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saynotoshityouhate · 3 years

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For Science Ch. 5

Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4

Words: 1781

Tags: angst, love, neediness, bathtub sex, he’s too big but (spoiler) we make it work.

It had been three days. Three long, agonizing days since Bruce slammed the front door and ran away. Yesterday he sent a text, asking if he could come home. Seeing his name light up your screen made your heart jump, so happy to know he was safe and coming back to you. You responded with an enthusiastic yes.

He’d never left like this before - you’d never had a fight or had a moment where his emotions took over so badly. Of course you’d welcome him back, you’d never worried he would hurt you. Not anymore - not since he’d found this new happy medium between his two personas. Bruce clearly wasn’t as confident.

It was hard having him gone for those first few days of your new job at the university, and you’d wished he’d been there to laugh at some of the silly mistakes you had made. His bellowing chuckles were some of your favorite noises in the world.

Pulling up the driveway after classes were through, you saw Bruce’s car parked back in its normal place. Your stomach flipped, unsure what to expect, although you were mostly excited to see him.

You quietly opened the back door, walking into the kitchen. Taking off your heels, you heard soft, muffled classical music and smelled lavender and citrus. You smiled, heading straight to the master bath. The door was cracked open slightly, and you could see the warm glow of candles dancing across the shiny tile walls.

You knocked quietly on the door and pushed it open gently, just enough to stick your head inside. “Bruce?”

Bruce’s head was resting against the cool tile behind him, his eyes closed and his breathing regular. He must have just fallen asleep, his large frame filling most of the oversized jacuzzi tub. “Bruce?” You whispered again, awakening him from his dream. His warm eyes met yours, taking a moment to focus and register that you were really there. “Y/N, I -“ Bruce rested his hands on the side of the tub, beginning to push himself up to greet you. “No, no - stay there, you look so peaceful.” You nervously played with the hem of your untucked blouse.

“May I?” You lifted your hands to the top buttons of your blouse, pausing for Bruce’s approval. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, adjusting his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose. You proceeded in unbuttoning your crisp white shirt, setting it off to the side. Your back was turned to the submerged Bruce, but you knew the slight shimmy of your hips as you stepped out of your skirt and panties would excite him.

You backed yourself over to the edge of the tub, presenting your back to Bruce. He loved unclasping your bra for you. He took pride in being able to do it with just a flick of his finger, and seeing the tension leave your back and shoulders filled him with warmth. You moved the straps down your shoulders and dropped it to the floor, reveling in the ease of domestic life with Bruce - even in this uncomfortable silence.

Lowering yourself into the bubbles across from him, you sighed. The last few days had been hard on you, you were worried about Bruce, had started your new job, and had been brainstorming on ways to reverse your boyfriend’s physical predicament. You stretched your legs out in front of you, resting them against Bruce’s thighs. He took one foot in his large hand, rubbing the arch with gentle pressure. Your eyes fluttered closed at the wonderful release.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for how I reacted.” Bruce’s eyes were cast downwards in shame. “I was so upset with myself, I didn’t want to risk anything happening…” You interrupted him. “No, I overreacted. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m just happy you’re back.” You poked him with your other foot, asking him to do the same magic there as well.

“Where did you go?” You asked timidly, not sure you really wanted to know the answer. “I just went to the tower - Tony left my room as-is…just in case.” You made a noise of acknowledgement, your fingers idly playing with the bubbles that adorned your chest.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” Bruce extended a hand, inviting you to come closer. You accepted, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I was scared, Bruce.” He held your face in his hand, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

You kissed him fiercely, as if you wanted him to stop talking before he gave any excuses or reasons to leave again. You couldn’t help the whimpers leaving your chest, three days was a long time for you two to be apart.

Bruce’s cock throbbed against you, eliciting a groan from the large man. “I missed you so much,” he mumbled, nipping and sucking at your neck and collar bone. Moving to straddle his waist, Bruce’s hands found your hips, helping hold you steady.

“I wanna try - I think I can do it - I wanna try.” You ground your hips against his hardening length, your breaths already ragged and uneven. You knew it would hurt, but you wanted to do this for him. You were certainly wet enough. “No, I don’t wanna hurt you, don’t-“

You had your mind made up. Your much smaller hand took Bruce’s from his waist, bringing it to your core. “Stretch me out, please. I need you.” He could never resist you. Slowly inserting one large digit, knuckle by knuckle, his eyes were trained on you, closely monitoring for any inkling of pain or discomfort. You were feeling nothing of the sort. Your head was thrown back, the stretch sending delicious shockwaves through your limbs.

“One more, please” you breathed. “Y/N, I-“ You shot him a look, like daggers from your irises. “One. More. Please.” Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He adjusted his fingers, slowly adding a second, drawing a moan from deep inside you. “I think - I think I’m ready. Please - give it to me? Let me make you feel good. Please?”

“Baby, I’m not sure about this. Let’s just start here, you’re taking me so well, maybe next time, we gotta take it slow.” You whined, loudly, and bucked your hips down onto his two, thick fingers. The water of the tub splashed over the edge. “Don’t wan’ take it slow, Bruce. Wan’ you - your cock. Puhleeeaase, Bruce.”

“The minute anything starts to hurt, you have to tell me, okay? Promise?” You nodded your head vigorously before pulling him closer and kissing him in gratitude. Bruce slowly removed his digits, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing but the bath water.

Bruce’s eyes were dark with lust, but still maintained the warmth of his concern for you. He held your gaze as he aligned himself with your opening. Every millimeter seemed to take an hour, your breath hitching in your throat as you stretched further to accommodate him. Bruce held your hips tightly, trying to maintain control and composure as you took him so well. It had been years since he felt the velvety warmth of a woman around him.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to move slowly and methodically. You focused on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth - pushing out whines and whimpers along the way. You attempted to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but Bruce pushed you back, wanting to keep an eye on you. “You’re doing so well, my girl, look at you.”

Looking down, you expected to see that he had completely bottomed out inside you, but there was plenty more left to go. His hand held the base, not allowing you to go any further, if that was even possible. You smiled up at him, so proud of yourself, feeling so full.

Bruce’s heart swelled - and he could finally relax knowing you were okay…better than okay really. You began to rock your hips, exploring your body’s limits, feeling the push and pull of Bruce against your walls. It was worth the effort.

You established a comfortable rhythm, riding him slowly, but forcefully. The waves of now lukewarm water splashed around you, adding to the symphony of delicious noises you both were making - the feelings sending you both into nonverbal bliss. Bruce began to tense, and you weren’t far behind. The only one with a free hand, you reached down to access your clit, quickly sending shockwaves of pleasure ripping through you. You clenched down on Bruce’s girth as you climaxed, sending him over the edge with you. His guttural growl sent vibrations through your skin as he filled you up for the very first time. You collapsed into him, every muscle giving out from the pain and exertion.

Bruce held your weakened body in his arms, both of you exhausted beyond belief. The tub had turned cold and you began to shiver. Concerned, he held you tightly with one arm while he used the other to push himself out of the bath. You clung tightly to his neck as he walked you to the bedroom. Placing your down gently, he dried you off with a towel and handed you your robe to snuggle up into before returning to clean up the bathroom. Once you were dressed, you crawled back to the pillows aligned neatly on your bed and waited for Bruce to return.

Wrapped up in your fluffy robe, you nuzzled into Bruce’s chest. “Can I ask you a question?” Your fingers idly traced his chest, droplets of water still gripping the coarse hairs on his sternum. Bruce grunted in the affirmative, his eyelids were heavy the minute his head hit the pillow. “If you could, you know, switch back. Would you?”

Bruce hummed. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. Done some basic calculations, consulted with colleagues…but that was all before.”

“Before what?” You whispered, tipping your head to look up at him, his eyes still closed gently.

“Before you. Before our life together. Before I saw the way your eyes light up when I enter a room. You read about that sort of thing in books, right? But I never knew it was real. And me? Of all people? In this state?” You sat up, captivated by his words, tears welling up and blurring your vision. His eyes met yours, one hand tracing your spine, while the other held yours.

“So no. I’m not interested in changing back. I am Bruce Banner, I am the Hulk, and I love you.”

#saynotoshityouhate #for science #bruce banner angst #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #professor hulk x reader #professor hulk #marvel smut #avengers fic

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eijispumpkin · 4 years

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On Allegory, Imperfection, and Inadvertent Subversion: A small essay about Akimi Yoshida’s Banana Fish and Salinger’s “A Perfect Day For Bananafish”.

In the story of Banana Fish, Yoshida references Salinger’s short story “A Perfect Day For Bananafish” (which henceforth shall be addressed as “Perfect Day” simply for ease of reading) several different ways, both in-universe and out. It is exceedingly evident that the character of Ash Lynx is heavily based on Seymour Glass, and one might surmise that Banana Fish is an allegorical retelling of “Perfect Day”, especially given that in the original story, Ash Lynx dies of what is arguably a “passive suicide” – that is, when faced with an injury that isn’t immediately fatal, he chooses to bleed out rather than seek help, which when framed as a suicide, parallels the much more violent and sudden suicide of Seymour Glass.

However, this surface-level allegorical reading ignores a very important variable in the story of Banana Fish, namely the counterpart to Ash’s Seymour: Eiji’s Sybil. While Ash and Seymour share many similarities (both are traumatized, troubled geniuses with partly-Irish roots who grew up in New York City), the similarities between Eiji and Sybil are very few. Eiji does symbolize a world of innocence to contrast with Ash’s world of horrors, but unlike Sybil, Eiji is an adult with agency of his own, and though he retains some of Sybil’s childlike innocence and is able to connect deeply with Ash as a result of it, Eiji’s agency and decisions ultimately change the narrative and its meaning.

That is to say, by introducing Eiji as an imperfect Sybil, one who has agency and can actually provide Ash with understanding and support of the kind that Seymour never got from Muriel or others around him (and which Sybil, being three years old, was in no way equipped to provide), Banana Fish directly subverts “Perfect Day”’s original message of cynicism in the face of a material world unconcerned with the horror of lost innocence and its resulting isolation.

To understand what this means, it’s important to first understand the meaning and context of “Perfect Day” and the circumstances in which it was written. “Perfect Day” is a story written first and foremost as a critique of American materialism in the wake of WWII; Salinger echoes the concerns of the Lost Generation before him, in a way, by really driving home the alienation from modern adult life felt by those who were exposed to the horrors and traumas of the battlefields in wartorn Europe, only to return home and find a culture completely removed from it all. Seymour Glass is a stand-in for Salinger himself—Kenneth Slawenski, in his 2010 biography of Salinger, notes that on returning from the European theater, Salinger “found it impossible to fit into a society that ignored the truth that he now knew.”

If that sounds familiar, good, because it should! This is precisely the motif of “Perfect Day” (as well as some of Salinger’s other work featuring members of the Glass family, such as Seymour’s younger brother Buddy, which, as an aside, is a name that might stick out to Banana Fish fans. Whether this is an intentional reference or a coincidence, I can’t say for certain, but given the depth of other references within this allegory, I’m inclined to think it’s intentional).

As a quick summary for those who may need a refresher, “Perfect Day” is a story about a deeply traumatized man who feels isolated from the rest of society because of the weight of the horrors he has been exposed to. Muriel Glass, Seymour’s wife, is the epitome of this: she represents the materialistic culture that Seymour feels so alienated from, always talking about brand-name things and luxuries and upward mobility. Seymour rejects her company in favor of playing the piano for children and spending time on the beach, where he tells three-year-old Sybil Carpenter a story about bananafish, fish that gorge themselves on bananas in holes under the sea until they’re too fat to escape the entrances to these little banana dens, and then they die. Instead of dismissing this story as something bizarre, Sybil claims she sees a bananafish in the water, which endears her to Seymour, until she leaves, at which point he returns to his hotel room and shoots himself in the head.

In “Perfect Day”, this interaction (between Sybil and Seymour) is the center of a set of dualities. Sybil represents the state of childlike innocence that Seymour longs to return to, and because of her innocence, she can “understand” him in ways that the material adults like her mother or Muriel do not. Seymour’s isolation is a product of his society and the lack of support and understanding for traumatized veterans returning from war, and it shows in the way that adults his age cannot connect with him, and he cannot connect with them. This disconnect between worlds is what eventually results in Seymour’s suicide—he can fit neither in the world in which he wishes to be, nor in the one in which he must reside, and it ends in his death.

The question is, then, how does this relate to Banana Fish?

As mentioned previously, Ash Lynx is a very clear parallel to Seymour Glass. He’s a young man faced with immeasurable trauma from which he believes he can never recover, and there is a clear motif of duality in his entire character arc: his world (one of violence and trauma) versus the “normal” world (where innocent people who have “regular” lives may reside). Like Seymour, Ash feels trapped in a world he can’t escape, knowing “the truth” that he knows, about the horrors that people are capable of.

It follows, then, that Eiji Okumura is a parallel to Sybil Carpenter, who represents childlike innocence and a world that Ash longs to be part of but can’t reach. And to an extent, this is true: Eiji is sheltered and innocent, comparing real-life to TV shows and being completely unexposed to kidnappings, drugs, guns, and violence. However, there is a sharp contrast between Eiji and Sybil, one that fundamentally changes the relationship between Eiji and Ash and makes it radically different from that between Sybil and Seymour:

Eiji is an adult, and as such, he has agency of his own.

Unlike Sybil with Seymour, Eiji can make his own choices and face Ash as an equal. Where Sybil is a child who runs back to her mother after playing with Seymour at the beach, Eiji actively and consistently chooses to stay with Ash, over and over. He even explicitly tells Ash “you are not alone”, which is a huge and direct contrast to the message of inevitable, devastating isolation from “Perfect Day”. Whereas Sybil’s innocence serves as a reminder to Seymour of what he’s lost and cannot regain, Eiji’s innocence is a beacon of comfort and companionship to Ash. Eiji is someone with whom Ash can relax and be playful like a boy his own age, as noted by Max and Ibe watching them interact.

This communication and connection are present between Sybil and Seymour, but in a very different way. Seymour prefers to play make-believe and tell silly stories to kids, because he went from being a wide-eyed innocent to being traumatized and longing for a place to belong, and Sybil as a child represents what he wishes he had, while the adults around him (most notably Muriel, his wife) are a world he doesn’t understand that feels false.

This is not the dichotomy of worlds that Ash faces. Ash faces a world of trauma and suffering that he sees himself as trapped in, and a world of peace and security that he thinks is beyond his reach. Where Seymour yearns for a return to innocence, Ash yearns to escape his pain, and the combination of this subtle difference with the effect of Eiji’s agency and the narrative structure of Banana Fish results in a subversion of the themes in “Perfect Day”.

Banana Fish is a long-form narrative, while “Perfect Day” is a short story. Part of the inherent structure of a long-form narrative is character growth and development, which for obvious reasons is much less prominent in short stories. As a result, Eiji’s impact on Ash is clearly visible over the course of the narrative, and it becomes impossible to declare that Ash is firmly rooted in the world he sees himself as trapped in. By the end of the story, even Ash wavers on this assertion; although he ultimately succumbs to suicide, a narrative choice that been criticized ever since its publication, in the moments leading up to his stabbing, he does believe that Eiji is right, or at least right enough that he wants to see him one last time (this is ambiguous and open to interpretation, of course).

Why did this narrative choice spark so much controversy and outcry from fans? Not every story that ends in tragedy is criticized as poorly written for it; examples range from Shakespearean tragedies to “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story”, a film in which the entire cast dies in the climax. Yet just about all fans agree that it fit the narrative. Clearly, then, it is possible to craft a story that ends in death and tragedy but still feels well-written. What makes Banana Fish different?

I would argue that the answer lies in this imperfect allegory. By creating a Sybil-esque character that can interact with the Seymour-esque character as equals, can stay with him, and can listen to him and support him through his grief and pain, Akimi Yoshida inadvertently turned “Perfect Day”’s message on its head. The tragedy of “Perfect Day” is Seymour’s isolation. By giving Ash a warm, compassionate relationship in which he is assured over and over that he is not alone, Yoshida upturns this entirely.

Ash is led to believe in this dichotomy mostly by his isolation. He believes that since Eiji is in mortal danger as a result of being special to him, he needs to send Eiji to safety, i.e. somewhere far from him and far from the reach of those who would hurt them both. This isn’t a miscommunication issue or anything of the sort; this is Ash being afraid for Eiji’s life; Eiji isn’t averse to returning to Japan itself. Eiji is averse to returning to Japan without Ash, as he mentions when he talks about how Ash could be a model, and tells him about kami. In establishing this as a consistent tenet of Eiji’s character, Yoshida ensures that Ash is not isolated in the same way that Seymour was.

In addition, Eiji can move freely between both worlds set up in Ash’s perceived dichotomy, a motif made explicitly clear when Eiji leaps the wall to freedom and light at the beginning, leaving Ash (and Skipper) behind in captivity in the dark. Despite this escape from the world of violence and crime, Eiji returns of his own volition and stays with Ash, experiences his own fair share of horrific traumas, and still leaves in the end to return to his world. This makes it clear that the dichotomy is less stark than Ash is led to believe, unlike the repeated validation of his isolation that Seymour receives, and is another reason that the ending of “Perfect Day” is inconsistent with the ending of Banana Fish

A quick sidebar: Banana Fish has no real Muriel, but if pressed, I would posit that the closest parallel to Muriel that exists is Blanca, whose main purpose in the narrative seems to be to reinforce to Ash that he can’t escape the world he feels trapped in and longs to leave. But where in “Perfect Day” Muriel symbolized the materialism of American society after WWII, Blanca has no real established reason to be so invested in keeping Ash down, and in conjunction with the fact that despite his own traumas, he can retire peacefully to the Caribbean, his role in the story falls to pieces entirely. Where Muriel represented a lifestyle that Seymour fundamentally could not reach, thereby reinforcing his isolation, Blanca is supposed to parallel Ash to a degree, but his words to Ash do not match his actions whatsoever.

Therefore, if anything, Blanca’s assertions serve only to strike a contrast with Eiji’s (and Max’s, to an extent, since Max and Eiji both agree that Ash can escape this and they want him to heal). Moreover, Blanca’s relationship with Ash is that of a mentor and a student, a relationship that is shown to be fundamentally unhealthy, given that Blanca willingly worked for Ash’s abuser, a mafia don who he knew trafficked children. Some argue that Blanca was blackmailed into this service, but given that Blanca chose to betray Golzine at the end and work with Ash with seemingly no real provocation or change in his relationship with Golzine, this supposition seems flawed. Blanca’s assertions about Ash and his ability to forge bonds and leave his world the way Eiji does, and indeed the way Blanca himself does, are simply incorrect, and the narrative itself provides us all the tools we need to realize that Blanca is wrong, even without the extended context of a parallel to Muriel Glass.

Returning to the main issue at hand, i.e. that of the imperfect allegorical connections between Sybil and Eiji, and the dichotomy between worlds that Ash perceives, it’s clear that in creating a positive, nurturing relationship between Ash and Eiji rather than a one-off encounter, Yoshida inadvertently created a story about connections rather than isolation. Ash’s attempts to keep Eiji safe from harm by sending him home are countered by Eiji’s assertion that he only wants to go to Japan if Ash comes with him, which is a kind of selfless devotion that reaches through Ash’s isolation until he decides that he won’t try and separate himself from Eiji anymore, which is a massive blow to the dichotomy of his supposed two worlds. This is the narrative acknowledging that both worlds can coexist.

Not only this, but also Eiji, who has his own trauma—he’s kidnapped several times, shot at, drugged, sexually assaulted, attacked with a knife by a drugged friend, exposed to several deaths, shot at people in fights himself, and ultimately nearly killed by a gunshot wound—despite all of this, Eiji is still allowed to exist in the world of peace and regularity. Eiji’s innocence is sharply tempered by traumatic experiences, and he can still walk between worlds. If Eiji, Max, Ibe, Jessica, Sing, Cain, and Blanca can all experience traumas, why is Ash the only one who cannot escape? Is there some kind of magical bar of “too much” trauma, like an event horizon on a black hole?

Obviously, no.

So it comes to this: Essentially, the reason that the ending is so controversial, and why I personally believe that the open ending of the anime is an improvement to the original story, is that the allegory between Banana Fish and “Perfect Day” falls apart because of Eiji’s agency. Ash wants to protect Eiji, and to protect Eiji’s innocence and light, because he feels that it’s beyond his own reach, but Eiji forges a bond with him that is rooted in mutual respect and care, and in doing so, undoes the devastating, painful isolation that led to Seymour’s suicide. This is why Ash’s death can feel so hollow—it doesn’t follow the pattern of “Perfect Day”; after the entire story is about Ash’s bonds and those who love him unconditionally, it feels almost like a shock-value plot twist tacked on, rather than a tragic inevitability.

I don’t believe that Yoshida intended Banana Fish to be a subversion of “Perfect Day”. I believe she meant it as a one-to-one allegory, and this is why she kept the ending as Ash choosing death. However, due to the changes in themes because of the characters and their relationships, Ash is not isolated in the profound way Seymour was, and his death is therefore not nearly as impactful.

#this is 2600 words i am so fucking sorry but also im not sorry im just verbose #banana fish #banana fish meta #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Ducktales Finale Review: The Last Adventure! or So Long and Thanks for All The Ducks

Hello all you happy people. The day we’ve all simultaneously waited for and dreaded is here. The grand finale to a five year journey.. and for me an almost one year journey of covering season 3 as it came out. It was thanks to this show i’ve been able to make money doing what I love. Without it I never would’ve found my patreon Kev, and I never woul’dve had the solid focus to keep going as long as I have. And I never would’ve had all you lovely people reading my work. Thank you for that. I hope you’ll stick around even though the series is gone, I love you all. But as the sun sets on this series I have one last episode of the season, and the series to cover. I won’t be doing it in my usual recap style due to it’s sheer length and scope, but I promise you if you join me under the cut I will break down eveyrthing I can about this final adventure, it’s huge, awe inspiring twists.. and it’s heartwarming conclusion. It��s everything you could want from a finale short of a Grandma Duck Cameo, and i’ts under the cut with full spoilers. Seriously if you do not want any spoilers TURN BACK NOW. I’m opening with probably the biggest spoiler of the finale.

I Think She’s A Clone Now You were warned. So.. Webby is Scrooge’s Clone, made by FOWL as part of a decades long scheme to find the papyrus of binding, and raised by Beakly to keep this precious child out of their sinister clutches. I have hundreds of reaction images, several for what the fuck.. none of them seem sufficient.. ALL OF THEM together like some megazord of what the fuck are not sufficient for how much this reveal caught me off guard. It caught ALL of us off guard. I’m sure even those who called it still were suprised that’s the direction it took. I think we all expected her parents died by FOWL, or her parents were FOWl with Pepper being one of them, or anything else. So naturally it took around 14 drafts, and me going the fuck to sleep as I had stayed up to watch the finale and thought I could just smoothly transition into writing the review despite there being a LOTTTTT to unpack.

Even after the recharge though this took a bit of doing... so now i’ve done it... what’d I think? Whelp....

I liked it. I like it the more I think about it. Even the problems I had with it just kinda melted away as I thought about it. I understand if you do not. This twist will not be for everyone, it changes Webby’s character and story entirely, ruins tons of fan theories, and in general is batshit even for a series that in the same finale, turned Manny into a shout out to Gargoyles, complete with Keith “My Body is Ready” David. This series is genuinely batshit and loves it, but this is a LOT to ask dramatically, a lot to rewrite expectation wise and a lot to thinka bout. There’s a reason besides sleep deprevation it took me a whlie to fully grasp how I felt. So if you don’t like it fine, but i’m going to make my best case.

Starting with something that made me realize I fully like it: It dosen’t invalidate Webby’s charcter. The one little problem I had left was “Well dosen’t Webby having the McDuck bloodline mean she couldn’t be specail if she wasn’t a McDuck? That sure the rest of the cast are specail but you can’t be really important without it?” Honestly.. no. Webby is who she is not because she’s a McDuck.. but because she’s Webby. She got her martial arts and mystery solving skills through Beakly and being raised. She had intate talent sure.. but as we’ve seen with the boys through the whole series, talent has to be honed. Skill has to be earned and learned. Webby worked hard to research other civilizations, worked hard to hone herself into a deadly fighting machine with her mother’s help, worked hard to be every bit as cool as her idol who turned out to be her biological dad. She earned her badassery, her wisdom and her courage SQUARE.

And more than that she’s her own person. Her adoptive parent and biological parent are both paranoiacs afraid of betryal, unwilling to trust, and slow to let anyone in. By all accounts Webby should be the same.. but she’s not. Oh sure she has some paranoia and is willing to slit some throats, she was raised by the world’s best spy and is the daughter of the world’s greatest hero, that was never going to be gone entirely. But at her core she just wants to trust people. She just wants to love them and be loved. And.. that’s why her family loves her. Because she’s the kindest, the warmest and the best of them. They love her because she’s Webby and that’s she’s family, they could care less who she’s related to. All it really changes is how Scrooge acts around her and that gives us fans tons to work with.

It’s also expertly revealed, which helped ease us into it. Webby is just as shocked and confused as we are and is seriously hurt, which makes her vulnerable to the villains. Kate Miccui deserves a goddamn award for voice acting and if their isn’t an award show for that their should be. While she’s been fantastic with Webby all series long this is her finest performance, going from Webby’s usual self, to all the hurt she goes through.. to her quitter moments at the end, calling Scrooge dad and giving out a little noise that makes it clear as Beakly tries to leave, that no.. she’ still her family.. she’s still her mom and she’s not going anywhere.

As for the concept being a bit ridiculous yes it is.. but so is this universe. This universe is entirely insane in the best fucking way possible: I mean.. look at this final group shot.

We have an old man whose somehow still alive simply because he was too busy to die, an inventor whose cloned himself multiple times so clones are fesable and is probably a clone himself given how the last finale went, an awkward armored superhero and his biotech filled girlfriend, a small boy robot weapon of discretion who put his head on his brother’s body, a no longer headless manhorse former harbinger of the apocalypse with the silky voice of keith david as one big homage to gargoyles, a lesbian living shadow and her sister, a superhero who based himself on a fictional character and his boyfriend/sidekick who by all accounts should be dead by now, a lesbian military superheroine from the moon, STORKULES COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH, his moong goddes sister, two adopted family stunt pilots, a bunch of super intelligent mice, an odd duck whose kinda sorta dating a giant shrimp, his cousin with super luck powers, my globetrotting boys, an immortal treasure hunter and in the family proper: a former spy turned adopted mom of a clone, a woman who lived on the moon for a good decade, a man who once trapped everyone in what would essentially be the plot of the mcu’s second best work by pure accident, a blue boy whose piloted a plain, captained pirates, and has his own talk show, a green boy whose ran a multi-trillion dollar company, nearly destroyed all of time and space and is under investigation for fraud, and a red boy who has a hulk-esque rage filled embodiment of all his suppressed emotions, whose fondest wish was tall legs, and who can easily take out a giant magica supermachine with some fancy wiring. So the richest duck in the world having a clone daughter, while divisvie and what not.. is far more plausable than we give it credit for. As are her new sisters who Id in’t forget but are part of the whole twist.

So yeah, I like the twist and my nitpick is more that despite having a full season to set it up.. they saved it for the last episode. Instead of BUILDING on Webby’s desire to know more about her family and having the twins show up earlier.. it’s all shove into the finale. It’s a well done shoving but there’s so much that could be explored with Webby being Scrooge’s daughter, so much that futzes with the regular family dynamics and we don't’ get any of it. Sure it was probably saved for a possible season 4 but they treated this season as the last. Manny being an apocalyptic man horse voiced by the uber sexy keith david, and no I will not stop bringing that up even outside of it’s own section and why yes it is getting it’s own section, is the kind of revelation you can leave for one last episode. “One of the main cast is a clone” really isn’t and that’s disapointing.

Especially since thinking back to life and times.. Webby IS a lot like Scrooge was before circumstance hardened him. She’s tough, resourceful.. but also has a peppy spirit to her. It adds interesting shades to her character, where she zigs where Scrooge zags, how much of it is her upbringing with Granny versus his with his parents, how much did Beakley play into it. There’s A lot to dig into and given I have most of the series left to review, I will get to dig into it, and there’s a lot to be explored in fanfic so if I wasn’t already planning a massive one before I sure as fuck am now. So it’s not a bad twist nor bad we get to write the future.. but I do wish the crew THEMSELVES had done more with it. Still my bar for “not fucking up the entire show” is pretty low after Star Vs ended with her committing implied genocide to stop a genocide and How I Met Your Mother ended “But the real journey was in how much I want to bang, bang bangity bang I said a bang bang bangity bang your aunt robin now your mother conveniently died”. I can handle “This twist is kind of weird but also really intresting.” If the twist isn’t for you, as I said i get it. This is my opinion. Now for the thing I won’t shut up about.

I LIVE AGAIN:

Look i’ve made no secret how thirsty I am for Keith David nor how much of a national treasure I rightly believe him to be. He’s one of my faviorite voice actors, with a mind boggling number of awesome rolls, mostly recently as a fowl mouthed coffe cup encouraging a teacher to sabotage his rival teachers breaks on close enough. Even if I didn’t like Gargoyles, which I do, i’d have an entire section talking about that Manny reveal.

Manny was already objectively one of the best parts of the show, a hilariously weird addition that was also relatable as he just wanted to fit in. I did not know you could make him better. Then they gave him Keith David’s voice and revealed he’s one of the four horseman of the apocalypse, but doesn’t want to end the world he just wants to be a normal dude, AND turned him into a shout out to the last part of the disney afternoon they hadn’t touched, my favorite part of it and a show i’ve been sitting on watching in full for far too long. Motherfucking Gargoyles.

But given how unique it was for the Disney Afternoon and how much Disney had no desire to ever reference or use the franchise, still no fucking clue as to why they are sitting on money here, I expected it to be sadly but understandably left out. Instead they made Manny into an expy for them, gave him the voice of their leader Goliath, the voice of an angel, and had him say “I LIVE AGAIN” complete with the utterly transcendent theme song. Seriously give it a listen.

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So yeah I couldn’t not mark out at this. Amazing fucking stuff and almost as unexpected as the clone thing and easily my second faviorite part of the fiinale only NARROWLY topped by the curtain call. Which we’ll get to. Keith David took his time getting to this series but they saved the best guest voice for last. Utter tremendous.

Huey Season?: I”ll save more of this for my breakdown as the season as a whole but yeah while the finale as a whole was good.. I do feel Huey got short changed. He got PLENTY of development this season, and some REALLY good scenes with Bradford.. but ultimately he got overshadowed by the Webby thing. it just never quite felt like Huey got a real resolution to his character arc the way his brothers did. He still got some REALLY good moments, his “Just cough up the information Bentina!” was one of his finest and Danny Pudi did his best. The BUILDUP was good but hte payoff was non existant and easily the weakest part of an otherwise triumphant finale. I feel the final plot was ultimately just a bit too jam packed to really have Huey feel vital to it the way Dewey was to the Della arc and Louie was to his own arc. Both tgot big emotional payoffs in his finale but the most I could gather here was he accepted adventure? I guess. It just really feels off, like I missed the payoff to everything when it’s probably just nonexistent and that bothers me a lot. In a finale that was almost all hit.. this was easily the biggest misstep. I don’t have as much to say here on it.. but that’s because it’s really that simple: they gave Huey’s arc a ton of build up in this last episode and some of his others, really made him into Bradford’s good counterpart.. then just sorta.. forgot it because “oh shit Webby’s scrooge’s daughter kinda need to pull focus here”. Had they given this arc at least one more episode, we might of had time for it. Granted i’m not sure how much they could get away with but we clearly needed at least one more episode and what they chose to jettision, the climax to Huey’s story.. was way more important than they clearly thought and i’m heavily disappointed.

Bradford’s Big Hole Speaking of payoffs the missing mysteries payoff.. is a mixed bag. I expected all of them to combine some how into some elaborate plan I just wasn’t seeing. In hindsight it does make sense that wasn’t it: Bradford hates overcomplicated schemes, so his would be incredibly simple and require as few moving parts as possible. It still dosen’t stop the fact that the big plan to cap off the entire series built over a season... was to build a giant stygian hole of non existence to throw people into.

Yes really. Instead of using the Payprus to write them out of existance, if carefully worded or try doing it all at once or anything practical.. Bradford just plans to shove everything he dosen’t want in the world anymore into a hole. Look i’ts not like it ruins the episode, there’s still tons of tension from him holding Scrooge’s loved ones over his hole and threating to throw them into it’s gaping void. And it’s foiled by a 12 year old just.. shutting it off. Like I get him leaving an off switch on, that’s just common sense.. but why wouldn’t he have a remote or something to turn it back on? one with a password or something to lock it. There’s something inherently underwhelming about as series ending plan that can be summed up “hope no one shuts my unguarded hole. “

The finale does make for it by using the missing mysteries all in VERY clever ways. In fact every episode in the season had some sort of payoff here. It’s what makes up for how baffling the main plan is: every other thing, from the missing mysteries to the guest stars has lead up to this one moment, this one final adventure. Which leads me too

An Hurricane of Payoffs:

So from the top Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!: Isabella Finch herself ends up being VITAL to the story and to Bradford’s backstory, as does Junior Woodchucking as a whole. Quack Pack!: Gene is the fuel for Blot’s glove.. though he also fucks off right afterwords.. never to be seen again or help out at any point...

Double-O-Duck in You Only Crash Twice!: This was the most unexpected and elevated the episode in hindsight for me as what seemed like a waste of time.. wound up setting up the first part of the finale, and the final battle with Steelbeak, and in clever ways with Steelbeak using the intelliray on himself, Launchpad muttering the map in his sleep via his smart self and Dewey remembering the base layout.

The Lost Harp of Mervana: Used as a lie detector for that heartbreaking interrogation scene.

Louie’s Eleven: Introduced Daisy setting up Donald’s plot which i’ll get to.

Astro BOYD: My baby boy comes back for this episode! He also gets one of the best lines of it “I’m a Head!”. That is the most ralph wiggum the boy has ever been. I’m so proud.

Rumble For Ragnarok: Okay I was wrong nothing from this one comes back. Still a great episode. Same with the trickening. Both are VERY stellar episodes though, so I give it a pass. You can’t give a nod to EVERYTHING.

The Phantom and the Sorceress: The Blot and Super Sayian God Super Sayian Lena, as well as Lena’s character development from said episode. They Put a Moonlander on the Earth!: Launchpad helping Penny realize her purpose. Forbidden Fountain: Jeeves is un-babied as a trap Let’s Get Dangerous!: Drake and Gosalyn Return, and Solageo’s Circut ends up being vital to the climax.. in the strangest and funnest way to say possible but still. It counts. Escape from the Impossibin: Beakley’s near breakdown at the idea FOWL has come back. It was already heartbreaking and the first adventure had made it even more so.. but now it’s out and out DEVISTATING. The one thing after her daughter is not only back.. but SHE’S the reason he’s in Scrooge’s life and home and her giving up SHUSH has now left her wide open.

The Split Sword: Probably the best out of all of these as it ends up directly playing into the climax in an awesome way i’m saving for Bradfords New Gods: Storkules shows up. Okay so that every episode claim bit me on the ass. Also when did these two meet? I mean probably at end of spear of selene but the more important question is WHY DID YOU ROB ME OF THESE TWO MEETING AT ANY POINT IN THE SERIES.

The First Adventure: Naturally the Payprus comes back as Does herons needling bradford to stop denying what he is.

Fight For Castle McDuck: Suprisingly the blessed bagpipes ended up being VITALLY important. And giving us sexiest man alive infinity years running Keith David for an episode. Last Christmas; Santa Cameo

Beaks in the Shell: Gandra being taken and the Lost Library being setup for this episode.

Lost Cargo: The Stone of What Was. And Credit where its due what FELT like simply a filler episode with a tantengal connectoin.. ended up probably being one of the most important episodes. Fair play.

Life and Crimes: Magica turning Bradford into a non sentient bird, like what happened to her brother.... proving once again this episode really REALLY needed as subplot attached to lead into the finale or something.

Bonus Round: Pilot payoffs by the pound. Seriously Scrooge and Donald’s last lines to each other, the badass return of “I’m a Pilot”, more on that in a minute, and even other smaller call backs like “Keep Getting Up” and webby sucessfully getting some juice to Louie’s pride. All top notch stuff and it really makes the finale FEEL like one with all this coming back full circle. So i’ve hinted at it enough, let’s bring on the bad guy.

The First Woodchuck

We’ve had some mixed payoffs so let’s get to one that’s just out and out excellent. Bradford Buzzard.. is the best villian the show ever had. Now I will give the caveat that my favorite forever and always will be

You know it, I know it. But Bradford is the best genuine threat of the series, with Marc Evan Jackson perfectly balancing his menace and genuine evil.. with his steadfast believe that he isn’t evil, and his calm, controlled business demeanor. It’s one of the best performances of the show and he deserves all the credit for it and after seeing him in supporting roles for his career, even if his role as Kevin on Brooklyn Nine-Nine is fucking awesome and I’m sad that show is ending, it’s nice to see him step into a big meaty role as the big bad and utterly nail it.

And the finale.. pays eveyrthing off with him, apart from the plan itself perfectly. Starting off him being revealed as Isabella Finch’s grandson... was a stroke of genius. I didn’t expect her to come back in play but it gives perfect reason both why he knew about the mysteries.. and why he’s like this.

Like Scrooge did with his nephews, niece and daughter, Isabella dragged Bradford all around the world seeing the unseen, thinking it was fun. The problem was... Bradford HATED it. He hated every minute of it, like as one post pointed out Rusty Venture from the Venture bros, and felt he should be in school. He wanted a normal life and a normal world and not.. this waking nightmare. So to him, fixing the world, stopping this sort of thing is the only way and that doing so is a good thing. His problem is how he adapted to it.

We see that best in his mirror images, the people he’s in direct contrast with and the show knows it. Starting off with the one he’s not like at all is Scrooge. Part of what makes Bradford perfect is he’s Scrooge’s evil opposiite. The Luthor to His Superman, The Joker to his Batman, the Green Goblin to his Spider-Man, the Iron Monger to his Iron Man, the Sinestro to his Green Lantern. Both come from a long line of adventure but while Scrooge embraces that and loves it, Bradford hates it and wants to destroy it. One is energetic and always ready, the other’s calm, calculated. And one sees what he is.. and the other dosen’t. Simple as that.

But his other mirror’s are more like him, moving onto Huey. Their both woodchucks, both prefer caution and planning, and both want to make some sense of a nonsensical world. Both want to feel safe when they constnatly don’t. One’s prone to panic attack the other’s calm. But what makes Huey the better man... is that he accepts the world is the way he is. It goes all the way back to terror of the terrafirmains. While he was all for adventure he started his doubting things, not beliving things were real.. because the reality that there are some things you just can’t prepare for, just can’t know, and you can’t be always ready.. it shattered him. He nearly let himself die rather than live knowing what’s out there. Webby pulled him out of that, literally and figuratively.. and he never went back. Sure he still tries to have an order to things, still breaks when his structure’s broken.. but it’s gone from a paranoid fear of the unknown and weird to embracing it. To relishing in finding unsolved mysteries and new clues to unlock, to finding new things to explore. He went from seeing this chaotic world as something to run from, to embracing and studying it. To loving it the way it is the way his family loves him for who he is. Bradford.. denies reality belongs the way it is and wants to force it into what HIS idea of it is Superboy Prime Style. The world isn’t waht he thought it should be so he’ll MAKE it that way. Huey grew as a person.. while his arc didn’t have a full payoff.. it still pays off here by showing what he COULD’VE been. had he let his earlier fear and his always present neurosis drive him like Bradford has. Let his big brain make him think he knows what’s better for EVERYONE instead of using it to genuinely help people. Bradford lacks the boys heart and empathy and that’s why he fell. Huey had his family backing him, his best friends coming to get him, and his brothers ultimately rescue him. Bradford.. threw his only true ally down a styigan murder hole.

Finally.. we have the one that’s not brought up directly.. but is very much there. Donald. While the two don’t interact hardly at all... it’s VERY fitting that Donald is the one Bradford picks to threaten Scrooge with. Like Bradford... Donald grew to hate adventure, he wanted to get as far away from it as possible and took it from his boys for as long as he could. Granted that was in part Bradford’s fault, and that was an INCREDIBLY clever twist: it dosen’t make him entirley responsible or anything that robs the moment of it’s imapct, Della still chose to take it out by herself, she still lied to Donald and she still got lost all by her own decision and impuslviness. But it fits perfectly into it: Bradford’s horrifying smile when Scrooge gets taken away from saving her is even WORSE now with full context, and it still fits that knowing about the project.. he’d want to set it up to screw up Scrooge’s life. I don’t think he sabotaged the rocket or anything, too obvious and something Della would’ve mentioned by now.. but he knew it was unfinished.

Back to the parallel the diffrence is once again.. change. Donald let go of his hate of scrooge and his past and realized it wasn’t all bad. He let himself grow as a person after a decade of bitterness and anger. But most tellingly and poignantly is Quack Pack... both had a chance to make a world that was safe, normal and what they always wanted. Both out of terror of the danger of this world. Thing is.. Donald’s was noble. He feared for his kids, his sister, his uncle.. loosing one again and any of them at all. He wanted a normal life to be safe, to hide from that.. but it’s not what THEY wanted or who they are. He accepted that’s not how the world works and how it does.. is still pretty great. And his growth shows: he’s ending the series planning to go off with his girlfriend globetrotting, KNOWING things might not be safe, but diving into adventure, having accepted it as part of him. He even finds some new family and takes in two girls who badly needed a home. He learned to accept things how they are... and Bradford refuses, not beliving in this world as it is and vowing to force it into the way he wants it to be.

And it’s that inherent selfishness.. that makes Bradford the Cartoon Supervillian he desperatley claims he isn’t. Bradford dosen’t care how many lives it takes, how much worse it makes the world, or how many people he has to stab in the back... the world WILL be “normal”. Bradford cares for no one and nothing except his own ambition. He kills Heron despite her loyality, and his own clones who loyally served him.. simply because their chaos too. No one or nothing else matters, not how they feel, not their right to exist.. only HIS vision. If he wanted to keep the world safe he’d be more of a hero, if still throughly a bastard... but he dosen’t. He wants to make it “normal”. He wants the world the way he thinks it shoudl be and damn anyone else and perfectly represents all the old assholes like him today who refuse to accept something diffrent or against the norm because “that’s how it’s always been”. Like those real world assholes.. Bradford is wrong. The Duckverse is beauitful how it is in it’s chaos and risk and love. And he just can’t see it because it’s not what he WANTS to see.

And that’s why I also love the Sword giving him big, black and red classic villianous monster, slowly mutating him as he fights the duck family. Because that’s his inner strength: he may deny he’s a villian but he’s forcing his will on others, refuses to see the world as it is for selfish reasons, and is willing to kill his own friends and allies if it means getting it. He’s the bad guy. And while he denies it to those around him... it’s clear from the fact the sword is working for him that he KNOWS IT, he knows he’s a villian and this is just what he wants but is so up his own ass he can’t SAY it or admit it. And in the end he’s fully beaten by the fact that his forcing his will on everything’s what’s unnatural: While his plan was ingenious, have scrooge sign a contract agreeing never to adventure again, since he’s right Scrooge would solve nonexistance it’s the same reason “launch hulk into space” only resulted in a smarter, more skilled hulk coming back with a space army to get revenge. He just didn’t bank on the inherent rediclousness of the unvierse: family really is the greatest adventure of all.. and the papyrus accepted it. It was the one thing he coudln’t palnf or because he can’t see the woirld how it is.. and that’s why he lost. He was so confident how he saw the world and how he worked was the only way... another way beat him.

His fate.. was also awesome and endleslly apporirate. Being mocked by the other villians who while less capable aside from Magica, at least admit what they are and what their doing.. and turned into a Vulture for Magica, left to be a mindless lackey in tons of chaotic schemes for the rest of his life. It couldn’t of happened to a nicer jackass. Okay three more sections to go. Let’s go.

Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away With Daissssyyyy

Donald’s leaving for a long, romantic adventure with Daisy is the perfect capper to Doanld’s character. Donald started the series hating adventure: blaming it for della being gone, his rough times during it, and wanted to escape it in the boat and keep from loosing his kids to it. He felt like a looser for not having reached his dreams or properly provided for his nephews, when really he did his best and still raised three wonderful kids. A bit overproective, god yes.. but despite his grief and anger he still got through ten years with them on his own merits, hard work and determination.

As the series went he reconclied with his past, realized Scrooge lost something too and that blaming him soley when it was Della’s choice was just taking his anger out on the one person he had left to take it out on instead of embracing his only family left, accepted Storkules as his friend (JUST his friend), accepted adventure through quack pack realizing that while it may be weird, dangerous and sometimes stressful for him... it’s what his family love doing and they should be who they are instead of who he wants them to be, and finally.. accepted himself by finding Daisy, someone who loves him for who he is, and literally and metaphorically understands him and turned right back around from dumping him to save him from a giant monster she roared at. He’s finally at peace.

And that’s why leaving. Not forever, He , Daisy, and his girls will be back in a few months or even a month. It’s very clear this is a vacation.. but it’s one he’s earned. He’ll always love his boys, his surrogate daughter/cousin, his sister, and his best buddy launchpad. But it’s okay for him to want to form his OWN family, to spend time with his future wife and show her the world. To make his own story for once instead of sharing it. To find his voice.

I also find it very poetic that a story that started with Donald raising his nephews like their dad.. ends with him adopting two more children. Two kids whose lives had been misrable: rapidly aged in tubes, deemed failures, constantly bellittled by the closest things they have for parents, so desperate for answers they’d kidnap their own sister and betray her trust and do things they know are wrong, And all this.. for nothing as their Dad kills their mom, bad as she was, and plans to kill them. And Donald’s first thought when given the chance to have a kid free time to himself, with no guilt having earned it? To take these girls in, start his own family, if Daisy’s cool with it mind he thankfully clearly called to talk this over first, and give them their own. Because that’s who Donald is, a good man whose finally earned his happy ending and the life he always wanted.. and accepted who he always was. An adventuerer, a loving fiance.. and dad.

The Real Hero: One last one before the bonus round and a quick one. The Launchpad Scene.. was one of the shows best. His arc in this episode of thinking he’s not a hero.. made sense. He’s been plenty heroic.. but his boyfriend is a martial arts and gymnastics savant and one of his three best friends has a giant suit of armor and is a genius. But the payoff made even more: He may not be the strongest, the most skilled or the smartest.. but he has the heart of a hero. He’s always been the kindest, most trusting, most friendly one of the main family, a guy who never gives up, even when he should, never surrenders and loves everybody. And that’s why he’s inspired so many people: Fenton to not give up after his firing and keep going, leading to his path as Gizmoduck. When Drake was lost, his fllm gone and his mentor seemingly dead (In fact skulking around the sewers like an evil ninja turtle), and his future unclear... TOLD HIM he could be Darkwing, that he could become the hero they both ihdolized and the inspiration to kids he wanted to be by his own bootstraps, and he gave Gosalyn faith in darkwing and hope at at time she had none. He also gave those mice their freedom. Not as poignant but you try creating the rescue rangers and see how far you get. I’ve lost a lot of chipmunks and mice that way.

Launchpad’s last stand makes up for his lack of being in the season during the final half. Launchpad realizing that despite his quirks he’s just as noble, valuable and wonderful as his families, both of them. And that he is a pilot. Sure he gets the gizmoduck armor.. but the armor isn’t what makes hi ma hero... i’ts being launchpad that makes him a hero. Loving adopted dad, wonderful partner, best friend... and a pilot

Bonus Round:

Okay this is just stray stuff from throughout the episode I didn’t have several paragraphs worth of material on before we get to the final thoughts. But it had so much good I can’t not talk about it. So...

Gyro calling Little Bulb BOYD’s brother. My heart wept. So sweet. As was him fixing his son at the end. BOYD has the two loving families he deserves.. and the brother he deserves.. and the brother he dosen’t deserve who will probably also is skulking around the sewers like an nafarious ninja turtle as the series ends.

Gosalyn fixing up Darkwing’s outfit for him. Awwww. Adopt that child you coward. Also if they don’t base the reboot on frank’s work here, I will riot.

“Just cough up the information Bentina!” that was just pure comedy gold especially the sheer fear radiating off him. Also right.

Manny’s “I can explain” and , once he has silky smooth keith david voice going “Come on man I just want to live my life.” That man is a legend.

Dewey and Louie just not talking the “you kids stay behind shit” pointing out both their stake in this and how they’ll just go anyway and him proudly accepting it. Given the kids turned the tied of things a lot, good call.

Dewey and Don Karnage singing their own background music as they air joust. Hell yes.

Pepper got a promotion! Goodf or her... it’s meaningless now but hey she has a partner in both senses.

Speaking of pepper she had the best line of the episode “He’s a grown man who has the strength of a baby!”. Only Amy Sedaris could’ve given that delivery just the perfect way she did.

The Funzo’s opening sequence was dynamite, from how well set up it was as an infilfration, to Webby having learned how to scam free drinks (Louie was so proud), to Lena cheating for her sister at DDR, to Scrooge paying full price.. it was wonderful> The payoff was also great as rather than be mad her special day was used as part of an elabroate spy operation.. she’s giddy. Because of course she is. Two specitic bits that get their own items

The Cabs came back one last time! It dosen’t effect my now finished retrospective, but after spending all that time with them it was nice to see them for what will probably be the last time for some time.

The whole scene where Della finds out about the trip. Just all of it. Her casually and accidentally choking daisy TWICE, Fethry, who sadly did not get an episode this season, being the one to blab about it and only realizing it .. after repeating that they told him not to, and Gladstone who not only was casually winning at Skeeball while his cousins both got pissed at it, relateable as hell, but then awkwardly escorting his baby cousin out of the situation.

“Satstically with Hubert gone one of us should be pancking but WHO I ASK YOU WHO?” As if I needed more evidence they were perfect for each other.

Lena just.. slumping over after Dewey finally has her drop the cloak. Comedy gold. BOYD scanning her later likewise so.

The second best line and line read of the episode goes to Louie/Bobby Monihan. “That is not comforting, I do not want to die”. He couldn’t of summed up Louie in one line any better.

Ludvwig was a national treasure. Not only did I squeel internally when it turned out he was alive but the explination for it was hilarious as it was batshit, and him just causally revealing Webby’s origin was fucking amazing “Ill give you all a moment ot process” The acomplanying “bless me bagpipes” was also amazing.

I do wish we found out where FOWL went but it was probably to leave the remains all free to come back as villians of the week. Frank outright said they had a tailspin sequel episode ready to go.

The Webby and June fight was a masterpiece and I REALLY need to do a top 12 fights list someday.

Lena connecting with the new twins , having pretty much the same background of being created by a villian for shitty reasons.

“one is silver and the other is “ “Flintheart glomgold!” they should consider a teamup. What’s a little brainwashing between friends?

“We’re sisters’. No you and violet are sisters, Webby is your girlfriend your both just in denial. I only say this because Webby also thinks Della and Penny are just friends and I feel she simply dosen’t know what being gay is or again is in denial. They’ll get there. Plus it feels like Lena just didn’t want to loose her and would say anything which is valid.

Curtain Call and Final Thoughts:

The Curtain Call was the perfect way to end a spectacular finale. Each bit of it’s a masterpiece, and every character gets one last awesome, heartfelt and hilarous goodbye with the camera and ending how it should: on our five most important characters, in a circle, together, smiling, freefaling into the next adventure. I”d have it no other way and any other series finale credits and last moments will now pale in comparison.

So the finale as a whole is messy, some bits aren’t resolved as good as they could’ve been, Huey go the shaft, and it REALLY needed another episode leading into it to help take the pressure off. While it needed 90 minutes for the plot it had to tell, it needed more to build up to that and while the season was tight with episodes they BADLY needed one more they didn’t get or even a subplto to help take the load off this episode.

But even with that... it was an utterly awesome finale on par with other recent standouts like “Let’s Fight to the End”/ “Thank you For Watching the Show” (Both feel like finales to me but in diffrent ways), “The Future” and the whole arc leading up to it, both parts of “Heart” and “Nice While It Lasted” . It was heartstopping, heartrending and heartfelt and ended the show as it should be: with over the top insanity, big reveals, a hell of a final battle.. and a focus on family. It’s not the perfect finale, and I defintely need more ducktales.. but it’s still a classic one and one of the series finest hours.. literally in this case.

I.. am going to miss this series. I went into it before but it’s thanks to this series I make a living. If you’d like to contribute to that, I have a patreon, patreon.com/popculturebuffet, my next stretch goal is a darkwing duck epsiode a month so kick in a buck won’t you? and take comissions so if theres an episode from the first two seasons that’s not part of the season 1 arc (I’m almost done there) or Lena’s story (already being paid for that) feel free to shoot me a line to comissoin it for five bucks an episode.

But more than that it was an excellent well crafted show that took a franchise I love and updated it for a new generation. My nieces love it, I love it, and I will always love it for that. Young or old, this show as phenominal, it was stupdendous.. it was a duckblur. It will remain in my heart for probaly the rest of my life among such shows as Steven Universe, Parks and Recreation, The Venture Bros, Letterkenny, DBZ Abriged, and so many more that have touched my life. It was simply the best. And i’m going to miss it. Thank you for reading this, i’ll see you at another rainbow, if not one quite like this.

Next on this Blog: Duck week continues after this review took two days to complete. Sorry about that. Our heroes head to castle McDuck and Dewey is forced to face the consequences of his actions, while Scrooge yells at his dad , his dad yells at him and his mom is the most precious thing tha’ts ever lived. Also Launchpad in Donald Cosplay. And it won’t stop there as till saturday the rest of the week is all dedicated to Ducktales as I finish up the Della and Lena arcs for season 1 and get started on Lena’s last three episodes. So if you liked some ducktales, stick around. And once again.. thank you.

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kemetic-dreams · 4 years

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The cakewalk or cake walk was a dance developed from the "prize walks" (dance contests with a cake awarded as the prize) held in the mid-19th century, generally at get-togethers on African slave plantations before and after emancipation in the Southern United States. Alternative names for the original form of the dance were "chalkline-walk", and the "walk-around". At the conclusion of a performance of the original form of the dance in an exhibit at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, an enormous cake was awarded to the winning couple. Thereafter it was performed in minstrel shows, exclusively by men until the 1890s. The inclusion of women in the cast "made possible all sorts of improvisations in the Walk, and the original was soon changed into a grotesque dance" which became very popular across the country.

The fluid and graceful steps of the dance may have given rise to the colloquialism that something accomplished with ease is a 'cakewalk'

Early influences

The cakewalk was influenced by the ring shout, which survived from the 18th into the 20th century.

First-person accounts

Cakewalk dance, 1896

In the 1981 article "The Cakewalk: A Study in Stereotype and Reality", Brooke Baldwin cites "an almost exhaustive compilation of those accounts which have been found so far" with representations in the white press as early as 1863. This compilation consists of eyewitness accounts by emancipated slaves from Virginia and Georgia recorded by WPA researchers in the 1930s, along with secondhand accounts from other sources. Baldwin notes that "when the researchers of the Federal Writer's Project of the WPA interviewed aged ex-slaves in the 1930s, there was no longer any need to suppress information about the happier moments of slave life" such as when slaves had been able to covertly mock their owners without getting punished, through the signals and expression of dance.

Louise Jones: "de music, de fiddles an' de banjos, de Jews harp, an' all dem other things. Sech dancin' you never seen before. Slaves would set de flo' in turns, an' do de cakewalk mos' all night."

Georgia Baker said that she sang a song when she was a child: "Walk light, ladies, De cake's all dough." She laughed and added, "Us didn't know it when we was singin' dat tune to us chillun dat when us growed up us would be cakewalkin' to de same song."

Estella Jones said: "Cakewalkin' was a lot of fun durin' slavery time. Dey swep yards real clean and set benches for de party. Banjos wuz used for music makin'. De women's wor long, ruffled dresses wid hoops in 'em and de mens had on high hats, long split-tailed coats, and some of em used walkin' sticks. De couple dat danced best got a prize. Sometimes de slave owners come to dese parties 'cause dey enjoyed watchin' de dance, and dey 'cided who danced de best. Most parties durin' slavery time, wuz give on Saturday night durin' work sessions, but durin' winter dey wuz give on most any night.

Street Swing's history of the Cakewalk describes it as "the first American dance to cross over from black to white society." After being danced in Minstrel shows, the Cakewalk became a ballroom dance among the upper classes.

The authors of Jazz Dance: The Story of American Vernacular Dance reported that an early 1950s experiment with African guests turned up "no worthy African counterpart" to the Cakewalk

Amiri Baraka in Blues People explained the strangeness of a slave dance covertly mocking white slaveholders that later was adopted by whites unaware of the mockery: "If the cakewalk is a Negro dance caricaturing certain white customs, what is that dance, when, say, a white theater company attempts to satirize it as a Negro dance? I find the idea of white minstrels in blackface satirizing a dance satirizing a dance satirizing themselves a remarkable kind of irony—which, I suppose, is the whole point of minstrel shows

All dancers were African-American. 1903 was the same year that both the cakewalk and ragtime music arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Leaning far forward or far backward is associated with defiance in Kongo. "We are palm trees, bent forward, bent back, but we never break." Another interpretations of these motions were "melting" to the beat, or protecting what is new (leaning forward) with the past (leaning back). The appearance of the cakewalk in Buenos Aires may have influenced early styles of tango

Cakewalk music incorporated polyrhythm, syncopation, and the hambone rhythm into the regular march rhythm. Schuller considers the syncopation of the hambone rhythm to be "an idiomatic corruption, a flattened-out mutation of what was once the true polyrhythmic character of African music". However, the figure known as the hambone is one of the most basic duple-pulse rhythmic cells in sub-Saharan African music traditions. The "hambone rhythm" is found in the oldest known traditional music of the Ewe of Ghana, Togo, and Dahomey, to name just one ethnic group. It is heard in traditional drumming music, from Mali to Mozambique, and from Senegal to South Africa. The rhythmic figure is also prominent in popular African dance genres such as afrobeat, highlife, and soukous. Although its duple-pulse structure is identical to common time in European-based meter, the pattern of attack-points of the hambone rhythm possess a true African polyrhythmic character, or more precisely, a cross-rhythmic character

#polyrhythm #mali #dahomey #togo #ghana #soukous #highlife #african music #african culture #kemetic dreams #cakewalk #congo #kongo #african #africans

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zet-sway · 3 years

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Spiritual Shrios Summer - Release

PROMPT WORD: RELEASE - | - WORDS: 2686

Rated: "E" for Extremely Spicy - not for children AO3 Link: "Singing Southward" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "But her blood is singing southward, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine."

Full disclosure, this prompt fought me and kicked my ass the whole way. I can't look at it anymore. I hope it's more enjoyable for people who haven't been looking at it for like two weeks lmao. Many thanks to Rosenkow for that excellent playlist that really inspired my Shrios muse.

The heavy thrum of battle is where she loses herself. Shepard would take sweat and the pounding pulse of combat any day over the silence between stars.

Swirling winds whip sand across her face and body. It crunches in the joints between her armor and she hates the sound but it's easy to ignore as she slams another heat sink into her shotgun and charges into the last remaining crawler. It's thrown by the impact, the momentum of her body splits the carapace against her armored fist. The smell of viscera in the air, the humming of biotic barriers. Her body sings. She feels untouchable. The keystone slams the ground again.

The ground beneath her feet rumbles and she hears an unholy sound. A thresher maw. Her battle-lust is broken instantly and she snaps to attention, every sense laser focused.

Her shotgun and fists will be little help to them now. She exchanges glances with Grunt and Thane, waving them toward cover while she hunkers down on point, grenade launcher at the ready. It's not the biggest thresher maw she's ever seen but their size isn't the only thing that makes them dangerous. Positioning is critical when fighting something that can burrow and spit. Her combat HUD tracks its movements through the ground and she directs their movements, their gunfire to its next point of exposure.

But there's a problem. Her visor's sensitive electronics were never meant to be used in a sandstorm.

The maw dives again and this time the data is wrong, pinging across the arena, indicating wildly different trajectories that conflict with the laws of physics. Not great, but there's nothing she can do about it now. Adapt, improvise.

She tears the headset from her face and makes her best approximation of where it's going to appear next, signaling the team. They open fire, it dives again. Then the rumbling stops. Her best is not enough. There's a split second of silence before the beast bursts forth not twelve feet away from her position. Dust and debris erupt in a disorienting cloud and she can tell by the shadow cast over her that she's in deep shit, struggling to find her footing on the fractured, quaking ground.

A scorching heat envelops her and her vision goes dark. There's a shout in her comm, a weight pressed upon her, and the grenade launcher is wrenched from her hands.

Then a burst, an explosion, a blinding flash of light. Acid sizzles against her barrier and it pops, the sound rattling her ears in the darkness.

The orange sun of Tuchanka blinks back into existence as the dust begins to settle.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thane slumps into the stinking puddle of meat and organs, still clutching Shepard's grenade launcher. His scales are stinging and the pain is growing more intense by the second. Beside him, Shepard is calling in an evac while she rips at the panels of her hardsuit. Her under armor is a patchwork of holes beneath, and her skin is a frightening shade of red where the fabric is being eaten away. Thresher maw bile.

He's never actually seen a thresher maw before, much less fought one - he's more shaken than he would like to admit. Her voice is his anchor. By the time she's done shouting for Grunt to maintain a defensive position, she's torn the suit at the waist and stripped the top half from her body. She uses it to wipe the viscera from his head, chest, and hands before tending to herself.

Her ease of determination has him transfixed. He's trembling from their encounter, but Shepard- he's never seen her more focused. Brows knitted in concentration, voice firm, but calm. Her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. Wearing only her belt, legplates, and a black compression bra, she's slathering herself in medigei, a whirlwind of sand and dirt sticking to exposed burns across the hard expanse of her body.

Her skin is so vulnerable compare to his scales that she should be shrieking in pain. Instead, she seems completely unfazed. Adrenaline, perhaps. Or maybe she's every bit as otherworldly as he's coming to understand she is.

Their evac shuttle arrives and they pile on. Grunt is the first one to break the silence.

"Quick thinking back there, Krios."

Grunt looks at him with the same piercing gaze all krogan seem to have. Thane has always found them hard to read.

"Never thought I'd see a drell dive into the mouth of a thresher maw. You're tougher than you look."

He smiles, then. And Shepard smiles with him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Doctor's orders: 24 hours rest.

Shepard's armor clatters to the cabin floor and she strides into the bathroom, trying not to itch the scabs tightening over her skin. The burns are superficial - irritating, but not serious. In the mirror, they look worse than they feel. The sting is enough to drown out the other weird pains that live inside her reconstructed body. Her ears hurt. Her tear ducts feel swollen and pressurized. Her fingers are sore. There's a constant ache in her sternum and a soft wooshing in her ear. It's from her synthetic heart, and the abundance of blood it requires. But it means she'll heal faster, too.

The water hisses out of the showerhead and she sets to work cleaning the caked on grit and viscera from her skin. When she's focused on herself like this, it's hard not to think about all of the ways her body has changed.

On the SR1, she'd been in shape, perhaps even proud of her body. She'd thought of herself as a well oiled machine. She watched her nutrition carefully, spent just as much time honing nerves as she did strength and endurance. Her body, a product of her own work and service.

What she sees now is not what she remembers.

Notably, she's about 70 pounds heavier, almost exclusively due to her implants and the additional muscle she's put on to carry them. Adapting to the added weight of cybernetics and artificial bones had been an uphill battle since she rolled off that Cerberus operating table. Even her breasts are one cup size larger, and that one change carries perhaps the most bitterness. Her body is no longer her creation.

She sees herself as though through a stranger's eyes - a construct. The Commander they wanted. Not the woman she remembers.

Her new body is all about performance, both in the public eye and on the battlefield. Miranda had already told her she should be grateful for her various "upgrades." Her titanium fingers that never tremble, her artificial eyes that can see colors and details normal human's can't. Heightened olfaction, improved hearing, even joints with a higher range of motion.

A superhuman.

No, she corrects herself, with no small amount of vitriol.

A supersoldier.

The trouble is, being a soldier is what she wants. Control over her body is as much a necessity as a beating heart, and she demands it of herself every way she knows how. The problem isn't the upgrades. It's the autonomy ripped from her hands as soon as she was too dead to spit in their faces.

But this is the hand she's dealt, so she works with it, even if learning how to use her own body is still a learning curve. Testing her limits, evaluating response times, and sometimes... trying out shitty supplementary tech that can't stand up to a little bad weather.

Outside the bathroom door, the remnants of her visor are crumbled together next to her terminal. Thane had crushed it underfoot when he dove between her and the thresher maw. That split second confusion in the field could have cost her life if he hadn't intervened. She hadn't expected a lone wolf assassin to mesh so well with the team.

She towels off and stuffs her armor back in its locker. The automatic cleaning cycle hums to life, and her thoughts whirl with it.

Thane's opened up a bit more since the night they spoke about Alchera. He has a surprising way of coloring the air with his words. And, perhaps most alarmingly, the more time she spends with him, the time she wants to spend with him. She tries to chalk it up to regular team synchronicity, but there are moments she catches herself wondering him on more than just a professional level. Tiny curiosities slither into her brain. Does he kiss like humans do? The very notion warms her blood.

How long has it been since she'd kissed someone? It feels like a lifetime.

And then - just one impulsive little thought, summoning the things she's not even dared herself to think. Does he fuck like humans do?

Almost timidly, she allows her imagination to wander.

Greeting the morning together in the shuttle bay, the harsh fluorescent lights casting dramatic shadows over his body as he bends through another impossible stretch. All that tension coiled within him, the hard planes of his torso, those absolutely delicious ass-kicking thighs...

For a moment, she feels as though he's close enough to share his heat. There's an old, familiar warmth in her blood - exquisite, tiny shivers flickering just beneath her skin - arousal.

Her eyes drift closed. She owes her XO a mission debrief, and she owes her pilot new destination coordinates. But her blood is singing southward, throbbing between her legs, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine.

Maybe those obligations can wait a little bit longer.

Scooting up her unmade bed to rest against the headboard, she tentatively rests a hand against her belly and traces a line from her navel to the juncture of her legs, almost as if she's afraid of what she'll find. Her flesh is reassuringly warm, and she passes over her center, teasing and smoothing back over blood-warmed skin, testing its sensitivity. At least here, her body feels like she remembers.

Thane's unfamiliarity excites her. She's never spared much thought for bunking with another species before, but he's more than handsome. Shepard wonders if drell are as introverted as Thane. Likely not, but his guardedness only intensifies her intrigue. The idea of touching him seems forbidden, like a closely guarded secret. She wants to run her tongue over the darkened skin below his lower lip, wants to trace the ridges down the back of his neck and feel the warmth of the flushed skin at his throat.

Her mind fumbles with the thought of him, unclothed and willing. He could be any number of iridescent shades of green under that tight leather getup - by the tantalizing gradient of color across the firm swatch of his exposed chest, he must be. Those dark stripes down his shoulders are trails she's hungry to travel, winding paths across the exotic unknowns of his body. Her fingers itch to follow them wherever they lead - with any luck, all the way down.

And down to what, exactly? For a moment, Shepard considers pulling up the extranet to satiate her curiosity and then decides against it. If he's not biologically equipped the way she hopes, better to find out later, when she's not vividly imagining the shape and color of his erection. Maybe green? But then, he hopefully isn't packing scales down there. No, more likely a familiar blush of color, like the frills of at his neck, or the inside of his mouth.

Her fingers brush carefully over her clit at the thought of his mouth, those gorgeous clit-sucking lips. An excited chill zips down her spine, settling - picturing him in this exact spot, head bowed reverently between her legs to worship her with his tongue. It's been so fucking long since someone ate her out.

The memory is old and faded - breaking fraternization rules with a youthful dark-haired recruit in the barracks. They hadn't even finished basic yet. Shepard had come harder than ever before in her life, only to later discover that recruit had told nearly everyone that they'd hated every second of it. She wouldn't have been upset if Cerberus took that memory from her.

But there's something about Thane. He's nothing if not a gentleman, she likes to think he'd be wickedly good at this. Warm, firm lips, an agile tongue... those fused fingers edging her on.

She uses her own to test that hypothesis, biting her lip at the familiar slick of arousal concentrated in her core.

There was a time when she'd rather be incinerated than suffer gentle lovemaking. She wanted it hard and fast, pleasure so blindingly hot she'd sneak out to the airlock for a cigarette in the afterglow. But her new body is a labyrinth of unknowns. Sex in this new skin, not knowing her limits, how much she can take. She wants to take her time.

Middle finger first, then following with another, she tests her reconstruction. Maybe she's just imagining it, but she feels a bit stiffer than she remembers.

But in the blurry comfort of her fantasy, Thane is a gentle lover. He's slow and patient, giving her ample time to acclimate both her body and her racing thoughts. Her fingers slip inside as far as they'll reach, leaving her palm to flex against her clit. She sighs, luxuriating in sensation.

It feels so good to be touched.

It's been years, in fact, and the roaring flame of her lust is surprising even to herself. To have him here, moving inside her, filling her with every stroke...

When her hand curls against her inner walls, her eyes roll back and an unholy sound leave her throat. Holy shit. Either this is the pleasure time forgot, or Cerberus spared no expense reconstructing her nerve endings. It wipes every other thought from her mind.

She's lost in the fantasy now. Hopelessly spellbound beneath the roll of her own hand - Thane's hips - languidly pushing the heights of her pleasure in body and mind until she's deliberately edging her orgasm because it seems a damn shame to end it so fast. Her head is swimming, discomfort collecting dust in the rational corners of her brain until her nerves are burning with adrenaline and wanting. Scattered thoughts come in incoherent bursts. All that matters now is the caldera of pleasure between her legs. Her mind. His body.

She can almost feel his voice. The words are lost but the sensations are loud and clear, encircling her, flowing through her, filling her. She wants to feel his desire, wants him to come undone inside her, calling her name, riding the high of his climax and all but demanding she come with him. In her mind, they gasp together, his arms tightening around her, his face buried in her neck, her walls clenching around him.

The electricity of release pulses through her nerves - organic, synthesized, and everything in between. For one sweet second, she's weightless. Then the spots are clearing from her vision and she's floating down from whatever far flung corner of the galaxy her soul's been launched to.

In the silence that follows, the gentle hum of the ship is the only sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out into the empty room. He's gone. The reverie slowly evaporates, vanishing into the metal bulkheads of the hull.

The familiar guilt of indulgence tugs at the edges of her fading euphoria. She hadn't banked on masturbating to her crew, but here she is.

It's just a daydream, no harm done.

But as she gets dressed, she asks herself why it's been so long since anyone's crept into her mind like Thane.

Shepard shakes her head, straightening her back. A little movement to clear the errant thoughts trashing her rationality. Her scabs itch. Her mouth is dry. There are more important things to be doing. Things that will quiet the tiny voice in her head that whispers 'no one wants your weird cybernetic body.'

At least she can still show herself a good time. Small victories are perhaps even sweeter during wartime. Maybe she feels just a little more human than she did an hour before.

#shrios #spiritualshriossummer #thane krios #fshrios #spiritual shrios summer #zet writes things #me in the background screaming like that video of the old man in the mountains with the cowboy hat #ITT: femshep gets herself off #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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gladerimaginex · 4 years

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Greenie (Part 3)

Request: OMG! I had spent the last 5 hours to read your writing and honestly I think you are one of the best! And I was wondering if you could write a part 3 of « Greenie »? (maybe with a very sassy Minho and an annoyed Thomas *who will anyway be in for Minho’s idea*?) Feel free to do so or not! If you do: a massive THANKS!^^

TWs: Nothing really; more of a general warning though- in the past I never wrote anything spicy, but I think I may start doing some of that because why not

Author’s note: picking back up after literal years because my old coping mechanisms are the only thing left for me now :)))

Y/n’s first day with the runners had been a whirlwind of rules, tips, sprinting, and exhaustion. Despite that, by the time a few weeks had passed, she had fallen in love with her new job. It was the only thing that actually made her feel like she was accomplishing something in the glade, actually getting them closer to freedom. Sure, the diversions of the glade with the other boys kept her busy, but she only felt useful when she was running.

Ever since her first day in the glade, Y/n had stuck close to Minho, Thomas, and Newt. The three boys were all intensely committed to protecting and freeing gladers, but otherwise seemed to bring out the best in each other. Minho and Thomas constantly joked and tried to make the quieter, gentler Newt laugh. Y/n felt like she fit right in. She too constantly longed to see Newt’s face light up with a smile.

“How was it in the maze today?” Newt’s voice called from the homestead and Y/n pulled the hair tie from her sweaty locks.

Y/n turned and shrugged. “Same answer as every single other day. Very grey. A few vines.”

Newt rolled his soft brown eyes as he limped up to her. “Yeah, yeah, no need to be a smartass.”

“You know, sometimes I just can’t help it,” she chuckled, gently elbowing Newt in the ribs. “Besides, I can’t help it that you ask me the exact same question every day within minutes of my arrival back in the glade. I only have so much creativity!”

Newt rolled his eyes again, but this time with a slight scowl. “Yeah, whatever. So sorry for worrying about you doing the most dangerous job in the glade,” he muttered before heading back towards the homestead.

“Newt!” Y/n called out to him in confusion, but he just kept walking.

Minho slid into the bench seat beside Y/n and across from Thomas with his dinner plate full. “Hey hey Y/n. What’s with Newt today?” he said, eyeing where the blonde boy sat by himself at a table across the room. He always sat with them and only ate alone when second-in-command duties called him away during mealtimes.

Y/n shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, he was totally fine earlier until his mood just… flipped.”

“Well did he say anything after your run? I saw you two chatting,” Thomas pointed out around a mouthful of food.

Y/n wrinkled her nose at his table manners but shrugged again. “Nah, we were just messin’ around as usual and then he just stomped off. I mean I know he’s a bit more sensitive than the two of you, but I didn’t even say anything bad! I dunno, maybe we’ve just been a bit too hard on him lately?”

“Eh, just give him some time to cool down then, Y/n. I’m sure he’s fine, just wants a bit of alone time,” he suggested with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides,” he added, grinning cheekily, “I think we could all use some alone time with your annoying ass around sometimes.”

“Hey!” Y/n shouted with a laugh, pretending to throw a punch at Minho.

He laughed with glee and dramatically dodged her fake punch, jumping from his seat, bending low at the waist, and barreling towards her midsection. She squealed as he threw her over his shoulder and started running towards the door, shouting “You know the rules, Greenie! Off to the slammer you go!”

Thinking quickly, even with all the blood rushing to her head, Y/n reached out as best she could and started tickling Minho.

“Shuck it, Y/n, you’re gonna make me drop you!” he gasped through all the laughter and wiggling, desperately trying to escape Y/n’s fingers.

“That’s the idea-AHHH!” she shouted as Minho finally lost his grip and she plummeted to the floor. He collapsed beside her, the both of them breathless with laughter, while Thomas stood over them, looking down with a grin.

“If you guys wanted to start a regular fight night, why didn’t you just say so? I’m sure we could get Gally on board,” Thomas laughed, sticking his hand out to help y/n to her feet.

“Better watch out! You’re next!” she shouted, hopping to her feet without Thomas’s assistance and putting her fists in front of her face as though beginning a boxing match. Minho accepted Thomas’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder.

“No offense, man, but my money’s on Y/n.”

She opened her mouth to gloat, but before a word could pass her lips, she heard a sharp “huff!” and felt someone swoop by her, booking it towards the door. She spun around just in time to see Newt’s back stalk away from dinner alone.

Thomas gave a low whistle. “Okay, something really pissed him off.”

Y/n dropped her hands to her sides and rolled her eyes. “Honestly what’s his problem?” she scoffed, feeling annoyance rise in herself. Being frustrated is one thing, but taking it out on your friends is quite another.

“Should someone go talk to him?” Minho asked slowly. By the time Y/n had turned back around to face Minho and Thomas, they were both looking at her expectantly.

“Me?! Why do I always have to talk to people when they’re pissed?”

Minho shrugged. “You’re gentler than us. And cuter.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “Aww, I think you guys are cute,” you said, pinching each of their cheeks while they attempted to bat you away.

Y/n eventually found Newt wandering the gardens alone in the dark. His head was drooping towards his chest so that his blonde hair fell into his face. Y/n had thought he was pissed, but now he looked… sad. Sad and lonely.

She knew the feeling well.

“You gonna walk around alone all night?” she called, watching Newt jump at her words, but he didn’t spin around.

“If you’ll let me,” he grumbled, only just loud enough for Y/n to hear.

She stepped right up beside him, ignoring the way he ever so slightly leaned away from her. “Well looks like you’re out of luck then.” She firmly planted her feet in the ground and stuck her hands on her hips. “Cause you’re stuck with me. So you can tell me what’s goin’ through your head or you can keep moping.”

Newt scoffed. “You’re kind of the last person I need to comfort me right now.”

Taken aback, Y/n recoiled. “Okay, wow. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it, Newt.”

“Me?!” he nearly shouted, finally turning to face her, his eyes wide. “Me being a jerk?! You practically make fun of me for being concerned about your safety and-

“That’s the same teasing we’ve both ALWAYS done-”

“-then you and Minho and Thomas rub it in my face-”

“Rub WHAT in your face exactly?” Y/n said, exasperation causing her to raise her voice.

Newt cast his eyes down, finally pausing. “You with Minho and Thomas. You can’t keep your hands off them and they certainly can’t keep their hands off you,” he muttered, absently kicking at the ground.

Y/n let out a heavy sigh. So that was what all this was about. “Newt, are you serious? That’s the way we’ve always been- we mess around. It’s all just jokes. And what do you care anyway? You’ve never… you’ve never made a move or anything,” she sputters out, finally getting embarrassed herself. Maybe because she felt like the argument was stupid, or maybe because she didn’t want to admit that she had been waiting for him to make a move, and maybe she had always been a bit disappointed that he never had.

Newt threw his hands up, equally as exasperated. “Well what was I supposed to do? Just assume you were into me, when you treated me only *slightly* *LESS* friendly than Thomas and Minho? I was just supposed to assume and hope you liked me?”

“Well what was I supposed to do?” she shot back. “Assume that you liked me even though you treated me just like ‘one of the boys’?!”

Newt cocked an eyebrow. “I do NOT treat you like one of the boys.” His voice was quieter now, but far firmer. He almost sounded… harsh.

“How so?” she demanded, not ready to ease up.

“For starters, I think about you first thing every morning. And all throughout the day. And when you’re supposed to be getting back from the maze. And right before I fall asleep every night. I don’t think about the other boys that often.”

Y/n opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. Her brain was still trying to catch up with what Newt had said. “And everytime I see you, I can’t take my eyes off of you, and I can’t help but think about the way it would feel to touch you- not like the way we nudge and high-five, but to *really* touch you- to kiss you and smell your hair and feel your skin under my fingers… to hear you whisper my name back to me... “ he trailed off, staring intently into Y/n’s eyes for the first time that night. His face was no longer a scowl of annoyance, but now there was a flicker of desire behind his eyes. “I don’t think about anyone else that way,” he finally finished, hoarsely.

“Newt... “ She whispered, nearly choking on her own words, feeling her face flush hotter by the second and the rest of her body erupt in tingles.

“Yeah, exactly like that baby,” he said as he lunged forward and roughly pushed his lips against Y/n’s, gripping her waist.

The shock didn’t slow her down; she immediately wrapped her arms around him, tangling her fingers in his gorgeous blonde hair.

He was kissing her harder than she imagined possible, taking her breath away in every way possible. HIs fingers slid up under her shirt and gripped the bare skin on her waist. He pulled away from her lips and kissed her neck, behind her ear, burying his face in her neck and hair, squeezing her even tighter. “This is how I wanted to feel your skin, this is how I wanted to smell your hair. This is how I wanted to kiss you,” he muttered before returning hungerly to her lips.

She pulled back for just long enough for a cheeky grin and to say, “Well why didn’t you say so?”

#the maze runner #the maze runner imagine #minho imagine #newt #TMR #tmr newt #newt imagine #tmr thomas imagine #gally imagine #tmr gally #gally #the scorch trials #the death cure #thomas sangster #dylan o'brien

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harley-sunday · 4 years

Text

Encore [02]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 8.5k

AN: As promised, here’s part 2. Hope you like it, please let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

It’s all been pretty hectic from the moment you walked into the theater room just before five, with Adam immediately ushering you off to the cafeteria where dinner is about to be served. You end up on the other end of the table from Chris before you even had a chance to say hello to him. You keep stealing glances in his direction to try and find out if he’s as nervous about having to make out on stage in a couple of hours but he seems too caught up in whatever story Johnny’s telling him to notice.

You’ve just finished your main course when Coy suddenly stands up and claps his hands to get your attention, “Everyone, I just wanted to take this moment to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done over the past four days.” He nods towards Adam en Kelly, “We went into this project unsure of what to expect, but you’ve proven to be a worthy cast and we have no doubt that you will put on an amazing show tonight!”

People start to clap, but he raises his hands to stop them, “We have one very special guest who will be joining us tonight, who I think deserves your applause even more.”

The door opens and in walks Mrs Linton and all of a sudden everyone claps, you included, and then there are tears in your eyes because you didn’t think you’d ever see her again. Chris is the first to greet her and you watch him give her a hug and then smile at something she says.

She makes her way down the table, greeting everyone with a hug and some encouraging words, and you patiently wait your turn but she now walks with a cane and so it takes a little longer. Her smile grows wider when she sees you and you carefully wrap your arms around her.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you here,” Mrs Linton says once you’ve let go of her. Someone pulls up a chair for her and she sits down next to you, her cane resting against her knee. “I honestly thought you’d never come back.”

“You and me both,” you confess with a smile, “but I’m glad I did.” You risk a quick glance at Chris, who nods at you from across the table, making you smile, and of course Mrs Linton knows exactly what is going on.

“So I take it you two have finally made things right?”

“We’re getting there,”

“Well good,” she says as she pats your knee, “you know I’ve always been rooting for you two.”

Before you have a chance to find Chris you’re told to go to make-up and wardrobe, where they transform you into Rizzo in no time. You’re sent off to the backstage area then, where most of your castmates are already waiting for some final instructions from Coy. Michael, Johnny, and Chris walk in next and you can’t help but smile when you see them in their T-Birds jackets and elephant trunk hairstyles.

Coy claps his hands to get everyone’s attention, “Listen up, everybody, we have ten minutes until showtime and I just wanted to tell you to have fun out there. You got this, you’ve worked extremely hard and we all,” he looks at Adam and Kelly, who are both nodding fervently, “have confidence in you. Break a leg!”

There are cheers and hugs and maybe some tears, and in the chaos of it all you find Chris and give him a hug, “Good luck out there.”

He pulls you even closer, “Go knock ‘em dead, Rizzo.”

“How you holding up?”

Unlike Monday, this time you do answer, “I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says from somewhere over your shoulder. He pokes your side then, “At least wait until after the break, Ace, we need to make out first, remember?”

You want to say something, really you do, a witty retort maybe, or just your regular spiel, but the promise of it all is too much and so the only thing you can do is watch him walk on stage a few seconds later, quietly shaking your head.

Nicole joins you not much later but doesn’t say anything and you are more grateful for that than she’ll ever know. Instead, she gives you a gentle push when it’s your cue and tells you to go for it.

You find Chris on the right side of his stage, in what is supposed to be Kenickie’s car, and you join him in the made-up backseat, where he throws his arm around your shoulders immediately. It all feels oddly familiar and yet so new at the same time but there’s no time to explore that right now. You make it through the scene with ease, the banter between you two like second nature.

He finishes his last line then and all of a sudden your mouth goes dry because you know what’s coming next. He gives you a wink right before he leans in and lets his lips brush against yours. They let Chris keep his beard, even though technically Kenickie should be clean-shaven, and so there’s a new sensation to the kiss that you haven’t experienced before.

You want to take it slow, relish in the moment of this second first kiss for as long as possible, but then you feel his hand on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze to let you know it’s your cue, and you remember you have a performance to give.

Putting your hands in his hair you pull him even closer, pushing yourself against him, exaggerating your every move and you can hear the audience react, loud cheers coming from the back where you know his family is seated. You smile against his lips but keep yours closed because you want there to be a promise of something more, later, when it’s just the two of you and you’re not on a stage for the world to see.

He pulls back then, because the script says he should, but there’s a mischievous look in his eyes that tells you he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Pushing you down, so your back hits the bench you’ve been sitting on until now, he kisses you.

You’re hardly capable of forming a coherent thought, so the fact that you remember that the script calls for you to throw your leg in the air and wrap it around him is some sort of miracle. His weight is on you now and it’s not entirely unpleasant and so you pull him down even more. It’s a good thing you’re hidden from view from the audience, you muse, the cardboard cut out of the car high enough to only show Chris’ head and back and your hands in his hair.

There’s a beep from the side of the stage then, letting you know the curtain is about to close for intermission and so you push Chris off you, his hair messy and a hint of your lipstick on his lips. He grins and from the way he tilts his head at you, you can tell he’s back into character, “You ok there, Riz?”

You get up and out of the car, trying your best to channel Rizzo when you shrug and say, “I’ve had better.”

The audience cheers as the curtain closes for intermission and just as the stage lights turn off he comes up behind you and takes your hand, pulling you towards him in the darkness that slowly falls on you. Letting go of your hand then, he cups your face and even in the dark you can see the way he looks at you, his eyes falling to your lips, quietly asking for permission.

You hesitate and quietly tell him, “Not here.”

He nods, letting you know he understands, and instead presses his lips against your forehead softly.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur and before you know it the entire cast is gathered on stage to receive a standing ovation, loud cheers coming from all throughout the crowd. You’re somewhere in the middle of the line, Nicole on one side and Chris on the other, and can’t help but get a little teary-eyed when you see Mrs Linton give you a thumbs up from the front row.

When the curtain finally falls it’s a quiet for a moment, until Michael pumps his fist in the air and yells out, “Fuck yeah! We did it!”

More cheers erupt then and Nicole pulls you in for a hug, “We did it, babe.”

You smile against her shoulder, “We sure did, Nic.”

There are some people clapping then and when you turn around you see Coy and his team on the side of the stage, giving you another round of applause.

“That was amazing, guys,” Coy says with a wide smile.

“We’re very proud of all of you,” Adam agrees. He looks at Coy, who nods, before he continues, “We just wanted to let you know that your family and friends are waiting for you next door, so go, get changed, and then we’ll meet you there after.”

There’s no one waiting for you in the music room, your parents somewhere in the Carribean on their annual cruise, and so you are feeling a little lost until you spot Mrs Linton, who waves you over.

“What a great performance,” she tells you when you join her, “maybe even better than the one you did all those years ago.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you sticking around Sudbury for a little while longer?”

You shake your head, “I’m flying back to Philadelphia on Sunday.”

“Promise me you’ll come back some day,” she raises her eyebrows at you, “so we can catch up properly?”

You’re just about to tell her you will when someone taps your shoulder and you can’t help but smile when you turn around and see Scott, Chris’ brother, standing behind you. Before you have a chance to say anything he’s pulled you in for a hug and whispers, “You came back.”

“I did,” you agree, rubbing his back. You pull back a little and smile up at him, “It’s really good to see you again.”

You and Scott were in the same year of high school but didn’t have any classes together until your junior year. Your shared hatred of Mr Mulligan, your math teacher, made you instant friends and it was actually at Scott’s fifteenth birthday party where you first met Chris, who was seventeen at the time. After an awkward first date at the roller skate rink exactly ten days later, because that’s how long it took him to work up the nerve to ask you out, Chris kissed you for the first time and asked you to be his girlfriend. Breaking up with Chris and leaving Sudbury so suddenly also meant you lost touch with Scott, which you’ve always regretted.

Scott lets go of you and greets Mrs Linton like they’re old friends, which seems odd until you remember he did theater in your senior year, when you had lost all interest in the art without Chris around, who by then had graduated. Mrs Linton excuses herself then, tells you it’s time for her to go home, but not until she makes you promise you’ll keep in touch this time.

You risk a quick glance around the room once she’s left, but other than your cast mates there aren’t any other familiar faces and so you turn to Scott, “Is your mom here?”

He shakes his head, “She had to leave right after the show.”

“Oh,” there’s nothing you can do to hide the disappointment in your voice, because you now realize you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“She did want me to ask if you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night, though.”

“Oh, I’d love that,”

“I’ll let her know,” he says with a smile.

You try your hardest to act casual when you ask, “And Chris?”

“He’s right over there,” Scott says with a grin, eyeing you suspiciously, as he points to somewhere on his left, “I don’t why but he’s talking to that bitch Jessica Mullen-”

“Scott-” you gasp, slapping his arm.

“What?” He shrugs, grinning, “Don’t tell me you suddenly like her now?”

You just shake your head, lips pursed, not commenting on it any further.

He gently nudges your shoulder, “Oh come on, he’s only got eyes for you anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about. Plus I think she’s very happily married to Joey Burton and his family inheritance, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know-” you try, but your voice comes out just a little too pitchy to make it believable and you can’t help but laugh. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs, teasing you.

It’s then you see Chris coming towards you, so you throw Scott a look that you hope tells him to behave.

“Hey,” Chris says once he’s close enough, smiling when he looks at you.

“Hi,”

“Awkward,” Scott whispers in a sing-song way somewhere next to you, making sure it’s loud enough for both you and Chris to hear.

You want to ignore it, act as if that didn’t just happen, but you can’t help yourself and so you flick Scott’s arm to let him know you’re not above kicking his ass if need be.

“So uh,” Chris runs a hand through his hair, trying his hardest to ignore his brother, before nodding somewhere over his shoulder, “looks like everyone’s going to Hardy’s for some celebratory drinks.” He looks back at you then, “You’re coming, right?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to drive back,” you say, coming up with the excuse almost automatically. It’s not that you don’t want to go, it’s just that you don’t really see the point if you can’t have a few drinks while you’re there.

“I’ll drive,” Scott pipes up then, most likely trying to redeem himself. He grins, “Yeah. I’ll drive. We’ll drop your car off at your hotel first and then I’ll be the designated driver for the rest of the night.” He nudges you when he sees you hesitate, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You look at Chris for backup, but he just stares at you with a mischievous smile, eyebrows raised, and so you can’t help but give in, “Ok. Yes. Fine. Let’s go.”

Hardy’s is somewhat of an enigma, a pub known only to locals, and almost like a refuge for your generation. The age limit goes up every five years or so, and, as Scott tells you from over his shoulder, currently stands at thirty. The pub is located in what looks to be, from the outside at least, a normal house at the end of Whitetail Lane. There are no signs, no neon lights telling you what kind of beer is served, nothing to indicate it’s anything but the quiet suburban home it pretends to be.

Johnny Ryan’s dad owned the pub when you were in high school and every Thursday night, after practice, you would all meet up here for some drinks. Of course Mr Ryan made sure he served non-alcoholic beverages only, not wanting to be accused of corrupting Sudbury’s finest. Still, it gave you a place to hang out, Mr Ryan always there but never judging and never ratting you out to any of your parents either.

On the car ride over Scott tells you that Johnny has taken over from his dad a few years back and that for all these years, Thursday nights have always been for the theater kids.

Chris admits that he tries to go there whenever he’s in Sudbury, because it’s a safe place where he’s sure there’s no one taking unwanted pictures or asking him for an autograph. “They all treat me like Chris, you know, the nerdy little theater kid,” he says just as Scott pulls up to the parking lot. “It’s great.”

He waits until you get out of the car and then walks next to you as you follow Scott inside. Memories of your nights here, mostly spent making out with Chris in a dark corner somewhere, start to flood your brain and you swallow hard, trying to not let them get to you.

It’s as if Chris knows, because right before you enter the backroom, where the bar is located, he puts a hand on the small of your back, his fingers splayed out against the fabric of your top, a heat radiating from them that you are not sure can just be blamed on your imagination playing tricks on you.

The lights are turned down low and there’s music coming from a jukebox that’s tucked away in a corner, the eighties rock almost a tribute to whatever happened here the last thirty years or so. The room is crowded and loud, lots of smiling faces and people trying to talk over each other, and it isn’t long before someone hands you a bottle of Heineken which you accept with a smile.

Chris sits down on one of the few empty bar stools, although he turns around in his seat so he can chat about the upcoming Patriots game with Michael, who has found you in the crowd easily. You end up standing next to Chris, your back leaning against the wooden bar top, your arm brushing against his whenever you take a sip of your beer.

Scott has disappeared off to somewhere on the other side of the room, talking to a few people who were in your year at Lincoln-Sudbury but who you were never close to, and so you’re just standing there, listening to all the conversations going on around you, taking it all in. Nicole finds you not much later, standing next to Michael, clinking her beer against yours before she takes a sip, “Cheers.”

“Cheers, Nic,” you reply before taking another sip. “Keith here too?”

She nods, “Yeah, is over there somewhere,” she says as she points to the front room, “playing snooker with some of the guys.”

“You come here often?”

Nicole lets out a laugh and it’s then you realize you just hit her with the worst pick up line ever and then you’re laughing too, having to put a hand on her arm to keep from doubling over. It takes a while before you’ve calmed down enough again that you can let go of her, but still there are tears in your eyes when you say, “That was so bad.”

“Hey,” she replies with a wink, “if you wanna go outside and make out by the old Oak, I’m up for it.” That sends both of you into another fit of laughter and once again you’re reminded of all the things you gave up when you left Sudbury so suddenly all those years ago.

You turn around and order a couple more beers from the girl behind the bar, handing one to Nicole before you give Chris and Michael a new bottle as well. Chris winks at you and if anyone asks you’ll definitely deny it, but it does make you a little weak in the knees. You shift your focus back to Nicole, who tries to recap everything that has happened at Hardy’s over the past eighteen years for you.

You only half listen to her, because even though Chris is still talking to Michael, he somehow snuck his arm around your back, his hand now resting on your hip comfortably. It’s distracting but you don’t want him to pull away either and so you try your hardest to concentrate on whatever story Nicole tells next, all while hoping it’s dark enough to not have anyone notice what’s going on. That is until Chris sneaks his hand under your top, his fingers ghosting over your skin, and you can’t help the shiver that runs through you.

“You ok?” Nicole asks, cutting herself off mid-sentence.

“Yeah, no, fine,” you reply, your voice a little unsteady, “just a little, uh, cold, I guess.”

She eyes you suspiciously because if anything it’s almost uncomfortably warm here, with this many people inside.

You shake your head, silently asking her not to push it any further, but you see her eyes go from you to Chris, narrowing them a little before they widen shock when she sees what’s going on. She just nods and continues her story effortlessly, although she can’t keep from smiling all throughout.

After an hour or so Nicole excuses herself to go check up on Keith and you carefully shake off Chris’ hand so you can go to the bathroom, but not before you look back at him and throw him a wink. You’re not sure what has come over you when you do, and you wonder if he even remembers the signal, but there’s no turning back now and so you make your way to the hall, your cheeks slightly burning.

You risk a quick glance in the mirror when you’re washing your hands, not entirely surprised to see something that can only be described as excitement in your eyes. When you step out into the hall you see him standing there, leaning against the door that leads you into a coat room nobody ever uses, even though it holds so many memories for you. Without saying anything you take his hand and lead the way, waiting until he’s closed the door behind before you turn around and face him.

There’s a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling and you can see the way he licks his lips when he lets his eyes fall to your mouth. He doesn’t do anything else and you know it’s because he wants you to be the one to make the first move, allowing you to be in control of what happens next.

Taking a tentative step forward you close the space between you and bring up your hands, letting them rest against his chest, before you look up at him and your heart flutters from the way he looks down at you through hooded lids. Your hands move up then, cupping his face, his skin warm against your fingers as you pull him towards you.

“You sure about this, Ace?” His voice is rough but his eyes are kind and you know he’s just making sure you’re not too caught up in the moment.

“No,” you answer honestly but then brush your lips against his anyway and kiss him. And kiss him, and kiss him. No holds barred this time. Your hand sneaks into his hair and you push yourself against him, deepening the kiss because, God, it feels so good. You want to say that it’s like no time has passed, that it’s just like before, except it’s not. It’s new, and different, and exciting, and a little scary all at the same time.

One of his hands is on your lower back, the other cupping your cheek, and then he lets his tongue run along your lower lip, silently asking for permission and it’s a good thing he’s holding you because you actually feel your knees buckle when you open your mouth and he slips in.

There’s a knock on the door that startles you and has you pull apart almost instantly, your hands back on his chest to steady yourself while you try to catch your breath.

“It’s been almost five minutes, guys,” a low voice tells you from the other side, followed by a chuckle that lets you know he’s enjoying this far too much.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and make a face while Chris tells Scott, “Thanks, man.”

“Oh God,” you breathe out, a little embarrassed that you still have to rely on Scott for not getting caught. You glance up at Chris, a little taken aback and a lot turned on by the way he looks at you, as if he’s ready to throw caution in the wind and just have you right then and there. You shake your head and whisper, “Not now.”

The ride back to your hotel is silent except for Scott, who’s found a seventies disco station and is quietly singing along to ABBA’s ‘Fernando’. Chris seems to be lost in thoughts in the passenger’s seat, while you let your head rest against the window sitting in the backseat behind him. Scott tried to get you and Chris into the backseat together, but after a very stern look from his older brother he cut his losses and so here you are.

You think back to your night at Hardy’s and how lucky you were Johnny and Michael were in the middle of a pretty intense sing-off right when you came back and so it seems like nobody really noticed you were gone in the first place. With the few people left by the time the bar closed, you ended the night the same you always did, with a very passionate rendition of Meatloaf’s ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’, sung at the top of everyone’s lungs.

All too soon Scott pulls up to your hotel and so you lean forward, kissing his cheek, “Thanks, babe,” you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and wink.

He throws you a smile before he pretends to look something up on his phone while you turn towards Chris, who has shifted in his seat so he can face you. You scrunch up your nose, trying your hardest not to make this awkward, and so you just say, “I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow? Five o’clock, right?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “You still know the address?”

“Of course I do,” you scoff as you open the door and get out of the car, “Like I could forget.” You wave at them before you start walking towards the entrance of the hotel, rummaging through your purse to find your key card so you can let yourself in. You’re almost halfway when all of a sudden you stop and turn around and find yourself walking back to the car.

Before Chris has a chance to realize what’s going on you tap on the window and watch it as it lowers into the door at an excruciating slow pace. Still, you wait until it’s all the way down before you lean in, resting your hands on the doorframe, muttering a quiet, “I forgot something,” before you give Chris a kiss that has him smile against your lips.

“‘Night, Ace,” he says once you’ve pulled back, his voice low and a mischievous look in his eyes.

From beside him you hear Scott groan, “Am I sixteen and third-wheeling again, or what the fuck is going on? Jesus.”

You blow Scott a kiss and then push yourself up, giving Chris a quick wave before you run back to the hotel.

Saturday morning finds you getting ready to go out and have brunch with Nicole, who you’ve agreed to meet at Coffee Works in ten minutes and so you grab your phone from where it’s charging on your nightstand and drop it into your purse before you head out.

The weather is nice for the time of year and the drive over, even though it only takes a few minutes, has you admiring the way the trees have started to change colour, their leaves slowly changing to the most vibrant yellows, and oranges, and reds.

When you pull up to Coffee Works Nicole is already waiting for you and when you meet up with her, after finding a parking spot not too far away, she’s all smiles, “Morning!”

“Hi Nic,” you say as you give her a hug before you follow her inside. You point to a table in the corner, although it isn’t very busy and only a few other tables are occupied. Still, you have a feeling there will be some questions you don’t necessarily want anyone else to hear.

There’s some smalltalk about the weather and her kids until the waitress comes to take your order, but it isn’t until you both have your coffee that the interrogation really starts. Nicole looks at you from over her mug, a twinkle in her eyes that tells you she wants to know everything. She doesn’t say anything though and so you just raise your eyebrows at her because you sure as hell ain’t going to just confess without making her work for it.

“Ok, fine,” she sighs as she sets her mug down. She folds her hands together and leans over, “First things first, how was it?”

“How was what,” you ask, feigning innocence by taking a sip of your coffee.

Nicole just stares at you and shakes her head, letting you know she’s not up for playing games.

You return the favour until you see her lips curling up into a smile and you both burst out laughing.

“I hate you,” she says in between laughs, wiping at her eyes. “Eighteen years later and you’re still making me drag it out of you.”

You just raise your mug in reply, still laughing.

“You know what, fine,” she holds up her hands, “I’m going to ask you one question and you decide what you wanna do with it.” She sits up a little, but it’s at that time your food is being served and so she waits until you’re alone again before she continues, “What happened yesterday?”

Just before she finishes her question you take a bite of your bagel, buying yourself some extra time, trying to decide just what exactly you want her to know. Once you start talking though, the words come out easily and you find yourself telling her about the show and how nervous you were, about the kiss you and Chris shared on stage, how there was some semi-public PDA at Hardy’s that you know she caught up on, and how you’re meeting him for dinner at his mom’s house tonight.

“So,” she draws out with a shake of her head, and you already know where this is going. “You’re just not going to tell me how it was to make out with Chris again after all these years, or-”

“How do you-”

“I saw Scott disappearing into the hallway about five minutes after I went looking for Keith,” she explains with a grin. “Funny how some things never change.”

“I don’t know what-”

“Uhu.” She leans back in her chair, “Just tell me if he’s as good as you remember.”

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks and so you bury your head in your hands, before you quietly confess, “Even better.”

Nicole makes you promise to stay in touch once you’re back in Philadelphia, telling you that while she loves reading your letters it’d be nice to maybe call every now and then. She offers you the guest bedroom at her house whenever you want, even though, she says with a mischievous smile, you’ll probably won’t need it now that you and Chris are back on good terms.

The goodbye is bittersweet, because now that you’ve finally seen your best friend again after all these years, it’s hard to let her go. You promise to come back to Sudbury soon and she tells you she’ll call you once you’re back in Philadelphia.

There’s still some time to spare and you decide to stop at The Frugal Flower to pick out something for Chris’ mom before you head back to the hotel, where you change into something a little more dressed up for dinner. When you’re done touching up your makeup it’s time to go, the drive over only taking ten minutes, and so all too soon you find yourself pulling up in front of the house you spent so much time at when you and Chris were dating.

You spot Chris’ car in the driveway, not surprised that he’s here already, although it does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. To ground yourself you take a few deep breaths before you carefully take the flowers from the passenger’s seat and get out of the car. The house looks exactly the same and a wave of nostalgia washes over you, remembering all the times you would just let yourself in after school, usually finding Chris in his room after first having a cup of tea with his mom. This time though, you ring the doorbell and smile when Chris opens it.

He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before he steps aside to let you in and you follow him to the other side of the house. He leads you into the kitchen and throws a grin at you from over his shoulder before he announces to the room, “Look who I found-”

Scott’s at the other side of the room, at the stove, and turns towards you with a smile. You’re sure he greets you but you don’t hear a word he says because all of a sudden Lisa steps into view on your right, her hands clasped in front of her mouth when she sees you. You bite your lip to keep from crying, but then she reaches out her hands and you just have time to hold out the flowers for Chris to take before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” is all she says, but it’s enough to make you cry for real then and you just hold onto her, letting her comfort you in the way she always did, by gently rubbing your back and telling you it’ll be ok.

You think you hear Chris mutter something about going to check on something in the dining room, telling Scott to come with him, and you’re so grateful they allow you to have a moment alone with her. Pulling back a little you try to smile through your tears and you want to tell her it’s good to see her again, but the words seem to be stuck in your throat.

“It’s ok,” she says again, running her thumbs under your eyes to wipe away your tears, but she’s a little teary-eyed herself which in turn makes you cry again.

It takes a while before you’re calmed down enough for her to let you go, but not before she holds you at an arm’s length so she can “Really look at you.” After a while she simply states, “Still beautiful as ever.” Her eyes grow kind when you shrug and she gives your hands a little squeeze, “I know it hasn’t been easy, sweetheart, but it’ll be ok. I know it will be.”

You just nod, still unable to say anything but thankful for her neverending support.

“We’ll have time to catch up later, I’m sure,” she says, a quick look over her shoulder to make sure you’re still alone, “but I just want you to know I’ve missed you. And I know Chris did too.”

“Lisa-”

“No, sweetheart,” she shakes her head and gives your hands another squeeze, “I don’t think you realize the effect you have on him. I haven’t- This week he’s been the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time.” She must understand the weight of her words and she’s quick to tell you, “I’m just happy to see you again, sweetheart.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying again and just nod, hoping it will tell her you feel the same way.

You find yourself at Wholefoods not much later, Chris following you around while you try to find the right kind of leafy greens Lisa claims she forgot to get even though you think it might be a set up to give you and Chris some time alone. You decide on some endives and rucola, hoping it will go with whatever else is supposed to go into the salad Scott’s making.

“Got it?” Chris asks from somewhere over your shoulder.

“Yep,” you nod and motion for him to follow you to the cash register. You’ve just rounded the fruit section when you bump into someone, “Shit, sorry about that.”

“It’s o- Oh,”

Trying not to pull a face when you see it’s Fiona Warren you throw her what you hope is an apologetic smile and try to continue towards the exit.

“Well,” she draws out, a hand on your arm to keep you in place, “this is interesting.” She looks from you to Chris with a devious smile, “I didn’t know you guys were seeing each other again.”

You don’t say anything, hoping Chris will do the same, and just stare at her.

“Well, you know what I mean,” she says as she shrugs innocently and waves her hand around, “after that messy breakup.” Another fake smile directed at you then, “Good for you though, trying to get back together with him now that he’s made it big.”

“You bi-”

“Ok, that’s enough,” Chris says from somewhere behind you before he takes your hand and pulls you away. “Come on.” He leads you to the drinks aisle and after a quick search pulls a Raspberry Peach Snapple from the shelf and hands it to you, “Here, take this,” before he takes out a second bottle, this time the Orange Carrot one.

To anyone else it might seem like he’s lost his mind, but you know exactly what he’s doing and so you squeeze his hand as you follow him to the cash register. Using one of the self scan machines means you’re outside not much later, where he takes the two bottles out of the bag and hands you yours. You open them at the same time, turning the cap over in your hand to read the message inside.

He laughs when he reads his, “Mosquitos have forty-seven teeth.”

“Interesting.” You clear your throat and read yours, “On average a human being will spend two weeks kissing in their lifetime.”

“Huh,” he says, taking a sip of his Snapple, a mischievous look in his eyes. He caps his bottle, sliding it back into the bag, and takes a step towards you, “Guess we better get started then.”

You tilt your head up towards him, smiling when he presses his lips against yours, allowing yourself to get a little lost in the moment, trying to ignore the fact that you’re making out in front of a Wholefoods in the middle of Sudbury.

When he pulls back he throws you a wink, “Twenty seconds done, Ace, still so much more to go.”

“Can’t wait,” is all you can say, trying to distract yourself by putting the cap back on. Looking back at him you hold up your bottle and whisper a quiet, “Thank you,” to let him know that even after eighteen years this is a perfect way to distract you whenever you get upset.

Chris takes your hand again as you walk back to his car and you’re about halfway there when you hear a low whistle behind you. As if on cue you both turn around and see Carla Hayes walking towards you, a kid on her hip and a tired looking husband behind her.

“Well, well,” she snickers, “look who it is. Sudbury’s golden couple back together again.” She looks from Chris to you and shakes her head, “God, Ace,” she all but spits out the nickname she sure as hell isn’t allowed to use, “you really think this is a good idea?”

You don’t say anything, just turn around and tug on Chris’ hand to get him to follow. He does, but you can tell he keeps looking over his shoulder to where Carla is still standing, “Chris, come on.”

“Why didn’t you tell her to-”

“I went through all of this once, Chris, eighteen years ago,” you scoff, “I’m not doing this again.”

“What are you talking about?”

You let go of his hand when you reach his car, rounding the hood so you can get into the passenger’s side where you try your hardest not to break down and cry. It’s all just too much, the happiness from earlier completely washed away and replaced by anger and sadness.

“Talk to me,”

Shaking your head to let him know now is not the time you stare out of the window instead, watching as the buildings along Boston Post Road pass by in a blur.

“Don’t do this,” his voice is soft, “don’t shut me out.”

You turn towards him and stare at him, hoping he’ll get the message to let it go.

Either he really doesn’t or he chooses to just ignore it, “They’re just jealous, Ace, don’t let them get to you.” He pulls up to his mother’s house then, but stays seated once he’s turned the engine off.

“Don’t,” is all you say when you get out of the car, not waiting to see if he follows you or not.

Scott keeps stealing glances at you and Chris during dinner, like he’s trying to figure out what happened. You hate how worried he looks and so you slip your hand under the table and gently pat his knee to let him know it will be ok. He doesn’t seem convinced.

Most of dinner is spent catching up with Lisa, although you mainly just tell her about your week back in Sudbury. Scott occasionally joins in, but Chris is keeping awfully quiet, only answering questions Lisa or Scott directly ask him. It’s awkward and weird and not at all how you thought tonight was going to be, and you wonder if his mom notices anything.

Lisa excuses herself then, tells you all to stay seated while she puts the finishing touches on dessert, and so here you are, sitting next to Scott and opposite to Chris, the awkward silence filling up the space between you. Trying to avoid it getting even more awkward, you’re just about to get up and excuse yourself to go to the bathroom when Scott puts his hand on your arm, keeping you in your place.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you two,” Scott says in a hushed whisper, eyeing the door to the kitchen to make sure Lisa hasn’t heard him, “but you better get your shit together. Mom’s going to know something’s up and then-”

“It’s nothing-”

“We ran into some people at Wholefoods,” Chris says at the same time.

“Chris-” you throw him a look, one eyebrow raised, “It’s fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t,” he counters. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” you scoff, “I’m just catching up with your mom.”

“Oh, come on,”

“Listen, either you work this out now,” Scott suggests, “or you better put those acting skills you both claim to have to good use because mom’s coming back in a few minutes and I swear to God, if-”

“We’ll be fine,” you tell him, looking at Chris to get him to agree.

He just shakes his head, “I can’t believe you. We are not fine.”

Scott lets out an exaggerated sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fine.” He holds up a finger to shut both of you up and calls out to the kitchen then, “You need any help, mom?”

“No, thanks sweetie,” Lisa replies from behind the closed door, “just have to plate up and then dessert is ready.”

“Ok,” Scott looks from you to Chris, “you have about three minutes. Go.”

“Scott-”

“We ran into Fiona Warren and Carla Hayes,” Chris says at the same time, “they made some mean comments when they saw us together, it was nothing really, but-”

“It was nothing?”

“It was, Ace, come on. They’re just jealous.” Chris shrugs, “Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I care so much?” You let yourself fall back against your chair, “You wanna know why I care so much?” You don’t wait for a reply and instead continue, trying to keep your voice down, “It started at prom, when you weren’t there. The whispers, the ‘Oh, he must be busy with his acting career, don’t you want him to succeed?’ and the ‘Well, you already went to his prom together, can’t have it all, now can you?”

Chris wants to say something but you hold up your hand to let him know you’re not done, “And then someone showed me those pictures and Fiona Warren of all people had the nerve to tell me that she understood why you’d much rather stay in LA.”

You take a sip of water, your voice rough from the strained whispers, “So after they found out we’d broken up- Even though I broke up with you- The rumours started. That you had dumped me because you’d never make it big if you had something-” you shake your head and correct yourself, “Someone holding you back. That your career would take off much faster if you were single. That they never really understood how you settled for someone like me anyway.” You look at Chris, “Every single day they kept coming at me, almost relentless.”

He waits for you to continue, but you shake your head to let him know you’re done. He throws a quick glance at Scott before he looks back at you, “Ace, look at me,” he waits until you do, “I know there’s nothing I can say now to make this better-”

You nod, because no, there isn’t, but at least this is something.

“-but don’t you think maybe it’s time to let it go?” He reaches his hand out to you, “It’s been eighteen years.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do it’s like he stabbed you right through your heart with a dull knife. You feel your mouth fall open but you’re at a loss for words and so you just stare at him. You hear Scott say something to you on your left, but his words don’t register at all, and it’s at that moment Lisa walks back in, holding a tray with four individual desserts on them.

It’s like seeing her triggers you back into action and you stand up, looking down at Chris, “I should go.”

“Ace-”

“Sweetheart,” Lisa says at the same time, before she turns to Scott, “What happened?”

Scott shrugs but doesn’t say anything, a slightly panicked look on his face. Chris just shakes his head at her and all you can do is kiss her cheek, “Thank you so much Lisa, but I need to go,” before you grab your purse and head towards the front door.

Chris rushes after you and catches up with you just as you’ve put your hand on the door, “Ace, come on.” He puts his hand over yours, “We can talk about this.”

“Like you said, it’s been eighteen years,” you say, your voice cold and void of any emotions. “Maybe you're right. Maybe it is time to move on.”

His eyes darken at your words, “Why are you giving up so easily?”

“Why am I-,” you gasp, shaking off his hand, “You wanna know why I don’t want to fight anymore? Because I have been fighting for the last eighteen fucking years!” With that you step outside and slam the door shut behind you before you hurry towards your car. Once you're inside you call the only person you know who can help you try to make sense of what just happened.

She answers on the first ring.

“Nicole?” Your voice is unsteady, “Are you home?”

“I’m sorry,” you sniff, taking another tissue out of the box that sits on the couch between you and Nicole.

“Don’t be,” she puts her hand on your arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, “you just sit there and cry for as long as you need.”

You nod and dry your eyes with the sleeve of the sweater she lent you after you couldn’t stop shivering, although you’re struggling to find a dry patch of fabric. You’ve told her everything, in between sobs and endless cups of tea, working through all the events of this evening, one at a time.

“You know what, it’s fine,” you say then, although you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince. “This was never about getting back together anyway. All I wanted was closure.” You scoff, “Guess I got what I came for, huh?”

“Babe,” Nicole throws you a look to let you know you’re not fooling her.

“It’s fine,” you tell her again, hoping she’ll let it go. “It was good to see him again, but after what happened today, how he acted like it was no big deal, even though this was exactly why I left Sudbury- I don’t know, maybe-”

“Ok, but you need to cut him some slack.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, remember?” She raises her eyebrows at you, “‘A lot has happened, but none of it you went through together.’ He doesn’t know what you’ve been through, babe. How would he?”

“Yeah, but-”

“No.” She sits up, “You broke up with him over the phone and then you left, like what, three weeks later? So unless you’ve told him, how would he know?” She holds up her hands to let you know she comes in peace, “I’m not trying to make you the bad guy here, just-”

“Telling it like it is,” you finish the sentence for. “Yeah, I know.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I, what?”

“Tell him,” Nicole shrugs, as if it’s that simple. Then again, maybe it is.

You sigh, trying to weigh your options. You keep hearing Chris’ voice, when he told you it would be too little, too late to come up with any excuses now, and it’s exactly how you feel about maybe telling him what you went through eighteen years later. What good would it do? In the end you simply tell her, “I don’t know, Nic.”

It’s raining and so you’re doing a weird sort of speed walk, your purse slowly sliding down your arm but your suitcase in one hand and your carry-on in the other means there’s nothing you can do to stop it from ending up around your wrist. It doesn’t help the bad mood you’re in from having to get up early and so when your phone chimes to let you know you’ve got a new message you ignore it, at least until you make it to your car.

Once your suitcase and carry-on are in the trunk you take your phone out of your backpocket and hurry inside where you pull up your messaging app. Your heart drops when you see it’s from Chris, and when you read the message it feels like someone punched you in the gut:

We shouldn’t leave things like this, Ace. Can we talk before you leave?

You bite your cheek to keep yourself from crying at the unfairness of it all. Still, your reply doesn’t leave any room for interpretation, but it’s all you can do to keep your heart from breaking again:

I’m already back in Philadelphia. It was good seeing you again, Chris. Take care.

#Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #Chris Evans #Encore

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intubatedangel · 4 years

Text

Out of Body: Chapter 2

Sorry for taking so long to get back. A bad year followed straight after by a pandemic hasn’t been great, but i’m slowly getting back to my old self and another recent return inspired me to start trying to write a little bit more. I’ll be honest this part isn’t totally new, I did post it somewhere else around the time of the first chapter, but i noticed I hadn’t updated it on here. I’ll probably do a bit more on this story before going back to Anna Swifts stories. Anyway, it’s been nearly 2 years since chapter 1, so you might to check out the previous parts.

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

********

Once I was strapped down on the orange back board, my broken leg packed into a splint, Dave moved down to my feet, positioning himself to lift me into the ambulance. The cop was still compressing my chest as Jane squeezed another breath into my lungs. “After this round, we move. Grab the gear.” She said to the cop.

“27…28..29…30” The cop finished with a nod, immediately shifting back and pushing himself to his feet. Jane and Dave had already lifted me into the air. The cop hurried to pick up the monitor, the leads stretching close to their limit before he made up the ground.

I followed, too caught up in the rush to even notice when my legs passed through the wreckage of my bike. The ambulance doors stood open, the bright lights spilling out across the road. Keith was already standing there, even though I hadn’t seen him move.

“I think I’ve blown your mind enough for now. I’ll explain later.” He glanced down just in front of my chest. “Lifeline’s looking fragile. Best to stay close for now.”

He was right. The thread was thinner than before, more wispy. I climbed into the ambulance as the back board was slid onto the gurney. Jane took the monitor from the cop. “Drive.” She commanded as she placed the monitor in its dock. The cop hesitated for a moment, before Jane’s glare seemed to pierce right through him. He spun and headed for the cab, grabbing his radio, telling his partner what he was doing.

For a second, I was concerned about his partner, but realised that Patterson was not that stupid. His plan was in place. I would die, he would spin the story into a tragic accident and spread some tale of how he tried to save me and the people of the city would eat it up. Dave pulled the doors closed and took up position on my left, commencing compressions without Jane saying anything. She was hooking up a saline bag to the central IV, along with pushing in some syringes, and giving me regular breaths with the ambu bag. I sat down on the bench across from my feet, watching my sister as she danced her steth across my bruised chest.

***

In the bright light of the ambulance I could clearly see the deep purple, almost black, bruising fade through to the pallid grey tone of my flesh. After a cycle of compressions Dave grabbed a pair of shears and snipped off my bra. A smaller bruise was starting to form in the valley between my breasts. As soon as the cups were spread to either side, Dave’s blue gloved hands returned to their position and started thrusting down into me. I could see the wave of each compression translate through my abdomen and down my legs, my feet rocking gently despite the straps of the board and the leg splint.

Jane gave me another breath then grabbed her radio. “304 to control. We are en-route to City Hospital with an RTC, severe left chest trauma with collapsed lung, multiple limb fractures and currently in full cardiac and respiratory arrest. Resuscitation underway.” She didn’t wait for a reply as she gave me another breath the said to Dave. “One more round then I’ll intubate.”

There was a sudden rumbling as the cop brought the ambulances engine to life, followed by the sound of the sirens as the vehicle began to accelerate away from the scene. I glanced back to see Keith’s upper body sticking through the back door.

“Could you please not do that?” I asked. In response he shrugged and seemed to drift into the back of the ambulance.

“Sorry, you get used to it after a while.” He sat down beside me, careful to keep himself from interposing with Dave’s legs.

I shook my head, focusing my attention back on the efforts to save my life. Dave counted out each compression, then once he reached 30 he straightened up. Jane had already prepared the intubation kit. The neck brace already held my head in the proper position as she slid the blade of the scope into my mouth. She followed it up with a size 7 ET tube, pushing it down until only a few inches stuck out between my greying lips, and inflated the cuff. Tossing the mask from the ambu bag to one side, she attached the bag to the tube and gave me a few breaths as Dave listened to my lungs.

“You’re in, but I’m barely hearing anything on the left. Suction her out again.” He told her before looping the steth over his neck and restarting compressions. Jane simply nodded and disconnected the ambu bag, laying it next to my head. The suction tube was threaded down the tracheal tube and began to draw out more blood from my lungs. While the suction tube cleared my lungs, Jane taped the breathing tube securely, two thick strips going from each side of my chin, around the tube, and up onto my cheeks towards my studded ears.

The suction tube ran dry, so Jane pulled it out and resumed bagging while she studied the monitor. I leaned over to see what she was looking at. The line on the monitor was perfectly flat.

“Epi going in.” Jane said, hoping the drug would stimulate my heart into at least a shockable rhythm. She also attached an oximeter to the ring finger of my right hand. It was brief, but I noticed her squeeze my hand. Dave completed his most recent round of compressions, panting slightly, and turned to look at the monitor. The alarm changed from the persistent whine to something more two tone. “V-fib. That’s it sis, now come on back.”

“Sis?!” Dave exclaimed. “I figured you her but…”Jane didn’t answer, she just forced him out of the way, bringing the paddles down onto the orange squares. After a quick glance to make sure Dave was clear she pressed the buttons. The shock slammed through my chest, the straps of the backboard holding me down as muscles around my chest suddenly contracted. The only thing that didn’t react was my heart. “No change.” Dave said quietly.

Jane didn’t even look at him as her thumbs manipulate the other buttons on the paddles. “360. Stay back.” The defib signalled its readiness a moment before another shock jolted my body. The monitor began to whistle before I was even still. Jane cast the paddles aside, her professional façade starting to crumble as she began rapid, almost frantic compressions.

The way her body rocked over my chest I could finally see her aura clearly. The fear had grown, almost over-riding everything else. The anger was there, but different, not directed at me, but inward. The gold of determination was little more than a thread, and it was fading, as was my lifeline.

I looked at Keith. “Can’t you do something?”

He frowned, biting his lip. “I…”

“You can clearly do something. Please. Please do it.” I begged.

“It’s not so simple. It takes a lot of energy. I’ll need to return to my source. I won’t be able to guide you.”

“That won’t matter if I’m dead!” I had gotten to my feet, clipping through the gurney where my body rocked. Dave was bagging me with one hand, while his other held a penlight, running it over my eyes.

“Pupils are sluggish.” He said with a sigh.

Keith mirrored the paramedics sigh. “Ok. It’s not a guarantee, I can’t take control or give her any ideas. All I can do is reinforce an emotion. Then it’s up to her. Just stay close to yourself. I’ll find you when I can.”

I nodded and watched as he stepped up right behind her. He reached out, his hands on either side of her head. I tried to figure out what he was doing, but all I could see was the thin gold thread strengthening. It grew rapidly, crowding out the other emotions. As it grew, Jane’s compressions became steadier, her face more focused. Then, with a flash, Keith disappeared.

***

Jane, almost glowing with determination, finished her round of compressions and grabbed the orange gel pad from my left side. She ordered Dave to take over compressions as she started to root around in one of the cupboards.

“What are you doing?” He asked, as she placed a sterile cloth on the bench beside the ethereal me. She didn’t reply as she placed a scalpel, some gauze, a bottle of iodine and an uncuffed size 7 ET tube with a stylet on the cloth. “You aren’t planning on…”

She cut him off. “She needs a chest tube, or she dies.” Jane dabbed the gauze with iodine and began to spread it over the side of my chest.

“You’re not qualified Jane! We don’t even have the proper equipment!” He reached over for the ambu bag and squeezed it twice, before Jane shunted him to the side. “If you screw this up you’ll kill her!”

Jane turned on him, a blaze of anger, scalpel in hand. “She’s been down for 20 minutes Dave. We’re 10 away from the ER. She’s already dead, unless I do this. I won’t lose her too.” With that last whispered statement, she leaned down over my lifeless body and started using her fingers to count down my ribs. I didn’t realise I’d moved until I watched my ghostly hand pass through her shoulder.

“That wasn’t your fault.” I whispered, even though she couldn’t hear me. “You were 15.”

“4th intercostal space.” Jane muttered as she lowered the scalpel toward my flesh, her hand steady. With one smooth motion she sliced through the skin, a trickle of blood running down my side. She quickly sterilised her finger with the iodine and pushed through the hole, nodding to herself. She grabbed the tube and eased it in alongside her finger, keeping a close eye on the depth indicators along its length.

There was a sudden rush of blood into the tube, held in by the cap of the insertion stylet. “It’s in!” Jane shouted with a grin. She grabbed a carboard spit tray and held it underneath the end of the tube before pulling out the stylet. The blood flowed out of the tube for about 10 seconds, gradually slowing to a trickle. “Give her a breath.”

Dave squeezed the ambu bag my chest rising in response. When it did, it rose evenly. Jane let out a long breath. “That’s it Laura. Start compressions Dave.” He complied, beginning to press down on my battered chest once more. After a dozen compressions Jane clamped the chest tube to prevent it from drawing air back into my chest and began to prepare some more syringes of drugs. She scooted around Dave and pushed the drugs into my system.

Jane gently squeezed the ambu bag every few seconds, keeping one eye on my chest to make sure my lung inflated properly. Between each breath she looked at the monitor, whispering something to herself. After 2 rounds of 30 compressions she held up a hand. I leaned forward to get a look at the monitor. The previously flat trace bounced erratically, and an alarm blared in the confines of the ambulance.

“She’s back in Vfib!” She grabbed the paddles and twisted the dial to 360 as Dave replaced the second gel pad, placing it just beside the improvised chest tube. “I’m all charged, stand clear. Shocking!”

The shock hit my body, my chest convulsing. I fell still, and for a moment silence reigned. No monotone scream, no blaring alarm. Then there was a bleep. Followed by another. And another.

“Sinus! She’s back with us!” Jane exclaimed, her aura washing through with something that must have been happiness. Or relief. Then I felt a hard tugging on my entire ethereal body. I glanced at the lifeline, broad and practically buzzing with strength. Then it tugged on me again much harder, pulling me towards the broken but alive body on the gurney. I got one last look at Jane, a tear rolling off her cheek as she whispered into my ear, before everything went black.

#resus #resus writing #cardiac arrest #cpr #defib

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Starker - Panty Raid

For the amazing prompt

I just learned that panty raids were a thing, and idk how you feel about it, but imagine Tony being forced to do a panty raid as an initiation for his fraternity. So tony, keeping up his playboy appearances, sneaks into the omega dorms. And he sees sweet innocent peter who is so alarmed by the alphas raiding their dorm tony can’t help but comfort him.

TW: a/o dyamics, sneaking into someone’s room, general not amazing Alpha behaviour (not Tony though, our boy is a saint)

“You’re not serious?”

A red thong hits him in the face and Tony sighs.

Okay, so they are serious. He pulls the offending lingerie off from where it’s caught on his ear, and flings it back towards Quinten and the shit-eating grin on his face. “You want us to do an actual ‘panty raid’? Have I slipped back into the 80s?”

“Shut it, Stark,” Beck warns, waggling a finger like the college freshman are eleven, not eighteen. “This is a tradition. You wanna be part of this frat? This is what we do instead of hazing. A little ritual. Every alpha who becomes a member, has to sneak into the omega sorority and steal a pair of panties.” Beck shrugs, “if you don’t wanna join, you don’t have to do it.”

Some of the other pledges look nervous. Some of the others look excited. Tony sneers at the latter. He shrugs, and turns for the door. “I’m not gonna risk sexual harassment on my record.” He informs the older boy primly. “There are other fraternities, ones that aren’t so perverse.”

“Sure,” Beck drawls, letting him leave, “some alphas just aren’t strong enough.”

Tony snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, reverse psychology, that’ll work.”

The Omega sorority is nestled right in the heart of campus, where the most regular patrols and heaviest security go by. It’s bullshit tradition, because omegas aren’t really in danger from most Alphas- except ones like Beck and their bullshit fraternity traditions.

Tony bets Beck didn’t get laid until college. Bets he only made up the stupid rule so he could get close to an omega without them rejecting him.

It feels dirty. And not just because they’re literally crawling through the mud to get through the hole in the white-picket fence that surrounds the sorority grounds, but because stealing things from Omegas, breaking into their private accommodation, is slimy and Tony is suave and sophisticated and charismatic.

He is not slimy.

“Do you think-” Clint pants from next to him, elbow deep in the rose bed they’re clambering out of, “-they’ll keep their toys near their underwear? Beck says if we can bring back a knotting dildo, we get extra points.”

Tony cuffs him hard on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Clint whines.

“Have some class.” Tony snaps, helping the other boy up as they finally make it to the back entrance. “Omegas are sweethearts. They’re not just fuckin’ sex objects like in the porn you jerk it to, capiche?”

Clint looks abashed. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Tony sighs.

It’s easy enough to pop the lock exactly how Beck told them. It’s clearly been done many times before.

The ten of them shuffle in, and they all fan out towards the different rooms.

Tony heads for the one nearer the huge window, for an easy escape.

The door is covered with motivational posters, and sharp silhouettes of ballet dancers and a white board that says Drop in anytime!!! :)

It’s fucking cute.

Tony tries the door, and sure enough, like most of the doors- it’s open.

It’s warm and dark as he slips inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

There are two beds, one on either side, but only one is occupied. A sleeping figure, thankfully facing the wall, breathes softly. Tony can’t make out anything but a mop of curls that spill across the silk pillows in the moonlight.

He pads towards the chest of drawers, feeling stupid and reckless.

It smells divine in here. Decorated in gentle tones of pink and warm brown, it’s incredibly tidy, and there are piles of organised notes on the desk.

He eases the top drawer open, and sure enough- there are neatly stacked lace panties.

He grabs one. It’s soft as anything against his fingers, and he hastily crams it into his pocket when-

There’s a whimper, and Tony whirls around to see the most beautiful omega in the world, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at him with huge eyes; cast silver in the light.

“Please-” the omega chokes out, sounding tiny, pressing himself further into the wall, “please don’t- I don’t- Help! Help!” He screams at the top of his voice, and Tony jumps in fright, startling, and he hurries towards the boy, hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay-” he soothes, his own voice tinged with desperation, as the boy keeps wailing, scrambling against the blankets in his haste to get away- he ends up tripping, falling out of the bed, his ankle catches in the sheets, and he knocks his head hard against the bedside table.

Then he starts to cry.

Tony curses, worry welling up, and he flicks on the lamp, and crouches down, scooping the little omega into his arms.

“Shit, shit, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, laying the boy on the bed. He brushes his fingers through those curls, and winces as he sees the small red mark start to appear on his forehead. “Oh god, oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

In the gold light of the lamp, the omega is all milk skin and pretty pink nightclothes, and crystal tears on his cheeks.

Tony feels like such a shit.

“W-what are you- d-doing in here?” The omega sniffles.

“It’s a stupid hazing thing, we had to- steal some of your-” he cringes, “-underwear, it’s- it’s awful. It wasn’t my idea, I swear I was against it.”

The omega blinks slowly, before his eyebrows furrow together. “It’s all just a hazing thing?” He clarifies quietly, and Tony nods.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m really sorry. Can I get you something? Do you need- water? Or…”

“I have a bottle, over there,” the omega murmurs, pointing to his desk, and Tony almost trips over his feet in his haste to get it.

The omega half smiles. “I’m Peter,” he says, and Tony stands by the edge of the bed, grinning tiredly.

“Nice to meet you, Peter, I’m Tony. I’m- I’m really sorry I scared you, I really wasn’t- I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

“I know that now.” Peter whispers, sipping some water. “I just- when I was in highschool some of the Alphas snuck into the omega changing room one time, and they-” tears sparkle anew, and Tony sits on the edge of the bed, clutching Peter’s hand, “-they were so mean. Started saying just- just horrible stuff about me an-and my friends, like we were- just things, and not-not even people.”

Tony closes his eyes, pain blossoming hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing at his face. “I’m- I’m so fucking sorry, peter, I- I should have stopped them, I-...I’m sorry.”

How could someone do that? How could someone hurt such a beautiful omega? An omega so sweet? So gentle?

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers, and when Tony opens his eyes, those huge honey ones are looking at him- thoughtful and kind. “My roommate’s away this weekend, so you’re lucky. She’s got a mean right hook.”

Tony snorts, “I think I’m pretty lucky anyway. Of all the rooms, I picked yours. Don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful omega.”

Peter blushes hard, cheeks a deep, gorgeous crimson.

Tony reaches over and thumbs the red mark from where Peter’s hit his head and sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“You said that already,” the smaller boy points out, voice soft, and Tony wants to lean in. Wants to kiss him. “Did you get any?”

“Any what?”

“Of my underwear.”

“Oh.” Tony blushes, “uh- yeah.” He sticks his hand in his pocket and presents the panties. A little crumpled.

Peter smiles, before rolling out of bed. “Those aren’t going to win you anything.” He says, and Tony watches as the boy kneels down and opens the bottom drawer of the cabinet. “These are what will.”

Tony catches the beaded thong with a slack-jaw. The pearls and white lace are fucking sublime. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” the omega waves him off, “but I think you’re sweet.”

“I’m sweet?” Tony laughs, shaking his head, “you’re sweet.”

He wants to ask for his number, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think it would be appropriate.

So instead, he slips out into the corridor. It’s deserted, and by the time he gets back to the frat, he sees all the other alphas there too.

“Holy shit!” Clint yells when he sees him, “how’d you make it out of there? We all bailed when we heard some omega screaming!”

Peter. Tony thinks with a frown, before looking around and realising that all of the alphas look scared and- disappointed.

“You all fail.” Beck sighs, turning to Tony, “unless, Stark’s managed to wrangle a pair…?”

Tony feels the pearls in his pocket, and shakes his head. He doesn’t want anyone to see them. Doesn’t want anyone to render a person into an item of clothing to be leered at. “I don’t have anything. So your shitty frat doesn’t get any new pledges this year. And after I tell the Dean what you’ve been doing- I’m not sure it ever will.”

The look on Beck’s face is one Tony will savour.

***

It isn’t until a few months later, for a party at Tony’s new fraternity- that he sees Peter again.

Drawn to him like a siren, Tony moves through the sea of hazy dancing, until he’s close enough to reach down and kiss Peter’s cheek.

The omega looks up and smiles. “I hoped I’d find you here.”

Tony grins, heart in his throat, “yeah? I wanted to- to come and talk to you, but I thought you might not want anything to do with me.”

Peter threads their fingers together, and tiptoes on his heels to whisper into Tony’s ear: “I want you to take my panties again. With your teeth this time.”

And tugs him towards one of the bedrooms.

Clint will say he saw Tony drooling later, as he was led like a dog on a leash by an omega into a spare bedroom, and Tony won’t even deny it.

He’s too happy to care.

He has a date.

#starker #college starker #frat boy tony #pledge tony #alpha tony #omega peter #drabble #panty raid #scared peter #protective tony #tony stark has a heart #precious peter parker #mentions of bullying #objectification #hazing

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

Taking Chances 4/4

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- I was not going to drag this on for five chapters)

Masterlist

1 2 3 4

Warnings- Some angst

A distinct dampness still hung in the summer air, though, the storm had passed, the cool calm being rung in by the sun hanging proudly above, against bright blue and flanked by fluffy white. The birds had fluttered out of their shelter and the usual bright, scenic beauty of Luxembourg had quickly restored, as if it had never really been gone. A sense of excited happiness had washed over the small village; shops spared from damage had reopened, tourists were back to exploring the town again and most were all in all just glad to get back to their regular lives. Though, the joy of the storm having passed seemed to have missed two people, only sullied by the fact.

They stood in the train station, another place which had returned to its usual state; busy, bustling with life and noisy. The occasional sound of a steam whistle interrupted the persistent jumble of chatter all around as well as the slew of automated announcements emanating from unseen speakers. Stationed on the platform, dressed in the same thing she’d been wearing when he’d met her in at the pub, Y/n clung to Keanu, her arms wound around his neck, fingers tangled in the ends of his shaggy mane and chest pressed to his as she stood on her toes, “I can’t believe I’m leaving already.”

“Neither can I,” Keanu hugged her at the waist, wishing with everything in him that things were different, that Y/n could stay, “I don’t want you to go, I don’t want to lose you Y/n.”

Sniffling quietly, Y/n tried to keep the tears at bay, knowing that if they fell, things would only get harder. It was killing her; knowing that the end of their three days of bliss was neigh. Leaving was the last thing she wanted to do, and by then, thoughts of Noah had been scarce, it was hard to remember that you were meant to love one person when you were too busy falling for another. “I don’t want to lose you either,” her breathy whisper broke with emotion, and as she closed her eyes, a lonesome tear slid down her cheek, slipping past her tightly pressed lips, salty on her tongue, “But I don’t have a choice.”

“You can stay,” Keanu reasoned, bending slightly so he could press his forehead to hers. Her scent was intoxicating and her embrace felt like everything his life had been missing, “Marry me instead,” it was ridiculous to expect her to say yes, three days and a handful of hours extra weren’t enough to warrant her to make such a life changing decision, he knew that full and well, but still, Keanu clung to hope. He craved the stillness that she brought, the security and serenity in her embrace. Being with Y/n wasn’t like having butterflies in the pit of your stomach, she didn’t make him nervous or feel like he had to work to measure up, instead, she reminded Keanu that he was enough, just as he was, that love didn’t have to send your heart racing or make your palms sweaty, it could make you contented and at ease.

A choked sob escaped her lips and Keanu hugged Y/n tighter. She didn’t think he understood quite how much she was dying inside as the moment of truth ticked closer. They were together on borrowed time, and now they were overdue, there was no putting it off or denying the obvious. This was made especially true when an announcement for Y/n’s train played through the intercom. “I can’t do that,” memories of Noah, what she shared with him serving as a reminder of where she actually belonged, in Paris, at his side, building a home there. They’d been together for five years and up to the beginning of the week, planning a life with him had seemed like the most natural thing to do. But standing there, wrapped around Keanu, giving him her tears instead, she didn’t even think she wanted that future anymore.

But she couldn’t risk sticking around with Keanu either. Y/n had nothing in Luxembourg and what if they were mistaking what they had for something more than it was meant to be? What if it was just a fling that was meant to ruin her engagement, mistaken for forever because of the delicacy that surrounded it? Fragile feelings and misplaced hearts would do them no good and really, Y/n didn’t know Keanu, so how could she trust herself to make such an illogical decision.

When another announcement called for the remaining passengers to board the train, Y/n reluctantly pulled away, “I should go,” she tried to swallow the thick lump in her throat, though it persisted, sending a new wave of prickles up to her eyes. Her chest burned and as they untangled, Keanu moving to take her hand, Y/n felt another piece of her soul ebb away.

“Okay,” pained and broken, Keanu nodded, “I’ll walk you.” Even if it was minutes away from being over, even if in the briefest of moments, an automatic, metal door hissing closed would be the beginning of a lifetime of distance between them, even if Keanu knew he would never see her again, he was going to savor ounce of her company left.

Slowly, they approached the train, the sleek, metal tube ready to whisk Y/n back off to reality. “So I guess this is it,” she frowned, standing on the edge of the concrete, “This is goodbye.” It was the hardest one she’d ever offer, the one that would shatter her heart when it was over.

“I guess it is,” Keanu nodded stiffly, taking her other hand, trying not to wince at the sight of her engagement ring, “You know, even if you leave, I don’t think I’ll ever feel this way about anyone else,” in fact, he knew he’d never feel that way about anyone else, “And if you change your mind, you have my number.”

A strained smile curled Y/n’s pink, bare lips, and a pained, dry chuckle was emitted, “Yeah,” she squeezed his fingers, “I wish things were different……” But I’m too scared to walk away from everything I’ve known for the past five years.

“But they’re not, I know,” Keanu too was on the verge of tears, “I guess I should let you go now,” he glanced down at their feet, toe to toe, thinking of all the things they’d never do together, the future they could never have. They were from different lives, different worlds, who's to say it would have worked out anyway? “Goodbye Y/n,” he sealed his words with one final, lengthy, breath-stealing, heart stopping kiss, feeling Y/n melt against him. Three days, and he’d grown used to it, and he knew from then on, if there was ever anyone else, they would never be able to compare, they would never be enough.

“Goodbye Keanu,” she kept her lips pressed to his, easing her hands from his to cup his face, feeling his beard tickle the soft inside of her palms, “Don’t forget me, okay?” If nothing else, Y/n hoped she could be one of his better memories, not just another passing face.

“I could never,” Keanu reassured, his breath hitching when they finally untangled one last time, and Y/n stepped into the train. Even as she walked past the door, he stood there, waiting for her to claim her seat near the window, smiling faintly when she turned her face towards it, pressing her palm against the glass. She looked so very sad, and he assumed he didn’t look much different.

Before long, the train started moving, and as it did, taking Y/n further and further away, Keanu slipped his hands into his pockets, casting his head down. He could still feel her touch on his face, her lips on his and if he tried hard enough, he could swear that she was still right there. Though when he opened his eyes again, just in time to see the back of the train break into the sunlight, Keanu realized that his imagination, as vivid as it could be, it would never be do their time together any justice. As long as she wasn’t there, nothing would be enough, and nothing would ever be the same.

The front door seemed more foreign that it had the first time she’d seen it, and Y/n knew that things would only get worse once she went through it. Still, she had to. She hadn’t yet figured out was she was going to say, but nonetheless, Y/n slipped her key into the door, pushing it open as she turned the cool brass handle. “Y/n,” a baritone that had grown all too familiar over the past five years greeted her eagerly, and upon her raising her weary head, Noah stood from the chair he’d placed at the top of the brief hallway. He wasn’t dressed like he’d been to work, instead clad in worn, faded jeans and a beat up t-shirt and before she knew it, Y/n was being engulfed in a crushing hug, “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled meekly. Her apology wasn’t just for her absence, it was for everything else too, everything that she didn’t want him to know. Her hollow embrace tried to mimic the love that once resided in it, and when she buried her head in his neck, breathing his scent, it pinched her heart when she couldn’t fool herself into thinking it was Keanu’s. “I should have-”

“No,” Noah pulled away, still holding her at an arm’s length, “You don’t need to apologize.” He looked much like the man she’d moved to France for, though, not as shaven as he usually was, “When you called that night, to tell me what they’d said at the train station, I looked into everything; buses, flights, hell, even taxis,” Noah chuckled dryly, “But I couldn’t get anything, I was just…..stuck here, I couldn’t get to you, or bring you back to me. And then I tried to call you-”

“My phone got soaked,” not from when she’d tried to escape the downpour, but from when she’d willingly walked through it with Keanu, “I ended up crashing at this hotel, waiting it out,” she sighed heavily, knowing that she was lying through her teeth, "I really should have found a way to call," if she'd even been thinking of that.

"Its okay darling," he hugged her again, that time lifting her slightly off the hardwood floor, "I'm just glad you're alright." After that, Noah all but waited in her hand and foot, protesting every time Y/n tried to do something for herself; he was committed to pampering her in his attempts at apologizing for not being able to get to her. In another circumstance, one where she didn't feel so very guilty about everything that had transpired while they were apart, she might have enjoyed it. But she couldn't, it just didn't feel right.

Even when they'd resigned to their shared bed, Noah falling to sleep soundly beside her, with an arm draped over Y/n, she laid wide awake. Thoughts of Keanu galloped through her mind, her heart yearning to be with him instead. Truthfully, she'd expected it to be much easier, convincing herself that three days had nothing on five years, but that couldn't be further from the truth. The truth being that as hard as she tried, Y/n knew that just as she'd pleaded with him to not forget her, she wouldn't be forgetting him anytime soon. She wanted him, more than she wanted her own fiancé. A relationship, marriage, children, everything, it all suddenly seemed easier to imagine with Keanu. She didn't just love him, she was absolutely, undoubtedly, in love with him.

That was when it hit her, causing her to gasp quietly in the darkness and almost shoot up in bed; she'd never be truly happy with Noah, knowing that Keanu was out there. As hard as she'd try, things just wouldn't be the same and in less than a handful of days she'd felt something for him that she only felt a fraction of for Noah. Keanu was funny, charming, he learned her body in a night and with just one look, it felt like he could see past every defense she'd put up. Every time he'd held her had the thrill of the first and when they kissed, it felt right, like it was meant to happen. Everything about him was everything Y/n didn't know she needed until she'd found. And now that she'd had a taste of perfection, did she really want to go on with the rest of her life without it. Without him?

It would be torture.

"Noah," without thinking, Y/n shook him awake, not caring that it was past midnight, that she was about to ruin something she was absolutely sure of for unchartered territory. "Noah," she shook his arm again, that time with more urgency and when he was finally awake, with tears in her eyes, Y/n began, "I have something to tell you."

Keanu didn't think he'd ever been that happy. He'd achieved so much, done so much more. Filled his life and had incomparable experiences. He'd felt; hurt, hated and loved. But what he'd felt for Y/n, it paled everything else. Nothing had trilled him the way her touch had, brought him peace the way her embrace had. There was nothing in the world that could make him feel the way she had.

But she was gone. And from then on, everything seemed to remind him of her. From sheets stretched over the bed, the chair near the screen door, the shampoo in the hotel's bathroom and the carpet in the lobby. Every time they drove past the pub they’d met on his way to set or when he’d take the elevator, she was there. She was in the few memories they shared and the ones that they’d never make haunted him. He wanted Y/n, he wanted the things he’d always thought he’d missed out on and all the things he never thought he could want. She was like a dream, Keanu thought, so close, right within his grasp, though evading him every time he reached out. Perfectly unattainable.

After he’d taken her to the train station, that night, Keanu had laid wide awake, flat on his back as he let himself sink. Just hours prior, she’d laid there with him, for one last time. Watching her go that afternoon had physically hurt, it had felt like he’d been breathing ice; frozen and tight. Nothing would ever be the same for him, and he knew it. What Keanu was also aware of was how obscenely cruel the universe was, for letting Y/n walk right into his life and then plucking her out just when he’d started getting used to her.

Even days later, he’d been preoccupied, caught between smiling at their memories and aching for the unknown. It had interrupted his work, and he could tell that Alice, the director, was at her ropes end with him. In fact, Keanu was positively sure that the only reason he hadn’t been fired was because of how much buzz his name had generated. Usually, that was something he’d care about; the way his lackluster behavior was affecting a project, but by then, he couldn’t really bring himself to pay it any mind. He felt…...listless, like color had been siphoned out of his life and he was left to reside in the grey that was left.

A defeated huff left his lips that night, just as Keanu dropped his small duffle bag on the floor, near the foot of the made bed, letting himself fall back on the mattress. The sheets had been changed since Y/n had left, yet still, if he turned his face to the side, Keanu could swear that her smell still lingered there. “Fuck,” he breathed softly, scrubbing his hands over his face as the realization dawned on him; in just a week, his life had changed so many times. It was tiring, painful, enraging. He was sad and angry at the same. He wanted better, Keanu deserved better.

Better than a reality that would see that he’d found the woman of his dreams and lost her in just a matter of days.

Better that the hollowness that served as all he’d been left with since she left.

Better than just the memories of kissing Y/n as his keepsake.

He wanted it all with her. And while her words had made sense when she told him that he couldn’t actually love her after just a few hours, he knew she was wrong. Because in that night, that night where she’d held his hand, kissed him like he’d never been kissed and curled on his chest before they fell into a drunken slumber, Keanu fell in love. He fell in love and the next morning, he saw his life in her, all the possibilities that could be realized if they were brave enough. Y/n was hope, she was life, she was light.

And she was gone.

Without the energy to move, Keanu kept laying there, wondering in the back of his head if he’d fall asleep before making it to the shower. He didn’t think he had any intention of getting up anyway, that was, until he heard the three short knocks on the door. For a minute, he considered ignoring it, but his guest’s persistence had him shoving himself into a standing position, trudging towards the door.

As he took the gold varnished knob in his large hand, Keanu hesitated; he really wasn’t in the mood for company. He didn’t have the energy. But then they knocked, yet again, with a soft groan, he threw his head back in frustration. Why wouldn’t they just leave?

Already thinking of a suitable excuse, he pulled the door open, blinking quickly at the sight before him. Had he fallen asleep, was he dreaming already? Or was he hallucinating, had he mistaken illness for exhaustion and was now caught in a fever induced delirium? They were two of very few logical explanations.

Or could it be…...that she was actually there?

Standing before him with a frightened smile and several bags, bundled up in a woolen long coat and a simple button up paired with blue jeans underneath. Her hair was wind tousled and her cheeks flushed from the chilly evening wind. “Y/n,” he whispered, reaching out so the tips of his fingers would ghost the side of her face.

“Hi,” she responded meekly, her smile widening just a bit as she tilted her head to meet Keanu’s touch, “I’m back.”

“I can see that,” Keanu chuckled quietly, “Why? Not that I’m not happy to see you.” He was, so, so happy, but he also didn’t want to get his hopes up after having them fall so far just days prior. Part of him wanted to believe that she was back, for good, but another, more pessimistic part told him that in the end it would be for naught, that she’d be gone just as fast as she’d come.

“Because,” Y/n shrugged, faint smile still twisting her lips as she reached for his free hand, sighing softly as the feel of his palm. She’d missed it, missed him. “I’m in love with you. Because, I could never dream of marrying someone else, knowing that you’re there. When I’ve felt your touch and kissed you, when I’ve heard your voice and fallen asleep next to you. I can’t love someone else like this Keanu, I don’t ever want to.” Licking her lips. Y/n closed the little bout of space between them, looping her arms around his neck when he wound his around her waist, “I left because I was scared, but I’m back because I don’t want to miss out on something amazing because of that.”

Leaning down, Keanu kissed her, his lips searing on hers, pouring his love into her, knowing that it was enough to last both their lifetimes and more. “Tell me this is real,” he pleaded when they broke, searching her orbs.

“This is real Keanu. Nothing’s ever felt realer,” kissing him again, Y/n sighed against his lips, standing on her toes and pressing herself to him, feeling his heart thud against hers, steady and in sync, “Do you want me to stay?”

“I’d love if you did,” Keanu grinned, lifting her slightly off the floor, “I wouldn’t mind it if you stuck around forever, actually.” When Y/n giggled, he hugged her tighter, breathing her scent, getting drunk off the feel of her. "I love you, Y/n."

Without missing a beat, Y/n's grinned widened to match his as she clung to him like her life depended on it, "I love you too Keanu."

They stayed like that for a while, sharing drawn on kisses that were sweet and oozing with affection. Neither of them had he slightest clue of where things would go, but with everything Y/n and Keanu knew that it was certainly worth taking a chance.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @iworshipkeanureeves @wheretheriversrunintothesea

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gaasaku-fanfests · 4 years

Text

Bottle Episode

Title: Bottle Episode Author: mouseymightymarvellous Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,026 words Summary: Bottle Episode: An episode of a tv series designed to cost as little money as possible, wherein [typically] only the regular cast [or part of the regular cast] is filmed at a single location. Bottle episodes are often slow paced and focused on characterization and relationships, freeing up budget for a big, bombastic episode laden with special effects and action. bottle (n): a container, typically made of glass or plastic and with a narrow neck, used for storing drinks or other liquids. bottle (v): place (drinks or other liquid) in bottles or jars. to bottle something up: repress or conceal feelings over a period of time. Trope: Hokage!Sakura

Sakura shuts the door on a set of bone white grins with a decisive snap.

Konoha is the only diplomatic party left in Suna and Sakura recognizes Gaara’s favourite personal guards by sight (even if she—politely—wouldn’t ever admit to knowing their names), but even so, she refrains from sticking her tongue out at Sai when she leaves him at the entrance to coordinate her own personal guard. Appearances must be upheld, even if appearances involve the Hokage entering the Kazekage’s personal quarters holding a bottle of alcohol on the second to last night of the bi-yearly Kage Summit. The door shuts firmly, and Sakura pretends that she doesn’t hear the snickering on the other side. They can gossip all they like between the eight of them, as long as the gossip goes no further.

Or, well. Ino did leave the bottle of Sakura’s preferred local poison on the countertop of the kitchenette in Sakura’s favourite of Suna’s diplomatic suites. She likes the view from the bedroom windows in the morning, small as they are to keep out the sand. There is nothing quite like the sun breaking across the desert in all the world. The bottle was accompanied by a small card with a lipstick print in Ino’s preferred pink as the only signature. Sakura had definitely ignored the small foil packets Ino had also thoughtfully left next to the alcohol.

It’s not like that.

It’s just—

Well.

Even in Suna—the Summit concluded and the trade agreements signed and peace assured for a little bit longer—even now, Sakura cannot be free of the weight of the robes heavy on her shoulders.

“Sakura,” Gaara says, wiping his hands on a towel as he makes his way from his kitchen to greet her in the entryway.

It smells like cumin and baking bread and green things.

She’s spent the last week sitting both next to and across from him at various tables, each of them negotiating on behalf of their village and then negotiating together on behalf of peace. It’s almost strange to see him, now, in loose pants and a worn-looking tee with—inexplicably—the neckline cut out low enough that Sakura can see his collarbones.

“Sorry I’m late.” Sakura smiles at him, and doesn’t look at his hands or the soft hollow of his throat. “My last meeting at the hospital ran over with that new data on the flu your infectious disease unit has been tracking up north. There are some novel genetic markers—”

“Sakura,” Gaara interrupts, his answering smile a little wry and a little small, but still warm. “Unless someone is going to die overnight, I would like at least one evening to talk with you and not have it be about work. Is anyone dying?”

He throws the towel over a shoulder and walks up to her, gently turning Sakura with a palm to her waist.

Sakura moves with him, letting him have her back, and Gaara ease her out of her robe.

His fingers brush the back of her neck. They’re warm, and Sakura shivers.

“People are always dying,” Sakura retorts, sharper than she means to be.

Gaara carefully hangs her robe in the small hall closet, and bends down to pull her slippers out of the basket of house slippers he stores there. (Sakura knows he keeps them specifically for her because they are bright pink with cherries on them, and he’d been so pleased the first time she had come into his apartments to find them waiting for her. Sakura knows he keeps them specifically for her, and she has never known since the first time he shyly offered them to her what, exactly, to do about that.)

He’s kneeling as he carefully helps her slip on one, then the other.

Sakura does not put a hand on his shoulder or in his hair to steady herself; she’s a shinobi, she doesn’t need steadying.

Gaara does not drag his thumb along her instep.

Still, his eyes are green and growing like the plants that she knows will be overflowing his windowsills and tabletops and shelves.

Sakura looks away.

Gaara stands, warm at her side.

He’s not tall enough to loom over her, but Sakura feels delicate and sheltered as he fits himself around her space.

“Come, the food will be ready in a few minutes.”

Sakura follows him along the familiar walk to the kitchen.

They are just Sakura and Gaara, tonight, their titles left on the conference tables of the day, so the little kitchen table has been mostly cleared of what Sakura suspects—if he’s anything like her, which she knows he is, at least in this—is its usual pile of paperwork and briefs and books, leaving only a small, happily blooming succulent and a “thank you” card featuring a hand drawn smiling sun. The table is set with beautiful clay plates and bowls, and Sakura has spent enough time brokering trade deals to recognize Suna ceramics when she sees them.

Gaara returns to the small stovetop, and Sakura peaks into cabinets until she finds a small set of cups, appropriate for the mezcal.

“Here,” Sakura says, perching her hip against the counter at Gaara’s elbow and handing him a cup. “Cheers.”

With the hand not currently occupied stirring, Gaara accepts the cup, their fingers brushing.

“To food in good company,” Gaara offers.

“To no one dying tonight,” Sakura answers.

Their cups tap gently, and neither of them breaks eye contact as they both take a sip.

The alcohol is clear and shocking and bright on her tongue. and Sakura hums contentedly, letting her eyes flutter shut as she savours the warmth.

Like desert storms and the mid afternoon sun up above or lightning flashing down to kiss the sand.

When she opens her eyes, Gaara is still watching her.

Sakura reflexively wets her lips, her tongue catching the last kiss of alcohol there.

Gaara swallows heavily, and Sakura can’t help by watch the motion of his throat.

She feels hollowed out and filled, hungry and wanting and—

“Go sit,” he rasps out. “Food is ready.”

“Can I help with anything?” Sakura asks.

Gaara stops her with his palm ghosting along her side.

She doesn’t remember him turning away from the stove, but he’s facing her, now, and Sakura has to focus on keeping her weight balanced firmly on her heels.

“Sakura,” he chides, “you’re my guest. Go sit. I’m not going to throw you out because you aren’t being productive; I am happy to have you here.”

That catches in Sakura’s throat, and she is the one swallowing now.

She heads to the table, sits.

The food is delicious, and they speak about easy things between bites: Temari’s third pregnancy, Lee’s new genin team’s attempts to singlehandedly complete every D-rank mission in Konohakagure, the books they have read recently, the health of Gaara’s particular orchids, that time Ino got all of Team 10 arrested on suspicion of fermenting revolt when Ino was actually just flirting with the Daimyo’s youngest daughter. Gaara has taken up gardening and cooking in equal measure, and Sakura teases him gently about his eventual retirement and dotage as a little grandmother, her smile easy on her lips and around her fork.

The mezcal is also excellent, and Sakura pours with a heavy hand. It is not enough to erase everything they do not speak about, but it does mean Sakura’s shoulders relax inch by inch, until she can almost forget the weight she usually carries there. She is safe in Gaara’s space—she can hang her robes and her duties and her worries up in the small closet in the hall.

The mezcal and Sakura’s heavy hand also mean that Sakura does not move when she realizes that, at some point, their feet got tangled up under the small kitchen table they are eating at.

Gaara’s gaze on her is as clear and shocking and bright as the mezcal on her tongue, and Sakura wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

Her robe is hanging in his hall closet, but Sakura wears her inheritance on her forehead for all to see. The Konoha delegation will leave Suna in two days. There are eight guards standing watch on this suite of rooms. Sakura carries grief in the curve of her mouth, these days, as she has for years now, and she wonders sometimes in the early morning light if one day the strength she has carved into her bones will not be enough.

“Sakura.” Gaara touches the back of her hand. “Where did you go?”

“Why do you say my name like that?” Sakura demands.

She does not move her hand.

Neither does Gaara.

Gaara watches her for a long moment.

“I don’t—“ He falters for a breath, but steels his jaw, and Sakura is reminded that Gaara is not only growing things kept carefully in greenhouses and in kitchen windowsills, but also the desert storm brewing, the mid afternoon sun blazing overhead, the lightning strike kissing the dunes. He is wearing a t-shirt that he obviously stole from his brother, soft and worn, and, still, Sakura recognizes him as the boy who screamed whole nights for the demon that rode his soul, as a king crowned and bloodied. “I don’t want you to forget who you are, underneath it all. I don’t want you to forget that I see you, underneath it all. You’re my friend.”

Sakura flinches, and reflexively goes to pull her hand to her chest, standing fast enough that her chair topples behind her.

Gaara catches her by the wrist, his thumb flush to her pulse.

“Oh, Sakura, no. Please. Please don’t run. I know I can never keep you, but please don’t run.”

They have never fought and meant it. And Sakura is not one to overestimate her abilities. But she gave up diminishing herself a long time ago. They have never fought with the intention to permanently do harm, and yet they both know who would walk away in the end. (Sakura, equally, is crowned in legacy and blood. Her eyes, too, are green; she is a creature of fire and succession and devouring.) Gaara catches her by the wrist and knows full well he cannot hold her there.

HIs thumb flush to her pulse has Sakura rooted: glass and ozone where sand once danced or a barren lava flow.

“I don’t understand,” Sakura pleads.

Their dishes are mostly clear and the bottle of mezcal is more than half empty.

Gaara’s smile has always been a small and precious thing to tend, to watch grow; as particular as the orchids he loves and even more prone to withering away under the wrong conditions. Sakura has always wanted to pluck each one and press it into a book for safekeeping, all too wary that one day she might not have anything left to her of them but the memories.

Gaara’s fingers around her wrist are warm, and Sakura lets him tug her hand to his chest.

He’s even warmer there, her palm echoing with his heartbeat.

His shirt is as soft as she’s imagined, staring at him in the golden light of the kitchen.

“Sakura,” Gaara manages, helplessly, fond and sad and overflowing with so much they’ve never dared say. “You must know, after all these years. Surely, you must know.”

He bought her cherry covered slippers because he knew they would make her laugh when she was twenty-three and newly invested and feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life.

Sakura digs her fingers into his shirt, and she thinks she can hear the crackle of the wire that is strung across the distance between their ribs.

Her palm to his heartbeat and his thumb to her pulse.

Gaara’s gaze is as clear and shocking and bright as the mezcal, and he tastes like it, too, when Sakura takes a step around the table so that she can kiss him.

Gaara tilts his head for her easily, her free hand going to his hair, his free hand finding the small of her back.

Sakura’s knee finds space on his chair next to his thigh, and then she’s in his lap and their chests are flush and she suddenly has two hands with which to rake her fingers through his hair, finding a spot behind his ear that makes Gaara hum in the back of his throat.

Gaara kisses her like rain in the desert, and Sakura—in the small part of her mind not currently devoted to cataloguing every inch of his body pressed against hers—wonders what he thinks will bloom in her.

And she is: blooming. She is clear eyed, every touch a shock of brightness lighting her up, the wire taught between their ribs snapped close and electrifying.

Sakura presses herself down into Gaara, and he gives way to her like mountains to glaciers.

The whole world is the two of them caught in the warm light of the kitchen, Sakura fingers tangled in the loose neck of Gaara’s shirt and Gaara’s palms steady against her back, the curve of her shoulder.

“Can I have you,” Gaara asks into the soft space between their mouths as they breathe, “for tonight?”

His eyelashes are painfully blond and Sakura wonders what they’ll feel like against the scars feathered along her stomach.

Sakura wishes she could promise him more than just this night, but her robe is hanging in the hall closet, and she cannot offer anything more: anything more is not hers to give.

“Tell me I can stay,” Sakura orders him.

“Stay,” Gaara begs her. “Let me make you food and grow you flowers and love you. Just stay.”

Sakura kisses him again, biting and clear eyed and resounding.

Gaara’s thumb presses to the pulse thundering in her throat.

“I’m not yours,” Sakura tells him, “I can’t be. But I wish I could belong to you.”

“Let me steal you for tonight,” Gaara begs her. “Let me steal you from Konoha for just one night.”

Sakura kisses him for that.

She would kiss him all night, so that she could make love to him in the dawn creeping through the windows, but they won’t have a morning. Not the two of them.

So, instead, Sakura pulls that stupid fucking shirt over his head, and lets it drop to the ground, drags her blunt nails down his chest, pauses with her palm to his stomach. Gaara gasps like she has gutted him, even has his hands scramble to pull her long skirt up around her waist.

He hisses through bared teeth when he slips his fingers between her thighs, and Sakura’s hips buck reflexively into his touches he presses on her clit through her embarrassingly damp underwear.

“Fuck. Sakura.”

“Yes,” Sakura agrees, “let’s do that.” And she stands so that she can wrench her dress over her head, the colourful caftan forgotten the moment it touches the floor.

Sakura stands in the golden light of Gaara’s kitchen in wearing nothing but her underwear and her desire.

She doesn’t have room to be self-conscious of the blush curving down her bare breasts, too occupied with watching Gaara watch her.

“Why,” Sakura demands, “are your pants so stupid?”

She doesn’t quite remember Gaara standing up, for all that the shock of his palms on her hips, urging her back towards the counter is ringing under her skin. She’s too busy to remember, because she is trying to figure out how his stupid fucking pants come off.

Gaara pulls at her damp scrap of underwear in response, and Sakura steps out of them as Gaara continues to walk her backwards, his hands on her ass boosting her up onto the countertop.

It is not remotely hygienic, but then Gaara is sucking bruises onto her breasts, and Sakura forgets to care.

“Fuck,” she spits out, giving up on his pants and instead slipping her hand down to pinch her own clit. “Fuck!”

Gaara’s hips flex, his cock bumping the back of her hand when he looks down. “Sakura. Fuck.”

“Get your stupid pants off, and yeah—”

He kisses her stupid mouth, kisses her stupid, and then bats her fingers away from her cunt.

Sakura whines against his cheekbone, and Gaara bites at the hinge of her jaw.

“I’ve got you,” he tells her, his lips to the soft skin under her ear. “Can I have you, Sakura?”

Sakura takes his cock in hand in response and tilts her hips so that he slips easily through her folds, head catching for a breathless second, slick and hot and shocking.

Gaara’s fingers press bruises into her hips.

“Sakura,” he chokes out, pleading.

Sakura shifts her grip and tilts the angle of her pelvis, and shivers and the stretch of opening to him.

Gaara holds himself completely still, his breath dammed behind his teeth, and Sakura slowly sinks her weight down, until their hips are flush and his cock is completely sheathed in her.

“Let me forget?” Sakura begs him.

Gaara isn’t a particularly large man, but he fits a hand to the small of her back and the other to her hip, shoulders curving around her, and she feels caught by the force of him.

“You’ll remember this,” Gaara promises her. “This is yours to keep.”

Tonight. The taste of his mouth. The warm kitchen light caught in the soft hollow of his throat, between his collarbones. The sweetness of his fingers on her clit as he fucks into her with purposeful strokes.

But not him.

Sakura kisses him again, and urges his hips faster with her hand to his ass.

Neither of them can keep the other.

So Sakura kisses Gaara like tomorrow is dead and there is only this breath and then the next.

Enough time, and glaciers can reshape the world. But they don’t have time for that. They have time only for this: lightning kissing the sand, and the glass left in the aftermath.

Sakura presses her forehead against Gaara’s, and lets herself believe in the blooming there, amidst all that green.

#GaaSaku #gaasaku-fanfests #2020 GaaSaku Free-for-All #2020 GaaSaku Free-for-All Fanfest #fanfic #mouseymightymarvellous

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iron-touch · 3 years

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My Name is Cab Cavazo

TWO YEARS AGO...

As she was the CFO of a successful marketing company and he was almost always out of the house at soccer practice or a training session with his boxing coach, Cab often had little time to spend with his mother. That being said, they were as close as a parent and child could be—being a single mother often had that effect on their sons.

Though what little free time they had together was often made up of one or both of them being exhausted from the rest of their day, there was always time set aside just for the two of them. Whether it be a simple game of chess or a going out to lunch or the rare occasions she would convince her son to get a pedicure with her; they always made sure this time was well spent.

Hiking was usually Cab's preferred way to spend time with just about anyone, including his mother, and she thought it was a great source of exercise. Naturally, they ended up traversing forested trails often. The two of them usually filled the air with idle banter, with him rambling about school, sports, and spicy schoolyard secrets while she would complain about cussed coworkers.

On that day, however, he was completely silent.

He didn't mean to be. There was a lot to talk about, after all. It was his senior year of high school—finals were rapidly approaching, he needed to make a choice about where he would be going to college, and find a cute girl to ask out to prom. Yet all of those issues were dwarfed by his main concern: he didn't feel passionate about sports anymore. It was what he was good at, it was what he was expected to do; but whenever he scored a goal or landed a knockout lately, he didn't feel the same rush of adrenaline and pride in himself that he used to. He only felt apathetic to it all.

Besides, the only reason that he was good at either of those things was because he had special abilities that no one else had.

"What's bothering you?" She asked the question after about 15 minutes of hiking in complete silence.

Pulled from his thoughts, Cab suddenly became aware of the world around him; underneath his feet were crunching leaves, blowing past his body was the chill of a faint breeze, and above his head were the birds chirping in the trees. He turned to his mother and mustered up the best lie that he could.

"Nothing's bothering me," he asserted.

His mother folded her arms at him and raised a brow. "Cab. I know you better than that. If you're being this quiet, then something's on your mind." They each took one big step up a small incline and brushed back some stray leaves that stuck out from the shrubs in front of them, revealing a cliff with a breathtaking view of the rest of the forest. This was nothing new, they had hiked this trail several times before, but seeing the murky pink sky over the trees as the sun fell below the horizon was enough to ease his mind just a bit. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm your mother."

Cab groaned and sat down next to her, the flaky dirt sticking to his jeans. No point in continuing to hide it. "I don't know if I want to keep doing sports," he confessed.

The loud gasp that his mother responded with made him want to rip his hair out. "What do you mean you don't want to keep doing sports? You've been doing them your whole life. Why stop now?"

"I don't know," he sighed with a shrug. "I just don't really have fun doing them anymore. There's no challenge in it."

"That's because you're so good at them." She leaned over and pinched his cheek. "Is it soccer or boxing that you don't want to keep doing?"

"Both."

She tilted her head to the side. "What ever happened to wanting to be the heavyweight champion? You've been going on since you were a little kid that you wanted to be the next Buster Douglas."

Biting his lip, Cab carefully considered his words. I win every fight and every match because of Quiet Riot. There's no challenge in it anymore. I'm just going through the motions. That was what he wanted to say, but how the hell was he supposed to explain Quiet Riot to her? Oh, I've had this compass ghost follow me around for as long as I can remember that no one else can see or touch. He scratched his neck. Maybe he could give her a demonstration of Quiet Riot's ability? How would she react then? Would she panic and run? Call him a freak of nature? Just the thought made Cab feel nauseous.

"People change, Mom," he responded, "and I just don't think that soccer or boxing would make good career paths. What about when I'm 40? Or 50? I need to find something more financially stable than being a sports star." That was the best excuse he could muster up, and he was quite proud of it. With her being a businesswoman, surely she could sympathize with it.

"Well, you know how I've always felt about boxing." They both recalled the days of his youth, when she would scold him for sneaking out of the house on weekends to beg regulars at the local gym to teach him how to fight. One day, she finally relented and signed him up for professional lessons after one of said gym regulars followed him back to the house and refused to leave. "But I don't think you should give up soccer. If you do well at the game next week, I really think you could get a full ride scholarship to college. You've got one hell of an aim with your feet. It's like it's your destiny to play soccer." She affectionately nudged him. "You're destined for great things, Cab."

Cab rested his head in his hands. She could have a point. It wasn't like everyone had their own Quiet Riot that could help them aim their shots.

"Speaking of the game tomorrow," she continued, "are you nervous? Excited? I'm excited! I'm sure you'll do great, honey." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "Are you inviting your father to come?"

"Why would I invite him?" Cab rolled his eyes. "I haven't spoken with him in years now. You know that."

"I know, I know. I just figured that you might want him to come, considering it's going to be one of your last big games before you go off to college."

"It's just another game," he replied with a shrug. "He cheated on you and walked out on us. I don't see any reason to keep in contact with him."

"He is your father," she justified. "No matter what any of you do, that will never change. For what it's worth," her face lit up like a candle, the tone of her voice suddenly much lighter, "I certainly wouldn't mind seeing him again."

"Stockholm syndrome," Cab muttered under his breath. Gazing out to the sky, he considered her words. Sure, he was his father, but why did that matter? The man hadn't done anything fatherly for him since he was 10. It had been longer than he could remember since he had received any letters from him, the ones that used to ask him how he was doing in school or when his next game was, worded so eloquently that he always assumed that his mistress had written them out of pity. The crescent moon peeked out from the trees, the sun barely visible anymore. He pulled away from his mother's embrace and stood up. "Come on, let's start heading back. It's getting late."

She nodded and pushed off from the ground as she attempted to stand up. Clumps of grass and dirt crumbled beneath her hands and descended off the cliff into the forest below. Having lost her balance, her body lurched forwards, carried by the force she had put in her hands. She threw her body back and tried to grab onto the ground, but it only collapsed under her weight. A panicked scream left her lips as she fell off the cliffside.

Cab outstretched both his and Quiet Riot's arm out in an attempt to catch her, but she had already fallen out of reach. A few seconds later, he heard a loud THUD! somewhere very far below him. He felt the color drain from his face.

"MOM!"

~~~~~

THREE MONTHS LATER...

"Martin..."

That was the only word that Cab's mother had uttered since she entered her coma, and it was the name of her ex husband.

Not once did she mutter Cab's name, and she barely responded to any input from him. Even after he stopped attending school and skipped out on all his other commitments just to be with her (to the chagrin of his teammates), the only reaction he got out of her were occasional eyelid twitches, her pupils shifting under them when he spoke to her. Even as he squeezed her hand in his through her full-body cast and tearfully babbled out "I love you, you're going to wake up soon, everything's going to be okay," on repeat for hours on end, she never said anything else aside from his father's name.

Cab didn't need to be a relationship expert to know that she was still in love with him, even if he had fallen out of love with her long ago. He couldn't see why; not only had he cheated on her, but he was rude, argumentative, and self-absorbed. Having him out of the house had only improved their lives. Gone were the noise complaints from neighbors when he would scream at them just to show off how loud his voice was, the disdained grumbles when he overheard Cab listening to his favorite songs on the radio, and the long nights of his mother sobbing herself to sleep when he spent the night at another woman's house. The day that he packed his bags and left was one of the best days of Cab's life.

Yet, as she fell closer and closer to death's door, she called out the name of her emotionally abusive ex-husband and not her baby boy.

She didn't have much time left—the way that her doctors always avoided eye contact with him told him that much. The turning point came when one of them tapped him on the shoulder and said: "don't get your hopes up," on their way out the door. The doctor kept his eyes focused ahead of him, rather than on the grieving son below.

If she really wanted her last moments to be with him, then so be it. So it was how Cab found himself in front of his father's home.

It was a dingy place, really. One story with a flat roof covered in leaves, a bland gray paint job that had begun to chip off, the garden so overgrown that Cab couldn't see his own feet as he walked to the door. Surely this couldn't be the address of his prideful father. He double checked the address. Had he really spent months digging through phone books and real estate listings just to get the wrong address?

No. There couldn't be two idiots named Martin Cavazo. Not to mention the orange Pontiac Firebird, his pride and joy, that was parked in the driveway.

Cab pounded on the door. "Hey, Martin! It's me, Cab. You know, your son? I need to talk to you about something."

The door creaked open under the force of Cab's fists. Whatever obscenity he had lined up to say caught in his throat. Why had the door been left unlocked? Martin was a lot of things, but forgetful wasn't one of them. Cab vividly remembered being scolded by him whenever he failed to unlock the door after coming home from school. As eager as he was to add "hypocrite" to his father's long list of toxic traits, he proceeded through the door, closing it behind him.

Though he wasn't sure what he was expecting from the inside of the house, it certainly wasn't this. It somehow looked smaller on the inside than it did on the outside. Only a dirty kitchen with flies hovering over half-eaten plates of steak to the left; a living room in the middle with only a broken recliner, bulky CRT, and numerous empty beer bottles strewn about the floor; and a couple of doors to the left. One was halfway open and lead to the bathroom, while the other Cab assumed went to the bedroom. Dust hung in the air like pollen in spring, coating just about every surface in the house. It nearly made him cough up is lungs as he entered the house. There was also something to the left that reeked worse than anything Cab had ever smelled before. He would've assumed that it was coming from the bathroom, but whatever it smelled like, it didn't smell like feces. Perhaps a dead rat had gotten stuck in the plumbing?

Obviously, the house looked abandoned, or at the very least like it had not been maintained in a long time. Cab's shoulders fell at the prospect of another dead end. No way in hell he'd leave his house like this, he reasoned as he walked forwards, dust rising from the floor with every step he took, he must've skipped on the bills and had no choice but to jump ship. But if that were the case, why would he leave the Firebird out in the driveway?

Since the house was so small, Cab figured that he could gleam just about everything about the kitchen and living room just from his initial impressions of them. They were filthy and cluttered with trash, but he doubted that he could find any clues under piles of beer bottles and dirty dishes. He turned to the left and surveyed the two doors in front of him. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, and through it he couldn't see anything peculiar. Just a sink with an old shaving razor resting on the countertop and the edge of a toilet. There was still the smell, however, and if there really was a dead rat or something similar clogging the drains, he'd rather investigate it as a last resort.

The second door, however, was firmly shut, revealing no details about the bedroom. That was probably the best place to start his search. Hell, maybe Martin was passed out drunk on the bed, too lazy to get off his ass and maintain the house on his own now that he didn't have a woman to do it for him. Cab gently opened the door.

"Dad, are you in—"

The last thing he remembered seeing before fainting was Martin's limp body laying on the bed with a bloody crevasse in place of a head and a shotgun in his lap.

~~~~~

Cab hadn't remembered how much time had passed since that day. He could still see his father's decaying corpse in his mind's eye like it was still in front of him.

Even after what must've been more than a year now, the turn of events felt surreal. First his mother fell off a cliff and fell into a coma, then he quashed his opportunities at a college scholarship by wasting three months of his life trying to track down his ghost of a father, only to find his actual dead body and to be told not long afterwards that his mother had passed while he was away. Despite legally being an adult at that point, Uncle Roger had offered to look after him until he could get back on his feet. Cab didn't even know if he was still there or not. He never left his room long enough to find out.

How could something so horrible happen to a kid like him?

That was all he could think about since that day. Could this be some sort of cruel punishment? Some justice for an evil deed he had committed? But what, Cab wondered, have I done that could possibly deserve this? His entire life played through his mind at a snail's pace. There was that time when he was five when he pulled down his neighbor's pants at the park. There was the time when he was nine when he made fun of his substitute health teacher so badly that she nearly threw her shoe at him. There was the time when he was fifteen and stole the car one night to go to a party then wrecked it on the way home. And of course, that said nothing of the countless other boys he had Quiet Riot demolish in the ring. Was all of that combined really the equivalent to watching his mother fall to her doom and walking in on his father's suicide?

No, he realized, that can't be it. There are men out there much eviler than I am who haven't endured half the amount of pain that I have.

Then what? Was it just bad luck? Some malevolent God out there who deemed him to be a worthy punching bag? He scoffed at what his mother told him: "you're destined for great things, Cab." Like what destiny had ended up giving him was some great reward.

You're wrong, Mom. He stood up and opened the window, letting the crisp outside air blow against his face. This wasn't my destiny. This wasn't anyone's destiny. We chose to go hiking on that trail that day. Dad chose to kill himself. There isn't any outside force controlling us. We're all victims of our own free will.

After all, how could fate be real when it had dealt him such a bad hand?

He stared at his reflection in the window. Heavy bags weighed his eyes down, matted curls hung over his face, his once bold muscles nearly deflated. He hardly recognized himself. If "destiny" was so keen to make him this way, then why should he bend over and take it?

I'm choosing to be miserable, he decided. Without a second thought, he set his shoulders back and fully opened his eyes. Not anymore. I'm going to find myself.

The next morning, he packed his bags and left, determined to do just that.

~~~~~

IN THE PRESENT...

I remember that she was a little confused as to why I didn't tell her for so long, but other than that she was happy that I had a Stand of my own.

Among the waterfall of bullshit about curses and fate that spilled from her mouth the day before, that was the one line from Michelle's monologue that Cab connected to. She had the guts to tell her mother about her Stand, despite the fact that her mother wasn't a Stand user. Now Cab could only dream about having the same opportunity. No matter how much he told himself that it's different, her dad was a Stand user too, it didn't change the regret that simmered in his heart as the sentence played over and over again in his head like a broken record.

Staring at her now, as she begrudgingly played tour guide to Sara on their way to Paris' border, he couldn't help but feel jealous.

"Hey, Michelle." He meant to address her more delicately, but it came out as more of a statement than anything.

Jaw clenched after hearing the assertiveness in his voice, she turned her head to him.

"What was it like to have a mom who knew you were a Stand user?"

Michelle furrowed her brow at the question and studied his face like a map. "Why do you ask?"

He bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. "No particular reason."

#iron touch #my name is

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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The Casagrandes Reviews: Operation Dad

In my first look at The Casagrandes, We meet Ronnie Anne and Bobby’s dad Arturo as Ronnie tries to get him to start working in the city to be closer to them.. and when a genuine honest appeal dosen’t work, shenanigans will have to do. Dad stuff under the cut.

This is one i’ve had in the works since my labor day catchup binge of shows, but kept getting pushed back either due to regular coverage or specifically timed things like the bi visalblity day review of “What Was Missing. And with Halloween next month, my time to cover this is running out a bit and I feel it’s a great place to start covering this show so, pitter patter. The Casagrandes didn’t really hook me in at first: It did have two things going for it: An intresting premise A blended family coming together, with our heroine and her big bro being fish out of water in a new family situation. Wheras with the Loud House Lincoln, and by extension most of his sisters, is used to how his house runs, knows the score and knows how to manuvre around it, Ronnie Anne was being dropped into a new situation, with people she KNEW, but only likely from seeing them breifly. It’s one thing to see your cousin once or twice a year, as I did with mine at that age, it’s another to live with them. It had a lot of potential. The other thing was Bobby Santiago, Ronnie Anne’s brother, and one of my faviorite characters across both shows, an endlessly nice guy who while suffering from a terminal case of dumbass, is utterly likeable, helped by his VA Carlos PenaVega, with the spinoff and i’ts build up only fleshing him out more by giving him his job at the Mercado, and showing he has serious buisness acumen in addition to his many other talents.

But what made me wary was the lead: Ronnie Anne didn’t get the best intro on the loud house. You know this, I know this. We all know this. No sense beating around the bush: She was a bully, who had a crush on lincoln and masked it by pummeling him. And this was seen as okay by the show which isn’t as suprising in hindsight as Chris Savino clearly has messed up views about women and harassment, and is thankfully no longer part of this. She did get slightly better once she actually showed up, getting genuine chemstiry with Lincoln and being shown underneath the bully exteriror was a pretty nice kid who shared his intress. Granted it wasn’t perfect as the show madei t clear he was terrified of her, but it did at least also make it clear he no longer had a reason to be, and while she’d prank her boyfriend, or assits his sister during her dark time once a year in doing it, and if your wondering if i’m ever going to watch or cover the april fools episodes .. yeah i’m just waiting you know.. for april fools.

My point is it was kinda mixed and their solution was to soften her up a bit but also act like she and LIncoln weren’t intrested in each other all of a sudden instead of you know, dealing with her past actions and having her make up for them. It was sloppy is what i’m saying and the character while not bad wasn’t in the best positoin to tkae the reigns of her own show. They did add some intresting depth with the move though, showing that Ronnie Anne and Bobby were often on their own, and that Maria moved them to the casagrande household simply because she felt her daughter would be happier NOT having to be the strong one or take care of herself all the time and actually have someone look out for her instead. It was a good emotional reason for hte move and both casagrandes showed up ocasoinally, mostly Bobbi whose still with Lori to this day as seen in the season 5 premiere. It was an okay foundatoin but it would depend on what they did with her character.. and i’m glad to say.. they made it work. The show still has rough edges, mostly having the same problem ducktales and the loud house itself had during season 1 of juggling such a large cast: Most of them outside of Ronnie Anen and Bobby have only gotten 1 episode, and even then CJ feels underutlized despite being amazing, while the adults outside the grandparents feel underutlized. Buuut the show is funny, intresting, has good pacing and unlike the loud house, having already learned that lesson, while Ronnie Anne does get more episodes than the rest of the family, it does feel more like an ensemble show and the focus on her feels less like the show not knowing what it has and more like easing the viewers into the rest of the cast by using her as a viewpoint. Ronnie herself is better, the bully aspects gone. She can still take care of herself, and is still fairly indpentent and clever, but she’s got a sharp sense of humor and a clear love of her family and the fish out of water aspect I hoped for, while not used a ton, still comes up in intresting ways. Overall i’d say the show is off to a good start.. and it has Melissa Joan Heart and Ken Jeong as a married couple and let’s Ken play a diffrent role for once: A dorky, kind dad instaed of any degree of lunatic. That being said given his character her’s last name is Chang, I can’t help but think this and community are in the same universe and that the Changs have just had to put up with whatever insane phase Senor Chang was going througha t the time every time he visted. I mean i’d love to hear Sid tell ronnie anne the time her uncle came over in a napoleon outfit and revaled he’d taken over his community college with the help of a bunch of children. But i’m getting off topic, I gots an episdoe to cover and out of the ones I watched this felt both like a great re-introduction into the cast and was easily one fo the best with a great emotional core and great jokes and LOTS to dig into. So i’ve jawjacked enough, pitter pater. Again!

It’s with this episode we properly meet Arturo Santiago, Ronnie Anne and Bobby’s father, Maria’s ex, and owner of one hell of a beard. Ronnie mentioned him back in friended aka the pilot because fuck that airing structure but not the time or place for that moving on.

We see he video chats his daughter once a day, though today she made hte mistake of doing so on a crowded subway while with her best friend and future wife Sid. NOW we can talk about Sid. Sid was introduced in Friended! over on the loud houd house as part of that mini arc I keep yelling about and will again and again. Sid is Ronnie Anne’s clyde: A best friend whose there as her sidekick, emotoinal support and resident goofus, being a bit of a weirdo and given i’m a giant ass weirdo, you can see why I like her/want to keep her safe from the nightmare that is at last half this fandom. Plus she and ronnie anne are adorable together and have more chemstiry than she and lincoln did.. thoguh the two do have OT3 energy together in his one episode, but that’s for another time.

Anyways as Sid helps her rangle wifi by them by doing the mecha shiva we soon find out Arturo is coming home! Home lord he’s been off in Peru for too longggg. Point is Ronnie Anne is excited, Bobby is excited, everyone’s excited except for Hector who hates him.. and honestly I can see why the contrast. For everyone else, Arturo is a charming, friendly guy who genuinely loves his kids and only is away from them because he has a lot of important work to do and even with that is still an active part of their lives. Buuuut Hector likely sees it diffrently and is likely homing in more on the fact Arturo is barely there in person for his kids and left Maria to do all the raising them by herself, with her own demanding job. It’s not a black and white situation is what i’m saying and.. I genuinely love that. It’s a complex thing to deal with: A parent who isn’t there for his kids but it’s hard to say if he’s being selfish or not. He’s not david from roseanne doing this so he can feel good about not wanting to deal with being a father or the death of his brother, Arturo genuinely just wants to help those who need him, even if he has to sacrifice a lot to do it. Ronnie Anne naturally wants him to move here though and convince him during his visit, and her plan nicely shows off the duality of her charcter: She’s clever and can easily think things through, as his originzation has it’s home office in Great Lakes City so he could still help those in need, just more from the organizational end, as well as i’m assuming GLC’s own homeless and needy. But she also has an 11 year olds understading of complex issues and thus thinks the easiest way to convince him is to take him on a fun daddy daughter day that will make him love the city. Bobby is less optimistic about the plan though.. and that’s because he’s been through this with Arturo already. Granted his job for him was at weenier on a stick because it’s bobby, the boy is a peach of a human being but has the plkanning skills and common sense of a basset hound on qualudes. He just sugest she enjoy the time. And this says a lot about BOBBY too: He’s used to his dad being out of his life, he’s probably been gone for most of it and while he loves him, he’s had ot get used to the fact he’s probably never going to be regularly in his life and while he understands why his sister’s trying this he wants to spare her the pain he went through. It’s interactions like this that to me show the series at it’s best and what it could be: deeper character interactions that really let the characters and voice cast shine, that still mix well with the usual nonsense. Arturo arrives and everyone loves him.. and again it’s easy to see why: he’s kind, friendly and to the kids, he’s their cool uncle who lives in another country and as someone with one of those, It does feel neat. Hell he was my cool uncle when he just lived in chicago or seattle, but somehow he had to top those by moving to fricking ireland. So I get where they come from and really relate to it.. I mean I met mine in high school, my family tree is complicated, but still. So while everyone but Hector is happily remeetinmg their uncle Maria shows up. And it’s awkward, the two not knowing how to greet each other, but it’s very obvious Maria and Arturo are on good terms, it’s just hard when theres so much history there. Speaking of Maria let’s talk about her since this is one of her only scene’s this episode. Maria is one of my faviorites. She isn’t used a ton, but this is more excusable than it is with the Casagrande parents, as the whole point of Maria uprooting her kids to Great Lakes City was to give them company and someone to take care of them while Maria worked the long and varied hours of being a nurse. She’s a good parent, who just picked a rough career, and made the hard decision to uproot her kids, not for her sake, as it can’t be easy living with both your elderly parents, your sister and her husband not to mention 5 kids, a giant adorable pupper and an obnoxious parrot, but so they’d be happy.. which given Ronnie Anne went from having no friends and largely having to be the rock in the house, to having a sizeable friend group plus her cousins, as well as generally being happy while Bobby went from bouncing from job to job to running the family buisness and planning to expand it when he gets older. She’s a good gentle person who still makes time for her kids, and I wish we saw more of her with her spotlight episode, which was about Ronnie Anne trying to spend more time with her, being one of my faviorites so far. I also like the fact that for once in a cartoon a parent with a time sink of a career isn’t demonized for trying to put food on the table and rather than just quit or have a mean boss or the usual cliches, Maria just found a way her kids wouldn’t be alone. She’s awesome. Ronnie Anne first tries showing him how great the city is with home cooking and a warm bed, but the first while nice is something he still gets, and the latter in a nice touch is just.. too soft for him. Ronnie meant well, but understadably he’s just not used to it and makes a cot under the stars instead.. he’s not trying to be ungreatful, he’s just sued to it.

Anyways Ronnie indeed takes him on a montage, with some cab headbonks beacause why use an uber that’s cheeper and safer huh? Anyways our father and daughter do have a montage, and hector gets beaten up by a luchadore because this promotion apparently dosen’t get not to attack the crowd. They really need to stop booking that guy.

Ending on our article image, which is really sweet and a real beautiful shot, Ronnie Anne finally gets to her Ronnie Plan. First Arturo cycles through two diffrent assumptions about what she’s asking him about. He first thinks she’s about to tell him about a special boy or girl in his life, his exact words. He backspaces to include that. She says no which.. I guess okay you have other things in mind but you can’t put off him meeting Sid forever. That aside I do think it’s a good indication Ronnie Anne might be bi, and both her parents just easily accepted it which is great. I could be reading too much into this, and I probably am, but I’ve thought I was before on nickeodeon and look how legend of korra ended.

The next is just hilarious as Arturo tries to let her down gently that he’s not getting back with maria which Ronnie Anne agrees with and was not remotely her point, but I do like as it shows their well and truly done, and it’s nice to see that sort of dynamic with a divorced couple in fiction where it’s not because of lingering sexual tension or anything, just that their apart but have kids to think about and presumibly the split was amicable if again still awkward. Finally Ronnie asks him.. but he gently refuses, since the people he helped need him as much as he wants to stay.. but part of what makes Arturo likeable, especially since he’s in the REALLY throny situation of not being in his kid’s lives in person despite having the opprountiy now, is that he genuinely tries to compromoise, saying he’ll try to up the calls to two a day, and he’ll visit more often. Ronnie Anne sadly and half heartdly says it’s fine and walks off. So Ronnie Anne vents to that girlfriend she apparently dosen’t have that he cares more about her patients than him and Sid sidgests that part of that is simple: He dosen’t feel she and bobby need him since, as I pointed out earlier, their doing better than ever. So Ronnie Anne intitates a second Ronnie Plan: to convince him she’s a troubled youth and get him to stay and reasssmbles her cousins to help. Before we move onto this plan that’s totally a good idea and not a borderline Zach Morris evil scheme, let’s talk about those cousins real quick. Quick fire: CJ is really great, a sweet kid and I wish they’d use him more and generally do nto get why they don’t, Carlota is fine but not all that defined at this point but Alexa PenaVega tries.. and why yes it is kinda weird Carlos PenaVega’s wife and the former star of spy kids is playing his sister. And Carl.. I don’t likes him. I just don’t. He did give me a really good episode, which we’ll be covering next month, but he’s just a little asshole with out the charm of fellow little asshole Louie Duck, who alsos cams people but actually gets consqeunces more often.

That quickfire done Carl does a forgery which depsite me being eh on him, clearly, is a funny bit, to make Ronnie Anne look like she’s failing, but that fails as you’d expect when he can help her with that from Peru. So it’s on to the actual plan: Which really boils down to this.

I mean.. that’s essentially the plan convince him she’s running with a dangerous crowd and is breaking bad, dressing up in punk clothes and making a scene at breakfast. She also gets a really neat new haircut, similar to luna’s but spiky which.. why isn’t this her normal hair? and why dosen’t she at least keep the cool leather jacket? I always get annoyed when a character’s temporary costume change is even better than their default design and htey fail to realize it but whatever. IT starts to work a little but clearly a breakfast tauntrum won’t be enough so Ronnie Anne enlists Sid.. who is frightend,d osen’t recognize her and dosen’t want to get shoved into a locker. .. who hurt you.. tell me.. I have a box to deliver. Just let me pop a quick H on there real quick.

Anyways, once Sid realizes “Oh that’s not a bully come to shove me in a locker that’s just my girlfriend in the middle of a zack morris grade elabroate manipulative scheme”, which happens once a week their fine, she comes up with one last plan: Have her friends, who are neat but need more filling out, dress up like punks bullying her friend sameer. This plan.. makes no sense. For one she was already a bully back home.. granted it was because she liked the kid, which no just no, but it’s heavily implied she did the same to the rest of the lincrew too. .which aside from Rusty isn’t a good look. I mean his face is punchable and he mocked hte idea of them being together despite next season hitting on Lincoln’s sisters, there’s a 1:1 chance he hit on her and she shoved him in a locker as is the natural response to anyone getting asked out by that goober. No matter how hard the show tries to pretend that didn’t happen it did. If her bullying kids didn’t get him to move home back in royal woods it won’t work now.

So they had behind the fish market for their plan, Arturo is directed there.. and sees through it. I mean she’s probably sent him pictures of her friends, he knows who they are and no amount of costumes is going to fix that. I mean you really only changed Nikki’s hair. Why not just have a dance fight. i’m legitly asking dance fights are rad and this reminds me of the venture bros episode where hank, to impress his date, has billy and white pretend to be a street gang to impress his date. Just do that for sid instead of trying to gaslight your dad into staying. But no while he pulls her into the car, Arturo knows this was a stunt and asks why. When Ronnie Anne tearfully reveals she just wanted him to stay.. he hugs his child.. and agrees. He realizes that if she’s willing to go to these lengths to get him to stay, she must REALLY miss her papa. So he plans to call the office to transfer. But then while helping her dad unpack, Ronnie Anne finds something and we get another emotional scene: Ronnie Anne finds the letters he got from the various kids he’s helped, and is moved to tears. Props to Izabella Alvarez for her performance here as she reads the letter and realizes just what her dad’s work does ,and why it means so much to him. He truly helps those who need it and she decides she can’t take that awy from it: Sure her dad won’t be around.. but other kids need her dad more. She has a big family, she misses her dad.. but she can live without her dad. They need a doctor.

So Arutro heads out with a tearful goodbye and Ronnie Anne leaves him a scrapbook of their time together. We then cut to the Santiago sibs playing cards, and being sad about their dad and all that.. when Arturo calls.. and then shows up in person. He took the Headquarters job after all, though a close friend of his we met earlier in the episode but I ddin’t mention will be taking over in Peru, and from earlier clearly wanted to get back out in the field, so it all works out. And it’s a nice character moment; Arturo realizes while his work is important, and as mentioned he does make sure a compient replacment will continue it.. his family can be too and it’s okay to think of himself and them for once. As I said he’ll still be able to help just in a diffrent way and there are probably needy kids who need him here too, if not in the same ways obviously as a doctors without borders type project. So eveyrone shares a group hug and even Hector bursts into tears. And Maria comes in wondering what she missed whiel Sergio asks who wants to tell her. oh sergio.. why didn’t you stay away when you ran away in a future episode. Final Thoughts: Not much more to say. It’s a well done episode with high emotinal stakes, great acting and some great jokes I didn’t get to, and while the plot of “Make absent parent stay by pretending things are bad’ isn’t new, it’s done well enough here. Overall just a really good episode that shows what this show can do and why it’s unique family setup makes for intresting stories a lot of shows can’t tell, and validates this spinoffs existnace. The episode also really fleshes out Ronnie Anne’s character, and givne Arutro’s been gone since the divorce if not longer, it’s resonable to supsect her earlier bullying might have been lashing out at her parents divorce. It’s just good stuff. Keep an eye peeeld to this blog for my regular loud house and ducktales coverage , and some more casagrandes this october. ANd until then, Go Team Venture!

#the casagrandes #ronnie anne santiago #arturo santiago #bobby santiago #maria santiago #sid chang #cj casagrande #carl casagrande #carlota casagrande #the loud house #reviews #animation

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