viva!hysteria

Timeless Fanfic Challenge Week 3

Week Three Prompt: Someone from Wyatt’s past shows up and thinks Wyatt and Lucy are together.

—-

“Rufus! Get us out of here!” Wyatt yelled, hurrying into the door as the shouts of the angry mob behind him was enough of a reason to get going but probably being pursued by Musketeers was not on Wyatt’s to do list today.

“Hurry, close the door!” Rufus said, throwing his hat onto the console.

Lucy grabbed her dress and forced it into the Lifeboat and they were off.

“Well, apparently saving the future King and Queen of France does not actually get you a coronation,” Wyatt said, sighing and sitting back in the chair as they disappeared through the wormhole.

“Well, shouting Viva La France a couple hundred years early probably had something to do with it,” Lucy retorted and they glared at each other.

“I thought that was a French thing,” Wyatt said.

“Guys, we’re going to land!” Rufus yelled over the shaking of the Lifeboat.

 —

After landing and a very long debrief with a very pissed off Agent Christopher, Rufus excused himself for the evening to go home to Jiya and enjoy a Netflix and Chill night. Lucy and Wyatt decided that going to the bar for an end of the evening nightcap was a good idea, still hung up on the inaccuracies of the Three Musketeers.

As they were sitting at the bar, talking, someone called Wyatt’s name. He turned and saw Evan Long, a guy from the Army, retired now. He waved and came over, shaking Wyatt’s hand.

“Hey, man, I didn’t know you were out,” Evan said, grinning at him.

“Oh, no, I just doing a special assignment for Homeland,” he said, and Evan nodded. Then he looked at Lucy, realizing that the two had been having drinks together.

“Uh, hello.”

“Oh, sorry, Lucy, this is Major Evan Long, he was in the Army, retired now. Evan, this is Lucy Preston, a history professor at Stanford.”

“History professor?” Evan asked, laughing and shaking Lucy’s hand, “Not to tell you you’re business, Ma’am, but you are way out of this guy’s league.”

Lucy looked at Wyatt, unsure how to respond.

“Uh, Evan we-”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you’re date, so I will let you two get back to it!” he said, laughing and giving Wyatt’s shoulder a hard pat.

“Have a good night buddy!” Evan called, heading off to meet other people at the other end of the bar.

A short awkward moment passed and Wyatt decided that it was time for another beer.

It didn’t occur to either of them that they should have corrected Ethan that this wasn’t a date, but it was over and they were now deep into talks about the importance of the French Revolution and why Rittenhouse might be involved.

TODOS SOMOS CULPABLES


La amiga que sueña un marido que la mantenga.
El pibe que escribe las letras de cumbia y reggaeton de moda.
La madre que educa machitos y princesas.
El jefe que dice: “es que está en día femenino”
La compañera que te dice: “así no vas a conseguir novio”
La mamá que la viste sólo de rosa, porque es nena.
El papá que compra muñecas, cocinitas y lavarropas a la nena y pelotas y aviones y juegos de química al varón.
El novio que te revisa el teléfono y el facebook.
La mina que dice de otra mina que parece una puta con esa ropa.
La mamá que sueña un príncipe azul para yerno.
El papá que paga por sexo con nenas de la edad de su hija.
El novio que no coge con la novia por respeto, PERO sale de putas después de acompañarla a casa.
Los compañeros profesionales que en vez de escucharte lo que tenés para decir en la reunión, te piden que sirvas el café o hagas el mate.
La marca de detergente que sólo te habla a vos, mujer.
El médico que te hace cesárea sin necesidad.
La enfermera que te grita: bancátela, bien que te gustó hacerlo; o la que te ata a la camilla para parir.
El marido que te prohíbe trabajar, o el que te esconde los documentos y la plata
o el que te controla los ingresos y egresos.
Tinelli, la novela turca, los concursos de belleza.
El que te obliga a hacer algo en la cama que no deseás y el que se fija sólo en su placer.
El que te dice: “ahora no me podés dejar así”
El que te humilla, el que te adjetiva, el que te menosprecia.
El que te caga a trompadas.
El que te aisla, te controla, te cela, te sigue.
El que me dijo el primer piropo grosero.
El que me tocó contra mi voluntad en todos los boliches, y hasta en el subte.
El que recibe un cheque más gordo sólo por tener pene, haciendo lo mismo que vos, MUJER, y se calla y se lo guarda en el bolsillo.
El pelotudo que pregunta “y el día del varón, eh?”
La mamá que obliga a la nena a levantar los platos sucios de sus hermanos varones.
El que te dice puta por haber estado con varios tipos, pero si el hace lo mismo es un fucking winner.
La que se burla de que no me pinto.
La que se burla de que vos no te depilás.
La que se burla de que no calzás tacones.
La que se ríe de que compro libros y no carteras.
El compañero que me mira las tetas.

Todos ELLOS reunidos frente al televisor preguntándose cómo puede ser
que asesinaron a otra mina.

Texto de :Itatí Schvartzman

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Why did the syngnathid go to the doctor? Because it was a little seahorse! 😂😑

Pacific seahorses are members of the Syngnathidae—or “fused jaw"—fish family. With a tilt of the head, their straw-like mouth vacuums up prey, leaving only a plume of oily leftovers to escape from their gill flaps.