#THEY ARGUING ARGUING OMIGOSH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

encantowishes · 2 years

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Hello! I've been away for a while, but I didn't forget about Encanto Big Bang! Edit: Find the rest of @hectic-hector's illustrations of the pivotal bucket scene here.

Bruno reluctantly lifted the bucket from his head, peering at the activity around him. "You sure about this?" he asked Félix.

His cuñado clapped him on the shoulder, oblivious to the little stagger that followed. "Look at them. Everybody's focused on their own jobs. Nobody's going to pay you any mind."

Bruno fidgeted with the bucket, unsure.

Félix’s eyes fell on the turning bucket. "Okay, two things, amigo. One, you simply can't walk around safely with that thing on your head. Two, you'll draw less attention without it."

Bruno sighed. He couldn't argue with that. "I could take it with me, though. For … luck."

"Of course."

Bruno tossed some salt over his shoulder, slipped the bucket handle over his wrist, and grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow. Drawing a deep breath, he muttered "I can do this" a few times as he moved forward.

The wheelbarrow contained rubble and unsalvageable belongings that had been plucked from the wreckage of Casita. It needed to be moved from the back of the grounds to the front, where a donkey-drawn cart was waiting to carry it away. An easy enough task, even for a middle-aged man who'd spent the last decade laboring mainly to prevent his own discovery. Bruno felt it was time he pitched in, since everybody else was working so hard, and he'd spent the last couple days hiding behind the remains of a wall. (Though he had mixed the spackle.)

The problem lay in the fact that he had to run a gauntlet of other people to bring the wheelbarrow to its destination. People who had blamed their misfortunes on his prophecies. People who had jeered at him and called him "brujo," as though he'd never heard that pun before. People who had thrown guava churros at him, staining his favorite ruana, and wasting perfectly good churros.

Don’t draw attention to yourself. Just act normal. Or as normal as possible. That’s why it’s called “acting.”

“Omigosh it’s him!”

“The guy from the mural?!”

“Isn’t he supposed to be seven feet tall? My abuela’s taller than him.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t look scary. Just tired.”

Bruno tried to focus on the wheelbarrow and ignore the chatter of little voices behind him, until they turned into a trio of little faces in front of him.

“You’re him, right?” asked a little girl with a long black braid and a broad smile.

“‘Him’ who?”

“THE MYSTERIOUS MISSING MADRIGAL!” shouted a little boy who was plainly over-caffeinated.

Bruno lowered the wheelbarrow and folded his arms. Only it took him two tries, because he’d forgotten about the bucket still hanging from his wrist. But once he’d managed it, he imagined he looked at least a little intimidating. “Who’s asking?”

“Us!” the kids chorused.

“Tío Bruno, there you are,” Mirabel said as she sidled up to him. “Good to see you out in the open! I’m supposed to let you know, we’re having lunch with the Guzmáns.”

“Oh, thanks.” Maybe Mirabel could take these kids off --

“Mm-hmm. Gotta run, Isa’s waiting for me.” She waved to the kids and hurried off.

Bruno looked back at the children, who had encroached even closer. And … were there more of them now? Yeah, a boy with wavy hair, and a girl in a straw hat.

Black-Braid Girl pointed at him. “You are the missing Madrigal!” She grinned as though this revelation was the greatest discovery of her life.

“Aren’t you supposed to have green eyes?” asked Hat Girl.

“They are green,” Bruno said, a little too defensively. “Or hazel. Depends on the light.” This was … very weird. Ten years ago, kids this age would have hidden from him, not ganged up to interrogate him. Of course, ten years ago, this crop of kids hadn’t even been born yet.

“No, like spooky glowing green!” Coffee Boy insisted, lifting his hands to the sides of his face and wiggling his fingers with all the kindergarten menace he could muster.

“Do you really see people’s dreams?” piped up Wavy-Hair Boy.

“AND FEAST ON SCREAMS?” Coffee Boy wanted to know.

“No, and -- what? No! Where have you been getting your information?”

“Camilo,” all the kids said together.

Yep, leave it to Camilo to turn Bruno into the local cryptid.

“Look kids, I got work to do. We’ve got a whole house to build.”

“Aww.” They all gave him very sad expressions. Yeah, this just kept getting weirder. They were disappointed he was trying to get away from them?

“I’m not gonna be able to get rid of you kids, am I?”

“Nope!” they chorused.

“Ay. Okay, how about this: If you” -- he pointed to Coffee Boy -- “go get me some coffee, and then everybody helps me with this wheelbarrow, I’ll tell you a story.”

At this, the kids jumped around like popcorn kernels in a hot pan.

Okay, weirder still, but … kind of sweet?

By the time the wheelbarrow was empty, the group had grown by two more boys, one wearing a poncho, and the other a vueltiao hat.

“All right, back we go for more debris.”

“But the story!”

“I can walk and tell a story at the same time. Can you walk and listen?”

Turned out they could. Bruno and his seven small followers passed Pepa, who stared before breaking out into laughter. “Mamá gallina!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Where were we? Oh, right. So then Jorge says to Hernando: ‘Señor, I hope you weren’t planning on wearing that for dinner.’”

Together, they filled the wheelbarrow with another load.

“Aren’t you going to put anything in your bucket?” asked Two-Braid Girl. Cecilia. Her name was Cecilia. Black-Braid Girl was Alejandra, and Coffee Boy was Juancho. That was probably as many new names as Bruno was going to remember at the moment.

Bruno looked at the bucket, again hanging from his wrist. “Nah.”

“What’s it for, then?” Cof-- Juancho demanded.

“Personal fulfillment.” The sarcasm might be lost on the kids, but it amused Bruno.

“So you’re just going to leave it empty?” asked Hat Girl.

Bruno stared at her for a long moment.

“The next morning, Hernando was awakened by a terrible thunderstorm,” he went on.

As they walked, Bruno got so into his story that he started gesturing, and the kids teamed up to push the wheelbarrow so they could continue walking. He didn’t notice the woman he nearly ran into as they rounded the scaffolding.

It was Mercedes Ozma.

“Bruno Madrigal. I thought you were dead.”

He leaned forward a little, just far enough to rap on one of the wheelbarrow’s wooden handles. “... Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot.”

“There’s something I need to say to you.”

Bruno took a deep breath. “Look, if it’s about your fish, I’m sorry --”

“It is about the fish! My abuelo raised award-winning goldfish. World-renowned!”

“World-renowned?”

“They were so important to him, that when their village was attacked, he collected as many as he could before my family fled. Only one survived the journey. And when my abuelo passed, the keeping of that fish fell to me. Did you know goldfish can live about thirty years? Mine only made it to nine. And when it died, I felt like I had let my family down.”

“Oh,” was all Bruno could say, though Mercedes’s story seemed oddly relatable.

“Anyway, that’s why I was so upset about it. But it wasn’t right for me to take it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

She held out her hand. Oh, right, he was supposed to shake it. He was still getting used to the whole “human contact” thing again. He accepted the hand, as briefly and as gingerly as seemed polite.

And then there was awkward silence.

“Um, well, glad we could put this behind us?” Bruno offered.

Mercedes nodded curtly. “Good to see you’re not dead.” She carried on hammering whatever it was she was putting together.

So now not only were children flocking to him, but villagers with decades-long grudges were apologizing? At least one, anyway. Maybe the bucket really was lucky.

“Where were we, kids?”

“The hot air balloons were full of pirates!” Alejandra supplied.

“And Jorge almost fell into the Nile River!” Juancho added.

They all continued to work in this manner as Bruno told his story until Julieta came around to collect her brother for lunch.

“Thank you for the story, Señor!” Cecilia called after him. “You’re a good storyteller!”

Julieta chuckled as they walked away. “Did you make some new friends?”

Bruno took a moment before answering. “I’ve spent my life living in a sentient house and seeing the future, but whatever just happened there was also pretty weird.”

“Was it? I seem to remember you telling our friends some pretty enthralling tales when we were kids.”

“Sure, but that was back when I had friends. Back before ‘little and quirky’ turned into ‘old and creepy.’”

Julieta took her brother’s arm as they continued to walk. “A lot of things have changed.”

He mulled this over. She was right. The valley was open to the outside world now. Casita was gone. All the family had been forced to stop hiding their problems, and to open their eyes to each other’s. Mamá was trying -- he could see she was really trying -- to be more open and less demanding. And his long absence, it seemed, had been enough time to change Bruno’s reputation from “menace to be at best tolerated” to “intriguingly odd old man kids willingly approach.” But how long would that last? Because --

“I haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t? Even after ten years in … in your circumstances?” Julieta must’ve been avoiding saying in the walls, just on the other side of my kitchen, where I’ve spent hour after hour thinking you were gone forever.

Or something like that. Bruno hadn’t missed the horror in his sisters’ eyes when they discovered just where he’d been all this time.

He almost said: “After a certain point, one day is pretty much like another.” But something told him that wouldn’t help. So he changed the subject. “Wonder what’s for lunch?”

Clean up and construction continued. Some days were better than others. There were times he needed to wear his bucket and rely on a relative to be the intermediary between himself and a villager. Other times he was able to take the lead in marking out the next section of work.

Being out in the sunshine wasn’t so bad. Working with his hands was meditative. Although sometimes he didn’t meditate so much as start dwelling on things that bothered him. When that happened, he’d find a relative to work alongside and talk to. He was less anxious about the whole “getting reacquainted” thing when it was one on one rather than at big family meals, anyway.

“I heard a bunch of people talking about what might be outside the mountains,” Camilo said, as he and Bruno tiled the new kitchen wall. “And that led to the old folks talking about what they remembered from before the Encanto. Tío Agustín’s parents said in Bogotá there was a kind of show called a cinema. Basically a theater, but instead of a stage, there’s a … big blank space? and the actors are all very big? but they’re not really there? and … well, I didn’t really understand. But I’d like to see one, someday. See what it’s like.”

“Your pá used to make flip books for you, right?”

“Yeah.” Félix wasn’t a great illustrator -- his artistic gifts were more musical -- but he’d doodled dozens of pictures of little guys getting into various stages of predicaments. Many of these were curious accidents, such as a man tripping over a cat and trying to grab a table to catch himself, only to pull off the tablecloth and all the dishes on his way down. Camilo suspected that these doodles were inspired by Agustín. But the point was, if you ran your thumb across the pages so that they quickly flipped past, the little guy looked like he was actually moving.

“Cinema is like flip books. Except instead of drawings, they have a special camera that takes a whole bunch of partly see-through pictures, faster than you can blink. Then they go into a machine that runs all the pictures in front of a light. The pictures wind up on the wall, or the screen or whatever. It’s kinda like shadow puppets -- they look bigger than they really are.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Visions.” Obviously.

“You had a vision about how cinema works?”

“Look, sometimes I see things in visions that are just incidental to what I’m looking for, but then I get curious about them and follow up. Y’know, at some point -- maybe it’s already happened out there -- everybody’s gonna have a box in their house with a window in it, and they’ll use it to see the same kind of shows they have in the cinema. They’ll even be able to see things happening at that very moment somewhere far away.”

“How does that work?”

“That one was a little too complex for me.”

Later, those kids from the other day found Bruno while he was painting a ceiling, and wanted to know more about Hernando and Jorge. He was getting used to kids asking him for stories.

“Are they friends of yours?” he asked Antonio once, since the kids were close to his age.

The boy had hesitated. “Not really. I mean, they’re nice. They always say ‘hi’ to me. But I just …” He turned his attention to the speckled rat in his hands, lightly stroking his forefinger between her ears.

“It’s okay, I understand. Believe me, I do. I was thinking about introducing them to the rats. Think that would go over well?”

“I think so. Can I help?” Kids his age might intimidate him, but a chance to help animals make friends apparently superseded that worry.

“Couldn’t do it without you, kid.”

“Show them Pecosita,” Antonio suggested, holding up the rat. “She’s the calmest.”

The rodent reveal went about as well as could be hoped. Two of the kids excused themselves when they heard what was coming. A third lost his nerve shortly after Pecosita emerged. But nobody screamed or cried. The kids who stayed loved Pecosita. They thanked Bruno for showing her to them.

That night, Bruno curled up on a sofa at the Guzmáns’ house. He and Alma were spending their nights there, while Agustín and Félix’s families had taken the rest of the Madrigals into their homes. It was pretty quiet compared to Casita. The only sound of note was Mariano’s snores from down the hall. Dolores must really like that guy, Bruno mused, if she was prepared to potentially put up with that.

Bruno couldn’t sleep, though his body demanded rest after the day’s toil. He stared at his bucket, sitting on the floor in front of him. Alternately the Luck Bucket, or the Bucket of Personal Fulfillment (empty). And he thought about what Julieta had said, about how so many things had changed. And about all the evidence he’d seen to support that.

“But sooner or later, it’s all gonna fall apart,” he muttered to the bucket. “I’m gonna mess up somehow. I always do. I’ll say the wrong thing, and then I’ll go back to being Bad Luck Bruno the Brujo. The creepy seer.”

Except, no. Because he wasn’t a seer anymore. Couldn’t do it even if he wanted to. He hadn’t felt so much as a tickle of his Gift since Casita collapsed. Now the only thing that made his eyes itch was pollen.

He hadn’t told anyone that he was relieved, though surely no one would have been surprised. Some of his family members were very upset about losing their Gifts. Others seemed to have mixed feelings. Even Pepa missed her weather, at least a little. No rain, no rainbows, after all.

Bruno sat up, since he wasn’t falling asleep, and grabbed the bucket. “Without my Gift, would I have a chance to be something else?” he asked it. “And if I’m not a seer, then what am I?”

Of course, there had always been one thing he’d wanted to do. And given the reception his stories and his rat had gotten among the kids, maybe it was possible.

His mind wandered to the sight of his little rat stage, destroyed in the collapse. Mirabel had warned him not to look, but he had looked. The various cutouts splintered. The stage itself in pieces. All that work, ruined.

“But I can rebuild!” he said, standing. “I will rebuild!” Balancing the bucket on the palm of one hand, he gestured with the other. “Bigger! Better! Brighter! Bolder! Not just for me, not just for the family. I’ll set it up in the plaza where everyone can see. We’ll call it … ‘The Triumphant Return of Madrigal’s Rat Theater!’ How does that sound?”

“Marvelous!”

“Thanks! I --” Wait. Buckets couldn’t talk.

Looking over his shoulder, Bruno saw Mariano smiling his perfect, pearly smile. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I only got up for some water.”

Bruno very much wanted to put the bucket over his head, but he refused to cause his niece any embarrassment by association. At least, no more than he could help. Slowly, he brought the bucket down to his belly and turned toward the taller man.

Mariano’s smile did not fade. “Dolores has told me about your rats, and the wonderful tricks they do. A rat theater sounds amazing! I’d love to see it for myself sometime.”

“Sure, of course. Premium seats. Just, ah, just don’t tell anybody you saw me talking to a bucket, okay?”

“Oh, was it not your prop? Like in Hamlet?”

“Yep. That’s exactly what it was. Like Hamlet, declaiming ‘to be or not to be.’ To a bucket.”

Mariano got his water and went back to his room. Bruno tried again to sleep, but his mind raced with possibilities. As soon as the new house was finished, he’d get to work on building a new rat theater. Maybe someone had a disused dollhouse he could remodel. His telenovela scripts had, sadly, been lost in the wreckage, but the basics of the storylines were still in his head. Besides, there were always new stories to explore.

He could get his sobrinos involved, too. Make it a family bonding experience. The older ones might not be interested, but the younger three for sure. Antonio would want to help train the rats. Mirabel would insist on making the costumes. Camilo … would probably try to stage a coup to wrest away creative control. Eh, there’d be something the kid could do. Special effects, maybe, or choreography.

Choreography? He was letting this idea run a little wild. The rats, though he tended to think of them as very special, were regular rats. There were limits to what they could learn from him. Maybe if Antonio still had his Gift, something like choreography would be possible, but -- ay, poor Antonio. One of the Madrigals who could honestly rejoice in his Gift, and he lost it after only one day.

Because Bruno’s sacrifice, and even Mirabel’s courage, had not been enough to save the magic. And maybe the family as a whole had a lesson to learn from that. But it was hardly fair to Antonio. Bruno saw how it hurt his sobrino, saw the boy watch sadly as birds flew by without stopping to chat, or stare distractedly into the forest. Bruno would take it all on again -- the burden, the pain, the societal rejection -- if it would reunite Antonio with his animal friends. But this was how it was always going to have played out. He’d seen that a decade ago. All he could do for Antonio now was share his affinity for rats.

Speaking of rats, a blunt-nosed little fellow called Chato emerged from the ruana hood, curious about why his human kept shifting around. Bruno cupped the rodent, and, stroking Chato’s spine with his thumb, finally settled down and began to drift off. If nothing else, he’d give Antonio lights and music and performing rats. Rats for all the kids. Rats for everyone. Buckets of rats.

He began jotting down ideas in a new notebook whenever he wasn’t helping with the new house. Including at mealtimes. He wouldn’t let anyone see what he was working on, not even Mirabel. He’d sworn Mariano to secrecy. He would keep it a surprise as long as he could. Finally, a secret he could keep from Dolores. Finally, a secret that was just for fun.

There were so many hands at work on the new house -- and plenty of those were skilled ones -- that it was not many more weeks before the new house was nearly complete. Bruno was not alone in planning a secret surprise -- all the family members save for one were in on another scheme.

Mirabel had worked so hard, organizing and supporting people, sorting out problems (including arguments) that cropped up -- and hefting her share of bricks, to be sure. Whether she saw it or not, she had all her abuela’s best qualities, and her mamá’s, too. One aspect of the work she had not been allowed to see was a little order that had been quietly placed with the metalsmith.

The moment came. Alma stood with Mirabel, evaluating the almost-complete new house. That was the signal. The rest of the family gathered around. Antonio presented Mirabel the shiny new doorknob, engraved with “M” for Madrigal -- and Mirabel. Then the boy very sweetly walked his cousin to the door, just as (Bruno had seen from his hiding place on the roof) she had done for him during his ceremony. The rest of the family gave her words of encouragement. She was close to tears, and so was Bruno.

Mirabel pushed the new doorknob into place, and a shimmering light streaked over the house. Suddenly it was no longer “the new house.” It was Casita, back to life. The miracle had remembered Mirabel at last.

The familiar moving tiles ushered everyone inside. There, Isabela found she could once again manifest plants of every kind, and Luisa could relocate even the largest of them with ease. Camilo showed off in his usual Camilo way, and Antonio joyously embraced his jaguar friend. Pepa danced under a scattering of hail. Julieta sighed in relief and headed for the kitchen.

Bruno felt that tickling, twitching, itching sensation behind his eyes again. He made a tiny sound of discomfort, and Dolores arrived at his side. “You okay, Tío?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I lived with it for forty-five years. Won’t take long to get used to it again.”

“The break was nice though, huh?”

He looked at her. “ You okay?”

She smiled in a way that wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, it was driving me a little bit nuts not knowing everything that was going on. Hm! Speaking of which, someone is talking about me right now.”

“Someone called Mariano?” Bruno teased.

She gave him another smile, a sly one, as she walked away.

Dolores was immediately replaced by Mirabel. “Tío, I -- well, I know you said --”

“Look at all this! Look how happy everyone is, look at Casita! This all happened because of you.”

“Oh …”

“I’m so proud of you, Mirabel.”

“As am I,” said Alma behind them.

Before Mirabel could respond, the tiles moved them again, grouping the whole family together for a photo, only to prank them at the last second by throwing everyone askew. That picture would become a favorite.

The party carried on. Even though Bruno had grown more or less accustomed to the villagers, he still wouldn’t call himself a mingler. He found a dimly-lit corner in which to watch people and share snacks with Chato and Pecosita. From time to time, a member of his family would notice he was there and come check on him, and he assured them he was fine. And he was fine. He was happy to see his hermanas and sobrinos enjoying their Gifts.

As for his own … Julieta was right. A lot of things had changed. Just because he could see the future again didn’t mean that it was the only thing he could be known for.

The storytime kids, as he’d come to think of them, found him. “Are you able to do the spooky glowing green eyes again?” Juancho wanted to know.

“If I have a vision, yeah. But I can’t really do one here.”

“If you have a what?”

“A vision. If I look into the future.”

“YOU CAN LOOK INTO THE FUTURE?!”

“... Yes? Did you think my Gift was just glowing green eyes?”

“Well, you said Camilo made up all that other stuff, so, yeah.”

Alejandra elbowed him. “Didn’t you listen to Mirabel? She said he could see the future. You can trust her.”

“Will you still tell us stories?” Cecilia asked. “Even though the house is finished?”

“Actually, I’ve been making plans abAAAUGH!””

A tall, sinister figure loomed in the dim light, wide grin and glowing green eyes prominent. “What’s this I hear?” the figure asked in a deranged voice. “Juancho doesn’t believe in my power?”

“Hi Camilo!” Cecilia said brightly.

Sighing, the caricature of Bruno shifted into Camilo. “You could at least pretend to be scared.”

“You’re both storytellers. The two of you should tell stories together!” Alejandra suggested.

“Well,” Bruno said slowly. “If Camilo wants in on the secret project I’m working on, we just might.”

Camilo raised an eyebrow. “Secret project, you say?”

A few days later, Bruno brought Mirabel and Antonio in on the idea as well.

“Tiny … little … tiny little adorable rat costumes?” Mirabel sputtered, her eyes shining with glee. Abruptly, she ran out of Bruno’s room.

Bruno blinked in confusion as he watched her go. “... And I was hoping you, Antonio, could help communicate to the rats the more complicated things we want them to do. Like if, say, Camilo came up with a dance for them.”

Antonio nodded. “I can do that.” He hopped into his brother’s lap. “We’re a team!”

“So what I’m hearing,” Camilo said to Bruno, while giving Antonio a tickle, “is that you want me to direct.”

“Eventually, maybe,” Bruno conceded. “You have several qualities that could be helpful. So I think for now, stage manager might be the best job for you.”

“Stage manager? I could direct and act, but I don’t think I could be a stage manager and act.”

“It’s rat theater. The rats do the acting.”

“Oh.” That was a clearly disappointed Oh.

“Although …” Bruno pondered. “What if we picked a classic tale. All the roles played by rats -- except! For one character, which will be played by a human. The audience will love it. The juxtaposition of man and beast.”

Camilo grinned. “Will I get to sing?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know if it’ll be you in the role. We’ll see how you do in the audition.”

Camilo clutched at his heart. “Oh, Tío! You wound me! How could you do this to your own flesh and blood?”

Antonio giggled.

“You’re definitely not getting the role like that. That was way over the top, even for comedy. C’mon, I haven't even chosen the story yet, let alone the character. You might not be right for the part.”

“Right for the part? I can look. Like literally. Anybody. ” He shifted into his abuela.

“But can you act like anybody?”

“I’ll have you know my very first role was Christ himself!” He shifted again, into a serene and holy figure. How’d he manage that nimbus?

“That was a nativity play. You didn’t have this ‘pass out the loaves and fishes’ look. You were still in your mamá’s belly, while she played the role of Maria.”

“It still counts!”

“You were part of a costume!”

Camilo fixed Bruno with what was apparently his best steely gaze. “I’ll get that role. Just you watch me, old man.”

“Hey, that was pretty good. You might have a chance.”

He brightened. “Really?”

“Don’t call me, kid. I’ll call you.”

Mirabel came back in, carrying a notebook and a small basket. She halted mid-step when she saw what was before her. “Why is Camilo Jesus?”

From Camilo’s lap, Antonio shrugged, toying with the bucket. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

Mirabel sat down among them as Camilo reverted to himself. “I’m ready to take notes and measurements for costumes. Hmm, any ideas on how to make a rat-sized dress form?” Everyone looked blank. “Eh, never mind, I’ll figure something out.”

Patient Pecosita was recommended to serve as model. While Mirabel unfurled her tape measure, Bruno told the kids more of his thoughts. A remodeled dollhouse might suffice; otherwise, he had other ideas for how sets might be constructed.

“Ay, more building,” Camilo grumbled.

“Before I start making costumes,” Mirabel said, “I’m going to need to know … well, what costumes to make. What play are we doing?”

“That’s … a good question.”

“We should ask the rats what kind of play they want to do,” Antonio suggested.

“... I’m certainly open to hearing their opinions.” Rats had artistic preferences?

“Pecosita says Torbellino is a great acrobat, and Tesoro would make a wonderful star performer.”

Bruno nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Torpe wants to do his own stunts.”

“Absolutely not. That would be like asking Agustín to make friends with bees.”

Antonio’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a great idea! I’ll go talk to them.” He hurried from the room.

As the door closed, Mirabel and Camilo looked at each other and snickered. After a moment, Bruno cracked a smile, too. As eager as he was to make this vision -- er, idea -- a reality, the truth was there was no rush. Nothing to worry about.

Not yet, anyway.

That evening, Bruno was cornered by his three eldest sobrinas. “You weren’t going to leave us out, were you?” Isabela asked, her arms folded.

“Leave you out? Of what, my will? I don’t really have anything.”

“I heard everything, Tío,” Dolores said. “Your big plans?”

Oh. Mariano had been sworn to secrecy. Dolores had not.

“Well, I … well, I just didn’t think you guys would be interested.”

Luisa looked hurt.

“I mean, because you’re adults! And this is rat theater! Silly Tío Bruno’s silly little rat theater.”

“We know it’s silly,” Luisa said. Her eyes widened. “That is! I don’t think any of us expected it to be serious. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t still be a fun thing to do. As a family.”

“Besides,” Dolores said, “Isabela’s got an idea for an addition to the show that we don’t think you’re going to be able to pass up. Why don’t you show him?”

Isabela unfolded her arms and, with a deeply smug look, opened her hands.

“Those are potatoes,” Bruno pointed out.

Isabela began humming. It was an old song, a lullaby. Were the potatoes … were the potatoes moving? At first it was hard to tell, but yes. They rocked back and forth, eventually standing on end. Bruno saw now that what looked like irregularities were vestigial limbs. Each had an indentation that indicated a mouth. And yes -- the potatoes had eyes.

The two potatoes, too, began to sing, in a wordless babble, harmonizing with Isabela. Tottering on their tiny legs. Waving their little arms. Bruno stared at them, mouth agape.

Isabela reached the end of the song, and the potatoes turned and waved to each other.

“Now, I realize they might not look like much. But I’m working on some costumes for them. Something simple, since I know Mirabel will be making rat costumes for you. Hats and ponchos, I thought.”

“Might not … did you just … did you just say they might not look like much?”

“There’s a purple one, too, but,” Isabela shook her head, “it can’t carry a tune.”

“So?” Dolores prompted. “Are they in?”

“Are we in?” Luisa added.

The potatoes, they agreed, would perform the opening act. Bruno wasn’t sure anything he could come up with had any business following singing potatoes, but their performance was too brief to go second. Isabela busied herself training her potatoes and fashioning their clothes. Luisa joined the writing team. Dolores didn’t write much, but she gave excellent feedback, and proved so good at keeping up with everything that Camilo happily gave her his stage manager duties.

Now there was no keeping the project a secret, and soon Félix approached Bruno with an idea for a comedy piece that pitted himself on trombone against Agustín on piano. “You could put us right after intermission,” he suggested. “We’ll get people back in their seats.”

“I suppose that would work, assuming that the play turns out to be a comedy.”

Félix looked across the room at his older son, who loomed over half a dozen rats, doing his very best hammy villain. The rats ignored him in favor of the younger son, who was guiding one rat through performing a pratfall. Nearby, the sentient potatoes had requisitioned Bruno’s bucket for a bath. He clapped his cuñado on the shoulder. “Bro, I sure hope it is.”

Which brought Bruno back to the script. Which wasn’t quite a script just yet, more a collection of vague ideas. Luisa had petitioned for sword fights and unicorns. Camilo insisted there should be a werewolf somewhere. (“Why a werewolf?” Bruno had asked. “Because some kid heard I was a shapeshifter and thought that meant I was a werewolf. I thought it was funny.”) As for Bruno, he’d secretly hoped there might be room for hot air balloon pirates and adventure on the Nile. And as Dolores swept by, she requested some telenovela-style scandalous romance.

“The warrior princess rides in on her unicorn and rescues the mummy from the werewolf?” Bruno asked, trying to get it straight.

“No, she rescues the werewolf from the pirates,” Luisa explained. “And they have a sword fight.”

“Then the princess and the werewolf fall in love, of course,” Camilo added.

“And it’s a scandal because it’s forbidden to love a werewolf?” Dolores asked.

“I think the twist should be that when the werewolf returns to human form, it turns out she’s a woman,” Isabela offered.

“Oh, even better.”

“Why would it be wrong to love a werewolf?” Antonio asked. “As long as she’s not mean. I bet she’d be nice and soft to hug.”

“She might even play fetch,” Mirabel said. “No? What, is that too silly?”

“Where did the mummy come in, then?” Bruno murmured, scanning the pages. “And did Hernando and Jorge just disappear after scene six?” He was sure there was a scene in Act 2 where Hernando was mistaken for a famous wizard, while Jorge disguised himself as a cactus.

After a few days, word began to spread that the Madrigals were planning a big show. Bruno accepted that the secret was out. He did insist, however, that the potatoes remain a secret. Isabela agreed.

“You may have a little problem, hermanito,” Pepa said, stepping gingerly around all the props and pieces spread around Bruno’s room.

“What?” Bruno looked up from the background he was working on, a smudge of paint on his cheek.

“I’ve been talking to people, and I’m pretty sure literally everybody in the village plans on attending your show.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Mirabel asked, sewing a tiny button onto a tiny coat.

“Not if they all want to see what’s going on,” Bruno said, realizing. “Most of our performers are rats! Or potatoes!”

Camilo smiled. “Not to worry, Tío! I’ve got the solution to all your problems. If you’ll follow me.”

Bruno, puzzled, kept his peace as Camilo led him around the upper walkway. “It does mean a change of venue, but I’m just the kind of guy who would donate his own room to the cause.”

When Camilo was five, his magic room had come into being as a theater, and from what Bruno could see, this was still the case after the rebuilding. This wasn’t going to help the problem at hand.

But wait, there was something new, something like a large closet behind the last row of seats. Camilo opened the door, and with a bow, gestured Bruno inside. A light came on. There was a tall tripod in the middle of the room, and mounted atop it, what must be a kind of camera. There were other strange machines in the room as well.

“So these devices are how your future boxes with windows get their instant pictures.” Camilo explained as he started fiddling with switches.

“But we don’t have electricity in the Encanto.”

Camilo shrugged. “Magic house.” He pressed a button on the camera. “Look.”

The control room had a large window that faced the stage. Looking through it, Bruno saw that there was now a large screen hanging in the back, displaying an enlarged image of the proscenium curtains.

“Camilo, I think you’ve saved the day.”

“Well, you know what they say. The show must go on.”

The night of the show arrived. Casita was full of images of butterflies, and Bruno’s stomach was full of metaphorical ones. Clinging to his bucket, he kept peeking out from the wings. In the front row, he spotted the seven kids who had kept asking him for stories, and, as promised, Mariano. Every other seat was full as well. Julieta and Pepa stood at the heads of the aisles, acting as ushers. In the control room, of all people, was Mamá, who had reminded them that she knew her way around an old-fashioned camera. All she needed was someone to show her how to use these new machines. To her credit, she seemed to take to it well.

Everyone else was backstage. Antonio gave the rats a pep talk as Mirabel got them dressed. Félix and Agustín, staying close to their instruments, went over their routine one more time. Likewise, Luisa and Camilo ran through their lines -- as Luisa would be taking on the role of the warrior princess, while Camilo portrayed the pirate captain. (The rats’ attempts at swordplay had been unsuccessful.)

Isabela dressed her potatoes -- in very rustic garments, as she’d indicated -- and complimented Mirabel on her handiwork. “I don’t know how you do it. Your costumes turned out great!”

“Oh … thanks, Isa.” Mirabel might have blushed a little. “The truth is, I made a prototype for each one first.”

Dolores appeared next to Bruno. “I’m not sure a heart rate that fast is healthy in a man your age.”

“What? My age?” Bruno sputtered. “Betrayal!”

She giggled. “But I got you thinking about something else, didn’t I?” She moved on to Félix. “Abuela says she’s ready when you are.”

Félix had graciously agreed to act as the host of the show. His voice could easily cut through the pre-show chatter, and his cheer was infectious. He welcomed the audience to “the Triumphant Return of Madrigal’s Marvelous Rat Theater,” thanked them for coming, and thanked them for all they had done to help the Madrigals after Casita collapsed. He invited them to give themselves a round of applause. Smart.

“And now, without further ado, our first performance of the night: our angel, Isabela!”

Isabela, in her boldest, most colorful dress yet, squared her shoulders and pushed forward a wheeled table covered in bold, colorful tropical plants. The potatoes sat, momentarily inert, in the center. She disappeared to the other side of the curtain.

Bruno held his breath and crossed his fingers as Isabela began to hum. The gasps from throughout the audience told him that at least the vegetables were showing up on the screen. He listened to their high, eerie voices performing even more complicated harmonies than those he’d first heard from them. Isabela introduced each of the potatoes by name and talked a little about how they’d come about by happy accident. This was followed by two more songs before she left the stage, followed by cheers and whistles and deafening applause.

Isabela let out an excited little scream as she returned to the backstage area. “That was amazing!”

“And now for our main event,” Félix announced, “a new play: ‘The Moon Over the Nile.’”

“Break a leg!” Camilo said, as everyone took their positions. Bruno made sure to knock on wood in response.

As the curtains opened, revealing the set, only Luisa remained on stage, saluting with her sword. The play began as the warrior princess encountered the legendary duo, heroic Hernando and his faithful sidekick, Jorge, played by rats (but both voiced by Bruno).

Bruno had been a little worried that Camilo would be upset over not getting the lead role. But the boy had insisted that playing the villain was more fun, plus he loved the song that went with it. Not to mention, he got to ride around in the hot air balloon prop.

As the scenes went on, Bruno found himself wishing, just a little bit, that he’d given himself a role on stage. The kids were clearly having the time of their lives. But … while people treated him differently now than they had before his disappearance, he wasn’t sure the Encanto was ready to embrace him as an actor. If they enjoyed his show, whether or not they realized he’d been the driving force behind it, that should be enough, right?

Now came the intermission. Bruno stopped by the control room to check in with his mother. “It’s going well,” she told him. “This camera, it focuses itself. All I have to do is point it in the right direction.” She noticed what her son had in his hand. “What is that bucket for?”

“Oh, this? Well, it’s um … it’s just … You know what, I don’t actually need it.”

Alma shrugged. “You could set it there by the door, then. Out of the way.”

Bruno did so, and then returned backstage to try to relax for a few minutes.

Time was nearing for the next performance. Félix held his trombone at the ready, but where was Agustín?

Dolores had the answer, of course. She came running up with it. “Tío Agustín went into the control room and tripped over a bucket. He broke his --”

Leg?

“-- nose. Tía Julieta got him healed, but they needed to clean him up a bit.”

“Okay, then we’re just a little delayed. Not the worst thing that could happen.”

“When he tripped, he knocked over the camera. It’s completely destroyed.”

“The camera? The camera that lets us project our tiny little actors onto the screen so people can actually see them? The big dance number is in this half!” He bent over, pressing his hand to the wall, and hyperventilated.

“Tío?” It was Mirabel. “I think there might still be a way we can save this.”

“What?”

“I’ll be right back!”

Agustín appeared, cringing with regret, and his act with Félix began. If the piano playing was a little off, at least they were able to pretend it was part of the comedy of the piece.

Mirabel returned, her arms laden with clothing. “These are the prototypes I made of the rat costumes,” she explained.

“These are … actual, human-sized costumes.”

“Yeah. Well, I never figured out how to visualize a costume for a rat before seeing what it would look like as a human costume.”

Bruno laughed in disbelief. “And you didn’t just draw them?”

“This way I had a three-dimensional view. Anyway, I was already making Camilo and Luisa’s costumes, so …”

Bruno looked around. All his sobrinos were staring at him. “Okay, Mirabel, you’re wizard Hernando. Isabela, you’re cactus Jorge.” He handed them the outfits.

The sisters looked at each other and laughed.

“Dolores … the mummy is a non-speaking role, so you don’t have to worry about projecting your voice.”

“Perfect. Ooh, nice headdress.”

“Can I be a pirate with Camilo?” Antonio asked.

“Aww, hermanito …” his brother began.

“I want to ride in the hot air balloon!”

Camilo deflated.

“You’ll have to make do with your own trousers, pequeño, but here’s a pirate hat and jacket.”

“What about the werewolf?” Luisa asked. “I still need a werewolf to rescue!”

Ah. Yes, Bruno had thought he’d felt something furry at the bottom of the pile of costumes.

“Camilo? You wanna prove that kid right?”

“Nah, it’s all yours, Tío!”

“Isabela? It’s your song.”

“How could I pass up cactus Jorge?”

“But the werewolf …” He looked at Luisa.

“Don’t worry, Tío, I can lift you just as easily as the rat.”

“No, I know that. I was just thinking about the duet.” The song had been written for Isabela’s voice. Bruno wasn’t sure he could pull it off. But as for the mask … that, he would have to pull off.

But there was no time for doubt. Félix and Agustín were near the end of their act. It did seem to be going well, with the audience laughing in all the right places. Bruno pulled on the werewolf costume. “Here goes nothing.”

“My friends,” Félix announced, “in Act 2, the roles previously played by rats will be taken over by their understudies. We return to ‘The Moon Over the Nile.”

Swords clashed. Chashes ensued. Mysteries unraveled. The big dance number went off without a hitch, primarily thanks to Dolores. Camilo milked his villainous reprise for all it was worth. Mirabel’s Hernando was a surprisingly good imitation of Bruno’s. Isabela’s Jorge sprouted extra cacti, which earned her laughs, though Antonio’s ad libs got more. Luisa really did haul Bruno around with surprising ease.

Then came the duet, “When the Moon Disappears in the West,” in which the werewolf’s human face was revealed in the second verse. There were gasps from the audience. Were they negative gasps, or just surprised ones? But at the end of the song, Bruno and Luisa received a standing ovation.

Bruno stared toward the audience, straining, unsuccessfully, to see against the stage lights. Was that applause really for him? Well, it was for Luisa, mostly, surely. But nobody was booing or throwing things at him. Not a single wayward guava churro in sight.

The rest of the play was a blur, until the curtain call. Bruno was the last to be called, and Félix sure was taking his time with it, laying on superlatives like “the man who made it all possible,” “the creative genius” and “one of my favorite cuñados.”

As he stepped through the curtain, Bruno wished he had his bucket to fidget with. It had tripped Agustín, true, but it had also protected Bruno when he’d had to plunge headfirst through the wall of the collapsing Casita. The bucket was a two-edged sword.

Isabela draped a garland of flowers over Bruno’s shoulders. He took his bow. The applause did not stop. This was … this was for him. Actually for him. The whole village was here, and they could see Bruno as something else besides a bad luck prophet.

And so could he.

#encanto #encantobigbang #it's me amrys

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maraczeks · 3 years

Text

tww s4 thread pt 13

#june 26 2021 #why does the wat janel says what's up make it sound so insane #donnas relationships being wielded so policy stuff gets affected is so 😭😭#why she should just date josh!#gotta put all my energy towards cj leo jd toby #oh my god i'm actually so emo i miss sam toby josh #that trio was such a pillar of the show actually 🙁🙁#i don't even know what conflict she's talking abt w danny ??? but idc simon was it guys #cj .. why #he's so ugly sorry i just who decided cj danny was likeable #HES SO JEALOUS GODDDD THE BUZZ OH MT GODDD #omg no bc it was donna crush buzz earlier like s2 now it's josh's turn omgggggngnbfbcnndnxbndjsbdhahahahahahhahsbfhsnjdjdksbd #oh this is like the palestinian b*mbings 🙁🙁#no bc all her relationships involve josh first the republican lawyer guy now this ongggnvncndbnxncncncmxbcbbxbdnxksjd #WHATRHFHDJHDHDJDJXJS #THEY ARGUING ARGUING OMIGOSH #/&:@(@:$2)??#S1 STATE OF THE UNION! i think #attached to tobys couch help #cjs empathy is everything to me #he is sooooo obsessed with donnas whereabouts #what happened #oh no..#oh no i'm scared #i'm so scared oh no #so very scared #oh donna... oh my girl oh no #oh man i love donna but ahh wanna keep her bubble wrapped LMAO #i just realized i got stockard and sigourney mixed up lmao #no cuz donna literally perfect and then like every other season they give her a big screw up related to her bf now why

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stevenbasic · 3 years

Photo

Melissa Monroe, new Office Manager at Far Horizons Medical Associates, was back in the office after one day away. She’d taken the time off to settle herself, to get her thoughts straight, to wrap her head around - god! - just how fucking exciting it all was, now that he was...omigosh...becoming smaller.

And she was bigger every day...

She had summoned him - summoned him! - to her office, on this cold, rainy October morning. She’d told her girls to call him to her and he had come, without complaint. Her boss...or, haha, her ‘boss’...at her beck and call. Nnngh it made her squirmy. He had the title, but they..oh god...they both knew who was in charge where it counted. It made her feel every ounce a woman, dominating a man like this. It was early Friday and it was time for their weekly coffee date. Coffee, haha! She’d be feeding him more milk than ever, she thought with a laugh to herself - haha haha, it’s so funny! - and making sure he took off his jacket so she could see his thin, weak shoulders.

God!!!

It had been pointless, she thought to herself, as she sat up on her knees next to him on her office couch. She’d been calm when she asked him to sit. She’d been professional when she’d given him the tablet, pre-loaded with the new application photos and videos of a bevy of girls ripe for her team. She’d been dutiful, as she helped him out of his jacket, fed him his warm milk, and straightened his hair, set pillows behind him. But now, as she slowly rose up next to where he sat, she knew her “mental health day” had been a joke. She knew, no matter how conservatively she’d forced herself to dress this morning - in this vest, blouse, these pants - it was all for naught. In fact, the day away - instead of calming her - had made her jittery, like she was jonesing for a hit. She needed to see him, be in the same room as him, breathe air that had him in it. And, when she finally had him sat down next to her, as she felt herself slowly towering over him more and more, she knew she really had no control over these new urges she’d been having. Get a grip Missy, haha! she scolded herself, He’s still your boss!!

She straightened his funny little shirt collar for him. He’s just so small!!

”M-m-Melissa..?” Dr. J finally peeped. He’d been feeling it himself, secretly, this urge to see her. What was wrong with him?? It had gone way beyond just surreptitiously wanting to ogle her huge tits, her powerful legs. Admittedly it had started that way but now it was more than just looking for any chance to marvel at that god-given ass. He felt like he physically needed to be near her, and now after a day away he’d come to her when she called, obediently taken her directions, and had sat in relative silence. He felt cowed, and ashamed of himself. She works for you!! he told himself, Get a grip, man!!

“I’m sorry...just so excited to see y-...to be back,” she giggled, straightening up next to him just so, to get her breasts just under his eye level, “we have so much work to do, with these applicants, and I thought it’d be better if we do this together. Is it okay?”

“y-yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to focus his attention on the ‘applications’, on the images of these young, healthy, pretty women on the tablet she’d handed him, and not on the J-cups stretching the business blouse right next to him.

“I always get just so excited for our Friday coffee dates,” Melissa added, straightening her shoulders, “And you all dressed up for me...in a, is this a tuxedo shirt? You look so nice...”

It’s all I had that fit me; I wore this back in high school. ”Th-thanks,” he stammered, “and they’re, uh…’meetings’, not ‘dates’...” He was flailing, grasping for any semblance of authority. “...and I-I usually like to do these outside the office…”

“Oh, but why would you want to be anywhere else for our Friday coffee date?” Melissa cooed, scooting in closer to him, “It’s so cozy here, just the two of us. And it’s cold outside, rainy. So nice in here…”

She watched him shiver, even as he pretended to still be focused on the applicants. She could tell he needed her, needed her warmth. His little body was aching for it. It drove her nuts. ”But maybe we can do our dates at night…like, I could take you out to dinner…”

That got his attention!

Haha! Look at his face! Maybe, she thought, maybe she did just overstep there a teeny bit haha. But she was getting to the point where she couldn’t help herself. She felt reckless, she felt drunk on him and the idea of smothering him with her size. And she loved how nervous he just got. She just asked him out! And, she noticed...he didn’t say ‘no’.

Melissa laughed quietly, knowing his little personality was having trouble handling everything she was throwing at him right now. Realizing just how very much the alpha she was in this moment, she knew she needed to treat him gently, and couldn’t be too aggressive. “We can talk about that another time,” she said, making sure her voice sounded warm with understanding...and patient. She pet his shoulder, rubbed the back of his neck as she sensed his tension relaxing. “Now,” she began again, “it's been four days. We have, omigod, more than a hundred applications and we need to make some decisions.” She watched him nod, turn back to the screen in his hand. “I’ve put aside 20 that look good…”

With him still holding the tablet, she began to swipe through pictures of girls. Videos of girls. Resumes of girls. She would watch his face as a particularly pretty one from Hooters appeared, or a tall one from Evolution. “Ooo, look at her!” she would coo. She saw his eyes dart when the cleavage got too aggressive, and it would make her giggle. It was obviously - haha - making him uncomfortable, looking at these girls with his female Office Manager at his side. He was trying to hold it together, sound and appear relaxed, but his comments were becoming confused, his speech devolving to incoherent mumbles.

She swiped out of the applications. She knew what she should do.

”It’s hard to focus, with all this going on, isn’t it?” she enjoined, dropping her voice low, compassionate, suddenly tender.

”It...it is, kinda,” he answered. She watched as he turned back up to her, looking for some relief from the onslaught of cheesecake from the screen. Looking to her for comfort, guidance.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she asked, words dripping with concern, empathy. She knew she could, if she wanted, flood him with her pheromones, make him feel the way she wanted. They were so close, though; she might kill him haha.

“It...it is, with...with…” she listened to him stammer, watching the little wheels and gears fit and start in his face. He was flailing, the poor thing, clueless and impotent, so adorable. He needed a woman.

”...with the divorce, hm?” she offered.

”y-yeah”

”shhhh, I know,” she consoled him, “it must be scary, huh? Life might get hard for men, without a woman, a wife. You’re all a mess, confused.” Her heart was beating in her chest so hard; he wasn’t even trying to argue, to be ‘strong’. She knew she could take him another step. “Here, I know what’ll help,” she said, “You need something to focus on...now, I want you to relax…”

With that, she sat up straight, sliding her hand from behind him, and began to unbutton her vest.

”m-Melissa?” he peeped, just the meager sound of his voice making her chest swell with pride, knowing how she was affecting him. He could do nothing but watch as she peeled the vest away from her chest and slide it off her shoulders.

In a moment it was laid, forgotten, on the couch behind her, and her hand was back behind his head. He was staring, she saw, right at her tits.

“shhhh…I know, sweetie, I know. It’s all so confusing, so hard,” she purred, “But relax...I’m here.”

He reeled inside when he heard himself moan, a weak little whine. He knew he should pull back, step away, recover whatever dignity he had left, but the sight of her mammoth bosom, stretching tautly at her sheer-thin, snap-up blouse, held him rapt. She was just so...big. So big and soft. Her chest in that moment was a safe refuge, magnetic and majestic, a sanctuary.

“Sheryl’s divorcing you, sweetie, it’s a hard fact to face but it’s true,” Melissa continued, “She’s leaving you with nothing, no money, just this job. And, really, she owns the practice, and the building, doesn’t she? So she’s really your boss. But she’s letting you stay, in the job, in the apartment she owns upstairs, right? She’s being very kind, really…”

She saw him glance down at the envelope of papers on the low table in front of them.

“...and she doesn’t need to be. She doesn’t have to be so patient. She just wants you to sign those papers, sweetie. Before she has to make things hard for you.”

She heard him whine again, and smiled as his eyes came back to her breasts.

“I’ll keep the papers here,” she consoled him, petting his hair and fighting the urge to just ease his face straight into her tits, “When you’re ready you come to me, I’ll help you sign.”

Her heart nearly broke in two when his sweet brown eyes then rose to meet hers, pleadingly. His lip quivered, he looked so distraught, so at a loss. “M-Melissa, I…” he began, trying to find his words, “I...I can’t…”

“Shhhhh…” she hushed him, “I’m here. We’re here. You need to let us help you through this. And the more of us there are, the easier it’ll be for you”

”m-m-more?” he stammered, obviously still confused as his eyes glanced down again into her bountiful cleavage.

Melissa giggled. “Haha yes, sweetie, more of me but also more of them,” she said, as she redirected his attention back to the tablet, opened up the images, “Look at all these girls that want to work for you…help you...be there for you...”

“Shanette, Katrina, Sammi,” she began, “Emily, Lexi, Bianca…”

His eyes goggled again at the barrage of women across the screen, all the legs, all the tits, all the hips. He had actually gradually started, in recent days, to allow himself to enjoy being surrounded by pretty employees. His business was suffering, the quality of care to his patients had plummeted, and his self-esteem had crumbled. This journey he was passively letting himself being taken on was - in more ways than one - sure to ruin him, but at least the view along the way was nice. Having his staff be made mostly of unqualified bimbettes, all high heels, lipstick and push-up bras, had its few perks. But what she was suggesting, bringing in all these...so many...it was like...like...

It was like an army. A swarm.

He needed to say something. “M-Melissa, I, uh, have to admit,” he began, the worry on his face plain to see, “I’m a little scared...bringing in all these girls…”

Melissa had, as she’d been watching him look through the portfolios of all the new girls, slowly been getting even more aroused, picturing him surrounded by all this estrogen, drowning in it. But hearing him say it? She nearly groaned.

“Y-you’re...scared?” she asked, husky voice betraying her excitement, “Of hiring women? Girls that are too attractive?” As she spoke, she’d been unable to help herself, and had inched in closer to him, gently turned his head back to her, back towards her breasts. “You think they’ll be a...distraction?”

Dr. J was struck speechless again, for the moment, knowing he shouldn’t be ogling the tits of his Office Manager. But, he was encouraged by her, and urged to reply as he felt her massaging the nape of his neck. “Uhhh...well, it’s not that,” he managed, catching himself staring at the outline of what looked like a black bra under her blouse, ”but more like, uh..uh, like, it’s a lot. C-can we afford it?”

Smiling under the attention, his obvious dumbstruck awe, Melissa continued. “Remember the Lean In grant...it’s so much money. Supporting female-oriented business, supporting women, giving them jobs,” she explained, “ And the more we hire, the more we get. The ladies at Lean In are going to take care of it all for you…”

Oh, uh, yeah, right. He knew all this. “B-but...where will we put everybody?”

“Oh, sweetie, didn’t you hear?” she purred, “Construction on the expansion starts on Monday. I have the company all set up, plans are made….here, I put a picture of the blueprints on here too…”

”wait what?” he sputtered, suddenly even more confused, more agitated.

Omigod how delicious is this?? Melissa thought to herself, relishing the astonishment in his voice. She remembered her last conversation with Sheryl, on the Zoom call along with Abby and Wendy from Evolution. They were about to show him, in spades, what women were capable of. ”Sheryl said to go ahead with it,” she began, trying to keep her voice measured, not betray just how fucking sexy this was, “tenants from the other suites are gone, we’re going to have whole bottom floor…” She’d already pulled up the image of the blueprint, and started him scrolling through the mock-ups, the digital models, the drawings of the new wings. They were beautiful, really. “The practice is expanding,” she continued, “offices for the new providers…” She flipped through digital images of modern, sleek medical areas, new hallways, big conference rooms, all stunningly more sleek and state-of-the-art than his current office. “There’ll be a whole suite, separate desks, just for the Evolution Study…”

“oh my god…!” he finally blurted, seeing one last image, a huge, classically majestic statue of a woman, set in a fountain, looming over an enormous new atrium. A statue that looked - jesus christ is this a joke?? - all-too strikingly like Melissa. This had become too much for him, this was too overwhelming. His brain, his sense of ego, were becoming fried. He knew it, and so did she.

She turned his head back to her chest, watched his eyes go wide again as she pulled him closer, diverting him effectively away from what was upsetting him.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Melissa purred, “my blouse is pretty see-through, isn't it?” She drew a deep breath, allowed him to stare again at her chest. ”...and you’re looking at my bra, aren’t you?”

”n-no, s-sorry, I…” he stammered, face flushing.

”shhhhh...here, you need more help…” she said.

“oh my god Melissa!!” Dr. J blurted, his voice louder, more emphatic than it had been all morning as he watched - in a swift, immediate motion, Melissa ripped open the snaps of her blouse, pulled it away, exposing her huge, newly-burgeoned chest.

“O shush…!” she laughed, tickled to amusement by his panicked consternation, dropping her blouse in a crumple behind herself, “You’ve seen me in my bikini, it’s the same thing.” She sat up straight, posed her shoulders, and let him stare at the huge breasts she’d grown. “My door is locked, it’s just you and me,” she assured him, her left hand finding its way back to its place behind his head, keeping his focus where she wanted it, “It’s okay, it’s alright. I know it helps…

The two sat there, for a long moment, with Melissa idly brushing fingers through his thick hair and allowing him to stare at her big, big breasts. She was supported heroically in a black satin bra that was huge but obviously still too small for her, and she watched as his eyes found the bulges of her that escaped the bottoms of her bra cups. He seemed helpless to do anything else but gape, and looked down into the flesh of it all. She was letting off just enough perfume now to relax him, help him settle his thoughts. By the end of this meeting, she wanted him to have come to terms with everythingl. She knew he was close.

”Looking at a woman’s breasts is just so relaxing, isn’t it?” she purred, indulging him with a voice she knew would be calming to him, “Helps you forget all your troubles…”

She was happy with his response, and knew she couldn’t expect much more. He’d nodded, grunted something affirmative.

Melissa giggled. The poor thing probably felt all of two inches tall right now. But she had eased him into a nice enough place, and - if he actually was two inches tall - they both knew where else she could ease him.

She knew the time was right, and pulled up the pictures of the applicants for him again. “Imagine, sweetie, if we had allllll these girls here for you, too,” she proposed, putting forward her picture of what she wanted the practice to be, “imagine all these girls, providing for you, taking care of what you need. imagine how you could relax then, with all of us around…”

“oh Jesus...Melissa,” he muttered, still lost in her cleavage. He was disbelieving, incredulous on how far he’d let things go, how much he'd let her rise, how far he’d let himself sink. He was lost in her cleavage and felt helpless to pull himself out.

“You missed me yesterday, didn’t you?” she asked, giggling a bit and scuffing his hair.

He’ll do anything I want, she marveled.

I’ll do anything she wants, he realized.

”w-w-we’re hiring them all, aren’t we?” he asked, finally, resigned to his new fate.

”Mmhm,” she answered, and felt the world opening up for her...

================================================

Thank you loads to DragoonGTS for his renders. I've (awkwardly) photoshopped/faceswapped a few of them, but he did most all the heavy lifting for this post's imagery. Check out his Patreon and DeviantArt and let's hope he'll be able to contribute more awesomeness in the future.

More images, more storylines, and more more more Melissa at my Patreon

#Growing Into the Job

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murdertrialimagines · 4 years

Text

Kokichi, Kaede, Shuichi, and Kiibo X They/Them! Reader (Dream Soulmate AU!)

‘If it’s alright, how about a soulmate AU where the soulmates can occasionally meet in each other’s dreams, but can’t remember their soulmate’s identity when they wake up? w/ a curious, persistent, and thoughtful reader (they/them) and Kokichi(!!!), Kaede, Shuichi, and Kiibo please u///u thank you for all of your amazing work! ♡’

I am back from the dead. After three months of silence, I am back. I have a cosplay Tiktok now. Anyone want it? Story under the tag!

Kokichi

When in dreams with your soulmate, you know everything about them, but when you wake up, you have barely a hint

A voice, a scent, a first name if you’re extremely lucky

And for you...

You had that laugh

The laugh that this boy (it was a boy, right?) had that rang in your head everyday, awake or otherwise

You of course asked him a plethora of questions, but could never remember the answers

That didn’t stop you though, each night you fruitlessly searched

It haunted you, in a way

You had a small book younger you swore to fill with all of the things you could remember from those nights

Yet all you had written was ‘purple’ and ‘laugh’.

You asked all of your friends if they knew anyone with the two specific characteristics, but no one knew, or were too busy with their own hunts

You sat outside the small cafe, taking a sip of your cold drink to balance the warm day

This is where you sat when you thought, as no one approached you and that gave you time to think

And today you sat, book in hand to try and figure out the clues your brain has so helpfully left you

But the words seemed to be a mess of nothing mixed with more nothing

“For the last time I’m not getting you the unicorn drink.” A stern and possibly annoyed voice rang from inside the shop, radiating out of the open door

“But I really want it!!”

“You got it last time and hated it.”

“But I want it!”

‘Children’, you thought. ‘Never wanna be wrong.’

After what sounded like a little hushed arguing, you grateful for the litttle quiet, the two seemed to hash out a deal

“Fine. Unicorn drink.”

“Knew you’d crack.” Followed by a distinct laugh

That child is a little- wait.

Quickly standing up, rattling the table a bit, you leaned into the doorway

A small teen balanced out next to a taller one, both donning grey and purple hair respectively-

“Wait.”

You must’ve said that a little bit louder than expected as the few people in the shop looked your way

You kept your eyes on the short purple boy, until your eyes locked with his

And the memories suddenly came flooding back

All of the dreams you shared, the laughs, the arguments, the plans you two made for when you found each other, it all came forward

“...it’s you..”

The boy’s surprised face, probably from seeing all of these memories as well, turned into a grin one could only describe as childish

“Shuichi!! My soulmate is right there! And they’re more attractive than Kaede!”

This earned the boy a shove, coincidentally in your direction

He stepped closer, a slightly more serious look on his face

“So, I’m Kokichi! Who are you, how are you, and what’s your blood type?”

“Uh, Y/n L/n, I’m good, actually, and...b positive?”

The boy, Kokichi as it was, cracked a smile, looking slightly down at you

“Well, this should be an interesting development!”

“What do you mean?”

The boy suddenly took your hand. With a smile Kokichi started to drag you off, leaving his friend behind

”we gotta go boast to Miu that I got a hot soulmate!”

“W-What?!”

Kaede

Every since you started dreaming of your soulmate, everyone has noticed how refreshed you had been

Some people fought with their soulmates, earning them the feeling of nightmares or never sleeping when they wake up

And although you can’t exactly remember what happens in your dreams, you can tell how serene it is

Faint hints of vanilla and the sound of a piano being played, is what you would describe your dreams as

Everyone said you were lucky to have such dreams that refresh you each morning

But you secretly wished for a little more

People always believed the idea that the more outgoing your soulmate was, the more you could remember when you woke up

And you, you could only remember classical music

It didn’t bother you much, as you knew for sure you had a soulmate, and a possibly famous one, as your friends always teased you about

So as payback, you dragged them to every recital you could find in the area, forcing them to watch the pianist with you in hopes it was your soulmate

Yet you never found them, until you transferred schools

First day at hopes peak high-school, as a reserve course student

The uproar of bullying towards reserve students had died down before you transferred, luckily, but some still picked on the kids who got in without a talent

You had been amazed at all of the talented people in the school, gawking at all of their talents whenever they showed off for you

You were especially interested in all of the musical talents, as your soulmate had planted an appreciation for music in you

When you heard of an ultimate musician, you had a small thought wondering if she might be your soulmate, but that idea was quickly tossed when you saw how intense her personality was

You would definitely have remembered that

When you met her, you told her of your situation in passing, and your soulmate troubles seemed to stick in her mind

“I know every musical talent there is here! I can totally hook up my bud with a cute player!”

She began introducing you to every person who’s talent had to do with music, yet none seemed to be a match

It had turned to months of being at the school with no luck

‘Maybe my soulmate is just a normal person with a knack for piano...’ you thought as you laid on one of the benches in the school garden, arm over your eyes to block the sun

You let your mind wander, listening to the noises of nature, the water from the nearby fountain, and the kids chatting as they walked past

You were almost asleep when you heard it

A soft humming voice, humming a small tune that sounded extremely familiar

Quickly moving your arm from your face, you sat up to see a blonde walking past, slightly swaying her head to the beat of the humming

“H-hey!”

You jumped up and grabbed her shoulder, the girl turning around surprised

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to know...what’s the name of the song you’re humming?”

“Oh, it’s Minuet in F Major!” The girl said with a slight smile

Finally putting a name to the song you’ve heard so much in your dreams, you smiled back before continuing

“So, uh, this might sound weird, but I hear that song in my dreams a LOT, so I was wondering if you played piano or something?”

She gave a gasp before her eyes lit up

“I do, and I play this in my dreams for my soulmate!” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Kaede Akamatsu, Ultimate Pianist!”

Taking her hand, you smiled at her once more. “I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“So am I! What’s your name?”

“Y/n”

“That’s a nice name!”

“Thank you! I’ve actually been looking for my soulmate since I came to this school, but none of the other talents have been a match”

“What bad timing!” She said with a laugh. “I’ve been out of country for the last few months playing in a championship!”

Kaede grabbed your hand, cupping it into hers

“I’m so glad I finally get to meet you, Y/n! My friends are gonna be so excited to meet you!”

As she began to drag you away you smiled at her, knowing how serene your life was going to be from now on, awake or not.

Shuichi

You had a great memory

You remembered a lot of things about your soulmate, their black hair, their strange hobbies, and the stories of their friends

Yet you could not find them /anywhere/

You first started searching for just people with black hair that matched your age, but that quickly turned out to be impossible

So you started looking for people with his hobbies, that many teens couldn’t be interested in murders, or mysteries, right?

Wrong

So you began to look for people who were possibly his friends, but that was near impossible as well, seeming as they didn’t go to your school and you couldn’t wander onto another campus

You closed the book you wrote all of your clues in, the entire thing filled with scribbles and ink smudges, writing and clues only you could understand

You were walking home from school that day, a few textbooks as well as your notebook being carried in your arms as your bag was already full from the other assignments given to you

You looked at your watch, realizing the time you spent searching for your soulmate after class meant you had minutes to reach your bus

Picking up speed, you began to run, trying to get to the bus stop in time, paying attention to only your pace and the seconds ticking by

Running past a small patch of construction, you didn’t notice the patch of newly broken sidewalk, tripping on a larger piece of cement

Preparing to hit the dirt you braved yourself, closing your eyes

But you fell into something on the way down, taking it with you

Opening your eyes, you saw a boy on the ground next to you, a schoolboy by the looks of all of the books scattered along yours

“Omigosh, I’m so sorry!” You began scrambling to pick up your things

Adjusting his collar, the boy helped you as well as picked up his

“It’s completely fine,” he gave you a smile but you didn’t see it as you were looking for your journal

Spotting it you picked it up, managing all of your books into a carry-able pile

“Do you need any help? I’m shui-“

“I got it, but thank you! I have to run now!”

Giving him a small smile you began to run again, leaving the boy and his belongings behind

You had managed to catch your bus and your breath, and soon got home

Dropping your books onto your desk, you let out a sigh or relief as your arms stretched, joints popping slightly from being in the position for so long

Having nothing to do, you decided to look through your journal again, hoping that maybe you could piece something together

Picking it up you laid down and opened it, ready to decipher your cryptic dreams

But this wasn’t your handwriting

Scanning the pages, you analyzed the small and neat handwriting

‘Curious, rambles a bit’ ‘lots of jokes, I think (your hair color) hair?’ ‘Bubbly, but also dark at moments’ ‘I can’t find them, so I don’t think they go to Hopes Peak with me’

You kept looking at the book, wondering what had happened to it. Did you accidentally grab his? What were the odds that he was your soulmate, and had the same exact journal, for the same exact reason?

Extremely improbable, but by the looks of what was in your hands, completely possible

You continued reading the book, searching for clues to his identity

‘Kaito said that I should just remember harder. He doesn’t get that that doesn’t work because he’s known his soulmate since before dreaming of them’

A kaito...wait you’ve heard this name somewhere

Opening your phone you googled the name Kaito, paired with Hopes Peak

You found headline after headline about the famed teen who is becoming the youngest astronaut in history

Scrolling through some articles on the page, you passed one that was headed with a group picture, labeled as Kaito and his friends

And in that photo, albeit somewhat in the corner, was the boy you ran into earlier

Solidifying where the boy went, as well as his friend group, you closed the book and left your home, looking up the address for the boys school

By the time you got there, classes had ended for the day, kids swarming to go home or meet up with friends

You sat in the front of the school for a few minutes until you saw a familiar head of spiky purple hair

“Hey!” You ran towards him, stopping in front of him. “Sorry, are you Kaito?”

“Yeah dude!” He threw a thumbs up, winking at you. “Is there anything you need?”

“Well um, I ran into a kid- I think he’s your friend? He wears the grey suit and hat?”

“Yeah, that’s Shuichi! I was just about to meet up with him. Whadya need?”

“Shuichi...” you finally put a name to the boy. “Well...! I found his notebook and, I think he might be my soulmate?” You confessed, the last part of your sentence sped up in uncertainty

At this, Kaito lit up, grabbing your arm

“As a matter of fact, you are strangely similar to what he describes in his dreams! Cmon, I’ll take you to him!”

Before you could protest he dragged you off into town

He pulled you to the shopping district, entering into a small cafe close to where you and Shuichi first met

You eyed the patrons, finding the boy immediately in the back

“Shuichi!” Kaito boomed, causing you to wince as he dragged you to the table he occupied

“Ah-kaito! Who uh, did you bring?”

“This is...uh...”

“Y/n...”

“Y/n!” Kaito slapped you on the back. “They’re your soulmate!”

Both of you faltered at the sudden statement, looking at each other with surprise in your eyes

“My...soulmate?” The boy in front of you finally said before pulling out a notebook from his book bag

“So this must be yours?” Shuichi handed you the book, and you recognized it as your own journal

“Yes!” You flipped through it, glad to see it unharmed. “So, this one must be yours?”

You returned his identical journal, not missing the flash of joy in his eyes as he grazed his fingertips on the spine “oh, thank you!”

You two stared at each other for a moment, taking in the idea of finally finding your soulmate when a hand was clasped on both of your shoulders

“So!” Boomed Kaito. “Are you two going to have a date now or what?”

“Uh, yeah...yeah!” Shuichi spoke, softly grabbing your empty hand. “I want to learn more about the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

The soft smile he flashed caused your heart to skip a beat. “Yeah...I’d love that.”

Kiibo

Everyone rumors of the very unlucky few who don’t meet their soulmates in their dreams

Some say they’re doomed for a life of loneliness, while others hypothesize that they will be matched with another dreamless person

Yet these people were rare, almost never heard of, so no one worried

But when you realized you never once glimpsed a potential soulmate in your dreams, you panicked

Was it just a late start? Was your soulmate dead? Were you defective?

You kept your worries to yourself, opting to tell people vague answers when asked about your dreams

You didn’t want to be pitied, you wanted to feel loved

You knew it was fruitless, but you knew that some people who were known to not have dreams of their soulmates found them anyways, but that was just a rumor

Still, the idea that possibly, just possibly, you could figure out someone is your soulmate without a dream kept hope in your soul

You happened to find a few people who were dreamless, who told you that when they found their soulmates, it was a feeling rather than a vision

With this hope in your heart, you continued your life, everyday praying that a new encounter would lead to that one person meant for you

And while it never did, you kept your head high

Until your little brothers drone broke while he was playing with it in the backyard, accidentally flying it into a tree and snapping some wiring in it

our parent had asked you to take it to a local repair shop to see if I was worth it to repair it instead of just buying another one

So you went, begrudgingly, to a downtown store that had confirmed over a phone call that they could fix the problem

When you got there however, you noticed smoke coming out of the building, and gasped at the idea of a fire happening

However, there were no flames in sight, nor panicking citizens or firemen

Cautiously, you walked in

Inside was a worker, the one you spoke to on the phone, you assumed

And with him was a...boy?

Smoke was pouring from the boys arm, as well as sporadic sparks here and there

The chime of the door opening must’ve alerted the two, as they turned to look at the new arrival

“You must’ve called about the drone,” the worker said with a small smile, eyeing the toy in your hands. “I’ll be right with you after helping this gentleman”

However, his words fell on deaf ears as you stared at the smoking customer, who stared back in return

Your vision felt blurry, yet somehow crystal clear

A sense of weightlessness washed over you as the boys eyes lit up, quite literally

And then his arm gave a small burst of sparks that caught into a small fire

The worker rushed to put out the fire on the teens arm as you absentmindedly walked over to him

“Did you...feel that?”

“I think so,” the boy said nervously, eyes shifting around your figure. “I’ve never felt an emotion like that before. Or an emotion in general.”

You gave a small giggle, causing the boy to again physically light up at your reaction, and again spark his arm

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You said, cheeks reddening. “It’s just...”

“I’m your soulmate.”

Taken aback by what the boy so calmly said, you gave him a bewildered look

“I mean,” the boy started again, as the worker tried to quickly fix his arm, probably in fear of his workshop burning down. “I just have a lot of data on how dreamless people find their soulmates, since technically I can’t dream...”

It made sense, his train of thought. As you looked over it was easy to tell he wasn’t really human. It didn’t freak you out however, as the feeling of simply finding the one for you made all of the worries in the back of your mind go away

The atmosphere settled into an awkward silence as you stared at each other, until the worker closed the boys arm with a clang

“There, done! Now please, leave before my shop burns down...”

He turned to leave, but turned back to you

He spit a piece of paper from his mouth, and you noticed it had a phone number on it

“Call me sometime, I am quite literally my own phone so I won’t miss it.”

You gave another small laugh before pocketing the slip of paper

“Thank you, uh...”

“Kiibo.”

“Thank you, Kiibo”

I will probably disappear for another 3 months, so nag me to write!

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v3 imagine #danganronpa kiibo #kiibo #kaede akamatsu #danganronpa kaede #danganronpa shuichi #shuichi saihara #drv3 shuichi #shuichi #kiibo x reader #keade x reader #shuichi x reader #kokichi x reader #kokichi #kokichi ouma #danganronpa kokichi #danganronpa x reader

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seanfalco · 4 years

Note

Omigosh is it too late to shoot a prompt over? 👀 Could I get Klaus and Nathan meeting for the first time and having a Spider-man meme moment?

word count: 859 a/n: this was fun to think about, I ended up setting it in Vegas because I figured it was the most logical place for them to meet. Ahhh, I hope you like it lol

“Will yeh look at this place?” Nathan asked, spreading his arms wide as he entered the casino floor, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Ritzy,” you agreed, sweeping your gaze to take in the scene.

“I’ll have this place eatin’ outta th’palm of my hand in no time,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together eagerly before throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Uh huh, just don’t get caught,” you grumbled, eyeing him askance.

“Pshhh, as if,” Nathan exclaimed with bravado right before a man walking the other direction stumbled, bumping into his shoulder.

“Ow! Watch it!” Nathan yelped, massaging his shoulder exaggeratedly as the other fellow half turned, holding his hands up, two distinctive tattoos flashing across his palms -- hello and goodbye.

“Oops, my bad,” the tattooed fellow exclaimed and for a moment you thought Nathan’s eyes were going to pop out of his head while the other guy’s jaw dropped as soon as he fully turned to face you, his thick dark eyebrows drawing down in bewilderment.

“You!” Nathan cried, pointing shamelessly just as the other guy mirrored him. “Holy shit.”

Blinking, you looked from Nathan to the mysterious stranger across from him, who looked like he could be the spitting image of your boyfriend in about ten years or so. While his hair was shorter than Nathan’s and he sported a rather stylish goatee, his face slightly more mature, the features were breathtakingly similar -- the same handsome cheekbones, gorgeous jawline, and absolutely stunning emerald eyes with the same impressively long eyelashes.

“Who th’fuck are you and why d’you look so much like me?” Nathan demanded incredulously and you wondered, perhaps like he was, whether he could possibly have some long lost older brother he knew nothing about.

The other man offered a wry smile and a shrug. “Who knows, maybe I’m you from the future,” he exclaimed mysteriously, wiggling his fingers for effect and Nathan gasped, turning to gape at you.

Out of all the other weird shit you’d seen over the past year, there was nothing too strange any longer to not believe. For all you knew, it could be possible.

“What?” the guy asked, noticing your wide eyed expressions.

“Hey don’t joke about shite like that!” Nathan exclaimed, jabbing his finger at him, “You have no idea all the shite we’ve seen.”

The other guy merely shrugged, “Yeah, yeah, tell me about it. If you even knew the half of it kid…” he said under his breath, holding out his hand instead. “I’m Klaus.”

Nathan scowled disdainfully at Klaus’s hand for a moment before carefully taking it to shake. “Nathan, Nathan Young,” he replied importantly.

“And your lovely friend there?” Klaus asked, glancing past Nathan to you. As his dark limned eyes met yours you couldn’t help the flush that crept to your face.

“[y/n],” you answered, and he bent to take your hand and place a kiss to it.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he said with a suave grin while Nathan bristled.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, enough o’ that now!” he exclaimed, shooing Klaus away. “Keep your hands and your lips to yourself, mate!”

Klaus’s smug grin took you both in before he once again held up his hands as he backed away. “Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist, little doppelganger. Maybe I’ll see ya around. And maybe not,” he added with a shrug and he gave a little wave as he backed into the crowd, disappearing from sight.

“Prick,” Nathan muttered under his breath before turning back to you. “Can y’believe that guy? He didn’t look a thing like me,” he grumbled with a thoughtful frown.

“Uh huh, sure,” you replied skeptically, nudging your boyfriend. “He really did though.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re only sayin’ that cause y’fancied him,” Nathan shot back and you had to fight not to laugh at his sullen pout as he turned his back on you.

“Oh, c’mon,” you said, stepping in front of him and ducking your head to meet his eyes. “Maybe I only thought he was handsome because he looks like you,” you pointed out while Nathan rolled his eyes.

“Now you’re just tryin’ t’justify it,” he argued.

“Hey now,” you murmured, taking his face in your hands, “I still think you’re the most handsome … I do gotta say, that goatee was rather dashing though,” you murmured thoughtfully, eyeing your boyfriend and trying to imagine him sporting such facial hair.

Noticing Nathan’s displeasure at your comment, his arms crossed petulantly across his chest once more as he scowled deeper and you quickly moved in to rectify the situation, sinking your hands in his thick curls.

“But nothing beats these curls,” you added, leaning closer, Nathan’s expression shifting at your words.

“Oh yeah?” he pressed skeptically, raising a thick eyebrow at you. “You prefer ‘em do yeh?”

“Mhmm,” you murmured, pulling him closer, your fingers tugging lightly at his signature mop of hair. “They’re so nice for holding onto.”

“You’re welcome,” he quipped, his smug grin returning.

“Oh, come here, you jealous thing,” you muttered before pressing a kiss to his lips, hoping to drive any lingering thoughts of the suspiciously similar stranger from his mind, but you couldn’t help but wonder what were the chances?

#nathan young x reader #klaus hargreeves #nathan young #crossover #prompt request #dirtylimerick #my writing

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

Just watched the episode and I’m going to have a lot of thoughts for you, most of them probably bordering on incoherence (LOL) so this is your last chance to nope on out of this post because I’m going to go ahead and put everything else behind a cut to save the eyes that do not want to see any spoilers at all. Unlike mine, that very much wanted to see but in a lot of cases? Could not see shit, but I digress.

Shae’s stream of consciousness coming at you in 3-2-1.

First of all, can I saw how good it is to have my show back again? Like, no. I don’t quite have Season 5 levels of excitement about the new/last season, but it is definitely nice to have all these characters back.

So all these thoughts of mine. Okay. Bear with me because there be a whole lot of them, lol.

My immediate impression as the episode opened was WHOA. Such a cool shot of Daryl with one light wing, one dark wing (representing the two sides to Daryl maybe--the man of honor versus the man he was raised to be, hmm?) looking out over some dark vista of something. Seriously. It’s dark. My room is also dark at the moment and still I was squinting to see. To make out what I’m “looking” at. I really, really hope the rest of this season isn’t this hard to make out.

Is that a tank? Kinda sorta a callback to Rick’s first episode? If so, cool. If not, well. Us fans have always put way more thought into things. For real. Change my mind.

Holy intense eye contact, Batman! Daryl Dixon has literally never looked at anyone--not BethusConLeah--in quite the same smoldering way as he looks at Carol. It’s next level. I don’t know why people be fooling themselves into thinking different.

Let’s see. I can make out--besides Daryl, Maggie, and that face mask dude I already forgot the name of--Kelly, Magna, Jerry (who’s that with him?), and Carol. Sorry. My world, like Daryl’s, inevitably narrows to Carol. She’s loking fierce and fine AF per usual.

Was that Rosita I noticed rewinding to relive Daryl eye-fucking Carol?

I’m guessing this is the army base they talked about in 10C.

That Walker perking up like “I smell food--pancakes and bacon and oohhhh” has me giggling inappropriately right off the bat. WTF.

Look at all my fabulous ladies tiptoeing through that Walker minefield. And Carol spotting that gun that might be useful right away. Listen, if you don’t think her mind ain’t always ten steps ahead of everybody else’s, you’d be wrong.

So. Are these Walkers just so old and feeble not even the call of fresh meat attracts them? Because just tiptoeing through their midst without the knockoff Lady Gaga meatsuits or skin masks has never really worked before that I can remember.

I just want to see most of this season. Is that really too much to ask? Don’t X-Files and Game of Thrones us, Angela. Please and thank you very fucking much.

Okay. Is the one drop of blood thing making anybody else have 28 Days Later vibes? Kinda? Sorta? No? Just me? Okay then. Carry on.

Wait a minute, though. How they be explaining how Daryl keeeps acquiring all these new tats all the time? Hmm? It’s like they just quit giving a shit about continuity in these latter seasons.

I mean. Do Walkers sleep now? LMAO. What is this? I guess they’re constantly evolving?

There’s my baby Lydia. Love my smol bean.

Alright though. I love to see the ladies of TWD kick some ass. It’s very gratifying. Gimps would never. Thank you, Angela.

Clever, resourceful, calm and collected, quick thinking Carol to the rescue! Seriously. Her haters must be withering away inside with absolute envy.

Hey, ya’ll. Remember when Carol was still mastering her sharpshooting skills at the Prison yard and shot at Rick’s feet? Her little “sorry, sorry”? LOL. If Rick could only see her now. Wait. He already knew what so many of his stans refuse to acknowledge--Carol=ultimate survivor and true savior to the group many times over.

Maggie’s got herself a gun, too. Go my badass girls.

Of course, Carol’s got everybody’s back. Of fucking course, Daryl’s got hers even when everybody else seem frozen in some kind of awe or stupification or something. Microcosm of the whole damn show right there.

Carol’s like “here’s your knives, love of my life.”

Eh. Maybe that’s just me.

Nah. She’s totally thinking it, too.

YAS! YAS! Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride with the top billing. How very far my babies have come.

Listen. I miss all the characters we’ve lost. Absolutely. But I love the ones that are still with us, that have been with us for so very long so hard. Whether I love their stories or decisions or not.

Is that THE Alexandria sign? That sign’s been through some shit.

DOG! Daryl kneeling to embrace our Grimes babies has me all up in my feels. And how cute is Dog getting all excited and making sure he’s the first one there to welcome back, Daddy?

Hershel is literally just as puppy dog cute as Glenn ever was. Really some Grade A casting.

What did Maggie call Mr. T? Ducky? Dougie? Sometimes with Maggie? I really cannot tell. Anyway. He’s Mr. T. for me until I find out differently, probably through rewatching with close captioning, lol.

Maggie’s got more people. So. Some new redshirts to sacrifice for plot purposes. I don’t know if I should bother learning their names or not.

I seem to remember Meridian being mentioned in one of the episode synopses.

Sophia’s hair tie around Carol’s neck will never fail to be an emotional throat punch. My heart.

“They come at night and by the time you see them, you’re already dead.” Welp. Guess that means we ain’t seeing shit for at least this first third of the season, lol. Very horror-eque though.

“You’re leaving to fight ghosts.” Aaron, to Maggie. So I see Aaron’s the type to get the hell outta Dodge when the Boogeyman comes calling, hahaha. Least he was. In the old world.

Rosita’s pissed off expression at Gabe’s decision to volunteer for the so-called suicide mission gives me life.

My baby Carol is tired AF of suicide missions. You can tell. Also? Methinks she has something to prove to Daryl here. Or at least feels like she does.

Dog with his little tactical vest. I love it.

I guess I get why they had Carol and Rosita stay behind. They had to more evenly split up the badassery to make things more fair and balanced, lol.

Okay. So Negan’s definitely earned everybody’s disdain. But they’re being woefully short-sighted by not at least hearing the dude out. Isn’t he at least native to the area?

“That is God telling us to turn around.” I’m actually on Negan’s side with this one, but Gabe answering him with “I’m pretty sure he would have run that past me first” has me howling with laughter. Father Gabe has gone straight up savage in these last couple of seasons. Rosita’s influence, perhaps?

I see what Angela is doing. Trying to make Negan the voice of reason. In this particular case? It’s kind of working. I’m still ultimately on Maggie’s side with this though BECAUSE GLENN.

Imagine showing up to work and unironically dressing like a storm trooper every day. Excuse me while I LOL.

Even in the ZA, there’s bullshit paperwork.

“Pumpkin colored spacesuit.” Good one, Ezekiel.

LOL forever. I love Princess.

“Michonne. Our Michonne shut people out of Alexandria for years.” Timely reminder that choices aren’t always perfect. Neither are people.

WTF is reprocessing? Sounds ominous. LMAO at Eugene’s “Okay. We gotta go.”

What in the actual hell with all those bagged, squirming undead? Creepy AF in that subway tunnel.

Should I just go ahead and call that the Easter bunny? We’ve had some version of it pop up since Season 1.

Is it stubborn pride with Maggie or what? Why go through with something when all signs point toward the wisdom of stopping? You can argue that she’s acting similarly to Carol last season, but there’s a huge difference here folks. Carol did her damndest to Lone Wolf that shit and minimize the danger to those she loved. Maggie’s straight up enlisting those she “cares about” to carry out her mission of revenge or vengeance, what have you. Let’s see if she gets near the amount of hate for it. Personally, I don’t blame her for her feelings one bit. They are valid. But her knowingly drawing the others into the game? That’s my sticking point. That’s how she and Carol differ, even if some people refuse to see or accept it. Anyway. Hopping right on off my soapbox.

“Why don’t you get up on your little tippy toes and try?” Omigosh, I’d dying. When I tell you I about passed out with laughter, I do not exaggerate. I should hate Negan forever and I do. Really. But I adore JDM and he frequently makes me LOL. He’s made Negan entertaining if not completely redeemable since Angela took over and more layered so I say kudos.

He has a point about Maggie playing dictator. Damn you, show, for slanting the writing just that smidgen that makes Negan make sense over his victim. I guess, though, it’s better this way. Gives both characters more shades of gray.

“He’s a dick but he makes sense.” I feel like this is Angela calling us all out when we dare to harbor any lasting resentment toward Negan for what he did to Glenn.

Speaking of--Negan. You deserved Daryl’s punch to the mouth. You just went a bridge too damn far.

“Keep pushing me, Negan. Please.” Warning shots fired, Asshole. You better watch yourself around the Widow Rhee.

Have I mentioned how much I love Princess? Her shipping the Commonwealth guards is killing me, lol. I can’t wait ‘til she meets Carol and Daryl. She’s going to have their number in two seconds flat.

I like Ezekiel and Princess as a duo. I’m not saying romantically necessarily. I just like them in scenes together because they’re fun. There’s sort of a protective indulgence Ezekiel seems to telegraph whenever they’re in scenes together. Like he’s like don’t hurt this one. I don’t know. For all these words I’ve written, I can’t quite find the ones to adequately describe what I mean.

The wall of the lost gives me such Battlestar Galactica feels. What sad thoughts it inspires.

Eugene in that Commonwealth gear. Omigosh, lol. So did they just sneak up and take Princess’s little Commonwealth ship’s gear when they were sneaking off on their own to have a quickie?

Princess finding that note for Yumiko on the wall actually gave me chills. Yeah. I’m easy. Just the suggestion of someone getting reunited with lost family gets me all up in my feels. Yumiko saying “I have to stay”? I felt that.

Oh no. Dog ran off! Somebody protect my favorite fictional puppy. Of course, Daryl goes after him. He’s always been the sweet one. Merle said it.

Eh. Negan taking Maggie’s hand at the end there would have smacked too much of Negan Sue and Maggie’s biggest plot of the season would have been prematurely dealt with so I get why they did what they did. But c’mon. It’s not really that big of a cliffhanger, is it?

Okay, so Angela calls those sleeping beauty Walkers “Lurkers” and I get it. Apparently they’re a bigger deal in the comics, but I really don’t remember seeing them all that much on the actual show. Somebody jog my memory.

Of fucking course, you can actually see what’s happening in the inside the episode clips. I wish we could choose to view the episode with that lighting because some of us be blind. And this time I mean in the more literal sense. Not the figurative one.

Anyway. I’m going to stop trying to write a novel for ya’ll and move on to better things. Like maybe a nap. Maybe some early dinner. I don’t know. I’m tired AF and need a little recharge.

Before I go, though? Overall impression of the episode? I liked it. There were parts that I loved (all the ladies being badass, every second of Carol, Daryl reuniting with the Grimes babies and Dog, all things Princess, some of Negan’s one-liners about had me busting a gut, Rosita serving looks, Kelly and Lydia getting to be badass too) and parts I didn’t love (not being able to see a damn thing, Angela trying to tip the scales in Negan’s favor, not enough Carol or Aaron or Rosita, no reunion between Aunt Carol and the Grimes babies even though that picture floating around suggests it was at least shot, not being able to see a damn thing, all the Alexandria people playing follow the leader for Maggie when she’s been gone 6 years and Daryl’s right there--hell, even Father G deserves the honor over her because it’s obvious they’re not exactly on the same wavelength anymore).

I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m just glad to have our show back.

Later, lovelies.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #spoilers #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #and giggle and giggle

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littlemisssquiggles · 4 years

Text

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar the Bait

@remnant-roses said “My thought these last few weeks has been that using the Emerald/Neo combo to stage a fake rescue would be the perfect way to get Oscar to spill the beans.

If Ruby/his friends appeared and sprang him from his cell, took his hand and started running him down the hall, the relief he'd feel at imminent freedom would lower his defenses immensely.

Fake Ruby: "Omigosh, we've gotta get you out of here! What does she even want with you? Why would she hurt you like this?"

Oscar: "She's trying to get the lamp to work!"

Fake Ruby: "You didn't tell her, right? She doesn't know how to use it?"

Oscar: "No, I didn't tell her about Jinn."

Boom. Easy. All it requires is some careful phrasing/coaxing.

Since his friends already know about Jinn, he wouldn't feel it at all necessary to keep the name secret from them.

And then Fake Ruby just chucks him back in his cell. This has the added effect of Oscar then mistrusting any real rescue attempts in the future.

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

Squiggles Answers:

Oooh I quite like your “fake rescue attempt” concept, fam and I actually think it would be possible to happen in the canon… if it weren’t for one tiny detail .In the last episode of RWBY V6, Ruby used the Lamp of Knowledge without a question in order to buy her some more time against the Leviathan and was promptly warned by Jinn about the ramifications of such a stunt.

“…I’m sorry. I don’t have a question for you, I---I just needed a little more time.”

“I know and while you don’t seek knowledge, just this once, I shall give it freely. I will not allow you to use me without a question again. Even if this was clever.”

“…I will not allow you to use me without a question again…”

Jinn told Ruby that the next time she called upon her without a question; she wouldn’t allow her to use her that way. It is for this reason why I’m holding out for the theory that Ruby will be the one to ask the final question of the lamp. This moment with Jinn has to come back at some point later in the narrative; possibly even for V8.

It is for this reason why my headcanon is that Ruby will be captured and taken to Salem at some point for this volume too. Ruby is another person of interest to Salem given her first attempt at capturing her back in V4. Therefore my hunch is that Salem will deploy Tyrian Callows to go capture Ruby for a second time and this time, the Scorpion Faunus will be backed up by the Hound.

I like the idea of Salem being cruel enough to use Oscar’s imprisonment and torture as bait to force Ruby to willingly surrender herself over to her forces without a fight for his sake. Since it was shown last season that Salem is able to project herself through one of her Seer Grimm, imagine if…Salem sends Tyrian with a message for Ruby Rose specifically via Seer.

Since Salem was seen watching Ruby’s message to the rest of Remnant last episode, what if…the Wicked Witch sends her own message in response to the little red rose.

And in that message, Salem brandishes the tortured face of Oscar Pine---beaten, bloodied and bruised on full spectacle for Ruby to see, threatening to kill Oscar should Ruby not come to her. So in order to protect Oscar, Ruby allows herself to be taken away by the Hound and Tyrian straight to Salem.

For me, I have this concept of Ruby repeating exactly what she did back in Argus---using the Lamp of Knowledge as a means of buying her more time to think of a proper plan of action to for her to escape Salem with Oscar.

Only this time, when Ruby uses the Lamp improperly, she is practically forced by Jinn to ask a question otherwise the little rose faced a dire consequence; whatever that may be. A part of me is rather curious what the repercussion of one using the Lamp of Knowledge without a question is.

Will Jinn actively punish said person (I mean she does have those chains) or will it be a case where Jinn will practically trap said person within the lamp with her forever unless a question is asked?

For me, I like the idea of Jinn potentially trapping Ruby within the lamp with her forever until she asks a question.

I really wish to believe that Ruby will be the one to ask the final question since my Little Red Rose Ruby Headcanon is that Ruby will use the last question to uncover the truth about her mother’s death and within that revelation; she will simultaneously learn a way to stop Salem once and for all. That’s my theory.

And in the meantime, I’ll stick with it. So yeah, while I really like your idea RR, if done in the canon, I can more see it ending with Oscar figuring out that the Fake Ruby is fake before he could mention Jinn, leading to Oscar being beaten yet again and dragged straight back to his cell while an annoyed Neopolitan watches on in a huff as she reverts back to her true self.

Thus Salem will get the idea of if Oscar wasn’t going to fess up the truth about the Relic to a fake Ruby, then why not bring the real one and use her as a tool against the young boy.

Wouldn’t that be interesting but that’s how I see it.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

#rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #rwby volume 8 theories #rwby theories #rwby volume 8 spoilers #squiggles pinehead headcanons #pinehead headcanons

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breathlessangelrh · 4 years

Text

Silent Songbird

Rain streaked down the twelve large windows that made the west wall of the ICU waiting room. The accommodations were simple; several padded chairs and a few convertible recliners were clustered around small end tables. A small desk sat near the doorway with a house phone, flanked by a stately bookshelf and a smaller magazine rack. A television was mounted and murmured quietly in one corner of the room, trying to bring comfort, or at least distraction, to those who would wait for news of their loved ones struggling down the hall.

James rested his forehead against the cold glass, staring out over a small courtyard. Brown leaves littered the ground, sad reminders of a summer that had withered into an autumn that too quickly gave way to winter. He didn't particularly like the cold. Or the wet. Or the overcast skies. His reflection stared back at him, dressed in a black tuxedo. A bowtie hung untied around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone, jacket open. His thick, sandy brown hair stood up in odd angles, frequently tousled as he ran his fingers through it in frustration.

This isn't how today was supposed to be.

"Mr. Edwards?"

James turned away from his reflection to face a tall, graceful woman. Honey blonde hair hung halfway down her back, gathered loosely at her neck with a black rubber band. He dimly recalled her name was Amanda, a memory jogged as his eye caught her nametag while she strode towards him purposefully. She was a doctor, but clad in violet scrubs, a black stethoscope draped around her neck. She stopped before him, speaking softly. Her blue eyes were cool, her face calm and carefully composed.

-----

"Cara, what are you DOING in there?" he laughed, rapping his knuckles on the heavy restroom door. Abruptly the door swung outward towards him, and his arms were full of a pretty young woman, half dressed, auburn hair pulled up in rollers.

"Omigosh!" she said in a rush, quickly peeking past and around him, holding the sides of her strapless, glittering navy blue ball gown up at her sides. "Is anyone out-"

"No one's there," he said, answering her question before she got it out of her mouth. "Turn around," he commanded, putting his hands on her creamy pale shoulders and turning her away from him. She turned, a series of awkward shuffling steps as she endeavored not to step on the hem of her skirt. As his deft fingers worked the zipper on her dress, she fumbled with her earrings, fingers trembling. She then wiggled the bodice into place over her ample cleavage, smoothed imaginary wrinkles over her hips, shuffled back a step or two towards the bathroom door, and flashed him a charming smile.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"Well, what?" he feigned ignorance.

"Jim!" she cried, grinning. "How's the dress?"

"Its's blue?" he shrugged, but couldn't help but smile a little. "But you look radiant. Now get the plastic out of your hair. We need to rehearse."

Cara looked past him into the empty choir room. Her hair still needed a few more minutes for the curls to set, but they both needed time to warm up first. And, she still needed to put on her makeup. Oh, so little time!

"I'll take them out in a minute. And put on my makeup while we warm up."

He sighed, but she didn't give him time to argue. She dashed back through the heavy bathroom door to retrieve her makeup bag and joined him at a desk near the upright piano. He played them through a few scales, mostly for her benefit, guiding her in a quick rush through her impressive vocal range. It would be greatly appreciated for the vocal gymnastics that were to come.

The bride and groom were two of their closest friends, having graduated from college ahead of them the year before. They had all been a part of the same musical group and had spent many touring seasons together. This last year had been awful without Shelly and Jared, but they were both happy the two of them were getting married. Cara and James had very quickly agreed to provide the music for the ceremony. James's rich baritone was moving, and Cara's soaring soprano was heavenly. A more beautifully matched combination was not possible, and the songs on the list for the wedding of their two dear friends today were sure to make this a spectacular event. Cara was doing the vocal heavy lifting, but she didn't mind. Each of the songs selected had a special meaning to the bride and groom, and would be very memorable for the guests. That's what she liked most about singing, she often mused. Making memorable moments for people.

She tugged on the zipper to her makeup bag and drew out her powder and a mirror, her hands trembling, as he began to play the introduction to the prelude piece. It was a solo, and right in the middle of her range. It was an easy song, but her voice was a little thin and breathy. James looked over at her as he played. She swept the powder brush over her nose, cheeks and forehead quickly, but it was unnecessary. She was already a little pale. He slowed his playing, and then stopped. Cara looked at him, a little confused.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Hmm? Sure. Just a little excited, I guess." Cara flashed him another of those charming smiles, but he wasn't convinced. Cara was cool as a cucumber when it came to performing. Nothing got her flustered.

"Want to try one of the duets then?" James asked, prodding her towards something more difficult. If she were excited or nervous, getting one of the harder ones out of the way would help.

Cara didn't answer at first, and he wasn't sure she heard him. She sat still at the desk, eyes closed, her breathing deep and slow. Finally she nodded, then began to apply a quick touch of silver eye shadow and darker eyeliner.

James watched her warily. Her behavior was odd, considering her spunky nature and the vibrancy of only a few moments before. Still, his fingers floated across the keys, the beautiful melody filling the air. As the song began, James's rich voice easily filled the room, his head turned to face Cara as he played the song from memory, and sang from the heart.

No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here. My words will warm and calm you.

Cara slowly put down her makeup bag and turned to face James. It wasn't the first time they'd sang this song. It wasn't the first time they'd even sang love songs at a wedding. And yet, something about it this time was particularly stirring.

As he continued his part in the duet, she rose and came to stand beside the piano, resting her hand lightly on the top of it. She squared her shoulders, drew a breath, and her voice floated lightly, a delicate response:

Say you love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you.

James smiled at her, nodding in approval. The piano played on and they continued their intimate duet, voices soaring together towards the climax of the song, when abruptly Cara stopped, gripping the piano lightly. James stopped playing as she swayed a little on her feet.

The door to the choir room opened, and Jared entered, dressed in a black tuxedo and white vest. He carried a small, clear plastic box with him. "I thought I heard you two in here," he declared cheerfully as he strode over to the piano. He reached out and shook James's hand, his grip firm, then reached out to embrace Cara. She brightened up a little at his greeting. "I had no idea you were doing that song," he quipped casually.

"It's for Shel," Cara said, still looking a little unsteady. "She told me once that she always dreamed of having it sung at her wedding, so..." Cara smiled, letting the sentence trail off.

"I see," Jared said. "Well she'll love that. And from what I heard, it's going to be stunning." He squeezed her again, grinning. "Oh. Almost forgot," he said, shaking the plastic box in his hand gently. "I brought you flowers. Both of you, actually."

In the box was a delicate rose boutonniere for James and a matching wrist corsage for Cara. Jared opened the box and lifted out the corsage and went to put it on Cara's hand. She waved his hand away.

"Let me finish my makeup and hair. I don't want to mess the flowers up. In fact, let me go get these rollers out. I'll be back in a minute." She managed a smile, a faint one, as she walked back to the bathroom, the earlier energy and excitement oddly absent now.

With the door firmly closed behind her, Jared sat on the desk by the piano, turned to his old pal, voice lowered in a hushed whisper reminiscent of two junior-high gossip girls.

"Did you?

"It wasn't the right time."

"James, you KNOW it was the right time. Its burning a hole in your pocket, isn't it?" Jared accused. James nodded rather guiltily.

"I was going to, just after we rehearsed this song," James confessed. "I know how much she loves it. But, I don't think she's feeling well." He glanced over his shoulder at the door Cara had disappeared behind.

"Maybe she's just got performance jitters?" Jared suggested. James turned back to him and leveled a glance. They both knew Cara better than that. Jared shrugged and changed the subject, laying the plastic floral box on top of the piano. Ask her at the reception then?" he pressed.

James nodded. "Unless she's feeling better before. Id like her to be wearing it when she's at the mic."

Jared grinned and slapped his friend on the shoulder. "It won't be long before Shel and I will be at your wedding. So ask the girl already and get this show on the road." He laughed softly, stood from where he had been seated on the desk, and turned for the door. "Oh, and her makeup bag is still out here on the desk. She might need it" Jared offered.

James's eyes scanned the desk and saw the small, floral print bag and sighed. He leaned over to grab it, pushed the piano bench back from the upright with a screech against the tile floor and stood, striding towards the bathroom. As before, he rapped on the solid door. "Cara? You forgot your makeup bag. Do you need it in there?" He waited, listening for her reply. When she didn't answer, he knocked again, a little louder this time. "Cara?"

After a moment, he grasped the door handle and pulled the door towards him. "Cara?" he called, as he opened the door.

Cara had finished her hair. Each one of the plastic rollers had been replaced in the case, and the delicate auburn curls had been piled atop her head and carefully pinned. He might have been struck by how absolutely beautiful she was, dressed up like this, if she had not been crumpled in a heap on the floor.

In an instant, James was kneeling at her side in the cramped vanity area of the restroom. With the shadow of the sink above, it was impossible to see Cara in any sort of light. He turned her over carefully in his arms to face him. "Cara?" He called her name harshly, his deep voice booming an echo in the small tiled bathroom. He shook her shoulders, and she rocked limply against him, unconscious.

In one fluid motion, he scooped her small body into his arms and lifted her easily, her head falling against his chest. He pushed backwards through the bathroom door into the choir room, setting her down a few steps away from the main entrance. Under the fluorescent lighting, Cara's warm pink skin was dull and pale, having lost its color. With her again laid out, James shook her bare shoulders, more roughly than before, calling to her loudly.

James took her slender, graceful wrist in his hand, feeling, his grey eyes looking her over frantically but not really seeing. His eyes lingered on the spill of her cleavage, down the graceful curve of her ribs to where the dress flared out wider at her hips. As tightly as the dress hugged her, surely he should have been able to see some sort of movement.

"Jared!" he roared, his voice echoing, overcoming the choir room's feeble attempt at noise reduction. "JARED!"

James leaned close to Cara, the blood rushing in his ears. He waited, listening, feeling, hoping for anything. Gently he tilted her head back and sealed his mouth over hers. Her lips were soft, warm and compliant. He could taste the sweetness of her lip gloss, but ignored this. The fingers of his right hand held her nose shut as he filled her with his warm, deep breath. He broke the kiss between them and she exhaled silently, just as the door to the choir room swung open again.

"Well, what was the answer?" Jared asked jovially as he came back in, nearly tripping across the lovers on the floor at his feet. "Damn, did she faint?"

James looked up at him seriously. Jared crouched down across from him. "She was on the floor in the bathroom," James explained. "She isn't breathing." He returned his lips to hers, breathing deeply for her again as if to make his point.

As James had done, Jared took Cara's wrist, feeling for a pulse, but then slid his fingers to her neck, waiting. As he did so, the door to the choir room again opened, admitting two older men and a young girl. They peered around the spectacle in the doorway, attracted by the shouting. Jared glanced over his shoulder, pulling his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and handing it to one of the men. "Uncle Joseph, call an ambulance," he requested. "She's not breathing."

"Is she dead, grandpa?" the girl asked, quietly curious, being ushered out of the doorway by the other, older man.

I certainly hope not, James thought, breathing another slow, deep breath into Cara. Oh God, I hope not.

Jared kept his fingers lightly to the waning pulse of their mutual friend as they both listened to the call, muffled through the choir room door, the conversation punctuated with occasional pauses as the older man sought to answer questions over the phone.

"No, I'm not righ'ly sure how old she is, ma'am. Mebbe early twenties or so? Yes'm. Yes'm, that's right. No, I don't think she was breathing when they found her. No. Ah, she's a friend of my nephew's, another singer. She is singin' in his wedding today."

"I can't feel a pulse," Jared stammered as he looked across at James. "Unzip her top," he said, rolling Cara's limp body gently towards him. Quick but trembling fingers darted out and unzipped the dress he had just zipped for her a few minutes before. With it loose, Jared laid her back down again. His large hands locked over her chest and he began pumping, tentatively at first, but then harder and faster. He counted softly under his breath, then paused. "Breathe," he instructed.

James took the cue and bent down to his ashen-faced lover. Her lips had turned blue now, as soft as before. He breathed into her again, then paused and looked across at Jared, letting Cara exhale softly between them. His mind was suddenly all over the place. This isn't how today was supposed to be and it might end up a lot worse...

"Don't go there," Jared cautioned. "Put it out of your head." James nodded, but couldn't. Not seeing her like this. He looked down at Cara, a wildness in his grey eyes. Her bare shoulders rocked gently as Jared began a new round of compressions. His movements were sharp, forceful against her limp body. He paused in his count, but James didn't need to be told; Cara's lips remained delicately parted, waiting.

"Breathe" he begged her softly. Sealing his lips over hers, James breathed deeply into Cara's lifeless body, then reached out to stroke Cara's hair, her cheek tenderly. "Breatheâ, please." His voice was thick with emotion.

Jared and James settled into a rapid rhythm, an even cadence of compressions slowed only long enough for James to breathe for Cara. James continued to caress the pale face of his beloved, his fingers trembling but time seemed to slow for James as sirens wailed in the distance, every heartbeat in his chest an eternity. His mind wandered to memories, moments shared with Cara. Times they had spent laughing, talking, sharing their hopes, fears and dreams. Intimacy. A thousand things flashed in his mind, overwhelming him. He stared down at her, tears filling his eyes.

"James? Breathe for her, James," Jared commanded as he paused his compressions, but James didn't move, frozen with panic. Instead, Jared leaned down, mouth pressed to Cara's and exhaled deeply. Her chest rose with his forceful breath, breasts rising against the loosened top of her ball gown. As he parted lips from his friend, the breath escaped from Cara's open mouth.

As Jared began a new round of compressions, the door opened to the choir room, admitting an EMT escorted by Jared's uncle. A short woman of Vietnamese descent carried an orange canvas bag of equipment. Her silky black hair was swept back from her face by a bright pink hair band. Pinned to the right side of her uniform was a name tag that read "Keri". Her actions were crisp, deliberate as she moved to Cara's side and knelt down, unzipping the bag. Jared glanced at it quickly before returning his focus to providing compressions for Cara.

Keri's voice bore only the faintest trace of a foreign accent as she fired off rapid questions. James struggled to make sense of them, unable to cut through the shock of seeing the woman he loved laying lifeless on the floor. What happened? Any known allergies? History of asthma, heart problems, diabetes? Does she smoke? Drink? What medications did she take? Any recreational drugs? Jared, breathless from his efforts, answered the questions as best he could.

Moments later, the rest of the team of paramedics came through the door, pushing a gurney laden with various bits of rescue equipment. Suddenly, the room was a buzz of people and activity. James only possessed a dim awareness of what was happening around him, completely numb as one member of the team, a black man of medium build, gently pulled him away from Cara's side. The man, identified as Marcus by his name tag, deliberately turned James away from the scene unfolding and continued prodding him with questions about Cara. From time to time, James would risk a glance over his shoulder to Cara, but each time Marcus would draw his focus back. As the team took over complete control of the situation, Jared came to stand beside his friend, breathing heavily. Where James was unable to answer, Jared tried to reply to the best of his knowledge.

A crowd had gathered outside the choir room now, the door propped open by a wooden wedge doorstop allowing each to watch in shocked silence. Ignoring tradition, Shelly stood among the people in the crowd, radiant in her wedding dress. Jared turned to see his bride in the doorway. Their eyes locked for a moment as a sad look of silent understanding passed between them.

James half turned back to the scene on the floor behind him as the sound of ripping fabric caught his attention. Cara's dress had been cut and ripped open unceremoniously, her strapless bra snipped away. Her torso was completely bare and James noticed that her pale skin had turned a sickly shade of blue. A blood pressure cuff had been fitted around her arm and electrodes stuck to her skin. One EMT was performing compressions, blue-gloved hands pressed against Cara's naked chest, while a second waited at her head with an ambu bag fitted over Cara's mouth after having started an IV and emptying the contents of a syringe into it. James couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrible scene before him. The monitor came online and James's heart skipped a beat as the alarms screamed. The rescue team remained calm, and composed, quietly efficient as they worked on her. His head swam, and the room grew quiet, distant.

"And what is your relation to Miss Blackwell?" Marcus was asking again, trying to regain James's attention. A new whine filled the air as the defibrillator was charged. James and Jared both watched as Keri applied conductive gel to the paddles, coating them evenly before placing the cold metal to Cara's cool skin. The crew backed away from Cara on Keri's command, and as soon as her staff was out of the way, she discharged electricity into her patient's body. Jared was surprised that Cara's body didn't jerk near as much as they do on tv. In fact, her torso barely jerked at all. As soon as the energy discharged, the alarms ceased their whining for a moment and everyone waited in silence to see if Cara's heart would start beating again. Alarms resumed their squealing. Keri recharged the defibrillator as compressions resumed. "Sir? Sir, what is you relation to Miss Blackwell?" Marcus continued to prod.

"Wha..what?" James asked as he turned back slowly.

Marcus simplified the question. "Are you her next of kin?"

James began to answer that he was just her boyfriend when Jared piped up. "Yes. He is." James looked confused, but didn't argue. He was the closest thing she had to family for a thousand miles, anyhow.

"Good," Marcus replied. If Marcus picked up on the deception, he didn't let on. "When we get to the hospital, we're going to need you to fill out some paperwork and things like that."

The EMTs paused a moment to lift Cara onto the gurney before resuming their efforts. Keri was ready again with the defibrillator paddles. As before, everyone waited in silence as they watched. The angry whine of alarms again filled the air.

"Get her loaded," Keri ordered. "We need to move."

Marcus tried again to draw James's attention. "We're going to transport her to Saint John's Medical Center. Do you know the way?"

James looked a little lost as he glanced back to Cara, then back to Jared and Marcus. "Yeah? Yeah I think so."

Jared looked back to Shelly. She had heard a bit of the conversation, and nodded to Jared. She knew what her husband-to-be was already thinking, and agreed.

"C'mon James. I"ll drive."

Marcus nodded and strode off quickly, shooing people out of the doorway ahead of the gurney. One EMT continued to perform compressions, while another worked with the ambu bag. In a rush, the crew pushed the gurney quickly down the hall towards the entrance of the church. Shelly caught Jared's hand and gave it a quick squeeze as he ushered his friend down the hall just a few steps behind Cara and the crew.

Keri had driven the ambulance while Marcus continued to administer CPR to their patient. Another EMT continued to administer medications through the IV and operated the ambu-bag. Keri's voice on the radio was crisp and calm. "Truck fifty-seven to Saint Johns. Mid twenties female in cardiac arrest inbound. No prior conditions. ETA four minutes."

"Understood fifty-seven. Bay three clear."

By the time the EMTs arrived at the hospital, Cara had been intubated and defibrilated again. Upon arrival, a half dozen trauma nurses ran to meet the ambulance and get the patient inside.

Trauma bay three was a large room filled with various life-saving equipment. In short order, Cara was hooked to a ventilator to breathe for her. One of the nurses took over CPR while Marcus quickly filled in the doctor on all the known information. AED pads were attached to Cara's bare chest and the heart monitor electrodes were switched over to the hospital's machine. The doctor, Amanda, ordered more medication for Cara's IV and had compresssions continued for another sixty seconds to circulate it through the body. After the sixty seconds, another shock was administered...

...the alarms stopped as Cara's heart stopped quiverring altogether.

~ . ~

Jared and James arrived at the emergency room waiting area. James paced for a while, trying to keep his emotions in check. After a few minutes, he broke down and sobbed broken hearted. Jared put his arms around his friend and let him cry. Hell, he felt like crying too. They did all they could for her, hadn't they? This wasn't how today was supposed to be. It was supposed to be a happy day...

After a while, James calmed himself. "Jared, go back to the church. Shel is waiting on you."

Jared looked uncertain. "I don't want to leave you alone..."

James shrugged. "I'll call you later if I find anything out."

"Are you sure...?"

James sniffled, rubbed his red eyes, but nodded.

Jared gave his best friend a hug. "We'll be praying."

"Thanks, its appreciated."

~ . ~

"Mr. Edwards?"

James turned away from his reflection to face a tall, graceful woman. Honey blonde hair hung halfway down her back, gathered loosely at her neck with a black rubber band. He dimly recalled her name was Amanda, a memory jogged as his eye caught her name tag while she strode towards him purposefully. She was a doctor, but clad in violet scrubs, a black stethoscope draped around her neck. She stopped before him, speaking softly. Her blue eyes were cool, her face calm and carefully composed.

"I wanted to let you know that we've moved Cara into ICU. We got her back in the emergency room. She's being extubated now. You can see her if you want."

James was stunned. He was sure the news was bad. Sure of it. And yet...?

"So she's okay?"

"She's going to need a pacemaker. Its a relatively simple procedure. She'll be in the ICU for at least 48 hours and then we'll do the procedure. The ICU generally specific visiting hours, but since her next of kin is so far away, you can stay with her as long as you like. And when she's moved to a normal floor, there are pull out beds. You don't have to be apart. I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you. But if it had not been for your quick actions and that of your friend, this would have ended much differently."

"Id like to see her, then..." James's voice was thick with emotion.

Amanda led him down the corridor and stopped at the nurses station. She gave them orders that he was to be allowed to stay with the patient at all times if he desired. They began to protest, but one icy glare hushed them immediately.

She led them further down the hall and slid open a glass door. Inside was a large bed with a recliner beside it. Cara was awake, if only barely. An oxygen mask was over her mouth and nose, standard protocol after intubation. She brightened up when she saw James. He rushed to her side, slipped his arms around her and gave her a gentle embrace. "Oh God, I thought I lost you, he whispered in her ear," tears springing to his eyes.

"Im not that easy to get rid of," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the oxygen mask.

He sat down beside her, held her hand and stroked her hair. Tears fell down his cheeks unashamedly. It isn't the way he wanted it to be. It wasn't the most glamorous way. But when life can be taken from you so quickly...

James reached into his pocket. "Cara, today has been the day from hell. I should probably wait and do this differently, but I couldn't bear the thought..." He showed her the ring. "Will you be my wife?"

It was her turn to cry. She pulled the mask from her face. She couldn't sing in her usual range, but the meaning was there.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you.

Share each day, each night, each morning.

“Say you love me..."

James smiled and added the next line in his rich baritone. You know I do…

Together they finished. "Love me, that's all I ask of you."

James extended the ring, and she nodded. He placed it on her finger and she admired it. Gently, James replaced the mask on her face. "Get some rest. I'll be here right beside you."

He held her hand as she drifted off to sleep, and he texted Jared. "She said yes.”

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