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angelizs · 2 years

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[Club activities - part 1]

Summary: Crowley insists you join one of the school's clubs, even though your schedule is already full. Having no other choice, you oblige, on one condition: you'll attend a meeting of each club before deciding which one you'll join. As expected, shenanigans ensue.

Notes: gn!reader, humor, it's kinda long, reader is oblivious, mentions of minor injuries but in a funny way dw, I had to research about horse management and now you'll know about it too

Part: 1 (you're here!) / 2.0 / 2.5 (soon!)

"Do I really have to do this? Isn't it enough that I already am your unnoficial errand runner, Grim's babysitter, Ramshackle's prefect and have to deal with an overblot a month on top of whatever insanity the students decide to put me through while I try to keep my grades up to not lose my scholarship?"

You really hoped he would listen to reason, after all, you already have way more than enough on your plate. As it is, he obviously didn't hear to a word you said. How unfortunate.

"Of course it's most crucial you participate in a club! As a model educator, I must set an example for my peers. How would it look if one of my students didn't partake in such an important school activity?"

Crowley looks agravated by the mere idea. You deadpan at him. He stares back at you. Grim snoozes in the background.

"Well, which one will it be?"

You sigh, as if the weight of the world was in your shoulders.

"...Can I see the list, at least?"

Crowley smiles, his whole demeanor changing as soon as he got what he wanted. You brace yourself for what is to come, knowing it will be a headache.

After taking a look at your options, you decide to go in one meeting of each before choosing one to join. You could just randomly pick one and be done with it, but since you're already being forced to do this, you should do something you enjoy.

The headmaster gives you a genial smile and agrees on your conditions, telling you how kind he is for doing so and how it will be great for your education. You glare at him, defeated.

Better start sooner than later, right?

Spelldrive Club (Leona, Ruggie, Epel)

Good news, you've played spelldrive before, so you're not entirely lost!

You keep that in mind as you arrive at the field. It's pretty intimidating, with most of the players being thugs from Savanaclaw that look like they could fold you in half like a twig. You scurry to Epel's side.

He's surprised you decided to participate in a meeting, but really happy as well since it's a chance to show off his manliness to you. You chat for a bit as you wait for Leona, the captain, to arrive. Ruggie eventually joins you both, cracking some joke about your unexpected attendance and having a new member on the team.

Once Leona arrives, he looks just as grumpy as usual, but his ears are perked up and he's scanning the field as if looking for something. And it seems he finds it once his eyes land on you, leading him to your little group's direction.

Crowley had the decency of telling him in advance about your test drive of the club, but Leona warns you he won't allow you to slack off just because it's your first day. You're surprised he even bothered to tell you this, as you imagined he would be as unenthusiastic as he is about his normal classes. It seems he has high expectations for you. Epel and Ruggie look startled as well, but wisely keep their mouths shut.

Everyone did light stretchs and got their brooms, ready to play. It was... intense. You already expected it from what little experience you had from the tornament, not to mention that by being magicless you had a limited range of moves you could pull, but it seemed Leona was a strict leader when it came to the sport.

That, or he wanted to show off today for some reason. According to one of Epel's snide remarks, Leona is usually more laid back than he was being. You couldn't help but worry it had something to do with you, so you kept your head low and tried to follow the best you could, least he screamed at you as well. Besides, his complaints did sound reasonable, even if he was blunt and kind of rude about them, so it was good he was so motivated!

And he wasn't the only one. Epel was giving his all, pulling stunts left and right to get points. You were amazed by his ability, since you've never seen him play before, you had no idea he was this good! Your gaze would wander to wherever he was and you could swear you felt him staring back sometimes, though he turned his head away too fast for you to confirm it.

Even so, he wasn't safe from blundering his play eventually. After marking a point, he turned in your direction, confident that you've been watching, chest puffed out proudly. Only to be met with your panicked look as you tried to signal for him to look behind. One of the players from Savanaclaw shoved him then, almost dropping him from his broom. Luckly, Epel managed to catch himself just in time to avoid an accident, making you sigh relieved, your clammy hands readjusting their grip on your own broom, heart beating wildly on your chest. Leona screamed at both of you for being distracted, but he glared harder at Epel.

Ruggie was another one set on impressing you with his techniques, doing dangerous tricks on his broom while in midair. You knew he was very good, he was the one you went against on the first time you played, after all, but still cheered on his tricks. His cheeky smile stayed firm on his face, growing at every compliment you threw his way. His tail was wagging behind him, but you didn't have to know that.

The thing is, if he started to pay too much attention on you to gauge your reactions, he got distracted from the game going on around him. On more than one occasion he was almost throw out while dangling on his broom with only his feet, somehow managing to get his balance back everytime. Leona looked ready to burst a blood vessel when it happened, you had a feeling he was going to be extra annoying to Ruggie for the rest of the week.

All in all, you couldn't do much, so you stayed at the sidelines watching your friends play. You were sweating all over, the scorching sun shining above you. Did you remember to use sunscreen? You closed your eyes and took one arm off your broom to wipe out some sweat from your brow, distracted. You were pretty tired. The shouting went on at the background. You had the impression your friends were calling your name. As soon as you were going to turn to their direction and see what it was that they wanted, everything went black and you lost consciousness.

You woke up at the infirmary, having a feeling of deja vu. Why whenever you tried to play spelldrive something had to happen? Epel, Ruggie and Leona were by your bedside, looking worried, upset or annoyed. They explained a disk went out of course and ended up hitting you at the back of your head, causing you to pass out.

Ruggie proudly announced he was the first one to react and caught you just in time, before you hit the ground. Epel added that he helped Ruggie bring you to the infirmary and that Leona went off on everyone at the field for not catching the damned disk. Leona just huffed and pretended to not care, but you could tell he did just from how he stayed waiting for you to wake up.

As sweet as that little moment was, you didn't want a repeat of what happened and felt spelldrive wasn't really for you. Time to check out other clubs.

(Epel excitedly asks for you to come and watch another pratice some time. Ruggie backs him up and pulls his puppy eyes on you. Leona looks like he would like that as well but stays silent, staring at you expectantly, ears perked up. You end up agreeing, not wanting to crush their enthusiasm. It seems they really enjoyed having you over. Not sure if the rest of the team could say the same, but a glare from Leona will shut them up if they dare to bother you.)

Equestrian Club (Riddle, Silver, Sebek)

There were horses on campus!? How come you never met one before? Time to rectify that!

You couldn't remember if you ever rode a horse before or not. Well, surely everything would turn out alright, since some of the most responsible people were on this club. Surely.

Riddle was the one that greeted you and showed you around the stables. There was a huge area dedicated to them, with all the horses having their own section and a fenced space reserved for riding them. They were all very well taken care of, as Riddle made sure to tell you about some of his duties as a member of the club. He even took you to meet his horse and taught you how to pet it!

You also met Sebek and Silver tending to their horses and talked with them a bit. Sebek expressed his diligence as always, talking loudly about his passion for the sport and how he would definitly make his Lord proud of his work. Silver was less overwhelming and seemed gentler surrounded by animals like that, as he told you softly that he was glad you showed interest in their club and how he hoped you'd enjoy it.

After such a warm welcome, you had your hopes high for this club! (Especially after what happened at spelldrive pratice). It didn't involve any magic either, so you could do everything just fine. All was well, until you were assigned a horse to tend for the day.

There was only one horse available, so you didn't have much of a choice, really. It was a beautiful white horse that truly looked straight out of a fairytale, with it's elegant aura and thick mane. If only it's temper could match it's appearence. It was one of the most petulant equines you've ever seen. It took a while for it to even let you get closer without trying to bite your hand off.

Silver said it still didn't have a name and Riddle told you that since you were it's handler for the day, you should name it. You decided to name it Maximus. Sebek liked the name, loudly approving it. Maximus seemed pretty content as well, so you patted yourself on the back for scoring one point with him.

The first thing you were going to do before actually riding him was to groom him. You decided to watch how your friends did it and mimick their actions. Riddle handed you a bucket with different brushes that you had no idea what should be used for. Sebek secured Maximus for you, saying it was to make sure he wouldn't move around while you tried to take care of him. Silver helped you two get acquainted, making sure you knew basic safety instructions.

You grab a round rubber comb, watching Riddle rub circles on his horse's side with a firm hold. Starting on Maximus' left side, you hesitantly bring the comb in contact with his fur, watching as he gives you a nasty side eye. You weakly start your sweeps, careful to not hurt him or press on a tender spot. Riddle tells you to use more pressure in order to remove the dirt from his coat. You increase your strenght as he nods approvingly. Just as he's about to turn back to his own work, he sees you sliding the brush down Maximus' shoulders and to his legs, his tail swishing in warning. He manages to pull you back just in time before Maximus closes his jaw where your hand was mere moments ago. Your arm trembles and your eyes are wide as he explains which areas are sensitive and that you'd better avoid them.

After using a stiff brush that reminded you of a broom to knock out the dirt you had loosened, being extra careful on the areas Riddle mentioned, you grab a soft brush. You feel dread pool on your stomach as you watch Silver kneel down to tend to his horse's legs. You stare at Maximus, hoping he would let you do the same, but you swear his expression is one that says 'I dare you to try and see what happens'. You gulp but still get down to it, better get it done as soon as possible. The front legs go swimmingly, the back ones not so much. As you're almost getting finished you accidently press on a sore spot. Maximus loudly neighs, stamps his foot and raises his knee, causing you to fall on your behind, surprised and very much still in hitting range. You were pretty sure that was it, you were going to infirmary again with the worst concussion ever known to man. Thankfully, Silver had noticed it just in time to drag you away, holding you by your armpits like a misbehaving kitten. Your knees feel weak, so you stay on the ground with a racing heart as you watch Silver calm Maximus down.

The next step was to clean Maximus' hooves. Anyone with half a brain cell could sense it was a bad idea to leave you to it, so you stayed back while Sebek did the cleaning. He didn't to it quietly though, he made sure to shout every step so you'd learn how to do it at a later date. You couldn't even find it in yourself to be mad at his condescending tone, too grateful for him helping you out. You thank him sincerely as he pauses mid rant. He stares at you with his mouth open, as if he had short circuited. Sebek stays strangely quiet for the next few minutes, not making eye contact with you but trying to steal glances your way without you noticing. Maximus huffs and it sounds mocking, somehow.

To finish it up, you comb Maximus' mane, untangling it carefully, finding it surprisingly relaxing and by far the best part of this whole thing. When brushing his tail, you make sure to stand by his side, not behind, to avoid almost being kicked again. You look proudly at your work as Maximus flaunts himself. Riddle, Silver and Sebek compliment your efforts, making you smile sincerely despite being pretty sure Maximus hates your guts and has cursed your entire bloodline in his mind.

Finally, the time has come. You're going to actually ride the horse now!

That is, if you manage to mount it first.

You try to mount Maximus' by his right side, but he doesn't budge. Plus, he's too tall for you to reach properly. He stares at you. You're sure he's laughing at your misery. Silver, bless him, comes to your aid. He hands you a safety helmet and calmly checks if the saddle is well secured with the girth and all buckles are fastened. He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him guide you to Maximus' left side as he explains just how to get up. He looks very princely like this, talking almost excitedly... or, well, as excited as Silver gets. He doesn't look like he's about to fall asleep, so that must count for something, and there's a rare smile on his face. He must really like his club. And the horses seem to like him just fine as well. Way too fine, actually, since they insist in interrupting him as he talks, demanding his attention. His horse smacks it's tail on your face as it nuzzles on Silver's hand. Maximus neighs amused, that bastard.

You thank Silver and let him get to his own activities, not wanting to take more of his time. He leaves, but his smile dropped and he looked almost disappointed. You wonder what that was about. Either way, you go find a steeping stool to help you mount Maximus. Riddle goes with you, insisting in supervising everything to make sure you won't have any problems. He holds Maximus' face to make sure he will stay quiet for you to mount him like Silver taught you to. As soon as you're seated Riddle withdraws from proximity, letting Maximus have some space. However, before you get time to grip the reins, Maximus takes off, leaving you to desperately hold onto his neck as he runs around. Riddle goes after the two of you, trying to stop him while you hold your screams in. After a full minute of this, Maximus suddenly stops, making you let go of your grip on him and fall to the side. Riddle fusses over you, making sure you're not badly hurt while reprimanding the horse for the stunt he pulled.

You do feel sore all over, but refuse to back down. You're not going to let Maximus have the last laugh. You thank Riddle for his help and let him go back to his horse, assuring him you'll be fine. He checks on you once more to make sure you're ok before going, looking behing his shoulder as if you were about to fall again. You smile reassuringly. His face turns red like his hair and he scurries away. You take Maximus back to where you left the steeping stool, determined to mount him and actually stay there this time.

Sebek notices your struggle and decides to graciously help you once more. Maximus squirms around but eventually the two of you make him stay in place while you mount him. Sebek keeps his hand on Maximus while you adjust your footing and organize the reins. Once you're ready, you nudge Maximus with your lower leg, encouraging him to start walking. Sebek insists on being close the entire time, making corrections to your position and moviments, such as keeping your back straight and looking forward. Even with his harsh soldier like tone, you begin enjoying the ride and compliment him on his ability as a teacher, stating how much of an exceptional rider he must be. Sebek blushes and starts stuttering, words getting mixed up with one another. Without his clear instructions you start having a rockier time with reining Maximus, but he manages to not blunder his words too much when telling you how to halt and to dismount your horse.

At the end of pratice you're sweaty, covered in mud and sore all over. It was fun some times, but you rather not have to worry for your life at every meeting (the overblots and dealing with your friends antics was already more than enough life threatning excitement for you). You also feel you should steer clear from the stables, just in case Maximus tries to commit his revenge on you. Time to check out other clubs.

(The boys insist you only need some more practice, that you have potential, that Maximus will warm up to you. They are very earnest when telling you they enjoyed having you over, even if they had to keep an eye on you the whole time to make sure you wouldn't get hurt. When they ask you to come by another time, you can't say no. You suppose you do owe them one for all their help. They ligthen up when you agree, so you can't bring yourself to regret it, even if you know you'll have to deal Maximus once again.)

Basketball Club (Ace, Floyd, Jamil)

Oh, this is Ace's club, right? And it's a normal non-magical sport as well. Let's give it a try!

The first person to greet you is, obviously, one of your closest friends (and cause of your daily headaches), Ace. He had bragged to you about his ability in playing basketball before, something about being the best freshmen in the team and even Riddle complimenting him on his skill. He teases you, asking if you'll be able to keep up with him, which earns him an eyeroll and a friendly punch on the shoulder.

You quickly remember who else Ace mentioned being on the team as soon as you hear a loud voice call for 'Shrimpy' and two arms squeezing the air out of you. Of course, Floyd was overenthusiastic about your participation, telling you how your presence would surely make things interesting and how this class was starting to get boring so it was good to have something new added to it. You're not sure how to react so you reply telling him you'll do your best (and praying he'd let you go before you run out of air). Floyd stares at you for a bit, taken aback from such an earnest answer, before squeezing you even harder for being so cute. Ace comes to the rescue, saving you from passing out before the class could even start.

You also find another familiar face on the team, Jamil. You thank whatever higher being that was out there looking out for you for sending a sane person to keep you company. It seems Jamil shares the sentiment, as you start a light conversation about the club that ends up being more about Jamil complaining that he had to deal with Kalim's shenanigans his entire life and the only moment he's alone he has to babysit Ace and Floyd, least they cause a disaster and the rest of the team is blamed for it. You sympathize with him, promising to do your part in the babysitting duty for the day. Jamil looks really relieved as he thanks you.

Before pratice, just like in Spelldrive, you did light stretches, competing with Ace to see who can reach their feet when bending down or who can stay longer balancing on one leg. Everyone got separated in duos to train some passes before actually playing. Scattering across the gym, each at one end of the room, you and Ace threw the ball between yourselves. He always had some cheeky comment to make about your lack of skill, which only motivated you to throw the ball harder at his direction, technique be damned. All the while you had to be careful to avoid stray shots from the others around you. Perhaps you should have brought the safety helmet from the Equestrian club.

Floyd and Jamil (he must have been dragged into this, being one of the only ones able to handle Floyd) were right next to where your duo was. They both were obviously skilled, doing tricks with the ball to show off. You were actually pretty impressed as you observed them, so much so that you miscalculated your shot and instead of sending the ball to hit Ace, it went at Floyd's direction. As Floyd was busy annoying the closest student to his side, he only noticed the ball right before it hit him, too late to stop it.

Thankfully his skull was thick enough that not even a basketball hitting him managed to hurt, though it did leave quite an impressive red mark on his face. Ace swore and scurried away from Floyd's other side, Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, you felt your heart drop. The student that previously had Floyd's attention took the opportunity to run away, leaving the four of you in this stalemate. Even with all the activity around, you could only focus on the way Floyd raised his eyes to meet your frightened ones, an impassive expression on his face and your basketball on his hand.

Instead of a frown and the deeper tone of voice you expected (alongside the promise of pain in your future), you were met with a wide grin, sharp teeth at full display, and a high pitched giggle. You didn't know which was worse. Either way, you felt like a prey caught in it's predator radar. Floyd told you that if you wanted to play so bad, he'd be happy to play with you! Ace was planning your funeral already.

And so, what was supposed to be a simple exercise of passing the ball became an impromptu game of dodgeball in which if you were hit, instead of being out you gained a concussion and a trip to the infirmary. Somehow, Ace and Jamil got roped into it as well, the three of you running around to avoid being hit by one of the deathly bullets Floyd threw at you. After noticing it, the club leader announced they could stop for a short break before picking out the teams for a game, in the hopes it would distract the eelmer enough to make him stop.

It worked, since the prospect of 'playing another game with shrimpy' made Floyd get excited to get you on his team. You sighed in relief, a bit out of breath. You and Ace sprawled yourselves at the floor to rest, not caring about how dirty it may be, your legs needed to lay down for a while. He turned his head at your direction and said it was your fault for having such bad aim. You replied with how it was his fault for being so bad at teaching you. You have a stare down that ends in both bursting into laughter.

Jamil and some other second year were the ones choosing the teams. He smiled mischievously, the same smile he had when he was planning something. Jamil could be the calmer one between your options, but that didn't mean he wouldn't cause trouble as well. In the end, you stayed on Jamil's team while Floyd and Ace were on the other. Floyd pouted and whined about how he had wanted to play in the same team as you and Ace seemed a bit miffed (you weren't sure if it was because he ended up against you or because he was with Floyd). Jamil had a very self satisfied smile on his face as he told you which formation your team would use. He sent a smug smirk to the others when you weren't looking.

You were wondering what kind of stunt Floyd would put to get what he wanted, but once the game started he just... didn't do anything. Jamil, on the other hand, was quick to catch the ball and take it to the other side of the court, dodging Ace's attempts at stopping him, jumping high and scoring some points. You were in awe, you had no idea Jamil was this good! As he went to your side with a self-satisfied expression in face, you showered him in compliments, saying how fast he ran and how high he jumped and how he looked really cool! While the smile stayed on his face, it seemed softer, and Jamil wouldn't look you in the eyes, murmuring something that you didn't catch about this being his strategy to win by having you on his side.

As the game went on you managed to get the hang of it, actually enjoying playing! Jamil and you made a great duo and Floyd was too desmotivated to try to win, so that only left Ace as your major obstacle. He'd often try to get the ball from your hands while making some sassy remarks and engaging in light hearted banter with you. Even when you weren't with the ball he stayed close to try to block you. It came to a point when you were going to try to score a point when he appeared in front of you, close enough that you wouldn't have time to dodge him. So, of course, you had to maneuver your way out, getting close to his face as you made sure to keep his hands away from the ball. His attention was solely on you, gaze unwavering as your noses almost touched and your breaths mingled. He was frozen in place and you took your chance, jumping as high as you could and dunking the ball on the net.

Your team cheered you on, a huge smile on your lips as you turned to see Ace's reaction. He was standing at the same spot, still looking at you. You winked playfully and blew him a kiss, rubbing your victory on his face, proud of your work. He blushed and crossed his arms, saying that you cheated by distracting him. His gaze remained on the lower half of you face. Before you could reply, Jamil whisked you away, congratulating you on your shot.

It was good your team got hyped up, but alongside it so did Floyd. He suddenly felt motivated to play against you and see you try to dodge around him like you did with Ace, since it seemed like lots of fun! (Which would not happen because have you seen his height?) It's not like you had a choice in the matter, anyway, since Floyd could easily take down any member of your team and go straight at you now that he felt like playing again. The last minutes were more like a game of tag between you two, Floyd giggling as he tried to catch you. You ran around the players, trying your best to make a complicated path to confuse him.

You were actually having some fun, seeing Jamil get the ball from Floyd's hands to help you out and Ace try to get in your way to slow you down. Still, you were not used to that much exercise, your sore body becoming your own enemy as you got more sluggish, which in turn made you get more distracted. It was thanks to that you didn't notice Floyd until he was right beside you, ready to glomp you and squeeze as he trapped you in his arms. You'd blame it on your tiredness later, but as a last effort to get away from him you turned around abruptly, supporting your weight on your heel. Since you were worn out, you got dizzy quickly, tripping over your own feet and landing on the ground.

As soon as you felt sharp pain on your ankle you knew you were screwed, a whine coming out of your throat and tears welling in your eyes. Why must something like this always happen to you? The boys crowded over you, asking if you were okay or if you could stand up or if you wanted a hug to feel better. The answer was no to all of them.

In the end, you saw yourself staring at the infirmary ceiling once more, sweaty and tired, your ankle wrapped in bandages and propped up on the bed. Maybe you should stop going to sports clubs' pratices. Ace, Jamil and Floyd stood by your side, watching you to make sure you were alright, in their own ways. You felt a strong sense of deja vu, though you were grateful for them carrying you all the way up there (even if Floyd took the opportunity to squeeze you some). You could tell for sure that basketball wasn't for you. Time to check out other clubs.

(To lift the mood, Ace cracked a joke about how terrible you were at basketball and how you still had a long way to go before reaching his level. Jamil agreed, adding that pratice makes perfect. Floyd said he had much more fun with shrimpy around to keep him entertained. It wss pretty obvious they wanted to see you there again. The three of them looked at you with hope, even if Floyd's puppy eyes didn't work nearly as well as Ruggie's and Ace's and Jamil's tsundere act didn't fool you, you couldn't say no to them. You did have some fun as well, although next time you'll try to only watch and cheer on the sidelines, no need to be on the playing field and within squeezing distance.)

Track and Field Club (Deuce, Jack)

Despite your previous conviction, you decided to give the sports clubs one last chance. As this club didn't involve a game with complicated rules nor any magic, it seemed like the best choice. Positive thinking is key!

As soon as you steped foot into the field, Deuce and Jack came to great you, visibly happy to have you there! (They won't admit it to you, but they were a bit jealous that you had went to your other first year friends' clubs but not to theirs yet. They were determined to impress you.)

You tell them you're a little worried you won't be able to keep up with their pace, since Deuce has won prizes for his speed and Jack goes on morning jogs everyday. They reassure you that it's no problem, they'll help you the best they can!

The other members don't mind you much, letting your friends monopolize your attention. Jack asks if you've eaten and how has your diet been, you'll need some energy to run! Deuce asks if your uniform is comfortable and if the shoes fit in the right way, it's important to be able to move freely! They are very respectful and answer any question you might have patiently, which makes you feel welcomed. Maybe this time it won't be so bad!

To start pratice, the club leader tells all the members to run some laps. You notice you're pretty behind everyone else, but you're trying to not use all your energy at the warm up, so you don't mind. You take the chance to observe your friends running ahead of you, how the sun reflects on their skin, their shoulders going up and down, every step helping them gain speed. They looked really cool. This fills you with determination, promising to yourself to give it your best in this club.

After taking a break to drink water and stretching your muscles, you start the dynamics. It was a bit funny since you did them by basically moving in circles and changing the way you walk. Still, they were easier to accompany everyone than the laps. So far, so good!

Things start going downhill once you had to do the jumps. Everyone lined up, you staying at the last place, Jack and Deuce right in front of you. They explain that you should sprint, jump at the wooden board and land on the sand pit. Seems easy enough!

It's not. On Jack's turn, he makes it looks effortless, even with his bigger built he manages to land with grace. You clap for him and he pretends to not notice, but his tail is wagging. On Deuce's, he catches speed quickly and jumps high, landing on his feet and turning to look at you. You cheer for him, a big smile in face as he rubs the back of his neck and thanks you with red cheeks.

You try to copy their moviments, sprinting with a concentrated look on your face, focused on your destination. Unfortunately, you should have looked at the ground as well, since when it was time to jump you were just a tad too slow and tripped on the wooden plank, falling on the sand pit. You try again, this time focusing on where you're putting your feet, not missing the plank! However, you jump with too much force and doesn't land right, bouncing off the ground again before falling on your knees. You try one more time, jumping at the right place and not putting to much force. This time, though, your feet are not positioned the right way and you loose the strenght to support your weight, eating sand once more. You're going to blame this one on your recently sprained ankle and call it a day. (Thanks Floyd!)

After getting no luck on the long jump (and leaving with your hair full of sand), Jack and Deuce make sure you're ok. You reassure them that yes, your ankle is fine (for now), no, you didn't swallow sand (at least you're pretty sure you didn't) and yes, of course you want to keep going, it's going to take more than just that to deter you (you're a bit used to defeats). Finally, you start to train for the high jump. Especifically the landing, since if you fall the wrong way you could get seriously hurt. Please make sure you land right! Jack and Deuce will be watching closely, ready to help.

Everyone gets separated to go to different mats, some of the older students going straight to the jump. Your friends follow you, Deuce has a fist up as he talks excitedly about his progress on this jump. Jack listens by the side, nodding to some things or adding a comment on how he didn't jump quite that high, but it was an improvement anyway. They are like your personal coaches, instructing you to start by doing rollouts, than jumping and doing a rollout, then jumping higher and doing a rollout.

Once the basics are covered they join you, taking turns at running and flopping on their backs. It's fun, the way your body bounces of the mat and watching Jack and Deuce compete on who can flop harder. They add the bungee, which makes things more complicated since you had to reach a certain heigh to not get stuck on it, but it was a nice challenge. You did lose your shoe due to your feet getting caught in the bungee on the first try, though.

You were enjoying it, laughing along your friends! Until they added the bar. The bar changed everything. The height was a bit higher than it was with the bungee and it was nowhere near as soft. You watched, in awe, as Jack and Deuce flew just over lt and landed on a rollout. You were sure you'd get it too, after all, you did great on the other steps! You ran, turned around and used as much impulse as you could to jump. Instead of the soft embrace of the training mat, you were met with the metalic and hard feeling of the bar digging on your back as you landed right above it. Not even the mat could soften the blow, making you cry out, both in surprise and in pain. The sting was enough to have you wondering if you ever wanted to try this again in your life, the pain was not worth it.

Deuce was by your side instantly, bending down, asking if your back was ok and offering his hand to help you get up. Your hand clasps his, the force he used making your faces come very close to each other, noses touching, your breathless and flushed face right in front of his worried blue eyes. Said eyes widen as his face takes a red tone, he stutters apologies while backing away, hands covering his cheeks. Jack, who you hadn't notice coming close behind you, puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. He says you went well for a begginer and tells you how Deuce did the same thing on his first try. You giggle, putting one of your hands above his to show your appreciation. He quickly drops it and crosses his arms, saying the three of you better get going to the next exercise, eyes avoiding yours and conveniently looking at where the others on the field were gathering together.

There were obstacles scattered across the field, some closer than others. Deuce puffs out his chest and says it's time for the hurdle hops and that he'll show to you how it's done. You watch intently as he sprints and jumps at all the right times, not losing speed despite the things in his way. Jack follows him, a stoic look as he calculates just the right time to jump and cross every obstacle. It reminded you of when you'd watch race competitions back at home, how the runners looked as they crossed the finish line.

Filled with nostalgia, you try to replicate your memory, basing yourself on your friends' perfomances. You run and jump successfully on the first hurdle, feeling as if you're really improving! Though not for too long, since on the second hurdle you don't manage to jump high enough and just end up kicking it and falling on your butt. Oh well, you lasted longer than expected.

You refuse to back down, getting up and dusting yourself, ready to try again. Deuce and Jack support your enthusiasm, hyping you up on every try. It's a bit embarrassing to have them watching and commenting like this, but you feel warmth spreading through your chest and a smile blooming on your face. It's good to know people trust your ability to improve and do better, and you're not about to let them down!

There's one time you trip when you're near the hurdle and end up slipping under it. Another time you jump too close to it and almost full body slam it, falling on top of it. Your feet catches onto the edge of one of the hurdles and makes you fall. You end up knocking over one hurdle, keep running and then falling due to your lost momentum and equilibrium. You stay on the ground, defeated, your body screaming at you after so many falls. It wouldn't be so bad to give up, right? You really did try.

Deuce and Jack carry you to a bench and take care of you, Deuce handing you some water while Jack cleans the scratches you got from meeting the floor so much. They don't rub it in your face about your defeat (like a certain red haired first year would) and try to encourage you to keep trying. (They were pretty worried when you didn't get up though. They wanted to be one of the clubs that didn't make up you end on the infirmary.)

To end pratice, everyone would do a long run. The boys tell you can skip it, since you are already very tired, not used to this much exercising, chest heaving up and down and breath coming as short puffs of air. Jack says it'll do you no good to overwork your body and end up collapsing, Deuce backing him up. Still, you're stubborn, and you already did everything, you might as well go until the end. So you tell them you'll be just fine and agree to the run.

You keep Jack's words in mind, making sure to not overexerte it. Instead of holding a full on sprint you settle on a lighter jog, making sure your breaths are somewhat regulated. This makes you stay very behind the others but you don't mind, everyone has their own pace after all. Deuce and Jack were close to you, since they had very obviously slowed down significantly to keep you company, and you greatly appreciated that, flashing them a smile. Deuce offers a thumbs up and Jack nods his head.

There is a part where you trip and almost fall, but thankfully Deuce catches your arm and manages to keep you upright while still in movement. Though you two get extremely close again, your foreheads even knock on each other's. Deuce gets red faced again, instead of fumbling with his words he fumbles with his feet, tripping and taking you with him as his grip tightens on your arm.

Jack comes to the rescue and stays in the middle, still running prefectly even after having used so much energy during pratice. Guess the daily jogs do work. You look at his back muscles contracting, his shoulders moving, his tail helping him keep equilibrium, feet touchig the ground for a moment before they're gone. He seems to notice the eyes on his back as he looks over his shoulder, head tilting in confusion in such an endearing way you can't help but tell him what you were thinkin, about how cool he looks and how he must have trained so much for this! He looks taken a bit aback, ears twitching and tail wagging. So much so, in fact, that due to your closeness and his thick fur, it hits you, and due to your tiredness and the position it hits, you end up falling once again. You're not even mad, honestly. It was the nicest fall you've had so far.

Congrats, you manage to finish the run! Although you're drenched in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead and throat dry, you did it! But Deuce and Jack won't look you in the eye and keep blushing for some reason, you start to wonder if they're down with a fever at this point. Anyways, as soon as the run is over you throw youself (gently) on the ground, taking large gulps of air and spreading and stretching your limbs.

All in all it was pretty fun, even if you did get some scratches and lost whatever little dignity you still had. But you found yourself all sweaty and sore again, not to mention that you didn't think that track was for you. You plan to check other non sport related clubs later, but first, you deserve a break.

(Jack's tail keeps wagging and Deuce's smile is glued to his face. They mentally high five each other for a job well done. They had made you feel welcomed! And you enjoyed yourself! Such a shame you're not entering the club yet... remember to not fall out ot pratice in order to build stamina. Jack can help you with that, going on jogs with you! And you were so good at the high jump, not to mention you were almost getting the hang of the hurdle hops, so maybe next time you try will be the time you make it! Deuce can help you if you need! It's very clear what they wanted, and since they did do their best it feels right to give them a little reward, so of course you agree to come to another pratice eventually. Their smiles give you the force to strengthen your resolve, as you bid goodbye to any possible dignity you had left.)

Masterlist

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emry-stars-art · 2 months

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____

Progress has been made today 💪 I may have accidentally lengthened the first part according to my new outline? But we won't know for sure until it's all put together and briefly edited so I'll have an update then I guess

#do you guys like these lil updates/snippets #idk im not a prolific fic writer or reader i dont know how this works 😭#thank you for being patient ily all very much #my writing #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #royal au

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brother-emperors · 8 months

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CAESAR AUGUSTUS AND MARCUS LICINIUS CRASSUS

this is about the spolia opima that crassus was robbed of lmao. like, yeah okay octavian could've asked him not to claim it, but nevertheless. a kind of theft happened there.

Fact and Fiction: Crassus, Augustus, and the Spolia Opima, Catherine McPherson

#this is one from the vaults I started a few months ago and finally finished. it’s always the furniture details that put things on hold lmao #the former co consuls are fightinggggg (?)#rome is built on top of other people. this is about both the imperialism-slavery machine and the way that all these guys would #politically devour their own generation to sit on a throne. etc. anyway. octavian specifically sits on a throne of other people’s #accomplishments. that’s a specific kind of debt to carry around your neck. or theft depending on who is doing what #this was theft. anything involving Agrippa was a gift so there’s an obligation to succeed which is it’s own kind of currency so to speak #sugghrhfh. every crassus always has to be like this. in my heart i always root for whoever decides to go up against rome #and then i'm stuck with the guy who should've got a spolia opima like. congrats on your win. i guess. i think. RIP.#ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT. while im talking about this crassus. domina fucking sucks. what an absolute clusterfuck of a show #anyway. if anyone ever does augustan age politics again. octavia would be a great character if you want to invent shit #but also more importantly octavian should seduce crassus for this. thank you.#octavian #marcus licinius crassus.....christ how do i write down that he's the grandson of my crassus. i'll figure it out later #roman empire tag #drawing tag

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buwheal · 19 days

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We can't hear it Spam, but it's real to you. I get auditory hallucinations a lot, and usually what helps me is a distraction. Maybe... name 5 things you can see? Or make paper airplanes with old messages, or draw some pictures. Otherwise, I'm sure someone has a crossword or story they can send you to help you out!

#thank you anonnnnn some of these are kinda hard to work with lolll #[you've got mail!]#spamton #spamton g spamton #deltarune #deltarune spamton #deltarune chapter 2 #if i get a shiver of guilt when im writing it thats how i know its the one LMAOOOO #sometimes i forget i dont need dialogue. descriptions can do my job for me.#I guess im living up to the every other day schedule i said id be doing #although i wish i could do every day again LOL but its important to take my time with these ones in particular because i want them to feel #certain way while also being effective esp guilt wise. you guys caused this so you get to feel bad ab it when hes miserable. This time you #get to see the aftermath. haha. this is your fault! haha. your actions have consequences for him!#That and the active participation people seem to like lol

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the-void-to-scream-in · 2 years

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#the owl house #toh #hunter toh #flapjack toh #PLEASE STOP WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS #THATS MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT PALISMAN #like yes i love angst fics and theories and headcannons #and i emotionally wreck hunter in my own writing as much as the next guy #BUT THE BIRD IS OFF LIMITS MAN COME ON #i have never clicked out of a fic SO FAST as one that killed off flapjack without tagging it #i was SO UPSET #tag that shit please and thank you #i stg if yall are right and flapjack dies im gonna be so so so upset please done be right guys cmon

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carmyboobear · 2 months

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 3: nightmares, pepto, and fire

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 4

Chapter Rating: M (7.9k)

Chapter Summary: Carmy can't run from how he feels anymore. His dreams, his conversations with his coworkers and friends, everything is forcing him to face reality. Upon being pushed to his limits, he will finally have to start to speak the truth.

content tags: wet dreams, repressed carmy (as per usual), self deprecation, mental illness

A/N: Carmy gets a wet dream AND a nightmare this chapter! I'm putting him through the ringer babes… I had a lot of fun with the drama, interactions, and imagery this time. Also fun fact, this is the end of what I refer to as "Act 1" in my notes! Act 1 consists of repressed Carmy to the max, barely even acknowledging his feelings… but that's gonna change after this chapter :) enjoy!

After a torturous day at work, one that makes his limbs feel like lead, Carmy is more than relieved to see the door to his apartment.

Surprisingly, though, it swings open without him even touching it. He's too tired to think twice about it. He steps inside, and the first thing he sees is his roommate. They're dressed exclusively in a black apron, just like they were that other night.

“Hi, Carmy,” they say quietly, and their makeup is messy and dark just like that night they were trashed. He remembers how he felt the first time he saw them like that, because he feels it now. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he hears himself saying.

They walk up to him, and suddenly, they're on top of him. Their hands press gently against his tense shoulders. His back hits his bed, pillows under his neck.

“You snooped through my stuff, didn't you?” Their hands move behind them to drop their apron, revealing skin, skin, and more skin. It goes on forever.

“Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly, distracted by their nakedness.

“Hm. I don't think you're all that sorry, but…that's okay.” They drag their hand down the center of his chest, slowly, teasingly, lovingly. “I wanted you to see.”

A bottle of lube materializes in their hand.

“You did?”

“I did,” they whisper. They uncap the lube with a low pop, and suddenly, their skin is shiny with it. Carmy runs his hand down their chest, squeezing, and it's slippery to the touch. “You wanna see what I like to do with this?”

“Please,” he whispers back, breathless, desperate for it. They smile, and it doesn't quite look like them. Heat circles in his gut nonetheless.

“You're so sweet,” they say quietly. “I love that about you.”

He can't respond, not with the way they're touching him. Not that he can come up with a response to that. The pleasure is like fire under his skin, hot, alive, and painful.

“Don't say that,” he pleads, and it feels so good.

“Why not? It's how I really feel about you.”

Their mouth is on his neck now. He can barely breathe. A part of him worries that there's gonna be lipstick marks he'll have to get off again, but he honestly couldn't care less. He'll go to work covered in lipstick marks if he has to.

“Shut up,” he tries again, but it's even weaker this time.

I'm gonna end up hurting you, he wants to say, but he can't.

“Don't you like how good I can make you feel?” They lean up to seal their lips against his, and smoke fills his mouth. He takes it in like water. The high hits him immediately, along with the spike in pleasure.

“I'm close,” he whispers, bucking against their hand.

“Me too.” They straddle his waist then, a playful look in their eye. “I know just the thing…”

Just as they go to unbutton his jeans, an alarm screams into his ear, and his eyes fly open to see his bedroom ceiling.

Stunned, he slams his hand down to shut up his alarm. He lays there in the silence, slowly processing everything. From the moment he woke up, his heart's been racing.

He moves to sit up, get a sip of water, and that's when he feels how sticky his boxers feel.

“Motherfucker,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn't even have any water on his nightstand, and he just came in his sleep for the first time since highschool. “Shit.”

The shame is too much. He has to sit there for several more minutes in silence before getting himself clean.

There are no words to express the emotion he feels as he changes his boxers and wipes himself down. It's a strange mixture of guilt, shock, and lingering arousal. He needs to make sure he doesn't think about it at work unless he wants to walk around with an obvious bulge in his pants.

You need to head into work so you can stop thinking about it, he tells himself, to which he agrees.

He does his best not to think about it on his way to work, which only garners minimal success. In other words, it's a spectacular failure. It's a miracle he doesn't clock in with a poorly concealed boner, but there are other factors.

For one, his nausea. It crept up on him soon after waking up, and it looks like it's here to stay. It's fine, though, because he's used to his stomach being fucked. His brain is on fire and so is the rest of his body—just as usual. He'll just take some pepto when he gets to work.

Except that when he reaches for it on the bathroom shelf, there is no pepto bottle. That's when he remembers the way he chugged the rest of it the week before. So the nausea remains.

When he arrives, the comments about the lipstick mark being gone is unavoidable. His irritation is also naturally unavoidable. His sour mood does him no favors. However, in a twisted sort of luck, he realizes they're behind on far too many things, and he hones in, focuses on nothing else. Everyone else is too swamped with work to keep up the teasing.

The lunch rush is expectedly awful, especially with the swelling tensions in the kitchen. Everyone gets through it with minimal screaming.

Staying busy is supposed to help. Keeping himself occupied is supposed to help, but the moment the lunch rush ends, the nausea hits him at full blast.

“You look like shit,” Richie kindly tells him. A ‘fuck off’ sits on the tip of Carmy's tongue, but so does the feeling of bile, rising in his throat. “Wow, you really are sick, aren't you?” He remarks at Carmy's lack of response.

In as little words as possible, Carmy relays to everyone he'll be in his office.

He keeps the lights off and the door cracked as he falls back onto his chair. The world around him seems to settle like sand. It's been a while since he's dealt with nausea this bad. He counts that as a blessing in itself.

The darkness and the quiet is nice. It relaxes his body. On the flipside, though, there's no noise to overpower the thoughts he's running from.

He closes his eyes, and he sees imprints of his dream. He feels their mouth on his neck, their voice in his ear, their hand on his—

Carmy slaps a hand on his forehead. Then, he sighs, dragging it slowly down his face. His stomach twists inward into itself.

He thinks about seeing his reflection in the mirror last night. His skin was free from the lipstick mark that everyone was relentlessly teasing him about. And yet, he was struck with a profound sense of disappointment.

You liked seeing it there, a voice somewhere hidden in him whispers.

Carmy really feels like throwing up now.

He settles in the darkness for a while longer until a notification lights up his screen, briefly illuminating the room with a low white light.

His first instinct is to groan and flip his phone face down, which he follows about halfway through until he sees the contact name.

The text message is from the person haunting his dreams and his waking life.

- hey thinking abt cooking chicken and rice tonite or something. u want some??

Just when he was able to get a break from thinking about them. Just like that, they're orbiting his brain again.

Visions of them jacking him off aside, he's unsure what to say. He doubts he's gonna be able to get anything down today. This isn't the first time something like this has happened on his end.

> maybe tmrw, stomach is fucked today. ill take leftovers if u make some

- oh no :( feel better man. u got medicine?

> no but its ok, ill take some after work

- but thats so far away!

He can't help but smile, even if looking at the screen isn’t making his nausea any better.

> ill be ok. ill make it

He’ll make it because he has to. No one else is gonna run the place for him. That’s a part of what makes him stand up, take in a breath, and return to the kitchen. The other part is the familiar distant sound of arguing. He slips his phone in his back pocket, stands up, and gets back to work. No matter how begrudgingly it may be.

A number of problems quickly make themselves clear to him. First, the toilet’s busted again. Two, the plumber won’t be here for another three days. Three, the cash register isn’t working. Four, the meat order got delayed. Carmy doesn’t even wanna start worrying about that last one yet with how awful it’s gonna be.

“When is Fak gonna get here?” Carmy asks Richie. They’re stationed at the front, taking the lack of customers while they can.

“He said he'd be here soon.” Richie's fucking with the aforementioned cash register. Carmy’s leaning against the counter, watching him aggressively jam receipt paper into the machine out of the corner of his eye. It's refusing to print receipts again. “He said to tell you to not get your hopes up. He's not a plumber.”

“I know, but he's got the best chance of fixing the thing.”

“I'm telling ya, if you just let me fuck around with it—”

“You don't know how to fix a toilet by watching youtube tutorials,” Carmy mutters.

“So you wanna have to keep going across the street to take a piss?”

“Cousin—this is my restaurant, not your goddamn apartment—”

“Alright, then be my fuckin’ guest—”

He's so in the middle of arguing that he doesn't even hear the bell on the door ring when it opens.

“Look, Fak's gonna be here in a couple minutes,” Carmy says, pinching his eyebrows together, “and then you can fight it out like alphas or whatever the fuck you were saying. Okay? God—”

When he straightens up, pushing himself off the counter and turning back towards the front, the last person he expected to see stands right in front of him.

They've got this bashful smile on their face, and their cheeks are flushed from the cold. Their hair sticks out from their beanie in a way that Carmy insists is not cute at all. Not one bit, not even the way it's messy when they yank it off.

He also insists to himself that the color on their cheeks doesn't remind him of his dream. Not at all. Not even a little bit. No way. No matter how much the visuals are rampaging in his brain.

“I was sorta worried I wasn't in the right place,” they admit.

“What're you doing here?” Carmy blurts out, even though he immediately recognizes it for how rude it is.

“Uh—” Nerves flash across their face. They hold up a little paper bag. “Sorry for just showing up, I just wanted to bring you some things.”

“No—don't apologize, I shouldn't have just…” He trails off, unable to find the words. He studies the bag in their hand. “Sorry. What did you bring?” He asks, softer this time.

“I know this might be a bit much,” they clarify nervously. They walk up the counter and set the bag down before him. “It's just, you were saying that you weren't feeling well, and I was in the area doing some shopping…”

Carmy reaches inside and pulls out several things. The items reveal themselves to be a small, green bottle of papaya pills, a little bag of ginger candies, and most importantly, a bottle of bubblegum pink pepto bismol.

As he stares at the items, a tiny flower blossoms in his chest.

“You really didn't have to get all this,” he says softly after a beat of silence. He stares at the items for a moment longer before looking up at them. There's an odd feeling in his chest.

“I wanted to. Seriously.” They still look oddly bashful, and it's captivating. “I mean, you helped me out a ton the other night, so…”

“You didn't owe me anything.”

“Then consider it a gift.” Their smile so effortlessly dazzles him. “Unless I can't give you gifts?”

“Yeah—I mean, no, you—” Carmy fails to stifle a quiet laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. They so easily fluster him. “Thank you,” he says finally, remembering himself. “This is…really nice.”

“I hope it helps,” they reply, and he tells himself the color on their cheeks is still from the cold. He tells himself that they're the one that looked into his eyes first, so it's okay for him to look back. “If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it.”

“No, I appreciate it. Thank you,” he says again.

They're beautiful, he thinks all of a sudden, and the thought is so potent he can't hide from it for a single second. His anxiety tells him that they're gonna hear his thoughts if he keeps thinking so loudly. The bliss of tracing his eyes over their features is worth it. He's not sure if he feels any less nauseous, staring at their darling face like this, but he can't deny he likes the way this feels. His chest aches.

Then, the obnoxious noise of someone clearing their throat reminds him that they're not alone.

“Cousin.” Carmy's head whips around. How could he forget that Richie was right there? It's incredible how silent Richie could be when he wants to. “You gonna introduce us?”

“Shit, right, uh—” Carmy fumbles, making a hand motion with no words to match. “This is my cousin Richie. And Richie, this is, uh, my roommate.”

Oh, how he's dreaded saying those words for reasons he will see in just a matter of seconds.

“So you're the roommate!” Richie makes a big show of it, eyebrows raised in dramatic shock.

“Yeah, that's me.” They shrug. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Can't believe you're roomin’ with this guy,” Richie says, slapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder. It is promptly shoved off. “Carmen's not an easy guy to be around, I know.”

“Oh, not at all! He's a great roommate.” Carmy feels the tips of his ears growing warm.

“Really?” Richie gives him a skeptical look. “Who would've guessed.”

“Fuck off,” Carmy snaps, but the way he mumbles makes it lack any intensity.

They don’t stay for long. Something about needing to run some more errands. A part of Carmy wants to keep them there somehow, although there’s no logical reason for that. If anything, the faster they’re out, the better. It gives Richie less time to say something scathing that ruins their perception of Carmy.

Not that you need any help fucking yourself over, Carmy thinks to himself distantly.

“Well, I hope the stuff helps.” They readjust their beanie on their head, pulling it over their ears. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he replies. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. Bye!”

They wave to him and Richie as they leave. As soon as the bell above the door rings and they’re out of sight, Carmy feels Richie’s eyes on him.

Actually, he feels a number of eyes on him.

He turns around to see his fellow chefs peeking over the deli counter, standing in a row like a line of matryoshka dolls. They freeze when they see him, but they don’t make any move to run away. Absolutely remorseless.

“Back to your stations, chefs,” Carmy scolds them, but his meak words are quickly overtaken by noise.

“If the two of you aren’t dating, then what the fuck is this?” Richie picks up the paper bag full of medicine. “That was some sappy shit the two of you were pulling!”

“The two of you? What the fuck did I do?” Carmy spits back.

“What the fuck did I do,” Richie imitates, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ goo-goo eyes over here wants to know what the fuck he was doing.” Carmy snatches the bag out of his hand.

“You were makin’ goo-goo eyes at them,” Marcus agrees. His elbows are propped up on the glass counter.

“And if they’re bringing you medicine, it’s serious,” Tina adds with a sly grin.

“There’s nothing to be serious about,” Carmy insists. He feels like a broken record. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends that kiss each other,” Sydney comments. “Right. Of course.”

“We don’t—I’ve never—” He’s a tea kettle, and the lid on him is starting to rattle. “Chefs—”

“Cousin, loosen up already. Why you always gotta make shit so serious?” Richie throws an arm around his shoulder, but Carmy shoves it off.

“Because this shit is none of your fuckin’ business. That goes for all of you!” Carmy whips around, gesturing accusingly with his hand at the line of chefs. “Get back to work! Now!”

A sad chorus of “Yes, chef” resounds, and everyone despondently trickles back to their stations. All except for Richie, who is not a chef.

“They’re obviously into you,” Richie tries, and Carmy’s glare could burn two perfect circles into his face.

“Drop it,” he hisses.

“Why’re you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a little bitch? You’re a pussy, Carmen. That’s what you are. A pussy—”

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“No. Y’know what? I actually do have a clue, because I know you, Berzatto. You act like all that shit’s above you, but it’s not. And I’m tryin’ to do you a favor—”

“A favor? What fucking favor?”

“I’m trying to help you get a fucking clue! That’s what! Because you’re too dense to see what’s right in front of you!”

“Richie, I happen to be doing just fine without your help. I don’t need whatever the fuck you think helping me is!”

“Then explain this to me. Explain this little thing to me, Carmen fucking Berzatto. You and Claire—”

“Richie. Don’t.”

“That could’ve been a good thing. A great thing. The two of you—”

“I told you—”

“You were obviously into each other, and yet—”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!”

There’s a rage threatening to spew out of him, lava coursing under his skin and in his head. Richie’s looking at him like he knows he’s right, but he’s not. He’s not right about Carmy. He’s not right about anything. Not about any of this.

“Fak is on the scene! What is up, guys?”

With comedic (or arguably tragic) timing, Fak bursts through the front door with his heavy tool bag on one hand. Carmy and Richie’s heads both snap to him when he arrives. Fak freezes in his steps.

“Fak,” Carmy says.

“Finally,” Richie mutters. “Slow ass.”

“Uh…I’m getting the impression I shouldn’t be here right now. Should I be here right now?” Fak takes a step back towards the door.

“Yes, I really need you to look at the toilet,” Carmy says. Richie is uncharacteristically quiet, but Carmy can’t stand to look at him.

“If you say so.” Fak shrugs. “What’s the damage?”

“Mild to severe, depending on how you look at it,” is Carmy’s dry response.

The rest of the day, Carmy operates on autopilot. When he finally remembers to open the bottle of pepto, nausea surges in him at the sight of it. He manages to force it down. Miraculously, the toilet gets fixed, and even more miraculously, no one mentions the roommate again. Not even Richie. Although Carmy does sense how badly he wants to bring it up again.

His stomach continues its incessant rampage throughout the rest of the day. Despite improving since the pepto, it’s still generally upset. This nausea leads him back to his care package again and again throughout the rest of the day.

The ginger candies have a sharp flavor, maybe even a bit too much, but the sharpness grounds him. It also does admittedly dim the nausea. He wonders why he’s never bothered to keep him on his person.

“Chef?” Carmy’s cleaning his station when he hears Syd next to him. It could only be her, anyway—the sun has set, and everyone else has gone home for the day. He perks his head up to see her concerned expression.

“Chef,” he acknowledges back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing wrong with me, I mean. I was actually wondering if, uh, you were okay?”

“Me?” The question surprises him. “Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Stomach’s better, so…”

“Oh, good.” She nods. “Stuff your roommate gave you working?”

“Yeah. It is.” He rolls the candy around on his tongue. “Hand me my knife?”

“Yeah.” She slides it over to him. “And, uh, I just wanted to say—I don’t mean to be nosy. I really don’t. Earlier, everyone was just gathered over the counter, and—”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted to see what the commotion was about—”

“Really, it’s fine,” he repeats, firmly. “They’re just like that, anyway.”

“I—Okay. Okay.” She exhales. “It’s just—y’know. I don’t wanna be an ass. I just…”

“You weren’t. You’re not.”

“I’m just…wondering about one thing.”

“...Yeah?”

“Why have you never invited them to family?”

“Family?” This question surprises him even more than the last. “Well, family’s for…family. Just the workers.”

“I mean, yeah. But, like, sometimes it’s not, right? Like, you let Marcus’ roommate come last week.”

“Marcus was on family anyway.”

“Sure. Right. You let me bring my friend recently, though.”

“You wanted to show her where you worked, didn’t you?”

“And Fak has family with us almost, like, all the time.”

“Fak is Fak,” Carmy reasons, and Sydney can’t argue with that.

“I don’t mean to be an ass,” she repeats. “I’m just curious.”

Right, he thinks. She asked a question. Why have I never brought them to family?

He’s never even considered it before. Bringing them to family. It’s not a habit to bring outsiders in, for lack of better wording, but it’s not necessarily off-limits, either. He doesn’t actually mind when others bring people in. He trusts them not to bring in anyone stupid. Mostly. As for himself…

He’s never had anyone in his life to bring before. Ever.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I guess I just never thought about it.”

“Huh.”

“Wouldn’t it be…weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

“I don’t know,” he says again, “I just…I just thought…” He sighs. “I didn’t wanna deal with Richie, but…”

“Little too late for that,” Sydney notes in amusement.

“Little too late,” he echoes.

“Well. I was just curious. Sorry if that was weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” He jokes, imitating her from earlier.

“Shut up,” she shoots back with a grin. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine. It’s not weird.” He pauses for a moment, thinking about Richie. “Everyone else is an ass about it. Not you, though.”

“I try.” She grins. “I…I think everyone just gets excited because…it’s different. Seeing you with someone else like that.”

“Mm.” Carmy nods, and then pauses again. Lets it sink in. “Do I…” I shouldn’t ask this, he thinks, but he’s already started. It’s too late. “...Do I act differently?”

“Around them? Yeah. A little.”

“...” Carmy straightens up, taking a step back from his station. This is starting to feel weird. Really weird. “I do?”

“Kinda. You just seem…calmer, I think.” Sydney’s expression seems uncomfortable. “I dunno.”

“No, it’s fine. It was a dumb thing to ask.” Carmy’s making the executive decision to stop talking about this. “I gotta stay and sort through some stuff in the office, but you should head out for the night.”

“What, can’t afford to pay me overtime?” Sydney teases. Carmy rolls his eyes.

“Partially,” he jokes back, although it’s not much of a joke.

Nevertheless, it is almost 10 pm, so Sydney does indeed head out for the night. The whole place is eerily silent without anyone else there. There’s the sound of the rattling AC unit, noisy plumbing, and passing cars, but there’s a distinct lack of sizzling pans, knives against cutting boards, and shouting. It just feels strange, is all.

Carmy barely remembers to replace the bottle of pepto in the bathroom before heading out. He puts the new bottle there on the shelf, and as he stares at it standing there, he considers putting other gifts there too.

He returns to his office where the small bag of ginger candies and bottle of papaya pills sits. They’re seated on the corner of his desk. He goes to grab them, but for some reason, he doesn’t. They look like they belong there.

Then consider it a gift, he remembers them saying earlier. Unless I can’t give you gifts? If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it, he hears them saying again.

A certain possessiveness grips him then.

It was a gift, he tells himself. For me. No one else.

He decides to leave the candies and pills on his desk. Those will be just for him.

When he finally gets home, it’s almost 12 am. He does his best to open the door carefully, but it’s as squeaky as ever.

He’s greeted with a surprising, although not unusual sight. His roommate is curled up into a sleep ball on the couch, snuggled into the pillows and blankets. The tv is playing some youtube video essay about lost media from the early 2000s. All the lights in the apartment are off, leaving the only source of illumination to be the tv screen.

Carmy carefully moves to turn the tv off. After he does, he turns to see if he’s woken them up. He hasn’t. They’re still in deep sleep. Very deep sleep, rather, with how they’re lightly snoring.

That familiar ache he gets in his chest when he sees them makes itself known. It’s the ache that pulls him in, forcing him to sit on the floor next to the couch. It’s something beyond his will that makes him gaze at their peacefully sleeping face.

His eyes trace their features like he was earlier when they stopped by The Beef, except this time, much more unabashedly. He takes note of the faint blemishes on their cheeks, the loose strands of hair in their face. The squish of their cheek against the pillows.

Cute, he thinks to himself, not for the first time, and he’s too tired to push the feeling away.

You’re different around them, he hears Sydney saying. Calmer.

I don’t know about that, he thinks. He absentmindedly brings a hand to brush their loose hairs out of their face. I don’t know how I feel when I’m around you.

A part of him wonders if he should wake them up. The part of him that wins is the part that doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful look on their face. He wouldn’t want to upset them.

He trudges into his bed instead, flopping wearily onto his mattress. It’s been a taxing day, right down to the moment he woke up this morning. His mind and body were both in shambles, and now, he’s exhausted.

As he falls asleep, he distantly hopes for a dreamless night.

. . . . .

“Where’s the olive oil? The pan’s heated. I need to start cooking the beef.”

Carmy stands before a pristine stainless steel pan. Next to him on the counter sits stuffed beef carefully wrapped in twine—beef braciole.

“Guys,” he repeats, annoyed. “Guys, have you seen the olive oil?”

He turns to see Michael and his roommate sitting at a kitchen island. They’re both opening cans of San Marzano tomatoes, although it’s definitely not a two person job.

“We haven’t seen it, Carmen,” Michael says. “Anyway, like I was saying—you should’ve seen his face. Really! When I told him I couldn’t work at the restaurant, it’s like I told him our dog died or something.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see that,” his roommate remarks, snickering and shaking their head. “Such a baby.”

Next to them, Carmy spots the bottle of olive oil. With a scowl, he snatches it.

“Hurry up on those tomatoes, guys, I’m gonna need it real soon,” he reminds them, irritation growing.

With the bottom of the pan coated in olive oil, he carefully places the beef into the pan. The sizzle is strangely whistle-like and high pitched. He inhales, searching for the smell of cooking meat and garlic, but he can’t seem to smell anything at all.

“Did he cry?” They ask.

“No, but he looked like he was going to,” Michael sneers, and the two of them are laughing again.

“You wouldn’t wanna work with a guy like Carmy, anyway.”

“Exactly. Exactly. He doesn’t really get it, y’know. How much of a colossal fuck-up he is. I can see it in him, though. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then.”

“That’s okay. I don’t blame you. He probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

“He has no idea! And he thinks he’s fooling everyone so well, but the thing is—”

“He’s not.”

“He’s not! He’s really not.”

“Chefs, I need the tomato puree. Hand it over,” Carmy interrupts abruptly. When there’s no response, he turns around. They haven’t even opened one can of tomatoes yet. “Are you two fucking serious?”

They look at him, eyes wide, and then they’re laughing so hard they’re crying. They’re doubled over the counter, cackling and kicking their feet.

“You’re too easy to fuck with, Carmen,” Michael gets out between chuckles. “You’ve always been like that.”

Carmy ignores him and reaches for a can of tomatoes.

“Give me the fucking can opener,” Carmy snaps.

“Oh, you won’t need it,” his roommate answers.

As soon as Carmy grabs a can, it explodes in his face.

Puréed San Marzano tomatoes fill his hand and drip from his hair into his eyes. He steps back, staggered from the red explosion. Somehow it got all over him and not on anything else.

“Fucking shit!” He wipes his eyes, and that’s when he remembers the beef. He rushes back to the pan. It needs tomato purée now. He lets the splattered tomato drip from his hands into the pan, filling it with sauce. It sizzles and smells like smoke.

“I could always see you for who you really were, y’know. I always knew,” Michael goes on. “I could always see it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Carmy snaps. The growing anxiety in his stomach is tightening his body and ejecting the words out. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s saying that you’re just not a good person. That’s all,” his roommate reasons. Carmy tries to keep his eyes focused on the beef, hastily spooning tomato over it. The pan’s still filling with puree. It’s overflowing. “You’re just the sort of person who will never change. Once broken, always broken, y’know what I mean?”

“If you’re not going to help, then fucking leave!” Carmy snaps, finally. He whirls around and wipes all the cans onto the floor. They explode in glorious unison, staining the floors red. “Just get out and stop getting in my fucking way!”

“But you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

“I don’t care what you do, I just need to finish this—“

“No, you care. You care if I like or hate you. You care if I stay or leave. You care about me, Carmy. You really care about me.”

“I don’t fucking care about you. I never have, and I never will.”

The beef’s burning on the pan. It’s all burning.

“Oh, Carmy…” Their arms are wrapped around his torso, squeezing him in a gentle hug. “It’s too late for you to say that sort of thing. Not anymore.”

All of a sudden, there’s a gush of wetness that soaks through his shirt. He pulls back, and their mouth is oozing tomato puree. In an instant, Carmy knows they’re dying.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses. “Fuck!”

“This is what happens,” they say, gargling through mouthfuls of puree.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because it’s you,” they answer, and Carmy wakes up.

He wakes up stumbling back from the stove by someone pulling on his shirt. The stove has pots and pans filled with flaming frozen food. He can feel the blazing heat against his skin. The orange flames are flicking off the steel pans and arch towards the ceiling, reaching. As Carmy stumbles back, he falls to the floor, barely managing to steady himself with the palms of his hands.

There’s the familiar sound of the fire extinguisher, spraying out into the base of the fire. Propped up on his elbows, Carmy watches the fire shrink with a thumping heart. His heartbeat marches in time with the tune of the fire alarm, piercing and high-pitched throughout the apartment.

Carmy finally takes notes of his roommate, looking about as distressed as someone who just woke up to a fire in their own home. Their hair sticks up in several different directions as if they just woke up, which they…probably did. With a displeased grunt, they march over to the window to slam it open. The cloudy smoke compacted near the ceiling begins to trickle out.

“Fucking hell,” they mutter under their breath, coughing from the smoke. They turn around to look at Carmy, expression twisted with stress. “Dude. What was that?”

“I,” Carmy starts, but the words just won’t come. He tries to move to get up, but his legs aren’t moving.

“Carmy. Hey.” They lean down next to him, staring him in the eyes. He still doesn’t respond. “Carmen!” They snap, and he jolts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he gets out. They help him up, wrapping his hand in theirs and yanking him upwards.

“We should step outside while the smoke clears.” They cough as they move to grab their coat.

“It’ll be fine, it’ll be gone in a couple minutes,” Carmy hears himself saying. He’s met with a blank stare.

“So this has happened to you before?” They open their mouth, as if they’re about to say something else, but they shake their head. “No, we’re not staying in here. We may smoke everyday, but this isn’t good for us. C’mon.”

He doesn’t quite feel his body moving as he grabs his wool jacket. He doesn’t feel it as he walks down the stairs, not even when he steps outside and the chilled night air whips at his face. He feels far, far away.

After leaving the awful song of the fire alarm, the quiet of the night is uncharacteristically loud. If he listens closely, though, he can pick out the sound of their fire alarm, distantly ringing. Or maybe that’s just his tinnitus.

The clicking sound of a lighter is what recenters him. He looks to his side to see them shakily holding a lighter up to their cigarette. After a couple more sparks, the flame lights.

They take a slow pull of it before wordlessly handing it to him. An olive branch of sorts. He takes it. They let the pool of smoke sit in their mouth, and then they exhale with a heavy, heavy sigh.

“What happened back there, man?” They ask quietly. “That was…” They sigh again. “That scared the shit out of me,” they whisper, and that’s what makes it all finally settle in.

Fuck, Carmy realizes with a pang. The realization starts in the pit of his stomach and drops lower and lower. Feeling returns to his body, and he feels cold inside and out. I really fucked up.

He can just imagine it—him, dead on his feet, sleepwalking into the kitchen. Grabbing the frozen food out of the freezer and turning the stove on high. Cooking nonsensically with plastic-wrapped chicken breasts and frozen peas. Too fucking asleep to stop the fire from starting, to stop the fire alarm that woke up his sleeping roommate on the couch.

“I used to sleepwalk, sometimes. When I was at culinary school,” he clarifies nervously. Shame douses him, coating him evenly like oil on a pan. “Or, sleepcook, I guess.”

He passes the cigarette back to them. They take it.

“Shit,” they mutter. “Never heard of anyone doin’ that before.”

“...Yeah. Me neither.”

The two of them are silent for a while before they speak again.

“Carmy—why didn’t you tell me? That you—” They laugh dryly, full of irritation. He doesn’t like seeing anger on their face, hearing it in their voice. He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard them sound like this before. “That you’re prone to cooking in your sleep? Don’t you think that’s something I should know? As your roommate?”

“I—I didn’t mean to hide it,” he protests, even though he did.

“We could’ve really gotten hurt, y’know.”

“You’re right, I know, it’s just—it hadn’t happened in so long, so I just thought that I had, that I was…”

I thought I was getting better, he wants to say, but it’s stuck in his throat. It won’t come out. As per usual, he can’t get the words out.

It always stays the same.

“...” Strangely enough, their face softens. “Must’ve been scary the first time.”

“What?” He wasn’t expecting their anger to dissipate so easily.

“The first time you caught yourself cooking your sleep. Were they all like this? With the fire and stuff?”

“Yeah. All the fire and stuff,” he confirms bitterly. A beat of silence. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. You shouldn’t have had to…put out a fire I made.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay you almost burned our place down, but…” The end of the cigarette sizzles, bright and orange as they inhale. “It’s not like you did it on purpose, did you?”

“Of course not,” he rushes to say, “I would never—”

“I’m just kidding with you,” they laugh. They exchange the cigarette again. “I know you didn’t.”

Impossible, Carmy thinks all of a sudden. The nicotine usually calms him, except not today. Not right now. This is impossible.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Carmy blurts out. He can’t compute seeing a smile on their face right now.

“I am,” they say calmly.

“Then why? Why are you—” There’s static in his head, fuzz filling his mouth. “Why aren’t you—you should be—fucking, I don’t know—why aren’t you yelling?”

“Do you want me to be shouting at you?”

“No! I don’t want that, I just—I just don’t understand.” There’s blood rushing in his ears. “I fucked up, so just—just get it over with already!”

“I—get what over with?”

“Just tell me that I’m a worthless piece of shit and that you were wrong for ever seeing anything good in me,” he spits out. His eyes feel hot. He doesn’t know where all these words are coming from. “I know you want to say it, so just get it over with. Please.”

A moment of silence, broken by the drive by of a car.

“...Is that really how you think I see you?”

“How could you not?” He laughs bitterly, shakes his head. Images of Michael flash in his head. “I’ve just somehow managed to convince you that I’m worth your time. I don’t know how, but…” Frustration surges inside of him. “But now you know,” he says, finally.

So this is how it ends, he thinks to himself. I knew it couldn’t last. Nothing ever lasts.

We’ll call it The Bear, he hears himself saying. Michael and him at Christmas. The drawing he made of the restaurant.

Michael’s dead, he hears Sugar sobbing over the phone. Her voice is crackly and broken through the speakers. Please come home. Please.

You didn’t even show up for your brother fuckin’ funeral, he hears Richie screaming. Your own fucking brother, Carmen! What the ever living fuck is wrong with you?

This is great, Carmy, Michael says softly to him, the gifted drawing of their restaurant in his hands. The house is on fire. There's so much fire. Thank you.

They don’t say anything for a while, opting to instead smoke their cigarette and stare distantly across the street. When they finally turn to look at him, their gaze pierces him. It’s that look that strips him bare, lays his soul out open for them to pick apart.

“You’re allowed to mess up on onions,” they say.

“...What?” Is all he can think to reply.

“When I was drunk, you told me about how you dropped some onions.”

“No, I remember, I just—why are you saying that now?”

“Because this fire is the same.” They tap the ash off their cigarette, the gray dust shattering in the wind. “People make mistakes, Carmy. It’s okay.”

“This is a lot worse than spilling some onions,” he reasons weakly. They just shrug.

“Objectively speaking, sure. I can’t deny that. But that’s not really what I’m trying to say…” They hesitate. “Can I speak plainly?”

“Please,” Carmy begs.

Two cars whiz by before they speak again.

“I can’t change how you see yourself,” they start. “I’m the same way. I think almost everyone is. I know I can’t make you less hard on yourself. If anything, that’s part of what made you into such an incredible chef.” They exhale shakily. “But this…with me…I don’t want it to push me away.”

“...I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confesses, messily. This isn’t like him, but he can’t seem to stop talking. I care about you too much, he thinks painfully.

“It’s impossible to go through life without hurting others. Look—I consider you a friend, Carmy. A good friend. And I thought you felt the same, but…”

“I do,” he interrupts urgently. “You’re one of the closest friends I have,” he confesses, and their smile is beautiful.

…I didn’t mean to say all that, he thinks, startled by himself. That was supposed to be, “I think of you as a friend, too.”

“Then fuck up some onions. You don’t have to be a perfect person. No one can be, and I don’t want you to be. Besides—I’m not stupid. You’re not tricking me about anything. I’m pretty good at making sound judgments of people.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were stupid,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t.” They keep being gentle, so gentle.

“I…I’m not used to this,” he admits, finally. He needs to be honest with them, regardless if saying the truth is like coughing up glass. “You're a good person. Really good. More than I'm used to, to be honest. I think…I think a part of me doesn't wanna believe it.”

“Oh.” Their pink cheeks could very well be from the cold, or from something else. “I—well. Thank you. That's nice to hear. But, ah, do you think I have some dark alter ego or something?”

“No, not like that. It’s just—there’s always another shoe, isn’t there?”

“Another shoe…” They hum. “Yeah. Unless there isn’t.”

“That’d be a first,” he says, and they laugh.

“True enough.” The distant sound of the train. “I'm not a perfect person, Carmy.”

“I know. I don't expect that.”

“Then stop expecting it from yourself.”

“...” He blinks, staggered by their bluntness. A million arguments begin and die on the tip of his tongue, but all of them feel as cheap as the last. He knows they're right, and there's not much room for argument there. “I'll try,” he says finally with a nod. It's all he can say.

“I say it like it's an easy thing to do. I know it's not.” Their smile is knowing, rueful. “I certainly haven't gotten over it myself.”

“You also…?” The implication lays silent in the air. They nod. “I’m sorry for starting a fire,” he apologizes again, because he feels like he has to. “And for…freaking out.”

“You are forgiven. But you don’t need to apologize for, like, having emotions. That’s fucked up.” They let out an abrupt bark of a laugh, and it makes him laugh, too. “Is it, like, a stress thing? The sleepcooking?”

You’re worthless, he suddenly hears a familiar voice saying. The head chef. You’d be better off dead. You don't deserve any of this.

“Usually,” he says simply. “I can’t really…predict when it’s gonna happen, though.”

“Unfortunate. I guess it’d be too easy if you could see it coming.” They put out their cigarette on the back of their lighter, flicking off the ash. “How are you doing now?”

“I’m fine,” he responds instantly, all on instinct. “I’m…better,” he amends, and they look happy with that. “I should be asking you that. Are you alright?”

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty scary, but I’m okay. I can look back at it as a bonding experience.”

“A bonding experience,” Carmy mutters, half out of amusement and half out of disbelief. “I guess you’re not totally wrong.”

“Nobody got hurt, right? And next time, I'll be ready.”

“There shouldn't be a next time.”

“No, I suppose not. But there might be, and that's okay.”

“But—“ He stops. “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” They pat his back.

“Do you wanna come to family tomorrow?” He blurts out.

“Huh?” They say, which is a pretty reasonable response. “I mean, probably. What is it?”

“Right, sorry. It's, uh, a thing we do everyday at work. One of the chefs cooks dinner for everyone, and we eat together. It's a way to, ah…have everyone get along, I guess.”

“Oh, cool!”

“And I'll be the one cooking tomorrow,” he adds hastily. God, why is this so embarrassing? “So. Yeah. If you wanna come, then…”

“You mean I get to have your cooking? Of course I wanna come,” they reply, their expression brightening. Carmy's stomach twists inward, giddy. “Oh my god, yeah. As long as it's not weird that I'm there?”

“Not weird,” he promises. “We bring people all the time. Not too many, of course.”

Except for me, he thinks. I barely even eat family enough as it is, let alone ever bringing everyone. You're the only one.

“Okay. Okay!” They make a pleased noise, stepping excitedly in place. “Then I accept. What time should I come?”

“We eat before opening, so come in around 2. The door should be open.”

“Sounds good.” They stop then, fixing him with a puzzled, amused look. “You're not just doing this because of what just happened, are you? Although I guess it'd be cool if you were—”

“I'm not, I'm not. I just…wanted to.” He's not being very convincing. To be fair, it's only half of a lie. “But I will. Make this up to you, I mean.”

“I'm just teasing. You don’t have to, but I won’t stop you. And…thanks for inviting me, I'm looking forward to it.” They yawn suddenly, eyes scrunching shut. “Think we're good to head back in now?”

“Probably, yeah.” He checks his phone. It's 1 AM. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

“It's fine, really. Besides, I did this to you the other night. And, uh—Carmy?”

“...Yeah?”

“I'm really glad you think of me as a friend,” they say, and it sounds like a confession. “I feel super lucky to have a roommate that I can call my friend, too. I…just wanted to say that.

There are countless unspoken sentiments that Carmy wishes he had the courage, the faith to say. I didn't know how important you were going to become to me, for instance. I don't know if I can go without your company anymore. I’m not sure if I've ever liked someone so much, and that terrifies me. I never wanted to admit how much I like you.

It's too much, far too much to say aloud, but at least, finally, he can admit it to himself.

It does not always have to stay the same.

“I feel really lucky, too,” Carmy says instead, and the words come easy, easier than they ever have before.

@zorrasucia

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seventh-fantasy · 6 months

Text

li xiangyi, yin, and femininity

we all know that li xiangyi is a character of fractured identities. and li lianhua is an unreliable narrator to his own story. these make him not the most straightforward character to study. but I've believed in treating li lianhua as a part of li xiangyi, rather than separates. and there must be a common thread that ties all of him together. thus, I offer what I have found to be the most useful lens to use to view him as a cohesive whole, regardless as li xiangyi, li lianhua, or any other identity he may reinvent into: his 阴 yin qualities. (yin of yinyang)

this framework suggested by the drama's text itself has helped clarify to me his strengths, weaknesses, motivations, and struggles. by identifying this constant, too, makes it so much easier talking about what has changed in him.

[to the, hopefully growing, boli lhl hivemind @markiafc @ananeiah]

there are some notes on the concept of yinyang and chinese conceptualisation of gender I have to preface with.

[disclaimer: of course, I'm not even trying to cover a tip of what experts have extensively studied and debated in a depth it deserves. all I'm doing is try to parse the broad, fundamental ideas that are needed to explain my blorbos through my own spotty brain filter. so there bound to be nuances I've overlooked or some degree of my own interpretation. pretentious but needs to be done.]

阴 yin and 阳 yang are concepts characterised by passiveness, darkness, gentleness, femininity etc, and proactivity, light, toughness, masculinity etc respectively. a very key and handy concept to have in mind is their relationship to each other - which I'll not attempt at explaining better than literal scholars have:

Yin and yang exist only in relation to one another internally as the way warmth-coldness only exist relative to one another. Furthermore, when using yin-yang as an organizational schema, achieving balancing harmony is always the goal, not domination nor subordination of one to the other. [x]

while yin and yang can be symbols of femininity and masculinity, it doesn't mean all female are yin and all male are yang. it's certainly not a strict 1-to-1 equation. the concept of gender in chinese context is more social than biological. this suggests room for fluidity, and shaping of identities, often through social rituals as one journeys through life. it also means that there can be femininity in the masculine, and vice versa - in fact, that's only healthy because you need a good balance of the two worlds. no one part is better than the other. if you think of the two components as relative to each other, they are always interacting and affecting each other, rather than being strict and inert binaries. simply put, it needs to be kept in mind that there are greater nuances in applying yin and yang to the definitions of gender, and to avoid at all cost a simplification of this framework into a binary.

sure, the show has implied that lxy's powers and energy are yin-coded. but femininity is only one of the multiple attributes of yin. so how are we extending lxy's yin to femininity specifically? it's in the text that substantiates and qualifies lxy as feminine. dead women being used as proxies to his character. being literally dressed as a woman in order to put himself into their shoes and feel what they've felt. adopting a name that happens to be very, very feminine - 莲花 lianhua (lit. lotus flower) (it must be caveated that chinese names are NOT gendered. but there are just some names that are more feminine than others.) him coming to lead a life revolving around traditionally feminine, domestic things as li lianhua. him having interactions with the women around him like he's in his own element - no pressure and tension at all, unlike with all the other men.

as such, I'm more willing to use yin and femininity interchangeably in discussing lxy (while it's not necessarily applicable to every point that will be mentioned albeit there being some degree of implied association). and it's for the sake of elucidating what I feel is an intention or very plausible reading of the canon text in parsing feminine experiences in lxy's character. and thus, his queerness.

one last note is that taoism is going be mentioned quite a bit as well because of how much it as a philosophy honours the yin quality. its key tenets include valuing passiveness and inaction as a form of action, and submitting to the nature of things. and we will see how those come up in lxy's life too. (though I'm not gonna attempt to deep dive into it here beyond broad strokes of it.)

a huge part of li xiangyi's yin actually manifests in him being a passive person. this applies not just to li lianhua, but also li xiangyi. I know. ok wait hear me out. the idea of yinyang is after all components that can change and are relational to each other: thus, there were points in li xiangyi's life when he was less passive than other points, but they ultimately don't match up to the degree of aggression displayed by other men around him. so relative to their display of proactivity and aggression, he can be considered as passive. the best example is that of shan gudao proposing to launch an offensive on jinyuan alliance, while lxy - as much as he was arrogant about it - was standing his ground on not taking action in favour of peace.

it has already showed up in his childhood as well. he wasn't a particularly competitive child: 从来都没有谁要和你争 nobody has ever thought of competing with you over anything, he told sgd as he recalled of their times growing up. it was in fact sgd who was desperate to control and override lxy's presence. baby lxy did not hesitate at all over giving up on winning in favour of protecting his only rare few close relationships left in the world (given how hard-earned relationships are when they're non-familial !!!!). as much as I resent the one-dimensional writing of sgd, he has served as a very strong marker to highlight on lxy's yin.

I've harped on it several times before but this is the time I finally get to explain it proper: my own theory is that li xiangyi became an unparalleled swordsmaster because of his yin/feminine quality, not in spite of it. an interesting point that had been out in the open unclaimed until it was brought up in our friend group is that, li xiangyi does not actually fit anybody's conventional image of a 武林盟主 wulin mengzhu (ie. ruler of wulin). it would most likely have been some burly, muscular, ultra-masculine dude. even if they don't look like the demonic monk, it should be someone more like di feisheng. but. it's li xiangyi, the boyish, delicate-looking kid, who came to the top. (no wonder people - mostly men - love or love to bully hate him like weak men hate powerful women??)

"why didn't they cast someone who looks more like a wulin mengzhu (read: traditionally manly)?" no, no that's precisely the point. nobody said wulin mengzhu have to look manly. and also who is to define the manliness required to be in a place of authority? (or in my other meta, we would ask, who is to define anybody gets to have the authority over anyone else at all?)

by taoist ideal, gentleness is the most refined form of strength. li xiangyi has been haunting and distracting me in my chinese calligraphy practices lately because I'm thinking about how this must be the closest to what it felt like lxy becoming the best swordsman in jianghu. (so pretentiously brainrotten of me, I know, BUT IT'S REAL and I'm suffering.) mastering a chinese art is essentially about mastering a delicate balance between force and gentleness; being able to draw force from softness 柔中带刚 and an ability to maintain this balance. a beginner will instinctively hold a brush for the first time with brute, unrefined force. some fairly reputable contemporary calligraphers, according to my teacher, can be seen as being either too soft or too forceful - but are still able to pass off as good enough. it's then, the master of masters who will have the sophistication of a firm yet flexible control of the brush with the appropriate use of gentleness/laxness that produces a harmony of strokes. this idea extends to any other sort of chinese craft or practice including traditional chinese medicine, and I believe, swordsmanship too. I'm taking a fucking leap of faith here to say this because I practise NO sort of (chinese) martial arts, I must caveat. (someone who does may want to say something...) but theoretically that should be how it works.

it is not for no rhyme or reason, or *handwaves* that lxy emerged to the top AND is almost undefeatable. among a competitive, forceful (ie. yang) wulin, li xiangyi stood out with a power and energy defined by yin (ie. gentleness and stability) that led him to create his signature 扬州慢 yangzhouman. it is characterised by 慢 slowness (my calligraphy teacher says to us all the time to take it slow), and also described by dfs as 中正绵长 - which I would best describe by painting a picture of a steady and stable stream. these precisely speak of the essence of a mastery of gentleness as strength to me.

conversely, dfs's way in mastering power is very largely premised on taking action because he literally had no other choice in the environment he grew up in. both of them develop in opposite ways. it was the case of gentleness for lxy clearly because he grew up in a safe, nurturing environment that had allowed him to be slow and steady at his own pace, drawing on his natural gifts.

now top of the wulin world at 17, li xiangyi founds sigu sect. li xiangyi, the boy before becoming menzhu and li xiangyi the leader of sigu sect are not the same.

how then did a (relatively) passive boy like lxy end up founding sigu sect. this lxy is the one who was fostered into competition - though not in an abusive, twisted way. in fact he was raised in a rather taoist way by his shifu: to be honest with yourself and respect your opponent. so he honoured whatever powers he had been bestowed with by nature. he gives into it. even so, at another level, I just have a sense that shifu and shiniang's competitive marital spat had an insidious effect on the boys...though the detrimental effect was more on sgd than lxy. baby lxy feels like a sweet-natured kid who was just in his own zone, you know - some (aka sgd) would say, too much of him even, to have not realised what was wrong at all with his shixiong for years.

that's not all of course. I've always gotten the vibes that his attitude behind forming sigu sect felt more like, this is what all the good men of jianghu do and I will have to do it now especially that I'm the best. it didn't feel particularly personal to me, but rather what would have been expected of him by the social climate of wulin jianghu (eg. lxy saying to 光耀师门 bring honour to his teacher). it's definitely not an expectation from his shifu, who explicitly told him that he was never expected to become a noble figure of any sort, but just to be alive and contented. as concluded by the man himself as li lianhua: "有些人入了江湖是为了立心，而有的人入江湖为的是立命。我却不知道自己真正想要的是什么。some people enter jianghu for the cultivation of the mind, others for a cultivation of a meaningful life. but I never knew what I truly wanted." he was ultimately, unwittingly a passive player in his own story of becoming the great sigu sect leader.

(at this point, as a side note, I do wonder if there were any other similar sects or alliances that function the same as sigu sect that came before it. because I'm damn well sure there must be something, as likely as there must have been generations of wulin legends who came before lxy. but of course, this is not what the story is concerned with at all and I'm ok with that.)

it's crucial to point out that, even despite this being the phase of his yang in the display of taking action and enacting firmness, lxy had still done sigu sect with the sole purpose and manner of upkeeping peace and order (in the way of the pro-universal love, anti-aggression mohist 侠 xia leader of the people). he's still very characterised by yin in my books, especially when vis-à-vis to sgd.

a li xiangyi full of himself and made himself too useful to the people was only bound for a great asteroidal fall, in the concept of 物极必反 - or in taoist lexicon 反者道之动 (ie. anything that has reached its limit will only start developing in the opposite direction). if you think you're above all, you can only go down.

this manifests during the next time he took action - and it was one so forceful that it overpowered even his opponent, dfs who ended up being the passive, receiving party in this case - was in initiating the battle at donghai 10 years ago... and gee oh boy. it didn't end well - for both of them, but even more so for lxy. (dfs was like 'tis but a scratch (shrugs)' as compared to him being ripped off his tendons by jiao liqiao like nezha did to the dragon prince. truth is he had to go into a 10-year healing retreat served by his entourage. :p) ok, I digress.

xiao zijin was quick to attribute sigu sect's fall to lxy's arrogance - in turn setting the stage for lxy's 10 years of self-hatred and the framing of lxy as a villain? irresponsible figure? by jianghu. (god forbid girls do anything! ok for legal reasons, this a joke.) lxy lost his mind in ways I believe he never had in his life there and then upon seeing his shixiong dead. so, you could say he led the jianghu world to ruins out of love (using this term loosely). but it feels inaccurate to say it's due to arrogance. he did not do that out of self-importance or ego, especially when the revenge for sgd was a collective decision made by sigu sect as we know from the flashback. so when llh pinned all fault on himself for being arrogant in the past, it is with caution to take his words because that's the unreliable narrator in him speaking.

anyway, it's precisely li xiangyi that is capable of bouncing back from such a fatal crisis, equipped with his yin and a mastery that gave him the power of flexibility.

it's extremely vital to re-establish that literally the only thing that was keeping li xiangyi alive, physically, as li lianhua is yangzhouman. (monk wuliao literally said that to lxy even though he did facilitate in saving him.) it's the yangzhouman that was drawn from lxy's mastery of yin. without yangzhouman, li xiangyi would not even have the chance to become li lianhua and undergo any needed process of transformation. without li xiangyi, there would have been no yangzhouman. no li xiangyi, no li lianhua, get it?

the point is not to deny the change li xiangyi wants to make and has made. but to acknowledge that change isn't about complete erasure and destruction. something from you survives. something in you had kept you alive to have you come so far, regardless of all the bad bits that you want to denounce of. you've always been worth it.

bringing back the thing about his new name: the distinction must be made that he did not pick it because it was feminine but it just so happened a feminine name had resonated with him. (read: he didn't necessarily identify as a woman but identified with femininity. at least within the parameters of canon text.)

he also made an interesting choice to retain his surname for someone who was desperate to sever ties from his past. hmm. or maybe he wasn't that desperate? when li lianhua says li xiangyi is dead, I believe it meant that li xiangyi the sigumen menzhu is dead rather than li xiangyi as an entirety. li lianhua is a returning to the path lxy could have gone if he did not establish sigu sect, the path that shifu wanted him to take. when he walked to the doors of sigu sect in the aftermath, nothing was actually stopping him from going back (people were still around and alive, instead of all dead people, you know)... except for himself. taking that action would have been too much for him. so he went with the flow of life giving him a chance at rebirth and walked away. there, inaction as a form of action.

zhan yunfei and qiao wanmian have said to li lianhua, oh that doesn't sound like li xiangyi at all. but has it been considered that, maybe it was sigu sect's lxy who wasn't the real lxy? sigu sect lxy was one big performance of the values of masculinity and heteronormativity that llh had came to an awareness of, and eventually struggle with again and resist against in the final year of his life. there had only been some glimpses of his true nature allowed (validated by fang duobing talking about lxy at his altar).

imho, most flashbacks of lxy during that period felt impersonal and more like a template of a hero expected to marry his girl at 18. going through all the motions and steps of a normative life even before he was old enough to grasp and explore his own identity and what it meant in the world. no wonder he denounced so much of what he had done as lxy including liking girls. walking away then also meant a walk away from those duties and expectations. li lianhua is li xiangyi liberated from masculine duties and heteronormative performance.

in doing that, he had the opportunity for the first time in his life to explore what he truly wanted, at least within the parameters of what he could afford to do at that point. he could go on to build a domestic, feminine life within the space of jianghu (as I've established here). it's a kind of feminine lifestyle that doesn't quite exist in mainstream society - being a woman there meant to stay put in a domestic space without much room to move socially. nor did it exist in wulin jianghu because even the women there like shi-guniang and jlq were expected to be masculine, aggressive, competitive. so building a mobile home in the space of jianghu is his way of defining the life he wants and can have. li lianhua is the extension of femininity in li xiangyi - and one that can be free.

it's also worth talking about in my opinion what is one of the most important and a favourite dihua moment: when dfs said to lxy that his greatest weakness was to like being a hero. and a swordsman should be without weaknesses. I'm forever wrapped up in how many layers this can be read in. was he mad at lxy for liking to be a hero or having weaknesses, or both? if the former, it was dfs criticising, based on lxy's public reputation, lxy's oversized illusions about being a hero - a figure of masculinity with an unrealistic sense to uphold noble goals eg. saving the world etc. that is actually perfectly logical coming from dfs, the straightforward, no-nonsense, morally neutral guy with no illusions about heroism (in this case, he feels more like a yin). but at the same time, we should understand that lxy's motivations behind the donghai battle are more personal than noble. if any, it was actually the opposite of noble - it was like he was acting out of the role of a caretaker of his family, and at a cost of the peace and order of jianghu he was set on guarding(!!) dfs also knew that lxy was there just for his shixiong. and so, dfs, who happens to be the epitome of yang, can be read as a symbol of masculinity disapproving of lxy for being sentimental and emotional; for having the "feminine" desires to simply want to defend his family (not saying those are exclusively feminine traits but they have been conventionally associated as feminine). I think both layers of reading are correct and should work together to contribute to the complexity of their characters. (we can see how it contributes to lxy and dfs being the perfect yinyang halves to each other, which I will come back to briefly touch on later.)

for 10 years he lived a life of seclusion and staying-in-his-own-lane a taoist would be proud of. he knew he was dying and has always been ok with dying, as he claimed. but did he want to die? to think of it, it was the opposite. because in those 10 years when he could have 100% just taken action to take his own life, he didn't. in fact, he lived on and took care of himself in the way shifu wanted him to. he had simply preferred letting nature run its course. if bicha didn't take him, he wasn't gonna do anything. but if he died one day very soon, he would be ok with it too. sure, he was maybe banking on a lead to sgd's whereabouts to appear during his last years alive but that clearly wasn't the only thing on his mind for NINE years because he didn't actively go out seeking for that either. this is basically him telling dfs that he would just lie in the sun and wait for the sweet release of death, if dfs were to force him to fight. not even the mortal threat from dfs was enough to move him into action of fighting back or killing himself.

time and again, lxy as llh was dragged into fdb's cases but not only that, he also maintained an impersonal distance with them. it's starkly different from the usual (wuxia) hero archetypes (for eg. fdb) who would be more impassioned and personally invested in the plight of the victims- or unlike most seemingly aloof protagonists who would somehow grow emotionally invested over time. one of the many things I love about llh is that he never tries a second time to persuade people out of their decisions he finds unwise (eg. him just wanting to move on in response to the girls in 女宅 insisting on staying behind with their slave master at first.) he will not interfere in other people's choices made in their own lives. it's not his business. he didn't even want to be there, to be honest.

however as the story progresses, more and more people - especially men, his past, and the leads to the truth came back to demand and taunt him into doing something. they vary from well-meaning people without any harm intended such as fdb intruding upon his private space completely uninvited and qwm wanting him back; to dfs merely seeking him as a mean to an end initially (eg. I only need him to live long enough to have one last fight); and finally, on the other end of the spectrum, outright aggressive and hostile people like sgd and xzj who wanted him to die. under all this pressure, he tried his best to deflect, but he does waver especially when it comes to matters concerning the people he cares about aka his obsession wish of 10 years of looking for sgd's remains that had lied low until fdb entered his life, and then later on taking revenge for his shifu.

looking for sgd became his final bid at taking action. he was operating on a slim chance of getting some emotional closure from finding out his shixiong is dead for real, yes. what a good plan. but objectively unnecessary. or surprise! uhhh...finding out his beloved shixiong is actually alive and would strangle him for one corn chip? AND OH NO IT GOT WORSE- uncovering a devastating truth about his shifu's death that he could have totally gone on with life fine without knowing if he had continued not caring.

but it is sometimes just impossible not to care - it is only human to care. and he is human, not an icon in the image of a hero. so he took a chance, once more, and it killed him in unprecedented ways. it's donghai all over again. things in life don't go as planned. you fuck around and it fucks you back. finding out the truth behind his shifu's death and his family background from the past did nothing for him as li lianhua living in the present.

it's no wonder that this lxy decisively relinquishes the desire to take action in the end. he goes back to letting nature run its course. and this time, stands firmly to it despite everyone begging him otherwise. wangchuan flower could only give him a recovery (or survival?) rate of 30%. there's a 70% chance of failure and even in the 30% he was not sure what he was to become. in comparison, dfs took a 10% chance game of survival in a heartbeat, and it pushed him to new heights. that's how they differ: he thrives by taking risks and action while lxy the other way round. so, something like that has happened before and he wants none of it again.

he leaves lotus tower, only taking his horse and a sack - relinquishing almost every other material belonging he had - and sets off on a journey. before xzj interrupted...where to was he going?? I wonder. we don't know for sure, I think? and are we allowed to know? that makes the scene he had with xzj an understated inflection point in the very last part of his journey. yes, he was already on his way to...maybe die? but not necessarily. you don't have to travel distances with your belongings for that, right? or speak to dfs personally about not wanting to fight? (borrowing one of @ananeiah's takes.) regardless, he was definitely leaving behind jianghu - not only wulin jianghu (he already did that 10 years ago), but also the jianghu space he had carved out in the last 10 years.

what sparked the decision to jump off the cliff in him was dfs's words from the night of their wedding 10th donghai anniversary: 横扫天下容易，断相夷太剑不易 conquering the world is easy, breaking xiangyi sword is not. in the original context, dfs was talking about defeating lxy being harder than conquering the world. but when it came to this scene, it was to lxy about forsaking the very last worldly possessions he had after already giving up on lotus tower and hulijing (including releasing his horse), especially his only connection left to swordsman lxy.

perhaps it had dawned on him that, wanting things at all was bad for him. in the last 10 years, he lived a life of seclusion, wanting very little. but he had still wanted things. there were still things he couldn't let go of that had led him to this state. despite having lived on an identity inspired by a buddhist teaching for 10 years, maybe it was only at this point that he was finally the closest to reaching an understanding of it. (I wish I was knowledgeable enough right now to dive into the possible buddhist reading here but alas. I'll leave it to our resident expert @markiafc)

it doesn't quite matter in the end where he was going after all. what mattered was that he literally went where the water took him and we're not supposed to know where it ends. I'm not seeing this in a bad and pessimistic way though. I think the relief in all this is that he had tried his best to within his abilities. also it's a form of enlightenment in relinquishing a desire, an obsession, a need to take any more action in order to live well. thus his ending felt to me relatively tender, empowering, and kind - albeit bittersweet and heartaching - than other possible kinds of ending, in a story where it was very possible for him to have died under the knives of his opponents or bicha at any moment, outside of his control.

if you've come so far in this post, congratulations! but also a reveal is that... you're not immune to the dihua propaganda threaded throughout this post. :P

as mentioned, other men like sgd and xzj in lxy's life were incredibly hostile to him. their yang nature overwhelmingly powers his yin. but dfs is different. dfs is the yang counterpart that fits perfectly to his yin.

dfs's yang is one that contains yin, that mirrors lxy's balance of yang in yin. it was suggested in text they are yinyang-coded meant to complement each other, given that whenever wangchuan flower's yin vs yang properties were discussed, the two men were always spoken about in the same breath. more importantly, as with the above few analyses of dfs's words playing a big role in shaping of lxy's choices with multiple meanings - as well as their day-to-day interactions - we can see that they constantly play off each other.

dfs's yang energy has been used to help lxy prolong his life (though not saving him entirely), while lxy has used his yin energy to save dfs and subsequently helped him attain his breakthrough. dfs has also helped lxy in his breakthrough of yin but not in the same way as dfs's cultivation of his combative powers, and rather, it's for lxy an understanding of his own path to take in life - a cultivation of the mind (both times 10 years before and after). given how significant dfs is in the shaping of lxy's realisation of the yin path - alike his shifu has, it's no wonder that they were the only two people lxy had imagined in his last sword dance of a farewell to jianghu.

with each of them coming together to form the perfect yin-yang model, they're a harmony of yin and yang representing the cosmos. what I also love is that they didn't start out as a perfect fit, but only towards the end of the story was the harmonisation completed, which makes sense for two components that are always in a flux influencing each other. the fact that they were number 1 and 2 of wulin, and being the only ones capable of understanding each other in a level nobody else could... it all reinforces the cosmic sense of their relationship. they're the halves to a whole, fitting in a specific way nobody else can.

(I mean. technically this is going into the space of extrapolation based on a tangential interpretation of canon text, so do take it with a pinch of salt. but of course this pinch of salt can do wonders for a shipper's feast... :P and this certainly could have been a meta of its own expanding on dfs's side of the analysis, but this is it for now in this context.)

to think of it, li xiangyi has actually died more than that one time that turned him into li lianhua. first was a death of him as a nanyin royalty - I resent having to bring up nanyin like it should hold any weight to the narrative as far as I'm concerned, but the point being that he had a completely different (familial-based) life before that still stands. then he had a rebirth as li xiangyi, disciple and swordsman to his shifu and shiniang, and later died again when li xiangyi the sigu sect leader took over. lxy the sigu sect leader died at sea in the battle 10 years ago and came back as li lianhua. (just like nezha, died after battling at east sea and rebirthed from the lotus) li lianhua then dies by the end of the drama.

there can be a myriad of interpretations as to what exactly happened to him, including the possibility that he's still alive. regardless, we can agree that li lianhua as an identity has ran its course, and he had to evolve again. but into what form?

in the line of thought of yin and femininity, and how his transformation has been in an increasing degree of presentation of femininity - even way back when I was watching the show, I had the idea of him living socially as a woman post-li lianhua. I don't know what he would be realistically doing or what could be practical for him in such an identity. but conceptually it was sensible and compelling to me before diving deeper into the details. (I have more elaboration to do on this that I won't be talking about here publicly but it is in the same strain of idea as this other comparative meta I wrote.)

I think the next possible identity lxy can assume - alive in the material realm or not - is one that will be beyond a material being. a nameless entity. once you've gone through the phases of life - from not knowing to knowing, and perfecting knowledge, then to the surpassing of knowledge - you surpass all worldly existence, and become one with the cosmos.

I end this off with an excerpt from Tao Te Ching's Chapter 41 (I'm not pretending to have read the whole book ok but I couldn't resist including this):

明道若昧，进道若退，夷道若纇 [...] 道隐无名 The bright path seems dim; Going forward seems like retreat; The easy way seems hard [...] The Tao is hidden and without name. (x)

the character translated into "easy" is the same 夷 yi of li xiangyi's name. somehow this seems to encapsulate the journey of his life: one that seems blessed and smooth-sailing but ending up to be rocky and turbulent. but at the end of the day, after all that he had been through, he will become hidden and without name.

#莲花楼 #mysterious lotus casebook #lhl #lhlmeta #my posts #a big win for the inaction fandom. lxy would have been patron saint #this inevitably turned into a 'lhl is a taoist and buddhist story if not a very chinese story' meta hbhjbjhbhjjb #the last thing i do before going to sleep is write this meta. the first thing i do after waking up is write this meta.#i feel so insane writing this. it kept growing like a monster. do you think this is a joke it's like my part-time job now #but it's one of the few times in my life i have confidence in my insanity. so.#crazier thing is. this meta is approaching 6k words yet i still think there must be things i haven't covered.#the last section is so nuts idk how i even wrote it guys i think i was possessed #it's also like the most pretentious way to put that he's dead in this world ok hjbjhbhjbhjbjbh #to be clear iirc the drama didn't say LXY'S POWER/ENERGY IS YIN in the same way it literally said dfs's energy is yang #but it's definitely implied by the explanation of the flower's healing properties for both of them. on top of yangzhouman #also fuck. another reason he didn't choose to save himself was so dfs could have the yang flower which he believed was what dfs wanted #thank u frens mark and ana for indulging my brain in the first time i brought the lxy as woman thing up. for it to have come this far #ofc disclaimer is that a lot of this is my own reading. it doesnt have to be agreed by everyone #i would be very happy though if any part of it resonated with anybody #also a good part of the analysis is based on my memory of the show. though i did revisit parts selectively to verify. sooooo. yeah.

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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

Text

We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up.

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop.

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone.

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified.

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide.

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either.

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows.

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative.

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing.

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets.

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like.

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner.

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot.

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting.

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck.

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out.

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!”

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him.

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?”

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first.

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse.

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #gotta be honest i do Not know much abt the We Are Robin movement. have yet to read those comics....#also this definitely deviated a bit from your prompt. sorry!! still hope i got the main things you wanted to see #duke being dannys hero is something so special to me...#also it is his parents selling weapons and blueprints and things to the giw which is then given to the military for new weapons #a truly terrible pipeline #duke and jason and whoever else joins will find the source of the weapons. break into the fenton home. and dannys just there eating toast #in his pjs like. um hi guys did u need something? (and staring at duke like DUDE HELLO WTF??)#a mess of a situation :) not gonna write it bc i know it would get away from me and get so long #thanks for the prompt!!

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