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oftenwantedafton · 1 month

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possession | a tale from into the pit

part 1/?

words | 2.3k

cw | none for this chapter

summary | Jeff is the new proprietor of the restaurant formerly known as Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, a man just barely able to keep his new purchase afloat, let alone turn a profit.

He works long hours, spending many of them alone in the pizzeria that had once been rumored to be the location of multiple childrens’ murders. He’s never seen anything to convince himself that the place is haunted like so many believe it to be, until tonight.

Tonight, he hears a voice calling his name, from the room that’s been abandoned, where the old ball pit sits. There’s someone in there.

Waiting for him.

ao3 link

To say that business is bad would be a gross understatement.

Jeff had known it was going to be a financial risk buying the old pizzeria, but he’d been counting on nostalgia and morbid curiosity to fuel that questionable economic venture. And you know what? In the beginning, it actually had. The grand opening was, by all accounts, a success.

The problem was that initial interest faded very quickly.

The new propieter did the rounds of interviews with the local television station and newspaper, and had even gotten his five seconds of fame on a ghost hunting show, but once the visitors realized that the establishment was really just a creepy, run down building with no actual evidence of the tragic events that had happened in the past, well, that’s when the line out the door shortened until only a few customers trickled in each day. He didn’t have the funds to reinstate all of the antique arcade games to their former glory, so he couldn’t compete with other franchises featuring more modern, operational equipment.

The animatronics, once the hallmark of the establishment, barely functioned. He knew nothing about their maintenance, and finding someone who did seemed less and less likely the more he searched. So now those stage attractions had become a bit of a collective eyesore, their movements jerky, their voices garbled. He was seriously considering just selling them off, but whatever money he got from them would likely not contribute much towards the other expenses of running the restaurant. He feared it would be a bandaid for a gunshot wound, a poor short term measure that he’s not willing to take a chance on. Those mascots were still iconic, even in their current dilapidated condition, and without them, well, he’s not naive enough to think the cheap greasy pizza he sells is enough to draw the crowds in. The menu selection is as basic as it gets, and he doesn’t really have the culinary knowledge to improve it any.

The electric bill is also astronomical, probably more a consequence of outdated wiring and components than actual usage, but he can’t even spare the money to investigate and repair the issues. He’s running the place by himself because he can’t afford more help, but that sadly wasn’t really even an issue now that fewer patrons were visiting.

Jeff shuts the building down fifteen minutes early one Thursday evening, having spent the last hour and a half standing at the counter trying to keep his eyes open. He thinks he might just as well get started on the stack of bills waiting on his desk in the manager’s office, a task he’s been putting off all week.

He locks the front door and turns the sign over to read Closed, Please Come Again, and heads to the office, shutting off most of the lights on his way. No point in draining the electricity even further. Anything to save a bit of money.

He unknots the apron around his waist and hangs it on a hook beside the door, then slumps into the swivel chair—the same one that had been there when he’d bought the place, just like the desk and the battered filing cabinet adjacent to it—and switches on the laptop, the only newer item he’s brought with him. He begins tearing through each envelope one by one, the numbers swimming in front of his eyes. He was really exhausted, and it showed. He looked a decade older than he actually was, easily, with his smudged undereyes and tousled dark hair with several new strands of gray that’s long overdue for a trim and his skin that’s the color of chalk. He doesn’t look healthy, and he probably isn’t. His diet is comprised mainly of leftover pizza that doesn’t sell and whatever soda is the least popular in the vending machine. He doesn’t spend much time taking care of himself because every drop of what little energy he does have goes to into the pizzeria. He barely recognizes himself when he looks in the mirror these days. The place was sucking the life out of him, and this time, there’d be no sensationalized story when the establishment claimed another victim. Just a guy that made a bad investment that didn’t pay off. In over his head before he’d even begun.

Jesus. Listen to yourself. You gotta get out more. Do something besides wallow in this dusty hellscape.

He knows it’s true, but he’s afraid. He feels like he’s holding the business together with sheer willpower and to let that lapse for even a moment would surely spell its doom once and for all.

He takes a moment to stretch, then rubs at his bloodshot eyes with the heel of one hand before he begins tackling each bill one by one. The numbers are not friendly. He’s just breaking even. Next month, he’ll be in the red.

Jeff sighs, about to power down the laptop when he hears it: a voice saying his name.

He dismisses this notion immediately. He’s alone in the building. Overtired. Just his imagination playing tricks on him. For all the time he’s spent at the former Freddy’s, he’s never really witnessed anything credible to backup the claims that the place was haunted.

The screen goes dark and he shuts the cover. He hears his name again. It’s a genderless voice, a whisper that slithers along his skin, giving him goosebumps. Okay, it was definitely time to call it a night.

The pizzeria owner stands, sliding his laptop back into its carrying case and opening the top desk drawer to retrieve his car keys. He manages to make it all the way to the entrance before he hears his name hissed again. He’s definitely not imagining it.

There has to be a logical explanation, though. Maybe some kid had hidden somewhere, playing a prank. That had to be it. One of those rowdy looking teenagers from earlier that had left a mess and hadn’t even bothered with a tip, most likely.

He has half a mind to just leave. Just lock up for the night and let the intruder find out what it was like to be alone inside the pizzeria overnight. He should just go.

But what if they trashed the place? His empty wallet groans at the thought. He’s going to have to find the kid and chase them out himself. He’d rather not have to get the authorities involved, but he supposes that’s an option as a last resort.

Jeff sighs, setting his bag down on the checkered linoleum before he heads to the dining room, car keys still in hand. He looks underneath each gingham tabelcloth draped over the tables, but finds no one. The voice is louder now, so he knows he’s getting closer.

“You might as well come out. It’s well past closing time. You’re not supposed to be in here. I don’t want to have to call the cops,” he calls out, nearly wincing at how loud his voice sounds disturbing the silence.

Nothing. No reply. He’s finished walking the length of the dining room. Ahead of him is the stage, and behind that, the basement. To his left is the ball pit area.

That section actually isn’t open to the public, because he hadn’t wanted to deal with the issues of maintaining it in a hygienic and safe fashion. He’s heard the horror stories about ball pits in other venues. The payoff just hadn’t seemed worth it.

It would make a good hiding spot, though. He pauses by the frosted glass paned door, holding his breath and listening. Jeff. It seemed to be coming from this room.

He turns the brass doorknob and enters the room, flipping the lightswitch while the Employees Only-No Entrance sign swings gently back and forth across the glass. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flicker weakly, producing a wavering yellowish glow. The room smells musty and foul. It hadn’t been touched since he’d reopened the business, the room sealed and forbidden from entry until now. The floor is caked in grime. The netting surrounding the ball pit droops like a limp cobweb. There’s a short green plastic ladder to climb inside the overfilled square. He’s not sure he trusts putting an adult man’s weight on it, even one as slender as himself.

Jeff.

He jumps, startled. The voice sounds different now. Not only louder, but somehow more sinister. There’s a grating quality to it, like rusted gears grinding together; garbled like a voice trying to cut through static on an old radio. His eyes sweep the room, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from, momentarily denying the obvious source of the pit itself.

He takes a step closer to the yellow barricade trapping the colorful plastic hollow balls, swallowing so loudly he can hear it. His heart is pounding. For the first time since he’s owned the pizzeria, he feels fear.

And he should. Because there are arms emerging from the ball pit, and they are not the limbs of some rebellious teenager. They are yellow and metallic. They dig into the orange fabric of the terrified owner’s shirt and pull him up over the lip and then drag him down into the nest of balls. He barely has time to yelp, his keys falling to the floor with a soft jingle, and then the room is silent.

***

The body the memory of William Afton now inhabits is weak.

It is not an ideal specimen, but beggars cannot be choosers. It is the key to the gateway barring him from entering this reality, so it will suffice, for the time being.

He surveys the room as he exits the ball pit, scowling at the obvious neglect, his gaze falling on the keyring lying at his feet. A means to acquire transportation. Useful. He has a brief flicker in his mind of a car—foreign, compact, in a garish shade between red and orange—as he exits the room.

“Hello, old friends,” he greets the animatronics onstage. A spark of light blooms in each robotic animals’ eyes, but it is faint. They aren’t fully awake yet, but he isn’t going to concern himself with that just yet. For now it is enough to know that they’re present. Available.

The disapproving look on his features darkens as he proceeds through the dining room. He would never have allowed the tacky artificial plants, the garish tablecloths. This new owner had no sense of taste at all. No wonder his business is failing. Well, he supposes that is what happens when one does not put in the work, when one tries to profit on the backs of others. He’ll see to it personally that it’s restored to its former glory.

He retrieves the bag by the door, a forced extraction of the other man’s knowledge revealing its contents, making him decide this bit of modern technology might prove useful and warranted bringing along, before locking the restaurant and walking towards the only car left in the parking lot. He mentally creeps along the small space he’s relegated for his victim’s mind, wedging through the cracks until he releases the next piece of information he’s seeking: the address of a cheap one bedroom apartment. Well, he can’t say he’s surprised. At least he wasn’t living in his mother’s basement.

The memory controlling Jeff’s body navigates the vehicle to that destination. He doesn’t spend long touring the dwelling, the sparse second hand furniture telling him everything he needs to know without even inquiring about it with his shared consciousness. The man is barely scraping by. Owning the pizzeria wasn’t quite the windfall the other man had imagined, was it? Not so easy to make a go of something that had once been another’s triumph. He shakes his head, dropping the keys onto the kitchen counter as he walks by. There was no such thing as easy money. One of the most important lessons life has to offer.

The possessed man enters the bathroom, a cramped space with a sink, toilet, and tiny shower, to examine himself in the mirror.

He strokes curiously over the bruised skin underneath dark eyes, so different from William’s pale ones. He prods at the fair skin and opens and closes his mouth after examining his teeth and sticking out his tongue. It looks like the man has had proper dental care, at least.

He rakes a hand through the mess of dark hair, frowning over the texture. It was thicker than his own silkier version had been, this mane with a distinctive wave to it. He’s going to have a difficult time taming this into something suitable.

The clothes are loose fitting. They looked borrowed, clearly the wrong size. Perhaps acquired because of their affordability. He can’t be bothered learning the actual details. Suffice it to say, he’s worn a lot of colors in his day that might have been considered loud; violently so, but orange is not a shade that he’s prepared to endure. It isn’t flattering for either of them. He won’t be subjecting this body to this indignity again.

Afton’s memory notes that he’s a few inches shorter now, and that displeases him greatly. He’d enjoyed his former stature. He’d liked looming over people. It had given him a sense of extra power; a presence. This new human’s stature is terrible. Sloped shoulders make him look even more wretched. The spirit possessing Jeff concentrates, and the upper extremity joints lift. Better. It was going to be challenging, inhabiting this new form; dignity was not something one spontaneously acquired, and respect had to be earned. This would be difficult, but he has faced greater obstacles than this. He will make the man submit and obey. His plans will be realized.

The eyes in the mirror shimmer and glow. For a brief moment, the reflection is no longer Jeff’s, but William’s.

Wearing his crooked smile.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #into the pit #divider @saradikagraphics

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totothewolff · 10 months

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Grand Prix Elite Academy (1/10)

+18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!student, sewis, carlos x reader, collegue au | romance, smut, comedy, gossip, betray

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

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Chapter 1: Hi, Society

"Everyone who lives in Monaco is filthy rich."

Well, that's a half-lie that people say; the working class also lives there - and the families of the people who work for the rich - just on the outskirts of town near the border with France.

Yours is one of those: a middle-class family of three (you, dad, and your dog). So, a chunk of your day goes to commuting downtown to attend school and help with the auto parts shop, your family-run business.

You had the misfortune (now you call it that!) to have been raised by a hardcore motorsports madman in what you consider one of the most F1 households of all time in the most F1 city in the world.

That madman is your dad, a middle-aged man who is apparently good-looking (judging by the attention he gets from female customers; okay, he is in shape; you get that part) but has remained single for the longest time.

He is a hard-working mechanic who invested all his inheritance in opening an automobile repair shop and a twin business, an auto parts and components store located on the same street, which seems logical.

You are one of those households that loves everything related to cars and motorsports, a trait you inherited in your cells from birth.

Yes, yes, you are a "daddy's girl." It's embarrassing, but he's your hero.

Thanks to him, you were that "weird" little girl at elementary school who could name all the parts of a car's engine and their exact functions. By high school, you could explain the mechanics and physics behind a motor, and you were able to repair and customize cars and motorbikes by your senior years.

Daydreaming was a fundamental part of your childhood and still is, but nowadays, the therapist calls it MaDD or trauma coping.

Back in the day, you loved sneaking into the driver's seat of any expensive sports car the clients took to the workshop for repair. You imagined it morphing into a racing car as you drove it to high speeds on a race track.

Of course, you always ended up winning the Grand Prix! And that fantasy lasted until either one of the mechanics or your dad got you out of the unit.

By the time you turned eight, your family made an effort to take you karting. It's costly, way more complex than you expected, and also heavy on the body!

You always ended up exhausted after practice or racing, but you didn't care because you were killing the game, impressing people along the way, and winning piles of trophies!

After several years of success, you got sponsored and made it to Formula Renault, where you winning was also a regular thing.

Then, you continued to Formula 4, where you started to succeed, too. By that point, you were utterly invested in your racing career, working hard to make your dream come true and make your parents proud.

But that sad September, your mom got sick.

After her passing, nothing was quite the same, and your racing dreams got buried along with her, leaving you and your dad an emotional and financial wreck, with a lot of debt in the bank due to her treatments.

"Time heals everything,"

That's another half-lie people tell.

You never get over a loss of that kind, but you learn to live your life the best way possible and try to find joy after it.

So, as you go through your teen years, you feel as if your life is starting over, as someone else has lived your past.

You choose to help more with the family business after noticing your father is tired and stressed every day and wanting to be there for him.

You take full responsibility for running the auto parts and components store. After school, you go there, and that's where you practically live.

The shop is in an old part of town; it used to be a cheap neighborhood, but it's not anymore, still not the most luxurious town area, but the location is excellent.

As the business grew, the shop underwent several remodels - more like improvements - made by your uncle Marco (your late mom's brother), your godfather, who works in construction.

The store is now bright, clean, and organized. It has tall white walls with blue accents (the ones you helped paint), a neat grey polished concrete floor where you can almost watch your reflection, and pendant lights in the ceiling over the aisles full of product racks. Several pennants and large posters give the place character.

Most of the time, you are behind the long counter with the cashier and computer by the entrance, where you run the stock, attend customer payments, do your homework, and watch Netflix (on slow days).

Next to you is always your dog - with his bed and bowl - and behind you is an entire wall of shelves with premium products.

The store's most recent and exciting acquisition is a new set of automatic slide doors and a large welcoming rug with the business logo.

God! How boring is your life?!

Still, you are grateful for those; before that, on busy days, you wanted to tear your ears off at the nonstop sound of the bell atop the door.

The store is at the corner of the street, and the large workshop is two buildings away across the road.

Both are different from your usual mechanic's spots; yes, there is still oil in some parts, but this is Monaco, after all! If you want to attract clients in this city, you must look nice.

Your dad lives and breathes at the workshop.

Your household is one of those that leaves the family home very early in the morning and returns at night to sleep.

As things get financially healthier again, your dad and godfather work hard to renovate the shop's attic slash old storage space into a tiny apartment for you.

It's a simple but cozy open-floor concept: a one-bedroom with a kitchenette and counter bar for two stools, a sitting area with a bulky love seat and a TV.

Your desk is next to the bay window facing the street, which offers a sky view, making this your favorite spot to study.

A queen-size bed with a nightstand completes the space, along with the door leading to the world's tiniest bathroom.

You love this rabbit hole so much.

Your dad and godfather allowed you to choose the style of decor and furniture (you went for minimal and boho), and now you love this place more than your actual home (a more spacious two-and-a-half-bedroom apartment with a small balcony nearer the mountains).

As you grow older and reach legal age, you start doing everything at the shop by yourself, saving the money spent on extra hands.

From cleaning to stock control, acting like a sales lady and the store influencer, posting social media content, updating the website once you convinced your dad to sell online, and taking care of your dog, now the business mascot.

People love him! He always gets pats on the head from customers, and some return just for him. He is a lazy old basset hound named "Diesel."

You must ensure that Diesel wears his bandana with the shop's logo daily, as it is his official employee uniform. He is your childhood dog, and the idea of losing him makes you anxious.

By this point in your life, you speak fluent "mechanic" which should be considered an entire language, thanks to growing up surrounded by them.

Depending on the photo, you may smile or laugh when you open your childhood photo albums.

There are many pictures from your birthday parties held at the workshop. In them, you appear surrounded by alpha males with tattoos, beards, and muscles wearing girly birthday props as you blow the candles off a Barbie-inspired cake or whatever was trendy with girls back then, with the entire place usually decorated in glittery pink party decor.

That's your life in a nutshell.

Nowadays, since you are a full-grown woman in their eyes, they act overprotective of you, especially when a boy your age tries to flirt with you while buying something with their parent's credit card.

But they get it so wrong! You don't recall when or how, but you started to get attracted to men, not boys, older men.

That middle-aged group of guys that make you beg, "Please run me over with your sports car," as you stare at them driving as they pass across the store's big windows facing the street.

You love the roaring sound of the engine, but you love the view of the handsome man driving it even more.

Still, it's just a fantasy; those guys are completely out of your league, and well, you haven't had a social life, not even a suitor in all these years, and you have never had a boyfriend. Maybe it's your shy nature or your looks that you feel so insecure about.

In the last couple of days before graduation, many universities show up to promote their college programs in a sort of Open Day.

You avoid the Grand Prix Elite Academy people like they have the plague, knowing that's a dream you can't afford.

And they know it, too!

You can tell by the look the extremely hot model-looking Student Affairs ladies give you when you succumb to the temptation to get closer to their stand.

You nervously step in front of them without saying a word and leave after they rudely and unwantedly hand you a brochure with all the information about the program, tuition, and more.

They both look annoyed at their employers for making them attend a school without potential clients.

You remove your shoes and drop your backpack on the floor when you arrive at your loft. As you get cozy on the bulky, puffy couch, you muster the courage to read the brochure.

"Grand Prix Elite Academy is the ultimate path to success in the world of motorsports.

Our program is an exclusive Formula One college degree designed for aspiring drivers who dream of pursuing a career in professional racing.

This program offers unparalleled training and mentorship from seasoned professionals, personalized coaching from world-class racing experts, access to state-of-the-art facilities and cutting-edge simulators, and networking opportunities with industry leaders.

This degree aims to cultivate the skills and mindsets of future champions. It's the ultimate platform for developing the aptitudes, knowledge, and connections necessary to reach the pinnacle of motorsports.

Drive to Greatness. Race with us."

After reading the entire brochure a hundred times and eyeing all the pictures, subjects, and prices attached, you can't help but cry until you fall asleep.

After several texts to your number, getting no reply, and two missed phone calls, your dad goes up to the shop's loft to look for you, now worried.

The day is over, and you two should head home soon to avoid traffic. He always texts you when it's time to leave, and you rush down to the shop's exit to get in the car.

As he approaches the sofa to wake you up, he notices the GPEA brochure on the floor next to you and places it inside his leather satchel.

He doesn't mention anything to you about it at dinner or later.

The summer break begins, and soon, you will become a college freshman.

You applied for several engineering college programs within your budget, in town, or nearby.

You still want to work at Formula One, and if you can't get a driver's seat, you aim for a team's chair.

You have been nervous the entire week, knowing the acceptance letters will soon arrive. You are crossing your fingers they aren't rejection ones.

You get accepted in three out of four!

A part of you expected a positive outcome since you have always been a nerd with good grades; plus, you felt you scored the admission tests and nailed the interviews.

However, when the postman appears at the store again, you look at him perplexed as he hands you a fancy and unexpected additional envelope.

It's good your dad is having lunch with you at the counter at that exact moment to clarify your doubts.

—What is this?! —your voice goes all high as you walk fast and nervously to him, showing him the Grand Prix Elite Academy logo stamp on the envelope.

—Listen, don't get mad at me —your dad puts down the fork and stops eating for a moment to face you. —Wait to get your hopes up high yet —He starts to calm you down, noticing how you are hyperventilating now. —Read it first.

—WHAT?!!

—Y/N, breathe, easy...

You tear the envelope with shaky hands and quickly scan the letter's content.

—AH! —a funny scream comes out of your mouth, and you look at your dad with wide eyes before pushing him into a tight hug, a bit brusquely. —I GOT IN! I GOT THIS YEAR'S SCHOLARSHIP!! —you fucking can't believe it. —BUT HOW!?!!

—I applied for you, well, I pretended to be you; I disliked being an annoying girl —he rolls his eyes at you, joking. —After that, I sent the board an email explaining our situation; as your father now obviously —he looks a bit embarrassed at his confession. —It's good that I documented your entire and promising racing career. I know how important this is for you. I'm sorry that we cannot afford it on our own. I know you have the talent and deserve that scholarship more than anyone! Thank God they went all charity on your ass!

You laugh, and happy tears run down your face. Your dad hasn't seen you this happy, not since mom...

—OH GOD!

—What?! —your dad's heart skips at your words.

—It says I must register ASAP for the virtual classroom since I didn't attend the in-person summer program. Jesus! I just got in, and I'm already behind! —you rush to the computer, and before logging in, you say: —Dad, I love you; you have nothing to apologize for!

As the countdown to the start of the academic year goes on, your nervousness levels increase.

You get more hysteric each day, and your dad already regrets his actions.

Billions of thoughts cross your mind daily: What if they don't like me? What if I end up failing? Am I good enough? What I'm going to wear? This attire list is so pretentious. What's a smart-casual look? I don't own any gowns!

OH GOD!

A heavy box arrives at the shop by mail.

It's your welcome package to the academy. Inside, you find a gorgeous and expensive-looking varsity jacket, the college's cashmere sweater, and many more branded items.

It also contains an extensive list of things you need to do before the start of the year, instructions for your first day, and a textbook of rules.

Your scholarship sponsor is WomanOne, which supports girls around the globe in completing their college degrees.

You feel so empowered that you swear to do your best and conquer the game!

Your grades and performance are crucial for them, so you must win the most Elite Cup races you can.

Two days later, another envelope arrives; this time is an invitation for the Homecoming Gala; the paper feels fancy as fuck!

The event is scheduled two nights before the start of the course, and it's mandatory, which you find hilarious.

You have never been obliged to attend a fancy party before.

A few days later, a push notification informs you you have two new DMs on the GPEA app (the official college app they requested you to download and register on).

After filling out and completing the procedures to set up your profile for the driver's market, the Ferrari and Aston Martin principals want to interview you on the virtual platform since you now appear available to be picked or to apply for a faculty slot.

Shit is getting real!

—She looks too sweet for this brutal land; I hope she survives here —Lewis says as he leans closer to peek at Sebastian's iMac screen.

They volunteered at the Student Affairs Department this year to obtain the mandatory extra credits. Well, Sebastian applied for the job and dragged Lewis along, as usual.

As they both look at the student picture you upload on the platform; then, Seb starts to copy out your data to print your access badge.

—Is she on the market yet?

—Yes. All the faculty principals have received her profile, but so far, only Ferrari and Aston have booked an interview with her. She applied to join the McLaren faculty, though.

—Interesting. So, no words from Zack?

—Not yet. You know how it is, my dear scholarship king. Y/N looks really promising. Are you feeling nervous about it? Now someone wants to take the full scholarship prodigy title away from you —Seb teases.

—By this rookie, you wish! —Lewis tenderly slaps Sebastian's face, a bit sexual still. —Everyone is after my titles anyway, as well as my sexy good looks. Are you feeling nervous about it?

—You wish! She doesn't have what I give you —it's Seb's turn to state; that light touch was enough to turn him on.

—Oh, please, could you remind me what you give me? —Lewis teases, a bit aroused.

—Oh, I can show you —Seb gets dangerously close to him, slowly pushing him against the office desk.

You are so grateful the full scholarship covers the on-campus living fee and secures you a dorm room.

The GPEA is so far from your house that commuting there would be a nightmare. Thanks, Google Maps, for the info!

Now you know you have to leave tomorrow with time to spare to be on time for the Homecoming Gala.

That night, you struggle to fall asleep. It's the anxiety about tomorrow's party. You pray to God that somehow you fit in.

As the moonlight dances upon the glistening waters of Monaco's coastline, the college's luxury campus emerges with opulence.

Tonight, the GPEA is hosting the most glamorous Gala to mark the commencement of a new school year; to your eyes, it's a scene of total excess and splendor.

Nothing as you have seen before!

Party lights dance and illuminate the facades of the campus buildings, casting vibrant and cool designs on the walls.

The garden's magnificent palm trees sway gently under the warm Mediterranean breeze, their leaves aglow with the enchanting hues of the illuminations.

The campus's modern architecture, a seamless blend of money and elegance, looks like an oasis adorned with meticulously manicured gardens, flowers, and fountains.

The soft sound of water cascading brings a sense of tranquility amidst the muffled DJ's set music coming out of the celebration.

As you are about to reach the building entrance, you notice the long parade of the most luxurious cars, gracefully chauffeuring guests who descend with elegance, sporting breathtaking gowns from renowned designers and dapper men wearing impeccably tailored tuxedo suits.

This homecoming Gala looks straight out of Gossip Girl.

As you step onto the red carpet, you can feel the electric buzz, radiating a contagious energy that sets the exhilarating tone for the party.

It looks like it is going to be a wild night.

And you are correct. The clinking glasses of champagne get louder as the evening progresses, and the party ensues.

The crowd consists of beautiful, fit, and effortlessly stylish students exuding an air of confidence and superiority.

Despite your striking look in a fancy dress, you can't shake the feeling of being an outsider among the elite.

As you move around in the ballroom with a glass in hand, you notice a figure that stands out: Toto Wolff, wearing an impeccably Brioni tuxedo and exuding charm and charisma.

His striking features, towering height, and muscular body immediately command your attention. Your gaze draws towards him, entirely captivated by his physical features and confident presence among the sea of people.

You can't help but stare at him; he is pure eye candy.

"So, this is what genuine attraction feels like?" you think.

You go all red when you notice a stunning set of clear eyes are watching you, lusting for Toto.

—No worries. It's the usual reaction Toto gets. We've all been there, I guess. I'm Leandra de Vries! I'm a Ferrari somophore —a stunning, lean girl with legs for days and perfect hair greets you.

Wow, that's having a face card! Her nose is to die for, and Jesus, those eyes! She looks tan, and her "gold" skin is silky and shiny.

"I need to moisturize!" you think instantly, comparing yourself.

—I'm Y/N Y/LN —you quickly add. —That's a beautiful dress, Leandra!

—It's vintage Dior; they don't make them like this anymore —she shows you her breathtaking embroidered gown, extending her long, athletic leg. —You look good, even with that thing you are wearing! No offense; you better get used to these kinds of comments. Let's say this place requires thick skin; my advice: never take it personally.

—Oh, thanks, I guess?! —you both laugh.

—Is it from Zara? —Leandra comes closer to whisper to your ear, curious and disgusted at the time, but with comedic timing.

—Yes! —you answer, holding a giggle.

—Oh god! Please remind me to get you in my wardrobe; I have a couple of pieces you so desperately need —she smiles at you and intertwines her right arm with yours.

—Please! —you beg and smile at her.

—Let's walk around! —she invites you.

So far, you like Leandra. Although she may look like a mean girl, she is well-intended, empathic, and honest. She doesn't hold back, and that's your type of person.

She tells you she got transferred here from the Italy campus the year before - after her older brother passed away in that polemic crash at Monza, and because her parents wanted to start fresh, trying to run from what happened - she states it was tough for her to settle in and be accepted here.

She also explains that the social circles here are very airtight, so she wants you to experience something other than what she went through.

—This place loves gossip, and you are the talk of the moment, "the charity baby who got the Lewis scholarship" —Leandra lets out like it was a bother, almost rolling her eyes while walking you to the bar area.

—So that's the new "Charity Baby"? She's cute!

—Where!? —Lando pops his head behind Oscar after his comment.

—There, with Leandra —he points.

—How does that woman get even hotter each year?! Fuck, she looks so fuckable in that dress! —Lando undresses Lea with his eyes.

—Getting an erection this early on? That's a new record for you —Max jokes, staring at him.

Leandra starts to lead you both in their direction. The group is gathered around the large velvet sofa in the fancy sitting area near the bar.

When you two arrive at their side, you overhear George leading the conversation.

—She is still out of your league, mate —George mocks him. —But how did it go with Arabella?

—Oh, she was delicious; I fucked her in the gym's pool. Her ass feels terrific! —Lando lets them know the gossip.

—Arabella is the blonde with the great tits? —Max inquires.

—No, no, that's the Mercedes girl, the one I fucked in the library.

—And you also fucked the librarian.

—And the trainer's assistant.

—And the Human Resources lady.

Everyone keeps adding.

—Better be getting ready for Lando's disappointing dick game —Carlos jokes with you as soon as he notices you standing there in complete silence and addressing you for the first time.

Everyone turns their head towards you.

You go all red.

—I mean, if you want, I'm available tonight —Lando shoots his shot, shamelessly flirting with you and reaching for your hand.

—And welcome! —Sebastian jokes from a distance, comfy wrapped in Lewis's arms on the sofa.

—Lando, you fuck everything that breathes —Yuki states impressed.

—It's cus' I got dick game, to Carlos' jealousy.

Out of nowhere, you notice Lance standing right to your left. —I heard you are working class and got here under a full scholarship like Lewis did. Is that true?! —Lance inquires, curious and with a sweet voice, but his wording is not the best.

—Yes, I'm from a middle-class family —you shyly reply. —We own a car repair workshop, and I work there.

Lance's face looks amazed. Sebastian notices his and your expressions and doesn't waste time.

—Lance, you can't ask people that! You know some people work for a living? God, you are so out of touch! Excuse him —Seb joins in.

—Yeah, unlike you, the people's people —Lewis mocks Seb, pointing at him and roughly combing his hair, then Lewis gives you a "these guys" face and winks at you. —They don't mean it —Lewis lets you know. —Welcome, welcome! I'm L-

—Lewis Hamilton, yes, I know, you are a legend —you look at him in awe.

He is the only one who gets it, who gets you.

He is as rare as you. His family famously worked their butts off to get him here before he got offered a full scholarship like yours and became the scholarship program and the GPEA prodigy.

No one has won more trophies and cups in the history of the college than him.

Mercedes already hired him as their reserve driver and offered him a contract as the future of their F1 racing team, the most expensive deal ever for a rookie. They are just waiting for Michael to retire.

After lots of chatting, dancing, joking around, and getting to know a bit of everyone in that little group, Principal Zack reaches you. —Miss, Y/LN. Can we have a word, please?

—Of course! —you interrupt your conversation with Oscar and go to him.

After walking around and casually chitchatting a bit, he informs you: —I appreciate your request to join our faculty, but unfortunately, it's impossible for us now. We noticed your career resume has a long hiatus, which puts you behind our other candidates. However, we will closely watch your performance this year, and maybe you can ask again next year —Zack politely kills your dream to drive for them momentaneously. —You have a promising future, you are talented, and I wish you the best.

—Oh, bummer! But I understand, sir. I will do my very best!

You make it back to the group, but since they love to dish, they all were observing the scene from afar and interpreting your expressions, betting their money wasn't good.

—And? —Yuki asks.

—Not McLaren.

—I'm sorry, it's their loss! —Mick comforts you. By far, he is the most kind and polite of the bunch. It must be tough to grow up under his dad's shadow; maybe that's why he is so empathic with the outcasts.

—I haven't heard from Aston or Ferarri after my interviews either —you look slightly concerned now.

—Give it a time —Seb reassures you.

—Oh god, it's too early to endure a Masi speech. No one is drunk enough yet! —Lewis cuts the chat, looking straight at the man getting up on the fancy and tech stage, lit out under professional lightning; a massive state-of-the-art Samsung screen is behind him, showcasing the academy and its sponsor's logos.

—Does anyone feel like powdering their nose in the bathroom before the speech begins? —Carlos offers.

—Count me on, babe! Do you want to join us? Being high as a kite is the best way to enjoy this party —Leandra addresses you.

—Oh! No, no, thank you —you quickly deny with your arms.

—Hey, don't go hard! I brought mushrooms for all of us later —Max adds, and they nod in sync.

Okay, this is going nothing like you expected.

"Good night, esteemed faculty, staff, and enthusiastic students. As the Dean, I am honored to address you at the start of this new academic year at the Grand Prix Elite Academy. We are here united by a shared passion for speed, engineering, and the excitement of Formula One racing.

Our college stands as a unique institution dedicated to preparing the next generation of brilliant minds and innovative professionals in the motorsport industry.

This academic year holds incredible opportunities for growth, learning, and discovery, and I encourage each and every one of you to embrace the challenges, cultivate your skills, and push the boundaries of knowledge in this exhilarating field.

Let us fuel our enthusiasm, collaborate synergistically, and pave the way to new frontiers of excellence together. I extend a warm welcome to all and look forward to an extraordinary year ahead.

Thank you."

A lazy round of applause comes from the crowd, but minutes before that, about the middle of the speech, Leandra stands by your side. —Do you want to know all the tea about Toto? —noticing how your eyes went all over him once more.

He is up on the stage with all the principals from the different faculties. It's nothing new, but you are experiencing it for the first time.

—Well —you hesitate. —Yes.

—He has remained single for a while now, more like fucking around, actually. Toto has a type: blond bombshells, the supermodel type, you know, with insane bodies. I'm friends with two of his conquests, and one told me he fucks like a bull. He likes it hard and rough, and the other let me know he has a delicious fat cock but that he hits it and quits it; he left her begging for more.

You blush at her words, which she instantly notices, before continuing: —Last I witnessed with my own gorgeous eyes, Toto was hooking up with Anitta at that fancy Ferrari's anniversary party; she was all over him; it was a great party, we all got smashed! I ended up cowgirling Dani on the back of his car, oops.

You hit playfully Leandra in the ribs with your elbow while looking at Ricciardo standing meters away. —Daniel is hot!

—And a moron! Ah, right! Toto went through a very public divorce about a year ago; it was the talk of the town. The Wolff's splitting, OH! The elites went wild! His ex-wife is a counselor here, so you will see her around; they have a weird relationship. I think they still fuck.

Okay, this is a lot of information, but one thing is sure: you are different from his type.

—By the way, he's a very demanding professor and one of the very best. His subjects are challenging to get accepted into, and it is hard to obtain good grades in them, but if you achieve them, you gain a lot of respect; he has an eye for talent, so think twice before choosing him. Many girls try to add his class to their schedules to get closer to him, but it never ends well. He is a dream crusher. Do you want me to introduce you to him? I'm one of his favorite students.

—Oh, no, no —you get all nervous. Leandra laughs at your answer and how you go full panic within seconds.

—So you are the type who only likes to stare? —she mocks you. You softly push her, joking around.

Oh, yes, and he looks so fine! That suit is tight in all the right places!

The party gets better and wilder as the night progresses, and the alcohol takes a toll on your systems.

People are dancing around to DJ Lando's sensual set and hooking up everywhere; the lights are dim, and neon lasers pulsate to the beats.

Bodies move in sync with the rhythm as you all gather on the packed dance floor. Max offers the mushrooms around, and a "Fuck it! I deserve to feel alive!" feeling overpowers you, and you join them as they cheer you in, feeling now more like part of the pack!

Amidst the blur of Carlos's body dancing around you - he became your companion for the night - you start feeling everything on your skin: the energy, passion, and thrill.

You can feel your pupils dilating and his firm chest under your hands. Your vision gets distorted, and a tall man with dark hair and intense eyes forms in front of you, and you fight that urge to slide your hands down.

You needed so bad this tempting display of youthful freedom and uninhibited release, begging for your inhibitions to fade temporarily after years of sadness and solitude.

You can't wait for the course to start and for this new chapter in your life to begin.

Please don't let it just be a fantasy! To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

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gumnut-logic · 5 months

Text

John found him in module two.

His second eldest brother was sitting beside the pod, pieces of it spread around him, staring at nothing.

John leant against the hatchway and quietly watched him. From the moment Grandma had reported the avalanche, John knew he would have to come home tonight. Avalanche rescues always messed with the family, particularly Scott and Virgil. He would be lying if he said they didn’t affect him, but he wasn’t boots on ground. He didn’t have to watch that wave of white bearing down on those he loved.

He hadn’t been the one there on that fateful day.

Virgil wore a frown as if he was glaring at something or someone John couldn’t see.

John had already checked in on Scott...on the other side of the Island and still moving. He’d be out running for a while and likely would come back and give the gym a work out.

Virgil was more subtle. He tended to pound the piano or vanish into his studio. On the rare occasion he could be found beside Scott either pummelling a sandbag or his brother on the spar mat. To find him here was a little odd.

“I’m okay, John.” Those eyes were suddenly fixed on the astronaut. “How’s Gordon?”

He pushed himself off the hatchway and entered the module. His spacesuited feet hardly made a sound. “He’s as well as can be expected. He’s with Alan.” A few more silent footsteps and John sat down quietly beside his brother. “What are you doing?”

His brother reached down and picked up a piece of pod mechanics. “Just checking the system after today’s rescue.”

John eyed exactly what Virgil had pulled apart. He was pretty sure it was the side of the module that hadn’t been used...and the same he and Scott had finished maintenance on that morning.

Busywork?

“I’m okay, John. You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry is my business.”

Brown eyes glanced up at him. “I thought that was in Scott’s portfolio.”

“Different perspective.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow before picking up another piece of pod and shoving it into the storage case. Several more pieces followed with no further attempt at conversation.

“Alan said you were grumpy for most of the day.”

That did it. His usually quiet brother flared up like a snake prodded with a hot poker. “He did, did he? Did he also tell you that he has turned Max into his personal slave so he can sit on his butt and watch videos while the rest of us work our asses off?”

“Not in so many words, no.” Calm and considered.

It succeeded. Virgil deflated. “No, he wouldn’t.” His brother returned to shifting around mechanical parts.

“How is Scott?”

His brother froze. “How do you think he is. Alan was nearly buried in an avalanche. I expect to be repairing gym equipment tomorrow.” Virgil stood up and put his back into moving the equipment into the locker.

“No one was injured. We’re all safe.”

“Yes, we are.” A chunk of pod landed on the module floor with a massive clang and Virgil swore.

Reaching down, John picked up the piece of machinery and, standing, held it out to his brother. Virgil looked at him with sad eyes. “Thank you.” It was taken from his hand and stashed beside its siblings.

“Gordon was very impressed.”

Virgil paused a moment, but then returned to shifting equipment. “With what?”

“With you.”

That was enough to stop him. “Gordon?”

John struggled to hold back a smile. “In his words...’Oh my god, yeeeah! Go Virg!’”

Virgil blinked at him and John could no longer hold back the grin. “Can’t say I wasn’t impressed myself.”

He watched his brother fight the urge to smile. “The new grapple gun performed well.”

John rolled his eyes. “You performed well, Virgil. There is no harm in taking credit where it is due.”

“I’m just glad I got Alan off the side of that mountain.” And the glum was back.

John sighed to himself as Virgil shut the equipment locker. “What is it, Virgil? What’s bugging you? Because all I can see is a successful rescue with a great outcome.”

His brother rounded on him. “It was pure chance, John. So damn close and it shouldn’t have been!” Virgil’s eyes flared at him in anger, but not at John, but...

At himself.

“How?”

Virgil’s brows knotted even more. “I knew that mountain was coming down. I had sensors on it. I was sitting there waiting with nothing else to do but stare at the damn thing, and it still caught me by surprise!” Virgil shoved the locker against the wall with a bang. John blinked at the strength his brother wielded. “There shouldn’t have been a dramatic rescue, I should have been there already!” Virgil turned away. “Alan and Brandon could have died because I wasn’t on the ball.”

John stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

The glare Virgil shot him was enough to flay him alive. “Do I look like I have a sense of humour right now?”

“Virgil-“

But his brother wasn’t finished. “We can have all the equipment in the world and it won’t mean jack shit if I’m not good enough to deploy it in time.”

“Virgil-“

“And Alan. We could have lost Alan. I-I can’t...not like Mom, please not like Mom.”

John’s eyes widened. “Virgil, take a breath. He’s okay. We’re all okay.”

Brown eyes stared up at him. “I fucked up so bad.”

John reached over and took his brother by his shoulders. “Virgil! How can you possibly say that? Did you see what you did?”

“I saw exactly what I did. Why wasn’t I airborne sooner? Why did I wait until the vibration sensor was in MOTION before making a move? It was seconds, John, seconds. I didn’t think I was going to make it. They could have been buried alive.” Like Mom.

That last might as well have been shouted with the rest.

“But they weren’t”

“Pure luck.”

“No! Virgil Tracy! You were on the scene. You were there. There was no way anything was going to happen to either of them with you in play, Virgil. You know this. I know this. I have seen you face far more than a falling mountain. It didn’t stand a chance.”

“John-“

“You listen to me. I know you. I watch you day in and day out. I may be twenty-two thousand kilometres away, but I am with you every step every rescue and, goddamnit, Virgil, those seconds may well have been hours for all they mattered.” He glared at his brother. “How many times have you sat back in a situation, watching, only to step in and save the day when it most counts? You sit there quietly, calculating, planning, knowing exactly when to intervene. You are our rock, Virgil. Solid, dependable and inevitable. And god forbid anything gets in your way once you get moving.”

John’s lips were tight and his heart thudding. Virgil stood staring at him, eyes wide.

Quietly. “When I’m so far above and someone is screaming, you are the hands I reach out to catch them with. I trust those hands with so many lives, Virgil. So many people calling for help and I have no need for faith because I KNOW you will do everything you can. Just like you did today.” A breath. “Don’t doubt yourself. I never have.”

He let his brother go and straightened.

Virgil was still staring at him. It wasn’t often John put so much into words, but the self-doubt in his brother’s eyes just demanded it. Perhaps it would have enough impact to sink in.

In the meantime, back to basics.

“Have you eaten?”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

Obviously not.

“Food, Virgil. Fuel for your engine.”

“Oh, uh...”

“I didn’t think so. C’mon, big brother, sustenance will help change your perspective.” John grabbed Virgil’s arm and nudged him in the direction of the module hatchway. Still staring, Virgil did as he was told.

“I’m the big brother, John.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes big brothers need corralling as much as younger brothers. I thought you’d understand that with Scott on your radar so much.”

Virgil blinked. “I see your point.”

John held onto Virgil the entire elevator ride up to the residential levels. He didn’t let go until his brother was seated at the kitchen table. The acquisition of a simple sandwich and John plopped both the food and himself down in front of Virgil. “Now eat.”

“Are you going to watch my every bite?” A definite frown was forming like a storm cell on his brother’s brow.

“No, I’m just going to sit here and enjoy your company.” A thought. “Might even have a beer. You want one?” He stood up again and rummaged in the fridge.

Another blink. “Aren’t you going back up tonight? Doesn’t Brains need you?”

“No, I have more important things to attend to down here.” Ooh, some of Scott’s boutique beer. He eyed the label. Expensive boutique beer. It would do the job. Two bottles landed on the table.

“You know they are Scott’s.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Your funeral, I guess.”

“He’ll survive. Eat your sandwich.”

Virgil was staring at him again.

John sighed. “Is it really so shocking that I care about you?”

“No! It’s just...” Virgil’s shoulders settled a little. “Thank you, John.”

“No thanks needed, just trust yourself a little more.” He pinned his brother with his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now eat your sandwich.”

John held back a smile when Virgil immediately bit into his bread.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #virgil tracy #episode tag #avalanche #nuttyfic reblog #tried to write #failed #used all my energy stitching today

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satansamwriting · 11 months

Note

Not sure if u write for kung jin but if u do could you do a fic for him (male reader) please😊

MK10 Kung Jin with M!Reader

Hiya Anon, I hope you enjoy this little one-shot.

Small cameo by the wind god Fujin.

Disclaimer : English ain't my native language. Mistakes ahead. I apologizes for them, I'm trying my best. Also, I'm not an archer. If I didn't use the correct terms for something, I'm sorry.

Enjoy!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

An arrow pierced through the air, ending its course with a quiet "tud" in the middle of the target. Lowering his bow, Kung Jin glanced toward the whistling on his right. His own bow in hand, (Y/n) gave the archer a playful smirk before taking aim. Seconds later, split parts of an arrow fell on the ground, stealing a hum from Kung Jin' lips.

"Not bad"

Wordlessly, the archer nocked two arrows, drew and shot.

“Bullseye.”

When downtime happened in the special force, meaning no new mission had come in, the two archers could be found, without a doubt, in the training range,where they would spend hours on end challenging one another.

Sometimes, on days where the sun shined in the sky and most of the soldiers were absent, the two would be running around camp, doing parkour and shooting at predefined targets.

At the moment, the scores were even. Both had won as many challenges as the other.

It was a particularly slow day for the special force. With little to do, Kung Jin had proposed a tie breaker to their even score. The price of losing? A favour. The loser would owe the winner. With such a tempting reward, (Y/n) agreed.

Kung Jin smiled as (Y/n) rolled his eyes. For a brief moment, the two stared at one another. It was (Y/n)'s turn to shoot. An arrow was nocked and before Kung Jin's very own eyes, changed to a neon blue colour. From that same arrow, five were shot in quick succession, all dead centre. Except for one. Now back to their usual colours, (Y/n) noticed the arrow sticking slightly below the other four.Less than ideal but still, he was in the lead.

“Cheater, you used your ability.” Kung Jin whined as he drew.

“We never specified against the use of abilities.”

He only needed three bullseyes and he would be the winner. First arrow hit right in the middle. Second one followed suit, sticking proudly beside the first. Down to his last arrow, Kung Jin took a deep breath and aimed. Releasing the string, the duo watched the projectile split the air. However, before the arrow hit the mark, a gust of strong wind passed by the training range. (Y/n) peeked over Kung Jin's shoulder, smirking at their unnoticed spectator.

“Lord Fujin, it’s a surprise to see you here!”

How long had the god of wind stood there, the archers didn’t know but Kung Jin suspected he was the one behind his defeat. There, sticking on its lonesome on the ground, was Kung Jin’s last arrow.

“Unfair, you plotted against me with him!”

Placing a hand on his chest, (Y/n) gasped loudly, trying his best to look somewhat offended.

“I would never do such a thing!”

Kung Jin turned in the direction of Fujin, who until now was contenting himself with watching the interactions, a smile on his face. Feeling the accusatory eyes of the young archer, Fujin chuckled.

“Wind is unpredictable young Kung Jin, it acts on its own volition.”

***

Kung Jin was still grumpy about the ordeal hours later. Truth to be told, (Y/n) had not conspired against the other archer with the god. Fujin, although for unknown reasons, had acted on his own.

Shoulder to shoulder, the two archers sat on top of a special forces vehicle. Quivers on their laps, they repaired broken arrows and crafted new ones when needed. In a comfortable silence, they busied themselves with the task before Kung Jin spoke.

“So, thought about that favour I owe you?”

Adding his last crafted arrow in the quiver, (Y/n) put down the holder in order to focus on the other man.

“I might have an idea.” Smirking, (Y/n) shifted slightly to face Kung Jin.

Doing the same, Kung Jin waited impatiently for an answer. Eyes crackling under the orange light of the setting sun, (Y/n) glanced at Kung Jin’s lips before meeting his eyes one more.

“Kiss me.”

Blinking, Kung Jin stared at him for a second. He was expecting something along the lines of doing the other's chores or making him do something that would embarrass him in front of the others. Not this. A smirk of his own, Kung Jin leaned in, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of (Y/n) neck.

“That I can do.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk fandom #mk10 #mk x male reader #kung jin #kung jin x male reader #mk kung jin #fujin #mk fujin #Will people understand the reference #I took something from another video game #whos also an archer

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mariacallous · 1 month

Text

Minnesota Governor Tim Walz’s elevation to the national stage as running mate for Vice President Kamala Harris has suddenly put him in the spotlight. Walz had a low national profile until a successful behind-the-scenes strategy led him to be considered for Democrats’ suddenly vacant second spot.

One of the striking elements of Walz’s biography is his unusually deep connections to China. Walz first visited the country in 1989, just months after the Tiananmen Square protests, and returned to the country some 30 times afterward. As an educator and then a small business owner, he facilitated student groups’ trips to China. As a legislator, he served on the Congressional-Executive Commission on China, which monitors human rights and the rule of law in the country, and co-sponsored resolutions urging the release of democratic activist Liu Xiaobo and remembering the Tiananmen Square victims.

Not all the attention to Walz’s China record has been positive. Republican and conservative figures have sought to portray Walz’s China ties as dangerous. On X, for example, Sen. Marco Rubio accused Walz of being a Chinese asset—“an example of how Beijing patiently grooms future American leaders”—who would “allow China to steal our jobs & factories & flood America with drugs.”

But Rubio’s attack has it precisely backward. Walz’s record is that of a measured critic of the Chinese Communist Party—prone neither to exaggeration nor accommodation. Nor is this a pose cooked up by spin doctors in the past few weeks. Small-town Nebraska newspaper articles—published well before Walz had any political ambitions—demonstrate that his professed affection for the Chinese people and culture has been matched by a longstanding criticism of the country’s rulers.

Back in the 1980s and ’90s, it didn’t take a lot to make the local papers. Walz, for instance, was once photographed for the Alliance Times-Herald—“Box Butte County’s Only Family-Owned Newspaper”—for a National Guard project: painting and repairing trash cans in the town center. (The photograph is about as exciting as the description suggests.)

The regular stuff of small-town news reporting—council meetings, 4-H club events, church announcements—was occasionally enlivened by stories about exceptional events. One such, it turned out, was Walz’s decision to teach in China as part of a program run by WorldTeach, a Massachusetts-based nonprofit. (Many news accounts, at the time and later, describe WorldTeach as a Harvard-run program, but it’s more accurate to say it was founded by Harvard students.)

“I’ve always had a real interest in travel, and feel this is a golden opportunity to see a culture that’s 3,000 years old,” Walz, then a senior at Chadron State College, told the Chadron Record in an article announcing his selection in 1989.

Walz would be going under less than glamorous conditions. It was the first year that WorldTeach would make placements in China, the Record reported, and that meant participants had to be resourceful: “They said we’ll basically have to solve our own problems,” Walz said. He said he had to raise $2,500 for his transportation, health insurance, and orientation costs—and, once in China, he would only earn $100 per month in salary (although that was, the Record noted, “about twice the amount generally paid [to] Chinese teachers”).

Although the crackdown on protesters in June 1989 led Walz to wonder whether the trip would go on, the program remained in place. After orientation in Hong Kong and Guangzhou, China, he traveled to his teaching site: a senior middle school in Foshan, a then-rapidly growing city in central Guangdong Province in southern China. There, he taught U.S. history and culture and English to classes of 65 students each from December 1989 to December 1990, according to a 1990 article in the Chadron Record. (Walz’s Midwestern-accentuated U.S. English was a change for the students, whose previous instructor was British, according to a 1994 article in the Scottsbluff Star-Herald.)

His trip was big enough news that the Record printed excerpts from a letter Walz wrote to a Chadron State faculty member while he was abroad. Walz wrote that he was “being treated like a king.” He was, he wrote, “totally responsible for my curriculum. But I’m managing.”

After he returned, Walz was invited to speak about his time at his alma mater, Chadron State. At about the same time, an interview about his year in China ran in local papers. His enthusiasm was obvious: “No matter how long I live, I’ll never be treated that well again,” Walz told the Record in 1990. “They gave me more gifts than I could bring home. It was an excellent experience.” (In 2024, the New York Post twisted this line as evidence that Walz had “fawned over Communist China.”)

Yet in context, it’s clear that Walz was no dupe. During his teaching year, he visited Beijing (a 40-hour trip by rail) and saw Tiananmen Square, according to the Record. As much as Walz loved China and the Chinese people, his attitude toward the Chinese Communist Party was bluntly critical. Tiananmen Square, he told the Record, “will always have a lot of bitter memories for the people.” (Walz later chose June 6 as his wedding date so he could “have a date he’ll always remember,” according to his wife.)

The problem with China, Walz observed, wasn’t its people but the government. “If they had the proper leadership, there are no limits on what [Chinese people] could accomplish,” he told the Record. “They are such kind, generous, capable people. They just gave and gave and gave to me. Going there was one of the best things I have ever done.”

Walz viewed China’s population as eager to leave its Communist-run society. “Many of the students want to come to America to study,” he told the Record. “They don’t feel there is much opportunity for them in China.” He mentioned that during one of his trips to nearby Macau, then still a Portuguese colony, the government granted amnesty to Chinese immigrants living in the colony illegally, triggering a stampede by tens of thousands of Chinese who wanted residency in the West.

The trip shaped Walz’s career as an educator. Within a few months of his return, Walz had found a job as a social studies teacher in Alliance, Nebraska, a town whose population was then just under 10,000 people. He created a pen-pal program linking his students to Chinese middle-school students at his old teaching placement, where a friend of his worked. The program was reported on the front page of the Alliance Times-Herald in 1991.

Walz, who must have been a dynamic teacher, used the exchange of letters to not only bridge cultural gaps but also demonstrate the stakes of then-acrimonious U.S.-China government relations to his students. Walz pointedly described the politics of the countries’ then-seemingly large trade imbalance (a fraction of what it is now) to the Times-Herald: “The Chinese government wants us to buy what they sell, but won’t buy what we sell.”

Soon, Walz was leading groups of students to China. The first visit was in July 1993, when he took 25 Alliance High School students on a trip partly funded by the Chinese government, although the students and sponsors, including Walz, had to cover costs of $1,580 each, according to an article in the Scottsbluff Star-Herald; Walz helped by raising funds from local businesses. (In a rare criticism of an aspect of Chinese culture, rather than the Chinese Communist Party, Walz responded to one student’s interest in hearing Chinese opera by saying he’d “rather eat glass” than see another Chinese opera.) Walz’s honeymoon with his wife, a fellow teacher, the next year involved two student trips to China, according to the Star-Herald. Later, he and his wife would start a business to promote similar exchanges.

For all his fondness toward China, Walz’s descriptions of its people at times reflected the prevailing stereotypes of the time. “The students are almost too well behaved,” he wrote in his letter from China that was excerpted in the Record in 1989. In a 1994 profile ahead of his honeymoon in China, Walz told the Star-Herald that it had been hard to memorize names and tell his students apart (although he also noted that Chinese students thought all Americans looked alike.) To the Times-Herald in 1993, he described his students as not overly creative but industrious: “[T]here was never even any unfinished homework,” he recalled. And, for Walz, mostly used to small-town life, the sheer scale of China was astonishing: “The people were the best part, and the worst part was the number of people.”

The contemporaneous (and surprisingly extensive) record of how Walz’s time in China influenced him clearly rejects the idea that Walz was groomed or otherwise misled by his time in the country. He was an earnest, young observer of a society and government radically unlike his own. After repeated exposure, however, China became increasingly familiar to him. His opinions about the Chinese people and their government derived from firsthand observations, filtered through his own background and reading.

Neither a hawk nor a dove, Walz approached China as a student and a teacher—an owl, to steal a metaphor. Throughout these early interviews, his insistence on the separation between a people and their government—and his repeated criticism of the Chinese government—was plain. So was his emphasis on the importance of democracy and recognizing where the United States fell short.

People change, and seeking clues to how a potential Vice President Walz would act based on how high school teacher Walz approached his lessons is clearly perilous. Still, it seems clear that Walz values facts, and in particular experience, rather than theory or ideology; that he has deeply held core beliefs about China’s people and government set in the era of Tiananmen; and that his commitment to promoting human rights—and U.S. economic interests in trade negotiations—is longstanding.

With that background, leavened by subsequent experience on China issues as a member of Congress, it seems more likely than not that Walz would be neither inflexibly hostile nor naïve about relations with Beijing.

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deancasbigbang · 1 year

Text

Title: Magdalena

Author: Mme Yersinia

Artist: Robin

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, implied Sam/Rowena

Length: 150000

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, torture, self-harm and suicidal ideation

Tags: Canon-divergent s13, domestic kid fic, complex family dynamics, rural americana, mutual pining, dadstiel, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, redemption arcs

Posting Date: October 25, 2023

Summary: Castiel swore to protect Jack at all costs. If that means taking him away from the dark dungeon of the bunker, and away from the harsh words and hands of Dean Winchester, then so be it. Castiel takes Jack and runs. He finds them a safe town, a battered rental house, a little job and a little life. He wants Jack to have a normal childhood; to grow up safe and loved, not in a windowless basement. Dean tracks them down, of course. He begs forgiveness, of course. But redemption is a long, slow road. It’s paved with ginger cats and broken-down Hondas, stolen kisses and dusty libraries and bathroom repairs. Dean and Castiel find themselves growing closer in the haze of domesticity. Dean moves from sleeping in the car, to the sofa, to Castiel’s bed. It’s not easy to carve out a place for themselves in a world that doesn’t always want them. But strange things start to happen in the home they’ve made. Neighbors complain of shadows in the night. Monsters appear that don’t belong. Coincidences line up. Wherever peace and happiness try to grow, there are adversaries who would snuff it out. The love holding their family together just might be the last weapon they have against the evils of the world.

Excerpt: Castiel takes his lunch break outside whenever the weather allows. He always intends to spend it reading one of the library’s newest additions. Usually he ends up watching other creatures instead. Birds flit back and forth in the courtyard’s ill-kempt bushes. Interesting insects crawl between the boards of the picnic table. A woman a few blocks down is walking her fluffy, prim little dog on a pink leash when Castiel’s phone buzzes. He hopes that it’s the bank calling him back to say there was a mistake, actually, the check has come through. But no: it’s a text from Sam. “You and Jack doing okay?” The midday sun bakes the back of Castiel’s neck, rising a ring of sweat around the collar of his polo shirt. The library dress code is business casual. He’d Googled what that meant after his interview, and then he and Jack had frantically made a trip to the local Goodwill to scrape together a week’s worth of work clothes for him. Jack had found a dinosaur cup for fifty cents, though, so the outing had been successful by more than one standard. Castiel had almost picked out a flannel. The well-worn, faded, familiar stripes caught his eye from the hanger in the men’s row. Fondness and bitterness blended in a strange way in Castiel's grace until Jack caught him staring and asked, “Do you want that one, too?” “We can’t afford it,” Castiel had blurted out, turning away, because by then it was their turn to check out. He stares at Sam’s text message. Above it are a long stream of others, most unanswered. It’s not Sam’s fault. He’s just stuck working damage control. Castiel taps back an answer. “Yes.” It’s not a lie. A few moments pass and Castiel doesn’t put his phone away. He watches a brown-striped bird peck at the remnants of someone’s french fries on the ground. A reply pops up on his screen. “Can you tell me where you are?” Castiel frowns, chews his lip. His break is almost over. He’s got to work on re-filing the historical nonfiction (F through K) when he goes back inside the library. He texts back, “No.” If it was up to him - if there were fewer variables in this nasty equation - the answer might be different. He doesn’t want Sam trying to visit so he can peer in on their little life that’s trying to grow into the shape of something human. He doesn’t want pitying glances or offers of help. Least of all does he want Dean to know where they are. Dean has no right to that. The phone burbles a reply: “Okay. Let me know if you or Jack need anything. Talk soon.” Castiel stares down at the washed-out screen in the warm glare of sunlight. His bittersweet moroseness feels out of place in such fine weather, butting up against the scalding green of the garden. He gets to his feet and drags his vessel back inside the library.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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captainofthetidesbreath · 2 years

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It's interesting there's a very high possibility that Yussa and Fjord develop a business relationship, seeing as Yussa owns the Open Quay and Fjord owns a shipping business.

Y'see, the shipping bay in the Restless Wharf is run by the Glisteners Guild, a private subsidiary of the Uludan family (as in the family of the Marquis of Nicodranas and one of the Assembly archmages). The Uludan family monopolizes business across most sectors. I imagine Fjord will refuse to be bullied into the guild's demands, and I imagine the guild does not look kindly on those who compete with them.

So, as a result, Fjord would likely have to run business out of the docks at the Quay anyway. I doubt the Guild will allow him to operate freely in the Wharf, and the rent (for, say, a storehouse) is cheaper to begin with at the Quay bc Yussa sets affordable rent to spite the Uludans. And, well, it's possible Yussa may be a little generous to someone who willing to become a thorn in the Uludan family's side.

The guild also prevents supplies from going to the Quay, so it leaves the Quay unable to get necessary repair supplies and other materials. So, it'd be very useful to have a shipping company run by someone very stubborn and not easily cowed working out of the Quay.

Also, I like to imagine that Sending where Jester asks Yussa if he's interested in a shipping contract or knows anyone that is.

Stone's Throw Shipping is eventually very successful! So, it's very likely that Fjord has had to talk to Yussa about business, and considering the state of business in Nicodranas, it's fun to imagine that Yussa actively encouraged that success—especially to spite a mutual rival in the Uludans.

#me voice: Here's how Marquis Fjord of Nicodranas can still win.#Yussa Errenis #Fjord #Fjord Stone #Fjord CR #Critical Role things #CR #Critical Role

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chickensarentcheap · 8 months

Text

Lost and Found- Chapter 26

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. However, you do not need to read the other fics to understand this one)

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @residentdormouse @thebejeweledwatercat @asirensrage @theesirenteller @ninjasawakenedmystar @alisbackalleybbq @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity @fanficanatic-tw @karimac @kmc1989

Warnings: profanity, brief mentions of blood, bruises, scrapes, cuts. Nothing major.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/134444914

My tag list is OPEN. Please just message me or comment on this post to be added :D

*****

The house is one of half a dozen Nik has collected around the world; located on the Amalfi Coast along the southern edge of Italy’s Sorrentine peninsula. A highly secure five-bedroom, six-bathroom villa that backs onto a cliff that overlooks the Tyrrhenian Sea; built a kilometre from the main road and hidden from sight by a dense, expansive lemon grove.

Despite the years of both work experience and friendship, he had never set foot in any of her homes; business always being conducted in neutral yet secretive places, over the telephone, or even -years before- at his old shack in the outback. They have always travelled in different circles; Nik’s beyond-the-job friendships extending to powerful politicians, multi-million and billionaire businessmen, heads of organized crime and the shady, top-notch lawyers that defended them. Tyler prefers to stick with the couple of buddies he’s known for years; the ones that he can trust with nearly every one of his darkest and deepest secrets. Koen and Rata both serving with him in the ‘normal’ ranks of the Australian Army before he secured his place with SASR. The former his direct superior officer for several years; since the day he’d shown up at boot camp as a cocky, wet-behind-the-years eighteen-year-old.

While Nik prefers the sophisticated, luxurious life that being a gun runner and the head of her mercenary business provides her, Tyler has always lived well below his means. Able to afford much more than that shack in the outback and even the house in the Broome, but never feeling the need for something more expensive and flashy. Even keeping the same old pickup he’d had since he was a teenager; doing his own repairs for nearly two decades before finally running the old girl into the ground.

Their distinct differences had prevented him from developing something more with Nik; drawn instead to the normalcy and practicality that Esme brought into his life. She had always longed for a much simpler and quieter existence; preferring not to draw attention to herself and never surrounding herself with those that they encountered in their respective careers Somehow managing to keep the two sides of her life -of HERSELF- completely separate; leaving the job behind the second a mission wrapped and able to -no matter how brief- enjoy a normal life. The job didn’t control her, and she didn’t obsess over her successes and failures. Indulging instead in all the little moments that came with routine and domesticity. Nik, however, was unable ever to let the job go. Spending every waking moment immersing herself in the lifestyle and enjoying its spoils. And she certainly never entertained the idea or wish of something more beyond it; laughing off any suggestion that perhaps marriage and children and settling down were somewhere in her cards.

He had never realized he wanted any of that either; his first marriage had crashed and burned, and he’d been a complete and utter failure as a father. But then he’d met Esme, and everything quickly changed. HE changed. Finding himself both mesmerized and intrigued by the love and joy she somehow still possessed for life and everyone in it, the whimsy she possessed, and those hopeful and wistful dreams that she carried with her everywhere she went.

THAT was someone he could see carving out a future with.

Upon arrival, he reluctantly puts his trust in the medic to ‘deliver’ Esme to the waiting doctor; a longtime colleague of Nik’s who has attended to many injuries -both minor and life-threatening and everything in between- over the course of the last decade and a half. The largest of the villa’s guest rooms is already prepared and stocked with various medical equipment and supplies: a machine to monitor vitals, an IV stand and a pain medicine pump. And it isn’t until that moment that he’s able to register his discomfort; plagued by near-crippling mental and physical exhaustion. His entire body screaming in pain; his lower back on fire, both his knees stiff and painful, and his head pounding from a likely concussion of his own. Yet he knows sleep will likely elude him. Plagued by a potent mixture of emotions; the profound worry for Esme, the lingering regret and guilt for his choices, and his momentary lapse of judgement. And a rage that remains on a low boil when it comes to both Alessio, his actions, and Winston’s betrayal and the words he’d spoken in the basement.

Instead of allowing himself to second-guess his decisions and plot revenge, he focuses on Millie. Carefully unbuckling her from the booster seat in the back of one of Nik’s many chauffeured cars, easily lifting her with one arm and tucking her tight into his chest. Her legs and arms dangle loosely as her head rests on his shoulder; not offering up even the slightest of flinches or mumbles when he tosses her sequined unicorn backpack -full of her art supplies, finished pictures, and her beloved doll and koala bear- over his shoulder.

“Her room’s the first one at the top of the stairs.” Nik nods toward the central staircase; gleaming white and gray marble accompanied by polished steel handrails and glass panels. “On the right.”

It makes the bitterness return; the realization that Millie has her own ‘place’ in Nik’s home. An expansive and beautiful suite fit for a princess, decorated in all of her favourite colours, holding all of her favourite toys and belongings, the closets filled with her clothes. He had been robbed of all of that; never getting the chance to put a crib together, change a single diaper, put her in a bubble gum pink onesie, or slip one of those ridiculous flowered headbands onto her head. He never got to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story; he was never able to help with potty training or assist with brushing her teeth. He hadn’t witnessed her going from rolling from back to front and side to side to sitting up and eventually pulling up into a stand. He wasn’t there when she’d taken her first steps, hadn’t seen her learning to run, and hadn’t heard her first words.

So many missed opportunities. Things that others had been blessed to experience. While he’d never even known of her existence.

He uses a hip to push open the door and an elbow to flick on the light. The room is enormous; possessing its own walk-in closet and ensuite bath and a separate crafting area sectioned off with a dinosaur AND princess-themed room divider. An entire wall is taken up with built-in shelves, hosting books, stuffed animals, and a wide selection of Barbie dolls, action figures, and matchbox cars. A wrought iron canopy bed sits in the middle of the room and atop a three-stepped platform; the frame decorated with pink and gray camouflage drapes and the mattress covered in a Batman comforter.

Tossing the backpack in a nearby chair, he climbs the steps to the bed; Millie clutched to his chest with one arm as his free hand pulls back the blankets and flat sheet. And she gives a slight whimper and a heavy sigh when he places her in the middle of the mattress; her eyes flickering open as she lets out a long, soft “daddy” and reaches up for him.

Time seems to stand still. His entire body tenses as the emotions -profound and overwhelming- rush through him. It’s been a long time since he’s been called that; over a decade since Austin had addressed him that way during his last weeks in the hospital as the cancer ravaged him. Esme had been the one who’d given him a semblance of hope; that one day he’d once more be given that title and he’d hear the word come out of a little one’s mouth. When she left, that dream had evaporated; gone was the one person he could ever see making that kind of commitment and building that kind of future with. And while Millie may not be fully aware of what she’s saying in a semi-conscious moment, it still nearly brings him to his knees; tears welling in his eyes as his throat tightens and his heart hammers within his chest.

Grumbling her displeasure of being awakened, Millie sits up in bed; her brow furrowed and eyes half closed, a pout curving her lips. Stuck in a state of disorientation and confusion as she glances around the room. “Where are we?”

“We’re at Auntie Nik’s house. The one in Italy. Remember how I told you? About how we were going to stay here for a few days?”

“Oh…” Yawning noisily, she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. “...yeah…I remember. Where’s momma?”

“The doctor is taking a look at her. Just to make sure she’s doing alright. Then she’s going to sleep. Just like you’re going to. You want jammies on or are you just gonna sleep in your clothes or…?”

“Jammies, please. Where’s Franklin? And Posie? I can’t sleep without Franklin or Posie. Posie needs her jammies on, too. They’re with mine. They match.”

Collecting the doll and koala out of the backpack, he drops them on the bed. “And the jammies…”

“In my dresser. Top middle drawer.”

He searches for pyjamas for both her and the doll, finally locating matching nightgowns: white cotton with thin straps, the fabric emblazoned with colourful butterflies.

“Those are my favourite!” Millie enthuses, as she wriggles out of her clothes. “Mommy made those for us! Out of pillowcases! They’re really supposed to be dresses, but I always liked wearing them as jammies. So does Posie.”

“Your mum’s a pretty talented one, isn’t she?”

“Most of the time. Just don’t ask her to cook. She’s not very good at that. At all. My dirty clothes go in there…” She nods towards the ensuite bathroom.. “...that’s where the washer and dryer are.”

“You have your own washer and dryer? You're four.”

“It’s not like I know how to use them. They’re just there. For convenience, I guess. Well, I do know HOW to put stuff in the wash and in the dryer. I just can’t reach to turn them on.”

“You are way too smart for your own good.”

“Mom says that all the time.”

Retreating to the ensuite, tossing the clothes into the washer; leaving the door open for more to be added later. And when he returns to the bedroom, both Millie and the doll are already in their pyjamas; the four-year-old waiting in bed with a hairbrush in one hand, and a package of elastics in the other.

“We have to do my hair. Or it gets really knotted when I’m asleep and then it’s really hard to brush it in when I get up.. And it hurts like hell too! Do you know how to braid hair?”

“No.”

“I can teach you!”

“How about we leave that for tomorrow? When it’s not so late. Think maybe we could do something else with it? Put it in a bun or a ponytail or…?”

“Ponytail is alright. But you gotta put it up on the top of my head, or I can’t sleep. ‘Cause it hurts to lie on it.”

He gingerly and patiently works the brush through Millie’s tresses, then gathers it in both hands and secures it with the hair tie she passes to him. It’s a simple experience shared with his daughter, yet it brings back vivid memories of similar moments with her mother. Those times when Esme would be busy in the kitchen; focused on a recipe she was trying to recreate or the baking that had that little cabin filled with delicious aromas. He’d approach her from behind; sneaking a kiss to her cheek or temple before putting her hair back for her.

“What else?”

“I gotta brush my teeth.”

“How ‘bout we skip it tonight?”

“Momma won’t like that.”

“I won’t tell her if you won’t. We’ll just make sure you brush them twice as long after breakfast.”

“Does that work? Does it really make up for not doing it before bed?”

“Of course. Would I lie to you?”

Millie shakes her head, ponytail swaying from side to side.

“So does your mum read a story to you or…?”

“Sometimes. Not every night. Only if I ask. I’m too tired tonight. No stories. But thank you.”

“Do you want me to just tuck you in or…?”

“Will you snuggle with me? Just for a little bit? It’s been a really bad day, and I’m still super sad. I need a snuggle. A really good one. And momma can’t do it, so…”

He agrees to the snuggle; moving towards the door in order to shut off the lights, pauses with his hand on the switch. “You got a night light or something?”

“Nope. I’m not scared of that dark, daddy. I’m not a baby!”

He wants to tell her that yes, she is. That she’s HIS baby. How regardless of how old she gets and how many children she has of her own, she always WILL be. And while the first time being called daddy had been a shock, the second occurrence hits even harder; the realization that it was a fully conscious decision on Millie’s part and not just a slip of the tongue… a random moment…while still teetering on the edge of sleep. He’s thankful for the darkness that envelopes the room when he turns off the light, able to hide the tears sparkling in his eyes and the millions of questions a very observant Millie will lob at him. And climbing into bed beside her, he wraps both arms around her; that tiny body snuggling tightly against him, doll and bear under one arm, her face nestled in his ribs.

“You good?”

“I’m good. You’re nice and warm. And comfy. You make me feel safe. Like I don’t have anything to be scared of.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. No one can hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. And I’d promise with a million pinkie promises.”

“That’s a lot!”

“That’s how honest I’m being. You and your mum ARE safe. And I’ll make sure you stay that way. I won’t let anyone hurt you guys. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of you. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nuzzling her face against his side, she places her free hand on his chest. “Will you draw on my back? Please? It helps me sleep.”

He obliges, his own eyes closing as his fingertips create random patterns on her back. Several minutes passing before she yawns and raises her head to look at him, eyes sparkling in the moonlight that streams through the curtains.

“Daddy?”

“Millie?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’ll go to sleep AFTER I ask my question.”

“What is it?”

“You and momma lived together, right? Before I came along? In Australia?”

“We did.”

“In the house you live in now?”

“No. A different house. In a different part of Australia.”

“But the house you live in now is the house we are ALL going to live in? Or do we have to get a new one?”

“We won’t have to get a new one for a while. There’s enough room for all of us. And maybe one or two more people.”

“That means you and momma can start having babies!”

“That’s something your mum and I would have to talk about. I don’t know if she’s quite ready for that. Having babies.”

“Well, I hope she’s ready soon. ‘Cause I really want to be a big sister. And I’m not getting any younger!”

“If you think you’re not getting any younger, how do you think I feel? I’m way older than you are.”

“How much older?”

“A lot.”

“How much is that? How old ARE you?”

“I’m forty.”

“Holy shit!”

“Excuse you? Forty’s not THAT old.”

“It’s middle age! You’re older than momma!”

“I am.”

“Momma’s only thirty-four. But she’s going to be thirty-five soon. Maybe we can have a party for her. For her birthday.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t.”

“We can even make her a birthday cake and put up balloons and streamers and play games! We can even take her out for dinner!”

“You got it all planned, do you?”

“Most of it. I don’t know about the guest list, though.”

“That’s something we can talk about when it’s closer to the time. For now….” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “...it’s time for bed. It’s late. And it’s been a really long day. Time to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she pecks his cheek, followed by the corner of his mouth. Her face buried in his ribs as she once more lies down next to him. “Goodnight, daddy. Love you.”

Tears threaten once more. “I love you, too. So very much.”

*****

He’s teetering on the edge of sleep when a soft knock comes to the door; Nik standing on the threshold, motioning for him to join her and the doctor in the hallway. Carefully slipping from under Millie’s arm and out of bed, he tucks the blankets around her slumbering form and then leans down to press a kiss to her forehead. Reluctantly leaving her side, he joins Nikand the doctor in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“How’s she doing?” Nik inquires, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

“She’s finally asleep. I don’t know where she gets all that energy from. She wore me out a long time ago.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, daddy. She’s cute as hell, but she can be a real handful. And you’ve just been thrown right to the wolves.”

“Esme?” Tyler addresses the doctor. “ How is she?”

“Very lucky. Considering the intensity of the crash and the damage done to the vehicle, I’m surprised we’re not looking at life-threatening injuries. If not worse.”

“Anything I need to worry about or…?”

“For the most part, I agree with the medic’s findings. There’s no sign of internal bleeding, and there’s no dilation of the pupils, slurred speech, or difficulties with reflexes. And no confusion; she was able to tell me her full name, what day, month, and year it was, and give a very detailed description of what exactly happened. Ruling out a brain injury, the diagnosis remains the same; whiplash and a moderate to severe concussion. Both should begin to ease within the next few days. I do suspect a bruised liver and spleen, however. I’ll be able to monitor those over the next forty-eight hours. For any sign of tearing or rupture.”

“He does think the sternum is broken,” Nik pipes up. “Based on the severity of the pain. And limited movement.”

“Nothing more than a hairline fracture,” the Doctor explains. “And nothing that we could repair surgically or even cast for. The best course of action is none; just letting it heal on its own. She’ll need to rest it for at least four weeks; no lifting anything over ten pounds, no repetitive movement. She can wear a sling if she finds it lessens the discomfort. As far as I can tell, the majority of the pain is actually from the contusion caused by the seat belt; deep and prolific bruising from the top of her shoulder, running diagonally to the left hip. I have her on IV antibiotics and pain meds for the next twenty-four hours; after that I’ll be able to switch her to oral medication.”

“Can she eat or drink? If she wakes up hungry or thirsty…?”

“She’s allowed both solids and liquid. I suggest keeping meals small and light. Her system is in shock from the amount of injuries and the pain; anything too heavy could cause stomach upset. And preventing further discomfort is important at this time.”

“And how long will we have to stay here? When can I take her home?”

“Within a week, she should be able to move around quite freely and without much difficulty or pain. I wouldn’t suggest flying any sooner than that; the altitude would put pressure on the brain, and with the concussion, it could cause severe issues. Swelling, blood clots, aneurysms. It’s safer to wait seven days. After that, even when home, you’ll have to keep an eye on her; make sure she stays on top of her meds, and follows the rules when it comes to healing properly.”

“But she’s going to be okay? She’ll be back to normal? Eventually?”

“She’s young and healthy. There’s nothing to suggest she WON’T be back to normal. Just keep an eye out for anything that suggests trouble; severe headaches beyond what a concussion would provide, any unexplained swelling and redness anywhere on the body, a high fever, speech issues, or any loss of consciousness. If any of those happen, she has to be seen immediately. Wherever you are. Now…” Tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrow as he takes in the various bruises and cuts on Tyler’s neck and face. “...perhaps I should take a look at YOU now.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine. I cleaned myself up. Fixed what I could. I don’t…”

“You should be looked at,” Nik gently persuades. “Esme wasn’t the only one in that accident. You’re pretty banged up. Just let the doctor take a look and…”

“I said I’m fine.” His voice stern. Harsher than it needs to be. “I’ve gone through a lot worse. And lived to tell about it. All I really need is some sleep.”

“If you have your own concussion or some internal damage or…”

Ignoring Nik, he once more addresses the doctor. “I’ll let you know if I start feeling worse. Right now, I’m just tired. I just need to rest. It’s been a hell of a long day. Thank you,” He offers his hand. “For taking care of her. If anything had have been seriously wrong…”

“She’s going to make a full recovery. And because of her good health and how she’s taken care of herself throughout her life, she’ll likely heal faster than most. Right now, rest and relaxation are her best friends. And keeping up with a med schedule. I’ve left my home and cell numbers on the nightstand in the bedroom; call if you have even the slightest bit of concern. I’ll be right over.”

Nodding in both appreciation and farewell, he turns on his heel to head for the bedroom next door.

“Tyler…wait…”

“Nik, not tonight. I’m not in the mood for this shit. I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I desperately need at least a few hours of sleep.”

“I wasn’t going to…”

“I don’t need to have the doctor look at me, and I sure as hell don’t need you getting on my ass. So if you're even thinking about bringing up me leaving when all this is over…”

“Actually, I WAS going to say that I had your things brought to the room. And that there are fresh towels and facecloths in the bathroom. I would have had one of the other guest suites made up, but I already knew you would argue with me; that you wouldn’t want to be away from her.”

“Despite how rough things have been…between us…I do appreciate it, Nik. Everything that you’ve done. Especially in the last few days. I don’t agree with what you did; not letting me know that Esme was alive and that I had a kid out there. And it’s going to take me a hell of a long time to get over it. I can’t pretend I’m not pissed off. That I’m not hurt. I can’t just turn all that off, you know? It isn’t something I can just forgive.”

“I couldn’t betray her trust. Not even for you. She relied on me; to keep her and Millie safe. And I…”

“Safe from who? Me? I wasn’t a threat to them. You didn’t need to protect them from me.”

“She wanted to protect you. She thought she was doing the right thing. And whether I agreed with that or not…”

“I’m not going to get into this right now. I just can’t do it. I’ve said everything I needed to say. Other than thank you. For taking care of her and Millie. Keeping them safe. You didn’t have to step up like that, but you did. And if it wasn’t for you, who knows where they’d be right now. Kinda scares me to even think about it.”

“I took care of them for YOU. Because I knew one day she’d track you down and you’d get that chance; to be a family and grow old together. I WANTED that for you, Tyler. I wanted you to get your ‘happy ever after.’ And I’ve never seen you as just a commodity. You’ve always been more than that. Much more.”

“I want to believe that, Nik. I do. But right now…”

“You’re hurt. You’re angry. And you’ve got every right to feel those things. I just hope one day you’ll realize what I did, I did for them and YOU. Try and get some rest. It’s been a long day. And Millie is going to have you up and bright and early, believe me.” “If it’s before the crack of dawn, I’m sending her to you.”

“Don’t even think about it. I plan on sleeping until noon.”

“You’re gonna up with the sun, and you know it. It’s just who you are. The way you’re made.”

“Try and relax, Tyler. It’s safe here. THEY’RE safe.”

“Sometimes that’s easier said than done.”

“In a week’s time, you’ll be back home. With your family. The chances of any threats finding you there…”

“There’s always a chance, Nik. You know that.”

“I’ll do what I can. When it comes to handling things in New York City. Making sure the trouble stays there. And once things settle down…for good…that’s it. You’re free.”

“Only if you’ll let me be.”

“It’ll be hard to let you go. We’ve been through a lot together. SEEN a lot.”

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me THAT easy. After all, you’re Auntie Nik, yeah? Something tells me Millie wouldn’t stand for you just up and disappearing.”

“She doesn’t have to worry about that. She’s my family. So is her mom. And so are you. Sleep well. You’ve earned it.”

Nodding in agreement and apprehension, he moves towards the guest room, hesitating as his fingers curl around the door handle, and just as Nik steps onto the top landing of the stairs. “Nik?”

She hesitates.

“Thank you.”

She manages a weary smile. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

*****

A long, hot shower makes him feel almost human again. Thirty minutes spent standing motionless under a punishing stream of hot water as it not only rid his hair and body of remaining remnants of debris and blood, but brought some relief to his lower back, base of his skull, and both shoulders. Afterwards in the light of the bathroom, he’s able to better assess the damage done to his body; various cuts and abrasions along both arms and legs, large bruises on the front and backs of his thighs and in the middle of his back, several smaller across his collarbone. A perfect impression of the steering wheel -and its emblem- covers the majority of his sternum, and the skin on the left side of his rib cage has begun to turn vivid, various shades of purple and blue. Far surpassing the damage done in Georgia and Vienna, even WITH the gunshot to his hand and to his lower left abdomen. The latter missing all vital organs and lodging near his hip; an easy removal for the medical team at the Graz-Karlau prison. Barely leaving a scar behind and requiring a very short rest and recovery time.

He navigates the bedroom by both the streaks of moonlight that spill through the window coverings and the glow given off by the portable ECG machine monitoring Esme’s vitals. Rummaging through the rucksack; he locates the lone pair of sweats he’d packed for his initial business trip; grimacing at the stiffness in his knees and discomfort in his back as he steps into them. The bed -more expansive than an average king- is more than large enough for both of them to sleep in, and for her to be kept safe from his tossing and turning; eager to spare her an errant elbow to the back or stomach or a knee into a thigh. And he creeps to her side, watching as she sleeps soundly; light, peaceful smile curving her lips’ with her face turned towards the window. The soft, silvery sheen the moon casts upon her face shows off the various cuts and bruises that she’d incurred earlier in the day; the vivid purple and blue upon her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, and on the tops of both cheeks and under one eye.

It’s painful to look at; the mere thought of her injured and in discomfort nearly splitting his heart in two. Hating his perceived negligence and failure to keep her safe had led her to this; hooked up to various wires and tubes from the IV and pain. Hurting far worse than he’d ever expected it to; believing that watching his son suffer and waste away had steeled him against witnessing someone experiencing pain and illness. But it aches to his very soul; twisting and wrenching at his guts and a sorrow -for someone who is still very much alive- creating a death grip around his heart. And emotion chokes at him as he crouches at the side of the bed; smoothing a hand over her hair and laying his palm on the top of her head, thumb repeatedly brushing across her brow.

“I’m so sorry, Me.” He grazes his knuckles over her bruised and swollen cheek. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She murmurs in her sleep, then releases a long, soft sigh as she nestles her cheek into his palm.

“And I’m sorry for being as angry and as hurt as I am. I know you did the best you could; that you left because you were scared, and you wanted to protect me. But you kept my daughter from me. When there was no reason to. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get over that. If I ever really do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I have ALWAYS loved you. Those five years changed nothing.” Leaning forward, he presses a lingering kiss to her brow, then to her lips. “You sleep, okay? ‘Cause that’s the only way you’re gonna get better. Because that’s what Millie needs; her mom back to normal. And I need that too.” He pulls back with a heavy sigh; running the tip of his index finger down the bridge of her nose. “This is all going to be over soon. I promise. There’s nothing for you to be scared of anymore. No one can hurt you now. And they won’t hurt you EVER again.”

His knees crack, and he bites back the pain as he stands. The limp in his right leg more pronounced as he retreats to his side of the bed, peeling back the layers of blankets and slides underneath. His body is sore and weary, and his head immediately sinks into the pillow; the case and the crisp, linen sheets cool and refreshing against his skin. He’s never experienced this level of exhaustion; not even during the months of tedious and often agonizing physical therapy sessions that had preceded his release from the hospital in Dubai. It’s a tiredness that is bone…SOUL…deep; both limbs and eyes feeling impossibly heavy, his own body seeming rooted to its place. And despite the years of frequent bouts of insomnia, it isn’t long before rest claims him. Lulled to sleep by the faint beeping of the EKG machine, Esme’s soft rhythmic breathing, and the rolling of the waves as they wash up onto the shore.

*****

He sleeps soundly despite the pain and only over-the-counter pills to dull it, stirring only once when the nurse crept into the room in the dead of the night to change Esme’s IV and med bag and then reset the pump. He remembers a brief, exhausted chat; the nurse apologizing for waking him, the exchange of pleasantries, and his peppering of questions in regards to Esme’s vitals and the continued care she’ll be receiving. Already back asleep before the woman even finished her duties and slipped from the room. When he finally wakes for the day, it’s courtesy of a tiny hand repeatedly -and remarkably vigorously- shaking him and a tiny voice calling his name. And cracking open his eyes, he moans in discomfort when he’s immediately greeted by the sun’s harsh rays, followed by Millie’s wide, beaming smile as she stands at the side of the bed. Clad in her pyjamas with her doll under one arm, teddy under the other; her high ponytail having loosened in her sleep and now sitting at an awkward angle on the side of her head.

“Hi!” she chirps. “Hi, daddy.”

“Hey…”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Better than I expected to. Is something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“You’re okay?”

Millie nods.

“What are you doing? What…?”

“I’m hungry. My tum is complaining.REALLY loud. I went downstairs and looked for Carmen, but I couldn’t find her. And there’s no brekkie waiting in the kitchen. Usually, she has brekkie finished and waiting for me.”

“Who’s Carmen?”

“Auntie Nik’s cook.”

“Auntie Nik has a cook?”

“And someone that shops for her, someone that books all her appointments, a chauffeur, and a maid.”

“What does she do? If she has all those people doing everything for her?”

“Wears nice clothes and kicks butt and takes names.”

“Is that what you’re going to be like? When you’re older?”

“I’m already like that.”

Chuckling, he reaches out to playfully tug on her ponytail. “So I guess this means I better get my ass up, yeah? Can’t exactly do stuff on your own.”

“I CAN make my own breakfast. Well, just cereal and toast, but still, I’m ONLY four, so that’s pretty good, right? That I can do that?”

“Your mumma’s been doing a damn good job, that’s for sure. Teaching you things.”

“She wants me to be strong and independent. But not grow up too fast. But one day, I’ll be able to make pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon. Not just boring old cereal and toast.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want something else? More than that?”

She giggles as she drops her chin to her chest. “I’m REALLY hungry. I could eat the shit out of a dead hippo.”

Smirking, he tosses off his blankets. “Where did you learn that?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give up my sources.”

“Well, you know what? I could eat the shit out of a dead hippo, too. So why don’t we go downstairs and raid the fridge, and see what we can dig up. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” She steps back as he slides out of bed, her brow furrowing as she studies her mother’s bruised and battered and sleeping form.. “ What about momma, though? She’ll be all by herself. She might get lonely. What if she wakes up and we’re not here? She might be scared. And sad. I don’t want her to be scared and sad.”

“IF she wakes up, she knows we’re not far away. That we wouldn’t just leave her. She knows how much we love her; that we’d never just take off on her. Besides, she’s going to be doing a lot of sleeping for the next few days.”

“‘Cause the doctor said so?”

“It’s the best thing for her. So that her body can get better. And that’s what we want, yeah? Mumma to be all better?”

The four-year-old nods.

“How ‘bout you tuck her in? She’d like that.”

Her face visibly brightens. “Like a momma burrito?”

“Something like that. Don’t do it as tight, though. And be careful; you don’t want to get tangled up in all those wires and tubes. Careful and gentle, okay?”

Handing him her doll, she scurries around to Esme’s side of the bed; slipping her body between the machine and the IV stand and gingerly stepping over or slipping under various tubing and wires. Carefully spreading and smoothing the blankets over her mom’s body, then loosely tucking them underneath her. And a distinct sadness darkens her eyes and furrows her brow when she runs a palm over Esme’s hair and leans in to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I miss you, momma. I love you. You’ll feel better soon. I promise. Daddy and I will take really good care of you! Right, dad?”

Nodding, Tyler leans down to drop a kiss on the top of her head when she scurries back to his side; plucking the doll from his grasp.

“I’mma leave Posie here,” Millie announces, then proceeds to lift the top blanket and tuck her under it. “So she can keep an eye on mumma! And if mumma wakes up, she’ll see Posie here and know that I’m coming back for sure. ‘Cause I never leave Posie behind. Not for good!”

“You know, you have a really big heart in that little body of yours.”

“Momma always used to tell me that I got that from my daddy. That his heart was way bigger than his body, too. Is that really true? ‘Cause your body is super big!”

“Is that a polite way of calling me fat?”

“You’re not fat! You’re thick!”

He smirks. “I wonder where I’ve heard that before.”

“You’re like a giant! You’re really tall and crazy big! Do you think it’s true? What momma said? About your heart being bigger than your body? Because if it is, your heart is super huge!”

“You know what I think? I think your mum’s the most amazing human being I’ve ever known.”

“Next to me, right?”

“Yeah…” Scooping her up onto his arms, he presses pressing a kiss to her temple as he settles her on his hip. “...definitely next to you.”

*****

He relaxes in a poolside lounge chair; hair damp and matted to his head, his aching and tired body clad in a pair of board shorts bought during an impromptu shopping excursion with Nik and Millie. The latter fast asleep against his chest; snoring lightly, her eyes shielded by a pair of pink and purple polka-dotted sunglasses, her bathing suit -one of many she’d excitedly picked out- beginning to dry in the heat. Exhausted from the morning and early afternoon activities and the drama of the last seven days; the time spent in the sun and water solidifying her successful escape from New York City. Content and relaxed; confident that her old life is now firmly behind her and the new one is just lingering on the horizon. And despite the worry and sadness revolving around her mother’s injuries, she feels safe and secure; putting all of her trust into her surroundings and the people around her.

Nik joins them, standing at the side of his chairs with her hands shoved in the pockets of a pair of wide-legged, burgundy linen trousers and a pair of oversized sunglasses. A smile curling her lips as she glances down at a snoozing Millie.

“Out like a light.”

“She’s had a hell of a week. It was bound to catch up to her.”

“She doesn’t do that with just anyone. Fall asleep on them like that. Means she feels safe. Secure. She trusts you.”

“I’m not sure she’s making the right decision. Look what her mum’s trust in me got her.”

“What I said on the plane…about what happened…I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was blaming you.”

“That’s exactly what you meant for it to sound like. I know you, Nik; I know you don’t say shit you don’t believe. And you’ve never been one to pull punches.”

“I wanted an explanation. A reason. For how things went so wrong, so quick.”

“And I told you. They came out of nowhere. There’s no way I could have seen it coming. It just happened. And it happened THAT fast.”

“You didn’t hear anything? See anything? You..?”

“I was concentrating on driving. On getting us to the meet-up point. We’d just gone through all that fucking bullshit with Winston..”

“Which was probably weighing heavily on your mind. Probably had you on edge. Distracted.”

“...and all I wanted to do was get the fuck out of there. Get to you and Yaz and then to the airport. I thought the roads were clear; Wick had people blocking all the intersections, and you had eyes on things. Or at least I THOUGHT you did. Had you not pulled the guys early…”

“I thought you were in the clear. You were only three blocks away. I made a decision based on that. I did what I thought was best.”

“So did I. I did what I thought was best for Esme. To get her the fuck out of there. I had just gotten her away from Winston; all I had to do was get her to the airport and on that plane, and everything else was going to be easy. I trusted you to have the people in place. To have my six. And if I DID let my guard down, it’s because of that. Nothing else.”

“I admit, it wasn’t my best decision. I should have left them in place longer. Until we actually DID meet up. But…”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Nik. You’re beating a dead fucking horse. I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I’ve got a lot on my plate. I don’t need this, too. Can we just let it go? I think you fucked up, you think I fucked up. Can’t we leave it at that?”

“I think I deserve an explanation. Not as your friend. But as your boss.”

“And I’ve told you everything there is to know. There isn’t always an explanation or a reason, Nik. Sometimes, shit just happens. There’s nothing simple about this job. It’s not just black or white. And you of all people should know that. You…”

When Milliie whimpers in her sleep, his mood abruptly changes; the tension in his jaw and shoulders releasing, the brightness returning to his eyes. And he smooths a hand over her and down her back, his lips soft as they press against her brow. “It’s alright, Amelia. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She heaves a long, content sigh, then nestles her face against his chest and shoves her thumb into her mouth. And for several minutes, he and Nik remain silent; his chin resting on the top of Millie’s head and his hand rubbing her back in smooth, slow circles.

Nik uses a fingertip to sweep wayward strands of hair off of the little one’s forehead. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is. Esme and I do good work.”

“You most definitely do. Although I’m not sure how much work Esme actually put in. I think her genes were completely absent that day. Millie looks just like you.”

“That’s an awful thing to say about my kid, Nik. That she looks like her old man.”

“You know how many times Esme has heard it? How many people think she’s just a nanny? No one ever believes they’re actually mother and daughter. Until Millie opens her mouth of course; she tells stories EXACTLY like her momma does.”

“All over the damn place.”

“The only two people I know who can go off in five different directions and never get back to what started everything off.”

“You know how many times Esme will start a story, only for me to never find out what the original point of it was? Too many to count.”

“It’s just part of who she is. That exuberance and that light that she’s managed to hold onto. I’ve never met anyone like her, you know. Not in this circle, anyway. I don’t know how she does it; holds onto that optimism and that brightness. Everything she’s been through…the things she’s seen and the things she’s done…all of that has been stacked against her. Yet she’s still…Esme.”

“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. How many people do you think would have stuck around on that bridge? For someone like me?”

“Not a lot.”

“Yet she did. For some reason. She wasn’t leaving me there. And she had every reason to, believe me.”

“She saw the potential. Things about you that no one else did. Or maybe you just never LET people see them. See YOU.”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

“Maybe…”

“Were you there? When she was born?”

Nik nods. “I was.”

He glances down at his daughter; taking a deep breath and then noisily clearing his throat. A vain attempt at pushing away the emotion that threatens to choke him.

"Tyler…”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being there. For Esme. I’m glad she wasn’t alone.”

“She asked me. If I’d be the one to go in with her. And regardless of what you think, I tried telling her; convincing her to call you and let you know you were going to be a dad. I told her there was nothing for her to be afraid of; you weren’t going to ignore her call or turn her away or question whether or not the baby was yours. That there was nothing she could ever do to make you hate her that much.”

“I didn’t hate her at all. I never did. I loved her. I never STOPPED loving her.”

“And that’s what I told her. That you loved her and missed her and were spending all your time looking for her. That if there was ever a time TO contact you, that was it; the baby was very close to being born, the nursery was done, and the name was picked out. I told her you would be on the next plane there; to be with her and see your daughter come into the world.”

“But…”

“She was scared. Of rejection. Because she loved you, and her heart couldn’t take it; if you wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. I told her that that would never happen, but…”

“She’s pretty damn stubborn.”

Nik nods.

“You know I never got to see that with my son, either? Him being born? I was in Iraq; on my second tour with SASR. We were located just outside of Mosul. Mia was pissed about it; she was already six months pregnant when I signed up to go, and she knew there was no way I’d be back in time. I tried to justify it; I was one of the commanding officers, and they needed all hands on deck. Now I realize it’s just who I was; I wasn’t capable of putting her first. And I probably never even should have tried being a family man. I just didn’t have it in me.”

“You were young. You’d already spent years devoting everything you had to the military. It becomes ingrained in you. The only thing that really matters. Believe me, I know.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I ever really wanted to be. A husband and a father. At least back then.”

“You were in love. And you wanted to make her happy. You were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.”

“I was. In love. Or I thought I was, at least. Took me until I was thirty-five to figure out it wasn’t the real deal. I think I just settled. The same way Mia did. I wasn’t really her type; she’d always been into lawyers and politicians and businesses. I was just some guy in the army. I wasn’t anything special.”

“To her, you were.”

“Guess she just wanted something different. Someone a little more dangerous. Younger.”

“And you were there. Ready, willing, and able. And lonely.”

“I don’t know what I was. Stupid, for the most part. But I’d lived practically my entire life without a family; my mum was long dead, and I’d already cut my dad out of the picture. Mia was there. I liked being around her. Not that we actually spent a lot of time together, considering her career kept her busy, and I was always being shipped off to different places.”

“And then your son came along…”

“He just sort of happened. We didn’t plan on having kids. She wasn’t even sure she wanted any. I was just so caught up in thinking I was in love and had found my ‘happily ever after’ that I didn’t really give a shit if we had any or not. But things happened, and he came along, and I tried my best to be a good dad. We know how THAT turned out.”

“That one choice you made…that one mistake…doesn’t mean you were a terrible father. It doesn’t negate the good things, Tyler. Or the love you had…you STILL have…for your little boy.”

“It was a hell of a mistake, Nik.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you loved him. That you still do. Or that HE loved YOU.”

“I never thought I’d be a dad again. I had no plans to be one, that’s for sure. I’d already done that once, and it didn’t end well. And then Esme came along and everything changed. I changed. She made me want to be a different person. A BETTER person. She wasn’t like anyone else. I knew that right away.”

“I think she knew that same thing about you.”

“Once she stuck around after Dhaka, I knew that was it. That SHE was it. I don’t regret it, Nik. The way things happened. I know it was the wrong place and totally the wrong time, but I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change a fucking second. I would take that bullet to my throat a hundred times if it meant I’d be with her.”

She blinks at his honesty.

“When we decided to get the house and started talking about getting married and having a family, I was terrified. Of being a husband and a dad again. I didn’t want to fuck it up. I’d already screwed over one wife; Mia deserved a lot better than I ever gave her. That’s when I told myself it would be different. That I’D be different. I’d be the man that Esme needed and wanted. That she deserved. I’d be a good dad. The one I never had. I would do everything right; I’d be there for my wife, and I’d put my family first, and I wouldn’t be a total fucking failure.”

“You were never a failure, Tyler. You…”

“I used to think about it. Esme being pregnant. Seeing her get bigger and bigger. Feeling the baby move. Making a nursery. Going to all the appointments. I was looking forward to it; going through all of that with her. I’d missed it all the first time, I wasn’t going to miss it again.”

“I know what you’re going to say. I know…”

“That was all taken from me. I never got the chance. I was ready and I was willing, and I was able, and it never happened. Sure, she got pregnant, and the baby came along. But I just didn’t get to know about it. I didn’t get to be part of it, did I.”

“Tyler…”

“I don’t hate you, Nik. Let’s get that out of the way. We’ve been through way too much together. Not to mention everything you did for me after Dhaka and everything you did for Esme and Millie. That you continue to do for them. I could never thank you enough; for keeping Esme safe and for making sure that she didn’t go through everything alone and that she and Millie were taken care of.”

“I don’t need your thanks. They’re my family. So are you.”

“Like I said, I don’t hate you. I might not like you very much right now…”

“And I deserve that. I know I do. But I don’t regret the choices I made. I don’t regret helping Esme or keeping her secrets. And I would do it all again. No questions asked. And I’m sorry if it hurts you to hear that. It was never personal, Tyler. I never did any of that to intentionally hurt you. And I DID try and convince her to contact you. Many times.”

“I really hope that’s true, Nik. That I don’t find out something completely different. Because that whole not hating you thing? That could change. I can’t make any promises.”

******

Nik settles on the lounge chair beside him, stretching out of her legs and setting her clasped hands on her stomach.

“It was a beautiful day.”

Tyler arches a quizzical brow.

“When Millie was born. It was sunny and cool, and the leaves were just starting to change.”

“Seems kinda fitting. That she came along when she did. It was always her mum’s favourite season; Esme used to go on and on about fall in New York City. About how she’d always take walks in Central Park; she loved seeing all the different colours and hearing the leaves crunching under her feet and how the air actually seemed fresh for a change. She made it sound incredible. Beautiful.”

“She has a knack of seeing things differently than we do. She holds onto so much trust and wonder; she sees the beauty in everything. And everyone. She could watch the same sunset a million times and find a million different things to marvel at. I used to tease her about it; almost scold her for being that way. For always seeing the cup as ‘half full’. But now that I think about it, wouldn’t it be better if we all saw it that way?”

“She’s just different, Nik. From what we’re used to. We’ve all been through hell and back. In one way or another. And somehow she’s still like that. I used to give her shit for it, too. Always said she was setting herself up for disappointment if she kept seeing the world like she did. Seeing the good in everyone no matter how shitty they treated her. Even told her how stupid it all seemed; that she was being naive and childish and she was just going to get hurt.”

“If anything…anyone…is a breath of fresh air…”

“I realize now that if she didn’t see things the way she did? Millie wouldn’t even exist. Esme wouldn’t have stayed on that bridge. Dhaka wouldn’t have happened the way it did. The things that went down between the two of us. She wouldn’t even have given me a second look. She would have just seen me as a huge mess. A liability. And moved on with her life.”

“I know you talk about how she came along when you needed it the most, but have you ever thought that maybe you did too? That you came along when she needed you to? Because despite all that light and that brightness and that love for the world and everyone in it, there was a very broken and lonely woman…little girl, even…under all of it. I would see it sometimes; this sadness that would just take over. When she’d just seem so lost and vulnerable and hurting. That changed. When she met you. I saw it in that hospital. All that time she was holding on and fighting for you, she was holding on and fighting for herself too. She wanted to be what YOU needed. And what you deserved.”

“She is way more than I have ever deserved.”

”But she doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see YOU that way. You came along, and you pulled her out of a really dark, horrible place. And I know it’s hard to see that when you’re in a pretty bad place yourself, but it’s true. The two of you found each other when you both needed it the most. She didn’t just save YOU, Tyler. You saved her too. In more ways than one.”

Swallowing around the lump of emotion sitting square in his throat, his fingers moving through Millie’s damp hair as he nods slowly, considering Nik’s words.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions. About the last five years. About Millie. Maybe even about before she was born. If there’s anything you want to ask or know about it or I can help you understand better…”

“How was it? The pregnancy? Was it really hard on her? Were there any complications? I mean, I assume everything went okay, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, but…”

“It was pretty uneventful. There were no scares. No real health issues. Yaz and I got a place in the city. We wanted to be close by; to keep an eye on her, make sure she was taking care of herself and that she got everything she…and the baby…needed. She was never alone, Tyler. Not physically, anyway. We were there when she needed us. Maybe too much at times. I’m sure we annoyed her a lot. I know I can be pretty assertive and overwhelming at times. And Yaz…”

“He’s always had a hard-on for her. I don’t think her being pregnant changed that. Knowing that little freak, it probably made it even better in his mind.”

Nik laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s been harmless. He’s always known he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I mean, she has bad taste in men, but it’s not THAT bad.”

“He was so into things. He loved the idea of being an uncle. He was constantly buying Miillie things; always showing up with toys and outfits and things Esme could put away until she was older. And when we found out it was a girl? He got even worse. That kid was going to be the biggest, most spoiled princess on earth.”

“Esme knew? That it was going to be a girl?”

“She didn’t want to know at first. She was pretty adamant about waiting. Letting it be a surprise. But she ended up caving. At the very last ultrasound. And low and behold, baby Rake was a little girl. We always called Millie that. By your last name. It might not be that on paper, but we talked openly about it. You were always on her mind, Tyler. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t think about you. TALK about you. You may not have been there, but to Esme, that baby was just as much yours as it was hers.”

“I would have been there. If she’d called me out of nowhere and told me about the baby, I would have gotten on the first flight out of Australia. Nothing…no one…could have stopped me from being there. Not you, not Winston, not The High Table. No one.”

“And she knew that. Which is why she was determined NOT to tell you. I’m not saying she made the right decision. Or that I agree with how she handled things. But it was not my place to tell you. Especially about Millie. I couldn’t betray her, Tyler. Not even for you.”

“As hurt as I am, as PISSED as I am, I’m just glad she wasn’t alone. That people were there for her. I fucking hate I didn’t get the chance, but it’s never really about me, has it? It’s about her and Millie. Especially Millie. Always has been. And that’s the way it should be.”

“Esme was having that baby no matter what. Not once did she ever think about not having her. Let alone talk about it. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy and she was lonely and sad and missed you every second of every day. Millie was part of you. Her only connection to you. And there was no way she was giving that up.”

“She’s always wanted to be a mum. She talked about it a lot. When we lived in The Kimberley. About coming close with Mark and having that taken away from her. I don’t think she ever got over that. And I knew one day it would happen; she and I would get our shit together, and we’d start a family. I didn’t think it would happen this way, mind you.”

“She never stopped thinking about you, Tyler. Loving you. She talked about you all the time. About wishing you could be there. So, please…PLEASE…don’t ever think she didn’t want you in her life. Or Millie’s life. Because nothing could be further from the truth. That baby was all she had. Aside from Yaz and I, Millie was her only connection to you. And no one could take that away from her. She wouldn’t let them.”

“Did she ever talk about me to Millie?”

“Maybe not by name. But even she was just a tiny baby. Millie heard stories about you. And all good, believe me. Esme has NEVER said a bad word about you to that little girl. And she always promised that she’d take Millie to meet you; that one day they’d go to Australia and track you down and let you meet each other.”

“Esme had chances. She’s had four years, Nik. She…”

“She had to be ready. She had to get over all that fear and worry she had. I couldn’t force her to just stop being that way. We’ve already established how stubborn she is. But I’d be honest with her; I’d tell her that she needed to contact you and you had the right to know you were a dad. That you deserved to be part of Millie’s life. But other than that, there wasn’t much I could do.”

“What about when Millie was old enough to start asking questions? What did she tell her then?”

“She would tell Millie that her dad was a good person. A big man with an even bigger heart. That he lived far away and one day, they’d go and visit him. And that she loved him very much. She always would.”

His voice quivers with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say. What IS there to say?”

“I know it hurts, Tyler. What Esme did. Having your child kept from you. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. But you need to know that it wasn’t done maliciously. It started with her wanting to protect you, then ended up being about wanting to protect herself.”

“From me? She didn’t need to protect herself from me. I’ve never been a threat to you. I have never hurt her. I’ve never raised my voice, let alone a hand to her. I never would. I’d kill myself if I ever got that way. If I ever laid even a finger on her in THAT way…”

“She was protecting her heart. She was scared, Tyler. That you’d turn her away. That you’d turn MILLIE away.”

“That would never…EVER…happen. No matter how pissed or hurt I was.”

“Rationally, she knew that. But fear…and love for that matter…don’t always have us thinking…or acting…rationally.”

Sighing, he glances down at Millie; running a fingertip down the bridge of her nose and then pressing a kiss to the tip.

“Would you like more?” Nik asks. “Kids?”

“I’d love more. I’d love to go through it all with her. I WANT that, That experience. With HER.”

“But…”

“But it’s kinda selfish, isn’t it? Wanting it for ME. She has to want it too.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Something tells me she’s on the same page. She loves being a mom. And she’s good at it. Damn good.”

“She’s an amazing mum. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kid.”

“You’re going to get your ‘normal’. Your ‘happily ever after’. It won’t be much longer now.”

He nods in agreement. “Thank you, Nik. For telling me all of this. I needed to hear it. Esme can say it all until she’s blue in the face, but hearing it from someone else?”

“It’s a different viewpoint. Coming from an outsider looking in. I just didn’t want you to think she never wanted you in her life, In Millie’s life. Because she did. She missed you, Tyler. Every second of every day. And believe me, I know she wishes she could change things. Go back in time and make different decisions.”

“I told her I wouldn’t want that. When you change one thing, you change everything. I believe that. And even if it were possible, I wouldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk a damn thing.”

Smiling, she reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing. “It was never about her not loving you, Tyler. It was always about how much she DID.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Tyler Rake x OFC #Chris Hemsworth #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake #Rake Lives

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vague-bisexual-crimes · 29 days

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Friday - “it is true I wished to escape; and so I wish still; is not this not lawful for all prisoners?”

Angel is putting here parents through it with the back and forth is then isn’t coming home now.

God she hates Mac so much <3

But my hand closes around something else instead. Jimmy’s knife.

I glance to one side at Rowan. He’s spaced out, staring into the air. Holding his guitar like a soldier with a gun against his chest. He looks worse than he has all week. Sometimes I look at Rowan and can’t remember what he used to look like. We were in primary school when we first met. We were placed next to each other in class and told to learn five facts about the person sitting next to you. All I remember about Rowan’s was that his favorite band was Duran Duran. All he remembers about mine was that I’d never broken a bone. He had rimless glasses and short tight curls. His jumper was way too big for him. As soon as we both learned that we each wanted to be in a band, we were best friends. The boy next to me no isn’t anything like that boy. Not bright-eyed and excited to tell me about the new guitar he got for his birthday. Not dragging me to the music block go show me he could play the bass line for a Vaccines song. No laughter. No wonder. We got hay we wanted in the end, though. Didn’t we? We wanted to be in a band. Hang on, hang on, I need a sec oh my god. I’d like to once again say THEYRE BEST FRIENDS!!! CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS!!!!! ALL THEY WANTED WAS TO BE IN A BAND!!!!!!! EVERYTHING THEY EVER WANTED AND IT COULDN’T BE WORSE!!!!!!!!!!! secondly, NO LAUGHTER. NO WONDER.

Thinking about how fast Rowan signs the contract where Jimmy and Lister hesitate. How he knows it’ll be worse, less time to do anything but the band, to see his family, his girlfriend, to have a life, but this is what he’s supposed to do, this is what will make them successful, and eventually it’ll get better.

I think I’m losing it. Going off the wall. Is this why celebrities eventually get addicted to drugs? Because it all gets a bit too much? Sometimes I think about taking drugs. Sometimes I think it might help. When I see Lister smoke and drink, I know it’s bad, but I understand why he does it. It’s so he doesn’t have to think. I hate thinking.

oh Lister :(

“Do you ever imagine what would happen if we just…ran away?” asks Lister suddenly. I glance at him. He’s looking at the window too. […] “I think about it all the time,” I say. RUN!!RUN!!RUN!!!!! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lister you can’t be surprised when he climbs out the window you suggested climbing out the window and running away from your responsibilities. Jimmy meant business (is actively having a breakdown)

Do you ever wonder why Lister didn’t just follow Jimmy? Like I get it, he’s freaking out cause he didn’t think Jimmy was serious but man you could’ve just like followed him. Pretty easily.

I need to talk to Juliet. Jimmy will have to wait. I can message him on Twitter later. He’ll probably never see it anyway. Juliet is the priority today. I need to talk to her. I need to repair the mess I made. Nothing good ever comes from Twitter. Also, ANGEL YOU WERE SO CLOSE!!!!! YOU WERE GOING TO CHOOSE JULIET!!!!!

Angel is very enthusiastic about this, for some reason. I thought she’d be annoyed at having to go out of her way to give me back the knife. I didn’t think she’d still be a fan of me after seeing me have a meltdown yesterday. They don’t like seeing you sad.

Another group appear—boys and girls. A woman and her daughter. A group of men in their twenties. I just start posing for selfies. Like it’s a fucking reflex. I can’t just leave. I can’t just say no. I get it, but you actually can and frankly I think you should start being mean to them 🤷‍♀️

Jimmy clinging to the sleeve of Angel’s hoodie like a child. Angel taking care of the main part of the thing that has given her a will to live for the past five years. :(

Jimmy, you’re already taking her to your grandad’s house I don’t think telling her the address is going to give away the location.

Personally I love Angel’s Jimmy’s gonna murder her bit. Jimmy just doesn’t get it

I can’t with Jimmy’s family. I NEED to know about his relationship with his sister desperately.

I go to the front of the pews and sit, and for the first time in weeks, months, I don’t know how long, reach out to God. He’s waiting. He always is. No matter how long I go, no matter how shit it all gets, at least I have one or two things waiting for me. God doesn’t care whether I have one pound or one hundred million. God doesn’t care if I make a mistake, if I fuck yo again and again and again. God asks me, “How are you?” and I just start crying. I try to be white but I can hear my sniffs echoing from the stone walls. God says, “Say something,” and I tell Him that u don’t know what to say, and He says, “Anything you’ve got.” But I just cry some more. God tells me, “Everything that happens is making you stronger,” and I want to believe Him but I can’t. “I love you anyway,” He tells me. At least someone does.

I decide to stop and visit my grandmas grave. The gravestone still looks relatively new compared to the huge old stones around it, despite it being over five years old now. Grandma didn’t see any of this band shit happen to me. For some reason, that makes me glad. Joan :’(

Joan of Arc :(( Joan Ricci :(((( his grandma :(((((((

Piero isn’t buying any of this bs

“You would give your lives for these boys. You cling to them like you’re reaching out to a god. They practically keep you alive. But beneath that, and if you took all that away, you fundamentally do not value yourself.” He sighs. “All your love is given away. You leave nothing for yourself.” “I—I don’t think we’re all like that,” I stammer. “But I think you are,” says Piero, looking directly at me. SHOTS FIRED!!!

“I know he asked you for help,” says Piero, “but the trouble is, while asking for help is always good, it’s impossible to keep relying on others to solve your problems for you. There comes a point where you have to help yourself. Believe in yourself. “Are you talking about Jimmy or are you talking about me?” I say. He smiles and says, “You tell me.”

I’ve done something stupid, coming here. Just to have a little cry on my grandad’s shoulder. My own little pity party. He done something even more stupid, asking some fangirl to come with me, just because people on trains scare me and I thought she was a nice person. But there is one thing I am sure of. One thing I know is the right decision now. Not stupid. Not sad. Not pitiful. I’m freeing myself I’m leaving The Ark. !!! GO JIMMY GO!!!!!!!

#iwbft #i was born for this #iwbftreread2024 #alice oseman #jimmy kaga ricci #lister bird #rowan omondi #the ark #juliet schwartz #angel rahimi #fereshteh rahimi #Mac Anderson #Piero Ricci #Joan Ricci #:((((

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scary-lasagna · 9 months

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I just finished watching what if, and I was wondering, what if the creeps never became The creeps? What do you think they would be?

angry bc i typed all of this out and tumblr ATE all of my words (my phone turned off and it didn’t save and it was completely my fault) and i am SUING tumblr

Jeff - After living off of his parents for a while, he got a full time job at an animal shelter. He creates music on the side and has a handful of followers. He never talks to his family. He’s made his own between people he’s met online and friends he’s made in real life.

Liu - As the oldest, his parents pressured him into college. He pursued a law degree, and attempts to call Jeff often. Jeff always pretends to be working, busy, or doesn’t have his phone on him. He’s a lot more successful than his brother, being a popular lawyer and all, and even keeps in contact with his parents.

Jane - Became a healthy dose of a Government hired P.I. She’s amazing at her job and anyone from her childhood would never be able to recognize her. Jeff ran into her while she was stationed in her hometown for a brief moment. But she still hasn’t forgiven him for ruining her chance with Liu. It was nice to see him again. Maybe in another universe they’ll actually like each other.

Nina - She does fashion on the side, and hops from job to job, mostly in the fashion and makeup industry. She’s not quite sure where she wants to go in life.

Eyeless Jack - Carried onto pursuing his major as a surgeon. When the incident happened he was already in school, halfway through the path of a lifelong dream of his. After school, he’s one of the top surgeons in the state.

Ben - Just some dude in IT. He works for a cable company, and helps old ladies connect to the internet or restart their router from his cubicle. By the ghoul possessing his brain from the whole cult incident, it created a super-genius tech savvy ghost. But without it, he’s just some guy that grew up with an N64 and a love for computers. He also plays a lot of PC games, and has a discord of online friends. His best friend across the country works in an animal shelter and is free in the early hours of the morning.

Tim/Brian - Continued through college and lives a normal life on the daily. Brian has a major in film history, and Tim graduated with a psychology degree.

Toby - Lyra still ended up dying somehow, but as a less exciting meningitis case as opposed to a car crash caused by Slender. Toby still stood up to his father, and ended up escaping with his mom to a new life not too long after. He has a degree in childcare and works with kids, he also has a nice girlfriend that he’ll marry one day.

Kate - Full-time baker. After moving out of the woods of West Virginia, she moved across the country into a small city where a baker took her under her wing. She was taught how to bake, make coffee, and run a shop. They eventually fell in love and got married. :)

Clockwork - The baker. She opened a shop in the city to escape her abusive home. It was a hit with cute animal themed bread biscuits and cakes.

Laughing Jack - Technically he was an angel gifted to Isaac, but maybe in a normal universe he was part of a traveling circus in the 1800s. Maybe in a normal universe he kept his colors.

Lost Silver - A repair tech. He has his own little shop in a rather large mall. He fixes phones, computers, gaming systems, he’ll even dabble with lights and TVs. The shop doubles as a card shop where people can play retro arcade games and pokemon tournaments.

Jason - A Universal Studios imagineer. He has unlimited potential for his ideas, and has one of the best animatronics worldwide, sporting for $19.2M. A human-like animatronic, taking on the role of a puppeteer that controls small marionettes.

Helen - A quite popular self-taught artist on the east coast, but on the side he paints murals on the sides of buildings for businesses. He moved to America with his grandparents after the bullying in his homeland got too terrible to handle. His mother got the help she needed.

Hobo Heart - A pop-emo heart-throb of the Y2Ks. He got his heart broken and never let it go. Created a hit song about catching his girlfriend cheating and calling a cab, while he’s taking a smoke, and she’s taking a drag. And he’s going to bed and his stomach is siiiick, now she takes off her dress now-

Sally - Destroyed the monarchy and grew up to become the president of England. Achieved world peace. She still has tea parties. ALT: Became the CEO of a sock puppet company.

#did y’all like what i did with jane #yeah it hurt me too #creeypasta #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #creepypasta au #normal life au

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sinisterexaggerator · 1 year

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Theory on where we may see Hondo Ohnaka in the live action universe...

Kenobi took place 9BBY, which is before Star Wars: Rebels. Rebels is set somewhere between 5BBY and 1BBY. Tala was quoted in Kenobi as saying:

"They're on Florrum. The network runs out of the Sertar Sector. They use a salvage business to launder goods, render new identities… And fly the Jedi out."

I do not think she was lying here, at least not entirely. Here's why:

That was not him bullshitting the Spectres. He was telling the truth. My first thought was oh, sure, yeah, and you and Kenobi are besssssst friends, but this line in Kenobi makes me think that the line from Hondo in Rebels is connected. This is before he set up his smuggling business on Batuu, and we know even after General Grievous attacked, Hondo still tried to repair his base of operations. It was the Jedi who rescued him from Maul and Savage. It was the Jedi who helped him escape from Dooku.

"While on his own, Ohnaka became an ally of the fugitive Jedi Ezra Bridger and the Spectres, an insurgent cell rebelling against the Empire. Ohnaka frequently aided Bridger and the Spectres in their fight against the Empire, culminating in his participation in the liberation of Bridger's homeworld, the planet Lothal. By the time of the war between the Resistance and the Neo-Imperial First Order, Ohnaka had rebuilt his reputation and formed Ohnaka Transport Solutions, a shipping company based in Black Spire Outpost on Batuu that was used as a front for a successful smuggling racket. When the Resistance briefly established a base on Batuu, Ohnaka provided them aid as they recuperated following the Battle of Crait." - Wookieepedia (Hondo's time in Star Wars: Rebels)"

You know, Ezra. The Jedi that disappeared along with Thrawn. The Jedi that Ahsoka is desperately searching for. If Hera is supposed to make an appearance, and Sabine is supposed to be there too, why not Hondo Ohnaka?!?!

He cared about Ezra! He said so himself!

Him and Ahsoka also go way, way back! Well, maybe they didn't always have the best relationship, though people can change!

My prediction is Hondo Ohnaka makes an appearance in Ahsoka - 100%!!!

I am such a damn nerd.

#Hondo Ohnaka #Headcanon #Star Wars #Star Wars Theory #Rebels #Star Wars Rebels #ahsoka tano #Ahsoka #TCW #Clone Wars #Jedi #Ezra Bridger #Kenobi #Florrum #live action #Extras

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octuscle · 1 year

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Branko

Sebastian was angry. Actually, at himself, of course. He hadn't bothered to find an internship and now had to take the place assigned to him by the school at the local Harley Davidson dealership for the next two weeks. But on the outside, he was angry at his parents. After all, it was their job to care. For the 16 years of his life, he didn't have to worry about anything. His father was a successful lawyer in Zurich, and his mother had brought so much money into the marriage from his grandfather's inheritance that even though she had finished medical school, she really only spent her time shopping. And with taking care of him, the only son. Why hadn't the two of them organized an internship somewhere where he could have had two relaxing weeks and maintained his Instagram account.

His mother stopped the impressive Bentley Bentayga and Sebastian got out of the car without a word of goodbye with a grumpy face. A couple of motorcycle repair shop employees standing smoking in the parking lot nodded at him with respect for the car; he ignored it and went straight into the building, hoping to get through the day with as few social contacts as possible. The general manager welcomed him personally (presumably because his father was a good customer), gave him a little tour of the offices, the showrooms, and then into the garage, where Sebastian was introduced to the shop foreman. The garage was the first stop during the internship. And he wondered for the thousandth time why he was here. In life, he would not ride a motorcycle. And in life, he wouldn't get his fingers dirty on a motorcycle. After all, the coffee he was offered wasn't bad. Really good, to be honest. And in fact, after the second coffee, somehow everything was different. The motorcycles were fascinating. And Sebastian began to soak up all the information. And with every coffee that the workshop master handed him with a grin, his interest grew. Time flew by, Sebastian struck up a conversation with the other colleagues and gratefully accepted one of the journeymen's offer to take him home. With his oil-smeared clothes, which were not really suitable for work in the garage, he would not have wanted to get into the Bentley.

The next morning, the alarm clock rang at 05:00. Sebastian was used to that. Since he had started his apprenticeship a year ago, he had become an early riser. He pulled a reasonably clean shirt and his shorts from the pile of dirty laundry, put on his running shoes, and made his rounds at dawn. After an hour, he threw his sweaty clothes in the corner, just kept the jockstrap and socks on, and without wasting time showering, put on his overalls and work shoes and quietly left the house. His effeminate parents, of course, were still sound asleep. At the bus stop, he smoked his first cigarette of the day. He wasn't allowed to smoke at home. He couldn't wait until he had his own apartment. And his driver's license. He liked his life, but being dependent on the bus and having to obey his parents was really exhausting. He was all the happier when he arrived at work. He loved listening to the engines of the heavy machines and, according to his foreman, had a talent for teasing the last out of the engines. His dream was to start in the tuning business after completing his apprenticeship.

Wednesdays were vocational school days. He hated school. Everything to do with math was okay, he could use that to tinker with the engines. But he had a hard time with languages. His mother was half Bosnian, so he had picked up a few words of Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian, but English wasn't his... Because he wasn't going to the garage today, Sebastian took a quick shower after his run. While drying off in front of the mirror, he proudly remarked that he had inherited not only the language from his grandfather, but also good genes. Unlike his effeminate father, he had a rather strong beard growth and more and more black hair grew between his abdominal muscles. When he showered with the other trainees after the gym or when they went to the outdoor pool after work in the summer, you could see that he was already further along in his development than the others at the age of 18. Probably because of this, the others made fun of calling him by his middle name, Branko. At first he had hated the master for betraying his Bosnian roots, but today he was rather proud of it. Sebastian shaved his skull as he did every other day or so, put on a jogging suit and, before leaving the house, smoked a first hand-rolled cigarette with his mocha. Since he was allowed to live in the old gardener's apartment above the garage, the smoking ban was finally history. He threw on his alpha jacket, took his helmet and sat on his BMW. Of course he was ashamed in front of his older colleagues because of the pathetic 35 kw, but in two years he would finally be allowed to ride a real heavy Harley.

Thank God it was already Thursday. During the week, the gym always came up a little short, but on the weekend Branko would again pump to exhaustion. Since he lived in his own apartment near the garage, he had a weight bench, but working out in an atmosphere drenched in sweat and testosterone was just something else. For the past three years, he had been going to the gym regularly with his buddies from the garage, and he was very pleased with the results. Whenever possible, he worked out in just his undershirt. Working bare-chested had been tried, but had only resulted in the foreman calling him into the office. Behind lowered blinds Branko had then had to blow his boss. Since then, it happened every now and then. At first, Branko had thought he was the only gay in the company, but on second thought, it was obvious that leather, motors and muscles also attracted fags. And he considered himself good proof that gasoline in the blood and pleasure in engines went well with fun sucking cocks.

Since he had finished his apprenticeship at the top of his class, Branko really enjoyed not having to sweep out the garage on Fridays. It was 3:00 p.m., and he was sitting in the yard with the other fellows, drinking an after-work beer and taking a drag on his cigarette butt. This weekend he didn't have to work in sales on Saturday, which he quite enjoyed doing occasionally, this weekend belonged to the Gym and the boys. Let's see if the weather also allowed a ride on the bike. But for now, he had to make his way to his mother's store. Every Friday afternoon he had one of her girls polish up his body for the weekend. He might look macho, but for him that included manicured fingers, a carefully trimmed beard, and a freshly waxed back. Like his Bosnian uncles, Branko had had strong body hair from an early age. He loved the developing fur on his chest. But hair had no place on his shoulders or back. His mother once again greeted him somewhat effusively when he entered her salon. Branko was always a little embarrassed. Especially since people who didn't know him and his mother might mistake him for her lover. At 34, his mother, who had already come to Switzerland pregnant from Banja Luka, was just 14 years older than him. And his father's money had not only been seed money for a successful cosmetics empire, it had also ensured that his mother was the epitome of a MILF. Lots of exercise and plenty of visits to talented plastic surgeons had ensured a flawless body.

On Saturday, too, the alarm clock went off at 05:00. Without discipline, the muscles did not grow. And before the gym opened at 07:00, Branko put great emphasis on the previous running training and, of course, on plenty of protein for breakfast. Besides, he was not a night person even on weekends. He had been smoking a shisha with the guys yesterday, had fucked the horny Serbian waiter in the toilet and had been in bed at 22:00. And he was sure that there was plenty to fuck in the gym afterwards. When the beads of sweat glistened in his chest hair, he was simply irresistible. It had been a warm night. So Branko ran the twelve-kilometer morning lap bare-chested. And afterwards, unshowered, got right into the Dainese motorcycle suit. He loved the smell of sweat, cum and leather that hit him. When the engine of his brand new Ducati howled up, he got a boner right away. At 21 years old, he was a jerk-off template made flesh. And he knew it.

Before the Sunday visit to his parents, a shower was on the agenda. His parents already found it borderline when he came to brunch with his Harley. Otherwise, he could at least be well-groomed. Punctually at 11:00 am his Harley rolled over the gravel in the driveway. Even though he was now one of the big boys, he was a bit excited. But fortunately, neither his mother nor his father made any comment about the new tattoos that adorned his right forearm. Well, he had been less concerned with his father, after all, whose powerful torso was decorated with abundant signs of Albanian and Swiss national pride. And more importantly, his mother's ratty youngest brother showed great interest in the tattoos. After dinner, Branko showed Dragan the rest of the new tattoos and his new PA upstairs in the old gardener's apartment.

Monday morning Branko was already at the gym at 05:30. The cardio training Dragan and he had more than ample yesterday, but the muscles desperately needed to be pumped up again before work. Thank God the Serbian muscle hunk had an early shift today. At least he could talk to him. The blond Swiss, who usually worked at this time, probably despised him for his broken German. And Branko despised the Swiss because, as a crossfitter, he didn't lift iron. In the garage, the week started at 08:00 with the meeting of the foremen and the department heads. One of the few moments during the week when Branko had his upper arms covered at work. Whereby his supervisor had also rolled up his T-shirt sleeves quite unabashedly. Really massive arms, Branko thought....

Sunrise was early on this Tuesday in June. But since Branko ran the Harley-Davidson branch in Tirana, it was important to him to answer the call to prayer at least three times a day. Many of his employees and also his customers were much more devout than he was. He had to adapt to this if he wanted to survive in this market. And when his father had sent him from Switzerland to the country of his fathers to build up the business there, Branko had resolved to make his parents proud. That's why he now went by his middle name, Granit, in public. It suited him much better, he thought with a grin. After praying, Branko once again examined the magnificent piece of machinery that was to be handed over to a customer this morning. If it wasn't so hot, Branko would have thrown on leather pants and jacket himself. But in hot temperatures, a tank top and combat pants had to suffice for a credible appearance. And he hoped that it would be hot again today.

#tank top #inked man #reality change #muscle tf #male tf #age progression #race change #biker tf

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tydhl · 4 months

Text

Th’ell ya’ doing here, lady? (Monty x reader)

Teaser:

Filled with both curiosity but mostly the nagging of his security module, he sauntered over to the recharge station. He didn’t take the time to check through the small window, he’s a busy gator. Ripping the door open he stared blankly at the inside of the cell for a moment before slowly lowering his gaze.

As soon as his optics scanned the person as an intruder, he felt his security protocols kick in on full gear. He clenched the handle of the small compartment, leaning in with narrowed eyes. Tipping his snout down to make eye-contact with the shorter animatronic, the gator let out a low growl.

“It’s past closing hours, lady, what th’ell ‘ya doing here?”

Chapter 1. New Meetings

Summary

Welcome to Fazbear Entertainment

You’re online!

Awesome!

Time to meet your new co-worker, the Daycare Attendant!

Spoiler: you meet more than just the DCA.

Warnings: None

Headcanons used:

• Sun & Moon were originally acrobats at the theater.

• They had to learn how to manage the daycare because his programming wasn't updated when they changed his position.

• Monty is glad to be a rockstar but is jealous of Freddy being fan favorite.

#include <cstdlib>

int system(const char DCAH1005_bootup);

□□□□□□□□□□ 0%

■□□□□□□□□□ 10%

■■■□□□□□□□ 30%

■■■■□□□□□□ 40 %

>‘System error : s̸̯͆ö̵̬u̵̓ͅn̸͕͠d̸͎͠ ̶̗̓ṃ̵͑o̶͕͘d̶̫́u̷̪̔l̸̗͘é̵͎ ̷͔̔ not defined.’

system(run diagnostic);

s̸̯͆ö̵̬u̵̓ͅn̸͕͠d̸͎͠ ̶̗̓ṃ̵͑o̶͕͘d̶̫́u̷̪̔l̸̗͘é̵͎ ̷͔̔ command corrupted.

>‘process terminated.’

input(str(“Resume boot up?” yes/no))

if yes:

resume int system(const char DCAH1005_bootup);

elif no:

terminate (const char DCAH1005_boot-up );

>yes

>’resuming system bootup’

■■■■■□□□□□ 50%

■■■■■■■□□□ 70%

■■■■■■■■□□ 80 %

■■■■■■■■■■ 100%

——————

You opened your optics before quickly shutting them. Bright, it was too bright. After a moment of collecting yourself while your CPU hummed, activating your motor functions, you opened your optics again, visual feed obstructed by a message.

‘Welcome DCAH1005 !!’

You discarded the message before looking up at the source of light, a big lamp shining down on you. Suddenly aware of another presence due to quiet voices in the room, you turned your head to look at the source.

“Looks like the booting up process was successful.” Said a man, turning his head to look at a taller woman.

“Indeed it was, take it to the Daycare.” She replied evenly.

The man sputtered, “B-But, this is it’s first time online! We need to monitor it first!”

“Is it operational?” The woman asked in a clipped tone, clearly displeased at his lack of compliance.

“Well, yes, but—“

“Then have it sent to the Daycare.” She cut him off, turning on her heel and walking out the P&S door.

The man deflated before glancing at you. Sighing, he addressed you. “Follow me.”

You opened your mouth to reply.

…

You closed it, brining a servo to your chestplate, running a system diagnostic.

>Voicebox: command input error.

Looks like your voicebox is in need of a repair, too bad this man doesn’t seem interested in helping you at all.

“I said follow me!” The man repeated in an impatient bark.

You quickly scrambled off the metal table and rushed out of the cylinder. It’s your first day on the job, you can’t be late.

——————————

Arriving at the Daycare after a brisk walk, you stared at the double doors with wide optics, intimidated by their size. The man pushed past the doors, glancing at you over his shoulder with a tired expression. You followed suit.

Your optics were immediately assaulted by an array of vibrant colors. Eyes closing shut, you stumbled back a bit in surprise. It looked like a unicorn exploded inside a box of crayons.

“This is where you’ll be working from now on, get yourself acquainted with the Daycare Attendant.” The man said as he checked his fazwatch.

“Well, it’s time for me to clock out, your shift begins in two hours.” He then turned on his heel and marched out the door, letting the wooden portal slam close behind him.

You stood there for a moment, blinking as you tried to adjust your visual feed to be less saturated.

“Hello! You must be our new helper! Oh, how exciting! I can’t wait to show you around, you’ll love it here!” Said a high pitched voice, a jingle accompanying their ever syllable.

A sudden pressure was felt on your shoulder and you tensed, optics opening fully in surprise. You were met with the sight of another animatronic, faceplate way to close to yours as it towered over you. You felt yourself shrink under it’s attentive gaze and perma-grin.

“Come on newbie! We only have two hours and I have to give you a tour of the best area in the entire Pizza-Plex!” It said, voice layered with unbridled excitement.

Before you could make any semblance of a reply, the lanky animatronic wrapped its hand around your own and practically dragged you off towards one of the play structures. You stumbled for a moment before matching its quick pace. This was all happening a bit too fast for you, you had just gone online less than thirty minutes ago!

The sun-themed animatronic stopped at one of the slides, turning its faceplate to look down at you. “This is one of the play structures! They’re very fun to use for hide and seek, but the kids aren’t allowed to climb up its walls. No, no! Accidents can happen, friend!” The daycare attendant said in a matter-of-fact tone.

You blinked at it before glancing at the large structure, scanning it with your optics before looking back at the animatronic. Why was he telling you this exactly? This was already built into your programming. Perhaps this was a nicety by its part, a way to make things feel less rushed.

You nodded.

The sun-themed bot deflated a bit at your lack of verbal reply. “Are you alright, friend? You haven’t said a word since you got here?” It asked, hunching over more to be closer to your eye level, worry lacing it’s tone.

Right, you are supposed to have a functioning voice box. You thought for a moment before bringing your hands up in front of you, pulling out of the animatronics grasp and signing.

‘I’m sorry, my voice box doesn’t seem to be working properly.’

The daycare attendant gasped dramatically, bringing its hands to its smile. “Oh, friend! I’m so sorry to hear that, and it’s your first day too, how terrible!” It wailed, more disturbed about your condition than yourself.

This was going to be a long day.

After you reassured the attendant that you were okay, it continued to show you around the daycare, still recounting the rules, which you found unnecessary but otherwise didn’t comment.

It was ten minute before the Pizza-Plex opened when it finished showing you around.

“And now we wait for the kids to be dropped off, there’s usually very few today, but we can never be sure.” It said, hands on its hips as he beamed at you. Suddenly, it jerked forwards, brining its hands to either side of its faceplate.

“Oh, dear me! Where are my manners! I forgot to introduce myself!” It gasped dramatically before raising its hands in the air.

“I’m Sun! But you can call me Sunny, Mr. Sun, friend, or anything you like!” He said with flourish, bending down to give a bow.

He asked, straightening himself up as it looked down at you expectantly.

You gave him your name, not with nearly as much of a performance as it gave you though. Before the excitable animating could reply, the sound of plastic balls being moved around inside the ball-pit alerte style both of you.

The animatronic snapped his head towards the sound before turning back to you, static grin seemingly brighter. “Looks like we’ve got our first one!”

——————

Annoying. That’s the perfect word to describe the Daycare theme, annoying. It was cheery and loud, bouncing off the walls in a never ending loop that anyone would tune out after hearing it for more than 10 minutes. It was too upbeat and repetitive, annoying.

A quiet jingling could be heard inside the large room, two animatronics hard at work. It has been a week since you were brought online, a week silence you’ve stared working at the Daycare alongside Sun and Moon without any previous testing. You didn’t really need any training, being that you were programmed with the knowledge of how to complete your tasks as the Daycare Attendant’s Helper, unlike the previous acrobatic bots. You placed the last pillow up in the stack of neatly organized cushions, stepping back and giving the small tower a satisfied smile. Looking around for any other mess that needed to be cleaned up, you couldn’t spot anything out of place.

Huh, you finished quicker than usual.

Slowly, your eyes wandered to the glass windows that separated the Daycare from the rest of the Pizza-Plex. Perhaps you could explore the grounds, you’ve never left before, it would be an adventure of sorts. You checked your internal clock: 12:30 AM. Moon was already out on patrol by this time.

A little roaming surely wouldn't hurt right..? I mean, you do work here. We’re you just restricted to this the daycare like Sun? Guess it’s time to find out.

With a newfound determination, you marched up to the big double doors. Pushing open the heavy wooden portal, you stood there for a moment. This was it, the moment of truth. Kicking your foot out, you shut your eyes and took a step forward. Freezing up for a moment, you opened your optics slowly and peered around.

Huh, guess you have higher clearance than Sun. You flapped your hands with excitement, excitedly making your way down the hall as you took in your surroundings.

You somehow wound up outside the Glamrocks’s rooms when you realized… you were lost. The place was larger then you could’ve ever thought, and you haven’t even roamed the whole Plex yet!

——————

Montgomery Gator wasn’t the nicest animatronic around. It’s not an opinion, it’s an objective fact. He’s prone to outbursts, never in front of the children though, he wouldn’t endanger them like that. No, he only lets his anger and envy rear its ugly head when he’s alone, destroying everything around him in a blind range that seems to linger in the scrambled depths of his processor. Being overshadowed by Freddy didn’t help the temperamental animatronic’s already tainted reputation, if anything, it only made it worse.

“Freddy is such a nice guy!”

“He’s so friendly, the kids love him!”

“Yeah! He’s fan favorite for sure!”

People stopped caring about what they said around him a long time ago…

“But I didn’t want Monty at my party, I wanted Freddy!”

“The gator’s dangerous.”

“I heard he hurt someone—”

The animatronic suddenly became aware of gentle pressure on his shoulder.

“Monty, are you alright?”

The gator snapped his head towards the bear, clenching his jaw tightly before giving a curt nod, shrugging his paw off. Today wasn’t a good day.

“‘M fine.” He replied, stalking off to his room, leaving behind a concerned band mate that he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at. He was Freddy after all, just so gosh darn nice.

A notification pinged his processor, popping up in his optical feed. It’s 12:00 AM. The gator sighed and dropped his shoulders, hearing the pistons in his joints let out a soft hiss at the release of pressure. Turning on his heel, he marched down to the end of the hallway that connected the band’s rooms together, rounding the corner.

——————

You continued to be captivated by your colorful surroundings as you walked down towards the main entrance area. Scanning the area, something caught your eye. A charming station, how peculiar. You and the Daycare Attendant weren’t given the lavish gift of a recharge station, instead just having a cable that could be connected to both of your charging ports.

Letting your curiosity get the best of you, you saunter your way over to the large metal device. Peeking in while standing in your tippy toes, you peered down at the circular hoop that rested on the floor of the station. It must be a magnetic charger.

You were suddenly alerted by the sounds of footsteps being registered in your audials. You were suddenly seized with panic, every wire in your frame telling you to hide. Why? You had no idea, perhaps you weren’t meant to leave the Daycare after all.

——————

Montgomery felt his security mode boot up in his system, making him take a jerkish step forwards before resuming his regular gait. His optics began to shine a darker red, similar to Moon’s in order to both scare off intruders and not immediately alert them of his presence. Though, the thought of him, an 8 foot tall animatronic that could bench press a car, going unnoticed is a ridiculous idea in itself.

The gator grumbled as he continued his way to the main entrance area. Pausing, he did a quick scan with his optics, surveying the area from where he stood to see if he needed to ping any of the S.T.A.F.F. bots for a lost item.

His eyes landed on the charging station. To anyone else, it would seem normal as can be, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. However, the gator knows darn well that a charging station is never left partially closed. It’s common courtesy amongst the animatronics in the building to have some manners after all. You either leave it open for the next bot, or close it while in use.

“It’s past closing hours, what th’ell ‘ya doing here, lady?”

——————

I hope I characterized both characters correctly!

——————

2nd Chapter

#fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #monty gator #montgomery gator #fnaf fanfic #monty x reader #Monty x y/n #TYDHL

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