#ready jet go space camp

[coolsomejet]

Hand Motif in Space Camp

Space Camp has multiple shots of hands, serving as symbolism throughout the movie

One of the opening shots is of Mitchell holding his phone in his hands.

When Jet and Sunspot go surfing, we get a shot of Jet's hand

Just before Jet realizes that Sunspot has shrunken, Sunspot reaches up to him

Jet holds Sunspot in his hands

Mitchell reluctantly hands over his phone to Mindy

Jet and Sean point at Stella while everyone shouts "YOU'RE FROM BORTRON 7!"

During "Super Hyperdrive," Sunspot disappears in Jet's hand

When the gang finds Galacto's log, Jet puts his hand on it

After Jet finds Sunspot after thinking he's lost him, Sunspot climbs onto his palm

Sean and Jet hold hands while resolving that they will find a way to get the deshrinkulum together

During "It Takes a Team," Sydney extends her hand to help pull Jet out of this weird black hole

"It Takes a Team" has multiple shots of hands, like Jet fist bumping Sean, and everyone stacking their hands together, emphasizing the movie's teamwork theme.

Jet finds out that Galacto has shrunken via a handshake, and Galacto also hops onto Jet's palm

Jet saves Stella by pulling her from the filaments

Jet tries to reach for the deshrinkulum, and then Galacto and Sunspot crawl out of his sleeve to get it

Mitchell slips on a puddle and his phone falls out of his hands, causing him to lose the evidence that Stella is an alien

Stella deserves a section of her own, since she is the most associated with hands throughout the movie. First, she taps her fingers together while scheming

Then, Mitchell helps her up from the ground

She wiggles her fingers when Mitchell tells her that Jet is at space camp

She gestures with her finger to introduce herself to Sean, Sydney, and Mindy

She does peace signs twice

Stella presses the buttons on her team's spaceship to "prove" that it doesn't work, but it does work after all

Stella files her nails while asserting she had nothing to do with the ship.

[thecraziestfanever]

Bortronians at Space Camp

Lol, other Bortronians at Space Camp

[volleypearlfan]

"All aboard the toxic gossip comet

Chugging down the galaxy of misinformation"

Inspired by this post

[ari-bat]

Ready Jet Go fans:

The upcoming Ready Jet Go Movie has a title and a pbs kids air date

It's called Ready Jet Go: Space Camp and it premieres on Monday July 24th

[joshuathebeep-0guy]

Guess What?

We Have One More Day Until The PBS Premiere Of Ready Jet Go Space Camp!!! OH YEAH!!!!!!!!

[wordsbyrian]

First Camp - USWNT x Reader

Summary: Another fic set in the Polyglot!verse! This time its R's first time at senior camp set in November 2019

A/N: Bro, there was so much I wanted to fit in to this one that had to get cut. I think I might just write the cut bits as little drabbles instead

It isn’t every day that people get a call-up to play for their senior national team for the first time.

But as you walked into the hotel lobby, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited. The only thing on your mind is getting to your room so that you can take a nap and try to fight off your jet lag.

Unfortunately, that isn’t an option for you, as your flight from Spain had been delayed twice causing you to arrive mere minutes before the first team meeting, with not even enough time to put your bags in your room.

Practically sprinting down the hall to the conference room, you leave your bags outside the door and take a seat in the very back-row moments before Vlatko stands to address the team.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get this meeting started, I know you’re all very excited to get to whatever you have planned for the afternoon,” he says, glancing around the room. “Firstly, we’ve got some fitness testing in the morning, so try to make good choices for the rest of the day.”

The rest of the meeting continues in much of the same fashion, with Vlatko and the rest of the coaching staff running through the planned schedule and what to expect going into the two friendlies.

“Final thing before you all head your separate ways,” Coach says as everyone starts to gather their things, “You’ve noticed by now that it’s Y/N Y/L/N’s first camp, so make sure you show her how we do things around here but let her rest before you drag her into your antics. Dismissed.”

Grabbing your suitcases from the hallway, you follow the wave of players leaving the conference room towards the elevators.

As you stand near the back of the group staring into space you feel a hand place itself on your shoulder. 

Turning around you lock eyes with Christen Press.

“Hey, Y/N, you’re rooming with me, Vlatko thought it would be best to keep you away from the chaos of some of the others,” she says.

“Cool, they uh they look like they can be a lot,” you say, watching over your shoulder as Kelley, Rose, and Sonnett shove each other.

“They can be,” she says, “How was your flight in, I know you arrived just before the meeting.”

Stepping around the squabbling trio that has managed to find themselves on the ground, you wait for the elevator doors to close before answering.

“The flight itself was alright, it got delayed a few times because of a storm,” you say watching as the numbers on the display rise and the doors eventually open.

The two of you are silent as you make your way down the hall and into your room.

Once in the room, conversation flows easily, and the two of you get to know each other. Eventually, though Christen leaves to go hang out with Tobin and you take the opportunity to have a shower and a nap.

This is why you’re not surprised to wake up to someone pounding on the door although when you open it you’re shocked to see Mallory and Tierna on the other side.

“Hey, Chris sent us to wake you up and make sure you get ready for dinner,” Mal says, stepping inside when you open the door wider.

Both of them immediately make themselves comfortable on the edge of Christen’s bed, while you head to the bathroom to change.

30 minutes later, the three of you find yourselves seated on one side of the long table that’s been placed in the conference room.

While you would’ve been more than happy for the meal to pass in silence, the other women on the team have chosen to use this as an opportunity to ask more questions than you thought possible.

Some of the questions are fairly tame, like ‘where are you from’ or ‘what’s your favorite cheat meal’ but once Mal asks who your favorite player is, the wheels begin to fall off a little bit.

It’s partially your fault because you should’ve known that they weren’t going to accept you not naming a female player.

“I watched a lot of United and Barcelona matches growing up so I wanted to be Luke Shaw, Patrice Evra, and Jordi Alba,” you say, hoping that would be enough.

“You didn’t watch any women’s soccer growing up,” Pinoe asks.

“I did.”

“So who’s your favorite player,” she asks, and when she sees how hesitant you are to answer she continues her needling, “Is it one of us? More importantly, is it me?”

“It’s not you.”

“But it is one of the people in this room.”

“I plead the 5th.”

This is when Kelley decides to join in on the needling but after a couple of minutes, Alex takes pity on you and gets her to stop, which gives Lindsey, the only other player to skip college completely, the opportunity to ask you a question.

“You left high school early to play for Barcelona, why,” she asks.

“School sucked, home sucked, playing football for money decidedly doesn’t suck,” you say plainly.

“That is the most teenager response I have ever heard,” Alex says.

“I’m 17,” you tell her, “I’m not sure what you were expecting.”

That sends a shock wave through the team, even the ones who were further down the table seem to have heard what you said.

“You’re practically an infant,” Kelley says with a disbelieving grin, “Even compared to Tierna and Mal. When do you turn 18?”

“Next month.”

A look of pure glee comes across Sonnett’s face and it makes you kind of nervous because as the seconds pass it only gets bigger and bigger.

And then she says, “Congrats Baby T, you’ve been promoted to little kid; Y/N is officially the team baby.”

Tierna begins to celebrate from her seat on Mal’s other side and while you are nervous about Sonnett possibly planning to kill you, you do your best to put on a show of moaning and groaning. Besides, it does feel pretty good to know that you’ve been accepted into the fold so quickly.

The rest of the meal continues in much of the same manner, with the entire team taking the time to relax and get to know each other better.

At the end of the meal, you and Christen make your way back to your room and get ready for bed.

Just before turning off the lights, she asks the one question you haven’t heard yet tonight: How are you feeling?

“Nervous but excited,” you tell her, staring blankly at the ceiling, “I want to play well and show Vlatko that he didn’t make a mistake calling me up.”

“I remember seeing you at the U-20 World Cup last summer, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that too much. You’re talented and everyone who doesn’t know it yet will soon,” she says, flipping the lamp off.

The next few days pass in a way that makes it easy for you to adjust to the rhythm of camp.

Practice is hard, of course, and Columbus is fucking cold in November, but you do your best to push through everything and make sure you show what you have.

You also use the time to continue getting to know everyone both on and off the field, it’s hard because they all play on the same teams and in the same leagues. Even Cook who plays in France has an advantage over you in that she did go to college and has played with or against others on the team.

It’s all made a little easier by the fact that Tobin and Christen have taken it upon themselves to take you under their wings and with them comes Mal, so by the first team bonding activity you find yourself to be the newest member of their makeshift family unit.

It’s weird but it works besides with everything going on you don’t have time to worry about it. 

By the time you turn around, it’s the day of the friendly against Sweden.

Even though the game has a late start time, you still find yourself waking up at your normal time of 8 a.m., so that you can complete all of your game day rituals.

A lot of athletes like to lie about not being superstitious but you’ll admit it proudly: Your entire mood on game days rests on whether or not you can stick to your schedule, even if you aren’t in the squad.

The weirdest of your superstitions and the one that usually requires the most explanation is the fact that you refuse to speak at all before pitch inspections on game days. A routine that you have always accompanied with a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

So before you leave the hotel room, you write two notes explaining the situation. One to keep in your pocket and one for Christen to find when she wakes up. Her note also has instructions saying that she can find you by the pool doing your morning meditation.

Which is exactly where she finds you roughly 45 minutes later.

Looking up at her you can see the slightly annoyed look on her face as she begins to rant but you can’t hear anything she’s saying. Eventually, she huffs angrily and tosses a scarf and hat at you before pulling you to your feet.

At breakfast you watch as the team passes around the note, most of them immediately agreeing to leave you to your routine but there are a few moments where Sonny tries to get you to speak, only to receive blank stares.

After that, the rest of the day passes smoothly.

You don’t get any minutes against Sweden but that was to be expected, it is only your first camp after all.

The next morning, you along with the rest of the team are on your way to Jacksonville, Florida.

The flight is just as chaotic as every other experience you’ve had with these women, they’re inability to relax is both comforting and agitating at the same time.

Originally, you had sat on your own but now 30 minutes into the two-hour flight, you find yourself surrounded by the younger group of players.

“Y/N/N, have you ever been to Florida,” Rose asks, pulling you back into the conversation.

“Nope.”

“Are you excited," Andi questions, leaning over the seat in front of you, "Do you have family coming?"

“I mean, I’m always excited to play but Florida isn’t really doing it for me,” you answer. “As for family, I doubt that my parents are gonna fly in to watch me play when we haven’t spoken in over a year.”

That seems to have gotten everyone’s attention because suddenly it feels like all eyes are on you.

“You’re 17, why haven’t you spoken to your family in a year?”

“Running away to play professional football kind of puts a strain on relationships,” you say casually.

If all eyes weren’t on you before they definitely are now, especially if the number of gasps you hear is anything to go by.

“You ran away to play in Barcelona,” Becky asks from her spot near the front.

“Not technically but I was told not to go and then when I did I was told in no uncertain terms to not return unless I decided to quit playing entirely,” you explain.

Everyone stares at you shocked until Ashlyn says what everyone's thinking.

“Dude. What the fuck?”

“You would've been what 16,” Christen begins, “Aren’t there a ton of FIFA laws about that sort of thing?”

“Yea but it would take too long to explain how I got around them,” you begin casually, “Besides don’t you like having plausible deniability?” You see a look pass through the faces of each of your teammates that lets you know that the answer is yes. “Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies,” you finish.

Some of the girls still look slightly uneasy but they all seem content to just let sleeping dogs lie. 

So, the rest of the flight passes with relative ease, and everyone returns to their own activities. You find yourself drawn into what is easily the most competitive game of Uno you’ve ever played.

The remainder of the day, and the next for that matter, pass with the same ease.

On the day of the Costa Rica game, you go through your routine with little stress.

You do your meditation, eat breakfast, take a nap, grab an afternoon coffee with Mal, Sonny, Rose and Lindsey, do pitch inspection and then it's game time.

The first 45 minutes of the game pass incredibly fast and as you make your way back into the locker room, you’re already up two-nil.

Vlatko’s half-time speech isn’t anything special and if you’re being completely honest, you haven’t heard a single word he’s said.

At least not until one of those words is your name.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Yes, coach?”

“You like to play on the left side, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Good, you’re going in for Sonny, go get warm,” he tells you.

You stare at him in silence for a moment before a shove in the back from Rose gets you moving.

You don’t remember much of the match, but that’s a common occurrence for you. Your adrenaline is always pumping way too strongly.

What you do remember makes you think that you played well. A couple of strong tackles, crosses that hit their mark, and no goals were given up as a result of any mistake you made, so it had to have been a pretty decent game.

Your beliefs are further reassured by the way the team gathers around congratulating you on your performance, some of them patting you on the head or back.

Back in the locker room, after you've all spent some time greeting the fans and after coach has given his little postgame talk, you find that the energy in the room is slightly different than what you’ve been getting used to. Everyone is still making noise but now it seems as though they’re all shaking with anticipation.

Then suddenly, Becky is trying to get everyone to calm down so she can address the team.

“Alright settle down girls,” she says, waiting for silence. Once she gets it she continues, “Three players made their senior team debuts today and since they’re all defenders, it’s my job to give them their game balls. Midge, Cookie, the two of you started and kept the right side locked down for the full 90 minutes.” Then she turns to you. “And Y/N/N, you put in 45 and are the only person I’ve ever seen talk trash after taking a cleat to the stomach. But most importantly, the three of you along with Sonny and Sully made life easy for our keepers and no balls found the back of our net. Good Job!”

As the girls break into applause, Becky tosses each of you a ball.

Everyone disperses a bit after that, headed to press conferences and the showers but you take a moment to stare at the ball.

It must last pretty long though because eventually, you feel someone taking a seat next to you. And since you can still hear her attempting to sing from the showers, you know it's not Rose.

“Are you okay,” Mal asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, “Did I really get kicked in the gut?”

She nods, “It was pretty bad to watch. Does it hurt?” You shake your head slightly so she continues, “Well you took it like a champ and I didn’t hear what you said but the Costa Rican player looked pretty pissed.”

“I don’t know either but I have a feeling I’ll never live it down,” you laugh, finally looking at her.

“It’s probably already all over the internet, so maybe not.”

“Great.”

[rainbowyumy]

Finally, I am not the only one who noticed how rushed Paisley's redemption arc was. I know PBS Kids is ment to be for kids, but even children would notice how rushed some things are. First Stella, from Ready Jet Go: Space Camp, had a rushed character arc. Now Paisley, who didn't have much screen time as a villain might I add, immediately becomes an advocate for protecting nature. They could've at least have her rethink through her actions before changing sides.

I can tell that the show is already losing its taste. On the other hand, there are some positive things coming from the show, like Jimmy finally getting the spotlight, or fixing that annoying bright color pallette that I hated so much because it white washed Aviva at one point. But then there's the odd pacing and the cycle of plot holes and stupid stories like in No Name Dream. And I believe this is due to the fact a different studio is working on these recent seasons rather than the previous one that worked on the earlier ones.

Hell, I'm having more entertainment from the fandom's fanfictions than the actual show, especially since I've been seeing great talent and beautiful artwork from the best on Tumblr, Instagram, and Tik Tok. (Shout out to the Reprogrammed AU and Krattrastopic creators!) The fanfictions were more aware and accurate with the lore than the show itself.

But why am I complaining? I still liked the Blue and Green World special and still love the show itself. Just wished PBS Kids also cared about quality like they did in the past. If Bluey can impress all age ranges, then any kid show can. And hey, I actually wanted to see how Paisley being a good person would work in the franchise, even before the special came out.

Apologies if that sounded rude.

[silvazeanimaniacsfangirl642]

The Ready Jet Go Space Camp movie came out on July 20, 2023, and today is July 20, 2024 which means that it's the 1st anniversary of Space Camp.

By the way, I even included my OC Lettuce here.

[knizuu]

So I watched the Space Camp movie (Ready Jet Go) and now I LOVE IT

I can see why people like it :]

Ft. Trans fem Metal as that one announcer on Bortron 7

Tails being Jet, Amy being Sydney, and Nine as the new character Stella

—

I originally did this AU because well-

The main character is the same voice as Tails in Sonic Prime and I CANNOT let that go without thought

Also the voice actor for Face was in multiple Sonic media soooo

I think this was fun to do :]

[codename-mom]

Rebellion

Summary: Emily rised from the dead and Doyle is not a threat anymore. The team is ready to celebrate its reunion, but Penelope has something to say to her boss.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner and Penelope Garcia (platonic)

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

TW: anxiety (because it is known that Hotch is just a ball of anxiety)

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch had returned to his office, while the whole team was bustling about downstairs in the open-plan office. The whole thing was finally over, and his agents were looking forward to releasing the pressure together in a local bar. After several months of separation and an emotional rollercoaster, they needed to reconnect and take stock of everything that had happened to each other during that time. He was setting foot within these walls again after a handful of weeks away from it all, and he felt as if he had a swarm of bees for brains. His eyelids closed by themselves as soon as he stopped moving, and he felt that if he sat up for even a quarter of a second, he would fall asleep immediately. And yet, his day wasn't quite over yet.

                Sensing a presence behind his back, he turned his head to see Penelope standing in the doorway. Upright as an “i” on the threshold, she waited for his authorization, looking determined.

“Come in, Garcia," he said, placing the file in his hands back on his desk.

“I'm so sorry, you must want to go home and get some sleep, but I need to talk to you," she declared, stepping towards him.

“Don’t worry. I was expecting your visit. Sit down," he suggested, pointing to the bench.

“No, I’d rather stand.”

The BAU supervisor frowned. He had always seen the young woman address him with a random mixture of exaggerated respect and unrestrained frankness, but this time her attitude was different from the ordinary. She looked… pissed off. Then he recoiled as she planted herself right next to him and began to stare at him with redoubled attention.

“Gee!” she hissed after too long a silence.

“What?” he asked defensively.

She was smaller than him, but so unpredictable that he dreaded her reactions. This day more than any other, given recent events.

“I haven't had time to pay attention until now, but you're skeletal," remarked the analyst, aghast.

“Really?”

Since he'd been sent on a mission to the other side of the world, he hadn't really had a chance to look in the mirror. On site, the only one available to him and the soldiers was an A5 format used to help the men shave without disfiguring themselves. An activity he had more or less ignored in order to focus solely on what he had been sent there to do. In fact, he had no idea what he looked like at this hour. The most he knew was that he'd lost weight, since he'd had to tighten a few notches on his belt and was floating in his largest T-shirts.

“When was the last time you ate?" she asked, regaining a respectable distance.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know which day is it.”

It was the truth. He'd left the military camp in a hurry, jumped from one vehicle to another to get to the nearest international airport as quickly as possible, then caught the first available plane closer to his destination, made a mandatory stopover before boarding again and hopping in a cab to Quantico. And all without worrying about jet lag. In fact, he was in a confused space-time where he would have been unable to date anything.

“Didn’t they feed you there, or what?”

“Garcia, you wanted to talk to me," he cut her off, as he knew she was quick to wax on about trivial matters, forgetting the crucial information she had to deliver.

Normally, this wouldn't have bothered him, but at the moment, he didn't have the strength to endure this kind of conversation.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, she apologized immediately, before she put her fists on her hips, her eyebrows furrowed. Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?”

“Give me something to eat?”

The young woman's painted lips quivered, a sign that, despite her irritation, she had been sensitive to this sensible but humorous supposition.

“… Okay, she conceded serious again. The other thing I want to do to you.”

“Tell me.”

“To slap you! She exclaimed spreading her arms. How could you have done such thing? You… you have carried her coffin! You saw me cry her death! When you knew! You knew that… that everything was fake!”

With tears in her eyes, Penelope fidgeted under his nose, both upset and furious. Hotch wasn't surprised by this sudden outpouring of energy against him; in fact, he'd been prepared for it since the plan had been drawn up. He knew that sooner or later the truth would come out, and that those who had been scorned would undeniably turn against those responsible for this machination. However, it would have been a lie to say that his interlocutor's charge didn't affect him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, there is no “I’m sorry”, she retorted glaring at him. It’s too easy. It’s not you who suffered during the last seven months.”

“It was the only solution to protect her from Doyle.”

“You don’t know that! You set all this up with JJ without telling us.”

“The fewer people who knew, the safer she was.”

“Enough!”

Without warning, she struck his arm violently before realizing what she had just done.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, considering he deserved it. The bespectacled blonde's shoulders slumped, and her fury gave way to another emotion. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, she asked in a strangled voice:

“Why didn’t you tell us anything? You don’t trust us, that’s it?”

“Of course not,” he defended himself, trying to maintain eye contact.

The giant would entrust his life to the hands of his agents without the slightest hesitation, for their efficiency was matched only by their loyalty, but he had made this choice in spite of everything. He weighed the pros and cons of this solution at length before making his decision. Quickly realizing that this would be a very painful moment for his relatives – and even more so for him and his accomplice – he had armored himself more than ever to take the brunt of the backlash. Clearly not enough, as his confidence waned in the face of Garcia's bruised expression. Her friendship with him, which transcended all the gulfs that should have separated them, was of paramount importance to him and, without him realizing it, he clung to it daily to avoid becoming the block of marble that everyone saw in him. Seeing her so hurt by his silence, he began to wonder if he'd pushed his luck too far. Was he going to lose her? Was she going to walk away from him for good?

“Everyone knew about Foyet, and we all pulled together to support and help you," she reminded him, trying to meet his gaze again.

“And we have seen the result.”

He had answered without thinking and regretted his words on the spot. Haley’s death wasn’t just on his mind. The members of his team had taken part in the hunt for her murderer, each in their own way, and not being able to save her was a serious blow to their morale. For all of them, it was a gash that they would carry with them for life, and which would come back to their memory more or less regularly. It was nothing compared to the gaping wound that would never heal in his own heart, but it was there, all the same. Including the woman standing in front of him, who looked like she'd just been slapped in the face.

“Penelope, I understand that you don't take it well – I was expecting it, to be honest – but I had to, he continued, diving back into the rhetoric he had sketched out several months earlier in order to justify himself. Emily could never have worked normally knowing Doyle was out there. She would have been afraid for us and for herself the whole time.”

“Why? Blew the luscious blonde shaking her head. What was going through your head to make you decide that this was the best solution?”

Many things, he wished to answer. Too much, surely, since he obviously hadn't done the right thing. His only obsession had been to protect Prentiss by all means. When he realized she'd gone off alone to face her adversary, he'd imagined right away her bathed in blood in a gutter, dying or already dead. So when, by some miracle, she had escaped – badly wounded, but alive – he'd known he had no choice but to keep her away from her target. She certainly wouldn't have been so lucky a second time. But it also implied that her predator had to be prevented from tracking her, and for as long as necessary. The man stalking her was a real eel, with far greater resources than the Ripper ever had. It had therefore proved essential to redouble his caution, and to do so he'd had to plunge a few knives into the backs of people on whom he could – should – have relied, as he had done in the past.

“I… I imagined what would happen if we couldn't get our hands on Doyle, he explained, embarrassed. I was expecting JJ to offer to make her disappear – administratively – but I didn't have the means to do it. That’s why JJ was the only one to know. She was the only one who could have done it.”

Inwardly, he crossed his fingers that the wrath of his disgruntled employees would not fall on his former liaison officer. With her position at the Pentagon, she knew the right people more than he did, so he naturally turned to her for help. Help she had given him without question. Intelligent, she had understood, as he had, that they had few options before them to preserve Emily's life. But she hadn't done anything without his approval. It was he – and he alone – who had launched the process.

“Did you know where she was?”

“No. Not precisely, at last. I didn’t have any contact with her.”

“You've played with our feelings," Penelope said, folding her arms across her chest.

Angered, she stared at him with an intensity he'd never known and struggled to sustain. He knew that honesty was a cornerstone of the technical analyst's personality. She hated lying and didn't hide when she cried or laughed, expressing her feelings without any particular concern for what people might say. And she expected the same from the people around her, whom she considered friends. For some reason, she had forgiven his silence and coldness, and continued to support him through thick and thin; but this betrayal seemed to have been the last straw.

“I didn’t do it out of joy, believe me.”

“But you did, she scolded in a dull voice. You watched us fall apart. You’ve even pretended to evaluate us.”

“No, I really wanted to know how you were doing.”

“And? Satisfied?”

She didn't scream, she didn't gesticulate, she didn't cry, she didn't tremble. She stood there on her two legs, her brown eyes darting at him through the lenses of her colored glasses, her thin, light eyebrows close together. An aura of cold anger emanated from every pore of her skin, and Hotch felt like cowering in the corner of his desk. With a tight throat and a lump in his stomach, he felt worse than ever.

“Penelope, I was never amused by this situation. Far from it.”

“And Spencer? Do you think he enjoyed crying in JJ's arms every day for two months?”

“No, he agreed, his heart pounding against his ribs; and neither did JJ.”

Garcia opened her mouth and eyes, dumbfounded.

“You knew?”

“She called me every time, he admitted. It was extremely difficult for her not to spill the beans. And I’ve been dying to tell you myself. But I knew that it would put her in danger.”

Never before had he been so aware of the feelings he had for his team members as he had been over the past seven months. Watching them mope around every day, laughing briefly then crying, dragging their feet, flashing fake smiles, and sinking into interminable silences, had given him sleepless nights after sleepless nights. Unable to reason with himself about the wisdom of his decision, he had only managed to close his eyes because he had been terribly tired. But he invariably woke with a start two or three hours later, his chest compressed by anguish, his skin shiny with sweat. And JJ's pleas for help didn’t do any good. However, he had never pushed her away, instead urging her to confide in him as much as she wished, so that she could be relieved of the burden weighing down on her.

“And if Derek hadn't managed to get his hands on Doyle, how much longer would this charade have gone on?”

Hotch first lowered his eyes, stalling for time before delivering his answer, then raised them to meet Penelope's gaze.

“… As long as necessary.”

Her irises even brighter, the technician swallowed her words for a moment, staring into space for the time of an inspiration, then, cheeks flushed, spoke again:

“You were ready to spend your entire life with this lie for Emily?”

“I would have done it and would do it for any of you if I had to.”

His words seemed outrageously pompous when he heard them, but they were entirely sincere. If any of his men were to find themselves in the same situation, he would inflict the same priesthood on himself, at any price. Anything rather than having to kneel one day beside the inanimate body of one of them, with no possibility of doing anything to bring him or her back to life. Anything rather than have to clutch the bloody corpse of another loved one again.

“Why? Pursued Garcia, a tear escaping from her eyelid. … Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Because it’s my job. It’s my duty as unit chief.”

She shook her head, but he was unable to understand the meaning of it. Was she doubtful? Or disillusioned? Exhausted, perhaps, from having gone to so much effort to excuse his unacceptable behavior. In vain. Unless she was still furious and hesitated to give him this slap he so richly deserved... He didn’t know. His mind was full of so many confused thoughts that he could no longer think straight. He was just tired. Drained of all his strength. And, with the adrenaline crashing in, he had the feeling that his body was going to collapse at any moment.

“… Were you aware that Derek was doing research on his own?”

“Let's just say I suspected, he confessed, raising his eyebrows. He was so angry that he hadn't been able to do anything to save Emily that it was obvious he was going to try to get his hands on Doyle again. Like I did some research to find Foyet in the past.”

“But you’ve never giving him your permission?”

“Unless you consider the fact that I had strong suspicions and let him do it as a form of authorization, no.”

She squinted her eyes but did not stop staring. He imagined that she had asked him this question to verify what the former policeman had said. The fact that he'd told her without batting an eyelid that he'd agreed to investigate on his own time didn't surprise him that much, and he wouldn't hold it against him. Without this initiative, Prentiss would still be on the run and Doyle a threat to her and Declan. Clearly, Morgan had counted on his indulgence to do the right thing without worrying about any repercussions.

“One day, you're really going to have to learn to communicate with each other," stressed the young woman, dropping her arms.

“We communicate.”

“No. You bark at each other, she corrected. And when you're not stepping on each other's toes, you keep as far apart as possible. You look like two opposite magnets.”

He would have been truly blind if he hadn't noticed that the relationship he had with his cadet was rather stormy, but he didn't think it was that obvious. He thought he'd done all he could to ensure that their spat would go unwitnessed, if only so that his agent's honor wouldn't be offended by a public attack; but this was undeniably another failure. Proof of this was that his subordinate, who didn't come to the field with the rest of the team, had noticed.

“… Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, he commented, lost. That must be why he still hasn't punched me in the face.”

“Is this what you expected him to do?" strangled Penelope, shocked.

“It would have not surprised me, actually.”

To tell the truth, he was even certain that if Emily hadn't burst into the meeting room a number of hours earlier, just after the truth had been announced, he would have found himself on the floor, his mouth full of blood. And he wouldn't have retaliated because his employee would have been within his rights.

“So I'm going to talk to him to make sure he doesn't do it.”

“Why?”

“But, have you looked at yourself in a mirror? she snapped, her eyebrows furrowing again. You’re skin deep. If Derek flicked you, you'd fall apart.”

“This is exaggerated.”

“You’re kidding! I could fax you under the door, she said, pointing to the exit behind her. Come on, come with me, I’ll fill you up real quick.”

She approached him, probably to grab his arm, but he stepped back.

“Garcia, if you bring me to the same restaurant than the last time…”

“Hotch, if your mother sees you like this, she'll sue us for abuse.”

A shiver ran down his back. Although he had informed his mother of his departure abroad for several weeks, he had not been particularly forthcoming with news. The little time he had been given to call within the U.S., he had used for the benefit of his son. In fact, Ada Hotchner didn't even know that, one, her son was alive and, two, that he was even back home. She and Aaron had always had a very complicated relationship and although, with age, they had been able to iron out some of their differences, there were still many sticking points between them that regularly set them against each other. Thus, the director was torn between calling her immediately to reassure her, knowing that she would keep him chatting for hours to bombard him with questions; or waiting a day or two, even if it meant being seriously admonished for his obvious lack of empathy towards her, by the time he had regained a normal appearance and put his affairs in order, left in the lurch during his stay across the seas.

“… Before or after she washes me with a Kärcher?" he said, half-seriously.

“Come, instead of talking nonsense.”

She took another step towards him, but he raised his palms between them to stop her.

“Penelope, I… Thanks for the invitation, but I'm so exhausted I don't even know what day it is, he revealed, his head in a vice. I stink, my clothes are so dirty they stand up on their own and I still have to call Jack to at least tell him I'm home.”

The analyst immediately showed her disappointment but, all her rage gone, she sighed.

“… I see. For your information, it’s Thursday.”

“… Are you sure?” he said, confused.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Well, when I left, it was already Thursday. And yet, I've seen the sun rise and set in the meantime.”

The young woman momentarily widened her eyes before smiling. For his part, he tried to gather his memories precisely, without success. He felt as if he were floating in a cottony atmosphere that anaesthetized his senses and slowed his train of thought.

“Okay. You need to go home and get some sleep indeed.”

“I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Truth be told, he wouldn't last long tonight. Once he'd had his son on the phone, he'd run off to the shower before collapsing into bed, without lingering any longer. He was probably starving, but fatigue at this moment outweighed any other sensation he might be experiencing. His body longed only for sleep.

“One more question before I leave.”

“Go on,” he agreed, pushing from his mind the image of that pillow and comforter waiting for him at home.

“Are you going to keep the beard?”

“No.”

Why?”

“It itches.”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

“We’ll talk about it when you’ll let yours grow.”

“It will be long.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.”

The strange duo smiled in unison after this much more relaxed exchange. Hotch was relieved to find that his most fervent supporter had forgiven him – or at least accepted – this new incongruity on his part. He wouldn't have known how to continue his task knowing the luscious blonde was angry with him.

“Can I have a hug?”

“What?” he croaked, caught off guard.

“Let me rephrase, she announced, surely aware of the suddenness of this request. Can I give you a hug?”

Very tactile, unlike him, Garcia was always ready to hug people she liked, regardless of their gender, age or social status. When the team returned from a case, it was not uncommon for her to wait for them as they exited the elevator to renew her ties with the agents, momentarily distended by geographical distance. It had almost become an indispensable behavior for her, as much as amassing dozens of colorful knick-knacks in her office. This activity ruffled the feathers of Erin Strauss, Aaron's superior, but didn't bother him in the least. On the other hand, even if he hadn't reached the point of repulsion of Spencer Reid, the youngest of his employees, hugging was clearly not his cup of tea. His nerves became tense as soon as hands closed on him, and he invariably felt uncomfortable when he had to return the favor. He never knew how much force, energy or pressure to instill into his muscles to make the moment pleasant for the other without misinterpreting it. As a result, he limited this kind of interaction to as few partners as possible.

“Is it necessary?”

“You made me mourn someone who wasn’t dead.”

The argument was unstoppable. Realizing that he couldn't cut short the embrace she craved, he sighed and spread his arms. Penelope immediately came and snuggled up to him, the top of her head sliding under his chin. She didn't recoil, didn't give a thought to the foul-smelling aroma – a mixture of perspiration, dust and dirt – that he must be giving off at this moment, and gently placed her fingers in the middle of his back. The giant's heart thumped against his ribs, panicking as it did every time someone entered his vital space. Inhaling deeply to calm his heartbeat, he in turn clasped the young woman's shoulders.

“Hotch, promise me one thing," she continued, her voice echoing in his ribcage.

“What?”

“Never do that again.”

The director moved away from her without pushing her away completely.

“I can’t promise such a thing,” he affirmed, honest.

“Why?”

“Because that would mean giving up every possible method of protecting or saving yourselves. And it is out of question.”

In the back of his mind, he hoped he would never have to face this kind of situation again; but if he did, he could not concede to abandoning this solution because, as painful as it was, it was still the one that ensured the highest survival rate for the "deceased" person. Which, from his point of view, was worth every sacrifice.

“At least, tell me before.”

“I will if you’re involved.”

“And then you wonder why Jack is so tough on business," she threw, shaking her head.

She gave him a smile in spite of everything, then left the office after placing her hand on his arm one last time. Through the window, he saw her join the rest of the group, exchange a few words with her colleagues and then head off towards the elevators. Exhausted, Aaron nevertheless felt undeniably lighter.

___

They are idiots, but I love them, your honor! X3

[coolsomejet]

Parallels between the beginning and ending songs in Space Camp

In the opening song, "Dear Great Galacto," Jet sings about the Great Galacto's "space hero code," which includes, among other things, bravery and toughness.

In the ending song, "Space Hero," Stella sings about how Jet doesn't need to be brave or tough.

At the start of the movie, Jet wanted to be like the Great Galacto, up to and including doing everything by himself. He saved the day by being Jet. And Jet is great enough.

The imagery in "Space Hero" also reflects that of "Dear Great Galacto," as seen with silhouettes of Jet running on a red background.

Except this time, he's running on his own. In "Dear Great Galacto," he both chased after and ran away from some alien. You could say that he was chasing after the Great Galacto (the alien is not Galacto, but some random unnamed character). But now, he's running for himself. Because he's just Jet.

[thecraziestfanever]

The whole 'Sunspot's backstory' thing in RJG vs Space Camp makes even less sense when you remember Sunspot is supposed to be 899 in Bortronian years - which is 142 - 143 Earth years old!

If he aged slower than humanoid Bortronians, that would make sense, but if Jet just got him a few years ago and in that time he went from kit to adult, what was he doing for 140 years before that?

Are Sunspots one of those animal species that are babies for most of their lives and adults for a small portion of it, like cicadas?

[volleypearlfan]

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss

[ari-bat]

We are now one week away from the release of Ready Jet Go Space Camp

The wait is almost over

[jcmarchi]

Three MIT alumni graduate from NASA astronaut training

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/three-mit-alumni-graduate-from-nasa-astronaut-training/

Three MIT alumni graduate from NASA astronaut training

“It’s been a wild ride,” says Christopher Williams PhD ’12, moments after he received his astronaut pin, signifying graduation into the NASA astronaut corps.

Williams, along with Marcos Berríos ’06 and Christina “Chris” Birch PhD ’15, were among the 12-member class of astronaut candidates to graduate from basic training at NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, on Tuesday, March 5.

NASA Astronaut Group 23 are the newest generation of Artemis astronauts, which includes 10 hailing from the United States, as well as two from the United Arab Emirates who trained alongside them.

During their more than two years of basic training, the group became proficient in such areas as spacewalking, robotics, space station systems, T-38 jets, and Russian language. The graduates also said that they asked endless questions about the functions of their spacesuit, which they wore while submerged in huge pools to practice spacewalks. They jumped into a frigid lake during a 10-day hike in Wyoming and shared the hauling of a 30-pound lava rock back to camp for more geology study, as well as the last bag of peanut M&Ms after running out of ready-to-eat meals during survival training in the Alabama back country.

“We feel ready to put our efforts and our energy into supporting NASA’s science on the space station or in support of our return to the moon and this program,” says Birch. “All of the Flies feel a great sense of responsibility and excitement for what comes next.”

The team earned the nickname “The Flies” from the previous astronaut class, the “Turtles,” and even designed their team patch into a housefly shape. (The team prefers calling themselves the Swarm, “which has a little bit more pizzazz,” says Birch.) “Traditionally, these names are usually things that do not take well to flight,” she adds. “We were really surprised that they gave us a flying creature. I think they have a lot of faith in us and hope that we fly soon.”

The Turtles were the first class to graduate under NASA’s Artemis program, in 2020. They included three aeronautics and astronautics alumni: Raja Chari SM ’01, Jasmin Moghbeli ’05, and Warren “Woody” Hoburg ’08. Former Whitehead Institute for Biomedical Research research fellow Kate Rubins, who was selected as a NASA astronaut in 2009 and had served as a flight engineer aboard the International Space Station, also joined the team.

After the newest graduates received their silver NASA astronaut pins, they joined the other 36 current astronauts eligible “to sit on the pointy end of a rocket” for such initiatives as assignments to the International Space Station, future commercial destinations, deep-space missions to destinations including the moon on NASA’s Orion spacecraft and Space Launch System rocket, and eventually, missions to Mars. The Artemis initiative also includes plans for the first woman and first person of color to walk on the moon.

For now, the Flies will be supporting all of these initiatives while Earthbound.

“Hopefully within next two or three years, my name will be called to go to space,” says Berrios. For now, he will stay in Houston, where he’ll be working in the human landing system program, including with private companies such as SpaceX and Blue Origin. He’ll also continue his training in advanced robotics and Russian, and he is training at various international partner countries working with space station modules.

Marcos Berrios

When he was selected to join the NASA astronaut program, Berríos had been serving as the commander of Detachment 1, 413th Flight Test Squadron and deputy director of the Combat Search and Rescue (CSAR) Combined Task Force. As a test pilot, he has accumulated more than 110 combat missions and 1,400 hours of flight time in more than 21 different aircraft.

Berríos calls Guaynabo, Puerto Rico, his hometown, and says he appreciated other Latino American astronauts, including Franklin R. Chang Diaz PhD ’77, serving as his role models and mentors. He hopes to do the same for others.

“Today hopefully marks another opportunity to open doors for others like me in the future, to recognize that the talent in the Latin American community is strong,” he said on the day of his graduation. His advice to those dreaming of being an astronaut is “to not give up, to stay curious, stay humble, be disciplined, and throughout all adversity, throughout all obstacles, that would all be worth it in the end.”

“I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” he says. He read a lot of astronaut autobiographies, and frequently Googled class 2.007 (Design and Manufacturing I), which led him to study mechanical engineering at MIT. He earned his master’s degree in mechanical engineering as well as a doctorate in aeronautics and astronautics from Stanford University, and then enrolled at the U.S. Naval Test Pilot School in Patuxent River, Maryland.

As a developmental test pilot at the CSAR Combined Test Force at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada, he learned avionics, defensive systems, synthetic vision technologies, and electric vertical-takeoff-and-landing vehicles.

Berríos says that MIT, particularly while working with Professor Alexander Slocum, instilled within him the discipline required for his successes. “I don’t want to admit how spending, like, 24 hours on problem set after problem set just provided that attitude and mentality of like, ‘Yeah, this is tough, this is hard,’ but you know we’ve got the skills, we’ve got the resources, we’ve got our colleagues, and we’re going to figure it out … and we’re going to find a pretty novel way to solve it.”

He says he found spacewalk training to be especially tough “physically, because you’re in a pressurized spacesuit — it’s stiff, it requires strength and stamina — but also mentally, because you have to be focused for six hours at a time and maintain high awareness of your surroundings as well as for your partner.”

The new astronaut says he identifies first as an engineer and researcher. “We’re kind of a jack-of-all-trades,” he says. “One of the one of the amazing things about being an astronaut, and certainly one of the things that was very captivating for me about this job, was all of the different subject matters that we get to touch on. I mean, it’s incredible.”

Christina Birch  

An Arizona native, Birch graduated from the University of Arizona with bachelor’s degrees in mathematics, biochemistry, and molecular biophysics. As a doctoral candidate in biological engineering at MIT, she conducted original research at the intersection of synthetic biology, microfluidics, and infectious disease, and worked in the Jacquin Niles lab in the Department of Biological Engineering. “I really am grateful for (her advisor, Niles) taking me on, especially when he was starting up his lab.”

After graduation, she taught bioengineering at the University of California at Riverside, and scientific writing and communication at Caltech. But she didn’t forget the skills she gained while on the MIT cycling team; in 2018, she left academia to become a decorated track cyclist on the U.S. National Team. She was training for the 2020 Summer Olympics, while also working as a scientific consultant for startups in various technology sectors from robotics to vaccine development, when she was selected by NASA.

“I really need to give a shout out to the MIT cycling team,” she says. “They helped give me my start,” she says. “It was just a fantastic place to get a taste of that cycling community which I’m still a part of. I do still ride; I’m focused on longer-distance races, and I like to do gravel races.”

She’s also excited that the International Space Station has a bike trainer called CEVIS, and Teal CEVIS, to reduce muscle and bone loss experienced in microgravity.  

Her next role is to support the Orion program.

“Last week, I was out in San Diego supporting the underway recovery training, which is the landing and recovery team’s practice to recover crew from the Orion capsule after a simulated splashdown in the Pacific. It was just such an incredible learning opportunity for me getting up to speed on this this new vehicle. We’re doing the Orion 2 mission, which is really an incredible test flight.”

“The more I learn about the program, the more I see how many different elements that we are building from scratch,” she says. “What really sets NASA apart is our dedication to safety, and I know that we will fly astronauts to the moon when we’re ready, and now that comes under a little bit of my purview and my responsibilities.”

How does she incorporate her backgrounds in cycling and her biological engineering research into the space program? “The common link between my pursuit of the pointy edge of the bike race, and also original research at MIT, has always been the stepping into the unknown, comfort-pushing boundaries. Whether it’s getting into the T38 jet for the first time — I don’t have any prior aviation experience — and standing up in front of an audience to give a scientific lecture or to make an attack on the bike, you know I’ve done that emotional practice.

“I think being comfortable in discomfort and the unknown, stepping through that process with a rigorous sort of like engineering-questioning, is because MIT set me up so well with a strong foundation of understanding engineering principles, and applying those to big questions. Places where we don’t have full understanding of a system or how something works, and then there is spaceflight, how we are very much developing these technologies and testing them as we go. Ultimately, human lives are going to depend on asking really good questions.”

She says her biggest challenge so far has been diversifying her skill set.

“I had to make a pretty big transition when I arrived (to NASA training) because I had previously been in a mentality of trying to be the best in the world at something, be it the best in the world on the bike, or you know, being the expert in RNA aptamer malaria-targeting technologies, which is the research I was doing at MIT, and then having to switch to being both knowledgeable and skillful in a huge number of different areas that are required of an astronaut. I don’t have an aviation background so that was something very new, very exciting, and very fun, it turns out. But also having to develop spacewalk skills, learning to speak Russian, learning to fly a robotic arm, and learning all about the International Space Station systems, so going from a specialist, really, to a generalist was a pretty big transition.

“One of the hardest things about astronaut training is finding balance, because we are switching between all of these different technical topics, sometimes in the span of a day. You might be in the jet in the morning and then you have to turn around and go to an emergency simulation for a space station in the afternoon. Reid Wiseman, the commander of the Artemis 2 mission, says, ‘Be where your feet are.’ And that was some of the best advice that he gave us coming into the office as candidates.”

Christopher Williams

Williams knew going into the training program that he would learn things in which he had no prior background.

“When you’re flying in one of the T38 jets you’re having to do, you know, back-of-the-envelope math estimating things while operating in a dynamic environment,” he recalls. “Other things, like doing an underwater run in the spacesuit, to finding alternatives when conjugating Russian verbs … learning how to approach problems and to solve them came from my time at MIT. Going through the physics grad program there made me much stronger at taking new topics and just sort of digesting them, figuring out how to how to break them down and solve them.”   

He did end up working with many MIT alumni. “Lots of MIT people have rotated through, so I’ve had lots of good conversations with Kate Rubins and a bunch of folks that passed through AeroAstro [the Department of Aeronautics and Astronautics].”

Williams grew up in Potomac, Maryland, dreaming of being an astronaut. A private pilot and Eagle Scout, Williams spent much of his high school and Stanford University years at the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory in Washington, studying supernovae using the Very Large Array radio telescope, and researching supernovae at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.   

At MIT, he pursued his doctorate in physics with a focus on astrophysics. When he wasn’t working as a campus emergency medical technician and volunteer firefighter, Williams and his advisor, Jackie Hewitt, built the Murchison Widefield Array, a low-frequency radio telescope array in Western Australia designed to study the epoch of reionization of the early universe. 

After graduation, he joined the faculty at Harvard Medical School, and was a medical physicist in the Radiation Oncology Department at the Brigham and Women’s Hospital and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. As the lead physicist for the institute’s MRI-guided adaptive radiation therapy program, Williams focused on developing image guidance techniques for cancer treatments.  

He will be supporting the ongoing missions until it’s his turn to head to space. In the meantime, he looks forward to using his background in medicine to research how the human body is affected by space radiation and being in orbit.

“It’s strange, because as a scientist you know you’re kind of in a different role. There are physics experiments on the space station, and tons of biology and chemistry experiments. It’s actually really fun because I get to stretch different parts of my brain that I haven’t had to before.”

“We’re really representing all of NASA, all of America all over the world,” he says. “That’s a huge responsibility on us. I really want to make everybody proud.”

Encouraging the next generation of astronauts

After the graduation ceremonies ended, NASA announced that it is accepting applications for new astronaut candidates through April 2. 

Berrios advises MIT students that no matter what their background is, they should apply if they want to be an astronaut. “Try and express in words how your education, how your career, and how your hobbies relate to human space exploration. Chris [Birch] and I have very different backgrounds and combinations of skill sets … I guarantee the next class is going to have an individual from MIT that has a background that we haven’t even thought of yet.”

Birch says that just interviewing for the Artemis program “absolutely changed my life. I knew that even if I didn’t become an astronaut, I had met, you know, a real incredible group of people that inspired me to push further to do more to find another way to serve and so I would really just encourage people to apply. A lot of people (who were accepted) applied more than once.”

Adds Williams, “If you meet the requirements, just do it. If that’s your dream, tell people about it — because people will be excited for you and want to help you to achieve.”

Play video

[crescentcampbell]

Royal Ravka University, Chapter Three: Alina Starkov

Three

Alina Starkov

She turned eighteen in June. She'd gotten herself a sad, little cupcake and spent the day working on a painting the headmaster had commissioned from her of the school's founder. Mal had been away at football camp. He sent her Irises, a card, and a locket with a picture of the two of them in it. She wore it around her neck. Always.

Her guidance counselor had set it up for her to visit colleges during the summer so she didn't have to go back to the orphanage. Royal Ravka University hadn't been her first pick. It was too posh, and too close to Morozova territory. Mal was always warning her to stay away from them.

Although that didn't mean she'd never crossed paths with the family. Once, when Mal had been at an away game, a tall man, with jet black hair, and grey eyes had come to the school to speak to their business class. He had introduced himself as Aleksander Morozova, the Vice President of The Morozovoa Foundation. He kept his eyes on Alina the whole time. She remembered, because she had stared right back, her gaze unflinching.

When the class was over, she had been about to sneak out, when she heard her name called. "Miss Starkova...a word?"

She stopped and turned to look at the man. "Y-yes?" she said, meekly.

Aleksander walked forward to where she was, leaving little space between them. "Do you prefer Starkova or Starkov? I tend to use ancient Ravkaan, but I know that can seem outdated to the younger generation."

"It's Starkov on my birth certificate," she explained, "but my mother was a little ahead of her time in that thinking."

He stroked his beard. "Yes." He eyed her up and down. "Do they feed you well here? You're too skinny."

Alina turned away, embarrassed. "I...I have always been underweight. I was shadow kissed when I was young, you see."

Aleksander raised an eyebrow. "Oh? The Volcra tried to take your soul to the shadowlands before you were ready?"

She nodded. "I'm always weaker than everyone else because of it..."

He reached out, and put his hand on her head. "Then you must be blessed with good fortune by the Saints. There's not many that can say they've survived that."

"Um...thanks? I guess..." she shifted uncomfortably, aware of his intense gaze on her.

"I believe we share an acquaintance. Malyen Oretsev?"

She flinched. "Yes. He's my best friend. We were in the same orphanage together before we got our scholarships here."

"Quaint," he said, "well, Malyen, is of importance to my family. His mother worked at The Morozova Foundation and I've known young Mal since he was a babe. Tragic, her circumstances. But I appreciate anyone who looks out for her son. Morozova's take care of what is theirs."

"I...I'm just his friend," Alina said, "we're not together, or anything."

She didn't know why she felt the need to clarify this. But there was something in his tone that she didn't like.

He tilted his head to the side, reminding her of an eagle before they went after their prey. "Yes well, we take care of our 'friends' too. Should you require anything...anything at all, here's my card. I've strong reason to suspect you're the reason why he keeps his nose clean. I appreciate it."

Alina didn't even remember him taking it from his pocket. It appeared, like magic. With Aleksander Morozova in golden lettering. "Oh. Thanks."

"Anytime. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Starkov." He took her hand in his, and kissed it. It shouldn't have made her shiver or her hand tingle. But it did. He started to walk past her but when he reached the classroom doorway, he turned to look at her one, last time. "Proschay, Svetly."

Ancient Ravkaan. Alina suddenly wished she had paid more attention in that class instead of using Mal to cheat. She blinked, and Aleksander was gone.

That had only been the first meeting.

The next had come at the University, when she'd been touring colleges. She'd been at the Deans luncheon, bored, and sitting at the table in a dress that she hated, sketching to avoid conversation. Even though she should have been schmoozing with everyone. If she wanted to get into college, she should have been trying to make the professors and faculty like her. But Alina hadn't been able to bring herself to.

A shadow fell over her.

"Krug for your thoughts?" a deep, male voice asked.

Alina's heart pounded against her chest. She recognized that voice. It was hard to forget. She looked up. "Mr. Morozova."

"Please, call me Aleksander. Mr. Morozova is my grandfather." He adjusted his tie, and sat in the chair next to her. "How are you, Luchik?"

She frowned. "It's not fair."

He took a sip of the wine that he had in his hand. "What's not fair?"

"I don't know ancient Ravkaan. I have no idea what you're saying."

He grinned, his grey eyes twinkling. "Yes, and I like it that way. I want you to wonder about me as much as possible. Tell me, is there a reason you're sitting here all alone?"

Alina looked around. The professors alone at the University made more money than she would ever see in her life. They had written books, and gotten awards. Her classmates that had come on the trip with her hadn't even bothered to go to the luncheon. They'd snuck off to some famous restaurant in the city and hadn't asked her to tag along because they knew she couldn't afford it.

"There's no point in trying with these people," she said, "I know what my future holds. My academics aren't great, and art programs are extremely difficult to get into...there's no point in groveling for a place when the place is already stacked against me in the name. Royal Ravka isn't for a person like me. I'm better off at some kind of trade school."

Aleksander studied her carefully. "Why ever not? After all, you are connected in your own way. You're friends with a Morozova."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm friends with Mal Oretsev."

He took a sip of his wine. "Schematics. You know me. If you wanted to, I could get you in. As long as you weren't too precious about where you wanted to go. The world is yours, Alina. All you need do is ask and I can help you take it."

Alina couldn't help but be flustered. "That's awfully kind, Mr---Aleksander. But I want to make my own way, even if it's harder."

He snorted. "Admirable, I'll admit. Stupid, but admirable."

She seethed at him. "Are you always so impossible?"

"No, but I know a do-gooder when I see one. You practically smell of innocence. I bet you'd taste like it too. The thing is, Luchik, you will get corrupted one way or another. We live in a world where darkness takes a living form and sucks your soul before you pass onto the next realm. You might as well get whatever you can from this world before it tosses you to the fold."

"Respectfully, Mr. Morozova, I like to believe that we can embrace whatever light we can get before the Volcra come."

Aleksander scratched his chin, then chuckled wryly. "How young and naïve you are..."

"And how old and bitter you are," she returned coldly.

He was looking at her again in that heated way of his. The same way he'd stared at her that first time they'd met at the school. Although he hadn't been nearly so bold. He got his face dangerously close to hers. Alina's whole body stiffened. "You know I think you like me old and bitter..." a smug look crossed his face.

Alina was aware that the golden dress she'd gotten was too everything at the moment. Too sequined, too short, too much. She found herself clenching her thighs together. Because it was definitely the dress, and not the older man who smelled of spicey cologne, cigarettes, and a sweet wine that left her licking her lips. "I don't know that I like you at all."

Her heart pounded against her chest. That was the biggest, fucking lie she'd ever told.

He reached out and stroked her cheek. Something zapped her skin. Alina jumped. It was golden. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. "What was that?"

He frowned. "Dry air. Static electricity." Then he looked at her again, a bemused smile on his face. "Sparks flying. Perhaps we're soulmates. Should we find out, Miss Starkov?"

"You...were..."

"Come with me."

He took her hand in his and pulled her out of the dining room where the luncheon was being served. There was an empty lecture hall nearby. He closed the door behind them. He pulled her close and smelled her neck. "Fuck.... you smell.... divine. What perfume is it you wear?"

Alina was lost in a haze of cologne, old cigarette smoke, and truly terrible ideas. "Iris. They're my favorite flower. Mal got it for me for Yule one year."

Aleksander growled. "Fucking lust potion, it might as well be." He stroked her arm lightly, his grey eyes locking with her brown. She trembled at his touch. Oh. The things they were going to do.

"I believe you just had a birthday then, didn't you?" he said.

Alina nodded wordlessly. His face was the kind of handsome that got put on magazines, that made other people want to know how they could be like him. Yet he was looking at her like a desperate man. She'd never experienced that before. Mostly, she was ignored. No one wanted anything to do with the Little Orphan Nobody.

"Yes," she told him.

"You want this?" he asked as he locked gazes with her. "Say the word..."

She couldn't speak. But she knew if she could, she would only say, "Yes."

Aleksander grinned. "Strip."

She took off her dress. She was aware she was in a plain, white bra, and had white panties with a decorative rose on the top in satin. He looked at her as if she were desire made flesh that he intended to devour. His grey eyes darkened, looking almost black. "Oh, Luchik," he murmured, as he reached out and pulled down the straps of her bra so he could cup one of her breasts. He stroked her nipple, making her whimper at his touch. "How the darkness is going to savor you, sweet thing...."

Aleksander twisted her nipple in his thumb and forefinger, making her cry out. "Fuck!" he laughed. "Wicked little mouth."

Then, he kissed her. It was like kissing a starry, night sky. Consuming, and everywhere all at once. He picked her up, wrapped her legs around his waist then carried her over to the professor's desk.

"Take off your bra," he grunted as he undid his belt, then took off his pants, and shoes, and tossed them to the side. He had already removed the rest of his clothes by the time Alina had done as ordered.

"U-u-underwear?" she asked.

He laughed. "Keep them on. I want to see how fucking wet I can make you."

She nodded. She looked at his cock. It was big. She wondered how it would fit into her. She almost asked him about a condom. But he was sucking at her breast again, swirling his tongue around her nipple, so that she could no longer think straight.

Alina had to grip the desk tightly to stay on it. Aleksander put his hand in underneath her innocent panties. He cupped her center. Her...pussy. That was what they called it, right? She'd read a few romance novels...she knew.

But she was an innocent when it came to the rest of it.

Her and Mal had fooled around some, but usually it was her, giving him a blow job. He hadn't wanted to "steal her virtue" he'd insisted. He wanted to be married the first time he had sex for real. Virginity was important to the Saints.

Alina had never much cared for Saints. They'd never done anything for her, after all. What did she care about innocence? She wanted to feel wanted. And Aleksander was willing to give her that.

He stuck a finger in between her folds. He pumped his finger inside of her, and Alina writhed on it. Then he put another. "How many can your pretty pussy take, Alina?" he asked. "Shall I try one more?"

She whined in response. He laughed wickedly and put another one in there. "Fuckkkk...." Alina cried out. She held onto Aleksander, tightly. He laughed again.

Aleksander pulled his hand out. "Aren't you full of surprises, Miss Starkov? Now.... let's see...did you get an A+?" He cupped her center. She was dripping. She knew. She could feel it. There was a wet spot on her underwear.

She turned her head, embarrassed.

He brushed back a strand of her hair. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, precious. This was exactly what I wanted. Excellent."

Slowly, he pulled her panties off of her, then pressed them to his nose and sniffed. "I'll be keeping these. Something to remember you by. I don't think I'll ever want to forget this."

He put the panties into the pockets of his slacks that were on the floor. Then he stood before her again. "Now, open those lovely thighs for me why don't you?"

Alina bit down on her lip. She did as told. Aleksander slid his cock into her. Not one of them said anything about protection. Neither wanted to ruin the moment. They only wanted to focus on each other.

Aleksander put Alina's hands onto his shoulders. She gripped them tightly, digging her nails into his skin so hard she was certain that she would leave marks on it. He gripped the desk, and rocked into her, thrusting so hard that the table shook in underneath her. Alina rolled her hips against him, and cried out, "Oh Saints! Oh Saints! Oh Saints!"

Aleksander's whole body tensed, and he called out, "Alina!"

He came inside of her. She didn't care.

They lay on the professors table of the lecture hall they were in at Ravka University. Alina enjoyed the feel of his warm body wrapped on top of hers. "Oh, my little Luchik," Aleksander said as he kissed the temple of her forehead, "you've no idea what you've wrought."

She didn't know what that meant. She had no plans of asking. "Um...I've...I've got to get back. If I don't make it back to the dorm I'm staying in by five, they'll lock me out."

"Right. We'd better make sure that doesn't happen then, hmm?" He lightly traced her naked back with his finger. She shivered. She wanted to stay there, in that lecture hall, with him, forever. But she knew that couldn't happen.

They both got dressed.

He buttoned up his shirt, but Alina grabbed his tie and did it for him before he could say anything.

She grabbed his sports coat too. "Turn around."

His lips twitched into a smile. "If I don't?"

She shrugged. "I'll steal it then."

Slowly, he turned around, and raised his arms. Alina slipped the sports coat onto him. She reached out and brushed a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes. "Why does it feel like I've known you for a thousand years, and we've only met twice?"

"Why, indeed?" he cupped her chin in his hands. "Perhaps its some of that old Ravka magic."

"Perhaps."

He kissed her on the cheek. "Until next time, Miss Starkov. A true pleasure. Wait a few moments before coming out...we wouldn't want to cause a scandal before you even get in now, would we?"

She smiled softly. "No, we wouldn't."

He left. Alina did as told, waiting precisely ten minutes until he had gone. She headed back to her dorm as if she hadn't just lost her virginity. Or made a mistake that would come back to haunt her later. Though all summer long, when she caught the scent of cigarette smoke, she clenched her thighs together and remembered...