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sylph-feather · 3 years

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Title: Ectoplasmic Fossils

Summary: "Actually, Dad? I wanted to be a paleontologist."

Prompt: Prompt is the same as the summary. Prompter is gaunttwister, team halfa.

Wordcount: 2453

Notes: Can you tell I was a dinosaur kid.....

For a Danny in familiar world, his first positive thought after becoming a ghost and learning ghosts existed (after, of course, a litany of terror), was as follows: imagine the new world I could explore. He considered this while staring into the swirling portal that lead to places unknown, and in his mind he compared it to the vast and beautiful unknown of space.

This Danny, in this less familiar universe, was less impressed by the portal itself; of course, he was in awe of it from a technical perspective, but nothing that deeply riveting, that personal spark of exploration— not from its wrought metal or whirling green center, that is. No, this was his thought, in replacement of the other spark: if ghosts exist, what things have been made ghosts over the years? What old life could be discovered?

Danny, you see, did not desire to explore space in this universe. No. He was fascinated by paleontology. Star books were replaced by compendiums of dinosaur species, models of rockets and stations replaced by scientifically accurate models and bones, diagrams of ships replaced by diagrams of feathery, toothsome things. You get the picture.

Where these obsessions came from… who was to say? Why one fixation over the other? Did this Danny latch onto his parent’s obsession with the dead and translate it into this, rather than translating it into the more vague idea of exploring the unknown? Or was it as simple as an exposure to different things; a cartoon with scientifically inaccurate dinosaurs rather than a ridiculous sci fi premise, or perhaps watching Jurassic Park too young rather than Star Wars…? The child’s mind is prone to flights of fancy that stick— that’s the the final conclusion, no matter the exact cause of specifics.

Regardless, his parents engaged in it; provided him with aforementioned objects— models, posters, etcetera— and generally encouraged his interests. The most annoying was when they tried to sell him on ghosts by using dinosaurs as a sort of bribery; they talked of the possibilities of discovering undocumented species and anatomy with the ghost forms of creatures from long ago, a sort of tempting what if, to lure Danny to their side.

Up until today, when a portal had electrocuted half the life out of him, Danny didn’t believe it.

Sam, Tucker, and Danny were all reclined in Danny’s bedroom— all fully human, though Danny still felt a bit… simultaneously charred and charged, which he supposed made sense given he’d just been fried by a nasty shock (to put it lightly).

His two friends were sending him worried looks— also sensible, given not half an hour ago Danny was significantly ghostier, and significantly panic-ier. Now, though, while Sam and Tucker sent each other concerned glances to communicate wordlessly, Danny was simply considering the possibilities. Gooey species of jellyfish and slug-like creatures that hadn’t been preserved! Confirmation of the placement or use of bones, especially controversial ones like the hollowed crest of the Parasaurolophus or the gastralia of many beasts! Behavior that could only be guessed at via anatomical features! The degree to which feathers coated their body! Colors!

...And so on and so forth. It was all enough to bring a wide grin to Danny’s face— which was a bit creepy given he’d just died.

“Dude,” Tucker grimaced, snapping Danny out of his reverie, “are you, like, coping well—“

“We have to go into the Ghost Zone,” Danny cut him off with excited urgency.

Sam blinked at him owlishly. “Now? Why?”

“Not now, I guess, necessarily,” Danny brushed off, filled with excited energy. His eyes were shining when he turned them to his new friends— “imagine what ancient things we could find as ghosts.”

Tucker facepalmed and groaned. “Of course the first thing you’re thinking of is dinosaurs.”

Sam eased a bit, brushing off her initial assumption that Danny had some weird, ghostly pull to the green portal. “Well, at least you’re seeing the bright side,” she huffed sarcastically.

Danny crossed his arms in a pout. “I’m not just thinking of dinosaurs.” No, he was thinking of other eras of ancient things too, of course.

Tucker shot him a look, but broke it with a laugh and didn’t prod further.

xXx

It was, of course, a disappointment when the first ghosts that came through were too formless to tell what they had been, if they were anything but raw emotion. It was an even bigger disappointment when the first fully-formed ghosts were largely human-shaped. With the exception of dragons— which Danny definitely did not count— there was nothing that bore any resemblance to extinct creatures.

On top of this, Danny had sort of let go of the go find dinos in the Ghost Zone NOW mentality, because… well, despite insatiable curiosity, he didn’t know his way around the place at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or if he was even expecting it to be easy to begin with, but going into a directionless green abyss where orientation did not exist… well, needless to say that Danny knew he could not find his way to whatever ancient beast ghosts were there, if they did even exist in the first place. And he certainly didn’t want to risk his life knocking on doors of who-knows-what, or drifting around ghostly islands in the middle of who-knows-where. And that’s not even touching that technically Walker wants his arrest for a reason Danny only sort of remembers because it was so dumb.

And so, for the first handful of months of his existence as a halfa, Danny contents himself with theorization. It’s hard to think too much about dinosaurs anyways, because it’s hard to think too much about anything— despite being a teen and thus being prone to sleep deprivation, the ghost fighting combined with high school has lead Danny to a new level of exhaustion, one that he is still adjusting to. His grades hurt for it, as do his passions.

Slowly, though, he does adjust— enough to be confident to go in the Zone, and enough to have actually smart thoughts without his brain fizzling out.

In the moment where Phantom and the Red Huntress found themselves in Skulker’s lair, Danny was largely scared and exasperated at alternating points. It wasn’t until that situation was… resolved (and thank goodness both hunters didn’t pulverize him) that Danny was slapped with a marvelous idea of tangential connections.

Skulker is a hunter. The Zone’s greatest hunter, he claimed, though Danny didn’t know if he believed that much. Still. The point still stood that it was a reasonable bet that Skulker was into rare and dangerous prey, if his arsenal and his fleet of pelts were anything to go by.

All this to say that Danny thought that maybe, just maybe, Skulker would know about dinosaur ghosts. That miniscule spark of hope was enough; Danny felt he deserved to see what he’d always so desperately wanted to see after the thought of dinosaur ghosts entered his mind as a believable thing.

Danny had to ask— even if there was a high chance Skulker didn’t know or did know but wouldn’t tell, and the fact that asking Skulker was at great risk of being at best, involved in their typical scuffling, and at worst, captured. Danny only had dinos on the brain, though, and maybe he wasn’t awake enough to consider the full consequences of the impulsive thought.

So he enacted his plan as a teen enacted anything: rashly, suddenly, and without much forethought. Even calling it a plan alone was generous; all the half-ghost did was float into the Zone in the general direction of Skulker’s island, foolishly calling out to Skulker as he floated through. Naturally, he came prepared— not with weapons, or maps, but with a bag containing his phone, a journal, and his comprehensive dinosaur book… just in case he did end up seeing any.

The mechanical suit showed his flaming mug quite close to his island. Bright, solid green eyes blinked, and Skulker— who had not had the time to pull up hs egotistical Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter speech in his shock— said in a surprised tone, “don’t you have other things to do?”

Danny did. He did this in favor of an important English essay on 1984 that he had— Danny had tried wrapping his mind around thought crime and contradictions, and once he put the book down he immediately decided I can think on all that and, I’d much rather find dinosaurs. So here he was.

Skulker shook himself out of that surprise, and levelled a laser that popped out of his arm at Danny. “No matter! Prey is prey, and you are good prey!”

“Wait!” Danny barked, confident enough (and strange and out of place enough) to give the other ghost pause, making Skulker lower the laser just slightly, a modicum of movement to say go on, or at least indicate curiosity. “I want to see dinosaurs,” Danny said authoritatively, simply.

Skulker stared, weapon still whining slightly. His slightly slack jaw and slumped arm just screamed huh?

And thus began a ramble— “I’ve always wanted to see dinosaurs, and once I realized ghosts existed, I figured ghost dinosaurs had to exist, right?” Not waiting for an answer, Danny ploughed ahead. “And I thought of all the ghosts I’ve met, you seem like you maybe, hopefully know where any ghost dinos are, with the whole hunting schtick—“

Skulker cut off Danny’s rambling with honesty: “I’m not sure if I should be amused, flattered, or honored, ghost child.”

“As long as you’re not violent?” Danny said slowly, tipping his head, still assessing Skulker as though to try to suss out whether he was a threat still or no

Skulker himself was still trying to figure out the answer to that question— did he want to be a threat, want to hunt Phantom? Or did he want to pause and take a moment to indulge the bright, sparkling curiosity in his eyes…?

Skulker gave an awkward cough, a sort of choked harumph sound. He started slowly, unsurely, “I suppose.” He added hurriedly— “to reward you for being such good prey.”

Danny huffed. “Way to make it weird,” the halfa grumbled— but he wasn’t able to keep up a petulant persona for long, because the excitement shone through too brightly to conceal. Because dinosaurs. “That means you know where to find them?” Danny’s voice was approaching something that could only be described as a squeal.

Skulker once again paused for contemplation, because those islands were one of his prized hunting spots… the dinosaurs regenerated (as most strong, full ghosts did), but they still were a great joy to hunt. Among the dinosaur-ridden chunks of land, there were also significantly less interesting hunts— the cambrian period areas, for example, didn’t have much that provided a very thrilling chase… they just sort of scooted around. Then again, it was clear the ghost child cared not for the hunt, so Skulker supposed he could share.

Skulker made a gruff noise, internally considering that of course he would hunt down the halfa anyways, and Danny didn’t regenerate like full ghosts— so it wasn’t like he had to share for long. Granted, it wasn’t like a hunter to lead prey into anything but a trap, but Skulker didn’t have much to argue against that thought, so he just… didn’t think about it, justifying it with a vague “honor” tangent in his mind.

To answer the question after much internal debate on sharing, his own softness, etcetera, Skulker simply said, “yes, I know where to find them. Follow me.”

The halfa was lost in excitement, doing flips in the air and going on a ramble that the mechanized ghost utterly drowned out as they jetsetted through the Zone at rapid speed.

I could skewer him right now, Skulker thought over the whine of his jetpack. The thought had no heat to it, though, especially when Skulker took a pause to look at the exuberant teenager.

It wasn’t long to consider thoughts of said skewering, anyways. The Ghost Zone was a strange place; once someone had been somewhere and knew the way, the green abyss would fold out of its own way to get them there again when they wanted it. Skulker had long stopped questioning it, if he ever questioned it in the first place, but Phantom was quite in awe of the quick travel, and the way their scenery had subtly compressed then stretched into a new horizon around them as they flew— only now was he realizing the complete change in surroundings.

Skulker just hovered and watched as those luminous green eyes darted from unfamiliar door to unfamiliar door until they settled on the main attraction: a vast set of islands, incomprehensibly expansive and swirling around each other in a compressed way special to the Ghost Zone’s laws of space.

Danny’s eyes widened, and he let out a sound of pure, concentrated excitement. “This is it,” he said, and it was partially a question but mostly seemed to function as a statement to convince himself.

Danny shot immediately to the nearest island, a chunk of land covered in a swampy rainforest and thick ferns. From the brush, a large thing burst forth, chittering and cawing.

Danny took in the huge, feathered raptor— feathers of blue and green, as with all ghosts, but otherwise so… different. It was so different, seeing it in the… well, not flesh, ectoplasm, but the point still stood. Danny hovered above that island, frozen with awe, and the creature stared back at him with eyes that were not slit and were observant, and it clicked its lizard-like mouth around its sharp teeth and flared its feathers with some degree of fright… and Danny could think of nothing better than that moment of pure, extreme joy and awe and sheer wonder.

Skulker saw all that on the teen’s face and thought again, this time with heat: I could skewer him right now. Their little agreement was over, the debt of providing a good chase repaid, and now it was time for the halfa to become prey once again. A laser charged up—

Beep, beep, beep. The laser cut off with the notification, and Skulker gave a surprised grunt.

Danny made a noise. “You scared it off,” he groaned, but even that couldn’t get him down, because he went plummeting off towards the fern forest with a joyous laugh.

Gorilla feeding time, Skulker’s suit informed him in the meanwhile.

“No,” he barked uselessly, already jetting away, “I thought I’d gotten rid of this—!”

The last thing the mechanical ghost saw was Phantom, plunging into the underbrush, crowing with laughter, dinosaur dreams fulfilled.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phicphight21 #phicphight2021 #dp #danny phantom #phic #my fic #my writing

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vilevampire · 4 years

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“Isn’t it Love?” (One Shot)

Thank you @ducksoup17 for helping me beta read this :) Rating: General audiences Trigger Warnings: Panic attacks Pairing: Louie Duck x B.O.Y.D Summary: Boyd thinks he might be in love. 1.805 words Ao3 Link

"Dr. Dad?"

Gyro stopped writing in his notebook.

Right now, there were only him and Boyd in the lab.

He dropped his pen to focus his full attention on his son.

"Yes, 2B— I mean… Boyd?"

"What is love like?"

Gyro blinked his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"What does romantic attraction feel like?"

"Boyd, who taught you those words?"

"The internet." Boyd chirped happily.

Gyro scratched his head with a grunt.

"Those are not things for you to worry about. Why would you even want to know this?" He reached out to his coffee mug and took a sip.

"It's because I think that I might be in love, Dr. Dad." Boyd explained a little awkwardly.

Gyro suddenly spat his coffee in a coughing fit.

Startled, Boyd reached out to pat his father's back lightly.

When Gyro could finally stop coughing, he screeched:

"IN LOVE?! With who? How? Since when?!"

Boyd put his hands on his back while looking bashfully at the floor.

"I don't know. It started somewhat recently." Gyro couldn't help but notice that Boyd had avoided his first question. The more his son talked, the more color drained away from his face. "I've been experiencing confusing feelings when talking to and thinking about a specific person. I searched for answers online and the results said that I might be in love."

Gyro massaged his temples with a groan.

Boyd, being the smart kid he is, immediately noticed his father's unrest. Carefully, he approached Gyro and spoke up:

"Dr. Dad?" He hesitated. "Am I… bad for feeling this way?"

Gyro looked down at his child.

Boyd had already grown far beyond a simple robot ages ago. He had surpassed all of Gyro's expectations and, to this day, he was still his greatest creation.

Boyd deserved much better than a grumpy dad.

Alas, Gyro really wasn't cut out for this whole father and son thing.

With a sigh, Gyro pulled Boyd into a hug, which was quickly reciprocated.

"You're not bad for having feelings, Boyd. I was just surprised, that's all." He pushed his son away gently. "However, I don't think I'm the right person to explain more about this subject to you."

Boyd looked at his father with a frown. His Dr. Dad was the smartest person he knew. He always had the solutions for everything.

If he couldn't give him the answer to his dilemma, who else could?

—————

Boyd knocked on the elegant wooden door.

"Doofus?"

…

No response.

He knocked again. This time, he heard a grumble come from inside. Boyd turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

"What do you want, you lousy piece of machinery?" Doofus pierced him with his eyes. He was currently in the middle of… something.

His head was dripping wet and a bucket full of water could be seen in his hands.

Fortunately, Boyd had already learned long ago not to question his older brother's strange pastime activities.

"Brother, what is love like?"

Doofus stopped whatever the hell he was doing to look up at Boyd.

"And why would you like to know that, hmm?"

The corners of Boyd's mouth twitched. A warm blush spread across his cheeks while he fidgeted with his thumbs.

Of course, Doofus noticed all of this.

"Ho-hooo." He eyed Boyd curiously. "Well, what do we have here? It would seem my little brother has been fiddling around?"

Boyd quietly tapped his feet on the floor. Maybe Doofus wasn't the right person to ask about this after all.

"Well, you're in luck. You've come to the right person."

Boyd looked up at him.

"I did?"

"Yes." Doofus got up from his chair to pace around his room, gesturing wildly at his brother. "You see, Boyd, love is like sweet, sticky honey, and the self-sacrificing bees that make it. It's the rush of fresh air you feel after getting locked inside a room for two weeks, it's that moment when you realize chickens can't fly despite having wings."

Boyd furrowed his brows while listening to Doofus' rant.

"I don't think I get it."

Doofus smirked weirdly at him. He patted his brother's shoulder reassuringly.

"Someday you will, brother. Someday you will."

...As it turns out, Doofus wasn't the right person to ask about this after all.

—————

"Huey, can I ask you something?"

Huey looked up from his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook to gaze at Boyd. The two of them were hanging out in the triplet's bedroom while Huey's brothers weren't around.

"Of course. What's up?"

"What is love like?"

Huey seemed unprepared for this question.

"Why do you want to know something like that?"

"...Why does everybody ask me that? Can't you please just tell me?" Boyd pouted while blushing a little.

Boyd was an incredibly easy person to read. Anyone with half a pair of eyes could discern the boy's emotions just from taking one look at his face.

Combine that with the fact that he was Huey's best friend, of course Huey would quickly realize what was probably going on.

"Boyd, could it be... you have a crush on someone?" Huey smiled gently at his friend. "That's adorable. Who is it? Can you tell me?" He poked Boyd teasingly.

Boyd pondered over this.

Huey was his best friend in the whole world.

Maybe it would be okay if he told him?

Boyd shifted around nervously, the soft blush on his cheeks becoming increasingly stronger.

"...ouie..."

"Hm?"

"...I think—" Boyd took a deep breath. "I think I like... Louie..."

Huey suddenly closed his book with a heavy-sounding thud.

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again:

"You have a crush on Louie? My brother Louie?!"

Boyd nodded shyly.

Huey became speechless. The gears started turning in his head.

Should he tell Boyd how Louie felt about him?

No, no, Louie himself had to be the one to do it.

"Have you considered confessing to him?"

Boyd fiddled with his thumbs as he spoke:

"I have, but... I'm not sure. What if—" He hesitated. "What if he doesn't feel the same way about me?"

Slowly, Boyd's eyes widened and his pupils constricted, tears threatening to escape.

"Huey— Huey, what if he doesn't like me back? What if he doesn't like robots?" Boyd's breath became erratic as he began twisting and pulling on Huey's bedsheets. "What if he actually hates me? Wha-"

"Hey! Boyd, calm down, please." Huey held onto his friend's face forcefully but gently. "It's okay. Look at me. I'm here. Please focus on your breathing. You'll get through this, okay?"

Boyd stared into Huey's eyes without blinking, a single tear quietly running down his cheek. He closed his eyes abruptly and sniffed.

Huey pulled him into a hug.

"It's okay."

"I'm here for you."

"You're not a bother."

"You're a real person."

"None of us hate you."

"You're more than just a robot."

He spent many minutes saying comforting words to his friend until Boyd's silent cries eventually calmed down.

This wasn't the first time they had done this.

"Boyd, listen to me," Huey spoke kindly but firmly, still holding his friend in his arms. "Nobody hates you, okay? Especially not Louie. He's your friend."

He could feel Boyd give a weak nod under his grasp, so he kept going:

"And you're my best friend, alright? I could never hate you. You're an amazing person who's going through a lot right now." He paused. "You should consider opening up to Louie about how you feel."

Boyd held tightly onto the back of Huey's clothes.

"Are you sure? Do you think it's a good idea?"

"Yes. Your heart will feel much lighter after you tell him the truth, trust me."

"...Okay. I will try."

—————

"So, did you have something you wanna tell me?" Louie crossed his legs.

He looked the same as always: hands in his pockets, nonchalant, peaceful and easy-going, yet also cunning and sharp... everything Boyd ever aspired to be.

Boyd gulped apprehensively.

"Louie, do you hate me?" He blurted out before getting straight to the point.

It was a good start.

Louie stared at him in surprise.

"What? No? Do I act like I hate you?"

Boyd bit down on his beak nervously.

"No... I just..." He looked away, his voice trailing off.

Louie decided to pick it up from there.

"Dude, you're like, one of the coolest people I know."

Boyd looked over at him again.

"And I love hanging out with you. Sometimes it feels like you're one of the only people who really get me."

"Really?" Boyd choked out. "I'm… glad you feel that way."

"Of course." Louie nodded. "I like you very much, dude. You're my friend."

Boyd's heart started racing as he struggled to get his words out.

"Actually-" He paused, opening up his beak to speak, but finding himself unable to do so.

Boyd's selective mutism was a recurring issue.

It had gotten slightly better over time, but there were still many moments where he would be too anxious to say anything out loud.

Louie was already used to this, so he patiently waited for his friend to find his voice.

However, as more seconds stretched out, the more it seemed like he couldn't. Boyd was unable to get the words out of his throat. He stood completely frozen, except for his trembling beak, silently telling the words-

"—I love you?"

Louie's face flushed red.

He read Boyd's lips and accidentally let the words slip out of his mouth.

"That's what you were trying to say, right?" He tried playing it smooth, but it was clear that he was getting flustered.

After seeing the usually silver-tongued, smug, and overly confident Louie Duck crumble into a flushing mess, Boyd finally gathered enough courage to speak up:

"I love you."

Louie closed his mouth to focus all of his attention on the robot in front of him.

"I'm not sure since when, but... I think this is what I'm feeling" His voice grew increasingly steady the more he spoke. "I'm in love with you, Louie. You're amazing in every sense of the word. You're smart, funny, observant, assertive, loyal, trustworthy, level-headed, you're pretty, you always know what to say, you're compassionate, you pick up on the little details, you understand me, you make me feel better, you're so amazing..."

Boyd stopped for a moment, trying to pry for Louie's reaction.

"Louie?"

The duck's face was completely covered by his hoodie, with his hands covering his eyes.

But even then, Boyd could still tell with the help of his heat sensors that Louie's face was definitely blushing wildly.

"Louie? Are you—"

"BATHROOM BREAK!" He suddenly exclaimed, running away as fast as he possibly could.

"...Huh."

Boyd was very confused.

He was very, very confused, but…

Huey was right about one thing at least.

His chest didn't feel as tight anymore.

#louyd #louie duck #boyd gearloose #ducktales fanfic #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #boyd #boyd drake #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales 17 #dt 17 #boyd beaks #ducktales boyd #louie ducktales #boyd ducktales #idk how else to tag this #txt #ccs #my writing

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deansmom · 3 years

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I don’t think anything about movies hurts me more than Andrew Garfield having the third Spider-Man movie and a part in the MCU ripped out from under him. He loved Peter so much, he had such big ideas and dreams for the franchise and I just 🥺 Andrew deserves to be in the MCU, god fucking damn it. Retcon everything, refilm Avengers (2012) but Peter stumbles onto the battle of New York on his way home and he helps the Avengers win. Loki tries to mind control him and Pete just laughs in his face and then breaks Loki’s nose. He doesn’t join them for shawarma, but Steve does show up to his school to explain why Peter was late for his final.

[clutches chest] PETER PARKER SWINGS ON DOWN TO DC TO HELP NATASHA AND STEVE WHEN THEY FIND OUT SHIELD IS MOSTLY HYDRA. R-RATED CAP2, BUT IT’S RATED R BECAUSE PETER CAN’T STOP CURSING. ALSO THE WINTER SOLDIER RUNNING INTO PETER PARKER WOULD BE VERY FUNNY BECAUSE IMAGINE HOW BUCKY LOOKED IN CAP3 WHEN PETE CAUGHT HIS HAND BUT ITS AG PETER AND HE CATCHES THE FIST AND IS LIKE “SORRY ABOUT THIS ASSHOLE, THATS A DOPE ASS ARM, BUT UH [snaps it off] FUCK NAZI’S” AND THAT MAKES THE MASK FALL OFF AND STEVE STILL DOES THE “😮 Bucky?” And the winter soldier does his “who the hell is Bucky?” And Pete’s like off to the side, incredulous and without the spidey suit just in his college kid street clothes, jerks his thumb at Bucky, “CAP YOU KNOW THIS FUCKING NAZI OR SOMETHING???”

PETER AND NICK FURY LMAO HE’D FOLLOW NICK AROUND MIMICKING HIM PERFECTLY EVEN THOUGH HE CANT SEE HIM AND IT WOULD INFURIATE HIM. He gets Maria to laugh four times in one briefing though by dropping wigs onto nick from the ceiling

Tiny baby pete showing up in iron man 3 to call Tony a fucking idiot and save him from himself and drive him to therapy and he shows Gwen Tony’s plan for taking the arc reactor out and in twenty minutes they’re like “lol yeah we can fix this in an afternoon, no problem grandpa.” And Tony wants to be livid but the science is sound and that damn Gwen Stacy is just so smart, and he’s really gonna trust a college student with this, isn’t he?

Tell me andrews Peter Parker wouldn’t have followed Natasha after civil war and shown up at her trailer and been like, “hey, there’s a bad guy following you, thought you should know. Ohhh, is that caviar? I’ll take that. Thanks nat! What are we watching?” And she’s just standing there as he steals her rare russian caviar right out of her hand because what the fuck, Peter. Also his commentary with Yelena would be great. They’d love each other and it would drive Natasha bonkers. “God you’re such a mom.” “Sorry Nat. It’s true.” “Ive killed people you know. Lots of people.” Peter, deadpan perfect imitation of Elle Woods, “what, like it’s hard?”

Sam HATES him, complains about the fucking millennial and his taste in music and it’s mostly jokes, but Peter starts calling him an old man and referring to him as dad in public both to confuse the general public and remind Sam that he is, in fact, old enough to have a kid in his mid 20’s when nobody bats an eye at it. A couple of nice old ladies in the subway even tell Pete he has his fathers eyes, and Sam can’t fucking breathe he’s so horrified that they think a 25 year old white boy hipster is his child, but Bucky and Steve are in tears laughing so hard

Peter tries to do the same thing to Steve and Bucky, pass them off as his dads, but to everyone’s horror neither one of them bats an eye at this and they start calling him son and sweetpea and champ in front of people and Steve pinches his cheeks at a parent’s night at his college and Bucky charms a couple baby pictures out of Aunt May and has Natasha photoshop him and Steve into them and shows them to people and Peter hates it. They have an open invite to any parent events though, but usually it’s only one of them who escorts Aunt May and plays the part of doting dad. Also, they would adore aunt May. Absolutely adore her and flirt shamelessly with her, to Peter’s abject horror, and May flirts back, “I’m old, not dead and blind, Peter.”

Oh, older angstier Peter and Bruce 🥺 Bruce comforting him after Gwen dies and Peter’s one of the only people who can talk the hulk down. The hulk even likes Peter. They spar sometimes when Pete’s in a Mood. Bruce GETS it, feeling like something you love so much stole even more from you and resenting it and resenting yourself sometimes and being angry at the world and yourself all the time and they just vibe so hard. Tony often comments that he’s jealous, because all Peter has to do is send Bruce a meme and he gets like a real honest to god full body laugh. He can make the fucking hulk laugh in the middle of a fight. Peter unironically gets Bruce a #1 dad mug for Father’s Day, and May helps him make a #1 Hulk Dad hat for the hulk for Father’s Day too. Because reasons.

Pete, Bucky, Thor, Steve and Natasha play drinking games that Peter teaches them but they play them with asgardian alcohol so they all get absolutely fucking hammered and Peter plants one on thor and Bucky and then drunkenly stumbles away grumbling about kissing grandpa ex-hydra assassins and whining that he stopped kissing Thor in the first place. None of them comment the next morning but at Christmas Peter can’t seem to go around a corner in the tower without running into Thor and some mistletoe. And then he meets Jane and wants to die because he’s a huge fan of her work but also he didn’t realize they were dating and “oh my god, I’ve been kissing the boyfriend of one of the greatest minds of our generation, I’m a terrible person” and Tony and Bruce are like “excuse me??!”

#marvel for ts //#guys I’m heartbroken we all deserve this MCU #I just love the idea of Peter commentating as he fights and he’s just very liberal with the word fuck #‘FUCK YOU ASSHOLE’ ‘aw fuck I meant to blow your arm off not just hurt you - here let me just -‘#your honor we were ROBBED #retcon the whole thing time to start over sorry tom #personal

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lyssismagical · 4 years

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hello! do you take prompts? i really wanna read something where peter is quarantined with the starks and one day he’s on an online class and all of a sudden tony interrupts him with something and his classmates on the sceen are like :o

Oops sorry this took so long to write but here we are :)

(TW Covid Mentions)

(Also @justme--emily wrote one with a similar prompt so go read that one too)

Peter drops his bag on the front porch, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps across the threshold into the cabin. This is the first time in the past year and a half that he’s been visiting the cabin that he hasn’t wanted to be here.

Happy hovers behind him, frown plastered on his face as he meets Tony’s worried gaze.

“You okay, kiddo?” Tony asks. He reaches out like he’s about to comfort his kid, but he stops short. “You should probably- Uh, wash off before I…”

Peter nods, offering a forced smile, not bothering to answer the question. He ducks down the hall towards his bedroom, once a guest bedroom but now adorned with Star Wars posters and littered in his things. It’s his in a way that he never thought would be allowed before the Snap when he used to pack all of his things up when he left the tower after ‘Training Weekends’ or ‘Internship Retreats.’

The word pandemic still rings in his head. A scary thing to be experiencing, even if he knows he’ll be perfectly safe living in the cabin, virtually in the middle of nowhere. Especially with Pepper, who’s a perfectionist and a clean person, paired with Tony’s concerning health detriments.

But May’s out there in Queens, alone, working as a nurse, and Peter’s upset. He doesn’t want her to be alone, he doesn’t want her to be in danger, he doesn’t want her to be put in the line of fire. But he knows this is what he does to her every day when he goes out as Spider-Man, throwing himself into dangerous situations and leaving her by herself to fret.

It’s fair, he knows that, and she’s the true hero, but he still hates that she’s out there by herself.

He stands in the shower for longer than he needs to, long since finished his washing to make sure he’s clean, even though he hasn’t seen anybody since the announcement of the pandemic, other than Happy. He wasn’t even allowed to hug May goodbye.

Eventually, though, he’s not allowed to continue his sulking, so he heads downstairs for lunch, even if he wants to hide away in his bed for the next few months.

“Peter!” Morgan shouts, racing up to him and throwing her arms around his hips. She’s grinning up at him, showing off one of her missing front teeth. “We missed you so, so, so, so much.”

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Peter says, half-heartedly, scooping her up into his arms and kissing the top of her head. He knows he’s not acting like himself, he sees it in the crease of Tony’s forehead and the pout that adorns Morgan’s face, but he’s tired and he doesn’t feel like putting in the effort of pretending.

It’s been a little while since schools were closed, so Peter already has plenty of homework stacked on his shoulders, along with MJ’s Academic Decathlon meets she insists still need to happen twice a week.

He tries not to let that show in his face when he offers a tired smile at Tony who leans forward to press a kiss to the kid’s forehead.

“I know this all sucks, and I know you’re worried about May, but it’s her turn to be the Parker Hero, alright? She’s going to be okay.”

“And if she’s not?” Peter asks because he knows he’s had to. It’s a painful reflection of the amount of loss he’s faced. “What then?”

“We’ll figure it out if it comes to it,” Pepper says. She, like everybody, looks tired and worry pinches her features.

Peter nods like this is all perfectly fine. Like he’s okay with sitting in the cabin day-in and day-out while May works tirelessly in the city.

“Think of it this way, by staying home and not Spider-Manning and following the rules like the rest of civilization, your aunt will have less people in the hospital with her and less chances of catching anything. Does that?”

Peter shrugs, slipping down into one of the kitchen chairs. “Sure… I’m fine. I’m just tired. I wanna sleep for a thousand years.”

“May sent me a general idea of what your schedule was looking like, and as much as I condone healthy sleeping schedules, you have a Decathlon meeting in a few hours.” Pepper casts a glance at the obvious circles under Peter’s eyes. “But after that, you can sleep through the rest of the day. You deserve it.”

Tony serves up some breakfast for them. Blueberry pancakes after Morgan had demanded a special breakfast for Peter’s arrival.

And it makes Peter feel a lot better already.

Tony makes stupid dad jokes that make Morgan crack up in hysterical giggles, especially when Peter rolls his eyes overdramatically as they get worse and worse. And Pepper playfully scolds them for making a mess with the syrup which makes Peter ‘accidentally’ pour too much syrup on his plate which makes Morgan almost fall out of her chair she laughs so hard.

And Morgan’s laughter is infectious. Peter finds himself laughing along, tired smile slowly becoming his regular grin.

After breakfast, Peter calls May and talks to her on the phone about how work’s going and about the Stark Family. He promises to call her every day around the same time to check in, and she promises to pick up as often as she can.

And then he makes sure Pepper knows he’ll be attending his Academic Decathlon call in his bedroom, so if she could keep Morgan busy, that’d be for the best. There’s something quietly alight in her smile when he says his bedroom.

It’s nice to see his friends again, even through the screen.

Ned, MJ, Betty, Cindy, Abe, Zach, Flash, and Brad are all there on the screen, grinning back at them like they’re just as excited to see all the little pixelated faces.

It’s so different to see everybody in their pajamas, or at least sweatpants and old hoodies, hair messily uncared for. Even Flash’s hair is sticking up in a bedhead way and he’s obviously sitting in his bed, not even bothering to drag himself to a desk for the call.

“You know it’s eleven, right?” Ned whined. “I was planning on sleeping in until at least two. How do you look put together, Peter? That’s literally so unfair.”

“I haven’t slept yet,” Peter admits, laughing a little too carefree. “Oops?”

MJ rolls her eyes, something Peter didn’t realize how much he’d been looking forward to seeing, and she quickly pulls the meeting back on track, pulling out her hefty stack of cue cards to quiz them.

Eventually, an hour or two later, there’s a knock on Peter’s door and Tony pokes his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, kiddo,” he says, a warm smile on his face. He holds out a Hello Kitty mug. “I made you some coffee. May said you’ve finally caved and joined the coffee-drinkers.”

Peter grins, gratefully accepting the warm mug and holding it to his chest. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Holy shit,” Flash says.

“Mister Stark!” Ned waves exaggeratedly.

Tony smiles, waving back at the screen. He looks like a real dad standing in Peter’s doorway in his sweatpants and an old, fraying MIT sweatshirt, hair messy and smiling proudly.

Peter winces, though, hoping this isn’t about to wildly throw his life off course.

“You actually knew Tony freaking Stark,” Flash says, eyes wide in the screen. He shoves a hand through his hair in a poor attempt to flatten it.

“I told you I did. Not my fault you didn’t believe me,” Peter says, shrugging. He turns back to Tony. “Thanks for the coffee. I should be done in a bit.”

“Have fun, kiddo. I’ll have lunch ready for you when you’re done.” He pulls the door shut behind him as he leaves.

Everyone on the screen has matching expressions of dropped jaws and wide eyes, other than Ned who’s grinning mischievously and MJ who just looks bored.

“I can’t believe you were telling the truth this whole time,” Cindy says, followed by Betty’s, “I mostly believed you because I saw you with the new Starkphone, but you’re actually living with Iron Man.”

“Oh my god,” Flash says.

Peter shrugs. “Yeah. He’s nice and all, but he spent nearly an hour telling the worst dad jokes I’ve ever heard, so don’t let him fool you with the whole cool-guy persona he puts on for the public.”

Nothing’s really right in the world, but Peter’s always been the kind of person to find the good pieces of the bad. He’s got the Starks to keep him company and to help him out with everything, Tony’s a pretty good cook, Morgan’s the greatest little sister the world could ask for, and he’s got his friends, just a phone call away to make his anxieties fade even just a little.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #tw covid mention #tw covid 19 #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #morgan stark #may parker is a hero that's all #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

Text

broken crown | vi.

“A wand tells a lot about a wizard, you often get caught up in your head, in a book, in words that you forget who you are. You get lost in expectation.”

“Impossible expectation I have to live up to, I have to achieve.”

Word Count: 2,082

A/n: Two flashbacks here, hope it doesn’t get too confusing. I found a few wands on etsy with beech wood, and this is the one i like the most (so lets imagine that’s the readers wand without the engraving) Also, sorry for a late posting :)

< Previous | Next >

You’re not a God nor been sculptured by the Gods. You’re certainly not Merlin.

You’re you. Just a wizard. That’s all you wanted.

You remember when in your fourth year of Hogwarts, recently turned fifteen, you had sat in Dumbledore’s office for the past twenty minutes, staring at the target. Dumbledore was writing at his desk, looking up to notice you blankly stare at the object, hoping you wordlessly and wandlessly turn the object to stone.

You were getting frustrated, when you give up in trying to do one of Merlin’s old curses or charms to get into his powers, to control it and immobilise it. You start to practise other things, like wandless magic or non-verbal spells. You were getting quite good at non-verbal spells and slowly but surely, getting you skills up in wandless magic.

“My dear boy, please do not tell me you are trying to do something by staring at it,” Dumbledore rose from his seat, as you let out a huff.

“I don’t get it,” You mumbled, as he joins you at the stairs, “I’ll never be of his expectation.”

“Now, where did you get that from?” Your headmaster questions you as you shrugged your shoulders.

You placed your wand down next to you, as you leaned your head against your knees, shoulders down in defeat.

“I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove myself that I am worthy of his powers, his abilities, the whole world cannot understand what he’s written but me, and that’s a lot of responsibility. I often wonder why he has picked me, I’m nothing of the sort of special. I can’t be as extraordinary as he was, I could never be him, and when the world finds out that’s what they’ll want. I don’t think I am ready for it.”

“Well, no one ever is ready for that,” Dumbledore explains, looking at you, “May I see your wand?” You give him your wand, fashionable and suited you well, “May I ask-?”

“Beech Wood, dragon heartstrings, 12″, rigid,” You answered, remembering what Ollivander had said to you when you matched with the wand, “He never really told me what it means and I haven’t found a book to tell me about it.

“The flexibility of the wand shows the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair. Rigid shows that you are not one to change your mindset, stubborn perhaps.”

You scoffed, “You can say that again.”

“Dragon heartstrings, if I am correct, produce the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells and they always bond strongly with the current owner. I am surprised that you don’t have a phoenix feather as your core.”

“They’re rare,” You nodded, shrugging your shoulders, “Produce the greatest range, would be fitting.”

Dumbledore continues, “The most important part is the wood, the true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant. The beech wand is capable of a subtlety and artistry rarely seen in any other wood”

“Fitting,” You bitterly say, as you look at your headmaster as he gives your wand back, “Why? Why tell me all that?”

“A wand tells a lot about a wizard, you often get caught up in your head, in a book, in words that you forget who you are. You get lost in expectation.”

“Impossible expectation I have to live up to, I have to achieve.”

“I would never expect you to do something impossible, because it's impossible, right? So why would you put impossible expectations on yourself? Son, all we can do, is the best we can do - and that's just it, isn't it?” Dumbledore had a twinkle in his eyes as you looked at him, “The best we can do, well... it's the best we can do. No matter how far you've come, there will always be things you will think you could have done better. But son, no one is perfect. It's alright to fail, it's alright to make mistakes. The best you can do is the best you can do - and the best you can do, is good enough.”

You looked down at your feet, you fiddle with your wand in your hand. You looked at your wand, spinning it.

“Really?” You asked with doubt in your mind lingering.

Dumbledore could see you weren’t convinced, something was festering in your mind and he’s not surprised. You were too humbled, it felt like an honour you did not deserve.

“I’ve talked to Merlin’s portrait, he tells me you visit him often,” Dumbledore asked as you nodded, meekly.

“For advice, for guidance, for answers.”

“And, in the books, Merlin had written, what does it tell you about him?”

You looked at him with knitted eyebrows, “He’s unpredictable but loyal, kind and caring. Though, there is a lot of second guessing in his actions-”

“Exactly, I’ve talked to him on many accounts, he has a lot of regrets, a lot of mistakes, a lot of second guessing. But, the one thing he didn’t second guess, was picking you.”

Dumbledore paused as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, your eyes soften as the good heart in Dumbledore did outshine your worries and doubts.

“I’m nothing special. I can’t be him.”

“You don’t have to be him, you just have to find what you are truly from his abilities.” Dumbledore pressed his index finger against your chest, “It starts from within.”

You looked down at his finger, watching it point towards your target, you looked at your professor, his eyes tells you to try again. You looked back at your target, taking a sharp inhale and a relaxed exhale. You stare intently to your target with your finger pointed towards it. After a minute or less, the target started to turn into stone.

Your lip curved upwards, as you faintly remember how Dumbledore laughs out loudly out of joy for you.

You’re not Merlin, you’re you. So, why is it so hard to get that in you?

“You’re up early,” You mumbled towards Hermione, who was reading, you sat up from the floor.

You scratched your head, running your fingers through your hair. Hermione smiles to herself, laughing how you look barely alive as you try to blink yourself awake. You had been upset for a few days since your fight with your father. Well, less of a fight and more of you shouting at him.

You’ve acted like as if it hadn’t affected you. But, it does, it kills you deeply. You don’t want your emotions to cloud up your judgement when Harry needed you, you’ve found yourself lying awake when everyone goes to sleep, just thinking about your dad.

“Ron drools in his sleep,” Hermione stated as you chuckled, looking at your ginger best friend with a smile as Ron rips a snore into the room, Hermione looks at you, “Are you okay?”

You looked at her, “Of course.”

“If it’s about your dad-”

You shake your head, waving your hand to dismiss her, “It’s fine, I’m just hoping my dad comes to his senses and goes back to her. There’s no use in being bitter when I’ve spent years having my dad’s back, defending him. He had mine and I had his. You know?”

“Remus is a good man,” Hermione hums smiling, “He’ll do the right thing.”

You huffed, looking at her, “I know he will.”

Hermione and you looked at each other with a shared smile between you, “(Y/n), want to explore the house with me? I’m sure the Blacks left some good books to read.”

“I can’t read?” You tilted your head, “Well, I can just not very good.”

“You’d think there would be a spell to correct spellings,” Hermione mused out as you stood up the stretch, “Or, fix dyslexia.”

“That’s too advance of a magic that no one has unlocked yet.”

“You can,” Hermione reminded you as you looked at her, “You said, yesterday, you’ve only mastered a fraction of Merlin’s power. I’m not Dumbledore, but there’s no time frame of you completely in your true element.”

“True element?” You teased, “I think the books are getting to you, ‘Mione, and I was exaggerating when I said a fraction, like maybe a half of his powers.”

“And I’ve heard you practising in other rooms,” Hermione mentions as you feel a blush in your cheeks, “I know you feel lost with Dumbledore, just like Harry, but if you were able to do it by yourself in our fifth year, you can do it by yourself now,” Hermione encouraged.

“You sound like McGonagall...” You mused out remembering your talk with her in your fifth year, “When we had a talk about future careers.”

“I never asked, it’s obvious that Harry will be an auror, but you? What do you want to do?”

You sat in McGonagall’s office defeat, Dumbledore had disappeared and you were alone in trying to figure out what the hell you were supposed to do. McGonagall offered her classroom for you to practise when she had no classes. But, when she was supervising, she noticed how down you were.

“Is there something on your mind?” She asked, sitting at her desk.

“No, nothing at all,” You responded as she narrows her eyes, she looks at you with raised eyebrows as you sigh in defeat, “What am I supposed to do when Dumbledore is not here? I can’t do it without him-”

“Yes, you can, Mr Lupin,” she had interrupted, pushing hot chocolate towards you. You give her a tight smile, lifting the mug to your lips allowing the steam to devour you, “That drink was cold and you automatically warmed it yourself. Intentionally or not?”

You looked at the mug, “Intentionally, I have a habit of setting warm drinks to a certain temperature I enjoy.”

“People your age would have used a wand, an incantation to produce what you have done. People beyond your years would struggle to find the perfect medium, and yet you do it like it is second nature.”

“Because it is,” You replied almost instantly.

“You are far beyond your years, and yet even if you struggle to control that power when you’re emotional, but can do anything else, that is progress. Believe in yourself. You are braver than you think, more talented than you know, and capable of more than you imagine.”

“But-”

“(Y/n),” You stopped as your head of house refers you to your first name.

She rarely refers to any student with their name, often by their last name. So, when you hear it escape from her, you sat up straight. Placing the mug on the desk, watching her carefully.

“Tell me what you have achieved.”

“I can control sixty per cent of the magic, it reduces to forty if I’m upset or angry. I’ve learned a third of Merlin’s spells, mastered them and can perform with confidence. I’m able to do non-verbal spells as if it is second nature alongside advance wandless magic.”

“Have you created your own spells?”

“Only offensive ones,” you responded, “Only if I am in great danger.”

“You don’t realise it, but you are fifteen, and you have done things many cannot. You have perfected the arts of basic magic we provide in Hogwarts, you put yourself down for things that surpass a person’s ability. You are trying, Success is not how high you have climbed, but how you make a positive difference to the world.”

“Thank you,” You sincerely thanked as she nods, looking at your predicted grades.

“Now, onto matters here,” She tapped her parchment, “What are the careers you look to.”

You tilted your head, “I-” You paused, “I never really have thought about that.”

“I’ve realised, you get caught up.”

“So I’ve been told,” You responded, “Part of me says follow Merlin. Find your destiny and stick to it. Lead an example, but part of me wants to be an auror or an astrologer.”

“Well, Mr Lupin,” she was back with the formality, a twinkle in her eye, “Whilst you are on the path of Merlin, I can assure you that you are also on the right path to be who you want to be.”

“But, I don’t know what I want to be.”

“That is okay to not know, but remember the fates can only do so much for you.”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir @lanlanlan020202 @hanniejji @dumbssbtch @lea-the-foxe @stan-joonies @littertortilla

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus lupin x male reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x male reader #x male reader #broken crown

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Okay you're my go to person for weird thoughts. So you know how luke tried to revive the jedi order? Was he just allowed to collect force sensitive kids and teach them the five days of training he got or did someone force him to like. Get a teaching degree. Did ahsoka help in any way? Did she force him to go to teacher school to get a degree in teaching? Seriously is luke qualified to teach a bunch of kids a religion and a sword club.

Anon you’re my absolute fave person bc your “weird” thoughts give me an excuse to ramble about my thoughts without feeling like I’m just throwing them in the void so please keep those thoughts coming.

And this house knows parts of canon, but acknowledges even less so say goodbye to the sequels and legends because I Have Opinions.

First of, I think that Luke gets Ahsoka, Ezra & Cal on board with his Skywalker-Amidala charm and stubbornness. Canon, give me the forbidden Luke meeting other Jedi content. He’s not gonna revive the Order on his own, he needs people (and Leia is getting training too ofc bc she deserves a lightsaber but she’s also a little more busy with politics). So, yes, he has help.

Next - and I apologize in advance bc I’m going super off tangent here but it’s kinda necessary and also nobody can stop me - Luke got them all assembled and he kind of assumes they’re really organizing it all as equals while the others are quite happy to have him be the official representative/head of the Order. It takes a while for that particular realization to settle in - I picture something like a person calling him the leader and he wants to protest but everybody else just goes along with it. (He does protest in the aftermath of the talk because all of them have more real training than he, but Ezra doesn’t want to be in charge, Cal doesn’t think he’s up for the job and Ahsoka thinks that if they are starting anew, somebody from the old generation shouldn’t lead. And Luke already Has A Reputation.) So, Luke gets put in charge.

Now to get to the kids rebuilding the Jedi Order!

Okay, so. How do you even go about starting up your new Order? I imagine they start with the people that are already there and are Force-sensitive. So you have Rebels there, people their age or even older and teenagers, whoever has the ability and wants to learn. (I just really want Luke to take a look at a pilot he’s been flying with and go “okay your reflexes are way too good for you to not have the Force” and that’s how he gets his first student.)

They settle on Yavin IV bc it has canon ties and I freaking love that place it looks so cool. Also there is no evil Sith Spirit because I Have Spoken. And like, they might be rebuilding the Order, but they still need people to keep that place running and those that come to train, don’t come on their own. Luke was saved because of his ties to his father, he wouldn’t separate families. So you probably start out with a Rebel base that’s not an active combat base, but hmm maybe they put a hospital here? A refugee camp as well? Anyway, there are people and that means jobs and point is - this new Order isn’t isolating itself and there is a growing community.

So any kids that become Jedi, are likely being raised by their parents and the community as well! And it’s not like any of the Jedi here can teach basic biology. Therefore they might just drop “the Jedi subjects” in-between normal school lessons and work. You can’t rebuild from nothing, you need a community. And if you work in that community, you pick up on things. So The Squad might not get teaching degrees but you learn while interacting with children. I’m studying to become a teacher rn and I haven’t had many didactic classes so far, but I’m also doing afternoon classes for primary school kids and the more you interact with children, the more you figure out how to teach them.

And in the panic that is bound to hit at least Ezra and Luke, they might download teaching manuals from the holonet.

(”’Teaching with games’? Think we can have them throw balls at each other with the Force?”

“Idk, Yoda’s training was kind of more focused on how to not die when you meet Vader and I was more concerned with surviving. Hey, Ahsoka, Cal is that how you did it-”)

But that is also more about how you teach and less what you teach. I mean, nobody thought you could come back from the darkside but guess what! Luke and his compassion proved the opposite! And none of them ever got the full Jedi training. Imagine Cal coming home one day like “Hey so I found this holocron, did you know about *starts going off about obscure knowledge none of them have ever heard about*”. And Force ghosts! How that worked and that they existed also wasn’t common knowledge while Luke probably assumes that is just a thing Jedi know. So, really, they are figuring their new tenets out themselves as well. And there is no 1-on-1 teaching because there aren’t enough even semi-trained Jedi for that.

Would anybody ask them for their Credentials? Maybe. But also, like, this community starts with people they already know. Word gets around. Cal helps set up a garden by decimating the offending trees with his lightsaber. These don’t stay mysterious magical Jedi for long, they get humanized. And if the Mandalorian has taught us one thing, it’s that untrained strong Force-sensitive kids are dangerous. So people might just be happy there is someone who knows what to do when your kid starts levitating their toys.

TLDR Step 1 is setting up a base and trial-and-error based communal teaching without actually going out into the galaxy to find Force-sensitive people.

Now imagine you got that down. They go out to find Force-sensitive people/children or they might also, with their growing reputation, get children dropped on their doorstep. So they are now directly responsible for children that do not have any other guardians. Some might get adopted into the community but otherwise? Congrats, you’re a parent Jedi Master. And because screw the First Order - my OT people get a happy ending, Yavin is not only the home of the budding Jedi Order but also a place to recover, heck they might have a city starting to really take off, so imagine when the Alliance finds a bunch of kids to be indoctrinated into Stormtroopers, they might just... drop them there. And if one or two are Force-sensitive, that means they are exactly where they belong! (Yes, you caught me, I just want Jedi Finn.) Bonus points if the kids pick their own last names or like, just take the name of the moon or, even better, the last names of the Jedi already running around.

So this is a very long-winded way of saying that I think the first years of this new Order are less schooling in a typical institutional setting and a lot more communal and family-orientated raising children in general with the result that Luke has a mug that says Galaxy’s Greatest Dad Jedi Master, a birthday gift given to him by one of the kids that never fails to make Han laugh at him.

TLDR Neither Luke, nor Ezra or Cal or Ahsoka have teaching degrees but nobody asks for parenting degrees either. Are they qualified? Depends on whether you’re expecting them to be people who give you grades for essays, or people trying to support you first.

#star wars #luke skywalker #this got way too long i apologize #meta #i guess???#anyway canon is for the weak #dark fanon give me the forbidden happy new jedi order content #luke grew up on tatooine!!! formal education who???#the fact that ahsoka has the most formal education out of all of them despite TCW is the funniest thing to me #does cal even know what a force ghost is #i don't think he meets one?#can you imagine luke causally dropping 'master yoda just told me-'#'master yoda is dead?'#'i talk to his ghost sometimes'#'you do WHAT now?'#Anonymous #ask #anon

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years

Conversation

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 5 "Pumpkin Patch" (Note: Offensive content, use at own discretion)

The theme was "Let Them Eat Cake," so my dad bought me this foreclosed McMansion down the street, and, like, 500 of my closest friends came dressed in 18th century attire, and, oh, the pool was filled with this, like, caviar slurry. And then at midnight, we just burnt the house down. When the firefighters came, they were actually strippers, and they put out the fire with champagne.

So walk me through this, honey.

Well, as you can see, every pumpkin in the patch is artisanal.

Then we move past the ice sculptures of demonic peeing cherubs, and yes, they will all be peeing vodka and Red Bull.

I'm sorry. Corn maze?

It's just that doing an exact replica maze from The Shining would have taken us way over budget on man power alone.

I told you money was no object.

Well, apparently, one of them died or something.

Do you have any idea what's at stake here?

Okay, well, it's not my fault that some guy died in the '70s.

I am tired of your sad-sack, I'm-a-total-downer-all-the-time schtick.

I'm over it!

Oh, my God, why are you so depressed?

Why do I have to be the homely one?

Just a second, nutbag.

God, do I have to spell it out for you?

You're a weird, psycho lunatic who's gonna end up in an asylum somewhere, staring at a wall, trying to nurse a watering can.

That's it! I can't take this anymore!

That is such a Mary Todd Lincoln thing to say.

You scream "I'm done with you" kind of a lot, and yet you're still standing here.

I think you know you have a good thing going.

You get to bask in my starlight as I do all the work and you get to grumble behind my back about how disrespected you are.

There's the door.

There's the door, bitch!

You did not deserve to be spoken to like that. Ever.

That is bollocks!

Clearly this fake kidnapping is a play to get the sympathy vote. So Gone Girl.

This is the biggest candle night of the year!

I hate you right now!

Halloween is the greatest night of the year. Greatest night. Because on this night, even kind of shy, kind of homely girls dress up like total sluts. I mean, every costume is just a slutty version of something. Slutty teacher, slutty nurse, slutty nun. I saw a girl last year dressed as slutty al-Qaeda!

See, Halloween it's a night for dudes with killer bods to walk around with our shirts off. And it's totally appropriate, as long as we call ourselves gladiators, Chippendales.

I have no idea how you got into this college.

Look, we'll just hang out and play charades!

This cannot be happening!

Hey, what about Black Hairy Tongue Disease? I mean, does nobody here care about Black Hairy Tongue?

What about my pumpkin patch?

I blame you for this.

[NAME], nice boobs.

Join me in saying you are not afraid!

Just baking some cookies for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.

Uh, they're toenail cookies.

Pink fur coats worn in all weather, my idea. Flapper dresses made out of feathers, also my idea. Oversized sunglasses worn everywhere, my idea, my idea, my idea!

So why are you baking toenail cookies and giving them to children?

Okay, whose side are you on?

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. I'm what you call

a "switch-hitter."

Wait, are you bisexual? Because that's what "switch-hitter" means.

Do you mean "double agent"?

What are you writing?

Do you know how big Halloween is in the candle community?

Is this an ant farm?

There's a mom ant, Deborah, who mostly just lies around and she has about 100 husband ants, who come around and give it to her good, which she really enjoys. And then there's about a million sterile daughter ants who feed her and are her slaves. So, an ideal family.

She'd win. And then I'd beg to be her second-in-command, while quietly pull the strings behind the scenes like Dick Cheney.

This plan involves a lot of circuitous logic.

Oh, my God! Those are, like, $100 each!

They're the highest quality candles that can be purchased retail.

What a brilliant and revolutionary idea.

Are you cheating?

This is a clear violation of the honor code.

You must be new here.

Who are you calling?

I'm gonna get you fired.

At least you wore something nice today.

Remember to smile for your mug shot.

I'm burping uncontrollably like Robert Durst.

They'll know I'm guilty!

I'm next in line and in charge here.

You can sum up my viewpoint on this with one word; indifference.

We are her only hope.

Sometimes, in order for a person to achieve their full potential, they have to do things on their own.

I am in charge here!

I love that you're a man.

This is the most sensual song ever written.

We need to do this right now!

I just saw her boobs.

Oh, a salad date is, it's like, it's more casual than dinner, but more formal than coffee.

Whose pants are these?

You know, you're a human being with feelings and needs, right?

Enough about me and my confusion and sad dead feeling inside.

It just really hurt my feelings.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure my so-called friends are the ones that turned me in so I'm just feeling, like, super alone right now.

Man, I am your biggest Instagram fan!

I just think you are a style genius.

I will never be able to repay you for the kindness you've shown me in here.

Besties for life, I say.

Your bail's been posted.

I knew you'd bail me out.

Can I just say what a relief it is to be able to share it with somebody and not feel judged?

You know, I mean, all my girlfriends are like, "That's immoral." "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Ashamed? What the hell you got to be ashamed for?

You should be proud.

I could've lost my job.

I mean, it lasted, like, 45 seconds, and the whole time, it just felt like I was getting stabbed in the abdomen.

I tied him up and I kept my uniform on and proceeded

to read him his rights. My favorite being "You got the right to remain sexy."

Give me some!

You know he's sexy!

That was one of the best nights of my life.

Well, I've already contacted the police department, despite the fact that a person can't be considered "missing" until at least 72 hours has passed.

That's morbid.

I've already hired an investigator.

What, are you two a couple now?

What the hell are you doing?

You sold me down the river, bitch.

Wait, Gary Coleman's parents stole his kidneys?

I would never say that, because I'm pretty sure that never even happened.

Why does ratting me out sound like exactly something you would do?

You know, I've never thought of myself as a killer, but I am seriously considering ramming this pick into the back of your eye socket.

Maybe you'll get your head sawed off.

You have cameras in my room?

I have eyes everywhere, bitch.

The name of my future perfume is Revenge.

How is that something you just happen to know?

That is stupidest thing I've ever heard.

What's the password?

I just can't eat any more of these.

This ain't The Marriage Ref! This ain't Judge Joe Brown! We ain't on the Maury Show! We ain't standin' in line trying to get tickets to Dr. Phil! I am not Steve Harvey, people, and this ain't the Family Feud!

I'm tryin' to catch a killer.

Help me get the spy gear in the car!

How can you promise?

We're in a maze, you don't know where you're going!

I always knew it would come to this.

Why are we doing this right now?

I forgot the flashlights!

What am I supposed to do with this?

This is so creepy.

It smell like booty in here.

I'm getting a nervous feeling in my stomach.

I might start farting. If I cut some, you promise not to tell anyone?

Oh, my boob!

Stay where you are! I'll come and get you!

Ooh, this is nice.

It's really beautiful.

It looks like you just crossed some stuff out and wrote that in in marker.

Okay, can we talk about that for a second? Because it just happened a few hours ago, and I'm still really traumatized.

I need some cheering up right now.

Excuse me, darling, I'm exhausted.

Wait, we need to hear what happened to you.

Just wondering where you find a house with a pit. The market for them would be pretty limited.

Did you escape, or did you kill him?

I've always had a thing for bad boys.

That got way out of hand.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #scream queens

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2k18leo · 5 years

Text

The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek notes:

((Spoilers))

- wow these titles were long today

- Mikey bby. Choose something OTHER than scissors next time. You can do it

- HAHAHA THE BOYS AND THEIR SAVAGE ATTACK STANCES HAVE ME WHEEZING

- Awww Mikey cooked Brussel sprouts that’s so cute

- Oof splints knows something about big mama

- Leo already IS light as a feather because he does this move ALL THE TIME

- “Gimme back my tech bo... and wallet” 😂

- Mikey yelling “Here I come!” Is the equivalent of Sokka yelling “SNEAK ATTACK” when running up to Aang

- Mikey honey that’s the sun

- Did Mikey say “Chinese brother is right?” Or “Tiny brother is right?”

- Hahahah I love how they’re all so lazy that they’re using Donnie’s tech to carry them

- Splinter frantically pushing the close button on the elevator is so me

- Are the floor level symbols zodiac signs?

- Hahaha “I don’t deserve my Greatest Dad coffee mug”

- Are they all under the cart or is it just Mikey and Donnie?

- “I am as pleased as I am totally shocked” 😂

- Mikey using the slow motion jitsu is the same as Drax thinking he is invisible to the naked eye

- Love that Splinter saved the boys

- Also love how Gus just used the hidden floor exit to flip out of the room

- He said Raphael omg Splinter is growing. You know what this is. Growth

- HAHAHAHHA RAPHS FACE AND LAUGH AND TIPPY TOES IM DECEASED

- Leo is still Blue One tho

- Leo is an ass pouring his drink in his face. I LOVE HIM MORE AND MORE EVERY DAY

- Wheels on stairs. Why did y’all get OFF THE ELEVATOR ???

- Whoa sick lava lamp room

- “I will never doubt you again”

- Omg I’m feeling so nostalgic with the white eyes and the keeping to the shadows. I feel like a proud mom

- “I DO deserve my worlds greatest dad coffee mug” YES YOU DO SPLINTER AND DONT YOU FORGET IT

- This is the type of father-sons love we APPRECIATE

- Oh damn splinter is up to something

- WHAAAT BIG MAMA DATED LOU JITSU

- Overall, I LOVED this episode. Maybe one of my favorites. I like how they incorporated an actual lesson for the boys to learn. Very cute. Loved all the boys and their idiotic selves. Also I loved how both of these episodes were related to/about splinter. We’re learning things about his past 👌🏼

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oudenoida · 4 years

Note

✥ - Popping a button on their shirt, showing their chest / a bit of cleavage (Hawke & Jake)

Life had a funny way of bringing this back full circle in a way nobody could anticipate. The first time they’d tried to date it had been a game of secrets. The Minister of Magic could never be seen with a member of the Department, let alone a former member of the Department who now waited tables at an Indian restaurant. Hawke’s job had been everything to him, his legacy, his reputation, his mission more important than any level of emotional honesty that he could gift to Jake. Which is why Jake had left him. Submitted a formal letter of resignation as Hawke’s boyfriend and walked out of the Ministry with his head held high. A lot had changed in the years in between leaving Hawke and the night the now-former Minister of Magic had walked into his restaurant and asked for a word with the chef. Jake had been perfectly comfortable making him wait several hours in a booth until dinner service was done and waiters were putting chairs on top of tables in preparation for the end of the night.

“You waited.”

It wasn’t a question when he asked it, but there had been a question behind it, about why Hawke had shown up, ate, and then waited until the restaurant closed down to finally talk to him.

“The food was exquisite. You used to be a great chef… I think you’re something beyond that now.”

“My Michelin Star and James Beard Award agree with you.” He’d sat down on the other side of the table as one of his staff brought him something to eat. “Doesn’t explain why you waited though.”

He’d always been the one who’d been honest between the two of them. It was time for Hawke to shoulder that burden now.

They’d talked late. He’d sent the staff home and they’d sat in that booth, and then in the kitchen as Jake made them a well-past-midnight snack, and just talked. It was the most open he’d ever heard Hawke be and in the moment it was a very sharp reminder of why he’d been so in love with the man in the first place. Hawke seemed to be heading in the direction of them getting back together and so Jake felt it the appropriate time to drop the bomb he’d been sitting on all evening.

“I’ve got a kid, Hawke. I adopted. Elimelech Alistair Conrad. Eli Jr.. If you want back in my life… you’ve gotta be ready to be a dad. Because I’m not doing this if you’re not.”

“You… adopted?”

“I asked everyone not to tell you. I honestly assumed you’d know just because you’ve got your fingers in seventeen different intelligence agency pies, but, yes. Last year. He’s three now. Eli’s mom watches him while I work, because that woman is a bloody saint.”

In Hawke’s defense he hadn’t immediately run out the door, hadn’t bolted the moment he’d heard the word “kid” like some of the other men Jake had tried to date since he’d initially left Hawke, but he didn’t look immediately at ease with the whole concept of being a father. “Well. Congratulations. I think I owe you a baby shower gift then.”

He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, and just like that they were back on the slow road to whatever it was they were going to become.

A lot had changed in two years. Minister Ashby had become Mr. Conrad, one restaurant had turned into two, to three, and then a cooking show, and despite what reservations he’d had, Hawke had become a truly amazing father. An apartment in muggle London had turned into a penthouse in Diagon, and it was through this penthouse door Jake was walking to be immediately tackled by a slightly more than knee-high cannonball, “Daddy’s home!!”

Hawke rounded a corner shortly after their speedster of a son did, trademark wry smile on his face, “Maybe we let him get more than six inches in the door before we tackle him.”

“Papa took me to see Auntie Emma at work today! Mr. Foster had a puppy!” Leaning down Jake swept Eli Jr. off his feet, kissing him on the forehead and hugging him tightly.

“Oh Papa did, did he?”

He threw a questioning eyebrow in Hawke’s direction as he set Eli Jr. back down again and his husband gave him a gentle smile, “Weymouth had some automaton breakthrough. Wanted to drop one off, show us how it worked. He’s getting closer and closer to figuring it out… which is honestly a little terrifying. Have you ever seen a nine foot tall magitech robot take a spell to the chest and bounce it back? And before you chide me… Samuel had Eli well in another room distracted with what might honestly be the cutest pitbull puppy in all of Christendom.”

“Nana ‘nique said she’s going to take me to the museum tonight!”

Another questioning eyebrow, and another smile, a language they were slowly and methodically rebuilding, “Gramma Monique offered to babysit tonight. She said something about couples needing quality time, how she and Manu had always loved their family but cherished the moments that they had privately. Then she gave me what can only be described as the most scandalous eyebrows I have ever seen on a woman and said she’d be by, well,” he looked at the watch on his wrist that had probably cost more than Jake’s first apartment, “Any minute.”

A gentle knock on the doorframe behind him made Jake’s face split into a lopsided grin as he turned to see the willowy figure of Monique Whetu silhouetted in the light from the hall, “And here she is, as promised Misters Conrad.”

There was very little in his heart that Jacob Conrad loved as dearly and preciously as Monique Whetu. She had seen Jake at his most abject; when veins were still black as night and some days he couldn’t hold a mug for the shaking, and she had loved him ferociously anyway. It was one of Jake’s greatest sorrows that he would never have the chance to meet Manu Whetu, but from the way Monique lived her life, it was evident where Eli got his big heart from. “You didn’t have to do this mom.”

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d started calling Monique mom. There had been a very long time when she had been Lady Whetu, and then Monique, and then somewhere along the line mom. Maybe it had been before he’d knelt before the Manu-possessed Lich body of Aiden and received the blessing of the Lord of Manawa, maybe after, but somewhere along the line she’d joined Madhur and his own mother as one of the army of women he called mom, and it just felt right.

“That’s what makes it fun, Jacob. I know I didn’t have to do this.” With an effortless redirection of momentum she scooped Eli Jr up and propped him up on her hip, “You both work hard, and you deserve these moments.” Leaning in she planted a kiss on Jake’s kiss and he breathed in the smell of flowers and home, “Besides. This handsome man and I have a date with his Uncle Eli and Aunt Millie. You can’t deprive Millie of her Eli Jr time. You know how she gets.”

With another blinding smile and a wave from their son she was gone, and there was silence in the penthouse. “Well, Mr. Conrad.” Jake set his bag down and leaned against the wall, “I guess we have a free evening.”

“For the first time in what… months?” Hawke began loosening his tie, draping it over the back of a nearby chair as he unbuttoned his cuffs and popped the top buttons on the bespoke Thad oxford he was wearing, revealing a sliver of tan skin and carefully groomed chest hair.

“Mmmmm.” Pushing off the wall Jake careened gently into his partner, bringing a hand slowly up and over Hawke’s chest and cupping his cheek, “If you’re going to start a strip tease like that in our front hall you and I are never going to make it to the kitchen to start dinner.”

Hawke’s low chuckle sent shivers down Jake’s spine as he slowly unbuttoned another button, “Oh this is what does it today? Well, Mr. Conrad. You’re the one with a restaurant empire. I am fairly certain with one phone call we can have a four course meal delivered and left outside so we don’t have to put pants on for the rest of the night….”

There was an end to the sentence that Jake refused to give Hawke time to finish; lips crushing the rest of the words in their shells. “You know my love language, that’s for sure.”

Another button and Hawke smoothed a hand under Jake’s shirt and up his stomach, “There’s no rush, my darling. We have all night, Millie and Eli are hosting a sleepover… and I intend to take my time. I think we’ve earned it.”

Jake had to admit as Hawke began removing his clothing with agonizing slowness that his husband was right. They had earned it, and he intended to take full advantage of every remaining minute they had together.

#m: jake #opp: hawke #allie asks #iomadaidh

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 34

Warnings: none really

Tag list: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @innerpaperexpertcloud

I told @c-a-v-a-l-r-y I’d write a long story because she enjoys them and well, it is longer than I ever expected.

Here’s a face claim for Esme

She calls home; pacing the length of the balcony. She's anxious to hear the kids' animated stories of their daily adventures, their musical little girls, the way the name 'mommy' sounds when it comes out of their mouths. Being away from them is unbearable; she's spent years always putting their needs and their well being first, ignoring her own mental health struggles, always putting herself on the back burner. Being a mom is her greatest achievement; protecting, growing, and nurturing babies inside of her, devoting the last five years to making sure that they are well cared for and that they know they are loved. Many times they've been her only source of companionship and comfort; Tyler being away for weeks on end, throughout the coarse of an entire year. The bond she has with her children is incredibly strong. Indescribable. And she misses them terribly. With everything she is and everything she has.

“I miss you mommy,” as usual, Tanner is the last one that gets to talk to her. He is extremely sensitive and introspective. Loving his mother with a fierceness that can't be rivalled. A momma's boy, through and through. He'd been the smaller and the sicker of the twins; they'd arrived six weeks early and not without complications. And while TJ had been able go home after only a week, Tanner had remained in the NICU with a variety of problems, and she'd put in long hours by his side; Tyler having to concentrate on staying home to care for Millie and a newborn.

“I miss you too. Have you been a good boy? Grandma says you've been helping her out a lot. And that you've been really being strong and brave for your brother.”

“I'm trying to be good. I'm sad but I have to be happy for Teej and Millie. Sometimes it's really hard and I just want to cry.”

So much like his father in that respect. Always putting himself last in favour of being the strong, supportive one.

“It's okay to be sad,” she assures him. “Boys get sad too. Even daddy gets sad sometimes. And you know how tough and strong he is.”

“Daddy gets sad too?”

“Yup. Even the big and strong ones get sad once and a while. It makes him sad to be away from home. He doesn't like being away from you guys. It's really hard on him, even he doesn't like to admit it.”

“He misses us?”

“Of course he does. He misses you guys so much. You know how much he likes spending time with you guys. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you and your brothers and Millie. Doesn't he always try to spend as much time with you as possible when he's home? Doesn't he always tell you how much you loves you?”

“Always,” Tanner confirms.

“He's sad when he's away from you all. He just wants to be home. As much as possible. But sometimes...”

“He has to go away. To work.”

“Every once in a while,” she says. “But he doesn't really want to go. He'd rather be home. But sometimes people need his help and he has to go and give it to them.”

“Like the kids that were taken away?”

“Yup. And sometimes teenagers. And sometimes adults. People need his help and he goes.”

“He gets people away from bad guys,” Tanner sounds both intrigued and excited about the idea.

“Exactly.”

“Because he's really brave, right?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “He is. Even if he denies it. I need you to promise you'll be good. You keep helping grandma out. And your brother. But remember,it doesn't mean that you can't be sad or that you can't cry if you need to, okay? Daddy would tell you the same thing. We'll be home soon, okay? We both love you so much.”

“I love you, mommy. Tell daddy I love him too, 'kay?”

“I promise I will. Let me talk to grandma, okay?

“Okay...” there's rustling on the other end as the phone is placed on the kitchen counter, and she hear the smacking of his bare feet against the floor, the patio door behind thrown open, and then a bellowing of: “Grammie!! Mommy wants to talk to you!”

Esme sits on one of the plastic chairs, picking up the mug of tea that Yaz had brought her earlier, sipping gingerly at it as she waits for her mother to retrieve the phone. Inside, the doctor that Nik had sent is tending to Tyler, while Yaz and Mark hang around in case they're needed. It's been a hell of day; not even noon hour and she feels as if it should be midnight already. She's exhausted: mentally and physically. Still wearing the same clothes as earlier; covered in dirty and Tyler's blood and sweat. She needs a shower. Food. Sleep. And the 'date' with William Flynn still looms on the horizon. She wants to stay in; curled up in bed with her husband, feeling his heart beating against her, listening to him breathe. Comforted in the fact that he's still alive.

“Just so you know,” her mother says in way of greeting. “I don't normally let them stay up this late, but we're having and Ovi got them some sparklers and...”

“Mom...” she gets that single word out through a choked sob, then completely breaks down. The tears that flow are hot and vicious, and she struggles to get words out as she gulps for air. Leaving out all the various twists and turn and gory details, but delving into what they'd found that morning, how everything had gone terribly wrong in the blink of an eye. “Seeing him like that. I brought it all back. Dhaka. The bridge. It brought it all back and for five and a half years it's been leaving me alone.”

“Esme...honey...take a breath...”

“My brain knows it's nowhere near as bad. There's nothing life threatening. He'll be okay. But seeing him like that...all the blood....it was like I was right back there again. On that bridge. When will it end? When will it just leave me alone for good?”

“Honey child...” her mother sighs heavily. “...take a breath...he's fine. You just said it's nowhere near as serious.”

“It doesn't mean it makes it any easier. That I like seeing him like that. He's my husband, mom. He's the love of my life. The father of my children.”

“Esme, you knew what you were getting into. When you stayed in Australia to be with him. When you gave up your entire existence for him. You knew what kind of life he led.”

“I thought it would be behind him. Behind us. I thought once he healed and got back on his feet, this all wouldn't be part of his life anymore.”

“And then he went back,” her mom reminds her. “Without even telling you. And he brought you right back into it along with him. Esme, you must be able to see why that bothers me. Why I think it was selfish of him. You already had a baby girl, and you were pregnant with twins and having complications, and he still went back. Without even consulting you! That's selfish, honey, and you know it is. It was a terrible thing for him to do. If he wanted that life so badly, he should have just cut you loose. You and Amelia. You could have raised her on your own, and your step dad and I could have helped you through your pregnancy with the twins. Tyler could have just taken you to court and fought for visitation and paid child support.”

“Mom, what the fuck?! That was never an option. I wasn't going to leave him. Why would I do that? Why...?”

“Esme, your love can't save him when he's that hell bent on killing himself.”

“He's not that person any more,” she argues. “He's not that Tyler. The one with the death wish. The one with nothing to lose.”

“Then why does he still do it? Why does he keep putting himself at risk when he has a wife and children at home that love him and depend on him? Is it really worth the risk? You have to think long and hard about this, sweetheart. About this life. About him. Because if you stay with him, this is what's always going be like. He is always going to be running off and leaving you and the kids. And you're always going to be wondering if he's going to come back alive or dead. Is that really what you want? The kind of life? You deserve better. And so do my grandchildren.”

“Mom, leaving him is not an option that's on the table. It never has been. So...”

“I know you love him. I know he loves you. But sometimes, no matter how much two people love each other, it's just not healthy for them to be together. Is this really what you want the rest of your life to be like? Raising kids on your own while he's running off to save the world? He's a human being, Esme. He's not invincible. One day he's going to leave and he's not going to make it back. Are you really prepared for when that happens? Because if he keeps living this life, it will happen. And you'll be left four children to raise and all the pieces to pick up on your own.”

“We are not having this conversation, mom. You are not saying these things to me. Why are you saying them to me the first place?”

“Because you need to hear them. This is tough love, Esme. And if your father was here...”

“Well he's not. He's not here. He hasn't been here since I was seventeen.”

“...he would tell you the same thing. He wouldn't want you living like this. He wouldn't want you putting all your trust and all your faith and all your love into a man that isn't capable of giving any of that back to you.”

“You don't even know him, mom. You've spent five and a half years hating him. And now you think you know how he feels? You think you know what goes inside of his head?”

“I didn't hate him, Esme. I hated what he put you through. I hated that he took you away from your home and put all that burden on you...”

“He wasn't a burden. He saved my life. Not just in Dhaka. But in other ways too.”

“So you stayed because you felt you owed him? Do you realize how unhealthy that sounds?”

“I stayed because I was in love with him. And he needed me. I wasn't going to leave him. Not on the bridge, not in the hospital. I stayed there because I wanted to be there. I wanted to be with him.”

“You weren't in love with him, hun. Don't fool yourself. You were in love with the idea of him. He wandered into your life and swept you off your feet and you fell in love with the idea of what it would be like to be with someone like him. Tall, good looking, the body...”

“Mom, you have no idea what you're talking about. You have no idea what attracted me to Tyler or what went on during those five days and...”

“Exactly. It was five days. You spent five days with him, probably in his bed, and just happened to fall in love that quickly? That's a load of shit, Esme, and you know it. You loved the idea of him. The kind of life he could give you...”

“He lived in a fucking shack in the outback with a dog and a chicken! He barely had a life to give me! What the hell are you talking about? Tyler had nothing when I met him. What he could give me? I didn't want anything. I just wanted him.��

“So you fel in love with the aesthetic of him.”

“Oh my god,” she gives a snort. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Esme, he's very attractive, he has that body, those eyes, that voice...”

“I can not believe I am listening to this!”

“I can see how you fooled yourself into thinking you were in love with him. You were smitten with him. But it wasn't love. And you know it wasn't. Maybe it turned into love. Maybe the two of you fell in love with each other during the coarse of a few months or a year, but it was not love that made you stay. You wanted to escape. You hated your life. And he gave you the chance to get away from it.”

“That is not why I stayed,” she hisses.

“You need to sit back and think long and hard about the decisions you've made, young lady. Why you did the things you did. I don't deny that you love him now. Or that he loves you. I know he does. But five and a half years ago? That was not love. And do we even need to get into the fact that he knocked you up?”

“Do you have to be so crude about it? Your granddaughter came out of that.”

“And she's beautiful and I love her. But it doesn't hide the fact that you and Tyler were complete strangers when you fell into bed with one another and neither of you thought be safe about it. It was a mistake, Esme.”

“Millie is not a mistake,” the tears threaten once again. “She wasn't planned, but she was wanted. I even gave him an option. I told him I'd leave and never contact him again if he didn't want the baby. He wanted her. I wanted her. Just because she wasn't planned does not mean she was a mistake.”

“And like I said, she's a beautiful, amazing little girl. And we're all blessed to have her. But it doesn't change how she ended up here.”

“And you think the twins were planned? Do you want the details on how they came along? How they were conceived? We didn't use anything because we didn't think I could get pregnant that soon. And how about Declan? I was on the pill with him and we still conceived him. So you're saying all your grandchildren are mistakes because they weren't planned?”

“That is not what I'm saying at all. You were married when they came along.”

“So what you're pissed about is that we made Millie out of wedlock? Are you serious, mom? That is what you're upset about? The fact Tyler and I had premarital sex and he got me pregnant? Spare me your moral superiority. Don't be acting all high and mighty with me when you were fucking the mailman and the pastor while still married to dad!”

“Esme!” her mother snaps. “What are you...?”

“You didn't think I knew, did you. Oh I know, mom. I know all your dirty little secrets. Word travels fast in a small town. It gets back to you when your mom is the town whore!”

“Esme Michelle, you don't ever speak to me that way. You...”

“I am done with this conversation. I want you out of my house, mom. I want you to pack your shit and leave. When I call tomorrow, you better not still be there.”

“You'd hurt the kids like that? Take me out of their lives and hurt them like that?”

“They'll deal. They have Ovi and Chloe and Nik. They'll be fine. Just get your shit and get out of my house. Now!” she abruptly disconnects the call, then tosses the cell phone down with enough force that it bounces off the tables, hits the ground and send the battery one direction and the body of the phone in the other.

*****

“Bad time to bother you?” Mark asks sheepishly, as he stands on the track for the sliding door.

“It's always a bad time to bother me. Did you not learn anything being married to me? Did you not realize quickly that I'm a raging bitch?”

“It wasn't enough to scare me away,” he grins, and then gathers up the pieces of the phone and snaps them together. “You okay?”

“No. I'm not. I just had the most wonderful conversation with my mother that could not have gone any better if I tried.”

“You know,” he holds the phone out to her. “She does love you.”

“She has a hell of a way of showing it.”

“She worries about you. You're her first girl. She wasn't very happy. When you decided to ditch your old life for a new one in Australia.”

“Mark...” she groans. “...it is none of your goddamn business what I do with my life. Just like it's none of hers. I'm a big girl, I make my own decisions. I do what I want and who I want. So if you're out there to promote her agenda....”

“I'm not. I'm just out there to check on you. And tell you what the doctor said.”

“Is he alive? Is he going to live long enough for me to smother him in his sleep because of his fucking 'save the world' bullshit? Because I am so sick of it, Mark. I'm tired of this life. I'm tired of him taking on the weight of other peoples' problems and it causing a whole lot of problems for us. I'm tired of watching him walk out the front door and worrying about whether or not he's going to walk back in. I'm tired of loving someone so much it is physically painful sometimes.”

“That's not a bad thing,” he says, and takes a seat on the chair next to her. “Loving someone that much.”

“I just want this stop. I need it to come to an end. I need him to realize that enough is enough and that it's time to leave it behind. I need him to realize that I need him and his kids need him and our lives are better with him in it.”

“Have you actually told him all that, or...?”

“Tons of times. I'm always trying to get through that thick fucking head of his! But he's so stubborn and he's still got these walls up that I can't seem to get past no matter how hard I try. And I know he doesn't realize that he's doing it and that he's shutting me out, but it drives me insane.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe he's too afraid to let those last walls down? That those are the only ones left protecting him?”

“Protecting him from what? We've been married for almost six years. We have four kids together. What does he need to protect himself from?”

“Losing you. He's terrified of that, you know. Of something happening to you.”

She sighs.

“Esme, you have him a second chance at life. You gave him a reason to keep going. You saved him just as much as he saved you. And he's scared. I know he is. He's scared of something happening to you. Of trying to figure out life without you. Especially a life with four kids. I know he's a bad ass. Believe me, I know. But he's also a human being. A human being that happens to love you to the ends of the earth. He is legitimately terrified of something happening to you.”

“He told you all this?”

“Not in so many words. He's not the most talkative guy.”

“You think?” she scoffs.

“But from what he did tell, he's worried. And he's scared. That's why he is the way he is. Protective. To a fault. He's afraid if he doesn't, something will happen to you, and then he'll spend the rest of his life hating himself for it. Cut the guy some slack, would you? He's been through a hell of a lot. Things we can't even begin to imagine. Well maybe you can because you saw it happen and you were there afterwards while he was in the hospital...”

“I don't want to talk about this, Mark. I do not want to talk about what happened in Dhaka. I don't want to talk about when he was in the hospital. I just can't talk about it, okay? It's too hard. Even now.”

“Fair enough,” he says, and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Other than your mom, are you okay?”

“I've been better. I'm still a little freaked out. I don't know how things went bad so fast. And why do they always need to go to shit in the first place? Why can't a job go nice and smooth for just once?”

“Nature of the beast I guess. If it makes you feel better, he's going to be okay.”

“Tyler's level of okay is not the same as a normal person's level of okay. Okay to Tyler is only getting shot twice instead of three times. So...”

“Got a concussion, busted nose, needed fourteen stitches to close the gash in his head, black eye, knuckles are all busted to shit. Separated right shoulder. Doctor reset it. ”

“Oh so it's basically just a normal day for him.”

Mark laughs. “I take it you're use to this.”

“You have no idea. The shit I have seen happen to this man and have him turn around and just walk it off? It's insane. He's a freak of nature. Maybe even a cyborg. I really don't know. But he just keeps getting back up and back into the game. I wish he wouldn't, but...”

“Get up or get back in the game?”

“Obviously get back in the game. I can't even begin to imagine what my life would be like without him. How empty and miserable it would be. I've spent five and a half years with him. He's not just my husband and the father of my kids, he's my best friend. And my life would completely suck without him in it.”

Mark just nods.

“I'm sorry. If me admitting all that hurts your feelings. If you're still holding onto something.”

“It is what it is, Esme. I fucked up. And you went on with your life. I didn't expect you to get on with it so soon, mind you.”

“So soon? We hadn't been together for four years. That isn't soon. And need I remind you that you couldn't keep your dick in your pants for the entire time we were married? Yet you're upset I met Tyler four years later? Like...what?” she can't help but laugh.

“How did you meet him anyway? Your mom said it was a business trip, but I highly doubt that's the whole truth.”

“We met through Nik. She needed someone to fill a spot on her team and I wanted to branch out from just doing North America stuff. So she took me on and the Dhaka job came up and that's how Tyler and I ended up running into each other. I did meet him in Australia. That part is true. Nik took me there, to his place, because she had a job that she needed us to work together on. He lived in this little shack in the outback. With a dog. And a chicken. Bathroom chicken.”

“Bathroom chicken? What...?”

“When I walked in, the chicken was sitting on the edge of the tub. My first words to Tyler were 'there's a chicken in your bathroom'. Now does that not spark romance or what?”

Mark chuckles.

“Are you sure you want to hear this? Because I know we've had our issues, but I don't want to hurt your feelings by making your listen to this.”

“You're not making me listen to anything. I asked. It's okay. Go ahead.”

“He was so different than anyone I'd ever met before. He was mysterious. Sullen. Troubled. And he had this edge to him that I couldn't quite explain. There was something about him that was so intriguing. That I couldn't look away from. Not to mention insanely buff and absurdly tall, but that's neither here nor there. There was just something about him. I don't even know what it was or how to even describe it. I just...felt it.”

“And the job?”

“We had to pretend we were newlyweds. That we were in Dhaka because we chose humanitarian work over a normal, traditional honeymoon. And it worked. Shockingly well. Until it didn't. Things went bad. They went so bad, Mark. And it happened so fast. Tyler and I were the only two from the team that survived. We got separated. In the forest. I'd gone ahead to meet the other team members and he was supposed to get Ovi and meet up with us. Only that never happened. I had to hide in that goddamn forest for hours until things calmed down. Then I had to walk back into town and meet up with Tyler and Ovi. It was insane. The whole thing. From beginning to end. So many times that day I didn't think I was ever getting out of Dhaka. At least not alive.”

“But you did. Make it out. Alive.”

She nods. “Tyler made sure of it. That Ovi and I got across the bridge. It's a long story and one I do not like to relive. But we got across and he didn't and...” emotions chokes at her, and she rubs the palms of her hands against the sides of her mug. “...he almost died. In my arms. On that bridge. And it was...it is...the most horrible thing I've ever had to see in my entire life.”

“Esme...I am so sorry. That you had to go through that. That you had to see that.”

“It was the worst thing I have ever seen. In the corps, I could turn off my emotions. When we went overseas and we saw death and destruction all around us, eventually you become desensitized to it. It didn't bother me after all. It was part of the job. But that...on the bridge...” she swipes at a tear as it trickles down her cheek. “...I will never forget that. As long as I live. Every time I see that scar on his neck, it's like it happened yesterday. I can't get it out of my mind. No matter how hard I try. Will it ever go away? Will it ever get better?”

“It will get better,” Mark assures her. “One day it won't bother you at all. When you see that scar. And you won't even realize that it stopped bothering you. But you won't ever forget it, Esme. How could you? I mean, you were involved with the guy at the time. He wasn't some stranger off the street. You two had...I don't...something...between you. And you kept him alive. He was bleeding out and you actually kept him on this side of the ground. That's pretty fucking amazing. It really is.”

“He would have done the same for me. I know he would have. I mean, he sacrificed himself to get Ovi and I across the bridge. If something had have happened to me, I know he would have fought just as hard to keep me going. It's just...” she sighs. “...can we stop talking about this? Some days I'm fine with it and some days I just do it.”

“It's okay,” he lays a comforting hand on her back. “I get it. I do. He's lucky to have you, you know. You stuck around. Not just on that bridge, but in that hospital. You didn't have to stay and you did. And that's pretty damn admirable.”

“It's really not. I did what anyone would do.”

“Most people would have gotten the hell out of there and never looked back. But you hung in there. And you keep hanging in there. It can't be easy. Being with a guy like that.”

She frowns. “A guy like that?”

“The way he is. With his issues. I mean, he's got some serious shit going on up in his head and...

“He has PTSD, Mark. He's not crazy. You'd have it too you if you lived through what he did. You know, you started out so well. You had me convinced that you actually wanted to hear about Tyler and I. That maybe you'd turned over a new leaf and you actually gave a shit about other people. But you just turn around and remind me that you're still the same asshole you've always been.”

“Did he tell you he nearly killed McMann yesterday? That he absolutely snapped and nearly choked the guy out?”

“Actually, he did. Right after he told me he swallowed his pride and asked you...of all goddamn people...for help. So if you're trying to take a cheap shot at his expense, it won't work.”

“He went fucking loco, Esme. Like right off the reservation. How do you handle that? Does he do that at home too? With you and the kids?”

“You're reaching, Mark. Like desperately reaching. Tyler has never...ever...lost it like that on me or the kids.”

“How do you know he won't?”

“Because I know him. He's different when he's not on the job. You're seeing work Tyler. He's not like that at home. He's more relaxed. He doesn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's happy. He's not the Tyler he is right now.”

“If he's got PTSD, it could lead to that one day. Where he does snap at home. On you and the kids.”

“Mark, you are walking on very thin ice here. I appreciate what you did yesterday. I really do. I was worried about him going alone and you stepped up to help him out. And it's a good thing you were there to stop him from killing McMann. Because we need that asshole alive. But if you're looking for me to pin a medal on you or something...”

“I just worry about you,” he reasons. “That's all.”

“Funny, it takes me being married to another man to get you to care about me. Because you sure as shit didn't care when we were together.”

“We had our issues. I'm not denying that.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“But I am not the only one to blame for everything that happened. You know what you're like.”

“What am I like, Mark? Enlighten me. Tell me what I'm like.”

“You're argumentative. Confrontational. Assertive. Aggressive.”

She smirks. “Only weak men are intimidated by assertive women.”

“See? That right there. The smart ass comments. That's another thing. How the fuck does he put up with you?”

“He's not a pussy like you are. He likes a challenge.”

“Wouldn't be surprised if you're part of the reason he's so...you know...batshit crazy.”

“Mark, that is my husband you're talking about. So if you want to keep all of your teeth, I suggest you don't say another word. Because I'm all out of both patience and fucks right about now and I will not hesitate knocking you the fuck out.”

“Uhhh...Esme...” Yaz pokes his head out the door. “...the doctor's gone and he said there won't be a bill or anything. I guess he owes Nik a favour. He wrote a couple of prescriptions so I'm going to go and find a pharmacy and get them filled.”

“Yaz, you're the best,” she gives him a glowing smile. “You're the real MVP on this team.”

“About time someone noticed and aknowledged it,” he grins. “And the doc told Tyler to take a shower and get clean up. All the blood and the dirt could cause infection. But he's still a little woozy and I don't want him falling and cracking his head open. So...”

“Yaz, you've shared a public bathroom with him before I'm sure. It's nothing you haven't seen.”

“Yeah, well, I'd rather not see it, know what I mean? And he won't let me near him anyway. He's really stubborn.”

“You're just realizing that now? After what? Eight years of knowing him?”

“Well he can't take a shower alone in case he passes out or whatever and I told him that so he said to come get you because you're used to seeing his...you know...”

She smirks, standing up and stretching. “Junk? Afraid you'll get penis envy?”

“...and you had to do to this kind of thing before after Dhaka, so...”

“I'm going...I'm going...” she mutters. “Fucking men. If I'd decided to stick to just girls, I would not be going through this horseshit right now. And Yaz...” she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “...thank you. You're an awesome friend.”

“Nothing I wouldn't do for you guys, you know that.”

“And Mark...” she pauses in the threshold, glaring at him. “...don't be here when I get back.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #sanctuary

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eldritchmarie · 5 years

Text

Every Homestuck Character worth mentioning’s Arc in Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine

Over two hours, I have determined the (Generally Miraculous) arc of every character in Homestuck, as well as occasionally a few major build details.

Beta Kids

June Egbert: Mystic, dealing with a higher power/ideal, get told what do a lot, Immortal (Primordial) means you embody your element (Wind) and Principle (Freedom).

Dave: Frantic Knight (Become Somebody), you have a role you want to fill and a failing that stops you from reaching it. You can see your failing in others, adapt to various situations, define people in relation to you, and influence people.

Jade: Immortal Bindings (Gatekeeper), you're an intermediary between humanity and a powerful "Other", have a tendency to trust said Other, tell it what to do, call upon it for power, open doors between spaces, and produce great effects through working with it.

Rose: Immortal Storyteller (Creature of the Light), you're lost in the world for a bit, you're infected by something higher than the world and can inspire others, attract attention, and have some narrative powers.

Alpha Kids

Dirk: Sickly Emptiness (Accursed), you're corrupt or sick in some way, with something that hurts in some way you can never quite heal, and you can destroy things real good.

Roxy: Frantic Aspect (The Ace), you're trying to improve as a person but have a flaw that gets in the way. You're just generally good at mundane things, like science, hacking, and fist kind. Void powers are probably a Magical Skill like Voidy Magic with the Matriorb being a Quest Miracle.

Jane: Sickly Bindings (Wounded Angel), you're dealing with something terrible and wicked, and have that kind of thing inside you. At low levels, you can take things into yourself to give yourself powers, though it also gives an unhealing wound, and at high levels, you can receive a societal position instead of a power through the same process and save people from things such as death.

Jake: Sickly Knight (Star Power), you have a role you want to fill and a failing that stops you from reaching it. You see things in narrative terms and force the world to see you as the center of the mythos, the Exuberant Action Hero.

Post-Scratch Trolls

Vriska: Sickly Storyteller (Creature of Delirium), in which you become a story. She has an experience that she's always feeling and can steal from people. The Experience probably being relevance/certainty. It also lets you control people you stole your experience from.

Terezi: Frantic Mystic (Prophet), dealing with a higher power/ideal, around the middle of your arc you're kind of a mess without anchors. You're empowered by your principle and get visions from it.

Karkat: Frantic Knight (Become Somebody), dealing with much the same issues as his canon boyfriend, though substituting “Leader” for “Hero.”

Kanaya: Immortal Emptiness (Indomitable), “cursed” with being an immortal, nigh unkillable Rainbow Drinker

Equius: Immortal Mystic (Primordial) because it's the same powerset as June and I cannot care less.

Aradia: Sickly Shepard (Impresario), you guide and protect people, you've created yourself in some way, have a lot of thematic minions, and tell people what to do.

Nepeta: Frantic Shepard (Sentimental), shipping, empowering that what you love.

Sollux: Frantic Mystic (Shepard), he is overwhelmed by his principle of Doom, but works miracles and omens through it. Tavros: Become somebody, I guess.Eridan: Accursed, maybe, probably. Feferi: Gatekeeper, a diplomat for the horror terrors. Gamzee: Sickly Otherworldly (Called Away), being spiritual in some way, with your powers being based around rejecting reality and substituting a world of the estate you serve.

Pre Scratch Trolls

Aranea: Sickly Shepard (Impressario), a corrupt guiding figure, with focus on the Arc 5 power "Here's Who You Are", which lets you force out someone's true self, or what you think is their true self.

HIC/Meenah: Liminal Emptiness (Alluring), notable for being available as both a mortal and a Miraculous Being. It gives a lot of free points in a Superior Skill (Trollness), a Magical Skill (Psionics), gives you a bond that represents a position of power, and lets you develop advanced techniques for a few skills and tempt/influence people.

Damara: Sickly Bindings (Wounded Angel), taken in the worst direction manageable.

The Sufferer: Liminal Shepard (Gifted), which focuses on being a powerful magician, or in this case, seer, while being on the borderline between mundane and miraculous. In this case, his empowered magical skill is some form of Blood Magic. Note that Kankri lacks this because like most of the other Pre Scratch trolls, he doesn’t have much of an arc or importance, nor much use of powers that wouldn’t be at best mundane.

Cherubim

Caliborn: Sickly Knight (Star Power), in his pursuit of advancing his mythos as the ultimate “Alpha Male/Demiurge”, he becomes able to create laws of his own existence and enforce them, defining others in relation to said narrative.

Calliope: Immortal Storyteller (Creature of the Light), with her ability to appear when needed, inspire others to do great things, and alter the world to your whims.

Lord English: Does not have an arc so much as he mugs his respective components. They're all at 3, which tends towards being the peak of stress for the arcs involved.

Alt! Calliope: A Keeper of Gardens (Immortal Shepard), guiding and protecting others, you rule a certain area with incredible skill, and Indomitable (Immortal Emptiness), you bear a great and terrible curse, have inhuman abilities, and at your peak can create tools that can theoretically accomplish anything, such as the black hole that can kill Lord English. Both are at 5, the apex of your power at which the greatest powers are unleashed.

Carpacians

Wayward Vegabond: Become somebody, as the leader of the revolution.

Jack Noir: Indomitable, inhuman power and a sickness/corruption in the form of constant murder.

Parcel Mistress: Allegory (Immortal Knight): She has a role she fills spectacularly, her failing is her virtue of her sense of duty, she's involved in major events, she has a legendary weapon, and has a method of transport.

Mortals

Dad: Shepard (Dad). Possesses Superior Mangrit 4.

Bro: Aspect (Fighter), at Arc 5 with every single perk and skill being invested into improving combat capabilities. He is under the effect of Lord English’s inevitability entanglement, bringing him into the mythos of the abusive patriarch.

Mom: Shepard (Mom). Has a magical skill at 4.

Pa: Knight (Adventurer). Fucking Dead.

Alpha!John: Knight (Comedian)

Alpha!Dave: Knight (Filmmaker)

Alpha!Rose: Storyteller (Author)

Alpha!Jade: Shepard (Businesswoman)

Other

The Felt are a perk on Lord Englishes part that emulate the Impressario’s “Minion” power.

The MSPA Reader: Mystic, Sickly (Awakening), it turns out that you’re in the story. You, personally.

Chixie Roixmr: Knight, Sickly (Star Power), she deserves cool miraculous powers.

Sprites: Their composite parts, likely at a somewhat reduced level due to dilution.

#chuubo's marvelous wish-granting engine #homestuck #June Egbert #Dave Strider #Jade Harley #Rose Lalonde #Dirk Strider #Roxy Lalonde #Jane Crocker #Jake English #Terezi Pyrope #Caliborn #Calliope #Lord English #Vriska Serket #nepeta leijon #chixie roixmr #aradia megido

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hayleyb100 · 6 years

Text

Piggyback

*Warning! I am using my own concepts of Togata dad in this fan fiction, so read it first for better understandings! Link: http://hayleyb100.tumblr.com/post/182707281927/personal-imaginary-concepts-on-togata-dad-well

*Mirio is 14 years old.

"Mirio!" Dad rushed into the staff room, almost out of breath. It was clear that he ran all the way from the main entrance. "Ah, Mr. Togata... Sorry for calling you while you were busy with your work." said the teacher. "..........." Although dad didn't say a word and just stared at me, I could see all his emotions. Puzzled, shocked, astounded... Denying his 'good boy' Mirio standing in the staff room with bruised, crying classmate next to him. "Umm, actually, many class pupils had testified that Mirio is the one who punched this student first." Daddy's indigo eyes widened even more. "Is... Is this true?" he asked me. "............" I zipped my mouth. Actually, to be specific, my mouth didn't move in embarrassment. "...Listen sweetheart, I know you are not a kind of boy who picks a fight on someone for nothing. So, may you please be honest to your daddy?" Daddy patted my shoulder and comforted me with his words so I could confess. But I still couldn't say anything. I know daddy is always working so hard to sustain the life for both of us and this is how I repay him - forcing him to come all the way to the staff room for the trouble I caused. "Does he has to make excuses?" my class mate's mother snapped. "The fact is my son is hurt seriously. What has to come in prior?" "Oh... I am terribly sorry for this, ma'am." At the sight of my dad bowing his head deeply to the woman and apologizing, I couldn't stop my heart burning with hatred. I was wondering if that woman can be that shameless when she hears everything that bloody bully said to me. "You should discipline your son before he talks about a hero, alright?" the mother spat her words mannerlessly till the end and left the staff room with that brat. I ground my teeth with fury until my dad finished talking to the teacher, heard some warnings from the teacher and left the school with dad.

"Mirio..." On our way home, dad called me, but I didn't respond. Honestly, I was mad at him for apologizing foolishly to that woman without even knowing what really happened. Even if I didn't say anything, he could have pressed that brat. I mean, he is a journalist, right? He would have been as pissed off as me if he had heard what that brat said to me. "Mirio... Now that there is just two of us... Will you tell me what exactly happened back in the classroom?" Despite all the embarrassments he has been through, dad still kept his calmness and asked me once again. "...Dad... I..." I started with mumbles. "...That brat is the one who insulted you and me!" With my voice bursting out, dad was startled once again. "....Beg your pardon?" dad asked again. "Do you even know what that brat did to me? He was provoking me saying that I have the most ridiculous quirk and I will never be a hero with it. And... and...!" my emotions got jumbled up in my mind, choking my throat and making it hard for me to talk. "...He was insulting YOU saying that you are such a worthless father who gave his son that stupid quirk!" I spat the words to my dad's face because my voice didn't work properly. "........" Dad was frozen for a few moments. He only gaped at me with a dumbfounded face. He then took a very deep breath. His face slightly frowned up but came back to usual smile immediately. "...Yeah. I knew my son wouldn't have done such a thing without a reason." Dad's tranquility threw me into confusion. "Dad! Aren't you even angry... or at least annoyed? Don't you even have the slightest pride? That boy literally maligned you!" I yelled at my dad, who still smiled calmly at me. "Why did you even apologized when that brat is the one who did something wrong?" "Because... Mirio." dad paused me. "I had to apologize... because in any circumstances, using violence to anyone is wrong." In serious words of my dad, now I was lost for words. "Heros only use force when absolutely necessary. To save and protect people. I am saying this because I want to make sure you walk on a proper path of a hero. Understand...?" "But..." I interfered. "Well, I did that to protect your pride..." I had to pause and swallow my sorrow. If I don't be careful, my eyes will become watery any second. "I am old enough know... just how much burden you are carrying to support both of us... I saw every night that you were blocking nose bleed to continue your journalism. I saw even if you were fatigued to the core, you still did all the chores and cooking so I could live in comfort... I... just couldn't stand that someone insulted my dad - Togata Setsuna - who is a brilliant father dedicating his whole life for me...!" It was no use to hold back. My tear burst out. It overflew like a waterfall and ran down my cheeks. My dad quietly came and wiped the tears away. "Oh, sweety... What have I done to deserve such a mature, thoughtful son like you?" He smiled at me even brighter. "But you know what? That meanie's words don't give the slightest damage to this good old dad. Know why?" I shook my head. "Because this little hero right in front of me, will prove him wrong!" He said proudly, gently rubbing my cheek with his hands. "Lemillion in front of me will prove that this quirk is worthy and his mind is more than firm enough to be a hero, right? So I won't give second thoughts about what that bully said anymore. Because... I know... You, Mirio, will be the greatest hero in all times and prove him wrong." Then he gave me a big, warm hug. My hatred melted away like snow in spring. Instead, my heart was filled with the strongest determination yet towards my dream of becoming a hero. "....Yup! You are right, dad! All the more reason for me to truly become a hero!" I declared to my dad with joy. "Now there's the jolly son I missed all day!" dad gave a huge grin of happiness. Then, he sat and turned around to show his back. "Umm... What are you doing, dad?" "Come, hop on! I will give you a ride on piggyback all the way home - just like when you were a little kid!" "Dad, I'm not a kid anymore. I'm 14 already!" "All the more reason to give you one, sonny. Because if you become any older or bigger, it will be hard for me to give you piggyback!" ".........." I reluctantly got on his wide, warm back. Dad singlehandedly lifted me up on his back. "Wow, time sure flies, huh? When did my son grow so big?" He chuckled and started walking.

I gently laid my head on dad's shoulder. His scent tickled my nose. It gave me such a relief, that nothing could disturb this perfect, safe universe between two of us. It was then I was reminded with the meaning of my father's name... 背綱(Setsuna), "A person who can rely the back on". He is surely living up to his name. Oh, dad... Just wait. I will really become the best hero in history and have you proud. I will show the whole world that the quirk... the gift that you gave me... is truly a marvelous, wonderful gift. "Say Mirio, any menu request for dinner? Or would you like to dine out on our way?" "No! I want to eat something that you make! Say... an egg omelet?" "Sure why not! Got lots of eggs at home. Instead... Can I eat some macaroons for dessert?" "Nope. I'm sure you had like, three mugs of coffee with plenty of sugar at your workplace." "Ha ha ha... You know me too well, don't you?" Dad gave another hearty laugh and continued walking.

I was wondering if dad knew... that I refused to dine outside because I wanted to ride on his back longer.

Sunset dyed our figure and shadow in brilliant orange.

#bnha mirio #mha mirio #togata mirio #mirio togata #togata dad #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: xi

because i literally can.not stand to work on my damn dissertation any more so... here we are. this chapter is close to 12k because i have no self control.

tumblr’s formatting still sucks and is a dumb so yes, carry on.

part x/AO3.

Wyatt Logan learns he is in trouble the way most busted husbands learn they are in trouble: his phone starts buzzing up a storm, falls off the side table, and when he gropes at it and picks it up, the first three words he sees are “Jess cell” and “TALK.” This is a combination to strike terror into any unsuspecting man’s heart, especially when he’s not quite certain what he did – what else, that is. He’s been in San Francisco for the last several days, he didn’t come home on Sunday like he promised, but he had a nice floral arrangement sent as an apology, and he’s gotten weirdly involved in this Rittenhouse hunt. For instance, he’s pretty sure that Bam-Bam’s dad is in it. Whether Bam-Bam knows about that is another question, as he seemed genuinely blank on it and Wyatt has known him long enough to be sure that he’s not that good a liar. But this means that there’s an operative in Rick Baumgardner’s swanky, high-powered law firm, and the operative’s son in Delta Force, which fits with the emerging pattern that Wyatt is discovering. Tons of important and well-connected people, embedded in just about every relevant government and military department – not necessarily pulling strings, but those strings aren’t far away if they feel like venturing a tug. Wyatt thought Flynn was crazy (frankly, the jury’s still out) but he’s not making this up. This is serious.

Wyatt’s valiant detective work, however, is currently of secondary importance. Still bleary-eyed, he swipes at his phone, then stares as a photo pops up in a text message. It’s him, out to dinner on Saturday night with Emma Whitmore, at the exact moment he was leaning in to hear her better. Unfortunately, from the angle of whatever vigilante mystery diner snapped the photo, it looks an awful lot like he’s leaning in for a kiss. He can almost, therefore, understand the string of angry texts from his wife. She sent the first one six hours ago. Uh-oh.

Sleepiness evaporated, Wyatt sits bolt upright and hits Call. He sags back against the hotel pillows as it rings, running a hand over his sandy stubble and cursing. He probably should have seen this coming, but – how did someone just happen to get hold of that picture and Jessica’s number, was there some old school friend who recognized him and decided to get the lowdown on the garden-variety dirtbag husband – but that’s not Wyatt, that’s not what happened, that’s not –

“Hello?”

Wyatt winces. It’s Jessica, and she definitely saw the caller ID. “Hey. Uh. You have a minute?”

“Do I have a minute? I’m the one who’s been texting you for six hours! By definition, I have had three hundred and sixty minutes! How about you, Wyatt? You have a minute to tell me what’s going on? Now that’s a question.”

“Jess, just – it’s not what it looks like, it was a business dinner. You don’t have to get so – ”

“Wow, so it’s the not what it looks like and women, so emotional! cards right out of the gate?” Jessica sounds even angrier. “Want to just go for the nothing happened, I swear and make it a trifecta?”

“Nothing did happen, it’s not – Jess, just let me explain, it – ”

“You stand there glaring and harrumphing whenever I talk to any guy – including my boss, that one time – and all of a sudden, I’m the irrational one when, after weeks of you vanishing and ducking out the back door, I get a mysterious text with a picture of you practically jumping down some glam redhead’s throat? If there – if there was someone you met overseas, and now you’re trying to keep it up now that you’re home, Wyatt, just – ”

“Jess! Jessica! I’m not cheating on you, Jesus!” Despite the fact that this is the truth, Wyatt is aware of a small voice in the back of his head, which is yelling, YOU BLOWING IT, SON. Getting angry is not his prerogative in this situation; it does look bad. “I told you, it’s for the investigation, her name’s Emma. It was just to – ”

“Yes,” Jessica says. “The investigation? The one you assured me you were still on? So I’m guessing you have another dazzling explanation for why Pendleton called the house yesterday and wanted to know where you were, since you got reassigned three weeks ago?”

Son of a bitch. Wyatt should likewise have seen that coming, but he figured they’d call him on his cell first. He has done the usual check-ins, but he hasn’t told them what he’s doing, and he may have missed the last several days, since he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to go straight from investigating a shady cult to waving beacons at the government. “Look, I – fine, some parts of it are. . . it’s complicated, but I swear, I swear, nothing happened. It was not a date. She was asking me about another guy, she wanted his number. She’s trying to get out of a bad situation, I wanted to help. That is the whole story.”

Once again, he can hear Jessica breathing but not answering, taking her time about it. Finally she says, “I’m not even sure I care at this point, honestly. We have barely had a real marriage in – who knows how long. Since at least the last deployment. I don’t want to be that nagging wife insisting you stay at home, but God, Wyatt. I’ve given you the world’s longest leash, a favor you have not returned, and you just keep lying, you keep dodging out, you – ” Her voice breaks, and she stops. He can hear her gulping, hand over her face.

Wyatt sits there feeling about two inches tall. He can’t even physically comfort her, if that was a thing she wanted right now, and he’s known all along that he was fucking this up, but kept justifying it in the name of the bigger picture. Which is not entirely inaccurate; Rittenhouse does seem to be a genuine threat. But the demands of the job, however valid, don’t always cover your ass when you’ve comprehensively fornicated the canine in the way he has, whether or not he meant to. He needs to get over himself, get off this case, and take a goddamn breath, before he hurts Jess any more. Platitudes and floral arrangements aren’t going to cut it. He needs to get home, or the next thing on the docket for them is divorce papers, and frankly, he’d probably deserve it.

“Listen,” Wyatt says at last. “I’m going to swing by Mason Industries and find Emma and see if I can get an explanation for this. Then I’m coming home right away. It’s a drive, I can’t get there immediately, but I should be back by tonight. You hear me? I promise.”

“Yeah.” Jessica sounds unutterably weary. “You’ve promised a lot, Wyatt. I suppose we’ll see if that extends to you turning up. I’ll leave dinner on. Surprise me.”

And with that, she hangs up.

Wyatt stares at the phone in his hand for a long moment, hoping he’ll feel better. He doesn’t. At last, he tosses it onto the nightstand and gets out of bed, heads to the bathroom, and bumbles through a half-assed shower. Wants to shave so he doesn’t look like a total mug, but doesn’t know if it’s the greatest idea to have something sharp near his throat, even (or especially) a Gillette three-blade Super Turbo Macho thing that Jessica bought him last Christmas. Mostly as a gag gift, but Wyatt likes it, all right. He finally manages a cursory scrape, only nicks himself twice, and dabs it off with toilet paper. Feels like the kid who ran away from home before he was old enough to properly shave, doing it for the first time in a dank truck stop bathroom that reeked of piss – but he’s fine. He’s not gonna spiral. He’s fine.

Wyatt pulls on his least wrinkled clothes and heads out. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to Emma when he finds her – she has no more control over the fact that someone snapped an apparently compromising photo than he does – but obviously, he is not thick enough to think it’s coincidence. Rittenhouse might still have someone on her, watching her closely, keeping an eye out for any attempts at desertion or making contact with an outside source. Was that a warning, the proverbial horse head in the bed, and the next time, Emma goes sleeping with the fishes? If nothing else, Wyatt needs to warn her.

He pulls into the parking lot at Mason Industries and talks himself inside with only a little extra effort. Asking for Emma Whitmore, however, he is told that she is not there. She didn’t come into work on Monday, and hasn’t been in for the rest of the week. There was some sort of notice. Personal time, or family emergency. Very sorry, that’s all we know.

Wyatt barely restrains himself from hitting the counter in frustration. It is mildly comforting to hear that Emma took the initiative in disappearing (at least that’s what it sounds like) rather than waiting around to be nabbed, but it still leaves him with no clue about where that is or why, or how that picture came to exist. Or is it all just some giant –

Right then, before Wyatt can entirely finish the thought or remember what it was going to be, the glass hall doors swish open, and Rufus The Tech Nerd makes his reappearance. He’s juggling a stack of papers that look to be covered in complicated mathematical gibberish (Wyatt failed ninth-grade algebra, don’t look at him) and muttering to himself, but he screeches to a halt when he sees Wyatt. “Wait. You again?”

“Yeah. Me.” Might as well own it, Wyatt thinks grimly. “We still haven’t actually properly met. My name’s Wyatt Logan.”

“Rufus Carlin.” Rufus shifts his armload of papers enough to free up a hand for a shake, which he offers politely, but still guardedly. Given what’s been going on around this place recently, Wyatt doesn’t blame him. “You here to interrogate Connor again?”

“No, actually, I’m not. That coworker of yours I met the other day, the two of you were running some kind of tests. Emma, Emma Whitmore. I need to talk to her.”

Rufus blinks. “Emma? She – ”

“Hasn’t been in? Yeah, I heard.”

“So you always just turn up at high-tech labs planning to go through the whole workforce for answers, is that it?” Rufus doesn’t look impressed. “Emma and I work together, but we’re not buddy-buddy, I can’t tell you where she is. I did hear someone talking about it, they just said that she was gone and it was important. So?”

Wyatt supposes that technically, this is understandable. He did give Emma Flynn’s phone number and tell her to talk to him, and if she’s jetted off in hopes of doing that, she might not know about the picture situation anyway. He could actually call Flynn, but can’t quite summon up the desire to do that. Instead he says, “Okay, all right. But you don’t have just a few seconds, do you? To talk?”

“Do you have a warrant?” Rufus shoots back. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Belatedly, Wyatt realizes that a white lawman coming in here and throwing his weight around, even more or less politely, to a black scientist isn’t a good look, as if he thinks that Rufus – despite his clearly staggering intellect and well-paid tech job – is just another “hoodie kid” he can lord it over with impunity. “Hey,” he says, more humbly. “There’s just some weird shit going down recently, I’ve kind of gotten mixed up in it, and once I get some things straight, I will disappear and never darken your doorstep again. Okay?”

Rufus eyes him as if to say that he holds probably multiple PhDs, Wyatt does not need to dumb it down for him, but finally shrugs, indicating the papers. “I was just on my way out to bring these over to the guy who’s taking them to the JPL. So this isn’t a – ”

“Where are you headed?” Wyatt asks. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“And I really think it’s a great idea to get into a car with you?”

“Fair. But I – ” Wyatt struggles to think of one genuinely decent reason that Rufus, in fact, should. “It’ll save you gas money?”

Rufus almost looks amused, despite himself. Then finally, he shrugs. “The office is in San Jose,” he says. “Just a second, let me tell someone where I’m going and who I’m going with, in case I don’t come back.”

Wyatt raises an eyebrow, but wisely holds his tongue as Rufus goes off, then returns a few minutes later, tucking something into his pocket. “Fine. Let’s go. If you’re going to kill me, at least don’t play Motley Crue. Or Kid Rock. I’m not dying listening to that.”

“I’m not going to kill you, honestly.” Wyatt leads the way out to the parking lot and hits the clicker to unlock his truck, momentarily hoping that nobody has planted a pipe bomb under it while he was inside. It wasn’t that long, but it feels like that kind of day. Hoping to make friendly small talk, he adds, “These are going to the JPL?”

“Jet Propulsion Laboratory,” Rufus says. “In Pasadena. They do a lot of work for NASA. Us too.” He shrugs. “The Star Wars nerd in me still has a tiny inner meltdown coming to work every day, and I’ve had this job since I graduated from MIT.”

“Nice.” Wyatt glances at him; Rufus can’t be much older than he is. Maybe even a year younger. “I’m guessing you finished high school when you were what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen.” Rufus can’t quite keep the tinge of pride out of his voice. “Then computational science and engineering, and physics, all the way through. I’ve worked here for two years, but I’ve known Connor since I was in middle school. I owe him a lot.”

That’s clearly a veiled warning that he’s not going to be induced to turn on his boss, if Wyatt was thinking of squeezing him for more information. Wyatt’s not, though he is feeling decidedly intellectually outclassed. Technically, he’s not a high school dropout – he did his GED when he was twenty-one, and took a few classes at community college between postings. Plus he’s trained as an Army language specialist; he speaks four (Spanish, German, Urdu, and he can just about scrape by in Arabic). That, however, is definitely not on the same level, but he starts the truck and pulls out without anything exploding. Following Rufus’s instructions, he heads for 101 and merges onto the highway.

They’ve been driving for about ten minutes when Wyatt becomes increasingly aware that the black car two or three lengths behind them has taken every turn they have. That is not terribly suspicious – this is a major thoroughfare, and it’s Silicon Valley, black cars are everywhere – but Wyatt, for obvious reasons, is sensitive to the possibility of being followed. Just to be sure, he makes a few quick lane changes, cutting deftly in and out of the heavy flow of midmorning traffic. A pause, then the black car makes them too.

Wyatt’s pulse starts to pick up. This is obviously no place for a car chase, in the middle of a throng of civilian commuters, but he also doesn’t want to keep tooling on as if he hasn’t noticed anything. He keeps an eye on the freeway exits, speeds up, and throws them into a small break in traffic, abrupt enough to catch them both against their seatbelts. Been a while since he had to really bust out some moves. That is definitely a bad thing, not a good one.

“Dude!” Rufus yelps, as they take the exit ramp a great deal faster than recommended. “What the hell are you doing? It’s not for another three exits, and all of a sudden, I’m riding shotgun with Vin Diesel? I knew this was a bad idea!”

“Sorry,” Wyatt says tensely. “There’s some guys tailing us.”

Rufus twists around in his seat as if to look, but the black car has, for the moment, vanished. Or maybe it hasn’t; Wyatt didn’t get a good look at the license plate, after all, and there are several black cars presently behind them. He switches sharply out of a stalled queue at the off-ramp traffic light, gets honked at, and accelerates into the right lane. Fuck. He’s pretty sure that one there, coming down the pike, is their pursuers, and nips through a very dark yellow turn arrow, but not entirely fast enough to avoid notice. The mystery car is solidly in his rearview mirror, and a nice suburban avenue, with traffic lights at every intersection, is an even worse place for high-speed vehicular escapades. Shit. Maybe he bailed on the highway too soon.

Nonetheless, Wyatt Logan is a man of action, and this is the action in front of him. As Rufus grabs onto his seat with both hands and squeaks something that sounds like, “What the fuck,” they peel down Scott Boulevard, adroitly dodge a car coming out of a hidden drive, and push it as close as they can with the lights without outright running them. Wyatt can’t help the surge of adrenaline that pulses through him, almost tempted to whoop, though he’s very sure Rufus would not appreciate it. And if some yuppie in a Prius calls the cops to report some tool in a truck driving like, well, a tool, he will shortly not be in a whooping mood.

It takes a few more minutes of pretty fancy driving (if Wyatt says so himself) but they finally take several turns without the car reappearing. He’s pretty sure he can get into San Jose from here, even if Rufus is loosening his grip one finger at a time. Again he says, “The hell?”

“Sorry. I – used to drive a lot.”

“That’s not even what I meant. We just drag-raced through Santa Clara, and you’re – ”

“Look,” Wyatt says, finally daring to take his attention off the road for more than two seconds. “I told you there was some shit going down, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize that was the car-chase kind of shit!” Rufus glances edgily over his shoulder again. “How about you drop me off in San Jose, and I’ll just. . . call someone at the lab for a ride back to work, huh?”

Wyatt has to admit that he would probably want to do the same thing in Rufus’ position. There is not much talk for the next few minutes as he finds his way to the generic office complex where Rufus is dropping off the papers, turns in, and parks. As they pop their seatbelts with some relief, Wyatt says, “Hey, I’ll walk you in, all right? Just in case.”

Rufus opens his mouth, considers, apparently decides it can’t hurt, and nods, if grudgingly. They get out, enter the complex, and head upstairs, where Rufus finds where he’s supposed to go, dispatches the papers, and chats briefly with his JPL contact before they leave. It’s all very science-y and incomprehensible to Wyatt, but he can tell that Rufus lights up around it the way Wyatt himself does around cars, and has a moment of wishing they could be friends, despite the awkwardness of the situation. He doesn’t have any who aren’t also old squad mates, and it’s been a long time since he’s seen most of them. Don’t really keep in touch when they aren’t on deployment. You trust the guy in the foxhole next to you, but you don’t always kick back and order pizza and do the dude equivalent of braiding each other’s hair, either. And in a branch of the service like Delta Force, your buddies are a lot more ephemeral than jarheads who’ve been in the same platoon since the Flood. They get reassigned, they take different postings, they die. A lot of the time, you never even know.

Wyatt shakes his head, reminds himself that he still needs to get this over with and go home to his well-deserved chewing out from Jess. He offers to walk Rufus back and wait with him until his ride arrives, though he’s not sure if this is counterproductive in terms of getting Rufus away from him. Or if it’s just a question of –

They emerge into the parking lot, and stop short.

The black car that Wyatt was congratulating himself on escaping is parked next to his truck, and several men in suits are leaning against it. Two of them are clearly security, built like linebackers, and the third looks like the genial silver-haired man in prostate medication ads. (Wyatt just feels that’s how anyone would describe him.) He glances at them, still frozen in their tracks, and smiles. “That was some very impressive driving earlier, Mr. Logan.”

If there is a creepier way in all of existence to open a conversation, Wyatt doesn’t want to hear it. He has automatically reached into his jacket for his gun, but if he pulls it out, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are going to do the same, and that can’t go well. “I’m sorry, and you are. . .?”

“Cahill,” Prostate Medication Man says. “My name’s Cahill. Hello, Rufus.”

Rufus opens and shuts his mouth, throwing Wyatt a deeply betrayed look. Wyatt mouths I’m not with them, which he hoped was obvious from the Fast-and-Furiousing it, but he can’t blame Rufus for a little confusion. He has a very bad feeling that he knows exactly where they are from, but he takes half a sideways step toward Rufus, preparing to shield him if necessary. It’s only the fair thing. Rufus would not be in this situation (or would he?) if not of Wyatt, and he’s not going to let Rufus’s pessimistic (but possibly accurate) predictions of getting murdered come to pass. This is ridiculous.

That, however, does not have any bearing on whether or not it’s happening, and Rufus looks shaken and afraid. “Mr. – Mr. Cahill, sir. I work at Mason Industries, you can phone Connor Mason right now and he’ll send someone to prove it, I’ll give you his – ”

Cahill waves a hand. “Of course you work at Mason Industries. That’s why I’m here. You see, Rufus, I just need to make sure. Did you hand off those equations exactly as you received them, no alterations, no deletions? You – ” he glances at Wyatt – “you didn’t attempt to change or interfere with them in any way?”

“What the hell? No, I gave Rufus a ride over, I didn’t – ”

“You went to some effort to shake us, though.”

“I’m a soldier. I have that reaction when someone starts tailing me.”

“You’re an employee of the federal government, Mr. Logan. So are we.” Cahill spreads his hands in what is clearly supposed to be a why-don’t-you-trust-me-man kind of way. “Unless you’ve also decided, like certain others, that your obligations are flexible?”

That definitely sounds like a trap, and Wyatt is quiet as he tries to think how to answer. Rufus clearly doesn’t dare to sass these clowns – being a little fresh with Wyatt in the safety of Mason Industries is one thing, but every black man knows what happens if you so much as look at an armed white man wrong, and even Wyatt feels half-intimidated, which doesn’t (or isn’t supposed to) happen. He obviously doesn’t want to bring up Emma in front of them, but it seems more than clear that they (and their friends) are the ones she wants to get away from. There’s a very awkward silence as they eye each other. Then Cahill says, “If that’s all the case, clearly you won’t mind me running up and checking that the calculations were submitted correctly. Rufus, we’ll give you a ride back to Mason Industries, so just – ”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Rufus says. “But I’d actually prefer to ride with Ranger Rick.”

Cahill smiles patronizingly. “Good to know you’re getting along – but I’d be careful of how much you do going forward. You’re a smart young man with a bright future, Rufus. Don’t mess that up. Oh, and Mr. Logan. While I go up, I think my associates want to have a quick word. It shouldn’t take too long. Gentlemen?”

As Wyatt instantly prepares for being jumped, hesitates a split second too long in deciding whether to go for his gun – it’s a suburban office park, there are civilians everywhere, he can’t just let loose – the meatheads step forward, take firm hold of either arm, and escort him into the car, where he is immured on the patent leather seat. After that, with barely the preliminary of offering him a drink (which Wyatt is not a total moron and thus does not take) they do in fact proceed to have a chat. It’s a terrifying chat, but still. The gist of it is that they’re sure he’s a nice boy and nobody wants to make this difficult. He is going to go back to San Diego, make no report of this to anyone in Pendleton, and take up whatever ordinary new assignment they have for him. He is not to attempt to make contact with anyone whose recent actions might cause any question of his sincerity on this matter, or continue to insert himself into Mason Industries’ proprietary intellectual-property ventures. He can sign an affidavit right now swearing to all the above, or. . . well, it’s really preferable that he signs.

Wyatt listens with disbelief, then incredulity, then anger – and then, despite himself, some fear. NDAs and classified protocols and stuff you can’t talk about for years, or ever, is obviously par for the course in this job; he generally expects that most, if not all, of his missions will remain officially off the books for the entire duration of his service and well after his retirement. But he knows how that works, and it entails letting him in on the secret first. This clearly is not what the brute squad came here to do. If he disobeys, he’s going somewhere the law can’t help him. Or worse.

“Look,” Wyatt says. “This is a little much, don’t you think? We’re all coworkers here, in a way. Like your boss says, all on the same side. You don’t have to – ”

“You married, Mr. Logan?”

“What?” Wyatt stares at Thing 1. “Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes.” He thinks of Jess, waiting for him to get home and not really believing he will. “Not that I see what that has to do with – ”

“Any kids?”

“No,” Wyatt says, slower. “Maybe, you know. One day.”

“If that’s the case, Mr. Logan, you want to sign.” Thing 2 slides a sheet of paper toward him. “Better for you and whatever family you’re thinking of having. Trust us here.”

Wyatt doesn’t see a way out of this car – at least any good one – if he doesn’t. He accepts the offered pen and scribbles illegibly where indicated; he’s heard of cases where people got out of ill-advised signing decisions because the prosecutor couldn’t prove it was their name on the damn thing. This done, the goons seem satisfied, at least for now, and tell him to head on home. They’ll handle Rufus. Everything will be fine.

“You just – ” Wyatt can’t punch them, much as he would like to, but he pins them with a searing look. “You just take him back to work and leave him alone, all right? He’s just a geek doing his job, he – don’t mess him up in this.”

The goons exchange an amused look, as if they’ll agree that they know something he doesn’t. Then Thing 1 says, “As long as Rufus keeps on living his life as normal, he has nothing to worry about. You have a good drive home, Mr. Logan.”

Wyatt is almost sure that that means they’ll be keeping tabs on him somehow to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere else en route, and likewise quite sure that he knew who took the picture of him and Emma. Probably sent it to Jessica as an opening shot across the bow. He waits until they open the door (the car does not have regular inside handles) and stumbles back out, just in time to see Cahill emerging from the office complex and looking pleased; evidently he has satisfied himself that there was no funny business with the equations submitted to the JPL. Rufus has shrunk back against Wyatt’s truck, and shoots him a desperate look, as if to acknowledge that he was not his biggest fan this morning, but now would really appreciate it if Wyatt would not leave him alone with these lunatics. Frankly, Wyatt does not want to, but it’s also clear that he is not going to be given a choice. He mouths sorry at Rufus several times, opens the driver side door, and gets in.

It takes him a moment to put the truck in gear. His hands feel cold and uncooperative, there is slime down his spine and an unpleasant lump in his gut. He doesn’t want to be meekly rolling out of here, tail between his legs, and yet somehow, he is. If this is Rittenhouse, and it seems beyond any doubt that it is, they have not, not in the least degree, come to play.

It is a very long drive home.

Lucy wakes up slowly, surfacing from a repeated roundabout of uneasy dreams, in that split-second state of total disorientation that she has had far too often recently. The light is an indeterminate grey, reflecting through her closed eyelids, and she can feel the stall before her brain belatedly re-engages and the events of the past twenty-four hours return in nauseating detail. She lies very still, as if hoping that they will get bored and go away, but of course, it’s too late. She’s here, they already happened, and Flynn –

At that, Lucy opens her eyes with a start. Despite the turbulence of her mental situation, her physical one is – for the moment – actually rather comfortable. She’s tucked into Flynn’s side like a shrimp, head half on his shoulder and half on the pillow, her arm draped over his stomach and moving with the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Their legs are entangled beneath the quilts, her knee between his thighs, and for once, if only since he’s fast asleep, he has abandoned his efforts to put as much space between them as possible. His left arm is wrapped around her shoulders, cradling her into him, and his right is resting atop the covers, as if he made sure to leave it free if sudden gun-grabbing should be called for. He clearly is not discounting the possibility, but – at least for now – the early morning is still and quiet.

Lucy lets out a long breath, fingers sketching lightly across Flynn’s broad chest. She doesn’t want to wake him, especially since he could probably use the rest even more than her, but she also can’t quite bring herself not to touch him, as if there is space and time and distance that needs to be made up, and she’s not sure how much longer she has to do so. She drifts the tips of her fingers over his solar plexus, careful about his wounded shoulder. The bruising looks uglier this morning, from where Millerson and Vincent hit him. Are they going to walk down for breakfast and find Emma lurking behind the bagels? How are they getting out of here?

Those are pressing questions, and now that she’s awake, Lucy can’t fend them off, but she still wants to try to hold onto this moment, in whatever small part of it she can get. She glances down at Flynn again. Even in sleep, he does not look relaxed, a grim line drawing his dark brows together as if his dreams are not pleasant either. She is taken by an odd urge to kiss it, to smooth it away. He’d likely wake up and do something else to prevent it, but still.

Lucy cautiously edges closer, moving her knee to the other side of his hip and swinging half atop him. She isn’t going to do anything too forward – he, after all, is unaware, she isn’t going to be creepy about this or ignore the fact that he can’t presently say yes or no – but she still wants to be closer, to press and shape them together, to take comfort, however fleeting, in his sheer solidness. After the fact that her entire world has turned to quicksand and shattered glass, there’s something deeply appealing about it. Yes, Flynn himself was responsible for a good part of that destabilization, but he’s also been trying just as hard to hold it together for her, in his take-no-prisoners, give-no-fucks kind of way. And it’s Rittenhouse that’s really done most of it. Flynn, for all his faults (and they are many), has been trying to protect her. Lucy is certain beyond any remaining doubt that as long as it is remotely in his power, he will keep her safe, and that is no small thing.

She hesitates, then traces her fingers over the grooves on either side of his mouth. He shifts and sighs, but doesn’t quite wake up, and she pulls her hand back. She settles back down next to him, unable to avoid the thought that it feels nice, lying here together. This is clearly not the time to investigate whether it could become a recurring arrangement, especially since she still has very little faith in his ability not to torch himself all over again. Who knows.

Lucy lies there until she has to regretfully disentangle herself from his arm and get up to pee. When she returns from the bathroom, Flynn is awake, sitting half up and looking around as if the one thing to summon him back to the land of the living was the sensation of her going missing from his side. When he sees her, he blows out a breath and tries to disguise it. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Lucy coughs. “Not Rittenhouse.”

Flynn answers with a grunt, sitting the rest of the way up and running a hand through his hair. He glances at the clock, then gets up right away to recon the parking lot, which is unchanged except for the crappy old RV. His face darkens. “I should take a look at that.”

“If Rittenhouse was here, don’t you think they’d have tried to case the rooms already?” Lucy isn’t sure, but she doesn’t want him going down alone. “Or at least – ”

“Who knows?” Flynn points out. “Less chance of a scene if they can just pull out and grab us once we leave, rather than breaking down everyone’s doors. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

With that, he clicks a fresh magazine into his gun, puts on his shoes, and goes out of the motel room, as Lucy watches very tensely. The last thing Flynn needs is more perforations in vulnerable regions, and she sees him emerge, stroll over to the RV, and rap briskly on the window. It takes a few moments to be answered, but finally, it turns out that the occupants of the RV are not elite undercover secret agents, but a dreadlocked young hippie couple who, to judge from the way Flynn’s nose wrinkles, absolutely reek of pot. Flynn proceeds to have a little chat with them. The male hippie seems to be apologizing profusely. They go back into the RV and emerge with a pair of hiking backpacks and a dog, give something to Flynn, and hoof it down the drive, out of sight beyond the trees. Flynn watches them with a malevolent expression, waits several minutes, then finally turns around and comes back up to the room, where he tosses an also vaguely-cannabis-scented keyring at Lucy. “It looks like it’s the piece of shit for us after all.”

“What did you – I thought you said it wasn’t worth stealing?”

“It isn’t,” Flynn says disparagingly. “Not in the least. But beggars can’t be choosers, and at least I could easily convince them not to file a police report or talk to anyone about it. If I had to go to the effort of actually stealing a car from someone who didn’t want to give it up, well…” He pauses, then shrugs. “Things could get unpleasant.”

Lucy decides she probably really does not want to know if he’s talking about carjacking and murder, which it sounds like he is. “So what, just told them to give you the RV and you wouldn’t tell anyone about the pot and illegal camping?”

“Something like that.” Flynn does not seem terribly concerned that they have now inherited the mobile weed situation. Maybe they can get some Febreze. “We’ll take it as far as it will go, then figure out something else. Get dressed, Lucy, we should go.”

This is true, even if Lucy can’t help but wonder resignedly what happened to the soft, gentle, worried caretaker of last night. Probably woke up and was aghast at himself for slipping. Or knows this is going to end with them separated again, and thinks he’ll make it easier if she wants to see the back of him. Push her away pre-emptively, so she doesn’t miss him when he’s gone. It’s the sort of garbage logic that probably appeals to him.

They don’t want to stay longer than necessary, so they eat the last few stale bread rolls and figure they’ll find something more substantial later. Then they head down and climb into their fancy new ride, which has a broken gas gauge and bits of yellowed stuffing exploding through the cracked faux-leather seats. The kitchen is clearly from the seventies, the bed is the size of a cupboard, Flynn cannot stand up even close to straight, and there’s dog hair on everything, as well as the lingering atmospheric aura of eau de ganja. Lucy opens the windows, trying to air it out and not breathe too deeply, as Flynn jiggles the gauge and tries to get it to tell how much he has before he has to find a service station. He finally guesses there’s a little under a quarter of a tank, and this beast probably does not get great mileage. Clearly thinking that it would have been worth it to kill a businessman and steal his Mercedes (though this is not the kind of place that attracts businessmen with Mercedes) he growls under his breath, puts it into gear, and swings out.

They rattle down the road, passing the hippies standing with their thumbs out in hopes of hitchhiking. Lucy wonders suddenly if Rittenhouse will come by and pick them up, if they will tell them who jacked their RV – has Flynn thought of that? She would be a fool to doubt it, but… it’s a horrible thing to consider, but should they have left them alive? Maybe someone would realize they were missing, but if they were just out here wandering, not for a while.

Lucy pushes it aside and returns to the passenger seat, and they drive until they hit the junction for I-87 and the main route up to the Catskills. There is a Wal-Mart mega center here, as Lucy thinks wryly that yet again, Wal-Mart to the rescue. Flynn pulls into the gas station to fill up the tank, but then drives over to the main store parking lot and beckons Lucy out. “I think we need to get you a gun.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again, then shuts it once more. Of course, you can in fact just walk into Wal-Mart and buy a gun from the sporting goods counter, especially in upstate New York – which, while it might not be libertarian-paradise-rural-survivalist Maine, still has plenty of that mentality in places, especially not far from the military academy. She doesn’t want it and she wants to think she won’t need it, but she also can’t say it’s wrong. “I – ” she says. “I don’t – are you sure that’s really – ”

“I’ll teach you how to use it,” Flynn says. “And I obviously would prefer that you didn’t have to. But I think it’s time you did.”

Lucy does not have a substantial denial for this, and they walk inside. Go to the gun counter, Flynn says his wife wants to look at something compact and sporty (Lucy notices how comfortable both of them have gotten with that lie, just comes naturally to their tongues now) and the salesman pulls out a few options. Lucy picks them up carefully; they all feel alien and heavy and wrong in her hand. She lies – too easily – about having something mainly for target shooting (well, this isn’t wrong, she will possibly be shooting at targets, just not the one the salesman thinks). Then the salesman asks if she has her pistol permit, if she’s an in-state resident, and since the answers to both these questions are no, they have to politely thank him for his time and bow out. Gun laws actually working for once. Mirabile visu.

Still, Flynn does not intend to be thwarted, and since upstate New York generally has a lot more slide in its handgun licensing requirements than NYC, he figures there has to be another private gun store around here, because a) hunting country and b) America. There is, and it isn’t totally straightforward, but he manages to convince the owner that the license is in the pipeline and that (with a quick flash of his NSA ID) it would really be a good idea for him to sell. This is a risky strategy, because the guy is as likely to hate the government as to obey, but he decides he does not want the hassle. He supports women being armed too. He’s a feminist.

Lucy manages not to visibly roll her eyes at this, but they finally pick out a smallish handgun that she can hold comfortably. They buy a few clips for it, Flynn gives her a lecture on the various types of ammunition, the bore differences, don’t put the wrong size bullet in, etc. etc. He goes over the basic firearm rules – always assume it’s loaded, don’t ever point it at a person (or animal) unless prepared to shoot, keep it secured when you don’t have direct control of it, don’t loan it out, so on. Lucy feels as if this should be common sense, but she knows it’s not, and she does her best to listen attentively as she hands over her driver’s license, passes a five-minute background check, signs some paperwork, and is now the proud owner of her very own gun. American as apple pie.

She keeps looking at it as they get back into the RV. Opens the owner’s manual and carefully scrutinizes all the parts and pieces, still can’t imagine how she’d be comfortable toting this around as an everyday accessory (they had “For Him” camouflage gun cases, and “For Her” pink ones, because Heteronormative Gender Roles!) Finally, before she can stop herself, she says, “Where did you learn – where did you learn all this?”

Flynn glances briefly sidelong at her, with a grim smile. “How to shoot?”

“That, and just…” Lucy waves a hand. “All of it.”

Flynn takes his time about answering, until she briefly thinks he won’t. Then he says, “I enlisted in the Croatian army when I was fifteen. 1990. The Soviet Union was breaking up, there was the war for independence. After that, I just… kept doing it. There were stints in Chechnya, in Bosnia, in Kosovo. I was in Afghanistan after the ’01 invasion. Briefly in America, then Somalia in 2006. That was my last war. I joined the NSA after that. So.” He pauses, then shrugs, as if this is just like anyone’s CV. “I’ve had experience.”

Yes, Lucy thinks, he has. Got started as a fifteen-year-old boy, probably lying about his age because he looked older, to go shoot some Reds. If he’s been around the Balkans, he’s probably been constantly fighting in regional guerrilla wars, against the Russians, against the Serbs, in whatever populist uprising is at hand against the oppressive status quo. Maybe what he’s doing against Rittenhouse is not terribly different. She wants to ask what he was doing in San Francisco in March 2003, when he saved her life, but doesn’t expect she’d get an answer.

They drive steadily. Lucy sees a road marker for I-80 west, and then a “Welcome to Pennsylvania” sign not much later – apparently, they’re back. She can’t think that they’re going back to Penn, unless Flynn thinks those Nicholas Keynes files are really that vital – but the whole place must be on high lookout. “Where are we going?”

“The one and only Gambier, Ohio.” Flynn downshifts with a worrisome grinding sound. “You have a job to interview for, don’t you?”

Kenyon. God. Lucy legitimately almost forgot. She could hardly feel less prepared to waltz in there and present herself as a competent, trustworthy, well-put together adult, when she’s arriving in an ancient, pot-smelling RV with her not-really-boyfriend, an ex-NSA asset on the run from the evil organization that has tried to kidnap and/or kill both of them at least once. Is it really fair to Kenyon to turn up and act like she’s in a real position to take the job? Maybe she is, but she has no way of knowing for sure. Rittenhouse could just come barging around this campus, instead of Stanford’s.

They have just stopped for gas and some proper food in Altoona, Pennsylvania, and Flynn has been trying to figure out if that banging noise is going to get any worse, when they see blue lights in the mirror, a siren wails, and a Pennsylvania state trooper ushers them over onto the gravel shoulder. Flynn swears. “Hide the gun.”

Lucy thinks this should be obvious, even her own heart has picked up to a dangerous level. A traffic stop with at least two weapons in the car, a strong reek of marijuana, no registration or insurance (she digs in the glove box and comes up with an emissions report, failed, from 2004) and not a single clue who used to own the damn thing before them (did the hippies just reclaim it from the junkyard?) Flynn pulls out his Alexander Kovac passport and is clearly preparing to lean on the dumb foreign tourist card with all his might. They sit as tensely as statues while the trooper runs the plates. Finally, they hear crunching footsteps, he approaches the car, and Flynn obligingly rolls down the window. In a very thick German accent, he says, “Hallo?”

“Afternoon, sir, ma’am.” The trooper is your standard-issue, early-thirties beefy white guy with a blond buzzcut and a ranger hat. “Do you know why I’ve stopped you today?”

“It is because the… because the…” Flynn waves a hand as if he can’t think of the right English word and is hoping the trooper will supply it for him. “The… rule?”

“Your tags expired last October, and your tailpipe is smoking. Where are you folks from?”

“We’re visiting,” Lucy says, in the best French accent she can pull off at short notice. Altoona Allan here is not likely to be able to tell the difference. “From Europe. We have borrowed the campervan from our friends. There is a problem?”

The trooper sniffs the air. “You two been enjoying your visit to America, then?”

“Vas is dat mean?” Flynn blinks as innocently as a lamb. “I have here mein passport.” He hands it over. “Alexander Kovac.”

The trooper flips through it. “You have a U.S. or German driver’s license, Mr. Kovac?”

Flynn hesitates. He, after all, has several, but they all have different names on them. “I haff German license.”

“You have that license on you, Mr. Kovac?”

“Yes, yes, I do.” Flynn digs through his wallet for several minutes, looking first confused and then increasingly flustered. “Honey, where is my license? I had at airport, yes? When we rented car? I showed them then?”

“Where did you folks arrive in the country?”

“We flew into Philadelphia,” Lucy says, which is not a lie. She opens her own wallet and pulls out her luggage tags from the Philadelphia airport. “Yes?”

“Thank you, ma’am. You find that license, sir?”

“I – I haff it, I haff it just the other day.”

“All right, well. Just in case, sir, please step out of the vehicle.”

“Why is dat?” Flynn says, looking agitated. “This is – I have not done an error!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Kovac. Do you have anything you would like to declare?”

“Declare?”

“Is there anything in the vehicle that I need to know about right now?”

“There is – there is just my wife. We are going to see, you know.” Flynn waves a hand. “Beautiful Pennsylvania.”

“I see. Please step out of the vehicle, slowly. Mrs. Kovac, stay where you are, please.”

Flynn considers. Lucy can see a muscle working in his jaw. Then he gets out of the RV and straightens up, whereupon it becomes apparent that he has several inches and a good fifteen pounds on the trooper. Not that she’s calculating the odds of him beating up a policeman, since that is the one thing definitely guaranteed to bring the wrath of Khan on their heads, but – well, she may be calculating the odds of him beating up a policeman. They eye each other up and down. Hopefully Flynn does not smell too noticeably of pot outside the confines of the driver’s seat. He’s clearly dearly wishing that he did in fact go for the Mercedes.

The officer insists on administering a pat-down, checks the passport again, and finally decides that they are clearly very clueless and should probably learn how things are done in the good ol’ U.S of A. But he gives them a ticket and tells them to get the tags updated, and that they should maybe check with their friends about the lifestyle choices they appear to be making. He has decided to let it go this time and not ruin their holiday, for which he clearly expects to be thanked. Flynn does so. Then he gets back into his cruiser, pulls off the shoulder, and drives away.

Flynn stands there until it’s certain that he’s gone, then marches back to the driver’s seat, jerks the door open, and gets in, fuming. He plainly knows just as well as Lucy that they have had a very, very lucky escape, but it also raises the possibility of a repeat incident that may not have the same result. “I knew this piece of shit was more trouble than it was worth!”

“Hey.” Lucy reaches over to grab his hand. She has to hold on for a moment as well, to steady herself. “Let’s – let’s just keep going, all right?”

Flynn’s eyes flick from hers to their fingers. He lets out a slow sigh, then starts the engine again. He does not cease to mutter under his breath in a wide and colorful variety of vernaculars, but at least they get underway again. It’s another four and a half hours from here to Gambier, but neither of them feel like stopping. If their valiant chariot doesn’t just die on the spot. Lucy thinks briefly of Puff the Tragic Wagon, thinks of the sensation of plunging, the cold water rushing in, feeling it sink away beneath her even as Flynn hauled her to the surface. After that, aside from just doubling down on the history, she became very averse to risks, wouldn’t even go on those extreme-thrill roller coasters or anything like that. Nothing dangerous, nothing out of her control, nothing to make her think she’s still falling. Had a panic attack in public when it felt like a BART train she was riding had lost its brakes, was going to derail or worse. She doesn’t know when she’s felt more like that than now.

It’s getting dark by the time they finally plow into Gambier, which is a very small Midwestern-standard town; Kenyon is the main reason anyone comes here. They find a Comfort Inn and get a room, which has two beds this time. Lucy can’t help being somewhat disappointed. Not for any reason.

In any case, the topic doesn’t come up, because they eat dinner, sleep like the dead, and wake up the next morning in a vain attempt to look less like they feel. Lucy does her hair and makeup, Flynn shaves, and while they will be arriving in the worst vehicle in the history of vehicles, hopefully that won’t be the first thing the selection committee notices. As they step outside, Lucy notices that the RV’s expired New York plates have been changed for current Ohio ones, and raises an eyebrow at Flynn. “Just find those lying around?”

“No,” Flynn says. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

“You didn’t…?”

“If I killed someone, I promise, I would also have stolen his car.” Apparently not realizing that that is not a comforting statement, Flynn opens the passenger door for her with a slight, sarcastic bow. “Madame?”

Lucy rolls her eyes at him, but gets in. They drive to Kenyon campus and park, consult the directory, and bumble in the direction they need to go, until they find the history department. Lucy apologizes several times for turning up like this out of the blue, introduces herself, and asks if Professor So-and-so, who knows Dr. Underwood, has a spare moment this morning. Fortunately, it’s quiet, so she is taken through, shakes hands and makes more introductions. This is just an informal meet-and-greet, not a formal interview, but they want to know what sort of questions she has, what they can tell her about the position, etc. Standard stuff.

Lucy spends the morning more enjoyably than she has for a while, getting shown around the department and meeting her potential new colleagues. They are all very nice (it is the Midwest) and generously offer that her boyfriend can come too, if he wants. Flynn has been too busy keeping an eye on all windows and exits to pay much attention, but Lucy says quickly that he’s fine, though it’s true that she finds herself getting antsy when they have been out of each other’s sight for too long. But no way Rittenhouse can be here. Right?

Finally, they wrap things up, Lucy shakes everyone’s hands again, and they promise to be in contact very soon. She’s still feeling very good about herself as she and Flynn walk out; you would never know that she almost died two days ago, or whatever could have happened (she somehow doesn’t believe that Emma’s promise not to hurt her would have held out indefinitely). They were very impressed with her CV and her research background, the amount of teaching she’s already done, the various projects she has in the pipeline (she will probably complete a Lincoln monograph in a year or two, and has had three articles published). Likewise, Lucy can sense that it is possible for her to be very happy here. Gambier is a sleepy nowhere that would be a big change from Palo Alto, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. At least give it a try. It’s not tenure-track, she can leave in a few years if she hates it, but as a starter job, it could be much worse.

They get into the RV and billow back into town, where they get lunch, and Flynn decides that they are going to make the most of their terrible vacation by finding a shooting range and giving her some preliminary lessons. They stop at the motel to change into some more appropriate clothes and retrieve the guns, then drive around until they find one. Park, and head inside.

Lucy has been wondering what exactly the lessons will entail, if Flynn’s pedagogical method is just to light it up and deal with the consequences later, but he turns out to be a very precise and exacting teacher. Before they get anywhere near the actual shooting, he makes her load and unload the gun a dozen times, feel the difference between each, know how to click the magazine in and out and tell just by the weight if it’s armed or not. They’re using blanks for these first exercises, rather than live ammunition, but she has to treat it as if it is loaded and ready to kill at all times. Practice switching the safety on and off, likewise start to know if it is or not just by how it feels in her hand. Work on how to draw it without pointing it at anything you don’t want to point it at. How to grip it, what it feels like to fully pull the trigger. Practice that, a dozen more times. All right, now put it all together.

Lucy is not the world’s most physically coordinated or gifted individual, and this is not something that comes naturally to her, but she tries. At last, when she can do all this more or less without literally shooting herself in the foot, they get the bright orange ear protectors, go to one of the galleries, and set up. Flynn takes the pistol from her and nails half a dozen dead-center shots in about thirty seconds, either to test that it’s working or just to show off, then watches with an eagle eye as Lucy loads it properly for the first time. The ear protectors make it hard to communicate verbally, so he stands behind her and adjusts her arms and hands, sets her into a good stance, nudging her slightly here and there. Then he lets go, and nods.

Lucy raises the gun, tries not to think about doing this reflexively and shooting Millerson, and aims at the target. Her hands are oddly steady. Then she fires.

The gun kicks, even if not as much as a rifle would, and she takes half a step backward into Flynn. He steadies her, hands momentarily lingering at her waist, as they inspect the result; she at least hit the target, if nowhere near the center. He pronounces it acceptable for a first try with a brusque nod of his head, and beckons her to try again.

They’ve been working on the actual shooting part for thirty minutes or so, after the hour and a half of preliminaries, when another man comes in, takes out his ear protectors and his service weapon – looks cop or military, and very hopefully not a friend or employee of Pennsylvania law enforcement – and starts jacking in the rounds. It’s clear he’s good at it, and Lucy tells herself that it’s her imagination that his eyes periodically flicker sideways to them. Even if they are, that doesn’t mean it has a nefarious purpose – he could just feel bad for the guy trying to teach his girlfriend how to shoot, because women, etc. Maybe they are intruding on whatever fantasy he is imagining for himself. He’s not Rittenhouse, Rittenhouse can’t know that they’re here, or just what a shitbox of an RV they stole. Unless they picked up the hippies, and the hippies blabbed. Is that what happened? Is it?

Lucy is losing her focus, and Flynn likewise seems to be slightly edgy. They shoot a few more clips, but wrap it up, pay for their time, and head out. Hopefully not too quickly or suspiciously. Lucy is rattled, feels as if her momentary illusion of safety and isolation from the rest of the insanity has been destroyed, and can’t sit down when they get back to the motel room. She really just wants to go home. She just wants it to be over, to –

And just then, that’s when her phone rings.

It’s not Emma, which was her first, paranoid thought. It’s the dean at Kenyon. They were very impressed with her this morning, and of course there are still more formalities to go through, committees to rubber-stamp things, and so on. But if she wants the job as soon as she has the PhD in hand, they would be happy to extend a proper offer. Does she? Want it?

Lucy sits there frozen, briefly having forgotten how to breathe. It feels almost like another panic attack, though she doesn’t know why. Is she going to move from the beautiful, sunny Bay Area, her home, her roots, to Bumfuck, Ohio? Leave her mom and Amy and Stanford and everything she knows, to come out here alone and never know if the sharpshooting guy at the gun range was a secret Rittenhouse agent? Do that one thing – throw herself out into the void, into the ether, the reckless and uncontrollable, that she’s avoided so steadfastly since the accident? This would be a huge change. She would have no support system. It feels too close to West Point and Rittenhouse’s black site there, even though it’s three states away. If so, what, bring Emma and her associated maniacs down on these nice Midwesterners? Can she do that? She feels like she’s going to throw up. Jesus, how can she possibly –

“Ms. Preston?” The dean sounds puzzled. “Are you still there?”

“I. . . I am.” Lucy takes a heaving breath. “I. . . thank you for your consideration. So much. But I – I just – right now, honestly, I – I don’t think it’s the right fit. It was – it was so nice to meet you all, and the position is wonderful, but – ”

Her throat closes. This is as close to her dream job as she is going to be offered – certainly just after graduation, possibly ever – and she is letting it slip through her fingers. She is just too scared, and Rittenhouse’s shadow has fallen over everything, and her mother’s face is in her head, looking disappointed. Lucy, she sighs. Of course you weren’t going to leave me?

“Ms. Preston?” the dean says again. “Would you like some time to think about it?”

“I. . .” Lucy’s fingers are cold and nerveless. “I just – I am so grateful, I am so grateful to you for meeting me so ad-hoc, and – and everything. I really am. I wish I could accept it, I wish it so much. But with how things are in my life right now, I’ve thought it over and. . .”

Flynn looks up with a start, as he has been checking something on his own phone, and frowns at her. Lucy shakes her head at him, barely manages to hold it together for the rest of the conversation, and finally hangs up. Then she leans forward and puts her face in her hands.

“Lucy?” Flynn gets to his feet. “What was that about? Why didn’t you take the job?”

Lucy doesn’t know if she can or wants to explain, or if the howl of misery forming in her chest is just going to come rushing up her throat. Flynn remains hovering for a moment more, then sits on the bed next to her, and very gingerly puts an arm around her shoulder. It’s as if he’s not entirely sure that this is a thing humans do in a situation where their friend is sad, like he’s just dressed up as one and is hoping nobody notices. But Lucy turns, takes hold of his shirt with both fists, and buries her face into his chest. She takes half a ragged breath, and – it’s this, it’s everything, it’s too much, too much – silently starts to cry.

Flynn holds her as if he is once more unsure if this is a thing people do with their arms, rather than using them for punching. He pats her back once or twice as if she’s a colicky baby, but for the most part, he just lets her get on with it, like being sick, knowing it’s been a long time coming and she’ll feel better once she’s done. Finally when she’s fallen more or less silent except for a hiccup or two, slumped against him, he says, “I thought you wanted it.”

“I d-did.” Lucy wipes her nose, snuffling. “I – I do. I do. But right now, how can I – how can I be here alone, how can I leave Mom and Amy and Stanford, how – with Rittenhouse probably just waiting for me to – I’d put the people at Kenyon in danger too, it’s just – it’s not going to work right now. It’s just not going to work.”

Flynn doesn’t answer except for a noncommittal humming noise. It’s unclear whether he agrees or disagrees with this line of reasoning. Then he says, “All right. Well. If that’s what you actually want, then. . . we’ll drive to Columbus and get a flight back to San Francisco tomorrow. I don’t think you should shackle yourself to that bitch, but – ”

Lucy stares at him, aghast. “You’re talking about my mother. Who has cancer.”

Flynn looks briefly like he’s been caught with his trousers down, though she doesn’t know why. Then he shrugs. “You didn’t seem to be very fond of her either.”

“When did I say that?”

“Earlier,” Flynn says, though Lucy can’t think when they’ve ever talked about her mother in any detail. “Anyway, wherever you go, you need to keep up practice with that gun. We don’t know who will find you, or what they’ll – ”

“I need to keep up practice with that gun?” Lucy stares at him, brow wrinkled. “Am I mistaken, or does that sound like you don’t plan on being around to help?”

Flynn glances away. Finally he says, “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about the future, about what needs to be done. Yes, I could go back and try to destroy the time machine, but you heard what Emma said. They still haven’t invented half the things they need. I can’t be sure that it would permanently stop them if I did it now, that I would take out anything close to what I need to. And even if I did destroy it, Rittenhouse would still be there, they would still be evil, they would still have Connor Mason and any of their marching myrmidons there to make more for them. I can’t stop them like that. It wouldn’t be enough.”

Lucy keeps staring at him. She isn’t sure entirely what he’s suggesting, but she doesn’t like it. “Garcia, what are you – ”

Flynn looks back at her levelly. “I need to know more,” he says, after a long moment. “About Rittenhouse, about how they got this capability, about what they’re going to do with it. And for what I need to do with that, it’s going to be very difficult for us to – well. To anything. So. I’m sorry, Lucy. But we may not see each other again for – a long time.”

“You. . .” Lucy feels punched. “So you’re what – going off the grid?”

“Something like that. Yes.” Flynn almost succeeds in sounding matter-of-fact. “I know how to live like this, what I need to do. You don’t. One day, we will work together, Lucy. You’ll see. But this, I need to do alone.”

“You – ” Lucy is half-tempted to say screw it, she’ll drop everything, she’ll come with him. But she doesn’t, as he says, have any experience of disappearing off the face of the earth, of conducting deep-cover intelligence operations for months, living on the run – the limited experience she has had of it already has been decidedly unpleasant. That’s the whole reason she turned down the Kenyon job – to return to the safe, settled embrace of Stanford and her mom’s house and her controllable, predictable life, not to fling it completely to the wind and go deep underground on this very dangerous mission. And yet. A tiny, painful part of her thinks it might not be so bad if it meant she got to stay with him.

Flynn sees the look on her face. He smiles sadly, and touches her chin with his thumb. “I told you not to give up history for a boy,” he says. “It doesn’t change now that I’m that boy.”

With that, he lowers his face to hers, and gently, lightly kisses her forehead, the most tender thing he has ever done to her, at least openly. His hand stays alongside her cheek, and Lucy turns her mouth up, all but begging him to kiss her properly, fuck it, even if it makes tomorrow even worse. His eyes drop to her lips, and she can see that there is no part of him that does not want to. Indeed, he clearly wants to do just that, and more. Would be entirely willing to throw tonight away and forget about the morning, just burn the consequences the way he often does, and consider it a parting gift. The air almost shivers. Their eyes remain locked. If she touched him now, he might snap, and then, better judgments or not, wise ideas completely aside and self-control out the window, it could happen anyway.

At last, with a visible swallow, Flynn pushes himself backward. There does not seem to be enough air in the room for both of them, and it is clearly impossible for them to touch, even in passing, without using up all of it. Lucy’s fingers claw out inadvertently after him, fall short. Her voice is caught in her throat. “Garcia – ”

“It’s better that we don’t, Lucy.” His face is turned away from her, profile half in light and half in shadow. “Not if I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Yet-frigging-again, Lucy can’t tell if this means that he would be totally unable to leave her, to commit himself to the long and lonely work of whatever he’s going to do to take down Rittenhouse, if he abandoned himself to a night of wild passion with her, or if it’s just a distraction he prefers to do without anyway. No sex the night before the big game (Lucy dated a second-string member of the Stanford Cardinal football team for six months as a freshman) or whatever. It’s true that she is still not in a good headspace, to say the least. That this likewise counts as the kind of bad decision she is dutifully trying to avoid. But – how?

(How does she let him go, how does she know what the world looks like now, how does this make sense, how is this bearable, how is he going to possibly do this – any or all of those.)

(How.)

Lucy stares at the ceiling, and listens to everything burn.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #wyatt x jessica #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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