#cannot wait to have my shit together so that i can afford it again someday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heyyyharry · 6 years

Text

Halloween Special: Bugs and Hisses (Part 1)

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

…in which Harry and Y/N are invited to a Halloween party, but they don’t arrive together (first Halloween as flatmates).

This takes place somewhere after Hand in Hand, Harry and Y/N are not yet together. This chapter is a Halloween Special so it’s a bit long that’s why I split it into two parts! ;)

Warning: mention of smut and nothing else but fluff

So a bit of rambling here but I was watching Reign and there was this character called Olivia who had a sexual relationship with Queen Mary’s fiancé — Prince Francis. She came back after years away from him then plotted to break up him and Mary. I don’t know who wrote that tv series but we sure share a same piece of mind! Anyway, you may now proceed.

There’s only one week left until Halloween and Y/N has been waiting for that day from the first of October. Harry has been complaining about the creepy skeleton in their living room which an old neighbor left for them when she moved away. Y/N placed it there not only to give their flat some Halloween vibe but also to scare the kids who come trick-or-treating. However, all it’s done so far is scaring the shit out of Harry whenever he comes home late.

“I should carry around with me a piece of paper saying ‘Y/N did it’ in case I die from a heart attack someday,” he tells her as he walks out from the kitchen with his coffee mug and joins her on the sofa.

“How do you get scared every single time even though you know it’s fake?” She asks while scrolling through Netflix on her laptop.

Harry squints his eyes at her in response. “You know those Halloween movies where a character approaches a ghost thinking it’s either decoration or a man in a costume, only to find out it’s really a ghost? Yeah that’s not gonna be me.”

Y/N stares at her flatmate in disbelief for a couple seconds before shaking her head and telling him, “you know what? Sometimes you’re just weird.”

“Thank you, baby.” He grins and brings the mug to his lips. And despite knowing he’s only joking with the nickname, Y/N cannot help but smile to herself.

She’s had a crush on him for a while now. Ironically she used to think he would be the last person she would fall for, but here she is, heart-eyes for her annoying flatmate no matter what he does or says.

People may see Harry as a tough guy who’s hard to approach, she knows he cries watching The Notebook every single time. They assume he doesn’t care about anyone else but himself, she knows he keeps a photo of his mum and sister in his wallet. They think he’s all about parties and one-night-stands, she knows he likes candles and homemade meals and staying in with a book on a rainy day. But then again, she also knows, no matter how much she thinks she knows him, she’s never going to be the girl he ends up with.

“Have you heard of Alex’s Halloween party?” Harry asks, receiving a nod from Y/N.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited actually.”

“Wait, really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I didn’t know you were friends with Alex.”

“Why? Just because he’s popular?”

“No, because the guy’s a dick, and you’re—” Harry pauses then suddenly clears his throat and changes the subject, “anyway, are you coming?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Harry’s trying his best not to sound too disappointed, because he doesn’t want her to know he’s secretly wanting them to go together, not as a date, but kind of like a date.

“I promised Jamie I’d take him trick-or-treating that night.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the girl. “Seriously? You’re going to babysit on Halloween? Where’s his mum?”

“She’s got a date.”

“You’re gonna sacrifice your night-out so our upstairs neighbor can go on a date?” He puts one hand on her shoulder and looking at her deep in the eyes, trying not to laugh. “Y/N, you’re not Halloween’s Santa Claus.”

Y/N shrugs his hand off her and rolls her eyes, resulting in a smirk on Harry’s face as he realizes she rolls her eyes at lot when talking to him. “I barely know anyone at the party. Alex only invited me because I helped him with his essay, and you don’t count because you never act like you know me in public.”

Harry breathes out a laugh as he hears her then rises from the sofa.

“Alright,” he says. “It’s your loss then.”

As Y/N shifts her attention back to her laptop screen, Harry brings his empty mug back to the kitchen, frowning when he turns away from her.

She wasn’t wrong when she said he never acted like he knew her, but that’s because he didn’t like her back then. Now, though he hates to admit it even to himself, he certainly likes her more than she may want him to.

...

Y/N suggests hiding their costumes from each other until Halloween night because she likes surprises. Harry doesn’t object to it but he hates that idea. He's dying to know what she’s going to wear because if she goes out wearing something too revealing, consider himself dead. It’s frustrating enough for him to get inappropriate thoughts about her once in a while, he doesn’t want to worry about others thinking about her the same way he does!

Well, lucky for him, Y/N chooses to stay true to who she is even on Halloween. When that night comes, she steps out from her bedroom in her costume, which is a long-sleeved, plain white dress, paired with a headband to which attached a halo made of feathers. Harry has never felt more relieved to see the safe length of the dress.

“Guess who I’m supposed to be!” She smiles cheerfully at him, putting her hands on her hips and playfully strikes a pose for her flatmate to get a better look of her appearance.

"A ghost?” Harry chuckles and Y/N huffs at his response.

“An angel! There’s literally a fake halo above my head!”

“Then where are your wings?”

“This is a low budget costume, I can’t afford a pair of wings.”

The way Y/N’s squinting her eyes at Harry makes his smile grow a little too big. She’s so adorable, so precious that he wants to comment something cheesy like ‘with or without all this, you’re still an angel’, but since they’re barely friends, he can’t say weird stuff like that, can he?

“What are you supposed to be?” she finally asks, gawking at him from head to toes.

He just looks so damn good in that white shirt with the suspenders and corduroy pants, and she also likes how his hair is all pushed back. It doesn’t matter who he’s dressed as, she’s already melting.

“Jack Dawson from Titanic,” Harry answers with a smug on his face. “I’ve been told I resemble young Leo.”

“How could they disrespect Leo like that?” Y/N scoffs, making Harry drop his jaw.

“Angels don’t mock their flatmates every chance they get! No wonder you’ve got no wings!”

“You deserved it for calling me a ghost!” Y/N flips her hair in a playful way, resulting a smirk upon Harry’s lips as she grabs her bag and heads to the door. “I gotta go now. Shouldn’t you already be on your way to the party?”

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Oh you’re going with Niall?”

“Uh...yeah, Niall.” He presses his lips into a small smile, already regretting agreeing to go with this girl Niall set him up with, but his flatmate does not need to know.

“Okay, have fun then!” Y/N opens the door and waves at him before she leaves. “And bring your key please! If you come home at 2AM and bang on the door, I’ll let you sleep in the hallway!”

“You will never get your wings with that attitude!” Harry shouts out, then quickly catches a glimpse of a secret smile on her face before the door is shut between them. That smile alone can keep him grinning at the entrance like an idiot, even a moment after she’s already gone.

...

“Thank you for looking after Jamie, Y/N.”

“No biggie.” Y/N smiles as she returns the little boy back to his mum then checks the watch on her wrist, it’s now 9PM, still too early for her to call it a night but already too late for her trick-or-treat companion. Jamie says goodbye to his babysitter then listens to his mum and goes to his room to change.

"How’s your date?” Y/N asks the young mum after his son’s left. She cannot help but stare at this woman’s sexy nurse costume, which is quite PG-13 for her six-year-old son, Y/N thinks to herself, but she won’t say that out loud of course.

“He was hot until he opened his mouth.” The woman rolls her eyes and leans a shoulder against the door. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

“The boy you brought here? The one you were handcuffed to?”

“Oh.” Y/N breathes out a laugh, and for some reason doesn’t bother to correct the lady’s false assumption. “He’s out with his friends.”

“And left you on your own on Halloween night when everyone out there is having sex?!”

Y/N immediately lowers her voice just in case Jamie can hear them. “Everyone’s having sex on Halloween night?”

“People tend to have lots of sex on special occasions, like New Year’s Eve, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter...”

Y/N widens her eyes.

“Aaaanyway, go get your man if you don’t want him to stick his dick in a random hole like my ex-husband did! That son of a bitch!” The young mum looks at the ceiling and heaves a sigh before turning back to the girl. “But make sure you’ve got the key before using those handcuffs again. Safety first, young lady!”

Y/N has to hold back her laughter as she thanks her upstairs neighbor for the ‘useful’ advice before heading back to the lift. Suddenly, a soft little voice stops her immediately.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Jamie runs past his mother toward Y/N, carrying his trick-or-treat bag. The boy hands it to her with both hands with a lovely smile on his face as he says, “here, have some more of my sweets!”

The offer catches Y/N by surprise, she shakes her head fast. “No, no, you keep them all, I’ve got a bunch already, remember?”

“These aren’t all for you. Share them with Harry!”

“You remember Harry?” Y/N giggles as she accepts the bag from the kid who nods his head.

“Yeah and I miss him. You should bring him here next time and we can play good cop, bad cop again!” Jamie bounces on his feet and swings his arms in excitement. So as not to disappoint the boy, Y/N gives him her word, that she’ll bring Harry the next time she comes over to babysit him.

“Wait, wait, there’s a card inside too! Open it!”

“A card?” Y/N chuckles as she searches through the bag and finds a colorful Halloween card, inside of which are a few simple words written in a six-year-old’s messy handwriting.

Happy Halloween!

Bugs and Hisses, Jamie.

“Aww, thank you, J! I love this a lot, and I’m sure Harry will too!” Y/N replies and bends down to kiss the boy on the forehead, telling him goodnight, and also goodbye.

Now Y/N hopes she can make it on time to see her flatmate before Halloween is over and before Harry ends up in the warm bed of another girl.

...

Y/N takes an Uber to Alex’s place, which is a bit far from where she lives. It takes more than a fourty-five-minute drive to get there, all for this boy she likes so much who probably doesn’t even consider her as his friend! Thinking about that makes Y/N feel so stupid.

Does she regret it? Yes.

Does she still want to go? Definitely!

Normally she never shows up alone at a loud and crowded place, to be surrounded by people she doesn’t know. Call her boring or whatsoever, but she would prefer to stay in her comfort zone. That is why the moment Y/N opens the door to Alex’s flat, and is greeted by the deafening music and a room packed with sweaty and drunk people, her whole body stiffens all at once.

It’s still not too late to walk out and go home then finish her night curled up in her bed enjoying a horror movies marathon. However, that’s not the option she’s going for tonight. She chooses to enter instead, pushing her way through the crowd to search for a familiar face and figure.

Then, she finds him at last.

He’s just not alone.

Harry’s standing in the corner, pressing up against a girl in a tiny leopard print dress. His mouth is attached to hers, his eyes are closed as he’s enjoying the heated kiss like nothing else matters. The way his fingers dance across the skin of the girl’s thighs make Y/N feel so uncomfortable.

She turns away, but she doesn’t want to leave. She would just be sad on the quiet drive back home so she might as well just be sad now in a room surrounded by other people and plenty of alcohol.

Y/N marches the counter at the back of the room where they keep the liquor then pours herself a glass, then stands with her back against the wall, watching drunk people making out, dancing like lunatics, and doing things they’re sure gonna regret when the morning comes. Then she feels thankful she’s not one of them.

“Well, well, well, looks who’s here!”

It’s going to be a lie if she says she’s not happy to hear his voice, but considering what she’s seen back there, Y/N does not wish to look at Harry’s face at the moment.

“Came all the way here for trick-or-treating?” he jokes and comes to stand beside her, leaning his back against the wall as well.

She just scoffs without looking at him. “Why are you here talking to me?”

“Because you’re standing alone? I deserve a thank you.”

She doesn’t reply. Harry starts to feel something is off because there’s only one explanation for her to act so coldly toward him and that is — he must have done something wrong.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he says to her.

“I thought you came with Niall.” She shrugs and turns to look at him at last. “Who’s your date?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“You were sucking on her tongue a minute ago?”

“What? Are you jealous or something?”

“You wish!” Y/N snorts and crosses her arms in front of her chest, the thing she always does whenever she gets defensive. “I came because you sounded like you wanted me to. But here I am, alone at the back of the room as I expected.”

“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” He playfully nudges her with his elbow but her expression stays unpleasant. “She’s not my date, I don’t even know her name!”

“Hey Harry!” Niall suddenly approaches the flatmates and he looks so stunned to see Y/N as well. “Why is Y/N here? I thought you came with Clarissa?”

“Ooooh, right, her name is Clarissa! See? I can’t even remember her name!” Harry fakes a nervous laugh but Y/N is not very amused with his lie. She brings the glass to her lips and gulps down the alcohol like it’s the only thing that keeps her sane at the moment. Niall and Harry exchange looks, neither dares to say a single word.

Then comes another one of Harry’s friends whom Y/N does not know, but let’s be real, Harry is probably friends with most of the people here.

“Hey guys, the party’s getting boring, let’s go!” the guy says in delight as he rubs his palms together. “Trix is sick, she cannot join us now we need another person.”

“Louis, how about Harry’s girlfriend?” Niall speaks up as he grabs Y/N by the arms and pushes her forward, toward this Louis guy. The seemingly older boy stares at the girl then his friend Harry, his eyes full of doubt.

“This is your girlfriend, Harold?”

“No!” Harry and Y/N deny at the same time.

“Okay then...” Louis squints his eyes and looks at Niall who secretly gives him a nod to confirm Harry’s and Y/N’s non-existent romantic relationship, as a result receives a death glare from Harry.

“Alright so now there are six of you, perfect, let’s go!” Louis says and turns to leave but Y/N’s hesitation stops him.

“Wait, go where?!” Is everybody here high or something? She thinks to herself.

“Wait for us in the car, I’ll explain it to her,” Harry tells his two friends, who agree and walk away to leave him behind with his bewildered flatmate.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s just a fun Halloween tradition our group came up with for Halloween.”

“Oh my God!” Y/N covers her mouth to hold back a loud gasp as she gazes at him with cow eyes. “Are...Are you in a cult?!”

“What?” Harry laughs quietly. He has a love/hate relationship with Y/N’s worst assumptions whenever she freaks out. “No, Y/N, we’re not.”

The answer makes Y/N sigh in relief and Harry can only think about how much he wants to kiss her because she looks so cute under this lighting. Still he has to shake off that thought, now is the least appropriate.

“Last year Niall suggested that it would be fun to do something scary on Halloween, so he came up with the idea that one person would dare the rest of us to do a challenge and the winner or winners would receive a prize from the host. Last year Niall made us do a scavenger hunt in a cemetery. This year it’s Louis’ turn to come up with the challenge. Don’t worry, love, it’s all safe.”

“What is the challenge this year?”

“I don’t know, you have to get to the destination to find out.”

“Then how do you know it’s safe?!”

“It is! Trust me,” Harry chuckles and reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You’ve got to trust me.”

His voice sounds so soothing, it makes her wonder if he really does care about her or he just wants her participation in this because they’re missing one member, either way, it works. She cannot say no when he’s giving her that look and holding her hand so gently.

Eventually, Y/N nods her head, receiving a smile from her flatmate in return.

“If I die tonight, I’ll become a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Her warning leaves a grin on his face. “Good. You’re already dressed like a ghost.”

“You must think you’re funny but you’re not.” Y/N glares at him as they head to the front door.

She’s too worried about this game with his group of friends to notice that he’s still holding her hand. Harry, on the other note, is well aware of that, still he’s very much enjoying it, and he just can’t wait to show her the real fun of Halloween.

PART 2

#flatmate!harry #what will happen in the second part hmm?#what do you think the challenge is gonna be?#harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #boyfriend!harry #bestfriend!harry

492 notes · View notes

pengychan · 5 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 7

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: I mean did anyone here really expect Ernesto and Imelda keep up the truce for long. (Also Tumblr is a baby so go check out the illustrated version on Ao3!)

***

The shower in Ernesto’s small apartment is nowhere as large as his and Imelda’s own, so Héctor is rather glad they’re doing this at their place.

Not that he’s that picky, nor is the shower that small; it works perfectly for one person. Two people could fit in without too much trouble… but with three people, one of them being so ridiculously broad, it would be a very tight fit. Maybe someday they will give it a go, but for now, Héctor is pretty happy they’re using the big one.

He’s got to admit that maybe Ernesto has a point in life: there is a lot to be said for being the center of attention. Especially when - and maybe it’s just some wishful thinking, but maybe not - he’s got those two actually working together to get him over the edge, focusing on him rather than trying to best each other.

Or maybe just focusing more on him than they are on competing against each other. Either way, Héctor will take this as a victory… and it is a very, very sweet one.

Héctor draws in a sharp breath when a soapy hand grasps his cock firmly, giving it a squeeze, and some of the water running over him - it is hot enough to redden skin and yet now it barely feels lukewarm compared to skin against his own, the hand on his cock and the kisses Imelda is trailing across his chest - gets into his mouth. It causes his next moan to come out as almost a gargle; Imelda pulls back for a moment, and there is a chuckle against his ear.

"New song?" Ernesto asks, stroking him idly. Héctor doesn't have enough breath to reply, and he just tightens his own grip on Ernesto's drenched hair. He doesn't even seem to feel it; Héctor can feel him smirking again against his skin. There is water and steam everywhere, the touches on him are turning him into a quivering mess, it is hard to breathe and oh, he’d trade this for nothing else.

"You know he can sing better than this," Imelda speaks, her voice so dangerously, dangerously sweet. Héctor opens his eyes, squinting against the water, to see a smile curling her lips. She looks past him, right at Ernesto. "Better than you, for sure."

"Oh?" Ernesto asks, and there is challenge in his tone, but the amusement is not gone. He presses a finger against the slit of Héctor's cock, getting another moan out of him, a buckle of his hips. "Does he now?"

"Get your hand off my husband's dick," Imelda says, and her smile turns lopsided. "And I'll show you how to make him sing."

Oh, God.

Héctor gasps, shutting his eyes. There are a few moments of silence aside from the rush of water, and he breathes in the steam just as Ernesto speaks again.

"Very well." One more squeeze and he is letting go of him, his other hand still firmly grasping Héctor's hair. "Show me."

Héctor opens his mouth to say something - not that he has any idea what to say, or the capability to string together anything that makes sense anymore - but of course all that leaves him is an low moan. The sight alone of Imelda kneeling in front of him, hair and skin wet, is enough to make his head spin, no matter how familiar; her mouth on his cock a moment makes him cry out and shudder violently.

Normally he’d reach out to steady himself against the walls of the shower, because he’s never had such a great sense of balance, the floor is wet and collapsing on Imelda would be just about the worst way to interrupt a very pleasant start of the morning. But this time, there is no need: Ernesto is there, solid and steady as a wall, holding him tightly, chest to his back as Héctor buckles his hips, shuddering.

He leans his head on Héctor’s shoulder - something he started doing after a particularly powerful fit of pleasure caused Héctor to throw back his head with reckless abandon, which almost resulted in a broken nose - to gaze down at Imelda’s head, and chuckles.

“She got you good,” he murmurs against Héctor’s ear, getting a wordless groan as a response. Imelda is pulling back slowly, trailing a vein with her tongue, and lets her teeth scrape just slightly against the top in a way that never fails to turn Héctor into mush. He gasps, getting more water in his mouth just as Ernesto speaks again in his ear.

“... But I think two of us would get this over with quicker.”

Wait, what?

In the haze of pleasure, under the relentless cascade of water, Héctor can only blink when Ernesto’s steadying, reassuring grip faces. He glances back to see he’s kneeling down, feels his hands on his ass, prying the cheeks apart, and then something warm and wet--

“Ah!”

The startled cry leaves his mouth with no words, not one single coherent thought to it. Héctor finds himself reaching down, grasping Ernesto’s hair with one hand and Imelda’s with the other, holding on like a castaway to a piece of driftwood.

But that’s what you do, isn’t it, it’s what you’ve always been doing, clinging onto them to avoid drowning because you know you can’t make it on your own.

The thought is sudden as it is jarring, and Héctor is quick to chase it away because oh, Ernesto and Imelda are making it so easy now, to abandon all thought and just enjoy the feeling - their hands on him, and the heat of her mouth and the strokes of his tongue, the wet hair his fingers are tangled in and the hot water falling over them all, the steam he breathes in with each helpless gasp.

He lasts no more than two minutes, and he cannot even bring himself to feel sheepish: he’d dare anybody to last one moment longer than he did, he truly would. His legs give in - does he eve have bones anymore? - but Ernesto is there to hold him up, Imelda is turning off the water and reaching for a dry towel, and Héctor isn’t worried at all, safe in the certainty that neither of them is going to let him fall.

***

“Your parents sounded in a good mood.”

“Hmm.”

“Shame we didn’t catch your brothers home, but I bet they’ll call back. Hey, did you see the latest video on their channel?”

“For the sake of my sanity, I try not to look.”

“Heh. Good point.”

Silence.

“... Tell me it did not involve rockets.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, good.”

“There was a circular saw, though.”

“What??”

“But everything went fine! I mean, the experiment failed, but no limbs were lost and they walked out with ten fingers and toes. I’d count it as a success.”

“Ten fingers and toes each, or between the two of them?”

“Each.”

“Thank God for small miracles.”

“To be fair, this one wasn’t that small.”

“Aaaand this is why I make a point to never look at their channel. What kind of experiment was it, anyway?”

“Beats me. They didn’t make it very clear.” Héctor laughs, and leans his head on her shoulder, a hand reaching down to massage her lower belly to help her through the usual cramps that come with her period. They’re both in bed, and she’s reading a book Ceci recommended to her when she popped in to get some fabrics – which means she very nearly threw it at her head bellowing for her to read it.

It isn’t half bad, but it hasn’t really captured her yet. Then again, she’s only some thirty pages in... and she is getting distracted by thoughts of their trip to Santa Cecilia in about two weeks, to visit the grave of Héctor’s parents and attend to a special Mass in their memory.

It is mostly sorted, with the parish and with her parents, who are going to let them stay in the guest room as they always do, once Óscar and Felipe are done taking all of their clutter out of it. They have booked their train tickets, because both dislike long car rides, and she is well ahead with the orders, so that she can afford staying away three or four days.

Yes, everything’s in place, as per every year... but this year, for the first time, Imelda finds she’s bothered by the one absence she never gave any thought to before.

“Isn’t Ernesto coming?” she asks, closing the book. She glances at Héctor to see him pause, taken aback, before he shakes his head.

“No. He’s... busy.”

“Busy, every year?”

That causes Héctor to look away. “I can’t ask him that.”

“You can’t ask your best friend to be with you on the anniversary of your parents’ death?” Imelda asks, more harshly than she meant to. She shuts her mouth, already feeling guilty, when Héctor’s gaze grows distant... but only for a moment. Then he just shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“I can’t ask him to come to Santa Cecilia.”

“It’s his hometown.”

“He doesn’t like it.”

“We grew up there,” Imelda says, and has to make a conscious effort not to let anger show in her voice. “His family is there. Does he think he’s too good for it? For them?”

Héctor shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says, a defensive note to his voice. Sometimes it frustrates her, it really does, how defensive he is of his best friend because that’s just how Ernesto is. Like it’s supposed to make everything he does right, or at least more bearable.

“Then what--”

“I promised not to tell,” he cuts her off, and he looks genuinely sorry. “I really can’t. Just believe me, it’s all right. He cared about my parents, you know that. He doesn’t need to come to Santa Cecilia to show it.”

Can’t tell her.

Somehow, the thought hurts. There are supposed to be no secrets between the two of them; that is something they established early on. She certainly keeps nothing secret from him, and this is the first time she realizes it’s not quite the same for him. It is fair, she cannot fault him for that – it’s nothing she has any business knowing, after all – but the sting is there anyway, impossible to ignore.

A cutting remark - “did he get some girl in trouble?” - almost makes it to her lips, but she manages to hold it back, and swallows it along with her annoyance. “I understand,” she says instead. It isn’t the entire truth, because she can’t really understand what she’s not told, but it is the only right answer to give and the one Héctor needs right now, so she says it anyway,

And when he smiles at her, relief plain on his face, the smile she gives back is far more sincere than her words were.

***

Great as their teamwork can get in bed - and in the shower, and occasionally in the living room or the kitchen - Ernesto and Imelda’s first attempt at singing in a duet goes about as disastrously as Héctor expected it to.

He’s always been an optimist but, to be entirely honest, it would have taken a miracle for it to go down well... and miracles are hard to come by these days.

“If you could be bothered not to sing over me--”

“Well, I had to do something to fix the mess you were making!”

“Excuse me?”

“You were trying to breathe in and sing at the same time, don’t think I didn’t notice! Or are you always just this bad?”

“Says the one who keeps coming in at the wrong time! And why are you even wearing a charro now? We’re in my living room! Are you trying to impress the cat?” Imelda snaps. From the chair she’s curled on, Pepita chooses that moment to hiss in Ernesto’s general direction as though to point out that, if that was the intention, he’s entirely failed.

Ernesto scoffs, brushing his jacket in a somewhat defensive way. “Well, at least one of us needs to put in some effort! Either you’re not trying, or you couldn’t carry a note if it were stapled to your ba--”

All right, maybe it is time to say something. Héctor sighs, putting the guitar down on his knees. “Uh, guys--” he begins, but he has no time to say anything more. The next moment Ernesto scoffs dramatically, throws up his hands dramatically, and marches through the living room to the door. Dramatically.

“Fine! I’ll go find some company with those who appreciate my skills!”

“Hey now, you know we appreciate--”

“Your dogs?” Imelda asks, raising an eyebrow. The only reply she gets is a slammed door, and then a few moments of silence.

“... Well,” Héctor finally says. “That went well.”

“It did not.”

“There was no blood.”

“And that’s enough to say it went well?”

“For a first attempt, yes. Like your brothers not losing any limbs is enough to call whatever they’re up to a success,” Héctor quips, and that gets a smile out of her before she frowns.

“The first attempt, and the last. He is insufferable, even without a public. I can’t begin to imagine how you can share a stage with that self-centered drama queen and his inflated ego.”

He grins. “He doesn’t mind sharing with me,” he says, and is somewhat taken aback when Imelda gives him a look that is almost angry, and unexpectedly bitter.

“Oh, he would. But you’re his best friend, and I’m just your wife,” she huffs, and walks out towards her workroom, leaving a very confused Héctor behind. He blinks, not knowing what to say – not knowing what to think of her last words – as Pepita jumps off her chair to go after Imelda, silent as a ghost.

***

Ernesto doesn’t like Los Chachalacos.

All right, fine, so that is a lie: he likes them, if begrudgingly. Their music isn’t half bad, if nowhere near his-- their -- own, and they are good fun. In the several occasions they found themselves playing at the same venues, they’ve always been good company for a drink or two.

Still, they are competition, as Ernesto has to nearly constantly remind Héctor. They’ll join them if they have to, laugh and swap jokes and some gossip about yet another producer who had to pay up to silence some scandal, but that doesn’t mean they have to like them. They shouldn’t.

If only they weren’t so insufferably likeable.

“Oye, look who’s there!”

“De la Cruz!”

“Ernesto!”

“Come over here!”

“Where’s Rivera?”

“Have a drink!”

Their voices were the first thing he heard as soon as he stepped in the cantina, and sure enough there they were, crowded around a table and with a glass each. He could tell Marta is already in the process of drinking the rest of the band under the table. He joined them gladly enough, anything to get the argument out of his mind - not even much of an argument, but she was the one who was trying to sing over him - and explained that Héctor couldn’t come out.

“The tragedy of married life,” he mutters now, a glass in his own hand, and there is laughter, which makes him feel better. That is the reaction his jokes should get, not the exasperated sighs and biting remarks Imelda keeps giving him. She got… better, for a while, but now there’s something wrong and he cannot tell what it is - but like hell he’s going to ask. It's her problem, not his.

More drinks are ordered and soon enough everyone is singing, if somewhat drunkenly, and Ernesto joins in. They sing Los Chachalacos’ songs, Héctor’s own, popular ones, some unholy mixture of all of them - and no one complains about his voice being too loud, no one calls him an attention hog or complains about him at all, and that is precisely how Ernesto likes it. They see him, and like what they see. Listen to him, and love what they hear.

Before long, Ernesto is laughing hard enough to tear up and thinking that yes, Héctor is missing out, stuck home with that bore of a wife. He pulls out his phone, calls everyone to move closer for a group picture, and sends it over to Héctor with a brief message.

You’re missing out on life. Remember, divorce is an option! ;)

***

“Divorce is an option.”

“I-I’m sure he was just joking! You know, that’s what Ernesto is li--”

“Do not. Finish. That sentence.”

Héctor shuts his mouth so abruptly his teeth click together. He’s regretting dearly the moment he asked Imelda to check the phone in his place, since he was elbow-deep in water trying to unblock the sink. He expected her to read aloud whatever message he just got, and instead there had been silence… and he turned to see her absolutely livid.

You’re in trouble, amigo. If she doesn’t strangle you, I will.

There is a long sigh, then Imelda looks up and give the least reassuring smile she ever gave. Her frame relaxes, all tenseness gone, a glint in her eyes.

“Héctor, mi amor,” she says, her voice rotting honey. “Let’s get in the bedroom.”

***

Ernesto is in the middle of a really funny joke involving a bellringer, a train and a nun when his phone bleeps. He grabs it, still talking and glass still in his other hand. Maybe it’s Sofía - he wrote her earlier to ask if she’s free tonight, because she’s good fun with no strings attached and no desire for any on either side - but it isn’t her. It is Imelda.

And she’s sent him pictures.

For a moment or two Ernesto stares down at the screen as though not comprehending, glass still at his mouth. He can see Héctor; he can see lingerie; his brain, however, is momentarily refusing to put the two things together into a single image for him to elaborate.

Then it does, and the beer he was about to swallow comes out of his nose in a sudden, foamy stream.

“Hey, Ernesto!”

“What is it?”

“Are you all right?”

“I-- ack! I--” Ernesto stands suddenly, dropping the glass, phone still held tightly in his hand. He coughs and wheezes, which doesn’t give the words he manages to choke out - I’m fine - the barest semblance of credibility. His head is reeling, he cannot breathe, he’s sticky with beer… and the images are still before his eyes, as though imprinted in his retinas.

“Whoa, easy there!” there is a relieved laugh, a hand on his shoulder. “Need a towel and some wat--”

“Toilet,” Ernesto croaks. He must be growing redder by the second now, his face unberably hot… and not just his face. He’s got a problem there, one he needs to take care of before it becomes too obvious - which will likely happen any moment now, since he had the brilliant idea to put on such tight trousers. “L-lo siento, I need-- restroom-- just a minute.”

Thank God no one argues, and he’s able to stumble his way to the toilet. By the time he gets there he’s painfully hard, Christ, he can’t remember getting this hard so quickly since he was eighteen, but no one noticed the bulge at and so all is fine, he can take care of it and walk back out laughing with an excuse - maybe something about his last meal being just a bit more than a human being can handle.

Then he will march out of here, and he’ll strangle Imelda or die trying. For now he settles for gripping something else entirely, though not tight enough to cause harm, thank you so very much. With a grimace, Ernesto begins to stroke himself… and just then the phone bleeps again.

He shouldn’t look; it goes against his best judgment. But then again, what harm can it do him now? He’s already in a toilet stall, taking care of the problem - may as well see what else that bruja has sent him. So he grits his teeth, squeezes the head of his cock, and lifts the phone to his eyes.

From the screen, a scowling Imelda is staring straight at him, her middle finger raised. In the background, he can see Héctor sitting on the bed, taking off what looks like a pair of stockings, caught in mid-laugh. Below the pictures, there are only a few words.

Who’s missing out now, pendejo?

There is a rush of something that Ernesto mistakes for anger, and his grip on the phone tightens - as does that of his other hand on his cock. It was Héctor’s pictures to reduce him in this state but now, as he finishes, he’s scowling back at Imelda.

And telling himself that, somehow, he’ll make her pay.

***

“Let me get this straight. You called me to ask if I’m going to pose for pictures? And here I thought you were up for a fuck.”

“Well, that too.”

“What’s with the sudden interest in taking photos of women in lingerie?”

“You could say it’s an artistic pursuit.”

“Ernesto?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

All right, so maybe Sofía knows him too well by now. Ernesto sighs. “Well… uh…”

“... Wait a minute. Are you trying to make somebody jealous?”

“Wha-- no!”

“You are!”

“I am not!”

“And who is it? Was it the same one you wanted to impress with your absolutely non-existent culinary skills?”

“I wasn’t trying to impress anyone!”

“Oh, please. There is always someone you’re trying to impress. Fans, friends, flings, the old lady next door, the mirror…”

Ernesto snorts. “Fine, fine. Let’s say there is someone I’m trying to get back to--”

“Good luck.”

“I need your help.”

“You’re not seriously expecting me to-- I don’t even have much lingerie. I don’t see why anyone should bother. If someone gets to see my underwear at all, chances are it won’t stay on for another minute.”

All right, that is a logic Ernesto can’t really argue with. “Naked, then? You look great naked.”

“I’ve heard you bullshitting better compliments than this one, but nice try. I’m not posing naked for pictures you’re going to share with your crush. Are you drunk?”

“My wha-- I don’t have a-- all right, a little drunk, but that is entirely beside the point. Will you let me--”

Click.

“... I’ll take that as a no.”

***

“No.”

Of course, that is just about the answer Héctor was expecting - and the same he already got from Imelda, too. Neither of them has any interest in trying to sing in a duet again, and maaaybe that attempt has been just a bit too rash from Héctor’s part. He should have given it more time.

“Are you sure? I think you could sound great together, if you just work a little on--”

“I don’t need to work on anything. She’s the one who’s nowhere near my level!”

“-- on your teamwork.”

That causes Ernesto to scoff, glaring down at his phone. Throughout the whole lunch, he’s hardly looked up from it and hasn’t looked at him in the eye once. When Héctor glanced over, he seemed to be scrolling through some amazingly useless dog toys and gadgets; he’s not sure he wants to know how much money his best friend has been spending on the four pups who, after a few attempts at nipping the waiter’s ankles, are currently snoozing under the table.

“We are a team,” Ernesto is gritting out. “Me and you. A great team. She has no part in it.”

Héctor rolls his eyes, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. “Still mad about those photos?”

Ernesto stiffens before shrugging. “What photos?” he asks, and he even sounds convincing.

Except that Héctor knows him too well. He grins. “I bet you didn’t delete them.”

“Shut up.”

“To be fair, you started it. Just admit we outdid you. If you’d like to be in the next photoshoot--”

“Shut. Up,” Ernesto snarls. Héctor grins.

“Oh, come on. I didn’t pout like that when you went wild with that vibrator.”

“I didn’t go wild,” Ernesto protests, but his scowl is fading into amusement. “My finger slipped on the remote a few more times than it was supposed to.”

“A few more times.”

“All right, a lot.”

“Slipped.”

Ernesto rolls his eyes. “Stop it. I showed your wife how it’s done. And you creamed your pants.”

“And so did you when you got those pics, I bet.”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“... I made it to a toilet,” Ernesto grumbles, then scowls again. “And anyway, that time you got your revenge the following week.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

He doesn’t argue that point. “I still think the handcuffs and costume were entirely unnecessary.”

“Are you kidding? Those were an integral part of the scene. And I'd been looking for an excuse to borrow it from Imelda.”

“Unnecessary. And so was your wife taking pictures!”

“Which you asked to be sent later,” Héctor reminds him. Ernesto has the good grace to blush.

“That is beside the-- the--” he sputters. “What point are you trying to make?”

Héctor shrugs, glancing around to make sure no one is close enough to listen, and reaches to play with an ice cub that was left in his glass. “Well, Imelda had an idea for something...”

He tells him what she has in mind, in good detail. Ernesto turns crimson, sputters indignantly, snaps that they must be out of their mind and that he’ll never submit to such indignity. Héctor smiles, shrugs, and says it’s all right, he’ll never bring it up again. And he doesn’t; he acts as normal, and waits.

Within a week, he gets exactly the text he’d been expecting.

***

“I’m not saying yes.”

“Of course.”

“We got it the first seven times.”

“Good, just so we’re clear. I’m-- enquiring.”

“Clearly,” Imelda says, sounding perfectly serious, and takes the coffee to her mouth. From his seat, Héctor can see her lips curling in a smirk behind the cup for just a moment. “So, enquire away. Which part of the whole scenario confuses you?”

“Well…” Ernesto starts, then pauses, clearly at a loss, before clearing his throat and letting his expression fall into indifference. He looks perfectly in control: his shirt is spotless, his hair carefully styled… but there are dark shadows under his eyes that bespoke of at least a couple of sleepless nights. Héctor wonders if he’s dreamed the scenario. They have tied him up on a couple of occasions, yes, but this would go quite a bit further.

“For one… er…” Ernesto is saying slowly. “The binds are going-- would be safe, right? Not that I can’t take it, of course, but I sort of needs these hands to play…” he says, glancing at Héctor.

He shrugs and holds up his hands, flexing his fingers. “Perfectly safe. No damage to these hands, is there?” he says, and smiles. “Safe, sane and consensual, no?”

Ernesto stares at his hands for a couple of moments, maybe trying to imagine them bound, before looking away. “Right,” he mutters, and takes another sip of coffee, seemingly very interested in a specific spot on their kitchen table. “The ginger thing - what is it about?”

Imelda smiles a little. “Oh, that. It causes burning.”

“What?”

“With no damage. It’s perfectly safe. You’ll only feel the burn.”

“You mean I would feel the burn,” Ernesto corrects her quickly. “I’m not saying yes.”

“... Right. Anything else?”

“That with-- the rod, and--” he pauses, and swallows. His attempt of seeming at ease is less and less believable. “I’d be able to stop it any moment. Of course.” Another pause. “... Right?”

Imelda nods. “Of course. We’ll agree on a safeword. You say it, and everything stops,” she says, and tilts her head on one side. “You’ve never done anything like this, have you?”

There is no trace of mockery in her voice - this is too serious not to be perfectly straightforward about; if this is to go on, they all need to be on the same page - but Ernesto seems to take it as such, and he suddenly seems flustered at the suggestion he has absolutely no experience while they do.

“Of course I have!” he protests. “I was just… making sure.”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “So, you know how all of this works.”

A scoff. “Of course I do. I know everything,” he snaps.

It is a lie, one Ernesto will regret telling. Neither Héctor nor Imelda question it.

They will regret that, too.

***

[Back to Part 6]

[On to Part 8]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #coco #mind the gap

15 notes · View notes

violetsystems · 4 years

Text

#personal

I think around the start of the holidays until my birthday in the middle of February is the most alone I am every year. Both of my parents still live in the state and are divorced. I end up spending time with both in very intimate settings. Yesterday I took my mom out for lunch in Chinatown. I avoided the larger side of my family. Being isolated isn’t something I’m uncomfortable with. I’ve spent most of the better half of three years isolated. I quit drinking around Christmas of 2016 and played my first show sober in New York at the turn of the year. I set everything up largely by myself and it was so much work I don’t think I enjoyed it. But that was the start of setting off on my own two feet and facing the world I’d become abandoned by. Three years later I’m still down here anonymously typing away at whoever reads these. It’s about the realest and most verbose I am aside from talking to myself. The irony is that people would rather listen to other people’s explanations of me rather than read it from my brain. This is just how society has come to be and a large portion why I stay far away from it. I’m not particularly scared of confrontation. People are real with me on the street in varying levels every day. I write about it here and become desensitized to it. But in the back of my head I wonder what percentage of what I’ve been through has been due to people not listening to what I purport to be. Is anybody ever really listening at all? I am a person that has faced responsibility dead on and found some things I didn’t like about myself. I tried to correct those and fix things because no one else would help me. People will give you sympathy for sure but no one really wants you to change. Years later I find that large portions of my life aren’t really compatible with the society lurking outside my door. I’m not too terribly radical in anything other than my acceptance and tolerance of people who aren’t like me. For a person so far ahead of the curve I’m all by my lonesome more often than not. This is not to say I particularly mind being by myself. I spent most of the time organizing the space that I’ve lived in for over a decade. I’ve held a salaried job for twice that many years. The amount of times I’ve been taken advantage of is astronomical. But for the most part I still wake up on Saturday a little wiser than before and live to tell the tale online. A space where barely anybody knows who each other is but there’s a far deeper understanding to go with it. You could be alone in the world and feel like nobody understands you and why you make the sacrifices you do. That would feel miserable. I know very well people understand exactly what I’m trying to say or do. I also know letting the wrong people into your life will unravel the safety you’ve built around you piece by piece. I’m reminded that every day I pass people from my past on the street. People ignore me for years until there’s an emotional opening. A holiday party. An invitation to a game after being snubbed for an entire year. A nostalgic conversation at a bar while drunk about how Tim is such an asshole . Maybe flip through my instagram and like a few pictures for good measure than spend the rest of the evening talking shit about me. Meanwhile I’m passed out in my bed full of tryptophan and left over turkey. Same old shit just quieter and more apparent. A few dollars more in my checking accounts and my subscriptions paid through the year.

If I’m bitter about anything it’s that a year from now people will know better.. Every year I do this and stay out of trouble is another year people get away with murder for free. It’s been three years now since I started whatever path I set out on. I quit music. It never quit me. In a half assed sort of way it still imagines me in some cryogenic stage. Nostalgia is fucked up like that. I am a very real and different person as I write these now. But fragments of things I did in the past still haunt me in dissonant ways. If I were sure of one thing it’s that what I write here chapter after chapter has an evolving narrative. I understand myself completely. I’ve been working out constantly for the past three years. I quit the gym after being targeted and sexually harassed. Same people followed me around the loop for awhile. I write about it week after week and the only thing that changes is my routine. I change parts of my life to cut these bullshit victimizations out. And they fade in memory like they never happened. People forget how many times they themselves have gaslighted me in public behind my back. I know very well how people talk about me. That’s why I avoid most people. I don’t avoid writing truthfully about it on the internet. You could read these, print them out, highlight them and approach me and I’d probably say “yeah that’s who all this is about.” Nobody does. It seems like that would be the most direct way to engage me. Nobody does. They take fractured bits of things I like and spew them back at me in a random order. Try to manipulate me in ways that I’ve become seriously bored with. I’ve also become less sensitive. I think when .you have your life together in a peaceful way it’s easier to detoxify yourself from the radiation of social progress in America. How can I afford that? On a nonprofit salary I afford it by budgeting and staying away from impulses. Drinking was one of the hardest impulses to delete from my life. Years later looking back to the reasons why I can sympathize but cannot empathize with myself. I wasted a lot of time. I feel just as trapped as I did now. I just face it more directly. At least these days it’s other people that waste my time. The time I spend with myself, my family or my cat is sacred. I used to go to cafes and coffee houses and drink coffee by myself and read. Now I do that alone at the kitchen table overlooking the train platform. My apartment is finally furnished and full of life. I’m far more organized than I was when I was chasing after other people’s approval. I can’t walk a block without someone expecting something from me. Expecting me to prove myself with no payoff. Expecting me to be a superhero for something no one wants to give me credit for. Simultaneously needed and shunned. Three winters spent alone and I don’t really complain about it. I just shrug and see how unhappy people are on the surface. I look in the mirror these days and remember when I hid it. Now I just see me. I don’t regret anything. I am sad that people don’t see me as someone they can respect. Most people look in that mirror and lie to themselves that they have self respect. And it haunts them more than poltergeists or fake tumblrs with good intentions.

I’m not really alone this year at all. The cat that I started feeding on my porch now sleeps under my bed when I have the door open. I have the luxury of locking her out at night when I sleep. She scratches at the door at the same time every morning like an alarm. It’s when I wake up anyway. I work twenty minutes away and appear out of the ether like a vision every morning. Sometimes I feel like I’m so seamless nobody even cares. They just expect that I’ll be around and continue to do what I do. I’m supposed to wait for a sign. Then wait for another sign. Then after three years still keep seeing the same signs that keep telling me to wait. I didn’t go to New York again this year. I spent every two months doing the same trip for over a year. What has changed? I have grown into something I like. I feel more adult. I feel more responsible. I feel like I have a grasp on how much everything costs and why. I feel like I’m ok by myself. I feel like maybe one winter someday I won’t spend it alone emotionally. But statistically speaking I only get better because I stay away from people who are unsure about the direction I am taking myself. I start to think that everybody is full of shit. That sure people can see how great I am in theory but they don’t want to recognize it in public. What would that say if you suddenly agreed that I’m a good person? I remember when you ignored everything I did because you wanted so desperately to believe I wasn’t. I remember how wrong you were. And people still have the nerve to parade in front of you like the bourgeoisie they are sans apology. I was isolated and alone because I had no choice. I took control of large portions of my life only to be greeted by people pressuring me to give up the reigns again. It’s a dumb cycle. And when I end up every Saturday at my kitchen table a little less broke and a little more ok with myself I exhale loudly. It’s not a sigh. It’s not even relief. It’s an acknowledgement of just how fucked up the world really is and how lucky I am to not be wrapped up in it. I tired. Year after year I tried to be recognized for something. There’s always some mediocre rich piece of shit to talk over you. There’s always some public exposition required for you to be accepted. I always thought writing here would be enough. It is for the people that care about me the most. You should already know why I do the things I do. Why I stay home and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Why I have all the coolest shit but am never cool enough for the people who matter. Why I have nothing to hide after being ostracized and worse. Why I don’t bother to complain anymore because people will just call me a hater. How fed up I am and alone I feel. I’m not sad. I’m definitely not seasonably depressed. I will be another year older. I’m pretty old as it is. I both feel it and don’t. I’m young enough to know in five years time I’ll still be better than anybody will ever know. And I know the last three years I’ve only gotten better. I don’t plan on getting any worse. I’m orbited far away from self destruction. Maybe I’m just marooned on my own planet. Like Hoth but with less American imperialism. It’s still cold and lonely at times. But it’s linked to the Star Wars universe so there’s a franchise in here somewhere. <3 Tim

0 notes

maychorian · 7 years

Text

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #18

Rules: You can find past rec lists here. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Day 2: Home by genocidalCatgal Words: 1,440 Author's Summary: Blue is the best thing that has ever happened to Lance. My Comments: Suuppper cute bonding fic with Lance and Blue, early in their relationship. I love this emotional boy his giant robot cat. Also, very cool stuff about the past blue paladin.

Parasite Knight by VelkynKarma Words: 42,721 (WIP 7/14 AND UPDATING ALMOST DAILY) Author's Summary: “You may refuse all you like, Champion, but I have found the one thing in the universe that can be absolutely counted on is that everything that exists desires to survive. Even you. Perhaps especially you.”Something’s not right with Shiro, but it may go far deeper than anybody anticipated. My Comments: Holy crap on a cracker, this fic is EVERYTHING. It’s hurt/comfort and sickfic and team bonding and we’re only halfway through and it is SO incredible already. The insights into just everybody are amazing, and everyone has an important role in tackling this seemingly insurmountable problem. Hurry, hurry, read it now so you can catch every update as they come out. This fic is making the wait for Season 2 bearable.

Stoplight by acryology Words: 1,674 Author's Summary: When Coran and Allura learn about the game of "Red Light, Green Light" from the paladins, they all decide to play a few rounds as a "training exercise". My Comments: Cute team bonding!

all alone, all together by seules Words: 1,516 Author's Summary: This is bigger than anything he ever imagined. Lance knows the world’s balls deep shitty, so it’s not much of a stretch for the universe to take a crap and coat itself in it, only in a much larger scale. But it’s different when you’re told that the universe as you know it is about to be completely taken over by a tyrannical, fascist madman (surprise, surprise) and Obi-Lance Kenobi, you’re 1/5 of the universe’s only hope! My Comments: Aww, Lance and Allura bonding! I’m astounded that mine is the only comment on this fic. Please read it and encourage the writer.

The Ones We Leave Behind by psiten Words: 2,894 Author's Summary: In between all the bleeding and fighting, time for reading and writing. "Hey..." The unmistakable sound of a thought appearing in Lance's brain, like the proximity of magnetic force summoning an electric charge out of nothingness. "Wait a second, Pidge... your human name was Katie Holt, right?" "Um. My birth name was Katie, or Katherine anyway. I never stopped being human, thanks." Originally written for the PROJECT: PALadins gen zine (December 2016). My Comments: This fic was absolutely worth paying money for, but if you couldn’t afford it, lucky for you it’s available now!

A Little Unsteady (Hold Onto Me) by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee Words: 13,385 Author's Summary: Takashi Shirogane is nine years old when he holds his brother for the first time. “I’m here,” he’d whispered to his fussing baby brother, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.” And Keith stopped crying. He didn’t laugh; he looked up at Shiro with big, skeptical eyes. A challenge. Like this tiny person was saying ‘oh yeah, prove it’. And Shiro, newly nine years old, promised that he’d prove it. Shiro and Keith's childhood in moments. My Comments: Modern setting AU, but with a few tweaks I could absolutely see this working in canon-verse. It’s incredibly touching and well-written, and Shiro’s development from reluctant child to fiercely protective big brother was beautiful to watch. Both boys went through a lot of heartache, but by the end they’re together, and you know they’re going to be okay.

accidental by EmmaLuLuChu Words: 2,768 Author's Summary: one word prompt from a writing sprint in which a thing happens and it is Rough. My Comments: This is angsty but somehow hopeful at the same time. The team will not give up on Shiro. Ever.

this decay, this hope, this mouthful of dirt by lacking Words: 9,490 Author's Summary: Sendak steps closer and Shiro thinks about statistics —the insurmountable odds against Sendak being discovered in the void of space, the passing ship being Galra and not some scavenger. Pidge or Hunk could probably devise some kind of equation to highlight the absurdity of it, lay out in a spectacular display of numbers just how bad Shiro’s luck really is. Or: captured by the Galra and awaiting rescue, Shiro's forced to confront who he was, how he's changed, and what that means about the person he's become. My Comments: This one is stunning. The non-linear storyline really enhanced the confusion and incoherence in Shiro’s mindscape, and all of the memories and present scenes were well-woven and important. Especially loved the bits with the paladins together, and the ending was perfect.

So Small and Significant by Hedgi for Meriadoc Words: 2,275 Author's Summary: With everyone scattered, Shiro has to chose who to go after first, and it isn't much of a choice. He promised himself weeks ago not to fail the Holts again. He may have to go farther than he thought to keep that promise. My Comments: Shiro’s unthinking protectiveness of Pidge is absolutely in character, and their interaction was lovely.

Surely Someday by 15Strawberries for buttered_onions Words: 3,437 Author's Summary: Lance and Hunk have a tradition. Every day after class, they find an empty classroom to jam in, to unwind from the stress of the day. It grows from there. My Comments: Adorable college/jazz band AU. I love how the group grew and developed and came to depend on each other, and the ending was absolutely heartwarming. It reminded me of my own college experience in a music program, and that’s not a bad thing at all.

Sorry, Who Are You? by squirenonny for Piper Words: 5,643 Author's Summary: When Keith was seven years old, he spent a year in La Quinta with a boy named Lance, the best friend he ever had. Ten years later, Lance and Keith reunite at the Garrison--only Keith doesn't remember who Lance is. My Comments: Mild Klance. I like the way this deepens canon, giving Lance a real reason for being upset with Keith from the beginning, though Keith’s forgetting is understandable, too, considering his life. The ending was sweet and satisfying.

Save The Date by buttered_onions Words: 1,979 Author's Summary: Homesickness in space is no joke, and Lance isn’t the only one who needs cheering up. Luckily, Hunk’s got a Plan. …assuming he can get it to work. My Comments: This is absolutely precious. Everyone gets lifted up, in typical Hunk style, and he gets a turn, too. I especially loved the continuing saga of Coran’s birthday tootle.

boredom is cruel and unusual punishment by babitty Words: 3,183 Author's Summary: 3000 words of Lance getting the shit beat out of him, because i needed to get some angst out of my system. it's not very graphic but injuries are listed and batons are used. My Comments: This is an old-fashioned whump fic, where the point is very much Lance (and Keith to a lesser extent) getting beat up. But there’s a lot of courage and tenacity on display here, and they do very much feel like themselves. An enjoyable fic, if you’re in the mood for hurt with not a lot of comfort.

Let Him Rest by jadencross Words: 960 Author's Summary: Coran does so much for the team. And Keith thinks that it’s time he did something for his crazy space uncle. My Comments: Ah, and this is pretty much the opposite of the last rec, haha. Love Keith being the very definition of Aggressively Cares About You, and Coran needs a lot more love. Sweet fic.

strength of the small by nowweareunstoppable Words: 12,736 Author's Summary: A false distress signal lands the paladins in a tough situation. It falls to Pidge to earn their freedom, and it doesn't come without a dangerous cost. My Comments: This fic is AMAZING. Pidge is an absolute badass, smart and strong and extremely well-characterized. The frantic run afterward to get her to help was intense and wrenching, too. And Lance was especially wonderful. You can feel his desperation, how deeply he loves Pidge and needs her to be okay, because she’s his little sister now and he CANNOT lose his family. Ahhh, I loved this one to bits. Highly recommended.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated This Week:

When Rome's in Ruins by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) The Final Act of Mercy by ptw30 bombs and bullets by ashinan Where No One Goes by earthstar The Lightning Strike by Merilindir Beast You've Made of Me by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) He Sleeps in the Sky of Ice by jadencross Coming Undone by Emerald_Ashes Someplace Like Home by squirenonny Road Trip to End Times by VelkynKarma

#voltron legendary defender #fic rec #every week i think this list is going to be pretty short #and then it isn't #voltron fandom is still bringing out the good stuff basically every day #but one of these weeks my list is just going to be a copy-paste of all the wips that updated lol #weekly voltron fic recs #vldgen

69 notes · View notes