#lonely eyes fic

[little-pondhead]

Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Happy New Year darlings. I hope 2025 is gentle and nourishing, fun and memorable in a good way.

Kicking off WIP Wednesday bright and early with something from the final chapter of Rhythms, which will be posted on Sunday. With this, I want to say another enormous thank you to everyone reading or who will read, and for all the support and encouragement. I began work on Rhythms in summer 2023, so it's been part of my life for a long time and it means a huge amount to me on a creative and personal level. I feel highly emotional about bringing it into 2025 and then having to let it go. Readers, take good care of this Carlos for me 🧡

Carlos nods and stands. As he stands, it’s like the world drops away from him. Everyone is staring up from far away, like he’s a balloon someone let go of.

As he walks to the microphone, Carlos becomes uncomfortably aware of his size. He’s a big guy, standing at a sturdy six-foot tall, statuesque and hunky. A former wrestler. A Ranger now. A weight-lifter, a treadmiller, a rowing machiner, an exercise biker, a kick-boxer. Name the gym equipment, and he’ll tell you his speed, his endurance, what he lifts – and it’ll impress anyone. But right now none of that counts for biscuits. On his way to the microphone, in front of everyone he knows and a whole bunch of strangers, he is trudging and lumbering, dragging his knuckles along the floor like an orangutan. He sees himself, huge of body but puny of mind. A friendly yet foolish giant who with one wrong move will make every shelf in this bookstore topple.

When he arrives at the microphone he clears his throat. The sound of him grunting fills the room. He makes eye-contact with Tommy, who cringes a little but nods him on encouragingly. She’s a performer. She sang beautifully at their wedding. Being Alive – Gwyn’s favorite song from the Company recording.

He feels like an utter oaf. A buffoon.

What he is doing?

Tommy – an amateur musical theater person, yes, but still a masterful singer – is about to watch him bumble through his poems. A disaster before it’s even begun.

But then he detects a movement in front of him. TK raises himself up in his chair, sits up straight, gazes at him intently and with wonder. Carlos scans the rows around him. Everyone who has come to support him tonight looks just the same. Ready for what he has to tell them.

Someone to crowd you with love

Someone to force you to care

Someone to make you come through

Who'll always be there.

As frightened as you

Of being alive.

Open tag and tags below:

@paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings @lightningboltreader

@bonheur-cafe @goodways @alrightbuckaroo

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @reyesstrand

@herefortarlos @mikibwrites @irispurpurea @liminalmemories21

@lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @orchidscript

@honeybee-taskforce @theghostofashton @sugdenlovesdingle

@freneticfloetry @chicgeekgirl89 @emsprovisions

@tellmegoodbye @sapphic--kiwi @ironheartwriter @carlos-tk

@carlossreaders @the-126-family @henrygrass @everlastingday

@whatsintheboxmh @futures-tense @rangersoup (if you don't mind me tagging you!)

@nancys-braids @captain-gillian @butchreyes @literateowl @hereghostslive

@kiwichaeng @pimento-playing-hopscotch @eclectic-sassycoweyes - If you want to share/haven't already. No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[alrightbuckaroo]

Work is Published Wednesday

Happy Wednesday, everyone! As it seems most fitting, I wanted to share something from my Carlos character study, tender eyes that shine, just because it's giving me a lot of feelings and maybe I can share those with you <3

When he married Iris at the tender age of eighteen, he didn’t invite his parents and even now, he thinks the Austin High School Soccer Team t-shirt he wore to the courthouse barely counts as a tuxedo.

He didn’t think his parents would want to be an active part of his life after coming out, let alone that his mother would be the one helping him get ready to marry the man of his dreams. 

“Hey mom,” Carlos begins, his voice trying to fight through the current of a flood of emotion. “Thank you,” He pauses, catching his breath and letting his feelings guide him to his words. “For everything.”

Andrea’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she replies with, “Always.”

After, she raises Carlos’ arms, looking down at the sleeves of his tuxedo. Her eyes are drawn to the cuff links looped through the open holes placed on both sleeves. They’re the same cuff links that Gabriel planned to wear to Carlos’ wedding.

Her eyes sustain their misty demeanor as she says, “He would have been so happy to know these were still able to make it to your special day.”

“You think so?” Carlos asks, looking down at them. Though they’re small, Carlos can still make out the tiniest impression of his reflection smiling back up at him. He thinks that if he looks hard enough, he’ll see his Dad smiling back at him too.

“Oh I know so,” Andrea responds and Carlos looks back up at her.  

“You know that’s all I ever really wanted,” Carlos’ voice sounds fresh with heartfelt honesty. “For Dad to be happy,”  

“Oh Carlitos,” Andrea leans up to place a peck on his cheek. “He always wanted the same for you.”

Thanks for the tags: @ironheartwriter, @henrygrass, @whatsintheboxmh, @strandnreyes, @paperstorm

and @theghostofashton!

No pressure tagging:

@heartstringsduet, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @herefortarlos

@actual-sleeping-beauty, @sheholdsthemoon, @sanjuwrites, @freneticfloetry, @fifthrideroftheapocalypse

@honeybee-taskforce, @literateowl, @lutavero, @irispurpurea, @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@emsprovisions, @eclectic-sassycoweyes, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @bonheur-cafe

@butchreyes, @basilsunrise, @never-blooms, @carlos-tk, @mikibwrites, @tellmegoodbye

@lightningboltreader, and here's an open tag <3 <3 <3

[heartstringsduet]

Eyes Wide Shut - A 5x03 Coda

Summary: Carlos always had a sixth sense when it came to TK. He could tell when he was in danger by the way his chest tightened— exactly like it does now, while TK is out rescuing people in the aftermath of a train wreck. But this time, nothing could have happened. Everything was fine. Thank you @herefortarlos for the quick beta 😭

“Did Wyatt update you guys that we were still stuck in the elementary school when the cloud was above it?” “No,” Carlos says, trying to swallow the panic with the tears. “But even when I left the station after I brought you donuts, I had this feeling . This tightness in my chest. It’s the same feeling I had when your team was kidnapped and when you stepped on the plane. I know when you’re in danger.” Hearing TK sigh, Carlos feels irritation meet the tightness between his ribs. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.” “I didn’t say it was ridiculous,” TK counters softly. “But you think it is.” A hand turns his head toward TK, whose eyes are shimmering too. “I think you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself to make sure people you love are safe and taken care of. That’s what keeps you up at night and what makes your chest so tight.” “It’s not the same,” Carlos argues.

Read More

[restinsodaroni]

Just a Random question. What would happen if your AU sun meets canon ( help wanted 2) sun??

I just realized how violent I’ve made my Au Sun 😅 ( I showcase that more in my writings lol ) he’s not mean yet he will rip off a limb if he’s not stopped in time, idk how that works 🤷🏻‍♀️

[daffi-990]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday ☕️

Tagged by @bidisasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 & @wikiangela. Thank you my dears ❤️

Got some more LA Lonely 🏙️ for you because that’s what the writing beans are feasting on atm.

I wrote Eddie and Buck running into each other again (2nd time post hook up) at a coffee shop and I had to fight the urge not to share the whole damn scene because for some reason I just really like it. So instead have just a small smackerel.

Prev snippet here.

Eddie grabs the door for him and follows him outside and Buck really should get back to the engine because Chim and Hen without the right amount of caffeine and sugar in their systems can quickly become dangerous. But with Eddie’s eyes focused on him he finds his feet unwilling to move.

“I know you have to go and caffeinate the troops,” Eddie wets his lips and Bucks eyes immediately track the movement, “but I just wanted to say it was good to see you. Unexpected, but uh good.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie opens his mouth but the engine horn suddenly blares, startling them both so much that Buck almost drops the coffee in his hands.

“Let’s go Buckaroo!”

Buck contemplates dropping Chim’s coffee and claiming it as an accident.

Eddie chuckles. “I’ll take that as my queue to leave. It really was good to see you Buck.” And then he’s walking away and Buck doesn’t want him to go.

“Eddie!” Eddie pauses and turns around and suddenly Buck’s nervous. Every time he’s extended a hand out to someone he’s even the slightest bit interested in after hooking up with, it’s been left hanging awkwardly in the air or slapped away. But he likes the way Eddie’s smile makes him feel and even if Eddie was just being polite, it couldn’t hurt to be honest, right? “It uh - it was really good to see you too.”

The words are simple but Buck feels like he’s just unfastened a part of his armour and exposed his heart to whatever weapon Eddie is brandishing.

Eddie doesn’t launch an arrow or throw a dagger though, instead he smiles, which is twice as deadly but in a whole other way. His eyes are crinkled from how wide his smile is, canines of full display and it leaves Buck’s heart stuttering.

Bullseye.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @sunshinediaz @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @goforkinard @bekkachaos @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @donationwayne @fortheloveofbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @try-set-me-on-fire @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @captain-hen @steadfastsaturnsrings @missmagooglie @mellaithwen @neverevan @nmcggg @giddyupbuck @sibylsleaves @jesuisici33 and as always, anyone who wants to share something -> this is your official tag

* also sorry if I missed anyone, a lot of people have changed their urls along with icons and my brain is trying her best 🥲

[forthecriminallyinsane]

Posting art on the wrong blog again...

But this is fanart for the amazing fanfic Lonely Eyes by @sourweather-fics

Undercut is flat colors and the @ to my art blog & random info about the piece

@questionablystupid-art

The drawing is based on the most recent chapter called " I'll Send All My Lovin' to You" and his outfit is semi inspired by Canon including that really silly red sweater he wears

[l-wandering-etranger]

do you have any idea how much i need a fic of currant archive gang interacting with jonah's regency acquaintances lovers? do you? I want the hilarity of the regecy gang vying for jonah's attention all for it to spent on this skrunkly who hates him with every cell in his body. granted the affections in question are very VERY different on all ends but i find one sided jonelias funny. espically with the eyes special little boy jon. i want the archives gang to make fun of the amount of bitches jonah USED to pull. i want peter to stare into space and realise how creepily similar he looks to morderchai. smirke and tim day drinking in the breakroom because dear lord wtf-. I want the Lonely Boys martin and barnabas to have tea and talk about their eye lovers. I want sasha to pull up every body Jonah has used and make everyone rate them. i want the drama of the eye switcharoo. i want elias to mourn over how hot jonah was. i want-

[sourweather-fics]

The first thing that'd passed through the white sheet had been the pain. And evidently it wasn't interested in diving back under the covers, because Will has never hurt this badly in his entire life. The tension isn't helping, of course, winding every one of his muscles up tight enough that he feels like he could snap into a million pieces. Worse still, a savage kind of tiredness has been creeping up on him for hours now. It isn't the kind of tiredness that comes from wanting to sleep— hell no, Will doubts he'll ever relax enough to fall asleep again. Instead it's a weird, manic tiredness. The kind of tiredness that makes you see things that aren't there, think thoughts that aren't yours. The second thing that passes through is paranoia. It doesn't occur to him until several hours later, in the brutal dead of night when nothing exists but the white dashes on the highway. But once it does, it manages to eclipse even the pain. The police might be looking for him.

[not0a0mundane]

I am ready to be hurt again

*opens up "The rise of the Sky" by MagicalGhost96*

[nonbinaryeye]

The Gentleman and The Beast

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 3 - Fairytale

There is a castle with a rose garden the Beast has grown to despise. There is also the Gentleman who is not a Lady nor a Witch and he happens to stumble upon the place. Which is impossible, no one should be able to find it. Yet there he is, to the Beast's great displeasure. And he is offering to help

Read on AO3

...

The story starts innocently, as many stories for children start – there is enchanted castle and cursed garden and a terrifying creature living there. However, this is not your usual bedtime story for little kids. It can hardly be even called a fairytale. Let's not get ahead of ourselves though...

As has been said, the story starts with a castle in the woods. One could be tempted to call it a ruin as the building has seen better days, nature slowly claiming what once was hers. Weeds sprouting from the floors, bushes spreading all around, blocking doors, while wild ivy has taken upon itself to block the windows. Parts of the wall seem to be crumbling down altogether. But the Beast still thinks about the building as about the castle. Because they know it used to be one. Even though their memories of the better days of the building are fading as quickly as the plaster on those walls that are still standing, rotting away in their mind as surely as the wooden parquets are rotting under their feet.

You see, as it often is in fairytales, the Beast has not always been the Beast. The Beast does not clearly remember what or who they used to be. They do not remember how they turned to be the Beast, what exactly has happened - to them, to other possible residents of the place, to their memories, to the castle.

And frankly, they also do no care.

Here comes one of the few differences from the way fairytales usually go. The Beast does not suffer by solitude, nor are they bothered by their look nor their current existence in general. Their own past does not matter to the Beast. On the contrary, they are quite content. One might even say, they prefer their life like this! Afterall, they are left alone. Finally, no one annoys them. There is much less pressure on one when they look like a horrible monster from scary stories told to children to prevent them from wandering off too far in the woods.

The Beast is not sure how exactly they look – there is no mirror big enough to capture their entire frame. And even those few smaller ones in rusting frames are nto very helpful as they all seem to be broken. A brief glimpse of a jaw full of sharp teeth and pieces black fur here and grey scales there, that is all they can get from reflection in broken galls or still water. They do not mind though as they could not care less what they look like right now. Only thing they are interested in even less, is how they used to look when they were still human. If they ever really were human at all. As has been said, their memory, which probably was not the greatest to begin with, is starting to fail them a bit.

And so given all this informations, you might ask what this story is even supposed to be about? The Beast is perfectly happy as they are, are they not? There seems to be no issue that needs a resolution since the Beast is fine, happy even with their curse. (If they even really are cursed.)

And, well, that indeed would be the case.

If only it was not for the roses.

Those damned roses.

Yes, the Beast is not certain how exactly they have become the Beast. If one still assumes there used to be times, they were not the Beast… But no, there must have been some before because they remember the gardens. They used to be beautiful. Acres upon acres of beautiful flowery surrounding the castle. They were gorgeous and colourful and diverse. That is the only glimpse of the past they can remember clearly. (They assume it is because it is the only glimpse of the past they wanted to preserve.) But now? Now everything is consumed by roses. No one can tell there used to be any other flowers than in the past.

But they are just weak and fragile flowers, are they not? Yes, they have thorns but at the end of the day what are some colourful petals on a feeble stem against a powerful monster with sharp claws and teeth and thick fur and scales? The Beast is asking themselves every day the exact same question before they start to fight them. They should know better by now. It ends up every time exactly the same way. The roses are there taunting them by their full blossom and how hard it really can be to rip away at least one of them?

And so the Beast tries to tear them out and rip them apart and their efforts are in vain, as for every drop of their blood spilled, there seems to be a new one. Laughing at them with its existence. The Beast knows it is pointless battle and they keep failing again and again, and the fight has been lost countless times already but… but what if today is the day? What if…? They try again and again. The teeth sinking into the greenery, the claws attacking the ground trying to rip the plans out with its roots. And sometimes for a few seconds it almost seems like they can do it, that the stems of the flowers are about to break, that their roots cannot be that deep… And the Beast puts in more and more strength and nothing is still happening. And… are there more of them again? Have they always been so tall and their thorns so sharp?

Anyhow. As it surprises probably no one but the Beast – today is not that day. It is just another day they in defeat end up licking their wounds back at the ruins of the castle, bleeding from cuts from those damn roses. The gardens they remember have no roses in them. Why are the flowers there? What has happened to all the other flowers?

“Were you trying to rip out the roses again?”

Ah, do you still remember those statements about how the Beast is being left alone, in happy solitude, with no one annoying them? Well, that one might be not entirely true as well.

The Gentleman enters the room. His hair has the colour of forest in the autumn, his eyes are cold like cloudy sky and his skin is decorated with freckles as stars decorate the night horizon. The fact that he must be a proper Gentleman, can be easily deduced from the fancy and sumptuous clothing (from the little the Beast knows about clothing). Another secret that one could figure by the clothes is that the Gentleman must have been living there for a while. His green coat is a bit tattered, waistcoat and shirt wrinkled, the pants and boots are dirty and stocking has tears in them (not that the Beast has to be guessing this – they are painfully aware of the Gentleman’s presence.)

The Gentleman does not seem to fit in this story at all. Maybe only as a victim the Beast might have abducted. This assumption would be, of course, wrong. As it has already been said, the Beast very much enjoys their peaceful loneliness. They would wish for nothing more than to get the Gentleman as far from their castle as possible.

“Let me look at it.”

The Beast says nothing. They know how to speak. The man knows they know how to speak as well. They still prefer being silent most of the time. It is not as if their unwelcomed guest has actually needed an answer. He always acts as he pleases, disregarding wishes of the Beast. Wishes such as for him to leave, to leave their castle, to leave the Beast. Leave them alone in their happy solitude and never-ending fights with greenery.

The Gentleman steps closer to the Beast, to the new wounds in their skin form their pointless battle. Closer to their sharp claws and pointy teeth and rough fur and spiky scales. And why is he not afraid? It would be so easy for the Beast to crush the man. Tear him to pieces. He is not out of unbeatable flora like those rose bushes are, he is made out of soft flesh. They should do it just for his cocky confidence, daring to approach them like this!

“You should know it is futile by now, Peter. There is something wrong with them. They are cursed. You cannot just rip them out. How dense are you? Why are you still trying?”

He keeps calling them Peter. He claims it might be their name. He was giving them a lengthy explanation how he came to that conclusion involving some portraits and chronicles he found and destroyed rooms he examined. They could not care less. They have no need for a company nor a name.

“Wait here. I will get some water and bandages. I am really starting to run out of spare sheets, you know?”

No one asked him to tend to their wounds. Not now, not ever. The Beast is tempted to remind him that but then they would need to break their stubborn silence.

“I know you hate roses. Not that you have ever bothered to elaborate on why exactly… What crime have those flowers committed? Because I find it hard to believe, it is worth your reckless attempts to fight them. Especially since they seem to flourish more every day whereas you are the one left with bleeding wounds.”

The Beast knows this. They know that those roses grow more with every drop of their blood falling upon them. And they are not sure they mean it just figuratively. Bloodthirsty flowers driving them mad.

“Well? Nothing to say in your defence?”

The Beast knows how much the man hates the silence. How desperate he is to talk with them, to fill the silence with the sound of his own voice. They do not want to give him the desired conversation but the man seems to be way too happy to just argue with them on any given occasion anyways. They should stand their ground and not give him the satisfaction of response. However even more than the noise he makes, the Beast hates to be scolded and talked down to. The Gentleman needs to be reminded of his place. (It is all partly his fault anyway!)

“You promised you'd get rid of them. They are still there!“ they growl. And the Gentleman rolls his eyes and the Beast gets angry that they bothered to say anything. They always promise themselves not to speak another syllable to him unless they are planning for their words to be the last thing the Gentleman ever hears. They can never manage to keep the promise, annoying persistence of the Gentleman somehow always breaks them.

It would probably be appropriate to give you an explanation on how exactly the strange Gentleman came into the picture. However, as it was stated before, the Beast does not care about the Gentleman nor about his story. They do not really care how it happened that he has decided to disrupt his solitude and invite himself to his residence. They only care how to make him leave. Because they do not believe he can keep his promise to get rid of the roses anyway.

“I’ve already told you I could possibly destroy them in a few days if you allow me to use fire,” the Gentleman scoffs, approaching them with water and sheets.

“No fire!” The Beast howls mildly ashamed that they let a sign of fear creep in their voice.

“Then be patient.”

The Gentleman kneels next to him with a bucket of water and his improvised bandages made out of old bed sheets. He starts carefully washing the wound with a spare piece of cloth. His hands are soft. Fingers long, thin and moving skilfully. How small and fragile he looks next to them and yet he has no decency to be afraid. On the contrary when he raises his head and their eyes accidentally meet he gives them a scolding look. That is too much.

“You don’t need to do this. I was fine before,” they pull away, bumping into the bucket. A bit of water spills.

“I call it a small miracle to be honest,” the Gentleman seems unimpressed. He lets the wet cloth fall on the ground and picks up the sheets. “Let me just help you.”

“I don’t want you to!” The Beast snarls showing their teeth. They enjoy the sparkle of panic that appears on the Gentleman’s face. Instincts winning over his rational mind for a second. He gains his composure back quickly. Quicker than the Best would like.

“You don’t want me to? You don’t want me to what?” he steps closer, curling one hand on his chest. Bucket also gets into his way, but again somehow it gains stability, “To be here? To talk to you? To acknowledge you? To help you with those damned roses?”

“I could deal with them alone. Eventually. It is better than have you here disturbing my peace and-”

“Yes, yes, you don’t like me and you want to be left alone in your home. You’ve told me that plenty of times. And trust me, I would love to grant you your wish. I don’t like this ruin; I want to return back to society and to my friends. Neither of us is happy in this situation,” the Gentleman pauses when he realises how aggravated he has gotten. He takes a deep breath and there is a sparkle of something (excitement? ambition?) in his eyes, “ But! And here comes the important part – but we can both benefit from it in the long run. I need a place to stay for a bit and I need your books. And you need someone who will be more effective in disposing of the roses.”

The Gentleman looks at them in expectation. And the Beast knows and hates that he is right. They do hate those roses enough that they would be willing to let someone remain and stay here. But! But why does it take him so long? They are starting to doubt, despite his bold words and promises, that he will be able to do it. They turn away and growl. He looks annoyed, good. Mumbling something, he drops the sheets and turns around. Finally leaving them alone. Their eyes slide towards the bandages. Maybe they should let him wrap them around their wounds first…

No! No, enough with this nonsense. They are fine, they have always been fine! They angrily crush the bucket with one of their claws. The water spills on the decaying parquet floor. The weeds finding its way through them appreciate the sudden watering.

They might kill him. They have not made up their mind yet. Of course, they will do so only after he will get them rid of the roses. If he is even able to, of course… Yes, they might decide to kill him sooner if he keeps annoying them like this. It would be satisfying to finally successfully crush something and spilling other blood then their own. They find comfort in the thoughts of the Gentleman's demise as they lick their untended wounds.

…

Let's leave the Beast to be the Beast and look closer at the Gentleman. One might assume this story will seem more like a fairytale if it was told from his point of view. One would be wrong. Because his story is even less of a fairytale than the Beast’s one.

There is a castle in the woods. Well, not a castle exactly, it is a mansion at best. And it has fallen to ruins. However, the building itself nor the state of it were exactly the Gentleman’s greatest concerns at the moment he found it. At that point he was simply grateful for a shelter. (The complaints about it came later).

The Gentleman who is neither a Lady nor a Witch has happened to stumble upon it by accident when he was being chased away by a crowd of people who have not shared many of his worldview’s ideas or general opinion regarding lots of aspects of his life.

Ah, well, what can one expect from silly simple villagers whose minds and opinions are ruled by myths and stories instead of science and reason. Though as much as the Gentleman wishes to dismiss every witless thing they have ever said and believed, they might have been right about few of them after all. Not about him, what and who he should be, of course! But the story told to children about a mindless monstrous beast seeking people to feed on living deep inside the forest seems to be somewhat based on truth.

As it always is, they have gotten quite a few things wrong. First of all, even though the Gentleman would probably not consider the Beast to be his intellectual equal, he was still able to have much more pleasant conversation with him than with the majority of the people from his hometown. Which is really saying something of the character of the people from the place he has come from, considering the fact that the Beast is perpetually annoyed and unwilling conversational partner with a very limited amount of topics he is willing to converse with him about.

Second of all, the Beast is not really hunting down any people. On the contrary, he does his best to avoid any human interaction at all. Or, well, that is what the Gentleman choses to believe over the option that the Beast is choosing to avoid only him specifically.

And third of all, yes, the Beast could be quite terrifying in his rageful attacks. However so far he has witnessed them to be aimed only against rose bushes surrounding the mansion.

Overall, the reality of fairytales about the evil Beast in the dark forest are quite disappointing in regards of his danger and ruthlessness. 

Nevertheless, a much more interesting fairytale – often told with the first one – is about dark magic. Oh yes, as Gentleman has learnt upon examining every room in these ruins, magic indeed is real. And can be leant. The library is full of dark complicated books telling him so at least. As a man of academia, naturally, his first action upon learning so, is to break every seal to get to all the dark secrets the old dusty pages are hiding. He has not entirely gotten a grasp on how magic can exist and be possible. However, he is starting to get a grasp on how to perform it.

As the Gentleman made quite clear he certainly is not a Lady. And he will never be one. Neither is he a Witch. Not yet . But that might change really soon. He is working on it.

He will make them all regret. The people scroning at him and judging him and pitying him. And those who have never met him but would do so given the chance as well. He will make all of the world respect him and fear him. They were all so insistent that he is a witch? He will become one then. And show them that their action has consequences. (And really who could possibly be as stupid as to try to run off a witch with torches and pitchforks as any of those things could really stop a powerful being controlling magic.)

He will show them all!

But not to get ahead of himself. First, he has to properly learn magic. And after that, well… he supposes that after that he should get rid of those damn roses as he might have ambitiously promised and as his impatient host keeps demanding. It will be a good training of his newly gained skills. As soon as he gains those said skills of course. Who would have guessed one cannot master magic overnight?

Unlike the Beast he has a name. Or to be more exact, he used to have one. But he did not really like it. It did not really suit him as many things did not in the life he used to have, life he lived before he came to this place. And so it is not really important to state said name as it is not relevant anymore. He will figure out a new one. Better one, more fitting for him. It is not his priority right now as there is no one who would call him by said name anyway.

And talking about names, the Gentleman is certain the Beast used to have a name too. He might have even been a human in the past. An inhabitant of this house probably, as Beast keeps from time to time talking about a past where there were no roses, just beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers. The Gentleman could not care less about the flowers. The Beast on the other hand naturally piqued his interest. He must be old. No, not old. Stuck in time. He does not seem to be bothered by it. By either his current form, nor his inability to perform certain things due to it, nor by his seclusion here. The only thing bothering him are those roses and, well, since recently, the Gentleman’s presence as well. There must be some very interesting story behind his unwilling host and his appearance and the magic books lying in the library. He hopes he will learn it one day. Though it is quite unlikely that it will be any time soon.

The Gentleman is interrupted from his musing over books and his studies by sudden sound of gentle yet heavy steps on decrepit carpet. He turns around to see a tall shadow looming from behind bookshelves near the door. The Gentleman is sitting in a chair in a corner of the library, his favourite place here. The books and notes scattered everywhere around him, thoughts a bit unfocused and in a similar state of disarray, as he might have forgotten yet again he needs to sleep from time to time.

“You are surprisingly stealthy for a three metres tall monster, unfortunately you still are a three-metre-tall monster so I have noticed your presence.”

The Beast lets own quiet growl. He stares at him with his dark eye of a predator who shows no sign that an intelligent mind might be hiding behind them. It still unsettles the Gentleman but over the months staying here, he has gotten used to his strange behaviour and this is far from the most alarming of his habits. He suspects that he does it on purpose. He wants him to be unsettled which is the reason why he cannot give him such satisfaction.

At the end of the day many threats are spoken from the Beast's mouth regularly but none of them is ever acted upon.

“Is there something bothering you or have you just missed my company that much, Peter?” The Beast keeps measuring him silently. Honestly, he does not really know if that is really the name of the person that has become the Beast. But it always bothers him when he calls him that and so he keeps doing so. Maybe it is a bit unwise to tease a powerful scary creature when he is still so powerless and weak but what other joys has his life to offer right now?

His theory regarding the past identity of the Beast is based on the silliest things. Some rich family used to live here – even though the mansion is partly in ruin one might not be afraid to call it a castle. The rooms and remains of furniture and clothes says so much. There are even portraits and names underneath them as well as on entrance to certain rooms. The one which used to belong to someone named Peter seems to be especially in a state of destruction, not by time but by deliberate effort of someone or something. Same can be said about portraits barring said name…

Though it is perfectly possible that this was never the home of the Beast when they still used to be human. It is possible that the Beast never was a human. Whoever used to live here possessed magic. It might all be a spell gone wrong, it might have been a deliberate curse, it might have been summoning. But it is simply easier to hope and to pretend that the being whose home he decided to invade is somewhat humanlike inside and therefore giving it…? …them? …him? a name is a good start in enforcing the idea. 

“I see, just unnerving staring it is today. It is hard to work under your gaze, you know?”

The Beast still does not speak and it is no surprise, he likes to do that - giving him silent treatment. As if he hoped that the silence would draw him away. That if he will ignore him long enough, the Gentleman will leave him alone. It is just the Beast’s wishful thinking. The Gentleman has no place to go. If he had any other options he would not be here, he would not willingly choose the Beast as his cohabitant. It will take much more than a few threats and uncomfortable looks to get him to leave.

“Shall I read you something?”

What tragic life. Being surrounded by so many powerful books yet unable to read any. Peter does not seem to be bothered by it nor really interested in reading in general. Or so the Gentleman thought at first. And of course the Beast never really asked him to read him anything. But after one argument regarding the Beast’s origin and how curses and magic works in a desperate attempt to make a point and make him listen, the Gentleman brought him a book with a silly fairytale and read it to him. They did not really end up agreeing but at the moment he read to him aloud Peter got strangely peaceful, strangely captivated by what was just a silly children’s fairytale. (Of course, when Gentleman pointed that out he denied it and left.)

“I don't care. I do not need a reason to wander through my own home,” the Beast says with a surprisingly soft and quiet voice. He always speaks like that as if he is scared from hearing himself speak.

“As you wish then. Hope you will not mind too much if I happen to read some story out loud then.” The Gentleman reaches for the worn-out book of fairy tales he keeps close in case the Beast decides to interrupt his studies.

“I told you I don’t want that!” Peter growls. It is a scary sound coming right from his throat. It used to terrify him but he slowly grew accustomed to it as all Peter does is giving him empty threats.

“Do as you wish. I am intending to do so whether you will stay or not. No one is forcing you to listen to it.” Gentleman suppresses a smile and opens the book on the page he read last time before Beast fell asleep listening to him. And the Beast reluctantly stays and listens. He tries to pretend not to care but he soon forgets himself, clearly hanging on every word coming from the Gentleman’s mouth, curiosity filling his big dark monstrous eyes in such a human-like… child-like expression.

And yes, the Gentleman finds the Beast fascinating and of course he tries to stay on civil terms with him... However, it is important to note that Gentleman has no concrete fondness for his host. He might kill him. He has not made up his mind yet. Right now, he is useful.

One might have a dilemma over the fact that if the Beast used to be a person, killing him might equal to taking a human life. The Gentleman naturally does not have the dilemma as he is already planning to kill a lot of people once he masters the magic. Or maybe do something even worse. Completely excusable though, at least in his eyes. He refused to perform the part of a Lady they gave him but a Witch, that he can do. He will see. The point is that from all the humans he has met the Beast has been the one that treated him the most decently. And he is truly a miserable host.

So really he will have to give it some more consideration. If he will kill the Beast or not…

It should be said that this is not the beginning of the story of the Beast and the Gentleman. The story began a long time ago when the Beast might have been a human and when the Gentleman might have still been trying to play an unfitting role given to him by society. 

It should be said that this uncanny fairytale is nowhere near to its end. No, their story is far from over. It has just begun getting to the good part. There is a lot to happen before you might try to draw some conclusions, before you will be able to decide what kind of story it even is. 

Romance? 

Certainly not. 

Horror?

Possibly.

Tragedy? 

That might be it… How could it not, when they both are full of pride with only their own interest in their heart? It is unlikely they could ever become friends. Such things could only happen in fairytales. They could find their happy ending only in fairytale. And if it is not clear enough yet – this is not a fairytale..

[alrightbuckaroo]

tender eyes that shine

1/1 | Rating: M | 16.1k | A Carlos Reyes character study in which Carlos learns to love himself a little more, even the soft parts. | All the thanks in the world to @bonheur-cafe for beta reading this one <3

Carlos is eight years old.

His favorite food is pizza flavored Kraft macaroni and cheese, his favorite movie is Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron , his best friend is a stuffed koala named Kique, and at this very moment, he’s heartbroken over the passing of his abuela.

“No llores, nieto,” Carlos’ abuelo tells him during the wake of her funeral. Gray clouds are scattered across the sky and coating the somber event in an even more somber tone.

His abuelo crouches down, his joints cracking and popping as he stoops to Carlos’ eye level. He raises a calloused thumb and wipes away the tears that are still falling from Carlos’ wide brown eyes.

“Men like us,” His abuelo continues, his words casting a wide net. ‘Men like us’ is synonymous with anyone that looks like Carlos, has his skin tone, or shares his namesake. “We don’t let the world pity us, we can’t let them see us as soft.”

Carlos nods, wiping away any new tears that are starting to fall. The right sleeve of his charcoal gray suit now comes away colored a staunch black where Carlos’ tears have dampened it.

For some reason, the way his abuelo says ‘soft’ ricochets off of Carlos, as if it were stone and Carlos is a thin sheet of glass nestled into a window pane. It’s left a dent, an imprint, an impression, but hasn’t done enough damage to cause a crack.

Carlos’ bloodshot eyes shine with hesitation as he asks, voice small and insecure, “Reyes men don’t cry?

“Reyes men don’t cry,” His abuelo confirms.

continued on ao3.

[vizishereig]

I am working on a small thing :)

aka I'm mixing one of my old hyperfixiations with a new one. So, welcome to me trying my best to mix Resident Evil with the Magnus Archives :D

I have two different versions of this AU, but one is more of a one shot and the other one is more suited for a whole story lol.

but here's a snippet of some of the stuff I've written :D

The fog has been with him for as long as he can remember.

It's been with him through his youth, hiding in his room while his dad bangs on the door. It was with him when his dad fell ill and things were left on him to take care of the two of them. It's with him when he applies for this archiving job, lying on his resume and through his teeth in the interview.

The fog is there through it all.

Leon has come to anticipate it. It's not real, he knows. It can't be. There is no such thing as a fog appearing when someone feels lonely.

And yet, when he's feeling particularly alone, thin wisps and a bone deep cold appears. It's comforting in a roundabout way, and he sinks into the feeling with ease.

It's not comfortable, it's not meant to be. But it's familiar.

The fog has been with him his whole life. He doubts it's going to leave.

[glassslippers-n-cowboyboots]

Chapter: 1/??

Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff

Characters: Anna, Kristoff, Ryder, Elsa,

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Farmer!Kristoff, Musician!Kristoff

Summary:

Horse farmer and trainer by day and musician by night, Kristoff Bjorgman, meets Anna Andersen, a city girl, when he's playing at a country bar during her bachelorette party. But she's taken, so nothing can happen, right?

Chapter 1: The Bachelorette Party

[chicgeekgirl89]

Shiner

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Nancy Gillian

Summary: T.K. should have known Carlos would find out about his black eye sooner rather than later. Coda for s04e15 "Donors.”

Read on AO3

“No, but seriously though. How does a guy who looked like a vegetable at the accident scene just get up and hit you with a right cross?” Mateo asks.

T.K. shakes his head and then immediately regrets it when his right cheekbone starts to throb in time with his heartbeat. “I don’t know dude, one second he was unconscious, the next his fist was in my face.” He sighs. “How am I going to explain this to Carlos?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Marjan says, her eyes trained on something over his shoulder. “But you��d better figure it out pretty fast, because here he comes.”

T.K. whips around (another wince as pain shoots through his face) to see his fiancé walking toward him. And he does not look happy.

“Hey babe,” T.K. says faintly.

“Hey,” Carlos says, that sort of blandly pleasant look on his face that means he’s trying to hide what he’s really feeling. “Anything interesting happen at work so far today?”

“We’re just gonna go be…not here,” Nancy says as the crew all gets up and makes a hasty exit from the kitchen.

“I was going to call you,” T.K. tells him.

“Mhm,” Carlos says, stepping closer and catching T.K.’s chin in his hand, eyes searching the already purpling bruise on his face. 

“I was,” T.K. says. “I just hadn’t had the chance yet. How did you even find out?”

“You filed an assault charge,” Carlos tells him. “Word spreads fast. Especially when it’s you.”

T.K.’s eyebrows pinch together. “What does that mean?”

“It means my colleagues are good people who keep me in the loop on what happens around here,” Carlos says. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Guy was unconscious in the back of the rig,” T.K. says. “Looked like a botched organ transplant.”

Carlos wrinkles his nose. “Botched?”

“Like not done in a hospital,” T.K. clarifies and the disgusted look on Carlos’ face intensifies. “One second he was out, the next I was on the floor.”

“Did you black out?”

“Like five seconds. Barely counts.” T.K. adds the second part quickly, keeping his eyes carefully on Carlos’, searching for his thoughts.

Carlos huffs out a frustrated laugh, brushing his fingers gently over the puffiness under T.K.’s eye. “What am I going to do with you? How did I end up marrying someone who thinks five seconds of unconsciousness barely counts? And worse, how have we gotten to a place where I kind of agree with you?”

“Sorry?” T.K. offers up weakly.

Carlos pats the edge of the counter. “Sit.”

T.K. obediently hops up onto the edge as Carlos turns and opens the freezer, searching for an ice pack. “Tommy checked you out?” he asks.

“Tommy. Nancy. A nurse at the hospital.” T.K. sucks in a sharp breath as Carlos gently presses the frozen ice pack to his face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “No concussion? No fractures?”

“No,” T.K. tells him. “It’s just superficial bruising.”

“You look worse than you did after the bar brawl. And that was two against one.”

“Nooo, don’t say that,” T.K. whines. “My uncle’s going to think I’m some kind of ruffian delinquent.”

“No he won’t,” Carlos assures him. “Two seconds with you and he’s going to know you’re a marshmallow, not the brawler you were pretending to be when we met.”

“That wasn’t pretend,” T.K. says defensively. “I can hold my own.”

“Mhm, sure you can,” Carlos says fondly, running his free hand through T.K.’s hair.

“Seriously though, do you think he’s going to think my dad raised a bad kid? I don’t want him to think that. My dad wants a relationship with him so badly, I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. Maybe we should cancel.”

“Tyler,” Carlos says, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re freaking out. Stop. He’s going to love you. We’ll just tell him the truth.”

“That I got sucker punched by a patient? Great, that makes me sound incompetent at my job.”

“Okay,” Carlos says. “We’ll get you a patch and tell him you’re trying out piracy.”

T.K. pushes away the hand that’s holding the ice pack so he can scowl at his fiancé with two eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Carlos puts the ice pack back on. “Because I truly don’t think it’s going to phase your uncle one bit. He’s got the same genes as your dad. He grew up with your grandfather. I’m sure he understands the Strand family penchant for mayhem.”

T.K. mulls this over for a moment and finds the sense in it. He’s stressed about making a good impression on the only extended family he’s ever gotten the chance to meet. But there’s no fixing this now, and he’s not going to give up the opportunity to learn more about his father’s brother.

He thinks back to how Carlos looked when he walked in. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“No, of course not,” Carlos says. “Concerned, yes. I wish I’d heard it from you rather than from Ruiz back at the station, but all that matters is that you’re okay.”

“It might not be fully gone by the wedding,” T.K. says, pulling a face.

“Oh, well then wedding’s off,” Carlos teases.

T.K. snaps his fingers. “Rats. I knew you were only with me because of my charming good looks.”

Carlos pulls the ice pack back again and winces in sympathy. “God this guy really did a number on you. If I ever find him…” 

“You’ll what?” T.K. asks, a smirk sliding into place. He knows full well that Carlos is all talk, he would never willingly commit violence against another human being, especially not in uniform. “Go on babe. Finish that sentence. Tell me what you’re going to do to my assailant.”

“I’m going to…bring him to justice like he deserves,” Carlos says a little primly.

T.K. rolls his good eye. “Wow. Thank you for avenging me like that. So sexy.”

“I think justice is incredibly sexy,” Carlos says flashing him that cocky smile he uses when he thinks he’s being funny.

It’s adorable. T.K. toys with a button on the front of his uniform. “I really like that I’m marrying someone who will come hold ice on my black eye in the middle of his shift.”

Carlos’ whole body softens in that way it does when T.K.’s words strike the part deep inside of him that never thought he could be desired or cherished or loved. He sets down the ice pack and gently cups T.K.’s face in both of his hands. “The middle of a shift, the middle of the night, the middle of anything. I’m always here for you. I promise.”

T.K. swallows, overwhelmed by the love radiating from those words. “Did you pull that from your vows?”

“No. It’s just the truth,” Carlos says simply. Then he frowns. “Although maybe it should be. That was pretty good, right?”

T.K. snorts. “Yes. It was.”

“Is it safe to come in here?” Nancy asks, poking her head around the corner. “I need girl scout cookies like…bad.”

“Yes, everyone is alive and well,” T.K. tells her as she steps into the room and opens up one of the cabinets.

Carlos’ radio crackles to life, assistance needed at a convenience store. He looks at T.K. who waves toward the door. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at home later.”

Carlos’ eyes swing to Nancy’s. “You’ll take care of him for me?”

She gives him a mock salute, mouth full of Thin Mints. “Procuring bubble wrap as we speak officer.”

He looks back at T.K. and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, then transfers ownership of the ice pack over to him. “Be safe.”

“I always try to be safe.”

Carlos gives him a wry look. “Be safer. Try not to get a matching set, okay?”

“Love you,” T.K. says in response.

“Love you too.”

He watches as Carlos jogs out of the bay, radio in hand as he responds to the dispatcher. “You got a good one T.K.,” Nancy says.

T.K. smiles softly. “I got the best one.”

[bibewilderedandbuck]

how did the homophobic reverend even get into their apartment???? like you know they vetted these people. carlos did a background check on tk's fucking sponsor and you dont think hes gonna do one on the officiant to their wedding??? when two minutes ago he was held hostage by what looks like a nice lil old lady????