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agentstarkid · 4 months ago

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1 STEP FORWARD, 3 STEPS BACK ✦ LN4

✦ debrief: Part-time champion, full-time young university student juggling the pressures of exams, a social life, and being an elite athlete, all while navigating growing feelings for a charming race car driver. Despite their playful and flirty exchanges, she's is unsure if he feels the same way.

✦ pairing: lando norris x karateka!reader

✦ checkered flag: 4.7k words

✦ pit board: female!reader, latina!reader, no use of Y/N, no use of physical description, terrible awful flirting, mutual pinning, extremely stupidly oblivious idiots in love (and it's only getting started), long distance conversations, time zones and fucked timelines, a few time jumps, anxious thoughts, slow burn (my honest attempt at it), angst if you squint.

✦ may's radio: Holiiii! This is me, talking to you guys from hell, where I've been at this past month so if you typically lurk, ethically you have to tell me your thoughts on this one :) have a little mercy on my soul—and my brain. Fun fact: when I started this, I had nothing planned (a special shout-out to tally for convincing me not to delete this completely <3). I guess having a master degree in overthinking everything with a major in anxious thoughts and a minor in being awkward around cute boys, helped me with this 🤷🏾‍♀️ I do have something planned for a possible part 3 tho 👀 but dude (affectionate), you need to let me know if you'd be interested in reading that. I hope you like this,,, if you don't,,, well, fuck.

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The day had begun like any other for her, filled with intense training sessions and a relentless drive to improve. She started with her morning classes, which took up her whole morning and part of the afternoon—because sadly, in Latin America you can’t make a life out of sports if it isn’t fútbol, and a girl’s gotta eat—, then she made her way to her dojo, the familiar scent of tatami mats and the echo of kiais providing a comforting routine. The afternoon was dedicated to refining her kata, each movement executed with precision and grace, as her sensei observed with a keen eye.

Welcome to Karate 101 with the Champ!—There are two types of Karate: Traditional and Sport. Traditional karate is a lifetime study and pursuit. It emphasizes the development of the mind and body through rigorous training in techniques, forms (kata), and self-defense, adhering to the art's philosophical and ethical principles. It prioritizes discipline, respect, and personal growth, with a strong emphasis on precise techniques and form. Sport karate, on the other hand, is more competition-oriented, with a focus on sparring (kumite) and performance in tournaments. The techniques in sport karate are often adapted for speed and scoring points, sometimes at the expense of traditional form.

There’s an unwritten rule in this world: you can either be good at Kumite or Kata, or none of them. You can’t compete on both—truthfully, a great percentage of karatekas only master one of them in their lives, and it’s kumite.— But there are always exceptions to the rule—kind of—. She didn’t want to be good at just one thing and be content with that. Nah. If she was going to excel at this, she was going to excel at every aspect of it. So, she was the exception. She didn’t compete in kata internationally—it takes a whole different training method and it is way more demanding— but that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it nationally.

She was #1 in the National Ranking in both Kata and Kumite. So, she uses her time at the dojo to refine her technique, and the national team to hone her speed and precision—Anyways, back to our regular schedule.

Afterward, she transitioned to the gym, where she focused on strength training, pushing her body to its limits with weights and conditioning exercises. Her muscles burned with exertion, but she relished the feeling, knowing it made her stronger and more resilient.

By the night, she was with the national team, the atmosphere charged with competitive energy. They ran through drills, sparred, and honed their strategies, each session bringing them closer to their collective goals. It was exhausting but fulfilling work, a testament to her dedication and passion.

And that was a constant cycle she went through each day.

But today was a Friday. So later she’d get home, take a nice and hot shower, and get some well-deserved sleep. The Nationals were this weekend, so she needed to be at her best.

During a brief break, she checked her phone and found a text from Lando. And the corner of her lips lifted a tiny bit. They had been texting quite a lot lately, after the World Championship almost three months ago, and having meet up during his summer break to sign her contract with Quadrant and shoot a few promotional photos and videos in Miami—where she got to meet Max and Ria, the latter welcomed her with excitement whilst Max kept throwing her praise disguised as teasing. All in good fun though— friendly exchanges that had become a welcome part of her day. His messages were always light-hearted, often filled with playful teasing, yet they remained professional and platonic, of course. Because technically, he was her boss, but she thought it was nice to have someone to share a laugh with amidst her rigorous schedule. Someone who understood her lifestyle.

“Hey champ, how's the training going? Kicked anyone's butt today? 😜”

She recalled him mentioning staying in Monaco during his off-week before the next race—Well, he might have sent her a couple of photos of the city while he went about his daily routine, but that was only because she's never been to Monaco before, and she might have mentioned that she wishes to go one day during one of their texts, and he was just being a nice and considerate friend because that’s totally what normal friends do, okay?—, and if her maths were mathing, wasn't it around midnight for him right now?. Why was he still awake so late?. None of your business, girl. That funny feeling she’s got in her tummy lately appeared once again. Hmm, it’s just the way her stomach reminds her of how she can’t digest emotions, and her mid-term exams are just around the corner. It’s just that. Hot girlies have tummy problems, am I right? Nothing more and nothing less. But either way, she smiled at his message, quickly typing a reply.

“Holiii! Training is intense as always. No butt-kicking today, just a lot of sweat and hard work. How about you? Getting ready to race in Baku?”

She could see the three dots dancing on her screen.

“Born ready. Got used to the champagne showers already 😜” came the first text, followed by “Bet you’re still kicking ass as usual. Remember to leave some energy for the big day!”

“Always! Gotta stay sharp. And you, don’t crash any cars before your race lol”

“No promises! 😂 just kidding. Seriously though, you’re going to do great. Can’t wait to see you in action again.”

Her heart warmed at the last sentence. Despite the playful tone, she could sense the genuine support behind his words. Their friendship had become a cherished part of her life, providing a welcome distraction from the rigors of training and competition.

As the final session wrapped up, she felt a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. Her body ached, but it was the kind of ache that came from knowing she had given her all. She gathered her things, exchanged a few words with her coach and teammates, and headed home.

Once she got under her covers, her phone buzzed again.

“Hope you’re getting some rest now. Big day tomorrow. Remember, you’re a champ. You’ve got this."

She smiled at the message, feeling a flutter of excitement and something else—a sense of connection. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she typed her reply.

“Thanks, Lando. Means a lot.” Was it too forward to add a little red heart emoji at the end? She sends it to her friends all the time, so it wouldn’t mean anything if she sent it to him, right? He was her friend. And leaving the text like that seemed too dry, and she was actually grateful for his support. Her thumb hovered over the emoji for a few minutes, and she could see the “Online” under his name. Did he have her chat open, waiting for her reply? Surely not. Agh, get a fucking grip, girl.

Fuck it.

Red heart emoji.

Sent.

Followed by a quick “Night!” and her phone was thrown far away from her. As she closed her eyes, she felt a sense of calm wash over her—after her racing heart decided to calm down. The day had been long and tiring, but the support from Lando made it all worthwhile. She drifted off to sleep, and if that night she dreamed of brown curls, green-gray eyes that wrinkled with a smile while cheering her on…she'd never tell.

On Sunday night she was still riding the high of her victories. Three katas and four kumites later, she had secured gold medals in both.

Sitting on her bed, she scrolled through the photos from the competition, selecting her favorites for an Instagram post. She put together a collage that captured the essence of the day, and with a satisfied smile, she posted the collage with a caption expressing her gratitude and pride.

Barely ten minutes had passed when her phone buzzed with a text.

“Knew you'd win everything. Never doubted it for a second. Congrats, champ! 🥇🥇”

Her heart skipped a beat, a smile spreading across her face as she read his message. His unwavering confidence in her had been a constant source of motivation.

“Thanks, Lando! It still feels unreal. Both kata and kumite golds!”

“That's amazing! I knew you could do it ❤️🎉🍾”

Red heart emoji.

Red. fucking. heart emoji.

Her brain glitched for a second and her heart raced faster than the cars he drives. A la mierda, it doesn’t mean anything. The constant battle between the rational part of her brain and the delusional part was starting to be tiring. Sure, she found him to be cute—handsome—but we’re talking about the millionaire F1 driver, Lando Norris. She wasn’t dumb, she knew—and heard—of his preferences. Models, influencers, you name it. She wasn’t any of that.

It was fine. It was just a crush. He was being nice to her, a good friend, and her heart mistook that for something else. But it was fine. She’d get over it in time, she was sure of it. Wouldn't be the first time her heart had a lapse in judgment.

Her phone buzzed again with another text from Lando.

“Hey, I'm on Twitch streaming right now. Mind if I facetime you to show my fans your medals? They'd love to see a champion! 😊”

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, feeling a mix of excitement and slight nervousness at the thought of being on his stream. But the idea of sharing her achievement with more people, especially through Lando's platform, was appealing.

She frantically tried to fix her recently-washed hair as best as she could in the few seconds she had, and as she grabbed her medals, her phone rang with the FaceTime call. The screen lit up with Lando’s face, framed by a black sweater and a light blue beanie. She couldn’t help but think that he looked so cozy and adorable.

“Hola, champ!” Lando greeted her with a wide smile. “Look who it is, everyone! Our two-time gold medalist!”

She waved at the camera, feeling a bit shy but also thrilled. “Hi, everyone!”

Lando turned his phone to the screen, showing the chat blowing up with excited comments. “Chat, isn’t she amazing? Two gold medals in one day! Show them the bling!”

She blushed, holding up her medals to show the camera. “Thank you! It was a tough competition, but I’m really happy with how it went.”

The chat on Lando's stream exploded with congratulations and questions, and she could see the genuine excitement on Lando's face. “See, chat? Hard work and dedication. That's what it takes to be a champion. ”

Lando continued to gush about her achievements, his admiration clear in his voice. “Guys, you have no idea how amazing she is. Winning gold in both kata and kumite is no small feat. And she’s a World Champion! She's a phenomenal athlete and a total inspiration. I mean, just look at those medals!” He turned his camera back to himself. “We’re so proud to have her as part of the Quadrant family.”

The chat was flooded with messages from fans, many of them picking up on his obvious admiration.

“Someone's got a crush 😏”, “Lando's blushing! 😂”, “She's awesome! You should bring her on more often!” were a few of the thousands of comments that flooded the chat.

Lando laughed, slightly flustered by the comments. “Alright, alright, calm down, chat. I'm just really proud of her, okay? And she’s putting Quadrant on the top of the podiums. She's worked so hard for this, and she deserves all the recognition.”

He quickly moved on to another topic, but the teasing from his fans continued in the chat. Despite his attempts to stay professional, it was clear to everyone watching that he held a special admiration for her.

After the stream ended, she received another text from the British driver.

“Thanks for doing that! You were great. And sorry about my fans, they can be a bit much sometimes 😂"

“No worries! It was fun. And thanks for the kind words 😊”

“Just speaking the truth. Anyway, enjoy the rest of your night, champ. You’ve earned it.”

She double tapped the text and set her phone down again, she couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of Lando's support and the playful teasing from his fans. It had been an incredible day, and sharing it with the curly-haired driver had made it even more special.

Time felt like a paradox during exam season at school. It dragged on with agonizing slowness when she was buried in textbooks, each minute stretching into an eternity as she tried to absorb complex theories and formulas. Yet, at the same time, it raced by too quickly, with deadlines looming ever closer, leaving her breathless and panicked.

Being in her 20s added another layer of chaos, as she juggled the demands of a social life that promised both relief and distraction—but being honest, that part of her life was almost non-existent—, and the rigorous training schedule required to maintain her status as an elite athlete. Every day felt like a tightrope walk, balancing precariously between academic responsibilities, the desire for a fulfilling personal life, and the relentless pursuit of athletic excellence. It was a struggle to keep all these aspects of her life in harmony, and sometimes it felt like she was failing in all of them, despite giving her best effort.

“Sometimes you gotta close a door to open a window.” as her sensei would say to her sometimes, in a way to share a little bit of his wisdom—and if she knew those were actual song lyrics, she’d never tell him. He really liked Tyler, The Creator.

But she took it as a reminder that sometimes, you have to let go of one part of your life to succeed in another, and that’s okay. Sacrificing a social outing to prepare for an important exam, or skipping a training session to recover mentally, are tough but necessary choices. It was a difficult balance, but understanding that it's alright to prioritize and make these sacrifices helped her navigate through the chaos—even if sometimes she was too stubborn to make those choices.

But sometimes, having a boy with a friendly smile—and genuine nature endearing him to all who crossed his path—sending her memes or funny videos at any moment of the day, helped to let go of that chaos for a few minutes.

Lando had a way of making her laugh, even on her most stressful days. His messages would pop up at the most unexpected times—and with more frequency these past couple of weeks—, pulling her out of the depths of her study-induced despair. She would smile, sometimes even giggle, at the silly videos or witty memes he sent. It was a small escape, a breath of fresh air in an otherwise suffocating routine. There were moments where she couldn’t help but wonder why he chose to reach out to her directly. The Quadrant group chat housed both the creators and the athletes, yet Lando seemed to reserve a special connection just for her.

Did he really have to send her that selfie looking all cute and disheveled? And the memes—oh, the memes—each one funnier and more endearing than the last. She was convinced he had a secret stash of them just to keep her in a constant state of emotional turmoil.

On one particularly exhausting evening, she was sitting on one of the campus’ tables, buried in her notes for an upcoming exam that was just two hours away. The sun was shining, students were milling about, and her mind was focused on last-minute revisions when suddenly, her phone buzzed with a text. Surprise, surprise! It was none other than Mister Lando Norris.

She opened their chat and a meme of a cat looking overwhelmed stared back at her with the caption: “Me trying to understand how my new kitchen works 😆”. She chuckled, shaking her head at his antics. She waited a few minutes before replying back; she didn’t want to seem too eager either. She still had a little bit of dignity; she once threw herself over her bed and landed on her back on the floor, trying to reach her phone when he called, but no one needed to know that.

“Lol! That’s me right now, trying to cram all this info. Thanks for the laugh! 😂” She decided to share a bit of her current situation with him, snapping a photo of her study notes. “Current state of chaos. If I fail, I’m blaming you for distracting me. 😉”

That was too forward, wasn’t it? Fuck, it was! Why did she have to make things awkward? He probably won't reply now. The inner skin of her cheek became the victim of her teeth, her hands started to get a little bit clammy holding her phone, and she was sure her heart started to beat over 80 beats per second. She meant well, just friendly banter, but now that she was reading it again, it did sound a little flirty—maybe unconsciously she did try to flirt, you all know that the heart wants what it wants, guys but… Mierda!!!—Now she was also sure he’d probably think she was too desperate and probably fire her from t—

Ding!

The notification of two unread messages appeared on her screen, forcing her brain to focus back on her phone.

“You got this! You’re gonna crush it. I believe in you! Plus, it’s probably way easier than dealing with a rib kick, right? 😜” Read the first one, followed by “And blame me all you want, I don’t mind, as long as you pass!”

Then, a third one appeared about a minute and a half later.

“Who knows, maybe I’m your good luck charm today 😉”

Well, she might’ve squealed a little too loud, and people around her might’ve gave her a funny look, but who fucking cared. A big smile took over her face and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from those words, she read them…what…three?, four?, ten times?—she’d read them a thousand times more over the course of the day.

Sirens were blaring all over her head, like a symphony of a frantic orchestra playing in disarray, and you’d think she was in the middle of a fight with the way her heart was speeding up.

Cause of death: He flirted back. It was a metastatic, fatal condition. There was no cure. You could only manage the symptoms.

How was she supposed to concentrate on anything when he was out there, halfway across the world, being all charming and adorable? It was like trying to avoid chocolate when you're a chocoholic. There was no escape, no reprieve. Just endless swooning over a boy who was probably eating dinner after he spent his day doing race car things or something equally cool and unreachable, while she was trying to prepare for an important exam at 1 p.m., thousands of miles away. What kind of cruel, cosmic joke was this? It was a delightful, maddening game of emotional ping-pong, and she was losing spectacularly.

Ok, first things first: She needed to stop overthinking everything. Easier said than done, especially when every little interaction with him felt like a scene from a romantic comedy—except she wasn't the star, she was the flustered sidekick caught in an endless loop of witty banter and missed connections. Maybe she should just throw herself into studying, bury herself in textbooks until her brain turned to mush. But then, his latest message flashed across her screen, and her heart kept doing Enpi jumps.

Focus, she scolded herself. It was just friendly banter, right? She stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. It was classic Lando—playful, teasing, and just ambiguous enough to keep her guessing. Was there a hidden meaning behind those words, or was it all in her head? Taking a deep breath, she decided to play it cool. “True, no broken bones from studying... Just a broken spirit 😆”.

If science had taught her one thing, it was that you should always repeat an experiment more than once to be able to reach an accurate conclusion. So, she decided to put that theory to the test. And well, as the saying goes: El que tenga miedo a morir que no nazca—For our non-spanish speakers: go big or go home.

“Haha, well, if I ace this exam, I'll definitely have to celebrate somehow. Any ideas?” she teased, not expecting him to take her up on the playful—and hopefully subtle—invitation. But then his reply came swiftly, and it was more than what she anticipated: “Oh, I have a few ideas in mind. How about coming to one of my races? Austin is next on the calendar.” Three little dots appeared instantly and “You know, if you're free and all.” popped up on her screen.

Was this how a heart attack felt like? This was definitely not the response she had anticipated. The idea of being at one of his races, as a fan of the sport, being surrounded by the thrill and excitement already sounded exciting, but being with Lando himself right there, was exhilarating. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last. She found herself at a loss for words, completely flustered and unexpectedly hopeful.

Deep down, a small part of her hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to their playful exchanges than met the eye.

Lando was in his apartment in Monaco, pacing back and forth across the sleek, modern living room. The view of the harbor outside his window, usually a source of calm, did little to settle his nerves. He wanted to see her again, but he didn't want to come across as too eager. He moved from the kitchen to the living room and back again, trying to find the right words. His mind started to draw hopeful conclusions that she might like him a little bit, but then he quickly shut down the idea because why would someone as cool as her be interested in him?

Taking a deep breath, he decided to take a chance and flirt a little with his latest text, inviting her to one of his races. Specifically, the Austin Grand Prix that was two weeks away. As soon as he hit send, anxiety crept in, and he quickly followed up with another message, “The other Quadrant members will be there too, so it’ll be a good time. No pressure or anything, just thought it might be fun.”

A few seconds later, her reply came back, something along the lines of, “Oh, that sounds fun! I'll see if I can make it.” He instantly regretted saying anything. What was he thinking? He should have just left it at the invitation, but now he felt like he had ruined the moment, and the chance to spend time with her seemed to slip away just as quickly as it had come.

“You know, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up,” Max voiced, glancing over with a smirk. He was sprawled on the couch, half-heartedly playing a game on the telly. But watching Lando’s restless pacing was far more entertaining.

“Shut up, mate” he muttered in a vague reply, not once tearing his eyes away from his phone.

During one of Lando’s—many—strolls around the living room, he tried to peek at his phone, curious about what had made his friend so worked up, but all of his attempts were unsuccessful.

When Lando threw himself on the couch groaning, scrubbing a hand over his face, Max finally saw his chance and leaned over, catching a glimpse of the messages. “You’re so dumb,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Why'd you mention the others? You were on the right track with the first message.”

Lando slumped down onto the couch even more, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I know, I know. I messed it up,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I just didn't want to seem too forward, you know?”

Max paused his game and turned to face Lando, raising an eyebrow. “Forward? Mate, you practically told her she’ll have chaperones. Smooth.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I'm such an idiot.”

Max snickered, nudging him with his elbow. “Well, at least you got that part right. But seriously, stop doubting yourself so much. She clearly likes you enough to entertain your nonsense.”

Lando peeked out from between his fingers. “You think so? I mean, I think she did sound a bit disappointed after I mentioned the others.”

Max shrugged, eyes back on the game. “Maybe because she was hoping for a bit of alone time with Mr. Romeo. Ever think of that, genius?” He couldn’t help but add, with a grin spreading across his face, it was his job to keep him humble. “She’s a world champion, right? Way out of your league. But hey, maybe she's a little nuts if she chooses to put up with your antics."

A shove came from his left and he let out a chuckle. Lando sighed again, staring at his phone. “I just didn't want to scare her off by being too eager.”

Max rolled his eyes, pausing the game again. “Look, Bob, just be yourself. You're not half bad when you're not overthinking everything. And next time, maybe try inviting her to something a bit more personal. Dinner, a walk, I don't know—anything that doesn't scream 'group hangout.'”

Lando looked over at Max, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You're right. I'll try to do better next time.” He nudged Max playfully. “Now that you have a girlfriend, you're suddenly an expert in romance, huh?”

Max chuckled, giving him a playful shove and not missing a beat. “Who's the one in a relationship and who's the other ruining his chances with a world champion? Of course I'm right. And maybe next time, try not to be such a dweeb about it. Girls like confidence, you know.”

The green-gray eyed boy laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, fair point. Let's see if you can keep up with me in this game. I could use a distraction.”

Max grinned, unpausing the game. “You're on, Bob. Just don't cry when I wipe the floor with you, alright? Focus on not crashing in the game, and maybe you won't crash and burn with her, mate.”

As they settled into the game, Lando's mind was still on her, but the anxiety had lessened. With Max's teasing yet subtle encouragement, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't completely blown his chance.

As she received his text mentioning that the other Quadrant members would be at the Austin GP too, she felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. Just moments ago, she had allowed herself to entertain the possibility that there might be something more behind his playful texts. Maybe, just maybe, he felt a hint of what she did—a connection, a spark, something. But receiving that reply felt like a bucket of cold water, dousing the flicker of hope that had started to burn within her.

Sighing softly, she set her phone down, feeling foolish for even entertaining the idea that Lando could harbor even a tiny bit of feelings for her. She had read too much into his messages, seeing meaning where perhaps there was none. Maybe he was, indeed, just being friendly, and she had misinterpreted his intentions completely. Embarrassment crept over her as she realized she had let herself get carried away, building castles in the air where none existed. She resolved to brush off her disappointment and maintain a sense of dignity. After all, she couldn't afford to let her feelings for him affect her focus or her confidence.

After all, she still had exams to ace.

✦ may's radio: sooooo part 3 with Quadrant shenanigans—and two idiots obliviously falling harder for each other—at the Austin GP?? 👀

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

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Intertwined- Chapter 3

Chapter: 3/9

Additional Notes: I have up to chapter 5 posted on my AO3, WizardGlick, if you're impatient. Some vocab, in case you were curious: A glossectomy is surgery to remove part or all of the tongue. A scold's bridle is sort of human muzzle with a spike to press the tongue down.

Chapter Content Warnings: It's hanahaki time, babey. That entails respiratory distress and coughing up flowers. No blood. Yet.

Excerpt: “Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

"Um, Janus?" Patton asked, slowing their pace a little. At Janus' inquiring look, he continued in an almost timid voice, "Where are we going?"

"To my dungeon of depraved delights, obviously," Janus said with a roll of his eyes. He regretted it instantly; he'd lashed out instinctively, assuming that the hesitance in Patton's voice had been calculated, but of course it wasn't. Patton didn't work like that. "Somewhere we can talk."

"Is Re--" Patton stopped himself. "Is anyone else going to be there?'

"No," said Janus, deep in thought. He was working on constructing someplace entirely new, a den of his own design where they could talk without worrying about Virgil lurking or Remus popping up to make things awkward.

He worked it out while they walked, trusting the halls to lengthen while he constructed a brand new parlor entirely from his own imagination.

The final product was shiny with brass and black lacquer on the wooden bar and cabinets, all unnecessary flourishes and overlapping lines. It was a shadowy space in Janus' mind, sequestered and private and dimly lit with Edison bulbs. He only realized he'd leaned too hard into the ‘hidden’ aspect when they reached a plain brass ring set into the carpeting.

"What's that?" Patton asked, stopping well short of it.

"I'll show you." Janus stepped forward, wishing he could lead Patton by the hand. He hooked one finger on the ring and pulled. It rotated on hidden hinges, revealing itself as a trapdoor. Janus forced himself to smile as though this was normal, and gave a little flourish with his free hand.

"Oh," said Patton in a thin voice. "A dark, shadowy staircase. Um…" He shuffled backwards. "Are there gonna be spiders?"

"Yes, this was all part of my elaborate plan to lead you to a torture chamber." Janus said, smiling gently so Patton would know he was only teasing.

"So no spiders?" Janus shook his head, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Patton nodded, his eyes lingering on Janus' for a second, and stepped onto the staircase.

"There's a handrail," Janus said, awkwardly attempting to walk to the stairs without letting the trapdoor fall shut. He managed it eventually and followed Patton down the stairs, barely resisting the childish urge to grab onto the back of Patton's shirt.

" This is your living room?" Patton asked once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No, it's the bathroom," Janus said. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Do you like it?" Oh, pathetic. He crossed his arms to keep from dragging his hands down his face. Anything for that sweet rush of endorphins when Patton deigned to smile on him. He was doomed.

Patton nodded, spinning in a circle as he looked around. "It's like a… One of those…" He looked at Janus, squinting in the low light, and snapped his fingers a few times. "You know, with a password and all that."

"A speakeasy," Janus said, smiling a little at the irony.

Patton seemed to grasp it, too, because he laughed and said, "Easy for me to say."

"So to speak," Janus agreed.

Patton seemed to forget his woes for one breathtaking moment; he smiled radiantly at Janus. All the lights burned a little brighter until Janus caught himself smiling back. He made a pretense of shifting his weight, making an excuse to hide his traitorous mouth behind his hand while he personally executed every last butterfly in his stomach.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Janus asked, beckoning Patton over to a pair of wingback armchairs by the fire. Janus studied it for a moment while he waited for Patton to answer. This space was all his own, and though the pervading chill of Roman’s melancholy dampened the effect of the roaring fire somewhat, it was still comfortable.

"Um," said Patton. Janus watched him fidget with one of the studs on the armchair. "I just… I don't want to sound rude."

Anticipatory dread pooled in Janus' stomach. Great. So Patton was here to offer up some criticism, was he? Let him try. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

"It's just…" Patton looked up at him, his glasses reflecting the light from the fire and the Edison bulbs. "Do you want something from me?”

Panic whited out Janus’ vision for a split second before he got ahold of himself. He was a better liar than that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like you said to Virgil…” Patton shifted in his chair and wouldn’t look at Janus. “Quid pro quo. And you gave me-- You’ve been so nice to me. And everybody else seems to want something from me, so I just thought…”

“Oh,” said Janus, thinking back to the conference room. Logan and Roman hadn’t thought twice before calling on Patton to take up their burdens, and of course Patton hadn’t advocated for himself. “There are things I want from you, alright.” He waited for Patton to look up before continuing, “I want you to prioritize yourself for once. I want you to protect that bleeding heart of yours. You can’t keep going like this, Patton. You’re bound to collapse again, and I don’t want to see that happen.”

Patton swallowed hard, sniffled. “You made that truce with Virgil. Why?”

"For you , of course," Janus said, dressing the truth in the extravagant trappings of sarcasm and parading it in plain sight. Mocking himself. "All for you, Patton." Quieter, to himself, he said, "For Thomas." A reminder.

Patton nodded. "I didn't mean to imply-- Of course you'd think that of me. I swear I-- I never wanted it to be like this."

Confused and determined not to show it, Janus said, “I really do want to help you. It’s like I said earlier, I…” And maybe this was giving a little too much of himself away, so far from the strange liminality of last night, but how could he help it? “I respect you. I understand you a little better now.” Half of him, the stupid half, the idiotic , saccharine, unbearably-sickeningly-obscenely desperate half wanted to kneel at Patton's feet and swear to fix it for him. Janus could take the burden of leadership, Janus could bear the scorn of Patton's friends on his behalf. Janus would take the pressure, and all he would ask in return was Patton's devotion. He almost scoffed aloud at himself. That wasn’t how this worked. Shifting the weight wouldn’t make Patton any less self-effacing, and he didn’t want Patton in his debt. All he could do was provide support, and burn quietly and not let the smoke sting anyone’s eyes.

“You’re so sweet sometimes,” Patton said sadly. “I wish I’d known.”

Janus didn’t miss that ‘ sometimes,’ the pointed reminder that his heart was guarded, his defenses sharp. The gates were either open or closed, and he couldn’t let anyone else in. It was hard enough letting Remus know that he was capable of anything other than snide remarks and cutting words. He had let Roman and Logan see inside when he had made himself vulnerable to Thomas, and look where that had gotten him. Roman had struck for the heart. “I have a lot to offer,” Janus said, gently trying to steer the topic back to safer territory. “But so do you, Patton. You’re far stronger than I gave you credit for, and I want-- I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Them first,” Patton said, and Janus had to fight to keep his frustration from showing on his face. Suddenly it was all too much, the proximity to Patton and his maddening refusal to look after himself. Janus felt himself on the verge of yelling or lunging forward and kissing Patton hard on the mouth. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his forehead like he’d just remembered something. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Patton leaned forward, cocked his head.

“I almost forgot; Remus had asked me for help with something.”

“You’re friends?” Patton asked.

“That, dear Patton, is a conversation for another day.” Janus stood and motioned for Patton to walk to the stairs. “After you.” The pain of unfulfilled desire sat tight and heavy in his chest; he could make Patton feel alright. But that wasn’t what either of them needed; no temporary pleasure could mend these wounds.

“I think you’re right.” Patton got up and mounted the stairs. “But thank you, Janus.” He paused, one hand on the trapdoor, and turned. “Really. It helps knowing that…”

“That I've got your back,” Janus said. “And I hope you can believe me when I say that.”

Here in the dark, where the dim light from the Edison bulbs didn’t quite reach, Janus could only guess at the look on Patton’s face. “I do,” he said, nearly in a whisper.

Then light flooded in and Janus blinked and steadied himself against the railing, and when his eyes had adjusted, Patton was gone.

Well, then. Off to Remus.

Janus’ breaths burned his lungs as he walked, coming shallower and shallower, until he had to pause, disgusted with himself. But the panic attack never came, and the burn in his lungs retreated, and he kept walking.

He was out of breath again by the time the halls brought him to Remus, who had constructed a blood-spattered laboratory for himself. Doll bodies decorated the counters and exam tables, interspersed with scissors and scalpels and pliers.

"Did you run here or what?" Remus asked, nonchalantly tossing a Barbie head into a red biohazard bin.

"Sprinted," Janus wheezed, falling against the counter. A few limbless torsos fell and clattered onto the linoleum.

Remus bent over to pick them up before Janus could so much as roll his eyes. "You gotta stop smoking, Jan." Janus nodded, too winded to even go along with the joke. He forced himself to stand up straighter and take deep breaths, which seemed to help a little. It still hurt to inhale. Remus frowned at him. "Seriously, did you convince yourself you have asthma, or what?"

"I'm just tired out after running from my hordes of admirers," Janus said, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. Whatever it was, he could think himself out of it later.

“Oho.” Remus picked up a hot glue gun and aimed it at a small leg that looked like it had come from a Polly Pocket doll. “Have another rendezvous with the Loveland Frogman?”

“Nothing like that,” Janus said, distracted. His lungs seemed to itch , somehow. He swallowed experimentally, but it definitely wasn’t his throat causing the discomfort. Forgetting Remus altogether, he coughed into his fist. That helped a little, though a residual burn made him dig at his ribs with his fingertips.

“We did Chestbursters last Halloween,” Remus said. “Hold this.” He thrust the glue-covered leg at Janus, who quickly swapped his nice gloves for blue nitrile, throwing on a lab coat as an afterthought. “ Did anything interesting happen?”

“Oh, you know, apart from the orgy, not much,” Janus said, finally examining Remus’ handiwork. Before them on the table sat a torso. It had no limbs attached except for the right shoulder, which was a mess of tiny Polly Pocket arms and legs, all sticking out like the ribs of a hand fan. “That’s unsettling.”

“Aw, only unsettling?” Remus took the leg back from Janus and added it to the shoulder socket. “I was going for ‘skin-crawling.’”

Another itch flared up in Janus’ lungs and he clawed at himself again, only noticing when it started to hurt. The nitrile was not as thick as his usual gloves and did less to disperse the pressure from his fingertips. He turned away and coughed again until the itch went away. “‘Skin-crawling’ is also apt,” he said, turning back like nothing had happened.

“Did you inhale some doll hair?” Remus asked, holding up a pair of scissors with a guilty expression.

“Must have,” Janus said, forcing himself to believe it. He had no other explanation. He flinched at the sudden weight of a particulate respirator against his face, glanced up to see that Remus was also wearing one.

“There,” Remus said, his voice muffled. “Only the best for my trusted assistant. Now hand me the pliers; we have corpses to deface.”

Much to his annoyance, Janus’ cough only got worse throughout the day, dragging a scratchy throat and sore ribs in its wake. He ended up going to bed early out of desperation, thinking it was some sort of exhaustion-related malady, not that he’d stretched himself so thin lately. One night of sleep deprivation should barely have touched him.

He was tired, though, and his thoughts drifted as he brushed his teeth. (This, strictly speaking, was not necessary. But he was Self-Care; he had to set an example). He imagined standing elbow-to-elbow with Patton at the bathroom counter, brushing his teeth while Patton… Did whatever he did before bed, washed his face or something. Just something domestic and sweet for his brain to hold onto, like hard candy. But it didn’t keep the horrible, roaring desire at bay, nor the aching loneliness that had never troubled him before. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted , and here in the solitude and silence, there was nothing to drown it out.

Nothing except for that godforsaken itch in his lungs. Janus doubled over at the sink, spitting out toothpaste foam as his diaphragm spasmed almost of its own accord. He focused as hard as he could on the idea that he was fine, but the coughing refused to abate. Panting slightly, he rinsed his toothbrush and let it skitter across the tiled countertop. If he wasn’t better by tomorrow, Remus would offer to help, and Janus would most certainly take him up on that.

He slept fitfully because of course he did. Nothing was ever easy, was it? The cough troubled him only a little, drowned out in a sea of half-dreams. Visions of Patton or Roman or Virgil, screaming fights, dirty make-outs, displays of violent passion he held himself above, all whirled in his drifting mind like a carousel. It was a vision of Roman that finally woke him up, screaming in his face and driving fist after fist into his solar plexus. "It should be you, it should be you, it should be you! Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"

He woke up coughing, disoriented, and rolled over to curl up on his side. It felt for all the world like his body was trying to expel something, something soft and damp that clung to the side of his throat and would not be moved no matter how deeply he coughed.

When he realized he wasn't suffocating, he rolled over to switch on his bedside lamp (bright incandescent bulb, white laboratory lighting, no shadows) and jammed his fingers in his mouth. Sure enough, something velvet soft and wet with saliva slid along the edge of his mouth. He found the edge of it and held it tight between his fingertips, pulled it out of his mouth to examine it.

Reflexive delight flared up before horror and confusion took its place; it was a flower petal. Bright orange and fan-shaped, Janus recognized the familiar hue of a California poppy. He wasn't sentimental enough to have a favorite flower, but the sight of California poppies decorating a green West Coast hillside always made him smile. Bright and summery, they grew in unassuming places and transformed the landscape into art.

So what was a singular California poppy petal doing in his throat? A terrifying thought crossed his mind; he doubled up on the mattress, supporting himself on three arms, and forced himself to cough until he felt that his throat might tear open. Not thinking, he spat into his hand and was rewarded with the sight of shreds of orange and green. Petals and leaves.

Not his throat, then. His lungs. Denial lunged at the first sign of panic, Janus' function kicking in. It was probably nothing, probably some prank of Remus' that he hadn't fully thought through. It was nothing to worry about. Janus was only in minor discomfort and half of that was his own doing, from coughing so hard. He put his extra arms away and lay back on the pillows. He could ask Remus about it in the morning.

Despite the sweet haze of denial telling him not to worry, Janus marched straight to Remus’ room as soon as he awoke. He didn’t even bother to change out of his pajamas. He was angry, he decided on the way over, and not in the fun way. The ghosts of his nightmares trailed behind him, mocking him, and only stopped when he realized he was working himself up into a defensive rage. Remus didn’t deserve that, even if this was all his fault. Which it was. It had to be.

Still, Janus opened the door without knocking, steeling himself against the inevitable horrorshow within. He was greeted with the sight of Remus asleep, all his walls broadcasting scenes from Janus’ most intimate nightmares: mouths sewn shut with leather, pierced shut with metal; spiked muzzles and scold’s bridles; crude glossectomies-in-progress. He steadied his breathing, despite the pain it caused him, and forced the images to fade into bare white walls.

“Rise and shine,” he said, striding toward the bed.

“Fuck off,” said Remus, not moving.

“I need your help,” Janus said, counting on the plea to catch Remus’ attention. Janus never asked for help; he never asked for anything. It was one of the unspoken rules that governed his conduct and kept him safe from debts.

Remus sat up, the covers falling from his bare chest. He blinked at Janus and rubbed his eyes, smearing purple eyeshadow down his cheeks and and just below his temples. “Are you dying?”

“I might be, if you don’t get rid of these damned flowers.”

“Flowers?” Remus looked Janus up and down, nose wrinkled in obvious confusion. “What flowers?”

“Oh, come on, Remus,” Janus said. Begged. It had to be Remus causing this. He tapped either side of his abdomen with his pointer fingers. “In my lungs.” As though to illustrate his point, the cough flared up. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, his throat already protesting the violent treatment.

Remus crawled forward, peering closely at him, then pressed one sticky hand to Janus' face. “Are you sick?”

Janus didn’t answer, instead clearing his throat as he shook Remus off. While they lacked Thomas’ human response to viruses and bacteria, it wasn’t unheard of for a Side to fall ill. Usually it was due to some sort of psychological turmoil related to their function, but Janus was fine. Better than fine, he was accepted. With one final, barking cough, he forced a flower petal into his mouth, and rather than touch it, stuck out his tongue so Remus could see.

Remus took it and Janus shuddered despite himself, grateful that they weren’t susceptible to germs. “Flower petals, hm?” Remus said, “That’s not really my area. If I was going to make you cough something up, it would be, like, bugs or something!” Images flashed on the walls and floor of that very thing, until Janus banished them with a very definitive stamp of his foot. “Anyway,” Remus continued, apparently unphased, “That’s more Don Romano's bag.”

“Well, as you can imagine, it’s very pleasant,” Janus said, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose you can make it go away?”

“Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

“Do you feel any better?” Remus asked.

Janus thought about it. No discomfort flared up in his lungs, but he was just standing there. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Great,” said Remus, flopping spread-eagle onto his mattress. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” said Janus, a little parting shot. But he was gentle when he closed the door behind him, and walked quietly until he was out of earshot of Remus’ room. What was he supposed to do now?

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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lucacostello-archive · 5 years ago

Text

ALL MY HEROES GOT TIRED.

and all my days, they got short. when all your heroes get tired, i’ll be something better yet.

A six year old Luca peered into his father’s study. Marcel was buried in a pile of paperwork and a never ending stream of phone calls. The house, aside from a few workers, was entirely empty. He’d been bored, longing for someone to play with. Luca knew better than to ask his father.‌ He was a busy man, one with little time for games.

Whenever Luca was alone, he oftentimes snuck into his mother’s old office, only a few yards away from his father’s. Because Luca never knew Guinevere, he liked to sit in her desk chair and wonder about the mother who had left him behind. A lot of her old things were still there, untouched, including a bottle of her old perfume. Luca played with it often, though he was careful not to open the top after spilling a good amount of it on himself once before. (His father wasn’t too happy.)

A picture of Guinevere and his father sat on the desk. Luca picked it up, held it in his hands as he stared at his mother. She was pretty. Luca placed the photograph back down before deciding to climb on one of the bookshelves. Luca wanted a book from the very top, and he severely underestimated his ability to make that happen. Luca didn’t even make it a few shelves up before he’d fallen, landing directly on his right arm.

There was a sharp pain that went right down to the bone. Luca made a noise. Within seconds, his father was in the room now too, a look of confusion and disappointment washing over his face.

“What the hell did you get yourself into?”‌‌ Marcel asked, walking over to examine Luca’s arm. Luca said nothing, instead staring blankly at his father. The older man frowned as he scooped his son off the floor. He was carried out of Guinevere’s office.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,”‌ Luca insisted, despite the sharp sting that he felt. It really was taking everything in‌ Luca not to cry or be overly dramatic.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad?”‌ Marcel repeated, clearly amused. “Son,‌ you broke your arm.”

Luca chewed on his bottom lip.

“I‌ didn’t mean to fall. It just sorta happened. I wanted to read a book so I could tell Sofia about it when she got home later.”

Marcel laughed.

“Well, we gotta get you to a doctor now.”

The idea of spending the day with his father, despite the circumstances, had Luca excited. Marcel was a busy man, oftentimes unable to give his children the attention that they required.

Despite the inexplicable pain in his arm,‌ Luca forced himself not to cry. He wanted to be grown up, like Leon, who he never saw cry. His eyes welled with tears, but Luca stubbornly pushed them back. He wanted his father to be proud, to comment on Luca’s maturity.

Luca sat in the back of the car, eyes on Marcel as he drove them to the hospital. The visit was quick. The doctors prioritized Luca because he was a Costello. Luca watched as his father confidently shook the hand of doctors, greeted people by name. He maintained eye contact with everyone that he spoke with. Luca wondered what he’d be like when he grew up – if he’d be anything like his father.

He hoped so.

Luca left the hospital with a cast on his arm, and still, he hadn’t cried. Marcel got a phone call, probably business, and it felt like their day together was getting cut short. Luca sadly stared out of the window. They passed Bella’s.

“WAIT!”‌ Luca called out. “Can we please go to Bella’s for some ice cream? Please?”‌

Marcel, through the rearview mirror, looked like he was about to say no. Only, at the last minute, he pulled into Bella’s. They had some of the best frozen dessert in the city, hands down.

Luca was practically giddy with joy, already preparing himself to tell his siblings that he got to have ice cream at Bella’s with dad. Marcel came around, opened the back door for‌ Luca.‌ Just as he was about to bolt out of the car and into the restaurant, Marcel smiled – clearly amused at his youngest.

“You broke your arm, and you didn’t shed a single tear.”‌ He paused. “Tough kid.”

Marcel placed a hand on top of Luca’s head, ruffled his hair a bit. Luca was beaming.

There was nothing really special about that day, but it stood out in Luca’s mind. They got ice cream, headed home right after. At that point, the rest of his siblings and cousins were there, and Luca very enthusiastically told them about what had happened. He stretched the truth a bit -- in his version, he’d made it all the way to the top of the bookshelf and fell because the book was so heavy.

Marcel didn’t say much. Instead, he retreated back to his office, to continue on with his day’s work. He was a few hours behind now.

But it was a good day.

—

When‌ Luca got the call about his father, he could only think back to that day in late July when‌ he’d broken his arm. He hadn’t cried then.

“Luca, we aren’t really sure how to tell you this, but we wanted to before you found out another way. Your father – he passed away two nights ago.”

“Like… he died?”‌

Luca wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. There was no way his father was dead. No chance in hell.

There was silence.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Fuck.”‌ Luca simply said, leaning forward in his seat. “Two nights ago?”

And he was only hearing about it now?

“I’m afraid so. We didn’t find out until just a few minutes ago.”

Luca didn’t say anything else. He hung up the phone. He’d been at Roma, with everyone else. The other people in the lobby area clearly didn’t know anything was wrong. Luca walked past them, face pale, as he headed towards the closest exit. Leaving wasn’t a good idea.

But he didn’t care.

His father was dead.

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t you fucking cry.

This hurt worse than a broken arm. It hurt worse than Paisley.

He walked out of the warmth of Roma and into the cold. The snow had started to pile up on the sidewalk. And he didn’t have a jacket on. Luca threw his phone on the ground rather aggressively. He could hear the screen crack, but he didn’t care. He left it there to be completely ruined by the snow.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, and he didn’t care.

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t cry.

#hello good MORNING #; self para #listen i love bleachers and the lyrics were just ;_;#so perfect

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