#Thunderbird sighting

[jacksonstarkiller]

Shout-out to 17 year old me who was watching TOS for the first time and used to name the Tracy brothers as followed:

ALAN!!!!!💪🏻😤💯

Uuuhhm 😐…

The One With WAY Too Much Screen Time, The Handsome One. Uhm 😶… The Annoying One 🙄

Ten minutes later

*looks up from phone* Hang on, that’s four. I need five.

Hmmmmmmm 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

… it’s not the father …

*looks up Thunderbirds intro on YouTube*

#I’m sorry but I’m a ‘out of sight out of mind’ kinda guy 🤷🏼‍♂️ #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #Jeff Tracy #thunderfam

[callme-holly]

YES ANOTHER PLATONIC WRITER WOOHOO could we get smth with Dallas and sibling!reader after sibling gets jumped?

𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - i actually really like this one which is a first for me. to those who have sent in requests, i am working on them I swear!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of getting jumped, slight injury detail (not graphic), mild swearing

Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, either with rainwater or blood; you’re not too sure which. You’re drenched to the bone and shivering, your hair hanging limply around your face in wet strands as you stand awkwardly outside of Buck's Thunderbird, the car parked carelessly against the curb. 

The window of the car rolls down slowly, revealing a very tired-looking Dallas. His brow furrows as he stares at you with what can only be described as a look of pure frustration and perhaps a hint of concern. You try not to wince at the sight as you shuffle nervously, listening to the long, drawn- out sigh that escapes him upon looking at you. 

“Just get in, damn it.” His voice is rough, leaving no room for argument as you limp around to the passenger’s side, your wet sneakers slipping on the slick surface of the pavement as you go. It's warmer inside the vehicle, although not by much, as you slip into the seat next to your brother, letting out a quiet breath of relief as the door shuts behind you. You feel his eyes boring holes through your back and grimace as he continues to stare intently at you.

“You alright?” He asks eventually, his eyebrows knitting together with concern.

“Yeah.” The word feels hollow to your own ears, and you pull up the collar of your shirt in an attempt to hide the cut across your throat. Your ribs ache, and your knuckles are split. They should have known you wouldn't go down without a fight.

Dallas lets out another sigh before reaching over and grabbing a spare jacket from behind the backseat, thrusting it towards your chest. “Here, take this.” His tone is sharp. “You’ll freeze to death before we even get back.” 

 You take the proffered object without comment, slipping it over your shoulders and quickly tugging it close. The rough material is dry and smells strongly of smoke, but then again almost everything that you and your brother own does. It's nothing new. 

You open your mouth to speak, but the words die unspoken. Your brother turns to gaze out at the empty road, his jaw set. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Walkin’ out here alone.” His voice shakes slightly. “It ain’t safe, you know that.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“I didn’t think they’d follow me all the way out here.” You mumble defensively, knowing full well how ridiculous the statement sounded. Of course they'd followed you; why wouldn't they? You'd insulted them in front of everyone at the drive-in, made them the laughing stock of the evening, and then you had walked right back out onto the streets alone and unprotected. 

Dallas glares out the window, his eyes unfocused and dark. 

“They could’ve killed you.” He states his tone flat as he turns his head just enough so that his eyes meet yours. “Do you realise that? They would have finished you off right then and there.” You don’t respond, and he doesn’t look away. You can sense the raw emotion behind his words: fear, anger, and guilt, all mixed together into one unending wave. 

“They would've killed you,” he repeats, quieter than before. “Did you really think they weren't gonna come after you?”

“I thought I could deal with them myself,” you say softly. Your hands clutch tighter at the fabric of the jacket. You feel so small and helpless under his scrutiny. “There weren't that many of them to begin with.” You trail off lamely, feeling tears prick at your eyes despite your attempts to hold them back. “I’m sorry…”

“Don't fucking apologize!” Dallas yells, slamming his hand on the dashboard and startling you. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his temple in agitation. “Sorry,” he mutters in a low voice, “It just—fuck. I’m sorry, okay?” He looks over, and when his gaze locks with yours, his expression softens fractionally. There's a relatively large cut across your cheek; blood is still staining your skin; and there's a nasty bruise blossoming across your left eye, courtesy of an elbow to the face.

“They really did a number on ya, huh.” Dallas sighs and reaches over to turn your head, inspecting  the damage.

You hum, a small smile playing at your lips as your gaze flicks towards the dashboard of the car, watching the wipers scrape steadily along the glass. “Shoulda seen what I did to them.” 

Dallas scoffs and pulls back, starting the car. 

“Oh, I bet you really put 'em to shame.” He pulls away from the curb, shooting a quick glance in your direction and frowning. “Hey, put your damn seatbelt on, man.” 

You roll your eyes. “Jeez, calm down, ma,” you mumble under your breath as you snap the belt in place, ignoring the way the motion jostles your sore shoulder. 

The radio crackles quietly, and you reach for the handle, twisting the dial until you find some decent music. The sound fills the silence, and you relax into the leather seat as Dallas starts down the street, albeit a little faster than the speed limit probably allows. 

“So…” Dallas drawls, drumming his fingers idly on the steering wheel. “Why'd they jump you?”

You shrug, staring listlessly out of the window. “Dunno. They pissed me off, and I said some shit.”

“Some shit,” he echoes mockingly, smirking. “What else did you do?”

“What?” You frown and glance over at him questioningly.

“What else did you do, kid. I know for a fact you didn't just mouth 'em off.”  The corners of his mouth quirk into a smirk.

You hesitate, biting your lip before answering, “I threw my drink at one of them.”

Dallas nods, seemingly unfazed by your behaviour, the smile not leaving his lips. “And?” 

“...and then I punched him.” You look down, kicking your feet absently as you continue to speak. “He deserved it though.”

“I don't doubt it.” Dallas says gruffly, his expression growing sombre. It seems he has something else he wants to say—something he hasn't quite managed to put into words yet.

After a moment's hesitation, he clears his throat. 

“I'm, uh, glad you're alright.” He pauses, clearing his throat again and glancing hesitantly over at you. “I don't know what I would've done if they'd...” He trails off, not bothering to finish his sentence. The implication is clear: if they had killed you, he would be lost. “You're all I've got left, man.” The words seem to choke him, and he coughs roughly to hide the bubbling emotions. He looks away suddenly, focusing solely on driving.

You swallow thickly, feeling the pain of your bruised ribs flare anew, and the cold seeps in through your clothes once more, causing you to shiver slightly. 

“I know…” The guilt in your tone is unmistakable, and you have no doubt that the second you're in the safety of the Curtis House and taken care of, your brother will go and pick a fight with the guys who'd jumped you. And even though the prospect isn't appealing, you can't change him; that's just how he is. But you wouldn't want him to change anyway, you suppose, because then he wouldn’t be Dallas Winston. You don't want to think about him fighting anyone or the trouble he might get into because of it; it's enough to know he's alive. And so are you. 

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders imagine #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x reader #dally winston #dallas winston #johnny cade #darrel curtis #two bit mathews #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle

[darksilvania]

STORMUR (Flying/Electric) the tiny bird pokemon

A solitary STORMUR is barely able to produce enough electricity to create sparks and crackling sounds, but when a large flock comes together, their energy combined is able to create giant thunderstorms wherever they go

STORMUR (Storm/Murmur) is similar to WISHIWASHI, a single small pokemon that merges with others to form a larger one, but insted of having the ability "Schooling" its ability is called "Murmuration"

It is of course based on a murmuration of birds, a large group of birds flying as a single mass, usually composed of Starlings, but other birds like robins and blackbirds can form murmurations

The solo form is based on the Yellowheaded Blackbird, one of the species known to form murmurations

Its murmuration form however is based on the Thunderbird from native american folklore. As its name suggest, the thunderbird is known for creating thunderstorms wherever it goes, with its wing producing the sound of thunder when they flap. Altough its name is "Thunderbird" many accounts of supposed sightings describe the creature looking very similar to prehistoric pterosaurs, with even some alleged photos of supposedly captured thunderbirds showing them like one, and that is why the murmuration form looks like a mix of bird and pterosaur.

Its shiny colors are based on Northwest Pacific art, in which Thunderbirds are a very recurring theme

#pokemon #fakemon #fake pokemon #flying #flying type #flying pokemon #flying fakemon #electric #electric type #electric pokemon #electric fakemon #thunderbird #murmuration #blackbird

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 was, effectively, the final year for the Shelby Mustang. By now assembly had shifted in Michigan from California where it was contracted out to A.O. Smith Corporation. Smith, an established Motor City contractor, had brought a level of serious manufacturing skill, supplier management, procedure and standards never seen at Shelby’s facility where LAX met the vibrant (and sometimes extreme) subculture of Venice, California.

Now largely designed and specified by Ford staffers, the 1969 Shelby Mustang was drastically different visually from the standard Mustangs, with a completely different nose and grille, a wide rectangular opening with blacked out grille flanked by 7” headlights and with Shelby’s characteristic driving lights now smaller rectangular pieces below the attractive, but largely ineffective, bumper. The special Shelby hood had five ducts, three NACA-style surface ducts replaced the complicated but entertaining shaker hoods of years gone by to supply cold air directly to the engine air intake and two extractors at the back of the hood relieving underhood pressure and exhausting heated air in front of the windshield.

A surface duct behind the headlights and a scoop behind the door and in front of the rear wheel arch that was ducted to the rear brakes continued the performance theme. The rear panel was completely different from the Mustang, housing a set of 1965 Thunderbird sequential taillights with the rear license plate placed between them and including a small ducktail spoiler. The area under the bumper where standard Mustangs carried their license plate contained two rectangular outlets for the Shelby’s dual exhaust system. Standard wheels were unique 5-spoke Mag Stars with alloy centers and chrome steel rims.

Under the hood lay the 428 Cobra Jet which had powered the ’68 Shelby GT500KR. Both Ford and Shelby recognized the superiority of the high performance CJ and made it the standard engine for 1969’s Shelby Mustangs. 

At the end of the 1969 model year 789 Shelby Mustangs were in-process at A.O. Smith. They were visually updated with black hood stripes and a chin spoiler and given new VINs. Otherwise the 1970s were exactly the same as the ‘69s making these two years essentially identical examples of the end of the Shelby Mustang series which had begun only a scant six years before.

Avidly sought by collectors and obsessively documented by the Shelby American Automobile Club, most Shelby Mustangs are well known and have well known histories. Occasionally, however, a example appears which has been out of sight for years. Even more rarely it turns out to have been little used and continuously maintained by a thoughtful and caring single owner for nearly forty years.

The Black Jade 1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Sportsroof fastback offered here is one of those rare and highly desirable cars. It was delivered new to Ford’s dealer in Yokohama, Japan, Marubeni Motors K.K., and was sold thereafter to its first, and only, owner in Japan. It has been repainted in the original color once but is otherwise completely original, as delivered and has only 84,941km on its metric-calibrated export speedometer (52,779 miles.) Its sympathetic maintenance and care shows throughout in its clean, straight, rust-free condition.

Power of course comes from the 428 cubic inch Cobra Jet Ram Air V-8 engine which Ford and Shelby conservatively rated at 335 horsepower at 5,200rpm and a gut-wrenching 440 lb-ft torque at 3,400rpm. It puts the power through Ford’s highly regarded C-6 automatic transmission and Traction-Lok differential with high speed 3.00:1 gearing that takes full advantage of the CJ engine’s torque. In addition to the highly desirable drivetrain specification it is loaded with options including the Visibility Group, Goodyear white letter tires, Sport Deck folding rear seat, power front disc brakes, power steering, tilt steering column, Selectaire air conditioning, AM/8-track stereo radio, tinted glass, deluxe belts, tachometer and trip odometer.

It is finished in one of the Shelby Mustang’s most attractive colors, Black Jade. The interior and high back buckets seats are upholstered in black Clarion Knit/Corinthian vinyl that complements with Black Jade exterior.

It returned to the U.S. in 2006 but has never been titled by its current owner so it remains a one-owner car. Its absolutely clear history, one-owner provenance, highly original condition with known mileage and extensive options list are attributes shared by few Shelby Mustangs of this age. This is a rare opportunity for an astute collector to acquire a particularly significant, unmolested Shelby Mustang from the last, and most highly developed, series.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

Powered by a 428ci V8 engine mated to a C6 automatic transmission, this beauty includes the original #Shelby owner card, a copy of the Shelby work order and Window Sticker.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

#Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback #Shelby Mustang GT500 #Shelby Mustang #Mustang #Shelby #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #ford

[muddyorbsblr]

winter warmers collection: excuses & opportunities

See all the Winter Warmers pieces here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: Loki has some questions about the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none, really…this is a fluff piece; maybe a few words Mr Satchel wouldn't approve of idk… [let me know if i missed something!]

"Hey, Thunderbirds, look up," Stark hollered from his seat in the common area at Thor and Jane, who were currently engrossed in a conversation by the kitchen. They turned to look at Stark, who simply pointed at something over their heads. 

The couple looked up at the mistletoe seemingly innocently hanging above their heads, giving each other a beaming smile before he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips that got the astrophysicist giggling against him. 

You felt the couch dip beside you and you looked over, stifling a blushing smile, as you saw Loki occupying the space next to you. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to be apprised on this particular Midgardian tradition, dear Y/N," he started, pointing towards his brother and Jane. "The plant…" 

The curiosity on his face caused you to giggle, prompting an amused smile to grace his features.

"What is it that you've found so amusing, darling?" 

Despite your logic protesting that it was completely unwarranted, your heart still skipped a beat whenever he called you that. Especially when he paired that up with draping his arm on the couch behind you, shifting ever so slightly closer to you so that his thigh was pressed to yours. 

And now it was the proximity making you giggle. You took a breath to calm yourself before answering. "It's just a bit funny to me that you're curious about mistletoe when the legends here on Earth kind of…pin the origin story of mistletoe on you." 

Sadly he didn't seem to find that amusing, because his little smile faded into a grimace at your words. "I suppose that would be something along the lines of me using the plant to kill someone," he inferred with a scoff, the pain evident in his eyes as he realized that this was yet another thing humans blamed him for. 

"I'll skip the misinformation, then," you told him, placing your hand on his knee without thinking and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Stupid humans probably got it all wrong anyways." He turned his gaze to you, his eyes full of visible disbelief at your words. "How about we go straight to the tradition part?" 

He gave you a soft smile as he nodded slowly. "I would quite like that, darling. Thank you," he said in hushed tones, trying to keep your conversation your own as more of the team entered the common area. You tried to keep your breathing steady as he covered your hand with his. 

"Well the tradition is that whenever two people are standing under mistletoe, they're 'obligated' to kiss. The superstitionbehind that being that if a woman refuses a kiss under the mistletoe, she'll be unfruitful in her relationships until the next Christmas." 

"That's coercion," he grumbled, clearly disagreeing with the latter half of the information you just departed.

You shrugged. "You're not wrong, Mischief. But it's mostly lighthearted fun nowadays. Now, if two people get caught under the mistletoe, they can choose to do what your brother and his girlfriend just did, or they can be playful about it if they're not that into each other. There's a workaround for everything," you finished lightheartedly. 

"Babes, we're back and we have the supplies!" Nat called out to you as she and Wanda crossed the common area and walked straight to the kitchen. 

"We've also procured the baby," Wanda topped off as little Morgan Stark trailed in behind her, her little feet running straight to you as she caught sight of you sitting on the couch.

"Auntie Y/N!" she squealed as she jumped into your lap. "Come on, we're making cookies for Santa!" She proceeded to pull on your free hand as she hopped off onto the floor.

"Alright, baby, I'm coming I'm coming," you answered with a chuckle, turning back to the god beside you. "Well, that's my cue…" you trailed off as you slowly rose from the couch, stifling a smile as you realized that despite the motion, he hadn't let go of your hand yet.

You fought not to blush as you watched him bring your hand up to his lips. "Thank you, darling. For--For your kindness. Your patience." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours until he released your hand with a smile that lit up his eyes, tugging at your heartstrings. 

"Anytime, Mischief," you breathed out, allowing yourself to be tugged into the kitchen by the tiny Stark.

"Thanks for making sure Morgan doesn't catch wind of us tonight, jellybean," Tony whispered as you closed the door to his daughter's room after tucking her in, promising her that when she woke up in a few short hours, Santa's gifts for her would be under the tree. Meanwhile, Tony was busy in the common area setting up those very gifts under the tree for her and snacking on the contents of the plate of "cookies for Santa".

"Sure thing, Tony. But you do know that sooner or later you have to tell her that this is all a big illusion, right? There is no Santa?" you shot back as you walked down the hall towards your apartment.

"Eh. She's a little genius. Hopefully she'll figure it out herself and we don't have to break the news to her and be the bad guys that took away Santa." You rolled your eyes at his preferred outcome. "When it's your turn, jellybean, you'll realize that you're gonna wanna avoid as many of the tough conversations as you can. And that the whole Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy aren't real is a very tough conversation." 

"Good thing I'm perpetually alone then," you shot back. "Not gonna have to worry about those conversations any time soon." 

"Really? No plans? No even with a certain god you had a conversation with about mistletoe recently?" You shot the billionaire a look that had him putting his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it, Y/N. Bambi hates damn near everyone in this team. He tolerates Thor and Jane because they're his family. But you? He likes you." 

"Maybe you're mistaking tolerance for lack of hostility because surprise surprise, Tony, I actually try to be nice to him," you quipped, poking him in the shoulder to emphasize your point. 

"Believe what you wanna believe, jellybean, but the second you two get together, you give me your 'You were right and I was wrong' speech in front of the entire team. Without a shred of sarcasm. From you or Rock of Ages." You stepped into the elevator as you rolled your eyes at his confidence. "Merry Christmas, Y/N. Ready that speech." 

"Merry fuck you, too, Stark." 

Once you got to the hall leading to your apartment, you nearly stopped in your tracks once you caught sight of Loki waiting by the door. "Hey, Mischief…" you said cautiously, greeting him with a tentative smile. "What's up?" 

With a wave of his hand, a gift box appeared in a flash of green, landing softly in your hands. "I would rather we not have an audience when I gave you your gift." 

A strange feeling bloomed in your heart. Something almost feeling like…hope. Hope that maybe--even though it meant that you needed to prepare a speech--just maybe Stark was actually on to something. "You didn't have to get me anything," you told him, your voice coming out so faintly it could have been a whisper.

He placed his hands over yours, giving them a slight squeeze. "I know. I wished to give you something regardless," he answered you with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

You lifted the lid of the box to find a black soft leather journal with a gold clasp. Running your fingers across the cover, the quality of the leather and the metal made it obvious that he'd put an insane amount of consideration into its selection. The realization nearly sucked all the air out of your lungs. "It's--It's exquisite," you stammered, finding it exceedingly difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. You couldn't even muster the confidence to look at him. "Thank you, Loki." 

"There's something else there, darling Y/N." Your heart caught in your throat at the endearment. "Open the cover." 

You did as he instructed, undoing the clasp and pulling back the cover to find a small scrap of paper inside saying Look up. When you did, all you could do was let out a soft gasp at the sight of him holding a little sprig of mistletoe over your heads. 

His gaze never left yours as he cupped your face with his free hand, leaning in slowly until he touched his lips to yours in a soft kiss. "Merry Christmas," he murmured against your lips as he kissed you again, feeling his smile as you kissed him back.

Dammit, you thought to yourself. I gotta get started on that speech.

But as you heard your apartment door open and Loki gently took the little gift box from your hands to place it on the entry table so that he could lift you into his arms, carrying you to your bedroom, you decided that a little public speech was definitely more than worth it. 

A/N: I literally put writing requests on pause in order to create this on this fine Thursday because I was swimming with ideas but I knew ultimately that I wanted to start with something fluffy that involved mistletoe. Could I still come up with something along the way that leans more toward the smutty side of things? Maybe…😏

I highly encourage you all to check out all the stories in the first link, because they've been lovingly created by fellow Loki writers and they're all amazing cozy Winter-themed pieces that feel like a fluffy warm blanket. Yes, even the smut feels like a warm fluffy blanket; they just do. 💖🤍

Everything taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #muddyorbs writes #winter warmers collection

[gumnut-logic]

Óen (Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2

Thunderbirds Are Go and HTTYD crossover.

And here we have more Tracys than the last part, considering the last part had only one line of Tracy.

Poor Hiccup, he found himself in one of my fics and that is never good for a character's health :D

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for both encouraging and putting up with my crazy. We now know when lighting was invented :D

I hope you enjoy this bit of fic :D

-o-o-o-

He was being held securely by a man in a helmet.

Aboard a dragon who was rumbling reassurance beneath them.

But Hiccup was more concerned for his dragon. He attempted to peer over the edge and only found grey and churned up seas, getting closer as the dragon banked in towards the group of islands, now no longer in the distance.

Islands that were completely unfamiliar.

Hiccup blinked aching eyes. Where in Thor were they?

“Óen, take us to the infirmary and get Cóic to message Máthair Chriona and Virgil. We have a couple of patients.”

Hiccup turned to look at the man holding him across his saddle. He was tall, but Hiccup was used to that, everyone was taller than him. But this man was dressed in blue-dyed leather, almost head to toe, including a helmet with something shiny and clear over his eyes.

From what little he could see through it, those eyes were blue, topped with dark eyebrows, not unlike his father’s.

His father.

Oh, hel.

He was in so much trouble.

But before he could panic any further, the dragon back winged into land, hovering a second or two before the familiar thump of dragon on solid ground.

“Thank you, Óen. Good flying, my friend.”

Óen warbled and turned to look up at his rider.

Hiccup froze.

The dragon had blue eyes like his rider, but now they were on the ground and Hiccup’s brain could finally catch up…

“You have a night fury.”

The man snorted. “That I do.” He looked down at Hiccup before scooping him into his arms. “And we will be discussing that, I have no doubt. But first Virgil needs to see to your dragon and Máthair Chriona needs to fill you with distasteful brews.”

“What?”

The man turned in his saddle, sliding over Óen and dropping both himself and Hiccup off the dragon.

“Scott, watch that leg!”

Scott sighed deep in his belly as another man ran up to the two of them.

This one was dark-haired and dressed in working leathers. Hiccup blinked. The man was so obviously a blacksmith, Hiccup was grateful for just a touch of familiarity.

“Don’t you be worrying about me, Virgil. You have a dragon patient.”

Dark eyes frowned at Scott before flicking to something behind them. “Another night fury?”

Hiccup blanched. “Toothless!” He struggled in Scott’s arms and managed to unbalance the man enough to free himself. This, of course, resulted in Hiccup hitting the cold, hard ground with a thump that he would pay for later, but it also enabled him to finally see his dragon.

Toothless lay crumpled on the ground beside Óen, his wings half-unfurled and limp. Thank, Thor, he was awake and at the sight of Hiccup, his green eyes widened. He crooned at his rider.

Hiccup dug his heels into the dirt, pushing himself up and towards his dragon, stumbling enough to reach around Toothless’ broad head and hug him close. “Toothless, I’m so sorry. I was an idiot.”

The dragon grumbled at him, but there was an undertone of pain in his voice.

“What’s his name?” The smith had a deep but kind voice, accented as much as the blue rider’s.

“Toothless.” Hiccup looked back at the man who had taken a few steps closer.

“Looks like he’s strained himself.”

Hiccup turned to Toothless. There was ache in his dragon’s eyes. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned and looked to those beautiful black wings.

“You can trust, Virgil. He knows of the health of dragons and will help your Toothless be well.”

Hiccup turned to stare at the two men. The blue rider, Scott, had taken off his helmet. He had dark hair mussed by the leather and metal and strong blue eyes. He was taller than the smith, but there was an ease between the two of them that spoke of a long friendship.

Virgil edged a little closer. “May I take a look at him?”

Hiccup’s head hurt and Toothless was obviously injured. A quick glance at their surroundings and he realised that these people were not Vikings. The accent, the rough stone buildings, everything was unfamiliar.

Toothless crooned at him again.

Hiccup swallowed. His choices were few.

Óen shifted beside them and came up to his rider, nudging him with his snout in such a familiar way, Hiccup’s heart clenched. The night fury was definitely not Toothless. He was bigger for one thing and his scales switched colours as he moved, shifting between Toothless’ midnight black, a silver-grey, and an almost blue, depending on how the grey light from the sky hit him. The streaks of colour ran the length of his body and were mesmerising.

“Máthair, he is exhausted, as is his dragon. I fear a wing injury. We need to get them inside.”

He wasn’t sure which of the men had spoken. he couldn’t take his eyes off the big night fury.

Óen turned towards him, his electric blue eyes wide, a familiar croon, deeper than Toothless’.

Hiccup stared as the big dragon walked calmly up to him. Toothless warbled a greeting and there was something said between the two that Hiccup could not decipher.

Black scales shifted through blue and silver.

Toothless caught him under one arm and those silver scales caught the other.

There were worried exclamations and then nothing.

-o-o-o-

Next

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #how to train your dragon #httyd #thunderbirds fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #hiccup haddock #toothless #scott tracy #virgil tracy #nuttyfic #yes I'm insane #and know far more about 700 AD than ever before

[smurphyse]

Wildflower Honey | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 10 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: makeouts, first times, fingering, soft dom!Spencer, hickies, bruises, water sex, beach sex, subdrop, aftercare, crying after sex.

Summary: You decide to take Spencer to a secluded spot to rock his world. He turns the tables on you.

It neared two in the morning before Holly and Michelle emerged from Tucci's, hand in hand and grinning like madmen. Spencer couldn't help the smile that peeled open across his face at the sight. Good for them, they both deserved it. 

Honey stood a bit away from him, keeping her distance in front of her friends. Spencer didn't mind. It wasn't the first time a woman wanted to keep it from her friend that she was sleeping with him. It probably wouldn't be the last. 

Michelle made a beeline for Honey, scooping her up in a big hug. Honey set her chin on her shoulder and squeezed her back as Holly sidled up next to him. 

"Thank you for coming," he murmured with a sheepish grin. "I didn't think this was your scene, but I wasn't ready to do this alone."

Spencer shrugged, "Anytime, man."

Holly reached out a hand for Spencer to shake, and when he took it pulled him in for a bear hug. Spencer chuckled to himself and hugged him back as the girls whispered between themselves. 

"You guys wanna hit up Tooky's?" Holly asked as he pulled away. 

Spencer glanced over at Honey, who gave him a subtle shake of her head. He didn't really want to go back there anyway after what went down with Lonnie and Lloyd, or have a reminder of that horrible night. 

"I'm ready to head back," he said instead. All he really wanted to do was pound Honey into the mattress anyways. 

"I know it's not my business," Holly began, keeping his voice down while the girls chatted. He cleared his throat and adjusted as he stood in his uncomfortableness. "And I don't know what's going on, if anything is going on, but-."

"Hurt her and I'll get my ass kicked?"

Holly chuckled, "That… and just keep something in mind for me, man. She's rough around the edges, but she deserves the world. Even if it's just sex, which I don't want to hear about, respect her."

He kicked lightly at the ground and avoided Spencer's gaze. "You'll have friends here even when you leave, Honey included. We like you, so don't screw up your chance to come visit if you ever find yourself back this way."

"I won't," Spencer promised. He meant it, and he valued Holly's words. "Maybe I'll come back some day."

He didn't even know if he meant that last part, but it was nice to know the option was there. 

Holly nodded, and they said their goodbyes. Spencer made sure to open the door to the van for Honey before going around to his side, then they set off for Thunderbird. 

The dark highway spread out for miles, lonesome and scattered with a few errant off roads. The sky lay above them in a deep greenish blue, the redwoods and pines along the road shadowed in darkness. Spencer thought something was missing, and it took a bit to realize it was the fireflies. 

They didn't occur naturally in California. The Midwest was full of them in the summer, blinking lazily in the night air. The closest thing out here were the stars shining brightly above them. They glimmered across the horizon, disappearing into the far-off ocean. 

Music played softly through the speakers of Honey's beat up van. Spencer kept his hand on her thigh, just under the hem of her dress as he leaned against the door. It comforted him, as it had been years since he’d spent more than one night with a woman, let alone worked up to the point of touching her like this without having slept with her. He was looking forward to that, and three more weeks of easy sex and physical comfort. Maybe she’d even sleep next to him after.

He glanced over to check on her. It was late, nearing four in the morning. The wind from the cracked window blew her hair back, the light from the dash washing her in a teal glow. She was truly a beautiful woman, looking ethereal in the dim lighting. 

"Where are we going?" he asked after a while. Thunderbird had only been about forty minutes from the restaurant, and they'd been driving for over an hour. 

Honey smiled to herself, but she didn't look his way, instead focusing on the road ahead. "I want to show you something."

She didn't say anything else. He didn't press it. If she was going to murder him in the woods he was pretty sure he could over power her. If she wasn't, he'd been through enough with her to know he'd probably enjoy it. She'd been right about the camping trip with the guys, so he dropped it. 

Another hour later, and she turned onto an off road. The van jumped and protested with each bump, but Honey just pressed on. They drove for a good twenty minutes before she turned again, stopping just inside an enclave of trees. As she put it in park, Spencer looked over at her again. She just popped open her door and hopped out. Spencer followed, meeting her around the front of the van. 

She reached out a hand for him, and he took it. Her warm fingers clasped his loosely, and she took off further into the ocean of foliage. The sun began peeking through the trees, and she was heading straight toward it. He could still see the van behind him, glad it was still in his line of sight. 

Birdsong blossomed as she led him down a winding dirt road. Her sundress flowed behind her like a river, billowing in the breeze. They hit another curve in the direction of the sun, and she was lost in its shine as they stepped out of the trees. 

It took a minute for Spencer's eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did his breath caught in his chest. A riverbed lay before them, clear blue water trickling along lazily. Mountains of trees surrounded the lake, spread out as far as the eye could see. The sun made its way up the opposite side, blanketing the water in shadow and Spencer and Honey in shade. 

"Why did you bring me here?" Spencer asked quietly. It was so serene and perfect, he almost wanted to cry at this place's natural beauty. It was such an intimately hidden place, surely as secluded as parts of Honey, as parts of himself.

Honey squeezed his fingers, "I don't know. I just wanted to."

She turned to him with a soft smile and adventure gleaming in her eye, "How do you feel about a day away from Thunderbird?"

"Sounds like a dream."

Honey went back to the van and moved it closer to the riverbed, backing it up through the little winding road. She angled the back to face the bank, then opened up the trunk. She had everything one would need for an impromptu camping trip inside. A blanket was spread just outside of the van, a few camping chairs and a little meal kit. She even had a traveling trash can and some food in a cooler. She went quickly to work setting up a fire for the cool morning chill and made some coffee over the flames. 

Spencer lounged on a chair on the blue patterned blanket as she handed him one of those metal cups campers liked to use. Honey eased herself next to him and sighed happily. Steam rose from her mug as she held it delicately, her knees pulled up to her chest. She’d long since taken off her shoes, opting to walk around barefoot, her wild hair bouncing down around her shoulders.

This was exactly the place a woman like her belonged. A stunning creature sitting in one of the most beautiful places Spencer had ever been. 

“I love this place.” She spoke quietly, her voice far away as she lived through an old memory. She pointed off toward one of the ridges. “When I first found it, I thought for a moment I’d fallen off that cliff and died. I thought it was heaven.”

"How'd you find it?" he asked lightly, sipping from his mug. Everything out here was still, moving only in the way that was natural to it. It was the sort of peace Spencer had been searching for all this time. He was honored to be there. 

"When Ernie died, I was still too scared to go back in the ocean. I still don't like it, but I'm good with the rivers," she began, but it wasn't sad. That bright spirit glinted in her eye as she watched the scene before them. "I just started driving out to the middle of nowhere and hiking. I found this place a few years ago and I like to come here when I need a break."

"Found yourself needing a break?" he asked lightly. She nodded slowly, then looked over at him. 

"I don't know if you know this, but I shot two guys last week." Her tone was playful, but her eyes raged with the memory. "Plus, it's good to get away sometimes."

Spencer reached out a hand, and she clasped it without hesitation. He squeezed her fingers tight before threading them together. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

Honey looked at him sadly, "I'm sorry you took a bat to the face."

He chuckled and shrugged. "I've had worse."

The sun warmed them as it rose, blanketing them in the steady rise in temperature. Honey's skin lay awash in orange and pink as it broke through the clouds, her eyes gleaming in the light. She let go of his hand and set the coffee cup on the ground. 

Spencer watched curiously as she stood and stretched, letting out a sweet groan as her arms came down. Honey turned to him with a devilish grin. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm gonna cool down before it gets too hot."

Spencer was about to ask what she meant when her fingers laced underneath the hem of her dress. His jaw dropped as she pulled down a pair of pink satin panties. They dropped to the blanket and she stepped out of them, then pulled the sundress over her head. 

Her hair swung down, landing over her shoulders and back. Her naked body glimmered in the light, curvy in all the right places and made of perfect places to grab a handful. His heart nearly stopped beating in his chest at the sight. 

She leaned on one hip and smirked at him. 

"Care to join me?"

I was feeling pretty good about myself as I walked into the river. The water was warm from the summer, welcoming and safe as I stepped further in. Waiting until I was deep enough, I ducked below the surface to wet my hair. 

When I popped back up, pushing my locks back from my face, I spotted Spencer hurrying to undo his belt. He'd already stepped out of his shoes, fingers fumbling to unlatch the leather and pull his pants down. 

Feeling a bit sorry for him, and rather excited, I made my way back to him. The rocky shoreline was smooth and warm under my feet, his jaw agape as he watched me approach. Water dripped from my body as I reached him, my hands pushing his away gently. 

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, reveling in the hungry groan that escaped from him. Smoothly, I undid his belt as his tongue slid against mine, unzipping his pants and pulling his shirt from his waistline. Spencer's fingers deftly unbuttoned it as I slid my hand inside his pants, palming his growing length. 

He moaned into me as he tugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the blanket behind him, revealing his fuzzy chest and soft belly. I let my hands wander up his stomach, loving the slight twitches of his muscles as he pushed down his pants. 

I couldn't help myself, and I had to pull away just to get a good look at his cock. He was already hard and standing straight up, a slight curve at the end that I'd personally always enjoyed in a man. My hand wrapped around his thick length, hardly able to meet my fingertips together. When I gave him an experimental pump, he bucked forward in my hand.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him through my lashes and smiled. In a flash, Spencer scooped me up and pulled my hips flush against his. He kissed me furiously, pulling me by my leg to grind against my damp folds. 

I couldn't help but cling to him tightly, moaning against his lips as he stalked off toward the water. He pulled away to watch where he was stepping, so I moved onto his neck, nipping and sucking little bruises into his skin. 

The river welcomed us, enveloping our bodies in the warm water. Spencer’s strong hands held me close, safely keeping me in place as we went deeper. The birds sang through the trees, squirrels running up trunks and over logs. The trickling sound of the water drowned out our kissing like horny teenagers, but I didn't mind. 

I leaned back and sighed, my legs wrapped around his waist. Spencer held my hips as I lay back into the water, my hair following the flow of the current as I closed my eyes. I floated like that, just enjoying the feeling of someone else's hands on me. 

Without warning, Spencer went under the water, pulling me with him. I held my breath at the last moment, opening my eyes underneath to see him with puffy cheeks and trying not to smile. Our hands reached out in unison, tugging one another close and meeting in the middle. 

Bubbles popped their way to the surface as Spencer kissed me underneath the serene stream of water. His lips were warm, both of us holding our breaths until he pulled me back above to the fresh air. 

"You are fucking incredible," he panted, holding me close. Our naked bodies slid along one another, his dick pressing against my belly. I smiled and set my forehead against his, trying to catch my breath. His eyes were intense, glinting with mischief. Spencer's hand smoothed down my back and over my thigh, reaching between us. My jaw went a bit slack as his fingers brushed against my pussy, easing his way between my folds. 

"Just look at you," he murmured, his gaze unyielding as he watched me for a reaction. I sucked in a wavering breath as the pads of two thick fingers pushed against my entrance, swirling just enough to make me twitch in anticipation. He cocked his head, "Are you sure you want this?"

I nodded emphatically, "Spencer, please…"

That seemed to be all the permission he needed. In one swift movement, Spencer kissed me roughly, his free hand tangling into my damp hair, the other breeching my cunt under the surface. I moaned sharply, the sudden intrusion stretching my walls as two fingers pressed inside. 

My body tensed around him. Spencer eased his way in, curling and dragging the pads of his fingers as he pulled them out, only to push them back in. My chest heaved with each pump, my hips rocking back down to meet them. The water sloshed around us, but he was focused solely on me. 

He leaned his forehead against mine to watch me, his cheeks red and blotchy. I could feel his cock against my thigh, bobbing up and down with the water. His hair started to curl as it dried, his strong hands holding me exactly where he wanted. 

"Mmm, Spencer," I whined desperately, bucking my hips for my release. It had been so long, and my eyes fluttered shut in anticipation when he gripped my jaw suddenly and stopped his hand between my legs. 

Spencer angled me to look at him, his eyes blazing. I clenched around his fingers at the fire that lay there, and he leaned in to nip at my bottom lip before pulling away. 

"You're too tense," he growled in a low voice. His fingers could have bruised my cheeks by the way he held me, and all it did was make me want to fuck his hand until it cramped. "Let go. I'm gonna take care of you, but you have to let me. Stop trying to be in control all the time."

My eyes turned glassy at his words, his promise to get me where I wanted to go. I found myself nodding dumbly, and only then did he begin moving his fingers again, pumping me slowly and steadily picking up speed. 

"Keep your eyes on me," Spencer whispered. My thighs twitched around his hips. "I wanna watch you cum for me."

He kissed me then, his curling digits driving me closer and closer to the brink of insanity. I was floating on air, my face heating up and my body relaxing into his wants and wishes. He kept a firm grip on my jaw, watching intently in a way that with anyone else might have made me feel too seen, but it was deliciously dominating. 

I let my body take over, letting Spencer guide me instead of barreling toward a release. We had all the time in the world, and my hips rocked in motion with what he wanted. My breathing picked up, my chest heaving.

"There you go," Spencer murmured. The coil started to tighten in that panicking way, excitement coursing through my veins as my walls tightened around him. I watched him through hazy eyes with my mouth hung open as he cracked a cocky grin, his eyes swimming with desire. "Just take it, good girl. Let me watch."

The moan that burst from my chest was pathetic, my fingers tightening in his hair. My hips rolled, grinding down on his beautiful hand as that tension in my lower belly finally snapped. 

"Spencer!" I cried out into the wilderness, the mountains swallowing my ecstasy. My eyes rolled back as I pressed my forehead against his, my body shuddering and clamping down on him. 

Spencer slowed as it waned, and when he pulled himself from me I let out a whine. His arms encircled me, pulling me in for a bear hug. I went limp in his grasp, letting my head loll on his shoulder as I caught my breath. 

"Oh, that was perfect, perfect," he cooed sweetly in my ear. Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the side of my head as he held me close. "Good girl…"

I closed my eyes, reveling in the comfort and his praise. Spencer rocked me back and forth under the water, lightly rubbing a hand up my spine. I felt him pull back a little to look at me. 

"Don't fall asleep on me now," he warned, and the next thing I knew he was carrying me out of the water. I clung limply to him, ready to doze even as the cool air hit my naked skin. 

Spencer set me gently on the blanket and smoothed back my hair. I grinned weakly up at him, and he cocked his head at me. "I'm not done with you, Honey."

My skin buzzed with electricity as Spencer smoothed his palms up my thighs. He squeezed now and then as he made his way up further, taking time to fondle my breasts. His hard cock stood at attention between his thighs, making me more excited than I could ever explain. I couldn't help but sigh as his broad hand feathered lightly over my throat, my eyes fluttering shut. 

"God, look at you," he breathed, looming over me. I reached out for him, and he complied without hesitation. Spencer leaned down and kissed me gently, his hand moving to cup my jaw. 

I moaned into his mouth as Spencer lowered himself on top of me. My head swam with the want I had for him, with the release I wanted to feel again. My arms encircled his neck, my legs tangling around his waist, but Spencer shook his head and pulled back. 

He tapped my nose, and I'm sure I looked ridiculous going cross eyed trying to follow it. "Just lie back and take it, okay?"

I made a face, "Why don't you want me to take control?"

Spencer chuckled and gave me a quick kiss. I tried to chase him for more, but he shoved me down into the blanket with a hand on my chest. He gave me a serious look, "I'm tired of watching you take care of everyone. I don't care what you do away from me over the next few weeks, but when we're together, I'm going to take care of you."

"Why?" I asked quietly. I enjoyed it, sure, but it had been so long since anyone had wanted to do so. At least in this way. I was everyone's rock, everyone else's safe place. 

His eyes were dark and delicious as he watched me in the morning light. "Because I said so. I don't have any control in this town, and you have too much of it. I think it's time we both have a change in scenery."

I nodded in acceptance. In truth, I wanted that. I wanted to let go, to have even the small opportunity to do so. Spencer reached out and grabbed my jaw again, looming darkly above. 

"Yes or no," he growled darkly. "I wanna hear you say it."

My back arched at the dominance in his voice. I shivered even in the morning heat, wriggling a bit to alleviate the pulsing between my legs. 

"Yes," I whispered shakily. 

"Good girl," he praised softly. Spencer moved himself onto his knees and grabbed his pants from our pile of clothing. I watched through hooded lids as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, flipping it open until he slipped a condom wrapper from the old leather. 

I got up on my elbows, slowly making my way up to him as he put everything back into the pile. I was getting to my knees in front of him when he caught me, cocking a brow my way. 

"What did I just say?"

I shivered in delight at his commanding voice, but I just fluttered my lashes at him. I put one hand on his belly and smiled, the other reaching between us to stroke his cock. Spencer's jaw clenched, but he just watched me with a squint. 

"Can I put it on?" I asked sweetly. I twisted my wrist and gave him a light squeeze, delighting in the way his length pulsed under my palm. "Pretty please?"

This was new for me. I was used to sex being a fight for dominance, a quick battle for release. Sure, with Ernie, it had always been special and loving. We enjoyed trying new things and experimenting, but being completely submissive was something I hadn't tried. 

Spencer nodded, handing me the wrapper. I was glad he brought it. I was still on birth control and Rico and I hardly used them besides as an afterthought, but Spencer was new to me and I was new to him. Who knew who he'd slept around with or the last time he'd been tested. 

I kept my eyes trained on his as I opened it and pulled out the condom. Spencer's chest patched red, his lips kiss bitten and swollen as he watched me back. Shuffling closer, I licked my palm and wrapped my hand around his length, giving him a few twisting squeezes. 

His breathing picked up, his hips twitching in anticipation. Pinching the top of the latex lightly so it didn't bubble at the tip, I held him firm as I slid it down his dick. When it was secure, I smoothed my palms up his chest and leaned in for a kiss. 

His lips were warm as they pressed against mine, one hand going for the hair at the nape of my neck as the other slid down my body. I moaned into him, melting into his strong presence and falling into Spencer Reid. 

He gripped my ass harshly, grunting as he pulled me flush against him. In a swift move, his hand went down to the back of my thigh and tugged it up, and the next thing I knew I was on my back on the blanket again. 

Spencer made quick work of mounting me, grinding his length into my folds. I tangled my hands in his hair as he latched onto my neck, nipping and swiping his tongue to soothe. His hands wandered, squeezing and pinching only to smooth a hard palm over it after. I wriggled beneath him and whined for more friction, and soon enough he gave me what I wanted. 

His hand slipped between us, lining his thick head against my entrance. My thighs splayed open, wanting and ready for him. I struggled to relax as he breached me, he was so thick, but after a deep breath and a pause he pushed forward. He was so much larger than me, and my body struggled to accommodate his member as he pumped himself with my cunt. 

"Oh, god," I whispered shakily, my limbs trembling with each smooth roll of his hips. Spencer kept a firm hand in my hair as he did so. He had himself braced on his elbow, his body keeping me so in place I couldn't even rock back into him. 

My cheeks flushed with heat. My vision blurred as he filled my emptiness. The stretch burned, but it was worth it, so worth it. The deeper he went, the deeper I fell into his eyes. Spencer watched me with an intensity I'd never seen before, as though he were trying to read my mind and succeeding. 

My jaw wobbled as his hips rolled in a slow swirling motion. Spencer rocked me into the blanket, the packed sand shifting beneath me with each gentle thrust. His own face was patched red, but he was taking in my expression, watching for any sign. I knew instinctively that whatever one he found, he'd follow the road it led until he reached the end, then go find a new one. 

"So fucking tight," he groaned, his eyes fluttering back for a moment as he enjoyed himself. I clung to him limply, my mind running further away each time his cock pressed further inside me. "So wet and warm… this perfect pussy…"

I needed more. I needed to be beaten into submission by him, but it seemed Spencer had something else in mind to drive me crazy other than brutally fast and hard sex. 

His forehead pressed against mine as he picked up his pace. Spencer's breath fanned across my lips as he bottomed out, both of us sucking in deep as my body adjusted to him. Each roll of his hips was focused, poised to hit me deep and elicit a moan with every firm push of his head against my cervix. 

His eyes entranced me, my mind and problems drifting further away. I couldn't even remember my name. It didn't matter anyways. All I existed in at that moment was Spencer, in what he was giving me and what I took without hesitation. 

He kissed me with purpose, using each press of his lips to accentuate a thrust, a moan, an animalistic grunt from him. Even the rushing river faded into the void of my mind. Our breathing became the only sound I heard, the sharp slap of his hips hitting mine echoing around us.

"Spencer…" I whined, nuzzling close, desperately. Forceful huffs burst from my throat with each thrust, as though he were more than happy to fuck the breath out of me completely. 

My body took everything he gave. My mind fell into a fog, a hazy gray space of our breathing and the sweat on our skin. We slid together with ease, both of us moving in time and falling further into the sensation. 

He destroyed me in an instant with this. My ecstasy stood up tall in the flowers, all bright yellow blooms at the tip. He set me on fire, put out but left to smolder in the mid morning sun. That ember stayed lit, and as my orgasm crested, my trembling jaw fell open once more to call his name up to the skies and disappear in the clouds. 

"Cum for me," Spencer murmured against my lips as I chased him subconsciously. His entire being swallowed mine, absorbing me into his chest as we became one in that moment. "Crumble to pieces, Honey. Honey…"

I shattered, my gaze locked to his. Spencer never let up, never stumbled. He was this steady presence to cling to as a part of my mind burst into pebbles, the walls I'd kept up all these years exploding into rubble. I fell apart. I crumbled. 

The fire refused to dissipate, the smoldering flames lingering to be risen again. Spencer thrust hard one last time, capturing my lips with his. We slotted together perfectly, and I pulled him tightly to me as he moaned desperately into me. I felt him cum, the thick rush of heat that filled me even though he was protected. His groans turned to trembling grunts as he finished, nearly collapsing when he was done. 

Spencer pulled away just enough to press a trail of kisses down my jaw and neck, soft whispers fanning across my skin, "Perfect, perfect girl… good girl…"

His praises echoed through my bones, bouncing between my rib cage until they hit my heart. I reveled in them, his gentle hands brushing back my hair and his sweet words piercing me like a knife. 

"You're fucking amazing, Honey," he said one last time. We both sighed as he pulled out, then got to his knees. 

I found myself pulling up to sit. My arms wrapped around my knees, holding them close to my chest as he went about taking off the condom and cleaning himself up. I heard the crinkle of the wrapper, the sounds of it hitting the trash can, but my eyes were focused on the scenery around us. 

Emotions I couldn't place swirled in my chest. The broad expanse of forestry laid out before me like an endless haven. I was safe. I was satisfied. Still, my body shuddered as hot tears came suddenly. My jaw clenched tightly to keep them in check, but I couldn't stop the swell of vulnerability that surfaced. 

"Hey," Spencer said softly, his gentle hand landing on my shoulder. I couldn't look at him. His arms encircled me instead. I wished it felt like a vice, something to break free from, but again Spencer Reid was something solid and warm to lean against, to be consumed by. 

"I don't…I don't know what's wrong with me," I muttered. My skin melted into him, my arms leaving my knees to clutch his and keep them around me. "I need to be touched. I don't know why."

Spencer's legs spread to pull me between them, his thighs encasing my own. I molded to fit his bigger frame, letting him hold me and in the same moment holding him so tightly around me I might be crushed. 

"You're not doing anything wrong," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. I was so ashamed of being seen. I wanted to disappear to nothing with the weight of his eyes looking right through me. "You let go. You didn't lose control, you gave it up, and it was glorious. Just take a minute to get it back."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The scent of sweat and sex swirled around us, the faint plume of coffee beans just on the edge from the nearby fire. Its soft crackles grounded me, the steady rise and fall of his chest against my ribcage calming my fast beating heart. 

"Thank you for giving that to me," Spencer whispered after a while. 

I turned enough to look up at him, but he never let me go. My brows furrowed together as I swallowed a lump in my throat, not sure how to phrase what I wanted to ask. “Why did you want that?”

Spencer’s eyes widened a bit, but then they softened for me. One hand came up to cup my jaw and rub a light circle into my cheek. He sighed, “Let’s just say it’s been a long time since I’ve had any real intimacy with anyone. Sex is one thing, but this?”

His palm smoothed down my arm, lightly squeezing my bicep. He hugged me tighter and gave a little grunt with the effort. “I’m not in the place to ask anyone to trust me enough for this. I’m a fucking mess, a loner, and I’ve been running from my problems for years instead of just facing them. I can’t keep a girlfriend long enough for real intimacy to happen.” “Then why did you ask me for it?” I asked quietly, my voice shaking just enough to denote a bit of fear. Not of him. Of myself, of how much I enjoyed it.

“After what happened at Tooky’s…” Spencer trailed off, taking in a deep breath. He needed a moment to gather up his courage, opting to press his lips to my forehead to gather his thoughts. I leaned into it, sucking up any bit of comfort I could get in that instant. Spencer sighed against me, “I find myself trusting you. It’s been a long time and selfishly, I’d like to let myself do that more before I leave.”

He pulled back to look down at me, “Is that okay?”

His eyes were filled to the brim with a hesitant uncertainty I’d never really seen from him. He was so guarded, so angry and lonely, but as I watched him it seemed to strip away delicately to show a deep part of him. Spencer was vulnerable, and dreadfully alone. I was too.

“Yes,” I replied softly. “I want that too.”

The sweet smile that cracked open on his tired face made my heart swell. He seemed so relieved. Spencer kissed my forehead again before pulling me in close. We sat like that for a while, the slow trickling of the river taking away some of the emotions with it, flowing out to sea. 

"Wildflower Honey," Spencer murmured quietly as we dozed later, tangled up under a blanket found in the back of my van and holding one another tightly as the day lazily passed us by. We didn't talk much, or about anything but some of the things we were interested in sexually. 

He said it again, Wildflower Honey, in a soft whispering exhale as he fell asleep. He started to snore quietly, and I smiled against his fuzzy naked chest. We drifted to sleep in the evening heat. 

Wildflower Honey. 

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: Oh, my heart o.O I love them so freaking MUCH. What do you think of softdom!Spencer and his need for intimacy?

Also, have you guy listened to any of the songs that these chapters are inspired by? Which one is your favorite?

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore 

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog @academiareid @moyo5653 @comfybabie @trxshwriting 

#routine maintenance #inn keeper reader #spencer reid #smurphyse #smurph writes #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #cm fandom #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/y/n #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #fic: routine maintenance #spencer reid imagine #oc appreciation #oc fanfiction #ocfairygodmother #self insert

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Kamen Rider Thunderbirds Chapter 5: Anything Goes! - Part 1

(Prologue, ...)

Hello guys! :3

This part of the chapter I had the most fun with! Its just... well let's just say chaos... XD

@uniwolfcorn @teapotteringabout @skymaiden32 @knyee @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @thundergeek59 @riallasheng @katblu42 @mariashades @room-on-broom @yarol2075 @river-sam2 @llamawrites @etrnlvoid @cosmic-orchaid

-0-0-0-

“Why does food in America has to be so bloody expensive?” Koji huffed in annoyance.

“Is there a place where you can find food for cheap?” asked Recko, looking semi-curious.

“Mate, we wasted less money on it elsewhere before we came here!” his friend pointed out, his British accent grew sharper at his growing irritation.

Yuuki and Taira giggled their friend before turning back to their cooking.

“Yā~, I can’t wait for Sakiko-chan to join us this afternoon!” Taira grinned excitingly as he was preparing a big chicken.

Yuuki nodded as he cut holes into the fat of the pork steaks, then beating with the back of the knife to tender them.

“I think she promised us she’ll bring the Beaver Tails?” he gave a bashful smile.

“I hope she will!” the optimist nodded, giving the chicken a little smack of pride.

As if expecting it, Taira looked over his shoulder to smile at his friends in the living room.

Recko was grimacing in disgust, “Ew… Why are you eating this?”

“Uuh, isn’t it illegal to bring meat across the borders?” asked a rather perplexed Koji.

“It’s the Canadian sweets, we were talking about! And no, we don’t want to bring anything deadly across the boarders!” the optimist grinned, prompting a fit of laughter in the room.

Taira let the chicken roast in the oven, and Yuuki deep fried the pork pieces after covering them with batter and breadcrumbs.

The smell flowed across the apartment, entering the nostrils of the poor Raider, who was laying down on the bed with begging eyes, even whimpering of pity.

Noticing, Recko went to his canine companion to reassure him that he’ll get a nice and delicious meal soon.

Suddenly, a growling noise echoed the apartment, taking everyone’s attention to Koji, who was carrying the rest of groceries to the kitchen.

“Oh dear! Hunger struck me,” he held his gut with a modest look.

“You should eat something. Some snack?” Taira suggested as he took the groceries.

“Oh! I know!” Koji smiled as he dove his hand into bag. He then pulled out a well sealed metal can. “Ah, my favorite! Canned beef steaks!”

“Not surprised…” Recko smirked in amusement, becoming aware of Raider wagging his tail at the sight of the can.

“I used to eat this Shiitake a lot, man!” his friend grinned, “This stuff is one of the things that are tasty, growing up in England.”

“I thought they were… Meh…” Yuuki raised his hand and lightly shook it side to side.

Koji chuckled as he clasps his hands and rubbed them eagerly in preparation.

“Ah, say what you will about canned beef steaks; a man’s disgusts are another man’s delicacy!” the ex-cop licked his lips.

He began searching for something to open it.

He found a can opener, a small kitchen knife and a fork. But for the last five minutes, and to his horror, he finds that the can opener was broken, the small kitchen knife snapped in two, and the fork bended!

“Let me open it,” Recko volunteered as he took the can from Koji, who ran off to the other room to grab one of his useful tools.

After trying his best to tear the lid open with his bare fingers, the biker kid stared at it with a cold stare.

“Who the heck makes it like this?” Recko uttered in a cold tone.

“H’Oh, for Kouta’s sake, man! Let’s h’open h’already!” outraged Koji with his sharpest Cockney accent as he came back, grabbing the can and attempted it to open the stubborn lid with his battle knife.

Suddenly, the tin container violently slipped out of his hands, ricochet a wall before it hit on the shoulder of a semi-suspecting Yuuki.

Horrified, Koji immediately ran up to his poor downed friend, “Ah! Gomenasai*!”

“Daijobou~…*” croaked Yuuki, rubbing the blossoming bruise where he got hit.

Taira picked up the offending can and chuckled, “Looks like we got a stubborn one!”

“Any ideas left?” Koji asked with a desperate expression.

“I have a plan! Maybe… I could use my powers to open it?” Yuuki lifted a finger like he just had a lightbulb lit up in his head.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, buddy,” Taira pulled face of uncertainty.

“It is not,” deadpanned Recko.

“We have to at least try!” the young cook replied, taking the offending item from his friend and placed it on the tiled floor.

With a deep breath, Yuuki’s eyes glowed bright golden as he stared directly at the lonesome can of beef steaks. His hair rose and waved in the air, as if gravity gradually lost its effect as the universe around him ceased to exist momentarily.

At first, the tin container slightly shook, growing more violently. Then, it bulged and twisted at the sheer force of his power, seemingly ready to be torn apart.

Realizing what was about to happen, Taira suddenly yelled, “Abunai*!”

An explosion rumbled in the kitchen, followed by a ringing silence.

“Was that your plan – lick it off the walls?” Recko deadpanned, wiping the pieces of meat off his face. He then looked down at his dog, who was licking the food off the floor happily.

“Oh…” Koji whimpered as he looked around the room, seemingly about to cry.

He thoughtfully took a piece of meat of Taira’s surprised face and put it into his mouth. He swallowed it and let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Uuuhh… I have cabbage cake if you want,” Yuuki grinned sheepishly.

The ex-cop turned and smiled faintly.

“Thanks, I don’t feel hungry anymore… And we should probably clean up before Sakiko comes in.” He added, following the sight of a poker-faced Recko, who was looking with grim silence at the ceiling.

-0-0-0-

*Japanese translation:

Gomenasai = I'm so sorry

Daijobou = Its okay

Abunai! = Look out!

#Kamen Rider Thunderbirds series #my fanfics #fanfiction crossover #thunderbirds fanfiction #kamen rider fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #kamen rider #thunderfam #kamen rider fandom

[thedryswan]

And when iR is on trial, sparks fly...

Gordon stared as Commander Sam Shore, his former senior commanding officer, took the stand.

"Commander," began Campbell, pointing at a photo on the court holoscreen, "Could you tell us what this machine is?"

"The first generation WASP hydrofoil."

"Successful design?"

"Not entirely. There was an... Incident during the test run."

"This incident?" replied Campbell, tapping his remote.

Gordon closed his eyes as quickly as possible, but not fast enough, catching sight of the first seconds of video footage of the exact moment his hydrofoil crashed nearly killing him. In an instant he felt once again transported there, hearing the noise, feeling the vibration of the collision and the acrid smell of burning. Breathing deeply to fight the nausea, Virgil reached down and grasped his hand.

When he reopened his eyes, the holoscreen showed a photo of the mangled tangle of sheared and twisted metal and wiring.

"Incidentally, Commander, do you think this terrible accident could have been averted by a more experienced pilot? I understand the man piloting this was only 17 or 18 at the time."

Shore caught Gordon's eye.

"No. The pilot's reaction time was exceptional. Even the most experienced pilot would not have avoided this crash."

"Now this design is, do we say copyrighted or patented?"

"The design schematics at the time were top secret."

"So not something, from a defense view point, that we would want in the hands of private individuals?" asked the lawyer.

Shore hesitated.

"I only ask because your hydrofoil looks a lot like this."

Campbell pressed a button on his remote and a photo of an early Thunderbird Four appeared on the holoscreen.

"To my eye, sir, that does look like your machine painted yellow. So I can only conclude that International Rescue stole a top secret military prototype."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy

[captainsophiestark]

Fresh Start

Stefan Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2022!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Prompt: “We all have our reasons”

Summary: Y/N is a non-practicing witch, living her own peaceful life in a small town after running away from home a few years ago. Stefan shows up looking to do the same thing and pretending to be human, although Y/N realizes he's a vampire on-sight. They don't press him, though, even as they start dating. When things start to get more serious, however, they can't continue ignoring the secrets and truths of each others' pasts.

Word Count: 2,228

Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst

Warnings: Mentions of an abusive family, no details or descriptions

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"We're closed- oh, hey Stef."

"Hey, Y/N." My friend and boyfriend of about the last month gave me a small smile as he walked through the door of my bar. We were closed for the night, so I'd briefly been bracing myself to throw out somebody who didn't realize or want to accept that fact, but Stefan came to spend time with me as I closed things down pretty regularly.

We'd met in this same bar just over a month ago. Stefan had just arrived in town, and after moving into his house on the edge of town, he'd wandered into the bar to start introducing himself to everyone. I'd served him a drink while we chatted, and we'd actually hit it off the bat fairly quickly, which I hadn't been expecting to do with a vampire.

He hadn't officially told me he was a vampire yet, of course. But I was an out-of-practice witch. And just because I'd left my coven and come here for a different life, didn't mean I couldn't still clock a vampire from a hundred yards out.

Stefan and I had been on a few dates since we'd first met, and I kept hoping he'd trust me enough to confess his secret to me himself. Every time I thought he might be working up to it, however, he talked about something else instead. For whatever reason, he seemed hell-bent on pretending to be human while he lived in this place.

I couldn't exactly blame him, since I'd been doing the same thing since I'd left my coven at 18. Still, I at least wanted him to trust me enough to let me in the loop.

"How was work today?" asked Stefan, pulling up a barstool and watching me as I wiped down the counter. I shot him a smile.

"It was fine. Nothing too crazy, no rowdy patrons or strange and mysterious newcomers." He huffed a laugh at that, and I grinned before continuing. "Overall, I'd say it was an average day. How about you? How's the garage?"

"It's good," he said. Within a few days of arriving, he'd gotten a job at our local mechanic shop fixing up cars. I knew for a fact he was being underpaid, but he didn't really seem to care. "I got to work on an old Thunderbird today, which almost made the oil stains on every piece of clothing I wore today, somehow including my underwear, worth it."

I laughed at that, and Stefan gave me a pleased smile. I finished wiping down the counter and tossed the rag, then walked around the counter to take the barstool beside Stefan. The only thing left for me to do was put up the chairs, turn off the lights, and lock the doors, but Stefan and I had made a routine of hanging out here a bit longer than we necessarily needed to as a mini, casual date.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good day," I said. "And that you changed your clothes before coming to see me."

Stefan smirked and hummed, then reached forward to pull my barstool even closer to him. He leaned forward, resting one arm against the bar counter and around me as he got in my space.

"What's the matter? You don't want the smell of motor oil on all of your clothes?"

"I know it may sound strange, but no. No, I absolutely do not."

Stefan smiled, his eyes intent on my lips as he moved forward and trailed the hand not resting on the bar counter up my thigh. I leaned in a bit too, feeling the pull towards the man I'd fallen for so quickly. We'd kissed before, but this moment felt much more heated and like it might be leading somewhere new.

Just before our lips met, I forced myself to pause. Stefan paused too, respecting my hesitation, even as he raised an eyebrow in silent question. I wanted to take the next step with him, but... I couldn't bring myself to do it when such a massive secret still sat between us. One I was partially aware of, but that he thought I was completely ignorant to, and one that he hadn't even begun to suspect.

"Stef... I really, really like you," I started.

"I feel the same way, Y/N."

"That's good. And I've enjoyed the past month with you so, so much. I want to keep growing with you and spending time with you and experiencing life with you."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

I sighed. There wasn't a hint of judgment in Stefan's voice, but I needed to just spit it out.

"Bu... before we go any further, I think you should tell me why a vampire is hiding out in a small town, pretending to be a car mechanic."

Whatever Stefan had expected me to say, it wasn't that. He leaned back a bit, his eyes wide in shock, and I jumped in with an answer to what I knew would be his first question.

"I'm a witch, Stef," I said. "I don't practice much anymore, but I clocked you for what you are the minute you set foot in my bar."

Stefan huffed a breath of disbelief, blinking a few times before leaning all the way back to sit up straight on the stool. I think he was surprised, more than upset, but the charged, heated air of a moment before had definitely dissipated. He ran a hand through his hair, then cleared his throat.

"Well...As I'm sure you know then, we all have our reasons," he said, completely ducking the question. He stared around the room, doing anything but making eye contact with me.

"Yeah, we do," I said. I was not having the vague answering around questions nonsense. "I was more asking about your specific reasons though, not just the general reasons supernaturals run off to small towns."

Stefan huffed a humorless laugh, then finally looked at me. "You wanna start by telling me your reasons for coming here?"

"Sure." It clearly wasn't the answer he was expecting, but I wanted to be something special with Stefan. If I expected him to be vulnerable, I was perfectly prepared to be vulnerable with him, too. "I grew up in a terrible, abusive family, and so as soon as I could I got the hell out of the house and disappeared to somewhere they'd never care enough to come look for me. I stopped practicing magic altogether because for me, magic is still tied to all those bad memories. So many other witches talk about the freeing, powerful, and peaceful feeling of using their magic, but it hasn't been that way for me since I was a kid. I still grow vervain and some other magic herbs in my garden at home, but that's about it."

Stefan stared at me, clearly surprised by my complete honesty. I'd had a good few years now to process things and get to a place of being more comfortable with where I'd come from and where I was now, although it was never the easiest thing to talk about. But I cared about Stefan, and I trusted him. Whether or not he ended up deciding to share the details of his backstory with me, I wanted him to know mine.

"So..." I started, breaking the silence after a few beats of Stefan not talking. "You wanna share your stuff now? It's okay if you don't, but... I'd really like to be someone you can trust, you know? No big secrets if we're going down the path of a more serious relationship, and all that."

Stefan took a deep breath in and out, looking away from me as he thought. He seemed to make up his mind as he nodded, still staring a hole in the back wall of the bar, and spoke.

"My brother died," he finally said. My heart broke in my chest for him, but I stayed quiet, giving him space to finish. "My brother and a good friend both. We tried to save them, but... as I'm sure you know, sometimes the supernatural bullshit is a little too much to overcome. After that, I just... I needed to get the hell out of our hometown. It was too small, with way too many bad memories. So I did what I've had to do plenty of times in my long, long life. I left, and found a new place to start over fresh. And for the record, I'm not pretending to be a car mechanic. I am a car mechanic."

I huffed a small laugh, giving Stefan a warm smile and the most comforting look I could when he finally turned back to me. I reached across the bar to take his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, which he returned.

"I'm sure this goes without saying, but... I am so, so sorry you had to go through that," I said. "And thank you for sharing your story with me. I know it's not easy to talk about shit you want to leave behind, so... I'm glad we can talk about it, together."

"I'm glad we can talk about it too," he said, giving me a tight smile and squeezing my hand again. I smiled, a little less tinged with sadness this time, and Stefan did too. We held each other's gaze for a moment, letting the loving looks say what words really couldn't, and then I cleared my throat and straightened.

"So... I know I literally just closed this place, and I usually say no when you suggest this, but after getting into our mutual tragic backstories, it feels like a good time for an exception." I stood from the stool and headed around to the back of the bar again, snagging two glasses as I went. "What do you say we drink our favorite drinks, toast to our new-ish lives together in this town where we can comfortably pretend to be humans, and play pool until we're exhausted or the owner of the bar notices the lights and tells us to go home?"

Stefan grinned and stood from his barstool. "Pour me a double of the best bourbon here. I'll rack, and then you'd better prepare to lose."

I scoffed. "Bring it on, Salvatore. I've been in this bar working and practicing my pool game for the past two and a half years. You've got nothing on me."

"Before tonight, I wouldn't have had a very good comeback for that," he said, grabbing the rack and setting it on the felt of the table. "But, you apparently know I'm a vampire, so I can tell you I've been playing pool just about since it was invented. You don't stand a chance."

I grinned as I grabbed our drinks and set them on a table close to the pool table, then pulled down my favorite cue stick from the wall.

"I guess we'll just have to see then, won't we?" I asked. "Age vs. skill, the battle for all time."

Stefan groaned and rolled his eyes, straightening from where he'd almost finished racking the balls to give me a tired, exasperated look.

"That's the first of about a thousand old jokes I'm going to hear from you now, isn't it?" he asked. I grinned, the expression taking on a bit of a maniacal glint.

"Oh, at least."

"Then I guess I'd really better win this game so I have something to use as a comeback, huh?"

"I mean yeah, unless you want to get jokes about your age and about how bad you are at pool."

Stefan sighed dramatically and threw his head back, which made me laugh. He finished racking the table, grabbed a pool cue, and shook out his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight.

"I'll break," he said. I nodded as he stepped up to the table, lined up the cue ball, and hit it with a move so fast I literally almost didn't see it. The cue ball went flying, breaking apart the triangle cluster of balls and knocking two striped balls into pockets around the table.

I gasped, but Stefan acted like he hadn't done anything particularly impressive.

"I guess I'm stripes then, huh?" I stared, mouth open, as Stefan walked around the table to stand next to me. "Your move."

I closed my eyes and swore, and I heard Stefan chuckle next to me. I'd definitely have my work cut out for me if I wanted to beat him, much more than I'd originally expected. One way or another though, I wasn't too concerned. As I stepped up to the table to take my shot, Stefan hovering over me to try to mess up my concentration, I knew we'd have plenty more games just like this ahead of us. Despite the horrible circumstances that had brought us together, we'd found each other, and now we were going to live happy, peaceful lives, together.

Nothing but countless games of pool, terrible age jokes, oily clothing, and everything in between waited on our horizon.

#fictober22 #the vampire diaries #Stefan Salvatore #stefan salvatore x reader #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries oneshot #stefan salvatore imagine #stefan salvatore fanfiction #stefan salvatore oneshot #TVD #tvd fanfiction #tvd one shot #tvd imagine #tvd x reader #damon salvatore #bonnie bennett #witch #vampire #The Vampire Diares

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Birds of a Feather

Notes:

I couldn’t come up with anything for FishTank week in time, but my brain finally offered this up for the “Fish out of Water” prompt.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

As far as the Tracy Brothers were concerned Public Relations was an unavoidable evil; one that had them lined up in its sights twice over. Both Tracy Industries and International Rescue had their ‘extracurricular’ demands, and required much public goodwill to run successfully.

That was why all five brothers were all crammed uncomfortably on a sofa and ‘extra guest’ armchairs in an ‘intimate’ recording studio, with the latest ‘celebrity’ to have been granted their own talk show. The PR people had sworn blind that this was the right place to be to “renew brand awareness”, and “maximise impact”.

After five minutes dealing with their ‘host’, all of the brothers were mentally reviewing the PR department’s employment contracts. The woman was a walking advertisement for cut price cosmetic surgery, with an IQ lower than her waist measurement, and her demeanour was as artificial as her cleavage, and once her attempts at flirting with Scott had been gently rebuffed, her attitude had turned downright nasty.

She smiled hugely, flashing her blindingly white, and completely artificial – the newest fashion craze – teeth at her guests. “And, according to a viewer poll, the most appropriate collective noun for a group of Tracys’ is a “flock”!

They all stared at her blankly, completely unsure what to do with this pointless information.

She continued, laughingly, “Of course, that does leave Gordon the Aquanaut … high and dry!”

Somewhere from the sound booth, a laugh track played.

Gordon stared at her flatly. “No.”

The smile froze on her face. Evidently, she had never been contradicted before. “No?”

John snorted disdainfully: “Ever heard of penguins?”

It was much later in the day, their PR duties on the mainland completed, and a seemingly endless flight in Thunderbird Two, before Gordon was able to wash off the dust of the day in the pool.

His luxuriated in the water, feeling his entire body working in harmony as he sliced up and down the pool, revelling in the feeling of purpose and strength. Muscle memory long conditioned for this, he didn’t need to think, so he didn’t. He just was.

Freedom indeed.

He was so absorbed in his watery cocoon; he didn’t realise he had company until his hand prematurely slapped bare legs instead of cold tile wall.

Shocked, Gordon spluttered upright, his momentum nearly slamming him headfirst into the legs. Shaking the chlorine out of his eyes he followed the legs up into blue denim, then red flannel, and finally Virgil’s face.

“Virg! Man, What the hell!?”

His older brother’s shoulders were drawn up to his ears. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check you were okay. You’ve been here a long time.”

Gordon frowned. “It’s the pool, Virgil. I’m always in here. I practically live in here. Why are you suddenly so concerned about it?

Virgil’s eyes slid to the horizon; Gordon followed his gaze.

Oh.

The sun was three-quarters hidden beneath the sea, and falling fast.

Gordon shrugged, “Time flies when you’re having fun?” he offered.

Virgil looked at him. Serious, and oh, so sad. “You don’t only come here for fun, Gordon.”

Gordon stared up at him, clinging to the pool wall.

Virgil gestured to the water. “You don’t normally swim laps like you’re trying to break the sound barrier for fun, Gordon. You only do that when you’re upset, these days.”

Gordon blinked. Was he upset? No, definitely not. “Virg, it was a long day, and – while the PR is essential – it’s not my idea of fun. And those chairs are always so uncomfortable. I was washing off the ick, and having a nice stretch. That’s all. I promise.”

Virgil stared, evaluating his words. “Okay, Gords. Sorry. I was just worried that woman had upset you, is all.”

Gordon frowned. “You mean that ditzy ‘celebrity’ interviewer with her ‘high and dry’ comment?”

Virgil nodded.

“Well, I wasn’t best impressed, but I think we sorted her out, good and proper. Unless she broadcasts a teeny-tiny interview that won’t fill the segment between the newest must-have lip-gloss and the station ident, she’s gonna have to broadcast a looonng conservation propaganda piece about penguins and the Antarctic, and look like an absolute idiot. Either way, Team Tracy wins.”

Virgil nodded again. “Yeah, between you and John, you handled it well. But the thing is …” he rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly “… comments like what she made, they creep up on you, you know? I was just worried …” He trailed off, before taking a deep breath. “You’re one of us, you know, right? Blood and bone, forever and always?”

Gordon stared, non-plussed. That phrase, said that way … it rang a distant bell in his mind.

“Well, yeah,” he managed, awkwardly. “Bit hard to miss that.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He stood. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to bother you. But,” he glanced at his watch, “John is cooking tonight, so you might want to clean up for dinner soon.”

He turned to go.

Gordon launched himself out of the pool, grabbing his towel, and scurrying to plant himself in front of his brother. “What you said, about it creeping up on you, that’s the voice of experience talking, isn’t it?”

Virgil sighed explosively. “It was a long time ago, Gords. I’m just glad it didn’t get you; you know?”

It was Gordon’s turn to frown. “Spill.”

“Gords …”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to drop that on me, and run away. It was bad enough that you’re still reacting to it. Spill. Or I call in the big guns on your ass.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, defeated. “Fine. You know I had a hard time ‘deciding’? The whole ‘what are you doing to do with the rest of your life’ thing, yeah?”

Gordon nodded. He hadn’t been particularly engaged in what was happening with his family at that time, his whole focus had been on the pool and swimming, but the cloud of angst and anxiety Virgil had generated had permeated even Gordon’s narrowly focused little world.

Virgil stood taller. “I decided on engineering. I had worked it all out, it was the best thing for me to do. I could still do my art and music, but through engineering …” his hands gestured, futilely trying to shape the air in front of him to emphasis his point “… engineering could let me build, bigger, better … safer.”

Gordon swallowed. The emotion in his brother’s voice on that one word. Gordon knew who he was trying to save.

Mom. With Virgil, it always came back to Mom.

Virgil slumped again. “Then one of my art teachers, someone who I had looked up to, admired, he – well, he didn’t take it too well.” Virgil smiled, sadly. “I think he had been dreaming of all the kudos he could garner, having been my teacher. Looking back at it now.”

“What. Did. He. Do?” Gordon ground out, angry.

Virgil laughed. “You sounded so much like Scott, just then. It’s a long time ago, Fish. Let it go.” He sighed. “I’m sure you can imagine. He accused me of selling out. Turning my back on mom’s legacy, kowtowing to Father’s wishes for the money … He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand me.

“At first, I ignored it, bitter grapes, all that, but over time …”

“You started to wonder if he was right.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. Denver was hard. It was the first time I’d been away from everyone. The course work was intense, I hadn’t exactly chosen an easy workload there. There was the usual ‘rich boy’ garbage. And …”

“… And the climate?” Kansas was cold, and it snowed, but global warming had made that a rare event. Denver, however …

“Yeah. The climate definitely didn’t help.”

Gordon stared at his brother. Other than the climate issue, he hadn’t been aware of any of this at the time. It had been more years than Gordon liked to think of since Virgil had graduated, and for the weight of the sadness his big brother still carried, he wondered exactly how hard it had all been for Virgil.

“What happened?” Voice soft and calm. Non-judgemental.

Virgil shrugged, his eyes tracing the horizon. “Details don’t matter. Dad got wind of what was going on. Scott swears he broke every airspeed record, John swears he broke physics, getting out to Denver. Next thing I know, half the college is running for cover, and I’m being all but carried back to Dad’s plane. Plane’s barely landed before Dad’s tearing strips off of my old teacher, and Grandma’s force feeding me cookies.”

“And?”

Virgil shrugged. “And we talked.” He smiled, faintly. “Dad may have been slow on the uptake at times, but once he realised there was a problem, he was a pretty good therapist.” A lopsided grin and one shoulder shrug. “Mostly.”

Gordon stared again, a penny dropping. “Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Virgil nodded.

Gordon’s gaze dropped, watching as his fingers traced patterns on the fibres of his towel. “I’m guessing …” he cleared his throat, awkwardly, “… this is a recurring problem, yeah?”

A sigh. “There are days. Shitty, shitty days. Days when things don’t go right. Days when no matter what you do, you can’t do enough.” Virgil’s large hand landed on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. Gordon looked up. “There will be a day. A shitty, shitty day. When things go wrong. When everything is just too much. When that bastard little voice in your head speaks up, and it will sound like that stupid woman.” Virgil swallowed. “When that day comes, Gords, remember that you are one of us: Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Gordon surged forwards, lunging upwards as best he could and latching onto Virgil in as strong a hug as he could manage. It only took a second’s hesitation for Virgil to respond, taking his weight and crushing the air out of his little brother’s lungs.

Gordon buried his face in Virgil’s neck, smelling the reassuring mixture of scents – deodorant, engine oil, paint, the artificial lemon of furniture polish, and that faint ozone smell that meant he had been welding – that defined Virgil.

“Hey, Virg?” Gordon spoke softly into his brother’s neck. “For when that day comes … make me a penguin in IR uniform?”

Virgil pulled back to stare at him. “What?”

Gordon grinned. “I want a penguin in an IR uniform. Thunderbird 4. How is dealer’s choice. Paint him. Sculpt him. Whatever. Because there have been days like that. When I’ve felt like the fish out of water, when I’ve felt I haven’t belonged. What happened today? What John said? I’d never thought of that. Not once. Ever.” Gordon wiggled and slipped back down to stand on his own two feet. He smirked. “Some marine biologist, huh? So yeah. I want a reminder. Birds fly; but some fly underwater.”

Virgil stared for a long moment, before a shout from the house snapped him out of his thoughts. They both started walking back inside. Virgil eyed him, curiously. “So, I guess that you agree that the proper collective noun for a group of Tracys is a flock, huh?”

Gordon grinned. “Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ sound, bouncing on his feet as he did so. “Ooh. We need to work out what everyone else’s bird species is!” He took off up the stairs, as Virgil groaned behind him.

Gordon had the bit in his teeth, and no one was going to get any peace until they had all been assigned a bird totem.

Dinner was going to be hell. But they would all suffer through it.

Birds of a feather, indeed.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #fanfiction #fanfic #gordon tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy

[lenfantdeverone]

Crush me like a flower

TW: child abuse, child neglect, alcoholism, drug addiction, domestic violence, self harm, Jeff being consumed by grief to the point of hurting himself and his children

************

One before going to sleep.

Long, skinny fingers reaching deep inside the night table, under his neatly folded socks and underwear. It had been a secret habit of his for a couple of months now, yet no one knew about it. Good thing that, as the eldest, he never had to share a room. Scott preferred to keep it a secret, despite it only doing marvels for his so far. He knew his father and immediate brothers would not be willing to understand. They all had so much to deal with, he could handle his bedtime routine on his own.

One before going to sleep, accompanied with a fresh glass of water.

Scott exhaled, feeling full and calm. The first time, the effect had been almost immediate. Lately, though, it took at least half an hour before he would finally collapse onto his pillow. It gave him just enough time to snuggle a bit into his littlest brothers’ room to kiss them goodnight.

In the past months, Scott had learned how to walk through the corridors at night. On his tip toes, slightly holding his breathe, brushing lightly past the walls. He felt like a ghost, and as long as he kept quiet, he had the whole house to himself. Cracking the door open, he smiled softly at the sight of his baby brothers. Little Alan was still sleeping in his tiny toddler bed, while Gordon had been just recently upgraded to a big boy bed (adorned with tons of sharks, dolphins and whales plushies nevertheless). It was well past their bedtime, and the two kids were sleeping soundly. Scott didn’t want to wake them up, yet he couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t. He floated next to Gordon first, softly kissing his little temple goodnight. The little blondie didn’t seem to notice, curled up a ball and hugging his favorite giant shark plushie tightly. Scott tip toed his way to Alan’s little bed, gentle fingers carefully stoking his baby’s chubby cheeks. He had to fight his deep, primordial instinct to cradle the four years old angel as if he was a newborn yet again, as if nothing bad ever happened. Scott softly kissed Alan’s temple, lingering a moment to feel the little kid’s warmth. Alan’s tiny nose twirled a bit and he groaned a bit, fingers tightly holding the hem of his comfort red blanket.

“I love you…” Scott hummed lovingly; his voice as thin as a whisper. “My baby…”

After a couple of minutes, the one before going to sleep always made him dizzy. He could take it, the prize of a decent night of sleeps was worth it. Scott couldn’t afford to stumble through the corridors though, so he had to take a deep breathe and just rush to his bed as fast as he could. One foot after the other, right and left right and left right and left and suddenly he stepped onto his own toes and he stumbled a bit.

“Did you see father tonight?” a thin voice spoke through the room right next to his.

Ignoring the question, the eldest simply smiled. “Go to sleep, Johnny. Tomorrow, you have school.” Scott didn’t know if he had imagined his brother’s worried expression or not.

***

Two before heading inside dad’s office.

Just to keep his mind clear, and his hands steady. Scott hated how is body reacted to the sight of his father’s pain, he hated feeling vulnerable when his hero needed him the most. After their mother’s death, Jeff had been a grief filled time bomb. Every wrong movement in the man’s presence could trigger him. Scott had to be calm, he had to focus and not let panic take a hold of him. He made the novice mistake of crying many times, but the pills helped him and after a while he was over it. Scott felt mature and strong enough to support his father.

Two, shallowed dry, right before knocking on dad’s door.

Jeff never answered or straight up acknowledged him, but Scott made his way into the office anyways. He had a broom and scoop in his hand, and a couple of plastic bags in the other. The room smelled as foul as always, the pungent smell of alcohol assaulting the teenager. Watching his father only half-conscious, bent over the desk, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, hurt Scott like a punch in the guts. He started cleaning the floor, picking up the shreds of glass of exploded empty bottles, carefully not to miss any. His father developed the terrible habit of walking around with no shoes on, sometimes even with little to no clothes on, too out of it to even notice. Scott was frustrated, and embarrassed, and angry, but the last thing he wanted was for his beloved father to get hurt even more.

The floor was safe enough to walk on barefoot after a good half an hour of scooping and picking, and Scott decided to focus on his father’s messy desk. There were what he guessed were important documents spread everywhere, some irreparably stained with liquors and drool, but Scott didn’t feel comfortable throwing out anything. He tried to sort the papers out on the desk, biting his tongue as he fought the urge to throw up whenever his hands landed on a particularly fresh and foul stain.

Papers sorted, Scott sighed heavily, carefully checking on his father who had been groaning and scoffing the whole time. He should have checked on him sooner, the teen scolded himself, yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous whenever his dad was too drunk to even acknowledge him. Scott assured himself that Jeff was breathing just fine, and he decided to let him be, placing an empty garbage bin next to him in case the man needed to vomit. Sighing heavily, Scott carefully took the half empty bottle from his father’s hand, but as soon as he did so a strong, ruthless hand grabbed his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jeff asked, his voice sore and terrifyingly dark.

Scott flinched, his wrist twisting in pain, crushed between his father’s powerful fingers. Whenever Jeff drank too much, he would somehow get a thousand times stronger. The man’s breathe smelt horribly sour, and the teen almost gagged in disgust.

“You’ve had enough for today, don’t you think?” Scott tried to explain, just for his father to forcefully yank him against the desk in a smooth and swift maneuver, core memory of his time in the military.

“Mind your business.” Jeff took his bottle back, mercilessly shoving his son on the ground. It hurt, when his father got violent with him. Especially because, when it happened, Jeff was too out of it to realize that the boy he was hurting was just a skinny teen, and his son nonetheless.

Scott picked himself up, looking down in shame. His father took a deep, violent sip, collapsing on the desk again, barely conscious enough to scream at his son to get out.

***

Three after his father developed the habit of hitting.

It helped with the pain, both emotionally and physically. When incredibly drunk, Jeff slapped and punched whatever happened to be in his reach. And when there was nothing left to hurt, he would hurt himself: punching his own guts and legs, ripping his own hair out, scratching his own face, slamming his own head against the wall. Scott happened to stumble upon his bloodied, unconscious father one time, and it hurt too much. The pain exploding in his heart at the sight of his broken father was too much to handle. Scott swore he would protect his dad, his hero, from his own destructive instinct. The next time Jeff turned to punch his own guts, Scott got in the way and he took the punch on the back of his head. It hurt, his ears were ringing and his eyes were filled with tears, and it had fortunately been enough for his father to get it together and stop.

But then it happened again.

No beating hurt as much as the fear of losing his father.

A punch on Monday. A slap on Tuesday. And even more in the next days. Again.

And again, and again and again.

Three, because the bruises on his jaw hurt too much and Scott couldn’t focus on anything else.

“This needs to stop.” Virgil hissed; his teeth clenched painfully. He had been the one massaging his big brother’s pain away, carefully and delicately smearing pain ointment on Scott’s fresh bruises. “Now.”

“Dad needs time.” Scott flinched a bit, a particularly colorful bruise on his cheekbone aching like hell under Virgil’s gentle touch. “He’s suffering, Virgil. He doesn’t enjoy this either.”

“And that gives him the right to hurt you?” Virgil’s tone was deep and severe.

“He doesn’t want to hurt me.” Scott sighed; his headache was killing him. “He can’t help it. The loss was too much for him to handle…”

“What about you? What about us?” Virgil snapped. “We’ve all lost our mom too, but we held it together. You held it together, and you’re always finding excuses for all of us. Why is dad the only one who’s allowed to lose his shit? Why do you have to take it all on yourself, for everyone’s sake?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Scott answered firmly, hands shaking slightly despite having his stomach filled with pills which should help him with that.

“We need to give dad a reality check, he’s already hurt you enough.” Virgil’s warm hands went immediately to cup his brother’s, thumbs gently caressing his bruised wrists.

“I can take it.”

“What if dad totally loses it? What if he hurts me next? Or John, or Gordon, or Alan?”

Scott felt bile rising up his throat at the mere idea, and he shallowed hard.

“You’re talking nonsense. He could never.” the eldest was sure about it.

“He’s already hurting you, what’s stopping him from- “

“I am.” Scott cut his little brother, his insides twisting in pain. “I am stopping him. I can take it, it’s my role, and dad knows it too. He wouldn’t hurt you guys. You’re his babies.”

“You’re his son as much as all of us.” Virgil couldn’t understand why Scott thought so little of himself. His big brother was his hero, his anchor, he was the strongest and most selfless person in the world. Virgil adored him, and he couldn’t take the defeated look in Scott’s face.

“If I don’t help him, who will?”

“Scott, turning yourself into a punchbag won’t help anyone.”

“Shaming dad won’t help him either. Let him heal… I can take it; I can take anything for him.” Scott assured him, his deep, blue eyes glimmering with pride and firmness. Virgil really hoped his brother would be selfish for once, he really hoped his hero would give up. But Scott never gave up, he never let anyone down but himself. Virgil loved and hated that part of him.

“I can’t take it anymore, though.” Virgil shook his dead in defiance. He too had to save Scott from his own destructive tendencies. “If I see one more bruise on you, I’m calling the authorities.” This said, he rushed to his room, leaving the eldest on the floor dumbfounded.

“Don’t you dare...!” Scott hissed, the pain in his head spreading through his spine and legs. Why were the pills not helping? He had to keep his family together, he had to. Or else, he had nothing. “Virgil? Virgil...!”

***

Four in the morning, because he couldn’t fall asleep the previous night.

Long, skinny fingers reaching deep inside the night table, under his neatly folded socks and underwear. His headache only got worse, his brain was melting. The pounding in his ears only got more intense and painful by the hour, it felt like his skull was a hollow drum. It hurt so much. Scott counted the pills in his hands. Four. One, two… One, two, three, four… five? One, two, three, four. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. No. One… two… three… four… four. Five? Scott couldn’t focus his eyes, counting was impossible.

Four in the morning, and he almost threw up because his sore throat couldn’t take them all dry.

Scott dragged himself downstairs, stumbling on his own steps. The teen had to hold onto the handrail desperately, or else he would have surely rolled down a whole flight of stairs, and he really didn’t need that. He didn’t need more bruises, especially after Virgil’s ultimatum.

The house was empty and silent at that hour in the morning, as Scott usually woke up first to prepare breakfast for everyone. Struggling to keep his posture straight, he dragged himself to the kitchen, reach out for the coffee machine. He needed the biggest, strongest, blackest, sourest coffee jar the world had ever seen. And he needed it fast.

Scott sipped on the coffee without even waiting for it to cool down. It burned his tongue, but Scott barely felt it. His brain took the caffeine punch worse than usual, and his head began to spin uncontrollably. His heart was pounding fast, it was hard to breathe. Did he take his pills already? Sure he had. Had he? The world was spinning. His muscles felt as soft as butter. Did he take his pills? Usually it was the first thing he did in the morning. His body didn’t feel right. Scott reached inside the pocked of his pajamas and he found a couple of pills. So he didn’t take his pills, right? That’s why he was feeling sick. Scott showed more pills down his throat, drowning them with boiling coffee.

For a brief moment, it worked. Scott hands were not shaking anymore, his vision worked just enough for him to grab a pan and start cooking eggs for his whole family. He just couldn’t let his baby brothers go to school on an empty stomach, and he really hoped his father would join them and eat at least something. Scott struggled to hold the spatula, hands dangerously close to the burning hot pan as he desperately tried to scramble the eggs. The crackling sound of boiling oil was torturing Scott’s aching head, but he gritted his teeth and kept cooking. He had to hold himself upright, shaking hands on the kitchen counter, but he swore he was feeling better already.

“Morning, son.” Jeff, on the other hand, was feeling uncomfortably sober. The emptiness in his stomach was really bothering him, and the painful sight of his bruised eldest child cooking for him hit him way too hard. The man kept his distance, not really sure of how to approach his kid as a sober, guilty man. “Do you need help?”

Scott barely heard his father’s voice, and for a moment he thought he had just imagined it, in a desperate attempt to comfort the ache consuming him. Scott stumbled back suddenly, losing his balance.

“Hey… hey..!” Jeff managed to secure his son between his arms, bile raising up his throat. He didn’t think he was worth of holding his baby like that after causing so much pain, but he was the only one who could help him, and Scott was barely standing on his own feet. “Scott, are you..?” Jeff bit his lips, he wasn’t brave enough to ask that. Of course his child wasn’t ok. And he was the one at fault for that.

“Dad..?” Scott’s eyes were unfocused, and Jeff’s heart skipped a bit. “Morn’n dad… Was… mak’n eggs…”

Scott’s eyes rolled back all of a sudden, his muscles limp and weak, melting in his father’s arms as if he was made of wax. Jeff cried out, desperate, holding his son’s unconscious body with shaky hands. He would never forget the pure hatred in his two middle kids when they rushed downstairs, immediately calling an ambulance and ripping their beloved brother from their father’s guilty grasp.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #scott tracy #virgil tracy #jeff tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds cosplay

[squiddokiddo]

More scuba hand signals from the PADI website. I thought they might be helpful for those writing Scuba!Gordon, WASP!Gordon or Marine biologist!Gordon.

Previous post

I'm turning off the reblogs on this again because this post was supposed to be for the Thunderbirds fandom only but it keeps breaching it's containment and I'm not exactly comfortable with that. Sorry.

#thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #padi #scuba #scubadiving #scuba hand signals #marine life #ive seen people tag this as asl #its not #its usl #underwater sign language #they have different hand signs #sfw interaction only

[gumnut-logic]

Óen (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Thunderbirds Are Go and HTTYD crossover.

Here is the next little bit. There won't likely be a bit tomorrow as I'm working pretty much 12 hours so will likely come home and crash. But I will give writing another go on Friday, hopefully.

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for both the readthroughs and the cheerleading. You guys are so kind to me.

And thank you to Thunderfam for supporting this crazy venture. Thank you for all your comments and support. You guys are amazing to me.

Have a little Scotty and Johnny :D I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

“He’s found us again.”

Flaith Scott O’Treasaigh stared at his brother. “You’re sure?”

“A definite report from the Wind. He was sighted just off the far southern isles. I hold some hope that the peoples there saw his true self and acted accordingly.”

They could only hope. A spear in that’s man’s belly would improve the world.

The thought was an uncouth one, and beneath his station and belief, but considering the curse Gaat had been on their souls, he was almost willing to damn his own if it would protect his family.

Scott ran his fingers through his short beard, resisting the urge to scratch as always. It was necessary to wear the beard in these northern climes. That or have his face freeze off in the air.

John had let his hair grow, well past his shoulders. Scott almost envied the warmth it gave his brother. But he could not grow his own hair that length. Too many bad memories.

Besides, there were other reasons to grow all that red hair. It hid the scars down the side of his brother’s face and Cóic’s scale. It didn’t pay to advertise, after all.

“Cóic’s response?”

“She’s calm. She has confidence in you.”

“And Eos?”

His brother’s lips twisted just a little. “Let’s just say I’m glad our flying gear is fire-proof.”

“Angry?”

“I wouldn’t advise letting her near Gaat should we ever encounter him. I don’t think he’d be fireproof enough.”

“She has reason.” Scott sighed. “We all have reason.”

But that was not the commitment.

“How much time do we have?”

“Some days, a week, perhaps. He is without dragon. He must have learnt from last time. But he does have several ships and an army of mercenaries.”

“We could stay and fight.”

“We are outnumbered and Cóic has no wish to expose our family to war.”

Scott cursed under his breath. There were advantages to having your own militia, but they had left that all behind when they fled their home, choosing the same reasons Cóic was choosing now. The hood wanted Cóic and all their dragons and Scott was unwilling to put innocent lives between the deadly cretin and the great dragon.

But Gaat could not have the Thunderbird. Not while Scott O’Treasaigh lived.

“Do we have a path?”

“Far to the east are the Viking lands. There are many fjords and islands that will help us hide. The distance is barely half that we have already travelled across the great sea, but there is talk of a vast land beyond the fjords that while harsh, may provide safety.”

Scott stared at his dear brother, the aquamarine of his right eye out-shining the dull blindness of his left. Cóic’s iridescent gold scale, embedded in the burn scars at his temple, almost glowing in the dull light as if to make up for all the harm its presence had caused.

“Let me think on it.”

John reached out and clasped Scott’s arm. No words were said, but then none were needed.

Both men startled at a loud thump on the door. It opened slowly and Virgil, followed by Alan, ushered the young Viking into the room.

At least timing might be opportune.

“Ah, Hiccup.” He limped towards the boy. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

A big black nose pushed open the door wide. The young black fury stepped into the room; green eyes wary as he slunk up beside his rider.

“And Toothless. You are both welcome to our clochán.”

The Viking’s expression was curiosity itself. He dipped his head. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

There was no humility or fear and Scott received the impression that Hiccup was used to speaking with nobility.

Fair enough.

It was obvious this room was where the decisions were made. Despite their sometimes nomad existence, John made a point to remind Scott exactly who he was by decking the meeting hall with drapery from home.

But no matter if his brothers now thought him Flaithri, Scott would never consider himself king while hope remained and he made a point to ignore the ornate chair Virgil insisted they lug across the oceans vast. It was their father’s, not Scott’s and it sat at the head of the hall, ever empty.

Scott preferred the wooden chairs they made from whatever tree they could find locally. Even a cold rock would be better.

He gestured Hiccup over to a table at one side of the room. “Let us sit and share news.” And he didn’t need Virgil’s pointed glare and his leg to know that he needed to sit down before his brother called in Máthair Chriona and she decided to stew him alive for ignoring her advice.

He limped over and sat beside Hiccup.

And no, neither of his brothers left the room. Virgil sat with him and John stood behind as if he was some kind of protective sentinel.

The night fury made a point of sitting beside the young Viking, strategically placing his body directly between Scott and his rider.

Just as defensive as Óen. A glance at John and he found a frown on his brother’s face. And that would be a yes on the same level of defiance to Cóic. No doubt the matriarch had told him to step back but the fury had ignored her.

Interesting.

Hiccup was watching all of them and again, Scott was again struck with the impression that the boy knew nobility. Likely was nobility.

“Virgil says Toothless needs time to rest his wings before you return home. You are welcome to stay with us for that time. I would be interested to hear your tale, get to know a little of you and your people.”

Hiccup straightened. “And I would be very interested to get to know you as well. Your dragons…your night fury. Where did you find him?”

Scott let his shoulders relax. “Óen was my father’s.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #how to train your dragon #httyd #thunderbirds fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #hiccup haddock #crossover #nuttyfic #I did soo much research for this #at least two different languages are here #not including English or Viking #I had to buy dinner because I took too long writing #bad parent and wife

[usafphantom2]

SR-71 pilot recalls when a Blackbird buzzed Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp after protest women threw paint on that very same SR-71

RAF Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp

In 1981 a group of women, angered by the decision to site cruise missiles (guided nuclear missiles) in the UK, organised a protest march from Cardiff, Wales to RAF Greenham Common near Newbury in Berkshire. Here they set up what became known as the Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

According to Imperial War Museum, between 1981 and 1983 the protesters attempted to disrupt construction work at the base. Their methods included blockading the base and cutting down parts of the fence. In December 1982 more than 30,000 women gathered at Greenham to join hands around the base at the ‘Embrace the Base’ event.

SR-71 Blackbird at 1983 IAT at RAF Greenham Common

International Air Tattoo (IAT) 1983 was also held at RAF Greenham Common.

Posted by SR-71 pilot BC Thomas on his YouTube channel, the video in this post shows a Blackbird (flown by Thomas himself with John G. Morgan as RSO) arriving at Greenham Common for the 1983 International Air Tattoo.

Thomas recalls in the video description;

‘I was the pilot in this video, but did not fly the SR-71 out of RAF Greehnam Common. I was the “mobile control” officer when the aircraft departed and the pilot was Maj Jim Jiggens, a USAF Thunderbird pilot and formally a US Army helicopter combat pilot in Vietnam.

Protest women throws paint on SR-71 Blackbird

‘On the evening of the air show featured in this video, women, who were protesting President Reagan’s decision to station intermediate nuclear missiles in England, broke into the security cordon around the air show aircraft and threw paint on several, including this SR-71.

‘Owing to the unique metals associated with the SR-71, the removing of the paint required special maintenance procedures to assure that no “hot spot” would develop on subsequent flights. It was quite a hassle and we were not amused over this incident. Jim and I planned a farewell departure for the protesters who were encamped in a squalor of tents just outside the main gate.

SR-71 Blackbird noise on the protesters at RAF Greenham Common

‘Jim obtained clearance for a “closed pattern” and turned to a downwind leg, descended to about 50 feet above the ground, and flew directly over the protestors’ encampment. It was early and probably most were asleep, but not for long. Jim was flying about 250 knots and selected afterburner in both engines as he was approaching the tents. As the SR-71 accelerated to 350-400 knots, he pulled up and focused the plume (and noise) directly on the protesters. It was a magnificent sight.’

SR-71 pilot recalls when a Blackbird buzzed Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp after protest women threw paint on that very same SR-71

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

Thomas concludes;

‘As we were leaving the base immediately after Jim’s departure, the gate guard (British) said to me: “I say, that was a jolly good show, but next time, please warn me before you do it.” I also had the honor to prefer charges against the women, but the British government later declined to prosecute.’

Greenham Common today

In 1987 US President Ronald Reagan and Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev signed the Intermediate-range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty, which paved the way for the removal of cruise missiles from Greenham.

Today Greenham no longer belongs to the military. Part of it is a business park and the rest is common land.

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: Mike Freer – Touchdown-aviation via Wikipedia

SR-71 pilot recalls when a Blackbird buzzed Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp after protest women threw paint on that very same SR-71

This model is available from AirModels – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS.

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

@Habubrats71 via X

#Youtube