#aging is hot. getting chubby is hot. argue with the wall

[osamucide]

NSFW—MDNI

boyfriend!Toji who swears he’s out of the game. he’s done the thing, got married and had a kid—when he starts dating you he promises himself it’s for companionship purposes only. he’s a lonely old man; he wants someone to fuck on, someone to kiss at night, someone to fill a certain void he’s got trouble placing let alone admitting to himself. you make him feel young and hot—the way your fingers creep up the faint trail of hair on his toned stomach, the way you lick his pecs and suck on his nipples and draw sounds out of him he’s not sure he’s ever heard before; you beg to ride his toned abs, beg to hump his muscular thigh, beg to squeeze his big ol’ tittes because the more of him to love, the better. not soon enough, it seems, it’s you begging him to fuck his fat load into you with his even fatter cock—you’ve got your hands on his abdomen, his hips, his chest, not pushing him away but pulling him ever closer, wanting to feel him, more, more, more; you want as much of him as you can get.

only when he’s fiancé!Toji does he really realize what you’re doing—you’ve done some sort of witchcraft on him. you’ve had to. no matter how much he hits the gym, he’s filling out in ways he never thought he would. you notice, too—but it doesn’t seem to bother you. quite the opposite, actually. when he turns to the side in the mirror, analyzing his gut—all the beer must finally be catching up to him, or maybe it’s your cooking—you just wrap yourself around him and dig your fingers into the layer of plush forming around his waist. the pretty little rock he put on your finger glints in the mirror and steals his attention for a second until you’re burying your face in his shoulder, your hands dancing beneath the waistline of his sweatpants—beneath his tummy—to tease the thick bush you insisted he stop grooming so vigilantly because you don’t mind, you had said with a hint of something else behind your coy smile. you hum as you take in his smell, grin as his cock twitches to life between your fingers, laugh a little when his back arches the slightest bit into you.

husband!Toji’s aware of what you’ve done, but he loves you too damn much to care. all of his musculature is soft and full, no longer hard and sinewy, and he’s never clean-shaven. you even implored him to let the tuft of hair on his chest—the one he was so unsure about—sprawl across his (now squishy) pecs and you just bask in him. you take your time with your husband—you bite the stretch marks on his biceps from his years of training, now cracking further, prettier, pinker under your hand. you grab on his lovehandles while you ride him—there’s far more room to dig your signature in with your nails after you’ve fed him so well. you bury your nose in the thick happy trail on his cute, round stomach before you suck him, seemingly worshipping every hair on his pelvis prior to taking him in your mouth. his fat balls seem bigger, saggier—you love fitting your lips around them, hearing him croon and call you dollface. his thighs, still strong but fluffier with both hair and chub, squeeze your head so lovingly when you go down on him; you squeeze them back with just as much adoration.

it’s no wonder Toji let you pull him off the bench. not only does he still feel young and hot, despite everything he thought would go out the window the second you started making him pasta in exchange for your orgasms and begging him to stay home and cuddle instead of going to hit arms—he feels okay with getting old, because you still think he’s the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on as long as you’ve got all of him to love.

[luminnara]

Flying On Wings Made From Feathers and Wax | Ganondorf x Gerudo OC | Ch 1

Chapter one | Chapter two

Summary:  10,000 years before the events of Breath of the Wild, a little Gerudo vai moves to the desert and makes a new friend in the form of the young Gerudo prince, Ganondorf. The two grow up together, enjoying a worry-free life...but distant memories of a long-dead demon king and a sheikah prophecy nag at everyone's minds, and tensions between the Gerudo and Hylians are on the rise. As the years pass, it becomes clear that this little vai will play an important role in the shaping of Hyrule. Loyalty and love will be tested, empires will rise and fall, and at the center of it all is that mysterious godly power...

Warnings: eventual violence and smut

The sand is hot.

The sun is unforgiving.

The desert is inhospitable, a dry, brutal place that tests and tries its inhabitants, a vast, sprawling land that will viciously take the life of anything unsuited to its harsh days and frigid nights. Few species manage to survive in such a place, a habitat ruled over by stern gods and haunted by restless spirits.

The Gerudo, though, lived proudly in the great desert, amongst the massive skeletons of ancient serpents and hidden by the raging sandstorms that kept much of the rest of the world away. In a land in which only the strongest survive, the Gerudo chose to become stronger, to thrive in a place other races like the Hylians and Rito hardly dared to venture to.

Gerudo women were powerful and proud, building a city and several outlying encampments for themselves. They preferred to remain reclusive, despite their generally peaceful relations with the Hylians and other races occupying the verdant spaces to the north of the desert, and as per a tradition created from centuries of hardships, no men of any race were permitted within the walls of Gerudo Town. 

Save for one.

He was born beneath a harsh, burning sun, on the hottest day in a decade. Though his mother was no chief, the baby was royalty from the moment he drew his first breath and cried his first cry, and news of the new king traveled quickly. Only one male Gerudo was born every hundred years, always becoming king, as was the law, and on the day of his birth, the Gerudo celebrated. The bar was crowded, the people drinking and feasting while the new king was placed in a royal crib, a guard detail standing at the door. The current chief would continue to rule, until the boy came of age, at which time she would be expected to step down and relinquish the throne. There was almost never any resistance or arguing; this was an old Gerudo tradition, and it was always honored. The chief would take care of the tribe, as was expected of her, preparing the desert for the new king it was about to receive. 

The infant was treated as a god. His mother was a warrior, tall and proud, and she claimed that his father was a hylian voe who was large for his kind. That didn’t matter much, though; Gerudo always produced Gerudo, and while a father’s genetics played some small part in determining how a child looked, they would never be anything but Gerudo. 

This new baby, the prince of the Gerudo, was showered in gifts. Before he could stand, he was being dressed in the finest silks and most expensive jewelry, small gold bracelets and anklets adorning his chubby limbs. He was strong, his lungs capable of producing a loud, healthy cry, his small fists already packing quite the punch. The Gerudo saw this as a blessing, and surely, their prince was to grow into a capable king one day. 

They did their best to focus on all of the good signs—that he would become strong, that he would be raised with respect and levelheadedness, that he would become a ruler worthy of the Gerudo throne. Surely, with so much adoration and positivity around him, their future king would stand tall and steady amongst the harsh sandstorms. He would not wither beneath the bright sun, nor would he be burned by the searing hot sands. His mother and the Royal guard would ensure that this rare Gerudo voe would know kindness and love, and they would do their best to always ignore any creeping feelings of dread. 

“A prophecy? Bah!” His mother would say whenever the topic was breached. “There is no reason that it points specifically to this voe. It could refer to the next one. Or it could be complete nonsense, the paranoid ramblings of an old sheikah.”

“But in the ancient past—”

“In the ancient past what?” His mother would snap. “Evil will always exist in this world. There will always be a great demon to defeat, a fiend to cut down. Perhaps the next voe born into this tribe will become a monster...but not mine.”

And she would look down at the tiny face of her son, the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms, swaddled in silks, and she would find no malice there. How could she? He was innocent, an infant who was most concerned with napping until it was time to wake up and cry. There was no malice in this boy, and she would ensure that he grew up surrounded by love. There would be no chance for her son to become the demon king the sheikah spoke of. They were an ancient people, with impressive magic and wise elders...but to the Gerudo, they were just another race who turned a blind eye to the suffering of the desert dwellers. 

The sheikah were no doubt watching for a male Gerudo, waiting for their prophecy from nearly a century earlier to play out, but the Gerudo were determined to hide their king. If the hylian royal family was alerted to the boy’s presence, there was a very strong possibility that they would demand his death--and that would surely spur on yet another war that no one wanted to fight. The Gerudo would defend their king until their dying breaths, loyal to the end, and perhaps to a fault...and they would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Amongst the harsh desert sands, they would do what they did best—remain strong and secluded, putting on a happy face for the rest of the world. Their king was sacred to them, and no one, not even the ancient sheikah, would meddle in their affairs.

On his first birthday, when it was clear that he would survive to see his childhood, the boy was finally given a name. In a great ceremony, the chief and his mother presented the baby to the rest of the tribe, and for the first time, they spoke his name:

Ganondorf.

A strong name for a strong boy, one destined to become a great king. His early years were spent toddling around the palace that would one day become his, occasionally being allowed outside into the blazing sun to see Gerudo Town and the people he would rule. As all children, he was high spirited and rambunctious, and as he grew, so did his energy. It became hard for his mother and the guards to keep him inside the palace, and eventually settled for keeping him within the town’s walls. He needed to remain safe...but they knew that he needed to have fun, too.

“Ganondorf!” His mother yelled one day as he tore down the steps of the palace, “slow down!”

But her words were ignored, the prince determined to have an adventure without his mother or his guards breathing down his neck. The downside to this freedom was that he would be alone; the other Gerudo children were nervous around him, afraid and in awe of the voe that would rule over them one day, and as such...he didn’t really have any friends. It was okay, and he managed on his own, but...he would really like to have just one.

“Mother,” a little red-haired vai groaned, plopping down in the sand. 

“What is it, vehvi?” Her mother asked absentmindedly as she picked up a hydromelon. 

“I’m bored.”

The Gerudo looked down at her daughter with a bemused expression. “Your first day in Gerudo Town, and you’re already bored? I thought you were excited to be moving here finally.”

The little girl sighed dramatically, flopping down onto her back. “I didn’t think it would be so boring!”

The melon vendor snorted in amusement. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Kiluki.”

“What does that mean, Uvira?” The girl’s mother asked in confusion. 

The vendor shrugged. “It’s something the Hylians say.”

“...why do they say it?”

“When they mean to tell someone that their daughter acts the same way her mother does.” Uvira laughed. “But I agree with Ilula...Gerudo Town has plenty to offer. Perhaps she should go see it all.”

The girl sat up straight. “Yes!”

Her mother was less eager. “I don’t know…”

“Mom, come on!” Ilula rolled her eyes. “I’m almost eight. I’m practically a grown up.”

Uvira barked a laugh. “Certainly have the attitude of one!”

Kiluki shot the woman a glare. “Ilula, I just want you to stay safe. This isn’t Castle Town, things here are bigger…”

“And I’m small. I know.” The little Gerudo sighed. “But mom, look at all the guards!”

“No one gets in or out of town without them seeing,” Uvira shrugged. “I doubt even a little vai could go unnoticed.”

“See?”

Kiluki looked down at her runt of a daughter. “Ilula, I just don’t want you running off on your own until you get to know Gerudo Town better. I just want you to stay safe.”

“Well…” Ilula looked around the market square. “Maybe I can find a friend?”

“There are plenty of little vai running around these days,” Uvira agreed. “Let her stretch her legs, Kiluki. This is your home again, and there are so few travelers these days that it’s nearly only Gerudo in town. You know we take care of our own.”

“Well…” Kiluki seemed to be on the verge of giving in, and Ilula stood excitedly. “...alright. But don’t go far, and if you need something, come right back here, or ask a guard to help you, or—“

Ilula was already tearing away, her little bare feet kicking up sand. “Thanks, mom!” 

As Kiluki watched her daughter run away, she felt her chest tighten. “Be careful!”

Uvira chuckled. “I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly careful, sister. What’s changed?”

“I have something to worry about now,” Kiluki growled. “And she’s...so small…”

“That she is,” Uvira rubbed her chin in thought. “I could have sworn she was a few years younger, what with her height…”

Kiluki sighed. “The Hylian healers assured me that she’s perfectly healthy, but I’ve never seen such a small Gerudo. She’s hit all her milestones...except for the height ones.”

“So she’s a little thing,” Uvira shrugged. “Perhaps she’ll grow late.”

“Or never at all.”

“Would that matter much?”

“The world is a harsh place. I brought her here to be safe, with our people, but I fear now that the desert will be too much…”

“Kiluki, in the few hours you’ve been here, I have not once seen that vehvi show any signs of slowing down.” Uvira laughed. “You worry too much. Take her to one of our healers so they can reassure you.”

Her sister nodded. “I plan to.”

“I’m sure she’ll have no trouble making friends with the others.” Uvira smiled. “You’ll both have a fine life here, now that you’re back home where you belong.”

Kiluki tried to look like she agreed, but she was still worried. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

On the other side of the market, Ilula was approaching a group of children. They were playing a game with a small leather ball, kicking it around to each other, and it wasn’t unlike the sort of games the Hylian children in Castle Town played. 

“Hey!” Ilula called, running towards them. “Can i join?”

The girls all stopped and looked at her. She was unfamiliar, but she was clearly Gerudo, though she was...small.

“This is a game for big kids,” one of the girls said, waving her away. “Go play with someone your own age.”

Ilula stopped just outside their circle. “I am a big kid!”

“Uh, no you’re not,” she scoffed. “How old are you? Five?”

“I’m almost eight!” Ilula stamped her foot in anger. 

The girl paused in surprise. “What? No way. You’re so small!”

Ilula’s cheeks burned with rage. She wasn’t used to other kids commenting on her height; she was bigger than the Hylians her age, and back in Castle Town, they were the little kids compared to her. Here, though, she actually had to look up at the Gerudo kids, and as she did so, she began to frown.

“S-so?” She asked, stammering in her anger.

“So?” The bigger girl laughed. “So you can’t play with us!”

Ilula’s hands balled into fists. “Fine! I didn’t want to anyways!”

The other children all broke into laughter as she spun on her heel, cheeks hot, teeth clenched. She had never been treated like that, and she was experiencing her first real rage. All she wanted was to get as far away from them as possible now, and she made a beeline for the archway leading to a row of homes and bars off to the side of the market. 

As she marched away, determined to ignore their shrill taunts as they called after her, her pace quickened, toes digging into the sand with such fervor that she didn’t notice where she was going. 

“Too small? I’m not too small, I’ll show them too small—hey!” As she grumbled to herself, she suddenly made contact with something sturdy, and next thing she knew, she was landing on her butt. “Watch where you’re going!”

The something she had run into turned and looked down at her. “Oh, sorry!”

Ilula’s eyes widened as she took him in. 

“I thought—I thought there weren’t any boys allowed here!” She blurted out.

The person in front of her was a shirtless boy, a small mane of fiery red hair framing his face. He wore white silk pants held up by a golden belt, matching bands fastened around his upper arms. His skin was tan, his eyes bright amber, a bejeweled circlet resting on his head. He looked regal, as he should...but Ilula didn’t notice that. All she noticed was that he was a boy, and he was in her way.

He laughed and offered his hand to help her up. “I’m allowed to be here.”

She took his offer and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Why?”

“Because I’m the prince,” he smirked, puffing his chest out a little. 

Ilula rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He visibly deflated, unused to anyone questioning or not believing him. In a town full of Gerudo who worshipped him, nobody ever rolled their eyes like that in his presence. “Huh?”

“If you’re a prince, why are you wandering around out here?” She shook her head. “And there’s never any boy Gerudo. You’re just making things up.”

He blinked at her in disbelief. “But I—I am! I’m gonna be king one day!”

“We don’t have a king, we have a chief!” Ilula laughed, but it wasn’t cruel or mocking; instead, it was genuine, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she looked up at the boy. “Mama told me all about the chief before we came here.”

“You just moved here?” He tilted his head curiously.

“Yep!”

“Where did you live before?”

“Castle Town,” She sighed. “It was nice, I guess. The castle is pretty.”

“Isn’t that where all the Hylians live?” He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be out there. You should be with your people.”

“Duh, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Her voice was full of attitude as she rolled her eyes at him a second time. 

Ganondorf decided that he didn’t hate it. 

“Why’d you live there in the first place?” He folded his arms over his chest. 

“My daddy is a knight.” Ilula played with the hem of her shirt, rocking on her heels. “He works in the castle. But him and Mama had a fight, so she decided to move here.”

The boy made a thoughtful noise and nodded. “Well...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why?” She tilted her head. 

“Because now I have a friend!” He grinned, grabbing her hands and spinning her around. 

Ilula shrieked with laughter, and he loved how it sounded. 

“We’re friends?” She asked, giggling as she fell still again.

“Yeah! I mean...do you wanna be?”

“Yes!” She looked relieved.

“Whats your name?” He asked. 

“Ilula.” She smiled.

“I’m Ganondorf. Future king of the Gerudo.” His grin widened.

“Yeah, very funny.” She said sarcastically. “You’re weird, but I’m glad I have a friend now. I tried to make friends before, but they just made fun of me…”

The boy frowned. “Who did?”

Ilula shrugged, nodding towards the archway she had come through. “A bunch of girls in the market. They wouldn’t play with me.”

His brow creased angrily. “Why?”

“They said I was too small. They thought I was five! I’m almost eight!”

“I’m already eight,” her new friend smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They were mean.”

His frown was back. “Did they make fun of you?”

“Yes.” She grumbled, kicking the sand. 

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand again, pulling her towards the market. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, short legs stumbling as she tried to keep up with the tall boy.

“Being a prince,” he growled. 

Ilula scoffed. There he went again, pretending to be royalty. She didn’t have much of a choice than to follow him, though, and she let him drag her back to where the girls were playing.

“Hey!” He snapped, standing in front of them.

They all immediately froze and snapped to attention, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Y-yes?” One of them gulped. 

“Were you being mean to her?” He yanked Ilula forward, holding her up by her wrist as if she weighed nothing at all. She dangled in his grip, toes barely brushing the sand, but she found that she didn’t hate it. 

“N-no, Prince Ganondorf!” The girl who had bullied Ilula said quickly, taking a few steps back towards her friends.

“Then why wouldn’t you let her play with you?” He asked dangerously.

“Because—because she’s too small!” The girl stammered. “Sh-She wouldn’t be able to keep up!”

“Tell her you’re sorry,” he ordered, setting Ilula down.

“But—“

“Say you’re sorry!”

“W-we’re sorry!” She said. “P-please don’t tell my mom, she’ll be so mad at me…y-you can play whenever you want, you can be friends with us, I promise—“

“I don’t want to,” Ilula wrinkled her nose. “I have my own friend now.”

She turned away from them for the second time, spinning on her heel and marching away with her nose in the air. The girls stared after her in horror, looking back at the prince with wide eyes and gaping mouths. How could she turn her back on royalty and just walk away like that? She should be put to death for her rudeness! 

He gave the girls one last glare before turning to join the little foreigner, catching up with her short stride quickly. 

“That was awesome!” She exclaimed when they were out of earshot, stopping and turning to face him. “That was so cool, they were so scared of you! They—wait.” She paused as thoughts flew through her head. “They called you prince. Did you convince them like you tried to convince me? Wow, they’re dumb!”

He just stared at her before throwing his head back and laughing loudly. 

“What?” She asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Wanna go play?”

Ilula grinned and nodded and they were off, running through the market to have fun. 

Ganondorf showed her the aqueducts that carried fresh water throughout the city, laughing as she splashed him. He took her to see the sand seals living in pens just next to the side gate, telling her that soon, he was going to learn how to shield surf with one. After that, they ran up and down the palace steps, seeing how many they could each jump. The guards at the top of the stairs shared a bemused smile behind their veils, eyes crinkling with laughter as they watched their prince play with someone his age finally.

“This place is huge!” Ilula said, sitting down on a step. The sun was low in the sky, some of its heat finally ebbing as the evening air cooled. 

“Yeah, it is,” Ganondorf sat beside her, looking out over his city. “The desert is even bigger. It goes on and on forever.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Ilula sighed. “I can’t wait to see everything.”

“I’ll show you,” he promised. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know everything about the desert.”

“Then maybe one day I can show you Castle Town!” She said excitedly. “Deal?”

He grinned. “Deal.”

“My prince,” one of the guards from the top of the steps approached them. “It is growing late. Your mother wishes you to accompany her for supper.”

Ilula stared at the tall Gerudo guard. Maybe the whole prince thing wasn’t just a joke amongst children, after all...

Ganondorf sighed. “Can we take Ilula home first?”

The guard looked down at the runt and gave a quick nod. “Who is your mother, vehvi?”

“Kiluki,” She said, her voice suddenly as small as she felt. “She was in the market talking to Aunt Uvira…”

The guard’s gaze softened at the sound of an old friend’s name. “Very well. Let us go find her together.”

Spear in hand, she led the children down the steps. The setting sun was casting long shadows across the square, Gerudo all waving goodbyes as they headed home or to the spa or bar. The market was much less crowded than it had been during the day, shopkeepers drawing down the flaps on their stalls as they closed up for the night. 

“Ilula!” A voice called. 

“Mama!” Ilula ran forward as she spotted her mother still talking to Uvira at her stand. 

Kiluki caught her small daughter in an embrace, smiling as she picked her up and set her in her hip. “I see you’ve come back to me in one piece.”

“Of course,” the guard escorting the children said, coming to stand before Kiluki. “The prince and his friend were only playing on the palace steps today. I did not let them out of my sight.”

Kiluki’s eyes grew wide as Ganondorf stepped up next to the guard. “O-oh, my prince, forgive me—“ 

She tried to bow while holding Ilula, bending at the waist while her daughter clung to her arm for dear life. Ganondorf only laughed, enjoying the sight of such a close bond between the two, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched. 

“Ilula and I are friends now,” he told her. 

Kiluki looked at her daughter in shock. “...you befriended the prince?”

“I didn’t know he was the prince,” Ilula smiled sheepishly. 

“She didn’t believe me when I kept telling her.” Ganondorf piped up.

“...were you rude to the prince?” Her mother asked.

“No!” Ilula protested. “I wasn’t! Besides, he’s not the prince, he’s my friend.”

Kiluki shook her head in disbelief as Uvira laughed behind them. “You never cease to amaze me, vehvi.”

Ilula grinned, then squirmed in her mother’s grip. The moment she was let down, she ran forward to hug Ganondorf, and the boy happily wrapped his arms around her. He picked her up and spun her around, one of his new favorite games, his face alight with laughter as the two quickly began making plans to play in the morning.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Kiluki said to the guard as she watched her daughter and the prince. 

“Of course,” the guard dipped her head in a nod. “At the prince’s side is the safest place she could ever be.”

Kiluki nodded in agreement. She couldn’t believe how well everything had worked out. With a guard detail always keeping an eye on Ganondorf, Ilula would no doubt always be under their watch as well. Her daughter gained a friend, and Kiluki gained some peace of mind. 

“Come, my prince,” the guard said after a few more minutes. “We must let Ilula and Kiluki get home, and we must not keep your mother waiting.”

Ganondorf sighed and gave Ilula one last smile before joining the guard. Ilula waved after him as he walked towards the palace, her mother taking her hand to lead her to Uvira. 

“Well, how about that?” Ilula’s aunt chuckled. “Making friends on your very first day here!”

Ilula giggled. “He’s not just my friend. He’s the prince.”

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 2

A/N: 

piccola - little one

Sfogliatella is a sweet Italian street food

Palermo is the capital of Sicily.

Alma walked hand and hand with Emilio and Miguel through a dark alleyway. The cobblestones of the path were eroded with a decade’s worth of streaks in the rocks. The walls were slathered in slang terms and profanity. Alma was thankful Miguel and Emilio were too young to understand the words. The pier she and her siblings came to Naples through was in an obscure area that did not connect to the city directly. It connected through a series of different back passage ways that led into main roads.

“Walking through here feels like a surefire way to get robbed.”  A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead at the thought of having to deal with a thief or pickpocket. Alma got pulled from her thoughts when Emilio and Miguel’s grips tighten on her hands. She stopped walking to look at each of them with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. We just have to keep walking.”

Miguel and Emilio still held a sense of panic in their eyes but nodded at Alma's words.

After a few more minutes of walking, Alma came across the gorgeous site of Naples. In the boat, Alma did not get as clear of a view of the city as she thought. Naples’ was a true representation of the deep history rooted in Italy. The city was an urban jungle with architecture that had elements of medieval, renaissance, and baroque styles. These styles complimented each other beautifully, creating an astonishing, modernized version of an ancient Greek city. As Alma strolled through the streets, Miguel and Emilio pointed out every little detail that caught their attention: crowded streets, people on balconies getting deliveries with buckets attached to string, children playing soccer in street pavements, and food stalls of all kinds. Alma breathed in the savory aroma of Neapolitan pizza. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered. Alma felt movement on her chest. Isabella had woken up. She waved her arms and kicked her legs in front of her as she gave little cries of joy. Alma massaged her head. “You must be hungry too.” Alma whispered to Isabella.  She kissed the top of her head and focused her attention on her brothers. “Miguel. Emilio. What do you guys want to eat?”

The two of them paused for a moment then shouted out their answers.

“SFOGLIATELLA!” “PIZZA!” “I don’t want pizza!” Emilio whined. “I don’t want anything sweet.” Miguel retorted.

The two of them bickered over which food would be best for breakfast. Isabella giggled and reached her hands towards her arguing brothers. Alma massaged her temples. She squatted down to her brothers’ heights to put her hands on their shoulders. “I’ll be the tie breaker. I vote savory so pizza.”

Emilio folded his arms over his chest as his eyes began to well up with tears. Afraid he would throw a temper tantrum, Alma picked Emilio up to hold him against her hip. Isabella made a noise to complain about her space getting invaded.

“We can get you something sweet after pizza, okay. So please don’t cry. Do it for me.” Alma begged, poking Emilio’s cheek. Emilio wiped his eyes and nodded his head at her. She sighed, putting Emilio back on the ground. Grabbing both of the boys’ hands again, she walked up to the first pizza vendor she saw.

“Those are some cute kids you have with you. What can I get you?” There was a flash of pity in the vender owner's eyes when he greeted her. Alma almost did not catch it. She brushed it off and placed her order.

“Can I get two slices of pizza?” ‘’No problem.”

Alma let go of Miguel and Emilio’s hands to grab some money out the backpack.

“Why’d you only order two slices?” Miguel asked. “Because the slices are really big. You and Emilio probably won’t finish it.” “I can finish it.” Miguel whispered, pouting. “Sure you can.” Alma's voice oozed with sarcasm. Alma paid the vendor owner and grabbed the piping hot slices of margherita pizza. She handed the slices to Miguel, careful not to burn his hands.

“I need you to hold these for me. Careful not to drop them.” “Okay.” Miguel ogled the pizza slices. Alma reached into her hoodie, pulling out a small piece of folded paper. She opened it to read it’s contents. She cleared her throat before speaking to the vendor owner.

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find a restaurant called Libeccio’s? I’m looking for a man named Marco Calamaro.”

The vendor owner stared up at the sky for brief a moment.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that restaurant or that man. Sorry piccola.” “It’s fine. Thank you for your help.” “No problem. Also, weren't there four of you?”

Alma whipped her head side to side. All the blood drained from her face. Emilio was gone. She grabbed Miguel’s hand, causing him to drop the pizza slices. She frantically searched the area. Her heart thumped against her chest as she could not find Emilio anywhere. The streets were too crowded. He could easily blend in with all the other toddlers that walked along the pavement. Alma swallowed her pride and began to shout Emilio’s name. Isabella started to whimper. Alma was torn between comforting Isabella and shouting Emilio’s name. A groan escaped her lips as she compromised; rub Isabella’s stomach and continue to yell Emilio's name.

“Where could he have possibly ran off too?” Alma's mind raced with scenarios of Emilio in danger and getting hurt. She grabbed Miguel’s hand and ran around the area again.

After five minutes, Alma stopped running to catch her breath. She had one hand on her knee and one holding Miguel’s hand. She panted. Her eyes were wide open and she was sweating all over her body. Alma stung from the tears that were building up in her eyes. She covered Isabella’s ears, took a deep breath and screamed. “EMILIO WHERE ARE YOU?”

The people around Alma either gave her odd stares or pitiful glances. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Miguel pulled on Alma’s hoodie. She gazed down at him with glossy eyes.

“Will we be able to find Emilio?” His chubby face contorted with worry. “I don’t know.” Alma whispered, her voice cracking. Just as her tears were about to fall, someone grabbed her shoulder. She looked up and was met with a pair of cerulean eyes. The eyes belonged to a boy who appeared to about Alma’s age. He had a sleek, black bob that framed his face, and he wore all white clothes adorned with black spoon shaped polka dots.

His face filled with concern. “Are you alright?” “I can’t find my little brother. He ran off somewhere when I had my back turned.” Alma sniffled. The boy rubbed her back. The warmth from the his hand was comforting and reassuring.

“What does your younger brother look like?”

Alma stood up straight to answer him. “He’s two years old, comes up to about my thigh, has green eyes and black hair tied into a small ponytail.” Alma fought back her tears to talk to the boy properly. The boy’s face lit up with realization. He stood in front of Alma and pointed behind her. Alma turned her head to look in the direction he was pointing in. Emilio was under an unlit street lamp playing his shoelaces. Alma ran towards him and hugged him tightly. She pulled him back to stare into his eyes. “I’m so glad I found you! Don’t run off from me again. Where did you even run off to”?

“I think I can answer that for you.” The boy walked up behind Alma with a polite smile on his face. Alma whipped her head towards him. Her forehead creased in confusion.

“He was following me. He wanted to get my attention to tell me my clothes looked funny. Personally, I thought my clothes looked kinda cool. ” The boy chuckled. Alma stared at Emilio in disbelief. “You ran off to tell a stranger his clothes looked funny? I-can’t-uurgh”.

She sagged her shoulders and pinched the bridge of her nose. Faint snickering came from next to her. She snapped her head to the boy. His shoulders started to shake as a result of him trying to hold in his laughter. Upon closer inspection, Alma saw that the boy was very handsome. Her cheeks gave off a slight blush at her observation. The two of them were broken from their dazes from Isabella’s giggle fit. The boy leaned in close to Isabella's face to coo at her. She stuck her arms out, trying to grab the boy’s face. He moved a little closer to allow Isabella to latch on to his cheeks.

“I’m gonna assume these are all your siblings.” The boy stood up straight to look Alma in the eyes. She cleared her throat before she answered him.

“Yeah. Sorry about my little brother calling your clothes funny. I think they look good on you.” Alma mentally slapped herself. “Why did I let that last part come out?”  The boy grinned at Alma’s compliment.

“I’m glad you like my clothes. Even if your younger brother thinks differently." Alma and the boy shared a laugh.

“Thank you for helping me find this little rascal.” Alma said, ruffling Emilio’s hair. “No problem.” The boy began to walk off. Before he could leave, Alma called out to him.

“I know you just helped me out, but can I ask you one last thing? Well, two things actually.”

The boy turned back at her. “Sure what is it?”

Alma took the folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Do you know where a restaurant called Libeccio’s is? I’m looking for the owner. His name is Marco Calamaro.”

“I do. You want me to show you the way?” The boy flashed his teeth at her. Alma felt her cheeks heat up once again.

“I would ap-appreciate that.” She stuttered. The boy waved his hand, motioning for her to follow him. She grabbed Emilio's and Miguel’s hands and followed after the boy. He stopped after a few steps. His eyes were filled with curiosity when he looked at Alma.

“You said you had two questions. What was the second one?” “Your name. I wanted to know your name.” “Bruno Buccellati.” “Buccellati. Like the fig cookie?” “I guess so.” He placed his fingers on his chin staring down at the ground. Alma let out a quiet chuckle. Bruno glanced at her confused.

“Its a coincidence that I’m from Sicily. I eat buccellati every year for Christmas". “That explains why you move the way you do. I bet the crowds there aren’t as dense as they are here.”

Alma raised an eyebrow at his comment. “How I move"?

“People here know how to maneuver through crowds easily. You looked a little lost trying to get around.” “Oh. You are absolutely right then.” The two of them shared another laugh as they continued their walk to the restaurant.

“I guess this is your stop.” Bruno said.

Alma stared at the restaurant’s door. “I guess it is. Thank you for showing me the way.”

“No problem. Oh, I didn’t get your name.” “It’s Alma.” “That’s a pretty name. Bye, Alma.” He waved goodbye to her and her siblings as he left.

Alma stared at Bruno’s fleeting form for a while. “I can get used to this new name.” Her cheeks were tinted pink from embarrassment at her own thoughts. She settled her attention back on the restaurant's door after she could no longer see Bruno. Alma took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The restaurant had a welcoming atmosphere and was arranged similarly to a person’s home.

“Hello Ms. Can I help you?” A random waiter asked. Right when she was about to answer, she heard yelling coming from the kitchen. Concerned, Alma turned her head towards the person who was shouting. It was a young boy dressed in a waiter's uniform. He had golden eyes and brown hair that swept messily backward with some of the tufts sticking up in arcs above his head. He was holding a plate of carbonara with one hand and the kitchen door with another. Something about this boy was familiar to Alma, but she could not put her finger on it.

“I told you old man, I didn’t ruin the soup! Your age is screwing up your tastebuds. I know I seasoned it well!” The boy hollered into the kitchen. “As if!” Someone yelled back at the boy. “There they go again.” The waiter said under his breath, shaking his head. Alma looked at the waiter puzzled.

“Is it normal for the waiters to scream at the cooks?”

The waiter smiled at her, amusement laced in his face. “No, just that waiter. He’s the owner’s son. They are always bickering about something. It's all in good fun though. Don’t worry.”

Alma’s eyes shot open. “The owner’s son"! Alma speed walked up to him. He was making his way to the table that ordered the carbonara. She grabbed his shirt tightly and he turned around to greet her.

“I’d prefer if you just tapped me but what can I-”The boy paused. His pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. His shock caused him to lose focus and drop the plate of food. He paid it no mind as his eyes bulged out at Alma. The two of them made eye contact, sharing the same facial expression.

“(Y/n)?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Angelo?” Alma's tone resembled his. Angelo grabbed Alma by the shoulders to stare deeply at her features. After staring at her for what felt like hours, Angelo let her go and ran into the kitchen.

“Someone clean that up for me. DAD!"

Alma felt her heart thump against her chest. She braced herself for when the restaurant would walk out of the kitchen.

After a few moments, the kitchen door swung open. Angelo stepped out of the kitchen with an older man staggering behind him. The man was of average height. He was wearing a white chef’s uniform with a red apron. He had short black hair that was fading into grey and his eyes were a deep brown that were almost black. His face was a mixture of emotions: surprise, remorse, sadness, and a hint of regret. He slowly walked up to Alma and gently grasped her face. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he gazed upon her. “Is it really you, (Y/n)?”

“Yeah, it's me Marco.” Alma responded, her voice cracking.

Sadness and joy ran rampant through her body. Her emotions overflowed upon seeing her old family friend again. The man kissed both her cheeks as tears escaped his eyes. He paused to look at the children with Alma. He wiped his tears away. “Are these all your siblings"?

Alma nodded, unable to speak anymore in fear of breaking down.

“Tonio, run the kitchen for me. I have to talk to this young girl.” Marco yelled. “No problem chef.” The man named Tonio responded.

Marco motioned for Alma to follow him. She walked behind him with Angelo, Miguel, and Emilio following suit. They walked through the kitchen. The smell of delectable soups, steaks dishes, and pastas made Alma salivate. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder that her search for Emilio earlier this morning did not allow her the chance to eat. Marco led her to a door that upon opening, revealed a flight of old, brown wooden stairs. Alma stepped on one of the stairs and it creak under her weight. Angelo leaned in next to Alma to whisper in her ear. “I’ve been telling the old man to get the stairs refurbished for forever now. We have the money for it, but he’s probably just being cheap.”

“I keep these old creaky stairs to keep you from sneaking out of the house.”

Angelo’s shoulders hunched forward in surprise. “You heard that? And here I thought your hearing was fading.” Angelo rested his hands on the back of his head. Macro slapped the back of his neck. Angelo sneered at him in, rubbing out the pain from the slap.

“My patience with you is what’s fading. I’m only forty five.” Marco said through gritted teeth. Alma laughed at their exchange. Although Marco’s face was painted with irritation, she could feel the love between the two of them. They both snapped their heads at her. They smiled and joined in on the laughter with her. Miguel and Emilio looked at them in confusion.

The group made their way upstairs. Marco’s house was a two floor, medium sized home that rested on top of the restaurant. The first floor contained the kitchen, living room and dining room. The walls were painted beige and had all kinds of paintings and word decorations. The house created a comfortable atmosphere. They all moved to sit in the dining room.

“Have you all eaten yet?” Marco asked. “No, we're really hungry.” Miguel answered for Alma. Marco chuckled at the boy. He pulled out several pots and pans to start on breakfast. While Marco prepared their meal, Alma took the backpack off of Miguel. She reached inside of it to grab a baby bottle filled with baby formula. She took Isabella out of the baby holder to begin feeding her.

After about twenty minutes, Marco brought out several dishes. The dishes included a potato frittata, sauted tomatoes, brioche with jam, coffee and tea. Miguel and Emilio wasted no time digging into the food. Alma put Isabella down on the floor before taking a bite of the frittata. She moaned in delight. She did not realize how hungry she was until she was scarfing down the food like a wild animal. Marco let out a deep, hearty laugh.

“When was the last time you guys ate?” Marco asked.

Alma almost did not hear Marco. She swallowed the food in her mouth before she answered him. “It was before we left Sicily.” She had a forlorn expression on her face as she stared at her plate. Marco said nothing. Alma appreciated his silence so she could focus on eating rather than explaining herself.

After they finished eating, Alma went to the bathroom to splash water on her face. She gawked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her hoodie looked unwashed and bags piled under her eyes. “No wonder people were giving me pitiful looks".  She let out a deep breath and exited the bathroom. When she entered the dining room, Emilio, Miguel and Isabella were not there. Her shoulders stiffened.

“Don’t worry. I had Angelo take them upstairs to rest along with your baby sister.”

Alma relaxed her shoulders. She took a seat at the dining table along with Marco. He poured himself and her a cup of tea. She sipped the hot liquid, letting its heat melt away some of the tension in her body. Alma put the cup down and saw that Marco was studying her. His features were clouded with sadness. Angelo came downstairs and joined them at the table. The expression on his face was similar to Marco's.

“It’s been five long years since we saw you last. You’ve grown a lot.” Marco started. “I know. I’ve missed you Marco.”

Angelo cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner. She glanced over at him.

“I’ve missed you to Angelo. You look so different. I didn’t recognize you in the restaurant until one of the waiter’s said something.” Alma said, amusement in her voice.

“Wait. Good or bad different?”

Alma chuckled at him.

“Good different. Your face has become a little shaper.” “A little? Do you see how chiseled my jawline is?” Angelo exasperated.

“You're only fifteen boy. There is nothing chiseled about you.” Marco said. “You always gotta ruin my shine.” Angelo scowled at his father. He erased the faux anger in his face and continued talking. “Anyway, the older of those two boys. Is that Miguel?”

“Yes, it is.” Alma replied. “He’s grown a lot these past few years. Well, he was just a baby when I last saw him. Where’d the other two come from? I thought your dad was-” Angelo stopped himself. Alma’s grip on her cup tightened.

Marco spoke up. “What happened to you and your mother over these past few years? After Alejandro died, she stopped contacting me. What happened? How did you guys get by?” His tone held a sense of carefulness. It was like he was trying not to trigger something in her. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

She breathed out a sigh. “My mother didn’t stop contacting you on purpose. She lost your number. After dad died, she worked a bunch of odd jobs to make ends meet. It still wasn’t enough so she turned to-” Alma stopped for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the side to avoid Marco and Angelo’s gazes. “She turned to prostitution. Emilio and Isabella are...” Alma did not finish her sentence. She did not have to for Marco and Angelo to get the picture.

“Where is she now?” Marco asked.

Marco and Angelo’s jaws visibly clenched in anticipation. Tears welled up in Alma’s eyes. She aggressively wiped them away with the sleeve of her hoodie. “She died giving birth to Isabella. I couldn’t save her.” Alma said in a broken whisper. Marco’s jaw slacked. He sucked in a breath and braced himself. Angelo’s pupils flared at Alma’s confession.

“When you say you couldn’t save her, are you talking about your gift to heal people?” Marco asked softly. Alma nodded.

“I thought that was a figment of my imagination growing up.” Angelo had shock written all over his face. “It wasn’t. I told you that so you wouldn’t go blabbering about it to your friends.” Marco stated.

Alma fought through her tears to continue her story. “Mom had Isabella in Doc’s underground clinic. They were both having complications after the birth. Doc didn’t have the proper equipment to help her. I had to choose between saving her or Isabella. Mom told me to save Isabella instead of herself. I tried to heal her as fast as I could so I could get back to mom, but I was too late.”

“My God, (Y/n). I’m so sorry.” Marco whispered.

Angelo rubbed Alma’s back as tears poured down her face. “Mom’s pimp still wanted the money she owed him even after she died. So he would harass us. Doc helped me run away from Palermo to come to Naples. He told me to change my name and to never use my ability again. He said I shouldn’t have the burden of holding people’s lives in my hands and that if I used it to heal people like did in Sicily, it would attract the attention of mom’s pimp.” Alma choked on her sobs.

Marco rubbed her arm. “Doc told you the right thing. Don’t use your gift anymore (Y/n). I know it sucks, but it will give you a sense of normalcy with your new life.” She nodded at him. Her ability to heal people could save hundreds, but the dangers of attracting attention to herself were not worth the risk. Her life was not the only life she had to worry about.

“What’s the new name you gave yourself?” Angelo asked.

Alma sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Alma.” “Alright. No more (Y/n). Alma it is.” Marco rolled her name on his tongue like it was a piece of candy.

“I wish your mom would have come to me. Even if she lost my number, she could have come to Naples. She knows where I am.” “She didn’t want to be a burden, and she was too scared to leave her pimp.” Alma said the last part faintly.

“Well, now that you are here, I want you and your siblings to stay. I don’t want you leaving Naples. Your father did way too much for me in our years of knowing each other. Alejandro was more than a brother to me. I can’t let his children suffer.” Marco's voice filled with resolve.

“Thank you Marco. I just have one request.” “What is it piccola?” “I want to work here.” “Sure, no problem. But you don’t have to.”

Alma closed her eyes for two seconds and opened them. “It’s going to cost a lot to try and raise five kids Marco. I want to watch out for me and siblings as much as possible without being a burden to you. So I want to work here. And I promise, to be out of your place in five years.” Alma's eyes had fire hidden behind them. It was like coming to Naples lit a spark in her. She wanted to prove to Marco she was hellbent on what she said. Marco stood up from his seat and ruffled her hair.

“Alright then. I hope you're ready to work hard."

Alma beamed at him, accepting Marco’s challenge.

[rather-impertinent]

Girl Next Door chpt. 7

A/N: Trying to get these out more quickly! Cavity inducing fluff within. Dwight goes to Ross and Demelza’s for dinner.

The radio in the grey Toyota Auris blared as the driver tapped his hand on the steering wheel along to the song he’d been playing on repeat for the last two days.

“There’ll be some love-making, heart-breaking, soul-shaking loooove,” Dwight sang along enthusiastically, using his left fist as an impromptu microphone. Singing along to music in his car was one of Dwight’s favourite things to do, but he was rarely so energised after a twelve-hour shift. Today’s reason was that it was Sunday, which meant he was about to be treated to one of Demelza Poldark’s delicious roast dinners and get to discuss a particularly delicate situation with her and see his goddaughter. Oh, yeah, and see Ross. This new song only bolstered his good mood more, and he particularly enjoyed it having been introduced to it by Caroline a few days ago.

There had been a shift in their relationship - if you could even call it that. They’d spent almost every free hour between now and their movie night together, even if it was only for an hour or two before they fell asleep, exhausted from the long shifts they both worked. Dwight had told her of his previous relationship with a girl named Keren. He'd told Caroline how he’d fallen in love with Keren and been with her for almost a year to discover she was married to an incredibly violent man, who proceeded to beat the living shit out of both of them when he’d followed her to Dwight’s flat one evening. Dwight’s considerably moderate facial injuries had been mild to what Keren had received, she’d almost died. He still lived with the guilt of that, which Caroline told him was ridiculous because he couldn’t have known that she was married. To which Dwight had replied that Keren had forgotten to remove her ring once or twice, but he’d chosen to ignore it and not ask her. Caroline had then confided in Dwight about her uncle and the cause of their fallout; Caroline had refused to play the society girl anymore and had flatly refused to marry a man nearly twice her age just because he was related to the Royals. The fact they had this argument while both being incredibly drunk and right in the middle of a Jubilee in front of half of her uncle’s coworkers and clients only soured the matter further. On the basis of public humiliation, her uncle had ordered her to pack her bags and get out. She did so, but missed him terribly, and wondered if he was taking care of himself properly but was too scared to contact him in case he was still furious with her and cut her off forever. Dwight had given her a tight hug, and she stayed over. The next night, Friday, Dwight had fallen asleep at Caroline’s after she’d invited him around for some of her famous hot chocolate, which had morphed into watching the first two Harry Potter films, eating three massive bags of crisps and ended with a steamy make-out session. He felt like lovestruck a teenager, it was ridiculous.

He really shouldn’t have thought about making out with Caroline while driving. “Well, what we’re not going to do is have a fucking boner when we walk into our best mate’s house who, for one, will take the piss until the end of time and second, has a two-year-old daughter,” he admonished himself out loud, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He focused on the road and thought of unattractive, appealing things; like Theresa May and her sham of UK government. Ah yes, much better. 

The car turned right down a side road and then left again after a minute or so before crawling up the long, gravel driveway to the Poldarks’ house, which had long been christened Nampara. As he exited his car, he took in the sight of the impressive, ancient house and felt a warm sense of home coupled with a slight pang of jealousy. The house had been left to Ross in his father’s will after he finished university seven years ago; and he and Demelza had moved in together straight away, while Demelza was still at university. Everyone had raised their eyebrows at this, even Dwight himself, but it had all miraculously worked out in the end, and they had been married for almost five years now and had Julia nearly three years ago. Dwight approached the large door and made a playful rhythm on its frame before entering immediately. “Hello, family,” he called to his best friends as he took off his coat off and hung it up on a peg. Ross and Demelza Poldark were truly the closest thing he had to a family, and he was perfectly okay with that.

The only Poldark to respond to his greeting was the youngest, Julia, who came speeding out of the sitting room and into the corridor as fast as her little legs could carry her. “Unca Dwight!” she squealed, holding out her chubby arms as she clambered towards him, anticipating a hug.

Dwight took several steps forward and snatched the running girl up from the ground and into his arms, tickling her ferociously. “Roar! It’s the tickle monster!”

Her delighted shrieks were music to the doctor’s ears but not to his friend Ross’s, who groaned audibly from the sofa on the other side of the wall. Dwight chuckled and proceeded into the sitting room, Julia hanging awkwardly off him, where he found Ross lying down on the sofa, nursing a pint glass of water and what smelled like a bacon roll. “Rough night, mate?” Dwight asked, a smirk on his face.

Ross glared at him. “Don’t start,” he warned, his rough voice reflecting his delicate state.

“Ross stayed out until 4 am with Zacky and Hench and drank an entire bottle of Jameson during the process, didn’t you, babe?” Demelza had ceased cleaning the upstairs and descended the staircase when she heard her daughter’s shrieks and Dwight’s dulcet tones. Her terse tone told Dwight that his two best friends were not currently on the best of terms.

Ross squeezed his eyes together and pinched the bridge of his nose, far too hungover to deal with his wife’s wrath. “Demelza,” he whined, pleading her forgiveness. “How many times do I have to apologise?”

Demelza ignored Ross as if he hadn’t even spoken and addressed Dwight, “I made cheesecake for pudding since it’s your favourite, and Julia helped. Didn’t you, my lamb?” She tickled her daughter’s chin, who giggled in response and reached out her arms in search of one of her mother’s hugs. Demelza took her willingly and peppered her face with kisses, and Dwight was pleased to be once again able to straighten his spine. “Shall we go into the kitchen and crush the biscuits on top now?” Julia seemed very keen on the idea, and so the two girls disappeared into the kitchen.

Once his dear friend, Demelza, was out of earshot, Dwight gave a low whistle. “What did you do?” he asked Ross, chuckling at his friend’s expense.

Ross sat up, both his palms splayed out as he gestured helplessly. “Nothing!” Dwight raised his eyebrows at this claim, thoroughly unconvinced. “Well...,” Ross began, wracking his cloudy brain, “I might have woken her up at 4 in the morning stumbling into bed drunk, and I think I might have actually been sick on the stairs, but I can’t remember if I dreamt that or not. Then there’s the fact I promised to be back for 11 because Dem wanted to watch that new Benedict Cumberbatch thing.”

Dwight had begun shaking his head the minute that Ross mentioned a time. “Rookie mistake there, mate. Is it not one of the cardinal rules of life that you don’t agree a time to be home at with your wife before going out?”

Ross narrowed his eyes at his best friend and scoffed. “And how the fuck would you know, Enys? The only thing you’re married to is the NHS.”

Dwight barked a laugh and pointed at Ross. “You’ve got me there. But at least the NHS isn’t pissed off at me and probably searching for utensils to murder me with in the kitchen.”

Ross groaned and covered his pale face with the large, family size blanket he’d been wrapped in all day. “It’s not funny. Please help me, Dwight,” he begged his voice a mere mumble through the thick, woollen cover.

“Well, obviously you need to do something that Demelza would like. Why don’t you watch Titanic or something?” Dwight suggested lightly, smothering a smile at the fond memories the movie had for him now.

“Titanic?” Ross repeated in confusion. What a random suggestion.

“Yeah, all women like that film, right?” Ross narrowed his eyes suspiciously at this. Dwight’s voice remained even and calm. “And it’s sad, and the guy dies at the end, so you can use it to get out of jail because I guarantee Demelza will be crying and clinging to you at that point.”

“Hmm,” hummed Ross before sighing deeply. “Oh, well, fuck it. I don’t have any other plan.”

Dwight rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, you twat.”

Ross motioned for him to sit down beside him. “Thanks. But since when did you know the entire plot of Titanic, you bender?”

“I’m not a bender, and I hate that word, it’s horrible. Titanic is a drama.”

“It’s a chick flick, and you’re a bender,” Ross insisted, taking a sip of water, his smile disappearing into his glass.

“You know, just because you have the emotional capacity of a fucking teaspoon doesn’t mean that other people can’t have feelings, Ross,” Dwight argued defensively.

Ross hit his arm. “Alright, keep your cock on, I was only joking!” Dwight exhaled, feeling a little stressed out because he had wanted to talk to Ross about Caroline and ask his advice, but he could see that his male bravado act still hadn’t worn off from last night. Ross turned into such a prick whenever he drank alcohol, especially with his workmates. “It’s actually a decent film,” Ross conceded thoughtfully, which caused Dwight to put his face in his hands.

On that note, Demelza called them through for dinner.

“So, Dwight, how has work been?” Demelza asked conversationally as they all tucked into their hearty meals.

Dwight finished chewing his massive mouthful of roast potatoes before answering. “Pretty good. Quite busy, actually. What with it getting colder now and everything, loads of old people getting sick, a few cases of whiplash from cars hitting black ice, that sort of thing. What about you? How are your classes going?” Demelza was currently on probation at the local college as a music teacher; it had always been a passion of hers and Dwight was glad she was finally using her talents for good.

She blushed and ducked her head. “Oh, erm, OK I think. I’m not–“

“She’s doing amazing, Dwight,” Ross interjected. “Everyone loves her; I’ve no doubt in my mind she’s going to get a permanent position. She’s just being a modest knob.” Ross nudged his wife fondly.

“Daddy, what’s knob?” Julia inquired, causing Dwight to choke on his roast beef as he started laughing.

Demelza glared at her husband. “Ross!” she hissed. Normally, they never swore around Julia, not wanting her to pick up their bad habits.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. But it’s a very special word, and it’s illegal to say it before you’re eighteen. So, you can’t say it before then, or we’ll all get in big trouble with the police, okay?” he lied casually.

“Oh, okee,” she accepted happily before turning in her high chair towards Ross. “Daddy?”

Ross stopped eating at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Yes, my love?”

She stabbed at her bowl of roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes with her Peppa Pig fork. “Too big,” she whined, her bottom lip jutting out in discontent.

“Daddy cut it for you then,” he cooed, taking the bowl and breaking it into small bites before pretending the fork was an aeroplane.

Julia giggled and opened her mouth for more; she loved being fed by her dad, he always made it so funny.

After dessert, Ross and Julia retired to the living room to watch an episode of Scooby-Doo before Julia had to go to bed. Dwight lingered in the kitchen and helped Demelza with the dishes, though he had an ulterior motive. “Dem?”

“Yeah?” she asked as scrubbed the pot of gravy clean with all her might, water droplets splashing onto the countertop.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he dried a plate with a flowery tea-towel. “So, uh, I’ve kind of started seeing Caroline,” he began casually, before being deafened by Demelza’s squeal.

She thrust her arms around his shoulders, her soaking wet hands dampening his back. “Oh, my god!” she sang loudly. “This is the best news ever! Fuck the dishes, come and sit down; you need to tell me all about it!”

“Will you be quiet?” he hissed in panic. “I don’t want Ross to know yet. It’s not that serious, it only kind of happened five days ago when–”

“– ‘it’? Do you mean…?” she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Dwight’s neck went a little red. “No, not that. We have kissed though, a few times.” Demelza grinned at this. “I really, really like her, Dem. But I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure how to proceed with the whole thing. I don’t want things to go too fast  –  I don’t to scare her off or anything. And really, I just don’t want to fuck this up, especially after last time.” He sighed heavily, sitting down on one of the dining room chairs and bringing his fingers to his temples.

Demelza looked at him sympathetically. “Oh, Dwight,” she sighed, rubbing his back. “I know it must be scary after last time, but it’s going to be OK. God, I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed, a wide grin on her face. “You haven’t even spoken to a girl properly since Keren, and that was almost four years ago! We were afraid you’d die a lonely old man!” she teased.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Don’t rejoice yet; we’re not even officially together!”

Demelza got up and resumed washing the pile of dishes, a lingering smile on her face. She turned and looked at Dwight over her shoulder. “Oh, just let me have my moment, please!”

Half an hour later, all the dishes washed and put away, having witnessed the Scooby-Doo gang unmask the monster and armed with enough leftovers to keep him alive for approximately four days, it was time for Dwight to go home. He sighed, he really hated leaving this house.

“Bye, mate,” Ross said, enveloping him in a tight hug with two manly thuds on the back for good measure.

“Remember what I told you,” Dwight whispered in his best friend’s ear. He nodded in understanding.

Demelza picked up Julia and held her out to Dwight so he could receive a hug goodbye from his goddaughter, but she shied away and clung to her mum’s chest. “Julia,” Demelza sighed. “I know you don’t want Uncle Dwight to go, but he has work tomorrow, my lamb, so you have to give him a nice hug goodbye.” Julia shook her head against Demelza’s shoulder and firmly gripped her arms around her mum.

Ross approached them, an idea forming in his head. “My love, what if Uncle Dwight takes you to bed and tucks you in, and then you pick any story you like, and Daddy will read it to you?” he asked his daughter, tucking her curls behind her ear.

This proposition caught Julia’s attention, and Ross and Demelza exchanged knowing, triumphant glances. “Two stories?” Julia inquired in a light voice.

“Yeah!” Ross said enthusiastically. “Whichever ones you want!” Though, he prayed it wouldn’t be Goldilocks and the Three Bears again because he was close to being turned off porridge for life.

Julia wriggled free from Demelza’s hold and flung herself onto Dwight and clutched him tightly. “Okee,” she sang happily – Uncle Dwight always made going to bed fun, and Daddy had the best story voices.

“Which special lift will we do tonight? Jungle chase, princess, spaceship, piggyback or –”

“Jungle!” Julia squealed before he could even finish his sentence.

And with that, Dwight hoisted Julia over his shoulder and began jogging out of the room and down the long corridor. “Quick, Juju! The cheetahs are chasing us! Watch out for the monkeys hanging down off the trees!”

Dwight’s warnings and Julia’s shrieks disappeared upstairs, and Ross and Demelza stood alone in the cosy living room, chuckling.

“He’s such a twat,” Ross said with fondness; he loved the close relationship his best friend had with his family – it was precisely how he’d hoped his life would turn out to be.

Demelza sighed and leaned against Ross. “I love how much he loves her.”

Ross leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s almost as much as I love you,” he murmured. Demelza glanced him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye but was unable to smother a smile. “I can’t wait until he has kids one day, so I can be the fun uncle and make his kids all hyper and then piss off home to leave him to deal with the fallout!”

Demelza laughed and put her arms around Ross’s middle. Just as Ross was about to say something, Dwight came pounding down the stairs. “She’s in her pyjamas, and all tucked in,” Dwight informed the two parents.

“Thanks–“

“Daddy!” came Julia’s voice from the second bedroom upstairs, no doubt impatient to hear how Jack climbed the beanstalk.

Ross smiled and gave Dwight a pat on the shoulder as he passed him. “Coming!” And with that, he disappeared up the carpeted stairway.

Demelza stood on her tiptoes to hug Dwight and then handed him a massive bag of leftovers, including half a cheesecake. “Here you go! Make sure you eat them within the next four days, I put a bit of everything into each tub, so you can just put them in the microwave at work or whatever. But make sure you eat the cheesecake within two days just in case it goes bad. Why not invite Caroline round?” she suggested with a broad smile and raised eyebrows as they walked down the corridor to the front door.

Dwight took his coat from the peg and opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the cold wind chill. He shivered in the doorway. “Thank you. But honestly, Dem,” he laughed. “I’m not a child!” His protest was made fruitless by the gratefulness in his tone. But on her second thought, he would invite Caroline round.

Demelza raised a hand in goodbye. “Drive safe! Text us when you get home!”

“I will!” he called to her as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Before starting the car, he sent Caroline a quick text.

Dwight Enys 8:47 pm Hey Caroline. Just heading back from dinner at Ross and Demelza’s and Dem’s sent me back with half a fucking cheesecake because she’s an angel. It’s delicious! Fancy sharing some/the whole thing over a film? X

By the time Dwight arrived home forty-five minutes later, he’d received no word from Caroline. He hadn’t heard the TV on in her flat, though, when he was on the landing, so he assumed she was asleep. She had been working a lot lately, but she seemed to enjoy it, so that was the main thing.

After binge-watching a few episodes of The Office, Dwight was getting ready for bed when his phone beeped. He snatched it off the bedside table with such speed he was embarrassed on his own behalf. His heart sank a little when he saw who the message was from.

Ross Poldark 12:21 am Sent a photo. It worked!! Thanks, mate!

Dwight frowned in disgust at the picture of his two best friends in bed who, although modestly covered by the duvet, were clearly naked.

Dwight Enys 12:23 am Well I guess I’m glad but ew. I really did not need the image of my two best friends naked in bed together burned into my retinas, thanks for that mate

Ross Poldark 12:23 am You’re welcome <3 I figured at least one of us should get to lie beside a beautiful naked woman, and since it definitely won’t be you any time soon, I thought I’d share x

Dwight Enys 12:24 am Prick

Ross Poldark 12:24 am You loooove me

Dwight Enys 12:25 am I love Demelza so much more than you, she has outranked you as my best friend

Ross Poldark 12:25 am I’d argue with that but I can’t. She’s amazing isn’t she??

Dwight Enys 12:26 am Did you have a full bottle of wine with the movie by any chance? Or have you been smoking weed again?

Ross Poldark 12:26 am Just high on life my friend

Dwight Enys 12:27 am Jesus Christ I think I’m going to be sick. I don’t know how Dem puts up with you! Anyway I’m going to bed, working at 7. Night Mr Poldark, give Juju a hug from me x

Ross Poldark 12:27 am Will do, goodnight Dr Dwight Stephen Enys MBBS x

Dwight Enys 12:27 am Goodnight and fuck off x

[southboundhqarchive]

MEET LUZ,

FULL NAME › Luz Fuentes DeDios AGE › thirty GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › Yakima, Washington RESIDENCE › Laguna Street (Midtown) OCCUPATION › Acting Owner of Los Gatos Taqueria NOW PLAYING › Moment Of Truth by Gang Starr

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: cancer, death of a parent, divorce

AEGEAN BRONZE AGE ( 3,000-2,000 BCE )

when luz is small, she hears the story of her birth a thousand times. she can recite it by heart. it is a perfect day in may and her mother dolores has been walking for days, tired of carrying around a belly so swollen with life that she is certain she could fit her own body inside of it. it has been five months since dolores has seen her husband and she does not think he’ll ever come home from some godforsaken war across the sea. the truth is that he never does–not even for his only daughter. donald cameron dies alone on the same day his daughter luz takes her first breath after an arduous labor in the back of an ambulance on the way from pioneer park to saint mary medical center.

dolores tells the story as if she was in both places at once. at her husband’s side as a fatal bullet cut him down like a blade of grass and holding her own hand as she pushed and screamed on the rigid gurney. luz thinks that her mother must see everything. it is that childhood belief that protects her from the troubles that follow her cousins like black cats and shadows. it’s different as an only child, she knows that her mother has only one person in the whole wide world and she must live up to her mother’s need to be whole.

next door, the abandoned house sits behind a chain link fence. dozens of stone animals litter the yard and porch and it becomes young luz’s playground. she digs in the dirt, unburying hidden treasures and her cousins laugh and call her indiana jones. the book of greek myths her father left behind is never far from her mind and even as a small girl, sole knows she will walk in the colosseum and excavate along the mediterranean. the excavations are fun and so is time spent with her cousins, but she can’t help being envious of her cousins’ closeness with one another. without a father, she wonders how she can ever have a sibling when her father is nothing but a cold, marble headstone.

grief waxes and wanes for dolores, who knows as much about suffering as her name might suggest. linda is a salve for old pains as they ease. the two meet when linda begins waitressing at the restaurant dolores cooks at. the love is slow at first–neither woman sure what the other wants–but it is built on a solid foundation. linda has a son, francisco, and soon the fuentes pair become of family of four. francisco and luz are close enough in age that the pair become fast friends–basketball in the driveway, late night action movie binges–they’re inseparable.

school is easy for luz, who is an avid reader and an energetic learner with a solid family to support her. she quickly earns playful jeering from her cousins for being a pocha as she works hard to fit in. despite focusing on student government and basketball, she is well regarded among her peers. she is the kind of girl that makes it hard not to like–an easy going, laid back girl with a jock’s ponytail and a sharp wit. the girl is made for something great and her mother works tirelessly to afford uniforms and ap textbooks. luz fuentes is going somewhere.

MINOAN PALATIAL PERIOD ( 2,600-1,400 BCE )

it’s not the dream she had far away in the esteemed halls of colleges like cambridge, oxford, or harvard. no, whitman college–so named for the whitman incident in which a missionary is forced to pay for his crimes and yet is remembered as the white hero–is just down the street from her modest childhood home. it’s strange, then, how different of a world it seems to her. the liberal arts college is not the place she belongs as she did in high school. it’s an entirely different world. she works in the cafeteria to offset the costs her scholarships don’t cover, plays basketball for the team, and has dinner with her mother every sunday if not more. it’s not a bad life.

the classroom and court are the places where luz feels like she can really be herself. pieces of her are lost in conversations among classmates that she does not relate to and she plunges herself head first into work and family, which is the most she’s ever known. when she finds her true calling, she’s paralyzed–they don’t offer a major in bioarchaeology. with the help of a couple of advisors, she makes her own–blending anthropology, biology, geology, and chemistry together in a blissful salve that mends even the deepest wounds gained in the thirst to prove that she can be everything her mother needs. her sacrifices will not be for nothing.

when she graduates, she feels a whirlwind sense of accomplishment. she is accepted to field school in crete where she can study the minoan and mycenaean cultures to her heart’s content. it is there she develops her fascination with bones and death and focuses her interest on funerary archaeology–a subject she will study at length at the university of tennessee’s bioarchaeology doctoral program. she can sometimes hear her father calling her and she knows that she must reunite the dead with their loved ones.

THE HEROIC AGE ( 1,600-1,100 BCE )

on a quiet, hot summer night she falls in love with another doctoral student a few years her senior. they drink raki and let the waves and sand massage their weary feet. they return to tennessee and luz feels her stomach swelling with the prospect of life. rodrigo is a warm heart and though he is not prepared for fatherhood he takes to it, like he does with most things, with gusto. if there is apprehension in luz’s heart it is quelled by the worry in her mother’s voice through the telephone lines–please tell me you are going to marry him, mija. luz fuentes dedios has never broken her mother’s heart.

nayeli guadalupe esparza is born, much like her mother, on a summer’s day and is named for rodrigo and luz’s grandmothers. she holds her so tight that rodrigo is afraid she might break her. the young parents find that they love nayeli enough that it doesn’t matter if they love each other half as much. it won’t be long before they find out that they don’t love one another at all anymore.

weddings and motherhood do not stop a determined woman. luz knows that women have always persevered more obstacles than their male peers and she is determined to not let her dreams fall by the wayside. their lives are not easy–both spend long hours teaching and learning while preparing their own research. dolores and linda move from walla walla, selling their home by the house with the stone animal statues, the train tracks and the cornfield–which is now a burger king and a dollar tree. she does sewing and odd jobs while she cares for her granddaughter nayeli with her chubby cheeks and bright brown eyes.

in their final years, the couple move to crete to finish their research in the field. both grow tired of working, living, and raising a daughter together and the break-up is messy. nayeli is five years old when they realize they can no longer make their relationship work and when the grant money runs out, luz is forced to return to the united states to finish her doctoral thesis with no funding and no job prospects. rodrigo stays on at the research center and there is no arguing that nayeli is better off living with a parent who can provide for her. luz is crestfallen.

it’s hard to come back home, especially when there is no home to come back to. while things fall apart in crete, mothers dolores and linda have moved to a place called boot hill, arizona to fulfill their dream of opening their first restaurant together. across the ocean and the earth, somehow they’ve all lost touch and even cisco doesn’t hear from them except an ominous, staticky voicemail telling him that linda has gotten sick. there’s nowhere else to go to start over except to search for a new home and pray that her mothers are okay.

THE MYCENAEAN PERIOD ( 1,300-1,000 BCE )

boot hill, arizona isn’t on luz’s gps, but she knows there are small ghost towns scattered throughout the desert and wonders if maybe her mothers found some hole in the wall place in the process of a revitalization movement. the closer she gets to arizona, the clearer it seems in her mind–the more she senses that she must get to her mothers. she drives on instinct. she drives on faith. she drives all night until the rising sun illuminates the sign to boot hill. it seems like the strangest thing in the world to have found a place without a map–to have found the place without a map–but the further she gets into the charming arizona town it seems like fate.

it’s been too long, luz thinks, because her mothers barely recognize her at first and, with linda’s deteriorating condition, the feeling is mutual. there are a lot of tears in the living room of the house on laguna street, but there is even more hope. linda’s fight with breast cancer is not over, but treatment is going well. the difficulty lies in how sick it makes her and how much time has been spent away from their taqueria. happy to reunite with her mothers and help, luz agrees to take over the running of the restaurant and thinks that, maybe, it will help her in the international custody battle with rodrigo. she takes over the day-to-day operations and management of los gatos locos, but continues to work on her thesis in her spare time. slowly, but she remembers how to breathe again it’s hard to wake up everyday without braiding her daughter’s soft curls and listening to a giggling tale of the girl’s dreams from the night before. she misses greece and, on her worst days, she thinks she might even miss rodrigo.

❝ i am still in the labyrinth, and i must be willing to get lost before i am saved. it is only when i abandon myself that i am saved. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Lindsey Morgan AUTHOR › Lucia