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jar-full-of-pixel-hearts · 4 years

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i was listening to Jessie’s girl the song today and i thought it would make a great Ben Schwartz fanfic. Like you’re dating a friend of his or but you’re also Bens best friend and you’re actually in love with him and he’s in love with you, and one day your boyfriend breaks up with you or cheats something like that, and Bens there to comfort you and then you kiss and it’s super cute.

A feeling of envy

Ben Schwartz x Reader

Soundtrack : Jessie’s girl - Rick Springsteen

A/N: Thank you for your request ! I really love that song too and I play it in a loop all the time when I was writing it. Having friends of my ex whose had tried to hit on my after our break up I had some difficulties imagine Ben doing this kind of things while comforting reader, so I choose another way I hope you will accept. I hope you will like it and that you will let me know if it’s the case !

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

—-

Working with you was truly the best. Even if Ben always had joy at working with his Ducktales family. Things seem to become even better since you have stepped into the studio, giving life to April, one of Daisy's nieces.

You were brilliant, funny, pretty and most of all, you made him feel great when he was around you. Even if he knew he shouldn’t feel that way, he simply couldn’t fight the feeling, trying his best to repress it as much as he could. Of course he had been in love in the past, but nothing could have warned him of how hard and fast he will fall for you. Neither of how painful it could be to see you kiss his best friend.

Ben was starting to be bored, the movie and the red carpet where he had been invited had been great. But, the after party of the premiere was starting to feel like it will never end and he had promised his friend Matthew to stay since he wanted to introduce him to his new girlfriend.

( Where are you ?) Ben text, standing at one of this little table, his blue suit starting to become way too warm in the overcrowded room.

“ Excuse me, you’re Ben Schwartz right ? “ A féminin voice asked behind him while he was looking at the reply of his friend.

Lifting his eyes, his heart abruptly missing a beat.

The woman was a true natural beauty. Dress with a simple but elegant dress flatting his silhouette, his hair, light makeup and small jewelry matching with his neutral heels. She was gently smiling at him, waiting for an answer to her question.

Subtly adjusted his suit, as his usually quick brain was struggling to find a funny thing to say. All his improv skills, surprisingly seem wasted in a brain fog he doesn’t so often experiment.

“ Yes, it’s me“ He smiled, cursing himself for such a cliché reply.

But, the smile on the face of the woman quickly succeeds to vanquish every concern storming into his brain.

“ Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Y/L/N. We will work soon together, I will play April, Daisy niece in Ducktales” You announced, extending your hand to a handshake.

" Y/N Y/L/N ?! I heard so many good things about you, really nice to meet you too” He replied, excitement replacing the fog as he shook your hand with enthusiasm.

Your name had indeed pop in few of his last voice acting project conversations. Always caring the same message: you were , even if your career was still young, an amazing voice actress and a truly delightful person to work with. But, sadly, until now, he never had the chance to put a face on your name or meet you in a recording studio.

“ Benny ! I’m sorry I was stuck with my agent so I sent Y/N to find you.“ Matthew suddenly interrupted, passing an arm around your waist, pressing his lips on the side of your head in a gentle kiss.

And, just like that, a strange feeling had invaded Ben, a feeling he hadn’t left him since, letting a bad taste in his mouth and often giving him some sleepless night : Envy.

For almost six months now, he has successfully worked with you, enjoying your company. Discovering part of you he quickly learns to admire and adore. His heart, that he was struggling to protect, aching a little bit more at each time he saw you with Matthew. But, as a good friend, he stays a little behind, hoping that seeing you happy will be enough and that one day, the envy will simply go away.

“ Ben, are you done with your lines for today ?” He heard you ask him as he was caught in the memory of your meet.

“ Almost, I have to record some screams and I think I will be done for today” He replied, looking at his record schedule. “ You ?”

“ I still have the big monologue to record, but I ask for a break. I’m starving, I will buy something to eat. Do you think you will still be there when I will come back?“ You asked, already taking your bag, a strange expression clouding your face for a moment.

It wasn't the first time that he noticed that expression on you that day. You, who was usually smiling, replying to his joke in a heartbeat, caring for him and always killing it in your role. Was now mute and struggling to deliver your lines. He even catches you lost in your mind, your gaze focused on him as he was recording, like if you burning to ask a question,or, trying to like him, repress something.

“ Not sure, I have stuff to do after that. Why, did you need me for something ? “ He replied, concerned about your sudden change of mood and if it somehow has something to do with him.

Seeing to realize his concern, you put a smile on your face adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“ Oh just to know...It’s great working with you”

“I love working with you too...Y/N are you okay ? “ He couldn’t resist asking.

It takes you a minute before replying, the same expression you had when he caught you watching him work falling on your face, but, you quickly brush it off like a annoying bug.

“ Yes, i’m fine thank you, I guess i’m just...tired or something. See you tomorrow” You reply waving at him as you pass the door.

The weather, that night, was cloudy and uncomfortably warm. Even with his best effort, Ben simply couldn’t fall asleep. It was at least what he was trying to convict himself. The truth was that every time he was closing his eyes, you were appearing, beautiful in your simplicity, telling him all he always wanted to hear before suddenly starting to cry. A vision torturing him each time, making him feel even more guilty since he wasn’t sure of the reason for your tears.

A glass of water in his hand, he was heading to his office, resolute, if he can’t sleep, to at least work. When he heard the knock at the door.

At first unsure of wanting to open the door at a so late hour, he still quickly opened it when he recognized your silhouette through the little window.

Standing in the alley,you were looking at him, your shifty gaze informing him that whatever the situation troubling you today had somehow gotten worse.

“ I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour...I...I really need to talk to you.” You said after he closed the door behind you.

“ That’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Do you want to sit, have something to drink ? eat ? “ He offers you, walking you to the living room.

“ Matthew cheated on me…” You confess, letting it explode like a bomb.

Silence fell for almost a minute, letting Ben shock. It wasn’t the style of his best friend, but, it was true that for the past month Matthew had some really strange action. For god sake, what he was thinking, how he could’ve done this to you.

“ Y/N are you sure…” He starts trying to find a balance between anger and what he knew of his best friend.

“ He told me last night...I had my doubts and when I asked him about it, he just confessed it, swearing to me that it was just a random girl and that it was a mistake…”

“ Shit, I’m so sorry Y/N” Ben replied, now perfectly understanding your strange behavior of the day and trying to find an adequate gesture to comforting you.

“ Not me...that’s the strange thing Ben...I'm not sad, not angry...I loved Matthew of course...but thinking of it since yesterday and all day made me realize why...I’m not mad because : I cheated on him first…Not physically, but I was thinking at someone else all this time. Often without realizing it...”

Trying to follow you and the train of your mind, Ben slowly passed an hand into his hair, unsure if he should continue to listen you talk about another man as his heart, that he tried so hard to protect, seemed to crack like a broken mirror.

“ Y/N I’m not sure how I could help you here…” He sadly answers you.

“ I realize that I was thinking of you all this time…you Ben” You confess. “ All day I tried to find clue that you was maybe...feel the same. Of course it’s maybe stupid of me..Matthew is your best friend and we don’t know each other for that long but...sometimes I was feeling like if…I probably will broke my own heart and jeopardizing our job telling you all this, but I think I need to... ”

You never finish your monologue as his lips suddenly crash on yours. Closing your eyes, passing your arms around his neck, you reply to his kiss, tears of joy and relief escaping your eyes.

“ I feel the same” He confesses, keeping you in his arms, when you break apart. “ I feel the same for so long “

Returning on his lips for more kisses, his favorite smile and your eyes close while he chased the tears of your cheeks. You stayed up all night, both of your minds, envy, guilt and hearts finally in peace.

—

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—

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#ben schwartz #benjamin schwartz #ben schwartz x reader #Ben x reader #request

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arotechno · 4 years

Text

The Heartless: Chapter 2

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Chapter II: in which plans are made

The following day, I dodged further confrontation with Bertrand with practiced ease and crept out of the house and down to the local bowyer’s shop down the road with my proverbial tail between my legs, in the mood to sulk. The shop always smelled faintly of sawdust and freshly cut wood, and Marley always had some new project sprawled across her battered workbench. Many years ago, she had been the one to make me my bow, after I wouldn’t stop showing up at her door asking to see what she was working on. Its strong and sturdy construction still held firm today, something she always told me was the mark of a true craftsman. I had helped her cut the wood myself, barely tall enough to see over the top of the workbench and having to stand on a crate to properly reach the saw.

At the sound of the door, Marley emerged from the back room, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm.

“Ace, what a pleasant surprise!”

She came around to lean back against the counter while I made myself at home in the chair by the front door.

“What’s troubling you?” she asked.

I looked up to see a knowing smile on Marley’s face and grimaced.

“How did you know something was troubling me?” I questioned.

Marley chuckled. “Please, it’s written all over your face!”

Hastily, I attempted to neutralize my expression, but based on the amused look that flashed across Marley’s face, it likely only made things worse.

“Well, spill,” she commanded, wiping her hands on her work apron. “You’ve already waltzed in like you own the place, so out with it.”

Ignoring her usual taunts, I sighed and rested my elbows on my knees.

“I ran into a little trouble last night,” I began hesitantly.

Marley’s eyebrows jumped into her hairline, revealing the wrinkles that were beginning to take shape on her forehead. “Oh? Do tell.”

I launched into a retelling of the previous night, from the moment I woke up after supper until my squabble with Bertrand, leaving out the specific details of my dream. Throughout the tale, Marley listened intently, nodding along.

“It sounds like you were in the right place at the right time,” she commented when I had finished. “But just be glad it was just a couple of kids looking for trouble, and nothing more than that.”

“That’s all it ever is, Marley,” I countered. “And the fact that it’s just some kids says nothing about the potential danger.”

“Well, of course. But there’s a marked difference between a few stray troublemakers and a planned attack.”

“You don’t realize what kids are capable of. Someone could have died.”

“I know, Ace.” Marley held up a hand to halt my anxious rambling. “You’re always on edge, always anticipating some danger that isn’t sure to ever come. Is that Bertrand’s influence on you?”

I shook my head. “Bertrand doesn’t get it. All he cares about is breaking the curse.”

Marley sighed. “He’s an old man, set in his ways. Heaven knows what he’s been put through in his life. You’re the only person who ever talks to him.”

I shrugged glumly. “We don’t quite understand each other.”

“Well, understanding takes a lot of work. We all know that better than anyone.” Marley pushed off the counter and gestured to the back room. “You want to help me sand down some wood for a while? You can’t sulk if you’re working.”

I smiled. “Sure,” I responded, and rose from my chair to follow Marley into the back of the shop.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, the rift between me and Bertrand grew steadily wider, and the little old house buzzed with static whenever both of us were in it. We rarely spoke, save for a few muttered pleasantries in the mornings and at supper. Every night, I crept up to the big oak tree down the road and perched there, watching for Petra, and sometimes I saw her dart out of the woods with another sack full of looted food. Sometimes she saw me up in the tree and paused, raising a finger to her lips before running onward.

Knife Boy never followed her. Sometimes I wished he would.

The weather was growing warmer and the days longer, which only gave me more time to think and Bertrand more time to agonize over breaking a centuries-old curse. Throughout all this time, the nightmares never ceased. Knife Boy’s smug, slimy grin eventually faded, unmasking the demons I had kept under lock and key for years. Some of them were creations of my own mind, but by far the most harrowing ones were true.

“And then,” Basil whispered, pausing for effect, “when they turned the corner, the whole village had disappeared!”

There was silence. Basil looked back and forth around the circle, anticipating a reaction. Finally, Carita spoke up next to me.

“That wasn’t very scary,” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Why would a village just disappear?”

I saw Basil stare at me out of the corner of his eye and smirk. “I don’t know, Carita,” he replied. “Ace seemed pretty scared to me.”

I felt my face heat up as several pairs of eyes landed on me. I couldn’t be sure if my expression really betrayed my fear, or if Basil was just pretending so the other children would think he was a good storyteller. “D-Did not!” I cried.

“It doesn’t matter, I have a scarier story,” announced Marcus, “And this one’s true.” A chorus of gasps rang out from around the circle. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes--I was never Marcus’ biggest fan--but I quickly sobered up as he began his tale. “It happened hundreds of years ago. There’s a legend that says there was once an evil, terrible wizard who put a curse on our entire kingdom. For the rest of time, there would be children born in the kingdom without hearts.” He paused for dramatic effect, to striking results. “Most people think they’re really out there, probably living at the edge of the kingdom somewhere.”

“I-Is that true?” someone piped up from somewhere across the circle. I sat mostly frozen, combatting feelings of otherness and plucking blades of grass out of the dirt absentmindedly so Marcus would think I was simply uninterested.

Marcus scoffed, “Of course it’s true. My grandpa told it to me. But he said they don’t feel any emotions, so it’s dangerous to go there.”

Hesitantly, I stole a glance across the circle at Basil and was surprised to find him staring at his feet out in front of him, mouth set in a deep frown. It was the quietest he’d ever been.

I woke up with a familiar crick in my neck and an ache in my hip from sleeping curled up on the uncomfortable cot. I could hear Bertrand tinkering away in his study, where he had likely been all night for what had to be at least the fourth day in a row. My nightclothes were soaked with sweat, so after a humble breakfast of a slice of old bread and some jam, I peeled them off and wrung them through the wash before hanging them outside on the line to dry.

It was still early, just after sunrise, so the Village of the Heartless was quiet, with just a few people outside tending their gardens that had been pillaged overnight by groundhogs and squirrels. Dawn was as serene as the Village ever got, after the danger of night had lifted but before most people awoke. I stood there outside the house for a long time, soaking in some much needed peace. Outside, the tension between me and Bertrand could not reach me, and neither could the nightmares that plagued my sleep.

Nevertheless, my lingering thoughts followed me all the way from the front door to the back garden behind the house. Dewdrops clung to the heads of lettuce that had continued to sprout overnight, and against the wall grew the selection of herbs that Bertrand kept for his potions. I walked amongst the rows and filled in holes dug by chipmunks with the toe of my shoe, grumbling all the while.

“Ace!” Came the call of a familiar voice from down the road. I turned to see Petra jogging up to the fence, oozing with her usual enthusiasm and zest for life. She came to a screeching halt at the garden gate and shot me a grin.

“You’re up and about early,” I remarked.

“I could say the same to you.” Petra stepped up between the wooden slats of the fence and leaned over the edge. “You said we could have target practice this morning, don’t you remember?”

Realization sprouted within me. Ever since I first caught Petra sneaking around and getting into trouble, I’d resolved to teach her to shoot a bow and arrow, for self-defense purposes. If she was going to run around committing petty theft throughout the kingdom despite my warnings, I couldn’t exactly let her do so undefended. However, my dream had caused our plans for that morning to completely slip my mind.

Our chosen practice area was a secluded grove at the forest’s edge, just a brief walk from the far end of town furthest from the village gates. There, the trees grew sturdy and untouched by agriculture, perfect for hanging up targets I had drawn onto old sheets of burlap. When we arrived that morning, I passed Petra my bow and arrow and took several deliberate steps back.

My body was present in the clearing, but my mind drifted elsewhere, wandering back to some distant meadow that now lived only in my subconscious. Each day, the nightmares became harder to shake, and the gnawing feeling in my gut became harder to ignore.

"Ace? Are you paying attention?”

I snapped back to the target range, my eyes darting around the clearing until they found purchase; Petra was staring at me incredulously over her shoulder, bow hanging limp at her side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you say something?” I inquired, trying to make my voice sound casual.

Petra frowned. “I asked if my form was better that time, but you were spacing out again.” She paused and turned her body to face me properly. “Are you alright?”

I was unsure how to answer. I’d never told Petra very much about Basil, or anyone in my home village for that matter--my stories were always intentionally vague, leaving out names and other personal details to avoid revealing too much. But it became clear to me now that as Petra got older and I grew more visibly pensive, the mystery became far more frustrating than enthralling.

“I’m alright, just thinking.” I dropped down and sat cross-legged in the dirt.

Petra seemed unconvinced.

“Thinking?” she questioned, coming to sit beside me. “What about?”

“I’ve been having quite a lot of dreams lately, mostly of home.” I paused, letting the truth roll around on my tongue for a few moments. Even amongst fellow Heartless, I still was not used to sharing the grittier details of my childhood, although I knew I was likely to be understood.

“I had a friend,” I started. “Basil. I haven’t spoken to him since the day I left. I’m not too sure he’s still alive.”

“Oh,” Petra whispered, seeming to sink into herself ever so slightly. “You’ve never spoken about him.”

I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about what happened. He was like a brother to me.”

Petra hummed softly in understanding. She picked a small twig up off the ground and began drawing patterns in the dirt. A few moments passed in companionable silence before she tilted her head to look at me again and mused, “You should come with me next time I go into town. You know as well as I do that there is more to the world than what the Village has to offer.”

“I don’t know about that.” I offered her a watery smile, chuckling under my breath. “You do remember me telling you to stop doing that, don’t you?”

“Well, we don’t have to steal anything.” Petra returned to drawing in the soil. “Just to take your mind off things, you know?”

For a moment, I hesitated. I had never left the Village or its woods in the seven years since my arrival, and the thought of entering back into a world that had long ago driven me away struck a fearful chord in me, ghoulish fingers plucking my bones like the strings of a skeletal guitar. However, the kingdom of Amistadia was large, and the chances of me being recognized at its southern limits were slim.

“Fine,” I eventually conceded. Petra gaped at me in surprise. “But only on the condition that we restrict our travel to the south and east, as my home village, Swallow’s Point, is in the north.”

Petra leapt to her feet. “Yes! Of course! We’ll go wherever you want!”

“Right, not so fast.” I stood up and dusted the dirt from my pants, then pointed at my bow, which lay discarded on the ground where Petra had been sitting. “First, show me your form again. This time, I’ll pay attention.”

Petra beamed. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

#The Heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #writing #writeblr #aspec writers #aspec writing #op

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; even if i am fooling myself, my feelings are true . (4)

word count: 5.3k

pairing: origami cyclone | ivan karelin / gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: even if he was lying to you by pretending to be your lover, he told himself it was worth it. it made you happy. it helped you. he’s helping you. this ruse is only done in good faith.

if it were to make you smile, if it were to help you brighten up, then all his lies and deceptions could be forgiven, he rationalised.

a/n: this chapter do be monologue city,,,

i have arthritis i would like a refund for my bones.

the hero knows he promised to see you again the next day, but it’s been a few days now since he has last seen you. you must be back at home by now. alone. were you okay? he can’t help but feel worried about you due to your limited mobility. guilt stings even more painfully now that he had calmed down. he has virtually subjected you to a prolonged radio silence after leaving abruptly.

and he still needed to tell you the truth...

the hero had put off meeting you again, because it meant seeing you again. it meant he had to tell you the truth. it meant he’d no longer be able to meet you.

he chastised himself. what was expecting? really, what did he expect to happen? he berated himself, guilt clawing at him. what was he doing, impersonating your lover? he felt ill. he should’ve stopped meeting you after that campaign ended. but for reasons that escaped him, he continued. was it selfishness? was it greed? what pushed him to continue? whatever had happened, it wasn’t supposed to. he was just supposed to check in on you, make sure you’re getting on well, and move on in his life. he was supposed to stay neutral, indifferent, objective. you were just any other stranger that he would help throughout his career as a hero. but you had been so lovely and so unassuming that he must’ve…? without realising it, he had gotten himself too involved and was now in too deep, allowing his shameful self to form feelings for your kind and beautiful self. trying to distance himself from you to no avail, he found himself uselessly fighting feelings that have sprouted without his permission. he was fighting a losing battle, and a war that wasn’t tilting into his favour. he had hoped that these stubborn feelings would disappear, hopefully sooner rather than later, but it seemed that they refused to leave him alone.

the blond let out a harsh sigh. he’s noticed he has been doing that a lot, much more that usual. when it went well it went wonderfully, sublime; when it went badly it went awfully, dreadful.

he can’t keep going like this.

it’s not fair for you.

it’s not fair for him.

he can’t lead you on, and he can’t continue to delude himself.

each step he took to your residence were heavier than the last. listlessly, he dragged his feet. it had rained last night, making this walk even more unpleasant and gloomy. concluding what was both the slowest and fastest walk he had ever had the displeasure of taking, he lifted his gaze off of the pavement to take in your house. it was superficially identical to the other houses in the neighbourhood, but then again, houses in this district of the bronze stage often looked the same. it was a modest one-storey house, which felt anything but modest. it looked oppressive, intimidating. it terrified him. what was in store for him within those walls terrifying him further.

knowing that simply anticipating would do him no good, ivan shook his head, trying to shake his nervousness away, to no avail. he tried willing his legs to move, to get closer to your house, with no success. fixed in place, immobilised by dread. he stood idle, head turned down, in front of your home for what felt like an eternity, surprised that you hadn’t noticed the stranger in front of your property first.

he sighed.

the pathetic puddle by his feet reflected an even more pathetic him.

he stared silently at kotetsu’s reflection under him: « you’ve gotta tell them. they deserve to know. ». with a disappointed sigh, he gazed back at the small pool who gazed back with his disappointing face. he, “kotetsu”, had told himself to tell you the truth. but did he have the courage to?

no longer able to bear taylor’s silent judgement, ivan lifted his head and slowly climbed up the front steps to your front door.

the puddle, murky as it always was, remained as unbothered as it had always been.

his finger hovered over the doorbell. did he have the courage to? he bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. could he meet your eyes? momentarily retracting his hand, he resisted submitting to his anxiety and willed himself to push the bell.

ivan could hear the ringing echoing inside your walls.

and then silence.

one beat.

two beat.

then another.

were you not home?

you always had very quiet steps, he told himself. everything is ok.

his knee jerk reaction to the prolonged silence was to take it as a sign that today wasn’t the day. a message from a power above telling him that he can postpone it for another day… whenever that other day was. his usual reaction would be to take this as an opportunity to throw in the towel and go home. but for you (and for himself), he’ll fight his impulse to cower away.

but still… this silence was slightly concerning.

had something happened to you?

the hero’s mind jumped through different conclusions to rationalise your lack of response.

maybe you went out…

maybe you weren’t awake…

what if you had hurt yourself and couldn’t get bac—

he reached out to ring the doorbell yet again, but stopped halfway as the door creaked open.

« how can i help y— taylor? » you had sounded as surprised to see him as he was to you.

oh. you were ok. he breathed out in relief. you were ok.

« please, come in, you offered, moving out of the way. sorry to make you wait, i wasn’t… i wasn’t expecting to see you… sorry about the mess… you mumbled. »

the hero gulped, fighting the fear that rose up within him from hearing the door click closed behind him. he can’t run away. no going back now: he had to tell you the truth. taking his mind off of his nerves, he decided to look around and observe the interior of your house. you said “mess” but the house is more or less in order, unless you were referring to the few stacks of books that littered your house. still... he struggled to call it a mess, as the odd misplaced books here and there didn’t even feel out place within your humble abode: it blended with the other decor into the stylish deep green walls and light brown tiles. the only thing he could qualify as being messy would be the light covering of dust that was slowly gathering on some of the furniture’s surface, along with the few papers and knickknacks strewn about, but they were out of the way enough that nothing ever seemed cluttered.

to his delight, the curios have all been of japanese origins, from the hand fans (« an ōgi! » he noted excitedly.) to the rough stacks of woodblock prints (« where did they get so many ukiyo-e prints? » he asked himself.). in fact, closer inspection would suggest that quite a few of the furnishings decorating your house were japanese in nature: the tapestry hung on your wall (he was sure those were called a tenugui.), the forgotten matcha tea set on the kitchen counter (« there was even a chasen?! »), and the japanese pottery and porcelain safely tucked into a glass cupboard (he wonders if he could get the opportunity to use the hagi ware chawan amongst the set.). he had to stop himself from literally beaming in excitement and dashing to ogle the wares. who would’ve known you’d have such a collection in your house? he needed to calm down, lest he attracted your suspicion, and swallowed his bubbling elation.

he followed your lead to wherever you were walking back to, inquisitively taking in his surroundings, distracting his mind from his previous anxieties.

« i, uh… no one’s been home since i went to the hospital. you walked back towards your open living room. and i’ve kinda been putting off cleaning. you laughed. – don’t worry about it… he assured you, still taking in this unknown territory. »

briefly, he let his attention back to you and to where you walked: to your open living room, which was connected to your kitchen. further to the side, he could see the stairs that led to your suspended bedroom. it seemed that this house had more or less the same make and architecture as tiger’s apartment, though with drastically different decor, he noted. though with more than less difficulty, you managed to get around your house just fine. despite your pronounced limp you continued at a regular, albeit slowed, pace. your gait was sometimes slowed by the fact that you sometimes had to hang on some of the fittings to maintain your balance and ivan had to fight the urge to rush over and help you walk.

you probably wouldn’t like for him to encroach on your newfound autonomy, he figured.

after finally reaching the living room, you had carefully sat yourself down on the floor in front of the coffee table. noticing the crafting papers and shavings surrounding where you sat, he thoughtlessly asked: « were you making something? no wonder you took a bit to respond. i’m sorry for interrupting you... – mhm, i’m just making menko cards. you elaborated as you carefully positioned your impaired leg. and it’s alright, you couldn’t have known. – menko cards? his interest was piqued. – yeah, just thought it would be fun, you shrugged. wanna help? – sure! he answered delightedly, failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. i mean, why not… you just laughed at his childlike enthusiasm. – i’d really appreciate it you could help me cut out the picture, you asked. »

he eased himself down next to you, trying his hardest not to appear bothered by your proximity. everything is ok. he’ll help you in this last activity. because it had interested him. because he wanted to treasure the last moments he got to spend with you. the very last. he doesn’t like the finality of that, but the truth had to be said. guilt stung like an open wound whenever he remembered that he was lying to you. he wouldn’t be mad if you condemned him for “exploiting” you. if he were to tell you the truth there was no way you’d forgive him, much less continue to seek out his affection. your resentment would be well deserved, even if the thought of being disliked by you hurt him.

his despair grew as he thought of the aftermath. it would leave him heartbroken, but what about you? you would’ve been deceived, not once but twice: by both he and your former lover. he really didn’t think this decision through, did he? this was a selfish and cruel scheme to begin with. just a misguided attempt to assist someone who didn’t even asked for his assistance. he doesn’t want to doubt your resilience, but surely, if he came clean you’d be deeply saddened and devastated again… he didn’t want to be the reason you felt lost again and returned to being miserable. he didn’t want to be the cause of your melancholy, the cause of a relapse. but that was exactly what he was going to cause you, wasn’t it? he was the cause of your grief and strife.

if this ended with him broken-hearted, he’d end up shattering whatever had remained of yours and leave you inconsolable.

this was a mistake. he’d caused you more pain than solace. this was a mistake. lies and sweet words aren’t what would have saved you. they weren’t what you needed. this was a mistake.

what would he even say? a “sorry” wouldn’t suffice. not even the sincerest apology would fix this. those words would only hurt you more.

he made his bed, now he had to lay in it. if only he never roped you into this.

spirit down again, he sighed and looked upon the table to tackle his newly appointed objective. a sharp contrast from the rest of your orderly home, the table was cluttered with random bits of paper and cardboard (both circular and rectangular, of various sizes), different crafting materials like scissors and box cutters, and hero related paraphernalia.

« people don’t usually make menko cards… he muttered. why not just buy the hero cards (‘my own are still collecting dust aren’t they…’)? he quizzed, flipping around a finished card of himself. despite his doubting tone, he carefully placed the work back down and got to cutting the few images off of few magazine pages. – that would be too easy. you shrugged. besides, i was planning to gift them to my niece. the bugger has bought everything i could find, and well… afford, in the shops. you admitted. – that makes sense… he replied, focusing on the task at hand. – the rascal loves all of this hero stuff but she absolutely loves sky high, you chuckled. it’s all she talks about. it’s like she lives and breathes the guy, said she wanted to be a hero and help people like he did. » you pretended to be annoyed, but he could hear the fondness in your voice. even though he’s supposed to start distancing himself from you, to start preparing himself for the upcoming heartbreak, he can’t help but continue to be endeared by you.

this was all so… incredibly mundane. everything just felt so incredibly ordinary. your interactions, the things you did together. it’s like it’s always been this way. the things you spoke about, and even the silence that you would share. there was always a certain comfort to be had together. it’s like this was normal, and he was the one you were always with. it’s like this was a routine. who knows, maybe in a different world, one where you two had met through different circumstances, maybe the two of you would’ve gotten together, he mused. but he had already ruined any chance of that he concluded. maybe had your lives gone a different way… maybe in another lifetime.

maybe this life wasn’t the one he was supposed to meet you in.

you sighed, straightening your back, before curling over your work once more: « sky high’s power is wind manipulation right? you pursed your lips. if i had that kind of power, i’d just spend most of my day flying to places. can you imagine? never having to put up with traffic? you rambled thoughtlessly. »

unbeknownst to you, ivan’s mind wandered back to a few years ago when he learnt that without the involvement of his custom made jetpacks sky high’s power could only allow him to float, and fought to stifle the laugh that crept up his throat. oblivious, you asked, sounding half-curious half-bored as you continued to abuse the material under your hands: « hey love, if you could have any next power in the world, what would you pick? »

ivan tilted his head towards you, and let his hand drop back down on the carpeted floor. change his ability for a different one? any kind at all? he took the time to ponder it, seriously considering the question. of course, he admired kotetsu’s and barnaby’s hundred power, but could he really utilise that correctly, what with the constraints? what about edward’s power? he had an actual chance to be a hero with his ability… or even lunatic and his fearsome control over his devastating blue flames. if he could use that for good? to help people? there were too many different abilities, each one more capable than the one he actually possessed.

« hmm… i guess… anything that’s useful; something that can be used to help others. he answered truthfully. i’m sorry, that must’ve been really vague. he laughed nervously. you shook your head with a smile. – that’s very noble of you, you praised as you continued working. truthfully, i envy your integrity. you confessed. – mm? why is that? what next power would you have chosen? he inquired. – oh, like if i had a second next power? you replied absentmindedly, focused on a particularly stubborn piece of cardboard which refused to cut. »

wait. did he hear that right?

« are… are you a next? » he asked, sounding something like perturbed.

« hmm? »

« is there something you’r… »

there wasn’t any need to elaborate: your face had said it all. like a criminal caught red-handed, your expression was the perfect picture of shock. he would even think you were scandalised. you pressed your lips into a thin line, eyebrows knitted in dismay.

« must’ve be a freudian slip… » you tried to laugh, neither of you amused. « it’s really nothing noteworthy or important— » you started on a lie, but grimaced slightly.

catching unto your tic, he pleaded, voice serious: « tell me the truth… please… »

you shifted in you seat uncomfortably, eyes dashing across your room looking at everything except his eyes. you were deeply aware of the eyes laser-focused on you, locked onto you to the point where you swore it could bore through you. you sighed and resigned yourself to telling him the truth. the entire truth, and nothing but the truth. it’s not like you could lie to his face: « before i tell you, do you promise not to leave before i finished explaining everything? you opened your mouth and closed them again. you’re free to hate me all you want, but please don’t… you turned away and bit your lips. »

he didn’t know what to anticipate. was your ability that alarming? he nodded, preparing himself for… whatever you were going to reveal to him.

« it’s honestly nothing incredible… you started. i couldn’t be a hero with it… i swear. it’s... you paused, as you tried to find the right words to divulge your ability. the right words to explain it clearly without making it into a fuss.

lie detection, you said, plainly, without much relish or fanfare. um... my ability only allows me to see through lies, or anything meant to deceive: lies, half-truths, manipulations, omission of detail… you hesitated. illusions.

i guess, neither of you ever noticed… they, um, taylor, didn’t know either… »

it’s shocking how easily this fabricated world crumbled.

you knew? what do you mean?? ivan had sat facing you, frozen in place. by fear, confusion, apprehension. he felt embarrassed, ashamed. were you just playing along to spare his feelings? he really should’ve told you earlier. look at where his inaction led him.

he should’ve been the one who came clean, instead of forcing you to tell the truth on his behalf.

« how long…? half wanting and not wanting to know the truth. he had a guess. if what you had said was true then... how long have you known? »

still not facing him, you cast your gaze downwards, clasping your hands together: « since the first time… when i saw you, i knew you weren’t the real taylor and just assumed it was you, origami. what with your involvement during the campaign and all... i’m guessing i’ve assumed correctly?

the hero sat motionless, but made no attempt to disprove your assumption. if what you had said about your ability was true, then there would be no point to lying.

at first i really… didn’t understand why you kept visiting me, as my former partner no less. i still don’t, for that matter… though i’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you have good intentions. i knew it was you, so i was a bit standoffish and suspicious when we first met… i thought you wanted to take advantage of me while i was helpless to stroke your own ego, or conduct some sort of ploy to boost your own popularity. i’m... really sorry for assuming something like that about you… i’m not sure where i got that idea as you never seemed to be that kind of person... you had been so sincere when i asked why you kept visiting me and kept pretending… well not pretending, you seemed to have genuinely cared about me, that i guess i started to drop my guard and trusted you.

your eyes were tinged with a sadness and confusion that he wished to get rid of, but it was no longer his place. it never was his place. you shook your head.

i’m really sorry. i really truly am for not letting you know sooner instead of letting it go this far… at first i… i played along because i didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or feel humiliated by revealing that i could see through your disguise, and i wanted to wait for you to come clean first. but i guess… somewhere along the lines you’ve become a part of my routine and i’ve become quite fond of spending my time with you. of you. you quickly added. i know that i was going through a vulnerable moment of my life, which may have made me too trusting, but i really mean it: i’m really happy that i met you that day. i know you were just playing your role and that nothing ever meant anything… and i’m aware that you could’ve just… up and left whenever you got tired of dealing with my crap. even though it’s all fake, i’ve really enjoyed the time we got to spent together and i’m really happy i got to be with you. i’m really happy for being able to get to know you as a person, origami. »

you tried to smile to convey your gratefulness, but it came out wrong. it wavered and was visibly bittersweet. as you said that, your voice held such remorsefulness that baffled him. it was his fault in the first place, trapping the both of you in a punishment of his own creation. he should be the one apologising to you, he should be the one begging you for forgiveness as he explained himself. he should be the one who told you the truth. you had every reason to feel disgusted by him and hate him, and yet, here you were putting yourself down for his sake.

you were slightly surprised when you heard him respond, his voice no longer bearing that confident tone and smooth accent that you had recognised to be taylor’s. instead it was the boyish voice you had come to know was origami cyclone’s. but this time, it was devoid of any energy and lacked the boisterous intonation that often accompanied his words: « no, i- i’m the one who should apologise: i should’ve been the one to tell you the truth… if anyone should feel angry or betrayed, it should be you… i was the one who decided to set this all up after all…

after facing you, it was his turn to look away, avoiding your gaze.

i didn’t mean let it go this far … lying to you to this extent and for this long… but of course, i allowed it to get out of hand… i’m sorry, i should’ve told you sooner, if i ever made you uncomfortable at any point during this whole mess i’m really sorry. i... it was stupid. you never reached out for help and i’m sure you would’ve gotten through this just fine by yourself. my intent was never to manipulate you for my own gain or to use you… i had wanted to help you, naively thinking that i could fix you… it was selfish of me to just force my way into your life and help you, even though you never asked for mine. it was foolish to think i could just… pull the wool over your eyes like that, and it was unfair to you.

the blond considered stopping there, allowing a tangible silence, even more oppressive than the tension, to invade the room. should he tell you? should he…? he tried his best to summon a renewed determination. it was high time that he was honest to you, he told himself. honest to you. honest to himself, as well.

i suppose it’s pointless to lie to you, so i’ll tell you the truth: i... i— the circumstances in which we met were less than ideal, and i wished that we could’ve gotten to know each other differently, but… during the course of… whatever it is we had, i had stupidly hoped that the closeness i felt between us wasn’t imagined, and that you felt the same affection for me as i did for you.

despite his fear, he dared himself to turn back to where you had sat, bracing himself for what your eyes held. will it be repulsion? hostility? regret? vilification? he was scared, but even so he faced them.

my appearance may have not been mine, but my actions were. you’re free to doubt the validity of my words, but… even though i was pretending to be someone else i- my feelings are true. »

finding himself surprised for the umpteenth time that day, you fully turned to face him. you didn’t seem to be reacting badly, but you weren’t reacting much at all. you simply sat there, stunned at his display of honesty. were you combing through his words to detect any possible lies? he figured he deserved that level of distrust, after doing nothing but lie to you. he knows he shouldn’t feel so relieved when he wasn’t even in the clear yet, but at least you weren’t reacting badly and he was infinitely grateful for your seemingly infinite graciousness.

finally, you seemed to have recovered your voice: « i believe you. »

three words. three simple words that managed to lift all the weight off of his shoulders. you believed him. he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and yet you gave it to him freely.

« could i see… no, nevermind. you had retracted your hesitant request. i’ve already made you go through too much for my sake. i’m grateful for being able to see you, regardless of who you look like. »

he shook his head, relenting: « you deserve to know the truth. it’s the least i could do after everything i made you endure… » with a blue flash, “taylor” disappeared. in their place was a young man with a mop of unruly blond hair. he fidgeted nervously with his hands under the baggy purple varsity jacket he wore, which coupled with his hunched posture, made him look smaller than he probably was. his striking and alluring purple eyes seemed to be permanently locked into an expression of worry and refused to meet your eyes. « i’m sorry… i’m probably way off from what you expected... » he muttered, dejectedly.

not expecting any sort of positive reaction for his underwhelming appearance, he turned his amethyst eyes elsewhere. he waited for your reaction, anticipating the worst. always anticipating the worst.

in one swift motion, you reached out to embrace him tightly. his body tensed up, having been caught off guard by the sudden affectionate gesture. his hands dropped from their hovering around your form as his wide eyes ran wildly across the room before they returned to settle on you. confusion laced his voice as he softly called out your name. he didn't know what to do with his arms as you wrapped your arms around him ever so gently. should he return… your gesture? but his arms laid uselessly next to him, still too stunned by your response.

yet again, he felt that same tingly feeling where you held him. the warmth that you brought to him reawakened those butterflies, making him feel light and fuzzy. is this ok? is feeling like this ok? is liking you ok?

« stop saying stuff like that about yourself, origami… you keep underselling yourself. you’re incredible, you’re kind, and yet you’re humble. your voice was soft as you spoke. i wasn’t just waxing poetics when i praised you, not just lip service to appeal to you because i could see behind your trick. i meant it when i said i admired you. even before i met you, i’ve admired you. »

you pulled away, if only to place your hands on either side of his face and to lift his eyes, making him face you, properly face you, for the first time in a long time. he was taken aback by how gentle and soft your gaze was. who were those kind eyes for? surely not him. he didn’t deserve such honest adoration. there was no reason for admiration, contentment, or appreciation to have their eyes on him. and yet, those compassionate eyes continue to gaze back at him. your beautiful eyes continued to look back at his own dull eyes.

was this really ok after everything he put you through? was it really ok to derive so much comfort from your hold?

you hoped your continued eye contact conveyed your sincerity.

« origami, you’re one of the most selfless and brave person i’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and now i’ve come to learn that you’re handsome to boot. you never cease to amaze me in the best way possible, and im so so grateful that you’re still here ori— finally waking from his daze and regaining some semblance of control over his limbs, he moved his arm to return your hold and wrapped them closely around you. he allowed the warmth he felt to fully consume him and buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to get as physically close to you as possible. – ivan. he whispered in your ear, almost afraid. – ivan…? you echoed. – … my name is ivan. – is that so? then... thank you, ivan. thank you so so much. thank you for being here for me. thank you for everything. »

he knows now with certainty that he adores the way his name sounded with your voice. he couldn’t see your face from the position you were in, but he could imagine your captivating smile. the same one he adored so much. your careful hands had traveled to his head, stroking his hair, playing with an errant lock, and he adores your touch.

the small kindling that you had lit turned into a newfound courage that consumed him like wildfire. this unwanted and foolish adoration he held for you had proven itself to be phoenix, renewing itself as heartfelt and profound.

if you had allowed it, then he’s sure it was ok to be like this. to like being with you.

he adored you. and he hopes you adored him in kind.

« i— »

as he was about to say something, his communicator beeped relentlessly and he has never hated that sound more in his life until now. taken slightly by surprise, you both let go of each other and looked confused at each other—though he was intimately aware of where you rested your hands when you let go of each other: one on his shoulder, the other one on his hip. the latter of which he thoughtlessly gripped with his free hand, keeping it in place, not willing to part from you quite yet. not willing to let go quite yet. he whipped his right hand up, fumbling between taking this call and apologising to you for having interrupted what had been a very pleasant moment, the unexpected call flustering him. up until now, it had never annoyed him quite to this extent. he grumbled something you didn’t quite catch. his gaze flicked back and forth, from you, to his communicator, back to you.

he needed to take this, he needed to be there for agnes’ briefing. it was time sensitive, but so was the thing he wanted to tell you. he was torn: he needed to tell you something. he needed to answer before his employer forcefully answered his call for him and intruded.

« i… »

the indecision was clear in his eyes, so instead you made the choice for him: « it’s alright, go. »

you let your hand trail up his jaw, and placed it there. his attention was immediately brought back to you and the pleasant buzzing that often followed your touch. you smiled as you felt his hand follow your own and moved to rest it atop yours.

« i’ll be cheering for you, love. »

a/n: might fuck around and make a fluffy sequel who knows

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detectiveguapo · 6 years

Text

This is chapter two of I-don’t-know-how-many of the story of how Miguel and Emily met. I’m calling this series “Ithaca”. No warnings except for some colorful use of language.

Ithaca, being a college town, is quieter in the summer. It receives its fair share of tourists and hikers, but not enough to make up for the mass exodus of undergrads, who circle back home to celebrate Fourth of July weekend with their families. Every year it’s the same story. Students come home to learn that nonna will never understand why a stance against industrial farming is enough to refuse to eat her meat lasagna. Parents are alarmed to learn that their children are adults now and can say ‘no’ when they’re told to eat something for grandma’s sake. Students return to campus with stories of an uncle going off on a rant about gender-neutral bathrooms, slippery slopes, and government-sanctioned decimation of masculinity. “The liberal agenda uses post-secondary education to brainwash young people.” It’s the kind of nonsense uttered by a family member that makes one wish they could sever a branch off the family tree. The conversations overheard at the campus bar are more relaxed during the break. No one’s arguing politics and discussing freshman-level philosophy in crowded booths. Even the volume of cases brought up to the legal aid office is significantly reduced. Emily Thomas knows this because she’s sitting at her desk, hoping for a PolSci major to show up to file a grievance claim against her capitalist Econ professor. With her feet propped up on the desk, she bounces a rubber band ball against the wall of her cubicle. Her computer screen lights up and she scrambles for the mouse to read the new message.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Now you have no excuse to skip the most important meal of the day. Miguel

The email isn’t a work-related task to keep her busy and make the day go faster, but it’s certainly a welcome addition to her inbox. She grins from ear to ear as she remembers waking up that morning to an unexpected delivery of fresh flowers and croissants.

The day before, Miguel called and asked how she was doing. She wasn’t planning on telling him but she did briefly mention she was feeling tired and unwell. He wouldn’t let it go until she told him her symptoms. And she wouldn’t let him forget that he was a businessman, not a doctor. “Have you eaten today?” She wrestled with the idea of embellishing the truth by saying she had more than just a granola bar while heading out to the office, but she couldn’t do it. He sounded so concerned and so determined to help her even when he was thousands of miles away in California. “No wonder you’re so tired.” “It was my choice to sleep in,” she told him. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I swear.” He groans on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you up all night.” It was true, but they had both decided to ignore the time difference and continue talking on the phone for hours. It was silly, but neither one wanted to stop hearing the other’s voice.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Thank you, but I can’t get used to it. I’m sleeping early tonight and making my own breakfast in the morning. I’m thinking a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a giant mug of coffee. P.S. How did you know my favorite flowers are blue hydrangeas? Emily

She hits send and waits for his response. There are no new messages in her inbox and no one coming through the doors seeking legal assistance. She likes working for legal aid when there’s actually something to do, but it’s idle days like these that make her wish she had tried to secure that internship at Olivia Williams’ office. A huge motivator would be the invaluable work experience she’d gain working at a District Court, and yet there’s a small part of her that’s motivated by wicked curiosity. It’s been a little over a month since she met Miguel Galindo at the alumni event. She’s spoken to him on the phone a few times. They’ve exchanged friendly emails and the occasional naughty text message — nothing obscene. She can’t help it when the man knows just what to say to elicit a similarly flirty response. And yet, in spite of all their conversations, she still has this strange feeling the man is a mystery. He tells her about flying to Hong Kong to meet with a client. He’s on the phone as he walks through a bustling city, describing every detail and confessing how much he wishes she could be there right beside him. He apologizes when he rings her late. He admits he’s had a few too many to drink, then he grumbles something barely coherent about his father’s expectations, before asking about her day. Emily doesn’t press. She’s learned quickly that Miguel can only be so vulnerable to a degree. There are moments when the man wants to reveal a piece of himself to her, but he stops himself and switches near-seamlessly with such control one barely notices. She also doesn’t press because, when Miguel asks questions, she isn’t completely honest. She tells him everything about who she is and where she came from while omitting one vital element to the whole story. In doing so, the story reads like someone else’s. It’s only fair they’re a mystery to each other.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] I like spoiling you. It’s the least I can do since I can’t physically be there to take you out to dinner and show you a good time (I’ll leave the rest to your imagination). I’m hoping it keeps you interested until I can free up my schedule and fly up there to see you again. In case you didn’t know, I do want to see you again. About the flowers, I didn’t know they were your favorite. I just picked the ones that reminded me most of your eyes. Tienes hermosos ojos, Emily. Miguel

When Emily arrives home from work, she’s so tired she doesn’t register the image of her apartment drowning in blue hydrangeas. Every surface is covered in crystal or ceramic vases piled high and full of flowers. The summer breeze wafts in, swirling in the fragrant floral perfume. “Your boyfriend is madly in love with you.” Julia appears from behind a wall; she’s carrying a tall, cylindrical vase with — you guessed it — blue hydrangeas. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Emily says as she drops her bag to the floor. “And he’s not in love with me.” “Please.” Julia rolls her eyes as she sets the vase down on the last available square inch on their dining table. “All of this must’ve cost a fortune. No man buys out every florist in the state to impress a girl he only likes a little bit. He’s totally in love with you.” “This is chump change to someone like him.” Emily bites down on her bottom lip to try to keep her smile at bay. She doesn’t think her roommate is anywhere near the ballpark in identifying Miguel’s feelings for her; but she has to admit, it makes her feel giddy to hear that he likes her enough to pull off such an over-the-top, romantic gesture. “I shouldn’t have mentioned they were my favorite. Now what are we going to do with all of this?” “Take a million selfies.” Julia holds her phone out, pouts her lips like the long-lost redhead Kardashian-Jenner, and snaps a picture. “Then we send them over to the retirement home as per Mr. Ga-lin-do’s instructions.” “You’re kidding?” Julia holds up a card between her fingers, and before she knows it Emily has snatched it out of her grasp.

Emily,

I like spoiling you, but I know that’s not who you are. So enjoy these flowers and keep only what you want. Someone will come by later this evening to pick up the rest of them to send them to the Cayuga Retirement Home on your behalf. Espero verte antes de que las flores mueran. Miguel

“Forget law school. Forget the internship,” Julia says, her eyes wide as saucers. “Marry him.” Emily laughs. “Are you high?” “Think about it. You never have to worry about a thing in your life. The man is successful, loaded, and — not to mention — fucking gorgeous. And he’s nice to old people. So he clearly has a heart….” Julia goes on hyping up Miguel based on the extensive Google search she conducted when they arrived home from the alumni event. Of course, everything she found about Miguel and the Galindos was a carefully designed public relations project only showing the family’s legal businesses and involvement in philanthropy. Emily looks around her and feels sick. All these flowers going to the seniors at the retirement home — does Miguel actually care about them or is it just a superficial gesture to make it seem like he has a heart? “…Okay, Em. I’m not saying you can’t be a lawyer and a self-made independent woman. Yay girl power.” Julia pumps her fist up in the air but her expression lacks the enthusiasm to make it convincing. “But think about not having to worry about money or climbing the ladder and having to prove yourself to all these men with penises for brains.” “Jules, I like Miguel. But I’m not dating him for his —” she shakes her head. What they’re doing can’t really be called dating because they’ve only talked on the phone and sent messages and emails. They’ve only seen each other once and that was the night they met. “— I’m not interested in his money.” “You can’t say that it’s not tempting.”

It’s not one delivery person who picks up the flowers; it’s a whole team of them who are in and out of the apartment in under five minutes. When they’re finished, a man in a suit appears at the hallway. He carries with him a bottle of wine and another card from his boss. Julia happily takes the bottle and pours two glasses, clearly enjoying the privileges of her roommate being wooed by a Galindo.

Emily, Enjoy girls’ night with your roommate. Tell her you’ll be too busy to hang out tomorrow. Miguel

Emily ignores the offered wine glass as she storms into her room, slamming the door behind her. She reaches for her phone and types out the message, hitting send before she can reconsider and chicken out from telling him what’s really on her mind. “Awfully presumptuous of you to think I’d be too busy to hang out with Julia tomorrow night.” She huffs as she slumps down the floor, her head thrown back on the edge of the mattress. Her phone dings within seconds and it’s a message from Miguel. “May I take you out for an overdue date tomorrow night?” Another blue speech bubble appears before she’s even read the last word. “Please.” Emily sets the phone face down and groans. Outside, she can hear Julia turn up the music and yell at her to come join her free-wine celebratory dance party. Picking her phone up, she types her response and hits send. “What should I wear?” Three dots appear on the screen and she waits for over a minute only for it to disappear. She’s resigned to muttering under her breath, calling this whole thing stupid and silly when her phone alerts her again to a new message. It’s Miguel and he’s not only texted her back, but he’s also sent a picture of himself leaning back on a leather office chair, his tie loosened and top few buttons undone. His hair’s a bit unkempt and his normally clean-shaven face now sports a five-o’clock shadow that she’s very much fond of. Very. Much. Underneath the picture are the words “surprise me.”

It’s impossible to sleep that night. Splitting the bottle of wine with Julia doesn’t help in sedating her because all she feels is buzzed with excitement and anxiety. She’s seeing Miguel tomorrow. They’ve talked almost every other night. They text all day like teenagers with smart phones for an extra limb. But who knows what it’ll be like when they’re physically in the same place? The last time they were together, they met for the first time and kissed. What are his expectations for this date? What are hers? Is she ready to sleep with him? She rifles through her closet for something to wear. A lot of her nicer dresses are for professional events so they’re tailored to fit her body, but she doesn’t think they’re sexy enough. They’re a little too librarian, she thinks. Miguel said to surprise her, and she knows he didn’t say ‘wear something sexy’, but what else could he mean? It’s half past seven in the morning when she wakes up on a pile of clothes. Her phone alarm is going off but she’s misplaced the damn thing. She groans when she realizes the muffled noise must mean it’s somewhere underneath all her dresses that are now wrinkled and even more unsuitable for her date tonight. When she finally unearths her phone and stops the alarm, she sees there’s one new message from Miguel. “No pude evitarlo. Enjoy your breakfast.” When Emily opens her bedroom door, she finds Julia pulling out take-out containers from a brown paper bag. They open up to reveal breakfast chilaquiles and tacos — still hot like they were freshly made in a chef’s kitchen not too far from their building. “I could really get used to this boyfriend of yours.” Emily sighs as she takes one of the containers and begins to dig into the food. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says, even though the first bite has her mentally praising him for doing really well by choosing to send her a Mexican breakfast. It fills her nostalgia bar and makes her miss home, but she ignores all the other thoughts and memories that start to creep back in. Later that morning, as she’s heading out to work in casual Friday jeans and a plain white t-shirt, she shoots a quick message to Miguel, “You’ve ruined Taco Bell for my roommate.” “It’s a responsibility I take very seriously.”

Work is strangely busy that day — so busy she almost forgets about her date with Miguel, which works out because it helps her stay focused on her job. It’s not until one of the case managers stops by her desk that she’s reminded of her plans on a Friday night. Julia would be so proud if she wasn’t at the apartment still sleeping off her hangover. The co-worker who stops by is a middle-aged woman, who only ever wears cat-eye glasses and vintage 50s-style dresses in the brightest colors. “Emily, right?” She reaches over the cubicle wall to offer a handshake. “I’m Bettina from case management. I don’t think we’ve formally met.” “No, we haven’t,” Emily says as she shakes her hand. “But I’m glad to finally meet you.” “I just wanted to say thank you.” “Thank you? For what?” Bettina raises a brow. “For the flowers… I was visiting my grandmother at the retirement home when they got a massive delivery of hydrangeas. The nurse said they were from you.” “Oh…” Emily’s eyes widen as she recalls the flowers spilling all over her apartment and how that must’ve looked arriving en masse to the retirement home. She feels her cheeks flush at the thought of all these people thinking she’s some kind of saint for sending flowers to all these elderly people. “It wasn’t really from me.” “No?” “It’s a long story,” she begins to explain. “Some guy who was kind of excessive with the flowers.” Bettina smiles impishly. “Well, aren’t you a lucky girl.”

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Doesn’t work end at five?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] It does…. Why?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] It’s fifteen after and you’re still working.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] That’s creepy. How do you know I’m still working?

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Turn off your computer, go outside, and find out.

Emily makes him wait. It’s true -- she’s finishing up some work, but it’s work that can wait until Monday. Nonetheless, she makes him wait another fifteen minutes if, indeed, he is outside as she suspects. Inside, she’s bursting with excitement, but she’s trying her best to keep calm and composed while she fills in the last blanks on the form before hitting the submit button. Logging out of the system, she starts collecting her things, sliding some of the items on her desk into a weathered brown tote. She silently curses herself when she eyeballs herself in a small mirror on her desk. She unties her hair from its messy bun and smooths the wrinkles out of her t-shirt. It’s only then she notices a faint orange stain from the popsicle she had for lunch.

There’s a pang of disappointment when the elevator reaches the lobby of the building and Miguel is nowhere to be found. She pushes the doors open, her head lowered to shield her eyes from the sun beating down her face. She’s reaching into her bag for her sunglasses when she catches a glimpse of a man leaning against a cherry-red convertible. “Hi.” She blinks back at him, not sure if it’s because he looks good dressed down in jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, or if it’s because the sun’s rays are obscuring her vision. “I caught an earlier flight,” he says with a sheepish smile as he pushes himself off the car. “I hope you don’t mind.” “No… uh, hi.” Miguel meets her at the middle of the sidewalk, his body shielding the sun behind him. As he lowers his aviators, his smile widens. “Worth the wait.” Her breath hitches in her throat, her heart pounding. Emily leans up and kisses him, palms flat on his chest. Miguel isn’t expecting it so he’s knocked back a step, but he quickly takes hold of her waist to help steady himself. She moans into the kiss when his fingertips dig a little deeper, finding warm skin and straining to do more than kissing on a public sidewalk would allow. She pulls away, chest rising and falling and heart racing a mile a minute. He doesn’t let go of her waist as he laughs softly before he kisses the shell of her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

He’s a gentleman. The night they met, he gave her his jacket to keep her warm. Tonight, he holds the door open for her, taking her hand as she slides onto the passenger seat. Emily takes a deep breath to quiet the restless thoughts running through her mind. All of those reservations she had about him that were so easy to ignore when he was far away — all of them come back as she takes in the scent of expensive leather. It’s not the money that tempts her. It’s the danger of where that money comes from; it’s the excitement in the dark look in his eyes. Miguel slides into the driver’s side and sticks the key with the yellow horse into the ignition. And as the engine comes to life, it roars.

Ithaca is no longer quiet in the summer.

#mayans mc #mayans mc fic #miguel galindo #emily thomas #miguel/emily #i love a doomed couple

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ncbodyknows · 6 years

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MGA Season 4 ;; Episode 4

Contestant #4026 Choi Youngjae Performing My Flower by JBJ { Line distribution } Team D - The Flower Rangers { @longguork @rkjeon @rksxna @haknyeonrk } Outfit

It had reached a point by now where Youngjae had stopped caring about trying to complain and simply just started to accept his fate as it was, no matter how troublesome. He was getting publicity and recognition albeit not in the way he had imagined, and he was darned sure that if anyone was going to come for his head they would have done so by now. The likelihood of anyone from back home watching some random Korean auditioning programme anyway was very slim, but his paranoia was still lurking in the back of his mind, causing many scenarios of ‘what if’. Not only that, if Mnet knew of his actual past, they would be more than likely to toss him straight out. Even if he was clean nowadays and had no spots on his attest it was a tough background to run away from and greatly frowned upon.

Who wanted to live an entire life in the shadows watching every step you took though? When he had first come here the artist thought it was such a life he desired, but as he was progressively getting better through the therapy and medication he also came to realise that such an existence would be terribly dull. No one was created to be alone, not even Youngjae. Even he wanted to live within people’s memories.

Even more importantly, he could actually look at this with a feeling of fondness. It sucked, it was tiresome and bothersome and whatnot, but at the end of it, it was also kind of fun. An emotion he hadn’t felt for a long time. When it came to the long hours in the practice room with Jeongguk and Haknyeon trying their best to bring a change to the hopelessness that was Choi Youngjae’s dancing skills, of chatting to Yongguk and discussing the vocals, and of realising that Sana was from Japan as well and spending the time talking to her in his mother tongue, none of them truly felt bothersome. He might insist otherwise but he did have trouble being true to himself on more occasions than just this.

The early morning after Friday’s filming started in the practice room where two familiar faces and two he had only seen as fellow contestants met him. Despite already being familiar with half of the people present, introductions were still in order, a ritual that felt kind of silly with the circumstances. They might be working together as a group and thus should be creating a sense of unity, but in the end, each and every one of these people was a rival. It was just foolish to knit tight bonds here of all places.

Much like last time, the topic immediately fell on the matter at hand: picking a song and leader. Yet again Youngjae made it clear that he didn’t have the skills to carry the team in such a way, although he refrained from stating the true reason that it was too much of a pain in the ass to deal with on top of everything else. Again it was a matter of two people for leader, and although he felt a bit for Sana due to her heritage, perhaps he was simply too biased towards Jeongguk from the past round. It was with little hesitation that he voted him leader. Unlike last time picking the song went fairly easy much to his relief as Youngjae wasn’t sure he would be able to stay neutral to yet another hour upon hour of trying to find ‘the perfect song’. To him it was pointless anyway. It wasn’t about finding a song that fit, it was about making the song fit.

Training hours were long and tough, for Youngjae knew that he had to train harder than anyone else on his team if he wanted to make it. Until now he hadn’t thought he wanted such a thing, but now it was different. If there was one thing he could be happy about it was that he exercised regularly to keep up with his martial arts and hence had a decent stamina everything considered, for if he didn’t he might have died already. Still on multiple occasions he had felt his legs shake so much under him that he could barely stand. It was awful. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had wanted to punch either Haknyeon or Jeongguk in the face multiple times for being stressed to continue when he simply wanted to lie down in a pit and let his soul leave his body. Dancing was so much different from karate.

Thinking about giving up was very tempting, but a certain encounter last week stopped any such thoughts immediately. Hadn’t he been the one who called Daniel out for whining about everything being too hard and him not having the skills to do it? He would just be a fucking hypocrite if he didn’t try his own darnest after giving that speech. Or he could also just kill Daniel in the dead of the night and hide his body where no one would ever find him. Then no evidence would be left behind of his hypocrisy. That was also a tempting thought. He was, of course, kidding. At least mostly.

And even then Dancing was only part of it. He couldn’t slack on his vocal training either. Whenever he wasn’t practicing dancing it wasn’t strange to hear Youngjae do various exercises for his vocal chords to keep them warm and active as well as preparing himself for the adlibs and lines he had to do this time. Some of the pitches were pretty high, and he had to make sure that he could pull them off while dancing. Even sometimes while dancing his voice was still audible, often in between sharp breaths. If their practise time was a song of its own, Youngjae’s vocal training might very well have been the adlibs.

Friday had arrived and with it the nerves. That was another first. Actually feeling nervous about the result after today’s show. He was worried he was going to screw up badly with the choreography being way more intense than last week. Take a misstep, sing a false note, or who knew, knowing his skills he might even take a tumble right there on stage and destroy the entire performance. This wasn’t his world and he should never have tried to venture into it, not even for a free meal.

Getting his hair and makeup done, Youngjae could only think that whoever knew him outside of the competition was going to have the time of their life after this. His outfit was sickeningly cutesy he thought and although he had been the one to spill the idea of the whole thing, he was starting to regret the result. The song carried a refreshing image, so linking it to clothes like this wasn’t too far fetched. It was just so far from anything he would ever willingly put on. Who had brought up the idea of the different colours he couldn’t remember by now, but it had been a passing remark that had made Youngjae make an off comments. “That sounds like power rangers. With the different colours and stuff.”

And thus their group name had also come to be. When it was finally the time for team D to claim their spot upon the stage, he joined the others in a unified introduction. “We are the Flower Rangers!” he spoke with feigned enthusiasm, although he wondered if anyone would even notice if he didn’t speak as eagerly as everyone else. He had after all barely got any screen time thus far, and he was surprised if anyone watching the show even cared about him. After an individual introduction everyone got into position and the lights dimmed.

The moment the music started playing Sana sang, her voice in stark contrast to the original deep vocal of the song. For this segment as well as for most of the song Youngjae was placed in the back, hidden away so his mistakes wouldn’t be as obvious. Which was just why he couldn’t afford to mess up on the parts that were actually his. For the entire first verse he had nothing to do vocals wise, but the moment the chorus hit, Youngjae stepped up to cover Sana who had just been singing right before him.

You’re my flower You’re my spring Because you keep blooming I can’t handle it, what do I do?

What had caused him the greatest worry was the jump after the first line of the chorus. In training it had taken ages before he had managed to make it look even decent, only thanks to Haknyeon’s coaching him. In the end he could do it mostly every time, but pulling it off on stage had worried him a lot. So it pleased him when he managed to perform it just as practised. The next half of the chorus was a bit of a high pitch, but that didn’t worry Youngjae. High notes were one of the things his singing teacher had practised with him and he had been training his vocal range. And just as he expected there were also no problems pulling it off.

Now I’m here I’ll embrace you Ever since we first met, you’re--

Taking over, Jeongguk stepped into the centre and pushed Youngjae further back before continuing the song with the killing part. For now his moment of spotlight was over, and he went back to hide behind everyone else. They were slightly tied down by only having one rapper in the group considering the song had three relatively filling rap parts, and as Haknyeon stepped up for the second time, and he would once more after the second chorus, this time carried by Sana, Youngjae just hoped that no one would think that the younger got too many parts compared to the rest and thereby outshone everyone else. There was only so much they could do with what they had. And Youngjae still had something he could do, for as the second chorus finished and went straight into the next rap part, it was surprisingly enough his turn.

I want you, I can’t express this all with words My lips won’t move how I want

Instead of rapping, however, Youngjae opted to sing the lines. After learning that Moonbok who had already been eliminated from the competition was a music theory major, he had chosen to seek out the person with the most fabulous hair in the entire MGAs. It had been easy to lure him in -- “I’ll let you play with my dog if you help me” -- and thus the two had met up in Youngjae’s apartment to come up with a good vocal part instead. Youngjae had a creative mind, but he lacked the actual theory behind rearranging a rap into song, but he was greatly satisfied with the result. Then as the chorus hit for the last time, the dance calmed down to allow for the artist to pour his heart into the adlibs to create flavour to Yongguk’s singing in this part. He liked to believe that their voices fit well together, not only as the two best vocalists on the team but also with their vocal colours. Or perhaps he was just biased towards Yongguk after the interest he had taken in the other male.

Another two words sung in addition to the other vocalist’s performance as well as a dance break led by Jeongguk later, the performance was over, and as Youngjae prepared for the very last step of the dance, he took off the flower that had been fastened to his chest pocket. To match his outfit and the power rangers theme they had going, his flower was one with black petals. Together with everyone else, he then held it out to the audience, as if telling everyone that the song applied to them. A corny and cheesy as fuck move, but hey, if it worked it worked. And with that finishing touch the performance was over.

#rkmga4new #rkjeon #longguork #rksxna #haknyeonrk #rkmga4 #sp: MGA4 #danielxrk #moonbokrk #the last two are mentioned

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freedom-shamrock · 6 years

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A Little Secret - Chapter 2

Also on AO3

Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11

Amazing art created by @soundofez pg 1 pg 2 pg 3

Giving Your Tongue to the Chat

By the time Marinette reached the library, Adrien and Alya had already laid claim to one end of a table, but they hadn't started work on the project. She slipped her things into the place next to Adrien. "Hey guys, sorry I'm late."

"Where have you been all morning?" Alya asked. "Do you have any idea how hard it is being on a project with you and Adrien? Between model shoots and extracurriculars, his schedule's insane, and you're the amazing vanishing bestie."

"Oh, you know me," Marinette said, smiling weakly. "I overslept." It was a lie, of course. She'd spent most of her morning combatting an akuma on the other side of town.

"You know you're gonna need to fix that habit of yours before you pick up an internship, right?" Alya asked. "Most designers aren't going to be as forgiving as us." She planted her hands on her hips to deliver a stern look.

"Yes maman," Marinette promised. She sure hoped she and Chat could find and neutralize Hawkmoth before Final Bac. She suspected Master Fu had chosen teenagers for the ladybug and black cat simply because their absences would be difficult but not career shattering. She couldn't imagine either of her parents fitting this into their schedules.

"She's just cross because she missed this morning's akuma," Adrien whispered.

"There was an attack this morning?" She'd gotten much better at feigning ignorance and coming up with believable excuses. She'd had plenty of practice, after all.

Adrien nodded, the small polite smile she hated firmly in place. It wasn't quite his model mask, but it usually meant he was subduing himself to stick to the image his father had crafted for him. It showed up a lot at school and in other public places. Fortunately, it tended to be thoroughly tucked away when he was at her house. "I was also out for an emergency shoot." He snorted. It had become a joke that his father's unexpected random photoshoots to capture one last thing, or replace something he found subpar constituted emergencies in Gabriel Agreste's mind.

"Oh dear," Marinette said dramatically. "What was it this time? Did you have a hair out of place?"

Adrien bit his lip and shook his head, clearly trying to restrain his mirth. "Please, I was perfect." He let out a sniff, tipping his nose into the air. "But my jacket looked too snug across my shoulders while managing to look like a frumpy sack around my waist." He rolled his eyes.

"I can't help but feel like neither of you are taking this very seriously," Alya criticized. "This project is a quarter of our final grade."

"I'm so sorry Al," Marinette insisted, throwing babydoll eyes at her best friend. "I'll do better."

"Ugh," Alya said, waving both hands in Marinette's face. "Stop it. You're crazy good at that. And it should not be that effective on a seventeen year old."

She'd developed the skill to combat Chat's devastating kitten eyes, but no one in her civilian life knew that. Grinning, Marinette patted her tablet. "Well I'm here now, and I'm ready to be a focused and productive member of the team." She straightened up proudly. "I even did research last night in preparation."

"Was that during the time you were supposed to be sleeping?" Adrien teased, bumping her shoulder with his.

"The nerve," Marinette shot back with gasp. Playful Adrien didn't come out nearly often enough, and she was always keen to encourage it. She still liked him, possibly more than she had that first year, but it was the real him this time. She'd been shocked to discover the true Adrien hidden under that image of calm perfection. He was the second silliest person in her life, sometimes running neck and neck with Chat Noir, and probably the most approachable person she knew. He got downright giddy when he could actually do a favor for a friend, and he tended to go over the top on such things. She'd caught a persistent sadness lurking in the background, concealed by fake smiles and finger-guns.

His teasing demanded a response, so she stuck out her tongue at him.

Grinning mischievously, he reached out and caught her tongue between two fingers. "Gotchya."

"Llllll," Marinette objected, squirming out of his gentle hold.

"Could you two stop flirting and focus," Alya demanded, not bothering to cover her smile.

Marinette made a great show of assessing her tongue for damage. "I'll get you back for that," she said, delighted by his lightheartedness this morning. That usually meant things at home were going as well as they could.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" he asked slyly, leaning toward her.

"Dude, we do not use the smoulder at school," Nino said, tossing his things down across from his best friend. "We've talked about this." His tone spoke of long-suffering, but his knowing grin told a different story.

"Awww," Adrien whined, slouching in his chair like a chastised child. "But it works so well."

"True," Nino agreed. "But we are not raising a manipulative jerk here." He gestured with one open hand at Adrien. "You are so much better than some people you're related to. Let's embrace that, shall we." Nino reached into one of the front pockets of his jeans. "Oh, before I forget. I got you a new workout mix."

Adrien's face brightened up, shattering the polite mask he usually wore. "Really?" He cradled the pen-drive as though it were precious.

"Yes really," Nino insisted. "If your father is going to make you continue with the personal trainer and heavy duty workout program, despite the fact that you're already perfect, you deserve to enjoy the time as much as possible."

Adrien hugged the drive before carefully tucking it into his bag, beaming the whole time. It didn't matter that Nino regularly gave his friends music, Adrien always considered it a special treat.

Adrien burst into history class after lunch with an excess of enthusiasm. He was grinning and bouncing as he made his way to his seat.

"What did you have for lunch, and where can I get some?" Alya asked, leaning forward on the desk she and Marinette shared. They'd returned to their original seating arrangement this year after trying all other configurations in previous years.

"My afternoon shoot was canceled," Adrien said. "I have a whole afternoon off." He collapsed into his chair in a move that looked remarkably like a certain boneless cat-boy. "And father's gone this week, so Nathalie conveniently didn't plug anything else in."

"Aw dude," Nino said, disappointment coloring his voice. "There's nothing I'd like to do more than hang out with you, but I've got a shadowing thing at the radio station today."

"No problem," Adrien insisted. "I can't expect you to drop everything for me."

Nino frowned. "You know I would though, right? If you needed me to."

Adrien's eyes widened and he looked down, the edges of his ears going pink. "Oh. Um. Today isn't a need, but thanks." He glanced at the table behind him. "Alya, Marinette, are either of you available?" His voice sounded oddly strained, hopeful.

Alya sighed. "I'm watching my sisters today, but we could probably join you for a bit at the park."

"I'm free," Marinette said. "We could do the park first, and then go back to my place for gaming and dinner."

The goofy smile was back on his face. "Really? It's been ages since I had dinner with your family. That'd be really cool. Thanks."

At the park, Marinette watched Adrien chase Alya's nine year old twin sisters around the playground equipment. He'd left his bag with her on the bench when he went in pursuit of "the little monkeys." She hadn't asked him out, and had put that whole idea on hold for now. It had less to do with nerves and freaking out, and more to do with reality. The last thing Adrien needed was a girlfriend who ditched him regularly with crappy excuses for her absences. He had more than enough abandonment in his life, and she couldn't bear the thought of adding to it. Until she could be sure she wouldn't have to vanish all the time to deal with Paris' miraculous psychopath, she'd have to settle for being the best friend she could to him. Her resolve didn't prevent her from enjoying watching him move.

"That personal trainer must have him doing some crazy shit to be in this kind of shape," Alya said. "How does he even have time for that?"

Marinette shook her head, critically assessing everything he was doing. The girls were chasing him now, and he turned and dodged far faster than seemed possible. He could have run circles around Kim. He darted under the swingset, leaping up to catch the support bar. In a move that belonged in an action film or akuma battle, he swung his legs up and over the bar, holding himself fully upside down on extended arms for a moment before dropping down the other side and landing behind Alya's sisters, effectively swapping roles with them again.

"Holy shit Agreste!" Alya shouted. "Don't you be teaching my sisters impossible stuff."

He glanced toward the bench, a wide devilish smile on his lips. "Not impossible," he insisted. "It just requires a working knowledge of physics."

"And a jacked body," she retorted.

"Hey!" The girls swarmed him then. Laughing, he scooped one up in each arm, spinning a bit as he walked back to the bench. "I'll have you know that this body is the result of a lot of hard work." He winked. "And a pretty good hit from the genetic lottery." He set the girls down in front of their sister, where they promptly flopped into the grass laughing. "No artificial colors or preservatives." He poked at his belly.

Alya made a little motion with her index finger. "Let us have a look at that."

"Alya!" Marinette gasped. "Do you want his father to see a photo of him flashing his abs at us on the front of some tabloid?"

"You're not curious?" Alya demanded in disbelief.

Marinette snorted. "I've already seen it." She grinned up at Adrien. "I mean he had that recent swimsuit campaign, and it was quite flattering."

"I bet he was airbrushed," Alya taunted.

Adrien feigned shock, one hand going to his chest in mock horror. "Airbrushed? Me?!"

"The runway photos supported the evidence in the advertisements," Marinette pointed out. "Don't worry, Adrien. I've got your back. I, personally, believe in your abs."

Adrien sat down beside Marinette, and oh, he was deliciously warm. The air had just enough of a bite to chill her. "I guess that settles that." He stuck his tongue out at Alya and Marinette reached up and pinched it. "Hey!"

Marinette burst into giggles. "Told you I'd get you back."

"That was like two weeks ago," he objected.

"I can be patient."

Alya snorted. "She can be ridiculously patient." She sighed. "Fun though this has been, I've gotta get my monkeys home, and you ," she paused to poke Adrien in the shoulder, "need to get our Maricicle warmed up."

Adrien looked down at Marinette, frowning slightly. "Geeze, Mari. I didn't realize you were so cold. I'm sorry." He stood up and pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

Though she probably should have refused, her fingers held the jacket closed. "Ooooh," she moaned. "Soooo warm." She tucked her face into the neck as well, subtly catching his scent from it. She unzipped the little pouch she'd taken to wearing on her hip. Scooping Tikki out, she settled the little being into the snuggly inner pocket of his jacket, feeling the little kwami shiver before relaxing into the added warmth.

"Time to get you home," he said firmly. "I recommend tea and Mecha Strike."

Chapter title - "Giving your tongue to the cat" is a French idiom that means being unable to guess. Sometimes people use it in place of the American idiom "the cat has your tongue" but it's not an exact parallel.

Chapter art by @soundofez, posted with express permission, can be found here.

Huge thanks to my betas: Karnival and @chatbug-jk

#Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Big Bang #fanfic #my writing #soundofez #A Little Secret

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words-and-fangirling-wonder · 6 years

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A One Piece Thanksgiving

Hello Everyone! Here is the first fic of my Holiday Fanfic Extravaganza!! I hope you enjoy the sappiness.

Fandom: One Piece

Rating: General Audiences

Author: Fangirl Wonder (WordsandWonder on AO3)

No Pairing

“So wait, you have a whole holiday about turkeys?”

Luffy cocked his head to the side in interested confusion. He liked birds as much as the next person, but dedicating an entire day of celebration to them seemed a bit extreme. But from the way the bar was plastered with turkey-themed decorations, he got the feeling his opinion might not be shared by the occupants of this island. Orange, red and brown paper cut outs of turkeys danced in the breeze from the fans where they hung from the ceiling. Turkey shaped flower arrangements adorned every table and the paper plates and napkins that came with his food showed cartoon versions of the fowl as well. There were even little ceramic turkey salt and pepper shakers! He’d seen some weird islands traveling with his crew, but this turkey-crazy one was something else. And now this guy was telling him the decorations were for some holiday coming up? That was an awful lot of turkey love.

The islander shook his head. “No, no, the holiday isn’t about turkeys. It’s a day when people get together and celebrate and give thanks.”

Luffy couldn’t help making a face. “For turkeys?”

“No! We’re giving thanks for the bounty of the past year. It’s a tradition that goes back to when our island was first discovered!” he explained proudly.

Robin perked up from across the table at that. “Oh? Could you elaborate on this tradition?”

“Sure! So way back over a hundred years ago, a man set sail from his home island looking for a safer, quicker route to the New World, right? But his navigation was off, and he ended up here instead! He was disappointed, but he realized that this place had a ton of natural resources, so he started spreading the word that he found this great new island. Before you know it tons of people started making their way here, but many of them were coming from islands with big cities and didn’t know anything about living off the land. That’s when the natives stepped up …”

“Natives?” Robin questioned.

“Yeah, the natives. They stepped up and helped the travelers learn to live off the land. You know, hunting, fishing, growing crops, all that stuff.”

“But I thought you said the man who was looking for the New World discovered the island?”

“Yeah, he did, but I mean, the natives were there when he discovered it. It was a bloody mess for a while too, cuz they tried to fight the settlers off. But they lost, obviously. Then a native who had learned our language helped negotiate a peace treaty, and his people started helping after that.”

“I see,” Robin said with a small frown. “Sorry to interrupt. Please continue your story.”

“Right. So at the end of the settlers’ first year living on the island with the natives’ help, they threw a big feast …”

“A feast?!” Luffy, who had lost interest in the history lesson until that point, chimed in.

“Yeah! A big feast with turkey and venison and pumpkins and corn and potatoes and all kinds of good stuff! And they sat down and had this big feast to thank the natives for helping them. So now once a year on the anniversary of that, we celebrate by throwing a big feast with our friends and families and give thanks for the blessings of the previous year. We call it Settler’s Day!”

“That’s awesome! Hey, Sanji, let's have a Settler’s Day feast!” Luffy bellowed across the bar to his cook, who winced at the volume but pointedly ignored him.

“You should!” The man encouraged. “It’s great! If you head over to the inn across the street, Chester can give you all kinds of traditional recipes, and he can tell you the best places to get the food for it. Just tell him Darren sent you and he’ll fix ya right up.”

“Yahoo! I can’t wait!” Luffy ran off to pester Sanji into visiting the inn with him, seemingly unaware of Robin’s furrowed brow.

+++

“Damnit Luffy! If you want me to make you this giant feast so bad then you have to stay the hell out of my kitchen!” Sanji yelled, reinforcing his reprimand with a solid kick to the captain’s rubber behind.

Luffy bounced out of the galley and onto the deck of the Sunny with an unperturbed giggle, used to getting booted out of Sanji’s way (literally). He was too fired up about the Settler’s Day meal to be bothered by his ejection from the kitchen. In fact, pretty much everyone was getting excited about the celebration and had something they were looking forward to. Chopper was eager to try all the new types of desserts Sanji was whipping up, and Brook was inspired to compose new songs for the event. Nami was curious about some concoction the islanders had recommended called “orange jello salad,” and Franky had been promised that all the food options would go great with cola. Usopp had gone all out creating various decorations (mimicking what they’d seen on the island), and Zoro was just content with any excuse to drink an excessive amount of alcohol. The only crewmember who didn’t seem very interested in the proceedings was Robin. As her nakama bustled around getting things ready for the party, the archeologist simply watched, disapproval clear in her usually neutral expression.

“Okay, Robin,” Luffy finally said as he plopped down next to her. “You haven’t been excited about Settler’s Day at all since we decided to do it. What’s going on?”

The raven-haired intellectual studied Luffy quietly for a moment before responding. A part of her didn’t want to dampen the enthusiasm shining out of his features, but another part of her couldn’t just sit in silence while they carried on this tradition as it had been described to them.

“Captain, when you were restocking and preparing for this feast back on that island, I was doing some research.”

“Yeah?” the straw-hat wearer prompted. “And?”

“And … do you remember how that man said settling that island was a “bloody mess” for a while because the natives fought back? Well, I looked into that, and he was right. The people immigrating to the island took the land from people who had lived there for years and spread diseases that wiped them out. Not only that, but they captured healthy people and forced them to be slaves. Remember the native who helped make peace between the settlers and the tribe that shared that first feast? He was one of the last people in his tribe who was not wiped out by an epidemic brought by the settlers, and only spoke the language because he’d been abducted to be sold into slavery. Yes, there was a time of peace between the settlers and the natives, and there was a feast celebrating a successful harvest, but the real history behind this tradition is much less innocent than that man led you to believe. The descendants of the native people of that island don’t even celebrate Settler’s Day. In fact, some of them consider it a day of mourning.”

“Really?!” Luffy demanded. “That’s terrible! How can people celebrate something like that?”

“Well, some people don’t even know the true story behind it. They’ve just been taught the settlers’ version of what happened. Other people know, but figure that’s all in the past and that there’s no reason to stop the tradition now so many years later,” Robin explained solemnly.

“Man, what are we gonna do now? Everyone worked so hard for this Settler’s Day feast, and Sanji has already started making the food; he’s been cooking for hours already.” Luffy scratched his head and frowned.

The woman nodded. “I know, and … I don’t want to ruin the celebration for everyone, but … I can’t participate in something that memorializes the beginning of a terrible history of oppression.”

“Nah, me either. I just don’t want everyone to be disappointed.” The usually grinning boy’s face screwed up in concentration as he searched for a solution.

Robin hated seeing him so torn, almost as much as she hated that she was the cause of it. “Perhaps –“

“Wait! I’ve got an idea!” he interrupted, his smile back in full, brilliant force. “Forget stupid Settler’s Day! We’re gonna make our own holiday!”

“Our own holiday?” the archeologist inquired.

“Yeah! I just decided! If those bastards can make up a holiday we can too, right?”

“I suppose-“

“And anyway, we’re pirates! So even if they didn’t make one up, we still could because we do what we want. So we’re gonna still eat lots of delicious food and have cool decorations, except maybe not so many turkeys, cuz I still think that’s weird, and … and we’re still gonna be thankful for stuff! But today instead of being thankful in honor of some dumb dead guys, we’re gonna be thankful in honor of ourselves! And we can do it whenever we want! We don’t even have to just do it one time a year. We can do it today, and then do it again next week, if we want!”

A small smile crept onto Robin’s face as she listened to her impassioned friend’s idea. “I think Cook-san would have something to say about doing it again a week from now, but I do think your solution is a good one.”

“Alright! I’m gonna go tell everyone!” Luffy declared before running off, literally bouncing around the ship in his excitement to spread the word. “Usopp, stop makin’ those stupid turkeys! We’re doing something different!”

+++

Heavenly smells wafted up from the glorious spread arranged neatly on the dining hall’s giant table, and it was taking every ounce of self control Luffy possessed to stop himself from digging in right away. But before they could start into this magnificent feast, there was something he wanted to do.

“Okay, everybody, listen up! The stupid idiots back on that island used this day to celebrate their ancestors being assholes a hundred years ago. But that’s not what we’re celebrating today, cuz we’re pirates! So we’re stealing their day and making it about good stuff instead of their dumb stuff. Which means before we can eat this awesome feast, we gotta make it ours. And we’re gonna do that by all saying something we’re thankful for.”

“Anything?” Chopper asked, reluctantly dragging his gaze from the mountain of sweets toward the end of the table.

“Yup!” Luffy confirmed happily. “As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with stupid settlers.”

“Alright,” Zoro grunted after a moment of silence. “I’m thankful for booze.”

Sanji aimed a kick at the swordsman’s head, growling. “That’s bullshit, Marimo! Come up with something real or no feast for you.”

Zoro shot the cook an annoyed glare. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, shit-cook,” he huffed. “I guess … aside from booze … I’m thankful for the crow’s nest, cuz I can train there and work toward my goal and still sail with all of you. Is that better, dartboard-brow?”

“Significantly,” Sanji affirmed, trying not to look impressed. He really hadn’t expected something that heartfelt from the other man. “I guess I’ll go next then. I’m thankful to travel with such gorgeous ladies as Nami-swan and Robin-chwan! And I’m glad to have found a group of people who don’t dismiss my dream of finding the All Blue.”

“I’m thankful for Robin!” Nami piped up. “For keeping me sane on this ship full of rowdy boys. And,” she added, “that we always have enough berries for what we need.”

Robin smiled gently and patted Nami’s hand. “I suppose I shall take my turn, then. I’m thankful to all of you, for saving me. And for helping me find the will to live again.”

“And I’m thankful to all of you for being my friends!” Chopper chimed.

“I’m grateful to have found a crew,” Brook announced. “It is so lovely to see friendly faces again, though, I do not have eyes. Yohoho!”

“I’m thankful for this SUPER chance to build and sail on the ship I always dreamed of!” Franky added.

“On a similar note,” Usopp stated thoughtfully, “I’d like to say I’m thankful for the Merry. She saw us through a lot, and she will never be forgotten.”

The crew nodded solemnly, all taking a moment of respect for the fallen ship. Then all eyes turned expectantly to Luffy, who stood up at the head of the table.

“I’m thankful,” he said slowly, “for you. For the things each of you brings to this crew that makes it the best crew in the entire world! I could list all the stuff you guys do and all the reasons why I’m happy to sail with you, but that would take a long time and we have delicious food to eat, so I’m just gonna say this: More than anything else, I’m thankful that you all chose to follow me, and that you’ve stayed with me. Thank you all for believing in my dream. Thank you for believing in me.”

Everyone stared for a moment, shocked at the intensity of Luffy’s gaze as he delivered his uncharacteristically serious speech, before all of them nodded in unison. Finally, Zoro broke the silence by raising his glass.

“To the captain,” he proclaimed.

“To the captain,” his crewmates replied, also raising their glasses in a toast.

“To nakama,” Luffy added.

“To nakama,” they echoed.

Looking at him in that moment, Robin was reminded once again why all of these people, all so independent and strong in their own right, chose to join this silly, impulsive boy, and she couldn’t help but smile softly as she sipped her drink. Luffy caught her eye and flashed his signature thousand-watt grin.

“Shishishi! Alright everybody, enough sappiness! Let’s eat!”

#Holiday fanfic extravaganza #one piece #thanksgiving #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #Nico Robin #nami #franky #brook #tony tony chopper #usopp #sanji #fanfic #one piece fanfic

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shelbykirklin78-blog · 7 years

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