#i may not like the pilot but my uncles plane is COOL

[nocapesdahling]

Hold My Hand

Gen Fic: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell and Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

My Masterlist

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw grows up without his dad, but his mom and Uncle Pete are there every step of the way. Snapshots of Bradley’s life told from his POV. Top Gun: Maverick spoilers.

“So cry tonight. But don’t you let go of my hand. You can cry every last tear. I won’t leave til I understand. Promise me, just hold my hand.”

Rating: T

Tags: Canon character deaths; References to illness; Angst; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Top Gun (1986) references; Time skips to conversations and scenes set post movie; Pete “Maverick” Mitchell acting like one of Bradley Bradshaw’s parental figures; Mav has never been a dad before but he's trying his best

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I really enjoyed the movie and wanted to write something that showed more of Bradley's life pre-movie and delved into his relationship with Maverick. I also posted this on AO3 a few weekends ago if you’d prefer to read it there, my username is SnowLeopard167. Thank you to the lovely @inklore and @clints-lucky-arrow for encouraging me to post this here <3 Hope you enjoy!

His dad is dead, and it hasn’t sunk in yet. There’s no laughter anymore, no music. All they’re left with are the effects he left behind, just like he left them behind. When his mom gives him the dog tags, they’re both crying and they can’t seem to stop.

She pulls him close to her chest and they fall together, pulled into and lost under an ocean of grief. It may have been hours, but it feels like minutes. Time has no meaning anymore anyway. Not now.  

When her tears have begun to dry, she pulls back from him and runs her hand through his hair. “They’re yours. He would have wanted you to have them, Bradley.”

She lifts them over his head, even though they’re much too big for him and he falls asleep with the tag clutched in his hand — the letters branding themselves on his palm. From then on he wears them every day without fail, keeping his dad close to his heart.

As he grows older, Uncle Pete comes by often. Bradley calls him Uncle Pete while other times he’s his Mav, depending on the day, and sometimes Bradley can barely look at him. He’s Dad’s best friend and the best uncle — all of his friends are super jealous that his uncle is a cool pilot — but Uncle Pete’s alive while his dad is not. Maverick was flying the plane and as much as his mom tells him it’s not Uncle Pete’s fault, he can’t help but blame him sometimes at night when he can’t sleep.

During the day, he forgets about that because Uncle Pete is his favorite person. He can’t control his laughter when Mav plays catch with him or his shouts while Mav teaches him how to ride a bike. He watches avidly as Uncle Pete teaches him how to work on his motorcycle and how to tie a tie with the added comment of “You need to know this just in case, but don’t wear ties Bradley. Not if you can help it.”

These are things he should have done with his dad, but his dad’s not here.

It’s only years later when they’ve all come back alive and he’s back to speaking with Maverick — he’s back to loving Mav, though he never really stopped; instead, he attempted to smother the embers of love with a blanket of bitterness and hate — that he realizes that no one could ever put more blame on Maverick for his dad’s death than Maverick puts on himself. And it’s time to let go. His dad loved Mav, loved flying with him, and Rooster does too.

It’s his first piano recital and he couldn’t be more nervous. He’s confident in his skills, having practiced for his Mom and Uncle Pete and received claps and enthusiastic calls for an encore, but that was at home on his dad’s piano. This is here. In front of everyone.

He peeks around the curtain and his mom is right there in the front row, poised with a video camera, but the seat next to her is empty. He tries not to feel disappointed. It had been a long shot for Uncle Pete to get here anyway with his posting, and he’d just been to his baseball game a couple of months ago yelling and telling him as he ran the bases that, “Now was the time to feel the need for speed. Run home, Bradley!” He’d scored the most runs out of anyone on the team that game.

There’d be other piano recitals. He nods to himself and listens as his predecessor begins to finish their song. It’s time.

He steps onto the stage as his teacher announces him.

“Bradley Bradshaw in his first recital, playing for us the —“

His mom’s waving at him brightly and making motions for him to smile while gesturing at the camera. It’s who’s next to her that almost makes him stop before he gets to the bench. Mav made it. Uncle Pete’s here in his customary leather jacket that Bradley had spent his childhood trying on with a pair of his dad’s sunglasses, hoping he could look as cool as his Mav. He’s made it. And somehow, Uncle Pete’s smile and his thumbs up make all the nerves go away.

He doesn’t need to think while playing his piece. He’s done it hundreds of times by now. It’s more natural that way. His family’s here and that’s all that matters.

Later, much later, he’ll tell Mav about that first recital and how much it mattered that he was there. Maverick would laugh and say, “Do you know how many speed limits I broke to get there, kid? I wasn’t missing it for the world.”

He’s in high school, playing baseball and getting the grades he needs to go to the Naval Academy, when his mom gets sick. First, it’s just headaches but then it’s more. Much more. Then, she’s in the hospital and they say she only has months. That’s it.  

Most of his life it’s just been him and his mom with Uncle Pete showing up as much as he can, but he’s not there all the time and now Bradley won’t even have his mom. He’s in high school and his mom is dying. She’s not supposed to die until he’s older, but when does life ever go the way it’s supposed to? If it did, then his dad would still be here and his mom would still be healthy and smiling. Alive instead of withering away before his eyes.

He goes to visit her every day before school or after practice, whenever he can. He doesn’t want to miss the few times she’s awake.

He’s working on his homework, his hand grasping hers and trying not to hold on too tightly even as he wants to grip it with all his might and make her stay with him. Her hand feels fragile in his, breakable — like with one wrong move it would shatter like his world is shattering around him.

That’s when he hears steps across the floor. Steps he knows like his own. A hand rests on his shoulder and it’s only then that Bradley realizes he’s crying and he doesn’t know when he started or how to stop. The calloused hand reaches down to grasp his and Bradley grips it with all of his strength. He’s not alone anymore. Not in this.

Uncle Pete’s voice is soothing, “I’m here, Bradley. I’m here, kid.” And he loses it, crying in a way that he hopes doesn’t wake up his mom. He’s only 16 years old and he feels too old and too young all at once. All he wants is a hug from his mom, but a hug from Mav will have to do. When he drops his books on the table and throws himself against Uncle Pete’s chest, his warmth and his scent that’s never changed since he was a kid bring Bradley more comfort than he’s felt in months. Uncle Pete is here, his Mav is here, and he can breathe again.

Later, while they’re working on Mav’s plane with Mav teaching him as they go just like when they used to work on his motorcycle, he’ll ask Mav for the first time what his mom said to him before she died. He never asked before, the grief too heavy and too near with her last words to him echoing too loudly in his ears for him to worry about what she’d said to anyone else. Mav pauses as he reaches for the next tool and his voice when he speaks is rough, “Your mother was an extraordinary woman, and she made me make her a promise.”

“A promise?”

Mav nods and hands him the tool, “Move it to the right a bit. That’s it. You’re a natural at this, kid. You always have been.”

Bradley already knows that he won’t get more out of Mav, not when he doesn’t want to talk. He never finds out what that promise was, but he assumes knowing his Mav that he kept it and that’s good enough for him.

His mom deserves that much.

He hasn’t been this nervous and excited in a long time, maybe since that first piano recital actually. He’d applied to a few other colleges and academies just in case, but his heart is set on the Naval Academy. His heart is set on flying just like Mav and his dad.

Today’s the day the letter will be arriving. He’ll know today. Whether or not his dream will become a reality.

The mailbox when he gets home is full of the usual, bills that he’ll set aside for Uncle Pete to look at when he gets home tonight and coupons, but there’s three letters mixed in. One from the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy and two from state colleges.

There’s nothing from the Naval Academy.

He throws the mail on the table and frantically checks through it all. Still nothing. It couldn’t have been delivered to the wrong house because all the other mail is here, so where is it? He doesn’t understand and will not understand until he calls Uncle Pete a few minutes later.

“Today was supposed to be the day, Mav. The letter from the Academy was supposed to come today. I don’t know where it is.”

The other end of the line is silent.

“Uncle Pete, do you know where it is?” Bradley knows that his voice sounds desperate, pleading for his Mav to make it alright again.

“I do. I —“

“You do? Is it delayed in the mail? Does Uncle Ice know where it is?”

There’s a moment of quiet and Bradley thinks that maybe the call dropped when Mav speaks again, “I pulled it. I pulled your application.”

There’s a moment of disbelief. A feeling of disconnect. As if this is happening to someone else. Before the betrayal burns through his chest.

“You pulled it?” The anger comes swiftly mingling with the betrayal. “You made it so I couldn’t even be considered? How could you do this to me?”

“Yes.” There’s a pause before Maverick speaks again, “You’re not ready, Bradley. Not yet.”

The feelings of safety and love that Maverick had always brought him are evaporating as though they had never been, pushed down deep and buried. Who is this man? Had he ever known him at all?  “That’s not for you to decide, sir. How could you? I trusted you.”

“Bradley, wait I — “

“I never want to speak to you again.”

He can’t listen to what else this stranger wants to say — he doesn’t want to hear more excuses from the person he trusts, no that he trusted, the most in the world — and hangs up. That man is no uncle of his. He can’t forgive him for this.

A few days afterwards in between ignoring Maverick��s attempts to talk to him, he’s calmed enough to consider his options and decide on his future. He sends in his acceptance for the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy. Screw Maverick and his high-handedness. He’ll show him. It doesn’t matter what setbacks he’ll face, he’s going to be an amazing pilot and nothing and no one will stand in his way.

Bradley grows a moustache at the academy that looks just like his dad’s and starts wearing Hawaiian shirts when not in uniform. His dad’s sunglasses are an ever present accessory. It makes him proud to look in the mirror and see how much he looks like his dad, even as there’s a twinge of pain every so often that his dad isn’t there to see it. That his Mav isn’t there to see it.  

He works hard at the academy and graduates top of his class. He has something to prove because Captain Pete Mitchell decided for some reason known only to him to set Bradley’s career back four years, and it still burns.

No matter what, he’s determined to fly.

When he graduates, there’s no one there for him and he misses his mom more than ever. What he wouldn’t give to feel her arms around him and to see that video camera that he’d always shied away from again. Before he gets lost in what if’s on what should be and is one of the happiest days of his life, his buddies drag him over to each of their families to introduce him to their parents and grandparents. At one point, he thinks he sees a familiar figure in the distance but shrugs it off as he turns to take a picture with his friend.

If he’d looked closer, he would have seen Maverick walking back to his motorcycle with a wistful smile. Bradley didn’t graduate alone today after all.

After years of work, it’s all paying off. He’s been invited to Top Gun. To Top Gun! See Maverick, not ready my ass. He’s one of the best and now he has the invitation to prove it. His goal is to graduate top of his class again while living through training.

The only one standing in his way is Hangman. Hangman’s good and he knows it. He’s also an arrogant pain in the ass. They’re neck in neck through every exercise, even as Hangman has to be one of the worst wingmen in existence. He lives up to his name by leaving people out to dry more often than not.

“Hangman, where are you? Do you have my back?”

“I’m in position, and do I need to have your back? I thought you wanted to be the best, Rooster.”

Rooster’s “dead” before he can blink and Hangman ends up edging him out by a couple of points to graduate at the top because of that exercise. Rooster comes in second, just like Pete Mitchell.

It doesn’t sting as much as he thought it would. He’s still graduated Top Gun among the best of the best, and most of all he’s graduated Top Gun alive. To fly another day, and that’s more than his dad got. Bradley hopes that he’s watching, proud and singing along every time he plays Great Balls of Fire. He hopes that his mom is sitting on his dad’s lap, cheering him on.

Later, after the mission from hell where it turns out that while Hangman may be an asshole he’s a life saving one and someone he might be able to call a friend in the future, they all meet up in The Hard Deck for a celebratory drink. Hangman joins in on the Great Balls of Fire sing- along for the first time, just as into it as Phoenix and Fanboy. He’s got a surprisingly good singing voice too.

“What do you think, Hangman? Better than Slow Ride?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. You might have to sing it again to convince me, Rooster.”

When everything’s all said and done, they’re working on the plane again in the garage in silent camaraderie when Mav clears his throat awkwardly.

“I’m not one for big speeches, Rooster.”

“You never have been. Where are you going with this, Mav?”

“But there’s something I keep meaning to tell you, so let me get it out. Without any sarcastic comments.”

“Me? Making comments? Using sarcasm? Never. Who do you take me for?”

“Very funny, Bradley. All kidding aside…” Here Mav looks at the wall of pictures, his eyes lingering on Goose before speaking again, “Goose would have loved flying with you. I think even more than he loved flying with me, and that’s saying something. Then again, nothing can beat how much I loved flying with him and now you, kid. You’re a great pilot and a better man. Your mom and dad — well, they’d be proud of you. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Uncle Pete.”

“Uncle Pete? That’s the first time you’ve called me that in years.”

“That’s the first time it’s felt right in years. Not to ruin the moment, but I have to ask. Who’s the better pilot, Uncle Pete? Me or you?”

Mav shakes his head and smiles, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Rooster. You still have a long way to go.”

“And you’ll be there every step of the way?”

“And I’ll be there every step of the way, I promise.”

“Well, I know you don’t break your promises.”

“I never have and I never will. Sometimes to my detriment. But especially not to you. Now, I think it’s time we go for a flight in this baby.”

“I thought you’d never ask. Drinks are on you after. We’ll invite the whole team.”

“Aren’t they always on me?”

“Yeah, they are.” Rooster’s tone changes from joking to serious, “Thanks, Uncle Pete. For everything.”

His Mav claps him on the shoulder, hand a comforting and warm weight as always. “No, thank you kid.”

“Now, let’s go. I feel the need —“

“The need for speed. Last one there gets the passenger seat.”

“You’re on, Rooster. Be prepared to lose.”

Reblogs, comments, and likes are always much appreciated!

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think. I do have some thoughts for a potential Reader/Original Character in the Top Gun universe as well that I'm excited to work on.  

My Masterlist

#top gun: maverick #top gun #top gun: maverick fic #pete maverick mitchell #Bradley rooster Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #maverick mitchell #Pete maverick Mitchell & Bradley Rooster bradshaw #top gun gen fic #Pete maverick Mitchell fic #Bradley Bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic #rooster bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw & Pete Maverick Mitchell #top gun fic #nocapeswriting #gen fic #I have no idea how to tag this

[elk96]

~THINGS GO SOUTH IN THE SOUTHEAST~ Part One

Characters: Robert Fischer, Maurice Fischer, Uncle Peter (Inception), OCs

Warnings: angst, abduction, mentions of terrorism? Racial stereotypes, English is not my first language, and everything mentioned/ narrated is pure fiction, not an indication or a statement towards a particular race, religion and so on.

This could be read as an independent story, as it has nothing to do with the movie's plot/ scenario.

Prologue

Robert exhaled sharply, fighting to control his bouncing knee. He was at the verge of a panic attack, hadn't felt that way ever since his mother's death.

"Do you want some water sir"?, asked one of his guards.

"No. No thank you".

Focus! Focus Robert for fuck's sake!, his mind shouted at him. He had to keep his cool if he wanted to carry out his mission. Well, he didn't- hell he didn't, but what other choice did he have? Lead his company-sorry, his father's company to financial ruin, or die. Die in Abu Dhabi most likely, and get eaten by the flies.

He stuck his face to the plane's window, feeling the moisture radiate to his whole body. He didn't have a gun pointed at his head yet, but still, his life flashed before his eyes. Not his future. The past.

EXPLOSION DESTROYS MAJOR GAS FACTORY

MAURICE FISCHER FACES RUIN

HUGE CORPORATION SPOILED AFTER ACCIDENT

UAE AND USA COMPANIES NOW AT FINANCIAL WAR

He knew it. He had warned his dad at the council not to make deals with these people. Maurice had simply ignored him.

A sudden sound threw him off his seat. A continuous ringing. It took him a while to realize it was the phone in front of him.

"Should I pick it up"?, that same bodyguard asked him. He was forgetting his name. Could be Victor. Focus you idiot!

"Yes, hello"? Robert said breathlessly, holding the device close to his ear. Not too close. He was scared of who it might be. “Hello”!?

“Hello Robert”, his father answered, taking his time. ;I wanted to inform you that Carl will be waiting for you once you arrive.

“"I thought-I thought, he lowered his voice, "that mr Smith would send his men”

“"No, it’s too risky. Besides, it’s gonna be just a meeting Robert! Don’t be a coward and don’t mess things up ‘cause this is a very important situation, you hear me? I have to go now.

“Alright dad”, he breathed, but Maurice had already left.

“Tie your belt Rob”, his pilot said through the microphone. ;In half an hour you’ll be having three women jumping around you like eager puppies.

“They’re civilized people”!, Robert shouted. Just… a bit dangerous.

Robert Fischer was the son of one of the richest men on Earth, heir to a company successful like no other. His whole life revolved around custom tailored suits, important contracts and people who made him feel inadequate and alone. In other words, a business meeting meant -as his dear, beloved father had pointed out- nothing more than a long, boring night. Until that fatal explosion happened. The accident that threatened to put his father in a prison cell for terrorism and association with criminal activities against his country.

Chapter One.

Robert smoothed the fabric against his skin, taking in the warm temperature of Abu Dhabi. Stoicism was a key trait of his personality, and with stoicism he intended to carry out his mission.Or, rather, talk to the guests that filled that huge hotel salon.

The cold air of the air conditioning sent shivers down his spine, making want to sneeze. He put a timid smile on his face instead, and shook the hand of the man standing by the door.

“Mr Fischer. It’s an honour to meet you. Your father’s ventures are quite legendary”, said the man, who was, most likely, organizing this event. It must had taken him by surprise, meeting Robert in a place he hadn’t invited him in. Personally invited him, that evening when he had given the list of names to his secretary.

“Thank you sir”, Robert said, nodding politely. “And may I say that you are a worthy heir of your ancestor’s work. After all, what else could a man desire”?

The man smiled at him in agreement. Fuck, he needed to remember his name.

“Is this your first time in the Emirates”?

“Oh yes, business has never brought me here before, and I don’t travel much otherwise. Of course, though, I couldn’t decline your invitation. I actually arrived only an hour ago, so I haven’t discovered your country’s beauties yet”.

“I’ll gladly show you around Mr Fischer, provided that you stay long enough for a trip”.

“I’ll have to leave soon for Sidney I’m afraid. It’s quite a busy time of the year…”.

Robert wandered around the room, giving unsatisfied glimpses at the expensive furniture and luxurious lights hanging from the ceiling. He gave handshakes and charming smiles to the ladies, trying to escape their invitations for a drink. The noise and low music made the room feel suffocating, or, so he had said on his way to the men's restroom.

He locked himself in one of the toilets and answered his phone anxiously.

"Hello mr. Fischer", came the flat voice he'd come to know just a week earlier. "The target's name is Imran Youssef. Don't lose sight of him. Learn everything you can".

"Alright", he said, his voice trembling. "But how will I recognise him,"?

"They'll introduce him to you the moment he arrives- remember, he is the cousin of the company's owner. But you better behave a bit more confidently, if you wanna keep your head on your shoulders".

Robert gulped hearing his last words. "And you will keep your end of the deal"?, he asked, but John Smith had already hung up the phone. Again.

Robert ran his hand through his hair and opened the door. Even before he had seen him, he sensed the presence of a man, and flinched. Raising his head he was met with a blond, quite muscular male in a modest suit that made him look out of place and concept. It could be his sunglasses, but Robert thought he was looking at him rather suspiciously.

Robert washed his hands as thoroughly as every respected millionaire would, put a stray strand of hair back in place and left with a heavy sight. Thankfully the stranger didn't follow him. But why the hell would he in the first place? Fuck Dad. Fuck.

As he arrived at the main room again, the voices seemed to be a bit raised, people gathering towards the entrance. Robert guessed it would be his man, so he sat by the bar, ordered a martini of which the name sounded nice, and waited patiently.

After a while he saw the Arab coming to his way, accompanied by three men and two ladies, young enough for him to think they were his daughters.

He approached the man with the calm and confident demeanor he'd inhabited over years of practice.

"Mr Youssef. I'm Robert Fischer", he said steadily, facing the cold stare of the Arab.

"Your cousin's company and my father's company lead a corporation together".

"Yes, I remember. Until the accident happened and you let us down".

"You cannot lead an empire with sentimentality, Mr Youssef, as I'm certain you're aware. Nevertheless, we're terribly sorry for the damage done in your factory".

"I did not expect to find you here", Youssef continued. Weariness and dislike were carved on his face, but the woman on his left was flashing smiles.

"Ah well, how does the saying go… All roads lead to Rome", Robert said pleasantly. "I'm not on a business trip currently- I've been sent to my death, actually- I was hoping for a good two- day's rest and some sightseeing. The gentleman who organized this event had the kindness to invite me. I was actually hoping", he said after a reluctant pause, "that we could look past our business differences and have some fun".

"Are you sure you are ready for some fun, Mr Fischer"?, asked one of the ladies.

After a searching glimpse at Yousef's face, Robert smiled widely.

"I'm guessing we will find out soon miss".

Two hours later, shortly after Youssef had left, he politely greeted everyone and left for his hotel room. The warm air enveloped him in a suffocating embrace. He felt exhausted, while an unraveling feeling of worry was eating him up. He had talked to Youssef. He had made him laugh, drink, almost pat him on the shoulder. But he had not acquainted the information Smith wanted- he'd have to drug him in order to get that information!

Right after stepping out of the building, he was faced with two men, dressed in black.

"Mr Fischer", the one of them said, and in his voice Robert vaguely recognised a familiar tone. A black Sedan was parked right next to them. Robert nodded and followed them into the car eagerly, craving a long sleep, which he wouldn't have.

The slow humming of the machine was soothing, helping him drift off to a light sleep.

"Sir, we're here", startled him the voice of his guards. The door opened, and Robert thanked them for their service, only to be reminded that they would escort him to his room.

The hotel Smith had ordered him to go to couldn't be more different than the luxurious building he'd visited before. Dusty old rugs and ripped tapestries covered the walls, along with an unpleasant, vague scent of neglect.

"Stay here", Robert said, leaving his bodyguards standing by the door, his suitcase on hand.

A glimpse of satisfaction appeared in his eyes on sight of the dinner room. A buffet was waiting there for him with food of very questionable quality, but he wasn't feeling particularly picky at the moment. He walked up to the receptionist and leaned over the bench.

"Hello miss.I would like to rent a room".

The woman looked at him as if Octavian Augustus himself had come to talk to her.

Although she has no idea who that is, he thought to himself. "A room? To sleep in? Do you speak English"?

The woman kept her eyes on him, shaking her head slightly. Robert turned to his men for some help, but they looked just as miserable as he did. Robert sighted heavily and nodded at the board with the keys, then to the staircase to his left.

The receptionist came back to life, finally understanding what it was that he wanted. After she let some words in Arabic flow out of her mouth, she signed him to come with her. Robert followed her without second thoughts, eager to lay on a bed no matter how shitty the mattress was.

The weird duo snaked around dark corridors and through rusty doors with labels on them, of which Robert understood exactly nothing. After a while though, they reached a dimly lit room, where a man had fallen asleep on a chair, legs stretched on his desk. The receptionist woke him up placing a soft hand on his shoulder, and the man flinched, opening his eyes which laid directly to Robert.

“Hello sir”, he said with a hesitant, raspy voice.

“Hello”, Robert forced a smile. “I would like to rent a room for one night”.

The mancocked a brow in disbelief, and with disbelief and restraint he carried on the conversation with that obviously very rich, very out of place American.

Ten minutes later, Robert returned to the reception room, accompanied by the woman, who eagerly gave him the keys to his room. Robert’s eyes flickered to the exit of the building and back, scanning the space. No one was there. A threatening silence seemed to have fallen upon the room. Robert went on to ask the woman if she had seen anyone come or go, but then he remembered that she didn’t speak a word of English.

Dropping the keys on the παγκο mindlessly, he ran outside.

Darkness and dust covered everything in the city’s suburbs, the area being empty as far as the eye could see.

Where the hell have they gone?, the boy inside him screamed. Maybe they had orders to leave as soon as he was settled-after all, Smith himself had told him to go to that God-forsaken place, he should be safe. But they had taken his suitcase with them. He had personal stuff in that suitcase, which they knew he’d need for the night…

Fear was eating him alive as he called Carl with sweaty hands. All he learned was that the number he had called was deactivated, or did not exist.

Robert leaned against the wall, choking on the heated air and called John Smith.

“Fischer? What’s the matter”?

“My guards are gone. I went into a room for a moment and now I can’t fucking find them”, he answered, sounding surprisingly composed.

“Alright Fischer , listen carefully. Stay in your room, lock the door, cover up the window, and wait. I’ll send someone ASAP. The code is 58091”.

The phone call ended with a soft beep and a deathwish. Robert climbed up the staircase to his room, closed the curtains, breath erratic, he brought his feet to his chest and sat there, waiting for the monster to crawl out of the bed. Needless to say, his appetite had disappeared but nevertheless, he found calm in the darkness, the stillness of the night. Anxious though he was, he didn’t feel afraid anymore, or sad, or anything really. Because, he had come to realize a long time ago, he had nothing to lose. Uncle Peter, of course, would be sad, would grieve him appropriately. And right after the funeral and a deep sight, he would start searching for his replacement.

A quiet knock on the door pulled Robert away from his thoughts. He jumped on surprise, and moved slightly towards the door. The knock echoed again.

"58091", said a male voice and Robert was quick to open up. Three men waited outside of his room, their figures almost inseparable from the dark walls.

"Mr. Fischer, Smith sent us. We have men coming out our way, we have to hurry".

Robert nodded and silently followed the two men in front of him downstairs and out of the hotel. The air had at least turned a little colder. The men rushed into the car, forcing him into the back seat. A hint of uncertainty hit Robert, instinctively noticing something he couldn't pin-point. He sighed and laid back on the seat.

Patient as he was, he didn't bother asking any questions, remaining silent, arms crossed tightly around his chest. Up until his goddamn phone rang again, and a gun appeared. Pointing at his head.

Robert felt his whole body light and empty.

"Answer it", the man next to him ordered, and Robert shook his head reassuringly.

"Fischer", said Smith right away, and Robert put him on speaker.

"Yes, I'm here".

"Alright. My men are coming for you. Should be there in fifteen. Stay where you are and wait. Remember the code"?

Oh, of course he did. Along with twenty others, apparently.

"58091".

Smith was out, and Robert pinned the men with a look somewhat annoyed.

"Happy"?, he asked handing him over the phone.

"Shut up", the man growled, but at least he hid the gun away.

"May I ask what it is that you want"? Robert then said calmly. "Or…who are you"?

I suppose I'll find out very soon, he sighed. And gods help me cause no one else will.

#cillian murphy #short story #inception #robert fischer #fanfic #independent story #fiction #robertfischerfanfiction #abduction #gunfight #action #inception moodboard #robert fischer moodboard

[sargucopperpot]

Today (May 15, at the time of publishing this) it's the birthday of my Minecraft Character and Shadow of Israphel OC, Skylord Mallark. I choose this date because it's close to the day that I adopted him a year ago. And for celebrating it, I made a Basic Reference Sheet of him. (At least i'ts not 7 pages long like the previous private one… oh god.) Update 23/06/2022: I'ts 8 pages again........) Also, I put in the read more the basic information about him and some facts, since before I only dropped snippets of his lore, lol.

The reference sheets are below the text. He is supposed to be modelled after the actor Santiago Cabrera* (who did roles as Aramis in "The Musketeers"* or Cristóbal "Chris" Rios in "Star Trek: Picard) , combined with the hairstyle of Gladiolus from Final Fantasy XV, but because basically the hairstyle looks cool. His weapons (below their positions and real sized), the Flintlock Pistol (a retextured Crossbow) and the Cutlass (Retextured Iron Sword), both date back to when Mallark was part of his uncle's crew and then a Shiplord for 11 years (from his 16 to 27) ; but when he joined the Skylords at the age of once he had 27, he brought it them. The Pouch is mostly to save the bullets.

Mallark's True self reference sheet.

PSA: Please note that the lore marked below is an ultra-trimmed and remixed version of the original public domain Three Musketeers story, specially adapted for Mallark's lore, as well as the design is derived and slightly simplified from the design of the BBC series.

*As Mallark in his human form is almost a coincidental double of the musketeer (and the actor who brings him to life), he didn't use that form until Aramis died on some lonely mission for some reason and the fluffling quickly takes advantage of that to impersonate him and use his identity to go undercover if the missions and adventures requires it.

Reference sheets of Mallark's Human form. The designs are directly based on and slightly derived from those featured in the BBC series.

Basic info and facts about him.

Name: Mallark LeBroir Age: 38 Y/O Birth: May 15 Race: Fluffling (Human half-breed) Gender: Male (He/Him) [Sexuality: Bisexual] Horoscope: Taurus Faction: Skylords, previously Shiplords (mainly as Shiplord Hubert's Crew), Haxton LeBroir (his uncle)'s Crew. Job: Explorer/ Adventurer Height and Weight: 6ft (1.83 m), 79kg /174 Ibs Habilities: Shapeshifting, Swordsmanship, Airship and Plane piloting, Ship drive Weapons: Flintlock Pistol, Cutlass, Claws, Fangs. (Undercover as a Human) French Musket, Rapier. Facts: —Mallark is able to take a human appearance due to a curse (not pictured here), which provoked some confusions. Like that time an Israphel Cultist murdered a guy very similar to Mall as a human, thinking it was him. Or the fact that there was a double of the Fluffling who was a Musketeer, and that Mallark would then end up taking advantage of this for some undercover adventures/missions. —He has fear of the End, mainly because he don't want die in the void. —He comes from a Minecraftia (aka Shadow of Israphel universe) equivalent of an area between the Costa Brava, in Girona (Spain) and the whole of the French Mediterranean coast. But he was born in a city similar to Marseille (like his Father), so, aside of English, he can also speak French, Spanish, and Catalan. —He is always hissing when he tries to speak. —Despite he is a Skylord and pilot Planes, Skyships or use Skygliders (something similar to Elytra), he is somehow still attached to the sea, so he is also seen sometimes steering Skylord Jasper's ship's Wheel, and even in the past he was a Shiplord and was part of Hubert's small crew. —When Mallark isn't on his Skyship, he resides in Icaria, near the docks and the beach. —He rescued a Human-Glare named Windo*, who resulted to be a reincarnation with the same body of one of the deceased Last Watch Hold Templar. *The name is subject to change, btw.

#OC #skylord mallark #shadow of israphel oc #yogs oc #minecraft oc #minesona #sargucopperarts #def im not publishing this at his birthday

[chicagofanfictionfan]

Birdman Part 6

McGee and Ziva talked all the way to the hanger about everything they had found out about Tony, and admitted it was their own foolishness that kept them from seeing the whole picture. In equal parts were greatly excited about when they would be able to hear stories and find out more about Tony and in a few moments see him fly.

Pulling into the hanger area they were met by several MP’’s stopping them for a routine inspection, after seeing their ID badges they were allowed to enter. “Captain DiNozzo cleared you for entry, head over to hanger bay F over on the right. But if you’re looking for the Captain, you’ll have to look to the skies because he took flight as soon as he prepped his bird.” The MP’s were smiling as they waved them on.

Parking the car at the hanger, they quickly put the cameras in the places that Tony had requested and then went outside to see if they could see him. Looking to the sky they saw a lone plane doing what looked to be some fancy maneuvers. Not even knowing if it was Tony they were watching, enthralled at the plane and the pilot.

“Amazing to watch isn’t it?” The voice behind them startled the two unaware Agents.

Ziva hand at her gun asked. “Who are you? We were under the impression that this area was closed off.”

“I’m Dante. When Tonio called and told me to stand down I became worried. You see the last time he told me that, he flew into a god awful jungle to extract a trapped SEAL and nearly was captured himself. Since then I never listen to him when he tells me to stand down. I will watch his ass regardless if he wants me to or not. I’m going out on a limb here and guessing your Ziva and McGee.”

McGee still wary, but understanding that this man had more than a passing knowledge of Tony was trying to proceed carefully. “Turn around, hands behind your back, until Tony clears you we’re going to have to restrain you.”

Dante laughed. “Cuffs…kinky! Fair enough, if he called to have us stand down there’s a threat somewhere, I can deal with cuffs. Might want to prepare you though, I’m pretty sure Brandon will be here soon as well. Gotta tell you, we never have followed Tonio’s orders to the letter, easier to keep track of him if we don’t.”

McGee couldn’t help smile at the man’s good humor. “So which one are you, Rainman or Flash?”

Dante smiled. “I’m Rainman, damn photographic memory of mine. Tonio started that damned name as soon as he saw me in class. That boy and his damn movies, couldn’t call me Conan or something cool…no, I’m Rainman.”

Their eyes returned to the sky watching his skill being shown there.

“Is that Tony?” Ziva asked

Dante nodded. “Yep. That boy can make that bird do anything. Sometimes scares the shit out of me.”

Ziva looked shocked. “But aren’t you a pilot as well?”

“I am, but he’s a natural. As cliché or silly as it may sound he becomes one with the aircraft. I don’t think there is anyone who has come close to the raw talent he’s got. You know he can fly a chopper as well right?”

“We didn’t know he could fly until today.” McGee was shaking his head.

“He started flying when he was sixteen, wanted to be like T.C. in the Magnum series. His uncle helped him out and the rest is history. Had his license to fly both before he ever attended Annapolis and then when he went on to NAS Flight he charmed them into letting him do Rotary Wing as well. Good thing though, he’s flown in places most wont dare and saved many an ass.”

Ziva was looking up and smiling. “It really is amazing.”

‘Yo! Why do you have that man in cuffs? Who the hell are you? Dante man, what have you done?” The very imposing figure of a man was bearing down on them.

McGee pulled his gun. “Freeze. NCIS identify yourself.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Jesus, dude. I’m Brandon. Why are you in my hanger bay and why is Dante handcuffed?”

Dante chuckled. “It’s ok Flash, they work with Tonio. Got a feeling there’s more going on than meets the eye here. The cuffs kinda add to the excitement!”

Brandon just smiled and shook his head. “Sorry about that man, we’ve tried to get him help but no one will take him.”

They turned to the screech of the tires as Gibbs pulled up. “Why are you two here?”

“B..boss-“

“For God’s sake McGee, not you and Ziva, Flash and Rainman? And why is Rainman in cuffs?” He asked as he started unlocking them.

Ziva spoke up. “We were securing the sight and didn’t know who these men were. They introduced themselves but we were waiting for Tony to confirm their identity.”

“Ok, that’s why you were in cuffs Dante, why are you here? I know Tony called and told you to stand down, are you disregarding an order?” Gibbs smirked.

“Well of course we are Gunny; you know what happened the last time he told us to stand down. He ended up flying an enemy chopper out of enemy lines. I can’t let Tonio have all the fun.” Dante’s eyes were twinkling with mirth.

“He’s going to flip when he see both of you here, ya know that right?”

Brandon chimed in. “Well duh. But that’s his own fault for giving us the code words that meant rush here and help him.”

McGee looked at Dante. “Why call him Tonio?”

Dante burst out laughing. “Payback for Rainman dude! He hated Junior with a passion, after I tried that for a while I was starting to worry he might kill me in my sleep, but then I started with Tonio and that merely irritates him. So I get to live! As far as I’m concerned it’s a win, win situation.”

Gibbs shook his head. “You do realize that he could have Abby do it for him and no one would ever know.”

Dante looked shocked. “Abby loves me, she wouldn’t.”

Ziva and McGee looked at each other. “You know Abby, and you obviously know Gibbs-“

Brandon took the question before it was spoken. “He wanted you to figure it out for yourselves. Tony is not nearly as boisterous and unfocused as it may seem as and I’m pretty sure you’re starting to figure that part out. By far he’s one of the greatest fliers I’ve ever seen. Hell, he’s been approached by so many agencies and alphabets I’ve lost track. But for all that, he wants people to see him and not for his awards or accomplishments and trust me there are a lot of those. Don’t take it personally, look at it as an unexpected surprise and you get to unwrap it and see everything that he is. Believe it; you’ve only scratched the surface. He’s a great man. Loyal, brave and too damned fearless, he’s flown rescue missions in places that most won’t dare to tread. If he gives the ok, I’ll be glad to share stories. That’s my best friend up there in that jet and I’m damn proud.”

“I’ll second that. Do you know that most of his original squadron still flies with him? He inspires loyalty by his actions. I won’t fly with anyone else, he takes watching your six seriously.” Dante added.

“McGee do you have the cameras set up?”

“Yes Boss. The hanger is covered, just waiting to see if Tony wants some around his baby.”

‘Alright.” Gibbs looked up at the plane in the sky as it did some sort of roll thing, all he knew is that it was amazing that Tony could make it look effortless. “It looks like he’s coming in; you guys get a chance to see a bit of him flying?”

Ziva nodded. “Abby was right, it is like watching a ballet of sorts. I would like to know more and see him fly again, will we be able to?”

Tony’s friends and Gibbs all started laughing.

Dante looked at Ziva and smiled. “Oh yea, don’t you worry about that. Sometimes I wonder how we keep him on the ground.”

#ncis imagine #jethro gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs #anthony dinozzo #ziva david #timothy mcgee #abby scuito #ducky mallard #leon vance #tobias fornell #jackson gibbs anthony dinozzo. sr

[bug-bytes]

Thought he was going to hit us 🙃

#oh look she speaks #plane #i may not like the pilot but my uncles plane is COOL #i like the other one better though #loki did NOT like this thought he was freaked out

[remember-the-fanfics]

may i request some headcanons for della x reader where they're around the same age and bffs? 8D (gender neutral pronouns please and thank you sm!!)

Della & Reader Friendship headcanons

Who wouldn't want to be friends with this lovable mom?

Also I way into this. THIS IS TURNED INTO WAY MORE THAN PLANNED.

This is completely platonic!

Ommer is the gender neutral of aunt and uncle and yes I looked it up for this.

Nieph is gender neutral for niece and nephew.

-

• Glomgold claim to be your Uncle since seeing Scrooge be one, he can clearly do it better!

• Your parent's just went with it because he kinda threw money at them and he did have to promise to protect you.

• Then you meet Della and Donald Duck, Scrooge's niece and nephew.

• Being just a year younger than the twins, you started hanging out with them.

• Mostly only Della since Donald was going though a goth phase.

• The two of you would hang out in the forest near the mansion or go somewhere when you both wanted to do something.

• You both became best friends over years, telling secrets, avoid sometimes since your uncle since he wanted to show you how to scheme 'properly'

• You did have to break it to Glomgold one day that you couldn't hurt your friend's family.

• You could probably think how he would react.

• You left in the middle of his rant because you didn't want to hear him complain about the Scrooge and Ducks again.

• You were brought on an adventure by Della one day and ending saving the day.

• "This is why you bring silver when faces a werewolf!"

• "How would you even know that (Y/n)?!"

• Glomgold tried to sue Scrooge for endangering you, you had to talk some sense into him.

• Ending you being grounded for saving the McDucks.

• The family would be there the day your parents died in an accident and you needed someone less egotistical to comfort you.

• You did end up in Glomgold's care but not taking his last name.

• You were so happy when you found out that she was going to have triplets.

• "Imagine the trouble that three tiny dellas would get into because you, alone, already get in alot trouble."

• This earn a punch in the shoulder and a laugh from Della.

• "Don't worry, the boys will have a me and others to teach them how to get out of trouble."

• You would egg watch the eggs sometimes when the family were adventuring somewhere.

• You would take the side line when Donald and Della start arguing about stopping adventuring for the boys.

• Until Della asked for you opinion and you sided with Donald.

• "I mean what if something happened to you while adventuring? You do have Torbo, Jet, and Rebel to think about."

• "You know how much I want to give the boys this life."

• "Just wait until they are older, Della! They shouldn't have to deal with losing their mother at such a young age or even before they even get to see you." You yelled before rushing out the room, knowing Della would be pissed at you.

• For a month the two of you didn't talk or see each other until Della called and told you to meet her in the meeting spot in the forest, in the middle of the night.

• You rush there, not knowing what she wants.

• Della tells you that she found a gift from Uncle Scrooge, a rocket Ship, called Spear of Selena. She says that she is going to get in it soon and give her boys the stars.

• You knew you couldn't stop her but you made her promise to come back safe and sound.

• With a hug and a goodbye, they would be that last time you saw her for the next ten years.

• You had tried to make amend with Scrooge with the after math but he just never answered until you broke into the mansion one day.

• "I DON'T BLAME YOU, OLD MAN!" You yelled at him, laying on some broken glass.

• "L-."

• "She told me before she left and I could have stopped her b-but I didn't and I know how much you've put into finding her and how much you blame yourself. I'm doing it to."

• Having you and Scrooge comfort each other, you left him where to contact you.

• You made amends easily with Donald and help him raise the boys while having a job as Glomgold's right hand and Heir to his company and money.

• You complained to Donald about not using the names Della gave them.

• "These are actual names (Y/n)."

• "But hers were so much better."

• The boys called you Ommer even though they know you're not related, you've just always been a part of their lives.

• You've kept Glomgold away from know of the boys until Donald gets hired.

• "Do you not read any of the paper work?"

• "Work is work."

• Cue you and Donald trying to keep the boys, mostly Dewey. Ending Glomgold Henchmen dragging you out of the death trap.

• You panicking until you see them safe at the docks.

• You grouped hugged the children.

• "Thank good all of you are safe. Oh you're new, I'm (Y/n). You can call me Ommer since I've claimed you new as my niece."

• Webby squealed and hugged you tightly back.

• You become closer to the family and friends and Colleagues of it during the series, probably having an episode of the kids following you around thinking you're going on a date and with Donald and Scrooge just go

• "Is that allowed?" Never thing you would be romantically involved with anyone.

• You didn't have a date just wanted a night out by yourself but ended getting dinner with the group and Webby still trying to tell you who would probably match you well.

• "I'm good, I'm pretty I'm fine with all of you being my family."

• Louie called you out when you called them family, embarrassing you.

• Scrooge patted you on the shoulder.

• "So would you be my Nieph?" He said being serious since you've been around for along time and didn't leave him when Della disappeared.

• "If-If you want to?" You said and Donald threw and arm around you.

• "Yes! You're my sibling, no buts."

• You ended up in tears of mostly happiness because they are being so nice.

• After the boys found out Dewey's quest for information on their mother, the three came to you.

• "How do you remember our mom?" They asked one day while you were reading a book.

• "Della? She's my best friend! She wanted to give you boys the adventuring life but we argued that maybe should wait until you were old enough to. So you could fully understand what was happening and who she was." You told the boys keeping a strain smile.

• Putting the book down, rushed away from them, knowing it was not your place to tell them.

• Then you had to wash your family fall apart in front of you. Seeing the boys blame Scrooge, him going off on Webby, and the plane falling down.

• You went to your actual Uncle, and went to work until your shadow came alive and Glomgold went with his though the window.

• "Aw, Phooey." You said, seeing the Money Bin, rushing towards it.

• You get injured by some shadows because you don't think clear enough for battle plans when adrenaline is in your blood.

• You divert to find something to help and helping people on the way.

• Finding a place to stay and getting help for you bleeding arm was the best. Which was a tee shirt tied around it

• After it ended, you ensured everyone's safety before running to the Bin

• "Stop making me panic everytime something happens!" You yell when you get there, out of breath because dang that was a far run.

• Mrs.Beakley gives actual medical attention to your arm, saying you might need stitches.

• "That makes me rather bleed out and you know that." You tell her.

• You were force to see a doctor and got stitches, ending with a cool scar.

• You had Owlson take lead until your Uncle was found, helping her, and being co-CEOs with you having just more power.

• That was until you Uncle showed up and made a bet with Scrooge.

• You were there when everyone had send Uncle Donald on a relaxing Cruise.

• And was there to send the kids and Scrooge off on their next adventure.

• Which never happened because Della showed up.

• Scrooge hugged her tightly and had a conversation with her on the porch while the boys decided to hide behind you.

• "Della.." you muttered to yourself, knowing there is so much you want to say to her but wanted to triplets finally met her.

• After hugging Louie, getting up Della's eyes meet yours.

• "(Y/n)?" She said, happy that you kept that silence promise to watch over her family if something happened. "I knew you would become a part of this family."

• "You- are 10- years late!" You yelled with tears in your eyes. "I was so worried about yo-!"

• Della rushed to hug you realizing the guilt you've been putting on yourself since she last time she saw you.

• "Uh, you k-kept your promise." You muttered into her shoulder, sobbing.

• "Of course I would! I'm Della Duck! Also why did you let Donald name my kids?"

• "I tried, really I did."

• After she ate and told the boys a bedtime story she went to your room, which Scrooge gave you since you spent many nights here when Donald and the boys moved in.

• "So being alone on the moon for along, makes me not want to be alone, wanna have a sleep over?"

• "Heck yeah!"

• The two of you raided the kitchen, quietly as possible, but Mrs.Beakley knew, she always knows, she's a spy.

• Ended with you tanning away when she appeared out of nowhere with an armful and food.

• "Haven't seen them run like that since-." Della saw Mrs.Beakley and played it cool. "Heyyy, we were...just getting food to the birds- Bye."

• Della fell asleep on your bed, hugging all the blankets. You had to deal with the itchy one she left alone but you were fine with this. You have your best friend back.

• You did remind her to be nice to Launchpad, but then he said he was your best friend, and you had to hold her back.

• "I'm (Y/n)'s best friend/pilot!"yelled Della.

• "Oh you're that Della! (Y/n) told me so much about."

• No, Launchpad, you're just gonna boost her ego.

• "Oh really? Go on."

• Is this what you get when you binge watch a show with Launchpad afew times?

• You did tell Della you were 'helping' Glomgold with a bet with Scrooge. But you were mostly standing there coming up with ideas.

• "Ah , so he's still the same."

• You were trying to help Louie fix what he broke in time before Della found out.

• You weren't use to the three actually having a parent. You usually help hide stuff from Donald.

• "(Y/n)! Why would you help him with this? Why didn't come and tell me right away?" Della yelled at you.

• "They were only trying to help Mom!"

• "I'm not use to you being here with them, Okay?! So I did what I would usually and if it got to far then they would be in trouble!" You told her, shrinking away.

• "This isn't far enough for you?" Yelled Della.

• You were apologizing before getting sent into time.

• Looking at the place, castle. In ! the royal bedroom of the sorts.

• "Oh come on!" You muttered seeing the door open.

• "There you are, you're late for the tournament." Said the man before seeing your outfit. "And still needing to get dress."

• He had got you a expense outfit, after he learned that you were not gender conformed, ending with a fancy looking suit.

• "Why are we going to a tournament?"

• "The one for you hand in marriage, of course! Have you forgot what day it is? You're 21st birthday, anyone can compete for you hand."

• Oh, heckle. You were not getting married and you weren't than young anyway.

• You tried to refuse but you were still dragged to were you were suppose to sit.

• To see knights, Common folk, and Della, lined up.

• "Della?!" You yelled and she saw and smiled with a wave.

• "You know her?"

• "Of her. She has been exploring the far, far away places." You Tell the man and it went on.

• Della won and the two of you finally got alone time.

• "Oh my gosh think you for that!" You tell her.

• "I'm happy you're safe and we were sent back around the same time." She said before looking at you in anger.

• "You can't just help my kids get away with things like this! They could get hurt and you too! I know you are not use to anyone else beside Donald raising my kids but you need to trust me."

• "I-I know. I'm sorry, I'm just use to looking out for them, I guess that included you." You tell her before being sent back to your time.

• You watched her and Louie argur and her ground him, Louie looking for support but this has to be done.

• "That was a good job." You tell her.

• "You know if I could ground you, I would."

• "At last, I'm only a year younger than you so I can not but I will learn to not do this ever again." You tell her.

• You were dragged with Glomgold to get his own 'family' and had to keep telling them, you weren't a captive.

• The only difference you would split everything with Louie in the contract. Letting you get Glomgold's business and money and him McDucks enterprise and money.

• You did try to help Glomgold not get what was coming to him.

• "Who wants Milkshakes? I've suddenly came into some wealth." You said slinging a arm around Owlson.

• "And this fine lady is getting a raise!"

• You were busy with business stuff, while Louie was playing the richest duck in the world with Owlson and Launchpad.

• You did get a urgent call from Della saying to come over to them before the day was ended and you did.

• She asked you to stay over until the threat of invasion passed or happened. You agreed because she clearly didn't want you to be in danger.

• When it finally did happen and everyone went to the Money Bin. You comfort Louie for crashing all the satellites and causing all communication to be lost.

• You went with Della and the Kids, you wished Scrooge and the others the best of luck before leaving.

• "Just don't like.... die, okay? That would be bad." You told him.

• "That wouldn't happen, laddeh." He said. "But you keep Della's head on straight, okay?"

• "Of course."

• It would have been easier dealing with the aliens with Della dodging all the questions until it caused the plane to crash on and island.

• Where Donald was.

• "What the heck? You look like that dude in that movie-." You yell at him before getting and elbowed by Huey. "Point taken."

• You all catch rides on Della and Donald's cousin's shrimp and saved Scrooge from a rude alien leader.

• And then having to go on the spaceship.

• "I should drive because I know how to do both!" You argued with the twins, trying to get the controls from them.

• "When did you learn both?"

• "I've had alot of spare time while being an heir to a rich company and my uncle not caring if I actually sure."

• "Oh yeah, he did that." Said Scrooge remembering that legally you were his next to kin.

• You meet Penumbra after she helped y'all not die.

• "You are most skilled." She said to you. "Della spoke of you many times."

• "Awe, that's so sweet of you. I'm happy she did. You're also very skilled since you just help us save our world." You tell her with a smile.

• "Of course."

• "Yes! My best friends are becoming besties." Loudly whisper Della.

• Glomgold pulled you away from the Ducks to tell you that he save the world! Hahahah

-

8/2/2020

I went over bored on this. Just a tad.

Need sleep because its 5 something am.

I got to work tomorrow, :/

It pays well though and I bought a few Steven Universe merch. (Books, just 3 books.)

#ducktales x reader #ducktales #reader insert #platonic fic #platonic headcanons #della duck #Della duck & reader #della duck x reader #blu #this probably way more than you expect #im really into ducktales #and there is so little here

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 12: “Who Are You?”

This one was a doozy to write, but I’m pretty satisfied with how it came out!

Summary: on an adventure, Huey hits his head.

Trigger Warnings: none

1295 words

He woke up with a pounding headache. The rest of his body was in pain, too, but god, his head hurt so bad.

There were voices. Lots and lots of voices. Very loud ones, too.

“What happened?” he groaned. The moment the words left his mouth, all the voices went silent. He peaked his eyes open, relieved to find that it wasn’t bright. It was rather dark, actually. They were in… some kind of cave?

“Just a little adventuring accident,” an old man in a top hat said. “Are you alright, lad?”

He stared at the man for a moment, his brain blanking. Was he alright? Honestly, he didn’t feel much of anything. Other than pain. And confusion. Maybe he wasn’t alright.

“Maybe?” he said, taking his best guess. One thing that would definitely help him feel better seemed simple enough to figure out, though. “Um, not to sound rude, but… who are you guys?”

The group went dead silent, eyes wide.

“What?” the boy in blue shrieked.

“You mean you don’t remember?” the green-clad one added, nervously fiddling with the string of his hoodie.

“What do you remember?” the girl asked.

“I remember… um…” he furrowed his brow. “I don’t know.” That definitely wasn’t right. People were supposed to be able to remember things, weren’t they?

“Oh god,” the old man whispered. “Donald is going to kill me.” he straightened up, looking at… whoever he was supposed to be, who was still on the floor. “Tell me you remember who you are, laddie?”

“I’m…” he glanced down at his shirt, like it might be holding all the answers. “a guy with great taste in fashion?”

“Not at all!” the boy in the blue shirt wailed.

The girl pat him on the back gently in what seemed like an attempt to calm him down.

“You’re Huey,” the one in a hoodie said awkwardly.

Huey tested out the name in his mind, silently mouthing it to himself as if he’d forget it if he didn’t.

“I like it,” he announced after a moment. The others looked relieved, and he liked that too. The boy who had previously been so very distressed was beginning to calm down now, luckily.

“Are you guys twins?” he asked curiously.

The one in green froze, his beak falling open. “Triplets,” he finally said, his answer distant.

“Oh, cool. Is she the third one?” Huey asked, pointing to the girl.

The one in blue began to cry again, burying his face into the girl’s shoulder.

“You’re the third one,” she said, “I’m just… a friend.”

Huey laughed uncomfortably. “Are you sure? I think I’d remember if I was a triplet.” Not that he really remembered much of anything, but to think that it was possible that he was that close with someone and then just forgetting it was so incredibly unsettling. There was no way he was a triplet. He wouldn’t forget something like that.

Wordlessly, the boy in green pulled out a phone, sitting beside Huey and holding up the camera app so both of their faces were visible.

Huey’s eyes widened. They were perfectly identical. Minus the hairstyle and facial expression, at least. 

Which meant he really was the third one. Which meant he actually had forgotten about the people who he was no doubt closer to than anyone else in the world.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, tears pricking at his eyes. This was just too much. He couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was right in front of his face. He quickly wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together. “Um… what are your names?”

“Louie,” the one in green replied. “And, um… that’s Dewey. She’s Webby, our honorary sister. And this is our Great Uncle Scrooge.”

“Nice to… meet you? I guess?” he said, unsure of himself. 

“We can fill him in on the plane,” Scrooge said. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital, the treasure can wait.”

“Treasure?” Huey asked as the girl — er, Webby — helped him to his feet.

“I know you have a lot of questions,” Scrooge said. “And I swear we’ll answer all of them, but first we need to get you onto the plane. And then we’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Huey sighed reluctantly. He wanted to know everything now, but he supposed it made sense why they had to wait. “Okay,” he mumbled, sighing.

As the people who Huey didn’t recognize (and that was so, so scary, because sure, it seemed pretty legit, the other two boys looked like him and everything, but he didn’t know them. He didn’t even know himself) led him down winding passages, his mind continued to reel.

His head really hurt, but that was the least of his worries. He didn’t remember putting on this shirt. Did he like this shirt? Was it one of his favorites? Or did he wear it today because he knew he’d be coming to this musty, gross old place?

Dewey (who was his brother), led him by the hand into a huge red cargo plane.

“That was fast,” a stranger sitting in the pilot’s seat commented.

Scrooge went over to talk to him quietly, while the kids showed him around the plane half-heartedly. 

He supposed he’d be pretty bummed too if his brother lost his memory.

Or… he probably would? He didn’t even know his brothers. But they seemed pretty worried about him, so maybe they had a good relationship? He hoped they did. They seemed nice.

As he settled into his seat, he removed his hat to see what it looked like, surprised to find a book underneath. How did he fit a whole book in his hat?

The others were watching him with bated breath.

“Uh…”

“You know what that is, don’t you?” Webby asked expectantly.

“It’s only the single most important material item to him ever,” Louie mumbled.

“I don’t recognize it,” Huey admitted, running his fingers over the cover. He focused on that instead of the disappointment he would probably face if he looked at them.

He wanted to remember, or at least to feel like he may have cared about this book, but he didn’t. None of this meant anything to him. Not the book, not the hat, not the people, not the plane. 

He was just a big empty slate.

“You really like it,” someone finally said. “It’s your favorite book ever.”

“I… see.”

“...don’t worry about it, Hue.”

Huey, despite the massive hole in his mind and the sad ache that came with the lack of recognition of the nickname, gave a tiny, grateful smile in return. 

He didn’t like how unfamiliar he was with everything. This plane scared him. It was huge, full of people he didn’t know. Full of things he didn’t know. 

He didn’t know anything anymore. It was terrifying.

He didn’t understand who his family was, or why they had been surrounded by death traps. The only inkling of a memory that he could dig up besides the ones he had from the last few minutes was… well, there had to be something.

He knew what a plane was. He understood, looking out the window, that they were flying above an ocean. He remembered water.

Water. Something about water gave the tiniest, tiniest tug on his brain. But no matter how hard he thought about it, nothing else would come to him. 

Until they got to a hospital, he would stay blank and empty. Even then, it would probably take a long time, if ever, for him to remember. He didn’t know how he knew that.

Maybe he had been smart before all this.

Frustrated, he curled in on himself, wishing he could just disappear. It would probably be better than this. 

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday12 #kat writes #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #amnesia #memory loss #angst #whump

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Hey, it's me again, I hope you are still open for requests! You said I could ask for Mic content and, if I still can, what about some DadMic headcanons, with his own child and/or an adopted one?! Which one you prefer is fine! I hope you are doing well and thank you for the opportunity you gave me! Take care 💗

A/N: Hey you!! Thank you for requesting, it means a lot that you like my present mic work. And yes, you most definitely can have some DadMic headcanons. If you have any more requests just let me know. I did hours worth of homework and it deleted so i’m kind of like forget school and imma become a professional headcanon writer so honestly hit me up with as much stuff you want :)))))))

-

(i kind of wrote this like you are in the ages of like 6-10 so just keep that in mind)

-I feel he would have his child out of wedlock, maybe when he was younger out partying things got a little crazy then bam, next thing he knows he has a child with no mom and no idea what to do.

-cAlLs AizAwa 

-No but He’s a great Dad honestly, although he's clueless sometimes, he tends to figures things out fairly quickly

- At first it was really hard for him since he had this baby, a new hero career, and the whole world trashing on him, he totally broke down a few times and wanted to give up. BUt aizawa and his other friends helped him through and encouraged him

-You’re his little sunshine and HE LOVeS yoU tO death

-calls you literally any pet name that is very soft and cute and innocent

-He buys evErything for you, i swear! If you just look at something for more than two seconds, it’s in his cart and he’s buying it for you

-”dad you don-”

-”shh pumpkin, let daddy buy it for you.”

-your room is filled with what every girl wants to have

-He learns to do your hair, no matter the texture or thickness or length, he’ll watch youtube videos and figure it out

-he lets you do his hair as well, braiding it, curling it whatever, he’s totally fine with it. JuSt DoNt CUt iT

-New school year and you need new clothes?? Yeah over 1,000 dollars worth of stuff brought.

-speaking of school, sometimes you get comments and stuff from teachers or students because you might not look like him or because you don’t know who your mom is, ect.

-At first when you were younger, it didn’t hurt you, you couldn’t understand that anyways, but as you started to get older it affected you more and more until one day you came home crying to present, and it literally breaks his heart

-”Daddy, why isn’t my skin as light as yours, and my hair isn’t as thin? The other kids make fun of me for it...it really hurts me. And WHere is mom? Does she not love us? You’re really sweet i don’t know why she doesn’t want to be with you…”

-”why are you asking this?”

-”The kids and teachers at school…”

-RAGE MODE ACTIVATED

-He literally storms down to your school and demands that the questions and comments stop or he’s going to press charges

-Never ever was asked about any of those things again...well, more or less, sometimes you hear teachers or students whispering or makings sly comments but you chose to ignore those things 

-”DONT YOU EVER TALK TO ME OR MY LITTLE CUTIE PIE EVER AGAIN.”

-HUGs!! He hugs you like all the time everyday when he sees you. Like it’s his way it’s saying i love you although he screams that to you all the time

-”Y/N MY LITTLE GIRL,” *jump hugs* “I LOOOOOOOVveevVVEVVEvevV Ee YOuuUUUUUUOoUUUU”

- PROTECCS YOU AT ALL COSTS

-Like when the world found out that he had a kid, and he was still kind of a kid himself with a just starting a career, he kind of got shitted on a whole lot...by everyone and the press is always writing stories and stuff so when you were old enough to read or understand some stuff he’d often keep TV off or keep you away from the press and media although that became harder when you had to go outside and go to school but as much as he can limit that crazy stuff you see, he’ll do it.

-He makes sure you can defend yourself and as soon as you get your quirk, he’s training you. He will never push mega hard however he makes sure that the training is vigorous enough that when danger comes...you’re ready 

-Being a pro hero’s child can mean you’re in a lot of danger, people want to kill or kidnap you to hurt the hero so he’s constantly worries and on you about safety

-If your quirk is similar to his, skskkdnjsk he literally will SCREEEEEEEE, he thinks it’s so awesome you have a quirk like his and he will make sure that the both of you will annoy Aizawa 

-As much as Hizashi spoils you, you had to grow up a whole lot quickly. Even though he’s an underground hero and kinda works on his on time, his job is still quite demanding and he has to be gone a lot so that means you need to learn how to cook, clean, do your homework, etc. on your own so if anything happens (god forbid) you know how to take care of yourself. when you were younger tho he’d have a babysitter/nanny to look and take care of you while he’s at work

-Although when he is home he cooks and does all of that stuff. HE'S A REALLY GOOD COOK??????? Like seriously and don’t let me get started on the pastries he makes...mmmm yummm…

-only burnt down the kitchen once...Don’t tell Aizawa plez ;-;

-He actually feels very very bad about leaving you at home a lot with responsibility, he’s all about fun and really just being a kid so he always apologizes to you and plans something super fun when he’s off of work. Like laser tag, going out for ice cream, or just building forts at home. He makes sure you have a balance

-He might’ve brought you a puppy so you would have a friend, you let him name the puppy and now you have a “Mr.Ruffkins” running around your house

-He let’s you have girls night which is basically just you and him and sometimes a friend, and you guys just paint each other nails, put bows in each others hair, all the girly stuff,  and just talk about anything. 

-It’s his way i guess to make up for the mother-daughter time you don’t have in your life

-Cute picnics at the park with a bunch of snacks and you guys will just feed the little duckies and animals 

-Brings you around his agency or to his radio show all the time, like everyone that works there knows and loves you a whole lot. You even have a mini cute pink desk with a name tag on it.

-You have a little segment on his show called “LittleMic and PresentMic” and you guys just talk about crazy weird stuff and reach out to single Dads who are also raising up kids. It’s super cute i swear.

-Aizawa is your tired uncle that says he hates coming over but he comes over like everyday and eats all your food while watching TV on the couch 

-He’s the best uncle though but he’s super blunt. So sometimes you go to him for advice or just to talk. He adores you though and checks on you while DadMic is at work or something. 

-Aizawa call you “Kiddo” or “littleMic” or just “y/n”

-Present lets you pick out his new tattoos, and one time he let you draw one….now he has a crooked purple butterfly on his arm...it’s all good tho

-Father daughter danceeeeee ya ya ya! You guys bring the moves and the music to the dance floor like get out the mf way swines.

-He picked out your dress and you picked out his suit, he even let you do a little man bun

-sometimes when you guys are just chilling at home, you will play some of your favorite classics, and you will step on his feet and he’ll dance, you guess may have fell like twice.

-speaking of music and dancing, he will turn up all of the pop jams that you love (slipping some of his rock n’ roll faves) THROW candy all through out the house and both of you are dancing in weird costumes while singing

-”I LOOOOOOOOvvEEEE ROcKKK N ROLLLLL SO PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKE BOX bAE bEEEEEEBHEDB”

-You are very much involved in music and he showed you how to make your own mixtapes, playlists, and how to DJ on your own

-piggy back rideeeesss yuuuuhhhhh. When you’re feeling sad he randomly picks you up, twirls you onto his back and runs around the house yells

-”WOOOOOSSSHHHHHH MEGA JET FLYING A SAD PASSENGER, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY WOOOOOSSHHHSHSH”

-Usually does this until you’re laughing and playing along with him

-”KrrSHH THIS IS FLIGHTER PILOT Y/N WITH MY  TRUSTY JET YAMADA ON MY WAY TO DESTROY THE ENEMY PLANE, ANyoNE copPY?”

-one time you like dressed up like him for halloween and it was lit. hair somehow slicked up, black leather jacket and some headphones...wooo child you looked cool

-”PRESENT MIC MAY I GET YOUR AUTOGRAPH???”

-”nO PapArazzi PleAse”

-I feel as though you’d be bilingual, Japanese and English. I feel at home it’ll lean more towards English although there’s a hint of Japanese in there

-He rarely gets mad at you but if he did, it’s probably because you put yourself in danger or something of that sorts

-If you cannot sleep, he’ll let you sleep with him and he’ll have blue clues playing in the bakground to help “sooth you” (he enjoys that show very much”

-”THE CLUE IS RIGHT THERE BLUEEEE”

-”dad? I-”

-Tells you stories about his high school/early life and gives you advice

-”in conclusion do not throw a pumpkin at a security guard or you might get hurt...okay love bug?”

-The sweetest thing ever, like he randomly makes weird faces or says random things to make you laugh

-Forehead kisses or little cheek kisses

-Twirls you around and says “Ah my little princess looks lovely today”

-OMG TICKLE FIGHTS I SWEAR YOU’RE GASPING FOR AIR SOMEONE HELP YOU BUT LIKE ITS FUN

-You help him choose outfits when he’s indecisive

-”take away the scarf and go with the graphic tee and maybe the black boots instead of the red ones”

-”Look at my child, a fashion Icon.”

-He let you decorate the house so now there’s glitter, pink stuff, rainbows and sparkles all around the house but it’s super cute. 

-Many cute photos of you guys in macaroni picture frames.

-HE TAKES PICTURES OF EVERYTHING LIKE STACKS OF PHOTOS SMHHH TAKE THE CAMERA AWAAAAYYYYY

-Being Present’s Child would be super cute and mega fun. He’s one of the most interactive loving dads out there, you would never feel lost or lonely for a second. Seriously he is the dad that we all wanted/ needed as a kid lmao. 

#bnha #BNHA Headcanons #present mic #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #hizashi yamada #x reader #10/10 would recommend #would include #dad mic #dating senarios #dating #my hero academia #oneshot #Headcanon #headcanons #headcanon meme #bnha teachers #bnha deku #bnha all might #deku #mha x reader #mha #izuku midoriya #bakugou headcanons #shoto aizawa #mr aizawa #bnha aizawa #All Might #anime

[shadowluverworks]

Remissionem - Chapter 4

If you’ve been keeping up with the show, (SPOILERS HERE) Della has returned to Earth. In this story however, Della is still gone, and her whereabouts are unknown, she is presumed dead. (END SPOILERS)

This story has some gore in it, considering it’s about a family overcoming an accident and fighting mortality. Reader discretion advised as I work at a veterinary clinic, so wounds and the treatment of them may be described rather realistically. If you have a squeamish stomach, I suggest not reading these sections. For those of my readers who like this sort of stuff, I hope you are satisfied you creepy little nerds! Thanks for reading guys!

Chapter 4: Once Set Together

Pants leave the old duck as he regains his breath, coughing weakly here and there. Scrooge just barely succeeded in restraining himself from giving his third nephew a swift kick across the plane’s belly. He releases his death grip on Donald’s arm, who promptly rubs it with a wince. He lowers his left leg once again. His injured hip had been throbbing at the movements, but that pain had been numbed in comparison to what his kin were doing to him. He attempts to force himself to relax for a brief moment.

Dewey and Huey have moved aside, the broken leg now successfully splinted. They’re some pride showing in their faces, but mainly they’re just happy to have escaped unscathed. Scrooge glances at his lower limb. It seems straighter now than before; the two had done a good job, they should be proud of themselves, just like he is.

Breath now returning, his gaze rises back to his great nephews with a long blink, “...good lads...” It’s all he can manage right now. But it’s enough. The two give a small sympathetic smile back to him.

With that taken care of, Webby and Donald are ready to move on, whether he is or not. His first nephew is already lifting his bad arm up and away again. A whine wants to force its way out, but he puts an end to it before it even begins. They mean well, he knows, but the exhaustion of the whole ordeal is seriously catching up to him. He’d already lost consciousness more than once and can’t promise he won’t again. The concussion still makes his stomach twist and turn with every passing second, and there’s no way he could walk a straight line with the dizziness that plagues him. Lying more on his right hip again to give Webby access to the injury, he uses his good elbow for support, but it’s already trembling under his weight.

The girl duckling puts a towel on the floor in front of her to soak up any fluid and opens up a fresh water bottle. Donald kneels next to her, one leg on either side of his uncle, almost straddling without putting his own weight on the other. He delicately holds the bad wing out of the way with his right hand and places his left on Scrooge’s right ribcage to keep him in place and prevent him from moving away.

With the old duck pinned in a sense, Webby starts to pour the water over the wound. The oldest nephew immediately tightens his hold as the injured avian starts to thrash weakly with a groan between his clenched teeth. The boys see the struggle and assist their uncle in restraining, Dewey holding down the legs that have started to kick and Huey running around to the other side. He kneels next to the rich duck’s right side near his head, holding his shoulder in place and helping in any way he can to prevent any further injury.

Webby’s brows furrow, she hates having to see her hero recoil in pain by her own hand, but she knows it’s what is best. He would tell her not to hesitate if he were in his right mind. She steels her nerves, fighting her conflicting emotions, and continues. Her fingers circle around the inside of the cut and between the skin flaps, cleaning out any dirt and debris that might have gathered. A breathless gasp meets her ears as water and blood pool together on the floor.

The pain is too much. Scrooge wants to tell her to stop, he can’t take it anymore. He’s ashamed of himself; the toughest of the toughies fighting a wee lass over a boo-boo. But this boo-boo hurts like he couldn’t imagine. The ribcage possesses only a thin layer of skin and hardly any fat deposits over it, making it an extremely sensitive spot on the body to begin with. As if the cut wasn’t enough, every time her small fingers move back and forth, he could feel the bones shift around inside. The assault to his already broken body makes his supporting arm finally give way and he lands on top of Huey beside him, forcing Donald and Webby to adjust their positioning as the bloodied mess pools onto the blankets beneath him. Blast me bagpipes, this is worse than me arm!

The oldest triplet is knocked over by the force of his great uncle falling on him and he lands on his rump, the entrepreneur’s head landing in his small lap as a cough leaves him again. Huey is unsure what to do for a moment as his uncle’s now free hand squeezes the quilts below them. He’s almost certain he saw the dark turquoise eyes were moist when they widened with the pained wheeze; he’s never seen the old man cry before.

His uncertainty is replaced by his older brother instincts. Many a night has he calmed his younger brothers after a nightmare or provided support when they had fallen and scraped a knee. He’s dealt with this before, it was no different, the subject was simply older than he in this situation. He just needs to calm the other down.

He places his tiny right hand over the larger one tightly clinging to the blankets. It’s cool and clammy to the touch. His other is placed on the man’s head, gently running his fingers through the tufts of soft feathers there and combing out any debris or dried blood clumps. He’s careful to avoid any cuts that are still actively bleeding.

The action is supposed to be soothing, but from his position he can see his Scrooge’s eyes open wide in surprise. The back of his head is to the boy’s stomach, and the child can only see his left eye as it searches, seemingly unsure how to react. No one had ever done this to him before. He’d lived his whole life without being comforted, and he isn’t exactly sure how to respond to the gesture.

Though as Webby’s cleansing reaches the deeper sections of the wound, all thought is replaced by pain again, and his eyes close tightly with a grimace and a grunt. Huey can faintly feel the hand beneath his open just slightly to release the blankets and allow his own hand inside the tight squeeze. The body atop his stifles as many sounds as possible and attempts to keep motionless, head turning more towards the floor beneath them and inadvertently closer to his own frame. Huey chooses not to say anything, to protect what little pride the old man has left. He was just happy to help in whatever way he could.

Finally, the tortuous cleaning stops as the girl moves on to her curved needle, “I’m gonna start sewing this up now, Mr. McDuck. Please try to hold still.” She doesn’t want to stab any more than she has to or cause more damage to the avian beneath her whose thrashing has started to still.

Webby receives a soft grunt in response, and starts with the innermost muscle layer, using the needle much like one would if you were to sew up a hole in a piece of clothing. Each puncture makes a tiny red stream form to join the already flowing river as she pulls the meat back together. When too much blood blocks her view, she uses some gauze from the first aid kit to dab it away and continues her needlework. Her patient trembles but sits surprisingly still. What makes her move faster however, are the now quick, shallow breaths forming beneath her quaking hands.

Donald notices the odd breathing rate now, too. His eyebrows furrowing as he cranes his head over to look at his uncle, “Scrooge?”

No verbal answer, just more rapid breathing. Dewey peeks over the sailor’s shoulder to see what’s happening, the legs he was holding down have stopped fighting him.

Webby finishes the muscle layer and urgently moves on to the second, the subcutaneous layer, trying to finish as soon as possible. The bleeding has dramatically lightened already, but each new puncture still causes more to form. She can see the old duck is starting to turn a bit more pale. She needs to get this bleeding under control.

Huey gives the body on his lap a light shake to get a response as he tries to see the other’s face. Eyes are tightly closed, beak open to pant, but no reply. The cold hand is still tightly squeezing his own, but he feels it would go lax if he moved away, “I think he might have passed out again!”

Blood loss, fainting, shivering, paleness, rapid breathing; Donald can easily recognize the shock is getting worse. He frowns, “I don’t like the way he’s breathing. How’s it coming, Webby?”

Said duckling can feel the pressure now, her hands shaking as she works. It’s not easy to sew a cut when it’s moving so much! The ribcage rapidly expands and deflates, moving the laceration as it does. She keeps her face focused to not let on how much she’s panicking inside, “I’m almost done with the hypodermic layer, then I just have the skin left!”

There’s a wheeze starting to form in the breaths. Donald’s brows knead together even more, “He’s having trouble.”

The eldest triplet’s fingers never cease combing the thick feathers, still attempting to calm the one beneath him, “If we had an oxygen mask, that might help!”

Dewey is already standing and turning to the flight deck, “Launchpad! Do you have an oxygen mask in here?!”

The pilot’s head turns to shout back, “I have one up here in the cockpit, but I think there’s a portable one in the back!”

The middle child puts his hands up towards the other, “Don’t move, just keep flying! Tell me where it is!”

“The locker where the medical supplies are kept; there’s a compartment built in the back; it should be in there!”

The youngest triplet turns around and walks to the balcony in time to see Dewey running to the back of the plane in search for the locker, “Why do you need a...”

He cuts himself off, stomach dropping at the sight. He can see the limp figure on the floor, face hidden by his uncle kneeling over it. He can barely see Huey on the floor, his face is upset. Webby is across him on the other side, her back to Louie, thankfully hiding whatever she’s working on. The once white towel on the floor at her feet, now a crimson color, doesn’t help his queasiness.

Dewey carries a mask in one hand and trails a dark green tank behind him. He stops next to Huey and they start turning the knobs on the tank. Donald uses his free hand to lift the oxygen mask up to his own face, testing to see if it’s working. It must be, as he hands it back to the other triplets who begin fidgeting with what he assumes is his great uncle’s face. The view is still hidden, and he can feel his anxiety starting to well up.

Launchpad turns his head to the green triplet again, “What’s going on?”

Louie ignores the question, and yells out his own to the group below, leaning over the balcony railing to try and see, “Is he ok?!”

Donald turns his head to him, “He passed out again! He was breathing a little funny but he’s fine now!”

Louie breathes in relief. For a second, he thought they were losing the old codger. He watches for a bit longer, before turning back to his seat next to the pilot, “He’s ok.”

The phrase repeats in his head, as if still convincing himself. Launchpad looks concerned but turns his head back to the sky before them.

Dewey glances at his elder brother next to him, who returns the worried expression. Their uncle hadn’t been completely honest with their youngest sibling. Louie was exceptionally emotional, and Donald had tried to reassure him that everything was under control. But the truth was even after they had fitted the mask around Scrooge’s beak, his breathing still has yet to return to normal. Fog forms in the front of the clear mask with every breath, the same troubled expression on his face.

Webby finishes her last stitch on the skin and cuts the extra length away. The black stitches stick out on the white feathers, but at least the bleeding has mostly stopped now. The feathers themselves turned out to be quite bothersome in trying to get her needle around, but at last the gash is back together. She puts down her instruments and picks up the water bottle again, rinsing her work clean once more. The blood stains are still present as well as the deep bruise, but the injury itself looks much better. A clean towel dabs up the moisture and dries the feathers. The duckling sits back with a sigh, her face now finally showing her concern as she looks up at the sailor.

Donald leans over to look at her work before smiling back to her, “And you said it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Webby gives a small, half-hearted smile in thanks. The duck lowers the injured wing once again and moves away to sit next his nephews.

With the laceration now being left alone, the family notices the rich duck’s breath starting to slow down. Each breath gets deeper and his whole body seems to relax, the pained expression now moving to a neutral one, and the grip on Huey’s hand softens.

The eldest triplet continues running his left hand through the soft feathers on his great uncle’s head, “That’s better. I think he’s ok now.”

Donald stretches before reaching for the needles and tools beside Webby, “Good. Let’s keep cleaning the cuts while he’s out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donald’s steady hands work to bring the thin skin back together on his uncle’s forehead. Several minutes have already ticked by since Scrooge lost consciousness once again, this one is lasting longer than the other rather short ones before. Despite their worry, the group is actively taking advantage of it by cleaning the rest of the wounds scattered across his body. Ice packs are resting along the stinted leg to prevent anymore swelling from starting and ease what’s already inflamed. Most of the small cuts just needed cleaning, and Webby takes the initiative by rinsing them out with the water and then drying them afterwards with a towel.

Before moving along, Webby examines the large bruise over the left hip, lightly pressing around the bone. Nothing moves with her probes and the bones feel normal, though there is definitely some swelling around the joints. It’s most likely a deep tissue injury, and the bone might be bruised, but at least it doesn’t seem broken. With Scrooge’s age, his bones should be brittle; it’s a miracle more of them aren’t shattered.

Finished with the wounds here, Webby moves up to where the rest of the group are sitting. Dewey sits next to the green oxygen tank, making sure it doesn’t tip over. Donald’s sitting on his knees as he sews up the cut on Scrooge’s head, which rests in Huey’s lap.

The red garbed boy strokes the long feathers on the side the man’s face to keep out of the way of his uncle’s work; they’re much softer than he’d expected.

The girl duckling dampens a fresh towel and pats at the back of the rich duck’s head. Most of the small cuts there have clotted already, but she’s gentle. He most likely hit there when he landed, and it’s surely sensitive.

The old codger’s face twitches and they all notice, he’s been immobile since he lost consciousness. Webby finishes her cleaning and removes the towel. The sailor takes one last chunk of skin as he starts the last stitch and there’s a flinch in reaction. Two dark turquoise eyes open slowly, and he hurries to complete it. The blue pools are unfocused at first and simply blink in reaction to him tying it off and cutting away the excess.

As Donald sits back, the eyes suddenly widen as their owner’s mind becomes aware of his surroundings. His breathing increases slightly, and he then notices the mask around his beak. The hand holding Huey’s lets go and grabs at the mask as his breathing picks up to a panic; he’s unsure of what’s happening. Years of living on his own has made him expect the worst and awakening in this strange situation makes his mind assume he’s in the presence of an enemy. He can’t show weakness; he attempts to sit up in his confusion.

The eldest triplet seizes his hand before he can remove the mask and makes him pause in his movements, “No, no, no! It’s ok, you’re ok. Take deep breaths, in, and out. In, and out.”

The boy makes the old duck focus on him. Huey breathes with him, in and out. The eyes are large in alertness, but he watches the child closely, and follows his instruction, forcing his lungs to take longer, deeper breaths to calm himself.

Scrooge’s eyes lower and blink as his body starts to relax, his mind returning to him. He lowers himself back to the boy’s lap; he’s not among enemies, he’s among family; he can lower his guard. His hand remains on the oxygen mask, but he doesn’t remove it, yet.

Huey strokes his head again, “Good. Just breathe.”

He glances around him, noticing other family members looking down at him. Dewey sits next to the boy in red, holding on to what he assumes is the oxygen tank his mask is connected to. Webby sits next to the middle child, holding a crimson stained white towel. Donald sits next to her and beside himself. His own body is in an arc of sorts and wrapped around his first nephew. He doesn’t know how he got like this. Of course, he recalls the events that transpired earlier, his aching body making it hard for him to forget, but he doesn’t remember feeling faint.

Donald watches his uncle closely. Eyes glance around the room and at each of them, before finally locking with his own. He can see the confusion in them, silently asking ‘what happened?’ He answers the old man’s wordless question, “You passed out again while Webby was stitching up your side. You started having trouble breathing, so we found this oxygen tank and hooked you up to it."

Scrooge’s eyebrows furrow in what seems to be annoyance; he doesn’t like being doted over. Before anyone can stop him, he pulls the oxygen mask off his beak, and starts to push himself up to a sitting position with a grimace. His kin bark at him to stay still and lay low, but he ignores them until he can finally rest against the pillow leaning on the Sunchaser’s side. He lets out a breath before addressing his family, “...Oh quit yer worryin’. Ah’m fine.” His body rests heavily against the plane’s wall as his head spins with the sudden vertical position. Eyes close to keep the world from revolving before them.

The family can say little to sway the stubborn duck, they all know from experience. Instead of insisting he should lay back down, they decide to finish what they started. Scrooge had been laying on his right side, which prevented any wounds on that portion of his body from being cleaned. There are still a few small cuts that need attention, but the biggest one is the large laceration on his upper right arm. The gash had already made a bloody stain on the blankets where he had previously been lying a short time ago, and most of his feathers on that side are now a dark crimson color.

Webby is the first to start dabbing away at the smaller scrapes here and there, making the old duck open his eyes at the sudden probing, but he does nothing to stop her. Dewey turns the oxygen tank off, seeing as his great uncle was bound and determined not to use it anymore. But instead of returning it to the medical locker, he lays the tank on its side and pushes it only a short distance from them in case they would need it again. Huey readjusts the ice packs that have moved away from the broken leg to cover it again as Donald moves closer to inspect the bleeding arm.

The cut isn’t life-threatening, but deep, and would definitely need some stitches. Putting more towels underneath them, the sailor takes his bottle of water and starts to dump it over the wound, instantly sending a crimson river flowing down the other’s arm. Scrooge flinches, mainly from the sudden cold water running down his arm as he glares at his nephew, who promptly begins cleaning out the gash with searching fingers once again.

The rich duck grunts, leaning a little away from his kin, “Must ye git every nook ‘n cranny?!”

A scowl reaches his, “I’d hate for you to lose your arm from infection after I missed all the dirt in here and then closed it up!”

An eyeroll with a groan in frustration, but Scrooge doesn’t snap back.

Even though they argue, Donald can honestly say he’s happy his uncle is putting up a fight again, it means he’s starting to feel a bit more like himself. The sailor worried when his usually tenacious uncle never once retorted to them. As much as he wants to sigh in relief and even hug the man for the simple reassurance that the old cheapskate’s still alive, things still aren’t right between the two of them. He knows it, and he’s sure Scrooge is aware of it as well, but neither are the best at talking about their feelings. Thankfully that could wait for now, there were more pressing matters that needed to be dealt with.

He picks up the instruments again, hoping these would be the last stitches he has to do for a long time. He brings the needle to the muscle layer first, taking a decent sized chunk to start bringing back together. His uncle winces and grunts at the sharp stabbing but tries his best to remain still. Being able to physically feel your muscles being tied together is a strange sensation, and one that is not exactly comfortable. The old duck shifts a little, trying to distract himself as his nephew continues down his line of sutures.

Donald would almost prefer it if Scrooge was sleeping again now. The way he recoils and fidgets is not making this an easy job. At least when he was unconscious, he held still. The sailor feels bad for the young duckling that had to sew up the large laceration on the rib cage half an hour ago.

In the midst of his uncle’s writhing, his needle unintentionally pushes deeper than planned, drawing out a bigger trail of the red fluid. A yip rewards him as the body flinches away a few good inches, snarling, “Take it easy!”

He’s blamed for it, of course. He hisses back, “Well stop your squirming!”

The old codger snarls back at him, “Ah’m only squirmin’ because yer bein’ too rough!”

There is no gentle way to sew up a laceration; it’s not going to be painless. Donald’s eyes narrow as he draws out his trump card, “Would you rather we have Mrs. B take care of this when we get back?!”

Immediate silence...followed by a few grumbles under the Scottish duck’s breath in his Gaelic tongue.

Scrooge knows better than to have his housekeeper, Mrs. Beakley, dress wounds. The woman was a secret agent and a better bodyguard than he could ever hope for, but she was not known for her gentle nature. On the few occasions the world’s richest duck had been injured, she lived up to her ruthless and merciless nature. Sure, his wounds had healed well and were properly taken care of, but the pain involved in her rehabilitation techniques were worse than the initial injuries themselves. Even her own granddaughter, Webbigail, had learned at a young age to dress her own scrapes and cuts les she fall victim to her grandmother’s unforgiving methods.

At the housekeeper’s name, Webby visibly winces at the thought. Her reaction only seals Scrooge’s hesitation at having Mrs. Beakley sew up and dress his injuries. Instead of arguing or retorting more, he looks in the other direction and holds his body as still as he is able. His attempts prove to be beneficial for his nephew, who finally finishes the muscular layer and can move on to the second layer.

The girl duckling has moved to Scrooge’s left side to be out of Donald’s way, though she continues her cleaning by leaning over and carefully patting the cuts. There’s a particularly sore looking mark over his right collar bone, and she gently dabs away at it, trying in vain to clean the gravel and dirt from the scrapes. He winces with a strained grunt, whether from her or the sailor’s doing one can’t be sure, but her dark eyes still flick up to his in sympathy, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head just slightly, a bit unnerved at the look in them, “Don be, ‘s nae yer fault.”

There’s an awkward silence at that. No one replies as it seems everyone is lost in their own thoughts. The rich duck notices how the many pairs of eyes that were looking at him just a second ago, now glance away as their owners pretend to be busy with whatever they can occupy their hands with. He furrows his brows; what’s going through their heads?

With his mind distracted, he fails to notice his nephew move to the skin layer on his wound, and before he knows it, the gash is already completely sewed up. Donald leans away with a sigh, “There. Now at least you won’t bleed out before Mrs. B can get ahold of you.”

Scrooge stifles a groan. There’s sure to be many choice words filling his ears when they get back. He’d rather his kin have left him in the jungle.

But at last, his wounds have been tended to, at least until they get home. For now, they can relax and try to forget about what had happened. The entrepreneur feels a shiver starting in his frame again. Blood loss is cruel to the body. He’d tried to ignore it as best he could before, but now it’s proving to be too much.

Donald notices the trembling right away, finds a thick blanket, and promptly covers his uncle with it, tucking it in around him. Scrooge wants to retort at being babied but can’t find it in him as the warm quilt gradually rises his body’s temperature. His nephew places a hand on his forehead, mindful of the stitched-up cut, and hums in thought, “You still feel like you have a fever. Try to get some sleep.”

The rich duck blinks slowly back in response; his body feels heavy.

After cleaning up the mess they had made, the two boys and Webby all but passed out in various locations along the plane’s floor. They were utterly exhausted, merely running on adrenaline this whole time to make sure the rich duck would survive. Donald had sat down a little way away from Scrooge, leaning against the plane’s side. It was obvious he was having trouble staying awake as well, his eyes closing longer at every blink, head lowering.

The old duck can’t but feel pride in his kin. They had taken such great care of him already, ignoring their own needs. He adjusts a little, trying and failing to get comfortable as the dull pain relentlessly throbs throughout his frame, his shivers only exasperating it. A few minutes pass before the soft snoring informs him of his nephew succumbing to the fight. He closes his eyes as well, trying to at least rest and ignore his body’s complaints.

#my story #remissionem #chapter 4 #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #scrooge #scrooge mcduck #donald #donald duck #Huey Duck #Louie Duck #Dewey Duck #Huey Dewey and Louie #Webby Vanderquack #launchpad mcquack #once set together #hurt #hurt/comfort #emotional #drama #fanfiction #family bonding #injury #gore #adventure #medical procedures #blood

[takeachanceff]

Chapter 28: Falling Apart

Luna

“I don’t believe this” David said to her. Luna smiled widely looking down at the child before her. “David this is a sign God has blessed us with a baby don’t you see?” She started. “We’ve been trying so hard and now we have what we’ve been wanting so bad and now we do. They just dropped her right on her door step” she said.

She started to cry and squirm in my arms as I held her. I took her out the wet blanket that she was wrapped in. I checked to see if she needed to be changed and that was root of the problem. “David are prayers have been answered” I said with a wide grin.

“Babe how many people just drive through this neighborhood dropping of children? “ David asked her looking at the child. We’ve been trying for months to get pregnant and things just haven’t been working. Now this happens.

“It’s a rarity but it was meant to be” I smiled looking down at her. David shook his head. “Im gonna clean her up. You must be cold being out there by yourself” I said heading upstairs.

.............

A couple hours went by and David ran out to get the baby some diapers and fresh clothes. I couldn’t imagine just leaving my baby but I’m glad someone left this baby on my door step. David came back with everything and sat the bags next to me before sitting on the couch with me. “How old do you think she is?” He asked.

“She’s still pretty tiny so I’m guessing 2 or three months you got the right size diapers right?” I asked.

“Yeah i did um so i guess we gotta go about naming her and adopting her” he suggested.

“I’ve been thinking of a few names but nothing has stood out yet” I said trying to think of a few names for her. “I was thinking Ava or Willow” i said just throwing out a few of the names I was thinking of.

“Hm She doesn’t look like a willow to me” David said as he held her little hand. “I don’t see you coming up with any ideas”

“Peyton, Mackenzie... I don’t know” David laughed. “I’ve never been good with names” he said as the bay looked up them both and her surroundings.

“She’s very curious” I pointed out.

I can’t wait to start this new journey.

Aaliyah

We hurriedly got into the car to catch the flight. I was anxious and I prayed that my baby was in tact. My nerves wouldn’t settle. I felt Trey put his hand on my knee to calm my but when i looked over at him by the way he was clenching his jaw. He was nervous too. The ride to the plane hanger was silent nobody dared to speak. Once we arrived, Trey and I quickly boarded taking a seat anxiously. I put my seat belt on wanting to rush the pilot and skip all the extras. “You got anymore of that weed?” I asked. Trey chuckled some and shook his head.

“I do but I don’t think it’s good for us to rely on substances to calm ourselves” he said as he scratched his beard. I sighed knowing he was right.

What am I thinking? This isn’t me at all.

“I know I’m just everywhere” I admitted before rubbing my temples. Trey nodded in agreement though he didn’t say I knew he felt the same. The plane finally took of and headed to our destination. I needed to see my baby. I needed to hear her laugh, see her her smile. I needed to hold her.

....................

The plane landed in Richmond International Airport where our driver was waiting for us. We quickly got off the plane and headed inside the car. Trey got the details of where Mia could be. They got the address and headed there quickly. The drive didn’t take long surprisingly the neighborhood was in area full of row houses. We pulled up to house where one of Treys spotters saw the car drop off something. We got out the car putting up our umbrellas to go knock on the door. We rang the door bell and knocked a couple times.

“I swear this nigga better be right?”Trey mumbled as we both waited for someone to answer the door. Someone looked out the window before they opened the door. “Can I help you?” An older gentleman asked greeting us.

“Hi this may seem like a weird question but was a baby dropped off her early today or last night?” Trey asked the man. He was hesitant to answer before he spoke up. “Uh yes please come in” he said inviting us in. “Babe who is it?” A female voice asked coming from another room in the house. “Sorry we should’ve introduced ourselves, my name is Aaliyah and this is my husband Trey we’re looking for our daughter. We were told she was here” I said since Trey was always straight to the point.

“Your the baby’s parents?” He asked.

“Yes we are” Trey said trying to hide his frustration. The lady came into the room where we assuming it was his wife she had Mia in her arms. I sighed in relief knowing my baby was okay.

“Can we help you?” She asked as she held Mia.

“They’re the baby parents” he said to her.

“Prove it” she said causing Trey to scoff at her words. “Prove it?” Trey asked before they could say anything I spoke up.

“She has a birth make on her left leg it’s looks like a heart. She has a mole on her right her cheek. She’s allergic to soy and she’s jaundice” I said to her. The woman looked at me before confirming the first two things that i said.

“You felt guilty so you come back after you dropped her off like she was trash” she said instantly pissing me off. I haven’t slept in a few days so both of us were bound to say anything.

“I didn’t drop her off here lady.. My baby was taken out of her crib while she was taking a nap. I haven’t slept in days because I didn’t know where my child was “ I explained feeling myself getting angry before taking a deep breath. “I just want my baby home that’s it” I said damn near begging.

”I’m not just gonna hand her over... unless you take a DNA test” she said to us.

“Bitch what?” Trey said furiously.

“If she’s your daughter take a DNA test” she shrugged.

“No fuck that give me my-“ Trey started.

“Fine” K said feeling Treys stare on me.

“Liyah you agreeing to this bullshit?!” He semi yelled.

“All we got is time Trey, if she wants science to make her look stupid then fine I’ll take a DNA test to prove that I laid down and conceived her and carried her for 9 months” i said irritated with all this but if this is what it takes to bring my daughter home then so be it.

Melina

It’s been a couple days since Jason was released from jail and it’s been quiet —too quiet. He still wanted us to head out Miami to stay with his uncle while he handled things here. Our flight leaves tomorrow so we just been laying low so no attention would be bought to us. I didn’t want to leave him but there’s nothing I can do. We put Justin down for his nap and he tapped my leg making me look at him. Jason took my hand and guided me to the bathroom closing the door turning the shower on. We looked each other in the eyes as he pulled me closer to him.

“I be so caught up in everything that I never get a chance to really look at you “ he started. “You’re still as beautiful as the day we met” he said running his fingers through my hair.

“When we bumped into each other in the hallway or when I almost hit you with my car” I said making us both laugh.

“Oh yeah you did almost run me over” He said making us both laugh. “Regardless, over time you’ve become more and more beautiful” he said making me blush.

“I know you didn’t just bring me in here to talk” I said to him leaning against the bathroom sink. He licked his lips and smirked as his eyes roamed my body. He lifted me up and put me on the counter. I put his shirt over his head before he threw it on the floor. He then pulled me closer to him by my legs as he began to strip me out of my clothes.

I kissed his lips deeply as he wrapped my legs around him. I unbuckled his pants to release his hard member. He circled my clit with his thumb in making my head go back in pleasure. My hormones were all over the place because of this pregnancy. I ran my hands down his chest lightly scratching it. Jason left kisses on on my neck making me moan. Gradually making his kisses lower he stopped paying special attention to my small baby bump. Feeling his fingers spread my second set of lips anticipating his tongue. I bit my lip as i watched him glide his tongue on my wet center making my head go back in pleasure. He picked me up taking us into the shower as he made love to me. We took it slow it felt different—it was passionate like he usually did it. He fucked me but made love to me at the same time. His strokes were deep and long as held me up against the shower wall. My moans were heard throughout the bathroom but not too loud that they would wake up Justin.

After our session in the shower, we changed and just chilled together. “I’ve been thinking” I said breaking the silence. He looked down at me giving me his full attention “About what?” He asked.

“I’ve been putting our son on you a lot and you’re right I work way too much to even spend time with him. I was thinking that maybe we can start sending him to day care, so he can spend time with kids his own age. On weekends we can both spend time with him ” I mentioned to him making him smile softly.

“You always been a hustler I love that about you. I like that idea I think that be cool let’s take it day by day” Jason said before I kissed his lips. “So round two or?” He asked with a raised eyebrow making me chuckle. “That’s how I ended up pregnant cause of multiple rounds with you” I smiled.

“I don’t see nothing wrong with that “ Jason said with a big grin. Before I could say anything else my phone started to ring, I answered the phone without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?“ I answered.

“May I speak to Melina Hennigan?” The voice asked.

“This is she who am I speaking with?” I asked with a confused look. Jason had a look of concern in his face as the phone conversation continued.

“My name is Jessica Griffith I’m from the coroners office. Mrs. Hennigan I’m calling regarding your father Carlos Perez” she started. I could feel my heart sink into my stomach. “I’m sorry to inform you that your father was found dead in an abandoned warehouse. We’re reaching out to you to see if you could identify the body. Could you come down to the morgue and do this?” Jessica asked as I felt the room go into slow motion.

I couldn’t get words out.

My father is dead.

“Mrs. Hennigan?” She said catching my attention again.

“Y-Yes I can do it” I finally got out holding in my tears.

“Please come by our office in a hour. I’m sorry for your loss” she said before handing up.

“Baby what’s wrong?” Jason asked. I couldn’t answer all I could do was cry. I just wanted him to let me live my life without the bullshit. I didn’t mean anything I said to him now he’s gone....

....

Jason drove me to the morgue to identify my father. He kept an eye on Justin while I headed inside. They took me to the back with Claire whom they called also. Instead of showing us his body they took a few pictures of him. They took into a small room that dimly lit with old green chairs. The table held old magazines from 2008 or something. We took a seat as they placed the pictures on the table just from the first one they sat down I recognized the scar that was on his left arm. He got it in a bar fight while in college. The slightest bit of hope of this being a mistake had been thrown out. Once they were finished, the detective finally spoke up. “Do you guys recognize any of these markings on Mr. Perez’s body?” He asked.

Claire’s crying filled the room leaving me to speak. The tears threatening to fall from my eyes burned the rim of my eye lids. “Yes, yes that’s him” I said getting choked up before I cleared my throat.

“Mrs. Hennigan, we believe your father was murdered. Do you know anyone that would want your father dead? Did your father have any enemies?” He asked her.

I couldn’t even begin to process all of this. I felt like I was going to throw up. “Rickey....” i said getting out as the detective wrote that down. “And what’s his last name?” He asked.

“Rickey... Satchel...” I said feeling myself go numb as they wrote it down.

“What relation did they have to each other?”

“Rickey use to intern for my father when we were in high school... Things were starting to get bad ... I know he killed him” I said. The detectives looked at each other as I continue to stare at the photos of my fathers body.

If they don’t catch him I’m gonna kill him myself.

They let us go and Claire continued to cry her eyes out. I had no more tears left to cry. I got into the car not saying a word. Jason wiped the tears that finally came out. I needed to be open with him about everything.

“Rickey killed my father” I mumbled. Jason nodded clenching his jaw. “I know...” he said tapping the steering wheel.

“I have to tell you something” I started gaining his attention. “I hated my dad for what he made do... I should’ve just told you”

“Tell me what Mel?” He asked looking confused.

“Remember the very first time i was pregnant?” I asked making him nod his yes. “That night you came to see me and you were asking about the baby and I told you I lost it. You asked me how... and I lied to you. I didn’t miscarry....” I said feeling myself starting to cry again. Jason sat back and licked his lips.

“What do you mean you didn’t miscarry” he asked.

“Please don’t hate me” I said feeling my chest get tighter. “I-I got an abortion because my dad told he was gonna cut me off if I didn’t. I also didn’t know if it was yours or Rickeys since it wasn’t long after he raped and it freaked me out” I rambled. Jason was quiet as he looked straight ahead not looking at me which broke me more than I realized. I cried hard clenching my chest.

“Mel...” he started. “I don’t hate you. If I’m being honest with you. I was scared that the baby wasn’t mine became of what he did to you. I just kept my head up speaking it into existence that the baby was mine. Even if it ended up being his I still would’ve supported you because that wasn’t your fault. I still would’ve been with you and my love for you wouldn’t have changed” he said.

I wiped my eyes as he spoke. “I know to pops hated my guts and didn’t want us to be together but I’m glad you stuck with me. You gave me beautiful son and you’re carrying my second child and you’ll be the one to carry our whole football team” he said making us both chuckle. “I’ll always have your back” he said making me smile through my tears.

“You handle the arrangements for your father and I’ll deal with Rickey”

#aaliyah fanfiction #trey songz #aaliyah #aaliyah fanfic #trey songz fanfiction #trey songz fanfic

[rolltidewrestlingfan4life]

THIS IS VERY LONG AND VERY PERSONAL FOR ME. YOU MAY FIND IT AN ENJOYABLE STORY. I DID NOT PLAN TO WRITE A VIRTUAL NOVELLA BUT MY HEART AND SOUL STARTED POURING.

I didn’t do this back in February but this man deserves the mention and respect. This is the man that raised me. The man I idolize. He died February 5th as I was performing CPR on him or just before. I’m happy that he had a very quick and painless death that I believe he was expecting and prepared for. This man was born in New Hampshire and took a job in the 8th grade, he never returned to school and usually worked 2 jobs 6 days a week. His family moved back and forth between New Hampshire and Vermont. He got his first car when his brother’s car broke down, his brother traded him a 48 Ford for a bicycle.He loved riding his Indian motorcycle until a car slowed too fast  in front of him and he collided and flew over the top of the car, miraculously his only injuries were cuts and knocked out teeth. In 1955, he made the decision to join the US Air Force.It would be the decision that triggered his destiny, After completing basic training he returned home to New Hampshire, gave his brother his air force ring as a momento (I have it now) and headed to Savannah Georgia where he was stationed. 

431 miles away, in a booming coal mining town deep in the country of central Alabama, there lived a teenage girl in her senior year of high school. She didn’t really care for any of the boys in her town though she would “take them from their girlfriends to prove she could” She had an aunt and uncle that lived up in the big city in Birmingham, that is..until  her Uncle joined the Army. Ironically, he was station in Savannah.

As fate would have it, the man from Alabama met the young man from New Hampshire and they became friends. One day there was a special event at the base where family was invited, the teenage girl came with her aunt to see her Uncle. In the cool twilight of the day the girl was walking outside when she saw a man sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree. The tree was huge,it had stood for many decades if not a century, the tree had wisdom in it’s soul. She stared at the young man in the distance. The sun was fading as swamp moss swayed in the breeze as the night began to overtake the day. She saw a flicker of light as the young man lit a Lucky Strike with his zippo. “he looks just like Elvis Presley” she thought. Something in the breeze made her sneeze, try as she might she could not hold it in. The young man turned at the sound and stopped in his tracks. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever saw and he had to meet her. He approached her and introduced himself, he was the young man from New Hampshire. They spent a lot of that night sitting under that mighty oak and talking about their pasts, their presents and their hopes for the future.

Not long after the meeting, the man was deployed to Morocco in North Africa. Morocco had been under French control and the locals were ready for a revolution. He was a photographer, after a battle between the rebels and the french, he would either sit on the edge or hang from a cord out of a helicopter and take photos of dead bodies, destroyed buildings. He saw a lot of things a man just don’t want to remember while he was in Africa. When he was being sent home, the airplane he was in lost an engine over the Bermuda triangle, the plane struggled but managed an emergency landing in the Virgin Islands.. after a day there, he was in the air bound for Savannah.

He was pleasantly surprised and happy to see the girl from Alabama waiting when he and his fellow soldiers stepped off the plane. They went to the movies that day. They would talk on the phone and write long love letters to one another almost daily. I have a shoebox full of these and they span a month, It was clear these two were smitten. One weekend, he decided he had to see her. He went AWOL on a Friday night and drove almost 7 hours through a state he had never seen, to a town he had never heard of. The young girl’s mother had heard about him and knew he was her brother in law’s friend, she also knew her daughter was crazy about him. She invited him in for supper and to talk and get to know the family. When bedtime came though, the young man was made to sleep on the porch. Going AWOL on weekends to spend days in her house and nights alone on her porch became a regular thing until finally, he showed up one weekend with a ring. A week later, they were married in a small church that her family had established decades ago, He was called up to serve in the Bay of Pigs but received his honorable discharge just a week before. He flew to New Hampshire and kissed his momma, got his dad’s guitar (the only thing he had left of his father) and wished his brothers and sisters well. He flew back to his new home and his new wife in Alabama. He opened his own photography studio but business was slow, there just wasn’t a demand for professional photography in this town. He took a job with the owner of a gas station/general store at the end of Main Street, he worked 6 days a week,, delivering items, repairing things and installing huge propane tanks. In 1959, he and his wife had their first child, a daughter. A little boy came in 1961. His father in law was an electrician at the huge hospital in Birmingham Alabama, he got the young man a job in the maintenance department.

He learned much working at the huge University Hospital, he learned about electricity, he learned HVAC, he learned plumbing. He watched and soaked in everything. He was a long way away from the burning corpses he photographed in Africa, or was he? September 15 1963 seemed a usual day at work. Even a slow day, He was working in the attic area of the hospital, running ductwork, secluded from people or news. Around noon he got a call to immediately go to the morgue and repair a broken light. When he got there he climbed his ladder and fixed the light. With the room now bright, he realized he had illuminated bad memories and new sorrow, as he climbed down the ladder he looked down upon the charred and burned bodies of four young innocent girls. One was completely decapitated, barely recognizable as a human, another had metal embedded in her head. He could not fathom what he was seeing, he did not know what he felt. He only knew his heart was broken. He found out later these girls were murdered. The church they were attending sunday school at was bombed, an act of racism in the deep south in 1963. He hated it. This man never liked seeing someone innocent hurt or suffer. He also never saw color, he saw people for being decent or not. He was a part of history that day, however small a part it may have been.

After 5 years of working at the huge hospital in the magic city, he was told of a new, smaller hospital being built. It was closer to home and they were paying more to attract employees. He started in maintenance and engineering the day they hospital opened in 1964. Two months later, the director of plant operations resigned, this position was 3rd in command of the whole hospital and responsible for overseeing engineering, maintenance, and security. At only 26 years old,he was shocked when the position was offered to him. He accepted without hesitation. He was a nervous wreck but it fueled him. His wife took a job at the same hospital.

In 1982, his first grandchild was born, His son had a daughter. A grandson followed in 1984. In 1989, his daughter had her only son. To the man, there was something different about this kid, maybe it was his father not being around, maybe it was fate but the man decided he would mold this kid and raise this kid. He was closer to this kid than the other grandchildren. He fell in love with that baby and as he grew that baby became a kid and loved that man too. From then on out, they were absolutely inseparable.. I am that kid. We would ride dirt roads while Alan Jackson or George Strait, George Jones and Merle Haggard blaring on the radio. I was always the flashlight man. Deep in a dark crawlspace holding it while he worked on electrical wires.. just as he did I was watching, I was learning, I was soaking in his knowledge like a sponge. We would ride the country roads on the weekend, stopping at every yardsale and junkyard we’d pass. Oh, how I loved when we’d burn brush or leaves and watch the fire. We’d go fishing and somehow there was always a venomous snake and he always killed it with a wooden handle floating fishing knife. I still have that knife today.

His father in law had passed in 1984 and his mother in law’s health was failing, His wife retired early from the hospital in 2001 to take care of her. Her aunt and the Uncle that had arranged their meeting way back in Savannah were also gravely ill, she moved them in too. He kept working at the hospital,He was the man that made that place run. His mother in law passed in late 2001. In 2003, her uncle passed away. It had come full circle. He had made it possible for them to meet and they had returned the favor by caring for him, her aunt followed him in death shortly after.

By this time, his granddaughter had two daughters and he and his wife had been through a lot caring for 3 bedridden people for 3 years. When he received word that the huge hospital in Birmingham he had left 40 years ago was taking over the hospital, he retired. For the next 19 years, It was yard sales, brush fires, and working on houses. I was grown but I was still a kid, still watching his every move, still his helper, still his flashlight man. In 2017, he suddenly grew weaker. He still worked and pushed himself as hard as he could but something was wrong. He knew it. He just didn’t know what. Through 2018 I became the main repairman, he just couldn’t do it anymore. His leg and back had great pain. He lit the pilot light with me and all but collapsed as we exited the basement. His legs had grown week and just gave out on him. Later that day I had to repair something in the attic, I will never forget him saying “I’m sorry, I’d help you if I could, I’d even just hold your flashlight but I gotta say in my chair right now, you know what you’re doing son.” Neither of us spoke it, but that was a powerful moment.. He had called me son. All of my life, I never saw him as my grandad, though I did call him Papa. I called him dad from that day forward. Later that year, I bought a fuel pump for his truck, I love that truck. I bought new tires and got it running. When he saw it running, he told me “You did a good job getting her going son, take care of YOUR truck.” He knew he had grown old, his memory had began failing, his legs weakening. He had passed his role as the fixer around three houses, and he had passed his truck to me.

Through 2018 most of our time together was spent in his den, him in his recliner, me on the couch, nana in hers. We watched NASCAR, we watched every Alabama football game together, when nana was gone.. me and Papa would watch reruns of Gunsmoke, and Mash. He passed out at a store in late 2018 and was admitted to the hospital, all the test revealed nothing wrong, they attributed the pain to a nerve. On February 4 2019, He really wanted a haircut to the point the barber had to stay late to wait for us. It was a 15 minute drive to the barbershop and he and I talked, we talked about memories, we talked about friends who had died, and family who had died. His memory was sharp as a tack that day. On the way home, I asked him why he was in such a hurry for a haircut.. He reached over and put his hand on my knee, gave me a gentle pat.. his eyes.. the same eyes that had seen dead bodies in Africa, burnt little girls dead in alabama, that had seen 60 years of a wonderful marriage, 2 children, 2 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren, those same eyes looked at me. There was a focus yet a distance in them as he answered “I just felt like I needed to look good for tomorrow.”

The next morning, I woke up around 7 as usual and walked next door to their house, he wasn’t awake yet. He had started sleeping in, or just laying in the bed. It had gotten to where by the time he got up and got dressed, his legs were so weak he had to lay right back down. I got my coffee and visited with my grandmother a while and refilled my cup and went home. A couple hours later I had the strongest urge to go see him, as I got up I noticed my coffee cup was full. “He’s probably not up yet, I’ll wait until all my coffee is gone then I’ll see him.” That was a decision I will always regret.

Maybe 30 minutes later, As I was listening to the The Rolling Stones through my headphones, I heard the sound of my little cousin screaming. She was outside running toward my house just screaming help and crying at the top of her lungs. I ran outside and she yelled it’s papa. The whole world became a blur. I knew nothing. Nothing was familiar. It was so fast yet so slow. All I knew was I was me, and he was him. I loved him. He was my life and I was his. I had to get ti him. I ran faster than I ever dreamed I could, I didn’t even notice doors or steps.. Though I had to have somehow seen them. Everything was blur. I was here, he was there. It felt like an hour but it was really less than a minute. I got to him. There he was, laying on his back in front of his bedroom door. As soon as I saw him, his words about his haircut the day before played in my mind. I knew he was gone. He was my Papa, my dad, my friend, my teacher, my everything. I had to try and bring him back. I immediately started cpr. 911 advised me to do mouth to mouth as well, when I did, I tasted blood. I never stopped cpr. I knew je was gone. In that moment, his kid finally became a man. I felt different, I finally felt just like him. My Mind 2 months later is still in the floor with him. Today, I let that go. He would want me too. He would say sometimes, well we tried everything.. that thing just can’t be fixed. A couple nights ago I had a dream, so vivid. It was an exact replay. I was over his body desperately performing CPR, suddenly, in the dream.. he appeared and pulled me away from his own body. It was clear this was his spirit as he put his arm around me and hugged me and said “It just gave out on me, you tried everything, that old thing just couldn’t be fixed.” He lived an amazing life. The world will not remember nor remark him but today I celebrate him. I celebrate him for going from an 8th grade education to an air force photographer to spending 40 years as director of engineering at a hospital. I celebrate him for being a rock who always helped his family or those in need.  I celebrate him for picking me. It’s no secret I was his favorite. He never tried to hide it, not to spite the others. This man loved all of his grandchildren equally.. There was just something different with me. It was like we were twins. We were just inseparable. I write all this to celebrate him and to let him go. My mind must stop trying to bring him back. He lived his life and he is now free from pain and a failing body. He is learning all the mysteries, he is getting all the answers so that he can teach me when I get there. I love you so much Papa, your soul is in heaven, but your spirit is in me. I see you in my eyes, I wear your belt buckle and I use your tools. I drive our truck. Your fingerprints are everywhere. It’s okay that you’re not here in your body. You’ve left a mark on everything. You will always be alive in us. I wish you had lived until I had children, I know you liked the young lady I wish would be mine.I can’t wait until I do have children and I can tell and show them all about their amazing Papa. 

Heaven needed a jack of all trades engineer, they got you. Have fun up there, I’ve got it down here, I learned from the best and you taught me well. I will take care of nana, the houses and the rest of the family and hopefully one day I’ll do what you did and move and marry the girl of my dreams. I hope you get to watch my life from up there, and I hope I make you proud.

-JLM

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

Let’s talk about Nagito’s family, because in this house, we like to suffer, I guess. I’ve toyed with a few different ideas and themes, some of which I eventually encountered too many errors in to keep, and some which I ultimately decided work. Everything below will henceforth serve as the official basis for how I portray family ties and Ko’s past on this blog, and I’ll try to be as matter-of-fact about it as I can, but...you know me. It’s worth mentioning that I’m not judging anyone’s real-life situation, nor am I judging anyone else’s interpretation of how Ko’s life went down. Interpretation first, reasoning another time if you really want to stick around for that hot mess. I tried to be as self-explanatory as I could, and linked back to my own posts in places that needed it, but if there’s anything that I feel is worth delving into later, I will. I kinda wanted to make something that ties into and explains who he is now, and ties as seamlessly as I can manage into what he’s told us; but also sounds exactly like the kind of thing that’d happen to this poor bastard, if you know what I mean. 

Hc: Nagito’s parents were very well-off, hard-working and successful. However, they were also very distant - from their son and their own respective families - and cold. They had Nagito not because they especially wanted children per se, but rather to have someone to pass on their name and legacy. Being the type of people to care a lot about status, they wanted their child to grow up to be every bit as intelligent, well-respected and successful as them. Intelligent, he certainly was, and without ever really trying; but Nagito never had much interest in what his parents did. Like most little boys, he wanted to do something cool and exciting. A big part of his childhood was spent wanting to be a pilot, but that’s hardly an elite job, now, is it?

 Rather than see if he grows out of it, or better yet accept their son for who he is, Nagito’s parents actively discouraged him from anything they didn’t approve of by shunning him until and unless he acted the way they wanted him to; perfect, polite, smart, and most of all, unemotional. They would dismiss his feelings and ignore his various attention-grabbing escapades; and this on top of their busy work schedules lead Nagito to believe he was just an inherently bad child. That, and how his parents would look down on non-elites; instilling the worthy and worthless mindset in their son, as well as his belief that you shouldn’t try if you know you’ll fail. 

 Nagito felt helpless to drop his interests for them. No matter how much he studied and tried to change his mind, he couldn’t change his heart. He continued to like dogs, and planes, and childish things. He felt doomed to disappoint, leading him to believe that worth is instilled at birth, and if you are worthless, there’s nothing you can do. He coupled himself with lowly trash, and thus began his worship of those made for greatness, and those who achieve greatness despite their hangups. Over time, this developed into the warped obsession with talent we all know of. 

 Nagito’s parents eventually caved to their son’s constant harping for a pet, seeing it as a chance to perhaps make him mature a bit, and certainly to get him off their tails all the time. Being a kid who didn’t make friends easily and was left to his own devices a lot - only adding to his perceived inadequacies - he treasured his new companion like the most precious thing in the world. And, well, we all know how that played out. 

 He named the dog Lucky - because irony’s a bitch - and he was the first thing to show such undying love and loyalty to Nagito. What he couldn’t get from his parents; comfort, support, attention; he got from his dog. This, of course, made the pup’s death, which Nagito always blamed himself for, all the more devastating, never mind the careless driver or lack of adult supervision. Since this was his first incident of major bad luck, a force which would go on to destroy everything he touches, he blames himself wholeheartedly for everything that followed. 

 After losing his best friend and emotional crutch, Nagito became severely depressed. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t even pick up a book. This lead to him becoming quite ill, and actually being hospitalised. After that health scare, his parents finally took notice of how terribly their son was suffering, and made an effort for the first time in his life. They didn’t become good parents overnight, but they tried. The odd pat on the shoulder here, a “how was your day?” there, even a family outing to an amusement park, which Nagito considers one of the best days of his childhood. 

 But the more time they spent with Nagito, the more things seemed to go wrong. Little things, like coffee spills ruining their expensive clothing, to big things like giant deals falling through. And these things only happened when he was around. Subconsciously or consciously, he still doesn’t know, they distanced themselves from him once more. This double-rejection was devastating, annihilating whatever self-worth the young elementary schooler still had. 

 The only reason they took him to San Cristóbal was due to a business retreat that encouraged families to come along. Appearances still meant more than anything. The trip itself was uneventful, but it was on the flight home that this plane-loving wannabe-pilot lost his mother and father, and gained a lifelong fear of flying, and a cemented suspicion that had been growing for some time now that all the bad things that kept happening were all his fault. All because of a meteor the size of a fist (that possibly caused the plane to crash; and personally I think he may have been a sole survivor).  

 After the deaths of his parents, Nagito was shunted from relative to relative, though understand that term is used in a strictly biological sense. Most of these people he’d met maybe once or twice, if at all. The freedom to which he so often refers to as a result of his parents dying is both freedom from being constantly afraid for his mother and father, but also freedom to do almost whatever he wanted. He was, essentially, a stranger to these people, who all already had their own lives and jobs and children. Nagito long suspected that the only reason anyone took him at all was because no one wants to be the asshole that won’t take in their orphaned kid cousin or nephew or whatever.

 (NB: My basis for that he had a lot of family but not many close friends, please recall; we see how his luck targets people close to him, yet he goes out of his way to mention that his luck only targeted him directly and gave him a terminal illness when he had no relatives left. His luck began in elementary school or possibly earlier when his dog died, and he was diagnosed right before entering Hope’s Peak. Personally, I think the idea of him having a lot of relatives he’s not close to makes sense, and it’d just be his luck that they’re all dickheads.)

 But of course, every time, something would happen. Some major disaster, and only ever when Nagito was around. And he would always benefit it in some way. He never goes into detail, but sometimes it involved a financial loss, sometimes a physical one, once or twice or maybe many more, even death. He quickly gained a reputation, and relatives became more and more reluctant to accept him. Furthermore, not a single aunt or uncle among them were especially loving. No one ever stopped to maybe ask this kid if he was okay, help him through his grief, ease his guilt or burden. He was no less an accessory than he’d ever been. Sometimes the family members were fine. They’d mostly ignore him, sometimes hold a conversation, until The Thing inevitably happened. Sometimes they were downright horrible. After a particularly violent episode with a drunk Uncle, Nagito ran, and that’s when he was found and kidnapped. 

 After that, he was deemed a troubled child, and placed in a home. The other children isolated him; this strange kid that strange things happened around, with a penchant for mumbling to himself. He never really minded. They were just like the rest of the people he’d known -- filler, and nothing more. Eventually he, fell ill. This was when he received his terminal diagnosis, and shortly after, acceptance letter into Hope’s Peak.

#(that got...long...and ouch) #long post/ #ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴅ [headcanons] #ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴅ [blog canon] #(but yeah; detailed enough to form a coherent timeline but not so much that i'm in a box is what i'm going for) #(also sorry if it's rambly i'm tired and i was trying to avoid errors etc)

[darkling-er]

Hope’s Savior ( John Seed x OC ) | Part 4

Summary: Trinity-Hope Johnson finds herself in the middle of a holy war, leading the Resistance, while having a complicated relationship with one of the cult’s herald. And she thought her first case would be easy. Oh how wrong she was!

Pairings: John Seed/Fem!Deputy, John Seed/OC, Earl Whitehorse & OC ( uncle&niece ), Joseph Seed/Fem!Deputy ( kind of ), might add more later

Warnings: mild language, violence, eventually smut, use of drugs ( bliss and other, thanks to Sharky ), fluff ( does that even need a warning? ), manipulation, angst, mention of mental illness ( insomnia, depression ), mention of child abuse ( from John’s side ), torture, I think that’s it? I swear it’s not so bad!

Word Counter: 3568

Notes: Taking back Fall’s End, Hope finally gets the attention of John Seed. I’m really having fun with this series, hope you guys like it as well. Comments are well appreciated! ♥

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |  Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | MASTERPOST for the others

The car is parked off the road, so it can’t be spotted from the town. Hope is crouching in the tall grass, looking through her binoculars.

“There’s one guy on the roof of the right, and one guy on the roof of the left side.” She says quietly, zooming in as far as the binocular lets her.

She sees a woman, roped up and held by a cultist:

“There is a man helding a hostage in front of the bar. Two guys are behind them, next to a truck.”

“That must be Mary May. She’s the owner of the Spread Eagle.” Adam says quietly next to her, he’s crouching as well.

Boomer waits for his owner to give him any commands, while wagging his tail.

“I can’t see if there’s anyone behind the fuel truck. Might be. You should go for the left, stay hidden and check behind the back. Wait for my signal. I’m gonna climb that ladder to the roof on the right. Take out the guy quietly.”

Adam looks at her as she puts away her binoculars. He looks at her with doubt in his eyes. She’s annoyed a bit, she doesn’t want to waste any time.

“What?” She asks, not being patient at all.

He doesn’t seem to take it to heart, though. His voice is still low, they don’t want any unwanted attention.

“You sure about this? What if things go south?”

She shrugs and starts walking slowly to the building on the right, staying hidden.

“Well, then we go plan B. Shoot the fuel truck, if necessary. That’s going to be loud though, so try to avoid plan B... Take Boomer with you.”

The dog looks at his owner and she points to Adam and tells him to follow the man.

“Shoudn’t you take him?” She rolls her eyes at the man’s question.

“Where? To the roof?”

“Smartass.” He scoffs and waves to Boomer to follow him on the left side of town.

“Dumbass.” She says back, while he can still hear her.

She moves behind one of the buildings and turns into an alley. She corners a dumpster as she starts climbing the blue ladder on the red painted building.

Adam must be doing alright as well, considering there’s no gunfire or shouting yet. The only noise she can hear other than the cultist’s conversations is John Seed��s preaching over a radio. Great, the dude’s speaking everywhere in this valley. Must like his own voice.

Hope slowly approaches the cultist from behind when she’s on top of the roof. She snaps the man’s neck and quickly drags his body with her behind the cover. She checks his pockets, looking for anything useful, then takes out her binocular, looking at the direction of the church.

“Shit...” She mutters as she spots five other peggies there, and another hostage. She looks for Boomer or Adam, but finds no one. Hope knows she can’t radio him, that might give away both of their position, so she hopes the man will manage on his own.

She takes her rifle from her shoulder and through her scope she aims at the man on the roof opposite of her. Taking a deep breath, holding it, aiming at the cultist’s head she pulls the trigger. The peggie drops dead silently as the bullet goes right through his head. The deputy waits a second if the shot triggered any of the other cultists, even with the silencer on. Thankfully that’s not the case.

She hears as a man approaches on her right and she fears he might want to climb the ladder. She quickly reloads and aims at a man in the alley between the bar and a garage building. She shoots him in the head and fast the man next to Mary May follows dead on the ground.

Hope swings the rifle over her shoulder again as she looks down from the roof. A cultist is right below her, singing to himself along with the radio. She thinks for a moment and then drops down, jumping on the enemy, taking him out skillfully. God, this might have looked cool. Did it look cool, just like in the movies? Where’s a camera when you need one?

She looks at the shirtless man next to the fuel trunk. Another one is with him. Is everyone being half naked in this cult, or what? She readies her rifle again, when an arrow hits the man’s head and the other next to him. She looks at the direction where the arrow came from and smiles at Adam. He nods at her, when a guy from the direction of the church shouts:

“We got some sinners!”

Seriously?! Adam turns around and she moves around the fuel truck and changes her weapon to the pistol on her hips. She fires a few shots, which land right in the man’s chest. Another readies to execute the other hostage, but Boomer grabs the cultist’s arm, biting it hard, while Adam puts them out of their misery with an arrow through the head.

They don’t fire the last remainging cultist soon enough as the hostage screams:

“They’ve called in air support, take cover!” Adam frees the man, as Hope runs up to the woman on the ground and tears her ropes down, grabbing and taking her into the open garage building as a plane flies over above them. Hope starts climbing up the ladder in the building. She saw a mounted gun up there so she has a bright - or bold and stupid - idea how to take out the plane.

“That pilot is a Chosen, one of the cult’s best soldiers. If we don’t take care of that plane we’re done for.” The priests says from far, but his voice can be still heard.

She takes the mounted gun in her hands and aims it at the plane that is now taking a turn in the air, flying right in her direction. I’m gonna die, i’m gonna die, i’m gonna dieeee!

Hope starts shooting where she guesses the pilot must be sitting and starts screaming with full effort, though it doesn’t exactly help her in the shooting, it feels good. Just as bullets start flying in her way it stops, when she hits the Chosen.

“Wooooo-hoooo! Take that, bitch! Hahahaha!” She starts jumping up and down with a rush of adrenalin in her veins. The plane crashes just outside of the cemetery of the church.

“Well... That was fun!” She laughs happily as she steps away from the mounted gun.

She takes the radio from her belt and sets the frequency on the open line, that she uses to reach the Resistance. She pushes down the button to start to talk as she cheerily states:

“Guess who just took back Fall’s End. Also... took out a Chosen, no need to thank me, really... Just get your asses over here, we have the town back!” She laughs and puts back her radio.

Hope steps into the Spread Eagle, an “Opening Soon” bringing a smile to her lips. Townfolks are already back and Adam is already inside, probably with the plan to drink something strong. While she just wants to sit back for a while, maybe get something to bite.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain.” She hears a man speaking as the chef from the kitchen window nods to her and she returns the gesture.

Adam is sitting on a bar stool, waiting for someone to serve him. Boomer is sitting right by his leg and wagging his tail as the Deputy approaches. She pets the dogs head as she looks around the place. Quite a cosy place and with some preperation it will be the best place for the Resistance to hang out and get drunk.

“’For I know the plans that I made for you’ declared the Lord. ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Hope approaches the man, a priest as she can figure out by his talk and clothes. Other than the bulletproof vest he looks exactly like the usual churches’ man back in Missoula. The man chuckles when he sees the deputy and gives her a warm hug and lets her go. She smiles back at him.

“I don’t claim to know God’s plans, but I know a good thing when I see it. You’re getting quite the reputation, Deputy. You’re the first good thing to happen to this Valley, in a long time.”

Adam scoff from his seat, not even looking at the two of them as he scratches behind Boomer’s ears.

“You did good too, Adam. We are sooo happy to see you here.”

The pastor looks at his way with a shake of his head, but with a soft smile on his face:

“See you met with Mr. Roberts, too. Good, maybe you can make some sense into him, you could both use each other’s help, I’m sure of it.”

Hope smiles at the man, already liking him, though she always thought the men of the Lord are creepy: great example Joseph Seed.

“A little help?” Comes the voice of the owner of the bar, Mary May. She has stacks of crates in her hands.

The priest rushes to her to help:

“Are you trying to break your neck?” He takes some crates from the woman’s hands.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time...Thanks.”

Hope comes up to her and takes a box into her hands as well, scaring the blonde a bit.

“Oh shit.. it’s you. Sorry, didn’t realize.”

They walk to the bar stool, as Mary May greets Adam:

“We’re not even open yet and you’re already here, trying to get a drink. Why am I not surprised?” Her voice is teasing and she seems happy to see the man.

“You’re welcome for saving your neck.” He retorts.

“All you’ve done might as well add mover to the list, huh?” She turns back to Hope as they all put the boxes on the counter. She just now looks what’s in the boxes: alcohol. Obviously...

“I thought that Eden’s Gate confiscated all this.”

The lights turn on, making the place brighter a bit. The woman looks offended a bit.

“The hell kinda Fairgrave would I be if I didn’t have a hidden stash?... Learned from the best.”

Hope looks at the picture in front of her, but doesn’t ask questions about it. It’s not her place and the man on the picture is probably her father. The deputy has her own story about her parents and knows when to not ask questions. Mght tear up some wounds.

“This town... it’s been through a lot, Deputy. We owe you thanks, but...”

He can’t finish as Mary May interrupts his words:

“I know you’re looking for your people. But the truth is, you ain’t the only one in need of help.” Ouch, harsh! “Pastor and I can only do so much...”

The man speaks again, getting some drink ready for all of them.

“If you can see about lending a hand, we’ll be sure to return the favor.” He hands her the cup and they all raise them up. “Whaddya say?”

They clink their glasses together, but she doesn’t take a sip from it, while everyone else drinks.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.”

Adam looks at her in disbelief:

“We’ll never be friends.”

They all laugh at that, and although the deputy hoped she will get some help from the townsfolk to free Deputy Hudson, she’s still glad that at least they’re all friendly.

After talking to Mary May a bit, getting a mission from her which Hope didn’t want to say she’ll probably do much much later. Considering there are still some calls out there, which she got from Dutch, folks needig help. Getting a truck back isn’t her priority.

She steps into the church which looks like all hell went through it. Considering the cultist love God, this is just disrespectful. It looks more like a shelter of some kind than a place where people gather on Sundays. Pastor Jerome is sitting on a chair before the pulpit, Bible in hand. The real bible, not the one that was made up from Joseph Seed’s mind. He looks up as Hope enters the church.

She sits in one of the seats in the front row, her elbows resting at the bench in front of her. It’s not exactly a praying form, but it’s as close as she gets to it.

“I give thanks to the Lord every day for bringing you and I together. I’m glad you’re looking to do more here. We need you.” The man breaks the silence and she gives him a small smile.

It feels so strange. A couple of days back she was just the junior deputy of the sheriff’s station. Merely just a kid, learning how to do this adult life. She’s only 21 years old, and here she is, being a leader of a Resistance against a cult. Sounds like a far fetched plot of a tv show.

Does it feel good? Being of help to the people? Yes, it does. A little. But it’s also stressful. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Going with the flow, and hoping for the best, mostly. She doesn’t have instructions of what to do and how to do it. And there’s the thing: how does she know where do draw a line? Where does being helpful ends and becoming a murderer begins.

“Something’s troubling you.” The Pastor says with kind eyes. It’s a half question, half statement. Hope sighs with a small smile.

“I was just wondering if there’s something I could help you with right now.”

It’s not a lie, she did come into the church to ask Jerome about this. The man senses there’s something else that might be going on in the deputy’s head, but he doesn’t pushes her on that matter.

“As you can see, John Seed’s making a lot of people suffer right now and quite frankly, I can’t keep up. These people need me. They’re my responsibility now. But that just means keeping tabs on the Resistance has been that much harder. When you get a chance, head out east and check on our people on Woodson pig farm. I haven’t heard back from them in a couple of days and that worries me. We can’t afford to lose a single one of our fighters. ”

They left Boomer in Fall’s End when they started their way to the Woodson Pig Farm. The night sky looks beautiful as Hope looks out the car’s window. She looks to the field, near Fall’s End when she spots a red painted structure with a peggie symbol on it.

“Hey, Adam! What is that?” She points out to the field. The man looks there with a huff:

“That’s a silo. They fill it with drugs and fertilizer, so they can poison our fields. Heard rumors that it costs a lot for John Seed.”

She has a devilish smile on her face:

“Oooooh does it now? Why don’t we take a closer look then?” She says as she picks up a remote explosive out of her bag.

He returns her smile and drives into the field, bringing them closer to the red tank.

It only takes one remote explosive and the peggie symbol quickly dissapears into nothing, with a loud boom and a loud laughter. She’s enjoying blowing up things a bit too much, but God, does it feel so good.

“I know a guy who would love your attitude towards blowing this up, back in the Henbane.”

She laughs, and watches the leftover of the silo burning up.

“Yeah? I’ll pay him a visit after we checked out the pig farm.”

He nods and starts walking toward the bushes a bit far away with a ‘i have to piss’, while she starts walking back to the truck. It’s so peaceful out here. Thinking there’s a Holy War going on... Crazy, right?

She almost gets a heart attack, when her radio crackles to life and an already all too familiar voice starts speaking to her:

“Sin is pervasive. It drives us to do unspeakable acts. I know the feelings that drive you... I know them,...intimately. But I can help you, Deputy.” She frowns at John Seed’s voice and the way he pronounces ‘Dep-you-tee’ makes her want to laugh and shiver at the same time. “I can wash away these sins. I can cleanse your soul. It will be difficult and it will be painful, but... it will be worth it. My people will come for you. They will bring you to me. Don’t fight it. Because the harder you resist, well... the harder we’ll have to scrub your soul”

The way the man rolls his words, it’s so clear that he’s a lawyer. Like he’s trying to impress her just with his words. Just as in the commercial. How did he know on what frequency to talk to me... Did he call every radio channel, hoping one of them was mine? She starts laughing at that, but Dutch’s worried voice makes her stop.

“Holy shit kid, you’ve pissed in John’s cornflakes. He’s going to be throwing all he’s got after you. So keep your head on a swivel.”

She stands on the field, looking at her radio. What did John mean he knew her sin. What sin? What did he mean by knowing her sin ‘intimately’. This guy ate too much drama queen for breakfast, he needs to chill.

“Who called?” Adam comes up behind her, zipping up his pants and walking towards the car.

“John Seed.” She says and Adam almost drops his car keyes. He looks at her questioningly and a bit worried:

“What did he say?”

She messes with her hair, getting it out of the way of her view. She could use a haircut, really.

“Something about knowing my sin. That he wants to ‘cleanse my soul’. That his people will come for me and the last part was totally some reference to torture I think that sums it up.”

She doesn’t exactly care about this. After all she heard the rumors about John Seed always trying to make people confess to him, talking about their sins. What does surprise her is that Adam almost tears the car door open, looking at the sky and around them as a paranoid.

“Get in the car, now!”

“Wha... Why? What’s the hurry? You said it yourself he didn’t come for you either.” But she does get in the car with him and he starts speeding so fast she’s sure they will have a car accident. “Slow down, what’s the problem? He’s all talk...”

“No, Dep! He just Marked you...”

“He did what now?”

The car takes a quick turn and she sees lights behind them appearing. She looks out the window seeing three peggie trucks following them.

“Marked you. That’s what he does. Marking, cleansing, confession and atonement. Four of his fucked up steps to make you one of the cult.” He explains as he tries to get rid of the peggies behind them.

Hope gets ready her AR-C to shoot the men behind them. She does remember the note below John’s picture in Dutch’s bunker. But this doesn’t make sense...

“Why would they want me to join the fucking cult? I tried to arrest their all-so-holy Father. HE said that no one was coming to save me, and that I was the snake in his garden. None of those sound like an invitation card to me.”

She takes out one of the drivers in one of the trucks behind them. They are shouting about something of a “bliss bullet”.

“Well how should I know what goes in the minds of the Seeds?! I just know if you’re marked, you’re fucked!”

“Well thanks, genius...” Hope shouts back as a bullet hits her lower arm. She leans back in the car, examining the wound. “Whoa... what the...”

White stars appear in fron of her eyes and evertyhing seems like she’s under water. She hears Adam speaking next to her, but she can’t quite make out the words.

And then all of a sudden she feels like she’s weightless, like she’s flying. It feels nice, peaceful. Even as their car lands in the river.

She’s laying on her back. White sparks in front of her view. She reaches for them, wants to catch them all. Smiling to herself, how she might be a star in the sky and now her purpose is to catch her star family. Voices can be heard, but she already starts slipping back to unconciousness:

“This one?” Someone points at Adam on the ground. Is he a white star too?

“No. This one.” One of the giants say. They are ugly.

“Don’t seem very worthy.” Giants can’t judge stars like that. I might be small but I’m shiny.

“It is not for us to judge. Deliver them unto the waters. The Cleansing begins tonight.” This giant sounds a lot more smarter then the other one. They want to clean her, that’s a good idea. She can’t catch her shiny white family of stars until she’s clean as well. She wants to be clean... She wants to... sleep.

A/N: Hope is weird when she’s high on the Bliss. Haha

Tags: @onl-you

#hope's savior #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #john seed x oc #trinity-hope johnson #my deputy #far cry 5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 #adam roberts #my ocs

[ladycynthiana]

RandL dream

I had a horrible gory nightmare, but my brain made up for it by giving me a silly Rhett and Link dream.

I won't go into details on the nightmare, but they were sort of connected, so to give some context, it was about a disease that made people act like they were on bath salts × 10. Very violent, and I was one of the only surviving witnesses of the first wave, who was researching a cause.

So when I woke up, the only thing that could comfort me enough that I could go back to sleep was to think about Rhett and Link. I finally fell back asleep and the previous dream continued, but without any more gore, thank goodness.

There was a good break amidst the chaos, and I found myself with a random bunch of people I trusted, including my elderly neighbor who became a small aircraft pilot, @missingparentheses , and a few small-town southern folk, including some South Carolinians who were related to Link. They were baking cookies in Nana's kitchen, while I was eating takeout sushi my neighbor brought in her plane or something weird like that.

@missingparentheses , one of the cousins, and I sat down to watch a movie that Rhett and Link had finally released, though they filmed it years ago. It was done in an old 80's action movie parody style. Link still had his old wings, but his bangs were cut short to make him look even more comedic, but the action scenes were still pretty cool looking.

They did some fancy stunt that involved lighting projectiles on fire over their heads, and we came to this scene that they had put on the movie poster. They were wearing the clothes they wore in the splashproof flooring ad, and were all dirty and wet and amazingly dramatic-looking.

The cousin (I guess? He looked like a teenaged Lohn Lightning but talking like Link was his dad, or maybe uncle? Maybe he was one of Charles's other kids' son... Or maybe literally Lohn Lightning's son because who knows? It was a dream) paused it and began telling a story imitating Papa Lincoln's voice (aww) about Rhett and Link doing crazy things like the stories they told about kayaking in Ear Biscuits. For example, "Papa told me, (switching to a drawl) "them boys ain't right in the head. They took to that creek in those rickety things after the biggest storm we ever had...." (etc.)

Rhett came in and started joking about all the kids with L names, and saying they could have been more creative, but gave examples of "better" names like "Locke-lo" 😅

So then, Nana had rolled out some dough (chipless) and cut it into squares for the kids to decorate while we continued the movie. Link came in and started decorating, and decided for a laugh, to lick several of the cookies to stick sprinkles on. He told the kid they were his, and he was rightfully grossed out, considering we were dealing with some kind of plague that may or may not spread via saliva. So Link ate all of those, which was probably his plan all along.

And that's about all that happened before I woke up.

#dreams #dreaming #my dream #randl dreams #gore mention #not much of one but the nightmare sure was horrifying and I hope I can get it out of my head soon

[rallamajoop]

The curious parallel evolution of The Man from UNCLE and The Avengers

I’m starting to need a proper tag for "things I read or watched because of UNCLE" -- case in point, this post involves two different examples of the genre. One is C.W. Walker's book Investigating The Man from UNCLE, which I'm still reading now. Though it inevitably covers a lot of the same territory as John Heitland's book on UNCLE's history (and, admittedly, in somewhat less casually accessible fashion), it also adds a real wealth of new background detail and insight to the subject. I'm sure I'll get around to writing up a proper review once I'm done -- but for now, here's a few specific details that caught my eye. One of the more curious items of trivia from Heitland's notes was the information that, early in development, there was at one point to be a supporting character variously named "Mary Smith" or "Doris Franklyn": an out-of-work actress who would assist Napoleon during his adventures. Walker, happily, provides rather more detail about what her role was to be -- making it clear that she was actually supposed to function as Napoleon’s partner in Norman Felton’s early drafts.

Even at this early stage, Solo would be a loner in name only. Described as Solo's "confidant," Mary Smith is a talented, if struggling, actress who also happens to be multilingual and something of a chameleon. She is ready to hop a plane to anywhere in the world to assume any number of identities as needed, though these masquerades "will always be in the realm of believably." The synopsis indicates that Mary Smith may experience some conflict between advancing her career and assisting Solo, but inevitably she will join him because there is a "bond" between them.

What stands out about this concept -- a professional male spy paired with a skilled female amateur -- is that Felton seems to have unwittingly hit upon the formula behind another 60's spy show, which was already airing on British TV: The Avengers (not to be confused with Marvel's Avengers, with which it shares nothing but the name, and the paradoxical lack of interest in revenge as a motivator behind most of its adventures). For those unfamiliar, The Avengers followed the adventures of a professional spy by the name of John Steed, and his various non-professional partners -- the most significant of whom were women. Exactly what agency Steed works for is never specified, nor (as far as I can uncover) why he relies so much on regular amateur helpers, most of whom have no connection to his current case, but it draws on so many of the same tropes as UNCLE that there's plenty of basis for comparison between the two.

The other reason I checked out The Avengers, however, was based on the reputation of Steed's partner from the second and third seasons -- Cathy Gale, a mature, well-spoken, quick-witted, judo-flipping heroine -- a character arguably years ahead of her time. I could go on at length about how great Cathy is, but it's really not that relevant here -- what you really need to know is that the show is even better remembered for her successor, Emma Peel, who joined the show just as it secured a US broadcasting deal and a corresponding jump in budget. Like Cathy, Emma was a talented, well-educated amateur, and as capable as Steed in hand-to-hand combat. Though both she and Cathy clearly had much more successful day-jobs and probably much more expensive educations than Doris Franklyn, the parallels are hard to miss.

Was this early UNCLE concept, then, directly inspired by The Avengers? The tale of UNCLE's genesis does start with a visit by Norman Felton to the UK in the early 60's, where a woman from the BBC gave him the idea of writing something about a different kind of hero. The Avengers isn't a BBC series, so he's unlikely to have heard much about it in the office, but it might have been showing on TV while he was there, depending on the time of year. It's conceivable that Felton might have caught an episode or two of the first or second season while in the UK -- but both Walker and Heitland's accounts agree that it didn't even occur to Felton to write something about spies until much later. Walker talks at length about the connections between UNCLE and the existing Bond franchise, between the UNCLE fanbase and the later one for Star Trek, but The Avengers isn't mentioned anywhere. I suppose it's possible that some semi-conscious memory of an episode or two of some spy show he saw in the UK might have been in Felton's mind as he dreamed up his new show, but it would be a big stretch even to suggest it. As best we can guess in retrospect, the similarities seem to be little more than coincidence. But the story only gets stranger when Sam Rolfe comes aboard -- because Rolfe, according to Walker, had his own proto-UNCLE concept kicking around at the time Felton contacted him for help in developing the series. Called The Dragons and St. George, Rolfe got as far as writing a pilot script that was never produced. The titular St. George was actually to be an agent who worked for the United Nations "above and beyond the law, unofficially aiding law enforcement agencies with difficult or unusual cases." Moreover, St. George was assisted by two amateur companions:

The first is rich, handsome, blond Lance Mordred, an ex-racing car driver who suffered a devastating accident and whose face is now swathed in gauze. Lance's damaged body parts have been replaced with those of volunteer donors, and with each donation, Lance has also acquired the skills or special talent attached to the donated part. The second is Lance's wife, Laura, "a cool, classic beauty," an ex-actress who can take on various roles, chameleon-like. "Whatever the mind can conceive, she can create".

Putting aside the Frankenstein-inspired side-kick, there's plenty of what would become UNCLE in this concept -- but even more of The Avengers. An agent working for an international agency, assisted by two talented amateurs? Once again, we’re right back with John Steed. If Rolfe had ever seen or even heard of The Avengers himself though, the knowledge seems to have been lost to history. Again, the similarities seem most likely to be little more than bizarre coincidence. But the story goes on:

Considering the similarity between Felton's Doris Franklyn and The Dragons and St. George's Laura Modred, it seems odd that Rolfe would purposely leave out Doris. Nevertheless, he did, adding that it would appear "cheapskate" if so large and powerful an organization as UNCLE should be forced to use an unemployed actress instead of a special agent to do the job.

And there, in a nutshell, Rolfe outlines exactly why the idea of a part-time actress being called in to assist Napoleon on his missions confused me so much when I first encountered it in Heitland's account -- and, moreover, why I struggled so much to get into The Avengers: If Napoleon and Steed work for such important agencies, why in god's name are they reduced to recruiting unpaid help to do their jobs?

Are their assistants supposed to be so swept up in the excitement that they don't care? Rolfe's polymath racing car driver at least had the justification being able to bring a truly unique skill set to the job, but Emma Peel and Mary Smith have no such excuse. It makes sense that Napoleon might recruit an innocent connected to a case occasionally, but once they become a regular, they should at least be able to expect a salary and some sort of pension plan in return for risking their lives. In fact, unlike Steed's first (male) partner, no reason is ever given for why Cathy or Emma assist him at all: episodes that would have introduced them were recut and shunted back into the TV schedule, so that they first appear as his partners without any explanation at all. The uncomfortable subtext, that the contribution of women like Emma and Mary needs no official recognition, because the men involved may take it for granted, is about as ugly as it comes. I doubt it was intended, but the casual de-valuing of women's work doesn't speak well of the values of the decade. If anything, it says rather too much. Nevertheless, that three different creators all independently managed to hit upon variations on this theme within a couple of years of one another in the 60's must mean something, and if no-one was copying anyone else, then the possibility still remains that all were responding to some still older source of inspiration. Perhaps, in imagining their fantasy super-spies, dropping in to help solve unusual cases like some sort of government-sanctioned Doctor Who, they were all subconciously drawing on the Sherlock Holmes archtype, where the genius crime-fighter comes accompanied by his personal Watson equivalent. Perhaps, as with the Innocents formula that UNCLE eventually settled upon, they hoped to draw on the fantasy that anyone could wind up partnering James Bond. Perhaps they simply thought it would be more interesting if one of their protagonists wasn't a full-time professional. Two out of the three appear to have given little if any thought to the less fortunate implications of the concept. Nor, apparently, did most of the audience of The Avengers back in its own day. In any case, it's certainly for the best that Felton and Rolfe wound up revising their concept of UNCLE before it made it to the screens -- not just because that would have denied us the much-beloved UNCLE we got, but also because The Avengers already existed. The world didn’t particularly need another secret agent with a full-time-amateur assistant, but the idea of partnering an American agent and a Russian was even more daring, and it’s highly unlikely anyone else would have come up with it independently (let alone managed to get it to screen) had Rolfe and Felton not hit upon the idea.

#The Man from U.N.C.L.E. #John Steed #Emma Peel #Cathy Gale #Doris Franklyn #Mary Smith #muncle book #the other muncle book #things I watched or read because of UNCLE

[loserbeam]

2016 retrospective

I usually do these right after the new year, but I’ve been getting clusterfucked so here we are. Sorry for making you wait, literally nobody!

JANUARY

Stepping off of a burst of energy from wrapping up finals and celebrating the new year, I lapse into a heavy depression.

Consequently I take time off stage. This is death to me.

My roommate takes full advantage of my insecurity about not performing. My home life is a lot of hearing about how I’m not a comic if I’m not performing.

And why? I don’t know. He fed me the line, “I’m just trying to help you.” This is a classic tactic of emotionally abusive people and, as I’m gullible, affable and eager to please, I fell for it hard. 

The idea that I’m not doing well in comedy is a much bigger road block to doing well in comedy than actually not doing well in comedy.

Instead of working on my thesis, I read a lot of comics and hide in bed.

FEBRUARY

My roommate took our utility money without paying the bill and our gas gets shut off. This sparks a mood swing that ends with me punching out a window. 

I start writing poems during math lectures again.

I get back on stage slowly. I feel like a newly born giraffee up there (google it (but not at work)).

In typical bipolar form, I obsessively chase the only thing consistently making me feel good. So I dedicate myself to writing a new character every week.

MARCH

Lapsing out of my depression one warm day I realize how many of my troubles are in my head. In an effort to take back my life, I pitch my show as a SPANK and, surprisingly, it gets accepted.

I wonder briefly about life post grad school and, terrified, eat a sandwich instead. 

My brother mentions that he needs someone to apartment sit in LA for the summer. In the parallel structure that underpins the crap novel that is my life, I am reminded of the summer I spent with my sister immediately after graduating undergrad--which was the last few months before I finally got treatment for bipolar. So I agree to go for a few weeks only, in case it all goes awry.

APRIL

With my birthday, I am faced with the cruel reality that I am absolutely not a kid anymore. I’m 25. When my grandpop was my age he had three kids and a drinking problem. It’s time to act my age.

With no sense of irony, I purchase the entirety of the Naruto manga.

For the first time in memory I have a birthday I enjoy. A last minute change of venue put us at the Stonewall on a slow night; celebrating in such a historic place made me feel connected to being a gay in a way that random grindr hookups and being self conscious about my body never has. A smattering of people from all walks of my life come together. There is much love in the room. Perhaps I am not a bullshit person.

My roommates ask me to leave the apartment because I punched out a window.

I realize I have done almost no work on my thesis.

Oh no. I am a bullshit person.

MAY

With my thesis due in under a month, I end up spending 2 weeks nonstop on a breakneck schedule: wake up at 8 am, in the library by 9 am, there until 12am, home by 1 am, bed by 2.

I fail a final and laugh at the possibility that that might doom my degree. (It doesn’t.)

In the same week, I put up a SPANK, turn in my thesis and move out of my apartment. Then I go to LA.

The plan is to literally go straight to the airport after moving out of my apartment. I enlist the help of one of my roommate’s estranged ex’s, now a good friend (because he has taste, at least), in moving my things to a storage unit. She yells at his bed, hoping she can yell loudly enough give advice to herself in the past, and we briefly contemplate stealing his dog.

We should have, but we didn’t.

The night before I go to LA I decide to leave my apartment early and stay up all night to go to BYOT, the mic I frequent at UCB. This is an act of defiance against the universe, which is my oppressor, because I no longer have authority to revolt against.

The night is great--a great set, a great time, great friends. It feels like the last day of school. A chapter in my life is closing.

Before I head to the airport I decide to get something to eat. I am caught with my luggage in a rain storm and get completely soaked before sadly eating McDonalds. This is an omen.

JUNE

My expectation is that LA will be a place I want to move in my thirties--quiet, calm, a better quality of life but so much less going on. I am completely right.

My only chore at my brother’s apartment is moving his car to avoid parking tickets. Twice a week I nervously get behind the wheel and inch it down the street--because I have only driven 5 times in my life, the 5th being the license test. The first time I move it I have to google “which pedal is the brake?”

I acquaint myself with LA busses, which are essentially NYC subways but with all the crazy people jammed into one car.

Which is wear I witness the best dialogue I’ve seen in person. My favorite: A grumpy old man yelling at everyone; a tired queen headed home from WeHo. Queen: “Stop being a dick.” Old Man: “Stop sucking dick. I worked with Sinatra you fag, who are you?” Q: “If you worked with Sinatra then why are you riding a bus?”

I do an escape room for the first time with a friend from NYC who was also venturing out. We keep this up back in New York for quite awhile.

I also spend a lot of time with my uncle, who is a very successful writer and producer. He imparted some very important knowledge, including haranguing me for not working enough, which stung but I needed to hear it. Some other highlights:

I had picked up a habit of judging improv and other comics from my shithead roommate (who is a stand up, kind of). I got coffee with my uncle after seeing a weekend team at iO that was fun but a bit underwhelming. “But you know, that’s improv,” I laughed. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “What do they have on you except 10 years of performing experience?”

Another time we met at a cafe he liked. Everyone--I do mean everyone--was on a laptop writing a screenplay. “What a cliche,” I joked. He looked at me very sternly. “I want you to understand this,” he said, “Everyone in here is working and you are drinking coffee I bought you. Okay? They’re doing the work and you’re making fun of them. That’s the difference.”

Ow!

I shit on my own experience, talking about having bar shows where the audience is the other comics, performing for 3 people at a time, etc. He tells me the story of his own big break--as a two man group he had a show at a new club. Three person audience. Instead of being flippant about it they put on the best show they can; one of the people was there to review the club. They got mentioned in the paper. It snowballed.

“And stop talking shit about your material,” he said, “You’re just telling people you’re not worth watching.”

JULY

On the plane home I write the entirety of a pilot I had been thinking about but was afraid to put down.

I check my email as soon as I touch down in NYC. A festival I had never heard back from had a drop out and needed me to do 20 minutes of stand up.

The show has a 6 person audience. I’m about to feel bad about it until I remember my uncle’s advice. I take it seriously. i do well. This show puts me in graces with an artistic director who would go on to stage many of my shows. Good advice, that.

UCB finally gets back to me about my SPANK. It is rejected.

The ebbs and tides of my life feel more like droughts and tsunamis.

I live for the month with my good friends Ryland and Dave. They are the absolute best to me. Dave smokes in his room and ashes on the window sill. Cool breezes blow through as we watch Buffy. One night we try to find the documentary Tickled, but it’s just out so we can’t find it. We settle on watching one of the actual competitive tickling videos. It’s a little hot.

I go on a date with my now-boyfriend. He is cute.

AUGUST

I finally lock down a new place. My new roommate? My ex. Why? I love a story.

The apartment is a trap. The gas isn’t set up, the construction isn’t finished. We struggle to find someone for the third room.

One night when things have finally calmed down, I throw myself a small dance party and in the midst of it notice a bed bug crawling up my wall. This is the death of my happiness, I decide, and for the most part I’m right.

We find someone to move in to the third room. He is a bland twink and could be replaced in the story of my life by a mannequin.

I spend a lot of time at boyfriend’s, consequently.

I call him my boyfriend for the first time at his birthday party, which felt tacky cause I didn’t get him anything (per request) and I hope he didn’t think that was, like, my gift.

SEPTEMBER

A friend from grad school hooks me up with my first ever teaching job. I am an adjunct instructor, but I like to tell people that I am a 25 year old professor, which I very much get off on.

The only perks of the job are getting off on calling yourself a 25 year old professor. It’s fun but I’d get paid more as a doorman.

After hosting some stand up, I mention to my director friend that I’m working on a show. He agrees to put it up.

OCTOBER

For the first time, I put together a one-man show. I perform it as an 18 year old womyn doing her one woman show about her family. It is fun and stupid and a handful of people come.

I produce two running shows at other theaters about town. They have no audience but nobody knows that when I say it.

I make my boyfriend do a couple’s costume. 

NOVEMBER

My friends from BYOT and I form a sketch group, CHUMBLE. (We’re a fan of caps lock.) They ask me to direct the inaugural show, which will need to be written and rehearsed in under a month.

We pull it off. It’s great.

On election day I go back home to vote. I get dinner with my mother and a work friend of hers, a mouthy French woman who is a delight. Slowly word eeks out that Trump is winning. This memory feels a bit like the band playing while the Titanic sank.

I end up writing more about nazis than I thought I would be.

I start going to workshops for Queerball, an LGBT thing at UCB, where I meet a new director for my one man show.

We both, incidentally, end up in the same scene of a film shoot where our characters have our dicks stapled together by a murderer. (It’s a horror comedy.)

DECEMBER

My one-man show premiers on the mainstage at PIT, paired off with Ryland’s. It’s a good night to be human.

But I don’t get to celebrate much, because I have to be up to teach in the morning.

Christmas is a rough patch. Bland roommate decides he will move out, telling us to use his deposit to cover his January rent--which sucks, because we aren’t a management company. I go broke. My boyfriend and I have a spat. (But we make up.)

I get to spend New Years with Ryland and Dave and so many of my best friends.

Ryland drinks his favorite beverage, a large cup of midori. And its flavor matches my year: a dose of thick cough syrup doused in neon green.