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danger-xylophones · 4 years

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Family Reunion Chapter 9

{masterlist}

Words: 3653

Notes: Notes: Sorry this took so damn long, I got hung up on writing a particular oneshot that is still kicking my ass. Also, I watched Jojo Rabbit and...I was getting Reader and Wild vibes from Rosie and Jojo’s dynamics. Let’s hope I can keep my melodramatic monkey brain in check so I don’t permanently scar both myself and all of you.

Warnings: Angst time bby get your tissues because I hurt myself writing this, family dynamics are tricky and often problematic especially when one part of said family is clinically insane. PSA: Don’t do this to kids.

In all seriousness, there is some seriously fucked up shit that happens near the end of this installment that, while not abusive in and of itself, may act as a trigger for those who have suffered from abuse or are currently in an abusive situation. I am not condoning this behavior and I am very aware of the nature of what I have written. I repeat, I do not condone this behavior and I promise it will be resolved.

Taglist: @and-claudia // @tararuthven // @aberionart // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol // @zabrak-show // @obi-wan-kanbonemi

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The grip you had on the back of the pilot’s chair was almost alarmingly tight as wave after wave of nausea assaulted your stomach. And your already unpleasant feelings were amplified by the guilty look plastered over Wild’s face as he stood at your side with your other hand in a death grip. You didn’t blame him for the turbulence the three (technically four) of you had encountered upon entering Dathomir’s atmosphere but it was hard to reassure him. In a cruelly ironic twist, your inability to stomach landings and takeoffs was his fault-the effect of having a hybrid child, you supposed. For now, you could just pull him into your side with an arm wrapped around his shoulders as Savage guided the ship.

The turbulence had also disturbed Maul who had chosen to express his discontent in ear-piercing wails. For as much as you loved Maul, you were eager to have him capable of articulating his feelings again if only to make him stop screaming. It seemed that Savage felt much the same way, “Patience, brother.” The yellow zabrak muttered quietly, “We’re almost home.”

You closed your eyes as Savage brought the ship lower and lower, not wanting to see the rust-colored ground that was rapidly approaching. Wild pressed further into your side, his small arms wrapping below your ribs in silent sympathy and you squeezed his shoulder back- a completely wordless conversation. The ship jostled slightly as it landed on the soil of Savage’s home planet. You had to quickly clasp the hand previously on Wild’s shoulder over your mouth to keep the bile from rising. Savage, not taking note of your current crisis, stood from the pilot’s chair to stalk towards the cargo bay. “Should we go with him?” Wild peeped from your side after you regained some control over your stomach. With a shaky nod, you turned around to follow Savage with Wild in tow, stuck to your side like glue. Savage was barely past the threshold before he stopped to observe his deranged brother who was crouched amongst the crates, clawing at the air wildly like he did when you and Savage first found him.

“Brother,” Savage spoke first to which the only reply was ‘Kenobi’ muttered over and over again. “Brother, we have to go.”

Once again, “Kenobi.�� and the creaking of crates as Maul moved them using the force to form a barrier between himself and the three of you. You sighed, already able to guess what your next task would be at the same time Savage rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” Savage scoffed with an eye roll, “Stay here.” Briefly closing his eyes with a shake of his horned head, Savage turned his attention to you and Wild. “I’ll speak with Mother Talzin if you two work on that-” The yellow zabrak gestured to the wall of crates Maul had formed prompting you to nod in resignation. Savage clasped a hand on both of your shoulders, stooping down rather awkwardly to do so, before opening the bay-ramp and stalking out of the ship. That left you two with Maul.

“You up for some practice, Wild?” You grumbled as you could tell that you would have your work cut out for both of you. Wild didn’t answer as you scanned for an opening in the barricade. After another beat of quiet from your hybrid child, you spoke again and turned to where you had left the boy. “Wild?” But he had moved away, silently slipping towards the ramp to lean out of the ship. “Wild, what are you doing?” You called and trailed after him before stopping at his side to look out into the murky, red-choked planet.

The young boy was quiet for a little longer as he stared out at his father’s home planet. “I didn’t think Dathomir would feel this...” He finally whispered. His grip tightened on the ramp frame as he leaned out just a little further. “It’s...I dunno, it feels weird.” His saffron eyes which still managed to glimmer in the low lighting flicked to the left and to the right like he was watching something that you couldn’t see.

Slowly, as not to startle him, you lowered yourself to be eye level with Wild and gently placed a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. “Wild, what is it?” You asked softly, allowing your own force sensitivity to take over.

“Mom, something’s different here I-I can’t pinpoint it.” He was right, something was different. The dark side was strong here and it felt like it was pouring into the ship to culminate around something-presumably Maul. Wild must be picking up on it. You knew he was familiar with what the dark side felt like when in the presence of someone who had aligned themselves with it-he had to be by now given he shared a ship with Savage and Darth Maul. It had to be that this was his first exposure to a planet that was aligned with the dark side.

“Wild, that’s the dark side. Dathomir is strong in it-that’s where the witches get their magicks from, well sort of, at lea-” Wild cut you off, turning so sharply that you were knocked off balance.

“No! It’s not that...it’s...it’s something much worse.” You were struck silent as Wild’s panicked gaze flickered over your features before glancing over at Maul. “We shouldn’t be here, mom.” He shook his head and backed into the ship, his gaze didn’t leave Maul who had gone quiet. “He shouldn’t be here.” You followed Wild’s stare as your brows began to furrow until your own eyes landed on Maul who was watching both of you like a loth-wolf.

“Wild, what are you talking about?” Your voice shook despite your efforts to keep it steady.

“I don’t know.” Wild’s tone was strained, fragile, and fearful. Your son was terrified of something and that just made your distress grow. “I don’t know what I’m sensing but it isn’t good. It’s angry, it’s controlling, and it’s so possessive. Mom…” He turned to you then, latching his arms around your middle to bury his face against your stomach. “I’m scared.” Your heart shattered and you fought the sob that threatened to tear itself from your throat. Your hand flew to the back of your son’s head as you sank to your knees to wrap your other arm around the tiny red boy. He trembled as you held him, trying to will whatever was plaguing your son away.

“My darling boy,...” You whispered and held your son tighter, “My precious son,...” Wild pressed his forehead to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, one of his tiny horns threatening to break the thin skin there. “Gift of all gifts, my baby, and sweetpea,” You ran through all of the names you’d ever given him in the softest voice you could muster, the one you would always use to soothe his numerous nightmares and cries that always robbed him of peaceful nights when he was much younger. “I promise, I won’t let anything hurt you.” You swore in a thin voice, carefully maneuvering to press a kiss to your son’s temple. He responded by curling into you further. “Not here, not out there, not on some distant backwater planet, either. You’re my son, my one constant and I will do anything in my power to protect you.” You placed another kiss on his temple, slowly rocking the two of you back and forth as your words began to seep past the young boy’s fog of fear. Eventually, Wild pulled away from you to sit back on his heels with a sniffle.

“Thanks, mom. I-I’m sorry.” The little boy began in a tiny voice as he, rather roughly, scrubbed at the tear tracks clinging to his face.

“Wild, starshine, you have nothing to apologize for.” You soothed gently as you wrapped your hand around his wrist to pull his hand away from his face so you could delicately wipe away the stubborn droplets of water. “You’re scared, it happens to us all. If you can still find the strength to face that fear, what harm do a few tears do?” A small chuckle slipped from you as you recalled your own journey with crying and emotions in general, my how far you’ve come.

Wild said nothing regarding the wisdom provided in favor of answering with a watery smile and shaky breath. It was still for a moment as your son went about collecting himself and you were more than happy to offer him the silence he clearly wanted. But, where you were willing, the only other person in the ship beside you two was not. Maul, who had previously been watching the exchange soundlessly, was poking his head out from between the crates surrounding him to peer curiously at your son.

Wild sniffled once more and looked up at the unmistakable click-click of his strange spider legs against the durasteel of the cargo hold. The young boy was reacting before you could do anything. “What are you looking at?” Wild roared as he sprung to his feet, startling Maul who growled back and ducked back between the crates.

You were baffled by your son’s reaction. Wild didn’t raise his voice often and in his eleven almost twelve years of life, you had never seen him yell at someone he didn’t know. Thankfully, you regained your composure quickly enough to lay a firm hand on Wild’s forearm. “Be gentle, Wild. He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.” You rebuked, careful not to upset the carmine boy. He deflated just slightly.

“That doesn’t give him a right to stare,” Wild muttered and turned away from you as you rose to your feet.

“No,” you hummed contemplatively as you brushed some imaginary dust off your legs, “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean he is in the wrong.” Wild sent you a deadpan look. “Maul…isn’t of sound mind so he’s lacking in decorum. We must act with patience and grace.” You reaffirmed before tiptoeing over to the crates and beginning to move them out of the way.

“You make it sound so easy.” Wild muttered again, raising a hand to try and push one of the boxes using the force. It screeched against the durasteel as he scooted it, making the young half-zabrak cringe.

An airy, nervous chuckle tittered past your lips before you could stop it. “Believe me, Wild, it wasn’t easy to learn.” You paused, two crates hovering just off the floor as you regarded your son. “I am not patient by nature.”

“You’re not?”

“Kriff no.” You snorted, making Wild grin. “But, for better or worse, your father helped me learn.” Your mind briefly flashed through every single argument you had ever had with Maul: from the petty to the severe. Each one, no matter how consequential felt like training for what was to come. Now, after you had raised the boy without his father and were now facing the possibility of getting the love of your life back, every fight felt like a test to build the patience you would desperately need later on in life. Especially now as you gazed down at the pitiful creature your love had become. “We both had to learn or else I don’t think we could’ve worked.” You mumbled under your breath, e/c eyes boring into the crazed gold and vermillion of the former sith lord before you.

The air shifted much like your son as he adjusted his weight on his feet. “What...what do you mean?” He eventually asked in a small, tentative voice.

You sobered up quickly and reached a hand out to Maul who latched onto the appendage, clasping it between both of his hands. “I often went months without seeing your father-our paths kept us separated for so long.” They’d kept you separated even after you left the order and he had been abandoned by his master. “It’s a miracle we stayed together.” You were separated even now. Maul lost to his madness and you tied to his son by an oath you swore the day he was born. “...he didn’t even know I was pregnant with you.”

“What?” Wild breathed out in shock. You closed your eyes, begging for your mind to direct itself elsewhere.

“Hey, wait for me!”

“Anakin, stay where you are. You’ll be safe there.” Qui-Gon’s voice was firm, indicating he was not to be trifled with. And justly so, you were in the middle of a battle. Why they had let a nine-year-old stay with Qui-Gon was beyond you. The boy was just going to get in the way. Though, in all fairness, the council also let a pregnant woman go back to Naboo whilst dealing with a blockade that was apparently engineered by your husband’s master. Force, what a messed up time you were having.

“But I-” Anakin, the little boy from Tatooine that was currently causing you to rethink your whole strategy for hiding your baby’s father’s identity, tried to protest. But one pointed index finger from Qui-Gon and his opposition died on his tongue.

“Stay in that cockpit.” Qui-Gon ordered as you marched past the fighter the boy found himself ‘hidden’ in. You and Obi Wan shared a look that spoke volumes despite how standoff-ish your fellow padawan had been since that damned meeting that had prevented you from explaining your situation to your lover. You had, of course, immediately tried to contact Maul again and again and again to beg him to do something that would give you the chance to slip away and into his arms but every time you were interrupted. It would have been funny if not for the fact that all three of your lives would be jeopardized if anyone found out who had fathered your baby. The final time had been entirely Queen Amidala’s fault as she decided that it would be a grand old idea to go back to her home planet. The star-cherry on top? She had requested you to accompany her. However, you considered yourself clever. You could make this work for you if you played your cards right. You knew Maul was on Naboo, you could sense him-the dark side was unusually powerful on Naboo. The trick was slipping away from the two Jedi accompanying you to go find him. For now, you were stuck marching behind roughly two dozen Nubian pilots, the queen herself, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Obi Wan Kenobi. You would just have to be patient; wait for the perfect opportunity to slip from their grasps. Maybe you’d take a little tumble over the edge of a balcony or maybe you’d find yourself ‘cut down’ by one of those battle droids? Either way, you’d just have to wait till you could fly to your love...wherever he was on this infernal, though very beautiful, planet.

“Yeah….” You sighed unsteadily as Maul toyed with your fingers. “I was...a little over three months pregnant when I last saw him again...on Naboo.”

“Quickly, Y/n!” Obi Wan yelled over his shoulder as you both raced to catch up with Qui-Gon and the Sith, your Sith. They were rather evenly matched and you could see Maul’s strategy clear as day. If he could separate Obi Wan and Qui-Gon, he could easily take the latter down. The struggle for Maul was being able to land a finishing blow on one without the other moving in to intercept and continue the fight. You did what you could to stay out of Maul’s way while also trying not to make it look like you were running. If you ran and Maul...lost...that wouldn’t look too good for you. You could only blame your ‘slow reactions’ on your pregnancy brain for so long.

To accomplish his plan, Maul was trying to draw Qui-Gon to the reactor shaft where he could use the ray shields to further divide Obi Wan, Qui-Gon, and you. And it worked for as soon as you and Obi Wan caught up, the ray shields went up too; cutting off you and your fellow padawan and Qui-Gon from Darth Maul...alright, admittedly that part probably wasn’t in his plan. You skidded to a halt and just barely managed to grab Obi Wan by the collar before the older padawan accidentally smacked into the ray shield. The four of you fell deathly quiet at the interruption-the only noise to be heard was the deceivingly gentle hum of the harmful shields and the thrum of the five lightsabers currently ignited.

You jumped suddenly as Maul tapped the ray shield with the tip of his lightsaber as though he was trying to taunt Qui-Gon who was just on the other side and Obi Wan sent you a look, laying his free hand on your shoulder. A quiet thank you slipped from your mouth as you bowed your head to him and sheathed the heated blades of your dual lightsabers for a moment, Obi Wan following soon after when Maul did the same.

Carefully, Qui-Gon took a seat on his side of the shield and promptly began to meditate which afforded you the opportunity to meet Maul’s gaze for the first time. He was indescribable. A deep, foreign fury clouded his eyes choking the shining gold with vermillion. His brow was furrowed, a sneer marred his face, and for the second time since your very first meeting, you could clearly see the hatred he held for the Jedi before him. At that moment, he wasn’t your husband. He was Darth Maul. A completely separate being from the zabrak you had come to know and love. You just hoped that he would return to you when the time came.

“Naboo?” Wild asked, slowly approaching. You didn’t look away from Maul as he clung to your hand a little tighter.

“Kenobi, Kenobi!” Maul suddenly started to growl and his nails began to dig into the back of your hand. “Far above, far above, we don’t know where we’ll fall!” The zabrak’s eyes stayed trained on your feet as he started to pull on your arm as if trying to climb up it. “Far above, far above, what once was great is rendered small!” He then proceeded to burst into tears.

“What is he talking about?” Wild sighed in agitation and stepped up to stand right next to you. Maul’s crying ceased for a moment as he turned his head towards Wild.

“Not a clue-ow!” You were cut off as Maul’s grip grew exponentially tighter.

“Kenobi, Kenobi!” Maul pressed in a growl.

With an exasperated sigh of your own you nodded and began trying to loosen the zabrak’s grip. “I know, Maul, I know. Kenobi. It’s his fault-will you let go?” The words hissed through your teeth before you were aware of them.

“Wait, you know the ‘Kenobi’ he keeps talking about?” Wild snapped his attention to the side of your face as you continued to try and pry Maul’s hands off of your arm.

“Yeah...he’s the padawan that went with me to Naboo and the reason Maul was...y’know, thought dead.”

“As in...Obi Wan? You told me that he was the one that killed my dad...on Corellia during a riot that dad was trying to suppress.” You froze. Wild continued. “You told me that Corellia was the last place you saw him. Not Naboo.”

“Corellia, Naboo. What difference does it make if he’s supposed to be dead?” You muttered under your breath. Your free hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose as the other flexed into a fist.

“A lot!” Wild yelled and you jumped. Slowly, beyond startled by his outburst, you turned your attention away from Maul and to the little boy at your side. “It makes a lot of difference.” He hissed, small red hands clenched into fists at his side. You could only stare at him with wide eyes. “Mom…” He took a steadying sigh and flexed out his hands. “Mom, what’s going on?” Wild asked with wide, sad eyes as he reached out to grab your arm.

Maul roared and leaped at him, his unoccupied hand reaching to claw at the young boy who gasped in shock and stepped back as you barely had enough time to maneuver between Wild and Maul. He pulled up short. You finally wrenched your arm free from his grasp.

“What the kriff is wrong with you!” Wild growled back from behind you as you both backed away from Maul. Said zabrak growled again and began to puff up.

“Stop it!” You commanded. Maul took a step closer. “Stop.” Another step, you two backed up. “I said stop!” You raised your voice at Maul as he took another step. Dreading what you knew you might have to do, you raised your hands. “Maul,” another step, the dathomirian’s gaze zeroed in on Wild, “I told you to stop!” You summoned your strength and sent a hard shove through the force to Maul that sent him skidding backwards:not enough to topple him but definitely enough to get the message. His real legs collided with the crates he had previously hidden behind and the former Sith toppled end over end over them before landing with a startled cry. You collapsed, curling in on yourself at the guilt that already gnawed at you. Trembling, you turned to Wild who had watched on with wide eyes and clung to the back of your tunic and pulled him into a hard hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Well,” a new voice unlike anything you’d heard before echoed all around you and seemed to penetrate your body to go straight to your heart, carving a cold and fearful path wherever it went. You looked up and before you, at the end of the ramp to the cargo hold was Savage, “What do we have here?” and Mother Talzin.

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#darth maul #clone wars #tcw #star wars

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shipersanonymous · 4 years

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A West-Allen AU 💜

Worth more than gold

Iris West is a multi billionaire and heiress who’s emotionally scarring childhood has made her shut herself off to all possible emotional relationships. Her life takes an interesting turn when her adoptive grandfather passes away leaving her in charge of his fortune, including a share of S. T. A. R. Labs. While in Central City, she meets Barry Allen, an innocent and charmingly clumsy kind of guy with a high EQ who’s trying to climb his way up the science social ladder to become a recognized scientist. Can you guess his lab of choice?

Your average, every day, girl meets boy kinda story with a rags to riches twist, a dash of family drama, lots of angst and a love worth more than Au.

…………………………………………………………........

Author’s Note:

Here we are!

Au is finally making it’s way onto tumblr! I’m so excited! I’m gonna try to get tumblr updated by this week, so we’re all on the same schedule! Let’s do this!

XOXO

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WARNING : MAY CONTAIN CONTENT NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18

*********** Cliffhanger Warning ***********

Chapter 1

Her hand rested on the cool glass of the floor to ceiling window as she overlooked the nightly view offered by her million dollar apartment. The sky was clear, not a single cloud concealed the sparkle of the stars that were dimmed only by the ever present Parisian city lights. The moon was full and white, its iridescent light bathed her naked body creating a picture out of shadows on her bare skin. Iris took a sip from her glass, the semi-sweet wine burning her tongue with a pleasant ardour before she swallowed and it heated her body from the inside out. Her latest boy toy came up from behind her, his body just as bare as hers, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He proceeded to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, savouring in the feel of her warm chocolaty skin against his lips and she simply took another sip of her drink, completely unfazed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered on to her shoulders but she seemed unmoved by the compliment. With her stare trained on the city-scape bellow she simply said,

“It’s getting late.” Eddie knew what that meant, it was time for him to leave. It didn’t surprise him but even after months of this back and forth ritual between them it still hurt him to know that to her he was nothing more than a sex toy. He quietly moved away from her and made his way up the stairs to get dressed. As always he didn’t bother saying goodbye, he couldn’t say goodbye, not to her. She was like a drug to him, no matter how much she hurt him he’d always come running back when she called. That’s why he couldn’t say goodbye, he wasn’t done with her yet.

Iris waited until she heard the door close to let her guard down. She didn’t do that often but today she made an exception. She had too much on her mind to keep her walls up. With a partially full bottle of red in one hand and her glass in the other she made her way up to her suite. She showered, washing away the tension from her stressed muscles along with the sweat of her late night activities. Wrapped in nothing but a satin robe, she settled down in her bed and drank her way through half the bottle without so much as a minor buzz. She opened her side table drawer and from it took out a black, rectangular picture frame. Her fingers caressed the glass that held a picture of a younger less, damaged version of her, standing next to a kind faced older man. Grandpa West. The only reason why there’s still any shred of humanity left in her. She smiled, as happy memories played out in her mind and this time she didn’t stop the tears from flowing.

This was her one moment of vulnerability. The only minute of grief she would allow herself to have before she withdrew back into her safety shell and locked away her emotions from the world. This world that had chewed her up and spat her out on countless occasions and now it took away the one person that made her life livable.

Elvis West was a type of hero to her. He saved her from the crippling grasp of the foster system she was under and gave her a life fit for a princess. Now, like everything and everyone else in her life, he was gone. No wonder she didn’t open up to the possibility of new relationships. Her father didn’t want her, her mother died giving birth to her and every foster family she went to, succeeded in making her feel less than human. Grandpa West was the last person she ever showed genuine affection towards and nothing on Earth could ever make her open up again. Love wasn’t worth the pain it caused.

She fell asleep with that picture held tight against her chest, the empty bottle of wine rested on the nightstand and her pillow was bathed in her tears. The next morning she took the family jet to Central City for the memorial. The man was sentimental and his birth town held a special place in his heart. As she looked out the window at the tiny town below she remembered the countless stories he’d shared with her at bed time about how he met his one true love. Grandma Esther. Iris didn’t get to know her all that much. She had recently passed away when Grandpa West took her in so the only impression she had of the woman came from the many tales he’d tell. He spoke fondly of her and when he did she noticed that he’s eyes had a certain quality about them as he stared into oblivion completely lost in thought. As a girl she’d dreamed that she’d find someone who would look at her with those same eyes but time and knowledge wiped away that childish fantasy. True love was just a myth that man kind made up to silence their fear of being alone and make they’re animal like desires less shameful. It was an excuse used to answer the existential crisis of the more gullible who believed that a cerebral chemical reaction was good enough a reason to live. Pathetic.

She’d made her peace with it and found a new reason to live. Pleasure. Whether it lie at the bottom of a six thousand dollar bottle of champagne, at the end of the endless zero’s in her checks or a really good night of sex, she would have it and no one could convince her otherwise. No one could tell her that this wasn’t the way to live life. The only person who’s opinion she cared about was currently six feet under ground. The rest of the world was just a stage and she was the director.

The jet landed and she took a minute to touch up her make up before she cat walked her way out. As soon as she entered the airport she was showered with a billion flash lights. You’d think she was a movie star or big shot music sensation but all she was, was rich. She owned shares to five of the worlds most prominent media outlets varying from magazines to newspapers and that doesn’t count the old money she was raised in.

Linda walked up behind her and huffed under her breath.

“Mon Dieu (My goodness).” she exclaimed frustrated.

“Que s'est-il passé? (What happened)” Iris questioned with her shaded eyes still trained straight ahead. Linda was the closest thing to a friend Iris would allow herself to have, mostly because she was a good assistant and Iris found herself enjoying her company.

“Nous sommes entourés d'idiots. (We’re surrounded by idiots)” she explained and Iris let out an amused chuckle. Remembering that she needed to ease her tongue back into the English language she responded,

“That I already knew.” Her accent was still pronounced but she knew after an hour or two it would soon fade. She might have been raised and educated in France but she was brought up by Americans so english was more like second nature than it was a second language to her.

“What do I have to do today?” she asked, her step never faltering and her face never turning to acknowledge the curios glares. Her security detail walked a safe distance ahead, already accustomed to her need for personal space and fast walking pace.

“Uh…d'abord (firstly)-”

“En anglais Linda. In English.” she interrupted.

“Oui, I mean yes. Sorry. Firstly you have the will reading with Monsieur Wells and then a share holders meeting at some sort of laboratory.” Linda listed out, her accent much more noticeable than that of her employer.

“Great, just what I needed today. A sit down with a bunch of old mouth breathers who think they know about science because they invested in a laboratory.” It was all she could do not to slap her own forehead in exasperation. Not that she knew much about science herself but S. T. A. R. Labs wasn’t her baby, it was her grandfather’s and being his only heir, with his passing it automatically became hers.

The limo was waiting outside for her surrounded by reporters and a growing crowd all waiting to catch a glimpse of her. To the public and the press she was basically anonymous. They knew her face and envied her net worth but they couldn’t pin a single rumor on her. As scandalous as the life she led might have been Iris West knew how to be discreet and the mystery surrounding her life is the very reason why she wasn’t just another person apart of the wealthy minority.

She stepped inside the lavish auto mobile without so much as a wave in the on-lookers direction and as soon as the doors were closed she drove off with her security detail riding in a black Land Rover behind her.

“Why on earth do we need a will reading exactly? I mean my grandfather had no one but me to leave his estate to and I’ve already taken care of all the charity’s he was associated with."

She’d spoken to all the parties concerned and guaranteed that all her grandfathers monthly and yearly donations would remain on schedule despite his untimely departure. She was an anti-social socialite not an emotionless bitch.

"I don’t understand the logic behind it either but Dr Wells insisted that you attend."

Iris huffed out a frustrated breath and massaged her temple’s with her thumb and middle finger.

"I’m gonna need a pain killer.”

They made a brief stop at the towering black gates and once an armed guard confirmed the identities of all the people in both vehicles they were let through. They drove through the perfectly groomed garden, that was split in the middle by a cobblestone drive way, and pulled up to a gigantic structure. It was a massive building, with just enough floor to ceiling windows to allow for the right amount of privacy. She stepped through the door and made her way up the stair case.

“Where are you going?” Linda asked, her voice alert.

“Les toilettes (the restroom). I need a bath.” she answered taking a short turn to the right and climbing up the remainder of the way.

“But Monsieur Wells will be here any minute.”

“And I pay him handsomely for his time. He can wait."

Iris shut the doors to her suite and took a moment to breathe before she walked to the bathroom and striped off her travel clothes. Her bath was already waiting for her (the servants knew the drill, they kept track of her whereabouts because as soon as she stepped through those doors she needed to have her bath). She stepped into the scalding hot water, the steam rose all around her in twirling wisps carrying with it the unmistakable smell of coconut. Coconut oil did wonders for her skin. She sank into it up to her neck and closed her eyes completely allowing her body to relax.

Her moment of bliss was short lived, however, because a few minutes later a knock came at her door. She cursed under her breath before she told the person to enter.

"Mademoiselle West? Monsieur Wells is here,” came Linda’s voice from the room.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” she huffed out and waited for the sound of the door closing before she sank deeper into the tub, not worried that her hair was getting wet. She resurfaced and elevated her body from the bath tub. Without bothering to towel down she wrapped her self into a satin black robe that was decorated with yellow, orange and green flowers at the hems. The fabric stuck to her bare, moist body and her hair left droplets of water in her wake as she exited her room, making her way downstairs.

She found Wells seated in the office with a small cup of coffee in his hands. He stood when he noticed her at the door, ever the gentleman.

“Ms West. Always a pleasure.” he greeted and she walked into the room, slapping on her most convincing (yet neutral) smile.

“Wells. Wish I could say the same but unfortunately the sentiment is not shared.”

She took the seat behind the desk and leaned back into it, crossing her legs and arms in the process.

“Can we speed up the process?” she asked looking far from amused. “Unfortunately not,” he said.

That response was not what she wanted to hear and after the night she had and the long flight Iris found herself losing her composure.

“And why the hell not?” she demanded.

“Because we’re waiting for someone.” Wells answered, loosening his tie as his discomfort grew.

“Who?” Iris asked confused, as far as she was aware she was her grandfather’s only heir. She didn’t have to wait long for an explanation because seconds after she uttered the question the door bell rang.

“I believe that’s him right now.” Wells said standing up to greet the mystery guest. Iris followed suit, her confusion clear on her face.

“Him? Him who?” she asked and the new comer stepped into the room.

“Me.” he said. He was a tall, dark skinned man that looked like he was

somewhere in his late forties. Iris gave him a once over before she folded her arms across her chest and shot him a suspicious look.

“And you are?” She sassed out.

“Joe West. I’m Elvis’s son.”

#westallen #iriswest #barry allen #barry and iris #the flash #the gold standard #candice patton #grant gustin #fan fiction #flash fanfiction #flash fan #fluff #smutty #psychological #romance

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chrysalispen · 5 years

Text

Prompt #7 - Forgiven

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

this is actually a scene i’ve wanted to write for these two for some time now, so here we go

For the first night in twenty years, the sun was setting over a free Ala Mhigo.

The sky over Loch Seld was as bright a blaze of glory as she remembered it, staring out over the darkening outline of the wind-carved hills from the secluded remains of the overgrown garden. If she shut her eyes, if she blocked out the happy shouts from within and without the city, she could almost pretend she was sixteen years old again, young and arrogant and invincible.

Almost–but not quite. She wasn’t that girl anymore, hadn’t been for a very long time now. Too much had changed, for better or worse.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and hugged them to her chest. It hurt that she couldn’t feel the joy they did. And there was every reason to celebrate.

She thought about the shimmer of happy tears in Lyse’s bright blue eyes when she sang. The sound of all of those voices, that rolling broad lilt she’d always associated with the simpler, better parts of her girlhood, lifted to the heavens singing a song with a tune she knew but lyrics she had never learned. And she had felt… utterly alone. It had been the final realization that this wasn’t her home anymore than any other part of the Empire had been. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault, hers or theirs.

She’d been a child when she was brought here but she had still been a colonizer. A symbol of their oppression.

While she’d been full glad to lend them her strength, this was not her victory. It was theirs, and she knew it. So she’d made her excuses to a confused and very concerned Lyse and gone out for a walk.

She had gone to the old palace district, unsure what to expect, and had found only empty buildings, dark and silent. There were precisely two people she would have wanted to see, and one of them was long gone, and the other- … she still didn’t know what had happened to L'haiya. Didn’t know if she had passed away in the last decade, or if she had been killed in the fighting, or if she had remained in Ala Mhigo at all.

Is it really asking too much, Aurelia thought, staring through the bars of the familiar wrought-iron gate, wanting to feel like I belong somewhere?

Like I have a home?

She had let herself in.

The gate had been unlocked and the house as empty as all the rest, either abandoned or looted. She didn’t even know if anyone had lived here since she’d left over a decade ago, and she didn’t stop to look.

She meandered through the area that had once been the drawing room, leaving footprints in the dust that had gathered on the floor, and passed through the galley kitchen to the back door on her way. The koi were gone and the fountain was dry and filled only with weeds, but she had paid that no mind. Even lonely and abandoned, this place was familiar and more importantly, quiet.

So when she heard the sound of something atop the street-facing side of the wall and the Echo did not raise the alarm, she didn’t react.

“You know, you are a surprisingly difficult woman to find when you do not wish to be found.”

Aurelia blinked. Straddling the stone wall, next to her old zelkova tree, was one Nero Scaeva, his eyes hidden by a pair of ridiculous-looking shades which he was already removing. He carried a bottle in one hand, and he raised it with a toothy, boyish grin flashed in her direction.

“There is quite the party going on in the city limits. Without as well, I daresay. The Reach is chaos.” Without waiting for her response he swung his long legs over the wall and let himself drop the last two fulms. There was a flat thud as his feet gracelessly hit the ground. “Were I you, I should be enjoying the fruits of my labors. Perhaps dancing a merry jig upon Zenos yae Galvus’ newly dug grave, may he forever rest upon stinging nettles.”

She winced at that, and did not reply. Nero seemed to take notice of her discomfort, for his smile faded somewhat.

“May I sit?” he asked.

“If you like.”

She heard his footsteps in the grass, then a soft grunt as he sat down at her side. He placed the bottle in his hand on the lip of the stone fountain so he’d have both hands free to work the laces of his plated jackboots loose. Aurelia watched, somewhat bemused, as he kicked them off, then removed the heavy leather vest and outer doublet. There was something familiar about the attire she couldn’t quite place; maybe he’d actually thought to disguise himself. She had to admit it probably wasn’t the worst idea he would have had, given the current mood of the city’s smallfolk.

“Much better.” Carelessly he tossed the glasses on top of the pile he’d made, rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt to the elbow, and reached for the bottle he’d set aside. “…You’re not a temperance sort, are you?”

“Hardly.”

“Excellent, because I am not about to let a Suhd Viandja go to waste.” That ridiculous grin was back. “And I’ve not yet sunk so low as to drink the entire bottle by myself.”

Aurelia took the bottle from him and stared at the label. She almost asked Nero how he’d gotten his hands on a wine this rare and expensive and decided it was probably best if she just didn’t ask at all. After a moment she passed it back. “The thought is appreciated but I don’t- I’m not interested right now. Maybe later.”

A shrug. “Then I suppose you have the privilege of watching as I guzzle a ten million gil rosé like a fifty-gil Ilsabardian posca.”

“Nero, I’m really not-”

“I don’t allow Garlond to engage in his ridiculous self-pitying nonsense and I’m certainly not going to give you a pass for same. Talk to me.”

Aurelia glared at him. He gazed steadily back, and she was the first to look away, busying herself with pulling up enough of the weeds around her that she had a comfortable place to sit and tossing the uprooted places into the fountain behind her. Knowing perfectly well she was stalling for time.

Once she realized that he was not leaving her alone, and was in fact more than willing to wait her out, she let out a sigh. Try as she might, Zenos’ dying words wouldn’t leave her. They fluttered about the dark chambers of her mind like restless ghosts that could not be bestilled.

“He said we were alike.”

“Hm?”

“Zenos. He said we were alike.” She clenched her fists at the memory and felt the sting of her nails digging into her palms. “He asked me to accept him-”

“What did he know about you?”

“What?”

“Did he know anything about you? Anything at all? Other than the bits everyone in the civilized world knows?”

“Scaeva-”

“Did he even know your name?”

“Implying that you ever care to use it.”

“Funnily enough, we do not happen to be discussing me at present. Thus your point, while valid, is not germane.”

“All right, well, if this line of questioning is quite finished-”

Those bright blue eyes rolled practically into the back of his head. “The man faced you on the battlefield… what, a brace of times? And had the astonishing arrogance to declare you a kindred spirit simply because you lasted longer than ten seconds? I would advise that you take his words with a grain of salt. Possibly an entire pillar.”

“But what if he was right?” Instead of the measured response she’d expected, he began to laugh. She swatted his forearm with a fierce scowl, but he didn’t stop; he just leaned back, bracing his weight against his hands, and his laughter echoed against the darkened windows and dirt-caked stones of the old house. “What- why are you laughing? I’m being serious!”

“I know you are, sweetling,” he gasped, “that’s why I’m laughing.”

“Great. Bloody terrific,” Aurelia huffed. She rolled away and let herself flop onto the grass, pouting at him. “I’m glad you find my existential crisis so godsdamned amusing.”

“Before you returned to Gyr Abania,” he managed between chuckles, the bastard, “you rang me over that long-distance receiver prototype we put together while very deep in your cups, and was it for some dire emergency or news that these Doman friends of yours had been captured? No, no it was not. You rang me to cry over a stray kitten you and your friends found in some Kugane alleyway.”

Her face colored. She (vaguely) remembered that.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize just how strong Hingan rice wine could actua-”

“Literal crying. Actual tears. I compromised a castrum’s signal tower so that the eikon-slayer could drunk-dial me from Othard in the middle of the night to sob across two thousand malms of ocean and continent about ‘toe beans,’ whatever the hells that is.”

“…Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m always funny.”

“That’s debatable,” she grumbled.

“At any rate, my point being, and yes, I did have a point– crossing blades with a madman doesn’t have to hold some greater underlying meaning about man’s conscious embrace of our inherently violent nature, or whatever tiresome and self-aggrandizing monologue he chose to inflict upon you.” Nero paused mid-speech to uncork the bottle, raise it to his lips, and tilt it back for a long draught before he continued. “Meanwhile, you are sitting here consumed by guilt because you’ve taken some absurd notion that he might have had a point. The very fact it worries you should tell you he was wrong.”

“I just… I don’t want that to… is that really how everyone looks at me?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain.”

(This is who we are! This is all we are!)

“I’m not a beast." Her voice cracked like cermet fired in an industrial kiln overlong, brittle and harsh.

"I know,” Nero said quietly.

“I’m not like him.”

“I know you’re not.”

“…I think I feel in the mood for a drink after all, if you’ve enough to share.”

He smiled. “I believe I can spare a glass or two.”

Aurelia sat up, leaned against the fountain, and took the bottle. The warm weight of his arm had settled across her shoulders, but it was not unwelcome.

Despite the fact it was a warm night and she was still sticky with sweat, she leaned into him as she tilted the bottle back, resting against his side. A warm body was certainly more comfortable than unyielding masonwork, and she could feel the fingers that had been draped over her shoulder idly toying with a stray bit of her hair.

For a long time she was content to just sit like this, the two of them watching the last light of the sun fade from the sky, admiring the fantastic colors it had left in its wake. A flock of white water-birds took flight at the sudden sound of thumping and the whistle of exploding fireworks overhead, fired from the Porta Praetoria cannons across the loch. They rose aloft as one on soft wings beyond the walls of the city, calling to each other as they fled the sounds of jubilant humanity.

“Aurelia?" Her name, so very rarely spoken by him, pulled her attention away from the fireworks. Nero was still staring at a fixed point in the sky, platinum blond hair haloed in scarlet-streaked blue and encroaching twilight, and she realized he was very pointedly not looking at her. "I assume you’ll be staying in Gyr Abania for some time?”

“Are we making small talk or are you actually asking me to stay?”

“…You know perfectly well what I think of small talk,” he said testily. “Perhaps instead of answering my question with a question, a simple 'yes’ or 'no’ might suffice.”

“Then say what you meant to say and stop dancing about it.”

There was a trembling pause between them. He sighed.

“By the seven hells, woman.” His voice was perfectly even, but she saw the tension in his body. He’d already steeled himself for the rejection he clearly expected was imminent. “I am operating upon the hope that at the very least, after all these months, I might have done something to finally earn your forgiveness for what passed between us in Mor Dhona.”

She gave him a long and unflinching stare. And then, right as his eyes began to shift nervously away from her face, she kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm and he tasted of ridiculously expensive wine. It was quite nice so she decided she really ought to kiss him again, just to seal the memory of it in her mind’s eye. When the second wasn’t enough she kissed him a third time.

The hand that had been stroking her hair paused in surprise, then cupped the back of her head as he responded in kind, small featherlight touches of his lips that ran together like water.

“Far be it from me to object, mind you,” he murmured against her mouth as she pressed her brow against his, “but what’s this all of a sudden?”

“I can stop if you like."

She felt the soft huff of his breath against her mouth as he laughed mid-kiss. Her fingers teased at his thick curls, gave them a light tug, nails scraping very lightly along the back of his neck- and she heard that laugh catch in his throat, a soft, ragged and quite undignified sound that vibrated against her lips.

"Consider yourself forgiven.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #prompt 7: forgiven #gonna try and keep these sfw hahaha #nero tol scaeva/warrior of light #chrysalispen writes

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jj-ktae · 5 years

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Millennials - Part 3 -

Title: Millennials Genre: Fluff, romance Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x You Summary: Life is made of stages and each of them is a hard push on the back, forcing you to forge ahead. You’re facing your biggest crisis, and then there’s him, who lives from day to day. Of course he does, he is just a kid. Words: 4357 Warning: Small age difference. Yugyeom x Noona Reader.

- Part 1 - Part 2 - (Check my masterlist for previous chapters!)

Part III

You wouldn’t call yourself soft. You’re not moved easily, you find it hard to cry in front of a movie, you have no empathy for people who hurt you, yet you can’t hold Yugyeom’s gaze anymore.

It’s a horrible situation with too much embarrassment. Yugyeom seems to enjoy that situation though, because he brings you food every time he comes and doesn’t let you do anything unless you tell him you want to do it. For the past week, you took care of things every time you saw him. He had a bad limp but assured he could walk and work. He would insist on carrying the heaviest stuff, pretending it doesn’t hurt even when there’s too much pressure on his ankle.

For the past week, you’ve been scolding him because he wasn’t taking care of himself.

But now he seems to be doing okay as it wasn’t something serious, apparently.

You try to act like you don’t care and keep on living your life. You go to work with the same heavy steps and refuse to believe they get lighter with each smile Yugyeom sends your way. It’s difficult to concentrate or deal with customers for Yugyeom is always near, doing his best to be fast and do the most efficient work.

You let him do his thing. You merely smile back – but you still do when he smiles, you accept his food even though you know it’s not a good idea, you don’t question him when you see him stare at you.

It’s only normal that at some point, you find the situation irritating. Naya tells you it’s because he has a crush on you but you refuse to give in. Kim Yugyeom is by no mean someone you can consider a man when he is a kid and as much as you find yourself accepting his kindness, you take it as a friendly gesture toward an older person.

On the other hand, Yugyeom is living his best life. He notices the changes and how gentle you became. He reports everything to Bambam who can only praise him for finally getting some results. He warns him not to have too much hope, though. Yugyeom is way too mushy and naive, and Bambam knows him too well. Yugyeom is capable of confessing just because you accept a cup of instant noodle.

He tells Bambam he doesn’t need to worry, but he doesn’t admit he is being way too confident. It’s not his fault after all. He was never in a situation where you were not scolding or being cold with him. He knows nothing of the calm you and how to deal with it.

He cannot help but feel his heart burst out of his chest when you show any sign of worry concerning his ankle, he feels like dying when you don’t avoid him and sit next to him behind the counter, and wants to yell when you accept his food.

On top of all, he wants to crush you with his broad body when you catch him stare and offer a tiny smile, visibly surprised.

For that reason, he can’t hide his dismay when you ignore him during your whole shift.

It’s sudden. You are hiding between aisles, sorting things and leaving him alone behind the counter. He finds it strange at first and blames it on whatever might have happened for you to be grumpy today.

So he does his best to be a good part-timer in hope you would stop being so cold and maybe even tell him what is wrong. But you don’t. You barely answer him, brush him away when he starts a conversation, and even ignore him when he asks if you want something to eat.

It breaks his heart.

In a way, there is nothing you can do. It makes you incredibly uncomfortable to see his confused face and pitiful state, but maybe it’s for the best. You try to think of all the reasons you’ve been hating him for, trying to convince yourself whenever guilt starts creeping. Yugyeom doesn’t deserve this, but if Naya is right and the boy is actually in love, it is a given that you shouldn’t let yourself fall for his fluffy games, as pleasant as they can.

Pleasant. The mere fact that you associated Yugyeom and pleasant is enough to make you walk faster when you are done with your shift. Yugyeom doesn’t even have the time to send you off for you’re already down the street, your hurried feet beating the ground at full speed.

It stays that way for two weeks. Two weeks of torture for Yugyeom and two weeks of regret for you.

“I told you not to be too hopeful, idiot.” Bambam can only pat him on the back in front of the pool table. The place is crowded tonight and in the middle of all the busy bodies drinking and playing, Yugyeom looks like he had his whole house lit on fire. Jackson and Jinyoung are ordering drinks at the other end of the table.

He shrugs, his cue swinging between his legs. “I know. I thought I finally had this.” He is more confused than angry, because everything feels unexpected. You acting cold and ignoring him suddenly brings him back ten steps behind and he doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t get how you could switch back to evil bitch mode when you were starting to be at least civil with him.

“Don’t look so down, Jinyoung and Jackson will find it weird. We’re here to celebrate, after all!” It’s true. He almost forgot about how he aced all his exams even with a ruined ankle.

But Yugyeom finds the whole situation ridiculous. He suddenly has enough of being played with, on top of hiding his ridiculous feelings to his friends.

Jackson and Jinyoung freeze when they hear him speak. “Would you make fun of me if I tell you that I’m in love with someone?”

Jinyoung shakes his head while Jackson laughs, approaching him. “I knew something was wrong with the kid!” he claps his hands, turning to a perplexed Jinyoung with furrowed brows. “You never believe me.”

Jinyoung scoffs, also approaching the trio. “You look like you just broke up. What’s wrong?”

Bambam rolls his eyes, aiming for his own cue. “Good luck with these two.” He starts playing, ignoring his friend’s glares and smiling to himself.

Yugyeom bets all he has. Maybe he needs advices from older people, after all. He wants to give up, but he can’t let it be until he understands the reason you’re being this way.

“I’m in love with my colleague at the grocery store. She is five years older than me. She hates me, though.” It’s pretty well summed up if you ask Yugyeom, who leans against the table, ready to take every criticism and jokes.

But nothing comes and Jackson even purses his lips, deep in thoughts. “Did you confess?”

Confess. Of course not, he cares about his life.

“Of course he didn’t.” Jinyoung sighs dramatically. “He said she hates him.” He scratches his head, “Maybe she acts like she hates you. She might know you love her. You’re not very subtle.”

“She’s been hating him ever since she first saw him.” Bambam speaks loudly from his spot under the pool table. He appears with a satisfied smile and a ball in his hand. “I’m getting better at this.”

Jackson makes a face. “Confess. You will never know until you try. Girls like this are unpredictable.”

Yugyeom gasps, the thought enough to make him blush. “But, if she rejects me…she is my co-worker…”

“You’re a part-timer. You won’t see her all your life. If you do love her go for it.” Jinyoung adds “Maybe the fact that she is older kind of holds her from accepting you.”

Yugyeom hums, hitting the cue softly to hide his growing nervousness. “I thought you’d tease me to hell.” He chuckles after a while, his chest suddenly light.

His two friends laugh. “We will when you feel better, fool.”

Bambam misses the ball again.

Naya doesn’t know when to stop. You seriously start to wonder what’s the point of your friendship when she opens the grocery store’s door, winking at you.

You told her about your plan to avoid Yugyeom, as to which she replied you were damn stupid. You don’t mind being stupid, you don’t even need her validation.

So why the hell is she grinning like a fool, right behind the counter?

You let your book rest on your folded knees, raising a brow at her sudden appearance. “Aren’t we supposed to meet after my shift is over?”

She grunts, her manicured finger shaking way too close to your face, and you can read trouble written all over her face. “I’m seeing a friend in the café across the street. So how is it going with the kid? I’m sure you two could hit it off, so why are you being so stubborn?” she sighs, “The kid’s crazy about you. Just accept he is melting your cold heart already.”

You already told her anything she needs to know, so why the heck is she insisting so much? Even if Yugyeom loves you, it doesn’t mean all the cons suddenly vanished.

“I won’t take advantage of him. We don’t have the same expectations, Naya. I know you want me to get laid or whatever, but I’m not doing this to my co-worker.”

She laughs, grabbing one of the popsicle resting on the counter. “You don’t like your current situation. You’ve been avoiding your parents the same way you’re avoiding this situation. Isn’t it time for you to face things instead of running away?”

Here she comes again, giving life lessons when you don’t need her to tell you what to do. Being friends with Naya is a handle, but acknowledging that she is actually right is worse.

You stand up when a customer enters. “I’ll think about it. Happy?”

She rolls her eyes, aware that you are saying this just so she would go away. “We will talk about this later.” She almost threatens before turning around and aiming for the door.

Yugyeom arrives at the same time, and bows as soon as he recognises Naya. She nods and walks off, and you release a shaky breath when she goes out of sight.

Yugyeom walks past you like you don’t even exist.

It’s messy. Everything is a mess in your head. So far, your life has been dull, with too little thrill and too much boredom. You are fine with it and the way you deal with things.

This whole situation puts you in a different mind-set. You’re not one who cares about a potential crush. You have nothing against it but no matter how flattering it could be, you can’t bring yourself to truly believe such a boy would have a crush on you.

And as much as you would like to act differently, which you were doing for the past two week, your old self comes back. It comes back with cold stares and a harsh tone you know too much.

Only this time, you notice Yugyeom’s head, low and irritated.

It doesn’t stop you at all. You speak before you can think, brain heavy and tongue vicious.

Why are you taking so long?

You might be a part-timer, but you still have to do better.

Can’t you see people are waiting here?

He receives everything. He stays his usual self, he bows, doesn’t talk back, even smiles at the customers even though he wants to run away from that hell.

Yugyeom doesn’t get it. He feels like everything came back right into his face. The past weeks, your tiny smiles, you concerning glance, the soft conversation. Everything is over and replaced with your usual bossy behaviour like he is five and can’t walk without tripping.

You see it but you don’t do anything about it.

Which results in Yugyeom running out of the grocery store as soon as he is done.

And you almost get hit by Naya when you tell her about it, that same night.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her food forgotten. “Why? I don’t understand. You don’t care about the kid and it’s fine, but why would you be so mean?” she scoffs, grabbing her fork but waving it in front of you. “You’re a horrible human being.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to accept the fact that maybe, just maybe, you’re being a very mean bitch with Yugyeom. “Why is he always the main topic? Ever since you met him, you can’t stop harassing me with that boy.”

She pauses, her lips pursed. You wait for her reaction, and her smile makes you groan. “I like this boy. He is cute and has a crush on you. He is polite, handsome, can speak well, seems to be awfully shy and looks at you like you’re his world. How on earth can you be so stubborn about it?”

“It’s not that I’m stubborn,” you sigh, finally giving up and leaning against your chair. Your voice get lower and as you shake your head you avoid your friend’s stare, aware that she might be right. “If he even does have feelings for me, I think he shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t stay around you because you think you have no future? Because you think no one should deal with your boring and useless person? Come on Y/N, I know you so damn well. Maybe his age does make a difference but deep down, this is what you really think so you would rather be a bitch than actually accept his kindness.”

She is right. Naya knows everything about you, from your first day in elementary school to now, from the moment you decided to stop studying and find a job. She was here when your first boyfriend broke up with you because ‘you were not ambitious’. She knows how little you think of yourself and your habit of pushing everyone away from you.

She is the only person who was more stubborn than you when it came to friendship and refused to let you push her away. She stayed by your side when you couldn’t bear your own decisions and even let you cry your heart out when you felt so lonely it was almost unbearable.

She leans on the table, and her voice gets quiet as she sees your uneasiness. “It’s not even about that kid. It’s about everyone else. Stop pushing people away.”

You suddenly want to cry because there’s no way you can deny it. Naya is right and maybe it’s time for you to at least be social.

“I’ll try. I’ll try to be nice.”

Naya giggles, glad she could put some sense into your head, and as you dig into your plate for much needed food, you have no idea how much your words actually ruined someone else’s night.

If Bambam knew where you lived, he would have come and yelled at you for being responsible of a devastated Yugyeom, sweaty and sulky in his living-room.

“I had to rehearse. I had to fucking dance and I ruined everyone’s time because I couldn’t focus on the choreography. Why am I like this Bam, why am I so hopelessly in love that it takes over my own life? Why am I so dumb?” Yugyeom doesn’t know how to deal with this. He can deal with a lot of things. He isn’t one to be easily annoyed by something – he wouldn’t have such friends if he did anyways – but he can’t see a reason why you would be like this.

Is it that bad to love someone?

Maybe you noticed it. Maybe you want him away because you feel disgusted. That’s must be it, because you were starting to be nice and now you’re not anymore.

“Listen,” Bambam sits next to his friend, his hairless cat purring softly. “You need to stop this. Life won’t stop if you don’t end up dating her. There are other things that should require your full attention.”

Yugyeom seems shocked when he hears this, but his friend stops him before he can object.

“Let me finish. If you want to know where this is going, you should definitely ask her out. Don’t tell her you love her if you don’t want her to freak out, but ask her out at least. Think about somewhere you’d like to take her and ask her simply.” Bambam shrugs like it’s the easiest thing on earth.

Yugyeom shakes his head, already thinking about how cold you have been.

“If she rejects you then, get over it. Go to work like nothing happened and tell her to stop talking to you the way she does. She is not freaking Satan, she won’t do shit.” Bambam concludes, the cat almost scratching his forearm when he stops petting the animal. Yugyeom thinks hard, calculates the probabilities, bites his lips, observes his friend.

He takes a sip of the soda Bambam gave him and sighs loudly.

“Watch me Bam. You’ll see.”

There’s no way he will keep on acting like a frustrated kid.

When he comes back home that day, his mother is the only person still up. He grabs the food she left him and thanks her when he finds her watching television.

He sits and finishes his plate with a smirk. Next time he’ll see you, in two days, he will ask you out.

You want to be positive. Every day and no matter how stubborn you can be, you always try to think about at least one positive thing.

So far, you have nothing.

Friends? You have one. You have no social life, no plans except for the times Naya wants you to tag along. There are a few acquaintances, but they barely pay attention to you.

Family? There are nice, but they don’t care about you. Everyone has big dreams for their kids, which means you being out of whatever plans your parents have. You barely receive any call. Your mother would rather tell you she is busy rather than stop by your place.  It’s understandable. They have their own careers. You don’t even have one dream.

Romantic life? Let’s not even think about it.

Money? Enough to live, too little to be generous with yourself.

Health? You caught a cold.

Nothing is positive.

You enter the grocery shop and even your boss looks at you weirdly. Your voice sounds different as your nose is stuffed and the amount of effort you put to look like you are fine go to waste when he laughs.

“You look terrible, Y/N” he confesses yet doesn’t tell you to go back home. He isn’t the type of boss who is caring enough to let you rest when you spend way too much time here.

You nod, taking your jacket off and coming back into the store, waiting for instructions.

“You’re lucky I cleaned everything. Don’t overwork yourself!” He whistles and waves from his spot by the entrance door, before leaving you.

You let your head fall on the counter, sniffing loudly.

Freaking cold.

A lot of people come in, from an old lady to kids who pick every single candy they can. It makes you walk around the shop way too much, leaving too little time for you to blow your nose and breath.

You take their payments and bow, grabbing a tissue as soon as you’re left alone. You blow so hard you even hurt your nostrils, body heavy with what seems to be stiffness.

You rest against the counter when the shop gets calm, almost falling asleep.

“Are you okay?” You jump out of your seat when you open your eyes. Yugyeom looks concerned, his long legs bent to meet your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You answer, already getting up to find something to do.

Naya’s words ring in your head. Don’t be mean.

“Are you sick?” Yugyeom adds when he comes back from the staff room. You are hidden behind the alcohol aisle but he finds you quickly, his steps soft and eyes shining. “I can do it, try to rest?” He is daring today you think, remembering how harsh you were the last time you saw him.

You want to snap at him so he would stop being so nice.

But he smiles sweetly when you don’t answer, which makes you forget whatever you were planning to say.

You agree, making his smile deepen. He grabs the bottle of soju you were holding from your hands and leaves some room for you to walk back to the counter where you instantly lean against the counter, raising your head only when needed.

He doesn’t talk to you and do everything on his own. You feel sorry for him, in a way. He could act like he doesn’t care, but he doesn’t.

You’re not surprised after all. Yugyeom’s whole existence is the definition of softness.

He goes to the vending machine in front of the store and comes back with a tea, hoping you would like it. “Noona, drink this. It’s cold today.”

You hate it. You hate how gentle he is.

Again, you simply nod, accepting the warm drink and thanking him.

Yugyeom blames it on your cold. He doesn’t let his hopes up, quite anxious to ask you out once your shift is over.

He thought about it. A lot.

Movie theatre? Too quiet and awkward. Amusement park? Too childish. Bowling? Noisy.

Drinks. He will take you out and have a drink so you can both chat. He called Jinyoung who gave him the address of a great Italian bistro where you can have a drink and enjoy delicious antipasti. He said it’s not fancy and casual. Jinyoung also teased him before hanging up. 

Yugyeom hesitated, but decided to go for it.

He thinks of a way to ask you, no matter how busy it gets and how full his hands are. There are no fresh sodas left, a kid spilled his milk on the floor and he had to clean the mess a guy left behind him when he picked a toothbrush and disrupted the whole display unit.

He tells you to rest and simply take the payments, which reminds you the day you told him to do the same so he would rest his ankle. He doesn’t even groan in annoyance, earning some curious glance from the exhausted you whenever his concentrated face appears before you.

You colleague is thirty minutes late.

You observe the clock, almost whining when you notice time passing by at an agonisingly slow pace. Yugyeom sounds worried, because he also checks the clock.

Maybe you will reject his offer. You might even laugh at him. You’re nice today but you’re sick, so it doesn’t mean a thing. You will most certainly snap at him as soon as you’ll feel better.

He almost renounces when the colleague appears, apologetic. 

You brush the woman away, telling her there is nothing specific to do because the part-timer did everything. Yugyeom bows as soon as he sees the woman, noticing how quickly you are already putting your jacket on.

“Have a nice evening!” His voice is too shaky for his own good, but he doesn’t have the time to panic as you are already leaving, a tired hand waving at your colleague who is already too busy using her phone to notice how Yugyeom is losing his mind.

You get hit by the cold wind and you curse yourself for forgetting something as precious as a scarf when you are already getting sick.

“Noona!” You hear Yugyeom’s voice, higher than usual. Your steps slow down and your body turns around just in time to notice him running toward you.

You wait for him to speak, but he his restless, leg tapping the ground and mouth opening without any sound coming out of it. He takes a deep breath and straightens his back.

You can do it.

“I was wondering…I mean, you don’t have to accept or anything! There is this place that has great food and drinks. I don’t know if you like Italian food but…” He stops, the corner of his mouth trembling. “I mean, I wanted to know if you’d like to…go...”

He finishes his sentence in a whisper, biting his lip and looking down at your pensive state.

Did he just ask you out? Why?

Your mind is blank. Your brain cells stopped working, putting you in a state of silence and it makes Yugyeom panic even more.

He starts rambling for no reason, knowing fully well that he will regret talking so much. “I know you don’t really like me, but I wish you would agree so we can…get to know each other.” He is ready to run away any minute.

He knew it, you are going to destroy him and he will have to quit and oh my god Jackson and Jinyoung will laugh at his sorry ass while Bambam introduces him to some weird girls who wear too much shiny clothes-

“Okay.”

He tilts his head, ready to tell you that it’s okay if you don’t want to, but he almost doesn’t recognise the words. 

You see it, the way he stopped functioning. “When would you like to go?” you add, not trusting your own voice. This is weirdly new to you.

“Ah, that’s…” he didn’t plan the full thing as he obviously thought he wouldn’t have to actually set a night for that improbable date. “Next week-end? Give me your phone number so we can let each other know?” He even asked for your phone number. Amazing.

You don’t care anymore. You need to rest and his eyes are too bright for you to refuse anything. Kim Yugyeom wants a date, so you’ll give him that date. Damn Naya for always being right.

You take your phone. He almost gasps.

When you part ways, you can’t hide your own blush, also blaming it on a possible fever.

Yugyeom thinks he is about to faint.

200 notes · View notes

nancywheelxr · 5 years

Text

The Welters Challenge ( @thewelterschallenge ) | Week 2: Destiny

once in a while, two people meet ( read on AO3 )

Alice pins him with an icy glare, jutting out her chin as she crosses and uncrosses her arms over chest. “I’m not upset,” she scowls, still standing in the middle of the room, “I’m pissed. I spent all morning tearing mistletoe from the doorways of the Library.”

“Mistletoe?”

Her anger crumbles, cracking into a worried, desperate confusion that Quentin would know. Seriously. He’s seen it every day in the mirror for the past couple weeks. “It’s not even Christmas!” She complains, striding to sit down beside him in the couch, “I don’t know– something is happening and I…” she trails off, huffing and giving him a helpless look.

“Oh my god,” Quentin breathes, unbelievably relieved not to be alone in this clusterfuck, “it’s happening with you too? I’ve got– Alice, there were rose petals in my bed! Rose petals! And they kept appearing as I threw down out the window!”

* or, the Powers that Be decide to intervene on the soap opera drama that is Quentin's life and to no one's surprise make it worse, Alice is planning a secret road trip that is definitely not the same as running away, and everyone else is more or less caught in the crossfire.

So. Things have been– Quentin’s gonna go with weird even though he’s not sure that’s the best word for the situation.

Like, it’s been super weird, as in supernaturally weird, and he would be appropriately worried if he wasn’t so tired from throwing buckets and buckets of rose petals out of the window of Marina’s apartment before anyone gets back from wherever the hell they go.

He’s just collapsed on the couch, bucket blessedly, finally empty at his feet when the front door is thrown open and Alice marches inside as if on a warpath, a couple of petals stuck on her hair.

“You look, hm. Are you okay?” He ventures to ask, valiantly soldiering on through the lingering awkwardness after their last break up. Admittedly, this one has been the most amicable and least awkward yet. “You look a little, well. Upset?”

“Mistletoe?”

“The mistletoe– it kept blooming too!”

They look at each other, wide-eyed in their shared curse, but the relief of finding someone else going through the same weird ass stuff is fleeting. The worry lasts a lot longer. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Alice purses her lips, back stiff and hands primly closed into fists on her lap, “I’ve never seen anything like this before and I can’t see why someone would do this.”

“It’s just– there’s no point,” he says, definitely not whining, and closes his eyes with a distressed sigh as he hears a low humming from the kitchen that can only mean whoever is fucking with their lives is at it again. “I really don’t wanna go check, but we’re going to have to, aren’t we?”

Without deigning to answer him, Alice gets to her feet and cautiously approaches the kitchen. Not about to let her face whatever is there alone, Quentin huffs and follows, acutely aware they're being the dumb white people at the beginning of every horror movie ever.

She reaches the room a second before him, stopping at the doorway and while Quentin can’t see what’s in there, he sees it makes her frown in confusion. “Is that– are those peaches?”

“Hell no,” he hisses. The roses and the mistletoe and the weird ass romantic soundtrack randomly playing, he can take it, but this? It’s too personal, too woven into Quentin’s heart, and just the thought of anyone else knowing about it is–

It makes his skin crawl, alright?

“Quentin? Are you–” the clear sound of the front door unlocking cuts through the apartment and Alice snaps her mouth shut. If the laughing and the shushing is anything to go by, Eliot and Margo are back. “How bad is it?” She asks instead, eyeing warily the bowl of peaches and plums adorned with a neat, red bow on top.

“Very. Shit, okay, help me get this to the bathroom, come on.”

Quentin has always been naturally clumsy but with the added pressure? He’s an absolute disaster. Fruits roll to the ground and Alice has to chase after them, giving up halfway and kicking them under the couch before shoving Quentin and the bowl into the bathroom and closing the door behind her just as the front door opens.

“What now?” She whispers, arms full of peaches that definitely would not fit in the currently full bowl in Quentin’s hand. Outside, Margo is cackling at something Josh said.

“We flush them?” Quentin suggests, helplessly looking around the admittedly large bathroom, then thinks back to the way the pot is always full and adds, “bowl and all?”

The noise Alice makes is half-disbelieving and half-indignant. “We can’t– it would clog the pipes!”

“Magically make them disappear?” It’s worth a shot, he supposes.

But Alice shakes her head. “With magic the way it is the risk of it backfiring is too great.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, wishing more than ever that this time’s after-world-saving fuck-up had been straight-forward like the last ones. No magic would really come in handy right about now.

“Oh no,” Alice interrupts his spiral into despair with a desperate whimper of her own, “Kady’s here too.”

“How do you– oh,” a mistletoe is curling on the doorway, flat on the wood and seeming unsure which way to go. This explains– well, not everything, but a few things. “Should we… wait it out?”

“No, we can’t just wait, they’ll notice something’s wrong,” she says, throwing a worried glance towards the door. The mistletoe perks up hopefully. Shuddering, Alice shrinks back. “Okay, no. You go out there and distract them while I take care of this.”

“What? No– why? Alice, wait, don’t! Alice–” Quentin wants to explain how terrible this idea is because Quentin can’t, for the life of him, come up with a good lie, let alone a believable explanation to this, but Alice is having none of it. She seizes his arm and pushes him out of the door, leaving him alone to face the sudden crowd staring at him like he grew a second head. “Hm, hey, guys? How was the, uh, how was the trip?”

Josh, whose hands are busy holding way too many shopping bags, raises an eyebrow. “Nevermind us, you okay there, man?”

“Yes, Q,” Eliot takes a step in his direction, frowning concernedly, and Quentin instinctively takes a step back, hitting the bathroom door. The hurt that flickers through Eliot’s eyes is unmistakable and Quentin hates it, but how does he explain that it’s not that Quentin wants distance between them, is just that Alice is hopefully succeeding in flushing a shitton of fruit down the toilet and he’d rather not have Eliot and the others barging in on that? “You’re looking a bit upset, is all.”

Quentin kinda wants to snort at that echo from earlier, but he manages to bite back on the hysteria and keep it relatively cool for a little while longer. “What? I’m fine,” he tries to play it off with a laugh, even though it ends up sounding too strangled, “it’s– everything’s fine.”

“Is that why it looks like a flower shop vomited in our curb?” Margo asks, hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. Shit, shit, shit.

“Flower shop?” He repeats weakly.

“Yeah, there was a bunch of tourists taking pictures for some reason,” Kady nods, entering the room with a beer and Quentin refuses to look back to check if the mistletoe is deciding to cross to this side now. “Blocking the fucking way like assholes.”

In the silence that follows as they all look expectantly at Quentin for some sort of explanation, a loud yelp drifts from the bathroom behind him, undeniably Alice’s, and he closes his eyes, resigned.

“Is there a reason Alice is hiding in the bathroom, Q?” Margo says dangerously calm, and while Quentin has no idea why she’s so pissed, he figures he’s had a long enough run as it is. At least, whatever is fucking with them can’t follow him into the afterlife.

So– and he’s not proud of it, okay? – he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “there was a spider!”

“A spider?” Eliot repeats slowly as if testing out the word to see how well the lie sticks.

“Yeah!” Quentin nods furiously. He might as well commit fully to this now. “It was– El, it was huge, like, it has to be Australian or something. Marina must have gotten it for some ritual and it got loose? I don’t know, but I cornered it in there and Alice is trying to kill it.”

“You’re scared of a spider?” Kady sounds unimpressed, dropping down on the couch, “and you sent Alice to kill it for you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did.”

Margo barks out a laugh, and Quentin is almost believing it’s crisis averted for the time being when there’s another, more panicked yelp and the door behind him flies open, shoving him aside, and Alice is stumbling out, slamming the door closed behind her. “There’s a giant spider in there!”

“No shit,” Margo snorts, eyeing her amusedly, “weren’t you going to kill it?”

“What?” Quentin, hopefully subtly, elbows her in the ribs, “oh! Right, yes, I was going to do that, but. Only I did not do that. It escaped.”

“It escaped?” Josh looks horrified, shuffling away from the bathroom.

“It crawled up the wall,” Alice informs them, adjusting her glasses before stepping away herself. “I’m not going back in there, someone else kills it.”

“How about we let it have this bathroom?” Quentin tries, still confused about whether or not there really is a spider. Although, by the wildly panicked look on Alice’s eyes, he’s more inclined to believe it. “We have more bathrooms, right?”

“This is the one with the bathtub, though,” Kady points out, not that she’s bothering to even try to be helpful here, oh no, god forbid.

It’s in this moment of cacophony, while everyone is speaking over each other that Quentin happens to look down.

Big mistake.

Because looking up at him with too many eyes is the spider, attempting to crawl up his left shoe.

And like any other sensible person, Quentin is understandably upset with this situation. He acts accordingly, of course.

He screams.

A lot of things happen, then.

First, Quentin kicks the spider without thinking, sending it skidding to the middle of the room and towards the others.

Second, beside him, Alice startles and tries to go back inside the bathroom, probably deeming it safer now that the spider is no longer there, but finds it locked for some reason.

Third, Josh shrieks and jumps up to the couch, causing Kady to smack him and curse loudly.

Fourth, Margo and Eliot scatter, scrambling in the direction of the kitchen.

Lastly, silence once again falls on the apartment as they all stare down each other, hoping someone else will take the lead, and the spider skitters around, exploring its new territory. Silently, Quentin wonders if they can find another place here in New York with the same rent.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Eliot huffs, rolling his eyes, and charges out of the kitchen with a broom in hand– like he’s not still recuperating, like he hasn’t had major surgery less than two months ago, like he’s not giving everyone a heart attack right now. “Move aside, I’ll deal with it.”

Both Margo and Quentin dive in his direction with a resounding No! and Margo tears the broom from his hands while Quentin fusses over the bandages. “Stay still,” he bats Eliot’s hands away, glares up at his eye roll, “we need to see if you ripped any stitches. Idiot,” he adds under his breath, not quite managing to sound anything but fond.

“I’m not crippled, you know,” he complains, sighing long-suffering, but oh-so-graciously allowing Quentin to check on him. “I can kill one spider without falling over.”

“Where did you even get that? I didn’t know Marina even owed a broom,” Quentin mutters, satisfied nothing is bleeding. He’s tracing the bandage outline over Eliot’s shirt and Eliot is standing stock still under his fingers, and Quentin is suddenly aware how close they are.

He clears his throat and steps back.

Behind them, Margo is trying to get Josh to take the broom and kill the spider, while Alice is inching along the wall, trying to make her way around it.

As it turns out, Kady is the one to take action. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a spider,” she says, and then proceeds to squish it under her boot. “Okay, ew, it’s grosser than I thought.”

“Oh, thank god,” Alice breathes, staring at Kady with an awed look for a fleeting second before she shakes herself out of it. “I’m still not cleaning that, though.”

“Don’t look at me,” Kady makes a face, peering at the sole of her boot and scrunching her nose in disgust, “I’m setting these on fire.”

“I’m hungry, is anyone else hungry?” Josh asks loudly, already picking up the car keys from the counter, “I vote we go to that Thai place two blocks down.”

“Penny and Julia can handle this, right?” Quentin feels obligated to say, and rescues his jacket from the couch.

“Sure,” Margo breezes past him on her way to the door, “they weren’t here for the killing, they can stay for the cleaning.”

Sound logic, if Quentin ever heard it, and it’s all they need to murmur their agreement and leave the dead body behind for Julia and Penny to find and hopefully clean after.

Since the Spider Incident, life goes on as normal, which is to say, not normal at all.

Quentin has to rid the house of mistletoes at least five times in the past week, and the peaches appeared only once again in the kitchen, but never after he threw the whole thing out the window, and twice his phone accidentally called Eliot while Quentin tried to tell Julia how fucked he is. There was also the epic disaster that was the time the wall between their room disappeared and the place turned into a master bedroom, king-size bed and all, for an entire afternoon.

From what Alice told him, she had been putting out similar fires all week too, and between that and wrangling the Library into some semblance of non-fascist order, Alice is frazzled and ready to snap.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, they have no leads.

“Hey, Q, can we talk?” It’s Eliot, and Quentin knows this because ever since the Monster, Eliot makes a point of not sneaking up on people and Quentin makes a point of always keeping Eliot on his line of sight if he can help it. “Like, right now?”

He sounds hesitant, almost nervous, and Quentin frowns, wants to reach out and ask what’s wrong, say yeah, sure, but with the weird stuff going on, being alone with Eliot is probably the last thing he should do. He doesn’t need Eliot to see a bowl of peaches and plums magically appearing out of thin air.

“I don’t think–”

“Yes, thank you, fucking finally,” Margo barges in, because Margo has no problem with sneaking up on people, “now take your perky butts out of my living room and go sort your shit.”

There’s no arguing with Margo and with Eliot looking expectantly at him, Quentin can’t find it in himself to say no. “Yeah, let’s uh, my bedroom?”

The sound of the lock clicking shut is way more ominous than it has any right to be.

“Okay,” Eliot clears his throat, standing imperiously in the middle of the room, even if his shoulders are set in a tense line and the shadows under his eyes are stubbornly refusing to fade. Quentin sits at the edge of the bed, drums his fingers on his tights, and waits. “So, we haven’t really had the time to talk since, well, I was me again, and,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Quentin aches to erase the lost air around his every move. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Not now, please, Quentin prays, watching out of the corner of his eyes the doorknob faintly shimmer and click again. Goddamnit.

“Eliot, wait,” he interrupts him, apparently startling Eliot out of whatever pep talk he had been running on his hand for this, “I think– the door, I think someone locked us in here.”

“What? That’s not. Margo wouldn’t do that– if you don’t want to do this, Q, we don’t have to.”

“No, no, no, I do want to know what you want to tell me,” he rushes to reassure him, but the lock thing is kinda pressing and Quentin has a hunch it’s got nothing to do with Margo or any of the others, so he tries to turn the knob, shaking the entire thing on its hinges for good measure. “But shit, it’s really locked, someone really locked us in here, I can’t– damn it.”

The spell he tries is one of the easy, weak first-year ones he learned in Brakebills, the kind that sure, works just fine on cheap padlocks and chains, but it still snowballs out of proportion like all magic is bound to do lately, and sparks fly from the handle far enough to burn the tips of his fingers.

“That should not have gone so bad,” Eliot frowns, taking Quentin’s hands to examine the burns, but he shrugs him off because there’s no time for that. Things could escalate at any moment, Quentin doesn’t know how it all works yet. “Okay, no touching. Message received, but how about we take a breather?”

That’s not– Quentin is fucking this up, damn it. He needs to get out of here before he makes it worse. He can fix this thing with Eliot after he fixes this thing with the whole romcom tropes attack. He can fix it, he can fix everything. It’s what he’s good at, after all.

But first, he has to get out of this room.

“Margo?!” He calls, banging on the door, fully aware he’s sounding kind of deranged, “Margo? We’re stuck here! Margo?! Josh? Anyone?!”

“Quentin?” Alice’s voice is muffled and confused, and Quentin has never been more happy to hear from her. Okay, no, that’s not true, but it’s definitely on the top 5. “Are you– is everything okay?”

“The door seems to be disagreeing with us as of now,” Eliot explains calmly, studying Quentin with something very similar to concern. “Could you find a key or something of the sort?”

“Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll check with Kady,” she says, and the sound of her hurried footsteps fade into the hallway.

“Almost a year later, and we’re still searching for keys, hm?” he offers in a ditched attempt at lighting the mood and Quentin feels even worse for souring the situation in the first place. His fake laughter probably isn’t helping either.

“Guys?” Alice is back, saving him from putting his foot on his mouth again, “I found the key but for some reason, it’s not working? Kady says I should knock down the door with Battle Magic anyway, but I don’t think that’s a good option.”

Eliot and Quentin trade a look, both of them clearly thinking back on the multitude of sparks.

“Yeah, don’t, that’s not. We’re going to try to kick it down. Maybe. So, back off a little,” he warns halfheartedly, not really believing on his potential of kicking magically locked doors down. Hell, he wouldn’t bank on his potential for breaking normal doors down.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eliot slips in between him and the door, hands in front of his chest, “if this door is somehow spelled shut, I’m not sure kicking it down is going to work either.”

“Eliot has a point,” she calls, “you’d most likely only hurt yourself.”

“Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended.”

“I’m sure you would have succeeded, Q,” he says, condescending in the familiar way Quentin recognizes as entirely fake and it warms his chest to no end. “But let’s avoid any more injuries– oh, well, that’s convenient and not at all suspicious.”

The previously locked door swings open easily, revealing an alarmed and disheveled Alice at the other side. “I didn’t do anything,” she defends herself, standing like a deer in the headlights.

“Good! You’re still here, so let’s uh, go do that thing,” Quentin tilts his head gesturing the front door and pointedly repeating, “you know, that thing, we were talking about?”

“Right, yes, let’s go. I have new information,” she adds, hopeful for the first time in the past weeks, “so we should go. Do that thing.”

They’re so bad at this, Jesus.

“Not that this isn’t riveting,” Eliot says, and there’s something on his voice– Quentin wants to explain this isn’t what this looks like, he knows it sounds bad, but it’s not at all what he’s thinking, Quentin just doesn’t know where to even begin without sounding batshit crazy– “but you should go do your thing if it’s so important instead of parroting the same words over and over.”

They need to figure out this shit as soon as possible, come on.

Quentin and Alice exit stage left.

The coffee shop they end up at is busy for a Friday afternoon and Quentin sits in a table at the back, sipping his latte while he listens to Alice’s rant on the possible ritual they could try.

“It says it’s supposed to reveal hidden things,” she shrugs helplessly. They’re both at the end of their rope here. “Like the Key, actually. So it should at least give us some clue on who or what is messing with us.”

“But it’s dangerous,” he guesses. Nothing is ever easy and breezy with them.

“Well, yes. Especially with how things are right now, but I don’t see another way,” Alice sighs, tucks her hair behind her ear, “aren’t you tired, Q? It’s screwing up things for you too, I saw Eliot’s face today.”

“Yeah, but I can’t fix anything if we’re dead. Maybe we just need to keep looking, are you sure there’s nothing else in the Library?”

She gives him a look. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then, I don’t know– what the fuck?”

In the wall beside them, a portal glimmers to life, buzzing with magic and energy and stable like nothing ever is these days, but they have no time to be properly surprised before it’s sucking them in, throwing them down the rabbit hole without warning.

Not again, he thinks, recognizing the trip from the last time he was free falling this path with Josh. Beside him, Alice just screams.

If falling into a corporate, office kind of setting had been jarring and weird as fuck, falling into a cozy, homely living room is tenfolds worse. Around them, the walls are painted in pastel tones and the couch has crocheted throw covering it with throw pillows adorning it. There’s a fireplace beside them with an actual fire going. The air smells like cookies and what Quentin supposes the witch's candy house must have smelled like when Hansel and Gretel first came upon it.

“Oh, sisters, look, look, they are here already!” The voice belongs to an old lady, dressed in a sensible old lady dress and wearing an old lady apron over it. The picture-perfect grandmother: her gray hair in a bun and laughter-lines around her smiling eyes. “Children, please, take a seat. The floor cannot be comfortable!”

“Who are you?” Alice demands, glaring fiercely at the old lady, “and what do you want with us?”

“Always so suspicious, Miss Quinn,” she tuts, seating in the couch herself, “no need for that here, I assure you. And you can set that fire iron down, Mr. Coldwater, it will do you no good here either.”

“I don’t– sorry,” he flounders, trading a confused look with Alice as he lets it clank to the floor, “just, where are we exactly?”

“Our house, silly,” another voice pipes in. It’s another old lady, but the kind that might do yoga and travel all over the world and dye her hair red. If she told Quentin she’s got to cut this short to go skydiving, he’d believe her. She sits down beside the other old lady, grinning at them. “I hope the trip wasn’t too bumpy? I haven’t opened portals to your plane in a while, you see.”

“It was okay,” he offers, earning a jab on the ribs from Alice. What? he mouths to her and gets a pointed glare in return.

“Please, sisters. You’re all scaring the humans,” yet another old lady walks in, this time all dressed in darker tones. She looks more serious, austere than the other two– a widow, maybe, still grieving. When her stern gaze falls on them, Quentin shudders. “We are the Moirai.”

Holy shit.

“I am the one they call Clotho,” says the first one.

“I am the one they call Lachesis,” says the second one.

“I am the one they call Atropos,” says the third one.

“Holy shit,” says Quentin.

“Are we dead?” asks Alice.

“No, child,” Clotho smiles indulgently, “it is not your time yet. Not this time around at least. God knows how many times we have spun your threads.”

“They make for such sad tapestries,” Lachesis laments.

“The beautiful ones always are. There’s beauty in tragedy, or so believed the Greek and I am inclined to agree,” Atropos adds.

Okay, so the old gods are batshit insane, it’s not like this is news for Quentin, but holy shit, he needs some adjustment time here. “Wait, okay, so, why are we here?”

“Are you responsible for the weird shit happening lately?” Alice scowls, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin.

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that, but first,” Clotho waves them off, clapping her hands together, “who would like some tea and biscuits?”

A loveseat appears behind them and an invisible force forces them to sit down, sliding forward until their knees are almost knocking on the table. In front of them, teacups appear alongside a tray with cookies.

“They’re delicious,” Quentin says, happily chewing on one. Butterscotch is his favorite kind, after all.

“Quentin!”

“What? The cake was so good last time! You should try it– the old gods are very good at cooking.”

“Alright, kids,” Lachesis hits the side of her cup with a small spoon, calling their attention, “now to business. To answer your earlier question, yes, Miss Quinn, we are the ones interfering with your boring, dull little lives.”

“We were only trying to help you,” Clotho adds, apologetically, “give you the tiny nudge in the right direction if you will.”

“Help?” Alice glowers, unimpressed and still refusing to touch the food. “By making our lives hell?”

“Also, why?” Quentin asks because this is a valid question, okay?

“Zeus asked us to,” Clotho says, shrugging, “and we do like to humor him every once in a while.”

“Zeus?” He echoes– he’s pretty sure they haven’t met Zeus yet.

“Yes, yes, Hades talked to him in your behalf,” she giggles, leaning in closer like she’s gossiping with old friends, “he doesn’t do that to just anyone, you know?”

“Hades talked to– why? I mean, I don’t remember meeting the guy– the god, I mean!”

“He runs the Underground branch, Q,” Alice hisses, “still doesn’t explain why he would do that, though.”

Clotho rolls her eyes, sharing a look with her sisters, and it’s Lachesis that answers. “Because of what you and your friends did, dummy! You killed the unkillable! Those monsters have been a point of debate in the Olympus for a real long time. Someone would bring them up in council meetings at least once every two months and suddenly everyone and their mothers had an opinion! It always drove the Big Three up the walls!”

So much to unpack there.

“Hades bestowed his blessing upon you,” Atropos says, face unreadable, “we are merely carrying out his wishes.”

“Just this one time, though,” Clotho rushes out, “we like to think we are more like independent contractors. You know, outside the Pantheon and stuff.”

God, he can feel a headache coming. This is way too much crazy before dinner. “Okay, okay, say we roll with that, what does that mean? Why were you doing all… that?”

“It means we are trying to speed along your happiness,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “out of your little family, you two were the ones allowing happiness to slip through your fingers.”

“You, Miss Quinn,” Lachesis sips her tea, staring Alice down over the brim of her cup, “turned down Miss Orloff-Diaz’s invitation because you are planning on leaving after you finish your latest project.”

“And you, Quentin,” Atropos tilts her head, saying his name gently like an old friend who hasn’t seen him in a while, “your thread has frayed too many times over this current life as it did again recently.”

“In the Mirror World,” he whispers, remembering the resignation he felt as he repaired the mirror and slowly understanding what she means by fraying.

“Yes, in what you call the Mirror World,” she nods, “such a beautiful tapestry it is turning into. I do not wish to cut it off just yet. I think it needs more colors before it’s finished. Don't you? From what I have seen you will be given a choice soon, I wished to help you make your decision.”

“So you invaded our privacy,” Alice summarizes, voice tightly controlled, “and decided to fuck with our lives?”

“We did notice you both have been very resistant to our attempts on helping you two along,” Clotho admits, “which is why we decided to bring you here. Atropos thinks honesty would be the best way to go.”

“That’s because we were freaking out,” Quentin can’t believe he’s having to spell this out, honestly, “because that’s a normal reaction when things start to appear out of thin air!”

“We are sorry for the undue stress,” Atropos says mildly.

“Very sorry.”

“Terribly sorry.”

To avoid answering, Quentin shoves another cookie in his mouth, risking a sideways glance at Alice. She’s sitting stiffly, hands gripping the hem of her skirt with white knuckles and her hair is a curtain hiding her face. This whole thing must be really throwing her for a loop, especially if she’s been meaning to leave as the lady said.

Quentin himself is trying to wrap his head around the fact that the Fates seem to be invested in his life, enough to have noticed his feelings for Eliot. Although he’s sure it’s plain to anyone to see, Quentin’s never been good at subtlety, it does make him think– “are you saying it’s, like, our destiny or something? To be with Eliot and Kady?”

Because as romantic, as perfectly fairytale-like it sounds, Quentin is not sure he likes it. This whole predestined thing kinda feels like taking their choices away, taking the merit and the weight out of all they did, all they’ve been through to find each other.

And Eliot’s choices have been ripped away from him for far too many times already in these past months.

But Lachesis only rolls her eyes. “You humans and your obsession with destiny,” she huffs, “what do you think we do all day? Sit around and play puppet show with you lot? Please.”

“Your kind has always prided themselves in your free will,” Atropos reminds them not unkindly, “your choices are yours alone. Clotho spins your thread, Lachesis measures it, and I cut it when the time comes. What you do with the time you are given is entirely upon you. Alice could choose to flee the city in a few months and you could choose to bury your feelings again.”

“Or,” Clotho says, setting her cup down, “you could choose happiness as it’s being offered.”

“We see what could be,” Lachesis tells them, “Hades asked us to be kind. The gods have never really understood that is not up to us. You kids make your own destiny, all we can do is try to nudge you in what we think is the right direction.”

“Life deals you a hand, you decide what to do with it.”

Destiny is bullshit, Quentin remembers saying so long ago, a lifetime and a half ago, at the top of a cliff with a crown in his hands and his heart on his sleeve. So much has changed since then, but this has always stayed with him. If anything, knowing what he knows now, he believes it more than ever.

Hearing it from the mouth of gods is relieving, though.

“Will you stop now,” Alice speaks softly, quieter than she’s been all afternoon, “messing with our lives? It’s not helping, it’s only making things harder.”

“Please,” Quentin nods, “thank you for trying to uh, help, but we’ve got it now.”

Atropos smiles her melancholic smile. “Of course. Our job is done, I believe. You have the tools to make an informed decision. There’s nothing kinder than that, the way I see it.”

“But before you go,” Clotho grins excitedly, “we have a gift for each of you.”

Between a blink and the next, a tapestry falls on their laps. Quentin’s is colorful with patches of darker tones, full of patterns that remind him of Fillory, swirling and changing before his eyes and– it shows a cottage in the woods, a little boy running around piles of tile, a garden, Quentin laughing while Eliot chases Teddy around and Arielle smiles fondly at them.

“Oh my god, this is–” the words get stuck on his throat, squeezing at his lungs and wrapping around his heart. The mosaic timeline.

“Quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Atropos comments idly.

“And this,” Alice chokes, staring down at her own tapestry– it’s all in shades of blue, with geometrical shapes and hard lines. Oh, her time as a Niffin.

“You died, in a way, and was reborn,” she explains, “your life as a Niffin is its own thread.”

“Thank you,” Alice breathes, still not looking away.

“You are welcome, kiddos,” Lachesis winks, “this has been nice and all, but it’s goodbye for now.”

“Good luck,” says Clotho.

“Godspeed,” says Atropo.

“Off you go,” says Lachesis, and the world goes dark.

Because all gods are kind of dicks, the Moirai don’t return them to the coffee shop. Instead, they blink Alice and Quentin back in the apartment, in the middle of the living room where Julia seems to be retelling the dragon egg story to Eliot and Margo.

“Hey, uh, guys,” Quentin awkwardly waves his hand, smiling the fakest smile ever at them. “It’s kind of a long story, so, can we hm, can we press hold on the questions?”

“Has anyone seen Kady?” Alice asks, taking a step forward before thinking better of it and pausing, tapestry clutched tightly on her hands.

“She’s at the Library,” Julia answers slowly, frowning at them as if they are a puzzle she can’t quite solve. Fair enough, he supposes, suddenly appearing in rooms will do that to someone “Not sure when she’ll be back. Are you– did Penny drop you off or…”

“I have to go,” Alice says abruptly, whirling on her heels and stalking off to her bedroom. She slams the door closed.

Quentin clears his throat.

“It’s a really long story,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. In the couch, neither Margo nor Eliot have said anything, simply staring at Quentin as if things might go back to making sense if they wait long enough. Eliot looks less tired today, fully there with them and not lost in thought, and Quentin’s heart skips a beat at the sight.

The tapestry in his hands is heavy, holding fifty years of memories and shared life, and Quentin misses Eliot terribly, even if he’s sitting less than a foot away from him.

He makes a decision.

Why waste any more time?

“Hey, Jules,” he says, breathing in deeply, “can I borrow Eliot for a second? Great, thanks.”

“Excuse me?” Eliot raises one eyebrow but lets Quentin pull him up and drag him to his bedroom. He sits on Quentin’s bed, watching Quentin pace back and forth. There’s amusement on his eyes, but there’s worry too, a hesitation that Quentin wants to kiss away. “You know, if you wanted to get me into your bed, all you had to do was ask, Q.”

“I– look at this,” he hands him the tapestry, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an effort not to fidget too much.

“Since when are you into Victorian decorations,” Eliot snorts, spreading it open on his lap. His fingers trace the patterns gently and his eyes widen as recognition dawns. “Shit, Q, how? I mean, where did you get this?”

“It’s an apology gift from the Moirai.”

“It’s a what from who?”

“The Moirai– it was a whole thing, I’ll explain later,” Quentin promises. He needs to do this first. “I just wanted– I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he sighs, shaking his head and he looks so resigned, “I understand, truly, after everything–”

“No, no,” Quentin rushes forward, sitting beside him, close enough that their knees are touching, and takes his hands. He needs Eliot to see he’s not afraid of him, not at all, on the contrary. Quentin misses the casual touches, the little things– the Monster had disregarded his personal space so many times, now that Eliot is back, all Quentin wants is to have this back too. “It’s not. That. There was some shit going on, and I didn’t want to drag you into it, but it’s gone now. I can– we can do this now.”

“Do what, Q?” Eliot asks softly, threading their fingers together and glancing down at them, “because from where I’m standing, you’ve been sending a lot of mixed signals.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, averting his eyes, “and I’m sorry. But I had a pretty interesting conversation today and I kinda want to believe that. So. What did you want to talk about earlier?”

Eliot regards him warily before exhaling, saying, “I guess I had a pretty interesting conversation too when I was stuck in my head.” The reminder of that time is once again enough to send chills down Quentin’s spine and he shuffles a little closer to Eliot. “And I promised I’d be braver if I ever got the chance. Q, that day in the throne room,” he runs his hand through the tapestry and Quentin knows from experience how soft it feels against your fingers, “it was the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to still want– I just wanted you to know you were right. I was scared and I ran away, but you were right. And I’m still in love with you, and I’m done running.”

This is– Quentin had hoped but to actually have this, his heart is trying to claw itself free from his ribcage and Quentin just might let it, he can’t think of anything beyond the fact that Eliot loves him.

“You know, I’ve been told today that destiny is pretty much just the choices we make along the way,” Quentin says, breaking out in a stupidly dopey grin, probably looking as lovesick as he feels, “and El, choosing you is like, the one thing I’m one hundred percent sure right now. So, be my destiny too?”

He cringes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Eliot only laughs a happy, soft huff and dares to smile. “That was disgustingly sappy and you are incredibly lucky I’m so gone on you,” he leans in and Quentin stops breathing, a thousand butterflies making a home on his stomach.

They kiss and believing this is his destiny is the easiest thing in the world.

Alice is nervous.

That in itself is nothing strange, but the fact she’s being nervous while sitting in a Hedge bar and nursing her second Whiskey on the Rocks definitely is.

Maybe she shouldn’t have done this, maybe they would both be better off without messing up something that’s working so well, maybe the Moirai were wrong, maybe Alice shouldn’t be allowed to make her own destiny because she has a tendency of making the wrong choices, maybe–

Maybe Kady won’t show.

Not that Alice would blame her after she had turned her down in her spectacularly awkward way two weeks ago. But Alice hopes–

“I really thought Julia hadn’t heard right.”

Oh. Alice looks up and Kady is there, beautiful and terrifying and knocking the air out of her lungs. “I wasn’t sure you would show up,” she says to fill the silence and tucks her hair behind her ears, hating herself for betraying her own nervousness. “Do you, can I buy you a drink?”

“I wasn’t sure either,” Kady tells her, unashamedly studying her for a long, drawn-out moment before sitting on the stool beside her. “But since we’re here, knock yourself out.”

Flagging the bartender is an ordeal since they don’t seem to like Alice here very much, but it gets easier once they see Kady beside her. She orders them both beers. “So,” she begins, reaching for the duffel bag she had left at her feet, “I wanted to show you this.”

“It’s empty,” Kady frowns, turning it inside out and back again, “what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Yes, it is empty,” Alice steels herself, thinking back at her own promise she made after returning to this plane. No running. “I had started to pack, last month. But I put it all back, I want to stay.”

The suspicion in Kady’s eyes is clear, and it hurts Alice like a knife, but it’s not like she can blame her for this either. “What made you change your mind? You sounded pretty sold on your road trip.”

“It’s not that I changed my mind, not really,” she explains, ducking away from her eyes. It’s easier to bare her soul when Kady’s not looking at her like Alice is holding a gun to her head. “I always wanted to stay but– going away was the easier choice, I thought since I did it once, I could do it again and be happy.”

“Can’t you?”

Can I? Alice knows Kady didn’t intend it as an accusation, not entirely at least. She genuinely wants to know. So does Alice, actually. “Maybe,” she admits. She always been good at being alone, it’s when she’s surrounded by other people that things get confusing. “But I don’t want that. I’ve been told today to follow my heart and well,” her cheeks are feeling warm, too warm, and Alice hopes she’s not blushing, “here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence where Alice doesn’t dare look up.

“Here you are,” Kady finally says, so soft it’s almost lost to the background music, and she risks a glance. The smile on Kady’s lips is worth every thorn bleeding her throat from giving voice to these feeling she had locked away on her chest. “So your heart told you to hang out in a Hedge bar?”

Alice laughs, surprising herself– though she really shouldn’t be surprised, Kady is good at bringing light out of her. “No,” she allows her own smile to bloom, “it led me to you.”

“That’s some corny shit,” Kady laughs, but she reaches a hand to pull Alice closer and her perfume is overwhelmingly addictive, and then she’s kissing her and Alice can’t think at all.

Today has been a strange day after a string of strange days, but Alice can’t say she regrets any of it, not when it ends with Kady biting her lip and tasting the whiskey on her tongue. If they all make their own destinies, Alice figures she couldn’t do better for herself.

#the welters library #welters challenge 2019 week 2 #the 2019 welters challenge #the magicians #queliot #kalice #quentin coldwater #alice quinn #eliot waugh #kady orloff diaz #alice x kady #the magicians tag #queliot tag #kalice tag

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missmentelle · 5 years

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In short term 12, Grace shows Jaden her self-harm scars and discloses her past with abuse and self-harm. Is that something that happens and is okay (to share that kind of history with these kids) or is it another example of a lack of personal boundaries?

It’s… complicated, but I would say that the scene in the movie crosses the line into “poor boundaries” territory. That doesn’t mean that conversations like that don’t happen in these settings, it’s that that specific scene was not necessarily the preferred way to deal with that situation.

For those of you who haven’t seen the movie [spoiler and content warnings in effect] there is a scene where a deeply troubled girl has been placed in a sort of “cool down” room after a meltdown, and she begins attempting to self-harm by digging her thumbnails into the flesh of her hand. Her counselor, Grace - who has been struggling to connect with the hostile girl since she arrived - sees this as an opportunity to finally find some common ground with the girl, pulls up the leg of her pants to show her own self-harm scars, and discloses her own history of abuse.

Whenever a mental health worker tells a client personal information about themselves, we call it “self-disclosure”, and it’s not inherently a bad thing. Used properly, it can help you to establish trust and rapport with a client. When you work in mental health, clients will often assume that you can’t possibly understand where they are coming from, and that don’t have anything in common with them. This is especially true if you work with highly marginalized clients like the ones in the movie - they will often assume that your life is perfect and that you’ve never faced anything like the obstacles they have. Self-disclosing that you have had similar experiences can help you establish rapport and make the clients feel that you are talking to them as a peer who has been there, rather than a counselor talking down to them about things they’ve never experienced.

When it comes to self-harm, sometimes it can be better for a counselor who has visible scars to address that head-on, rather than trying to dodge the issue; many people who work in mental health have visible scars, and it can be an important opportunity to normalize having these scars and show that recovery is possible for people who have them. One of the best counselors I have ever known has a very obvious row of scars on his arm, and when kids asked him about it, he was honest about how he got them and what that recovery process was like for him, rather than trying to brush off the question. I certainly don’t think it’s inappropriate for mental health workers to have visible scars, or to answer honestly when asked how they got them.

When it comes to self-disclosure in general, though, there are a couple of big possible pitfalls, some of which Grace stumbles into in the movie. Self-disclosing to a client is always a risk, because:

It could make you look like an asshole. If you tell your counselor that you’re suicidal because your long-term partner just left you for the person they were cheating with and you think you lost the love of your life, and they respond with “yeah, I know how you feel, sometimes I feel like my husband doesn’t care about me because he never remembers to buy my favourite type of ice cream”, that’s not going to make you feel more connected to the counselor. It’s going to make you feel like the counselor is a self-centered asshole who isn’t taking you seriously and doesn’t understand what you’re going through at all. Self-disclosing when you don’t actually have any experiences that are similar to a client’s just makes you seem clueless and out-of-touch, especially if you have had a much more privileged upbringing than the client. New counselors make this mistake a lot. As someone from a relatively privileged upbringing, your parents’ divorce might genuinely be the worst thing that ever happened to you; trying to use it to connect with a kid who has been in neglectful and abusive foster care homes since age 2, however, just makes you sound like a rich jerk whining about having to have two Christmases.

It could be used against you. Counselors don’t always know their clients as well as they think they do. Sometimes, disclosing immensely personal information can be a mistake, because the client may share that information with other people, or try to use it as leverage against you. If you disclosed to a client that you were also a victim of sexual assault, they may cruelly throw that information in your face the next time they are upset with you, or they may share that information with your other clients without your consent. I currently work in a residential facility; anything that is told to one client usually spreads throughout the entire building, and staff are well aware that it’s only safe to disclose information that they are comfortable with every single client knowing. Even very casual information like “Oh, sorry I’m late, the 6 train was delayed today” can be dangerous - if you have a client who hates you (or likes you way, way too much), that’s information that they can use to track you down outside of work.

It can create an inappropriately personal relationship with the client. A counselor can have an amazing and close relationship with a client, but it’s important to remember that it’s still a client-counselor relationship. You are not friends, and in the case of teenage clients, you are not parent and child. If you’re going to be able to confide your darkest and most embarrassing secrets to a counselor and trust the advice they give you, there has to be a little bit of professional distance there. Otherwise, it’s impossible for the counselor to be impartial. A therapy session is a safe space for you to work through serious trauma and dysfunction, and learn healthier coping skills; it should not feel like a casual gossip session with your bestie. Therapists can definitely have a relaxed, fun, casual persona, but if the two of you are spending half your time together analyzing each other’s Tinder matches and swapping stories about drunk things you did in college, that’s a sign that professional boundaries are starting to break down. Counselors who over-disclose can cause their clients to start believing that the relationship is a genuine friendship, which sets the client up for shock and pain the first time the counselor tries to enforce boundaries. This is especially true of abused teens like the girl in the movie; they are often desperate for intimacy, and very quick to try to form inappropriately close or dependent relationships with their counselors.

It can make the counseling session all about you. Think about the last time you were having a mental health crisis - a panic attack, anxiety attack, depression wave, PTSD flashback, etc. In that moment, were you in a good place to listen to someone else’s darkest, most horrible experiences? Probably not. Self-disclosing your trauma or mental health issues - especially ones that are still ongoing - puts the client in a position where they suddenly have to comfort YOU, instead of the other way around. That’s not something that most people are prepared to take on when they are in the middle of a breakdown, and it can both damage the relationship between client and counselor, and leave the client feeling even more stressed-out than they were before. Many people who have experienced trauma need to be in a good headspace with advance notice to prepare themselves before they engage with potentially traumatic content - that’s why many people appreciate the inclusion of content warnings on media. For those people, having your mental health worker throw their own trauma in your lap when they are struggling to cope with their own is the stuff of nightmares.

That last one is the main error that Grace made in the movie, and it’s the biggest reason why I think this particular scene crossed boundaries. For one thing, she chose a pretty risky moment to have that kind of disclosure - not only was the girl in a bad place, she was actively self-harming. That girl was not in a place where she could even process her own emotions, and asking her to suddenly process someone else’s severe trauma - trauma that closely resembled her own - is too much. Perhaps when the girl was a little calmer, finding out that her counselor had been through similar experiences might have been helpful, but in the moment, it’s hard to see how that kind of disclosure would do anything but make the girl panic about the fact that she lives in a world rife with child abuse and self-harm. The description that Grace gives of the abuse she endured is quite explicit and quite graphic, and that girl already had enough horribly damaging images in her head at the time - it probably was not a good thing for Grace to add more. If anything, since Grace’s self-harm scars are much more prominent and numerous than the girl’s, the message that comes across is “I went through much worse than you did, why are you whining?”, even if that is not her intent.

Secondly, I think that Grace crossed the line because she was sharing abuse that she herself had neither worked through or resolved. The reason my counselor friend with the scars was helpful when he self-disclosed was because he was able to share a story of recovery - he would gloss over the bad things in his life that happened to cause the self-harm, and focused the narrative on the fact that he had successfully gotten help and that this kind of pain was no longer a part of his life. The message he was sending was “you can get better, and it’s possible to get to a place where you don’t feel the urge to do this anymore”. The trauma Grace is sharing, on the other hand, is unresolved. It is still very much affecting her life, and that is clear when she discusses it with the girl. Instead of presenting a message of hope or understanding, the narrative she inadvertently creates is “yeah, all this stuff is probably going to suck forever and you’re still going to be in pain as an adult”. It also really puts the teen in that counselling role - it’s clear that Grace is still very much in pain from her childhood experiences, and most people’s instinct would be to try to comfort her, which is the opposite of what should be happening here.

I do think that there are strong benefits to self-disclosure in mental health, but I don’t necessarily love how it was done here. This is reinforced by the fact that Grace later goes way too far in trying to personally take revenge on the girl’s father, something that points to some seriously blurry boundaries between the two women. In real life, that kind of breach of boundaries could get you fired and permanently barred from the profession, if not actually criminally charged if someone found out about it. A counselor who crosses boundaries like this is ultimately doing a disservice to their clients, and there are better ways to handle these kinds of situations.

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

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Psuedo-Sci-Fi: Torbjörn and his Turret

[Post 1 in a series on how to kinda sorta sound like you know what you’re doing when writing about Overwatch weapons and technology]

Alright, so, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably hit one of two walls: 1) you want to write or create something either about Overwatch or set in its fictional future, and you don’t know where to start OR 2) you’ve started writing or creating something about Overwatch or set in its fictional future, and you hit a wall because none of it makes any sense.

If you’re nitpicky like me, your brain probably trips up because it doesn’t make sense, how does that work, why can this even happen, there must be some way of rationalizing this bs.

First step in the process:

Recognize that no matter how much you try to make sense of it, some parts of it will never make sense.

Overwatch operates on something the development team has called “firm sci-fi,” which Michael Chu describes as a middle ground between “hard sci-fi” (where mechanisms are explained) and “soft sci-fi” (which verges more on fantasy). They describe this as giving “high tech” sounding names to abilities, skills, and technologies and making them semi-“feasible” (in-universe, not in the real world) without getting too caught up in the details.

Second step in the process:

Getting the basics down.

I’m pretty goddamn clueless on a lot of this stuff. I’ve halfassed more explanations for in-universe topics than I can count. But as long as it makes internal sense to whatever version of the Overwatch “canon” you’re creating, then that’s all that matters.

This post will work by describing: in-game and/or in-universe mechanics, comparing them to real world or “hypothetical” real world counterparts, and then developing possible combinations so you can sound kinda sorta smart on this stuff. This is not intended to be an in-depth explanation of how anything works, real or fictional. This is meant to be a starting point resource for someone who knows nothing about how both the fictional Overwatch technology and weapons and potential real world counterparts operate (like me). The purpose of this is to provide those interested with terms and concepts that they can then research further (if they want) or “stick to the basics” (if they want). First up, because he’s actually one of the easiest:

Torbjörn Lindholm

Canon basics: Torbjörn Lindholm is a weaponsmith and engineer. He has designed some of the “greatest weapons” in the Overwatch fictional universe, including the SST Laboratories Siege Automaton E54 “Bastion” Omnic model. He originally worked for a weapon-designing and “smithing” organization called the Ironclad Guild. He carries a mobile forge on his back, which allows him to actively create and produce armor sets and turrets during a battle.

Real World basics: While Torbjörn’s skillsets and abilities are highly stylized (as are all Overwatch characters), his concept and position is based on a real military position called a “combat engineer” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Combat_engineer). This position can also be called “pioneer” or “sapper” depending on the country. Present-day combat engineers usually specialize in assisting ground troops through construction or destruction of structures and traps, such as building temporary bridges or laying or clearing land mines. In Overwatch, these abilites are given to the character Junkrat as well, but based on his Uprising skin, Torbjörn was originally the Chief (Combat) Engineer for Overwatch. Combat engineers are crucial to helping ground troops advance or retreat. Their skills are considered “force multipliers,” a concept where an advancement in tactics or technology can “multiple” a force’s ability to engage in warfare more efficiently or more thoroughly (be it an individual soldier, a squad, a large troop size, or even a weapon or tool’s ability to “assist” a war).

Because of Overwatch’s fictionalized future, combat engineering has advanced into specialized robotics and automated systems.

Combined: Torbjörn can be seen as a “crucial” original member of the Overwatch Strike Team. His recruitment can be based on two major “skills:” 1) his familiarity with Omnic models and their weaknesses would make him an important asset on the team and/or 2) his ability to create state-of-the-art weaponry in the middle of a battle and his ability to accurately and easily defend points through strategetic placements of his turrets, thus reducing the Team’s need for extra fighter-power or supplies (and therefore reducing the risk of injuries or death).

Something to consider: combat engineers are significant members of Special Forces squad teams called “Operational Detachment Alpha” teams (there are two in each 12-person squad). If you are basing Reaper/Gabriel Reyes or Soldier: 76/Jack Morrison’s backgrounds on their “commando” status, you might want to consider that they would be familiar with the importance of a dedicated and competent combat engineer on their original Overwatch Strike Team.

Canon basics: Torbjörn carries a mobile forge on his back. This forge allows him to melt down any scrap metal he finds and remold it into something more useful for himself and his team, such as armor or turrets.

Real World basics: alright, so a mobile forge of Torbjörn’s caliber doesn’t really exist (no duh). But mobile forges that are more like portable carts do. These are relatively light-weight creations, although many vary. They are often the personal workspaces of blacksmiths, and are capable of producing heat for working metal.

Combined: Even in canon, Torbjörn collects scrap metal from enemies - not surprising given that his first major war was fought against robots. His mobile forge is capable of melting down the scrap metal and turning into three things: 1) his metal-slag slugs for his rivet shotgun, 2) armor packs for himself and his allies, and 3) building and upgrading his turrets with them. His special cybernetic arm is capable of handling molten metal.

Due to Torbjörn’s combat engineer background, he should be able to get a quick read of a situation, particularly the layout of a “battlefield.” You can see examples of his from his dialogue in the Uprising event. Doing “recon” to grab more scrap metal is both part of his gameplay and his character. Torbjörn’s “armor” can be considered something like chestplates or helmets for his non-armored allies, or, in the case of Reinhardt or an Omnic character, could be “direct upgrades” to their own metal armor.

Full-size image: here

Canon basics: Torbjörn’s turret is an incredible feat of combat engineering. His turret is capable of locking onto enemy combatants and targeting them and them alone. With extra metal, Torbjörn is able to upgrade his turret through multiple stages of progression.

Real World basics: Torbjörn’s turret operates on two major combat technological concepts: “Identification Friend or Foe” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Identification_friend_or_foe) and “Automatic target recognition” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automatic_target_recognition). Currently, both of these tend to operate on radar, infrared detection, code-signaling (such as transpoders), or audio-based pattern recognition (although they are not limited to those). The greatest issue with these two areas of technology is keeping them accurate and safe for friendly combatants or non-combatants.

(From an admittedly old, but readable paper: https://ll.mit.edu/publications/journal/pdf/vol06_no1/6.1.1.targetrecognition.pdf)

Combined: this can get as simple or as complicated as you want to make it. Operationally, Torbjörn’s turret should be using some sort of pattern recognition system to operate through a series of checks and clearances before it “fires.” It can operate on a combination of sensory-based detections (e.g. visual, auditory, motion, etc) and statistical pattern classification or signal-processing (e.g. code-based).

No matter what you pick, the one thing that should be excluded is Artificial Intelligence and Neural Networking. Given how Torbjörn, especially young, Crisis-era Torbjörn, despises Omnics and robotics, his turrets are not capable of learning or improvization. They do not require manual-input from Torbjörn in order to fire, but they are not “adaptable” to new information unless he himself adds that information to their systems. It would be wise for whatever version of Torbjörn you make to have some way of programming his turrets “on the spot,” either through partially-assembled, specialized computer systems or through some sort of electronic database he can access.

Consider having his turrets operate on recognizing patterns (the Overwatch logo, or specific colors, for example) or perhaps have them build a fake “construct” of allies in its system, by recognizing voices, heights, armor, weapons, movements, etc. Also consider the possibility of making Torbjörn’s tracking system the basis for Tactical Visor’s “aim-assist” targeting.

#torbjorn #torbjorn lindholm #overwatch lore #overwatch #references #resources #torbjorn's turret #overwatch turret #hope this helps some people?

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dailydownworlders · 7 years

Text

Some Meliorn/Raphael headcanons because I am On Board with this.

They spend a lot of time together, between one thing and another, and they find they both like it. They have similar senses of humour, underneath it all, and similar senses of honour.

Bonding over Getting Rudely Broken Up With By Isabelle Sophia Lightwood.

Meliorn comes to hang over at the DuMort a few times, brings pretty art pieces as peace offerings, and he and Raphael chill and try to negotiate a casual sort of alliance. They end up talking a lot about their pasts, Meliorn can’t help but make jabs at Raphael’s sudden rise to power, Raphael hits back with a mention of the time his clan helped save Meliorn from getting tortured. Meliorn talks about his scars, Raphael mentions in passing his sister.

Raphael realized too late that he accidentally got involved with one of Camille’s former regular hookups and his sheer outrage nearly split them up, but he was in too deep. When Raphael Santiago falls, he falls hard and he’s definitely a little bit in love with this man who showed up to meet Rosa with armfuls of flowers enchanted to live forever.

Meliorn appreciates not being a casual fling for once. Spending so much of his life on the edges of Shadowhunter society or dealing with other Downworlder factions, sex has always been easier than emotional intimacy, and anyways, no one takes Seelie very seriously. The Fair Folk are strange and hard to understand, most people don’t bother with attachment. It’s a new and interesting relationship paradigm and one that he kind of likes. He accepts the asexuality purely on the grounds that it’s novel, and then does some inquiring and learns it’s not unheard of for humans or the Fair Folk. Cool beans. He can ride out this... whatever they have. They’re both immortal, a spell of celibacy isn’t going to kill him.

It’s definitely nice to have someone on his side. After his falling out with the queen, an ally is always appreciable, and Raphael likes having that extra edge on the Seelie Queen. Their relationship is functional both politically, practically, and in matters of the heart.

When they fight they do it through either Isabelle (because they do still get along with her, sort of) or official diplomatic channels. Both ways are bad. Isabelle is tired. Luke and Magnus are tired. Just make up already, both of you.

Meliorn hates that Raphael can’t go out in sunlight and has offered more than once to corner Simon in an alley and shake him down until he fesses up his secret. Raphael regretfully declines. As nice as that sounds, he really doesn’t need anymore chaos in his life right now and frankly letting the Secret of Daylighters out is a recipe for disaster. Plus, probably don’t want to upset the ickle Shadowhunters.

(Meliorn just really wants to take long daytime walks in the park with his boyfriend, or do anything. You can only spend so many evenings drinking pomegranate juice while hypocritcally whining about Magnus Bane’s Shadowhunter boyfriend.)

Sometimes they do go out, but it’s always some place quiet. Rooftop gardens at midnight. Closed museums where Meliorn can complain about historical bias to a rapt audience. Raphael’s apartment.

The rest of Raphael’s clan think they’re adorable. Just very cute. The only downside is that Raphael is more than a little distracted now and that’s not super great when you’re in the middle of a crisis, but at least his boyfriend is badass? They make Meliorn show off his fighting skills in the main hall at least a dozen times. For people who were mostly civilians and then learned to fight with fangs and hands, that level of professionalism is fascinating. He actually uses weapons!

Meliorn for sure gives Raphael a knife and in return Raphael gives him an antique pair of cuff links and then a suit because really, viejo, you have to have a suit. You might be over a hundred years old but that’s no excuse to fall behind on the current fashions.

The fact that they’re both very grumpy old men, both literally and spiritually, who just so happen to be trapped in the bodies of hip and hot twenty somethings amuses everyone around them. No one ever thought Raphael “Kids These Days” Santiago would meet his match, but it turns out all he needed was someone who still thinks Shakespeare is new and exciting literature.

Maybe that’s why they fit in so well with Rosa’s friends. Everyone there loves Nice Raphael’s very sweet boyfriend with the exciting hair and the facial tattoos who always makes the tasteful dirty jokes. Raphael hates it, he’s never taking him out anywhere again. Meliorn is the undisputed darling of over twenty old ladies now and the number keeps growing.

#Meliorn #raphael santiago #meliorn x raphael #shadowhunters spoilers #faeries #vampires #meliorn hc #raphael santiago hc #meliorn x raphael hc #dd original

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comicteaparty · 5 years

Text

February 14th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on February 14th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PST. The chat focused on Earth in a Pocket by Jabbage.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing Earth in a Pocket by Jabbage~! (http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

perhaps not a full scene, but im really fond of this page in general http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/comic/2019/01/22 where the socio economic development stuff is broken down. theres just something so elegantly simple about how its shown. not to mention i appreciate the injection of humor, because i think it makes everything really grounded.

Delphina

The badger page is perennially endearing (http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/comic/2018/08/11), but I also like the most recent one where Little One is encouraging Halisi to be proactive and set up some long-term solutions for herself: http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/comic/2019/02/05

RebelVampire

im really curious why she thought of badgers at all. unless she had the badgers badgers mushroom song stuck in her head. XD

Delphina

@Jabbage please make that canon

Jabbage

makes it so

(Hi! I'm going to be here for a little while! :D)

RebelVampire

thanks for coming, Jabbage!

Jabbage

I figure that if you're on a road trip with a small child who is prone to ask a billion questions, eventually you're going to end up talking about badgers

Delphina

I just really appreciate how even after all she's been through, Halisi still has so much love and passion for her studies, and it's what she reaches to when she's looking for ways to console Little One and solutions for herself.

Kabocha

Hmmm, my favorite scene probably was the Witch bottle explanation http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/comic/2018/08/15 It was a good bit of information I hadn't really been aware of :D I also just... enjoy her interactions with the little jellyfish - even though she's in a bad spot, she's still taking time to tell him stories.

RebelVampire

i like the element of logic there is to it too. like she's not panicking, but using what she loves to calm herself down in a way. and i think thats a really great showcase of her character without needing to be told shes like that.

its a characterization via the action versus the telling

mathtans

Here for now, the little one seems extra fussy tonight. Yes, I call my baby daughter the little one. So comic was a bit surreal.

RebelVampire

hi math!

at least your little one isnt old enough to ask yet "are we there yet?"

Kabocha

Right? I mean, she could have just given in, accepted that she might die here... But nah. And she's still kind, even though this entire situation is awful

mathtans

The Witch bottle thing reminds me, I liked the way the art moved through the centuries on that one page, but with people who looked kinda similar. I thought that was clever.

True. Little one could save us some time by specifying what her issues are though. ^.^

RebelVampire

ironically though another of my favorite scenes is the one where halisi sets up the signal and kind of ditches her new jellyfish child to just go despairingly collapse in front of it. i like this brief moment of her giving into despair cause theres something really raw about it. like at first she doesnt say anything even, and i think it makes it really powerful because the silence just adds this immense weight to the sorrow. you know shes super suffering for that moment and feeling the weight of everything finally hit her.

Delphina

Yeah, the comic does a good job of showing a lot of conflicting emotions(edited)

mathtans

Yeah, honestly the very opening was a heck of a kick in the pants. Like, I have no idea what I'd do in that sort of situation. It's very problematic.

RebelVampire

yeah theres def a lot of stressful situations. but i kind of appreciate the lighter moments. like her trying to start a fire but ultimately failing. i mean its kind of scary and sad for her survival, but the way its handled is still pretty funny

also that moment where shes trying to fix the machine at the beginning and it just flat out basically bursts into flames XD

Jabbage

I'm pleased to hear that! I'm always aware that it could be quite a bleak story, but I want it to ultimately feel hopeful and positive, so the silly moments are important for that!

kayotics

I also liked the badger scene, but I think the scene that had the most prominence for me is when she finds out that someone else landed on the planet 80 years ago

i think that scene really set in how dire her situation is

khkddn

the portrayal of emotions really is great. it's really interesting to see someone going through such a crisis and only surrounded by beings who can't relate at all

Delphina

Oh god yeah, and the aliens just going "Something happened to the human we don't know what cause death isn't a thing that happens here???" was scary.

kayotics

"it's hibernating!"

G (Title Unrelated)

I felt something in the scene right after where they tell her dad "we haven't heard from her yet"

Delphina

collective tentacle shrug

kayotics

yeah i really feel for her dad

this isn't a scene, but I appreciate that all of the characters are middle-aged or older

RebelVampire

agreed. but i appreciated the realism of the ppl on the other line being like "meh its probably fine my dude" to the dad. cause that really uses reader knowledge to an advantage to create sympathy for him. because we know its not fine, and that he is right to worry. and that makes it sad hes the only one worried in that moment.

G (Title Unrelated)

Yes I agree

kayotics

Also agreed. It's a good example of dramatic irony

RebelVampire

although i like the most recent page with the followup where hes basically enlisted an army of students to find her. abuse of power, probably. but makes him the sweetest dad? yes.

QUESTION 2. Much of the comic revolves around Halisi telling stories based on things in her pocket. Which of Halisi’s stories impacted you the most and/or taught you something new? What do you think is to be gained from Halisi telling these stories to an alien race with no real connection to humanity? How do you believe the stories and knowledge she has might help contextualize her current situation for her? What, to you, does it mean to have “Earth in a Pocket?” Further, if you were in Halisi’s position, what objects would you pick in 10 seconds to represent the sum of human existence? Lastly, what other cultural or past history aspects do you think Halisi might bring up? How might they be contextualized to add a new viewpoint to Halisi’s situation?

Delphina

I liked the Dancing Plague story a lot http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/comic/2018/08/06

RebelVampire

this is the point where i say the witch bottle scene. I think it was beautifully illustrated, and as a story it was not a cultural thing i was aware of. but i like how suitable and unsuitable it was for the situation. but overall it just made me think about humans are weird and can make fear out of nothing at all if the minds decide it to be so.

unless the plot twist is there really was a witch in that bottle

ive always found the dancing plague fascinating because again, humans be weird. minds play tricks.

khkddn

the witch bottle scene is kind of like a story about the power of storytelling, pretty fitting i think

the idea of a witch meant so much to people, like how halisi's stories mean so much to the jellies

G (Title Unrelated)

so she's got a single seed, too, which is also super symbolic

kayotics

I really like the agriculture story, because, like it was mentioned before, it was very concise, but also it shows a lot about Halsi's personality and what she thinks is important about understanding humans on a basic level

mathtans

Back. Know what you can't do when you have a little one? Have a life sometimes. >.<(edited)

G (Title Unrelated)

I wonder what kind of seed it is

RebelVampire

oh man what if the seed wasnt even food. like she winds up growing a rose bush or something XD

mathtans

I was going to say, one of my fave moments was actually comedy, when Halisi first goes off with the inhabitants, thinking about ditching them, and they're all "we can see the thoughts".

RebelVampire

i appreciate the jellyfish didnt just ditch her at that point. cause i would not be as forgiving as them XD

mathtans

And yeah, the hope and sudden crash of the human who was there before was powerful too.

Delphina

I hope it's like... a nice fruit tree. She seems like she could use a nice fruit tree.

mathtans

The framing of the witch bottle scene was cool too. With the whole "not helping me be less afraid" thing (and asking for that term).

kayotics

i just really like the little jellyfish aliens, because they're written in a way that's much less human-centric. I like aliens that are just kind of weird for being weird and don't follow human conventions.

mathtans

Though props for the "pot-reon" in the agriculture bit too.

RebelVampire

yeah im really appreciating the jellyfish for that reason. theyre a nice blend between humanistic traits while still being super alien. its always nice to see when theres kind of a basic gap of understanding where the way each species thinks is quite different

anyway, for me personally though, while she does literally have some of earth in her pocket, i think earth is more about the stories that have traveled with her. because oral traditions reach immensely far back and is the main platform by which we teach and learn about ourselves as a species. so imo they are more representative of humanity than the objects. thus how she can fit earth in a pocket, even though she doesnt need the pocket.(edited)

G (Title Unrelated)

Yeah, I think you nailed it!

mathtans

Also, random question/thought. Halisi didn't have to dig too deep to get "well" water (I liked that one too)... yet was able to bury a guy? The water must be specific to locations or something?

Agreed on the alien-ness people have been speaking about.

G (Title Unrelated)

I mean it's an alien planet

mathtans

Good point about the traditions, Rebel. She's her own pocket.

It helps that she mostly just has to think things rather than even speak them aloud too.

Jabbage

AHAHA yeah, I realised that after drawing it. It's on a list of things i might tweak one day, although I do also like the idea that it is just an alien planet and it's strange and unpredictable like that. So much of our own planet would seem strange and random if we didn't understand a little bit about it's geology, the water cycle etc.

kayotics

on that note i like the idea of halsi going around trying to find ground that doesn't immediately fill up with well water

"okay let's try this spot. Hm, nope, that filled up. can't bury him here"

G (Title Unrelated)

haha!

RebelVampire

yeah it didnt particularly stick out to me just cause i wrote it off as like a change in elevation or something like that. but basically alien planet does alien things XD

mathtans

Fair point.

Could just drag dirt over from another place too, though I guess it would be raised more then.

kayotics

I think if it needs to be tweaked in the future, Jabbage, you could always just change it to a mound rather than a hole. same concept but it avoids going below the dirt

mathtans

Fixes the w"hole" thing.

G (Title Unrelated)

also digging a hole IS hard work

Jabbage

Yeah, or using rocks

kayotics

digging is a lot of work

mathtans

Also whistling while you use rocks, to get rock music.

I'll stop.

kayotics

if she plants that seed she may have to make a mound for that too, it would probably get too waterlogged otherwise

mathtans

I wonder if the soil has the right nutrients.

RebelVampire

yeah i was thinking that too

that her next challenge is finding a not well spot for that seed

cause unless its a crop that specifically needs to be waterlogged, shes gonna have a bad time

mathtans

The jellyfish said the mushrooms could talk, right? Maybe they know a place.

Does rice have seeds?

G (Title Unrelated)

I think if the planet has breathable air it might have a similar balance of elements and whatnot to earth?

kayotics

i think most rice is planted from splitting an existing plant, but i'm sure there's a seed that starts it all

Delphina

What do the jelly aliens taste like

kayotics

DELPHIE NO

Delphina

MAYBE THEY GROW BACK OR SOMETHING

Jabbage

Whether or not the mushrooms can talk is a fun thing that's not really ever going to get expanded on, but which I had in mind for how the jellies work. I figure that they don't have many ways of getting external sensory information about the world - no eyes, ears, sense of smell etc. They are psychic though, they share thoughts and ideas and information about the world. I figure that the mushrooms have some kind of consciousness and run through the planet, and the jellies can draw from that somehow to orientate themselves and know what's going on

G (Title Unrelated)

that's what I kinda assumed!

I mean, that is basically how forests work on earth. XD

RebelVampire

so basically the mushrooms can function as gps

Jabbage

@Delphina ~ I mean I'm sure Big One has some spare limbs... ~(edited)

mathtans

Oh, wow. Cannibalism-like issue didn't occur to me.

Jabbage

Me neither honestly

mathtans

I think the jelly was a bit broken and said she'd regenerate over time...?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. Story wise, the comic deals with Halisi crash landing on an alien planet and all but being stranded. Do you believe Halisi will learn to farm with the little she managed to salvage and find a way to survive? What obstacles might prevent such an excursion on the planet? How will Halisi deal with the obstacles? Further, how do you think Halisi will deal with managing her mysterious illness, and what is she sick with for that matter? How might her actions be hindered or helped by the native alien life? In what ways do you think her actions will change how the alien life lives their own lives? Finally, do you believe that Halisi will be rescued at some point? If so, how will this come about?

mathtans

I like the mushroom consciousness idea.

RebelVampire

i do think the jelly child said as such.

G (Title Unrelated)

Q3: These are... all questions I have, myself. XD

mathtans

That illness thing is probably the immediate concern. Withdrawal itself is an issue, whether the pills were life saving or not

G (Title Unrelated)

I was wondering if they were antidepressants or something

RebelVampire

yeah for all the optimism in this plan, the pills are gonna be problematic. but i did wonder if they were antidepressants

khkddn

the flashback scene after she takes her last pill makes it seem to me like she was waiting for medical test results

kayotics

it's also a future time, so it could be a pill that prevents a life threatening disease from spreading.

mathtans

That's a good thought. The whole not accomplishing anything in her life is pretty bleak. Maybe that's a symptom.

G (Title Unrelated)

oh I didn't realize that scene was about her somehow

kayotics

my hope is that she's rescued well before she even needs to worry about this single plant producing any viable food options, since even if the plant grows, it's not likely going to sustain her

G (Title Unrelated)

yeah exactly

RebelVampire

not to mention depending on what plant it is it could take forever to grow. plant growth really varies a lot from crop to crop

kayotics

as for the pills, it seems like her illness has a vague timeline. Like a degenerative disease or something cancerous.

G (Title Unrelated)

P.s., I want some rainbow space maize.

RebelVampire

yes i second this

rainbow space maize for everyone

mathtans

It's a maize-ing.

khkddn

a few pages after she takes the pill she wonders "why are red pills better stimulants" and the pill she took was red. but then again if it were antidepressants i would expect a flashback that looked more like a therapists office than a doctor with results

Jabbage

Oh gosh I don't want to interrupt all the amazing discussion about Halisi's mysterious malady but I was so pleased to find out that there's actually multicoloured corn like that

I thought I made it up for a gag but it's reaaaaaal

kayotics

i have the link, if you'd like it

khkddn

oh i love the corn page

kayotics

https://www.sciencealert.com/this-rainbow-corn-is-the-coolest-way-to-eat-your-veggies (rainbow corn)

mathtans

It wasn't too corny.

kayotics

Honestly? corn, rice, and wheat would all be things I'd say should be brought to an earth colony.

G (Title Unrelated)

yeassssst. XD

unless there's naturally occurring yeast.

Man, we don't even know what it would be like to visit another living planet

RebelVampire

if we have rainbow corn, clearly were meant to go into space right now.

thats a good catch with the red pill, @khkddn

i actually hadnt paid attention to the pill color

mathtans

As to the question of Halisi being rescued, I foresee two possible outcomes. First, that she's found still alive, and she's learned enough about the planet natives to further space research or something, or second, that she's found dead, but the natives were so taken by her stories that her name will live on forever in the history books of first contact.

G (Title Unrelated)

I didn't associate the pill color musing with her situation but maybe it IS related!

RebelVampire

though i leave it open shes on some sort of mental health related medicine, i do feel its more likely its a degenrative disease of some sort. cause it makes her wanting to go to space make more sense. cause i feel its one of those things where youd be more willing to do it if you knew that you had a shorter time than most to live

math no, that second one is too dark

although not implausible

khkddn

if halisi is not reunited with her dad at some point i'll be so sad

or at least they speak to each other

Delphina

Yeah, I'm just gonna say I don't think Halisi's gonna make it back to Earth. I think we're probably looking at a "she finds peace and purpose with the remaining time she has" situation.

RebelVampire

im gonna believe in the rescue efforts cause her dad seems to be a determined dude. and tbf they probably know her flight path so unless she was super duper off course they can probably guess a reasonable area she might be.

mathtans

I don't know that it's necessarily dark... it's kind of a happy end, just not for Halisi.

Also, maybe the pills help her speak. But that's a thing she won't need with the jellys.

I do think that receiving a message from an 80 year old spacecraft is probably something worth investigating.

RebelVampire

thatd be mighty convenient. tho in some au shed get so used to the psychic stuff shed go back to live among humans and be like "oh shit thats right they cant just see my mind pictures"

mathtans

That's an interesting point, about readapating to civilization.

Crazy theory time: Eating the mushrooms constantly ends up turning her into a jelly-creature. When the humans arrive, they won't recognize her.

RebelVampire

i do think shell have some affect on the jellies though. cause i think at the very least shes gonna teach them the important of oral traditions and theyll start telling their own stories and collectively grow as a species. i think shes really setting the jellies on the path for this.

LOL

i was thinking earlier about what if the mushrooms are semi psychic cause thats what happens to the jellies when they die

they dont die and just come back as the mushrooms

mathtans

Ooooh, that'd be an interesting twist.

Like maybe Halisi gains some psychic powers too.

(Though we may have ended up back at cannibalism...)

G (Title Unrelated)

not to shoot down anyone's fun speculation, but it doesn't seem like that kind of story, tbh. XD

kayotics

haha

we don't even know if the jellies can die i mean, I'd think they would, since they apparently come into existence somehow

mathtans

Also they haven't overrun the world.

kayotics

maybe theyre very slow at growing

or they just become the water

G (Title Unrelated)

slow-growing seems very likely

mathtans

I figure before they die they just kind of stop transmitting. Maybe run off somewhere. So no one is aware.

(Maybe they're like lemmings?)

G (Title Unrelated)

(that is not how lemmings work, sorry. XD)

mathtans

(I would worry if lemmings could read my thoughts.)

G (Title Unrelated)

(the suicidal lemmings myth was created by disney)

mathtans

shakes fist at mouse

G (Title Unrelated)

(or did you mean something else lol)

mathtans

I free associate. I mean what you want me to mean.

RebelVampire

yeah ive been wondering if the jellies are immortal. although ya know what, we have immortal jellyfish on earth so thats not that ridiculous to imagine.

kayotics

man, jellyfish are messed up

mathtans

There can be only one! hands out swords

kayotics

i can only imagine that the Jellies in earth in a pocket feel the same too. I was able to touch the bell of a couple at an aquarium once and man, that was a weird feeling

G (Title Unrelated)

I've been watching PBS Eons on youtube, I wonder if they've done one about the origins of cnidarians yet...

RebelVampire

honestly im putting money on immortal just cause they didnt even know what death was. unless they do die and just dont understand the hibernating jellies are never coming back

QUESTION 4. One topic resounding throughout the comic is humanity connecting to the past while also embracing the future and expanding. In what ways do you think reconnecting with humanity’s origins have changed Halisi on a personal level? How might they continue to change her? Why do you think Halisi so strongly believes in bringing the past to humans as humanity expands into space? In what ways do you think she’ll think it will help humanity as a whole? How might Halisi’s experiences on this new alien planet change the way she thinks about humanity’s past? How might it change how she conveys humanity’s past to other humans? Overall, what do you believe the story has to show us in regards to balancing the past, the future, and why both are needed?

G (Title Unrelated)

immortal jellies make for a good contrast to Halisi's fears of her own mortality

mathtans

They can be injured though, like the one who had a thing fall on it. It'd suck to be immortal that way.

RebelVampire

that is true. and contrasts like that are good.

Jabbage

(imma point out, Little One also notes that they're going to get better one day, although Halisi is a bit incredulous about that)

mathtans

The connecting to the past thing makes me think of that society. Which didn't seem to have a lot of members. Also, it took them, what, ten years to decide on things? (I was amused by "say that to my face" because, um, I think that's what the person is doing.)

Delphina

Totally saying, if I had a bunch of tentacle arms that would grow back and my weird human buddy was dying, I'd let her eat a couple to survive.

G (Title Unrelated)

I assume their tentacles don't have stingers. XD

RebelVampire

for me itd depend on how fast theyd grow back. cause if i had to spend like 500 years waiting for tentacle arms to grow back, that doesnt sound pleasant

mathtans

If so, they must have turned the stingers off to crawl around on her.

RebelVampire

they probably wouldnt have stingers cause their planet seems peaceful. like none of the jellies are like "oh no predators who will destroy us" so theres no need for their evolutionary track to lead to stingers in so far as i can see

kayotics

in response to the question: There's a lot of parallels to humans expanding to other planets and our own planet's history of colonization. There's a lot of cultural pain that comes with leaving your home and leaving your country (whether by force or by choice), and reconnecting to that cultural heritage is something that decedents often go through to feel like they belong in the world. I can see that being a driving point for delivering some of these artifacts to other planets.

G (Title Unrelated)

IRL Jellies mostly use their stings for catching prey?(edited)

Delphina

Do we even know if they feel pain?

mathtans

Wait, do they eat?

khkddn

they seem to have difficulty understanding when a human is unhappy or feels pain

kayotics

they might not need to eat in the same way

they might just kind of absorb what they need

Jabbage

I'm not sure it's going to come up specifically, but I think they probably dont' feel pain like we feel it? Just because i don't think they have the same sensory capabilities. Little One is frustrated that they can't move around as fast as the others, but I don't think they're in pain as such

G (Title Unrelated)

yeah. I was thinking about the Question and I think... it's interesting how it's framed as this thing where they've decided the colonists NEED this, but like, they can't agree on what's actually important

mathtans

Maybe Halisi will make a tiny scooter for Little One.

G (Title Unrelated)

I think it's the stories, not the objects, that are important.

And like... All stories are important???

RebelVampire

i think that is true, that all stories are important. cause stories are subjective and whats personally important to one person isnt important to someone else

kayotics

i think a few cultural trinkets to go with the stories can help, like... like I remember being a kid and my family having a christmas wooden carousel from germany or something, which is where my family emigrated from, so it was like "oh that's my people" I think having something to connect to some of the stories is important.

RebelVampire

thus why its worth preserving them all and no agreeance is needed really. because any single story can have an affect on someone

Jabbage

@kayotics I really like your point about our history of colonization, and it's something that I've tried to be careful with and approach thoughtfully, because I think that IS a driving factor in Halisi wanting to share people's cultural heritage with them. One of the things that sparked this story is thinkign about how current issues with repatriating cultural objects and deciding who has control over them would translate into a world where we don't even all live on the same planet any more

Delphina

The beginning showed that humanity has VR technology to "experience Earth", but it's several very comfortable degrees apart. I like that normally, being so advanced would make the hardships of the very distant past feel less real (just vaguely amusing/educational) But having Halisi have to figure out how humans lived and survived kind of brings that back and grounds her in a way that establishing Cookie Cutter Terraform Colony Number 14792 wouldn't.(edited)

So in that sense, the physicality of it is important

RebelVampire

i do think @kayotics has a point. especially in this story because of that vr scene where they were touring the roman thing. cause its not like they dont already have stories and ways to view historical things. and the actual objects can really tie that together. but i also think the stories are just as important via the scene where theyre shown to be able to print 3d objects. in essence the object means nothing without the story, but the story is made more powerful by the object. its a symbiotic relationship in a way.

kayotics

I'm glad it's something you've thought about!

I can't help but think about how colonization has affected the planets that the humans have landed on, and how it'll effect the planet that Halisi has landed on as well, no matter how small.

G (Title Unrelated)

I was thinking about that, too!

mathtans

Maybe she'll want it purged from the records to preserve it. And since Dad was just using grad students, he can oblige.

Jabbage

I thought long and hard about what race to make my astronaut because when they were a random white academic, the whole thing had a very different feel. Landing on some planet and educating the rather silly native denizens. I also wanted someone who grew up around the earliest archaeology created by anatomically modern humans so it made sense to make her black and from South Africa anyway

but then I'm white and British and so... yeah, I've basically had a lot to think about and juggle on that one

mathtans

Jabbage: Well, damn. I hadn't considered that, but you make a good point.

At least she's not building churches and asking the jellys to worship.

Incidentally, speaking of growing up, I liked the flashback image with her and dad looking youthful.(edited)

RebelVampire

im interested in the idea of who has control over the cultural objects we deem important, especially in regards to technology. because the comic touched on it a bit with the 3d printing and it really starts getting into the ship of Theseus issues of identity for those objects

mathtans

"Fax me your statue. No, I'm not paying you for it, I'll display it on Planet X for the Xposure."

Jabbage

And is seeing a reproduction ever 'the same?;

Even if it's identical in every way?

mathtans

Probably not, which is why they haven't figured out teleporters.

kayotics

if it's identical in every way i feel like maybe it is the same

but... wait maybe not

mathtans

Just to sum, pretty grand scale for this one, and a powerful beginning. Here's to Halisi and the Jellies.

Sounds like a strange band name.

RebelVampire

see its a really interesting philosophical question to explore. is whether cultural significance relies on the exact object or if we can transfer that as humanity spreads into the stars

mathtans

(I wonder if we'll learn more about jelly civilization.)

G (Title Unrelated)

Also, what stories do we remember or forget...

kayotics

I feel like there's something to be said about the energy that we as humans put into things. Like there's something there in the reverence we give something. like when you see a giant statue that's been prayed to vs a huge statue to commemorate someone, those have different feelings.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

Sadly, this wraps up this week’s Thursday Book Club chat for now. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and joining us! We want to give a special thank you to Jabbage, as well, for making Earth in a Pocket. If you liked the comic, make sure to support Jabbage’s efforts however you’re able to~!

Read and Comment: http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/

Jabbage’s Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/Y8Y8HEYO

Jabbage’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jabbageart

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #earth in a pocket #jabbage

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mint-sm · 7 years

Text

LOS CAMPESINOS! REVIEW/ANALYSIS: Sick Scenes

Note: I haven’t found a full album post video and some of the songs aren’t available on Youtube for me to cite like with my other reviews, sadly. Listen to it on Spotify or something lol

---

So... that was a long time, wasn’t it? Not just the gap between my last review, but between albums. There was a four-year gap between “Sick Scenes” and the band’s last album, “No Blues,” a product that I could see some appeal in but was personally unsatisfied with, but I was still eager to hear another record from them. Unfortunately, we had to wait this long gap, since things have changed, and simply put: the band has grown up.

Not necessarily in just a literal or maturity-level sense, but the fact that the world we’ve been living in has kind of grown unkind to everyone in the last few years. Not only has the music scene the band was affiliated with been changing to something else that’s -- for the lack of better words -- kinda boring, and not only has it also become less profitable, with the band resigning to day jobs for a while (thank God for commemorative football jersey sales!), but this has been a long stretch of time where everyone’s gone much more weary, especially as the world starts bombarding you with crappiness.

Worrying about a quarter-life crisis, fighting physical and mental illnesses, watching all the things from your youth slowly crumble away while past generations trivialize and demean your current problems, watching all your current interests go to shit, and also becoming increasingly uneasy with how crappy and seemingly suicidal the world at large has become, especially with the US presidential election, the Brexit vote, and most importantly, Euro 2016 being largely terrible.

I bring this up because it finally seems to provide the backing for something I desperately missed from “No Blues”: Context. I’ve went over the musical issues I had with “No Blues” a bit more in-depth in my review of it, but lyrically and thematically, there was just a sort of vagueness and a lack of a definite focus that also really turned me off from liking it very much. “Sick Scenes,” however, feels like it’s much more of a return to form in that finally, we do have a more concrete approach to the album, in that we actually know what went behind its philosophy, and now there’s actually more to latch onto and relate to other than vaguely pretty, overly-precise and clean production.

ALL THESE / SICK SCENES PLAYED OUT IN MY MEMORY / WAKE UP / I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING HONESTLY /

The album has actually toned down a lot of that overly pristine mixing and production of “No Blues,” and there’s actually a lot more grit, texture as well as tightness to it. It’s not “Romance Is Boring”-levels noisy, but there is a certain rawness and thump to a lot of the instrumentation again; one standout thing is the snares and kicks like from the song “Sad Suppers,” which feel a bit more crackly, but also god-loads tighter, and in a way that actually has a sort of “dirty” quality to it that I’m a huge fan of for this type of music.

“Sick Scenes” has also been a step-up compositionally as well. The melodies feel a lot catchier, with many of the bangers feeling a lot faster and more driving than those in “No Blues,” and they tend to have a consistent or growing momentum to them that actually feel powerful. “Renato Dall’Ara (2008)” is an awesome opening track because of this, starting off with like these awesome “spiralling-down” backup vocals, a really catchy chorus and more definitive sonic evolution as it goes on, it’s just great (as of this writing, there’s now word this song’s getting a music video next week! Can’t wait!)

THEY WOULD PLAY MY REQUESTS AT THE GUESTLIST’S BEHEST / ANY DISCO ALL ACROSS TOWN / BUT THINGS CHANGE, NOW STELLA’S A LAGER / AND BOY SHE IS ALWAYS DOWNED /

Los Camp have even much improved most of their slower ballads, or at least their sort of “breather” tracks, which now actually have a lot more going for them musically and lyrically. “5 Flucloxacillin” and “The Fall of Home” are especially surprising since basically, praise heaven almighty, GARETH CAN ACTUALLY SING! Like I don’t know what the hell happened in these last 4 years, but holy god Gareth can actually pull of being gentle and melodic, and in a way that actually conveys a lot of emotion and isn’t boring, especially with the subject matter.

Like I said, “Sick Scenes” feels like much more of a step up from “No Blues” and even “Hello Sadness” in that it definitely feels more about actual definite things, but a lot of the mentalities that I did think could’ve made both of those two albums much more interesting than they ended up being are still present here. It took me a while to figure out what made it so different, but I think the early days of “Hold on Now, Youngster…” fell more along the lines of being more actively emotional and visceral, trying to thump these feelings of weirdly upbeat melancholia into your head, whereas things like “No Blues” and this album seem to want to treat it more playfully, look at it with contemplation and humility, trying to find a dryer sense of subtle wittiness to it.

In that sense, “Sick Scenes” feels like it’s sort of blending the best of both worlds by approaching the focused definition, viscerality and sound of the “Youngster” days, but mixing it with a much more self-reflective and mature philosophical method. It’s a reasonable approach for the album considering its subject matter and consistent sense of fond nostalgia, and while it does tread a bit more of older ground as a result, it feels a lot more comprehensive and less overly stuffed or boring, while giving a bit of a wink back to the days of old. Hell, “Renato Dall’Ara (2008)” seems to directly reference “Youngster,” not just with the general feel and attitude (and it’s snarky as hell and I love it), but also that title (hint hint, the “2008” in the title is NOT referencing the Renato Dall'Ara).

PICTURED READING KARL MARX BESIDE HIS PARENTS’ POOL / FACING RIDICULE HE BLEATED / “THAT DOESN’T MAKE ME RICH, NO WAY, / IT’S ONLY OUTDOOR AND IT ISN’T HEATED” /

Unfortunately, a bit of a strike against this more grown-up-approach is that it means some parts of the album fall into the same trap as with “No Blues,” in that sometimes the lyrics can get a little too witty for their own good, and can get a little too obsessed with esoteric referential wordplay rather than actual content or coherence. “For Whom the Belly Tolls” (couldn’t find a video for this) to me feels like one of the weaker links on the album, in that the music isn’t particularly dynamic nor all that catchy for me, and would be ultimately rather unremarkable if not for that spontaneous choral bridge at the halfway point... which to be honest, transitions AWESOMELY.

Also, there are just some occasionally “No Blues”-esque deadpan moments on this album, which again, I can totally find appreciation for, but for me tend to end up kind of samey-sounding and a little boring, especially later on the album with “A Litany/Heart Swells,” or “Got Stendhal’s.” I dunno what to really say about these tbh, not only do they just kinda get repetitive after a bit, but they also feel like retreads to stuff Los Camp’s already done before, like with the “Heart Swells/Pacific Daylight Time” from “Doomed” or “What Death Leaves Behind” from “No Blues.”

However, with all that said, just about every other song on the album has something to offer as I’d expect from Los Camp’s standards, in that the music and subject matters feel diverse and intricate, eliciting conflicting yet consistent feels, and I do mean “feels,” since while this album is mostly much more vibrant than these last few albums, it’s actually still very gloomy and impending at times. Honestly, while that cover art above is still that popular pastel-y pink color that I kinda hate, it actually does feel rather indicative of the album in a good way: This kind of vacant, slacking and tired, nearly zombie-like person that’s so utterly fed up with how life and the world is playing out that they just want to lay there in the middle of a supermarket like an idiot who’s been up all night thinking about how shitty the world is. It’s indicative, interesting, kinda bleak, but also really funny.

(IT SEEMS UNFAIR) TO BE A ROTTEN HORN OF PLENTY! / (IT SEEMS UNFAIR) TO BE CADAVER FOR A CURSE! / (IT SEEMS UNFAIR) TO BE AN OVERFLOW FOR EMPTY! / (IT SEEMS UNFAIR) TO TRY YOUR BEST BUT FEEL THE WORST! /

Tracks like “I Broke Up in Amarante” and “A Slow, Slow Death” manage to encapsulate a lot of complete and utter frustration in an incredibly bombastic and grand veneer. Even though they do feel like they’re about completely different EXACT subjects (which I’m pretty sure are the aforementioned Euro 2016 and Brexit, respectively), they manage to feel oddly cathartic, but in a weird, kind of restrained but still natural-feeling way. There are also a lot of references in the songs like with “No Blues,” but overall it doesn’t feel as overbearing with these tracks, since the lyrics feel like perfectly comprehensible metaphors as is, and I find them pretty charming and relatable, as well as accessible.

“Here’s to the Fourth Time” (couldn’t find a link for this one) is also pretty humorous but also kind of awesome, and it honestly feels like the closest the album gets to “Romance is Boring”’s sound. The melodies are pretty poppy and catchy and have like this sort of just “grooving” and textured flow and feel to them that I love, and the last third of this song goes onto like this really noisy but badass-sounding breakdown with looped drums, distorted guitars and vocals, but in addition to that, the lyrics manage to be probably the most charming on the record, in that obviously the situation is cringey as hell (it’s about sex, and sex in a Los Camp song can never end well) but also kind of awkwardly hilarious and sympathetic, especially given the context the bandmates, now being 30-something-year-olds contemplating their quarter-life crises.

“5 Flucloxacillin” and “The Fall of Home,” once again, do feel the most indicative of that mentality of “I’m so fucking done with this place”-ness, but they approach it in such unique ways to what you’d expect from typical Los Camp fare. “5 Flucloxacillin” is kind of like this livelier indie rock ballad, with again, Gareth’s great vocals, but it’s surprisingly more “mellow” than “gentle”: the vocals are smooth and lively, but there does sound like a bit of deep-seated resentment hidden as the lyrics go into the frustration and bitterness that one would have with taking a lot of medications for things like acne or depression, and growing up in a world of utter chaos while being shittalked to by the people who made it that way whilst undermining your problems, and how even though years have passed and you probably should’ve grown out of them… you still haven’t.

(Hint hint! This song is about baby-boomers being assholes! Do you like this song yet?)

AM I A PIGGY BANK OF OBSOLETE CURRENCY? / AN ORDER OF MERIT FROM COUNTRY KNOWN FOR TYRANNY? / ANOTHER BLISTER PACK POPS, BUT I STILL FEEL MUCH THE SAME / THIRTY-ONE AND DEPRESSION IS A YOUNG MAN'S GAME /

“The Fall of Home” takes a much more intimate approach to these subjects in a way that feels rather basic, but gut-wrenching. It’s a guitar ballad, and while this could’ve easily been boring, it just sounds so nice, with like these great piano and violin accompaniments, and Gareth’s gentle, almost kind of fragile-sounding but beautiful singing, basically listing all the miserable losses of everything you once loved, locally and nationally, going down to shit by simple virtue of time having passed by and the present not being kind to them. It manages to be the simplest, but most poignant track on the entire album, and is honestly probably one of Los Camp’s newest classics.

BATTERY DIES ON YOUR MONTHLY CALL / BUDGET CUT AT YOUR PRIMARY SCHOOL / ANOTHER FAMILY FRIEND FELL SICK / GAVE THE FASCISTS A THOUSAND TICKS /

The ending track, “Hung Empty,” is alright. It’s got some great flow to it and a very catchy chorus hook, and it ends in a way only Los Camp can really get away with, valiantly shouting “Feels like I've been waiting on it, nearly all my life, but what, if this is it now, what if this is how we die!?” in a way that almost feels defiant or daring. It’s a creditable finisher, but at the same time it kind of feels… expected, you know? It feels like a typical Los Camp finisher, but it’s also just kinda basic. It’s actually kind of a microcosm of the entire album for me: it’s good! But some parts of it feel like they’ve been done before.

Like I’ve said, this album does feel like a much more pleasing return to form for the band’s earlier works but approached with a more grown-up, more exposed-to-the-world and vaguely “doomed” mindset, and for the most part, it’s very compelling! It’s got some great songs, and its feel feels a lot more definite and impactful than their last albums, it’s just that there’s a bit of crows feet here and there, and it kinda feels like even with the new perspectives it explores, some of it feels a little by-the-numbers at this point.

Not in a ruinous way, but I hope that for next album they do go even more adventurous than they did here. Again, I do think they already made a good effort; I was going to give this more of a 3.5/5, but after being given more time to appreciate the little intricacies of this album and realizing where a lot of it is coming from, it’s grown on me pretty well, it’s just I kinda wanna see more in the future, y’know? Who knows? Maybe they actually will, and I’m kind of excited by that prospect. We’re just going to have to wait and see.

Maybe if they manage to sell another thousand more of those “Doomed” football jerseys. I don’t care much about football, but goddamn I kinda want one anyway.

LC!4LYF (4/5)

FAVES: “Renato Dall’Ara (2008)”, “Sad Suppers”, “I Broke Up in Amarante”, “The Fall of Home”, “5 Flucloxacillin”, “Here’s to the Fourth Time!”, “Hung Empty”

aaaaand there you have it! Reviews of all the major Los Camp albums! Ahh… fuck

I might do more reviews of different albums in the future, but maybe not. Iunno, maybe I’ll do a few one-shots of albums I wanna talk about, like Gorillaz or something, but I don’t really know what I can really offer for that lol. We’ll see.

#music review #los campesinos #sick scenes

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