#the fun part about obsessive spirals is they can ALWAYS have a next step | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eliemo · 4 years ago

Text

Little Talks

Summary: As Logan starts spending more time with the Duke in an effort to keep him under control, Remus has to come to terms with the fact that the way he treated Logan may have caused lasting damage after all.

TWs: RSD, violent thoughts, strong language, blood mention (it's Remus, what did you expect)

Pairings: Developing friendship. Can be seen as platonic or romantic Intrulogical

Notes: Thank you to @cheshirevalentine for helping me create and edit this. They're amazing and I love them dearly. Their AO3 is here!

Having Logan in his room was… weird.

Remus had known it was going to be happening. Logan had made the offer to stop by Remus’s room and let the Duke bounce his ideas off of someone. He’d let Remus ramble, listen to the flood of intrusive thoughts and gory, outrageous ideas, all so that Thomas wouldn’t have to.

Remus had cheerfully referred to Logic as his “test subject” the first time he’d come in, laughing outright at the way Logan’s face had screwed up in indignation.

He didn’t really plan on actually doing anything to Logan, despite the incredibly dangerous position the light side had put himself into. He mostly just talked, reciting each and every thought that came to his head in detail, watching to see if he could get an entertaining reaction out of the ever-stoic Logan Sanders.

It didn’t really work. Logan was stupidly boring with his stuffy clothes and perfect schedule and condescending eyebrow raises. He didn’t say much the first few times he stopped by, their “talks” only lasting ten-to-fifteen minutes at most, but after a week he seemed to warm up to the idea of talking to Remus a little.

He’d ask questions- ask where Remus had gotten an idea, or ask him to expand on a particularly disturbing thought- and while Remus didn’t always have an answer, it was nice to not be completely shoved aside and ignored for once. Besides, Remus always thought of the best answers to those sorts of things on the spot. He liked the challenge of having to think on his feet.

It was still weird, though. But Logan kept showing up, day after day, and Remus could almost pretend he wasn’t the only one enjoying their talks.

He knew that Logan didn’t want to be here, of course. Their meetings were on his calendar, so it was obviously an obligation. He was doing it so Thomas could get some sleep, and Remus could be a little less of a burden. Of course.

Remus had only only expected it to last a few days, if he was honest. A week at most. He knew he was a lot to deal with, especially alone, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until Logan decided it was all too much and forgot all about their little “arrangement”.

But Logan came back the next week, and the week after that, and soon fifteen minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, and some days he even stayed almost a whole hour.

Remus found he actually felt a little less agitated after Logan left, his head just a tiny bit more quiet. Tormenting Thomas was the closest thing he’d ever had to talking things out, and it was a little discouraging when the reactions were either horrified screams, insults, or pretending he didn’t exist.

Logan actually listened. He listened and engaged.

Remus loved Janus. And Deceit did what he could, but he didn’t have the same tolerance as Logan did for some of the gross things Remus came up with.

Maybe Logic would be open to dissecting something with him sometime…?

He should have known it wouldn’t last. Nobody stuck around Remus very long. He always did something to fuck it up.

He really should have known the way he’d treated Logan when he’d first made his appearance would be a problem. Logic separated himself from the Imagination, the side grounded deeply in reality, but a lack of lasting damage didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

Remus had still hurt Logan to prove a point. And then had promptly moved on and forgotten about it until the next time it was brought up. Sometimes object permanence- or lack thereof- was a pain in the ass.

Remus had been ranting as usual, pacing around his room while Logan watched from the chair. He honestly couldn’t even remember what he was talking about, his mouth moving without much thought as it tended to do.

Whatever it was, he’d gotten worked up and excited, pacing the room, waving and flapping his arms as he talked, smile bright and mischievous and he whirled back to face Logan and-

And Logan flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands clutched the arm of his chair, shoulders hunched protectively.

It only lasted a second, Logan quickly pulling himself together and compulsively smoothing his tie once again. He seemed to do that when he was trying to pretend he was collected, Remus had noticed. His shoulders uncurled as he leaned forward again, but he wouldn’t quite look Remus in the eyes.

“Continue,” Logan said, when he realized Remus had stopped talking. “You were rambling about...something objectively disgusting.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.” Remus said, crossing his arms and ignoring the stupid, pointless hurt that blossomed in his chest when Logan couldn’t even recall what Remus had been saying. “I saw that.”

Logan blinked, staring at the Duke blankly. “Saw what?”

“You flinched.”

Logan scoffed, adjusting his glasses to avoid meeting Remus’s eyes. Again. “I did no such thing.”

“No, you did. I saw it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said, jumping right back into that emotionless facade he was so obsessed with. “Are you going to continue?”

Remus couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about, his head flooded with images of Logan flinching away, eyes wide in terror, scrambling to get away.

Logan with a throwing star embedded in his forehead, with his mouth full of blood, crimson dripping down his forehead and chin, seeping into his pristine clothes and staining his tie. The thoughts seemed to dip into that spiral they always went down, swirling down the metaphorical drain pipe into his metaphorical pit-of-sewage excuse for a brain.

“No,” Remus said, shaking the thoughts away for the moment. Like stirring the cesspool a little so all the muck settled to the bottom. Metaphorically. “I’m good.”

Logan sighed, and Remus stepped away as the logical side stood up from his chair. “Then we’re done for the day.”

“Bye then.”

If there was one thing Remus was good at, it was pretending not to be bothered by the little things, by the way everyone perceived him. He was a terror and a burden, and he enjoyed it. It was funny! He didn’t care if he was liked, intrusive thoughts were never liked.

Remus flopped down on his bed, watching Logan’s back as he left. He was moving quickly, almost panicked, slipping out the door and closing it shut behind him.

Remus didn’t care if the stupid light sides liked him. He never had. But Logan… Logan was scared. Of him.

Scaring people was never the goal. Making Logan flinch like Remus was going to hurt him was never the goal.

Logan would deny it to his grave, of course. He was stupidly stubborn like that, somehow more stubborn than even Remus at times.

He’d insist that Logic had never felt a revolting feeling like fear in his life. He had no feelings on the matter, and Remus couldn’t frighten him because Logan had no feelings at all. Not enjoyment, not dislike, and not fear. Remus was another obligation on his schedule. Something to attend to. Nothing more.

And while Remus knew all of that was true… he also knew Logan was full of shit. He had feelings. His feelings might even be stronger than Patton’s or Roman’s. (Though it was doubtful. Weepy bitches they were- far too emotional for Remus’s tastes.)

And he was afraid of Remus. He’d made that perfectly clear today.

He… didn’t know how to fix that. His job wasn’t to fix problems. He made the problems. It’s better to start now than to never start at all, he supposed.

Well, obviously he had to start by finding a new coping mechanism. Logan was helpful, and possibly the healthiest outlet Remus had ever had, but he wouldn’t force someone who was terrified of him to come sit in his room and listen to him talk about guts and gore for an hour. He would have to find something to do in place of their talks.

A part of him doubted Logan would even come back again. Remus had caught him flinching, and with Remus’s reputation he wouldn’t be surprised if Logan assumed he would use the fear to his advantage.

And yeah, maybe under different circumstances he would have. Scaring people was fun but… not like this.

But that was fine, he could readjust to being alone. He’d done it before. He could lock himself in the Imagination, annoy Janus until he finally snapped and drove him away, maybe even pay Thomas another visit if he really got desperate.

He wasn’t disappointed. He’d gone his whole life without Logan’s company, he had no reason to miss it. It wasn’t fair to miss something he had barely begun to get used to. Logan was annoying and boring and stuck up, and Remus didn’t know why he enjoyed his company in the first place.

Not that he enjoyed it. He didn’t. He didn’t care.

He spent all night feeding himself those repeating lies, preparing to entertain himself all on his own tomorrow, so he was almost more annoyed than surprised when Logan walked right into his room the next day, same time as always.

Remus sat up in bed, watching in disbelief as Logan made his way to the chair and set his notebook on the table, settling in like nothing had changed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Logan looked up at him, hands folded neatly in his lap. “I said I would make an effort to see you everyday. I put it in my schedule. If I’m not going to be able to make it, I will inform you the day before.”

“Oh,” Remus said, not bothering to move from the bed. “Well, that’s boring and predictable.”

“I prefer to have a schedule rather than do things on a whim. And I’m here now.”

“Yes,” Remus said, shifting to stare blankly at the wall beside Logan’s head. He bet he could spit that far if he really tried. “You are.”

There was a beat of silence that didn’t often exist in Remus’s room. Usually he would start talking right away about whatever late night thoughts he’d been plagued with, chatting on excitedly until Logan cut in to add something dumb and nerdy.

Remus didn’t plan on breaking the silence this time, choosing to sit and quietly dwell on his thoughts on his own, smirking at the utterly baffled look on Logan’s face.

Logan cleared his throat, frowning slightly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Lot’s of things!”

“Are you going to talk about them?” Logan asked. “That is why I’m here.”

“Nah.” He hated this, hated the way Logan was pretending to care, like he didn’t want to get up right now and run as far away from Remus as possible. Just like everyone else. “Intrusive thoughts aren’t always words, Nerdy Wolverine.”

He saw Logan shift uncomfortably, eyes darting briefly to the door, and Remus realized that might not have been the best way to phrase things.

“Ah,” Logan said, sitting back like he wasn’t terrified. “You can always show me instead. That is what I’m here for.”

“I’m good,” Remus said, doing his best to sound uncaring. “It’s gross.”

“Yes, I’m aware it probably is.” Another beat of silence and Logan sighed, standing from his chair. “Remus. The point of me being here is to keep Thomas’s intrusive thoughts under control. We’ve discussed this.”

And Remus knew Logan didn’t actually enjoy Remus’s company, he’d known that from the beginning, but it still hurt to hear. It hurt something fierce, a deep, sharp slash in his chest that he would swear he could feel, that he was just something to “keep under control”.

He pushed the feeling down, flashing Logan a toothy grin that he knew looked ridiculously fake. “Okay.”

Logan sighed again, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Remus wondered if he could frustrate Logic into storming out. “I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You do,” Logan argued, like he had any idea. “Surely talking to someone is better than being alone with your thoughts,”

Remus scowled, shoving himself off the bed and stalking past Logan, moving towards one of the various piles of rubble and bones scattered around his room. He bet Logan hated how cluttered it was in here.

“At least my thoughts don’t pretend to care about me.”

Remus kicked idly at something that looked a bit like a spine, staring blankly at the floor as he let his words settle.

“What?” Logan sounded genuinely confused for the first time. “What does that mean?”

“Hm?” Remus glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “What did I say?”

Logan stepped forward, shoes clicking against the floor, echoing against the now silent room. “I do not understand why you’re suddenly being difficult.”

“Suddenly?”

“Yes, suddenly,” Logan said, and Remus turned away again with an eye roll. “We had an arrangement.”

“Did we?”

“Yes.” Logan touched his arm, and Remus yanked away so fast he thought he might have pulled something. “This is beneficial for everyone.”

“Right,” Remus scoffed. “For everyone.”

Logan actually had the audacity to look taken aback, brow drawing in further confusion. “Yes? You have an outlet, and Thomas gets a break.”

“I don’t need it. I can bash skulls in the Imagination.”

“Which is significantly more unhealthy.”

Remus shrugged, kicking another bone until it slammed into the wall. “It’s easy and fun.”

“We were doing fine,” Logan said, trying to move around him so Remus would meet his gaze. “I thought coming in to talk to you was helping.”

“You don’t care,” Remus snapped. “And you don’t want to listen.”

“I want to,” Logan said. “That is why I’m here.”

“Right.”

“I am incredibly busy, Remus,” Logan said, and Remus felt like he was being lectured. “I would not be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“Then get gone!” Remus spun around gesturing to the door. “Just fucking leave already!”

“I think I’d prefer to stay.”

“You said you’re busy,” Remus snarled. “If you’re so busy you don’t need to carve out time for me.”

“I chose to.”

“Thomas can live with intrusive thoughts,” Remus said. “He’ll be fine. Patton and Virgil will ease up eventually. You should be focused on them.”

“I have been.” Logan was still staring at him, and at this point Remus was considering storming out of his own room. “I have time for you.”

“I thought you were busy,” Remus argued, back to being difficult on purpose. “Which is it? Are you busy or do you have time?”

Logan sighed, and now Remus felt like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’ve made time. I’m making time for you.”

“Right.”

“I don’t understand what changed,” Logan said. “I thought you were getting some enjoyment out of our talks.”

“Yeah, I was,” Remus admitted because despite everything, that was the truth. “But you aren’t.”

It took a moment for Logan to respond, no less confused than before. “I am perfectly content.”

“Yeah?” Remus finally turned around to face him, looking the logical side right in the eyes. “Then why did you flinch?”

Logan blinked, shoulders tense, a mix of panic and understanding flickering in his eyes. “I...did not flinch.”

“Yes, you did. Don’t lie.”

It was Logan’s turn to scoff, like Remus was being ridiculous and dramatic. And he often was, but he was serious this time. “I don’t see how one involuntary movement has become such a big deal.”

Remus didn’t look away, even as Logan’s eyes began to wander. “You’re afraid of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said. “I do not feel fear.”

“Yes you do.” Remus stepped closer, taking in the way Logan’s jaw clenched. “You have feelings.”

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”

“You’re figuratively jumping to conclusions,” Logan said, quickly changing the subject. “I am perfectly content spending time with you.”

“I’m not jumping to anything,” Remus said. “You’re scared.”

Logan rolled his eyes, hands lifting to brush over his tie before crossing his arms across his chest. Compulsory comfort action.

“You think you saw me flinch once and now you believe that I’m afraid of you, when there is no logical reason to be. You cannot cause any lasting damage to me, so I—”

Remus lifted a hand without warning, fast and sudden like he was going to strike Logan, keeping it frozen in the air as he took in the reaction before him.

Logan flinched back as soon as Remus moved, his own hands moving to protect his face, eyes glued to Remus’s raised arm, widening in genuine fear and shock.

Remus sighed, slowly lowering his hand as he watched Logan struggle to compose himself. “You’re afraid of me.”

“No,” Logan still had the audacity to argue. “I am not.”

“You flinched.”

Logan fixed his tie again. Remus knew it was some kind of nervous tic. “You startled me.”

“I lifted my hand.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “Unexpectedly.”

Remus sighed and stepped back out of Logan’s space, too tired to keep arguing.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He winced at his own words, images flashing in his mind of Logan stumbling backwards with wide eyes, of Logan covered in blood, of Patton screaming. “Not again, anyway.”

“Well,” Logan said, carefully clearing his throat. “You can understand that I wasn’t exactly…sure. That does not mean I dislike you. Or that I’m frightened of you.”

Remus found himself looking at his shoes, trying and failing to get images of Logan hurt, Logan dying, out of his stupid cesspool sewage pipe head.

He wondered if this was what guilt felt like. If it was, maybe he should start being nicer to Patton. This sucked dick and balls.

“I won’t.”

“And I appreciate that,” Logan said. “But you could not cause any lasting damage to me anyway.”

“So? It still, like… hurt you. I’m not gonna do it again.”

“Well then, I have no reason to be afraid.” Logan straightened, smiling at Remus like that had just solved everything. “Which I wasn’t in the first place.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed. “You flinched.”

“Yes I did,” Logan admitted. “I apologize for that. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

Remus didn’t move, staring at Logan in disbelief, at a loss for words for the first time in his life. He hoped the exhaustion on his face resembled a glare at least a little bit.

“I don’t… understand,” Logan said, and Remus couldn't even stay mad at him. “Was an apology not what you wanted?”

“No, Logan. I don’t want anything.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, brow furrowed, and Remus could practically see the gears turning as he looked Remus over. “You’re still upset.”

“Why’re you still here?” Remus finally demanded, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “If you’re afraid of me why don’t you just leave?”

Logan blinked, seemingly unfazed. “Because I enjoy talking to you.”

Logic may as well have just punched him right in the chest, the air leaving his lungs in a rush as he took a step back, choking out a shocked laugh. “That can’t be it.”

Logan frowned. “Why not?”

“Nobody enjoys talking to me.”

“Well,” Logan said slowly, and it was like Remus could see some of his walls coming down. “If it helps, no one particularly enjoys talking to me, either.”

Remus wasn’t entirely convinced that was true, but he figured he wasn’t the right one to give Logan a talk on self esteem.

“I like talking to you,” he said instead. “I just think you’re kinda stuffy.”

“I enjoy talking to you as well,” Logan said, and it really did sound like he meant it. “I would just prefer if your more violent thoughts were not physically manifested.”

“Oh.” Remus swallowed, absolutely refusing to show Logic how much this meant to him. He wasn’t going to cry. “Yeah, I can...do that. Sure.”

“Then I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” Logan said, right back to the stiff, professional persona Remus was learning to see right through. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Remus nodded, and realized he was actually starting to believe him this time. “Yeah. Ok. That’s good.”

Logan stepped back out of Remus’s space and Remus quickly did the same, the two of them standing on opposite sides of the Duke’s now painfully silent bedroom.

“I can leave,” Logan said after a moment. “If you’d still like me to.”

Remus hesitated, fighting to keep acting like he didn’t care. “Do you want to leave?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said, and Remus hadn’t expected to feel so relieved. “But it’s your room. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not.” Remus moved back to his bed, dropping himself unceremoniously onto his back. “Don’t leave if you don’t want to. I don’t care.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Logan pulled up his usual chair, leaning back comfortably as he picked his notebook back up and began flipping idly through it. He looked content and relaxed when Remus risked a glance in his direction, and he smiled to himself.

“You can talk if you like,” Logan said, glancing up from the pages. “I’m listening.”

Remus did eventually start talking, dumping his latest ideas on Logan like he usually did, diving into last night’s fantasy of setting an office building on fire in the middle of the week.

Logan had added on, and Remus had listened intently as he’d recited statistics and calculations, the likelihood of survival, and the two of them eventually decided it would be a waste of time, the fire likely to be put out before even causing any real damage to the building.

That was a talent Logan had. He could get Remus to let go of a thought that typically wouldn’t have left him alone for weeks.

It wasn’t until Logan had stood up to leave for dinner, promising he’d be back at the same time tomorrow, that Remus realized Logan had stayed twice as long as he usually did.

Huh.

Weird.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #platonic intrulogical #intrulogical #hurt/comfort #ts remus #ts logan #blood mention tw #violence mention tw #fanfiction #writing

246 notes · View notes

moonbeamsung · 4 years ago

Text

Serendipitous Synergy

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

“What? Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee.”

member: haechan

au: dance partner and rival!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: angst, suggestive, fluff

warnings: talk of insecurities and thoughts of self-doubt, a house party, stubborn reader, smug haechan, mentions of ‘sexual tension’ in the context of a dance, kissing, slight innuendos

author’s note: As a dancer myself, this idea came to me after we learned the choreography for Thriller in class one day! And yes I know Halloween was weeks ago but shhh. It’s my first time writing an enemies to lovers au, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback about things I can improve on in the future. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

network tags: @neo-constellations

“...You’ll be partnered with Haechan.”

The words of your instructor seem to swallow up the dance studio you’re standing in, echoing off of the walls with a piercing sound that makes your ears ache, your gut twist, and your blood boil.

This could not be happening.

Said boy seems just as averse to the idea as you are, the corners of his mouth downturned in displeasure.

Your teacher, however, continues to rattle off the rest of the pairs, some of them a little surprising but none nearly as unexpected as the two of you being put together.

Eyes narrowed and gazes sharp as daggers, both you and Haechan turn to stare each other down.

The standoff makes everyone else in the studio uneasy, and though the other dancers aren’t unaccustomed to your endless rivalry, they fear the potential hostility of your reactions. But to their astonishment, it never escalates beyond these stinging glares directed at one another. You’re surprisingly professional about it on the outside, not letting a single swear word slip out from between your lips, while he bites back a snarky insult.

On the inside, though, you’re a mess.

Haechan has been somewhat of an enemy of yours for as long as you can remember, though by no fault of his own. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, ever since you were both young students struggling to find your footing in the artistic world, he’s always been better than you. At everything.

If you managed to nail a double pirouette, he’d step right up and do a third like it was nothing. You finally got your split? He’s already had it for a month, at least. It just wasn’t fair. You both had started dancing at the same age, at the same time, with the same amount of experience: zero.

In all honesty, Haechan had done nothing wrong. The combination of poor timing and better luck had worked against him all those years ago to brew these bitter feelings inside of your heart, rising to the surface whenever you would set foot inside the familiar studio.

These constant sentiments of inferiority took their toll on you, making you fear being compared to him above anything else. It was childish, but you couldn’t stand to be reminded of feeling completely and utterly incompetent next to him. Whenever you performed, you were grateful for the large amount of other dancers occupying the stage, leaving little opportunity for the two of you to be noticed in conjunction with one another.

Now that it’s going to be just the two of you under the bright beams of light cascading down from the rafters, dancing in close proximity, this worry is at the forefront of your mind.

You would do anything to be able to go back to your first year at the studio, when you were young enough to recognize that his skills seemed to outweigh yours, but as a carefree child you remained largely unbothered by this fact. As you got older, it was like a switch inside of you flipped and made you extra aware of each and every thing that you did. Perhaps it was the heightened self-consciousness that puberty brought combined with the already stressful lifestyle of a dancer, but something changed one day, and it was all you could think about when you saw him.

Your internal doubts always translated into being eerily quiet during practice, asking a question to clarify the movements only when it was absolutely necessary. Even your teacher noticed a shift in how you danced. Your gestures and steps lacked their usual precision, and all the confidence you had built up for so long vanished into thin air.

Not sure how to interpret your sudden silence, Haechan took it upon himself to get a word out of you in whatever way that he could, with comments and jokes and even the occasional compliment on your technique. It hardly helped, though. In fact, your constant failure to respond to his attempts created a sort of resentment in him as well, one not generated by envy or insecurity, but simply by confusion and frustration.

During practice one afternoon, you had become so fed up with him trying to talk to you that you lashed out, pushing him away with surprising strength. “Just leave me alone!” You had shouted at Haechan, but you instantly regretted it when you saw the way his eyes welled up with shiny tears, full of hurt after his genuinely good intentions had been totally rejected by their unwilling recipient. Your guilt, however, failed to overpower your stubbornness.

This sent Haechan into his own spiral of the silent treatment before he started to channel his feelings into a similar bitterness. From that day forth, you each became the other’s arch-enemy, challenging one another in any way that you possibly could inside the studio and on the stage. Your instructor, choreographers, and fellow students quickly became tired of the implicit competition that always existed between you, but what on earth could they do to stop it?

At the present moment, they’re contemplating this exact idea, along with just why your teacher thought pairing you with each other would be a good idea. She had done it with the intention of putting a long overdue partnership into action and hopefully eliminating your immature rivalry. Selfishly, she’s also very eager to see how your mutual contempt translates into movement, inwardly predicting that the tension levels will be off the charts.

Not long after, you’re dismissed from practice for the day, but not without a warning look from Haechan. Against your better judgment, you join him by the doorway once everyone else has filed out of the studio.

He clearly called you over for a reason, but you cut him off without even waiting for him to speak.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

Oh, so this is how you’re acting? Two can play at that game.

“What?” He snickers, “Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee,” you scoff, already tired of his taunting attitude.

“Anyway,” his voice is stern before doing a complete 180, now a bit more gentle, “If we’re going to be dancing together for the next few weeks, we might as well be on speaking terms, don’t you think?” The expression Haechan wears on his face is the softest you’ve seen it in a long time, which is definitely saying something.

“I suppose.” Answer short and tone abrasive, you huff a lousy excuse for a goodbye before marching out and into the hallway, but he’s faster than you. You spin around to shrug off his hand from your shoulder, and it gives him the chance to tell you one last thing.

“Look, if you’re going to be like that, it’s not going to make working together any easier. We’re not little kids anymore. You can go back to hating me once this is all over, but can we at least try to put our differences aside and just cooperate for once?”

You nearly split your lip as you bite down on it, holding back a burst of aggravation at the situation you’ve been put in. “Fine.”

You have no idea how you’re going to get through all the practices and all the shows while simultaneously dealing with the boy, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to prove that you are just as skilled, and just as talented a dancer as he is.

The next time you see him is two days later, at your first rehearsal for this dance. Your studio has always had a Halloween-themed showcase, but it wasn’t until this year that you were old enough to finally be cast in a more exclusive number. The fact that you’re no longer a part of the large group routine, always performed to the same upbeat tune and with the same easy steps, is one of the few silver linings that your duet with Haechan presents.

Faces lined with fatigue and eyes still heavy with sleep, you both arrive at the studio in the morning, duffel bags in hand, the comfy slides on your feet dragging across the hallway carpet with every step. Loud music blares from inside the room, brightly lit despite the early hour. Beside you, Haechan instantly recognizes the tune to be Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and perks up a little at the sound. Too tired to poke fun at his near obsession with the singer, you let his little celebration of the choreographer’s song choice slide.

It’s not your usual instructor that’s going to be teaching you the movements to go along with the piece, which means you have the added challenge of adapting to a different set of preferences, expectations, and choreographing style.

It’s certainly a dance that’s unlike any you’ve ever learned before.

The rehearsal starts off well, and both of you quickly catch on to the basic steps that are somewhat like those of a waltz, except they have a more sinister feel to them in order to match the spooky time of year. Facing each other but standing on opposite sides of the room, you step forward, to the side, to the back and then to the side again. On each accented beat you throw your heads back sharply, mimicking the way the neck of an inhuman creature might snap under any sort of force.

In the next section of choreography, your gazes are supposed to meet once you tilt your heads downward, slowly this time, but it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with Haechan for more than a few seconds. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even hesitate to stalk towards you in this part of the dance, which calls for you to circle each other like a hungry predator and its timid prey. Maybe it’s the animalistic glint in his irises that throws off your balance and makes you stumble when you see it. Or maybe it’s the fact that your rivalry with him has been entirely disregarded at the moment, brain focused solely on absorbing all of the new information and ingraining the movements into your muscle memory, nothing else.

What frightens you even more than the things that go bump in the night is that all those years you spent... well, not hating, but strongly disliking him could go to waste. It usually takes a lot of time for you to get over things like this, and in a way, you feel like you would be disappointing yourself if you let all of the agonizing feelings of self-doubt go, just like that.

These thoughts swirl around in your mind as you listen to the choreographer’s next words.

“Okay, put your hand here.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, now you’re going to drag it across him, from there to there,” she directs you with a finger, “And then he’s going to pick you up in a scissor lift.”

You’ve never done one of those before, but with some helpful guidance, you begin to have a small bit of faith in yourself that you’re capable of pulling it off. The music starts and you go from the top all the way to the part you were just taught, taking a deep breath in preparation for what’s about to happen.

Just like you had been instructed moments ago, you step very close to Haechan, right behind him, actually, and place one hand on his shoulder as you trail the other across the front of his chest, fingernails scratching the skin underneath through the flimsy t-shirt he’s wearing. You step around to stand in front of him and continue the motion, peering at him with a hesitance that melts away and into an assertive gaze once you see the apprehension in his own eyes. His skin crawls a little, not out of fear but an odd satisfaction and excitement at the feeling of you so near and the sight of your eyes bright with so much determination and dominance, lingering touch tracing the base of his neck and stimulating his nerves from head to toe.

You yelp slightly at what he does next even though you knew it was coming, your self-assured exterior evaporating only moments after it appeared. Haechan turns around and sweeps you off of your feet to hold you in his arms. In the blink of an eye, he helps you hook one of your knees behind his head as he tosses you into the air with seemingly no effort whatsoever, flipping you around to face the other way and catching you immediately after. The complicated lift makes your heart leap to the front of your throat with exhilaration, and you mentally applaud yourself for succeeding on the first try.

Haechan finds it odd that you were so willing to do this lift in the first place, since trust is a key component of partner work in dance. He can’t explain it, and neither can you, quite honestly. A small part of him, however, is glad you didn’t object to the prospect of him being directly responsible for your safety for even the most instantaneous of moments.

“Alright, so for this next part, I’m sure you’re aware of that fact that Michael Jackson was famous for his pelvic—”

Okay, that’s enough, you’ve heard enough. Tuning out the conversation and whirling around to face away from the floor-to-ceiling mirror, you twiddle your thumbs while the choreographer teaches Haechan one of the iconic dance steps in Thriller, and your evident shyness at her unabashed explanation makes him smirk. Thankfully, she has a different set of movements prepared for you.

Since when are you ever shy around him, though?

You still can’t bring yourself to watch your reflections in the glass when you practice the new part together, since he gets so into the provocative motions. His eyes seem to taunt you with the smugness they hold, and you hate the way he’s testing you. You can’t stand it, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand those eyes for all the times they send a shiver down your spine, for all the times they come alive with a beast-like glow. Those eyes can go from soft and sympathetic at times, although the moments are rare, to something else entirely. His mocking stares make your stomach turn, reminding you of why you’ve felt this way about him for so long.

But you’re scared that a new and different feeling is developing inside of you, one that’s telling you he’s not so bad, that you should give him a chance. Haechan has noticed a similar one within himself, and he begins to regret the way he immaturely perpetuated your own resentment for so long.

Even if you do end up making amends eventually, he’s not sure he’ll be willing to abandon all of the playful glances and teasing remarks with flirtatious undertones he sends your way. Do you even notice these things? If your periodic blushing is any indication, then the answer is most definitely yes.

You spend another couple of hours under the choreographer’s direction, stopping only when you had been taught each and every step from the piece’s beginning until the end. Though a Halloween-inspired performance, there’s a surprisingly large amount of eerily romantic undertones within it. You don’t have enough fingers to count the number of times you ultimately caress some part of the other’s body in a forbidding manner, with locked eyes and threatening, fiery glares.

The two of you also have a second but more simple lift, in which you jump and Haechan catches you by the legs to pull your torso against his, while you cling to him tightly like a koala. He supports your weight fully, and never once does the possibility of falling cross your mind. It’s strange how your body is so trusting of him, much more so than your mind.

Towards the end of the song, the lyrics mention something about cuddling close together, the timing of your movements intentionally mirroring the words. Haechan walks in a circle, still carrying you in his arms, and unlike when you’re standing on your own two feet, he actually has to look up slightly to meet your gaze with his own. Something doesn’t feel quite right, though, both of you sensing that you should be putting more effort into the eye contact between you right now.

“No, no, no! Stop for a second.” Your choreographer looks frustrated.

“You have to look at each other like you really mean it,” she corrects. “Just imagine that you’re two lovers on Halloween night, clinging to each other for dear life as you’re being surrounded by every kind of monster imaginable.” Even Haechan flushes a deep red at the descriptive picture she paints in your minds, hoping to inspire you. “Try again, please.”

Putting every necessary emotion into your expressions, you both stare each other down as he lifts you up again, this time with a never-before-seen passion burning in your eyes that could only be described as crazed, lustful desire.

Haechan has always admired your skills, although internally these days, ever since he met you, especially your ability to easily adapt to the message or tone of a piece. Happiness, sadness, anger, whatever your instructor asked of you, you could embody the exact feeling on your face, not to mention in the way that you moved to the beat. Out of all of the scenarios your choreographer could have illustrated, this one is something he never would have expected you to be so ready for. He’s taken aback by how smoothly your facial expression transitions from sheepish to seductive in no time flat.

You wish you could say that you’re not flustered by how well he matches the look in your eyes with his own tantalizing gaze, but alas, that’s not the case.

It’s undoubtedly a dance with a more mature theme than either of you are used to, but you’re both such naturals at it that she compliments you once Haechan sets you back on the ground.

“That’s exactly what I want to see! Keep it up, you two. Are you sure you’ve never been in a piece with any sexual tension before?”

You’re glad you hadn’t quite taken a sip from your water bottle yet, because you definitely would’ve spit it out from pure shock and embarrassment at the bluntness of her remark. Haechan was not so lucky.

The two of you run through the dance almost endlessly, and by the end of your rehearsal your legs are threatening to give out at any moment. “Last time,” she alerts you, “And then you’re done for the day.”

A chorus of some minor corrections but mostly proud affirmations meets your ears as you practice the piece for the final time. “Other foot, Haechan... Strong arms! Good... And lift! That’s it...”

About to collapse from exhaustion and grimacing at the disgusting feeling of sweat on every inch of your skin, both of you thank the choreographer once she dismisses you.

“You two did a great job today, now go home and rest. You worked hard.”

Fishing your car keys out of your bag, you hear her packing up her things inside the studio before she exits the room and strides into the hallway, flipping the light switch and shutting the door behind her. “I’m going to recommend to your teacher that she should partner you up more often. I was really surprised by how well you collaborated.” She chuckles a little, “And to think she told me that you might not get along.”

Exchanging questioning looks, you both nod and smile at her before she makes her way down the hallway, leaving the building through the staff door.

“What was that all about?”

“No idea,” you reply to Haechan with nervousness in your voice, not sure if this is the right time to apologize for several years’ worth of constantly being at each other’s throats.

The moment passes before you can make a decision, and Haechan bids you farewell with a “See you around” over his shoulder. You can’t get the choreographer’s comment out of your mind as you drive home.

But she’s right: your chemistry with each other is unbelievable. Each time you practice this dance in front of them, the rest of your friends stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed at how you move in perfect unison, leaping and turning and touching at all the right moments. Your instructor is sure her jaw is on the floor. Sure, she was expecting something powerful, something fierce, but nothing like this.

The weeks leading up to the Halloween showcase are hectic, as they always are, filled with the rush of adrenaline and last-minute preparations being made, ensuring that everything would be ready for those long nights spent on waiting behind the curtains, moving amidst the stage fog, and dancing below the bright spotlights.

You think you’ve spoken to Haechan more in the past 4 days than you have in the past 4 years. He doesn’t know if it’s just his imagination, but it seems like you’ve gotten more comfortable performing with him as time has gone by. Maybe he should be paying more attention to the steps instead of the way you lean further into him as he clutches your form in his strong arms, torsos pressing into one another and the crevices of your bodies aligning with ease. Maybe he shouldn’t get distracted by the closeness of your lips to his forehead, by the distance that always seems to decrease each time you run through the dance. One day he’s sure he’ll feel their delicate curve against his skin, or maybe they’ll slip down a little to be more level with his. Either way, Haechan isn’t complaining.

The rehearsals that spill over from their scheduled time slots into the late hours of the night leave everyone in the show drowsy after the intense quantities of repeated exertion, running piece after piece over and over again until just standing up is a feat within itself.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s the day of the first show. Costumes have been tailored, makeup has been applied and hair has been done up with an ungodly amount of products and pins.

It can’t be much longer until it’s your turn to perform, so you’re not sure why you find yourself grabbing Haechan by the sleeve of his intentionally tattered shirt, meant to look like that of a zombie, and pulling him into a dark, secluded corner of the backstage area.

“We’re on in 5, what are y—”

“Can I apologize?”

He blinks a few times, processing the word he never thought he would hear leave your lips.

“For... huh?”

“Everything.” You’re thankful that the lighting is minimal back here, concealing the glistening water drops that are beginning to gather at the rims of your eyes.

Voice nearly breaking, you can’t articulate why it feels like the right time to say all of this. But here you are.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for so many years of unexplained anger and outbursts towards you, I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so immature even after all this time. I’m sorry for blaming you and making excuses to justify my actions and my feelings, I—”

You have more that you want to say but the words are no longer coming out, and maybe it’s because your throat feels like it’s burning from all of the emotion it just conveyed in the span of just a few seconds. Maybe it’s because you’ve somehow lost your voice even though you hadn’t been speaking above a whisper. But the most probable cause of them all, is this: maybe it’s because you’ve been rendered speechless by Haechan’s own apology that he delivers by messily crashing his mouth into yours, any further thoughts melting away against his soft lips.

For once, you don’t mind being cut off by him if it’s like this.

His heart begins to sink when you pull away after only a few seconds, but a small smile graces his features once again as you lean in so that your lips hover next to his ear.

“You better not mess up my makeup, Lee Haechan.”

“Donghyuck, actually.”

“What?” Quizzically, you arch an eyebrow.

“My name. My real name.”

“So why do y—”

“Shh, no time. Kiss now, talk later.”

You can’t argue with that. Not when he’s beholding you with a long-awaited forgiveness and a fondness long-concealed in his eyes. Not when the thrill of a time limit has your brains going a mile a minute, an electric buzz erupting over the expanse of your skin his hands are grasping.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing in the whole world that you know how to do. The setting is far from picturesque, with the tangled technical wires littering the floor at your feet and leftover stage equipment haphazardly leaning against the wall, but neither of you really care. Taking care not to snag the fabric of your costume, his fingers find purchase on your waist and his lips on the dip of your collarbone. At first they dotingly imprint fleeting pecks onto the rise and fall of the skin there, but when their pressure and his haste starts to escalate, you know you have to stop him before he starts something you can’t finish.

“Hyuck!” The abbreviation of his name makes his head snap up, bewildered but pleased.

“You can’t leave marks, I told you...” you trail off. “Hey, why are you smiling like that?”

“Please never call me anything else, ever.”

Donghyuck brings you in for one more kiss, well aware that a stagehand could turn the corner at any given moment. Drinking you in, he captures your lips between his, letting your body press his back into the wall behind him, and a few sharp inhales later, you break apart.

You fix his hair while he adjusts your clothes, and you’re just in time because a technician spots you and urgently gestures towards the stage. “You’re up!”

Positioning yourselves on opposite sides of the large performance space, the lights go down and you hear the rush of air from the heavy curtain opening as it glides past you. The thick artificial smoke partially obscures his form, but you can see his eyes clearly, nearly glowing in the darkness.

As the music starts, slow and quiet at first, you step to the rhythm just like you practiced. When a loud, electronic chord blares, you both pick up speed, launching into that waltz step you first learned many weeks earlier. For the first time ever, you’re able to look into his eyes.

Anyone could see that your movements complement each other effortlessly, but only your teacher picks up on the shift in mood after the countless times she’s seen you perform in the studio. Only she notices the shift in both of your gazes. You look... happy. Focused. Confident.

Donghyuck was able to bring you out of the shell you retreated into so long ago. You don’t feel subordinate as you’re dancing next to him, or being held in his arms. You move as equals, two parts of a whole.

When he picks you up, you can’t help but allow a small smile to stretch your lips. Donghyuck tries to remind you that you’re supposed to have lustful looks in your eyes by narrowing his own at you, but it’s no use. Your slight grin is contagious, and it ends up taking over his face as well.

You finish the piece smoothly, ending in a pose with your backs pressed together and hands clasped. Applause erupts from the audience, and a few cheers come from the rest of the performers waiting in the wings, shielded from the view of the crowd sitting in the seats below.

Needless to say, as you pass other dancers in the halls and receive countless congratulations and compliments, all you can think about is having Donghyuck’s lips on your skin again.

One long heart-to-heart and dozens, no, hundreds of kisses later, all is right with your world. It’s foreign territory to you both, not wanting to pounce on each other at every waking moment. But it’s something you’ll explore together, figuring out how to make up for lost time and just how to go about this newly-repaired relationship.

Exiting the empty dressing room, you take his hand in your own and head backstage once again to watch the rest of the showcase from the side, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm pulling you close.

At the party held for all the members of the show’s cast that night, it’s far too loud for your liking, and there’s no room to properly dance with Donghyuck. Despite you all being professional dancers-in-training, everyone else seems to have reverted to the mindset of your average high school student, thinking that jumping up and down repeatedly qualifies as dancing. You disagree, but whatever. It’s not important.

What is important, however, is the fact that the two of you would much rather escape the suffocating crowd of young adults. You would much rather slip out through the sliding glass door that leads to the house’s backyard, marveling at the fading sunset that melts into a deep blue night sky dotted with splashes of clustered lights. The stars are nature’s spotlights, shining down on you as Donghyuck takes you in his arms, one hand finding yours and the other resting on your side, somewhere between your hips and your waist.

Swaying in the silence with only the noises of the evening as your soundtrack, the boy that you would’ve sworn was the devil incarnate a month ago looks so angelic, so lovable. You can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing out on.

“So, should we start over?”

“Definitely.”

There’s no one else in this world you’d rather dance the night away with.

382 notes · View notes

mrs-nate-humphrey · 4 years ago

Note

i hope this isn't weird but I've decided I like how you interact with this show (not something I can say for a lot of fans) and now I wanna hear what you have to say about Eric and Jenny's friendship. I have this image in my head of the two of them dying her hair pink in a VDW bathroom (Lily thinks they should've gone to a salon but that's no fun). feel free to talk for literally forever I'm actually obsessed with them ~ily

not weird at all! that's really sweet of you to say, actually. whenever i get qns like this, often the first place my mind goes to is fic, so if that's not something you were looking for, feel free to ignore the next 2 paragraphs, lmao.

a lot of my jenny and eric feels are in these fics that i've written: "a remedy for bland sweet potatoes" (sort of like, a fix it but it doesn't fix anything - it's canon compliant and jenny & eric discuss some of the things jenny's done), as well as "the lights that stop me (turn to stone)" which is a post-canon blair/jenny fix-it in some ways, but is also a character study of jenny as a whole & there's a lot of j&e feels in there (jenny and eric are housemates! they look out for each other and defuse derena tension together LKHFKLDHG).

other fics that highlight some great jenny and eric feels (both of these are kinda sad KLHDFKLH) are "withdrawal symptoms" by lunasol28 and and "fell from grace (it left me in this place)" by @vanderwoodlings .

now i’m actually gonna answer your question........ putting it under a read more, ‘cause it got long!

anyway, to answer your question as much as possible - i have a lot of feelings and i'm not sure how best i can do them justice - i have so much to say about jenny & eric. @mysteriesofloves said this thing once about how jenny and eric's friendship sort of parallels blairena friendship, in the sense of like - you love this person so much and no matter how much you hurt each other, you find your way back together, and i think that's extremely true of them both. in a lot of ways, i feel like jenny and eric are each other's most important person - best friend, support system, family, all of that. unlike dan and serena, when jenny & eric find out about rufus and lily they're actually excited to be step siblings which i find incredibly cute.

there's also - i love the fact that during their first meeting eric tells jenny pretty much everything about how he's in the ostroff centre and why he's there, and jenny doesn't judge him or treat him any differently - instead, she shows up at his room later with board games, just to spend time with him. we see things like this at various points, i feel, where jenny & eric's lives are sort of unstable or at a low point in some way and they're both able to just be there for each other without having to do any sort of grand gesture.

there's also definitely, uh... while i see the blairena friendship parallels, i'd make my own danessa friendship parallels. much like dan and vanessa, jenny and eric are incredibly lonely, and also, deeply different. they're not like their peers at st judes/constance! they struggle to make friends, and they have to navigate that. in a lot of ways, the only real friend either of them has is each other, despite the fact that there are instances when they've let each other down or hurt each other.

@nocakesformissedith made a post that i don't have the spoons to find right now - one of her jenny masterposts - that's basically an image of eric and jenny and it's like, "don't ask gay people how we know each other- we know each other from being gay". and i feel like eric and jenny absolutely and totally had that specific intimacy of like. being queer and knowing you're queer and having sat with it for a long fucking time, in high school, when nobody else around you really gets it. to me, my lesbian jenny headcanon explains a lot of the jenny & eric closeness - it's like, when you're young and gay, your One Gay Friend feels like the ONLY person who understands you.... sort of because they are! navigating any form of queerness in high school is terrible, and i'm just glad that they had each other when they did have each other.

it’s so notable to me that like - even though j&e spent so much of s3 at odds/fighting, when jenny’s gone in s4, eric goes through a major downward spiral, with the whole damien thing and everything else. jenny was his anchor! she was the one person who made him feel a little less fucked up about everything, and a little less lonely. and as for jenny with eric - i feel like jenny’s really comfortable and open around eric, and unlike with other people, for the most part, doesn’t try to be someone else around him. part of why eric feels so alienated by jenny’s behaviour in s3 - other than the fact that she was mean to him and jonathan - i feel is just that the way she was behaving with him was fake, and whoever else jenny was fake around, she’d never been like that with eric before. this is more like my interpretation, though, it’s not necessarily stated by canon or anything.

anyway this got depressing!! i do have fun jenny and eric feelings, i promise. i bet they listen to music together and when they’re studying together, they draw in each other’s textbooks. they probably wasted time doing online quizzes together, and there’s definitely a trash tv show that is Their Garbage Show (probably much to dan and serena’s bemused annoyance in the sense of like ‘do you HAVE to quote that again?’). jenny and eric dyeing jenny’s hair together sounds like something they’d do!! (incidentally, in a script of the pilot that didn’t make it, eric had BLUE HAIR. it could’ve been canon and i am so sad that it was not!!! we came so close to getting it. blue haired little eric lives in my head rent free.)

i think jenny and eric’s friendship is so special because it is SO normal, and literally nothing else in their lives is normal (im pretty sure i said this in some way/ form earlier) - in the sense of like. family issues. kids at school being mean. their own mental health being challenging. their lives are so complicated and heavy, both of them often end up needing to be more mature / adult than they actually are (lily comments during e’s 18th that eric has always been so “serious”, and i always think of how JENNY went to hudson and brought alison back because rufus & alison couldn’t resolve their marriage without their 14 year old daughter’s intervention, apparently). so yeah i do think they’d do all those bestie things - like, sleepovers, friendship bracelets, buying matching clothes together, sending each other pictures of things like “should i buy this” - wrong generation, but if they were gen z kids they’d definitely have the biggest snapchat streak ongoing, and not in a performative way - they would genuinely talk to each other THAT much.

also, for your consideration: imagine jenny and eric baking together!!! i think they’d be really serious about it, and they’d also have so much fun.

#anon #jenny humphrey #eric van der woodsen #meta #i guess?#i hope this is a sufficient answer! i have so many feelings abt them #but they're hard to write about LKHFLKHG #fic rec

13 notes · View notes

taglegend · 4 years ago

Photo

Tag Fact #3 - I’ve come to realize I’ve always been a fan artist more than I thought. so here is a timeline of influences that shaped my childhood to now. from nostalgic times, to sad changes, to great loss, to strange rises to fame and phases, to stepping stones and finally a laughing place. all the things that make up your favorite fan artist Tag.

1. Rayman (bumped into this in the year of 1999) was actually the first fandom (with crossovers) I bumped into when I was 9. although the internet wasn’t available at the time it was still fun to dwell in home amusements. I remember the storylines and the OC’s I made but they’re kind of embarrassing and it’s probably a good thing there was no internet. I’ve done fanart and comic crossovers of Rayman with Calvin and Hobbs and Nights Into Dreams, spinoffs of Sonic the Hedgehog OC’s, Yoshi with Pikachu, and the Pokemon/Digimon craze with OC’s and other Nintendo comic shorts. but the drawings and comics are long gone and disappeared in the garage in a backpack due to suspecting my sister’s dad accidentally throwing them away. years later towards the year 2018 (now 28), we decided to move to North Carolina and it was my chance to find them again. unfortunately the backpack was gone just like I suspected (my main stuff), but for some reason I found my Pokemon/Digimon fanart, a good batch of Super Mario drawings (vaguely remember doing these), my sister’s drawings and some other neighborhood kids’ drawings in a dirty box. I was partially happy I found something at least but it was the backpack I wanted the most. sometimes I regret not looking for the backpack (’cause I was too busy being a kid) but it’s alright, noone needs to see that shit anyway, ha ha. anyways, I recall being a fan of Rayman from 1999 ‘til 2002.

2. Sonic Adventure 2 Battle (bumped into this in the year of 2003) my second fandom I bumped into when I was 12 going on 13. at the time, my sister and I both liked the Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise based on the Battle remake and ended up making our own secret fanart club that consisted of only us two members. she liked Sonic (and that was her boyfriend, ha ha) and I liked Knuckles (and he was my boyfriend, ha ha) and we were crazy in love about Shadow’s backstory. we listened to the game’s soundtracks as we drew fanart and comics after school and man, those were good times. however, as we grew older towards the year of 2005, we ended up having separate rooms and I believe it played a part in disconnecting on the same interest. then one day, I asked her why she wasn’t into Sonic anymore and she replied, “Because I grew up.” I was sad after that and slowly observed that she was influenced by the emo culture and the new friends she’s made. I was the only member of our little club for a little longer...but eventually I moved on too. I still have some surviving fanart we did together but it doesn’t mean shit anymore since she turned out to be an abusive mother from the last I’ve heard of her.

3. Gorillaz (bumped into this in the year of 2006). as the Sonic years were at its end, I first heard the song “Feel Good Inc” on Music Choice and seeing the first image of them as displayed on this post (except the fan-made background doesn’t count since I can’t find the original artwork). this was my third fandom and later had proper access to the internet to the website I still currently use called DeviantArt. at first I liked 2D but eventually fell for Murdoc and developed a spiritual connection towards the character as obviously seen in my old fanart and rare photos of my devotion shrines on Valentine’s Day and his birthday every year. for the longest time since being a permanent fan from 2006-2017 (11 1/2 years) I had no knowledge that it was a political propaganda band and other realizations I don’t want to talk about. I only followed them because it was a cartoon and not the bullshit behind the musical project. the world I’ve built and support for them for all those 11 1/2 years shattered the fuck out of me and I just wanted to be left alone to find myself again, somehow. activity stopped on all my profiles, the flow of fanart stopped since I now cringe from the fan service and felt I was used for my talent. I didn’t want to be reminded of it all so I took down all my Gorillaz fanart and archived them for old followers’ nostalgia but also in the hopes they’ll be forgotten in my timeline. I ceased to exist in the fandom for huge personal reasons but it’s best to not say why. I know for sure that the fandom wonders what happened but it’s none of their business. THE END.

4. Waluigi (although I knew he’s been around since 2000 during childhood, I took deep interest once I revisited the character again in the year of December 2013). as silly as this sounds, when I revisited him again, the character was so bizarre that I ended up staying up 3 nights and 3 days in a row just looking all over the internet on everything about him and the questionable “hush-hush” absence of a backstory. despite there being no backstory he slowly gained a cult following and in many ways it’s a good thing. however, since the early 2010′s tension has been building up between Nintendo and its fans about him starring in a main game but everyone hasn’t fully gotten it in their heads that it’s not gonna happen. as long as Nintendo is in control of that, the fandom will not win, I’m sorry to say. on the other hand, if it’s going to be this way, then that’s what fanart and comic projects are for. as for me, I am doing my very best to get my comic project “Waluigi Land” going. again, I apologize if it’s taking very long to get Chapter 2 going if you’ve been keeping track but aha moments need to develop before I start permanent drawing (since concepts, character design and storyline needed improvement badly). as of right now I am still a Waluigi fan and I will not quit on him.

5. Turbo from Wreck-It-Ralph (although it debuted in 2012, I watched the movie two years later into the year 2014). for some bizarro reason, I had an unhealthy obsession with this character to the point where I dressed up as him for Halloween 2014. only 2 fanarts of him and the Turbo Twins exist on my profiles, mainly because my mind was more focused on just ‘thinking about him’ or ‘being him’ rather than drawing physical drawings. luckily, this supposed alleged fandom didn’t last long a little after Halloween so I chalk it up as a very short phase. to this day I don’t know what has gotten over me about him. the only thing I can think of now is that I think it’s because the character had yellow eyes and teeth but I don’t know. now that I think of it, that little fucker was ugly as hell and I STILL don’t know what had gotten over me. one day, my brother mentioned what that was about, and I said to him, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

6. Undertale (although it debuted in 2015, I later took interest in it in 2016). It was all about Sans and Papyrus. I couldn’t get enough of the skeleton bros. eventually Toriel and Mettaton EX became my favorites but it took a long time to draw more of all 4 of them because I had other important things to do in my life plus I was still waiting for the next Gorillaz album to revive my imaginative juices (or so I thought). I really want to have this as one of my frequent fandoms but I just don’t have time for it anymore. it’s still in the back of my head to want to draw them but at this point I still have other better interests to be in. and besides, I’m lazy just like Sans.

7. Cuphead (June 28th, 2017 was the official day I called quits on the British-based band Gorillaz due to the bullshit behind it. since that date I was lost, had no inspiration to look forward to and no cartoon guy to make me smile...but lo and behold of the same year, I took an interest in playing the game Cuphead and man...that shit was a frightening exaggerated metaphor for being on that one drug (forgot the name though) and having sex at the same time but man that was the best fun I’ve had in years. I mean, it’s like, enemies are just so happy to murder you and that scared the shit outta me. and the facial exaggeration?....I think I should stop, ha ha. anyways, the Moldenhauers saved my ass from spiraling down, they have no clue. anyways, eventually I became a permanent fan of their work so to ease the hurt and erase my past from the G-fandom I had to re-wire my brain into a different cartoon category that’s a rather more American, so anything Toon related like Roger Rabbit, Felix the Cat or another favorite that’s a western-based cartoon makes me feel better, especially my new man .......King Dice <3 <3<3<3. however, there was something about this new fandom category I still didn’t quite understand until the date March 14th, 2020. I finally understood what it was but I feel I shouldn’t bring it up. anyways, Cuphead and anything western or rubber hose is my last stop in inspiration for the remaining years of my life. many say never say never but I believe I’ve found my laughing place and that’s all that matters.

#tag facts #influences from cartoons #likes and dislikes #thoughts i have about characters #toons #rayman #sonic the hedgehog #gorillaz #waluigi #turbo #wreck it ralph #undertale #cuphead

22 notes · View notes

ellewritesathing · 5 years ago

Text

Serpent Heart

Summary: Being Sabrina’s fraternal twin had its upsides but lately the downsides were starting to get to you. You’d made a plan to deal with it, and the only question now was if you were going to let Caliban get in the way.

Masterlist

Word-count: 1.6k+

A/N: hey guys so this is a little different from my usual fluffy clay boi but @hecatemacbeth7 requested this eight years ago and they’ve been so patient with me so i thought i’d post this today and then the next part of Faking It next week �� (also let me know if you want this to be a series?i don’t think i’m as good at angst as i am fluff but ya girl can try)

One of your earliest memories from after your parents died was listening in on a conversation between your aunts and one of their guests. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence - you and Sabrina would slip into one of your hiding spots and stay quiet until everyone left - but this time was different. This time their guest was a seer.

She saw right through the two of you.

Luckily, she was much more benevolent than the other guests your aunts brought around. She laughed at your efforts to squirm away and asked if she could give you each a reading. Hilda wasn’t so sure if that was a good idea but Zelda encouraged any and all dabbling in witchcraft.

All she had to do was touch Sabrina’s cheek to tell her that her strong (though sometimes unfounded) sense of right and wrong would get her into trouble and that she would go through many trials before achieving greatness. She was a cat, blessed with nine lives and cursed with curiosity.

One little touch was all it took for her to tell you that you were a snake. You’d grow cold in the shadow of someone close to you before striking out on your own. Ambitious and cunning, you would always find your way into the sunlight.

The others forgot about that afternoon in a few weeks, too busy with other responsibilities or new obsessions, but you never forgot.

Almost ten years later and her words echoed through every step you took and every word you spoke. Would things have been different if you’d never met the seer? Maybe not, but maybe you’d feel differently about the plan that started forming when you went to Hell.

It all started when Lilith’s right to rule was challenged and Sabina - always quick to act, not so quick to think - made her claim to the throne. The same throne that would have been yours if you were born seven minutes earlier. The same throne that Caliban would later challenge her for.

Caliban was a tricky thing to understand. If you were a seer, maybe you'd know whether or not to trust him.

He wanted the throne, that much was clear, but he seemed to have taken an interest in Sabrina - then again, everyone took an interest in Sabrina. Harvey took an interest in her, Nick took an interest in her, and now Caliban had. It wasn’t that you were short of admirers, but that the only ones you took an interest in always preferred Sabrina.

And it’s not like you blamed them. Despite the way it may seem, you loved Sabrina. She understood you in a way that no one else did, even if she didn’t understand everything, and she loved you just the same. She was your other half, your better half.

That’s why you never put up a fight when it came to her; because at the end of the day, you cared about her happiness more than your own. You’d help her rule if she beat Caliban, and you’d figure out some harebrained scheme if she lost. It’s just the way that things were when it came to the two of you.

In the end, Sabrina got all the glory and you did all the work. Sabrina was the beautiful assistant that everyone looked at while you conned them out of their hard-earned cash. They all thought Sabrina was the magician anyway, so maybe it was time for you to debut your solo act.

So you let Caliban and Sabrina battle it out in Hell knowing all the while that you’d take the throne from whichever one of them won. Obviously, it would be easier if Sabrina won but you could handle Caliban, even if he had the hordes of hell behind him. After all, what was a demon to a Morningstar? A boy made of clay to an angel?

That kind of reasoning was why you didn’t mind when Caliban started following you around. He never spoke to you anyway; all he did was watch and keep his distance. You let him look at you all he liked because he didn’t realize that you were looking right back. He was curious. You learned all his little tricks in the week or so that he spent following you, and then you set a trap.

You went about your day just like it was any other, but went to the woods after rehearsals for the musical. Caliban didn’t come out of the shadows as soon as you expected, so you started drawing out other things to keep busy. You’d done it dozens of times before, and the whisps were always the first to come out.

They froze everything they touched in the already-cold forest, but you didn’t mind the cold. They danced across your skin and soon you were dancing and singing along with them. The sun went down while you had your fun, and Caliban came out with the moon. Pretending not to notice, you spiraled into him during one of your turns.

“Mind if I cut in?” Caliban asked, holding out a hand to steady you.

“That depends,” you said with a smile. You used your hand to open up his palm. “Do you know how to dance?”

“I’m not opposed to learning from a pretty little thing like yourself,” Caliban said.

Either he was a quick study or someone had already taught him. You didn’t mind either way. It was better than having him stepping on your toes, plus it felt nice to have his hand in yours and on your waist. The way he looked at you also sent some very annoying butterflies in your stomach into a flurry.

When the rest of the stars started coming out and the whisps were fading, you asked, “So are we going to keep dancing until the sun comes up or are you going to tell me why you’ve been spying on me?”

Caliban smiled and stared into the trees as he thought. All he said was, “You’re more difficult to understand than your sister and your friends.”

“How so?”

“Your friends are all very human with very human concerns. Sabrina included.” Caliban looked down at you and stopped moving. “But not you. You understand Hell, you don’t fear it.” He lifted a hand to your face and moved some hair from the side, watching where his skin made contact with yours before settling back on your eyes. “Tell me, Morningstar, is there anything you fear?”

Caliban started leaning in and your breath hitched. He smiled before pressing his lips to yours, and for a second you smiled too. For a second, you let him kiss you and hold you close. Once that second was over, you remembered that he was a manipulative demon who was using you to get the Throne.

You bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood and pushed him away. Caliban fell to the ground at the same time that the metallic taste flooded your mouth. You spat it out and knelt next to Caliban to keep him in the dirt with an icy hand. The cold radiated out from your fingertips and across his chest, but he didn’t fight it.

“You want to know why I’m not afraid of anything in Hell?” you asked, pushing down a little bit harder. “I'm not afraid because I’m the one they should be afraid of.”

The ice was snaking up Caliban’s neck but all he did was stare at your hand. “So you know a few tricks," he said. "I don’t think Hell is going to be very afraid of an ice princess.”

“They will be.”

You used your other hand to push some curls from his forehead.

“You’re willing to cross your sister in order to do it?”

“If I have to,” you said. He was silent for a few seconds so you continued, “Sabrina gets everything, have you noticed that? I never used to mind when, but now I want more.”

“And what is that you want?” Caliban asked.

“Earth.” You pushed down just a touch harder on his chest and watched the ice spread across the rest of his body. “You and Sabrina can fight it out in Hell - I’ll pick up the pieces of whoever’s left - but Earth is mine.”

Caliban was unusually quiet as he thought it over, realization spreading over his face as he did. Giving up your claim to the throne, helping Sabrina with the challenges, all the so-called secret trips to Hell … it all dawned on him at the moment it took you to freeze him to that spot on the forest floor.

“I could help you,” Caliban said in a quick voice. “We could make an alliance; I become King of Hell and you can do whatever you please here on Earth.” He looked back down at your hand on his chest for a moment before looking into your eyes again. “Or I could tell your friends about this clever plan of yours.”

“And who would believe you?” you asked. “It would be just like you, Caliban, to turn sisters against one another. You’d do anything for the throne, right?”

Caliban clenched his jaw and moved to break out of the ice that encased his body. His only problem was that he underestimated you, but that was everyone’s first problem. The ice was too strong for him to break it.

You leaned down with a smile on his face. “I’ll come back for you once this all over,” you said, ignoring him when he asked what you were doing. You pressed your lips to his and kissed him while the frost spread over his face. Pulling away, you gave a sad smile to his frozen form. “One day.”

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @mschfavngz @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @sweetrogers @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz @mariamermaid @nqbmf

#caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #serpent heart #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina

181 notes · View notes

lonestarbabe · 4 years ago

Text

Eye of the Storm: Chapter 3: The Road You Take Alone

*Can be read as a stand alone (AO3)

Carlos tries not to let his mental health spiral out of control.

Carlos isn’t used to waking up to an empty bed, and he misses hitting a limb when he stretches his body too far onto the other side. Even though T.K. still technically lives with his dad, he’s been spending a good deal of time at Carlos’. Carlos has gotten used to having him around, so when he’s gone, it’s too quiet, and Carlos can hear his thoughts rage in the stiff air of his mind, forming hard peaks like beaten egg whites. His thoughts are becoming unruly. They’re angry and anxious. You’ll never be happy, they tell him. Something will always make you feel dissatisfied. Things always go wrong, and you never know when the awfulness will strike, so you have to be prepared for all the badness that will come. If you aren’t prepared, bad things will happen.

His head pounds as the thoughts crescendo. His bed is lumpy under his body and his sheets are oddly scratchy. Usually, his bed is a safe little oasis, and the worrying doesn’t start until his feet reach the floor, but his thoughts are bolder today; they have no regard for those blessed moments of aimless contemplation that he loves so much. There’s no time for you to be tranquil. The world is unhinged, and you’ve got to find a way to fix it, or at least your little part of it. I just want to relax. No time for that. You’ve got to start your day. Five more minutes. Start your day. Two more minutes. Start your day. One more minute. I won’t say it again: start your day.

There’s so much he has to do, he knows that, but his mental to-do list is disjointed like building blocks after a child has torn them and scattered them across the room during a tantrum. He needs to piece them back together, but it takes so much energy just to do that let alone tackle the items on the list. The world is an overwhelming place when you can’t even process your own thoughts. I need to get going or I’m going to waste the entire day. Listen to yourself. You’ve got to hurry up and get something done before you give up on trying. I can do this. Getting my shit together can’t be that hard, can it?

Order is not something that Carlos likes to do; it is something he has to do. It keeps me from losing my head. Nothing feels right when left to chance, so each morning, he shakes the question marks as well as he can. He plans and he prepares for the day ahead. He lists the things that are likely to go wrong, and he thinks of ways he’ll address them when they happen. He reminds himself that he can handle the obstacles because, at one time or another, he has prepared for them all. But there are too many variables, and you cannot alphabetize a list if you don’t know the first letters of the items on that list. You can make deductions and guesses, but you can’t know. It is fruitless to try to control the inevitable mystery that comes with being alive, but Carlos tries. If he thinks about a thought long enough, he can work it to death. Once it’s dead, he can feel okay. For a while.

He’s got his thoughts under control most of the time. He’s learned to work through them efficiently, shoving them out of the way each morning and each night before they can drag him too far down into the abyss of rumination. While he’s taught himself to work through them quickly, some days, thoughts are sticky. They are gum glued to the ground with superglue, waiting for an unsuspecting shoe. The thoughts cling to his mind, oozing over the information he actually needs, and he has to work just a little bit harder to scrape them off of the walls of his brain.

Thank god people couldn’t see thoughts because if they could, they’d see that Carlos’ thoughts are twisted remnants of what thoughts should be. They’re the warped pieces of metal left after a plane crash— they don’t have much function, but their sharp edges can cut you. He doesn’t want today to be one of those days that brings those destructive thoughts to the forefront of his brain, but Carlos feels darkness sneaking into his brain with about as much stealth as a cat with a giant bell weighing down her steps. Somedays, it slips in without a trace, but it doesn’t matter because no matter how it comes, it always gets in.

He wishes he didn’t have the day off work. The space in his schedule leaves too much room for intrusion. Distraction has always been the thing that keeps Carlos sane. Work, working out, going out with friends are some of the things that keep him on his toes and feeling level. Distraction can’t take away all the darkness, but it can hold it away until it finally crawls back into bed with Carlos one quiet morning.

He should have known that the darkness would come on like this. The darkness – that’s what he’s always called it, but he isn’t sure whether the name makes it sound worse or better than the clinical name. You wouldn’t expect it from him, the depression, but it’s a familiar foe. He’s usually the one that people use as a strong pillar, and he hates how weak the darkness makes him feel. His depression comes in waves, and it comes unexpectedly. Some things may trigger the depression, sure, but it can come when he’s feeling good, just as it can come when he’s already feeling bad. It usually doesn’t last long, but it waxes and wanes and hangs over him even when he can’t see it.

It’s time to get up, his brain persists, urging him to suck up the lowness in his core and get on with what he has to do. Stop lazing around and do something. You could get so much done today if you just did it. Why are you like this? What’s stopping you other than yourself? Do something. Anything.

He drags his feet over the side of the bed, and the ground comes against his heels too fast, and he has to balance himself to not tumble back into bed. Oh, but I’m tempted. I could give in to the urge, wrap myself in blankets, and close myself off to the world. As the urge to do nothing calls to Carlos, his need for order also beckons. He has a routine for a reason because that routine keeps him from spiraling. One missed part of his routine can turn into pacing his apartment for two hours replaying his whole morning in his head to catch any discrepancies.

Somehow, I’ve got to get through this day. Carlos has learned that when a day seems impossible, you have to take it one step at a time, but he’s never been a one step at a time kind of guy. He’s good at taking tiny, careful steps because they feel safe and require the precision he’s programmed himself to give, but those baby steps grate on him. They bring out the obsession and make him exert way too much energy for what should be easy. He becomes consumed by little details that shouldn’t matter until he can’t think anymore.

The perk of a small apartment is that it doesn’t take long to pull his body to the kitchen and drag his feet down the stairs. Carlos feels like a robot as he prepares breakfast. Prepares is a strong word for what he does, but on days like today, pulling a toaster pastry from a shiny aluminum packet counts as preparation. The treat should taste like cinnamon sugar, but it’s cardboard against his tongue. He finishes it, and then he eats its waiting twin because he knows that’s what he should do. He washes his breakfast down with instant coffee that looks and tastes like mud.

He doesn’t have to clean the dishes because he’ll use the mug for more coffee when he’s showered, but even though he ate neatly and didn’t make much of a mess, he wipes down the counters as he usually does to simulate a normal day. Because I need to act normal. You’ll never be normal. But I can try.

After he cleans up breakfast, fatigue pulls at his eyes. I could just go back to bed. I have nothing to else to do, so I might as well just give up. What else am I going to do with my time? Going back to bed won’t make him feel any less tired, though, so he decides to force himself into the shower. He stands under the hot stream, letting it purify his thoughts more than his body. He stands there until the hot turns cold, and he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the change until his teeth begin chattering.

Carlos forces himself into new clothes, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s restless. You have so much to do. Your life is a mess. Start by trying to clean that up, and then, we’ll go from there. If you can’t get your act together, you’re hopeless. Cleaning— I can handle that.

Cleaning isn’t Carlos’ idea of fun, but it seems like the natural solution to messiness, and maybe if he can get his living space spruced up, he can sort out the clutter in his head. He’s diligent when he cleans. He doesn’t just scrub surfaces; he uses three different products to make sure every square inch is wiped off as well as humanly possible. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but putting so much effort into something keeps his brain from scrambling. He dusts every crevice, and he vacuums using all the attachments to make sure no corner goes untouched. He even wipes down the bottom of his table just because he can imagine how much dirtiness must be under there. Cleaning is just the right amount of mind-numbing to pass the time without making Carlos have to think too hard. Since he’s cleaning, Carlos decides, what the hell, he might as well do some laundry, knocking all the dirty details of life off his list. Getting stuff done normally feels good, but Carlos doesn’t feel much of anything.

The morning blurs into the afternoon, and Carlos only notices the difference when his mom calls just a little after one. Carlos dreads the conversation as much as he’s glad that it will give him something to do. Carlos loves his mom, but she doesn’t stop talking whenever she calls, and she usually comes to him to vent. He doesn’t think she realizes that she’s doing it, and mostly he doesn’t mind, but he’s already feeling drained. Even with tiredness pulling at his brain, he answers the phone because it’s his mother, and how can he not answer the phone? She won’t stop calling until he responds, anyway, so he might as well get it over with. “Get it over with,” what a way to talk about your mother. You can’t try to be just a little nicer? She gave birth to you. The least you can do is listen to her. How much energy could it possibly take? Suck it up and do your job as a son.

His mom’s worked up about Carlos’ brothers’ grades. She gets worked up about his brothers a lot, and it’s not so much that the twins do anything that wrong. Mostly, they’re her last babies, and Ana is having a hard time accepting that all her children have become adults. Carlos’ brothers have never been academic, and he knows no matter what Ana says to them, they’re not going to change. “There’s something wrong. They’re not as diligent as you were,” Ana complains. “I don’t know why they’re so easily distracted.” Carlos wants to tell her, Of course, they aren’t as diligent as I am. They’re not anxious nutcases who try to be angels to keep from causing any negative emotions in other people. They don’t have to be diligent because they’re allowed to be regular kids. They aren’t responsible for their mother’s emotional balance. “They’re smart kids, but they’d much rather make jokes than do their work.”

“That’s hard,” Carlos tries to sympathize, “but they’re hardly kids anymore. They’re in college. You can’t micromanage their grades. I know it’s a challenge for you, but sometimes, you need to let go a little bit. You’ll always be their mother. College isn’t going to change anything.”

Ana tuts, “They still live in my home. They’ll follow my rules. They shouldn’t disrespect their mother. I may not be educated, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. I know plenty. It would serve them to remember that. I’ve been on this earth over a half-century!” Carlos’ mom has always been insecure about her lack of higher education. She’d always been good in school, but going to college had not been in the cards for her, and now, she feels lesser with all her children having more education than her. She’s proud of them, Carlos knows— she’s always been so proud of her children— but he can tell that she thinks about all the things she might’ve done if she’d found a way to go to college. In most areas, Ana is confident, but in others, she’s full of insecurity. Maybe that’s how all people are. A bit of confidence and a world of insecurities.

Carlos is quick to reassure Ana, “No one thinks you’re a fool. We know how smart you are, but when you’re young, the wisdom of your mother isn’t that appealing. They’re probably just trying to find themselves. They’re testing their limits, and it won’t always turn out well for them, but they’ll learn. They’ll come back to you when they need your help.” Carlos doesn’t know that. He’s not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Ana probably won’t see it that way, though. She never sees things your way, and I don’t blame her. You’re crazy and unstable and act like you’ve got it all under control when you can’t even reassure your own mother properly. What good are you if you can’t accomplish the one thing you’ve been practicing for pretty much all of your life? Get it together Carlos.

Ana goes on, and Carlos knows the conversation has only just started, but he already wants to make an excuse about why he can’t talk any longer. But I can’t do that to her. “I’ve indulged all their interests. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure they could do all the sports they wanted. All I ask is that they keep their grades up, and I don’t like that they aren’t keeping their end of the bargain. I’ve made sacrifices, so many sacrifices.” Carlos always felt a pang of guilt for all the things his mother had sacrificed. They’d never had a lot of money, and Ana had given everything for her children so that they could have whatever opportunities they wanted.

All his life, Carlos has tried not to take too much. I need to be careful what I ask for. If I can’t get it myself, I shouldn’t have it at all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he could. He’s saved his money and paid for as many of his own expenses as possible. She’d never asked him to do it, but he knew how much she gave to her children, and he never wanted the burden of depriving his mother. He hated to see her not having the things she wanted because of her children, so he made a vow to pave his own way. Yet, she’s still given him so much that she will never make him give back. And you don’t deserve any of it. What have you done to deserve it other than being a bitter son who resents his saint of a mother?

He knows that way she makes him feel isn’t normal, and it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s too late to set boundaries, and he knows that she isn’t doing it on purpose. He feels selfish whenever the bitterness pops up. She loves you unconditionally. How can you be mad at that? What kind of a monster resents his mother who has only tried to give him the best? She’s not perfect, but no person is, so why hold her to some unachievable standard. There must be something wrong with you if you cannot accept her how she is. She’s not the problem— you are.

“I know, Mamá, but it’s normal for them to want to stray from the nest.” Ana would never be the kind of mother who took a back seat, even as her kids grew up and started families of their own. So much of her identity is centered around caring for her family, and the changing way she cares for them has made her feel like she’s lost her purpose. She’s one of the most self-sacrificing people that Carlos knows, and even when she’s given all that she could possibly give to her children, she wants to give more.

“You never did. You were always such a good boy.” At what cost? I tried so hard to be what you wanted that I forgot how to be myself. Until he had joined the police academy, Carlos had been unsure of what he wanted. What his mother wanted for him had become such a big part of his mindset that it drowned out what he wanted for himself. He became a chameleon to please her, to boost her confidence, and make her feel like a successful mother, and it was hard to learn to be himself again, which is why sometimes he feels better when he keeps a distance from Ana. He loves her, and he’ll always be close to her, but he also needs a life of his own, or he will go crazy.

“I’m a different person, so I needed different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just shows that we all have different abilities.” We all don’t feel like we have to change ourselves to be what other people want. “The twins are fine.” They’ve never been that into academics, and they are mostly still in school to continue with sports, so Carlos never expected them to get good grades. “They’re not failing, are they?”

“No, but they can do better.” Not while being happy, Carlos wants to argue. He doesn’t want his little brothers to go through the same turmoil that he has.

“You can’t force it.” Carlos knows better that the more you try to force something, the more out of control you become. Not that knowing that stops you from trying to force control. You can’t help it, can you Carlos? You keep trying to capture something that was never meant to be held. You’ll always come out a loser like that.

“I know that, Carlos, but maybe you should talk to them.” I should have known that this is where the conversation was headed. She always wants me to be the voice of reason, the cool older brother who gives them wisdom that they wouldn’t listen to if it comes from their mother.

Carlos tries to keep the agitation out of his voice. “And say what?” He shakes his head, but she obviously can’t see it. “They’re not going to listen to me either. They think I’m uptight.” Carlos’ family always jokes that he should relax a little, and he does relax. He can be spontaneous and flexible, but it’s harder to be that way in front of his family because they’ve come to rely on his rigidity, his ability to never bend under pressure. It’s all just a façade, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know about the insanity in my head. They would look at me differently if they knew, and I can’t afford their perception of me to change. He’s afraid of what they would think if they knew the truth. What would his mom do if she knew that Carlos wasn’t okay all the time? She would probably blame herself, and Carlos couldn’t have that.

He imagines coming clean, sometimes. It is so lonely to handle the weight of his dysfunction on his own. He likes to fantasize about blurting everything wrong out in one go and not giving a damn what everyone thinks. It would be cathartic, and he wouldn’t feel like he has to hide so many parts of himself because that’s what he is doing. He’s hiding because it’s easy to hide than to own his imperfections. He doesn’t want anyone to see him as broken, especially when they sp desperately need him to be solid.

“They do not see you that way. They look up to you. You’re their big brother. They’ll listen to you. Just tell them to shape up. I’m worried about them.”

“That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” As the oldest boy, Carlos usually takes his role as an older brother in stride, but he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that will please everyone involved, least of all himself. He’s not up for handling this family drama, especially when he doesn’t really understand what the drama is. “I don’t think it will help for me to say anything,” Carlos adds so he sounds less defiant, but he’s got to hold his ground on this one thing or he’ll be sucked into a mindset that makes his obsessions and his worries worse.

He hears Ana sighing loudly on the other end of the phone, “Do you think one of your sisters can talk sense into them?”

“Mamá, I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds. They need to take the initiative for themselves.” But she won’t listen to me on that. She can be so stubborn sometimes, and I don’t know how to make her hear what I’m saying. You might as well give up talking because she’s never going to change.

To Carlos’ surprise, his mother laughs. “You sound so much like your father sometimes, Carlos. He always believed that you kids would sort yourselves out if we gave you the room to experiment.” He can hear her smiling over the phone. She always smiles when she talks about Carlos’ dad. “I was never able to be like that. I worry too much. You’re all my babies, you know. Even now that you’re old. I remember holding you in my arms. You were a big baby, but even a big baby is so tiny. I was afraid the world would break you.”

“I got stronger,” Carlos says,

“You were always a sensitive kid. I’m glad you grew out of it. The world is hard on sensitive kids. And foolish ones. Your brothers are foolish ones. They’ve got a lot of ambition. They’ve got good ideas, but they have no sense about how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen the bad. You saw your father’s flaws more than they did. He gave you kids your freedom, but he liked things a certain way.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.” It isn’t that Carlos minds talking about his dad, but he knows a conversation like this can cause his mother to spiral. She tries to hide her mental distress when it happens, but Carlos sees it. Like mother like son. He notices the way she becomes quiet and the way her eyes are red more than they aren’t.

“I want to,” she admits. “Your father could become… withdrawn.” Your freakshow comes from both sides then, huh? “He’d focus on one thing, and everything else would become background noise. You and Glo were old enough to see that.”

“I remember, but that’s not how I remember him. I remember him cooking us meals and running around with us at the park. I remember him reading us books and helping us imagine our futures. I remember hugs when we were scared and soup when we were sick. Everyone has bad days, but Papá’s were mostly good.” Some people are better at hiding bad days than others, but we all have them, especially in my family.

“I never told you kids how he died.” Carlos can barely stand to hear how choked his mother’s voice is. It sends a ripple of fear through him.

Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but nothing that she’s saying is a surprise. She’s never said the words. She’s refused to admit that their father didn’t die in his sleep, but the kids all know. There’s a quiet understanding between them that he’d drunk himself to death. Carlos had never really seen his dad his drunk. His dad had always kept his addiction secret, but there had been signs. Looking back, he always knew. Everyone around them knew, but they didn’t mutter the words. They kept what was behind closed doors behind closed doors, and that never helps anyone.

“We know,” Carlos says so his mother doesn’t have to say it. She’s been denying the true cause of death for over a decade, and Carlos is afraid of what will happen if she says the words out loud. It’s why no one in his family has ever brought it up. “Glo and I figured it out.”

“He wasn’t a bad man.” Carlos only ever saw the part of him that was good. Come on, you knew. You always knew. You pretended you didn’t, but it was clear as day that your dad had a problem, and you should have done something about it. You should put the pieces together sooner and tried to do something about it. Now, he’s not a good man or a bad man; he’s a dead man.

“I know. He was sick,” Carlos says. Just like me. Just like you. Just like all of us. “He did the best he could.”

“I wanted to protect you from it,” Ana says, and Carlos isn’t sure if she’s trying to justify the lies or is slipping back into the delusion. No, you wanted to protect yourself, he wants to shout, but he bites his tongue because he’s not going to fight with a woman who tried to give him everything in her power. Making her unhappy wasn’t going to make him happier.

“It’s okay, Mamá. You did the best you could. You don’t have to be sorry,” and just like that, he absolves her. He always absolves her, even if it means condemning himself. Isn’t that just what a decent son is supposed to do?

When his mother is done talking, Carlos hangs up the phone. He stops fighting the thoughts growing louder in his brain. He gives in to the urge he’s been resisting all day, and he goes back to bed. Because what’s the point of staying up any more. What else do I have to do? Sleeping will make the day go quicker, and right now, that’s what Carlos needs.

When Carlos wakes up, he doesn’t feel refreshed. He’s still thinking about the conversation he had with his mother, and he thinks that maybe he should call his brothers after all, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls his oldest sister, Gloria, because as the oldest sibling, she knows very well how it feels to be given more responsibility than you are prepared to carry. “Did Mamá call you?” Carlos asks after a brief greeting.

Gloria laughs, “She called me first. It was unusual. You know you’re the favorite.” You’re only the favorite when something goes wrong and needs fixing.

“You know that’s no true.” If I am the favorite, it’s because there’s so much of me that I hide. She’s only seen the parts of Carlos Reyes that she needs to see. I’ve buried all the rest because doing so will make her happier. Carlos knows that if his mother knew that he’s not as level-headed as he pretends to be, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. She wouldn’t turn to him for help, and she wouldn’t talk to him as openly. Telling the truth could destroy the relationship with his loved ones as he knows it, so he chooses to keep silent.

“You’re all she can talk about with her friends. She’s so proud.”

“She’s proud of us all,” Carlos assures his sister.

“That’s what favorite children always say,” Gloria teases.

“You can take a turn being the favorite, Glo. She wants me to talk to Gabe and Dave again. Their grades aren’t high enough for her liking.”

“You set the bar too high and now the poor kids are expected to be straight-A students.”

“Like you were any better.”

“Maybe not,” Gloria says, “But she knows they have trouble in school. David especially.”

“Meanwhile, Gabriel is the one who jokes through his studies.” Gabriel distracts David, who has a hard enough time focusing on his studies in the best of circumstances, so having the two boys together can do more harm than good.

“You didn’t call to talk about the twins, did you?” Gloria asks astutely.

“No,” Carlos admits. “I’m not interested in trying to get their grades up. As long as they're not failing and doing decently well, I don’t see a need to get involved.” He can be honest with Gloria because he knows that she feels the same way that he does.

“Why did you call then?” Her voice is gentle, and it reminds Carlos of when his mom used to sing him to sleep.

Carlos sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check-in. I’m worried about Mamá.”

“She seems okay,” Gloria reassures him.

“She talked about the way Papá really died today, Glo.” There’s a long pause, and Carlos can hear his sister breathing over the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Glo? You still there,” he adds to try to get her to reply.

“She actually said the words?”

Carlos’ brain sinks a little. “Well, no. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she admitted that she never told us the truth about what happened.”

Gloria sounds indignant, “As if we didn’t know. The denial has never been for us.”

“I know that.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Did you tell her that?” Gloria’s voice has raised just enough that Carlos knows this conversation has gone off course. He doesn’t know why he chose to do this to himself, on a bad day especially. He doesn’t have the energy, but since it’s too late to get out of the situation, he has to find it. When he needs to, he can always embezzle it from other parts of himself that need less upkeep. When he has bad days, sacrifices must be made.

Gloria sounds annoyed now. “Of course, you didn’t. You never tell her how you feel.”

“What does it matter to you?” It’s his life and his feelings. He can tell them to whoever he wants.

“Because you shouldn’t censor yourself anytime she has a mood. She’s not going to stop having them just because you cater to her and I know it’s a lot for you to manage. You’re not responsible for protecting someone else from themselves.” But that’s what Carlos has always done. He’s a protector by nature, and when he sees someone in trouble, he steps in.

“Be nice. She’s your mother.” Gloria’s frustration with her mother is obvious. It’s not that she’s not sympathetic, but she’s never experienced what Gloria has experienced. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to rise above your bad days.

“And I love her, but she needs professional help. Too much of her life is centered around being our mother. She can’t rely on us to fill in all her gaps. She needs a life of her own. I hate seeing her when she gets bad, and she’ll keep getting bad unless she decides to make a change.” If Ana knew that she was talking about her this way, it would devastate her, and just the thought of her overhearing this conversation makes Carlos want to end it, but he lets Gloria say her piece.

“Well, that’s never going to happen.” That’s the problem. He knows that she’s never going to seek help on her home, so it’s either he tries and fails to help her or he doesn’t try at all. Trying feels better than doing nothing.

“So what then? You have to be whatever makes Mamá happy?” Isn’t that what I’ve been? How can I be anyone else at this point? She needs me, and I can’t let her down. Carlos knows that they don’t have healthy boundaries, but that’s just how his family is.

“I don’t always choose what Mamá wants.” For as many concessions he makes with her, there are some that he is unwilling to let her cross for his own sanity. “She didn’t like the idea of me being gay.”

“She always accepted your sexuality.” That’s the simple way of putting it. His mom has never been anything but supportive. When he told her, she hugged him and said that she loved him no matter who he loved, but he had always had a feeling that her initial acceptance had been because it would make her a bad mother not to accept him, and being a good mother is the thing that she has always most wanted to be, often to the point of too closely resembling the stereotypical image of a mother.

“I know she always loved me just the same, but it took time for her to get used to it.” He doesn’t remember her saying bad things about gay people, but he had seen her smile fall just a fraction when he told her the truth.

“She’ll get used to other things, too. Your relationship with her can evolve if you let it. It might be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop worrying about her.” The worry is lodged in his mind. It is one of his oldest friends, and no matter how far he goes, it is part of him. He’s spent so long concerned about his mother that not exhausting so much energy worrying would leave a hole in his life. As messed up as it is, he doesn’t know who he is without his fears. If he let them go, even just some of them, he thinks that things might get even worse. No one else seems to understand the way he needs to indulge the worry to feel safe.

“And I’m not asking you to, but you don’t have to deal with everything alone, hermanito.”

“Yeah maybe,” Carlos says because he’s too tired to argue with her about her. “I’ve got to go Glo,” he says as an escape from the conversation. “T.K. is calling.”

“Okay, Carlos, go talk to your man. I love you.” He’s lucky to have Glo. She’s always trying to look after him when he’s trying to look after everyone else.

“I love you too. Talk soon,” he says before hanging up and putting the phone beside him. The phone is silent now, and he misses the noise, but he is relieved that he doesn’t have to listen anymore just the same.

He lays back on his couch and flips the TV on. He turns to his favorite crime drama, the one that got him interested in law enforcement, but he doesn’t pay attention. He lets the scenes pass through his brain mindlessly without leaving a dent in his memory. He stays there for hours, only getting up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom. He lets the hours blur until his mind is so numbed that he needs to do something just to remember there’s a world outside his apartment.

To find a connection to the outside world, Carlos has T.K. over in the evening because starting the next morning, T.K. has to work for two days, and Carlos doesn’t want to wait that long to see him even though he’s not in the mood to be around people.

When Carlos opens the door to his apartment, T.K. throws his arms around Carlos. He tilts his head up for a kiss. He smells sweet, and maybe time with his boyfriend is exactly what T.K. needs. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” T.K.’s hold is firm and the weight of T.K. against his chest knocks out the breath that Carlos has been holding.

“Long day?” Carlos asks. T.K. opens his mouth, but he looks at Carlos’ face and closes it again; T.K. swallows hard, pushing the words on the tip of his tongue down to his stomach. He can tell that something is wrong with you. Get your act together. He doesn’t want to hear about all your issues. Keep that shit to yourself and don’t bother your boyfriend about it.

T.K. says, “You look tired.” Tired was too light of a word for the utter depletion Carlos felt in his bones. You’re so whiny. Could you shut up for just five seconds? You’re giving me a migraine.

He’s not going to like that answer because for some reason he wants to learn everything about you, even the worst parts of Carlos Reyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” They could circle like this forever, redirecting each other’s words because neither wants to burden the other with what they both try and fail to hide.

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K.’s eyes are overcast, but he watches T.K. tug a smile onto his face as he pulls back whatever he might’ve said if he hadn’t noticed that something was off with Carlos. Carlos feels guilty. You’re the worst boyfriend. You can’t even support him when he needs you. I’m trying. Not hard enough. T.K. pecks Carlos’ lips. “I missed you, that’s all,” T.K. adds, and Carlos can’t help but worry that there’s more to it than that. He wonders if his perception is off. Maybe he’s making a lot out of nothing. He tends to do that. You sure do.

They order pizza and put on a movie when Carlos can’t find many words. T.K. picks at the pizza and Carlos doesn’t pay attention to the movie. Aren’t we a fun pair? By the time the credits roll on the screen, Carlos has no idea what just happened as T.K. gives his impromptu review of the movie. T.K.’s excitedly talking, and Carlos doesn’t process the words he is saying, but it feels good to hear T.K. being so full of life when Carlos feels so depleted.

“Yeah,” Carlos says distractedly to something that T.K. says. “That’s true.”

T.K. gives Carlos a confused look. He chuckles. “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” His voice is light, but it still makes Carlos feel like shit. Guilt spikes in Carlos’ bloodstream. I should be more attentive when we get to spend time together.

“I’m sorry, Ty.” How many times can you say “I’m sorry,” before it starts to lose its meaning? It’s always the same old story with you Carlos. Try something new for once. I’m so bored.

T.K. shakes his head, “Don’t be. You know I don’t mind talking to myself.” But you shouldn’t have to, Carlos wants to say. Your boyfriend should be more attentive.

“I should still listen.” That’s right you should, but you’re so selfish. You try to do things for other people, but it’s only because you’re greedy for their love.

“Really, it’s fine. I get it.” He doesn’t get anything. “Are you okay?” T.K. asks, and Carlos knows that he should be able to talk about it— the depression, especially. He remembers T.K. telling him once about everything being gray, so he knows T.K. gets how it feels. Carlos’ depression is different than T.K.’s, though. It’s fueled by pathological obsession and worry more than anything else. Still, he thinks T.K. might understand or try to understand more than most people would. He wouldn’t be one of those people who tries to understand and then doesn’t listen. Carlos has met many of those. They hear the word depression, and they start to assume. They think depression is laziness or intense sadness after the loss of a loved one. They think it is just a feeling. “I’m depressed,” they say when they are feeling sad, but they don’t consider what it must like to have depression. It’s not a passing mood Sometimes, they have a deeper understanding, but very few can understand the nuances, and even though T.K. may get how Carlos feels, Carlos doesn’t think he can talk about it. His throat feels like it may close whenever he starts to say the words, so he shuts up.

It’s a strange role-reversal when Carlos tells T.K., “I’m fine.”

T.K. raises his eyebrows, probably because he knows that people who say they are fine are usually lying. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“We both want honestly about how we are, but we both don’t want to give it.” That might be the closest thing T.K. has been to admitting he’s not fine. It might be the closest he ever will be. Carlos gets it. It’s hard to accept that you might not be okay, especially when other people need you to be okay. It seems simpler to pretend that you’re fine. The thought takes the air from Carlos’ lungs and not in the way that feels like a release.

“I’m not trying to push you to talk about anything, but you know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” Carlos lies, trying to force a smile.

“Do you need to talk now?” T.K. pushes him just a little further. Carlos shifts his body further from T.K. on the couch, and T.K. sags against the cushions. Maybe now he knows how he makes you feel all the time, the malicious part of Carlos thinks.

“No, I’m good.” He can hear the waver in his voice. I’m so tired, and I can’t shake the drowsiness no matter how hard I try.

“Carlos—” T.K. tries to say, but Carlos will have none of it. He doesn’t want his thoughts or his feelings to be dissected because they’re not something he can share with other people. They’re his alone, and he’s not going to burden anyone else with them if he doesn’t have to.

“Drop it, T.K.” Carlos’ voice is authoritative, and maybe that’s the wrong move because T.K. has never listened much to authority. But to Carlos’ shock, T.K. almost backs down. Almost.

T.K. bites the side of his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Well don’t be,” Carlos can’t help but say harshly, and he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth.

He feels hopeless because he wants to make everything better, but there’s no easy fix for not being okay. There’s no way to wake up and immediately exterminate the termites that chew at the core parts of your mind. You have to swim through a boiling, sludgy roux as it begins to curdle and drag you down with its soiled weight. You have to pull back your skin to see what’s happening inside. You have to hope that something changes even when change is an upside-down mountain that you somehow have to climb.

Carlos isn’t sure he has the energy to climb, at least not right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” T.K. says, sounding sincere, but it irritates Carlos to hear the worry in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Carlos insists, taking on a calmer voice. Try worrying about yourself, he wants to tell T.K., I’m not the one slowly killing myself. No, you’re just worrying yourself to death.

“I’m not an expert, but that’s kind of being in a relationship, isn’t it? Worrying about the other person and wanting to make sure they’re okay.” T.K. puts his arms around Carlos and leans his head up to whisper in Carlos’ ear. “I’m here if you want to talk.” T.K.’s breath is hot in Carlos’ ear, and it warms Carlos to know that he isn’t alone, but it also doesn’t make a difference because there are some things that Carlos needs to keep to himself. He likes to think he’s saving T.K. from the pain of knowing what Carlos struggles with, but deep down, he knows that what keeps his lips pressed shut is the shame that comes with not being the strong, unwavering pillar of support that he wishes he could be. Carlos wants to be that person that doesn’t bend under pressure. He wants to be the effortless kind of okay because most of the time, he is okay, but he has to fight to be that way.

“It’s been a long week,” Carlos admits, but he doesn’t know how to explain the week wasn’t long because it was awful. It’s dragged for no other reason than there’s something off inside Carlos’ brain.

“Jenkins being an asshole again?”

“He’s always an asshole,” Carlos replies about his least-liked coworker. “But no, Jenkins hasn’t been worse than usual. It’s just been hectic,” Carlos explains because that sounds like the most normal reason for not being your normal self.

“How so?” Carlos doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t want to reject the efforts that T.K. is making, so he figures he can just give a little and maybe that will create harmony between them.

“You know how you have a really busy shift and then when your mind stops being pulled in so many different directions, you get really tired, and then you don’t know what to do with your time?” T.K. nods, encouraging Carlos to go on. “It’s like that. I’m crashing after a long several shifts.”

“But you can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos assures, kissing T.K.’s forehead and running a hand through his hair. “All I need is time to recover before my next shift. It helps to have you here.”

“Babe, I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” But Carlos would never ask that of T.K. T.K. leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “I know how hard your job must be. You see some crazy things on patrol.” The funny thing is that it isn’t mostly the things he sees at work that get to Carlos. There will always be incidents that cut deeply, but for the most part, he’s good at compartmentalizing the bad things that happen on the job.

T.K. sits up and leans closer to Carlos, and he kisses the spot just above his collarbone. His lips are soft and warm from the coffee he’d just had, but Carlos can barely sense the warmth. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

Carlos cannot tell T.K. how he is feeling because this mental tumult is the road he takes alone. It is a road of shame and self-doubt. It is a road of feeling unprepared for each new day. It is a treacherous road that’s just dirt, rocks, and inclines. Carlos wouldn’t want to bring anyone he loved with him down that road. Yet, he knew they would all go down it if he asked— if they knew it existed. They wouldn’t just go down it with him; they’d help him pave it. They’d help him put guardrails on the edges and streetlights in the dark corners. They’d form a community around the darkness. But Carlos isn’t ready to put his secret little road on the map, so all he can do is try to stay on his feet and continue on a lone journey down the road.

#text #my writing #elise writes #my fics #long works #8000 words #eye of the storm

7 notes · View notes

candied-peach · 5 years ago

Text

ao3: “still standing” rating: T warnings: supernatural au, blood, food, cheating implication (but no actual cheating), remus typical stuff, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, dukeceit genre: angst with a happy ending description: Sometimes the best present is each other. And perhaps a Milkbone? (written for @timelesstragedy as part of sanders sides secret santa 2019 ♡) (beta’ed by the amazing TheLittleTrashCat)

It's getting late, Dee frets, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and wandering down the sidewalk, eyes scanning the busy shops for any sign of his boyfriend. Snowflakes lazily spiral down from a slate grey sky, nestling in the soft wool of his yellow hat, knitted by his friend, Patton. It's a little clumsy, but Dee treasures it.

He also treasures the lack of sun right about now. The stories are, in the whole, wrong (he has no issue with garlic, for instance, and the profusion of selfies on his phone shoot down the pernicious idea that he can't see his own reflection), but the sun certainly doesn't do him any favors. He doesn't burst into flames or anything as dramatic as that, but it does weaken him. And a lack of energy does not bode well when it comes to dealing with his boyfriend.

Speaking of Remus, Christmas is fast approaching and Dee still has no idea what to get him. Nothing that springs to mind feels worthy of the greatest gift to ever stumble into Dee's life. He knows that a lot of people are put off by Remus. They find him abrasive, crude, and obnoxious. Gross, even, by his sense of humor and lack of personal boundaries. But Dee knows he's trying, he really is, and what's wrong with a little exuberance and curiosity? No one else in his life has ever dragged him out of bed at three in the morning to go pelt stray students with open packets of barbecue sauce (they almost got caught by campus police and Dee nearly forgot in his panic to run like a normal human would, not putting on a preternatural burst of speed).

His tongue absently swipes across one of his fangs (dismissed as an unusually sharp canine tooth) as he finally catches a glimpse of Remus, talking animatedly to a mall Santa who looks like he's just clocked out for the day. The mall Santa has a dazed look on his face under the fake white beard. A common occurrence for strangers meeting Remus for the first time, Dee thinks in amusement as he sidles their way.

"-and personally, I think frog spawn makes a great gift," Dee hears as he picks his way across a thin scrim of ice. Remus turns his head, catching sight of Dee, and his whole face lights up.

"Dee Dee!" He exclaims, abandoning the mall Santa without a second thought. "There you are!" As if he's not the one who ran off in the first place.

"Here I am," Dee agrees. The wind is cold suddenly, biting into his exposed skin and making the birthmark that covers one half of his face ache. He still doesn't know why it does that. Perhaps it is a side effect of his vampiric status? It certainly never did it before, or perhaps he never paid enough attention. "Are you ready to go?"

"For now," Remus says. "What next?"

"We're meeting up with Virgil, aren't we?" Dee asks, surprised by the cloud that sweeps briefly over Remus's face. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Remus denies. It's a lie, but Dee doesn't want to push it. Remus will tell him when he wants to tell him and until then, he'll clam up, stubborn as any old hard-headed mule.

Virgil waits for them at the smoothie shop- surprisingly still busy, despite the icy weather. He stands out amongst the festive shoppers, clad in purple and black like a gloomy storm cloud. Purple-dyed hair falls over one eye and black eyeshadow swoops beneath both eyes. He smiles when he sees Dee and Remus, standing up from the tiny table he'd ensconced himself.

"Hey," Virgil greets. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

"Not quite," Dee admits, rueful. "It's so hard to buy for this one." He nudges Remus playfully. "I want to buy him the moon and stars, but sadly, they aren't for sale."

"Ask Logan," Virgil jokes. Logan is the neighborhood librarian, and he is more obsessed with astronomy than any person Dee has ever met.

"Buy me a human skull," Remus suggests, his eyes glittering with suppressed laughter. "Ooh, better yet, Dee Dee, just get me a human skull! A fresh one!"

"I'd rather not end up in prison," Dee says, laughing. "But there's a macabre idea. I like it."

"Want a smoothie?" Virgil asks. Dee nods.

"Nah," Remus says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His shopping bags dangle from his elbows. Virgil wanders up to the counter and Dee takes a seat, sighing as the weight is lifted from his feet.

"Are you still going out with Virgil later?" Remus asks abruptly. Dee nods.

"Present shopping," he lies. In reality, he and Virgil are fang buddies (although he's told Virge more than once never to utter that phrase again), and they need to go and feed.

"Oh," Remus says, his face clearing a little. "Okay."

"Here you go," Virgil says, arriving breathless, his cheeks flushed. He presses a berry smoothie into Dee's hands, sipping on his own mango one. Dee takes a happy sip, offering the straw to his boyfriend. Remus regards it for a moment, then takes a noisy slurp, his cheeks hollowing out.

"Leave some for me," Dee jokes. Remus's eyes sparkle as he swallows his mouthful of ice cold smoothie, before pain creases his forehead.

"Smoothie headache," he says, his voice creaky.

"Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth," Virgil advises. "I think it's supposed to help." Remus looks dubious, but does it anyway. Moments later, relief floods his face. Dee brushes a few strands of his unruly hair out of his face, fingers sliding through the grey streak in front. Remus won't admit if he's dyed it or if it's a stroke of luck that it's all centered in one or two locks of hair (although Dee's money is on Remus dyeing it).

They start the long trek home not long after, Virgil trailing after them. Dee is acutely aware of the other vampire's presence, even as he makes small talk with his boyfriend. He reaches over and snags some of the bags Remus is juggling, purely to grasp the chance to hold Remus's hand. Remus's slow growing smile is a reward in and of itself, and it makes precious warmth bloom in his chest.

"Love you," Dee murmurs, just loud enough for Remus to hear. Red stains Remus's cheeks, climbing up his neck, and Dee smiles in satisfaction.

"You little-" Remus cuts himself off abruptly.

Virgil's phone rings behind them, disturbing the moment.

"Sorry to interfere in your homosexual love affair, guys," Virgil says dryly. "But I gotta take this. It's Patton." He slows further, mumbling into the phone until Dee can't hear him very well.

Patton is a mutual friend who just so happens to be a werewolf. You would never know it, though, looking at his sunny exterior, Dee muses. Slightly chubby, spattered with freckles, and always smiling, he doesn't exactly fit the 'look.' Then again, Dee doesn't really look like a vampire, does he?

Now Virgil, he really looks the part, a brooding emo with purple-dyed hair and a perpetually black wardrobe. People used to jokingly call him a vampire in high school. They never knew how much it hurt him. Maybe it shouldn't have, Virgil told him one night, as they sat on the roof of the school and watched the moon come up. But it did, anyway.

I could hurt them, he remembers Virgil saying, sprawled out over the roof. I could really, really hurt them. Bet they wouldn't make fun of me then.

But you won't, Dee had said, with utter certainty.

No, Virgil had admitted. I won't.

Remus slides an arm around Dee's waist, pulling him free of his reverie.

"Do you have to go so soon?" He whines, licking Dee's ear. Dee scrunches his face.

"Don't do that," he says, laughing. "And I don't have to leave quite yet."

"Good," Remus says smugly, just as Virgil catches back up, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"Patton wants to join our quest," Virgil says. "If that's okay with you, Dee." What looks like relief passes over Remus's face as Dee nods and he wonders why.

"Fine by me," he says. He knows what Virgil really means. Patton has found a willing blood donor this time.

"Here we are," Dee says, stopping by the walk up to their apartment. "See you in a little while, Virge."

"See you!" He says, giving a short flap of his fingers and continuing on, shoulders hunched.

"I'm going to find you the best Christmas present in the whole world," Dee tells his boyfriend, as they start up the stairs. Remus looks wistfully at him.

"I just need you, Dee Dee," he says. "You know that, right?"

Dee doesn't know what to say to that.

-----

Remus watches his boyfriend continue up the steps, too low to even give his customary salacious wink and wiggle. It's a sign of how preoccupied Dee must be that he doesn't notice. He hopes that it's purely because of what Dee said, he's trying to come up with the perfect Christmas present (Remus himself has long since given up on the idea of perfection). But he can't help but fret there's a more sinister undertone, one that he desperately doesn't want to think about.

It's just your intrusive thoughts, he tries to convince himself, as Dee unlocks their front door and ushers him inside, shopping bags banging against his side. It must be just his intrusive thoughts. Dee wouldn't do something like that, would he? Not with their friend, Virgil.

But he's been friends with Virgil a lot longer than he's been boyfriends with Remus. And they're always hanging out. Dee never outright excludes him, but after a long life in his brother Roman's shadow, Remus knows when he's not wanted.

But Patton will be there, he argues with himself, taking his shopping to put up in the back of the closet, where Dee can't reach without a step stool. He's always been a little persnickety about his short stature, but Remus has to admit it has its uses right about now.

Unless Patton is in on it-

But no. Not even his intrusive thoughts can believe that. The same goes for Logan, the librarian who's so much fun to tease when he gets all prickly. He knows all the cool books about cephalopods, though, so Remus doesn't tease him too much. Besides, if he does, Roman will find out and he's taken great pains to distance himself from his brother.

It's not that he doesn't like Roman. He does. They're twins, after all. But Roman is-

Well, it feels like Roman is everything that Remus is not. Roman is good. Valiant. A prince. Human.

Remus winces as his own thoughts remind him of the monster he transforms into, every full moon. He keeps his human mind when he transforms, but somehow, that's almost worse.

Sometimes he wishes his brother shared it. Other times, he's relieved that Roman, at least, gets to be normal. He knows, of course. It would have been pretty hard growing up otherwise. But it's always been impressed into both twins that it's a family secret. Not even Dee knows, and Remus kind of hates himself for it. Dee isn't hiding some earth-shattering secret like being a werewolf-

No, instead you're just freaking out that he's cheating on you and you don't even have the balls to ask him straight up what's going on. He winces, returning to the living room, where Dee has sprawled out on the sofa, winter coat folded over the arm.

"You all right?" Dee asks, his brows crinkling in concern.

"Never better, Sir Hiss a Lot!" Remus chirps, lying through his teeth. "Just a little tired, that's all." He flops dramatically next to Dee on the couch, hand splayed over his eyes.

"Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well," Dee says, deadpan. "Are you going to take a nap then? When I leave?"

"Yeah, probably," Remus says, letting his arm flop to one side. He turns his face aside, avoiding the truth.

He intends on napping. That much is true. But he also knows that curiosity is burning like a trash fire, deep in his belly, and he can't guarantee that he won't try his hand at a bit of espionage. He used to follow his brother around all the time when they were kids, and Roman never suspected a thing.

"Okay," Dee says, cuddling into his side and basking in his warmth. He feels cold and Remus yanks him closer, wrapping a warm arm around his boyfriend and breathing in the soft scent of Dee's shampoo.

There's nothing going on. He's sure of it, he thinks, relief sagging his shoulders. There is no way that Dee can cuddle him so lovingly and have something going on the side. He knows his boyfriend.

But he thinks maybe he'll follow Dee, anyway. Just for the practice.

-----

"Sleep well, my little cephalopod," Dee murmurs, kissing Remus's forehead. His boyfriend whines, clutching at him, and for a moment, he's tempted to text Virgil and tell him that he can't come after all.

But no, it's been too long since he last fed, and it's hard enough to line up willing donors as it is. He feels like an ass when their only option is a blood bank (as funny as it is to think of a vampire stabbing their teeth into a bag of blood like a Capri Sun), but he refuses to feed from someone who's not willing.

Virgil's waiting outside, his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Remus is gonna take a nap," Dee greets him. "Do you think maybe I should tell him on Christmas?"

"If you want to," Virgil says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I don't think that he'd freak out."

"I don't think so, either," Dee says. He bites his lower lip in thought. "I just- What if he doesn't believe me? What if he does and wants to break up with me?"

"What if you're borrowing trouble when there is none?" Virgil counters. Dee laughs shakily.

"All right, good point," he acknowledges. "So, where's Patton and this mystery donor, anyway?"

"The library," Virgil says. "Patton reserved a conference room."

"Only Pat," Dee murmurs, with a laugh. "Afterwards, I still need to buy Remus a Christmas present." He sighs. "I hope Logan and Pat have some ideas, because I am clueless."

"Have you asked his brother?" Virgil asks. Dee looks at him in surprise.

"You know, I still haven't managed to meet him?" Dee says. "Remus always has an excuse."

"I've only met him a couple times when he's hung out with Pat," Virgil says. "But I think he and Remus don't get along very well."

"I wonder why," Dee muses.

"He and Remus are complete opposites," Virgil says. "I prefer Remus, to be honest." A fond smile touches Dee's lips.

"So do I," he says, a dreamy look entering heterochromatic eyes. Virgil snorts, elbowing him.

"Of course you do," he says.

"Dee! Virge!" Patton's exuberant voice spills out of the library doors before the rest of him. He beams at the two of them, hands clasped in front of him. He reminds Dee of a Christmas postcard, dressed in a pastel blue sweater, his familiar cat hoodie tied loosely over his shoulders. It has always amused Dee that a werewolf would be so enamoured with cats (although Patton's deathly allergic and Dee's had to tug him away more than once).

"Back here," Patton says, leading them into the warm confines of the library. Logan nods to them from the reference desk, adjusting his glasses as he bends over his computer. The library is closing soon, but that's all right. Logan and Patton have arranged everything. It's easier for them to do it. Virgil gets so anxious about the thought of arranging his own blood donor that he would rather die of thirst, and Dee's too self-conscious about his birthmark. He still does, of course, but he has to admit that it's easier when Patton volunteers. He likes to arrange for a special tray of Patton's favorite cookies to be sent over afterwards. Patton loves his cookies, especially chocolate chip ones.

"Are they here, Patton?" An unfamiliar voice asks from the dimness of the conference room.

"Yep!" Patton answers cheerily. It's easier when it's dark, Dee thinks as he sidles past the pun-loving werewolf. At least for the initial bite. He doesn't mind seeing afterward, but looking into someone's eyes right before you sink your fangs into them is a little, well-

Uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Don't take too much," Virgil cautions, but Dee already knows the generally unspoken rules. Their new blood donor sits at one of the tables, and Dee can barely see the pale expanse of his neck, bared to him.

"Er, maybe your arm would be better?" Dee suggests, hesitant. "Just so, you know, you don't have two holes in your neck..."

"Oh!" He sounds startled, but soon enough, a wrist is thrust in front of Dee's mouth. "That makes much more sense. I just assumed-"

"A lot of people do," Dee says, trying to hide his amusement. "This will only take a moment."

He sinks his fangs into the delicate skin of the stranger's wrist, just beginning to feed, when suddenly the overhead light flares on, and he looks into the shocked eyes of someone who could only be Remus's twin.

"Remus, I told you, they're busy in the-" He hears Logan's voice stutter to a stop as Dee jerks back from who could only be Roman, eyes wide.

"When I followed you, I thought I had to worry about Virgil, not my own brother," Remus says. He sounds utterly heartbroken, and Dee feels his heart crack that much more, hearing the utter desolation in Remus's voice.

"Remus, it isn't what you think," Virgil tries, but Dee could have told him it's the exact wrong thing to say.

"Really?" Remus snaps. Now he sounds very brittle. "My own boyfriend won't even face me. He's too busy facing my stupid twin." Dee's not facing him because he's too afraid blood is smeared all over his mouth, but how can he say that? As if his boyfriend will believe that he's a vampire now.

"That's what I thought," Remus says heavily. Dee stands there, listening to the plod of his boyfriend's boots, leaving the conference room, and his heart shatters.

"This has gone on long enough," Logan says after several long, tense moments. Dee's eyes burn with the force of his suppressed tears. "Dee, he deserves to know the truth."

"My brother's boyfriend is a vampire," Roman says, staring in wonder at the puncture marks on his wrist. "That's a new one."

"I'm sorry," Dee whispers. It's all his throat will let past.

"No need," Roman says. "Hey-" He thrusts his other wrist at Virgil. "You were gonna feed, too, weren't you?" Virgil jumps, his eyes darting around the room.

"Maybe later," he says. "I uh- this should probably get resolved."

"Agreed," Logan says crisply. "There is no reason to hide the truth of your vampire status from him any longer, Dee."

"But what if he-" Dee starts.

"I think he'll accept it," Roman promises. "I can't say why, but trust me. He will."

Dee heaves a ragged sigh.

"I hope you're right," he says.

-----

A brisk knock on the door interrupts Remus's crying jag. He looks up from the pint of Ben & Jerry's he's dived into, eyes red rimmed and nose running.

"I'm not in the mood to hear it!" He yells at the door. "Why don't you go back to my brother?" Of all the scenes he thought he would walk into at the library, seeing Dee bent so lovingly over his own twin never even came close to the realm of possibility. It still hurts, burning deep inside like a tablespoon of sea salt packed into an open wound.

"Your brother is with us," Logan calls back, his voice measured. "Dee has the key, Remus. We are coming in, whether you like it or not."

"Fine," Remus growls, dropping the spoon into his ice cream and stalking over to the door, jerking it open. Sure enough, everyone is crowded in the hallway. Dee's eyes look just as swollen as his own must be, and Remus feels a vicious splinter of satisfaction at the sight.

"Please let us in," Patton requests, twisting the knotted together sleeves of his cat hoodie. Remus steps back, watching them shuffle past him. Dee won't even meet his eyes.

"What do you want?" He asks sharply.

"You misinterpreted what happened at the library," Logan says.

"I'm not cheating on you," Dee whispers. "I wouldn't- I couldn't, Remus, it would physically destroy me, I love you so much-"

"Then explain your little lovey dovey scene with my brother," Remus hisses. Dee winces.

"It's complicated," he mumbles. "I, um-"

"This will take forever," Logan says, with an exasperated huff of breath. "Dee's a vampire, Remus. So is Virgil. Roman was going to be their blood donor."

"And I'm a werewolf!" Patton pipes up, an uncertain smile spreading across his face.

"What?" Remus asks blankly.

"I'm a vampire," Dee says, glaring at Logan. "Logan's not wrong. Virgil and me- we are best friends, but a lot of the time, when we don't invite you, it's because we need blood, and I, um... I didn't know how you'd react."

"You thought I wouldn't accept you?" Remus asks. Hesitant, Dee shrugs.

"I don't know?" He says. "And that's- well, that's part of the problem, I didn't think you'd take it bad or want to break up or think I was crazy, but I didn't know-"

"Bluebirds on bagels, this is too funny," Remus says, leaning against the wall and wheezing a little. "Roman, you didn't tell them?"

"It's your secret, bro," Roman says. Dee looks at him in confusion.

"It's been a big family secret," Remus says. "And I've been so afraid to tell you, but I'm a werewolf."

"Like me!" Patton squeals, and suddenly, Remus has an armful of Patton, squeezing him round the middle.

"Like you," Remus agrees. He looks up, serious. "I'm sorry, Dee. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that. It wasn't fair- to anyone."

"I should have told you sooner," Dee says, his gaze downcast. "I'm sorry." Remus crosses the room, tugging Dee to him.

"I love you," Remus says, kissing Dee's temples. "So much."

"And I you," Dee murmurs. Remus barely registers the others filing out, shutting the door with a quiet click.

"I guess I'll have to find you a real Christmas present tomorrow," Dee mumbles, as Remus leads him to the sofa, curling up on it and pulling him to Remus's side.

"I told you," Remus says, peering into Dee's mismatched eyes. "The only Christmas present I need is you."

tag list: @k9cat @i-wanna-be-m-e @paravigilant-virgil @croftersgamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @yalltookmyurlideas @matthindavick @killjoy-3000

224 notes · View notes

dandelionsonjupiter · 4 years ago

Text

Wow, starting something new...

Either this will be something amazing or another one of my many failed attempts to do something new.

Where to start...

I won't lie and say I'm a great writer, hell I won't say I'm really good at anything really. I'm just kind of there, mediocre at best. I'm 34 and haven't accomplished much in life, nothing really to show for the years I've put in on this planet.

I grew up poor in the 90's with mostly absent parents, spent a lot of time alone never really developing great social skills. I skated by through high school and opted out of college. Landed a dead end retail job at a craft store for a long 16 years, but I guess it paid my bills. As well as I was able to be surrounded by one of the few things that bring me joy. Ok maybe I can at least say I'm creative. A jack of all trades and master of none when it comes to arts and crafts. I guess I'm a fair painter and I've made some jewelry I'm rather proud of!

Well, I decided if I didn't quit I was going to go to prison for arson for starting a fire in the yarn department. I was over worked and underpaid for the years I gave to that place. I was doing the job of what felt like 10 people and I was losing it.

I decided to start job searching because my inner voice was screaming at the top of it's lungs not to leave on job before finding a new one. "Luckily" I came across another fairly quickly with the recommendation of an old co-worker. This time a department store...still retail, why would I think it would be any better?

Did I mention I suffer from severe anxiety and depression? Well needless to say even though I hated my job at the craft store I was comfortably numb there. Throwing myself into a whole new routine with new people, new lingo, new rules, new expectations took a huge hit to my mental health. I spiraled into a pit of despair and what did my mind immediately go to? The comforting thoughts suicide to escape my situation. If you're familiar with this fun mental illness then you know how easy it is to let those thoughts just run rampant. Now, I feel 99% positive I won't harm myself, but it still scares you when you cannot escape the desire to do so. With that came the skin burning crawling sensation, the feeling of not being able to catch your breath, sleepless nights, obsessive scalp scratching, chewing holes through the sides of my cheeks anxiety attacks.

So the big turning point happened the night before last. Thought I was beginning to feel tired enough to go to bed. My girlfriend and our two dogs made our way to the bedroom and did our nightly routine. 1. Turning on the fan for the white noise and air flow. 2. Turning the ac down low due to the fact I am a human furnace. 3. Get in bed lift up the blankets on my side so my dog can get under them and sleep until she can no longer stand my body heat. 4. Turn on the TV and pick some true crime documentary to try and fall asleep to. 5. Girlfriend falls asleep in about 10 minutes and I'm sucked in and have to see it through to the end! 6. Turning off the TV and seeing if I'm finally tired enough to sleep. 7. Mind starts catastrophizing every detail of my day and then starts to get anxious about tomorrow. 8. Try to drown it out by putting my ear buds in my phone and picking some random crap on YouTube to just listen to.

Ok so by number 8 I'm usually asleep but not this night...the time is just going by and no matter what I'm listening to my thoughts are just too loud to drown out. So...

9. Get my pillow and extra blanket and go to the sofa as to not disturb the sleeping girlfriend next to me with my now agitated tossing and turning.

Well normally 9 is the final step and by about an hour out there I'm finally able to get back and bed and be done with a bad sleeping night....nope...instead I sit out there crying and crying...and well crying some more. Thinking about how to just end it all. By the time the sun came up I forced myself back into bed and just laid there with my eyes closed. I think I dozed off for maybe 15 minutes when her alarm went off. She got up and got ready for work. Luckily she works from home so it's a pretty easy morning routine. She came and laid back down with me and I cannot remember the exact words she said but whatever it was just made me lose it and start crying all over again.

I mustered up the strength to say something I've never said before to anyone and that was I think I need to get some help. Being the amazing person she is let me struggle to get those words out and continue to cry for the next few hours. She didn't pry for more information she just went and got tissues and let me lay there until I was able to calm myself enough to talk.

I've never had that before! It's always someone wanting to ask a million questions and wants you to be able to explain why you're feeling some way when you cannot always explain it. Or wanting to know what you're going to do or saying all of the generic BS that people say when they're trying to cheer you up.

She let me just be and just was there instead of immediately jumping into trying to talk about it. She suggested I pick a Disney movie to watch to take my mind off of it for a bit. It somehow helped and then I was ready to talk. She helped me come up with a loose plan which first and foremost was finding a doctor to see to maybe start me on some sort of treatment plan. Next was the hard decision because of the financial burden that it would put on us. I talked to my new boss and was honest about what was going on. I let her know that I was sorry for them training me for this new management role but at the moment I'm just unable to give it my all, but expressed I'd be willing to stay on part time so that I'd have some more time to focus on getting myself back to where I want to be mentally.

Surprisingly she was very supportive and offered me a part time position and checked in on me the next day.

This morning came and now the anxiety and self depreciation is back in full swing...why couldn't I just hold out and keep my iob...what of I can't be financially helpful enough to my family, what if I just made a bunch of huge mistakes and screwed everything up?

All I know as of right now is that I'm just going to keep going and see where this road leads. Maybe just maybe I'm suppose to be going through this right now because something better is on the other side of this.

Besides isn't that what life is? Just a series of mountain and valley's and being able to appreciate the view from both?

I don't know it sounds motivational and all I guess.

#mental disorder #anxitey #new beginnings #lgbtq #sorry for being depressing #long reads #dog mom

2 notes · View notes

alkhale · 5 years ago

Text

Varia!Ketsui Headcanons

Hello,Its me again ;). Since you came back with your khr fic ,i rewatch all the episodes and now i begin to read manga. I cant stop to fall in love (again!!!) with all characters. So I would like a au fkc where Xanxus is Ketsuis sky and she lives with Varia.

Writing a whole little one-shot for this one would spiral completely out of control because it’s a really fun idea and I’ve thought about an AU for it before so I’ll give you the fat headcanons, I HOPE THAT’S OKAY <333

- Ketsui is brought to Italy by her mother after being told by the Cervello what her purpose is—since Xanxus is her sky, Nico decides to train her rigorously and under the Ninth’s discretion as Xanxus’ personal bodyguard (neither the Ninth or Xanxus are aware of Ketsui’s “true purpose”)

- When they first meet, Xanxus doesn’t really care much for her. She’s quiet, hardly even speaks, but she does as she’s told and follows orders. He likes that. He’s too focused on becoming the best, becoming the strongest, he doesn’t need anything stupid like a bodyguard.

- Ketsui follows him around most of the time, and it annoys the hell out of him at first before it becomes useful. He sends her off on errands all the time when they’re young, stupid, ridiculous shit she never complains about, just does without a word. When’s he’s particularly vexed, he lashes out at her and curses and tells her she’s just mute and stupid.

- Ketsui doesn’t say anything.

- She trains very, very hard. Her training regime is strict and rigorous and Xanxus is aware of this. He works very hard to make sure he is always stronger than her and they spar often—organized fights ranging from hand-to-hand or with weapons.

- The first time, she beats him. The second time, he throws a huge fit. The third time he refuses to speak to her. He’s mad. He hates that some stupid, mute idiot would even be able to best him. (How can he become the next head like this, how can he show that he deserves it, how can he—)

- The fourth time is the final time. Xanxus wins. He’s bruised and tired but he wins, he finally fucking wins. Ketsui is quiet and bloody and bruised and she quietly looks up at him and she smiles, a very quiet, “Good job, Xanxus.”

- He doesn’t know why he didn’t kill her then and there. He should’ve. It would’ve saved him grief.

- Xanxus starts to watch her, really watch her. He starts to notice things, weird habits of hers, small mannerisms that show she has a bit of personality. Small. But moldable. He has the power to make her into whatever kind of person he wants her to be. Whatever he needs on his conquest for power.

- He doesn’t. It’s too much work.

- “Shitty piece of trash, why were you given to me?”

- Ketsui looks at him, the way she always does, like nothing else exists beyond him for her and in some weird, warped, twisted way, he likes that. He wants it. It makes him feel��

(Needed)

- “Because I only exist because of you.”

- The answer pisses him off. He tells her that. Ketsui accepts it in silence and then their dynamic changes.

- She doesn’t run stupid errands for him anymore. She isn’t his personal punching bag or whipping horse—Ketsui is always only two steps behind him and he keeps her there, close and in his shadow. Xanxus becomes possessive. Protective. He has her status as just below his own because no one will ever be above him, but she is exactly what he wants by his side. She is now and irreplacable part of his vision.

- Ketsui doesn’t really care either way. She likes that he doesn’t yell at her anymore though. She realizes steak is a good food and it becomes a favorite. She starts to like wine. Xanxus only yells at her when she does things that piss him off, like liking the things he likes. He forces her to eat different things and tells her to like something else.

- When Squalo joins, she decides that she does not like loud people, nor is she fond of how loud he is, but Ketsui appreciates his role and the part he plays in Xanxus’ life. Squalo thinks she’s strange at first but after fighting her and deeming her not-weak, decides she’s interesting enough

- Once the Varia forms, the dynamics are often varied.

- Ketsui respects Squalo the most, she defers to him for all issues and choices and believes in his capabilities. She’s also probably the only one of the Varia who treats him with as much respect as he deserves, which Squalo doesn’t say but shows his appreciation by killing off weaklings for her on missions

“You didn’t have to do that, Vice Leader Squalo.”

“Stop calling me that stupid name, voi!”

- They spend a lot of time together going over Xanxus’ problems and paperwork, Squalo puts her in charge when he’s away and even though Ketsui doesn’t crack down on the members, shit always manages to get done somehow

- Lussuria thinks she’s cute but she can be cuter, he really, really wants her to be cuter. He tries to feed her different foods and get her to take better care of her health but he finds Ketsui is very tough case.

- Ketsui thinks Levi is… strange, but she doesn’t complain. He also always does his work the best and is utterly devoted to Xanxus, she appreciates that she doesn’t have to worry about him stabbing Xanxus in the back

- She thinks Mamon is interesting. Mamon’s obsession with money is of a particular interest to her because Ketsui doesn’t entirely get the whole thing, but she likes watching Mamon count or go about business. She tends to spend time with Mamon and because she’s quiet, Mamon never complains.

- Belphegor is the hardest problem for her, he teases and causes trouble and a mess a lot and Ketsui is often left frowning or giving him strange, blank looks. He likes messing with her to try to get a rise out of her but it’s rather difficult with someone like Ketsui, he sees this as a challenge.

- When he tells her to call him prince she does it, Belphegor likes this a lot

- She sees herself as more of an older sister to him, he likes teasing her second best and spending time with her second just behind Mamon. They’re actually a really good team. He likes to take naps on her or get in her way when she’s working (kicking his feet on her desk, bothering her, breaking something like a cat)

- Ketsui is the best at handling him and getting him to do what he’s told, it’s a mystery to the newer Varia members who are too afraid of getting a knife to the head

- It’s taboo for any Varia member to point out that Ketsui can only really sleep peacefully when she’s either dead on her feet or on the couch in Xanxus’ office, it’s also taboo for any member to ask about the nature of their relationship, the last member that asked was shot.

#heart #cries of the heart #echoes #ketsui #varia #xanxus #khr #ko-fi request #varia!au

66 notes · View notes

mayansmcx · 5 years ago

Text

Hell Hath No Fury

Hi all! I’ve literally never done creative writing but I’ve been so fixated on finding Mayans fan fic. As an obsessive fan and reader, I’ve read pretty much all of them. So that led me to trying to write my own to try and fill some of the need for more! Deciding whether or not to make this an Angel/Nestor love triangle thing or not. I like messy relationships. Let me know that you think!

————————————————

Working in the Mayors office wasn’t my lifelong aspiration but after working for a Congressman who embodied all that was bad in politics, I couldn’t get away fast enough. That’s what led me here, to Santo Padre. I always knew I wanted to work in politics, but leaving so abruptly from the office in DC, and under the circumstances, it was difficult to find a job in any level of the field where my old boss wouldn’t immediately try and sabotage. Luckily, Santo Padre doesn’t even qualify as a dot on a map and so my former boss had no damn idea I was applying here or the connection I had to get into this office.

Mayor Antonia Pena needed a new Chief of Staff after hers went ghost and never showed up for work again - they still don’t know why he bailed or why he never came to get the stuff from his desk, but apparently his last few months there he started to spiral: drinking all the time, jumpy, bursts of anger... the works. No one was entirely surprised he left, by what I’ve been told.

Its a pretty mundane gig. The town is, for the most part, quiet. The outlaw biker gang, the Mayans, have some weird unspoken arrangement with the cops where they help keep the town as safe as they can on their respective sides of the law.

We never see much of the outlaws, which is why it is weird as shit that the head of the motorcycle gang just walked into our office and requested an urgent meeting with the mayor. Usually I try and field these requests and take the meeting for her, but in this case she wants to meet directly.

“Come on back, the mayor is ready for you Mr.....” I trail off, as I realize I never actually caught his name.

“Just call me Bishop. And this is Taza.” He says, gesturing to the man next to him.

“Nice to meet you Bishop and Taza. My name is Lennon. I’ll be staffing the meeting.” I reply politely.

“Lennon, we were kind of hoping for a private meeting with the Mayor, no offense.” Bishop says, running his hand through his hair, seeming a little tense.

“As the Mayors Chief, it’s my job to staff her. If it makes you feel better, whatever you say in there, I’m going to find out anyway. I’m the cogs that make everything run for this office. I take on the grunt work so she can focus on the big picture. It’s usually easier for me to hear things directly than getting the recap later.” I explain, hoping they understand what it is that I do.

“Ah, so you’re the one who makes shit happen” Taza lets off a quick chuckle.

“More or less.” I give a light laugh, “she makes the decisions, I coordinate it to make it reality. Makes her life easier, and gives me a job.”

I open the door the Mayor’s office and invite them in. Mayor Pena is reviewing paperwork for the newest city council proposal for repairing the sidewalks by the school.

“Hey boss, our drop in is here” I alert her.

She sees our visitors and promptly puts the papers back into their folder before standing up to greet them.

“Bishop it’s so nice to see you again. Or at least I believe it is for now, it depends on what you’re about to discuss” Antonia states, trying to sound relaxed, but the rigidness in her body language is hard to ignore.

Bishop smirks, “Well, you know us, always trying to stay out of your hair. That’s why we feel bad about coming to you. We need a favor.”

Antonia relaxes a little, which I find odd (all things considered). “Well, tell me what I can do for you” she replied confidently.

“One of our guys is locked up in Indio right now. Nothing bad, just a little drunk and disorderly charge after a bar fight. Given the fact that he’s wearing his kutte, they seem to be going a little harder on him.” Bishop explains.

“Ah yes, those damn biker stereotypes foil a nice evening once again!” Antonia says as she plet off a genuine laugh which Taza and Bishop joined in on as well. “We’ll see what we can do. Lennon, I’m going to need you to work this today.” Antonia said as her eyes met mine.

“You got it, boss.” I nodded quickly. “Now gentleman, why don’t we go grab some coffee and you can tell me what it is that we’re working with.” They both stood up and followed me out of the building and across the street to Tino’s Café.

We place get our orders and grab a seat in the back corner.

“Alright Mr. Leader of a motorcycle gang, what’s the situation” I say playfully. Humor and playful banter is my go-to for alleviating any tension. People tend to ease up with a fun-loving approach.

“It’s not a gang, it’s a club. And my official title is president”, Bishop says as firmly as he points to the patch on his chest before he lets off a quick laugh. “Anyways, like I told the Mayor, one of our guys is in lock up in Indio. He drank a little too much and some hedge fund lookin’ kid got mouthy. Shit escalated, a fight broke out. Hedge fund kid cried about the big bad biker and got off, said he wanted to press charges, and then our guy was hauled away.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Ok, that’s not too bad.” I say as I mull over the facts. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Reyes. Angel Reyes.” Taza, who I now see has a Vice-President patch, answers. “Two of our guys, Coco and EZ were with him. They made it back this morning.”

“Alright, give me a second and I’ll make a call to up there and see what magic I can work” I tell them as I get up and walk outside, not waiting for them to okay my decision.

I google the number to their police department and dial. It rings three times before someone answers.

“Indio Police Department, this is Officer McMann” a monotone voice comes on the line.

“Hi, my name is Lennon Parker and I’m the Chief of Staff for Mayor Antonia Pena here in Santo Padre. I hear you have one of our constituents. Who do I need to speak to about the charges and possible release.” I say in my ‘official and authoritative’ voice.

“No one. He’s staying here. He’s not getting bail given the fact that he’s a member of a known criminal group.” He finishes his statement and immediately hangs up the phone.

I walk back into the coffee shop not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“That idiot hung up on me. Looks like I’m talking a trip to Indio. Can’t hang up on me to my face.” I snap as I grab my purse.

Both men raise their eyebrows and look at each other.

“I like your attitude, kid” Taza tells me. “We’ll send some of our guys with you.”

“It’s fine, I should be okay getting there and back.” I express, a little confused as to why they’d want someone to accompany me.

“Nah, he’s one of ours. And after last night, if Coco and EZ aren’t there to talk shit when he gets out, they’re gonna feel real sad” Taza laughs.

“Can’t deny you guys these simple joys in life. Have them meet me at the office in 20 minutes and we’ll go from there.” I concede.

I stroll back to the Mayor’s office and let Antonia know what’s going on.

“Be smart, Len.” She tells me, “I know how your mouth can get you in trouble.” She tries to laugh it off, but deep down we both know she’s serious.

I’ve only been working for her for six months, but we met each other about a decade ago when I was in a fellowship program and she was working for the City Planner. She was a good bit older than me, but somehow our friendship still clicked. She took on the roll as friend, and surrogate big sister. It’s why I didn’t want the Chief job the first time around. Mixing professional with personal can get messy.

“Oh c’mon Toni, there’s no fun in this if I can’t ruffle some feathers.” I winked at her as I walk out of her office at sound of motorcycles fast approaching.

I walk out to the parking lot and see two men hop off their bikes. One is shorter and lean with long hair and eyes that scream “don’t fuck with me”. His black and white plaid jacket was under his kutte. The other is tall, well built with short hair and a cut off shirt that drew attention to his muscular arms. His kutte wasn’t like the rest, it was less adorned and had a simple “PROSPECT” patch.

Without any pause, I introduce myself. “Hi I’m Lennon, you must be EZ and Coco. Now who is who?”

“Im EZ” the tall one raises his hand. I reach out to shake his hand, which he meets.

“So that makes you Coco.” I say as I move my hand to shake his. He looks at my hand for a second before giving it a quick shake as he nods.

“I assume you all don’t want to ride in my car, so if you want, follow me or meet me there. Whatever you want.” I tell them as I turn around and walk to my car.

“Alright, catch you there” one of them says, I don’t look back to see which one.

I turn the music up in my Audi A4 and start my drive. Getting lost in my thoughts as I strategize every possible path to getting this stranger out of jail.

Almost two hours later, I arrive at the jail. The two bikers are already sitting in the parking lot smoking their cigarettes.

“Took you long enough.” Coco says, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“Well you know, if I try and split lanes like you guys get to, it becomes a car accident.” I retort with no hesitation or care about his coldness. “Let’s go do this thing. Let me do the talking, they’re already holding the whole ‘biker’ thing against him.”

EZ opens his mouth to say something, before realizing there is no logical point he can make to find flaw in what I have just said.

I turn around, and walk up the steps. Throwing my shoulders back, I open the door and walk to the front desk. Quickly checking the name tag of the officer at the desk, I note it’s the same ass I spoke to on the phone. My annoyance from earlier reemerges.

“Hi Officer McMann. My name is Lennon, we spoke earlier. I need you to go get your superior.” I smile sweetly, but my tone reads more menacingly.

“No, he’s busy. If it’s about that biker, I already told you, he’s staying put.” He tells me, completely unphased.

“Oh no, officer. You seem to be mistaken. I did not request to speak to your superior. It was an order.” I say, losing all pretense of fake politeness.

I immediately see someone come out of the office in the back.

“Officer McMann, what seems to be the problem?” The older officer asks.

“This woman would like to speak with you, Chief, regarding the release of biker from their po-dunk down. She works for the Mayor” McMann tells his boss.

“Well it seems like you’ve wasted your time coming down here if you’re trying to get him out” the Chief tells me, the air of superiority he has immediately gets under my skin.

“Well, Chief… Ryan, is it? Chief Ryan, you seem to think this is an exercise in futility because our city is, what did this inept officer say? Po-dunk? I didn’t come down here to try and get Mr. Reyes released, I came here to do it.” My sickly sweet smile now dissipates. “You see, you might think I’m a nobody from a nothing-to-do town, but before I worked for our Mayor, I worked in DC, for a Congressman. You know what’s nice about being a Chief of Staff for a Congressman? All of the connections I made.” The Chiefs face falters and fear starts to creep into his eyes as he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand in this discussion anymore. “In fact, I have your Senator and Assemblymember here in my contacts. I’m sure you know what they do, right? They help secure your funding. Senator Monroe and Assemblywoman Ruiz are quite fond of me after a bill our offices all worked together, I’m sure they’d love to hear about your prejudicial treatment of one of the Mayor’s constituents. So now, before I have to escalate this - which based on the look of your face is something you don’t want – go release Mr. Reyes and see to it that no charges are filed.” I finish, the confidence and ferocity of my voice is lost on no one.

“But… you see, we’ve already started the paperwork for the case…” the Chief states, clearly rattled.

The falsely sweet smile returns to my face, “I’m sorry, did I stutter?” The smile drops again, “I said release him. Any paperwork you’ve filed sounds like a personal problem. One that you can fix once you release Mr. Reyes.”

Chief Ryan is quiet for a few seconds. “McMann, go get Mr. Reyes and apologize for our mistake” he tells the young officer

“Good call” I tell him as he sulks back to his office.

“Damn girl” Cocos voice calls from behind me, the previous coldness in his tone was gone “that was some good shit. Old boy looked like he saw fuckin’ Jesus for a second.”

“I don’t like being talked down to. Especially not by some old white dude with an ego.” I shrugged.

“You didn’t knock him down a peg, you kicked his ass down the stairs” Coco is replied.

“Look here he comes Angel” EZ says as we look up and see an extremely tall, well built man with a beard getting uncuffed at the end of the hall.

He walks out rubbing his wrists which bear indentations from the handcuffs and are lightly red.

Before they can start to talk shit to him, I jump in.

“Hi Angel. I’m Lennon. The Mayor sent me here as a favor to your president. I wanted to introduce myself before these two start giving you shit” I say as I shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks” he says casually.

I walk out of precinct, the three men close behind me.

“Nice job there, genius. You can’t go around punching rich blonde pretty boys and not catch shit.” I hear Coco tell him.

I tune out the rest of their friendly bashing as we get to where we parked.

“So, we have two bikes and a car. Is Angel going to be riding bitch or will his gargantuan ass need to ride with me?” I say, clearly comfortable with the situation at hand which catches them off guard.

“Uh, yeah. That’s good. Still a little hungover from last night so I appreciate it.” Angel tells me as looks back at his friends.

“Alright then Sasquatch, get in.” I jokingly command. “But don’t expect too much quiet.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” He shrugs.

“I’ll see you guys wherever I drop off Floyd Mayweather here.” I tell the two men on their bikes.

“Mayweather? I can read.” Angel tells me, obviously a little taken back by my personality.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” I tell him deadpan before smirking.

I laugh as I slide behind the wheel of my car, “Let’s go Angel. You have two hours with me. Let’s see how much you can handle.”

“Damn little girl. If i would have known they were gonna send a comedian, I might have stayed in jail.” Angel says as he keeps the banter going.

“I like her!” EZ yells to the other guys before he starts up his bike.

“Fuckin’ great” he rolls his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice immediately followed by him shaking his head with a smile. “Lets go!” he chirps as he slides into the passenger seat.

This will be fun.

#mayans #mayans fic #mayans fan fic #mayans fx #ez reyes #angel reyes #coco cruz #nestor oceteva #miguel galindo #soa #sons of anarchy

39 notes · View notes

diyunho · 5 years ago

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost” Part 2

Bane’s wife is a mystery to everyone, including her husband. Ghost also happens to be The Joker’s little obsession, not that she ever pays attention to him. Maybe that’s why The King of Gotham should stop messing around: when you push too much, you might get more than you bargained for.

The Joker and his girlfriend left about 15 minutes ago; Kara was in a bad shape and you offered to drive her car back tomorrow. You have no idea how she made it to your house after the events at the club. You could tell J was fuming and for once he seemed to care about what happened to his woman: maybe it was a little wakeup call The King of Gotham needed. Hard to tell when it comes to these matters due to his spectacular personality.

One thing’s for sure though: after his arrival Kara couldn’t stop crying and Ghost knew why. The Joker’s girlfriend merely escaped assault and him giving a damn about the ordeal made her overemotional: it was the first time he showed some real interest outside the bedroom; he held her hand all the way to the car and didn’t even mind a kiss before she got in.

“You’re awfully quiet,” your husband points out. “You’ve been staring out the windows at the empty parking lot since they left. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m fine,” you turn only to see him signal for you.

Bane is not stupid; he can tell you’re distracted and he can guess the reason. As soon as you straddle his lap he rests his forehead on yours, choosing to dig a bit dipper without sugar coating his objective.

“Are you thinking about that day?”

You take such a strenuous breath there’s no need for a verbal confirmation.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You are aware of the meaning: your spouse is not asking for details, he’s just bringing it up in case you want to share your feelings regarding Kara’s unfortunate experience.

You caress his bald head and sigh, prepared to describe the facts.

Bane never mentioned anything about the first time you’ve met simply because he always assumed he understood what he saw five years ago. The truth is he didn’t.

“When…when you found me…” you gulp and he distinguishes the struggle.

“Hey,” your husband whispers. “That’s not why I brought it up. You don’t have to re-live the past; I was trying to hint that if you want to discuss…”

He twists a strand of your white hair around his finger while you interrupt:

“When you found me behind the truck, that guy wasn’t trying to rape me; he was trying to kill me.”

Bane’s not wearing his mask and you can read the conflicting emotions written all over his face.

“Vee was my ex,” you continue and pause in order to gather your thoughts. “When I learned he was involved in human trafficking, I urged him to quit. The money was great and he refused so I planned to disappear and help some girls flee in the process. I was very careful yet he still perceived my intentions and when you bumped into us… he was trying to finish me so I won’t be any trouble for his boss and their line of business.”

“Shit…” HB mumbles, hating that his Ghost looks upset.

“I wasn’t defending myself from a rapist, I was fighting for my life. What do you think about that, hm?” you throw the question at him and his reply doesn’t fail:

“That whatever- his-name-was-your-ex had it coming. You can’t kill a Goddess! A man is lucky enough to encounter one and if he fucks up, then he signs up for the bitter consequences.”

A few moments of complete silence, then Bane hears his favorite words:

“I love you,” Y/N pecks the thin scars across his nose and decides to turn the gloomy night into a more accommodating situation. “We were having lots of fun when the unexpected guest barged in; we should stick to the original schedule and reprise our activity.”

“Agree,” Bane squeezes you in his strong arms tighter. “A tiny Ghost might be already in here,” he softly rubs your tummy.

“Or a handsome little brute,” you giggle and he has to underline:

“However, it doesn’t hurt to keep practicing.”

“U-hum,” you wink and he likes the smile forming on your lips, infinitely better than having his wife distressed about an incident that almost ended her existence.

*************

5 Years Ago

Bane was done loading the supplies he wanted in his truck, lingering at the spot chosen for that evening’s transaction. It was consistently a random place where everyone that wanted to buy or sell could get together and exchange merchandise; under the radar of course, since the negotiations were less than legal and the individuals present could have easily be enlisted on FBI’s most wanted list.

A lot of turmoil and movement at the campsite, but he still detected a woman’s scream; he carefully listened when it happened again. Bane circled his truck and walked between the vehicles stationed there until his heavy steps abruptly halted: there was a lady trying to get from under a limp body collapsed on top of hers, still holding the rock she used in order to defend herself.

You crawled from under Vee and froze when you noticed Bane glaring at you. Y/N recognized the masked man: he was starting to gain a certain reputation, not that it was his purpose; he only stuck to his agenda and didn’t give a damn about anything else.

Your future spouse believed that one of the imbeciles tried to sample the merchandise and got more than he could chew; he also knew they didn’t like the girls to rebel and the price paid if they did.

That feral look in your eyes reminded him of the same fire that fueled his veins every time he attempted to get out of the accursed Pit; made him take a decision he never regretted: instead of alerting the others and score a nice bonus for cooperation, Bane gave you a choice.

“If you want to survive, come with me.”

You hesitated: was he toying with you before sounding the alarm?! The pile of muscles indifferently distanced from the scene and you got on your feet, stumbling from the aftermath of almost being assassinated by your former boyfriend. Vee was out cold and you dropped the rock by his feet, not bothering to check if he was dead.

You followed Bane to his truck and he gestured for you to hop in the back; it was difficult to fit in between the boxes yet you managed anyway. He covered everything with the tarp and advised while sealing the way out:

“Stay put!”

It was a nerve wracking couple of hours: Bane drove away immediately and you had no clue about what will occur next. Where was he taking you anyway?

**********

He pried the door and Y/N strolled inside when she realized he was keeping it opened for her. “This is a gated, private property; we’re right outside Gotham, north of Willow Creek. You should lay low: by know they must have identified the guy and they might be searching for the responsible party.”

He was thinking you were “one of the girls” and you didn’t correct him.

“I had no clue I’ll find myself in this mess,” you skeptically brought it up. “I should go to my apartment and pack suitcases.”

“Bad idea,” the distorted voice huffed. “You should disappear, it’s safer. Those are not the type of people you want to cross!”

You nervously played with the hem of your torn dress and Bane added:

“There are clean clothes in the bedroom; you can use one of my t-shirts. I’ll bring some items your size tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?!” you inquired, perplexed.

“Nope, I’m busy. Give yourself a tour; I’m positive you can cope with my absence.”

He saw the doubt and muttered:

“You’re not a prisoner; you can leave. Close the gates if you do. If I were you, I would linger on the premises.”

That’s all he said and left a very confused Y/N in the middle of the living room. You wished to ask why he was aiding a total stranger, but you figured it was dumb to do so: Bane seemed like the type of man that didn’t do things unless he felt like it. Period.

You curiously inspected the house, marveled that it was neat and organized: four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, the spacious living room, another bathroom and the kitchen downstairs. The dust settled on the counters indicated the hideout wasn’t used very often; the decorations were minimal, mostly functional, basic furniture.

You were grateful when you opened the fridge and found some food that was still eatable: the precooked kind but you weren’t picky at that point. After warming up a container in the microwave, Y/N took a sit at the table; with the crazy events that spiraled out of control she didn’t have time to reflect about her current predicament.

It hit as you were munching on your ravioli: how the hell did you end up there?! A sudden, unbearable sense of isolation washed all over you, the numbness that protected you from the initial shock gradually dissipating in thin air.

You had no plan. None whatsoever.

Was it better to go with the flow until you could outline a strategy aimed to get you out of the deep whole you accidentally sunk in? Maybe…

So you did.

**************

Next morning, Bane popped at the residence as promised; at 10:12 am he discovered a hyper Y/N tidying up the kitchen: after a sleepless night and six cups of coffee, she was pretty much invincible. You were wearing one of his military print t-shirts: it was big and he was somehow amused to see you swim in the garment.

“I brought you clothes, shoes and food,” Bane grumbled and arranged boxes on the chair closer to you. “I estimated on the size.”

“Thank you,” the sincerity in your voice proved you meant it. “Thank you for helping me.”

“U-hum,” he intensely gazed at you and maybe because you weren’t in your best shape you misinterpreted his demeanor: was your savior expecting some sort of reward? Since you didn’t have much to offer at that time, Bane probably wanted sex as compensation for his services. If he would have taken what he wanted by force, you reckoned it wouldn’t have been pleasant, not with a man his size; not putting up a fight could have made it at least bearable.

Your logic was way off though: as soon as you took your t-shirt off he came near, picked it from the floor and dressed you back himself.

“You don’t have to do that,” he emphasized and saw how embarrassed you were. “Do you know how to load guns?” Bane switched the dialogue without making it awkward.

“Not really…”

“I’ll show you; I have a project coming up and you can assist.”

“OK,” you were fast to accept as it was an easy way to repay him.

“Besides cracking someone’s skull with a rock, do you know how to defend yourself?” the interrogation continued.

”If I have to.”

“Comes in handy,” he muffled the words beyond the mask and promptly took it off so he can enjoy the coffee too.

It was the first time you saw Bane minus the breathing device; definitely not what you imagined: he was good-looking. HB had a few thin scars across his nose and a thicker one above the upper lip that added a certain flair to his wholesomeness.

He caught you staring and misjudged:

“What?” he growled, pouring hot liquid in a mug. “Is the view not up to your standards?”

Y/N has always been a direct person, that’s why she described exactly what was in her mind:

“I was actually thinking that you’re handsome.”

One of Bane’s eyebrows went high and he huffed at the candid remark:

“Hm… … I’ve been called worse.”

You bit on your cheek and waited for him to finish his coffee in silence, but he had more to say.

“You should change your appearance; it’s safer if they’re searching around for the runaway girl that dared retaliate.”

You nodded a yes, wondering how you could accomplish such task. He wasn’t wrong: it would have evidently aided if they were indeed hunting for you.

“I know somebody,” Bane insinuated the path of action. “I can bring Zorina here and she can work her magic; the woman’s a pro.”

“Sure,” you welcomed his proposal and instantly blurred out: “I have money stashed at my apartment; it’s a hefty sum, all cash. I’ll have to retrieve it then I will be able to reimburse you for everything you’re doing for me.”

He snorted, entertained at your passionate tirade:

“Reimbursed!” Bane repeated and slammed the cup on the counter, preparing to bail. “Don’t worry about that; they might have the condo under surveillance or maybe they already raided the rooms and took your money.”

“I hope not…” you frowned, swiftly tense at his warning.

“Wait for Zorina,” the suggestion alleviated your anxiety a bit. “I’ll text her and she can be here in one hour. I am going out of town in the morning; I will return on the 27th,” he grabbed his mask from the table. “If you have an emergency, call the number I uploaded as an emergency contact,” Bane handed you a brand new cell phone.

“Will you be the one answering?” Y/N asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed and noticed how relieved you seemed at his affirmation.

Bane came back after 10 days, on the 27th as scheduled. You were outside on the porch and he stopped in his tracks when you emerged from behind the wood pillars.

“How do I look like?” you presented the new Y/N to the stunned man instead of a conventional greeting: your hair was completely white, shaved on the left side and the fresh skull tattoo inked on the exposed skin completed the ensemble quite beautifully. The dark red eyeshadow and black leather suit scored extra points with your future husband.

Bane was a straightforward person and didn’t utter words unless he meant them, yet the unpredicted reply still made you smile:

“Like a Goddess.”

*************

For the next six months you helped with whatever was necessary: it kept you busy and while you understood everything was a test, you were able to form your own opinions too.

Bane wasn’t a mindless brute: he was intelligent, outspoken and articulate; the crew didn’t question his decisions not necessarily due to his physical appearance that indicated he could level anyone to the ground with one punch, but because they respected him.

You blindly plunged into an unfamiliar environment: in the great scheme of things, your ex Vee has invariably been a pawn struggling to find his way up to the top. Weren’t you the same now? Another small piece of the puzzle trying to figure out where it belongs?

You weren’t positive so you kept your distance from the team members and never really talk to them; Y/N only did what she was told and stayed away from social interactions. After your disappointing past experiences, one could have said you didn’t like people. Why bother?

Even Bane was probably going to send you on your way soon: he kept on coming to the house more often and your best speculation was that he was getting ready to tell you to vacate the property. Which was fair; you couldn’t rely on his hospitality forever. And for some reason it made you sad.

It was true that Bane dropped by more often: from barely visiting the hideout once a month before your arrival, he multiplied his visits to 3-4 times a week. Under the pretext of checking up on his protégé and give her assignments, of course. It had nothing to do with how much he liked seeing your face light up every time he was around.

One night you fell asleep in front of the fireplace: it was cozy to pile up blankets and watch the longs burn until they turned into ashes. You woke up around 2 in the morning and stretched, surprised to see Bane passed out on the couch a couple of feet away. You didn’t hear him sneak in and assumed he had a motive for being there: to finally tell you he wanted the residence evacuated.

You rolled over and got on your knees, carefully placing two more logs on top of the dying fire.

“Add more,” the deep tone made you jump. “It’s getting chilly.”

“Hi,” you tilted your head to look at him. “I didn’t mean to awake you,” you apologized and did as requested.

“You didn’t,” Bane rubbed his eyes, totally used with short power naps instead of dozing off for hours.

You delayed more conversation, but it had to be addressed although you dreaded the subject; maybe he was expecting you to get the hint so you gathered the courage to speak up:

“I was debating… I should…e-hem…” you fakely coughed, “… find a new establishment…”

“Don’t you wanna stay?” he cut you off.

“I do,” you admitted, “but it’s not fair to take advantage of…”

Bane’s laughter at the statement made you halt your small presentation; it was his strategy of disguising how discouraged he was at your arbitrary idea.

“I doubt I’m the type that can be taken advantage of,” he got on his elbow and you abandoned the warmth of the fireplace in order to sit down by him on the sofa. “You don’t have to go anywhere…unless you wish to,” he gave you choices once more.

You glared at each other for a few seconds and then you demanded:

“Can you please take your mask off?”

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Bane unsnapped the leather straps without a second invitation: God knows he seldom dreamed about it without paying attention to what it truly meant.

Your lips touched and the intimacy made him slowly pull you in his arms; it seemed natural that the woman he was in love with belonged there.

“My name is Y/N,” you suddenly moaned in between kisses and Bane paused, eager to mention:

“For your own safety I suggest to never disclose it to another living soul. It’s better if you don’t exist; a ghost doesn’t have a past or present thus can never be seized.”

“I like the notion of being a Ghost,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “And you have to call me something; the rest of the world also.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a deal,” Bane grinned and instantly cautioned: “I also have to bring up to your attention that I’ve never slept with a Goddess before.”

Your mouth got close to his ear and you whispered:

“I’ve never slept with a Handsome Brute but I believe we’ll manage.”

************

Today, 1:13 am

Your cell phone keeps on vibrating on the nightstand; attempting to ignore the insufferable noise might wake up Bane: you exhausted your husband last night and he has to recharge. You’ll probably need his services by morning time so… might as well make an effort for his sake.

Great, it’s The Joker.

“Hello?” you keep your voice down.

“I was thinking,” the insomniac King of Gotham gets straight to the core of the issue without apologizing for the late call. “Next time Bane’s out of town and you don’t accompany him, I should take you out to dinner; then we can get some stuff out of our system.”

Is he for reals?!

“I have a better proposal!” you hiss, irritated. “Next time Bane’s out of town without me, you’ll take your girlfriend out to dinner and then you can get whatever you want out of your system with her!! I’ll wait for my husband and then when he comes home he’ll know how to take care of my system!! GOT IT??!!” you hang up and J is displeased at your behavior:

“How fucking rude!” he puffs, cuddling next to Kara; she’s snoozing after her misfortune.

“Who’s that?” your spouse groans.

“Uggghh,” you snuggle to his chest, aggravated by J’s crap.

“Idiot…” HB wraps both naked bodies tighter in the fluffy cover since he guessed the name; your reaction is enough clue.

Ghost pecks his shoulder and gradually relaxes, 100% convinced of the only truth in her life: if she ends up with nothing again, as long as he’s there she will still have everything.

Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/187322128171/the-joker-x-reader-ghost-part-1