#(well except the british duh)

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Matt/Foggy, 13

13. hands around a cold glass (from the SECOND Taylor Swift prompt list) I was struggling with some writer's block a few weeks ago and my dearest Zainab was kind enough to give me permission to write a tiny Matt/Foggy-centric one-shot set in her Great British Bake-Off AU and I absolutely leapt at the chance, because I love this 'verse and I've been bothering her with texts about what these two would be up to in that AU since like January. I think this makes sense without reading her previous entries in the series (which focus primarily on Sam and Bucky, with an ensemble cast of other MCU characters), but you should read them anyway because they're very good and they will make your life better! Cross-posted to AO3 here (with more notes) if that's your jam 🍯

Even though they’ve set aside their evening for the express purpose of making a decision, Foggy waits until they’ve finished the takeout they ordered to the office (neutral ground, so no one has home field advantage) and cleaned up all the various cartons and silverware and settled back at the conference table with each of their second beers of the night before he brings up the thing they’re supposed to be talking about.

“Okay,” Foggy says, setting his beer down firmly and flipping a page over on his legal pad to find where he scribbled some notes earlier. “Reason number one that you should move into my apartment: you love me.”

“You can’t use that as one of your reasons,” Matt replies, tapping a pen against the table in a fidgety gesture that’s unlike him.

“Why not?”

“Because you also love me, which means you should move into my apartment. They cancel each other out!”

“Oh, my bad,” Foggy says, as he crosses it off his list. “I didn’t know we were playing by Boggle rules…”

Matt scrunches his nose in confusion. “I’m not familiar.”

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t know Boggle? It’s like a classic word game, you have these little cubes with letters on them that you shake and—you know what, saying it out loud, it makes sense that you haven’t played it. I understand that now. It would be impossibly boring even if there was a braille version. Moving on! Reason number two that you should move in with me!”

“Okay…”

“I’m super handsome.”

“Foggy!”

“What?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m also handsome,” he says, quietly, after a minute.

“Damn, that’s true,” Foggy says, as if it had never occurred to him.

“Please take this seriously!”

“Fine! Reason number three: I have a lot more stuff than you do. It will take me so long to pack and it will probably make me cry and possibly throw up. You, comparatively, would have a much easier time packing, because you live like a weird, sad monk.”

“Hey! I do not! Just because I don’t like clutter…”

“Until we started dating, you owned one singular blanket,” Foggy points out. “It was a blanket for your bed and your couch that you moved back and forth as needed.”

“It was a perfectly good system,” Matt grumbles.

“Right, but isn’t it better now that you have a bed blanket and a couch blanket?”

“I guess,” Matt admits, as though he’s being tormented. “To be fair, it would probably take you at least a week just to pack up all of your cookbooks.”

“I don’t have that many!”

“You bought three new ones last week! That’s already three more than I own!”

“I can’t help it that my friends keep writing cookbooks,” Foggy objects. “What was I supposed to do, Matt? Not buy Daisy’s book?”

Matt crosses his arms, irritably. “No, but you didn’t know the authors of the other two books you bought. You could’ve skipped theirs.”

“Cookbooks make me happy! I don’t tell you not to…go to the gym!”

“You do, in fact, tell me that all the time.”

Foggy makes a hand gesture that’s meant to convey the sentiment of duh, except that such things are generally lost on Matt, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, well, usually it’s because I want you to stay in bed longer.”

“And I want you to own fewer cookbooks so that there’s room in the apartment for us to actually have a bed.”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “Give me one of your reasons, then.”

“I know where everything is in my apartment,” Matt says, simply, “whereas at your place, I’m always looking in the wrong cabinets for stuff or tripping over things.”

“That’s just because you’re not as used to it. I’d go through the same thing if I moved to your place!”

“You’d still have an easier time of it than me.”

“That’s…fair,” Foggy concedes. “I can’t really disagree with that without being an asshole.”

“My favorite way to win an argument,” Matt replies, with a smile. “Playing the blind card.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You devious son of a bitch.”

“Also, my apartment is closer to the office and my rent is cheaper.”

“I’ll give you the cheap rent thing, though it is only because of that terrible billboard with the crazy LED lights that come through your windows at all hours, which does not bother you but would definitely bother me.”

“I remember you sleeping through three separate fire drills in college. I think you’d somehow manage to deal with the unique lighting situation of this apartment.”

“Fine,” Foggy admits, begrudgingly. “But I absolutely contest it being a mark in your favor that your apartment is closer to the office. I think it helps with work-life balance that my place is a little farther away.”

Matt thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Okay, fine. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Good. Moving on, then. Reason number…whatever that my apartment is better: I live right next door to that bodega with those amazing breakfast sandwiches and the good, cheap coffee you love.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, with feeling. “That’s a really good point.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Okay,” he says, in the tone Foggy’s been hearing him use in court and mock trials and even drunken debates for over a decade now.  It means Matt is currently running through his rebuttal in his mind, devising the best and most efficient way to win this round. Foggy loves that tone of voice, and the expression of intense thought that always accompanies it, even if it usually means he's about to lose whatever argument they're having. He really should be more immune to it by now, but love has made him weak and he's truly not even mad about it.

“My apartment,” Matt says, finally, “has an in-unit washer and dryer.”

That’s a solid point, but Foggy is not going to admit defeat so easily. “Okay,” he says, “but—counterpoint—mine has a dishwasher!”

“I don’t mind hand washing dishes,” Matt replies with a shrug.

“Wait until you live with me to say that,” Foggy says. “I bake all the time! It’s a lot of dishes!”

“It’s still not as bad as having to go to a laundromat and pay whenever you need to do laundry!”

“Well, my landlord says the machines in the basement will be fixed soon, so my laundromat days are numbered.”

“I will believe that when I see it.”

“You can’t see anything, sweetheart.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, smugly. He may have a point. Foggy’s landlord has been saying the washing machines will be fixed “soon” for six months now.

Foggy blows out a breath, making as much noise as humanly possible to express his frustration. “So, where does that leave us? Is somebody winning?”

Matt laughs and distractedly runs a finger through the layer of condensation on his beer bottle, dividing it down the middle with a thick line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels like we’re even, at this point.”

“In the spirit of honesty, then, can I ask you something?”

Matt shrugs, the gesture completely at odds with how tense the rest of his body became at the question. “Sure.”

“You do want to move in with me, right?” Foggy asks, hating himself a little for even needing to. “I know we’ve discussed it, and you said you wanted to, but it’s okay if you’re not ready yet or you changed your mind. It’s a big step—”

Matt leans forward to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, letting his fingers, still cold and damp from holding the glass, brush over Foggy’s wrist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Of course I want to! Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, it’s just—I know you like your space and that you value your independence a lot, and I get that but I also don’t necessarily relate to it on the same level. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something that’s going to make you miserable.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not pressuring me and living with you is not going to make me miserable. It will do the opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not even going to be our first time living together, dumbass,” Matt says, fondly. “You do remember college, don’t you?”

“Very little of it, in fact,” Foggy quips. “I think I was drunk for most of Spring 2010. It’s more or less a blank spot.”

“Still, we didn’t hate living together then, did we?”

“No,” Foggy replies. “One could even argue that we loved living together.”

“And that was with us sleeping in twin beds. Imagine how much better it will be, uh…not in twin beds…”

Foggy stifles a laugh. “Matt, did you seriously get all blushy at the idea of a queen sized bed?”

“No,” Matt says, tipping his chin down to hide his face. "Shut up!"

“You’re so cute. I want to have sex with you immediately.”

“No! No sex! In fact, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not! You love me!”

“Yes, I do,” Matt says, sullenly, “And for what it’s worth, I only got embarrassed because it felt like I was implying that we slept together in our dorm in college, which obviously wasn’t true and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit how big of a crush you had on me back then, I get it,” Foggy says. “Oh, wait, sorry! That was me!”

“Again: shut up!”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me thinking: maybe we should do twin beds…”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

“I don’t want our relationship to be in violation of the Hays Code, Matt!”

“Well, we’re both men, so that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid…”

“I’m just saying: if it’s good enough for Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, it should be good enough for us!”

“To each their own, I guess, but I sleep better when I share a bed with you.”

“I’ll pretend your reasons are romantic,” Foggy says, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a wide margin, “and not just because you turn into a koala when you sleep.”

“Have you considered being less huggable, maybe?” Matt asks, with a straight face.

“That’s like asking the sun to be less radiant! It is counter to my very nature!”

He smiles. “Fair point.”

Foggy leans back in his chair, making sure to keep his fingers tangled together with Matt’s as he does. He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to come up with an answer to their problem. It’s a big step for their relationship and huge life changes tend to require sacrifice or compromise on some level, but it’s difficult to think of an option that doesn’t require much more of that from one of them than the other. Except…

“I have a very stupid idea,” Foggy announces. 

“Okay,” Matt replies, warily.

“And I know it’s stupid, okay? I just said that, but I want to be very clear that I’m aware of it. I’m just going to say it anyway, to put it out there.”

“Okay…”

“Should we just look for a place together?”

Matt furrows his brow, puzzling through the implications of this option. “As in, we both leave our current apartments for a completely new one?”

“Yeah. That way we both have to pack, and move, and get used to a new space, instead of only one of us having to do it. I know it’s more expensive and more trouble, so—“

“Is it weird that it makes me feel better?” Matt asks. “The idea that we’d both have to be inconvenienced, equally?”

“No,” Foggy admits. “It makes me feel better too. I want it to feel equal. And we could find a bigger place, maybe with an extra room.”

“For an office?”

Foggy laughs. “Honestly, it’s a sign of how low my standards are that I’m just relieved your mind didn’t go immediately to an in-home gym.”

Matt’s eyebrows lift, excitedly. “We could find a building that has a gym, though.”

“Like you’d ever cheat on Fogwell’s like that.”

“I meant for cross-training…”

“Of course you did,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “We could make a list. Things we need—“

“Close to the bodega with the good coffee,” Matt interjects, smiling.

“And a functional laundry room, somewhere on site,” Foggy adds, nodding. “And then a list of things that would be nice to have, like a gym or no nearby billboards that will fry my retinas in the middle of the night.”

“So, you’re saying we’d get to debate and write out two more lists?” Matt asks. “Are you trying to seduce me right now? In our office? Where solemn attorney-ing is done?”

“No, it just comes so naturally to me,” Foggy replies, running his thumb over Matt’s knuckles affectionately. “Though it sounds to me like that’s a yes?”

Matt gives him a surprised look. “Yes to…?”

“God, keep your pants on for two minutes, Murdock! I’m talking about the plan!”

“Oh, yeah. The plan. I mean, I know it’s more work for us and more trouble, but…”

“I’d go through a lot more trouble for your sake, if it means making you happy,” Foggy says, simply. It’s the truth, and he tries to make it a habit to say what he means, especially with Matt. It took them long enough to get here. What’s the point in hiding how he feels now?

Matt rests his chin in the hand that isn’t holding Foggy’s. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before, once or twice.”

“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.”

“You smiled at me once when we were eighteen and it was all over for me. And then fifteen years later, you got jealous of a woman I met on a reality show and finally fell in love with me.”

Matt turns an adorable shade of pink and takes his hand away to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, so it didn’t take me going to a wedding with one of my best friends under completely platonic circumstances for you to admit you had feelings for me?” Foggy asks, grinning.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Matt says, primly, as he reaches for his beer again and takes an uninterested sip. 

“Speaking of Daisy,” Foggy says, enjoying this way too much, “I should talk to her. She and Daniel said their realtor from when they moved was great. They might be able to put us in touch with someone.”

“We could always use the realtor who rented me my place,” Matt suggests, in the neutral tone of someone who definitely wouldn’t rather eat glass than ask Daisy for help with anything. “She was very helpful and I remember she gave me her card. I could probably find it.”

“Yeah, she gave you her card because she wanted to sleep with you,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “Pass.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Foggy,” Matt replies, with an evil smile. “She showed me the apartment under completely platonic circumstances.”

Foggy rolls his eyes at that. “You’ve never been in platonic circumstances with anyone, Matt! Every person who meets you wants to sleep with you immediately.”

Matt shrugs, like this means nothing. “Too bad for them. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy laughs. “Is it serious?”

Matt nods, and his smile isn’t evil at all anymore. “Very,” he says. “We’re moving in together.”

#something something aging userbase of this website blah blah #sometimes you just want to write a fic about idiot lawyers in love while also roasting your former roommate #for how many cookbooks she owned that you had to help her move twice in one year (she will never know don’t worry) #is that so wrong? #i don't think so #anyway much love to zainab for letting me goof around in the gbbo au sandbox with her #i love this universe so much i never want to leave #also this...doesn't really fit the prompt but there is a cold glass somewhere in here #i had other stuff i wrote for this prompt that I will reuse elsewhere but they got too unruly for a prompt fill #also i know i got sent this prompt because we agreed it was like mega thirsty and therefore perfect for mattfoggy but like.... #it needed to be fluff this time yall #are these tags making it obvious i'm nervous??? oops #taylor swift song prompts #prompt fill #firstelevens #WE ARE AO3 CO-CREATORS NOW EVERYONE SEND US SOMETHING OFF THE REGISTRY #love is real!!! #the gbbo au #mattfoggy #matt murdock #foggy nelson #matt x foggy #i hate tagging ships it's so convoluted!!! #daredevil #homelywenchsociety #that's my writing tag dw about it

[kirchefuchs]

(this is a long one lmao)

OKAY SO.

It was like 1am last night so I decided to sleep before sending this ahahahagsggs

ANYWAY

Regarding this wonderful reblog chain we had

(I don't know how and where to start ahahahahaaa)

hmmm. well, yk how I mentioned that The Eye of Michael (gasp. a rare instance where I don't forget a name??) took Stanley's voice? well, on the mask design I very much failed on, there was a clock (lmao TK reference) on the forehead part. originally, I wanted the mask to just be covering Stanley's mouth, because... duh. blud ain't got a voice no mo 😞✊ but anyway !!

(additional info: I took inspiration from a bunch of mask designs I found on Pinterest so it was very far from original)

the idea for the clock was for the ticking to be some sort of, uh, warning that he's nearby? like, just imagine finding yourself in an empty corridor, and all of a sudden, you hear a clock ticking in the distance. yeah, that's what I mean

(also I decided to change a bit of the backstory here. basically, The Narrator and Stanley are separate people. The Narrator was Some Dude™ who was in the middle of writing a story about—you guessed it—a man named Stanley. I already have his whole lore figured out but yk I'll cut it short for you so uhhhh blah blah blah The Eye of Michael finds him and encases him in a capsule where live wires that make him forget who he was before he became The Narrator are injected into his system. his voice is used as a way to trap and control Stanley—whose original identity/name was Jim (in this AU, at least)—and. yeah. The Narrator is trapped in a narrative facade whereas "Stanley" was the star of a lonely masquerade)

anyway, you can basically picture Stanley as wearing a full face mask or half of one, but either way, there's meant to be a clock somewhere and one of his eyes are meant to be covered in some sort of. uh. criss-cross threading technique. there's also the addition of some, uh, earphones? I think? they're not really that visible but uhh.. just think of them as the wireless ones, I dunno, I forgot what they're called, but anyway– Those are for The Narrator's voice. Just imagine a pair of. um. those things that help deaf people hear. wait.

HEARING AIDS. hearing aids, yes, uh, just imagine hearing aids, except that they're purposefully rigged to also provide a connection between The Narrator's voice and Stanley. It still functions like a normal pair of hearing aids, it just has the unfortunate annoyance of some angry British voice controlling Stanley's every move

As for the theme of his general outfit? I really wanted to make it fit the theme of the good ol "office worker" thing, so I had a little thought where Stanley pretends to be a tired worker at the start—wearing an ordinary face mask with the excuse of "trying not to breathe in the sand," as was written on a piece of paper (his lips/mouth is bruised as heck and the EoM did not want to take any more chances for instant suspicion), but during the times where Vash was alone, he'd (or, in this case, The Narrator would make him) wear his masquerade mask and put on some sort of blue (masquerade) outfit, with the cane that's totally not a sword/gun in disguise and all. With that being said, maybe the gang won't know his name until Wolfwood realizes who he is? I mean, Stanley can't talk, and. uh. sorry I'm going off-topic hahaa ahem anyway

maybe his title could be "The Masquerade"? not too sure but I like to think that he was trustworthy at first. anyway uhhhh that's about it! do whatever you wish with my two favorite brainrots :D and, sorry if I got a bit too-into the lore I made for him and The Narrator :')

— 🅰️non || Aug. 7 2023

This is gonna be a long one my guy....

🅰️non..... my dear beloved 🅰️non..... I don't know how to break this to you but the masquerade outfit, while a cool idea, is a flippin nightmare to try to translate into the Trigun universe. I tried so hard but it just want working.

Suffice it to say, venetian masquerade and space western do not mix

And it not for lack of trying! I have proof I tried!! The mask works, it's great! That's fine. But the clothes do not :(

I've got a lot of doodles here I gave up on cuz it just wasn't working. I kept having the problem where it either looked too pirate-y or too vampire-y, which is to be expected since masquerades were quite popular in the 18th century (the Golden Age of Piracy if I recall). And unfortunately, neither pirate nor vampire really scream "space cowboy times on desert planet"

Now.... this is an option....... and that is to forgo the masquerade outfit, the mask can stay, but I honest to goodness cannot make an outfit that works. So basically, my proposal for a solution would be to go with the aesthetic that pretty much every member of the Eye Of Michael has in 98 and Maximum. And that's the priest aesthetic.

You see, the Eye Of Michael has always been a religious group in universe, at the very least they pose as one. In reality they train orphans into mindess assassins, but they keep that church front. Hence why Wolfwood and Livio (and Chapel and the other EOM members in Maximum) have cross shaped guns. Also, fun fact Wolfwood was dubbed "The Punisher" because that was the name of his gun. I assume this would apply to Livio, and his guns are "Fangs" giving him the name "The Double Fang", and we know this applies to Razlo too, as he is "The Tri Punisher of Death" (you'd never guess, but he's got 3 Punishers :O).

Anyways, I did try drawing Stanley in the priest aesthetic, just to see if it worked. Make of it as you will.

I kinda imagine if we were to go this route, Stanley's cross would be a sniper rifle. He's already got a sort of stealth going for him, being mute and all, so I think it would fit. I could by no means draw said gun as I am only really good at drawing characters. But I can imagine the gun :')

Now, feel free to take my opinions and throw them in the trash if you don't like them, it's your character after all, it's up to you. But I do want to make it clear that I do love this idea so much and I wanna hear more of the story and how you think it would go. I'm curious if Stanley has a way to communicate back to the Narrator, because that could lead to some cool tandem character development. Like what if after Stanley starts wanting to break free of the Eye Of Michael, Vash agrees to help him free the Narrator as well. Since Stanley is mute, it could be cool if he communicated to the Narrator through his thoughts, so they would have to be on the same page for the escape plan to work. I mean, these are just my silly little ramblings, but this is all just to say that you've got a really good thing going here and I really wanna know more. I really hope my personal struggle with aesthetics doesn't bring you down, cuz I really truly love your idea here and I want it to work so badly.

But, yeah. I might end up drawing more at some point, cuz the idea is so cool and I just love all the story potential with Stanley being used by the Eye Of Michael like this. Anyways, I hope you have a good day, and sorry again for my inability to make the aesthetic work :')

#tspud #the stanley parable #tsp #ask #tsp narrator #tspud narrator #traditional art #tsp stanley #tspud stanley #trigun #trigun 98 #trigun 1998 #trigun stampede #tristamp #trimax #trigun maximum #kirche rambles #🅰️non

[bejeweled-wahlberg]

Can you provide a list of characters that will be included in your messed up au? And maybe their roles in the au/ roles in relation to each other?

Thanks @jokerislandgirl32 for the ask

💛❤️💚💙

But basically the messed up au is separate to the Helluva boss au and all of this stuff is not real in real life or anything these are real people and characters that I like and bassed my characters off just giving you a heads up and Zach and Violet already have roles in the au(Zach is still Zach tho and violet is still violet)

So here is the adults

Chris-his role is the “protective” parent of his kids and his friends aswell but his relationship with his brother(Perry aka Bartholomew) is pretty hard considering how him perry and Martin stopped having contact since michael and sunsets death in 2009 but he still had contact with his other brother Martin, and him and twilight have a cute and healthy relationship but him and ferb have a father and son realationship

Twilight-since she is infact Chris second wife(Yeah SECOND WIFE) Her and her husband are like a power couple but she has a great relationship with her husband and her kids well except ferb since ferb ships Chris and Twilight Too much 😂😂

Martin-his role is the “caring” father in his family but he only pretend to care about ronans talent with soccer but really he cared about is Raye’s music career and stuff but just like his brother and sister-in-law Martin and rainbow have a healthy relationship and Martin and phineas also have a father and son relationship aswell

Rainbow- Her and Martin met around the year of 1996(yeah 1996) but that’s for another story but for now let’s talk about the present day, so rainbow cares a lot about her children and she’s sometimes the “overprotective” parent but hey atleast her and Martin stopped having children right after marissa was born

Michael-Well he’s dead but he was a caring father and husband

Sunset-again she’s dead but she was a caring mother and wife

Crystal-well she’s an alien duh and Logan’s wife plus Sunny’s and London’s adoptive mother

Logan-a member of Big time rush duh but also the adoptive father of sunny and London

Well y’all already know the grown up kids so here are the teenagers:

Sunny- the leader of KOTNB and she has a great relationship with everyone…..Except Martin cause she don’t trust him but that’s for another story

Phineas-the builder and inventer of the group+Band, the only thing phineas doesn’t have a great relationship with is *drumroll please* RONAN yep just Ronan Nobody else

Ferb-The British one which He’s Pansexual(means he likes all genders)but did you know that Henry and ferb used to be Enemies so I guess you can say enemies to lovers?!

Henry-the jester of the group and ferb’s Boyfriend/former enemy the only threenthings that Henry loves the most is sunichael,Ferb,and chicken nuggets

London-Logan and crystals adopted daughter

Michaela-Michael and Sunsets daughter

Kristy-Chris and Twilights daughter(fun fact kristy is the first character in this au to be autistic)

Buford-the Ziolet shipper DUHHHH

Varina-the sweet person of the group but don’t be confused with @rosey100 ‘s version of Varina who is daiting Her oc JJ basically my version of Varina is the same age as Kristy and Michaela and London too but Varina isn’t ready for a relationship just yet tho

Nolan and Melody-Twins of Chris and Twilight

Marissa-Martin and rainbows child that that they gave up for adoption in 2007 the year that she was born(but she reconnected with her parents and siblings so raye isn’t the only sister in her family)

And here are some

✨HONORIBLE MENTIONS✨

Raye

Ronan

Gavin

Aiden

Paris

Prince

Bigi(formerly blanket)

Annd that’s it (sorry if this isn’t what you wanted tho)

#trins shitposts #wild kratts #chris kratt #twilight sparkle human #martin kratt #rainbow dash human #logan henderson #crystal henderson wells #ferb fletcher #Henry hart #phineas Flynn #sunny starscout human #melody kratt #Nolan kratt #marissa kratt #varina varmitech #buford van stomm #don’t worry guys a design of marissa will be out soon

[usergreenpixel]

So, Citizens and Neighbors, reviewing that Ethan Gage book was fun, even though the read itself was the opposite of the aforementioned word.

But take a look at this:

Yep, seems like there’s ANOTHER series featuring a spy adventurer in the same time period. Except this time it’s a British spy (duh, how could we forget the MIGHTY BRITAIN ™️). Also it looks like the series I found has TWELVE installments.

At least the Ethan Gage series only has seven installments.

Has anyone heard about the books linked above? We already have an over saturation of Brit-centric Frev/Napoleonic stuff and a lot of it is about as good as shit so I’m slightly paranoid at this point…

Edit: Actually there are THREE action adventure series in our time periods of interest. Long ago, @maggiec70 told me about “Burke and the Bedouin” (read: told me it’s shit) and turns out it’s part of a series as well.

Seems like it’s a knockoff James Bond and I already FUCKING HATE James Bond, so the series doesn’t look promising at all. The author claims James Burke was a real person, but the adventures are fictional. Points for honesty I guess…

Psst, @anarchist-mariner , any ideas if there actually was a “James Burke” mentioned in the series?

#frev media #napoleonic media #obscure frev media #napoleonic literature #frev literature

[inktog]

I reread Harry Potter and Sorcerer's Stone (I couldn't find the British version) for the first time in like fifteen years. Legitimately entertaining sometimes, especially the Hagrid bits.

The first few chapters are extremely Roald Dahl. The Dursleys don't just abuse Harry, they're also stupid and fat and boring and ugly and.

Hermione is the most obvious Marcy analogue, valuing school for its own sake. And if she's Wit, then Ron is Strength and Harry is Heart. I thought it might be the other way around (Harry Strength as the unwitting heir to Voldemort, Ron Heart due to idk good vibes), but consider Ron's giant chess trial, which involves bodily self-sacrifice, versus Harry's mirror trial, which tests purity of intent. And speaking of the mirror, Ron's innermost desire is to accumulate status, while Harry wants to connect with his family.

I wonder whether Marcy's butterfly-with-teeth reflection is a subtle Mirror of Erised reference. Harry, too, is startled into terror when he first sees the mirror, despite the fact that it shows him something he wants. ("He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming.") And I'm tickled by the inscription "I show not your face" since the butterfly is literally obscuring Marcy's face. The implication being that the butterfly-signified transformation (puberty? death? medical transition?) is desirable to Marcy even if it looks scary at first glance. Of course, the moral lesson of Erised, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," applies more straightforwardly to Marcy's simulated fantasyland in 317.

If you substitute Snitch for snatch then Harry's first Quidditch game is very funny. His broom malfunctions so he uses his mouth instead. Cue uproarious applause. The defective-phallus imagery continues in Flitwick's trial, in which Harry identifies the correct key by the fact that it's been bent out of shape through previous use.

Devil's Snare has tentacle rape vibes. It's a leap of faith through the trapdoor; Harry is well aware that he might die. (Should they fight or embrace the fall.) He survives, and lets the others know it's safe to jump—into the tentacles. Only Hermione recognizes the danger; she laments that she has no wood to fight it, but duh, of course, she has a wand. (Magic gives you transsexualism.)

Diegetically, the plant is weak to fire. Within Marcy's personal symbology, plants are an odd-one-out baby symbol, mismatched with the other, transhumanist baby symbols, while fire signifies sexual trauma. Plants and fire directly at odds in 314a (which isn't a Marcy episode but does concern sexual violence). I don't know what to make of all this, except that the name "Devil's Snare" is more weak evidence of religious undertones to Marcy's trauma.

Harry's whole cannot-be-touched-by-evil-hands-because-of-his-mother's-love deal might map onto Marcy's recurring vagina dentata imagery.

Dumbledore's opposition to immortality keeps with his being Death in the tale of three brothers. It also occurs to me that Nicolas Flamel's age is one less than 666—as if he chooses to die before the Devil can lay a numerological claim on his soul.

You know who else has an utterly mundane evil in their headpiece whispering threats and promises of power?

#amphibia #harry potter #rape cw

[0perfectimperfections0]

17 should be about Lou and Nolan :0

Prompt 17: Are you wearing my shirt?

<><><><><><>

None of the parties in Imperfection were formal, but that didn't stop Lou from looking his best like normal. Some of the other Pretty Dolls found themselves resorting back to a more proper look just to feel up to par with the blonde.

Nolan had only come to Lou's house to get an idea of how fancy the prototype was going to be at Mandy's party. Unfortunately, nothing he wore would come close to looking as good as Lou's attire.

He had snuck off at one point while Lou was brushing through his hair. It was flawless as it already was. Nolan didn't understand why he had to brush it.

Lou walked out of the bathroom and stopped abruptly when he saw Nolan looking at himself in the full-length mirror. He had adorned one of Lou's blazers over his white dress shirt and vest.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" The brunette jumped.

Nolan turned fully to give Lou a view, "Looks snazzy, huh?"

"That's...one word for it." Lou walked up and pulled at Nolan's tie that was tucked under the shirt, letting it fall against his chest. He hummed, tilting his head to the side. "Try it without the vest." Nolan shrugged off the blazer and took his vest off. Lou also handed him a solid black tie. "Solid tones look better."

"You wear a purple tie," Nolan pointed out smugly.

"I'm an exception," he smirked, "I look amazing in anything."

Nolan rolled his eyes, "Well, we can't all be perfect."

A pair of black trousers were tossed to the doll. Lou merely rose a brow when Nolan looked back with wide eyes. "Isn't this...expensive? I-I mean what if I mess it up. Or...or it won't look good on me--"

"Just put them on," Lou pushed the brunette toward the bathroom. "And let me be the judge of how good you look in them."

Nolan later walked out, shuffling awkwardly at first. He looked in the mirror, turning experimentally. "It...doesn't look that bad on me."

"You don't give yourself enough credit." Lou adjusted the tie and brushed off whatever dust might have rested on the front of Nolan's attire. "Perfect." He turned to stand beside Nolan in the reflection, humming before he unbuttoned his own blazer to match Nolan. "There, now we can be matchy-matchy."

"Very matchy-matchy," Nolan giggled, using the fake British accent. "They won't be able to tell us apart."

"I dare you to dye your hair blonde."

"No way! You dye yours brown!"

"Ew," Lou scrunched his nose, "brown wouldn't look good on me."

Nolan smirked, "That's what I thought about the suit."

"Yes, except," he tapped Nolan's nose, "I'm the fashion expert, remember?"

"Hey, I thought you said anything would look good on you?" He asked as they walked downstairs.

"Well, duh, yeah, but standing next to you I wouldn't be able to compare."

Nolan rolled his eyes again, "You flatter me."

"I try," Lou did his signature smile while holding the door open for Nolan. "By the way, you can keep the suit."

Nolan snorted, "Now you're just teasing me."

"I'm serious."

"Wait, really?" Nolan turned on his heel with bright eyes.

Lou shrugged, "Might as well. Cause after they see you in a suit all the girls will be swarming after you instead. Tuesday will be thrilled."

Nolan laughed and jabbed a finger at the blonde, "Oh wait, okay, hold on. I change my mind about the suit--"

"Too late!" Lou laughed and ran off ahead of him with the house key.

"Wait, no!" Nolan giggled and hurried after him.

#uglydolls #lou #fanfiction #nolan #short story #writing #ask #answer #prompt

[averycanadianfilm]

AveryCanadianFilm: Aigle takes Willow to a lecture on Bell Experiments

Setting: Aigle and Willow (then six years old) have just returned from Vancouver where they attended a lecture on Bell Experiments given by a prominent British physicist. When they get home Lakshmi and Oak (then six years old) are there.

Lakshmi: How was Vancouver?

Aigle: Good.

Willow: Except for that fucking lecture!

Lakshmi: What lecture?

Aigle: Oh, we had some time to kill, so we attended a public physics lecture at UBC.

Lakshmi: How was it?

Aigle: Fascinating!

Willow: It was crap!

Oak: What was it about?

Willow: Mostly demons.

Oak: Physicists are studying demons?

Willow: Ya, who knew.

Oak: What about them?

Willow: Well, as far as I can tell you set-up this quantum experiment, where you make some quantum stuff, then you send part of it to one place, and part of it to another place far away. Then somehow the parts far away from each other still know about each other.

Oak: Okay, but what do demons have to do with that?

Willow: That’s what I was wondering. Apparently, the physicists are trying to find out if a demon was present when the quantum stuff was made, because if it was, well then it can fuck up the experiment.

Aigle: Willow, language!

Oak: What are the angels doing?

Willow: He didn’t say, but I suspect the angels are fighting the demons so they don’t screw up the experiment and trick the physicists.

Oak: Wow.

Willow: The thing is, if Alice measures her quantum stuff, and remember she’s far away from Bob. Bob knows what will happen when he measures his quantum stuff. It’s like the quantum stuff Alice has can communicate with the quantum stuff Bob has.

Oak: Who are Alice and Bob?

Willow: Just some experimenters.

Oak: Are they in love?

Willow: I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about their relationship.

Lakshmi: Did he actually say the quantum stuff in Alice’s experiment somehow knows what’s happening to the quantum stuff in Bob’s experiment?

Willow: Yes he did. Of course, it’s complicated if there are demons when the stuff is made and when Alice and Bob make measurements.

Oak: The demons can travel with the quantum stuff to Alice’s and Bob’s experiments?

Willow: That’s what they’re trying to find out.

Oak: They should get the angels to help them.

Willow: That’s what I was thinking.

Lakshmi: (Has a look of astonishment on her face) Aigle, you took Willow to a talk about panpsychism!?

Aigle: No! It was quantum physics, I mean, that’s what it said on the poster.

Lakshmi: Doesn’t sound like any physics I learned at Uni. When did physicists start thinking that quantum particles know things and can communicate with other quantum particles?

Aigle: I don’t know. Look, it was either wait at the Ferry Terminal, which you know I hate doing, or find a fun activity for a few hours.

Oak: I think they should find out if Alice and Bob are in love.

Aigle: Why?

Oak: Duh, obviously that’ll affect their results.

Willow: Totally!

#Script #AveryCanadianFilm #Hubert Hugh Burke

[angelbesideme]

or, you know, kiss me

#our flag means death #ofmdedit #ourflagmeansdeathedit #ofmd #edstede #edward teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #taika waititi #rhys darby #ofmdaily #ofmdgifs #okay so i finished this and absolutely loved it! #they’re quite precious aren’t they? that goes for edstede ofc but also for everyone else #all the characters have a way of finding their way in your heart and i’m already missing them sm #ngl i think i have a soft spot for ed but i truly love everyone #(well except the british duh) #waiting for season 2 is going to be a torture of my own making haha:) #i hope the gifs look okay #i stumbled upon the quote and edstede were literally the first thing i thought of so there you go #gifs #mine

[lov3nerdstuff]

I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

______________________________

The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

______________________________

General Tags:

@wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @lemonmochitea

#james conrad #james conrad x reader #james conrad imagine #james conrad x you #kong skull island #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #I can't usually write short stuff

[wolfgangisdead]

for whom the sun rises

part two

moon knight (tv show)

marc spector, steven grant x original character

frenemies/enemies to lovers (marc spector x oc), friend's to lovers (steven grant x oc), angst, fluff, spoilers, will update as this goes along, layla exists but not unmarried, it's not really following the episodes that much. Just... At this point Steven has been called Marc already by Khonshu and also chances are Steven may be ooc, I'm still trying to get used to writing him!

IMPORTANT NOTE: DID is not a personality disorder, therefore I will not treat Marc or Steven as personalities. They are individual identities with their own lives. As I write this, I will do my best to make sure the DID community is fairly represented and that both Steven and Marc are respected. And if you also want to write for Moon Knight, please research DID before writing. Sensitivity readers exist, ask questions, LEARN. If you aren't willing to do so, Moon Knight isn't for you <3

a big thank you to @b6cky for answering my questions and providing me with good links! this might not exist if not for her!

In the time of Pharaohs and Gods, there was a Pharaoh who loved his wife so dearly, that he had once said the sun only rose for her, and though she died long before he did, his heart still belonged to her. He may have married others, kept the line of Egypt strong and powerful, but his heart was as heavy as the largest statue made of solid gold without her. It's a tale of true love that withstood a thousand lifetimes and yet, such love no longer exists. At least that's what Millie believed as soon as she had the misfortune of meeting Marc Spector, a fellow vigilante and a known asshole when it comes down to it.

He's not a bad man, don't mistake her disdain for him as his admission of guilt. He's not entirely a bad man, as most vigilantes dance the line of good and bad, but he certainly isn't an easy man to know. And even less an easier man to love. She doesn't know how Layla did it for as long as she had before their divorce, but the mere fact she stuck around as long as she did was amazing. One minute in a room with him and they would be arguing if it were Millie.

Still, when he disappeared, she went after him and even though every part of her says to forget him, to forget everything, she followed him. Now, in London, standing in the gift shop of a museum, she's confused.

It's Marc, alright, except it's not. He's squirrely, for one, and wears a nametag that reads 'Steven'. It's not Marc and yet it is.

"Hi, may I help you?" He wrings his hands nervously, watching her eye the mugs and the Ennead poster. He speaks with a jarring British accent. Definitely not Marc.

"There are nine gods in the Ennead," she mutters, more so to herself than to him, but his expression brightens. "I'm sorry, Steven, is it? I've never been to London before. The museum is just about the only familiar place I know."

He nods, following her gaze to the poster. "Oh! Well, I'd love to show you around but I'm just a gift shop-ist... I can show you around the misspelled mugs and whatnot?"

It's odd, she thinks. Extremely odd. She's staring at Marc's face but everything else about him is Steven. She wants to ask if he knows Marc, perhaps Marc has a twin? He would've said so if he knew he had a twin, and even if he didn't, there was hardly s thing Marc wasn't aware about.

"Do you know someone named Marc?" The words fly out her mouth before she can stop them and he sends her a funny look, a mix between confusion and pure surprise. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have asked such a thing! I just met you, duh! I promise I don't go around asking strangers if they know my friend."

Friend. Liar. She's a liar. He's not a friend. He puts duty to Khonshu above all else, except for Layla. It was always Layla. But some part of her wishes she was.

"How do you know that name?" He asks, speaking as quietly as he can as if afraid someone might overhear him. "I've been hearing these things, yeah? And one of them called me Marc, do you know him?"

"I don't think this is something I should be saying," she shakes her head, "you just look a lot alike, I guess... My mistake..."

She turns to leave but then he grabs her arm, both right and gentle with his grip.

"Please," he whispers, as if he'd lost days and nights trying to figure out why this was happening to him of all people. He doesn't understand and she must be the key to unlocking everything. After all, he's just a gift shop-ist.

"I'm Millie, short for Millicent," she sticks her hand out to him, "I'd like to help you, Steven, but to do that we must get acquainted first!"

"H-Hi, Millie," he responds quietly, bewildered, "you'll help me then, yeah...?"

"I'll do my best, Steven. I really will."

But how can she help him? How can she help him when he doesn't know what he needs help with? She couldn't even help herself after Marc left the way he did and now she's offering to help a man who looks exactly like him? She always was one to bite off more than she can chew.

—

Millie looks at herself in the mirror, wearing a tank top and sweatpants instead of the usual long sleeves. The tattoos of the gods peer beyond her clothing at her, like prying beasts asking her why she offered to help Steven.

"He does not know you," behind her, a tall beastly thing stands. His head is the skull of a ram, horns curled and dangerous. His massive size makes him intimidating, if he were not known as the Divine Potter.

"Oh, shut up, Khnum. I can see that. I'm not blind." She retorts, lips pursed into a thin line. "You're the Divine Potter, can't you explain why he's Marc but not? I don't understand and he clearly doesn't either."

Khnum tilts his head slowly, as if his mind had already wandered into creating the next creature. "Must you know what's wrong to help him? Or can you simply help him by being there?"

"I'm talking to a nine foot tall god wearing nothing but bandages and a sad excuse for a robe, I think we both need help." She shakes her head, throwing herself onto her couch. "Are you basically saying I just need to befriend him to help him? Can you tell that he's lonely?"

"The Greeks were not wrong to say that mankind was eventually separated from their soulmates, from their other halves," he says simply, tone sounding bored almost, "he is different. He is not like you, but you are like him. Lost, confused and alone. I am no fool, so you would be wise to accept this fact."

His words leave an unsettling truth in the pit of her heart. Their circumstances may be different, but if she were not meant to know Steven, she would not be here. Khnum would not have led her here if there was nothing for her here.

#moon knight #steven grant #cezn's writing #cezn's stuff #marc spector #moon knight series #khonshu #original characters #moon knight spoilers #moonknight #mk spoilers #the goldfish problem #cezn's ocs #khnum

[theravenkin]

Oooh, how about hcs for movie night with Blue and her Raven Boys from TRC please??

OMG IVE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE THIS HC FOREVER YOU HAVE NO IDEA

ok this turned out way longer than i planned, what's new

- Movie night is held every Saturday night at the Barns--so it's just the five of them

- Ronan loads up on popcorn, candy, and drinks, and drags every pillow and blanket he has into the living room for the occasion

-The first few times, Ronan insists he's too aloof to pick a movie, so blue scrolls through Declan's netflix account trying to find a movie that will appeal to everyone

-Blue suggests tick, tick...boom! and Henry doesn't object, but the rest do

-"we're not gonna suffer through a fucking musical Sargent" "okay lynch calm the entire fuck down I'm scrolling"

-Henry suggests the great british baking show, but the rest disagree on the grounds that it's movie night, not tv show night--sorry maybe another time

- Gansey and Adam get excited about don't look up, but Blue sees that Timothee Chalamet is in it, and she rejects it out of pure spite

-Henry whines about it

-"what do you have against lil timmy tim??" "everything" she won't explain what she has against him but the other boys dont disagree

-"yeah he's fucking ugly Cheng, what are you into that whole sick victorian child look?"

-"oh sorry Lynch, I thought you'd be into that, I thought you liked 'em a little scrawny"

-Ronan and Blue punch him at the same time that adam nudges the back of his head with his foot

-"hey, man, I've actually been eating three meals a day"

- gansey beams "we're really proud of you adam, thats so-"

- "yeah, Cheng, he's got abs now" (adam snorts) "wHAT LEMME SEE" "why do you wanna see his fucking abs cheng?" "ohhh, i see, it was a trap"

- blue moves on, suggests "bright star"--she doesnt even know what its about but it looks like a good period piece

-they watch the trailer and at the end Blue goes "wait he's straight??? oh that was fucking queerbaiting" and Ronan goes "there's no way john keats was attracted to women." gansey and adam sort of grunt in agreement

-henry gets excited and suggests big mouth. they tell him, again, that it's movie night not show night. he is sad again

-"oooh guys guys what about breaking bad???" "hENRY FOR THE LAST TIME"

-blue suggests red notice, which she doesn't love the idea of, but Ronan hasn't agreed to anything so far, so she's trying to appeal to him

-"ronan, cars? heists? ryan reynolds?" gansey and henry: "ryAN REYNOLDS"

-ronan makes a disgusted noise. blue sighs and moves on

- "OMIGOD GUYS VICTORIOUS!!" blue whacks henry with a shoe

- "sargent, stop fucking scrolling through the 'romantic movies' category" "lynch, if you don't tone down the piss and vinegar a few notches, we're watching bridgerton" *gasp* "in my family home??? absolutely fucking not"

-after a few more tries where everyone agrees except ronan--who seems to hate everything--blue sighs loudly and dramatically. "ronan, do you even wanna watch anything??" "uh duh" "well what do you wanna watch" "i don't care" "yOU OBVIOUSLY DO"

-before they can kill each other Adam snatches the remote out of her hands and exits out of netflix entirely. everyone protests until he switches over to disney plus

-"ugh, if we weren't using someone else's account, i'd be so against all of this" blue goes on a little rant about corporations and monopolies while ronan makes fun of her

-but then a movie starts. it's an old, old disney movie; there's whimsical orchestra music playing as the beginning credits fade in and out. Adam looks at Gansey and they share a wistful, knowing smile

-Blue looks over at Ronan and the aloofness is gone; he kinda looks sad, but also kinda looks like a little kid. his eyes are really big. he slowly gets up from where he sat beside blue on the floor and switches places with Gansey, who was sitting beside adam on the sofa. blue watches ronan, completely docile, curl up to adam; adam wraps his arms around ronan and kisses his buzzed head. by now henry has followed her eyes and he shares a look with her. but then Gansey worms his way between them, his arm around blue and offering them both some popcorn. they both look back at the couple again then settle against gansey's sides.

-the movie is alice in wonderland. Blue is pretty sure that on one of the shelves in the living room, there's a dvd of this movie; ronan must have watched it growing up. blue smiles; as she listens to the first song, "a world of my own", she thinks it fits too well.

-when the movie's over, ronan is so calm he almost seems asleep against adam's side. blue smiles sweetly at him.

-"so, fast and furious next time, then?"

-he kicks her and she laughs

-from then on, every movie night is a disney movie. ronan has a lot of them on dvd. sometimes blue catches him absentmindedly mouthing the words to the songs. sometimes her and henry join together in a karaoke version of the songs and get booed and pelted with popcorn

OMG ok im gonna have to make another one of these sometime, it was so fun. thank you so much for this ask!! :)

(also idk which book it's in but i remember at some point, ronan recalls how alice in wonderland and pygmalion were his mom's favorite movies, and they kinda became his comfort movies. also i have a hc that ronan watches like five disney movies on rotation for comfort)

#trc hc #trc #the raven cycle hc #the raven cycle #the raven boys #trb #tdt #bllb #trk #blue sargent #ronan lynch #adam parrish #gansy #richard gansey #noah czerny #pynch #sarchengsey #bluesey #pynch hc #sarchengsey hc #bluesey hc

[reidscanehand]

Rather Ardently

Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader

Category: Angsty Fluff

TW: Cursing, marital problems, mentions of cheating (it’s not really, actually happening, Reader just thinks it is), mentions of schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s

Based on a request from @whale-of-a-time : Hey there! I love your writing, you are so talented! I have a request for a Spencer x fem!bau!reader where she and Spencer are married and then he starts having his headaches so he seeks out help from Maeve. She doesn't die or anything but they become friends and reader starts to feel insecure about herself because of how much Maeve and Spencer has in common and then Spencer realises but her reassures that he loves her? Is that okay? Hope you're safe and healthy during everything.

This was taken from a request and then mixed with a very loose concept I’d had rolling around in my brain for a while. I’m a big reader (duh, aren’t we all?) and a massive Jane Austen fan. If you haven’t seen the film Austenland and are an Austen fan, I highly recommend, but this is based a bit on that as well, except set in the United States, and not in the UK. This might seem super silly as a framing device, but the second I got this request I knew I could combine the ideas and I got so very excited. This is also the first time I get to be super specific about which season Spencer Reid this is, which I’ve never done before, but this is Season 7-Season 8 Spencer. Reader and Spencer met/started dating around Season 2 and got engaged in Season 5. This is set near the beginning of Season 8, and they finally got married ten months prior during Season 7, making this set during their first year of marriage (you’ll see, hopefully that makes sense - this timeline was partially written for my own benefit). Also, if you are a Maeve fan (as I am), this is kind of anti-Maeve (I speak of her in an extremely passive way, but the Reader is not a fan; I also might somewhat imply that she likes Spencer more than he likes her). Thank you so much for the request @whale-of-a-time - I hope you enjoy it! Also, shout out to @homoose​ for helping me with some of the dialogue in this! 

And to all of you: I love you whoever you are. While I was working on this, I passed 500 followers and, somehow, now have over 650, which is insane for my little mind. Thank you so very much for your support. Again, I love you all and hope you’re having an excellent season! xx

~ “I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.” - Jane Austen ~

Was it bad to wish that you kind of...weren’t as good at your job as you are? Because if you were less good at your job, the two of you wouldn’t be sitting, - rotting, really - in this abominable tension. The thought crosses Spencer’s mind for the second time in the hour as the two of you are driven to The Winchell House. They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, but, Spencer didn’t know who “they” were and he’s sure not even the omnipotent “they” could’ve imagined such an unusual predicament for him and his new wife. 

The Winchell House is a mock-Georgian mansion that sits in the middle of Maine, the rainy climate adding to the attempt at a British atmosphere as much as the summer long Jane Austen retreat the mansion has hosted every year for the past fifteen years. However, this summer, among the Austenites, there had been a series of two rather grisly murders over the course of two weeks. Both victims had been found, arms and legs strapped to a plinth, a small concrete slab, that sat in the middle of the pond at the back of the property. The cause of death was asphyxiation, caused by a wire strapping their necks to the plinth, the particular knot used causing the rope to tighten as the victim struggled. The murders were grisly, but completed quickly and meticulously, even when extra security had been added to the property. The retreat, which ran from the end of June to August, was the brainchild of a British-American immigrant named Evelyn McCleary, who’d contacted the FBI, desperate for help. And that is how you and Spencer came into the mix. 

Almost immediately Mrs. McCleary was redirected to Hotch, who agreed to take on the case. It was decided that the best course of action would be to send in two BAU agents undercover as latecomers on the Jane Austen retreat. And, to no one’s surprise, you and Spencer were chosen for the task. Actually, honestly, you were chosen for the task, Hotch just insisted Spencer accompany you. And if Hotch hadn’t insisted, Spencer would’ve, despite the recent issues the two of you have had. It had been awkward recently, sure, but Spencer wouldn’t let his wife go on an undercover operation alone. 

You were chosen primarily because of your bizarre skills with dialects. Honestly, Spencer had never seen its equal outside of, like, actors. It’s, frankly, bizarre how well you can do accents. The only one you can’t manage is a stereotypical New Yorker, but the others are absolutely incredible. The first time your “little talent” (your words, not Spencer’s) came to light was on your first case as part of the BAU. The team was on a case in Georgia and some diner owner wasn’t willing to cooperate as a witness. Hotch talked to him, so did Emily, even Rossi, but he wouldn’t agree to say anything. With a boldness that no one expected from you, you politely asked Hotch if you could try speaking to him. Hotch, desperate at this point, gave his consent, as long as Spencer went with you, watching from one of the booths. The two of you entered separately and, by the time Spencer had sat down, you’d struck up a conversation with the witness in a perfect, old-fashioned southern accent. You were so damn charming that the man immediately agreed to come to the station with you and, from the sound of it, would’ve likely signed over his worldly possessions if you’d so much as hinted at it. 

“You wanna tell me what that was?” Spencer had asked incredulously as the two of you watched Hotch interrogate the man from outside the interview room.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You still won’t admit it, but your tone was definitely coquettish because you were definitely flirting with Spencer at that point. 

“That...that voice you did? How did you...what did you-” he attempted to ask, barely able to stammer out the question. Because, by that point, even though he wouldn’t admit it either, he was already most definitely falling head over heels for you. 

“Oh,” you’d laughed, like you didn’t know. “My ‘little talent’...um, yeah.” You’d shrugged. 

“Little?” he’d almost screamed incredulously. Little talent, my ass. 

“I have an ear for accents,” you’d shrugged again. You didn’t tell anyone about it, and neither did Spencer, but after the third case where your ‘little talent’ proved helpful in forcing an uncooperative witness to talk, Hotch nearly forced you to tell him. And, ever since then, nearly six years ago now, you’d been the go-to girl for undercover operations, hostage negotiations, and even interrogations where your ‘little talent’ (which Spencer, just to tease you, called your ‘great big whopping talent’) came in handy. Aside from your ‘little talent’, you are also an absolute top notch profiler, the talent a mere party trick compared to your other abilities in the field. You’d been recruited to join the BAU shortly after your graduation from the FBI Academy, making you the youngest agent after Spencer. Early on, the two of you were paired up because of your closeness in age, and later you were paired up because you’d started dating and, as Hotch discovered, Spencer was borderline useless if he was worried about you on cases. The two of you dated for a long time. You saw Spencer through a lot of sorrows: Gideon leaving, Spencer’s abduction and subsequent addiction to dilaudid, his painful reintroduction to his father, and getting shot in the knee. The day he was shot in the knee was the day he’d proposed, actually. You’d rushed to the hospital, very concerned about the fact that your boyfriend of three years had somehow managed to get shot in the knee, and arrived to find Spencer sitting up in his hospital bed and eating Jell-o with a smile on his face, his left leg in a brace. 

“How the hell did you manage to do this?” you’d asked, looking at the x-rays in his file. 

“I managed nothing,” Spencer had joked, watching you carefully. “I was shot by the unsub.”

“And why did that happen?”

“Because I jumped in front of the victim-”

“Exactly, so somehow you did manage to get shot in the knee and dislocate it in almost seven different places,” you’d said, only a little snarky. 

“But, the victim was okay, and the unsub made it out alive, so that’s all good, right?” He was still watching you, knowing there was something else on your mind. “So, what’s the problem, love?”

“There’s no problem,” you’d huffed, putting down Spencer’s file and getting to your feet. “It’s just...just...never mind. I’ll go get us some more coffee-” 

“No, honey,” Spencer said, grabbing your hand. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” You turned to face him, but kept your eyes on your hands, which he held in his.

“I just really wish...I wish you’d stop devaluing your own life, Spence,” you’d whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “Because so many people care about you, and I wish you’d care as much. Your life isn’t any less valuable...and I know, I know, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get the unsub, but...why does it always have to be you?”

“Y/N, I-”

“No, Spencer, seriously,” you’d insisted, tears falling steadily now, “if anything ever happened to you...I couldn’t...I wouldn’t ever get over that.” As awkward as it was in a hospital bed, Spencer pulled you close, hugging you as tightly as he could and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, sweetheart,” he'd whispered into your ear, rubbing circles on your back. 

“I know I sound silly-” 

“I don’t think you sound silly,” Spencer had hummed, pressing a kiss to your nose as he’d cupped your face in his hands. “I think you’re the sweetest woman in the entire world and I adore you.” 

“I don’t want to get rid of you...ever, Spencer, that’s the point I’m trying to make,” you’d stated, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Ditto, my darling girl,” he’d chuckled, pulling you in closer. That’s when he’d decided. “In fact...um, can you hand me my satchel over there?” He’d pointed to his leather bag, sitting on a chair in the corner. You’d grabbed it and brought it back, setting it gingerly next to him. “Could you, like...cover your eyes for a minute?” 

“What’s...what are you doing, Spencer?”

“Please, Y/N, just close your eyes?” You’d smiled at him, adorably rolling your eyes, and turned around, your hands covering them. He had looked through his bag, finding the ring box, his hands shaking only a little. “Okay. Okay, Y/N, turn around.” You’d gasped sweetly, tears forming in your eyes for an entirely different reason as he’d presented the ring. “Now, this...this is not at all how I intended to do this. I’d definitely planned on being in nicer clothes than a hospital gown, and being able to get down on one knee, and I really didn’t want it to be involved with work at all, but, um, the thing is...when you look at the grand scheme of the universe...our lifetimes are such a tiny percentage of time that I don’t want to waste another second of it without you. Ever since I met you, you make every day things feel extraordinary. And you’re the first person to ever make me feel extraordinary...and if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make every day as extraordinary as I can because you deserve nothing less. Will you marry me?” You’d nodded and cried, allowing him to slip the ring onto your finger. 

Ten months ago the two of you were married. Rossi became a certified minister in order to perform the wedding, marrying the two of you at a historic site, Dumbarton House in D.C., surrounded by your teammates and family. It was, without question, the happiest day of Spencer’s entire life. He’d held onto you the whole time, not caring if he’d seemed clingy or over emotional. You were his and he was yours, finally and forever. You’d smiled up at him the whole day, even as the team was called away on a case - hiking your dress up to get on the jet, changing in the jet’s bathroom, spending what should’ve been your honeymoon in a motel in Kansas while solving a heinous crime - you’d smiled, the happiness rolling off the two of you in sheets despite the case and bad timing. Remarkable, really, your optimism and unerring sweetness. 

It was always like this with you. Easy, even when things were hard. Simple, even when things seemed complicated. You had a way of turning Spencer’s life around and allowing him to see the sun and smell the roses no matter what. 

But, as with most things in his life, happiness seemed to be followed by tragedy. And the sudden aggressive, blinding headaches were absolutely a tragedy. They’d started small, an occasional headache during a case. Hard to separate from the general exhaustion of work, easily written off with Excedrin and more coffee. Then the vomiting started. The violent reaction matching the growing intensity of the headaches. He’d awaken in the middle of the night, determined for you to sleep through it, only for you to find him, and rub circles into his back over the toilet or sink. You’d then sit with him, losing valuable sleep just to keep him company when the migraines were too ferocious to return to bed. It was wearing and debilitating for the both of you. And just as it pained him to have the headaches at all, it pained him even more to see you, just as fatigued, desperately trying to take care of him. Even more frustrating as a plethora of doctors and a myriad of tests proved unhelpful. 

Strangely enough - now, anyway-  it was you who suggested talking to a geneticist. Something some otherwise feckless doctor had mentioned got you thinking and you’d found Dr. Maeve Donovan, a geneticist working from home on sabbatical. You’d sent his MRIs to a local research university, only to then receive a phone call from Maeve, setting up an appointment for Spencer. 

Maeve’s situation was interesting, to say the least. The two of you were the only people who knew about it, and, despite wanting to utilize your FBI connections, Maeve refused help. She was being stalked, she believed by her ex-boyfriend, and hadn’t left her home in months, leaving her appointments with Spencer relegated to weekly phone conversations. Weekly phone conversations that, as Spencer had only recently discovered, you were not a fan of. You’d not said anything about it, but your attitude surrounding Maeve spoke volumes. Spencer wasn’t sure why, really, he was just relieved to have someone to talk to about his fears of schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s. You knew about these possibilities, of course. You’d met his mother, but...it wasn’t something he was just thrilled to discuss with you. It was a dark and scary possibility that one day Spencer’s mind, as vast and endless as it seemed to be...would be gone forever. To Alzheimer’s or schizophrenia or dementia...something could happen. He was thrilled to be able to finally stop worrying you with his health issues and just rant about them to Dr. Donovan.Trying to keep you from the pain of it potentially not working, or, more hopefully, being able to share in the joy if it did work. Thus far, the headaches were almost entirely gone. An occasional one here or there, much less violent than they had been, and usually only brought on by lack of sleep. He was tentatively optimistic...but it was only then that he’d noticed the sudden space in between you two. Your slight frown and worried eyes when Maeve would call on Sundays for their weekly appointment. He hadn’t even connected it to Maeve until she’d made him laugh last week and you’d suddenly decided to spend the night at Penelope’s. You’d made up something about Penelope needing help with her hair, too upset to control your microexpressions. Spencer knew it was a problem, but between work, and the efforts he was making towards fixing his headaches, there weren’t enough hours in the day. 

He looks to the front passenger seat where you’re sitting. Derek, thankfully, definitely recognized that there was tension in the air, but hadn’t said anything. You were staring out the car window, your fingers absentmindedly twisting your engagement and wedding bands. For a moment, as he watches the light hit you in spurts through the car window, the sun shining through your hair and eyes. You catch his eye in the rearview mirror, allowing your lips to curl in an ever so slight smile. God, but he loves you. He loves you so much...more than he ever thought he’d be able to love anyone. And you love him, just the same way. You two could get through this...right? 

Spencer sits up straighter in his seat, a new resolve settling in his system. He wasn’t due to speak to Maeve for another week, the two of you were at a Jane Austen retreat in the middle of Maine for at least a week or two. Surely, surely, he could get things back on track with you. Surely. 

~~~

No matter how long the two of you have been together, Spencer is still rather awestruck by how truly beautiful you are. One would think that, after dating each other for over three years and being engaged for two years after that before being married for nearly a year, Spencer would acclimate himself to it, but that is simply not the case. The moment the two of you are dropped off at the very impressive Winchell House, you’re ushered to Mrs. McCleary’s private wing and changed into Regency costumes. Most of the people here were cosplayers and had made their own or made them for novelty stores and events, but you and Spencer were lucky enough to have Mrs. McCleary set you up with enough costume ware to get you through the estimated maximum of two weeks undercover that you two would do. 

The clothes were another story altogether for Spencer. The pants were ridiculously tight. Like, truly, whoever thought this was a good idea? Probably those horny bastards in Elizabethan England, Spencer thinks to himself as he attempts, for the fourth time since putting them on, to adjust himself comfortably in his pants. He’s read the works of Jane Austen, obviously, they are classics for a reason. Pride and Prejudice is by far one of her best, but he has a soft spot in his heart for Emma, since she was a far more complex heroine than any of Austen’s others. He’s even seen some of the film adaptations, so he knew what he was getting into fashion-wise, at least from an aesthetic perspective, but no one had clued him in on exactly how uncomfortable these clothes would be. The collar is stiff, as is, shockingly, the cravat within it. The shirt is comfortable, only but it’s supposed to be (somehow) tucked into his tight pants, maintained with harsh suspender-like clasps, covered with a slightly stiff vest, and then forced into absurdly small jackets with tight shoulders in order to compel the wearer to better posture. There are knee high socks, which he doesn’t mind, then the shoes. The ones for indoor wear, anyway, are rather absurd. He doesn’t mind the slight heel so much as the incredible narrowness of the overall shoe. The boots are fine, but only really meant for outdoor wear, meaning he’ll have to, at some point - God forbid -  dance in the indoor shoes. 

As he finishes putting on the clothes, he looks himself over in the mirror. He doesn’t look as bad as he thought he might. A little silly, maybe, but not awful. And, at the very least, he doesn’t have to do this alone. However, as things always seem to go in your relationship, he’s incredibly unprepared to see you. And, as you bustle out of the changing room in a pale blue, empire waisted gown, with little flowers laced through your modest, slightly curly updo, Spencer thinks his heart might explode. As you lightly fret over your appearance in the mirror, you catch his eye, turning to stare at him.

“What?” you ask, nervously. “Did I...do I...um, what’s wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?” he mumbles, feeling a little dumb. 

“You’re just staring at me with your mouth open,” you reply, looking a little bewildered. “Is something wrong?”

“No, oh n-no, God,” he stammers out, feeling less like a nearly thirty year old man and more like an absolute child. “Um, it’s just, uh, y-you look r-really pretty. Like, really beautiful.”

A light blush covers your cheeks and you turn back to the mirror, you lip caught between your teeth, “Oh, um...thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.” He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on the top of your head before placing his head on your shoulder. 

“I know that we have to find the unsub,” Spencer whispers into your hair, the resolve from earlier taking over. “But, it’s been a while since the two of us got to just be together, especially on the job, you know? And this is a rather...romantic location...” He nuzzles into your neck, pressing a trio of small kisses into the warm skin there. 

“You seem more delighted by this than I thought you’d be,” you breathe, your neck tilting to expose more of your flesh to his mouth. He nips at it before continuing. 

“I’m always delighted by you,” Spencer mumbles in between kisses. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper, your eyes almost glassy. He turns you around to face him, his arms still on your waist. He allows himself, briefly, to profile you, his eyes scanning your face. Why the fuck wouldn’t he mean that? 

“Of course I do,” he insists, still searching your face. “You’re my wife, I love you.” Your eyes look so sad, he thinks you might cry.

“I love you too,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, “so very much.” The last part is said so softly, he’s not sure he’s meant to hear it. 

“Y/N, are you-”

“Mr. and Mrs. Percival?” Mrs. McCleary’s bright, jolly voice breaks the tension. You move to step away from Spencer, but he pulls you to his side with a firm hand on your waist. Neither of you answer and Mrs. McCleary looks at you brightly. “Those are your aliases, yes?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. McCleary,” you respond. She nods politely, assessing the two of you. 

“Right,” she chuckles, softly, “you look lovely, the both of you, really. What a picturesque duo you are! Now, I must tell you, you will be our only married couple-”

“Is it unusual for married couples to do this?” you ask, suddenly. “Because we could pretend to not be married.” 

Spencer’s heart lurches at your offer. Um...no, “I am not comfortable with that-”

“No need for that, dear,” Mrs. McCleary interrupts. “The first married couple this summer left after the first dead body was found and the only other couple was Anna Helburn and her husband.”

“Oh, the first victim,” you nod, understanding. You look to Spencer, but he determinedly looks away from you, still mildly offended that you just offered to pretend not to be married. You look back to Mrs. McCleary, “Was Mr. Helburn questioned before he left?”

“Oh, he hasn’t left,” Mrs. McCleary replies, looking befuddled. 

“He didn’t leave when his wife was killed?” Spencer questions, completely in shock. “That’s....highly suspicious. Which is Mr. Helburn?” With his free hand he gestures to the file in Mrs. McCleary’s hands. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, handing him the file. He releases your waist as he opens it, finding a photo of Grant Helburn easily. 

“He fits the preliminary profile,” Spencer muses, showing you the photo. “White male, late thirties to early forties, agile, athletic, tall...he no longer has a service job, but he grew up working on a farm, which could explain the knowledge of ropes and knots...”

“He’s been,” Mrs. McCleary starts, uneasily, “a tad on edge since his wife was killed, but...we assumed it was because of that. We also assumed he wouldn’t stay, though, so...”

“Did he give a reason for staying?” you query, looking away from your study of the file. 

“He said that his wife had always wanted to do this and they’d finally saved up enough for it and he wanted to finish it for her. It’s odd, though, I mean...we had plenty of people leave after the murders. There’s just you two, Mr. Helburn, and three others left. We had twelve when the retreat started.”

“Who’s left?” Spencer asks, not looking up from the file, memorizing as much as he possibly can about everyone, especially Grant Helburn. 

“Ashley Morrow, she’s a regular, comes every year or so. She’s in her late thirties-”

“Not the unsub’s type, then,” Spencer interrupts. “Please, continue.”

“Yes, then there’s Alex Foster, he’s our only minor. He’s seventeen, but starting college in the fall. He’s double majoring in British Literature and History and this is his graduation present,” Evelyn continues. “Then there’s Josefina Delgado. She’s been once before, maybe four years ago. Big Austen fan- are you, by the way?” she asks abruptly. 

“What?” Spencer replies, his head snapping up from the file. 

“Are you two Austen fans?” she asks again. 

“Oh, yes,” you answer. “Lifelong fan. And Spence, here, has read them all at least twice and can probably recite a good portion of Emma and Pride and Prejudice.”

“And Sense and Sensibility,” he adds, only sort of joking. He nods his chin to you, “That’s her favorite.” You smile at that, the first mildly genuine smile he’s seen from you in ages. He allows himself to watch you again as you continue to look over the file. Your hand has migrated to the small of his back, mostly out of convenience in order to share the file, but there was something comforting about the ease and casualness with which you did this action that calmed Spencer. The two of you will be okay...right? 

“Good to know,” Mrs. McCleary claps her hands. “Now, I do believe I’m due to teach the two of you some dances.” 

Spencer sends a concerned look your way and you giggle a little, pulling him to the makeshift dance floor Mrs. McCleary leads you to. He sighs, resigning himself to this ridiculous task in his absurd shoes. At least he gets to watch your pretty figure dance around for a little while. 

~~~

No one on the Jane Austen retreat is meant to have their cell phones. This had, obviously, been a rule that the both of you were allowed to overlook, as you are federal agents and need your phones to get in contact with your team. Yours, actually, conveniently fit in the small space between your chemise and corset. Spencer’s had to go in the inside pocket of his ridiculously structured jacket. You’re at the dinner table when it happens, his phone buzzing against his chest. It actually hits right beneath his armpit, causing him to embarrassingly giggle rather intensely.

“I do apologize,” he says, standing, still chuckling as the very subtle vibration tickled the tender flesh. “I’m a tad overcome. If you will excuse me for a moment.” He stands, giving an awkward bow (he’s not quite gotten hold of the bows, yet) and exiting the room, finding a far more private side hallway before taking out his phone. He was, frankly, rather relieved to leave the table. The British accent required for the retreat was...a struggle to say the least. Not for Mrs. McCleary, who was actually British, or you, who could easily fool anyone with your ‘little talent’. Alex Foster, the young man on the retreat, had a pretty decent accent at times, only struggling here and there with a few words. Spencer’s attempt at the accent is abismal. He assumed accents would be like learning a language, his mouth easily memorizing the space and tongue positioning required for the different sounds, but no such luck. Josefina Delgado is from Puerto Rico, struggling valiantly to work around her own accent in order to speak English, which she actually did beautifully, but the attempt at a British accent left a bit to be desired. Ashley Morrow didn’t even attempt one, nor did Grant Helburn, but Mrs. McCleary didn’t seem to enforce this rule with them. To be fair, she had much more to worry about. 

“Dr. Reid,” Spencer whispers, picking up his phone. 

“Reid,” Hotch says on the other end, “any leads yet?”

“Not much to go on as of yet,” he answers, “though I think we should do a full background check into Grant Helburn, he seems most likely to be the unsub of the guests, anyway. Y/N and I are looking into staff starting tomorrow.”

“Anna Helburn’s husband?” Hotch asks, confused. 

“Yes,” Spencer replies, taking off his jacket, maneuvering the phone as he does so. “He said he stayed on to honor her legacy, but I doubt it.”

“We’ll have Garcia look him up and send it to you,” Hotch agrees. “Anything else we should know?”

“Yeah,” Spencer breathes, allowing his anxiety to take hold. “Um, the only person here who fits his previous victimology is Y/N.”

“Uh-huh,” Hotch concurs. 

“So, either the unsub is going to escalate, or we’re sending Y/N to the wolves,” Spencer continues.

“What are you saying, Reid?” Hotch challenges.

“Well, sir, it’s just that, frankly, I’m not very comfortable with either-”

“Reid. I know, I know this is difficult. But, you are there with your wife. That is the safest we can possibly keep her. We need you two for this. Are you okay to do this, agent?” 

Spencer sucks in a breath, knowing Hotch is right, knowing he’s being difficult, but also knowing that he’s still not thrilled with this situation.  “Yes, of course. Sorry, Hotch. I’ll call you if there are any updates.”

“Good; thank you, Reid. Oh, and Reid?” Hotch adds. “You’re aware you and Y/N are meant to do three tours of the estate as part of a night watch, correct?”

Spencer agrees and says goodbye as you enter, clearly looking for him. “Alright, I’ll talk to you soon. Yeah, goodbye.” He holds his hand out to you, signalling you to cross to him, but you remain near the door, arms crossed over your chest as he says goodbye. He returns his arm to his side, “That was Hotch.”

“Oh,” you sigh, a relieved sounding breath leaving your body. “What did he say?” You’ve dropped the British accent for the time being and Spencer is relieved for the continued break. 

“Nothing much,” he says, curiosity peaked by your sigh of relief. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you deflect, crossing to the halfway point between you two. “Just, um, dinner’s almost done. We’re due in the parlor with the others.”

“Okay,” Spencer mutters, distractedly, closing the distance between you two with a couple of easy strides. “Are you okay?” He cups your face in his hands and you stare up at him, eyes slightly glassy. “Hey...hey, honey, seriously, what’s going-”

“It’s nothing, Spence,” you urge, placing your hands atop his over your cheeks. “Just, um...just...nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer contests, moving one hand to your chin, easing it upward slightly to keep you from looking away. “If it’s making you this upset-”

“I’m not upset,” you insist, wrenching out of his grasp and turning to the door. “We’re expected in the parlor-” 

He catches your hand, pulling you back to his chest. “Y/N, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I could ask you the same question, Spencer,” you remark, quietly, not looking at him. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, inwardly cringing at how overly defensive he sounds.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Nothing at all. I’m just...I thought...ugh! It’s not Sunday yet and I thought you might-”

“You thought I left the table to talk to Maeve?” Spencer questions pointedly.

“Maybe,” you mumble, crossing your arms as he lets go of you. 

“It isn’t Sunday, why would I-”

“I don’t know, Spence,” you retaliate, a sharper energy imposing itself upon your typically cool and collected tone, “I thought...maybe you were...bored and needed to talk to your new genius friend.” 

“Y/N,” he says, taken aback, “I don’t really call Maeve recreationally.”

“That’s not really what it sounds like,” you counter, quietly. 

“Well,” Spencer starts, “I can assure you that-”

“Spencer, please,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know she’s your friend, I just wish that it didn’t feel like-” You allow a few tears to fall, cutting yourself off. 

“Please, don’t cry, honey,” Spencer urges. “Just tell me what’s on your mind-”

Evelyn McCleary’s head pops through the open doorway, her eyes wide. “Have you seen Josefina?” 

“What?” you cry, whipping around to face Evelyn. 

“Everyone adjourned from the dinner table after you left, Mrs. Percival, but Alex was the only one that showed up to the parlor. I was able to find Grant and Ashley, and now I’ve found the two of you, but I can’t find Josefina,” Evelyn nearly screams, terrified. The two of you look at eachother, you discreetly and quickly wipe away any remaining tears. Time to work; life would have to wait. 

The two of you follow Evelyn, keeping the rest of the guests in the parlor with a security guard (the charade is maintained by the security guard telling the other guests that you two had already retired to your room, now being watched by another security guard), as the three of you search the premises. When you get outside and walk toward the grand pond, you can already see her lifeless body, strapped to the plinth as the three of you cross the wooded area to the pond. The team is called, as is the crime scene unit and Josefina is officially the third victim of this serial killer. Evelyn, shaken terribly by the most recent murder, is sent to her office with Emily and a local police officer. The rest of you debrief with Hotch in the gazebo. 

“He’s escalating,” Spencer states, plainly. “Josefina was a Puerto Rican immigrant in her late thirties, up til now he’s only killed young American women in their mid-twenties.”

“That’s true,” Hotch eyes you carefully before continuing. “But, I think Y/N might be his next target.”

“What?” you cry. “Why?” Spencer wraps his arm around you protectively and, despite the argument of the hour or so before, you don’t pull away. 

“This unsub is insanely meticulous,” Derek replies. “Like, everything in these murders has been down to the letter. He only had about twenty minutes to do this before Evelyn noticed Josefina was gone. She was able to find everyone else-”

“We can’t rule anyone out yet,” JJ asserts. “This unsub works fast. I think this Grant Helburn still seems like the most likely unsub.” 

“Exactly,” Derek agrees. “I bet he only killed Josefina because he couldn’t find Y/N.”

You swallow harshly, but Spencer is the only one that could possibly notice. He’s impossibly proud of you as you clear your throat and add to the profile, “You’re right. He’s a meticulously obsessive sexual sadist, so killing is the only thing to get him off. Once he’d made up his mind to kill today, he would’ve had to follow through with it...even if he couldn’t find his actual target.” Spencer attempts to tighten his hold on you, but you scoot out of it slightly. 

“Okay,” you breathe intensely, determinedly avoiding looking at Spencer. He sighs as quietly as possible, trying to focus on anything but the conversation he’s worried might be waiting for the two of you during night watch. “If you will get the completed profile out to the local officers, Spencer and I will get back into the house. We have our first night watch in 45 minutes.” The team breaks, Derek and Hotch deciding to stakeout on the grounds in case the two of you need back up. You and Spencer head back to the house, pulling your guns and flashlights out of their hiding places as you start your rounds. 

Spencer’s exhausted, so are you. This neverending day, another victim...all of it take over your senses. It isn’t until you finish the assigned three tours of the property and the two of you are heading to your room that Spencer realizes neither of you have spoken in almost four hours. 

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively as he helps you out of your corset. 

“Mmm?” you hum, half asleep as you stand in front of him. You sound so very tired that he decides not to press the issue. 

“Never mind,” he whispers. He finishes undoing your corset and briefly pulls you to him, kissing the back of your neck. Much to his delight, you lean into him, whether from exhaustion or an actual lessening of tension from earlier, he doesn’t care, he thrilled to get to hold you for a moment. “You ready for bed, darling?”

“Never more ready,” you breathe. You’re swaying as the two of you brush your teeth, nearly collapsing by the time you get to your bed. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Spencer mumbles, propping up onto his arm as he watches you fall asleep. “You know I love you, right?” You don’t answer, already asleep. He sighs, the argument from earlier still replaying in his mind. His eyes begin to droop and he’s almost asleep when he feels your head nuzzling into his side. He wraps his arms around you, sighing as he falls asleep, trying to allow the hope your closeness gives him to dissipate his fears.

~~~

He really shouldn’t have left the table at all. Sunday roast dinners were sacred in this household and as part of the retreat. Technically, it was a pretty conspicuous move as well, to excuse himself from the table, but it was time for his weekly appointment with Dr. Donovan, so, at 5:30 on the dot, Spencer stood, excused himself, and exited the table citing the need to “pen a letter”, which was the only excuse he could think of for leaving a Regency dinner table. He didn’t make eye contact with you as he left the table, but he could feel you staring daggers into his back. Things had been more than tense in the week following the murder of Josefina Delgado. If anything, it’d been a week of nothing, both of you were more sure now than ever that the killer was Grant Helburn, but you couldn’t find any solid evidence to back it up. As Spencer started his weekly call with Maeve, he wondered if this would the breaking point. And sure enough, twenty minutes later, he hears the footsteps behind him, and he can feel the fight boiling. 

“Hey, Maeve, I’ll have to call you back later, okay?” Spencer says looking at you standing at the other end of the small hallway. Maeve is saying goodbye and tacking on something about a book, but he can’t be bothered to listen as he stares at you. You had your arms crossed and you weren’t looking at him...and he knew he was in trouble. “Yeah, okay. Bye.” There’s an extremely unpleasant silence. Spencer can almost feel your brain moving. You say that about him all the time, actually, and he always thought you were joking, but he can almost feel the cogs turning, feel the words forming in your mind. 

“So,” he clears his throat, awkwardly, cringing inwardly at the idea of being uncomfortable with his wife. “How was the fish course?”

“Fine,” you bite out, still not looking at him. “How...how is Dr. Donovan?”

“She’s fine,” he replies quietly. He stares at you, mentally begging you to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not very...um...it’s kind of noticeable for you to leave the table like that,” you whisper, clearly holding back. 

“You left too,” he snaps back. 

“Only to come and find you,” you grit out. “We’re supposed to be...” you look around you, shutting the door behind you and crossing the few feet in between you two. He tries, he really does, to focus on the fact that the two of you are fighting. After your rounds of night watch, the two of you typically collapse into bed in sweats and pajamas. He’s not really had the opportunity, since the dance lesson, at least, to properly observe you in your Jane Austen attire. And you look as stunning as ever. He takes a deep breath to focus as you continue. 

“We’re supposed to be blending in,” you whisper, looking up at him, nostrils slightly flaring. Spencer looks down at his ridiculously uncomfortable attire, his Adam’s apple bobbing over the harsh edge of his tie. He looks back up at you, a slight chuckle huffing out over his lips. 

“How are we not ‘blending in’?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you rasp sarcastically, “maybe because my husband keeps leaving the room to answer his cell phone-”

“It’s for a medical appointment-”

“It’s so you can talk to Maeve! You wouldn’t do this for anyone else!” you nearly scream. Your eyes go wide and you look back at the door. You take a deep breath and look back at him, your voice softening. “Are the headaches back?”

“What? No, you’d know if they-” 

“Oh, would I? Would I get to know? How very novel!” you whisper harshly and  caustically into his face, nearly on your tiptoes with anger. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Spencer is so very confused. You’re angry, but now he knows it isn’t just because he’s being mildly conspicuous. He’s trying to read you, trying desperately to profile you, despite his promises not to. He still doesn’t understand. “Tell me what’s wrong-”

“Why should I tell you what’s wrong with me when you’ve refused to tell me anything for nearly a month!” You’re being loud now, but Spencer doubts you care. You step away from him, pacing, shaking, worrying your hands in front of you. “Do you realize that you haven’t told me anything about this in ages? You only talk to Maeve about this-”

“Now, Y/N, that’s not fair. She’s my doctor. I only tell her that stuff because-”

“Because what?” you scream, exasperated. “Because she’s a genius and I’m not?” 

Spencer is silent, completely dumbfounded. And then you start to cry, huge sobs racking your entire body. He steps toward you, reaching out to comfort you, but you back away. 

“Y/N,” he starts, quietly. “Y/N that’s not-”

“Look,” you rasp, your voice quiet, thick with emotion and exhausted. “It’s no secret that we’re not exactly intellectual equals.”

“Y/N, that has nothing to do with-”

“Please,” you say, finally looking at him, raising a hand in between you to silence him. “Just let me...just let me say this. I’ll only be able to get it out the one time.”

He nods at you, swallowing as lump forms in his throat. His panicking won’t help anything. He’s trying to stay calm, trying not to cry, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. His rolling through conversations with you and Maeve, trying to think around the headaches and the worry. He watches you carefully. It’s taking every bone in his body to give you the space you’ve asked for. He wants to hug you, to correct you, but you clearly want and need to say this to him. You’re taking deep breaths, trying not to cry. You look away from him, your eyes on the floor in front of you. 

“I’m no genius and I know that. I have no hang ups regarding my intelligence, really, I don’t...I thought you didn’t either but...” you turn away, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath again. “I know...I know it must get...boring for you...to live with somebody who isn’t as smart as you are. Tedious, I guess. But, we love each other, right? And...And I really thought...I really thought it didn’t matter?” You look back at him wistfully. “I should say, I really hoped it didn’t matter....because....because you’re it for me, Spencer. And I thought I was...for you, too. But...I’m sure it’s a relief to...have finally found someone who can match you as perfectly as she does.” You let out a huge sigh, a tight smile on your lips, as though determined to remain pleasant. “When we get home...I’ll just...I’ll just stay with Penelope for a while? Or something.”

“Y/N, please, listen to me...that’s not-” Spencer tries to interrupt, but you step back again, sobs still shaking your body. “Y/N, please.”

“No,” you beg, your voice breaking, “no, Spencer, I need to-I need to go talk to someone who isn’t you right now...I just...I need to be alone.” You sniffle and wipe your eyes almost violently, running away, turning the corner before stalking down the next hallway, your footsteps disappearing in the night. 

Spencer stands there completely in shock. Tears are pouring down his face and he doesn’t know when they began to fall. His mind is racing: Who could ever be bored of you? How did I fuck this up so very badly? He suddenly realizes he’s standing in the hallway, not chasing after you like he should be. He braces himself and begins to run, jogging down the hall, hoping his long legs will finally do him some good and that he’ll catch up to you. He rounds the corner, the large Georgian windows casting moonlight into the hallway. He’s halfway down the hall before he realizes...you’re not there. It’s a long hallway, very long, in fact, taking up most of this side of the house, a door at the end leading to the back garden with trails to the gazebo, pond, and greenhouse. 

“Y/N?” he calls, his voice trembling. “Y/N, I’m sorry - I know that...” his voice trails off, an eerie feeling growing in his gut. He steps forward, pulling out his gun and turning on the flashlight, his steps cautious. He follows the hall, his mind desperately trying not to panic. Where is she? The blueprint of the house is clear as day in his mind until his foot steps into something, even through his shoe he can sense the change in texture. He looks down, his heart dropping as the moon allows the viscous liquid to shine red. Blood. 

And he’s taking off, running down the hall. The door at the end is ajar. He should never have left the dinner table. Should never have answered his phone. Shouldn’t even have had his phone with him. The unsub knew he was gone from the table and had found you vulnerable and alone. His phone is out and at his ear, his mind only recognizing that he’s called Derek when his voice is asking him what’s wrong. 

“What’s up, Pretty Boy?” Derek asks. Spencer’s panting so hard he can’t answer. “Reid? Reid? Reid, what’s wrong?”

“He got her,” Spencer manages to choke out, tears he wasn’t aware of still flowing out of him. “Y/N...she’s...something’s wrong. There’s blood and the door’s open and...and-”

“Okay, okay, Reid, we’re here okay. We’ll be there in-”

“I’m going to find her, she’ll be at the plinth,” he rattles off, knowing, hating how right he is. If the unsub is following the pattern, which - God knows - the meticulous bastard will be, Spencer’s going to find his wife being murdered on a plinth in the middle of the grand pond. 

“Reid, don’t go alone, we are literally-”

“I’m not going to let this bastard kill my wife, Morgan!” He hangs up, running out the door, taking the middle trail towards the pond. 

He’s running out of time. This guy works fast. Meaning you don’t have much time. Meaning Spencer doesn’t have much time to get to you. He hears something, a muffled cracking sound, far in the distance. He prays, for the first time in his life, he prays it’s a bird, a bear, anything, anything but you. His heart is plummeting, gone for good, he’s sure of it. He’s running, the pond never seeming so far away, the dappled moonlight through the trees making him feel exposed and awkward instead of comforted by the light. There’s drips of blood on the paved road, a dragged bit running toward the grass towards the pond. 

Spencer darts through the trees in the little wooded area, not caring or thinking much of subtlety, all his FBI training borderline being thrown out the window. Then he hears it: footsteps. A staggered, panting breathing that isn’t his own. A cold, calculated feeling drips through his veins. Spencer pauses, darting behind a tree, as Grant Helburn’s shadowed figure comes into view. 

“FBI!” Spencer shouts, pointing his gun and flashlight at the man. Spencer is suddenly thankful for his FBI training - Grant is covered in blood. And he doesn’t look scared, or caught. He’s smiling. The bastard is smiling. And you’re nowhere to be seen. 

“How’s the missus?” Grant asks, hands up, the smug grin curling cruelly on his lips. 

“Better than you’ll ever be,” Spencer practically spits at him. He’s trying, desperately, to maintain some sense of professionalism. It’s barely working. He can feel the anger growing inside him, but it isn’t boiling, as all the books said it would be. It’s cold and dark. For the first time in his life, Spencer would be thrilled to kill this man. Thrilled to see him writhe on the ground in pain as he breathed his last and bled out into nothing. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Grant replies, quietly, but loud enough for Spencer to hear it. “She’s got quite a mouth on her, I’ll give you that. Didn’t think you’d be one to go for the feisty type. Big waste of air, if you ask me. She’ll run out soon if she isn’t careful.” 

Something’s bothering Spencer. It’s eating away at the back of his mind, gnawing at his control. Why would Grant leave the scene? As a sadist...he watches torture to get off...he wouldn’t leave...unless...unless you were already dead. Spencer’s finger ghosts over the trigger, almost getting the nerve. There’s no reason to shoot him. Grant has no weapon, he isn’t approaching Spencer, or even threatening him- 

As if on cue, Derek Morgan practically jumps out from behind Grant, knocking him to the ground and straddling his back, pulling him into handcuffs in almost one move. 

“Go get your girl, Reid!” Derek yells over Grant’s muffled grunts. And Spencer’s off again, running faster than he knew he could. Everything is motion. Everything is movement and speed. He’s running and panting, running to the plinth and...

You’re dead. For sure, you’re dead. 

“No...no....no, no, no, no,” Spencer rasps, ripping painfully tight wires from your wrists and one from your neck with his bare hands. His fingers are bloody, but he doesn’t care. You’re not moving, not breathing from what he can tell. You’re almost blue. He presses his fingers to your pulse. It’s faint. So faint it could go away at any moment, but there is one. You’re so cold it’s scary. “Baby, baby...please...” You don’t move. There’s blood running down the side of your face and bruises all over your wrists and neck. Your knuckles are red from where you’d fought back. He calls into his intercom, “Medic, get a medic now! She has a pulse get me a damn medic.” He’s crying, so much so he can barely see. He presses a kiss into your forehead and it’s so very cold that another sob wrenches from his throat. “Help, somebody! PLEASE!” 

~~~

The hospital is cold. Absolutely freezing, really. It has to be for Spencer to be as entirely numb as he feels. He’s been staring at the carpet square in front of him for exactly forty seven minutes and thirty two seconds. He’s counted the triangles in the pattern eighty four times. There are forty nine of them. He’s questioned why there’s an uneven number, running concepts of it through his brain, coming up with at least sixteen reasons the carpet designer would’ve made such a strange choice. He’s only thought once about moving to a different carpet square, but the second he tried that, his mind switched to thoughts of you. So, no, he has to stay on this one in front of him. So that he doesn’t think of you. Doesn’t focus on how you looked, head still bleeding, arms covered in scratches, wrists nearly bloody from where you’d been tied down, neck bruised from the rope that had restrained you. He has to focus on this so that he doesn’t remember how cold you felt, how blue your skin looked. How hard it was for you to breathe. How...how very near death you looked. 

He hadn’t been allowed to ride in the ambulance with you. Hotch had borderline insisted, actually, that he not go with you, and the paramedics insisted there wasn’t room. Hotch drove him, not speaking, but speeding as quickly and as safely as he could to the hospital. Once they got there, you were already hooked up to oh so many machines. The moment he’d walked in the door of your room, Spencer had nearly collapsed, overwhelmed by the sheer bleakness of it all. You were still out. Still asleep. The doctors said you were fine, you’d make a full recovery, but you were still asleep. Hotch greeted the rest of the team when they arrived, most of them were in the cafeteria, while JJ and Emily had gone back to the station to wrap things up. 

“Here.” A coffee cup is being held in front of his face, the fingers holding the cup featuring the bright pink nail polish of Penelope Garcia. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking the cup. He doesn’t drink it. He’s worried he might vomit if he does. 

“She’s okay, you know? She’s strong, Y/N...” Penelope says, clearly trying not to cry herself. 

“Yeah...yeah she is,” Spencer rasps, his voice gravelly from lack of use since screaming and crying over your injured body only a few hours before. “She...um...we’re...” His voice trails off as his eyes fill with tears again. 

“It’s okay, kid,” Derek’s voice interrupts. He finally looks up. Garcia is sitting across from him in another one of the plastic waiting room chairs. Derek goes and sits next to her. Both of them are staring at him, eyes filled with worry and concern. His phone buzzes in his pocket. A continuous buzz meaning it’s a phone call. Numbly, he pulls his phone out, not even looking at the name on the caller ID. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he answers, his voice barely registering with his body. 

“Spencer?” Maeve’s voice says through the line. “Are you okay?”

“H-Hi, Maeve,” Spencer breathes. “Um...I’m...I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh my God, are you alright?” Maeve panicks on the other end. 

“Yeah, I’m-I’m fine...I mean...no. Um, Y/N....she, uh....” He looks up, only to see Penelope practically stabbing him with her eyes and Derek looking at him, mildly confused and digusted. His conversation with you is replaying in his mind so loudly that he can’t focus. The panic in Maeve’s voice for him...she...she knows they’re just friends...right? Suddenly, he feels dirty. He feels sick. “I can’t talk right now, Maeve, I’ll...um...I think we shouldn’t...uh, I have to go. Bye.” He hangs up without getting a response from Maeve. There’s an awkward pause following the click of his phone, the sound almost ringing in the air. 

“So,” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, “that’s Maeve.” She says her name like it’s an illness. 

“What do you know about Maeve?” Spencer asks, trying not to sound offended. 

“I know that Y/N came into my office two weeks ago crying about the fact that her husband is cheating on her,” Penelope whisper yells. 

“What the fuck, Pretty Boy?” Derek chokes on his coffee. “Do we need to take this outside?”

“No! No, oh my God! I would never...is that what Y/N thinks is happening?” Spencer’s eyes are wide and his heart is racing now. You think he’s cheating on you. You could’ve died and you think he’s cheating on you. He’s desperately trying to keep his anxiety at bay, trying not to spiral.

“Maybe not cheating physically,” Penelope relents, still staring daggers at him. “But, maybe...emotionally? I don’t know, all I know is that Y/N said she feels like you’re not communicating with her anymore; that you’re pouring your heart out to this Maeve woman over the phone every Sunday-”

“I tell Y/N everything,” Spencer rasps, his mind combing through the conversations he’s had with Maeve, trying to pick apart the social intricacies he knows he doesn’t quite fully understand, the things he could’ve missed. 

“Then why didn’t she know about the...the um, shoot,” Penelope briefly falters. “It’s a ‘sporadic shot’ of um-”

“Oh, I take a sporadic shot of B2 in addition to the other supplements Maeve prescribed,” Spencer finishes. “Did I not tell Y/N about that?”

“Apparently not,” Penelope snaps. 

“I mean,” Spencer tries to reason, both with Penelope and himself, “I mean it’s just an extra supplement-”

“But you didn’t tell your wife?” Derek asks, rejoining the conversation for the first time. “Who is this Maeve woman anyway?”

“She’s...she’s a geneticist,” Spencer replies, quietly. “She’s like...my doctor? I guess. She had to help me with...something.” He’s reluctant to talk about his medical struggles, even with Derek and Penelope. But, he’s a bit mortified. How did he not realize that you were so upset about this? How had he not realized that he was telling Maeve about this and cutting you out of it? 

“Something Y/N knows about?” Derek asks, eyebrow still raised.

“Well, yeah,” Spencer defends, “but...I don’t know, I guess once I started talking to Maeve about it-”

“You cut Y/N off entirely?” Penelope snarks. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Well, you did, genius,” Penelope huffs, “and now she’s terrified that you’re going to leave her.”

“I would never, ever leave my wife,” Spencer begins, trying not to cry, “I wouldn’t be leaving my wife for my geneticist if that’s what you’re implying,” he answers, the spite in his voice burning the lump in his throat. 

“But?” Penelope pushes.

“But what?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, 187,” Penelope replies with more malice than Spencer thought she could manage. “If you’re going to hurt Y/N, you’d better have a damn good reason and it better not be another woman because I swear on every unicorn in my batcave that will kill you myself.” 

Spencer swallows, taken aback at the seriousness of her tone. He shifts in his seat awkwardly, picking at a loose string on the FBI jacket he’s pulled on over his regency garb. Jacket and cravat long disposed of, the tight pants, boots, and large, open collared white shirt don’t exactly scream FBI, but he couldn’t be bothered less. “Maeve has almost nothing to do with this.” 

“She’s got something to do with it,” Penelope jabs, folding her arms and looking away in a huff.

“She’s my doctor, Garcia,” Spencer attempts to reason, cringing when his voice sounds as pathetic as his argument.

“It’s not entirely ridiculous for your wife to be concerned about weekly phone calls with another woman, Reid,” Morgan jumps in. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer sighs, combing a hand through his hair. “Treatments, support, status, improvements, declines...that kind of stuff.”

“There’s gotta be more than that, kid,” Derek pushes. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, knowing what the answer is. 

“It’s enough for Y/N to tell me that she might have to come and stay with me,” Garcia answers, not looking at him, clearly still peeved. 

“What? When did she tell you that?” Spencer asks, his eyes widening.

“About a week ago,” Garcia challenges, “so let’s just stop pretending that you and Maeve are just swapping medical facts, okay? Something’s got to be going on for Y/N to give up on you.”

“I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Spencer blurts before he can stop himself. There’s a painful silence. 

“What do you mean, Reid?” Derek finally asks, cutting the tension. 

“I started talking to Maeve because...I was having these headaches. Migraines, really. They’ve stopped for the most part now. They were painful and insane, I could barely open my eyes some days. I went to loads of doctors, got scans done, the lot of it, and no one could tell me anything. I actually snapped at a doctor because he suggested...he suggested it was because of the schizophrenia running in the family and...yeah. Anyway, it was actually...it was actually Y/N who suggested talking to a geneticist. She found Maeve and sent her my scans and...then Maeve called to talk about them. That’s it, that’s all, I swear!” He looks up to both Derek and Penelope staring at him, an unreadeable expression on Derek’s face and a still-angry one on Penelope’s.

“That doesn’t explain why Y/N would be upset,” Penelope insists, staring him down. “So, stop lying and tell us what you really talk about with Maeve.” 

“I mean...I mean...we’re friendly,” Spencer argues. “We greet each other and talk about books we’re reading. She read one of my papers, actually, and asked some questions and-”

“I see,” Derek says, quietly. “So, she flattered you?”

“I mean,” Spencer thinks about it, “I guess so. But, nothing...I don’t have feelings for Maeve. At all. Like, she’s barely a friend, I don’t know her. I’ve never even seen her. We only talk on the phone.”

“Then why would you ever break up with Y/N?” asks an absolutely exasperated Penelope. 

“I don’t want to break up with Y/N,” Spencer sighs, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I don’t want to. I love her...more than anything, but what if...what if...” he wipes off his cheek and looks up at the two of them. “What if I get Alzheimer’s? What if I have schizophrenia? What if I can’t take care of myself? What if, one day, I wake up and I can’t...I can’t remember...anything?”

“Y/N wouldn’t...that girl would love you even if you forgot her name-”

“I might,” Spencer bites out. “I might forget her, Derek, I might forget everybody. And you-you don’t...none of you have any idea how that feels-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, you absolute idiot!” Garcia screams, standing and staring him down. He recoils a bit, alarmed at how angry she looks. “Do you not think Y/N is aware of that? She knows exactly what she signed up for.”

“Knowing my mom has schizophrenia and dealing with the fact that I might have it are very different things-”

“Oh my God, Reid! For a genius you can really be the dumbest person sometimes! Y/N loves you. Like, really loves you. So, yeah, she knows all about the schizophrenia. She knows about the Alzheimer’s. She also knows about the former drug addiction, and the rambling, and the insomnia, and the askew ties, and the slight germophobia and you know what? She still loves you! What part of ‘in sickness and in health’ isn’t clicking in that big brain of yours? It wouldn’t matter if you turned into a human vegetable, that girl would still love you. She loves you like...it’s...do you even...” She looks away, clearly trying not to cry. “The kind of love that you two have? It’s like...the kind of love people dream about. And, look, I know...I know that your mom...the conditions that run in your family, hell, the kind of mind you possess isn’t exactly something we can all relate to, but, son of a bitch, Spencer.” She looks at him again, tears running her mascara. “Don’t ruin the best thing that ever happened to you over something so trivial as an ‘if’. I’ll most certainly never forgive you, but you won’t be able to forgive yourself, either.” 

And with that bombshell, Garcia turns on her spiky pink heel and exits towards the cafeteria. The silence following her heels is deafeaning. Spencer can feel the lump in his throat and, as much as he attempts to swallow around it, he can feel the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

“She’s right, you know-”

“Yes, thank you, Derek. I know,” Spencer mumbles. Finally standing, he looks towards Derek, not able to make eye contact, “I’m gonna...I’m gonna go sit with Y/N. I don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I...I wanna be there.” Derek nods and Spencer crosses to your hospital room, still unable to look directly at Derek. He sighs as he enters, looking at your sleeping form. You look almost peaceful, a little bit of life coming back into your face. He sits in the chair next to your bed, taking one of your hands in his own. 

“Hey...” Spencer whispers, cringing a little bit at his awkward greeting. “That was a stupid way to start this conversation, wasn’t it? At least that’s what you’d say...probably.” He stares at you, wishing you were awake, wishing you could say something, or laugh at him or tease him or anything. “Please wake up, baby, please. There are so many things I want to tell you. There are so many things we haven’t done yet. And the first thing I have to do is...say I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I promise, I swear Maeve means nothing to me. I’ve just...” He looks up at the ceiling the florescent lights burning. He lets it burn just a second longer than he usually would. Spencer closes his eyes, dropping his head and squeezing your hand between both of his. He keeps his eyes on your hands, pecking a kiss to your knuckles before continuing. “I love you...I love you so very much. And it...it’s...when the headaches started I-I got...I was just so scared. I’ve never...when schizophrenia hits, you’re supposed to have breakdowns in your mid-20s and...I thought I’d made it through that. I avoided that. But, when the headaches started...it was like...it found me. Like I couldn’t hide from it anymore. And just the idea of...my mind...my stupid brain getting in the way. I just...the idea that...that I could lose you...not because of our jobs, not because of a fight or something stupid I’d done, but because...because of my own mind, I...” He can barely see anymore as the tears start to fall. “I don’t want to live a life without you. Ever. And if I...if I forgot you...I didn’t want to talk to you about it again until it was fixed...until it was over b-because, I didn’t want you to know that I could lose you forever without ever leaving your side. I didn’t want to face the fact that I could lose you."

He’s fully sobbing now, laying his head on the edge of your hospital bed, allowing the tears to overwhelm him. Suddenly, his mind is clinging to everything he knows about you, as though desperate. Your scent, your smile, your voice. The rush is so intense that he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Your hands are cold,” you breathe, shifting ever so slightly, but keeping your eyes closed. “I know that’s what they say in the Pride and Prejudice movie, but your hands are actually cold.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer gasps, “hey...hey.” He stands awkwardly, running a hand down the side of your face as though you’re the most fragile thing on the face of the earth. Like you could break at any moment, which he’s afraid to admit, but he’s worried you might. He tenderly presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call the nurse.” He aims for the button to call and you lift your hand shakily, tenderly placing it on his arm. Spencer stops and looks down at you. Your eyes are open, though the light is clearly hurting them and you’re staring up at him in awe. 

“I didn’t think,” you whisper, your voice raw, “I’d make it this time. Can I just look at you...for a second?” His heart sinks in his chest because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was worried you wouldn’t make it either. 

“I would never let that happen, ever,” he insists, pressing another kiss to your forehead. He sits back down on the edge of his seat, trying to calm down for you, his hands finding yours again. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut before opening them again, blinking into the light and looking at Spencer. He’s quite sure he’s never been happier to see a pair of eyes. “How are you?”

“Fine?” he chuckles breathily, “are you sure?”

“Well,” you groan, attempting to move, only for Spencer to halt your movements gently and adjust your bed slightly until you look more comfortable, so that you’re sitting up more. “As fine as I can be after being knocked out by a middle aged man twice and being strapped down to a piece of concrete in the middle of a pond.” You finally look at him again, taking a deep breath. “Also, I don’t know if you know this, but I got into a really stupid fight with my husband before all that happened.”

Spencer stares back at you, pursing his lips while a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I did know that.” He uses one of his hands to wipe away some of the remnants of the tears on his face. “How much did you hear of what I said?”

“Enough,” you whisper, your eyes glassy. “But, Spence- there’s no...there’s no denying that...” You cut off looking down at your hands.

“What is it, honey?” Spencer asks. “Talk to me.”

“I should say the same to you, Spencer,” you mutter pointedly, a mournful smile toying at the corners of your mouth.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he begins. “I should’ve-I should’ve talked to you...I should’ve...”

“I think it’s fairly obvious we both should’ve talked to each other,” you bite out, groaning a little bit. It takes him a millisecond to realize it’s from the pain not the discussion. He jumps into action, standing up next to you.

“Sweetheart, please, don’t over exert yourself.” He goes to hit the button for the nurse, but you keep hold of his hand.

“No, Spencer, I’m fine,” you insist. “Seriously.” He sits back down, choosing to, gingerly, sit next to you on the bed. “It’s hard to watch your husband drifting away from you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. I trust you, I trust you implicitly, really, and I doubt you’re cheating on me or anything like that, but it’s hard...it’s hard to watch your husband grow closer to someone who seems made for him. There’s no denying that...I’m not as smart as you-”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, releasing your hands to take a hold of your face. You stare up at him, your eyes so very sad that he can hardly continue. He leans his forehead against yours, oh so gently. “Aside from the fact that I believe you’re absolutely brilliant all on your own, it wouldn’t matter if you weren’t. I love you. I love you for who you are. I love you because...because you make the world feel peaceful when it’s chaotic and easy when it’s complicated. And no one else makes me feel that way.”

“Then why did you stop talking to me about the headaches?” you push, staring up at him, your eyes searching his.

“You know how you were worried you’re not smart enough for me?” he breathes. “I’m terrified that, at any moment, I could lose you too. And I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case treatments with Maeve didn’t work...and I was more relieved than I should’ve been to have an outlet for my fears. And I am so, so sorry.” With that finally off of his chest, he feels lighter than he has in months. He looks down at you again, a small smile playing on your mouth as you reach up a shaky hand and caress the side of his neck gently. 

“Honey,” you begin in a hushed whisper, more intimacy than pain now, “I know. I know what could happen and I worry about it too, but...no one can know what will happen. And, what’s that thing you said when you proposed? Our lifetime is such a tiny percentage of time that-”

“We shouldn’t waste it,” Spencer finishes, looking down at you in awe. You smile back at him, eyes glassy. 

“Please, please don’t push me away again,” you plead softly. “I don’t want to live a life without you either. And I mean all of it. Every single bit. Even if it’s bad or scary. We have to do this together.” 

Spencer runs his thumb along your jaw, his forehead still pressed against yours, “I love you. I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, a tear falling down your cheek. “And I’m sorry, too.” Another tear falls and Spencer pulls away from your forehead, keeping his hands on your face. 

“Hey,” Spencer chuckles lightly, wiping your cheek. “Hey. No more tears in this household. I’m placing a moratorium on crying until at least next week.”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle airily, reaching up to wipe off a tear he didn’t even know was there.

“You see?” he teases, again sitting on the side of your bed in the crook of your hip. “I think we were made for each other.” 

You smile at him, the first real smile you’ve smiled in months. There’s a strange romance to this moment. The two of you sitting in the fluorescent quiet of the hospital, finally understanding each other fully and truly. Spencer sighs happily, taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles before saying, “I do love you rather ardently, you know?”

You giggle and lean forward, kissing him deeply. Spencer pulls back a moment later, only a tad confused with himself. 

“It’s ‘most ardently’, isn’t it? That’s the line,” he corrects himself.

“I kind of prefer your way of saying it,” you amend, pulling Spencer back in for another kiss. 

~ “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” - Jane Austen ~

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #jane austen #jane austen fanfiction

[jojoboisimagines]

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 7

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Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion. 

..::..

The atmosphere out in this grassy field felt much better to say the least. Probably the most comfortable you’d been throughout this whole race. No fighting, no people, and plenty of roaming space for your horse.  

You and your riding partner, aka Johnny, had mostly eaten your leftovers in silence. He had devoured the meal a lot faster than you thought he would. He’s still growing, you guessed.

Laughing to yourself earned a side-eye from him, before wiping his hands of all the leftover crumbs. Johnny heaves a content sigh, staring at the empty to-go box. The man did a couple of arm stretches, seems like the food really wore him out. Or made him sleepy.

Now that you had a chance to unwind today, you couldn't help but realize how calm he was around you. He wasn’t wary or suspicious of you as far as you could tell, and he wasn’t really pushing you away when having conversations. He was just..doing his own thing.

Perhaps he was too busy missing his riding partner to even attempt to start any real conflict on his own. 

Before you knew it, Johnny was back on his wheelchair, wheeling himself towards Slow Dancer to mount again. You were pretty much done with your own food as well. It was good, but not nearly good enough to start a bar fight for. 

Standing on your feet, you dusted any excess grass from your pants. You knew you were probably gonna miss this spot, but it was better to go ahead and move on. There was still a lot you needed to learn, according to your ‘mentor’.

A cool, satisfying breeze passed by as you walked back up to your horse Soarin’. It really was a nice day out. You glanced over to Johnny, but he wasn’t on his horse yet. Actually, it looked like he was a bit angry. Furious even, if his face getting slightly red was any indication. 

You looked up to see a familiar face, yet one you haven't seen since the beginning of the race. 

What was his name again, you thought...DJ...Damon...oh, Diego.

You had practically no idea who this guy was, aside from the fact he was British and had stolen the lead for the majority of the race. You didn’t particularly know him because he was a foreign racer, you mainly focused on the popular riders in your own country.

Yet it seemed like Johnny had some prior business with him, evident by him almost literally seething in his seat.

"The hell do you want, Dio, leave us alone!" He pointed at the taller man, hoping itd emphasize how he wanted him to back off.

"Hmm..Where is the Italian idiot anyway? It's almost strange seeing you without being latched to his side like a Chihuahua." Diego said, dismissively of Johnny's threat.

The ex jockey gripped the handle of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles might turn white in a matter of minutes. Though his face said something different, like he was trying to keep his cool but his body couldn't help but demonstrate his frustration.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"None of your business. Don't you have anything other to do than bother me?"

The Brit opened his mouth to say something else, before you caught his eye. The blue orbs quickly scanned you before looking back at Johnny.

"Oh? Having other racers aid you? Are you that desperate for help since you can't do anything alone?" 

Johnny sneered. Did this guy get off on confronting someone just to insult and degrade them? There was nothing stopping Johnny from punching Diego in the face (except for onlookers, which he could care less about honestly) so he wasn't sure where he thought his hubris would get him, but if Jojo has any say in it, it'll get him in the hospital.

He had been so far in his own mind after that remark that he hadn't even realized your presence beside him now. You had already spoken up before he got the chance to tell you it wasn't worth it.

"Actually, I'm not helping him, he's helping me." You corrected the arrogant man. 

Raising an eyebrow at you, he places a hand on his hip in a way that implies he really didn't care about what you said.

In that case, you wouldn't hold back either.

Dio puts his hand on his chest like a petty rich girl in high school.

"Who are you again? In all my time in this race I haven't seen you."

You knew that was a subtle jab about him being first and you being so far behind you were barely noticeable. Fists almost automatically balled up at that, but you'd control yourself for now.

"I'm sure you hardly look at anyone except your mirror. By now it's probably been splotched in horse manure by now, so really it's showing you what you've looked like all along."

Johnny snickers, and it's probably the cutest thing you've seen all day.

..in a friendly way of course.

His lip twitches, showing his teeth, a fang pointedly sticking out. Weird, you thought. You hadn't seen anyone with a fang in years.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dio tried to interrogate, but you weren't scared at all. In fact, you were just getting started on this guy.

"It means you look like horse shit, duh." Johnny answered, folding his arms. A small smirk still on his face.

“Watch it, Joestar.” Diego sneered. For someone who dished it out like second nature, he sure couldn’t take it. “One wrong move and I can ruin your standing in the race, AND your reputation--or at least, what’s left of it.”

You roll your (e/c) eyes. You’ve had enough of this guy, what was this, a playground?

“Dude shut up, if you want to prove anything then win the whole damn race and stop talking like you already have.” One more retort and you’ll fly off the handle at him.

Diego stays silent for a moment, before leaning in to your face, his nose inches from yours.

“I already have. You’re welcome to join me when you’re done playing in the mud with poor Jojo.” 

Before you could reply, he reeled back and turned on his heel. You wanted to punch him so bad, how dare he talk down to you and your friend like this..

“Don’t do it (y/n).” You hear Johnny behind you. “As much as I wanna see it happen, he’s not wrong about being able to sabotage both of us.” 

You grunted. “What could you possibly care about our ‘reputations’, Johnny? That was pure disrespect, and I can’t let it fly!”

“...”  He was looking at the ground now, seeming like he was trying to find whatever reason he could to prevent you from firing off. Johnny sighs.

“Look, I’ll be straightforward with you. I’m not in the race for money or status.”

You turned around at that, fairly confused.

“I’m in this race to..learn a technique from my friend, Gyro. I could care less about the stuff Diego desperately wants me to so he can have ammo to bug me with. However, you seem pretty set on trying to prove yourself that you can do this. I’ve seen it when we train.”

“..Seen what?”

Johnny pauses.

“Your determination. This is probably gonna sound dumb, but your eyes, they’ve been different. Like there’s some kind of fire in them now. Honestly, since joining this race, I can relate. Its part of why i’m still deciding to help you after you’ve..” His eyes become sarcastically half lidded. “Gotten me into almost two fights now.”

A scoff escapes your lips. What on Earth was this man saying anymore? Though you wouldn’t deny, it was a bit encouraging to hear.

The scoff was a bit off-putting to him, and he took another pause. He looked a little...flustered? You weren’t sure what that meant. Did you make him feel stupid on accident?

“That’s why...I’m not letting you take the chance to have Diego potentially ruin all your chances. This training would be for nothing.”

Something inside you suspected there was another reason, but you wouldn’t question it. Walking forward to him, you bent over to meet his eye level in his chair.

“Fine. I’ll beat up Diego after the race is over. Let’s get to our horses.” You take the wheelchair handles and starting walking towards Slow Dancer.

You couldn’t see it but, Johnny had a faint smile on his face.

#jjba #jojo #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #diego brando x reader #Johnny Joestar #diego brando #johnny joestar x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Steel Ball Run #jojo part 7

[amuhseen2003]

SANDERS SIDES KARAOKE: GOTHIC LITERATURE MUSICALS EDITION

Okay, so after four years of being in the Sanders Sides fandom, I’m going to attempt to write some headcanons. Here we go.

Since it’s well-known in fanon that the sides do have karaoke sessions, imagine what would happen if they sang musicals based on gothic literature.

Roman’s happy because broadway, duh, Logan is happy because it’s canon that he enjoys gothic literature since he dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster for Halloween, same reason for Virgil and Patton’s happy that his family is bonding. He made extra cookies for the occasion. He’s dangerous like that. 

(I headcanon that when Thomas had to write analyses of gothic literature novels for school, Virgil, Roman and Logan would work together to come up with stuff and write the best essays in class and Patton would be so proud of them)

I’m not going to count Les Mis because I’m not too sure if that counts as gothic literature and whilst the Hunchback of Notre Dame is indeed gothic (trust me I read that in a plane once. An entire, like, ten pages is dedicated to describing the scenery) I don’t think it became a broadway show.

Now this isn’t like their usual karaoke nights, no sir. Just idly remaining in the living room won’t do. Where is the gusto? The pizazz? The accolade winning extravaganza? The-

“We get it Princey, can you just get on with it?” - Virgil

No, this type of singing can only be accompanied with an atmosphere that will do it justice. To the imagination they go and with Logan’s (who has practically memorised every single one of these books and is not geeking out at all) input on how the novels describe each setting, Roman creates very intricate landscapes for each song.

When they sing ‘Alive’ from ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ Roman thought that it would be really cool for Patton to play Mr Edward Hyde since Hyde is literally the human id and Patton, being the embodiment of morality, is literally the superego (although to be fair, Patton is also shown to be quite childish and impulsive since he’s also the base of Thomas’ emotions and Hyde is impulsive because he’s a way for Jekyll to act on his own emotions - especially since the only crime that Hyde does in the book are him over-reacting with his anger by beating a man to death. And in the novella, Jekyll writes that he and Hyde are like father and son and that Hyde is actually younger than Jekyll is, he does have that sense of childishness that Patton has only instead of that childishness being good and helpful, it’s bad and hurtful. Plus in the soundtrack of Alive, whilst Anthony Warlow does sing about how good being evil feels like, he also sounds like he is crying tears of joy of being able to be himself, the first words post-transformation being freedom and anyways these are supposed to be fun headcanons not analytical headcanons so I digress…)

Anyways Patton is happy to play the villain because “look kiddos, Roman conjured up this really swell cape” “the correct term is cloak” “and check out this top hat and cane!” and he’s just belting out the words and froliking around Victorian London without a care in the world, making his cape swoosh in the wind.

“Patton I would advise you not to take your shoes off. This is nineteenth-century London with people dying of cholera by the dozens, your feet could catch a myriad of infections.”

“Worry not, specs, the scenery is merely an illusion. I would never allow for our dear padre to succumb to the villain of illness”

“Aww, thanks kiddo (cue Patton’s sunshine smile) now where was I? IT’S THE FEELING OF BEING ALIVE! FILLED WITH EVIL AND TRULY ALIVE!”

They have Logan sing ‘I Need To Know’ because a doctor of science singing about wanting to expand his knowledge and having that thirst to do whatever it takes to get said knowledge. That is a Logan Sanders song right there. At first he’s like “why do I have to sing. I was happy enough giving directions and helping you with the scenery” but Roman creates this big scientific library that could rival the one from Beauty and the Beast/ laboratory from that’s practically the identical to Jekyll’s lab in the book and he’s like “Fine” like he isn’t enjoying himself. He is. They all know it. He’s not fooling anyone

Patton and Roman sing ‘Bring on the men’ together (yes, whilst wearing dresses) whilst Virgil and Logan drink apple juice from those big british beer glasses in the mind-scape created Red Rat (which Logan is quick to point out doesn’t exist and is vocally upset at how the musical adaptation added unnecessary romantic subplots with Lisa and Lucy when the book itself only had three background female characters who were only there for like one paragraph. He’s even more upset at the other inaccuracies with the book like how in the play Jekyll creates his formula as a cure for mental illness and Hyde was accidental whilst in the book he did it because he wanted to indulge in sin without fearing the consequences and Hyde, whilst not being exactly what he wanted, was actually created on purpose or how in the book Hyde only kills one man and in the musical he kills practically everyone except for the one person he did kill. Virgil pats him on the back with sympathy). Roman and Virgil are sniggering at the sexual euphemisms at the end of the song whilst Patton’s confused. She just seems really enthusiastic about food.

Roman sings both parts of ‘Confrontation’ by himself. He gets a standing ovation.

He also does ‘Transformation’. The problem is that he was so good at sounding like he was in complete agony and near death that they had to stop the song prematurely because Patton was getting upset. Don’t worry, Pat gets lots of cuddles by Roman afterwords.

(You know what I might do some sides reacting to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde later because 1. It’s my favourite book and 2. All four of them would have very interesting takes on it)

From the Frankenstein musical Virgil plays the criminal from ‘Say Amen’ because he wants to (seriously, the guy’s first words in the song are ‘I curse the day that I was born into a world so black with hate’) and Logan plays Victor Frankenstein but Patton refuses for his son to even pretend to be executed by the noose so they have Roman play a man wearing a british executioner outfit with a foam sword and the creative side just bonks the anxious side on the neck with it. Logan despairs about the historical inaccuracy from his place in the stands whilst Patton is cheering next to him. Patton also hands him an extra jumper to keep him warm in the Switzerland cold. 

“Patton, I am grateful that you are thinking of my health but no one in eighteenth century Switzerland wore bright blue jumpers with cartoon kittens on them”

“Really, Logan, are you paw-sitive?”

“I would like to change places with Virgil. Immediately” 

Roman and Logan turn ‘Birth to my creation’ into a duet because Logan enjoys the scientific aspect of it and Roman can’t resist the drama (of course). He goes all out. He makes Victor’s lab perfect to the smallest detail (and cheers when Logan’s eyes start lighting up and he does that cute clappy thing when he’s excited), he conjures a storm and makes lightning strike at the best moments of the song. He even creates a ‘wretch’ (what Victor calls the monster in the book. I’ve heard that it’s name is Adam but all I remember from the novel is Victor calling himself god and the creature his Adam) to lie on the table. 

“And we didn’t even have to go grave-robbing for it. Or drop out of University.” - Roman

“No matter how many times I wanted to.” - Virgil

Roman and Virgil do most of the songs from Dracula. The creative side creates this huge, expensive-looking window-balcony thing with glass double doors and billowing silk curtains so that he could dramatically sing ‘the longer I live’ whilst the wind blows through his hair and he dramatically drapes himself on the balustrade so that the light from the full moon hits his figure just right. Patton’s close to crying.

Logan is very eager to give as many facts as he can about nineteenth-century mental institutions for ‘The Master’s Song’. He gets really into the history behind certain treatments and different cases. Roman plays Renfield and the others play doctors. 

Virgil is super into Dracula’s castle during ‘Life after life’. He and Roman duet that song wearing all-black. Logan tries to help Patton’s slight fear by telling him the history behind different pieces of architecture.

Patton plays Christine during Phantom of the Opera

Roman, Virgil and Logan sing ‘A story told’ from The Count of Monte Cristo around a circular table in a dimly lit tavern. Patton takes pictures and drinks hot chocolate in the sidelines.

#sanders sides #sanders sides headcanon #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #lamp #calm #lamp/calm

[wyrmblogging]

OK THOUGHTS ON PEBBLE BRAIN SO FAR

written as i, a fucker who sometimes cannot hear properly, listen to the new lovejoy EP (AND I DO RECCOMEND LISTENING TO IT WHILE READING THIS ASDGHKGHKSD) https://youtu.be/twbZII_djEo

track 1 - Oh Yeah, You Gonna Cry? 6/10 see. you have a title like that. and then i cannot hear it anywhere in the song. however someone gets insulted for looking like their dad and then the great line "how the fuck did she [your girlfriend] end up with you] so uh. good song? but not my taste really 😔

track 2 - Model Buses 8/10 THE GUITAR AND BASS AT THE START. YES. AMAZING. also that funky bass in the back??? oh my god i love this!! WHO THE FUCK HAS A RECEDING HAIRLINE??? you're so right, i am scared of the future!! OOO CLAP CLAP CLAP IN THE BACKGROUND!! DRUMS????? POG POG POG DRUM SOLO-ISH???? i cannot really hear what wilbur is singing in any of this except for "you're just scared of the future" uhm.

track 3 - Concrete 9/10 hell yeah conk crete babey DRUMS IN THE START YES YES YES AND BASS?????? Y E S OH THIS IS A GOOD SONG!! YES!!!! what. saliva???? salt???????? KIDNEY STONES??? who the fuck is cheating(???) i heard a very quiet mention of concrete..??? this seems very british. OO LISTEN TO YOU??? h. hitting yourself??? not sure how i feel abt the lead-up to the chorus.... hm. OK THIS POST-CHORUS THING SLAPS??? OOO I LIKE THIS

track 4 - Perfume ✨HE/THEY REP✨/10 i think this is the one where the (ex??) gf's new partner uses he/they pronouns which is funny bc i use he/they pronouns therefore i stole wilbur soot's gf thank you for coming to my ted talk anyways onto the song FUNKY LEAD IN??? I CAN HEAR WILBUR'S VOICE WELL??? OH MY GOD "THEY LOOK LIKE A PRICK" YES THIS IS THE HE/THEY REP I WANT TO SEE!!!!! i can vibe to this so well amazing yes yes good song mhm mhm OOO PERFUME YES MENTION THE NAME OF THE SONG YESSSSSS ...ex-bf is a police man..???? uh. acab!!! anyways!! yes this song is a banger ye3sssss banger banger banger banger banger drumsssssssssss yes bonk bonk bonk bonk ok i like this song <3 taxi???? UH OH. DID. DID THE HE/THEY ICON GHOST THE GF????? O H NOOOOO still a banger

track 5 - You'll Understand When You're Older 10/10 the title makes me want to think this is Big Brother Wilbur Soot giving u advice but i'm sure that's not what it is. solid lead in so far (who the Fuck is playing the trumpet) oooo ok guitar??? i likey??? mhm??? AKSLJEGHDKJLGH WELL SHIT!! TELL US SOMETHING NEW!!! ok is this a love song. IMAGINE THE THINGS HE'D DO TO YOU??? OKAY??? IF THERE WEREN'T SO MANY CAMERAS???? who has a secret and why are they sleep talking. WHO'S BEEN BANNED FROM THE KITCHEN OVER OSHA VIOLATIONS. WE'RE STEALING DAD'S CAR????? ok once again sleeptalking abt dark secrets but then BANGER GUITAR SOLO@#!#@@!!!!@!#!$! HELL YEAH I LIKE THESE CHORDS N SHIT and it ends with a quiet exclamation of "fuck." good song good song

track 6 - The Fall 8/10 OOH? DUH DUH DUH???? HELLO??? broken nose. .p. pog???? ok we're going on vacation!! (holiday for british "people" /j) fucking scared!!! swag!! i can get down with that!!!! cymbal pog. mhm mhm country house????? license plate?????? GROCERY STORES???? TREADMILL??? HELL YEAH GUITAR SOLO come one and all??? fucking species??? bugs having sex????? what???? dah. dah. dah. dah. ok and. we're done?? yep we're done!!!!

track 7 - It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! 9/10 THIS IS THE ONE TOMMY WANTED TO KEEP HE BETTER HAVE GOOD TASTE GO WHITE BOY GO YES I LIKE THIS INTRO?? THNGS ARE LOOKING UP??? "lost the passion that comes with living" ahah/ aha???? "SINCE I STARTED UNIVERSITY." OH. FUCK YEAH. SEX??? oh. sextant. that took me too long to realize what it was supposed to be. CHORUS POG!!!! WRAP YOUR ARMS AROUND MY CORTEX????? IM LIKE A FUCKING DISEASE???? oh shit breakup???? pain or sickness???? apathy!!!! woo!!! "he's just another man" so true bestie so true. DEEP VOICEEEE marraige. ew. /j PICKING A LOCK??? WE COMMITING CRIMES??? KNIVES? STABBING???? HUH???? oh yeah woo yeah chorus woo yeah oooh yeah CATJAM>>> ON THE SCREEN. THANK YOU EDITOR????? VERY SWAG!!!!! CATJAM CATJAM CATJAM CATJAM I AGREE CATJAM TO IT'S OK maybe use a sextant thank you wimblur soot very swag. i think tommy has a good taste in music.

Final Thoughts:

perfume is immediately going on all of my playlists, as is you'll understand when you're older. and iaf!iap! is as well. those r my top three that i want to listen to on repeat for hours. cannot wait for the 14th hehehe

#lovejoy #pebble brain #wilbur soot #mmm good soup

[willow-salix]

FabFiveFeb Alan!

Finally got this bugger edited, so here it is, my offering for Alan week of @gumnut-logic​ FabFiveFeb. Once again I’ve written what my daughter plotted with a few of my own tweaks thrown in.

“Is there really nothing else to do around here?” Alan whispered to Selene, jolting her awake from the sleepy doze she was enjoying stretched out on a sun lounger. “How can you just lay around here all day?”

“Like you don’t do the same every day at home?” she grumbled, stretching out in an effort to wake up. She'd never admit it, but she was getting a bit bored with having nothing to do, hence the impromptu nap time. 

“That’s different, I’ve got things there to do.”

“You mean you have technology?” Selene grinned evilly. “Whereas here it’s-”

“Like I’ve gone back in time to 2015 and the graphics suck, " he groaned. 

“Come on, it’s not that bad, don’t you like the peace and quiet?” Selene’s family home was indeed very quiet, set apart from the other houses on the street, it backed out into a small but flower filled garden that held nothing but the sun loungers they were currently occupying, the picnic table their drinks were on, a slightly rusted BBQ, some yoga mats and a bird bath in the shape of a frog on a lily pad.

Alan looked towards Selene's cool, but rather weird, younger brother who was currently doing some kind of yoga crossed with Tai Chi that seemed to have a little of that 1970’s disco type of dancing thrown in for good measure.

“Adam, help me,” he begged, trying to invoke the bro code. 

“Chill out, little dude, it’s all good," Adam said, his sleepy tone the perfect accompaniment to his snail like movements. 

“Nothing about this is good,” Alan huffed, feeling dismissed and beyond frustrated. He was seriously regretting offering to go with her for a visit under the mistaken belief that time spent away from his brothers with his cool sister-in-law would be awesome. But no, he’d been stuck there for three days and they’d done nothing but talk about boring things that he couldn’t really join in with because he didn’t share the same memories that they did and watch TV in the evenings. The only positive thing was the quality of the food on offer.

“How did you grow up like this and not die of boredom?”

“We made our own fun, we’d read, draw, do arts and crafts, go on days out and-”

“Days out? Where did you go?” Alan jumped on that information like John on a double cheeseburger after a month in space.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. “The seaside?” she offered. "That was always our favourite place to go and somewhere we always looked forward to, a rare treat really."

“The beach? Yes! Can we go?” he gave her his best pleading puppy eyes and she was, as he well knew, powerless to resist.

“Well…” she dithered, caught between spending time in her family home with her mum as it came up to what would have been her parents 30th wedding anniversary and the need to do more than sit around and mope, especially if that moping meant that her littlest love had a crap time.  “Ad’s, are you up for a road trip to Southend?”

Her brother paused in his Night Fevering to look at her. He seemed to think about it for far longer than was necessary before nodding. 

“I could go for that. Wanna take my car?”

                  ***

“I’m never getting in a car with your brother again,” Alan shuddered, still looking a little stressed out by the whole experience.

“Yet you’ll get in a jet with Scott?”

“Scott goes faster than 25 mph and he knows what road signs are,” Alan explained in the same tone that John adopted whenever he was explaining to her why she actually needed an investment portfolio. 

“Road signs are all part of the conspiracy, man, they just want you to follow blindly and never question where they are sending you.”

“To the beach, they were sending us to the beach,” Alan continued to bitch. Selene couldn’t blame him, two hours in a car with her brother's sitar music, cloud of vape smoke and tendency to lose track of their destination was enough to make anyone a little antsy. Maybe now he'd stop complaining when she took too long to fly them to her flat. 

They left the car park and headed towards the seafront. Thankfully, with it being a weekday and term time, there weren't too many people about. As always the sea was a dirty grey colour, nothing like the clear blue they were used to on the island and Selene could tell that Alan was looking at it with thinly veiled disgust.

Southend had been promoted to a historic seaside town back in 2038 and hadn’t changed since. The lights of the out of date arcades still flashed in welcome, drawing Alan’s attention almost immediately, the little beach huts still offered deck chair rental and the amusement park with its clanking, clunking kiddy rides and its ancient roller-coaster still drew some crowds. 

“See that there?” she pointed out towards the sea. “That’s still the longest pleasure pier in the world.”

“Pleasure Pier? Did you have to make that sound so dirty?” Alan groaned.

“Sorry, but that’s what it’s called, there are different classifications and one that has no purpose but for leisure activities like this one, is known as a pleasure pier.”

“I didn't know that, but it still doesn’t make it any better,” he muttered as she slipped one arm through his and the other through Adam’s to tow them across the road.

The air was filled with a mixture of freshly fried donuts, fish and chips and the unmistakable scent of the sea and Selene was immediately hungry.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve been here,” she sighed happily, relaxing into the atmosphere of what had once been one of her favourite places in the world. She could vividly remember how exciting it had been to hear the announcement that they were going to the seaside for the day. That meant an afternoon spent playing on the beach, splashing in the sea, eating dinner out of a paper tray with a little wooden fork and, if you were really lucky, a trip around the sealife center and a floaty helium filled balloon to take home with you.

Looking out down the length of the beach she easily conjured up images of childhood days gone by, seeing her father chasing Adam down the beach as he attempted to make a break for freedom or tried to eat a clump of seaweed while her mother screeched at Rufus to run faster and catch him.

Maybe coming here had been a good idea in other ways too, she pondered. Her mother tended to favour being miserable if it was an option, and often when it wasn't, and had been mooching around the house sighing like she was a Victorian ghost haunting the place. She’d gone out to visit friends for the day, leaving them alone and that had been when Alan had seized his chance. And Selene for one was glad he had, he was always good at sensing when she was in need of cheering up and this time had been no exception.

“Can we start at the arcades?” Alan asked, looking more excited than he had in days. Who was she to disappoint him?

“Sure, lead the way!”

        ***

Two hours later and Selene had finally dragged her brothers away from the bleepy, shiny, flashy machines and back into the fresh air. Alan, it transpired, was almost as good on a claw machine as John and she was now lugging along a whole new family of stuffed toys, all slightly moth eaten and smelling a little suspect but cute nonetheless.

“I’m hungry,” Alan announced.

“Good call, little dude.” Adam, surprising Alan no end, had joined in rather enthusiastically at the arcade, being more active and alert than he’d ever seen him before, displaying a competitive streak that rivaled a Tracy's. But, now that the excitement of gaming had died down, he was back to his chilled and slightly lethargic self.

“Fancy some donuts?” Selene suggested.

“Sis…” Adam drawled. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Selene giggled, shoving the stuffed toys into her brother’s arms as she headed to the donut stalls. “I'll get them, you two meet me on the beach.”

Her arms now free of their burden Selene quickly ordered three dozen of the delectable little morsels, something the English called Dinky Donuts, small little ring donuts, freshly fried and drenched in a sprinkling of sugar. Knowing that they’d need them she bought some drinks too and took her bounty back to the boys, proudly displaying her prize.

“I got them!” she yodeled, but no excited sounds were heard in return. “What’s up?” she asked, nudging Alan as she reached his side.

“What the heck is this?”

“The beach, duh. What else could it be?"

He scuffed a toe into the stones at his feet. “This is not a beach, this is all stones. Where's the sand?”

“It’s a pebble beach, most of the British coast is,” she shrugged.

“It’s wrong.”

“If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue or defend the virtue of their beaches, she had hot donuts to eat. 

“This is not a beach, there’s no surfers, no sand, no lifeguards, no nothing.”

“This is England, we take things at a more chilled pace,” she soothed, dumping a bag on each of the boys' laps.

She took her own and opened it, inhaling the rich scent. Oooh yeah, that hit the spot. She reached in to pluck one out, studying it from all angles, marveling at it's perfection. She lifted it to her mouth prepared for the taste explosion that was about to assault her mouth in the very best of ways…

“Sel!” A sharp Alan elbow embedded itself in her side, making her drop the donut. She watched in horror as it hit the pebbles and rolled away.

“You had better have a good reason for making me sacrifice a donut,” she warned him.

“Over there!” 

Selene turned, following the direction in which Alan was pointing. 

“What? I don’t see anything?” All she saw was the relatively empty beach, nothing but a few seagulls pecking around hopefully, one coming close enough to snag her lost donut, racing off in triumph with it in its mouth. 

“Them,” he pointed again.

“Them? What about them?” The them in question turned out to be a small group of school age boys, the oldest no more than ten years old. They were all holding a number of balloons from the pier, which were bobbing along above their heads and looked perfectly innocent. “They’re just having a day out, could be an inset day or something at school.”

“No, look what that one's holding,” Alan insisted, nodding towards the oldest looking boy who was carrying a small box with holes in it.

Selene squinted closer. “Is that an animal box?” She was amazed that Alan had even noticed such a thing, she hadn’t looked twice at the boys, just seeing a happy group of friends at the seaside on a rare day off school. Alan always seemed like he was paying little attention to anything, more absorbed in his games or phone, but here was the undeniable proof that he was just as good as his brothers and had inherited their danger seeking sense.

“Looks that way,” Alan agreed. 

“It could be innocent,” Selene argued lamely. “Maybe they are just taking their pet on a day out too?"

“Sure, that’s what it’ll be,” Alan said, rolling his eyes. 

“Honestly, it’s something I’d do,” she retorted, feeling the need to defend herself and her wish to believe that there was good in everyone.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Alan decided, finally reaching into his own bag for a donut.

As was usually the case, Selene was easily distracted by talking to her brother and just enjoying the novelty of being in a different place to one she was used to. She’d finally grown accustomed to hearing the sound of the ocean at all times of the day and night after so long in a city where traffic was the only ambient noise. b

But here the sound was different to the island, here the waves lapped gently over the pebbles rather than crashing against rocks and she was surprised that she could tell the difference. 

She’d worried, when Alan had suggested going out, that this little beach from her childhood which stood out so bright and shiny in her memories, would look pale and dull in reality. Life was often that way, your memories and imagination creating a perfect picture that was rarely obtainable in the real world and she didn't want her memories tainted by the truth. Thankfully she had been worried over nothing and was finding it just as charming as she had remembered it to be.

“Not bad are they?” she asked, turning to Alan to see how he was enjoying his donut feast but the space next to her was empty.

“Allie?” she called, looking around like he might suddenly pop out of nowhere. Surely she hadn't ignored him for too long? 

“Alan!” she yelled, trying again. He was a big boy now, an adult in his own right, but she got just as panicked when she lost Scott, which was actually easier if you could believe that. Alan was usually happy to hang near her and chill, Scott was always dashing off to look at something or other and would just vanish into the ether without a second thought. 

“Ad’s, have you seen Alan?”

“Yeah, little dude, cool shirt, strange hair.”

“Thanks for that lovely description. I meant did you see where he went?”

Adam nodded, pointing further down the beach to where the small group of school boys stood, Alan beside them, waving his arms violently, clearly yelling at them though she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Shit!” Selene was up in a second, grabbing Adam's arm and towing him along in the process, forcing him to abandon his stuffed animal squad to the mercy of the seagulls as they barreled down the beach after Alan. 

"Al," she panted, finally catching up, "what…doing?" 

In answer the small box that the boy had been carrying was thrust into her hands, a disgruntled rustling noise along with a manic scrabbling, coming from inside. 

"Oi! Give that back!" a boy yelled, his piggy nose turned up to the sky in indignation. "We 'ad ta catch that thing ourselves. Ain't no way you're gonna snatch it."

"You're not getting it back," Alan insisted, his arms folded as he firmly stood his ground. 

Selene passed the box on to Adam who was standing there doing absolutely nothing to help, his attention on the balloons floating above them. Once her hands were free she immediately flanked her little brother, knowing that he wouldn't be doing this without a very good reason. 

"What's going on?" she demanded to know, her hands on her hips. "What are you boys up to?" 

"This idiot won't give us it back," the oldest boy and apparently the mouthpiece of the little hoodlum brigade, continued to yell. Selene had seen boys like him before, usually ones with overly aggressive parents that taught their kids that you got what you wanted in life by being obnoxious, rude and threatening. Well not on her watch and apparently not on Alan's either. 

"You're right , I won't," Alan agreed. "Because that is a living creature that you were about to tie to a bunch of balloons."

"Weren't doin' nothin' of the sort. Yer lyin'." 

"You were what?" Selene hissed, her attention fully engaged now that there was the potential for injury of an animal. "You were going to send an innocent animal into the sky on the end of some balloons?" 

"Nah, we weren't," the little bully boy continued to argue, elbowing one of his friends when they opened their mouth to speak. 

"We ain't doing nothin' wrong, were we lads? Nothin' at all. Just a little experiment for school, jus' like teacher said."

"Experiment? What kind of experiment?" Selene asked, narrowing her eyes in warning. 

"Why should we tell you?" the mouthy one sneered. "You ain't nothin'."

"We were just seeing if he could reach space, like. Teacher said that people would send monkeys up in rockets a hundred years ago," another boy piped up, sounding pleased with himself. "Figured we'd try the same out ta sea like a note in a bottle."

"You are so not doing that!" Selene yelped. 

"Yeah, 'ow you gonna stop us?" 

"You wanna say that to the police?" Alan threatened. 

"Police? Yeah righ', like yer gonna jus' call up the police like they actually care. An' then wot, 'ave em come running on the say so of a nobody? Fer this? I don't think so, mate. They don't give a crap."

"Listen up you little shit," Selene started, rapidly losing patience. "You're not getting that…Whatever that is-" 

"Rat," one of the kids helpfully offered. 

"Rat," Selene continued with a little shudder of horror at the fact that they had gone to all the trouble of capturing a dirty rat off the street just to do something cruel to it. "You're not getting it back and you're not going to hurt it. What's wrong with you all?" 

"He's been to space," Adam suddenly piped up, like he was only just catching up to the conversation but still missing the main point, pointing at Alan helpfully. 

"Space, yeah right," another of the boys, a weedy looking string bean that had previously been hiding near the back of the pack, looking at Alan judgingly. None of the boys looked particularly bothered by their threats or the fact that Selene was practically spitting, she was so angry. 

"Al," she demanded, determined to win the little shits respect. "Show them that clip you took last Saturday, the one on your board."

"We can all board, you ain't nothing special," the mouthpiece sneered, not impressed in the slightest. 

Alan pulled out his phone, fiddled with it for a second then showed them the screen where a video was playing, taken from his vlogging drone as he boogied around outside Five on his astroboard. The dark heavens were clearly visible all around him while the earth spun quietly below, and there, if you looked closely, was John, in the background, sitting on the outside of the gravity ring, clearly doing all the work while Alan filmed for Brandon’s channel. The Alan on screen zoomed in a loop the loop, the drone following, the camera angle changing to show Three securely docked to Five.

“That actually is space!” one kid gasped.

“And that’s...that’s…” another stuttered.

“Thunderbird THREE!” someone screamed in excitement.

“Still think I’m a nobody that the police won’t listen to?” Alan asked casually as he pocketed his phone. "Maybe I should skip the police and go straight to the GDF? What do you think, Sel?" 

"Yep, sounds like a plan to me. They take animal cruelty very seriously, you know."

The ring leader visibly deflated before their eyes, but he valiantly tried to hold on to his ‘couldn’t give a shit’ attitude.

“So you know some people, what’s that got ta do with anythin’? You ain’t the boss here.”

“Knock it off, Wendle, it’s over,” one boy ordered, rolling his eyes.

"Wendle?" Alan mouthed to Selene who shrugged in return. Never had a kid looked less like a Wendle in the entire world. 

“Yeah, I never wanted to do this in the first place,” another joined in. 

The first one to have spoken walked away, followed by another, then the other that had spoken. Others trailing after them until the small group had dispersed as if it had never existed, all of them hurrying off down the beach with calls for getting donuts or having to head home.

Wendle managed to stand his ground for less than a minute before he gave in.

“Keep the stupid rat then!” he yelled, taking off after his friends.

Adam, being Adam, waved goodbye like it was the most normal thing in the world, still holding the rat filled box.

Alan let out the breath he’d been holding, visibly shaking, either from anger or adrenaline. He had never been one for confrontation no matter what form it took or who it involved.

“You did good, babe,” Selene praised, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, good, little dude,” Adam agreed, “here, have this, I insist,” he handed him the box with the rat in it like it was some great prize.

“Erm, thanks,” Alan said, gingerly accepting the box of rat, which rustled as the creature inside shifted around. He held the box for a second, looking completely bemused and a little disgusted, suddenly having a very real feeling of compassion for John when he walked in on Selene and Scott doing something weird. 

“What are we going to do with the rat?” he finally asked Selene, who was the only one there since Adam had wandered off to rescue the stuffed animals they had abandoned, snatching up Alan’s dropped bag of donuts and picking one out to munch on.

“I don’t know,” Selene admitted, “I guess we should take it somewhere to release it. Not around here though, maybe back at Mum’s.”

“I guess,” Alan reluctantly agreed, not liking the idea of sitting in a car with a wild rat in a box. 

Since they had gained another tag along, even if it was in a box, they decided to cut the day short, knowing they couldn't drag the rat around with them all day. It had clearly suffered enough, what with being caught and stuffed in a box and having survived a narrow brush with death. It would be better for them to take it straight home and let it go in the relative safety of the garden before it got even more stressed out. 

"I'll drive," Selene insisted, leaving Alan to hold the rat in the back seats, Adam calling shotgun so he could 'pick the tunes, man'. 

With Selene in the driving seat it was a far shorter, not to mention less frustrating, journey back to Casa de Tempest. 

To Selene's intense relief their mother was still out when they got back. She would have pitched a fit if she'd seen them releasing a rat into her garden, she'd never go out there again. 

Adam wandered off the second they got home, muttering something about a tofu log, leaving them alone to release the beast. 

"You can do the honours," Selene smiled, nodding at the box he still held. "Since you were the one to perform the daring rescue. Seriously, you did good today, sweetheart, but I'm really starting to think that I need to stop taking a Tracy with me whenever I go places, you're all the same, nothing but trouble."

Alan blushed at the praise, as always finding it slightly uncomfortable to be the center of attention in such a way, but still happy to get the validation that he'd done the right thing. With so many big brothers who had all been there and done that before he had a lot to live up to and often felt like he couldn't quite match up to them. 

Taking the box over to the bushes near the fence where Selene had indicated, he opened the flaps and stepped back to give the little guy some room. 

The rat didn't move at first, staying inside the box, obviously scared by its experiences. They stayed quiet, giving it time to make up its mind. Finally they saw the box wobble as the rat made its tentative way out. 

"Shit!" Selene yelped, launching herself off her seat so fast Alan barely saw her move. 

"Sel, what are you…doing," he finished, stunned to see her hit the ground, the rat cradled protectively against her chest. 

"Help me up," she wheezed and he did as she bid, helping her to her feet as her hands were occupied. 

"What's wrong? Why did you catch it?" 

"Allie, look," she carefully opened her hands, just a little. A small, pink nose poked out, followed by a pure white snout, a grey face and perfect pink petal ears. 

"Is that…?"

"A domestic rat, yes. This was either someone's pet or it's come from a store. We can't let him go, he'll never survive in the wild."

"Wow, he's so cute. Can I hold him? He won't bite me will he?" 

"I don't know, he seems tame enough but he's had a fright today so I can't promise anything." She carefully placed the rat in Alan's outstretched hands. 

The rat, far from looking terrified, seemed to be perfectly fine now it was out of the box. It sat down on its haunches and began to wash its face with its little paws, one grey, one white. 

"Aww, he's great," Alan cooed, cupping the rat in one hand so he could stroke it gently with the other. "I've always wanted a pet."

Selene sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next, there was no escaping it, it was going to happen… 

"Can I keep him?" 

    ***

"We gotta move fast," Selene instructed. "I've got the cage and the bedding. Have you got the food?"

"Yep," Alan held up the bag with the food, treats and water bottle they had purchased on their way home. The rat was curled up in his new travel bag, which was hanging from Alan's shoulder. 

"Right, we make a break for it, we go straight to your room, don't look back no matter what happens and avoid John and Scott at all costs. Got it?" 

"Got it," he nodded, grinning happily. 

"They're gonna kill me," she sighed, not that there was much she could do about it. "OK, let's go!" 

They raced up the back stairs from the hangars, straight to the upper floors of the villa where the bedrooms were situated, bypassing the more populated communal areas and managing to avoid any and all Tracys. 

They dived into Alan's room, Selene struggling a little, burdened as she was with a three storey cage. Alan cleared a space on his desk and took the cage from her. 

While Alan set up the cage, filling it with fresh bedding and tasty foods, Selene made herself at home on Alan's bed, the rat happily perched on her chest, enjoying an ear fondle. 

"I didn't know you were back," a voice called from the hallway, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. 

Selene and Alan both jumped, their heads turning guilty towards the door they had neglected to shut where a suspicious looking spaceman stood. 

"Hey, gorgeous husband of mine, I've missed you!" Selene chirped, trying to divert his attention as she quickly grabbed the rat and stuffed it in the pocket of the hoodie she'd stolen from Adam. 

John gave her a look that said he'd seen everything.

"What's that?" 

"What's what?" she answered, trying to look innocent. 

"That tail sticking out of your pocket."

"Tail? What tail?" she poked the tail gently back inside.

"Why does Alan have a cage on his desk that he's trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hide by standing in front of it?" 

"To put Gordon in?" 

One sleek ginger eyebrow rose and they both knew they were wasting their time. They were well and truly busted. 

Alan held out his hand and Selene passed over the rat, who was none the worse for its impromptu expedition into the depths of her pocket. It sat quietly in his hands, happily nibbling on a piece of cereal bar that had already been occupying his hiding place. 

"Where did that come from?" John's foot tapped out a rhythm as he waited for them to spill the beans, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded. 

"Have I told you how hot you look when you're all grumpy and intense like this?" Selene tried. 

"Where did you get the rat?" he repeated ignoring her blatant attempts at distraction. 

"The beach," Alan admitted, caving immediately under the big bro gaze. 

"The beach?" 

"Yep," Alan looked at Selene for backup, cradling the rat who didn't seem to care about any of the drama he was causing. 

"Some boys had him in a box and they were going to tie it to some balloons and let it go but Alan spotted them and stopped them," she explained. 

John glanced at the rat, who was looking very adorable and fat. 

Ever the master of managing her husband, Selene got to her feet and crossed the room to wrap her arms around John's middle. 

"Alan was great, he sprung into action before I even knew what was going on. He rescued him, and really, isn't that what International Rescue does? Rescue people?" 

"That's not a person, that's a rat," John argued, but she could tell he was weakening. 

"Did I mention that I missed you?" she grinned, standing on tiptoes to place a little kiss on his chin. 

John's sigh of surrender was epic. 

"I'm banning you from ever leaving the house again with any of my brothers. What next, a dolphin with Gordon? 

"No, don't be silly. We couldn't bring a dolphin home in my car."

John rolled his eyes ignoring his wife to face his brother. 

"Does that thing have a name?" 

"Yep," Alan answered, grinning proudly as he moved closer, holding the rat out for inspection. 

"John, meet Fuzz Aldrin."

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