#every time we talk it frigging pisses me off so bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thereisonlyoneoption · 4 years

Text

Maggie Stiefvater~Rant YA edition pt.2

I know, I know that I had to make a part about world-building but I’m pissed, I failed my exam I am at my friend house and it’s Fourth of July so I must do this.

Joseph Kavinsky.

First of all I don’t condemn his actions and yes, you can like a character but don’t agree with their actions.

My journey with The Dream Thieves was rocky, like really rocky. It was worse than The Raven Boys, I felt psychical pain while reading this one but there was only one good thing that help get through it AND IT WAS KAVINSKY.

From the first scene I liked him, I was intrigued by him and I was curious why Gangsey hates him so much. I mean what M*ggie give us are just rumours, that's when I asked myself “Why such a hate? What did he do to them?”.

And then the yo mama jokes, priceless by the way. Okay, maybe my sense humour sucks but let me tell you in polish translation “twoja stara” is golden I laughed for several minutes.

But the thing went down pretty quickly, like my face went from a happy to grim in a second and stayed that way while reading this, just to cry at the end. After that it was just anger and to this day I’m angry at M*ggie for what she did.

Lets start from beginning.

1. Kavinsky-Description

The first time we see Kavinsky it’s in the chapter 3 where we got rumours about him:

“Of course it was Joseph Kavinsky, fellow Aglionby Academy student and Henrietta’s most notorious recreational forger. Kavinsky’s infamous Mitsubishi Evo was a thing of boyish beauty, moon-white with a voracious black mouth of a grille and an immense splattered graphic of a knife on either side of the body. The Mitsubishi had just been released from a month-long stint in the police impound. The judge had told him that if he was caught racing again, they’d crush the Mitsubishi and make him watch, like they did to the rich punks’ street racers out in California. Rumor had it Kavinsky had laughed and told the judge he’d never get pulled over again. He probably wouldn’t. Rumor had it Kavinsky’s father had bought off Henrietta’s sheriff. To celebrate the Mitsubishi’s release from impound, Kavinsky had just put three coats of anti-laser paint on the headlights and bought himself a new radar detector.“

Right from the bat, characters expressed disdain of him:

“I hate that prick,” Adam said.

Then we get the “description” of him: white sunglasses, golden chain, which already is kinda lacking but then we get the infamous “refugee face”

“He had a refugee’s face, hollow-eyed and innocent.“

Okay okay, so like it wasn't already offensive, we learn later that he’s Bulgarian and as a person also from Slavic group, this description just looks bad and leaves bad taste in my mouth, because I'm fed up with Americans view of Slavs like we are all simple people, still in communist era somewhere in the Europe, who came to America to steal low income jobs.

On the other hand, how does “refugee face” looks like? Yeah, we get the line “hollow-eyed and innocent“ but it still feels offensive to Slavic group.

Luckily, in my translation it was changed to “runaway’s face” which holds the same idea but it isn't offensive and fits Kavinsky’s character better.

“There was nothing about Kavinsky that wasn’t despicable”

Just... ugh why they hate him so much, I asked myself back then but I didn't know that from this point, all went down hill.

“He was unmistakable: the sort of raven boy who was clearly an import from elsewhere.“

Okay first of all, you can import things, not actual people Blue. Second of all, combining this with “refugee face” it made me so angry like M*ggie, why can’t you describe Kavinsky normally without possibly offending half of Europe. He is human, not your new brand German car.

After that we get the rest of description “Like many of the other raven boys, he sported massive sunglasses, spiked hair, a small earring, a chain around his neck, and a white tank top.“ and that’s it. It’s all we get. There might be some things missing, like hair colour but we can forgive that.

2. Backstory

In M*ggie’s now deleted tumblr, she once wrote:

"Kavinsky has a very logical backstory that leads him to this place.”

And what did we know about Kavinsky? Practically, nothing. He’s a son of a Bulgarian mobster from New Jersey, he’s rumoured to kill his father, he’s mother is a drug-addict, he’s rich, Prokopenko is his favourite forgery and he got away with replacing him and possibly his dad. It gives the idea to what shaped him as a person but it doesn’t explained everything, like if he killed his dad, why wasn’t it? How did it ended up with him replacing Prokopenko? Why he is his favourite forgery?

But okay M*ggie say what you want but I and my friend made better backstory for him in ten minutes (like it wasn’t hard really).

3. ”We matter”

“Closing his eyes, Gansey leaned his head back on his seat, chin tilted up, throat green in the dash lights. There was still an unsafe sort of smile about his mouth — what a torment the possibility in that smile was — and he said, “There was never a time when that could’ve been you and me. You know the difference between us and Kavinsky? We matter.“

That said Gansey, the character we are supposed to like, about the kid who is not only his age but also drug addicted and possibly abused. I was furious at him for saying that because who k*rwa he is to say things like that. Is he some frigging higher being to judge someone like that?

And he was smiling while saying that? What an.. and nobody called him out on that?! It only gives the reader the idea that people like Kavinsky don’t matter and to those who relate to him that they don’t matter.

And Blue, who again made me want to throw my phone, later in the book asked literal a hitman, who offered to go to “talk” with him to “make him feel worthless” while doing it.

It’s the next example when I felt the main characters are lacking a basic human empathy, like again he is just a kid not “H*tler” like Ronan compare him to.

4. That scene

That f*king scene, we all know about.”R*pe of Ronan” as stans like to call it.

I heard the reaction of the fans to this scene even before reading this books. Of course, I was anticipating this scene and when it came:

“After a moment, he heard the hood groan as Kavinsky leaned over him. Then he felt the ridged callus of a finger drag slowly over the skin on his back. A slow arc between his shoulder blades, drawing the pattern of his tattoo. Then sliding down his spine, tensing every muscle it moved over.

But when his eyes slitted, battling sleep, Kavinsky was just doing another line of coke off the roof, body stretched over the windshield. He might have imagined it. What was real?“

I was baffled, because its bad but its nothing like fans making to be. All Kavinsky does is drag his finger on Ronan’s back tattoo, while he is falling asleep but afterwards Ronan said he doesn’t know, if it was even real, so the reader can’t tell if it was. Somebody would argue, that is a molestation but once again, we don’t know if it was real. Maybe if we got K’s PoV we could get information about this situation but now we are left in the dark what really happened that night.

And then, there is “Consent is overrated” scene

This is one of the main argument of stans preaching that K is a r*pist. Yes, that sounds horrible, we don’t have to argue about that but people missed the context of situation in which it was said.

“Ronan replied, “Not such a thief tonight.”

“Some nights,” Kavinsky said, all teeth, “you just take it. Consent is overrated.”“

Ronan and Kavinsky are referring to pulling things out of dreams and how Kavinsky is doing it aka not asking permission to take them out, unlike Ronan. But without this context, the world “consent” is mainly associated with one thing. You know what...

The bottom line is that, if we got K’s PoV, it would shine a light on his intentions and motivations to say and possibly do all of this. We can only thanks the author for that.

5. Relationship with Ronan Lynch

Maybe that will sound scandalous but I don’t think Kavinsky loved Ronan. All of their interaction seem more like obsession to me and after the dreaming of Camaro, it seem desperate.

At the beginning, after main characters expressed disdain of K, only Ronan thought something different:

“Ronan knew he ought to hate him, too.“

And I thought “Okay maybe Ronan know more about him than the rest” but as the chapters went, I wanted the end of it all.

It was toxic. I know, I know but I was hoping for a least little glimpses of possible friendship. Instead of that, I got throwing over cars, punching and exploitation between them. With Kavinsky saving Ronan from the night horror (which fans forget about in their rants how bad K is) and helping Ronan dreaming a new Camaro, I expect at least some decency? gratefulness?? at Ronan side, because nobody forced Kavinsky to do this but when Ronan got what he wanted he just peace out?! Like Kavinsky was doing all of this as a favour?

“He rolled down the window. “I’m going.” For a moment, Kavinsky’s face was perfectly blank, and then Kavinsky flickered back onto it. He said, “You’re shitting me.” “I’ll send flowers.” Ronan revved the engine. Exhaust and dust swirled in a wild torment behind the Camaro. It coughed at twenty-eight-hundred rpm. Just like the Pig. Everything was back the way it was. “Running back to your master?” “This was fun,” Ronan said. “Time for big-boy games now, though.”

And

““I never lie,” Ronan said. He frowned disbelievingly. This felt like a more bizarre scenario than anything that had happened to this point. “Wait. You thought — it was never gonna be you and me. Is that what you thought?”“

And what was Kavinsky’s reaction after he was “used” by Ronan without even a thank you?

“Kavinsky made a gun of his thumb and finger and put it to Ronan’s temple. “Bang,” he said softly, withdrawing the fake gun. “See you on the streets.”“

Not anger but disbelief about what just happened and then the “he said softly“ just seems sad to me. He got used by the man he, de facto, wanted to befriend. He for sure felt cheated and used but the next thing what he does seems just OOC for me. He kidnapped Matthew, Ronan’s younger brother, to force him to come to the Fourth of July party. Before it looked like he wanted Ronan just to have a fun but after the Camaro something broke in him. But once again, it only my interpretation, because K is the only TRC antagonist that doesn’t get PoV, so I can wonder, what was going on in his head.

I’m tired of this, because most of the things could be explained, if we got his PoV, because without it his actions seems random.

After the text “bring something fun to fourth of july or we’ll see which pill works the best on your brother“, Ronan called K demanding where is Matthew and K responded:

“Ronan demanded, “Where is he?” “You know, I asked nice the first few times. Are you coming to Fourth? Are you coming? Are you coming? Here, have a motherfucking car. Are you coming? You made it ugly. Bring something impressive tonight.”“

It doesn’t sounds that evil to me more like desperate (repetition of “are you coming”) and hurting (”you made it ugly”). It made me feel more curious about what was going in his head and what lead him to kidnapping more than being angry at him for kidnapping Matthew.

Kavinsky was looking someone like Ronan, to share problems and to destroy themselves together. And Ronan was the closest thing to it, dreamer and all. He was looking for connection but in the end, Ronan didn’t want anything to do with him and that ended in tragedy.

6. Fourth of July

Ah yes, the main reason why I’m writing this post. We know how this goes. Gangsey arrives at party. Ronan demands where is his brother. Ronan follow K into a dream.

"Kavinsky laughed the word. "Reality! Reality's what other people dream for you."

"Reality's where other people are," Ronan replied. He stretched out his arms. "What's here, K? Nothing! No one!"

"Just us."

There was a heavy understanding in that statement, amplified by the dream. I know what you are, Kavinsky had said. "That's not enough," Ronan replied."

One again K got rejected and it was told to him he "wasn't enough" Okay, Ronan doesn't own him anything but what happened next is more fucked up

Kavinsky dreams fire dragon, Ronan night horror. They fight. Gangsey search for Matthew.

Ronan demands K to tell him where is Matthew and K just said “He’s all yours! You missed my point, man. All I wanted was this —”“ while gesturing at their creations and ONCE AGAIN I REPEAT ONCE AGAIN we are not sure what K meant: dreaming together? fighting? One chapter from his PoV couldn’t hurt Maggie you know?

Matthew got rescued, Ronan shielded him from upcoming dragon then this:

"He shouted to Kavinsky, ”Get down!”

But Kavinsky didn’t look away from the creatures. He said,”The world’s a nightmare”.

Ronan once again shouted to him but Kavinsky didn’t answered and let the dragon to kill him.

“A second later, the fire dragon exploded into Kavinsky. It went straight through him, around him, flame around an object. Kavinsky fell. Not as if he was struck, though. Just like when he’d taken the green pill. He crumpled to his knees and then slumped gracelessly off the car.“

And we know K is dead, because both the dragon and Prokopenko fall asleep.

And that’s all and what was all for? Because they thought he was draining the ley lines (but Adam fixing the lines seems to do the trick) and because Ronan didn't want to come to Fourth of July. After that comes nothing. No reaction from the cast and the dream pack who supposedly were his friends (In later book Jiang talks to Ronan like nothing happened) there is no funeral of which we know and the town is silent. Like K never existed.

What kind of message this sends to a reader? That if you are like Kavinsky in any way nobody will mind if you are gone. You are not even worthless to remember. On one podcast M*ggie said she don’t want to be educational in her books and that’s f*cked up because she is writing YA, young people who are easily influenced and after reading how K is treated the majority will close the book with belief that people like K don’t deserve help and they are goners not worthy of redemption.

While in the same book Gray Man, adult hitman who killed people on pages, was hunting down Ronan, relieved to be murderer behind a Niall's death, beat up and threaten Declan with a gun to tell him where the Greywaren was not only forgiven by everyone (including Ronan) but got redemption arc and love interest. Let me repeat adult man, literal a hitman gets redemption arc but not mentally ill kid. Okay Margaret what the f*ck was that. Where is the logic, where is the lamb sauce?! Does she knows how her writing can influence young people? And it seems most of the fans agree with her.

Conclusion

Joseph Kavinsky was handled terribly through the whole book. With main cast hating him from the get-go. Narration that tried to make him the great evil (with some fans of TRC calling him the worst villain) and after the book got published the fans and the author themself further demonised him, 17 year old boy with a drug addiction, mental illness and with possible history of abuse.

I can only shake my head every time, I see someone calling him the devil. What Kavisnky needed was rehab and therapy, not death! If she wanted to find solution to stop him from dreaming, why couldn't she just moved him outside of Henrietta or Virginia, not lead him to commit s*icide and public s*icide mind you. He was a bad person but nobody deserved to die like this.

To end this post (I wrote this post so long that in my country is no longer Fourth of July), I still to this day think about Kavinsky and what would happened, if the author didn't choose the easy way to "get rid of him". And do not tell me, it was impossible to end it differently, because it was possible. Ronan just grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him off the car. Sending him to a rehab or just talking with him, instead of assuming from the start, that he wouldn't listen. His only crimes were, he needed help and he wouldn't listen to Gangsey telling him what to do.

#anti maggie stiefvater #joseph kavinsky #anti the raven cycle #anti trc #he deserved better

128 notes · View notes

luckycheesefoodie321 · 5 years

Text

Well...AWAE 3.06 has a lotttt to unpack and I am currently unprepared to process it sooo...here’s the usual live spoiler commentary! (Long Post)

THIS WAS A HECKIN LOT YALL...A LOT PACKED INTO ONE EPISODE!!!

Matthew and that gotdang radish... and what’s the bet that vanilla is no good???

WINNIFRED’S PARENTS?!?!?!?!?!

My god Blythe did we hallucinate that dance scene????

“Settled on Winnie” “Easy to be with” “fond”?!?!? hooo beware the flames of passion XD

“I’m not thinking that far ahead” boi you mentioned marriage after DANCING with Anne???? And now here you are uncertain about marrying Winnie but you’re still meeting her PARENTS?!?!

---

Gilbert’s come to visit?!?? How often does this happen?!? Oh wait no Anne you’re heckin sick!

Oh snap Anne is heckin AWARE of him and he boi has the nerve to go meet another girl’s parents?????

“Special occasion?” “Not really” well I see I see

Look at Gilbert being a yeehaw boi

---

Ooohhhhh Anne dishing about Gilbert in a non-angery way to Diana??? Surely this is a first... we’re a long way from “Ruby called dibs!”

I’m so glad we can talk about this now ladies... Anne is in a somewhat more receptive state!

“Gilbert has a crush on you” “What? No he doesn’t!” To “It’s not true... Could it be true?!?!”

WE’RE REALLY TALKING ABOUT HOW YOU FELT AT THE DANCE PRACTICE AND HOW ANNE IS AWARE SHE TENDS TO PUT HER FOOT IN IT AROUND GILBERT

THEY REALLY OUTRIGHT MADE MENTION OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE MY HEART IS SOARING

OOP DIANA JUST ASKED THOSE FORBIDDEN WORDS!!!

how hard am I about to clown now, knowing Anne is finally aware of her feelings...

---

Matthew my love what are you doing to your hair?

We out here plucking petals too????

Oooh but Anne looking so prettyyy

---

HECKIN YES THE BARRY’S AND BAYNARD’S ABOUT TO COLLIDE I love the music change with their appearance XD

Derry signalling to each other that they still have the other’s gift!!!!

Jerry and Diana gazing after each other is so gotdang precious I cannot

---

Oh for fucks sake... but also JEALOUS ANNE... but I don’t want devastated Anne???

---

Dammit Eliza have you learned nothing from ignoring Mary?????

---

THERES THAT SAD SHOT OF ANNE

Oh damn she really went from overwhelmed to devastated to plain pissed off huh?

---

Dang Miss Stacy those sharp shooter skillsss

---

PRISSY IS BACK!!! And Billy too I guess

Girl gonna turn herself into a badass business woman yes my girl I am HERE FOR IT PRISSY

---

Wait wait. Wait wait wait. Is Jerry about to show up Billy??? IS JERRY OUR FARM BOI ABOUT TO SHOW UP THIS LIL SUIT WEARING PUNK?!?!

HE FRIGGEN DID. Look Billy he just has a better foundation than you from working the farm. But also I don’t care about your feelings really bc my baby boi Jerry done SHOWED YOU UP

---

Ooooooh Derry sneaking around...

THEYRE HOLDING HANDSSSSS

HE’S ASKING FOR A KISS OH HECK THEYRE GONNA GET CAUGHT OH NO OH NO OH NO BUT GO FOR IT BOO

HE WAS GOING FOR THE HAND BUT DIANA REALLY JUST KISSED HIM ON THE LIPS HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD OH MY GOSH HOLY HECK

---

GILBERT BLYTHE ISTG IF YOU IGNORE SEBASTIAN RN THIS BETTER NOT I SAW THAT LOOK I

Oh oh good ok he’s introducing them??

Ok oh good they reacted decently ok

Oh good my heart is glad

Oh Gilbert the two girls are about to meet are you sure you’re ready for this??

---

Oh wow home girl really just asked about the E thing huh?? Anne can you be friends with Winnie??? I bet you’d get along!

“Family friend” huhhhh well that’s nice I guess???

---

I KNEW THE VANILLA WOULD GO WRONG

But Gilbert is running after her?!?

God how deep is his voice when he yelled her name???

---

What the ever living fuck was that?!?!? Anne wishes Gilbert happiness, Gilbert is heckin confused bc he ran after her about the cake, they were in front of the tunnel of love?!?

---

Ok look so Anne lost, Matthew’s radish didn’t win, Marilla’s better turn up or imma be mad!

Excellent work Marilla!

Ok but this wholesome Cuthbert family moment in the hot air balloon is everything

---

Ooooh dancing timeeee

Moody is a strummer boi indeed

Wait how did this happen how are they suddenly in the same group oh my gosh

Wow he was really right in the middle of them wasn’t he??

---

Oho. Ruby isn’t freaking out about Gilbert??? Ruby is making eyes at Moody?!? HAS SHE FINALLY MOVED ON?!?!?

---

Oh no Billy please don’t do what I think is gonna happen

Oh god no Billy please stop you’re already an unlikeable character why do you have to do this Josie push him away you’re more than this

GOOD GIRL PUSHING HIM AWAY THIS GUY JUST GETS WORSE EVERY TIME HE APPEARS HUH

---

Oh thank god Ruby my darling child

Anne fixing Josie’s bow is so wonderful

Oh no Josie goddamn Billy why are you like this??? You’re really gonna ruin Josie’s reputation

---

Oh here comes Charlie. Please redeem yourself from your ignorance last time. Please.

Oh wow this enthusiasm Anne. You’re gonna make him dizzy

---

Oh my gosh yes Miss Stacy and Matthew driving Rachel crazy squad is everything

Derry is dancing together

Ohhh god tho the rumours noooooo Josie

Is Anne gonna punch him? Is it time for Anne to punch him? TELL ME SHE’S GONNA PUNCH HIM!!!

Man I was hoping for a punch

---

Ooh Anne. Coming to Josie’s defense. Good. Getting angry at Gilbert. Bad. Putting responsibility on Billy. Good. Everyone being catty about Josie. Bad.

Frig Gilbert looked so tired of Anne being angry at him

---

What a fascinating episode.

48 notes · View notes

scaredofthebasement-blog · 5 years

Text

When Love Walks In - Chpt 20

Chpt 20 – Alex Calls Out Auston for his Playboy Ways and They Have a Heart to Heart

(Please note that I made a few major edits.)

Words 4971

Alex pulls up the chair to sit next to her brother on his left-hand bedside. She has to laugh when Auston raises his eyebrows at her, perplexed by why she’s fussing; inching her chair closer and closer to him.

“What?! I’m just trying to get as close to you as possible without actually getting in the bed with you. I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m saying”, She explains recognizing how silly it appears.

Auston shakes his head, thinking, So much drama. Frig! It’s like my life’s become a freakin’ soap opera.

Alex leans into Auston and whispers, “Oz! Hey!”

He turns toward her all dramatic-like as if he’s in a soap opera and mouths, Whaaa?

“Would you care to explain to me what the heck you’ve been doing? Frig, I leave you alone for a few hours, and you’re pouring on the charm for BOTH of your doctors?! Please don’t tell me you’re making moves on them. Have you fallen for Dr Wright too?”

Auston rolls his eyes dramatically and writes, “NO!!!!!”

Then what happened when I was gone that made her so…uhm…I don’t know, different?

“I was drawing emojis.”

“Okay? And...?”

He quickly draws, Mic Drop, No Clue and Bored Out of My Mind.

Oh! Alright, then. Those ARE pretty funny. I forgot you know how to do those. Ha! I love that ‘Bored’ one best. Funny! Good for you Oz! They both deserve a good laugh.”

Auston agrees, writing, “Yeah, it was fun watching Dr Wright’s reaction. Never seen her like that. She’s usually so serious. Very kind, great at her job, but she can be pretty intense. So it was a rush watching her walls come down.”

“Not to mention she’s pretty beautiful. Am I right? Huh? Auston?” She pokes.

“I’m not interested in her at all!” Auston writes in frustration.

“Okay! Sorry! Take a chill pill. But don’t try and tell me you’re not interested in Dr Quinn, cause I’m not an idiot.”

Auston blushes and rolls his eyes at her as he writes sarcastically, “Yeah, you got me, Detective. You should work for the NYPD, Alex.”

“Thanks. I’ll look into that. Law and Order, Special Doofus Unit”, She jokes.

Auston has to laugh at that one. He writes with a smirk, “Clever, I’ll give you that.”

Alex laughs, proud of herself for impressing her brother.

“Did Dr Quinn like your emojis too, Auston?” She teases.

Auston rolls his eyes. “As a matter of fact, Dr Q has seen me draw them before. She thought they were pretty funny. I now use them to tease her. She pretends to not be amused, which as far as I’m concerned adds to my amusement. They were both fun to watch cause it took them by surprise.”

“Yeah, I don’t imagine many patients can draw like that or would draw emojis for their doctors”, Alex laughs at the idea.

Auston adds, “I wish you were here to see it. BTW why were you so late coming this morning? You missed a lot of information, and now Dr Q’s going to have to repeat it all. But I suppose that’ll make her stay longer today, so I guess a ‘thanks’ is in order.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, Auston, I was finishing up that lovely job you gave me”, Alex says with disdain.

“Oh...”, Auston writes, pursing his mouth, regretting he even asked. He’s cautious as he detects annoyance in her voice. He thinks, Oh, Oh. This ain't gonna be good.

“Yes! I finally got through all your freakin’ social media, and you actually owe me TWO HUGE-ASS MANSIONS, definitely some KICK-ASS THERAPY and a month at a FULL-SERVICE SPA. Shit, Auston! You’re a dirty boy!” She speaks quietly but with a harsh tone.

“Yeah, I know”, he writes sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, Alex. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you might see on my phone, and I’m actually very embarrassed. I don’t like thinking about that ‘old me’, cause I’m not that person anymore.”

“Since when? And why?” Alex asks.

“Since being in here. I’ve had time to reflect and can see that I got caught up in an exciting playboy lifestyle that worked for my need to be selfish in order to pursue my career goals. But I don’t want that life anymore and I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

“Oh?” Alex questions.

“I want to be in a committed and mature relationship with Dr Quinn, even if I have to sacrifice some time spent on my career goals. I want Quinn. I want a relationship of substance with Quinn. I want a ‘normalish’ life with Quinn.”

Alex unloads, “Well, I’m very glad that you have resolved to change your ways, Auston, cause I had a whole lecture that I was gonna throw at you just now. I’ll spare you most of it but need you to know this: I love you dearly, but I won’t permit you to subject Dr Quinn to any of that cheap-ass shit you were engaged in with other women prior to your accident. If you even consider pursuing it with her, I’ll talk to Mom and Dad, and I’ll warn Dr Quinn. She deserves THE VERY BEST man in her life and from what my eyes witnessed, sorting through your texts and such, YOU have been VERY far from ‘BEST’; more-like, ‘Best Asshole’. I know why you initially went the route of being a ‘player’, ‘wheeler’, ‘hooking up,’ whatever you want to call it. I get it. It made sense back then. But that’s a life of absolute zero substance and completely shallow. Dr Quinn deserves substance and frankly at this point in your life, so do you.”

“I know! Trust me! I know that now!” Auston pleads.

“I really hope you do, Oz. You’re an amazing guy. You have so much to offer a woman and a relationship, and it would be a real waste if you keep up those shallow ways just because you live life in the fast lane. It’s time to move on and be a real man.”

“Alex. I get it. You’re 1000% right, and you don’t have to talk to Mom, Dad or Quinn because I can assure you, I am not the same person I was before my accident.”

“Go ahead, Auston. I’m listening…or reading, I should say.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if it’s because I almost died or because I finally took a beat to reflect but I’ve realized I’ve become a man in the last few years. Or maybe Quinn has made me want to be a better man to be with her? It could be a combination of all three. But I can assure you, every cell in my body wants to be the very best man that I can for her. To me, she is the most amazing person I’ve ever met. She thrills me. I can’t get enough of her. She means everything to me. I want to bring the same amount of joy to her as she brings to me”, He rationalizes.

“Okay. Good. And, Wow Oz! I really want to believe you will change, but it’s hard to break bad habits.”

Auston is determined to convince Alex he’s changed. “Let me put it this way, if I find out that someone with the ‘old me agenda’ is, or has moved on Quinn, (and I honestly can’t even let myself consider that possibility because it’s too upsetting), after I’m done taking care of that asshat, he will be in desperate need of another doctor. Do you get my drift? I know how I was, and I will never be that way again. I won’t tolerate anyone treating Quinn like a consumable, let alone me.”

“Okay, Oz, but please don’t go doing anything stupid to anyone. I’m very glad that you see the light”, Alex warns.

“Alex, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before Quinn. I’m absolutely bat-shit crazy about her. It’s like she’s heroin and I’m addicted. I’m a puddle when she’s around and a wreck when she’s not. I’m embarrassed to tell you that with the very best of intentions, I have done some desperate shit to get her to spend time with me.”

“No! Auston! What desperate shit did you do?” Alex panics.

“Well, for one thing, I almost died; but first I made her cry”, Auston confesses.

“What?! The hell?! Oz! What are you talking about you almost died? Again?! And you made Dr Quinn cry?! Are you crazy?!”

“Yes, Alex, I am crazy! Apparently, certifiable! I’m sorry to say; I did both. I was completely distraught after not seeing Quinn all last week. Then yesterday, she made it seem like she was going to be too busy to see me much this week, and it’s my last week here! Plus she started dating a fucking doctor-god last week! I call him Dr McDreamy cause from what I can gather from my research; he’s all that and then some.”

“Oh, no! Really?”

“Frig! It pisses me off royally! Quinn hasn’t dated since dinosaurs last roamed the earth, but she decides to take up with a fucking doctor when I arrive on the scene”, Auston laments.

“Oh, boy! That’s not good”, Alex reasons.

“Yeah, and BTW, Alex, you’re comments are not helping.” Auston points out, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry! But neither are yours! ‘Almost died’ and ‘made my doctor cry’. Shit! What a freaking mess, Auston! What did you do? Specifically!” Alex snaps back.

“I made her upset by making her think I doubted her promise to be there for me for the rest of my recovery. I also accused her of abandoning me last week”, Auston confesses.

“Auston! No!” Alex freaks.

“Yes!” He takes in a deep breath and sighs. “Oh God, Alex! I know! I’m such a mess! But I needed to remind her of her purpose for being a doctor in the first place - to be there for her patients. You know? For people like Josh. So she’d be there for me.”

“Oh Auston, that’s some off-base shit right there. She IS there for her patients! She’s been incredibly dedicated to you! To Mom, Dad, Bre and Me. 24 freaking 7, Auston! Last week, she didn’t even know you were struggling cause Dr Wright didn’t tell her. She had a medical conference to attend, and she had meetings. She checked up on you every day with Dr Wright. And tell me you did NOT bring up Josh’s name. Did you?!”

“No! I could never be that cruel! I know she’s been there for me. I just wanted her to come around this week so we could develop a relationship. Otherwise, she was going to be spread too thin. I needed to make sure I got a chance to find my way into her heart”, Auston explains as his heart pounds and his blood pressure rises.

“I know, but still, that was selfish and entitled behaviour, Auston”, Alex lashes out.

“I know it seems that way. I just didn’t feel like I had any other option since I go home next week. I saw a chance, and I took it. It devasted me to hurt her like that, and I ended up getting so upset that I choked on my congestion. I couldn’t breathe, so she had to suction me. It was scary as hell, Alex”, Auston tries to make her understand.

“Auston! Oh, my God! I don’t even know what to say right now”, Alex blurts out in frustration.

As Alex sorts through all the information Auston has spilt on her, Auston sits, staring down at his hands, feeling anguish; conflicted and berating himself for being selfish.

After what seems like forever of nothing, Alex blurts out, “Not cool, Oz! So not cool! Frig! What if Mom and Dad find out?”

Auston nods in agreement and immediately falls apart. He is distraught. Tears start to flow down his face.

He starts coughing.

Oh shit, here I go again!

Alex sees what’s happening and tries to do damage control. She jumps up from her chair and pulls Auston into her arms. Alex whispers in his ear as she rubs his back to comfort him. She knows she was too hard on him in his vulnerable condition. She’s upset with herself.

Alex desperately attempts to calm him, “Hey, Hey, Hey! Oz! Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry for being so harsh. You’ve been through so much. My words were severe. No one knows what it’s like to walk in your shoes. But I can understand. When I think about it, I absolutely understand. No need to cry, Oz. I completely understand why you did what you did. You were desperate. I get it. Anyone in your situation would feel the need to do what you did. It’s all good now. Dr Quinn’s good. You saw her earlier this morning. She seemed really good. Please calm yourself down, so you don’t choke. Please, Oz. Get yourself together, okay? I support you. I want what you want. I want her for you too. It was worth it, Oz. I can see that. What other choice did you have? Please suck it up, Oz. Swallow. Take relaxing breaths. Okay?” She pulls away to let him catch his breath and reaches for tissues to try to dry his face. He grabs hold of her arm so she won’t leave him.

Auston continues to cough. He swallows. He keeps coughing. He keeps swallowing. He squirms as he tries to gain control and feels like if given a bit more time, he will be okay. But when he starts to choke and wheeze, Alex sounds the alarm.

“Jacqui! Nurse! Doctor! Auston’s choking! Help! Hurry!” She yells.

Auston is disappointed. He really thought he could get it under control without the need for the Suction. He wants to be able to master his secretions.

Jacqui is at Auston’s side in seconds. She assesses the situation and grabs the Suction as Alex tries to move out of the way as best she can with Auston’s death grip on her arm.

Auston extends his free hand out in front of him to signal for Jacqui to stop and shakes his head ‘no’. He wants more time. ‘No suction yet’ is his clear message.

Jacqui stands down, watching as Auston continues to cough and wheeze. They both encourage him to relax, focus on drawing in breath and coughing.

It takes about 30 seconds until Auston has caught his breath; for all three of them, it feels like an eternity.

Jacqui tells him she’ll stay in the room until he feels confident that he’s got things under control.

“What brought that on?” She asks Alex.

“He was upset about something we were talking about”, Alex explains.

“Oh, I see. Well, maybe you could change the subject to something a little cheerier. But at the same time, getting upset is bound to happen, and this is a great opportunity to learn how to manage the secretions – which you did! You actually did great Auston! Really impressive; you managed to stay calm, and you fought through it. You’re showing great progress, and that’s what this week is about”, Jacqui points out.

Auston nods with a smile. He is happy with what he just did there.

“You okay now, Auston?” Jacqui asks.

Auston nods and gives a smile and thumbs up.

“Then can I have my arm back bro?” Alex begs with a relieved giggle.

Auston lets go of Alex’s arm and holds out his hand for some tissues to wipe his face.

So since you feel comfortable now, I can step out and leave you two alone for a few more minutes as it’s almost time for Dr Quinn to come and oversee the 11 am procedures. Great job, Auston! You too Alex!”

Auston gives Jacqui the thumbs up, and mouths ‘thank you.’

“Yes, thank you so much, Jacqui!” Alex calls out.

Auston grabs the board and marker that Alex picks up off the floor for him. He writes, “Thanks, Alex. Sorry you had to see that. It’s scary when it happens, but I felt confident that I had it under control.”

“Ha! Yeah, Bam Bam, you’re vulture grip on my arm made me feel really confident too”, She teases. “Seriously though, it’s upsetting but you did a great job and I’m sorry I distressed you.”

Auston writes, “It’s ok. I know Dr Quinn will be here shortly so I want to tell you privately, that it may sound bad, but I’m glad I did what I did because I got Quinn to commit to coming to see me every day this week for Talk Therapy.”

“I thought she already was doing Therapy with you? You told Mom and Dad that she was.”

“Yeah, I know. I lied about that. Please don’t tell Mom and Dad! I just needed them to leave me alone with Dr Quinn, but they wouldn’t let go of the therapy issue. I told you, Alex, she’s like an addiction! I would do anything to be alone with her. I needed a chance for her to get to know me.”

“I understand why you can’t tell Dr Quinn how you feel right now. She’d have to stop being your doctor. She would never abuse or risk her position by allowing an obvious attraction. You can’t go losing her as your doctor. You need to be careful.”

“Exactly! I want Dr Quinn to work with me cause she’s the only one who could possibly resurrect my voice. The good thing is she wants to work with me cause I represent her ‘dead boyfriend’ and winning the ‘Stanley Cup’.”

“Auston! Hold the phone! Surprisingly, I get the reference to ‘her dead boyfriend,’ being Josh, but you’ve lost me at ‘winning the Stanley Cup’?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“She told me that for her, saving my life was like making the Cup Finals and that restoring my voice would be like winning the Stanley Cup.”

Alex points out, “Well, if anyone could relate to an analogy like that it would be you.”

“I know, right?! And how can I deny her the chance to win a ‘Stanley Cup’?” He jokes.

“Ha! Yeah, you’re so selfless, Auston”, Alex mocks.

“Yeah, I know. So now we’re playing games. I’m playing ‘Avoid the Danger Zone’, and she’s playing, ‘Ignore the Elephant in the Room.’

“Neither sound very fun, Oz.” Alex adds, dryly.

“Honestly Alex, worst games ever! I’m pretty sure I’m losing my game, where I try to hide how I feel about her, so she doesn’t have to stop being my doctor. But I’m making out okay so far because she’s acing her game; where she absolutely refuses to acknowledge to herself that I’m interested in her.”

“Do you really think she knows how you feel about her?” Alex asks.

“Yeah. I think she must have picked up on some clues; subconsciously anyway. She’s brilliant so I don’t know how she could miss them. But she’s also either really good at making it look like she doesn’t know or in fact doesn’t know. I’m at a loss, really.”

“Do you think she likes you?” Alex asks.

“Well, yesterday, she accidentally told me that she liked me”, Auston reveals with a blush.

“What?!” Alex gasps, excitedly.

“Yeah. Dr Quinn let it slip in a conversation saying, ‘so that’s why I like you so much’”, Auston can’t help but smile.

“No way!” Alex freaks.

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised!” Auston jokes.

“Ha! Sorry! I’m just really happy for you. What did YOU say?” Alex asks.

“I teased her in a light, friend-like way, cause I don’t want to force her hand. But it could be that’s how she meant it. I’m not quite sure if she’s interested in me as more than a friend or just someone that thinks, ‘I’m a wonderful person’”, Auston explains.

“She said ‘you’re a wonderful person?!’” Alex jumps.

“Yeah. But I swear if you’d been there, you wouldn’t know how to take it. She brushed it off as something anyone would think if they knew me. Honestly, Alex, it all seems like a mind game that I’m sure she doesn’t even know she’s playing. She just won’t go there; won’t let herself acknowledge it.”

“Cause then she’d have to do something about it. Right? She’s smart”, Alex reasons.

“Yup. That she is for sure and very stubborn about pursuing her goals.”

“Sounds like someone else I know”, Alex points out.

“Huh? I’m not stubborn like Quinn”, Auston denies.

“Oh, you think? You’re kidding, right?” Alex calls him out.

Auston considers the idea and then concedes, “Yeah. You’re probably right. Ha! I suppose we are similar in that. We’re like dogs with a bone.”

“Probably one of the reasons why you like her so much”, Alex guesses.

“Love”, Auston corrects her.

“Oh, sorry. “Love” her so much”, Alex exaggerates, rolling her eyes but secretly thrilled.

“Got to call it what it is, Sis. I’ve never been in love before so when you’re in it, it’s a big deal”, Auston informs her.

“But she’s dating, huh? That’s a big problem, Oz”, Alex points out.

“Yeah. I’m assuming this Doctor McDreamy’s my direct competition. So that’s what forced me to challenge her; so I could set up another game that I’m calling, ‘Day by Freaking Day’.

“Wow! Oz! Worst game title ever!” Alex blurts out.

“Ha! Yeah, I know, right!” Auston admits.

“So how do you play?”

“Well, as the name implies, I spend time with Dr Quinn during the day, let her get to know me and hopefully endear myself to her. Then she goes out with Doc McStuffins at night, and she realizes she likes me better. That’s the only chance I have. So every moment I have with her this week is precious.”

“Ha! Oz?” Alex questions.

Auston looks at her curious, Huh?

Doc McStuffins is a girl”, Alex giggles.

Auston laughs to himself, writing, “Oh. Ha! Well, let’s hope Dr Peters is a girl. That would help my cause.”

“Or complicate it?” Alex jokes.

“Yeah! Ha! I suppose so.” He chuckles.

Oh! Before Quinn comes back, I want to ask you for another favour. I want to get her a special gift to thank her for everything she’s done for me.”

“Awww. Sweet!”

“I’ll get something for the others as well, but I want to get something extra special for Quinn, and it will need sourcing.”

“Okay?”

“You’ll need to go see the Jeweller that we use in Yorkville. Get him to source out the items cause there is no way he’ll have them. No restriction on price but don’t tell him that. Get him to text me what he finds and the cost.”

“Sure. What are you thinking?” Alex asks.

“If you look in my bedside table you’ll find a piece of paper where I’ve listed specifically what I want. The sooner you can get them, the better, but I understand if it might take a bit.”

“Okay”, curious, Alex heads over to the other side of Auston’s bed to get the paper. She pulls out the note and reads it. A smile washes across her face. “Wow, Auston! Looks like you put a lot of thought into this. You’re a real sweetheart. She’s gonna love them.”

“Good! I want the gift to touch her heart.” Auston smiles, pleased with himself and excited for the day that he can give them to her.

“Thanks a lot for looking after this and me. You’re a saint!” Auston gushes.

Alex acknowledges Auston’s gratitude with a smile. She puts the slip of paper in her purse and pulls out Auston’s cell phone and places it on his bedside table.

“I almost forgot! Here’s your cell phone, Oz. I did up a blurb for your social media accounts. I texted it to you. You’ll need to review it, make any changes you want and send it to Judd for approval.”

“Oh, wow! Thanks, Alex! Great! I really appreciate everything you have done for me. I think I’ll keep you around.”

“Well, after your social media crap, I think I’m retiring as your sister”, Alex teases.

“Ha! Sorry. But I need my big sister. You’re stuck with your dumbass little brother forever.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it. All joking aside though, I also got distracted and forgot to tell you, there are a couple girls texting you that seem to think you were about to make things serious before your accident.”

“What? No! Who? Names?” Auston writes, clearly upset.

“A ‘Bridget’ and a ‘Chantelle’. Were you going to ask them to be exclusive?”

“Hell No! I specifically made it my practice that prior to each hookup, they understood and agreed there would be no strings. I learned that lesson the hard way and you know that.”

“Yes. Well, they both appear to have magically changed their minds and they are very concerned about you since your accident and want to be here for you.”

“Together?!” Auston imagines what that would look like.

“No, not together, Dum Dum! But they both indicated in their texts that they have come to the hospital trying to get in to see you; each saying she is your girlfriend. But security stopped them cause they weren’t on the list.”

“Oh shit! Can’t you just tell them I died?” He writes, half-joking.

“Auston, you need to text Judd and get his advice on how to say adios to these women. Can you do that in the next few days? Or do you want me to call him and I’ll just tell him there has been a misunderstanding and you’re not interested in pursuing any type of relationship?”

“Yeah, can you do the second one you mentioned? Please. I don’t have the energy and I trust you can deal with it based on how you helped me a few years back with Rebecca”, Auston begs.

“Sure. Hopefully, these ones will go quietly into the night.”

“Thanks, Alex. Keep me in the loop. They were fun and beautiful women but I’m not interested.”

“Oz, you’ll also need to wrap up your old life with all your hookups. You’ll need to tell them all goodbye”, Alex advises.

“Please get Judd to do that on my behalf. Tell him I can’t even talk for god-sakes.”

“Okay. I will. And...Oh, you also need to figure out who is going to stay with you while you’re home recovering, so message Mom and Dad tonight.”

“Will you stay with me? Can you?” Auston pleads.

“Really, you want ME? After today?” Alex questions.

“Yes, especially after today. We’ve been through a lot. You know me better than anyone. You’re my confidente, biggest fan and best friend. I trust you, and I enjoy your company. If you would like to stay with me, I’d love to have you.” Auston tells her.

“Well, thanks, Oz! I’ll seriously consider it. I enjoy living in Toronto. I also have been waiting for the right time to tell you that I have been seeing a guy from Toronto. I met him here at the hospital in the waiting room. His father was in the Intensive Care Ward when you were there.”

“No way! So something else great came out of my accident? What’s your boyfriend’s name? How old is he? What’s he do? Do you really like him?” Auston gives Alex the third degree.

“Whoa, Oz! Yes, I really like him a lot. I actually feel like I’m falling in love with him”, Alex says as a smile lights up her face.

“No way?!” Auston writes.

“Way! His name is Adam Lang. He’s a Toronto Firefighter. He’s actually studying to be a Captain. He’s 33 years old. Never been married. Has a golden retriever. Lives in the ‘Beaches’. He treats me like gold. He’s smart as hell and a jock. He makes me laugh, and we never run out of stuff to talk about or do. I know you’ll hit it off”, She tells him excitedly.

Auston smiles and motions for Alex to come in for a hug. He squeezes her tight and kisses her on the cheek. Auston is so happy for her. He knows she’s seen her share of heartbreaks over the years with two serious relationships that didn’t last. He always worried about her happiness and hoped she’d find a good guy.

They pull apart, and Auston writes, “I want to meet him! Bring him by.”

“Really? Even though you can’t talk yet?” Alex asks.

“I don’t care. I have to meet him. I have to make sure he’s not ‘a player’.” He writes, teasing and adds a winky face emoji.

Alex rolls her eyes and laughs. “Oh, he’s not ‘a player’ at all, Oz. He’s a fan. But not the Leafs. He’s a Bruins fan!”

Auston’s mouth drops open in shock as he raises his head to the ceiling mouthing a silent scream of “No!!!!!!!!!!!!” (See Gif at top of the page for the type of reaction). Then he grabs his marker dramatically as he writes and emphasizes each exclamation point with a flourish. “No!!!!!!!!!!”

Alex laughs.

After a minute stare down, where Auston tries to determine whether Alex is messing with him, Auston writes, begging, “Alex! Please tell me you’re joking! It’s not nice to be mean to someone in the hospital.”

“Just a little payback for how you treated Quinn. You’ll have to wait and ask Adam when you meet him.”

Auston writes, “Well played, Alex! Well played! I deserve this.”

They both laugh and high five each other just as Dr Quinn enters the room.

#auston #auston matthews #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #imagines #fanfiction #imagine #love story #nhl fanfiction

64 notes · View notes

afraschatz · 6 years

Text

Leverage - The Studio Job

It feels like ages since I’ve done one of these, and I MISS MY SHOW, so I popped in a random DVD and whohoo it is “The Studio Job”. So here is a random amount of things that I love about this episode. I love...

... the sheer swagger of Hasselhoff err Schneider err Kirkwood. Not many people can pull off that leather jacket, dude

... the fact that Eliot is present during the initial client meeting. I’ve been wondering about this actually, I mean obviously it’s clear why Eliot is here because he clearly is the only one with a decent taste in music and whatnot (what violin? Hardison who?). But, like, does Nate have a diary on his desk where he pencils in potential clients and he hasn’t yet figured out that the team reads that thing and just “happens to show up” to meetings they think interesting? Is the entire team actually present for the inital “hello” and then just randomly decides “nah, not today, today’s client is harshing my vibe, I’d rather hang out with my horde”? How do these meetings come about? I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS

... hahahaha, that music video is just the BEST THING. I kinda need a video like that with Eliot staring in it.

... Hardison dumping info like a boss. I know it’s common knowledge that Aldis Hodge was (in part) hired because of exactly that skill but seriously, he is SO good at it.

... “I don’t know how to play the fiddle” (Hardison probably does) and Hardison’s and Eliot’s reactions hahaha

... Kirkwood being a creepy douche. “But the computer...” - “Say it again.” Such a dick (and such a great little bit of characterisation)

... we are not talking about Hardison’s HORRIBLE outfit. Okay, maybe we are. We all know that Hardison has the best style of all of them (don’t fight me on this), so clearly the only explanation for this terribly mustard/brown combo is that he went to a thrift store and deliberately bought the most ridiculously 70s retro country shit he could find. Why? Well, to piss of Eliot, of course

... Nate wearing the white hat. Who are you trying to fool, mate? Oh, right. The mark.

... Parker’s dance theft. Hands down my favourite lift. Possibly ever. (Such a nice use of lazy sensual music there as well)

... Hardison’s clever strategy of responding to suspicion and anger by just mirroring that and instantly forming a bond of mutual pissed-off-ness

... Hardison’s condescension in reaction to the DJ’s super bad lie. Because lying is cool. But bad lying? That’s just offensive.

... Hot diggity dagum. Hahahaha, Hardison

... the notion that the entire time during that interlude Kirkwood is chewing Nate’s ear off

... Nate’s stutter - I love that he regularly uses these more obvious go-to-personas / tactics (like that stutter when he wants to come across as slightly gullible and not a threat) that aren’t that refined as those his team would chose. Why? Not because he can’t do any better. Just because he can’t be bothered. Ha, Nate, I love your casual arrogance

... sunglasses in that badly lit a club, Sophie? Really :)?

... Nate’s FACE the moment Kirkwood turns his back. You sexy, devious bastard. I love you.

... Parker and her refusal to buy into metaphors. Her sense of humour is just so - I mean OBVIOUSLY she gets it, like she gets every other metaphorical expression (“I didn’t even get to see the emerald!” anyone?). But yeah, I agree with you, it’s hilarious when the rest tries to be patient / loses their shit

... HELLO FIDDLE!

... that shot with Eliot and the blue and yellow lights

... Eliot being offended all over the place. Parker startled him! Parker was a kid!catburglar? (Dude, this is, what, the third season? How can that surprise you?) Eliot CAN sing!

... that little bit of maybe-stage-fright. And the fact that Parker is up there with him and her overacted astonishment. Which is a. seriously funny, and b. such a neat reaction because of course it pisses Eliot off, and a pissed off Eliot is not a nervous Eliot. I love these weird bits of their friendship

... Hardison following suit. - Darth Vader Eliot and Smurf Eliot. Parker’s genuine laughter. Oh God, could I love the friendship these three have any more? I think not. (And what’s the greatest thing? This isn’t even talked about, this isn’t even supposed to be the POINT of the scene. Other shows create entire episode’s, entire fucking seasons around moments like this one. Leverage? Just casually dishing it out. Because this show is perfection.)

... Hardison first comparing Eliot to Britney Spears, then calling him “baby”

...NATE poking fun at him for it

... Hardison being startled, not because of the “baby” bit obviously, but oops, there he was flirting with his best girl and his best guy and he might’ve forgotten that the coms were live

... HOW OLD ARE YOU, Nate :D

... “This must be the Southern charm I heard so much about”. Sophie, being brilliant with the “fuck you, you sleazebag” without the sleazebag actually noticing. I seriously love her throughout this episode. She has very little to do, but everything she does just reeks of that special brand of low-key arrogant professionalism and pride in her grifter skills. So much love for her.

... Nate’s sexy white hat profile!

... Eliot letting himself be seduced. Not gonna lie, there are plenty of his dates that I like better than the one in this ep, but this still is a great little scene. I really dig Eliot’s way with people (and it’s not just women; it’s people). Because he LISTENS.

... Sophie being a food snob. Again.

... Sophie’s outfit. The hair? The frigging jacket? So rad.

... Sophie’s way with Kirkwood compared to Nate’s earlier. See, this is the expert at playing people, the Shakespeare of grifters

... Eliot’s fucking voice

... Hardison’s little panic attack

... Nate’s FOCUS when he looks at Eliot. That’s not just because the con works. That is his super sharp shark focus of pride (which is totally an expression).

... seriously, Eliot’s voice. I need to dig out my old Kane CDs

... Eliot’s little smile at the end

... reward sex. You earned that, man.

... why do you take out your com? Everyone knows what you’re doing anyway. And now Nate has to beat up goons on his own. Jeez.

... “You two work out together” - hahaha, oh Nate

... “Forever 21, don’t hit me” - another seriously nice bit of interlacing the imminent danger of Nate potentially getting killed with teenage groupies. Not only is that little tidbit funny in its own right, it also tells us, before we even see it, that Nate’s all right. Eliot already knows, obviously, he has the ear bud back in and he is taking his sweet time to give that autograph and whatnot while definitely listening to Nate dealing with that problem. That is my version of how it went down and I’m sticking with it

... “Oh, ELIOT’s the fiddle” hahaha

... Parker’s outfit. Hardison’s COAT (btw, the way Parker and Hardison interact here? This is probably pretty close to how they must seem to the unsuspecting casual observer ALWAYS, just minus the outfit).

... “We was cool, we was vibin’”

... Eliot being chased, and all of this having such a retro Beatles vibe to it

... “Contrary to what you all believe, I do not control everything that happens on the internet”... five seconds later “Boom, fansite nuked”

... “I’m pretty certain a fatwa was issued!” - “You’re so vain, man.” (Because yes, Hardison. Eliot brags by telling people how many governments want him dead. That is absolutely how Eliot rolls.)

... “seriously, for breakfast?!” - I love you, Sophie

... Sophie’s superfast reactions and the joy of getting to slap Nate

... Parker’s traipsing and Hardison’s gangsta walk

... you know what is better than Hardison half naked in a recording studio? Hardison, half naking in a recording studio, yanking Eliot’s chain.

... Parker’s scale of what is weird being VERY different than anyone else’s

... “This is not from an iceberg”

... Hardison moving with Eliot’s music, then interrupting him, THEN cutting off communications :)

... niiice little bit of storytelling-by-superzoom, and Parker solving the case while Hardison and Eliot are just mucking around

... Ribs, Ribs, More Ribs

... “The guy who’s buying our fiddle? He thinks he IS the fiddle.”

... Locked off comedy frame - my favourite ever, actually. SO many great OT3 scenes in this episode

... beating goons up with a mic stand AND drumsticks

... black-hat-Nate (now, doesn’t that look more right?) impersonating Hannibal Smith

... nice shot of the four of them in the hotel

... a conveniently parked random motorbike

... Eliot err Kenneth Crane t-shirts

... Kirkwood lip-syncing

... a groupie flashmob

... Parker on stage. Because this is important. For the con. For Eliot.

... Eliot once again proving that he is a great actor (second best on the team) in that staged conversation with Kirkwood

... a conveniently placed cow-hide

... Eliot and Nate doing the gloat together.

... Nate’s black hat, toothpick combo (he is really loving this week’s outfit theme, isn’t he?)

... Eliot’s little laugh at the proposal of being one half of the next Johnny and June. I love that because it’s both sweet and kinda flattered as well as absolutely-not- are-you-kidding-me- as-that-could-tempt-me-away- from-the-sweet-gig-I-already-got

... that little beat, again with just Nate and Eliot. God, I love their friendship sosososo much. I should write a 5k essay about it. And by essay I mean ode.

... that way that Nate is not looking people in the eye when he wants to give them a bit of privacy. Or when he wants some himself

... “Notes on my performance” - “How were you?” - “No complaints” - And Eliot’s and Sophie’s relationship? SO different. Equally awesome.

... I also what to know what time it is, Eliot.

Perfect episode. Perfect show.

#leverage #eliot spencer #alec hardison #nate ford #sophie deveraux #parker #episode reaction #things I love about #the studio job

272 notes · View notes

chyrstis · 5 years

Text

Just roll with it

This was really just an excuse to draft up an odd occurrence in-game (How many ways can a hostage van rescue go wrong? Many), and to have Sharky continue to be his lovely self. It was also time to write some Faith, and everything fell into place from there.

Rating: T Word Count: 5.9K

Link to AO3!

___

The plan was to hit Boshaw Manor before heading north. Grab some supplies, a working car, and figure it out from there. Sadly, her plans never seem to survive the first draft.

____________________

Her truck was toast.

Hana had known that riding in, and now with Sharky with her, the two were faced with a new dilemma; needing some serious wheels to get from point A to point B.

With most of his supplies back at his place, it meant backtracking there first before heading further north. Sharky’s own truck had gone up in a fireball a day before she’d found him, but it hadn’t phased him at all. It’d been his third that week, mostly due to cultists constantly patrolling the open roads, and he kept on trading them up as they became available. …While the others were reduced to flaming wrecks.

Neither she nor Sharky had actually been able to keep their hands on a working vehicle for longer than a week so far in Hope County. At least not since things had well and truly gone to hell in a handbasket. She wondered what that said about the two of them.

The fight back at Moonflower had been hell on both of them, and even if he wasn’t anywhere near as wiped as she was, she did see some of his energy starting to flag. Having to lug around his flamethrower plus the fuel for it without having a place to stash it otherwise was a full-on endurance sport.

That did not stop his ability to talk her ear off, however. It was strange not being the one to fill the silence for once, listening to him tell her about anything and everything that caught his fancy.

How down by a creek he’d found a cool lizard that had given him a rash on his junk for a week after he’d hid it in his pants so he could show it off to his classmates. How another had a killer area for skinny dipping – and he’d nearly froze his ass off after cannonballing into it. Or how this other time he’d burned his eyebrows off for nearly a month after dropping a match into a pile of dry brush. The lighter fluid hadn’t been needed, but did amp it all up to eleven, while also torching part of a nearby corn crop.

All stories were told with his hands, framing each expression that crossed his face, along with a series of mimicked sounds and added commentary. It was tough not to watch him, and every time he scored a laugh, or a “no frigging way” from her, she got a pleased smile from him in return before he dove into another tale.

She hadn’t been left alone with herself for once. Left with her thoughts buzzing, questioning everything, and it’d been…nice. Really damn nice, actually.

Lord knew she’d done enough of that since getting here. But a moment where she didn’t have to think about Joseph or how the arrest had gone to shit on her watch was a reprieve she’d gladly take.

“We aren’t there yet, are we?” she asked, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

“We’re about two shakes out. Could probably find a quicker way if we ambush any of the Peggies waiting around, but you’ve got to deal with their shit taste in music first.”

“Oh, amen to that,” she muttered. “Before I came out here I was stuck on John’s playlist from hell. At least Faith’s is kinda soothing if you listen to it long enough. John’s is really…self-focused.”

It was only the one song that was, actually, but when his people wanted to blast it, it was everywhere. And for someone so determined to remind everyone that he was the face of Eden’s Gate, he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty in that department, with every sign, note, and broadcast.

With every yes, which he was set on staking his claim on.

God, even now she was still bitching about John. It was probably time for a break, all things considered.

“John? What with that whole cleansing shit? Some beefed up swirly from hell? I’ve had better times out back getting the old spray and pray with the firehose. All without someone really pushing for me to get into it. Like really into it.” He thought it over a bit. “Fucking Peggies, man.”

Okay, scratch that. Cheap shots were totally still on the table. “Yeah, I think he’s going to need to do a real spin-cycle on me before that’ll take. He was kinda pissed during mine.”

Sharky nudged her. “I heard the Pastor totally blew the whole thing sky high getting people out of there. That was you too?”

“I wished I’d done half of the shit he’d been able to. John had-“

A chill rolled over her at the memory of the water, how cold it’d felt as he’d held her down, and she floundered for a second.

“…Dammit. Sorry, the uh, motherfucker was really persistent when it came to loading the few of us up and into a van, so my hands were literally tied when Jerome found us. It was a Die Hard-level type of intervention and I’d never been more jealous in my life.”

He gave an approving nod. “Dude’s a total badass.”

“No joke.”

The high-pitched whine of an engine approached, and the two ducked into the nearby brush to avoid it. Traveling along any of the roads was a risk, so they tried to stick to the smaller paths Sharky was more familiar with once they had cleared the trailer park. That didn’t stop those opting for ATVs, however.

One ambled up and over a nearby hill, with only a single rider, and the man swore loudly as the vehicle’s wheels rolled into a muddy patch. A few loud revs tried to get it to budge, but it wasn’t doing it, and after nearly a minute of fighting it he cut the power to the engine.

She traded a look with Sharky. “It’s not the most roomy of rides, but-“

“I can sardine it up, no problem. You can fit five people on one of those things if you try hard enough.”

“Sure, man,” Hana said, lining up the shot with her rifle. “Good thing we’re just sticking to two.”

She pulled the trigger. The man pitched forward, falling over the handlebars to the ground below. They both hurried over after that, keeping an eye out for anyone that might’ve been tailing him.

Slinging her rifle over to her side, the two got to work shifting the ATV out of the hole it’d made. They hefted it over to the side, clear of the mud it had kicked up, and once it was free she popped onto the driver’s seat, and patted the seat behind her.

Sharky had just settled in when she revved it, and he swore loudly as the ATV shot forward, both of his hands flying around her waist. The shift made her yelp, and when she responded by hitting the brakes his weight hit her squarely in the back, nearly bowling her over as well.

“You want to ease up on that, Dep?” he wheezed. “You want both of us to make it over there in one piece, right?”

Her face burned as she took her hands off of the controls, and took in a deep breath before touching them again. “Goddammit. I’ve driven all of one of these before, and forgot how bad they kick.”

“Sure you don’t want me up front?”

She actually kinda did, but the thought of hugging two cylinders of propane as they sped along just screamed, ‘bad idea’. “Nah, I’ve got it, hon. Just give me a second.”

His grip was tight on her, a fact that wasn’t lost on her one bit as she revved the ATV gently, hoping the damn thing wouldn’t try to boot them again. This time they were able to stay on, but it took more than one controlled turn for him to finally ease up and sit back.

Soon enough, they rolled up to their destination. Boshaw Manor – as Sharky affectionately referred to it – was a single-story house that was remarkably intact considering who the owner was. Surrounded by just enough trees to give it cover, the property was littered with items that were either for burning, or had been in the process of being burnt.

Even from where she was standing she could see propane tanks stacked along the outside wall of the house, and as the two tucked themselves behind a nearby tree, she checked for any signs the cult had been there.

A large SUV was parked out front, and it was the furthest from what she’d imagine a guy like Sharky would drive. Still, it was worth asking.

“Does that look pretty much as you’d left it?”

Sharky studied the area, and shook his head. “Hell, no. I left with the only truck I had, and what’s left of it’s back at the trailer park.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Watch my back while I check it out?” She handed him her rifle, and started creeping forward.

Drawing her handgun, Hana slowly approached the vehicle. Circling around it, she noted the word “SINNER” painted along its side, the letters all in stark white. The windshield had been blown out, and when she moved around the open driver’s side door she winced at what was resting on the ground beside it.

The woman wasn’t wearing any of the clothes favored by the cult, and had likely been just about to duck into the house ahead for shelter or help. Too many people in the county had been left like this, curled up and afraid just before the cultists got to them, and anger began to curl in every inch of her body as she kept on moving towards the front door.

A flash of white sprung up on her left. Bright lights weren’t dancing on the edges of her vision like before, but as she saw someone dart around the corner of the house, she rubbed at her eyes just to see if the image faded.

That was the only way to explain-

“You see any Peggies?”

Every hair stood on end as she whirled around to find Sharky behind her. “Fuck, man! I told you to hang back!” she hissed.

“I didn’t see anything back there, and wanted to check with you.” His voice traveled even in a whisper, and she held up a finger to her lips. “Uh, yeah, working on that.”

He was still louder than needed, but she chalked it up to the pitch of his voice. That, and the excitement that seemed to spring up whenever trouble was waiting. She gave him a small pat on the shoulder and gestured towards the door.

He stuck with her this time as they approached, tucking close to the wall. She inched down the way, passing the signs nailed by the entrance, each of which mentioned propane or fire in some fashion, and she remembered both the propane canisters…and the flamethrower on Sharky’s back.

Someone loved to live dangerously. But at least he put up the signs?

She nudged the door open, wincing at the creak. When she didn’t see anyone waiting in the doorway, she crept inside. Between the two of them, they quickly went through the small house, poking in every corner, even giving the other half of the yard outside a once-over before meeting back by the doors.

“It’s looking pretty damn clear,” she said after a minute, still crouched down low. “Uh, unless you can think of any other places a Peggie might want to hide out here?”

“Most of my stuff’s in the bunker below. Gasoline, enough antifreeze to float a fucking boat, and a bunch of other shit that…”

He paused, worry suddenly crossing his face, then broke away to head outside, his run turning into a sprint.

“Sharky, what the hell?”

“Gotta check on this real quick, chica!”

She watched him stop right next to a spot outside, one she’d missed completely. Brushing a bunch of leaves and twigs away from it with his hands, he reached down and popped a hidden hatch open. He was gone a second later, sliding down the ladder to check out whatever waited below.

Hana stood there, holding the door to his house open as she stared after him. Curiosity soon got the better of her, however, and she approached the hatch, couching down next to it. Below she couldn’t see or hear much, but when it didn’t look like any Peggies were really waiting to ambush the two, she called out to him.

“Hey, Boshaw! Didn’t fall in down there, did you?”

His voice didn’t carry all the way to her, but he did appear at the bottom of the stairs a moment later. He’d set his flamethrower down, but was sporting a shotgun instead.

“Nah, just had to make sure none of the Peggies have been nosing around in my shit. A man’s stash is a special thing, and having them come over here with their fake-ass paperwork only to claim it just ain’t right.”

“So, everything’s still good?” she asked as he climbed back up to join her.

“Nothing’s moved, still got all of the antifreeze, though it’s looking like it’ll go soon so I’d better get on using it for something. …I was looking to get on crossing off things on my bucket list anyway, and no time like the present.”

She didn’t ask for any extra explanation, but figured if he wanted to, he’d tell her. “So, what do we want to try and shove in that SUV over there if it’s still running?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Depends on just how high you want to blow up ol’ Joe. And the sky’s the fucking limit.”

That really came down to how comfortable they’d feel driving out on the open road one accident away from a violent explosion. He could work with it. Her, not as much, even when she tried to tap into the same brand of gusto he’d come at the idea with.

Still, they didn’t need to have a river of propane and propane-type products to do a ton of damage, and when she talked him into dialing it back to whatever they could fit in the trunk, he pouted a little, but said that Hurk could pick up the slack from there.

Lucky for them both, the SUV had its keys in the ignition, and when it did start, they quickly cleared the rest of the vehicle out, removing the shattered glass and the debris in the back. She followed his lead after that, grabbing anything he rattled off to her off of his mental checklist, and they loaded it up fast.

He spent some time securing the place as well, hiding the hatch to his ‘stash’, and setting up parting gifts for anyone that came poking around. Every spot he marked, she made damn sure to note. She would be the one to accidentally blow her own foot off for being careless, and really didn’t need to raise her chances by playing an impromptu game of minesweeper later on in Sharky’s yard.

From this spot out front they could also keep an eye on the road. It’d been quiet so far – almost too quiet, and Hana tried not to let her nerves have a field day with that one – but she couldn’t help the deep breath that left her the moment they were able to climb in and hit the road.

She handed her map off to Sharky and immediately turned on the radio. Static filled the vehicle at first, but once she found the right station, she was greeted by the sound of a guitar.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, bopping his head once the music came on. “Crank it while you’ve got it. Now, Hurk and Hurk are all the way up by Wishbone Lake.”

“Hurk and Hurk?”

“Yeah, his dad didn’t gamble like mine did. So, Hurk Sr. and Jr. it was.” He drew a line out on the map with his finger that she tried to follow, and held the map up so she could get a better look. “Huge lake, great if you like fishing, better if you’ve got some moonshine and a boat full of dynamite. But we’ve got to drive by the Marina first, and that would be one kickass detour.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s where my Aunt is. You’ve gotta meet her. Aunty Addie’s just…” He struggled with his words for a few seconds, and Hana raised an eyebrow. “You know how the Pastor’s a badass? Well, she’s certified.”

She grinned. “Sounds like one hell of a lady. Think she’d love to take a potshot at-” Her next few words died in her mouth as she saw Peggie trucks ahead.

The two formed a small blockade, both trucks turned to keep anyone from cutting around them, and when they spotted the SUV coming up on them, they pointed towards them in surprise.

“Aw, fuck.” She eyed the road up ahead, noticing how it sharply curved, leading to a drop off that likely meant their imminent demise. “This is not great.”

“We bailing or making this the biggest improvised fireball I’ve ever seen?”

“We’re improvising, that’s for damn sure!” Pressing her foot on the gas, she pushed her bag towards him. “Molotov!”

He quickly dug for one, and proceeded to light it. “You’re pretty fucking cool for a cop, you know that?”

The Molotov flew, Sharky’s aim on point even as she turned the wheel to skid off of the road, and both cultists immediately had a lot more to worry about than the dark blue SUV bearing down on them.

She hit the brakes, throwing out an arm to grab for Sharky’s hoodie when she saw him lurch forward, and once they skidded to a stop, she grabbed for the first weapon she could get and aimed it out of the driver’s side window.

The two Peggies had separated, one overwhelmed by the flames, the other ducking behind the truck, and she took a few shots to see if she could tag him. All they did was make him tuck further behind it, and she barely ducked to avoid the spray of bullets that tore into the driver’s side of the cabin.

Curling her arms over her head, she looked to her right at the vacant spot next to her.

A loud whistle cut across the gunfire. “Yo, dipshit! Over here’s a real party!”

Hana shot up from her hiding spot in record time.

With a middle finger held high, Sharky dropped it to quickly ready his shotgun, firing twice. Both shots went through the truck’s side windows, any scatter leaving fiery holes in the seats in their wake, and she swore under her breath.

Her gun was in her hand and shooting at the cultist before she could think to do anything else, and she didn’t stop once until they hit the pavement.

“Now that’s fucking teamwork,” he said, his feet shifting into the loosest interpretation of the moonwalk she’d ever seen.

He was still dancing when she walked up beside him and both surveyed the flaming wreck. The fire had crawled up and over the top of one of the white trucks, smoke climbing up towards the sky. It didn’t look like it was going to get to the engine, but she wasn’t keen on sticking around to find out.

A horn went off. The noise came from behind her, and continued to sound off as it closed in.

She turned, and spotted a white van in the distance, quickly closing in. The same make and model as the one used that night by the lake to cart her and countless others off.

That realization set her next decision in stone as anger welled in her chest.

They weren’t slowing down. No, they were speeding up, and she started firing, aiming for the driver as she planted herself directly in the middle of their path on the road, set on getting as many shots off as possible.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

Almost. Almost…!

Sharky slammed into her, his arms holding onto her as they hit the grass. She yelped, her gun flying off into the boonies, and she was only idly aware of the roar of the van as it passed straight through the spot she’d been standing.

“Jesus H. Christ,” she breathed, her blood pounding. “I had it.”

Sharky, still half on top of her, raised himself up onto his forearms. “Dep, now I like curly fries, but you were looking to be the only hamburger in the county with a badge. That, and uh…” He noticed the stiff way she was holding her hands up, and her pinched expression, then scrambled to get up and off of her as quickly as possible.

“Seriously, I had it!” He offered her a hand to get up, and though she felt her irritation rising, she took it. “I was going to…”

Her head had swung in the direction of the van, watching it scrape by the flaming mess they had made of the roadblock. But once it was past it slowly coasted to a stop, coming to a rest right at the very edge of where the road curved.

It rocked, forward and back as Hana stared at it dumbly. Then she was on her feet, running full-tilt towards it.

“No, no, no, no-“

The rear came down to touch the grass, holding in place for what seemed like eternity. That’s when it pitched forward, the back of the van jutting right into the sky as it fell over the edge, disappearing from sight.

She barely caught herself when she reached the road’s edge, slipping on a patch of dirt as she came to a stop. Below, she hadn’t been sure what to expect, but as she watched the van slide straight to the bottom of the ravine unharmed, she couldn’t even muster a word. Just stunned silence as she stared down at it.

When Sharky joined her, he lifted up his baseball cap to run a hand through his hair. “Now that’s a motherfucking miracle if I’ve ever seen one. You fall like that, and usually you’re ten different kinds of toast.”

“God, you’re that sure they didn’t…” A voice yelled from below, and she gasped. “Holy shit.”

Jumping down the steep decline, she didn’t even think about what a wrong step would mean, only that she needed to get down there. Now.

“Hey! Dep, hold on a sec – shit, don’t fucking boogie down the thing!”

She didn’t chance a look behind her, but figured that Sharky wouldn’t leave her alone for long. Even if that meant skidding like her straight to the bottom.

The white flowers appeared in her path too fast to dodge them. The twinkling hit as everything slowed down, throwing her off for a second, but she didn't lose her footing. Just collided with the van as her vision swam, and she held herself in place as she regained her bearings.

The person inside called out again, of all things reassurances, and she quickly reached for the doors to the back. The fall had mangled the frame of the van, but only enough to wedge the doors out of place, and she struggled with it until Sharky managed to reach her.

With his help, the two pried it open, revealing one very jostled, but grateful man. “Thank you. I’m okay, just…thank you!”

Hana cut the zip-ties binding his wrists, and shook her head. “I, uh, really should be thanking you for being a good sport about that. Sure you don’t need bandages, water, or shit, even a drink?”

“No, no, I’m just thankful not to be going back. Not to any of them.”

She made her way back up the hill to get her canteen regardless, relieved to the bone that things hadn’t gone entirely pear-shaped. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she flashed Sharky a thumbs up, and wanted nothing more than to flop down in the grass for a serious breather.

That’s when she noticed the figure leaning against the side of the van. Clad in the same delicate white dress, Faith’s eyes were closed, a serene expression settled completely over her. This was the second time she’d seen her, only this time the vision hadn’t vanished yet.

She hadn’t touched the bliss in hours, not since the brief brush with it back at the jail.

But the flowers had done the trick in its stead. Messed with her enough to question what was sitting in front of her, and Faith was no exception. She couldn’t have been real, couldn’t have been out here, waiting for them.

Hana approached her, angling her head to get a better look, only for Faith’s hand to dart out. Her fingers wrapped around her wrist, the hold gentle, but firm.

Everything went white.

The next time Hana opened her eyes, she was no longer down in that ravine. She was in a place of sunlight and tall grass, trees stretching towards the sky as the breeze ruffled her hair. There was no place more peaceful than this, and when Faith smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back.

Faith took her hands, tugging her into a slow spin as they danced in place. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, lights twinkling in her hair. “It felt like ages. Waiting for you to finally find me, but that’s all right.”

Hana let her pull her close, and felt a smile tug at her own lips as Faith did.

“I have so much to show you. Will you let me?”

She nodded, her voice lost, but not missed. She floated here, felt weightless here, and would follow Faith wherever she wished.

“Good.” She let go, and turned away, walking forward with her hands outstretched over the grass. “There are some that will tell you I’m a liar. That I will tell you only what you want to hear, what I want you to know. This isn’t true.”

Hana followed, mirroring her motions, feeling the grass tickle the insides of her palms.

“A young woman was lost once. Alone."

Faith turned again, still backlit with a halo of light, but somber, grounded. She held out her hand, one finger raised, and as she spoke, a butterfly came to rest there. "There was little to ease the pain she felt as she watched others connect, and find comfort.” The butterfly spread its wings, taking flight.“She wanted to escape, to leave behind the abuse she suffered from those she trusted. When she begged for help, they ignored her. So she used. The press of a needle became her comfort. It helped her to forget. To feel something, anything other than what she knew to be true.”

Faith closed her eyes, and placed her hands on Hana’s shoulders as she leaned in, standing up on her toes to whisper in her ear.

“That she was a burden. To both them, and to herself. That life was not worth living, not like this. Not as she was.”

Hana watched as Faith touched her cheek, gentle, but so faint she’d have questioned it if she hadn’t been looking right at her.

“That’s when he found her.”

Faith darted back, her face lit up in joy, and grabbed for Hana’s hand, tugging her into a run.

They ran through the glowing field, past the flowers, through the haze until she could see what was waiting ahead. Their path through the grass came to an end, leading to the edge of their little pocket in the bliss. If she jumped, there was nowhere to fall below. Only wisps of green waited there, hiding the bottom from view.

Faith raised her hand towards the clouds dotting the sky, and with a wave, brushed them aside, revealing what was hidden beneath.

“The Father welcomed her,” she said, gazing up at the statue of Joseph. “He gave her a family, love, and purpose. They didn’t reject her. He didn’t reject her, and promised he would never leave her. And with this promise she found…she didn’t want to die anymore. She wanted to live. But this was not the end.”

The green fog wrapped around Faith, giving way in a flash of light to a set of wings, large and dazzling.

“No, the Father had something to ask of her. A test.”

Faith took her hands again, but this time she flew high, lifting them both.

“If she had faith in him, if she showed that she would do anything, even die for him, he would return that faith. He would return that devotion. All she had to do was take that leap. To show him she believed.”

Hana held on tight, a rush flowing through her as she kept on watching the world below them pass on by. But she looked up, let Faith carry her, and relaxed.

Faith’s smile had eased, however, replaced with one of hesitation. Doubt.

“But she was scared. She wasn’t sure, and when faced with that choice, she hesitated. Anyone would’ve. She wanted to live, had found a reason to after so long. Why give it up now?”

The statue drew closer, and as Faith brought them up alongside it, she gave Hana a warm glance.

“Still, he was patient,” she said, her words soothing. “She saw this, and took a chance. Trusted him, and leapt.”

Faith set her down, Hana’s feet coming to rest on top of the open pages of the book held in stone hands, and Faith slipped away. Her wings caught the sunlight, glinting with each flap as she rose up higher and higher in the sky.

Faith’s voice echoed in her ears, called to her, even as Hana looked right at her.

Follow the path.

Trust in us, and show us your faith. Take the leap.

And after, once you wake, we will welcome you with open arms.

A figure to her right caught her eye, their eyes on Faith as well.

Burke. The fuzzy feeling in her mind, in her bones, struggled to clear as she watched him take one step forward, then two.

Stop.

Each step Hana took was as through cement, dragging them forward one by one. The words caught in her throat, stuck even as she opened and closed her mouth.

He approached the edge of the book, unafraid. “Follow the path,” he repeated, opening his arms wide.

“…B-Burke.” The effort shredded her voice, but she forced herself to keep going, to keep pushing. “Burke, don’t-“ She reached for him, wanting to scream. “Don’t!”

Her fingertips brushed him as he fell, grasped him only for a second, before they curled into her empty fists.

Down he fell, through the fog, down to nothing.

Now it’s your turn.

Hana looked down, down at the curling wisps of the bliss.

Take the leap. Be free.

She rocked forward, feeling her balance give, her breaths coming quick as she felt the ground below her feet give way.

Don’t be afraid.

Her arms flew up in front of her face as the wind whipped at her, the ground rushing up to meet her.

---

A breeze tickled her cheek. Brushed a few strands of her hair across her face, the tickling sensation only growing in intensity as she stared ahead.

The grass moved, the white flowers in front of her twinkling as they swayed, and she drew in a breath.

Real. This was real. Solid ground, the grass underneath her fingertips. Hana gripped onto it tight, increasing the pressure until it tore free from the ground, only then did she let herself collapse back down onto it.

Her eyelids remained heavy as she rested there, her mouth dry as she wet her lips, and she closed her eyes.

“Dep!”

Her body tensed.

“Yo, po-po! I know you’re out there! Holler once if you hear me, and holler twice if you can’t! Or three for Peggies, we’ll figure it out!”

Flipping over, she groaned as she pushed herself up. Sharky. It was Sharky, and she thanked whoever was watching over her above that he hadn’t run off on her.

“Shark? Hey!” That alone put a strain on her, drawing a rough cough, but she yelled again. “Boshaw, over here!”

She could hear him running towards her now. That was a good sign, but still felt sluggish, her eyes adjusting to a world that wasn’t built by the bliss for her. She’d moved on to lightly slapping her own cheek when Sharky sprinted up, looking a mix of shocked and relieved.

“Hey shorty,” he said, crouching down by her side. “Not gonna lie, I thought they’d grabbed you.”

“They did. Kinda?” Hana paused as she looked over at him, the last few flits of light still dancing in front of her, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight before opening them again. “Ugh. It was the bliss. That and Faith. I don’t even know what the hell happened after she reached for me.”

“You were there ‘til you weren’t.” She stared straight at him, and he held up his hands in defense. “I’m not yanking your chain or lying, man. You fucking ninja-vanished, like poof, except with no smoke, no nothing.”

“That doesn’t even begin to make any sense. How the hell did you know to come here then?”

“I, uh, heard humming.”

“Humming.”

“And, uh…” He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “She might’ve pointed me along. Led me through a few of those fucking bramble-bushes too, which’ll stick me when I least want it – probably when taking a piss, but- yeah.“

She blanched. “God, Faith’s everywhere. Or wants us to think that exact thing.”

“At least I got to keep my twenty dollars this time.”

“What?”

Sharky shrugged. “She looked like she needed a beer or something, so I gave her the cash out of my pocket.”

“You gave a walking acid trip twenty dollars?”

“That’s-you don’t just leave someone hanging when they’re in need, and Faith’s just smoking hot, man. You don’t know what it’s like to have those eyes set on you, and if she'd asked, I’d have given her my shirt, shoes, and pants too. No questions asked.”

Hana recalled the touch of Faith’s hand, her soft words. It wasn’t a stretch by any means, and she pinched the skin on the inside of her wrist to keep from slipping back into the haze she was still struggling to shake off.

“Okay. I meant it before, but I really want to put it out there this time. No more bliss. None. Not even a whiff.” She reached behind her head, trying to stretch out the mess that happened to be her cramped muscles, and failed, lying back on the dirt instead. “Say, where’d the truck go?”

“Uh…about that.”

She sat up and aimed a look right at him.

“It might be back there. Alone. Not on fire, but uh, I ran after you all the way here, and now we need to run back all the way there.” He squinted at her for a few seconds, thinking as he looked her over. “Could probably carry you if you want. I’m solid. Laps ain’t nothing with my flamethrower on me, and that's back in the truck, so I got you covered.”

He patted one of his biceps, grinning, and she rolled her eyes. “You do not want to carry me all the way back there.”

“Hey, an amigo in need is an amigo indeed. We shoulder each other’s burdens and shit.”

Okay, so she didn’t want to have to worry about him carrying her, and she made sure to get up before he could see the blush trying to work its way onto her face.

“Come on. We’re walking.”

#far cry 5 #far cry #deputy hana #sharky boshaw #faith seed #fanfiction #these keep on getting longer #what the heck #fic series: you'll be okay I promise

16 notes · View notes

episode-escapades · 5 years

Text

Honestly I’m so frigging sick of Max and Tabasco interacting. It’s the same thing every time- they talk about how much they hate each other and then have a tense almost-kiss moment. Rinse and repeat until the end of time.

*gags* Look how pissed off Tabasco is. Just find the biggest book you can and knock him unconscious with it. No one ever goes to the library anyway so it’s not like anyone will see.

Why? So he can insult you some more? I dunno anymore, maybe it’s just my raging lesbianism preventing me from understanding why she- and the girls playing this- want to “get cozy” with Max. I’m not so sure about that though- I’m pretty convinced that I wouldn’t be able to stand Max even if he was a girl.

Mwehehe so we get to clam-jam Chloe? This was the best choice I ever made!

Oh for eff’s sake, they just start making out??? In front of Tabasco- that’s just bad manners.

Jenna would be so much better if it weren’t for the fact that her next sentence is guaranteed to be about Max.

Me too, Tabasco. Me too...

#episode: choose your story #love and war #tabasco #max #chloe #ace #jenna

1 note · View note

percywinchester27 · 6 years

Text

Unconventional Roommates (Part-2)

Word count: 2.3K

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: None

Series Summary: Now that his brother is at Stanford, for the first time in his life, Dean does something for himself. He takes a step towards chasing his own dreams and moves away from Lawrence to start college, which is both thrilling and scary at the same time. Only catch, in this unknown town, he is stuck with the MOST infuriating female on the planet- the roommate from hell!

A/N: I really hope you guys like this part <3

Beta read by the amazing @deanssweetheart23. Thank you for putting up with me, love <3

Dean woke up late. Of frigging course.

He had set an alarm for 7, but somehow today had to be the lucky day when it didn't go off. Dean took the quickest shower of his life, threw on the first clothes his hands landed on in the unsorted pile of boxes, grabbed a bag and made his way out of the apartment, not paying a second glance to the door opposite to his.

In the hindsight, it was probably all her fault. Even thinking about her made Dean clench his teeth, and what bothered him more was that he didn't know why he was so bothered. For crying out loud, he didn't even know her name.

As he put his car on the road, another thought occured to him, but Dean didn't want to accept that girl could have been even a little helpful to him after all. But the truth was, if it hadn't been for her, he'd have spent the whole night worrying about today, and the University. However, the legendary conversation with her had driven everything out of his mind, and he'd spent what little time he had been awake, rerunning the whole thing in his head and regretting over the comebacks he could have used instead.

But that also meant he had had a better sleep. Childishly, Dean was satisfied again that he could, at least, blame her for oversleeping. Then, he was annoyed about how stupid the whole deal was.

His first thought as he parked his baby was how daunting and intimidating the campus was. It was probably bigger than the part of Lawrence he'd grown up in, but that also meant it was going to be hard to navigate his way around. Late as he was, he quickly got out of the car and hurried to the student's council office, asking his way around. The kid working the front desk was about Sam's age. He gave Dean a once over, then asked him to wait in the seating area.

Dean, however, couldn't sit still. He could see that his feet tapping continuously on the linoleum was annoying the counter guy, but that made him more nervous if anything. Everything about the place, the laughing youngsters, the fat books, the counter guy with his nerd glasses was making Dean feel out of place. This wasn't him. What if he didn't belong? What if this was all a big stupid mistake?

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean looked up to see a guy with deep blue eyes and black hair smiling down on him.

"That's me." Dean stood up.

"My name is Castiel Novak," he said, offering his hand. "You can call me Cas, and I'm your student counselor."

Dean shook his hand, feeling little better. The guy was, at least, his age if not a little older.

"C'mon. This way," Cas led him.

They walked along the main building as Cas checked up on the papers he was carrying. "So, this says you're from Lawrence, Kansas and you're enrolled in Mechanical Engineering with a major in Automobiles Design."

"Yep!"

"That's cool, man." Cas commended. "And directly into the second year?"

"Yeah," Dean said, not knowing what else to say.

"This says," Cas read on. "That you were a teaching assistant in the Mech. Department at the community college there for three years? Without a degree?"

Dean shrugged. "It wasn't official."

Truth was, it was more money. On the off chance that Sam hadn't scored that scholarship, there had to be some extra money, right? So, Dean had worked part time at the Automobile Lab in the community college for that. It was no big deal. He knew quite a lot about how cars worked from working at Rufus'. Cas' admiration was making him a little uncomfortable though.

"So, that's what got you directly into the second year, I see," Cas concluded. "This is good stuff."

Dean nodded again, choosing to stay quiet.

"Alright," Cas pointed to a building on the left. "That is the auditorium. Beyond that the library. What we just passed was the visitor's centre. I'm sure you figured that out for yourself." Cas smiled genially and Dean immediately took a liking to him.

"Are you an engineering student, too?" Dean asked. Life would be easier knowing that there was at least one person you knew.

Cas, however, laughed. "Hardly. I'm a journalism major. I'm the assistant editor at the college newspaper, too." Then something seemed to hit him. "Tell you what? You should totally join the newspaper. Anyway, you have to take an additional activity that isn't part of your course work for the extra credits. We could use someone new."

"Oh, hell no!" Dean put his hands up. The idea that he was any good with words was downright laughable. "I can't write to save my life."

"But that's the thing," Cas pursued. "You don't have to write. How good are you with a camera?"

"Not bad," Dean said cautiously. Sam had bought him a good camera as a gift for his birthday this year. He'd fumbled around with it, mostly happy with his pictures. But what did he know of critical photography?

"You should drop some of them at the newspaper office. Maybe it's something you'll find useful," he hinted. "As it is I'm guessing you have a lot to catch up with since you're a week late and joining in the advance class."

The rest of the campus tour was pretty interesting. Cas was meticulous about showing him every building. Giving him the inside scoop on the faculty and the general gossip about students. Dean was relieved to know that students his age weren't actually uncommon. That in fact, most of his class might be older than he was. Cas also told him that Mech. department had a couple of great kids he could definitely hang out with.

"Just think over the photography thing," Cas reminded him as he dropped Dean off in front of the Automobile Workshop. "Go find Professor Barnes in there. She's good. And if you need anything at all, you have my number. Just give me call. We all hang out in the quadrangle after classes, drop by if you want."

"I'll remember that," Dean nodded gratefully.

Professor Pamela Barnes was younger than Dean had expected, also way more attractive, but one look at her and it was clear that she was a no nonsense woman. She ran Dean through his schedule, going through his transcripts and work experience, but unlike Cas, her face showed no change in expression. There was no saying what she thought about him.

All she said was that she expected Dean to know his subjects because he had already been through them.

All in all, when Dean stepped out of the building and finally fell into his car, he decided that the day hadn't been a failure. Even though he still wasn't sure how well he'd fit in, he was sure that he, at least, wanted to try. Stepping into that workshop had made all the difference for him. One look around and he was home. He knew that stuff, and unlike Lawrence, here, he was allowed to make mistakes, because he was learning. Just like everyone else and that feeling was… thrilling.

Smiling to himself, he put the car in reverse, only to halt as his phone rang.

He smiled once more at the name flashing on the screen before pressing the answer button.

"Hey there, Sammy."

"Hey there, college boy!"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Stop rolling your eyes," Sam said. "I know you are."

Dean laughed. It was so good to hear his brother's voice.

"How's it going?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, then remembered that Sam couldn't see it. "It’s good. Intimidating, but it looks interesting so far."

"You're a freaking genius, Dean," Sam urged. "One day you're going to see that, too. Maybe this place will help with that."

"We'll see."

Sam hesitated. "There's something else I wanted to ask you about."

"Shoot." Why did he sound so nervous? Was he okay?

"Well…" Sam tarried. "It's actually a girl."

"I'll be damned," Dean grinned. "You got yourself a girlfriend!"

"Hardly," Sam huffed.

"What's her name?"

"Jessica," Sam said, then added. "She's beautiful."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course she is. You even talk to her yet?"

Silence.

"Figured," Dean muttered. "Go, talk to her, you dumbass! Paralyzing yourself into a zombie isn't very attractive."

"Shut up!"

"You know it's true. Just go talk to her. Ask her out on a date or something."

"Alright." Dean could hear Sam's smile on the other end. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." The call ended and Dean pocketed the phone with a smile on his face.

By the time Dean reached the apartment, and opened the door, all his thoughts were dedicated to unpacking those boxes and finally settling in with some hint of permanency, but all those thoughts went out the moment he entered the living room. His roommate was passed out on the sofa. The TV was running a WWE match in the background while the girl was lying on her stomach, one hand under her head, the falling down to the floor over the edge of the sofa. A brown beanie covered her head today but the knitted sweater from yesterday was back. She had the most peaceful expression on her face. Innocent and child-like. A smile that was somehow enticing.

Then the wrestler on the TV slammed another wrestler onto the floor with a loud bang and she sat up straight, eyes wide, scanning one side then other quickly till they found him and then narrowed quickly.

"Why were you staring at me sleeping, you creep?"

"I just got in!" Dean defended.

"That's exactly what a creep would say!"

He could actually feel his blood starting to boil. "Lady, I don't know who the fuck pisses in your cheerios every morning, but it ain't me, so stop making me into something that I'm not. Jesus!"

She looked down under the pretense of adjusting her beanie and muttered from the corner of her mouth, so quietly that he barely heard it. "That's what a creep would say."

"Okay, enough of this crap," he said, walking close to her so he was almost in her face. "What's your problem with me?" Asking her upfront would, at least, get him some answers, because the prospect of facing the roommate from hell throughout the whole weekend was honestly disturbing.

"Problem? Problem?" She asked, standing up to face him. Despite being smaller than him in size and height, she demanded attention just by her stature. "It's you, Romeo! Didn't your mother teach you that invading women's personal space is creepy?"

Dean went stoned faced. There was nothing more to say to her.

He turned around and walked back to his room, shutting the door behind him. But in the split second, just before he turned, he saw the anger from her eyes slip, replaced by surprise. She'd expected him to come up with a sassier retort, but the complete lack of response had caught her off guard.

Dean couldn't care less. She hadn't exactly hit where it hurt, because he knew he wasn't being creepy, and that she was being weird and unreasonable. But there was some truth to her last sentence. His mother hadn't been around to teach him much about life.

Sam did it sometimes. Unknowingly, he'd say something that gave away how little attachment he felt towards their mom, and Dean would snap at him. She had been a good woman and she'd loved Sam. Of course, he barely even remembered her, being only six months old when she'd passed away, but Dean did. And then he wondered which of the two situations was better, remembering some of it, or not remembering anything at all.

But this girl wasn't Sam, she didn't know what had happened, so Dean couldn't even snap at her. Sure he was mad at her for being so difficult, but he couldn't logically hold her to what she'd said. She simply didn't know better.

Lying in the half-made bed with boxes all around, Dean stared at the ceiling for a long time as Metallica blasted through the earphones. He missed home. He missed his life from two years ago when Sam was around, when he'd known what to expect out of his life the next day. But Sam was in Stanford now living his life, and as hard as the change was for him, this was his life now.

The chords of Nothing else matters flowed through him and Dean closed his eyes

I never opened myself this way Life is ours, we live it our way All these words I don't just say And nothing else matters…

The light was shining too brightly through the window, and his first thought was remembering why there were no curtains. Groggily, he opened his eyes, staring out of the window to the beautiful view of the sea. This is good, he reassured himself.

He reached for his watch that was lying on the floor and squinted at it. 10:35.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, sitting up in the bed. Then he remembered that it was a Saturday, he didn't have any classes today.

Running a hand over his face, Dean made his way to the bathroom. As his hand reached out to close the door, his fingers touched a paper. Curious, he looked around to see a single piece of parchment taped to the door. Written on it in a pointy handwriting was a single word.

"SORRY."

Astonished, Dean looked at the red door on the opposite side, it was locked. She wasn't home.

He smiled to himself, thinking maybe, just maybe life here wouldn't be that bad.

****************************

A/N 2: Please do consider reblogging my work and leaving feedback. Reblogging helps spread it, and also helps against the “best posts first” option tumblr has. The more the notes, the less chance of it getting buried beneath others posts. And the comments are what keep me going. I love you guys and I’ll be in forever grateful <3

Here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

UR taglist:

@deanssweetheart23 @captainradicalpassion @docharleythegeekqueen @sleepless-sin @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @ohgodwhybloggg @roxyspearing @oneshoeshort @theofficialduke @wildlandfox @mrswhozeewhatsis @emoryhemsworth @dslocum89 @justacinnamonroll @fanfreak07 @dustycelt @serienjunkiegirl @thinkwritexpress-official @babykalika2001 @daskleinevolk @jayankles @blacktithe7 @pensysto @iyannamckague @shamelesslydean @mysupernaturalfics @crystallstaircase @melonberri @commander-meghan-shepard @trenchcoat-angel @smiling-meerkat @sprnaturallover @violinbetty @fandom-trash-worth-it @grace-for-sale @katsanders @samwinchesterfanfic @bluestarshining @torn-and-frayed @adaliamalfoy @anathewierdo @gabavaldman @brindz30 @heavymetalhauswife @sdavid09 @hatemeup @plaidstiel-wormstache @deannawinchesterpie @kit-kat-katie99 @jessieray98 @mlovesstories @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @directionernullneun @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @theoriginalvicki @angelessquirrel @thereisnolumos @julie121899 @blushingokoye @mikid2000 @freekryptonitecloud @padasteph-nie @luna-plena-venandi @tiffy119 @jayattemptstoruletheworld @linki-locks11 @mirandaaustin93 @pjofangirl18 @hunterswearingplaid @cookiechipdough @superlock-on-pc @daughterleftbehind @abumbling-bee @savanna1899 @imweirdandobsessed @emilycollins11 @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @bakabozza @imascio08 @rosettastxne @luvspnandphan

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader fluff #reader x dean winchester #dean x reader AU #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #spn fanfiction #Ana writes Dean #Ana writes UR #anawrites #ur part 2 #q

359 notes · View notes

andrewuttaro · 5 years

Text

Spiderman: Far Frome Home - Film Review (SPOILERS)

<<<SPOILERS>>>

It’s time for a rare movie review on what is otherwise a sports blog! Yes, I like other stuff; especially movies. I consider myself an amateur film buff and watcher of the TV and Film Industries in general. Sometimes I like to not just be a consumer and give some thoughts back. I’m no expert critic, I’m very much a sucker. I’m a sucker for a good redemption story, a sucker for a good romance, good comedic vision and for a handful of actors. We all have our tastes.

I have been a fan of Spiderman the character for as far back as I can remember. I never read comic books; my entry point was the original Sam Remi Spiderman trilogy. Again: I’m a sucker. I know those films haven’t aged well but they established my feelings about movies. Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker was the first movie character I related to on a personal level. Forgive me because as an adult I now understand what awful casting that was. Kirsten Dunst’s Mary Jane was the first movie character I was attracted to. Spiderman 3 was the first time I realized movies could be bad and, even worse, movies I like can be ruined. The train scene in Spiderman 2 when he almost dies was the first time I cried about a movie.

Yeah, this is all sappy stupid exposition, but it helps to know the reviewer, eh? If you couldn’t tell I am a little bit of an apologist for that original Spiderman Trilogy. I didn’t go to see the two Amazing Spiderman films out of protest. Yeah, I had some strong feelings at that time. I have since become an adult and given the Tom Holland Spiderman films a chance, but I still haven’t made the time to watch that Andrew Garfield crap… well I don’t know it’s crap because I haven’t seen that incarnation. Either way this isn’t about those films. While Spiderman into the Spiderverse is pretty clearly the best Spiderman film ever made in my opinion, I’m putting that aside for a moment in this review looking at live action Spiderman movies exclusively. Moreover, this is a review of Spiderman: Far From Home. So let me start by saying that in my heart Spiderman Far From Home is going to be right up near the top with Sam Remi Spiderman 1 and 2. That’s high praise for me. Let’s talk about it.

Sequels and Stakes

A good sequel heightens the stakes and adds complexity to the characters. This is often done by deepening the relationships between characters. That is certainly true in this movie. The best sequels in cinema history did this: Terminator 2, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and the like. Far From Home is difficult to think of this way because it’s a part of a rare property that has successfully executed a shared cinematic universe. I’m not going to go into depth about the MCU, better critics can do that. However I am going to consider how this Spiderman has grown as a result of other films he’s been in. I’m going to talk about the other films in the MCU Spiderman is in for building up this movie while also referencing Spiderman movies not in this universe. Let’s call this version of Spiderman Tom Holland Spiderman or TH Spiderman for clarity’s sake.

TH Spiderman has now appeared in five films, the most of any version of Spiderman. His first appearance in Captain America Civil War wasn’t about him but introduced us to his relationship with Tony Stark and the idea that this Spiderman would be teenage Spiderman. Let’s just all agree that TH Spiderman is a better Peter Parker than Tobey Maguire was if for no other reason than that youthfulness is a priority and a plot point. I think that is a pretty common opinion. Yes, Tom Holland actually looks like a teenager which Tobey Maguire never did; but I’m going deeper than that. TH Spiderman’s youthfulness is important to the plot and his character growth unlike any other cinematic incarnation. That’s all I really have to say about his role in Civil War. It was a fun reveal and it made me happy.

Spiderman Homecoming was revelatory. That movie did all the things you want from a Spiderman movie on the superficial levels: the suits, the action set pieces, the teen dramas and for the first time since William Dafoe’s Green Goblin, a fantastic very Spiderman villain. The reveal Peter Parker’s homecoming date is the daughter of the guy trying to kill him was next level stuff. Moreover, Homecoming set the bar high for TH Spiderman. This Spiderman is going to have a complex dad relationship with Tony Stark that proves to be unhealthy later and this Spiderman is going to trigger guttural emotions. When he’s trapped in the rubble crying out for help there is something so human and visceral in that moment that it still sticks with me. All this said, and this is a piping hot take: Homecoming isn’t better than Spiderman 3 for me. Calm down, I’ll circle back around to that.

TH Spiderman’s appearances in both Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. Both are not really about him and rightfully so. However both those films advance his character by upping the stakes for his personal story dramatically. Tony Stark tries to protect Peter Parker at every turn and only includes him when circumstances force him to. When TH Spiderman turns to dust it’s much more a character moment for Iron Man than it is for him; but the trauma of that is felt in Endgame when the resurrected Spiderman needs to be pulled off of dying Tony Stark. I’ve never had to watch someone die thank God, but that event is felt very sincerely for Spiderman when we reach Far From Home now.

What we go to movies for

Spiderman Far From Home is one of those sequels that is better than the original. Far From Home is better than Homecoming. While Homecoming had real great popcorn moments, none of them elevated the film beyond the plot of Spiderman 3. Yeah, we’re back to that. Spiderman 3 is not a great film. I am willing to admit that. However, the way TM Spiderman (Tobey Maguire) continues to grow by way of the Daily Bugle conflicts and his relationship with James Franco’s Harry Osborne is real as fuck even if it wasn’t executed well. His relationship with Mary Jane was real shit that real adults have to deal with in their real adult relationships… well most of us don’t have to deal with getting kidnapped several times I suppose. Homecoming was about a teenager with daddy issues. To be fair, I’ve already stated youthfulness is important to the making of TH Spiderman, but I am not a comic book reader. For me you have to develop relationships better to be a worthwhile film and TH Spiderman is really the only three-dimensional character not named Tony Stark in Homecoming. Glad we got that out of the way.

Spiderman Far From Home is elevated above Spiderman 3 and maybe even the very first TM Spiderman film for me because all the characters around TH Spiderman are fleshed out far better in this movie and Peter Parker himself grows dramatically from start to finish. What TH Spiderman accomplishes in this film is bigger than what TM Spiderman has to overcome and accomplish in at least two out of three of the Sam Remi Spiderman films. I think that is true in both the execution of the plot itself and the character growth. TH Spiderman gets over his daddy issues when Happy Hogan explains to him even Tony Stark couldn’t really be Iron Man. Acknowledging your biggest role model had flaws is an incredibly deep coming-of-age theme. More than just that, Parker is overcoming survivors guilt he has about the whole blip thing and the events of the last two movies he was in. Through all of that he truly “finds himself” in this movie and decides he’s confident enough in the identity he just discovered to really trust himself, and another human being at that, in a romantic relationship. This movie was the moment when TH Spiderman and MJ surpassed TM Spiderman and MJ for me. In this movie their romance felt so real and very much earned. TM Spiderman earned the MJ relationship too but not like this. This is next level.

I came home to my wife after seeing this movie the first time and told her it reminded me of when I fell in love with her! I’m a sappy sucker, I admit it, but this is why we go to the movies! We go to the movies to feel shit! Let me repeat that: WE GO TO THE MOVIES TO FEEL FEELINGS! Video Games make me feel stuff too, but the narrative structure of movies is designed specifically to make you feel. I felt so much during the course of this film. The way Zendaya Coleman’s Mary Jane awkwardly responds to Peter Parker awkwardly trying to get with her brought me back to being in High School feeling those same feels. When their relationship works out, I felt that so hard! No kiss in a movie has affected me so much since… well shit, when Kirsten Dunst kissed the masked Spiderman all the way back in the Sam Remi films. Chills people, chills! Do go a step deeper: vulnerability is what makes the film work.

TH Spiderman is vulnerable with Jake Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio because he thinks he needs another father figure. When Parker hands Mysterio the EDITH glasses it is his weakest, most vulnerable moment and Mysterio knows it. Mysterio (Quinten Beck) by the way is an effects artist. His specialty is literally covering up the truth and it makes so much sense because he’s a deeply pissed off character who hates that he was taken advantage of by Tony Stark. MJ pushes people away because she doesn’t want to be vulnerable. Her getting over that fear is the origin of the trust needed to make her relationship with Peter work. Frigging Happy Hogan is struggling to be totally vulnerable with Peter about his complicated (?) relationship with Aunt May. Nick Fury is pissed off the whole movie because he feels vulnerable not knowing shit anymore. That specific plot point is explained in the post-credits scene with the skrulls in a fun way. Everyone who was blipped or not blipped kind of feels vulnerable because of that giant nightmare. This film is fundamentally about finding yourself by accepting and understanding your vulnerabilities and turning them into points of confidence.

That is the essence of why Spiderman in general is such a great character. The vulnerability of youth. The vulnerability of being somewhat working class. The vulnerability of “With great power comes great responsibility”. To that end, Spiderman Far From Home is probably the best live action Spiderman film I’ve ever watched. It does Spiderman the teenage boy near perfectly. So let’s get to what you came here for: the grade.

The Grade

What I haven’t mentioned is the cinematography, script and general story is also very good. We’ve come to expect that level of quality from MCU films haven’t we? I’ve heard criticism the first half is too slow, but I disagree in that it establishes all the vulnerability stuff I mentioned and all the teen drama subplots I loved in this movie. The last time I did one of these reviews it was an A to F scale. That’s not helpful. It’s all going to be subjective and fundamentally arbitrary anyway so how about we do this: a Five-star system. Five Stars is a top film of all time, go see it immediately. Four Stars is an instant classic worth your money in theaters. Three Stars is a middling film that is enjoyable but don’t strain yourself to see it in theaters. Two Stars is just ok, don’t waste your money on it and wait for streaming. One Star is garbage that maybe worth a drinking game. Zero Stars is hot garbage you simply should not watch.

Spiderman Far From Home is a Four-Star film for me. It’s an instant classic I will try to get on DVD after seeing at least a couple times in theaters. It’s a top 5 Marvel film for me but that is a super competitive bracket. Very few films will be Five-Star for me, and I got to really think if there is a film that good in the MCU. Again, this shit is all arbitrary as all reviews of art forms are. Don’t @ me about the grade, @ me about my Spiderman takes you don’t like. I love talking movies so make a kind discussion out of it, no need to be an asshole. As Spiderman Far From Home has taught us: vulnerability is a good thing not to be afraid of.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. If you want more movie reviews I can do that. You just need to let me know in numbers if you know what I mean.

#spider-man far from home #spiderman #latest movies #movie review #film #Marvel #MCU #Peter Parker

3 notes · View notes

ben-j-man · 6 years

Text

Secret War- Chapter 5

Link to chapter 1 http://ben-j-man.tumblr.com/post/180097372453/secret-war-chapter-1

I lunged, the crackling power sword in my hands, slicing a horizontal arc at my opponent’s torso.

My movements were so sure, so fast, so skilled that my eyes could barely follow, never had I known myself to be this good and never had I ever wielded a power sword either.

But somehow despite my incredible speed, my breathtaking confidence and skill, blindingly fast my enemy still managed to dodge, Serghar Kaltos back peddled just away from reach, and the handsome, grim-faced man that was my father slid in, slashing through vertically with his power sword.

Never would I ever had dreamt I could fight my father to a standstill Serghar Kaltos’ skill was legendary, his speed and agility rivalled that of an Eldar’s and these immeasurable talents, were honed from decades and decades of experience and training. When I was young, he and I would spar for countless hours. I was good, very good but I would never win no matter how hard I tried, never could I ever even begin to touch my father and I could tell even then that he was just forever toying with me, forever holding back his real skill and strength.

Now he wasn’t, but still, my blade was able to come around and knock his attack off course, my body seemed to move on its own like water and fire in one. In the blink of an eye, I riposted and stabbed forwards in perfect balance the tip of my power blade aimed in impaling his chest.

The ever practical Serghar Kaltos simply sidestepped the thrust, but my body followed on as if expecting such a trick, keeping the thrust forwards I turned my hips, causing the crackling blade to follow after my father’s movement.

Serghar didn’t hesitate; he parried with his blade on an angle, so my momentum caused my sword to slide up it and off-course throwing me into being overextended and overbalanced then he came in to perform the killing blow. A short slash aimed to disembowel.

I cried out knowing this to be the end, that no matter how good I was there would be no way I could ever hope to counter. And yet despite my overbalance, despite my overextended position my body moved, with extreme cat-like dexterity beyond my comprehension I slipped clear in a move of extreme audacity I slid forwards, sliding around and behind my father while he was still in mid cut and then I stabbed my power sword through his back.

I wanted to scream out no to halt the blow! But my body wouldn’t let me. I resented my father, he was a hypocrite and a liar, but I never wanted to kill him. He was still my dad he was always the one who looked after me, put up with me, who taught me how to shoot a gun, how to wield a sword, how to read and write, how to survive I had no intention to ever hunt him down in some mislead vengeance.

Without my permission, my body lent in and said something into the dying Serghar Kaltos’ ear, but what I uttered I could not hear.

Then abruptly, I pulled back and tore my blade from his torso in an angle which caused his body to spin around to face me and for one brief moment I was able to look into my father’s face, but now it wasn’t Serghar Kaltos. No, the wide-eyed dying form which faced me now was that of Glaitis. Who despite the ugly gaping hole in her chest, grinned at me with hideous, terrifying insanity but it was when I looked into her glazed eyes it was then I screamed, as utter terror tore through me, terror which far exceeded anything I had ever felt before, terror which consumed me and drove me to brink of insanity.

Because it was in the reflection of her large, blue beautiful eyes I saw myself, I saw my face so much like my father’s but framed by my long brown hair, but my expression was contorted, twisted and deformed into an insane, hideous, and grinning maw, a mirror of Glaitis’ own.

My screams turned into muffled yells as I awoke back into the medicae ward, back into the agony of the real world but despite the pain relief washed over me as I realised it was a dream, and I lent back into my pillow my yelling turning into strangled gasps.

It was then the medicae rushed through the door and to my bedside I instantly recognised him as I had met him the first and only time I remembered to visit Torris after his injury, but to my annoyance, I could not quite recall his name.

“Mr Kaltos are you alright? I heard screaming.”

I could not answer, it still hurt to talk I could only look up at him.

“I see,” he said, “it was a nightmare.”

He pulled out a small flashlight from his white jacket pocket and shone it into my eyes, “after what you had gone through I would not expect any less young man.”

When he pulled away I caught a glimpse of his name tag, Feuilt that’s right, medicae Yarran Feiult, the guy, seemed decent enough from the very brief bits of passing dialogue we have shared

“It’s good to see you are finally awake Mr Kaltos, everyone was beginning to worry, it has been more than a week since you last woke up.”

I clenched my teeth in disbelief, a frigging week!

“But believe it or not you have been through the worst of it you’re lucky you are young. Another, solid month of recovery and you should be back in working order.”

A month of recovery? Wait, another month! I have been unconscious for that long! By the Emperor! But I shouldn’t have been surprised it was a miracle that I was still conscious at all, actually going from what Castella had said a month was way too quick really.

I don’t believe in “miracles” and to be honest, I didn’t believe any of Castella’s earlier claim either. There was no way in hell that I could have held off that beast for so long that all of those people could have escaped, I remember well the size of that room, and the size of the crowd stuffed into that space.

There was no way in hell that there couldn’t have been collateral damage, I would have had to dodge and weave its attacks. Perhaps she had just worded it wrong, but I doubted Castella would not be so sloppy. If Glaitis had concocted this lie, she would have engineered it to sound more legitimate, surely.

Or perhaps that I am just legitimately that excellent or perhaps Castella just wanted to give good news when I finally awoke and she would tell me the truth later? But that would piss me off because she lied and-.

I wanted to scream, to roar out the frustration and anger which just suddenly flooded to the surface. Do you have any idea what it is like to live in a world that you can’t believe in anything! That everyone who’s close to you lies about anything and everything, that you are forced to question any act of kindness that just in case there may be some treachery behind it? Everyone has their own petty agenda, everyone! And there would be nothing they couldn’t resort to see their ambitions through I am an idiot, a complete and utter idiot that it has taken me this long to realise that.

“Trust nothing, suspect everything” a saying which now seemed so redundant it was laughable.

It was then I realised that medicae Feuilt was studying me, his beady eyes glinted with concern

Suddenly he turned, grabbed the nearby stool, slid it next to my bed and sat down.

“Now I am no psyker, but I can tell when a patient is in distress and well,” Feuilt paused, grinned and scratched the back of his skull, “but you wouldn’t need to be a psyker or a thirty year veteran of the healing arts to tell that you must have a lot of questions.”

I set my jaw and treated him with the best glare I could dare, oh you could not imagine the stockpile of questions I have gathered and needed answered, I thought.

“And well you are not exactly in the condition to ask them, so I will tell you what I know and of the best of my ability,” he sighed. “When you were first taken into us you were in bad shape, well to be honest saying that you were in bad shape is like saying a star going supernova is a bad thing for the planets orbiting it. It is an understatement.”

Well, I would have never figured that out, I thought sardonically.

“Almost every bone in your body was broken, well, shattered, but remarkably your skull and spine were mostly still intact, and you had the slightest of life signs.” Feuilt’s expression turned hard. “Honestly, we had pegged you for dead. As I said, your bones were shattered there was no way we could re nit them and even if you did survive, the trauma of the impact which caused it, that your brain would have been damaged beyond repair. But your employer; Glaitis, she wouldn’t give up and under her orders and too much, much sweat and toil we managed to stabilise you for the first week. So you lived long enough that she could,” he hesitated, and an almost incredulous expression creased his already old face. “So she could bring in a new surgeon, who uhm, worked by interesting methods, for only an hour at most we were not allowed to enter this room while that new surgeon worked, whoever it was, it never even asked us anything, but I could not deny the psychic presence emanating from this room.” Feuilt shivered, “after that, that hour whoever it was just left, as quickly as they came.”

I wasn’t too sure what to make of this news so far if Feuilt was telling the truth which I did believe, or at the least, he thought it was true. Then perhaps, the story of Castella’s “you were stubborn and held on to survive” was complete and utter frig but I could see that Feiult wasn’t telling me the whole truth. Like if the healer were indeed a psyker who somehow didn’t get its healing of me get detected by the local authorities after the incident at The Twilight Bar, indeed any new psychic activity would have been treated with extreme suspicion if it was sensed of course and then why did Taryst allow it? And also why would Glaitis go to so much effort to save me? A mere, lowly apprentice?

But all that paled in comparison to one substantial huge lingering question, why where we still here? After Glaitis’ “extracurricular” activities and the subsequent chaos at The Twilight Bar wouldn’t Taryst at the very least fired Glaitis for going behind his back? I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses at this, but one seemed to fit, that Brutis Bones’ was still at large, whether they had confronted and killed or captured that man I had fought at the man meant he wasn’t Brutis or that was Brutis, and he did escape. Or that the whole “independent” operation was known to Taryst and for some reason, Glaitis had lied to us about it.

But if the former were true, I would once again emphasise the full extent of Taryst’s desperation that he would keep us around after that incident. That he needed our skills so badly brought this into an even larger light, and now I know that perhaps Brutis Bones or that man I fought has connections with the Holy Inquisition. That would explain the enormous funding it has and them being able to keep a pet Arcoflagellent and if they were Inquisition why couldn’t they make contact with the local authorities seen as though Taryst seems to be going to insane lengths to hide from them?

What that man in the Twilight Bar had said then echoed ominously through my thoughts; that there was more at stake than I could imagine, now his words could not ring with much more truth.

“When we were finally permitted to enter your room,” said on Feiult, “we found that you were still completely unconscious, but you were completely intact, your shattered bones had miraculously been re nit, and your brain activity was back, functioning at normal parameters.”

I expected more elaboration from the medicae, but he trailed off once more confirming that he wasn’t telling me everything.

How had this psyker who apparently completely healed me but yet here I am, still lying in this bed where even the slightest of movements causes complete agony? How did he even know that I would be at full order in four months time?

Damn it Feuilt your explanation was creating nothing but more questions, and if I couldn’t get those missing details during the next month, once I get well I will frigging ring them out of the old bastard, and Emperor damn the consequences!

Feiult smiled almost nervously. “Also during your month long coma quite a few people came to visit you, Garrakson, young Elandria, Torris and if you are wondering; Torris has recovered from his injuries he now has a new augmetic for his missing eye, and he is out on the field working at full capacity now. Even Taryst himself once visited you.”

I felt glad about Torris’ recovery but felt a pang of guilt, the guy had visited me during my injury, but I had hardly visited him, the next time I will have to apologise. But at the medicae’s mention of Taryst I sighed, he would have only come to have his psykers withdraw the information he needed from my mind.

“A few new people as well, a light, snarky man named Darrance. He came once. A friendly, big man called uhm Hayden a few times but most prolific of all was that woman Castella she came in every day and every day prayed over you, it was no coincidence that she was there the first time you woke up, your lucky that you have so many who care for you so much.”

I could understand Hayden and Castella (though her coming in every day was quite shocking) And even to an extent Elandria, but Darrance? Perhaps Glaitis had forced him to or something, that was the only explanation I could theorise.

“Well,” said Feuilt as he got off of his chair. “That is enough exposition for today young Mr Kaltos. I really should not have told you so much, but I felt you deserve some explanation at least, and as your medicae, I advise for you to not stress too much over the information I have given you, and stress no matter how small will slow the healing process. You need to relax. I will inform everyone you are awake,” and with that Feiult turned and walked out the door.

I sighed to myself once Feuilt had left. Did he just ask me not to stress out about all the gigantic holes in his “exposition?” And now that I am stuck here immobile and alone as well? Medicae Yarran Feuilt really didn’t know me, did he?

For the next three hours as I lied alone and I lost myself in thought as I stared up at that white, tiled ceiling.

I thought over a myriad amount of subjects, the first being how interesting it was that a psyker had repaired my shattered body. I really didn’t know that it could be used in such an extreme healing aspect, though in retrospect it made perfect sense. With the power to be able to manipulate much of your surroundings and warp other people minds to your own will, why couldn’t psychic talents be used to re-nit bones?

Perhaps that was the reason why I was still bedridden; I am still suffering from the trauma of having my shattered bones repaired by a completely foreign and unnatural force.

But my body was destroyed beyond repair, the skill and power of that mystery psyker must have been beyond phenomenal to accomplish such a task. Perhaps the psyker brought in was one of Taryst’s cadre? But why would it then take a week before he/she or on a more frightening note “it” could be brought in to repair me and once again my thoughts went to that one question I really wanted to avoid thinking about; why would Glaitis go to so much trouble to save me? This question I wanted to avoid as much as possible as I was unable to make a coherent theory on the answer, was it because she genuinely cared for my well being? That I doubted, everything she did, good or bad, seemed to have something behind it which aided her mysterious agenda in one way or another.

I always knew I was but a pawn in that agenda, but now, apparently, I was a slightly more special pawn.

My constant, circling and futile train of thought were eventually interrupted by my first visitors, three of them to be exact.

Elandria was first through the door, her pale face as impassive as always but she treated me to a slight, almost respectful nod. Then she silently went and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and gazed off looking generally bored, her attention sometimes came back to me and when she noticed I noticed she quickly looked away. I had always found it sad that it was such a rare occasion when she smiled legitimately it would have been nice to see her smile, especially now.

Garrakson was next, wearing his usual scarred old guard carapace armour, with a big grin plastered on his equally marred face.

“Hey kid, good to see you’re finally awake,” he said then he frowned, “damn it though, you bloody well took your sweet time.”

Yeah, I thought in good humour, having most of your bones shattered would do that to a person.

“Yes,” said Elandria as she unknowingly spoke my thoughts but was completely devoid of humour, “but that is what would happen to most people after they had most of their bones shattered.”

“Now that’s where your wrong kiddo,” corrected Garrakson, “no, most people would be dead.”

“Well Attelus Kaltos isn’t “most” people is he?” said the third person as he entered. The tall and dark-skinned Torris grinned at me widely with the white teeth that contrasted his complexion and though I knew one of his eyes was an augmetic yet it was hard to tell which. It seemed that Taryst had spared no expense for the ex-arbitrator and I was glad to see that.

“He is the mighty hero of the Twilight bar who sacrificed himself to rescue the young partygoers from a monster of horrible power, no, Attelus is now a hero, a legend, a god amongst men.”

My eyes widened, did everybody already know of what had happened? Except for perhaps medicae Feuilt, he didn’t seem to, but I was extremely sure he was also not telling me entirely what he knew anyway.

“Yeah, yeah keep it down Tor,” said Garrakson, “by the Emperor, I swear you and Taryst should have a competition to see which of you can chew more scenery.”

“But,” added Elandria, “whether he actually “sacrificed” himself is, really, up for interpretation.”

Not liking at all were Elandria was taking the conversation I tried to shoot at her a death glare, attempting to make her shut up but it was an attempt which failed miserably, going completely unnoticed and Torris and Garrakson gave her bemused glances.

“What does that mean?” asked Torris almost accusatory, I could tell he had an idea where this was also going.

Elandria grinned wickedly “I think the real reason behind it was Attelus Kaltos meant to use the “innocent” party goers as human shields to protect him from the arco-flagellant until back up arrived and he was just extremely lucky it did.”

“No!” I managed to exclaim even though it caused me pain to do so, “no! That wasn’t what I intended to do at all!”

Her words were cruel and truly callous, but perhaps they weren’t without merit? Perhaps all her, Castella, Darrance and Tresch had found was a bloodbath and this may be even more evidence pointing to Castella lying to me.

She shrugged, seemingly almost frightened at how genuine my heartfelt rebuttal was, “I am no psyker I can’t read thoughts,” she said, pouting, “it’s what I would have done, if in that situation.”

Everyone stared at her in utter shock. So this was the true Elandria? Someone so inherently evil and brainwashed that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend that someone in the same line of work as she could do any good. That what she said wasn’t meant to be cruel, that it was from genuine ignorance, which made it even worse.

“Elandria,” said Garrakson with an icy calm, the ex-guardsman’s face was dark, as hard as a stone and for a minute he was utterly terrifying.

“What?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out! And that’s a frigging order!” snarled Garrakson suddenly and that was the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice in anger. Even Torris who had worked with Garrakson for a long time seemed surprised by the outburst.

Elandria flinched at the intensity but then irrational rage began to spread over her fine-featured face, and for a second, I could have sworn that it would come to blows, as she glared up at Garrakson and while he stared down stoically. To be honest, I wasn’t sure who would win if it did, Garrakson had the obvious advantage of size, strength and reach and he was well versed in basic brawling and guard CQC drills but Elandria was even my equal in close combat, she was sly, agile and very, very fast. But in these confined quarters, Garrakson had the upper hand so to speak as Elandria had little to no room to manoeuvre.

Elandria seemed to realise this as after what felt like an eternity her face twitched back into its atypical impassive, then she turned and walked out the room, muttering, “whatever” as she closed the door behind her.

Garrakson turned back to me, “I’m sorry about that kid,” he said, “both Tor and I know that you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

At that line I looked away, feeling extreme guilt welling at the pit of my gut as I acknowledged just how close I had come to abandoning those people which in my opinion would have been equally as monstrous.

“I-I,” I swallowed back the pain which had come with that utterance, my earlier exclamation must have done more damage than I had initially thought, “I was, the one who, had lead that Arcoflagellent to those people, I was responsible for it, so I had to try to make up for it.”

“Fair enough and noble words Attelus,” said Torris but he and Garrakson exchanged almost guilty glances, “but we heard about what you did to Vex.”

“And that was one frigging hard pill to swallow,” growled Garrakson his harsh tone somehow making me feel even more guilty.

“Now Attelus we don’t know why you hurt that kid and to be honest don’t care,” said Torris, “we just want to know if that you did in that club whether or not you did it was mostly out of guilt for what you had done to that kid.”

Despite myself sudden irrational fear pounced to the surface, fear which turned my heart to ice, I did indeed do it in part to that guilt, but I wasn’t sure whether they would agree with that. I had been left to guess about oh so much while working under Glaitis but never before had I felt this weight of consequence, and uncertainty and it terrified me beyond belief, Torris and Garrakson were mercenaries, hired killers, selfishness was all part of the job so why the hell was this so damn important to them? Why did they care!? Why couldn’t my actions be enough?

“W-why? Why the hell, do you want to know?” I managed.

“It’s a simple question Attelus,” said Garrakson, “and a simple answer yes or no, you can take your time, but we aren’t moving until you answer.”

I desperately looked from Garrakson to Torris back and forth, back and forth desperate to find some clue in their impartial expressions but to my dismay I found nothing.

Finally, I sucked in air through clenched teeth before saying, “yes, it was, a partial contributor to my action,” and it was almost physically painful to admit.

Both Garrakson and Torris exchanged looks then Garrakson finally said, “yes, we thought as much.”

“It was pretty damned obvious,” said Torris, “but it was good to hear you say it.”

“So? You two already knew, but you still were still, willing to put me through that?” I said sounding more exasperated than I should have.

“You were willing to throw away your life then, and there weren’t you Attelus?” said Garrakson, ignoring my statement, “and doing it because you felt guilty about what you did to Vex would have been stupid.”

“You are extremely lucky to survive,” said Torris, “if you had died you wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to apologise to that kid legitimately, and so your sacrifice, to him would in all likelihood seemed hollow and self-important.”

“What you really needed to do was to face the music in the first place. You should have built up the courage to say you’re sorry to his face and you are extremely lucky to get a second chance to do it,” said Garrakson then immediately his face lightened. “But it is also good to hear you didn’t do it just because of that.”

“W-what would have happened if I had?” I asked, feeling an extreme mix of both guilt and relief.

“Well let’s just say that this lecture would have gone on for longer,” said Garrakson, “we maybe ruthless mercs kid but we still care about a few things.”

“A very few things,” emphasised Torris with good humour.

“Kid, we’ll leave this subject only if you promise us is that the very first thing you do once you recover is you find Vex and you frigging well apologise.”

It was deja-vu all over again when I was a child I remembered that my father and had given me similar lectures after every single time I had fallen into that blind rage and had hurt others because of it. Like every time, I had found it extremely hard to face the person I had hurt afterwards. But once I had worked up that courage and confronted the kid, and said sorry it was like a weight was taken off my shoulders.

No wonder Glaitis insisted on calling me “child” as I was still one on so many facets.

“No,” I said with new found determination and much to Garrakson’s evident surprise, “I swear it.”

We conversed for the next half hour, with Elandria all the while staying outside and through them, I found out that now everything was back to square one.

“We’re still running into dead ends,” Torris had said, “still chasing our tales.”

“Though our bloody encounters against the hammers have been a lot fewer kid,” said Garrakson with a sniff, “it seems that they have gone even further into hiding.”

“Hmmm, not surprising really,” I managed, “and it also seems that Brutis Bones is in, someway, involved with the Inquisition, which explains the organisation’s funding as well as Taryst’s paranoia, I had a slight suspicion, but when I went in there I wasn’t exactly expecting they’d have a frigging Arco flagellant.”

“Fair enough,” said Garrakson with another sniff, he didn’t seem at all surprised at my conclusion. But he wasn’t stupid he would of at the very least guessed it also or on a more darker note, knew it.

“Well we’d better go,” sighed Torris as he got off his seat, “we’ve still got to take our newest report to the big man himself.”

“Right,” agreed Garrakson, “we can’t keep him waiting in eager anticipation to hear more of our ‘exploits’.”

“Garrakson wait,” I said causing the ex-guardsman to halt his exit, “do you truly think that an apology would be enough for Vex?”

Garrakson smiled and shrugged, “maybe, maybe not, kid, but it’s something which is better than nothing.”

Then he turned to leave but once again I stopped him,

“Just one more thing, could you, send in Elandria for me, before you go, I need to talk to her.”

Garrakson looked to Torris who shrugged and said, “I don’t see why not boss we can spare a few minutes.”

The ex-guardsman sighed, “sure kid but don’t take to long we all know that it will be tough but we don’t have all day to wait around for you have your fun.”

I felt my face flush, and Torris sniggered in agreement, then they left.

“We’ll wait outside the medicae,” I just managed to hear Garrakson inform this to Elandria before he shut the door behind him.

I only had to wait a few seconds before Elandria entered.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Could you please close the door, Elandria?” I croaked.

She looked at me with a strange uncertainty, then she turned and hesitantly complied.

“So now will you tell me what the hell is it you want?”

“Thanks, El, I just have one thing I want to know. No, one thing I truly need to know, in the Twilight bar, what the hell exactly happened?”

“Hah!” she exclaimed suddenly and with a resounding bitterness so potent it took my breath away, “didn’t the great Castella Lethe tell you when you first woke up? Or don’t you trust even her now?”

“I-I truly don’t know who the hell to trust anymore,” I admitted, my words sounding more strained with sadness that I had intended.

“What did she actually say to cause you to be this...?” she trailed off.

“Suspicious? She said that all of the people I had attempted to protect had survived that they all fled and had escaped the arco flagellant’s wrath, but in all honesty, it seems far too good to be true, I just wish I could remember it.”

And the reason why I couldn’t remember I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses on.

She grinned, “Oh indeed, I guess that would be suspicious, but you know what? I’ m not going to tell you.”

“What?”

“Oh no and you know why? Because you don’t deserve it!” she suddenly closed on me from across the room so fast it made me flinch in surprise, and she brought her face so close to mine that our lips almost touched. Her expression was one of cold rage, and horrible fear gripped me as it seemed she was going to kill me and I would be utterly incapable of defending myself.

“What you did was beyond stupid,” she hissed, and I could feel her spittle speck on my face. “To throw your life away like that out of some misguided self-righteousness just makes me sick and for what? To save the lives of a group of pathetic nothings who you don’t even know! For such complete and utter idiocy, I believe you need to be punished. In fact, I would have let you die for it, but for some reason, quite beyond me, mistress Glaitis wanted to keep you alive. No I won’t answer your question I will let you lie here and writhe in your own uncertainty, it is the very least you deserve.”

It was then that the realisation hit me and the pain of it was beyond description, “Glaitis put you up to this didn’t she?” I cried, “she had Castella tell me that, and she knew I wouldn’t believe it! She knew that the disbelief would eat at me, this is the punishment for what I did, oh no! No!”

That was cruel, even for Glaitis it was cruel, could this be the one reason why she had me saved, to torture me this way? What kind of people do I work for, who would do such a terrible thing?

Elandria got back to full height and grinned that disturbing grin “maybe or I could just be doing this extracurricular but that I won’t answer as well. Oh, I do hope that you have your fun Attelus Kaltos, I know I will.”

With that she turned and walked away, leaving without a further word, ignoring me as my desperation overwhelmed my pain as I writhed in my sheets and pleaded out after her impervious back; “please don’t do this, please don’t be this cruel Elandria, please Elandria. Please! Elandria! Elandriaaa!”

Her only reply was the slamming door, leaving me all alone once more.

1 note · View note

qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the dragons on the map: viii

Rating: M Summary: After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.) Available: AO3

This has not been the most enjoyable night of Wyatt Logan’s life. In fact, it’s one of the worst, and considering how stupid it’s been recently, that’s saying a lot. First, the only thing less enjoyable than having a bullet dug out of your gut with medieval hardware store tools is getting to lie there for eight hours, completely sans morphine or even a goddamn Tylenol, feeling it throb with every heartbeat. Next, your only company is your friend who is still kind of mad at you, but isn’t enjoying watching you suffer, and who can’t go out to get liquid comfort in case he’s abruptly murdered by members of the cult you are chasing through Medieval Times Dinner Theater. And when your ex-girlfriend and your – fuck if he knows what Flynn is – are trying to stop said cult’s leader from doing anything bad like killing your wife version 2.0, and you don’t know when they’re coming back, or what’s going on, because the frigging Pony Express would be an upgrade…

Yeah. Wyatt thinks he’s earned a little bitterness.

He lies on his back, since he can’t exactly lie anywhere else, trying not to breathe too deeply. He’s a soldier, he’s been messed up in pretty gnarly ways before, and if nothing else, he’s always been used to pain. You can thank his dad for that. Wyatt can feel every single one of Flynn’s careful stitches, holding his side together with silk embroidery thread, and to his bafflement and disquiet, he keeps catching himself worrying about Flynn in the same way he’s worrying about Lucy. Not quite in the same way, but… not altogether different, either. Despite the chronic bickering, they’ve worked together since getting here, and Flynn has now saved his bacon twice. Once after the Lifeboat wrecked, and again with this. Kind of rattles his pessimistic presumption that if it came down to it, Flynn would still let all of them (aside from Lucy) die at the first chance.

In the back of his head, Wyatt wonders if that’s entirely true, if that’s what he really thinks, since he’s gotten used to having Flynn around and hasn’t actively wanted to kill him for… well, a while now. Has had to trust him in tight spots, worked with him on the mission to save Rufus, even had a beer with him when they got back, sweaty and grimy and exultant. In fact, there have been a couple moments where Wyatt thinks they might almost be friends, and he… he’s wanted it. And yet, since getting close to Flynn always feels like a terrible idea and Wyatt has several reasons to avoid it, he hasn’t said so overtly or made any real indication that he does anything apart from still 100% hate him. He’s reminded himself that Flynn's involvement (aside, again, from Lucy) is entirely strategic. The team is fighting Rittenhouse, it’s easier to do that with them than alone. Definitely better than jail. That’s all.

(Wyatt does know that this is a complete crock of shit, but emotions have gone really horribly for him recently. It’s better to take refuge in a few delusions, pretend that things are still simple, pretend that he hasn’t changed, when frankly, more than anything else, even painkillers, he wants Flynn and Lucy to come back. Both of them.)

He and Rufus do not talk much. Rufus dozes sporadically on the whatever-the-medieval-couch is called, a low, armless padded bench, though he keeps lifting his head whenever footsteps go past outside. Nobody tries to force the door, which is good, given as they’re completely unarmed after Wyatt sent his gun off with Lucy. Finally in the wee hours, when it’s become apparent that neither of them are going to get much sleep, Wyatt says, “I’m sorry. That I tried to lie to the others at dinner. About Emma.”

Rufus shifts position, rolling over onto his back. Even if obviously better than a gunshot wound, the couch thing (settee? Why does Wyatt want to say settee?) doesn’t look like luxury accommodation. It’s clear that he is weighing how to respond, is not going to instantly lie and pretend it’s fine. Finally he says, “I guess I’m just wondering if we would have been friends if this wasn’t our job. I don’t even mean that as a diss. But I’m an engineer and a nerd and a black kid from the West Side of Chicago who went to MIT, and you’re a redneck military white boy from Texas. It just feels like if it wasn’t our responsibility to save literally all of the known universe on a weekly basis, we wouldn’t have much in common.”

Wyatt opens his mouth, then shuts it. He wants to ask if Rufus really has to kick him while he’s down, but that’s the thing he does where he takes what someone is saying about their pain and makes it about his own, and he’s trying, he’s trying, to be less of a tragedy in that department. “Rufus, if this is about Chinatown, about Jiya… I know it was because of me that Jess was in the bunker and all of that happened, and I guess… it’s a lot to ask you to forgive me for. If you want to just be teammates and that’s it, I – I get it.”

There’s a pause. Wyatt stares miserably at the dim ceiling, thinking that he’s totally whiffed it with the other two, why not Rufus too? They can be the new threesome who are friends and family, and he can be the shunned, fuckup outsider looking in the window but not part of the house, the position he keeps putting Flynn in for comfort’s sake but which more accurately belongs to him. His loneliness hollows out the core of him, makes him feel as bleak and desolate as an abandoned ruin (all the ruins in their modern time probably haven’t even been built yet). “I’m sorry,” he repeats hopelessly, into the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Look,” Rufus says. “Being dead sucked. At least I think it did, because – consciously, at any rate – I don’t actually remember it. After all, you and Flynn and Jiya saved me before it happened. I know that in your first timeline, I died, and you got visited by Lara Croft and an extra on the Walking Dead, and figured out how to work it around for another try. But you remember that happening, and I don’t. And that’s because you saved my life. Yes, I am still pissed about some things, I’m not gonna lie. But you know what? Honestly, it doesn’t matter a crap whether we would have been friends in another life or not. This is the one we ended up in, and we are friends. At least I think we are. You can disagree.”

“I – ” Wyatt blinks hard, tasting tears in the back of his throat. “No. No, I don’t. I’m just sorry I’ve been such a monumental screwup and I’ve hurt all of you and I kept doing it as a reflex instead of trusting you. I have a lot of humble pie to eat and… I just need to make sure I actually try to goddamn do that.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Rufus says. “Even when time travel isn’t involved.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt grimaces as a bolt of lightning spears his side. “If you want to punch me in the face or stick my head in the toilet or whatever other dumb dude stuff we have to go through to make it up, just – wait until I can stand up on my own, all right?”

“No thanks,” Rufus says. “Because as you said, it’s dumb. You definitely owe me a proper dinner when we get back to the twenty-first century, though.”

“If we get out of here, I’ll buy you literally whatever you want.” Dining out might be a little complicated at the moment, but it’s the thought of just being able to do ordinary real-life things like that again, instead of being on house arrest in a succession of government bunkers and anonymous safe houses, that sends a pang through Wyatt’s abused chest. “Cool?”

“Cool.” Rufus sits up, gets to his feet, and walks over to the bed, holding out his hand, and they do as much of a bro-shake as Wyatt is functionally able to manage. It still hurts anyway, but he manages to ignore it for a while longer. Rufus goes back to the settee, they both doze off, and by morning, when they haven’t been murdered, aren’t sure whether to be relieved about that or worried about Lucy and Flynn. There’s no way to say how long that was going to take, when they should expect them back, or if they’d even know if something went wrong. In a slightly too-cheery voice, Rufus says, “Think they have continental breakfast?”

“I’m guessing no.” Wyatt can’t tell if he’s hungry or not; the thought of food is nice, but the effort required to eat it would probably make him puke. He also has a killer need to take a piss, but doesn’t want to make Rufus have to help him with that. “Maybe you can go look, though? See what’s going on in the castle, what people are saying?”

“I suppose.” Rufus is aware that they’re not supposed to leave this room until the others return, but he hesitates a moment longer and then says, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Don’t try to go Superman on me or anything like that.”

“Yeah. Not gonna be a problem.”

Rufus raises an eyebrow, as if to say that he had to make sure, then pulls the bar out of the door and vanishes through it. Once he’s gone, Wyatt slowly staggers to his feet, and by dint of a clever trick (profuse and repeated use of the f-word in noun, verb, gerund, adjectival, and emphatic forms), manages to pee without killing himself. He peels away the knotted, blood-crusted tablecloth, trying to see if the wound looks infected, though there’s not a hell of a lot he can do if it is. It’s red and swollen and otherwise unhappy anyway, he can’t really tell. He’s glad Eleanor isn’t dead, he really is, but God. They definitely owe him a get-well fruit basket. Or maybe a knighthood.

Wyatt eases himself back down onto the bed, breathing hard. He has just gotten (not) comfortable when the door opens again. Rufus reappears, trailed by a grimy, tired, frowning Lucy, and a grimy, tired, stunned-looking Flynn. Wyatt bolts upright, swears again, and falls on the bolster pillows, but he doesn’t even care. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m – thank God. Thank God. I’m so relieved you made it back.”

“You’re not going to be in a second.” Lucy looks at him with a foreboding expression. “We did catch up to Emma, and we even know what she’s doing, we think. But it – it’s bad, and you aren’t going to like hearing it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Wyatt wonders what exactly can be worse than – well, everything, but tries to brace himself. “What are we talking, or do I really want to know?”

By the time Lucy has filled him and Rufus in on the latest terrible development (Flynn has continued to look like he’s been concussed the entire time, making Wyatt briefly worry that maybe he was hurt, and then have absolutely no idea what to do with that), Wyatt has concluded that maybe he didn’t. “Fuck,” he says. “Thirty Rittenhouse agents? And Emma brought Jess here? To marry Richard and use my kid to – the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says again. She sits down on the bed next to him, putting her hand next to his, but not quite taking it. “It’s – it’s diabolical, honestly. It makes plenty of sense for her, and it might be something Richard could see his way into accepting, but… neither you or even Jessica deserve this.”

Wyatt doesn’t know how to respond. His old instinct to lash out at them and defend Jessica’s honor is clearly not going to fly, and he doesn’t feel that he should. As they all keep saying, she’s chosen her allegiances, but – even for the sake of an organization that this version of her remembers as being part of since childhood, that saved her brother and whatever else – is she really willing to barter her kid, their kid, off like this? To choose between staying in the twelfth/thirteenth century with him for the rest of her life, or going back to the present as a faithful Rittenhouse disciple, having proved her bona fides, and never seeing him again?

(Wyatt supposes the takeaway from this is that he is in fact having a son. A son he’s probably never going to meet. A son who will live his entire life as Rittenhouse’s pawn to change the world, who will think that this time is his own. He’ll get to be a king – is that going to make it worth it? Make any of this worth it?)

(The thought hurts even worse than his perforated side, and he doesn’t think it ever won’t.)

There’s a pause as Rufus, Lucy, and Flynn all avoid looking at him, as Wyatt thinks grimly that yet again, his mistakes are here to bite them in the ass. Then he swallows his pride and decides to give this a try. “Okay, Flynn. What do we do?”

No answer.

“Hey. Flynn?”

“Sorry.” Flynn blinks hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“Dude,” Rufus says. “Wyatt just asked you what you thought we should do, and you missed it? You must really be distracted.”

“I – oh.” Flynn doesn’t take the tailor-made opportunity to gloat, which is equally astounding. Wyatt glances at him in confusion, then notices that Lucy is maintaining a slightly too-casual expression herself, and feels as if he’s missed a step going downstairs. This is definitely not the time to wonder if anything happened while they were out on their overnight excursion, but even more unsettling is the fact that he isn’t sure if it’s just the obvious part of that (Lucy with Flynn) which bothers him. Or if it’s also somehow the –

Right, no, never mind that, back the truck up, up, up. Besides, Wyatt is still working on accepting that things have been broken and may not get put back together. After all the time he’s spent with broken – well, everything, you’d think this would be easier, but it isn’t. Flynn still seems too discombobulated to put together a substantial response, until Rufus is finally the one to chime in instead. “You two know where the Mothership is, right? Can’t we just go steal it? I know we can’t all go home with thirty frigging Rittenhouse agents here, but I could take Wyatt to a real hospital, and then come back to join Flynn and Lucy.”

“There’s no way Wyatt could manage a ride all the way there,” Flynn says. “The wound would open and he’d bleed to death before we got close. Besides, if we leave Wyatt in the present by himself in some hospital, how do we know Rittenhouse doesn’t just go in and pick him off? He’d be a sitting duck.”

Wyatt starts to say something, then stops. Not least because Flynn has voiced explicit concern for his well-being (twice!), and he is, yet again, not prepared to deal with that. At last he says, “I don’t want to split up except as a total last resort. Besides, if we make any move for the Mothership, that blows our cover and Emma realizes we’re onto her and her entire plan. We only have one shot at getting to it while she doesn’t know – yet – that we know where it is or what she was doing with it, and yeah. This eats a huge amount of ass right now. I’m not going to say it’s fun. But I’m not gonna let you blow that shot for me.”

Lucy glances at him, her expression troubled and tender. “Wyatt, we have to take care of you. You’re still part of the team.”

If nothing else? Wyatt doesn’t want to ask that, or know how she might answer. Delusions, after all. Kinda wants to hold onto a few, after reality has bitch-slapped him on both cheeks and taken a dump in his front yard. “Yeah,” he says, “but I think we’ll also agree that you’re all tired of me fucking up things for you. Don’t make me do it again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Flynn says. Yet again, refraining from any of the obvious cracks that are there to be made, which is just bizarre. (Or perhaps not at all, but Wyatt’s still not going there.) “Though either way, we’re probably going somewhere. I said they’re most likely taking Jessica to Chinon, and Emma will tell Richard to meet her there. So some of us will need to go.”

“I can’t ride, obviously,” Wyatt says, as neutrally as possible. “That seems to rule me out.”

“It’s your wife and child.” Flynn looks at him with an intensity that Wyatt can feel to the back of his spine. “That Rittenhouse wants to use for their own sick little game. Don’t tell me you’re content to do nothing about it.”

“Of course I’m not fucking content.” Wyatt wants to be more emphatic, wants to shout about this, wants to kick up more of a fuss, but his chest feels pulverized (in more ways than one) and the most he can manage is a croak. “Of course I don’t want this to happen. I never wanted any of this to happen. But I’m half-dead and I would definitely get all the way there if I rushed after Jessica right now, to – what? Get my heart stomped on all over again? Can I save her if she doesn’t want to be saved? I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’ve tried to do that for years, since I joined the damn team in the first place, and we can safely say that I have totally blown it. Maybe this is what I deserve, I don’t know.”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “You’ve totally blown it. But you’re not the only one who has, eh?”

Wyatt blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into Flynn, why he keeps saving his life and then worrying about it later and saying these things that almost sound like clumsy olive branches, and once again, he thinks it’s better not to ask. There’s another silence. Then Rufus says, “Just spitballing here. But is there anything to be said for the nuclear option? Say fuck it, tell Richard we’re time travelers, and that’s why he can’t remarry? I mean, he’s got his thing going on with Andrew, he doesn’t really want to shake that up, right?”

Flynn raises both eyebrows, but charitably restrains from comment. Then he says, “What? Tell Richard that he has to die without a son, to fail in the central duty of a king, to leave his throne to his little brother with whom he has, at best, an ambivalent relationship? That John then proceeds to arse it up to such a degree that it becomes enshrined in law for hundreds of years? I can guarantee that is not something Richard would have any interest in facilitating, and if we tell him that, we have to tell him his future. Tell him when he dies, and how. Which he would then obviously try to avoid, messing up history still further.”

“Yeah,” Rufus says. “Since you’ve always been the one of us who’s really concerned with preserving history, Flynn. I can absolutely see why you’d suggest that.”

Flynn seems to sense that he deserves that, and gives a sue me shrug instead of answering. Then Lucy says, “We could just not tell him that part. Right? Even if he asked – ”

“Do you want to be the one that says no to him?” Flynn asks. “Spill the beans that you know everything that’s going to happen in his life and after it, and then refuse to tell him? We’d get into even worse of a mess. Besides, if we come clean about that, we’d also have to tell him that we came from Paris and Philip sent us. And while he might laugh off the time travel, or not bother taking us seriously, I can assure you that he would not do the same when it comes to Philip. They hate each other past all reason, and if we get Richard angry at us…”

“Wild guess,” Rufus says. “We won’t like him when he’s angry?”

“Not in the least.” Flynn leans against the wall, eyes darting to Wyatt, then back to Rufus. He seems to be avoiding looking at Lucy if remotely possible, even when talking to her earlier. “He’ll kill us if he finds out that we’re supposed to be spying for Philip, and he’s not going to buy any pleas of having our arms twisted.”

“But he’s obviously going to notice that – sorry, Wyatt, but still – Jess is pregnant,” Rufus persists. “Aren’t they really into bloodlines and legitimacy and all that? He’s just going to accept some random Jon Snow as his heir, especially when he knows he is NOT the daddy? I mean, it’s not like they have Maury here, but it seems like an issue.”

“I don’t know,” Flynn says. “He might take it as a backup option. Or he might think that he just needs a son born to his wife and isn’t too particular about how he gets one. Emma could have already told him about it, assured him it’ll be a boy and promised he doesn’t need to end his relationship with Andrew if he doesn’t want to. If nothing else, it’s proof that Jessica could have more children, especially since Berengaria hasn’t had any. I have no idea where they’ve told him that she’s from, what she’s the princess or countess of, but I assume they’ve made it worth his while in plenty of ways. They could tell him what Philip’s going to do, treat him with modern medicine so he doesn’t die when he’s shot – anything, really.”

Wyatt grimaces. This may be an operationally necessary topic of conversation, but he still doesn’t want to hear it. “So what, Richard’s flirting with Flynn and now he’s gonna marry Jessica and steal my kid? The fuck? What gives?”

There’s a slightly too-long pause. Then Rufus raises both eyebrows. “Dude, I get why you’re upset about the latter, but… why the former, exactly?”

“I – ” Wyatt opens his mouth, keeps it that way, and then shakes his head. “Look, so, what are we doing?”

“I’ll go see if I can talk to Richard,” Flynn says. “I need to find out if Emma’s tried to approach him and what she’s said, and if there are any plans afoot to send the court to Chinon. He’s grateful to us for saving Eleanor’s life, so – ”

“You mean me, right?” Wyatt points out. “Still the one who got shot here.”

Flynn rolls his eyes. “Yes, Logan, we’re all grateful for the sacrifice. Anyway, I’ll try to leverage that. You three, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

With that, sounding very much like the stern school principal or exasperated father who is sick of these motherfucking Rittenhouse agents on this motherfucking field trip, Flynn whirls around and heads out. Rufus notes that he didn’t actually find any food earlier, and excuses himself as well. That leaves Wyatt and Lucy, who is still sitting on the bed next to him, though she glances away when he looks at her. The silence is not horrendously awkward, but it’s a long way from comfortable. Finally Lucy says quietly, “I’m sorry about Jessica. It just seems like that wound never gets to close, does it?”

“Guess so.” Wyatt blows out a jagged breath. “I suppose it makes sense as a plot for Emma. And Jess – I don’t know what she thinks about this. I was a shitty husband to her in any reality, so no wonder Rittenhouse feels like home. That they’ve given her what I couldn’t and didn’t, even though I wanted to. I don’t know if we’re ever going to be together again, but I just wish…” He trails off. “A son. I’m having a son. I used to think about that, what that would be like. Playing catch with him, having buddy fishing weekends, going to his parent-teacher conferences, teaching him about cars, all the stuff I was going to do and not screw up like my old man. I don’t even know if I could manage that now. It’s like half of me thinks it might be better for him if he grows up here and gets to be some medieval king, rather than have me as a dad. How fucked up is that?”

Lucy bites her lip, then looks at him full-on for the first time. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think that would be better. Not just because of messing up history, but because you deserve the chance to know your son, and I’m going to help you fight for it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jessica, but if she’s still what you want – ”

“I don’t know.” Wyatt stares at the ceiling. So long so determined to get his wife back by hook or by crook, convinced it would fix all his problems, and it’s only made everything worse. “I – meant what I said to you, Lucy. It’s just… it occurs to me it wasn’t a good time to say it, and it wasn’t what you needed to hear right then, and maybe I’ve screwed up things too far to ever really be fixed. So if you want to say something to me about that now, I’m listening.” He waves a hand and grunts in pain. “Can’t exactly get away.”

“Yeah.” Lucy lets out a breath of her own. “I don’t know either. You – you did hurt me. I can’t say I want to rush back into anything. Actually, I – ” She stops. “Never mind.”

“No,” Wyatt says. “Come on. I want us to be friends again, I want us to start talking to each other about things. I swear, you can tell me.”

Lucy looks at him as if she’s not really sure that she can, and the simple, painful realization that the trust between them has been broken, that he can ask but he has to be all right with it if she doesn’t answer, twists in Wyatt’s gut in a different way than the blacksmith’s pincers. He can’t push, that’s counterproductive, but he tries to think of a way to keep the conversation going, rather than cut it off full stop. “Okay, can you maybe tell me the reason why not?”

“You don’t – ” Lucy looks down at her fingers twisted in her lap. “You don’t take it well.”

Wyatt supposes that this doesn’t really narrow it down, alas, as he hasn’t exactly handled anything well in the recent past. However, he has an inkling what it might be, and while they’re being honest, maybe they should give it a try. “Is it about Flynn?”

Lucy tenses, shifting away from him, as if in clear preparation to be yelled at. Then she says, purposefully casual, “Yes, it’s about Flynn.”

“Okay.” Wyatt thinks that literally any way he’s ever reacted to this topic in the past, it’s probably wrong, and he should try something else. “I’m – look, him and me have had our thing, and it’s been what it is, but he’s saved my life twice now. I guess I can see why you trust him, and he’s been a big help. He still likes kicking my ass a lot, though.”

“That’s just how he is.” A small, fond, private smile turns up Lucy’s mouth, clearly summoned just by the thought of the team’s large garbage fourth party, and Wyatt struggles not to let it sting. “I just – I like him, Wyatt. I like him, and I want him around, and he’s proven himself as much as you or me or Rufus or Jiya or any of us. So if it’s just about you not trusting him, I think that’s settled. More than settled.”

“I do trust him.” It’s not easy, but Wyatt decides it probably should be said. “I don’t like him, but I trust him.” He doesn’t want to go so far as apologizing for being a dick to Flynn, since he feels like Flynn invites and eagerly reciprocates at least seventy-five percent of it, but he looks up at Lucy. “I promise, I’ll try to quit sniping at him as much. But if he starts it – ”

“I wouldn’t tell you not to defend your honor.” Lucy rolls her eyes, but laughs a little, and it feels like one of the first genuine moments they’ve had in a while. Not even in a romantic sense, but just as two people who are familiar with each other and are stuck doing a dangerous job with a difficult coworker, who can commiserate on equal footing and try to shut out everything else for a while. “I know he’s… a handful.”

“You seem to manage him pretty well.” Wyatt wants to bite his tongue, but it slips out anyway. “I mean. Never have any trouble getting him to listen to you.”

Lucy’s cheeks go rather pink, and she looks down at her hands again, that same shy smile paying a return visit to her lips. “That’s different.”

Yes, Wyatt supposes, it is. He glances up at her with a crooked smile, doing his best to play the role of a friend elbowing another friend about a crush, an aw-come-on-you-like-him sort of thing. He doesn’t have the heart to commit to it, but at least he can put up the appearance. Fake it ‘til you make it, and because Lucy deserves something else from him on this topic apart from condescension and critique and shame. Finally he says, “You think Rufus is going to come back with breakfast? I could maybe eat something.”

“Hopefully.” Lucy gets off the bed and goes to peer out the window. “Well, nothing’s on fire yet, so maybe Flynn and Emma haven’t come face to face.”

“Always a good thing,” Wyatt cracks weakly. His side is starting to really hurt again, and his flash of appetite is deserting him as fast as it’s come. He feels nauseous, and puts his head back down on the pillow. Well then. He fondly fancies that maybe he didn’t completely blow that conversation. Where it’s going to go, or how, or why, he’s given up speculating. Not dying is top of his priority list right now. The rest of it can wait.

(He is also thinking about when Flynn is going to get back, and whether he’s run into Emma or any of the new Rittenhouse gang, and what he’s said to Richard, and any of it. But that also feels like something that he would definitely prefer to delay.)

It takes Flynn a while, especially when his head is still going in wild vortexes and he needs to struggle an alarming amount to maintain the keen and razor-focused competence that he is generally known for, to track down Richard. He eventually finds the king just getting up (it’s midmorning, so Richard was definitely not springing out of bed with the lark to attend Mass at six AM) and not terribly interested in being bothered with business first thing. He is also clearly annoyed with Flynn’s lack of proper deference. “What exactly are you doing here, Garcia? Is it the custom in Spain to burst in on the royal presence unannounced?”

“Sorry, Your Grace.” Flynn inclines his head, hoping that Andrew de Chauvigny will not choose this moment to make his entrance and be even less enthused to find him in Richard’s private chambers at a still-unsociably-early hour. “How is your mother?”

“My mother is quite well, and if you really were interested in enquiring after her health, you would have burdened yourself elsewhere.” Richard whirls on his heel, pouring a cup of morning wine from the decanter. His hair is tumbled in his eyes, he’s only wearing a dressing gown and loose braies, and despite his protestations, he doesn’t seem entirely averse to Flynn glimpsing him in this less-than-regal state of dishabille. He sits on the unmade bed, stretching his long legs, and enjoys a few sips, with the kingly prerogative to make Flynn stand there and wait until he’s ready to continue the conversation. Then he says, “Your serving man isn’t dead either, I take it?”

“No, he made it through the night. Not very comfortably, but he’s alive.” Flynn hesitates. He doesn’t suspect that Richard is at all concerned about the well-being of servants in the ordinary course of things, and tries to think how to gently nudge the conversation from here. He knows that it’s only Richard’s – well, whatever notice he’s taken of him, of whatever sort, that is the reason he’s still here, and the king has not called his guards to remove this unwashed interloper until later. Much later, possibly. “Last night, what my wife told you and the queen about the assassins’ guild, Rittenhouse. Their leader, the woman called Emma – I don’t know if she’s approached you. But if she – ”

Richard gazes back at him inscrutably, until Flynn realizes that if Emma has, she may also have warned him that people might be asking about it, and to keep it appropriately on the DL until he has come to a decision. Probably with plenty of flattery. Richard is not the kind of man who appreciates criticism, constructive or otherwise, and if Flynn pushes him too hard into thinking he’s made a mistake entertaining Emma’s overtures, he might double down on them, just because. Still, Flynn feels the need to emphasize it. “Emma’s men are the ones who organized the attempt on your mother’s life. She wants you to marry again for reasons of her own, and you – you can’t trust her.”

“Even if any of that was true.” Richard finishes off the wine and puts the goblet back on the sideboard, then stands up. “Do you have any shred of proof?”

This was always going to be tricky. “No.”

“So how would you know that?” Richard stares at Flynn with a narrow, shrewd expression that makes it clear that no matter if Flynn has caught his eye or not, he is not going to be swayed into overlooking any other suspicions he has about them. “My mother said to me last night that she doesn’t believe you’re really from Spain, and I must say, I’m starting to agree with her. You don’t speak French like anyone I’ve ever met, for a start, and that weapon – ” He points to the Rittenhouse assassin’s Glock, which is lying on his desk, looking jarringly out of place among the charters covered in gothic script, waxen seals, daggers, quills, inkhorns, melted candles, and rolls of parchment. “I took it apart and looked at it, and I see no receptacle for Greek fire, which was how you said it operated. It’s much more advanced than the crossbow, and I can damn well promise that I would remember if the Saracens had been shooting at us with this thing while I was in the Holy Land. Where did you get it from? Who sent you?”

Flynn fights the urge to take a step back. To say the least, it’s the rare man that can intimidate him, physically or verbally, and that’s not even quite what’s going on here. But the Angevins of Richard’s paternal line are colorfully rumoured to be descended from the Devil’s daughter Melusine, for reasons of their hair and tempers, which are equally blazing. Richard’s father Henry used this legend to great effect, and Richard himself is extremely fond of it, telling the story to anyone who ever doubts his ability to cosmically fuck them up. But so far as Flynn remembers, there always came a moment when, faced with an angry Plantagenet, everyone started being pretty sure that it was not just a tall tale. As well, this is only an irritated Richard, not an angry one. Flynn himself was warning everyone about that. He needs to be very careful.

“Your Grace,” Flynn starts at last. “That is… a long story.”

Richard stares at him cuttingly, deeply unimpressed by this non-answer. “Yes, Garcia. I gathered that. Or are you several poxy halfwits cunningly disguised as a man?”

Well, Flynn supposes, that was feeble enough for him to deserve that. It occurs to him, ludicrously, to actually give the time-travel thing a try. He’s hardly been the most close-mouthed about that fact in the past, and witchcraft panics (and the attendant stake-burning, though that’s also a massively overstated stereotype) are an early modern phenomenon, not a medieval one. Heretics don’t even get the burning treatment until after 1400, in the run-up to the Reformation. Richard is religious, as everyone is in some way or form, and he is a crusader who believes deeply that the Christians are entitled to reclaim Jerusalem, but he formed real friendships with his Muslim counterparts and has made laws to protect his Jewish subjects, as well as repeatedly objecting to the crusade’s religious philosophy when it clashed with his thoroughgoingly pragmatic view of things. In other words, religious bigotry or baseless zealotry is not really in his nature; he is interested in how things work on a tactical and strategic level, and doesn’t have time for irrationality or hysteria or incompetence. Flynn says, “I don’t think you’d believe me, Your Grace.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Richard raises both eyebrows. “Your Saracen friend, Prince Ali, the one you said was an acquaintance of Saif al-Din. Where is Agrabah, exactly? It was never mentioned in any of my negotiations with the sultan’s brother or his advisors.”

Flynn winces. As he also seems to recall warning the others, Richard is much too smart to be easily manipulated, and their cover stories have been flimsy at best. Oh, what the hell. “We’re… travelers, Your Grace. From… well.” For once, he actually doesn’t want to be the one to do this, but needs must. “From the future.”

There is a long and very hideous pause. Then Richard bursts out laughing. “Travelers from the future? So you’re lunatics, you mean? Or are you from a traveling fair, one of those charlatans who promise to tell fortunes for a silver penny and get burning bushes to speak with the voices of saints and angels? You remind me of that venerable padre back in Messina, Joachim of Fiore. He was very keen to prophesy that my crusade would be a great success and usher in the fiery advent of the Last Days and the judgment of the faithful, along with various other dramatic mumbling that I misremember. To say the least, he was wrong, but it did earn his abbey a generous reward. Is that what you want? Money?”

“We don’t want money, my lord.” Flynn supposes this is a reasonable interpretation for Richard to take, but it’s also not helping them very much. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is the truth.”

Richard snorts. “You struck me as a sensible man, Garcia. Even if you were traipsing about with a woman, a Saracen, and a blockhead. Why disappoint me in such a fashion now?”

“I…” Flynn tries to think of something he could say to convince Richard, while wondering if he actually wants to do that, and if revealing any information at all could in fact get them (once again, as warned) into more trouble. “It’s just – it’s important that you don’t remarry, and especially not to the woman that Rittenhouse has chosen for you. That’s all.”

Richard regards him inscrutably. “My wife has not given me a son. That being the case – ”

“And have you tried very hard for her to do that, my lord?” Flynn is starting to push it here, but he’s in too far to turn back now. “I’ve heard certain… rumors of your conduct, both now and in the past. If you remain estranged from Queen Berengaria, surely that gives them cause to proliferate? Surely if you were to recall her to your side and – ”

Richard’s nostrils flare. In the original timeline, he was shamed into reconciling with Berengaria after a serious illness led him to reflect on his sinful conduct and hastily abjure it for the good of his soul, but unless they poison him (which, to say the least, is a terrible idea), it’s less clear if he has the same incentive now. In a very dangerous voice, he says, “What exactly are you accusing me of, Garcia? I suggest you choose your words most carefully.”

“I…” Obviously, as a modern man who has a certain perspective on this, and who has batted for the same team a few times himself, Flynn’s natural instinct is to tell Richard that there’s nothing wrong with him, and the church should shut up about the thrall of guilt and terror it exerts on him and others like him. Wants to say that he knows Richard and Andrew love each other and should be allowed to stay together. But while Richard is relatively open about his preferences, or at least habitually returns to them after brief episodes of public repentance, that does not translate into unconditionally accepting them. He views sodomy as a venial sin like any other, to which he seems unfortunately prone, and certainly not as an orientation or a legitimate way of life. Even if Flynn gets out his inner pride flag and tells Richard that in the words of one Stefani Germanotta, he was born this way, that will go directly against everything Richard has heard all his life, that he has taken to heart and believes about himself, and it’s not clear that he would appreciate it. Flynn isn’t going to call him a dirty gay, obviously, but how the hell does he do this?

When Flynn doesn’t answer, Richard seems more or less satisfied that he’s won the argument, but continues to stare at him in a way that makes it clear the subject has not been dropped. Then Richard says, “You’ve amused me thus far, Garcia, and as I said, I’m grateful for what your man did for my mother. But I get enough damned sermonizing from churchmen, and I am not certain that I require your advice going forward. Nor do I recall asking for it in the first place, or why you thought you had any right to offer it. If you wish to collect your wife, the Saracen, and your servant, then I think it best that you remove yourself from my court and get on amusing others with your fables.”

Oh dear. Flynn can sense this about to go badly. “My man is hurt, Your Grace. He can’t stand a long ride, and we need – ”

“I don’t recall that’s my fucking problem.” Richard’s eyes have turned to blue-grey slits. He gets up sharply and turns away, pulling off the dressing gown and shrugging on a red velvet tunic, the sleeves decorated with lions in golden embroidery. He ties his braies and slides his feet into his boots, then turns around. Richard the man is gone, and it’s the Lionheart, the king and feared warrior, who’s staring dead at Flynn and looking like it’s entirely likely he’ll go for his throat. “Was any part of that statement unclear?”

Flynn opens his mouth, even though he knows the best course of action is to duck for cover and run like hell. “Your Grace – ”

Just then, he’s almost abjectly grateful to be interrupted by a knock at the door, even if only because this might give Richard’s hurricane a chance to blow onto someone else apart from him. Then Andrew de Chauvigny’s voice calls, “My lord?”

Wait, no. Never mind. Flynn is pretty sure he doesn’t want to be caught like this. But it’s too late, as Richard strides past him and jerks the door open. “God’s balls, Andrew, what the bleeding Jesus is so important that you have to – ”

Flynn turns around just in time to see that it is very bad. In fact, actually worse. Because yes, Andrew is standing there, and standing right behind him –

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Emma Whitmore says, in flawless Old French. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

#timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #flogan #garcyatt #the time team #the dragons on the map

23 notes · View notes