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things-we-used-tc-share · 3 years

Text

The Town That Never Was

[Image Description: a long road with decaying plants on either side, with text overlayed that reads ‘the town that never was’ in white. A white icon of a clock is placed underneath the text /end ID]

I’m re-releasing the first four chapters as I’ve edited them!

Ships: DLAMP/CALMD, Remile.

Warnings: Cheating is mentioned at some point during this fic in the past, some slight horror themes but in a comedic sort of way, kidnapping is mentioned but again this is like a comedy-horror so there’s not a lot of suspense.

Plot: In Hell, a town of roughly 1,000 people, nothing that is supposed to happen ever happens and everything that physically should happen, does. Logan, a scientist, goes there in hopes of studying the world’s most unfortunate, and miraculous, town. But no one who ever enters ever finds the will to leave again.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Chapter Four: Heartbreak Hotel

Roman, Patton and Virgil wandered into Remy and Emile's home and business with questions on their tongue. Logan is sat in the reception using the impossibly fast wi-fi that doesn't seem to extend to his room quite as well, and Emile has just finished getting ready for his actual job (being a therapist to about four people who always seem to be confused about where they are) so he was stood in the foyer chatting to his husband.

“Did you know that there’s another hotel, it’s just opened across the road?” Patton enquires. Remy frowns, symbolising that no, he did not know and this most certainly will not do. He doesn’t go as far as to express this because the door opens again and Deceit wanders in, coffee in hand, and then asks the exact same question.

“No I didn’t,” the half-man, half-cat-man utters with an expression that can only be described as grouchy on his face. “How did it even get there?” He stands and walks to the door, taking the coffee off of Deceit on his way past, the DJ frowns at his now empty hand like a small animal with no sense of object permanence.

There is indeed a hotel there, and the huddle of strange men stare up at this even stranger occurrence with some sense of unease. Mainly because Remy is rather hotheaded and the thought of him having competition is unnerving, but also because it is strange for there to be an entire hotel that wasn’t there before.

Logan, who is somehow acclimatising, sighs and grabs his not-pen from his pocket to scribble something in a notebook and then pocket both of these objects in favour of wandering up to the door. “We should say hello,” The scientist decides for them all despite the fact that at least four of them have other places to be today.

“We should!” Patton agrees emphatically, with an air of confidence that everyone else (except Logan) is lacking at nine in the morning (Especially Deceit, who has just had his whole coffee stolen off of him).

And that, of course, is why they wandered through the large oak doors of 1950′s-style hotel, and once again, into some form of emotional trauma. And for the second time in a row it’s because Logan doesn’t quite know what to do with the unending amount of lust for knowledge that he has, except to use it to get everyone else in danger.

The inside has cream walls with wallpaper that looks too pristine, the carpets are a deep royal red and there are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The doors slam shut behind them, making them all jump as they stare into the large and empty foyer. “It’s pretty,” Logan remarks quietly, Remy slurps on the coffee with a narrowed glare directed to the scientist. Logan doesn’t notice.

Emile wanders up to the front desk and taps on the little brass bell, it gives a very timid ring and they wait in silence but, after five minutes, nobody comes. Deceit winces at the sudden migraine he’s experiencing and stares around the hotel. “We should get out of here,” he whispers “...this place...it isn’t good,” he shivers as though witnessing something he shouldn’t, the way one witnesses a car crash or anything as equally catastrophic.

But as they all turn around the entrance they had walked through is now just a wall. “Not good at all,” Dee adds to his earlier sentence with an exasperated sigh of ‘really? again? We’re in another perilous situation?’ You know, the sort of sigh a mother gives her child when they’ve dirtied clothes that have just been washed.

“Sorry,” Logan offers, but in all honesty he doesn’t seem very sorry at all, or afraid for that matter. “I suppose we should explore the hotel?”

“Absolutely not,” Deceit and Virgil say, at the same time that Roman, Patton and Emile reply with “Yes!” Remy slurps on his coffee with no opinion other than the fact he is sleep deprived and needs to finish his (stolen) coffee before he formulates any form of response that requires critical thought. He is however feeling a little better about the fact this hotel isn’t really a hotel, rather a potential death trap, because it means he has no competition.

“Let’s just stick together,” Deceit speaks firmly, feeling uneasy because of one thing and one thing alone; he cannot see a thing here. Like all of its past and present and future had been wiped from its walls and its carcass, bleached of any sort of moments that have or would have happened, is hollow of time. His sight doesn’t work, which means someone or something had planned for him to be here.

They all head up the large wooden stairs, which creak under their weight as though protesting their company. On the first floor there is a long corridor, the walls are the same cream and the carpet the same red, and it goes on for miles, much further than it had appeared from the outside. “Trans-dimensional engineering?” Logan offers into the sudden hush that falls, every breath too loud. Emile looks at him with the exact expression a child gives their teacher when they don’t know the answer. “The inside is kept in a dimension other than the one we were in, the outside is just a shell, a mirage if you like, when you stepped through the doors you stepped into this dimension but...also the one you were in at the same time,” This did not ease Emile’s confusion. “Like Roman’s bag,” he added, and Emile nods in understanding.

“Do you think there’s anyone in the rooms?” Patton asks, stepping forward down the corridor, straying foolishly from the others.

“Possibly,” they glance at Logan once he had spoken, and then at Patton who had now started to wander down the hall. He pauses for a moment and stands very, very still, before turning sharply to stare at one of the rooms. “Wait, Patton I wouldn’t...” But it’s too late, his hand is around the golden doorknob and he’s pushing it open with a fierce determination like he can hear or see something that they cannot hear or see. “Patton!”

They race towards him and stare into the room. There’s someone else staring back.

Patton stumbles backwards with his eyes wide, his nails scratching against the wood to get away from the stranger, whose teeth are too sharp and his eyes too dark and that grin...Logan shudders as Roman and Virgil pull Patton back away from the malicious figure. The baker is shaking, his hands trembling to find some familiarity, they land on Roman and hold him close whilst he shakes. It doesn’t take them long to realise he’s crying. “How...How can he be here, how can he...?” He repeats this, stammering against his lover’s chest.

Roman lets him cry, rubbing his back and uttering for words of consolation as Virgil waits patiently, worried, by his side.

“It wasn’t real right, it’s not him?” Patton whispers as he manages to prise away, taking shaky breaths to calm himself down. They all look at Logan who shakes his head.

“It’s...it’s unlikely,” he confirms, clearing his throat. “It seems unlikely that whoever he may be has crossed dimensions to sit in a room you may not have opened to simply smile menacingly at you,” he feels a chill run through him, he doesn’t want to know how many times the sweet baker had seen that grin in reality. Or what it meant.

Patton seems to ease at his words and gives Logan a small smile. “You have a big brain so you’re probably right, yeah?” Logan knows that logically he can promise nothing, but Patton’s bright eyes are looking at him like he’s a lighthouse in a storm, so he nods mutely in response. Patton’s arms wrap around him and for just a moment Logan feels as though there is a weight against his chest but...not in an unpleasant way, no, it’s the sort of weight you get when a cat sits on you. Warm, homely. Like you’ve been chosen.

“We probably each have rooms then, right?” Virgil asks tersely. A cold silence descends and they exchange quiet and scared looks. Logan pauses before he answers, but honestly he just isn’t sure. If his previous hypothesis is correct and the hotel is forcing them to relive traumatic memories then it stands to reason it would not just attack Patton.

“It’s possible, yes.” They all stand very still.

“No offence,” Virgil starts “...But if I’m going to have to relive the worst moment of my very long life, then I’d rather you not be there to see it.” They look between each other, not wanting Virgil to walk off alone but also not wanting to put him in an even more uncomfortable position.

“I understand,” Patton says gently, and he does to some extent. “I think that if the hotel is playing a game, an emotional game, then once it’s had its fun it will probably let us go, right? That’s what people do when they want to get people to feel bad but there’s only so much fun to be had...” Logan’s heart feels like it’s suffocating itself in his chest. “So we find our rooms, and then it might let us go.”

Remy, who is finally looking less of a zombie, glances at his husband and then at the cup of coffee in his hand “I’d rather not have an audience, either,” his words are so uncharacteristically solemn and so is his tone “...except Emile of course, Emile’s always invited to my trauma party.” His husband smiles and squeezes his hand before looking ahead “I don’t know why but I feel like my room is on the third floor so, I’m going up a few more flights, we’ll meet back in the foyer when we’re all done, right?”

They all agree, and soon, they find themselves splitting; Virgil wanders off alone, whilst Remy and Emile head back to the steps to take a few more flights up into the tall, everlasting staircase. Roman looks at Deceit and then at Patton “Virgil’s right, I don’t...I don’t want you to see Pat,” It hurts to see someone you love in pain. Patton smiles and nods. Logan offers him his arm with a raised eyebrow and the baker takes it “I’ll see you later okay?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Logan and Dee have their own type of smiles; Logan’s is soft and happy that the two know their own boundaries enough, that Patton knows how to control his fears, that they love each other so greatly. Deceit’s is sad, it’s scared and it’s lonely as he thinks of the hundred reasons that he could never deserve that, he hasn’t forgiven himself and he will not forgive himself.

But then he and Roman are alone, sharing an awkward glance as they stare at an empty hallway and each other and a thousand memories that cannot be seen left buried in the bones of this hotel. There’s this lingering feeling of everything they could’ve said, should’ve said and then, everything that they did say and everything they wish they hadn’t.

When you find out someone cheated on you, there is no amicable way for how you are feeling, no friendly forgiveness for the heartache they caused, no wonder in the feeling of being betrayed. But Roman is getting too old now to hang onto the past of a teenager who got his heart broken.

He shakes away this thought and clears his throat “after you,” Roman offers an amicable smile, his long hair tucked behind his pierced ear as they start down the too-long hallway. He doesn’t want to admit that he knows what’s going to be on the other side of Dee’s door, and wishes the walk to be longer as dread settles in his stomach.

When they finally get there, after several long turns, Dee stands very still. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and over his arms as if a sudden breeze had hit him. He stares at the golden door with slightly cracked paint and knows he is about to address something he’d been dodging for years. His hand wraps around the reflective door handle. He turns it, and pushes it open.

Roman had known, but he still felt sick when he sees his own face staring back at him as the snake-like man holds the door open with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” Dee whispers, his voice cracking and fragile “I’m so sorry.” There’s a low pause before Roman can’t quite handle staring at himself; him, but not quite, a little younger and more naive and so angry.

“Sorry doesn’t take it back,” the fake Roman huffs, the memory of Roman, a shadow or silhouette of time left in the skin of Dee’s mind, his dark eyes afire with something so potent and terrible.

“I know, I don’t want it too,” Deceit whispers, flinching slightly as if fearing a slap, before Roman, the real Roman, grabs him by the shirt collar and tugs him back into the hallway.

“Then what do you want?” He whispers.

Static fills their ears in a silence so tense and so fragile at the same time. Dee’s eyes are prickling with tears. He shakes his head and steps away “It’s not fair to say and it’s not fair to ask,” the taller finally speaks but his voice has gone cold with his own unending self-hatred.

“Don’t treat me like a child, for fuck’s sake Dee,” Roman is frustrated and tired and...scared. His heart hurts under the weight of love that he cannot shake because he always had loved Dee and no matter how much pain stands where that man once stood...there would always be love. Roman can’t rewrite his own emotions, he falls in love with the first pretty man that smiles at him and falls hard, like a rock sinking into waves that are too rough to find solid ground. “Just tell me, for once, the truth.”

“I love you.”

A beat, a pause, a soft exhale that speaks so many different languages. “I know,” what a response to receive. They’re both setting themselves up for pain, they know this, but they’re adults that get to decide when they make bad decisions. “I love you too.”

“You shouldn’t.” And Roman laughs, he laughs with disbelief and an awkwardness of a man who doesn’t know what to say, he laugh and laughs until he is crying. Then his laughs turn sour because he got the truth and he hates it, he hated walking into that room, a room that does not lie about heartbreak and knowing that Dee’s biggest heartbreak is the pain that he caused Roman. That he lives and thinks about that every single day. For years. Why doesn’t that feel like an achievement when he was the one that was hurt?

“Why the fuck didn’t you just not do it?” His choked off words come out angry and hard and bitter and they taste like the sound of hailstone smashing windows open. “Would it have been so hard? To just not do it? To not cheat on me? Why do I deserve your heartache when you already gave me all of mine?” He curses loudly and kicks at a wall, frustrated, in tears. His words taste like saline and a cold beach in winter. “Fuck you,” Roman’s anger is nothing beautiful. He feels dizzy. He feels...cold and hot at the same time. “Fuck you, Dee.”

And Deceit can only leans shakily against the wall as he shakes his head with no idea what he’s supposed to say or do or if there even is something that he can say or do. Can you really fix something you shattered long ago? Find the fragments lost by time and glue them back together? “I’m sorry, I know...” He whispers , swallowing and choking on his own words as he tries to keep himself from breaking “What I did was bad, I don’t expect you back, I don’t expect...anything from you, Roman,”

There is an irony of feeling small against someone you are a head taller than, as Dee leans against the wall and Roman stands in front of him in a vicious cocktail of emotions. The anger flickers, it falters, and Roman sighs in defeat, resting against his ex-boyfriend because he’s suddenly too shaky to stand alone.

“I know you don’t,” his head still rests against Deceit’s collarbone the way it used to “I know you don’t, and I hate that you don’t,” he leans back “because I loved you and you loved me and it would be so, so much easier if that wasn’t the case, if you were a horrible person who treated me like shit but you weren’t, otherwise you were so wonderful it felt like a dream.” He wipes his eyes. “You did one thing that really hurt me, years ago and now I’m still so angry with you because you didn’t show me you loved me, you taught me that love is just a heartache waiting to happen.”

Deceit is stunned into a quiet silence as the walls seems to close in around him “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be you,” he whispered “...but you’re the only person I’ve ever loved so who else would it be? What were you expecting?” And Roman doesn’t know, he has no semblance of an idea of what he was expecting, then and now.

“You took so much more than I was trying to give you,” Roman whispers, voice soft in his own sadness. “So much more,” he wiped his eyes “I don’t understand why I’m angry with myself when I did nothing wrong.”

“You’re not angry,” Deceit manages out as best as he can because Roman’s head is resting on his chest like a wonderful, suffocating weight and he doesn’t remember how to breathe with someone he’d loved so much so close to him. How do you breathe when there are flowers made of heartache growing between the bones of your ribs? How do you look them in the eyes and lie?

How did he look Roman in the eyes and lie. They used to be something greater than this hurricane, this destruction this…terrible idea. What a terrible idea love turned out to be, who willingly subjects themselves to the possibility of the tears and the cold feeling in his own veins?

“I tried,” Deceit’s voice is catching every notch in his throat. “I tried so hard to move on, to find someone else but how could I? How do I fall in love again knowing I can ruin it just like that?” Roman leans back to look up at the man he’d known, vulnerable and insecure; he supposes that never changed and Dee is just as good of a liar as his name would suggest. “I see everything Roman, everything that should happen, everything that has ever happened I see that every day, I know how a relationship is going to end before it even begins, how…how do I just fall in love when I know that?”

“You always knew?” Roman asked, his eyes looking up at his past lover with a new kind of sadness “Every time I told you I loved you and you knew how it would end?”

“I can’t turn it off,” He gestures to his eyes. “I just hoped it was a could happen instead of a will happen, not everything is so fixed, sometimes I see multiple futures or none at all,” his back is pressed against the wall like he’s afraid of the way Roman’s hand sits on his forearm too familiarly. “This place is switching it off, I can’t see anything but what’s in front of me.” ‘And never before have I wished to see something other than what is here and now, nothing else.’

“Good,” Roman muttered. “It’s not healthy for you.” Dee snorts, lifting a hand to wipe his own teary eyes “I’m serious,” but he’s smiling too, the way they used; when life was life and neither a dream nor a horrendous nightmare. “When you see me now what do you see? With that eye of yours?”

“Well, different things, different futures.”

“Are any of them happy?”

Gods, isn’t that the million dollar question? But then Dee knows this is it, this is the converging point where all those futures choose their course and he has no way to see how he gets to them; what a fucked-up irony that the one time he wants his sight is the one time he cannot have it? He blinks, his lips part and they quirk just a little as he takes in those god-awful puppy eyes he’d fallen headfirst into. “Yes.”

Roman’s smile could light up a million rooms, Deceit thinks, and a million stars could bow to its brilliance. He smiles for the first time like maybe he isn’t so angry, as though the past they’d had didn’t matter so much anymore. It does, he hasn’t forgiven Deceit even if maybe he will one day, but he does at least know that change is a passage of time and not much else.

The leaves grow in spring and fall in autumn, people make mistakes and change. And Roman knows that it hurts more to keep denying half of his heart than it ever did to be cheated on; for the most part it wasn’t even the act that had upset him, it was what it meant to him, that he wasn’t trustworthy enough to be effectively communicated with. It was also not as though he never did anything wrong, at the time they’d both been young and dumb and fiercely determined to fuck each other over and maybe, maybe Roman had pushed once too many.

Maybe they’re both different people now.

Not teenagers, or anywhere close, adults and trying their best. Maybe it’s time to move on, try life again. Roman wants to try him again, not because he misses him but because missing someone is different from craving who they are right down to their soul.

Roman shakes his head and steps back, but not today, he needs time to think properly . “Then one day I hope I get to see it, now let’s find my room.”

Remy is seven different types of jumpy right now, the first is caffeine-induced, the second is genuine fear and the third is the creak of floorboards as he tries to walk quietly through this too-old and too-big hotel. “Whatever it is,” Emile mutters to him, squeezing his hand “It’s okay,” And when his husband says those words, jumpy becomes just a word, because nothing can calm him quite like his partner’s caring eyes and smile.

He stops halfway down a corridor that seems to go on for miles, standing very still as he feels a tug at his body, like a magnet to metal. Remy turns with a deep breath and stares at the door, before he opens it with one quick movement. He stands very still as he looks onto the other side, blinking slowly as his eyes turn glassy. “Of course,” He mutters, a humourless laughs bubbling past the threshold. “What else would it have been?”

Emile stares over his shoulder with wide eyes and a tight throat before he can’t handle what he’s witnessing any longer and turns away. Remy walks back into the hallway, closing the door and staring at his feet. He breathes shallowly before nodding, coming to terms with something that had happened so long ago but still hurts, loss always hurts, it has no expiry date even ten years later. But he at least knows how to handle this sadness; it’s one he’s tackled before. He wraps his arms around his husband and buries his face in his neck, inhaling and exhaling with calculated breaths. “I’m sorry Rem.”

“It’s...okay,” Remy replies, in a way that says he is and he isn’t, okay. Okay is just a word people use when they don’t know what else to say, really, okay is a filled silence because there are no other words to add, a static TV screen that people have forgotten to turn off. “It was a long time ago,” He pulls back and rubs his eyes, a bittersweet smile stitched to his lips. “I’ve gotten used to it now,”

Not “I’m over it,” or “I’m fine,” those would both be lies. Losing a family member you loved is a hard ordeal no matter the age you were. When Remy was 7 he’d lost his brother to a static idea of happiness found on the backs of prescription bottles, and been the one to find the cold when nobody else was paying attention to an absent person with much more absent eyes. He’s gotten used to the sadness, the memories, the flashbacks and the unending feeling of dread of finding your brother unmoving on the floor. But not even time can heal such an early trauma.

Perhaps this is why he cannot sleep at night.

“We should find yours,” Remy finally breaks the quiet as he gets out of his own head. “Come on,” Emile doesn’t look scared, he doesn’t even flinch because he knows that nothing is going to be quite so scary with Remy, and also his heartbreaks have never really been that bad.

Well, most of them anyway.

The two wander down the hallway and Emile feels like he knows where he’s going as though he’s walking to work instead of a slightly spooky hotel.

When he gets there he knows what’s waiting on the other side, he’s not had his heart broken many times before; at least not bad enough that it had left an impression. But heartbreak never really hurt Emile enough because he’s had Remy by his side.

You’re a whole lot braver, a whole lot stronger, when you are not alone.

He pushes his shoulders back and raises his chin defiantly as he wraps his hand around the doorknob and then opens the door with a purpose. He was right of course about what it was, who it was. Two elderly people, a woman and a man with firm expressions and opinions that he didn’t care for; Emile is many things, but afraid of homophobia is not one of them. He listens to their violent words and then snorts a little “I’ve dealt with people like this my entire life mister hotel,” he snorts, rolling his eyes “It’s been a long time since I’ve cried over that sort of heartbreak,”

The door closes as he steps back out into the hallway, barely an image of discomfort on his face, whilst Remy smiles proudly at the bravery he’d fallen in love with so long ago.

The two of them had ran off together that night. In the middle of the night they’d taken to the road with nothing but their clothes, their bank’s worth of money and a beaten up car. Remy had been out of Hell for a few months, people never really make the year out of this place. It's how he'd met Emile, and he'd fallen so in love that he wasn't really sure how to breathe at the time. When he met Emile he understood love, and not soon after he understood hate too.

So they’d found themselves here, for Remy, a second time, somewhere where misfit is just an ordinary citizen, and sure you might get hit by an inter dimensional hotel every now and then, but no one will bat their eyelids if you’re gay. Sometimes this town choses you before you chose it.

Remy squeezes Emile’s hand and his lover smiles back, not at all scared, not at all bothered; he hadn’t been that night either. Emile rarely swears but the entire neighbourhood heard the “Fuck you!” he shouted angrily at his parents, a spitfire in pastel hair dye and a soft woollen sweater. As Emile had always known, you really are braver when you know you’re not alone; and for most of his life he hasn’t been.

Logan and Patton had been walking for quite a while now, staring up at the walls as they look between each other “I have no idea where I’m supposed to be,” Logan admits softly. “None of these are particularly calling out to me,” he sighs, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Perhaps he is an outlier, a mistake. Perhaps he isn’t supposed to be here.

“I’m sure you’ll find it.” They keep walking, but every hallway seems to just lead to the stairs and Logan doesn’t really feel like he should be going up or down the way Remy had. “Or maybe we’re not supposed to be here?” Patton voices finally as he stares down the stairs. After a moment he sighs and starts walking back down, it leads to the reception “I guess we just sit in the waiting room,”

“But I didn’t find my room?” Logan mutters with a confused expression “I thought that was the point?”

“Well, maybe you’ve just not had your heartbroken.” The scientist considers this carefully before a look of realisation crosses his expression. He hadn’t. He hadn’t even had the time to get his heartbroken. He’d never fallen in love, never loved anyone enough and lived in textbooks and chemicals the way a bird makes their nest.

Logan had never had his heart broken. What a horrid thing to realise, that you’ve never loved enough to have someone break your heart.

Virgil is anxious. This is nothing new of course, anxious is his part-time job, his favourite hobby and the first and last thing he does every day. But this is the sort of anxious that had his stomach twisting. He doesn’t know why there’s a dread in the pit of his stomach, as in he doesn’t know what specifically about this is making him anxious. He’s a demon and demons, categorically speaking, do not get heartbroken.

He doesn’t know what’s going to be on the other side of his door as he walks with a weighted step and aching bones and the knowledge that he is about to confront something that he himself does not know, how large or how terrifying or how non-competitively sad it is going to be. Sad is just a word, he tells himself, it doesn’t have to mean something.

Demon he may be, invulnerable he is not; he’s lived in this skin suit for many years now, among Humans, among…Patton and Roman and people who have taught him no emotion is just a word. He had known this before and forgotten, so Patton taught him all of his sad and all of his happy, and Roman all of his love and anguish. He is enough Human now, to be more than just anger and fear again, as he hadn’t been for decades before.

Human is not a category in their world; it is a feeling, an innate sense of right and wrong and love and hate. Human is a knowledge and a heartbreak.

The dark-eyed Demon stares at the end of a hallway at a door that is cracked and blackened as though it had been torched to the ground but the wood had refused to succumb to the flames. Virgil knows this is his door by the invisible rope dragging him towards it and the broken pounding of his heart in his chest. He steps towards it. There is silence and silence and silence.

Virgil opens the door with a shaky hand, pushing it open a little and staring into the beyond. Into the feeling of a cold hand on his back and nails dragging on his skin and the look of someone he tried most days not to remember. He swallows a little “I’m sorry,” He whispers “I’m sorry I didn’t come back.” Unable to hold back the guilt he’d been carrying for a fair few Human decades now.

A boy stares up at him, bright blue eyes wide and a small smile on his face. “Verge!” He giggles, a small hand reaching up to rest on his hand, ignorant to Virgil’s broken expression. The demon swallows and squats to hold his hand out, the little boy wraps his arms around him.

“How did you recognise me kiddo?” Virgil sniffles a little, “I don’t look the same.” The child laughs and places his hand on Virgil’s chest over where his heart is. Of course, he’d always know. “One day I’ll find you,” he wipes his eyes “But you’re not you, you’re an image, not real.” He lets go and steps back, shaking his head “You wouldn’t even be a child anymore,” The boy’s smile falls and his eyes tint a little black. “No, you’re not him,” He steps back through the door at the boy whose teeth are a little too sharp and if you look too closely you can see the way the air crackles around him.

“One day I’ll find you kiddo, but today isn’t that day.” And with that he slides through the door and lets it fall shut behind him. The hallway has changed and he can see the stairs through his tears. He staggers towards them, running into Emile and Remy as he does, practically tripping down the stairs to get to the warm feeling of love. Anything but that, anything but him.

Patton’s arms find their way around him as he takes deep breaths and remembers where his heart is, where his head is.

Now just to wait for Roman and Deceit.

“I have a long list of heartbreaks so I’m curious to know which is the worst,” Roman hums to himself, fingertips trailing across the papered walls as his legs move of their own accord, seemingly knowing where they’re going. He certainly doesn’t know in his mind, so at least the rest of him is controlling some sort of brain cell.

“You’re horrendously chipper,” Deceit grumbles a little, but the smile on Roman’s face can’t keep him grumpy. Because he knows now, and Dee knows too, that things are changing and are not going to stay the same. Roman knows he was angry for a reason, but whether that reason is slowly crumbling is another answer.

The thing is, Roman is aware he doesn’t have to forgive Deceit, the issue is that he knows the Dee doesn’t want to be forgiven. It’s been years and he’s still rolling in his mistake and to Roman that just doesn’t seem healthy, for either of them to be gripping on a hatred that isn’t real. He doesn’t hate Dee for cheating on him years ago, and the more time he spends in his presence the more he realises he probably didn’t hate him at all. Angry, sad, and many other things, but he loves him too much to hate him. There’s no hate in love, the two are not compatible and Roman has always found that a strange thing people say; that you love someone but hate them too.

Dee fucked up. He holds himself accountable for that, and Roman holds him accountable.

But there’s a time to move on and live. And now is that time. Maybe it’s Logan and his pretty hair and pretty cheeks and lovely eyes and the fact they both want to take whatever he’ll give, maybe it’s because he knows that Patton is worried about them both. Maybe it’s simply because his anger comes from the fact every time he looks at Deceit he feels that thundering of his heart that most people get from new crushes.

Yes, he decides, it’s time to move on. Not right now at this instance, but in the near future. There’s a life to be lived without all these negative emotions.

But that thought process dissolves as he finds himself standing very still, eyes trained on the wooden hotel door. He lets out a deep sigh, cheeks puffing out as he does so. They both stand very still and Dee looks down at his feet as though he dreads knowing what’s on the other side. But as the door opens and he can’t bear to not know, he looks up and is pleasantly surprised.

He’s not the person on the other side.

He does know who it is however.

Roman blinks slowly before muttering a quiet “Oh, I see,” he hums a little, before nodding. “That does make sense,” but he isn’t crying, he isn’t angry, he just stares unblinking, before clearing his throat and moving out into the hallway. The door closes behind him and the two stand in silence as Roman stares blankly at the carpet. There’s not an ounce of energy there at all, for a moment he barely looks like himself, devoid of everything that makes Roman….Roman.

“Remus?” Roman clears his throat lightly as Deceit asks the question with uncertainty. “Roman what happened to him isn’t your fault,” he knows this logically, of course he does, but Roman can never quite live without blaming himself for something. Another unhealthy habit he can’t seem to shake. “I’m sorry.”

“No it’s…it’s fine,” It’s not, Dee knows this now. He just never quite realised how Roman’s twin brother’s…possession had affected him.

Possession in the literal sense. Remus, Roman’s twin brother, had been possessed by a Demon at a young age. And now, as an adult it’s as though there’s little left of the brother there had been anymore. No matter how hard the man tried to learn, to understand, even Virgil had tried to help, nothing seemed to be able to shift the Demon from it’s vessel. He’s not even a terrible demon, a little odd and overtly sexual but otherwise not planning the apocalypse, he just really likes the flesh suit he’d adopted and grown in like a normal person would a house.

The two stare at each other a moment, before Roman sighs “I need a hug,” he mutters and Dee hesitantly opens his arms. The two still fit together like a warm glove in winter, Roman can feel Dee’s heart thudding lightly between his ribs and finds the sound as comforting as he once did. It’s nice, it’s…pleasant. When Roman finally eases away he looks down at his feet with an uncharacteristically shy expression “I did miss you, you know.” Then he shakes his head and starts to walk away. “Come on, let’s get back to the others.”

Everyone is in various states of upset, Emile is perhaps the only one who looks unbothered and Roman feels like someone that bubbly is either lying, stronger than they look, or simply has never had too bad a heartbreak. Remy is quiet, his eyes open like he’s forcing them to look at something, not wanting to close them; Roman decides he doesn’t want to know what he’s seen. Logan looks upset, he’s pacing and muttering under his breath, eyebrows furrowed. Patton still looks a little pale, but he’s busy tending to Virgil who is crying. Immediately Roman stands a little straighter and makes his way over to his lover, holding him close and pressing kisses to the top of his dark hair.

There’s a soft clunk noise, and when they look up the doors have returned.

The group all scramble to get outside, standing on the gravel pavement with one last glare at the hotel, before they cross the road towards Remy and Emile’s hotel. “I don’t know how to explain to my clients I got trapped in another dimension,” the psychiatrist snorts, squeezing Remy’s hand.

“Me neither,” Patton sighs, glancing at his watch, “...it’s nearly sun down Dee you need to get to the…Dee?” They all pause and look around, but Dee is on the other side of the road still stood in front of the hotel, his eyes glowing and unblinking like he's frantically searching for something. Roman pauses and then sighs.

“You guys go ahead,” he speaks gently, offering his partners a small smile. “You’ve had a long day, I’ll make sure he’s okay, make sure Virgil is okay,” they glance hesitantly between them before Virgil makes a noise of agreement despite his current state, he understands they’ve probably talked about a lot that needs a resolution.

“See you later Roman,” Emile offers with his kind smile. “Good luck,” and then they all trail away. Roman crosses back over the road carefully to stand in front of Dee. He rests a hand on the man’s arm and feels him jump, his eyes focusing once more as the glow subsides. He sighs with relief once he realises it’s just Roman, with his dark eyes much softer than he is used to seeing them.

“Sorry,” the serpent-man’s eyes look sad, he, in general, looks so very sad. Like he knows something he isn’t supposed to know.

“It’s okay,” Roman pauses, eyes searching as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “What are you looking for?” Deceit’s cheeks flush and the smaller man smiles like he knows the answer, eyes avoiding each other before they finally meet again. “Fuck it,” He whispers under his breath.

“What?”

Deceit doesn’t get much further as Roman’s lips press to his own, sweetly and carefully and shyly. He can’t feel his own heart because it’s beating too fast, and his body feels like fireworks are shooting in his veins. They both pause as the world slows around them, the glow of streetlights illuminating their bodies in the carefully setting sun. Then they both break, they part and Roman sighs. “I forgot how much I missed that,” he muttered “We’ll talk, eventually, go do your radio show, I’ve got a Demon to look after.”

Deceit grins and nods, wondering how in all the futures he’d seen he hadn’t see that coming.

#ts sides #ts fic

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al-pomegranate-seeds · 3 years

Text

Warm food and warm hearts

“He wouldn’t say he was anxious. Or, yes, maybe he would say so, but it wasn’t...Bad. It was like when he was a child during Summer’s End, awaiting for father to finish preparing the bonfire so they could eat meat pies and drink hot chocolate with honey (it was one of the only days where he could drink honey besides right before his bedtime), and then mother would dance while holding him in her arms before putting a tiny drunk child to sleep.

Or: Logan's boyfriend invites him to stay the night in his apartment.“

Pairings:Logince, eventual DLAMP.

Urban fanatsy.

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, a lil bit of angst, trans man!Roman, genderfluid!Logan

Warnings: A whole food discussion.

Characters: Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Dot(Cartoon Therapy)

Sequel to my fic “The hands they held”(https://al-pomegranate-seeds.tumblr.com/post/635778410466197504/the-hands-they-held-roman-looked-at-the-flower) and second installment in my “Unicia” series.

Archive of our own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27737170

Logan let out a sigh as he closed the glass doors of the shop. Today had been especially taxing, it seemed. More customers than normal had showed up, right on the day when he felt his social battery had started lower than normal, and Roman hadn’t been able to come visit, having three long appointments to start.

Logan could feel his cheeks heat up(and see his glittering reflection on the glass) as he thought about that last one. It felt a bit ridiculous that Roman’s mere one day abstention was a factor in his mental exhaustation, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Roman had truly been a blessing, appearing on the shop’s first day of existing in that specific location, initiating a conversation with Logan and quickly establishing something they had in common. And then the friendship, which was more than Logan ever expected, going on for a approximately seven months of them sharing their interests and listening to each other ramble about things they didn’t necessarily understand, all of this during work breaks and in their respective places of work.

And today, Roman had invited him to spend the night in his apartment.

Logan wasn’t foolish, he didn’t expect them to go very far. Hell, three weeks and a half of dating and they hadn’t even kissed yet! But it was a big step, to be allowed into one’s home. And besides, Remus wouldn’t be there, occupied with some sort of date (“it’s a booty call, nerdy Wolverine”), and they wouldn’t be exchanging soft compliments and hand kisses on neutral ground.

He wouldn’t say he was anxious. Or, yes, maybe he would say so, but it wasn’t...Bad. It was like when he was a child during Summer’s End, awaiting for father to finish preparing the bonfire so they could eat meat pies and drink hot chocolate with honey (it was one of the only days where he could drink honey besides right before his bedtime), and then mother would dance while holding him in her arms before putting a tiny drunk child to sleep. She hadn’t been able to hold him anymore after he hit puberty, but they still danced the night away, drunk on honey and alcohol and love.

So maybe a better word to describe how he was feeling would be that he was excited.

“Oh come on kid, leave the cleaning up to me.” Logan heard mother say behind him. He spinned quickly, and she was smiling at him like she knew something he didn’t. She probably did.

“Absolutely not, I cannot allow you to clean everything up alone – “

“Logan.” She said firmly, and Logan shut up. “You’ve been staring at that damn tattoo parlor for eight minutes. Go see your pretty boy, I’m not too old to clean a damn shop.”

Logan felt his face heating up again, the light of his freckles lighting up mother’s face.

“I – ok. I’ll go. But promise not overexert yourself.”

“Fine, fine, I promise, mother hen.” Logan rolled his eyes, before kissing mother on the cheek and grabbing his bag, going for the backdoor.

When he stepped inside the tattoo parlor, he could see that Roman and Remus were already turning off the lights, Roman’s curly, long, cardinal red hair pulled up in a bun, his tanned skin stained with ink, and Remus’ hair as unkept as always.

Logan wouldn’t ever admit it, but he would always melt when Roman smiled at seeing him.

“My love!” Roman exclaimed, running up to Logan and picking him up only to spin him in the air.

Logan would normally feel awfully embarassed at such a display of affection, but when there was only them and Remus, who might as well be his friend at this point? He couldn’t manage to make himself embarassed enough to reprimand his red haired love.

Love. By the stars, love. They were going awfully quick, weren’t they? He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Roman finally put him down, only to grab his face with both hands and start peppering kisses all over it. Logan was almost drunk enough on the kisses to not notice Roman was following his freckles with his lips.

“This is cute enough to make me want to take my eyes out with a spoon.” Logan heard Remus’ voice, and Roman groaned, dropping his face on Logan’s shoulder. Logan could see Remus was wearing ripped black skinny jeans over fishnets and a bright green crop top.

“Oh, fuck off, go rummage for trash you fucking racoon.”

“I have already rummaged, bitch brother of mine, tonight I get to eat the trash.”

“Oh for the love of the ghosts, I literally hate you so much – “

“Sure, sure, hey Logan, bye Logan, use protection!” Remus said as he walked out of the parlor’s doors, mounting his bike and finally going.

“Fucking trash eating little gremlin.” Roman murmured, before kissing Logan’s shoulder(well, his shirt, but it’s the thought that counts) and raising his head to look at Logan, big smile already back on his face. “So! Are you ready?”

Logan, still flustered by the kisses, simply nodded.

“Alright, my apartment is just up those stairs, you can go up and settle down while I finish closing the shop.” Roman said, before laying a final kiss on Logan’s cheek and walking towards the doors Remus had left unlocked. Logan went up the stairs, face still hot, and as he went to open the door that sat on top of them, he couldn’t help but feeling that awfully warm and fuzzy thing inside his chest when he touched the doorknob (thankfully made out of copper), as it finally hit him that yes, Roman was actually letting him inside his home without caring about what Logan could do while he was absent. If any fairy(specifically the fairies Logan grew up around) had done something like this, it would be seen as foolish, if not downright scandalous.

Logan shook his head before finally opening the door.

The apartment was...Not exactly what Logan was expecting(with the level of average drama between Remus and Roman combined, he almost expected for red theatre curtains, swords, thrones and life sized statues), but he couldn’t deny that it did fit both of the twins.

The first thing Logan noticed was that, while there weren’t any theatre curtains, there was a fair amount of red and green decoration, including but not limited to a golden and red peacock statue and a green hand showing the middle finger statue. The floorplan was open, with a living space decorated in whites and blacks right in front of a tiny kitchen decorated in the same color scheme. It probably wouldn’t fit the two brothers if there weren’t paint stains all over the furniture, along with various papers with drawings that Logan assumed were possible tattoo designs covering the walls and the fridge.

Overall it seemed like Roman and Remus had taken something that wasn’t theirs...And made it theirs.

Logan noticed there was a fireplace sitting adjacent to the couch, and there were small amounts of clutter there, like a bunch of unopened letter, a clear glass chocolate jar, silver and gold jewelry and two wands.

He set his overnight bag on the side of the couch and sit down, analyzing the drawings covering the walls while he waited for Roman.

Aproximately ten minutes later, he heard the door opening and Roman’s voice rambling.

“Well, that’s it, the shop is closed, the equipment is clean, the lights are turned off and – wow, is that a cutie sitting on my couch?”

Logan raised one eyebrow, but Roman kept looking at him expectantly. He simply sighed before saying with a smile “Yes, dear."

“I knew it, my suspicions are confirmed! The most gorgeous being is indeed inside my apartment!”

“Oh you – you are too kind.” Was the only thing Logan could say, still not used to having those exhuberant words directed at him, but not at all displeased by them.

“On the contrary, I am not kind enough!” Was the answer he received, as Roman jumped to sit on his side and grab his face with both hands. “For example, I have yet to tell you how stunning your freckles look today, they look like you were carved out of a giant diamond then strategically painted over with the finest pigments one could find – “

“Oh – Roman.“Was all Logan could say, as he felt his stomach fluttering like it was full of living snap-dragonflies, and Roman’s entire expression went too soft for him to handle. Luckily, Roman bent down to kiss his cheek before Logan had to decide what to do to hide his undoubtedly lovesick expression. The peck on his cheek went on for long enough that he could calm down. Roman looked at him before leaving a final quick kiss on the other cheek and retreating.

“I have vegetable and mushroom pie, butterscotch pie, linean bread, and cinnamon rolls in the shape of a bunny. Do you want to eat before watching the movie or after?”

“I’d like to eat before. It’s hard for me to concentrate on the movie if I am eating.” Logan responded, trying not to get distracted by Roman’s hand on his cheek.

“Ok.” Roman said, before letting go of him and getting up. “ You can go change while I set the table, if you want. The bathroom is that door on the left.”

Logan nodded and got up, going in the direction of the bathrooom as Roman went in the direction of the fridge.

The bathroom was a small, simple one, with slightly off white tiles on the walls and floor, a normal toilet, sink and shower. He set the bag down on the toilet to grab his pajamas, a knee length, dark blue pajamas skirt and a black baggy t-shirt. He put on simple black socks before closing his bag and getting out of the bathroom.

Roman had already set the table, it seemed, as he was getting out of what Logan assumed was his bedroom, finishing the process of putting on a red tank top over white sweatpants.

“Hey.” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s hand and leading him to the small square glass table on the space to the side of the living space, on which was laid out all of the food he had mentioned before. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have the vegetable pie, and I want to try the bread, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat, my love, it’s bread made in Linea, the elf nation I – that is, the elf nation my mother comes from. It’s made with ground lineo and mock-turtle milk, so the texture is different from wheat bread, and it’s savory.”

Logan simply nodded, grabbing butter and spreading it on one of the orange colored slices of bread that had already been cut, before cutting out a slice of the vegetable pie.

He went for the bread first, and it was...Delicious, certainly, but also not what he was accustomed to. The texture was less starchy and more smooth, more, well, damp, than wheat bread. It tasted like a mixture of ground beef, chicken, lentiles, and was almost spicy, the saltless butter balancing out the savory taste.

“This is delicious. I’ll have to introduce you to a dish to thank you for it.”

“Oh hell yeah, I can’t wait to find out what fairies eat.” Roman responded, grabbing a slice of the butterscotch pie and two cinnamon buns. Logan looked at him, amused, before saying:

“Oh, you’ll probably like it, there’s enough sugar in a single meal to rot your teeth. My favorite drink is hot chocolate with strawberry sugar and honey.”

Roman smiled like was planning something, before finally saying “Ah, explains how you’re so sweet then.”

“I – Roman.” Logan responded, slightly out of breath and only able to reach for the other’s hand so he could hold it while eating, just like the day Logan brought him to the shop’s kitchen and they – well, confessed wasn’t exactly the right word. Caught up to each other, that fit better.

“My father used to cook plenty of meat with honey for – well, it wasn’t dinner, exactly, we ate right before going to sleep, it was the only time I was allowed to ingest honey in any way, lest they had to deal with a drunk seven year old that wasn’t going to sleep soon.” Logan smiled softly while allowing his gaze to go unfocused with nostalgia for a few moments. “Now I cook too, and I couldn’t be more grateful for him.”

“Did you grow up around fairies?”

Logan’s smile widened a bit. “Yes. Mother, father and I grew up around my grandmothers, my father’s mothers. They were both fairies, and one of them was my stepgrandmother. We lived in quite a cold location, so the food was always very heavy and full of calories for our bodies to burn. By the moon, I...I miss them so much, I loved them so much.”He smiled softly at his hands, caressing Roman’s wrist, before looking back at him.” What about you, did you grow up around elves?”

Roman’s hand suddenly tightened around Logan’s own, and Logan saw an aprehensive look on his love’s face for about two seconds before he relaxed.

“I...No. Remus and I grew up with my father and stepmother. I don’t...Have the best memories about them, because well...”He trailed off, biting his lip while looking lost in thought.

“You don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to.” Logan said, squeezing his love’s hand. Roman squeezed back, smiling at him with that besotted smile that still left Logan quite breathless.

“It’s not that, I do want to tell you. Um. Hey, love, did I ever tell you how my birth name isn’t Roman? It’s actually Valerie.”

Logan was startled enough to stop caressing Roman’s hand for about one second before he came back to himself and his task.

“I see. So I take it neither of us is cis?”

Roman let out a shaky breath, before smiling. “Yeah.”

Neither of them had felt like watching the movie, after that, and when Roman put on some romantic Disney songs, Logan couldn’t bring himself to resist the invitation to slow dance in their pajamas in the middle of the living room.

“So this is love, mmm, so this is love...” Roman sang into Logan’s neck, while the fairy traced the lines of a tattoo he had in between his shoulderblades, a red crest that depicted a castle standing before a sea and under a spiral sun. “So this is what makes life divine...”

“I cannot believe I’m the one saying this, but you, sir, are a giant nerd.” Logan said, his voice far too soft to be mocking. He then sighed “Love, huh? We are going awfully fast.”

Roman raised his head, his expression way too worried for the fairy’s taste.

“I don’t intend on stopping it. It’s...Scary, maybe, but I’m nothing but sure in what I feel for you.” Roman looked a little bit like someone had punched, before asking:

“May I kiss you?”

Logan felt like he had been punched, then, punched by how much he loved the man in front of him and wow, he was really head over heels huh.

“You most definitely may.”

The kiss wasn’t how it happened in movies. It wasn’t desperate and full of passion. It was calm and gentle and only warmed up slightly when Logan introduced tongue, and he was almost overwhelmed by how much love he could pouring from Roman and himself.

They kissed until they needed to breathe, and considering the both of them could hold their breath for longer than most species, it took a good two minutes before Logan had to break away with Roman chasing him, only to settle for kissing his neck.

Logan let out a shaky sigh as he felt Roman’s lips leave soft, gentle kisses on his skin, and he simply stood there until Roman was satisfied. When he was, he raised his head, looking at Logan with na aprehensive expression that didn’t fit the occasion.

“I...I hope the neck wasn’t too much. I could stop myself from kissing you as easily as I could stop the sea waves.”

“It was perfectly fine, dear.” Logan said, a little breathless. “But maybe we should go to sleep now. Tonight has been full of...Emotions.”

Roman smiled, before kissing Logan quickly on the lips and pulling him by the hand toward his room.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #fluff #urban fantasy #trans roman sanders #genderfluid logan sanders #fairy logan sanders #elf roman sanders #logince #unicia

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the-shadow-master · 4 years

Photo

TWO PARTS OF THE SAME SOUL

A very Jily fanfiction

"Padfoot, this is honestly such a terrible idea," James said, with a slight hint of a smile of affection towards his best friend.

"Oh, you noticed?" Remus impatiently asked, rolling his eyes. "I should be working on my Transfiguration homework instead of doing... Well, this."

"I should be working on my anything instead of doing this," James sighed, feeling exhausted and too sleepy to even exist. The only positive thing about Padfoot's idea that James could see at this moment, was the following: Lily Evans on the other side of the room, the most beautiful girl James has ever seen, with her hair tied up in a messy bun, and almond-shaped, bright green eyes that narrowed due to concentration and strong determination. The left corner of her lips twisted into a smile, and James felt his heart skipping a beat. She is so beautiful, he thought desperately. How am I even supposed to focus, when she's standing right there, bewitching me, enchanting me, making me fall in love with her, over and over again?

"For the sake of Merlin's shiny and gorgeous beard, Marauders, stop being such party breakers, that is not what you are made for! This is fun! Come on, look at me again!" Sirius snapped, then pulled out his own wand. He thought about hugging Remus, James, and Peter, he remembered their laugh. Sirius thought about the enthralling, gawky smile of his younger brother. Then he smiled, and exclaimed: Expecto Patronum!

There it was: playful, enormous, magnificent, shiny - a dog. Everyone in the room stopped doing what they were doing, in order to see his Patronus running across the Common Room. Sirius felt as if he was going to cry, he was so touched. I might still possess emotions, regardless of what my mother says, he thought, feeling a lump in his throat.

"He is beautiful, Padfoot," Remus said, with a gentle, calming touch in his voice. And oh boy, how much Sirius needed to hear these exact words!

"Bloody show-off, that's what you are," James muttered to himself.

Sirius smiled even brighter. "Thank you, Moony. And shut up Prongs! Let's see yours now. Let's see everyone's! If I can do it, so can all of you! I promise."

That was easier said than done. They were all trying so hard. A whole bunch of them spent several hours after midnight, right there in warm and cozy Common Room, in an effort to make Sirius proud of them. Just a group of fifteen-year-olds, attempting to produce magic far beyond their ability. Sirius always had ideas that couldn't come true easily.

James looked around the Common Room. Marlene McKinnon was staring daggers into Sirius, far too angry to cast any Charm, let alone to produce a Patronus, while Mary Macdonald's face became tomato red. Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom stopped pretending they were participating an hour ago, and they just sat in one armchair, holding hands and talking casually. Peter and Remus were cheering for each other, but James suddenly forgot what he was even doing.

Lily Evans turned around, like she managed to feel his eyes on her. "What's the matter, Potter?” she arched an eyebrow. “Too afraid to try?"

"No.", James replied sharply. She raised both of her eyebrows, and James blushed. "Are you?"

"Of course not," Lily answered, suddenly looking angry. She is so beautiful when she was angry, James thought. And when she is happy. And sad. And sleepy...

"Why don't you do it, then?" James asked, with a smile on his face. Lily frowned. And she is also beautiful when she is frowning, James added.

"Very well, then," Lily finally said. "But I'm warning you - I think I got the hang of this."

"Consider me warned," James winked, and she sighed conciliatory. Then she bit her lip, trying to focus. James felt his heart skipping a beat yet again. He couldn't help it. She wasn't just beautiful, she was also funny, and kind, and smart. She was amazing! And James? He was absolutely in love with her. He was in love with her from the moment he figured out what being in love means. Maybe even longer - he just wasn't aware of that fact before.

Lily seemed as if she wasn't there with all of them. And in her mind, she wasn't. A very pleasant memory came across her mind and managed to surprise her. Remembering it, Lily felt as if she was flying, far, far away. The thing that crossed her mind happened during the summer. It was an extremely warm, sunny day, and she inexplicably ran into James Potter himself. She was shocked, and all she wanted to do is to run away, but what he was doing was so odd that she couldn't help but come closer. He was on his knees, holding a handful of hazelnuts. As she was approaching, she noticed that they are the same color as his eyes. She swallowed hard and painfully because her tongue proved to be useless. She felt mesmerized. James Potter has incredible eyes, she suddenly thought. Who knew?

Before she ran away as far as possible from there, she gathered all her courage and cleared her throat. "Hello, Potter. What are you doing?"

The effect was momentary. James winced, and then he pointed dazed look straight into her. He seemed overwhelmed with shock. Lily glanced at him, struggling with feelings she didn't even know she was capable of feeling, let alone capable of recognizing them. Really amazing eyes, indeed, she thought.

"Evans!" he shouted. "Wow! I mean... It's so good to see y... How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you.", Lily kindly said. "And you?"

"Nice. Good. Yeah.", James seemed as confused as Lily felt. For several moments, the silence was awkward, and they just stood there, looking at each other as if they were seeing each other for the first time in their lives.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Lily said.

"Frighten? Me? No. I'm not frightened," he replied. His voice was thin and squeaky. It was so awkward.

"You didn't tell me what you were doing," Lily finally said.

"Oh!" James shouted once more. "Well, Evans, I'm trying to lure a squirrel."

"Why?" Lily demanded to know. Really, why? Of all the things James Potter could possibly be doing... Like, what the heck?

"Have you ever touched a squirrel?" James answered her question with a question.

"Well... No," Lily gave him a puzzled reply. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"That's why you're asking. Squirrels are amazing! They are so cute and tiny and..." he suddenly stopped talking. She was looking at him with a smile, and she was sure that's what confused him. But she couldn't help it. It was her first time seeing him so excited over small things, and he was too adorable! She didn't even know he could ever be like that. All she ever knew about him was that he was a spoiled brat and an extremely arrogant and selfish young man. But, as it turned out, James Potter was also capable of being adorable and cute. Adorable cutie with amazing eyes, Lily thought. Who knew?

"Anyways..." James shyly said. "This little fella who is hiding in the bushes came straight into my palm in order to take some hazelnuts. Then he scared himself away, or I scared him off, I have no idea. I'm trying to make him come back."

"Oh," Lily said. James Potter and a squirrel. And exactly when she thought this day couldn't become any more weirder. "That's actually... Kind of adorable."

"You think?" he said absently: "Am I adorable, or the squirrel?"

"Both of you," she heard herself saying before she could stop the words to come out of her mouth.

"Really?" James seemed shocked. So was she. Lily couldn't believe she had said that! She felt extreme heat in her cheeks, filled with shame. She really managed to make a fool of herself! But then, James added: "People were calling me all sorts of names, but never have they called me adorable. I feel flattered, Lily, thank you."

Lily smiled. "Well... You're welcome."

"Do you want to try?", James asked suddenly.

"What? To feed the squirrel?" Lily nervously asked. "Why would I want to try?"

"Because it's fun. Wait a minute... Are you afraid of squirrels?", James seemed astonished.

"No!" Lily exclaimed, too little too fast. "I just... I don't know. I've never been close to one."

"They say there's a first time for everything," James winked at her.

"Who says that?", Lily derisively replied.

"I have no idea. But come here."

James lay down on his stomach, and Lily caught herself doing the exact same thing as he was doing. His shoulder was touching hers. She turned her face towards him. His face was so close, and she moved her sight across it, absorbing every detail: his hazelnut eyes, lips that seemed to be very soft, his messy hair... He looked at her as if he could peek right into her soul. She couldn't even describe to herself how he made her feel. But she had to admit one thing: James Potter was really handsome.

He blinked, just like he was waking up from some kind of trans, and then he gently took her hand, placed one hazelnut onto her palm, withdrew her hand forward, and whispered: "Try not to move. Be very, very still."

It seemed like they were waiting for hours, but it was very pleasant waiting in silence with James Potter. It was surprisingly pleasant just being here with him, and quiet. Then, their patience paid off. Little squirrel carefully came to them. The little one was really careful and worried, but in the end, it jumped onto her palm, grabbed the hazelnut, and then run away, back into the bushes. Lily was stunned. Her eyes were wide open, and she suddenly realized she was biting her lip. What she didn't realize, was that James Potter didn't even take a look at the squirrel. He looked straight into her, completely hypnotized.

"That...Was... Amazing!" Lily exclaimed, and rolled herself onto her back. She was laughing so much. "It's too adorable to even exist!"

"Told you so," James shrugged. "Hey, Evans?"

"Yes?", she replied cautiously. Now what?

James reached out for his backpack and opened it. "I picked up this one for my mother. Surprisingly, she absolutely adores lilies. I wanted to give this to her, but... Here, I want you to have it."

He took out a lily flower out of his backpack and gave it to her. She instinctively took it, too surprised to even think about it. The flower was so beautiful. It was big, red and with a white rim.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Lily said.

"My mother always says all lilies are beautiful.", James replied, then cautiously added. "And I agree."

Lily smirked. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

They both giggled.

And that's what came onto Lily's mind when she pointed her wand in an imaginary spot and said with strong determination: Expecto Patronum!

Her lips separated in surprise when a graceful and beautiful doe jumped from the top of her wand and started galloping across the Common Room. Lily was extremely touched and looked at her Patronus with a lot of gentle affection. Everyone gathered to look at it. Even Alice and Frank stopped doing what they were doing in order to admire Lily's Patronus. She smiled proudly. And then, out of the blue, James said, looking agitated: "You think that was awesome? I can do it as well."

"Then do it," Lily impatiently replied, feeling annoyed because he interrupted her. "Don't just stand there talking about it."

"I will do it, Evans," James said. He stood there beside her, frowned at her, and then decided to focus. James gathered every atom of his strength and determination. He let his mind wander, and the same memory came to him. He held onto the same event as Lily, only he remembered it differently. He caught himself thinking about her green eyes, looking into him as if they are capable of seeing his very soul. He remembered her laugh, gentle touch of her shoulder, and the way her hair spread across the grass when she rolled herself onto her back. He remembered her gaze, as she reached to take a lily flower from him, while rays of sunshine gently caressed her face. All he could remember is her. And he smiled. Expecto Patronum!

And there it was. Shiny and enormous, looking strong, wild and proud – a deer!

The whole Common Room went silent. It seemed like no one even breathed or blinked. A doe... And a deer.

Lily and James looked at each other, and a deer caught up with a doe way above all of them. At that moment, no one existed in this world, no one but the two of them. They both seemed shocked more than ever. But there was something else they finally realized. There was something more.

"James," she mumbled, confused, at the same time when he whispered: "Lily."

"Oh, wow.", Sirius suddenly said. "This became awkward."

"Shut it, Black," Marlene suddenly said: "This is adorable!"

"Adorable, for sure," Sirius confirmed. "And still awkward. But you all have one thing to admit."

“Now what?" Remus asked, staring into two Patronuses with a smirk on his face.

"I. AM. A. BLOODY. GENIUS!" Sirius enthusiastically exclaimed.

Lily and James didn't hear a thing. They were ignorant of their surroundings. The only thing they were doing was staring into each other's eyes, too fascinated to look away. And the world was silent and empty. Nothing was really present, besides one thing. In Lily's mind, the only existing and real thing in this world was James Potter. And in his mind... The only existing and real thing in this world was Lily Evans.

#jily #jily fanfiction #jily edit #jilyotp #jily otp #james potter #lily evans #james and lily #lily and james #harrypotter #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter edit

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tiredstressedemotionalmess · 3 years

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Seeing Ghosts (a fun ghoul centric fic)

Seeing Ghosts

read on ao3

word count: 4325

warnings: major character death, descriptions of blood/injuries

summary: Fun Ghoul can see ghosts. Not many people really believe him, but it's not that big a deal, right?

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For as long as Fun Ghoul could remember, he could see ghosts. At first, they terrified him. He couldn’t understand why other people didn’t see the things he did. Once he grew a bit older, and he understood that the people he saw were dead , he became even more afraid. But, as the years went on he became more accustomed to the idea of death. The ghosts stopped scaring him and instead served as more of a reminder that he needed to focus on living his life, as he never knew when he would find himself as one of the transparent figures that he saw roaming the desert.

Most of the spirits didn’t talk. He tried talking to almost every one he’d see, but a lot of them did not respond. The majority just wandered through the static. Some would stay in one place, usually where they died or where their home had used to be. Once in a while he’d see some following specific people. It broke his heart knowing that their loved ones were right next to them, and they didn't even know. Still, every once in a while, the spirit he spoke to would answer back, and it was through these conversations that Ghoul learned many of the universe’s untold truths.

For starters, he gained a vague idea of what was awaiting him after he died. The ghosts told him that the Phoenix Witch let those with unfinished business stay behind on this plane of existence until they made their peace. One thing Ghoul learned very quickly about ghosts is that they loved to talk about themselves. They’d tell Ghoul their story at the slightest hint of his curiosity. One told him that she was waiting for her girlfriend, not wanting to pass on without her by her side. Another told him that he wanted to see BLI get taken down, that he wanted to be on the front lines of the action dead or alive. Ghoul listened to so many stories over the years, about having to grow up in the city, or being an ex-exterminator, or being a drug-dealing asshole who was filled with regrets.

He was glad he could offer a slight relief to the ghosts by listening to them, and while he never asked for anything in return, some of the spirits still felt the need to thank him. They did so by giving him information. Locations of safe-houses, stored food, BLI codes, warning about an oncoming drac attack. He never asked for the information, but he was grateful for it all the same.

When he finally accepted the offer to join Party, Jet, and Kobra’s crew, he didn't really make an effort to hide his abilities. He would share with the others some of the more helpful tips the ghosts had, and he would even talk to the ghosts in front of the others. The first few times, they had assumed he had a little too much cactus juice and he was just seeing things. Then, when they realized he still did it while fairly sober, they thought it was some strange joke they just didn’t understand. Ghoul did have a sort of odd sense of humor sometimes. They only realized he wasn’t trying to be funny, after he broke down crying in the middle of the diner once. It was the first time they had ever seen him cry, and it was for seemingly no reason. Through shaking breaths, he explained his ability as best he could. The others didn’t know how to respond.

Party still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t just joking around. Being able to see ghosts? What type of insane bullshit was that? Part of them figured he was trying to be funny, the other part though he was just doing it for attention. Ghoul just wanted to seem cool and special. They were still gonna help him calm down, but they didn’t think for a second that Ghoul could actually do what he was claiming to do.

Kobra didn’t really believe him either, but he also didn’t not believe him. Sure, it sounded crazy, but he had learned over the years that anything was possible. Maybe the Witch (if she was real like Cherrie said) had decided to give Ghoul a superpower. Maybe he’d use it to do something great. Or, maybe he was just delusional. Either option seemed pretty plausible to Kobra.

And Jet, well, Jet was skeptical but not rough to really care. Did he believe in ghosts? No, not really. Did Ghoul believe in them? Yes. Was Jet gonna be a piece of shit and try to make Ghoul feel bad for what he believed? Fuck no. The way Jet saw it, Ghoul wasn’t hurting anyone, so he shouldn’t care.

After Ghoul had calmed down, the incident was pretty much forgotten. Ghoul continued to speak to the ghosts without hesitation, although he was careful to avoid conversations that would make him feel more emotional in front of the others. Years went by, and it just became a part of Fun Ghoul’s personality. He talked to shit that wasn't there, it honestly wasn't the weirdest thing a joy’s been known to do. Party would sometimes try and make fun of him for it, still not believing his claims, but for the most part it didn’t bug him. Although, if he was in a bad mood, he would definitely go off on Party if they said he was faking.

It was after one of these fights that Ghoul and Party found themselves running in a panic to the Trans Am. They had been on opposite ends of the diner, the radio in the center of the room tuned into Dr. Death Defying’s station to try and diffuse some of the tension. It had started out as a stupid argument over something niether even remembered, but with Jet and Kobra gone on a supply run it had quickly escalated into something bigger. They knew just how to push each other’s buttons; the exact words to get the other riled up.

“Crawl back to the City you filthy Batt Rat!”

“I hope you outlive everyone you love!”

They only stopped when their throats were raw and their voices were hoarse.

The music filling the silence felt cold on their ears as they stared at each other, then it came to an abrupt stop and Dr. D’s voice took its place.

“Bad news from the zones, tumbleweeds. It looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid got in a clap with an Exterminator that went all Costa Rica and, uh, got themselves ghosted, dusted out on Route Guano. So it's time to hit the red line and-”

The two were up out the door before they could hear the rest of the broadcast. They drove in absolute silence, time seeming to move in a loop as it seemed the same surroundings passed them every few minutes. Ghoul barely registered the sign indicating they had reached the road as they passed by.

They sped down Route Guano, and for the first time, Ghoul felt like the Am was the slowest car in the zones. He pushed it to its limit, its engine roaring like it never had before. Outside the windows, the desert blurred into streaks of tan and blue. It became almost impossible to tell the sand from the sky, and yet it still felt too slow.

In the seat next to him, Party was shaking. Their eyes were glued to the dashboard, and they had their arms wrapped around their core like they were hugging themself. Ghoul wanted to hold them, to tell them that everything was going to be alright, to sing them to sleep like he had done so many nights before, but comfort wasn’t Party’s priority at the moment. All they cared about was getting to his family, and so Ghoul kept driving on.

In the distance, he saw what looked like a BLI van with smoke floating up out of the hood. As they got closer, he noticed the bodies. A dozen draculoids were scattered across the ground. An exterminator Ghoul vaguely recognized was slumped against the side of the van, a blaster still in his hand. There weren’t any ghosts. Dead dracs never had a ghost, their spirit still trapped in the mask, and exterminators’ spirits rarely stuck around long. Ghoul figured they didn’t wanna deal with the potential guilt of seeing their true impact on the lives of those in the desert. He kinda hoped that the Phoenix Witch would show them anyway.

They drove on a bit further, finding a pathway of bodies and cars that lead to the center point of the clap, the place where all the realm action went down. Sighing, Ghoul stopped the Am and turned to Party.

“You ready?” he asked in the gentlest voice he could.

“No,” they replied as they opened the door and stepped out into the sun.

Ghoul quickly followed, and together they walked through the field of bodies. Dracs, a few exterminators, and as they got further down the way, fellow killjoys. This is when the ghosts started popping up. There weren’t many, not everyone who died had unfinished business, but the ones that were there looked lost and confused. They were staring at their bodies in horror, some shaking their heads or reaching out to try and touch themselves. Ghoul couldn’t blame them. He couldn’t imagine how freaky it must be to wake up and see yourself lying motionless on the ground. At least, that’s how most of the ghosts he’d spoken to described it. “Like waking up from a bad dream, then slowly realizing you’re not even breathing.” When he saw newly dead ghosts like this, he normally would go over and try to explain to them what had happened. He had a feeling that there wouldn’t be time for that right now.

Party gasped sharply, grabbing Ghoul from his thoughts.

“That’s Kobra’s bike,” they whispered, pointing to what was indeed the Kobra Kid’s prized motorbike, yet Kobra himself had still yet to be seen. Ghoul knew they were both thinking the same thing, Kobra would never just leave his bike lying in the dust like that.

Party surged forward faster than Ghoul had ever seen them run. He cast one more glance at the ghosts around him before running along with them. They passed Kobra’s bike and two other cars before finally finding what had to be the worst aftermath of a firefight Ghoul had ever seen.

This must have been a coordinated attack , he thought, no way they could get this many dracs here on a whim.

A strangled cough drew Party and Ghoul’s attention to one of the cars. They rushed over to hopefully find one of their friends alive. To their surprise, the Phoenix Witch decided to bless them by a having them stumble upon-

“Oh my fucking god, Jet!” Ghoul cried as he saw the condition his crewmate was in.

He was lying on the ground, slightly twitching, with his hands slowly grasping at a large wound on his abdomen. His visible eye was glassy, filled with pain as it flicked around the battlefield. It honed in on Kobra, who was leaning against the tire of a SCARECROW patrol car, his eyes and body unmoving in cold silence. It made Jet shiver. The tears flowing down his face mixed with the blood, creating an aura of red that veiled his face and neck. The others followed his gaze to Kobra’s body. Party’s stomach dropped, their breath faltering.

“Oh, god, no. No, no no, no,”they whispered, shaking their head. “He’s knocked out. He’s only… he’s only knocked out, right?” They crumbled into Ghoul, his arms reaching out to hold them close, but only part of his attention was on Party. Ghoul’s eyes were fixated on Kobra, not his body, but on the Kobra Kid’s spirit. He stood a few feet away from his body, staring down at it with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, he looked up and his eyes met with Ghoul’s.

“Hey, Ghouligan,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face, “I guess you really weren’t kidding about the ghost thing.”

Ghoul’s throat felt dry. There were a thousand things he felt like he should say, but all that came out was,

“Yeah… you, uh, you get used to it after a while.”

Kobra laughed. “I just can’t wrap my head around it, man.” He ran his hand through his hair, a common thing he’d do when he had too many thoughts crowding his mind. “Like, I knew my chances weren’t great with the amount of dracs on us but I thought…” he sighed and looked around at the wreckage, “I mean, we usually make it out, y’know? Killjoys never die and all that shit. I know we’re not actually immortal but, after all the close calls, it was easy to feel that way. It made me feel better about living so reckless, even if it was a lie.”

He turned his gaze down towards Jet, his mouth twisting into a deep frown.

“Hey, tell Jet this isn’t his fault, okay? The clap went on for so long. When I went down I saw how much of a fight he put up to try ‘n save me. He’s gonna try ‘n blame himself for all this, you can’t let him. He did all he could, you have to tell him that.” Kobra said sternly, a hint of desperation in his voice. His bond with Jet was strong. He would have gotten killed a thousand times over if it meant Jet would go on without guilt.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him as soon as I can, I promi-” Ghoul began, but was cut off by Party.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Party’s face turned red and they shoved Ghoul away from them. Their eyebrow twitched with fury and their left hand was clenched into a fist, while their right hand was trembling over their raygun.

“For once can you just stop your stupid fucking act? Everyone already knows that your ghost-seeing powers are horseshit. I know you want everyone’s attention all the time, but not everything is about you! My brother’s dead, Jet’s fucking dying, and instead of doing anything helpful you’re just standing there pretending to talk to ghosts.” They waved their hands around angrily, punctuating the last few words with an aggressive flap.

Ghoul winced. “I- it’s not what you think dude. I’m…” he looked up at Kobra, silently pleading that he would help him explain the situation.

Kobra’s spirit started towards the two killjoys, not even attempting to step over the bodies littering the ground, as his spectral body simply passed through them anyway. He stopped in front of them and stared at Party for a few moments. He then turned to Ghoul and said, “Can you ask them if they still remember that song we’d sing back in the city?”

Ghoul, while slightly confused, repeated the question to Party. Their eyes widened and they shook their head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” they demanded, the edge of their voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Kobra says there’s some song the two of you would sing in the city at night when your parents couldn’t hear you. He wants to know if you still remember the words.”

“How do you know about that?” Their voice was shaky as they spoke, and Ghoul could tell they were trying keep themself under control.

“He just told me. He’s standing right there-” he pointed to the spot in front of Party where Kobra was, “and he wants to know if you remember the song or not.”

Party looked between Ghoul and where he was pointing, a look of confusion and disbelief on their face. They shook their head and sighed, their eyes finally resting on where Kobra would be.

“Yeah, I remember,” they let out a shaky breath to try and even out their strained voice, “of course I remember. I’d sing it to you every night, Kid.”

“Sing it with me?” Kobra asked softly.

Ghoul repeated the message to Party, who made a small noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh in response.

“Alright Kid,” they whispered. Party took a deep breath, then started slowly, “ Does anyone have the time to bring me down? And can I sleep all night long… ”

“To the drums of the city rain? ” They sang together, a strange but beautiful contrast in their two voices.

“Just make it up 'cause I'm awake all night long to the drums of the city rain.”

“And brother if you have the chance to pick me up? And can I sleep on your couch to the pound of the ache and pain- ” Kobra began slowly swaying his head along with the words “- oh, in my head. 'Cause I'm awake all night long to the drums of the city rain-”

As they began the next line, Party’s voice cracked and a hand flew to their mouth. A sob racked their body. Their shoulders shook as more choked sobs came out.

“No, No this isn’t, this can’t fucking happen, I-” they shook their head, gasping for air like they were drowning. Honestly, drowning is exactly how they felt. Each time they inhaled, the air felt thick and unbreathable, making their throat seemingly close up and leaving their lungs empty.

“You are not dying. You’re not fucking dying, you can’t, you’re not, you...you…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kobra said softly, stepping closer to his sibling. He reached forward and placed their hand by Party’s face as close as he could without actually touching them. Party inhaled sharply and glanced down at Kobra’s hand. Shakily, they raised their arm and matched what Kobra was doing. Their breathing became more intense, and in between breaths they whispered,

“Kobes?”

“It’s gonna be alright, I promise,” he smiled as he spoke. Glancing over at Ghoul, he nodded. Ghoul sent him a small nod back, tears now freely falling down his face. Kobra set his hand by his side, a ghost of a smile still in his lips as his legs started to dematerialize into nothingness, then his torso, then his arms… until Kobra was gone.

Party fell to his knees as a wave of grief crashed into him like a tsunami, and they screamed. It was a gut wrenching cry of anguish that tore Ghoul’s heart to shreds and made him feel almost as hopeless as the one making the noise felt. They screamed until their throat burned, sending flashes of sharp pain through their entire body. They gripped their hair as their scream turned into sobs, and their sobs turned into whimpers.

After an eternity of minutes passed, Ghoul decided to go up to Party. He hesitated, not knowing if they were still angry at him or not, but ultimately his desire to comfort Party finally won. He walked a little closer to them and kneeled down. He looked at them for a few seconds, then slowly placed his hand on their shoulder, rubbing small circles into it with his thumb. They turned to him, and for a second Ghoul thought they were going to snap at him again. He was pleasantly surprised when they swiftly pulled pulled him into a hug, wrapping their arms right around Ghoul’s back and burying their face in his shoulder.

They sat there for what felt like hours until a pained gasp brought them back to reality and drew their attention to a nearby Jet Star.

“Oh shit, Jet!” Ghoul cried.

He met eyes with Party, who nodded and slowly began to stand up with Ghoul’s support. The two didn't talk as they carefully picked Jet up and brought him back to the car. After bandaging the worst of his wounds and making sure he wasn’t about to bleed out, they headed back to the heart of the clap to get Kobra’s body. When they came upon it, though, they just stopped and stared. It made it too real, actually having to move their best friend’s corpse. Ghoul knew it was unrealistic but he thought, maybe, if they just waited long enough he’d wake back up. If the Witch could give him the power to see ghosts, then surely she could bring Kobra back. He knew she could, but he also knew that she wouldn’t. Death was inevitable, he knew that better than anyone.

“It just doesn’t feel real,” Party’s hoarse voice pulled Ghoul from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Ghoul agreed, nodding his head solemnly.

“I just, I feel like I wanna scream now but when I try no sound comes out. I wanna cry again but I guess I used up all my tears or something,” they mumbled.

They crouched down next to their brother and sighed. They opened their mouth as if to say something, but instead they just shook their head and closed it again. They drew their attention to Kobra’s helmet which they noticed was lying a few feet away from his arm. They picked up the helmet, and stood up, staring intently at the thick white letters printed on the front. Good Luck . Kobra always joked that the words on the helmet were what kept him surviving all his stupid stunts. He’d said that the helmet was as lucky as a strand of wooden bad-luck beads made by the Phoenix Witch herself.

“ Looks like he was wrong ,” they thought bitterly.

A sudden thought was sparked in Party’s mind by the memories of Kobra’s dumb stunts. What were they gonna do about his bike?

“Is there a way to bring his bike with us?” they asked Ghoul, not looking up from the helmet.

“Uh, maybe? I think there’s some rope ‘n cords ‘n shit in the trunk of the Am. We could strap it to the back somehow.”

Party nodded. “We’re not leaving it here. He’d kill us if we even thought about it.” They chuckled quietly. They brought a hand to their face and wiped their eyes, which had begun to tear up again.

Now is not the time , they thought. The sun was beginning to set, and they didn’t wanna be this far from the diner at night. BLI had been increasing the number of night patrols as of late. They wanted to take out more of the nocturnal joys.

Ghoul bent down and grabbed Kobra’s legs. Party took his shoulders, then wrapped their arms under his arms and around his chest. Together, they carried him to the Trans Am, and placed him in the back seat next to the incapacitated Jet Star. Ghoul opened the trunk of the car to grab the rope while Party walked back to get Kobra’s most prized possession. Minutes later, the bike was secured to the back of the Am, and Ghoul and Party were climbing into the front seats.

They didn’t talk on the ride back to the diner. They were both too busy thinking. Party’s mind was filled with nothing but memories of their brother. Walking home from school with him, and playing games in the dead of night when BLI couldn’t tell them no. The way he smiled, for the first time when they finally made it out to the desert. The stupid pranks he’s pulled in the diner, the stunts that definitely should have ended worse than they did, the music, and the fights, and the campfire stories. They found it in themself to start crying again and they recalled all the time spent with their brother. They longed for the past, and the pain of knowing they’d never see him again was too much for them to bear.

While Party was looking back on the past, Ghoul was stuck thinking about the future. How he’d have to tell Jet what Kobra had said once he woke up. He worried that Jet might not wake up at all. If that happened he knew neither him nor Party would be able to handle it. They’d both be dead too within days. Still, if Jet survived they’d have to figure out how to move forward. It’d been the four of them for so long, he honestly didn’t know how they were gonna survive with just three. Party was sure to be a wreck, Jet would still probably blame himself despite Kobra’s parting words, and Ghoul...well, Ghoul knew he’d have to try and keep his friends together, he just didn’t know how. The task seemed impossible, and the never ending spiral of what-if’s that filled his mind only made it seem worse.

But he couldn’t panic right now. He needed to be there for Party, and to get the remaining members of his family back home. His grip of the steering wheel tightened as he increased the car’s speed.

Just focus on the road, worry about everything else later. It’ll all work out , he told himself that over and over. It’ll all work out . He whisked he was more convincing.

Next to him, Party began humming softly. He sent a concerned glance their way, but they weren’t paying any attention to him. Their eyes were trained on Kobra’s helmet in their lap. A faint tap, tap, tap, could be hard as their tears hit the yellow plastic.

“The lights we chase, the nights we steal, ” they sang quietly. They hoped that maybe, wherever it was the Witch brought the dead, that Kobra could hear them singing.

“The things that we take to make us feel. I can't go back, don't think I will-”

Kobra’s words echoed in their mind. Their promise that everything was gonna be okay. Party tried their best to believe him. The corners of their lips twitched slightly upward as they sang,

“I won't sleep tonight as long as I still hear the drums of the city rain.”

Maybe everything would turn out okay.

#party poison #fun ghoul #kobra kid #jet star #danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days #danger days fic #the fab four #killjoys #my writing

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years

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How Do Bi Parents Come Out to Their Kids?

It’s not always straightforward.

By Lux Alptraum

As the author of multiple memoirs, psychotherapist Wendy C. Ortiz, M.F.T., is no stranger to personal disclosures. In her books, she’s told readers about her teenage sexual exploits and her struggles as a 20-something Angeleno, and she’s even provided lengthy descriptions of her dreams. But over the past few years, Ortiz has been navigating a different disclosure wholly unlike the ones that have shaped her literary career: coming out as bisexual to her young daughter.

“We’re still trying to find a way to explain it without opening a can of worms that we are not quite prepared for yet,” Ortiz tells SELF.

Ortiz’s nine-year-old daughter has always been aware that her parents are not straight—being raised in a household with two moms made that evident. But Ortiz’s bisexuality has been a more complicated identity to discuss, one that expands beyond her current relationship and encompasses a broader swath of who she is as a person. Over the past few years, she’s been experimenting with how to be open and honest with her daughter in an age-appropriate, accessible way that offers comfort and clarity rather than just creating more confusion. Though Ortiz and her family have started the conversation, it remains a work in progress.

She’s hardly the only parent to find herself in this situation.

There are a lot of reasons bi parents choose to come out. For many bi parents, sharing their identity can feel essential to providing their children with an open-minded understanding of the world around them. “I’ve always wanted to give my son what I didn’t have growing up,” Ellie W., 25, tells SELF. Her own religious upbringing didn’t include open conversations about sex and identity.

For others, being out about their identity can feel like a way of encouraging honest communication with their children. “I decided relatively early on in my then partner’s pregnancy that I wasn’t going to be secretive about stuff, because I had dealt with a lot of secretive approaches in my own family around all sorts of things. It was bad for me and also bad for the rest of the family,” Jerome C., 44, tells SELF.

And in a political environment that’s increasingly hostile to LGBTQ+ folk, some parents see informing their children about their bisexuality as an important part of preparing their kids for the future. “To be trans and bi is to be pretty visible,” Nola P., 36, tells SELF. “I wanted to make sure that they understood some of the things that might happen, and how it might affect our family directly.”

That sense of community, identity, and visibility is a big part of why some parents might feel driven to open up this discussion with their kids. Being open about your bi identity can help combat bisexual erasure and help kids understand bisexuality not just as an abstract concept but as the identity of someone they’re close to. It can also help create a sense of open dialogue that will serve kids later in life if they wind up identifying as queer.

“Parents might think in the back of their heads, Well, what if my child was bisexual? I would want them to feel like they could come out to me. So I should come out to them and be that role model that they deserve,” Dan Rice, M.Ed., executive director at the sex education organization Answer at Rutgers University, tells SELF.

Indeed, Mike F., 42, was prompted to come out to his teenage daughter after she came out to him first. “I don’t remember the exact conversation, but she made a joke about not being ‘exactly straight,’ and I said, ‘You and me both, baby girl.’ She paused, looked at me, and said, ‘Cool,’” he tells SELF.

Of course, there are a few reasons coming out as bisexual to your kids can be complicated. For one, bi parents who choose to broach this topic with their children run the risk of facing judgment from family members, friends, and community members who consider this disclosure to be TMI. On a popular podcast I listen to, a women’s health expert advised an audience member against coming out to her daughter as bi, saying that it was a discussion best reserved for older kids. The expert’s reasoning? The audience member’s young child wasn’t ready to hear about who her mommy liked to have sex with.

Um. While most of us would agree that frank discussions of adults’ sex lives aren’t an appropriate topic for children, coming out as bisexual to your kids in no way means giving them an extensive overview of everyone you’ve slept with (and how). “Being bi isn’t just about how you have sex and who you have sex with, it’s about how you understand desire and love and connection and community,” Cory Silverberg, an award-winning sex educator and author of Sex Is a Funny Word, tells SELF.

Though some parents might fret about the possibility of burdening their children with too much information at too young an age, Rice doesn’t think parents need to worry about having this conversation too soon. “It’s never too early,” he says. “What we’re explaining to children is love, and who we love and have a special love for. Children understand love.”

Then there’s the fact that starting the conversation can feel complicated and intimidating. A simple way in might be a casual disclosure during a discussion about different styles of relationships, something like, “Some people fall in love with people of a different gender, some people fall in love with people of their own gender, and some people, like me, can fall in love with people of any gender.”

It’s also key to keep in mind that your kid might not react with enthusiasm or even interest. “This could be a conversation that the parent might hope is longer, but maybe the kid isn’t interested, and it’s something to come back to,” says Ortiz, who in addition to navigating this on her own also works with many queer patients as a psychotherapist. Ortiz recommends mainly letting the child lead the discussion: Tie your disclosures to questions they’ve brought up about relationships or love or identity rather than forcing them to listen to a personal monologue that they’re not ready for or couldn’t care less about right now.

In Jerome’s case, he first discussed gender and sexuality with his son when the child was nine. “It was around that time that one of his cousins came out as transgender, so that gave me the opening,” he says. “I tried to make it ‘not a big deal,’ which meant that, in turn, he didn’t seem particularly fazed by anything I was saying or talking about.”

Above all, it’s important to remind your kid that having a bisexual parent doesn’t change things or mean that their life isn’t going to be the same. Even if this information is new to them, it doesn’t change who you are: a parent who loves them very much.

For many, this is bound to be an ongoing discussion, not a single conversation. The conversation you have with your kids about your sexual identity is likely to shift and expand over the years as your children get older and better able to understand more complex topics. Silverberg recommends using pop culture as an entry point to additional conversations. If you’re watching a Disney movie, for instance, you can remind your child that not all princesses marry princes: Some might marry other princesses, some might be happy with either option, and some might decide they’re not interested in marriage at all.

This can be especially useful for younger children. Ellie says her son is too young to understand sexual and romantic attraction, so she describes her own partners as “friends” but encourages him to observe diversity in the world around him. “He seems entirely [unbothered] by the idea that some children can have two mamas or two dadas or two mamas and one dada,” she says. “He found it quite amusing that there are infinite possibilities of how to make up a family.”

In Ortiz’s own home, the conversations about identity started around the time her daughter turned six. It was something, she tells me, that largely happened organically. When her daughter started talking about kids at school having crushes on each other, Ortiz and her partner gently brought up the idea that people can have crushes on someone the same gender as them as well as on people of different genders. Meanwhile, shows like the cartoon Steven Universe showcase queer relationships in a fun and casual way and have given the family an opportunity to talk about the wide variety of relationships humans might arrange ourselves in.

When Ortiz’s daughter stumbled on photos of Ortiz with an old boyfriend, Ortiz didn’t shy away from being honest about who that person was in her life. “In the last year we’ve approached the subject that I was once married to a man,” Ortiz says. “It’s like, ‘Oh, this is Mommy’s identity,’ versus her other mother who identifies as lesbian.”

As the years have passed, it’s become clear that the many conversations they’ve had about identity and relationships have had an impact on Ortiz’s daughter. When she talks about the future, Ortiz says, her daughter leaves the question of her own orientation open. “She will preface by saying, ‘And I might be with a girl or a boy.’” Thanks to her mothers’ openness about their own identities, she’s able to be confident that whomever her future relationships end up being with, she’ll have the support and love of her family. Which is, of course, what truly matters.

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always-and-forever-a-killjoy · 4 years

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Part 4 of Semp’s Bad Fics About Cherri Cola

Yep, y’all read that right! The fourth part of the series is finished and i have 0 impulse control so I’m posting it right now! You don’t have to have read the rest of the series to understand this, but it will be a lot clearer with context (the rest of the fics can be found under the ‘my writing’ page on my blog, as well as on my AO3 in the same series as this one). Anyways, I hope you enjoy! (And I promise no shitty poetry this time.)

Title: Conversations in the Rain

Wordcount: 1515 (longest one yet! woo!)

Summary:

While stuck at Dr. Death Defying's radio station, Jet Star tries to help Cherri Cola with some poetry and gets a bit more than they asked for.

Warnings: references to addiction and drug use as well as death, loss and grief.

Taglist: @sleevesareforlosers @tasteofamnesia @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @stressed-depressed-emo-mess (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist you can message me, send an ask, or just reply to any of my posts with the list!)

AO3 link

(Actual fic under cut)

Jet Star wandered through the living room of Dr. Death Defying’s radio station, listening to the rain patter on the roof. They and Party Poison had happened to have been out when a bout of acid rain had struck, and you never wanted to be outside in acid rain. Even with the protection of a car roof, it was still preferable to wait out acid rain inside. The radio station was by far the closest shelter, which was how they had ended up stuck here.

So now Party was telling Show Pony the long and convoluted story of how they had gotten back at Fun Ghoul for replacing their coffee with Cherri Cola’s (lukewarm and rather disgusting) tea, complete with animated hand gestures, and Jet Star was wandering aimlessly. While they were looking around for something to do, they spotted Cherri Cola himself, sitting in the corner and scribbling on a scrap of paper. This was no surprise; Cherri spent most of his time hanging around either Dr. D’s radio station or the Four’s diner, and he always seemed to have a piece of scrap paper and pencil on him somehow.

Usually, Jet wouldn’t have bothered him, but they were very bored. Besides, Cola looked mildly distraught, so they probably ought to check on him.

He glanced up as they approached, a bit of his hair falling in his face. “How would you describe the sun?”

“Uh….warm?”

Cherri Cola groaned and let his head fall into his hands. “You’d think someone who’s been writing poetry for years would be able to actually write, but no.”

“I think you can write,” Jet protested.

Cherri sighed. “I know what needs to be said, but I can’t find the right words.”

“What are you trying to write? If you’re okay telling me.”

They watched Cherri twist his hands together for a few moments, eventually huffing a small sigh.

“You know I used to be a wavehead, right?”

Jet nodded. Cola’s past addictions were somewhat of an open secret; technically the Fabulous Four weren’t supposed to know, but Cola was awful at keeping secrets and Show Pony was even worse. It was one of those things they all knew but no one ever brought up, not even Poison.

“I’m trying…” Cherri fiddled with his pencil. “I’m trying to write about war and addiction and sunlight and grief.”

“But you don’t have the right words?”

“But I don’t have the right words.”

Jet thought for a second. “Maybe you could describe it to me out loud and see if that helps?”

“That would be good, actually.” Cola took a deep breath.

“Grief is like…darkness. Like thorns and night and suffocating. Guilt and grief- people say they’re like a hole where someone should be, but I lived that kind of grief long before the kind that drove me to the relief of sunlight. That kind was like a hole, like a missing piece to a puzzle that you couldn’t ignore but could do most of the puzzle without, like an ache that never went away but one you could function with. The second kind, the one tangled with guilt, is like darkness and thorny brambles that pull you in. You can never escape it, it’s everywhere you look and the best thing you can do is get a flashlight and shine some light in your eyes, get the sun or BLI drugs or something that makes it so you can’t see the darkness for a bit, but it’s only ever temporary and nothing can ever pull you out of the pain you’re buried in. And it feels like that and it seems like it’s always going to feel like that because the darkness just keeps dragging you under, no matter how much artificial light you try to bring, and you’re just begging for someone to light you a candle or hand you a flashlight because there has to be some way out-“

He broke off and turned away, refusing to look at Jet.

“Sorry,” He whispered after a moment, sounding very small indeed.

Jet noticed his hands shaking and reached out to still them, managing not to flinch at the scars that covered the poet’s hands. “It’s okay. It really is.”

They made sure to use the gentle voice they used when the other members of their crew were upset. It often helped calm the others down, especially Kobra, and it seemed to work well enough on Cherri Cola too. His hands had stopped shaking quite so much, only their usual faint shake remaining, and his breathing had slowed.

“You’re going to be okay. It’s okay,” Jet promised again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone so far down that path.”

Anything they could have said in response was cut off by a burst of laughter from Show Pony and Party Poison, cackling about….Jet wasn’t sure, but they from what they gathered, some incident involving a particularly prickly cactus, roller skates, and DJ Hot Chimp. It wasn't as if they knew what they would have said anyways.

“How- I mean, is it possible to escape that kind of grief?” They asked instead.

Cherri’s voice had grown calm again, although he was fiddling with his pencil and paper. “It is, but it’s hard. When all the artificial light leaves, when there’s no more escapes, everything presses in on you and the darkness feels so much more endless than before. It takes friends to pull you out of that, it takes other people to reach out a hand or throw you a rope so you can start stumbling out of the dark. But no one can give you light. You have to make that on your own. They can be a light in the distance, but you have to choose to get up and go towards it, you have to start illuminating the darkness yourself or you’ll never really leave.”

Another cackle of laughter came from the other side of the room as Cherri twisted the pencil between his hands. “It never goes away, not entirely. There are always days when the darkness presses in and it feels like you’re caught in the briars again. They get easier, and less common, but they never go away. It never really leaves, you just get better at lighting up the dark.”

“Oh.” It was a bit silly, but it was really all they could think to say. “Did that help with the poetry?”

“It helped a lot, thank you.” He bent over his paper again, scribbling away for a moment before glancing up. “If you want context for everything I just threw at you…”

Jet knew what he meant by trailing off. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want.”

“I- no, I don’t mind you and the rest of the four knowing some things that others don’t. You already know things you’re not supposed to,” Cola said with a wry smile. “I won’t bother you too much, but I want you- all four of you, really- not to have to learn my lessons the hard way.”

Jet nodded, trying to convey that he could go on.

“The most important thing is always going to be the family you build around you,” Cherri continued. “I wouldn’t have made it so far without D and Pony, or even you and your crew. When you find the people who love you, don’t let them go. Don’t push them away, it only hurts them and you. And…don’t let pain consume you. I lost my sister to BLI and then lost her again, and I let it turn me into a person you wouldn’t have liked to meet. Don’t follow my example, don’t go down that path of rage and self-destruction. You can’t control what happens to you, but you do control how you react. How you deal with what hurts you.”

Jet nodded again, knowing every bit of that wisdom came from years upon years of awful events. “That seems like wise advice.”

“I hope so.” He offered another sad smile. “I like to think I can help younger ‘joys with all the awful things I had to learn.”

“I think you’re doing a good job,” They offered. “You’re very-“

“Hey! Jet!” Poison shouted from across the room, effectively cutting them off. “The rain’s all cleared up, we’ve got t’ get back t’ the diner before th’ others flip their shit!”

Jet sighed. “It was nice to talk to you, Cola.”

Cola smiled kindly. “Go on, Poison is right about Kobra and Ghoul worrying if you’re out for longer than planned. Thank you for letting me talk some things out, it was very helpful.”

They had a feeling it wasn’t necessarily the poetry he was talking about anymore as they waved goodbye and made their way back to Party, who had somehow managed to drape themself over the sofa in an impatient way. And Cola’s words stuck with them long after the Trans Am had pulled away from the radio station with a few shouted goodbyes and the roar of the engine.

#cherri cola #jet star #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #ttlofk #auri writes #danger days #danger days fic #fanfic #mild angst #drug use tw #addiction tw #tagging those just in case #in which i use acid rain as a plot device to get the characters to talk

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positivlyfocused · 5 years

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How To Create Your Perfect Relationship In No Time, Pt. 1

In only six sessions learning the Positively Focused approach, a client of ours created the perfect relationship with his ideal woman.

In this post and the next, I'll dissect what happened. This is how it can happen for anyone. In the next post, I’ll detail what happened next.

Joe (not his real name), contacted us through our free 1:1 offer. Like many clients, he desperately wants a relationship with a specific kind of woman. Desperation is not a great place from which to meet someone.

But it is a great place to examine your stories. And how your reality reflects back to you stories you’re telling.

Information Joe got from the free 1:1 convinced him the next step was worth the money. So he engaged us in our 1:1 offer.

• • •

The first few sessions involved exploring beliefs producing behaviors he didn't like. He frequents working girls late at night or in early morning dark hours.

Some of these girls were/are drug-addicted. Others treated him like crap. Others treated him nicely. He has a mix of experiences reflecting his mix of beliefs about relationships and life, and women too. About himself too.

We explored how his beliefs create these experiences. Joe realized beliefs he didn't know he had. Beliefs triggering desperation he felt about finding a partner. The same beliefs creating his experiences with women, including the kinds of women he met.

Desperation isn't new to Joe. Some times in his life desperation (and the associated emotion “pain”) got so intense he contemplated suicide. Alongside relationship desperation, Joe also feels desperation about his life, his job and about himself. Beliefs triggering these feelings include one common to A LOT of people. That belief is "I'm not worthy of having what I want."

• • •

I know how deep beliefs can be. They connect with other beliefs, creating Belief Constellations or weaving through and shaping life experience.

It wasn't surprising then when I found through our next sessions that Joe's mother herself was and may still be drug addicted. She also had a working girl past.

No one comes into life experiences that are "too much to handle". Everyone chooses the experience they get before they get it. Hardly anyone understands this.

At Positively Focused, we help people understand why and how that is. Then we show them how to use that awareness to get joy and satisfaction from life and relationships. The same joy and satisfaction they knew they would get when they chose human life experience.

Beliefs create our reality. This includes beliefs we focus on before becoming human. These beliefs set up birth circumstances. Including the parents we are born to.

I explained why a person like Joe would come into the world through a parent who has sex work and drug addiction as part of her life experience. I described how those experiences create momentum. And how that momentum creates the reality he has. It wasn't an easy conversation. But Joe got it.

I know when you pull at one belief, many others get uncovered. By our fifth session, Joe realized more long-running beliefs. Beliefs about his unworthiness as a person. Beliefs about how the women he wants won't accept him for who he is and what he has (and doesn't have). Beliefs about feeling stuck in his job. Feeling shame about where he is in life.

In other words, beliefs a lot of humanity secretly shares. Some beliefs you may share.

What's great about this work is, once beliefs get uncovered, sometimes they start resolving on their own. They kind of lose their grip when exposed to the light of conscious awareness. Automatically, again in some cases, new beliefs get born from that exposure. Those new beliefs can create explosive positive results.

That's what happened to Joe.

• • •

Before our sixth session, Joe texted me. He said he needed to cancel our meeting. I asked why. He explained he met a woman, was going on a daytime date with her and was excited about the potential. A daytime date was unusual for Joe. As I said, he typically meets women at night.

"Yes I'm actually hanging out with a new trans woman friend of mine," he said via text. "We met Tuesday and hung out a couple of times and have been talking since. I like her a lot. She's treats me well."

I wasn't surprised by this. This is how things work when someone starts seriously looking at their beliefs. But I was also concerned about Joe.

That's because Joe got results we promise. But he doesn't know something important. His old beliefs are still active in his life experience. So it's a sure bet this transgender woman he met has her own beliefs. Beliefs matching Joe's. Beliefs she may not be aware of.

So I clued him in:

Joe responded that he already has been seeing some of those signs. That's why, he wrote, "I'm working to be the best version of myself. The work that you and I are doing is working!!! 😀”

Joe said when they first talked, they realized they both needed each other.

"I know the Universe orchestrated our meeting," he wrote. "I was finishing up at a warehouse where I picked up a load and she was finishing work around the same time and we were really near one another....”

Joe added that he already can see how his beliefs about women have changed because, he said, "along with being very kind and cool person, she has a good job, makes good money and has a nice place in a nice neighborhood."

Indeed.

I know the Positively Focused approach is not mainstream. That's why Positively Focused guarantees results. Joe's example is normal. Anyone can meet their match and enjoy a relationship that works for them. It just takes changing your beliefs so that you can meet the person you want. The person who is waiting for you. Your perfect match.

But so is everything else you’ve wanted in life. Minus the struggle. Minus the sacrifice.

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bluedraggy · 5 years

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TSO - As in Trans-Siberian Orchestra

I just went to one of their concerts and it was a visual wonder. Their style is unique and they occupy a niche that no one knew existed. I would describe it as taking themes and melodies - primarily from Christmas carols, but also from other classical sources (most familiarly Pachebel's Canon in D Major) and turning them into rock anthems. The sound is unabashedly 80's Rock with tons of machismo laden bass and distorted guitars, yet with a healthy smattering of violin. They make you wish for long hair you can thrash back and forth with your "Sign of the Horns" fist raised high in old-school heavy metal style, all the while celebrating Christmas of all things.

The concert was scheduled to start at 8 and by 8:15 it was underway, nonstop for two and a half hours and in unrelenting 4/4 time. There wasn't a single song I'd ever heard from them that was missed. While Canon didn't have the children's choir that's associated with it, they more than made up for it with a 10 piece choir. (okay, 9 I guess looking closer at the picture...)

I learned a bit about them before attending the concert. There was genius at work when the concept was created first of all. I doubt anyone but an avid fan could name a single member of the band, which works out great as they now actually are 2 'bands' (that word doesn't sound right, but then neither does 'orchestra') - TSO-East and TSO-West, but all are consummate musicians and showmen. And there was at least one marriage proposal up front. (Understandable actually.)

I really couldn't say how many people make up TSO. Their show is really more of a "Show" with a capital S. And they're not exclusively instrumental either - there were at least 3 separate singers that were all amazing soloists and could rightfully carry a band on their own, but TSO throws in 3. Or 4. Or 12. As for the musicians...

1 thunderous bass player 3 (at least! Easily could have been 4 or more!) guitar players 2 keyboard players 3 (at least!) vocalists - not including the choir 1 nonstop drummer who must be having the time of his life playing 1 sexy violin-ist (is that a word?) that easily rocked with the best of them 10 (guessing here) choir vocalists 6 (again, a guess) local guest 'orchestra' members 1 'MC' who narrated the 1st half's 'story'

And yet at a couple of key points they brought the leader out front who really personalized the band by talking to the audience in a much more casual manner - really a needed break from the perfectionism of the majority of the show which can leave you wondering if these guys are actually human.

Now with a show like this, it's easy to wonder if perhaps there's not some MIDI magic or backing tracks going on, but I really don't think there were. There didn't need to be with so many musicians involved.

But now I have to break away from talking about the 'band' to discuss the light show. It was second to none, and I've seen a few. This is obviously THE state of the art rock show. It helps that their music lends itself so well to visuals too, but I've literally never seen anything like it. Lasers everywhere, live fire displays that warmed my face from even where I was, videos containing all the expected tropes that this style of music evokes (wolves, dragons, helicopters, castles, cgi snow-covered cities, etc.)

They've got some really cool things overhead I can only describe as massive 'circles' with video screens in the center, lights ringing them, and on synchronized supports that make them move around in a way you have to see to appreciate. The ONLY technical problem was that one of the screens on one of these died a little way into the show. It was really no problem, but in any project so massive you'd have to expect SOMETHING to go a little wrong. Certainly nothing else did!

And finally, when the leader of the band stopped to give a shout out to the musicians (he had to do this twice to cover them all!), the sound engineers and the roadies, he said they had something like 112 people helping to set up the stage (although really there are 2 stages in a sense). The 4 huge raised-platforms that are used in certain songs are vertigo-inducing even from a safe spot on the floor.

I doubt anyone could argue that this may be the absolute pinnacle of this sort of show. Honestly after 2 hours, your eyes begin to bleed from the overload, but it's an experience you cannot forget. No, not all the songs work at the same level as their biggest hits - but none will bore you, that I can promise! Plus you may be surprised at how many you know. Going in I could name about 3, and some mixed together in my head.

And they know their audience. When those 'hits' start, they pull out all the stops. Christmas Canon - unforgettable even without the child choir. Granted, how can you go wrong when you start with Pachebel's Canon in D Major? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cP26ndrmtg

Christmas Eve/ Sarajevo - I didn't know the name of this one, but certainly recognized it when it started! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHioIlbnS_A

Wizards in Winter - How can anyone not know this one, if nothing else from the synchronized Christmas house light-show video that was everywhere a decade ago (2009). A shout out to that guy who first came up with that btw. Must have been a mighty effort back then to do that. The idea has been improved on of course since then, but it's a whole 'nuther thing to come up with it on your own. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWBjl-jPcVM

Requiem (The Fifth) - classic TSO though I'd never heard it. No points for guessing what theme is used for this one though. A bit of a Mozard/Beethoven mash but it works awfully well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsxzBCr2zNM

To end this little reviewishthing, if you get a chance (and, of course, you’d have to like TSO's style), go. You won't regret it.

Oh, also they're American in origin. Not a Russian in sight, though some of the musicians are indeed from Eastern Europe at least. Also, as far as I could tell, no Trans either. Though that female violin player's black leather outfit was pretty hot. :) FWIW I’m sure the specific group I saw was TSO-East.

#Trans-Siberian Orchestra #Concert #Light show

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mild-lunacy · 7 years

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Queer Sherlock and the Empty Space

Sometimes I recall that we were mocked for saying 'Sherlock is Gay' on Tumblr, of all places, and it strikes me as *really* odd.

Isn't it, though? Because surely, it's accepted now that everyone is gay, trans and/or black if you say so, at least in book fandoms, though not *only*. It's actually somewhat odd to think this would be challenged a couple of years ago; *everyone* says equivalent things these days almost indiscriminately, more or less. There's an understanding in fandom that a) if canon doesn't explicitly discuss or dismiss something, particularly re: race or orientation and gender status, it's close enough to being canon; b) even if canon does dismiss it, you can either disagree or identify a loophole (see: Ronan Lynch is black and Irish but simply has blue eyes; John Watson isn't gay but he is bisexual). People don't *ever* hedge about their headcanons in fandom, as a rule. In fact, people argue with the explicit canon or stuff creators have said was canon *all* the time. It's generally accepted on Tumblr as a whole that cishet or white readings and/or canon characters are boring, if not outright inferior. So it strikes me as... weird that that 'gay Sherlock' had been openly proclaimed to be problematic, and indeed this was often 'excused' by people saying he's otherwise queer (as in, aro ace). I suppose actually outright defending 'straight Sherlock' was usually avoided (even by people who obviously did read him as heteroromantic) through deflection or moving the goalposts: we're all straight fangirls fetishizing gay men, and then blaming/invoking Mofftiss or insisting the show was bad.

In the end, as is typical on Tumblr, it became just another senseless bout of SJW-style discourse, I suppose, so that many people arguing Sherlock was gay were arguing that he *should* be or we deserved it and so on, including many instances of supporting toxic masculinity (ie, he's too fashionable, too affectionate or not indiscriminately sexual enough to be a straight man). Of course, heteronormativity and a rather stubborn insistence on a narrow understanding of 'canon' and/or Authorial Intent held sway on the opposite side, no matter what people liked to claim. Naturally, bad arguments are simply par for the course.

Anyway, my point is that headcanons saying 'this character is actually canonically queer' are part of a widespread and widely accepted discourse on Tumblr. It coincides with but is separate from an actual *queer reading* that uses or requires evidence. Like, it's a bit quaint to even talk about evidence for headcanons or interpretations nowadays, it seems to me. I've certainly seen posts that implied or indeed explicitly rejected the idea of needing evidence for such readings. Projection (headcanons) are overwhelmingly the default in fandom, including headcanons that seek to define and/or overwrite canon (which was the sort of thing people said they found problematic about TJLC). So it's in *that* context that it causes a bit of cognitive dissonance to realize this wasn't as prevalent even a couple of years ago. And I also feel a bit hopeless in insisting, 'wait, no, this isn't what I mean; I'm actually talking about the text'.

The thing that I'd really like to argue is about the need to create a *space* for queerness. That is, I'd like to dismiss heteronormativity rather than insisting that any given character *must* be gay, or otherwise queer. In the case of Sherlock, I feel like it's more important to note that he's *not straight*. I don't mean he's 'not straight' the way *any* character doesn't have to be read as being straight no matter what, or that he's Sherlock Holmes and therefore *can't* be straight, or even that he's queer as in 'different', the way people argue regarding nonhuman characters such as Data or Castiel. I mean that the narrative of Sherlock intentionally creates a null space, a silent space where Sherlock is literally always silent or deflecting about his sexuality even though he's obsessed with getting in a last word, as John says in ASiB. It's literally canonically ambiguous, and it's deeply frustrating to me that this isn't simply taken as fact. I think it's fine to take that a step further and call Sherlock gay, and it's fine to not go any further and admit his orientation is either presented as irrelevant or ambiguous (in canon). It's just that this ambiguity doesn't mean he's automatically either asexual or heteroromantic by default.

I suppose it's a fair question to ask, then: why is calling Sherlock gay different? Isn't this 'homonormativity', somehow, especially given the rather critical view of fandom's headcanons I just took?

First of all, homonormativity does not exist. That's my answer even in fandom-- even with everything I described. You simply *cannot* truly default to it aside from issues of individual projection, because heteronormativity is that omnipresent and ingrained in society at large. I would *prefer* that any and all fans could consider Sherlock-- or a similar character-- as being in a truly liminal, ambiguous space with regards to sexuality, because I think that's a useful mental habit to get into in order to undermine one's inevitably ingrained heteronormativity. However, 'gay Sherlock' doesn't have to take away from that in the same way a straight or purely asexual reading would, because of the existence of heteronormativity and its unfortunate perpetuation and normalization through the desexualization of queer-coded characters. This is to do with the history of the portrayal of queer characters in film. As long as 'odd' or 'non-straight' characters weren't portrayed sexually or shown to be romantically involved, they were allowed to continue uncensored. Besides that, you really cannot default to actual asexuality, any more than to homosexuality; aside from a pure headcanon that exists totally apart from the text, it would need to be explicitly portrayed and established in its own right. This is something only heterosexuality would be exempt from. In other words, in the heteronormative environment we all exist in, no character can be *assumed* to be either gay or asexual. It has to be shown or otherwise coded. Sherlock, of course, *is* queer-coded. It may look and sound just like the rampant fannish headcanons, but it's actually a reading based on strong textual evidence.

I think I like the 'non-straight' reading best, though. I like how uncomfortable it is. I like how it's there *just* to confront heteronormativity, how it stands apart from any explanation or headcanon to explain it away. It just *is*, like the text. I do think that we *should* name things; there's power and meaning to naming these things, and it's not just about outing characters for no reason, like Gatiss might think. At the same time, I'll admit I do like how sexual ambiguity still makes people uncomfortable, even if they think they're fine with 'gay people' (properly labeled, of course). We could certainly use more of that, too.

#fandom meta #queerlock #pointless rambles #sherlock feels #gay sherlock #oh fandom #the great divergence #queer issues #tjlc

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overeducatedandoverworked · 7 years

Text

Intergalactic Travel Is Hard On Bazongas

“Do you have everything?” Thor’s booming voice asked behind her.

“Yup!” Darcy excitedly replied, finally closing the last zipper on her suitcase, and getting up from on top of it. Seriously, sitting on suitcases to get them zipped. Total lifehack.

Thor looked over at her bulging suitcase, and gave her one of his beaming smiles. “Are you sure you packed enough clothing?” he asked with obvious mischief.

“Hey, mister,” Darcy said, “I don’t know what kind of clothing people wear on your planet, but on this planet, it’s hard to find clothing that actually fits. Particularly when you’re shaped like me.” She gestured at her chest, which was strapped in place with her strongest sports bra for the journey. She was not about to show up in Asgard with a black eye from her own boobs.

“My father will provide you clothing, I am sure,” Thor said confidently. “We are known for our hospitality, and as our honored guest, we will provide you with the clothing required for all feasts and celebrations while you are visiting.”

“That’s real sweet of you, blondie, but I still feel better with some of my own stuff. Skinny jeans are something that are hard to replicate.” She managed to pull her suitcase along the rough ground, and gave Thor a grateful look when he easily picked it up and hauled it over to the middle of the bridge entrance. Seriously: that sucker must have weighed forty pounds. Never underestimate the awesomeness of having your own personal Norse god on call.

“You almost done with getting us ready?” Darcy asked, as Jane was bent over the computer, talking intensely with another scientist. She saw Jane jump as Thor put one of his hands on her shoulder, only to realize who it was a moment later and relax into his touch.

“Yes, the Einstein-Rosen bridge is stable and ready, but I just want to do a few more calculations—”

“You’ve done them for weeks!” Darcy said, grabbing one of Jane’s arms and dragging her away from the computer. “You only have one anniversary. Week. Celebration. Thingy. Seriously, thanks for inviting me to Asgard with you.”

“It was my pleasure and honor, my lighting sister.” Thor said, placing her suitcase in the center of the bridge, along with Jane’s small bag. “Additionally, you’ve never been to Asgard, and I desire for you to see the beauty of my homeland.”

“I’m just glad to be dragged along. It is your anniversary trip, after all.”

“It’s our second anniversary, really,” Jane admitted, as she stepped into the center of the bridge entrance and checked it all over for the eighth time. “Four years since we met the first time. We already had our real anniversary in November, but Thor insisted I needed to see Asgard in spring, not just in winter.”

“Indeed,” Thor replied with obvious pride. “The glory of Asgard in the deepest of fall is nothing compared to the plumage breaking through in the return of foliage. It is something that must be experienced firsthand.”

“Are we ready to go?” Darcy asked, dancing nervously in place. Even though she was very, very ready to get to Asgard, she was less than prepared for the trip there. The way Jane talked about it with obvious glee, comparing it to a roller coaster, didn’t help. She was an adrenaline junkie, but accelerating through wormholes at the speed of light wasn’t the most appealing mean of transportation.

“Aye, I believe it is time we go,” Thor said, pulling the wandering Jane into his embrace, and lifting Mjolnir towards the sky. Jane and Darcy both clung onto him as tight as they could, and before Darcy could blink, they were off.

Okay, let’s just say that going through the wormhole was like… how could she describe this? Weird, first off. Real, REAL weird. It was a little like being in a jet: you knew you were going really, really fast, and you felt all dizzy and like you were about to upchuck your lunch, but at the same time it felt like you weren’t moving at all. The view, though, was the most unnerving part of it all. She could just barely see outside the tube of blue light, and she could swear she could make out stars, and the earth itself. It kinda reminded her of the time vortex, if she was honest.

She’d rather be in the TARDIS, though. Way cozier.

Fortunately, it lasted all of a few seconds, and before she could really process it she was laying on the cold, hard floor of a small building, trying to catch her breath. She looked up, and Jane offered her hand, pulling her to her feet and saying, “The first time’s always the hardest. It gets easier each time around.”

Darcy turned, and saw Thor talking to an enormous black man in brown armor, with huge golden antlers on his head. Kinda reminded her of the helmet Loki wore during the Battle of New York. Must be an Asguardian thing.

Thor turned around and said to the giant, “You know my Jane, but you have not yet met her companion. This is Darcy Lewis, the woman who has her own lightning. Darcy, this is Heimdall.”

“Oh, it’s you!” Darcy exclaimed. “I’ve heard so much about you, and how you helped Thor get back to Jane. Thanks for that, by the way. Without it, we’d probably all be dead right about now.”

“Indeed, that possibility is very likely,” Heimdall said. “And I have heard much of you, as well, both at Thor’s request and from word of your admirers.”

“…admirers?” Darcy asked, turning to Thor, who blushed. Wow, whatever this was must be big to get that kind of reaction from Thor. She’d seen him do some things without the faintest blush that she wished she could wipe from her memory.

“I may have told of your exploits with your taser the last time I visited,” he explained. “Among others, the warrior-maiden Sif wishes to meet you.”

“Sounds like fun!” Darcy said, bouncing off to get her suitcase, and nearly toppled over before Thor grabbed it from her. “Let’s get going!”

The city of Asgard was even harder to believe than the trip there. She swore the buildings were made of gold, even though she knew that was impossible. Yeah, she had been paying attention in chemistry class, thank you very much! Alloys, and all that junk. She also couldn’t believe what the people were wearing. It was like a bunch of people started larping during prom. They were dressed to the nines, and decked out with as many weapons as Natasha on a good day. She was quickly learning that thigh holsters were quite popular… hmm, maybe she could get one for her taser? That’d be a fun way of going native.

It was also really weird to see people treat Thor as a prince. Like, she knew that officially he was next in line to be king and everything, but still. He was her hunky lug of a big brother figure… wait. If he was a prince, and Jane was the potential future queen, did that make her a princess?

She was still mulling (make that panicking and nearly hyperventilating) over that possibility when they were ushered into the throne room. She saw an old guy with an eyepatch on the throne, who she assumed was Thor’s dad, but she was still too worried to notice the people beside him in the room.

“Allfather,” Thor said, kneeling before him. “I present to you Lady Jane, whom you have previously met, and Lady Darcy, my lightning sister.”

“Welcome again, Lady Jane,” the king said, nodding in her direction before setting his one good eye onto her. Huh, she thought absently, I guess cyclopes are real, and not just at SHIELD. “Lady Darcy, I have heard much of your… unusual pursuits.”

Darcy panicked internally. How do you respond to a king? He was looking at her expectantly. What she ended up blurting out was, “You mean the time I tased Thor, or the other people?”

The king looked at her curiously for a moment, and then chuckled. “Beautiful and bold, I see. Thor, you certainly know how to surround yourself in clever, courageous women. It’s good to see that that has not changed during your time in Midgard.” He turned back to her and remarked, “The tales of your actions have spread widely, particularly as Heimdall tells of their repetition. I hope to hear them firsthand during your time with us.”

Oh, crap. The king wants to hear her explain why, and how, she tased his son. And Tony. And Clint. And Fury. Wow, she really wasn’t very good at this, was she? And… did he seriously call her beautiful?!

All she could manage was a nod, and he seemed to take this as an answer. “Excellent. Now, my son, please show your companions to their rooms, besides yours, before the feast this evening.” And with that, he dramatically rose, and waltzed behind a curtain, his coat glimmering emerald green for a moment before his disappearance.

Wow. For a king, he sure was a drama queen. She saw where Thor got it from.

Before she could comment on it, however, she was overwhelmed by three men, each talking over the others in an attempt to ask her a question first. Fortunately, they were restrained by a tall brunette, who pulled them back by their long, overly-fancy cloaks and declared, “Give her some time. Can’t you tell she’s overwhelmed?”

Darcy smiled gratefully at the woman, and said, “Not exactly overwhelmed, just having a touch of trouble adjusting. After all, it’s not every day that you go through a trans-dimensional portal and a king demands you tell him stories of the times you humiliated yourself by shooting a few hundred thousand volts through all your friends.”

The men gaped at her a bit, but the woman tilted her head back and laughed, and it was both nice and a bit terrifying. This chick was definitely giving off a Natasha vibe: the ‘friendly but I could kill you with a toothpick’ thing. “That’s quite a way to put it, I suppose,” she said, before releasing the men’s cloaks. “I am Sif, warrior maiden of Asgard, companion of Thor. These,” she gestured with affectionate contempt at the men, much the same way Pepper sometimes looked at Tony, “are the Warriors Three. Supposedly the strongest and bravest men on Asgard, although that is debatable.”

The blond man stepped forwarding and grabbed her hand, bending down to kiss it before saying, “It is an honor to be in the presence of a woman so beautiful and brave.”

Sif bent down and gave him a slap over the back of the head, saying, “You can’t hit on every woman you come across!” She looked at Darcy, and said, “I apologize for him. That’s Fandral, and he’ll hit on anything with breasts and a pulse.”

“No worries,” Darcy said with a smile. “My boss used to be the same way, before he got himself hitched to a feisty redhead who can take him out with her pinky.”

“Oh, a fellow warrior?” Sif eyes lit up, and wow, she was SO getting an invite to Girl’s Night. Sif + Natasha + Pepper = lots of fun, with possible world destruction on the menu. AKA, a normal Tuesday.

“Something like that. She’s more on the authoritative side of things, though. Runs the business that funds, uh, basically everything.”

“Sounds like an admirable woman,” the blondie stated, taking her arm and gently guiding her through the halls, Sif and the two other men keeping up.

“She totally is,” Darcy insisted, both displeased at being led around, and grateful that someone could give her the tour, as Thor seemed to have disappeared in the din with Jane.

#accidentally on purpose #overeducatedandoverworked #fanfiction #fanfic #darcy lewis #thor #jane foster #odin #asgard #sif #fandral #warriors three #hogun #volstagg

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