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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years

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Hey I love your...everything about dick Grayson. I have a terrible memory but I remember someone saying they think dick Grayson has ADHD and I think it was you? If it was can you talk about it a little more? Like, give some examples of traits? I love that headcanon but as someone not that knowledgeable of this stuff I wanted to get someone else's pov on the topic

agh thank you!! and yea, that was me, in this post. that was just me rambling a bit and me jotting stuff down, but i did say if you wanted more i’d be happy to give more. and so, in headcanon format, here is more.

One of Dick Grayson’s defining traits is that he could not sit still. Everybody had noticed it, everybody had commented on it, and everyone pretended to find it annoying while also knowing that his constant fidgeting, bouncing, leaping, talking, and laughing was a comfort. The buzz of energy surrounding him was a constant, and prompted many many people to offhandedly remark to Bruce, “He’s probably got ADHD.” Green Arrow, when Robin was talking Flash’s ear off when he first met the Justice League. A socialite in a dress with a borderline-obscene neckline when Dick came up to him for the eighth time that night, drawing his attention to something new. Even Harley Quinn, as he jumped around her in circles after they’d tied her up to a pole in a warehouse while Bruce copied the data, although she said it with a fond little grin and a bit more, well, educated style.

And if he was being honest? Bruce agreed with all of them. Just, in a different way.

Dick’s hyperfixiations were a sight to behold. He’d find something interesting to label as his New favourite thing ever, Bruce!!, absorb everything there was to know about the topic, then move on to something new in a month. Which had always been the problem. Bruce couldn’t begin to count the nights he had to coerce Dick into coming downstairs, leaving his rare igneous rock collection or his college-level textbook about nerve paralysis or his new batch of poisonous flowers, and eating something, or going to bed. There was a reason Dick was underweight for most of his life, and still was as an adult.

It was in his “all or nothing” attitude, the way he threw his entire self into the job, or whatever needed to be done. But if he decided something wasn’t worth it, or that he was done, he dropped it entirely, with no lost love. His impulse control was bad, but that was something Bruce could help him with, train him to keep a level head or make the right choice. Though, making choices was another thing to tackle altogether. Choice paralysis was the best way to describe it. If Dick didn’t absolutely make up his mind about something, then he was split, caught between two different choices, and he couldn’t say no to either.

Jason may have rage coursing through his blood, but his anger was solid, dependable, reliable. Dick’s mood swings, however, were monsters that Bruce had been trying to understand since Dick was a child, his kindness and understanding changing to harsh words and accusatory looks so fast it gave Bruce whiplash. Jason seemed to be one of the few who could wade his way through them, never trying to change him or stop him, just trying to understand him.

Tim’s internal clock may be blown and shot to hell, but it was out of willpower, determination. He had work to do, and he would power through his tiredness until it was done. (And then he’d grab an oversized superboy t-shirt and crash for a couple days on end.) Dick, on the other hand, could not sleep. Lying in a bed made him restless, but sitting in the kitchen hunched over a mug of chamomile tea made gave him a headache. Dick had once told him, in the hours where it was too early to be morning but too late to be night, that he just wanted his brain to stop for once, to just shut off. Bruce didn’t have an answer. Tim, apparently, had an answer, because he would sit up with Dick in that kitchen, turning the lights down low, and talking with him about this cool new spot he found for his photography, or some changes he’s thinking of making to his suit. Tim’s quiet rambling seemed to ease the headache, at least.

Cass and Dick may not have many things in common, at first glance. They never bonded the way they did to other members of the family, the way Cass and Steph learned to laugh together or the way Dick and Jason finally reached an understanding, and were able to just spend time together. Bruce actually thought Cass would get along with Damian, given their shared assassin history. But Damian just looked at him strange, and said “I’m not the one who was raised as a human weapon.” And that...that was true. Cass may have been isolated and alone, and Dick might have been raised with love and affection, but Bruce couldn’t deny that the two of them had been raised, as Damian put it, human weapons. And despite Dick’s ease and grace and innate flexibility, Bruce knew that Dick itched at his skin, sometimes felt uncomfortable and not in control in his own body. But then he saw Dick with Cass one day, stretching and going over some basic yoga poses, the silence between them thick with something heavy and grateful. Bruce memorized the content and peaceful look on his children’s faces, then left as quietly as he’d entered.

Bruce was no stranger to Stephanie’s self esteem issues, overhearing her in front of the mirror many a time, clothed in the Robin costume and telling herself, in between gritted teeth, “I deserve to be here. I’m good enough. I’ve got this.” As for Dick, his self esteem issues were a tad different. His constant need to make people like him, his jokes and quips that were aimed to make people think he was funny, think he was worth it, his absolute terror of rejection, the way he broke off relationships and had trouble maintaining the ones he did have under the philosophy of leaving before they rejected him for real. A whisper in the back of Bruce’s mind whispered Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, though neither of them were fond of labels. But it wasn’t hard to miss the easy stream of compliments flowing back and forth between Dick and Steph, usually good natured teasing, but no less sincere. It helped them more than they realized.

People may say Damian was violent, rude, and prone to outbursts. And this was true, for the most part. Bruce knew Damian was still getting a handle on his emotions, but he also knew the kid actually meditated in his free time, and most of his actions were well planned and thought out. Dick, on the other hand, had outbursts frequently. He’d just gotten much better at controlling them, or maybe just blowing up at Bruce and hiding them from the rest of the family. And his emotions were a hurricane, a whirlwind of raw power. Regulating him had long since gone out the window. Luckily, Damian seemed think the opposite (or maybe Bruce had given up too early). Dick never actually seemed to enjoy meditating with Damian, but controlling their tempers was something the two of them were working on together, one backing the other up or slow them down, and vice versa.

Every time someone came up to him, telling him Dick was just so cheerful and hyper and constantly in motion, Bruce was brought back to the first week in the manor, Alfred raising his eyebrow at Bruce after Dick’s latest antics had landed him in his room, refusing to open the door for anyone. Bruce knew Alfred was running through a mental checklist in his head, same as him. Alfred had told him, “This is going to be quite a bit of trouble, Master Bruce.” Bruce had shown his weary agreement. Then Alfred had nodded resolutely, and said “I suppose we shall just love him right, then.”

Bruce knew without a doubt that Alfred had succeeded in that particular promise. But Bruce was still asking himself whether or not he had.

ADHD is,,,,,,,hard to write. tag list: @comicsandhoney @dangerduckjpeg @yesboopityboop @birdy-bat-writes @astroherogirl @anothertimdrakestan @thebatsandbirdsofgotham @subtleappreciation

#dick grayson #nightwing #dc #batfam #scribbles from the swamp #dick grayson headcanon #nightwing headcanon #dc headcanon #batfam headcanon

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particularemu · 4 years

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I Missed You | A Bang Chan Scenario

Word Count: 3857

Type: Smut

Warnings: Light choking at the end

Author’s Note: For my bby @channiesmixtape

I apologize, this is SO RUSHED, like yikes.

Sorry it took so long fam! Thank you for supporting my writing 🥰

Chan was a cruel man.

A very very cruel man.

The past hour or so you’ve been at the gym with your boyfriend. You two originally planned to do some couple’s yoga class, but the stupid thing was cancelled last minute because the teacher was either sick with the flu, or didn’t feel like teaching odd 20-something-year-olds how to balance on their significant other’s limbs while in difficult yoga poses.

Despite your silent internal protest, Chan decided to take the time and get some “much-needed” exercise. Honestly, you just wanted to go home and binge watch the latest K-Drama you and Chan started before he had to go on tour. The lazy bone was hitting you hard today.

Instead of sitting on your phone for the next hour, you decided it might not be a bad idea to get some exercise yourself. After all, you did eat a whole tub of ice cream last night for unknown reasons. Might as well hop on a machine to work off the extra calories you consumed while watching the latest Weekly Idol episode.

After walking around the gym staring at the intimidating machines for 10 minutes, you decided the exercise bike looked the least intimidating. You just get on and pedal right?

Unfortunately, about 20 minutes into your Stray Kids Spotify playlist, your knee decided it was time to burn like hell. Well you tried. A+ for effort.

Without anything better to do, you figured watching your attractive boyfriend work out was a good idea. Boy were you wrong.

Watching your muscular boyfriend work out was filling your head with some dirty thoughts.

With Chan’s busy schedule, you haven’t exactly had a ton of time to hump like bunnies, so you’ve been super horny for the past couple of weeks, for no apparent reason.

Chan had to travel for about a month. About 2 days into his absence you started to realize — wow, you guys had sex wayyyyy too much. You couldn’t even last 2 days without sex before you began to masturbate to the memories of his hands on your body. Of course the toys you had stashed under the bed in a lockbox helped dramatically, but none of them filled you up like Chan did.

“Back so soon?” Chan teased, flexing his arm as he lifted the dumbbell.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together, praying to the sex gods that you weren’t turned on enough to seep through your leggings. The last thing you wanted was the whole gym to see a wet patch through your skin-tight pants.

“My knee decided that exercise wasn’t in the cards today.” You shivered at a sudden breeze that slipped through the crack of the open door — mentally cursing those who opened it. You grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over your head and slipping your arms through the sleeves as Chan put the dumbbells away.

Chan stretched his hand out to you, inviting you to lace your fingers between his perfect ones. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I can wait if you have more to do.” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning your head against his shoulder as he lead you to the door.

“Nah. I don’t want to stick around here if you’re in pain. You need to rest.”

“Alright you’ve convinced me. Let’s go home.” You giggled as Chan swung your hands obnoxiously while the two of you walked out the door.

---------

“Gosh, what’s the hurry?” Chan giggled as he stumbled into your small living room, practically knocking into the small table you had placed against the wall near the door. To be fair, you did kind of shove him into the room.

“Chan. It’s been a month since we’ve watched our drama. I’m going crazy here. I want to see if she’s finally going to get together with him.” You threw your bag onto the coat rack, flinching when the unstable piece of furniture rocked under the weight of your unreasonably large bag, making Chan giggle as he watched you steady the hunk of wood.

“Fine, fine. You could watch it without me you know.” Chan stepped on the heel of his shoe, slipping out of them with ease before sprawling on your dingy blue couch. He flinched a bit as the springs poked him in the side.

“Yeah, everything I own is falling apart. I did buy a new mattress though. Wanna binge watch it on my bed?” You threw your keys into a small bowl resting on top of the table next to the front door. Chan gave you that bowl when you first bought that apartment because you kept losing your keys and other important stuff like chapstick, pain killers, and your extra phone charger.

Chan sat up from the broken-down couch, laughing as the piece of shit groaned under his weight. “What did you do to this thing?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s like 87 years old. My grandmother gave it to me a long time ago, and from what my mom has told me, they did it everywhere.” You cringed at your own words. Probably wasn’t the best story to tell your boyfriend when you were hoping to get dicked down later.

Oh well.

Chan visibly cringed before hopping off the ragged couch. “Yep. Your room sounds lovely.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend's neck. “You know… we could always do more than watching shows in there.”

“Oh really.” Chan’s eyebrow shot up in the air, a dorky grin tugging at his lips as you finished your proposal.

“We can cuddle.” You kissed his lips. “And kiss.” You pressed another soft kiss to his lips.

“I like the sound of that.” Chan smiled, hands sliding down your shoulders before linking under your butt and lifting you up.

You couldn’t help but squeal a bit as Chan lifted you off the ground, arms and legs wrapping around him as if you were a koala bear hanging onto a tree during a severe windstorm.

“I’ve got you.” Chan chuckled as he walked the two of you to your less than extravagant bedroom.

Truth be told, being in his arms like that made you feel safe. It’s been far too long. The entire month he was gone, you craved moments like these. You missed having his arms around you as you giggled over senseless things, watching your K-drama together, sitting in the recording studio listening to his new music. All those moments were replaced with 3 AM text messages and 5 minute calls before bed.

“I missed you.” You nuzzled your head into his neck.

“I missed you too baby girl.” Chan pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, chuckling when he saw your sheets. “I hate to ruin this moment, but I have to ask. Are those taco sheets?”

“I happen to like tacos a lot.” You giggled. “And they were on sale.” You added, making Chan laugh.

“I love them.” Chan nuzzled his nose against yours — the corny action making you fake-gag.

“Be nice to your boyfriend.” Chan laughed.

“No.” You retorted.

“Fine.” An evil grin made its way on Chan’s face before he tossed you onto your mattress, laughing with you as you bounced a couple times. His laughter died down a bit as he crawled onto the mattress, snuggling next to your body.

You smacked his arm, “Hey! That’s one way to ruin the mood.”

“Oh? What mood did we have?” Chan couldn’t stop his laughter. “Last I remember we were talking about your grandparents going at it on your couch.”

You mentally smacked yourself. Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to bring that up when you were hoping to have his fingers shoved into your vag.

That’s when it hit you.

“What if I strip for you?” Your eyes met his, noticing the slight blush tinting his pale skin.

“Are you seriously trying to convince me to have sex with you?” Chan’s hands ran along your side, making your body shiver at his touch.

You wanted more — so much more, and he knew it. His large hand lingered on hip, squeezing the soft flesh softly as he waited for you to say something — anything that would give him permission to devour you bit by bit. Despite his teasing, he wanted this just as much as you did.

“I was really hoping to get laid tonight.” Your voice shook slightly, confidence wavering as you tried your hardest to keep your composure. Frankly, you were ready to get on your knees and beg, but you were hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

Chan chuckled a bit before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. It was as if time stopped, all that mattered in the world was his lips against yours. “That’s funny. I was hoping for the same thing.”

You moaned softly as Chan’s lips met yours once more, hands traveling up your torso to guide your shirt and sports bra up your body. Your lips separated to remove the unnecessary garments, only to connect once more when he tossed them across the room. Chan swiped his tongue against your lower lip, slipping into your mouth when you obediently parted your lips for him.

This kiss made up for all the kisses you two missed out on while he was gone. It was the perfect mixture of clashing teeth and tongue as you two felt each other’s warmth in a tight embrace. His breath ghosted across your skin as he pulled away from you, hands darting to the back of his head to yank his shirt off.

“Ugh, you’re perfect.” Your hands darted to his chest, fingertips feeling the taut muscles.

Chan just chuckled, eyes drinking every inch of your exposed skin. “So are you.”

Your heart nearly stopped when Chan swung his leg over your hips, piercing gaze watching your cheeks tint a rose color as he straddled you. His fingers fiddled with his belt buckle, unbuckling the damn thing at a painfully slow pace.

If you weren’t so entranced by his hands, you probably would have said something along the lines of ‘My grandfather moves faster than you,’ and thrusted your hips into his for effect. However, the way his hands looked as he threw the offending piece of leather across the room sent a wave of electricity up your spine.

Your heart panged against your ribcage as if it were playing an obnoxiously loud drum solo at a Metallica concert as your mind flashed with various images of Chan’s hands doing dirty things to your body. A moan escaped your lips as you imagined him sticking his fingers in your mouth before driving them into your pussy, fucking you mercilessly with his fingers as his tongue lapped at your slit.

A scene straight from a porn movie was playing in your head as you watched your boyfriend slip off his pants in front of you. Was that weird?

That doesn’t matter.

With each passing second, your underwear grew damper and you found yourself wanting him — and his hands — immediately.

Speaking of hands…

Chan’s hands were glorious. Your eyes followed their every movement, eyeing up the veins that scattered across his forearms. His knuckles were scraped slightly — most likely from today’s session with the punching bag at the gym. His fingers were the perfect length, and you knew what they were capable of. The thought if his fingers ramming into your g-spot sent a wave of excitement through you.

You were far too busy gawking at his hands to notice that he caught you staring.

“I knew it!” Chan’s excited voice startled you a bit, effectively turning off the dirty thoughts you were having and replacing them with pure panic.

“Knew what?” You looked away, cheeks tinted scarlet as you fiddled with your thumbs.

Maybe he didn’t actually catch you eye-fucking his hands?

“I knew you had a thing for my hands.”

“Shit.” The four-letter word slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Chan laughed at your reaction, arms wrapping around his midsection as he fell to his side. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Hey! You laughing at me isn’t helping.” You swatted his shoulder.

Sure it was kind of embarrassing to admit that simply looking at his god-like hands would turn you on faster than the speed of light, but it was kind of nice to know you didn’t have to hide it anymore — not that you were doing a good job.

Chan’s laughter died down. “Sorry. I’m not making fun of you. I just don’t see it. What makes my hands so sexy baby girl?”

“Chris.” You rolled him over and straddled his hips, grinding your core into his growing cock. “I find everything about you sexy — including your hands.”

Your fingertips grazed along his chest, fingers dipping into each curve of his abs as you ground your hips into his again, hoping he would get the hint to quit teasing and fuck you already. “I want you Chris.” You slid off his lap, fingertips tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

Chan’s eyes darkened with lust — or was that your imagination? Nevermind, that doesn’t matter.

You were more focused on his hand palming his length through the navy blue boxers you were trying to remove from his body. The erotic sight making you more and more excited for what was to come.

It had been so long. You were dying to unwrap him.

“What exactly do you want baby girl?” Chan purred. “I bet you’ve had some amazing dreams about my hands.” He smirked when your face flushed red. Bingo! “Tell me, what exactly do you want me to do.”

His words sent shivers up your spine. Well, the boy already knew you had a hand fetish. Might as well have some fun and get him to do what you’ve been dreaming of. After all, you have been having the same exact wet dream for over a month. Having Chan there to fuck you senseless would be so much better than riding a dildo on the bathroom floor.

“Please finger me.” Your voice shook ever-so-slightly, all sense of pride leaving your body as you practically begged for his touch. Even though it was embarrassing to beg for his fingers up your coochie, you knew it would all be worth it in the end. Chan would do anything to please you. “I want your tongue.” Your hands rested on his hips, thumbs dipping into the evident dips near his hip bones.

A sinister smirk took over Chan’s features as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “You’re such a good girl.”

His praise turned you on more than you’d care to admit — especially when it reminded you of how he praises your golden retriever. Despite that awkward comparison, you still love to hear his words of approval when you two are intimate.

You moaned as Chan traveled down your clothed body, quickly ridding you of your leggings.

“No panties?” Chan teased, shooting an award-winning smirk at you as he chucked your leggings across the room.

“It’s easier to not wear any with leggings. Then I don’t have to worry about panty lines.” You glared at him. “Just, get to work!”

Boys wouldn’t understand.

Chan couldn’t help but laugh at your passionate outburst as his hands ran across the smooth skin of your thighs. Your frustration was quickly replaced with pleasure when he opened your thighs, his warm breath ghosting across your core as his hands left you bare and spread before him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Chan’s lips pressed against your thigh quickly before he hovered over your center, tongue darting across his lower lip as his eyes drank in every dip and curve you had to offer.

Even though the words were nice to hear, you didn’t need him to utter those 3 little words. The expressions on his face as he took off your clothing, piece by piece, made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. His eyes always watched you with such wonder, hands always feeling the need to grab the parts of you that you once thought were horrible, a blush always evident on his cheeks when you were the most vulnerable to him, those were the unspoken words that didn’t need to be said.

You mean the world to me.

Without warning, Chan dove into your folds, tongue flattening against you as his fingertips pressed into your thighs. The overwhelming pleasure took you by surprise, making your back arch as a loud moan echoed through the room. Your head pressed into the pillows, hands tangling in Chan’s curly locks as his middle and index fingers entered your core.

The sinful sounds echoing in the room only heightened your pleasure — the sounds of moaning, sucking, licking, and slurping making your thighs shake around Chan’s head.

This was exactly why you guys couldn’t fuck in the dorms. It wouldn’t take long for one of the boys to hear the two of you and either A) ask you two to stfu and stop, or B) wonder if someone was dying. You two tried to fuck in the dorms once, but your voice (and Chan) betrayed you.

A harsh suck brought your attention back to the brunette between your legs. Chan backed away from your core, “Eyes on me princess.”

His big brown eyes watched every one of your reactions as his lips enclosed around your clit, sucking harshly, sending intense waves of pleasure through your body. Chan’s fingers curled inside you, hitting your g-spot with each harsh thrust.

The amount of pleasure you were feeling was indescribable. No vibrator could compare to the feeling of his fingers ramming inside you while his tongue flicked your clit. You couldn’t help but hope that he wouldn’t be gone this long again — even though you knew that wasn’t going to happen. Chan was an idol. Going on a world tour could take him away for nearly a year.

“Oh my God Chan.” Your whole body tensed as your orgasm approached, toes curling as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you. It was as if a coil was tightening more and more with each pass of his tongue until it snapped.

A mixture of curse words and Chan’s name slipped from your lips as you reached your high, toes curling as your fingers let go of his hair to fist the sheets. Your thighs shook around his head as Chan’s tongue lapped up your juices, riding you through your orgasm.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” You panted, body shivering at the intense orgasm that was still making its way through your body.

Chan chuckled a bit, pulling his boxers off his body before hovering over you. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose, making you giggle a bit, before asking, “Can you keep going?”

His eyes held concern, which warmed your heart, but there was no way in hell you’d pass up having his cock inside you.

“Please keep going.” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I need more of you.”

Chan pressed kisses all over your face before lining himself up with your core. “I’m happy to oblige.”

Your fingernails dug into Chan’s shoulder blades as he pressed into you — feeling every inch of his cock rub against your walls as his hips rocked into yours. Chan’s hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight so he wouldn’t crush you. You pressed your face in the crook of his neck, aiming to suck on his skin as he set a quick pace, thrusting into your heated core.

“No marks.” Chan commanded, the authority in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes sir.” You could swear you felt him twitch inside you at the title. Darn. You were really hoping to litter his pale skin with some dark purple marks. Then the whole world would know that he was yours. Then again… Perhaps he had a point. That could make for some bad publicity for Stray Kids.

Chan’s lips pressed against yours, giving you something to do with your tongue as he deepened the kiss. His hips slammed into you faster, gaining power with each thrust. You could feel his breath ghost across your lips as you parted for air. The new control you had over your mouth gave you the energy to focus on wrapping your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing him tightly as his hips ground into yours.

“I’m close baby.” Chan’s husky voice sounded strained as his thrusts became erratic.

“Choke me.” If you weren’t having the time of your life, you’d be embarrassed by how fucked out you sounded begging for his hand around your throat.

Chan groaned, hand immediately finding its way to your throat, pressing down firm. It was glorious, but you still wanted more.

“Harder.”

Chan quickly obliged, cutting off most of your air supply with his hand. The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin brought you to your second orgasm within seconds, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around Chan’s cock, milking him into his own orgasm.

Chan released your throat, a deep moan echoing in the room as you tightened your thighs around his hips, forcing him to stay inside you as he hit his release. You could feel his cum coat your walls as he slowly rocked his hips against yours, helping the two of you ride out your orgasms. You repeated his name over and over as if it was the only thing you knew, arms holding him closer as you basked in the afterglow.

“I came inside.” Chan pulled out, running his hands through his hair, stress taking over any previous emotions he had felt.

You sat up and rushed to him, rubbing his shoulders to bring him down from his freakout. “Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.”

Chan sighed, relief flooding throughout his body as he sunk back into your embrace.

“Besides, even if I wasn’t, I kind of put you in a chokehold with my legs, so you would have had a right to freak out at me.” You giggled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“You know, having children with you wouldn’t be so bad.” He mumbled.

You weren’t a fan of having kids in your early twenties, but hearing him admit that he wants kids someday warmed your heart. At least you knew if something were to happen and you got pregnant, you’d have Chan by your side. “Yeah?”

“You’d make a great mom.” Chan murmured, sleep slowly taking over the poor boy.

“I think you’re too tired to think straight.” You couldn’t help but tease him. He looked so tired.

Chan merely chuckled, pulling you under the covers to press your bodies together. “I am tired, but it’s true.”

You leaned your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep was Chan’s whispers, “I missed you.”

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anthropologicalhands · 5 years

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ceg fic: sunlight and salutations

title: sunlight and salutations pairing: beth/valencia summary: valencia loves a girl who laughs. notes: this was supposed to be a more structured fic, but then it turned into more of a valencia’s feelings fic instead. Ao3 link

Valencia has always been an early riser. She loves the pale sunlight, the quiet that stretches across the streets of West Covina, after the garbage trucks have trundled past and before the hum of the daily commute starts to build.

Each morning, she wakes before her alarm even has a chance to ring, and heads straight to her yoga room. Before breakfast, before checking her phone. Life is in stasis until she has finished her asanas.

Yoga may have started as a way to keep herself fit, as part of her easy-breezy, effortlessly hot and fit girl image, but Valencia has always liked the practice for herself. It gives her time to unravel the knots in her back and in her mind, before the day properly arrives and she needs to put herself together again.

By the time the sun is fully in the sky, she’s ready to work.

Today, she has a new client. The client’s name is Beth, she lives a couple towns over from West Covina, and the meeting is at Home Base during Heather’s newly-instated happy hour. Valencia gets there early, portfolio in hand, stomach fluttering. Beth is one of the first clients to reach out directly, not just a friend-of-a-friend or another contact within six degrees of separation. And that’s nice, that’s good. She thinks Valencia is a good choice to solve her problem. Valencia is about to become known as a problem-solver, not just a hot girl. Not just a cool girl. She will be a normal-temperature event planner who makes dreams come true and builds up a fanatically loyal clientele.

Valencia is waiting at their table, hands folded, and spots Beth almost as soon as she walks through the door. It helps that Beth breaks into a smile as soon as her eyes settle on Valencia. Valencia immediately likes the look of her.

It doesn’t hurt, though, when Beth laughs—actually laughs—at her jokes and calls her funny.

No one has ever called Valencia funny before.

It becomes a game, to see how quickly she can make Beth laugh.

Beth is bright and wry and pretty much always in a good mood; making her laugh isn’t exactly the most difficult thing in the world but Valencia loves it. She easily becomes one of Valencia’s favorite clients, because she always knows what she’s going to get with Beth’s events, and that’s why her heart always soars when she sees a new message, coming through her inbox or blinking on voicemail or popping up on Facebook or sending restaurant recommendations through OpenTable.

Beth’s smart too, so she catches on quickly to Valencia’s game. She finds other ways to get Valencia’s attention; instead of heading straight for her table, she’ll approach from just outside of Valencia’s line of sight. Her favorite strategy is to sneak up behind Valencia and clap her hands across her shoulders, leaning forward until the wisps of her pale hair are in Valencia’s peripheral vision. Valencia can usually catch the scent of her perfume before she does, and she has gotten accustomed to listening for the familiar clicks of Beth’s shoes, but she lets her do it anyways.

Sure, it’s totally dorky, but her and Beth totally count as friends at this point, so that doesn’t bother Valencia as much as it might have once.

Sometimes in the mornings, stretching up her chin as she arcs her spine through cobra pose, Valencia imagines being an instructor again. Beth is wiry and her energy comes in bursts—more suited for pilates than yoga. But she had said before that she would be open to having Valencia teach her, to show Beth how to stretch out her neck and loosen those knots she gets in her back and shoulders; even with Beth’s easygoing nature, Valencia knows how those minor stresses can add up.

They haven’t made any concrete plans—it’s more of a passing notion than anything else and one that Valencia finds slightly perplexing for its persistence. Valencia is not generally a woman given to impulse. She likes to think things through: to make plans and implement them in a timely manner. It’s a quality that’s gotten her trouble more than once, when she wedded herself so thoroughly to one particular vision of her future that it nearly happened.

But even Valencia is not immune to the occasional drifting thought.

She thinks about how Beth would be more than capable. Perhaps not as flexible, and probably pulling faces as she moves through the stances, but capable, certainly. She would probably laugh as she tries to fold herself into the proper poses, and tease Valencia every time she adjusts Beth’s stance.

“C’mon, teach,” Beth would say, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “I’m doing it. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna split in two.”

And Valencia would laugh, but would still keep a sharp eye out, because Beth could be the kind of novice who overextends, either by pushing out her lunge too far or losing her balance while bring her hands over her head in tree pose, and Valencia would have to help her keep her center by placing her hands on her waist and—

Hm. The twinge low in her gut and giddy in her head at the image is pleasant, and not unfamiliar, exactly, but it’s been a while since she’s felt it.

Unfortunately, it’s also very distracting. Valencia sticks out her practice through all twelve rounds but finds no release and resolves to take an extra-hot shower to make up for it.

Not all clients are as good as Beth.

It’s been a long day, trying to be patient with a bride-to-be who has champagne taste with an apple cider budget and refuses to take any of Valencia’s recommendations seriously. Valencia can actually feel her body reacting sluggishly, rather than being ready to go at a moment’s notice. Luckily, she is able to go home and freshen up before her last meeting of the day, and as soon as she and Beth are done, she’s driving over to Heather and Rebecca’s murder house for some much-needed gurlgroup4evah time, with gossip and Rebecca’s obscure references and rosé. After the day she’s had, Valencia wants all of it and she wants it now.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize that Beth arrived until she speaks to her directly.

“Wow, Valencia, you look really nice,” she says, and when Valencia jumps in her seat and looks up she catches Beth staring with her head tilted to the side, eyebrows slightly raised. She drops her eyes as soon as Valencia meets them, and Valencia can feel heat rises at the back of her neck, and she adjusts the neckline of her wine-colored blouse.

“Oh?” Valencia clears her throat, embarrassed by having missed her usual cues. “Thank you, but it’s nothing. I’m meeting with the girls after we’re done here, and I just wanted to not look like I went two rounds with Malia-the-Malignant.”

Beth winces sympathetically. “Hard day, huh?”

Valencia shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Beth easily, hanging her purse across the chair’s back before sliding into her seat. “You still look really nice.”

Something about the gentle firmness of Beth’s delivery makes Valencia’s toes curl and her muscles tighten briefly, and suddenly the sluggishness is gone and it feels like there are springs coiled up in every limb and she can bounce around the room like Tigger.

But bouncing around like Tigger would be deeply unprofessional, so she says thank you again and pushes the venue list to the middle of the table for Beth’s approval and pretends to ignore the way the late afternoon light makes Beth’s hair glow.

There is a long stretch of weeks where Beth doesn’t have any new events for Valencia and has been too busy to come into West Covina. It’s not a disaster: while Valencia isn’t exactly swimming in clients she is starting to get booked on a steady basis, and therefore she has other things she can do.

But still. She misses planning for Beth. After all, Beth is one of her best clients. It’s fun planning stuff with Beth. It’s fun talking about things that are not planning stuff with Beth.

Beth is in her head nearly every morning, these days.

So, Valencia makes a decision.

She sends Beth a message: hey, it’s been a while, want to get dinner?

It makes sense, after getting used to spending so much time together, to miss her.

She books one of the nicer restaurants, one that deploys candlelight in a way that Valencia knows is advantageous to her skin. Makes sense to dress up, wear a black-off-the-shoulder top with burgundy slacks and sleek heels.

She fusses outside the restaurant, wanting to appear relaxed, to lean against the concrete wall instead of being surprised on the bench, torn between pretending to fiddle with her phone or to keep looking around expectantly, as if she only just got there. The anticipation is like bubble wrap under her feet—sure, it keeps her buoyant now, but one wrong move and there’s going to be a very embarrassing noise.

She sees Beth’s car pull into the restaurant parking lot, and then Beth herself appears soon after. She’s dressed up as well – her black jeans are a little more casual, but her shirt is turquoise and silken and is both something that Beth would absolutely wear and something Valencia has never seen her wear before.

When she catches sight of Valencia, she smiles again, and Valencia’s whole stomach turns over in response.

“Hope I didn’t overdress,” she says, smiling, approaching Valencia and giving her a hug. Valencia returns it, lost for words.

She finds them later, over dinner, as she decides that maybe she wants a different kind of relationship, and that she wants to make more room for this warmth in her life.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Beth says during their first morning together, awake before Valencia, chin resting on her hand. Valencia fumbles for the alarm clock and groans at the time, before rolling over to poke Beth in retaliation for waking her when the sky is still dark. Beth squirms back in a brief but valiant effort to evade her, only to succumb to her own laughter.

When Beth laughs, her whole face lights up, and it’s impossible to look away, to not be delighted by the fine creases that fan delicately from the corners of her eyes and the way her mouth curves upwards. Each time Valencia sees it, and knows herself to be the cause of it, the world becomes so much warmer and brighter and lighter.

It’s a good way to start the day.

#crazy ex girlfriend #beth x valencia #valencia perez #beth #ellie writes fic #i enjoy their dynamic muchly

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timelordthirteen · 6 years

Text

Some Other Time - Part 2

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Mature

Summary: College student Lacey dumps her boyfriend and needs a new apartment, it just so happens her professor, Dr. Gold, has a room to rent.

Chapter Summary: Anon asked: Does Some Other Time!Lacey do yoga? If so, does Gold like to watch without her noticing?

Notes: For the impromptu Full Frontal Rumbelle Challenge that @emospritelet and @thatravenclawbitch started. I said I wasn't going to do anymore of this verse but here I am. I am a weak, pathetic writer, just out here begging for attention.

[AO3]

He was going to Hell.

Or, perhaps, he was already there? Yes, that made more sense. He was in Hell. One of his own foolish making, the road, as always, paved with the best of intentions from the moment he uttered the words, “I have an apartment you could rent, Miss French.”

For the first three weeks Gold barely knew Lacey was occupying any space in his house. He might see or hear her come and go, always using the back stairs and the back door so she could cut down the alley to the edge of campus, but apart from that they had no interactions within the confines of his pink Victorian. She joked one afternoon, as they sat in his university office, sorting through essays, that she was like Mrs. Rochester, locked away in the attic.

Except he wouldn’t have minded at all if she’d come down once in a while, perhaps for dinner. He saw some of the things she ate, and seemed mostly to subsist on take out, pizza, and ramen noodle cups. The spicy shrimp were her favorite if the case of 50 she brought home from the wholesale warehouse place was anything to go by. She seemed so proud of herself that she got them for a quarter each, and that made him wonder if he was charging her too much rent, and if he was making her financial situation worse.

He wanted to invite her to dinner, to sit in his kitchen and sip wine while he cooked for her. He wanted to make her laugh and get in arguments over translations of Homer, to see that fire in her eyes and hear her accent deepening as she got more and more insistent that she was right.

He wondered what she’d be like to live with, really live with. Did she leave dirty dishes in the sink or her socks on the floor? Did she insist on straightening the bookshelves before she went to bed? Did she turn the TV off or fall asleep with it on?

But of all the things Gold had considered about Lacey French, he could have never anticipated what the sight of her doing yoga on his patio would do to him.

Her back arched as she rose up, keeping her hands and feet flat on the ground as she did so. The pose left her with her arse in the air, made even more noticeable by the tight black leggings she was wearing. She moved slowly and gracefully, like a dancer, as her body rolled up slowly, her arms loose until her shoulders had squared themselves. Her hands came up over her head and then behind, stretching down to between her shoulder blades. She brought one leg up, bending it at the knee behind her and then raising it higher. Her body bent forward slightly, and she reached back to grab her foot with her hands Then, in a move he’d only ever seen Olympic gymnasts and ballet dancers do, she pulled her leg up.

He turned away a few seconds later, just as she lowered herself to her knees again and stretched over the mat. Her legs were slightly spread, and the position lifted her backside suggestively. The soothing voice of the instructor she was listening to called it Downward Dog, but the only thing in his mind involving the word dog was something far filthier.

His trousers were tight and he hurried from the room before it could get worse. Images floated through his mind, how flexible she was, how graceful her body moved, how strong her legs were, and how good it would feel to have them wrapped around him, squeezing him as he -

Fuck.

Gold shook his head sharply and glared down at his traitorous body as he sagged against the wall. Guilt sat heavy in his gut at the way he’d ogled her.

Lacey was his former student, a teaching assistant in his department, and now his tenant. He should not be having lurid fantasies of her while she was exercising. After a few minutes, he knew the feeling wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, so he made his way upstairs for a cold shower.

Lacey smiled as she sat up, breathing out slowly as she stretched. She always felt good after exercising, but today there was something different, something that wasn’t an endorphin rush and the burn in her muscles.

It was probably Gold.

Since she’d moved in to the small attic apartment in his house, it felt like a weight had been lifted. Trying to find a student apartment in late September was a lost cause, and the only thing she’d been able to find in her price range was well on the other side of the city. She would have had to drive every day and pay extra for parking. In the winter it would have been hellish to say the least.

Gold’s offer was like manna from heaven, and once she moved in, she knew she wasn’t going to try very hard to find another place unless she had to. His house was lovely, a perfect mixture of old and new, and the apartment was just the right space for her. Small and cozy, but light and open at the same time. It was one large room with a bathroom at the back, and a large partition between the bedroom area and the rest of the living space. The kitchenette suited her perfectly, since she rarely did more than heat up soup or boil water for tea.

Coming home to her own little space had reinvigorated her somehow, made her feel more relaxed. Even though she was renting and still sharing a space, it felt different from just renting any old apartment in a big building with ten floors and an elevator that broke once a week just when you were trying to carrying up the groceries. Maybe it was because she was sharing with a person she trusted more than anyone else, who seemed to understand her in a way few others ever had. Maybe it was because she wanted them to share a bit more.

She sighed and rolled up her yoga mat, tucking it under her arm as she slipped through the french doors into the living room. It was foolish to think that Gold would ever consider a relationship with her. He was unconventionally handsome, funny, and brilliant, and when he swaggered into class with his cane and three-piece suit her whole body tingled. But she was an older undergrad with a GED and a few courses from a community college, working her ass off to try to get a degree that might barely pay off her student loans when she was done. He was a tenured professor with numerous published articles, who had traveled the world, was writing his own book, and even assisted Scotland Yard once. They got on well so far, and she thought maybe they could be friends eventually.

She stopped to check the mailbox before she went upstairs, but there was nothing except the usual junk and a catalog for a lingerie shop. It made her cheeks heat to think about Gold seeing it. Would he wonder if she’d ordered from it? Would he ever flip through it and imagine her in something, preferably from the back pages where the naughtier stuff was. Grinning, she made her way up to the second floor and down the hallway, towards the stairs up to the attic space.

Just then, Gold stepped out of the hall bath, wrapped in a fluffy blue towel.

Lacey gasped and dropped her mail. Gold made a high pitched noise he would later deny, and dropped his towel.

Her eyes couldn’t help themselves as they traveled down his body. He was leaner than he seemed when he wore his three piece suits, and his skin looked soft and smooth. There was no hair on his chest, but the thin, dark trail that lead down from his navel pulled her gaze right down.

She gasped again. He was - his cock was - damn.

Her focus snapped to his face, which was bright red and frozen in something between shock and abject horror.

“Shit! Sorry!” she exclaimed, spinning around and covering her eyes at the same time.

Gold scrambled to pick up his towel, holding it in front of him as he limped to his room as quickly as possible. He had to move passed Lacey to do it, giving her a flash of his bare arse, which made him wince again in humiliation.

She peeked between her fingers as he ducked around the corner into the bedroom, and bit her lip as she caught a flash of his backside. The door shut sharply, and she blew out a slow breath before she turned and hurried up the stairs, visions of his swaying cock and dimpled ass leaving her with a wide grin and warm ache in her core.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden lace #golden lace fic #some other time #fic #my rumbelle fic #my golden lace fic #rumbelle full frontal #why did i write more of this?#why am i starting another thing?#i hate me

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makbaes-archives · 7 years

Text

playing house | 7

member: hoseok x reader word count: 1,775 warnings: hoseok is only in this for like, a millisecond

summary: it’s not like you’re hard pressed for cash, but there is that spring break trip you need to save up for, so why not grab your best friend and pretend to be a couple for some research study? what could possibly go wrong?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (m) Part 5 Part 6

“Rise and shine, baby doll!”

You jump at the sudden intrusion and reluctantly let go of the nearest blunt object you could find once you register the voice as Lisa’s. Mumbling into your pillow, you hike the covers over your head.

“Come on. Get up! It’s yoga time, remember? You promised me and Rosie.” Lisa pulls back the covers all the way to the end of your bed, and you shiver, lifting your head to glare at her.

“Why did I ever give you the code to my apartment?” Slowly, you sit up, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. “It’s too early. Why can’t we go later today?”

“To answer your first question: Because you were holding yourself up in here and missing classes, and I came to the rescue.” She goes to your closet and pulls out some workout clothes and throws them at you. “Also, this is the only yoga class they have, plus the teacher is super hot, and you need to get over Ho-”

She stops short when she sees you staring daggers at her.

“He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named,” she finishes with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, his name is Jackson, and I hear he has an 8-pack.”

You snort, “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Bambam. They’re friends.”

“So, you’re trying to hook me up with your boyfriend’s friend?”

“I’m trying to get you out of bed like you entrusted me to do. Now enough stalling! Get dressed. And try to look cute.”

Groaning exaggeratedly, you stand up and get changed. Lisa insists you put some makeup on, begrudgingly accepting when you go for a light, natural look.

There are more people in the studio than you thought would be for a class this early. Rosie is up at the front with three yoga mats already laid out for you all. She waves you both over, and you and Lisa sit down and start to stretch.

As soon as Jackson walks in, it’s suddenly not surprising as to why there are so many people in such an early class. He’s toned and handsome and has an incredible jaw line. He basically looks like a God, and you have to wipe the drool when he starts moving.

It’s an intermediate class, but he starts out with the basic poses first to get everyone warmed up, and then he eases into the more difficult ones. By the end of the class, you’ve worked up a sweat and can only hope you don’t look a total mess because Lisa is waving him over. He approaches the three of you with a smile, and you can hear the disappointed sighs of several other girls in the room.

“Hey, Lisa. Rosie. What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, and he holds out a hand. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jackson,” Lisa introduces.

You shake Jackson’s hand, not surprised by his grip at all. “Hi, nice to meet you. That was a great class.”

Jackson beams with pride, and you admire how handsome he is this close up. “Thank you. It’s a lot of fun. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You know what else she enjoyed? Your-”

“Confidence!” Rosie interrupts, and you want to kiss her for it.

“Oh,” he laughs, cheeks tinging pink. “Thank you.”

Anything Jackson says after that falls on deaf ears the moment you spot him walking into the studio. Suddenly, you feel sick to your stomach. His dance practice isn’t usually this early, you think, and you wonder briefly if he’s just trying to keep himself busy, too.

Interrupting whatever is being said, you turn to Jackson. “Is there a class after yours?”

He blinks at you before shaking his head. “No, but-”

“Great! Would you like to join us for coffee?”

Jackson looks both confused and amused by your behavior. Lisa throws you a questioning glance before she spots what’s gotten you in a panic.

“Yes! Come join us! You can tell me all of Bam’s secrets.”

At this, Jackson laughs and agrees, following you all out. You loop around to his other side in an attempt to not be spotted. You think you make it out safely, unaware of Hoseok’s eyes following you out as you leave with some random guy.

It turns out that Jackson is one of the sweetest guys you have ever met. He’s loud and funny and a little much sometimes, but he’s also kind and caring and respectful.

A week later, after much insistence from Lisa, you find yourself on a date with him. Dinner and a movie, to be exact. Dinner is fun, thanks to his jokes and stories, and the movie is enjoyable, too, even with his arm around you for the second half of the movie.

But it’s when he’s walking you to your door that everything starts coming together for you.

“I had a great time,” you smile up at him. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure. I had fun.” And after a beat of silence, he leans in for a kiss.

This is the final piece clicking into place. There are no butterflies in your stomach as his lips touch yours - no fireworks exploding behind your eyes. Your heart doesn’t skip a beat. Not the way it did with Hoseok.

Hoseok.

That’s it. Jackson is just too similar to Hoseok. Not exact, no, but similar enough to feel the ache in your heart when you realize you’re not here with him.

Pulling away, you look up at Jackson nervously, biting your lip as you gather the courage to turn him down.

“I’m sorry,” you start slowly. “I thought I was ready to do this, but…”

Jackson gives you a small smile and nods in understanding. “Don’t be sorry. It’s… your ex, right?”

Glancing away, you nod. “Let me guess. Bambam?”

Jackson nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but… maybe there’s a reason you’re not ready to move on.”

You can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “There’s a lot more to it than that.”

“Right.” He steps away and smiles as he gives you a little wave goodbye. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jackson.”

As the door closes, you press your back against it, letting out a deep sigh, eyes falling closed and head falling back onto the door. Well, you think, so much for a distraction.

The next day, as you’re heading out of the library, you nearly smack right into someone. Pushing your hair out of your face, you see that it’s Yoongi staring down at you.

“Oh. Hi,” you mumble, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“Can we talk?” He asks, making no effort to dance around the awkward tension.

Nodding, you follow him to the small courtyard on the side of the building. It’s quiet with just the two of you there. He sits on a bench, and you follow suit, keeping your bag in your lap in case you need to make a quick escape. Yoongi notices and rolls his eyes.

“Relax, will you?”

You sigh, letting the bag slip onto the ground. “Sorry. It’s just… weird.”

“Well, yeah, I’d say so after ignoring your friends for weeks.”

Blinking, momentarily stunned at his bluntness, you turn your gaze to your shoes. You should apologize, but before you get a chance to even open your mouth, Yoongi is talking again.

“He told me everything if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You were afraid of that. “And everyone else?”

“They just know you had a big fight and aren’t talking. And apparently aren’t talking to us either.” Seeing the look on your face, he continues. “They aren’t taking it personally. They know it’s hard to reach out with him so close.”

Sighing again, you run a hand through your hair. You feel so vulnerable with someone else knowing exactly what happened. You haven’t even told Lisa yet, fearing that she will tell Naya and all of her research material on you and Hoseok will be for nothing.

“So, I take it you’ve been a wreck?” He asks, and you scoff.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll call it that.” You lift your eyes to his. “How’s he doing?”

“Not any better. Especially after he saw you flirting with that yoga instructor last week.”

You groan. “Shit. He saw that?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you wallow in your stupidity. You consider telling Yoongi your side of things, unsure if it’s the reason is for some advice or to make yourself look better in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to tell him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him. I thought maybe I could deal with it, but… God, I’m so stupid. I let myself get caught up in everything, that by the time I realized it, it was too late. Someone was already going to get hurt.”

“Stop being cryptic. Realized what?”

“That I… I love him.” You’ve never said it out loud before - haven’t been able to - but once you do, it’s like a weight is lifted off your chest. “I love waking up next to him. I love cooking with him. I love when he falls asleep on my shoulder during movie nights.”

Tears sting at your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

Yoongi shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “I’m pretty sure we all knew before you did.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, well, I fucked everything up, so…” You laugh bitterly at yourself. “Everything was fine until we slept together. I just… panicked. I thought if I pretended nothing happened, that my feelings would disappear. But they didn’t, and it cost us our friendship.”

Yoongi groans and you cock your brow at him.

“God, you’re both fucking idiots. Why didn’t you just talk about it with him?”

“We did. And we agreed to pretend it didn’t happen in an attempt to not ruin anything.”

“And how did that work out for you?” He sighs, standing. “That wasn’t talking. That was hiding. You need to talk to him. I guarantee he’ll understand once he knows the full story. I know I sure do.”

“No. I can’t. I can barely look at him without falling apart. I don’t want to hurt him anymore. Let me give him space. Let me get some space to just… get over him, okay?”

“Y/N-”

“No, Yoongi. I’m sorry.”

Gathering your bag, you stand and leave him alone in the courtyard. He watches your back as you round the corner and disappears, and he shakes his head, wondering why he’s friends with two of the biggest idiots in the world.

Thank you for reading! The next chapter is the last :( As always, feel free to leave feedback <3

xoxo Tyler

NEXT CHAPTER

#kpoptrashtag #jhope fic #jhope smut #bts fic #bts smut #fic: playing house #hoseok fic #hobi fic

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iamwhelmed · 7 years

Text

For Whom the Bell Tolls: Chapter 11

All right... this chapter might entail some body horror and light gore. Just, uh, be warned I suppose.

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net!

Summary: When monsters start to invade Mayview, the morality of the connection between a medium and their spirit comes into question. Is killing a spirit any different from taking the life of another human? Relationships between club members become strained, and if Max thought the club was coming apart before, it certainly is now.

While the meditating bit had gotten, uh, easier, it still wasn't his… forte.

He'd fallen three different times trying to do yoga on one of the wooden slabs Master Hashimoto had directed him to. Why, oh why, did a "tree" pose have to be so, so difficult? It's a tree! It literally just sits there, being a tree! Ed huffed and tried once again to balance on one leg. He got as far as stretching his arms above his head before he felt his leg giving way to the front. Ed yelped on the way down, falling face first into the carpeted floor of the dojo.

Yeah, real manly, Ed. I'm sure Isabel would have loved to see that.

Though, as of late, she didn't seem to be mad at him anymore, or was at least trying to hide it. She'd been acting funny since Tuesday morning, what with walking him to and from school- like they used to- asking him where he was going when he left for training (he lied and told her he was going to the library to meet with a tutor and study… which she clearly hadn't bought), even being right at the door when he came home with a bag of chips in one hand and a random video game in the other. It was almost too nice of her, like she was trying really, really hard to get him to say something. Maybe she was just mad he was lying to her? But she hadn't cared the first entire week! What could have possibly changed? Did she suddenly decide to forgive him? Was she using reverse psychology on him in the hopes that she'd suffocate him with her presence so much that he'd never wanna be around her again? And if that was the case, that meant she wanted him gone and she never wanted to be his friend again!

What. Was. Happening?

Ed grabbed at his head and rolled around on the floor.

Did she hate him, now? Did she love him again? Had Max been a disappointing New Best Friend? Or was he too good? Was she bad? No! Isabel was never bad! She was amazing in every way! Max would have been lucky to have her as a best friend! What was he even thinking? Maybe it was all in his head? Maybe Isabel was never brushing him off at all? Maybe she wasn't being friendly to him! Maybe he'd wanted her to be his friend again so badly that he'd started hallucinating?

"Ah! Enough! I have training to do!"

He slapped his cheeks and turned around, climbing back up onto the wooden slab until he was standing with both feet atop it. "Come on, come on! I can do it this time!" All of the other students had gone on break after meditation, leaving him the last standing pupil hanging, er, flopping, around. Concentration should have been easy! And yet; Ed nearly slipped forward again and yelped, catching himself by placing one heel right at the edge of the wood to balance himself.

"Is there something bothering you, Ed?"

He turned to see Master Hashimoto, sliding out the doors that lead to what Ed had deemed the "Tea Room", the only place in the dojo aside from the kitchen and dining room he let anybody drink anything, and it was almost always tea. His voice read friendly, but the narrow of his eyes and the sharpness of his shoulders spoke contrarily. He was a more patient man than Master Guerra, but somehow that only made disappointing him feel worse. He glided over to the slab and stood before Ed with a frown creeping at the corners under his beard and mustache. "Oh, hi Master Hashimoto. No, nothing's bothering me."

"Then why can you not balance?"

Ed shrunk and turned his head away, a nervous chuckle bubbling in his throat. "Oh, uh, honestly it's just that I've been doing it for so long. It gets harder over time, you know?"

"Then why did you not do it right the first time?"

The room feel silent, and Ed's shoulders slumped; he'd never been the best liar. He sighed and glanced to the floor. He was so, so stupid. All this time he'd been pushing himself to get better for Isabel, but the very thing that drove him was the thing messing him up again, and again, and again. How was he supposed to become a man for her when she kept confusing him? He was supposed to know her better than anyone else, and there he was wondering why she started talking to him again! Ed bit at the inside of his cheek; he really had been a horrible best friend, if even now he couldn't figure her out.

"You are letting your worries cloud your mind." Ed blinked, and looked towards Master Hashimoto, who hadn't taken his eyes off him for a moment. "The only emotion you need to feel in battle is drive, Edward- the drive to protect those you care about." He raised one hand and set it at Ed's shoulder, squeezing lightly. The touch was familiar, something, it occurred to Ed, Spender would have done. Master Hashimoto smiled at him, mustache rising at the corners, fluffing outwards. "Your love for her will make you stronger. Focus on that."

Ed nodded, and his sensei pulled away, folding his hands back into the sleeves of his robe.

Ed straightened up, bringing one wobbling foot to set upon the inside of his other leg, then began to raise his arms above his head. I remember meeting her the first time, how she smiled at me and called me "Newbie"; I already thought she was so cool, even back then. And I remember the first time we sparred! She tackled me so fast that we went rolling down the hill and Mister Spender had to chase after us! Memory after memory floated to the front of his mind- her smile, her laugh, her bloodthirst, her spirit- it all flashed by, one shared memory after another. I remember staying up late with her on our seventh Halloween together! She ate so much candy corn that she puked out the window and hit one of the students- the old man wouldn't let it go for, like, the rest of the year! I remember starting sixth grade, and getting so lost that she and I had to go back to the dojo and ask for a ride to school because we had no idea where it was. I remember the first time she won a match against an older student, and how happy she was, but mostly I remember her hugging me so tightly I couldn't feel my lower arms, or my hands, or my lungs- much of anything, really.

He stretched his arms and let his hands join at the top of his head, straightening his back to get the most out of the pose. Shutting his eyes, he smiled, knowing he was balancing perfectly.

He was tired, and beaten (if the bruises along his arms was any indication). Master Hashimoto was a pacifist, but his students were most assuredly not. Ed yawned and stretched his back out, hands at his waist as he leaned back. His backpack swung at his shoulders, but he ignored the weight against his sore body. There were other parts that hurt way worse.

He twitched at the memory of a younger student kicking right at his crotch area, and hunched forward as he walked.

After meditating, correctly, for two hours, he'd sparred for another three, and it was high time to get home and pass out until he'd wake up, go to school, and do it all over again. He grunted. At least his body was getting used it, he supposed.

Something passed by so fast he'd hardly noticed it, but he felt the slightest brush of something sticky and slimy against the back of his backpack. Ed halted and twisted around, eyes wide. "Hey! Stop that! I'm a spectral, you know! You can't scare me!" In hindsight, that might have been a bad thing to yell had it been a normal person playing a prank on him, but he had a feeling it was a mischievous spirit looking for trouble. Well, they've certainly found it… He glanced around, raising his hands in fists up to the front of his face.

When nothing jumped from the bushes, he let his fists fall, sneer falling to simply thin lips. "Huh, guess it was nothing." Ed turned around, shrugging his backpack further onto his shoulders, headed again in the direction of home.

"Maybe it was just a bird that flew too low or-" Something hot and slimy wrapped around his hand, and before he could register what it was, sharp pain filtered through his arm, all the way up to his elbow. He screamed and formed a larger fist with his spectral energy, slamming it down upon the mystery enemy with as much force as he could muster through his pain. "Get- eck, get off of me!" Two punches had it's latch on him fading. It yelped and fell back. Following it home, Ed could see it wasn't just a small, sharp-toothed animal that'd nipped him.

It was a tentacle with canines wider than the length of his shoulders, shrinking back to a monster much larger than five Ed's stacked together. Its body was but a clump of rotting human flesh, melting into its own chattering human teeth. It had no eyes for sight, but its nostrils sat wide and sniffing where its pupils should have been. It screamed, and all that came out was the horrified shrieks of a man in pain Ed had never known. He gulped. "A monster?" It slinked towards him, body sliding and leaving a trail of blood like a snail left slime, pausing every few moments to scream again. Ed took a step back for each inch it moved, fists once balled trembling at his sides. It continued to advance of him, and suddenly he could see there was more than one sharp-toothed tentacle rising in the air around the monster before him. Ed felt a shiver down his spine.

She'd heard the commotion before she saw it. Isabel had been in Ed's room, deciding whether or not he'd probably wanna play Pak Nam or the newer Final SciFi 10. She shrugged and figured that she'd just let him decide whenever he got home. Besides, she still had to prepare the popcorn and soda- preferably in taller cups with less aforementioned soda to avoid as much spillage as the night before. She snorted to herself as she set the games beside the TV. She wasn't sure if her plan was working just yet, seeing as he was still going over to the other side of town to train every night, but she hoped it was. The more time they spent together, the better.

She heard the front door to the dojo open, but there was no usual slam. Curious, but it didn't really matter. Isabel grinned and stood up, racing to the door of Ed's bedroom and throwing it open, eager to greet him from the railings. All that mattered was that he was home, and they could spend two hours, or hopefully more, wasting time on levels they'd beaten millions of times over in millions of different ways- the time Ed beat it with one leg tucked behind his head came to mind. She paid no mind to the hushed whispering she heard from the bottom floor, or the ghostly silence that befell when her voice rang from the second floor. "Ed!" She greeted as soon as she got to the railings, leaning over them so he could see her clearly. "Welcome ba-!" Her words died in her throat.

He stood at the open doors, yes, but he looked a little more than worn out. His glasses were semi-shattered, leaving only one eye covered while the other was squeezed shut, slick with the blood running down from what appeared to be a chunk of skin out of his forehead. Further inspection, and she could see deep bite marks, sharp and wide, all over his body, from his shoulder to his legs, to the holes in his shirt. One leg looked particularly worse for wear, jeans torn so badly that she swore half his calf was gone. Isabel stuttered, body feeling momentarily weightless as she parted her lips, hands clenching the railing so tight she could feel the wood splintering into her palms.

"ED!"

Master Guerra had crossed the dojo and hoisted Ed into his arms in moments, cradling him like a small child. "Contact Zarei immediately! We do not have time for you fools to waste! Make the call, now!" Isabel had made it halfway down the stairs by the time the other students had crowded around. "Ed!"

Master Guerra turned over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as she reached the last step before the infirmary. He muttered something to the older students that she couldn't hear, and they turned to face her. Isabel reached one hand out, trying to will her legs to move faster, get to him quicker, see him right then and there! "Ed!" Two arms from different shoulders blocked her path, one resting at her face, the other at her waist. She ran straight into them, smacking her face against muscled skin. She fell back, and another student wrapped their arms around her lungs, pulling her into their chest. It was the ghost, looking down at her with so much empathy that she wanted to scream because there couldn't be a reason to feel that for her- Ed would be fine!

"Let- let me go!" She looked to Master Guerra's retreating back, watching Ed's limbs dangling from his arms as he opened the Infirmary door. "Ed! Ed!"

"How is he?" Spender crossed his arms and leaned against the walls of the dojo, watching the students train, though with apparent less spirit than usual. They each threw punches and danced the way Guerra had taught them, but each movement was strained, too much force or too little. Matches waged on like that, where nobody really broke a sweat. They moved to and fro, batting at each other like children, eyes somewhere far away from what was going on in front of them. They had a lot on their minds. He took a glance at Guerra from the side; if he'd noticed, he seemed to understand.

"Mina says he will be fine- there was a lot of blood, but little of it was his, and the wounds were less severe than they appeared."

"That's good…"

"I have to say," Guerra stroked his beard and grinned. Had Spender not known him for a decade or so, he might have been unsettled. "I am impressed. The mooch has grown strong, hm?"

Spender nodded, small smile creeping across his lips. "He has. Master Hashimoto seems to be a good fit for him. Ed and Isaac had trouble earlier this month taking a monster together. The fact that he fought one on his own, at his age nonetheless, and managed to kill it- he's finally living up to his potential." Ed had never been the strongest of the club members, and he could have sworn Ed had known. It wasn't a bad thing. Not every soldier could be a warrior and all that. Isabel was the strong arm, Max was the mobility, Isaac was the secret weapon...

Ed was irreplaceable because he was the wildcard. The man that could guess Ed's next move was one with a psychic eye, and he'd become thoroughly convinced it'd been Ed's gift. Upon further inspection, their low-maintenance member very well might have had other talents hidden up his sleeve. Spender smirked. Much like the wildcard he was.

"That weak man must have some good qualities, then." Guerra mumbled. "Though, you realize your proposal…" they both fell silent, and Spender swallowed hard. "Its conditions have been met."

"Yes. I suppose they have."

"How is he?"

Spender was headed to his car when he heard her, and he paused in turning the keys in the door to look back. She was standing at the top of the hill, frowning down at him and they both knew why. Perhaps she was upset about not being allowed entry to the Infirmary, but he'd seen Ed himself- it wasn't for a child's eyes. It was traumatizing enough that it was, in fact, a child who'd been so severely injured; Isabel didn't need that image in her head. "He's fine, Isabel."

"Then why won't they let me see him?"

"I swear to you, Zarei has him patched up. He just needs to take it easy for a little while."

Isabel faltered, and he could see her wincing, squinting as she was trying to hold back tears. He turned to face her completely, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn't need to be home right away. "Isabel, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's-!"

He scowled at her, because he knew her far too well for her to lie to him like that, and she slinked back into herself. Her arms raised to wrap around her shoulders, hair falling into her face, and sighed. "It's just… I already lost Eightfold. I can't" Isabel took a shaky breath. "I can't afford to lose Ed, too, especially if it's my fault."

"You aren't losing him, Isabel. I've already told you." His brows furrowed and he smiled, because there wasn't much else to do. "He's fine. And it isn't your fault that he got attacked-!"

"But it is my fault that he's leaving!" He winced as she balled her fists, grinding her teeth so hard he swore he heard the bones colliding. "He's going to train at some other dojo an hour away, and I'm never going to get to see him, all because I wouldn't just freaking talk to him! Now he thinks I hate him! And yeah, I'm still mad, I'm still really mad! But I need him here! He can't just- he can't just walk out of my life like Eightfold did! I don't wanna grow up without him!" Her voice was cracking, and her cheeks were growing red and puffy from the salt she was harboring too deeply for it to well in her eyes. "He has to stay here! He's my best friend! If he leaves, he'll forget all about me-!"

"Isabel, that's enough."

She hiccuped and looked back at him, fists still clenched, but she'd taken to biting down firmly on either lip. He shook his head and took a few steps up to hill, toward her. "Just because he's leaving the dojo, doesn't mean he's leaving you." She flinched when he reached out to wipe at her cheeks with his thumbs, but didn't move away. She was hot to the touch, and he momentarily thought she might have worried herself sick. She stared up at him as he leaned forward and cupped her head in his hands, the way a brother might have done. "You're right. He is your best friend. That's why distance will only make the heart grow fonder." She smiled at him, and he nodded, his own way of reaffirming his words. Still, her face fell again, eyes falling to his chest rather than his face.

"I still don't want him to go…"

He sighed and pulled her into a hug, rubbing comforting circles into her back as they stood as still as could be, wrapped in emotion.

#Paranatural #Edward Burger #Isabel Guerra #Richard Spender #Master Guerra #edsabel #FWTBT #The Monster Trilogy

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bintaeran · 7 years

Text

The Reality of Grief

The Reality of Grief Nina Zolotow by Lisa Wendell

Love and Grief by John Holland*

I will be 65 in August. I started doing yoga when I was 18 in 1970 using the black and white pictures in an old paperback copy of Richard Hittleman's book as a guide. Even given lengthy breaks, I have practiced yoga for more than 40 years, mostly on my own, supplemented periodically with classes and several private sessions. And I practiced yoga two to three times a week with a wonderful teacher throughout my second pregnancy in 1986 with my son, Maxx. He was my "yoga baby."

The shock and trauma of Maxx’s diagnosis, illness, and ultimate death from T-Cell Lymphoma in 2007 at the age of 21 was completely unexpected, swift, and utterly annihilating to all of us. Diagnosed on July 11, dead on December 6th—one day a healthy, vibrant, funny, intelligent college junior looking forward to the rest of his life and just 17 weeks later, after physically and emotionally undergoing grueling treatment, gone from this world.

I felt that my life was over. Being on this planet without my son was unimaginable. I wanted no part of it. I continued to work full time only because I had to, but beyond basic household tasks and the rare outing to a movie or a visit with my daughter, I was psychologically immobilized by anxiety, remorse, guilt, and fear. A full year passed before I was able to return to intentional physical movement in the form of deliberate exercise, something I had done regularly all my life and an interest that Maxx and I had shared and enjoyed together. My first effort was to return to my stationary bike. Pedaling and often crying, I started with 10 minutes a night. Soon thereafter, I was able to lie on my back, legs propped up against the wall, arms stretched out to either side. Slowly, I began to add back some of the familiar poses I had practiced several evenings a week before he became ill.

My practice was halting, abbreviated, a haphazard mix of soothing, improperly aligned poses. My body was stiff with sorrow and non-use, any former flexibility gone. My spirit so flattened, sometimes I couldn't even bring myself to the mat unless I'd had a glass or two of wine—an approach I called "Drunk Yoga." But my practice was becoming more consistent and I continued.

I was unable to sit for any form of breathing meditation because quietly focusing on the sound of my breath was an excruciating trigger for a panic attack. We had watched Maxx struggling for air just before he had been intubated only hours before he died. The memory of him lying in a coma, a ventilator down his throat, precluded me from taking a conscious cleansing breath for the next eight years.

Now, ten years later, I still practice yoga, though much has changed in my approach. Early on in my grief, I mistakenly believed yoga would prove to be a way "out" or "through." The only time I was ever able to find a few moments of respite was when I was moving or resting in a yoga pose. I developed a short series of floor poses that seemed to calm me—all were essentially restorative in nature.

During this time I also took medication for anxiety and depression (still do), was in various forms of talk therapy, read, wrote, and tried in whatever fashion I could to find a life of some sort after losing my son. Yoga played its part, but yoga was not—could never be—a panacea for either the grief or intense anger I felt. In fact, I feel that the current emphasis on yoga for grief—meaning in the past decade—is misleading and ultimately deeply disappointing for anyone encouraged to think it is a way “out.” Grief for a lost child or a beloved other is a pain that one carries for a lifetime. There is no "out." There is no "through." We ultimately learn ways to shoulder the burden, to live with the weight of our sorrow. A regular practice seems to allow time and space for that lesson.

As with most ideas or concepts that "trend" in our popular culture, yoga in the mainstream has become a particularly lucrative market for studios, teachers, fashion, authors, businesses, and health-care entrepreneurs of every type. It is touted as solution for everything from alleviating back pain to promoting world peace. In many ways, yoga has become a snake oil for our time. Caveat Emptor. My point being that the bereaved are an extremely vulnerable population.

We are prone to reach for anything we think will give us some momentary respite from the agony of loss. Yoga can, and does, help. For some, practice can become an entire lifestyle with far reaching effects. In my own experience, however, yoga was not the only approach to finding a life after losing my son. Rather, it is one of many choices for activity that I have attempted to cobble together in the last nine years. find that both practicing and learning about yoga is more beneficial in smaller, more digestible doses. Too much of anything, too quickly, is counterproductive and anxiety provoking.

So it is important to remember that the experience of grief and the manifestation of sorrow are unique to the person, specific to circumstances, and dependent upon so many variables as to be impossible to categorize or mitigate.

Despite my reservations, I can say that yoga (asanas and breath work) has had a positive effect on my state of mind. This takes different forms and can occur both during the practice and on my moods long after. I am a realist. My practice is what works for me given my own temperament and my own experience. I offer these few suggestions in the hope that others may benefit.

My poses are primarily seated and I emphasize any hip-openers as well as shoulder and back stretching, as that is where I hold my tension. I move very slowly, breathing as deeply as possible. I do not force or push my body, and my motions are never vigorous. Powerful, yang-type asanas make me anxious and seem counter-intuitive to my needs, which are for extended, calming movement and breath. My flow is ad hoc, extemporaneous, flexible. I try to follow the sensations in my body, which will let me know what to try first and what comes next.

In addition to these yoga movements, I also ride a stationary bike every evening for 30 minutes and do light hand weights to strengthen my upper back muscles and improve my posture. The bereaved tend to hunch imperceptibly forward (over their hearts) as the years pass in an unconscious broken posture of self-defeat.

The combination of all three kinds of movement has admittedly been very helpful when I am experiencing some of my deepest sorrow. I did the same few poses over and over again with little variation. The sameness of the routine itself was comforting. Now, I am able to more easily change the sequences, add new poses, and remove others. Essentially, I do what feels best in no particular recommended order, but according to what my body seems to be requesting at the time.

Cat/Cow Pose: Breathing appropriately and very slowly (several times to loosen low back). See Featured Pose: Dynamic Cat-Cow Pose.

Dynamic Downward-Facing Dog: Moving in and out of Downward-Facing Dog pose with my breath from the all-fours position or from Cat pose, repeating a few times.

Lunge Pose (Vanarasana): Both high version and low version, with back knee on the ground. See Featured Pose: Lunge Pose.

Child's Pose (Balasana), with arms extended: Hold for several seconds. See Featured Pose: Child's Pose.

Reclined Arms Overhead pose (Supta Urdva Hastasana): Breathing slowly in three-part breath, stretching as much as I can into shoulders.

Thread the Needle Hip Stretch: See Opening Your Hips Without Knee Pain. Friday Q&A: Opening Your Hips without Knee Pain.

Reclined Leg Stretch (Supta Padangusthasana), all three versions: Leg straight up, out to the side, and twisting. See Featured Pose: Reclined Leg Stretch.

Wide Angle Seated Forward Bend (Upavista Konasana) and Sideways Wide Angle Seated Forward Bend (Parsva Upavista Konasana).

Frog Pose (Mandukasana): For an inner thigh stretch.

Legs Up the Wall Pose (Viparita Karani), with no support. See Featured Pose: Legs Up the Wall Pose.

Gentle Twists: Any kind, seated or reclined.

For breath practices, because sitting cross-legged for any length of time is not comfortable, I sit in Hero pose (Virasana) on a bolster, hands resting in my lap or on either leg. See Featured Pose: Hero Pose.

I will also practice in a reclined position once in awhile. In both poses I will occasionally place one hand on my heart and one on my belly. This calms me and helps me to concentrate on breathing in and out slowly. It feels reassuring to feel pressure in these two areas. Frequently, I listen to tonal meditative music. I am easily aroused and agitated by any noise, and find that listening to this type of music helps greatly in facilitating concentration.

I believe that people who are grieving, or suffering from any intense emotional distress can eventually be open to, and will try, in small steps and with gentle persuasive nudges to move in the direction of something that offers a non-competitive, non-judgmental, accepting opportunity to turn down the volume of despair. I think yoga allows for this flexible, individual approach.

Though I am not a teacher, a celebrity, or an expert, it is likely that I am representative of the majority of grievers who simply must find ways to survive after suffering great loss. I am a proletariat practitioner in the front line trenches and as such, I believe my own experience to be as valid as any "grief expert"—possibly more so.

Lisa Wendell is originally from Southern California, and she moved with her husband, Steve, and their children, Megan and Maxx, to the San Francisco Bay Area in 1986. Recently retired from her position as the Acquisitions Director in the library of a private university, she is hoping to take more time to write, exercise, read, garden and develop her yoga practice. Since the death of her son in 2007, she has devoted singular and concentrated effort toward accepting, understanding, and living with the significance of her loss.

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