"Sleeping Beauty" PG-13, DemiLovato/SelenaGomez
Title: Sleeping Beauty
Fandom: Disney RPF
Pairing: Demi-centric, Demi/Selena
Rating:PG-13
Words: ~2500
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, borrowing real people's personas based on my personal perceptions of them. Not intended for profit or offense.
This foundation may be too dark, now. You’ve been kept indoors for so long, you’re most certainly not as tan as when you arrived. Not that you were ever, like, Almond Joy Dark. Maybe if you just dab a little bit - yes, yes that looks all right. Just the cheeks, and forehead. A quick stroke on the nose. OK. Good start. Rollin’ right along now, ain’t we?
Looking inside the make-up bag Dallas brought for you, there’s not a real big selection of eye shadow. But you’re still tentative as you pull out a black as dark as the night, a silver dawn gray, a dark ocean blue, a palette of deep earthy brown and light tan, and a pink as bright as that Von Dutch trucker hat Dallas got for graduation. You always liked that hat, but you know you could never pull it off. Dallas has the head shape for fashion trendy trucker hats. You don’t.
No, stop that. That’s not helping, you know it. Shake it off, shake it off. You’re better now, you know how to overcome those insecurities and doubts and childhood traumas, or whatever. This time away has helped, it most definitely has. Talking to people, to people who know what they’re talking about, who went to school and help tons of other people find their success stories; those people have helped you. Who cares if all the gossip sites call it “rehab” - like you’ve gone off the rails, crazy, nutso (… it was just that one time, you’ve never lost control like that since, never lost control and gave in to the urge to hit someone, even when they’re being total assholes… and you’ll make damn sure it never happens again, because you’re stronger than that). Yea, who cares? Not you. There are people out there trying to bring you down. You wont let them. You can’t.
Hmm. All that pep talk still isn’t getting your make-up on any faster, and your family’s out at reception waiting to take you home. Time to make a decision. How do you want to look on your first day as a free woman? Should you be somber, keep it low-key and subtle? Or… or should you be bold, confident and head-held-high, like you knew you would be ok from the get-go, and now you’re out to prove it…? But… but were you?
Put a little of the blue on your fingertip. It’s a pretty color, and it would look nice with your shirt today… rub the dust between your finger and thumb. If you smudge it, you could blend a little pink at the edges, really make your eyes pop. Hmmm.
No. No, not blue. Wipe that off. God, do you want to look like a whore?
Shit, stop that! Stop thinking like that. Ok? Just chill.
Ok. If not a pretty color, how about the absence of color? Grab that brush-sponge thing, what’s it called? Whatever, just, put that black on, nice even layer. Ok, that’s all right.
Wait… wait no, no, now you look fucking emo. Jesus Christ. You can’t do anything right, can you -
Stooooooooooop it - !
It's a constant struggle, that's what your Nurse said, parting words of advice whenever she came to do rounds. Every day's a struggle, but hey, at least you're fighting. At least you aren't gonna roll over and let your subconscious ruin your life. And that's something.
It's fine, just clean it off with the napkin - ouch! - not like you’re trying to rip off your eyelids! Just… there, ok. OK, see? Now your eyes are darker, but they aren’t blackholes. That’s good. Here, add some brown, and that bronze one, right on the crease. Ok. Looks good. Looks great! And a little silver-gray at the top makes you look lighter, brighter. Just like Mom taught you. Those pageants were good for something after all, besides the intensive body-image issues.
Eye shadow: check. Eye liner… should be easy, it’s always just black. But…. Should you run it on your waterline, or just the edges of your eyes… Ugh, was putting on make-up ever this difficult? Quite being a spaz and just hurry up!
Your family’s out there. They’re gonna take you home, give you a home cooked meal, probably one of your favorites, and then you’ll all spend the evening together, in the living room, maybe absently watching TV, but really you’ll just be so talkative, asking everyone what they’ve been up too. You’ll sit on the couch between Mom and Dallas, and Eddie, dad, will keep getting up to go to the kitchen, asking if you want anything, tending to your every whim, and Madison, oh, Madison. She’ll want to sit in your lap and hold your hand the whole time, and you’ll hug her close and stroke her hair, and kiss her temple when things get quiet. Maybe you can get Dallas to fake-braid your hair - she hasn’t done that since, you don’t even know, a long ass time, but you just want her to touch you, be near, and with your mom always glancing at you with that small smile of hers, everything will just be so perfect. So perfect.
Perfect, if only you can hurry your multi-talented ass up and get back out there, to the world. To your music, to your acting, to all your fans. To all the haters, but you’ve got this on lock, and ain’t no way they can get to you. No way, Jose.
Ha, cheesy. That’s Selena’s gift to you; you can't ever hear that phrase now without imaging her saying it, her face serious, her eyebrows narrowed, her voice going all deep and putting waaay too much Mexican in her accent, making even the “way” sound foreign. In actuality you haven’t heard her say that in… a very long time. It’s been a long time.
Hey, hey now, don’t go there. Don’t go getting all sad and angry and lonely and emo so that you end up crying and just WASTE all that progress we just did with the eye shadow. C’mon now, chin up. Time for lipstick.
Maybe just lip gloss? Or chap stick? Nah, you need a little color, your skin is way too pale, that foundation needs a back up. This red light district red is most definitely not yours though - you must have borrowed it… from someone on tour, maybe Chloe - and Dallas just grabbed it and put it in the travel case she dropped off this morning. You can’t be wearing that fresh outta rehab - erh, hiatus. Not rehab. Anyway.
Ah, thank God! Here’s your trusty MAC, No. 501. That’s good, feels great. Looks great, you love this color. Perfect, pop your lips. Smile! Smile, Demi! Ok, well, we can work on that. No need to be all smiles just yet, it can wait till you’re safe at home and there’s no cameras or photographers. Which will be soon! So soon - you ready? Check it out, give yourself a once-over. God, it’ll be so good to leave this room, this bathroom. The walls reflected in the mirror always looked so… drab. Kinda depressing, but maybe it fits. Or maybe not, since this place is supposed to get rid of depression. How’s your hair? Hmm… presentable. Step back a ways, let’s see your butt. You look thinner, maybe. Probably. But, like, it’s not as if not being thinner is bad. No, you’ve learned, or rather, made yourself accept, that your body is beautiful, just the way it is. Gain or lose a few, makes no difference. Who’s beautiful, Demi? Who’s beautiful? You are. That’s right.
That’s right. You used to know that. You used to have someone to tell you that, almost everyday. And the thing was, you really believed her, when she said it. Sometimes, when other people say it, it sounds fake. Like they’re just saying that, because hey, words are easy, and they know it’s easy to make you smile if they say that. But it wasn’t like that with Selena. Everything was different with Selena.
When Selena spoke, you listened. And that little voice in the back of your head, this voice right now, couldn’t say a word. It was powerless against Selena. When you sang her songs, and you were nervous, watching her watch you, knowing you had been a little pitchy towards the end, but then she’d smile and clap her hands together, and her eyes would speak her praise before her mouth could catch up, and when she said it was beautiful, that you were amazing, you believed it. Pitchy? Please. That’s called being real, as Selena would say.
Selena used to call you Sleeping Beauty. Way back when. Wow, that was a repressed memory - you almost completely forgot that she did that. At a sleepover, watching you brush your hair in the bathroom mirror while she brushed her teeth. “Yuza Shweppin Buufy,” she said. And you’d be like, “What?” And she’d spit her toothpaste in the sink and wipe her mouth, and be like, “I said, ‘You’re a Sleeping Beauty.’” And you’d still be like, “….what?” and then she’d… she’d take your brush and come up behind you and start brushing your hair for you, and touch your face with the backs of her fingers, and say, “I mean, like, you’re so pretty, but you don’t know it. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world, but you’re asleep, and so you don’t know.” And then you’d look down at your fingers, playing with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, and just be like “…oh.”
And then you’d apologize. Say, “Sorry,” and she’d give you this funny look in the mirror, and then pinch your arm. “Don’t be sorry! It’s not your fault you were put under a curse and can’t see yourself. Besides, it’s the prince’s job to wake you up, and tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. Duh,” She’d put down the brush and walk back to your room, cuddle in with the covers, and wait for you to amble in after her. Climbing in next to her, you’d settle down and reach for her hands. “So… tell me more about this prince,” you’d say in a funny voice, with a funny face, that made Selena giggle and cuddle in closer to you so that she could rest her forehead against yours. “I don’t know much about your prince, Dems. All I know is that you wake up with a kiss, and then you know that you’re beautiful.”
“And then we have a happy ending?” and you’d feel a little silly about how hopeful you sounded just then. Selena would look thoughtful for a moment, then say, “Yup. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” And she’d give you a dazzling smile and squeeze your hand, and then you’d both fall asleep dreaming the dreams of little girls who wish for fame.
That whole thing actually only happened one time, but you’ve made memories of it over and over again. Thinking of it again now, you feel an unfamiliar kind of cough rise in your chest - a laugh, dear god! It’s a laugh! - and suddenly you’re laughing; it’s quiet and only shakes your shoulders a bit, but it’s a real laugh. Not like the little scoffs and barely-there chuckles you’ve been doing for the past few months. You’re laughing at the fact that the “happy ending” you two were hoping for, as the prince awakens his princess with a kiss, has a whole different meaning after puberty. That’s funny. In a sort of juvenile humor kind of way. It’s also kinda sad.
It’s time to go. Right now, time is flying by and you’re feeling outside of yourself, outside of your body that is receiving hugs from family and grabbing your things and holding your cell phone that you haven’t even seen since you came here, quickly pocketing it because you’re too afraid to find out if your friends flooded your inbox with texts or voicemails, or if they didn’t even bother. If they forgot about you.
The ride home is comfortable, it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in awhile, and yes, when you get home, Mom’s got enchiladas in the oven and there’s a marathon of Friends on TBS and the couch has never felt softer, and neither has Maddie’s hair under your fingertips as she sits happily in your lap, and everything is just perfect. So perfect.
~/\~
It’s a few days after returning home when Demi thinks of the Sleeping Beauty memory again. She’s combing her hair in the mirror, her mind blissfully clear for a moment, when the memory just pops in suddenly, causing her to stop brushing. Looking at herself in the mirror, she tries to see through the eyes of someone cursed to not know their true self. She can see all the blemishes, all the marks of imperfection, but she can’t quite keep hold of that shining halo of beauty that Selena could see.
Demi looks to her phone sitting on her bed behind her. She turned it on for the first time only yesterday, and was a little overwhelmed at the amount of messages she had received. So many texts that she needed to delete from her full inbox. She was stupid to think that her friends and relatives would abandon her - well, at least most of them didn’t. She even got support from those not-so-close to her. Her heart had full-on clinically stopped beating in her chest when she came across a text from Selena, sent the day after she had checked into the health center. It said simply, “Praying for you.”
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Demi puts down her comb and grabs her cell phone. She scrolls through her contacts and stops at Selena’s name.
She presses the call button, not even remotely sure what she could possibly say. How long had it been since their last phone call? Are they even on phone call terms anymore? How do they go from not being on those terms, to back again? But it doesn’t matter now, the automated lady voice is telling her that she’s gone to voicemail. The tone beeps, and Demi is left with a gaping hole in her face out of which her words are supposed to come.
It takes her at least half a decade to make a coughing sound and clear her throat, and then she’s off, her words flowing out of her mouth, completely bypassing her brain’s censor.
“Sorry, hey, it’s Demi. I just wanted to call. To like, call. But not really talk, I’m actually glad this went to voicemail. But I’m sure you won’t be, seeing as you’re the one who has to listen to me spaz for an eternity, and can’t delete it till it’s over. At least that’s how my voicemail works. Good thing we have the same service provider. At least, I think we do. Or we did. Anyway.”
Demi pauses here, taking a deep breath, and looking back at the mirror across her room. She takes in her brushed, shiny hair, her freshly scrubbed skin and her un-make-up-ed face. She stares at herself as she speaks her next words quietly.
“Do you remember when you told me I was a Sleeping Beauty? That the prince was supposed to come and wake me up with a kiss, and then I’d see how beautiful I was and we’d have a happy fairy tale ending?”
Demi closes her eyes, trying to fight a sudden upwelling of tears, and whispers the words that she had kept in her heart for a very, very long time.
“I wish you had kissed me, Selena.”
~Fin
Fandom: Disney RPF
Pairing: Demi-centric, Demi/Selena
Rating:PG-13
Words: ~2500
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, borrowing real people's personas based on my personal perceptions of them. Not intended for profit or offense.
This foundation may be too dark, now. You’ve been kept indoors for so long, you’re most certainly not as tan as when you arrived. Not that you were ever, like, Almond Joy Dark. Maybe if you just dab a little bit - yes, yes that looks all right. Just the cheeks, and forehead. A quick stroke on the nose. OK. Good start. Rollin’ right along now, ain’t we?
Looking inside the make-up bag Dallas brought for you, there’s not a real big selection of eye shadow. But you’re still tentative as you pull out a black as dark as the night, a silver dawn gray, a dark ocean blue, a palette of deep earthy brown and light tan, and a pink as bright as that Von Dutch trucker hat Dallas got for graduation. You always liked that hat, but you know you could never pull it off. Dallas has the head shape for fashion trendy trucker hats. You don’t.
No, stop that. That’s not helping, you know it. Shake it off, shake it off. You’re better now, you know how to overcome those insecurities and doubts and childhood traumas, or whatever. This time away has helped, it most definitely has. Talking to people, to people who know what they’re talking about, who went to school and help tons of other people find their success stories; those people have helped you. Who cares if all the gossip sites call it “rehab” - like you’ve gone off the rails, crazy, nutso (… it was just that one time, you’ve never lost control like that since, never lost control and gave in to the urge to hit someone, even when they’re being total assholes… and you’ll make damn sure it never happens again, because you’re stronger than that). Yea, who cares? Not you. There are people out there trying to bring you down. You wont let them. You can’t.
Hmm. All that pep talk still isn’t getting your make-up on any faster, and your family’s out at reception waiting to take you home. Time to make a decision. How do you want to look on your first day as a free woman? Should you be somber, keep it low-key and subtle? Or… or should you be bold, confident and head-held-high, like you knew you would be ok from the get-go, and now you’re out to prove it…? But… but were you?
Put a little of the blue on your fingertip. It’s a pretty color, and it would look nice with your shirt today… rub the dust between your finger and thumb. If you smudge it, you could blend a little pink at the edges, really make your eyes pop. Hmmm.
No. No, not blue. Wipe that off. God, do you want to look like a whore?
Shit, stop that! Stop thinking like that. Ok? Just chill.
Ok. If not a pretty color, how about the absence of color? Grab that brush-sponge thing, what’s it called? Whatever, just, put that black on, nice even layer. Ok, that’s all right.
Wait… wait no, no, now you look fucking emo. Jesus Christ. You can’t do anything right, can you -
Stooooooooooop it - !
It's a constant struggle, that's what your Nurse said, parting words of advice whenever she came to do rounds. Every day's a struggle, but hey, at least you're fighting. At least you aren't gonna roll over and let your subconscious ruin your life. And that's something.
It's fine, just clean it off with the napkin - ouch! - not like you’re trying to rip off your eyelids! Just… there, ok. OK, see? Now your eyes are darker, but they aren’t blackholes. That’s good. Here, add some brown, and that bronze one, right on the crease. Ok. Looks good. Looks great! And a little silver-gray at the top makes you look lighter, brighter. Just like Mom taught you. Those pageants were good for something after all, besides the intensive body-image issues.
Eye shadow: check. Eye liner… should be easy, it’s always just black. But…. Should you run it on your waterline, or just the edges of your eyes… Ugh, was putting on make-up ever this difficult? Quite being a spaz and just hurry up!
Your family’s out there. They’re gonna take you home, give you a home cooked meal, probably one of your favorites, and then you’ll all spend the evening together, in the living room, maybe absently watching TV, but really you’ll just be so talkative, asking everyone what they’ve been up too. You’ll sit on the couch between Mom and Dallas, and Eddie, dad, will keep getting up to go to the kitchen, asking if you want anything, tending to your every whim, and Madison, oh, Madison. She’ll want to sit in your lap and hold your hand the whole time, and you’ll hug her close and stroke her hair, and kiss her temple when things get quiet. Maybe you can get Dallas to fake-braid your hair - she hasn’t done that since, you don’t even know, a long ass time, but you just want her to touch you, be near, and with your mom always glancing at you with that small smile of hers, everything will just be so perfect. So perfect.
Perfect, if only you can hurry your multi-talented ass up and get back out there, to the world. To your music, to your acting, to all your fans. To all the haters, but you’ve got this on lock, and ain’t no way they can get to you. No way, Jose.
Ha, cheesy. That’s Selena’s gift to you; you can't ever hear that phrase now without imaging her saying it, her face serious, her eyebrows narrowed, her voice going all deep and putting waaay too much Mexican in her accent, making even the “way” sound foreign. In actuality you haven’t heard her say that in… a very long time. It’s been a long time.
Hey, hey now, don’t go there. Don’t go getting all sad and angry and lonely and emo so that you end up crying and just WASTE all that progress we just did with the eye shadow. C’mon now, chin up. Time for lipstick.
Maybe just lip gloss? Or chap stick? Nah, you need a little color, your skin is way too pale, that foundation needs a back up. This red light district red is most definitely not yours though - you must have borrowed it… from someone on tour, maybe Chloe - and Dallas just grabbed it and put it in the travel case she dropped off this morning. You can’t be wearing that fresh outta rehab - erh, hiatus. Not rehab. Anyway.
Ah, thank God! Here’s your trusty MAC, No. 501. That’s good, feels great. Looks great, you love this color. Perfect, pop your lips. Smile! Smile, Demi! Ok, well, we can work on that. No need to be all smiles just yet, it can wait till you’re safe at home and there’s no cameras or photographers. Which will be soon! So soon - you ready? Check it out, give yourself a once-over. God, it’ll be so good to leave this room, this bathroom. The walls reflected in the mirror always looked so… drab. Kinda depressing, but maybe it fits. Or maybe not, since this place is supposed to get rid of depression. How’s your hair? Hmm… presentable. Step back a ways, let’s see your butt. You look thinner, maybe. Probably. But, like, it’s not as if not being thinner is bad. No, you’ve learned, or rather, made yourself accept, that your body is beautiful, just the way it is. Gain or lose a few, makes no difference. Who’s beautiful, Demi? Who’s beautiful? You are. That’s right.
That’s right. You used to know that. You used to have someone to tell you that, almost everyday. And the thing was, you really believed her, when she said it. Sometimes, when other people say it, it sounds fake. Like they’re just saying that, because hey, words are easy, and they know it’s easy to make you smile if they say that. But it wasn’t like that with Selena. Everything was different with Selena.
When Selena spoke, you listened. And that little voice in the back of your head, this voice right now, couldn’t say a word. It was powerless against Selena. When you sang her songs, and you were nervous, watching her watch you, knowing you had been a little pitchy towards the end, but then she’d smile and clap her hands together, and her eyes would speak her praise before her mouth could catch up, and when she said it was beautiful, that you were amazing, you believed it. Pitchy? Please. That’s called being real, as Selena would say.
Selena used to call you Sleeping Beauty. Way back when. Wow, that was a repressed memory - you almost completely forgot that she did that. At a sleepover, watching you brush your hair in the bathroom mirror while she brushed her teeth. “Yuza Shweppin Buufy,” she said. And you’d be like, “What?” And she’d spit her toothpaste in the sink and wipe her mouth, and be like, “I said, ‘You’re a Sleeping Beauty.’” And you’d still be like, “….what?” and then she’d… she’d take your brush and come up behind you and start brushing your hair for you, and touch your face with the backs of her fingers, and say, “I mean, like, you’re so pretty, but you don’t know it. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world, but you’re asleep, and so you don’t know.” And then you’d look down at your fingers, playing with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, and just be like “…oh.”
And then you’d apologize. Say, “Sorry,” and she’d give you this funny look in the mirror, and then pinch your arm. “Don’t be sorry! It’s not your fault you were put under a curse and can’t see yourself. Besides, it’s the prince’s job to wake you up, and tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. Duh,” She’d put down the brush and walk back to your room, cuddle in with the covers, and wait for you to amble in after her. Climbing in next to her, you’d settle down and reach for her hands. “So… tell me more about this prince,” you’d say in a funny voice, with a funny face, that made Selena giggle and cuddle in closer to you so that she could rest her forehead against yours. “I don’t know much about your prince, Dems. All I know is that you wake up with a kiss, and then you know that you’re beautiful.”
“And then we have a happy ending?” and you’d feel a little silly about how hopeful you sounded just then. Selena would look thoughtful for a moment, then say, “Yup. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” And she’d give you a dazzling smile and squeeze your hand, and then you’d both fall asleep dreaming the dreams of little girls who wish for fame.
That whole thing actually only happened one time, but you’ve made memories of it over and over again. Thinking of it again now, you feel an unfamiliar kind of cough rise in your chest - a laugh, dear god! It’s a laugh! - and suddenly you’re laughing; it’s quiet and only shakes your shoulders a bit, but it’s a real laugh. Not like the little scoffs and barely-there chuckles you’ve been doing for the past few months. You’re laughing at the fact that the “happy ending” you two were hoping for, as the prince awakens his princess with a kiss, has a whole different meaning after puberty. That’s funny. In a sort of juvenile humor kind of way. It’s also kinda sad.
It’s time to go. Right now, time is flying by and you’re feeling outside of yourself, outside of your body that is receiving hugs from family and grabbing your things and holding your cell phone that you haven’t even seen since you came here, quickly pocketing it because you’re too afraid to find out if your friends flooded your inbox with texts or voicemails, or if they didn’t even bother. If they forgot about you.
The ride home is comfortable, it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in awhile, and yes, when you get home, Mom’s got enchiladas in the oven and there’s a marathon of Friends on TBS and the couch has never felt softer, and neither has Maddie’s hair under your fingertips as she sits happily in your lap, and everything is just perfect. So perfect.
~/\~
It’s a few days after returning home when Demi thinks of the Sleeping Beauty memory again. She’s combing her hair in the mirror, her mind blissfully clear for a moment, when the memory just pops in suddenly, causing her to stop brushing. Looking at herself in the mirror, she tries to see through the eyes of someone cursed to not know their true self. She can see all the blemishes, all the marks of imperfection, but she can’t quite keep hold of that shining halo of beauty that Selena could see.
Demi looks to her phone sitting on her bed behind her. She turned it on for the first time only yesterday, and was a little overwhelmed at the amount of messages she had received. So many texts that she needed to delete from her full inbox. She was stupid to think that her friends and relatives would abandon her - well, at least most of them didn’t. She even got support from those not-so-close to her. Her heart had full-on clinically stopped beating in her chest when she came across a text from Selena, sent the day after she had checked into the health center. It said simply, “Praying for you.”
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Demi puts down her comb and grabs her cell phone. She scrolls through her contacts and stops at Selena’s name.
She presses the call button, not even remotely sure what she could possibly say. How long had it been since their last phone call? Are they even on phone call terms anymore? How do they go from not being on those terms, to back again? But it doesn’t matter now, the automated lady voice is telling her that she’s gone to voicemail. The tone beeps, and Demi is left with a gaping hole in her face out of which her words are supposed to come.
It takes her at least half a decade to make a coughing sound and clear her throat, and then she’s off, her words flowing out of her mouth, completely bypassing her brain’s censor.
“Sorry, hey, it’s Demi. I just wanted to call. To like, call. But not really talk, I’m actually glad this went to voicemail. But I’m sure you won’t be, seeing as you’re the one who has to listen to me spaz for an eternity, and can’t delete it till it’s over. At least that’s how my voicemail works. Good thing we have the same service provider. At least, I think we do. Or we did. Anyway.”
Demi pauses here, taking a deep breath, and looking back at the mirror across her room. She takes in her brushed, shiny hair, her freshly scrubbed skin and her un-make-up-ed face. She stares at herself as she speaks her next words quietly.
“Do you remember when you told me I was a Sleeping Beauty? That the prince was supposed to come and wake me up with a kiss, and then I’d see how beautiful I was and we’d have a happy fairy tale ending?”
Demi closes her eyes, trying to fight a sudden upwelling of tears, and whispers the words that she had kept in her heart for a very, very long time.
“I wish you had kissed me, Selena.”
~Fin