#when men should have fashion options too???

[ssaalexblake]

I think we should ban patterned tweed doctor or master costumes just to see if the costuming department can actually style a man without relying on stripes (or an outfit repeat) to make the outfit visually interesting. 

I’m legitimately actually just curious at this point. 

They’ve afraid of men looking *gasp* silly like the characters aren’t the biggest clowns in the universe and will look silly no matter What they wear. 

Is the person who costumed Colin Baker still alive? I want to send them fan mail. It is terrible as an outfit. Hideous in every way. Why would Anybody???? Think??? about???? it??? I don’t want to look at it. But... Damn bold. Brave. The person who costumed this man was Not a coward. I respect that. 

Classic who had better game dressing men than all of nu!who has ever had because they never tried to make the doctor look cool. 

#dw shit #it's not a bad outfit #but every other one i've seen drawn in fandom was much more interesting #i'm actually just mad there's Another suit like outfit with fucking Stripes as a fanartist #they're a bitch. #but as an orange STAN (it's the best colour) the colour Pop is glorious #(tone on the interwebs is hard. i am in no way annoyed just. Kind of bored of nu!who being boring costuming men #nobody used to be scared to make the doctor look weird #gonna assume jodie only got away with her outfit bc Girl tbh #and jo martin's patterned blouse with the shaped coat was a simple but effective interesting choice. shape and colour. Beautiful. #i just don't think men's fashion should be boring #it doesn't Have to be #it's just people are cowards when dressing men #when men should have fashion options too??? #dhawan's first outfit was going middle ground? the rolled up pants gave character but in itself it wasn't That imaginative #it was two pieces of a suit and a normal coat

[hyewka]

warning: not proofread, perv!gyu in all his realness 🙂..

beomgyu as your best friend. someone who genuinely cares for you, someone who taught you how important it is to upkeep your platonic relationships because they are just as important and valuable as your romantic ones. there's just something about him that makes you guys almost inseparable, ever since meeting him at your freshman orientation. you guys just...clicked.

which is exactly why beomgyu thinks you're on the same page, or at least somewhat, when it comes to the supposed sexual tension he'd feel is there when things get weirdly intimate. he's tried it out, asking you jokingly if you guys should just fuck, it's not like he hasn't been upfront about how sexy he finds you, admitting it upfront the first day he met you--but maybe that was the issue, the joking nature of his voice, even when he's 100% serious. the exact reason why you laughed your ass off, saying "could you imagine?"

beomgyu would scoff lightly, an embarrassed smile as he plays with the drawstrings of his sweats before eventually laughing along, returning your energy with no fail.

because, hell fucking yeah he could.

it's a little embarrassing how fast things turn from platonic to a quick trip to the bathroom, biting down on his lips, sighing from pleasure, eyes shut closed just imagining how you'd look slipping off the new bodycon you were asking his opinion on. the guilt pooling in his chest is what ironically fuels his speed, frantically jerking off his dick, his eyes rolling back his head when he's close to cumming-- that was his signal to finally imagine your face just one more time, just one more time and he's trembling as he makes a mess into the toilet paper he crumbled in his hand.

whenever you'd spin around, doing those cute little fashion shows that you routinely do before leaving for a party, that was when he'd subconsciously take in every detail he could catch, your curves, the way the top would cup your breasts, god--your breasts. a lucky day is when he could see your nipples outlined through your dress.

its been a tortue for beomgyu, having to quickly pull your pillow laying on your bed, the one he was sitting on as he waited for you to come out your room's bathroom and show him the third outfit option, attempting to hide his boner laying it on top of his lap. but he's so dumb, he's dirty, so disgusting...would you find him disgusting?

what would you think of him if you knew he was bucking his hips ever so slightly, trying to be as discreet as possible, into the pillow the was only meant to hide the stupid erection of his. he can't help it, he can't. especially when the dress you come out wearing is the one he picked out for you a few weeks ago, the one you refused to buy when he took it off the clothing rack--it was a gem to him, but you said it was a little too skimpy, and he snapped out of it, god what was he thinking?

but here you were, the exact dress he recommended, on you. "what do you think?" you asked, examining yourself on your wall mirror. what did he think? he was currently fucking your pillow, going crazy, his hand gripping onto the softness-- he...thought a lot to say the least. but mostly how he definitely did not want you wearing this to yeonjun's party.

beomgyu hasn't ever been possessive of you--he never minded it when you dated people or hung out with other people more than him, but you couldn't wear this out. he can't let other men have this, the bright red complimenting your skin so fucking beautifully, shit, the intricate design of the cuts in all the right places--he just couldn't.

"i don't really like it..." he managed to say normally enough, that it wasn't weird.

you furrow your brows, turning to him, "you're the one who begged me to buy it though?"

"just think the other one was better," he tried to smile, but the ends of his lips were trembling, he couldn't stop ruining your pillow, even when your eyes were directly on him.

thankfully you didn't notice, your attention more on the dresses. "fuck...you're right...you're right! the green one was pretty fucking hot, right?" with a nod of his head, you quickly pick up the discard green dress on the floor, immediately in the bathroom again due to the restraint of time.

beomgyu as your perverted best friend, going back to his dorm after a long shift, opening his computer to relieve his stress and like any man in his early twenties, choosing porn as the tool to do exactly that. clicking on the genre he'd usually get himself off to, until his eyes find themselves staring into a thumbnail--a pov video. beomgyu was never really into this, not ever getting the hype. but it wouldn't hurt to watch one, just for a change of routine.

before he knew it, his eyes bored into his computer screen, on his ninth video of the pov shots. he only watched intently, before the next video autoplayed, the tenth one. he was about to call it a day, shutting off the tab but something caught his eye, halting his movement, slight sweat breaking out on his forehead--why was this girl remind him so much of you? the eyes, the mouth, fuck--right down to the expressions, she resembled you.

suddenly, he gets it. he gets the appeal, imagining the random porn actor behind the camera the girl was sucking off, to be him, it was him and you--and fuck, now he was shifting on his gaming chair uncomfortably, watching every movement of the girl, so engrossed, his brows closely knitted together, slightly chipping down on his nail as he observed.

he hadn't noticed his hand moving on its own, hesitantly going down his sweatpants, once again jerking off in his sweats, like a crazed sex addict, a sore loser, not even having to hide his whispers, quickly turning into whimpers, of your name slipping out his lips like a mantra, a chant, the more he got close, his breathing getting heavier, eyes never leaving his screen, feeling his dick twitch, and finally, one last silent scream of your name when he throws his head back on his chair, eyes still looking down at his screen, still watching, spurting cum all over the insides of his favorite sweatpants. he couldn't even last two minutes of the 12 minute long video.

he's definitely going to have to start collecting.

needless to say, after that day, his friends who often hung around his dorm knew to not ever touch that cursed gaming chair--everyone had a...slight hint of what he'd do on it.

or alternatively, where you'd visit his dorm like usual, choosing to plop yourself down on his comfortable desk chair, unaware of all the times he'd cum all over it--spinning on it mindlessly as you scrolled on your phone.

he comes back to his dorm after fetching the bucket of ice cream he promised to go quickly get for the movie marathon night after horrifyingly seeing that he was out-- coming back from a short trip to the nearest convenience store. "hey!" he shouts out, loud enough for you as he slips off his shoes, excited to start the movie marathon, "i got your favorite flavor, you have to thank me, it's the mint...one..." his words die down, mouth drying.

catching you on that chair. on that chair with your grey shorts, your bare skin touching it...it was unfortunate for beomgyu, that it took one simple thing to ruin his three day streak.

beomgyu who's been on his best friend mode pretty well, but now here he was, sitting straight up on his bed, laptop playing the movie eventually far down his lap to make space for his movement, silently jerking off under the shared blanket. you had dozed off after the third movie, your head comfortably on his shoulder, something so innocent.

but there he was, craning his neck shamefully, trying to get a look down your tank top, your cleavage sending his brain to overdrive, frantically going up and down his length, whimpering, trembling, so quietly, tears forming in his waterline both from the shaming of cumming so quickly--ruining the sheets you were literally sleeping in, and the overwhelming pleasure he had felt from the shame.

he was so so so disgusting, he knew it, he definitely knew it--but he couldn't help it, deciding to change his position a little, rubbing his dick back and forth on your thigh, so slowly as to not wake you up--his previous semen making a mess on your skin.

movie marathons, yeah, hes got to clear his schedule more often for them.

############################################

a/n; omg this was originally something so short lol, i got carried away. anyways..perv bestfriend gyu agenda..phew...i need requests like this in my inbox, i begggg

#txt smut #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader #txt hard hours #perv!txt #choi beomgyu smut #🌷. rana thoughts

[velvetures]

COD AU: Intro

AN: I love this. I have so many thoughts in my head. So many it’s killing me inside. Please enable me. God I hope at least one of you likes this enough to talk to me about it. To hc, to literally just share my words with. And yes…. There is a very heavy Ghost/romance element… but I’m totally not against picturing the other options ahaha.

So I’ve been thinking….

An AU where everyone needs to lay low for a while. Maybe they’re all compromised and someone with enough power and money shows interest to take out the 141 forever. And Laswell, being the problem solver that she is, suggests a safe house of someone close to her. Someone who can be trusted. Not just to provide somewhere physically safe, but also keep a close eye on the team while they’re -somewhat- forcibly being cut off from the world.

So the team are flighted into the middle of god-knows-where in the mountains. A tiny little town -if you can call it that- and they meet their contact.

Not only a girl… but civilian.

She refers to Laswell as Aunt Kate and the Captain and Uncle John. Sweet as can be, and so damn helpful that it’s almost infuriating. Especially to Ghost. She hasn’t seen a single thing about them other than what Laswell has offered, and really appears like she couldn’t care less about opening her house up to them. A house just big enough to fit all four men.

Ghost isn’t sure about the whole thing. It feels wrong being holed up in the deep holler of an Appalachian mountain with a girl not twenty-five. Like some kind of fucked-up movie he wasn’t aware of being cast for. It’s all too strange walking inside her house and seeing photos on the walls, a massive rack of cast iron skillets and pots hanging above her kitchen island, and the way she looks at Price so fondly.

Uncle John…

Something about it rubs him wrong. There’s got to be history there… at least enough for her to feel the right to call Price that. But he’s never heard of her before. And this kind of arrangement isn’t one to taken lightly. There are people hunting the 141… A threat so well documented that they couldn’t even just turn a blind eye and wait for the smoke to clear.

The sweet thing doesn’t notice Ghost’s apprehension.

But she does recognize Price’s excitement in seeing her, as well as his slight disappointment that she’d offered to do this. She’s too good to get involved in matters of war, and he’s honestly surprised that Kate let you. But then again, there could only be so much disappointment he could find in seeing his goddaughter. And funnily enough, there’s a sense of relief he has in seeing how well she’s done for herself since he saw her last.

Intelligent, scarily so. But not in an overt way. He can see it in the way she collects rainwater for watering the little garden out back, and the pistol safe tucked under her bed with a thumbprint scanner. He notices the small town she’d bought her home in, and the relatively tight community. Maybe a little old-fashioned… but it’s good in case something goes wrong. And right now, it’s paying off.

Unbelievably welcoming too… but Kate and John always knew there’d come a day when she’d get a chance to ‘mother’ someone. And now she’d have four men to do exactly that for. Even from day one, she’s already made trips to the store, rearranged her whole home, and bought god-knows-what in anticipation for their arrival.

What’s each of your favorite food, I’ll make lists so I never run out of dinner ideas.

Any preferences on how I should come and go around my the house? I don’t want to startle anyone.

Did you need anything you didn’t bring? If I can’t get it in town or online I’ll text Aunt Kate and have her get it…

She’s nearly frantic to get them settled, and everyone reacts in a muted tone of shock save for Price. He’s well-aware thanks to Kate about how excited she is… something about wanting to prove herself. And Jesus if it doesn’t make Price feel a bittersweet burn in his chest as he introduces her to the others. Seeing her wide eyes examining all of them without the slightest hesitation. Memorizing names and faces, and shaking massive, gloved, hands without missing a beat.

She’s got Soap wrapped around her finger on instant. Maybe it’s a big-brother feeling. One like Price holds for her. Since she’s younger than him -unlike his own sisters- there’s something of a chance to be one for a while. Soap almost instantly takes to her Appalachian lilt and bright smile. They’re both too sweet for their own good at times… and Price can tell right away there won’t be a knife sharp enough to cut the two of them apart after this.

Gaz is quietly polite is a way only he can be. Meticulously trying to stay out of her way as she flutters about. Wanting to help her out, but also downright flustered when she demands she be the one to carry their bags to their rooms. It’s a clear sign he’s not used to it… A woman being this damn sweet and intent on ‘helping’ a man. But he takes it in stride. Learning how to help without stepping on her decidedly ‘southern comfort’ style of catering to them. And god if Price doesn’t have to chew the tip of his cigar when she gets on his ass about something. The poor sod looks like a kicked puppy… and he’s certain she’ll end up training him with due time.

Christ above. If Ghost isn’t the most difficult bastard to deal with initially.

He’s much more sour than typical. Lurking in corners, and unable to settle down anywhere for more than an hour. He looks caged in by the comfortable couch and throw blankets. Swallowed by her pleasantly creaky porch swing and sun-couch on the wraparound. Not even her well-used garage housing an old Fold flatbed makes a good refuge for Ghost. She’s all encompassing in a way he can’t come to terms with easily.

Price sees her trying the hardest with him.

The way her voice lowers when addressing him. How she makes a conscious effort to tiptoe around the house after 10pm because that’s when he shuts himself inside his bedroom… She doesn’t exactly know he never sleeps. Dinners are often served close to the time he finally realizes he’s got to come back inside the house… and without fail, she can be found sitting near him.

Not friendly by any means.

But more like a girl who’s found an old bait-dog at the pound and can’t leave well-enough alone. Sitting with her back it to and tossing treats over her shoulder. Hoping silently that the old, scarred, dog will come around. Damn near predatory in a sweet kind of way. Price can tell she means well. She can see the same thing everyone else on the team can… and she’s just going about it her way.

She’s good like that. Maybe a little too good.

But John can’t deny he enjoys seeing it. All of it really. The way she dotes on them individually. Consistently. Hell, she even does their laundry and bought separate baskets to keep things neat and tidy. The fridges -yes… multiple- all are set with their preferences in drinks, and she’s scarily observant when things need replaced. Toothpaste… shoelaces… socks… there’s no missing anything. Brands and sizes don’t seem to be a problem either, to some shock and mortification.

Uncle John, what’s Soap mean when he says he misses Irn-Bru?

His quick and unconcerned explanation goes without another notice… until he sees Johnny taking a long drink from a bottle of it while sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch watching some hummingbirds fight over richly dyed sugar water.

John’s often preoccupied with worrying about the plans of those head-hunting them and what Kate’s doing behind the scenes in the meantime. But it’s clear there’s nothing concerning his goddaughter but whether or not they’re all fed, warm, and comfortable in her house…

Whether Ghost likes it or not.

Comments are so heavily appreciated on this… I want to make this more of what I talk about & I can’t keep it all on a notebook under my bed.

#velvetures #velvetures writes #cod mwii #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #john price smut #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john price #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw3 #cod au

[imbored1201]

Slumber Party & Prankss

Master list

Summary:  You and the ladies were finally having a slumber party to get away from the men but little did you know, Sam and Bucky were up to something

Word Count: 929

Pairing: Wandanat x reader

Warnings: Spiders, Bucky and Sam pranking reader, Wanda kicking their ass for it, Talks of drinking

“Okay ladies, I have the popcorn, the drinks, the candy, am I missing something” Pepper asked as she set down everything on the table of the living room. “The real drinks Pepper, we need alcohol” Valkyrie said as she sat down on the floor. “No, no drinking tonight ladies, you guys do that every day when you reunite” Wanda and Nat looked at you and Carol, Valkyrie always dragged you two into drinking on the rooftop. 

“What movie are we watching, anyway?” Carol asked as she scrolled through the movie options, “I wanted to do a Harry Potter marathon” Pepper answered making everyone protest. “Oh come on guys, we only watched the 1st and 2nd one last time, you can’t just watch the first two and stop” “Yes you can” Nat said smiling as Pepper kept arguing. Little did you guys know. Sam and Bucky were planning something. 

“Who are we going to prank though?” Sam asked, making Bucky shrug. They were sitting in Sam’s room playing video games, Bucky of course still confused on the controls. “Can’t prank Pepper because Tony will cut our budget, Carol will destroy this whole tower if we do something, Valkyrie literally has no fears and isn’t scared to kill us, Nat and Wanda are too scary. Y/N?” Sam looked a little scared, “Wanda and Nat will kill us if we did that, unless we get her away and bribe her not to tell them after,” Bucky nodded, “What is she scared of?” Sam smirked, “Spiders, fucking terrified of them, should have seen her when Peter brought his tarantulas this morning,” “Is Pete still here?” Sam nodded, “He’s in the lab with Tony,” Bucky stood up and started walking to the lab. “Let’s do some negotiating,” 

Bucky and Sam were able to bribe Pete into giving them his tarantulas and were deciding on where to set it up. After some arguing they decided to do the prank in Sam’s room. They put them in Sam’s bathroom and Bucky grabbed them out of their container and set them down. They decided they were going to go down there and ask you to come check out some of Sam’s outfit ideas for a “date” he had. 

Once they stepped foot in the living room they were quickly met by protest from all of you. “Did you not see the no boys allowed sign outside” Carol said as she threw popcorn at them. They held their hands up, “We just need Y/N” Sam explained, making you raise your eyebrow. “Why?” you asked as they expected you would. “I have a date tomorrow, and I need your advice on some outfits, you know how bad Bucky’s fashion is” all the girls let out a ‘ooo’ sound at Sam’s statement. “Okay Sammy, let's go then” you jumped up and skipped out of the living room. 

“Who’s the lucky person?” you asked, “oh, someone I met at the park, um, Y/N” he asked, getting nervous about pulling this off. “Yeah, Sammy?” you asked. “Can you get my tie from the bathroom?” you shrugged and did it. Bucky walked close behind ready to close the door, “Where is i- HOLY SHIT. SAM THERE'RE SPIDERS” You yelled ready to run out but Bucky closed the door before you could and held it closed. “BUCKY. NO” you yelled crying as you banged on the door. You quickly jumped on the sink and stared down at the spider’s that were just crawling around minding their own business. After a couple of minutes they finally decided it was enough and opened the door. 

“Wanda! Nat!” you yelled and ran past them once they opened the door, “Wait Y/N” Sam yelled as Bucky zoomed to you and grabbed you and shut your mouth before you could get to the elevator. “Y/N, stop” Bucky whispered in your ear and felt bad as you cried more. “Calm down” he comforted but little did they know, you were telepathically communicating to Wanda. 

It wasn’t long until you guys heard the elevator beep and then came out an angry Wanda and Nat who looked at the scene of Bucky holding you down with a hand over your mouth and Sam trying to bribe you with money and tickets to see Taylor Swift. “What do you think you're doing?” Nat demanded as Bucky and Sam quickly got up looking terrified. You started laughing at their faces and took the tickets and money from Sam. “Wanda! Nat! Look, tickets for Taylor’s concert” you giggled as you ran over to them. You were supposed to buy some but the day they went out you guys got put on a 2 week mission so by the time you got back they were all gone. Wanda pulled you into a hug and wiped your tear-stained cheeks, smiling a bit at your happiness. 

“Why don’t you go back to the sleepover hun, Pepper is putting on Harry Potter” you cheered and ran off again completely forgetting about the trauma you just got put through. 

“I’ll give you a five second head start” Nat smirked as she saw Wanda’s eyes were glowing, she was going to let Wanda handle this one. She stepped back and watched as Wanda flew through the hallways and laughed as she heard the boys scream of terror. 

This was probably one of the most unforgettable slumber party you've had, but at least you got Taylor Swift tickets and Wanda and Nat knew they were going to be dragged along and you were going to spend all their money on more merch. 

#wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #wandanat x you #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff

[genderkoolaid]

It's honestly really validating to read your thoughts on butch identity. I kept myself from fully accepting I might be a gay trans man for a long time because being a butch woman was so integral to my identity (I wept after finishing Stone Butch Blues. It was like being seen for the first time) and I hated that it felt like there was no way I could be both. So I was sort of performing trans man comphet and trying to convince myself I liked women just so I wouldn't lose that word. There's so much gender nuance to being butch that I feel like gets lost when we only focus on the sexuality aspect of it.

"There's so much gender nuance to being butch that I feel like gets lost when we only focus on the sexuality aspect of it." Yes!!!!!!

I came out very young (elementary school) as a lesbian, and cut my long hair to a pixie in the same year. And then shortly after began realizing was I was trans as well. I spent essentially my entire life being visibly queer and visibly queer-masculine a lot of the time. And this affected so much, because I latched onto "butch" extremely young and that became my model for my gender. I never shaved largely because, due to reading about butches, I felt that it was part of my path, even though I also knew it distanced me from others. My sense of masculinity and masculine fashion has always been deeply butch, regardless of my gender. Its such a deep and integral part of me and has been my whole life. I truly feel that I can't not be butch. I don't relate to a lot of "female socialization" both due to being autistic and being visibly queer; I always knew that, while being categorized as "girl," I was also never going to be a "real girl," and everyone knew that. Becoming a butch adult felt more natural than puberty.

Which is why its so annoying that people center butchness on sexuality, and specifically romantic-sexual attraction to femmes!!!! Because while I have, in fact, dated femmes (arguably I dated too many cis femme women who I felt I had to walk on ice around to avoid scaring them with my butch gender), like I said, my butchness is a natural part of me. Being queer is a part of being butch, but the way we talk about butchness makes me feel like people can only view it existing in relation to romance (and femmes). And obviously because of radfeminism, trans men & mascs' unique relationships with butchness have been largely ignored in any way besides "I used to be butch, but now I'm a Normal Straight Man!" & also the general erasure of transmasculinity in lesbian history. Lesbian spaces have always been a haven for trans people, because for a long time in the West, your options were generally "move to a new town and go completely stealth for as long as possible" or "find your local lesbians and be a dyke within a community." There's a reason "butch" has always held so much gender nuance. Radclyffe Hall, who wrote the famous lesbian book The Well of Loneliness, has been argued to have been transmasculine- but the idea that butches may truly call into question the gender binary causes too much anxiety, so we have to constantly re-affirm that butches are above all else women. I'm a firm believer that butch4butch relationships have long been a way for gay trans men to indulge their desire for men within the context of lesbian identity (because all the trans guys are fucking each other and always have been).

Anyways. yeah. let butches exist beyond our sexuality. Understand that "butch" carries so much color and cannot be reduced down to a simple binary concept.

(Also anon, if you haven't, you should read this article about transmasculine comphet wrt gayness).

#please read The Transgender Craze Seducing Our [Sons] btw its so good #m. #ask box

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing and smoking.

It was Steve Harrington’s twenty-ninth big birthday palooza.

Well, at least that’s what the giant, colorful banner called it, that hung across the foyer of his home. That’s what happens when Dustin Henderson plans your party. But the kid—who was beyond the definition of a kid now—had told Steve he had no right to complain about it being childish. Steve did shoot down the first option of “Big Birthday Bash,” terribly unaware that palooza was the next best thing for Henderson.

Had he known, he surely would have stuck with the first option.

Steve was correct, though. The banner was childish, and it had garnered all the fascination from the mini Munson that walked in with a gaping mouth of pure awe at the bright sign. At the very least, the actual kid would enjoy it.

And “palooza” was really selling it out. It was merely a group of adult friends simply hanging out like old times. Only the new addition was the three-year-old hanging off your leg, who adorably looked a lot like your husband.

Not fair. You did most of the work.

But it was worth it, staring into those baby cow eyes every time you crouched down to your kid. And once you stood up, you’d find them again from Eddie Munson, himself, who peered at you lovingly.

Of course, you had to show off your baby and bring him to the party. He was already a crowd favorite. Being the first baby born into Hawkins’ infamous clan of misfits gave you that right. And they all loved that tiny Munson.

Especially after that “Happy Birtday, Uncle Steeb!” It was enough to make icebergs melt.

And having a child at an adult hangout wasn’t all bad. Keeping the beers separated from the juice boxes, and having a yard big enough for the child to run was sufficient enough. Bonus points for Steve Harrington’s dog, Rufus, who took up all your kid’s attention.

By the end of the night, the group had naturally separated into two; the men left smoking outside, while the women conversed in the comfort of the living room. This had come after the cake celebration. Once the candles were blown out, Steve had joked that he wished to keep all his hair throughout his thirties. In reality, he’d wished to start a family as loving as the one his friend had.

He would end up confiding this to Eddie during the relaxed smoking session. That he wanted the whole package; a wife and kid. In fact, he dreamed of having many of them. Eddie blew out the smoke from his cigarette and smiled. “It’s the greatest fucking feeling ever, man.”

Because when Eddie looked back through the glass doors of the patio, he saw you. Sitting and chatting, beautiful as ever. But the cherry on top was seeing his tiny kid straddling your lap. His curly head of hair buried into your neck calmly asleep, as Eddie’s leather jacket draped over as a comforting blanket.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Eddie beamed, as he stomped out his cigarette.

One day Steve would get that. Whether it was with the pretty lady he was currently seeing or a future soulmate, he’d get that.

Eddie had walked in, strutting over to the quarter of cake that was left after everyone had gotten a slice. Not you, though. You were busy cheering on Steve from the couch, as your baby used your chest as a bed. Cutting a slice, and plonking it onto a paper plate, Eddie meandered his way next to you on the couch.

“You deserve a piece.” He forked a triple chocolate portion into your mouth, where he smiled, as your face contorted into delight. “Good?” He knew it was, he devoured two slices earlier. You could only hum with pleasure, before he leaned in and whispered. “Should we feed the monster?”

It was a risky move. One taste of sugar, and your three-year-old would turn into the Hulk. But it was a risk worth taking, your baby was too cute not to feed treats to.

Eddie managed to slowly insert a small piece between his tiny puckered lips, as he slept. And in true Munson fashion, your baby chewed in his sleep, eyes closed but mouth surely moving.

Then, those baby cow eyes tiredly opened at the sudden sweetness. “Choclat?”

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I don’t know why I keep making Dad!Eddie blurbs. It’s an addiction that can’t be stopped.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #dad!eddie x mom!reader #steve harrington

[artemis32]

Jrksnsk Ur yandere erasermic tho!! It's so good haha. Can I ask what do you think are the ways the reader can hurt them back? Because I noticed that your version of them is rougher(? Or maybe harder? I'm sorry I'm not good w/ words) than others (and I love both versions fyi!!)

So I'm just curious what kind of actions the reader can do to kind of get to them or hit them where it hurts, whether emotionally or physically haha. Like they're so shock or hurt that they can't even punish the reader for it- and if they do they're not that focused on what they're doing.

(bsksnsks I forgot but please feel free to ignore this if you're not taking requests rn or something 😭😭💜)

subjugation drabble v

this is such a delicious thought, i will run with it

subjugation masterlist

So, to truly get to either one of these men, you really have to take some below-the-belt shots. No holding back.

If you're too kind or soft about it, they'll laugh you off as they usually do.

If you're harsh and rough about it, but not enough, they'll just end up annoyed and take it out on you.

You need to stun them to the point of silence, truly shock them.

It's not an easy feat, and if you give them any time to think over what you've done, you'll probably be in more trouble than you'd thought, but if you manage to properly get under their skin, then you've earned yourself some peace and quiet for a while.

And if you do a really good job, you might actually get them to reflect on what they've done - not that they'll ever let you go, they'll just apologise and give you a bit more leniency.

Now, let's get to it.

Verbal

We've already established that calling them perverts or anything along those lines gets them super riled up, though not in the way you want. They become physically aggressive and aren't afraid to put you in your place if they think you've gone too far.

That being said, there are a few verbal jibes that can actually get under their skin, though probably not enough to shock them to a point where they genuinely have no idea how to react.

You could pay special attention to the fact that you were their student - don't outright mention it, but subtly allude to the fact that they were your teachers, people you trusted, long before you caught their eye. That'll give them pause, if only for a moment. After all, you're right.

Their feelings towards you are already wrong on so many levels, but add to that the fact that you were their underage student when they first met you? Regardless of the fact that nothing happened while you were their student, it strikes a nerve.

They, especially Hizashi, feel queasy for a few hours after that.

The best part is they can't even punish you for saying it, because you didn't actually say anything.

Or.

The option which will probably get you the lashing of your life.

You could mention their old friend.

How you found out about Oboro, they'll probably never find out. But regardless, you know about him, and their relationship with him, and you use that to your advantage.

Mention how disappointed your friend would be if he knew that this is what you've resorted to.

They'll be in too much shock to truly retaliate.

"What would he say? If he knew that his two best friends kidnapped a girl nearly half their age because they were just that pathetic?"

You might be expecting a backhand through the face, or a hit hard enough to send you flying, but it never comes.

They just stand there, shocked and appalled by your words, not even able to punish you for tone or your words.

(I'll probably write a separate drabble for this because damn, I love the potential with this piece)

Physical

A good old fashion kick to the groin should do it.

I'm not even kidding - if one day, you reach your limit, eager for even a mere two minutes of peace and quiet, and you decide to go for the nuts - well, whoever you hit will be down for a while.

They'll probably punish you for it, but that means admitting that you managed to pull one over on them, which they won't do. And, they're both well-seasoned pro-heroes. They should know better than to fall victim to a cheap shot like that, so it's completely on them.

Same goes for any head shots that manage to knock them out.

They aren't worried about you getting away, but if you manage to sneak up behind one of them and knock them unconscious - with an object or your own hands - they probably won't punish you, because again, it's on them for not paying more attention. They take it as their own punishment for their lack of awareness.

Plus, they'll never admit it, but the teachers in them are proud of how resourceful and smart you can be when you plan things like that out. It almost warms their hearts.

To them, you're more like a playful kitten than an actual threat.

Months of isolation and inactivity have made sure that any physical advantage you may have had, had melted away. It was difficult to maintain stamina or muscle strength when you were locked up inside for most of the day, and the fact that the two of them watched you like hawks whenever they were around didn't help either.

You couldn't do that much damage to them, at least not physically.

Emotional

The cliché "when you hurt yourself, you hurt us too" is something they'd say (or at least, Hizashi would).

To be completely honest with you, emotionally manipulating the two of them is actually pretty easy.

They truthfully do feel bad about what they've put you through, but they'll never admit it. Yes, they feel bad, so some subtle emotional manipulation would work pretty well on both of them.

Some small mention of the life you used to have; of the longing you feel for what you've lost - it won't really amount to much.

But overtime, it begins to wear on them.

They know how much they've made you suffer. They know, and they feel remorseful. Not enough to grovel and beg, or let you go, but enough for it to weigh heavily on them.

If you hurt yourself to hurt them - emotionally, physically, or otherwise - well, it'll work. Probably better than you'd like it to, honestly.

Immediately after they find out, they'd be stunned, unable to muster any reaction beyond silence. It'd take them a while to process it, but they'd eventually come to terms with it. After that though, they'd hover even more than they already do. They aren’t typically the kind of people who like to coddle you, but they’ll go above and beyond to crowd your space and take up all of your time.

Hurting yourself in any way would definitely get the reaction you want.

That and, if you expressed any emotional ailments you had because of them. That in particular would hurt Shouta - he loves you, and to hear that his actions hurt you - it kills him inside. He does what he does to keep you safe and happy, so it hurts to hear first-hand that it does the opposites.

Like I said, immediately after you’ve expressed your emotional distress, Shouta in particular is the most likely to give you some space.

It’s more to give himself time to think, reflect on himself and his role in everything, but it works out well enough – you’ll get some space from him and his overwhelming presence, and he soaks in the worry and anxiety for a few days before acting on whatever he’s decided.

With Hizashi, it has the opposite effect. He won’t give you any amount of space. Unlike Shouta, who gives you some space for a few days before crowding you, Hizashi immediately overwhelms you.

Of course, in his mind, you feel this way because he hasn’t given you enough love or attention, so clearly the only way to remedy the situation is to overcompensate for what he’s missed.

To emotionally manipulate him, giving him the cold shoulder works surprisingly well. Considering this is a fully grown man, you’d think he’d be able to easily distinguish when you’re trying to manipulate him, but he doesn’t.

If you really want to add insult to injury, give Shouta all of your attention – go above and beyond with your affection. Hizashi will think he’s done something unforgivable.

Cue the begging and pleading.

Be careful with that route though – Shouta is smart enough to see through your antics, and if he sees that you’re trying to manipulate or hurt Hizashi with your games, he’ll shut it down immediately. And then you’ll have a punishment to deal with on top of the usual treatment you receive from them.

Balancing both men while simultaneously manipulating them is a difficult feat, but if you’re smart and patient, you’ll manage. And truly, the results will be worth it.

You’ll have space from the two of them, some much needed peace and quiet, and two mopey men eager for your forgiveness.

Don’t take too long to wrap it up though – their remorse and sadness will very quickly turn to irritation and anger.

After all, they’re in control. You shouldn’t get to dictate your relationship with them, especially not when they’re so generous and take care of your every need without so much as a thank you in return.

But yeah, that's how you can hurt them back.

Their reaction ranges from mild irritation to genuine shock, but no matter what you do, they won't let you go, no matter how sorry they are.

#yandere #dark content #female reader #erasermic #eraserhead #present mic #hizashi yamada #shouta aizawa #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #subjugation #subjugation ask #.anon. #art answers

[asheepinthenight]

Hi Dani! I love Talon's End so much! I love the writing and Hawk and Shea and the Siblings and Isla and Erich and not so much mom, but I still love her and it's amazing.

Question: How would you describe the usual human clothing of the region? I'm trying to draw my MC (helps with getting to know the character) and I'm not sure of what clothing she'd wear.

Thank you and take care! <3

That's a super good question! I got a little carried away, but hopefully this is at least kind of helpful!

TL;DR: Women mostly wear dresses; men mostly wear trousers. Regardless of gender, clothes tend to be light and loose in style without a lot of ornamentation. Currently though, elegant, ornamental hairstyles are in, and many people are growing their hair out to take advantage of that. Hair length isn't particularly culturally dictated or gendered. Clothing colors usually reflect the seasons' colors in nature, but only members of high society (like MC's family) are really expected to have whole ensembles of the "proper" colors. For those curious, robes aren't at all common due to their association with mages.

Details under the cut!

The area where MC and their family live is relatively diverse, so fashion there has been influenced by a variety of different cultures. Maressea is on the warmer side of temperate with a fair amount of precipitation, so during warm weather, clothes tend to be light and not have too many layers--but coats, jackets, and capes to ward off the rain are common. Even when it's warm, sleeves, trousers, and skirts are usually long, but they tend to be more loose and flowing. During the winter, heavier fabrics are a must, but the styles are relatively similar to warm-weather clothes. Colors are an important part of styling, though. The colors of an ensemble should generally match the colors seen in nature during a given season. This is obviously pretty expensive and, therefore, a thing people will be judged by if they're considered a member of Society. But in situations where no one could reasonably afford multiple dyed garments for every season, people still often use seasonal colors for ribbons, handkerchiefs, and other small items. Even among the nobility, garment patterns and shapes are often relatively simple since the mundane aspects of fabric arts were only revived in the last century. Those who had the knowledge to revive things like lace-making and detailed embroidery are highly sought after, and their services quite expensive.

Hats aren't a big thing--unless they're necessitated by weather--since elegant, complex hairstyles are having a moment (the vibe but not necessarily form of fancy wedding updos). Historically, there hasn't been a major tendency toward long or short hair, regardless of gender, but long hair is stylish due to greater options for the aforementioned elegant hairstyles. (Not quite Hawk-length, though!) Hair accessories like ribbons, combs, and gemstones are common based on what a person has available to them.

Women are usually expected to wear dresses, and men are expected to wear trousers. But some avant garde women (including Sabine) have started wearing trousers at informal events (and formal events, if they're feeling extremely spicy). Some men have begun wearing dresses as well, but it hasn't taken off as much just yet. Robes are sometimes worn, but it's very rare since they're associated with being the garb of mages--not the most popular thing these days. So Hawk's gift had the double sin of being a robe AND not being a seasonally appropriate color.

#asks #maressea

[joyfulladywarrior]

Naive Rhaenyra part 2

The Fourteen Flames had often facepalmed at the decisions of the Targaryens. Truly, they should have chosen another house to save humanity from the doom. The doom was set to happen as any other natural disaster. Nature is ever changing and no amount of magic would postpone the changes forever. Before the doom, Valyrians had grown bold and believed themselves to be on par with the gods enough to survive it. The doom was coming followed by the long night. The long night would destroy life as it is. Other gods are not as powerful as they are so it is their responsibility to change the outcome. Valyrian magic and dragons are powerful enough to stop the long night once and for all. The Targaryens were the lowest dragonriding house in Valyria. They were not as arrogant or greedy as the rest. Their men were weak but their women compensate their weakness in magic and intelligence. They were the best Valyrian option. This had spurred the gods into sending dreams of the doom to warn Daenys.

The Targaryens fled the doom but their lack of ambition made them content with their life. The Fourteen Flames decided to intervene once again by sending dreams to Rhaenys. Rhaenys had told her siblings and they became the king and queens of Westeros. Due to the traditions of Westeros, Rhaenys decided to make an inscription on her brother's Blackfyre to serve as a reminder of the prophecy. Her reason was that the Andals listened and respected Aegon's opinion over hers and Visenya's which drove her wife mad. Both wives tried to convince Aegon to make other thrones or start making laws that would give women power. To make Westeros a new Valyria. While Aegon was in favor of abolishing the many laws that physically harmed women, he had assimilated to the Andal culture and became complacent to many of their practices. He wanted to be accepted and respected by the Andals. Rhaenys had accepted this answer but she wanted to make a reminder of the dream. To ensure that future Targaryens would not forget their true purpose in Westeros. When Jaehaerys came to power, he claimed the prophecy to be Aegon's instead of Rhaenys and limited the number of members who know of the prophecy to the king and his heir.

Due to the unsuccessful reign of Aegon, Aenys, Maegor, and Jaehaerys, the Fourteen Flames decided to send a warning to Viserys. They sent him a dream that his pursue of a son would cause the death of dragons. In true fashion of a Targaryen man, Viserys believed the dream to be a promise of a great son instead of a warning. His actions led to more disasters. Rhaenyra did not help the matters either. She is as smart and capable as any Targaryen woman. She is a true dragon. She is the true heir. However, all the great qualities that would make her a great queen was snuffed due to the neglect she suffered from her parents who only remembered they had a child when they wanted to be hopeful they would have a son. She became even more of a disappointment than Viserys. She sent her blood away and became a sheep. Her own dragon became lazy and weak.

The Fourteen Flames had tried everything with the Targaryens but no intervention was understood in the way it was intended. This led to one last thing to save the world of men from the dead. They had to meet with the Targaryens directly. They would not meet Viserys or Rhaenyra. They both proved to be weak and complacent. Daemon is too violent and no one listens to him. Viserys' children from Alicent are savages. Rhaenys became more of a Velaryon than a Targaryen at this point. The Fourteen Flames will meet with the Velaryon boys. Laenor Velaryon claimed them and the blood of the dragon runs thick. They are protective and noble. The heir who was promised will come from their blood.

The boys suffered abuse when they were young. They were separated from their dragons at a young age and had to discover what it meant to be a true dragon in the Free Cities. They know the way of the world and are willing to change it. They were the perfect valyrians.

The Fourteen Flames began visiting the boys. They would give them gifts and would teach them the blood magic that was lost in the doom. They also awakened the Velaryon blood in their veins since the boys seem to despise the Targaryen blood they share as a reward for their hard work. Their coloring started to change. Their skin started to tan and their hair became silver. The changes delighted the boys since they also started to resemble their father.

#jaceluke #rhaenyra targaryen #laenor velaryon #rhaenys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #viserys targaryen #corlys velaryon

[chvoswxtch]

Hello my love! I love the way you write Frank (AND Matt, but im in a Frank mood tonight). I’m not sure if you’re taking requests rn, but if you are, I love to submit one!! Tbh I’m so sick of how douchey guys are these days on apps, and the “oh you just wanted a free meal” behavior and dating rn is the fucking worst. What’s your take on a situation where you’re friends with Frank and you complain about how badly men behave these days, and he offers to take you on a real date and treat you right? Bc I could use a Frank to rescue me and treat me right rn 😫

hello my darling! thank you so much, omg. you're too kind🥺

ok first of all when I say you are PREACHING to the damn CHOIR !!! I tried a few dating apps and I loathed every single one of them. straight up was not having a good time. it was an absolute travesty, so I feel for you so hard right now angel.

this is my first time doing a headcannon so this is super exciting and i'm happy we get to do this together!! because you absolutely DESERVE a frankie to rescue you and treat you right because you are a goddamn CATCH you are a GLOWING GODDESS and anyone should be so heckin LUCKY as to go on a date with you ❤️

headcannon is going to be below the cut bc y'all know I get carried away, especially with my baby frankie

frank castle & dating apps

first things first: frank castle is very old fashioned, so the idea of a dating app probably not only confuses the fuck out of him but also makes him grimace. like the man without a doubt hates texting, preferring an actual phone call instead, and most likely comes up with a million different threats to your security and worst case scenarios when you teach him about online dating

"don't you wanna meet someone the old fashioned way? how can you tell they're not a complete asshole just by a picture and a few words? what if they ain't who they say they are? you still got that knife I gave ya?"

frank already made you share your location with him a long time ago for safety reasons but now makes you text him the address of wherever it is you're going on these "dates" as well as check in with him every hour

he would probably be adamant about coming with you and sitting in a corner somewhere so he could keep an eye on you but you quickly shot that down bc it's frank and he's very hard to miss and you would have a hard time explaining to your date why that big guy across the room looks like he's seconds away from committing murder (you know exactly which look i'm talking about)

frank requests you send him a picture of whatever guy you're meeting just in case he needs to hunt him down find him if you don't check in or something happens, and never hesitates to offer a look of utter disdain and merciless judgment when you finally send it

"really? you're goin' on a date with this? the options on them apps that goddamn bad, sweetheart?"

frank is extremely shameless in verbally eviscerating every single guy you show him or tell him about and never misses an opportunity to make his opinions known

one night you storm into his apartment without knocking (a common occurrence he's finally gotten used to) and plop down next to him on the couch with a glass a wine (he made a mental note to keep the kind you like on hand at all times) and start to vent about your latest disaster date

the guy made you drive nearly an hour out of your way to meet him at a sketchy dive bar, spent the whole night talking about himself and cutting you off every time you spoke, and then had the AUDACITY to ask you to cover the tab because he "forgot" his wallet at home (this actually happened to me once)

frank can't take it anymore. this online dating thing has been going on for months and every time you vent to him about these assholes, it gets harder and harder for him to control his feelings for you because he's supposed to be your friend and the guys you've been going out with look nothing like him and as much as he wants to be with you, he's scared to ruin the one good thing he has. so, frank hatches a plan

"alright, I can't take this shit anymore. don't make plans friday night. we're goin' out."

he says it so nonchalantly, you almost don't catch what he means. you splutter out your wine, staring over at frank because there's no way he just asked you out on a date??? frank catches your look and offers a timid smile, reaching over to squeeze your knee gently

"relax. i'm just gonna show you what a real date should be like. you've been on so many shitty ones, I don't even know if you know what a good one is. let me help you raise your standards a bit."

let me tell you something, frank castle knows a thing or two about romance. this man goes ALL OUT. picking you up at your door (on time, early even), flowers in hand (your favorites bc he actually listens when you talk), is the most dressed up you've ever seen him (it's a dress shirt and jeans but he's usually covered in blood so), opens all the doors for you and pulls out your chair, takes you to a restaurant he knew you would love bc he knows your favorite dish & dessert, spends the whole night asking you questions about things he's always wanted to know about you, makes you laugh with silly jokes and stories, and tells you several times throughout the night how beautiful he thinks you look

you've always had a crush on frank (how could you not honestly) so you were a nervous wreck about the whole thing and what it meant for your friendship and if he was just doing this to be nice because he felt sorry for you or if he actually liked you back

but the date is not only the best one you've ever been on but also the easiest because it's frank and he's your best friend and you've never felt more comfortable or at ease with someone and when the check comes it makes your heart sink because you never want this date to end, even if it isn't real

the entire walk back to your apartment there's a palpable nervous energy between the two of you and his hands are in his pockets but you desperately wish they were holding yours and when you stop at your door there's a million thoughts racing through your head that you wanna say but the look in frank's eyes steals the oxygen straight out of your lungs

"listen I uh...know I said this was just to show you how a real date should be and what not, and I did mean that but...I really just wanted to show you how you should be treated ya'know. how...how I would treat you, if you'd let me. i'd give you the goddamn world if you asked, sweetheart. I don't know if I read tonight wrong, but I know I could be the right man for you, and I think you know that too. at least, I hope you do. there's nothin' I wouldn't do for you, honey. I understand if you don't feel the same way-"

you don't even let frank finish that sentence before you're dragging him down by his collar and crashing your lips together because holy shit frank, your frank, wants you just as much as you want him

needless to say you invite him up and show him just how much you want him despite his weak attempt at trying to continue to be a gentleman

"sweetheart, we can take it slow. I don't mind-" "frank I swear to god if you don't take your pants off right now, i'm never kissing you again." "yes ma'am."

#frank castle #frank castle request #frank castle headcanon #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher request #the punisher headcannon

[krikeymate]

When Life Gives You Lemons - chapter 1

You can lead a horse to water, you can't make them drink.

6 months post-movie

Joey sits at a bar; another lonely lost soul contemplating life with a glass of something cheap and the colour of piss between her hands.

If she could bring herself to take a sip, she’s sure it would taste as bad as it looks.

She hasn’t crossed that line yet.

But she wants to. God she wants to.

For the past six months, all she’s done is try. Try, try, try, harder than she’s ever tried before.

It’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough.

Caleb hates her.

She doesn’t blame him. How could she?

She was a shitty mother when she was around – too young, too damaged, too broken.

Too foolish.

A 21-year-old with head trauma and no future prospects in life had no place raising a one-night-stand baby.

But she’d tried.

He was the best thing in her life, the only good thing in her life.

And it still wasn’t enough.

She’d become a slave to a hunger that he could never fulfil, and eventually she’d chosen it over him, leaving him with a man he’d never even met when looking into his sad brown eyes had become too much.

At 5 years old, Caleb had experienced more than he should have ever had to know, he’d had to mature so much faster than any child should.

Now, over half his life later, is it any wonder he doesn’t want her around on his birthday?

Her son is eleven years old today, and she doesn’t even know him. He doesn’t even know her.

She doesn’t even know her.

Who the fuck is Ana Lucia Cruz, other than a failure, an addict, and a deadbeat mother?

Who is she now?

Weak.

She lifts the glass to her lips – only for it to be pushed back down.

With a sharp turn of her head, she glares at this interloper to her pity party.

The stranger – the tall handsome stranger – smirks down at her, in that cocky sleazy way that men do when they know they’ve got a woman’s attention, whether they want it or not.

“You don’t want to be drinking that,” he purrs as he leans forward and slips it from her hands.

Ana only sighs, feeling forlorn as her drink is pushed to the other side of the bar and around him, far out of her reach.

“There are far better ways to have a good time… if you know what I mean,” he continues with a glint in his eye. “You seem like someone who knows how to have a good time.”

She stares at him blankly for a moment, looking him up and down. The last time she fell for that she ended up pregnant. Never again.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re God’s gift to women, but I’m not interested,” she snarks back, turning to face the bar again, eyes flickering over the rows of liquor on display.

God she’s so thirsty. Her mouth salivates as she spots an old favourite of hers.

She should never have come here.

“Woah now.”

Oh, he’s still there.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” the stranger remarks with a hyper-hurt tone. “I’m not on the menu, but I’ve got a few other options you might find… appetising.”

Ana tries. She really does. But no matter where she looks, there are ghosts to be found, haunting her; there’s just no escape. Eventually her eyes land back on him.

In typical fashion, he takes it as an agreement, holding out a hand.

“There’s an office round back, very exclusive.”

In a fit of madness, she takes it, and quickly finds herself being pulled through the crowd of patrons and past a door labelled employees only. Nobody even bats an eye.

As the door closes behind her, she asks herself – for the first time this evening – just what the hell she’s doing.

How could she put herself in this situation?

She takes a step back, pulling her hand from his.

“I just remembered I have somewhere to be,” she mumbles, trying to turn around.

Her way is blocked by an arm and a predatory smile.

“Well that’s not very nice, is it? You seem to make a habit of that, don’t you Ana? Making commitments and bailing on them.”

The words make her freeze, a cold chill wrapping itself around her spine as the mans fingers tighten painfully around her arm and begin to drag her down the corridor.

“Get the fuck off me,” she yells, struggling in his grip.

She doesn’t know who he is or who he works for, but the last time this happened it got her on the hitlist for a fucking vampire and nearly killed for it.

Not an experience she’s eager to repeat.

Unfortunately, he’s stronger than her, and as they turn a corner, he’s no longer alone.

Despite the knowledge there’s no way for her to escape, she continues to fight anyway. The way she always has.

He’s knocking on a door when she bites down on his wrist. The howl he cries is worth the backhand and split lip he gives her. It knocks her to the ground, but she only snarls up at him, no puppy that will roll over and plead mercy.

“Fucking bitch,” he calls out, grabbing her by her jacket and throwing her through the doorway.

She falls again, elbow smashing against the floor. The sudden sharp pain leaves her eyesight white for a moment, ears ringing. She misses what’s being said, only able to make out the harsh tone and tense atmosphere.

“ – what – you – think – doing – ”

“ – whore – me – bleeding – ”

“You’re pathetic.”

Ana swallows down the nausea, sight returning to her.

She’s in an office far too high class for the dingy little dive she’d scurried into. In front of her is an ornate wooden desk, behind which the angry speaker continues to berate the shithead who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, unseen.

She’d smirk if not for the other feet littering the room. She’s outnumbered; best not to upset anyone else. Yet.

“GET OUT.”

That voice – it sounds… familiar somehow. Ana turns, frowning, to watch him leave with a yes ma’am. She wishes she could find some satisfaction in knowing she got him into trouble, but the fear of whatever comes next is so much stronger.

“All of you.”

She swallows as the three other guards leave the room as well.

Whoever this is, she’s not a threat to them. And if she’s not a threat to them, it only means they’re a threat to her.

“I must apologise for Richard’s behaviour; this was not what I asked for and rest assured he will be punished in due time for his transgression.”

Her head snaps to the side, body jumping at the sudden appearance beside her. She hadn’t even heard them move.

She looks up, eyes roving over immaculate white sneakers, matching tights, a skirt – oh.

Of all the possibilities, she’d never really considered this one.

She hesitantly takes the hand being offered to her.

“Hello Joey. Long time no see.”

“Abigail…”

#/mp #my writing tag #Abigail #Abigail 2024

[darkprincerunaway]

After the fight

Happy birthday to Bucky Barnes! Here is my AU Stucky story based on this wonderful art: https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/kaciart/85484606903/YhKPirqc Thanks to my ever-beloved collaborator Yuliya Katsnelson who did the translation.

***

The day was just the pits. Honestly, the pits of hell.

There was no choice whether to fight or not. Nor was there any time to prepare, collect intelligence, put together a plan, inform the team and wait for backup – hell, even to get enough fire power! – not a minute to spare. Without any warning, a ghostly maw of a portal into some clearly hostile reality gaped open – and the only option was to jump into it, even at the risk of a one-way trip. Jump, stand fast, and fight to the death against whatever was trying to invade our good old Earth.

Standing to the death – just the two of us – because there was no one else. The planet had had really good luck (although for them it was possibly the opposite) that right next to the portal, completely by accident, happened to be two super soldiers.

How tired they were! How hesitant initially, before they forced the portal to close; before they traversed the tunnel to the end and ripped the heads off the dirtbags that had opened the portal in the first place; before they made it back, not really knowing how.

The place from which they had left and to which they returned was nice; quiet; peaceful. Green grass, sunny skies. The training course was empty, thankfully; they had come to “play tag”, just the two of them; they booked this time slot so they wouldn’t be distracted by anyone. Those who didn’t get that time slot were truly lucky. The maw-portal would have gobbled up anyone who happened to be nearby. That is, anyone but the two of them. They proved to be too big a bite for it.

Which didn’t stop it from giving it its best shot.

“To the doctors?” lying on his back, arms stretched out wide, staring at the fluffy small clouds asked Steve. He wasn’t worried about himself, although his left cheek was lacerated below the helmet, and his wrist was dislocated: his shield got stuck in the spine of one of the monsters, and he had to knock out the other that got too close with his bare fist.

“The hell with them,” said Bucky, lying next to him. “The hell with the docs. I wanna go home.”

“But Buck…”

“Go… home,” Buck repeated distinctly, his tone implacable.

Grunting like two crotchety old men (who they were, technically), they sat up on the ground. Steve did his best to wipe the slime off his shield with handfuls of grass, while Bucky tied off his bleeding thigh with an equipment belt.

“Home,” Barnes repeated when, holding onto each other, they limped towards the vehicle outside the testing course, like a wounded quadruped. “You drive.” And he closed his eyes, slumping over the front passenger seat like a black-and-red blob.

***

Ouch, it hurt.

“Give me your hand, dammit!” Bucky cursed hoarsely, leaning against the corridor wall. “My stuff is drying up, relax. You go first.”

With joint effort, they managed to pull the jacket sleeve off Rogers’ wrist before taking off the rest of his protective suit. Then they got rid of Bucky’s armor in the same fashion.

“To the shower,” Steve asked, biting his lips.

“Sure. As long as you don’t hit on me,” Barns joked darkly, leaning back against the wall. All holes in their hides should have closed up by now, after all the time that’d passed, but no. Devil knew whether the teeth of the damned monsters sank too deep as they were tearing protective suits to shreds, or the saliva that got into the wounds slowed the effect of the serum. The leg and shoulder began bleeding again, as soon as the tourniquets were removed.

Warm water running over the pair’s head and shoulders, washing away grime and fatigue, and relieving the muscle stiffness just a little. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned his head back on to Steve’s shoulder who, with his inactive hand tucked between his side and Bucky’s bionics, awkwardly moved the sponge over his chest, belly, and battered and bruised ribcage. Barnes also had to wash Steve with one arm: on the other, the monster’s fangs had torn a decent chunk of fresh out of the bicep.

They make their way to the bedroom still supporting one another and use two out of their four hands to get dressed. An overstatement, really: Steve manages to pull on sweats and a T-shirt, while Bucky, mindful of the assortment of dressings we’d need, only puts on his boxer shorts. Stupid all of it, just stupid: as if they are embarrassed of each other; as if they’ve never seen each other naked and just out of the shower and in general… It’s as though they are still out of it after the skirmish and want some illusion of bodily protection.

They put a fresh bandage on Bucky’s shoulder; Bucky sets Steve’s wrist, then puts a Band-Aid over his cheekbone; Rogers gets down on one knee and begins to put a wide dressing on Barnes’ thigh. And that’s where one of Rogers’ quirks kicks in. In a fight, he is cool-headed, decisive, and sharp – but afterwards, when it’s all over, it comes over him. Images of everything that could have happened but didn’t pierce him like dozens of fléchettes, making him shake and tremble from the backlash of the past and avoided danger. And here he goes again, reliving everything they’d been through. As Bucky, sparing with their limited ammo, again and again engages the monsters in close combat; as he, a sniper – more used to providing Steve fire cover from a distance! – attacks the filth advancing on the Captain from the flanks and the back. That’s how he came by the injuries Steve was just dressing…

And, no longer able to hold it in, to restrain himself, Rogers presses his forehead, his cheek – his very self – against Bucky’s hip, and then, still kneeling before him, kisses the dumbfounded Barnes practically into the wound under the dressing.

***

Bucky stares down at Steve.

What is he to do with him like this, huh?

The right thing to do is to let him get it all out of his system, catch his breath; bury his fingers in Steve’s short golden locks at the top of his head and stroke the sculp until he calms down.

The former, long-ago Bucky from Brooklyn would have done something like that.

That former, long-ago Bucky, who was no more, had generally been a man who did the right thing.

The post-Winter Barnes, as he is now, has a far more complex relationship with what is right. And with many other things, too.

And this – what he is feeling now, what flows through his veins and pulsates in his temples and in the back of his head – is one of those things.

James Buchanan Barnes remembers being Winter Soldier. He remembers the fighting and the missions. The tension, the adrenaline in his blood boiled during fighting then as it does now: they hadn’t completely succeeded in making him into a machine, after all. But as for the targets of those missions, he didn’t care at all. When necessary, he would interact with agents or fighters, with those he was supposed to protect or cover, but they held no interest to him as individual; never – neither during missions, nor afterwards – did he care about what happened to them then or later.

But now, it wasn’t like that.

When it is Steve he covers, James feels fire in his belly. Oh yes, of course, Captain America is no less of a super soldier he is, even more perfect than him. Of course, Steven Grant Rogers is good at and is used to fighting; of course, these wounds are mere scratches to this huge war machine, they will heal in a matter of hours. Sometimes, what matters most is what they are fighting for: just like today, no price for stopping the enemy would have been too high to pay.

James Buchanan Barnes understands all this – and he accepts, like he always has, Rogers’ right and duty to go into battle. But “this isn’t a back alley fight, Steve, it’s war!” – and the former Winter Soldier knows everything about war. Sometimes people get killed, even on the verge of victory. And this knowledge drives James berserk. Oh, how he has wished he had one hundred arms, like the Giant Briareus, every one of them holding a weapon or, like Zeus, turn into a lightning cloud and envelop Steve safely inside!

But no, he can only do what he can do.

And therefore, he, too, is overcome after the battle. Not like Steve, with trembling from the backlash. He is overtaken by a powerful need to feel that both of them are alright. That they made it out alive and would live. Right now, in this very moment. And he needs to feel it all, not just know it.

He can keep himself in check, hold the burning need inside, hide it. And it would not be all that difficult: he is so very tired. He is battered, his ribs, shoulders, and legs bruised, his thigh aching, the wound above his elbow throbbing like an impacted tooth. To crawl under the blanket, to close his eyes, and he’d be out like a light…

Bucky falls backwards on the bed, dragging Steve over himself, presses him close, one arm around him. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, skin to skin. Hearing Steve’s breathing with his ears, his even warmth, his unbroken pulse with his fingers.

And their life – with all of himself.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #winter soldier #writing

[possibilistfanfiction]

Hi, may you please spare some advice on what casual, but also cool in a hot climate, clothing a baby butch could look into wearing that’s a bit fashionable and isn’t just a shirt and a cargo shorts?

whew first of all donate any & all cargo shorts immediately (pretend tan france is telling you that Urgently). i do understand finding shorts can be kind of weird depending on ur body shape bc men’s shorts are often bulky & long. i prefer a 5’ inseam, but you can go for a 7’ if that feels better. under No circumstances should ur shorts hit ur knees lol. madewell has some pretty good options (if you can find one that’s mens & womens in-store that’s the best). pacsun usually has some pretty chill options. for online shopping, bearbottom shorts is not too expensive & has a lot of colors in both 5’ & 7’ shorts. i really like the swim shorts both& just made (not sure if they’re sold out). get lighter colors in the summer if you want for shorts, & just… no khaki.

& i love a t-shirt, but it’s in how it’s worn. i don’t think it even needs to be an interesting t-shirt, but it should have a fit & pov that looks intentional. i like to get my t-shirts a size up & tuck them in, sometimes pair them with an overshirt. if i know i’m going to be SWEATING & i want to wear a tshirt, i’ll wear something looser & actually thicker cotton in either black or white. i’ve had top surgery so i can wear tanks without stress but if binding is a concern, both& has some great tanks for ppl who bind.

if you do want to be more dressed up than a short/t-shirt combo, the answer is & will always be linen. a short sleeved linen button up (from really anywhere you like that fits well — uniqlo has both men’s & women’s in many earthtones for under $50!) is The Key. put it on as an overshirt over your t-shirt or wear it buttoned halfway in a french tuck. i prefer to stay away from patterns & bright colors bc it can easily look a little zany, but do your thing there. i have a few pairs of linen pants i also love, especially for things like taking my wife on a date, or if it’s just a cool day/nighttime activity etc. literally just… linen button ups & linen pants, even drawstring pants! if you wanna ball out, theory makes my favorite linen pants, but oak + fort is a close second & much more affordable. everlane also has all of these pieces in mens & womens & is very high quality!

idk ur shoe situation but two great options are always birkenstocks (the rubber ones are under $50 & v comfortable) and/or all white low air force 1s. a good all white sneaker is a great starter sneaker & will always go with everything. i myself prefer dunk lows but u gotta rly be wanting to invest in some sneakers to do that lmao but if you are! they’re cool

lastly, small accessories go a long way! i have a few chains, a small hoop earring, a ring (& my wedding ring but lol i don’t think we can count that as an accessory), & then sunglasses i love. i have a Beautiful watch from my wife but literally just a watch w a normal watch face & a leather band is better than nothing or wearing a smart watch out when there’s quite literally no need lol. a good baseball cap, either plain black or from a cool brand (mine for this summer is aime leon dore) is both a nice addition & also practical. do not & i mean Do Not carry around a backpack unless u Absolutely have to lol. masc cross body bags or canvas totes are much better if u need a bag

also:

- you can find tons of overshirts thrifting or at outlets! since they don’t have to fit perfectly it can be a great place to look for them

- i live & die by a good pair of light wash denim in the summer. allsaints & madewell always have beautiful denim, but you can look at levi’s as well, or thrift!

- tailoring is not expensive!!!!!!!!! if u find pants u love that are too long, just get them hemmed! fr it’s like $10, everyone needs a good tailor

- never underestimate a good sweatshort/t-shirt/overshirt/birks moment to go get a cup of coffee or something… 10/10

- i have definitely not been in a place financially to do this in the past, so pls take this w a grain of salt & of course do what’s best for your budget, but higher quality, simple fabrics ethically made are ALWAYS going to be best. they’ll last longer & keep their fit. launder ur clothes carefully too! hang drying pants & heavy cotton will get their lifespan to extend. & it’s 100% cool to find brands u love & stick to them. if u find a piece u like, u can get it in a few colors, rather than trying to find a bunch of other stuff. quality > quantity, capsule wardrobes are easier to wear & maintain

- some ppl whose fashion i like rn: courtney williams, arike ogunbowale, shanice van de sanden. & sue bird knows how to wear a short/button up summer set with the best of them. kristen kish Obviously. (& also i love mal from the queer ultimatum lmfaoooo)

- wear whatever u want, just not cargo shorts :)

#i can Hear tanny throwing a pile of cargo shorts from the closet to the floor lmaoooo #but rly it’s just linen that’s it that’s the most important thing lol #not to be silly but u should watch s7e2 of queer eye bc tan gives some great butch summer advice!

[icemankazansky]

The results of my "Why does Maverick wear his watch like that?" poll are in, and you guys are the wrist worst. (Thanks for that, autocorrect.)

The #1 response with 32% of the votes was, like what? which is fair. (And I'm about to explain.) The #2 response was, Carly, I'm starting to think you don't know how to wear a watch, which is RUDE (but possibly not wrong. We're going to talking about that, too.) The #3 (and only HELPFUL) answer is a tie between, he is smol and, it's not his watch (keepsake).

So, here's what I'm talking about. I noticed this when I was looking at reference photos for a very long time while drawing the serval Iceman comic.

Maverick wears his watch very low on his arm:

There are often reasons for people habitually wearing a common accessory in a way that deviates from the norm. (My personal fave is wearing the watch upside down with the face against the veins in your wrist. Snipers and special ops wear them this way so light doesn't reflect off the watch face and give away their position, and so they don't have to turn their wrist while holding a gun to check the time.) So I wondered about that. I also wasn't 100% sure about whether there were rules about how to wear your watch.

It turns out there are.

According to people to whom fashion and/or etiquette (I guess??) are very important, your watch face should sit on the ulna, beneath the little bones in the wrist. (I highlighted where the ulna begins (teal), and then kind of did a lateral cross (yellow) to show where the watch would sit.)

This seems to be a lot more of a Thing for men, and you can see in men's watch ads (and on David Beckham, wearing the watch he models but in a better picture than I could find of one of his ads) that they tend to stick to the rule. (Leo's might be a little high, actually.)

Women's watch ads (top row) tend to also stick to this placement, but in fashion editorials (bottom row), they're often worn much lower.

(Like a tennis bracelet, which hangs looser on the arm, for those of you who wondered why I included that option in the poll, and those of you who are Young and had no idea what a tennis bracelet even is.)

@academicgangster posited that Maverick's choice—and I imagine that's all it is, personal choice—is because it's a large watch for him (because he likes it that way, or because he is smol, or because it's a keepsake given to him by someone larger), and because it's the sexy way to wear it. Totally fair!

But as I was spending a stupid amount of time putting this post together, I wondered something else: How does Ice wear his watch?

Iceman Kazansky, what the fuck.

This is a disaster. In the first three frames (Top left and right, bottom left), Ice's watch is positioned correctly and looks like it fits him properly.

But then there's the last frame. WHAT IS THAT?! That watch is hanging down around his wrist like a tennis bracelet. I was under the impression that your watch fit you, Ice! What am I looking at here?!

As for whether I know how to wear a watch: I don't wear a watch. I've tried it in the past, but I've never really found one I liked keeping up with, largely because I don't care to spend real money on a wristwatch. It's not worth more than, like, $19.99 to me, so. I do wear bracelets. I bought these cuffs as my birthday present to me, and I wear them almost every day.

If they were a men's wristwatch, they'd be a little high.

#top gun discourse #Top Gun fashion discourse? #Long post

[hollyhomburg]

Love, OMG did u see that!!! I'M VIBRATING give me thoghts on Bridgerton!Yoon pretty please

i have too many thoughts about him, imagine the m/c is kinda like a mixture between eloise and daphne- curious about love but by no means ready to fall into it. She's too shy, she finds herself stuttering and too nervous to be cleaver or charming, face bright red whenever a man comes close (oh how painfully heterosexual of her 😅). she always ends up tripping over her skirts during dances or stepping on their feed.

but regardless of the fact that she's named one of the most eligible young women in the season she's just...a little shy, far from innocent but unused to having love right up and close- she's much more comfortable having it on the other side of a novel or viewing it in a painting. happy to keep love (and any and all avalible crushes) at arms lenght.

Maybe one day while she's running from her sutors trying to avoid any and all men at a ball- she runs straight into yoongi. he's got a bit of a reputation for being harsh and dismissive to young ladies, but nor does he have the reputation for hanging about the unscrupulous parts of town. he's simply antisocial- despite the fact that his family inherited a dukedom and a sizable fortune.

every law of society dictates that min yoongi should be the king of all bachelors but...he's just not. he doesn't like killing things or drinking, going to whore houses or throwing lavish gambling parties. his only weekness seems to be weekly fights (similar to our dear simon 😭)

he's as much of a mystery as he is handsome, but the way he grabs her arm to keep her from falling into a nearby rosebush is the hight of impropriety. but it's also so so gentle- much more gentle than anyone would expect from a man of his nature. much more than the m/c expects from any man- the kind of kindness and softness that she only knows from stories.

he's nothing if not polite, maybe he notices the drawn ashyness to her face "forgive me my lady, but do you require an escort this evening?" and she ends up spilling how afraid she is of falling in love with the wrong person. Of finding out that courtship is all flowers and love but once marriage happens she'll be stuck in a loveless place.

Maybe they start hanging around each other- because all of the men are too nervous/scared of yoongi to hassel her if he's around, and although he might be quiet- speaking in low tones that the m/c might hear in her dreams later as they promenade, giving her roses occasionally just to keep up appearances. because they're not courting, not really- but the more yoongi hangs around her the less other men seem to view her as an option and the more peace she has.

Yoongi is such a gentle man- and she soon realizes, that hes nothing like his reputation- he's a little standoffish (why do i get the idea of him walking in on a man giving her attention when she clearly doesn't want it- she's told yoongi she has no desire for a courtship explicitly) shoving the man back and threatening him that he's to leave /his lady/ alone...which of course would cause problems for both of them. yoongi's getting posessive, even though she isn't his, even though he knows she doesn't want to be loved yet, he decides to keep his feelings to himself, even though he realizes right then and there that he wants her.

maybe their courtship gets a little more intense, walks in the garden turn heavy when he holds her hand (the scandal of it all apearing in lady wistledown! but if anything it only makes her more at ease- because at least the attention is finally off of her for good).

and yoongi gets a little bit...over zealous with his gifts because he has so much wealth and nothing to do with it. he gives her books and shakespear and asks to have tea with her where she does nothing but read her favorites to him, maybe they even take a picnic to the royal gardens where he ends up with his head in her lap and her voice above him.

his gifts get bold, jewels fashioned in the sort from her favorite drama made special- and tickets to plays and comedy shows just to hear her giggle. the most lavish gift is a quiet little mountainside estate- deeded in her name with a special royal seal that Yoongi had gotten just for her- completely against the law. because he knows that the thing she loves more than anything is finding a quiet spot to read and this spot- this is her own lands that can never be taken from her 🥺 he gifts her the kind of security so that she'll never have to depend on a man for a home or money. She'll never have to fall in love unless she wants too.

Why am i imagining a love triangle too? because maybe namjoon is a similar character to her- too busy wandering in his expansive glaries, or murmuring along to his plants. and it would mean nothing if he wasn't literally the prince. his fondness for her would be entirely dismissable if he wasn't quite literally next in line to be king. it's more of a marriage of connivence for him because he just wants to get the king and queen off of his back but he's a good man, a kind man. even if he has no idea that he's persuing someone that doesn't want to be persued.

maybe yoongi and him are friends, and it's namjoon whom he had gone to seeing about the official transfer of property. maybe yoongi didn't want to confess to his friend that he'd finally finally found someone he thought he might love- maybe he peddled some shit to him like "she's an outcast like us namjoon, and i just want to give her some of the kindness you've shown me" which lead namjoon to watching her more closely, with more intent.

namjoon is a kind man, he's going to make a good king. and yoongi has certainly never been known as a kind man until her. Until she showed him the value in being soft and open.

but if she where to be queen one day, then that would mean parties and attention and organizing balls and weddings and high society- none of witch she wants even if her parents and siblings are all pushing her. yoongi hates it, hates that in the future she might be forced to endure all of this in perpetuity.

why do i picture the two of them getting into a fight- maybe it comes to blows. maybe namjoon says he has no idea that yoongi loved her before he bought the ring and proposed. maybe the m/c said yes but they haven't announced it to the whole ton because a royal engagment means nearly the end to the season. but namjoon told yoongi because he thought his bestfriend would be happy for him.

maybe Yoongi shows up at her door in the rain seeking an audience even though it's the height of rudeness to do so in the middle of the night. "Do you love him? is it true? are you going to marry Namjoon?" and the m/c admits, wrapping her dressing gown tighter around her body that she is genuinly considering saying yes.

yoongi's hands shake when he gulps, when he speaks, he's more animated than she's ever seen him, long hair soaked from the rain. his voice is cold, "he'll treat you well- as best as anyone could. namjoon is a good man, i'm sure you'll make him a happy husband and an even happier king" the words are so impartial- so rehearsed, but yoongi can't be soft with his leadened heart in his throat. "i'm sorry for disturbing your sleep my lady, forgive me, i'll take my leave of you"

imagine his surprise when she grabs the tail of his coat to keep him from leaving. "yoongi- stop- why are you being so cold?"

yoongi's laugh is bitter and sad. "i'm only preparing myself. i need to figure out what to do with the softness you've sowed in me now. if i can't give it to you- i should crush it then. or would you rather that i keep loveing you like this? as i always have- from afar?"

"you love me?"

"i do, isn't it terrible? i was so afraid that you'd end up feeling trapped by me that i didn't stop you from wandering into him. but i don't think i'll be able to bear it- if he puts you in some gilded cage."

he cups her cheek, the one breif touch that he'll ever allow himself again. "we both know all you've ever wanted was to be free to make your own choices. i used to think i'd be fine as long as you got the love you need, but now i don't think i'll be able to bear it."

"i thought you wanted me to marry namjoon?"

"i don't want you to marry anyone-" imagine a breath, both of them looking at each other with nothing but a fire to light the room. yoongi's almost too shy to say it.

"i don't want you to marry anyone but me."

#this au would be called too shy for words #cuz i think shy love is a very cute love #and lately i've been feeling cute innocence and first kisses

[foggyfanfic]

The Wedding Gift

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

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

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

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

Words: 15.7K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to hire you for a commission.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artist. He called Mirabel an artist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cute,” she told him.

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

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

“You sure.”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

An artist!

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That I can do.”

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

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

“Something wrong?” Mirabel asked.

“No,” Juan said, not looking up.

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

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

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

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Would it?”

“Sí.”

“Only some of them, then.”

“You are zero help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The first one.”

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

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

“Like me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Science?”

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re just being preposterous.”

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

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

“Oh really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thank you,” she eventually said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you bored?” she checked with him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Adelaide,” he said.

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

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

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

“Sí,” Juan said, while Adelaide nodded.

“Astronomy club?” Mirabel asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adelaide actually giggled, Juan shot her another glare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adelaide nodded, face giving away nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Embroidery-? Oh.”

“Yeah.”

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

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

”And yet, here I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, now you’ll have two more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pity. He had some nice arms.

—

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

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

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

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

“Sí?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“I said that I would.”

“Even though you’ll look goofy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Write down your favorite equation,” she said.

“Um, ok?”

“Trust me.”

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

“No, because that would be you.”

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

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

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

“What? Not what you what?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everybody embarrasses themselves,” she said.

“Name one time you’ve embarrassed yourself.”

“Only Madrigal grandkid without a gift.”

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

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

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

“I really do.”

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

“The great Mirabel Madrigal,” she scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh really?”

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

“Oh. Really?”

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

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

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

“Whose the first?”

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

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

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

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

“It’s just a handkerchief,” she said.

“It’s a Mirabel original,” he argued.

“You came up with the words.”

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

“That’s basically what you said.”

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

“I didn’t make it so you’d look at it,” she shook her head.

“Maybe not, but one does not wipe their brow with the Mona Lisa.”

That had been too much praise for Mirabel, face burning she had wished him a good night and fled back into the safety of Casita.

—

“You are never allowed to make fun of me for Bubo again,” Isabela said in way of greeting, pushing Mirabel’s door open without so much as the notion of knocking.

“Oh, hello Isabela! Please, come on in. No, no, no, don’t worry about knocking,” Mirabel said sarcastically, not looking up from the flowers she was embroidering, “I don’t ever want privacy or anything.”

“Seriously, the bean guy? You’re dating the bean guy?” Isabela asked.

“Still better than marrying Bubo,” Mirabel grumbled, “and I don’t know yet. He’s nice, but I’m not sure if, y’know, he likes me because I’m me, or because I’m a Madrigal.”

Isabela paused, then sighed, chuckling ruefully, “That right there is exactly why you’re not allowed to judge me for being with Bubo. She- He loves me for me. For the parts of me I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to share with the village.”

Mirabel’s hand froze, reluctantly she admitted, “As annoying as his machismo is, I do like how happy he’s made you.”

Isabela glanced at the open door, then closed it, “The machismo isn’t real. I- he’s not like that when he feels like he doesn’t have to be. It’s like how I used to try to be perfect, y’know; there’s more to him than he pretends there is.”

“In that case, can you tell him to knock it off? Or at least pick a different facade?” Mirabel huffed. Bubo had been getting better, calming down, acting more genuine. Mirabel had actually started to like her brother in law. Then his son was born and suddenly it was like somebody cranked the machismo up to eleven.

“I can try, but… let’s just say there’s a very specific reason he’s chosen this one.”

Mirabel made an unimpressed sound and continued sewing. She had figured something was going on, the way Bubo almost seemed to panic that one time Mirabel and Luisa had caught him with some of Isabela’s lipstick on his lips screamed Issues. But this family had gotten a literal crash course about why you needed to work through your issues rather than bury them, so Mirabel had a lot more patience for his pain than his pretenses.

“But seriously, the bean guy?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” Mirabel repeated, “why?”

“Oh, because he’s downstairs with a gift for you.”

“What? Isa,” Mirabel hissed, hurriedly standing, “and you just left him waiting down there?”

“Oh he’s fine, I left him with Tío Bruno. They’re both kinda weird, I figured they’d have a lot to talk about.”

Mirabel rolled her eyes and rushed out her door.

In the courtyard below, Tío Bruno was struggling his way through a polite conversation with Juan, “What about plays? Do you uh, do you enjoy the theatre?”

“Um, one time I took a trip into the city to watch my favorite physicist give a lecture on his latest theorem,” Juan replied, “that’s sort of like a play, no?”

“No. B-but I mean! Uh. It um it sounds interesting?”

“Oh it was! How much do you know about light physics?”

“Um. Oh! Mirabel! Hola, you have a guest,” Tío Bruno stood abruptly, ignoring the loud crack of his bad knee, “he uh, he brought you math.”

“Math?” 

“Adelaide said you might wish to see it,” Juan also stood, shrugging a little sheepishly.

“You’re friends with Adelaide?” Bruno asked, more like gasped. As if Juan had just revealed he had a third arm under his shirt.

“Sí, she has me do all her astronomy calculations for her.”

“Oh, ok. So that makes sense,” Tío Bruno said, putting a lot more emphasis on the word “that” than he probably realized. He looked between Mirabel and Juan a few times, then asked Juan, “What about fiction? Do you like fiction?”

“Not really.”

“And you don’t sew? Paint? Origami?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Hm, alright?” Tío Bruno glanced between them a few more times before abruptly walking away, “Bye.”

They watched him go.

“Adelaide said he wasn’t scary,” Juan huffed, “the liar.”

“He’s not scary,” Mirabel immediately jumped to defend her uncle.

“Oh sure, maybe not in the way everybody says he is, but I don’t think he likes me,” Juan shook his head, pouting just a little bit.

“Oh! No, that uh, that’s not what dislike looks like on him,” Mirabel shook her head, chuckling a little, “if he disliked you, he would have sat in the corner over there and stared at you, silently, until you got uncomfortable and left.”

“Like a grumpy cat?”

“Sí, but don’t tell him that, he prefers rats.”

“Wait, the rat thing is true?”

“Yeah, the rat thing is true.”

“I can see why Adelaide looks up to him.”

“Does she like rats?”

“No, she likes people who are nice to rats though,” he shrugged, “and spiders. And anything else people usually call vermin.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s Tío Bruno,” Mirabel chuckled, “anyway, you uh, you brought me math?”

“Oh, uh, sí,” he twisted and picked up a notebook he’d left behind on the couch, “it’s-, I uh, I calculated how much thread you’ve likely used in the past year.”

“What?” Mirabel gasped, surprised to find herself genuinely excited by that, “No way. How?”

“So you uh, told Adelaide how many spools of thread you used on her quilt, right? And she told me, and I wrote it down, and recently I measured the length of each stitch-.”

“Why?”

“Adelaide wasn’t giving me any numbers to play with,” he shrugged.

Mirabel giggled, “What?”

“She brings the quilt with her whenever we do astronomy club, right? Well, the other day we went out and she got really fixated on Saturn for some reason, but wasn’t giving me any data, so I got bored and started measuring your stitches.”

“Alright?”

“So, each of your stitches is about a fifth of an inch, and they max out at 2,000 stitches per square inch when you’re doing a full picture with shading,” Juan said, handing her the little notebook, “assuming you do the same amount of embroidery on each quilt, mind you, these are only preliminary calculations, for accurate numbers I would need to look at all of your projects in the last year, but! Using Adelaide’s quilt to calculate the amount of thread you use per square foot of cloth, factoring in that most of your embroidery is done on your own shirts and skirts, and keeping in mind that you sometimes do line art, or three dimensional things like your butterflies… about 1.5 thousand yards of thread.”

Mirabel gaped down at the notebook, slowly looking over the numbers, “I had no idea it was that much.”

“That’s honestly a very modest estimate,” he said, “I would need to go digging through your closet to get you a better number. Which would be a weird thing for me to do.”

She chuckled and nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off the little booklet of numbers, “Wow.”

“Yeah, so uh, that’s what I got,” Juan said, and when she looked up at him he was rubbing at the mole on his ear, “sorry to uh interrupt your Saturday afternoon with this, but Adelaide thought you might find it interesting.”

“I do! I absolutely do,” Mirabel answered, putting a hand on his bicep to reassure him, “thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She watched, almost contemplatively, as the color rose in his cheeks the longer her hand was on his arm. Lately, Mirabel found herself growing fond of his face, even if it was a bit nondescript. She enjoyed talking to him, and made time to stop and chat with him whenever she was in town. Mirabel had gotten in the habit of checking in with her feelings since Casita fell, and lately whenever she checked her feelings, there was a new affection for “the bean guy”.

“I’m working on your sister’s shirt,” she said, slowly pulling her arm back, “would you uh like to come up and sit with me?”

“I would,” he nodded, “if you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I did.”

“Sí. Right. That makes sense,” he chuckled following her as she led the way to her room. When they got there he stared at the shirt and new embroidery, eyes practically glowing with admiration, then he nibbled on his lip and slowly reached for her measuring tape. After checking her face for permission, he measured a few of her stitches.

Mirabel withheld a laugh, and waited until he was done, then sat on her couch and continued to sew. He sat a respectful distance away from her, scribbling in his notebook.

She liked this. She liked the quiet companionship of working on their hobbies next to each other. She liked that she felt relaxed with him, calm, at ease, like she didn’t have to be Señorita Madrigal.

Mirabel’s parents had told her their love story a few times, as parents tended to do. When she was a little girl, she’d thought it was the most romantic thing ever. Her father had fallen for her Má first, his constant need of her arepas giving him plenty of reason to think about her. Her mother had fallen for her Pá slowly, starting when her Pá commented on a new recipe her Má was trying. It wasn’t even that he’d complimented it, it was just that he had noticed when nobody else did, that he had paid attention to the work she put in, not just the magic he got out of it. Eventually, they started dating. Then they decided to get married, only for Abuela to initially disapprove of the match. Abuela had since said it was the grace and maturity with which Pá handled the rejection that changed her mind. Abuela’s approval earned, they got married, and the rest was history.

As a child, on the very rare occasions that Mirabel had contemplated falling in love, she’d of course hoped to follow the template of her parent’s story. However, now that she was an adult, she knew that any man her mother disapproved of likely wasn’t a good man.

Now that she was an adult, she had very different thoughts about what she wanted. Not just out of love, but life in general.

Mirabel wanted kids, she wanted free time for her hobbies, she wanted a busy schedule, she wanted noisy family dinners, she wanted quiet Saturday afternoons. Mirabel wanted to help her community like her Má and Abuela, but she had long since discovered she didn’t actually enjoy being treated as a Sainted Madrigal. 

Whereas Mirabel had once wanted somebody to see the parts of her that were special, now she found herself hoping for somebody that saw the parts of her that weren’t.

Was she being realistic? Ungrateful? When she was younger, she had done everything she could to feel like A True Madrigal. Now she was considered the quintessential Madrigal and she wanted to feel like Just Mirabel. Was it possible to achieve a balance of the two?

“You’ve sighed twenty-one times in two minutes,” Juan suddenly said.

“Oh, sorry,” she felt her cheeks warm up, “just thinking.”

“Anything that you wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“Um, I don’t know if-,” she cut herself off, she wasn’t sure that he would understand, but she knew people didn’t like being told that. Actually, most of the villagers didn’t like being reminded that the magic family they’d placed up on a pedestal was full of real people.

“Does it have to do with the new town government?”

“Heh, not this time. And I’m told that if I’m thinking too hard about all that, I start growling,” she said, a bit sheepishly.

“Hm, is it a family matter?”

“No, no, the family is fine.”

“Is it a people thing?”

“A people thing?”

“Yeah, you know, how most people all kind of suck a little,” Juan said, shrugging, “you work so hard to not suck, I’m guessing dealing with people who don’t bother trying to be decent is extra tiring for you.”

Mirabel let her embroidery fall into her lap, and stared at him, letting that sentence revolve around her brain until she had picked out the part that had made her feel a little warmer, she repeated it back to him, “I work hard to not suck?”

“Don’t you?” he asked, and it sounded like an honest question more than he was defending his statement, “I suppose you could have been born as decent as you are, the human brain is such a mysterious machine. It is possible you could be, for lack of a better word, hard wired to be kind.”

“I do work hard at it. I just-,” she paused, trying to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say. Was it weird to thank him for assuming she wasn’t born a perfect paragon and had to actually try to be a good person.

He waited.

Mirabel watched him wait for her, watched him for any signs of impatience. There were none.

Finally, she said, “I was thinking about the pedestal my family is put on by some of the other villagers.”

“Ah, sí, that,” he nodded, “I apologize for that.”

“Why? You don’t seem to-.”

“I think I do though,” he shook his head, “I’ve been thinking about your response to my theory that people like you because of science. The way you very cruelly laughed at me, that is to say. On reflection, it’s more likely I have you on a pedestal because you’re so kind and talented.”

“Or because you have a crush on me,” Mirabel pointed out without thinking. She immediately grimaced.

Juan froze, then he got very red, “What? No I don’t.”

“Right, yep, sorry, don’t know why I said that,” she immediately said.

He didn’t respond at first. She watched him as his eyes zipped back and forth beneath lowered brows.

Juan suddenly stood and started pacing.

“I do not have a crush on you.”

“Mm-hm.”

“That’s-. No. No I do not.”

“Of course, we can forget I said that,” she said, but Juan was still pacing, scowling at the ground. Every once in a while, he shook his head.

Suddenly he stopped, “I don’t have a crush on you, you’re just especially pretty.”

“Um.”

“No, I know how that sounds, but hear me out,” he held up a finger as if asking for one moment, “You are an especially pretty girl, I am a young man. It is only natural that I would spend this much time thinking about you.”

“Right,” Mirabel said slowly, not wanting to argue with him.

He scowled again, paced a few more laps, then said, “And the reason I think about you more than any of the other pretty girls is probably just because you’re a more interesting person.”

“Juan,” Mirabel said, gently.

“I know how this sounds,” he said, again, “but that’s just-, that’s just a fact. You are one of the most interesting people in the village! You’re creative and witty and highly intelligent. That-. Those are all traits that make a person interesting. It’s not a crush, you’re just pretty and interesting.”

“Ok, ok,” she nodded, slowly standing. She hadn’t meant to give Juan some sort of crisis.

“It’s not a crush,” he insisted.

“No, of course not,” she approached him carefully.

He watched her, once again reddening, “This isn’t a crush, i-it’s just biology.”

“Uh-huh, biology,” she nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder, “would you like to sit back down?”

Juan stared at her for a few beats, then glared at his shoes and grumbled, “I bet every guy my age wants to kiss you. It’s normal.”

Mirabel couldn’t help it. She giggled. His eyes snapped up to her, brimming with betrayal.

“Sorry, sorry, I-. That’s just-. It was a nervous giggle,” she was only mostly lying.

“I’m making you nervous,” he gasped, horrified.

“No, this conversation is,” she clarified, “I don’t know how to respond to uh this.”

“To me not having a crush on you?”

“To you insisting that I’m pretty and interesting and you want to kiss me, but you don’t have a crush on me.”

“I know how it sounds-.”

“Do you?”

He frowned, then sighed deeply, “I have a crush on you, don’t I?”

“I think you might.”

“I am so sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have invited you up here if I minded.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other for a few beats.

“You touch me more than you touch other people who aren’t a part of your family,” he gestured at the hand that was still on his shoulder. With a small spark of surprise, Mirabel realized she liked how blunt he was, it made things easier.

“I know,” Mirabel said, then decided she would be just as blunt back, “I’ve been trying to decide whether or not I should date you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I would like it if you did.”

“I noticed.”

“Right, of course you have,” he sighed again and returned to the couch sinking onto it and putting his head in his hands, “how long have I had a crush on you?”

“I don’t know,” Mirabel shrugged, “at least since the fabric store.”

He groaned, but didn’t say anything. After waiting a while, Mirabel returned to the couch and picked up her embroidery. She worked on it while he sat beside her, apparently grieving.

“Right,” he slapped his knees and stood, “guess I better get to work.”

“Work?” she asked.

“On flirting with you,” he paused to pick up his notebook, “I have a crush on you, and apparently I have an actual chance of being with you, so it would be stupid of me to just sit here panicking.”

“Oh,” Mirabel blinked up at him, “I kind of like being able to sit with you while we do our own thing, though.”

“Oh, then I’ll work on it here,” he sat back down and flipped to a new page in his notebook, “just don’t peek.”

Mirabel blinked at him a few more times, then she giggled again, only this time it wasn’t a single giggle that managed to sneak past her defenses, but a whole army of them.

“Is that a good sign?” he asked, blushing.

“Sí,” she nodded through her laughter.

“Hm,” he nodded thoughtfully and scribbled something in his notebook.

When he did eventually leave, he first ripped out a page with some calculations on it and gave it to her. Circled at the bottom was an estimation of how much string she would use on the blouse by the time she was done with it.

—

The next time she stopped in the market to chat with him, Juan greeted her by saying, “I talked to my sister, she says I’ve had a crush on you since your quinceñeara. And also that I’m not allowed to grow out my sideburns until after her wedding. I will be disowned, and possibly dismembered, if I ruin the wedding pictures.” 

“Oh,” Mirabel quietly filed away the fact that his crush apparently started back when she was still The Giftless One, then asked, “You’ve had a crush on me for over nine years and didn’t notice?”

“Mirabel, I can not emphasize to you enough that my entire personality is math,” he told her, very seriously, “I spend all day sitting around, thinking about two things, you and math. Usually a combination of the two, actually. If you do decide to date me, at the end of every date I will graph how much you laughed, or blushed, or calculate the odds that you enjoyed the main course more than the dessert. There is nothing else in here but numbers. Like a cup full of  dice.”

Mirabel felt a grin slowly stretch across her face.

“I’m serious,” he said, “I mean, I’ll try to be romantic, but unless you think me making a spreadsheet about your favorite coffee mix-ins is romantic, I can’t make any promises.”

“Is this you trying to convince me to date you?”

“This is me trying not to disappoint the woman I’ve apparently had a crush on for a decade,” he said, then he huffed as if frustrated, “Can you believe I’ve had a crush on you for a decade and my sister never told me?”

“I mean, she probably assumed you knew,” Mirabel pointed out.

He shook his head, “No, she said she thought it was funny that I didn’t.”

“Ah, that-. Yeah, that’s the sorta thing Isabela or Camilo would do,” Mirabel reached over the counter of the bean stall to put her hand on his shoulder, “at least you know now.”

“It was a little easier to look at you when I didn’t,” he said, eyes skittering away from her as a grumpy pout pushed out his lower lip.

Mirabel found herself giggling a little.

“You promise that’s a good sign,” he double checked, sounding equal parts weary and wary.

“Sí, you’re-,” she stopped herself before she called him adorable, Camilo had made it very clear that most men did not like that, “charming.”

Juan considered this, then slowly nodded, “I can deal with that.”

“Señorita Madrigal,” a voice interrupted them, Mirabel turned to find Señor Rivierra waving her down, “do you have a moment to discuss the elections for city council?”

Mirabel bit her lip and glanced at Juan. She didn’t actually want to leave, but she did want to talk about the elections with Señor Rivierra.

“Go ahead,” Juan quietly said, “I’ll be here whenever you got a free moment.”

“I’m going to work on your sister’s gift at Lucia’s after the market closes, I know Jo and Adelaide will be there today, you should come spend time with us,” Mirabel invited him, “help me get to know Adelaide.”

“I would love that,” he smiled quietly, “I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

“Great, I’ll see you there,” she squeezed his arm, then drew back. As she walked away with Señor Rivierra, she kept finding herself looking back at him over her shoulder. He waved at her every time she did.

—

“Hey Má,” Mirabel walked into the backyard two days later, “you got a minute to share some motherly wisdom?”

Her Má glanced up from her herb garden with a bright smile, “Oh, I have all the time in the world for my brilliant daughter.”

Mirabel fondly rolled her eyes, although now that she had two nephews, Mirabel was beginning to understand the urge to gush over the kids in your life. Still, she good-naturedly groaned, “Má.”

“What? It’s true,” Julieta shrugged, clipping off a few more sprigs of cilantro, “come into the kitchen with me. Tell me what you need.”

Mirabel followed her mother and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. For a few minutes she watched her Má bustle around the kitchen, getting a soup started, it would seem.

“How did you know Pá loves you for you, and not for the whole Madrigal thing?” Mirabel asked.

“Oh, is this about Juan,” her mother threw her a somewhat sly smile, a teasing glint in her eye.

Mirabel bypassed the teasing however, “I’m surprised you know his name. It kinda seems like nobody does.”

Even Jo called him “the bean guy” half the time.

“He got tutored by your father when he was, oh gosh, ten years old perhaps. Your Pá was very impressed by his head for numbers,” Julieta grinned a little conspiratorially, “and he is dying to know if you two are dating.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Mirabel said slowly, “but I-. I want to be with somebody who likes Mirabel, not y’know, Mirabel Madrigal.”

“Hm, sí. You, as usual, are wise beyond your years,” Julieta shrugged a little rueful grin on her face, “I didn’t notice the difference between being loved for who I am and being admired for my gift until I had been dating your father for six months. I suppose I didn’t realize going into it that he saw me for me, it was only when we had our first fight and he was still just as in love with me afterwards that it clicked.”

“Your first fight, huh?”

“Sí, I have done my best to shield you from how petty I can be,” Julieta gave her a sheepish smile, “but you can ask your Tía about that. There was this one Christmas-, you know how hard it is to shop for your Tío Bruno, sí? Well, there was this one Christmas I had come up with the perfect idea for him, I told Pepa, and your lovely Tía stole it before I could get to the market. Oh, I was furious. And I did not handle it with grace.”

“What’d you do?”

“Well, first of all she stole the idea at the end of October, and I gave her the silent treatment until I had found a new gift,” her mother paused for dramatic effect, “half way through December.”

“No. Má, a whole month?”

“Sí, a whole month. And a half. Plus I cooked her least favorite foods for dinner every night, that entire time.”

“Má!”

“Like I said, I have a petty streak,” she shrugged, “and your Pá saw it but loved me all the same. He didn’t lay down and take it, mind you. He told me flat out if I treated our kids that way he would never trust me alone with them, but he didn’t love me any less once he saw my imperfections.”

Mirabel contemplated this. Weirdly, it reminded her of her recent conversation with Juan in the market, of the way he had tried to warn her flat out what he thought she might not like. She doubted the math thing would ever actually bother her, she was way more bothered about the way he still occasionally put himself down, but none of that was a deal breaker for her. 

She tried to think about what parts of her might be a deal breaker for him, it was hard though, so far he had been so easy going she couldn’t imagine him getting truly annoyed by much of anything.

Her Má paused what she was doing to face Mirabel, “I know you’re not anywhere near being there yet, but when your Pá and I started thinking about marriage, I kept thinking about that conversation. About his conviction that he would protect you guys from me if I ever slipped up. At the end of the day, that was what I wanted most out of a husband. Not just somebody who loved me warts and all, but somebody who I could count on to hold me accountable when it came to our kids. Parenting is hard, nobody gets it exactly right, and having somebody who’ll carry the load with you is important.”

Julieta didn’t say it, but they were both thinking of how Abuela had been forced to raise her own children alone, and all the problems that had caused. More than ever, it was clear that Abuela loved her familia, however; nobody was perfect. She had had nobody around to make up for what she lacked, she had gone decades without anyone who could call her out on mistakes she hadn’t noticed herself making. And the triplets had suffered for it.

But, Mirabel realized, all of the work Abuela had put into making things up to the familia had demonstrated better than any hug how much Abuela cared.

So she didn’t need to be perfect, she didn’t even need to find somebody with whom she could be a perfect parenting duo. She just needed somebody who saw her imperfections, loved her despite them, and was honest with her when she made mistakes.

She hugged her mother, thanked her for her time and wisdom, then went up to her room and gathered some paper and pencils. Mirabel made it to the market just before close, and spent some time milling about, checking in with a few of the villagers. When the market closed and people started packing up, she approached Juan’s stall and waited patiently while he transferred all the beans into the storage shed.

“Hola, what can I do for you?” he asked, traces of his customer service voice lingering after a long day of work.

“I want you to teach me how to do your favorite formula, the quantum one,” she said.

Juan blinked at her a few times, then in a very calm voice said, “Marry me.”

Mirabel snorted and giggled, “I’m serious.”

“I kind of am too,” Juan said, shaking his head and laughing a little, “what’s brought this on?”

“I’ll explain after,” she shrugged.

“Alright,” he said slowly, then gestured for her to follow him, “uh, how much math do you know? Did you ever learn any calculus?”

“Um, no, I learned some geometry in school, some accounting from my Pá, and I’ve been learning some statistics for the whole town government thing,” she said.

“Statistics? How about we do that instead,” he held his front door open for her, “so you can actually use whatever you learn.”

“I didn’t bring my statistics book,” she pointed out, she’d thought she’d be learning some theoretical physics.

“I have a few, I’m guessing you’re trying to learn how to best interpret polls and stuff?”

“Sí, and to figure out when we need to add another school, where to put it, how to divide up the students,” Mirabel rattled off, “oh, and where to put the different polling locations to make voting as easy as possible for everybody.”

“Let’s do the polling location thing, I helped with the census you guys did a few months back, so I should have all the data we need,” he said, leading her down the hall to his room.

“Works for me,” she followed him into his room, pausing in the door to take it in.

She was not surprised to see the two floor to ceiling bookshelves either side his desk, each filled with titles like “Differential Calculus”, “All about Angles”, and “The Math of Divinity”. She was surprised to realize she recognized something in a picture frame by his bed. It was a little card she had made, one of dozens to be honest, she had passed them out at the end of her quinceñeara to thank guests for coming. Each one had been shaped like a butterfly, and she’d used yarn leftover from other projects to “embroider” the patterns on the butterfly’s wings. He had it displayed so that the card was open, the butterfly’s wings were spread. Quietly, she picked it up.

“Looking back, knowing what I do now, I think that butterfly is what got my attention,” Juan said, coming up behind her. She could feel his warmth at her back.

“Really? This?”

“Sí, it’s so simple, but so creative,” he said, “and you went through the trouble of making at least one for every family that came. It’s-. You’ve always been so good at striking that balance between being absolutely brilliant, and genuinely warm. At the time I… I would have given anything to do the same.”

“This was-. Back then I really wanted people to see me as being just as special as the rest of my family,” she admitted, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Even nine years after the fact she didn’t like telling people how much she’d hungered for approval.

“It worked,” Juan said, then paused, when she glanced at him over her shoulder he looked thoughtful, “at least, it worked on me. Although I think I’ve always assumed there was some reason you didn’t get a gift, some factor in the equation that hadn’t been revealed yet. It makes no logical sense otherwise.”

Mirabel sighed, nodding. Ever since the miracle had been reborn, an assumption had bubbled up among the villagers. She’d overheard two people discussing it shortly after the miracle came back.

“-with the way she’s stepped up, just like a mini Alma, it would make sense,” the woman who sold tea on Saturdays said, sitting in her stall at just the wrong angle to see Mirabel.

“I don’t get why the magic couldn’t just stay in the candle, though,” the man who was leaning against the side of the stall replied, not looking over his shoulders to see Mirabel right behind him.

“I don’t either, but what’s more likely? That the grandkid who takes after Dona Alma the most didn’t get a gift, but just so happened to have magic to repair the miracle as a complete coincidence; or, that she’s the miracle’s chosen successor,” the woman said, “I just hope we don’t have to build a new house every time the magic passes on.”

It wasn’t that Mirabel hadn’t considered it. It wasn’t exactly a huge leap. It was more a perfectly normal sized step. And she knew other people, including her Abuela, had reached the same conclusion. But her Abuela, her entire familia, approached it differently than the villagers did.

“I never should have gotten so caught up in the miracle,” Alma had said the morning after Mirabel’s twentieth, shaking her head, “if I had just taken a step back I would have seen it so much sooner. You have always been-.”

“You’re b-basically all the best parts of this family concentrated into a little ball of crafts and attitude,” Bruno had jumped in, holding his fingers together and squinting at them as if he was trying to read something on a tiny piece of paper, “it was such a shock that you didn’t get a gift, I-I think we just-. I dunno.”

Alma had given her son a fond smile as he shrugged and waved away the sentence he’d abandoned, they had been standing in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, she eyed it as she spoke, “We couldn’t see the forest for all the trees. If I hadn’t allowed the miracle to define us so, I may have noticed sooner what an incredible young woman you were becoming.”

“There were a lot of things we shouldn’t and should have done,” Tío Bruno said, eyeing the walls that no longer held a secret corridor to his secret room, “but uh I guess if one of us had stepped up and done all that communicating stuff, we would have been the ones to bring the magic back.”

It was a small difference between “turns out Mirabel was special because she was chosen by the miracle all along” and “Mirabel was chosen by the miracle because it turns out she was special all along”. But it was a small difference that made a big impact.

Lately, Mirabel had been feeling closer and closer to her family, but just a little farther from the rest of the village. Lately, she had been put up on the same pedestal as the rest of her family, and she sort of missed being among the crowds.

But even worse than that, “It stings a little, that none of this worked. That all the hard work and passion I put into being creative and helpful never earned me any real respect. But that putting a doorknob in a door did.”

“What do you mean? This is impressive,” Juan reached around her to gently hold the part of the frame she wasn’t, “and people have always loved you. How-? I am honestly asking, respect must have been, I don’t know, how could they not respect you?”

Mirabel smiled, turning fully to look at him, “It isn’t that people didn’t like me, or that they looked down on me. They pitied me. I used to get things for free, not because I helped watch everybody’s kids, or because I played the accordion at so and so’s wedding, but because I was the only Madrigal without a gift. The good ol’ not special, special. Pity isn’t respect.”

“If they only respect you for the doorknob, is that actually respect?”

“I don’t know,” Mirabel shrugged, “this is-, all of this, the way people look at me now that they assume I have magic, the pedestal my family’s on, all of that, it’s been bothering me lately.”

“Only lately?”

“It’s slowly built up over the past nine years,” she admitted, “at first it was really nice to finally feel like ‘a real Madrigal’, and it took a few years for that to fade. When I turned twenty people suddenly started talking about me getting married and it made me think about what the rest of my life is going to look like. And over the past four years, well… it’s slowly sinking in that all this stuff is just going to be a part of my life forever now. I’ve spent so much of the past nine years solving problems, realizing these ones are out of my control is driving me a little crazy.”

“That makes sense,” he nodded, “that sounds pretty frustrating.”

Mirabel looked up at him, he wasn’t that much taller than her, it was entirely possible he was the exact height you’d get if you took an average of everybody in town. She examined him openly, and he stood quietly, letting her.

“It’ll be a part of my spouse’s life, and my kids’,” she warned him quietly, “the village does genuinely love us, b-but they love us as leaders, not as neighbors. Being with me means being seen as something a little bit other.”

Juan cocked his head, “I hadn’t considered that.”

Mirabel gulped, waiting to see what he’d say next.

“I will have to think about it,” he eventually declared, “but I suppose that’s the point of dating, isn’t it? To test out what a life together would look like.”

Mirabel shrugged, while shaking her head minutely, “I’m pretty sure the point of going on dates is to spend quality time together. At least, that’s why my parents do it.”

“Ah, I will keep that in mind,” he nodded, then he seemed to settle back on his heels, as if waiting for something. After a few beats, she realized he was waiting to see if she would talk about her thoughts and worries some more.

Mirabel really kind of hoped she was right about him. That this would work out and she’d end up with this quiet, kind of strange man who listened to her and admired her hard earned skills and bluntly spoke his mind.

“You uh wanna get started on this math lesson?” she prompted.

“I would absolutely love to,” he said, “here, sit, I’ll grab another chair and all the census data we need.”

The rest of the afternoon and evening was fairly frustrating for both of them. Juan never once raised his voice, grew snide, or implied she lacked intelligence, but she quickly learned that when he was annoyed he’d clench his jaw and sigh through his nose. On the other side, Mirabel struggled to grasp some of the more esoteric equations, but absolutely refused to just let him do the math for her, or even to let him move on to the next concept until she’d correctly explained what he’d just taught her back to him. 

When they were informed dinner was on the table (and Mirabel was given a last minute invitation to said dinner), they packed up their calculations in tense silence.

Once everything was cleaned up, Mirabel put a hand on Juan’s arm to keep him from leaving the room. She took a few deep breaths and reminded herself why she put the two of them through this.

“Do you still have a crush on me?” she asked.

“Oh, after seeing how hard you’ll work to understand things, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” he said, but he was scowling, “however I never want to do that again.”

Mirabel chuckled, “To be honest, neither do I. But I kinda have to do stuff like this if I want to help our village.”

“Fuck our village,” Juan sighed, rubbing at his temple, “I don’t mean that, but also I do feel it. Deeply.”

“Yeah, I do too sometimes,” she also sighed.

“You are incredible, that sucked though,” he said, “I deeply admire how dedicated you are, that you didn’t try to cut a single corner, but I am dreading the next time we do this.”

“Well, at least this miserable experience has brought us closer together,” she laughed a little.

“Has it?”

After a split second’s hesitation, she stepped into his space and kissed him on the cheek, “It has.”

Face burning, she fled down the hall as calmly as she could manage. He caught up with her a few seconds later.

“On second thought, I am happy to do this again tomorrow if it means you’ll kiss me,” he informed her, voice light but matter of fact.

When they reached the dining room Mirabel was giggling.

—

Mirabel had just put the last stitch on the last flower on the blouse for Juan’s sister, when somebody knocked at her door. She put the blouse down and stood, walking over to the door and trying her best not to get her hopes up. When she opened the door it was just Camilo.

“Oh, it’s you,” she sighed, accidentally letting her disappointment leak into her voice. She hadn’t really seen Juan all week. He’d sought her out a few times after the math lesson, then suddenly stopped, but continued to light up whenever she stopped to chat with him at the market. Unfortunately, people were starting up their campaigns for city council, and she only had seconds to spare throughout her day.

Camilo, strangely enough, didn’t tease her for her obvious disappointment. He didn’t say anything. He just crossed his arms, leaned on the door frame, and stared at her, eyes narrowed.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“The bean guy?”

“He has a name, y’know.”

“Sure, sure, sure. I’m sure he does. And you know? He seems real nice. But… why?”

“He’s a good listener, I like his sense of humor, we can relax togeth-,” Mirabel paused, then sighed, “he’s downstairs waiting for me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I left him with Tío Bruno, so they’re probably happy to talk about weird stuff together.”

“They are two different genres of weird,” Mirabel grumbled, pushing past her cousin. Sure enough, when she got downstairs, Tío Bruno was once again staring at Juan like he was a Swedish book of riddles.

“How about basket weaving?”

“Nope, just math.”

“Flower arranging?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Finger puppets?”

“Afraid not.”

“Interpretive dance?”

“Mm no, just math.”

“3D printing?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Right, yeah, I think it’s from the future. Sorry. Uuuh? How about making hedgehogs out of your handprint?”

“Like in school?”

“Sí.”

“Uh no, not since I was nine.”

Mirabel cleared her throat before Bruno could continue the interrogation. Juan was visibly relieved, while Tío Bruno turned to look at her, mouth screwed up in confusion. She tried to signal with her eyes that she wanted him to leave, but he either ignored or didn’t notice the nonverbal request. Mirabel sighed.

“Juan, just in time, I just finished your sister’s blouse,” she said, “would you like to come up and see it?”

“I-, sí, very much so,” he nodded, looking two parts eager and one part uncomfortable as Tío Bruno continued to examine the both of them.

“Great, let’s go,” she took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs as soon as he’d taken it.

Behind them, Tío Bruno muttered, “Weird.” in a voice that wasn’t nearly as quiet as he probably thought it was.

Mirabel rolled her eyes and was about to apologize to Juan, when she noticed Camilo was “casually” leaning on the rail between the stairs and her room. She glared at him while they passed, but he pretended not to notice. Mirabel pushed through her door and closed it, narrowing her eyes at Camilo as he strolled closer as if he just sort of happened to be wandering on over. The last thing she saw as the door closed was the Oh So Innocent look on his face.

“Are you sure your family doesn’t hate me?” Juan asked, as soon as the door was closed.

“No, Tío Bruno talks to you, that means he likes you,” she said, then turned to her door and shouted, “and Camilo is just a nosey asshole!”

“Yeah Bean Guy, don’t let it get to you,” Camilo called back, and if Juan wasn’t already looking so nervous she would have gone out and smacked the smarmy grin Camilo was definitely wearing off his stupid face. She glared at the door, then dragged Juan further into her room where Camilo wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“Anyway! Hola, how’ve you been,” she said, once she thought they were far enough from the door.

“Uh frustrated, to be honest.”

“Oh. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he shook his head, “but I’ve been working on something that I am not good at.”

That said, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a knit flower on a choker. It was Mirabel’s favorite shade of teal, with a yellow center and a green leaf. On the blue ribbon of the choker there were tiny maroon butterflies lining the top and bottom of the ribbon. 

Mirabel gasped, “You made this?”

“Sí, it took me all week and Josephine had to stop by my place once a day to show me how to fix my mistakes. I had to redo the ribbon four times, but I’ve done it. I have made you a necklace,” he held it out to her, looking genuinely proud of himself, “I chose the yarn for the flower based on the fact you wear that shade of teal sixty percent more than any other color. Then I had Josephine and my sister help with colors to match it.”

Mirabel bypassed the choker to hug him. Well, technically she pounced on him, but she couldn’t think of any other way to express how she felt.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Juan said, wrapping his arms around her, “right?”

“Sí.”

“Great! Would you like to be my date for my sister’s wedding?”

“Sí.”

“Even better,” he said, still holding her. He was warm, and delightfully sturdy. A part of her just wanted to stand there and rest against him for the rest of the day. She had a meeting with the city council candidates tomorrow to discuss campaigning rules and it would be nice to spend the day relaxing against him. However, she was pretty sure they should actually go on a few dates before she asked him to spend thirteen hours holding her.

Slowly, Mirabel released him, he took his cue from her and let her go. When they were far enough apart that she could see his face, he was grinning ear to ear. She smiled fondly up at him.

“Will you put it on me?” 

“Oh, sí, of course,” he held the necklace up as she turned around and carefully put it around her neck, buttoning it in the back while she held her hair up out of the way. When she turned back to him he saw his hard work on her neck, and his grin got just a little wider.

Mirabel chuckled a little, “Feels really good seeing somebody wearing something you worked hard on, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, incredible, but uh, this is probably something I’m not doing again,” he chuckled a little sheepishly, “at least, not without your help. Josephine kept smacking me.”

Mirabel giggled at the mental image, “She can be very outspoken about her opinions.”

“Outspoken is one thing, but why’d she hit me?” he grumbled, shaking his head, then he perked up, “Anyway! You said you finished my sister’s blouse?”

“I did, come on,” she took his hand again and led him to the couch where she’d been working on the blouse. After double checking that the last stitch was secure, she took it out of the embroidery hoop and handed it to him. He held it up, eyes meticulously roving over every detail.

“Maybe I’ll just keep it, frame it in my room like the butterfly you made,” he said, not taking his eyes off the flower chain on the collar.

“Oh no you don’t, this is some of the best work I’ve ever done, I want to see her wearing it,” she put her hands on her hips, “now, what about her husband?”

“Her husband?”

“Sí, it’s a wedding gift, no? You’re generally supposed to give things for both the bride and groom,” Mirabel pointed out.

“Oh, uh, right. That guy.”

“That guy?” she snorted, shaking her head, “Do you not like him or something?”

“No, I do. But you know how it is, she’s my only sister, I guess I imagined a prince would swoop in and make her a princess,” Juan shrugged, sitting on the couch, “I like him, and I like seeing her happy, but I guess it just feels weird to see her marry a real person.”

“You have a brother, don’t you?” Mirabel asked, sitting next to him, “Isn’t he married?”

“Ah, sí, but he was married and helping his wife care for his in-laws at their place, by the time I was born, so he’s more like an uncle. Honestly, I’m closer to my sister in law than I am to my brother,” he shrugged, “but my sister. She was my first friend. It’s kinda sad, you know, seeing her move onto the next step of life. A step that involves her leaving our home.”

Mirabel smiled sympathetically but couldn’t offer anything more than a hand in his. Madrigals did not move out of Casita, people who married Madrigals moved in. She’s never had to worry about her siblings and cousins dispersing to the wind.

Juan sighed, and flashed her a bittersweet smile, “But you’re right, I should get him something too.”

“I can embroider something for him that matches,” she said, “what does he usually wear?”

“Hats,” Juan said, “he is always wearing a hat. He’s balding.”

“Hats, ok, I’ll make him a hat with a matching pattern on the brim,” she said, “do you know what his head size is?”

“No, but I know where he gets his hats, I’m sure if we tell the hatter that we’re making a wedding gift, he’ll give us any information you need,” he started to stand, “oh, if you don’t mind going right now.”

“No, not at all,” she also stood, “we should do this quickly.”

They left hand in hand and strolled their way down to the hatter’s shop, talking about their families and gifts and weddings. The hatter loved the idea of giving the couple matching clothes, and gave them a hat for free, so long as they agreed to put his name on the card. On their way back, they stopped for some coffee and a couple pastries. Then they spent the rest of their day sitting together on her couch. Her embroidering the hat, him calculating how much string she’d ended up using on the blouse.

In a year, they would have a small spat over whether that counted as their first date, or whether their first date was a week later when they got lunch together. The spat wasn’t serious, but Mirabel had been working on Juan’s gift with the later deadline in mind and was embarrassed it wasn’t finished. Meanwhile, Juan had gotten what he considered to be their anniversary engraved on the ring he’d gotten her, and he wasn’t sure how to explain that without giving away the surprise.

Ultimately, Mirabel let him win when he got down on one knee. She had found somebody who wanted to marry her even when she was being stubborn and sarcastic. That made her the real winner in the long run.

#encanto #mirabel madrigal #mirabel encanto #Mirabel Madrigal x OC #Mirabel x OC #not in the Love and Fury verse #Juan Madrigal #Almost called this one The Bean Guy