#and then he’d make fun of that poor ginger kid

[cruesuffix]

Imagine 14 year old Mick meeting 30 year old Mick....

What do you think he'd say to his younger self?

Me personally I'd tell him to stay away from drugs..

that mf would lay the law on that poor boy lmaoooo like i think he’d have to write a book for his younger self cause that’s how much he fucked up on his way to the top. and then… another part of me would think he wouldn’t say anything cause he’s a sadist who wants himself to suffer before he gets his success (the weird messed up part of him would think that all his suffering built character or something). one thing i do think he’d try to impart on his younger self would probably be to stay in school. he has said he’s like incredibly self conscious about the way he speaks because he thinks he sounds dumb, so that leads me to believe the only advice he would even give his younger self is to stay in school and graduate.

(weird side tangent, but i believe there was a band that worked with someone who worked with queen and told said band that they loved working with them cause they were the uneducated version of queen and like…. that description reminds me so much of the crue. like, they kinda are the uneducated version of queen in a way. ok side tangent over!)

if it were up to me, i’d tell him to only have a family when he was fully ready to… and then i’d assure him his dreams will come true, but he’ll have to wait for it. and i’d make sure to tell him it’s definitely worth the wait.

[livthelazywriter]

I can’t stop thinking about Bradley with a natural/holistic/crunchy wife/girlfriend.

It would be so cute.

He’d meet you at the grocery store. The two of you standing in the snack aisle. You pick up a box of crackers and read through the ingredients list. Your nose scrunches in disgust of the gross unknown list of junk. With a disappointing sigh, you place the box back. Bradley looks bored about what he wants. He sneaks glances at you here and there, making note that you are reading the ingredients. Well, that you are also really, really, cute.

“Are you reading the ingredients?” He asks with an amused snort. With a sheepish smile, you nod.

“Yeah, I am.”

Of course he asks why and you explain. You preferred minimal ingredients in your foods. No nasty preservatives, seed oils and anything with soy. You tended to stray from food dyes, but honestly you never turned down sour patch kid gummies if offered. You simply had a happy medium.

He found it…endearing.

You chatted in the aisle. He liked your smile and the way you were passionate about your lifestyle. The glimmer in your eyes when you vommited out information on him.

He asks for your number and things slowly fall into routine.

You went on dates. One after the other.

He found out you make your own perfumes with essential oils and buy all organic foods. You make sourdough bread, which is amazing in his book. Speaking of essential oils, your collection is huge. You have any type for anything. For topical use or defusing. Ginger for rubbing on and upset stomach and lavender to help relax from stress. Orange to add to your homemade cleaner for a nice, clean scent. Vanilla bean for that sweet perfume he’s come to love that you make.

He does find it odd a first. He likes to tease about your oils and how much you use them. The over abundance of supplements and homeopathic medicine in your medicine cabinet instead of Tylenol, ibuprofen, and DayQuil.

Or the million plants in your whole apartment, the air purifier in your room, and the red light therapy pad rolled up next to the couch. The castor packs you do before bed and the few drops you rub in your belly button.

He grumbles when you make him take sour vitamin c powder when he starts to get sick but later waves you off when you notice he’s already getting better. He roles his eyes when you tell him he needs to stop drinking so much soda because of the sugar, nasty corn syrup and fake flavors. You slowly get him onto probiotic and prebiotic sodas or sparkling water to scratch that soda itch. He notices that they make him feel better, but just a little so he’s says.

Finally he starts asking you to rub lavender oil on his neck and using your red light therapy for his sore shoulders. Bradley asks you to make him more shaving cream that you made him once for his birthday because he says it’s so much better than Gillette. He’s also lowered his alcohol intake at the Hard deck so his ‘poor liver’ will stay alive even though he can tell he feels so much better since listening to you.

Like you, he reads ingredients now and gets made fun of by the dagger squad. Bradley simply huffs and rolls his eyes at them as he grabs some chips that have olive oil instead of canola oil. They say he’s gone soft for you, which is indeed true. Thanks to you though, he’s notice his health has gotten better, so he doesn’t care about their criticism.

[craigspacemancraig]

sp boys hair headcanons!

stan marsh

as a kid, he doesn’t care much about his hair, most of it being hidden under his hat. it wasn’t a nuisance to him or anything, he just didn’t think about it.

his hair is naturally wavy, but his wool hat makes it frizzy enough for him not to notice. doesn’t help that he doesn’t use conditioner or any leave-ins.

he bleached his hair in high school after some family drama. a panic attack from being terrified that he’d grow up to be his dad and nothing would change for him. kyle helped with it and made sure that he didn’t fry all of it off. wendy also had to force protein treatments and deep conditioners to make sure of that.

his blond hair definitely helped with his confidence. this was also around the time he found his clothing style so he definitely felt a better sense of identity.

in college, he ended up growing it out just above his shoulders before cutting off most of the bleach (which gave him the most stereotypical frosted tips that eric and kenny made fun of as long as he had them).

kyle broflovski

oh this poor boy. we already know he is not very comfortable with his hair.

as a kid, he’s so insecure about it. he hates how curly it is (4a-4b), how red, how fast it grows. almost every hour of the day, he covers it with his hat.

despite how he wants to present at school, he cares so much about what people think of him, so the ginger jokes still have a lasting effect on him. also none of his family has his hair texture, so he doesn’t really have a support system at home. sheila tries her best, at most she makes sure his hair is healthy, but she doesn’t know how to help style it.

cut his hair short in middle school because it was easier for him to manage and he thought it looked “more presentable” like that. as it grew in high school, he got an undercut so the back would stop matting from his hat.

stan got him a terrance & phillip themed bonnet for his birthday by the advice of wendy and bebe. kyle wears it to bed every night instead of his hat.

nicole is finally the one to help him out with styling, showing him some low-maintenance mousses and curl creams to use. i picture them hanging out in face masks with nicole practicing braid ideas for herself on kyle.

he still wears his hat as an adult, but gradually less and less. it becomes more of a nostalgic comfort item rather than something he needs daily.

eric cartman

knows how to take care of his hair, but doesn’t care enough to do it. he’s able to when he needs to convince people he’s nice.

uses a basic shampoo, conditioner, and leave in. lianne bought him a nice hair oil that eric never uses but always keeps it on his desk.

keeps his hair short. it’s easier for him handle on a daily basis and he just thinks it looks better on him.

he doesn’t wash his hair as often as he should so his scalp is super oily (the only reason his hair isn’t frizzy like the other boys).

in middle or high school, he probably dyed his hair a stupid color, immediately hated it, then dyed his hair back to brown. he still gets pissed off when he finds the color on his towels.

his hair doesn’t change much as he grows up, he just styles it more consistently as he gets older. i see him getting a corporate job straight out of college (and is hated immensely by hr) and being forced to look dressed up more often than he’s used to. he gets pretty good at raking a cream into his hair and blow drying with a coffee in his hand at 4am.

kenny mccormick

both from always having his hood on and never brushing, kenny’s is hair extremely tangled and dry.

as a kid, there would always be sticks and leaves stuck in his hair, even if he never took his hood off that day.

even as they get older, karen likes to braid kenny’s hair and cover him in ribbons and cute hair clips. he thinks it’s really cute and almost anytime his hood off is when his hair is practically sparkling. they also got matching locks of their hair dyed pink or purple.

only gets his hair cut with kitchen scissors so he has a lot of choppy layers (his hair is pretty straight so this is the only way he can get any volume). because of this, he changes his hairstyle pretty often. though, he likes keeping his hair longer so he can properly tie it back.

he does enjoy taking care of his hair, but he’s usually too busy to do anything other than wash it. he uses sweet scented shampoo and conditioner (strawberry, vanilla, coconut, etc).

[headless609]

Cartman Angst

Ah Cartman, the bigoted, racist, sexist, overweight, bully, bullied, and a victim. Cartman is my favorite character and it’s not just because he is hilarious. If you watch the show and really looks into it, you can see why Cartman acts the way he does. Let’s start with the obvious. Cartman is fat. We see the show make fun and jab at his weight sense season 1. We see side characters such as Liane and his eye doctor to the main characters aka Kyle, Stan and Kenny making fun of his weight. Especially Kyle. I don’t think people realize how fucking mean Kyle was to Cartman (and Cartman hadn’t even done anything evil yet btw). Kyle is always and stills calls Cartman ‘fatsss.’ Speaking of the earlier seasons, remember Cartman’s eye doctor? Y’know, the one who had no chill and continuously bullied Cartman by calling him porky and just being devious? Yeah him.

Next I want to talk about Cartman’s home life. And it’s bad, like it’s as bad as Kenny. Not only is Cartman quite poor but his dad is gone and his mom is a prostitute. Not only does Cartman not get scolded by his mom but his mom brings in men that are there for sex. Sound bad? Yeah, you can imagine a guy finding Cartman’s room. And you might think, ‘Dude, you’re reading into this way too seriously.’  

We see that Cartman has been assaulted by his cousin and his Uncle, Jessie. We see this in Le Petite Tourette’s and in Fun with Veal. And this is just two of the many other occasions. 

Everyone knows the episode Scott Tenorman Must Die, where Cartman snapped and went batshit crazy. But most people don’t remember the banned episode where we see Scott again. Where we learn a dark truth. Cartman and Scott were step-brothers, Cartman had killed his own father, the father he had cried himself to sleep wishing he’d come back. And when we see him admit that he’s crying because of him being half ginger to his friends, all I can think is , ‘ Really? After all the tears that your pillow soaks?’ But then you think, would you tell some kids that have always bullied you because of your weight and you thought only hung out with you cause you bully people with them why you’re actually sad? HELL NO! Cartman may be crazy and a sociopath but he ain’t stupid. The reason he is able to stay with the gang is that they think he is cool (which they don’t) heck the only reason why they became a friend group was because Cartman bullied Pip! And with all that piled up, Cartman becomes insecure about himself and to make him feel better lashes out an everyone else, believing he is a victim in every scenario and everyone deserves to pay. 

And that is the debrief of the monster, Eric Cartman. The most hated South Park child in the show. 

There is so much I want to say about Cartman, and I tried to fit it in one Notes page. And I hate it whenever one says they hate Cartman because he is a nazi and all that shit. I understand, but please peel his onion skin and you’ll understand why Cartman is such a good character. This one is the longest one yet so thanks for those who were able to read the entire thing. 🥲

[nightcolorz]

I am in NEED of more headcanons about Ivan, I'm so in love with the idea

AW OMG YAY!!! Ur in luck because I have so so many Ivan headcanons, so many dude 😭🙏. Thank u for the ask!!! I’m so excited. For ppl coming across this without context for who ivan is: https://www.tumblr.com/nightcolorz/754664585129279488/okay-i-swear-last-from-me-tonight-and-no-spoilers?source=share , here ya go. TLDR he is my Armand x Daniel fan kid who was conceived by vampire chronicles canon compliant prince lestat trilogy era vampire clone child means

HEADCANONS!!:

—Armand named his son Ivan to honor his mortal father, and to honor the culture and heritage he associates with him. By naming his son ivan armand vowed to find inspiration in the fierce devotion, love, and protectiveness his father had for him while breaking the cycle of violence and abuse his father introduced him to

—Armand very heavily restricts who is allowed to interact with Ivan, he is VERY weary of anyone being around him extendedly who isn’t him or Daniel. He has a selection of vampires he trusts with Ivan to varying degrees that he composed before he was born, and that list loosens as he ages. Bianca, Alessandra, Benji + Sybelle, Louis, Lestat (selectively), and Fareed and Seth (who handle Ivan’s pediatric care, he has check ups every three months or so), are the only vampires who Armand considers worthy of interacting with Ivan 😭 he’s very over protective

—Ivan didn’t start talking until he was around 6, which Daniel and Fareed thought was probably indicative of a developmental disorder they should screen him for. Armand was very insistent that this was normal and Ivan didn’t have anything wrong with him because “Armand was the same way as a child” (Ivan has autism 💀 and so does Armand). For the majority of his childhood Ivan carried around a communication device to help him with his speech impairments

—When he was young Ivan spawned some inappropriate behaviors from observing the way his vampire parents interact, such as biting ppl as an equivalent for kissing bcus in his household his parents bite each other/share blood bcus they love each other 😭🙏. Which is cute at a glance, but became a problem when Ivan started biting other children to try and communicate that he wants to be friends 💀

—When he was little Ivan had long hair that reached his lower back. Before putting him to bed Armand and Daniel rotated between putting his hair in a braid so that it didn’t tangle while he sleeps.

—Armand goes through hyperfixations like his dads, his longest and most prevailing interests being wolves and video games. He was the type of kid to wear wolf ears and a tail wherever he went, lol. He’s also a major screen addict 💀 his favorite games are Minecraft, Roblox, and five nights at freddy’s

—Ivan is a massive little shit 💀 it doesn’t help that both of his parents encourage him, especially Daniel (he thinks it’s hilarious). Armand is an enabler 💀💀. When he was little Armand used to bring Ivan to Vampire court meetings and have him sit on his lap while he played on his iPad, just for convenience and so that he didn’t have to leave him in someone else’s care, since Daniel usually attended meetings with him. He had to stop doing this when Ivan started talking at 6 bcus he’d end up interrupting meetings to run his mouth and make fun of vampires that armand complained about at home😭. Poor lestat couldnt get a word in without this seven yr old ginger boy making fart sounds whenever he spoke 💀.

—Armand raised Ivan as a Protestant Christian. Armand retains the healthy and comforting aspects of his faith and religious values post canon (in my heart), and he hopes to share the comfort and importance he finds in God with his son in an empowering and healthy way (and undue any generational religious trauma in the process ‼️). Armand tried taking Ivan to church in his early childhood but Ivan was too sensorily overwhelmed by the environment for it to work out, so Armand teaches Ivan his faith at home by reading a kid’s bible to him at bed time and doing nightly prayers, telling him that Jesus loves him, stuff like that.

—Armand was a suppperr overprotective parent, and he had an incredibly intense (trauma based) anxiety about someone harming Ivan or taking advantage of him while he’s a vulnerable child. This *heavily* influenced his parenting, which became a problem bcus the prevailing fear and anxiety that Armand let inform all of his actions began to affect Ivan and cause him to take on some of that social anxiety and paranoia during his childhood. Daniel had to have a lot of talks with Armand about this 🙏 and Armand is eventually able to work through it, but it’s pretty bad for a while

—Daniel is a good contrast to Armand when it comes to parenting. He’s lighthearted and chill, and is a very positive relaxing presence in Ivan’s life. It’s very important to Daniel that Ivan get to experience the typical, classic childhood trademarks Daniel grew up with, which can sometimes be hard to access bcus of his unique circumstances. But Daniel still finds away <3. He teaches Ivan to ride a bike, takes him to theme parks, gets him cheesy decorations and a cake with candles for his birthday parties, takes him on night time beach trips, stuff like that lol.

—Armand wanted to keep Ivan homeschooled for his whole life but Daniel insisted he start going to school when he turned ten so that he can interact with other children and learn to be social and independent from his parents. Armand obliged, and sent him to a private, small, high priced Catholic school, in fear that smth less sheltered and prestigious would be too much. Ivan quickly started to get badly bullied in school, and Armand freaked out and insisted that they need to pull him out of school. Daniel and him had a big argument, Daniel saying that cutting off Ivan from the world anytime he faces adversity is going to ruin him in adulthood. They can’t come to a comprise, and so Ivan is given the finale say, and decides to go back to home schooling. He only goes back to school when he turns fourteen, and tells his parents that he’d like to try public school so that he can get to have the normal teenager experience. Needless to say he has an interesting time 💀 Obviously being the homeschooled, extremely wealthy and socially isolated genetic clone son of a vampire makes it pretty hard for Ivan to relate to other children, but he is able to find his own flock of weirdos, and by adulthood Ivan is a thriving social butterfly.

—Ivan inherited Armand’s artistic talent and passion. The type of art he makes is very different though, lol. He draws a lot of animals (he’s a bit of a furry), and he is rlly into creating characters and making up stories with his art. He gets into animation in his teen years

—Ivan has pretty bad sensory issues, especially when it comes to sound, so he often carries his noice canceling head phones with him

—Armand fixated on child safety when he becomes a parent and took some pretty strict measures when it came to trying to protect Ivan. When he found out about online grooming and online pedophile circles he vowed to very thoroughly go through all of Ivan’s devices once a month. Ivan doesn’t like this 💀 particularly bcus of his love for raunchy wattpad mafia boss romances 😭. Thankfully for Ivan, Armand knows from experience that their r worse ways for a teenager to explore his sexuality then reading shitty erotic online, and if he happens to come across any smutty writing in Ivan’s history he will tasteful ignoring it🙏

—Raising Ivan caused Armand uncover a lot of repressed childhood memories (some good, some traumatic). One of the good ones was the memory of the song Armand’s mother used to sing to him and his siblings to soothe them. Armand starts singing this song to Ivan when he cries as a baby, and it heals a part of him to feel that connection to his mother after so long.

—When Ivan gets older he starts gaining interest in reading the vampire chronicles, which Armand is very adamantly against. When he reaches the age where Armand can’t exactly stop him from reading anything, Ivan tries reading the vampire armand, but he doesn’t get past the beginning because he finds it too nauseating to read about those things happening to his father.

—Daniel struggles with knowing that Ivan will never rlly have an extended family. He mourns that his parents will never know their grandson, and sometimes wonders what they would think of him

—As a rite of passage, on his fifteenth birthday Daniel gifts Ivan his favorite leather jacket when he was a young man. Ivan feels so cool in it that he wears it nearly everyday of freshman year.

—When Ivan reaches the point in puberty that Armand never did and starts to deviate significantly from him in appearance Armand is shocked by how much Ivan starts to resemble his namesake. When Ivan grows into an adult he is stocky and thick, and he wears his hair long with his natural curls, and has a pretty nice beard. He looks like a modern day gay Viking lol

—As a teenager Ivan goes through a rebellious phase and starts having a bunch of unhealthy, volatile relationships, in response to how restrictive and isolating his upbringing was. It scares the ever loving shit out of armand. At some point Ivan had a short lived relationship with an older man, which was quickly cut off by Armand and Daniel finding out and very violently killing him 😭. This prompted the end of Ivan’s rebellious streak

—Armand was concerned that Ivan would begin to crave the dark gift and resent Armand for refusing to turn him, but thankfully that never happened. Like any child, Ivan grew up finding his parents pretty lame, and so he didn’t have much of a reason to envy vampirism 💀. He always said he preferred werewolves

i could go on, but I’m going to end my list here haha, sorry for how long it is he’s literally my favorite guy. Thank u sm for the ask ur interest means a ton to me and as u can probably tell, I had a blast writing this ❤️

[unusualindigo]

The Airplane Flying through my Brain

So… Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, or at least, the one in my head, henceforth referred to as Luo Binghe… He’s taken quite a simplistic vision, really.

I imagine him as rather pale and somewhat haunting to look at, given the lack of sunlight and time spent in front of a screen. Skin so pale he’d glow in the sun, eyes that are bloodshot and heavily bagged, almost making him look like some form of undead creature.

I picture him with ginger hair, more on the orange-brown side of things, and brown eyes so dark they almost look black. He has freckles, though they’re somewhat hard to make out.

He’s kind of a malnourished, yet plump figure. His lower body is somewhat filled out in a pudgy way, he’s got a bit of a small belly to him, from all the instant noodles, but everything else is rather skinny and gaunt, save his face with his thin hamster cheeks.

I picture him standing around 158 (about 5’2) centimeters, and weighing around 68 kilograms (about 150 lbs.).

As for his personality… he’s a broke millennial who once dreamt about writing a deep and cathartic xianxia character exploration story stuck writing porn, how do you think he’s feeling?

Like, he’s still stoked to read comments, especially from Peerless Cucumber, the adorkable little dweeb, but that’s mostly just something he started doing to keep getting out of bed to me.

I think that, had he met Shen Yuan in that first life, it would’ve sucked the fun right out of Peerless Cucumber for him. Almost like a Joker and Batman dynamic. Because finding out that the anti-fan who keeps bitching about poor Binghe this and hack author that is just some rich kid who has too much time on his hands due to nepotism…

It kinda kills the persona, doesn’t it?

His broken home and fucked up family history actually make him rather similar to the self-insert he wrote to star in his novel. Why does the protagonist wear red on black? Airplane dresses like that so people leave him be at the supermarket. Why does he have wavy hair? Because Airplane does. Why is he such a talented actor? Because Airplane worked hard for those skills to survive the various foster homes.

I like to think that the protagonist was meant to be a fully hetero figure, but Airplane’s homosexuality seeped in under his notice (it happens to me sometimes, my traits finding their way into OCs without me meaning them to), and thus the protagonist is a disaster bisexual.

I really do think Bingge and his nihilistic crankiness are a reflection of pre-transmigration Airplane, who likely had a mentality of “if I make it to tomorrow, who cares how I do it?”

I think if the Airplane in my head saw himself at the end of the canon journey, he’d have mixed feelings. He’s still at the mercy of everyone else in that other world, but at least he’s carved a little niche for himself, a crumb of happiness that just wasn’t there before. But is that enough?

[sillymaxing]

Hi again mootieee... I wish I was kidding when I said this blog owned my brain a bit. How do you think it'd go if Tord found out Matt visited Tom a lot? May be a platonic yandere opportunity. :3

This isn’t really a Platonic Yandere thing. Maybe kinda? IDK MAN. It’s just dark. But oh em GEE! This was so fun to write.

NOT proofread. Might do it later.

CW: Violence, Threats (kinda?), non-consensual drugging (Tom gets Tranqed), Electrocution (also Tom), Heavily implied interrogation, implied starvation if you squint VERY hard

Tord would NOT be happy at all.

He’d start to notice Matt missing during lunch. So he’d check the cameras, only to find Matt slipping off to the lab. Apparently he had stolen a security card

Tord storms to the lab, making his way to Tom’s cell. He really didn’t know what he was more angry about. The theft, sneaking food to Tom, seeing Tom at all, the secrecy.

Things here ran a certain way. He couldn’t have Matt fucking anything up. Only authorized personnel were even allowed in the lab. And Matt was sure as hell not fucking authorized.

Matt is sat down in front of Tom when the door opens behind him. They conversation stops immediately.

Tord storms in, two workers following him. One confiscates the food while the other electrocutes Tom with what looks like a modified cattle prod. Matt can hear the crackle of the shock as it rings the the air, and Tom can’t even choke out a scream before Matt gets dragged away.

Matt is certainly kicking and shouting. He just saw his friend get absolutely leveled for doing nothing wrong at all.

Tord has an iron grip on Matt’s upper arm, dragging him away from the lab. He tries not to hurt Matt, but the amount of struggling becomes annoying. It only adds to his rage.

So, he throws Matt into a nearby wall. Matt seems to try and get up. Tries to get out of this. Tord grabs a fistful of his hair and slams him to the ground.

This man is FUMING.

Tord doesn’t really yell. He keeps his composure. But not here.

“MATT! I HAVE EXECUTED SOLDIERS FOR MUCH LESS THAN THE FUCKING- VIOLATIONS YOU ARE COMMITTING!”

Matt seems frozen. On the ground, Tord towers over him which a gaze so disgusted that he feels like he’s about to get ripped limb from limb.

Tord takes a minute to breathe, running a hand through his hair to try and calm himself down.

“You are lucky I like you. If you were any other soldier, you would be dead. I can make your life a living hell. But I don’t! I treat you well! This- THIS is the kind of shit you pull?”

Tord sounds furious, disgusted, almost hurt?

God, if this were any other soldier, they would be taken in for questioning. They would be tortured. And once Tord had the information he wanted, they would be publicly humiliated and executed.

Tord seems to say something into the mic connected to his earpiece, before looking down at Matt. And Matt can see the switch in Tord’s eyes. From emotional to completely business.

“We will talk about this later. I have things to do. Patryck will retrieve you and escort you to your room.”

Matt takes a shaky breath, standing up. He looks at Tord in confusion. A few moments ago he thought he was gonna get shot. Now he’s just getting sent to his room?

It’s almost as if Tord reads his mind.

“You’re on probation indefinitely. You will wake up and wait at your door until Patryck retrieves you. You will work with Patryck, eat with Patryck, and be escorted back to your room by him at the end of your shift.”

He pauses, turning around to leave.

“I won’t hesitate to put you back in a cell Matt. Do not forget your place here.”

Aftermath Snipbit

Tord and Matt do in fact talk about it. In the form of Matt being handcuffed to a table in their interrogation room.

Tord makes it very clear what exactly would happen to Matt if he were anyone else.

But they also come to an agreement.

With good behavior, Matt will be allowed one 60 minute visit with Tom every 2 weeks, all supervised and recorded by Patryck.

Poor Patryck, has to babysit the ginger.

But hey, new work buddy! They actually become pretty good friends.

And oh ya, Tom totally got tranquilized after getting electrocuted. They were so “scared” he would get so angry that he would turn into his monster form. (They really just don’t give a shit. They treat him like a rabid dog.)

[rhymingtree]

HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR

What better way to start off 2024 than with my favorite fictional darlings and villains. Am excited. We're gonna pretend I don't have a trip tomorrow. Or school on Wednesday. And unfinished assignments.

Darke, you've been one of the greatest parts of my year as well as your writing. I'm so glad I get to greet you a happy new year, and that I get to spend it talking to you.

Ok now time to suffer.

Oliver Walsh. He was in something of a box but that was putting it nicely.

A gift box. With a very violent demented lil present inside. Wrapped up with a pink bow and a fuck ton of security measures.

Fun.

Oh, but it's ginger... not so fun.

They gave him a cot? WHY? That's awfully nice of them.

Nearly the entire wound Perseus left reopened during the fight; you’d popped the stitches Raffa had done a few days prior and Oliver had somehow managed to tear it open further. The knife wound in your thigh was cleaner than he’d thought it would be; the bullet in your shoulder wasn’t. Neither were the breaks in your arm or the bruises on your ribs. Everything seemed to hurt. Even breathing was sometimes difficult but you were slowly making it through.

Damn... I know the answer to this question but I still gotta ask, how the fuck is she still alive?

Like

Gurl the grim reaper is watching you from the corner as you speak just staring at you in awe

I didn't mention it last chapter but I'm curious to see if Tony's gonna get any POVs going deeper into how he's processing the whole situation

But also, Peter. This is unfairly traumatizing for the poor kid. He's fifteen and already his trust issues are so severe that if I think far out enough, SM:FFH and SM:NWH would probably never happen. He'd probably learn not to trust anyone. When he meets Mysterio, he'll probably just remember Ghost.

And then he'll remember Oliver. And then it'll be, is Quentin like Ghost or like Ollie, is either conclusion even good?

I remember we talked about SM: FFH in the BSU and how Ghost and Jack would fit into the whole thing but...

is it too much to ask to just let the kid breathe? get some therapy first? Hang out with his friends and get into college and love MJ in peace?

What if he wanted nothing to do with you once he learned who you really were?

After all the sleep he lost trying to get you back? After all the memories he scoured through for a sign or a clue? Yeah, I doubt it girlie

“You should have killed him.”

Oh Jack... super soldiers of the same mind you two... it's a bit depressing

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, turning back to the man and folding his arms behind his back, “Fear?” “Love. For who he used to be,”

And now I weep harder

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. From this breath to my last. I love you through hell and heaven. Chaos and peace. I’ll always love you. No matter the time, or the place, or the circumstance, or the universe.” 

Damn Darke gimme a break before my fucking lungs collapse

Or the universe, don't FUCKING

I am taking no man as my husband unless they propose to me exactly like that. Word for damn word.

Buckyyyy

my boy i'm so sorry darke is hurting you

He was running himself in circles when he really wanted to run toward her.

Ow.

I also wanna run. Into a wall. Or off a ravine. Or into the sea. Or...

I love the whiplash of Jack talking to Ghost and breaking me apart in a few lines of dialogue and then Sam talking to Bucky and the bittersweet comfort.

Wracking guilt in two different tones. I love it.

And they allowed Wraith to waltz through the Tower like he owned it.

Well... Walsh would have blown the whole tower to fucking smithereens if he ever found out anyone besides Wanda knew.

He threatened the poor girl without even having to open his mouth. She knew more than anyone he was a ticking time bomb.

No but I genuinely feel so bad for everyone they kept in the dark

The accords fiasco wasn't entirely a personal conflict (excluding the reveal of who killed Tony's parents), it was personal experiences influencing political and tactical beliefs.

This is different. These were direct lies by people they trusted. By letting Walsh play them like fiddles, Steve, Clint and Wanda was walking a thin line between life and death, and every little move anyone made could snap that line and get them all killed.

Everyone deserves some free fucking therapy

now that i think about it, I wonder why the US government didn't see all the shit Ghost pulled in Europe and not sent tac teams on her ass.

Don't they usually stick their nose into that kind of business? Wouldn't the US do that?

Underneath the masks that the man wore, he was still Ollie. He was still his friend.

But Turner, your friend was the mask. He never existed.

Dark eyes flicked up at him as Walsh caught sight of him through the window. Walsh stared at him for a moment, his eyes never changed as a smile split across his lips to show off cracked teeth. His stare was blank, his smile nearly demented.

He'd do great in a horror thriller movie

She was wearing the same clothes she had when he’d seen her last.

Oof... I can smell her from here. My girl needs a shower. Maybe three.

I guess it's reassuring that even after everything, Ghost still had a heart to mourn the friend she lost and see the remaining glimmer in the rust. Even if it was never really there.

“No, sir.” “Don’t call me ‘sir’,”

Hmmm but you liked it

I like it too

Boone keep doing it maybe he'll take his shirt off

“If I can figure out time travel this weekend,”

Which reminds me

How is Thanos' rampage for the Infinity Stones going?

“What am I going to be doing?” “Me.”

Boone Cavanaugh, the luckiest woman on earth

“What are you—” She cut him off with a searing kiss and a Cheshire smile before she turned on her heel, “Montana! Go!”

Yall are killing me

Tony Stark fucking cockblocked them from miles away how fucking dare he

Duke took a shower. Good. Great. GHOST IT'S YOUR TURN THERE'S STILL SOME HOT WATER LEFT

GET YOUR ASS IN THERE YOU STIIIINK

Damn, Duke and Boone get their dicking down tonight but Ghostie and Bucky are left to mope in the most complicated LDR situation ever... Darke you're cruel

Death notices.

Hmm. The chill that just ran down my spine at this...

“He caught me off guard,” Boone said, pursing her lips, “I was almost in the middle of someone.”

Putting salt in Ghost's very lonely possibly very horny wound there...

“I’m in,” Tony said, a smirk playing on his face as Sam lifted his head from his hands.

Don't be so smug. You're only in because she let you in. Congratulating yourself for walking into a door someone else opened for you is pathetic.

But then again he's a nepo baby multibillionaire. He does it all the time.

The Phantom of Paris. The Killer in Kyiv. The Specter in Sicily. The Devil of Dubai.

Oohh I like the ring to those ones lets make more

Muerte en Medellin. Multo ng Manila. Prague's Phantasm.

I don't know why I included my own city in there, it's not like I want her here. She'll make the traffic worse.

Oh god, they know she'd been engaged now

They know so much now

They've seen her whole fucking life

“Кем она была?” Who was she? “She is everything.”

Well, to Bucky, yeah. She is.

Oh my god are they actually

IS HE ACTUALLY

FIRST PROPER REUNION???? SINCE THE GALA???????

REALLYYYYY???????

“Nap. Food. Shower. Repeat,” he said, holding up a finger after each word as he leaned back against the desk lazily, “At least three times. Maybe more.”

See? Raffa and I are in agreement here.

Emphasis on the shower part.

“When they said you felt things…more… More,” he said, his teeth clenching together as he flexed his fingers, “I didn’t think it meant this.”

Is it because the body produces more testosterone in super soldiers? Or is it estrogen that goes up? I cant remember which hormone elevates emotions but it's one or the other i think

It's probably testosterone

Or it could be a completely new hormone that pops up in super soldiers because their pituitary glands are whack now.

Who knows? I don't fucking know. I wish I did though.

I'm so scared that this whole kill him-don't kill him is just Darke putting people on edge

She's about to pull some shit

Thanos is coming and Darke is pulling some shit

How dare she

I can't be worrying about this many things in an economy like this, c'mon now

But you still hadn’t been able to listen until Raffa threatened you.

The chanclas that man can throw strikes fear in the heart more effectively than even Oliver's mere existence

What if he whips out the belt. Or the broom. Or just the rampaging Spanish.

He learned a lot from his abuela and he isn't afraid to apply his skills on Ghost.

BUCKYYYYY

OH IT REALLY IS A HAPPY NEW YEAR

HURRY START THE EMOTIONAL TALK

AND THEN TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF

... never mind he's mad he's fucking mad GHOST RUN

or no wait dont you've been doing that all year

im sorry i let my horniness get ahead of me again

“Cavanaugh was right,” he said lowly, his eyes softening, “You need a shower.”

SEEEEE?????

girl. you stink. The stench is making everyone brutally honest about it.

Maybe she'll actually do it if you're in the shower with her

nudge nudge wink wink

... i need to air myself out on a different fic because this is getting out of hand

oh

I forgot that when they do take their clothes off, Bucky is gonna see everything...

I was most definitely not in the right headspace to read this

He fought the urge to kiss everyone, to try to make it better despite everything they’d been through.

Oh stfu thats

thats too fucking sweet

You know how i'm like... ready for the angst adn gearing up for the crying I'm about to do and then Bucky says this:

“Woman,” Bucky said, exasperated, “Quit arguing with me.”

And it was the most dom thing I HAVE EVER IMAGINED

turns out I'll be weeping in more than one place tonight

ANYWAYS

“Is this…” you asked, glancing down at the soup he’d given you. He nodded, making sure the spoon didn’t slip from the bowl as you stared down at it, “It’s the only real recipe I know.” You frowned, looking up at him as your eyes began to sting, “I only made it for you once.” “Right after I found you,” he said with a tired smile.

Did you hear that Darke? Through the din of fireworks and firecrackers? Did you hear my heart crumble into pieces from miles away?

Now I want fucking soup.

And I want a Bucky to take care of me.

Oh my god.

wtf.

Perfect start to the year. I'm all haggard and sad and horny and so damn happy and I'm ready to fricking die.

I'm tapped out on caffeine. And on water. I'm dehydrated from all the tears I just let out.

Daaaarke

I'll be yelling at you later. I love you. Happy new year.

CHAPTER 101: DIVIDED WE FALL

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

“Destroy it,” the Doctor said without hesitation as the Soldier opened the door of an SUV for him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ace?” the man hummed, glancing over his shoulder and caught the redhead’s attention, “All of it.”

Ace nodded, turning his back to the man and moving toward another car before he paused, “What about her?”

“She is gone,” the Doctor said, grabbing a new pair of glasses from inside the vehicle and sliding them up his nose, “For now. Come. We must move.”

The Soldier nodded, rounding the SUV and glancing down the hall before ducking inside the vehicle. It took off before he had time to close the door. The sound of the engine hummed through the dimly lit tunnel as it traveled.

The Soldier paused, glancing over his shoulder and at the darkening tunnel as the lights flickered.

“What is it?”

“Кем она была?” Who was she?

“She is everything.”

The Soldier nodded slowly, facing forward as the Doctor turned to look at him, “Я знал ее.”

I knew her.

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

CHAPTER 101: DIVIDED WE FALL

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

☞ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ: Oʀɪɢɪɴs

»Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

TAGLIST BELOW

@thexbookxnerdx // @fadingbakeryfarmoperator // @rhymingtree // @itsmeatballworld // @kippykasey // @turtleedovee // @onewithnomightypowers // @pixviee // @riahmcq // @thequeenofthefallen // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @fnnshelbys // @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul // @banbananas // @oikawasblueearbud // @itsarussian // @mrsbarnesinmyimagination // @oopsiedoopsie23 // @luhuhzy // @heyimjustlaura12 // @moonlightreader649 // @sighmurderbot // @useless-creature-213 // @xiyouchan // @bookfeen // @afraidofshrimp // @yjck121 // @born-a-sinner-die-a-martyr // @comfortzonequeen // @essieham27 // @lluvon // @aftermatharchives

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Ohana

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer’s in love with his new neighbor- and her son that’s just like him

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Typical CM stuff (Amplification specifically), Single Parent!Reader, slight angst

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.” -Lilo and Stitch

~

Spencer remembered the day you moved in. He remembered you lugging boxes up five flights of stairs by yourself. When he saw you struggling with a heavy box, trying to find your key, he decided to be bold and help. 

“You look like you could use some assistance,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I live right across the hall.”

“Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” you said.

“Here, let me hold the box for you.”

“Careful, it’s heavy,” you said, shifting it into his arms. 

Spencer was jostled for a moment from the weight of the box, which was labeled (Y/N)’s Books. “So, MD or PhD?” he asked you as you searched for the right key. 

“PhD, I’m too squeamish to be in the medical field,” you said with a laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Spencer had ever heard. “What about you?”

“What? Oh,” Spencer shook his head, focusing back on the conversation. “PhDs.”

You stopped sorting through your keys and turned to face Spencer. “Plural? Holy shit, are you a genius or something?”

Spencer let out a small laugh before saying, “Yeah, technically. But I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You finally found the right key and sighed as you heard the lock click. “Um, you can set the box with the others by the bookshelf.”

Spencer turned to see a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, much like his own, with boxes upon boxes of books in front of it. Some were labeled Academics, some had the same label as the one he was currently holding, and some had Oliver’s Books scrawled across the top.

“So, uh, where are you moving from?” he asked you, following the maze of boxes to your kitchen.

You offered him a bottle of water. “Erie, Pennsylvania. I got a job at Georgetown as an Associate Professor in the history department.”

“Oh, I guest lecture there every once in a while. In the criminology department. Uh, what’s your concentration?” Spencer took a sip from the water bottle. 

“Medieval and Renaissance history,” you said. “I get to teach fun classes like Medieval Weaponry and Warfare.”

“Well, maybe I can sit in on that class someday.”

You smiled at him and that was when Spencer knew, you’d worked your way into his heart and you were never leaving.

~

Spencer remembered the first time he met Oliver. It was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 15 seconds since the day he met you. He was coming home from an exhausting case when he saw you trying to balance paper shopping bags in your arms while opening your door. A small boy, no older than 6, stood behind you with oversized headphones and a mobile gaming system. He had a huge backpack on his shoulders.

“Ollie, take the keys. Ollie. Oliver.”

“You need some help?” Spencer asked, setting his go-bag in front of his door.

“Spencer, hi! Um, some help would be great.” Spencer took the bags from your arms so you could open the door. “Oh, uh, this is Oliver, my son.”

“Your-your son?” Spencer asked. If you had a son, it was likely you had a partner. 

“Yep, he’s my boy.” You tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to say hi. The boy gave a small wave before going back to his game.

Spencer cleared his throat. “So, uh, where’s-where’s his father?”

“California. At least, that’s where he went when he left us.” Your hand was resting on top of your son’s head. He looked just like you. “Here, can you just set the bags on the counter?” you asked after opening the door. Oliver started down the hallway when you grabbed the loop of his backpack. “Not so fast. You know the rules. Homework first, then you can play your game again.”

Oliver groaned and handed you his game. You set it on the counter next to the bags of groceries. 

“So, you’re raising him alone?” Spencer asked you. 

You nodded and started unpacking the bags. “Yeah. You know, it’s been hard, but I can’t imagine life without my Ollie. He’s my heart and soul.”

~

Spencer and you became friends quite quickly. He told you about his job as a profiler, and you told him about working at the university. He would come over after cases and watch movies with you and Oliver. He’d help you put groceries away and he’d help you with simple tasks. 

He also picked up on Oliver’s eccentricities. He reminded Spencer of his younger self. He didn’t talk much about kids at school and he breezed through schoolwork. His interests seemed heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a kid his age. One day, Spencer decided to ask about it as inconspicuously as he could. 

The two of you were playing a game of chess when he brought it up.

“So, Oliver seems to be doing pretty well in school. What grade did you say he was in, second?”

“Yeah, the school bumped him up a grade. They wanted me to move him up to fourth, but I know how important it is to have friends your own age. And he already struggles to make friends.”

“He does? Why?”

You sighed, moving your knight. “Check. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He doesn’t quite get social cues so it’s hard for him.”

Spencer moved his bishop and took your knight. “I’m sure his dad leaving didn’t help.”

“Well, he, uh, he never actually met his dad. Leo left me when I was four months pregnant.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. It was almost seven years ago. I moved on, and I learned to balance motherhood with college. I completed my undergrad when he was only a few months old and I worked on graduate school when he was a high-energy toddler. It just proved to me that I can do anything. Checkmate.”

~

Spencer was enjoying a rare day off on a Tuesday when his phone started ringing. He groaned, thinking it was Hotch with an urgent case. But when he saw your name on the caller ID, his face lit up. 

“(Y/N), hey!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Ollie’s school just called me. He’s sick but I have classes and meetings all day so I can’t go get him and-”

“Are you asking if I can go get him?” Spencer said, cutting off your rambling.

“Yes! Could you, please? I’d be so so grateful.”

Spencer smiled, grabbing the spare key you gave him. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you so much. There’s a spare car seat in the coat closet. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be picking him up. Thank you so much, Spencer.”

When Spencer got to the school, he was fidgety. He’d never spent time alone with your son before. And he wasn’t even sure if the kid liked him. 

He walked into the front office and said, “Hi, my name is Spencer Reid, I’m here to pick up Oliver (L/N)?”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you were coming to get him. If I could just see your ID?” the receptionist asked. Spencer nodded and pulled out his driver’s license. “Great, if you could just sign Oliver out on the clipboard here, you’ll be good to go.”

Spencer scribbled his signature on the clipboard and the receptionist got up to get Oliver from the back office. Oliver followed the receptionist, his backpack on his shoulders and a paper bag clutched in his hands. His face was pale and he was swaying slightly. 

“Hey, Ollie,” Spencer said.

“Hi, Spencer. Where’s my mom?”

“She got stuck at work, buddy. You’re gonna stay with me until she comes home, okay?”

Oliver nodded. “Okay.” He followed Spencer out of the school and climbed in the back of his car.

“Do you want me to put the window down?” Spencer offered, looking back at the boy in the mirror. When Oliver nodded, Spencer put his window down and pulled out of the parking lot.

After pulling into the parking garage, Spencer looked in the mirror again. Oliver was fast asleep, his head slumped against the door. Rather than waking the boy, Spencer unbuckled him and scooped him up in his arms. 

Oliver wrapped his little, sweaty arms around Spencer’s neck as he was carried inside. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was how much he cared for the boy, but Spencer pressed a small kiss to the side of his head. Spencer dug your spare key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, setting Ollie down on the couch.

After covering him with a blanket, Spencer dug around in your kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers. After setting them on the coffee table, he heard a small voice say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Spencer noticed Oliver watching him from the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, handing Oliver the soda with a red bendy straw. “What do you mean, bud?”

“I know you like-like my mom. But you’re nice to me even when she’s not here. Matt didn’t do that. He called me names when Mom wasn’t around. He said I was weird.”

Spencer knew Matt was your ex from your time working at the Erie campus of Penn State. He was the first person you’d been with since Oliver’s father. And hearing how he treated Oliver didn’t sit right with Spencer.

Spencer sighed and looked at Oliver. “I’m nice to you because I like you, too. And I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“You were?” Oliver handed the cup back to Spencer to set back on the table.

Spencer nodded. “People still think I’m weird. But being weird is good. How boring would the world be if everyone was normal?”

Oliver smiled. “It would be pretty boring,” he said.

“Get some rest, okay? It’ll help you feel better.”

You finally managed to sneak out of work and get home. When you opened the door, you saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from your sleeping son, reading a book. 

“Hey,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He has a low-grade fever and he hasn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach. I’ve been having him nibble on some crackers but even that doesn’t stay down.”

“Oh, my poor boy. Thank you for staying with him.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, for both of you.”

~

The team got back from a particularly rough case dealing with kids. Hotch gave them the weekend off to recuperate. 

“Anyone want to go grab a drink?” Derek offered to the group.

“Or five?” Emily added.

“What do you say, kid? You in?” Derek asked Spencer as the younger man packed up his bag. 

“Oh, no, sorry. I, uh, I have plans,” he said with a smile before slipping out of the office. The team watched him hurry out of the building before sharing glances with each other. 

“Spence has a girlfriend,” JJ realized. 

“Pretty boy has a girlfriend?”

“Think about it. When does Spencer ever have plans? And when was the last time he didn’t stay to do paperwork when we were given the time off?”

“And he upgraded his phone out of nowhere,” Emily chimed in. “He went from one that had only the bare essentials to a smartphone he texts on all the time.”

“We need to find out who this girl is,” Morgan decided. 

Spencer had been keeping you a secret from the team on purpose. Not because he was ashamed of you, or embarrassed, but because he knew the team saw him as the baby and they would be invasive if they ever found out. He didn’t want them to scare you away, he loved you too much to lose you. Though, he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

~

You and Spencer were walking down the street, Oliver asleep on Spencer’s back, snoring against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck.

“You have no idea how excited he is for you to see his science fair project,” you said. “It was all he could talk about all week.”

Spencer smiled and adjusted the boy on his back. “I think I’m just as excited to see his project, especially since he wouldn’t let me know anything about it.”

You reached the apartment complex and you dug your keys out of your bag. “Are you sure you can carry him up the stairs? I can wake him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. I got him,” Spencer whispered, moving so that Oliver was clinging to his front rather than his back. He followed you up the stairs to your apartment. When you unlocked the door, he went straight to Oliver’s room and put the tired boy in his bed. He kissed Ollie’s forehead before flicking on his nightlight and leaving the room. 

“Oh, hey,” you said when Spencer came out of the room, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. I think we might have put him in a coma.”

You laughed and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Go get some sleep. I know you’re tired, too.”

“I’m not-”

“Spence, you nearly fell asleep at the movies tonight. Go.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. But not without a kiss goodnight.”

You gave Spencer a kiss before shooing him across the hall. When Spencer unlocked his door and flicked on the light, he saw his team sitting in his living room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing here? JJ, I gave you a key for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency!” Penelope said. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us!”

“Kid, please tell me she’s a single mother and you haven’t been keeping a family a secret from us for years,” said Morgan.

Spencer was still annoyed his friends broke into his apartment, but he couldn’t resist talking about you, especially when they’d already seen you. “Her name’s (Y/N), she moved in about a year ago with her son, Oliver. We’ve been dating for three months.”

“Spence, why didn’t you tell us?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I didn’t want you scaring her off. I love her. I love both of them. And you guys can be intimidating.”

~

“Spencer’s coming to the science fair tonight, right?” Oliver asked you as you got him ready for school. 

“That’s what he said,” you told him. “And you know Spencer likes to keep his promises.”

“I can’t wait to show him my mold project!”

“Okay, kiddo, we have to go. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Meanwhile, Spencer was in the conference room at work, worrying about the latest case they’ve been presented. Someone was releasing a new strain of anthrax in public places around the DC area.

But under his stress over the case, he was worrying about you and Ollie. Maybe that’s why he worked so much harder on this one. 

He and Morgan were sent to the suspect’s house, and Spencer entered first. Looking around, he noticed his mistake. When Morgan made his way to the door, he slammed and locked the door. 

“Reid, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer was infected. He knew there was a large chance he would die, but he couldn’t stop working. He needed to find the antidote. HIs breathing was getting heavier and he felt sweat dripping down his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hey, Garcia?”

“Reid! Oh, my god, Derek told me what happened. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Um, can you- can you record a message for me? It’s for (Y/N) and Ollie.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He heard her typing. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Spencer cleared the lump in his throat. “Uh, hi, (Y/N), it’s Spencer. Um, I-I wanted to let you know that, uh, I love you and…” he paused, taking a breath and blinking tears from his eyes, “and I’m so happy you let me into your life, into your family. And I want Ollie to know I love him, too. You- both of you- you’re my family.”

After that, things happened too fast. Spencer was being pulled out of the house and hosed down before being ushered to the waiting ambulance. He fell out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. 

When he woke up in a hospital bed, Morgan was sitting by his side. 

“Are you eating Jell-O?” he asked, his voice cracking from being dry.

Morgan lit up with a smile. “Welcome back, kid.”

“Is there anymore Jell-O?”

Morgan chuckled. “You know, there’s some people here waiting for you.”

“What?”

Before Morgan could explain, you and Oliver burst into the room.

“Oh, my god, Spence!” You ran over and hugged him the best you could with the various medical equipment attached to him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you scolded. 

Oliver climbed onto the bed and curled up next to Spencer. “Yeah, don’t do that again,” he said. “How can I take you to Donuts with Dad if you’re dead?” He looked up at Spencer with his big doe-eyes and Spencer felt his heart break a little bit. 

“You-you want me to go to Donuts with Dad with you? Even though I missed your science fair?”

Ollie nodded. “I don’t care that you missed my science fair. I just care that you’re still here.” He looked up and Spencer and wrapped his arms around his torso. “I love you, Spencer.” He gave Spencer a light squeeze. 

Spencer smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Ollie.” He looked up at you. “And I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled and gave Spencer a soft kiss. 

“Ewww!” Ollie squealed, making you both laugh. 

~

Spencer proposed to you about a year later. You’d both decided you didn’t want a huge wedding, just family and close friends. Rossi gave his backyard for you to use for the ceremony. It was simple and small, but it was special and wonderful. Spencer had flown Diana out, and you’d flown your parents out.

After the ceremony, Spencer announced that the both of you had a surprise for Ollie. He went inside Rossi’s house and returned with a manila envelope. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, I hold the most important document I have ever signed.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “This certificate certifies that Oliver B. (L/N) is the adopted child of Spencer W. Reid,” he read.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re- what?”

“Remember all those Saturdays Penelope watched you while Spencer and I went out? This is what we were doing,” you told him. 

Oliver ran over to you and Spencer and wrapped you in hugs. The rest of Spencer’s team and your parents joined in. In just two years, your family had gone from just you and your son to more people than you knew what to do with. And that was more than okay with you.

~

“They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.” -Anonymous

[hermannsthumb]

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

---------------------------

It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

AO3 Link here 

Masterlist here

Their daughter enters the world squalling, tiny and pink and bloodied and somewhat wrinkled but healthy which is all that really matters), and Atsumu’s eyes widen before immediately filling with tears when the doctor places her in his arms.  

‘You did amazin’, darlin’ he whispers, running his finger against their daughter’s cheek reverently. ‘She’s perfect’. 

‘Make sure you count ten fingers and toes before you say that’, she manages to say before dropping her head back into the pillow, bone weary from her labour, and he laughs through his tears. 

They name her Shino, which means stem of bamboo. She reasons that if their daughter is going to take the Miya family name, she should in fairness have a name that represents her side of the family – and besides, she’d always been drawn to the whimsicalness of the tale of the bamboo cutter, but thought naming her baby ‘Kaguya’ might be a little on the nose. Atsumu’s grandmother isn’t terribly pleased, but her stoic father bursts into tears when they tell him, and immediately sends over a crate full of toys carved out of the bamboo from their family’s ancestral grove. 

The press has a field day when MSBY’s PR team releases news of their marriage and Shino’s birth, but thankfully the full weight of the team’s PR machine manages to twist the coverage to repackage Atsumu’s image as a wholesome family man, so the articles remain relatively positive. Still, they’re forced to sit through a number of photo shoots to keep the press happy, and she shudders at the office gossip she knows she’ll have to face when she returns back to work. 

His teammates crowd to greet Shino when she brings her out for one of their matches for the first time. Atsumu presents Shino proudly to his teammates - ‘look at what I made’,  he demands, dangling her in his hands so they can ooh and ahh over the little girl - ‘ I learnt it from one of  those kiddie cartoons I watched at night when she wouldn’t sleep!’ he tells her later when she scolds him for the precarious hold.

She has to shoo Hinata and Bokuto away when they try to hand Shino a volleyball, the ball looking comically big against the baby girl. Sakusa stands at a respectful distance away, but hands her an adorable onesie in MSBY’s black and gold, wrapped carefully in plastic. The corner of his eyes crinkle behind his mask when he tells her it’s so Shino can support them properly at their next game. 

‘Aww, Omi-omi! I always knew you liked me deep down inside’ Atsumu crows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands.

‘You’re insane to marry him’, Sakusa tells her, refusing to even acknowledge Atsumu’s tomfoolery.

‘Maybe I am’, she grins, warmth furling and unfurling in her chest. 

Despite her initial fears, Atsumu falls head over heels for Shino, and continues to allow their baby daughter to wrap him around her tiny finger. He wakes up without complaint for night feedings, spends nights pacing their little apartment coaxing Shino to bed, and straps her on his broad chest for what his pronounces ‘daddy-daughter’ adventures during the off-season when she’s away during the day for work. On weekends, they bring Shino to the park to watch the birds and the clouds in the sky, to the aquarium to watch the fish in the sea, and to the museum to marvel at dinosaur bones from a distant past. 

It’s at the museum that Shino says her first word, sitting between Atsumu’s legs in the museum sandbox, digging her chubby hands in the sand in search of fake fossils. 

‘Say that again’, Atsumu laughs wetly, pressing kisses to the top of their little girl’s head. 

‘Oto-san!’, Shino crows, the look on her face so reminiscent of Atsumu’s expression whenever he’s pleased with herself that she’s torn between feeling pride at her precocious little girl - and horror that she’s going to have her hands full with a mini-Atsumu. 

‘You’re daddy’s little girl, aren’t you, princess?’ Atsumu says proudly, and Shino claps her hands as he cuddles her close to his chest. He later tries his level best to empty out the museum gift store of toys to commemorate the day and she has to slap his hands from tossing in  ‘just one more toy’  into their checkout basket.  

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks him later, after they put Shino to bed. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asks with a puzzled frown. ‘I have everything I need.’ 

‘Just checking’, she replies, her doubts forgotten when he tugs her into bed. 

For Shino’s first birthday, both their families squeeze into their apartment to celebrate by strapping a giant piece of mochi that Osamu made to her back, a tradition to rid young children of any impurities. Atsumu nearly trips over himself trying to capture a photo of the auspicious moment Shino falls over on her butt, and showers kisses on her proudly when she does not cry. 

They also carry out the erabitori ceremony, setting in front of Shino several objects symbolising the various paths she might choose in the future. Aside from the common items like an abacus, writing brush or books, her brothers insist on including a knife (sheathed, of course), earning raised eyebrows of Atsumus’s family. Osamu tosses in a kitchen spoon and Atsumu naturally places a volleyball right in the center of the spread. 

‘Cheatin’ pig’, Osamu mutters when Shino ends up picking the volleyball (attracted by its bright colours, he maintains), but Atsumu ignores him, tossing the little girl in the air in delight.

‘Darlin’, come take a look at this! Kageyama-kun’s playing his first game in Rome, and it looks like - I can’t believe this, why does his technique look better than before?! What - is the water he’s drinkin’ overseas magic or something? How’s he getting so good?’ 

‘Tsumu, could you keep it down? I just got Shino to bed, and I really need to finish the work I didn’t have time to do ‘cos I took over her pick-up today’. She replies wearily, typing furiously at her laptop. 

‘Sorry. I’ll pop over to chat with ‘Samu then, be back late!’

She nods distractedly as she hears the door click behind her back. 

‘I can’t believe I screwed up so badly at practice today’ Atsumu grouses, chin propped up on the wooden countertop of Onigiri Miya in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I kept missing my serves, and then that asshole Omi-omi dared to laugh when I ran around trying to get my head back into the game –‘ 

‘Tsumu’. Osamu cuts in, setting another onigiri in front of him. ‘As much as I want to listen to you complain about your no-good, very-bad day, could’ya help your poor wife out a little bit?’ 

‘Thanks ‘Samu’, she musters the energy to give him a distracted smile, juggling a bowl of rice porridge she’s trying to persuade Shino to eat and preventing said little girl from smearing rice grains all over the place.

Atsumu plops Shino onto his lap, and continues talking over her head. She takes the opportunity to stuff her face with food –  glorious food, and doesn’t notice when he maintains a sullen silence as they walk home. 

A hush ripples across the stands like a tsunami when Atsumu gets substituted midway during the last set of the match. She isn’t surprised, not when he started playing badly during the set – there was a little kid that screeched just as he was about to serve, and he’d hit the ball way out of bounds. That had been the start of his downward spiral during the game – his dump shots got picked up, his blocks weren’t quite on point, and worst of all – he’d somehow managed to misjudge the timing of a toss to Hinata-kun, the ginger haired spiker looking confused when the ball missed his hand. 

He’d stormed off the court the minute the referee’s whistle sounded, frustration and anger written all over his face and she’d made a beeline for the locker room, tucking a sleeping Shino into her carrier. She can hear him yelling (at himself, most likely) and the distinct sound of flesh hitting metal, and is about to burst in to comfort him when Sakusa steps neatly in front of her to block her way. 

‘Sakusa-kun’, she greets him, eyes darting towards the door. 

‘Miya-san’, he nods at her, face already hidden behind his usual mask. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb him just yet.’ 

She opens her mouth to object, but Meian Shugo, the team’s broad shouldered, good natured captain, plants a hand on her shoulder to gently steer her away. ‘It’s not a pleasant sight when he’s in a funk’, he tells her quietly. ‘Let us deal with it, we’re used to him. Do you need me to call you a cab?’

‘He’s my husband – I should be the one to deal with him’ , she wants to say – but doesn’t, because Shino jolts awake and starts to wail. ‘It’s fine’, she does say, hushing her little girl. ‘I’ll hitch a ride home with ‘Samu instead’.

She meant to stay up to wait for Atsumu, give him his usual kiss and listen to him talk about his day, but she’s out like a light when her head hits the pillow (it’s been a long day, in her defense) , and she has to leave in the morning for work before he wakes.    

‘Everyone has their off days, but you’re an incredible setter, you know?’ she does tell him that night over dinner. Shino squeals and smashes her hand into the bowl of food. 

‘Of course I am’, he frowns at her, almost as if he thinks it’s odd for her to even feel the need to say that, and turns away to ruffle Shino’s hair.

She waits by herself in the lobby of her office building for five minutes before she gives in to her impatience and calls him. 

‘Tsumu? Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch today?’ 

‘Oh shit – I’m sorry, doll, I promised Hinata-kun that I’ll come in for extra practice today. I’ll make it up to you some other day, ok?’ 

She sighs through her nose. ‘Ok – have fun dear’, she replies reluctantly, and he ends the call before she can say any more. 

She can feel the gaze of her colleagues on her back, and plasters a smile on her face before marching off to her favourite dessert place, comforting herself with a box of mochi. She buys an extra box for Osamu (they had a specialty flavour just for the season, and she knows he’s been dying to try that) , and drops it off on the way back home. 

Atsumu complains about only getting one piece of mochi when Osamu sends him a picture of her gift – she can imagine him gloating even though the picture is unaccompanied by any text. 

‘You don’t even like chestnut!’ she scolds Atsumu, and he sulks. 

‘Tsumu! Could you come help zip me into my dress?’ she calls, checking her watch impatiently. The babysitter should arrive in five minutes to take care of Shino for the night while they’re away at the team’s annual gala party.

‘Yknow’, we’d get there a lot faster if you hadn’t sold your old scooter’, he tells her, as he steps into the room, immaculately dressed in his best suit. 

‘I told you – it’s not practical to keep a scooter around when we have a young child’, she answers, already weary of a conversation they’ve had multiple times before. 

‘I’m just sayin’, he says lightly. ‘Oof – sorry, darlin’, the zip ain’t budgin’. 

‘But it fit perfectly fine the last time I wore it’, she frowns. 

‘You must’ve put on some weight’, he says absently, the heat of his hand burning on her hip even after he walks away. 

‘Tsumu, seriously? I told you yesterday morning that we’re out of milk powder and diapers!’ she growls into her phone, cramming her way onto the subway. ‘Fine – whatever, you go for training, I’ll deal with it myself’, she ends the call, dropping her phone like a hot stone into her pocket. 

She runs to the supermarket during her lunch break, cursing herself for wearing heels instead of more comfortable flats, picking up two packs of diapers, a double can of milk powder, and a pack of wipes on discount - all things Atsumu should have picked up last night, but he claimed he was too busy with training and club events to pay attention to a simple errand like this – 

She’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t notice when her foot misses the curb and lands on her knees in the dust, the contents of her bags spilling onto the road. There are scores of people on the street but no one stops to offer their assistance, so she ignores the searing pain to pick her precious supplies up before they’re lost in the crowd. 

The blood from the cuts on her knees drips down her calves, and she limps her way back to the office.  

‘Trouble in paradise?’ Yuna-san asks with a curious smirk on her face when she heads back to her seat, eyes red, knees wrapped with white bandages. 

‘No, nothing like that’, she answers the office gossip, keeping her voice deliberately light. 

Atsumu only grunts when she asks him that night how his day went, kneeling down to greet Shino with a hug. 

‘Won’t be stayin’ for dinner, got a team event at night’, Atsumu calls out to her, one foot out of the door. 

‘What? You should’ve told me earlier, I’m already halfway through preparing dinner’, she shouts back, hacking at the vegetables on the chopping board with a vengeance. 

His only reply is a slam of the door, which startles Shino enough to cry. In her hurry to get to her daughter, her hand on the knife slips, and she cuts open her hand. 

The space beside her remains empty throughout the night, and she falls asleep pretending the only pain she feels is from the bleeding gash on her hand. She’s so exhausted she does not wake until her alarm rings, not even when the surge of rain overnight batters her windows and water floods the streets. 

[ajaxwrites]

GENSHIN IMPACT FANFIC REC LIST II

(previous: part i)

Seaglass by Aevas

There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect.

Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart.

(The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with PTSD, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I CANNOT BELIEVE I SLEPT ON THIS FIC FOR SO LONG. Read it and I mean it! I admitted initially steered clear of this fic because I wasn’t comforted with a soulmate tartali fic pre-Osial but this fic is actually post-Ostial *facepalm* The writing is phenomenal and Aevas does some beautiful worldbuilding that you typically don’t see in Genshin Impact fics. I love the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli here and the angst is real. The author writes the two as very human characters who makes mistakes, etc. and notably Zhongli struggles with the concept of Childe as his soulmate (who understandably is upset by the rejection when he realizes). They get better though. Also very plotty. A+ writing.

it's a hard rock life for us by reptilianraven

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Azhdaha waves a dismissive hand. “There is no real Kun Jun. He’s dead.”

A leaf blows past and plaps onto Aether’s face.

“You killed him???” Paimon screeches.

“No,” Azhdaha scrunches his eyebrows. “He was dead when I found him.”

“And you just decided to wear his corpse?” Aether says, leaf still on his face.

He shrugs. “It was free real estate.”

“Azhdaha...” Morax says, sounding vaguely pained.

-

Or the one where Historia Antiqua Chapter II: No Mere Stone goes a little bit different and Azhdaha gets more time.

He ultimately uses that time to bully Morax into confronting his immortal neuroses, to make Aether and Paimon suffer, and to figure out how to get that ginger boy Morax has his eye on to make a move already.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Past Azhdaha/Zhongli

Notes: Very lighthearted, humor-filled fic. Love how Azhdaha is so flippant. Interactions with Zhongli and Childe are pure gold.

if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes by moonlight_mist

Childe has a Weapon problem- specifically, that he can't keep one.

He's too reckless, too wild, and too keen on pushing his Weapon partners past their limits. He's just about ready to give up when he meets Zhongli, a Weapon who just might be the solution- so long as Childe can manage to keep his dick in his pants.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a Soul Eater AU with some college/university AU vibes (?) but you don’t really need to know much about the anime. It’s a cute AU and I love the premise. Light angst but otherwise, it’s a pretty semi-plotty fic. Easter egg Kaeya and Diluc though.

To Kill A God by IlluminanceinTales

In Snezhnaya, they call them sansis—lost souls that have no guidance but themselves. It’s an apt description, given that most of the time, wannabe-Archons have to go through dozens of tests with nothing as their reference, relying solely on their wit and strength and hoping it would be enough. At least, until they survive the end of the whole game—and they might not have to undergo a painful reincarnation which feels like a hundred bones being stitched together again.

On his seventh game, Childe Tartaglia reincarnates this time in the body of a young man.

Damn, he thinks, looking down at his thin body, his slightly calloused fingers. This won’t be good when facing the other Hydro Decisions.

In a world where an Archon's position is not chosen but fought for in games, Childe Tartaglia is a Hydro Decision who's poised to become the next Hydro Archon. Of course, that's only if he survives his seventh reincarnation. All would be so much easier if it weren't for a certain Geo Archon interfering with every possible chance he gets.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Think Hunger Games meet Political Intrigue meet Genshin Impact. Love the premise and world building that’s done. Features overprotective Zhongli and lots of Childe whump. Has one or two supplementary OCs that aren’t really important outside of plot device reasons. Warning for character death tho lmao.

Three's a Family by IlluminanceinTales

Childe finds a kid that looks just like him.

Of course Zhongli wants to keep him.

Or: How a harbinger and an archon accidentally become fathers. The kid is their wingman

Ships: Childe/Zhongli (?)

Notes: Your everyday cute AF kid fic. Fluffy as hell and super cute. Zhongli and Childe get domestic pretty quickly. Xiao gets dubbed a grandfather and begrudgingly plays along. Super wholesome.

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape by snowbrigade

He glanced down at him, at the silvery scars peeking out from beneath his robe, and at his eyes, properly now. They were the bright blue of high quality noctilucous jade, but he could see it, an underlying darkness.

Zhongli wondered what his eyes betrayed about himself. --

Rex Lapis is dead. Zhongli, formerly known as triad leader Rex Lapis, is a detective investigating his own "death." Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui mafia, is undercover as an escort looking to kill Rex Lapis- until someone beats him to it, and he wants to know who. Goals intersecting, they form a partnership of ulterior motives.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: There’s like one scene that skews NSFW but otherwise surprisingly not explicit. Really fun AU. Like how the author addresses Childe’s reaction to being stuck with the undercover escort stuff and how the dynamic between the two develops. Pretty plotty so far.

Phantom Lines by iskendaris

“It’s a measure of one’s self, Mr Zhongli.” Childe says. “Maybe you don’t understand it since you work as a consultant, but as an ambassador from the Tsaritsa, as one who fights in her name— this is how I learn to know the measure of myself.” “I understand,” Zhongli says thoughtfully. “It is a warrior’s way, to test one’s strength against the incomparable. To find where one falls short. To find where one has risen to the challenge.”

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: THE FEELS. I can only describe this as the fic where Zhongli pays Best Boyfriend Ever only to FUCK UP big time (via Gnosis deception). Poor, poor Childe. Look, he gave the boy feelings and then broke him. You can really feel Childe fall in love in this love. He also does mental swooning a lot lmao. 

adventitious by Anonymous

It's said the Ley Lines remember all things that happen in this world, from the surface down to the deepest depths... But in the hidden corners where the Gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming.

There's a dormant bud where Kaeya's eye once was. One day, it will bloom. (Never forget: memory is untrustworthy.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: I don’t even know where to start. This is very headcanony and lore-focused. Very much concentrated on Khaenri'ah. The implications of this story is grotesque to say the least (according to this fic, Visions are the literal eyes of the people of Khaenri'ah). Warnings for eye and body horror.

Without Those Dark Memories by StrangeDiamond

Diluc awakens in Stormterror’s Lair with no memories of the past five years. Kaeya is on the trail of a rogue alchemist, with a habit of testing his chemicals on unwilling human subjects. Now, in addition to capturing the criminal, Kaeya has to shake him down for an antidote . . . and deal with an amnesiac Diluc who acts exactly like he did before their brotherhood fell apart. (Standalone Fic.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: This is sort of a classic amnesia fic. I particularly really liked the way that Kaeya was written in this. I feel like the author did a really good job nailing his character and they have a way of capturing the subtle things.

Through the warmth, through the cold by strikedawn

“It’s you!” Paimon shouted with a twirl in mid-air.

“…Excuse me?"

They were drunk. Were they drunk? Was he drunk? Because Kaeya had the feeling his guests had been talking to him for a while now, but none of their words had made any sense whatsoever.

That was, until Venti stepped firmly in front of Kaeya’s desk and set his hands on the top, the better to lean over towards Kaeya and say: “For the end of the Windblume festival, Sir Kaeya Alberich, we’re going to auction a date with you.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Shortword, Kaeya gets auctioned off. Diluc makes impulsive (but good) decisions and scores himself a Date but displays an inability to do Date Planning. Venti deserves a pat on the back. Very sweet.

Hide and Seek by Kiri_Kaitou_Clover

Childe did not expect regaining his memories would bring him such frustration.

He makes the best of the situation by messing with one amber eyed consultant in anyway he can.

A reincarnated storm god wades through life in Liyue, all while screaming about one dragon god's incompetency at being human.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Features Childe as Osial’s very exasperated reincarnation, who gets the joy of discovering that his rival/enemy Morax is not only an idiot but also broke AF. He still falls in love anyway. Contains this golden line: 

"Did... did that complete blockhead really use my money in order to get me a gift that basically says that he is proposing to me?!"

(Osial was screaming. When had the other god become like this?! Had he always been like this?!)

Getting that Bread by tzitzimeme

Concubine AU where Zhongli is Emperor, Xiao is an assassin sent to kill him while disguised as a woman in his imperial harem, and the only reason he doesn't actually do it is because he pities Zhongli for being so catastrophically stupid (also Xiao falls in love).

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao

Notes: Like Xiao says, Zhongli is an idiot. Fluff and humor filled. Xiao spends a good 95% of this exasperated by Zhongli’s bullshit. 

prayers for a boy by Recluse

The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat!

Hm... Come to think of it, there will be a lot of interesting news to be heard the next time we gather for drinks. Filling in the blanks.

Ships: N/A

Notes: I...don’t really know where to begin with this? It’s exactly what the summary implies...but more? I was tempted to describe this as the fic where Zhongli puts his foot in his mouth but...that’s not exactly write? I feel like this was more of a character study. It explores the aftermath of the Osial Incident and how Zhongli and Childe reconnect. Platonically...though I guess it can be read romantically. 

one kind of longing, two places of sorrow by lady_peony

Zhongli's hands rest behind his back, both gloved hands clasping one another. His fingers tighten around one another for the merest moment, before he relaxes his grip.

"There is a tradition in Liyue," Zhongli says, his back still to Childe standing behind him, "of inviting out a companion to a last meal before a farewell."

A pause.

"A tradition?" Childe echoes.

"Yes."

"With a companion?"

"Yes."

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic where neither of the two communicate about jackshit but go on a quiet, sad not-date before Childe leaves for Snezhnaya. Childe pulls (? on accident or on purpose, I can not tell) the equivalent of leaving the jacket in the car post-date to get date to call for the second date. Also, the author has a gift for like...writing angst...without writing angst? Like the whole fic is like brimming with everything that the characters aren’t saying but the thoughts aren’t necessarily written out BUT YOU KNOW THOSE DUMBFUCKS ARE JUST LIKE. BRIMMING WITH FEELS? 

The People of Liyue by queer_occurrences

But Zhongli whispers, his low voice rooted in the back of Childe’s mind. “Changsun, the merchant, who is never too Mora-enthralled to turn away a needy child. There’s Tiantian—she will allow anyone to join the Adventurer’s Guild—she knows what it is to be desperate.”

Childe ducks away from them and hurries out over the bridge. It’s a warm, sunny day, the kind he would have complained about, whining about his delicate Snezhnayan skin. “It’ll burn, or worse, freckle. Would you still like me if I was freckled?”

Then Zhongli would say, “The people of Liyue will remember your sacrifice.” And he would wrinkle his nose.

Or: after it all goes down, Childe takes a walk.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The author has a way with perfectly balancing angst with humor in a way that makes you cackle. There’s a lot of feels in this one. Zhongli tries communicating--Childe runs away a lot. There’s a lot of love for Liyue in this one.

cold blooded, warm blooded, hearts all the same by reptilianraven

Teyvat Petting Zoo @tyvtpettingzoo

Well would you look at that! Zhongli, our resident spinytail iguana, has gotten quite cozy with Childe, our new (and very feisty) ginger ferret! Aren’t they adorable all cuddled together like this? 😍😍😍

[Attached image shows a brown spinytail iguana curled up against a ginger ferret. The iguana’s head is nuzzled under the snout of the ferret.]

-

At the Teyvat Petting Zoo, Zhongli and Childe fall in love.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: ...I promise I’m not weird. This is just super cute. Cross-species love affair? Childe the ferret is very besotted. The internet is confused and the zoo keepers are just done.

a geo archon's guide to the modern era by Erina

“Morax,” Xiao says after Zhongli finishes his retelling of the incident. “He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

“No, don’t say that,” Barbatos snickers. “You’ll give him hope that this is salvageable.” He lowers his voice. “Morax, he thinks you’re a boomer.”

(In which Zhongli hibernates for centuries and wakes up in the modern world)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This took me, I shit you not, FIVE SEPARATE ATTEMPTS to read. Not because it was bad but BECAUSE THE SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT WAS REAL. Like, omg, just reading about Zhongli’s introduction to modernity made me want to dig a hole and die. Super funny though. Do not read in public or you will look like a lunatic. Has a...parallel (?) fic in the same series called  buy two get one archon free where Zhongli gets reversed isekai’d into an anime convention.

time flies like an arrow by Erina

He’s tired, tired of the unbreakable loop of watching his loved ones pass on, tired of getting attached only for the connection to be violently ripped away from him. He wonders if the real victors during the Archon War were those who perished, who died long before their godhood turned into a curse that chained them to the land that they were fighting for.

But that is not a problem for Childe to worry about. That is Zhongli’s burden to bear, delivered to him in a pretty package years ago in the form of a gnosis.

His very first contract.

(Zhongli and Childe, across many lifetimes)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a quiet fic. It’s this kind of slice-of-life fic colored by this overpowering sense of love and loss as Zhongli remains immortal and Childe dies and lives and dies and lives for hundreds of lifetimes, but always finds his way back to his geo archon. It’s so lovely but also unbearably sad.

Tartaglia’s Favorite Professor by GreyLiliy

The famed hitman Tartaglia of the Fatui Syndicate spends his days as the charming college student Childe. The two lives remain as separate as possible in order to maintain a flawless cover to keep the authorities off his back and to better serve the Tsaritsa.

However, new intel about a rival syndicate intersects his two lives in a way he could never have predicted.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Mafia AU meet College AU. Childe is somehow both a horny AF college student and murderous hitman. Zhongli gives off major DILF vibes. GreyLily somehow makes this work while also avoiding cringe. Highly recommended!

like a handprint on my heart by fallingintodivinity

“Strictly off-the-record,” Jean says, with a small smile, “I’m really happy to see you and Captain Kaeya getting along again, Master Diluc.”

“We’re not – we’re not getting along,” Diluc tells her, indignant. “We’re working together. Unwillingly, I might add.”

“Yes – oh, yes, of course.”

Diluc stares at Jean suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

Jean clears her throat primly. “I would never.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Super, super cute! Sort of reads like a first date fic except genshin impact style? Writing style is very refreshing!

[the-queen-of-fools]

Good Vibes Only

Word count: 1445 Pairing: Dave York x gn!reader (no y/n, no descriptions of reader, no pronouns) Rating: 18+ Warnings: smut, D/s, sub!Dave, swearing, ass play, butt plug use, vibrator use, remote control toy, edging, orgasm delay, handjob, public play, explicit descriptions, AU (no Carol or kids), soft!Dave.

A/N: sub!Dave York lives in my brain, and heart, rent free. All BDSM activities should be safe, sane, and consensual between 2 (or more) adults. I have written this as if it were a real situation, within a long term relationship where non verbal cues are known and are recognised. Please note: A Dominant has a responsibility to look after a submissive, including paying attention to signs that something in play is too much, even when a sub does not use their safe words. I also wrote and rewrote the debrief section multiple times, and in reality it would be more in depth. I feel it’s a little bit clunky, but it’s important to be there, which is why it’s left in even with me not being perfectly happy with it. Don’t take this fic as a guide or gospel. However, if someone ignores your limits and/or use of a safe word, that is always abuse.

And, of course, don’t steal my work, repost it, or claim it as your own.

— — —

@silverwolf319, @caesaryoulater, @anxiousandboujee, @wyn-dixie, @aliengxrl, @rav3n-pascal22, @green-socks, @dragcn-queen, @buttercup–bee, @chasingdreamer, @amneris21, @sugarontherims, @kesskirata, @ravensmutty, @dindjarinneedsahug, @allmahfeels, @phoenix-of-loki, @cookiecat22, @rrtxcmt, @mouthymandalorian, @danniburgh, @alleycat5135, @callsigncatfish, @djarinsbeskar, @asta-lily, @the-ginger-hedge-witch, @agentalpha, @disgruntledspacedad

— — —

Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy down, and watch him relax again...

...

“You like it Dave? I got it just for you.” He stares at it. It looks like a plug, albeit a slightly different shape than the ones you already have, but it has an extra curved part to it that leaves him wondering. “I... it’s a plug, but. What is this part?” He asks, pointing.  “Oh. So, you’re right, this goes inside you, and this,” you run a finger over the part he pointed at, “this sits against the taint. The very base of your balls.” He nods, humming to himself in understanding. “But if you don’t like it, we don’t have to use it-” “No. No, I do.” He blushes. You lift yourself up onto your toes, lean close to his ear and whisper. “It vibrates.” You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You continue, “I can control it from my phone. I don’t even have to touch you to make you cum.” His eyes widen before squeezing shut, the blush dusting his cheeks deepening in colour, and letting out a small whimper.  

You move yourself back down, feet flattening onto the floor again. One of your hands raise to jaw, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I was wondering, and you can say no, if you might want to have some fun with it out...” His eyes open suddenly, brows pulling together, creasing in the middle. “Out, like out in public?” You nod in reply, trying to decide if it’s a little too far. You love each other, trust each other absolutely, but Dave is usually the one that asks to take things further. You worry if you ask too much of him, it’ll push him away. It wasn’t a limit for either of you. Public play had been a curiosity of his from the start of your relationship, even before he told you his submissive desires. You’d tease each other in public, he once made you cum on his fingers in a cafe. But this? Was it too much? You were so in your thoughts you almost missed him say “okay. Where? When?” Shit. You hadn’t figured that out yet, you’d only thought of it within the house. Dave wearing nothing but this in bed. Dave wearing it under clothes watching a movie on the sofa. “I haven’t thought about that. Maybe we can talk about it together?”

...

You’re sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant with Dave. You haven’t turned the vibration on yet, letting him get used to the fullness first. His hand is on your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb. You’re looking at the menu, deciding on what you’re each going to have when you place your chin on his shoulder. “You ready, baby?” You ask him, placing your phone on the table. “Remember what we talked about?” He nods, and squeezes your knee once  to signal he’s ready. You smile, raise a brow, and kiss his cheek. A quick wink, and you reach for your phone, turning it on to the lowest level. He sucks a breath in, and your smile spreads further across your face. “I love you, honey,” you tell him as you look back at the menu.

You had talked it all through, once he’d expressed his interest in wearing it in public. Discussed where was or wasn’t suitable, how many people he’d be okay with being around, who exactly were no-gos. You already knew you would never embarrass or humiliate him, and you wouldn’t do anything that may affect his work in any way. The two of you had agreed that you’d use your judgement for levels once you knew how loud it was, or how affected Dave would be. That if he got hard, you’d stop and allow him to soften again before restarting, and as always, safe words could be used by either of you, if needed. You’d shown him the plug’s different vibration levels (5 in total) and the ease which you could move from high to low, or stop it completely if necessary.

While looking through the menu, you turn up the level a step. He blinks, moving a little before relaxing again. It can’t be heard over the chattering of everyone. Once you see that your waiter is about to come over, you stop it. The waiter comes, takes your orders, and as he goes, you return the vibration straight back to level 2. Dave bites his lip to prevent a moan, and you kiss his cheek again, whispering words of praise and encouragement to him. You lower it as your drinks arrive, checking in on how he’s feeling before increasing it back up again. He moans softly, and you rub up and down his thigh. “You sound like you’re having fun, Dave. Such a good boy, making such sweet sounds.” He nods his head softly, whimpering, and gives you a small smile. 

The level is reduced again when the food arrives. Once it’s just you and Dave again, you increase it again for a while you eat and chat. Next, you start to alternate back and forth between 2 and 3, before settling at the latter. Dave sighs, but continues eating, though a little slower.  You move the plug’s level up to 4. Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy back down to level 2, and watch him relax again in his seat. “David, is this still fun?” He nods, but you’re not sure, “do you want me to stop until after dinner?” He doesn’t nod, but doesn’t shake his head either. “David, baby.” He looks up, and meets your gaze. “I’m going to turn it back to the lowest level and keep it there until we leave.”  He frowns again, but nods without protest. “Thank you, honey,” he whispers, lifting your hand to his mouth and kissing it softly. 

...

The vibration stays at the lowest level while you both eat dinner, and continue the date. Once the bill is paid, and walk through the restaurant doors, you put the level up. Dave grabs your hand and squeezes, pulling you back close to him. You smile, walk to the car, opening the passenger door for him, and then get into the drivers seat yourself. The second you pull the door to, he leans across to you, holding your face firmly as he kisses you.  “David. Sit back.” You say when you part, and he does so immediately. “Poor baby.” You unbuckle his belt, undo the button and unzip his trousers, “was it too difficult?” You reach your hand into his underwear, pull his hardened cock out, and grip it. You arch a brow, and whisper with a smile, “was I too mean?” You lick a stripe up his neck, and he bucks his hips upwards as his eyes squeeze shut and he groans deeply. “Oh, baby. You did so well, David. You deserve a reward.” You turn the level up again, and stroke his cock slowly.  Eyes still closed, Dave whimpers, breathing out your name like a prayer. “Please, honey. Shit, shit.” Speeding your strokes and raising the vibration level one final time makes Dave cry out “please, fuck, please?” The moment he is given permission, he cums over your hand, panting hard, clenching his fists tightly. You turn the plug off, still stroking his cock until his high is over, and his breath begins to even out and slow. He pants out, “thank you, honey, fuck.” He takes your cum-covered hand and cleans it with his pocket square before resting his forehead on yours, “thank you.”

Once the two of you got home, Dave pulls you to him, wraps his arms around you, holding your back to his chest, and walks you upstairs to bed. You get ready for bed and spend the night content in each other’s arms.

…

You talked it through with Dave the next morning. He assured you he had been having fun, it wasn’t too much. But concentrating on not moaning loudly had taken up more of his thought processes than he had imagined, and so trying to answer questions became difficult at the higher levels. He really loved it in the car though, when he didn’t have to hold back, and explained how eager he was to fuck you wearing it, or be tied up and edged over and over with it. Just not in public again until after a bit more training…

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[burningcowboyhoagietaco]

A Way to Learn a Lesson

written by:

@burningcowboyhoagietaco

illustrated and edited by the amazing, the one and only:

@lenle-g

Before I publish the story id like to thank @lenle-g from the bottom of my heart for being patient with me, being nice to me the whole time, and for making my story even better and more exciting. Without her I would have stayed in my normal, not that good English story. so thank you for everything!!! <3<3

And here's my part at @tagminibang submission:)

☆☆☆☆☆

Scott, no!!! No way! I am not going to give any lectures to anyone." John's voice comes out tight. "Especially not in front of a crowd. No way."

"Why not?" Scott raises a brow, his voice honeyed with ‘big brother wants something’. "It's not like you're gonna get executed by some children just for talking space at them, right? You love talking about space. It's all I've heard since you were, like, seven."

"No, that's not it." There's a sharp shake of the ginger’s head, "Scott, come on!" John knows for a fact that his oldest brother knows he's the most socially awkward person to have ever lived on Tracy Island (and maybe the entire planet). "You’ve lived with me long enough to know how much I hate social.... anything." John complains. "Why would you ever think I'd want to do this?""

"Well, yes, I know that," Scott shrugs, "I've seen that look you get on your face when there's a lot of people around." He’s well aware that his brother is an introvert who hates socializing with anyone, so he quickly changes the subject to try and make his younger brother feel a little more at ease. "But hey... everyone knows how much you like it when anyone talks about space or anything about astronomy. You'd be amazing at it."

"That's a different thing." John says flatly. Flattery, it seems, wont get Scott very far. "It's like, whenever you guys ask me anything about space, I like to answer them for you, but from random people…? And in huge crowds? I just simply can't." Surely he doesn’t have to explain himself much more than that?

"Oh trust me, everything is going to be fine." Scott was a flippant hand around, talking without really thinking, because all he wants is for his brother to get out of Thunderbird 5, to visit Earth for a little bit, to mingle with people a little. It can't be that bad. "If anything happens, Gordon and Alan'll be in Thunderbird Five doing Space Monitor duty, me and Virgil are gonna keep an eye on everything, and you’re in safe hands with Lady Penelope and Parker. It's all set up, so please go have some fun for once and teach the children something cool."

"My answer is still no." John says persistently, without hesitation. He's pretty sure it'd be worse than being in the middle of a hurricane, or testing one of his Grandma's new cooking experiments. It’s lucky Scott misses his involuntary shudder.

Scott, though, is so done with him at this point, that he's pretty sure there's no choice but to use plan b and hope that that works instead on his unwilling, stubborn, red haired brother. They've got to get him down from orbit and to that lecture somehow. Scott's just not going to stand for anything else.

"Are you sure that's your last answer?" Scott asks, with a heavy sigh, already planning the best way to call in the big guns.

"Yes," John scowls, arms folded. "Yes, it is."

They'll see about that.

...

"Is everything ready?" John adjusts his sleeves, smoothing down his vest and putting the last touches on his collar. Neat, simple, formal. Can't go wrong. "My presentation papers, laptop, and my mini simple dimple?”

"Yes, all in the bag." Scott calls back, rapidly checking everything, "But do you really need that little fidget thing of yours?" He picks his younger brother's old toy up between forefinger and thumb to examine it, remembering the day John made their Mom buy it for when he gets stressed.

"What fidge- oh, yes I need it." The look on John's face leaves no doubt about that. "I've used it ever since Mom bought it for me."

"Hey… Mom would've been proud of you, you know?” Scott tells him, in a quick flash of brotherly pride. “For, you know, going out of your safe zone for a little while and teaching the children and all that."

"Yeah, I know…" John finds him a nervous smile, "But I'm not doing this voluntarily, you've forced me with that plan b of yours."

The second John says that Scott's cheeks dimple, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he grins victoriously, his teeth a bright white in the earliest rays of morning sun.

“All I had to do was make a call." He shrugs, "Lady Penelope did all the talking and somehow convinced you to go." Scott got a little more excited. He took a couple of steps forward, slightly standing on his toes reaching John's level asking"How did she convince you?" Clearly waiting teasingly for an answer to come out of John's lips

"Huhhhh." John exhales loudly, a little despairing. "She promised me we'd go to the Pagasa Astronomical Observatory after I finish the lecture with the children." He shrugs, keeping his eyes down, embarrassed.

"The what now?" Scott stares at him, thoroughly confused.

"The Pagasa Astronomical Observatory in the Philippines.” John says, like that was obvious, “It's equipped with a 45-cm computer-based telescope. It's so powerful that astronomers and astronomy enthusiasts can now conduct effective observations of stellar bodies and other distant space objects! Scott, it’s been my dream to go since I was, like, 17."

Scott always knew how much of an astrophile his younger brother is; he never cared about his physical appearance, nor his poor eating habits and he always used to make excuses to read his books alone, yet no one has ever interfered in his personal life.

"Okay okay space lover boy,” Scott grins at him. He'd expected Penny to be persuasive, but resigning herself to hours stuck with John in full excited-about-space mode would hardly be in his top ten. Either he's gonna owe her one, or Penny's more resilient than him. “You can go, no one is holding you back."

The short silence between them was broken by a ringing sound from a nearby table, which John answers.

“...Mhm, yes? Oh, the lecture." It must be Penelope calling, "Yeah, I'm ready, I'll head out now." John grabs his bag, wandering toward where the FAB1 must already be idling on the Tracy runway. "Time to go."

"Mhm,” Scott makes an agreeable noise, watching him go. “Please stay safe and please don't make an idiot of yourself." He's teasing… mostly.

"Yeah yeah," John waves at him over his shoulder, not even looking back. "I won't."

…

"Are we there yet?" Despite the consistently amazing views out of FAB1’s windows during the flight, John’s found himself mostly looking down, fidgeting with his fingers. He’s worrying, just a little, about what awaits him in the Philippines - a whole different tropical island to his own, though still in the South of the Pacific Ocean.

"Just give Parker ten more minutes, darling,” Her Ladyship smiles at him, “We'll arrive in no time."

There’s a moment of silence before, unexpectedly, it’s broken by a call flashing up from, of all places, Thunderbird Five. There’s a prickly sense of discomfort as John realises that, of course, it’s not him calling. Gordon must be trying to reach them.

"Heeeeey Lady Penelope,” The kid greets, as Penny flicks it on, seemingly a lot less bothered by the change than he is. “Oh, and Mr. Tracy.” There’s a huge smirk on his face. “How's our newest teacher holding up?"

"Firstly, my name is John.” John points out, flatly, “Second, I'm not your teacher so please don’t call me Mr. Tracy ever again. Thirdly…” He concedes, quirking an eyebrow, “Yeah, I'm good for now, but fourth… How are you holding up, up there in my Thunderbird? She’s not much like Four, is she?"

"Ooooooooo that's a good question,” Gordon looks half like he’s considering it, half like he’s really missing his own ‘bird. “I'm holding up pretty well thanks to Alan. He’s taken all the Monitor duty stuff, so all I gotta do is keep an eye on you guys." He sounds a bit… sarcastic about that. “It’s pretty boring, honestly. How do you survive up here without a pool?”

"Young Master Gordon, are you quite done talking?" Parker glances, unimpressed, at the little floating hologram of John’s brother in his rearview mirror, "Because we're about to arrive at our destination."

"Huh… oh yeah,” Gordon doesn’t seem too bothered about that, but he waves merrily at them all the same, “Okay bye and John, please have fun, you too Lady Penelope, okay bye guys."

It’s only a few moments later that Parker opens his mouth to tell them that they’ve arrived at Chino Roque Theater, pulling up out front to let them both climb out.

John's eyes widen: it’s nothing like what he saw on the internet. It was more enormous, more luminous, more spectacular than anything he’d seen or read online. All he remembers reading is that it's a sphere shaped building located in the Philippines, in Anilao Hill, but the pictures on the webpage didn’t do it justice like being there in person does.

The building was smooth and round; the auditorium shaped like a massive egg nestled in amongst the other buildings. They were early enough that the sun was just cresting the horizon, colouring the sky with reds and oranges, visible through the geometric front of the building - where giant triangles of glass intersect together to give the people inside an amazing view of the sky at night.

"M'lady, you and John can go ahead. I'll park FAB 1." Parker said, before going to the parking lot - unaware just how tiring and long his journey to find a place to park is going to be.

They both head inside the building, admiring the sweeping glass fractals of the roof high above them. It’s incredibly beautiful, really a feat of engineering. So much so, that John almost forgets why he’s even there, until he spots a couple of buses arriving on the other side of the building, and the panic sets in. He was expecting to be a little bit anxious, but this feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He presses a hand hard against it, trying to calm his racing pulse and stop the sudden shake of his fingers, and Penny must notice, because a little hand settles, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

"Hey John," Lady Penelope looks him steadily in the eye, projecting warmth and reassurance. "They're just a small, mixed group of children and teens. They can’t possibly hurt you, now can they? They just came to have a small lecture because all of them like space and astronomy just like you. Imagine yourself at their age, meeting a real life astronaut.” John tries very hard not to remind her who, exactly, his Father was, as she goes on - trying to visualise being a kid that didn’t get ‘take your son to work days’ at NASA’. It’s a pretty horrifying concept. “Most importantly,” Penny adds, “it's only for an hour or so, so you don't need to worry so much." She had to smile just to reassure him. “You’ll have filled their heads with space facts and be out before you know it.”

"O-okay,” John takes a deep, steadying breath, “I don't know if I'm supposed to trust you on this, or whatever, but I really don't have any other choice." He also wants to add that they forced him to go, but at the last second he remembers that they never forced him - he agreed to go because Lady Penelope promised him a trip to the observatory.

It seems like a pretty weak reason, now that he’s outside the stage door, knees shaking.

"Mhm, I think it's time to go inside.” She nudges him callously in the right direction, and John’s palms meeting the solid metal of the double doors is the only thing that keeps him from following gravity’s call and landing on his face. “Again, if anything happens, I'll be at the back of the room and I have a plan b if things get too much." John, pretty shocked by just how many plan b's the Lady Penelope might have prepared for the day, can only shake his head, bemused. “So stop worrying and get out there!”

She vanishes off into the atrium, and John can’t help the loud exhale that escapes his mouth before he musters up all the courage he can, and enters the room.

Bright lights startle him for a moment, and he’s pretty sure he does an awful, awkward impression of a blind baby giraffe as he stumbles out onto the stage and freezes as he notices the first smatterings of audience are already taking their seats.

The moment he placed his foot on the smooth wooden floor, his heart had started to beat faster, his hands began to sweat, the more steps he took forward the more he felt anxious. It was, he’ll think later, one of the toughest moments of his life, and he’s been to space. Multiple times.

Come on John. He tries to straighten up, shake off his anxiety, This can’t go worse than your first EVA.

Taking another deep breath, John waits patiently for all the attendees to take a seat inside the room. Waiting doesn’t help his anxiety levels at all, and he can feel them increasing by the second, but, determined, John doesn’t let it stop him from starting his lecture.

"H-Hello everybody,” He starts, incredibly conscious of the hushed silence that falls across his audience. “I'm John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons,” he rattles off his credentials, his nerves almost blurring them together, “I worked with NASA as an astronaut for three years before going… uh… solo in my astronomical studies, and I'll be your guest lecturer for the day.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, as a ripple of hushed oohhhs and ahhhs goes through the crowd. John’s pretty sure his face has gone bright red. “Thank you for having me at the Chino Roque Theater,” He goes on, before his embarrassment can bet the better of him, “I hope everyone’s had an amazing day so far. We'll be spending the next hour or so talking about astronomy and space physics, so shall we get started?" John thought it was a good opening, and yet his back was really wet from all the people's eyes on him. Glancing offstage, Penelope throws him a thumbs up, and he feels a little better.

"Um,” He blinks. “So does anyone here know how old the universe is?" John ventures, only to be surprised as almost everyone answers at once;

"Almost 13.8 billion years!"

"Yes,” The edge of a smile works its way onto John’s face. Clearly this was going to be a shout out the answer kind of lecture. He can work with that. “That's correct, now does anyone know how the universe started?"

"The Big Bang!" Most of them answer, and John feels a surge of relief. These guys really are into space.

"Okay, okay, not bad at all." He nods affirmatively at them, and the screen behind him lights up with an artist’s rendition of the Big Bang happening. "Now if I were to go and search ‘how old is the universe’ in, say, Google, the answer would be 13,772 billion years. It’d be the same thing if we looked at NASA, or even Wikipedia - so how did people get to know the age of the universe? How do you even start calculating something that old? Well I'm going to explain it for you in two ways: the good, nice way, and the kinda not that good and not that scientific way." There’s a bit of an awkward pause as John wonders whether or not he’s explained that well. When only silence greets him, he very quickly realises he needs to press on.

"So, uh, the good way.” He folds his fingers together behind his back, trying to resist the urge to fidget. “Well, in the middle of the previous century, as telescopes developed, we noticed something strange. We found that stars in very distant galaxies tend to look red… Umm, which is something that’s not supposed to happen.” A chuckle escapes John and, to his relief, the audience laughs with him. Scott never gets his space jokes. “So why’s that?” He asks, “See, if a chemical element gains or loses energy it’ll emit light in certain frequencies, thereby creating certain colors.” A small movement of his hand signals the slide to change, and a picture of the visible section of the electromagnetic spectrum appears, colouring the room with rainbow light. “For example,” John goes on, bathed in blue and violet, “Consider something like… a desk lamp, as like an element. If you give a lamp electrical energy, it’ll release that energy in the form of heat and light, yeah?" There’s a murmur of uncertain understanding in the room. “Electricity goes in, the bulb gets hot, and it gives off light. Well, we know stars do pretty much the same thing - only powered by nuclear fusion rather than a nine volt plug.”

"From studies of the sun and stars that are near Earth, we know that they’re made of helium and hydrogen, yes?” There’s another murmur of agreement in John’s crowd, “Well, hydrogen and helium can create red light, but they don't have the ability to create these shades of red that we see in deep space." The slide behind John clicks to a comparison of the two shades, on two different stars - making the difference clear.

"So, if stars are made of helium and hydrogen then why do distant stars have different colours? Are their compositions different?uh, well It’s possible, but not likely. The strongest explanation is that the color difference is due to the movement of the stars." The room gives a soft gasp at this news, and John knows he’s onto something good.

"So there's something called the redshift and blueshift phenomenon that says that if an object radiates light and approaches you, the color of the light begins to turn blue, and if the object is moving away from you, the color will turn red. This happens because the wavelength of light contracts and expands with movement meaning that something stretching equals red and contraction equals blue."

"And the strange thing is,” John adds, his audience listening raptly, “That most, if not all, stars show the same behavior, so, if we think about it, if all stars are moving away from us, that means that they were close to us at some point, and if we follow their path, we find that everything in space meets at a point named ‘singularity’."

"It was believed, in the past, that everything in the universe, or at least in the visible part that we have observed, that is to say,” John flicks to a graphic on his next slide. “All the galaxies, planets and stars, were all gathered at one point - the singularity. The theory is that this point exploded in what we call the ‘Big Bang’, and from that time onward, the universe has been in constant expansion.”

"So it’s with data from this knowledge that we can calculate the age of the universe:” With a wave of his hand, John puts a series of bullet points up on the screen behind him, then reads them aloud.

“One, the universe began as a very small, single point.” He reaffirms, “Two, the universe is constantly expanding outward from that point, and three, from these we have the ability to calculate the expansion rate of the universe, by calculating the speed of the stars that are moving away from us. If we take the furthest accelerations and enter them into this equation,” John’s board merrily does it’s thing behind him, “Then, we get the age of the universe."

"And, so we don't forget, all this talking was about the good way. There is another way to calculate the age of the universe, the, uh, not as good way, or, more specifically, the less scientific way.” A ripple of laughter goes through John’s audience - and he relaxes a little more. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe these are his kind of people. Scott’s never laughed at a space joke for sure. “There's no problem with it,” He quietens them again with a gentle gesture, “and it does support our theory and calculations, so I guess we should talk about it."

"Since ancient times, humans have been looking at the sky, watching the stars, and giving them names like Cygnus, Canis Major, Orion.” All names any young astronomer in the Southern Hemisphere would recognise, and be able to enthusiastically point out in the night sky. “In those days, there wasn't the internet so they were looking up at the stars instead.” Much like John himself, when he’d been a boy.

“As a way of calculating the age of the universe, astronomers set out to search for the oldest celestial bodies in space.” He goes on to explain, “The idea was that if we find a star whose age equals X, then the age of the universe must be greater than the number X. So we pointed our telescopes up there and started trying to find out their ages from birth, to youth, to their old age until their end."

"Can anyone guess the age of the oldest star we've found?" A lot of answers were guessed, some of them were pretty close, but some, amusingly, were way too far. "Ok, ok…” John puts his hands up to pacify his excited crowd, “Umm I see there are a lot of answers, but the oldest star people discovered was actually estimated to be 13.5 billion years old. The HD-140283, or as you might know it, the Methuselah Star. That number is very close, you’ll notice, to our estimation of the age of the universe."

"But if we found a star that is 13.5 billion years old today, then we could find an even older star next week and that would ruin all of that,” He chuckles, mostly to himself, “We also should note that this method alone isn't suitable for determining the universe’s age, but as long as we have two methods with corroborative results, we can be reassured that the estimate is correct.” He pauses for a second, “So, does anyone have questions?" A couple of hands raised, and John found himself suddenly answering a lot of questions - but he managed all of them despite his fear of the huge crowd.

He’s starting to feel more than a little overwhelmed.

"Umm… W-well that was a lot of questions,” John tries to pull it back in, his allotted lecture time ticking away on the big clock at the back of the hall. He feels a little panicky from the bombardment, and his palms have gone sweaty. “We’d better move on.” To distract himself from the people, as much as anything, “Our next topic is the theory of relativity, so l-let's get started on that."

Lady Penelope, from her fold-out seat at the back of the room, frowns. It’s clear John’s terrified and she wants to use plan b, but as long as he’s still standing on his feet, and giving the lecture, he's probably fine for now. If anything, it’d cause more of a disruption to drag him away now.

"Umm,” John takes a breath, trying to centre himself in the science of it all. “Let's start with a supposition, a hypothesis if you like, and consider it together. Okay, you’ll have to bear with me on this one, but let us suppose that we were all asleep, and the universe suddenly inflated by a thousand times.” There’s a murmur in the crowd at how odd everything abruptly getting that much bigger sounds, “Your bed, your pillow, your desk,” John extrapolates, “even the meter we measure stuff with. If humans became a thousand times bigger, when we woke up would we feel something strange? Would we even notice anything had changed? You’d think so, but no.” John’s settling back into his rhythm now, “So why is that? Because the bed and everything became a thousand times more inflated and our bodies also inflated a thousand times, with everything scaling in parallel relation to each other so that this percentage, this scale, was preserved throughout the room. You’d never know the difference."

"Henri Poincaré, the well known mathematician and theoretical physicist, says that we will never be able to discover that something like this has happened, even if we use all the mathematics and calculations ever invented.” John drives the point home with another illustrated slide, “This hypothesis is called the Poincaré hypothesis, and simply, because the meter with which we measure things will have also expanded a thousand times, there’s never going to be any equation or calculation or any analysis possible that could lead us to the truth, because the ratio is preserved in all parts."

"Now, this is important, because the same thing also happens with time. If everything suddenly got a thousand times faster, we’d still never feel anything different. Why’s that?” He asks, rhetorically, “Because time is also a thousand times faster, your heartbeat is also a thousand times faster, your body would function a thousand times faster to keep up with it all. As long as everything is increased by the same amount, the ratio is preserved, and none of us will be able to detect any change."

"So Poincaré asked the scientific community; is there no way to know that time increased or that things inflated?" John tells the room, "Well, it was Albert Einstein who answered him, deciding that the one and only way to tell, would be to have someone observing what happened to the world from another galaxy, from another world, lightyears away. For someone to point a telescope in our direction, and look through it at us, and say what happened to the Earth? Why are humans walking a thousand times faster than in the past? But this person who realized the situation,” The astronaut waves a flippant hand, starting to feel much more confident again, “would have to be a person standing on a fixed external platform in a different world, so that what happened to us was not also happening to him."

"But, as Einstein commented, this hypothesis is impossible for a simple reason and it's that there is no fixed platform in the universe - the entirety of it is in constant, turbulent motion. For example, the Earth rotates at a speed of 460 meters per second, revolving around the sun at 30 kilometers per second, and at the same time, the sun and it’s planets and dwarf planets and moons and asteroids, all revolve around our galaxy, The Milky Way, at a speed of 300 kilometres per second, and so the whole universe revolves. That's,” John takes a deep breath, finding himself out of air after so much explaining, “why it's impossible for us humans to completely accurately judge the motion of any astral body."

"Because there is no fixed berth, we can only offer relativity. This is the first part of the theory that Einstein came up with, in summary; it cannot be said that the monotony of a body is absolute motion."

"Another thing he said was that, because of the vastness of the universe, it’s impossible to synchronize, what does that mean? Well, I will give you an example.” He flicks his slide, “Say I’m a person in the Philippines, and I'm talking to someone from the United States. We synchronize, and hear each other in real time, because we have a method of fast communication. I can hold my device and say; hello, how are you?” John holds up the slim, sliver slice of his phone to show the audience, “How’s the weather there? And they’d answer me with something like; I’m fine thank you, it's night here so it’s a bit hard to tell what the weather’s doing! What’s the weather like there? And I’d answer them; it's daytime, and maybe ask them something like, what are you eating? They’d answer me; a burger, and then I’d tell them that I'm eating kaldereta, and it’s much better than a burger."

In the audience Penny quietly hopes that Gordon, who's probably listening in with the rest of his brother’s, missed the fact John was making jokes on stage. The poor little bugger’ll never live it down otherwise.

"These two events, each person talking to the other, are compatible.”  John goes on, absolutely oblivious, “It’s possible because the two wireless devices, be they mobile phones or more sophisticated comms systems, are on the same globe, creating a fast means of communication.”

"But,” John postulates, “If I was talking to someone from another galaxy and I used the same means of communication to make a call, do you know how long it would take to get to them? It would be about five to six thousand years until my signal reaches the phone of our friend, and they’ll have married, had children and died, and their children would have married and had children and died, and so on, for thousands of years before then."

"And that's why it's impossible to synchronize between the ends of the universe,” John balances his palms like he’s weighing two invisible ends, “It rather puts a damper on our chances of finding and communicating with extraterrestrial life, for sure, but at least it’s possible to synchronize within one system, like the system of the Earth. "

"This is a thing that also applies to light, for example: any star you could look up and see now, the light emanating from it may be coming from thousands of years ago. This means that it’s possible that the star you see shining could have exploded and disappeared, and hasn't existed for a long time. Why? Because it takes a couple of thousand years for the light from that explosion to reach us."

"There isn’t any proof for the hypothesis that the universe is linked by time, but the thing that happens that we’re sure of is that the universe is made up of, sort of, separate islands of different times that have no connection between them. The connection between movement and time in space is something we all know about, for example, a day on Earth equals twenty-four hours, yes?” There’s a chorus of agreement from the audience, “But on Saturn, a day is ten hours because it rotates faster. Astonishingly, a day on Mercury is the same as fifty-eight whole Earth days, which, infact, is also a Mercurian year, because the planet revolves around the sun for the exact same period as it revolves around itself."

"Okay, so, to what extent is movement related to time?” John asks, well and truly into this whole teaching thing now, “Well, Einstein was the first person to discover the connection between them and suggested that; suppose you’re on board a very fast rocket, 100,000 miles per hour for example. The mechanical watch on your wrist would be delayed over the flight, but you wouldn’t feel like time is being delayed. Why’s that? It’s because the rhythm of your heart would slow down - all of the vital processes in your body that are inside the rocket will slow down."

"As you move more, something called the dilation of time will happen.” He steps to the side, as if to illustrate the point, only to find himself stumbling a little, like if the ground beneath his feet had moved. “T-Time slows down,” John tries to recover it smoothly, but everything’s starting to feel, weirdly, like it’s shaking, and he doesn’t think it’s the anxiety anymore, “and that's-"

John doesn’t get to finish his sentence because there’s an abrupt shift and a loud cracking from under him, and getting off the stage suddenly seems like a good idea. Someone screams outside, and the volume in the room skyrockets as the children start panicking. John’s one hundred percent sure this wasn't anything planned.

He knew he shouldn't have come.

Earthquake? He wonders first, then; Tsunami? Ground slip? Hurricane? Whichever it is, John has to prioritise calming the people and evacuating them out of the building. The giant glass panels above them are trembling with the force of the shaking, and, as a professional at this sort of thing, Thunderbird Five’s Space Monitor doesn’t like the look of it one bit.

"Everyone calm down,” He has to shout to make himself heard over the roar of people, even with the microphones pointed his way, “This is a normal thing. All we have to do is evacuate immediately, as calmly. as. possible. I don't want anyone crowding the exits, do you all understand what I just said?" The front rows, white faced with fear, nod encouragingly at him, and he watches as they begin to lead the way toward the glowing green signs that signal the emergency exits. Immediately after making sure the crowd is moving, John pulls up his comm to contact Gordon.

"Gordon, are you on the line?” John’s a little breathless and he climbs down from the precarious stage, into the throng of terrified bodies, “We have a situation in here."

"Let me guess, you caused it?" Gordon seems so excited to hear something other than his brother's boring lecture that humour has outweighed his professionalism.

"Gordon,” John grits his teeth, “I'm being serious right now, there was a huge movement in the ground beneath the Chino Roque Theater, and it's still ongoing. Tell Alan to do a check on what's happening beneath us using the Ground Penetrating Radar." He orders.

"F.A.B." Comes the far more serious response, before Gordon clicks off the line to do just that. Squashing down any fear he’d about the now swelling, shuffling crowd, John opens his arms wide and walks toward them, the motion sort of like he’s trying to herd sheep, as he tries to evacuate the people safely out of the building.

He’s not exactly an expert at being on the scene during rescues.

"John, there's a landslide going on right now,” Alan’s worried little voice comes ringing out of his comm speakers, “Right next to the theatre. You’d better get out of there. I’m monitoring the situation, but it’s looking like you’re going to need International Rescue to get you and the people out of there. The debris field is spreading fast." John would do almost anything to be up there instead, at his own screens. “I've contacted Virgil and Scott, I’m patching them through now.” Alan clicks Scott and Virgil, both clearly just finishing their suit up sequences, into the conversation. It seems important to keep them up to date with John's developing situation.

"Hey Mr. Tracy, how are you holding up?" Scott jokes over the roar of his launching Thunderbird, the sound filling the background of the call with white-noise, "Oh, and how was your lecture?" John thinks he sounds far too casual in contrast to the impending danger all around him.

"Oh my God, Scott, is now really the time?” John groans, and a kid with mousey blond hair not dissimilar to Alan’s looks up at him, very confused, before the astronaut waves him on, “You are an adult person,” He reminds his big brother, “Please don't be like Gordon right now. He’s practically still a child."

"Hey!” Gordon had clearly overheard the conversation between his brothers, and springs up to defend himself. “I'm only two or three years younger than you!" He complains, not about to do the math.

"Gordon, we don't have time for arguing about that now,” John frowns, “and Scott, I'm holding up alright at the moment. Please don't ask me anything about the lecture until I get back home." If his voice cracks a little on that last bit, he’ll never admit it.

"Okay, okay I won't ask anything about that,” Scott reassures him, his amused, big brother grin very much in place, “Keep on evacuating the people safely until we arrive John, you’re doing great. It won’t take us that long. ETA at 15,000 mph is sixteen minutes.” He reassures, “We’ll be there before you know it."

"F.A.B. Scott." He reluctantly signs off. Now that he’s finished talking with Scott, John’s pleased to see that a lot of people have already made their way out of the atrium’s three sets of double doors, evacuating the building to get as far away from the landslide as possible. His fingers itch to pull up the schematics from Thunderbird Five on his comm, no matter what the people around him might think. He quickly caves, and it feels worth it to be able to see the incoming tide of slipping land.

They don’t have much time.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, chivvying. He’s a little breathless with the tension, so he keeps things short. “Come on! Let’s move guys!”

From his vantage near the crumbling stage, John can make out Lady Penelope and Parker by the main doors, ushering people through, and the sight of them fills him instantly with immense relief.

“Okay, that's a good amount of people out.” John has to jog to catch up with them, skirting around a little old lady with a zimmer frame and taking a second to correct her course, “Lady Penelope, Parker, I think you should go and check on the people who’re out. They could have minor injuries from the stampede, and International Rescue are still ten minutes out. I'll make sure the last few stragglers exit safely."

Penelope just nods, pale and worried. Her blond brows are all pinched in together, nervous and Parker looks practically haggard as he claps a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, her faithful old companion following her pink shape dutifully out the doors. Hopefully they’ll go make sure that no one was badly injured in any way.

Turning back to the slow cascade of cracking rubble behind him, John finds the stage area has been all but obliterated, and his heart aches for the patrons of the Chino Roque Theater who’ll have to rebuild from scratch when this is over. He imagines the Tracy fund can contribute a significant amount toward that though. They often do for worthy causes.

John pushes the damp curl of his slightly sweaty bangs out of his eyes and climbs over what looks like a twisted piece of ceiling girder toward the sound of people, possibly trapped stragglers, who are calling for help.

"I miss Thunderbird 5 so much,” John mutters, keeping it under his breath so that no one hears him, as his palms are scraped raw against the concrete he’s trying to clamber around. There’s a rippp of fabric on a jagged piece of metal and the knee of his previous pristine brown jeans meets much the same fate as his poor, scuffed hands. “Oh, come on!” He’s having no luck today, “I'd so rather be assisting the situation from space. I can’t believe I’m stuck here." John grumbles, to no one in particular. He’s just not built for this kind of thing. Heavy labour and getting sweaty pulling people out of scrap heaps is what his other brothers do. At least rescues in space don’t have all this… gravity to contend with.

"John?” The crackle of a comm cut’s across his complaints, “What’re you still doing in there?” Gordon’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, little brother’s tone heavy with concern. “The building could fall any moment! You're so lucky the landslide isn't moving very fast, but it’s not gonna stay that way forever." Gordon was really worried about the fact that his older brother was still inside. “It could engulf the building! You need to hurry it up, bro.”

"I'm evacuating the people as fast as I can,” John gets both hands under the armpits of a boy who couldn’t be older than seven, and swings him above a pile of rubble toward safety, “I'll be out in no ti- Ah!"

John’s voice gets cut off with a startled cry, and it takes Gordon a second or two, time John might not have, to remember how to breathe so that he can yell in any way coherently into his comm. His eyes are wide, his anxiety levels through the roof as he tries, and fails, to rouse his brother on the other end.

"SCOTT! You need to get there now.” Gordon’s aware that he’s totally losing his cool, panic creeping in over his weak layer of professionalism, “I just lost contact with John.” He gasps, “He was evacuating people and I heard him yell and now he’s not responding! And- and it's not just him. There were other people he was trying to get out."

"Hey Gordon,” Scott tries to keep his voice steady to inject some kind of stability into the conversation, “Don't lose your cool yet. I'm sure nothing that bad happened to John. Just stay your positive self, okay? I’m arriving right now and Virgil isn’t far behind me."

Thunderbird One is panning over the city, low enough to ruffle the hair of people looking up, but it’s not a problem until the usually so sure and steady pilot finds his hands nearly slipping off her controls as Scott catches his first, horrific glimpse of the building that he knows his younger brother is inside.

“What the…?”

The Chino Roque Theater is almost flat.

"Virgil,” Scott swallows hard to try and remove any of the tremor from his voice, “A-Are you seeing what I'm seeing right now?" He almost succeeds.

"Scott this isn't a joke, it looks like half of the building has come down with the landslide! John’s in there!" Virgil sounds more terrified than Scott thinks he’s ever heard him. What scares him the most is that the exit was on the side that has fallen in, which means that a lot of people are trapped under it, their John included. "Scott, we need to help them right now.

"Okay, here's the plan,” Scott’s hands tighten white-knuckled on the steering yoke, “You wear your exo-suit and go clear the debris out of the way so that we can save them, and I'll get rid of that roof with Thunderbird One and check for life signs. Remember that saving lives is our top priority, got it? No matter what’s happened to John."

"F.A.B." Virgil sounds incredibly tense. He lands Thunderbird Two as fast as he can in the crowded, limited space. Local people are beginning to make their way out of their houses to see what all the commotion is about, and the cramped city streets aren’t ideal for International Rescue’s four hundred and six ton workhorse.

Two’s pilot struggles into his exo-suit, rushing to get the Jaws of Life prepared despite Scott’s insistence that he focus and take things slow and sensible. It’s not long until he finds himself digging among the debris looking for buried people and, in the white rush of it all, Virgil’s not even sure how he got there.

"Scott,” he presses on his comm, “Please tell me you’ve got something?"

"Fortunately and thankfully yes,” It’s hard to find the hopefulness in big brother’s clipped Mobile Control voice, but it’s there to Virgil’s expert ear, drizzled in nervous relief. “I've got a whole cluster of life signs,” Scott reports, “BPM signalling in the green. "I think they’re just trapped under the debris." Alan’s echolocation report came back suggesting that there’s a big space under what could be folded sheet metal from the ceiling, that they’ve huddled in. I'm really sure there's nothing that bad, but still we have to continue otherwise it will take a bad turn for us and the people in there."

“I can use the grappling cables in Thunderbird One to take the strain off the roof,” Scott adds, “But I need you in there to get those people out.”

“Already on my way,” Virgil ducks under some rebar, skirting around the rubble and pulling away loose debris as he goes. His heart is loud in his own ears, and Virgil hopes the creak and groan of metal and concrete above him is Scott lifting the weight off the roof, keeping it from collapsing any further onto the people below, and not anything more sinister. Virgil gets peppered by a slide of small stones, but the roof holds steady.

He presses on until he catches sight of the cluster of around forty people, all huddled together around a tall, central figure with a shocking amount of rubble dust smeared over his face, and powdered through his ginger hair.

“John!” Two’s pilot makes a beeline for his brother, despite the fact three of the people are stuck under rubble. Clearly John’s in control of the situation here, and he’s never wanted a mission update from their Space Monitor so much in his life. He can’t help but hone in on the fact John's left arm is crudely wrapped in a piece of cloth from his sleeve, which he must’ve ripped off in order to tie it.

"You have to tell me exactly what happened,” Virgil drops the controls for the Jaws of Life, and grasps his brother’s biceps in both hands instead, resisting the very strong temptation to pull the spaceman in for a hug. “And what happened to your arm?!?" There’s a river of blood seeping from beneath the make-shift bandage, but John, it seems, isn’t bothered by it in the slightest.

"Not now Virgil.” His concerns get thoroughly dismissed, “We’ve got to get these people out of here, and then I'll tell you everything." Virgil didn't like the idea that something happened to his brother and he's silent about it, but after all John was right about saving the people first since his arm is under control for now.

John crouches by the nearest injured person; a pale, skinny teen with a sizable piece of rebar keeping him pinned.

“You’re gonna be out of there in just a second, Lito.” Virgil watches him reassuring the young man for a long moment, “Uh, Virgil?” John prompts. “Any time?”

“What?” He blinks, “Oh, yeah!” His brother is clearly waiting expectantly for him to use the Jaws of Life to get the poor kid out. "I’m on it, but you better tell me everything after we're done saving them." Virgil demands. “But, uh, Scott’s kind of holding the roof up right now, so you’re probably right.”

"Okay,” John literally rolls his eyes, busy stealing a pair of blue rubber gloves from the Med Kit Virgil brought with him, and snapping them on to protect his hands and the fine cuts he’d gotten from climbing over rubble. “I promise I'll tell you everything, but can we start actually rescuing them now?" Rolling his eyes right back, the bigger man uses his exosuit to heft the rubble off Lito, before John swoops in to apply pressure to his injuries.

“Give me the fold out stretcher from your sash.” He orders, hands bloodied “Then go get the next person out. Efifania, Sergio?” John beckons a pair of nearby dad’s in closer, clearly having singled them out as capable stretcher bearers. “Think you can manage Lito here for me?”

As Virgil starts removing the rubble from above the other two trapped people, a middle aged man and a younger woman, it becomes immediately obvious that both of them have more severe wounds than young Lito. They both need medical treatment immediately.

“I’ll carry one of them.” Without the three extra sets of hands he’d need, Virgil has to leave a couple of crowd members applying pressure to their wounds, as he moves back to where John is helping Lito unsteadily to his feet. “Think you can walk, young man? We’re gonna need that stretcher for the big guy.”

“I won’t let you fall.” John promises, and Virgil feels a real swell of pride at how well his brother is handling the situation whilst being outside of both his space station and his comfort zone. It looks like having a rescue and a job to do really gives him no time for anxiety. "I agree that that's our best plan.” He adds, nodding, short and sharp, to confirm it, then John turns, an arm around Lito’s waist and the kid’s arm slung over his shoulder, to address the crowd.

“Anyone not so severely hurt needs to help get the injured out of here.” John instructs, the small crowd listening raptly. The look on the faces of these scared people is one Virgil is all too familiar with, but he knows John has far less experience of in person. They’re really looking to him as their saviour. “Virgil here is going to lead us through the path he just made.” Which is news to Virgil, but does seem like the best plan. “International Rescue will then be able to take us all to the hospital to get checked out, and then I’m sure you’ll be released to go home to your families before you know it. Got it everyone?"

In that moment Virgil finds himself struck with amazement at how John seems to have become almost as fearless as Scott, as they started carrying the two injured people out to safety. It was really a new side to him that Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

"Virgil… I need you to check on Lady Penelope and Parker.” John’s keeping pace at his side, helping the boy they’d dug out along as he goes, “I told them to check to see if anyone was hurt."

"Hmm, yeah you're right.” Virgil frowns. If Penny and Parker have any more injured party members, even minor ones that just need a check up, Thunderbird Two will need to evacuate them to the hospital as well. “Have you got any idea where they might be?"

"Well, I told them to get somewhere away from the landslide,” John frowns, as their limping, shocky party stumbles out into the bright light of day, to be greeted by the roar of Thunderbird One’s engines high above them. “They should be near here.” He yells over the sound of it.

As usual, it turns out that John is completely right. Penny and Parker are waiting for them, but neither John nor Virgil find the look on Lady Penelope's face all that reassuring.

"JOHN!” She rushes toward the battered, bloodied spaceman, her arms outstretched. Virgil very quickly and carefully finagles poor Lito out of the way as his brother gets ambushed. “Are you okay?!?” Penelope demands, frantic, “What happened to your arm?” She reaches for the bloodied bandage, and John winces, “I'm so sorry,” All of John’s carefully constructed rules around personal space are shattered as she cups his cheek, inspecting his face for injury. It’s lucky that John is by far the most patient of the Tracy boys. “I shouldn't have left you there.

"She’d been so terrified, perhaps more than anyone else here. The horrific view she’d seen with her own eyes is going to haunt her for a long time yet. One second she was getting out of the building to reassure and check up on the people, and the next she was watching half the structure collapse completely, with John under the side that fell. She still feels a little sick.

"I'm so, so, so sorry John,” She repeats, before he can get a word in edgeways to reassure her, “Please, you must tell me if there's any way I can make it up to you. Ask me anything and I'll do it."

"Okay guys,” Virgil chuckles, “while you talk things out I'll go to get the injured people aboard Thunderbird 2. Make it quick though, we’ve still got people who need immediate medical treatment, got it?"

"F.A.B. Virgil.” John nods, “We'll be quick. Penny, I..."

“I’m so sorry.” She repeats again, and pulls his good arm over her shoulder as if to steady him as they make their way at the back of the crowd toward the big green Thunderbird.

"No no no, Penny, please stop apologising.” John’s fingers tighten for a quick moment on her shoulder, in brief reassurance, “I'm not going to ask you for anything because it was never your fault.” He insists, “It was just some bad luck, that's all. Fortunately I, and most people, got out safe with no severe wounds. These things happen.”

“Your arm.” She points out softly, hoping that all that blood looks worse than it is, “John I can’t believe you stayed behind like that, it’s so...”

“Tracy?” He grins, amused but very weary.

“Scott Tracy.” She corrects, scowling a little as she holds on just that little bit tighter around his waist as his adrenaline from the rescue starts to flag. “I thought you had more common sense.”

“Hate to disappoint.” She feels the warmth of him chuckling, “I’m lucky it was nothing worse than his cut from some shattered glass that fell on my arm while I was helping one of the guys who got stuck. I don’t think any arteries or anything have been damaged, but it is... kinda deep." And he might be getting a little lightheaded from the blood loss. Still, he really wants to reassure her, just like she had reassured him before he’d gone in to give the lecture.

"Hate to interrupt your moment, but are you guys done?" Scott pops up from who-knows-where amongst the crowd to yell at them. He’s clearly joined the relief effort. "Virgil’s just finished getting everyone aboard Thunderbird 2, and he's ready to launch." He adds, squinting at the pale, wobbly mess of his brother. "And you really do need to check your arm. That looks nasty.”

"Yeah Scott,” John wipes a tired hand over his dirty face, dislodging dust, “We're done. Don’t let Thunderbird Two wait for me, I'll hitch a ride with Lady Penelope, uh,” He turns to her, bashful, to check, “If that’s okay?"

“Of course,” Her Ladyship concedes, “Scott?” She is mildly concerned that big brother might want to have the injured member of his flock under his wing so he can smother him.

"Yeah sure, ride whatever you want.” Scott flip flops a dismissive hand at them, “You can ride a pod, I won't care as long as your destination is the hospital."

"How about you, Gordon?” John knows his little brother is still on the line, probably sulking. “Is it okay if I take the ride with Lady P?"

"W-what do you mean by that?” Gordon sounds confused and maybe a little embarrassed, like he’s been caught out. “Scott already said you should go, why’re you asking me?"

"Well, she's your girlfriend.” John grins, teasing, as Penny helps him into the back of FAB1. “Of course I have to get permission from her boyfriend.

"Penny swats at him for that, amused, but careful not to hit his injured arm. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but it is fun to see Gordon squirm - especially as Scott and Virgil both crack up, and even Alan in space starts teasing him.

"What?!?” Gordon’s face, bless that darling young man, has gone bright red. “J-Just go already." He ducks off the comm screen to try and hide his embarrassment, but it’s far too late for that.

He’s lucky that Penelope finds it incredibly endearing.

"John,” She nudges him, as the Tracy’s all click off the line to go do their actual jobs. She’s a little concerned that he’s looking a bit spaced out, if you’ll excuse the pun, and it’s probably a good idea to keep him talking. “You know we're still going to The Pagasa Observatory, just like I promised you, right?"

"Wait really?” John’s head tilts, a little floppy, towards her from where it had been sinking into FAB1’s luxurious headrests. He’s looking a little grey, but it’s good to see his eyes open. “After all that happened?” A ginger eyebrow quirks, “Are you sure there's time for that?"

"Well, we’re on our way to the hospital now, but there’ll be plenty of time this afternoon.” As long as the medics give him a clean bill of health. “You can change your clothes after we're done checking your arm then there should be time for you to go see that big telescope you've been dreaming of visiting. After all, I did promise you we’d go there after we're done."

"Well, that sounds good to me!” John smiles like there’s a supanova fuling him, “Penny you’re the best."

They reach the hospital a little after International Rescue has dropped off the fourty or so injured people, and so there’s quite a wait for a Doctor to be free so that they can have a look at John’s poor, sliced arm. Penny seems to be doing a worried hover at his side, while he waits, shaky from blood loss, and though he’s not used to having so much company, John has to admit it’s nice to have a chance to catch up with his old friend with no rescue alarms blaring.

Alan reports in that the two worst injured in the landslide have been hospitalized as fast as possible, that they were stable - the doctors have said their prognosis looked good. He also tells him that Lito’s family had been asking after the redheaded lecturer who’d helped him out of the rubble, and that John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons, should probably expect a gift basket in the mail quite soon.

John gets quite flustered about that. He’d just been doing his job.

The spaceman's arm was eventually treated, and Scott calls in to ask what actually happened to his arm. It still hurts, a properly bandaged throb just under his elbow, but not like before. The painkilling injection and little bit of morphine they’d given him when they stitched it up had probably helped with that.

Alan’s reports dug up that the landslide had been caused by a water main leaking under the building, and destabilizing the soil. Over time, water can do a lot of damage, washing away vital infrastructure if it’s not been properly reinforced during construction.

As the Chino Roque Theater was a new build, there must have been a mistake in the installation of the pipes during construction.

Someone was getting a big lawsuit heading their way, and Tracy Enterprises will be more than happy to fund the lawyers for the theatre.

As Lady Penelope promised him, they found John a change of clothes and went to the Pagasa Observatory. Penny’s quite sure she’s never seen anything as wholesome as the moment John sees the telescope - his eyes went all shiny, and the smile on his face was massive.

"Lady Penelope, Parker come take a look at the stars!!!” He calls, over his shoulder, with the enthusiasm of a boy half his age, “They’re really beautiful from here!" With such a high-powered lens pointed up at the cosmos, it rivals even his view from Thunderbird Five.

"Indeed, they are." Lady Penelope and Parker both step up to take turns, but John was the one to look through the telescope the most. With all the stealth her years as a secret agent offered her, Lady Penelope took a picture of him.

"Parker, come take a look." She whispers, beckoning her old companion gleefully over. "He looks so happy and innocent in this picture. Wouldn’t it be lovely to see his face like this always?"

"We still have some time before they close,” Parker points out, a sly grin creeping onto his nosey old face. “How h’bout we leave him like this for a little longer?"

"That, Parker.” she smiles, “Is an excellent idea.”

The End

[oddestoddish]

Entry #2 - The Slumbering Weald

The gate was closed when we went to Hop’s house the day before.

Hop and I were determined to get an endorsement for the gym challenge. Originally I’d agreed only because Hop thought I’d have fun with it, but after that first battle I found myself wanting to participate more and more.

Before that, though, Leon wanted us to see the professor in Wedgehurst. I needed to let mom know of course, so Hop and I headed to my house to ask her.

We heard the crash somewhere on the road there.

Hurrying down the path, we saw the gate into the Slumbering Weald. A dark and dangerous forest that sat not far from my house and the rescue. Growing up, mom had always drilled one thing into my head— never, ever, enter the Slumbering Weald. And to her credit, it was a dangerous place. The mayor of Postwick had it closed off after numerous disappearances— including my father’s.

The temptation was difficult to ignore. There was always some pull to the forest that I couldn’t explain. The mist that constantly ran through the place and flowed out of the entrance was creepy, yet enticing. Sometimes I felt like I needed to go in there. But, considering I barely went anywhere outside mine or Hop’s house, I was always... Too terrified. Fear overwhelmed curiosity. The locked gate was always reminding me to stay away.

But now it was unlocked. More than that, it was swung wide open.

The day before, Hop and I had scolded a Wooloo from the farm for trying to open the gate into the forest. We’d assumed it had gotten the message and lead it back to Hop’s.

We were silently berating ourselves for not making sure, or not mentioning the occurence to Hop’s mother. The crash was a dead give away to what had happened— the Wooloo had returned and bashed it’s way through. It had likely wandered in, and we could only assume it could be in danger from there. I didn’t know what to do, but Hop insisted we go after it.

I hesitated. I’d been afraid of that place since I was a little kid— had been told hundreds of times to not even think of heading inside. My house was right around the corner, we could’ve gone and gotten mom... But then again, it could’ve been to late at that point. The poor thing could’ve been snatched up by whatever had caused the disappearances in the past.

By whatever had caused my dad’s disappearance.

Suddenly the open gate felt like an invitation. The lock was broken and the temptation was too much to be drowned out now. I summoned all my courage, and we made the trek inside.

It was darker thanI expected. The dense forest created a thick canopy of leaves above that allowed little to no light through. I had to wonder how the foliage was so abundant. Perhaps the plants here thrived better in the darkness.

Hop and I traveled a long way, and at one point I looked back. I couldn’t see the entrance anymore, nor the light that came from it. I felt a shiver go down my spine, and I was suddenly glad I wasn’t in here alone. Bubble clung to my shoulder, and we gave one another comfort as Hop lead us further into the fog filled woods.

Over a bridge, past patches of tall grass, until we noticed the fog growing thicker as we walked. Still no sign of Wooloo. The path brought us to a small open clearing, and I nearly ran into Hop as he halted suddenly.

Standing there was a Pokémon we’d never seen before. It had a wolfish build, and long blue fur that appeared draped on it’s tan under-fur like a blanket. Long ginger hair that resembled braids flowed from under it’s ears, and it watched us with bright glowing golden eyes. It was difficult to see in full, it almost appeared one with the fog.

I felt like it’s gaze bore right into me. Maybe like it was calling me. I was used to Pokémon being drawn to me— They were drawn to me, and I to them. It was almost like I could learn to understand what they were saying, thoughI could never quite figure it out. It had been like this since I was a toddler, but I’d never felt so... Afraid. There was something this Pokémon wanted from me. Something it was trying to tell me, but I couldn’t figure out what.

The best sense I could think of was ‘you are not ready yet’.

I found myself nearly hiding behind Hop, and our own Pokémon jumped forward to protect us from this strange being. They attacked.

However, the attacks wouldn’t go through. The Pokémon didn’t even seemed fazed— as if the moved passed right through it. With each attack, the fog grew thicker, and eventually Bubble and Scorbunny scrambled back to us in fear.

The Pokémon huffed, then let out a piercing howl. Whatever it had done, fog and wind swirled from it and began battering the four of us. It wasn’t long before I had trouble seeing my own hands, and I lost visual of Hop completely. The only thing I could see were those two glowing eyes, piercing the fog and staring me down.

My heart was racing. All I could think of was the possibility that we were going to disappear too. That whatever this Pokémon was was the culprit behind every incident in the Slumbering Weald.

The next thing I remember, I was waking up to Leon’s panicked voice. The fog had died down considerably, and the forest itself appeared a bit brighter somehow. Hop was waking up not far from me, and Bubble was sitting beside me in worry.

According to Leon, he’d been waiting for us at the professor’s lab, and when we never showed he came looking. He’d found us passed out with our Pokémon and the missing Wooloo.

He gave us an earful for sure, scolding us about wandering into the forest and telling us how worried he was. We explained why we had gone in and what we saw on our way back out, but Leon had no explanation for the mad Pokémon. Even mom didn’t have a clue— after she’d gotten done giving us another scolding.

The gym challenge doesn’t start for a week or two yet, so we decided to put off our trip to the lab to recover from our little adventure. Even then, I found myself unable to really rest. I couldn’t stop thinking about that Pokémon. What was it? What did it want?

And why did I feel the need to find it again?