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#darth vader on a fishing trip
fandomjumper · 2 years
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This is my greatest creation yet.
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gffa · 3 years
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THIS COMIC IS SO FUCKING GOOD OH MY GOD.  IT IS WEAVING TOGETHER LIKE FIVE SEPARATE THINGS AND I HARDLY EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START. The storyline that this issue/this scene is a part of is one where Luke is just back from Cloud City, from learning that Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader and that this disturbed him so badly that his connection to the Force has been wonky ever since.  There’s a great moment earlier in this storyline where Luke is so upset about not having known about the truth of Vader that he cracks the glass window of the Falcon in a scene that’s practically a mirror of the time that Vader found out Luke Skywalker was the boy on the Death Star and cracked the glass of the Star Destroyer he was on.  Luke has a moment of terrifying anger and hurt and pain, lashing out in a way that’s a direct parallel to Anakin Skywalker lashing out from anger and hurt and pain. This whole arc is about Luke having to find his mental stability again--that’s why he went back to Cloud City with Lando, because he and the Force weren’t on speaking terms and he needed to do something.  That’s where he had the vision of Verla holding out the lightsaber to him.  This is why this conversation with her and his trip to the Jedi Temple is so important--Luke is struggling to get himself back to a mentally stable place, after this big reveal. And Verla acts as his foil--the bombshell is dropped that she was one of Ferren Barr’s students (a former Jedi Padawan who figured out who Vader was, what the chips were, etc., but was falling to the dark/wasn’t really a Jedi anymore, even he himself basically agreed with Vader who look at the shady things Barr was willing to do and said, “You are no Jedi.”), who Vader killed on Mon Cala, and then Vader and the Inquisitors have been hunting her down ever since. Verla being angry at the Force itself, feeling like it was using her as a tool, that it never cared about her, that she said no to it is being directly contrasted against Luke’s whole character arc.  He could just say no, he could walk away, even if Vader would never stop hunting him, he could have a smidgen of freedom for himself. We know that’s not the path Luke is going to take, we know he’s going to become a Jedi, but what I love is the call to The Last Jedi, when Verla says, “One day you’ll wish you’d just stayed here and learned to fish.” and she’s not wrong.  We know that he very much is going to wish that someday.  But we also know that Luke himself will come to realize his time and attitude on Ahch-To was wrong and that he wants to answer the call of the Force, just as he’s realizing it here.  That some things are worth dying for, as he says later in this issue and he’ll say on Ahch-To at the end. Of course it’s hard to follow the Force at times, of course there are struggles and doubts--I don’t blame Verla for her bitterness and anger, she got all the worst parts of the Force and none of the good.  She had no Jedi family to raise her, she had none of their protection and shelter when she was small to give her the space to learn her powers and her connection to the Force/to others connected in the Force in a safe way, she had nothing of the teachings that were woven into her very bones.  She only had a former Jedi who was already falling to the dark, she only had the Force tugging on her without the peace of connecting to it just for the joy of it, she had no satisfaction or contentment in serving something bigger than herself, she was hunted just because she had the Force, she knew worse things than death could await her if they found her. But that doesn’t make her path a happy one, turning away from the Force.  She’s angry, she’s afraid, she’s bitter.  She herself even says that she’s not always happy.  Her freedom is constantly under threat because it’s an external one, not an internal one. This is all contrasted against Luke, who is searching for where he wants to go next, what part of the path he wants to walk.  He’s struggling--even before Cloud City, back on Dagobah, he struggled with internal balance, he had fears whirling around inside him, ones he had to face in that cave, ones he had to find peace with in respecting Han and Leia’s choices, he had to find himself and he hadn’t yet.  He was still looking to the horizon somewhat. But this storyline works so well for me because it’s all about Luke finding himself.  He doesn’t kill unarmed opponents--this is something Luke needs to know about himself, to keep firmly in mind, because Return of the Jedi is going to test this.  It’s easy not to kill Verla, he barely knows her, he understands she’s in pain, her actions against him are ones he understands why.  She’s not really a threat to him or the people he loves.  Luke is an amazing, kind, compassionate person, but Verla is not Vader.  Verla doesn’t threaten to kill his friends.  Verla doesn’t threaten to find Leia and force her to turn to the Sith ways.  Verla hasn’t brought fire and death to the galaxy for 20+ years.  Verla didn’t kill Obi-Wan.  And Luke firming this up in his mind, that he doesn’t kill unarmed opponents, makes us think of all those times where this is the difference between Luke and Anakin.  Anakin kills the unarmed Dooku.  Luke doesn’t kill the unarmed Vader. Luke knows the galaxy is suffering and knows he wants to do something. Luke knows the Force is calling him to be part of something that will help. Luke knows that he’s not there yet, but he will be a Jedi. Luke knows that it’s not just that he wants to be a Jedi, but that he wants to be a part of something important, something noble. Luke knows he wants not just to be a Jedi, but to be part of the Jedi Order. And it breaks my heart that Verla never got that--it’s not about the things she found in the old Temple, it’s not just about the lightsabers or the holocrons, it’s about being part of something bigger than that, it’s about what they’re connected to.  It’s about being part of a community, a family.  It’s about the sense of stability that Luke gains from realizing these things.
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It’s this fight against the Grand Inquisitor that Luke gains his purpose back, that he figures out where he’s supposed to be going from here. This isn’t just a moment of Luke saying, “I want to be a Jedi!” where he doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but it’s the entire climax of this arc, this is it, this is everything this entire arc has been building to. Luke wants to be a part of the Jedi Order. AND I AM GROSS SOBBING ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT’S SO GOOD.
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joeyjoeylee · 3 years
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If you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not. Let’s get to know the person behind the blog :)
1.  I was bitten by a monkey named Lucy while on a high school Spanish class trip to Costa Rica.  She was the “pet” of the rando place we stopped to get sodas at.  She liked to hug you by wrapping her arms and legs around you (I have a great picture of us “hugging” pre-Incident).  When I got tired of the monkey love, I went to pull her little hands from around my neck.  She did NOT like that and bit the crap out of my hand.  I was terrified of shots/needles at the time (still am) so played it off.  Secretly, I still think I will one day turn out to be Patient Zero in some yet-to-come pandemic and tbh it keeps me up at night sometimes.
2.  I threw out the first pitch at Nationals Park while dressed as Darth Vader on Star Wars Day two years ago.  I was pulled into some weird “game” by the public address announcer before the actual baseball game started where you had to stack toilet paper with your light saber.  I thought the prize was going to be a Coke and I was thirsty, so I agreed, then accidentally won the thing and they were like “Oh, now you’re going to throw out the first pitch in front of 40,000 people.”  I hadn’t thrown a baseball in years + was knee-shaking nervous + again, literally was dressed as Darth Vader in full black stocking costume and mask.  So it came as no surprise when I got out to the pitcher’s mound, winded up to pitch, and spiked the ball straight into the dirt at my feet like a football.  The crowd (again, 40,000+) booed me.  
It would have been legit the most humiliating moment of my life, until 5 seconds later, when the young, super hot, superstar-to-be pitcher (who was supposed to “catch” my “pitch”) came up to me after and asked for the Sharpie that they had given me so he could sign the ball I got to keep as a souvenir of my failure.  Oh, well, I didn’t have any pockets and I was carrying my lightsaber, so I had put the Sharpie in my bra.  I had to fish it out while in front of him.  It was July and 100 degrees.  He took it with one finger and one thumb, then wiped off my sweat on his pants.  This was all captured on the Jumbotron for the 40,000+ fans.  
3.  I can name all the US Presidents in a row.  I memorized it for the AP History Test back in the day, but also because I was a giant nerd.  LITERALLY no one cares about this EVER - I know this - so I keep it on the downlow.  But once every 5 years or so, something will come up in casual conversation (”Was Cleveland the 21st President?”) and I get to jump in all casual “Actually, he was the 22nd and 24th President.”  Maybe I subconsciously drive these conversations now that I think about it.  
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parkerpeter24 · 4 years
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Quizzes End Up In Kisses ~ Peter Parker💕
Part-7 of the Eight Days Of Valentine series
Part 8
Warnings: fluff, thank you.
Sorry for I'm late. Also, I don't know anything about schooling system in the U.S. so forgive me.
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Middle school was exhausting, not to mention stupid, and you dreaded going to High school. Going everyday to a place for nearly your whole life, a prison called school, was never on your checklist. It was a pretty basic list and all the things you would want to do one day were mentioned in it.
And Peter Parker had managed to get on the top.
Entering Liz's house, you were met with loud noise and kids scattered all around the living area. The snacks and drinks were placed neatly on the kitchen slab. You sighed before moving in and placing your small gift in the pile that was placed near the christmas tree. You were invited to the party by Liz and you had nothing better to do on a Christmas eve and maybe you would find Peter here too. MJ was in the extreme corner of the room which was illuminated by a bright lamp under which she read a book. You smiled at her and her book choice, 'Great Leadership by Kimberly Davis.'
You moved towards the kitchen where you spotted Liz greeting her friends. The party went on, you stuck to MJ in the back until she needed to get back home and you didn't.
Few people were still left, probably close friends of Liz, when you spotted Ned and Peter near the window, whispering something to each other. You moved towards them setting aside the glass of juice.
"Hey Peter, Ned!" You greeted cheerfully. Ned waved, greeting you back while Peter straightened a bit, the soft light hid the mild blush covering his cheeks. It wasn't hard for you, or anyone for that matter, to figure out that he liked you. He wasn't good with secrets.
"Hey, (y/n)." He replied when Ned cleared his throat . You didn't want to seem desperate by asking him out or truth be told, you were shy yourself and didn't want to convert your friendship into awkwardness.
The room was starting to clear and you were now having a proper conversation with both the boys, majorly about school and homework when a loud voice pulled you out of the on-going topic.
"Hey losers!" Flash yelled, indicating the three of you."You need to come here." He called out, you rolled your eyes but nonetheless moved to where everyone left was gathered in a small circle. You sat beside Liz as everyone settled down and Liz started talking, "So, I have a game for everyone." She grinned and then you zoned out, staring at the boy in front of you. Brown eyes squinted slightly in concentration as he tried so hard to steal a glance at you whereas you were, absentmindedly, full on gaping at him. Only, you, Liz, Betty, Flash, Ned and Peter were left in the room.
"(Y/n), you wanna put something in?" Liz asked, popping your Peter bubble.
"What?" You asked, not having listened to a word she said.
"You wanna put something in the bag?" She pointed to the small bag placed in the centre. Where would it even come from, "And since you're the last one, you get to have the first chance." She grinned. By now, it wasn't really hard to guess that the group was playing seven minutes in heaven.
You grabbed the bag and got up, throwing your bracelet in when no one was watching and shaking the bag. You fished the bag and pulled out a small keyring which was way too familiar. A blush covered your cheeks as you realised whose it was. A small Darth Vader keyring that you gave Peter on his birthday. You looked to Peter who looked like a reindeer caught in headlights. You heard Flash laugh, "Do you think these guys are going to hold hands?"
Soon you were pushed into a room, Peter just behind you as Liz locked the door.
You sat on Liz's bed and Peter stood against the wall across you, the tension was undeniable. A few minutes were passed in silence before Peter cleared his throat and sat beside you on the bed. You watched him in anticipation as he ran his fingers through his hair, "(Y/n), you know, we don't have to do anything just because Flash would probably never leave this."
You felt a bit disappointed but you couldn't let Flash tease Peter for this, "Yeah, I know how to shut Flash up." You smiled.
You told Flash that you had made out with Peter and the look on his face was precious. Maybe it would be the other way around and instead of Flash teasing Peter, you would tease Flash for Peter had his first kiss before him. No one has to know that he didn't.
.•°☆°•..•°☆°•..•°☆°•.
It's been almost a year since then and everybody but you had forgotten that night. And you could never.
You saw Peter leaning against your locker as you made your way through the sea of teenagers.
"Hey!" You greeted your best friend, "Where's Ned?"
"Maths." He answered, shrugging. You smiled at him as you pulled out your Chemistry textbook.
"I'm already bored seeing this textbook." You complained walking beside Peter as you began your trip to the classroom.
"I know, Mr. Smith can be tough on us kids at times." He laughed, watching as you rolled your eyes at no one. "By the way, you prepared for the test?"
"Nope." You replied as soon as the question left his mouth, popping the p in the word.
"Well, you need to. This test makes up 33 percent of our total grades this semester." You sighed at this, nodding your head in understanding as you reached the class.
.•°☆°•..•°☆°•..•°☆°•.
You were at your desk for the past one hour, staring at your Chemistry textbook. Oh how you hated the subject. You were dozing off when you heard a series of knocks on your window. Although knowing it was the one and only, you were shocked and awakened from your sleep.
You ran to the window, unlocking it and letting your masked friend inside before locking it and pulling the curtains. Peter was always careless, not at all good at hiding his identity considering that you figured out, but you saved his ass.
"I'm so jealous of you." You complained and his eyebrows furrowed.
"Why?" He asked.
"You know, you get to do all cool superhero stuff and you're still gonna face that test tomorrow!" You exclaimed, burying your face in his chest and taking in his warmth as he wrapped his arms while laughing, "My mom is gonna kill me." You sighed.
"Okay, let's practice together then." He stated, moving towards your study.
"Aren't you tired?" You asked.
"Not for you, I'm not." He replied shyly and turned away from you to hide his own blush as a faint pink covered your cheeks.
Studying with Peter was rather distracting, not that you haven't done it before, but with time it seemed to have become difficult to focus on the subject and you were more interested in the pout that formed on his lips when he didn't understand something, or the way he squinted his eyes to focus, or the way his fingers played with the pencil when he was thinking something, or the way his eyebrows creased when he got an answer wrong. You were so busy admiring him.
"Okay, I got a good question for you." Peter said, pulling you out of your own little world.
"Shoot."
"And element X is divalent -" He started but you groaned, cutting him off.
"Oh, I hate X and Y questions!" You whined.
"Come on, you don't even know the question yet." Peter replied, "You need to practice if you want to get good grades on that test."
"Okay, I'll study. But, I have one condition." You said, smirking and Peter gulped. He knew that smirk. Something bad was going inside your mind whenever you did this. Before he could ask anything, though, you said, "If I answer ten of your questions correctly then you have to kiss me." You said. Your heartbeat was incredibly fast but your face showed the same smirk as Peter's cheek turned a crimson shade.
"Okay." He said, "I got some questions for you." He smirked, choosing the set of questions that he knew you would be able to answer easily.
"First question." He started, smiling at your nervousness as you tapped your fingers gently against the table. You wanted this as much as he did, "The number of moles of solute present in one kilogram of a solvent is called as…" He trailed off waiting for an answer.
You smiled, "That's easy. It's molality." You answered sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.
"Correct. Don't get too excited (y/l/n), it's just the first question." He replied, mocking your tone which made you giggle.
"Your impressions are hilarious Parker." You teased, laughing as he smiled proudly.
"Wait till you hear my Thor impression." He beamed, "Anyway, the next question, The metal used to separate copper from a copper sulphate solution is?" He asked.
"Ferrous." You replied.
You didn't expect the questions to get harder but what do you expect from Peter Nerd Parker. You were on the ninth question and you were getting more and more nervous, "What is the chemical name for baking soda?"
"It's, Sodium something… Sodium Carbonate?"
"No. It's-"
"Sodium Bicarbonate!" You yelled, making him laugh at your eagerness.
"Oh, shut it Parker!" You scolded, nonetheless smiling.
"Okay, so are you ready for the last question?" He asked and you just nodded. This was a perfect and probably the only chance you'd get to kiss the boy you'd had a crush on for the longest time. "Now, (y/n). Which radioactive element is used in heat pacemakers?" He asked.
Shit!
Elements were your weakest part. You stared straight into his eyes, pleading for a hint as you rack your brain for the answer. At this moment, both of you knew that Peter would kiss you no matter what, but you wanted to get it right.
"Plutonium?" You mumbled a question. Peter, having heightened senses, heard that and stood up from his seat, making you stand up and follow him to the centre of the room. He sighed, facing you with furrowed eyebrows, "Was it wrong?"
He just stood there for a moment before suddenly pulling you flush against him. Your hands instantly wrapped around his neck and a yelp escaped your throat before you felt his lips over yours. Moving at a slow pace. It was sweet, it was all you needed. Your hands tugged at the curls behind his head and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead on yours, "Correct."
You smiled so wide, your cheeks started to hurt. Suddenly you couldn't help what you said out aloud, "Kissing you was on my checklist since Middle school." He laughed at this.
"The infamous checklist?" He asked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"You knew about it?" You asked back for his answer.
"You're not good with secrets either. I heard you and MJ talking about it." He replied sheepishly.
"And you didn't tell me?" You asked, smiling.
"It was an accident." He said in a small voice, parting from you slightly and you shook your head softly as your gaze fell on the wall clock.
"It's nothing." You smiled, "Hey, I think you should go. It's getting late." He nodded, giving you a final peck on the lips as he grabbed his mask, moving towards your window.
"Peter." You called out. He turned back to face you, waiting for you to say something, "Don't forget about the Spanish quiz day after tomorrow." You smirked and he knew that smirk.
Taglist:
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reindeersweaters · 4 years
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It’s a Date
Words: 1040
Pairing: Kristanna (obviously)
Rating: T? not even really T? is there like a PG rating? because it should be that. 
1980s AU - STAR WARS movie date AU
                 Kristoff bounced nervously on the balls of his feet and glanced at his watch again. It was 7:30 and he was supposed to be meeting Anna outside the theater to get in line for tickets on the latest Star Wars movie; Return of the Jedi.
               The line was getting long already, and Anna was nowhere to be seen.
               He wondered if he should just go ahead and jump in line? Probably. They had said 7:30 right? Maybe Anna misheard the time? Or maybe she decided she didn’t actually want to go see the movie with him?
               It wouldn’t exactly be ‘standing him up’ so to speak, if she had decided to bail at the last minute. They hadn’t really specified that this was a “date” date exactly.
               He tried to quickly banish that thought, knowing Anna wasn’t the type of person to do something like that, yet it had happened to him before so he still found himself gnawing on the inside of his lip at the idea.
               “Kristoff!” Anna’s yelling broke him from his thoughts. “Kristoff over here!”
               He looked around trying to find the source of her voice and was surprised to see her standing at the door to the theater, waving tickets in her hand.
               Kristoff didn’t know very much about fashion (he was happy he could throw on a denim jacket over one of his nice collared polos and get a thumbs up from his little sister) but he could tell Anna was wearing a dress that was definitely “in”.
               It was pink, had an obscure pattern on it, and hit just above her knees and had big shoulders. Even from a distance he could tell she was wearing lipstick that matched, and her hair (which he was accustomed to seeing done in two braids) was wild and in tight curls.
               She was so pretty it almost took his breath away.
               “Hey,” he loped over to where she was standing. “I didn’t see you in the line?”
               “I got here early because I thought it was going to be packed. You probably didn’t recognize me without my work uniform on.” She teased. “I almost didn’t see you either! You look nice!”
“Erm. Thanks. So, uh, so do you. You look really, really nice.”
“Thank you! My sister went with me to get a perm yesterday! Now, come on! Let’s go get popcorn and decent seats before they’re filled up!”
               “I thought I was supposed to get the tickets?” He chuckled as he held the door open for her.
               “Why would you think that?” She asked, fishing in her purse for something.
               Right. Apparently, this wasn’t a date in her mind or else she would have let him pay.
               “Well. Just. Because I asked you if you wanted to go see the movie…”
               “Well, if you get the snacks, we’ll call it even. Probably more than even. I eat a lot of chocolate.” She grinned mischievously.
               He felt his heart flutter, as it often did when Anna was around, and even if this wasn’t a date, he was happy to be spending time with her.
               “Sounds like a deal.” He grinned.
               They stood in line for a few minutes, Anna chattering away about a variety of different topics (“I absolutely adore Carrie Fischer! She’s amazing! Oh did you see Michael Jackson’s new dance move on TV the other night!? It’s called the moonwalk and it is bad to the bone! I’ve tried doing it and I always trip. Oh, and have you tried that new flavor of ice cream, cookies and cream? No? It’s amazing, you have to try it!”).
               Kristoff just grinned and nodded along, enjoying the expression on her face as she spoke.
               As they gathered up their popcorn and drinks and walked towards the theater, Anna suddenly whirled on him, looking a bit nervous.
               “Okay, I actually have something very serious to say.”
               “Right.” He felt his eyebrows raise a bit, but he nodded for her to continue.
               “I’ve been waiting three years for this movie. Three years. And as much as I’d like to kiss you, I absolutely have to know if Darth Vader is really Luke’s father, or if it’s all a sith mind trick and I will not be making out with you in the back of the theater. This movie is just way too important to me.”
               Kristoff felt his mouth fall open.
               “I-I-“ He stammered. “Absolutely. I totally get it. I actually want to watch the movie, too.”
               “Good.” She nodded firmly. “I didn’t think you seemed like the kind of guy to waste money on movie tickets so you could just kiss.”
               “I just… I didn’t… I’m… You want to kiss me?”
               “Oh.” A blush rose to Anna’s cheeks. “Well, yes. Obviously.”
               “I mean, it wasn’t obvious to me.” He chuckled. “So, is this a date?”
               “Of course, it is! Unless, oh wait, did you not want this to be a date?”
               “No, I do! Absolutely. I very much want this to be a date.”
               “Good.” She gave him a blinding grin, then rearranged the snacks in her hands so she could grab his hand and pull him into the theater.
               The movie was certainly interesting, and Kristoff found it was an extremely satisfying end to the trilogy. Though he especially enjoyed the parts that were intense because Anna leaned tightly into his side and grabbed his hand.
               “I never said we couldn’t touch.” Anna whispered to him matter-of-factly when he looked at her in surprise.
               Despite his interest in the movie (and the hand-holding) Kristoff’s favorite part of the evening was when he walked her back to her car and she pulled him down by the collar of his jacket and kissed him firmly on the mouth. They didn’t break apart until someone wolf-whistled at them.
               “So, same time next week?” She asked brightly, her lipstick effectively smeared. “I need to watch it at least one more time to fully comprehend everything that happened! I mean Emperor Palpatine! And Darth Vader threw him off a balcony to save Luke! And Leia is Luke’s sister! It’s so much!”
               “Of course.” He breathed, still on cloud-nine from their kiss. “Maybe we could get dinner first?”
               “It’s a date.” She smiled.
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withered-tears · 3 years
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Remember when the first Avengers came out and we were all so exited about the future found-family/roommates shenanigans there were sure to come?
I'm still salty we got none of that.
Imagine how many good domestic Avengers moments we could had have.
Like for example:
Pepper going to the backyard to find Tony wearing the top half of the Iron man armor, just to move a potted cactus cuz every other method he tried ended up with him prickled all over. And then he spends the rest of the day offended cuz somehow the spines still made it past the gauntlets.
Or Clint recording some of those "perfect trick shots" videos with the ping pong balls bouncing in super specific ways, almost all videos include A) peter losing his shit in the background when Clint success. B) Thor also losing his shit and cheering way too loudly. C) the ball having to bounce off Steve's shield.
Or (and this has been done a bazillion times but all the better) movie nights with all the Avengers focusing sorely on Steve's reaction to classics. These are obviously uploaded to YouTube. Darth vader's reveal is trending for like a week.
D&D nights.
Peter hearing that Natasha is basically a ballet pro and excitedly showing her his moves, and even though it does bring some less than pleasant memories, the kid is so gosh darn happy that Natasha agrees to give him some pointers. She also gives him a knife, which ends up in an accidental recreation of the "let me see what you have" vine. (Tony is the freaked out parent)
Thor taking everyone in a hunting trip that ends up being your typical "uncle takes the kids fishing" trip. Except the fish is bigger than the boat and also somehow on fire.
Etc.
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mimi-cee-hq · 4 years
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A Different Reason - Tsukishima x Yachi
[Masterlist]
Summary:
When Yachi’s friend finds out that Tsukishima likes dinosaurs, she sets them up on a date at a certain museum in Sendai. But there aren’t any dinosaurs there, so why would Tsukishima have an interest in that museum during college?
Author’s Notes:
This is an extended version of a scene in my other tsukiyachi story, Accidental Confession. The last part didn’t fit there. I modified it to be a stand alone one shot and now it’s technically even canon compliant. (Also, I can’t promise that the information about the Miyagi prefecture is accurate even though I did some research.)
AO3 link if you want to read there.
A Different Reason
Words: 1,145
Tsukishima and Yachi watched as their friends ran off to another part of the museum. He didn’t understand why Yachi’s friend took Yamaguchi with her, but he didn’t really care. He didn’t mind that he was left alone with Yachi, but she looked a little nervous around him.
“Have they always been close?” Tsukishima pointed in the direction that they ran as he asked Yachi. He hadn’t really seen the two of them talk before today so it was a surprise to him.
Yachi looked a little unsure. “I don’t know. I think Mei has been helping him with volleyball though.”
Tsukishima sighed and then figured that they could just look through the museum without them. But then something caught his eye in Yachi’s hair. “Is that a dinosaur in your hair?”
Yachi flinched as she automatically reached for her side ponytail. “Yeah, Mei gave it to me recently. I thought it looked cute so I wore it today.”
Tsukishima thought for a moment and sighed. He realized that Mei was likely trying to set him up with Yachi and that Yamaguchi was probably feeding information about him to her. Not a lot of people knew that he had a soft spot for dinosaurs. He didn’t understand why they were at the Sendai City Museum though. It was a historical museum about their prefecture. There weren’t any dinosaurs here.
The two high schoolers started to proceed through the museum. Some of the information signs indicated the times of the tours that were occurring that day. Yachi commented on how well the signs were designed and wondered who had created them. Tsukishima wasn’t surprised that the signs and pamphlets caught her eye.
They decided to check out the next tour and waited for it to start. As they hung out in the lobby, they saw some people taking pictures with a face cutout board. On the board was Date Masamune, the feudal lord who founded Sendai. His armour was one of the major artifacts that were held at the museum, so it wasn’t surprising that they had a cutout board of him. The black samurai armour he wore looked kind of like a Darth Vader costume.
“Tsukishima come! I can take a picture of you as Date Masamune!” said Yachi excitedly. Tsukishima flat out denied her offer, but she continued to insist. “But I brought my camera and wanted to take pictures of our memories here.”
Tsukishima sighed, but then reluctantly agreed. He stood behind the cutout board and crouched down a bit to place his face in the hole. Yachi giggled at him because his glasses and blond hair didn’t match with the era. “Just take the picture already,” he told her.
After she did, a young mom and dad were waiting for their kids to have their turn. The mom asked them, “Did you want me to take a picture of you two at the other cutout?” She was referring to the one with Date Masamune with his wife.
“Uhh…,” Tsukishima started to reply. But before he knew it, Yachi had already given her the camera and was standing behind the board.
“Come on Tsukishima!” she called out to him with a grin. He just smirked back at her before he joined her behind the board.
During the tour, they learned more about the Date clan and how Date Masamune turned Sendai from a small fishing town to a prosperous city. Tsukishima seemed to remember some of the content from their social studies classes, but they learned more of the details here. Tsukishima noticed that Yachi started to take an interest in Date Masamune’s eldest daughter, Irohahime, and her story.
Irohahime was considered to be a beautiful and intelligent woman. Her younger brother even went to her for advice even though he was the next heir of the clan. She was placed in a political marriage with the sixth son of Tokugawa Ieyasu, who was effectively the ruler of Japan at that time. But when her husband was exiled, she never remarried even when her parents encouraged her to. Some sources say she was a Christian which would explain why she didn’t want to marry another man since Christian doctrine discouraged divorce. It would have be interesting if that was the case because her father-in-law had actually banned Christianity and persecuted the Christians.
“I think that she didn’t marry again not only because she had made a vow before God, but also because she had actually fell in love with her husband,” speculated the tour guide. “Imagine being in an arranged marriage with a man only to fall in love with him in the end.” The tour guide squealed at the thought. “She must have been so heart-broken at her young age when her husband was sent to exile. And she stayed loyal to him even though her parents tried to find other suitors for her!”
“I think this tour guide is more of a historical fiction fangirl than a legitimate historian,” Tsukishima commented to Yachi.
But when he turned to look at her, he flinched at seeing tears streaming from her eyes. “That was so romantic,” said Yachi with a sniff. But to her surprise, the tour guide went on to a different topic as she led the group out of the room. “Wait! That’s it? Irohahime became my favourite historical figure within five minutes! That can’t be it!” cried out Yachi.
Tsukishima smirked at her reaction. “Well, maybe one day someone at the museum will be able to find out more about her.”
Yachi smiled at his reassurance. “Thanks Tsukishima. I’ll look forward to that.”
*****
Tsukishima laid on his bed after he got home from one of his college exams. He was mentally tired and decided to browse on his phone.
Beside him, on the top of his bookshelf, his volleyball and knee pads were set next to his miniature dinosaurs. Underneath, he had his archaeology and history textbooks from his past few years of college. He also had two framed photos of their museum trip on the bookshelf. At the cutout board of Date Masamune and his wife, Tsukishima wore an indifferent look while she had a big grin. The other picture had the two of them with a drawing of Irohahime.
Tsukishima replied to a message from Yachi, but he got interrupted by an email notification. It was from an HR representative from the Sendai City Museum. He quickly sat up from his bed and took a closer look at the email. A grin escaped from his mouth as he read it again. He couldn’t believe he got the job and that he would be starting right after college.
When he realized how excited he was about the email, he groaned at his unexpected reaction. With a scoff of disbelief, he said to himself, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Author’s Notes:
I hope you liked the story. I actually wasn’t intentionally planning on writing about the museum. I was trying to figure out a place for their set up date. Initially it was a mall, then an aquarium, and then I checked if Miyagi even had an aquarium. That’s when I saw that the Sendai City Museum was listed as an attraction and decided to check out it. I thought it looked familiar and checked the manga again. :D
If you want more tsukiyachi, check out Accidental Confession.
[Masterlist]
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feed-the-birdss · 5 years
Text
Take Me Away
Thank you so much to @blitheringmcgonagall and @jilystar04 who tagged me in the Motivation Monday yesterday. It really helped me to finish this. Also, a thanks to @petals-to-fish and @flippin-fins who are another two big motivators of mine!!
Author’s Note: I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus due to a mixture of travelling, birthday festivities and health reasons. However, I’ve had this idea for a while now, and I really wanted to share it before I leave for my next big trip. I hope you all enjoy, and it’s loosely based on the song “Cowboy Take Me Away” by the Dixie Chicks.
Read it on Fanfic
The flat was quiet—too quiet. There were pieces of parchment scattered all over the floor accompanied with the occasional ink blot. Opened and half-empty containers were strewn across the countertops and tabletops of the kitchen with labels like “Aconite”, “Ginger”, “Frog Brain”, “Dragon’s Blood” and “Boomslang”. On the stove was a large pewter cauldron with purple steam billowing out of it. And on the window ledge, with an empty wine glass on the floor next to her sat Lily Evans. Her knees were tucked in close to her chest, with an elbow resting on one knee, and her head in her hand.
Her dark and puffy green eyes were wearily following the movements of the grey clouds in the sky searching for even the smallest sign of sunshine. It’s been so cold and rainy lately, thanks to the dementors, that she’s forgotten what the sun looked like. Even it if it were sunny outside, she doubts she would be enjoying it. She’s either in the flat working on potions for the Order, under James’ invisibility cloak running after and spying on likely Death Eaters, or so focused on duelling a Death Eater and escaping death that her surroundings are not even noticeable to her.
Lily misses the earth. When she was little, she was always playing outside. Her mother and sister would often berate her for her constantly dirty dresses. Yet, little Lily would frolic bare-footed in the green grass and dirt without a care in the world. Now she’s lucky if she has the time to take a simple stroll through a park with shoes on.  
Severus and she used to lie under the large Elm tree by her house and make the falling leaves magically race each other to the ground. Lily once begged her mother to let her and Severus camp out there for the night, but Rose Evans wouldn’t even hear of it. She never trusted that “Snape boy”, and while Lily always believed that was Petunia’s influence, her mother’s concerns ended up being spot-on in that regard.
However, camping was sounding pretty great to Lily right about now. She could finally take the chance to just touch the earth and feel it in her hands without worrying about the Death Eater throwing killing curses at her every second. She could frolic among the wild and unruly plants like she used to when she was a little girl. The corners of her lips started to quirk up at the thought.
Right at that moment, the unmistakable sound of someone apparating outside the door met Lily’s ears which was proceeded by her and James’ secret knock. Lily went up to the door and asked through it, “Who is Luke Skywalker’s father?”
“Darth Vader,” asserted James.
Lily undid the lock and opened the door to find James pointing his wand at her with a teasing smirk on his face. He never could take this security measure seriously. “Who was your best shag?” he asked confidently.
“Sirius, obviously,” Lily responded with a smirk that echoed the one that quickly vanished from his face at her response.
“Not funny Evans,” he pouted.
“Well you know what Dumbledore said last meeting, the Death Eaters have Sev—uhh—well,  their own Potions Master, and we should be prepared for the possibility that they’re making Polyjuice Potion,” she sighed, turned around and headed to the kitchen to check on her potion.
James was going to continue whinging about her cruel joke, but once she brought up her ex-best friend’s current activities, he thought better of it and followed her into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll ask a better question. When was our best shag?” He asked with the smirk back on his face as he walked up to Lily, whose head was bent over the cauldron, and put his arms around her waist.
Lily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that was creeping up on her face, “You’re such a prat,” she said as she turned around in his arms, put her arms up to his neck, and reached her face to kiss his. James greedily returned the kiss, pulling her even closer against him and lifting up her shirt a little so that his hands were touching the soft skin of her waist. Lily’s hands moved from the nape of his neck into his messy black hair as she sucked on his bottom lip.
Just as James’ hands were about travel South in order to pick her up and carry her to their bed, a gentle tapping noise interrupted them. Both of them turned their heads toward the noise to see Sirius’ owl, Owl, at the window with a slip of parchment attached to its claw. Lily detached from James, and as she walked over to the window she said, “And our best shag was that time a few months ago on Remus’ bed.”
“Too right, it was,” James smiled and sighed, “And yet, Remus couldn’t find it in him to be happy for us.”
“Well love, to be fair, I mean, you still give Sirius shit for shagging uh…whats-her-name, on your bed in sixth year.”
“Yeah, well, this was me and you, a couple Remus loves and knows dearly. Sirius fucked a stranger he hasn’t spoken to since. There’s a difference.”
Lily rolled her eyes, an occurrence that happens quite a lot whenever she’s around James, as she opened the window and untied the scroll from the Owl’s leg.
James—me and Remus are going to Hog’s Head for drinks with a few other members tonight, are you and Lily in? (Peter’s a no-show…again…bloody rat)
Lily quickly read the note and handed it over to James with a sigh. She loved everyone in the order dearly, she honestly didn’t know what she would do without them in this mess of a war, but she needed something different right now. Going to the Hog’s Head for drinks was the only fun thing order members could do together without drawing attention to themselves and blowing their cover; so they do it quite often.
“Do you want to go Lils?” asked James.
Just as Lily was about to, begrudgingly, say yes, she remembered something, and her eyes glimmered with excitement as she looked at James, “James, I’m going to go camping,” she stated.
“Okay….so…uh…wait, is that a ‘no’ to the drinks then?” baffled James with furrowed brows.
“Yes.”
“So…’yes’ to the drinks?” he puzzled again.
Lily rolled her eyes, “For someone who got seven NEWTs, you’re awfully dense sometimes. It’s a ‘no’ to the drinks, because tonight, we’re packing up and getting ready to go camping tomorrow morning.”
James’ brows were still furrowed in confusion, and his mouth kept opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. To Lily’s relief, he finally uttered something, “Can you just repeat that please, and maybe offer me some, like, well, much-needed context?”
“Uh..right, that’s probably a good idea. So, again, no to drinks because we are going to camping tomorrow morning. Why are we going camping—well, because I need this James. I need this.” James’ look softened at the desperation in her voice, “I have been going mad lately. I feel like my whole world has just become running into battles, hiding from Death Eaters and potions. I want to experience the earth again.”
“You want to experience the earth again?” James asked with a teasing smirk.
“Fuck yes. Make fun of it all you want. I know it sounds cheesy, but I know you know what I mean James Potter. Like…don’t you miss the earth? We’re in bloody London all the damned time. I mean…you haven’t gone out with Remus and the boys for a full moon in months. You can’t not tell me you’re not going a little mad here,” Lily ranted. “I want to just walk through a forest, where there’s no building in site, only trees and grass, and leaves. I want it to just be me for miles and miles.”
“What about me?”
Lily smiled and put her arms around his waist, “I guess I want you there too. Merlin knows I don’t really want to experience this earth again without your smile there with it,” she assured pressing a light kiss to his lips.
“What about the cold?”
“The stars will be our blanket,” teased Lily
“Uh…what?”
“James, are you a wizard or not? We can handle the actual camping parts of this magically.”
“Right,” nodded James in agreement. Yet something in the stiffness of his body, and the slight furrow left in his brows told Lily he was still hesitant. Come to think of it, James has been acting kind of shady like this for the past few weeks.
“Do you not want to?”
“No, it’s not that at all. I think I need this just as much as you,” he assured, “it’s just that, I mean, well we had those special dinner plans for tomorrow night.”
“We can cook ourselves a nice dinner tomorrow night love.”
James sighed, and nodded slowly, “That’s true I guess.”
“Don’t you want to go flying love? I want to ride your broom. I haven’t done it in so long.”
James smirked, “I want you to ride my broom too Evans.”
Lily ignored the obvious innuendo in his statement, and said “Great, let’s get packing then.”
“Um, right okay, I’ll go cancel those reservations and the…uh some other stuff, and I’ll let Dumbledore and the order know we’re going to take the next few days off.”
The next night, after a day of frolicking in the grass, walking and not running, and flying in a clear blue sky without a building in sight, Lily was snuggled within the comfort of James’ arms under a blanket of stars. The sound of their laughter played in harmony with the chirping crickets and the rustling of the leaves as the wind breezed through them. She and James always manage to have fun together, but this was different. They could have fun without worrying for right now. Even after their day on his broom, she hasn’t felt this free since she found out she was a witch, and she’s never felt closer to James than she had on this day.
After bickering and laughing about whether or not the dog star was named as such because it’s twinkle was kind of shaped like a dog, Lily turned her head towards his and asked, “So are you finally ready to tell me why you’ve been acting shady the past few weeks?”
James chuckled and sighed happily, “You know what…yeah, I actually am.” He turned his head to meet her eyes, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” smiled Lily moving her head in for a kiss, but James used the arm she was lying on to lift a very confused Lily up on to her feet instead.
Once they stood face to face, stars still twinkling above them, surrounded by only trees, grass, flowers and wildlife, James’ hands lightly against Lily’s waist, did James say, “I originally wanted to do this after that dinner we were supposed to have tonight at this fancy muggle restaurant in London, where after I was going to take you to Hog’s Head with all of our friends waiting there.” Lily was starting to see where this was going, and her eyes widened. “Once we got there, Sirius was going to start playing that muggle love song you love so much by that Elvin guy on that mini guitar thing I begged him to learn how to play,” her widened eyes softened with her chuckle and started to glisten with tears, “then I was going to get down on one knee,” James got down on one knee, “pull out my grandmother’s ring,” James pulled out his grandmother’s ring, “and say this: ‘This war is the worst thing that has ever happened to the wizarding world, and yet, you still manage to keep me smiling. Do me the honor of making me smile for the rest of my life, and let me do the same for you. Lily Evans, will you marry me?’”
Just as Lily was about to respond, James snapped the box shut, got up and said with a smirk, “It’s too bad you wanted to go camping instead.”
Lily’s mouth opened in shock, “James!” she exasperated punching him in the arm.
James laughed, “I’m kidding Lils! Only kidding! This place is a way better spot for a proposal…how’d you put it again? Blanket of stars? Now that’s just pure poetry. So this is really the best possible place for you to agree to put up with my shit forever,” he teased, “so what do you say Evans?” he asked opening the ring box once again, “Will you continue to put up with my shit for all eternity?”
Lily rolled her eyes, “Sounds good to me,” she said with a smile as she jumped into his arms and proceeded to kiss him.
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vampirefreakism · 5 years
Text
The Scientist (Chapter 33)
Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.
Warnings: none
Word count: 3.5k
A/N: God let’s hope this shows up in the tags and stays there. The AO3 and Spotify playlist are linked in the Masterlist. I haven't stopped or deleted anything. I also posted this on Wattpad so check me out on there if you like!
Masterlist
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As one song transitioned to the next, Loki glanced away from his book to the back of the CD case. Luna wasn’t around to enjoy the music with him – the reason he spent most of the morning sending high praises to the Allfathers. She would be able to tell how quickly he lost interest in the wonders of evolution over a new album. New for him, normal for her.
Marking his place, Loki put his book down and strode over to the newly set-up record player. He traced a finger around the edges as he tapped his foot to the beat, imagining how a track might sound played through it. It escaped him as to why Luna would need another thing to play music. ‘You have one already,’ he had reasoned, but it was a lavish gift from Stark. It would have been rude to not accept it.
Loki had the privilege of carrying the boxes into her apartment and assembling everything with her. A different science than he was used to, but it was no less entertaining. Ignorantly, he had pondered out loud which album they could play. ‘We don’t have the proper format,’ Luna told him and expanded on what a vinyl record was. Loki remembered them from a trip or two to Earth during the early 20th century. A surprise people still used them, but he figured it was purely for the nostalgia.
He pressed the on button on the front, awakening the turntable. It spun clockwise in a lazy fashion. Loki was tempted to lift the cover and touch it. Feel the material move against his skin, but Luna was firm. ‘Don’t touch it unless you’re putting a record on. It has to be kept clean.’ Would she be able to tell if he defied her? Perhaps. She was more perceptive than he previously took her for.
Feeling peckish, he switched the turntable off and grabbed his phone on the way to the kitchen. Peter teased him with the promise of sending pictures of the inside of his school and his other friends. It was a naughty and dangerous idea, and Loki was all for it. Finding nothing of interest on the counter or in the fridge, he settled for an ice cream pint. No need to worry about his hand turning blue, so long as he was alone.
Loki’s phone pinged to life as he was finishing the first half of the container. It was a message from Peter. He shook his hand out, getting some warmth back into it, and opened it.
‘Hey! Im in math. Is boring’
Attached is a hastily-taken picture of a whiteboard covered in diagrams and equations. Portions of it were blocked by the many students in front of Peter’s phone camera. Loki snickered and typed out his response.
‘doesnt look so’
Two minutes pass by – enough time for Loki to fish out a few more scoops of ice cream – and Peter messages him again.
‘its one of my best subjects so it doesn’t bother me too much. Ned and MJ are in another block from me so I miss them’
Loki's brow creased. He held his spoon in his mouth, so his hands were free.
‘MJ?’
‘oh yeah right you don’t know her. Shes my other really good friend’
‘what’s she like’
The long delay for Peter’s return message put Loki a bit on edge. Intent on calming his nerves, he put the rest of his ice cream away and ventured to Luna’s room. He could hear his music still, only muffled a little.
Beneath her bed sat a row of shoeboxes, containing everything but a pair of shoes. The first Loki opened housed all of Luna’s keychains and charms. A few piqued his interest; a simple black skull, a Darth Vader figure, a mini Mjolnir, and a crescent moon with two stars attached. He smirked, turning over the little moon in his hand. He expected no less from her.
Through the concluding music, Loki’s phone chimed anew with a message for him. Careful not to step on the charms littering the floor, he shuffled back to the kitchen and opened up his device. Again, it was from Peter.
‘hey! Srry for the wait. Teacher almost caught me txting lmao’
Loki grins.
‘first rule of mischief: never get caught’
‘ooh neds here now. He says hi’
Attached is another picture, taken at a low angle, of Peter and Ned. Both boys smile into the camera as Ned waves down to it, greeting Loki through the phone.
‘hello ned. Grand to see you again’
‘we r at lunch now. MJ is here too’
This photo was not of either of the two boys, but of their friend sitting across from them at a table. The friend – Loki assumed – was MJ. She held a book in one hand as she shot someone an irritated look.
‘is this MJ?’
‘yeah. We interrupted her reading but its ok XP’
‘does she know about me being here?’
A pause in the messaging held the air still. It was as though Peter deliberated in secret. Loki was impatient for the outcome.
‘no, but she might suspect. She’s really observant. Lolol shes already commented on my txtin’
‘may not be wise to communicate in front of people’
‘maybe not. txt u later?’
‘sure’
‘kk! Talk l8r!’
A loud silence took the apartment once more. Loki was desperate to banish it, so he started the album over again. He didn't mind. It wasn't the first time he'd exhausted the work of a musician in a day.
Feeling antsy, he went back to Luna’s room. He always liked looking at her little treasures, no matter if they were new to his eyes or if he’d seen them ten times before. Tucking her box of keychains back where it belonged, he moved on to another corner of the room: her closet.
Clothes were always crucial to Loki. Being a royal meant looking his best, both in the ballroom and on the battlefield. He was consistently stereotyped as the brother with the more developed fashion sense, but Thor knew his way around an outfit as well as he. Presentation was critical in any scenario.
Loki pried the door open as careful as he could, should anything come tumbling out. Luckily, everything inside was placed smartly and in order. The upper shelf supported a few boxes and spare sheets, the clothes hung on the rack in a beautifully organized fashion, and the remained floor space kept extra bags and larger boxes. Many places to start, not enough time to go through them all.
He started with the clothing. It was a surprise to see Luna hanging her T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts up as Loki preferred to fold his, but he liked it. It made them look neat and presentable. Beside them, her pants were placed in the same way. She had a few different kinds, so Loki took a look at each.
He’d seen her in leggings and joggers in the house and the gym. Which one she wore all depended on her mood and how the day went. One pair of dress pants sat suspended amongst them. Her skinny jeans – a black pair and a dark red pair – she wore any time they went out. Today, she put the dark red ones on for work, leaving Loki with the black pair. He tried to pick a favorite, but Luna wore both exceptionally well.
Sweaters and jackets squeezed in next to them. Luna possessed a broader assortment than previously believed. The first of the group Loki spied was the sweater she wore the day they went to the aquarium. It was light grey with a graphic on the front of a dark forest. Loki passed a hand over it, tracing the trees from the exaggerated sharp tops down to the bases on the drawn ground. Simple and practical yet stylish and unique. He snuck a hand into the sleeve, feeling the inside. It was soft and plush, like wearing a blanket. A whisper of jealousy passed through his head as he imagined feeling something so comforting against his skin; a far cry from the leather and rougher fabrics of his homeworld.
He peeked at the others he hadn’t seen: a black pullover with a small cartoon alien spaceship on the left side of the chest, a dark grey hoodie with a geometric skull design, a plain black suit jacket, and a notably large black hoodie with a four-letter abbreviation embroidered broad across the chest. Loki tilted his head and unhooked it from the bar. In front of the mirror, he held it up to his frame. In theory, it could fit him, but the forefront of his mind was occupied by one question: why was it so different from the others? Looking crossly at his reflection, Loki stepped back from the mirror and put the sweater back. Better for him to move on to something else lest he leaves a trace of his meddling.
Shoved into the far side of the closet were the clothes he considered to be more formal and fancy. Things Loki never bothered to think he would see, much less worn by his friend. His eyes were first met by a dress. Luna never seemed the type to wear such a garment. Loki found it difficult to imagine it on her, but he kept inspecting it. It was black with a fit-and-flare shape and long sleeves. The fabric was soft and stretchy, and the neckline left less to the imagination than Loki was used to. He tucked it back and pushed it towards the opposite side. Enough with it for now.
The outfit behind it lay draped over the hanger in three pieces. To the untrained eye, they were indistinguishable as to what they might be. Possessing such a sight, Loki took a bold step, unhooking the hanger and laying it on Luna’s bed. One piece had a red-to-black gradient, the other was plain black, and the last was small and wine red. He took the black garment out first and held it at eye-level. Seeing it clearly, he discovered it to be a long skirt with a drawstring waistband. The fabric was a bit flimsy, as though it was meant to go underneath something. He set it down – keeping its proposed purpose in mind – and picked up the gradient piece.
The color shifted along the entire length of the cloth, and it was long. It looked to be a scarf or a wrap skirt. Perhaps it could be both at the same time. The fabric was soft, and Loki couldn’t stop touching it. It was made of silk and felt like cool water in his hands, flowing and moving as though it was alive. He hastily pulled up his sleeves and let it fall across his bare arms. To say it was heaven to touch would be an understatement. He could wear an entire robe of the material and never want to take it off.
He retrieved the final raiment and held it as he did the skirt, feeling the soft material. It was made of stretchy velvet and resembled the sports bras Luna kept in her drawer set. The neckline of the tiny top scooped a bit lower than the one on the black dress, and the short sleeves were made of embroidered red lace. Loki turned it from back to front and back again. It held no zipper, buttons, or strings to tie. Only a simple tug was needed to put it on.
Loki lay it down and stepped back. With all the pieces on display, he surveyed them properly and built up the outfit in his mind in various ways, but nothing seemed correct. Again, he was at a loss. But, to his luck, Luna’s voice came floating into his mind as he recalled a past conversation.
“I do have one, and I like it a lot, but it’s nowhere near as nice as that one.”
One. One what? Loki had an idea and a heavy feeling.
Racing out of Luna’s room, he charged through the open space to the picture of Luna’s mother. The one of her wearing an expensive saree. His eyes widened, realizing he'd snooped in the wrong place and disturbed the wrong item. Loki glanced at the kitchen clock. He had enough time to put everything back before his friend came home. He walked back to Luna’s room, swallowing nervously.
Gently, he ran his fingertips along the saree wrap cloth, feeling the energy it held. This was Luna’s one. Her one outfit representing her culture and heritage – what made up the core of her being – and he’d gone and disturbed it without a care in the world. For shame. Loki groaned and closed his eyes. He had an apology ready, but no one to apologize to.
He closed his eyes and, with his soul, reached out to Luna’s ancestors. Her family members from the mother country. The ones who survived so she could exist. Loki acknowledged the boundary he crossed and asked for their forgiveness. He folded and hung the clothes back where he got it from, hoping they would listen and grant his request. Feeling light in his chest, he smiled. They knew he was sincere.
Loki pushed the clothes into the order he found them in and closed the closet door. Enough snooping for today. He shut the bedroom door on his way out and ambled to the kitchen for an apple. The skin was crisp and the inside as savory as he liked. The apartment was quiet again. For now, Loki deserved it. A bit of hushed contemplation would do him some good. It was a curve, but he was learning.
Throwing the apple core away, he rinsed his hands and got a fresh glass of water. He took the book he had been reading and sat in the armchair by the window. Luna warranted a bit of good behavior from Loki, even though she was not there to see.
--------------------
Close to 3pm, Loki’s phone dinged with a new message from Peter. He marked his spot in his book and opened the text.
‘finally done! Wow the day felt long’
Loki grinned and responded.
‘I bet’
‘so where r u now? R u at the compound?’
‘no, im in lunas home’
‘ooooooh what do you do there all day’
Loki paused, deciding what to tell him.
‘read her books, watch her movies, listen to her music’
‘noah fence, but that sounds kinda boring :P’
“‘Noah fence?’" Loki muttered under his breath. "Oh, ‘no offense.' Right.”
‘it can be, but we go to the compound on Saturdays and out anywhere else’
‘nice nice nice! U comin by this weekend??? to the compound???? ?????’
Loki snickered at Peter’s apparent excitement. He humored the boy.
‘I might’
‘pls bcuz I have some stuff I wanna show u’
‘looking forward to it’
‘:D I have decathlon practice now, so txt l8r??’
‘sure. You know where to find me’
‘lol yeah’
Loki didn't bother texting back. Peter was busy studying with his friends, or so he imagined. He got up and turned his music back on, again, not bothering to change the CD. Good music deserved to be listened to.
His enjoyment was short-lived as his phone rang with a different tune, this one constant and more musical. Luna had shown him what it meant. Someone was calling him.
Loki looked at the screen and saw Luna’s name lit up. He pressed the green button and held it to his ear.
“H-hello?” he spoke.
He heard a light muffled gasp. “You answered! Yay!” Luna praised.
Loki smirked. “Yes, I did.”
“So, uh, hi.”
“Hi.”
Loki heard a distant cough. “Um, what are you doing right now?”
“Waiting for you. Listening to music and reading.”
“What are you reading? Anything interesting?”
"Oh, yes. In fact, it’s one of your biological science books.”
“Ooh, which one?”
Loki read the cover. “‘Four Billion Years’ by William Loomis.”
“Mm, good choice.”
He opened the book to a random page as though Luna was watching him and he had to prove it. “The genetic code is so complex. It’s no wonder you study it.”
“Yeah. There isn't a dull moment with it. So, which artist are you listening to?”
“A wonderful lady by the name of,” Loki picked up the CD case, “Marina.”
“Oh! Awesome!” Luna exclaimed. “And how do you like her?”
“Very much. She’s fantastically accomplished.”
“I had a feeling you would like her stuff. Which song do you like most so far?”
“I couldn’t possibly choose. They’re all good.”
“Just one. The other songs won’t feel less liked, I promise." She giggled, and so did he.
“Let’s see.” Loki flipped the case to the back and read the track list. "Uh, ‘Fear and Loathing.’ "
“Ooh, nice choice. I love that one. They're all good. I have several favorites.”
He hummed. “So, what are you doing now?”
“Taking a bit of a break. I called to tell you that I’m going to be late. Traffic is horrible right now, so it’s not safe for me to leave yet. I’m also working out some ideas for a new experiment.”
The fire of Loki’s interest was stoked. “Oh?”
“Mhm. It’ll be a DNA manipulation using CRISPR like last time, but I would have to redo an RNA template for the new organism.”
“Which one might you be using?”
“Zebrafish. I want to test healing time.”
“Why use a new one when you already have the first one?”
“Because zebrafish are larger than the worms and transparent, so I can see all the inner workings, even the blood vessels in real-time. I can nick one a little and see the movement of the cells as it heals the wound. They also have an organ system similar to humans so I can visualize things more easily than with a worm.”
Her job never ceased to capture him. He felt like he could watch her work all day.
“Amazing,” Loki breathed out.
“Yeah! I've seen a bunch of videos where they do that, and it's really cool, so I'm hoping to get some good results. Even if they don’t change from the average results of a non-mutated fish, it’s not nothing.”
“Of course, but may I speak freely?”
Luna chuckled low into the phone. “You may.”
“I think you will get a difference." He didn't wish to give anything away, but he was confident she would get something. If the worms could produce ice particles on their own, the fish would do the same.
“I will keep that in mind.”
“I suppose I should let you get back to work.”
“Yeah, I have some more things to finish up before I leave. Hopefully, the traffic will be a little more merciful on me.”
“Here’s to hoping.”
“Hm, yeah. Well, bye, Loki. See you at home.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
Loki listened to the buzzing silence on the other end of the line. Pressing the red button, he set his phone down and wandered back to the record player. A present from Stark. Luna got a pair of socks from Peter. And what from Loki? Nothing. As he pulled gently at the string bracelet around his wrist, he thought of her. Luna was the best friend he wished he had earlier in his life but never got. Now, he had her, but how has he repaid her kindness?
Loki gave to his kingdom for four years as its king, proving to his people he was better than the person he used to be. He had the capacity but lacked the resources. What could only he offer? Stark and Peter had more stable connections, but what did Loki have? What did they have together?
He looked around the room and noted all points of interest. They shared film, music, food, and dancing. Yes, dancing was a good place to start. She only did it with him. With nothing Asgardian to gift, he would have to settle for something earthly. Something she didn’t currently possess but would greatly enjoy.
Loki perused the CD shelf. He knew most of the artists, but he didn’t know what Luna didn’t have or if she would like something new. His eyes flitted from album to album and stopped on one he recognized: ‘Led Zeppelin IV.’ Their first dance was in there. Reading the spine of the case, Loki laughed under his breath. Luna was influencing him again, making him sentimental. But now, as an idea formed in his head, sentiment felt good.
His phone dinged, providing a momentary distraction.
‘done with the stuff. About to go on patrol so my messages will be here and there’
It was from Peter. Perfect timing.
‘alright, but one thing before you go’
‘yah??’
Loki took a deep breath and, with shaking hands, typed out his question.
‘how much do you know about vinyl records’
----------
Taglist:  @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life
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medicuum · 5 years
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Another Munday Meme Repost please, don’t reblog!
TAGGED BY: @heligooddeals TAGGING: Anyone who wants to do it!
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○  NICKNAMES: Avorous, Avo, literally just the muse names ○  ZODIAC: Scorpio ○  HEIGHT: 5′6″ ○  TIME: EST, currently 4:48pm ○  FAVORITE BAND/ARTIST: Bit of a toss up between Skillet and Imagine Dragons ○  SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD: Emerald Princess by Two Steps From Hell ○  LAST MOVIE I WATCHED: Avengers: Endgame ○  LAST THING I GOOGLED: Jeep Wrangler 2.0L engine compression ratio ○  OTHER BLOGS: @avorous (personal blog) ○  WHY I CHOSE THIS USERNAME: medicum literally is...latin...for doctor ○  FOLLOWING: 35 I am smol blog ○  AVERAGE AMOUNT OF SLEEP: 6 hours ○  WHAT I’M CURRENTLY WEARING: Gym shorts and a pop art Darth Vader t-shirt ○  DREAM JOB: Anything with computers ○  DREAM TRIP: TRIP?! ME?! I am a hermit/homebody ○  FAVORITE FOOD: Pizza ○  PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Flute for 2 years, Clarinet for 7 years. ○  HAIR COLOR: Natural is like an ash brown, dyed black on the top and bleached white underneath for maximum crazy color payoff ○  LANGUAGES YOU SPEAK: English, a tiny bit of Spanish ○  MOST ICONIC SONG: -shrug emoji- ○  RANDOM FACT: I know enough about cosmetics and nails that I could probably have gotten into the beauty industry if I wasn’t more into computers than cosmetics. ○  DESCRIBE YOURSELF AS AN AESTHETIC: Fish and screaming into the void
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I was tagged by the lovely @marcuslopzarguello!!! Thank you Sam!! <3
nickname(s): Matt, Maths zodiac sign: *fish noises* height: short-ass motherfucker last movie i saw: The Avengers and the Dust Bunnies :))) last thing i googled: “free video editing program” favourite musician: Well, musicianS are Sleeping at Last  song stuck in my head: Hallucinogenics  other blogs: One trash heap in enough  following: 415 followers: 320 do i get asks: A few a week?? idk varies. amount of sleep i get: .... 4 hours? lucky numbers: 3 what i’m wearing: Darth Vader boxer briefs lmao dream job: Author dream trip: Oof, America, England, Ireland, Hungary, really anywhere my frens are. :’) I’d really like to see NYC sometime  favourite food: P I Z Z A instruments: None as of yet, I’d really like to learn a few tho! languages: Just English. I’m getting some lessons in ASL when my depression lets me get motivated. Also I really wanna learn Russian one day? idk why but it sounds beautiful to me favourite songs:  I Feel You, Casino, Railroad Track random fact: I’ve got onychophagia. I bite my nails and the skin around them a lot, don’t even know I’m doing it. It’s an anxiety thing. It’s bad enough that I can’t use my nails for opening things and the tips of my fingers are calloused. aesthetic: Bitten nails, random bruises, soft flannels, smile lines, weird sitting positions, pretty rocks
I tag @alex--blue, @hypsiacrobasiphobia, @monochromemidnightcities, and anyone else who would like to do this.If you don’t wanna do this, please ignore n have a great day. <3
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energon-goodies · 5 years
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!!! got tagged by @jetflyer !! thank!! :D
Nicknames/Pet Names: oh man, uhh, got a few. sisters call me Sneaksby, certain coworkers call me Aut-Bot or Mushmouth (don’t ask), and in the chats i’m in, people call me Domey :u
Height: 5′3 ish
Last Movie I Watched: In theatres? The Bumblebee Movie!! At home? it was Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust
Last Thing I Googled : "types of betta fish” bc i was curious. Half-moons are super pretty
Favorite Musicians: uhh, i listen to a pretty big variety of stuff, but I like a lot of Marina and the Diamonds, Clean Bandit, if those count. Mostly a lot of pop music and soft instrumental-y stuff.
Song stuck in my head: currently? Wake Up by Eden
Other blogs: I don't have one anymore :c
Do you get asks?: on my main, sometimes, and i have a lot on my side blog!!
Following : it’s over 500, close to 600 i’m pretty sure
Dream trip: hmm, well, I really would like to see New Zealand or Brazil someday!! maybe Italy or France too! idk, i just wanna travel aaa
Amount of sleep : anywhere between 4 and 12 hours, unfortunately
Lucky number : ?? not sure.
What I’m wearing : Darth Vader shirt, pajama shorts, ready for bed :U
Dream job : I... dunno. I thought I wanted to be a comic-book artist, but I don’t think my stuff is good enough for it. Alternatively, kinda thinking about maybe doing a program for wildlife conservation or something along those lines. maybe a Game Warden
Instruments I play : pretty good at the kazoo
Languages : only English. know a little bit of French, but not enough to do anything with
Favorite songs: well, right now, it’s the same thing as above- Wake Up by Eden
Random fact: i learned the other day that a betta fish’s stomach is only the size of it’s eyeball, so there’s that. but if this was supposed to be about me, uhhh, i’m near-sighted in one eye and far-sighted in the opposite (somehow? idk pal)
gonna tag a couple people i don’t know a bunch about, and some others!! (if I didn't tag you and you wanna tho, go for it and say i did!!)
you absolutely do NOT have to do it!! will un-tag you if you’re uncomfortable!!
@pvckishrogue, @jazzbat, @whirlybirb, @cassierole09, @bear-cublife
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Note
How does Bail Organa deal with being dad to an angry baby quarter-eldritch-abomination?
“Well,” Breha began, and then stopped. She was sitting very straight and regal in her chair, the way she only did when her mind was a hundred parsecs away and moving at lightspeed.
Bail had always been amused by that, how his wife looked more attentive and composed when not paying attention to what was going on around her. But she’d told him all about her parade of different tutors, etiquette and comportment and a hundred things a merchant’s son had no need of knowing. He supposed a lifetime of preparing to be Queen of Alderaan gave one all hells of muscle memory.
“Yes,” Bail sighed. He crossed the room to the sideboard, where someone had very considerately refilled the decanter. “Drink?”
“Yes,” Breha said absently. “Something with a great deal of alcohol in it, I think.”
Bail snorted. She was clearly not as distracted as he assumed.
Evening had fallen over the Capital, painting everything in blue shadows. This early in the year, everything was snow and ice, even the broad main streets. A convenient enough excuse, when the Datu’s son—tripped and…slid accidentally into a wall, bloodying his nose, ears, mouth. And when the Princesa of Aldera, Leia Organa, bared her teeth at the Datu’s son’s and snarled, You are a cruel and heartless boy—
Well. The cold had been convenient for that too. You know these long winter months, Bail had said, forcing warmth into his voice, because the Datu was looking to him in confusion and thinly-veiled horror, clutching at his son even as blood streamed down the boy’s face. Everyone goes a little stir-crazy.
Bail sat down across from Breha, setting down her glass of cognac. She reached for it, but he couldn’t be sure whether she knew it—her eyes were faraway, and her spine was very straight. Bail was used to this, being the third or fourth thing on her mind; he didn’t mind being patient, waiting for her to circle back to them, their daughter.
“When you—” Breha fell silent, running her finger lightly along the rim of the glass. Bail sipped his liquor, composing a list of necessary munitions for the Rebellion in his head, waiting for her to continue. 
“When you told me that it was safer not to openly discuss our daughter’s origins, I assumed that was because Padmé had somehow made an enemy of the Emperor. A miscalculation that perhaps also led to her death. But that is not the only reason, is it?”
Bail sighed, setting his glass down. “No.”
“The Jedi, the handsome one I met at the—”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” Breha said. Her eyes were still far off, unfocused. “I see. And the edict that was issued, calling for the death of all affiliated with the Jedi Order?”
“Yes. It also remains in effect for any…future Jedi that might arise.”
Bail straightened up when Breha’s gaze flickered, and met his. He smiled bitterly, tipping his glass to her as thought calling a toast. “You see my conundrum,” he said, not bothering to keep the irony from his voice.
“You said Obi-Wan escaped the destruction of the temple,” Breha said slowly. “He could—instruct her, teach her to contain it. At least enough so we don’t have further incidents like today’s.”
“We would be putting ourselves and all of Alderaan at risk. The Emperor’s enforcer, Darth Vader, is said to have a special hatred for him—I think they fought on another in the wars.”
Breha nodded, and Bail watched as she lifted the glass to her mouth, swallowed. She was a lovely creature, his wife, with a fearsome sort of mind; he liked to  watch her as it ticked over unerringly as any other piece of machinery. 
“Do you have a way to contact him more discreetly?” she finally asked. 
“Not—at the moment, but I know where he is. I’m sure I can come up with something. Why do you ask?”
Breha smiled triumphantly. There was a glint in her eye. “If you and I are going to raise a Jedi, husband, we’re going to need some guidance on the subject.”
.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Obi-Wan said, gazing in thinly-veiled horror at Bail. Bail had no idea why Obi-Wan had chosen Tatooine—other than the fact that it was possibly the furthest from the center of the galaxy you could get without going off the edge of a regulation star map. Bail supposed it was beautiful, in a sere, barren sort of way, though he personally didn’t enjoy the implicit promise of death that seemed to linger like a miasma over the sand. Bail had slept badly the night before, listening to some unknown thing screaming in the dark. 
Then again, if Kenobi truly was trying to stay off the Empire’s radar and away from Darth Vader’s wrath, no one would ever think to look here.
Bail squinted into late-afternoon sunlight. Officially, he was travelling through the Outer Rim as part of an outreach initiative by the Senate. Unofficially, he knew that most of his fellow senators believed he was visiting a mistress—more than one of them had congratulated him on slipping the grip of his formidable royal wife. (When Bail told Breha this, she’d mostly been flattered by the implication that if Bail wanted a mistress, he’d have to stash them all the way in the Outer Rim to avoid her.)
Actually, Bail was sitting beside Obi-Wan Kenobi outside a wattled hut, watching the sun set over the mesas and graciously pretending to drink the awful tea Obi-Wan had made for him. 
“Why not?”
Obi-Wan blinked. “The art of being a Jedi is complex and ancient—there are arcane secrets—it’s just not advisable,” he spluttered.
Bail huffed. “That is hardly a convincing argument.”
“Neither you nor Breha are Force-sensitive; you won’t even be able to tell if she’s doing it correctly. This is like a fish blithely announcing he plans to teach a starbird how to fly!”
“Well, give me the introductory level. Or whichever level involves teaching young Jedi not to assault people with the Force.”
Obi-Wan froze, his hand spasming around his own mug of tea. “Leia hurt someone?” he breathed, his face going shadowed and haunted. Bail frowned.
“Another boy; she was angry, and she choked him, bloodied his nose. The incident was embarrassing and—suspicious, if we’re trying to keep her existence a secret, but minor. We’re just worried, you needn’t look like someone has died.”
Obi-Wan shut his eyes as though pained, and a shudder ran through his whole body until he was almost doubled-over. “Obi-Wan?” Bail asked. “Are you—”
“You have a datapad?” Obi-Wan mumbled. Bail blinked.
“Yes.”
“Take notes.” Obi-Wan didn’t wait, and Bail scrambled to dig through his pack and grab the datapad and stylus before he got too far. “The first lesson any Jedi must learn—”
.
The first five lessons were a nightmare. 
“That was my great-grandmother’s favorite dining table,” Breha said mournfully as she and Bail watched the charred hunks of wood carried from the room. “It was a gift from one of the Queens of Naboo, in honor of the jubilee celebration of her reign.”
“We can ask Queen Raina for another one,” Bail offered. The guards bowed, and shut the doors behind them, such that it was just Bail and Breha alone in the study.
He could hear Leia’s sobbing from the next room. They hadn’t meant to scare her, or yell as much as they had, but it had been terrifying, a little girl with fire all around her and a look of unnatural peace on her face. Bail sighed. “This isn’t working.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Our daughter managed to somehow summon lightning from her hands, that seems like some sort of progress.”
Bail snorted. “In the wrong direction, I think. She’s supposed to learn restraint, not….I’m afraid she’s sliding further away, she’s losing control. Obi-Wan told me that many of the Sith were Jedi, once.”
“We cannot keep running to him,” Breha said with a sigh, leaning against the doorframe in a rare show of weariness. Bail realized with a start that there were lines, bracketing around her mouth, that had not been there only a few years before. “The Security Council has begun discussing a military installation on Alderaan, I will need to use every weapon in my arsenal to keep those—stormtroopers,” she ground out icily, “from our world. If there is even a hint—”
“What about Jedha?” Bail said, and Breha blinked. Then her expression transformed into something thoughtful, considering.
“I thought the temple there was destroyed.”
“It was. But the worshipers still come. And the Jedi Order was only one of the sects that revered the Force, at this point we may be safer to look outside the Core for aid.”
“Someone discreet,” Breha said, finally.
“Of course.”
“Someone—patient. And not afraid. I will not allow our daughter to grow up with her teacher fearing what she can do.”
“Of course not.”
Bail crossed the room to her, and with an indulgent smile, Breha allowed herself to be crowded against the wall, fitted herself into his arms; her hands finding the small of his back with familiar ease. Bail had been away too long; her hair smelled different, something floral that made his nose itch. “Do you ever wish I had brought you a simpler daughter?” he murmured, and he could feel her laugh.
“There are no easy children,” Breha murmured. “I would rather simply love ours. Now bring her someone who will teach her how not to burn the galaxy down around her.”
Privately, Bail doubted there existed anyone who would make Leia Organa less incendiary—but at least they could make it less literal.
.
(“Everyone says of all the Guardians of the Whills, you are the most learned, and faithful. You remember the old ways,” Bail said.
“I sympathize with your plight,” Chirrut Îmwe said, setting his own teacup down. Malbus, standing in the doorway and casting a long shadow, grunted; a smile flickered across Chirrut’s mouth in response. “But as long as there are pilgrims to the Holy City, we must stay, and defend her.”
Bail exhaled, and thought of shining Aldera, in the mountains, where the air was thin and cold and bright. Where his daughter could make the air burn, and his wife ruled the world. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”)
.
Later—much later, when neither Jedha or Alderaan could be defended any more, and Obi-Wan was nothing more than another nexus of brightness in the Force—Leia was watching her brother.
“I remember this,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Luke asked, cracking open an eye. “Do you mean remember, or—remember, like our mother?”
“We have to come up with a better term for that,” Leia sighed. “And no, I actually remember this,” she added. “One of my tutors, Mistress Draight. We used to do breathing exercises and control exercises, and…I always just thought it was mindfulness. I had a lot of tutors,” she said with a shrug.
“You had Jedi lessons?” Luke asked, opening his eyes fully and uncurling from his cross-legged meditation pose.
“I didn’t think they were Jedi lessons. No one ever said the word ‘Jedi’ and we never moved anything with the Force, or discussed lightsabers. It was just supposed to be calming. A way of establishing control.”
“Huh,” Luke said. “Did it help?”
“I—think so? My mother used to joke about the time I set my great great-grandmother’s table on fire, but I always assumed it was because my sleeve caught on the candle,“ she mused.
Luke laughed, hooking his hand in the loose fabric of her dress and pulling her forward until his legs were tangled hers. “Okay,” he said, touching his forehead to hers. “Show me what you got.”
Leia grinned.
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bittyboom · 6 years
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A Trip Through Time With Preschool Me
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So we are at the beginning. Wow my a’s looked weird Jesus Christ
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Yes it’s me, but what the fuck with my spelling man
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that’s a lot. i don’t even know what half of them are 
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yeah apparently i didn’t like men with strangely long legs reading newspapers
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why is the little boy weird—
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this was the only time Star Wars was ever in my book. i gotta say, that’s a pretty impressive darth vader for a preschooler
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there are only you two video games. castle crashers and minecraft
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im concerned as to why this is so specific
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sir that’s not how you eat a fish
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these stick figures are more stylish than me
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i have no words
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yes but why
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Bow to your queen assholes
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how magical...?
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why are they weird
what did they do
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I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW
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qqueenofhades · 6 years
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the tangled web of fate we weave: vi
shh, this is very therapeutic.
part v/AO3.
Lucy gets through the next several weeks mostly on autopilot. There’s spring break in there somewhere, but she doesn’t really notice, since she spends it working anyway. Her dissertation is inching toward the final finish line, though she still has to write a conclusion, put together her bibliography (which will be an absolutely torturous process of going through the whole thing and copy-pasting every footnote – why hasn’t someone invented a better way to do this yet?) and add her acknowledgments: places she went for trips, foundations who gave her scholarship money, people she’s collaborated with, that kind of thing. Most of it is straightforward, but when Lucy gets to the personal section, where people thank their parents, significant others, grade school teachers, supervisors, etc., she stares at the screen until it goes out of focus. Ordinarily she’d write, Thanks for everything, Mom and Dad, no problem at all, but how can she do that now? Thanks for everything, Mom and Henry Wallace, except for never telling me who my biological father was? Thanks for everything, Mom, but Benjamin Cahill, why?
Lucy leaves that part undone, just adds Amy for now, and finally pushes back her chair and lets out a hoarse war cry of victory, punching the air with both fists and startling the nearby students. She emails it to her supervisor, Dr. Kate Underwood, with the triumphant subject line FIRST COMPLETE DRAFT!!!!, then cleans out her carrel with something probably akin to what a new mother feels, when they finally hand her the baby after the sweat and strife of labor. Not that Lucy’s interested in kids, at least for a while, but still.
She sleeps like the dead for the entire weekend (her neighbors are actually still being quiet, and she certainly isn’t going to tell them that she’s probably never going to see Flynn again) then gets up and goes off to her final review meeting with Dr. Underwood on Monday. Most of the changes she suggests are small, though there’s one part of the last chapter that she pushes Lucy to do a little more with. Nothing outside her usual corrections, but since that was the chapter Lucy was dramatically interrupted from writing with the Weekend of Total Insanity, it triggers something in her. In one of the more embarrassing moments of her life, she bursts into tears in Dr. Underwood’s sunny office, as her supervisor looks bewildered, gingerly hands her Kleenex, and finally asks if everything is all right.
Lucy figures that last-minute nervous breakdowns are far from uncommon for PhD students just about to submit, and there’s a ready-made way to play this off as just that, which she more or less does. There are student counseling services that she could probably make an appointment with, though they’re busy enough at crunch time that it would be another few weeks until anyone saw her. And she just can’t picture sitting across from some graduate-student psychiatrist-in-training and actually making sense of this. Has the usual feeling that she doesn’t need to burden people with her first-world problems – “starving kids in Africa syndrome,” one of her friends called it. This is a little more than ordinary, perhaps, but still.
Having promised that she will have the changes in by next Monday, Lucy confirms the date for her oral examination, six weeks from now, and realizes that she has no idea what she will be doing for that time, aside from sleeping and bingeing on TV shows. Her work is done, she has class to finish teaching but only two days a week, and her schedule gapes perilously wide open. She isn’t good at sitting around and doing nothing; can manage maybe a week or two, then she starts feeling that she needs to be productive. Another gift from her mother. She never let Lucy just veg out during the summer as a kid. She had to be doing an extracurricular, or preparing for a AP exam, or off at Young Achievers Camp, which is exactly as nerdy as it sounds. She’s not sure she even knows how to rest.
Once Dr. Underwood has sent her off with advice to get some sleep and feel proud of her accomplishment, Lucy staggers out into the world beyond Stanford like Rip Van Winkle. It’s a nice day, warm and summery and almost difficult to remember that that whole ridiculous seventy-two hours ever happened, and she pauses. Then on a sudden impulse, she digs out her phone and scrolls through her contacts. Hits call, and waits.
Wyatt Logan picks up on the last ring, sounding slightly breathless. “Hello? Lucy?”
“Hi. I’m sorry, is it a bad time?”
“No, it’s fine. What’s up? Are you all right?”
“I. . . yeah, I am. I just. . . finished my dissertation, actually. And I thought if you were in San Francisco, maybe we could meet up and grab a coffee, or. . . or something?” Her heart flutters in her throat. “Just, you know, to catch up?”
There’s a slightly awkward pause. Then Wyatt says, “I’m, uh, I’m back in San Diego, I’m based out of Pendleton. And I promised my wife we’d go to the beach today, or whatever.”
“Your w – ” Lucy can feel her cheeks turning the color of a fire engine. “Oh my God, I didn’t – I really wasn’t – of course. No, no, of course. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt coughs. “Congratulations on finishing your dissertation, that’s an amazing accomplishment. Nothing else weird has happened recently?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Maybe they’ve given it up.” Lucy knows this is too easy, but she wants to think so. Likewise, she both does and doesn’t want to ask. “Have you heard from Flynn?”
Wyatt hesitates. “No. I called back to the hospital a week later, they said they let him out, but I have no idea where he went. Probably off the grid. I would, if I was him. There’s an APB out, anyone who sees him is supposed to call it in. Whoever Rittenhouse is, they’re still very, very pissed.”
Lucy struggles to take this in. On the one hand, it’s good news, of a sort, that Flynn somewhat recovered and was released from the hospital, but was this because he was ready to roll again, or because he didn’t want to take the risk of lying there waiting for his enemies to show up? There are a nearly unlimited number of ways that they can kill him in a hospital and make it look like an accident, after all. If he is officially persona non grata for a lot of powerful and high-ranking people, and he’s hurt, that doesn’t sound like a good combination. Maybe he’s fled the country, gone up and crossed into British Columbia and hidden out somewhere in the Canadian Rockies. Lucy reminds herself that either way, she shouldn’t care. Whatever the hell his actual feelings on her might be, he made himself clear.
“Thanks,” she says, after a too-long pause. “Let me know if. . . well, whatever happens, all right?”
“Do my best. Congrats again on the dissertation.” Wyatt clears his throat. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Lucy echoes, cheeks still hot, and hangs up rather quickly. Well, that was a disaster. She should have known that the only guy she’s even attempted to ask out recently was unavailable, though there’s a cute-ish geek with glasses who smiles at her whenever he sees her in the coffee line. Lucy thinks his name is Alan. But not even for the principle of the thing can she really work up any desire for a closer approach. After a final moment, she fishes her keys out of her purse, heads to her car, and tries to decide if 280 or 101 will be more congested at this time of day. She ends up taking the latter, despite the unpleasant associations of recent escapades on it, up to Amy’s apartment in South San Francisco.
Lucy turns into the complex, parks, and heads up the steps to Amy’s place. She rents it with two of her friends, one of whom is named Sage Tranquility and the other of whom is usually getting arrested at protests. There’s plenty of room at the Preston house in Mountain View, it’s not like Amy had to move out, but she’s always butted heads with their mother far more than Lucy has. Said that she would rather live in a shitty apartment, away from Carol’s domineering and constant questioning about why she’s doing this sociology degree and wasting her potential, and build something that was hers. Lucy doesn’t know how much she should tell Amy, but she is the only person she feels like confiding to.
Amy opens the door a few moments after Lucy’s knock, her headphones around her neck still emitting the echoes of her music, but she pauses it at the sight of her sister. “Hey, you. What are you doing here? Aren’t you still working on your dissertation?”
“No, I just finished it. Just. Hey, are you doing anything right now?”
“No. Come in.” Amy frowns. “You don’t seem super jubilant, Luce.”
“I. . . have a lot on my mind.” Lucy blows out a breath. “I’d kind of like to talk.”
Amy agrees, gestures her in, and goes to fetch some cookies from the kitchen, before they got to the secondhand futon, Amy sits down, and beckons Lucy to put her head in her lap. “Okay,” she says. “So talk.”
As Amy gives her a head rub, which feels heavenly, Lucy closes her eyes, tries to find somewhere to start, and can’t think of any way to do this delicately. She teeters and stumbles at the edge, then finally comes clean about Flynn, about Rittenhouse, about Benjamin Cahill, about Wyatt, about everything. That it turns out they’re only half-sisters, that Carol has lied to them – to her – her entire life. That her real father is Corporate Darth Vader, and all of this. . . all of this. . . she’s slowly losing her mind, and has just squashed it down and put it away to concentrate on finishing. Now that’s done, and she’s. . . here.
Amy stays quiet as Lucy talks, until she finally chokes up and can’t finish. Then she grips Lucy’s shoulder hard and says fiercely, “We’re sisters, all right? We’re sisters. I don’t care what Mom did or did not tell you, it doesn’t change anything. We’re just the same as we’ve always been, and nothing is ever going to take that away from us.”
“Thanks.” Lucy’s voice remains stuck in her throat. “I just. . . this has been a lot.”
“Shyeah.” Amy reaches over her for a cookie, breaks off a bite, and dangles it above Lucy’s mouth like a zookeeper feeding the seals. Lucy manages a weak laugh and snaps it up, as a sigh shudders through her from head to heel. They remain in silence for several more moments, until Amy says, “So, this Flynn guy. You have feelings of some kind for him, but he’s a complete emotional disaster, not to mention possibly on the run from the feds for God knows what or where or why. Accurate?”
“I don’t – ” Lucy opens and shuts her mouth. “I wouldn’t say I have feelings feelings for him, he’s – I don’t really – ”
Amy raises one eyebrow. “Now who’s being the emotional disaster?”
Lucy feels as if this is rather unfair – she’s here sharing her problems and trying to work through them like a grownup, even if, yes, she did repress them for several weeks beforehand and hope they would go away. “I’m not the one who set my phone passcode as the day he saved my life, then told me not to fool myself that he wanted to see me again and basically vanished off the face of the earth!”
“Fair.” Amy considers this. “But you do feel something.”
“He saved my life. Twice. He did endanger it the second time, but. . .” Lucy stops. “Maybe there was something between us, or I believed a little too hard in fate or design or whatever. I could have been imagining it, but. . .”
“But you don’t think you were,” Amy completes. “He just blew it. Super hard. Complete buffoonery.”
Lucy snorts. “Remind me why I bother with men again?”
“You could always date another lady,” Amy points out. “I liked Carine.”
Strictly speaking, this is true, and does have a certain appeal after the recent overabundance of testosterone in Lucy’s life. But she dated Carine Leclerc, a journalism student from Montreal, for eight months in her senior year, and while Carine was making noises about looking for jobs in California after she graduated, it stalled over the fact that Lucy never got around to introducing her to Carol. It wasn’t exactly a secret – Amy knew, her friends knew, they went to a pride parade, there were pictures – but Lucy never talked about it directly with her mom. It wasn’t the queer thing, exactly. Just that whenever Carol discussed Lucy’s future, it always seemed to involve a husband and kids. Not because of any awe or reverence for the patriarchy – Carol gave both her daughters her own surname, rather than, apparently, either of their fathers’, and was a women’s studies professor for many years – but, well. It just did. And while you can obviously have a family by non-traditional methods – adoption, fostering, surrogacy, whatever – Lucy somehow didn’t get the impression that was what her mom had in mind. The kids just seem to be part of it. It’s why, although she’s not really had any enthusiasm for the idea now, she’s subconsciously penciled it in for five or eight years in the future, once she’s presumably met Mr. Right. Lucy has all kinds of arguments with herself over whether that makes her a bad feminist. But because it’s what her mom wants –
“Oh, God,” Lucy says hoarsely. She raises both hands to her face, then drops them. “You’re right. I really have let Mom dictate my life, haven’t I?”
The expression on Amy’s face clearly says, no duh, although she charitably refrains from uttering it aloud. Instead she says, “I still think you should have followed through on that band thing. At least it would have shown her that you can stand up to her.”
“I – no, that was definitely a bad idea, I’m glad I didn’t.” Lucy is still Lucy, and thus cannot believe that she ever treated the prospect of her education so frivolously. “But maybe if I went over there now and confronted her about Cahill – ”
“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”
“What? You’re always the one telling me to push back against her more!”
“Yeah, I know.” Amy chews on a thumbnail. “But this is more than about just that, isn’t it? From what you said about Cahill, it sounds like he’s mixed up in some pretty skeevy shit. I give Mom a hard time a lot, but maybe she did have a good reason for separating us from all that. Are you sure you want to know?”
“If they come back, I should at least know the truth.” Lucy rubs at her tired eyes with her fingertips. “I’d like to think they just gave up, but I’m not sure. Maybe if I tell her that I know, it might help clear the air.”
Amy gives her a probing look. “And are you going to tell her about Flynn?”
That catches Lucy short. She wants to say that she will, that if she’s demanding or even requesting honesty from her mother, she should be prepared to return the favor. But something – she doesn’t even know what, not quite what it was with Carine – gives her pause. “Why would I?” she says feebly. “It’s not like anything actually happened.”
“Aside from him turning up and you two going on a three-day joyride that ended with him getting shot and telling you to go piss up a rope.” Amy’s tone is more or less lighthearted, but her expression is serious. “That’s definitely something that happened.”
Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. She reaches for the last cookie and eats it, partly to give herself an excuse not to talk, then brushes off the crumbs and gets to her feet. “Well, if I am heading over there today, I should get going before the traffic gets too bad. I should at least tell her that I finished.”
“Because you’re hoping she’ll finally tell you that she’s proud of you?” Amy glances up at her. “You know you did a good job even if she can’t choke it out, right?”
“Of course I know.” Lucy manages a smile, picking up her purse. “See you later, Ames.”
Her baby sister hugs her, not without a final look, and Lucy lets herself out, heading to the parking lot and getting into her car. She drives down to the Preston family home in Mountain View, the attractive four-bedroom ranch house on an affluent, leafy street where Lucy grew up. Worth a tidy chunk of change if Carol decided to downsize, since it’s currently just her living there, but she has held onto it. Not good at letting go of things, Carol Preston. It is only in the last few days that Lucy has realized just how much, and it saddens her.
A light is on in the kitchen as Lucy parks by the curb and gets out. She heads up the front steps, noting that the plants could use some watering; it’s not like her mother to let things droop, or look anything less than perfect, daughters or azaleas alike. This is her house as much as anyone’s, and yet Lucy stands there for a long moment, feeling as unwelcome as a door-to-door salesman or friendly local Jehovah’s Witness. It feels as if she finally got here the way she was intending to do seven years ago – before the accident, before nearly dying, before Flynn, before Flynn’s reappearance, before Benjamin Cahill and Rittenhouse, before everything that’s brought her back. She tries to rehearse words in her head, questions, justifications. Nothing really occurs to her.
Lucy swallows hard, and rings the bell.
It takes a bit before she hears footsteps, and then Carol Preston opens the door. She looks down at her eldest daughter in surprise, or perhaps confusion. Something about her seems as off, less than pristine, as the drying flowers, and her makeup is slightly smeared, though Lucy can’t imagine her mother actually crying. “Lucy,” Carol says. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been finishing my dissertation.” Lucy twists her fingers together anxiously. “I – I did finish, by the way. Just today. Dr. Underwood gave me her final changes, Dr. Gardener in anthropology still has to look it over as well, but he’s at a conference until Friday, so that will take a little longer. But – yeah, it’s done, I did it.”
“I see.” Carol considers, then steps back. “I think we should talk. Come in.”
Lucy follows her mother inside, wondering if Carol’s guessed somehow, if Cahill came by to creep on her as well or ask why she never told Lucy the truth, and feels absurdly guilty for causing more trouble. She almost starts to apologize, though with no idea what for, and a tiny, ridiculous part of her half-hopes that Flynn will be sitting in the kitchen, somewhat recovered if doubtless no more tactful, come by to ask Carol what she knows about Rittenhouse. Which seems like a bold move, given that he’s a wanted fugitive from the government, but reality doesn’t have much to do with Lucy’s thought process just now.
Nonetheless, it comes crashing back in in a cold, sobering wave when they step ins. There’s a piece of paper lying on the counter, and Lucy can’t see the wording, but it looks clinical. Hospital. Carol turns it over as Lucy tries to get a better look, then says, “Tea?”
“No, it’s all right, I was just over at – ” Lucy stops. “Mom, is… is everything…?”
“I went to get that cough checked out, like you wanted,” Carol says, after a slight pause. “And, well, the scan turned something up in one of my lungs. They’re going to run more tests, they can’t be sure, but there’s a possibility it’s malignant.”
She says this like the professor she’s been for thirty years, explaining a difficult fact with her usual classroom voice, and so it takes Lucy a moment to understand. Then she does, and it feels as if the world has gone out from under her feet. “M… malignant? As in cancer?”
“Yes.” Carol takes a deep breath. “I suppose it’s not entirely unexpected – your father was a heavy smoker, after all, and I never picked up the habit until I met him. I stopped when he died, of course, but if this does come back positive…”
Part of Lucy wants to inform Carol point-blank that she knows Henry Wallace isn’t her father and never was. The rest of her wonders how awful you have to be, to confront your mother about that when she’s just told you that she might have cancer. “I – I, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, once more as if this is her fault, has not gotten the right score on a test or has whined about never having summers off. “Mom, I’m sure it’s fine, but if – ”
“But if it’s not?” Carol looks at her levelly. “I know we’ve had a bit of distance recently, Lucy, but this is the sort of news to put things in perspective. Of course, there’s medicine, there’s chemotherapy, there’s options. We don’t know anything yet. But if the worst-case scenario does come to pass, I really want to make the most of whatever time I have with you. There’s still so much I need to teach you, to talk with you about.”
Yes, Lucy thinks, there is. But any urgent desire to force answers to all her questions has vanished in her flood of guilt and fear and concern. “Of course, Mom, of course. If there’s anything I can do – and I’m sure Amy too, we’d both be happy to – ”
“I’m not sure about Amy.” Carol sighs. “But if you have finished your dissertation, like you said, and therefore don’t need to be at campus every day… I’ve seen that apartment of yours, Lucy. It’s terrible. Is there any way you might consider moving back in? We would be closer here, we’d be together. It would be easier, and if I did get sick…”
“No, of course. Of course I’ll move back in. Absolutely, you don’t have to worry about that at all. My lease on campus runs through the end of the school year, but – ”
“I’ll pay your early termination fees.” Carol takes Lucy’s hand. “I really want us to be together again. Believe me.”
“Me too,” Lucy says in a rush. “But – if the test did come back clean – if you’re not really… well.” She can’t bring herself to utter the name aloud, speak of the devil and he will appear. “If you’re not… sick, do you… will you still want me back?”
“Why on earth wouldn’t I?” Carol looks hurt. “Do you think I only love you when you’re useful? You are my daughter, my eldest daughter. So much like me, my historian. You’re so bright and you’ve worked so hard. Of course I want you back.”
Lucy opens and shuts her mouth, then reaches out, and Carol wraps her arms around her, pulling her close, as Lucy rests her chin on her mother’s shoulder and has to struggle to blink back tears. And so, within ten minutes of going home with the intention of some final confrontation, some ultimatum or insistence on separating herself from Carol’s trunk, Lucy instead cleaves back in, root and branch, and promises that she will never bring it up again.
There really isn’t time to arrange a move – even a short-range one – between the last-minute rush of dissertation edits, job applications, and graduation plans, and Lucy’s apartment has a few pitiful half-full boxes sitting around, which she will toss things into when she remembers. She feels like a terrible daughter, which is not helped when Amy calls her up at the end of the week and wants to know what happened to telling Mom off. “You know how she is, Lucy! Even if – God forbid – she was actually sick, doesn’t this seem a little…?”
“A little what?” Lucy challenges. “Are you really going to accuse our mother of faking possible lung cancer just because she wants – I don’t know what, something?”
“I didn’t say she was faking,” Amy says reluctantly. “I’ve been worried about her health too. But Mom has a couple nest eggs, you know she does. If it got to the point that she needed a live-in helper, she could hire someone who actually knew what they were doing and would get properly paid for it. That’s not your job. You’re not that kind of doctor.”
“I know.” Lucy shifts the phone to her other shoulder. “But – look, I know what we talked about, I know what we said. I just don’t think this is the right time to bring it up.”
Amy doesn’t argue with her again, but Lucy can sense that she still isn’t pleased. And yet, all of that goes out the window when Carol calls them both and says they should come by, there’s something she needs to tell them. That doesn’t sound like the kind of invitation that ends with “and nothing’s wrong, the doctor said I’m fine,” and indeed, it doesn’t. The biopsy results came back. It’s cancer. Carol’s prognosis isn’t terrible – they caught it before it was already irreversible – but it’s not particularly great either. The words fifty-fifty chance are used. A lot will depend on how she responds to treatment.
Amy starts to cry – she and Mom have fought a lot, but they do still love each other – and Lucy puts an arm around her, feeling numb. It feels crass to ask for any graduation celebration, even if she’d like one. Suddenly, even applying for jobs is up in the air. Lucy doesn’t want to complain about being inconvenienced by her mother’s serious illness, but she was so ready to start her own life, do something else, stretch her wings, and now she’s back in the birdcage, throwing away the key. It just doesn’t seem (and she winces at the thought) fair.
Lucy finishes the rest of the revisions recommended by her second supervisor in a blur. At the last meeting before this three-hundred-page monster is sent off to the committee for reading and to the printing service for binding, Dr. Underwood mentions that she’s been in contact with the history department at Kenyon College in Ohio. Kenyon is a small liberal arts college, upper-tier and avant-garde, and while it would unfortunately mean living in Ohio, there is currently an opening in the faculty for a junior lecturer with almost exactly Lucy’s research specialty. Dr. Underwood has passed her name on, and the people at Kenyon would like to speak to her next week, if that works.
Lucy’s first reaction is delight and disbelief. Tailor-made opportunities for academic jobs at places where you would like to work, and that are looking for your research interests, are as rare as the proverbial rain on the Sahara. She’s thought for a while that she’d like to teach at a small liberal arts school, one of the places that doesn’t think SAT scores are a good measure of academic performance and give a lot of focus to student development – somewhere in the Northeast, maybe. Sarah Lawrence, Vassar, Middlebury, Wellesley, something in that vein, the usual schools described as “diehard liberal” by U.S News and World Report in their college rankings. Stanford is obviously Stanford, but it takes a lot of work not to get lost in the machine, and plenty of students who come through Lucy’s classes now are clearly just checking elective boxes and playing on their laptops during lecture. At a place like Kenyon, she could actually talk to them more, have smaller and more immersive seminars, supervise senior projects and have more of a say in shaping the department. Have that exact chance to make it her own, rather than following in predestined footsteps.
At that, however, something catches Lucy short. She remembers Benjamin Cahill essentially promising her that he could get her any dream job she wanted, anywhere in the country. Is this Rittenhouse’s clever new strategy? Realize that the face-to-face approach backfired bombastically, and take a more subtle approach, pull some strings and call in some favors so this fat juicy worm just happened to land on the right hook? Would she move there and find herself surrounded by their people, or expected to pay something substantial back?
Asking Dr. Underwood about this, however, just makes Lucy sound crazy. She doesn’t mention anyone by name, but she delicately probes whether anyone just happened to call up and offer this, and if so, why. Dr. Underwood is puzzled, says that no, this has been in the works for a while and it just happened to time well with Lucy’s completion. Due to someone who knows Dr. Underwood, who supervised so-and-so’s thesis, etc. – not the creepy Rittenhouse networks of patronage, but just the usual byzantine channels of academia – Lucy currently holds right of first refusal on the job. If she turns it down, they’ll shop it more broadly, but assuming she doesn’t completely bomb the interview, buys some winter clothes, and is all right exchanging Palo Alto for Gambier, it’s hers if she wants it.
“I…” Lucy hesitates. “My… my mom was just… she was actually just diagnosed. With cancer. She wants me to move back in and spend more time with her. I don’t know if I could justify going to Ohio instead. That’s the exact opposite of what she wants.”
Dr. Underwood hastens to offer her sympathy, and appreciates that this is a difficult decision for Lucy to make. However, while she knows family commitments are important, ultimately Lucy needs to think about what she wants from her career and getting established and so on. If Lucy does decide to stay in California, there will probably be several teaching opportunities at Stanford for her, and she’ll submit papers to journals and attend conferences and the rest of the rigmarole that it takes to be a Professional Academic ™. It’s not necessarily the wrong thing to do. But Dr. Underwood thinks Lucy should consider the Kenyon job carefully. She knew Carol when they were both faculty in the department, knows what kind of personality she had, and maybe it’s not the worst thing for Lucy to go.
Lucy nods and smiles, even as she wants to go somewhere private, put her face in a pillow, and scream. At least the damn dissertation is done, exam date is firmly set, no more of that, no more, praise Jesus, NO MORE. She picks up her bag, swings it to her shoulder, and heads out of Dr. Underwood’s office, riding down the elevator and stepping out into the foyer. As she does, she collides with someone coming the other way, and starts into the usual apology. But as she does, she catches a glimpse of the face under the hat, and freezes. Reaches out to grab at his jacket sleeve, her voice a hiss.
“Flynn?”
Garcia Flynn has not been having the greatest week. Or two. Or three.
He stayed for six days in the hospital, being cared for by a doctor named Noah who was entirely professional to all outward manners and appearances, but who kept shooting him looks out of the corner of his eye that made Flynn suspect the worst. Either he’s a Rittenhouse agent, or he used to be some sort of gentleman acquaintance to Lucy, and Flynn would almost prefer the former. At least that way he could kill him without anyone being too upset about it.
Of course, and regretfully, killing is off the table, at least for the moment. At least for Flynn himself, as he’s fairly sure that Rittenhouse has authorized everything short of public beheading to apprehend him, and which was why he decided that he was no longer going to trust to the dubious safety of Santa Rosa Memorial and the judgment of Noah. . . whatever his damn last name is, Flynn hasn’t been arsed either to find out or remember it. So he checked himself out against medical advice, gave a fake name and address for the bill (the American health system is a racket anyway, and technically he’s supposed to have insurance – yes, the NSA does offer dental) and left the rental car in the garage. It’s too conspicuous, and he has bigger fish to fry than whether he is blacklisted by Enterprise in the future. They can take it up with John Thompkins, later.
After which, Flynn rode a Greyhound (yes, it’s as miserable as you’d think, especially when you’re six-foot-four) to some shithole Inland Empire city, somewhere in California close to the Nevada border where nobody goes if they can possibly avoid it, probably still riddled with decades-old radiation from the Las Vegas test site. Rented a room in some motel that definitely has one filled with haunted clown dolls, laid low, gingerly tended his raw wounds with over-the-counter antibiotics and sutures, and was forced to admit it was a good thing he did not die of septicemia. He hasn’t succeeded in coming up with a new plan just yet, as it’s clear that he’s been cut off from the usual channels with extreme prejudice. He has kept his old phone with the NSA numbers, but keeps it switched off and hasn’t used it. He can’t risk calling Karl to see what he did, or did not, know about the Wyatt Logan fiasco.
And so, Flynn grimly considers his options. He can try to throw together another fake identity and go to Canada, or travel on his real name back to Europe and hope they haven’t gotten Interpol on this, or just lie here in a motel room that might literally be the manifestation of hell on earth, with air conditioner that barely works in 25-plus Celsius heat and a stain that looks like a murder victim on the carpet. If Rittenhouse is after him, no holds barred, he may just be able to avoid their notice if he stays, especially for a man whose professional tradecraft is disappearing. And yet.
The more Flynn thinks it over, the more he can’t account for everything going sideways as fast and as comprehensively as it did, unless Rittenhouse was plugged into the whole thing almost from the beginning. They must have multiple high-level operatives across several branches of government, focusing on the ones you’d expect – CIA, NSA, FBI, Homeland Security, whoever’s stealing your personal information these days – but by no means limited to them. They could be salted through every level of middle bureaucracy (he wonders if all DMV and IRS workers get an automatic membership) and beyond. It sounds ridiculously, relentlessly paranoid, like that prizewinning intellectual who insists that the Royal Family and other leading British celebrities are all secretly lizard people. But given what Flynn saw at the gala, Cahill and his powerful, well-connected, wealthy friends, this also might not be entirely off the ranch, and that means he has to do more digging. Where?
It takes him a bit, but he recalls what Lucy said to him at their first (well, first real) meeting. Something about David Rittenhouse, who Flynn discovered to be a famous eighteenth-century astronomer and professor at the University of Pennsylvania, and asking if he founded it. Flynn doesn’t know the answer to that question, but it seems to strain credulity that the man it’s literally named after has nothing to do with it. It also is not a given that Rittenhouse’s secret archives are housed somewhere at UPenn, but there are several things named after the man in Philadelphia. It’s not entirely implausible.
That, therefore, is where Flynn is faced with the final part of the plan. It’s going to be hard enough for him to get in as it is, what with the Take Dead or Alive order they probably have out on his head. But if he didn’t appear to be attached to it – if it was just an innocent research visit from an up-and-coming academic who would have plenty of legit business with UPenn’s history collections on colonial America, and he just so happened to appear –
Flynn is well aware that this is quite a reach. That it’s dangerous, that it’s unfair, that he doesn’t really have any right to ask it, given how their last parting went, and what he said then. That she has any number of things to do right now, and none of them necessarily involve dropping all her work and heading cross-country to pick up, again, the world’s most demented and dangerous scavenger hunt with him. No sir.
He checks out of the motel and hops a ride with a trucker the next morning.
As they stare at each other for a very long and very excruciating moment, all Lucy can think is that he shouldn’t be here. Rittenhouse could have been watching her from afar, guessing (correctly, apparently) that she will prove too tempting a target for Flynn to resist contacting again. Maybe this is the moment they jump out and dogpile them both, or – or –
Lucy hesitates only a split second before tightening her grip on Flynn and dragging him around the corner into an unused classroom. She bangs shut the door behind them and leans against it, legs trembling. “You need to get out of here.”
“You just shut me in.” Trust Flynn to have a smart-aleck response readily at hand, as he watches her from under hooded eyes. “We would need to try reversing that first.”
“Just be quiet.” Lucy clenches her fists, fighting a brief urge to slap him. “Did anyone see you?”
He shrugs. “It’s a public university, I imagine they did. Nobody who seemed to recognize me, though.”
Lucy blows out a breath, getting the table between them just so there will be something to prevent her – or him – from anything intemperate. “You’re such a bastard.”
A hard, sardonic smile glimmers in the edges of his mouth. He seems unruffled by the accusation, almost even pleased. He does not bother with small talk, explaining where he’s been, or why he said everything he did in the hospital. (Don’t fool yourself that I want to see you again. . . this is my war, I don’t need you and yet, lo and behold, here he is. He’s a disaster.) Instead he says, “Did you finish your dissertation?”
“Yes,” Lucy says, curt and unwilling. “I have a lot going on, a lot, so why don’t you just – ”
“Is there anything else you can pretend to be working on?”
“What?” Screw the table, she might want to do something intemperate after all. “Why?”
His eyes remain on hers, cool and unswerving. “I need your help.”
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gokinjeespot · 6 years
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off the rack #1208
Monday, April 16, 2018
 Today is going to be challenging here in Ottawa. Freezing rain overnight has left thick ice on everything. It's going to take a lot of muscle and time to scrape off any cars parked outside overnight. Penny has been going at hers for half and hour and she still hasn't left for work. I would normally go out and help her but I caught a bad cold and I feel like poop. I probably got the bug on the flight home from Cuba last Tuesday. My immune system let me down this trip.
 Our week at the Brisas Guardalavaca resort in Cuba was near perfect. Beautiful sun every day. I took one of the resort bikes out for a ride on one of the only cloudy mornings, got rained on a little but made it back to the resort unscathed. I donned mask, snorkel and fins every afternoon but one to swim out to look for tropical fish on what remained of the reefs after last year's hurricanes. I'm happy to be home but I wish winter would finally leave the area. Just going to stay in today and try to get better.
 Domino #1 - Gail Simone (writer) David Baldeon (art) Jesus Aburtov (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). Killer Instinct part 1. It's my lucky day. The merc with the facial tattoo is back on the racks and she's being take care of by a writer and artist team that I like a lot. This story starts off with Neena Thurman's birthday but may end in her death day. If I didn't like this whole issue and the many guest stars so much, that last page guarantees that I will be reading the next issue.
 Immortal Men #1 - Jim Lee, Ryan Benjamin & James Tynion IV (storytellers) Jim Lee & Ryan Benjamin (pencils) Scott Williams & Richard Friend (inks) Jeremiah Skipper & Alex Sinclair (colours) Carlos M. Mangual (letters). The End of Forever part 1. I used to get excited when I saw Jim Lee's name attached to a new project because his art was so fantastic. At least to me it was. His X-Men and Batman stuff made me go "wow". Now I look at his art and feel meh about it. This latest New Age of Heroes book introduces a team of immortals that are brand new to me. None of them made a positive impression. I didn't finish reading the Dark Nights Metal stories and this team ties in to that series so that's probably why I couldn't get into this debut. These Immortal Men will be short-lived.
 Xerxes #1 - Frank Miller (story & art) Alex Sinclair (colours). I really liked 300 when it hit the racks 20 years ago. This new 5-issue mini promises to be just as good. This time the Greeks and the Persians go at each others' throats in 490 BC. I have an interest in ancient history so I'm going to follow this story to see what happens.
 Exiles #1 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Rodriguez (pencils & colours page 4) Javier Rodriguez (pencils) Jordie Bellaire (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Here we go again with Blink leading a team of heroes to save the multiverse. This first issue introduces two team members and the big bad guy that they'll be facing. I liked this debut. It reminded me of the Unstoppable Wasp book with young Nadia. I really enjoyed Javier's art in Spider-Woman so I'm giving this new book a chance.
 Batman #44 - Tom King (writer) Mikel Janin & Joelle Jones (art) June Chung & Jordie Bellaire (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). I loved the silent scenes where Selina picks out her wedding dress. Those pages are interspersed with flashbacks showing different times in Batman and Catwoman's tumultuous relationship. The lead up to the wedding has been amazing. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about the blessed event however. The "'til death do us part" part may be a nasty surprise that the creative team are going to spring on us. I really hope not.
 Oblivion Song #2 - Robert Kirkman (writer) Lorenzo De Felici (art) Annalisa Leoni (colours) Russ Wooton (letters). Still liking this adventures in monster land series.
 Runaways #8 - Rainbow Rowell (writer) Kris Anka (art) Triona Tree Farrell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Julie Power/Lightspeed is all grown up. I remember reading Louise Simonson and June Brigman's book when it first hit the racks in 1984 and loving the Power Pack kids. I never would have thought that Julie would mature into the woman she is now and would be dating Karolina. Julie's visit to her girlfriend's is interrupted by a surprise villain who wants Victor's head. I was surprised because I thought he was a good guy now.
 Superman #44 - Patrick Gleason & Peter J. Tomasi (writers) Doug Mahnke (pencils) Jaime Mendoza & Doug Mahnke (inks) Wil Quintana (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Bizarroverse part 3. Thank Darkseid this story is over. This climax had more Bizarro characters so the confusion I felt while reading this issue was increased exponentially. Even the sound effects were Bizarro. I hope we get back to normal next issue.
 American Gods: My Ainsel #2 - Neil Gaiman (writer) P. Craig Russell (script & layouts) Scott Hampton (art) Rick Parker (letters). Find out why this arc is called My Ainsel.
 Spider-Man #239 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Oscar Bazaldua (art) Brian Reber (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Sinister Six deliver their stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier to the buyer. A special guest star team helps Miles to stop the handover. Somebody is going to die I bet.
 Detective Comics #978 - James Tynion IV (writer) Javier Fernandez (art) John Kalisz (colours) Sal Cipriano (letters). The villain tips his hand this issue. I just noticed that all the ad pages were in the back of this book so that reading the story was a lot smoother. I wish every comic book was printed that way.
 Avengers #687 - Mark Waid, Al Ewing & Jim Zub (writers) Paco Medina (pencils) Juan Vlasco (inks) Jesus Aburtov & Frederico Blee (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). No Surrender part 13. The Avengers find out what they're involved in as Voyager confesses to her duplicitousness just in time for the bad guy to ratchet up his threat to destroy the planet. The scene between Jarvis and Bruce Banner bodes well for the return of the Hulk.
 Avengers #688 - Mark Waid, Al Ewing & Jim Zub (writers) Kim Jacinto  & Stefano Caselli (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). No Surrender part 14. The Avengers need every hero they can assemble to defeat the Challenger after he crowns himself the Grandmaster Prime. It's going to take a lot of sacrifice to save the doomed planet. Who will not survive is the question.
 Old Man Hawkeye #3 - Ethan Sacks (writer) Marco Checchetto (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Clint is hunting Thunderbolts and Bullseye is hunting Clint. We all know that Clint doesn't die in this story because he still has to go on a road trip with Old Man Logan. I'm curious to see how he survives Bullseye.
 New Mutants #2 - Matthew Rosenberg (writer) Adam Gorham (art) Michael Garland (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). The team gets sent to the Arctic to deal with a giant problem. Meanwhile a new New Mutant makes a surprise appearance on the last page. Maybe Doug Ramsey will show up too.
 Amazing Spider-Man #798 - Dan Slott (writer) Stuart Immonen (pencils) Wade von Grawbadger (inks) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Go Down Swinging part 2. I love the design of the new Red Goblin. The sacrifice that Peter has to make to keep himself and everyone he loves safe is huge. Now we'll see if he can come up with a way to beat the Red Goblin without his web shooters.
 Marvel 2 in One #5 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Valerio Schiti (art) Frank Martin (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Ben and Johnny find themselves in a universe where GalacDoom has eaten everything except Earth. Now he's going to eat it too. Then what? There's nothing left to eat. Not very bright, GalacDoom. Seeing the Silver Surfer and Emma Frost doing the Smallville thing was cool though.
 All-New Wolverine #33 - Tom Taylor (writer) Ramon Rosanas (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Old Woman Laura part 1. We jump into the future where Laura is queen of Madripoor after the good guys win Doom World War. Wait until you see who the POTUS is. Laura has only months to live due to a genetic glitch and one of the items on her bucket list is to kill Victor Von Doom. Someone shows up in the last panel and April 25, when the next issue hits the racks, can't come soon enough for me.
 Astonishing X-Men #10 - Charles Soule (writer) Aco (pencils) David Lorenzo (inks) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). A Man Called X part 4. As much as I liked Aco's art in the Nick Fury mini, I didn't think it suited that spy versus spy story. It's perfect for this reality warping story though. The team tries to save the villagers of Fetters Hill in the Scottish Highlands from the villain Proteus before he can spread his madness even further. I'm interested to see how they do that.
 X-Men Red #3 - Tom Taylor (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Ive Svorcina (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Hate Machine part 3. I don't remember much about the villain Cassandra Nova but it's clear she's one very nasty person in the first three pages. I'm not usually a fan of super hero teams but Tom Taylor writes the All-New Wolverine and Gabby and Laura are on this team so this book stays on my "must read" list.
 Star Wars: Darth Vader #14 - Charles Soule (writer) Giuseppe Camuncoli (pencils) Daniele Orlandini (inks) David Curiel (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Burning Seas part 3. Vader is sent to the oceanic planet of Mon Cala to hunt down some surviving Jedi that slipped through the Empire's clutches when Order 66 was executed. The defiant Mon Calamari are thwarting his efforts. Mmm…calamari is yummy.
 Captain America #700 - Mark Waid (writer) Chris Samnee (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). So disappointed that a time paradox was used to beat the bad guy. All that matters to Cap fans is that Steve is back in the "present" and the series continues.
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