#and i figure oh ok maybe if your nose runs you do then. from that

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

ao3 like per request

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

heartthrob ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

note: the year is 2007, and as all romcoms do— none of this makes proper sense. (inspired greatly by notting hill, 1999)

summary: a coffee shop, the owner, hollywood's most famous actor, and a meet-cute

warnings: a cuss word here and there

genre: romcom

“Hello,” A baritone voice came after the telltale toll of the shop bell— baritone yet young, vaguely familiar but definitely not someone she knew well. “Are you open?”

“Yeah, I��ll be out in a minute!” She yelled back from the kitchen. She pursed her lips as she gave the cupboard a final thrust, the dodgy thing has always been a right pain in the arse.

“Hi, how can I help you, sir?” She asked cheerily as she emerged from the side door, the soles of her boots tapping loudly against the aged wooden floors.

She paused in her steps when she saw the sopping wet figure at the door, standing awkwardly and apprehensively at the threshold. Droplets of water trickled down from the sleeves of his coat down to the WELCOME rug placed conveniently at the entrance. “Oh, gods! Are you alright?”

“You don’t happen to have any tissues in here, do you?” He asked with a tight smile.

“Unfortunately, no. We’ve run out at the moment.” She scrambled to grab the nearest tea towel from the cabinet before rushing over to help him. “This’ll have to do.”

“Thank you.” Their fingers grazed as he took the fabric from her hold. “I’m sorry for making such a mess.”

“It’s fine! The floorboards needed a bit of a clean anyway.” She joked with a half-hearted grin in an attempt to ease the atmosphere. “I can have your jacket dried in the back if you want.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly intrude any further.” He waved his hand to veto her suggestion before tending to himself once more.

“You’re not from here, are you?” She asked with a sudden interest. With each minute he spent in her presence, she felt like she was closer and closer to figuring out exactly who this man was. She’d seen him enough times, surely. His name was at the tip of her tongue.

“The accent wasn’t a dead giveaway?” He grinned at her.

“Well, you get your occasional round of Americans here and there.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The sunnies were a bit on the nose though.”

He clicked his tongue, quickly pulling the pair down his face and placing it against the neckline of his shirt. “The weather report said it was going to be sunny.”

“Weather reports are dodgy.” She raised her eyebrow knowingly.

“I’m guessing it doesn't rain often where you’re from?”

“Twice every year,” He pursed his lips. “But I’m never around enough to know how true that actually is.”

“Sounds like you travel a lot.”

“A fair amount. My work keeps me away from home.”

“Ah,” She nodded her head. She must’ve seen him in a travel advert somewhere. “What do you do exactly?”

“Well, I’m an actor.”

She stopped to look at him more carefully, tilting her head sideways from one direction to the next to get a hint. She met his gaze momentarily, her eyes squinting as she wracked her brain for any clue of who he might be. He looked at her expectantly.

The dozens of movie posters she'd seen at the cinema came to her with a dazzling clarity. Ecstatic by her epiphany, she slammed her hand against the counter loudly— inducing a painful bang and an equally pain-stricken howl almost immediately.

“Are you OK?!” He asked with a panicked edge to his tone. He shoved the tea towel down his pocket carelessly as he ambled over to her. “I don’t know the emergency numbers here so I’m gonna have to either carry you or drag you— whichever comes first.”

She laughed loudly in amusement whilst nursing her hand, the pain slowly ebbing away as he continued to fuss over her. “I can’t believe it! Luke Castellan is in my depressing little shop!”

“Wait, fuck, are you sure you’re OK?” Luke mouth twitched, as if contemplating whether this was an appropriate time to laugh. He looked at her as if she’d gone insane. Maybe she did, maybe she actively was. This oddly seemed like the stuff of delusions.

“Yes, I’m fine!” She flipped her wrists as if to show him. “Healthy as a horse.”

He cracked a smile at her comment.

The bell let out a loud clang as a young man peeked his head into the shop, his umbrella left out in the street to protect him from the rain. “Luke! I’ve been trying to contact you for the last hour!”

“I suppose that’s your cue to leave then.” She smiled bashfully, the embarrassment catching up instantaneously. She was rubbish at this.

“I guess it is.” He hummed lowly with a grimace. He gave her a once over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Luke, maybe hurry the fuck up?” The young man grumbled impatiently.

“Right,” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Thanks for coming around.”

“I’ll come back and actually buy something.” He said as he turned to leave.

“I’ll put you up to that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

She was in the middle of a yawn when a loud voice called from across the street, a familiar tea towel gripped between ring-clad fingers and a head of black curls bobbing through the crowds.

It was still quite early in the morning, but Notting Hill was buzzing with life.

“Hey!” Luke yelled as he hurriedly walked towards her, expertly maneuvering himself between the masses of people and the stalls that lined the road. “I accidentally brought this with me. I had it cleaned and everything.”

“Thank you,” She said as she received it. The keys to the shop dangled between her fingers, waiting to be used. “You could have done away with the old thing.”

“It felt right to give it back.” He gave her a smile, more performative than yesterday— dazzling and charming, nothing less from an actor, of course. “It might have been sentimental, being in a display cabinet and all.”

“Well, it’s memorabilia from a royal wedding some decades ago.” She responded with a blush. “My mum likes to collect these things.”

“At least it’s got some national value to it.” He raised his eyebrows.

“There’s that, yeah.” She chuckled. “My mum’s gonna be relieved, I’m sure. Thank you, Luke— may I call you Luke?”

He stared at her for a moment; what for? She wasn’t exactly sure, but it was certainly magnetic. She couldn’t move away and it felt like everything else aside from the man in front of her was a blindspot. Her eyes met his, and Luke’s grin grew imperceptibly wider and her heart thumped indescribably faster.

“Sure, yes, definitely.” Catching himself, he stood straighter. His face looked ruddy, either owed mostly to the sunbeams warming his skin or the excitement thrumming underneath his flesh. “I’d like that.”

He stuffed his hand into his pocket, just in time to tend to his phone’s shrill ringtone and its incessant vibrations. Luke groaned as he pulled it out. “It’s probably my manager. I have to go, unfortunately.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, equally as red as his cheeks despite the lack of direct sunlight against her skin. “Sorry to hear that. Have fun spending the afternoon slaying monsters.”

“The movie's about a bunch of kids on a cruise ship actually,” He laughed as he began to walk away backwards, his eyes completely fixated on her.

“Well, have fun doing that then.” She waved him off with an amused smile.

“I doubt it.” He winked at her before turning around at the curb then jogging down to god knows where.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Hey, mum.” She greeted when she walked into their shared flat, the whistle of the kettle loudly whooshing from the kitchen. “Did someone ring the shop while I was gone?”

It took her mother a minute to respond, too enraptured by David Beckham’s impeccable left-leg hurl into the opposing team’s goal. She listened attentively to the live play-by-play narration as she made herself a cup of tea, the announcer was basically gripping his seat with anticipation. Telltale cheers of a victory echoed through the walls.

“Mum?” She called again.

“Oh, yes, sorry, dear!” Her mother replied distractedly. “There was a young bloke that called… think he mentioned his name was Luke.”

Thank the gods she was alone in the kitchen because the silent giddy squeals and foot stomps were definitely concerning. Christ, was this real life?

She cleared her throat and feigned nonchalance. She drummed her fingers against the marble surface of the counter, her nails absently digging against old remnants of a sticker. “And what did he say?”

“He said he’s staying at the Ritz under Hermes, so give that name to the concierge if you wanna call.” A beat. “Have you gotten yourself a boyfriend?"

“He’s not.”

“Be more definitive,” Her mother snapped. Teasingly, she added: “Not ever or not yet?”

“I’m not so sure, actually.” She clicked her tongue, wracked by pensive thoughts of juvenile daydreaming. She was getting ahead of herself, surely. She needed to approach this from a rational perspective: Luke Castellan had a whole life in Hollywood, decidedly not London. He had a bombshell girlfriend back at home with a career just as luxurious as his. He was a star burning brightly and she could barely get herself to flicker.

“Doesn’t sound like a ‘not ever’ to me.” Her mother responded with a lilt to her voice.

She swallowed thickly at how foreboding it sounded.

[hypewinter]

3 HC/AU Prompt Thingy (3)

1). Box Ghost hears he was powerful and feared I'm the Dan timeline, gets ripped

2). Jason, as a reverent can hit ectoplasm ghosts

3). Guys Night Out (choose whatever ghosts you want)

(I love making these and your the only one who writes for them, :))

Ok hear me out: Full DILF box ghost. Don't scroll away and just give me a second of your time ok?

Boxy gets swoll. Real swoll. His gimmick might still be dumb but now he's so strong that no one dares to point that out anymore. That being said, he is still the best dad ever to Boxed Lunch. I'm talking about helping her tie her shoes, being a willing participant in her tea parties, tucking her in at night, the works. He's such a good father that when Boxed Lunch asks for a super rare Orphan toy that was only ever distributed in Gotham, he immediately agrees to get it for her.

Johnny 13 hears about Box Ghost's little outing and invites himself along as he wants to get Kitty some new jewelry to make up for their last fight. Thus begins a wild night for Boxy and Johnny as they both have a heart to heart (now that Johnny 13 can't make fun of him for fear of being punted through a wall) plus they even bond over how much they love the women in their lives.

All is going well. The boys have done some fun stuff around the city, gotten up to a little mischief, and even picked up Johnny's apology jewelry. The only thing left is Boxed Lunch's toy. As they're scouring an abandoned warehouse full of discontinued toys that's when Jason drops it. He'd been getting reports of strange occurrences all night from his men and he'd finally been able to track it down to this warehouse. Of all the things Jason anticipated, it was not two weird looking metas going through boxes. But nevertheless he has a job to do.

He aims his gun at the two metas and demands they step away from the boxes. They don't. Why would they? They're ghosts, this human can't hurt them. Sure enough when Jason eventually fires at their knees after a couple of warning shots, the rubber bullets go right through. Jason is shocked to say the least. And now his mind is whirring a mile a minute trying to figure out how those two just did that. Meta powers? Hidden tech? How is he going to deal with this? He doesn't want to go through the embarrassment of calling for backup.

Johnny 13 on the other hand, is pretty peeved this guy won't leave them alone. He's ruining their night out! So he decides to scare him. Maybe that will make him leave. So Johnny gets right up in Jason's fac- er mask and lets out a pretty impressive ghostly howl if he does say so himself. Except instead of running away, Jason instinctively punches him. In the nose. And it hurts. A lot.

So now Johnny is reeling in pain, Jason realizes he can take care of these guys the old fashioned way and Boxy has finally found the Orphan toy. "Oh no!" I hear you say. "The fight of the century between Boxy and Jason is about to go down!" Actually no. Not really.

Box Ghost has been teaching Boxed Lunch about conflict resolution recently and he is not about to let his actions contradict his words. So he explains the situation to Jason. Jason for his part is a little miffed but understanding. You're just trying to be a good father. I get it. Besides these toys are just gonna collect dust in here anyways. Oh but you do have to return the jewelry. *Sad (and pained) Johnny 13 noises*

Jason kinda feels bad for the whole, punching Johnny in the nose thing (even though it was totally his fault) so he offers to take them to find non-stolen jewelry for Kitty instead. Thus the boys night continues! Now with extra shenanigans.

[aaaaaaallljffourrhodri]

Thanks to @fungifanart for giving me the ok to use the promt

Yuu loved his friends they were rowdy sometimes sure but that didn't stop them for being friends.

Yuu loved his friends even when they were rude with him.

Yuu loved his friends even when they called him out for having no magic

Yuu loved his friends even when they freeloaded at his dorm

Yuu loved Grim even if he would exchange Yuu's soul for some tuna

Yuu... didn't know if he actually loved his friends anymore.

It was draining for him to deal with them.

Time passed and Yuu barely couldn't stand them anymore.

Yuu was tired to be used over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVE-

By the headmage... or for his friends... even willing to give up his living place for their well being. But if that was true why were the photo's of them taken by the ghost camera moving less and less everyday... maybe... just maybe he could...

The first photo Yuu ever took was the first one to come alive. And as he took it out of the photo album 3 of the five people jumped out of the photo. Ace, Deuce and Grim the only two remaining in the figure were Yuu himself and Crowley.

"Yuu... what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Yuu didn't even notice he was crying.

"Hey! I can't have a sad henchman cmon smile!" Said the Grim

"Prefect don't cry... you know that crying is lame when you smile it's better!"

One by one copies of their so called friends jumped out of the photos.

They were all... so nice to Yuu... Yuu wanted to be never apart from them.

Grim was preoccupied. The Prefect exited less and less put of his room nor to lesson. The whole dorm wrapped in a inky smell. Grim sensitive nose couldn't andle it. He himself was passing more and more night at other dorms than his own.

Grim looked around in class: their henchman wasn't in class... again.

Grim was terrified of Yuu... everyone was...

As Grim and the first year group (minus Yuu) was walking to Sam store they saw the prefect searching from something.

"Prefect long time no see!" Said Epel approaching Yuu. Epel was scared when he saw the look the prefect gave him "oh hi Epel as I was saying last night-"

"Last night? What do you mean last night?" The realisation hit Yuu in the face he was talking to the wrong Epel.

Epel backed away as the magicless boy began to laugh holding his head left eye twitching while looking around in desperation. Only to run away minutes later.

The other first year's whatced the scene unfold looking lost and with a newly gained fear of the magicless prefect.

Yuu returned to his room to his RƏaŁ friends he looked happily around the room recognising the now disfigured silhouette of Vil and Rook. He couldn't here anything as the ringing in his hears got louder and his vision blurry...

A crazed laugh sounded trough the whole campus.

Riddle Roseheart was going to the library to do a quick rewiev of alchemy for the test that was happening the day after. When the laugh reached his ears. He felt goosebumps.

Trein was displeased and worried. The prefect didn't show up to class anymore. He needed to confront the prefect about this!

As he came to the door of Ramshackle Lucius meowed (Trein be carefull there is something wrong with this place) opening the door Trein found sight of no one only a black liquid dripped infront of him. Noticing the familiar liquid, Trein ran back out before calling the professor emergency line.

"Trein I swear if this is another of your lectures about hygiene I'm closing this call." Said Crewel sounding annoyed "Not this time I need all of Yuu at Ramshackle now!" Trein closed the call.

After a while the professors arrived (and Sam too) "Trein what's happening why call us at the pup's dorm!" Asked Crewel amused "Come after me" the old history teacher said firmly

After that event, even the staff was afraid of Yuu.

Idia had never found a blot concentration bigger than ramshackle dorm. So much blot that it was scary. Even if the blot couldn't make the prefect go overblot it still affected his behaviour and healt. It was also strange how all of the blot came from an objected that didn't produce blot.

The prefect was taken by S.T.Y.K.S in a cage... like a beast without reason.

The prefect was not himself anymore.

The real prefect was living in an idilliac world were everyone was always nice with him and nothing did go wrong. Then he noticed something...

Wasn't Grim tail pitchforked? Why is it normal? The world started spinning around when suddenly Yuu found himself locked in a cage with cushion walls... was he? In an asylum?

What had happened? Where did all of his friends go... then he started to remember...

That day after he met Epel, the pictures stopped moving. No more of his friends were there... only distorted figures of them. After that, the memories were a fuzzy mess. All the good things that happened... was it all a sick dream? What was he doing in the real world while dreaming of such perfect place.

Black tears streamed down his face as he started to call for somebody... anybody...

A figure appeared at the door of the cell. Idia Shroud. The look in his face was full of dread and esitation, but he still entered the cell.

"Yuu... how are you feeling?" "Idia, why am I here? I don't know where I am. I'm scared. What's happening?"

Idia expression softened before running towards the prefect, hugging him: "Yuu I'm so glad you're back... the others are also gonna be so happy..."

Little did Yuu know that no one except the shroud brothers would see him as before for the others. He would be from that moment the human who turned in a beast. Yuu wasn't told that he had MURDERED a student during his beast like state... Idia covered it up... Yuu would live from that moment encased in a piercing depressing reality in eternity searching that idilliac word he once lived in...

From that moment Yuu would fear to death the ghost camera and the dangers that come with it.

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 10

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Forbidden relationship, ANGST, violence, nightmares, mentions of PTSD, mentions of child abuse, swearing, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, smutty (smut-ish?) (horny thoughts, idk), mentions of drinking, Rooster being ok for once. (Let me know if I missed any, there's just a lot going on in this one)

Word Count: 13.5k (IM SO SORRY)

Summary: You're facing the consequences after Phoenix's party, knowing what you want isn't fair to you or Bob. After a bit of a setback, you go back to work more than ready to prove to yourself you are part of the squad for a reason. And it doesn't take long for you and Bob to realize avoiding each other isn't the right way to go about things.

A/N: An extra long part, just for you lovely bunch. I just want to personally thank each and everyone of you for sticking around! I am so sorry this took literally two months to get out, but ya girl was going through it man. I wrote and re-wrote this part so many times and I hope you all like it. Again, I love to hear what y'all think!

I should also mention I was listening to TTPD on repeat while writing, so do with that what you will.

Masterlist

Despite the cool temperature seeping through the night air, your skin is unbelievably hot. From your head down to your toes you are burning up. Right as you think you have it under control and can go back inside to the party you’re reminded about what happened moments ago and the cycle starts from the beginning. Your tongue runs over your lips as you attempt to get your breathing under control again, but the taste of Bob lingers. What did you just do?

Bob is doing all he can right now. Which is simply sitting behind the steering wheel of his truck, staring at the dashboard with his heart in his throat. He just kissed you. Well technically, you kissed him first, but the second one… He started that one. Right after he told you what he promised himself he never would.

His forehead falls to the stitching of the leather wheel as he lets out a breath. It was like you appeared from his thoughts when you followed him out the back door. It took everything in him not to look at you because he knew if he did, he would have ended up telling you exactly what he did. And then you apologized. On behalf of some woman he wasn’t interested in, who was kinda mean to him. The embarrassment of his supposed “date” for the night making out with Rooster was shortly overthrown by your hands on his face, tugging him into what he would call the best part of his night, no- year- lifetime? Ugh. He takes his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You’ve got him all messed up. Either way, it wasn’t a dream this time, and you told him you wanted to kiss him. You’re the one that initiated it! That must mean something, right?

He keeps running over what happened, trying to figure out where to pick up from where you two were interrupted. Ok, first he confesses his feelings, two, you kiss him. YOU kissed HIM. And you told him you wanted to, which is why three: he kissed you. Oh god, he kissed you, held you, and everything about it was… perfect. Your lips were so soft against his, you smelled like flowers and tasted like his favorite soda. But then, before you could do or say anything else, the back door was opening, and now he finds himself behind his steering wheel. Oh god, did he really just leave you there?

Placing his glasses back on his face, Bob stares out the window of his truck at Phoenix’s house. You were probably still out in the backyard, or maybe you went back inside after he abandoned you. Either way, there’s no way he can walk back inside and act like everything is normal. Not now, maybe not ever. His hand falls to his key in the ignition, and as slow as he can, he turns it, roaring the truck to life. Before he gets too far down the street, Bob takes one last look in his rearview mirror, the glow from the house getting dimmer the farther he drives away.

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

It’s not long after you’re able to collect yourself to your utmost ability that you quietly creep back into the kitchen. The party is still in full swing in the living room, and Phoenix catches your eye as you head toward the front door without anyone else noticing. She slips away from Rachel for a quick second, heading in your direction.

“Are you heading out?”

“Yeah”, you reply apologetically. “Thanks for having me over.” Her eyes roam over your face, as yours dart toward your feet, hoping she won’t notice something’s off.

“Ok…”, she lets you go, “Thanks for coming over, it means a lot to us.” Her face gives you a shy smile, something you don’t see her sport a lot. It makes you forget about your own dealings for a moment and remember why you came over in the first place.

“I was happy to. Rachel’s a keeper.” 

“Oh don’t start getting all sappy with me”, she teases as she gently hits your shoulder. You’re halfway across the lawn when she calls out to you one last time. “And Mantis?”

“Yeah?”, you ask, turning toward her voice.

“If you see Bob will you just tell him I need to talk to him?” Your mouth goes dry, and you force a small smile to your face.

“Uh-huh”, it comes out a little more squeaky than you hoped, but she understands you nonetheless. She closes the door and you turn back to your car, face heating up once again.

Somehow you managed to drive home, AC on blast, trying to cool yourself down. Flashes of Bob’s rough hands being so gentle with you alight your senses, giving you butterflies. You can practically feel his lips on yours, the way he gripped your waist, ran his hand up your back, has you closing your eyes, somehow hoping you’d be able to feel it all again. You can’t help it as you walk to the front door, but the feeling of his lips chasing your own has your mouth shifting into the smallest smile. Everything is right with the world as you reminisce, but you know from experience that good things never last.

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

Your mind is hazy as Bob’s lips move in sync with your own. It’s comfortably warm as his hands trail down your sides, your own moving up into his hair. He stops, just for a second, and you’re able to look around at your surroundings. It’s your room, but it’s not yours. It’s the room in your mom’s house back in Ohio. It looks the same way it did the day you started packing. Like it’s been perfectly preserved in time. Only, Bob is here, and there’s a mysterious haze surrounding the two of you. That panicky feeling starts to rise as you notice each and every detail your mind had stored away long ago, you didn’t even remember how many picture frames you had on your dresser until this very moment. All four of them sit in their exact spots, each depicting a moment with your dad, Carole or Bradley.

Bob’s mouth makes its way back to your own, and you forget about where you are, allowing yourself to get lost in this dream. Each moment spent not focusing on Bob paints a clearer vision of the place you spent a majority of your life wishing you could escape. But right now, all you want to do is stay. Your feet lead the way to your twin bed, pushing Bob onto the pink covers as you straddle his lap. You so desperately need to know how it feels to have him in this position, but your mind, only knowing what it feels like to kiss him won’t allow you to fulfill your fantasy. You push harder, needing to feel him all over. He starts dragging his lips down your neck as you grip the back of his neck, trying as hard as you can to hold on to him in the only place you know you can. Where there isn’t an outside world telling you it’s against some rule to feel the way you do.

A car door slams shut, disrupting your flow. Your blood runs cold as you freeze in his hold. Your heart thrums in your chest as you sit quietly in his lap, waiting for the following sound of the front door. He continues to kiss up your neck, distracting you as you sit and wait. You flinch as the front door is forcefully closed. You’re vaguely aware of the ghosting of Bob’s hands, his lips, but you wince with each clack of a heel up the wood paneling of the stairs.

You know it’s not real. You know it deep down. But the sound is uncanny as the click of heels gets closer to your room, and now you can barely feel Bob anymore. As if this dream version of him can sense what you’re thinking, he turns your head as you collide your lips together. You can’t hear anything, feel anything other than Bob, and the recent memory of what it felt like to kiss him. The rest of the room is slowly wiped away as you and Bob part, choosing to just hold him instead. You can almost make out the beating of his own heart, as if he were real. The dresser, like a fog, slowly drifts away, the frames on it, the few posters on your wall, your desk. It’s as if you were never teleported back here in the first place.

Moving your head, you take a glance at Bob. You’re still perched in his lap as he gives you a gentle smile. A peaceness falls over you and this hazy version of him. You move to touch the freckle at the base of his hairline, only to feel nothing. That’s something you wish you could have done before now, so you could do it a million more times. You see his head move to kiss your wrist, but feel a breeze where his lips meet your skin. Leaning down, you softly connect your lips with his, at least you know what that feels like. But that only means you will torture yourself with the memory. It does its job now to soothe you into a calm state. For a few brief moments.

The doorknob twists as a large wind sweeps through the room, knocking the door into the wall. Your heart leaps out of your chest as your mother stands in the doorway, smoke practically fuming from her ears.

“YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!”, she screams. Your hands attempt to grasp on to Bob for dear life, but as you look down you’re only holding air. Bob is nowhere to be found. You squeeze your eyes as hard as you can, bringing your hands up to your face in an attempt to wake yourself. Rubbing as hard as you can so hopefully once you open them she’ll be gone. The all too familiar feeling of sharp nails and the pressure of your mother’s hands wrap around your wrists, forcing you to look into her borderline black eyes. You’re paralyzed in fear, shaking in her grasp as she squeezes tighter and tighter.

“DO YOU EVEN HEAR ME?”, she screams, tacking your name on at the end. First and middle, cursing a pang through your nervous system. A response you thought you had rid yourself of until this very moment. A hand moves to squeeze your cheeks together, stopping you if you even had the guts to say anything. It hurts. It hurts like it did when you were seven, when you were seventeen, and that’s what scares you the most. If this is still a dream, how can it hurt so much?

“YOU NEVER THINK!”, she screams in your face as you try to lean away. Her breath is the same, spearmint gum with an undertone of whatever wine she got into this time. You feel so weak in her hold as she pulls you closer. In a split second the pain from her grip is gone until her palm cracks against your cheek. Hard enough to have you falling off your bed. The palms of your hands tingle as you fall, and it feels like an eternity until your back hits the hardwood flooring.

You awake with a gasp, then a groan as you blink your eyes open. There’s the soft glow from the morning sun streaming through the blinds of your window. Your heart feels as if it’s about to beat out of your chest, it’s hitting your ribcage so hard. The glow falls on your dresser, the one from IKEA your dad insisted on getting you when he started renting the house. The house. The home your dad made in North Island. You look for the picture frames on top, there’s the ones of you and your dad, and Carole, but none of Bradley. You’re home, you’re safe.

Your head falls to the cool wood of your bedroom floor, the sweat oozing from your pores causing your skin to stick to the material. Your back and shoulder are a little sore, probably from falling off your bed, but your wrists and face feel fine. Even so, you lift a shaky hand, eyeing any possible bruising. Nothing. Just the faint green from the fading bruise on your knuckles. You kick the blanket twisted around your legs, rubbing your eyes to avoid tripping to the bathroom. There you turn the faucet on, running your hands under the cold water then splashing some on your face. An attempt to ground you in reality as you stare back in the mirror. Only, you can’t see yourself. You can only see every defining feature that reminds you and everyone else of the monster from your nightmare.

The blood rushes to your ears as your fear makes way for anger. It eats you up, taking over your senses the longer you stare. The face of a person who doesn’t care if you live or die stares back. Throwing down the towel you were using to dry your hands, and clad in your pajamas, you race down the stairs. You barely register your dad asking what that noise was, but you don’t stop, set on making it to the front door. You didn’t even bother putting on shoes, not like it matters, as you start walking. Where to, you don’t know. You just need to feel something real. Know there’s life outside of your head. Away from her.

“Where are you going?”, your dad asks from the front door, you’re a house down when from the lawn he yells your name. And even though it’s coming from your dad, you still flinch, making you all the more mad. He’s taken aback as you turn on your heel.

“I’m going for a fucking walk! Is that ok with you?”, you yell back. He stands there nothing short of aghast as you clench your fists at your side.

“Where the hell did that come from? Are you ok?”, he asks as he holds his hands up in surrender, trying not to set you off anymore than you already are.

“I’m fine”, you spit. The recoil on his face coupled with the worried look has you feeling the tiniest bit remorseful. “I’m sorry, I just- I need to be alone right now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I just wanna know when you’re planning on being back.”

“I don’t know, just give me a minute.”

“You’re just gonna walk around barefoot then?”

“I don’t fucking know”, you huff. “I’ll be back. You don’t need to worry about me.” Without sparing him another glance you start walking. Your dad sighs and curses under his breath as he watches you storm off in one of his old t-shirts and your plaid pajama shorts.

You do as you say. Walk. That is until a flash from your dream causes a tremor in your hands you’re doing your very best to ignore. The image of her standing in front of you, in your mirror has you shaking in anger, and that’s when you start running. Where to, you don’t know. You just need to get away for one goddamn second. The slam of your bare feet against the cement hurts in the best way, letting you know this is real. It’s not some nightmare you can’t escape from. 

It’s not fair. The way she haunts you, ruins every good thing you get your hands on. You curse the fact that ever since you were little people were always telling you how much you looked like your mother. She lingers in the mirror every time you try to look at yourself. It makes you wonder if she sees you whenever she catches sight of herself. Then again, you always thought one of the reasons she despised you so much was because you reminded her of your father. A constant reminder of her biggest mistake in life.

The only real way you know time has passed is the way the sun rises slightly higher in the sky. You haven’t stopped running since you started, and it isn’t until the feel of sand beneath your bare feet slows you down. Your calves are burning as you trudge your way across the warm grains. It gets colder as you get closer to the water, and once the salty waves lap at your feet you stop.

Quickly realizing how out of breath you are, you back up and fall into the warmer sand. Your hyperventilating moves into gasping breaths as your chest heaves. You glance up to the light blue sky, then down to the deep blue of the Pacific. You’re reminded of Bob’s gentle eyes, and his kind smile. You allow yourself to get angry again. Just for a little bit. He left you last night. After saying those wonderful things about you, and then granting you a moment you won’t be able to forget in this lifetime. And again, in your dream. He left. Just like everyone does. Not that he had a choice. You can’t be selfish and expect him to stay when you know it’s a risk for the both of you. You hang your head, placing it in between your knees as you hug them closer to yourself. It’s just not fair.

You could ask yourself why. Why after almost 11 years of not seeing your mother, why she still haunts your nightmares. But you know. You were doing something you shouldn’t have. Every time you misstepped, misspoke, she was there to punish you. And even now that she’s not a part of your life, she will always exist in that little part of your brain that punishes yourself. Maybe the two of you aren’t as different as you like to think.

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

After a restless night, much to the chagrin of Sylvia, who ultimately decided to sleep on the floor rather than next to the twisting and turning of her dad, Bob checks his phone. There’s a couple texts from Phoenix asking him to call her, one from Fanboy confirming their movie night later in the week, but nothing from you. To be fair, he was the one who ran away in the first place, but every time he picked up his phone to draft a text to you, it seemed all wrong. What could he say through a text that could convey how he felt, or how much he wanted to talk to you again? Tossing his phone to the pillow next to his own, he huffs out a breath, running a hand over his face. Everything is just so confusing.

As he stares at the ceiling, his phone starts to buzz. He squints at the screen after reading the name, surely it can’t be. Grabbing his glasses and placing them on his face he double checks the caller I.D. So he had it right the first time, huh. Maverick’s contact name comes up as it continues to buzz, and Bob answers it with a shaky hand. There’s no way this was on purpose. The only reason he even had his number was so Maverick could coordinate everything for the initial beach day. And then he told everyone to keep his number for emergencies.

“Hello?”, Bob asks as he breaches the silence of his room.

“Bob, hey. It’s Maverick.” Ok, so he does know he called Bob.

“Hey, Mav. What’s up?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s Mantis.” Bob swallows, trying to clear the frog in his throat at the mention of you.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. She ran out in a hurry this morning and she hasn’t been back since. I normally wouldn’t worry, but she left her phone and it’s already been a while. Listen- have you seen her at all?” Bob’s thoughts are running through his mind, wondering if you’re hurt somewhere.

“No sir”, not since you had your hands all over him last night. His face heats up at the thought, but immediately he refocuses his attention on worry, clearing his throat. “Not since last night. Have you checked with Phoenix?”

“Yeah, she hasn’t seen or heard from her either. I just thought that since the two of you are friends she might have said something. Did she seem ok last night? Or did anything happen?” Bob’s heart sinks as the thought that he might be the reason you’re gone moves to the forefront of his mind.

“Um- yeah she seemed fine last night.” Bob’s mind is reeling, you did seem ok. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, actually. But then again, maybe it’s not about him. “I can go out looking for her”, he rushes out.

“No, that’s ok. I think Phoenix is already doing that. Stay put, maybe she’ll show up at someone��s house”, he sighs. Bob can tell he sounds stressed. He can almost picture him standing on the front porch of your house, waiting for you to come back.

“Ok. Will you just uh- have someone let me know when you find her?”

“I will. Thanks Bob.”

“No problem, sir.”

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

The beach has gotten a little louder, a little hotter since you arrived. But all you’ve been doing is staring out at the waves. The cool breeze shifts loose hair around your face, the unruly locks that haven’t been taken care of after you woke up this morning. The weight of a hand on your shoulder takes you out of your trance as you quickly try to move out of the grasp.

“Get the fuck away from me!”, you yell. The hand retreats almost as fast as it landed, and squinting, you look up to identify the face.

“Whoa, easy there Hulk. It’s just me”, Natasha lets out as you readjust yourself in the sand to your previous position. Wordlessly she sits down next to you, making sure to keep a safe distance.

“Sorry”, you whisper so quietly you’re not even sure she heard it.

“It’s ok”, she responds softly. She lets the two of you sit in the silence, anticipating what you’re going to do next.

“How long have you been out here?” You shrug in a silent response. “What’s going on?”

Your mouth twitches as you stare at your feet. Shifting the sand in between your toes. “Nothing”, you lie. “I’m fine.” You hear her take a deep breath before she speaks again.

“Your dad called me, asked if I’d seen you at all.” Internally you scoff. You told him you’d be back, it’s like he won’t let you do anything now- “That was two hours ago”, she finishes her thought. Oh.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know.” You shake your head slightly. It had only felt like you’d been here for 10 minutes. How have you been here for longer than an hour? You don’t dare to look over, you know that the brown eyed gaze of your best friend is already looking you over in worry.

“It’s ok. Do you wanna head inside?” You squint at her words, confusion clouding your mind.

“Inside?”

“Yeah, just inside the-”, she stops mid sentence, redirecting her questioning, “Mantis, do you know where you are?” “I’m at the beach”, you respond flatly.

“Ok. Do you know which beach?” Swallowing, you look around for the first time since you arrived. There’s a lifeguard station with the number 6 on it just down to your right, and you can still hear the faint hum of cars from the road behind you. “That’s ok”, she lightly responds, deciding you do not actually know where you are. “Let’s go inside.”

She allows you to stand on your own, just knowing that you’d follow her. When you turn around, she directs the two of you to your right, and there it is. The Hard Deck. Somehow you had made it all the way from your home, down to the Hard Deck, without stopping. You fold your arms, keeping them close to you. Penny is already waiting at the back door, granting you a small smile as you walk up the couple steps to the bar. Phoenix stops you before you go in, placing a pair of sandals in front of you to step into. Huh, you didn’t even notice she was carrying those. It’s only after you step inside Penny’s sanctuary that you realize how bad your feet and legs hurt.

They sit you down at a table and slide you a glass of water. Neither moves to touch you, even as Penny sits down with you while Phoenix steps aside to call someone, presumably your father. You’re quiet as you stare at the grain of wood in the tabletop.

“Are you hungry, hun?”, she asks as you continue to stare at the table.“I can fix you something in the kitchen”, she offers as you glance up at her, giving a small shake of your head.

She sighs before starting again, “I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear right now, but when my dad started having flashbacks and nightmares, it really helped him to talk to someone. Got him an actual diagnosis which helped with treating it.” You furrow your brows as you cock your head slightly.

“Diagnosis for what?”

“PTSD”, she grimaces as she tries to cover it with a half smile. She probably thinks this is some work-related thing

“Oh- this isn’t, it’s not Navy-related”, you’re a little slow to correct. She sighs again and reaches her hand out for you before thinking better of it and placing it in her lap.

“Just because it doesn’t come from being in the Navy doesn’t mean it’s not real.” You clench your jaw and look away right as Phoenix finishes her phone call.

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

Nat drives you home in silence as you mull over Penny’s words. Was it really that obvious you had a nightmare? It just hadn’t happened in so long. You thought it wouldn’t come back. That she wouldn’t come back. She promised she wouldn’t be a part of your life, you guess that’s just her lingering charm that’s sticking around.

“What started it this time?”, she asks. You turn from staring out the passenger window and glance at her. The dream comes back to you in flashes, Bob’s hands on you, your lips over his, and then… You flinch slightly at the glimpse of her face in your head, the feeling of her grip.

“I don’t want to talk about it”, you respond lowly.

“OK”, she replies.

“How did you know where I was?”, you question as she spares you a look before turning back to the road.

“I was already out looking for you when your dad called and said Penny thought she saw you sitting on the beach. She wasn’t sure what you would do if she approached you, and I had to convince Mav not to book it down there himself.” You’re eternally grateful for Phoenix for knowing exactly what you needed in that moment.

“He’s just overreacting”, you try to shrug it off. She parks in front of your house, and you cringe at the blue Bronco in the driveway. So he really just called everyone, huh?

“Is he, Mantis?” She looks over to you, and you look down to your fingers for solace. Deciding you’re not up for a conversation you move on.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“I always will, you know that.” And you really do. Phoenix has been there more often than not to pick you up when you fall. She was the one person you could count on back at the Academy, and she’s been there for you ever since. Especially when you weren’t even sure you could trust your dad to let you stay in school. Even when she graduated two years before you and went on to flight school, she never kept out of touch.

She follows you up the steps to your door, and before you’re able to  step one foot into your house, your dad is pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. You’re a little uncomfortable, and you’re sure anyone can read it on your face.

“Dad”, you wheeze, “Dad I’m fine.” He moves as you push him away, only to hold onto your upper arms.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”, he raises his voice, causing you to flinch. “Do you know how worried I was?” You didn’t actually see him before now, but Rooster is grabbing his arm, urging him to let you go.

“I’m sorry. I just- I needed to get out for a second.”

“A second? A second- You were gone for hours. You didn’t have your phone with you, didn’t have any shoes, you’re still in your pajamas for Christ’s sake!” With every word he throws at you, your brow furrows and your lip trembles a little more.

“Mav”, Rooster starts as he grabs your dad’s attention, “Ease up, man. You’re scaring her.” And even though he might be a little bit right, just the sound of his voice irritates you to no end. Him and his stupid Hawaiian shirt. A switch is flipped and you’re back to being angry again.

“No one fucking asked you Rooster. Why the hell are you even here?” He blinks at your sudden change, and shakes his head, trying to find an answer.

“Hey!”, your dad exclaims as he turns back to you with wide eyes. “He came over here because I was worried. I didn’t know if you went to someone else’s house, or were kidnapped, or god forbid, were hit by a car or worse!”

“Well obviously I’m fine.”

“I know that now. But it still doesn’t explain what you were doing for so long, or how you even ended up at the Hard Deck.”

“I told you I was going for a walk. And I don’t really think I need to explain myself to you.” You brush past the two of them without sparing a second glance, but you can hear your dad following after you.

“We are not done here!”, he yells up the stairs as you close the door to your room.

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

Bob is aimlessly walking around his kitchen as Sylvia stares on in confusion. They just got back from a run, and instead of resting like they usually do, he’s still pacing. He knows your dad told him to stay put, but if there was a chance that maybe he could find you while with Sylvia, he was gonna take it. He’s heard nothing from anyone since he first picked up the phone this morning, and that was hours ago. He’s starting to get really worried about you.

Deciding that walking around isn’t going to help anything, he decides to take a shower. He’s undressed, about to hop in when his phone starts ringing. He doesn’t even check who it is before he answers.

“Hello?”

“So you won’t answer my texts, but you’ll pick up a call? Good to know Floyd”, Phoenix’s voice echoes in his ear. He forgot all about them in the chaos of this morning.

“Is she ok?”, he immediately asks, ignoring her question. She sighs from the other end of the phone.

“She’s home and… she’s safe”, she utters as Bob takes a breath of relief.

“Is she ok though?”, he urges. She’s silent for a moment as he waits for an answer. “Phoenix?”

“It’s not that simple. She’s been through a lot.”

“She told me… about her mom.”

“She told you?”, Bob can tell by the shock in her voice you probably haven’t had the same kind of conversation with her. “She’s never actually said anything to me. Just that her mom wasn’t very nice. I kinda figured it out after we started rooming together and she’d wake up crying, just drenched in sweat. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her and- God I shouldn’t even be telling you this.” Bob hangs his head and nods as if she can see him. As much as he wants to know, he also knows that if you haven’t shared it with him yet it was probably for a reason.

“You’re probably right. Where- where did you find her though?”

“She made it all the way to the Hard Deck. Craziest thing is that she didn’t even know where she was.” Bob huffs out a breath and rubs his forehead. You seemed completely fine last night. And for some reason, he feels like he’s to blame. He didn’t stick around after to see if you were ok, or if you regretted any of it. God, he’s such a dick.

“Geez”, he breathes out.

“Yeah. Listen, just ignore my texts. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Bob’s grateful she’s thinking the same as him. What happened with Emily last night really doesn’t take precedent right now. He’s just so glad you’re home.

“Ok, see ya tomorrow.” And with that he ends the phone call. His shoulders slump as he turns the handle on the shower, the water runs as his mind is clouded with thoughts of you. Worried ones mostly.

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

The water is as hot as it can go as you wash the morning from you. Dirt from your feet makes the water murky as it swirls down the drain, the sweat from your nightmare and all the running is washed away as you clean yourself.

Stepping out, you quickly change into a clean set of clothes. Something comfortable, because you have a feeling you’re not going anywhere else today. Most likely back to bed to overthink your entire existence again. Taking your hair out of the towel, you move to wipe the fog off of the mirror, but you pause at the first swipe. Dark circles hang underneath your eyes, frame the face you wish didn’t belong to you

You’re tired. Your body, your mind, are all tired. You’re tired of trying to hold in your tears, of trying to be angry in order to cover up the fact that you are actually very scared of becoming the woman that you see in the mirror. Someone with the capability to ruin other people's lives. Falling to the floor with a thud, you allow yourself to cry. You barely hear the knock coming from your bathroom door, but you wipe your nose on your sleeve, and reach up to unlock the door. 

Your dad is immediately on his knees in front of you as you reach out to him. His arms wrap around you securely as you sob harder into his shoulder.

“It’s ok sweetheart. I’m here”, he reassures you. “You’re ok. Just let it out.” You start to cry even harder at his words. You were so mean to him earlier, and why? Because you were mad at your mom? At yourself?

“I’m sorry”, you manage to speak through broken cries.

“Shh, hey. It’s ok. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was just- so worried about you.” He rubs at the back of your head as you cry harder. He holds onto you a little tighter and you let him. It’s not suffocating or claustrophobic, it’s comforting. He’s somehow able to convey in his embrace that he’s not done fighting for you, that he’s sorry he ever let you down in the first place. “I got you”, he whispers as he kisses the top of your head.

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

You aren’t at work the next day. He should have expected it. After everything that happened he still hasn’t texted you. He wanted to reach out, but thought better of it. Knowing you, you might feel more embarrassed than anything if he brought attention to the fact that your dad called him. Even so, it feels… off. For the first time in weeks he doesn’t save a seat for you at lunch. And then out of the blue, as Phoenix sits down across from him, Rooster sets his lunch bag next to hers. He glances up with wide eyes as Rooster gives him a cordial smile

It’s quiet for a moment as the three of them dig into their food. As Bob reaches for a baby carrot, the table shakes. He moves to look up at Phoenix who is trying and failing to discreetly glare at Rooster. He can only assume the movement was her kicking him under the table. Rooster clears his throat, garnering Bob’s attention. He rubs his mouth before looking back at him.

“Listen, Bob, I’m really sorry about Saturday.” Oh this is where this is going.

“Oh, there’s no need to-”

“Yes”, Phoenix cuts in, “there is. Please continue, Rooster.” Rooster winces at her words, and ultimately turns back to Bob.

“Right. Um, turns out Emily thought she was being set up with me the entire time. Not you, which explains why- uh everything happened the way it did”, he chuckles awkwardly. “Anyway, so I’m sorry about that kind of wrecking your night.” Even though his glasses are sitting perfectly on his face, Bob pushes the bridge of his wire frames even further onto his nose as an excuse to distract himself from the awkwardness of this conversation.

“Listen, it’s fine. Really.”

“Bob”, Phoenix whines, “No it’s not. I’m sorry, too. Apparently I never even told her your name. Just that you were one of my friends, so she naturally assumed it was Rooster.” Emily was honestly the last thing on his mind since that night. It all seems so trivial since yesterday. He just wants to see you. Confirm with his own eyes that you’re alright. Right now it kind of feels like you fell off the face of the earth, even if he did see you two days ago. It was two days too long.

“Phoenix”, Bob levels, “It’s ok. I wasn’t putting too much pressure on anything working out anyway.” He starts to play with his food, kind of the same way you do whenever you’re uncomfortable. Just moving stuff around, never actually picking anything up to eat. He can’t help but have every thought wander back to you somehow. He wonders if you’ve maybe done the same thing about him, but he quickly rids himself of the thought. Why would you do that? Just because he overthinks and rethinks everything doesn’t mean you do, too.

Your hands are trembling as you open the car door and head into base. Not in a bad way. Not at all. You need to get in a jet. Need to feel some sort of control over anything in your life. In the air, that’s where you feel free. You have to be laser focused on what you are doing at all times, there is no voice in your head telling you to be better, or that you’re not good enough. If she had it her way you wouldn’t be there at all. The world of aviation is one where your mother’s voice is silent. She simply doesn’t exist. You’d like to keep it that way.

So yes, your hands are trembling. And you welcome it. It’s the incessant thumping of your heart against your rib cage as you get closer to the classroom that is bothering you. Bob. You haven’t seen or heard from him since Saturday. Since you kissed him. But this is a professional setting, one where under its rule you are not allowed to feel the way you do for him. Or him you, apparently. So, you’ll pretend for both your sakes that nothing happened. It’s the way it has to be. That way you can’t ruin his life. Can’t- won’t be like the one person you swear you would never end up like.

And then, right as you walk in the door, Bob’s eyes are on you. His cheeks pinken just the tiniest bit at the sight of you. But more than that, there’s a look of relief on his face. Before you can give him any kind of indication you notice him, his attention is being directed away by Fanboy. Deciding it’s best to let it slide, you walk past Nat on his other side, giving her a slight smile as she winks at you. And even though before the day even started you had decided to avoid looking at Bob, it is so damn hard as his profile sits right in front of you. Rooster’s still mandated to sit next to you, so his incessant breathing helps to distract you.

The rest of the day until lunch is entirely boring until you’re given your chance to get up in your jet. There’s the regular spiel from Maverick about which maneuvers you’re going to practice, and then there’s another storm warning. A so-called hurricane is supposed to sweep southern California over the weekend, so they’re trying to give everyone as much air-time as they can before it starts. Fine by you. You don’t even care that you’re paired with Hangman, that’s how badly you need to get back up there.

Settling into your seat, you take a deep breath in, and out. This is what you were made to do. There’s no other feeling quite like it in the world, and your hands tingle as you grab the yoke, just waiting for the all-go. The roar of the engine is so loud you can hardly hear your own thoughts. Just the way you like it. You twitch in anticipation before Hondo gives you the hand signal, waving you for take-off.

Before you know it, you’re back on the ground, and the next group is getting ready to go up. You stay close to your jet while Phoenix and Bob pass to get to theirs. You don’t notice his glance your way, but as you take a quick look he’s already climbing the ladder into his seat.

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

Bob isn’t exactly sure where the two of you stand at this moment. He knows that right now at work is not the best place to discuss any of it, but he also knows that he can’t go on pretending forever that Saturday night didn’t happen. And then there’s the fact that something happened on Sunday to set you off, so he decides he’ll just wait for you to approach him. He doesn’t want to add any more stress to your life, just glad you seem to be in better spirits. He still saves you a seat at lunch, but 10 minutes pass before he decides you’re not coming. Phoenix finally fills an empty seat across from him, and before he can ask where you are Fanboy takes the seat he is no longer saving for you.

“Ok”, Fanboy starts, “I’ve got all three Indiana Jones on blu-ray that I can bring over since those are the only ones that matter, you still ok to do it at your place?” Bob nods at the plans mindlessly, eyes staring down at his untouched plate of food.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“You sure? Cause last time I was over your dog avoided me the whole time. She fucking hates, me dude.” Bob winces and holds back a small laugh.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just… shy.” He explains.

“It’s true”, Phoenix cuts in, “Although, the last time I saw her she finally let me pet her. It was amazing.” Bob smiles at her as he finally digs into his lunch. Sylvia had already taken a quicker liking to you than anyone else Bob has introduced her to. It’s kind of a shame she won’t be seeing you as often as he’d like anymore. And just as the thought of you pops into his head, he spots you walking over to another table. Damn it.

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

As much as you like talking to your dad, you absolutely despise having to go over what you missed yesterday. Which is why your lunch was cut approximately 15 minutes short today. He was nice enough to make lunches for the both of you today, so with your brown paper bag in hand, you make your way over to the mess-hall. You stop right after entering, trying to find an empty seat among the crowd. You spot Bob and your heart skips a beat. Fanboy is in your seat, and even though there’s an empty spot next to Phoenix, Payback sits down before you can move. It’s probably for the best. As much as it hurts, you need to stay as far away from Bob as possible. It’s the only way you know you can’t ruin his career. Or yours for that matter.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes move to the corner of the room where the only empty seat remains. Great. Begrudgingly, you make your way over to the table and place your lunch before you as you sit. Rooster’s eyes widen as he slowly chews his bite of food at your action. He’s still staring at you as you open your bag. Rolling your eyes you finally decide to speak, “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Am I not supposed to be?”, he asks as he swallows his food. Exasperation crosses your face as you take a bite of your pb & j. You don’t even pay attention to him as you rip into your food, but you can still feel him watching you. “What?”, you ask with a mouth full of peanut butter.

“Nothing”, he shrugs as you raise your brow at him. He clears his throat before gingerly asking, “How are you feeling?” You squint your eyes and dust any crumbs from your hands before folding your arms across your chest.

“What is this? What are you doing?” He shrugs again.

“What? I can’t ask you how you are?”

“Why are you doing it though?”, you counter. He looks away as he mutters an explanation.

“I just- I want to see how you’re doing.”

“Really? Or do you just want to know if I’m going to blow up on you again? How about this: ask me how I’m feeling again and find out.” He guffaws at your cavalierness as you move back to eating. Although, he really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Ok sheesh, Miss bossy”, he comments. He just really knows how to get on your nerves, first with Sunday, then with Emily, now this stupid nickname he used to call you when you were mad as a kid.

“Oh come on, with that little stunt you pulled with Emily you should be happy I haven’t ripped into you even more.”

“Listen, for your information I already apologized to Bob about that whole….”, he pauses to motion with his hands, “...ordeal. And Emily thought she was being set up with me so… I am not the one to blame here.”

“Oh yeah? And who is?”

“Ask Phoenix! The woman never even told her Bob’s name!”, he laughs as you give him a slight smile at the absurdness of the whole situation. It’s quiet for a beat as you ponder his explanation.

“She really didn’t tell her his name?”

“Not a damn letter. And the man only has three.” You breathe a small laugh at his comment as he shakes his head. And for a second the two of you sit there and smile, enjoying the playfulness you once shared as children. Which causes you to remember a nickname you haven’t heard in years that he uttered seconds ago.

“And by the way, it’s Lieutenant bossy now. Brad Brad.” He chuckles and shakes his head, the two of you coming to some sort of silent agreement. You feel like a kid again, in a good way this time. It almost makes you forget about the six foot WSO with the beaming blue eyes sitting tables behind you.

You somehow make it the whole day without a real interaction with Bob. You’ve caught fleeting glances of him, and he seems so… normal. Like nothing happened at all. It makes you nervous, even more so than usual. But, you keep telling yourself that it’s for the best. If the two of you ignore everything, life can go on. But there’s still the tiniest part of yourself that longs to know what he’s thinking. Wants to know him more than you do. Just another voice you have to try your best to shut off.

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

Bob can’t help but tap his foot as he waits for the day to start. If you weren’t going to say anything to him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to bring up anything to you. He checks the time on his watch. Five minutes before your usual start time, but you, Halo, and Phoenix aren’t here yet. He alternates looking at his watch, and glancing at the door as the room starts to fill in. It goes on for a couple more minutes until you finally enter. He’s nervous again. Overthinking every little thing, he averts his gaze before you get the chance to look at him. His boot is still hitting the floor even as you take your seat behind him.

“Floyd”, Hangman barks, “Leave the tapping to Fred Astaire, will ya?” Bob turns his head at his remark, giving him an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry”, he mutters before turning to your father at the front of the room. He spotted you out of the corner of his eye, about to say something to Hangman, but thinking better of it as Cyclone entered the room. You could almost hear everyone adjust in their seat to sit up straight as he made his way to the back of the room. After the dust settles and Maverick takes a second in between talking, Bob swears he can hear the quietest tapping of a pencil coming from your desk.

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

You’re not paired with Phoenix and Bob… again. Which you’re grateful for, you guess. But you also miss talking to your friends. Flying with them. It’s funny, really. You joined the Navy because you wanted to be like your dad, and you found aviation fascinating. And now, you’ve found your own community, your people. Even if it was one of the hardest things you’ve had to do, the first time you stepped foot in a jet you knew it was what you were meant to do.

You’re all back in the classroom after your first flights of the day, discussing once again what could have been done better. There’s all little tweaks Maverick suggests to everyone, not just you this time. And it feels good knowing you did a good job.

“All in all, great job everyone. Have a good lunch”, he excuses the group. You move to grab your stuff and head to the mess hall before your dad calls out for you. “Mantis, would you stay back for a second?” Nodding, you drop your stuff and take Phoenix’s seat in the front row as he rounds his podium.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing good”, you nod, “Feeling good.” He chews on your words for a second before double checking.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, you laugh, kind of annoyed at the moment. But you understand where he’s coming from, “Flying’s been helping. A lot.”

“Good. That’s good.” He moves back behind his podium, shuffling a couple of pieces of paper before opening a file. “Cyclone”, he starts as you tense at the name, “has been talking to me. About you.”

“Am I in trouble?”, you ask out of reflex.

“No”, he reassures you. “Quite the opposite actually.” Hanging his head, he looks down at the papers before him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. “He’s been keeping you in mind for something. Just wants to make sure you’re up for the challenge.”

“Another mission?”

“Looks like it”, his gaze is stern as he looks at the file, but as he looks back to you his eyes soften. “Are you going to be ok to do this?” With that look you know he’s not just asking as your Captain, he’s asking as your dad. Your eyes soften with his the slightest bit as you smirk.

“Always, old man.” He chuckles as you smile with him.

“Ok”, he shrugs, “Training for this one won’t start until this storm moves out. I’d expect an announcement from Cyclone sometime next week. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Will do, Captain.”

Your hands are trembling again as you navigate the halls to find a vending machine since you forgot to pack your own lunch this morning. It’s a good sort of nerves that make their way through your system. The training for the last mission was brutal, but good. It kept your mind off of anything of real importance. That’s just what you need right now. A distraction. Which is where your mind is at right now as your brain fills itself with incessant thoughts of what you need to do to prepare as well as a bag of chips, but you’re hitting something and falling to the floor before you can process what’s happening. The sound of a handful of what looks to be peanuts roll on the floor, but you can still hear an, “Oof”, through it all.

Your eyes widen as you look over to the man sitting on the floor in front of you. His eyes mirror your own as the two of you share the longest moment together since this past weekend. Shaking your head, you move to stand as he does.

“I’m so sorry Bob”, you start as he dusts himself off, “I didn’t see you.”

“That’s alright”, he rushes out as he looks over his almost empty bag of peanuts. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you either.” He’s trying his best not to look at you as he starts to pick each individual peanut off the floor. You rush to help him and he still doesn’t look your way.

“You don’t need to do that”, he tells you as the two of you clean the floor.

“I do, it’s my fault”, your hand is already full as you find the nearest trash can to throw the ruined peanuts away. You spot the vending machine he must have just bought them from, tucked in its own little hallway. Before he can stop you, you’re already checking to see if you have enough change before locating their spot in the case. There they are, B4.

“What are you doing?”, Bob complains as he throws his handful and the bag away. You continue to reach in your pocket, not bothering to answer him as he already knows exactly what you’re doing. “Mantis, c’mon. It’s ok. You don’t need to do that.” He watches you bite at your lip as you put in the first two quarters until all you’re left with is a penny. It’s obvious you were going to buy something for yourself. But he’s also pretty sure that the penny in your hand is the same one he slipped you in Phoenix’s kitchen, and the flick of your eyes to his as you clench your fist around it confirms his suspicions.

He swallows as you press the buttons on the machine. The spiral whirls as you give yourself the confidence to speak. Not look at him. Just speak.

“Bob, can we- can we talk?”. The bag drops to the bottom of the machine with a large thump, almost triggering the laughing of Hangman and Coyote as they walk through the hall behind him. He turns as they walk, his eyes wide as he looks back at you.

“Here?”, he whispers.

“No”, you whisper back as you glance over his shoulder. You bend to grab the bag, and grip it tightly before holding it before him, “Later.” You determine for the two of you. He reaches out to the clear bag of peanuts, accepting your offer as you walk around him and into the mess-hall.

Bob’s palms start to sweat as he watches your retreating form. He rounds the corner expecting to see you sitting with Rooster again, but there you are. Sitting at your usual seat next to his vacant one. He stops in his tracks, surprised at your actions, but quickly moves back to the table. Phoenix shoves her own bag of chips your way as you accept with a gracious smile. Your ability to switch mindsets so quickly baffles him as he sits next to you with a smile. The same kind of one you return to him, the ones that don’t quite reach your eyes. He’s not gonna make it through this conversation.

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

Bob’s house has never been this daunting to look at. The white shingles are practically taunting you as you sit in your car. You don’t even know how long you’ve been sitting there, just delaying the inevitable. You immediately changed into some regular clothes after getting home, but sat on your bed for a good 45 minutes working up the courage to drive over here. And even then your car took a few minutes to get started. The voice in the back of your head told you it was a sign that you shouldn’t even bother coming over, but you knew that was an even worse idea than talking about what happened. Getting up the nerve, you vacate your car, and make it halfway up his driveway before a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Oh finally.”

“Rich, don’t be rude. She can probably hear us.” Turning your head, you find two men, probably ten or so years older than your dad, sitting on the front porch just to the right of Bob’s home. One’s got a mug of what you assume to be coffee in his hands, while the other nurses a glass of what looks to be wine. They’re both taken aback as you squint at them in the setting sun. “I’m so sorry about him, I told him to go light on the chardonnay, but…”, shrugging, he rolls his eyes at the other man.

“Oh, it’s ok”, you brush them off. Moving to take another step, his voice stops you again.

“It’s just, we were wondering why you were sitting there for so long”, the one you assume to be Rich pipes up. You suppose you were warned he hasn’t a filter this evening, but your eyes still widen the tiniest bit at his remark.

“Leave the poor girl alone.” Rich waves the other man off, turning back to you.

“We hardly see anyone coming or leaving that boy’s house, but we saw you leaving in a rush the other weekend and were just wondering-”

“We were not wondering anything, because we are not Bob’s nosey neighbors. Those are the ones on the other side of him, the Terrance’s.” You try your hardest to stifle a laugh as they continue to gossip.

“Oh do not get me started on the Terrance’s. ‘Oh Richard’”, he mocks, “‘It is against HOA policy to have a flag hanging in your window.’” You take a look around the well manicured neighborhood, taking note of flag poles proudly displaying the American Flag.

“But you can have a flagpole?” You ask.

“It’s not where it was that was the problem”, Rich responds, “She just did not want to see our beautiful rainbow among the red, white, and blue. That same red, white, and blue we served under, for her information!” The more level-headed one of the two reaches a hand out to Rich in an attempt to calm him. It pushes him further into his seat, and he takes a swig from his glass.

“Easy now, Miss-”, he turns to you as you’re taken out of your spectator seat in the conversation.

“Mitchell”, you reply. He smiles, and turns back to Rich who’s brow is set in a furrow.

“Miss Mitchell here probably has more important things to attend to with Bob”, he emphasizes, catching Rich’s attention,”Than sitting here listening to our quarrels with the neighbors.” As he moves his hand to motion over to Bob’s house, you take notice of the class ring on his finger, the ring that looks all too familiar to the one collecting dust in your closet.

“Do you?”, Rich asks, distracting you from the ring on the other man’s finger.

“Rich!”, he chides.

“I do- actually”, you shy away, remembering why you came over here in the first place. “But it was really nice meeting you-?”

“Oh how rude of me, I’m Harry, and this is my husband Rich”, he motions as Rich nods at you.

“Well, it was very nice meeting you Harry, and Rich”, you smile as you turn back toward the house. Taking a deep breath you move toward the front door. Clenching your fist in your hand, you raise it hoping it will knock on the door of its own volition, but you’re not sure if you’re ready. Screw it, you’re already kinda mad at him. He’s the one who left you and then ignored you at work! You never should have kissed him, even if you long to do it again and again.

“Do you think she’s gonna take longer on the porch than in the car?”, Rich asks in a poor attempt to whisper.

“No”, Harry gives in, “I think her arm will get tired by then.” Turning your head, Harry gives you a sad attempt at trying to look apologetic.

“I’m starting to think you’re just as bad as your husband!”, you shout from across the porch.

“I’m sorry!”, Harry shouts back, “This is the most exciting thing to happen to this neighborhood since Patty down the street got divorced!” You laugh through your nose, only turning back to the task at hand when the sound of the lock alerts you to Bob opening the door. You stare up at his ocean eyes as he blinks at the sight of you. Those same eyes flash in your mind from Saturday night, blinking rapidly before he-

“Hi”, he whispers. The raspiness of his voice catching you off guard.

“Hi”, you whisper back. His gaze moves to your still raised fist, and ever so slowly it moves back to your side. Without meaning to, your eyes fall to his pink lips and the feeling of his body against yours has you shaking the memory out of your head. 

“Can I come in?”, you gently ask.

“Of course”, he responds, quickly moving out of the way to let you in. You’d usually slip your shoes off at the door, and as much as you want to spend longer with Bob, you’re pretty sure this is going to have to be a swift conversation. Just ripping the band-aid off.

Bob leads you further into the house, and soon enough you spot the fluffy black and white tail you’ve come to know and love. He must see you smile at the sight of her, because before you’re able to do anything about it, Bob is calling her over. “Syl, your best friend is here”, he taunts. Her head rises to rest on the cushion, and once she catches your eye she’s trotting over as you bend to pet her.

“Oh hey you sweet girl”, you praise her as she rolls on her back. Once her dad takes a seat on the couch, she’s up to grab his attention instead. You follow behind her, and for the first time, you are uncomfortable in Bob Floyd’s presence. It’s not even his fault, it’s your own. You watch him smile at her, scratching behind her ears until his hand stalls.

“Why are you ignoring me at work?”, you start. Taking in a deep breath, he sighs as he fidgets with his fingers. God damn those hands.

“ I could ask you the same thing”, he retorts, “But if I’m being honest I didn’t want to cause you any more stress than you were already dealing with. I thought that maybe if you wanted to talk you would come to me.” Stress? What stress- unless.

“Wait a second, what do you mean what I’m dealing with?” He hesitates before answering, still not looking at you.

“Your dad called me on Sunday.”

“Oh Jesus Christ”, you relent, “I had one bad day, I am fine now. I just wasn’t sure how to talk to you about”, you motion between the two of you with one hand, “this.” Bob’s staring up at you from beneath his glasses, that same look of pity everyone always looks at you with once they know. “See”, you point at him, “Right there. That is why I don’t tell anyone anything.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to pity me, or feel bad for me”, you huff.

“It’s not pity, Mantis. It’s worry. I worry about you”, he explains as your heart drops in your chest.

“If you really worry about me, then why did you leave me?”, you question. There’s the slightest tremble in your voice, one that most people wouldn’t pick up on. But Bob isn’t most people. He’s on his feet immediately at your words, slowly making his way over to you.

“I panicked. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get you in trouble, I guess. And I just ran.” You feel for him deep down, your own panic had taken hold of you. It just didn’t present itself until you fell asleep.

“I’m sorry, too. For waiting this long to talk to you. And for kissing you.” His brows crinkle as he cocks his head.

“You’re sorry for kissing me?”

“I didn’t- I shouldn’t have done it.” Bob is quick to interject. He knew it. He knew it all along that you only kissed him because you felt bad for him.

“No, I shouldn’t have said anything. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“Bob, I never said I didn’t want to do it. I just- I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings. I cannot stand to ruin your career, your life. I can’t.” His breathing just about stops, but he uses any oxygen he has left to swiftly correct you.

“How would you ruin it? I mean- you’ve already made it so much better.”

“Bob”, you sigh, “I will not let you give up your career. Or mine for that matter, over stupid feelings.”

“So my feelings are stupid?”, you glance back up at him as he furrows his brow at your insinuation.

“No! That’s not what I meant. Mine are.” You’re starting to wring your hands, it’s obvious you’re not getting your point across as eloquently as you would like.

“Well, what are your feelings? I told you how I felt, you never returned the favor.”

“Probably because you were already gone before I had the chance to say anything!” You argue. He frowns at your words, knowing it was a bad move on his part. “And it doesn’t even matter, Bob. It can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t ruin you! I can’t be selfish!”, you finally yell. He’s taken aback as you breathe heavily in front of him. It doesn’t even matter what he thinks, you look like you’re on the verge of another panic attack, so as slow as he can he walks up to your heaving form. He ever so slowly reaches out to your shoulders, and with a nod from you, he wraps you in his strong arms. You’re quick to wrap your own around him. His embrace is so warm, like finally being wrapped in a blanket after being out in the freezing cold for so long, only this time you know the cold is just waiting outside his front door to encase you once you leave. But you let yourself hug him, for the sake of getting to do it one last time.

“I can’t do that to you, Bob”, you whisper into his shoulder. He takes a step back and your arms fall from each other. He moves to push a piece of loose hair behind your ear absentmindedly as his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “We can’t give each other what we want.”

“You haven’t even told me what you want”, his deep voice whispers as he gazes at your face, almost as if trying to memorize every inch and freckle.

“You already know”, his eyes flick back between yours at your whispered words. Your faces are already so close to each other. All it would take was a simple push from either one of you to be kissing again. You exhale a shaky breath, and before either of you can do anything, Bob’s jumping away from you again at the sound of the doorbell. Sylvia is retreating up the stairs at the noise, and Bob realizes who it is.

“Shit”, he curses under his breath.

“Who is it?” Bob stands there staring at you, wincing as Fanboy’s voice carries from the hall to the living room.

“I hope you don’t mind man, the door was open. And I brought pizza!”, lo and behold Fanboy is walking into the living room a little surprised to see you there as you give him the fakest smile you can muster. “Hey Mantis, are you here for movie night?”

“Of course! Why else would I be here?”, you grit through your teeth as you turn to Bob. He’s avoiding your gaze as he takes a dvd from Fanboy to get it all set up.

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

So here you are. Sitting on one end of Bob’s couch while he is on the other, Fanboy sitting in between the two of you. Completely clueless. He takes his third slice of pizza from its place on the coffee table, then leans back into the couch as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. You’ve been sitting watching Raiders of the Lost Ark long enough that Indy and Marion have made their initial escape, and are now sailing away, comfortable as she starts kissing him better. From the corner of your eye, you spot Bob shifting slightly in his seat as you do the same. Fanboy is perfectly content, sitting against the cushions as the two of you think about the other night. And what was about to happen before he showed up.

Your eyes are taken off the screen as a shrill ringing comes from Mickey’s pocket.

“Sorry”, he mutters as he takes it out. “Oh shit, it’s my mom.” He stands as he moves to the front door, yelling on his way out, “Pause it for me, will ya?” Bob does as he asks and the two of you don’t make any motion to move. He stares at the frozen screen, of Indy and Marion being so intimately close together before he speaks.

“Would you do it again?” You look over to him as he stares ahead, and then back to the screen.

“Bob”, you shake your head, “We can’t, you know the rules-”

“I didn’t ask if you could. I asked if you would. If you would want to.” You’re left staring at Bob with a blank face as he takes a deep breath in, anticipating your answer. His jaw clenches as you give the slightest nod of your head. You can’t lie to Bob. Along with the feeling of safety he encases you in every time you’re with him, the fact remains you can’t lie to him, and that scares the absolute hell out of you.

“Would you?”, you whisper, unconsciously glancing at his lips. His eyelids flutter at your movement and he swallows.

“Yes”, it comes out more as a breath than an actual response, but you understand it nonetheless. You look away from him, the weight of his gaze knowing you both want the same thing too much for you to handle. The hand that was fiddling with the rip in your jeans moves to settle where Fanboy once sat. You can see it out of the corner of your eye as Bob slowly moves to rest his hand next to yours, almost as if he’s scared you’ll move away if he gets any closer. His hand only rests next to yours until he reaches his pinkie out to sit right against yours, testing the waters. You ignore this altogether, reaching your hand to clasp over his, squeezing as he squeezes back just as softly. It has been too long since the two of you held hands, and you couldn’t go one more minute without the feeling of his large hand encasing yours.

Turning his head, the two of you watch your hands as he rubs his thumb over the back of yours. You look towards him completely and chew your lip as he brings his gaze back to your face. And like the two of you are magnets, completely attracting one to the other, you slowly move your faces closer and closer. You can feel his breath on your face, your hand still over his as he squeezes it tighter until-  the sound of Mickey slamming the front door closed jolts the two of you back to your ends of the couch. Your heart is beating out of your chest as you stare straight ahead at the tv, it’s gone black now from being paused for too long as you try to focus on the bouncing logo. Saved by the damn bell, you guess.

Mickey slumps back into the couch with a quick apology and the movie starts back up. Almost as soon as he sits down, you’re on your feet. Met with two pairs of wide eyes, you give a brief smile to Mickey.

“I have to go home”, you rush out with an apologetic smile.

“What?”, Mickey asks, “The movie’s not even over yet.”

“I know, but my dad’s waiting for me. You know how it is”, you attempt to excuse yourself.

“No I don’t actually, because I’m not in High School anymore and I don’t have a curfew”, he laughs. Your dad didn’t technically have a curfew for you, but after your little walk on Sunday, he did tell you he’d like to be in bed by a certain time. And he was most definitely going to wait up until you got home. Shrugging, you make your way around the back of the couch until Bob shoots up out of his seat.

“I’ll walk you to your car”, he urges. He follows you to the front porch, and softly closes the door behind you. The sun has long set by now and the only thing you can hear is crickets chirping. You can’t help but find the parallel to the last time you were outside on a night like this… with Bob. Only this time, you’re sure you are going to go home knowing that Bob can only be your friend, your teammate. He stops short of his lawn as you turn around.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at work?”, you ask with a sad smile. He gives you the same one back, the good old courtesy ones you were so sure you were done seeing him give to you. He nods as you move to walk to your car, but the feeling of his large hand encasing your fingers and slightly tugging has you spinning back around and into his chest. While still holding your hand, his other moves up to your face, his calloused thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheek.

“Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll let you go and I won’t ever do this again.” His blue eyes bore into yours as your heart picks up speed. And you know you shouldn’t, but right now you just can’t care to give a damn.

“Don’t you dare”, you whisper. His lips are on yours immediately as your hands tingle, moving to touch him wherever you can. He hums in surprise as your hand moves up to run through his hair. With one hand still on your face, the other slides from your hand to your waist as he pulls you closer against him. Your lips are moving so fast against each other, it’s hard to discern who deepens it, but you don’t really care as his tongue slides against your own. He’s kissing you like a man starved, and you know you’re just as hungry for him as you pull him against yourself.

It’s almost a mirror of the other night as you start walking backward, hitting the passenger side door of his truck this time. You can’t help but whine into his mouth as his hand slides to the side of your neck, just the feeling of his hand on your bare skin is enough to have you seeing stars. With your free hand, you run your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him impossibly closer to you. With an “oomph”, he allows himself to press his body completely against your own. The pressure sends a tingle down your spine, and you’re quite positive that if he wasn’t holding you up, you’d be melting into a puddle at the feeling.

Reflexively, your hips move forwards to meet his as he sighs against your mouth. Allowing himself to take a miniscule break, resting his forehead against your own.

“Please”, he pleads as his lips graze yours. And even though the kiss is just about over, you know what he’s asking. “Just- just one more”, and who are you to not give into the pleadings of a man who wants exactly what you do? This is not what you came over here to do, but you kiss him with fervor anyway, as his spit-slicked lips meet your own once again. 

If you weren’t so distracted with the passion fueled meeting of your lips, you’d almost think his belt buckle was hitting your pelvis. But you know for a fact as your fingers tighten in his belt loops that he’s not wearing a belt. And that’s how you know this is affecting him just as much as it is you. Oh god.

Almost as if he knows what you’re thinking, and just how turned on you are, he moves so his thigh is slotted in between your own. He must feel you clench your thighs around his muscled one. And the pressure just feels so good, causing you to whine one last time against his mouth before separating and resting your forehead against his chest. As much as you want to keep going, you know you need to end it before you go too far. Or before you get arrested for public indecency. Then again, you’ve already gone much farther than you should have with Bob.

“You ok?”, he breathes as he rubs at your neck, a hint of his southern twang peaking out with the ask. You’re still breathing heavily, but Bob feels you nod against him.

“Uh huh”, you muster before you look up at him. Clearing your throat, the two of you don’t break eye contact until you look to his pink lips, swollen thanks to you. You rub any remainder of yourself off of his mouth with your thumb before looking back into his wide-eyed blues. Your hand lingering on his face. “I’ll um- see you at work tomorrow?”

Bob can only nod, knowing full well that this was a goodbye of some sorts. Not as friends, not as teammates, but as whatever could have been. You would be remiss if you didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, so you do. With the gentlest touch of your lips against his, a stark contrast to what you were doing seconds ago, you drop your hand from the slight stubble of his jaw.

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, he whispers. You nod at him this time, deciding to not give him a smile you both know is fake. Slipping out of his arms, his hand lingers on your arm as you walk toward your car, until your fingers fall from his. He watches as you go, and takes a moment to stare up at the night sky with his hands on his hips.

That was a little more hot and heavy than he thought it was going to be, so he takes a moment to collect himself before walking back inside and pretending absolutely nothing happened. Taking his glasses off with one hand, he runs a hand over his face with the other. He forces himself to think of anything but you, baseball stats, mowing the lawn, picking up after Sylvia. That seems to help cool him down as he darts back up to the front door.

“What I wouldn’t give to be kissed like that.” Bob’s head whips over to his right, and takes note of Harry sitting on his front porch, taking a sip from his cup of coffee, sudoku puzzle to his side.

“Oh God”, Bob mumbles as he turns back to his house, not bothering to say anything else to the man.

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

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

@itsmytimetoodream

@theamuz

@harrysgothicbitch

@mygyn

@luckyladycreator2

@marve2014

@wretchedmo

@callsignwidow

@finnydraws

@melsunshine

@jostan456

@okiegirl24

@beebeechaos

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@hunbomb

@nerdgirljen

[ioniansunsets]

would you be willing to write about School AU Jock!Sett whose mama is the school nurse? i want Sett’s mama to get Sett to take care of you who visit the sick bay monthly for insane period cramps please 👉👈

✖ School AU! Sett Comfort ✖

✖ Word Count: 670

✖ Tags: Mutual Pining

✖ A/N: I imagine him as Vastayan still! Wasn't too sure if you wanted a scenario or headcanons so I wrote a little scenario for you. Have fun I got a little carried away and wrote a lot!

----

It was horrible. Absolute shit. You almost trip from the pain as you make your way to the nurses' office. The familiar smell of antiseptic hits your nose as you step in.

" Oh my are you alright? It's that time again huh?"

You nod as the sweet nurse helps you to the bed. You were a regular here, whenever it was that time of the month, you found yourself crippled in the infirmary beds. Over time you slowly figure out that the pretty Vastayan was the school's star player, Sett's, mom. His constant injuries making sense as to why his mother was the school nurse. Poor lady sees him every other sports game. It almost felt like he was getting hurt on purpose to be sent here sometimes.

" Sett! Come help."

She calls out to her son who was slacking off in the other bed. There's a small mumble as he gets up, the sound of the chair against the floor grating against your ears.

" I'm tired ma- Oh hey, its you again."

He whines as he gets up, his head pops through the curtain, about to complain, before he realizes it's you. He has gotten used to seeing you around, you were, too, a regular here anyway. He never really learnt your name, but by now he knew the routine to help you out.

Running off he comes back within minutes with a hot water bottle, painkillers with water and some chocolates from the secret stash in the infirmary. That damn jock was really fast! You thank him as you grab the array of things from his hands. He sits down by your side, almost affectionately patting your head as his ears seem to twitch, seemingly excited to be of use to you.

" Let me know if you need anything, the great Sett's got your back."

He laughs, giving you an almost cheesy wink. His signature cocky smile plastered across his face. It almost draws a laugh out of you. Seeing you smile again brings a warmth to his heart. Sett doesn't really understand what it was. Maybe it was just how you seem so genuinely appreciative of his help, or how you tolerate his boisterous activity. Or was it something more?

" Let me know if you wanna be alone alright?"

How could you chase him away, his messy hair falling to his face as he turns to smile at you. Sett's fluffy ears flicking to the side. His boyish charm was too much you let him stay. Sitting by your side, Sett does some homework on the desk beside you, just accompanying you while you suffer. Hoping his presence somehow comforted you. You don't even know why Sett's mom always gets him to help you out. Maybe she was just using him as some free manual labor for making her treat his bumps and bruises so often to be honest. After a few moments of silence he turns back to you.

" I read somewhere that having someone like, rub or hold your stomach or something helps...so if you uh...need some help I got you alright?"

It was almost adorable, his hand behind his head as he rubs his hair messing it up further. He read up on how to help you? How sweet! If you weren't blushing, Sett sure was. He had no reason to try and help you so much, was it him trying to do his job properly as his mom's helper or was it because of you? You couldn't figure it out but you gave him the OK anyway. His large warm hand lightly pressing against your abdomen. Surprisingly it helped. A lot. As the pains begin to fade, you can't help but drift off to sleep, exhausted from the cramps. Sett never left you side even through that, his left hand resting on you as he continued with his homework with his right. He was there for you, whatever small casual relationship the two of you had in this small room in the school.

[mirrored-movements]

Spider-Sitters

(Miguel O'hara x reader)

Synopsis: Peter needs a babysitter for the evening and who better to ask than you and Miguel?

Warnings: Idk baby fever maybe, this is kinda cute, got my heart melt a little

Sitting on one of the brightly illuminated chairs you spun in place absentmindedly, nothing particular in mind as you'd only really been there to keep Miguel company. The man having been working all day without taking any sort of break- despite you bothering him about taking at least one.

‘This can't wait it has to be done as soon as possible’ was always the answer- something you and Lyla both agreed was a bit much but what could you do besides just sit there and hope your presence someone eased the man’s nerves.

“Incoming Spider-Personel.” Lyla’s voice came and went quickly as the platform began it’s slow dramatic descent, the platform barely nearing the floor when a small figure had fallen from the ceiling- your spider sense quickly kicking in as you’d shot a web catching the small redhead; your lips curling into a smile right away.

“May May! Hi sweetie! How are you?” Cooing your words at the small child she giggled in response, her small hands making grabby hands towards where Miguel stood, drawing out a laugh from you. “No no honey Miguel’s a little busy.”

Another person had joined the platform soon after Mayday had, Peter's apologetic face coming quickly into view as he began talking to you as opposed to your clearly annoyed partner. “Sorry for dropping by so unexpectedly but I have a favour to ask.”

Propping Mayday onto your hip you motioned for the man to continue, his next set of words enticing a huff in annoyance from Miguel.

“Well, I was wondering if you could watch Mayday for the evening, wife and I wanted to have a sort of date night and you know finding a babysitter for a baby that can crawl on walls- uh that might but be easy.”

Right away understanding what he was asking your lips curled into a warm smile, “Oh yeah that’s not a problem, Miguel and I have no problem taking care of this little spiderling.” Cooing a little once again towards the girl you pinched her nose softly, a quick side eye following suit as you’d taken note of how Miguel had turned to stare.

The man surely wanting to object, but choosing to bite his tongue instead.

You were a stubborn one.

“Really? Aw thanks a mil, I’ll be sure to repay you guys when we get back.” Moving to squish his daughter's face into his hands and press a quick kiss to her forehead Peter gave you a look of gratitude, his fatherlike stare coming down to rest back onto his daughter. “Uh ok her bedtime is six o’clock, she doesn’t like broccoli and her favorite show is the bouncing fruits on youtube. If there are any issues don’t hesitate to text me.”

“Yes yes of course, now go enjoy your time with your wife.” Using your free hand you shooed the man away, shaking your head with a soft smile only to roll your eyes at the sound of a huff beside you. Your attention now fully on Miguel waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Miguel and I have no problem? I didn’t agree to babysit.” Repeating what you’d said to Peter he let out a breath, hand raising to run through his hair while his gaze pulled away from the computer screens to focus on where you stood.

The sharpness of them softening a little at the sight of Mayday's bright smile as well as the way you held the girl.

“Come on Miguel, it’ll just be this once.” Shifting Mayday into your hands you held her out towards the man bringing her back so that her face was right beside your own. “And how can you say no to these faces?”

Taking in a breath he observed the way you puffed out your cheeks, lips pursing out a bit all the while Mayday outstretched her arms- trying to grab at him.

“Fine. Lyla, save the progress and close up the computers.”

“Roger that boss.”

Waiting for the screens to close down Miguel let out yet another sigh, hand motioning towards you and Mayday. “Come on.”

Following right away a victorious smile couldn’t help but cross your lips, something the small girl right away took note of by patting your cheek with her little palm.

She was so cute.

---

Having brought Mayday back to yours and Miguel's shared apartment you right away brought out some drawing supplies- or well more like a few highlighters and pens that the small girl seemed entertained enough with.

Standing over the kitchen sink to wash a few of the dishes you’d used to give Mayday a snack, your gaze moved toward Miguel. The man having been leaning against the counter on the opposite side of where you were, head tilted to the side and attention focused on the small redhead.

“Go and sit down with her.”

At the soft call of your voice, his head turned in order to face you, the hardened expression he typically wore cracking the slightest bit. “What?”

“Go sit down with her and draw or play a game, something like that.”

Wanting to object right away at what you were implying the look you’d given him merely drew out a defeated sigh, his arms falling from the counter and with heavy steps, he neared the table planting himself into the seat across from hers.

After a minute or two of sitting with her, you noticed how he spoke to the child; soft and almost playful, a pencil had been clasped between his fingers as the redhead had convinced him to draw her a cat.

It warmed your heart to see Miguel like this, you two had been together for quite some time now but you knew how much he hesitated about being around Peter's daughter- that much was clear from day one. Although despite that hesitance he never seemed to let her fall, let her hurt herself, etcetera.

It was most certainly the paternal instinct he had tried to suppress.

You found it endearing.

Getting pulled out of your thoughts by a gentle tug at your pant leg you turned off the sink, eyes trailing down towards the little girl who called for your attention.

Smiling gently down at her you noted how her hands were smudged with pencil lead, a soft laugh leaving you as you leaned down to pick her up. “Your hands are all dirty.” Musing that out you turned the water back of softly pulling her hands into the stream where you then gently washed her hands.

Coming back from the table himself Miguel watched what you were doing, a soft smile gracing his lips as he held his own hands up. “My hands are dirty, can you wash them too?” He laughed at the comment, some more following as you’d taken Mayday's hand using it to splash some water at him.

Mayday giggled at this, the little girl practically bouncing in place within your hold.

So cute.

---

“You suck at braiding hair.”

An offended gasp left your lips at Miguel's comment, hear tilting over the couch to face where he leaned over the back of it, hand under his chin and a slight quirk to his lips.

“You’re so mean, why don’t you do her hair then? Huh?” Having Mayday currently sitting in front of you, you gestured with the hairbrush toward the girl's unruly red locks. Her childish giggles filled the room quickly upon being raised into the air being handed towards your partner as he rounded the couch.

“Fine, I will,” Taking her from your hands he sat down much like you had, lips still curled into a small smile as he spoke confidently. “Watch and learn Hermosa.”

Rolling your eyes at the comment you took his previous place leaning over the couch, eyes watching the way he occasionally brushed Mayday's hair back parting it into two sections. It seemed almost routinely how he worked so effortlessly with her hair, making sure he kept her small hands busy with a scrunchie.

Two neat French braids curled down the girl's head, some small hair clips you’d found around the apartment dotting her hair as well.

“See? What did I tell you.” Leaning back against the couch Miguel stared up at you, his gaze was warm, lips still curled into a gentle smile upon seeing how you reflected the look.

“Fine fine. You did a good job, Miguel,” Leaning forward a little you have the tip of his nose a quick peck seeing as that was all you could reach. “Maybe I should get you to do my hair one of these days.”

He smiled triumphantly at that, head returning down to the girl sitting before him, hands coming to lift her off the ground and into the air almost playfully.

Watching from your spot between the kitchen and living room you laughed softly, eyes shining with pure adoration as this was a side of Miguel many- even yourself sometimes- didn’t get the opportunity to see.

A tingle in the back of your mind had you gradually moving towards the front door, hand reaching for the handle to swing it open just enough to stop Peter’s hand from knocking.

Holding up a finger for him to remain quiet you brought him into the apartment, the two left in the living room still goofing off until Mayday’s gaze fell upon her dad. The girl squawking out in excitement as Miguel set her down onto the floor.

“There’s my girl! Did you have fun! Looks like you did, looks like you did! Aw look at your hair too.” Right away beginning to coo at her Peter swiped her off the ground, kissing were peppered across her face in an instant before his attention returned towards the two of you. “Thank you guys so much for watching her, I really owe you one.”

Having moved to stand beside Miguel you smiled happily at Peter, “It was no problem, she was such a delight and if you ever need someone to watch her again I’m sure we have no problem.” Your hand moved to take Miguels, the man responding with a gentle hum and nod.

Sparing Mayday a final wave you watched the pair leave, your hand faintly tugging away from Miguels before he’d just come to wrap you in a hug; arms bunding around your waist while his chin came to rest on your shoulder.

“Gonna miss the little spider-girl?” Questioning him softly you tilted your head to rest it light on his, hand coming up to comb your fingers through his hair.

With a low hum he seemed to nuzzle into you a little, eyes glancing to the side at your expression. “Maybe,” He began swaying a little, fingers rubbing circles into the shirt you wore, “But this got me thinking.”

“Ok, thinking about what?”

“Well,” Pulling away a little to properly look down at you he seemed to think over what he was going to say, mind going a mile a minute. “What if, we maybe…” His eyes moved towards the door where Peter and Mayday had left through, the rest of his question being implied.

Staring up at him your lips curved into a smile once again, hopping up onto your tiptoes to peck him on the lips quickly. 

“We can try.”

-------

<Unedited>

Miguels a DILF- you can't change my mind.

[pedge-stuff]

thermos (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: sometimes, love boils on the stove. (set 2021.)

————————————————————————

It had been a long fucking day.  Delayed table read, late picks, emergency rewrites—  the perfect storm at SNL.  

The steady pressure in your temples had gradually increased throughout the day, despite the Excedrine you'd taken early on. This had morphed into an ache at the back of your throat, because of course it had— bad things always came in waves. 

Halfway through the last-minute pitch meeting post-rehearsal, you'd missed a call from Pedro. The same time he called every day,  usually timed well with your walk home from midtown. Sending him to voicemail was out of character. 

Sorry, you'd texted. Rehearsal tonight. Lightly sautéed, gonna crash after work, talk tomorrow? Love  you very much x 

He'd shot back a " :( " and then had been typing for several minutes, the little bubbles appearing over and over. OK, he finally said. Love you too. 

It tweaked your heart, a bit. The two thousand miles between your phones was hard to stomach, sometimes. Alberta felt, for reasons unknown, so infinitely farther than LA, though the mileage was comparable. You picture him, alone in his trailer, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls his phone, waiting for wrap to leave and tuck his old bones into bed.

Ultimately, you are a little too tired, and achy, and frustrated with work, and maybe a little cranky, to dwell on the finality of his "OK."  There's nothing he can do for you, from Alberta; it's not worth worrying him. 

You drag yourself home, resigned to making a weak cup of tea and curling up with the dogs. (Home is your studio apartment, while he's gone, though he maintains a steady campaign for you to just move into his. You haven't yet been able to articulate how fucking lonely his Brooklyn townhouse is without him.) Politely squeeze past the elderly couple who have pushed their sidewalk table all the way in front of the door to your building. Check the mail, of which there is none. Climb the stairs, a slow shuffle, fumbling with your stupid keys, music still playing at street volume in your headphones, eyes burning, lock turning— 

Fuck, fuck. 

Pedro turns the stove off, offers you a shy smile. Your bag drops to the floor. Something inside you snaps, pulls loose. You burst into tears. 

"Oh," he says, and you forcefully close the distance, wrapping your arms around him as you try and stifle quiet sobs. Wonder, for a moment, what the fuck is happening. "Surprise?" 

You laugh, weakly. Run a hand down your face. "Sorry, sorry." 

He pushes you back, apprising you with a gentle and skeptical look. Holds your face in his hands and thumbs away the fresh tears. Frowns. Presses his palm to your forehead. "You didn't tell me you were sick."

Leaning into his hand, you shake your head. "Not sick. Just tired." You pull back. "I can't believe you're here. Jesus. How long are you here for?" 

His attention is drawn back to the stove, beside which he has set your green travel mug. He smiles sheepishly. "Was trackin' ya on Find My." The kettle spits a small whistle as he pours the water. Your heart clenches; this stupidly thoughtful man. 

"I can rally," you offer, even as he ushers you into the bedroom. There is a suddenly conspicuous absence of dogs. 

"They're in Brooklyn. Figured you'd wanna get some shit here, and then we Uber that way?"

"You really thought this through, huh?" There are clothes and toiletries at his place ("our place," he calls it, though the studio is decidedly "your place."), but you pack a few things, just in case. 

It's not a secret that he doesn't love your apartment— it's a little cramped, for two men and two dogs. Plus, his apartment is more of a full condo. And the bathroom's nicer.

He watches you pack, perched on the edge of the bed. It's hard to focus on anything other than studying the soft lines of his travel-weary face. The rise and fall of his chest. Bits and pieces of him that the front-facing iPhone camera cannot pick up over FaceTime. 

— 

In the back of the Uber, mindful of the rearview mirror, you have his left hand trapped between both of yours. The skin of his palm has toughened, calloused slightly from whatever they have him doing in the woods of Canada. It still feels the same as you press your lips to the center. 

"I'm still a little confused," you whisper, "but I'm so happy you're here." 

His steals his hand back, to card it through your hair. "Me too. Was going crazy, trying to keep it a secret. We've got the long weekend off for Veteran's day, so I thought..." 

"Mm. Do you have an agenda this weekend?" 

The Uber makes its final turn. "Yeah. I would like to sleep for one million years, in a bed, with you. And probably see Oscar and Elvira, at some point. Also maybe order Empanada Mama. I ate a Canadian empanada last week that legitimately made me sad." 

You hold onto his hand as you exit the car, cross the street, key in. The tea put you at ease, but with the shock of the surprise wearing off, the weight of the day resettles as an ache across your shoulders. 

The dogs bound down the hallway as you key in. Pedro's suitcase has not made it much farther than the front door, though it has been cracked open and partially rummaged. "I was in a rush," he said sheepishly.

"Mm. You showerin’?” 

“Probably should. We heading up?” 

You nod, kneeling to re-zip his bag; the duties of young knees. (The age gap is disregarded, unless he plays the old card to his advantage.) Edgar pounces on you while you’re accessibly low. Ten different questions die in the back of your throat. Every step between you and the king sized bed on the third floor feels impossible. 

— 

He smells clean, as he wraps his arms around you, skin still damp and warm from the obscenely hot showers he prefers. You have a long day of rehearsal ahead of you tomorrow, then an even longer show day— but none of that matters now.

"Thank you for coming." You mumble, sleepily, into the worn fabric on his shoulder. Fingers card through your hair, brush gently over your temple. You've got a hand beneath his t-shirt, splayed across the base of his ribs.

Pedro makes an indignant noise, low, from his chest. "Not a place on Earth I'd rather be."

[swiftie-sherlockian]

So…

Idk who knows this already but I watched The Sign of Three for the first time this past Valentine’s Day and almost immediately when it was over I wrote a Johnlock duet with a free online instrumental on YouTube and afterwards I was EXTREMELY proud of it. It’s sort of an AU where John notices Sherlock leaving at the end and follows him back to 221B to find him an absolute wreck in his bedroom, high and erratic and it’s a little hurt/comfort-y. Think Forever Winter by Taylor Swift but make it Johnlock

Anyway…. I Google Translated the lyrics too many times and now I have this silly song that still has feels (some of the lines are still very similar and once you read this you will know what lines those are once you read this) and other lines are “huh?” also try to figure out which lyrics I wrote from Sherlock’s POV and which ones are John’s. They may be obvious at first but the end sort of switches often

anyway… lyrics below the cut

He took it too

There was no doubt in those beautiful eyes

Return to the starting position 

Don’t tell me it’s easy

Nothing has changed

I’ll always be with you

Not everything will change

I won’t be together

I have no voice

Now they’ll talk and I’ll be silent

Lost in silence

Whatever really exists will be “good”

Oh, like now

I think I’ll clap once or twice 

Walk through the church doors

The party is over

Even if you ask him, he looks like a deer at night

Don’t give up

The bedroom door was closed

I have a pack of cigarettes 

A night’s sleep is very important for relaxation 

Long and full

Be stupid if you want

I play music and die

A new song is playing in my head

~~~

I said it doesn’t matter

I lied

My mind can’t read

Are you asking me if I’m not perfect?

I’m an idiot, so beautiful 

Everyone who knows me knows that

The documentation is good

What a wedding night

I am and will remain your godfather 

If they call me, I’ll run

I’m leaving

I’m going to sleep

Don’t ask why

I’ll ask you to stop

But take a pencil with you if necessary 

We’re writing a tragedy

~~~

I’ve lost my mind again

Call this guy tonight

Something has to happen again

It’s uncomfortable 

Soon everything will change

Even though I’m used to being apart, I still feel strange

Everything will change

I think I’ll catch you

I can’t stop

Leave it at the altar

But then the rot will quickly dry up

But now that I’ve found you, I was wrong

Oh, how are you now?

Third sign of bleeding, I feel full

I saw you coming out the door

The party ended abruptly 

I won’t be quiet when I go back to your apartment 

Stay inside

I have an unlock key

Those cigarettes have been missing from your home for two years

Long and full 

Some are right

I wrote that waltz when I was married

I’m sorry I didn’t say anything 

~~~

You could say that you’re OK

I know when you’re lying

I can’t read your mind

Nobody is good enough

“Maybe he’s an idiot” he half-smiled

I know, I mean, I know

The documentation is very good 

I saw you walking at night

You don’t want to be my best man, you want to be my husband

I want to study in my old cabin

I followed you to the door

I’m not crying anymore

I know why

Don’t tell me to stop 

Can you give me my pencil?

This way I can fix this mistake

~~~

All the steps we’ve taken so far

I don’t want to break us up

I did what I had to do

I don’t want to leave you

I offended someone in this mess

Who would regret it?

That’s why you’re guilty

Three words and we’re done 

But I know it won’t be easy for this kid

I want to go back 

Close again

I laughed and held my nose

Why should I live?

Who’s stopping me from taking a closer look?

I’ll fix it one way or another

Even if I didn’t have a thousand secrets, I wouldn’t tell them

But I haven’t been there for a long time

All the pain, all the love

Take a pencil and draw

There’s no room for doubt 

Invisible folder

Candle

All my memories

Don’t let these two years get too cold

I have a network in my head

Every good though brings suffering

Most importantly, hold your breath

Until the music stops

Damn it’s over

This is not yet complete

@a-victorian-girl @nowiamcoveredinyou @gingaaaaa @whatnext2020 @jamielovesjam

[willowser]

Ok ok but Star crossed lovers + dance of romance with our dear Katsuki if you can and if not I understand bb!!💌💕

OH STAR CROSSED LOVERS. OH erika this has to be dancing with him at your wedding to someone else. oh, it has to be. you try so hard to make it work in your young adult life, but — dating a pro-hero is so hard !!! katsuki's still young and stubborn about opening himself up, even if he wants to !! even if he wants it to be you he comes home to, you he eats dinner with, you he is worthy of !! but his job is so demanding 🥺 and he can see it tearing you apart 🥺 and he doesn't know how to balance his work life and his love life and so you both. call it quits.

you tell him with tears in your eyes, nose runny and rubbed raw, "find me as soon as you can, okay? come find me when we can make it work, and i'll wait for you."

and he promises to, with a red face and his own bleary eyes.

and you don't wait.

he finds out before he's ready, before he can give you the love you deserve and it makes him fucking angry. some asshole sweeps you off your feet a few years later, and though katsuki isn't a social media person, the only reason he agrees to an agency instagram is so he can occasionally see your face. what you're doing. hear your laugh in your little reels. but then there's another face, another laugh, and he thinks he maybe hates you for it.

you run into each other by chance and he can't even stand to look at you, can't bear to look at the new way you wear your hair, the new way you dress, and know that you're going home to someone else. when you try to talk to him about it, he just — erupts. blames all his anger and heartbreak on you, is ugly and hideous and so green it makes him sick, and after that he thinks maybe you hate him too and that's for the best.

after a couple of months, it doesn't work out with your stupid, charming idiot, but katsuki's fucked it all up with you; he sends a hesitant, simple text and gets no response; his official instagram is blocked. and he's still not ready, but he can't let the moment slip through his fingers and he shows up at your door and it's — crazy. heated. intense and passionate. clothes are flung across your apartment and you mark him down to his bones and he's never had someone the way he's had you. the way he still can't. the morning comes early with a call from kirishima and he leaves before the sun rises.

you do this, for a while. this back and forth, push and pull thing that only ever ends one way: you, naked and asleep and left behind. it's not good. it's not healthy. you're both angry and hurt and it doesn't work, won't work, but — it's all either of you can get. and it doesn't stop until another charming idiot comes along and another screaming match is what you leave behind.

neither of you reach out. the years pass by and he stops trying to keep tabs on you, tries to move on himself. he dates and brings people home, but it's never the same. he starts to think that maybe, entering his thirties, that he can figure this out, that maybe he's put in enough time to balance his work life and his love life, to get you back. he makes plans, he tests his boundaries for vacation time and learns to allow someone to take his shift, if he needs the night off. he says no, he says i can't because i have plans. he figures it out.

your wedding invitations are pretty, delicate. you look nice in your photo; happy and taken care of. at first he thinks maybe you sent it to hurt him, but there's a small, handwritten note stuffed into the envelope that he's sure isn't going out with all the rest of the invites: i really hope that you can make it. i would love to see you.

katsuki takes the time off. katsuki gets his shift covered and he changes from his hero costume to something nice, even with a tie. there's a small hope he has going into it that he'll get to talk to you before the ceremony, that this will play out like the movies and you'll see him and change your mind and it will work out, finally.

but it doesn't.

"don't cry," he tells you during your dance, as you stare anywhere but him and blink your eyes, sniffing and frowning. "you'll fuck up all your makeup and i'll look like an asshole."

it makes you laugh, and it's the first time he's heard it in years. it doesn't stop the tears though, and you can't speak until you blink them away. "thanks for coming."

katsuki shrugs, hand tightening on the back of your dress as his throat threatens to close. "sorry it wasn't sooner."

the face you make is awful, one he's seen many times, at this point. one that hurts just as much as it did the first time, when you both walked away. "sorry i didn't wait longer."

and he is too, but he can't open his mouth to tell you it's alright, because if he does he's not sure what he'll really say. he's not sure if he's still angry. he's not sure that he won't ask you to leave with him, right now. he's not sure he's ready to give up.

but you are finally and — that's always been it, hasn't it ? it's always been katsuki that's walked away empty.

✨️ trope game ! ✨️

[star-1111]

could you write something about enderian gender neutral reader being besties with c!quackity and working at the casino:0 maybe something like something happens and reader gets upset so he tells him it’s gonna be ok

You got it! Sorry for the late response!

~

warnings: language, smoking/drugs, mentions of insecurity

~

You wandered through the crowds of people, who stood around machines and tables, gambling their money and life away.

The clicks of glasses and objects hitting the tables filled the air, alongside people laughing and cheering.

This was what you heard on a daily, since you not only lived, but worked in Las Nevadas.

You were somewhat envious of these people. They were able to live their life without worries. Partying, drinking, getting high..

You sighed, adjusting your suit and tie, feeling eyes on you.

You had a bad habit of always trying your best to make others think only the best of you, and this habit really developed when your life begun in Las Nevadas.

You instinctively looked behind and all around you, people around looking away immediately.

You flushed in embarrassment, looking down as you begun to wring your hands.

You figured that people were looking at you, due to the fact that you were around 7-8 foot tall enderman. The people around you were human, and were nowhere as tall as you.

You continued walking around, your tail swaying with delight at the neon colors that shone down on you.

"Watch where you're swinging that fuckin' thing, freak!" Someone shouted, people glancing at you with disgust again.

You looked aside in shame, running to a gender neutral bathroom. You locked yourself in a stall, taking deep breaths. When you regained yourself, you trudged over to see someone- someone who always made you feel better.

And who could that be? No one else, but the leader of this casino- Quackity.

You entered his office, the lights inside dimmed as Quackity himself gazed longingly out the window, a long cloud of smoke emerging from his mouth and nose. He toyed with rings that hung from his neck, directly placed over his heart.

He glanced over at you, forcing a smile. "Whats up, y/n? Are you enjoying yourself? Wanna hit this fucking joint with me?" You politely shook your head, sitting down across from him.

The duck-winged man tilted his head to the side, lazily looking at you. He sat up, cracking his knuckles as he inhaled in his drug again. He exhaled slowly, forming shapes with the smoke.

"Whats the matter?" He asked, removing the joint from between his teeth. You eyed his scar, the red splotched cut going through his eye.

"Im just...y'know...here, I guess." Quackity rolled his eyes. "You can tell me, dollface. Friends can tell each other things." You sighed. running a hand through your hair. "People...people have been judging me again."

You noticed his posture change, and when you looked he looked directly at you, a serious expression on his face.

"Who?" He asked, his tone demanding. You glanced at the wall. "Just...some gamblers here and there." He stood, fixing his tie. "I'll handle it." He quickly gave you a hug, patting your back. "You should never listen to those fucking scumbags. You are amazing, just the way you are. I have some candy in my drawer, help yourself. I'll be back, and then we can do whatever you want. We could pop some fireworks, we could go for a ride around Las Nevadas, we could gamble the night away- oh, and I'll make sure you win, toots."

He winked at you, a sly smile pulling on his face, before he left you alone in his office.

Yep, you thought to yourself. People like him make my work enjoyable.

~

[foggyfanfic]

The Wedding Gift

Oneshot Preview: Juan's ears turned red and he frowned again, “I’m not complimenting you, this is just fact. If I measured your facial features the math would back me up.”

“I mean, it’s ok if you are complimenting me,” Mirabel said.

“Well, I’m not. Your face is mathematically sound. That’s all there is to it.”

Summary: As Mirabel gets to know one of the men from the village, she tries to figure out if he likes her for her, or because she's a Madrigal.

Words: 15.7K

“Oh! Mirabel! Perdon señor, uno minuto,” somebody called, Mirabel turned to find the voice and was surprised when the guy manning the bean stall waved her down, “Señorita Mirabel, do you have a bit of time?”

“Sure, yeah, what uh, what’s up?” Mirabel said, hoping to hide the fact that she did not remember this guy’s name at all. He was maybe a year or two older (or younger) than her, she vaguely remembered seeing him on the playground back when they were children. She was pretty sure. They may have even exchanged polite words at a party once. Possibly.

“It’s Juan,” he said, a little dryly. 

“Right. I know. Of course I know. Juan, what can I do for you?” Even as she spoke her eyes ticked over his face for some distinguishing feature she could attach the name to. But there were none, his nose was flat, but not especially so, his hair was black with very normal brown undertones, his skin wasn’t especially light or dark, his head neither very round nor very angular nor very square. Ultimately, his face could best be described as a face. No additional adjectives necessary.

Juan very clearly did not believe she knew his name, but instead of being annoyed he gave her a rueful smile and said, “It’s fine. Pretty sure my parents couldn’t have chosen a more generic name if they’d actually just named me ‘generic’.”

Mirabel chuckled, a little sheepishly, “I probably would remember that better.”

“Maybe I should change my name to that, is that the sort of thing we’ll be able to do at this new-fangled city hall?”

“Yeah, actually, it is,” she said, “although it might be a while before we set up a procedure for that sort of thing.”

In the past nine years since the miracle was reborn, Mirabel had slowly come to the realization that one of Abuela’s problems was the fact she was doing the job of at least three people. Emphasis on the “at least”. Abuela had acted as the de facto mayor of the Encanto since its inception, which probably wasn’t that bad back when Encanto was a handful of refugees. Now though, now their village was edging ever closer to being a small town, and having a one woman town government was not an option. It took a bit of research, and a lot of talking to people, but Encanto’s City Hall was under construction, and Mirabel was currently running around trying to recruit people to run for the city council.

“Well, when you do I may just be the first in line,” he leaned on the little bit of counter that wasn’t covered in baskets of beans, “but believe it or not, I didn’t interrupt your day to talk about how forgettable my name is.”

“Of course, yeah, what do you need?” She stood up a little straighter, she was doing her best to take as much work off Abuela’s plate as possible so Abuela could focus on prepping the newly elected mayor. They wanted the transition to be as smooth as possible.

“I wanted to hire you for a commission.”

Mirabel actually jolted a little out of surprise, “You- what?”

“A commission, an embroidery commission,” he said, clarifying when she just stared at him, “my sister’s getting married soon and she’s really into fashion so I figured for a gift-, well, one of your pieces might be the obvious choice, but they don’t call me generic for nothing.”

“Oh.”

“Do you-? I completely understand if you’re too busy. You can say no.”

“No, no, it’s not that, I’d be happy to uh to make your sister’s gift,” Mirabel said, quickly. She decided not to tell him she was just surprised to have her embroidery acknowledged. It wasn’t like she lived in her familia’s shadow anymore, but people were a lot more impressed by her communication and leadership skills than her skills with a needle and thread.

It felt surprisingly good to have a spot light shined on this particular talent.

“Oh good,” he smiled, “no offense to the town tailors, but everything they make is meant for function, I really want to give her something that’s actual art.”

Mirabel felt her face heat up, and it was all she could do to keep her smile pointed up at him instead of smiling down at her shoes, “I-, that’s-, thank you. That’s very nice of you to say. What uh, what did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, something in her favorite colors I guess?” he shrugged, “I have no idea how you artist folk come up with ideas, so I kinda have to trust your judgement on this one. What’s a good design that says ‘Yay, you’re in love’?”

Artist. He called Mirabel an artist.

“Um, a heart, maybe? Or I can ask Isabela to lend me her flower dictionary, I could probably embroider a bouquet that means true love and good blessings and stuff. What were you thinking of putting the embroidery on?”

“One of our Má’s old blouses, my sister loves that thing and Má has been planning to fix it up and give it to her for ages. Figure this is as good a chance as any.”

“I’d have to see it to get an idea what designs would look good on it.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. You free for dinner? Around six? She’ll be eating with her in-laws tonight, so we wouldn’t even have to be sneaky.”

Mirabel thought about her schedule a little, slowly starting to nod, “Sí, I can do dinner.”

“Great, let me write down my address for you,” he turned away, quickly scribbling on a piece of paper then handing it to her.

She laughed when she looked at the piece of paper and all it said was, “It’s the house right behind me.”

“Cute,” she told him.

“I can write down directions if you need me to,” he shrugged.

“Hm, gee, I think I might be able to find it myself.”

“You sure.”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Well that’s good, because I can’t think up a good follow up joke,” he grinned a little sheepishly.

“This one is good enough to stand on its own,” she said, neatly folding up the paper and putting it in her pocket.

“Gracias, I’m here all week,” he replied, leaning on the counter again, “except for tonight, when I’m at dinner. See you at six?”

“Yeah, see you then,” she chirped, before practically skipping away.

An artist!

—

A little less than a week later, Mirabel flipped through her sketchbook, lips pursed as she considered the designs she’d come up with for Juan’s sister. She couldn’t decide which ones she liked best. 

Sighing, Mirabel looked up at the clock. If she walked fast she might be able to catch Juan before he went home for the day. The bean stall wasn’t one of the market stalls that rotated vendors. Like a lot of the other staples, it was in the market five days a week, which meant Juan was in the market five days a week.

Dinner with him and his parents had been alright, but Mirabel had been surprised by how quiet Juan had gotten once his parents were at the table. It wasn’t an upset sort of quiet, more like every time she started to talk to him, he would redirect the conversation so his parents could take over. He seemed pretty friendly in the market, but when he was home he suddenly became-, well he was still friendly, he just didn’t talk much. 

With her sketchbook in hand, Mirabel walked through town, being sure to wear her “busy face” to make it less likely somebody would try to stop her for a favor. She reached Juan just as he was carrying the last basket of beans into the storage shed between the stall and his house.

“Juan, hey,” she called out, trotting the last few steps to his side, “you got a second?”

“Technically, I have forty-three thousand seconds, but I have to fit dinner, sleeping, and breakfast in there,” he said, then grunted as he placed the basket of beans on a sturdy looking shelf. Mirabel quickly glanced away from his arms as his biceps flexed.

“Oh,” Mirabel wasn’t sure how to respond to that, “well uh, you mind sharing a few of those forty-three thousand seconds with me?”

“Do you want any specific seconds, or would just any do?”

“I was hoping for the next few uh hundred? Thousand?”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowed but unfocused, “That would be about sixteen minutes.”

“That should be enough, I think? I just want you to look at my ideas for your sister’s blouse.”

“That I can do.”

“Right, great,” Mirabel got her head back in the game, “here, I know you said you were going to trust my judgement, but I want your input on the design. I just can’t pick my favorite.”

Juan quietly took the proffered sketch book and flipped through her ideas. He carefully considered each one of them. When he was done, he went back to the first one and started again.

“Something wrong?” Mirabel asked.

“No,” Juan said, not looking up.

She waited for him to finish looking, then when he seemed ready to take a third pass, prompted, “What do you think?”

“I think I see why you can’t pick your favorite,” he said, continuing to stare at option one, “these all look really good.”

Mirabel blushed, even as she rolled her eyes, “Thank you, but that doesn’t help me make a decision.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

He idly turned the page and stared at option two for as long as he’d stared at option one. Mirabel waited for him to say something else, something helpful. He turned to option three and stared at it as well.

Mirabel cleared her throat, he looked up at her, still silent.

It took her a second to figure out how to politely rephrase the question in her head, “Which would you choose?”

“All of them,” he said, then turned back to her sketchbook.

“Putting all of them would make the shirt look gaudy.”

“Oh. Would it?”

“Sí.”

“Only some of them, then.”

“You are zero help.”

He snorted, then nodded, “You are correct.”

Mirabel shook her head as a chuckle bubbled past her lips, “How about I go calculate how much each one would cost to make, then come back and we try this again?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” he perked up, and finally handed her the sketchbook back, “I’ll come with you. Where do you get your thread?”

“Uh, Lucia’s,” she said, jabbing her thumb in the direction of her preferred fabric store, “but you don’t have to do that, I’ll honestly probably be there for hours. We’ll blow right past the thousand second mark.”

“Does it take that long to find the right thread?” He looked simultaneously startled and impressed.

“Meh, it’s more that I’m friends with Lucia. And her back room is where the sewing club meets.”

“Ah, so you’ll be chatting,” he nodded, “will I also be required to chat?”

“A tiny bit, I mean, when I drag my Tío Bruno along everybody is fine with him just standing sorta awkwardly next to me. Unless Jo brought Adelaide, then they talk about something called NASA.”

“That’s what I’ll do then.” He started walking in the direction she’d pointed, and Mirabel trotted after him so she could take the lead.

“Stand awkwardly next to me? Or talk about NASA?”

“The first one.”

Mirabel huffed out a surprised laugh, “Do you hate talking that much?”

“No, I just do it all day,” he shrugged, “I handle numbers quick, so it just makes sense to have me run the stall, but I’m not-. I would prefer if it was just me and the numbers, and maybe a few people like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, you know, people who are-,” he cut off and made a vague hand gesture, he actually reminded her a little of her Tío Bruno when he did that, “people who aren’t draining to talk to. People that make you feel more energetic, not less.”

“Oh,” Mirabel glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, “uh, thank you?”

A frown flittered across his face, then he said, “I didn’t mean that as-. You're welcome, but I’m not trying to be nice. It’s just the way it is.”

“Uh, pretty sure it’s pretty subjective actually,” Mirabel said, “in my experience feelings always are.”

“It’s not a feeling, it’s probably science.”

“Science?”

“Sí, I bet all your smiling does something to people’s brains. Like caffeine,” he nodded along with himself, “Or maybe your voice is just the right frequency to help people wake up, like sunlight.”

“You think… my voice sounds like sunlight?” she asked slowly, trying not to laugh.

“Well, obviously not literally, but I think your voice makes people feel more awake, like sunlight does.”

“Right, and uh, do I smell like laughter?”

“Now you’re just being preposterous.”

Mirabel couldn’t help but giggle, “I don’t think it’s science, I think you just enjoy my company.”

He huffed, “Everybody enjoys your company, and there’s probably a scientific reason for that too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” he stopped walking so he could narrow his eyes at her, “maybe you give off pheromones.”

Mirabel couldn’t help but laugh outright at that, “I do not!”

“You might,” he insisted, then pursed his lips, “or it could be psychology. People like things that are pleasant to look at. You are pleasant to look at and covered in art. Ergo, people like being around you.”

“Pleasant to-. Are you saying I’m pretty?” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or laugh some more.

“If that’s what you want to call it, but it’s hardly scientific, now is it? You are well proportioned and symmetrical,” he sniffed, continuing on his way. Mirabel followed him, trying not to be too amused at his expense. 

“Well, thank you,” she eventually said.

His ears turned red and he frowned again, “I’m not complimenting you, this is just fact. If I measured your facial features the math would back me up.”

“I mean, it’s ok if you are complimenting me,” she said.

“Well, I’m not. Your face is mathematically sound. That’s all there is to it.”

Mirabel blushed, despite how much she still wanted to laugh. Who talked like this?! It seemed Juan genuinely believed what he was saying, but it was also possible he was choosing to put the moves on her in the weirdest way possible. He wouldn’t be the first guy to make a pass at her. Hell, she’d even gone on a few first dates that went nowhere.

If this was his way of making a move, he got points for originality.

“Well, I’m going to choose to be flattered and say thank you,” she declared.

“I’m just being logical,” he grumbled, and she swallowed another laugh.

By the time they got to the fabric store he was done pouting, and instead seemed prepared to stop and read every price displayed in the shop, whether it was connected to their project or not. Mirabel left him to it, she wanted to ask Lucia about how her recent trip to the city went, anyway.

The conversation took at least half an hour, and when she turned to look for Juan, he was standing in the corner, examining the thimbles.

“Are you bored?” she checked with him.

“Not at all,” he said, “take your time.”

“Are you sure, I don’t have to chat with-.”

“No, Mirabel, please, I mean it. Take your time, have fun, don’t ignore your friends on my account,” he said, putting the thimble down and giving her an earnest look.

“Ok, then I’m going to slip into that back room there and see if anyone from my sewing club is in today,” she pointed the door out to him, “come find me if you need me.”

Mirabel peaked her head in through the door and was pleased to find three of her friends in the room. Katrina, or Kat, sat at the table, cutting out a pattern for a new dress. Meanwhile, Josephine, or Jo, and Jo’s best friend Adelaide sat on the couch, Adelaide holding half of Jo’s latest project in her lap so it wouldn’t drape on the ground. Mirabel greeted them all enthusiastically and asked how they were doing. After twenty minutes, Juan slipped up next to her and quietly took the sketch book.

“Hey Adelaide,” he said.

“Hey,” she said back, voice quiet enough to be a whisper.

“Hola Señoritas Josephine and Katrina,” Juan nodded at each of them in turn.

“What? I don’t get a casual ‘hello’?” Jo asked, with a friendly grin, “Is this because I ditched astronomy club?”

“Sí,” Juan said, while Adelaide nodded.

“Astronomy club?” Mirabel asked.

“Not a real club,” Jo explained, “but Adelaide loves astronomy, and Juan loves math, so they-. What’d you guys do again?”

“Adelaide takes measurements of the bodies in the night sky, and I use those measurements to calculate the answers to questions she had about them,” Juan said.

“Yeah, the only part I have in it was making Addy a quilt based off some of their science stuff that one time,” Jo shrugged, “actually, you guys helped with that, remember?”

A quilt based off “science stuff”. As far as descriptions went, it was severely lacking. Josephine came up with brilliant projects for their club to do together, but there was a reason she always drew them out on a sheet of paper.

Before Mirabel could ask for more information, Juan told her, “You embroidered pictures of all the constellations. With gold and silver thread.”

Adelaide snorted, just a quiet huff of air through her nose, for some reason she was giving Juan a look that was almost, almost, hinting at being amused.

“Oh! That quilt! Sí, I remember,” Mirabel nodded happily, “that one was really fun. I didn’t realize you were involved.”

It had been fun, Jo had brought the idea to their sewing/fiber arts club, a quilt that was an accurate depiction of the night sky on Adelaide’s birthday. While Jo did most of the work, she had gotten Mirabel to help with the embroidery, Kat and Suzane had helped with some of the more tedious stitching, and Lucia had made some beautiful button stars. They had spent three months working on it together then invited Adelaide to a meeting so they could present it to her over cake. Adelaide was the quiet sort, never one for big expressions, but she had cried and even hugged each of them. The whole thing was a very fond memory for Mirabel.

“He did all the calculations by hand,” Adelaide said, “isn’t that impressive Mirabel?”

Juan gave Adelaide a look, his ears bright red, while Adelaide focused on Mirabel, making very steady eye contact for a woman that... well. Let’s just say Adelaide got along really well with Tío Bruno.

Mirabel watched Juan very closely while she said, “Yeah, that actually is pretty impressive. I can’t even imagine how complicated that math would be.”

Juan tensed up, looking anywhere but at Mirabel, “It’s not-. Numbers aren’t that complicated, it’s just most people have better things to do than sit around and play with them.”

“Mirabel complimented you Juan,” Adelaide said, and she was definitely smirking just a little.

Juan shot her a glare, then said in an almost normal voice, “Thank you Mirabel. You are too kind.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it a compliment,” Mirabel said slowly, “you’re smart. It’s just the way it is. In fact, it’s probably science.”

Juan looked at her, a little startled, “It’s-. That’s not how science works.”

“No, no, I think it is,” she pretended to think for a moment, “maybe it’s pheromones.”

Adelaide actually giggled, Juan shot her another glare.

“I see how it is, well fine, if the two of you are just going to gang up on me, I’m going go play with my true friends,” he began walking away, the sketchbook hugged to his chest, “numbers.”

Mirabel watched him go, then as soon as he was out the door, turned back to Adelaide, “So am I reading this right?”

“How long has Juan had a crush on Mirabel?” Jo asked at the same time, grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you going to go for it?” Kat asked Mirabel, then shrugged, “He’s kinda cute, in a plain way.”

“I don’t know,” Adelaide said, seemingly answering Josephine’s question, “his sister told me about it a few days ago.”

“I-,” Mirabel hesitated to tell Kat she wasn’t sure in front of Adelaide, it seemed like Adelaide and Juan were close, “I want to get to know him better. And, you know, actually hear from his own lips that he’s interested in me.”

Mirabel had discovered the hard way that her life did not have room for any games. She needed somebody blunt, who could tell her what they wanted without making her guess. The closest thing she’d had to a relationship had fizzled out because the guy kept trying to play it cool while Mirabel was just trying to juggle her many interests and commitments.

“That’s smart,” Adelaide said, back to her usual almost whisper.

“You think so?” Mirabel asked, she’d sort of expected Adelaide to press the issue on her friend’s behalf.

Adelaide nodded, face giving away nothing.

“If you don’t go for it, I might,” Kat said with a shrug, “he seems stable.”

“Does he, though?” Josephine asked, “He gets flustered easily.”

“Flustered easily is way better than angered easily,” Kat shrugged again, “trust me.”

Mirabel placed a quiet hand on Kat’s shoulder. She had recently broken off her engagement to her school yard sweetheart, who had quit being so sweet once he discovered a love of tequila.

The conversation moved on to other things, eventually Mirabel separated herself to see if she could find her sketchbook and the man who took it. When she did, she waited a while to announce her presence, instead she watched him scowl at two nearly identical colors of thread for a few seconds. He did seem stable, safe.

Mirabel hadn’t spent much time thinking about romance, not until she reached her twentieth birthday and suddenly every Má, Tía, and Abuela in town were throwing their single sons, nephews, and grandsons at her. Even now, she wasn’t sure if it was romance she was thinking of, or just marriage. Romance was what Dolores and Mariano had, marriage was what Isabela and Mariano almost had. It was an important distinction.

She wanted both, well, technically she wanted kids and she wanted romance, so marriage seemed like the right way to go.

The problem was, Mirabel wanted somebody that let her be herself. That didn’t seem like it’d be hard to find, Juan was half right, everybody loved being around Mirabel. But that was because Mirabel was a leader in the community these days. All those first dates that went nowhere, went nowhere because it was clear that the guy was on a date with Señorita Madrigal, not Mirabel. She was proud of what she had done for their town, proud of the ways she’d stepped up and grown in the past nine years, but she still wanted space to be imperfect.

Would Juan get that? Did he understand Mirabel was human, not just a Madrigal?

Only one way to find out, she decided, clearing her throat as she approached him.

“First you and Adelaide ganged up on me, now I’m being defeated by the color red,” he said in greeting, “it would seem I am very bad at going to craft stores.”

Mirabel laughed a little, “Why is the red defeating you?”

“Which one of these goes better with the little blue flowers you’ve drawn here,” he held the two spools of thread up to her sketchbook so she could compare.

“Uh, well,” she tried to say it as gently as possible, “neither of them. That’s not embroidery floss.”

“Embroidery-? Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Mirabel. I am absolutely abysmal at going to craft stores.”

“Ah, you’re not that bad,” she took the chance to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder, “I don’t think it’s something a person can be good or bad at, really.”

”And yet, here I am.”

Mirabel looked down at the two threads, “Here, put these down, and I’ll show you where the embroidery section is.”

“This is why I’m trusting your expertise,” Juan sighed, following her.

“Did you look at the other supplies? Pretty sure I have everything but the right sized hoop.” 

“Well, thread was supposed to be the last thing, but clearly I can not be trusted,” he shook his head, “my numbers are probably all wrong.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did fine,” she said. But she was wrong, Juan did not do fine, she couldn't fathom why he thought she would need so many needles, even after he repeatedly insisted it was better safe than sorry. Furthermore, he could not be trusted to color coordinate his socks with his shoelaces, much less an entire embroidery project. By the time she’d collected all the thread she would need, she had a pretty good idea why he always wore beige.

He had enough money to buy the thread and hoop right then and there, so he did, plus a couple of embroidery needles.

“In case yours break or get dull,” he’d said, when she once again tried to talk him out of buying her more needles.

“I mean, I have a lot of extras,” Mirabel had argued, feeling a bit bad that he was paying for everything. Even if this was, technically, a commission.

“Well, now you’ll have two more.”

He walked her back to Casita, and she tried to pull more information about himself out of him, but he only seemed interested in talking about her.

When she asked about his day, he deflected. “Oh, I just sold beans all day, nothing interesting. What’d you do today?”

When she tried to connect with him by letting him vent, he downplayed. “Bah, sure, sometimes customers can be a bit testy, but I’m sure I’ve never dealt with any problems like building a town government from scratch. How’s that going?”

And when she desperately tried to learn more about his interests, he dodged. “Meh, I don’t really have any hobbies, what about you? I know you also make the occasional stuffed animal, and play the accordion. Anything else?”

When they parted ways at the front door Mirabel once again found herself watching him go, thinking about the differences between romance and marriage. She was moderately sure they both required knowing a bit about your significant other.

Shaking her head, she decided it might not be meant to be. Juan was handsome and nice, but if he wouldn't let her get to know him, they could never have a real relationship.

Pity. He had some nice arms.

—

“Hey Mirabel, the bean guy’s here to see you,” Antonio called, poking his head through her door.

“Oh, Juan? Uh, send him up,” Mirabel said, over her shoulder. She was sitting on her floor, trying to come up with a rough budget to get the town’s new government started. Spread out around her was every bit of information she could find on Encanto’s financials. It was, to put it mildly, a lot.

“You sent for me?” Juan said, knocking politely on her door while he walked through it.

“Yeah, uh, you’re good at math, right?”

“Sí?”

“Great, I need a budget,” she held up a list of all the infrastructure repairs planned for the next year with one hand, and the estimated tax revenue with the other, “I’d ask my Pá but he’s busy helping the merchants work out a-. I guess that doesn’t really matter. He’s busy, and I can’t figure this stuff out.”

Juan joined her on the floor without a word and began looking over the various paperwork. After he had been reading for a while, it became obvious that whenever he finished reading something, he sorted it into one of two piles. She sat patiently, a part of her worried that if she spoke or moved, she’d scare away her numbers guy and be stuck with the evil budget. Instead of moving, she just watched him.

Eventually, she started to notice little details that escaped her the last few times they'd spoken, like the mole on the shell of his right ear that almost made the ear look pointed. His eyelids were naturally very hooded. He had very little stubble on his jaw line, but a fair amount on his chin and extending down from his sideburns, which were currently trimmed to a perfectly average length.

“Have you ever thought about growing your sideburns out?” Mirabel suddenly asked, surprising herself.

He paused, a list of improvements the village wanted to make to the church hovering over the farther pile, “My side burns?”

“Sí,” she plowed on, ignoring the burning in her cheeks, “it looks like you could.”

She reached out and traced her fingers down the stubble to indicate what she meant. He turned to look at her and Mirabel slowly drew her hand back. For a few seconds neither of them said anything, then he chuckled.

“Uh no, I’ve never thought about it, I’ve always trimmed them,” he shrugged, “I’d probably look real goofy with giant sideburns and no beard.”

“Well-. Ok, you would,” Mirabel leaned back on her hands, “but I always thought if I could grow facial hair I’d have fun with it. Like Camilo can’t grow a full goatee, but he could technically grow a goatee in the shape of a question mark, but he refuses cause he thinks it’ll look weird.”

“Hm, tell you what, you spend a day with clown makeup on, and I’ll grow out my sideburns,” he said.

“I’ve already done that,” Mirabel pointed out with a grin, “my Pá and I pretended to be clowns for my nephew’s birthday last year.”

“Oh. Well. Guess I’ll have to grow out my sideburns then.”

“Really?”

“I said that I would.”

“Even though you’ll look goofy?”

“Meh, what’s my pride worth,” he shrugged, “hopefully not as much as my word.”

“Oh, very profound,” Mirabel chuckled, “I might embroider that on a pillow.”

“If you do I demand you give me the pillow, that is probably the wisest sounding thing I’ll ever say,” he said, “I need to remember it and share it with my grandchildren.”

Mirabel nudged his shoulder with hers, “I’ll put it on a handkerchief for you. That way you can have it in your pocket wherever you go.”

“Genius,” he breathed, “absolutely genius.”

He turned back to sorting the paperwork, after a moment more of watching him, Mirabel stood and walked over to her sewing desk. She got out a leftover scrap of soft, blue fabric, scissors, some needle and thread, an embroidery hoop, and an embroidery needle. She opened her drawer of embroidery floss and debated the colors she had to spare, after a moment, she grabbed a deep teal that she’d used to shade the water on a beach themed project a while back. Mirabel sat back down next to him, and got to work making a handkerchief.

They sat on the floor, working in silence, for what must have been an hour before he requested some paper and a pencil.

“Do you want an abacus?” she asked, rummaging through her desk for a good pencil that still had an eraser.

“Don’t need one,” he said, carrying not just his sorted piles, but her crafting supplies over to one of her sewing tables, “although I do enjoy playing with the little beads.”

Mirabel chuckled, but admitted, “Yeah, me too.”

She placed the paper and two pencils down in front of him as he set up the piles of paperwork how he apparently wanted. Mirabel picked up her hoop and the newly hemmed handkerchief. They went back to working in silence for a little.

“So, you like math?” Mirabel eventually asked, rolling her head around to ease the growing stiffness in her neck.

“I know, not very exciting,” he chuckled sheepishly, “and not always as useful as being able to sew.”

She had to smother an eye roll at the way he insulted his own interests. It reminded her of some of her more frustrating conversations with Isabela, who occasionally relapsed into trying to be perfect, or Bruno, who was just generally pretty down on himself.

“Most hobbies aren’t exciting to the people who aren’t into them,” Mirabel pointed out, “and it’s clearly very useful, because you’re here helping me.”

“Sí, but I don’t use anything other than basic arithmetic for actual practical stuff,” Juan pointed out, “most of the fun math is for sailors and scientists.”

“So why not be one of those?” She let humor color her voice, she knew as well as he did that he didn’t want to live anywhere other than Encanto. Their town may have had some problems, but not nearly as many as the rest of the world. Better the bean guy, or gift-less Madrigal, in a loving paradise than a captain on cold, apathetic seas.

“Oh please, could you imagine me sailing a ship,” he rolled his eyes, even as he humored her.

“Hm, not right now, but maybe once you grow out your sideburns.”

He laughed, the sound seeming to take him by surprise. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then apparently gave up and just shook his head, chuckling.

Mirabel considered her handkerchief, she was halfway done with the phrase, and she could already tell it was going to be pretty bland. The other end of the handkerchief needed something to balance it out. She took some of his unused paper, tore off a shred, and slid it in front of him.

“Write down your favorite equation,” she said.

“Um, ok?”

“Trust me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, writing a collection of Latin symbols and parenthesis on the scrap paper.

“What is it?”

“It’s a quantum physics equation,” he said, “uh, speaking of things that are not useful, it’s a new realm of study. Relatively new, I mean. It’s only about as old as our parents. This one has to do with uh Einstein’s thoughts on quantum entanglement.”

Mirabel cocked her head, plumbing the depths of her memory for when she helped purchase new books for the library, “That’s something to do with atoms being connected, no?”

“You-?! Sí! Well, close, particles being connected. Not necessarily atoms,” he said, “I’m surprised you’ve heard of it.”

She shrugged, and in a blithe voice said, “You’re not the only genius in the room.”

“No, because that would be you.”

“Oh come on,” she groused, she was getting kind of sick of him putting himself down.

“I’m serious,” he said, “look at that. You just made that, out of nowhere, in the time it’s taken me to read a few lists and stuff.”

“That’s not what I-,” Mirabel hesitated, she had only hung out with Juan two times before this, she didn’t want to get too personal.

“What? Not what you what?”

Then again. Maybe if this were nine years ago, Mirabel would have been more patient about this sort of thing, but it wasn’t nine years ago. Mirabel had spent the past almost decade dealing with her Tío Bruno’s self loathing, and she’d found that “being patient” with things like this didn’t do much to solve them.

“Why do you keep putting yourself down like that? You’re not going to burst into flames if you admit you’re impressively smart,” Mirabel said.

“Oh,” Juan looked down at the paperwork, eyes clearly staring right through it, then he shrugged sullenly, “I uh I just don’t want to give off the impression I think I’m better than anyone.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Juan grimaced sheepishly, “I used to try to impress people, y’know, with how smart I am, but uh it just kinda made folks think I’m an arrogant asshole. So now, I don’t do that. I do the opposite actually, it seems to work better.”

“So you don’t actually think you’re an idiot.”

“No, not really, but bragging about how I can calculate the Earth’s distance from the sun based off some shadows doesn’t make people like me.”

Mirabel examined him for a minute, turning what he’d said over in her head, “So do you mean it, you know, when you compliment me? Or is that just to get me to like you?”

“It’s- both? Or, ugh, ok so this isn’t me putting myself down, but I am so much better with numbers than words.”

“I mean, you’re putting yourself down a little.”

“I know, but it’s also me complaining, so it doesn’t count,” he said. She did roll her eyes this time, but let him have this one.

“Well you don’t have to answer right away, you can think about it for a minute,” she offered, putting a hand on his arm.

He smiled at her, and seemingly accepted her offer, eyes going unfocused for a few minutes. She waited patiently, hand still on his arm.

“I know that a lot of people know how to sew, I know that not a lot of people know how to do math like I can,” he said slowly, “but uh, I had a lot of time to think y’know back when I was driving people away by trying to impress them. Common skills are common because people need them, because they’re genuinely useful. There might be a whole club dedicated to your art, but that’s because your art creates something people can use everyday. It’s not just that I don’t want to seem arrogant, I also don’t want to seem like I don’t appreciate what you can do. Like I take your skill set for granted.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you can compliment me without insulting yourself?”

Juan started to say something, but froze halfway through the first letter of whatever word he was planning to start his sentence with. He pressed his lips together.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you could compliment me without insulting yourself?!”

“It is entirely possible I am only this good with numbers because my brain isn’t storing any other information,” he said, quietly.

Mirabel snorted, gently swatting his arm before taking her hand back, “I wouldn’t say it isn’t storing any other information, you seem to have a good memory.”

He nodded slowly, “Sí, all the better to remember every time I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“Everybody embarrasses themselves,” she said.

“Name one time you’ve embarrassed yourself.”

“Only Madrigal grandkid without a gift.”

“That doesn’t count, at worst it’s because that candle was a moron,” he waved her statement off. She giggled at the idea that a candle could be stupid, but decided she didn’t want to get into the whole miracle thing at that moment.

“I fall off of things a lot,” she said.

“Oh please, you-. Huh. You do, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

“That does make me feel a little better,” he gently nudged his shoulder against hers, “I mean, if even the great Mirabel Madrigal could fall every once in a while.”

“The great Mirabel Madrigal,” she scoffed.

He shrugged, “You have accomplished 30% more in your time on this earth than everybody else in the village. Except your Má and Abuela, of course.”

She felt her cheeks burn, “What? I have not. How would you even-?”

“Calculate it? Simple, an accomplishment is anything that takes work, and one is proud of when they’ve achieved it,” he said, “so a lot of your embroidery projects count as accomplishments. I am also counting giving birth and raising the child to adulthood as accomplishments (which is why your Má and Abuela are beating you). And that’s the sort of accomplishments that most people in the village have. But you’ve also modernized Encanto’s school curriculum, gotten new books for the library for the first time in decades, created a system where people can privately ask for help when they’re struggling to make ends meet, and now are setting up a new town government. Keep in mind, of course, that each of these accomplishments come with additional sub-accomplishments that must be accounted for-. What? Why are you smirking at me like that?”

“Nothing, I just had no idea you were paying so much attention to me,” she said.

“I’m not,” he argued, blushing, “not anymore than anyone else is.”

“Oh please, my own sister doesn’t keep track of all my projects like you apparently have,” granted, that was mostly because Isabela had gone from planning her wedding, to being pregnant, to being a new mother in very quick succession. All things that tended to monopolize a person’s attention. But still.

“That’s-. Adelaide talks about you a lot.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Really. Of course she does, you’re one of her favorite people.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Oh. Yes, really, she thinks you’re pretty great,” Juan said, “I know she can be really quiet but uh, if you get her one on one she tends to open up a bit more. Whenever we’re working on some astronomy project she talks about you, Josephine, Suzane, and Katrina a lot.”

“Huh, I had no idea,” Mirabel idly picked up the handkerchief and continued working on it, “I actually have been meaning to spend more time with her, anyone that gets along with my Tío Bruno has to be interesting.”

“Ay, she never shuts up about him,” Juan chuckled, “to hear her tell it, he’s the second funniest person in the village.”

“Whose the first?”

“I’d like to say me, but honestly, I think it’s whoever she has a crush on,” he shrugged, “but neither she nor Josephine will tell me who that is.”

“Ah,” Mirabel nodded. She didn’t have anything else to say, so she just kept sewing. After a few seconds, Juan picked his pencil back up and kept calculating.

He ended up staying for dinner, where he barely said a word. He seemed perfectly content to sit next to her in silence, listening to the conversation around him, but not adding anything. Considering that Tío Bruno was sitting on her other side, doing the same thing, it made it easy for Mirabel to dip in and out of the conversation without seeming rude.

When he left, Mirabel handed him the handkerchief. He stared at it with something bordering on awe.

“It’s just a handkerchief,” she said.

“It’s a Mirabel original,” he argued.

“You came up with the words.”

“You made them better, smoother,” he read it out to her, “May my pride never be worth more to me than my word.”

“That’s basically what you said.”

“I’ll keep it on me at all times,” he said, “can’t promise I’ll use it, but I’ll probably look at it twenty times a day for at least the next year.”

“I didn’t make it so you’d look at it,” she shook her head.

“Maybe not, but one does not wipe their brow with the Mona Lisa.”

That had been too much praise for Mirabel, face burning she had wished him a good night and fled back into the safety of Casita.

—

“You are never allowed to make fun of me for Bubo again,” Isabela said in way of greeting, pushing Mirabel’s door open without so much as the notion of knocking.

“Oh, hello Isabela! Please, come on in. No, no, no, don’t worry about knocking,” Mirabel said sarcastically, not looking up from the flowers she was embroidering, “I don’t ever want privacy or anything.”

“Seriously, the bean guy? You’re dating the bean guy?” Isabela asked.

“Still better than marrying Bubo,” Mirabel grumbled, “and I don’t know yet. He’s nice, but I’m not sure if, y’know, he likes me because I’m me, or because I’m a Madrigal.”

Isabela paused, then sighed, chuckling ruefully, “That right there is exactly why you’re not allowed to judge me for being with Bubo. She- He loves me for me. For the parts of me I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to share with the village.”

Mirabel’s hand froze, reluctantly she admitted, “As annoying as his machismo is, I do like how happy he’s made you.”

Isabela glanced at the open door, then closed it, “The machismo isn’t real. I- he’s not like that when he feels like he doesn’t have to be. It’s like how I used to try to be perfect, y’know; there’s more to him than he pretends there is.”

“In that case, can you tell him to knock it off? Or at least pick a different facade?” Mirabel huffed. Bubo had been getting better, calming down, acting more genuine. Mirabel had actually started to like her brother in law. Then his son was born and suddenly it was like somebody cranked the machismo up to eleven.

“I can try, but… let’s just say there’s a very specific reason he’s chosen this one.”

Mirabel made an unimpressed sound and continued sewing. She had figured something was going on, the way Bubo almost seemed to panic that one time Mirabel and Luisa had caught him with some of Isabela’s lipstick on his lips screamed Issues. But this family had gotten a literal crash course about why you needed to work through your issues rather than bury them, so Mirabel had a lot more patience for his pain than his pretenses.

“But seriously, the bean guy?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” Mirabel repeated, “why?”

“Oh, because he’s downstairs with a gift for you.”

“What? Isa,” Mirabel hissed, hurriedly standing, “and you just left him waiting down there?”

“Oh he’s fine, I left him with Tío Bruno. They’re both kinda weird, I figured they’d have a lot to talk about.”

Mirabel rolled her eyes and rushed out her door.

In the courtyard below, Tío Bruno was struggling his way through a polite conversation with Juan, “What about plays? Do you uh, do you enjoy the theatre?”

“Um, one time I took a trip into the city to watch my favorite physicist give a lecture on his latest theorem,” Juan replied, “that’s sort of like a play, no?”

“No. B-but I mean! Uh. It um it sounds interesting?”

“Oh it was! How much do you know about light physics?”

“Um. Oh! Mirabel! Hola, you have a guest,” Tío Bruno stood abruptly, ignoring the loud crack of his bad knee, “he uh, he brought you math.”

“Math?” 

“Adelaide said you might wish to see it,” Juan also stood, shrugging a little sheepishly.

“You’re friends with Adelaide?” Bruno asked, more like gasped. As if Juan had just revealed he had a third arm under his shirt.

“Sí, she has me do all her astronomy calculations for her.”

“Oh, ok. So that makes sense,” Tío Bruno said, putting a lot more emphasis on the word “that” than he probably realized. He looked between Mirabel and Juan a few times, then asked Juan, “What about fiction? Do you like fiction?”

“Not really.”

“And you don’t sew? Paint? Origami?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Hm, alright?” Tío Bruno glanced between them a few more times before abruptly walking away, “Bye.”

They watched him go.

“Adelaide said he wasn’t scary,” Juan huffed, “the liar.”

“He’s not scary,” Mirabel immediately jumped to defend her uncle.

“Oh sure, maybe not in the way everybody says he is, but I don’t think he likes me,” Juan shook his head, pouting just a little bit.

“Oh! No, that uh, that’s not what dislike looks like on him,” Mirabel shook her head, chuckling a little, “if he disliked you, he would have sat in the corner over there and stared at you, silently, until you got uncomfortable and left.”

“Like a grumpy cat?”

“Sí, but don’t tell him that, he prefers rats.”

“Wait, the rat thing is true?”

“Yeah, the rat thing is true.”

“I can see why Adelaide looks up to him.”

“Does she like rats?”

“No, she likes people who are nice to rats though,” he shrugged, “and spiders. And anything else people usually call vermin.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s Tío Bruno,” Mirabel chuckled, “anyway, you uh, you brought me math?”

“Oh, uh, sí,” he twisted and picked up a notebook he’d left behind on the couch, “it’s-, I uh, I calculated how much thread you’ve likely used in the past year.”

“What?” Mirabel gasped, surprised to find herself genuinely excited by that, “No way. How?”

“So you uh, told Adelaide how many spools of thread you used on her quilt, right? And she told me, and I wrote it down, and recently I measured the length of each stitch-.”

“Why?”

“Adelaide wasn’t giving me any numbers to play with,” he shrugged.

Mirabel giggled, “What?”

“She brings the quilt with her whenever we do astronomy club, right? Well, the other day we went out and she got really fixated on Saturn for some reason, but wasn’t giving me any data, so I got bored and started measuring your stitches.”

“Alright?”

“So, each of your stitches is about a fifth of an inch, and they max out at 2,000 stitches per square inch when you’re doing a full picture with shading,” Juan said, handing her the little notebook, “assuming you do the same amount of embroidery on each quilt, mind you, these are only preliminary calculations, for accurate numbers I would need to look at all of your projects in the last year, but! Using Adelaide’s quilt to calculate the amount of thread you use per square foot of cloth, factoring in that most of your embroidery is done on your own shirts and skirts, and keeping in mind that you sometimes do line art, or three dimensional things like your butterflies… about 1.5 thousand yards of thread.”

Mirabel gaped down at the notebook, slowly looking over the numbers, “I had no idea it was that much.”

“That’s honestly a very modest estimate,” he said, “I would need to go digging through your closet to get you a better number. Which would be a weird thing for me to do.”

She chuckled and nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off the little booklet of numbers, “Wow.”

“Yeah, so uh, that’s what I got,” Juan said, and when she looked up at him he was rubbing at the mole on his ear, “sorry to uh interrupt your Saturday afternoon with this, but Adelaide thought you might find it interesting.”

“I do! I absolutely do,” Mirabel answered, putting a hand on his bicep to reassure him, “thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She watched, almost contemplatively, as the color rose in his cheeks the longer her hand was on his arm. Lately, Mirabel found herself growing fond of his face, even if it was a bit nondescript. She enjoyed talking to him, and made time to stop and chat with him whenever she was in town. Mirabel had gotten in the habit of checking in with her feelings since Casita fell, and lately whenever she checked her feelings, there was a new affection for “the bean guy”.

“I’m working on your sister’s shirt,” she said, slowly pulling her arm back, “would you uh like to come up and sit with me?”

“I would,” he nodded, “if you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I did.”

“Sí. Right. That makes sense,” he chuckled following her as she led the way to her room. When they got there he stared at the shirt and new embroidery, eyes practically glowing with admiration, then he nibbled on his lip and slowly reached for her measuring tape. After checking her face for permission, he measured a few of her stitches.

Mirabel withheld a laugh, and waited until he was done, then sat on her couch and continued to sew. He sat a respectful distance away from her, scribbling in his notebook.

She liked this. She liked the quiet companionship of working on their hobbies next to each other. She liked that she felt relaxed with him, calm, at ease, like she didn’t have to be Señorita Madrigal.

Mirabel’s parents had told her their love story a few times, as parents tended to do. When she was a little girl, she’d thought it was the most romantic thing ever. Her father had fallen for her Má first, his constant need of her arepas giving him plenty of reason to think about her. Her mother had fallen for her Pá slowly, starting when her Pá commented on a new recipe her Má was trying. It wasn’t even that he’d complimented it, it was just that he had noticed when nobody else did, that he had paid attention to the work she put in, not just the magic he got out of it. Eventually, they started dating. Then they decided to get married, only for Abuela to initially disapprove of the match. Abuela had since said it was the grace and maturity with which Pá handled the rejection that changed her mind. Abuela’s approval earned, they got married, and the rest was history.

As a child, on the very rare occasions that Mirabel had contemplated falling in love, she’d of course hoped to follow the template of her parent’s story. However, now that she was an adult, she knew that any man her mother disapproved of likely wasn’t a good man.

Now that she was an adult, she had very different thoughts about what she wanted. Not just out of love, but life in general.

Mirabel wanted kids, she wanted free time for her hobbies, she wanted a busy schedule, she wanted noisy family dinners, she wanted quiet Saturday afternoons. Mirabel wanted to help her community like her Má and Abuela, but she had long since discovered she didn’t actually enjoy being treated as a Sainted Madrigal. 

Whereas Mirabel had once wanted somebody to see the parts of her that were special, now she found herself hoping for somebody that saw the parts of her that weren’t.

Was she being realistic? Ungrateful? When she was younger, she had done everything she could to feel like A True Madrigal. Now she was considered the quintessential Madrigal and she wanted to feel like Just Mirabel. Was it possible to achieve a balance of the two?

“You’ve sighed twenty-one times in two minutes,” Juan suddenly said.

“Oh, sorry,” she felt her cheeks warm up, “just thinking.”

“Anything that you wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“Um, I don’t know if-,” she cut herself off, she wasn’t sure that he would understand, but she knew people didn’t like being told that. Actually, most of the villagers didn’t like being reminded that the magic family they’d placed up on a pedestal was full of real people.

“Does it have to do with the new town government?”

“Heh, not this time. And I’m told that if I’m thinking too hard about all that, I start growling,” she said, a bit sheepishly.

“Hm, is it a family matter?”

“No, no, the family is fine.”

“Is it a people thing?”

“A people thing?”

“Yeah, you know, how most people all kind of suck a little,” Juan said, shrugging, “you work so hard to not suck, I’m guessing dealing with people who don’t bother trying to be decent is extra tiring for you.”

Mirabel let her embroidery fall into her lap, and stared at him, letting that sentence revolve around her brain until she had picked out the part that had made her feel a little warmer, she repeated it back to him, “I work hard to not suck?”

“Don’t you?” he asked, and it sounded like an honest question more than he was defending his statement, “I suppose you could have been born as decent as you are, the human brain is such a mysterious machine. It is possible you could be, for lack of a better word, hard wired to be kind.”

“I do work hard at it. I just-,” she paused, trying to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say. Was it weird to thank him for assuming she wasn’t born a perfect paragon and had to actually try to be a good person.

He waited.

Mirabel watched him wait for her, watched him for any signs of impatience. There were none.

Finally, she said, “I was thinking about the pedestal my family is put on by some of the other villagers.”

“Ah, sí, that,” he nodded, “I apologize for that.”

“Why? You don’t seem to-.”

“I think I do though,” he shook his head, “I’ve been thinking about your response to my theory that people like you because of science. The way you very cruelly laughed at me, that is to say. On reflection, it’s more likely I have you on a pedestal because you’re so kind and talented.”

“Or because you have a crush on me,” Mirabel pointed out without thinking. She immediately grimaced.

Juan froze, then he got very red, “What? No I don’t.”

“Right, yep, sorry, don’t know why I said that,” she immediately said.

He didn’t respond at first. She watched him as his eyes zipped back and forth beneath lowered brows.

Juan suddenly stood and started pacing.

“I do not have a crush on you.”

“Mm-hm.”

“That’s-. No. No I do not.”

“Of course, we can forget I said that,” she said, but Juan was still pacing, scowling at the ground. Every once in a while, he shook his head.

Suddenly he stopped, “I don’t have a crush on you, you’re just especially pretty.”

“Um.”

“No, I know how that sounds, but hear me out,” he held up a finger as if asking for one moment, “You are an especially pretty girl, I am a young man. It is only natural that I would spend this much time thinking about you.”

“Right,” Mirabel said slowly, not wanting to argue with him.

He scowled again, paced a few more laps, then said, “And the reason I think about you more than any of the other pretty girls is probably just because you’re a more interesting person.”

“Juan,” Mirabel said, gently.

“I know how this sounds,” he said, again, “but that’s just-, that’s just a fact. You are one of the most interesting people in the village! You’re creative and witty and highly intelligent. That-. Those are all traits that make a person interesting. It’s not a crush, you’re just pretty and interesting.”

“Ok, ok,” she nodded, slowly standing. She hadn’t meant to give Juan some sort of crisis.

“It’s not a crush,” he insisted.

“No, of course not,” she approached him carefully.

He watched her, once again reddening, “This isn’t a crush, i-it’s just biology.”

“Uh-huh, biology,” she nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder, “would you like to sit back down?”

Juan stared at her for a few beats, then glared at his shoes and grumbled, “I bet every guy my age wants to kiss you. It’s normal.”

Mirabel couldn’t help it. She giggled. His eyes snapped up to her, brimming with betrayal.

“Sorry, sorry, I-. That’s just-. It was a nervous giggle,” she was only mostly lying.

“I’m making you nervous,” he gasped, horrified.

“No, this conversation is,” she clarified, “I don’t know how to respond to uh this.”

“To me not having a crush on you?”

“To you insisting that I’m pretty and interesting and you want to kiss me, but you don’t have a crush on me.”

“I know how it sounds-.”

“Do you?”

He frowned, then sighed deeply, “I have a crush on you, don’t I?”

“I think you might.”

“I am so sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have invited you up here if I minded.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other for a few beats.

“You touch me more than you touch other people who aren’t a part of your family,” he gestured at the hand that was still on his shoulder. With a small spark of surprise, Mirabel realized she liked how blunt he was, it made things easier.

“I know,” Mirabel said, then decided she would be just as blunt back, “I’ve been trying to decide whether or not I should date you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I would like it if you did.”

“I noticed.”

“Right, of course you have,” he sighed again and returned to the couch sinking onto it and putting his head in his hands, “how long have I had a crush on you?”

“I don’t know,” Mirabel shrugged, “at least since the fabric store.”

He groaned, but didn’t say anything. After waiting a while, Mirabel returned to the couch and picked up her embroidery. She worked on it while he sat beside her, apparently grieving.

“Right,” he slapped his knees and stood, “guess I better get to work.”

“Work?” she asked.

“On flirting with you,” he paused to pick up his notebook, “I have a crush on you, and apparently I have an actual chance of being with you, so it would be stupid of me to just sit here panicking.”

“Oh,” Mirabel blinked up at him, “I kind of like being able to sit with you while we do our own thing, though.”

“Oh, then I’ll work on it here,” he sat back down and flipped to a new page in his notebook, “just don’t peek.”

Mirabel blinked at him a few more times, then she giggled again, only this time it wasn’t a single giggle that managed to sneak past her defenses, but a whole army of them.

“Is that a good sign?” he asked, blushing.

“Sí,” she nodded through her laughter.

“Hm,” he nodded thoughtfully and scribbled something in his notebook.

When he did eventually leave, he first ripped out a page with some calculations on it and gave it to her. Circled at the bottom was an estimation of how much string she would use on the blouse by the time she was done with it.

—

The next time she stopped in the market to chat with him, Juan greeted her by saying, “I talked to my sister, she says I’ve had a crush on you since your quinceñeara. And also that I’m not allowed to grow out my sideburns until after her wedding. I will be disowned, and possibly dismembered, if I ruin the wedding pictures.” 

“Oh,” Mirabel quietly filed away the fact that his crush apparently started back when she was still The Giftless One, then asked, “You’ve had a crush on me for over nine years and didn’t notice?”

“Mirabel, I can not emphasize to you enough that my entire personality is math,” he told her, very seriously, “I spend all day sitting around, thinking about two things, you and math. Usually a combination of the two, actually. If you do decide to date me, at the end of every date I will graph how much you laughed, or blushed, or calculate the odds that you enjoyed the main course more than the dessert. There is nothing else in here but numbers. Like a cup full of  dice.”

Mirabel felt a grin slowly stretch across her face.

“I’m serious,” he said, “I mean, I’ll try to be romantic, but unless you think me making a spreadsheet about your favorite coffee mix-ins is romantic, I can’t make any promises.”

“Is this you trying to convince me to date you?”

“This is me trying not to disappoint the woman I’ve apparently had a crush on for a decade,” he said, then he huffed as if frustrated, “Can you believe I’ve had a crush on you for a decade and my sister never told me?”

“I mean, she probably assumed you knew,” Mirabel pointed out.

He shook his head, “No, she said she thought it was funny that I didn’t.”

“Ah, that-. Yeah, that’s the sorta thing Isabela or Camilo would do,” Mirabel reached over the counter of the bean stall to put her hand on his shoulder, “at least you know now.”

“It was a little easier to look at you when I didn’t,” he said, eyes skittering away from her as a grumpy pout pushed out his lower lip.

Mirabel found herself giggling a little.

“You promise that’s a good sign,” he double checked, sounding equal parts weary and wary.

“Sí, you’re-,” she stopped herself before she called him adorable, Camilo had made it very clear that most men did not like that, “charming.”

Juan considered this, then slowly nodded, “I can deal with that.”

“Señorita Madrigal,” a voice interrupted them, Mirabel turned to find Señor Rivierra waving her down, “do you have a moment to discuss the elections for city council?”

Mirabel bit her lip and glanced at Juan. She didn’t actually want to leave, but she did want to talk about the elections with Señor Rivierra.

“Go ahead,” Juan quietly said, “I’ll be here whenever you got a free moment.”

“I’m going to work on your sister’s gift at Lucia’s after the market closes, I know Jo and Adelaide will be there today, you should come spend time with us,” Mirabel invited him, “help me get to know Adelaide.”

“I would love that,” he smiled quietly, “I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

“Great, I’ll see you there,” she squeezed his arm, then drew back. As she walked away with Señor Rivierra, she kept finding herself looking back at him over her shoulder. He waved at her every time she did.

—

“Hey Má,” Mirabel walked into the backyard two days later, “you got a minute to share some motherly wisdom?”

Her Má glanced up from her herb garden with a bright smile, “Oh, I have all the time in the world for my brilliant daughter.”

Mirabel fondly rolled her eyes, although now that she had two nephews, Mirabel was beginning to understand the urge to gush over the kids in your life. Still, she good-naturedly groaned, “Má.”

“What? It’s true,” Julieta shrugged, clipping off a few more sprigs of cilantro, “come into the kitchen with me. Tell me what you need.”

Mirabel followed her mother and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. For a few minutes she watched her Má bustle around the kitchen, getting a soup started, it would seem.

“How did you know Pá loves you for you, and not for the whole Madrigal thing?” Mirabel asked.

“Oh, is this about Juan,” her mother threw her a somewhat sly smile, a teasing glint in her eye.

Mirabel bypassed the teasing however, “I’m surprised you know his name. It kinda seems like nobody does.”

Even Jo called him “the bean guy” half the time.

“He got tutored by your father when he was, oh gosh, ten years old perhaps. Your Pá was very impressed by his head for numbers,” Julieta grinned a little conspiratorially, “and he is dying to know if you two are dating.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Mirabel said slowly, “but I-. I want to be with somebody who likes Mirabel, not y’know, Mirabel Madrigal.”

“Hm, sí. You, as usual, are wise beyond your years,” Julieta shrugged a little rueful grin on her face, “I didn’t notice the difference between being loved for who I am and being admired for my gift until I had been dating your father for six months. I suppose I didn’t realize going into it that he saw me for me, it was only when we had our first fight and he was still just as in love with me afterwards that it clicked.”

“Your first fight, huh?”

“Sí, I have done my best to shield you from how petty I can be,” Julieta gave her a sheepish smile, “but you can ask your Tía about that. There was this one Christmas-, you know how hard it is to shop for your Tío Bruno, sí? Well, there was this one Christmas I had come up with the perfect idea for him, I told Pepa, and your lovely Tía stole it before I could get to the market. Oh, I was furious. And I did not handle it with grace.”

“What’d you do?”

“Well, first of all she stole the idea at the end of October, and I gave her the silent treatment until I had found a new gift,” her mother paused for dramatic effect, “half way through December.”

“No. Má, a whole month?”

“Sí, a whole month. And a half. Plus I cooked her least favorite foods for dinner every night, that entire time.”

“Má!”

“Like I said, I have a petty streak,” she shrugged, “and your Pá saw it but loved me all the same. He didn’t lay down and take it, mind you. He told me flat out if I treated our kids that way he would never trust me alone with them, but he didn’t love me any less once he saw my imperfections.”

Mirabel contemplated this. Weirdly, it reminded her of her recent conversation with Juan in the market, of the way he had tried to warn her flat out what he thought she might not like. She doubted the math thing would ever actually bother her, she was way more bothered about the way he still occasionally put himself down, but none of that was a deal breaker for her. 

She tried to think about what parts of her might be a deal breaker for him, it was hard though, so far he had been so easy going she couldn’t imagine him getting truly annoyed by much of anything.

Her Má paused what she was doing to face Mirabel, “I know you’re not anywhere near being there yet, but when your Pá and I started thinking about marriage, I kept thinking about that conversation. About his conviction that he would protect you guys from me if I ever slipped up. At the end of the day, that was what I wanted most out of a husband. Not just somebody who loved me warts and all, but somebody who I could count on to hold me accountable when it came to our kids. Parenting is hard, nobody gets it exactly right, and having somebody who’ll carry the load with you is important.”

Julieta didn’t say it, but they were both thinking of how Abuela had been forced to raise her own children alone, and all the problems that had caused. More than ever, it was clear that Abuela loved her familia, however; nobody was perfect. She had had nobody around to make up for what she lacked, she had gone decades without anyone who could call her out on mistakes she hadn’t noticed herself making. And the triplets had suffered for it.

But, Mirabel realized, all of the work Abuela had put into making things up to the familia had demonstrated better than any hug how much Abuela cared.

So she didn’t need to be perfect, she didn’t even need to find somebody with whom she could be a perfect parenting duo. She just needed somebody who saw her imperfections, loved her despite them, and was honest with her when she made mistakes.

She hugged her mother, thanked her for her time and wisdom, then went up to her room and gathered some paper and pencils. Mirabel made it to the market just before close, and spent some time milling about, checking in with a few of the villagers. When the market closed and people started packing up, she approached Juan’s stall and waited patiently while he transferred all the beans into the storage shed.

“Hola, what can I do for you?” he asked, traces of his customer service voice lingering after a long day of work.

“I want you to teach me how to do your favorite formula, the quantum one,” she said.

Juan blinked at her a few times, then in a very calm voice said, “Marry me.”

Mirabel snorted and giggled, “I’m serious.”

“I kind of am too,” Juan said, shaking his head and laughing a little, “what’s brought this on?”

“I’ll explain after,” she shrugged.

“Alright,” he said slowly, then gestured for her to follow him, “uh, how much math do you know? Did you ever learn any calculus?”

“Um, no, I learned some geometry in school, some accounting from my Pá, and I’ve been learning some statistics for the whole town government thing,” she said.

“Statistics? How about we do that instead,” he held his front door open for her, “so you can actually use whatever you learn.”

“I didn’t bring my statistics book,” she pointed out, she’d thought she’d be learning some theoretical physics.

“I have a few, I’m guessing you’re trying to learn how to best interpret polls and stuff?”

“Sí, and to figure out when we need to add another school, where to put it, how to divide up the students,” Mirabel rattled off, “oh, and where to put the different polling locations to make voting as easy as possible for everybody.”

“Let’s do the polling location thing, I helped with the census you guys did a few months back, so I should have all the data we need,” he said, leading her down the hall to his room.

“Works for me,” she followed him into his room, pausing in the door to take it in.

She was not surprised to see the two floor to ceiling bookshelves either side his desk, each filled with titles like “Differential Calculus”, “All about Angles”, and “The Math of Divinity”. She was surprised to realize she recognized something in a picture frame by his bed. It was a little card she had made, one of dozens to be honest, she had passed them out at the end of her quinceñeara to thank guests for coming. Each one had been shaped like a butterfly, and she’d used yarn leftover from other projects to “embroider” the patterns on the butterfly’s wings. He had it displayed so that the card was open, the butterfly’s wings were spread. Quietly, she picked it up.

“Looking back, knowing what I do now, I think that butterfly is what got my attention,” Juan said, coming up behind her. She could feel his warmth at her back.

“Really? This?”

“Sí, it’s so simple, but so creative,” he said, “and you went through the trouble of making at least one for every family that came. It’s-. You’ve always been so good at striking that balance between being absolutely brilliant, and genuinely warm. At the time I… I would have given anything to do the same.”

“This was-. Back then I really wanted people to see me as being just as special as the rest of my family,” she admitted, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Even nine years after the fact she didn’t like telling people how much she’d hungered for approval.

“It worked,” Juan said, then paused, when she glanced at him over her shoulder he looked thoughtful, “at least, it worked on me. Although I think I’ve always assumed there was some reason you didn’t get a gift, some factor in the equation that hadn’t been revealed yet. It makes no logical sense otherwise.”

Mirabel sighed, nodding. Ever since the miracle had been reborn, an assumption had bubbled up among the villagers. She’d overheard two people discussing it shortly after the miracle came back.

“-with the way she’s stepped up, just like a mini Alma, it would make sense,” the woman who sold tea on Saturdays said, sitting in her stall at just the wrong angle to see Mirabel.

“I don’t get why the magic couldn’t just stay in the candle, though,” the man who was leaning against the side of the stall replied, not looking over his shoulders to see Mirabel right behind him.

“I don’t either, but what’s more likely? That the grandkid who takes after Dona Alma the most didn’t get a gift, but just so happened to have magic to repair the miracle as a complete coincidence; or, that she’s the miracle’s chosen successor,” the woman said, “I just hope we don’t have to build a new house every time the magic passes on.”

It wasn’t that Mirabel hadn’t considered it. It wasn’t exactly a huge leap. It was more a perfectly normal sized step. And she knew other people, including her Abuela, had reached the same conclusion. But her Abuela, her entire familia, approached it differently than the villagers did.

“I never should have gotten so caught up in the miracle,” Alma had said the morning after Mirabel’s twentieth, shaking her head, “if I had just taken a step back I would have seen it so much sooner. You have always been-.”

“You’re b-basically all the best parts of this family concentrated into a little ball of crafts and attitude,” Bruno had jumped in, holding his fingers together and squinting at them as if he was trying to read something on a tiny piece of paper, “it was such a shock that you didn’t get a gift, I-I think we just-. I dunno.”

Alma had given her son a fond smile as he shrugged and waved away the sentence he’d abandoned, they had been standing in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, she eyed it as she spoke, “We couldn’t see the forest for all the trees. If I hadn’t allowed the miracle to define us so, I may have noticed sooner what an incredible young woman you were becoming.”

“There were a lot of things we shouldn’t and should have done,” Tío Bruno said, eyeing the walls that no longer held a secret corridor to his secret room, “but uh I guess if one of us had stepped up and done all that communicating stuff, we would have been the ones to bring the magic back.”

It was a small difference between “turns out Mirabel was special because she was chosen by the miracle all along” and “Mirabel was chosen by the miracle because it turns out she was special all along”. But it was a small difference that made a big impact.

Lately, Mirabel had been feeling closer and closer to her family, but just a little farther from the rest of the village. Lately, she had been put up on the same pedestal as the rest of her family, and she sort of missed being among the crowds.

But even worse than that, “It stings a little, that none of this worked. That all the hard work and passion I put into being creative and helpful never earned me any real respect. But that putting a doorknob in a door did.”

“What do you mean? This is impressive,” Juan reached around her to gently hold the part of the frame she wasn’t, “and people have always loved you. How-? I am honestly asking, respect must have been, I don’t know, how could they not respect you?”

Mirabel smiled, turning fully to look at him, “It isn’t that people didn’t like me, or that they looked down on me. They pitied me. I used to get things for free, not because I helped watch everybody’s kids, or because I played the accordion at so and so’s wedding, but because I was the only Madrigal without a gift. The good ol’ not special, special. Pity isn’t respect.”

“If they only respect you for the doorknob, is that actually respect?”

“I don’t know,” Mirabel shrugged, “this is-, all of this, the way people look at me now that they assume I have magic, the pedestal my family’s on, all of that, it’s been bothering me lately.”

“Only lately?”

“It’s slowly built up over the past nine years,” she admitted, “at first it was really nice to finally feel like ‘a real Madrigal’, and it took a few years for that to fade. When I turned twenty people suddenly started talking about me getting married and it made me think about what the rest of my life is going to look like. And over the past four years, well… it’s slowly sinking in that all this stuff is just going to be a part of my life forever now. I’ve spent so much of the past nine years solving problems, realizing these ones are out of my control is driving me a little crazy.”

“That makes sense,” he nodded, “that sounds pretty frustrating.”

Mirabel looked up at him, he wasn’t that much taller than her, it was entirely possible he was the exact height you’d get if you took an average of everybody in town. She examined him openly, and he stood quietly, letting her.

“It’ll be a part of my spouse’s life, and my kids’,” she warned him quietly, “the village does genuinely love us, b-but they love us as leaders, not as neighbors. Being with me means being seen as something a little bit other.”

Juan cocked his head, “I hadn’t considered that.”

Mirabel gulped, waiting to see what he’d say next.

“I will have to think about it,” he eventually declared, “but I suppose that’s the point of dating, isn’t it? To test out what a life together would look like.”

Mirabel shrugged, while shaking her head minutely, “I’m pretty sure the point of going on dates is to spend quality time together. At least, that’s why my parents do it.”

“Ah, I will keep that in mind,” he nodded, then he seemed to settle back on his heels, as if waiting for something. After a few beats, she realized he was waiting to see if she would talk about her thoughts and worries some more.

Mirabel really kind of hoped she was right about him. That this would work out and she’d end up with this quiet, kind of strange man who listened to her and admired her hard earned skills and bluntly spoke his mind.

“You uh wanna get started on this math lesson?” she prompted.

“I would absolutely love to,” he said, “here, sit, I’ll grab another chair and all the census data we need.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening was fairly frustrating for both of them. Juan never once raised his voice, grew snide, or implied she lacked intelligence, but she quickly learned that when he was annoyed he’d clench his jaw and sigh through his nose. On the other side, Mirabel struggled to grasp some of the more esoteric equations, but absolutely refused to just let him do the math for her, or even to let him move on to the next concept until she’d correctly explained what he’d just taught her back to him. 

When they were informed dinner was on the table (and Mirabel was given a last minute invitation to said dinner), they packed up their calculations in tense silence.

Once everything was cleaned up, Mirabel put a hand on Juan’s arm to keep him from leaving the room. She took a few deep breaths and reminded herself why she put the two of them through this.

“Do you still have a crush on me?” she asked.

“Oh, after seeing how hard you’ll work to understand things, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” he said, but he was scowling, “however I never want to do that again.”

Mirabel chuckled, “To be honest, neither do I. But I kinda have to do stuff like this if I want to help our village.”

“Fuck our village,” Juan sighed, rubbing at his temple, “I don’t mean that, but also I do feel it. Deeply.”

“Yeah, I do too sometimes,” she also sighed.

“You are incredible, that sucked though,” he said, “I deeply admire how dedicated you are, that you didn’t try to cut a single corner, but I am dreading the next time we do this.”

“Well, at least this miserable experience has brought us closer together,” she laughed a little.

“Has it?”

After a split second’s hesitation, she stepped into his space and kissed him on the cheek, “It has.”

Face burning, she fled down the hall as calmly as she could manage. He caught up with her a few seconds later.

“On second thought, I am happy to do this again tomorrow if it means you’ll kiss me,” he informed her, voice light but matter of fact.

When they reached the dining room Mirabel was giggling.

—

Mirabel had just put the last stitch on the last flower on the blouse for Juan’s sister, when somebody knocked at her door. She put the blouse down and stood, walking over to the door and trying her best not to get her hopes up. When she opened the door it was just Camilo.

“Oh, it’s you,” she sighed, accidentally letting her disappointment leak into her voice. She hadn’t really seen Juan all week. He’d sought her out a few times after the math lesson, then suddenly stopped, but continued to light up whenever she stopped to chat with him at the market. Unfortunately, people were starting up their campaigns for city council, and she only had seconds to spare throughout her day.

Camilo, strangely enough, didn’t tease her for her obvious disappointment. He didn’t say anything. He just crossed his arms, leaned on the door frame, and stared at her, eyes narrowed.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“The bean guy?”

“He has a name, y’know.”

“Sure, sure, sure. I’m sure he does. And you know? He seems real nice. But… why?”

“He’s a good listener, I like his sense of humor, we can relax togeth-,” Mirabel paused, then sighed, “he’s downstairs waiting for me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I left him with Tío Bruno, so they’re probably happy to talk about weird stuff together.”

“They are two different genres of weird,” Mirabel grumbled, pushing past her cousin. Sure enough, when she got downstairs, Tío Bruno was once again staring at Juan like he was a Swedish book of riddles.

“How about basket weaving?”

“Nope, just math.”

“Flower arranging?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Finger puppets?”

“Afraid not.”

“Interpretive dance?”

“Mm no, just math.”

“3D printing?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Right, yeah, I think it’s from the future. Sorry. Uuuh? How about making hedgehogs out of your handprint?”

“Like in school?”

“Sí.”

“Uh no, not since I was nine.”

Mirabel cleared her throat before Bruno could continue the interrogation. Juan was visibly relieved, while Tío Bruno turned to look at her, mouth screwed up in confusion. She tried to signal with her eyes that she wanted him to leave, but he either ignored or didn’t notice the nonverbal request. Mirabel sighed.

“Juan, just in time, I just finished your sister’s blouse,” she said, “would you like to come up and see it?”

“I-, sí, very much so,” he nodded, looking two parts eager and one part uncomfortable as Tío Bruno continued to examine the both of them.

“Great, let’s go,” she took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs as soon as he’d taken it.

Behind them, Tío Bruno muttered, “Weird.” in a voice that wasn’t nearly as quiet as he probably thought it was.

Mirabel rolled her eyes and was about to apologize to Juan, when she noticed Camilo was “casually” leaning on the rail between the stairs and her room. She glared at him while they passed, but he pretended not to notice. Mirabel pushed through her door and closed it, narrowing her eyes at Camilo as he strolled closer as if he just sort of happened to be wandering on over. The last thing she saw as the door closed was the Oh So Innocent look on his face.

“Are you sure your family doesn’t hate me?” Juan asked, as soon as the door was closed.

“No, Tío Bruno talks to you, that means he likes you,” she said, then turned to her door and shouted, “and Camilo is just a nosey asshole!”

“Yeah Bean Guy, don’t let it get to you,” Camilo called back, and if Juan wasn’t already looking so nervous she would have gone out and smacked the smarmy grin Camilo was definitely wearing off his stupid face. She glared at the door, then dragged Juan further into her room where Camilo wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“Anyway! Hola, how’ve you been,” she said, once she thought they were far enough from the door.

“Uh frustrated, to be honest.”

“Oh. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he shook his head, “but I’ve been working on something that I am not good at.”

That said, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a knit flower on a choker. It was Mirabel’s favorite shade of teal, with a yellow center and a green leaf. On the blue ribbon of the choker there were tiny maroon butterflies lining the top and bottom of the ribbon. 

Mirabel gasped, “You made this?”

“Sí, it took me all week and Josephine had to stop by my place once a day to show me how to fix my mistakes. I had to redo the ribbon four times, but I’ve done it. I have made you a necklace,” he held it out to her, looking genuinely proud of himself, “I chose the yarn for the flower based on the fact you wear that shade of teal sixty percent more than any other color. Then I had Josephine and my sister help with colors to match it.”

Mirabel bypassed the choker to hug him. Well, technically she pounced on him, but she couldn’t think of any other way to express how she felt.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Juan said, wrapping his arms around her, “right?”

“Sí.”

“Great! Would you like to be my date for my sister’s wedding?”

“Sí.”

“Even better,” he said, still holding her. He was warm, and delightfully sturdy. A part of her just wanted to stand there and rest against him for the rest of the day. She had a meeting with the city council candidates tomorrow to discuss campaigning rules and it would be nice to spend the day relaxing against him. However, she was pretty sure they should actually go on a few dates before she asked him to spend thirteen hours holding her.

Slowly, Mirabel released him, he took his cue from her and let her go. When they were far enough apart that she could see his face, he was grinning ear to ear. She smiled fondly up at him.

“Will you put it on me?” 

“Oh, sí, of course,” he held the necklace up as she turned around and carefully put it around her neck, buttoning it in the back while she held her hair up out of the way. When she turned back to him he saw his hard work on her neck, and his grin got just a little wider.

Mirabel chuckled a little, “Feels really good seeing somebody wearing something you worked hard on, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, incredible, but uh, this is probably something I’m not doing again,” he chuckled a little sheepishly, “at least, not without your help. Josephine kept smacking me.”

Mirabel giggled at the mental image, “She can be very outspoken about her opinions.”

“Outspoken is one thing, but why’d she hit me?” he grumbled, shaking his head, then he perked up, “Anyway! You said you finished my sister’s blouse?”

“I did, come on,” she took his hand again and led him to the couch where she’d been working on the blouse. After double checking that the last stitch was secure, she took it out of the embroidery hoop and handed it to him. He held it up, eyes meticulously roving over every detail.

“Maybe I’ll just keep it, frame it in my room like the butterfly you made,” he said, not taking his eyes off the flower chain on the collar.

“Oh no you don’t, this is some of the best work I’ve ever done, I want to see her wearing it,” she put her hands on her hips, “now, what about her husband?”

“Her husband?”

“Sí, it’s a wedding gift, no? You’re generally supposed to give things for both the bride and groom,” Mirabel pointed out.

“Oh, uh, right. That guy.”

“That guy?” she snorted, shaking her head, “Do you not like him or something?”

“No, I do. But you know how it is, she’s my only sister, I guess I imagined a prince would swoop in and make her a princess,” Juan shrugged, sitting on the couch, “I like him, and I like seeing her happy, but I guess it just feels weird to see her marry a real person.”

“You have a brother, don’t you?” Mirabel asked, sitting next to him, “Isn’t he married?”

“Ah, sí, but he was married and helping his wife care for his in-laws at their place, by the time I was born, so he’s more like an uncle. Honestly, I’m closer to my sister in law than I am to my brother,” he shrugged, “but my sister. She was my first friend. It’s kinda sad, you know, seeing her move onto the next step of life. A step that involves her leaving our home.”

Mirabel smiled sympathetically but couldn’t offer anything more than a hand in his. Madrigals did not move out of Casita, people who married Madrigals moved in. She’s never had to worry about her siblings and cousins dispersing to the wind.

Juan sighed, and flashed her a bittersweet smile, “But you’re right, I should get him something too.”

“I can embroider something for him that matches,” she said, “what does he usually wear?”

“Hats,” Juan said, “he is always wearing a hat. He’s balding.”

“Hats, ok, I’ll make him a hat with a matching pattern on the brim,” she said, “do you know what his head size is?”

“No, but I know where he gets his hats, I’m sure if we tell the hatter that we’re making a wedding gift, he’ll give us any information you need,” he started to stand, “oh, if you don’t mind going right now.”

“No, not at all,” she also stood, “we should do this quickly.”

They left hand in hand and strolled their way down to the hatter’s shop, talking about their families and gifts and weddings. The hatter loved the idea of giving the couple matching clothes, and gave them a hat for free, so long as they agreed to put his name on the card. On their way back, they stopped for some coffee and a couple pastries. Then they spent the rest of their day sitting together on her couch. Her embroidering the hat, him calculating how much string she’d ended up using on the blouse.

In a year, they would have a small spat over whether that counted as their first date, or whether their first date was a week later when they got lunch together. The spat wasn’t serious, but Mirabel had been working on Juan’s gift with the later deadline in mind and was embarrassed it wasn’t finished. Meanwhile, Juan had gotten what he considered to be their anniversary engraved on the ring he’d gotten her, and he wasn’t sure how to explain that without giving away the surprise.

Ultimately, Mirabel let him win when he got down on one knee. She had found somebody who wanted to marry her even when she was being stubborn and sarcastic. That made her the real winner in the long run.

[akwolfgrl]

How sweet it is to be loved by them

“Fine! If it's what you want, I'll happily slice you to pieces!” Zoro ran twords the clown and sliced therw him easily…maybe too easily. He was disappointed. He was itching for a decent fight.

“Wow! That guy was weak! Lame!”

“Oh my god!”

“He died really easily,” The crew began to chuckle around him.

“Zoro! Get us out here!” Luffy called out to him.

“I'm coming,” Zoro left the dead pirate on the ground and headed for the cage. He placed his hand atop the iron roof. “I need a key, I can't cut through iron.” Yet, he wanted to one day, Koushirou had said a true swordsman could cut through anything.

“Oh…”

The pirates began to laugh, and Zoro stared at them with confusion and concern. Had they lost their minds after losing their captain?

“The fucks so funny? Just give me the key so I don't need to fight you. If your captain feel so easily none of you stand a chance.”

“Their pretty weird,” Luffy agreed. “It's not that funny.”

Zoros haki flared a moment too late as a searing pain gripped his side as knife staped him. Sanji was gonna be pissed at him. He fell to his knees for a second before reaching for his swords, getting up into a crouch.

“Zoro!”

“What! That hand!” The other alpha in the cage exclaimed in horror.

“Damn it! What the hell is that?” Zoro pulled the dagger out of his side, a gloved hand attached to it. He swung his swords at the hand, turning his body behind him, his wound thorbing.

“The Bara Bara no Mi!” A voice came from behind him. He watched as Buggy came back together. “The devil fuirt I consumed makes your swords useless! No matter how hard, how many times you try to slice me, it does nothing!”

“Shit!” Zoro growled in frustration. He wasn't sure if his haki would be enough.

“His body just came back together!”

“That guy's a monster!” Said the alpha who was made of rubber.

“I see I missed your vital organs. What a shame. It looks like I need to stab you again and again until I get right. What say you Roronoa Zoro? Ready to make your mate a widow already?” Buggy grinned at him.

Zoro was careless. He knew the damn Clown had a devil furit, and yet he still underestimated him. Zoro still had to rescue Luffy, but the damn Clown was winning. He was seriously wounded.

“Captain, so cool!”

“Kill them all, captain!”

“Use the cannon again!”

The other pirates geared and egged on their captain.

“Stabbing someone from behind is a dirty trick! You stupid big nose!”

“You idiot! Anything but that!” The other alpha screamed at Luffy.

“Who are you calling big nose you damn bart!” Zoro watched in horror as Buggy shot one hand towards Luffy.

“Luffy!” He wouldn't make it in time to save him.

When Luffy raised his head, he had the knife between his teeth. “I swear I'm gonna kick your ass!” A flood of relief filled Zoro's body when he saw that Luffy was fine.

“You think you can defeat me? What a funny joke!” Buggy began to laugh. “Your halioris, you three are going to die right here! In fact!” Zoro watched as one hand lit the enmorass canon that was pointed at the caged alphas.

“Oh no! I'm too young and pretty to die now! I still have things to do!” The other alpha bemoaned her fate. While Luffy just laughed.

“You want to die straw hat? I want to know exactly how you're gonna kick my ass! You're tied up and locked up!”

“Zoro! Run away!”

“What?” Why the hell was Luffy telling him to run?

“Hey! Don't tell him to leave! He came to reauce you…and I also need it!” She had a good point…he didn't say leave him just to run.

Zoro grined he had an idea. “Ok.” He'd run and take the cage with him. He'd figure out how to get Luffy, and he supposed the other alpha out later.

“Don't think I'll just let go, Roronoa Zoro! I take your head and then I'll be the famous one!” Zoro ran as Buggys flying hands and kives attacked him, Zoro parried with his own swords. “The feared pirate hunter running away ha! Don't think you can escape Buggy!”

Zoro reached the cannon and slid under the opening and began to lift it above his head and flipped it over, facing the pirates. The fuse was almost up. He ran the rest of the way to the cage, Zoro lifted the cage and the two alphas up, the metal digging into his shoulder as screams of panicked pirates filled his ears.

[sleeplesslark]

Heyy! 9, 14, 15, 16, 22 and 23 for the fanfic writer ask! That's a lot but I'm curious about your routine :p

Thank you so much for the ask!! This is wonderful, so many fun things to answer.

I'm wordy so under the cut u go

9: Do you write every day? If so, share a sentence of what you've written.

I try to do at least a chapter a day! A chapter for me is about 3-4k words or 10 pages double spaces 12 pt font. Work and life sometimes keep me from it though.

About a chapter a day helps me draft, its my least favorite part of wriring but if I'm like, well this has to be done today, it can help take pressure off it being good and to just get the events down.

Here's a passage from resonance, my Naruto and Soul Eater crossover.

" "Oh?” Kabuto adjusted his grip, smile untouched. “I figured Konoha would send someone a little more. Hm, how do I put it? Graceful.”

Ok, Naruto was going to murder this guy. Kabuto laughed, and Naruto could almost believe he was actually amused.

His glasses slid down his nose, letting Naruto see his eyes. Kabuto's smile grew. “Looking at me like that, you must really think you’re scary.” "

14: If I could have any fic adapted to a visual medium, which would it be?

This one was tough. Uhm. I wanna say LP; Eternity because it's probably the most visually interesting of my fics? I actually played with my descriptions a bit there. It's so long though, 101k.

Maybe "under the skin", I feel like it could make a cute comic or short film.

15: How do I come up with fic or chapter titles?

Usually I don't use chapter titles. Fic titles, it varies. A lot of my shorter fics I try to pick an unusual word, like "Misconstruction". Sometimes I try to go for what's generally happening like "Happy New Years". An idea of the theme or overall arc, "Learning to Care" and my "Loyalty's Price" series too. I want to go for more song lyrics so I can throw song reccs in my authors notes.

Despite not generally using chapter titles I plan on using a portal reference chapter title in late LP.

16: At what point in the process do I come up with titles?

The very end usually. Sometimes after I tagged and wrote the summary for the thing. LP was "Kabuto fanfic" in my drafts until the last second. Sometimes something comes to me sooner like "Resonance" but it's rare.

22: Do I know how fics will end before I start them?

A lot of the time yes. I'd say a good majority of my fics are very short so I have an ending image in mind at least.

Loyalty's Price is my first super long series and I've known the ending I want since I started writing it. Just didn't know if I wanted to write the middle.

Resonance stands out a bit, I immediately knew the beginning and the middle but I'm still a bit stuck on the ending. I could go bittersweet to straight up downer. I wonder how people will react to it.

23: How do you chose where to end a chapter?

This made me think because I'm not really sure. Usually I suppose I have a good sense of ending points? More an instinctual, "this event has gone on long enough" I try to write chapters to focus on a sorta main idea like "how does Kabuto adapt to xyz" so once that's run its course, I suppose.

If anyone else wants to send me asks!!!

[sihakadan]

Found You pt. 1

Pairing: Scar x Piltie gn!Reader (Probably closer to AFAB, but still trying to keep it pretty neutral)

Warnings: nothing yet, just fluff this time. Later there will be stuff... Oh, I guess, adult language and death

You came to help, but you stayed because you found the family you always wanted.

A/N: I don't do this often, but there is a criminal lack of content for this character, and I have seen at least 3 posts pleading for Scar x Reader. I will make this as gender neutral as I can, so if I make a mistake, please let me know and I will fix it, ok? Also, is Scar Chirean or vastaya? I have seen both said and all I know is through the show Arcane. And is Scar the father of that baby we saw him with or was that a sibling??? I have questions!!!

///Present///

You sniffed, sighing. This time of year, the tree bloomed, and it always made your nose run like crazy. Looking at your side, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that the toddler in your arms was still sleeping. Her ear twitched when you sniffled again, but still she stayed asleep. Tal was a better sleeper than most of the children, but with her larger ears, she had the better hearing.

Sighing again, you watched the window of the hut. Usually, Tal's father was back by now, but he was late and that was very unlike him. Your friend was never late.

\\\Flashback///

When you were 15, you decided to rebel against your family and their standards and snuck into Zaun to see what everyone had said. Instead of the bright flashing lights, the danger and excitement, you found people who needed help. Children laying in the streets, parentless and hungry, scared.

The illusion that these people were crazy criminals faded away and you couldn't believe the council would turn their backs on their own people. After that night, you couldn't be blind, like the rest of Piltover. You couldn't wipe the sight of the dying children in the street and those who suffered from shimmer addiction, or their bodies being so twisted they no longer looked like themselves.

So, you didn't and when you turned 17, you petitioned to go into medical schooling. You couldn't be a doctor, not with your grades, but you could learn and had access to all the information you could get your hands on.

Your family thought it was admirable you were going into the medical field, though they had no idea your intentions. Once your graduation was over, during the party your parents hosted, you left from your window with as much as you could carry and with the money you had been given. Maybe you could buy enough medicine...

But you didn't last the night without being noticed. The clean clothes and hair, the way you were asking where to buy medicine, it made you a sitting duck. Of course, you caught the attention of some sleezy bastard with a switch blade and the only thing you could do was run.

You had never been down the cistern before, but you ended up cornered in a dead end, panting with wide, panicked eyes.

"Come on now, I'm tired of chasing sweet thing." His yellow teeth almost glowed in the low light.

It was so terrifying to be cornered and so vulnerable. How could you be so stupid?

As the scum moved closer, you could hear something down the tunnel behind him and then a bright green light whirling towards the both of you. You gasped and ducked down, covering your head as the lights sped up and the whirling sounds got louder. The scum seemed scared as soon as he turned around and noticed the green lights.

"Fuck!" He shouted, turning his blade towards the figures on boards coming from the dark. "Firelights!"

You looked up to see the masks and the trails of the green lights. There were 4 of them at least and they all stopped, standing there silently, the masks almost terrifying you to your core. The tallest one had large bat like ears and the mask looked like a skeletal dog. If you were scared before, now you were sure you were going to die.

Before you could blink, the tall figure rushed forward and hit the scum right in the chin and you were sure you heard something crack. The scum stumbled and it gave the bat eared figure time to hit him again and blood spurted out of the scum's mouth and by your feet, making him stumble before he fell flat on his face, obviously knocked out.

The masked bat eared figure stepped over him and extended a metal clawed hand towards you. Afraid, you looked up at the mask with wide eyes and then the extended hand.

They had helped you...then, weren't dangerous? You reached up and took the hand, which helped you up, the head tilting as you were sure they were looking at you. With a growl, the figure turned and lumbered away, back to the group of other masked figures. An owl, a bird...maybe a monkey? You were not sure what they were supposed to be.

Standing on shaking legs, you watched as they turned from you and the breath caught in your throat.

"Wait!" You cried out.

The one with a hood on and the owl mask looked back, the others stopping and looking at you. Licking your lips, your heart pounding, you held your chin a bit higher. "Where can I buy medicine down here?"

They looked at one another, as if silently communicating. The hooded owl stepped forward. "Why?" The distorted voice asked.

Your hands tightened around the strap of your pack, mouth dry. "I...I came to help the kids down here. I need medicine to help them, and I don't know my way."

The others seemed to piece together that you were from Piltover and the feeling turned a bit more hostile, especially from the lumbering bat eared one.

"You want medicine...to help kids?" The leader, you assumed, asked.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. "Yeah. I just want to help. Any way I can."

\\\A year later///

Ekko was their 'leader', but that was a loose term. There was no leader, just a community trying to improve the lives of those in the fissures.

Once they heard your story, Ekko reluctantly gave you a chance and the only reason you were getting it was because he could tell you were sincere, especially when you handed over all the money on your person. The big lumbering figure who had beat up the scum was actually a Chirean name Scar, and while you had never seen one in person before and he didn't talk too much, it seemed you patched him up the most.

It took a long time for most of them to trust you, but you proved yourself over and over again and you kept your word to help anyway you could. Sometimes you gave more than you ever would get back, but it was worth it.

What really proved you were telling the truth was when they brought you a dying boy. They had found him after he had fallen off a roof, trying to run from enforcers. There was no saving him, but Ekko brought him to you to see if there was even a chance. According to him, if anyone could help the boy, you could.

But you couldn't.

It broke your heart as his little chest shook in pain with each breath, the tears streaking down his little freckled face, the dark curls on his head matted with blood.

Ekko and Scar watched as you filled a syringe with pain medicine with shaking hands and tears streaming down your face, trying to find a better way to give the boy a more comfortable way to pass on. With a shaky breath, you gave the boy the medicine and watched as the pained look on his face eased a bit, but he still looked so scared and alone.

Leaning down, you took a wet rage and gently cleaned his face. "It's okay, you're safe, you won't hurt anymore." Your own tears flowed but that didn't seem to upset the boy, instead it was more comforting that someone cared. "You were so strong; you can rest now." You reassured him to just let go, stroking his curls from his forehead.

It was all he needed and with a shaky, but relieved breath, the light left his eyes and the sounds of pained, wet breathing stopped. With a sob, you rested your forehead on his small chest, whispering an apology. You came to save them, to help, and you couldn't save this poor little boy.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked to see Ekko looking at you with a hard expression, but it softened when he saw the tears were real. "Sometimes helping is just being a kind face at the end."

///Weeks later///

You couldn't sleep and you could barely eat without the guilt just wreaking you. One of the other Firelights, a Chirean girl your age named Jaz, began to hover around you. Like Scar, she didn't speak much, but when she did, it was always one syllable words or short sentences.

She dropped a bowl of porridge in front of you, the others sitting around and eating. You could see Scar and Ekko watching from their spots, wondering if she could get you to finally come out of your funk.

"Eat." Her gravelly voice commanded you.

One look at the bowl and you felt your stomach knot, making you push it away. "Not hungry."

You heard a grunt and footsteps, seeing her move to the other side of the table, pushing it forward. "Eat." Jaz said more forcefully as she sat down, lime green eyes watching you.

She wouldn't quit, you knew, but you just couldn't bring yourself to eat right now. "I can't."

"Why?" Her voice cut you a bit. Her and Scar had that effect. They didn't have soft voices.

Running your hands over your hair, you sighed. "I failed." You said as you watched some firelights circle above the tables, making circles.

"How?"

You gave her a look, confused on how she had not heard about what happened earlier. "That boy- he died, and I couldn't do anything to help him. Just lie and tell him it was all okay."

Her face softened and you saw her look over at the table Scar and Ekko sat at, humming. "You did not fail." She said, looking back at you. "I don't get it."

You threw your hands up. "How? How did I not fail? They brought him to me to save him and I couldn't!"

A clawed hand reached forward and took one of yours, holding it as she looked at you. "You can't save them all. It's not possible."

'Sometimes helping is being a kind face at the end.' You could hear the words Ekko said to you after the little boy died. They had fallen on crestfallen ears then but now it sunk in a bit. Still, it didn't ease the guilt. "No, but-"

"You're no good hungry and tired. Can't save people when you are half dead." Jaz let go of your hand and stood up. You watched her go to the table with Scar and Ekko, placing a kiss on Scar's temple before walking towards the stairs going up the tree.

Your lips pressed together, even more guilt filled you. She was right. You weren't useful if you couldn't do your job, the one you went to school for, stayed up all those nights to study and pass grueling tests. You were failing yourself now.

With frustrated tears, you pulled the bowl towards you, and you forced yourself to eat. You couldn't save them all but you sure as hell could try.

///

Pt. 2 is here

[dragonmuse]

Can we get a list of the stories that Eddy tells about their snake tattoo? You mentioned that the story changes every time and I think Eddy would have some fun ones

(you got it! This isn't a quite ficlet, but its a little more than an asked answered, not sure if it should wind up over on AO3 or not)

A list of stories by the person they first told each one to, one of which is the truth:

Mom (17): None required.

Jack (18): "Ok, so look, snakes are kind of like dicks right? And I get this argument with this girl I'm doing about snake dicks and then it's all I can think about for like two weeks. What if I had a snake dick, right? How cool would that be. Then I just start thinking about snakes. Do snakes have dicks, probably not right? They got something weird going on down there, so I steal this book on snakes and it's got this wild picture and then obviously I got to remember this whole thing so I convinced this retired artist to do it while we're both drunk as skunks. Killer, right?"

Group of Hornigold's Boys (20): "I figure the snake was the one that got Eve to bite the apple. Maybe I'm the tree of knowledge. Go ahead and fucking try to get a piece of me and we'll see what happens."

Izzy (23): "I won a staring contest with a snake once. Then it wound it's way up my arm and I could've kept it as a pet, but what the fuck am I going to do with a snake? But I kept thinking about that, how cool it looked wrapped up around there. What if I let it live on me forever? Kind of like a protective thing. Armor."

Handful of Enthralled Bar Patrons (27): "So I take the machine out of this guy's hands and I tell him, 'I've got it, I'll do it' and I finished the tattoo myself. He's yelling at me the whole time that it's against health and safety, but he's still on the ground, high as giraffe pussy and I can still hear the other guy trying to break down the door. I get it done with seconds to spare, run out of there still bleeding and it's not until the next morning I even knew what I'd put on myself."

Scared Client (33): "Keep your eyes on me, there you go. Yeah, okay the blood is a lot, noses do that....you know what, follow the scales here, see? Count them. There you go. I do that too sometimes. Half the reason I got the damn thing. You just count those scales, let your eyes go around and around, until there's no room for anything else. We'll get out of here just fine. I've got you. Go on counting. Hey, cover your ears for me...yeah 31, 32, 33-" BANG

One-Night Stand (37): "Sometimes a snake is just a snake, but this one, as it happens, is to symbolizes my commitment to being a fucking asshole. The door is that way."

Izzy again (41): "Sometimes I think it just grew there on all it's own. Wouldn't that be a thing? You just wake up in the morning, inked and ready to hit the road. Maybe I've got a snake's soul and it bled right out of me one morning. No? Okay, fuck. Well what do you think we'll work? ---- Fuck, that's so boring though. ----- Yeah, yeah, fine, I'll say the Eden thing, you're right, ex-nun she'll go for it.---- I think the random appearance thing is more mysterious though---yeah I know the fucking point of the job, but it'd be funny as hell is my point."

Stede (45): "It's not a fun one. I-fuck, okay. I didn't know what the hell to do with myself right after Mom died. She'd been friendly with this guy that owned that tattoo place near us and I ran some errands for him for awhile. He didn't know how bad I had it or if he did, he much care. Just give me cash to do fetch and carry. One week he couldn't even do that, so he offered to pay me in service. I was starving, exhausted....but I wanted that to. My mom liked snakes. So. That was it. Found out from one of the other dudes that worked there that he'd had more than enough to pay me, just cheaped out on me for shits and giggles. I stole half the cash he had on hand and one of the machines. So. Like I said nothing fun. ---- I know it doesn't have to be but----oh, yeah okay, that feels good, thanks, love."

Alma and Charlie (47): "Don't get drunk and wander into tattoo parlors. Understood? Good, who wants ice cream?"