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clonerightsagenda · 3 years

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Hey hi! I remember you’ve mentioned parent-child themes in Wolf before referencing Eiffel and Hera, can you say more about that? :0

Ok, let's stop talking about necromancy to talk about something even more terrifying... parenthood.

Anyway, yeah! That's the read on their relationship that makes the most sense to me. I'm basing that read on three elements:

Juxtaposition of Anne & Hera

Parallels to Cutter & Pryce

Complementary narratives (idk what to call this bullet point tbh)

Since I know Eiffel/Hera is a popular ship, let me preface this by saying that I'm not saying you shouldn't ship them or that shipping them is incorrect or wrong or whatever. This is a reading, one that I think makes sense and is well-supported by the text, but it's certainly not the only one.

Anyway, lengthy explanation + textual evidence under the cut bc I am putting off having to do this week’s meal planning:

Juxtaposition of Anne and Hera

The narrative draws a connection between Anne and Hera several times. The most obvious is in “Limbo”, where the A plot is Hera struggling with the effects of mental and physical trauma inflicted by Hilbert and Pryce (sort of her evil mom), and the B plot is Eiffel revealing his past where he inflicted mental and physical trauma on his daughter. In case the parallel isn't clear enough, he directly bridges the two plots near the end of the episode.

MINKOWSKI God. I don't know what to say.

EIFFEL Say Hera's gonna be okay.

In "Mayday", Eiffel hallucinates specific crewmates at specific moments. As brain ghost Hilbert notes, "If I am here, it is because some part of you thinks you have to confront [the mathematical reality]." To Eiffel’s subconscious, Hilbert represents cold hard facts in the same way that Minkowski represents crisis response and Lovelace represents a can-do attitude. Near the end of “Mayday”, when he realizes he’s doomed, he says "I guess I'm never going to talk to..." Although he doesn't finish that thought, given the person he tries to leave a message to in the finale, we can guess he's probably thinking about Anne. Who does he hallucinate immediately afterward? Hera.

Finally, in the finale, Minkowski overhears Eiffel making a recording for Anne, where he tells her "Don't let anybody tell you that you can't do something." Later in the same episode, when he's encouraging Hera against Pryce, he tells her, "You can do anything."

An aside: I've heard secondhand that Word of God is that Anne was four when Eiffel last saw her, which would be another point of comparison. However, I can't verify that, and it's not in the text. And no, I'm not saying Hera is the equivalent of a human four-year-old. (Hera's age and whether it even makes sense to assign her a human equivalent is its own post, but mostly I refer to Hera as four in the same way that I refer to myself as a girl - only when it's funny.) I'm an adult, and I still have parents. Our parent/child relationship simply looks different than it did when I was younger.

Parallels with Pryce and Cutter

Based on the way the writers discussed their planning process, most of the characters echo other members of the cast. Eiffel and Cutter - pop culture savvy, communications in their title, the only two to speak 'directly' to Bob - could be seen as one dark reflection, and of course Hera and Pryce reflect each other as well. I've already written about how the numerous Tempest references in the finale suggest a twisted father/daughter relationship for Cutter and Pryce (Prospero my behated), so if they've got an *evil* father/daughter thing going on, then it follows that their non-evil counterparts might have something similar.

Complementary narratives or whatever we’re calling this chunk

Both Eiffel and Hera enter the story with backstories involving parent/child trauma. Eiffel, of course, hurt his daughter when he selfishly and impulsively decided he was entitled to custody, regardless of her comfort or safety. Hera doesn't technically have parents, but her creator and closest equivalent to a ‘mother’ belittles AIs in general, treating them as machines rather than people, and stuck disabling code in Hera's head to keep her compliant.

The two of them are on outwardly friendly terms in season one, but both make comments (Eiffel in "The Sound and the Fury" and Hera in "Am I Alone Now?") suggesting they don’t necessarily respect each other. I imagine a lot of the initial draw was that they like socializing, and neither Hilbert nor season 1 Minkowski are particularly chatty. However, during/after the mutiny, Eiffel gets much more defensive of Hera, and he repeatedly circles back to the attack on her ‘brain’.

I'm not doing it if it means that he gets to stick his fingers in her brain and mess around with her mind again. ("Painfully Ever After")

You know, she's been a little twitchy ever since Hilbert tore her brains out. ("Limbo")

Well, you know how it is when your mechanical brain gets broken and you have to get it replaced with a new one made mostly out of electrical tape and paperclips. Oh, wait, no you don't. ("Happy To Be Of Assistance")

Given what we learn later, I think it's reasonable that he's reacting to the similarities between what happened to her and what happened to Anne. After the mutiny, they grow closer over the rest of the show and start to deal with some of the issues tied to their earlier bad relationships - Eiffel more actively giving a damn about the people around him, Hera bonding with people who treat her as an actual person. Imo, two characters with a past involving opposite ends of a damaged parent/child relationship striking up a *better* parent/child relationship that helps them heal and improve gels better with the narrative and character arcs presented than a budding romance.

Finally, I think this reading adds to the way Eiffel's story ends. In "Limbo" when he's recounting his daughter’s accident to Minkowski, he says bitterly, "I was fine. Of course I was fine. The driver's always fine." In the finale, right before he and Pryce get deleted, he tells her "We're driving off the cliff together". He ended up on the station in the first place because he selfishly hurt his daughter, and he exits the story (as himself, anyway) by choosing to selflessly prevent a daughter figure from being hurt more. (Giving her even more memory-based trauma in the process, but life's a bitch sometimes.) I still dislike endings that erase character development, but looking at it this way made the narrative logic click for me in a way it hadn't before.

In conclusion: Again, I’m not saying people have to read the relationship that way, but I think it fits really well with the text as presented and adds nuance to how the characters’ stories progress and resolve. Sometimes a podcast is also a bad dad competition. This is also more or less what Fullmetal Alchemist is about.

#wolf 359 #interrupting my blog's lengthy run of TLT posting #I’ll note that most of these examples are from his perspective #bc this is a human concept she doesn’t necessarily have context for #but I think it makes sense for a human character and potentially for human readers #I mean listeners

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magicofthepen · 3 years

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Tell us about Making Out Is Not a Healthy Coping Mechanism and Aro Solidarity: That Platonic Fake Married Fic, please?

Send me a WIP doc title (list here) and I’ll talk about it!

I love that you asked about these two because they’re both Romana and Narvin fics, but quite different takes on their relationship!

The quick explanations (I’m gonna put the long ramble-y ones under a cut):

Making Out Is Not a Healthy Coping Mechanism: Narvin/Romana, post-Devil You Know. Stressed, grieving Time Lords are trying to run the CIA in the middle of a war, there are the added factors of Narvin’s exhausted anger and Romana’s exhausted guilt around Leela’s mission, everyone is very bad at talking about anything. They end up kissing rather by accident, and it’s very emotionally fraught and no one wants to think about or discuss the implications.

Aro Solidarity: That Platonic Fake Married Fic: Narvin & Romana, set shortly after Enemy Lines, a combo of "accidentally getting stuck in a fake married situation apparently counts as workplace bonding?” “I don’t typically headcanon Romana as aro but I could totally see it and I really want to write about it!” and “I don’t typically headcanon Narvin as aro but I could totally see it and I really want to write about it!”

The (very) long ramble-y versions:

Making Out Is Not a Healthy Coping Mechanism

I love exploring time gaps in Romana and Narvin’s relationship (that nine month gap between Forever and Emancipation where they’re on their own as President and Chancellor! that Enemy Lines to Time War gap where they clearly build a really great partnership in the CIA together!), but one of the gaps I haven’t written a fic about yet is the time between The Devil You Know and Desperate Measures (I’ve referenced that time frame in my Time War 3 fic, but I haven’t actually Gotten Into It).

Because the ending of The Devil You Know is extremely tense, and we never really see that immediate interpersonal fallout? So I want to write something set in this time frame, when they’re both stressed and terrified for Leela, but they can’t really lean on each other because Narvin’s angry at Romana for pushing for the mission and Romana’s blaming herself for pushing for the mission (“What have I done?”), but they’re both putting up a We Have a Job To Do front and pretending they’re okay at work and.....yeah.

There’s also been a certain degree of unspoken romantic attraction between them for a while (perhaps they haven’t even admitted it to themselves) because navigating their professional and personal relationship is complicated enough as it is without introducing another element. Also they’re both very good at “let’s shove feelings down and not talk about them.” (I have so many takes on Romana and Narvin’s relationship, but during Time War I get such simultaneous “old married couple” and “haven’t actually admitted to feelings” vibes from them, and I want to write about that.)

So they’re both very isolated and hurting in their own ways and there’s this background unaddressed Thing between them, and eventually everything just comes to a head. And I haven’t actually written this fic yet, I just have notes and keep playing through this scene in my head in different ways, so I don’t know the details about what will happen? Not sure if there’s going to be a proper fight, if they’re actually going to get into the blame question around Leela’s disappearance, not sure how much of that grief they’re actually going to show?

The bottom line is: they end up crossing paths in Leela’s rooms (where they both occasionally go to have an emotional breakdown), they’re exhausted and every emotional boundary they need to keep up because they work together is crumbling away, and they end up kissing. But it’s not exactly a positive development, more of a “this is easier than talking” sort of thing. Also I haven’t decided what their exact relationships with Leela were (in the context of this fic), but either they were each in a relationship with Leela or they each have feelings for Leela but never admitted it? But regardless, they both Know that the other has feelings for Leela, and so there’s an added dynamic of them both thinking “obviously this means nothing to you because it’s not me you’re interested in, and you’re only doing this because you’re missing her, and so obviously I’m going to pretend it means nothing to me, too.” So it’s just poor communication bad times all around!

I don’t actually know how/if this resolves? I don’t think they’d have a proper conversation at this point in the audios, but I’m not sure if I’m just going to end this fic on “welp that happened” or if there’s going to be some kind of emotional shift/release of tension somehow? (There will probably need to be because their relationship in Desperate Measures and TW2 is quite good overall, so I probably won’t leave things in this tense place?) But again, this fic isn’t written yet, so everything is pretty up in the air.

Aro Solidarity: That Platonic Fake Married Fic

Arguably, this is more of a concept than an actual wip, but even though I may never actually write it, I do love it dearly?

I’ve been wanting to write something with aromantic Romana for a while - and this might sound strange coming from me, aka someone who’s written a variety of shippy Romana fic and can very easily interpret her feelings and relationships with other characters as romantic, but I so often have multiple contradictory headcanons for characters that live in different pockets of my brainspace.

My aro Romana thoughts are mainly fueled by series 4, because whenever marriage/romance comes up around alternate versions of herself, she’s always fairly surprised and baffled and gives the impression that it’s not something she’s ever considered? And in general, she’s kinda awkward and uncomfortable whenever there’s flirting happening (which could just be the circumstances or her personality, but could also be interpreted as her not clicking with romantic gestures). And of course while fandom ships her with many characters in the dw universe, she’s never stated to be romantically interested in anyone (well. I suppose that depends on your thoughts about how canon the Prime computer ads are, but putting that aside.......). Not that there has to be overt evidence for headcanons, but I do think there’s a solid canon-based argument for aro Romana, you know?

And part of me really likes the interpreting Romana’s friendships as totally platonic because the intense Friendship-as-Love-Story journey is there already, that’s what the audios are giving us! And I don’t really see that kind of centering of deep, spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you friendship in media and it’s so good! (Related point (I know I say this a lot, but it bears repeating): I do very much ship the ot3, but am also very much into reading all of the main trio’s relationships as totally platonic – and I never actually want those relationships to be romantic in the audios themselves.) And I’ve had Thoughts for a while about how for Romana the big important line is between professional and personal relationships, and whether the personal relationship is romantic or platonic is probably less significant. So I could see her as someone who either doesn’t experience romantic attraction at all or just doesn’t distinguish between romantic and platonic attraction. What’s important is the distinction between professional relationships and intimate personal relationships – separating out the nature of that personal intimacy isn’t really something she does?

So anyways, I’ve been wanting to write something that explores Romana being aromantic, but for a while, I didn’t really have a vision for what kind of fic I wanted to write?

Separately, I’ve had the “platonic fake married” idea kicking around in my head for a while. The “post-Enemy Lines” time period is so fascinating to me when it comes to Romana and Narvin’s relationship because somehow they go from “Romana’s just swooped in and taken Narvin’s job that he’s worked hard for his entire life” to the genuinely solid friendship and team dynamic we see in the Time War audios? So I’m fascinated by that journey from things probably being very emotionally fraught and a lot of tension and stepping on each others’ toes to working really well together. And somehow, at some point, my brain went: what if new CIA Coordinator Romana and Deputy Coordinator Narvin who aren’t getting along very well accidentally end up in an off-world situation where they have to pretend to be married? (My brain also went: I’m not sure I could handle writing the secondhand embarrassment of this situation, but also I’m very into the idea of a Narvin & Romana platonic fake married fic that ends up functioning as a “how do we save our friendship?” story.)

And then more recently, I realized I also really wanted to write something with aromantic Narvin. There aren’t necessarily specific moments fueling this headcanon (as much as with Romana), but it definitely comes from a similar “I really like interpreting Narvin’s friendships as totally platonic because the intense Friendship-as-Love-Story journey is there already!” place.

You know that “I have feelings for you” / “The feeling was “friendship” but neither had ever experienced it” quote? Yeah, that pretty accurately captures my thought process when it comes to aro Narvin. He genuinely doesn’t seem to have experienced friendship before Romana and Leela, so it’s very plausible to me that he assumed he was experiencing romantic attraction at some point but nope, he just really loves his friends and is experiencing really intense platonic affection for the first time. (This is also me going ‘I know this is a wildly unpopular opinion, but I’m totally down to interpret Erasure as platonic.’)

Anyways, at some point recently all three things fused together in my brain, and I went: what if new CIA Coordinator Romana and Deputy Coordinator Narvin who aren’t getting along very well end up in a situation where they have to pretend to be married.....and also they’re both aromantic? Writing a fic like this feels like an excellent opportunity to actually sit down and have a think about ‘what are the cultural associations and expectations around romance on Gallifrey?’ (‘what does being aromantic mean by Gallifreyan standards?’) And ‘what are romantic associations and expectations on whatever planet they’re on?’ And the potential bonding experience of two aromantic people trying to navigate those layers of expectation, while also grappling with the interpersonal tension in their friendship and slowly learning to communicate better in the process....this is a very interesting story to me!

No, I have not actually figured out the details of the off-world diplomatic situation/mission they would accidentally end up in that would require this, and thus I probably won’t get around to it for a while. Also this would probably be a longfic and I’m trying to stick to a ‘one big project at a time!’ rule, and my current big project is the post-Time War fic, and then fantasy au has been waiting its turn for so long (and actually has, y’know, plot points). But I simply love this concept, and so I’m keeping the doc in case I maybe figure out a way to keep the fic short, or get a particularly good idea and decide that I really want to write it? (But also – if someone else wants to run with this concept, please do!)

This has been such a long answer to your ask, whoops, but thank you so much for giving me the excuse to ramble on about all of these things!!

#sparklingdocta #again thank you for sending this!! <3 #also this is the last ask i have for this meme but if people want to send more I’m v down to talk about my fics!#gallifrey audios #narvin x romana #in both a romantic and a platonic sense because i will never pick a single interpretation of their relationship i love them all #shoutout to anyone who reads through all of this it is quite a ramble :)#asks #ramblings

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atvir · 3 years

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I walk upon a great hall, Part ?? + 1

It seemed to almost be remarkable that Foxrun was able to salvage some Horde gold off the coast of Zandalar without spilling any blood.

Of course, there were moments of great tensions, notably, when Zandalari druids intercepted the Dancing Dolphin, boarded with their permission, and began inquiring about the purpose of being so close to their lands.

Atvir answered with a half-truth. Sure, he was not actually there to study the Zandalari Loa, but he did have vested interest to learn of them at some point.

The towering Zandalari, even from a level below on the upper deck, responded with razor sharp tongues in broken common.

"I did not ask any ting o' you, 'Highborne'. Yo're perversions o' de wild faith are not welcome."

Atvir felt a rush of anger wash over him, contemplating some sort of clever remark back at the troll, but decided best to not make the situation worse.

What bothered him more was that the druid may have been partially right.

After a long night of lookout upon the Kul Tiran vessel, Atvir returned to familiar land and laid his head upon a pillow.

As soon as his eyes closed, the great, all-too-familiar aisle was upon him within the dream-view.

The faceless watchers looked upon him with their eyeless vigil. Even with such familiarity, there was a sense of uneasiness about the ordeal.

He wandered the center aisle of the wood-and-marble weave for what felt like a shorter period of time than his prior visit. Eventually, he began to notice that the building was dematerializing into an open sky with the vast ocean spread at his feet.

The dream-horizon baked the waters in a gentle, orange glow, mimicking that of a sunset. An object was careening towards Atvir. He glared and was able to make out a boat.

He blinked and was now at the bow of the ship, however, what he landed on was not of a Kul Tiran build. The opulent ruby, emerald, and gold paintings, the sharp edges of the boat, as well as the crest that stood upon the stern of the ship made it evident that this would have been some sort of Zandalari destroyer.

At the wheel was the mystery-of-form, the great host of the Hall. Sea?

Even with the dream-sun resting upon the back of the being, all Atvir made out was a silhouette. The form makes a noise as if stretching something elastic.

Are they smiling?

"Leaf-and-shadow. It seems you've made...adequately enough on your end. May I scrawl the mind to see what we may discuss since your unwelcome, uninvited visitation?"

Atvir nodded. "After all this time, I've realized I never really gave you something to associate with. I will call you Shifter."

Shifter made a noise reminiscent of a gentle wind pushing an old door open. "Boring but fine. Names are irrelevant to me, Leaf-in-Shadow."

Another noise, that of a musty tome flipping a book came from the mystery-of-form. "Hmm! A memory of an old crone...don't ever think I've been aware of her, and ah, you used a similar technique to expedite travel, like I displayed last time. The benefits of arguing with me."

Flip. "Hot air balloon trip with the Guild. Unremarkable. Hm. Lots of new memories of Her."

Atvir smiles at the thought.

Flip. "Odd. You've decided not to try to search for your father, yet."

Flip. "Salvage. You stayed on the ship. Irate Zandalari druids? You were treading on their territory."

Shifter emitted a groaning noise. "You've plenty of NEW things to discuss, but I think it is rather obvious what you want to discuss At-veer."

A loud noise echoed from the formless one, almost as if flesh, bone, sinew were in a dance to create something new. After a rather drawn-out transformation, there stood a nine-foot tall Zandalari druid in the colors of the Empire’s navy. Shifter-Zandalari snaps their finger. A horn of unknown make is heard beyond the horizon, unseen within the walls. As soon as this occurs, the ship begins to move at full-sail.

Unlike Lethelas, there is a face tied to them, constructed from Atvir's recent memory. Out of the troll comes a more accurate enunciation of what they would say in common.

"So, I won't say dis again - I did not ask anyting of ya, 'Highborne'. Your perversions o' de wild faith are not welcome."

Atvir smirked. "Well, you did inquire about what we were doing in Zandalari waters, no? I'm just giving you my answer to that."

"Even if that be de answer, I care not about what'cha doin' here. You are a mockery of our ways. The original ways."

"Your argument is weak. Perhaps we evolved from trolls due to the Well's powers, but our sphere of worship may coincide or overlap in some instances. We spent most of our initial expansion away from you. You never communicated with us. Two of the greatest powers at the time see each other, they're perceived as a threat. We drove you back."

"Den ya blew up de world! Where were ya gods den?"

"They were with us this entire time. Of course, the Highborne scorned the path of nature and in their selfishness, nearly doomed us all. I'd consider ourselves lucky to still have something after thousands of years. I consider the ordeal...a lesson. I was born LONG after the Sundering, so I can only take secondhand accounts of it."

"De loa are wit us through thick and thin. Dey do not abandon us."

"Same thing with our gods, or loa as you perceive them. Did they leave you when your empire stubbornly decided on inaction? When it was sinking into the sea?"

"Rezan had led us with great wisdom, Rastakhan an extension of him! Who were we ta question de King of kings?"

"I'd consider it a lesson, then. We cannot forget what occurred to us in the past, but we cannot cling to old ideals forever. Change comes eventually. I do love the gods I worship, I really do, but sometimes, that does not make them right. Their flaws do make them much more easier to be drawn to, however."

"Hmmm. You've given me much to consider. Perhaps seclusion has left us wary of thieves of knowledge and faith, after all."

"I was partially being honest about my intent of learning of Zandalari loa. I've known so little about other closely-tied gods to my own even after living for so long."

"I can make no guarantees of what could happen if ya arrive on dese shores for such an endeavor, but are ya willing to make such a commitment? Each of dem are different compared to whatever copycats ya have."

"My intent is to learn, not worship."

"To learn is one and da same, as de pink-skins call it. Respect will be de only way to do so."

Atvir sighed. "So it's like learning the forms all over again."

Shifter-Zandalari chuckles. "Heh, sometin' like dat. A pity dis just be a dream.”

With a snap of their finger, Atvir is pulled out from the dream and is awakened. Unlike last time, there is no sense of dread.

He looked down at his amulet, rubbing it with his thumb. He stretched out of the bed, composed himself, and began the next day.

Other dreams with Shifter:

Part ?? Part ?? + 1 - You are here

#story #the shifter #Atvir Leafshadow

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joescommunityproject · 3 years

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r/Anticonsumption: Appealing to Outrage

The Platform

Reddit: the front page of the internet. Born in 2005, Reddit has championed itself as the cultural hub of the internet. Reddit’s “about” page states that “Reddit is home to thousands of communities, endless conversation, and authentic human connection,” (Reddit Inc., 2019) The building block of their platform, which has over 430 million active monthly users, is the subreddit (Reddit Inc., 2019). Subreddits are internet communities formed by a collective of like-minded users. Some subreddits, like r/pics, are massive, with over 26 million members (r/pics, 2020). Other subreddits, like r/pottedcats, only have a few thousand members (r/pottedcats, 2020).

There are certain subreddits that have made a name for themselves outside of Reddit, usually by way of controversy. For instance, r/the_donald gained internet fame for its racist posts in support of Donald Trump’s presidency. When the community was banned by Reddit in July of 2020, news outlets including Wired wrote about the fall of the problematic subreddit (Peck, 2020).

Yet while r/the_donald may have been an outlier in terms of its popularity and controversy, it echoed a culture war that exists across Reddit. For as many subreddits as there are devoted to cat videos, there are likely just as many that espouse political and cultural angst. R/Anticonsumption is one of these.

The Community

According to the community’s “about,” page, r/Anticonsumption is a subreddit concerned with “criticizing, questioning, and discussing consumerism and current consumption standards,” (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). It is a relatively small subreddit with a membership of over 254 thousand users (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). While there is no comprehensive breakdown of the community's membership, I believe that it’s demographics generally align with those of Reddit as a whole. Statistics reported by websitebuilder.org state that 58% of Reddit users are between the ages of 18 and 29 (WebsiteBuilder, 2020). And looking at r/Anticonsumption, this seems like an accurate reflection of the subreddit’s users, who appear to be primarily young adults in their late 20s. This conclusion is based on the content and nature of the posts featured on r/Anticonsumption, which embody a disillusionment with consumer culture. The people making these posts would have to be old enough to be conscious of consumer culture, but also young enough to be concerned with its wastefulness. People who are outside of the 18-29 demographic may be too young to be aware of consumerism or too old to be upset by it.

And upset they are. As the community’s “about,” page states, the foremost goal of r/Anticonsumption is the criticism of “consumerism and current consumption standards,” (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). The page also lists topics for discussion, which include “consumerism, planned obsoletism, economic materialism, inefficiency, advertising, sustainability, exploitation, conspicuous consumption,” and “intellectual property,” (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). However, these topics might be more succinctly categorized as a community concern for “waste,” “unnecessary consumption,” and “corporate greed.” These categories are by far the most popular topics for discussion, and are heavily represented within the top 40 most upvoted, or liked, posts of this year (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). Of those posts, I observed that 17.5% were concerned with the physical waste produced by consumerism. Another 27.5% were related to unnecessary consumption or purchasing items in excess. And 30% were specifically critical of corporations and their excessive wealth. The last 25% did not fit neatly into any of these three categories. Given the content of these posts, it’s easy to tell that the general tone of the community is one of frustration. Referring again to the top 40 posts of the year, 65% bore a negative or cynical tone. This is compared to the 20% that were clearly optimistic or the 15% that were tonally neutral.

Shared Assumptions

From these overarching sentiments, one can devise a rough outline of the community’s shared assumptions. First and foremost, the community agrees that capitalism is a flawed and in some cases immoral, system. While there are few posts that explicitly attack capitalism by name, the issues which pervade the community, including conspicuous consumption, waste, and corporate greed, are all a direct result of consumerism and, by association, capitalism. Secondly, the community agrees that these issues are important because of their impact on people and the planet. The subreddit's tagline is, after all, "Consumerism kills," (r/Anticonsumption, 2020). Some posts state this outright, referring explicitly to climate change, worker exploitation, and pollution (u/MutantAussie, 2020). Yet even on posts that are not explicit, one can find commenters who take the post to its environmental and humanitarian conclusions (u/fatnerdfromnextdoor, 2020). The subreddit also aligns itself with more explicitly environmental subreddits, including r/Environmentalism (r/Environmentalism, 2020).

A third assumption accepted by the community is that there are alternatives to consumerism. While this is hardly the main goal of the subreddit, there are those posts that provide solutions to the consumption opposed by the community. For instance, a recent post by u/Bydanielpearce showed how he had transformed old socks into couch cushions (u/Bydanielpearce, 2020). Another popular post on the subreddit pictures a painted sign, the author of which challenges viewers to grow their own produce instead of purchasing it (u/madigolightly, 2020). The community also aligns itself with other self-sufficiency subreddits, such as r/fermentation (r/fermentation, 2020).

But this assumption is in contradiction with the community’s final, and perhaps most surprising, shared understanding: that consumption is unavoidable, at least in the present moment. In a subreddit called r/Anticonsumption, one could assume that the members would be entirely opposed to consumption in all of its forms. However, this is not the case. Obviously, the community does not oppose necessary consumption of food, clothing, and housing. But besides that, there is leniency in regards to other forms of nonessential consumption. For instance, many of the community members engage in consumerist hobbies. Looking at the profile of u/SaltNext, a user responsible for one of the most upvoted posts of the year, reveals that they posted on r/Disney, linking to a sweatshirt that they had put up for sale (u/SaltNext, 2020). Other users post to r/Anticonsumption while posting elsewhere about their plant hobby, or about the shoes they ruin while skateboarding (u/S8r-Boi-Cya-L8r-Boi, 2020).

While this contradiction can contribute to a sense of performativity amongst certain users, it does not invalidate the goals of the subreddit. Members of the community must still participate in the system that they are critical of. If anything, the juxtaposition between what members post and what they engage elsewhere on the platform clarifies how the members of the community define “consumption.” For them, to be anti-consumption is not to be against any one purchase, though there are posts that focus on a single item. Rather, it is frustration with the overarching systems in which these purchases occur. A system that necessitates frivolity; engorges the wealthy; and perpetuates human suffering.

Entering the Conversation

In posting on r/Anticonsumption, I sought to emulate the rhetorical style of the community to maximize members’ engagement with my post. In doing so, I attempted to employ these assumptions and norms to varying degrees of success.

Post 1

I made my first post to r/Anticonsumption regarding the thrifting website Depop (u/Looney_Goon, 2020). In a lengthy paragraph titled “Depop and the Thrifting Industry,” I asked the community what they thought about services like Depop and the justification its sellers gave for huge markups on secondhand items.

In crafting this post I had worked hard to give evidence, develop an argument, and ask a thought-provoking question. I had assumed that this post’s academic rhetoric would catch the attention of the entire community and that I would succeed in sparking a thoughtful dialogue between users. However, this did not happen. At the time that this essay is being written, the post has only received 13 upvotes and six comments. And, of the few comments that I did receive, not a single user agreed with my suggestion that the popularization of thrifting negatively impacted low-income communities.

At first, I was disappointed with the lack of engagement. However, I came to understand that my rhetorical style did not match that of the broader community. Looking back at other discussion-based posts, I noticed that they generally received fewer upvotes and comments than their image-based counterparts. This was despite the fact that they explicitly asked a question of the community. Successful posts were, instead, short and to the point, with an image and snappy title that immediately invoked the emotions of the community. In my future posts, I sought to emulate this formula.

Post 2

However, my second post was even more of a failure than my first. In making this post, I decided to comment on an existing post rather than create my own (u/Looney_Goon, 2020). I figured that, in the comments thread, the wordy style that had failed before would find success amongst the other text-based remarks.

Once again, I crafted a long-winded comment, this time describing my own experiences with wasteful practices at my workplace. I even tried to express my anger and frustration through the comment, in the hopes of eliciting the same response from the community. But I have not received a single upvote on this comment to date.

This comment suffers from the same issues as my previous post. It is text-based and it is wordy. But I think that the bulk of its failure can be attributed to where it was posted. I made the comment on an existing post, one which had been made days earlier and had already received 45 comments before mine. Buried in the comments section of (by the internet’s standards) an already old post, my comment’s chance to be seen, let alone be engaged with, were slim to none.

Post 3

In my third post, I embraced the rhetorical strategy that I had identified during my first few weeks in the community (u/Looney_Goon, 2020). I abandoned my inclination for dense text posts and made an image post instead. I posted a picture of a cooler filled with mochi in plastic containers and captioned it “Individually packaged mochi, so many little plastic cups.” In observing the subreddit, I had seen that waste, and especially plastic waste, was a popular topic for discussion on r/Anticonsumption. Posts about wasteful packaging often evoked the frustration of the community, and in return received a great many upvotes and comments. I hoped that by touching on this topic with an image that could be immediately understood and reacted to, rather than a text post that required further reading, I could accomplish that same level of success. By now, the post has received 57 upvotes, far more than I had expected. The succinct, emotional appeal made by my post succeeded in eliciting an emotional response from the community, and therefore saw high engagement.

However, what most surprised me were two of the comments that I received on the post. On the same day that I published my post, u/Morgenjol commented “Our grocery store only did this because of covid. Before they weren't individual packages,” (u/Morgenjol, 2020). Their comment was quickly followed with another by u/kit-kat315, who said “Same here. You used to scoop your own into a take away container but now they're individually wrapped, ” (u/kit-kat312, 2020). What surprised me about these posts was their measured tone. While I had tailored my post to evoke the frustration of the community, these two users tried to explain, or at least contextualize, the issue. Compare these with the third comment by u/Lemonyclouds, who said “Let me guess...is this Whole Foods? Bougie-ass pretentious greenwashing overpriced grocery store. They charge for water now...the store workers gave me a salty-ass attitude when I asked to buy water but fill up my own bottle (marked with fl oz). Jeff Bezos can go choke on mochi,” (u/Lemonyclouds, 2020).The comments by u/kit-kat315 and u/Morgenjol conveyed a level of sympathetic understanding that is not always expressed by community. In doing so they embodied the community’s fourth assumption: that consumption is inevitable, at least in the present moment.

Post 4

In my fourth post, I tried to recreate the success of my third post. I posted a picture of pears wrapped in paper and titled it “ 68 pears, each individually wrapped in paper and packaged in a plastic-lined box. This is just one of the six or so boxes that we receive at our store every day.” (u/Looney_Goon, 2020). I also added a comment to my post which essentially recited the story that I had told in my second post. In crafting this post, I hoped that the image would elicit the frustration of the community and that the comment would give the post further context and emotional appeal.

Ultimately, this post was not as successful as my last, receiving only 30 upvotes. This could be due to the fact that it has not been in circulation as long as my last post, though I think there is more to it than that. First, I don’t think that r/Anticonsumption considers paper waste is as egregious an offense as plastic waste. Second, the paper waste that I had featured in my post had more of a function than that of my previous post and was therefore more excusable. That is to say, the paper had a purpose. This second point was echoed in the comments section. u/SeoulTezza wrote, “If they weren’t wrapped in paper you would have 68 wasted pears,” (u/SeoulTezza, 2020). Another user, u/DarthFader4205 , wrote “Youre right, but its all for safe consumption,” (u/DarthFader4205, 2020). Again, this illustrates that while the general mood of the community is one of frustration, they accept certain forms of consumption and waste as necessary.

Conclusions

I chose to explore a subreddit as my networked community because I believed that Reddit, more so than other social media platforms, facilitated discussion. Reddit is fundamentally a collection of discussion forums. Therefore, whether a post is image or text-based, the comment thread always presents a bridge between the poster and the community. For many subreddits, such as r/askreddit, the comments thread is the essence of the community discussion.

For this reason, it seemed that r/Anticonsumption would be the perfect community to analyze for this project. More so than Twitter or Instagram, the conversational format of Reddit would allow me to have a dialogue with other Redditors, helping me to drill down into the rhetoric and psychology of the community. And for this reason, I began my project by posting a question to r/Anticonsumption. Yet after the lukewarm response to both my first and second posts, I came to realize that I had overestimated the community’s propensity for conversation.

Instead, I noticed that on r/Anticonsumption, emotion, rather than discussion, garnered engagement. Reddit’s “upvote,” button, just like the “Like,” button on Instagram or Facebook, is the measure of success for any given post. This is why posts are categorized based on the number of upvotes they receive rather than the number of comments. Therefore, the posts that succeed are those which trigger the most acute emotional reaction from the audience. The upvote button becomes an immediate expression of that emotion, and the fewer steps there are between the audience and that emotional response, the more upvotes it receives. For this reason, image posts, rather than text-based posts, rise to the top of r/Anticonsumption. In fact, the top 40 posts of 2020 were all pictures that appealed to emotion. Take this post by u/SaltNext, for example (u/SaltNext, 2020):

Like most of the posts which succeed on r/Anticonsumption, there is almost no supplementary information given. The picture and its message are self contained. Even the caption refers directly back to the image. And the message that the picture delivers, that we are being manipulated by brands, is meant to frustrate the audience. R/Anticonsumption is particularly receptive to this message of manipulative advertising because it confirms what they understand about the world. And this receptiveness can be seen in the 5.7 thousand upvotes that the post received. But notice how there are only 66 comments. The emotional appeal of the post does not directly translate into a particularly robust conversation. And why should it? The community is already in agreement with what the post is telling them, and their upvotes signal their approval. And it is worth noting that this same image was shared just nine months earlier and had similar success (unknown, 2020).

This is not to say that my initial evaluation of the Reddit platform was incorrect. The comments thread is a key aspect of Reddit and is integral to the site’s functionality. However, there are a great many subreddits, including r/Anticonsumption, in which the immediate controversy of a single post is more important than the conversations it might spark. This means that posts which are quickly understood and empathized with rise to the top. In this way, much of Reddit mirrors the individualistic nature of sites like Instagram, veering away from the site’s collectivistic, community-centric ideals.

In conducting this project, I saw how a networked community can become an echo chamber for highly emotional, but not highly substantial, ideas. Seeking the approval of the community, users like myself will tailor posts to the subreddit’s rhetorical climate, paring down ideas to their most effective emotional appeals. Thus, the most controversial posts become the most widely circulated, buoyed by their upvotes while less exciting posts drift to the bottom. This results in a climate where posts amass approval not because they are thoughtful but because they match the aesthetics of the community.

Luckily, there are those community members who attempt to inject some civility and common sense into the conversation. In my own experience, users like u/SeoulTezza and u/Morgenjol saw through some of the emotions of my otherwise shallow posts and attempted to contextualize the object of frustration. In an environment where emotions run high, it is important that such people exist to make us question our gut reactions, not just on Reddit, but across the whole of the internet.

Sources

Cavanagh, Joe [u/Looney_Goon]. (2020, October 13). Depop and the Thrifting Industry [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jakj1y/depop_and_the_thrifting_industry/

Cavanagh, Joe [u/Looney_Goon]. (2020, October 19). I work in the produce department at a local grocery store and it's infuriating to see how much goes [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jcuer9/packaging_is_garbage_i_watched_a_johnny_carson/g9dnqji/?context=3

Cavanagh, Joe [u/Looney_Goon]. (2020, October 26) Individually packaged mochi, so many little plastic cups [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jiqw1n/individually_packaged_mochi_so_many_little/

Cavanagh, Joe [u/Looney_Goon]. (2020, November 4). 68 pears, each individually wrapped in paper and packaged in a plastic-lined box. This is just one of the six or so boxes that we receive at our store every day [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jocjuy/68_pears_each_individually_wrapped_in_paper_and/

Reddit Inc. (2019, December 4). About. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.redditinc.com/

r/Anticonsumption. (2009, September 25). Reddit. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/

r/askreddit. (2008, January 25). Reddit. Retrieved November 8, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/

r/Environmentalism. (2010, April 11). Reddit. Retrieved November 8, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Environmentalism/

r/fermentation. (2009, July 11). Reddit. Retrieved November 8, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/fermentation/

r/pics. (2008, January 2005). Reddit. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/pics/

r/pottedcats. (2014, June 14). Reddit. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/pottedcats/

Peck, Robert. (2020, August 3). The Hate-Fueled Rise of r/The_Donald—and Its Epic Takedown. Wired. https://www.wired.com/story/the-hate-fueled-rise-of-rthe-donald-and-its-epic-takedown/

[u/Bydanielpearce] (2020, November 4). Cushion covers made with my old socks (washed and whitened). Cushion stuffing made from project scraps. She was a better behaved model this time but soon had enough due to lack of treats [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jo3k7o/cushion_covers_made_with_my_old_socks_washed_and/

[u/DarthFader4205] (2020, November 4). Youre right, but its all for safe consumption [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jocjuy/68_pears_each_individually_wrapped_in_paper_and/

[u/fatnerdfromnextdoor] (2020, August 3). Shopping local, but out of season is often worse for the environment than just importing it from [Online forum post]. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/i2vby4/i_live_in_an_italian_region_which_produce_2/

[u/kit-kat315] (2020, October 26). Same here. You used to scoop your own into a take away container but now they're individually wrapped. [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jiqw1n/individually_packaged_mochi_so_many_little/

[u/Lemonyclouds] (2020, October 27). Let me guess… is this Whole Foods? [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jiqw1n/individually_packaged_mochi_so_many_little/

[u/madigolightly] (2020, April 1). Permanent permaculture [Online forum post]. Retrieved November 7, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/ftblxz/permanent_permaculture/

[u/Morgeljol] (2020, October 26). Our grocery store only did this because of covid. Before they weren't individual package [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jiqw1n/individually_packaged_mochi_so_many_little/

[u/MutantAussie] (2020, November 6). God loves you. God hates the environment [Online forum post]. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jp0d6t/god_loves_you_god_hates_the_environment/

[u/S8r-Boi-Cya-L8r-Boi] (2020, September 1). My Travis dunks after skating them to death [Online forum post]. Retrieved November 6, 2020 from https://www.reddit.com/r/Repsneakers/comments/ikg9zb/my_travis_dunks_after_skating_them_to_death/

[u/SaltNext] (2020, October 26). Brands aren’t your friends. [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jilhpq/brands_arent_your_friends/

[u/SaltNext] (2020, October 31). Im here for the snacks [Online forum post]. Retrieve from https://www.reddit.com/r/disney/comments/jlrljm/im_here_for_the_snacks/

[u/SeoulTezza] (2020, November 4). If they weren’t wrapped in paper you would have 68 wasted pears [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/jocjuy/68_pears_each_individually_wrapped_in_paper_and/

[unknown] (2020, January 21). Brands aren’t your friends [Online forum post]. Retrieved from https://www.reddit.com/r/Anticonsumption/comments/erv8yk/brands_arent_your_friends/

WebsiteBuilder (2020, October 27). 109 Ridiculous Reddit Statistics & Facts to Know in 2020. https://websitebuilder.org/blog/reddit-statistics/

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Dangerous - Tyrion Lannister

You had remained quiet in Essos. Your silence was your unspoken worry in Meereen. You didn’t dare speak up when The Dragon Queen torched the leading members of House Tarly. Now, your speech was heavy on your mind as you watch Tyrion struggle to forge a better world for everyone through advising the Queen.

Everyone was smiling, a stark contrast to the bitterly cold morning laced with frowns and tear stained cheeks. In place of salty tears, wine flowed to cups and in the mouths of lucky lords that had survived the onslaught of the dead. The Night King has been slain, his army soon after. Winter had come and died at Winterfell, making the name of the keep all the more significant.

All those gathered in the Stark holdfast were feasting. The Gods had given them all another day. Or rather, Arya Stark has given them all another day. By the look in the Dragon Queen’s fiery eyes, you deduced that the said day would be one of war and bloodshed. There was yet one more battle to be won.

“You were married,” Brienne jeered loudly, pulling your attention from the head table back to those around you. “You were married before Lady Sansa.” The lady knight grinned devilishly, an expression that felt more like Jaime than Brienne. You smiled at her nonetheless and turned to Tyrion. He screwed up his face in distaste before glancing at you sympathetically. He took a long drink from his chalice of liquor.

“Sorry brother,” Jaime tutted, but Tyrion glowered at him. You hummed and ran your fingers through his dirty blond curls. He leans into your touch, green eyes holding your gaze. It was then you saw, in full force, just how tired your love was. You wondered if he had even slept since you all had journeyed North.

“It’s your turn, mi’lord,” Podrick pressed, coaxing Tyrion to tear his eyes from yours. Soon, he fixed on Brienne. Her cheeks were rosy due to the ale and wine, but every so often you would catch sneak a glance at Jaime. Finally, Tyrion saw it too. He leaned back in his seat smugly and you prepared yourself for whatever his wit had conjured.

“You have never slept with a man,” Tyrion wondered aloud and Brienne’s smile fell instantly. “A man or a woman. You’re a virgin.”

“Tyrion!” You reprimanded, pinch his arm. He jumped slightly at the pain, but his eyes never left Brienne. Podrick quickly drank from his tankard, hoping to drown out the secondhand embarrassment. The large woman stood up, pale eyes sad as she walked off. “That was rude, Tyrion. You must go apologize.”

Before Tyrion could reply, Jaime was getting to his feet. You followed his gaze and found that he was watching Brienne as she made her retreat. A flash of fear danced over the knight’s face before excusing himself. He followed after Brienne and disappeared from sight around a wall of stone. Tyrion watched too, a pleased, half-smile on his lips.

“About bloody time,” he muttered, tracing his finger along the lip of the cup before him. Podrick gave him a weary look and you shook your head.

“You shouldn’t mettle,” you sigh, meeting Tyrion’s gaze. He opened his mouth, brows furrowed in slight offence.

“Mettling is my job,” he exclaimed, “mettling breeds results. Just wait, you’ll see.” You frown at his words before turning your head towards the table at the back of the Great Hall. While northmen cheered and bolstered Jon, Daenerys sat alone with Varys eyeing the scene surrounding them. The Dragon Queen had gone unrecognized for the majority of the feast and you could see that the woman Tyrion supported was having none of it. I hope it’s the results you desire, you thought to yourself before standing up yourself.

“Well, I am going to get some rest,” you lean down and press a kiss to Tyrion’s cheek. “You should as well, my love,” you whisper in his ear. When you straighten, Tyrion looks at you with a joyful curiosity. You hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long while.

“Goodnight, milady,” Podrick says, his eyes still bright despite the night that had long since fallen over Winterfell. You dipped your head in his direction before trailing out of the Great Hall. The echoes of the feast followed you as you made your way to the chambers set aside for Daenerys’ advisors. Jon Snow was nothing if not considerate when it came to lodgings.

In spite of the cobbled stone walls and cool-toned decor of the bedroom, a sense of warmth overwhelmed you when you stepped inside. You could feel the love, the family, that was worked into every step of the Stark’s ancestral home. Even in rooms meant for guests and Southern Lords, hints of well-loved history oozed out from each stone. Those in King’s Landing being told the North was nothing but ice and snow were sorely cheated from the experience you had been graced with; even if, when you had arrived, there were dead on the march.

Quickly, you dressed in your warmest sleepwear. The furs were a wise investment when you made it to Winterfell. Tyrion had showed you the older woman who sold his first winter cloak to him when he made his way North with King Robert. Easier times then, he had said with a horrible sorrow in his eyes. The thought of him now made your heart ache. You wanted easy times for him again, but you feared the Dragon Queen would complicate things.

As if your thoughts alone had summoned him, Tyrion pushed through the door of your shared chambers with a loud creak. Drunkenness still clung to him, you could tell by the glow in his face, but the darkness in his eyes hinted at a perpetual sober mind. Tyrion’s intellect never failed to impress you, even if wine was flowing through his system. Even his steps were ones of a clear-minded man as he made his way towards you.

“I will apologize to Lady...Ser Brienne in the morn,” he admits, hands reaching to clutch your knees as you sat before him on the edge of the bed. “I hope you are not too cross with me. I had good intentions despite my cruel words.”

“Perhaps use words a bit more kind if this happens again, yes?” You retort, gently gripping Tyrion’s chin so he meets your serious gaze.

“Perhaps,” he replied with a dry smile, one that does nothing to hide the worry in his eyes. You frowned at his expression, trailing the pad of your thumb along his cheek.

“You are fearful,” Tyrion shifts, hands tightening on your gown covered knees, “why?”

“For you are fearful,” he counters smoothly. “The immediate threat is gone yet you are as quiet as the dead. What is running through that beautiful head of yours?” You give Tyrion half of a smile, turning your eyes away from him as you drop your hand from his face. He doesn’t let you give up that easily. You feel his fingers trace along your jaw, coaxing you to look at him once more. When you finally give in, you’re greeted with his furrowed brow.

“Are we so certain the true threat isn’t still alive?” Your words are so cold you swear you see Tyrion shiver. To mask his concern he situates himself between your legs, his warm hands now resting on the tops of your thighs. Through the thick material of your sleeping gown, you can feel how his fingers tap worriedly along your flesh.

“You know Cersei will be dealt with,” Tyrion explains, hoping to undo your unease. “We will be safe from her, our Queen will make sure of that.”

“And how will she secure such safety?” You prod, your heart pounding in your chest as you dare to ask. Tyrion’s frown deepens and you feel your lips do the same. “Your Queen is a dragon, much like her children. What if she lets the fire overtake her?”

“Y/N,” his tone is perturbed, tension evident on his features, “Daenerys is our Queen.” You fall silent at his correction in the same silence that had gripped you when you watched Daenerys punished Randyll and Dickon Tarly. The fury, the thirst for revenge in her eyes was still lurking in your mind, haunting you every time you remained quiet. You could sit back no longer. Holding Tyrion’s gaze, your bottom lip quivered as you spoke up.

“She is dangerous, Tyrion. You must know that.”

“All….all Kings and Queens must utilize some fear in order to be an effective ruler. Her dragons are….she knows…” Tyrion trails off when he sees a tear slip down your cheek. “Y/N, you know I will let no harm come to you, from anyone.”

You nod, your eyes falling down to your lap where Tyrion’s hands still rested. “She has threatened you before. How can you promise me your own safety?”

“Because it is my duty to guide her, check her worst-”

“If all her impulses are worse, is there any gain in checking them?” Your question seems to cut through some haze stirring in Tyrion’s mind. You sniffle softly, wiping at your nose as Tyrion mulls what you said over. “We’ve been through too much,” you whimper, “to be one with the ashes now.”

“I know,” Tyrion murmurs, his voice knowing and soft. Instead of continuing on or defending his Queen, Tyrion reaches up. You lean down to meet him halfway and capture his lips in a gentle kiss that tastes of sweet wine. It is a kiss of comfort, a promise that there is more life ahead of you both. With the promise sealed and your worries voice, Tyrion climbs into the bed beside you.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The memory of a similar moment resurfaces; Meereenian sunlight filtering through the open balcony of the palace you and Tyrion had found yourselves in after fleeing King’s Landing. Daenerys had saved you both then. So you could understand why Tyrion wanted to return the favor in form of the Iron Throne. Yet, just as you knew the sound of his heart, you knew Tyrion would attempt to defend Daenerys from herself. If that was not possible, you feared for the man you loved.

119 notes · View notes

barryslightningrod · 5 years

Text

Finishing Touch

Here’s the initial piece and the continuation. Pretty NSFW. Smut and reflection cause that’s all I do. Enjoy!

Iris lets the front door fall shut behind her as she enters the house, exhausted after a long Wednesday of school, but brimming to the rim with the thrill of possibility that accompanied learning her newspaper meeting had been cancelled. Despite having just arrived home, the smell of spring in the air on the walk over had rejuvenated her, reminding her that it was April and that the school year would conclude soon to make way for her summer adventures with Barry. Her excitement at this could barely be contained, and consequently, she didn’t want to be indoors today. She tugs her earbuds out of her ears and hops up the stairs eagerly to find Barry, knowing that he had already headed back home before her, hoping that he didn’t have too much homework so that they could bike down to the lake together before her dad returned from work in time for dinner.

Once upstairs, Iris makes her way down the hall to Barry's room when she halts in her tracks at what she witnesses through the partial opening of his door. She’s lucky that she saw him before she heard him: had she done the latter first, she might have burst into his room thinking he was hurt instead of-

Iris can't believe it, but there was no denying the vision that lay in front of her eyes, Barry in all his lankiness, spread along his bed, masturbating as clear as day.

She should respect his privacy, she should leave him to himself, she should turn around and tiptoe back to her room, but as an all too common occurrence with Iris, her curiosity gets the better of her and she remains rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on his hand circling beneath his jeans. There’s no way he can see her from his vantage point even if he opens his eyes, so she watches stealthily from where she stands, terrible guilt for violating her best friend creeping over her, but guilt superseded by keen intrigue.

Of course Barry would do this, plenty of fifteen-year-olds would, but it's still difficult to reconcile her sweet, innocent Barry with this Barry who needed to jerk off as soon as he came home from school, like he had been waiting all day to and could no longer deny himself. Funnily enough though, he still manages to convey a sense of naïveté in his process, given the way his face scrunches in stunned pleasure, as if he can't quite believe how good he’s working himself or be too sure of what exactly he’s doing. His brows knit together in focused concentration, not unlike how they do with his default expression of examining something or someone quizzically, but the ecstasy on his face is unmistakeable. He was enjoying himself, and that notion causes a slow tingling down Iris's spine, such that she shivers with goosebumps.

His gratified face impacted her the same way his motions did, sliding down his pillows with effort, his wrist moving with whatever strokes he was employing underneath his jeans. Iris can’t help wondering what, or rather who, he’s fantasizing about. It had to be enticing for his nose to flare with deep inspirations, for his jaw to extend downward as though it were being tugged open, for soft gasps to release from his lips. Maybe Rachel McAdams? Barry did comment that she was beautiful when they watched The Notebook over the weekend. Was he thinking about the scene when Noah slammed Allie against the wall and kissed her, when he peeled her wet stockings off her legs to make love between them under the rain’s downpour?

Was he imagining doing that with someone from school? The last girl she can recall Barry mentioning was that awful Becky Cooper from study hall. Iris mentally gags at the prospect of Barry touching himself to thoughts of her, refusing to entertain such a premise further.

Was he-picturing her? They were best friends, it’s true, but watching Barry bring himself off had prompted her heart to race, caused that nice warmth to pool deep within Iris, the kind she felt herself at Noah and Allie’s passion unfolding onscreen. Could it be possible for Barry to ever visualize doing that with her? She gulps envisioning him carry her up the stairs to his bed, ridding her of her dress, kissing her throughout, his eyes taking her body in the way Noah’s took Allie’s in just before he-

Iris’s own imagination comes to a standstill when Barry sits up abruptly, still working himself, drawing a sharp breath inward through clenched teeth, seemingly frustrated with his progress and pressed to finish. Iris’s heart flutters in alarm when he opens his eyes, fearing he had seen her, but his gaze settles on his crotch as he unfastens his belt, pushes his jeans down his thighs-

Iris looks away this time, actually stepping from the doorframe and steadying herself against the adjacent wall. She would not do that to Barry: she would not watch him expose himself without his awareness. That felt too invasive and was definitely unforgivable.

Still, she can’t bring herself to leave, so instead she listens, trying not to picture Barry naked from the waist down with his cock in his fist. She hears the buckle of his belt drop to the floor, coupled with piercing, blatant grunts at this point. Evidently stripping himself was accomplishing what he needed it to. Iris squeezes her eyes and legs shut to quell a strange mixture of arousal and secondhand embarrassment for him, aware that the only reason he was this loud was because he was under the impression he had the house to himself. How little he knew she was standing outside his door this very instant while he got himself off shamelessly…

His moans grow so loud and strung together, less separate than just prior that Iris can’t tolerate it anymore, ultimately deciding to sneak downstairs and go back outside until he was finished to put rightful distance between them so as not to awkwardly face him directly afterward-

But in her urgency, she doesn't notice the stack of empty laundry baskets that her father had clearly reminded her to return to everyone’s respective rooms yesterday, and as her punishment, she collides into it, knocking two picture frames off the hallway’s console table in turn.

The moaning stops immediately.

“Who’s there?" Barry calls out, and Iris feels all his panic in addition to hers. She freezes right where she is, her usual ability to think on her feet hampered.

"Joe?" he questions hesitantly. No doubt, he was probably hoping the intruder of his private time would be her father over her. She figures it would be much less mortifying for him to be caught red-handed by him. She imagines the horror on his face if he realizes it was indeed her who was home and who had overheard everything, and this triggers her quick-thinking again. Just as she hears the rustle of bedsheets and the creak of bedsprings signifying his approach, she pops her ear buds back into her ears and occupies herself with straightening up the console table display.

“I-Iris?" Barry’s croaks weakly, and she hears the terror in his voice before she sees it across his features, turning around to find him peeking out wide-eyed from behind his door, obviously hiding his bared lower half from her, despite his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks giving him away.

“Hi Bear!” Iris forces cheerfully, her own face burning up at the cognizance that he was semi-naked.

Barry stares at her, turning a deeper shade of crimson.

“I-I thought you had newspaper.”

Boy, you sure did, she thinks.

“It was cancelled,” she states simply, hoping she was coming across as nonchalant.

"I was running on the way back from school," he offers completely of his own accord, apparently in an attempt to explain his windswept state, despite her not having asked and both her and his knowledge that he would never voluntarily run outside of gym class.

Iris doesn't know what to say to that, worried she'll expose herself as aware that he isn't being truthful.

“How-how long have you been home?" he continues, ignoring her lack of a response, Iris sensing every ounce of his growing dread and mortification.

"Not too long,” she feigns, hoping this'll ease his embarrassment in addition to covering her tracks. “I didn’t think you were here." She gestures to her earbuds with an artificial chuckle: “Couldn’t hear you through my music haha…”

Barry laughs along nervously, and Iris can discern he isn't sure if he’s entirely convinced, but she herself is too humiliated for both his sake and hers to dwell on whether or not he is, growing more and more desperate to escape this entire situation.

"Well, uhhh-I’m gonna take a shower,” he announces after a brief silence, Iris trying her absolute hardest not to contemplate what he’ll do once he’s in the bathroom.

“I'm just gonna-go to my room,” Iris fumbles, her plans to bike to the lake abandoned entirely. She needed some space before she could look Barry in the eye again and forget these circumstances ever happened.

Barry nods with a timid smile that Iris reciprocates before turning on her heel and striding toward her bedroom. She has an inkling Barry’s watching her as she walks away, and she’s grateful for the lock on her door, not only for an added measure of distance, but for what she does next. Once she hears the water running, confirming that Barry was indeed in the shower, she tosses her earbuds aside, collapses onto her bed facedown, slips her hand beneath the waistband of her panties, replaying what she just observed as she palms herself to completion.

It was taking in her boyfriend’s nude form while he slept beside her that prompted this recollection from Iris early Saturday morning. Barry was staying over more and more often lately, which didn’t bother her one bit, given what it meant for their progressing relationship. She loved more than anything to fall asleep in his arms and to wake up just the same, their pillow talks not unlike the conversations their shared as teenagers, staying up late whispering together about everything under the moon so as not to wake Joe. They didn’t have to whisper now, got to chat and laugh and fuck as loudly as they wanted to-at least until her neighbors pounded on the wall to get them to shutup.

Growing accustomed to his body and the change in their dynamic had her reflecting on how peculiar it had been to watch her best friend touch himself then, how it had struck her, nearly shocked her. To have him in her bed over a decade later, skin-to-skin with him, after having been under him, atop him, around him, was a profound evolution and recognition, one that delighted her. She remembered her wariness over breaching his privacy and infringing on his body then, but now he was hers. His body was hers, and for everything that she knew about him, she wanted to know more, wanted to explore each crevice and edge of his anatomy, wanted to be as familiar and as intimate with his physique as she was with him. That they had only slept together a handful of times, each encounter proving better than the last, that they had their entire lives together to continue to explore and learn each other thrilled her, surged her body to life at just the thought alone.

She watches Barry’s face of slumber, his lashes swept downward to his cheeks, his mouth propped open slightly, resembling his teenage counterpart that afternoon when he tended to himself in his bedroom. The parallel shouldn’t stir her as much as it does, but she welcomes the excitement, edging closer to kiss his hanging lips, morning breath and all.

Barry stirs, frowning in slight confusion before his eyes flutter open. They close once more, accompanied by his lips quirking upward after glimpsing her.

“Am I still dreaming?” he mumbles, puckering his lips to lazily reciprocate her kiss, or rather, so that she could kiss him with less sloppiness.

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?” Iris jokes through her kisses, but she doesn’t waver, kissing his top lip, his bottom, the left corner, the right, his Cupid’s bow, his chin.

“I’ve no energy,” Barry defends, though he does at least offer his tongue. “You worked me last night.”

“Mhmm, last night was quite…strenuous,” Iris giggles against him, trapping him between her lips, deepening her kisses now. She would never grow tired of this, of him, of nights with him and mornings after. She would never get sick of his taste or his smell, of how he felt and what he sounded like-

She halts her kissing, pulling back to study him carefully.

Barry’s eyes hover open again, seemingly realizing something was on her mind.

“You okay?” he probes softly, rubbing an affectionate hand across her back, bringing her nearer until their bare chests touched.

Iris bites her lip, uncertain why she wanted to come clean now, but certain now was the time.

“I actually wanted to talk about something,” she voices.

Barry’s gaze lights up curiously, but he continues his rhythmic caressing, propping the elbow of his unoccupied arm behind his head.

“Anything,” he promises, his tone loving, his gaze even more so. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not bad,” Iris assures him, taking the hand stroking her in between her own two and kissing it. “I just-hoped I could gauge your memory a bit.”

Barry looks intrigued at that, and Iris hates the inevitable embarrassment that will ensue on his part at her revelation, but she persists nevertheless.

“You might not even remember this but-way back during tenth grade, I came home from school one day and…”

“And?” Barry questions, obviously unaware of what she was referring to.

“And I was supposed to have some meeting after school, but it was cancelled, so I was back early.”

“Okay,” Barry blinks, her story still not ringing a bell.

“Well-you weren’t expecting me back home so soon, and…” She pauses to gauge his reaction before continuing: “I ended up stumbling on you doing something in your room, something pretty private…”

Try as she does to prevent her smirk from taking over her face, she fails.

Barry’s brows furrow, evidently scanning his brain for the incident at hand-until they widen abruptly. The pink tinge creeping over his cheeks confirms to Iris that he’s identified exactly what she’s talking about.

“Oh God,” he utters.

“Barry,” she starts, hoping to stop his shame in its tracks.

“You really just confirmed the worst fear of my teenage years,” Barry groans, covering his face with his hands.

Iris swallows her chuckle, not wanting him to feel worse, as she can quite literally sense the humiliation radiating off of him while he burned up, his faint blush deepening.

“Do you know how much I was haunted by the chance that you had overheard me?” he poses.

“Bear,” she tries again, but he keeps rambling.

“I was so afraid that you did, or even that you lied about it because you didn’t want me to feel bad and finally I just-pushed it to the back of my mind and decided that you hadn’t, but the possibility that you had tormented me for so long-“

Iris kisses him to shut him up, employing her tongue and everything.

“Babe, relax,” she surfaces, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, you thought you were alone. I didn’t mean to-bring up repressed trauma or anything like that.”

Barry runs a palm across his face, though Iris is relieved to see that he’s smiling, albeit slightly.

“I just can’t believe that I deluded myself into thinking that you didn’t hear anything,” he marvels, laughing at himself.

“I heard-and saw,” Iris teases, unable to resist.

Out of retaliations and explanations for himself, Barry opts for his go-to defense: squeezing Iris’s sides and tickling her senseless, much like what they each resorted to when they were younger. It stuns Iris how little could change between them even when so much did.

He eventually surrenders to hug Iris close to him, kissing the top of her hair.

“Now you get to see and hear everything,” he jests, resuming his caresses.

And Iris wanted to. There was intention behind why she brought the memory to Barry’s attention, and it wasn’t just to see him dissolve into an adorably flustered state.

Being with Barry, sleeping with him, unearthing his body and further things about him when she thought she knew everything had her recollecting that fateful afternoon back in high school. She had uncovered a new side of him that had taken her aback, uncovered how roused she herself had been by him, enough for her to take matters into her own hands. If her attraction to him had been heightened then without her even realizing it, such that she couldn’t resist, surely it was at an ultimate peak now that he was hers.

She’s cradled against his neck when she speaks into it.

"Show me," she commands gently.

The hand moving up and down her arm stalls: “Hmmm?”

Iris sits up then so that she can look him in the eye and he can register her sincerity.

"Show me how you were touching yourself that day.”

"What?" Barry perplexes, a smile teasing his lips. “I thought you just said you saw me.”

"I did, but I didn’t-see it all. I was actually respecting your privacy…somewhat,” she considers as an afterthought.

“Iris," Barry emits, his blush returning. “Are you just-saying this or are you actually-“

"I'm not,” she insists, her gaze on his, turning warmer herself at the prospect of this, at how much she wants it, at how much she wants him: “I’m not just saying this.”

Barry seems to be at a loss for words, his mouth alternating between opening and closing. She doesn’t blame his hesitation-they were still navigating their sex life, this entirely new sphere of their relationship. What she was asking of him was new territory, was private and paved the way for defenseless.

“I know you might be shy, Bear, but I don’t want us to hold back with each other,” she insists, and it was true: she wanted him, his entirety, his secrets, his vulnerabilities.

Barry swallows pointedly, still speechless.

“I thought you were so beautiful then,” she reveres, meaning it, remembering how mustering the picture of him writhing across his bed had dampened her underwear on many subsequent nights. She strokes his face, enraptured by the features she was fortunate to have woken up to.

“Iris…“ Barry exhales, and his torso starts to flush now, Iris certain of how violently his heart is thumping in his chest, a beginning sign of his kindling, a testament to how much she knew his body, an added provocation for her. She doesn’t think she can stand his refusal, not with how he’s burning up beneath her, not with how he’s breathing against her, not with how he’s looking at her.

She finally reveals her last resort, leaning forward to rasp it in his ear: “What if I told you after I watched you, I went to my room and touched myself until I came?”

He twitches unmistakably at that, and satisfaction floods Iris, knowing that she had gotten to him at last.

“You’re lying,” he croaks, his skin blazing now.

“I’m not,” she breathes, practically quaking herself with the fire of anticipation, enough of it to prompt him even more: “I’ll show you after.”

It takes this statement for him to bore into her eyes without wavering, for him to lower the covers further down his legs, propping his heels atop them before parting his knees. Iris steadies herself on one elbow to observe, her eyes fixed on his palm enclosing his length, tugging carefully.

She was fluent in his cock by now, in its color and cut, its breadth and girth, in its texture and taste, but she would never grow tired of it, not now, not ever, not of its symmetry, not of its curvature, most especially not of its animation when he was ignited, like he was now, slowly passing his hand over himself again and again. She holds her breath at his fingers snaking across his shaft with careful command. He knew himself, was familiar with his body better than she was, with how to hasten his blood’s course to his cock, and such a thought prompts her own heart to race, her own flesh to leak at the privilege of watching him unravel before her at his own doing.

“Still sure about this?” Barry manages through effortful motions.

“Keep going,” she whispers, zeroed in on his cock, now raised to full mast. Barry spasms in pleasure at that, at her encouragement, at her scrutinizing his every move. He swipes a thumb over his head, teasing the vein along the side, at its most prominent ridge that her tongue had touched just the night before, the third site she had mapped on his body where his pulse was strongest, after his sternum, and after his lips. Indeed Barry’s heart was so fast that Iris often felt his heart beating not only when she lay her head against his chest, but through his lips when she kissed him, through the veins of his shaft when he was inside her. He presses into the vein again, heaving reflexively, his lips parting to release air.

Iris sets her heavy-lidded eyes on his, imploring him to let go, figuring she needed to take it one step further, to obtain the real answer she was seeking.

“You were thinking about me that afternoon, weren’t you?” she murmurs, caressing the sweat-laced locks off his forehead. “I made you come, didn’t I?”

Barry grunts viciously, and Iris knows her cajolery jolted him to act. He rolls his pelvis upward, thrusting his length into his palm erratically, his rubs rigorous.

She studies him unabashedly, overwhelmed by his lechery and her attraction to it, certain the sheets beneath her were not only wet with her yearning, but soaking through to the mattress at the vision of him coming. His back stretches and he stills, flattening himself against his navel as he pulses, unloading onto his skin, a mellowed gasp escaping him for every spurt of semen that does. The pearly fluid splattered across his abdomen shifts up and down in tune with his panting.

Iris bends over and mouths at his stomach, at where his seed landed, kissing a path up his chest, to his neck, to his chin, and finally his lips.

“For every time you touched yourself thinking about me,” she mutters in between kisses.

“You’re gonna have to kiss me more than that,” he rasps, an arm thrown across his eyes, still struggling to catch his breath.

Iris settles her cheek on his chest, curling into him, resting her hand atop his heart as he collects himself. Once his heartbeat starts to quell underneath her palm, he stirs again, gently sitting up so that she follows suit.

“You now,” he urges, voice low, pupils eclipsed. “Show me what you did in your room that day.”

Iris draws a breath in to brace herself, pressing the pad of her finger on his midriff, scooping up a drop of semen.

“You gave me plenty to work with,” she states, laying backwards, her head at the foot of the bed. “This’ll be quick…”

She unfurls her thighs for him, touches her center perfectly, just the moist fingertip of her index meeting her clit, mixing him with her, moving more and more slowly. Her gaze remains steady on Barry, his expression one of intoxication. She circles herself with precision, thinking of how he touched himself before her then, how he touched himself before her now, how he’ll touch her for the rest of eternity. Her unoccupied hand reaches up to palm her chest, attempts to mimic how his fingers squeezed her breast the night before, how his tongue lapped her nipple.

Barry’s jaw falls watching her.

“Iris…” he gasps. “Last night-you were beautiful. Right now… you’re something else…"

Her own lips part at his astonishment, at her rapid spirals, the delicate pressure of her fingertip more and more fine until she could no longer look at him, until her folds puckered and her back arched, until she choruses with the reward of what she had done.

Iris huffs for air while his hand encases her own, opening her eyes when she feels his moist lips around her fingers. She meets his gaze, his other hand stroking himself again, now to her taste.

Her cunt throbs once more, and she opens her legs wider, not only to tend to her flesh a second time, but so that he can settle between them while he tended to his. They sync the pace of their gestures to move rhythmically, unwavering in their eye contact, audibly reacting to their own motions and to the vision of the other, Iris below Barry and he above her.

Barry hums around Iris’s fingers as he sucks them clean, until Iris slips a digit within her folds, and bares her throat to moan. He squeezes around the head of his cock instinctively, releasing her hand from his mouth to cry out himself. With parallel motives, Iris reaches her free hand downward to cup his balls the same time Barry extends his to thumb her clit. They fondle the other’s skin alongside their own, their movements precise and coordinated, ascending together by way of their hands and their displays.

Iris doesn’t know what eventually does her in, her own finger treading inside her or Barry’s pressing where she aches most, but she figures Barry vocalizing and spilling onto her stomach is the true culprit. An instant later, she’s spasming deliciously, around her touch and beneath his, even more euphoric than she had just prior.

Barry wrings the last of himself onto her and deflates, settling down beside her at the foot of the bed, gasping for breath. Iris rakes her eyes over him shamelessly, at his ribs heaving and his cock laying sideways, limp against his thigh. She could cleave her flesh between her fingers and knead herself one more time at his collapsed form alone, at him reveling in his haze, but she opts to edge closer him. Being near his body surpassed servicing her own, and the only superior was his body joined to hers.

Perhaps Barry felt the same for him to twist in her direction, for an arm to snake around her to hold her while the other cupped her face, bringing her mouth to his. Just as she’d memorized, she feels his pulse through his lips while he kisses her. Iris reflects not for the last time on all it took for them since that afternoon years ago to get to now, side-by-side in her bed, both glazed in his cum, exchanging breath and fluid and lucid glances.

They separate for a dose of air, but Barry’s still close enough that his lashes brush over her skin as they flutter open, the green of his eyes more prominent now, his lust having quelled, but the intensity of his gaze the same as always. She’d spent her entire life believing such fervent eyes were characteristic of her Bear, of everything he took in, until the day she realized they were actually characteristic of her, of how he looked upon her, adored her, wanted her, loved her. She had assumed his default based on all she had ever known him to be-when everything she had known him to be was actually a profession of everything she was to him.

Iris exhales to center herself back to the present, certain that it’d take some time before she could wake up beside Barry without being swept under a wave of reminiscing and rumination, but she’d treaded enough for today. She pecks Barry on the lips once more: it was time to enjoy her boyfriend’s ardent gaze upon her and what it mean for now.

“We need a shower,” she states, truthfully but playfully.

Barry smirks back, seemingly on the same page as her in recognizing the need to leave their blissful bubble and return to reality.

“So you remember my shower of shame, too?”

“I remember it all,” she giggles, sitting up to head to the bathroom. And as Barry follows her lead, tickling his way behind her, Iris sighs contentedly, aware that loving her best friend, while without its deliberations and histories, gifted her a level of gratitude and comfort she’d never experienced before.

Author’s notes: Terrible ending, and this turned out to not really be what I intended it to, but 🤷🏻‍♀️

#westallen #westallen fic #my writing #finishing touch

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chuckling-chemist · 5 years

Text

A Study In Novels

((The second piece I wrote for the @fantrollszine! This one a little more comedic than the other piece I wrote. And don’t forget, if you like it consider buying me a coffee or checking out my AO3 -- where both of these short stories will be going eventually))

Dontoc wasn’t one for reading romance novels.

Maybe it just wasn’t for him. Dontoc much preferred subversive fantasy steeped in lore and original wiggler’s tales from before the Empire found and censored them. Books that praised the Empire or grounded themselves too close to reality weren’t likely to catch his eye. That’s not to say a romance novel couldn’t be subversive or fantastical -- Dontoc’s sure they existed somewhere -- but his experience in the genre was limited to whatever books he acquired secondhand from either his moirail or his hivemate. Which, to be fair, Dontoc held as little interest in books describing in excruciating detail the ins and outs of traditional interstellar subjuggalator pailing that his moirail found morbidly interesting as he did the godawful romance self-published stories his hivemate regularly printed off from some blog and left sitting around on tables when she got stuck on something in the lab.

Then again this current one he attempted to slog through, recommended by his matesprit to give him a good example of the genre, wasn’t any better. It felt less like a novel and more like a subpar lecture on the importance of keeping quadrants filled and separated, combined with a bizarrely saccharine tone out of place for a novel that critics heralded as “diving into the dark, twisted secrets of forbidden flush love between two castes”. It was no more than yet another creepy realistic-fiction that tried to play off the caste difference as something inherently disturbing.

His so-called matesprit, to give the kindest words to a troll forcing their relationship on life support through thinly veiled threats against his friends, lamented his apparent lack of interest in romance novels indicated a lack of romanticism. Had Dontoc not had sufficient evidence to the contrary, he might have believed her.

I reach across the desk, over to the looming seadweller on the other side and he snatches it out of the air. I flush, face turning impossibly teal under his watchful gaze. How did he know I would try to grab it?

“Okay, that is enough of that for tonight,” he said with a groan.

“Enough of what?”

Even knowing the voice instantly to be the chirpy lilt of his hivemate, Pallia, her sudden entrance into the mainblock still made his heart skip a beat. She plopped down on the seat next to him of the black couch, peering over half-moon glasses to grimace at the book in his hand. She didn’t have to say anything to exude the level of judgement he felt from her.

“You, lover of subjuggalator documentaries, cannot possibly be judging me for reading something bad,” he said lightly.

“Oh come on, Dontoc there’s bad and then there’s this.” She glanced down at the book again. “What’s it even about anyway?”

He shook his head with a sigh, letting the finger holding his spot slip out of the book. “Certainly you could wager a guess.”

“Oh a puzzle?” Pallia shifted around in her seat, turning to face him with crossed legs. She was dressed for ultimate relaxation in a pair of sweats and loose sweatshirt, with her hair pulled up in an unusually well-kept bun thanks to a few well-placed pencils. She contrasted him, tall and fully dressed in a three piece suit with his perpetually unkempt short hair, quite perfectly. Her teal eyes sparkled with mirth from behind the glasses. “Do I get any hints?”

He smirked playfully. “You have not somehow ingested enough bad media to hazard a proper guess?”

“Not for romance.” Pallia crossed her arms and huffed. “God Dontoc, I only have one quadrant. Do I really strike you as the romantic type?”

Did Pallia strike him as the romantic type? Dontoc wasn’t actually sure. With her only having one quadrant, he couldn’t accurately say for sure if such were true, or if he simply never had the chance to see her interact with a quadrant proper. She might not be the same affectionate, teasing troll who went out of her way to make sure he felt included around a quadrant. His doubt might just be his own long-time, latent flush crush on her causing him to project.

After all, he did have a flush crush on her. That much was certain. A sweep or two ago, he might have tried to deny to himself, but by now there was no other way to explain the way being around her made his whole body feel ten pounds lighter and pointlessly giddy at any little thing. His other friendships, even his actual matespritship, failed to elicit similar reactions. The closest was his moirail, Valeba, who always always brought serenity with her presence, but even that wasn’t this bizarre effervescence that floated him away from his anxieties. Not that he’d ever tell Pallia any of this. Managing to get a best friend whom he adored, despite their caste difference, was more than acceptable. To ask anything more was selfish.

“You simply strike me as the type to have read enough bad media, regardless of genre, to take some sort of guess,” he said. “Or have I somehow misread that one and you happen to unironically enjoy ‘Subjuggalating Mentor to Highbloods is Put Under Great Scrutiny after Explaining to Bluebloods the Importance of the Mirthful Messiahs Upon Inquisition. When the Bigoted Seadwelling Upper Staff Wish to Cull Her, She Goes to the Courtblock to Defend Faith In Schoolfeeding, Alongside a Plucky Tealblood Looking for His Big Break’?”

She snorted. “Please. I don’t think a single person unironically enjoys that. How can anything fall face first into every stereotype while acting like it doesn’t? There’s never been a more--” she paused to slap her forehead with an amused groan “--oh of course! The book’s hemoist isn’t it?”

Dontoc grinned. How could he not? “Oh, extremely. The highblood is the dominant one in the relationship, and he is honestly worse than you would expect.”

“Tall, well dressed and…” she tapped her finger on her arm in thought… “indigo? That strength is attractive to a lot of trolls.”

“You are not far off. Think higher.” He gestured upward toward his own twitching fins. “Much higher.”

“Violet? Really?” She looked at the cover again doubtfully. “But this looks like some kind of rich businessman type of story. I thought the violet caste normally keeps to themselves.”

“Oh they do. This book bypassed such a problem by saying he simply moved onto land when he was very young, shortly after his lusus was culled by extreme hemorebels, to get ‘more out of life’. Or perhaps it was not. Honestly, the backstory was brushed aside in favor of having the two stare blankly at each other.”

Pallia raised her eyebrows. “Is the protagonist’s backstory any clearer or is it just as bad?”

Dontoc shrugged helplessly. “If I tell you her backstory, I assure you it will give away her caste immediat--”

“Oh, so she’s a tealblood. Probably ten sweeps old, if they’re playing off twenty sweeps as young somehow. Tiny waif of a troll too, I bet.”

Well. That happened. Dontoc blinked owlishly at her assessment. Every single piece was completely true, down to the size of the tealblood. There’s no way she read the book. He would’ve seen it somewhere. “Um...how...how did…”

“You said if you tell me the caste, it gives it away. Teals and jades are the most rigid in jobs, but jadeblood romance is mostly always two women, while this love interest is male.” It was her turn to smirk, pointy fangs poking out from underneath her lips. “Despite your best efforts, you still gave away way too much.”

“You asked for a hint,” he pointed out.

“You said you weren’t giving it to me.”

He hummed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. My mistake then. Perhaps we can try this again the next time Careen insists I do some reading.”

Pallia’s amiable expression dropped into a far more worried one. “She insisted? Really? That’sss abssolutely…” she trailed off with a shake of her head. “Ignore me. That’sss not my place.”

Dontoc set the book down on the floor, shifting so he could face Pallia better. She must’ve scooted closer at some point. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed how close they were? It was only a loveseat after all. “Are you certain? After all dear, I--”

“It’sss fine. Ssserioussssly.” She gave him a reassuring smile. It looked somewhat forced, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. Better to just move on. “So, anything else to guess about the book?”

“Hm? Oh, yes right. Let me just, ah...” He reached toward the empty space in his lap for the book, but Pallia got to him first, stopping him with a soft hand. He looked at her with a puzzled expression, a stark counter to her amused one.

“Dontoc you put the book on the floor,” she said with a chuckle.

He glanced down at the floor, realizing with growing horror he most definitely did put it down on the floor. Heat pricked up his neck, causing his lips to twist into a sheepish grin. He wiggled his hand out of Pallia’s to run through his hair instead. If nothing else, the action helped calm his nerves. “So...so I did. My apologies,” he said finally.

She shrugged. “None needed. Do you even need the thing, or is the book that forgettable?”

“I ah...well, poorly constructed story or no, it is comforting to some degree to hold it. After living in what may as well have been a library alone I suppose it just...it just happened.” He sighed, a mixture of bittersweet and wistful. Memories of his childhood flooded back in waves. The lonesome library ran by a kindly jadeblood. Her impeccable ability to find whatever he should read next. The other kids trying to steal and damage them. His instructor taking his copy of The Grimdark Narrator’s wigglers tales and insisting it was inappropriate for him to read it.

Thank God Pallia was there to keep the focus, or else who knows how long he’d reminisce on the parts of his life he’d rather forget. “So you said it’s a violetblood right? And a tealblood? Not any other mid-caste.”

“Erm...yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Though I am not sure why that is important. It is just a caste gap. From what I understand, those are quite common in romance.”

“Oh they are. Totally common. Which is funny, considering it happens anywhere else and people can’t take it.” She pointed down at the book on the floor, the cover of which showed a lone desk covered in papers. “But that’s beside the point. So the teal is probably some personal assistant to him?”

Dontoc nodded slowly. That much was hardly a guess. While in reality tealbloods got well-to-do, white collar jobs, it seems any time a tealblood actually showed up in media, they were subservient to some higher caste. Not the same way the lowbloods were, how many of them were maids or butlers at best, but the paid equivalent of such didn’t feel like much of an improvement to him. “Of course. Did you not know that teals are little more than suck-ups to the Empire? Constantly following around the Empress to compliment her and give her the newest gossip on the common folk. After they round up all the little bad trolls, of course.”

Pallia crossed her arms, smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Did Careen let you in on that hot tip?”

“Oh no, someone far more reasonable in such a regard. Someone with a good head on their shoulders, you see.” Pallia seemed to sag in disappointment until he added, “It was Pothos.”

“Oh my God!” she squealed. Her whole body convulsed with laughter as she fell back into the couch. “You are not allowed to do that again!”

“...Make you laugh?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t think she was upset, but at the same time her worried look when mentioning Careen earlier had him on edge. “You are ah...you are--”

She heaved herself up and nodded, bun askew and grin plastered on her face. “Oh I’m great. I cannot believe you got me to think about that bumbling idiot. Did Careen tell you about when she thought we’d work as a quadrant?”

Dontoc shook his head: she hadn’t. While Careen was always eager to do nothing but complain about Pallia, and had been downright enthusiastic to tell Dontoc all about when his hivemate supposedly expressed flush interest in Pothos that he didn’t return, she never gave any more details. The whole story felt off in a way he couldn’t fully explain (in fact, it was another one he was willing to brush off as him projecting his crush -- sure, he can’t imagine Pallia wanting to be with a troll who truly thought skull shape indicated intelligence but maybe it was only wishful thinking), but he never told Careen such. It was good to know he had every right to be suspicious.

“How did it go?”

Pallia snorted. “About as bad as you’d expect. He learns I have a hint of an interest in something, and just starts talking over me like he’s suddenly the expert. He knows the chemical formula for table salt. That’s it. Wouldn’t know a stem cell from the stem of a plant.” She paused, eyes suddenly going wide. She wasn’t looking at him, not anymore. Her gaze was pointedly focused on that book. “Wait a second. This is her book right? Does Careen have some kind of thing for violets and teals?”

Dontoc rolled his eyes. “I doubt it. She has an odd hatred for teals. Jades too, to a lesser degree. She will not voice it, but it is present. Besides, if she really wanted you to be paired up with a violetblood to conform to her romance tropes, there are far better options.”

Pallia chuckled. “Yeah, at least if it’s like...us, it subverts that ‘teal employed by violet’ thing.”

Whatever train of thought he had immediately crashed. His face burned, and fins fluttering in embarrassment or not, there was no cooling it down in time to reduce the flush. “Ah….uh…” he swallowed harshly, realizing as he spoke his mouth was suddenly dry as sandpaper, “excuse me dear, what?”

“Oh you know. Technically speaking, you’re my research assistant. Not the other way around.” She paused, closing her eyes with a sigh. If she recognized how flustered he was right now, she wasn’t saying anything. “Then again though, considering the whole Preypal thing...maybe that doesn’t count? But sponsorships don’t count as employment. This might be more complicated than I thought.”

“You’ve thought about this before?”

“Well yeah. I mean…” They locked eyes, and he only just noticed the blush creeping on her own face. “I get bored waiting for the ion spectroscopy to finish. The logistics of how our lives would function within a work of fiction is far from the weirdest thought experiment I’ve had. I think that one started with a conversation I had with Aisral? I dunno.”

“But you have thought at length about the logistics of us...uh…”

“Ssssort of? In the same way I’ve thought about like...I dunno, me and Aisral or something. Purely hypothetical. Don’t worry. I realize you’re with Careen and talking about it’s probably strange to think about dating your hivemate...” Pallia trailed off, letting out a quiet, awkward laugh as she rubbed her neck.

“Oh impossibly so, but continue.”

“But seriously, it’s not the most unlikely thing I’ve heard. More likely than anything in that book, anyway. If that makes any sense. Sssorry for worrying you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Okay. So it’s only that they’d make a better story than whatever dribble Dontoc was reading. That’s probably true. While not the worst novel he’s come across, there weren’t many worse. His fluttering pulse calmed down enough that he actually felt he could breathe again. “If it helps, I would much rather read about us than this couple.”

Pallia smirked. “Even the pailing scenes?”

Dontoc’s face fell. He erased those from his memory, too. “Okay, we’re finished here.”

#fantroll #homestuck #hiveswap #fanfiction #fantrolls #ft #fantrollszine #homestuck zine #my writing #dontoc #pallia

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quarterfromcanon · 5 years

Text

Unexpected

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 12 - Surprise [3,003 words]

Heather was not in the mood for company. Thankfully, the usual Home Base crowd at that hour of night was not a chatty bunch. Most just caught her eye when they wanted a refill. At least it eliminated the need for small talk. Weekend time slots were already something Heather preferred to avoid, but filling in for Greg while he and Rebecca attended Jayma Chan’s wedding left her feeling especially averse to the social requirements of customer service.

Heather was cleaning glasses when she heard the determined clack of heels approaching where she stood. She couldn’t really say who she’d expected when she turned around, but it certainly wasn’t Valencia Perez in a strapless pink gown.

“I want a drink.”

“People who come in here usually do.” Heather set a tumbler aside and draped the rag over her shoulder. “So, like, a cocktail? Martini? Mimosa?”

Valencia shook her head, which made her disheveled hair slip further from the grip of the metal clasp intended to hold the style in place. “Something straight out of the bottle.”

“Okay, that’s a start. Vodka, brandy, whiskey --”

“Sure. That sounds fine.”

“Whiskey?” Heather verified. “Do you want scotch, Irish, bourbon, or rye? We don’t have Tennessee or Japanese.”

“Why are there so many choices?” Valencia impatiently smacked her hands against the bar. “I just need to get hammered. Surprise me.”

“I’ll get you bourbon.” Heather tucked her lower lip into her mouth, prematurely dreading the response she might get to the next thing she had to say. “How much?”

Valencia spread the thumb and forefinger of her left hand as far as they could go. “I’m thinking about this much. Maybe times two.”

“Whoa, there. You really don’t drink, do you?”

“Not usually, no.”

Heather stretched across the bar and adjusted the measurement between Valencia’s fingertips with the pressure from her own, pushing lightly until they were one finger-width apart. “Let’s start with about... that much. See how it goes.”

Valencia let her hand drop. “That works.”

Heather prepared the order and returned a few seconds later. Valencia slid a bill forward and set her clutch purse beside the drink. “Keep the change.” She took the first sip and leaned back in surprise. “Interesting. Different from what I thought it would be. Is that nutmeg?”

Heather’s shoulders lifted. “It might have similar flavor notes. People don’t usually ask about that stuff. It’s called Angel’s Envy.”

Valencia shrugged disinterestedly and took another drink.

“Cool. Enjoy.” Heather went back to the used dishes.

Valencia attempted to hike herself onto a stool, but the dress was too restrictive. She settled for a chair instead and kicked out her legs, crossing them at the ankle.

Not even five minutes later, Heather heard her voice again.

“Men suck.”

Heather rolled her eyes. She focused her attention on the present task and did not engage with the conversation starter.

Valencia glowered at some nearby barflies who were studying her. “That means you, too. Turn around.”

Heather’s lips twitched at the exchange she heard but did not see. Despite her effort to ignore Valencia’s outbursts, Heather internally conceded that she was curious what Josh did now. Recent observations suggested that it likely had something to do with a proposal or, rather, a lack thereof. Though she had her suspicions, Heather had no intention of voicing them. She was on the outskirts of the group’s interpersonal drama, and she intended to keep it that way.

“Can I get another?”

Heather dried off her hands and grabbed the bottle. She poured Valencia a second serving, double the measure of the first. While she did so, Heather kept her eyes averted to deter additional interaction.

“I know you, don’t I?” Valencia asked. The inquiry sounded semi-rhetorical as if she knew full-well this was not their first encounter, and yet it was clear that she expected verbal acknowledgement.

Goddamnit.

“Kind of,” Heather replied. “We met on that super dramatic party bus ride and then hung out at the beach? Also, I’m in here when you pick up your little sister, so, there’s that.”

“Right!” Valencia feigned a light bulb recognition. She pointed at her and nodded. “Greg’s date. Sporty. Lots of bracelets.”

“I mean, I’m wearing the same accessories right now so I don’t know if that really counts in your favor, but yeah. That was me.”

“Wait, did he throw you over for Rebecca?” Valencia tried to move into Heather’s line of sight as the latter went about her routine procedures. “I saw them tonight at the reception, on the other side of the room. I didn’t say hello, obviously. But did he?”

Heather busied herself with a stack of utensils.

Valencia gasped. “He did!” She angled against the bar and gripped the far side. “Hold on. You called her ‘neighbor’ before, didn’t you?” She popped onto her tiptoes, eyes wide. “Were you friends?”

Heather stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms, and finally looked at Valencia. “We still are. I wasn’t gonna let some CW-style love triangle change that.”

“How can you forgive her after what she’s done?” Valencia demanded incredulously. “She completely betrayed your trust and tried to steal Greg when she knew you two were together!”

Heather’s brow furrowed. The undercurrent of projection was evident, but she couldn’t exactly say that Valencia was incorrect either way. She sighed and tossed her towel beside the register. “I was upfront with her that it hurt my feelings when I first found out but, like, at the same time, she couldn’t really steal him from me if he didn’t wanna go, y’know?” Heather gave Valencia a meaningful look. “I had to deal with that. I had to accept that he didn’t have strong enough feelings for me to make him want to stick around.”

A rapid succession of emotions flickered across Valencia’s face. One instant, she appeared geared up for an argument. The next, she deflated and her shoulders sagged wearily.

“You’re right,” Valencia murmured. “That was the bigger problem.” She dropped back onto her feet and hiked the top of her dress more securely into place. Valencia drank and put it down with a rough thunk. “I called him on that tonight. He was never going to truly commit to our relationship.”

Heather edged away and purposely wiped down flat surfaces in the opposite direction from where Valencia stood. “Yeah, I feel like this isn’t about me, so I’m just gonna--”

Valencia rotated her glass between her hands and continued speaking, undeterred. “I don’t see how you’re supposed to fix a thing like that. If you’re giving him your perfect body, the perfect relationship, the perfect future right on the horizon -- what more could he want? What part of drinking gross tapioca balls with a backstabbing little lawyer from out-of-town fulfilled a need of his that wasn’t being met?”

“Maybe he needed someone who listened to him?” Heather suggested pointedly. “Someone who wasn’t gonna talk over him or say something judgy?”

Valencia drew up short and gaped at her. “Did he talk to you? Did he tell you that’s what was wrong with me?”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “What? No. I don’t really know the guy that well.”

Valencia shook her head in bewilderment. “It’s just that he said almost that exact thing right before we broke up. That I never listen to him.”

“Huh. What a weird coincidence.”

Valencia lifted her gaze to Heather’s face with shame. “Am I really that awful?”

Heather’s features softened. “There were some major communication issues between you two, but it wasn’t all coming from one side.” She drew closer to stand across from Valencia again. “Most of my information is secondhand, so I might not be the person to ask, but I always felt like you and Josh were not on the same wavelength, like, at all. You clearly had a life you were trying to build for yourself and Josh was like this buff, clueless puppy who kept running around the neighborhood. He was supposed to fit into your big picture, but he didn’t. Or didn’t want to.”

Valencia threw back the remainder of her second round.

Heather’s mouth twisted at the corner. “Sorry. I kinda suck at sugarcoating. I was just giving you an outside perspective.”

“It’s okay.” Valencia waved the apology aside. “I’m the one who asked you. And you’re not wrong. It just...”

“It sucks,” Heather supplied.

Valencia’s laugh carried the hint of a sob. “Yes, it does. Fifteen years gone down the drain.” She reached reflexively for her glass but realized it was empty.

The majority of the patrons had wandered toward the parking lot during the course of their conversation. Heather left the bar and tidied the vacated stations.

“Better fifteen years than the rest of your life.”

The words washed over Valencia and she dropped her head to rest on her arms. “I don’t know what life has left for me without this.”

Heather awkwardly patted the back of Valencia’s dress as she crossed behind her. “Hang in there... pal... You’ll get through it.”

“I guess so.” Valencia stared into the middle distance with bleak uncertainty. “But I have no clue where to begin.”

“Well, wherever you start, it can’t be with our alcohol,” Heather told her. She jerked her head in the direction of the clock. “We’re past last call.”

The only other customer, a man in a corner booth, tossed down a few dollars beside his empty bottle and departed. Valencia cast a look around the vacant room and landed on something fixed to the wall.

“Do you have darts?”

Heather gathered the money the man left behind and wiped down his table. “I know I literally did that exact thing after my breakup, so it makes me a hypocrite, but you really don’t wanna be throwing pointy objects right now. Okay, actually, put it this way: you might, but our walls don’t want you to.”

‘I need to let out some of my anger,” Valencia protested. “Like you said, you just went through this; you get it.”

Heather considered her for a moment. She circled behind the bar, ducked out of sight, and stood once more with three darts in her fist. Heather set them down in front of Valencia. “Just while I’m closing things up, okay? Technically I’m supposed to be ushering you out the door by now.”

Valencia accepted the offer and positioned herself in line with the board. “Thank you.”

Heather made a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.

Valencia took aim and threw, but the dart left her hand too late on the curve and swerved right, narrowly missing Heather’s shoulder before it embedded into the wall.

Heather stared at it for a fraction of a second and simply arched her eyebrows. “I can’t tell if this means you were way off or almost right on target.”

Valencia nearly smiled but protruded her lip in a fake pout instead. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“How many times do you get to try to impale me before I’m allowed to say something?”

“At least one more.”

Heather laughed and continued flipping chairs onto empty tables.

Valencia’s second dart nicked the baseboard but was otherwise harmless. Her third lodged into a single scoring space near the top. She gave a triumphant cry, but the accompanying bounce of joy proved hazardous to her health. Her balance was briefly thrown off and she had to grab onto the edge of the bar to steady herself.

Heather hip-checked the register closed. “Is it starting to catch up to you?”

“I think maybe a little.”

Heather upended one of the overturned chairs and scooted it directly behind Valencia. “Wait on this. I’ve gotta do a quick sweep -- the checking the bathrooms kind and the broom-across-the-floor kind -- and then we can figure out how to get you to your apartment.”

Valencia sat swaying in place while Heather rushed to wrap up the last duties. “At least I don’t live too far from here. It’s impossible to live far away from anything in a place this small.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not driving.”

“You have a ride service?” Valencia removed the decorative clasp and winced from the faint ache as her heavy hair was allowed to fall naturally beyond her shoulders.

“No, but we should.” Heather tucked her foot behind the dustpan to keep it from sliding.

“So what am I supposed to do? Sleep this off in my car? That’s not safe either.”

“Leave it here. Have someone bring you by to pick it up in the morning.” Heather dumped the detritus into a waiting trash can. “I’ll swing wide and take you where you need to be.”

Valencia blinked and tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“So no one gets hurt. Duh.”

“But I’ve been bugging the crap out of you for the past hour.” Valencia rubbed her fingertips along the oval of metal in her palms. “You could just leave me here. Why help if you don’t have to?”

Heather briefly vanished to check the men’s restrooms. She reemerged and caught Valencia’s eye with her brows knitted together. “People don’t have to want something from you to treat you like a person who matters. I mean, there are totally dickheads out there who act that way, but like... Basic human decency shouldn’t be transactional.”

She disappeared through the door to the women’s stalls, leaving Valencia to mull over her statement. Neither spoke for the remainder of Heather’s shift. Valencia observed the blue moonlight dappled across the floor and scratched her heel against the back of her ankle.

“Ready?”

Valencia looked up to find Heather holding out her forgotten clutch purse. She took the bag, put her hair clasp inside, and tucked it under her arm. “Yeah, I’m ready to call it a night.”

She stood and Heather put her chair on its designated table. “Same here.”

They left the building. Heather fished the keys out of her cargo pants. She locked the door, turned around, and held out an elbow.

“Are you good to walk, or...?”

Valencia looked at her feet. Admittedly, it would be easier if she removed the heels and went barefoot, but there was no way that was happening. She tested one exhausted, wobbly step. The parking lot seemed so far from where they stood. Valencia sighed and took hold of Heather’s arm. “I’d better play it safe.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good call.” Heather proceeded with small strides. Her gaze repeatedly darted in Valencia’s direction, monitoring her steadiness. It took them at least thrice the time it would have ordinarily, advancing at such a faltering pace, but they made it to their destination without disaster. Heather pushed the button to unlock the vehicle and helped Valencia get situated. “You can just throw that notebook in the back.”

Valencia cleared the cushion as Heather suggested and settled comfortably. She reached for the seat belt and Heather climbed in beside her. “Why does the inside of your car look like you bought out a yard sale?”

Heather lifted her eyebrows, but her tone was unfazed. “You kinda have a habit of insulting people who are being nice to you.”

“Sorry.” Valencia’s expression became genuinely apologetic. “That was rude.”

Heather twitched her shoulders. “It’s just a thing you might wanna think about. Maybe figure out where that’s coming from.”

She draped an arm across the back of Valencia’s seat while she twisted. Heather reversed out of the parking spot and turned toward the exit.

Valencia provided a quick set of directions to the apartment, and Heather gave a nod of confirmation that she knew how to reach the address. Valencia removed her hoop earrings, added them to the contents of her clutch, and used the purse as a rather uncomfortable pillow against her window.

Heather adjusted the dials on the radio to fill the silence. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and occasionally glanced over to check on Valencia, who fell into a fitful sleep before they’d even reached the end of the road.

A while later, Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a gentle shake. “You’re home.”

Valencia jolted awake and sat upright. She swiped a hand across her cheek. “Oh. Okay. I’ll, um --”

She started to unbuckle herself from the seat, but her volunteer chauffeur left the car. Heather walked to the passenger side and pulled the handle. “You said second floor, right? You’re gonna need a hand on the stairs.”

A possible refusal appeared to form in Valencia’s mouth, but the instinct to fend for herself faded from behind her eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

They linked arms, just as they had before, and made a clumsy but safe journey to Valencia’s front door. Valencia sifted through her belongings for the keys and shoved them into the lock.

“You should sleep on your side. Tuck some pillows so you don’t roll over,” Heather advised. “I’m not sure if you’ve had enough to get sick, but it’s an important precaution just in case, especially if you’re here alone.”

Valencia nodded and stepped through the doorway. “I will.”

Heather hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. “Good. Well, bye.”

Valencia’s grip tightened on her purse. She leaned one arm against the door frame. “Thank you for doing this for me. Seriously. I’m lucky you were there.”

Heather flashed a polite smile. “No problem.”

"I don’t know if it helps coming from me, but Greg’s an asshole.” Valencia caught hold of the door handle and brought it slowly to a close. “Bye.”

Heather’s breath puffed out in a weak laugh. “It does a little, yeah. I’ll see you... whenever.”

They lifted their hands in parting. Heather reached the stairwell just as Valencia’s door clicked shut. She wound down the passageway and crossed the parking lot to her car. When Heather slid behind the wheel again, she looked at the upper floor of the apartment building. She shook her head with a bemused chuckle and started the engine.

“What a frickin’ weird night.”

#H+V FF #CEG Writing by Me #Helencia #Heather x Valencia #Gonna work up to the current prompt bit by bit #she says while finding herself adding the longest installment yet #???#It'll happen though. :P

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

Text

OUAT 1X10 - 7:15 AM

Unfortunately, I’ve no jokes popping out at me for my opening this time, but a little birdie told me you should head below the cut.

(Got that one in at the literal eleventh hour! I work for my lovely readers ;) )

Press Release Mary Margaret and David continue to grapple with their unrequited love, and Emma and Regina grow suspicious over a mysterious new stranger in town. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was, Snow White yearns to ease her breaking heart as Prince Charming’s wedding to King Midas’s daughter approaches. General Thoughts Past During my review of “Snow Falls,” I commented on the fact that as that would be the only time we’d get any substantively meaty Snow and Charming scenes for quite some time and that every other episode’s flashback would depend on how well that episode handled them, I wasn’t joking and this is the first episode where you feel the effects of it. (For more on that, head on down to “Flip My Ship”). It’s weird, I never saw the nuance in King George, but damnit, he is right. True Love being worth fighting for regardless of the obstacles is one of the central themes of OUaT, and I think for the most part, the show does a good job of showing that. However, we sometimes forget that that pursuit is not without its consequences (Depriving others of the prosperity and peace that David and Abigail’s marriage would bring to their kingdoms), and here, George lays that out in no uncertain terms. Is he most likely acting more in the interest of himself and his kingdom more than anything? Yes, but the validity of what he’s saying still remains. His plans and reasoning are well thought out and admirably complex. I feel guilty. In the past, I just saw him as this one note villain, but holy hell: a few years can really do a lot to change one. I wish we saw more of him, only to see more of this viewpoint. Snow and Charming definitely do end up winning the day, but the idea of sacrifices and bloodshed are for the most part all but abandoned after this episode. The fact that David, immediately after hearing what George has to say, writes a letter to Snow discussing how he’s willing to abandon everything else without a second thought for her almost makes him unlikable in the face of that. The only thing that save his is that damnit, Charming lives up to his nickname!

Snow’s aspect of the story is interesting too. We see these two sides of her battling. The first side, of course, is her love for Charming, and that’s strengthened both by the letter she receives and the fear she has of losing him to his arranged marriage. However, what’s really clever is that the fear she had back in “Snow Falls” didn’t go away, and Rumple, Grumpy, and George help to reinforce her own doubts by giving the pursuit of love an actual cost - one’s heart, freedom, and potentially not theirs, but their beloved’s life. It’s a very clever use of characters. Actually, after a day or two, I realized that Snow’s arc was even stronger than I gave it credit for. In this episode, despite having her reservations about love, she does overcome them despite what I pointed out, and it’s only the fear of Charming dying that makes her back off. The ultimate resolution is so much like the character herself: Tragic, but not without that bit of hope always by her side (In this case, her new friendships and the breaking of David’s marriage). Present So I basically had no strong thoughts on this episode (Apart from dread at a certain aspect, but I’ll discuss that shortly) until we see Mary Margaret nearly fall down the cliff.

Then it hit me: The David and Mary Margaret storyline is this episode is the most fanfic-y, romance novel-y material I have ever seen (And that’s not a bash against it at all). Like, you get that mutual pining, David saves Mary Margaret after some tension, they’re stuck in a cabin together, they both love animals. Entire weeks’ worth of soaps don’t have half as many romance tropes as this storyline does! That said, the more I see of David Nolan pre-broken curse, the more I dislike him. He simply refuses to own the choice he makes and with these small windows of time the show is giving us, it’s either unrealistic or horrible of him to jump from one woman to the other. And yeah, at this point in the series, Abigail wasn’t too kind, but David didn’t know that, in hindsight, she hasn’t done anything more than be annoying, and everything we’ve seen of Kathryn has been delightful, patient, and kind thus far. I really feel like there needed to be more of a time discrepancy or evidence of some real trying on David’s part before suddenly doing whatever he could to see Mary Margaret. It makes David’s speech after releasing the bird so eye rolling to listen to (Though Josh’s puppy dog eyes and loving gaze make me really wish there was more to it) because while he claims that he has feelings for Kathryn, the most we’ve seen of it is a shaky scene together outside the Nolan house and a kiss that is now spoiled with the knowledge that it came right after David made a move to go see his crush. As for the August and Emma storyline, well, for one thing, they have a fantastic rapport. August’s ability to dodge questions like a skilled Mario Kart player dodges banana peels faced off against Emma’s focused and pointed questions is the greatest battle of wits. It positively glued my eyes to the screen, and the fact that I can say that despite knowing exactly what happens is so cool! Insights I love that opening shot! For one thing, it grants a special level of ambiguity as to what realm we’re in for those slow first couple of seconds. For another, they get Henry walking towards August through his reflection in the motorcycle! The cinematography of this show is so under-celebrated, and my ful props to them! Also, completely-unintentional-and-thus-hindsight-ily-badass foreshadowing of Henry riding a motorbike in the future! So I’m aware I’m 100% wrong about this wacky theory, but follow me on this. The episode is called “7:15am” and the most famous time on the show is 8:15. Is this, alongside a significant time for David and MM, an allusion to the fact that they’re figuratively one step behind the curse? I started blushing out of secondhand embarrassment when Mary Margaret revealed how much she knew about David’s schedule. “Love is the worst. I wish there was a magic cure.” It’s called booze! Wow! This is the first time I’ve seen Snow and Red have a scene together in a while! I missed their friendship! I find it so interesting how stories of The Dark One are kept under such wraps. In the “Desperate Souls,” the Dark One’s existence is borderline common knowledge because of how the Duke yielded him. However, Rumple - possibly due to fear or just a desire to be left alone - took the opposite approach and kept his reputation so quiet over the centuries, so much so that his mere existence is now questioned. Given his rather large...estate, what do you think he had to do to make that happen? Yay!!! We get to see Snow’s cloak again!!! Also, I don’t care if it’s just a set - the design for the scene between Rumple and Snow is creepy and beautiful! I love the atmosphere! It’s simple and shady! Rumple’s going on about all this anti-love stuff and I’m like, “Let’s talk in a year, bro.” Seeing Charming send out that bird makes me wish for a scene where the two of them spoke of Snow’s uncanny ability. ...Also, nice transition! XD I actually forgot that Grumpy gave the basics of his origin story before his episode came out. “Give us our best shot.” I can’t help but feel like that was so intentionally slightly off the mark from “our best chance,” showing that something’s not quite right. I love how as MM is getting her coffee at the end of the episode you can just HEAR the “fuck” as she hears the bell. Arcs David and Mary Margaret finding each other - One thing that I can say is that we get development here. Look, I’m not a fan of cheating plots, but it is interesting to see Mary Margaret and David struggle to find a happy middle ground in an emotionally complicated situation. That said, the lack of time and real commitment to being with Kathryn makes me question why they’d even bother having the cheating subplot. Snow and Charming finding each other - This episode builds right off of both the conclusion of “Snow Falls” and the insight of “The Shepherd.” Additionally, I like that Snow and Charming aren’t stuck in the “Do I have feelings for this person” phase of their romance for long because it allows for the rest of the arc to take off well from here. The Mystery of August Booth - We get a brief introduction of this arc here, and it wastes no time connecting to the main players: Emma and Henry. There’s also a cool subversion where we get an immediate insight into something that would otherwise be a several episode mystery in another series. However, both the man and mystery are still prominent and we as an audience know there’s still leagues to explore with him. Favorite Dynamic Snow and Grumpy. While their friendship is given very little time to build, not a second of it is wasted. Even as I know how Grumpy’s story ends up, those first niblets we get here make do a really good job painting his emotional dilemma and making a connection to Snow’s quest. Snow - in turn - gets to build off of Grumpy’s negativity by showing both optimism that opposes him cynicism and kindness when Grumpy and Sneaky leave the jail cell despite them intending on leaving her there. That wish for happiness is so sincere that it could melt steel. And the reciprocation that blossoms as the flashback progresses is just wonderful. Writer Had to do a bit of research (And by research, I mean a Wikipedia article, full disclosure) for this one because while the story (The basic actions and plot points) was written by A&E, the teleplay (The dialogue and smaller actions) was written by Daniel Thomsen. Thankfully, in regards to breaking this down, this information does me quite a few favors. Last time, I wasn’t able to do more than theorize what each writer contributed to the scripts, but right now, I can do a bit more to discuss the finer points. First, let’s tackle A&E’s role. I genuinely feel for the basic layout of this story. Regarding the past, I have no complaints. The broad strokes of emotional buildup work and the conclusion feels completely earned. My thoughts on the present prove to be more challenging. I don’t like that it ends as a cheating story, per se, but if that was to be the story, the basic layout of it does work. There’s a proper building of stakes and the big picture character beats hit home. However, execution is where I have my problems, so let’s tackle Daniel Thomsen. Again, I really have no problems with the execution of the flashbacks, save for oddly amazing piece of development for the villain and his motivation that is just kind of brushed aside. But that’s just a matter of doing too good a job. My issue is really with the present events, or just the things that aren’t on the page that really should be. It’s hard for me to feel sorry for David for walking out on Mary Margaret when there’s hardly an implication that he’s giving himself and Kathryn a fighting chance. I know I’m supposed to be feeling how he’s caught in between these two sets of memories and the kiss at the end does retain its weight, but so often during this episode, I just wished that he would make a choice and stick to it. What makes this all the more aggravating would be if there was just one or two more lines about making an effort there. And for a while, Thomsen was showing that through David and Kathryn’s interactions and the way he talked about her and things were feeling more like a real push-pull for him, but it was ruined the moment David said that he had been planning his coffee trips to coincide with Mary Margaret. At that line, my faith was shattered and it harmed my perception of the character. Rating 8/10. This was an entertaining episode to watch. Snow’s journey in the flashback was such an exciting story to witness, especially when it comes to seeing her interact with all of these characters for the first time. This is Ginny’s episode to shine in both realms and the show makes sure that you know it through the array of emotions she pulls off throughout the runtime. So much of Snow and Mary Margaret’s character is expanded upon through all of this. The present stuff is pretty flawed for reasons I explained above, but damnit, this show knows how to sell fairytale magic and fate and some impressive forest locations, music, shots, and animal habits really sell the scope of the small story. Flip My Ship Snowing - I love that lingering effect that’s clearly been had on Snow. Love nestled itself into her like coins in a couch sofa. But at the same time, there’s still that cynicism from the last episode and while love is pushing it out, the tragedy of their circumstances still keeps it there. And the cute look as she’s watching Charming go off to pack - both times! That is a woman in love! And then the sorrow when she has to end things with Charming is so hard because every gleam of her eyes just screams that this is the last thing in the world that she wants to do! AND as she’s walking away, she looks like she’s gonna collapse from utter sadness! DAMNIT, GEORGE! Swan Queen - Emma’s so flirty in that scene by the car and it’s just adorable against Regina’s no-nonsense business attitude! Captain Swan - “Not a day goes by that I’ve not thought of you.” Oh, that line brings back retroactive parallel memories! :D

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this rewatch together! See you all next time and...be careful of the fruits you eat. They maaaaay be from a poisonous tree. ...If you can’t tell, I love a good stinger.

Season Tally (81/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (31/70) Liz Tigelaar (17/20)* David Goodman (16/50) Jane Espenson (16/60) Andrew Chambliss (8/40) Ian Goldberg (8/40) Daniel Thomsen (8/10)* (* = Their work for the season is complete)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 1x10 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #anti-david #but not anti-charming #ships mentioned #snowing #swan queen #captain swan #anti-david/mary margaret

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sad-goomy · 6 years

Note

You're killing me with the stories!! How about another lonashipping❣️ if youre up for it? I actually didn't even start shipping lonashipping until I read ur last story and now I'm going on a reading binge of your stories lol

Send in a ❣️ for a random kiss (or just send me a # and a ship!)

Ahhh that makes me so happy to hear!! Hope you don’t mind this weird AU (and that it gets a little saucy at the end whoa)

15. a quick kiss

When Moon applied for a position as a research assistant, working with a stuffy Ph.D. candidate with a short fuse was far from her first choice.

She’d heard the dazzling stories of undergrads who worked directly with Professor Kukui in zoology, spending days out in the field and going on to award-winning discoveries. She marveled at the tales of students who worked under Dr. Burnet in astrophysics, traveling across the islands and spending nights at Hokulani Observatory to witness astronomical marvels firsthand.

What she got was late nights in a tiny office with Gladion.

Moon is seriously considering dropping out.

The only upside is that the office has a particularly comfy armchair that she’s made her home as she works on her laptop, typing up reports and poring over data – Gladion declared that he’s more than capable of handling the “real work,” and that the only thing he could really trust a measly undergrad with is the menial tasks.

Still, it’s not a totally bad gig. The work they’re doing is rather interesting, and directly applies to her Environmental Science major – maybe most people don’t find water management fascinating, but Moon can’t think of many other ways she’d rather be spending her Friday nights. Now that they’re approaching two months working together, he’s also started to give her more meaningful work to do. It helps that she’s more than capable and has also saved his ass a few times since he has a bad habit of working quickly and not backing up his files (and she’s meticulous with a hard drive). And she’s gotten quite used to their battle of wits, to the point that she finds herself daydreaming about possible retorts in her classes.

Not that they’re really friends. He’s said so himself, multiple times, making sure to emphasize his seniority (of barely five years) and their relationship (strictly professional). Moon only rolls her eyes whenever he brings it up, content to simply mutter, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” which shuts him up and gets them back to working, if not with a strange shift in the air between them.

But it’s late on a Tuesday night when she realizes just what kind of trouble they’re really in.

She yawns from her spot on the armchair, sitting cross-legged with her laptop open to last week’s collection of data. Gladion looks over at her, the dark circles under his eyes evident as he smirks. “Past your bedtime?”

“It’s past yours, too, Grandpa.” He frowns at the nickname, which she came up with when he brought up their age difference (again, five years) for the dozenth time. Moon glances at the clock on her laptop, groaning when she realizes it’s past midnight and she has yet to finish this report. It’s been a rough week for both of them, her having to balance her other classwork, and him having a deadline approaching to apply for more funding. She thought it would surely drive them to each other’s throats; strangely, it’s brought out a more endearing side in both of them as they struggle to stay up together, working on the one thing they both love.

Gladion pauses in his typing, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes. Moon tries not to stare, but she finds her eyes tracing the cut of his jawline, and the two piercings that line his ears that he refuses to tell her the story behind no matter how much she asks. When his eyes open once more she forces her gaze back on her screen – she’s staring because she’s tired and zoning out, obviously, but there’s no doubt he’d tease her relentlessly anyway. He sighs, glancing over at her in her ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt. “At least you thought ahead and didn’t wear anything nice.”

She gives him an unimpressed glare. “At least you wore all black so that you won’t have to change.”

“Change for what?”

“Your funeral, since this deadline is about to slaughter you.”

He blinks, sleep deprivation slowing his mind.

Then he laughs, honest to god laughs, and Moon feels something strange stir within her.

Something worryingly…pleasant.

“That’s true enough,” he muses, and she’s wondering why he doesn’t try to come up with an argument instead. It’s not like him to admit that she’s right, much less laugh along with her jabs thrown at him, but then she reasons they’re both in a strange emotional state from a week of late nights. With the laughter out of his system, he seems to sober up a little, sitting up and going back to his computer. “If it weren’t for my own illegible notes, we might be able to go home earlier.”

“Betrayed by your own shorthand?”

“Don’t act so smug when you can barely decipher your own handwriting.”

He tries to hide his smile, but she can tell he’s proud at the crack, and she has to admit it’s a good one as she chuckles behind her laptop screen. Realizing she can barely focus on the words she’s typing, she rubs at her eyes and feels the coffee machine down the hall calling her name. She stands and stretches, her back aching and her legs relieved to finally be in use again.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, forcing his eyes to remain on his computer screen and not on the strip of skin that’s revealed when her arms stretch above her head.

She nods. “Getting coffee. You want some?”

“From the disgusting machine in the sad excuse for a kitchen?”

“No, from the finest café in Kalos because either of us have standards.”

“…make it a double espresso.”

She smirks, about to walk out of the office when he calls, “Moon?” She turns with a hum, watching as he stares at his notepad with furrowed brows. When he looks back up, he’s no less confused as he asks, “What do you think ‘cul eut’ stands for?”

Chewing her cheek, she gives it a moment of thought but ultimately shrugs. “Not sure.”

“Figured. Oh, and bring some sugar packets.”

As she walks down the hall, she can’t get the odd shorthand out of her head. The phrase haunts her as she starts up the ancient coffee machine, grabbing the two cleanest mugs she can find in the cabinets and stuffing her pockets with sugar packets. As her mug fills with plain black coffee, she mulls over “cul eut” so much that it starts to seem like an ancient Latin phrase that she’s deciphering, rather than another example of Gladion’s strange note-taking.

It’s one of many odd things about the Ph.D. candidate that Moon has grown accustomed to. There’s also the way he insists on black coffee only to load it up with sugar. Then there’s how he seems to be unimpressed with everyone yet speaks so fondly of his sister that Moon feels her heart clench from secondhand adoration. Who could forget the time she caught him smiling at photos of his rescue dog and forced him to tell her all about Silvally? And then there’s the way he concentrates on especially difficult problems, how his brows furrow in concentration and he bites down on his thumb or his bottom lip, and she imagines how he might do the same to her neck and -

And oh no.

Oh, please god no.

She cannot be having an existential crisis about the uptight Ph.D. candidate in the crappy kitchen in the graduate studies offices. But here she is, only snapped out of it by the coffee machine groaning as it finishes pouring his double espresso, and she hurries to shut the machine off and walk back down the hall, trying to outrun the thoughts of how cute he is sometimes and no stop that he’s insufferable and her boss kind of.

Desperate to find anything to focus on instead, her mind goes back to “cul eut,” trying to decipher the code as if her life depends on it. The more she mulls it over, the less certain she is that she’ll ever be able to figure it out, until she reaches the office once more and sets down their mugs only for the realization to hit her with a wave of relief.

“Cultural eutrophication.”

Gladion jumps in his chair, startled by the way she slams the mugs on his desk and the sudden outburst. “What?”

“Your notes.” The sudden discovery coupled with the sudden crisis has her nearly hysterical at this point – she’s gone through the whole range of human emotion in the past ten minutes alone. With a smile that borders on manic she lets out an astonished chuckle and repeats, “Cultural eutrophication. Cul eut.”

His lips part in shock, and he hurries to look through his notes, flipping the pages and reciting the words silently before looking back up at her with a grin that has no business bringing out his dimples. “You’re right. My god, you’re right!”

She smirks, opens her mouth to say something snarky, and he stands, goes to try and thank her, and then something inexplicable happens.

It’s half a second long but there’s no denying what just happened.

He kissed her. Just a quick peck on the corner of her mouth, but he kissed her nonetheless in his rush of gratitude and the haze of a late night in his office.

“Oh,” she breathes, fighting the urge to touch the spot because she swears she can still feel his lips there (and by god does she want to feel it again).

“Oh,” he whispers, realizing that he’s lost any hope in hiding his attraction to the undergrad (and that he really couldn’t hope to keep it up much longer anyway).

They stare. They think they should ignore it. They should laugh it off, chalk it up to a weird night and go back to their very comfortable, very safe routine of quips and hidden glances.

But then her back hits the wall and his lips crash into hers and her fingers are in his hair and she only manages to gasp out, “Oh.”

Oh no.

But oh finally.

#kiss meme #anon #lonashipping #join the club friend!!! we're a v supportive community and glad to have you!!!#also so honored that you took the time to read and i could convert you lol #'it gets saucy' as in i barely allude to a makeout between two adults omg #moon is around 21 here and gladbag is 26 #also help im starting to really like this au #if i actually wrote it this would be around the middle probs #wrote this while procrastinating on a paper don't follow my example kiddos

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howardlinkedin · 6 years

Text

Debriefing (And Other Bad Jokes) Part 4

Part 3 here: x

Next, Part 5: http://howardlinkedin.tumblr.com/post/168953427738/debriefing-and-other-bad-jokes-part-5

Summary: Slightly less ridiculous chapter about museum heists, unless your name is Howard Link, in which everything is still ridiculous, while Allen asks the Important Questions.

There are only three people who know the entire story of how Yuu Kanda went from absolutely loathing Allen Walker to something like positive, relationship affirming emotions. (No one can make Kanda admit things like “love” or “romance,” even if they threatened death. Honestly, even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to succeed, seeing as the man would break the idiot who dared make threats in the first place inches away from death’s door.)

First there was the Bookman- which should be obvious given his skill set. The redhead even bragged about knowing the two were bound to become...whatever they were long before they even knew it. This bragging usually got a sword uncomfortably close to his crotch.

Next was Lenalee, who was Allen’s best friend and confidant. She actually had a front row seat to the drama that was Kanda’s and Allen’s relationship coming to a head. This was something she often reminded Allen when he was being particularly annoying, due to the fact that she had recorded most of it on her phone, and she was not afraid to use it.

Last, and probably the most baffling, was Johnny Gill. Baffling, because the forensic examiner hardly even made an appearance at the Department, choosing to spend his time at the Crime Labs. Lenalee and Lavi often wondered how the smaller man fit into this equation, since he was never around when the officers in question usually interacted.

Argued.

Violently flirted.

Everyone else working in or associated with the Black Order Police Department were simply secondhand observers. Many got whiplash when word actually got out that Kanda and Walker were A Thing.

---

Whatever Thing the two decided to be, was the question of the century. Only Allen and Kanda knew what, exactly, they were to each other, but it was there and sometimes it was less violent and more on the sweet side.

If you squint.

---

Noise Marie was the Order’s top surveillance specialist. At every stakeout, he was there, hidden away in a van, abandon building or any other nondescript location to listen in on the goings on with the officers under his care to watch.

Or rather, not so much watch.

Noise, legally blind that he was, could only listen. Which made his name rather ironic, which he was very well aware of, thank you very much.

The lack of proper sight never stopped him from being the best at what he does, however. No one questioned how his unique skill set works, but altogether accepted at the Order regardless.

So when the tell-tale buzz of the speakers tickled in, he responded immediately.

“This is Marie.”

“Allen here-” (In the background, Noise could hear the new Detective Inspector chide. “Walker, don’t give your name out in the middle of a job!” The chiding was moot considering Link just also have out the rest of the officer’s name.

“Okay fine, Eagle One-” “I’m Eagle One.” Kanda grunted over his own communication. “Darling, only when I let you.”)

“I’m listening.” Marie tried not to sound amused. It was hard, but he was a professional and this was a job.

A high stakes job.

---

Once again, Link was able to actually do his job, and this time it looked more promising to be solved than the current murder case.

He listened and traded notes with Inspector Galmar, who had, up until now, been the only detective assigned to the Phantom G case.

(At the debriefing, Allen had commented that it was a rather cute name for a thief. Allen also though Kanda was cute when on the verge of homicide, so Link decided the officer’s opinion of anything was to be mad ravings of a crazy man.)

“And you say that somehow, anyone arrested during this case has been framed?” Link flipped through the stack of prints of the literal dozen fingerprints uncovered from every scene of the crime.

Galmar sighed heavily. “Yes, the problem we don’t know how or have any evidence besides obvious intuition. Unfortunately, the law can’t let anyone free from arrest just on those grounds.”

Unfortunate indeed, considering that all who were arrested claimed to never have been near the areas where valuables have been stolen. But, as far as the law was concerned, fingerprints don’t lie.

“So.” Walker, who had been a silent observer, until now, leeched himself at Link’s side and stared at the images. “This kid is able to lift copies of multiple prints from several officer, who happen to always be on site during a stake out, plant them and then make off with the loot?”

Link’s brow ticked at the loss of his personal space and elbowed the officer away. “Walker, let me work.”

He paused, narrowing in on the other’s comment. “You said ‘kid.’”

Allen grinned like a cheshire. “I did.” “And why,” Link’s suspicion once again rising. “Do you believe the thief is a kid? Clearly this level of skill is not something a mere child could do.”

Shrugging, Allen had the gall to look innocent and doe eyed. “No reason.”

“Walker.”

“Howard.”

Howard Link decided then and there he needed to make a doctors appointment for the amount of migraines he continued to suffer.

---

“I thought you were supposed to casing the layout of the museum.”

“I did.” Allen chirped. The Detective Inspector pinched the bridge of his nose. “Walker, you literally have been standing behind me this entire time. What part of that is casing anything?” Phantom G, as the acclaimed thief signed their M.O as, was most often known by the many notices they leave announcing their future plans of theft. The most frustrating aspect of their taunts was that they always delivered them to the scene where they threaten to loot, and always naming said object they are wanting to steal.

No matter the security, the Phantom always, always got away with it. With false fingerprints left behind, the accused unconscious with the very same mask as the Phantom over their face.

It was a wonder the entire team working on the case thus far hadn’t quit out of frustration.

Especially considering how utterly ridiculous the masks were. What with the bright, flashy neon yellow.

This time, the threat was at the local museum, which happened to house a very expensive and very historical crown.

“I saw the glass case where the crown was.” Came Allen’s cheeky reply, as though that was all he needed to see.

And maybe it was? Because Link was beginning to believe that despite all of Walker’s oddities and nuances, they always worked.

---

Link took a glance around the open space of the museum. “Where is Officer Kanda?”

Allen waved a hand as if to portray ‘don’t worry!’

“He’s doing a better job than I am at canvasing the entire area.”

Because that’s what Kandas do, apparently. And Allens just pester and waste time around actual hard working investigators.

---

“Anyway,” Allen continued over the communication to Marie. “Quick question, and it’s very important that you answer.” “Yes?” Noise turned a dial at his soundstation, making the frequencies of the white noise in the area more clear.

“What are you getting me for my birthday?”

(“WALKER.”

The surveillance specialist could hear Kanda sigh over the detectives reprimand.)

“Because I’ve been thinking of a hat. A large fluffy warm hat. Maybe a matching scarf.”

(“Walker, we are WORKING now is not the time to-”

“Jesus Christ shut up, both of you.”)

This is when the museum alarms are set off.

---

Arrested was yet another framed officer, with the crown missing and Officer Allen Walker-

Well. He was engaging in an actual chase with the presumed true thief.

On the rooftops.

Link had to at least admit that the other man was dedicated to his job.

---

The thief- Phantom G, in all their neon glory, hopped, jumped and mauvered the rooftops with the skill only someone who understand the layout could accomplish.

“Hey, you know maybe bright colors weren’t the best idea in this situation.”

Unless your name is Allen Walker, in which case he somehow managed the ability to maneuver just as, if not more, fluid after the thief and the crown.

Said thief gasped, and nearly tripped when the officer swung from a railing and landed just in front of them. They made an attempt to dash to the right, but Allen, quick as he was, flashed the crown at the Phantom’s face.

Well, assumed face anyway. It was hard to tell, what with the huge mask and all.

“Sorry, but this is mine now.”

“WALKER! You can’t keep stolen property!” Link chose that moment to leap to the roof also.

Phantom G took the momentary distraction of the Detective to leap from the side of the building and slide down the emergency fire exit.

Allen put the crown on his head and followed suit, all smiles.

And Link? Well Link followed after because Walker You Can’t Put That on your Head It’s Valuable!

---

Once on ground, the thief shot their arm out and Allen yanked the Detective with him to slide down the ally and out of the way.

Inspector Howard Link did not squeak, he most certainly did not, no matter what Officer Allen Walker says. (Noise Marie caught it all on tape, and he is very sorry for the man’s dignity and pride.)

The wall where they had landed was sliced through with thin threads, almost invisible if not for the moonlight.

Allen’s smile dropped off his face.

“You know, a lot of people just had their lives ruined by you. Do you really want to add manslaughter to the list?” “Shut up!” Finally, the thief spoke. They sounded young, too young.

Link didn’t have time to analyze further, and took the moment to dash out and kick their legs from under them and slapped one wrist with handcuffs. They yelled in surprise.

“Link! Move!”

The detective barely had time to flinch away before the same threads as before shot from the Phantom’s free hand and into Link’s shoulder.

With a grunt, the blonde rolled away, holding the wound to stave the bleeding. The threads were very sharp indeed.

Suddenly, the threads were sliced through, and Kanda shot out like a bullet from seemingly nowhere at the thief. “If you want to play like an adult, then play with me.”

The other man had a grin what Link could only describe as maniacal.

The thief, no the kid, which was what they could only be, because they were too small and wiry to have been an adult, and their voice too, too young, let out a sudden screech in fear at the swordsman. They leapt up and clambered over window sills in an attempt to escape.

Their retreat was cut short when Kanda sliced the wall nearest their hand, impaling his sword clean through. “You really should rethink your actions right now.” The officer was as serious as they ever were, and the warning in their words were as sharp and dangerous as his sword.

The air was quiet for exactly two seconds before it was filled with sharp wailing. The Phantom Thief G slid down to the grown, heaving. The mask was becoming soaked with tears.

“Jesus Christ you’re loud.” Kanda complained, which was not really the time or place, but still altogether a very good observation.

The wailing and crying was indeed very loud and very shrill.

---

With the mask off, Phantom Thief G, as deduced by Allen earlier that day (and Link still demands to know how the officer figured that, much to his ever mounting frustration) a kid.

No more than nine years of age, identified by Marie as Timothy Hearst, was cuffed and placed into the awaiting police vehicle.

With Allen, who deemed it acceptable to coddle the criminal, and let himself be sobbed on in the back of the car.

“Walker, kid or not he’s still a-” “Shh Link, you’re scaring him.”

“NEED I REMIND YOU that he could have very well killed us, and managed to stab my arm.” The Detective hissed. His arm still hurt, mind. Miranda, who was also on standby, had wrapped it. The kid’s wailing only intensified. “I’m- I’M SORRY!!!” He bellowed.

“See, he’s sorry.” “Walker.”

Kanda ignored them all and snached the very expensive and valuable crown from his partner’s head and handed it over to Inspector Galmar. Allen ‘awed’ in disappointment.

Everything was too ridiculous anymore.

---

Timothy had cried himself to sleep in the Order’s jail cell. Wrapped in no less than three blankets and five downey pillows piled around him.

No one commented on this.

In his office, Commissioner Lee read over Link’s report. “How could a child have this level of skill?” He inquired.

Allen, who commandeered the room’s only couch, piped up before the Inspector could respond, literally taking the words from his mouth. “He had help. No kid could ever pull this off without proper training.”

His silver eyes were far off, and Link didn’t like it. He also did not like how Walker obviously knew more than he let on.

Link was the detective, it was his job. Yet Officer Allen Walker was able to deduce just as fast and as much as he could.

“Training?” Still, he pressed on. Confrontations would happen later.

The white haired officer hummed, eyes flashing back to the present. “Yeah. Those needle threads aren’t something easily handled without being trained in them. No normal nine year old would ever have a working knowledge of them.”

“I see.” And Link did see. He also agreed. “I believe also that Hearst had help. To pre plan exactly who to frame and have them be an officer that would be stationed during each and every heist? There’s someone else working in the shadows.”

Commissioner Lee scowled at the thought of a kid having been wrapped up in this mess. It left a sour taste in his mouth. “Do we have any leads as to who, though, is the question.”

The Detective Inspector was at a loss there.

“Sheryl Kamelot.” Allen named, looking for all the world the most serious he has ever been. “This reeks of Noah, and Sheryl would be our best bet.”

Komui straighten at the names, and leaned on his elbows. “Explain Officer.” He demanded of his subordinate.

Allen also leaned forward, unconsciously flexing his scarred hand. “Sheryl’s pride in the Noah consists of finding kids who show talent, any talent really, and exploiting them in anyway.

Stealing, information gathering, murder - there’s no limit to what he’d train a child to do. My guess is that Timothy is rather new into the fold, which was why he was scared easily enough to surrender. Anyone worth their scuff in the Noah would have needed a lot more to put them into submission.”

Howard Link frowned, scowled, and tensed the longer Walker spoke. Because, how, how, how! How does the young officer know this? Where did he get this information? To have such an understanding of one of the Noah, was nothing short of terrifying.

Did he learn this during his arrest of Tyki Mikk? Or was it before during investigation? But, as far as Link knew, Walker was not assigned the Noah case first hand. That was General Cross Marian. Did Walker learn this from his mentor? Was Cross actually reporting directly to his adopted son, and both were keeping quiet?

Why wasn’t the Commissioner demanding these details?

There were too many questions surrounding Allen Walker, and Link despised the lack of answers.

---

Once away from the Commissioner’s office and steps down the hall, Link demanded his answers. “How? How do you have such knowledge?” His voice was thick with distrust and accusations that he hadn’t outright stated. The implication was still there, regardless. “And for that matter, how are you able to follow thieves across rooftops and spy those threads? You said it yourself it takes training. What are you hiding Allen Walker?”

They had both stopped their descent down the hall.

Contrary to their pause, Kanda was making his way to them, but by his movement he was in no hurry.

Allen only smiled that alarming and guileless smile of his that renders everyone around him defenseless but also paranoid at the same time. “Oh Link, you should have put the pieces together by now. You’ve read my file after all.”

If Link believed in in such things, he could have sworn the air turned chill and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He couldn’t even deny it, not with Kanda now directly behind his partner, like the shadow he always was. Tucked at his arm was Walker’s file, which had been stolen from Link’s apartment nights before.

#ashlee writes #dgm #link ur in deep shit now boi #kind of #next time we meet more assholes and tim cries some more #allen to parent tim y2k #kanda is like lmao lets chase and scare children this is the most fun ive ever had YOLO #link is So Done #hey there marie HOW YOU DOIN BOY #allen walker #yuu kanda #howard link #timothy hearst #tbh I still dont know what ship to tag this as its all over the place #but its mainly Kanda/Allen #Yullen #with Link watching and lusting and WANTING NONE OF IT so he tells himself #sorry its been A While PEACE OUT NERDS

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theragingthespian · 7 years

Text

secondhand smoke

Kara comes back.

(And oh, isn’t that a thought?

Kara comes back. Kara keeps returning, keeps slipping through those doors, fingers curling around the frame as easily as her smiles did around her heart.

Kara comes back and smiles and promises.)

“I noticed you’re still here.”

Lena hums, presses her nails just so against her knee to keep the pain there, keep it from her head, from her heart.

(Neither of them mention how Kara knows. How she would notice anything about L-Corp when Lena’s up fifteen stories.)

“I don’t have anywhere better to go, do I?” Kara purses her lips, fingers flattening against the strap of her bag, and oh, that’s too much. “I’m just getting some work done Kara. It’s fine.”

(It’s fine. It’s better this way to work and work, numbers swirling comfortingly around her head rather than- than tonight.

She had wanted to say that loss does dangerous things to her family.

That for most people it scrapes across the surfaces- takes away from them in a cruel way, but it doesn’t-it doesn’t destroy them.

For the Luthors though, it cuts deeper until there’s nothing left underneath and leaves a place for something sharp and cold to take root.)

“It’s not,” she says softly. Shakes her head, and then does it again almost more to herself. “It’s not and you’re not. You’re staring out the window.”

“He was my best friend.” She wishes the coolness came back- like Kara, she thinks. The creeping numbness that traveled down her spine and to her fingers, that allowed her to override the bots while Jack gasped for breath behind her.

(It’s okay he had said, but it’s not, it’s not.

They weren’t so different. He wanted to do good, was doing good. Until the people he trusted turned against him, twisted him into something unrecognizable. All without his knowledge of it.

She wonders when it will happen to her.)

Kara sucks in a breath, a hand coming to clutch at her chest. “Lena,” she murmurs, quiet and with so much concern that Lena taps down the urge to ask what she wants. “What do you need?”

(She wants to go home, but oh, where is that?

It’s not losing Jack that destroys any semblance of home, if anything it makes it glaringly obvious that she hasn’t had one for so long. Tries again and again to make it out of the people around her.

But then Lex is anger and blood and a darkness that consumes him and everything he touches, and Lena- Lena does her best to outrun it.

She runs to National City. Away from Jack and his, not his love- that was never part of the plan, but Jack was kind and warm and she told herself you can do this much Lena- his familiarity, a solid presence she could get used to. Until he shows up only to be corrupted by the very bots they coded.

How is she supposed to have a home when people keep leaving?)

“I want to go,” home she wants to beg, says instead, “to sleep.”

Kara’s fingers trail over her hand, and oh, when she had she gotten so close? The pads of her fingers linger at her wrist, stroking the skin there just enough to have Lena’s attention directed there until Kara laughs. It’s small compared to her normal ones, evidence of the time and place. “I think,” she’s never thought the sky could be warm before she saw Kara’s eyes and thought yes, it could be, “we can handle that.”

(There it is again, that small kindling in her chest.

We, Kara says it as easily as she breathes.

We.)

Kara hands her coat to her, and oh, when Kara’s fingers skim the back of her neck to ease her hair up, Lena pretends she doesn’t shiver. “I,” Lena swallows hard when her hand settles gently on her shoulder, “I told my driver to go home.”

“No problem.” Kara grins, and Lena sighs before wobbly returning it. Kara’s smiles are as infectious as her laughter, as her touch. “How do you think I got here?”

Lena blinks. She had thought they had mutually agree upon dancing around the certain topics of Kara that never make sense. “Do you have a driver of your own, Ms.Danvers?”

“Something like that.”

It’s her sister. It’s Kara’s sister.

To be fair, she looks as startled as Lena feels when Kara opens the car door. Not even looking, she says, “are you finally done with your nightly rounds-oh.”

Lena almost backs away, but the hand splayed at her back is encouraging. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Alex mimics, “What’s-”

“Can we swing by Lena’s apartment?”

Alex’s eyes squint, and oh, it’s odd seeing that look on Alex’s face when she’s only seen it on Kara’s whenever she can sway Kara to play chess.

(She usually can.)

“Um, sure.”

Kara is very consciously being oblivious. Even Lena knows the constant looks Alex is giving Kara is supposed to be telling between two sisters, but Kara simply gives a wide, scripted smile with a subtle shake of her head.

(It reminds her of Lex. How he would smile and a just so twitch of an eyebrow could say volumes.)

It continues the entire ride which isn’t long- but still- Alex is giving Kara these increasingly expressive faces with no reaction.

Lena slips out of the car, breathes in the crisp air and feels the tension that had built up loosening its grip. “Thank you for picking us up and taking me,” she falters and waves a hand at the building, “here.”

Alex shrugs. “It’s what we do.” She casts a look towards Kara that says apparently but Kara just smiles it away.

(Staring at the sisters, she has to agree.

They do pick people up.)

Lena hears you’re not coming? before Kara shuts the door and waves her hand, taking long strides to catch up with her. “You had plans,” Lena surmises.

“Not really. They just wanted to drink and my job was a good enough excuse.”

“You should be with your sister.”

Kara snorts. “Her girlfriend’s waiting for her, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” It’s the first time tonight that Kara draws away from her, hands twisting together. “It doesn’t feel like something worth celebrating anyway.”

Lena thinks, stepping into the elevator and frowning as Kara stares at her reflection in the sleek metal. “The man you interviewed, he was killed.” She remembers it as she says it, hates herself for the flinch it causes Kara. “I’m sorry.”

Blue eyes gaze back at her, unflinching. “I am too.”

“You were there?”

Kara stares down at her hands. They clench before Kara blinks back up, a tight smile in place as they step out of the elevator. “Well, here you are.” She’s tugged close against Kara, Kara’s arm curling around her waist while her other hand cups the back up her head to pull her under Kara’s chin. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Stay,” she whispers and- a Luthor doesn’t need anyone else, changes it as her gut twists with wrong, wrong, wrong. “You shouldn’t walk home. You could stay, if you wanted.”

If Kara sees through it, sees through her, she doesn’t say anything. Just, “are you sure?”

Lena lets them both in instead of answering, kicking off her heels to pad over to her supply closet. “There are blankets and pillows here.”

(She almost offers for Kara to sleep with her in the bed, but oh, she’s held it in so far. Needs the solace of her bed and no one watching and-

She needs to be alone, but not so much that Kara’s presence in the other room isn’t welcomed or needed.)

“I know.” Of course. She never even had blankets and pillows and happy little mugs in her cupboards before Kara. Never had reason to. “Thank you.”

She allows herself one break, one outreach by tugging at the end of Kara’s sleeve. A slight brush of fingers. “Goodnight Kara.”

Kara hugs her again, and Lena sighs into it. Feels Kara’s fingers swiping across her shoulder. “Night Lena.” Kara squeezes gently. “I’m right here,” she says, repeats it again firmly until Lena has it cemented in her thoughts.

She’s here, she’s here.

She doesn’t fall asleep.

She tosses and turns, presses her face into her pillow and ignores the streaks she leaves behind.

(Cold, cold, cold.

She wishes it was winter. Instead of this heat that clogs her throat, makes her eyes water. Instead of this constant downward pull on her body, her heart, because she can’t- she can’t take it.)

Lena rips off the covers, stumbling out of the bed, and oh, she doesn’t know where she’s going, but she can’t just lie there.

“Lena?” Kara looks over the couch, eyes startling clear without her glasses. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” It’s automatic. Kara frowns, and Lena’s already walking towards her before she nods her head and pats at the couch, “Come sit.”

Kara’s propped against the couch, her back to its arm. A small notebook sits in her lap. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve got an awesome view. I thought I’d,” Kara’s fingers tighten around the pencil in her hand, jerk to the side.

“You weren’t sleeping?”

“I wasn’t the only one,” Kara quips. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully and then she’s scooting back further against the arm and pulling her- it’s more like lifting- against her front, their legs stretched out and slipping against each other’s. “Try that building.”

Kara’s warmth is distracting, her chest rising and falling and her breaths linger at her neck. “This isn’t how people are taught,” Lena searches for the word, but it’s so very hard with Kara’s hand guiding hers across the paper, settles on, “art.”

Kara drops her chin on her shoulder, and oh, Lena can practically feel her smile. “Well, this is how I teach people how to, as you put, art.”

Lena draws out, well, she squints down at it. A box. Kara’s shoulders shake behind her. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You draw like it’s a blueprint.”

“My blueprints are beautiful.”

“They are,” Kara agrees. She drums her fingers. Lena doesn’t point out that it’s against her leg rather than Kara’s own. “It’s okay to talk about it, Lena.” The pencil bends in her hand until Kara slips it from her grip. “There’s no one here to judge you.”

She tries to clench her hands, to feel the bite of her nails, but then there’s Kara again, holding both her hands and not so much as wincing when Lena grips them tightly. “I’m tired of having to make these decisions.” She smooths her thumbs over Kara’s knuckles. “I’m tired of always trying to choose the right thing, and it feeling so, so wrong even if it’s right.”

(She doesn’t regret anything.

Doesn’t regret turning away from Lex, leaving Metropolis and the ties she had there. She doesn’t regret building L-Corp or turning in her mother.

She just wishes it would change the narrative behind their name- her name. Wishes it didn’t leave her with this sinking feeling every time that nothing changes, and she’s going to be alone again.)

“I think,” Kara says it slowly as if she says it any faster and it will escape her, “there will always be those decisions, and we will always hesitate after them.” Kara’s nose brushes the back of her neck, these constant touches building to I’m here. “That’s why we have the people around us, to help us forward when we stumble.”

“Even for Supergirl?” She’s tired and warm and Kara’s voice is a soft lull in her ears. It’s easy to listen to her desire for more, to push.

“Supergirl is scared of losing people too.” Kara’s voice is hushed then. “She’s had to make choices that keep her up at night. She’s seen what happens when she’s not in control.”

(Kara almost, oh, she almost sounds broken at that.

At what she can become. Lena thinks of red flashes and news reports and maybe she’s not the only one.)

She’s almost asleep when she hears, “I’m scared of who I will be if it happens again.”

She doesn’t know how long Kara lets her sleep until hands are at her back, under her knees and lift her up. Kara makes it incredibly smooth, easy steps and a soft hum in her chest as she steps towards her room. When Kara lays her down, Kara sits beside her for just a moment, thumb swiping under her eyes and smearing away tears.

Lena doesn’t have to ask for Kara to stay, just holds up the covers as Kara wiggles in behind her. Kara curls around her, her presence everywhere. Hand covering hers and body snugly behind her. She still tries to back closer.

“Go to sleep, Lena,” Kara whispers.

(This time when Kara presses close to her, warm breaths against her temple, she doesn’t hesitate to brush her lips over Lena’s forehead.)

When she wakes, Kara’s arm is loosely looped around her waist, not as tight as it was when they fell asleep, but oh, it’s still there.

(She’s still there.

It was all too easy to imagine waking up to her cold, cold apartment and remembering last night. It’s easier when Kara’s heavy breaths are slipping under the collar of her shirt, the heat between them sticking against her skin.

Easier to face the morning.)

She tries to turn around as discreetly as she can, but as soon as she thinks she’s in the clear- holding her breath, trying to remain frozen- Kara groans. “You’ve barely slept.”

(It’s something she never thought she’d see. Kara’s hair lit up golden in the warm rays of the sun filtering in. Her voice rougher, a little deeper from sleep as she blinks open blue, blue eyes.)

“Oh, I,” she lowers her voice when Kara’s fingers wiggle into her side, “good morning.”

“In two hours it will be.” Kara cracks one eye open again. “Good morning,” she adds, like she can’t resist not returning the sentiment. It makes Lena smile far earlier in the day than she’s used to. Usually, it’s not until Kara appears for lunch or her second breakfast for the day.

“What are you smiling about?”

Lena curls her fingers into her palm before, oh, she flattens her hand across Kara’s cheek, thumb swiping. “Thank you for.” She laughs, because the list grows longer and longer every day. “For everything actually.”

Kara sucks in a harsh breath, her lips barely brushing hers when Lena leans closer to press a light kiss on the corner of her mouth. Kara’s hand raises into her hair, fingers pushing her forward until their heads are touching and Kara’s smile mirrors hers.

Kara shakes her head, goes cross-eyed when their noses bump together and laughs. “I could say the same to you.” Her smile turns somber. “You’ve saved me just as often.”

For the first time she can remember, she falls back asleep, the quiet that settled between them not lifting as their yawns began echoing each other’s.

(The fear is still there. That this won’t last, that it can’t. It goes against everything being a Luthor has brought her. Everything she’s learned that people either leave or become shattered images of themselves.

For now though- with Kara’s fingers running up and down her back, head on her pillow- she lets herself have this.)

#supercorp #supergirl #supergirl spoilers #ace reporter #lena luthor #kara danvers #yall do all assume kara's relationship with monoboy doesn't even happen in my fics #right?#if not do

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somberanalysis-blog · 7 years

Text

The water is always calm when I go out at 4 a.m…. Dear diary,

For once everything was still and timeless. Nothing moved except for the things forced by nature’s breath- the wind. The smell of night and rain’s dew drops made my nose sting. A whistle i hear from an origin unknown harmonizes with the breeze and the rustle of the leaves on the trees. My senses shut down.

A change in vision occurs as the secondhand smoke from your breath obstructs my view of this scenic destination. You were trying to be one with the wind; i could tell. You were so relaxed, breathing in the toxic components of life and expiring acceptance without repentance.

The smell of smoke mixed with the smell of a forest, a sweltering, crisp scent under the sap of the morning fog. The more forceful gusts of wind blew the smell of your cologne towards me as if it were encasing me in its delicate embrace.

The sound of the water made me feel safe and the sigh you gave when you excused the vapor from your mouth filled my ears as the smile, with the most perfect curl at the edges, drew my eyes. Your eyes badgered my every move. They flickered with a twinkle that persuaded me to step to the very edge of the water on the cold pebbles sending a chill up my spine

My blood pumped soothingly, synchronized with the small lake tides hitting the shore. I was sure id melt away and join the water for a while right then and there. I wanted to go swim. you didn’t want me to, but you didn’t pull me back, you watched patiently with a cigarette pressed between your lips, the lips of a crooked smile as if the perfect crime was about to be committed.

The way we function is a tribute to bonnie and clyde but in a way depicted by the good hearted morals of robin and hoodie. The superman in my life, he was high in the sky but that’s definitely where he hit his highest; his escape from reality; his superpower. He showed me how to fly, i've always wanted to be a bird, with the freedom and audacity that would be sinful in human society. And with that thought about flying high in the sky, soaring over the world i was once grounded to, i went to take my first step into the water, hoping it would wash away my flaws and insecurities and leave behind you, me, and the quiet, pre-dawn air.

As my feet were about to touch the water, I felt your cold hand on my shoulder; your first time talking to me since i met you at the lake. You didn’t talk with your words; not yet. Your eyes and your gentle touch told me you cared and you understood; like you could read my mind. Next thing i knew, my head was buried in your chest and your arms were around me like castle walls. The smell of your cologne was more evident now and the heat of your body against my cheek could’ve put me to sleep if i’d stay there long enough. Unlike my own, your heartbeat was lively and gave my thoughts a cadence to follow. I remember your fingers running through my hair and the small swaying motion you did in your efforts to comfort me despite the frigid water inches away from our bare feet.

Warmer water fell from my eyes, the first time in a while i could show my emotions and it wasn’t looked at like a sign of weakness but a sign of strength. I never had time to let go of everything life built on my shoulders. I didn’t have to explain that to you though. I almost never have to explain myself to you. You know me, you’ve studied me, you’re used to me.

I looked up at you. Your chromatic eyes remained fixated across the lake. Their most gorgeous shade of brown was framed by the other earth tones of our new safe spot. Their depth reminded me of the water. Looking quick you could only see the surface, brown eyes. Face to face with you, i see the pattern in your in them and i see me; a less perfect reflection of you. I’m everything you’ve had your eyes on and i never want to lose that. Always being in your vision is like being balanced on a tightrope.

Your hand guides me. I feel you reach across the small of my back as you motion me closer to the lake’s pit. We’re knees deep away from the shore, i feel the sticky silt through my toes and it reminds me of how cold and tired my feet felt when i once had to walk distances to get to you.

The sky is pretty. I look up at its multitude madness of soft pastel colors fading away from the black night. Normally the rising sun meant another day but not in this case. I looked out towards the wooden bridge that connected the small island of silt to the mainland’s shore. I remembered that today was the day. I was lost in thought until i noticed the lake’s bottom was extremely steep, as if it, itself, was inviting me down to its center. We’re waist deep in the lake and i can feel the Fish and seaweed entangled around my legs. My feet grew heavy as the silt piled up but the fish fluttered by my legs sending little kisses as they swam on to continue their journey. My ribs tickled as the cold water occasionally splashed against its normal current.

The morning breeze became steady. A flock of birds abruptly flew away from the lonely willow tree in the center of the island, leaving nothing but fallen feather and echos. After, there was no noise except for the sound of lake waves rubbing against our bodies. I start to get tired; my eyes are getting heavy. I have to remind myself to stay light. I’d rather live the rest of my life struggling to float than accept being lost and sinking.

The top of my head is still dry while the bottom of my hair diffuses with the water’s current. We’re neck deep in the lake and i feel your hand rake the water to find mine. I feel your bracelet before anything else. It was still as perfectly braided as the day i gave it to you. After looking down at the water in attempts to see my feet, I gaze into your eyes. the rising sun forces your eyes to sparkle although your expression was still solemn. Next, i’ll heed the warning you give me; but only because it is the first time i am hearing your voice today. You tell me to keep my head above the water. You always reminded me to stay light. Your simple head gestures were your way of telling me to breathe and as always you coached me through it.

Quietly, you cleared your throat. Starting with a raspy hum, you start to sing one of my favorite songs. I remember driving out east one time without any idea of where we were going; a song that put a voice to the memories we made. Maybe when people see the videos we made during our adventures, they will realize too that not all things go sour. Replaying that song was never difficult especially when you were singing. Music was a new form of communication for us. You taught me so much and opened my eyes up to greatness; that’s why it's so easy for me to trust you right now. I watched your jawline as you whispered the words. My eyes fell to your lips as the words slipped away and all sound ceased to exist. Our voices were mumbles and my sight became more clear than ever before. I knew it was time to move forward. We didn’t know where we were going or if we’d ever see each other again but nothing felt out of place; nothing seemed left unsaid.

The sun had finally come up, casting early morning shadows that made an artist like me feel butterflies in my stomach. The dew had cast a rainbow overhead. I could still swear that the pot of gold was hidden right there at the bottom of the lake. You reached for my waist and pulled me in closer to you, i could feel the goosebumps on your skin but your face showed no remorse for swimming during the cold, early hours of a summer day. I remember your lips pressed against mine. They were soft and gentle; a reminder to stay light. I didn’t fight it. After a while of hanging onto you, i took a deep breath and held it in as a symbol of holding onto you. i reached out and laid under a thin layer of lake water looking back up at the kaleidoscope sky on the other side of the barrier until everything faded into white light.

I haven’t seen you yet. I always thought i knew your destination but i have yet to discover if you found it and its true meaning. Wherever you are, I hope you’re thinking of me too. I send you my gentle love as a constant reminder to stay light.

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barryslightningrod · 5 years

Text

Finishing Touch

An awkward encounter between teenage Iris and Barry.

Iris can't believe it, but there was no denying the vision that lay in front of her eyes, Barry in all his lankiness, spread along his bed, masturbating as clear as day.

The moaning stops immediately.

“Who’s there?" Barry calls out, and Iris feels all his panic in addition to hers. She freezes right where she is, her usual ability to think on her feet hampered.

“Hi Bear!” Iris forces cheerfully, her own face burning up at the cognizance that he was semi-naked.

Barry stares at her, turning a deeper shade of crimson.

“I-I thought you had newspaper.”

Boy, you sure did, she thinks.

“It was cancelled,” she states simply, hoping she was coming across as nonchalant.

“How-how long have you been home?" he asks, Iris sensing every ounce of his dread and mortification.

"Not too long,” she feigns. “I didn’t think you were here,” she lies with an artificial chuckle. She gestures to her earbuds: “Couldn’t hear you through my music haha…”

"Well, uhhh-I’m gonna take a shower,” he announces after a brief silence, Iris trying her absolute hardest not to contemplate what he’ll do once he’s in the bathroom.

Author's notes: I find stories like this so funny and have always wanted to write one. I do have an idea for present Iris telling Barry about this if people would be interested in a continuation!

#westallen #westallen fic #finishing touch

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