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“i’m a fucking adult and you have no legal authority over me.” for his Space Father // @detectivest

❛ If you’re citing another intergalactic’s social norms or legal codes to me, you’re going to have to be more specific. Because here, on this planet, I don’t think being sixteen is actually good for anything. ❜ It’s increasingly hard to hide the grin that threatens to pull at the corner of his lips -- call him out of practice if you like, but there’s something delightful about keeping the knowledge of his sixteen year old antics close to his chest as he watches Angus’ sullen expression -- it’s so deeply, wonderfully normal. And he’s grateful for it -- for the fact that Angus has the opportunity to grouse and groan about Shiro confiscating his book.

Not grateful enough to give it back, of course.

❛ Don’t act like I don’t know your schedule, Kiddo. There’s absolutely no reason why you should spend the entire weekend reading. Carve out an hour, take a break. ❜ There’s no small glimmer of pride in Shiro’s voice -- as every day, week, year passes, Angus retains a brilliance and dedication that floors him. He’s a wonderful kid. Who’ll probably enjoy a rebellious little break, if he gives himself the chance to take it.

Shiro meets that knowledge with a swell of nostalgia, a swell of familiarity.

❛ Unless you prefer an extra hour of studying to, oh I don’t know, taking the bike out for a spin ... ? ❜

// memes ! & accepting

#( ic. )#( answered. )#( shiro. )#detectivest #〖 v :// ❛ the stars still shine. ❜ ( ARC o7. ) 〗

>> ⚔️ << ❝ YOU DON’T SEEM THE TYPE to be running around conducting this on your OWN, kid. need some help ?? ❞ he offers, doing so mostly from not having MUCH ELSE to do ; the blood hunter had already conducted his business to find this kid wizard toiling about. he’d been CURIOUS to know what they were up to.

@detectivest | hewwo starter hrs are now

#detectivest #{ god bless matt mercer and making blood hunters a thing in dnd lmAO }#⚔️ // a group of heroes rather disastrous on the second round as before. ( quest updated: dnd )

@detectivest asked: “take me home.”

It jolted him more than he thought it would, hearing those three words coming from the boy at his side. With how long it’d been in the works, Taako figured that it would have worn off by now... Y’know, with the moving of his stuff, the re-doing of the room...

Turns out, no such luck on that one.

There was that fondness, bubbling right over.

Damn it.

“C’mon Ango, the sentimental look isn’t a good one.” He said with his arms crossed over his chest, though he turned on his heel to the direction that would bring them both home.

“Only rule of Casa de Taako: don’t bring home any shitty food. You’re living with Death, I can have him take you whenever I want.” Despite the threat, a smile upturned his lips.

#detectivest #[ v; ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʀᴏ ❝ post-balance ❞ ]#[[ HE'S GONNA LOVE HIS TWO DADS ]]

❝ Yeah, ah-- I mean, I failed geography. I can't even read maps-- can't read at all. So I can't, um, show you where Hill Valley is. ❞

@detectivest

#marty..... you're overdoing it #he's the worst #;time stands on time (au)#detectivest

@detectivest // ❤

“You always ask the right questions, don’t you?”

#((Thank you for liking my little one liner call!))#detectivest #((I hope this is okay!!))#✶ Spilling Time and Stars ;; ( tenth ic ).#verse tbt.

@detectivest * /

❝ --- And um, I think that’s it! ❞ He is made of magiks and nothing else. Skeletal body and bulbous head rattles like a children’s toy, clattering with every invisible breath. He recounts the tale too bizarre and sad to be untrue. He tells of an orphanage and then of the experiments. Of his sister and her horrible transformation. He speaks of the time when his very sight would petrify anything in his line of view and of how many people perished by a single glance. But he also tells of friends long gone with a fondness that assumes they are still living. Emil speaks sprightly in tone, even as the years have past he is still the same, static in time, optimistic and kind. The boy floats a few feet above the ground, and while expression cannot change from a wild carved in grin, he seems pleasantly excited. ❝ So? How about it! Do you think you can help me? ❞

#detectivest #song bird hymns }- ic.#this ribcage holds wilting flowers }- verse ii.#eeeeeeeeeeeee

The small boy sits on top of Hurley’s workbench (the one he’s not supposed to know she has) while she works on the newest adjustments to her battlewagon (the OTHER things he isn’t supposed to know she has). He’s technically goldcliffe militia and this is all technically against the law but... well, the lieutenant seems to have the best idea for catching the raven and what little boy is going to say no to a plan that involves RACING? “How’s it going to run, do you think? Are we going to win?”

❛ It’s going to run fast. Maybe even fast enough. ❜ Hurley never claimed to be as savvy in the art of battle wagon construction as Sloane, but she’d like to say she’s a fair bit better than not half bad. These are, after all, designs that they had made -- they had made together, once. In one of those afternoons that passed in a haze of autumnal gold and swiftly encroaching night, bent over sheets and sheets of paper, covered in oil and surrounded by parts.

Hurley doesn’t think about that now. She thinks about just this wagon, and only enough to make sure it’ll work.

If she gets tangled up in looking back -- there’s this pulsing, aggravated worry in the pit of her stomach, absolutely sure that all of this will fall apart. That she will be unable to move forward, paralyzed by every what if. What if some other team overtakes them; what if the whole mechanism falls apart because she doesn’t have help with it, and she really can’t do it on her own. Hurley drums her fingers against the adamant spanner on her desk, eyes glued to the plans. If she keeps to the schedule, the whole thing’ll be put together with at least two days to spare. She might even be able to take if for a test spin.

She’s going to do this. No matter what, no matter what happens.

Are we going to win?

It’s the first time Hurley’s looked up in -- gods, close to a half an hour by now. Seeing Angus, little and determined while he’s perched on her desk, Hurley melts a little. She casts a smile at him, then ruffles his hair, and doesn’t think about the fact that all she needs to do is look at the fact that she’s let a kid ( fantastic detective, but still a kid ) in on what is definitely illegal and probably dangerous enough to get her killed to realize how stupid this whole plan is. Even though she’s going through with it anyway.

❛ Yes, ❜ she says decisively. ❛ You still up to being my eyes in the crowd? I need to make sure that nothing strange is going when I’m racing and I can’t see it myself. ❜

// @detectivest

#( ic. )#( answered. )#( hurley. )#detectivest #i will not stand for ANYONE thinking that hurley isn't chaotic good !!!!#she's the moron to sloane's moronsexual babey!!

Objectively, it’s easier to get things done with, though Shiro can certainly admit that he might not have realize the extent to which he’s adapted to this particular life philosophy until he’s forced to confront the starkly laid out repercussions of it. He hadn’t meant to rush the process -- certainly not at Angus’ expense -- but intentions mean very little and consequences a whole lot. And though he’d only wanted to fix up Angus’ arm as quickly as possible, he knows instantly by the way Angus pulls that arm back that Shiro’s approach has done more harm than help.

For a moment, just the one, something burns in the pit of his stomach -- yawning and jagged and rusted, something that feeds on a taint on his hands that he can feel and breathes a warning up his bones to be careful with those dangerous hands of his. But as much as it’s deserved, it’s not helpful and if there’s anything stronger than guilt, it’s pragmatism. Angus is hurt, yes, but Shiro can also see the fear of it all written in his expression before the tears even begin to fall and the ache of shame turns almost instantly into an ache of sympathy, empathy, concern.

❛ I’m sure it does, ❜ Shiro replies. Even if Angus meant his words as some sort of desperate coping mechanism ( he might have, or he might not have -- though Shiro does remember how they feel to say, how they sound ), that doesn’t make them untrue. Shiro’s voice pitches low and even and he leans back where he’s kneeling, resting his arm on his knee. His experience with helping anyone as young as Angus ( and he is -- so capable, but so young ) is limited at best, but there is no point in doubting what he can and can’t do.

So he waits a few moments more, enough time for the densest emotion to pass, and then carefully turns his hand up, palm open and elbow still resting on his knee -- not a demand but an invitation, a choice for Angus to make. ( choices -- the freedom of having those choices -- are important. ) ❛ This will help. When you’re ready, okay ? I’m not going anywhere. ❜

// @detectivest & cont.

#( ic. )#( shiro. )#〖 v :// ❛ image remade. ❜ ( ARC o1. ) 〗#detectivest #son ....