#Yes i am going to yap about My Own Art in the tags. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pengychan · 3 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 23

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

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Long overdue make-up sex? Long overdue make-up sex. Only the epilogue left before this is all wrapped up!

***

“... I need water.”

“Seconded.”

“Thirded.”

Silence. Some shuffling.

“Well, who’s going?”

“I’m not. I went and got Coco back to sleep when she cried. Did my part.”

“I am not getting off this couch.”

“If you make me go, I’m only getting water for myself.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uugh. No, I don’t.” Ernesto groans, rubbing his eyes before dropping his head back against the couch’s backrest. He grimaces towards the kitchen. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Three in the morning.”

“What! Where has the evening gone!”

“Where has the entire day gone, we began discussing this over lunch,” Héctor mutters, laying upside-down with his legs over the backrest.

He is not wrong, really: they have quite literally spent half a day and much of the night discussing where to go from there. They talked through lunch, through the afternoon with Coco passing from one set of arms to another whenever she was not napping, talked while Héctor changed her diapers with a frequency Ernesto found frankly concerning given the child’s small size. They took a brief break from talking while walking their dogs - best to be careful with their words outside - and feeding Coco respectively.

More talking ensued as they put Coco in her playpen to watch a cartoon, as they cooked dinner, as they ate it, as Coco fell asleep cuddled up to Pepita while the dogs watched with envy from outside the playpen, with Dante having finally learned that trying to jump in would spell disaster.

They discussed everything they could possibly discuss - their arrangement, how it could work going forward, whether to tell Coco, what to tell Coco once she was old enough, how to keep it private business without having to actively hide, what family members could be told and what family members could never - coming to the agreement Imelda’s brothers were probably the only ones who could be trusted, at the moment, to possibly know if it came to it.

“I never thought I’d see the day I had to say they can be trusted over our father,” Imelda said as she disappeared to put a very sleepy Coco in her crib, and Héctor and Ernesto were still snickering at the idea when she came back. They sat on the couch with a drink, resumed talking, and never stopped except for the time Coco began crying and had to be soothed by a very concerned Héctor.

Until, of course, exhaustion and thirst caught up with them at three in the damn morning.

“So, I’m going to be the waiter from now on,” Ernesto mutters, just a little dramatically, as he finally gets off the couch to fetch everyone some water. He guzzles down a glass, fills two more, and brings them back. Héctor and Imelda drink just as greedily while he flops back down on the couch, exhausted and honestly still absolutely stunned.

“... This is-- is this really happening?” he finds himself asking, very quietly. Part of him fears this is all a dream, that he will wake up alone in his bed to find none of this has really transpired. The other two pause, look back down at him - and maybe Ernesto let something vulnerable show a bit too much, because suddenly they’re both leaning down with the clear intention of giving him a kiss. Exactly at the same time.

With predictable results.

Bonk.

“Ow!” Imelda yelps, wincing back.

“Agh! Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Héctor frets. Imelda just slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, which just comes out of her nose with a honking sound. Ernesto just laughs, his own head unscathed but oddly light. Yes, this is happening. He couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid if he’d tried.

It is happening, he thinks. We’re giving this a chance, he thinks. For the love of God don’t fuck it up, he tells himself, but says none of those things aloud. He just laughs until he has to catch his breath and it dies down in a snicker. That’s when Imelda leans down to kiss him briefly, this time without bumping her head against Héctor’s.

“I think that means we’re officially too tired to function,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ah. Right. It is three in the morning. Ernesto clears his throat and sits up. “Of course-- I’ll drop by after lunch, then, so we can go rehearse--”

Imelda pinches his earlobe. “Who said anything about you leaving?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. Ernesto’s words die in his throat.

Right. Yes. This is happening.

Not that anything physical is going to happen just yet. They are all much too tired to do anything other than shuffling into the bedroom as quietly as they can - “whoever wakes her up has to calm her down”, Imelda threatens - and changing their night clothes - it is odd, finding one of his nightshirts still in their closet, washed and neatly folded - before they flop on the bed.

At least, Ernesto and Héctor flop down on it. Imelda is decidedly more dignified, and leans down between them. Héctor pulls her close, and immediately holds out the other arm for Ernesto with a grin. Part of him is still wondering if he’s dreaming this, really, but when he slides closer, leaning against Imelda’s body with Héctor’s arm around him, again he knows he will not awaken alone after all. He smiles.

“Your arms are freakishly long,” he mutters, very romantically, causing Héctor to snort.

“Oh, thanks, amigo,” he mutters, but his hand keeps resting on Ernesto’s side. “Don’t hear you complain when I give the best hugs ever given.”

“That’s debatable, who decided it is you to give--”

“I said--” Imelda cuts him off, then yawns. Loudly, and without bothering to put up a hand against her mouth. “Sleep,” she mumbled, settling her head back down, forehead against Héctor’s chest and one hand resting on Ernesto’s forearm around her waist. It’s not clear whether it’s an order or just a declaration of what she’s about to do, but they do take it as an order.

They are, after all, exhausted. There will be time to marvel over getting all of this back in the morning; for now, Ernesto leans down his head, closes his eyes, and sleeps basking in their warmth.

***

***

They get to sleep a grand total of two hours and a half before they awaken to a chorus of wailing, barking, yapping and yowling. It’s hard to tell what started first - Ernesto apparently would put money on the wailing, though Imelda is ready to counter-bet a chihuahua yapped first - but the fact stays, someone needs to go put an end to it before half the condo is at the door with murderous intentions.

Thankfully, Héctor is out of bed almost immediately. He’s still sleepy and misses the door the first time, hitting the wall before stumbling out with a murmured ‘I’m fine’ to go make sure no horrid monster has attacked Coco in her crib. In his haste he leaves the door open, and two chihuahuas as well as the cat rush in, with the small dogs yapping and trying without success to jump up on the bed.

The other two as well as Dante clearly decided to stay behind and watch Héctor’s baby-soothing operation. Imelda stifles a yawn, bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Those dogs are not allowed on the bed,” she says the instant Ernesto moves to pick them up, just as Pepita jumps to settle down next to her head.

Ernesto scowls. “That’s favoritism,” he points out, and a little monster yaps as though to agree. One of them whines, clearly trying to move her into relenting. Imelda remains entirely unmoved.

“Pepita is clean,” she replies, reaching over to scratch Pepita behind the ears. Her green eyes, fixed on Ernesto, narrow. Hard to tell whether it is in pleasure for the ear scratch or in displeasure for the man back on her owners’ bed, but if it’s the latter, she will have to get used to it.

Ernesto makes a face. “I can’t imagine it’s hygienic.”

“She grooms herself for hours on end--”

“With her it tongue, that’s not cleaning a thing--”

“Well, it’s more than dogs do. I have only ever seen them use their dogs only ever use their tongues to lick--”

“They’re clean! I bathe them every week!“

Imelda blinks. In the next room over, Coco’s wails are quieting down. “... You do?”

“With a very expensive dog shampoo, too. I advertised it on my Instagram account - I mean, their Instagram account. Didn’t you see?”

Ah. That. “I think I unfollowed both when we-- broke things off,” Imelda admits, causing Ernesto to frown. “It stung,” she adds quickly. “Seeing you.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, I-- I haven’t been posting a lot, so you haven’t missed much. Should get back to it. I think the dogs have more followers than I do at this point.”

“Well, they are cute. I suppose,” Imelda concedes. Pepita jumps off the bed, clearly satisfied with her dose of scritches, and is followed outside by both chihuahuas. Imelda props herself up on her elbow. “You should try with shirtless photos,”she adds. It’s mostly meant as a joke, but Ernesto is clearly considering it.

“I already posted plenty. And a couple where I was only wearing a--”

“I mean, more shirtless photos,” Imelda rectifies, very much aware of what photos he is referring to. Unlike Héctor, whose social media accounts are bereft of any sign of life aside for the occasional photo of a guitar, a music sheet, or Imelda going over his latest work, Ernesto is very much active and not precisely trying to disguise the fact his sexuality is ‘yes’.

“I guess I could take a trip to the beach for a few more shots, after we’re back from Santa Cecilia...” he muses, and Imelda is about to ask if they’re meant to join him for that trip to the beach when Héctor walks back in, a triumphant grin on his face and phone in hand.

“She’s sleeping! Look!” he whisper-exclaims, and gets right back in bed between them before he proceeds to show them thirty identical photos of Coco sleeping. “Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl?”

“She is,” Imelda agrees with a small grin, leaning her chin on Héctor’s shoulder. “Not that I’m biased or anything.”

Ernesto scoffs. “You absolutely are.”

“Not everyone is your mamá, Ernesto,” Héctor snickers, elbowing him. “Telling everyone within earshot how handsome you were going to be once you shed your baby fat.”

“Well she was right, I did turn out-- what! She never said that, pendejo!” He huffs, giving Héctor’s shoulder a shove that almost sends him flying off the bed. He laughs it off, flopping back down.

“She did too, Ernestito! Heard with my own ears!”

“Mph. Your stupid elephant ears.”

Héctor’s expression turns coy. “Ah, what can I say, it’s my cross to bear. Much like a dick a couple of inches longer than yours…”

“It’s not, Héctor!”

“Is too! We checked with Imelda’s measuring tape, remember?”

“... You did what with my measuring tape now?”

“We had a disagreement to settle, mi amor.”

“And we found it’s-- maybe an inch longer! At most! And mine is thicker, too!”

“Oh no, it was longer than that. Need me to refresh your memory?”

“We can arrange that, if you let me catch another couple of hours of sleep,” Imelda mutters, causing the squabble to die down. There is some grumbling, a few more shoves, but soon enough they’re all settled to sleep again, basking in the warmth and enjoying blissful silence.

For another fifty minutes.

***

“Oh my God!”

“Gah!”

“Wha--??”

Héctor barely catches himself before he falls off the bed, flailing his arms and only narrowly missing Imelda’s face. He reaches to turn on the bedside lamp, and sits up to look over to the other side of the bed where Ernesto is sitting upright, hair tousled, a horrified expression on his face as though he just awakened from the worst nightmare a human mind can conceive.

“Ernesto? What is it?” Imelda is asking, concern plain in her voice. She puts a hand on Ernesto’s forearm and he looks back at them, eyes wide and skin ashen.

“Oh my God, ” he repeats. “My mother has seen my Instagram.”

Ah, Héctor thinks.

“Ah,” he says, mind already wandering to some photos that are probably not meant for the eyes of one’s own mother.

“Oh,” Imelda repeats, clearly thinking the same.

They succeed in staying serious for almost five seconds before Héctor cracks, and Imelda is quick to follow.

“Pffft…”

“Heh…”

“She has been looking up my account for ages-- she even mentioned it, I had forgotten-- what if my father-- stop laughing!” his voice comes out a whine, and it’s what entirely undoes them. “This is serious! Stop laughing! I’ll have to look her in the eye when we go back for Coco’s christening! I-- uuugh!” Ernesto lets himself drop back on the pillow with a groan, covering his face with an arm. “I hate you both.”

“No, you do not.” Héctor grins down at him and, while Ernesto scoffs, he fails to say otherwise.

“If she brings it up, I will dig myself a grave and crawl in it.”

Imelda snickers, leaning across his chest. “If they’re that terrible I don’t think she’ll want to bring them up.”

He pulls his arm off his eyes, frowning a little. “Not that I’m naked in those photos, I’m not an idiot, but I--” he trails off with a sudden intake of breath when Imelda’s hand slips beneath his nightshirt, across his chest. Héctor sits back a moment, watching them - Imelda’s tousled hair and the strap of the nightgown falling off her shoulder, the way Ernesto arches a little at her touch.

It’s not the most alluring sight he’s ever laid his eyes on, but it comes pretty close - and it hits him suddenly, the realization that they have this again. It leaves a lump in his throat and a dumb smile spreading on his face while he watches Imelda lean in and kiss Ernesto’s lips. When they break apart, Ernesto’s breathing is quicker and his eyes wide.

Imelda grins, and tugs at his nightshirt. “Since we clearly are getting no more sleep this morning, would you mind getting this out of the way and let me take your mind off your mother going through embarrassing Instagram photos?”

Ernesto is sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head before she’s even done speaking, but he doesn’t get to take it off - not before Héctor moves suddenly to pull them both in his arms, and squeeze tight.

“Agh!”

“What the--”

“Really?”

“And here I was trying to be seductive,” Imelda mutters, face pressed against Héctor’s chest.

“It was a very good effort,” Ernesto informs her, head still tangled in the shirt.

“Thanks.”

“Unfortunately, you married an idiot.”

“Oh, like you didn’t stick to the idiot long before I got him to put a ring on it.”

“What can I say, I felt bad for him.”

“... You guys realize I can hear you, right?”

“No doubt you can, with those ears,” Ernesto mutters, voice still muffled by the shirt wrapped around his head. “Can you let me go now?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want us to get anything done before Coco needs breakfast, yes,” Imelda says against his chest. “Now, if you’d let go and fetch the lube and condoms…” she adds, and Héctor is off them and across the room so fast he almost topples on the floor.

With most of his blood flow already getting redirected in his nether regions, Ernesto’s power of thought may not be at his highest. However, as he gets the shirt off his head and throws it off the side of the bed, he does pause a moment to think. Or try to. Something is definitely different.

“Condoms? Not on the pill anymore?”

“Not yet. It already failed, anyway, and I really am not ready for another little miracle. At least if the condom breaks we’ll notice right away.” She reaches up to brush back his hair, and leans against him. She is warm against his bare chest, her lips so close to Ernesto’s own. Her nails rake lightly down the back of his neck, and he swallows. “But it shouldn’t happen, if you know how to put one on properly.”

He makes a face. “Well, of course I know how to put on a--” Ernesto begins, and then trails off. The amount of blood going straight to his cock is making it very hard to think about anything else, but he’s not yet so far gone he can’t catch the meaning of her words. He stares at Imelda, mouth hanging open.

There are...few things they did not at least experiment with throughout the relationship, but at no point did Ernesto get to be in her. Not with his cock, anyway. It simply never happened, Ernesto would think, but he knows deep down that was not it. It was a line Imelda did not want to cross, the one that marked the difference between her husband and the annoying-- acquaintance -- friend turned unlikely lover. Something Héctor could have while he could not. Until now.

He should try and play it cool, of course. Get cocky and say he’s glad she changed her mind there, she has no idea what she has missed out on. Instead, he sputters.

“What-- are you-- sure?”

Imelda’s expression turns coy, a finger running down his chest. “Well, if you’re afraid to disappoint…”

What!

“What!” Ernesto huffs, crossing his arms. “For your information, I never disappoint.”

“Sofía told me otherwise.”

“Sofía should mind her own-- wait a moment, since when are the two of you on gossiping terms?” he asks, just a hint of panic making it to his voice as he tries to run the numbers on the amount of ammunition Sofía may have to use against him. Unaware of his worry, or maybe all too aware of it and hiding it very well, Imelda shrugs.

“She ordered a pair of shoes and we got talking.”

Talking about what, Ernesto wants to ask, but before he can open his mouth Héctor is back on the bed and kissing his shoulder, causing him to trail off and his breath to catch a moment.

“Here,” Héctor smiles against his skin, pressing a condom in his hand. “Put it to good use, we have no others left until we restock.”

Despite the rising heat, his own quickening breath and the by now unbearable friction of underwear on his erection, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “That busy, even with the baby?”

“Not really. It’s that Dante found the box.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah. The vet judged me the entire time. Not that he said anything, but--”

“... Surely we can have this conversation another time?” Imelda intervenes, tapping her fingers against Ernesto’s chest in a motion that is… a little more annoyed than seductive now. Héctor blushes a little, and gives a sheepish grin.

“Heh. Right,” he says, and without warning he suddenly pushes Ernesto forward, causing him to fall over on top of Imelda. He barely catches himself, hands braced against the mattress, and almost protests - but then he looks down to see Imelda leaning on her back beneath him, head between his arms and hair spread across the pillow. Her skin is flushed, and ah, the way she looks at him. If one could bottle that look to sell it, they’d make billions.

“I can’t help but feel I’m terribly overdressed for the occasion,” she tells him, and starts unbuttoning her nightgown. She barely makes it to half the buttons before Ernesto’s mouth comes down on hers, hard. She melts into the kiss in a way he cannot recall her ever doing before, fingers tangling in his hair and Christ - Christ - it is almost worth the long months without them, waking up in his own bed.

Ah, it’s good to be home.

“Ah--” Imelda sighs and throws back her head while Ernesto’s mouth trails down her throat, to her breasts. He only stops with a startled gasp against her nipple when a pair of familiar hands pull off his boxers, and a very familiar finger begins to probe as him, slick with lube.

“Oh, don’t mind me back here,” Héctor calls out, and Ernesto can almost feel the grin in his voice when he slides the finger in, slowly but without hesitation, getting another gasp out of Ernesto he barely muffles against Imelda’s skin. “Want me to put on the condom for you while I’m at it? You look busy,” he adds. His other hand closes on Ernesto’s cock in a soft squeeze, and he almost cries out.

“Christ-- don’t do that!” he pants, suddenly terrified he’s going to just come like that, before anything can happen. Héctor chuckles, but does pull back the hand. The other hand pushes in another finger, sending more shivers up his back. God, he’s shaking - this is bliss, never enough and yet too much, how can he possibly hold himself together?

“That horny?” Héctor asks lightly, as though conversing over a glass of wine. Ernesto snarls.

“I’m about to fuck your wife, what do you think?”

“Ah, good point.”

Beneath him Imelda, who somehow managed to unbutton the rest of her nightgown and shrug it off, laughs and forces his head back by the hair to kiss his mouth. He doesn’t resist - how can he resist? - and only lets out a noise of surrender. The finger within him retreats and Héctor is leaning across his back, putting the condom on him with surprisingly delicate fingers. His own cock presses against Ernesto’s thigh, hard and hot and already slick with lube. When he pulls back, Ernesto lets out a whine.

“Don’t bother with fingers,” he groans. “I can take it-- por favor--”

A kiss on the back of his neck, just as Imelda’s mouth presses on his throat. She has a leg on either side of Ernesto, and his cock brushes against the warm skin on the inside of her thigh. It is only a soft brush, but it’s almost unbearable on heated flesh. He lets out a shuddering breath, and glances down to meet her eyes.

Are you sure?, he asks without words, and Imelda responds just as wordlessly, pulling his mouth down on hers and arching beneath him. Whatever shred of self-control Ernesto had left is annihilated and he kisses her back, frantic, before pushing his hips forward purely out of instinct and oh--

He slides in so easily and for a long, blissful moment, Ernesto forgets how to breathe or move or think. There is only that tight heat, Imelda’s scent in his nostrils and her breath against the side of his neck as she clenches around him - the soft moan filling his ears and the nails sinking in the skin of his shoulders.

And then Héctor is bearing down on him, mouth on the back of his neck and weight across his back, pushing into him unbearably slowly and all too fast at once. Everything is too much. Nothing is enough. He wants and needs and yearns and yet it’s everything he could possibly ask for, and more.

As much as he enjoyed the strap-on and Héctor’s ass, this might just be the best variation of Ernesto sandwich he’s ever had.

“Pepita got your tongue?” Héctor chuckles against his ear, settling deep into him, resting his chin on his shoulder and glancing over at Imelda. “You good?” he breathes. Imelda lifts her head to kiss his lips. Her skin is flushed, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh, yes,” she says, and kisses Ernesto’s neck again. “You are thicker, I’ll give you that,” she whispers, perfectly audible to Héctor, whose chuckling protests are not very believable. Her hand cups Ernesto’s cheek, her fingers calloused from working leather. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she murmurs, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Christ--” Ernesto pants, and manages to lift himself up on his elbows just enough to get some weight off her, and rest his forehead on hers. He’s so acutely aware of everything - the smoothness of her skin and Héctor’s chest hair against his back, her hand cupping his cheek and his chin on his shoulder, the heat around his cock and the cock in him. “I don’t know-- how long I can last,” he manages to admit.

“Ah, don’t worry about that, amigo,” Héctor speaks, and tilts his hips, sending a jolt of pleasure up Ernesto’s spine and tearing a gasp out of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And we can do this whenever we wish…”

He says something else after that, or Imelda does, but none of their words makes it to Ernesto’s brain. They start moving in tandem, in him and around him and on him and beneath, and it is all that Ernesto can think of or feel. It is all he wants to feel right now.

The moans that leave him are louder than advisable, with Coco sleeping just a couple of rooms over, but Imelda is quick to muffle any noise he makes with a kiss. Good move, that.

None of them is in the right state of mind to go soothe a cranky baby, after all.

***

[Back]

[Next]

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

36 notes · View notes

realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 9: Magic Carpet Ride

Chapters: 9/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),Drug Use

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags: A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary: Loki, paragon of self-sacrifice, must face down a cultural taboo.

Loki stared ruefully at the little bottle of pills on the table in front of him.

“You've got to be kidding me.” he said, “Your weak mortal medicine will have no affect on me.”

Tony Stark shrugged. “Works on Cap.”

“I am not your Captain Rogers. We are worlds apart.”

“The guy's a never ending science experiment. We had to develop insanely strong meds for him because, in the event that he actually managed to get hurt, our strongest stuff couldn't help him. But I have it on good authority that this'll do the trick. That authority being your brother. King of Asgard.”

Loki glared in scandalized disbelief. “You are telling me Thor actually took one of these?”

“Took some persuading, but yeah. After he came back down, he was pretty sure they'd work on you too, despite your differences.”

Loki's eyes flicked to you, then back to Stark, then to the bottle. “Hold your tongue. We don't need to discuss this any further. I will not poison myself at your command.”

“It's not poison!” Stark insisted. “It's a painkiller and anti-inflammatory. It will help you heal.”

“You cannot expect me to degrade myself for your convenience.”

“No, I expect you to lie for your convenience.” Stark shot back. “Though I don't see how hiding this from me,” he gestured at the chair, the neck brace, “actually helped you at all. You don't get anything out of it. Anyway, you really need to start cooperating if you want to stay. I'm trying to be lenient, but the more you complicate things, the more likely it is you'll be discovered. I think we all agree that would be bad.

As for you, if you want to come back downstairs and rejoin society, we've always got space for you” he said to you. “The baristas have been asking after you.”

“No!” Loki burst, “If I must befoul myself with your medicines to retain my lodgings, then I require her assistance to oversee things while I am...impaired.”

It had been an accident. Or rather, a lapse in personal judgment. You had left Loki after dressing him one morning, to fix breakfast, and Stark had shown up. And because he was your boss, and owned the building, you had just let him in. That's right, you had helped out the landlord. Your parents would be ashamed of you. You were ashamed.

And the silent fury Loki had been radiating when he wheeled out into the seating area and Stark had gotten a look at him as he really was made you surprised that he wanted to keep you around at all.

Stark had given him an exasperated earful, and then left, coming back this morning with a bottle full of small pills. You couldn't even come close to pronouncing the complicated name on the label, but from what Stark was saying, they were the kind of thing that should never be taken by a normal person. Not if they had been made with Captain America in mind. Not if they were powerful enough to string out Thor.

You were surprised Loki was even pretending to go along with this, considering the cultural attitudes to chemical medicines in Asgard. Really, you fully expected him to order you to throw the pills away once Stark left.

When you brought him his tea, he sighed deeply, his expression a mask of utter melancholic resignation.

“Crush one of those accursed pills into a powder and add it to the tea.” he said woefully. “Stay by me as I suffer this indignity. Be forgiving of any upcoming transgressions, I implore you.”

“Hey, I'm sure it won't be that bad.” you said, grabbing a cooking spoon, and carefully breaking the pill down into a fine powder with the handle. “It won't stay in your system for very long. Your body will filter it out and flush it away, and you'll be clean again.”

You brushed the powder into his teacup, and stirred until it dissolved. Then you handed it over to Loki, who stared into the cup morosely.

“Won't it be good to not be in pain, even just for a little while?”

“I thought that many times, when I was in the clutches-” He stopped abruptly. “I've thought that many times. It is always denied to me somehow. There's always a catch.” He took a long sip of the tea, and sighed again. “And so I am tainted. At least the tea doesn't taste any different. You are getting better at that.”

“Here, have a muffin.” you offered him your freshest creation. “It says on the bottle that you're supposed to take it with food.”

He accepted the muffin with all the graveness of a prisoner at his last meal, but he thanked you graciously, and stopped you when you started to leave his side.

“I will be rendered a senseless fool by this foul poison. You must stay close, so that I do not do something utterly moronic, like throwing myself from the balcony on the assumption that I can fly. I might not actually survive in my situation, and I dislike long falls anyway.”

“You're scared of heights?” you asked, scarcely able to believe it.

“No,” he said haughtily, “I dislike long falls. It is different.”

“Why do they bother you?”

“That is personal.”

“I've seen your dick.” you pointed put.

“You would not be the first.” he said, matching you for vulgarity.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Do you want more tea?”

Loki glanced into his empty teacup, bemused to see the bottom.

“Yes, I suppose I would.” he said, setting it down for you.

He had tried to teach you the fine art of pouring tea, and you had finally managed to do it without dribbling, but, as Loki put it, you also did it without grace. He didn't say anything this time, just tightened his lips in a sarcastic way, and took a sip.

At least you knew how to make tea to his specifications. It wasn't difficult, once you had figured it out. Just measurements and timing.

He had devoured his muffin, so you brought him another. Loki was extremely particular about flavors; not adventurous at all. Even banana nut offended his senses. But cream cheese met his approval in every application so far, even if he did complain about the texture of bagels.

“You'll have to get me an Asgardian cookbook, if this keeps up.” you said. “I might be able to whip you up something that reminds you of home.”

“I do not necessarily always want to be reminded of home.” Loki said. “And some of our dishes take many hours, even days to make. I need you for more than that. You cannot be in the kitchen at every moment.”

You would never admit it to anyone, but you got a surge of secret pleasure every time Loki said that he needed you. You'd always enjoyed hearing it from others, but it was so much better coming from a god.

Though it did make you wonder if the isolation up here was messing with your head a bit.

“Besides,” he continued, “enough cheese, bread, and meat will approximate the diet well enough. Asgardians have high metabolisms, and require many calories, and so do I. Our active lifestyles tend to make us big eaters as well, although I do not get my usual exercises these days.”

“If you would actually give yourself the time to relax and heal, you might be able to get back to that sooner.”

“Yap, yap, you nag like a bratty lapdog.” He scorned. Your eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Well gee,” you said with exaggerated shock, “if you don't want me here, just go ahead and say so. I'll go downstairs and be a barista.”

“No, you cannot leave me!” There was a distinct waver in his voice. “I will be polite. You won't leave me, will you? I didn't mean it.”

“Loki.” you said, suddenly feeling guilty. He sounded like a scolded little boy, on the verge of tears. “I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry about that. You should be more polite though.”

He reached out gracefully and took your hand.

“Dear lady...” he began, his words slightly slurred, and you finally realized that the medicine was taking effect.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, filling his tea again.

“Strange.” he said. “I feel light, but like there is a weight upon my eyes. Light, but like I cannot lift my limbs. One with this chair. Melting into the floor. I do not hurt...it's been so long...”

He really was starting to tear up.

You took his tea from his trembling hand and grabbed up a tissue.

“Here you go.” you said, dabbing his eyes gently. “Go ahead and enjoy it. Pain shouldn't be an everyday thing for you, if it doesn't have to be. You don't have to feel bad for enjoying a little bit of peace.”

“No, you don't understand. I don't deserve this. The pain was at least something familiar. I don't recognize this feeling. This lightness. It doesn't feel real.”

“Well, you are real, and I am real, and the medicine is real. The feeling is the medicine acting on your perceptions, so it's kinda real, it's just different than usual, that's all.” you patted his hand, and he grabbed for yours.

“Will this feeling go away?”

“Of course!” you laughed, “don't worry, this is just temporary. It will help your neck, and when you're healed, you won't have to take it anymore.”

“What if I can't stop?” he asked. “I am...not good at refraining from...indulgence.”

“If no one brings you anymore, what could you do about it?”

“If I am healed enough to remove this brace? To move about freely? What could I not do about it?”

“You know, that's a good point. I think we'll have to find you some of that ultra-powerful super weed the cops keep saying totally exists, but no one else seems to be able to find.”

He gave you a sideways stare. “More poisons?”

“It's to help free you from the other poison. But there are multiple strategies for getting clean, if that really becomes a problem. It's not like I've never seen addicts before; I'll help you if you need me.”

He reached for your hand again, and missed.

“Blessed thing.” he blabbered. “You are a draught of Alfar wine, brewed under the starlight. The fresh breeze through the forests of Vanaheim, just after sunrise. You are the faithful moon, pure as gold.”

“And you are high as balls.” you teased, bashful about the flowery praise. You really shouldn't be pledging any more of yourself, but the allure of being needed-wanted even, was as addictive as any drug.

“You are the only once who may see.” he said. “I want no one else to see me like this. Stark especially. None save you may witness my dishonor.”

“Loki,” you mock-scolded, “if you keep looking at it like that, you'll impede your own progress. You'll fight it subconsciously, and just slow your healing down.”

“How, pray tell, should I look at it then?” he asked.

You took his hand, which was still waving around after yours.

“Look at it as permission. Permission to relax, to let the guard down and just exist for a while. You have everything you need right here, you can just be. It's okay to take some time to just be.”

“Just be what though? What is worth it for me to be?”

You shrugged. “A prince?”

“In exile.”

“A god?”

“Blasphemed rather than worshiped.”

“How about...my master?”

He squirmed a little in his chair.

“I could perhaps do that effectively.” he said quietly.

#betathetaandme #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

17 notes · View notes

pengiesama · 5 years

Text

Too Many Cooks (Fic, Gen)

Title: Too Many Cooks Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Gen Characters: Rose, Alisha, Malfore

Summary: Rose and company help Alisha protect a vital shipping lane from attack by a rampaging drake. "Luckily" for them, Rolance has sent their own Shepherd to help.

(Or, "The One Where Everyone Involved Learns a Lesson in Patience and Self-Control, and Also How Not to Stab People.")

Link: AO3

This was my entry for day one of the TOZ 4th Anniversary project, at @tozanniversary! Day two's prompt was “I’m the son of a provincial lard!”.

Check out the other fic and art entries here:

AO3 Collection Tumblr Twitter

Read on Tumblr!

Rolance and Hyland were now working together on a variety of initiatives. Rebuilding destroyed towns, reseeding blighted fields, purging the land of the hellions that still roamed and of the lingering pockets of resistance to the kingdoms’ treaty. Alisha, of course, worked tirelessly; alongside Sergei, when he was available, but always Rose. Rose was still styling on the Shepherd Incognito thing – she was just used to working in the shadows when it came to things outside the Sparrowfeathers business, and it was easier besides.

There were those who remembered the Shepherd Sorey, and tales of his deeds were spreading; tales made larger than life and more wild by his sudden disappearance, at the very same time hope returned to the land. Surely he will return when humanity becomes pure enough. He sleeps under the mountain, waiting for this day. Leave offerings at the mantle for his seraphic helpers to bring to him each night. Rose was kind of worried about how Sorey would react to having a religion built up around him when he finally woke up.

Rose knew that taking up the Shepherd gig wouldn’t be easy. Sure, Sorey was stuck handling the really hard stuff. (She sent up a little prayer every night to wish him well – she never prayed in the past, never thought anyone would listen, but now she knew that Sorey would and was and always will.) But she was stuck handling the really annoying stuff.

The political stuff.

The political stuff that you couldn’t solve by stabbing with a knife.

The political stuff that you could solve by stabbing with a knife but now you’ve got a very delicate truce situation to navigate and so you can’t.

“…and I tell you this in utter sincerity, and above all, humility: the moment I appeared on the scene, the hellion took a single look at me and turned tail! I spoke naught a word, but the foul creature surely understood the overwhelming holy power at my command.” Malfore nodded gravely, and adjusted that stupid fucking beret on his stupid fucking skull. “It is a heavy burden. I do not intend to upset your delicate feminine composure with my travel accounts – please do let me know if you feel that you are about to faint from terror. But I tell you these tales for a reason. Understand, ladies, that you are safe under my protection as we travel.”

“Cool story, bro,” Rose said. Alisha was stiff as a rail, walking several paces ahead of them, clearly too infuriated to trust herself to speak. “I bet that was totally a hellion and not just like, a fat raccoon you saw knocking over the garbage cans behind the Shrinechurch one time.”

“Yes, it was truly a saga for the ages,” Malfore said, clearly not having registered a word she said. “I am indeed writing a memoir about my experiences, so please, do be patient while the creative process works. Ah, but that brings to mind another encounter…”

The mission they were on today was, indeed, dangerous. They were out to investigate a string of destructive landslides that threatened to dam up a major shipping highway between Rolance and Hyland – which would bring trade, not to mention transport of relief supplies and doctors, to a screeching halt. Preliminary scouting around the area led to the grim conclusion that they were probably dealing with a drake. An impossible task for the Hyland princess and her troop of ordinary soldiers (and her totally ordinary merchant pal who was only tagging along to make sure their supply train kept running smoothly) to be expected to deal with herself. And so, Rolance had graciously allowed Hyland to borrow their Shepherd (who was Totally Legit, and definitely not a fake asshole who didn’t know a hellion from a hole in the ground) to help with the process of retaking the river.

Rose was used to humoring pompous windbags – it was part of the customer service gig. Even Edna and Lailah had learned to live with the situation for the time being. But Alisha…well. She’d been condescended to and insulted and disregarded by people all her life, and had taken it with a kind of martyr attitude; as if it was simply a test to make her a better knight. But Malfore seemed to really be stretching her patience to the breaking point. She’d hardly said a word the past few days – as if Malfore had even let them get a word in, with all his yapping, but even when they were in their tent alone together, she was as silent as a stone, and as prickly as a pufferfish every time Rose approached.

“May I explain Alisha’s struggle?” Lailah asked politely.

Rose jumped a mile at the sudden sound of Lailah’s voice in her head. Malfore laughed magnanimously, and gently patted Rose on her head like a scared puppy. He removed his hand before Rose could break his fucking fingers.

“Fear not, for as I am standing here in front of you today, you can be assured that this story has a happy end. Now, as I was saying, I was wooing the beautiful water seraph who had rescued me from my sinking vessel, when the pirates attacked…”

“I’m going to bury him in dirt and bugs tonight while he sleeps and you can’t stop me,” Edna said.

“Now, now,” Lailah said mildly, not even pretending to dissuade her. “Regarding Alisha’s stress, it is clear that she is upset by Malfore’s falsehoods above all.”

“That makes approximately all of us,” Rose whispered back under her breath. Gesticulating wildly as he mimed the pirate battle, Malfore didn’t notice one bit. “But she’s spent her whole life working with politicians. I’ve seen her with them before, and she’s never gotten like this even when they’re lying through their teeth.”

“It is the nature of Malfore’s falsehoods, specifically. She is clearly quite upset at the thought of him taking credit for your and Sorey’s hard work and sacrifice.”

“And she can’t even call him out on it, or bury him in bugs and dirt,” Edna added. “This Rolance treaty is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I don’t remember ever fighting off a hellion raccoon,” Rose said dubiously. “Or wooing a water seraph. Unless bringing that stack of books for Mikleo to read on his downtime counts.”

Mikleo was usually too preoccupied with tending to Sorey’s light in the ruins to come along on these missions, but this time it was probably for the best – he’d probably be stomping along ahead, fuming at Malfore’s bullshit right alongside Alisha.

Which, in turn, would have resulted in them both getting caught up in the sudden landslide that knocked Alisha off her feet and sent her tumbling down the mountain. Her form rapidly became a white and pink speck as it was swept away under a tide of mud and stone, down into the river below. Rose heard the telltale shriek of a drake, and jerked her eyes away from Alisha just in time to see the creature charging at them from the woods.

“Hepsin Yulind!”

Edna’s stone fists grasped the drake by its curled, goat-like horns. Rose dug the ornate heels of her boots into the ground; only barely managing to halt the drake’s charge with the armatus’ strength before it knocked her down the mountain and into the drink with Alisha. The drake, undaunted, thrashed its head in an attempt to break Rose’s grip.

“Think fast!” Edna snapped at her. “You can’t expect me to keep this up forever!”

Even if Edna’s grip remained true, their footing was becoming less and less existent, with every stomp and thrash of the drake’s cloven hooves. If they didn’t get on solid ground fast, both she and the drake would wind up careening down the mountainside – she had no idea where Alisha was down there, and would have no way to keep her from getting crushed by ten tons of malevolent scales. That would ruin her day even faster than Malfore rambling about pirates and racoons. She had no idea where that idiot had run off to – he certainly wasn’t helping, not that Rose would have wanted to have to deal with whatever his idea of “help” would be. Alas, Rose was the only Shepherd on call today. What a tragedy.

In situations like these, Rose liked to go by the mantra: What Would Sorey Do?

“Yeehaw!” Rose yeehawed yeehawingly, and flipped herself onto the drake’s back.

She held on for dear life as the drake shrieked and bucked. With the horns in her grip, she was able to steer them – inexpertly, and clumsily, but it was enough to get the drake to tangle itself in the trees and crash headlong into the mountain face. It was stunned, stunned long enough for Rose to summon Lailah’s power and get to work.

“Here,” Rose said hurriedly, lowering the unconscious earth seraph to the ground in front of Lailah. “Keep an eye on them, I’ve gotta—”

“Thank your radiant Lady Edna for her compassion?” Edna asked. She had Alisha held aloft in a bower of vines and flowers – Rose hadn’t noticed her slip away while she and Lailah purified the drake. Alisha was soaked from the river, and covered in scratches and bruises, but was conscious, and struggling against the vines that held her tight. “You’re welcome. Here’s your special delivery.”

“I—I’m so sorry,” Alisha managed to get out. Rose helped her down from the vines, and slung Alisha’s arm around her shoulders to steady her. “If I hadn’t been acting so childishly, I…I wouldn’t have put everyone in danger…”

“And we would have had no heads up that the drake was two seconds away from charging us flat.” Rose thumped her on the back, and Alisha grunted at the feeling. “Believe me, that could’ve gone way worse…speaking of worse, did you see if our friend came tumbling after you? We were down one Shepherd in that little scuffle.”

Alisha’s eyes narrowed, and her expression darkened at hearing of Malfore’s…lack of participation. “…no, I did not see whether he was knocked down alongside me. I suppose we must form a search party.”

“Don’t bother,” Edna said. She pointed into the trees with her umbrella. A telltale fallen beret pinpointed the location. “He’s cowering under a bush over there. Better go get him before the poison ivy does.”

Rose sighed. “Sometimes I really wish this Shepherd gig really was just fighting hellions. C’mon, I’ll help you walk…”

To his credit, Malfore only screamed a little when Rose drew back the leaves covering his hiding spot. He stared at Rose in wide-eyed terror, his complexion pale, his whole body shaking.

“Nice to see you’re well, Lord Shepherd,” Rose said. She dropped his beret back onto his head.

“You…how…” Malfore grasped for words. “You…wrestled the landslide itself, as if – as if it were some charging beast—”

Rose distantly recalled Lailah explaining that humans without resonance couldn’t quite perceive drakes – dragons were a different story, but before things got that bad, drakes could only be seen as natural disasters. Whirlwinds, typhoons. Landslides. Her escapades probably did look pretty damn weird to an outside observer.

It would be nice to tell him the truth. It would be nice to grab him by the ear, and forcibly share enough resonance with him to show him the real deal – show him what a fake he really was. But…Rose looked at Alisha, at the unhappy line of her mouth, at her bruised and battered body. She understood what was going through Alisha’s mind, even without Lailah’s voice to tell her. Alisha worked herself to the bone to improve relations with Rolance. She’d made so much progress, and they were helping so many people. As they helped people, the world’s malevolence lightened; as the world’s malevolence lightened, they helped Sorey. And to keep this going, all they had to do was humor an idiot.

Rose closed her eyes, and gently eased Alisha to stand on her own. She crossed her arms over her chest, and pressed one hand to her heart.

“I’ll tell you my secret – but only you,” Rose said, her expression grave. “I’m an alien from beyond the stars, fleeing from my planet that was destroyed when I was but a babe in my cradle. I was adopted as a baby by a simple farmer couple. This world’s yellow sun gives me ten times the strength of a normal human, and also I can shoot laser beams out of my eyes.”

Alisha blinked slowly, then pressed her fingers delicately to her skull, as if checking for a concussion. Lailah hummed thoughtfully and continued to heal the worst of Alisha’s injuries; saving the rest for when they had privacy.

Malfore squinted as he processed this information. “But…how did you learn to tame the landslide?”

“I grew up on a farm. It was a rock farm. A farm for rocks,” Rose explained, as Edna fed ideas in her ear. “Landslides were a basic occupational hazard. You know how it is.”

Malfore shakily rose to his feet, and dusted himself off. “I was born to one of Rolance’s most ancient and noble houses, so I’m afraid the finer points of farming may be lost on me…but thank you for assisting, visitor from beyond the stars. Had I been alone, I would have been able to best the hellion in perhaps a similar – but more elegant, of course – fashion, but I was too preoccupied with ensuring the safety of you and the Princess Alisha, and, alas, it very nearly spelled the doom of all three of us. My compassion has always been my greatest strength, and my greatest weakness.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rose said. “That’s totally probably what happened. How about we get turned around and get back on the road? I’m sure your bosses in Pendrago will love to hear about you getting this taken care of.”

“Oh, silly thing,” Malfore laughed. “The Shepherd serves no master but the people. But yes, yes, the Shrinechurch will want to hear my report. Do not worry – I will keep your secret safe, and will not speak of your involvement in the incident.”

“Thanks,” Rose said drily. “You’re a real pal.”

“The seraph we saved will follow along with us to the nearest town,” Lailah explained to Rose. “We can perform the necessary steps to install them as Lord of the Land there. They should be able to extend their domain to prevent any further malevolent influence on the sensitive areas of the shipping lanes.”

That, at least, made Alisha smile. Rose sighed and shook her head as they began walking. At least something good came out of this trip.

Though at least now she knew that she could pretty confidently tackle a goat.

#tales of zestiria #tales of zestiria the x #a tenderly crafted fanfiction #tozanniversary

9 notes · View notes

the-e4b · 6 years

Photo

THE FOLLOWING RESPONSE POST IS VERY OLD: IT HAS BEEN IN THE DRAFTS FOR A LONG WHILE. IT IS POSTED TODAY BECAUSE DISNEYMASTER IS STILL SEEKING ATTENTION SO HE WILL GET ATTENTION.

Continuing on from this post because DM has managed to totally miss the point of our replies and make up something entirely different.

1. We are not pretending our fandom isn’t filled with Men Rights Activist, Alt-righters and corporate yes men. Because, guess what? That’s not the focus of our blog. The focus of our blog is bronies (like yourself) who make an ass out of themselves or try to look smart but in the end look like nothing less than the end of a donkey’s ass. None of us CARE about politics in the slightest, we only care about a show about pastel talking horses to escape our shitty lives.

2. We will immediately give dear Peet every ounce of respect once he starts to own up to it. What he does now is make fun of transgenders, feminists, bronies, weeboos, professional writers and everything that goes against atleast one of his policies. No one respects him but his faithful herd of cockroaches.

3. There’s a difference between pointing out flaws in a character and obsessing and hating over every trait they have and show in an episode. But, I shouldn’t try to explain that to someone who obsesses over a character getting wings and character growth…

4. Bit too late on that “blackmailing us over to Peet”. Every one of us is already blocked by Jerry and already knows our dirty laundry and absolutely doesn’t care about it. And he will certainly not care about what a pathetic little shit like you has to say.

5. This point I’m not even gonna argue with. If you really want to go as far as to call a CHILDREN’S show sexist then you’re way past the point of no return. You’re taking a show for little kids WAY too serious, even by our standards. And BTW, Rotten Tomatoes’ opinion doesn’t mean shit if the movie made it’s money back with even more to add to this day. As we speak MLP:the movie has broken 50 million dollars in the box office with still a lot of theaters to hit and the DVD and Blu-ray still to come out. One small thing doesn’t seem like a lot, but soon one small thing leads to more and soon one small thing can be the biggest thing of all.

YOU, Disneymaster, are one of those vocal minorities who think that the show is full of “right wing/centralist corporate bs”. How about you just sit back and enjoy a good series like Ducktales or watch reruns of the good ol days of MLP. That’s still 52 episode where you can just shut your yap and enjoy blandness and the glory days of Queen and Empress Faust.

- Space Mare

PS. Still can’t believe you haven’t found out who I am yet.

I find it hard to believe that this poor soul is still trying to start more issues with us because we still exist and continue to oppose the most toxic people in the community. It doesn’t matter which way they lean politically, scum is scum. Al Franken and Roy Moore sit on each side of the political spectrum, both of them are dirty abusers, deserving to rot in a prison cell for the harm they caused others

I do not know why DM insists on white knighting on behalf of someone who actually despises that part of the fanbase that threw a giant tantrum many moons ago over Twilight Sparkle’s wings. It’s like how Ephrom continues to track down Peet’s enemies, despite senpai not giving a rat’s ass about him.

Also, It’s funny how DisneyMaster feels like he can act like an asshole again despite apologizing for his actions towards the fanbase. After that, we closed the book on the Anticorns as most of them were willing to acknowledge their faults and move on. DisneyMaster tried the moral high ground approach with us and even tried to use blackmail to try and get us to remove his Encyclopedia Dramatica page (which we had no hand in despite what his paranoia would tell him) and our previous screencaps.

He also tried to shine the spotlight on the things that we have done, as Space Mare said… Peet doesn’t care and no one else cares about what you have to say. Everyone had a phase where they were reckless and pious in their beliefs. You wanted to be a hero, you fought for something you believed was noble but you were shortsighted by the part of the fanbase that wanted to wait and see where the show was going before jumping to conclusions. At some points, we wanted to make a difference, we all wanted to interact with others, beg for free art and contribute to many collaborative stories… however because of the ambiguity of text, everyone’s true feelings are masked. I don’t remember everyone I annoyed but I moved on and worked to improve. The Book of Five Rings says that the path of self improvement is a neverending cycle.

I say this because humans are social creatures and making a good first impression is the first step to building a strong bond. The point is to grow from the mistakes and move on. We’ve moved on from you, DM… why can’t you do the same?

-JoJo

To finally relieve some inner anger I’ve been feeling because Disneymaster is an obnoxious parasite that doesn’t know when to fade into a pit of nothing or won’t fucking back off and leave us alone..I’m gonna speak myself with this Linkara:

You are the most annoying, self entitled, obnoxious and downright most self important scumfuck that I have EVER fucking come across when it comes to any fandom.

AND THAT IS SAYING A LOT.

You constantly seek to complain about certain things the MLP fandom as if that’s ALL the fandom consists off. As Saturn states, E4B is not on THAT type of garbage because we aren’t INTERESTED in it, we discuss and criticize the people who make the fandom look poor or make complete ass out of themselves and come off a arrogant and think they know more in regards to a show about multicolored horses.YOU’RE the one constantly seeking the negative traits and screech the almighty heavens how “TEH BRONIEZ FANDOM IZ BAD CAUSE THIS AND THAT”.

And then we come to my favorite one:

SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. OVER. THE MISGENDERING. SHIT.

We’ve stated this and stated THIS AGAIN:

The reasons we REFUSE to call Jerry “Lily” ISN’T because we have something against transgenders, hell we have transgender friends. One of the bands I’m a fan of has a transgender leader (And just so you can get it through your fucking obnoxious skull, the person in question is Laura Jane Grace of Against Me, who came out as a transgender in 2012 and even wrote an album about her struggles with gender dysphoria). The reasons we don’t call Jerry by their preferred name is because not only does Jerry show no respect to not only ex friends who dared disagree with him on certain things, no respect to his family, no respect to his own colleagues of the fandom, no respect to other fandoms,or even his fans…

He has no respect TRANSGENDERS, he even infamously snarked and attacked a transgendered individual who called out his garbage.

How do we (myself especially) respect someone who does THAT?!

Or what, does that not fit your stupid political leanings or for your SJW tendancies?

“OH YOU SHOULDN’T BE COMPLAINING OVER RINGTEAM CRITICZING CHARACTER TRAAAAITS”.

Have you looked in the mirror Mr. I-Hate-MLP-Because-Twilight-Got-Wings-And-Said-Meghan-McCarthy-Should-Be-Beaten?

“DURRRRR BE GLAD I HAVEN’T TATTLETAILED ON YOU GUYS TO JERRY WAAAH”

Jerry knows about the blog’s existence and has both shown little to no interest and even when he did, he gave the usual bitch rant he always gives towards people who call out his shit:

Obligatory insults that involve “transphobic” and “Nazi”.

Also, “MLP Sexist”. Oh sure, Gen 4 is totally sexist. A generation created by a feminist with the idea of making the show towards a general audience is “sexist”.

Do you ever fucking hear yourself, or do you love the sound of your voice that you jerk to it?

But then again, this is the same asshole who took his niece’s plushie away and has no regret over it and has even show depression over a fucking children’s show involving multicolored horses, all while screeching pity about how “nobody likes him” despite the fact he himself is his own downfall by constantly bitching at fans of the show and even comparing them to Donald Trump supporters.

Clearly we’re the bad guys compared to the guy whining about colored horse butts for about four years.

As Saturn stated, while critical reception for the movie was just mixed, it was a financial success, getting a total of $51 million at the box office and even then, it did good for it’s opening week with $21.9 million in the US and Canada. That’s ESPECIALLY impressive considering BLADE RUNNER 2049 (and by an extent, the romnatic survival film The Mountain Between Us) came out ON THE SAME DAY. Not to mention the 2017 adaptation of IT was still in theaters.

At the end of the day DM, You’re nothing but an obnoxious, annoying, and downright tumorous parasite that doesn’t know when to fuck off and leave us alone, let alone the fandom.

You really wanna know why people give you shit?

BECAUSE YOU FUCKING MAKE THEM DO IT.

YOU FUCKING SPEW POLITICAL GARBAGE OVER A CHILDREN’S SHOW, ATTACK FANS OVER SIMPLY ENJOYING THE SHOW THEY’VE GROWN TO LOVE, AND DOWNRIGHT CONSTANTLY THINK YOU’RE IN THE FUCKING RIGHT EVERY TIME.

Heck, one of your fucking DA Tags was “Disneymaster is always right”. You cry fucking pity every time because you hate how people snark at you, but then you do stupid shit like accuse a show created by FEMINIST, let alone a toy line targeted to a certain demographic of “being sexist”.

I would say take responsibility for your shitty actions, but the one time you did, you backed out f it because “WAAAAAAAH E4B ARE SAYING SHIT I DON’T LIIIKE”. Like you STILL keep doing because you can’t let shit fucking go.

Do everyone a fucking favor: Do something with your sad fucking life.

But chances are, you’ll disregard everything we’ve said because nobody else is right but you.

You fucking are sad and borderline unstable.

- deafpony.

I love how right there you admit you don’t care about what the SU fandom did, because they agree with your opinions.

Those extremest you think are all over the MLP community? They are often called out and are despised but the fandom at large. Like you.

Unlike SU, which has no problems harassing artists and staff members over petty shit because you sad losers think you’re heroes living in a crappy Young Adult novel.

“ROTTEN TOMATOS SAID MOVIE BAD ME RIGHT!!!!!!”

Who the fuck cares about what the same site that bashed A Cure for Wellness, one of the most unique horror movies of 2017? The movie still made a mint anyway. Bet you’re one of those types who freaked out because Ghostbusters 2016 flopped.

Because you’re the worst type of fan, Dumpy. You don’t care about the story, or characters, or animation, you care about how “progressive” it is. I bet that’s why you like that blander than white bread Season 1 of MLP, because Faust’s name was on it. Nothing more.

Go do something productive with your sad life. Or screech about a blog that hasn’t said a word about you again. That’s a victory for Social Justice!

#disneymaster #idiot #space mare post #jojo mod post #deafpony mod post #mod kirby

12 notes · View notes

anonymoustalks · 4 years

Text

We thought we were defeating political islam, but after 10 years of the current regime, it's now clear that Islamist have won the social engineering game

(6-18-20) You both like history.

Stranger: Hi

You: hi

You: I should really remove this tag

Stranger: ha ha

Stranger: why

You: idk I'm not very knowledgeable about history

You: what do you like about history?

Stranger: well, we have internet for it

Stranger: war and it's impact on building new civilization

You: I feel like many people on this tag are fond of military history

Stranger: Military history can be boring

You: I'm not very interested in military history

Stranger: me neither, but middle edge politics are good to start with

You: middle age?

Stranger: Religion and politics especially

Stranger: yap

You: mhm

You: I like thinking about what life was like

You: idk what it was like to be a peasant

Stranger: or middle eastern librarian or greek philosopher's assistant

You: mhm right

Stranger: looks like I had longest chat for today

You: I feel like we don't learn enough about the middle east in school

Stranger: school curriculum is biased these days

You: mhm biased towards?

You: like in our school we learned all about the greeks and romans and stuff

You: athens democracy

Stranger: biased towards the dominant followers of religion in that that country

You: mhm

You: I think it's important to study the history of people you're very different from

Stranger: Athens democracy is a safe topic, that's why it is so popular in curriculum.

You: yup

Stranger: Agreed

Stranger: I am not sure where you are from, but I am from a muslim majority country.

You: ohh I'm from the US

You: which country?

Stranger: Muslims are almost sidelined by the Islamists

Stranger: tragedy

You: can you explain the difference for me?

Stranger: give 30 sec

You: this is a really pleasant surprise because I'm used to lots of people from north america at this time on omegle ^^

Stranger: I am from Bangladesh

You: cool

Stranger: Capital Dhaka

You: that's cool

Stranger: was studying the influence of Political Islam in different centuries

Stranger: controversial subject for westerners

Stranger: but not for me

Stranger: it's more of a risky one

You: mhm I think it's important to study

Stranger: being a Muslim in a growing sentimental Islamist dominant society is no longer easy

Stranger: world has changed :(

You: I'm not sure if I"m understanding why it's hard to be muslim in an islamist society?

Stranger: Open discussion about religion, god, science, philosophy was quite prevalent in middle age middle east

You: right

You: golden age

Stranger: but now it's safe to avoid it

Stranger: even within your friend circle

Stranger: looks like I am typing most of the time

You: hm?

You: I'm really interested in hearing what you have to say

You: in your country, is there only one branch of islam that is in power?

You: or are there multiple branches that are tolerated?

You: like in the US, we have catholics, protestants, methodists... a lot of branches of christianity

Stranger: We are democratic country of around 180 million population, led by a female Muslim Prime Minister

Stranger: But after her death, Islamist will reign. Mostly .... :(

You: ohh I see

Stranger: Sunnis are majority here

Stranger: which state are you from?

You: one of the New England ones ^^

You: so right now Bangladesh doesn't have political islam?

You: but you think it it will once the next party takes power?

Stranger: BD has political islam, it just subsided for a while

You: I see

You: what do you think of political islam?

You: like why is it good or bad?

Stranger: but they are active in social engineering

You: mhm

Stranger: Any religion practiced for sake of political dominance, it evil

Stranger: period

Stranger: *is evil

You: oh wow that's a strong opinion ^^

Stranger: We thought we were defeating political islam, but after 10 years of the current regime, it's now clear that Islamist have won the social engineering game

You: mhm what kind of social engineering did they do?

Stranger: just google Turkey before/after Erdogan

Stranger: same thing happened here

You: ah okay

Stranger: So, I believe you would find my stance a bit aggressive, being from one of those New England states

You: hm?

Stranger: I probably branded Islamophobe, if I were in one of those states.

You: ahh

You: I don't think you are an islamophobe

Stranger: definitely I am not, as you already know that I am a Muslim myself

You: I think most americans are broadly supportive of secularism

You: right it's hard for me to imagine any american calling you an islamophobe haha

You: since you are muslim

You: I was just surprised that you called it "evil" since the language sounds very strong

Stranger: you should call it what it is

Stranger: no sugarcoating, when comes to the practice of religious supremacy

You: mhm is that what happens in a religious state?

You: I'm just curious because israel is kind of a religious state? (are they?)

Stranger: it's happening

You: ^^ I'm just trying to understand

Stranger: Israel is progressive, but they are also hurting themselves a bit since the rise of Likud

Stranger: their religious schools and leaders are not dominant.

You: ahh okay

You: thanks for explaining

You: are religious schools bad?

Stranger: not always

Stranger: but in current world, it's definitely not contributing towards peace and progress

Stranger: at least Islamic schools

You: mhm and you are progressive, it sounds like

Stranger: I am disappointed, that people in my country have learned nothing from what happened in Afghanistan, or what's happening in Pakistan everyday.

You: mhm

You: (what happened in Afghanistan?)

Stranger: we all know

You: taliban?

Stranger: Hmm . . .

Stranger: your election is near

You: mh eventually

Stranger: how much influence does religion have in 2020

Stranger: ?

You: (sorry, many of us americans are fairly ignorant about international politics)

You: mhm, maybe a little less than 2016 I think

You: 2016 was a big year because there were many vacant supreme court seats

You: and religious conservatives wanted to appointed justices who were sympathetic to religious values

You: I think trump is more closely aligned with nationalism than religion

You: although the republican party has always been the side for religious conservatives

Stranger: Yes, Trump is definitely not into religion, but need to acknowledge for sake his supporters in Midwest and other red states

You: yup

You: I think economy, coronavirus, and race will play the biggest role n 2020

Stranger: political move, same things happen

Stranger: Bangladesh is in a very interesting position the geopolitical situation in southeast asia

You: because?

Stranger: bordered by India (2nd biggest economy by 2050), nearby China (biggest economy), and US interest to establish military base at Bay of Bengal (since 90s)

You: oh I didn't know the US wanted to establish a military base

Stranger: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diego_Garcia

Stranger: lots of Southeast Asian leaders were eliminated to establish one here

Stranger: *alleged

You: oh interesting

Stranger: 20th Century history can be harmful for your sould

Stranger: *soul

You: aww :c

Stranger: International politics is not a gentleman's game anymore

Stranger: before 20th century few good instances were there

You: mhm

Stranger: are you still student?

You: yup!

You: you?

Stranger: I am back in academia again

Stranger: after a while

Stranger: are you in School or University?

You: university

You: "again"?

Stranger: Yes had Engineering, then job then again doing my MSc. Probably higher degrees abroad in next, hopefully

You: oh wow that's a lot of degrees

You: what is it like living in a muslim majority country?

Stranger: in our country, we can't even speak arabic, let alone understand it

Stranger: but political islam and intolerance is growing

You: um... are they adding arabic to your school curriculum?

Stranger: We had one arabic in our school

Stranger: but if you want learn it well, then you need to go to madrasa

Stranger: it's a religious school

You: right

Stranger: not so many tolerant/rationale people come out of this system

You: yeah...

Stranger: we are not the traditional muslim majority country even though it's almost 90% muslim (150 million)

Stranger: you need to go to middle east to experience it

You: mhm are you similar to indonesia?

Stranger: Islamization has taken over traditional culture

Stranger: but it's still quite cosmopolitan in big cities

You: mhm, so islamization is more in rural areas?

Stranger: mostly

Stranger: just study about the Saudi software and it's influence in Indonesia in recent years

Stranger: you will understand how it works

You: ah I don't know anything about it

You: saudi software or anything

Stranger: Saudi software has great influence in Muslim countries. Local culture cannot compete with their budget.

You: oh I didn't know

Stranger: with few billions they can transform society thousand miles away

Stranger: and if US want for their own political gain, then the process become much faster

You: mhm...

Stranger: are you science or humanities?

You: science

You: biology

You: although I also like the humanities

Stranger: but not good for career

Stranger: :(

You: haha ^^ did you want to do humanities?

Stranger: I was good at painting/drawing, but never went to fine arts; you know why.

You: mhm right

Stranger: Wish we could discuss much about the the middle age history

Stranger: but chat is not good for long discussion

You: mhm fair enough

Stranger: just trying the omegle for the first time, didn't expect to get such long conversation.

You: oh really?

You: um, yeah I think this is unusual

You: there are also many mean people here

You: and horny people

Stranger: it has always been like this

Stranger: I was feeling nostalgic about the good old yahoo chatroom

Stranger: so a friend told me to try Omegle

You: oh wow, I never used that

Stranger: they were great when I started using internet on slow broadband

Stranger: mean people were there too

You: mhm

Stranger: but some focused chatroom was also created

You: which chatrooms did you like?

Stranger: movies, football, book discussion

Stranger: it was back in 2004-2008

You: mhm a while ago

Stranger: I think you were much younger back then

Stranger: ha ha

You: how are you?

You: *how old

Stranger: I am in my early 30s

You: ahh cool

You: I'm 26

Stranger: so do you like sports?

You: mhm, not very much

You: I'm a little boring haha

Stranger: it's okay

Stranger: have you ever been to Asia?

You: yup, I have!

You: I'm Chinese American actually

Stranger: are you born in China then moved to USA?

You: nope, born in the US

You: my parents immigrated here for graduate school

Stranger: I see

Stranger: It's 9:45AM here

You: mhm I guess you have to go?

Stranger: what time at your place?

You: nearly midnight

Stranger: I think it's about time to sleep. I haven't slept last night. was doing some work.

You: ohhh

You: go to bed!

You: that's so late!

You: it was nice talking to you

Stranger: Yeah . . . .

Stranger: Yes it was good

You: I thought you just woke up

Stranger: we all in lockdown and it's weekend here

Stranger: Friday, Saturday our weekend

You: ahh

You: I didn't even know that

Stranger: So watched Netflix all night

You: haha

Stranger: It's good to chat with you

Stranger: well the best with your studies

You: yup, you too

You: good luck!

Stranger: you too . . . . :)

You have disconnected.

#omegle #history #bangladesh #islam #political islam #religion #politics #secularism

0 notes

germanjerseygirl · 7 years

Text

92 truths tag

rules: once you have been tagged you are supposed to write 92 truths about yourself. at the end, choose 25 people to tag!

tagged by: @apollonic, thank you <3

LAST… [1] drink: coffee [2] phone call: my dad, i guess?? [3] text message: my flatmate [4] song you listened to: Crywank - Part 2 [5] time you cried: about 30 minutes ago??

HAVE YOU EVER… [6] dated someone twice: nope [7] been cheated on: no [8] kissed someone and regretted it: yes [9] lost someone special: yes [10] been depressed: yes [11] gotten drunk and thrown up: yes

LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS: [12] black (yes, for me it is a colour) [13] dark green [14] dark blue

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU… [15] made new friends: yeeahhh!!! [16] fallen out of love: yeah [17] laughed until you cried: yes!! [18] found out someone was talking about you: ??? [19] met someone who changed you: yes [20] found out who your true friends are: i guess?? [21] kissed someone on your facebook list: nope

GENERAL… [22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: almost all of them [23] do you have any pets: yes a cat, but she’s at my mothers place [24] do you want to change your name: sometimes [25] what did you do for your last birthday: sushi and beer with my best friends [26] what time did you wake up: 8 am [27] what were you doing at midnight last night: drinking with my friends <3 [28] name something you cannot wait for: me beeing not depressed?? [29] when was the last time you saw your mother: 2 weeks ago [30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: stop beeing depressed and enjoying my life [31] what are you listening to right now: crywank [32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: yes [33] something that is getting on your nerves: rude people [34] most visited website: yt/netflix [35] elementary: my dear Watson [36] high school: fucking hellhole [37] college: kinda miss it, kinda don’t ever wanna go back there [38] hair colour: dark brown [39] long or short hair: short [40] do you have a crush on someone: yap [41] what do you like about yourself? my taste in music and movies [42] piercings: don’t have any, but i like them on other people [43] blood type: 0 + [44] nickname: yes [45] relationship status: 100 years emptiness [46] zodiac sign: aquarius [47] pronouns: she/her [48] fav tv show: game of thrones?? not sure [49] tattoos: really want some [50] right or left handed: right

FIRST… [51] surgery: on my hand [52] piercing: none [53] best friend: i love all of my friends [54] sport: pfff [55] vacation: Kiel/ baltic sea <3 [56] pair of trainers: ??

RIGHT NOW… [57] eating: - [58] drinking: coffee [59] i’m about to: idk probably watching something on yt/netflix [60] listening to: Gregory Alan Isakov - black & blue [61] waiting for: a friend [62] want: die [63] get married: f*ck no!! [64] career: something with books instead of people around me

WHICH IS BETTER… [65] hugs or kisses: hugs [66] lips or eyes: eyes [67] shorter or taller: taller [68] older or younger: older [69] romantic or spontaneous: Romantic propably, like going to an art gallery or some shit like this [70] nice arms or nice stomach: ?? [71] sensitive or loud: sensitive [72] hook up or relationship: relationship [73] troublemaker or hesitant: idk

HAVE YOU EVER… [74] kissed a stranger? yes [75] drank hard liquor? yes [76] lost glasses/contact lenses? nope [77] turned someone down: yep [78] sex on first date? nope [79] broken someone’s heart? yes ( i am so sorry!! ) [80] had your own heart broken? fuck my life, yes, like every day [81] been arrested? no [82] cried when someone died? yes [83] fallen for a friend: no

DO YOU BELIEVE IN… [84] yourself? thats a joke right??? [85] miracles? yes [86] love at first sight? yes, i guess??? [87] santa claus? no [88] kiss on the first date? depends [89] angels? no

OTHER… [90] current best friend’s name: Paul [91] eye colour: brown [92] favourite movie: Almost Famous/Dead Poets Societ/Lost in Translation

tagging: don’t wanna tag anyone but feel free to do this if you want to <3

1 note · View note

pengychan · 4 years

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 19

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Kind of sucks when your brain tells you one thing and your heart another entirely, doesn't it.

***

“... And they chewed through all the cables!”

“They never do that at ho--”

“Say that one more time, and I’ll strangle you. With the cables.”

“Didn’t they chew--”

“I bought new ones. Which you’re going to pay for. Immediately.”

Ernesto opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get in another word Sofía slaps something against his chest - a full list of expenses that he supposes he will have to pay back. Dog food, of course, cables, some toys to keep them from destroying the cables, new leashes when they chewed through the leashes, a new cover for her couch when they destroyed it, a new pillow, dog shampoo, pet-safe nail polish-- wait a moment.

“Did you give them spa treatment or what?” Ernesto asks, glancing down at the chihuahuas. They're all on their hind legs, pawing at him and yapping for attention. Come to think of it, Clara looks particularly fluffy and the others have really shiny fur, and… she’s actually painted their nails. He blinks, and looks back at Sofía.

A shrug. “They’re good boys and girls. They deserved it.”

Well, Ernesto can agree with that assessment, of course, but he didn’t expect it to come after a long list of their supposed misdeeds. “Didn’t they wreak havoc--”

“Not their fault if their stupid master didn’t bother to train them properly.”

“They never did that before,” he protests despite the very real threat of strangulation. “They missed me!”

Sofía rolls her eyes. “Clearly,” she mutters, but smiles a bit. “So now take them back and don’t drop them on me like that ever again.”

“I won’t,” Ernesto promises, crouching down to let his dogs lick his hands and face. There is a chuckle above him.

“... Well, did it help, being off for a bit?”

Ernesto nods, still petting his dogs. “Yes. Guess it did.” He doesn’t feel like going over his visit to Santa Cecilia again - or explain yet again that yes, his father was indeed stone sober - so he keeps it vague. “I needed some time away.”

“And, the situation with…?”

“We sorted it out.” Ernesto stands with an armful of dogs. “We’re okay. It’s over, but we’re okay.”

He ignores the dull ache in his chest as he says it’s over aloud. Of course it stings, and will keep stinging, but it will get better, eventually. They are the closest to okay they can be. It will get easier.

“That’s good.” Sofía looks relieved. “Back on the market, then?”

“Guess I am.” Ernesto smiles but ah, it feels fake to his own ears. He clears his throat and nods towards the table where he left his phone, still holding up his dogs. “Can you take a photo? For Instagram.” He smiles again and this time it comes easier. “My fans were getting worried.”

Sofía rolls her eyes. “Ay, all four of them?” she jokes, but picks up the phone. “All right, smile.”

Ernesto tries to smile, but the dogs do their best to lick his mouth and he has to pull back his head, laughing. The photo catches him mid-laugh and it’s… not bad. Not bad at all. He uploads it with a chuckle, pays Sofía for her trouble, and he’s off with his dogs in tow. It’s nice to have them back, to be back. Something still aches, but it was to be expected. It will get better, in time.

It must.

***

“Are you sure it won’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.”

“What if it hurts the baby?”

“It won’t hurt the baby.”

“What if I hit her with my--”

Imelda groans, dropping her head on the pillow and shutting her eyes, with half a thought of biting it in frustration. Above her, Héctor is the very picture of parental anxiety. “Héctor,” she mutters, her voice tight. “We have been through this. Well-endowed as you are, you cannot hit the baby with your penis.”

“Ah. Right.” A nervous chuckle, a pause. “... So you think I’m well-endowed?” he asks, sounding just a touch coy now. Imelda looks up at him, unimpressed.

“You are, mi amor, and I would really appreciate you putting it to use,” she almost growls, pushing back against him. “Now would be a good time, considering it’s the last night we have the house all for ourselves,” she adds.

With her brothers coming over the next day to stay in the guest room, so that they can start learning how to make shoes and then help her set up the shop she has just rented, it may be… a good, it will be a while until they are able to enjoy a full night like this without any worry of being overheard. And Imelda has no intention whatsoever to let it go to waste.

“Right, right.” Héctor clears his throat. “And, uh, would love to-- I just--”

For fuck’s sake.

Imelda groans and sits up with more difficulty than she’d like, grasping his cheeks and bringing her face a scant inch away from her husband’s. “Héctor,” she spells out. “Do you want me or not?”

“What!” he sputters, like she just casually asked whether or not Earth is round. “Of course I want-- agh, this looks bad, I’m sorry, that’s not it at all! You look amazing-- even more amazing-- I just…” a pause, and he swallows. “Sorry. I know it can’t harm the baby. I just, well, I worry.” A sheepish grin. “You know.”

Imelda sighs. Of course she knows; Héctor is still half-expecting to mess up somehow, and Imelda supposes it is not a fear easy to look past. “Trust me,” he says, letting go of his jaw to cup his cheek. “There is no risk.”

A smile, and he turns his head to kiss her palm. “I trust you with my life,” he says, before leaning in to kiss her. “But let me try something else…”

“Something else?” Imelda tilts back her head when his lips trail lower, letting him kiss her throat. Her breathing grows a little faster, the aching need between her legs a little more urgent. Héctor’s mouth moves down her chest, over her breasts and oh, right, she’s more than willing to see where he’s going with this.

Plus, may as well let him enjoy her breasts until someone else claims them for the next few months.

His mouth trails down her stomach, over the bump - oh God please do not let him turn into mush at the thought of being a father again, it is very sweet and all but right now she is so horny - and then, thank God, lower down. With a long sigh, Imelda parts her legs, grasps the sheets, and lets Héctor go about it his way. She has no complaints, now.

Her husband has more good uses for his mouth and tongue than just singing.

It’s… not the most passionate of nights, but it is sweet. Imelda’s senses are still numbed by the ripples of her orgasm when she pulls Héctor down on her, kisses his mouth, reaches down blindly to grasp him and stroke, a thumb brushing the tip. She finds him hard, and he lasts little under her touch; he comes with a shudder and a soft moan he muffles against her lips before he sinks beside her, pulling her close.

Imelda chuckles, leaning into the warmth. “Feeling better now?” she asks, resting her head on his chest. She feels him smile into her hair.

“What color is the sky? Ay mi amor, ay mi amor…” he hums, and settles down with a content sigh, an arm around her. The hand rests on the bump and Imelda smiles, covering it with her own. It’s cozy, warm, just right. Everything as it should be: the two of them and their baby on the way, Héctor’s first album about to launch, the lease for the shop she’s looking to open to expand her business signed, her brothers coming over to help and start learning a viable trade.

Everything is moving in the right direction. Everything is in place.

Or almost. Something about their bed feels out of place - like it’s too large.

Don’t. Don’t go there, you know why it is, don’t.

It would be the wise thing to do, keep her eyes shut and avoid looking at the empty space beside them, but she doesn’t. She opens her eyes, and looks at the spot where Ernesto would usually rest, leaning close to them. And ah, it stings.

It could never work. We are friends again. It is for the best.

Imelda briefly wonders if Héctor ever looks at the gap beside them, too, thinking the same, but she doesn’t ask. Some things are best left unspoken.

Imelda closes her eyes not to look, shifts a little in her husband’s warm embrace, and focuses on nothing else.

Ernesto keeps staring at the ceiling for a good while after his dogs have fallen asleep.

He knows it’s not a good idea. He should be trying to sleep, shouldn’t be thinking about Héctor and Imelda a couple of floors up, sharing the bed he will never be welcomed in again. Except that of course, that is exactly what he’s thinking about.

His bed is not empty because his dogs all climbed on it, of course, not about to let him out of their sight a second after he went seemingly missing for days, but it is… definitely not the same thing.

He could go out and find someone to spend the night with, call some of the numbers he still has on his phone - he never had trouble getting someone in bed, after all. It was the norm, up to just about a year ago; find someone to have a good time for the night, part ways in the morning, possibly stay in touch to meet up again for another pleasant night.

A few people met that way he’d become friends with - Sofía was one - but in most cases, he barely remembered their names, and mostly only recalled their bodies with clarity. It had been a simpler time, uncomplicated. No string but those of his guitar, he said. He would go back to that.

Only the thought didn’t appeal to him at all, now.

What’s the point?

A sigh, and Ernesto closes his eyes. He needs time, that is all, to get used to this new normal. Eventually, it will be just like the old normal. And he did enjoy the old normal, he tells himself.

He just needs to remember how to.

***

“Why does your cat hate me?”

“Huh?” Héctor looks up from the string he’s tuning to follow Ernesto’s gaze. The damn cat in question is looking down at them from the top of a bookcase or, rather, staring straight at Ernesto. Her eyes are narrowed, to slits of pure malevolence, tail whipping the air.

As though he sees none of that, Héctor chuckles.

“She doesn't hate you.”

“She’s glaring at me.”

“No, she’s not.

“That is a glare. ”

“Believe me, if she hated you I’d be calling an ambulance for you right now.” Héctor laughs, focusing on tuning the guitar again. “You just think all pets should behave like dogs.”

Ernesto grumbles, still keeping an eye on the beast - who, from her part, seemingly decides she’s had enough of making him uncomfortable for the afternoon. She stretches, yawns, and jumps off the bookcase onto the windowsill to lay down. The window is open, to allow her to jump on the tree right by in case she wants to--

Wait a minute.

“Héctor-- Imelda’s pregnant. ”

That causes him to blink, looking up at him. “... Well, we’ve known that for a while.”

“And you’re still letting her go out?”

Héctor blinks again, at a loss. “She’s just checking on the twins putting together furniture in the new shop and getting some groceries, it won’t be long and it’s good for her to stretch her leg--”

“What-- not Imelda , idiota! The cat!” Ernesto gestures towards Pepita, who seems on the verge of falling asleep. “She could be catching and eating mice or rats, and what if she catches toxoplasmosis?”

“Toxo-- what?” Héctor clearly has no idea what that is, but the name and Ernesto’s tone worry him enough to pull out his phone and search. He reads on, his gaze going from perplexed to mildly concerned - markedly more concerned once he reads it can be passed on to humans - and Ernesto knows he’s reading what happens if it’s caught during pregnancy when all color drains from his face.

He’s not especially surprised when Héctor jumps to his feet. “We must take her to the vet to check,” he urges. “Now.”

“... Can’t we wait until Imelda gets ba--”

“Now!”

The struggle to get Pepita into the cat carrier is brief, but oh is it vicious, and Ernesto takes great care to hold the carrier as far as he can from his body while Héctor tries to coax Pepita in at first, then wrestles her. He had no idea a cat could make such a vast array of unpleasant noises. Ernesto suspects he’ll keep hearing a few of them in his nightmares; on the doorway, both his dogs and Dante are observing the scene in utter confusion.

By the time Pepita is in the carrier, which jumps and clatters as she throws herself against the bars, Héctor looks like he might need medical attention himself, scratched-up and with his shirt in tatters.

“You might want to disinfect--” Ernesto begins, putting down the carrier carefully and taking a step back for good measure, but is immediately silenced.

“Later, I’m calling the vet to let him know we’re coming,” Héctor cuts him off, waving his free hand as he searches for the vet’s number. Ernesto sighs, and glances down at the carrier. Pepita stares right back at him, and hisses.

You’re going to regret this, that furious hiss tells him, and Ernesto suddenly wishes he never mentioned toxoplasmosis in Héctor’s presence.

“All right, we can go in immediately!” Héctor declares, ending the call and picking up the carrier.

Like being told we can’t go in immediately would have changed your mind, Ernesto thinks, and follows him through the doorway, almost to the front door. Almost , because they’re still a few steps away when the door opens and Imelda steps in, holding up a grocery bag so that Dante - and Ernesto’s dogs, too, but mostly Dante - can’t get to it.

“Héctor, can you get this to the kitchen for me? I need to... sit down just a...” Imelda’s voice slows as she takez in the scene - Pepita screaming from the carrier in Héctor’s hands, her own husband looking like he’d just crawled back from battle, and Ernesto pretending to be very busy smoothing down his shirt. “... Moment?”

“Imelda!” Héctor cries out, and lets the cat carrier fall, getting a literal howl of fury out of Pepita. He grabs both of her hands, including the one still holding the groceries, before she has time to voice any objections. “Mi amor! Are you feeling all right?”

She blinks. “What’s gotten into--”

“Aches? Fatigue?”

“I’m pregnant, of course I am-- the cat, what--”

“Headaches?”

“Por Dios, you’re giving me a headache right now!” Imelda groans, and turns to Ernesto. “You. Explain.”

And for the love of God, her gaze tells him, give me an explanation that makes sense.

He shrugs. “Taking her to the vet,” he says, and Imelda’s expression suddenly becomes worried.

Well. More worried.

“Is she sick?” she asks, leaving the grocery bag to Héctor and picking up the carrier. She holds up before her face, and Pepita’s growls turn into pitiful meowing to be let out. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing!” Héctor exclaims. “I mean, we hope nothing’s wrong. We’re taking her to the vet to check!”

“... You decided to wrestle her in the carrier and rush her to the vet for an impromptu check-up?”

“Well, Ernesto said--”

Oh no, this is Not Happening. He’s not taking the blame for something he is… probably to blame for. “I told you we should wait until Imelda came back! And I only asked because she keeps going out hunting rodents and if she catches it--”

“If she catches what?” Imelda cuts him off, opening the carrier. Pepita immediately jumps in her arms, tame as a kitten, although she does shoot Ernesto another look of pure evil. Like it was him to put her in there, anyway.

“Toxoplasmosis,” Héctor speaks, sounding like he’s naming the most horrifying thing in the world. “Ernesto told me that it would be-- really bad if you caught it.”

Imelda blinks and turns to Ernesto, honestly surprised. “Since when are you an expert on…?”

“Dogs get it too,” he points out, crossing his arms. “I did my research after I got mine.”

“I see,” Imelda mutters, sounding… mildly impressed before she turns to Héctor. “... Mi amor. Did you think I did not do all the research needed?”

Héctor blinks. “Well-- of course you would, but--”

“Remember how I asked you to take on the litter cleaning duty when I realized I was pregnant?”

“Yes, but--”

“Why, in God’s name, do you think I asked you to do that?”

Oh, Ernesto thinks, of course she’d already taken it into account. Well, that’s… a relief. Makes him feel kind of stupid, but it’s still a relief. Beside him Héctor opens his mouth, then closes it. He hesitates.

“So-- you’re safe?”

“I am perfectly safe and so is the baby.”

“Ah.” Héctor glances at Pepita, who returns his gaze with another hiss. He gives both cat and wife an embarrassed smile. “Heh. Lo siento?”

Imelda sighs, reaching to cup his face. “Let me look at that - you have to be on TV in less than a week,” she points out. “You shouldn’t show up on screen looking like you’ve been to battle.”

Ernesto nods. “She has a point. That nose is not doing you any favors as it is, best not to make it worse on camera,” he says, gaining himself an unimpressed look from Héctor.

“Pendejo,” he huffs, smacking the grocery bag against his chest, and he turns to Imelda with a dramatic hand over his heart. “I would go to battle for you, just for a dance,” he declares, causing her to roll her eyes.

“It would be less of a dance and more of a waddle,” Imelda points out, a hand on the baby bump, now remarkably close in size to a ripe watermelon. “Come, let me fix your face. Hope we still have peroxyde.”

“No! Anything but that!”

“What happened to being willing to march into battle for me?”

Ernesto has a chuckle at Héctor’s expenses as Imelda leads him to the bathroom, but it is short-lived; it fades almost as soon as they’re out of his sight, and he’s quiet as he takes the groceries to the kitchen, ignoring the pleading looks from his dog, the murderous glare from Pepita, and holding it well out of Dante’s reach.

It’s nice to be welcomed back, of course. It’s good to have his best friend back. It’s good to be on good terms with Imelda, to know they want him there, want him to be their child’s godfather. It’s been weeks, almost two months; he should be used to this new normal. He is, for the most part - but he’s still human and ah, sometimes it still hurts. Sometimes he wonders if they feel the same, too, but he may never know. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself.

It’s for the best.

***

“You know, we could invent a machine that--”

“No machines, Felipe.”

“Actually, I’m Óscar.” “I have never fallen for that, and I won’t start now. So, when it comes to working the leather--”

“It would be faster if we built a machine to do it for us.”

“If we used machines, it wouldn’t be traditionally handmade.”

“Yes, but--”

“And that is what our brand is about,” Imelda cuts him off, sitting back. Her brothers are sitting across her at the workbench, supposedly to watch her and learn, but they seem to be too busy running their mouths to retain much of what she's trying to teach them. “People buy these shoes because they want them traditionally handmade, or else they’d be buying from a chain store.”

“Not that they would know,” Óscar mutters, the next moment he barely ducks under a roll of masking tape.

“We are not using machines,” Imelda enounces. “And that is fin--”

Her phone beeps suddenly with a reminder, and both twins leap over the workbench to sit next to Imelda, looking over at her laptop, which at the moment is showing the latest orders received.

“It’s about to start, isn’t it?”

“Come on, get it on!”

“They’re streaming it, no?”

“Yes, yes, give me a moment…”

It is… odd, to see Héctor and Ernesto on screen, being interviewed about their upcoming album. She’s seen them playing before crowds, and they were interviewed by radio stations before - she can’t say their agent doesn’t know how to get them visibility - but a TV studio must be an entirely different experience. And Héctor looks… a little overwhelmed at first, although the smile is wide enough that no one who doesn’t know him as well as she does would be tricked into thinking otherwise.

“So, your debut album will be out tomorrow. Tell us how your career started…”

Ernesto, of course, looks perfectly at ease and does the lion’s share of the talking, smile bright and voice smooth, a natural in front of the camera - even inspiring, if you fall for his ‘seize your moment’ spiel. He has the interviewer and just about everybody else in the studio absolutely charmed, and soon enough Imelda sees Héctor’s body language relax, too. His smiles are more sincere, he laughs when Ernesto brings up a particularly disastrous trip over a cable during their first day recording, playfully punches his shoulder when he brings up the time he forgot to pick him up from the airport years ago because he got caught up writing a new song.

“It was one time!”

“It happened at least three times.” A laugh, and Ernesto shoves him back. “But we got three good songs out of it, so who am I to complain?”

More chuckles, and the interviewer turns to Héctor, who looks perfectly at ease by now.

“I understand you’re the songwriter - I listened to a preview of your album and loved Un Poco Loco especially. Who is the song about?”

Héctor’s smile grows wider, and so does Imelda’s. “Oh, it’s about my wife.”

“Awwww,” her brothers exclaim, bringing a hand to each other’s heart. Imelda lightly smacks the arm closest to her, eyes on the screen, still smiling.

“She’s amazing - she couldn’t be here today, but she’s… my muse,” Héctor is going on. “She’s in the album, too! In our cover of La Llorona, the female singing voice? That’s her! She and Ernesto did the video, too, and it won't be out until--”

He goes on talking about the song, gushing about her, and the smile remains on Imelda’s lips - only a tad more melancholic. She remembers the day they recorded the song, of course. She remembers the day she and Ernesto filmed the video, too, dancing in front of a green screen. There had been attempts at upstaging each other, bickering, and oh they were so tired by the end of it - but they had given their absolute best, and it had been fun, looking back. Not that she’d have admitted it in front of Ernesto, then.

A good time.

She keeps listening, keeps her gaze on the screen as they stand and grab their guitars to play for the public - and if her brothers notice a change in her expression, they say nothing of it.

***

To their credit, Héctor would think later, he and Ernesto managed to wait until they were alone in a changing room backstage before they erupted in gritos, laughter and more gritos while hugging each other and dancing around like idiots, almost knocking down a clothes rack.

But what the hell, they just talked about their album on TV, played for the audience, and were loudly asked for an encore; they have every reason to celebrate and be as loud about it as they damn please. To think of how they’d started out from Santa Cecilia… well, this was beyond anything Héctor ever thought they would achieve.

And clearly, Ernesto’s dreams go even further.

“And this is just the start!” Ernesto exclaims, an arm tight around Héctor’s shoulders and the other hand gesturing at empty air, like he’s addressing a crowd of fans. “It’s going to be a success, I’m telling you, and so will be the albums that follow! Our names will be everywhere - Ernesto y Héctor!”

“You mean, Héctor y Ernesto,” Héctor points out, grinning a little and elbowing him in the chest. “That’s what it says on the album. Armando agreed it sounds better.”

Ernesto rolls his eyes. “Details, details.” He waves a hand dismissively, like he didn’t pout for the entire day after the decision to place Héctor’s name first was taken. “What matters is, we’re on the right track! We should go out and celebrate!”

“Ah, I…” Héctor shifts a little, feeling mildly guilty. “I should go back home. You know, with Imelda… her brothers are there, sure, but… you know.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. Ernesto is not very happy to hear that, he can tell. “How about you come over and have dinner with us?”

“No,” Ernesto says a little too quickly. He clears his throat. “I mean-- no, thanks. I will probably go out, have some drinks… networking, you know?”

Héctor nods. “Of course. You were always the best at this kind of thing. Just, uh… you’re alway welcome. You know that, no?”

Ernesto pauses at the door to look back at him. His expression is somewhat blank for a moment, then the easy smile is back, familiar, reassuring. And, Héctor fears, not entirely sincere. “Of course. Thanks, amigo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Héctor says, and sighs when the door closes again. Part of him wants to throw the door open, call out for his best friend, tell him they really want him to join them, but in the end he cannot bring himself to do so. They are no longer an item, so he can… do his own thing, party, maybe get some company - meet someone else. If he wants to, then he should get to do so.

It would be the normal thing to do. Things are back to normal, and all is going well. But ah, sometimes… no, often, Héctor misses the way things were. He misses what they had.

And he wonders if Imelda does, too.

***

[Back]

[Next]

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

16 notes · View notes