#dating seems real fraught these days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tsarisfanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

One Year

Fandom: Heroes of Olympus Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace

When the aftermath of one war overlaps with the anniversary of another, something has to give.

Day six of @solangeloweek “collab”. This fic was inspired by @burning-moths Solangelo art; thank you for letting me write something to go along with it, moth! I hope you enjoy it! This is pre-relationship, set a few weeks after the end of BOO.

Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

The date snuck up on Nico. It probably snuck up on most of the rest of the camp, too, the demigods frayed from the almost-war against the Romans, and then the actual war against Gaia, all of them losing track of the days as they struggled through the aftermath of cease-fire, alliances and brutal honesty between the camps. As the only demigod considered “impartial”, having spent next to no time in Camp Half-Blood while still being Greek, yet holding the Ambassador of Pluto title for Camp Jupiter, Nico found himself stretched particularly thin as almost all the meetings demanded his presence some way or another.

Of course, he was also having to fit that in between a certain son of Apollo’s demands that he rest, insistence that he spend three days in the infirmary, and general presence everywhere Nico turned – or a yawning gap in his periphery when he wasn’t there, which was something Nico was spending a lot of time not thinking about – which made everything that bit more fraught.

Ironically, it was the most welcome he’d ever felt at camp. The attention was overwhelming at times, and more than once, Hazel had dug him out of cabin thirteen, reminding him that he wasn’t allowed to shadow travel just yet (his sister had spent far too much time with a certain healer, and to Nico’s horror they had quickly allied against him), and gently nudging him to if not socialise, at least not be a hermit.

Nico wasn’t sure who realised the date first. It might have been one of the Romans, making an offhand comment about Mount Orthys and how it seemed bizarre that they’d had two wars within a year, it might have been one of the Greeks making the same comment, but the mood at Camp Half-Blood took a sudden dive into sombre as it sank in.

The sixteenth of August wasn’t a date that had any real significance to Nico, but it was the first day of the Battle of Manhattan, and the Greek demigods couldn’t forget that date even if they tried. Even if it snuck up on them and ambushed them in the wake of another war.

Nico hadn’t joined the battle until the seventeenth, on the cusp of Percy’s birthday when his father finally caved to his demands that he set aside his differences and fight, and he’d never really known what had happened before his arrival. He’d never expected to know, either, but when he trudged into the infirmary for his obligatory check-up and found Will Solace missing his usual sunshine aura, something didn’t quite settle in his mind.

The son of Apollo had been waning steadily since Gaia’s defeat; Nico had almost never seen him outside of the infirmary, aside from short breaks when Chiron or his siblings kicked him out, or that one memorable occasion when he’d collapsed and sent the entire infirmary into an uproar. Physically, Will didn’t look as bad as he had done at times, but the small smile he dragged onto his face was painfully, transparently, fake, and there was no energy at all in his voice.

“Be right with you.” No Death Boy, Lord of Darkness or any of the other ridiculous nicknames Nico had found headed his way since the battle. Nothing to indicate Will even knew who had stepped in the door, even though his light blue eyes had flickered up from some sort of paperwork when the door had opened.

Something had drained all the life from the demigod, leaving him almost as pale and lacklustre as Nico himself, and it felt wrong. Maybe it was hypocritical of him to complain about someone being withdrawn and antisocial when that was his own default state of being, and realistically he knew he couldn’t expect Will to be chipper all the time, but Nico didn’t like it.

“You look like you should be the one this side of the desk,” he said bluntly, leaning against the desk in question. He was ignored – no quip about how Will was the doctor, or even an attempt at deflection. Just silence as the son of Apollo finished scrawling something down in handwriting that was even less legible than usual before putting his pen down and pushing himself to his feet.

Nico half-expected him to sway on the spot, but Will remained stable even though he moved lethargically, as though his limbs weighed several times what they should and he was pushing through molasses. It might have been more reassuring if Will had fallen; at least then there would have been something obvious that Nico could do something about.

Suspicious but with nothing to latch onto, Nico followed when he was mechanically led into the infirmary and suffered through Will poking and prodding at him in silence. The other demigod wasn’t as warm as usual, not in his demeanour (although he made a solid if pathetic attempt at faking it) and not where his fingers touched Nico’s skin, and Nico felt like he should say something.

He just didn’t know what.

Did he know Will well enough to call him out on whatever he was pretending didn’t exist? Will called him out on things all the time, not always relating to his health, so Nico could probably return the sentiment, but he had no idea what to expect. Will could be stubborn; memories of the son of Apollo dragging himself back to work in the infirmary barely minutes after regaining consciousness despite Chiron and his siblings protesting loudly filled Nico’s mind.

But it didn’t feel right to go along with Will’s façade. Nico’s gut told him something was wrong and a chance sighting of the date scrawled on the paperwork Will was making notes on as he confirmed that Nico was indeed on his way back to a clean bill of health (although he refused to lift the ban on shadow travelling) abruptly reminded him of the upcoming anniversary.

“Okay, Solace,” he said, mouth ahead of his brain – body ahead of his brain, as his hand reached out and wrapped around the other boy’s wrist firmly. “You need a break.”

Lifeless blue eyes met his, devoid of the light Nico had come to associate with him. “I’m fine,” Will said, in a voice that sounded the complete opposite of fine. “My shift isn’t over yet.” The smile that stretched over his face was the least convincing yet, deformed and wobbly in a way that felt a lot like a cry for help, and Nico found himself having to make a decision.

Did he let it go, the way Will was clearly trying to get him to, walk away and leave the problem for someone else to handle – someone who was actually capable of handling whatever was going on – or did he dig his heels in and bulldoze his way through?

Most of his instincts were screaming for him to leave, pointing out that Nico could barely sort himself out, let alone anyone else, and that Will wasn’t asking him for help so he didn’t have to get involved.

The rest of him remembered Will reaching out when Nico refused to accept any hands, pushing past his walls because despite the way he was acting, he’d needed help, and saw the reversed situation in front of him.

Will needed something or someone. Help. Even Nico could see that, and although he was certain he was the worst person for the job, he was there and his feet wouldn’t let him turn around and leave. Nor would his heart.

“No-one needs help right now,” he pointed out, gesturing to the mostly-empty infirmary. No-one in it looked like they needed a doctor’s attention imminently; most of them seemed to be asleep. “Take a break, Solace.”

“I can’t-”

Nico yanked him to his feet and used the element of surprise to drag the other boy into an unoccupied corner of the room, away from anyone else. Will looked like he was on the verge of tears, and Nico once again realised how unqualified he was for dealing with whatever this was.

He soldiered on regardless, remembering stubborn blue eyes on the battlefield, snatching whatever time they could to convince Nico not to leave, even if it meant drawing the wrong sort of attention. If Will could try and bash some sense into him in a warzone, Nico could do it in the serenity of the infirmary.

“You look terrible,” he told him bluntly.

“It’s nothing, Nico,” Will tried to convince him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nico growled and tightened his grip on Will’s wrist when the son of Apollo tried to walk away. “It’s something,” he insisted. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t,” Will pleaded, his transparent façade cracking even as he visibly tried to hold it together. “Nico, I can’t.” He started shaking, and to Nico’s alarm, his bright eyes grew glassy with unshed tears. “I have to- Let me- I can’t.”

A single tear slipped down his face, and in a moment of blind panic, Nico found himself resorting to the same thing Bianca had done whenever he was unhappy, pushing away the memories of his sister as he yanked Will closer and laced his arms around him tightly.

“You need a break,” he repeated, tightening his grip when Will made a futile attempt at escaping before the fight seemed to drain from him entirely.

Nico was caught off-guard when a face buried itself in his shoulder and shaking arms wrapped around his own back. He was completely blindsided by the sobs as hands balled into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt.

Will clung to him tightly, crying near-silently but intensely, and Nico’s brain panicked as he realised he’d put himself in a situation far too far out of his depth for him to handle. There was no way to escape; shadow travel was still banned and there wasn’t a convenient shadow in reach anyway, and Will’s grip was far too tight to wriggle out of. All Nico could do was follow instincts he didn’t know he even had and hold the crying son of Apollo tightly, hoping it was helping.

At the least, now that Will’s façade was obliterated, he seemed disinterested in releasing Nico.

“I saw them die,” the son of Apollo hiccupped, an eternity later. His voice was thick and wet, and his head stayed buried in Nico’s shoulder. “The bridge… A year ago.”

The words were disjointed, but Nico could piece together the context. He didn’t know exactly what had happened during the Battle of Manhattan before he’d arrived, but he knew some of the broader strokes. The way they’d tried to hold the bridges and tunnels before being forced to retreat.

He’d known, in a detached way, that demigods had died. He’d been the one to perform their funerary rites in the days after Percy’s birthday and Kronos’ defeat. He’d never really known any of those demigods, though, and it was only a year later, with Will’s grief overflowing, that he remembered how many golden shrouds had been burned, some with bodies and some without.

Will’s siblings.

Siblings that Will knew, that he shared a cabin with, lived with.

Mourned.

“They’re in Elysium.” It was all he could think to say – everyone who had died fighting for Olympus had been fast-tracked straight through, honoured heroes one and all. Nico didn’t know how to comfort people, how to handle other people’s grief.

(He didn’t know how to handle his own grief.)

Will shuddered in his arms. “I know,” he sobbed. “Thank you.”

Nico wasn’t sure who he was thanking, or why, but nodded his head slightly anyway, silently acknowledging the words.

“It’s hard,” the son of Apollo stuttered a moment later. “I… It hurts. So many- Kronos smiled and Michael saved us- I miss them so much.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Nico swallowed and stayed quiet, letting Will struggle his way through incomplete sentences because he didn’t know what else to do and he hoped that having someone listening helped, even a little.

Eventually, Will ran out of steam and Nico felt him sag against him. He took that as a sign to pull Will down onto the nearest bed; the son of Apollo looked beyond exhausted, and Nico said nothing when a blond head fell onto his shoulder. He really did need a break, but he knew that if he tried to convince Will he’d get nowhere, and Will would probably have a point if he said that there was no-one else who could take over.

The other Apollo kids were no doubt equally grieving, and the rest of the camp just didn’t know enough to keep the infirmary going without them.

What Nico could do was stay with Will, making sure he didn’t overwork himself again for as long as his shift lasted, so that was exactly what he did.

#solangeloweek #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus fanfiction #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #tsari writes fanfiction #burning-moths

53 notes · View notes

theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

Note

Okay but I would LOVE to here your heretical opinions on Padame if you ever want to share them or any of your other views on star wars prequel characters. Your character analysises are INCREDIBLE and really fun to read <3

Oh boy, are you sure about that? Well, the ask has been made so here, we, gooooooooooooooo!

Padme’s one of those strange characters who appears as one thing but in actuality is quite different. Because she appears as the first thing, and it’s something people really like, most people accept that at face value and if she’s not always consistent--well, she came from a series of screenplays written by George Lucas.

Padme comes across as a very noble, kind, and courageous character who is also quite politically savvy. At fourteen, against all odds, she saves her planet from invasion when the Senate did nothing, secured herself an ally in the chancellor (nevermind him being secretly Palpatine), and even after relinquishing her title as queen remains a major player in the senate for years and is seen as enough of a threat to warrant several assassination attempts (one so bad she has to be guarded by Jedi and sent home to Naboo for several weeks).

And I’m not saying she’s not any of these things. Padme is very courageous, is one of those odd politicians who... believes she stands for what she believes in (more on this later), and has a remarkable political career.

However, she’s also romantic to the point of being completely and utterly delusional, self-centered, and frankly a little nuts.

(Yeah, you knew you were waiting for me to say something terrible, WEREN’T YOU?!) Right, so what’s wrong with Padme?

Well, if you look closely at a few of her choices, the ones that never seemed to make much sense, then you can look at her other choices and... Well, it all sort of comes together.

That’s right, I’m talking about “Attack of the Clones” and “Revenge of the Sith”.

Attack of the Clones we have the very lackluster and strange romance of Anakin and Padme.

On Anakin’s end, his infatuation with Padme makes a lot of sense. She was part of the party that rescued him from slavery, she was very kind to him, and was the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life. Ten years later, always having harbored a crush on her memory and keeping it alive through whatever news he hears of her, she’s grown into a very beautiful woman and Anakin is by chance introduced back into her life. I get why Anakin falls head over heels for Padme, I’ll get more into this later and how their relationship has some major issues (aside from the obvious), but I understand why he marries this girl out of nowhere even when it could get him thrown out of the Jedi. (As an aside, since this is more of a Padme post, I think Anakin was spurred on in part also by the death of his mother and his massacre of the Tusken Raiders. Anakin’s life was flipped upside down in a very short amount of time, one of his great emotional ties is suddenly gone, and I think he has this internal crisis that culminates in him deciding to marry Padme. Without this, he and Padme may have become lovers, but I don’t think he’d marry her).

On Padme’s end... it’s a little less clear. Anakin has grown into an attractive young man, yes. Take out all of George Lucas’ dialogue, and maybe Padme finds Anakin very charming. However, Padme secretly marries a Jedi she’s known for three weeks. Now, I’d be a bit more forgiving of this, love is love and we can’t always think rationally, but there’s some other things.

Unlike Anakin, Padme hasn’t been spending the past ten years romanticizing her memory of Anakin Skywalker. When they met in Phantom Menace, Anakin was not only five years younger than her, he was nine-years-old. To fourteen-year-old Padme, Anakin was not then dating material and was instead this poor boy in slavery. Which means while Anakin has build up justifying this rapid romance, Padme really doesn’t. What this means is that her romance with Anakin reads a lot more like a romantic fantasy. Cute dashing bodyguard shows up, saves her life, through contrived circumstances they’re sent back to beautiful Naboo where they spend time together, only cute bodyguard is a Jedi and can’t marry, which makes their love excitingly taboo!

Everything Padme does, before and after this point, lends itself to this overdeveloped sense of romance. Padme wants to be whisked away, wants to have this secret unsustainable marriage with a man who cannot be married, she’s in love with the idea of being in love. Given how little time she spends with Anakin, how little they really know of each other, I’d say she’s more in love with the idea of Anakin than Anakin Skywalker himself. And this isn’t a bad thing necessarily, or at least not a grievous flaw, however, that’s not all.

Padme chooses to marry Anakin knowing he murdered an entire village of men, women, and children. She marries him almost immediately after the massacre of the Tusken Raiders. Note, she does not learn about this later and have to come to terms with it, she is right there. She is on Tatooine with him and sees him go to do it and then return.

Padme doesn’t take it... particularly well, that said, she also seems to shove it under the carpet immediately. She, first, marries Anakin within days after this event. She second, never really has a “holy fuck, Anakin” conversation with him. And worst yet, she never confesses to anyone else. Padme is a hypocrite and willing to sacrifice everything she believes in, albeit I believe unwittingly, for her romantic fantasy.

She tells no one about what happened. An entire village was brutally massacred, those who are already poor and oppressed and have no voice, by a man who is supposed to be a protector of all people in the galaxy. I’m sorry, Anakin, but if Padme was who you think she is then she would have to tell the Jedi Order at the very least if not the Republic. Instead, there are no consequences, only Anakin’s descent into guilt and madness as three years pass with it festering in the back of his mind. Padme does not stand for the poor, for the people, or for justice. She only does so when it does not conflict with her own interests, i.e. her actions regarding the invasion of Naboo. More, I do not believe Padme has the introspection to realize this about herself, she never realizes that not narking on Anakin was very very very bad. Three years pass and she lives the whirlwind romantic fantasy that she and Anakin both want. They’re secret lovers/spouses, meeting up at the oddest hours of the day and... This is three years of this ridiculous affair. Three years to come to terms with the fact that something must change. And then the kicker, Padme gets pregnant, and this is where the extra delusional comes in.

The child should have been a signal of the end. There can be no more secret now. Padme is having a child, presumably out of wedlock, and even if space is very very very different from our society I imagine this would be quite the scandal that could even get her thrown out of the senate. I believe Padme mentions as much to Anakin. More, Anakin is no longer a lover, he is now a father. What’s supposed to happen now? They raise this secret child, instructing them that Anakin is only a father in private, never in public?

Anakin and Padme briefly flirt with the idea of Anakin leaving the order. Anakin even wants to do so, but it... never happens. Now is the time it absolutely should happen. Yes, Anakin’s a big part of the war effort, but he could at least start talking to the Order and they could decide if it’d be a slow or fast exit.

My theory, Padme’s too in love with the fantasy. Anakin leaving means he’s no longer a Jedi, it means he’ll come to Naboo, be unemployed and be around. Anakin visiting will no longer be this romantic, fraught with the danger of being found out, passionate, short lived event for Padme. It’ll become real life. He’ll be a real, ordinary man, she’ll be a real, ordinary, woman, and that spark of romance will be gone.

I don’t think Padme wants that.

Which is why, even with the child on the way, we see Anakin and Padme continue to play out this ridiculous secret lovers fantasy. And then, of course, Anakin goes insane off screen.

Padme is told that, once again, Anakin has murdered dozens of children. Of course, this is a terrible thing to be told and she can’t process it. She needs to find Anakin and confront him, but people always criticize Lucas here and feel it’s out of character for Padme to have run to Anakin in sobbing hysterics with no plan of enacting vengence.

Frankly, I think it’s very in character. She did nothing about the Tuskens, remember? I think at the end of the day, the murder of the Jedi children means very little to her. What hurts Padme the most is that the fantasy of Anakin she married is not real. The Anakin she married would never murder the Jedi children, betray the Republic, or do any of what he’s done. And I think Padme only has that strong, iron, will when she knows the world she’s in. With the Trade Federation, her stance was obvious. Her people were being oppressed, butchered, and invaded. In this case, the world she knew no longer exists.

The Republic is gone, perhaps hasn’t existed in thirteen years, as it turns out the senator who had always been her biggest supporter was a Sith Lord. The Jedi are gone, children murdered by Anakin while those in the field are picked off by their own clone soldiers. Padme’s world has fallen apart, and I think that makes it much harder for her to be the girl we saw in Phantom Menace. In time, perhaps, she would have joined the rebellion but... I do think Padme might have also given into despair.

So, yeah, that’s Padme for you.

#ask #anon #padme amidala #star wars #star wars prequel trilogy #anakin skywalker #anti anidala #anti padme amidala #are you sure you wanted this rant?

1K notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 2 years ago

Text

Self Promo Sunday: “Broken for You”

(This was originally written back in 2018 for a Whumptober event, in answer to the prompt of “Bruised”. It got longer than I intended, and maybe isn’t quite as whumpy as I originally hoped, but there are bruises, and I think there’s some sweet hurt/comfort as well, so hopefully some of you will enjoy. It fits in right at the end of episode 6x08 “I’ll Be Your Mirror”, with some missing moments I truly wish we could have gotten.

[Also on AO3, if that’s your preference - As part of my more whumpy one shot collection: “Bits and Pieces (Why Does it Hurt so Good?)” ]

by : @snowbellewells

By the time Emma, Killian, and Henry returned home from Regina’s vault, more than a little shaken from time spent trapped in the Evil Queen’s mirror and a fraught faceoff with the villainess herself eventually leading to Henry’s moms’ return, they trooped through the entryway and toward the stairs ready to drop. It would seem that none of them even wanted to stop for a bite of supper or a little of Killian and Henry’s favored pastime of relaxing for a bit in front of the “magic box” with buttered popcorn and root beer when they could grab a chance. Instead, all any of them wanted to do was hug each other, thankful they had made it back home together in one piece, and collapse onto their beds to sleep the trippily twisted day’s events away.

Henry did just that as they reached the bottom of the steps up to their second floor, but not before thanking Hook for having his back and helping him get ready for the dance and for his advice on girls and dating - to which the pointed tips of Killian’s ears reddened and Emma arched a curious brow, mentally reminding herself to revisit that bit of information later - and squeezing his mom tightly around her waist, holding on for longer than usual and suffering her affectionate ruffling of his hair and kiss to the crown of his head without his usual complaints. He then plodded upward, telling them he needed to call Violet, she’d be worried about how things turned out, and then he was turning in.

Chuckling, Emma and Killian both agreed, adding that they were right behind him, before toeing off their own boots and glancing around the downstairs of their home, making sure all was in order for the night. With a flick of her wrist, Emma ensured that the doors were locked and turned off the lights, then the two of them started up the stairs together, following their son’s recent path.

It wasn’t until they entered their bedroom, and Emma turned to lean against Killian gently, pressing him into the closed door and herself into his arms, that she noticed something was off with him. Her hands trailed up his biceps to his shoulders, and he let out a tense breath of air that was nothing like the usual chuckle when one or the other of them got a bit handsy, and when her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging slightly to pull his face down to her lips, he couldn’t hide the wince of real pain that escaped, nor the way he flinched slightly at her playful touch.

Immediately on alert, Emma pulled back to study him more closely, brows furrowed and eyes serious as she took in the way Killian was now clearly holding himself gingerly, practically propped against the door, as if once they were home again in their safe space it simply hurt too much to hold himself straight anymore.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping closer so he couldn’t avoid her gaze, but not touching him. “You’re hurt,” she stated without allowing for argument. “Where is it? Let me help.”

Killian sidestepped her, heading for the adjoining bathroom and already trying to make light of whatever still had him moving with tight care, his shoulders held high and tense with whatever was plaguing him. “It’s nothing to worry about, Love. Merely pulled a muscle as I hurried to the vault to reach Henry - and you, thankfully - in time.”

Emma watched him slip through the door, not at all sure what to make of his evasiveness, but knowing well he didn’t like to cause a fuss or trouble others with his own ills. Shaking her head, she started after her pirate determinedly, having none of this suffering in silence routine when her True Love was injured and she could help.

When she stepped into the bathroom however, she was the one who gasped in pained surprise at the sight of her husband’s bare back before her as he leaned wearily against the sink. He had removed the dark shirt he’d been wearing, though the neat fiend that he usually was had not put it away in the hamper but dropped it on the floor haphazardly - that in itself telling Emma he was in pain. The sight of his skin mottled a startling canvas of black and blue was what stole her breath.

“Killian...what?” She crossed the room in seconds to come up behind him, ghosting her hands over his shoulders uncertainly, wishing desperately to offer comfort, but afraid that any contact might hurt him even more. The muscles of his back rippled beneath her fingertips when she finally brushed over the marks as lightly as she could.

His head bowed, even as he sucked in air sharply through his teeth at her ginger touch. As slowly and gently as possible, she ran water in the sink until it was warm enough for steam to rise and she slowly soothed it over the discolored skin, wincing along with him, but hoping the heat would relax the muscles what it could as well as clean anywhere his skin might have been broken.

Eventually, Killian’s tightened muscles seemed to release, and his voice murmured lowly, explaining how he had called and called her, knowing she would not have left town, but that something wasn’t right. He’d then been thrown against the rocks along the shore, lost consciousness, and woken up to find himself battered and bruised, and still lying right where he had landed. He’d found them then, and she knew the rest.

Looking sad and guilty, Emma turned him, though he was almost boneless in her arms with the exhaustion of the day and its fading adrenaline, and cupped his scruffy cheeks in her hands to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry, Killian. So sorry. I hate that you were hurt because of me.”

He shook his head gently, a weak smile quirking his lips. “I’m not, Lass. Not at all. I’d bear anything for you.”

She shook her head right back at him, but bit down on her immediate retort. She didn’t want him doing anything of the sort, but she also knew it was a battle she couldn’t win. Killian would do anything and pay any price for her; he had long ago convinced her of that truth. Taking his hand instead, she led him back over to their bed and helped him to lie down on his stomach before crawling up onto the mattress beside him, leaning over him to painstakingly rub a healing liniment into his tender muscles from neck and shoulders down to waist.

If eventually the massage dissolved into more pleasurable activities, a sigh of satisfaction leaving him as he rolled over to turn the tables and trap her beneath him, well...that was just a happy bonus.

The bruises took a few days to fade from Killian’s skin completely, but they were marks he bore proudly. And after that night together, knowing his pain had mostly faded, Emma couldn’t look at them without an echo of shivering pleasure and a secret smile.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @stahlop @xsajx @kday426 @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @killian-whump @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @caught-in-the-filter @lfh1226-linda @cosette141

#self promo sunday #cs missing moment ff #post 6x08 one shot #slight whump #hurt/comfort #broken for you

23 notes · View notes

sirenofthetimes · 3 years ago

Text

Every Proposal on Gilmore Girls Was Absolutely Unhinged

This show was rich in couples, swimming in conflict, and desperately lacking in healthy communication. Which made for some batshit marriage proposals! Let's go:

Christopher to Lorelai in Season 1 ep. 15: Christopher Returns

In Christopher's first appearance on the show, he rocks up to Stars Hollow on his motorcycle at the end of the previous episode, out of the blue, and in this one archetypes are made clear: he establishes himself as the irresponsible deadbeat single dad to Lorelai's hardworking, mature yet still fun single mom. They have a weird dinner with everyone's parents where his parents, Straub and Francine, are shown to be even more uptight and awful than Richard and Emily can be. A lot of fighting and yelling and relitigating past choices ensues. Then Lorelai and Christopher go off to have emotional, nostalgic sex on her childhood balcony, and off the strength of that, he walks into her kitchen the next morning and blurts out that he wants to marry her so they can be a "real family". They barely see each other. They know hardly anything about each other's current lives. This is the first time he's visited the town they've been living in since Rory was a child and yet. A marriage proposal. Naturally, she turns him down, but we have not heard the last of Christopher Hayden.

Max to Lorelai in Season 1 ep. 21: Love, Daisies and Troubadours

This relationship was used mostly to discuss Lorelai's commitment issues, the difficulties of dating as a single mom, and have her fight allegations of her being promiscuous (which are not true, she can be very sexually conservative) by having her do something risky like try to date one of her daughter's teachers at the stuffy private school that also exists in her parents' world. So despite them having okay chemistry, they haven't really dated much and broke up after two months before getting back together shortly before the night of the proposal. Max comes by the house to pick Lorelai up and finds Luke there getting his toolbox and relaying the news that Rachel broke up with him (because she has a basic level of intuition and picked up on his feelings for Lorelai). Max and Luke have a very cringy dick measuring contest, Max (in possession of similar intuition) assumes Luke and Lorelai dated at some point but it's not season 5 yet so she's not legally allowed to admit she's into Luke. They argue, Max expresses frustration that their relationship can never seem to get off the ground, and what does he propose as a solution? Yoking their lives together in blessed matrimony. Lorelai is justifiably frustrated and tells him that's not how you propose, that a proposal is supposed to be special and grand. She lists "a thousand yellow daisies" as an example how to truly pop the question and the next day Max arranges for that famous logistical nightmare romantic gesture at the inn, then says some flowery bullshit on the phone and because it's the season finale and emotions are high, Lorelai accepts. Though later, right after her bachelorette party, she runs away and calls off the wedding. They meet a couple more times for closure, and then the relationship is truly dead.

Jackson to Sookie in Season 2 ep 13: A-Tisket A-Tasket

Sookie and Jackson's budding relationship has actually been pretty nice to watch up until this point. They have a fun balance between awkward but cute flirting and comical bickering about produce. But there's something in the area's water supply that makes people unable to clearly express their wants and needs in a romantic relationship so when Sookie doesn't respond how Jackson wanted her to to him saying his lease was up and asking her what she thought, he sulks. The sulking manifests itself in him not bidding on Sookie's basket at the bid a basket auction so she confronts him to see what's up and they actually manage to have a decent conversation about what moving in together would mean. And that could've been a nice ending for that storyline. But shacking up together? Out of wedlock? Impossible. So at their picnic for two, Jackson fakes Sookie out and says he doesn't want to talk about moving in together any more... because he thinks they should get married. Sookie, reeling from that whiplash, accepts, and since the rules of TV beta couples states they must move faster than the main will-they-won't-they couple at all times, they get married, stay married, and continue struggling to effectively talk through big life decisions,with some admittedly nice moments in between.

Lorelai to Luke in Season 5 ep 22: A House is Not a Home and Season 6 ep 1: New and Improved Lorelai

Lorelai and Luke are in kind of a weird place at the moment, with Luke upset with Lorelai for considering selling the Dragonfly to a corporation owned by one of her father's contacts, which would have her traveling and consulting instead. While she's not too serious about it, she's enjoying being courted by the company, but this is in complete disregard for the giant house Luke bought without telling her or the kids he's thinking about having that he also hasn't discussed with her so it's causing problems. This is forgotten however with the news that Rory wants to take time off from Yale after receiving some rare negative feedback, and that Richard and Emily are letting her stay with them after just telling Lorelai they would help her force Rory back into Yale. So when Lorelai walks into the diner lamenting the fact that Rory is making a decision independent from the vision Lorelai had for her life, and Luke comes forth with a nonsensical plan to, again, force Rory back to Yale, Lorelai is touched that she finally has someone on her side. And since she's a veteran of the season finale marriage proposal, she celebrates having her partner agree with her by asking him to marry her. He accepts in the next season's premiere with no hesitation, but eventually their tendency to hide things from each other to not ruin their relationship.... ruins their relationship. Shocking.

Zack to Lane in Season 6 ep 16: Bridesmaids Revisited

Zack is on a bit of a redemption tour after ruining Hep Alien's showcase in front of a major label by throwing a tantrum about Brian potentially writing a song for Lane. This random burst of jealousy sends him on a power trip that has him throwing out their set list and screaming at his band mates until a fight breaks out and the band and him and Lane split up. But when he sees Lane in the music shop some time later putting up a flier advertising her drumming services to other bands, the thought of her daring to potentially continue living her life without him spurs Zach into action. He convinces Brian and Gil to get the band back together and they're in if Lane's in. And his way of getting Lane back is to walk into Luke's while she's working, go off on some tangent about how he doesn't feel good, and propose in front of a huge crowd of gossipy small town people. Lane must have smacked her head on some antique furniture that day because although she at least stops to ask if he's thought about this, when he presents her with the pawn shop ring he got that "belonged to like an Elk or a Moose or something", she accepts and walks right into marriage and babies land and right out of development that would make sense for her character or be interesting.

Christopher to Lorelai in Season 7 ep. 7: French Twist

Ever since Lorelai walked out of her fraught engagement with Luke and into Christopher's bed, he has taken the reality of a woman coping with feelings of rejection by hooking up with the man she keeps stashed in the background for occasions such as these, and spun it into an elaborate romantic tale of two star crossed loves who waited their whole lives to be together. And when Sherry who, guided by the hands of karma, previously abandoned Gigi leaving Christopher to raise her on his own, writes a letter saying she's totally fine now trust her and wants Gigi to spend a few months with her in Paris, Christopher invites Lorelai along for a big romantic gesture trip. They spend most of it jetlagged, but Christopher remembers he's super rich now (as opposed to just being regular rich like before) and he bribes a restaurant to open early for the two of them. Lorelai, basking in the romance™ of it all, confesses her love, and Christopher pounces on that and starts in on a whole speech. Basically, even though he said he'd be willing to wait for Lorelai to fall in line with his vision, he doesn't feel like waiting any more. Lorelai, sensing where this is going, suggests they wait, as they've only been really dating for a couple of months. She also brings up Rory, figuring she'd want to be up to date and present any big changes. But Christopher waves those perfectly valid concerns away, stresses how long they've known each other, insists that they're meant to be, and fate has brought them together. And then comes out with it and asks her to marry him. Which are very intense words for Lorelai, an emotionally vulnerable woman who just broke off an engagement because her fiancé seemed overly hesitant to actually get married, to hear. We don't see her accept, but there's a scene of them returning home where he calls her "Mrs. Hayden" (as if she would ever change her name), and their marriage immediately began to fall apart like wet tissue paper.

Logan to Rory in Season 7 ep. 21: Unto the Breach

It's the end of Rory's time at Yale, and on the heels of her New York Times fellowship rejection, rejections from other newspapers across the country, and the fact that she rejected her one job offer for better things that did not come, Rory's future is wide open and unstable. On the other hand, Logan is completing his character transformation from irresponsible party animal trust fund kid to hardworking and responsible trust fund kid, accepting a job offer for an internet company in San Francisco. The question emerges: How will the young couple handle this next phase of their lives? And when Logan shows up at Lorelai's house in the previous episode, he comes with a solution. He wants to marry Rory and take her to California, and he wants Lorelai's blessing to propose. She gives it, though not without trepidation, and Logan does propose. In the middle of the graduation party Richard and Emily are throwing for Rory, he gets up in front of everyone and takes out the ring. Rory is caught completely off guard and takes him outside to talk about it, where he reveals that he got the job, picked out a house for them to rent, researched newspapers where she could apply to work, and even planned activities for them to do in their spare time. The original plan being that she would say yes to his proposal without knowing all this and walk blindly into her new, pre-arranged West Coast life. But Rory needs time to process the idea of marrying Logan immediately after college, and on the day of her graduation, she declines. Logan decides if he can't marry her, there's no point in being with her at all, and the two go their separate ways, to eventually meet again in a years long affair, for some reason. Though I barely acknowledge the revival.

Honestly, the only proposal that truly makes sense is Lorelai's to Luke in the revival but I won't discuss it here because a) again, the revival basically doesn't exist to me and b) they should've married during the original run of the show.

#gilmore girls #originals #this sat in my drafts for ages because every time i watched a proposal scene i need to Take A Minute #i mean imo even a lot of your standard proposals are still wild to me #but these.... woof

81 notes · View notes

patsywalker1 · 2 years ago

Text

Bench Warmer

-----

Lucas would be lying if he said that his feelings hadn’t been hurt when Dustin and Mike pointed out that he’d been benched the whole basketball season after he asked about postponing the final session of the Cult of Vecna Campaign.

He felt proud when he first discovered he’d made the varsity team his freshman year; it wasn’t an easy feat, but he had done it. The reaction of his childhood friends made Lucas feel like his sunny day had been hit with an unexpected torrential downpour; the warm feeling in his chest washed away instantly.

“So instead of hanging out with us, your real friends, you're going to follow those- those mouthbreathers?!” Mike all but shouted at their lunch table; Dustin nodded in agreement; mouth stuffed with his PB&J. He thought they’d be more understanding and excited for him, because they knew he always liked basketball. He used to ask them to play with him when they were younger. They used the excuse that they were nerds and we’re not meant for any physical activities such as sports. So, he had stopped asking them, but never stopped playing; when he wasn’t with them, he was at the park shooting hoops.

Max played avidly with him while they were dating; they both enjoyed the competitive nature of games like Horse, but when school started, she pulled away from the whole group, curled in on herself. Lucas wished daily every day that El was still here; if anyone could get through to Max it would’ve been El. Billy’s death was still very fresh for Max. Her life had been fraught with inconsistencies for months after Billy passed. Neil left Susan, they had to sell the house, move into the trailer park on the other side of town; far away from the rest of them. It was hard to hang out with her because she was so far away now. Not long before the school year began, Lucas noticed the shift in Max, but she told him to stop bothering coming by her trailer so often, it spiraled after that.

These past few months Lucas felt like he was floating on the sea by himself, utterly alone, his friends providing waves of happiness, Hellfire campaigns felt like large crashing waves. The waves coming and going, never consistent.

He felt his happiest during the campaigns, Eddie was a damn good DM; and despite all the threats of death, he was fair in his game. But outside of hanging out with Mike and Dustin and outside of D&D, Lucas felt like he was just going through the motions.

It felt like a lifeline was being extended to him when Patrick McKinney suggested he try out for the team during one of their one-on-one games at the park. Patrick helped him get ready for the tryouts, running drills with Lucas on the weekends; Patrick was rarely home it seemed. So when he had made the team --the varsity team no less -- and Patrick all but tackled him? His boat finally felt like it was making it to shore.

It got rough from there. Missed club meetings, missed campaigns, less time with Dustin and Mike. But it was only for the basketball season, that’s what he told Hellfire. The club gave him shit once he started eating with the basketball kids every now and then, all he wanted to do was get to know his teammates better and the circles they ran with; maybe he could get Hellfire invited to some parties, maybe he could introduce Patrick to Mike and Dustin.

The only person who seemed to understand his choice was surprising to him: Eddie. Eddie had pulled him to the side after lunch the day he announced he had made the varsity team. Eddie was proud of Lucas for putting himself out there, he told Lucas that if he had never taken a chance on performing at The Hideout he’d be kicking himself.

“The boys might not understand now, but they will. I don’t know how long it’ll take them -- it might not even happen during high school; but they’ll get there eventually.” Eddie promised him that with a pat to the arm and a smirk and said he’d talk to the group about the campaign. Lucas waved it off and told him to keep the date the same, but deep down he thought maybe Dustin and Mike would beg Eddie to switch club days so Lucas could still play. So the club could watch Lucas’s games. He even slipped a ticket into Max’s locker. Maybe she’d show too.

So, Lucas walked onto the court for his first game with the biggest smile on his face; when he found his parents and Erica’s faces in the crowd, he waved and searched the rest of the crowd for his friends but couldn’t find them. Maybe they’ll be here late, they were never ones to show up to anything on time. But as the game went on, he didn’t see a peep of unruly curls nor the bright red hair he was looking forward to.

As he exited the gym after the game, the game he didn’t get an opportunity to play in, his parents promised that he’d get his chance. Lucas heard Dustin’s laugh and saw Hellfire leaving the theater exit,D&D books in hand, and he felt his tie to shore coming undone.

It went like this the whole basketball season. He sat on the bench for every game, his parents and Erica the only familiar faces in the crowd. The Hellfire club exited the theater the same time the game finished; it was like they were mocking him each time, his boat drifting further and further from shore.

It wasn’t expected for the basketball team to make it this far in the season. It wasn’t expected that they’d even win the second to last game. Lucas had taken it in his own hands and promised the Hellfire club that he’d make it for the last game of the campaign; he was still caught up by Dustin on the sessions the morning after the meetings. He wanted to see Vecna through to the end.

So, he asked. He asked Dustin and Mike to talk to Eddie about postponing the final session of the campaign. When they countered with the fact that he had been nothing but a bench warmer the whole season, he tried not to hold it against them.here was no lie. Some nights when he sat on the bench during the game, he dreamed of being with the Hellfire club in the theater room, participating in the combats and doing something helpful.

He knew he messed up when he told Max that he wanted her to care about something again. He didn’t say the right thing, nor did he say it the right way. But watching her pass him in the halls with her eyes downcast and empty, a small frown always sitting on her face, he wanted more for her. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her until she finally understood that he was there for her, that he’d never leave her side. Hold her until she let out all her pent-up emotions; he wanted Max to scream, and cry, and punch, and act out. To show any other expression on her beautiful face then the somber dejected look she wore. She was lost at sea with nothing, no boat, no rope, and no hope or goal of making it back to shore.

During his last run onto the court, he didn’t expect to see anything more than his parents or Erica’s face in the crowd, he had only let himself have a sliver of hope, so he wouldn’t have to feel as disappointed as he had during the first game. He only saw his parents face that night, Erica nowhere to be seen, she had made it to every other game but this one. He knew how she pretended not to care about his games, but he loved it when he saw her face in the crowd.

Lucas did see a slightly surprising face, Steve. Steve had played for the basketball team every single year; Lucas imagined it hurt that the first year after he graduated, they’d make it this far. It looked like he had come with a date; Dustin had let him know that Steve had been testing the waters quite a bit. As he sat on the bench during the heated game, Lucas could see how much fun Steve was having, he could see the longing in his face as well; wishing he’d be able to play as well. Maybe after the game he’d ask Steve if he wanted to do some casual scrimmages; Steve had a half court at his house so they wouldn’t even need to go to the park.

“Sinclair, SINCLAIR! You’re up!” His coach's voice broke him from his train of thought. He sprung to his feet and ripped off his warmup sweats with ease -- he had made sure to practice in his room at the start of the season, he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the rest of the team or the school.

The last few minutes of the game felt like a dream, it all passed in a blur. His waves felt so choppy, rocking him back to shore. He held his breath as he made his final shot, the buzzer going off, he watched his ball soar through the air and ring around the hoop, teasing him. He could’ve choked when it fell through the net. He had won them the game, the championship game!

The waves were thrashing even stronger, he was flying to shore in his boat. He felt out of body as Jason picked him up, getting thrown around above his team in celebration. After 10 minutes of celebration and shaking the hands of the opposing team, he went with his team to change in the locker room.

“Lucas!” He heard the voice of Steve call after him before he entered the locker room. Steve was swiftly walking to Lucas with the biggest smile on his face. Next thing he knew, Lucas was being hugged tightly by the other man; he hugged Steve back (last time they had hugged this hard was after the mall).

“I’m so proud of you kid. You played so well after you were called in, and that last shot! Wow!” Steve gushed as he pulled away, hands still resting on the younger boy's shoulders. Lucas finally understood what Dustin always said about Steve being like a dad; he looked like the picture of a proud dad right now, it warmed Lucas deep to his core.

“Thanks Steve, I’m so glad I finally got to play. Sorry it had to happen the year after you graduated.” He teased. Steve cracked a smile, his hands dropped from Lucas’s shoulders.

“Don’t remind me.”

“I was actually thinking, um, I know you have a half court at your place, but would you maybe be interested in doing some scrimmages with me?” He didn’t know why he felt so awkward asking Steve this, they had fought monsters from the upside down for goodness sake, but this almost felt more personal.

Lucas wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it was like the smile on Steve’s face got even bigger; he was pretty sure it’d rip his face in half.

“Ohh hell yes, Sinclair, I’m down to kick your ass anytime,” he teased. It was Lucas’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You’re on, Harrington.” They made a promise to play a few days during spring break because the weather was promising.

“Hit the lockers Sinclair, you sir, have a party to attend. Just don’t get too drunk.” Lucas promised Steve that he wouldn’t get too drunk and headed into the locker room.

Patrick was waiting for him outside the gym doors and let Lucas know he’d give the boy a ride to Benny’s where the post-game celebration was taking place. Lucas didn’t know the last time he’d felt this happy; he was excited to even call Dustin the next day and tell him what he had missed.

The thought had crashed around him when he heard a laugh that sounded like, Erica? He searched the parking lot and saw them, the Hellfire club walking out of the theater building like always, but Erica leading in the front.

He had been replaced by his own sister for the final session.

His sister didn’t watch his final game because she had been playing with his friends in the campaign he had been participating in previously.

He no longer felt those waves, the water felt eerily calm. He was no longer at shore; he couldn’t find land anywhere. Patrick snapped Lucas out of his daze, and he followed the older boy to his car.

Lucas was going to break the promise he had made to Steve not even 15 minutes ago. Lucas didn’t know how he’d make it back to shore.

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #lucas sinclair #lucas stranger things #max mayfield #its been stuck in my head #steve stranger things #steve harrington

13 notes · View notes

liquidheartbeat · 3 years ago

Text

She Didn’t Choose This Life: Flashback

Barry’s fork and knife clink loudly against his plate, as he scoots his chair backward, hands perched on his inflated abdomen. “God, I am stuffed,” he says, already regretting finishing off four T-bone steaks and all the rich, decadent sides that rounded off the meal.

From across the table, the eyes of the woman responsible for his predicament widen, as she cuts into her barely-touched steak. “Oh, really?” Iris asks, chuckling.

“What?” Barry asks, tilting his body forward.

“Well, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you full. Like actually satiated.”

Barry chuckles as he nods, slight unease shooting through him. It’s a simple explanation, really, but he can’t tell her that being The Flash has increased his caloric requirements, because he hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he is the Flash.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s because, everytime he scrounges up the courage, he finds out another unsavory secret about her lifestyle.

When they first met, she’d introduced herself as an art buyer, but conveniently left out the part about also international money laundering. That discovery had come months later, in the dead of night, when she’d slipped out of the bedroom for a phone call with one of her partners but wasn't nearly as quiet as she’d thought.

Of course, that led him down a rabbit hole where he also found out about the tax fraud and other financial crimes that would put her away for life if she was ever caught. Crimes that, if committed by anyone else, he’d gladly help prosecute as a member of the police department. But she’s not anyone else, she’s Iris, the first woman he’s ever fallen completely, wholeheartedly in love with.

And yes, her misdeeds probably should make him love her less, but his heart doesn’t abide by common sense. Even from across the table, as she hides a lifetime of secrets under her smile, he knows the same lips that lie to him about her whereabouts and the source of her wealth tell sweet truths to him in the middle of the night. About how much she loves him and needs him.

The same hands that gleefully count dirty money, help massage away aches she doesn’t know the truth origins of at night. The same hands that consort with criminals bring his body to romantic peaks, over and over again.

And the same eyes that stare into him before he leaves her apartment each morning, connect with his soul, and let him know her love is real.

As real as his is.

“Barr,” she says sweetly, as she dabs butter from the corner of her mouth. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” He asks, snapped back to the present.

“I said...I’m glad you enjoyed dinner, because it’ll probably be a few more months before I sweat out my hair to cook again,” she says as she stands to gather her half-empty plate and glass.

Barry laughs, gathering his hands on the table as she walks over to the counter. “It’s a shame a cook as good as you hates it so much.”

Iris returns to the table, walking over to where he’s sat. “I don’t hate it, it’s just time consuming, and my jobs…”She pauses, playing off her flub with a smile, “I mean job ...is very demanding. Doesn’t leave much time to cook.”

Barry frowns, nodding slowly. Another lie, and an unnecessary one at that. But she doesn’t notice his disappointment as she gathers his empty plate and saucers. “If I wasn’t with you,” she continues as she walks his dishes to the sink,” I probably wouldn’t cook at all.”

His smile returns slowly -- a truth, however small, makes him feel special. “Oh, really?”

“Pretty sure. But my man likes to eat,” she says with a smile as she turns towards him, “So I have to oblige him from time to time.”

“So you cook...just for me?”

“Duh.” As she nears him, she pushes her slightly frizzy hair behind her ears,.

“Well, what else are you willing to do just for me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she stands over him.

Iris rolls her eyes fondly. He’s so stinking cute, extra cute when he’s confident, but she doesn’t have time. Not tonight.

After their dinner, she has another engagement with a potential business partner that could potentially double her income for the year. Of course, she can’t tell Barry that. He’s a sweet, by the book CSI, who definitely won’t take kindly to her extracurricular activities.

Shaking her head fondly, she steps backward, but he catches her by the skin of her flowy cotton top and pulls her into his lap. “Barry,” she protests, but only for a moment because his hand shoots to the base of her head and guides her open mouth down towards him.

For a skinny guy, he’s way stronger than his physical makeup should allow for. He effortlessly twists her legs around his waist, and pushes their bodies together. But she doesn’t question it. She embraces it, moaning harshly as he kneads her ass in his hands.

They haven’t had sex in a few days, and not just because of her schedule. He works long -- sometimes odd -- hours. But she assumes it’s par for the course, for a CSI. And she’s this close to putting on a show for her kitchen appliances, especially as he slinks his fingers towards the seat of her cotton shorts, dipping one near her slit. But that little touch of pleasure snaps her back to reality. Dinner and a little makeout sesh is the only thing she can offer him tonight.

“Barr,” she breathes, as she catches his hand. But he’s defiant as he curls his finger against her.“I can’t,” she whimpers. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I gotta...prepare for work tomorrow.”

He lets out a loud sigh, face wrinkling in dissatisfaction. It’s a look she's becoming increasingly familiar with, appearing any time she mentions work.

It should strike her as odd, but doesn’t. “Oh, babe,” she says with a pout, as she runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be mad, please.”

He sighs again. “I’m not mad. I’m…” Disappointed. Wish you would tell me the truth , “ he thinks, but he actually says: “Upset. You've been ‘working’ so much lately. And Friday nights are supposed to be our uninterrupted time.”

Iris pouts, hating when she disappoints him. Hating that she has to keep such a huge part of herself from him. Of all the men she’s ever dated, no one has ever made her feel as loved, as safe, as desirable as Barry Allen.

And yet, she feels she doesn’t fully deserve the love he gives so easily. Love -- true love -- isn’t shrouded in secrecy and shadow lives. But what will he think of her if he finds out who she really is?

Just cancelling an overnight date has him looking like she punctured his lungs, and she can barely stand it. Biting her lip, to quell the trembling, she brings her other hand up, and rests them on his shoulders.

He’s so tight and fraught with tension, and her touch seems to intensify it. God, he’s really mad at her. She tilts her head, managing a soft smile as her hands move in tandem across his shoulder blade, increasing the pressure as she moves. His eyes flutter closed, defiantly, her hands attempting to squeeze the displeasure from his body. And then she leans down, pressing a soft kiss just underneath his earlobe. “I promise, I will make this up to you,” she says, softly, “Okay?”

She lifts her head up to meet his face, still rife with displeasure.

“When?”

“Tomorrow-- promise.” In actuality, she has another client meeting tomorrow, but it doesn’t have as much riding on it. And she can’t possibly stand to see Barry look at her like this twice in one week. So she’ll have to reschedule.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Iris smiles, and thumbs his chin, happy for the compromise. “Thank you, baby, for being so understanding. I’ll make it worth your while.”

"Any time with you is worth my while,” he says earnestly, his words nearly drawing tears to the surface of her eyes.

But she sniffs, hoping to keep them at bay. She can’t close this deal if she’s an emotional mess. And then she smiles, offering him one last kiss for the night.

Though the need in his return drags one kiss into four, five, and six kisses. At least until she manages to snap her neck backward and pry herself from his lap.

As she stands, she fixes her clothes, which almost ended up in a pile on the floor. Her eyes catch the time on the clock and she realizes she has less than 25 minutes to get ready before her business meeting.

“So,” she says, casually, “Do you want me to walk you down to the lobby?”

“No, that’s alright,” Barry says as he stands. “Unless you want me to beg you to change your mind in front of your neighbors.”

Iris laughs softly. “No, definitely not.”

Barry stills, taking in the sight of her. She projects an effortless beauty, even with no makeup, slightly frizzed hair and pajama shorts. He takes a step forward and leans down to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that if he aims for her lips, he might not be able to stop himself.

And while he’s not happy she’s working on a Friday night, at least she’s cleared Saturday for them. She leans up into his kiss, softly palming his shoulders with her hands. When they part, she holds his gaze.

Two beautiful, chestnut brown eyes looking up at him sweetly. “I love you,” she says softly.

His response is effortless. “I love you too -- now, tomorrow. Forever and ever.

She squeezes her hands together excitedly, and does a little sidestep. It’s an obvious attempt to make fun of his saccharine tone, but he doesn’t mind -- in fact, he welcomes it, shaking his head from side to side.

“Anyway,” he says through a growing smile, “I’m going to head out, and let you handle your business.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Just please... be careful. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you.”

His words are weighted with hard truths she doesn’t yet know he knows, yet his tone still uneases her. “What could possibly happen?” She asks, feigning obliviousness. “I have like the safest job in the world.”

He sighs, loud and hard, but goes forward with her charade anyway. “By the time you return from the museum, it’ll probably be really late. Dangerous. You have to be careful.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. Of course, he thinks she’s going to the museum. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You are going to the museum, right?”

She pauses, just long enough for him to prepare for the lie to come.

“Uhh...yeah.”

His brows furrow as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

She forces out a laugh, hoping to quell his rising concern. Because if she doesn’t get him out of here now, her entire evening will fold.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She smiles fluttering her eyelashes “Come on, honey. I gotta get ready.”

He takes a moment to contemplate whether or not to call out her obvious lie, but ultimately decides against it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles wider. “Bright and early,” she says, as she glances at the clock, growing wearier of his presence.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, out of options. “Bright and early…”

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

Five minutes later, Barry swivels absentmindedly in his office chair, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb. Caitlin, who’s been watching his skittish display, glances over to Cisco, who pretends he doesn't notice her pleading gaze. Eventually, he sighs and begrudgingly casts down the chain of sour straws he’s snacking on, and scoots forward.

“Dude. Just go talk to your girlfriend," he replies, voice filled with disdain.

Barry shoots him a warning glance, in no mood to deal with his best friend's judgement over his choice of partner. “Don’t.”

“Fine.” Cisco throws his hands up. “Then do...that...all night. But I’m going home.”

Barry sighs. When it comes to his relationship, talking to Cisco is like talking to a brick wall. He turns to Caitlin, hoping his other best friend can offer some advice.” Caitlin stews in silence a moment, carefully gathering her words. The things Barry uncovered about Iris are damning, and a stark contrast to the straight-laced businesswoman persona she presents outwardly. But she’s also seen the way Iris looks at him, those rare moments they all hang out, like he hung the moon just for her with his bare hands.

Yet, still, she has to ask: “Do you think she could be seeing someone else?” Her words are careful, knowing how touchy of a subject this is.

Barry huffs. Almost offensively. “No.” At least he hopes. “But she’s definitely still lying about her plans for tonight. Probably another dirty deal she doesn’t want me finding out about.”

Unable to resist, Cisco presses a hand into his chest. “Iris West? A LIAR?” He gasps. “You don’t say.”

Barry shoots up from his chair, a second away from lunging at Cisco but Caitlin blocks him with her body. “Cisco. Please,” she scolds him backwards, gently pushing Barry in the chest.

That seems to calm him, as he flops back into his seat with a sigh. But Cisco pushes forward.

“Cool it, Cait. Alright. I’m not the one who’s leading on our best friend -- she is.”

“She’s not leading me on!” Barry yells, scooting to the edge of the chair. “She’s just…”

“...Not just an art dealer, apparently, not in good standing with the IRS -- or at least she won’t be--and in no danger of becoming a Girl Scout troop leader. Or a nun either,” Cisco retorts.

Barry shrugs, unphased by his recounting of events. “So she’s not perfect. But I have my own secrets. “

“Yeah. You’re the Flash, but, she's a criminal, who lies to you constantly. About what she does, where she goes. How many times, since you found out, have you had to save her from the trouble she’s gotten into?”

Barry sighs; he’s almost lost count of the number of times Flash has scooped Iris from the pits of danger, during a business deal gone bad. Shadowy figures, unrelated to her business dealings, looming in dark alleys after she’s left some abandoned building, scorned men whose pockets she’d bled dry, but who couldn't pursue legal action due to their own dirty dealings, who took things into their own hand.

One by one, he’d laid out anyone who crossed her path and had the audacity to even breathe at her wrong, which all amounted to silent acknowledgement between her and Flash. Because she damn sure hadn’t told him -- Barry Allen -- about these chance meetings.

Another reason he had to be cautious around her. She held her cards too close to her chest.

Cisco takes in a sharp breath. “I just want better for you man. You deserve someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

Barry holds Cisco’s gaze. “She might be a liar, but when she tells me she loves me, it’s not a lie. And because of that, I can’t just throw away our relationship -- we can get past this. I know it.”

Cisco rolls his eyes and twirls his hair round and round his finger. “Whatever.”

Caitlin, who’s grown tired of Cisco’s negativity, faces him. “If you’re not going to offer Barry any understanding, you should probably excuse yourself.”

“Fine,” he says as he shoots up, “’I‘ll go.” But when Barry finds out something else about Iris that he can't handle, I can’t be the person he vents to anymore. ” He pauses and turns towards his friend, who’s struggling to bite his tongue. “It hurts to see you like this, man.”

With that, Cisco makes his exit, leaving just Barry and Caitlin in the room. Awkward silence fills the space he leaves, as those little stubborn nuggets of rationale, in between Cisco’s snark, tries to penetrate his brain.

Slowly he looks up at Caitlin, a fervent lea in his eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you and Iris need to have a talk. A long talk, about what you know about her. How dangerous this game she’s playing is. But most importantly, what you need from her, going forward if you’re going to work, romantically. Which I imagine is total transparency.”

Barry nods slowly, taking in her advice. These are things he already knows he’ll eventually have to do, but he still still isn’t ready, He doesn’t know how Iris will take him knowing the truth about her, and he’s not ready to deal with any potential fallout. “You're right,” he says, the only answer he can scrounge up. “I wish you weren't, but you are.”

Caitlin tilts her head sympathetically, unspoken words fighting to be free.

“What?” “

“You….also... need to tell her you’re the Flash. I know, you have reservations. But if you’re willing to stay with her, through all she’s doing, she deserves to know who you are as well.”

Barry sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. There’s a universe of lies between them, and he worries their relationship is too new to handle such added weight. But he can’t continue to live like this, and can’t let her continue to live like this. They’re either going to be together, without secrets, or...He pauses, unable to let the rest of the sentence form in his head, then shoots up. “Okay. I’m going,” he says, finally. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“Goo-,” Caitlin starts, but he’s gone in a flash of lightning, before she can finish her statement.

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

Iris steps out of her bathroom, with barely a minute to spare before Randolf Helming, the owner of the Helming Hotel chain arrives. He’s looking to cut his tax bill in half, by funneling some of his cash into a few high end art pieces, and he thinks Iris can assist him. What he doesn’t know is that the pieces she’s going to sell him are forgeries that only 1/10 art experts can spot. So she’ll pocket his commission for her time and also the value of the real paintings she’ll sell again to an unsuspecting schulub, later in the year.

Probably to some secluded older gentlemen, who buys art for social prestige, thousands of miles away in Prague or Berlin.

A hefty journey to travel, but a necessary trip if she’s going to do better at covering her tracks. Over the past few months, some of her old dealings have started to catch up to her, and she’s had more than her fair share of brush ups.

Oddly, though also fortunately, enough, she was saved each time by Central City’s guardian angel: The Flash. Though, at this point, it almost felt like he was her own personal angel, always seeming to be in the right place when she was in the wrong place.

She’d think it strange if not for the multitudes of people he saves everyday.

As she makes her way into the living room, she takes one last look at her appearance in the big mirror hanging over her fireplace. Her previously frizzed hair has been tamed into a low pony-tail, and her face has been painted with a light dusting of makeup. But it’s her attire, a chic red, high-waisted skirt and black fitted blazer blazer that's sure to wow any potential business partner.

A knock at the door pulls Iris away from her thoughts. She pulls at her skirt, not wanting to give Randolf the wrong idea -- she might be dressed to the nines, but this is not a romantic engagement; she has to work to do-- then waltzes over to the door.

“Mr. Helming “ Iris says warmly, as she opens the door. “I’m glad you could make it.”

The silver haired man, who hovers around around 5’10 and is dressed in a light gray suit, lets his eyes travel unabashedly down Iris’s body before he greets her. “It is my pleasure, Ms. West.”

He takes a huge step into the apartment, nearly brushing his body against hers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, Iris steps backward, letting out a nervous chuckle. She doesn’t usually entertain her clients -- legitimate or otherwise -- in her home, but she figures that someone as high profile as Mr. Helming has too much to lose to act out of turn.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as her attempt to create distance does nothing to soften his gaze. “Well,” she says, running her hand over her hair, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” he mimics, seemingly remembering the reason for his visit. “Business. Lets.”

Iris smiles politely and steps aside to give him ample room to enter further. He strides past her, and heads for the couch, taking in the sight of her place as he walks. “Wow. The art world has treated you quite, well, huh?”

Returning from closing the door, Iris walks over, proudly. “Yeah, I guess you can say that."

At the couch, Randolph takes a seat in the middle of her cream colored sofa, and spreads both arms across the back. Iris, who was gearing up to take a seat next to him, pivots and takes a seat in the black recliner sitting adjacent to the couch.

He frowns and scoots his body towards the end nearest to the chair, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.

“So. I hear you’re trying to lessen your tax burden,” Iris says, diving straight into business."

“Yeah.” He crosses one leg over the other. “My hotels are doing well. But as it goes, I owe the government 10s of millions this year in taxes and so I need a tax write off. And a big one.”

Iris smiles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I just so happen to have a direct connection to the Murdock Estate, who handles affairs for the late oil painter, M.N. Murdoch. They’re looking to unload a couple of pieces for the right buyer.”

“And when you say right…”

“Well, aside from the assets to afford the seven figure price tag, they’re deadset on selling it to an astute businessman -- someone who understands the value of fine art.” But who can’t tell a forgery from a real pieces.

He nods, pleased with her response. “Well, let’s see these paintings.”

Iris pulls her phone from her pocket, and opens up the PGN files of the paintings, still on display at the Central City Art Museum and hands it over to Mr. Helming. He takes the phone, finger sliding haphazardly across the screen, sending him back to her home screen.

“Oops,” he chuckles. I clicked off of the screen. Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” Iris reaches for the phone. As he releases it, his fingers graze over hers, sending a wicked chill through her.

His skin is somehow cool, yet sweaty at the same time. Iris draws her fingers in awkwardly as she retrieves the phone and reset the screen. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him wipe his palms on his pants leg. Her return is smoother; managing to hand over the phone without making skin to skin contact.

Randolf takes a moment to look over the pieces, genuine contemplation painting his face. His concentration on the task at hand eases her growing anxiety a tad, though the silence that settles over the room still tickles her nerves.

She glances over to the table, where the unfinished bottle of wine she and Barry had for dinner sits, and her mouth nearly waters for a glass. But she doesn’t drink while doing business -- at least not this kind.

When she looks back over to Randolf, he’s done with her phone and also eyeing the wine. “I could go for a glass, myself,” he says over a prickly laugh.

Iris opens her mouth to respond, then realizing no words are coming out, pushes out a choked response. “Right. Of course. Is Merlot okay?”

He nods. “That’s just fine. Though, if you have something a little stronger, I wouldn't object.”

"No,” she says quickly. “Just the Merlot -- I’m not much of a drinker.” She stands and smoothes down her skirt, and walks across her living room, towards the kitchen.

Iris had already cleaned up from dinner, so she goes to the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Even though she doesn't drink on the job, she has to at least pretend to indulge him if she wants to close the deal.

Glasses in hand, she turns for the island and lets out a loud shriek when she notices Randolf is standing just feet away, at the other side. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk over,” she quickly offers towards his slightly offended expression.

“Oh.” He relaxes some. “I am quite light on my feet -- blame my wife.”

Iris quirks a curious brow. “Your wife?”

“Ballroom dancing,” he says, settling his weight over the island. “She makes us go once a week. On my one off day too.”

She smiles politely. “That is very sweet. I’m sure you two have a lot of fun.” Feeling more comfortable at the mention of his wife, Iris walks past him towards the table where the wine is sitting.

His shoes scuff her floor as he turns, a sound that easily penetrates her eardrums. Iris turns just in time to see his outstretched arm, reaching for her. She pulls away right before he lands and steps backward. He presses forward, trapping her between him and the table.

“What are you doing?” She asks, now on high alert.

He sighs harshly, his body drooping from the aggravation as his face contorts into a frown. “Oh come on; surely, you know how this works, Iris.”

“How what works?”

“I could get art from any buyers in the city. Men much more accomplished than you. If I came to you, it’s because of an added incentive.”

“Which is?”

“ You.” He tries to press his body into hers, but Iris pushes him in the chest. He stumbles, but only barely, as Iris rushes to the other side of the table, grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine as a weapon. “Get out. NOW,” she commands voice loud and firm.

Much firmer than her nerves on the inside. There’s no way she can overpower him, physically. And this high up, no one will hear her screams from her penthouse.

“Or what?” He asks, casually rounding the table, completely unphased.

“Or I will bash your fucking skull in.”

She raises the bottle higher, hoping to appear more threatening. He chuckles, nearly spits at her attempt. “Oh, you’re not going to hit me. Not if you want to keep doing business in this town. Remember, I have a lot of rich friends. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, overcome with offense at his audacity.

“You heard me!” Randolf yells as thrusts himself towards her, and tackles her to the ground.

The bottle of wine falls from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the floor around them. He tries to kiss her and Iris squirms underneath him, fighting to free from his grip, shards of glass digging into her exposed flesh. She yells, the stinging pain piercing all her nerves.

“Shut up!” He yells, wedging his leg between hers as he plants a firm hand round her neck.

Iris freezes, pinned in place, chest heaving up and down as his tar-black eyes singe a hole through her.

“There.” His smile is dark and haunting. “This isn’t so bad is it?”

Unwilling to let the last sight of her be a disheveled, powerless woman, Iris spits clean on his face. His hand shoots to the spot in disbelief, face as red as the blood trickling from the wounds on her leg, “Oh, you’ve done it now!” He yells, drawing his hand backward. Iris presses her eyes shut, preparing for the blow. But where she should feel stinging pain, possibly a broken nose, she only feels a gust of wind and the relief of Randolf’s body no longer being on top of hers.

The crash that follows is deafening as the force propels Randolf into her walls. And that’s when she sees a red blur, wrapped up in blazing lightning, delivering the final blow that knocks Randolf clean out.

His limp body falls to the floor, his skull cracking against the luxury vinyl tile that covers her kitchen floors. The masked hero, who she now registers as The Flash, comes into focus. She watches him watch look over Randolf's unmoving body, making no effort to check on him.

Iris uses her depleted strength to stumble upward, grunting as fresh shards of glass pierce her hands. She lets out a guttural cry, nearly tumbling over from the pain.

From the shock. From the devastation.

He runs over and catches her, letting her body crash into his soft, open arms. She can’t even scrounge up the energy to wonder how or why The Flash has yet again saved her from herself. She’s completely overwhelmed at the fact that this night couldn't have ended so much worse.

And then come the tears, a ravenous stream down her face. Iris presses her hand into face, to block the sight of her

“Oh, God. Are you bleeding?” Asks the masked man in panicked frenzy, though his voice unmasks him immediately.

Slowly, Iris raises her head, every odd encounter with the Flash she’s had over the past few months settling into place like a finally-finished puzzle. All the she time she almost met her demise, but didn't.

He looks at her, fear coursing, over the lingering anger in his eyes, but that voice is unmistakable. It’s the same voice that awkwardly asked her out nearly a year ago, and grew giddy when she agreed. The same voice that’s crooned sweet “I love you’s” in her ear since that first night he nervously admitted it, over frozen yogurt.

“B-” Her throat is dry and ragged. “Barry?” She pushes out.

With a sigh, he tears his cowl off, revealing fully the face of the man she loves more than she knew was possible. His cheeks are bloodshot red, his eyes puffy, and glossy, a clear sign his own tears will soon spill forth.

“Oh, Iris,” he groans, sweeping her up into his arms.

Now knowing this masked hero is the man she loves, has been the man she loves, she melts further into his chest, every bit of hesitation to maintain an air of control falling away. She cries, shamelessly, unabashedly, into his chest as he rocks her.

She has a thousand questions, and knows he does too, but she can’t scrounge up a single one, only caring that he’s here now. That he’s saved her. Again.

As Iris goes silent, Barry’s mind races a thousand miles a minute. He’d taken Caitlin’s advice and headed here to talk to her about her lies, never imagining the scene he’d walk in on. He can’t think straight, can’t even worry about his former objective, he’s only grateful that he got here in time before…

“Fuck!” Yells. Iris jumps against his chest, but he’s unperturbed. “You could’ve. He could’ve…” He continues, trying to push past the ugliness these sentences conjures in his brain, but the defeated shame on her face stops him.

He kisses her cheek, and stands, lifting her in his arms, bridal style, though the apartment is devoid of the the joy of a burgeoning marriage. The air is heavy, as heavy as both their hearts, as her body in his arms. Yet he soldiers on, through the resistance. When he arrives at her bedroom, he kicks the door open with one foot and carries her over to the bed, covered in the black, floral comforter he’d bought her as a gift early in their relationship.

Before he knew of the lies and deceit.

As her raw skin makes contact with the bed, she hisses in discomfort. “I’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, swiping a comforting hand over her head.

“It’s okay, Barr,” she croaks Her voice is thin, barely meeting the air. She's afraid to bring up the obvious, knowing now that the sweet, gentle man she’s been getting to know over the last year is The Flash. A masked hero, a force of nature, keeping the city from descending into anarchy. But she has to express her gratitude somehow. “Thank you.”

He swipes a gentle hand down the side of her face, lingering on her beauty, then leans down, planting a soft kiss on the side of her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, as her straightens his posture. “Now, I’ll be back.” He turns away from her and heads to the bedroom door.

Iris sits up on the bed. “Where are you going?”

“To see if that asshole is still breathing. Hopefully, he’s not. But if he is, I have to drop him off at Iron Heights.”

His response is dry, matter-of-fact, and it sends a tingle down her spine. “But. You can’t. He’ll talk.”

“It’s okay.” Barry continues to walk away from her. “He didn’t see my face.”

“But. Still. I don’t think jail is the right path for him.”

She isn’t saying what she wants, and he knows it. But he’s too amped up to care. “So I’m supposed to let the man who almost raped my girlfriend go free?! Is that what you want?”

“No. I…”she sighs, long and hard. “I just…”

He turns, the painful implication settling inside of him. Even after all of this, she’s worried about her dirty business deals. “What? You’re worried that the police will find out what you’ve really been doing all this time? How can you afford to live like this?” He motions around the apartment.

Iris gulps, the judgement in his tone hurting more than the gashes on her legs.

“Well, newsflash: the police -- me, I -- know, and have known for months. And what you’re doing, honestly? You deserve to be in jail.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” She croaks. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He chuckles, offensively. “Because...I love you more than your mistakes. And I was trying to give you time to either stop this or be honest with me.” He shrugs, painfully. “Guess it’s too late for that.”

“Barr, I’m sorry. I--.” She sighs, letting her head fall forward in shame. “ I’m sorry.”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. Me too.” He casts one final look of disappointment over her, one that softens ever so slightly when she raises her head and he meets her sad, concerned eyes. “Look, we can talk about all of this later. All that matters right now is that you're safe."

Iris nods meekly.

"I’ll be back in a sec to help clean you up,” he says, before flashing away, leaving her alone in the room....

#The flash #westallen #fanfiction #archive of our own

27 notes · View notes

kaizokuou-ni-naru · 4 years ago

Text

The Voyage So Far: Water Seven

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

i’ve mentioned several times before that the davy back fight is one of my least favorite arcs, mostly because i found it very dragging and tedious when i was reading it, but there are a couple things i really like in it, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, most of them have to do with zoro. i really like his moment here with chopper, and it also showcases his ability to act as more of an authority figure to the crew, which is something that makes a substantial return after enies lobby with the matter of usopp’s return.

zoro and sanji’s match in the davy back fight is far and away my favorite part of the entire arc. it’s just really fun.

like i said, this arc isn’t a favorite of mine, but i do definitely understand why it’s important to the saga and greater story in a couple different ways. one of them is that it’s just an easy, lighthearted detour that both gives the audience a chance to breathe and the strawhats a chance to showcase just how much they love each other and work well together- which turns into a fucking sledgehammer to the skull in the next arc when that unity is directly threatened. and the other reason this arc is important...

...is because of aokiji.

aokiji’s introductory scene is a brutal showcase of absolute power, and a very clear reminder that the strawhats are still very much little fish in a very, very big pond. all of the strawhats are impacted by this to some degree- it’s how badly they get curb-stomped here that leads luffy to come up with his gears as a way of closing the huge power gap he’s just learned about.

most important, though, are robin and usopp. for robin, this is a stark reminder of the fact that the government will never stop hunting her down; for usopp, who’s less obvious, it’s the seeds of the full-blown inferiority crisis that will later explode with the news about merry. both of their arcs throughout water 7 and enies lobby, essentially the twin emotional backbones of the saga, start right here.

i really like that the other strawhats all fell asleep waiting for robin and luffy to wake up. it calls back to them doing the same when nami was sick before drum, and also it’s just so fucking sweet.

water seven is my favorite island, full stop. if i was going to live anywhere in one piece’s world, i’d want to live on water seven. it’s just so creatively designed and visually great, with the canals and the tiered city and the massive fountain in the middle. the supporting cast are still one of my favorites, and the culture feels very real and authentic. i just love water seven a lot.

i just said it but it bears repeating- the water seven supporting cast is really good. iceburg, the galley-la shipwrights, franky and his family, kokoro and chimney are all really memorable, and most of them are really likable, too- and cp9, with all their eccentricities, fit in perfectly. water seven’s cast is very interconnected, as well, and their relationships all feel very believable.

all of which, of course, only makes the later treachery hurt all the more.

the atmosphere of water seven is really, really well done. the bad starts slow, with the news that merry is unfixable, and then continues into an accelerating downwards spiral of hopelessness: usopp and luffy’s fight and usopp leaving the crew, robin’s seeming betrayal, the assassination attempt on iceburg, the city and galley-la turning on them as a result, and the agua laguna- it just gets worse and worse and worse.

and then, after they’ve been stomped down about as far as they can go and come out alive anyways, they pick themselves back up again and go to save their friend, because that’s what the strawhat pirates do.

i just really like getting to see these four going feral on the franky family, it’s one of my favorite scenes in this whole arc. in general, i tend to love the moments where luffy specifically gets properly angry, and we get a lot of them in this arc.

even though the fight between luffy and usopp is genuinely very tense and fast-paced and would probably be exciting if it were any other two characters fighting, it never really feels anything other than melancholy. i think that’s a testament to just how good oda is at setting the mood of the scene. it’s made very clear, especially through the reactions of the other characters- merry ‘crying’ is fucking heartbreaking- that this is nothing less than a tragedy.

i think it’s kind of interesting we aren’t shown franky’s face until about halfway into water seven. prior to this, we’re given pretty much only reasons to hate him, with his theft of the strawhats’ money and the franky family beating usopp to shit. but just after this point is when we start getting our first humanizing and sympathetic moments for him, starting when he gets worried and a little frantic when he hears about the attempt on iceburg’s life.

i just really, really like the way some of these water seven action sequences are depicted. they feel very tense and desperate, which matches the general mood of this part of the arc perfectly.

this panel of usopp working on merry always reminds me of the shots of the klabautermann doing the same during skypiea. i’m not sure if it’s even intentional, honestly, but it’s an extra little bit of heartbreak either way.

one piece has a lot of amazing spreads, but this might be one of my favorites for sheer impact. cp9, watching as the city they’ve lived and worked in for years burns down in a fire they set, satisfied by a job well done. it’s almost all in black and white with very little grey, which creates some fantastic contrast, and their pitch-black silhouettes against the nighttime inferno are just striking.

this entire scene between usopp and franky, as usopp works on the merry and franky gives him advice and tries to make him see its hopeless and they kind of awkwardly, accidentally bond, is probably my favorite in the whole of water seven. it was also the scene that singlehandedly made me love franky as a character.

they have a really good, really enjoyable dynamic, and at the same time the conflict between them is real and understandable, and brought about because they’re both trying to do the right thing.

tom’s workers are one of my favorite little groups of characters in the whole of one piece’s story, and they deserve more appreciation. they’re family!! a little family of broken pieces who worked together to build something really, really amazing. and they still care about each other in the present, even though they got shattered apart so badly and none of them ever really recovered.

this is a tremendously under-appreciated chopper moment. not only did he carry two full-grown men out of a fire, he even managed to get zoro’s sword and iceburg’s hamster. extremely cool of him.

this is also the exact moment the strawhats’ collective luck begins to turn: chopper saves the day, and nami learns that robin did what she did to protect them, and sanji gets aboard the sea train, and from there it’s a no-brakes train from their very lowest low straight to the triumph at enies lobby.

i love all the shenanigans sanji gets up to with the sea train, i think the whole sequence is absolutely one of his shining moments. it’s always a delight to see sanji get up to Sneaky Bastard Bullshit, and the whole thing is just so fun, which is a dearly needed breath of fresh air after how relentless this arc has been until this point.

robin’s little smile when thinking of luffy and when she joined the strawhats... :( i’ve noticed it’s a recurring trend for strawhats who try to leave the crew to flash back to when they joined as they do. usopp has it earlier this same arc just before leaving, and sanji does it in whole cake island in the sanji vs. luffy chapter.

i really like how much everyone comes together at the end of water seven leading into enies lobby. after how fractured and fraught things have been throughout the arc, both within and without the strawhat crew, it’s great to see them not only all united again for a common goal, but with a huge group of allies at their backs.

these three are SUCH a hilarious team, and i would love to see them work together again like this sometime. they’re literally just clowning on the marines all the way up the train, it’s fantastic.

factually i understand sanji’s aversion to fighting with his hands and his fighting style is very unique and cool and also meaningful to him because he learned from zeff, and also if i remember right it’s implied he learned how to swordfight from the vinsmokes which makes it very reasonable he would want absolutely nothing to do with that skillset

but speaking purely in terms of stupid idiot lizard brain i think sanji should fight with knives more

this is another of my absolute favorite spreads, and i think what makes it for me is the casual confidence- luffy tells zoro to cut the train, and zoro does, both of them with no doubts at all about zoro’s ability to do so. it really goes to show how far they’ve come from back in east blue when zoro couldn’t even cut luffy out of a metal cage.

there’s something very impactful about the fact that of all the strawhats, robin gets this speech from usopp. usopp, who’s had the worst falling-out with luffy in the series to date, is the one who tells robin: you haven’t left the crew yet, you can’t leave the crew yet, luffy is coming to get you. believe in him.

franky’s “existing is not a crime” line is one of the most memorable and iconic lines from this entire saga, and for good reason. it sums up one of the main themes of not just this arc but also the series as a whole- the very same idea will come up again for ace during marineford, and in law’s backstory as well. it’s never a crime to just exist, and people should not never be persecuted for their blood or heritage. one piece doesn’t fuck around with its theming, it really doesn’t.

to be continued next time, with enies lobby!

#the voyage so far #one piece #long post #arc: water 7 #not japanese #opmeta

192 notes · View notes

mattholicguilt · 4 years ago

Text

cats in the cradle by Duck_Life

Fandoms: Supernatural [Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply] Words: 1,745

Tags: Claire Novak & Patience Turner, Cats, Psychic Abilities, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Friendship, Found Family, claire novak will see a stray animal and be like, is anyone gonna project onto this, and not wait for an answer

Summary: Claire helps Patience hone her abilities. Patience helps Claire track down a cat.

Written for SPN Women Week Day 1. Prompt: "skills"

Bub is missing again.

“Bub” is the name of a mean stray cat missing a chunk from his ear. Claire’s been leaving cat food out for the ugly old thing for weeks now, and whenever he doesn’t come running she panics.

So, for the third time, Patience finds herself enlisted in the search for a cat that Claire doesn’t even technically own. “If it’s gonna bother you this much every time,” Patience says, “why don’t you just take it in? You know, get him his shots, a collar, a microchip.”

Claire makes a face at her before turning back to look at the road. She’s been driving around the neighborhood slowly, scoping out every shrub and checking under every parked car. “Bub doesn’t want to be chained down,” she explains. “He’s a free spirit.”

Alright, well, Patience is too tired to unpack that right now. She lets it lie and looks out the passenger’s side window, alert for any signs of movement. “Maybe he was never a stray at all,” she tries, “and his owner finally tracked him down and brought him home.”

“Do you know that?” Claire asks.

Claire’s always asking if Patience knows things— what happened on Jody’s date last weekend, what Dean’s middle name is, whether or not Alex is the one who ate the last ice cream sandwich in the freezer. Patience keeps trying to explain that she can only see the future. “Psychic” might be a misnomer— her abilities are precognitive, not telepathic.

She basically gets previews, little spoilers about what’s to come. And though she’s been working at it, she can’t seem to get her psychic abilities to do the kind of reading and divination her grandma could do. She gets glimpses with no context, no backstory.

Missouri Moseley could walk into a room and feel every ounce of heartbreak, grief, hope and faith in the people standing there. Patience can barely pick up on it when Alex and Claire are pissed at each other.

Still, Claire brings her along whenever the cat goes missing. Seems to think her ESP can home in on missing animals. Patience keeps telling her otherwise, and yet here she is, once again. That’s the trouble with having no social life and no better plans.

Maybe she should join a book club.

Claire rounds the corner, eyes darting around for any sight of the mangy cat. The first time Bub vanished from Claire’s sight, all the neighbors seemed intent to help. They explained they hadn’t seen the cat, but hoped Claire would find him soon and offered baked goods and platitudes in the meantime.

But these things have an expiration date. You can only lose the cat so many times before the routine gets old and the neighbors lose interest.

“My educated guess ?” Patience sighs. “The cat’ll come back when it gets hungry. Just like before.”

Claire makes a tch sound and mouths “educated guess” under her breath. Apparently, because Patience is psychic she’s supposed to be omniscient. “So which is it?” Claire says. “Is he back with his ‘real’ owners or is he going to come home when he gets hungry?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Patience says. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m helping you.”

“... Yeah. You are,” Claire says, ducking her head. “Sorry.” Her eyes scan the road ahead, looking for the telltale streak of a cat darting out from under a parked car or vanishing around a tree trunk. Still nothing. “Hey, Patience the Pet Psychic,” Claire says. “You should write that down, that’d be a great children’s book.”

“Very funny,” Patience says, rolling her eyes. She’s silent for a few moments and then says, “Cla-aire the Monster Slayer.”

“That doesn’t really rhyme.”

“Sure it does.”

When the sky darkens and the streetlights flick on, Claire drives them back to the house, Bub-less and dejected. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Patience tries.

Claire bunches her shoulders, the collar of her leather jacket looking like a cat’s raised hackles. Maybe, Patience thinks, that’s the connection— Claire in many ways resembles an angry cat. She and Bub might be kindred spirits.

“I’m just tired,” Claire says, yanking the keys out of the ignition. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Patience considers pointing out that Claire could at least ask instead of just assuming , considers reminding Claire that she has her own life outside of playing “pet psychic.”

But she doesn’t actually have anything to do tomorrow. Or the rest of the week. And as futile as it feels riding around looking for a runaway cat, it is something to do. And it makes Claire feel better.

And… straining her psychic muscles to pick up on any trace of the old tomcat is at least better than doing nothing and letting her abilities degrade. Over the last year, she’s been trying to find ways to train her brain, shape her psychic visions into something useful.

Jody’s supportive, but she, like most people, doesn’t know anything about being psychic. Kaia’s got a fraught relationship with her own special skills and usually chooses not to talk to Patience about seeing the future, and Alex is so entrenched in nursing and hunting that the few “normal” moments she gets at home are devoted to unwinding and relaxing.

Which makes Claire Patience’s most ardent supporter in developing her psychic abilities. A very grouchy, blonde and mostly clueless Yoda. What she lacks in background knowledge she makes up for in persistence.

“Hey, Patience, guess which hand?” Claire will ask, holding the last fortune cookie behind her back. “Hey, Patience, what number am I thinking of?” Claire will ask, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hey, Patience, heads or tails?” Claire will ask, flipping a coin to catch it in midair.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of it works— Patience can’t predict things at will. Her psychic visions operate on a schedule of their own, with no concern for Patience’s own convenience or comfort. One minute, she’s watching shitty reality TV while Alex nods off on her shoulder. The next, she’s watching Jody narrowly avoid being bitten by a vampire.

It’s a lot different from just guessing a coin toss. Still. Patience can’t help but think that her grandma would’ve passed all of Claire’s little tests with flying colors.

That night, Patience doesn’t dream about anything— at least, not anything useful. She has an anxiety dream about being lost in Aldi, roaming the aisles with increasing frustration. But nothing about the future. Nothing about Bub the cat.

She’s pouring herself a bowl of cereal when Claire stomps inside, the porch door swinging shut behind her. “Still gone,” she says darkly, grabbing the cereal box and her own bowl. “Food hasn’t been touched.”

“Claire,” Patience says, “why don’t we just go to the SPCA? You can get yourself a cat that’s not, you know—”

“What? Not damaged? Not a lost cause? Not hard to love?”

Whoa, Patience wants to say. “A cat that’s not missing ,” she finishes. “We can get him his shots and a collar and everything.”

“I don’t— I don’t just want some random cat,” Claire says. “I want to find Bub. I want… I want to find him and bring him home. I have to bring him home.”

“I know,” Patience says, and just like that she does . She does know.

She knows everything, feels everything, the aching loss in Claire’s bones that’s both recent and so, so old. Memories of Claire hitchhiking and stealing and conning her way through the country, desperately chasing a mother who was desperately chasing a dead man. Jimmy Novak’s voice in her head, his face seen through Claire’s eyes, Please, Castiel, take me. Just take me. Again, his forehead pressed to hers, Take care of your mom, okay, bub?

Bub.

Patience looks at Claire. Sees her, in a way she hasn’t been able to see anyone before. “Bub… ‘bub’ is what your dad used to call you.”

Claire squints at her. “Uh. Yeah,” she says. “Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t tell you that.”

“No,” Patience breathes, meeting her eyes across the kitchen, “you didn’t.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Claire’s face. “Holy shit , Patience, you just… ? You just did that. You, like, read me.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know. That I could do that,” Patience says, caught between marveling at this new development and feeling self-conscious at intruding on Claire’s emotions and her past.

Claire doesn’t seem put off at all. She’s actually bouncing with excitement. “We gotta test this out. Oh my God. It’s like a whole new Pokemon evolution for you.”

“It’s not really. Like that. In any way.”

But Claire is already humming the Pokemon theme song. She grabs her car keys. “Alright, well, let’s go look for that cat. I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

“I read you, Claire, that doesn’t mean I can read the cat,” Patience reminds her.

“Yeah, yeah, but you can still help me look,” Claire says. “I don’t need your third eye, just the two on your face.”

“That’s… yeah, fine,” Patience acquiesces. To be honest, she’s buzzing with the knowledge of what she can do with her powers. If Claire’s happy to be her test subject, she’ll spend all day with the girl. “Just let me grab a coffee.”

“Ooh, me too. Wait!” She wiggles her fingers toward Patience. “Do you Know how I like my coffee?”

“Half-and-half. And enough sugar to kill you,” Patience reels off. “But that’s not because I’m psychic. I’ve just seen you fix yourself coffee before.”

“Y’know, I think the line between ‘psychic’ and ‘observant’ is thinner than you might think.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patience says, and then pretends to stumble backward toward the table, overacting the part. “Oh, oh, I’m having a vision… I see you … making coffee for us…”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she dutifully sets her keys down and busies herself with getting the travel mugs out. “That’s not gonna work for everything, you know.”

“Aaah I see you bringing Jody’s suit to the dry cleaners next week. I also see you driving me to the science museum.”

“Hilarious.”

Patience smiles at her. It’s nice to have someone else get excited about her powers. It’s nice to be allowed to be excited about this, to learn a new skill and have it mean something good to someone besides herself. She doesn’t feel like a freak or a failure. She just feels… like a psychic.

She feels like her grandma would be proud.

#spnwomenweek #day 1: skills #patience turner #claire novak #spn #supernatural

53 notes · View notes

kyidyl · 4 years ago

Text

Kyidyl Explains Bone - Part 1

(These posts will be collected under the tag KyidylBones because I have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy. Also, I’m going to start cross-posting them to my science side blog @science-of-anthropology in an effort to like give people a place to go if they’re just here for these posts and not for my other random thoughts. That blog also contains a lot of decent info from the days I was premed and taking premed physical science classes.)

Intro and Ethical Considerations

Ok, all you weird nerds out there (<3), how’s your day going? Good? Are you ready to hear me ramble about one of my favorite things on earth? Well, then gather ‘round ye old tumblr fire. We’re gonna learn about *people*! Because all the stuff I taught you before was stuff you basically learn in anthropology undergrad and in a field school. But! I *specialized*. I have secret powe--*coughs* I mean, a special interest. See, my favorite topic in the whole world, the one on which I will ADHD infodump for DAYS about if you let me, is the intersection of human evolution and culture. My ultimate goal is either to work in a museum, or be a scientist that studies this. That’s why I went out and got a masters.

A bioarchaeology masters not only taught me how to dig up people, but a whole HOST of other things related to people and digging (Like genetics and using drones to survey an area for digging.). But before we can get into the details, there’s a few things you have to understand. First:

On sex, race, ethnicity, and gender

Anthropologists of all kinds are well, WELL aware that these 4 things are extremely fraught and extremely complicated. Probably more aware than any of the other sciences. But, when you learn to identify skeletons you learn to do it based on sex and race for a couple reasons:

1. When identifying a body for the police department, their databases are entirely based on these identifying characteristics. A lot of forensic anthropologists work with the police to identify remains. If we can’t pick out demographic qualities then we’d never match them up to people in the missing persons database who are listed along a sex binary and racial categories. But believe me when I tell you we all do it under duress and in annoyance because we know how complicated these things are for people.

2. When dealing with populations that are gone and can’t tell us what they identified as, we arrange them by sex and race to make some sort of sense of the demographics of an area. This is how we know, for example, that people from Africa intermingled early and often with people from Europe. Being able to ID these markers on a skeleton is faster and cheaper than DNA tests and often the only method available, especially in prehistoric populations.

So I will be discussing features on bones in these terms, but understand that it’s not my way of excluding trans people. We, as of yet, just have no good way of *identifying* trans people in the archaeological record.

And second:

Ethics

Ethics is a huge and thorny topic so I’m going to only make a couple notes here. I bounced this series around in my head for awhile and the reason I didn’t do it sooner is that despite having human remains in my possession for legitimate scientific reasons, it’s extremely unethical for me to post pictures of them on the open internet. The same goes for the tons of pictures I have of human remains from my masters studies. To that ends, the images I’ll be using will fall into one of four categories: images from my textbooks, images on the public web that are available for educational use, and images of Bone Clones, and my own image of damage patterns on animal bones. This is also a warning that, yes, there will be images of human remains here. I’ve decided, though, that when a post starts to contain human remains, I’ll insert a cut. So you will not be surprised by human remains randomly in your timeline.

Now, here are some ethical things I need you guys to understand and adhere to:

- These people had names in life, and you do not get to give them new ones. Naming a skeleton is verbotten in archaeology circles, and often will extend to Bone Clones because they are casts of real bones. The correct terminology here is either “the/this individual” or “the remains”. If specificity is needed they’re either given an identification number or referred to by their demographic information. If you have the name of the individual bc there was a gravestone or records, then it’s ok to use it. Often we don’t though for privacy reasons.

- These were people. They had tastes, beliefs, people who loved them, etc. - all of which were different than mine or yours. Please keep that in mind when commenting.

- There is no ethical way for a lay person to obtain human remains, aside from direct donation by a relative or friend. No, I don’t care what they website says in their statement about ethical sourcing. They did NOT obtain the remains ethically. The people who sold the remains almost always do so under duress, usually economic. And if they weren’t given, they were stolen. There is No. Ethical. Way. To. Purchase. Human. Bone.

- Modern bone collections obtained by institutions for education usually are obtained ethically. Often via donation by a living donor before their death for the purpose of scientific education. In other instances they are obtained from legally-dug excavations, from donation by family members (IE, no money exchanged and consent given.), or with some other kind of permission. However, there are many existing bone collections that pre-date this practice and are NOT obtained ethically. In the US these are undergoing identification (we’ll get to this in another post) and repatriation, but this is just one of the many thorny issues that physical anthropologists and archaeologists have to be aware of.

- What other societies do with their human remains is going to seem strange and sometimes disgusting or objectionable to you. Not always, but definitely sometimes. This is their choice and in this house we respect the emic (within the social group) view on death rituals.

I think that’s everything...if I remember more I’ll sprinkle them in as I go along. Ethical violations are a Big Deal among archaeologists and other social scientists who handle human remains. It’s one of the few things we don’t joke about (because as we all know, archaeologists are forces of chaos.). The history of completely unethical treatment in the field makes us very sensitive to how human remains are handled and where they came from. Questions are 100% fine - you all are still learning and I’m not gonna get mad at you for not knowing yet. I’ll gently let you know if it’s inappropriate.

So here’s the stuff I’m planning on getting to:

Human vs. Animal

Sex identification.

Racial identification.

Age identification.

Teeth!

Damage to the skeleton (this might be two posts.).

Other random stuff that might come up while I’m doing the other things.

So....let’s begin....mwahahahahahahahaha. And for making it to the bottom of this post you get a bonus picture of me AND the dog:

His name is Gage, and my name is Kristina - you’re welcome to use it. I know probably “Kyidyl” isn’t easy to say in your heads. :) It’s pronounced kai-dul if you were every wondering tho. Now you can put a face to the internet voice. :)

#KyidylBones #science #anthropology #archaeology #human remains #long post #ethics #the discussion before the discussion #my face #my dog

116 notes · View notes