#just go with it - it's fanfic science!

[thecocodrille]

This fanfic makes me believe perceptor is a hardcore skystar shipper.

[somewhereincairparavel]

I'm so immersed in my jason grace new rome uni fic that I'm studying ancient roman law terms using this as an excuse. help.

[ihni]

(Got stuck writing a longer fic, so thought I'd challenge myself to write something shorter. Asked @callieb to open a random book and read me a word to use as a prompt, and the word was "taxi")

~~~

Steve sighed deeply as he slowed the BMW into a crawl, rolling down the driver’s side window so he could try to talk some sense into the drunk blond who was stumbling down the middle of the road, going in entirely the wrong direction.

“Where are you going?”

Billy must have heard the car coming because he didn’t seem surprised at the sudden voice. He didn’t even look up as he threw his arm out and pointed loosely at the road in front of them. “Going to my boyfr … going … going to my girlfriend’s house.”

Fighting back a smile, Steve cleared his throat. “Really? Where does she live?”

“Lo … loss. Loss Nora. That’s … that’s her name.”

“Her name is Nora?”

“No!” Billy exclaimed in drunk exasperation, gesturing wildly with his arms and almost toppling over. After righting himself, he finally turned to the car. “She lives in Nora. Her name is –“ He saw who was driving, and his face split in a big grin. “– Steve! Hey!”

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling, as Billy ambled up to the car and all but fell in through the window to pat clumsily at Steve’s face. “So you were at Maddy’s party, huh?” Frowning, Billy seemed to be thinking hard before nodding. “Got a bit drunk, did you?”

Billy let out a non-committal grunt and leaned heavily on the car door. “Got keg king.”

“Really,” Steve deadpanned. “I never would have guessed.”

“But I didn’t get … a crown. Or maybe I lost it.” He stuck out his bottom lip, which wobbled precariously. “Lost Steve.”

That made Steve snort, despite everything. “What a coincidence, because I lost someone at the party too.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“My boyfriend,” Steve said, pointedly. “Who can’t handle his liquor after that time when his little sister shot him full of some weird tranquilizer.”

Billy squinted at him, before saying, slowly, “I … have a sister.”

“You do,” Steve confirmed. When no other reaction was forthcoming, he added, “Anyway, my boyfriend apparently forgot that I was his designated driver tonight, and instead chose to try to walk home. In the complete wrong direction, I might add.” He watched how blue eyes tried to process this information, and waited patiently for some kind of reaction.

“Desi… dess … de– driver?”

“Designated driver, yes.”

“De–”

”Taxi. I’m his taxi.”

Billy’s eyes lit up at that. “Can you drive me … to my boyf– girlfriend Steve’s house?”

Steve laughed. “That, I can. Come on in.”

What followed was a brief chaotic minute where Billy first tried to climb in through the open window, before Steve convinced him to go around the car instead. He even opened the passenger’s side door for him.

When Billy dropped down in the seat, he sighed happily and turned his head so he was watching Steve with a dopey smile on his face. “You’re so pretty.”

Steve, who was busy trying to fasten his boyfriend’s seatbelt, snorted. “You keep saying that. Keep it up, and someday I’ll believe you.” His reply was a hand on his head, patting him awkwardly and then fingers carding through his hair, messing it up.

“Pretty.”

“Okay then. Wanna go home?”

A grimace. “No.”

“I mean, do you wanna go to my place?”

“Yeah.” Billy leaned towards him until he could put his head on Steve’s shoulder, almost falling out of his seatbelt but with one arm still stuck under it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his hose buried in Steve’s jacket. “Drive me to Steve’s house, taxi-man.”

[science-lings]

love it when i find something to be weird and bullshit science about, truly my favorite part of blatantly non-realistic fandoms. i honestly love comic book/ fantasy science bc you can fake it into making sense even if that is not how things work. Anyway I want to write a fic where Bruce tries to build up an immunity to scarecrow's fear toxin and I get to extensively write about its effects bc I think Bruce should be nerdier

[dino--draws]

scp wikidot's fake sciences are my best fucking friend. i still dont fully understand the narrativistic particles and shit like that but im forever charmed by the fact it exists

[walkawaytall]

I'm gonna need everyone to remember that I am not an electrical engineer or a mechanic whenever this next chapter of Purpose of Heritage gets posted, okay?

[kozzax]

When they were young, Leo always claimed he and Donnie were twins.

Donnie brushed him off every time.

"Go away Leo. We aren't twins," he'd say, affectionately annoyed, before returning to his books and his projects. A deterrent of sorts, a statement meant to send his brother away so that he could continue with his projects alone.

And for years, this is how it went.

And then, when they were around ten or eleven, as Leo was pestering Donnie in his lab, the mechanism that Donnie had been working on broke. Leo tried to pull the twin card, to convince Donnie to step away for a bit and hang out with his beloved brothers, and-- and Donnie had already been having a bad day. His nerves were fried. His senses were blaring at him. His shell was too thin and soft to play their games, anyways. So he did as he always did, on these days. He sent his brother away.

"We aren't twins, Leo! We aren't even the same species of turtle!! We CAN'T be real twins! Leave me ALONE!"

And for once, Leo left without an obnoxious quip. For once, Leo was silent. And Donnie turned back to his project.

When Raph barged into his room half an hour later, he was startled by the intrusion. He was even more startled by the anger.

"Donnie. What did you say to Leo."

"Go away, Raph, I'm busy!"

"Donatello. What did you say to Leo. Raph's serious."

"I don't quite understand the upset. I just told him we aren't twins, and we're different species, and to leave me alone. Nothing more than usual. Why are you mad?"

"Donnie!"

"What!!"

At this point, Donnie turned in his chair to face the doorway, giving Raph an unimpressed glare.

"Why would you say that?"

"I merely spoke with him the same way I always do! This is how we work, Raph, you know that! Now leave me alone so I can fix this piece of junk," He turned back to his work, pulling his goggles down to look closer at the wiring.

"No. Dee, you really upset him this time."

"He's fine, Raph. He's just annoyed that I'm too busy to play frivolous games with him at the moment."

"Dee, he's crying."

"Raph, you know I struggle to identify when you're lying, I would appreciate it if you didn't-"

"Raph's not lying. Mikey's with him right now. He's crying."

There was a beat of silence, as this sank in. Donnie froze in place, unmoving until Raph turned his chair around to face him once more.

"...oh. I- oh, no."

"Fix it."

He pushed his goggles away from his eyes, holding onto his arms and avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Raph, I- I'm not good with... feelings. I don't know how to fix this one."

"You broke his heart. You fix it. Apologize."

"He won't believe an apology, not if it's really that bad-"

"Fix it."

"I- okay! Okay. I'll fix it. I'll figure it out."

"Good. I'm going to do damage control. Don't follow. Leo doesn't want to talk to you right now."

For once, the lab felt too quiet.

--

The aftermath of their fight was hard for everybody in the lair. Leo refused to even look at Donnie for longer than necessary, and Donnie retreated into his lab for far more hours every day than he had ever done before.

Attempts to get the two to reconcile continually went poorly.

Splinter paired them up in a training exercise, and was met with one of their worst performances since they were barely old enough to walk.

Raph put together a Jupiter Jim marathon that neither accepted the invite to, each citing the other's presence as their reason not to come.

Mikey did his best to drag either of them to sit down with the other, putting on the Dr. Delicate Touch persona and doing everything he could.

Even April, when she came over to see the rest of the family, would only ever be met with three turtles at a time.

None of it worked.

There was something broken between the two of them, now. Something that, to the rest of their family, seemed unfixable.

A day passed, and then two, and then a week, and a month, and-- nothing.

--

And then their birthday came around. A month and a week after the fight.

Donnie snuck into Leo's room long before the rest of their family could awake, an oddly-shaped present in his arms.

"'Nardo, wake up. I need to talk to you."

It took a moment for Leo to wake up enough to register who's voice was there, but when he did, he rolled over and pulled a pillow over the side of his head once more.

"Go away Donatello. I don't want to talk to you."

"But-- it's important. Really important."

"What, like the fact that I don't want to see your stupid face? Go away."

"Leonardo, please."

His brother turned over once more, opening his eyes and giving Donnie a glare.

"What. What could possibly be this important."

"It's our birthday."

Donnie's words were quiet and stilted, practiced several times over until they were just right. Before his brother could turn back around, he gestured towards the large item next to him.

"I made us a gift. Happy birthday us."

"We don't have to share a birthday anymore, since we're not twins--"

"Happy birthday us."

And when Donnie unwrapped his gift-- nothing really made much more sense, despite his wishes. It was an oddly-shaped piece of tech, rounded and almost as big as he was, with straps connecting to the edges.

"What is that. How is that worth waking me up, when I don't even want to see you right now?"

It wasn't until Donnie turned it over that the gift began to make more sense. It was a faint blue-ish green, with three lighter circles running down its back in somewhat shaky paint. A mirror of Leo's shell.

Confusion spread across Leo's face as Donnie secured the shell on his own back, before looking up at Leo again.

"Now we're the same. We're real twins, 'cause we have the same shell, see? We're-- we're real twins, Leo."

There was a beat of silence, as the two stared at each other in the dark of night, before Leo reached over and pulled his brother into a hug. For once, Donnie didn't't deny it.

"This doesn't fix anything. You owe me like, big time."

"I know."

"In that case-- I missed you, Donnie."

"I missed you too Nardo."

--

It took time for them to heal again. For the awkward energy that filled the lair to dissipate and return to it's usual air. But eventually, eventually, Leo and Donnie grew back into their usual banter. Sometimes, it seemed as though the experience had brought them even closer than before.

The shell he'd made to mimic his twin's would become Donnie's first ever battle shell. Every iteration afterwards, as he grew out of them over time, would grow further from its original purpose. By the time they were solidly in their teens there was little hint that it was ever meant to be an imitation of Leo's.

That first shell is kept in Leo's room, though. Sat atop a shelf, and gifted to him when Donnie grew out of it, as a reminder that the change in shells didn't mean that they weren't still twins. Real twins. No matter what science had to say about it.

[lifewtr]

and the difference is this | M+ | 2/7

After a horrible moment that leaves her befuddled, Katara seeks out the most undesirable route to her problem. For Zutara Week 2023 (@zutaraweek), Day 5 + 6: Respite, Forge.

One long, agonizing hour later, Dr. Microbiology—Dr. Yen—walks back into her hospital room.

“I heard,” she says, wordlessly brandishing a chocolate pudding cup once she’s near, “and I’d’ve come sooner but I was at a rather important conference with legal at the time. How are you feeling, Miss Kyason?”

Katara accepts the pudding cup with greedy, grateful hands. “Like I just had a microbiologist bring me pudding in consolation for crying my eyes out,” she deadpans, busy licking at the peeled top of said consolation without shame. Her eyes close at the sugar-rich thickness of manufactured chocolate, the taste like heaven after only days of ice and neon green jello. “La that’s good,” she sighs, voice still gritty from her breakdown. “Thank you for this, doctor, but to what do I really owe the pleasure?”

Dr. Yen, already having acquired the rolling chair, raises an unimpressed eyebrow as she kicks herself back over.

“In a new mood, are we?”

“Resigned to my apparent fate,” Katara rebuts, licking into the pudding cup, “the crying and all—y’know? You know. But the chocolate is helping. I may yet revert to a reasonable woman by the time I ask for another.”

A bright chuckle lifts the doctor’s shoulders. She reaches into the pocket of her white coat and then promptly drops another pudding cup into Katara’s lap. Quickly, and as abrupt as the smile that pulls at her face, Katara feels a little more like herself.

“Thank you! You are a saint.”

“Not as such,” Dr. Yen’s own smile becomes smaller, her brown eyes both unyielding and empathetic. “Last I saw you, you were gone with heat-sick and dead to the world. Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being annoyed.” Katara starts to scowl out of reflex, but the insufferably patient look in the doctor’s eye makes her fix her face and focus. She takes a deep breath around the rim of her pudding cup. “It was sudden,” she explains slowly, “like the first time it happened, before I went to the clinic. One moment I was okay and the next I was burning, slipping away from myself. It hurt. I was barely able to see past my nose, barely even able to talk. There was so much venom...”

The doctor hums. “And what did you smell?”

Smell?

“There was—” wood and turned soil, sunshine and sweetgrass. Curiosity and concern, now that she can think; the freshwater bloom of captivation underneath it all. She quiets, mulling over her hazed recollections with a frown.

“There was?” Dr. Yen asks, a gentle prompt. “Was there anything notable about that moment?”

For whatever reason, the doctor’s phrasing makes the realization click into place.

It isn’t about what she could smell—it was about who and the fact that she did—amongst the entrie rotation of nurses and other staff that have come into this space; even now, with her nostrils flaring in concentration, seeking out Dr. Yen’s scent and coming up with nothing but traces of coffee and paper, concrete and flora as if she’d walked briefly through a garden to get here; Katara has not been able to parse a single personal scent, no pheromones, no emotions, no nuance. The surpressants in her system were still working.

And then a soldier had walked into her room, brandishing concern and captivation.

Cherry and smoke.

Alpha...

Katara’s tongue dries even as a faint tingle starts up at the base of her gums. Suddenly she can no longer pretend to think about what she must do, the ebbing of rejection towards the reality of her solution now a ripple of obstinate resignation. It is no less a kick to the chest, as bleak of an acceptance as she’d so brashly stated it to be when the doctor had walked in—and yet, even in the midst of acceptance and the precipice of a verifiable truth...

‘Get it over with,’ she tells herself; reminds herself that there is, will be, no better option available. ‘Don’t dwell, Katara. Move on to the next step and don’t stop there, either.’

With a silent sigh, she nods to herself. No more what-the-fucking. “Did that man leave my things?” She asks, turning the nearly-empty pudding cup in her hands. Dr. Yen’s small smile returns.

“He never left without them, dear.”

...What?

“What?”

read AND THE DIFFERENCE IS THIS in full on AO3! ↬

[dbphantom]

maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

[electricfied-wolf]

Would you guys be mad at me if I like. Dropped the current version of Life of a Steam Train and replaced it with a different new version with different lore? Because I feel like I want to change it. It won't be immediate bc I'm still debating and I likely won't delete the current version....heck I might still update the current version even if I do go forward with making a new one...I'll just alter the tags and make it clear that odds are the og will be dropped. I've just been thinking a lot about the way I portray the trains and their world and I think I could do something leagues more intricate and exciting if given the chance, though it would axe a lot of the concepts in the current version.

[delicateartisantrash]

Writing for Tech takes ages, but is so interesting.

Ya'll

I knew in an abstract sort of way that once I began writing more scenes with Tech, I'd be hitting up the bookshelves and google a lot to understand how to convey information at the level he speaks at about -everything-

turning my comfort scenes into college lectures and i'm not even mad about it, because *I* had no idea that the human body produced three different types of tears that have different functions on the eyeball, which is honestly really rad.

Anyhow here's a tiny cute snippet of Tech from a much larger story.

~~

You’re not aware you’ve started shaking until Tech sets his datapad aside, gaze never leaving your face, then reaches for you.

“It is alright to cry,” he tells you gently. “Did you know that the lacrimal system produces three types of tears?”

His gentled tone of voice doesn’t change, the scientific question catching you off guard enough you think it’s intentional as you blink at him, hesitantly letting Tech pull you into a hug.

“No?” you say belatedly, and cringe when you hear how faint your voice comes out.

“Reflex, Basal, and… Psychic tears, which are the relevant one of this particular scenario,” he lists off. “Among other protein-based hormones the Psychic tear is comprised of, it includes a neurotransmitter known as leucine enkephalin, a mild painkiller that our bodies are capable of naturally releasing when subjected to stress.”

[stelashe]

Some of yall took anti intellectualism into dumbification kink

[girlwiththegreenhat]

Do you have any fiction book recommendations?

One (1) (series)

[hopefullhearts]

Sickeningly Sweet [Scott Miller x Reader - Twisters]

summary: You are Tyler Owens' childhood best friend and member of his storm chasing crew. A storm outbreak means you and the gang cross paths with Storm Par on more than one occasion, and your sweet southern charm drives Scott crazy (in more than one way).

content warnings: somewhat heated kissing, no use of y/n, light name-calling/teasing, not proofread/bad writing (I have not written a fanfic in forever), bad taste in candy, & i think that is all!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: I have not written or posted on tumblr in SO long but I saw Twisters for the glenn powell craze and left with a scott/david corenswet obsession and these thoughts must come out of my head.

Shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for leading the charge for the Scott girlies. All of their writings and drabbles inspired me to write this one, so check them out!

If people like this I might do a smutty part 2! I don't mind writing smut I just feel like it's not very good hahaha but let me know what you think!

--

You heavily resented the idea that guys and girls could not just be friends, because you'd be damned if Tyler Owens wasn't the best friend you ever had.

You met on the playground in Kindergarten. A boy pushed you off a swing, Tyler defended your honor, and the rest was history.

Tyler's overprotective streak made you view him like the brother you never had, and that's how your relationship remained. He was family, and that was that.

Tyler had always been interested in tornadoes, more specifically, how to track and predict them. You, on the other hand, hated science, including weather, but you loved the thrill of the chase.

In college, you studied marketing while Tyler studied meteorology. So, when Tyler had the idea to start streaming his storm chases, you were right there with him to help grow his brand.

Tyler knows he would be stupid not to credit you with all his success. You set up his streaming account, you edited all the clips and drone footage to post to his social media after the fact, and you even gave him the idea for the "Tornado Wrangler" nickname.

Now that everything was off the ground, you mostly put together streaming highlights and designed the merch, but you were right there in the backseat for every single chase, soaking up all the thrills.

This particular storm outbreak was expected to be a big one, so the whole crew strapped in for a week of bad weather, cheap motel rooms, and of course, a few run-ins with other chasers, including the guys from Storm Par.

"Storm Par's here." You said, gesturing to the fleet of white vans parked at the gas station you had just pulled up to.

"Of course they are." Tyler sighed. "There's probably going to be a lot of damage done by these storms for them to swoop in on. Just ignore them."

"No, we should be polite." You chastised him. "I'm gonna go say hi. Will you get me a cherry coke please?"

Tyler fought back an eye-roll, but nodded with a smile as you both got out of the car. "Of course."

Like everyone else in the crew, the Storm Par guys got on your last nerve. They were all a bunch of Ivy League grads who thought a more expensive degree made them better than everyone else.

However, being raised by your Mama, the epitome of Southern grace and charm, you always put a smile on your face and treated them with kindness. You even occasionally brought them food or coffee if you ran into them in the aftermath of a storm.

And even though you were blissfully unaware of the fact, this drove Scott absolutely mad.

"Hi Scott, Javi." You said cheerfully to the two boys in charge.

Scott replied with a grunt, but Javi was quick to greet you with genuine enthusiasm. "Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing well." You nodded, smoothing your hands over your athleisure skirt. "Excited for a good chase today. How about you guys?"

"Us too." Javi nodded. "We're hoping to finally get some solid data collection today."

"Ah." You nodded, unsure what to say. You hated the idea of what they were collecting data for, but Javi seemed like a nice enough guy, and Tyler ripped on them enough for the both of you.

"Something on your mind there, princess?" Scott finally spoke, glancing away from his tablet to look down on you (literally and figuratively).

You rolled your eyes. While you would normally love to be called a princess, it always sounded like an insult coming from Scott, his voice always laced with a touch of venom.

"No, nothing at all." You smiled. "Just wondering if we'll see you guys in the aftermath if there's any damage done?"

"Why? Are you looking to increase your t-shirt sales?"

You bit your tongue, doing your best to hold your composure and not let him get to you.

"Nope, just trying to figure out if we need to make some extra to-go boxes for you guys." You decided to focus your gaze on Javi instead, finding him less intimidating.

Javi opened his mouth to speak, but Scott beat him to the punch. "I think we can find food on our own, thanks."

You took a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. "Okay, well, the offer always stands if you change your mind."

Javi smiled and nodded. "As much as I want to see a good storm today, let's hope we don't have a ton of damage clean up."

You smiled. You knew he had a heart.

"That's something we both can agree on." You grinned. "Stay safe out there you guys!"

With that, you turned and walked away. Scott watched you go, your hair and skirt blowing side to side in the wind.

"Stay safe out there you guys." Scott mocked you under his breath.

"Yo, you don't always have to be a jerk to her, you know."

Scott gave him an unamused look. "She comes out here with her little boyfriend, selling his t-shirts and shit, and then skips over here like we're the best of friends with her thick southern accent. It's all fake."

"For one, I don't think Owens is her boyfriend." Javi corrected. "And two, I think she's just a genuinely nice person. She always says hello, even when everyone else in their crew ignores us like the plague."

"Whatever." Scott mumbled.

As you reached the truck, you took the ice-cold Coca-Cola bottle from Tyler's outstretched hand.

"Thank you!" You said excitedly, twisting the cap off to take a sip.

"How are dumb and dumber?" Tyler teased.

"Javi was nice." You informed him. "Scott was... there."

"Ah, yes." Tyler laughed. "Word on the street is he's a man of many words."

"Right." You agreed sarcastically. "But, when he does speak to me, he always calls me princess, and it drives me crazy."

"In what way?" Tyler said, failing to hold back a smirk.

It took you a moment to realize what he was implying, but when you did, you were mortified,

"Tyler Owens!" You gasped, your face flushing red with embarrassment.

""I'm just teasing you! You make it too easy." He laughed loudly. "In my defense, he looks like exactly like every boyfriend you've ever had."

Your face got even warmer, because he was exactly right. You had a weakness for tall, muscular, dark-haired men, and you especially loved a man who was a challenge.

"That is...irrelevant." You said, covering your face in your hands out of pure embarrassment.

Tyler held his hands up in surrender, as you rushed to talk about anything but Scott. "Let's just figure out what storm we're going after, you jerk." You insulted Tyler, but the smile on your face was ear to ear.

Scott watched the interaction from afar, and his chest twisted at your sickeningly sweet smile. Even if you weren't Owens' girlfriend, your closeness was evident. He ignored the burning feeling that was rising within him, not wanting to question why it was there in the first place.

Tornadoes were scary, but trying to understand how he felt about you? Terrifying.

"Alright, boss man, which storm are we chasing?" Javi pulled him out of his thoughts with a hand clapped on his shoulder, and he finally pulled his gaze away from your smile, the sound of your laughter fading into the background.

--

The storm was bad.

It hit a small town of about 3,000 people, and you estimated based on the initial damage scene that it was an EF3 at best, maybe even an EF4.

You were currently handing out anything that might be helpful to families who had been impacted by the tornado - blankets, water, heat lamps. pre-made sandwiches and cookies. You tried to offer them any comfort you could with a smile and hug, but you understood the devastation they felt all too well.

In the early days, you would try to help with the damage cleanup, but Tyler insisted that you stay back at the camper and talk to the families.

At first, you were insulted, and you thought that Tyler was insinuating you weren't strong enough to move heavy tree limbs or pieces of drywall. You finally asked him about it one day, and he laughed.

"Absolutely not!" He insisted. "You just have this energy around you that's calming, and these families need that. Your empathy and kindness are doing much more for them right now than cleaning up a bunch of rubble would."

You had never thought of it like that, but once Tyler pointed it out, it became your mission to be the solace that these families in crisis needed.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Smith?" You asked, rubbing the arms of a middle-aged woman who you had been speaking to for a few minutes now.

"No, thank you." She sniffled. "I really appreciate you guys being here. God bless you."

You smiled, giving her another hug. "Please let us know if there's anything more we can do to help."

She nodded, walking away to join her family, who were staring at the remains of their house.

You pushed back tears, feeling silly that this never got any easier for you, but also focused on being the anchor that these folks needed.

Scott saw you before you saw him. He watched you from afar as you did your work. He watched you force a smile and hold these people as they cried. He also watched you look up to blink back the tears before taking a deep breath and moving on to the next.

And damn if it didn't drive him nuts.

This job is easier when he doesn't get involved with the people impacted. It's easier to pretend not to care. But watching you pour your heart out to strangers, just because it's the right thing to do? It made his heart jump, and that scared him.

Ignoring the people involved and ignoring his feelings for you had become increasingly more difficult with every chase.

"Scott!" You called, approaching him with a styrofoam container in your hand.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself as you literally bounced over to him.

How the hell does someone look this good after taking on a tornado?

"Here." You offered him the container. "It's just a ham and cheese sandwich and a cookie."

"I'm really not hungry." He responded.

"Seriously?" You asked, not buying it. "We've all been chasing since 10 AM and it's nearly 8, you have to be hungry."

Scott shrugged, trying to hold back the things he really wanted to say.

"Fine." You sighed. "We're right over here if you change your mind."

"Yeah, I know princess. It's hard to miss you being the town's savior over there."

Scott watched you visibly retract and he internally screamed as his heart dropped. You probably hated him, but it didn't matter anyway. You were far too sweet for him, so putting a wedge between the two of you seemed to be the smartest way to outrun his feelings.

"Wow." You spoke, your voice much smaller and shakier than usual. "I knew you were sarcastic and maybe even a little mean, but I never thought you were actually cruel. So, thanks, for enlightening me."

And with that, you turned and strutted off. This time, you failed to fight back the tears as you returned to the camper.

And to your horror, Tyler was there, taking a break from clean up for some water.

When Tyler sees you cry, his overprotective streak comes out instantly, and right now you didn't want to be protected, because you were so embarrassed that he finally got to you. You were even more embarrassed that you thought that just maybe, he might be a good person under that scowl and hard facade.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" Tyler rushed up to meet you.

You nodded, trying to stop sniffling. "I'm fine."

Tyler looked behind you to see Scott watching you closely, with a look that almost mimicked longing, and he quickly put two and two together.

"Let me handle this." He insisted.

You shook your head in protest. "No, Tyler, please, he thinks I'm a waste of time anyways, it's not worth it."

"Trust me, he doesn't," Tyler reassured you. "Let me handle this, and if it goes badly, I'll edit all the stream highlights for the next two weeks, okay?"

"Deal." You nodded.

You truly did trust him more than anyone in your life, so you opted to go inside the camper and dry up your tears while he went to speak to Scott. You would let Tyler handle it, but no way were you going to stand there and watch, looking like a puppy who just got kicked.

"Coming to defend your girlfriend's honor?" Scott said sarcastically, trying to mask any emotion he was feeling.

"Dude, seriously." Tyler glared at him. "If you want her attention being a complete and total asshole is not the way you get it."

"Is that what you think? That I want her 'attention'?" He said, framing the last word in air quotes.

"Yeah, I do." Tyler nodded. "I saw the look you gave her as she walked away."

"Okay, so what?" Scott shrugged. "You might be surprised to know I am human and I didn't mean to make her cry."

"Sure." Tyler nodded. "So, what about all the other times I've caught you staring at her, hm?"

Scott stayed silent, stunned speechless.

"Ah, you thought you were better at hiding it, didn't you?" Tyler said with a smug grin. "Every time we end up at the same gas station, restaurant, bar, or motel, your eyes follow her nearly the whole time. And don't even get me started on the holes you burn into my head when I'm talking to her."

"Alright, fine." Scott snapped angrily. "Here to rub it in my face then?"

Tyler sighed in frustration. "No."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to give you a piece of advice."

"Why?" Scott scoffed. "It's no secret that we aren't friends."

"I know her better than anyone else, do you want my help or not?" Tyler asked, his patience nearing its limit.

Scott didn't protest this time.

"Look, no matter what I think about you, you're pretty much exactly her type," Tyler said, much to Scott's surprise. "So if you want her, apologize and tell her how you feel."

"She's not going to feel the same, and she deserves much better than me." Scott retorted. "C'mon Owens, you know what we do. When she comes floating into these broken towns like a heaven-sent angel, I'm collecting data for the devil."

"That doesn't have to be a permanent problem." Tyler pointed out. "Plus, she likes a challenge, and she's definitely brave enough to think she can fix you."

That cracked a smile from both of them, followed by a moment of silence.

"218." Tyler said.

"What?"

"That's the room she's staying in tonight." Tyler said, starting to walk away. "Apologize."

Scott nodded, beginning to formulate a plan on how the hell he was going to get you to forgive him.

--

You were snug under your blanket in the motel room watching reruns of Modern Family when the knock came.

You sighed and got up, not bothering to check the peephole as you assumed it was just Tyler coming to talk about the day's events.

So when you opened the door to see Scott standing there, you couldn't be more surprised.

"What are you doing here?" You said quietly, nearly breathless at the sight of him.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him outside of that stupid Storm Par white jumpsuit, but it was the first time you had seen him in gray sweatpants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that clung to his muscles in a way that you could only describe as sinful.

He towered over you, leaning against the frame of the doorway, and you nearly shuddered when you looked up to meet the intense gaze in his eyes.

"I brought you something. As an apology for being an ass earlier today."

"Oh, and what did you bring for all the other times?" You spat back, no longer in the mood to play nice with him.

"I deserve that." He sighed. "Can I come in?"

"Depends." You responded, and he raised an eyebrow. "What did you bring me?"

He handed you a plastic bag, and you opened it to find a Cherry Coke, Sour Patch Kids, and a Honey Bun.

All of your favorites.

"How did you know what I like?" You asked, curious to know if Tyler was behind this.

"You always get some combination of the three at any local gas station." He shrugged.

He remembered because the first time he saw you buy all three he physically rolled his eyes, because, of course, you would buy snacks just as sickeningly sweet as you.

"I didn't know you paid this much attention to me." You said softly.

"Yeah." Scott inhaled a sharp breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Can I please come in?"

You opened the door, inviting him in with the gesture. The door shut behind you, and there was a brief moment of silence between you two.

"I'm sorry, for being a jerk today and every other time I'm around you." Scott started, visibly nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I had a better explanation for why I've been such an ass."

"Yeah, so let's hear it." You said, hands on your hips. "Because I have been nothing but nice to you, even though I don't like who you work for and what they stand for."

"I know." He nodded. "At first, I thought you were being fake or sarcastic because it was unfathomable to me that you would be nice to us when you have absolutely no reason to be."

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"But once I learned more about you, and I realized you were being genuinely nice," Scott took a deep breath, building up all his courage. "It knocked me off my feet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused at what he was getting at

"I spend most of my time pretending that I don't care about the people that are devastated by all of this, because it's easier that way. But watching you bear your heart and soul to all of these people, just because you can?" Scott scoffed. "It makes it hard to pretend like I don't care about them, or more importantly, about you."

"You care about me?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I was a jerk to you because I thought it would be easier to make you hate me than it would be to admit that I have feelings for you, when you're far too good for me."

His admission stunned you. You can feel your heart thumping out of your chest as you look into his eyes, which look painstakingly vulnerable.

"I completely understand if you don't feel the same way, but I couldn't outrun these feelings anymore, and I wanted to at least let you know that I'm sorry."

The room fell silent as you processed everything he just told you. Scott was panicking inside, waiting for what felt like years for you to say something, anything.

"Do you know why I was always nice to you?" You asked him. "Because I was hoping that somewhere in there you had a good side. I needed to know that you had a heart before I could admit to myself that I felt drawn to you."

"Do you still? Feel drawn to me?"

You nodded. Stepping closer to him so that you were nearly face to face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please." You nodded desperately, your words barely above a whisper.

His lips were on yours in a flash, and the pure intensity of the kiss nearly knocked you off your feet. It was heated and rough, but somehow gentle and passionate at the same time. His thumb grazed your cheek as he pulled you closer, and every spot his fingers touched made your skin feel like it was on fire. You couldn't get enough of him.

Once he knew you were comfortable, he took the liberty of exploring you more. His tongue slipped into your mouth gently and his teeth caught your bottom lip, causing a small whimper to come from the back of your throat.

Scott groaned at the sound, letting his mind imagine (not for the first time) all of the sounds he could pull from you.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, he kept you close, his hands ghosting under your chin around your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You taste just as sweet as I thought you would," Scott said with a smirk.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

[mariasont]

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩��₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him. 

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe. 

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else. 

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze. 

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food. 

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again. 

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned. 

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love." 

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity. 

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body. 

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked. 

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago. 

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

[mecub-writes]

A while ago I had an idea for a fanfic for @somerandomdudelmao’s Marble Sky, and I finally wrote it! This is probably all gonna be proven wrong at some point, but whatever! It was fun to write!

Ward is five when he decides he’s going to be an astronaut. His teacher shows the class a video of space– stars and galaxies and planets and rockets– and his eyes light up and he thinks, I’m gonna do that. He announces it to his teacher after class, and she smiles and tells him he’ll have to get really good at math and science if he wants to go to space, and he nods. He can do that. 

That Halloween, Ward makes an astronaut costume out of paper mache and an old painter's suit. It’s messy, but he wins the class costume competition, and he gets a ton of candy from trick-or-treating because everyone thinks he’s adorable.

That night, he stands on his bed in his costume holding a roll of tape and his award from the costume competition: a little box of glow in the dark stars and rockets. It’s a long way up to the ceiling, but if he climbs the headboard just right he can get onto his shelves, and from there it’s just a balancing act. Usually it’s scary getting up there, but now he’s an astronaut. He can do anything!

He scampers up the shelves and holds on with one hand as he tapes a star to the ceiling above his bed. Then another star, and then a rocket, and then a galaxy (A spiral nebula! He knows this one!) for good measure. He’s struggling to tear off another piece of tape for a shooting star when his mom clears her throat from the doorway and he nearly falls off the shelf.

When he gets his balance and turns towards her, she’s watching him with her usual smile: small, tired around the eyes, but affectionate.

Ward waves. Technically, he’s not supposed to be up there, but it’s Halloween and he won these stars fair and square.

“It’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” his mom says.

“But mom, look!” He holds up a big green star. “I have to put these up.”

“Hmmm,” she says, but she’s smiling in a way that Ward knows means she’s gonna let him stay up. “Okay. Just be careful, and make sure your lights are out soon.”

“Yes!”

His mom says, “G’night,” and turns to go. Her voice sounds kinda flat but kinda wobbly, which is how it gets when she’s really tired and needs a hug.

“Wait!” Ward calls after her. She turns. “Can you sit with me while I put up the rest of these? You could even help!”

She stares for a moment, then shakes her head. “I’m too tired tonight, kid. Can I help you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Of course, mom,” Ward says, even though he knows she has work tomorrow and he’s going to put all of the stars up tonight. But she smiles again, bigger this time, so it’s worth it. They have to take care of each other, and this is him taking care of her. She’s not happy all the time, but she’s smiling now, so Ward knows he’s doing something right.

He makes sure to be quiet putting the rest of the stars up. His mom needs to sleep.

—

Ward joins science club in sixth grade. It meets every Tuesday after school, and they spend the hour doing experiments or talking about new advancements in different fields. Students can sign up to present, so he signs up and gives a presentation on the mirrors on space telescopes. The teacher who runs the club, Ms. P, tells him afterwards that it’s one of the best researched presentations she’s ever seen. Ward beams.

After his presentation, someone starts a conversation about the possibility of alien life, and the club spends the rest of the hour arguing. Sources are pulled. Theories are made. Two of the seventh graders nearly get into a fistfight over whether or not there was ever liquid water on Mars. It’s the most fun Ward’s had in a long time, and he leaves in the middle of a group of friends all teasing each other and laughing.

It’s raining when they get outside. Ward sighs and sits down under the awning in front of the school, waving goodbye to friends who run off laughing and shrieking through the rain to their parents' cars. 

His mom is picking him up. She told him she’d be a bit late, but she promised to be there.

Ward waits. He does some of his history homework. He walks in tiny circles. He thinks about his telescope presentation. The rain drums on the ground and on the awning, steadily getting heavier. 

Ms. P leaves the school building, shouting a  goodbye over the downpour. Ward waves back, a sinking feeling in his gut. It’s been half an hour since school ended, and there’s no sign of his mom.

He does some of his math homework. It’s interesting enough.

The rain doesn’t let up.

Finally, after an hour has gone by, Ward gives up on waiting. No one is coming for him, and if he sits out here in the cold he’ll just get sick. He pulls up his hood, tucks his backpack under his jacket, and heads out into the rain with his head down. 

It’s a mile and a half to his house. Usually it takes forty five minutes, but in the rain without an umbrella it’s longer. Ward loses track of the time around the same time he starts shivering, and by the time he reaches the front door he’s just glad to be home.

He changes into dry clothes and makes himself tea and soup. He can feel himself getting sick, but he doesn’t call his mom. It’s fine. He knows that even if he did, her job wouldn’t let her off.

No one is coming for him. 

—

In his junior year of high school, Ward takes AP physics, AP calculus BC, and AP biology. Everyone, including his counselor, tells him he’s crazy, (although the counselor phrases it as “doing something highly inadvisable”) but he doesn’t care. He does his homework under the glow in the dark stars he put up when he was a kid, and he dreams of space. His dreams are different from when he was five, more I’m-gonna-discover-an-exoplanet and less I’m-gonna-discover-intelligent-alien-life, but the goal is still there. He’s going to go to space, no matter what. That’s what he reminds himself of when physics and bio have a test on the same day, or when his calc teacher announces that missed tests cannot be made up.

It’s what he reminds himself of on the days he comes home exhausted from school and finds that his mom hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. It’s what he reminds himself of the day he has to check her pulse to see if she’s alive or just sleeping. (She’s still breathing, but Ward has to spend the day checking up on her and making sure it stays that way. He emails his teachers. The biology and physics teachers understand. The calc one does not.) He’s bone-tired, but it’s going to be worth it some day. 

Ward gets through that year, and the next, and he graduates. He gets into every college he applied to. His mom hugs him tight, looking more alive than she has in months.

The night before Ward leaves for college, he stares up at the stars he put up years ago. They’ve been with him every night since he was five, and now he won’t have them. 

The idea is suddenly unbearable. Before Ward can think, he flips on the lights and climbs up on his bed and peels off the glow in the dark stars. He can reach the ceiling without climbing the shelves now. The stars go back in their original box, preserved on the top shelf for years, and he tucks them into a box along with his bedding.

A knock sounds on the door of his room. He opens it and sees his mom standing there, giving him the watery smile she’s been giving him for years.

“It’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” she says.

Ward tucks her into a hug, and they stay like that for a long time.

—

Ward smiles at the cockpit of his plane. It’s perfect, but it’s missing one thing.

He tapes a little glow in the dark star to the dashboard. There.