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aerialflight · 3 years

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Fic Recs (cause it's always nice to give a shout out and get people into things I'm into rn)

[The Magnus Archives] (I recently finished the podcast and I fell into a hole for a while so here you go)

Sing a Song of Sixpence by Kaiel

Ship: Jon/Martin

In which Jonathan Sims is a Siren, and he fails to notice any new abilities granted to him by the position of Archivist. Or really anything about the Entities at all.

Takes place in season 1 featuring Jonah Magnus’s slow decent into madness

(The new mythology interwoven with tma's worldbuilding is so freaking good and I love how all the characters change and develop because of these changes. Also, f you Elias)

Along Came a Spider by Dribbledscribbles

Ship: implied Jon/Martin

Sasha James is the Archivist, as expected. Martin Blackwood is menaced by Jane Prentiss, as expected. Elias Bouchard weaves his web, as expected.

All goes as it should.

At least until something calling itself Jonathan Sims steps in.

(Web!Jon in this makes me want to weep, it's so freaking good. A pretty long, very excellent oneshot on what could've happened if Jon got taken by the web when he was a kid. And Sasha as the Archivist is ALWAYS so cool, we love her in this house.)

A Break in the Clouds by Ash_Rabbit

“I’m eight.” the kid sniffs as if eight was any different from four, maybe not an unspeakable horror then, just a regular horror. “And I heard that the Magnus Institute deals with-” his little nose scrunches, cute. “-spooky things.”

“Do you have a-” he cracks a grin, and then rethinks it as small hands tighten against their burden.”-spooky thing to deliver?” gods he hopes not, it’s bad enough when adults walk in and lay out all of their baggage, but for a child-

“There’s a spider in this book.” the kid says solemnly, raising his textbook sized parcel. “It ate Evan Pritchard.” a bloody fucking Leitner. Of course an eight year old would find a murder spider book. “This seemed like the best place to bring it.”

(I never thought about what the Original Elias could've been like AND NOW I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE OF THIS FIC. I LOVE HIM, HE'S COMPLEX AND HE CARES AND JON CARES AND THEY BOTH CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER. THIS IS THE CONTENT I WANT, OMG. Also, Jon being even smaller than usual is adorable, so cute. No wonder Elias wants to hug him, a LOT.)

See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World

Ship: Jon/Martin, Jon/Oliver Banks

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

(One of my all time fave fics in this fandom, no questions asked. I have reread this three times and am open to doing it again, god. Vast!Jon, such a concept. It's written so beautifully and the relationships Jon develops, so good. ugh. My heart. Please please read.)

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Ship: Jon/Martin

“Come in, Martin,” he says, not looking up from his notes.

“Hi, Jon,” he says, and Jon stops writing at the sound of his voice. “We’re out of the green tea, but we’ve got lemon?”

Jon looks at him. Martin smiles at him in his usual tentative way as he sets the mug of tea down on Jon’s desk. Heat spikes so sharply in his gut that he twitches with it.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, mouth dry, and he stands up.

“Oh,” he says, sounding almost surprised. He smiles again. “No-- no problem-- um, what are you--”

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

(You have no idea how much I howled through this fic, my god. *buries face in hands* The number of times I wanted to cry from sheer hilarity and horror reading this good lord.)

Things Could Always Be Worse by theOestofOCs

Ship: Jon/Martin, Georgie/Melanie

Sometimes, the most horrifying thing of all is what might have been.

Somewhere, Jon could swear he heard a crowd laughing.

Or: in which Jonathan Sims is forced to swap places with his alternate self—a tall, chivalrous hero extraordinaire, who knows neither fear nor nuance—and is sent to the aggressively straight alternate universe the Magnus Archives was never meant to be.

“Whatever place this is,” Jon announced, “I just want to be sure it knows I hate it.”

(I will say this once, THIS IS THE MOST CURSED THING IVE EVER READ EVER. Like holy hell. I can't believe this thing exists. please read it oh please please please)

[Supernatural]

heard from your mother (she don't recognize you) by Schmuzz

Ship: Dean/Cas, Jessica/Sam

A man named Cas wakes up in 2003 with no memories, but he's able to piece together a few things:

1. Supernatural creatures exist, and most of them will hurt innocent civilians if he doesn't stop them; 2. He has abilities that no human hunter should have, but he knows enough about human hunters to keep that to himself, and finally; 3. He keeps running into another hunter named Dean Winchester, who seems to be about as lonely as he is if he's willing to put up with those former facts long enough to help Cas unravel the mystery of who (or what) he really is.

For his part, Dean's still (not) dealing with Sam's departure to Stanford, and figures distracting himself with a bit of mystery and intrigue is as harmless as it gets, right? Right.

(THE fic I'm most into right now, been following this from the very start and it's AMAZING. Cas has agency and is making friends and S1 Dean is growing out of John's influence and is becoming a Person and the both of them first being friends then more. The slow burn as their relationship develops, SO GOOD. SO SO DAMN GOOD. *screams* Seriously one of the best spn fics I've read in a long, long time.)

anamnesis by cenotaphy

Ships: Castiel/Dean, Sam/Eileen

Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be.

* Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19.

(THIS IS THE FIC THAT GOT ME THROUGH THE FINALE OKAY. WHY COULDN'T THIS HAVE BEEN CANON. It's Disturbing and honestly plot-wise this makes more sense. Why couldn't we have had this. *screams*)

[Avatar: The Last Airbender]

where the stars do not take sides by WitchofEndor

Ship: Sokka/Zuko

When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them.

Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

(The fact one of the tags in this fic is, "Sibling Dynamic: Fucked Up But Wholesome" should give you an idea what this fic is like. Chaotic as HELL and I just love Azula here, she loves Zuko so much in her messed up way and Zuko loves her back in the exact same way lol. It's batshit and I am Here For This.)

[Naruto]

Eclipse by AislingRoisin (JayBird345) for HybrisAnaideia

Ship: Nara Shikaku/OFC

"In life, it's easier to remain stagnant and wallow in your troubles. But life isn't merely about continued existence, nor is it meant to be gone through alone."

(This is a fic that's slept on and I NEED people to read this. A self-insert fic that I find really interesting in its approach and the worldbuilding for the post-third war shinobi world is fantastic. I feel like there's a certain pattern with self-insert fics, not that is a detriment in any way to how much I enjoy them, so this fic feels fresh to me in a way I haven't read in a while. I am waiting eagerly for this to get updated! Please read!)

On Freedom and Other Formalities by iaso

Ship: Kakashi/Genma/OFC

When push comes to shove, Hiwa Inuzuka doesn't go down easy. Reborn into a new, dangerous world? She puts her past life as a spy to work. Thrown into a war? Hiwa does her duty, for Konoha. And when she's forced into an arranged marriage? All there is to do is beat them to the punch and get married first. Thankfully, Genma Shiranui is willing to lend a hand. Literally. SI/OC

(Listen, LISTEN, it's about the slow burn, the longing, the communication (it both has and hasn't and isn't THAT great??), the messy way you fit three very different people together, it's so freaking good! Also, Kakashi is so Chaotic here this is my fave characterization of him, you can't change my mind. And Genma is a Good Boi who is Doing His Best, along with the Self-insert character who I LOVE SO MUCH, SHE'S FANTASTIC FNEIWOPAF. Sped past this fic in the speed of light, I could not stop reading!)(Honestly, read all of the author's fics, they're all really REALLY good!)

Building a Castle by WhisperingDarkness

Without needing anyone to tell her, Sakura knew that talking to someone no-one else could see or hear would make her weird. It would draw the bad kind of attention to her, something people could make fun of her for.

She didn’t like being weird, but she did like the voice. Her inner voice was helpful and it was a part of her that had always been there. The idea of it not being there would have been so much weirder than anything else.

It was during her first year at the Academy that Sakura realised the voice was not in her head at all, but that it came from a cloudy shape floating next to her.

(Basically a short-ish retelling of Hikaru no Go. Only with more Shogi and Nara and Ninja's)

(Sakura can see ghosts (I'm noticing this is a popular trope for her) and it's really cute haha! Her relationship with Tobirama is sweet and I just enjoyed reading this so much.)

[The Magicians]

So Long (And Thanks For All The Books) by IncompleteSentanc (Erava)

Ships: Quentin/Eliot, James/Julia, Quentin/Margo/Eliot

When Quentin is told Julia wasn't admitted to Brakebills, he realizes he has a drastic decision in front of him. If he tells Julia about magic, he'll have his mind wiped as well as hers. But he can't just leave her behind, either. He can't lose his best friend, and he can't let her life a life with her magical potential stolen away from her.

So he makes a third choice.

(Really, and I mean REALLY well-done canon divergent fic, this is the Quentin & Julia friendship fic I have been looking for forever. It explores so much of what could've happened and I just love Quentin here, I really really do. Characterization done so right. I also recommend the author's other works too. Been a follower of them for a long time, they're great.)

[Game of Thrones]

The Road to Victory by writing_as_tracey

Too late in preparing for the Night King and the Long Night, the last stand at Winterfell is close to falling. Bran takes desperate measures to ensure victory, and Jon, Sansa, and Arya pay the price for it in a time unfamiliar to them, on the cusp of another war. [GoT, time-travel fix it]

(I swear, this fic made me laugh so many times, all the Stark are BAMF and fantastic, and Rhaegar gets Wrecked lol. It's crack btw, and the plot goes in directions you'll never guess and it's amazing hahaha!)

[Haikyuu!!] (I am very very late to the fandom but here I am)

Ballare (To Dance) by MidnightSparks

Ship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, and platonic Kageyama & Kentarou (really love their friendship)

Kageyama’s first love is volleyball. His second, however, is ballet.

In one world, Kageyama Tobio is left behind by his parents. In this world, the existence of soulbonds keeps Kageyama’s parents in Miyagi and leaves Kageyama in the care of his grandma and grandpa.

(In which soulmates exist and that changes everything and nothing at the same time.)

(*buries face in hands* I have fallen for this ship so hard and I can't get out fudge me. I understand now. Their DYNAMICS FIEWONPAF)

Kings of Tomorrow by bokubroya (liarielle)

Ship: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru

On the eve of Tobio’s 16th birthday, he counts down the seconds to midnight, and emerges with Oikawa Tooru’s name on his wrist.

It’s been two years since then, and Tobio thought they had an understanding. A silent, never spoken about understanding that this thing between them is nothing, and they’re going to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Of course, it’s just like Oikawa to change the game and leave Tobio wondering what comes next.

(I am WEAK for soulmate fics between these two, I don't even really like soulmate fics half the times what is WRONG WITH ME-)(Please suffer with me, I'm begging you. Its a good fic, thumbs up.)

[Crossover]

Honey and Magic by JustARatherVerySillyWriter, White_Squirrel for Super Carlin Brothers

Fandoms: Matilda (yeah you read that right), Harry Potter

Everyone knew Matilda was a rather extraordinary child, but even she didn't know she was a witch. Matilda Honey receives her Hogwarts letter in the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and soon, she will leave her unique mark on the magical world.

(Do I even need to explain how amazing it is to have Matilda in the wizarding world? And Matilda is a HUFFLEPUFF AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL THIS FIC IS GREAT PLEASE READ!!!)

An Eye for an Eye by DpsMercy

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives, Welcome to Night Vale

In which Jonathan Sims is not from the UK but instead, if you took his origins and turned them sideways twice then flipped them over, he technically would be from the US, the town of Night Vale specifically. Elias can’t do shit about it and gets a headache and slowly creeping madness instead.

(Look, I know probably everyone has read this because if they haven't, what have you been DOING with your lives??? Jon interning at Night Vale is Incredible, nothing phases this man, it's Delightful. I laughed so many times reading this, I'm not even kidding right now. Read or perish.)

The Favour by R_Cookie

Fandoms: Harry Potter, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Ship: Original Percival Graves/Harry Potter

Percival is ten years old when his grandfather tries to tell him that he's ensured the greatness of the Graves legacy for him, that he ought to be eternally grateful - but the explanation is hijacked by a stranger who manages to intimidate Chester Graves with an ease never seen before.

or: Hadrian (Harry) Potter is the Master of Death, who grants Graves a boon. Nobody could have known that the Deathly Hallows didn't turn you so much into the 'Master of Death' as into the anthropomorphic personification of Death. And so, Death becomes Percival's guardian angel, and Percival does not spit out his cereal.

(Look, I don't know how I stumbled back into the FBAWTFT fandom either, it just happened and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have found this amazing fic. Their relationship is slow and strange and I just love how Percival is characterized here. Also, one of the tag promises that it deviates from canon so I am really, really excited for that! XD)

baby that's what i do by natanije

Fandoms: Naruto, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!

"Are you telling me," Hidan exclaims, incredulous, "that you collect money all this time to give to orphans?!"

Kakuzu pauses. He blinks a few times.

"Huh. I guess I do."

(Tsuna reincarnates as Kakuzu and it's HILARIOUS. HE'S SUCH A MOM HAHAHA)

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Fic Rec #Fic Rec List #Podcasts #The Magnus Archives #Supernatural #Avatar The Last Airbender #Naruto #The Magicians #Game of Thrones #Haikyuu!!#Crossover #Matilda #Welcome to Night Vale #Harry Potter #Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them #Katekyou Hitman Reborn

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hotchley · 3 years

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UGHH I just watched the episode after 100, where we get to see a lot of Hotch, Jack, and Jessica, and it’s just AHH Hotch is such a good dad, and Jessica is soooo amazing, she does NOT get enough credit, and Haley was such a good mom, she was such a light, how could anyone hate her??? And Jack 😭😭 he’s just so young and adorable and he loves his dad so much I just can’t

Okay thank you for reading my mini ramble, all my love to you (non-romantically) ❤️❤️❤️

The Slave of Duty is one of the saddest episodes in the whole of the show and I will not budge on that.

I loved the moments with Jessica, you're so right, she deserves the world from everyone- and I'm actually quite a big fan of her outfits now like the animal theme was actually very cute <3

Oh my god yes! Haley was a good person, she does not deserve to be hated and are you a mind reader?? I had a web weaving post about Haley and light that I wanted to do...

It has a niche audience (me.)

I know!!

Aha, you're welcome!

#people talk to me

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fearsmagazine · 3 years

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THE TANGLE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Indie Rights

SYNOPSIS: A.S.P. (Army of Simply Purity) is a secret government agency that watches over the Tangle from within technology safe rooms, locations impermeable to the nanobots that make up the Tangle. When the A.S.P. field agent Margot Foster is murdered in one of these rooms, an abandoned speakeasy, it’s the first murder in California in three years. The main suspect is Carter Carmine, a private detective, who used to work with the agents of A.S.P. on a program called the Cleopatra Squad. Cleopatra created the Tangle. Married A.S.P. agents Edward Banderas and Laurel Arrow have brought Carter to one of the safe rooms after surgically removing his S.O.L. from his brain. Carter was following Margot just before her murder. He has a motive, and he is one of the few in the world with the technical expertise to hide from the Tangle. The agents use the Tangle information to badger Carter: they know his movements down to the millimeter, down to the millisecond. He is clearly hiding something.

REVIEW: THE TANGLE is a noir driven tale where science fiction is used as the foundation for the plot. Unlike the visually breathtaking film “Blade Runner,” Ridley Scot’s take on Philip K. Dick’s tale “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?,” THE TANGLE is more of a claustrophobic noir piece that focuses on the dynamics of five characters and the mystery surrounding a murder. As the majority of the drama takes place in a single location, and in mostly a single room, there is a feel to the action that made me wonder if it at one point might have been a stage play. There are some interesting exterior locations and the speakeasy where the murder is committed, but those, and a couple of other production designs, feel like window dressing to connect us to this futuristic world.

The key component to THE TANGLE is Christopher Soren Kelly, who not only stars in the film but is also the director, screenwriter, and editor. He clearly understands the material and has the skills to do an excellent job both in front of and behind the camera. The science fiction elements aside, the film feels more like a Dashiell Hammett or Mickey Spillane story. Kelly does a nice job of moving the camera and adding some quick edits to keep the energy flowing. He gets solid performances from his cast that builds tension and maintains the viewer’s engagement. Sometimes the dialogue is laid on a bit thick with the quick wit and baroque barbs from those noir films. There are a few times where it feels a bit much and takes the viewer out of the action for a moment. Overall, Kelley does an impressive job with what he delivers with all the hats he is wearing on this film.

I enjoyed the plot, thought the science fiction element was compelling, and liked how the characters were connected. Other than the self-driving car in the opening of the film or the talk of nanobots, I would say the film has more of a Steampunk feel to it as there are other elements that seem more mechanical or gear heavy, as do the weapons. Enhancing the tone and emotional cues of the film is an excellent score by composer Liam Fox O'Brien. There are movements in the score that feel like they are paying homage to some cinematic sci-fi classics.

Any good science fiction story is at its core and examination of the human condition. Regardless of all the gadgets, flight suits, and flying crafts, the tales address larger issues in a way that allows the reader or viewer to come to grips with it in their daily lives. THE TANGLE presents several issues, including the use of tech as we are currently addressing in our daily lives. It is an important issue even in these pandemic times. I appreciate that Kelly presents these arguments without backing the viewer into a corner or making conclusions for us. He does present the characters in a way that there are consequences for their actions, which gives the film that cautionary aspect. Kelly presents a good story and what he delivers works as a solid piece of cinematic storytelling. Still, I wonder if it might be an even more powerful stage drama.

Having had a chance to digest the film I couldn’t help but wonder at the irony if at some point Kelly had thought of Sir Walter Scott’s famous aphorism, “Oh what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to deceive.”

CAST: Christopher Soren Kelly, Joshua Britton, Nicole da Silva, and Jessica Graham. CREW: Director / Screenplay / Editor - Christopher Soren Kelly; Producers - Jessica Graham & Christopher Soren Kelly; Cinematographer - Robert Muratore; Score - Liam Fox O'Brien; Production Designer - Eric Thorne;Costume Designer - Annie Burdzey; Visual Effects - Adrian Bishop. OFFICIAL: thetanglemovie.com FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/thetangle TWITTER: twitter.com/thetanglemovie / @thetanglemovie TRAILER: https://youtu.be/XjtQVzfOX8c RELEASE DATE: On VOD March 19th, 2021

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

#Film Review #movie review #thetangle #thetanglemovie #sci-fi #science fiction #christopher soren kelly #indie rights #joshua britton #nicole da silva #jessica graham #joseph mauceri #joseph b mauceri

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tcm · 4 years

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Steel Guitars and Independent Women: The Retelling of The Bat by Jessica Pickens

A group of people terrorized in a desolate house, cut phone lines and a faceless murderer; none of these elements are new to a horror film. They are all featured in the story of THE BAT (‘59), which by the time of its release, wasn't new to audiences either. However, the modernized 1959 version of the horror thriller has a new and refreshing feel today.

The story originated as a stage play that premiered in August 1920, written by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood. Five film versions of the story were then released over the years: THE BAT (‘26), THE BAT WHISPERS (‘30), SH! THE OCTOPUS (‘37), THE GORILLA (‘39) and this version. Some of the stories change “The Bat” to a gorilla or another animal, but the premise is still the same in each — a group of people in a house terrorized by an animal-like murderer.

Agnes Moorehead stars in this version as mystery writer Cornelia van Gorder, who rents the Oaks mansion from a small-town bank president in order to write her next novel. But soon after moving in, all of her servants quit, and she and her maid Lizzie, played by Lenita Lane, are the only ones left in the house. Rumors of a murderer named “The Bat” circulate — a killer that slits throats with long talons and is said to have no face.

Adding a complication to the plot, the bank president embezzles millions and he is killed shortly after. Only one person knows the bank president committed the crime, but a newly married bank clerk, Vic Bailey (Mike Steele), is arrested on suspicion.

Others involved in the plot include:

Local doctor, coroner and bat expert, Dr. Malcolm Wells (Vincent Price)

Chief detective, Lt. Andy Anderson (Gavin Gordon)

Cornelia’s house guests: Judy (Darla Hood), who can testify in the embezzlement case, and Dale Bailey (Elaine Edwards), the wife of Vic who is in jail

The mysterious chauffeur, Warner (John Sutton)

Mark Fleming (John Bryant), the nephew and heir of the bank president

With multiple characters all behaving suspiciously, THE BAT weaves a web of intrigue and keeps you guessing about who the murderer is.

By 1959, Vincent Price’s career was largely dedicated to horror films. But while Price stars here, he isn’t the main focus of the film — instead Agnes Moorehead is the star.

Chameleon-like in the versatility of her film roles, some of Moorehead’s characters have included the glamorous but catty best friend in SINCE YOU WENT AWAY (’44); the fragile Aunt Fanny in THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS (’42); and the strange, sloppy maid to a reclusive Southern belle in HUSH…HUSH, SWEET CHARLOTTE (’64). Even at the time THE BAT was being filmed, Moorehead was preparing for her role in Disney’s POLLYANNA (’60) and a Broadway musical co-starring Ginger Rogers called The Pink Jungle.

Her varied performances have made Moorehead well-remembered, and her image lives on today, particularly because of roles like Endora in the television show Bewitched. Because she could adapt to any character or personality type, many of Moorehead’s film roles were supporting character actors. THE BAT was one of Moorehead’s few leading lady roles. Her character of Cornelia van Gorder is a smart and savvy writer, who doesn’t have a love interest, nor does she need one. The men Cornelia calls on to help solve the crime are barely useful and she takes matters into her own hands. While Cornelia and her maid Lizzie may be frightened by the idea of the Bat, they take charge of the situation and uncover the secrets that break the case.

The maid in this film, Lizzie, is portrayed by Lenita Lane, who was also the wife of Crane Wilbur, who directed and wrote the screenplay for THE BAT. Lane was a supporting actress in the 1930s and early 1940s, and by the time THE BAT was released, her film career had slowed. This was Lane’s first film in five years as she was already in semi-retirement and this was Lane’s last film. While Lane’s character of Lizzie is Cornelia’s maid, she is treated as Cornelia’s equal and is the only other levelheaded individual in the case. Audiences will also see former child star of the Our Gang series, Darla Hood, in the role of Judy.

Though this isn’t a new story, I feel like the modernized, 1959 version of THE BAT is more noteworthy than its predecessors. Film reviews from 1959 and today aren’t always complimentary of THE BAT, saying it lacked momentum or scares. But the dry wit and humor brought into the story give the movie an offbeat, quirky feel and its overall more fun than the other versions.

The characters also set this 1959 film apart. In many horror films of the 1950s and early-1960s, women are terrorized and a man saves the day. But the men in THE BAT are either killed, suspicious or useless. There are certainly a few damsels in distress in this film, but it’s the women — particularly Cornelia and Lizzie — who solve the crime and wrap up the case.

Adding to the quirky vibe is a score featuring jazz guitarist Alvino Rey with his steel guitar. Each time the Bat enters, we hear a twang of the unique sounding instrument, which has a sinister Hawaiian guitar sound to it.

But what really makes this movie is Agnes Moorehead. The film left me wishing that Agnes Moorehead had her own film or television detective series.

#The Bat #Agnes Moorehead #Vincent Price #horror #murder #classic #TCM #Turner Classic Movies

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cover2covermom · 4 years

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Goodbye April & hello May!

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I’m running toward it…

April seemed to drag on despite the days flying by. Does that even make sense? Like I’ve mentioned before, my days are filled with homeschooling, home projects, mask making, and reading. I’ve been doing my best to fill my hours to ease the COVID-19 anxiety.

I received the notification that I will be returning to work next week, which was welcome news. I’m ready to get back a little bit of normalcy in my life. Thankfully, our library system is reopening in phases. Our first phase will be employees only (3-5 employees in the building at one time) and offering curb-side service to our patrons. As of now, we will not open our doors to the public until June 1st at the earliest. At that point in time, we will be limiting the number of patrons allowed in the building. It is definitely going to be a learning curve to see what my new work normal is going to entail. I’m looking forward to adapting & rising to the occasion.

» Be Not Far From Me by Mindy McGinnis

As per usual, Mindy McGinnis puts out another harrowing YA book. I love survival stories, so I enjoyed this story about a girl that has gotten lost in the woods. Be Not Far From Me was uncomfortable to read at certain points.

» Here in the Real World by Sara Pennypacker

*3.5 Stars*

This was a sweet story about two kids that form a friendship while hanging around an abandoned lot. The first half of this book didn’t grab me and moved far too slowly. I enjoyed the second half of this book a lot better than the first half.

» Keeper of Lost Cities (Keeper of the Lost Cities #1) by Shannon Messenger

An awesome MG fantasy! I cannot wait to continue on with this series. I’d recommend this to fans of Harry Potter.

» Separation Anxiety by Laura Zigman

*2.75 Stars*

I read this for one of my book clubs. I think the author was attempting to write a book that would charm readers with eccentric characters & a humorous plotline, but don’t think it delivered. Instead of being funny, the story felt odd & forced.

» A Wolf Called Wander by Rosanne Parry

I think the author did a tremendous job writing a book from a wolf’s perspective. You can tell the author did extensive research into wolves & their behaviors. While I think this animal perspective was very well done, I didn’t think the plotline was all that entertaining.

» The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Oz #1) by L. Frank Baum

I’ve decided to challenge myself to read more children’s classics in 2020. To kick start this challenge, I started with The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This was a delightful read! I was surprised to learn that the slippers were actually silver instead of ruby red… mind blown!

» SHOUT by Laurie Halse Anderson

This is a must read for fans of Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak. While you don’t HAVE to read Speak to read SHOUT, I feel like it makes a bigger impact if you read Speak prior to this. If you didn’t know, SHOUT is Anderson’s memoir told in verse.

» Loveboat, Taipei (Loveboat, Taipei #1) by Abigail Hing Wen

*4.5 Stars*

This is a guilty pleasure type of read. Actually, it reminded me a bit of Crazy Rich Asians a bit. It is a tad racy for a YA book… So I’d probably recommend for older YA readers that are 16+

» Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities #2) by Shannon Messenger

I am LOVING this MG fantasy series. While these books are a bit chunky, don’t let the page count deter you. I flew through the first two books in this series this month. Also, I’m happy to report that this second installment does NOT suffer from “second book syndrome.”

» Nooks & Crannies by Jessica Lawson

Nooks & Crannies is an excellent MG historical mystery. Some of the elements of this story gave me Matilda mixed with A Series of Unfortunate Events vibes. The audiobook is well narrated.

» The Penderwicks (The Penderwicks #1) by Jeanne Birdsall

This is the perfect book to pick up during the summer months. It really gave me modern Little Women crossed with The Secret Garden vibes. The ending was so heartwarming it almost brought me to tears.

Goodreads Challenge Update: 46 books!

*I know it says 47, but I finished The Last (Endling #1) on May 1st*

March 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up

April 2020 TBR

Childhood Classics 2020: TBR

Most Anticipated Books of 2020 (May – December)

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 1

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 2

If you were ever curious what a bookworm’s quarantine stress shopping spree looks like, here you go…

» The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising #1) by Kiersten White

There was nothing in the world as magical and terrifying as a girl.

Princess Guinevere has come to Camelot to wed a stranger: the charismatic King Arthur. With magic clawing at the kingdom’s borders, the great wizard Merlin conjured a solution–send in Guinevere to be Arthur’s wife . . . and his protector from those who want to see the young king’s idyllic city fail. The catch? Guinevere’s real name–and her true identity–is a secret. She is a changeling, a girl who has given up everything to protect Camelot.

To keep Arthur safe, Guinevere must navigate a court in which the old–including Arthur’s own family–demand things continue as they have been, and the new–those drawn by the dream of Camelot–fight for a better way to live. And always, in the green hearts of forests and the black depths of lakes, magic lies in wait to reclaim the land. Arthur’s knights believe they are strong enough to face any threat, but Guinevere knows it will take more than swords to keep Camelot free.

Deadly jousts, duplicitous knights, and forbidden romances are nothing compared to the greatest threat of all: the girl with the long black hair, riding on horseback through the dark woods toward Arthur. Because when your whole existence is a lie, how can you trust even yourself?

» Song for a Whale by Lynne Kelly

The story of a deaf girl’s connection to a whale whose song can’t be heard by his species, and the journey she takes to help him.

From fixing the class computer to repairing old radios, twelve-year-old Iris is a tech genius. But she’s the only deaf person in her school, so people often treat her like she’s not very smart. If you’ve ever felt like no one was listening to you, then you know how hard that can be.

When she learns about Blue 55, a real whale who is unable to speak to other whales, Iris understands how he must feel. Then she has an idea: she should invent a way to “sing” to him! But he’s three thousand miles away. How will she play her song for him?

» Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father’s inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty–until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold.

When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk–grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh–Miryem’s fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. Set an impossible challenge by the nameless king, Miryem unwittingly spins a web that draws in a peasant girl, Wanda, and the unhappy daughter of a local lord who plots to wed his child to the dashing young tsar.

But Tsar Mirnatius is not what he seems. And the secret he hides threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike. Torn between deadly choices, Miryem and her two unlikely allies embark on a desperate quest that will take them to the limits of sacrifice, power, and love.

Channeling the vibrant heart of myth and fairy tale, Spinning Silver weaves a multilayered, magical tapestry that readers will want to return to again and again.

» Girls Like Us by Randi Pink

Set in the summer of 1972, this moving YA historical novel is narrated by teen girls from different backgrounds with one thing in common: Each girl is dealing with pregnancy. Four teenage girls. Four different stories. What they all have in common is that they’re dealing with unplanned pregnancies.

In rural Georgia, Izella is wise beyond her years, but burdened with the responsibility of her older sister, Ola, who has found out she’s pregnant. Their young neighbor, Missippi, is also pregnant, but doesn’t fully understand the extent of her predicament. When her father sends her to Chicago to give birth, she meets the final narrator, Susan, who is white and the daughter of an anti-choice senator.

Randi Pink masterfully weaves four lives into a larger story – as timely as ever – about a woman’s right to choose her future.

» The Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See

Set on the Korean island of Jeju, The Island of Sea Women follows Mi-ja and Young-sook, two girls from very different backgrounds, as they begin working in the sea with their village’s all-female diving collective. Over many decades—through the Japanese colonialism of the 1930s and 1940s, World War II, the Korean War, and the era of cellphones and wet suits for the women divers—Mi-ja and Young-sook develop the closest of bonds. Nevertheless, their differences are impossible to ignore: Mi-ja is the daughter of a Japanese collaborator, forever marking her, and Young-sook was born into a long line of haenyeo and will inherit her mother’s position leading the divers. After hundreds of dives and years of friendship, forces outside their control will push their relationship to the breaking point.

This beautiful, thoughtful novel illuminates a unique and unforgettable culture, one where the women are in charge, engaging in dangerous physical work, and the men take care of the children. A classic Lisa See story—one of women’s friendships and the larger forces that shape them—The Island of Sea Women introduces readers to the fierce female divers of Jeju Island and the dramatic history that shaped their lives.

» The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

A music-loving teen with OCD does everything she can to find her way back to her mother during the historic race riots in 1969 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in this heart-pounding literary debut.

Melati Ahmad looks like your typical moviegoing, Beatles-obsessed sixteen-year-old. Unlike most other sixteen-year-olds though, Mel also believes that she harbors a djinn inside her, one who threatens her with horrific images of her mother’s death unless she adheres to an elaborate ritual of counting and tapping to keep him satisfied.

But there are things that Melati can’t protect her mother from. On the evening of May 13th, 1969, racial tensions in her home city of Kuala Lumpur boil over. The Chinese and Malays are at war, and Mel and her mother become separated by a city in flames.

With a 24-hour curfew in place and all lines of communication down, it will take the help of a Chinese boy named Vincent and all of the courage and grit in Melati’s arsenal to overcome the violence on the streets, her own prejudices, and her djinn’s surging power to make it back to the one person she can’t risk losing.

» Escape from Aleppo by N.H. Senzai

Nadia’s family is forced to flee their home in Aleppo, Syria, when the Arab Spring sparks a civil war in this timely coming-of-age novel from award-winning author N.H. Senzai.

Silver and gold balloons. A birthday cake covered in pink roses. A new dress.

Nadia stands at the center of attention in her parents’ elegant dining room. This is the best day of my life, she thinks. Everyone is about to sing “Happy Birthday,” when her uncle calls from the living room, “Baba, brothers, you need to see this.” Reluctantly, she follows her family into the other room. On TV, a reporter stands near an overturned vegetable cart on a dusty street. Beside it is a mound of smoldering ashes. The reporter explains that a vegetable vendor in the city of Tunis burned himself alive, protesting corrupt government officials who have been harassing his business. Nadia frowns.

It is December 17, 2010: Nadia’s twelfth birthday and the beginning of the Arab Spring. Soon anti-government protests erupt across the Middle East and, one by one, countries are thrown into turmoil. As civil war flares in Syria and bombs fall across Nadia’s home city of Aleppo, her family decides to flee to safety. Inspired by current events, this novel sheds light on the complicated situation in Syria that has led to an international refugee crisis, and tells the story of one girl’s journey to safety.

» The Two Princesses of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre #1) by Gail Carson Levine

Twelve-year-old Addie admires her older sister Meryl, who aspires to rid the kingdom of Bamarre of gryphons, specters, and ogres. Addie, on the other hand, is fearful even of spiders and depends on Meryl for courage and protection. Waving her sword Bloodbiter, the older girl declaims in the garden from the heroic epic of Drualt to a thrilled audience of Addie, their governess, and the young sorcerer Rhys.

But when Meryl falls ill with the dreaded Gray Death, Addie must gather her courage and set off alone on a quest to find the cure and save her beloved sister. Addie takes the seven-league boots and magic spyglass left to her by her mother and the enchanted tablecloth and cloak given to her by Rhys – along with a shy declaration of his love. She prevails in encounters with tricky specters (spiders too) and outwits a wickedly personable dragon in adventures touched with romance and a bittersweet ending.

» The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre 0.5) by Gail Carson Levine

In this compelling and thought-provoking fantasy set in the world of The Two Princesses of Bamarre, Newbery Honor-winning author Gail Carson Levine introduces a spirited heroine who must overcome deeply rooted prejudice—including her own—to heal her broken country.

Peregrine strives to be the Latki ideal—and to impress her parents: affectionate Lord Tove, who despises only the Bamarre, and stern Lady Klausine. Perry runs the fastest, speaks her mind, and doesn’t give much thought to the castle’s Bamarre servants, who she knows to be weak and cowardly. The Lakti always wage war, and the battlefield will give her the chance to show her valor.

But just as she’s about to join her father on the front lines, she is visited by the fairy Halina, who reveals that Perry isn’t Latki-born. She is a Bamarre. The fairy issues a daunting challenge: against the Lakti might, free her people from tyranny.

» A Crack in the Sea by H.M. Bouwman

An enchanting historical fantasy adventure perfect for fans of Thanhha Lai’s Newbery Honor-winning Inside Out and Back Again No one comes to the Second World on purpose. The doorway between worlds opens only when least expected. The Raft King is desperate to change that by finding the doorway that will finally take him and the people of Raftworld back home. To do it, he needs Pip, a young boy with an incredible gift—he can speak to fish; and the Raft King is not above kidnapping to get what he wants. Pip’s sister Kinchen, though, is determined to rescue her brother and foil the Raft King’s plans. This is but the first of three extraordinary stories that collide on the high seas of the Second World. The second story takes us back to the beginning: Venus and Swimmer are twins captured aboard a slave ship bound for Jamaica in 1781. They save themselves and others from a life of enslavement with a risky, magical plan—one that leads them from the shark-infested waters of the first world to the second. Pip and Kinchen will hear all about them before their own story is said and done. So will Thanh and his sister Sang, who we meet in 1976 on a small boat as they try to escape post-war Vietnam. But after a storm and a pirate attack, they’re not sure they’ll ever see shore again. What brings these three sets of siblings together on an adventure of a lifetime is a little magic, helpful sea monsters and that very special portal, A Crack in the Sea.

» The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

A bizarre chain of events begins when sixteen unlikely people gather for the reading of Samuel W. Westing’s will. And though no one knows why the eccentric, game-loving millionaire has chosen a virtual stranger—and a possible murderer—to inherit his vast fortune, one thing’s for sure: Sam Westing may be dead … but that won’t stop him from playing one last game!

» Ballet Shoes (Shoes #1) by Noel Streatfeild

Pauline, Petrova and Posy are orphans determined to help out their new family by joining the Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training. But when they vow to make a name for themselves, they have no idea it’s going to be such hard work! They launch themselves into the world of show business, complete with working papers, the glare of the spotlight, and practice, practice, practice! Pauline is destined for the movies. Posy is a born dancer. But practical Petrova finds she’d rather pilot a plane than perform a pirouette. Each girl must find the courage to follow her dream.

» Wishtree by Katherine Applegate

Trees can’t tell jokes, but they can certainly tell stories. . . .

Red is an oak tree who is many rings old. Red is the neighborhood “wishtree”—people write their wishes on pieces of cloth and tie them to Red’s branches. Along with her crow friend Bongo and other animals who seek refuge in Red’s hollows, this “wishtree” watches over the neighborhood.

You might say Red has seen it all. Until a new family moves in. Not everyone is welcoming, and Red’s experiences as a wishtree are more important than ever.

» The Library of Ever (The Library of Ever #1) by Zeno Alexander

With her parents off traveling the globe, Lenora is bored, bored, bored–until she discovers a secret doorway in the library and becomes its newly appointed Fourth Assistant Apprentice Librarian.

In her new job, Lenora finds herself helping future civilizations figure out the date, relocates lost penguins, uncovers the city with the longest name on Earth, and more in a quest to help patrons. But there are sinister forces at work that want to destroy all knowledge. To save the library, Lenora will have to test her limits and uncover secrets hidden among its shelves.

» Chains (Seeds of America #1) by Laurie Halse Anderson

As the Revolutionary War begins, thirteen-year-old Isabel wages her own fight…for freedom. Promised freedom upon the death of their owner, she and her sister, Ruth, in a cruel twist of fate become the property of a malicious New York City couple, the Locktons, who have no sympathy for the American Revolution and even less for Ruth and Isabel. When Isabel meets Curzon, a slave with ties to the Patriots, he encourages her to spy on her owners, who know details of British plans for invasion. She is reluctant at first, but when the unthinkable happens to Ruth, Isabel realizes her loyalty is available to the bidder who can provide her with freedom.

From acclaimed author Laurie Halse Anderson comes this compelling, impeccably researched novel that shows the lengths we can go to cast off our chains, both physical and spiritual.

» The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Every year, the people of the Protectorate leave a baby as an offering to the witch who lives in the forest. They hope this sacrifice will keep her from terrorizing their town. But the witch in the forest, Xan, is kind and gentle. She shares her home with a wise Swamp Monster named Glerk and a Perfectly Tiny Dragon, Fyrian. Xan rescues the abandoned children and deliver them to welcoming families on the other side of the forest, nourishing the babies with starlight on the journey.

One year, Xan accidentally feeds a baby moonlight instead of starlight, filling the ordinary child with extraordinary magic. Xan decides she must raise this enmagicked girl, whom she calls Luna, as her own. To keep young Luna safe from her own unwieldy power, Xan locks her magic deep inside her. When Luna approaches her thirteenth birthday, her magic begins to emerge on schedule–but Xan is far away. Meanwhile, a young man from the Protectorate is determined to free his people by killing the witch. Soon, it is up to Luna to protect those who have protected her–even if it means the end of the loving, safe world she’s always known.

The acclaimed author of The Witch’s Boy has created another epic coming-of-age fairy tale destined to become a modern classic.

Which books did you read in April?

Have you read any of the books I read or hauled this month? If so, what did you think?

Did you buy any books? If so, which ones?

Comment below & let me know 🙂

April 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up + Book Haul #BookBlogger #Bookworm #Bibliophile #BookHaul #Reading #Books #WrapUp Goodbye April & hello May! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I'm running toward it...

#Bibliophile #book blog #book blogger #Book Chat #Book Haul #Book Nerd #Book Talk #Book Worm #Bookish #Books #Bookworm #Reading #Wrap Up

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alexandrawilbraham · 5 years

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REVIEW: WORK BITCH, VAULT FESTIVAL

First published: https://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-work-bitch-vault-festival/

By Alexandra Wilbraham

From the start, Work Bitch portrays a sense of urgency. Waitress (Jessica Siân) strides onto the stage with the house lights on, background music playing and the audience still happily chatting away to each other. She has the need for us to hear what she has to say and, as we fall quiet, she begins to tell her story.

After 17 years pulling pints and refilling coffee cups, Waitress knows the hospitality business like the back of her hand. She’s been through it all. Workplace sexism, impossible customer requests, sharing tips and the friends and love interests she makes along the way. What started as a Saturday job in South Africa’s young rainbow nation has, nearly two decades later, turned into her life. Is there perhaps more out there for her than folding napkins and polishing cutlery?

Writer and performer Siân gives shape to a character who blends into her work. Dressed in uniform with a crisp white apron and a pen accessorising her messy bun, there is no question as to what this woman does for a living. Around her, Luke Robson has designed a set that is both plain and notable at the same time, quickly becoming part of Waitress’s story as she moves within it. The tiled floor and dozens of notes with quickly scribbled orders seem to belong to her. This is what she knows. This is it.

However, there are moments where Waitress comes up for air, giving the audience an insight into her dreams, her fears and her regrets. It is these moments which I greatly cherished as they show the intensity and subtle humour in Siân’s performance. Behind the professional and worn-down exterior there is a person who is wondering if she took a wrong left turn and how time can move so quickly.

Work Bitch is very fast-paced, not always for the sake of the narrative. For the first half, we move so rapidly that I don’t know which parts are important for me to pick up on. A web of characters and places seem to spin itself around me and I get caught up in one storyline while Waitress had already bounced onto the other.

Lighting and sound by Jamie Platt and Anna Clock do help with the transitions, giving much-needed guidance in this string of occurrences, but I want to linger in those transitions and in the moments they birth. Particularly the moments where Siân shapes herself into a new character and the lights change to highlight her profile in a different colour are a thing of pure beauty that I want to sink into.

In the end, however, I have the feeling Siân starts taking her time with the script. Cracks start to appear in her smile as personal tragedies and failures begin to tighten around her throat.

Whereas throughout the first half I find myself looking around the audience, the final scene of Work Bitch is one I couldn’t look away from. It is a moment where Blythe Stewart’s direction and Siân’s words weave together seamlessly and I am holding my breath thinking back on it now.

Work Bitch is the play for a generation of individuals working multiple jobs, scrubbing in and dreaming big. A generation waiting and working for something more.

#review #reviews #theatre #theatres #vaults #vaultfestival #london #arts #performance #Performances #play #workbitch

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terrainofheartfelt · 2 years

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Dair + prose & poetry 15/?

George Seferis, "Mycenae" / 5.16 "Cross Rhodes" / Yrsa Daley-Ward, "Waiting for the Check to Clear" / Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse / John Keats, "The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!" / Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

#dair #dairedit #dan humphrey #blair waldorf #web weaving #dair texts #~it's about the Hands edition~#*#jessica does web weaving #it’s queue. it couldn’t be awful.

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buckybarnesstar · 6 years

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Halloween Party

Note: i don’t even...i can’t explain..ROLL WITH IT, Y’ALL. happy early Halloween!! i’m hoping to dress up as a vampire! anyways, here’s a smut post, because why not. i imagine Bucky with this hair in this? leave a comment! I love reading them! I hope you’re all doing well! .c

WARNING: It’s SMUT!! 18+ ONLY! If you’re underage and on my permanent tag list, please respect my wishes and do not read this. I’ve yet to go through and see which of you are under 18. I’m horrible, I know, but yeah. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!

Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ was pumping through your body, the music being so loud in the hallway from the party room. Tony was hosting his annual Halloween party - which you were a tad late to - and he invited nearly half the city of New York. Your shoulders brushed against others that passed by you, dressed as cartoon characters, supernatural beings, and even dressed as members of the team.

You’ve had to do a few double takes as you made your way to the party, nearly mistaking someone for Thor a few moments ago. He wasn’t nearly as tall, but he had the muscles and facial structure. Not to mention, the whole costume was on point, down to the Mjolnir.

For Halloween, you dressed as a cat. Leather black suit, a headband with faux fur black cat ears, a faux black tail that attached to your clothed ass by a velcro strip, and heels. It was a cliche costume, but it was last minute this year. You added the whiskers and nose with eyeliner to finish the look.

Plus, you already had the accessories from using them in the bedroom, so why not use them for this? Nobody would know.

Well, Bucky would.

The music was even louder as you stood at the entry door - you had to stop to take everything in. Ghosts hung from the tall ceiling, spider webs were littered over the walls with orange and purple fairy lights tangled in them, the tables had a large spider as a centerpiece, and fog rose above your ankles. The snack table had creepy looking snacks, a huge zombie cake was in the middle and was nearly half gone, and the punch bowl resembled blood.

Tony does not disappoint. He had planned this party in only a few days and it looked as if it had taken forever.

You smiled as you weaved your way through the dancing guests, searching for a familiar face. The strobe lights didn’t help, but it was easy for you to spot Steve and Sam near the bar. They were dressed as Woody and Buzz from Toy Story.

“Lookin’ good, fellas!” You hollered as you approached the two. They turned to face you and their eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as when they saw your costume. “Me-OW!” Sam gently grabbed your hand and bit his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. The team hadn’t seen your costume yet so this reaction was expected.

You laughed and shoved his chest. “Hm, couldn’t stay away from the wings, I see.” You smirked and Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. “Steve here wouldn’t leave me alone when he saw Toy Story for the first time. These costumes have been planned since August.” Sam muttered just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

Steve scoffed. “you were excited about it when I suggested it. This isn’t all on me!” He defended himself and you giggled softly. “I think you both look amazing.” You commented and straightened Steve’s cowboy hat, making Steve blush.

“Thank you, Y/N.” You smiled and turned to face the people on the dance floor, your eyes moving across them in search for your boyfriend. “Either of you seen Bucky?” You questioned, trying to see over the tall people. Steve hummed as he looked over the crowd, searching for him.

Bucky decided to dress up as Dracula for Halloween. His costume was also cliche, but you thought he looked sexy as a vampire. He wore a double buttoned victorian red vest over a white dress shirt and had a long, silk cape on, the inside matching his vest. His long hair was slicked back and you put fake blood drips from his lips to his chin earlier before you got ready. And when he smiles, those fangs remind you of when he bites your neck while he-

“There he is!” Your thoughts were interrupted by Sam. Your eyes followed his finger and you could see Bucky talking to Clint who was dressed up as a Mummy. Natasha, dressed up as Jessica Rabbit, was standing beside Clint. They seemed to be having a nice time, so you stayed with Sam and Steve.

“I’ll leave him be.” You turned to face the men again and watched Steve’s eyes trail down your body once more. “Don’t get all woody, Woody.” Sam snickered and Steve elbowed him quickly. “Shut up, Sam!” He whisper yelled. You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at them.

A few minutes passed while you spoke to them. The music was actually good this year and you were enjoying yourself a lot. A few friends stopped by a couple times, then you were left alone with the two men again. When they started talking about work related topics, you zoned out, facing the bar that was also decorated.

You hadn’t noticed that the two men left your side until a large body pressed against your backside, a metal hand and a flesh hand rest on your hips.

“Here, kitty, kitty.” Bucky’s voice was low and husky in your ear, it sent shivers down your spine. You bit your lip as he pulled you back against his crotch, nuzzling his face into your neck, giving it a small bite. “Mmm, good evening, master.” You heard the hitch in Bucky’s throat and he smirked, turning you around to face him.

You looked up at him and he squeezed your hips again. He let out a chuckle when you wiggled your eyebrows at him. “You look amazing, Doll.” His eyes focused on your slightly exposed cleavage. You felt yourself become bashful as his eyes raked over your body. He looked even better than you remembered when you helped him dress up.

“Being a vampire suits you,” You commented, watching the way his fangs shined underneath the lights. “I’d quite like you to suck my blood.” Your voice was seductive and Bucky bit his lip, the two fangs slightly poking his thick bottom lip. “I’d rather you suck me.” He whispered, moving his hands down to your ass, giving it a squeeze.

You let out a whine and started to become aroused. “Yeah? You want your cock in my mouth?” The innocent look on your face caused Bucky’s cock to twitch. He let out a harsh breath and nodded. You loved teasing Bucky and you knew exactly what to do. There was a bowl full of lollipops on the bar counter and you reached to your side to grab one.

It was cherry flavored and you unwrapped it, watching his face. Bucky kept his eyes on you, wincing at the tightness in his pants. You looked into his blue eyes as you raised the red lollipop to your lips. He gulped and you opened your mouth to lick it slowly, letting your lips wrap around it. Bucky’s eyes drooped and you let your lips come off with a pop.

“Kitten, you’re killing me.” He whimpered, playing with the tail hanging from your ass. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you grabbed his cloak, keeping the lollipop in your mouth as you pulled him through the room towards the door. You quickly made your way to the nearest empty room, which wasn’t difficult since everyone was occupied in the dance room now, all while maintaining a seductive sway in your stride.

You giggled as you pulled the lollipop from your lips and dropped it in the trash can outside the door, feeling satisfied when you heard Bucky groan behind you. “Damn, Kitten, your ass looks great.” He slapped your right cheek with his flesh hand and you relished the sting, shoving you both into an empty bedroom and shutting the door.

“Bet you want a taste, huh?” You giggled. Bucky quickly turned you around, slamming your back into the wall. You loved when he was rough with you. It took him a while to get used to it, even when he’d see you moan in bliss as he choked you, but he grew comfortable. You never pushed him and vice versa. You trusted each other.

Bucky growled and tugged down the zipper on your cat suit, unzipping it and moving it out of the way so your breasts were showing. “I fucking love these.” His teeth nipped at your breasts and you gasped when his hands squeezed them. “Bucky.” You whimpered his name and he bit down harder, eliciting a moan from you.

Your hands made their way into Bucky’s hair and he hissed, pushing his hips into you. “Are you gonna behave, Kitten?” His voice was barely over a whisper and you nodded, looking up at him innocently. “Knees. Now.” He ordered firmly. You sank down to your knees, keeping your eyes on Bucky’s. His eyes nearly closed for a split second as he watched you lower, the sight almost enough to make him cum then and there. Almost.

You reached your hands out to hold onto his thighs but he shook his head. “Keep your hands to yourself. I’m fucking your mouth.” The authority in his tone made you want to disobey and challenge him, but you decided against it. For now.

Bucky unzipped his pants and he shoved them down along with his boxers to his knees. His cock sprang free and slapped against his clothed abdomen. The sight made your mouth water and you absentmindedly leaned forward, your eyes locked on his thick member.

Bucky chuckled and his flesh fingers wrapped around his shaft. He started lightly tugging on it, the movement causing his balls to jiggle. “Mm, you’re so eager. You want me to fuck your mouth? Huh, Kitten?” He was teasing you with his words but you didn’t care. You were desperate to taste him, to feel his heaviness on your tongue.

“Please. I want it so bad.” You begged shamelessly, licking your lips. Bucky stepped forward and you sat up on your knees, keeping your back straight against the wall. You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, letting Bucky slide his cock inside.

A shiver shook Bucky’s body and he gasped as you closed your lips around the tip, lightly licking as he kept sliding in. His hand left his shaft and he bottomed out, letting a groan fall from his lips as you relaxed your throat. His chest was heaving as he sat still. Tears started to form in your eyes but having his cock in your mouth and hearing the broken whimpers coming from above you, it made it all worth it.

Bucky pulled his hips back so half of his cock was in your mouth. He thrust only slightly, looking down at you as you hummed around him. You looked up at Bucky and his hips jolted involuntarily, his cock reaching the back of your throat again. “Fuck, such a good Kitten.” His voice sounded wrecked.

You moaned around him, urging him to start going faster. He chuckled deeply and rest the palm of his flesh hand against your cheek, wiping a stray tear. “Ready?” He whispered, spreading his legs a tad further apart. You nodded as best you could, causing Bucky bite his lip at the sensation.

He started to speed up and you relaxed your jaw so he could get even deeper. “Oh, that’s it. Yess.” His hands rest on the base of your skull, his fingers grasping locks of your hair. His balls started to slap against your chin and neck, and the sounds it was making caused your panties to get wetter by the second.

You looked up at Bucky through your lashes. He was a total mess. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was hanging open. You felt his hands tighten in your hair, tugging your head closer and off the wall. You gagged around him as he thrust particularly hard, your nose pressing against his pelvic bone.

“S-so good. Fuck yes, Kitten.” He whimpered your pet name and let his head fall forward. Your saliva was starting to come out from the sides of your mouth and he thought you looked so beautiful like this. He gave a few quick thrusts and gasped when he felt your tongue lick the underside.

He quickly pulled away from your mouth and you gasped for air, having not been able to properly breathe. A string of saliva connected your bottom lip to his tip. “I love your cock so much.” You wanted to lean forward again and take it, but you waited like a good girl. He smirked down at you, raising an eyebrow.

He started tracing your lips with the tip of his cock, knowing how crazy that drives you, but it drives him even crazier. “Do you?” He slid just a little in, watching as your wrapped your lips around his tip. You nodded and pulled away with a pop. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Bucky gasped and creased his eyebrows, his cock twitching. You reached a hand up and began to stroke him. “Please, cum in my mouth. I want it so bad.” You spoke in an innocent voice, lightly squeezing Bucky’s cock as you jerked him off. “Oh, Kitten. Fuck.” He let out a shuddered breath and you lifted your other hand to fondle his balls.

When you noticed his abdomen tightening, you put him back in your mouth. You stroked the rest at a harder pace and sucked on his tip, moving your tongue back and forth against the underside, hitting a sensitive spot. “I’m gonna fucking cum.” Bucky growled, jerking his hips forward.

He took control again, holding your head as he fucked your mouth. You moaned and squeezed your breasts together as you stared into Bucky’s eyes. He was a gasping and moaning mess as he watched you. Suddenly his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he let out a strained groan and you felt hot spurts of his thick and salty cum coating your throat.

You moaned at the taste, furthering his orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He choked out, his thrusts faltering just a tad. You swallowed all you could in case he had more, and he always does. You felt a few more drops land and quickly swallowed the rest down.

Bucky let out a heavy breath as he pulled out, tapping your cheek, silently telling you to open up wider. You let your tongue hang out and he smiled lazily when he noticed his cum was nowhere to be seen. “Such a good Kitten.” He pulled you to your feet and you smiled, licking your lips clean.

Bucky kissed your neck as he zipped your cat suit back up. His warm breath made you shiver as he leaned into your ear and your knees nearly buckled as you felt his metal hand slide in between your thighs, his palm cupping your pussy.

“I’m fucking this kitty later tonight. I want you wet and aching for me.”

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jessiejack · 3 years

Text

Ancestral crime, generational curse. Does not stop until there has been a ritual cleansing

Jessica Ullevålseter sept. 2021 We have come here to heal the broken bonds and our motherwound, as ancestral orphans. The high priestess was burned and her children scattered; symbolic order that establish reality. We are left on our own without understanding the identities we sustain. Father, what happened to mother? Scientists' world view is dominant and the spiritual contexts of our political landscapes are fundamental.

We regard the many approaches to myth throughout history to have proven to be projections of the current moments paradigme. The mythological landscape sustained by the collective through various rites, ranging from the courtrooms to the temples, decides how we react to reality. We encounter dimensions such as the past, identity politics, health, nature and everything that interacts in culture through a specific lens conditioned by the dreamspell we sustain. We normally identify the word ritual with spirituality, but in a broader sense, we call ritual anything that symbolically embodies an intention, through hierarchical structures that bring order and direction to itself.

The mythological landscape is the dreamspell we knit together rhizomatically and the space we performatively give reverence and signifier to through ritual. This is how ritual and myth belongs together. Where are the mythogonies of today? There is a myth of separation and there are stories of pandemics. There are rituals of fear and there are ceremonies of war. There is a myth that the earth does not communicate. Another myth is that there is no invisible reality, even though human species are aware they cannot see the magnetic field or even the trees' growth. We are yet to know the mysteries of our own bodies. Many of these myths originated in the midst of a scientific search, expressed in reductionism.

The ancient Greeks coded myth into analogues and named it logic. As we approach life inductively, the union contains it all. Analogues braids the web of totality,- able to sustain polarity, cause and effect, even degradation and rot within life.

The illustration looked at myth through the peoples they called “savages” to try and understand the ancient mind. We could argue we live in a culture with deep roots in the illustration. Tables were turning as time and matter were seen differently. The famous quarrel of the moderns and the ancient was a call to question the ancients´ authority, whom through history have been praised and honoured. Allegories was now a childish character, while deduction triumphed.

The conclusion of the enlightenment was that of myths being childish absurdities. The ancient men of a golden past were reduced to children as other cultures were savage and folk medicine reduced to witchcraft.

The “savages” of the enlightenment could not only have been found in faraway cultures; the old pagan religion was still alive with its folkloric medicinal practice, word-magic and aetiological stories. But the holistic practitioners of Europe were killed and eliminated. A rhizomatic choir fomented the mythological landscape of the enlightenment: a self hatred that averted and violated one's own ancestral roots, in the name of the "correct truths".

The political landscape changed dramatically throughout Europe, after the release of the book the Witch Hammer,- a book that prophesied bonfires,torture and public executions, the very rite of passage that created the contemporary image of the witch. Only tortured does she exist. The peoples of europe sustained her myth through rites of exorcism: embodying and performatively signifying diabolism - a refound image of the devil that would justify the natural woman's relation to nature as evil: a myth seeded from the church through missionary work with their detailed torture techniques that would provide "scientific proof" of pacts with the devil .

The mythological landscape conditions our ability to react. The deep structures of myth reveal codes; sociological, cosmological or nationalist and many more codes that condition our moral and guidance. How we react to the various challenges of today is dependent on the myths we sustain collectively. The artist does not react to reality, but creates their own. Thus seeds new imaginaries into existence. Similarly, the healer does the same as she seeds an image of health onto the patient. As the collective sustains ritual that verifies the common myth, the artist and healer teaches rituals to embody the new paradigms. The make-real in the performatic act is the ritual that seeds new pathways.

The ancient Greeks called remembrance mnemonic art. To drink of the nectar, to acquire divine memory- opposed to drinking of the river of Lethe- of forgetfulness, such as forgetting one's history. Through mileena, the origin of time was sacred. Something shifted, as we rather look towards a promised future, we forget our birth and the womb, that becomes the motherwound. How do we heal, mother? How do we heal mother?

And where do we look, to which trails and what archetypes can we lean on? What myths will create new imaginaries towards the balance between the nature of things?

The analogue mind understands these new relations. The heart of the ritual. The ritual dimension sustains the myth of the archetypal beyond the present moment and beyond human.

Venn, hva, vann, hva vil du si ? Jeg kaller deg venn, vann. Water, what, water, what way? Water I call you, warm, I call you, River-mother.

Has time matured to yet again consider sacred relations?

The ritual recreates an a-temporal dimension and reverence to the all-inclusive present moment.

The analogue mind traces back to its origin, like a geomantic pattern, that the shaman, the artist, the child and the natural man and woman can read. The answers to today's problematic situations may not lie in a debate about risks of living or survival, but in an unrelated book, in a completely other way of Seeing Life.

There is only one sacred book, that of the ever expansive nature and its deeply embedded code of union, which is found within its inherent spiraled structures, for the one who can See.

We seek to see- through play with plants, prayer, circular techniques and archival research. With great care for the questions, the subtle and the symbolic reality in channeling new ways of communication. By no means we mean religion in the sense of its institutions. While the planet hunger for reunion, religion-reconnection should be used in its actual meaning. The deeper code of the sacred space is union. As we construct our mythological landscape, we move through a common ground, a third space- elevated as a sacred mountain. The ritual and the performative act is the make-real of the invisible mountain.

Together we initiate us into an ideal landscape, we baptize us in its waters. We reconstruct symbolic order with the intention of hacking the institutions that need profound cleansing and relational reordering. Cleansing is a subtle art and art is central in the psycho-magical act.

We have come here to heal the evil-eye onto pantheistic practice, the oneness of the ecosystem. We aspire a golden relation to existence, the legacy of a golden past; our birth. In memory of the water; a circular dimension, how we handle our past- is our future.

We have come here to weave new praxises for the sustenance of a new mythological landscape that sustains the code of oneness. Our universe is retracting as we become One planet by globalization. The collective is only in the totality of all collectives; mineral, human, animal, spiritual, vegetal, the visible and the invisible. Our motherwound is healed by drawing the circle. The choir is joining.We call them to us. We call you.

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: xi

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

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

part x/AO3.

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, she hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rufus blinks. “Emma? She – ”

“Hasn’t been in? Yeah, I heard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. I – used to drive a lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They emerge into the parking lot, and stop short.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You married, Mr. Logan?”

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

“Just answer the question.”

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

“Any kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is a very long drive home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you folks arrive in the country?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Declare?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did I say that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(How.)

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

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

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