ordinary but “

 “Hold it hold it, you’re growing a human being, don’t call it nothing out of the ordinary!”

“You know what I mean! And women have been doing this for thousands of years at the same time as tilling the land or working in a factory. Getting help does seem a bit ridiculous but at the same time, I so want it! What do you think the others will think?”

“What Julie and Miranda?”

“Yeah. I mean are they going to feel I’m cheating or something!”

“Not if you explain why ......”

“Yeah, about that. How do you feel about telling people?”

“Weeeell” I rubbed my chin thinking it over. “There are pros and cons right? I’m probably pro on balance because I think being open is probably better mental health wise. I don’t know about the kids. I mean it would be hard if you told them and ....

“And something went wrong ..... like in ‘Up’?”

“Yeah like in ‘Up’.” I squeezed her hand remembering earlier.

“I mean, actually maybe ‘Up’ is the answer. They’ve watched it before and I think we had a little chat about that scene the first time around so ....”

“Ok, so let’s go for it”

“Ok, Tomorrow if the scan is ok, deal?”

The next day, we drove together to the hospital but I dropped Sophia off first just so we wouldn’t be making an entrance together. We were also both masked up and I wore a beanie so hopefully we’d escaped any opportunist paps.

The wait was brief in the obgyn waiting area thankfully and we went in having a brief chat first to confirm when Sophia’s last period was etc before she was asked to lie down for the scan.

I  gripped her hand - I don’t know which of us was more nervous!

The screen showed a cone shape black area which was the uterus as revealed by the ultrasound waves and then there was a tiny circle which flashed in and out of view  - the doctor explained that was the heartbeat.

We each had tears of joy rolling down our faces.

The doctor left for a few minutes while Sophia wiped away the jelly and got dressed again.  I pulled her up for a kiss, still choked up.

“Thank you”

“No Thank you!” was her reply.

 She Said

After the relief of the scan, we made the next appointment for the end of the first trimester which Keanu was aiming to fly back for. Then we headed home, with me meeting Keanu in the car park rather than walking out together, again hoping to avoid any stalking paps. We picked up some lunch from a deli and headed back home. After our meal, Keanu sent me to take a nap – he had some e mails to catch up on regarding the upcoming shoot schedule and he could see that the visit had taken it out of me. I snoozed for a couple of hours, waking to find Keanu had joined me and was spooning me with his arm slung around me, hand on my belly again. I didn’t mind him being possessive of it!

I stretched and slowly turned round to see if he was sleeping too but he quickly opened his eyes.

“Hey, is that better?”

“uh huh – I needed that thanks”

“How long do we have before we have to fetch the kids?”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly 3”

“OK, well we have an hour and a half”

“time to show you how much I’ve missed you he said in a low voice, while softly stroking my breasts through my t-shirt, that OK?”

“mmmm more than OK”

We had slow, gentle sex and I delighted in the fact that we could vary from the intense, the jokey, gentle or wild when it came to sex, whatever felt right and this soft focus version was just what I needed right then, being in the unenergetic pregnant state that I was with tender breasts and erratic emotions.

Over at Julie’s we left the kids to play in the garden for a while and we embarked on telling her our news and the plan to get a tutor to help me with home-schooling on my days. Luckily she was both delighted at our news and happy with the tutor plan. I promised to keep her and Miranda involved with the process and then we headed home with the kids being the next ones to receive the news once we’d eaten dinner.

 He Said

As dinner plates were cleared away, we told the kids to stay put as we had some news.  Sophia was the one to tell them that she was going to have a baby so they would hopefully have a baby brother or sister in the New Year.

Eva was attuned to the language and quickly asked

“Why only hopefully?”

“Well, right now I’m pregnant, you know that word right? And the baby is very, very small, just developing and growing. And sometimes babies don’t develop right and so there isn’t a baby in the end.  Do you remember that happened to Ellie and Carl in “Up”? Hopefully everything will be just fine and the doctors and Keanu will be looking after me really well but I can’t promise you, OK?

“But I don’t want you to be sad like Carl and Ellie” Eva’s eyes had already filled with tears.

“Me either” Miguel whined.

I could see Sophia’s lip quavering too and swung into action, standing up and lifting first Miguel and then Eva to stand on their chairs which I pulled near to me.

“Come on Sophia, over here for a group hug.”

So we all stood together and hugged them close while I repeated what Sophia had said.

“We all want this little baby to come, I know and like Mom said, I am going to look after her and the doctors and you two too and everything should be absolutely fine, OK so try not to worry and just be super helpers to your Mom while she has all this work to do, looking after you two OK?”

They both solemnly nodded.

“Can we have a brother?” Miguel asked excitedly?

“Now that I definitely can’t guarantee!” I said laughing. You don’t get to choose if it’s a boy or a girl”

“What do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter to me one little bit – just a healthy brother or sister for you two.

The mood had lifted at last though I could tell it had been hard on Sophia.

 She Said

 After the kids had gone to bed, the tears I’d had to hold in when we were telling them about the baby flooded out.

“Tough huh?” Keanu said after I’d stopped crying and dried my eyes.

“You know it was less about the baby and more just their loss of innocence. It  reminded me of how I felt when my parents told me they were getting a divorce.  I guess it’s the moment when you realise life isn’t all candy bars and unicorns!”

“Yeah I know but look how strong and resilient you are now -  it was  tough but it will help them in the long run. A dose of reality isn’t necessarily a bad thing”

“Yeah but the look on Eva’s face broke my heart a little bit!”

“I know, but what a lovely, loving little girl - what she said about not wanting you to be sad like Carl and Ellie …..”

“Stop it, you’ll make me cry again!”

“Well that’s not hard!”

“Shudup you, you!”

“What?”

“You gorgeous lovely man, I guess!”

@fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithk’eanu @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @keanureevesisbae @penwieldingdreamer @witty-wallflower @paperplanesandwallflowers @bitchyslut99 @ladyreapermc @toomanystoriessolittletime @fanficsrusz @keanuficfiles @bitchyslut99

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 9

Alma laid in an empty, white room. She rose to her feet and paced the area, searching for something but not knowing what. She didn’t know if she walked for minutes, hours, or days. The room had no concept of time or space. It was never-ending nothingness. A sweet smell tickled her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, relieved to have found something in the room. But the smell went from pleasant to horrific. It became too much. It made her eyes water. It made her stomach churn. It burned her throat causing her to hack. Hey eyes shot open. Fairy blue dust clouded the room. Panic rippled through Alma's body as she swatted at the air. The dust cloud grew thicker and deeper in color. The dust changed into a liquefied state. It coiled around Alma’s body, squeezing her tighter as it inched closer to her face.

As if with the flip of a light switch, the room darkened into a pitch black. The liquified dust transformed into a dark green serpent. It almost camouflaged with the darkness. The serpent’s eyes were golden with slitted pupils that bore into her soul. It’s scaly body slowly made its way around her neck. Alma gasped for air but choked from the pressure the serpent applied on her throat. No amount of wriggling or thrashing could help her escape the serpent’s snare. Her face started to change color from the lack of air. Hot tears streamed down Alma’s face. Her bladder released its contents. Her body shook uncontrollably. “You’re a liar. Your ability will always be mine. You’ll never escape me, (Y/n).” The serpent’s voice was raspy, and it stretched its words. The voice was familiar. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in five years. Alma tried to scream but there was no sound. The serpent let out a malicious laugh before sinking its fangs into Alma’s cheek. The venom was like lava coursing through her veins.

Alma sprung up from her bed. Her breaths were sporadic. She clawed at her face like the imaginary, burning venom still flowed within her. After a few seconds, she calmed herself. Alma put a hand on her forehead. “I’m still having these damn nightmares.” She whispered, aggravated. She reached for parents’ wedding bands on top of her small drawer. She pulled the string over her head and clutched the rings close to her chest. She breathed deep and exhaled. “It's okay. They’ll go away with time.” She repeated the phrase over and over, forcing herself to believe it.

Alma swung her legs over the edge of her bed. She grabbed the sketchpad sandwiched between her drawer and bed. She flipped through drawings of her siblings, Bruno, and landscapes until she landed on a blank page. She removed the charcoal pencil buried in the pad’s spiral and began to sketch. She shaded the entire page except for the middle. Alma poured her fears and anxieties onto the page as she drew the serpent's eyes in the middle. The eyes stared back at her with the same fervor as if she were still in her nightmare. She quickly closed the book and slid it into its original spot.

A soft knock rattled against her door. “Come in.” Alma said. The door opened and Miguel walked inside the room. “I thought I heard you scream earlier. You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Alma replied. She patted the spot next to her. Miguel huddled beside her. Their shoulders pressed together. Alma poked his cheek and sighed. His chubby cheeks were a result of baby fat. They slimmed down over the past year to Alma’s dismay. He still kept his hair shoulder length. His lanky body made it up to Alma’s upper arm. “Yeah, no more cheek pinching for you.” Miguel said, sticking out the tip of his tongue.

Alma playfully shoved his shoulder with her own. “Don’t be a butt. The other two awake yet?”

Miguel shook his head. “They’re gonna be up soon. I tried making breakfast, but the eggs were too salty.”

Surprise decorated Alma’s features. “You tried making breakfast? You know me or Marco will cook for you guys.”

“I know, but he’s in the restaurant. And I like making less work for you.”

Alma jutted her bottom lip and brought Miguel into a tight embrace. Miguel’s maturity for his age never ceased to amaze Alma. He may have burned food sometimes or got the house messy while babysitting Isabella and Emilio, but his efforts were endearing nonetheless. He gently pushed Alma off of him. “Alma, you don’t need to hug me for every little thing.”

“But I want to reward you for trying to help me. I guess because you're a growing boy, you don’t want your big sister hugging you all the time. I’ll tell you what. When we move into the new apartment, I’ll save up to buy you a new game.”

Miguel’s face lit up. “Really!”

Alma chuckled. “Really.”

Miguel pumped a fist into the air. Alma shooed him out of her room so she could get dressed. She threw on a pair of blue denim shorts and a black, long sleeved shirt. As she exited her room, Isabella and Emilio bumbled out of their rooms. Emilio was up to her waist now. His ponytail swayed against the bottom of his neck. With all he ate on a daily basis, Emilio somehow maintained the same lanky body as Miguel. Even though they had different fathers, Miguel and Emilio were like twins excluding their different eye colors. “Buon Giorno, Alma.” Sleep still lingered in Emilio’ voice.

“Buon Giorno, Emilio, Isabella.”

Isabella yawned and pressed her head into Alma’s thighs. She squatted a bit to rub Isabella’s back. Alma assumed Isabella would grow to look like her brothers despite her albinism. But the opposite happened. She mostly took after her mystery father. She shared little physical resemblance with anyone else in the family.

“You guys go brush your teeth. I’ll make us a quick breakfast. We have to go sign the last of the paperwork today before we move into the apartment next week.” Alma said.

“Okay.” Isabella and Emilio responded in unison. They headed to the bathroom while Alma and Miguel went to the kitchen. Alma ate a spoonful of Miguel’s eggs. Her lips puckered. Miguel gazed at her like he was waiting for a judge to give him his verdict. Alma had to brace herself to swallow. She grabbed the counter and strained a smile. “The eggs weren’t that bad.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to like it.”

Alma opened the trashcan and emptied the pan. She cooked a new batch of less salty eggs. Her siblings sat at the table as she served them. Emilio wolfed down his share and pushed his plate towards Alma. She placed her hand on her hip. “You just want seconds. You don’t need seconds Emilio.”

Emilio scowled at her grumbling, “Fine.”

After eating breakfast, they went downstairs into the restaurant. Marco squished Alma’s cheeks in his hands. “Do you guys really have to move out?”

Alma gently grasped his wrists and lowered his hands. “I told you didn’t I. I would be out of your place in five years.”

Marco interweaved his hands with hers. “Well, If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.“

“Even if I didn’t ask, you would give me what I needed anyway. I can’t thank you enough for helping me get this apartment and taking caring of us for these past five years.” He let go of her hands and bear hugged her. Alma’s feet dangled off the ground. He dropped her and did the same with each of her siblings. He waved goodbye to them as they departed for the apartment complex.

The building was only a twenty minute minute walk from the restaurant. By the time she arrived, the building owner was waiting for her inside the apartment.

“Hello Mrs. Calamaro. Are you ready to do the last bit of paperwork for this place?” The owner asked.

“Yes, I am.” Alma motioned for her siblings to go inside. “You guys go hang out in the living room for me. After this, we can go get ice cream.”

Her siblings’s eyes sparkled as they ran into the living room. Alma set her bag at the door and followed the realtor into the kitchen. The apartment was on the ninth floor of a ten story complex. It had three bedrooms and one bathroom. The living room and kitchen were tight fits but not unmanageable. The highlight of the apartment was the balcony. Alma daydreamed about all the late nights she could spend drawing on it with the city lights shining in front of her.

The owner laid a piece of paper in front of her. “Okay Mrs. Calamaro, by signing here you are agreeing to a two year lease. The rent on this place is 400 dollars a month along with utilities. Now mind you, the only reason your rent is so cheap is because I owe Marco one. You will pay your rent directly to me and not the front desk. This is to avoid complications with the other tenants. I don’t need anyone breathing down my neck about favoritism. Understand?”

Alma nodded. “Yes. Thank you so much for dropping the rent for me.”

The owner of the building, Mr. Moreci, was an old acquaintance of Marco’s from his college days. He owed Marco for helping him when he was low on money. Because of that, Mr. Moreci vowed to assist Marco if he were ever in need. Alma appreciated that Marco used one of those favors to get her a great rate on the apartment.

“No problem.” Mr. Moreci handed Alma pen. She read the information in the contract one last time and signed. Mr. Moreci stuck out his hand to Alma. “It will be a pleasure to have you move in next Saturday, Mrs. Calamaro.”

She gave his hand a  firm shake. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Next Saturday came in a flash. Marco held Alma in his arms and nuzzled his cheek on top of her head. “I’m gonna miss you guys.” He sniffled.

Alma returned his hug. “Marco, it’s not like we’re leaving forever. I’m just moving down the street.”

“I know, I know. I just wish you would have waited until the summer to move out. That way, you would’ve still been living here when you graduated high school.”

“I graduate in the next few weeks so it’s not that bad. Anyway, Bruno and Angelo are waiting for us at the apartment.”

Marco reluctantly released Alma. He passed her a gift basket filled with sweets. “Your sweet tooth is insatiable. So I packed this for you.”

Alma dug through the basket. She stopped at a small white box. Her eyes gleamed like a child in a candy store. “Is this what I think it is?” She asked, her voice raising in pitch.

Marco hummed. “Caramel cannoli. I remember you saying it was your favorite dessert when you lived in Sicily. I’m better at cooking than baking, but I wanted to make something special for you. Tonio probably would have made it better though.”

Alma put the basket on the table and wrapped her arms around Marco, tightening her grip. “It doesn’t matter. It’s gonna taste great. But it is a shame that Tonio moved to Japan last year. I miss him.”

“I do too.” Marco said.

Alma kissed Marco’s cheek before leaving the restaurant.

Since Alma did not have many possessions, the move took little time.

“Where do you want the couch Alms?” Angelo asked.

Alma pointed in the middle of the living room. “Over there.”

Bruno and Angelo lowered the couch onto the ground. Angelo dusted off his hands. “That’s everything, right?”

“Yup.” Alma said, pouring lemonade into two glasses. Her siblings zipped past everyone to place dibs on their new rooms. Alma called out to them, “The biggest room is my room. The next biggest room belongs to Emilio and Miguel.”

“Why does Isabella get her own room?” Emilio shouted.

“Because she’s a girl and needs her space.” Alma retorted.

Alma carried the glasses to Angelo and Bruno. They thanked her and drank the lemonade. Alma’s eyes flickered from Angelo to Bruno. Angelo used to have several inches on Bruno, but now they were the same height. Both of their bodies were lean. Angelo allowed stubble to grow on his face while Bruno didn’t. But Alma liked Bruno’s face bare. His skin was soft and smooth to the touch. Over the years, all of Bruno’s features had sharpened. His jaw chiseled, his lips plumped, and his brows became fuller. Puberty did wonders for his voice. It’s rich and deep tonation sent pleasurable tingles through Alma every time he spoke. Alma enjoyed the view of his tattooed chest from the opening in his black, polka dotted suit. It also annoyed her because she caught herself gawking at the toned muscles often.

Soft buzzing came from Bruno’s pocket. He pulled out his phone and answered it. “Buccellati speaking. Ah Fugo. I understand. I’ll be there in a few.” He hung up.

“Everything alright?” Alma asked.

He gave her a comforting smile. “Yeah. I just have to handle some business.”

She glanced at him, worried. “Be safe.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I will. Don’t worry.” He stepped around her and left the apartment.

Angelo scoffed. “Watching you guys is sickening.”

Alma playfully shoved him. Angelo fell on the couch, feigning to be hurt.

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

Fugo slammed the politician on his desk. His back connected with the wood with a loud bang. Blood trickled from his nose, and his busted lip. Fugo rammed his fist into the politician’s face. He cried in pain. Fugo yanked the politician by the collar, forcing him to sit upright.

Bruno walked towards the desk with his hands in his pockets. “It was smart of you to hide once Polpo caught on to you. But how long did you think you could fuck with the organization and live.” Bruno backhanded the politician. His neck snapped to the side. A red handprint started to form on his face.

The politician turned back to Bruno. He flailed his hands as he begged. “Please, Mr. Buccellati. I can explain everything. I swear.”

Bruno sat in the wooden chair across from the desk. He rested his cheek on his fist. “Start explaining.”

The politician’s gaze went back and forth between Bruno and Fugo. Fugo struck him again. “He said explain.” He yelled.

The politician yelped. “I was paid by a man to throw some of Passione’s men in jail.”

“Who paid you?” Bruno asked. He tapped his foot as he waited for the man to answer.

“It was a man named-” The politician did not finish his sentence. A bullet smashed through the window and hit the back of his head. His blood splattered onto his suit, the desk, and Fugo’s face. Bruno slung an arm around Fugo's waist and ducked behind the desk.

“Who the hell was that?” Fugo asked, shocked.

“I don’t know. I doubt they were from Passione. That had to be a new enemy.”

[emms-jules]

Catch Fire - Chapter 2

Chapter 1: https://emms-jules.tumblr.com/post/618618103720509440/catch-fire-chapter-1

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269344

If Emma was asked that question five years ago, she would have easily said numerous reasons.

"I want to be with Julian. I want to officially be his. I want to spend my travel year with him. I want to answer his calls. I want to reply to his messages. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to take care of the kids with him. I want us to damn our lives as long as we got to live it."

But this was a different time now. She may still want the same things, but the person she wants to be with might not want it anymore.

Chapter 2

A week later...

“Last chance to back out, Carstairs.” Mark said, as the portal of the Mexico Institute opened before them. He was holding the small duffel bag he brought in Mexico, as well as Cristina’s luggage. Cristina was holding on to Emma’s free hand.

The blonde girl rolled her eyes. “Screw you, Blackthorn.” She replied, as the image inside the portal turned into a familiar scenery. The distant sound of the waves and seagulls hit her with a feeling of homesickness and nervousness. Cristina must have felt her tense, and she tightened her hand around Emma’s for comfort.

Mark started toward the image, and with a last salute to Cristina’s mother, who was waving them goodbye, was sucked to the portal. Emma was starting to feel doubts about her decision. Maybe I should’ve listened to Mark. Maybe I’m better off here. Maybe-

“For Helen and Aline and their daughter. For Mark. For Ty. For Dru. For Tavvy.” Cristina said, a firm grip on her hand. Emma looked at her, and nodded understandingly. Julian was not the only family she left. There were others, and they were waiting for her after so long. With a single breath of courage, the two girls advanced to the portal, and vanished.

The first thing that hit her was the smell of salt, and as she landed on her feet, she felt the soft sand on her boots. Cristina landed a few feet away from her graciously as well, and looked around. The next thing she heard was a squeal, and a body throwing itself at her. Emma stumbled a bit and righted herself, realizing who hugged her.

“Drusilla!” She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the girl. She grew taller, she thought, reaching me now. Dru pulled away from her, and this was when she really saw how Dru’s features changed through the years. She gasped, a bit of tears in her eyes.

She cupped Dru’s face affectionately. “You’re even more beautiful now, Dru.” She said, to which the girl replied with a teary smile and shook her head. “If only Livvy was here-”

“I don’t want us to wail here. Maybe another time, when not everyone can see us.” Dru cut off, gesturing to the doors of the Institute.

Emma followed her gaze and saw everyone waiting for her. Helen was holding her baby while Aline was waving, Ty was smiling whilst carrying a bag, Emma assumed he just arrived from the Scholomance, Tavvy was beaming, Mark was gesturing for the three girls to come, and Julian was leaning against the handrails of the Institute. Julian. 

Emma couldn’t help but do a double take upon realizing that he’s there, but quickly looked away afterwards. Seeing the others made her burst with excitement, but seeing him gave her a stronger feeling of uneasiness. Damn it, Carstairs, she thought. 

“Are you girls just gonna keep standing there or what?” Aline shouted, growing impatient but chuckling afterwards. Dru took her hand and Cristina’s, and pulled the two girls to a run towards the others. This sent the two girls laughing and when they reached the doors, was embraced by different pairs of arms. 

Ty got to Emma first. “We missed you here, Emma.” He said, ruffling her hair. Emma pulled away and glared at him while fixing it, but eventually laughed. “I missed you too, Ty.”

Next thing she knows, a baby was put in her arms. She held onto it in surprise. Helen kissed her cheek. “Emma, meet Olivia Eunice Blackthorn-Penhallow!” She introduced, to which the baby reacted with a wriggle. The small bundle had blonde hair like Helen’s and when she looked at Emma, had lavender eyes. Emma gasped.

“Pretty eyes.” She whispered, “And Olivia, close to Livvy.” She looked at Helen and Aline, who both nodded proudly. Emma kissed the child’s forehead, which earned her an excited squeal from the baby. She giggled as she put her back in the arms of Helen.

Next, a rapid-talking Tavvy dragged her to a hug. “Emma, I can’t wait to show you my moves with a dagger! Julian has been teaching me, but I think you’re better so I need you to teach me!” He exclaimed, showing her a few techniques, to which she laughed at. She decided to not recognize her reaction to Julian’s name being told.

“Now Tavvy, I don’t think that’s how you should thank me for saving your ass whenever Aline sees knife marks on the ceiling.” A voice said behind her back. Emma froze, before Julian appeared next to Tavvy, ruffling his hair. Tavvy swatted his hand away, and looked at Emma pleadingly, “Don’t tell Aline or Helen”, before scurrying off. Julian chuckled before turning to face her.

She wants to embrace him so tight and say sorry repeatedly until she deems it enough. Instead, she just looks at Julian, not knowing what to do. Julian also seems to be studying her, looking at her up and down, but nothing can be read from his face. I hate this, Emma thought. She used to know whatever Julian was feeling, with no need of a reaction. Now, she is just uncertain and uneasy. She still doesn’t know if he’s still angry with her, or if he ever was.

A set of firm but familiar arms wrapped around her. Emma gasped in surprise, hoping he did not hear it. Julian was hugging her, and after all this time, she felt a sigh of relief escape from him. 

“Welcome home, Emma.”

Without knowing, Emma wound her arms around him as well. He was taller, and his muscles were bigger than the last time she felt them in her own arms. Still, she smells the familiar scent of cloves, and she feels tears building up her lids. She never thought she would get to feel and smell those things again. Unfortunately, Julian pulled away shortly after.

She was about to ask him a question, but Julian took her bag from her hand. “I’ll get this to your room. You should go with the others in the dining room.” He said, already walking inside. 

She stared at him blankly, not understanding anything. Cristina approached her and took her hand. She looked at Julian’s retreating figure then turned to Emma.  “Mark also took our things upstairs. Let’s go eat.” 

Emma let Cristina pull her to the doors entering the Los Angeles Institute.

-----

The food prepared was not homemade, but actually take outs from Canter’s, their go-to diner in Los Angeles. Emma guessed that since four of them just came home, it was best to order something they missed. Emma greedily took a couple of waffles, some chicken wings, and a coke.

After a few minutes, Mark and Julian both emerged from upstairs. They both took a seat across from Christina and herself. She was happily munching on her waffles while Cristina was telling a story of how they encountered a couple of demons a few days ago. Tavvy was the most impressed, asking question after question. Emma thinks he can’t wait to be out in the field, which was cute. After that, Aline was asking the two girls if they could recommend any places to visit in Mexico, since she and Helen were planning to travel with baby Olly, that’s what they call her, for a month. 

“Mexico has outstanding beaches, such as Playa del Carmen or Cancún. But I figure with the proximity of the coast here in the Institute, I suggest you go to San Miguel de Allende.” Cristina replied, Emma nodding in agreement.

“It’s said to be the most beautiful town there, and I agree. Cobbled streets, the arts, authentic Mexican food, and the Spanish architecture, it’s a perfect place for a romantic getaway.” Emma explained, stuffing her mouth with chicken after.

Her answer earned a raised eyebrow from Helen. “You sound like you’ve been there a couple times.” She said slyly, and Aline’s eyes widened in realization. Emma, not noticing, shrugged casually and drank her coke.

“So, Emma tell me,” Aline started, leaning a bit toward the table. “How many boyfriends did you have there? Or just one? What’s his name?” She asked.

Emma choked on her drink. Mark’s hand stopped midair as he was about to bite  strawberry. Cristina immediately helped Emma, rubbing her back and offering her water. When Emma was able to collect herself, Dru spoke.

“Emma, you dated someone?! And you didn’t tell us? Who is he? Is he hot?!” Dru asked successively. The rest of the table was still eating, but all of them seemed intrigued and awaited for her answer. Except for Julian. He was quietly eating his pasta across from her.

Emma shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “I did go to a few dates.” 

Helen seemed unsatisfied with her answer. “That’s it? None of them seemed worth your time?” 

Instead of Emma, it was Cristina who answered. “There wasn’t really anyone remarkable there in Mexico. Also, there aren’t a lot of Shadowhunters our age there except for those who visited in their travel year.” 

“Huh.” Aline said, then shaking her head as if to change the topic. “Well, good for you, Emma. I mean, you’re hot, so it’s good to play the field a little more before settling down with someone in marriage.” She added in encouragement, which got a glare from Helen and a horrified look from Emma.

“What’s that supposed to mean? We got married around her age!” 

“Marriage?! What makes you think I’ll ever get married?!” 

Julian’s head rose and looked at her. Instinctively, Emma turned to him too, her horrified look softening. Julian quickly looked away. Aline, realizing how Helen took her statement, started explaining.

“I-I’m just saying that it’s a big deal, hon. Emma should be sure of who she wants to spend her life with, and if she needs to go to a thousand dates or turn 30 before settling, she should do it.” She explained, then affectionately puts her hand above Helen’s. 

“I’m lucky to have found you at such a young age. You know that.” Aline turned her head to Julian. “Look at what Julian’s doing. He’s playing the field well. And he should. He’s a handsome guy, and an artist at that. It’s time that he takes care of his own needs, you know? Good for you!”

Julian’s cheeks turned red. Helen’s eyes widened and put her face in her palm in embarrassment. Tavvy seems to be the only one oblivious to what the conversation is about, while the rest were uncomfortable in their seats. If all of them wanted to leave the dinner table, Emma wanted to be swallowed by the ground. So he’s been busy, she thought. She avoided looking anywhere near Julian.

“Honey, you know I love how outspoken and confident you are of everything you believe in, but there are some things better left unsaid. Especially at the dinner table.” 

-----

After dinner, everyone went to their own rooms. Emma threw herself down her old bed, embracing it. She recognized the laundry soap Julian used, and smelled it greedily. Once she deemed herself satisfied, she stood up and looked around the room. The room still seemed cared for after all these years. There were no dust stains or cobwebs, the sheets were new, and the clothes she decided were not worth bringing to Mexico that she left on the floor were neatly folded in her dresser. Apart from that, all items inside her room were left untouched. She wondered why they never cleared her room out.

“Dru insisted that you were gonna come back one day.” 

She looked at her open door and saw Julian leaning against it. He already changed into his sleeping clothes, which are composed of sweatshorts and a loose tank, exposing his biceps. Normally, she would stare at it, except seeing him right now made her remember the dinner conversation. She just decided to laugh lightly and continue rummaging through her things.

“Dru seemed overconfident, don’t you think?” She asked. 

She saw Julian shrug. “Well, you’re back now, right?” He indicated her and her luggage.

Emma turned to him and asked, “And what about you? Did you think I was ever coming back?” 

Julian’s face was unreadable as he stared at her for a moment. Finally, he answered. “After two years, I wasn’t really hoping anymore.”

His answer hit like a blow through Emma. A flash of the first two years in Mexico entered her mind. It was probably the worst two years of her life. She tried seeing any recollection of those events in Julian’s eyes, but still found none. It looked like his words didn’t affect him at all, despite its weight.

“Listen, Jul-” “But you know what happens to those who leave this Institute; they always do come back.” Julian cuts her off, shrugging. “First Mark, then Helen, then you and Cristina, I guess.”

Did he just avoid the elephant in the room? Emma thought. She wants nothing more than to clear the air between them, since their conversations always seem to have an uneasiness in it. But if Julian wants to prolong this, she’ll take it. She wasn’t even sure if she’s ready to know how much he hates her yet. Julian must have sensed that it was the end of their chat.

“I’ll be heading to my room now. Feel free to knock if you need something. You know where it is.” He said, slowly closing the door behind him. 

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t even know she was holding it. Since when did I become anxious in his presence? 

There was a knock on her door and footsteps leaving. She stood up from her position and opened the door, only to see an envelope lying on the ground. She took it to her room and opened it, seeing the old photos and items from her “Wall of Crazy”. Written on the envelope was a small note.

It’s good to have you back. 

-J

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - one

A/N: I’m dedicating this fic to the author of the first fics I fell in love with as a curious middle schooler on Quizilla, soxlongxjimmy. Thanks for the memories.

Warnings: Language, miscreants being miscreants

Word count: 3.2k

Val rolls over, blindly scrabbles for the cherry red Sidekick blaring “Miss Murder” under her tufted black PB Teen comforter.

“Raf Calling”

Val stifles a knowing smile, though she’s alone in her bedroom. She answers, lifts the phone to her ear.

“How much do you love me?” he asks, a self-deprecating chuckle in his voice.

Val giggles back. “Enough.”

+

Rafael and Valentina Moreno were born at 6:43 and 7:04 (respectively) on the morning of April 22, 1985. From then on, it was chaos.

Two was quite enough children for ambitious professors Miguel and Fernanda Moreno. They were scholars, children of knowledge, who wanted a small, quiet family. They envisioned docile walks on the beach, Saturday trips to museums, maybe the occasional University of Miami football game.

They got Raf and Val instead. The twins were at each other’s throats nearly from the time they were born – Miguel tells a story every holiday season of placing both babies in the same crib to bond when they were a few months old. The new parents turned around for a minute and looked back to see Val rolling on top of Raf trying to smush his face into the cushions.

From then on, separate cribs.

But the twins, despite their ongoing hostilities, couldn’t be separated. It was as though their energies thrived on one another. One summer when they were 12, Raf left for sleepaway soccer camp. A few days in, Val woke her mother up in the middle of the night in tears begging them to bring her brother home. He came back at the end of the summer and two days later she threw an ice cream cone in his face.

Miguel and Fernanda were faced with a new reality – noise. Their kids were loud before they even picked up their respective instruments. The Morenos thought music lessons would be a good outlet for their wild children, so they had them classically trained from a young age. Once again, their good intentions wrought chaos. Valentina was a menace on the drums – though a very talented, well trained menace. And Rafael was a gifted guitar player.

It wasn’t until they were 14 and started sharing practice space in the Morenos’ garage that they could be in the same room without ripping each other’s heads off.

And then, against all odds, they joined forces. The Moreno twins finally discovered they were stronger together than apart. That’s not to say they didn’t still fight like cats and dogs, but they loved each other just as viciously as they bickered. Miguel and Fernanda could live with that. They had to.

Streets of Gold was a stupid pet project, it wasn’t supposed to be anything. Until it was.

Val was original music buff of the family. She used to sit in her closet with the door shut and the lights off listening to her dad’s record collection. It made her feel cool, listening to old vinyl. But she didn’t really get it until she got around to hearing The Ramones’ “Rocket to Russia” for the first time. Everything changed then for the Morenos.

Raf was hesitant at first – could he really let himself like something Val discovered, something Val thought was cool? But he couldn’t hold out long. Because it was cool. It was really cool.

Valentina became the Encyclopedia Brown of pop-punk. You could name a song and she could tell you what band, what album, what year it dropped, whether or not it was a single, and what label released it. She was a goddamn savant. Raf started using her like she was a walking party trick with his friends, some of whom also started to think pop-punk was cool.

Streets of Gold started, as many shitty garage bands do, as a blink-182 cover band. They played birthday parties, then house parties, then veteran halls, then underground Miami clubs. They were signed by Stuck in the Suburbs Records in 2002 and struck out on their first supporting tour. They’ve barely been home since.

Everything changed once again for the Moreno family when Val took a step back. She loved the band, loved the music, even loved touring, but there was a piece of her that was more like her parents than she ever realized or wanted to admit. She craved learning and missed academia after she finished her GED. She secretly applied to the University of Miami and sought out her replacement for the band, gearing up for a fight.

Raf lost it, at first. They had the worst knock-down, drag-out sibling fight of their entire lives. It ended in tears with Raf holding Val against his chest as they sobbed. They started training her replacement Naveen the next day.

Among Val’s fondest memories of drumming in Streets of Gold are the two years she spent with the band on Warped Tour. Warped was every scene kid’s wet dream, every garage band’s Woodstock. It was the be all, end all of pop-punk music. Warped is a fickle mistress – it makes and it breaks, it gives and it takes and it’s not for the faint of heart.

They call it rock band summer camp, and it is. It’s day after day of heat and sweat and drugs and sex and music, so much fucking music. But the showers are scarce and sleeping in a van with five guys, driving through the night to reach the next stop, it wears on you.

But it’s all about the kids. They come in droves, self-professed outcasts in girls’ skinny jeans, hair Manic Panic-ed and razored past the point of recognition, the uniform of kids without a cause. They gather like the Island of Misfit Toys for a chance at community, to throw themselves into a world they recognize, a world they’ve created for themselves. It reflects them, it accepts them, it inspires them, and Warped Tour is where it truly comes alive.

The kids wait for hours in the heat, withstand insane conditions to see their favorite bands. They go hard, they leave it all out on the fields, in the amphitheaters, screaming their lungs out as thanks for giving them somewhere to belong. It’s a chorus of angst and otherness and, somehow, hope. It’s Valentina’s favorite song. And she misses it.

Raf dropped the hint two weeks ago that there might be a chance at return for Val. Things are different now – Streets of Gold is starting and finishing the 2007 Vans Warped Tour on the main Lucky Stage, a far cry from their humble beginnings playing to a handful or a dozen curious onlookers from Hot Topic Kevin Says. They have a bus now with a shower and actual air conditioning and, holy shit, they have actual bunks.

And their merch guy Jamie, Raf told her casually, has to step away from the tour due to a family financial situation. Can’t be avoided. They’re checking their network for replacements, but, if they can’t find someone in time, could he beg her to come along? One last summer on the Warped Tour before she leaves for the UK in the fall?

Val played it cool – “I’m exhausted,” she reminded him, “After everything this year…” (And she doesn’t need to elaborate, because he knows all too well) “And I just graduated…”

But the truth is, Val found herself wondering about it. She hasn’t been on tour in three full years. She’s gotten her fixes visiting their shows, bobbing her head from side stage singing the words she still writes for the band with her brother, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.

After only a few days, Val wasn’t just wondering – she was hoping. She had it wrapped around her heart now, this idea of returning to something that always brought her hope and comfort when she needed it. And like she told Raf, after the year she’s had…

She got the call four days before the first stop in Pomona. Raf needed her. She’d better start packing.

She couldn’t wait for the summer at the Warped Tour, she remembers the first time that she saw him there.

+

“Oh, thank fucking Christ!”

Shawn rolls his eyes and throws the lurching white van into park. It scuttles to a stop.

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Shawn mumbles, wrenching his rusty door open and stepping out onto the grass to survey the area.

Francis’s head pops up over the roof of the van wearing a disapproving glare.

“All in favor of banning Shawn from driving for the rest of the tour, say aye!” Francis crows.

A chorus of ayes fall out of the sliding doors of the 15-passenger van as they open and pour smelly 20-somethings out. Shawn sighs and plants his hands on his hips.

“I got us here an hour before we were supposed to be, I deserve credit for that,” he whines, sliding his Ray Bans up into his dark curls.

Francis looks unimpressed. “You nearly killed us all at least four times. You don’t get shit.”

“Maybe this was his strategy,” Bobby offers with an eyebrow lifted conspiratorially, “Maybe he pretends to be a shitty driver so he can get out of driving the van between stops.”

Shawn smirks. “I’ve been a shitty driver since I was 15. That’s a long con.”

“Alright, assholes, time to start unloading,” calls a voice from near the trunk. Shawn groans and licks his lips, flicking at the black enameled ring he got pierced there a couple months ago.

He ambles back to where the truck has pulled up beside their rickety van. Andrew climbs out and runs a hand through his hair. “Shawn, man, you’re fucking impossible to follow. You were doing 85 on the freeway, you know that?”

Shawn opens his mouth to defend himself when the rest of his band starts choking on laughter. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fuckers. Drive yourselves.”

Shawn turns and looks around at the Pomona Fairgrounds. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. There are stages going up left and right, tents and skate ramps and those inflatable floating human-shaped things that flop around and wave at car dealerships. It’s mania, and he’s so fucking excited about it.

Warped Tour has always been the dream. It’s always been a reality just out of reach. Always a spectator, never the spectated.

He’s been nomadic for the past few years since he first picked up a guitar and started playing old The Starting Line and Jimmy Eat World covers. He’s been in at least eight different bands, all of which showed promise at the start and ended in various states of the decay of teenage boredom. No one wanted to go the distance with him, not until he met Francis, Bobby and Seth through friends of friends of friends. Then suddenly, Warped Tour wasn’t just within reaching distance, it was fucking happening.

Shawn’s a sentimental sap so he’s standing on the hill overlooking the manifestation of his dreams. Seth, the band’s fan-anointed “quiet one,” claps a hand on his shoulder.

“We fuckin’ made it, man,” he reminds Shawn breathlessly. Shawn chokes on an emotional inhale and nods.

They’ve gotten good at load-in now. Everyone has their assigned tasks and Andrew’s a seasoned enough tour manager to be able to wrangle them into efficiency. Or, near efficiency. They’re a little distracted today, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

They’re quieter, too. They’ve felt big in their britches for awhile, having been invited out on tour supporting bands like Valencia, My American Heart and All Time Low. But this is a new ballgame. They’re very much little fish in a giant fucking pond, a very intimidating pond.

They stare at the buses of pop-punk legends as they wade past with amps and instruments and risers in hand, feeling like it’s the first day of kindergarten and the eighth graders are all settled in and looking cooler than anyone ever has ever. Shawn actually, embarrassingly enough, nods in reverence at Streets of Gold’s bus. He’s glad none of his band and crew notice and razz him for it.

Being new and not a huge crowd draw, they’re one of the first bands of the day on their designated Smartpunk stage. Shawn doesn’t so much mind playing Smartpunk. It’s a small stage but plenty of amazing bands have gotten started there. He’s just happy to be on the tour. And if they impress and end up drawing in some attention and wind up spending a couple of tour dates on Hurley.com or even, dare he dream it, the Hurley stage, he’ll be a happy kid.

But at 19, with his best friends at his side and their sophomore album release date coming up in only a month, Shawn feels like he’s at the edge of the world looking at the start of something he can’t quite make out yet, but it feels so fucking good.

+

Val is already sweating her balls off, no surprise there.

She’s had some merch girl experience, naturally, having been with the band since its infancy, a time where everyone wears a lot of hats. But now that Streets is a bona fide Warped Tour Band, a destination, a band people make the trip to see, it’s a new ballgame.

She unloads box after box of shirts, hats, hoodies, wristbands, CDs, booty shorts, whatever else they can hawk at an upcharge. Raf and Naveen eagerly help her and she suspects they’re trying to play nice because they know she didn’t have to come on tour and help them. Val doesn’t want to get used to it – in about a week, they’ll be a lot less eager to haul boxes around and will make themselves scarce.

As she’s setting up the tent above the table, she looks around with a smile.

Returning to Warped feels a little like coming home. It’s a dry, hot, smelly home with sun-scorched grass underfoot and an overabundance of men in women’s jeans but there’s just something about it��

“BABYYYYYY!” cries a voice that belongs to a woman who soon careens straight into Val’s side.

“Oh my fucking god!” Val squeals, throwing her arms around the violet haired cling on. She bounces back and forth as they laugh and babble incoherently.

Finally, she pulls away and Val holds her by the shoulders to look at her.

“Why, Bea Easton, look at you!” Val giggles.

Bea, all four-foot-eleven inches of her, strikes a pose complete with duck face and popped hips in her low-slung Bullhead skinnies. She breaks into a laugh, shaking her head.

“Miss me, Moreno?”

“So much that I’m back on tour with these hooligans again,” Val sighs, angling her head at her bus where her tourmates are arguing over the Xbox.

Bea chuckles. “Thank god. It was getting dull in the scene without you.”

Val shoots her a suspiciously amused glance. Bea makes an exasperated noise, throwing her hands up.

“Well the scene is never fucking dull, that’s kind of the point, but I missed you, kid! You’re not so easily replaced, you know.”

Val scrunches her face and pulls Bea into a proper hug, tucking her face into her freshly-dyed hair and rubbing her back. “Ditto, dude. College was cool but… I couldn’t really resist one last shot at all this.”

Bea stands back and loops her arm around Val’s waist as they observe. After a moment, Bea pinches Val’s side gently.

“Hey, how are you?”

Val’s body tightens instinctively. She knows Bea feels it. Bea only asked a question everyone’s been asking her for months. And Val’s still shit at pretending it doesn’t bug the fuck out of her.

“I’m fine. Really. I went to the doctor recently and he did some tests and confirmed that I’m human and not a big walking china doll.”

Bea’s bleached eyebrows lift as she smirks. “Point taken. Have you started checking out the talent, then?”

Val scoffs. “You and your locker room talk.”

“This is what equality looks like, bitch. But seriously, tell me that’s not half the reason you’re here. A little palette cleanser.”

Val runs her tongue across her lower lip. Bea knows her oh so well.

She elbows Bea gently. “Stop that, I already have a reputation,” she hisses teasingly.

“Mmm, that’s right,” Bea replies, playing along, “The biggest slut in the scene is back on Warped Tour. Better start lining up for a taste.”

Val laughs heartily, shaking her head. “I swear to god, Bea, you—”

She stops dead in her sentence, words have failed her. Her brain fritzes out. She stares straight ahead, exhales in a loud puff. Bea notices and turns to look at what, or who, Val has spotted.

He’s tall. That’s probably the first thing anybody ever notices about him. He’s really fucking tall. He’s also not as scrawny as the rest of the twiggy white boys that populate the scene these days. He’s built – broad in the shoulders and the thighs. He’s wearing the uniform black skinnies, though, so he’s probably a band member rather than a volunteer. And he’s got the presence, somehow, of a frontman. Maybe it’s because Val’s pretty well versed in scene guys, but she can just tell he’s a lead singer.

His dark curls are tucked under a backwards Blue Jays hat and his eyes are unreadable under black Wayfarers. His facial structure is sinfully architected, marred only by the black lip ring that’s pierced through his full lower lip.

His hands are tucked in the pockets of his impossibly tight jeans as he cruises easily on a skateboard through hordes of bands and crew prepping for the day. He seems unbothered by the hard work going on around him, content to observe and take it all in. It gives him an ethereal sort of glow, that he’s untouched by reality.

Val swallows like a fucking cartoon character and watches his mighty leg strike the ground, black leather high top Chucks kicking up a cloud of fairground dust as he propels himself past the tent without a glance. She feels like a ninth grader who’s caught her first glance at the senior quarterback. She sniffs. It’s been a while since she’s felt like that at all.

Bea elbows her again. “Holy damn.”

“Say it again, sister,” Val chuckles, watching the back pockets of his jeans stretch over his very fine ass as he launches himself down the sidewalk, weaving and bobbing through the crowd.

“HOLY DAMN!” Bea crows, throwing an arm around Val’s shoulders and shaking her. Val sniggers and peels her eyes away, nibbling on her pillowy lower lip.

“I’ll do some recon, find out who he is,” Bea offers, smirking. Val isn’t about to turn that down. Bea’s the most well-connected merch girl on the tour, being as seasoned as she is, having toured with New Found Glory since ’97. She nods her thanks and waves goodbye as Bea rushes off to check on the status of her own merch tent.

Val turns back to her table, fumbling through price tags and pushpins. Her mind is elsewhere. Specifically, it’s somewhere in the back pocket of that skateboarding guy. She can smell trouble on him from here.

She doesn’t mind. She could use a little trouble.

Boys, raise your glasses/Girls, shake those, go, go, go/We're the party, you're the people/Let's make this night a classic

Taglist: I literally don’t know who my taglist is anymore so lmk if you want to be added but for now here @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena

[mysweetestcreature]

Wish Upon A Star (StepBro!Harry) Part VI

Part V

***

Present Day: Six Years Later

“Look, I don’t care what Clintworth wants, the budget is the budget. So, you can tell him that it just can’t be done,” she slams the handset back on the base. She leans over to prop her elbows on the surface of the desk and brings her fingers up to soothe her temples. It’s April, and the marketing department has already hired their quota of new strategists for the season. However, the bloody head insists on taking in more than their budget permits. “Stubborn Americans,” she grumbles to herself.

After graduation, Y/n had been offered a job at one of the fastest rising corporations in New York. In just eighteen months, she managed to rise in the ranks to executive accountant. It’s a true testament to how much one can achieve with grueling nights of overtime and coffee running through the bloodstream.  

With a loud sigh, Y/n grabs her purse and coat, and pushes out the doors of her office, “I’m going out to lunch. If I have any messages, write it down and put it on my desk, yeah?” she calls to her assistant as she heads straight for the elevator. “Thanks, Miguel,” she winks. 

The weather is beginning to shift to higher temperatures after having suffered through a ghastly winter. She enjoys the moments when she’s able to walk through her city rather than having to hail for a cab. It’s true what they had told her before, the energy here is an incomparable force, and to think she almost ran away from it all. Truth be told, she hasn’t been home in over three years. There’s nothing there for her anymore, all that she could ever want is all right here. 

The money she’s making at work is decent enough that she’s able to afford a nice apartment on the Upper West Side. From her bedroom window, is a nice view of the Hudson. The thought that at twenty-four, she’s able to live such a lifestyle, still baffles her. Although, she has gotten accustomed to the nightlife that surrounds the area, it’s rather enjoyable. 

On special occasion, like when she’s sick of reading through all the financial reports that seem to pile high on her desk every day, she’ll call up either Anne or Eric for a few minute’s chat. They’d recently sold the house in Holmes Chapel and are now living in Camden. The decision was brought about when Eric was promoted to lead the London office, and he just couldn’t refuse such an offer. 

Her phone begins to vibrate in her pocket and she smiles when she sees who it is. “Hey there,” she flirtatiously greets.

“Someone’s running a bit late,” the person on the other end says. She giggles into the phone as she rounds the corner of 51st.   

“I’m walking into the restaurant as we speak. I can even see you right now!” she hangs up her phone and strolls over to the man dressed in the fitted navy-blue suit. He smirks when he sees her approaching and opens his arms out for her to enter. The man kisses her on the cheek before pulling out the chair for her to sit in.

“I see you decided to walk here,” he teases. “How’s work?” he asks while he glances over the menu.

She places the folded napkin in her lap and does the same. “Nothing out of the ordinary, it would just bore you,” she shrugs off. 

“Dollface,” he reaches for her hand across the table, “you could never bore me.” She looks up from reading the mouthwatering description of the taglierini to smile at him. 

“If you’re that curious, I’ve practically been breathing down marketing’s necks,” she says lightly.

He chuckles and kisses her knuckles, “It’s what you’re best at.” She playfully shoves at him before pulling her hand away.

“I resent that, William!” he lifts his hands up in mock surrender.

They had met during her last year at NYU. He was in one of the major business-exclusive fraternities and had bumped into her at one of their parties. At first, she didn’t think anything of him, but he was persistent and pursued her. It took about three months before she accepted to go on a date with him. One night out turned into frequent evenings spent walking through Central Park, and the rest is history. 

***

He tilts his head up and studies the way the wall is being painted. As he takes a closer look, he notices the air bubbles forming just above the arch. “Repaint this part when you get the chance, will you, Tony?” he orders. He waits for Tony to give him a salute before continuing to supervise the rest of the crew.

This is Harry’s biggest project to date. A social networking company based in America had acquired him to design the plans for their new London branch. They’ve made quite the wave in the recent years, and Harry was honored to take on such a job. 

Upon completion of his education, he’d been contracted by his place of internship to be a full-time architect. Harry has quickly become one of the most requested, and soon he’ll be eyeing a position as a partner. While he may be a bit young for that, if this project goes off without a hitch, he’s guaranteed for early consideration. 

His mum says he works too much and complains that he never visits them enough. He tries to see them at least twice a month, but it seems like he’s always got stuff to do, or so he tells them. Anne’s tried to set him up on dates with daughters of friends she’s made. None of them are of major interest to him. Relationships in general aren’t of any interest. 

Some would say he’s married to his job, and they’re probably right. Even while at university, Harry had poured his all into his school work. He considered everything around him to be a distraction, and he would only make time for social activity once he was sure to be at least two weeks ahead of deadlines. 

***

Age 20:

It’s a Friday night, and everyone in the dorms is out drinking, or partying, or both. Harry has his headphones on to cancel out the noise while he focuses on completing a blueprint which isn’t due for another week. His professor has been quite impressed with him, and he’s even offering him a student internship at his firm. 

Harry pretends that he doesn’t see his door open, and he chooses to ignore the blonde that waltzes over to him. He sighs when she takes off his headphones and insists on sitting in his lap.

“Where’ve you been all week?” she questions, as she attempts to discreetly shove her breasts in his face. “I’ve missed you,” she huskily whispers in his ear. He can’t help the way his eyes roll in annoyance. He had shagged her a few days ago while under the influence of some concoction one of his mates had given him. She had been giving him suggestive looks all night, before he thought ‘fuck it’ and let her take him back to her room.

Although, he thought he’d seen the last of her when he’d left once she’d fallen asleep. The one-night stands had become his thing, and they were to remain just that. So, as this girl—whose name he can’t for the life of him remember—is disturbing him from his assignment, well, it just won’t do. 

“Look…Tessa, I had a great time the other night, really I did, but I’m not exactly looking for anything more right now,” he says and does his best to politely shove her the fuck off him. 

“Excuse me? It’s Monica, you dick!” she responds, looking fully offended. He throws her an unconcerned look, and she storms out of the room. 

He sits back in his chair and breathes out in relief.

***

Present Day:

When she finally gets home, she opens up a bottle of wine and pours a glass for her and William. He’s making her dinner tonight, having left work early. For the last month or two, he’s been hinting at wanting to move in. She first noticed when he asked her if she wanted him to make space in his closet for her clothes. It’s a sweet gesture, but Y/n doesn’t know if she’s ready for that kind of commitment, or if she’ll ever be ready to take that next step.

“I’ve got some exciting news for you,” he calls to her from his place in front of the stove. 

She takes a sip from her wine, “Do tell.”

William stirs the vegetables around in the saucepan and puts the heat on low. “I’ve got business matters to attend to in London, so I have to fly out there in a few weeks. Since you’re from there and all, I was hoping that you’d want to come with me?” he grins at her. 

“First of all, I’m from Manchester,” she pokes him in the side, “and…I don’t know, Will. I’ve got work and you know they can’t function without me.”

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, “I told you, you should just come work for me. I can pay you double than what they’re paying you now.” Her cheeks suck inwards, not this conversation again. Not wanting to ruin the mood, she brushes it off. “I can finally meet your parents. You said they live around the area, right?”

“Yeah, but my dad-”

“Great! I’ll book our flight after dinner,” he cuts her off and goes back to his cooking. Y/n leans back against the counter, in distress. 

***

“You’re really coming here? To London?” Carrie’s voice booms through the phone. After their meal, Y/n had faked drowsiness in order to get William to leave. She submerged herself in a hot bath before calling up her friend.

“Apparently. The new branch is about to open up and he wants me to come along,” she mutters.

“Well it can’t be that dreadful.” 

A sarcastic laugh echoes through the bathroom, “Trust me, it can. He wants to meet my parents.”

The line is silent for a moment, “Is that a bad thing? I mean you’ve been with the guy for, what? Two, three years?”

“I just don’t think I’m ready for him to meet everyone,” Her leg splashes out of the water, and she watches the suds flow down her skin. 

“And by everyone, you mean him, don’t you?” Her heart drops at the mention of him.

“Of course not, it’s been six years…” she sighs. And in those six years, she hasn’t spoken to him once. She hadn’t come home for Christmas break that first year, and he’d been gone for the entire summer holiday. He has an Instagram, but rarely ever uses it, so she’s pretty much in the dark in everything concerning him. Although, the few pictures he has from a few years ago—wow. If she thought he was gorgeous before, it’s rather frustrating how he’s just…unreal. 

“Then get your arse back here! If you’re really over him, it won’t be a problem, yeah?”

Her body further immerses itself into the bath. From what her mum had told her over the phone, he rarely sees them anymore. Too busy with his job and whatnot. She thinks carefully about this, what are the odds that they’ll even see each other? London is such a big city, it can’t be that hard to avoid someone. 

***

Harry is lying face down on the bed when his phone rings. He reads the caller ID and immediately picks up. “Yes, Mr. Schwartz,” he answers, the naked body next to him slings an arm over his back. He carefully picks it off before pulling the covers off. “I’ve got my people doing the finishing touches.” The voice on the other line continues to babble on, and quite pretentiously at that. 

“Ok, I’ll be sure to contact the decorator to follow-up on the tables.” His head falls back, and he covers his eyes with his palm. “I’ll be there, see you,” he hangs up his phone. The project, while he’s incredibly thankful for it, has him working with some of the snobbiest people he’s ever had the displeasure of working with—that’s from having only talked to them over phone. Just the way this man talks makes his skin crawl. He thinks they feel entitled, calling him at inconvenient hours because they seem to forget about the five-hour time lapse. 

He gets back into bed and allows the woman he picked up at the bar to straddle his waist. Her lips fall onto his in a sloppy kiss. She starts her trail from his neck and down his body until her lips wrap around his semi-hard member. He sucks in a breath and keeps his eyes shut because that way, he can pretend it’s her. 

***

Y/n is panicking, actually scratch that, she’s gone into a full mode frenzy. She’s been pacing around her office for god knows how long, trying to pull herself together. Miguel is watching her with concerned eyes from where he sits on the couch tucked in the corner of the room. 

“This is insane! I’m a grown-ass woman and bringing her boyfriend to meet her parents shouldn’t be such a nerve-biting thing, right? Right?” she nearly yells at him for confirmation.

“Honey, you’re making me dizzy. You need to sit down,” he motions for her to lie on the cushions. When she does, she lays her feet in his lap for him to massage.  

“I just don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen my parents in-”

“Three years, I know.”

“And I haven’t seen him since-”

“He left you in that closet.” She glares at him. “What? Not my fault you spill tea whenever you’re drunk.” 

Miguel has been her assistant since she’s taken the position as executive accountant. He probably knows more about her than any employee should ever know about his boss. He quite enjoys it though, he finds her life to be so exciting and dramatic. 

“What am I going to do? I can’t handle this! It’ll be nearly impossible!” she groans, nearly pulling out her own hair. She hasn’t even forgiven her parents for ruining her last relationship, and now she’s expected to introduce them to her newest? “Give me advice,” she whines to Miguel. 

He lets out a huff, “Like you said, you’re a grown-ass woman. Everything that happened to you before should remain in the past. That includes your,” he pauses and bites his lower lip, “extremely fine stepbrother.” 

***

Age 14:

Harry is at some stupid sports camp, and Y/n has become extremely restless at home. It’s only been three days since he’s left, and he’s not scheduled back for another four. She already misses him like crazy. Who would have thought that she’d be searching for his incessant pestering and corny jokes that only she seems to find funny? Her mum has suggested calling him up, but she can’t do that! If Harry were to find out that she misses him, he’d never stop teasing her about it. 

“Sweetheart, just call him. I think he’d really appreciate it if you did,” Anne nudges her towards the phone. Y/n crinkles her nose in thought and squints at it, as if touching it would burn the flesh off her hand. “Oh, for goodness sake,” Anne mutters and before Y/n can do anything, Anne’s already dialed the number and is waiting for someone to pick up.

“Yes, this is Anne Y/L/N, Harry Styles’ mother. If it isn’t an inconvenience, I’d like to speak to him,” she smirks at Y/n. Anne’s eyes are suddenly widening and she literally shoves the phone to Y/n’s ear.

“Hello?” Y/n gasps when she hears Harry’s voice. She looks to her mum, but the sly woman has already made a sneaky escape. 

“Hi, Harry,” she shyly replies. Curse her mum for putting her in this situation.

“Y/n! Hey! How are you? Wow, didn’t realize how much I missed you until I heard your voice.” Y/n can feel her face flush and she bites her lips together to prevent the huge grin threatening to form. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” she pauses. “I miss you too, like a lot. Hurry home, ok?”

“I’ll try my best, anything for my favorite girl.” She slides down the wall and suppresses her squeals with her knees.

***

Her reflection seems to be of someone she doesn’t recognize, it’s the first thing she notices when she takes a good look at herself in the hotel bathroom mirror. The person in front of her lacks the confidence that she normally radiates. There’s this pang in her chest that hasn’t left her since landing this morning. And no matter how many times she tells herself to relax, she feels like she’s sinking further into the feeling. 

Being in this city makes her anxious. All the broken promises that should have been glare at her wherever she turns. They had passed her would have been university in the car here. Y/n quickly wiped the single tear that fell down her cheek before William could notice. She wonders where she would be if they hadn’t gotten caught but forces the thoughts out of her mind. What’s over is over. 

Her and William are meant to meet her parents for lunch in a bit. She’s peeved at the part of herself that’s hoping that he’ll be there. “Of course, he won’t be there. He’s probably busy or something,” she points at her mirrored image, “You. Calm yourself down, Y/n.” When she recognizes how ridiculous she’s being, her lips flap to mimic a motorboat engine.  

***

Eric and Anne anxiously await their daughter at the restaurant. He’s eaten half the bread in the basket as he anxiously eyes the entrance. It’s hard to believe that it’s been this long since he’s last seen her. They’re not as close anymore, haven’t been since he’d forced her to leave. When they talk on the phone, it’s a simple ‘hi, hello’ before she’s hanging up to attend to her duties. 

“Honestly, Eric. I know you’re nervous, but please try to contain yourself,” Anne scolds him. She’s only slightly more put together than he is. 

Her husband taps his fingers impatiently on the table, “I can’t help it. Surprised she even told us she’d be here. I haven’t had a fully decent conversation with her since...” he shakes his head, not wanting to remember.

“See! There she is now,” the pair of them rise once they spot her walking towards them in some of the highest heels she’s ever seen.

“There she is!” Eric slowly wraps his arms around her.

“Hi, Dad,” she hugs him back awkwardly, then turns to greet Anne. “Hi, Mum.” 

“You look amazing! My goodness, New York has been good to you, hasn’t it?” her mother has her twirl in front of her. A blush creeps onto her cheeks, but an almost obnoxious cough has her turning back to William.

“Um…Mum, Dad, this is William,” she angles herself to reveal the man standing behind her. “My…boyfriend.” 

The older two give each other weary looks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, William,” Anne is the first to speak. Eric eyes the man from head to toe. There’s something about him, he can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but he’s not sure if he likes it. However, he does extend his hand when he feels Y/n burning holes through his skull. 

“Let’s sit down, yeah? I’m starving!” Y/n tries to progress. She basks in the time that everyone takes to gloss over the menu, the less talking, the better. 

***

“So, tell me, Anne, what was this one like as a child?” William asks. “Y/n rarely talks about her life before NYU.”

Anne wipes her mouth her napkin and adjusts her posture, “She was the sweetest little girl! Always wanting to help me around the house and help me cook because the men were completely useless.” She sends her daughter a knowing smile.

“Hey, Harry and I did our best to keep up with you two!” Eric defends with a chuckle. Y/n watches as confusion adorns over William’s face.

“Harry? Who’s Harry?”

Her parents give her that look, and she crinkles her nose at the sight. She may have failed to tell him that she has a brother, but for a good enough reason. When she met William, the only thing she had mentioned was that she was from Holmes Chapel, that’s it. He, of course, asked about her parents, of which she obviously did mention. 

“Harry is our son,” Anne says as a matter of factly, “Y/n’s brother.” 

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother?” he eyes her disbelievingly. Y/n takes a long sip of water, hoping to buy time to think of an excuse. 

“Sure, I did!” she slowly places the glass down. “I mentioned him briefly once or twice.” She bites the inside of her cheek and hopes he’ll buy it. And thank god he does. 

***

Everything looks perfect. Harry had walked through all twenty-five floors of the building to make sure that the setup met his standards. And now, he watches as the people who will be using this space mingle amongst each other. His clients had invited him for the grand opening celebration. As much as he would rather avoid any big social gatherings, there is a lot riding on this, and he would like to meet the people he’s working for, in person. He’s asked around, and some people—he assumes are employees—tell him that the big boss is running a bit late. It’s a bit unprofessional, in his opinion. Harry grabs a fluke of champagne from a passing server and gulps it down in one go. 

That’s when he spots her from across the room. It’s like everything around him slows down. She’s just as beautiful as he remembers, if not, more. Her hair is curled just below her shoulders, and she looks so elegant in that satin dress she’s wearing. He thinks back to if he’s had too much to drink, when he realizes that the one he had just consumed is only his first. His eyes blink a few more times, but it’s not an illusion. She’s here, but why? All he wants to do is run right up to her and embrace her, kiss her. 

“Are you Mr. Styles?” he breaks contact with her figure when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to meet a man that’s a few inches shorter than him.

“I am, but please, call me Harry” he replies. 

The man gives him an over exaggerated smile, exhibiting his too-white teeth. “William Schwartz, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he shakes his hand. “You know, I must say, I’m rather impressed with what you’ve done here. I mean, I’m just blown away by all the detail. This place makes the New York office look like a garbage dump.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m sure that’s not true, but thank you for the compliment. My team and I have worked really hard.” 

“My girlfriend was just telling me how wonderful the place looks,” William peers behind him, “Y/n!” Harry is frozen in his spot. In his head, he’s praying that it’s not the same Y/n, his Y/n.

***

She graciously pardons herself from the conversation when she hears William call for her. He’s talking to someone, but his back is turned to her. Once she’s close enough, her heart stops.

“…Harry?” she can’t believe he’s here. He slowly pans his head until their eyes connect. Suddenly she’s a teenager again, the butterflies in her tummy acting out whenever he’s near and look at her with those eyes. All she can think about is the urge to touch him again. The pictures she had seen on his profile hadn’t given him any justice. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, and she sees fragments of tattoos over his chest. She remembers him telling that he wanted to get inked, but never expected this much. 

The world around them seems to fade away as they take a good look at one another. She’s so close, yet seemingly untouchable. There’s a spike in adrenaline coursing through his system as he watches her lip tuck beneath her teeth. It’s been so long.

William looks between the two of them, “Do you two know each other?”

Y/n hesitates at first, she’s still trying to figure out if the man in front of her is really there. “He’s my…” but it’s as though she can’t find the words. 

It’s him who breaks eye contact to look at William, then he clears his throat. “Her brother.” 

“Yes,” she narrows her eyes at him, “my brother.” 

“Oh,” William drags out, “so you’re the prodigal sibling that I’ve recently learned about.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her, “I guess that’s me.”

“What a coincidence, isn’t it, Dollface? What are the chances that your brother is my architect?” his arm fastens around her waist, and she can’t help but feel awkward in her place. She does her best to put on smile to shield the inner turmoil. “Well, I’ll let you guys catch up.” Her eyes remain wide open when he pecks her goodbye.

The pet name has Harry about ready to throw up. His fists clench in his pockets as he watches them interact. He can’t stop the twinge of jealousy that rushes through him when William kisses her. “So, Dollface.”

***

A/N: This is a major catch-up part since I’ve jumped over a lot of time. Feels like we’ve just started, but now we’re starting the countdown to the end??? I love you all ❤️Tell me your thoughts here!

[silcncisms]

[this got so long...so it goes under a cut]

@dcstructivcs

𝓩𝓪𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷,

I’m sure you’re surprised to see one of these. I know it’s been an inexcusable amount of time since my last letter. Though I have to be honest, I started writing you many times over the past few months year, i was just never able to finish my thoughts before getting pulled away. So much has happened and I’ve been playing catch up for a few months now. I can’t promise that anything is going to make sense or that I have some kind of exceptional excuse for why i’ve been so quiet this past year. (because i really don’t, I’m so sorry) I apologize in advance if this letter is a little disjointed. I tried to date the sections as best I could since I kept stopping and starting but..I might a little off and it definitely doesn’t read all that thoroughly.

[march early] It's been so long and it isn't because I didn't want to write things have just been a little hectic and every time i started i couldn't finish and you deserve more than some half-assed letter from me. You deserve a lot more from me if we're being honest. More than I can give you and I understand that now. I don’t want you to ever feel like you couldn’t be what I wanted Zade. You were more than enough for me and it was me. I was the one who couldn’t be enough for you.

[end may] The wolf is fickle honestly and I hate the way he has some kind of control over me. That wasn’t because of you though, no matter what I know you’ve been telling yourself, that wasn’t your fault. Don’t shut down Zade. Please. Forever is a long time to have to watch Julia and Zac glued to one another. You deserve better.

I know I told you about Rafe. This past year things got pretty serious between us, and I know that Miguel is really happy to have someone around that’s closer to his age, he really misses having Julia around honestly. I hear they’ve been keeping in touch that’s really good. I’m happy for them. I remember them together sometimes and I just think about you could never tell that they were a wolf and a vampire. I like to think it was the same between the two of us as well.

[early june] You know I never thought I would be a father. I mean...sleeping exclusively with men tends to narrow the fatherhood pool considerably to be quite honest. But Rafe and Miguel...they found this kid. They’d just been bitten and their family just kicked them out. They’re only ten Zade. Ten. It breaks my heart that they’ve already had to go through that kind of a loss. They such a sweet kid, once they decided that they could trust the four of us. Rafe wants to adopt them and I’m thinking it would be an amazing idea. For both of them, I think Rafe might see a bit of himself in Riley.

[late september] We did it. We’ve been helping out Riley since they’ve more or less been adopted into our pack. All four of us have been keeping an eye on our new pup but Rafe really connected with them. It was the most beautiful thing honestly….they seem to really understand one another. Last week we sat them down and asked them what they would think about us officially adopting them. The legalities are a bit complicated but we don’t need that piece of paper when we can feel it you know?

My child...I have a kid Zade I can’t even comprehend it.

[late october] It got cold so quickly this year, it’s already snowed by us too. Which is a nice change from the insanely hot summer we had this past season. Riley is still settling into our pack but im so proud of them. They’re resilient honestly. I think that’s a good trait for a wolf. When we got everything done officially we told Riley that they didn’t need to call Rafe and I anything other than “Blaise” or “Rafe” but they slipped up and called Rafe, Dad the other day. I’ve never seen him smile so much before.

[christmas time] The snow’s been falling non stop now. It’s nearly six feet outside the house I swear i’m shoveling new powder every day but its mostly due to wind blowing everything around I’m sure. The holidays are happening next week.

Remember when I got you that book? The art book with the six page spread on all of those paintings of you and Zac when you were still Liudolf and Lutwick? I still can’t believe you had golden blonde hair. I just can’t imagine it. There’s an exhibit on the Holy Roman Empire happening at the museum next year, I think we might take Riley. I’ll see if maybe they unearthed any more of your possessions.

[present] This isn’t supposed to be a sad letter, we already did that. I just can’t help but worry about you Zade. I don’t want either of us to dwell on what might’ve happened if things were different. I wouldn’t change a minute of our time together. It was a part of my life that I’ll never forget.

This is also just…..a piece of everything I’ve wanted to share over the past year. I hope you’re well and I promise that I completely understand if you don’t want to write back. It’s been a long time and I have no claim to you Zade. I would never want to keep you from doing what is best for you.

Love and all my best, 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓼𝓮 

[sapphiresterreart]

Higuel Challenge: Shuffled iTunes Song AUs

My internet shot me in the foot. For over 2 hours. So, I eventually challenged myself to shuffle all my iTunes songs. For each song that played, I had 10 timed minutes to think of a Higuel idea and write it fast. (sometimes I cheated and lengthened the min) These are the (mostly) unedited results.

1) Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Final Boss Battle

Miguel stood before the towering gateway and absently rubbed a thumb along one of the pokéballs on his belt. The Champion. The last person to defeat and he’d be the strongest trainer in the region.

He pushed open the gate and stepped inside the grand room. Across the battle field stood a throne. On that throne, a young man lounged with a arcanine curled around the base. The room was warmed by the torches scattered throughout the room.

“So,” the black haired man kicked his feet off the armrest. “You must be Miguel Rivera.”

“Estás Hiro Hamada, sí?”

The large canine pushed itself to its feet and stretched as the Champion slid to his feet. The Champion rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck with a sloppy smile. Leisurely, the man strode across the playing field and shook his hand. They parted as Hiro gestured toward one side of the court.

“Take your place.” Hamada stuffed pale hands into hoodie pockets. “And watch yourself lose.”

Miguel snorted. Despite the nerves making his hands shake, he knew his pokémon trusted him. And he in turn trusted them. They’d win and show the cocky guy a thing or two about teamwork.

He took his place and shifted into a battle stance. Hiro called out. “You know the rules. Now, begin!”

Instinct prompted Miguel to send out his trusted smeargle. “Dante!”

2) Angle in Blue Jeans – Train

“No, I never got his name.” Miguel strummed the guitar. “Or time to find out anything, I loved him just the same.”

The crowd at the café listened as he performed on the stage. It was a small time gig, but a paying gig all the same. He thoughts strayed to the young man who had inspired the song. Black hair. Brown eyes. Charmingly arrogant smile.

“No I road a different road, and sang a different song…”

He tapped his foot. The man was a mystery. He met him once at a nightclub. The DJ had played some fast beat song but Miguel was busy watching the dancers from a corner. He thought about joining them. But he was a fresh face in a fresh country. How would he fit in?

A young man with wild hair and a strange group bounced his way over to him, grabbed his hand, and tugged him to the dance-floor. He had tried to excuse himself. The man was clearly tipsy and possibly dared to drag him along, but then the guy had tilted his head with a small smirk and said.

“Dance me if you dare.”

And then he bust into a move that had Miguel cracking into giggles so he joined along and danced. It was fast and it was crowded but brown eyes kept him moving.

“I’ll love him till my last breath’s gone.”

His gaze skimmed the audience. A young man, though shadowed by the dim lights, weaved among the crowd. Miguel tilted his head at the fluff of black hair. Familiar black hair.

Huh.

3) Fireflies – Owl City Piano Version

Miguel never imagined he’d find himself standing in a hot air balloon. Let alone in one with a handsome face. It was a serene afternoon and the sun was setting. Soft blue blended into a warm orange-gold. Clouds drifted together among the array of colors. It was a beautiful sight, but all he could focus on was the warm smile watching him.

He pivoted in the small space and sidled closer to Hiro’s side. “It’s picture-perfect.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed. “I could look at you forever.”

Miguel snorted and punched his shoulder lightly. “Even when I’m old and wrinkly?”

“You’d age well.” Hiro gathered him into a hug. “Like fine wine.”

Miguel giggled against the shoulder. “No wonder abuelita adores you.”

“I’m the best.” Hiro agreed and murmured into his ear. “But you’re even better.”

4) Put You in a Song – Keith Urban

Hiro snapped his fingers as Miguel played the guitar. Hiro sang and swayed to the beat in their room. “Well here you come again, and you’re looking so fine.”

Miguel stifled a sigh as the man continued to practice the song to woo the ‘love of his life’. Apparently the older man had found someone ‘sweeter than sugar’ that he just had to date. Hiro had roped him into playing the chords while Hiro sang the country song.

Honestly, why Hiro would drag him into his wooing practices was beyond him. It was a good thing he was such a good friend or else Hiro would be without a guitarist. That, and Miguel was so-totally-not-in-love with his best friend.

“You don’t notice me, but it’s alright.”

Got that right. Miguel grumbled inwardly and missed a chord. Hiro shot him a glance but worked with the misstep.

“I’m just a guy who wishes I could be your man someday.”

And then Hiro danced his way to his side and Miguel had to grind his teeth to stop the blush. Hiro circled him.

“A picture paints a thousand words, it’s true.”

Hands trailed along his shoulder and through his hair. Probably practicing his moves for the girl.

“But it’s still not enough about you.”

Miguel stopped playing and snapped. “Would you stop that?”

Hiro snapped away, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Don’t–I mean that. Stop treating me like I’m the girl you’re trying to–to!” He growled as the words wouldn’t string together properly. “I know you’re practicing for the actual thing, but stop doing that.”

Hiro frowned at him. “They were right…” The man sighed and shifted. “You can be really dense.”

Miguel stared a beat. “What?”

Hiro cleared his throat and sang. “I wanna put you in my car, and, drive…roll down my windows and shout it out:”

“I love this boy.”

Oh.

5) Come Home Soon – JoaftheLoaf on Youtube

He stared at the sky through the window of his castle walls. In the light of the moon, he thought he could see the faint outline of a face. An achingly familiar face.

“100 years since you’ve been gone.” He muttered and skimmed his gaze across the chamber.

A guitar lay propped beside his dresser. As he strode to the instrument, his gold colored robe flowed around him. Crystals sewn into the fabric sparkled from where the moonlight reflected off them. Gold for the sun. Crystals for the stars. His heart hurt at the thought.

He bared the burden of sun and moon alone.

Softly, he sang. “Please, come back soon.” He grabbed the guitar. “Cause I can’t do this without you.”

He wandered back to the window and opened the glass. He stepped out and onto the lone balcony and settled atop the waiting chair. Strings hummed beneath his fingers as the young man, older than centuries, played.

The guards who stood in the courtyard listened to the wistful song. Just as their fathers or mothers had listened during their time as guards, so too did they listen.

The heartbroken ruler let his voice flow throughout the night. Magic amplified his voice to project to the one banished among the stars. The banished one had lost himself grief after the loss of his brother. As for him? He lost his best friend.

“Return safely soon, cause I miss you.”

Yes, I listen to country. Shut your moth.

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Good afternoon guys!! I hope everyone is having an awesome Monday thus far! If not, here’s a little something to take the edge off!!

EPISODE 2

The cafeteria was a large, poorly lit room with narrow windows on the far right side letting in natural light from the yard. From a few feet of the entrance to the narrow bars indicating where the line formed, there were rows and rows of metal tables and chairs welded to the floor, in case some inmates got into it with each other and thought to use a chair as a weapon. Same with tables. In prison, virtually anything could be fashioned into a weapon with the right imagination. Even the end of a toothbrush could be filed down to a point and easily hidden by tucking the sharp side down in your shirt pocket.

Nevada and OJ stepped in with Miguel and Felix, moving through the line before joining the rest of their crew at the table on the far left side. Looking up, Nevada happened to meet eyes with his cellmate, giving the older man a nod.

“You know who I saw right before I got pinched?” Felix said with a grin. “Who was that smokin’ blonde you used to keep on the side? The one who blew you at that one meeting. Oh man, she's still got the ass of gymnast,” he grinned. “She got sober and married herself a pharmacist. Jesus Christ can you imagine? Going from sucking dick in a restaurant to talking every night about Flexeral and Benzodiazepines.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, a lot of blondes used to blow me back in the day,” Nevada answered, smirking softly as he ate the stuff on his plate that could hardly be considered food.

Felix snickered, “Fair enough,” he took a bite of his meal and looked at OJ. “What about you man? You still with that Melinda chick?”

“Melissa, and watch it,” he warned seriously. “She's not just a chick, that's my wife.”

“Sorry,” Felix held up his hands defensively. “Just makin’ conversation.”

“Oye, is that all you think about is tail?” Nevada asked.

“Why do you think he doesn’t bring in half as much as what your other captains bring in?” Miguel mused, turning back to Felix. “You better watch out your crew doesn’t have some hot shot rising star in it. You might walk into a mutiny when you get back,” he teased, chuckling.

“Whatever man,” Felix said with a scowl. “I've been thinking about…” he sighed. “Fuck it.”

OJ rolled his eyes, although Omar and Nevada had gotten along with Felix well enough, OJ never liked him. Especially since he'd always had eyes for Melissa.

“What have you been thinking about, cabrón?” Miguel teased, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. “Your next piece of ass? Cause I’ll tell you one thing, there’s slim pickings around here.”

“Dale, what’s on your mind?” Nevada said, looking up at Felix.

“I've been thinking about going straight after I get out, go to school,” he shrugged. “I just think that this life is a lot to do until the day you die. I used to want to be a fucking doctor.”

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” OJ sneered.

“Oye, pero what do you think this is? A fuckjng nine to five? Think you can just put in your two weeks and skip out? It doesn't work that way, mi hermano,” Nevada replied, arching a brow and shaking his head. “There’s only one way out, and that’s in a box.”

“So you'll put a bullet in me?” he asked curiously.

“If he doesn't, I will,” OJ smirked.

Felix gritted his teeth, “Well then, guess I'm stuck,” he grinned after a moment and shrugged. “Could be worse, I could look like this pendejo,” he said with a chuckle as he nudged Miguel who laughed as well.

"I’m a handsome motherfucker, cabron,” Miguel answered, giving Felix the finger.

Roll call was done just before lights out; the men were made to stand in front of their cells, side by side while CO’s walked in front of them with a clipboard in hand, making sure each and every inmate was accounted for before they’d be locked in their cells until morning. It was tedious, having to stand there, silently while the guards counted them.

“In your cells!” the guard yelled.

Nevada and Oz shuffled into their cell, the former moving to the toilet to relieve himself.

“How was your first day?” Oz asked sarcastically with a smirk.

“This isn’t my first time inside...so about the same as I remember it. Augustus and Hazel finally fuck or what?” Nevada answered, flushing the toilet and moving up to his bunk.

“Little tool gave her a massive deep dicking then told her he was dying. That shit got me.” He held up his new book, “Time to read about Lions, bitches and wardrobes.”

Snorting a little and nodding his head, Nevada took his shirt off and moved to do a set of push ups, one of the few pastimes in prison available. Working out, reading or writing your memoirs were about the only things to do while you did your time, and Nevada wasn’t really one for sitting still.

“By the time you get out of here you're gonna be one giant muscle if you don't relax,” Oz said after about forty five minutes.

“I don’t really relax,” Nevada replied, doing one last push up before he stood, wiping his face on his shirt and climbing onto his bunk.

He took his shoes off and put them on the bottom corner of his bed before laying back and staring at the ceiling. The lights went out all throughout the prison, only the small lights from the hallway providing enough light for guards to move around.

“In my world, the minute you relax is when shit goes South,” he mused.

“True, but constant movement irritates your cell mate and that's also when shit goes South.” He was joking mostly.

“Might wanna put in for a new cellmate then,” Nevada replied with a smirk.

There was a pause.

“You got an old lady, don't ya? What's she like? I got one, prettier than the day I met her.” Oz grinned. “Visits every chance they let her.”

“Oh yeah? How long you two been married?” Nevada replied.

“Thirty years,” he said with a grin. “Tied the knot when we were sixteen out in Georgia after I knocked ‘er up. Been by my side ever since.”

“You’re from Georgia?” Nevada asked. “What took you to Philly?”

“She wanted to live close to the city and I've never been able to say no to her,” he chuckled.

“Any kids?”

“Five,” he said with a laugh. “All grown now, one of them is your age.”

“Jesus,” Nevada mumbled, smirking as he let a few moment pass before speaking again. “My wife’s a firecracker...sexy, smart...and a little crazy too but the good kinda crazy, you know?”

Oz laughed, “The good kinda crazy is something men say before they're set on fire by their ladies.”

Nevada chuckled softly, getting a little more comfortable in his bunk.

“She has threatened to burn my house down a couple times,” he mused with a smirk. “She’s a good woman.”

“You got any kids? No offense but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who doesn’t pull out.”

“I got four kids, and I never pull out,” Nevada replied with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? Poor girl,” he teased softly.

“She loves it,” Nevada replied with a grin. “She hates that we don’t get conjugal visits here.”

“Now I know you're full of it, no way your girl is sitting around excited to blow you in a prison cell.” He laughed.

“She did it before back when she was doing time,” Nevada answered. “Not my fault we can’t get enough of each other.”

“What did your firecracker do time for?” he asked in amusement. “My girl doesn't have any dirty laundry except for...actual dirty laundry.”

“Manslaughter...it was a one time thing, and the bitch had our kid, she had it coming,” Nevada answered.

“Huh, good for her, a woman who knows how to take charge,” he smirked. “Be careful, if she ever sees me you don't stand a chance,” he teased.

“I’ll keep that in mind, cause I won’t lie, you’re a pretty good looking guy,” Nevada answered with a soft chuckle.

“Hey top bunk, I'm not looking to be someone's daddy,” he laughed loudly.

“I’m not looking for one, old man,” Nevada replied in a laugh.

“Goodnight kid,” he said with smirk.

“Night.”

“This is not what I wanted to be doing today,” Amber said seriously as she glared at you and snapped another picture. “This is weird.”

“Just do this for me, you know I'd do it for you.”

“Take naked pictures to send to my prison husband? I would never ask you to do it. Because it's nuts.”

You rolled your eyes and stroke another pose to properly show off your tits. “He'll love these, he likes to see my body.”

“Your pictures are gonna get passed around like the prison bitch,” Amber mumbled as she took a few more pictures.

“No, they will not,” you tried to argue. “They don’t have people that go through the mail, do they?” you asked.

“They totally do, there's no way your nudes aren't getting out there, but it wouldn't be the first time,” she teased and gave you a nudge.

You nodded in agreement, you actually weren't against the idea of Nevada showing you off in prison a bit. That fed into a very strange fantasy but you didn't mind it.

“Actually, there’s a fair chance they’ll confiscate these unless he knows someone working in the mailroom,” Amber mused. She had done a piece on prison life in her early years as a reporter.

“No, he'll find a way to get them,” you said seriously, determined to get pictures of you to your husband. “This was how we sexted back in the day, kids these days sending them over the phone, that's insane!”

Amber laughed, shaking her head absently as she took another picture of you.

“No offense to Nevada or OJ but thank God we were in Ireland when that went down,” she mused. “Sorry…”

“It's okay, he'll be out in no time,” you said, trying to comfort yourself as you tugged back on a shirt and sweatpants. “Besides, I don't have to shave or wax for a full year,” you said with a grin.

“There’s an upside,” Amber offered, shrugging, pausing for a minute before she added, “You know, there is a prison clause. Omar told me about it once, you know...just in case.”

“Prison clause? What's that?”

“Basically if your husband is locked up and can’t have conjugals, you have a free pass to have a little something on the side as long as it doesn’t turn into something more than just sex,” she replied.

You made a face, “Ew, I don't want stranger dick. I can wait,” you said seriously.

“Well there's a first,” Amber teased in a chuckle. “You’re stronger than I am, I already told Omar if he ever gets locked up again, I am gonna find me the first hot piece of ass I can find,” she added, laughing.

You rolled your eyes, “Wouldn't have to look far, when does Troy Maddison come back from deployment?”

“Are you kidding me? Troy? He’s the ultimate good boy. No way would he be down for a strictly fucking, no strings attached deal,” Amber replied. “It would literally have to be a piece of ass.”

“You're right, I bet Troy would stroke your hair and tell you that you're beautiful in the morning,” you closed your eyes and hummed.

“Mission control to Barbie, mission control to Barbie, do you copy?”

“Sorry, I'm here. Got lost in a fantasy.”

“You’ll have plenty of time for those for the next year,” she replied without thinking, wincing immediately afterwards. “Sorry...you know me, I’m awkward around sadness.”

You shrugged, “I'm used to it,” you winked and sat with her. “Let's get drunk,” you announced.

[ecotone99]

[SF] The Sun in your Eyes

[SF] The Sun in your Eyes

Growing up on ground level had many perks, though sleeping wasn't one of them. Every breath of space beyond his curtains were full of loud things moving dangerously fast; and every moment outside his walls, a constant blur between night and day. He was told sunlight was bad for him, so he imagined it through a bedside device glowing ultraviolet in measured doses. Tossing and turning, the 10-year-old threw his pillow across the room and began texting.

A few thin walls away, Dr. Sharon Hearth sat at her desktop computer, reading up on the latest internet headlines. A physician with a passion for preventive medicine, she shared the common belief that the ozone layer was severely compromised despite 21st century reparations. She spent hours of her day squinting at computer monitors with eyes that appeared kind, but also very tired. Her husband was resting in bed just a few feet away.

A sudden noise prompted her to check a separate screen. It revealed a single emoji from her son, Sid. In response, she entered a series of numbers and an elaborate password.

Several rooms away, his consciousnesses came to an abrupt halt, a peaceful, paralyzing sleep.

Dr. Hearth swiped through several pages of data, relieved to see her child’s vitals were within range. She knew tomorrow was a big day for her only son, and like many physicians, she was an overprotective parent.

So she continued to adjust a network of grain-sized implants that monitored Sid’s eyes, brain, heart, and major arteries. Each biosensor soaked up a wealth of information, nestled deep in tissue layers, and intervening seldomly. Dr. Hearth fiddled with their settings tirelessly, deciding to sleep at 3 AM, and only out of necessity. She, like Sid, had them installed throughout her body, free of charge, being the lead designer of BioSand Solutions, Inc. She planted her head firmly into the pillow, stared at the ceiling for some time, selected six hours, then entered the same elaborate password into her smartphone…

Some time later, years later in fact, Sid woke up and got dressed. He slouched into the living room with a wrinkled dress shirt, black pants, and a backpack he rarely removed.

His father sat excitedly beside a vaguely familiar women. As he tried to recognize her, something within him stimulated an aversive sensation. The feeling compelled him to look away, then focus on something different. Sid suspected the cause, and though he had the option to adjust his biosensors, now, as a legal adult, it was not a top priority. Sid was still a teenager and responsibility did not appeal to him.

“Happy Birthday, young man!” his father exclaimed. “I hope you don’t mind Stella coming over. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad. I slept well, eventually,” Sid was pressing a hand against his eyes.

“Good! Speaking of which, I got ya something small,” his father said. Sid opened his hands to some sort of case, a small curved box. It was jet black and had a familiar felt texture. He suspected what they were, but decided to keep the container closed. “I want you to wear them today. It will be a popular conversation starter. A symbol of the new Sid, a symbol of your vision quest,” his father joked.

“Where did you find these?” Sid asked, rarely understanding him these days.

“Oh, I have my sources,” his father said, clearly winking. “They were Mom’s.” Sid opened his eyes halfway, hugged his father, and sleepily exited the apartment.

His mother, Dr. Sharon Hearth, had passed away just eight years ago.

Sid walked long through a mosaiced cityscape, a hot mess of eroded cement and steel.

In the middle was a tower that extended endlessly, piercing a dark, dirt-colored sky. The city resembled a coastless Dubai, though in this American version, its towering Burj displayed outworn neon lettering, glowing eerily from miles away. Valley of the Sun Hospital, the tower read hazily from top to bottom, and Sid appreciated it. For the first time in years, he walked the sidewalk since the sun was still below the mountains.

Walking inside the tower, Sid admired a lobby decorated in the strangest and most beautiful way. Each windowless wall was lined by an interconnecting aquarium, sheltering a community of rare aquatic creatures, and filling the cafeteria with a therapeutic blue light.

Sid found Celeste sitting at a high table, across from one of the swimming animals. It was covered in some type of cartilage, and had to be at least a hundred pounds.

Sid sat with Celeste for about ten minutes, amused by the shelled thing behind thick glass, and exchanging glances with her healthcare aid. His uniform revealed the unusual name Lark Bohem, and since Sid’s arrival, he had been observing their every move. Lark appeared new and had an adolescent build similar to his own, but much older. Sharing a prolonged silence, Sid, Celeste, and Mr. Bohem reflected on why they were there.

Celeste had been in and out of the hospital for some time. Her story of addiction was unexpected, but not unusual. Like many, it started as a passionate curiosity, darkening over time, and causing physical changes. Her skin had a scabby, slightly charred look, and a thick bandage stretched across her face. She was recovering from her first serious intervention: a fresh, bilateral, whole-eye transplant. Sid noticed reddish stains occupying the space of her new eyes and wanted to ask her about it. However, his biosensors identified stressful cardiovascular trends, compelling him to look away, towards an even uneasier Mr. Bohem.

Unsurprisingly, it was he, the most nervous one, who broke the silence. “I’ve been told that thing over there is called a turtle. Some of them don’t age, you know. I believe it’s called negligible senescence or something. That’s actually why they’re here. For research, hope, amusement, who knows. Who really knows anything anymore?” Lark turned his back to them as he spoke, getting more uneasy until he finally stood up. His face in profile looked like a scared animal, waiting in awe for something inevitable. Like him, his voice was thin and harsh.

Celeste reached her hand towards the man’s empty chair, feeling a thin jacket draped over the seat. It looked professional and sported the hospital logo, a single flowering cactus. Celeste grabbed it and crumpled it into her lap. She too wanted to speak now that Mr. Bohem was occupied. “I agree. Life is weird,” she mumbled, throwing the coat toward Sid. He was on on the verge of saying something, but Celeste continued without a pause. “You know, the way we define it. Just think of the Sun. It gives all the light and warmth we need, the source of all life, yet somehow the it isn’t considered alive. Glowing from like millions of miles away, asking for nothing in return, it has less life than a turtle.” She whispered clearly and directly toward Sid.

“We’re going upstairs.”

Lark remained oblivious, texting on his phone and leaning against thick aquarium walls, so Sid stuffed the jacket into his bag. He then walked directly toward Lark, pretending to watch the callused “turtle” up close. For the first time, he noticed a deep, bulging scar that ran across its belly. “You notice that?” Sid asked. Through the glass reflection, he could see Lark’s expression was emotionally silent. The man was more observant than Sid expected, but he didn’t attempt to retake the jacket. Instead, he handed over a long metal key.

“You got anything to put over her eyes?” Lark asked.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Sid replied, searching for the new gift.”

“Today is not a bad day to get out of here. It’s about to get real interesting,”

Sid wanted to understand, but something forced his caution aside. He threw the jacket on and tossed the keyed lanyard around his neck. He wasn’t sure what to say to Celeste, so he just grabbed her hand and forced it on him. She recognized the jacket’s soft, synthetic material and smiled. Sid removed the felt container from his bag, carefully handling the shaded eyeglasses and dropping them on Celeste’s face.

Celeste violently shook her head. “We need to go upstairs,” she again whispered clearly and directly, but with slightly more intensity. Taking the hint, Sid took the shades back and wore them himself, adopting the disguise of a new hospital employee, one with funny 20th century delusions of style. After all, he was the son of a famous physician and didn’t want to be recognized. Celeste shifted her body onto the wheelchair and pointed to the nearest elevator. Pushing her inside the empty platform, a faint, distant commotion could be heard, but the automatic doors were already closing.

For twenty minutes, they stood and sat in silence as the elevator ascended. Sid wondered if Celeste should know about his interaction with Mr. Bohem. He thought maybe it was best not to tell Celeste. Perhaps, Sid contemplated, today was fated to follow the same course of this elevator. He daydreamed for what felt like an hour, anxiety building with each floor, until a jarring alarm returned him to reality.

Just as Sid started to panic, the elevator doors inched apart, revealing a vast geriatric floor. Windowless walls lined the perimeter, compartmentalized with clear, thick glass to form hundreds, perhaps thousands of patient rooms. At centerstage, Sid saw a single nurse sitting on a swivel chair surrounded by computer monitors. She was working quietly, alone, and hiding just within sight. Sid pushed Celeste slowly onto the floor, doubtful his disguise would help much.

“Hello there, and who are you?” The nurse asked.

“Hello there!” Sid responded. “The elevator stalled. I was transporting my patient back to her room, but now I’m stuck here. It’s been a crazy day!” Sid attempted to play his role confidently, but the nurse appeared uninterested for at least 30 seconds.

“I guess we’re having some issues with the solar generator. I’ll make a phone call as soon as I finish up. Feel free to join Miguel for now.”

She pointed to an enclosed area with several couches and a mysterious seated figure wearing a silver bodysuit. The mesh fabric followed his every move like an iron, form-fitting shield, running down his torso, arms, and legs. Adding significant bulk to his frame, it extended up his neck into a dense, round helmet. Only his placid eyes and sickly pale nose appeared unassisted. Looking up from a plate of gelatinous eggs, Miguel was the first person to question Sid’s appearance.

“Do you know why people wear sunglasses?” He asked.

Sid had never heard the word “sunglasses” before, and genuinely had no idea they had any sort of function. He assumed them to be one of those weird accessories, or in his case, a way to obscure your identity. “Because they look cool,” he said, feeling stupid.

“Exactly young man! They make you appear less vulnerable. The eyes are the window to the soul, but the soul is fragile, emotional. Some dare to say it doesn’t exist at all. So you cover them up, and in doing so, you become invulnerable.”

Sid and Celeste nodded in agreement. The older man had an animated, almost intimidating way about him. He stood up very tall and began pacing in circles. Celeste sat in her wheelchair silently, but appeared to be listening.

“Now consider this for a moment. Vulnerability binds people together, gives them meaning, a feeling of comfort and trust. So what would happen if everyone wore sunglasses? What if blue eyes, green eyes, scared eyes, and loving eyes, were no longer a thing?” After a long pause, Sid murmured unconfidently.

“We wouldn’t trust each other?”

“Yes, perhaps, young man. For a time, it would be strange. Then, after the initial shock, we would focus on some other vulnerability, some other window to the soul, like their lips, their breathing, the way they stand, the way they move their arms, the way they choose their words, or the way they don’t. One might say there is only one way to eliminate vulnerability.”

“To not perceive at all,” Celeste said, coming alive for the first time in a while.

“That is exactly right young lady, and wouldn't that leave us quite vulnerable?” Celeste nodded. “As long as we observe, we will always perceive vulnerability, and as long as we perceive vulnerability, we will always try to fix it, and as long as we succeed, we will always find more.”

There was a long moment of silence as Sid, Celeste, and Miguel waited for the next person to talk. Somewhere, waiting in that moment, Sid realized who Miguel was. He was the one and only, Miguel Díaz de Vivar. He was among the first million people that agreed to biomonitoring. After countless decades of impeccable, ascetic discipline, a team of physicians declared him the healthiest centenarian on the planet. As a reward, he was gifted the most sophisticated medical device of the 21st century. Sid felt star-struck and confused, chiming in desperately and messily.

“True! It’s like that expression, umm you know. If you tell someone to not think of some animal, then you will only think of that animal. You know? Like, if you try not to think of something, it never works. Shoot, which animal is it?” Sid instantly regretted attempting to talk, but Miguel did not seem to care.

“Hmmm, interesting comparison. I think I got you young man.”

Miguel raised both eyebrows, then squeezed them tightly, trying to remember. His eyelids closed, and the helmet attached to his skull started to make a dull humming noise. It was scanning his brain for for a recognizable pattern of brain activity. After ten seconds, a match was located from a database of previously stored word-search attempts, and the world “elephant” was produced in a dull synthetic voice emanating from Miguel’s forehead. It wasn’t the answer Sid expected, nor did he have any clue what an elephant was, so he quickly changed the subject.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

“Wise question, young man. I guess you could say I’ve spent my whole life preserving life to the fullest, yet in old age I have never felt more vulnerable, and it is this paradoxical vulnerability that protects me, and gives me more strength than I’ve ever known. You see?” Miguel flexed his exoskeletal biceps. He then pulled a chair next to Celeste, looking at her with blue eyes, now more earnest than ever. “Why are you here, young lady?” he asked. It was a fairly obvious diagnosis, but she answered just as sincerely.

“I went outside the city, during the day,” she said. “I always wanted to see the desert, the mountains, the canyons, even the sand was beautiful. When it was noon, I finally looked up, and there it was, so warm, primal, enlightening.” Sid rolled his eyes slightly. She was starting to sound like his mom, hiding behind poetic wordplay and puns. “I knew it was dangerous, but I made the choice deliberately. Since the day I was born, I always wanted feel the Sun.” Celeste smiled and whispered into Miguel’s auditory transducer. The nurse was nowhere to be seen, and Miguel whispered back into her ear. Sid wondered what they could possibly be talking about.

Miguel stood up again, lifting Celeste’s wheelchair well above his shoulders. “May I... borrow your sunglasses?” Miguel asked. Sid handed them to him with some hesitation. “Follow me, young man.” The old man sprinted into a dark stairwell, leaping up a hundred stories without effort, carrying the wheelchair like a rickshaw.

By the time Sid crawled to the top floor, Celeste was resting contently, illuminated by a single beam of light. It originated from a man-sized hole in the ceiling. On the other side, tunneling straight through the roof, Sid could see the source of the blinding light. He looked at it curiously until his biosensors compelled him to look away. Miguel was nowhere to be seen, so Sid swiped his key and pushed Celeste out of the stairwell.

There was a sense of chaos as nurses ran laps back and forth, rushing to the beat of a flashing alarm. Some were driving hospital beds carrying unresponsive patients, while others were holding what appeared to be moist, pink blobs wrapped in hospital sheets. A few steps away there was a single frightened turtle stuck on its back, legs flailing limply. Just as he slid the animal to a safer position, turning it upright, a nurse noticed them and yelled.

“Do you see what’s going on here? We can’t accept admissions!”

Sid “What happened?”

Another random staff member spoke up. “The backup generators have diverted power away from the NPVs. Some of them have been salvaged, but the rest are running on low battery.” The nurse practitioner pointed to a heavy door that read Neuro Preservation Vats.

Celeste jumped out of her wheelchair, looking back to Sid for a moment, and swiftly proceeding to the door. In one graceful motion of her body, she ripped the bandage off her face and peered inside, tiptoeing within just as gracefully. Sid hesitated for a moment then followed, shutting the door behind.

Inside, Celeste was standing in front of a transparent, fish-tank-sized container. Within it was a truly surreal sight, sinking in slowly, inching toward Sid's perception over several seconds. It was unmistakably a human brain floating peacefully, tethered by a tangled mess of catheters. The vat displayed three numbers: oxygen saturation, perfusion rate, and internal pressure. It beeped at a constant, regular rate. A series of labels were attached with nearly illegible text.

Hearth, Sharon. V.I.P.

PATIENT ID: 2342398732434353453887

Zoological implantation declined.

Cryogenic preservation declined.

Viable organs donated. Eyes donated.

Wireless biosensors in situ.

Sid walked past his mother, beyond many rows of empty vats. He leaned against the far wall, sliding his back down against it, squatting on the floor with his elbows to his knees, hands pressed against his eyes. Celeste followed him to the corner and sat beside him, her hand touching his lightly. Her new eyes were adjusting to the light well. They looked very different, but also very familiar, very kind, but also very tired. As their tearful eyes met, he could hear the vat beeping at a much faster rate, numbers spiking upwards. Dr. Sharon Hearth knew today was an important day for her only son, and she, like many physicians, was a loving parent. Sid kissed Celeste on the forehead and walked out of the room.

submitted by /u/matbar1989 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2PYTqtd