#fossilizes in front of you and makes you trip and fall

[limesquares]

fartfight. i mean artfight.

[seumyo]

museum dates with bf!tsukishima.

NOTE. oh, certified tsukishima luvr @solvisun for u <3

You hated museum dates. 

No, really—loathed them with a passion that only grew with every agonizing hour you spent trailing after your boyfriend through echoey halls and glass display cases. It wasn’t even that museums were boring. That wasn’t fair. You liked the exhibits, genuinely. The restoration work was incredible, the artifacts were fascinating, and it was kind of cute how your boyfriend lit up every time he got to explain something. Which was often.

Because Tsukishima Kei, your darling pain-in-the-ass boyfriend, worked part-time at the Sendai City Museum, and apparently that gave him a divine license to deliver play-by-play commentary like a snarky academic podcast with legs. Tall, spectacled legs. One with particular moles that even make a heart (not that you ever told a single soul, because you knew he would be after you if you did).

“So this piece,” he would say, already a few steps ahead, pointing casually at a weathered samurai armor set, “was from the late Edo period. See the difference in the breastplate design?”

You would squint through bleary, dry eyes, clutching your water bottle (which he somehow allowed—through sheer persuasion and outright begging on your knees) like it was your only link to life. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Looks… shinier?”

Tsukishima turned to you, shrugging. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did!” you insisted. “I just… I’m not a samurai historian like you, Kei.”

“You should be grateful,” he said with mock arrogance, adjusting his glasses. “People pay for this kind of tour experience.”

“I’m paying,” you said, trudging after him. “With my soul.”

But you followed him anyway, like you always did. Through the samurai wing, the early Jōmon pottery, and the textile restoration gallery. He knew you were flagging when you started leaning on the handrails more, moving slower, and falling behind like a rebellious school kid on a class trip. You would never think that he thought you were awfully cute like this.

A true sadist in the making, really.

“Hey,” he called, halfway through the Meiji industrial section. “Are you dying?”

“I’ve been dead since the third hour,” you grunted. “My ghost is haunting your dumb little tour.”

Tsukishima turned to you, walking back a few paces with his hands in his coat pockets. “We’ve only been here two hours and forty minutes.”

“Time doesn’t pass normally in museums,” you said. “It’s like a black hole of walking and standing and standing and walking. And it’s too cold.”

He snorted, then took your hand. His palm was warm, steady. It feels perfect against yours. “Come on, we’re almost at the dinosaurs. You like the dinosaurs.” as if he’s talking to a child—trying to coax and/or motivate a reaction out of you.

“I like sitting.”

But you went with him anyway. Because, yeah, okay, you did like the dinosaurs. Not in a prehistoric nerd way, but in a watching-his-face-light-up-as-he-explains-how-paleontologists-determined-the-size-of-a-femur kind of way. It was kind of endearing, the way Tsukishima got subtly excited. His voice would go just a pitch higher, and he’d push his glasses up with his knuckle like he was restraining actual joy. 

“There,” he said, stopping in front of the towering fossil of a Futabasaurus. “That one’s my favorite. Native to Japan.”

You blinked up at the enormous skeleton, rubbing your shoulder. “Big,” you said.

“Articulate,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

You yawned, long and unashamed, before leaning into his side like your bones had turned to jelly. “If I die here,” you muttered, “bury me under the plesiosaur. Let my suffering be remembered.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m tired.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

You pulled back just enough to give him a weak glare. “I wanted to come. For you.”

He looked down at you, something shifting subtly in his expression. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a very good girlfriend.”

“You just took pictures to post on your socials and barely listened to what I’ve been telling you.”

“I thought I could be one of those museum lovers—and academically inclined aesthetic girlies on Pinterest.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his thumb brushed lightly over your hand, how he slowed his pace after that. Maybe it was a little thing, but you noticed it. You always did.

By the time they left the museum, dusk had settled in, and your legs were practically jelly. You said nothing, just collapsed into the passenger seat of his car, and groaned like an elderly crypt keeper.

“You survived,” Tsukishima said, starting the engine.

“Barely.”

“Want to go again next weekend?”

“I will stab you with a fossil.”

-

So you were right.

A fever was heading straight to you after that whole museum date. Oh, and you felt like your body was boiling from the inside out.

You lay in bed, cocooned in three blankets and clutching a half-full water bottle like it was the only thing that could save you from ascending with the light. Your head was pounding, your skin too warm and too cold at the same time, and every time you tried to sit up, the world tilted sideways like you were on a carnival ride from hell.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You groaned and fumbled for it with the coordination of someone wearing oven mitts.

Grumpy [10:12AM]: How’s the museum hangover?

You didn’t reply immediately. It took real effort just to squint at the screen. Instead, you turned over with a muffled groan and tried to sleep again. You really had no energy to even quip even a single like emoji.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Twice. Thrice.

So maybe if your dorm was on fire, you really didn’t care right now.

You, still feverish and fuzzy-headed, dragged yourself to the door in a hoodie three sizes too big (which was definitely Tsukishima’s; his brows furrow in that accusatory expression whenever he sees you wearing it, but he decides to let you keep it because he isn’t a total jerk of a boyfriend, duh) and mismatched socks. You cracked it open and blinked blearily at the tall figure standing there with a plastic bag and an expression caught somewhere between concern and guilt.

“Kei?” you croaked.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, stepping inside before you could tell him not to.

“I’m sick.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

You swayed a little under his touch. “Told you I was dying.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You were already exhausted yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I wanted to see you. And dinosaurs.”

Tsukishima let out a slow sigh, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “That’s stupid. I guess idiots really do get colds.”

“You dragged me across natural history for three hours. I’m not the stupid one.”

“I didn’t drag you.”

“You gave me a guided death march through time.”

He looked at you, arms crossed, then unfolded one to hand you a small bottle of sports drink. “Drink this.”

You took it, pouting. “You’re only being nice because you feel guilty.”

“Yes.”

You blinked at the bluntness.

Oh.

Oh?

“I feel extremely guilty,” he said flatly. “I thought you were just being dramatic.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“You also had a fever brewing, apparently. And I laughed at you. So now I’m going to cook you porridge and feel bad for the rest of the week.”

You blinked at him. Again. “…You’re going to cook?”

“Don’t look so alarmed.”

“I just… didn’t think I was hallucinating yet.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes and moved into your kitchen, already unpacking the bag. Rice, eggs, green onions, a tiny bottle of sesame oil, and some store-bought pudding cups.

“I wasn’t sure if you had groceries,” he muttered. “So I brought my own.”

You leaned your head against the wall, watching him, hugging (more like wanting to become one by just leaning into it) the cold surface to cool your temperature. Your throat was sore, your skin felt like it was in flames, but somehow you still found the energy to smile. Of course, you weren’t going to miss the chance of still being pretty in front of this man.

“You’re kind of sweet when you feel bad.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. You’ll annoy me again by Thursday.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, deadpan. “Wednesday, probably.”

You chuckled weakly, then let out a sigh as you slid back into your bed, the bottle still in hand.

“You’re forgiven,” you called out hoarsely. “But next time we go to a museum…”

“I’ll bring a wheelchair?”

“Or a coffin.”

From the kitchen came a long-suffering sigh, followed by the sound of a pot hitting the stove.

But Tsukishima stayed. All day. Quietly watching over you with guilt etched between his brows and the same quiet steadiness he brought to everything.

And though you hated museum dates, truly and deeply, you didn’t really mind the fever. Not if it meant he’d look at you like that, hovering in your doorway with a bowl of too-thick porridge and a stubborn determination to take care of you. 

Worried boyfriend Tsukishima in your fever arc? Finally unlocked.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[jessiso]

"Statistically Speaking"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader | Part I

A museum trip leads to an unexpected, adorable connection with Dr. Spencer Reid.

w/c 936 (short n sweet - may do a pt 2?)

...

You weren’t expecting much from your solo Saturday trip to the Museum of Natural History.

A quiet afternoon, some dinosaur bones, maybe a fun fact or two for your group chat. You certainly didn’t expect to be interrupted mid-sip of your overpriced museum café latte by a tall, slightly disheveled man speed-walking past the entrance with a bag slung awkwardly over his shoulder and a trail of papers sticking out.

You blink.

He walks straight into a sign for the Prehistoric Oceans exhibit.

You blink again.

He mutters a curse under his breath, adjusts his satchel, and proceeds to argue with himself—out loud—about whether trilobites evolved before or after eurypterids.

Naturally, you follow him.

It’s not every day you see a real-life walking encyclopedia with a messy mop of curls and a cardigan two sizes too big wandering the museum like he's solving a case.

He stops in front of a large fossil encased in glass and tilts his head.

“Statistically speaking,” he says to no one in particular, “most people underestimate the size of a Dunkleosteus by at least 40%. Which is understandable, considering the average adult can't properly visualize scale without a frame of reference.”

You cross your arms, intrigued. “Is that a challenge?”

He jumps slightly, glancing your way like he hadn’t noticed he was talking out loud. “Oh! I—I didn’t mean to sound condescending. I just, um, I really like fish.”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile. “Big, extinct murder-fish?”

“They’re armored! And had one of the strongest bite forces in prehistoric history!” he says, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Some estimates suggest up to 8,000 pounds per square inch. It could bite a great white shark in half, probably. Not that it ever did, since they didn’t coexist—but, um, theoretically.”

You snort. “You’re adorable.”

He blinks at you like you just solved a puzzle he wasn’t expecting to exist.

“Spencer,” he says after a pause, offering a hand that’s slightly ink-stained and warm. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You shake it. “I’m Y/N. Just... Y/N. Not a doctor of anything.”

“Yet,” he says thoughtfully. “Statistically speaking, you could still become one.”

You laugh. “Wow. You really like statistics, don’t you?”

“It’s comforting,” he says, sheepishly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Numbers make sense. People... not always so much.”

“Well, I’m a person,” you say playfully. “How do I rank, statistically speaking?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and actually thinks about it. “Hmm. So far, you’ve engaged in three nerdy jokes, followed me through two exhibits, and haven’t run away during a five-minute monologue about Devonian sea life. That puts you in the top 1.3% of strangers I’ve interacted with in public.”

You grin. “So I’m special?”

“Empirically? Yes.” He smiles, shy and warm. “And also... you’re really pretty.”

That catches you off guard. “Well, now I have to ask you to walk with me through the dinosaur exhibit.”

He blushes—furiously—but he nods, already falling into step beside you.

By the time you reach the T-Rex skeleton, he's telling you about how the odds of fossilization are so low that it's basically a miracle any of these creatures were preserved at all. You barely understand half of it, but you hang on every word because he’s excited, and charming, and maybe a little awkward—but in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Somewhere between the fossils and the fun facts, you realize that this is probably going to be the best Saturday you’ve had in a long time.

And Spencer?

He’s already calculating the probability of you agreeing to dinner afterward.

As you pass beneath the towering skeleton of the T-Rex, Spencer glances at you sideways.

He’s still talking—something about bone density and how it affects preservation rates—but there’s a different tone to his voice now. Less lecture, more... hope?

You pause in front of a display showing a reconstructed dinosaur nest. “So, if I were a prehistoric creature,” you ask, “what would the odds be of you asking me out?”

He stops walking.

Dead serious, he says, “Well, factoring in our conversational chemistry, shared interest in science-adjacent topics, your remarkable patience with my rambling, and the fact that you've smiled at me eight times in the last fifteen minutes... I’d say the odds are currently 87.2%.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s... really specific.”

“I left a 12.8% margin for shyness or unexpected social variables,” he explains quickly, then winces. “Unless I’ve misread something. Which is possible. Probable, even.”

You step closer and nudge his shoulder gently with yours. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d bring your odds up to 100% if you asked me now.”

He blinks. Then flushes. “Would you—um—would you maybe like to grab dinner? With me? Tonight? I know a place with really good Thai food and incredible mango sticky rice. I’ve been told it’s the best in D.C. Or we could get something more casual, or less casual, or—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, laughing softly. “Dinner sounds perfect. Sticky rice and all.”

He beams. Like, full-on, dimples-and-sparkle beam. You wonder if he smiles like this often or if you're just lucky.

As you start walking toward the museum exit together, he casually says, “Did you know mangoes are the most widely consumed fruit in the world?”

“Is that a fact you save for post-date dessert talk?”

He grins again. “Maybe.”

You link your arm with his and shake your head fondly. “God, you're such a nerd.”

“And statistically,” he says, glancing down at you, “Nerds make the best boyfriends.”

You don’t disagree.

(Click here for Part II)

[darkspine10]

GF Fanfic - Fact and Fiction

Dipper and Mabel Vs. The Past (24,661 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 5/9

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Teen and Up

Nestled in the Pines’ living room, Apep and Waddles slept peacefully, one coiled around the other. Normally the two species would be highly suspicious of one another, but as shared pets of a very unique individual they’d grown to tolerate each other over the years. Both knew what it was like to be pampered by Mabel, that very particular form of affection. Mabel was something of a minor beastmaster. Whether casually accepting a lobster as a pet, encouraging goats and pigs to wed in holy matrimony, or helping inspire snakes and badgers to sin against nature, she had much experience without ever going out of her way to try. She’d even helped nurture a Compsognathus once for Stan - little Compy had long since gone to the great fossil graveyard in the sky.

The tranquillity Apep and Waddles were enjoying wasn’t to last. Both animals were rudely awakened as an orb of flame erupted in the middle of the living room and threatened to set fire to the Christmas tree. Waddles began to squeal and wave his legs fruitlessly in front of his pudgy body. Apep stuck out her tongue, as if expressing only a mild distaste for the heat. A powerful gust of wind snuffed out the blaze and revealed a pair of women standing where before had been empty space.

Mabel shook her head, making sure her hair was free of any trailing sparks. Waddles ceased his panic and oinked towards her. She knelt down and patted him on the back.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Zera slumped down onto the nearest sofa and put a hand to her forehead. “My head is killing me. All this teleporting around is more than I’m used to. And I’m all dried out.” She raised a scaly arm which had faded into a pallid grey colour.

Mabel ran a finger along the coarse skin, then matter-of-factly stood up. “I’ll get you an ice pack from the kitchen, plus a bandaid for Merrise.” Zera sat there, listening to Mabel rustle around in the other room, somehow clanging pans and slamming more cupboards than seemed necessary. She returned clutching her prize and held it to Zera’s head. “There you go, boo.”

Mabel was about to stand up again when Zera pulled her in for a kiss on the lips. Mabel found the texture rougher than usual, but gladly accepted the gesture. Her fingers squeezed against her wife’s waist. “I feel better already,” Zera said, grinning despite still clearly squinting and suffering from the headache. “You don’t have to worry either. You can do this, this thing with your parents.”

Mabel rested a hand on Zera’s cheek and raised a soft smile. “Thanks. Although I think the chance for a ‘calm and measured conversation’ flew out the window the moment Dipper unleashed a swarm of monsters across San Francisco.”

“You know, next time we meet up with your family we should try something more low-key. Maybe a quiet dinner, or a trip to the movies.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t like all the adventures?”

“I like not nearly dying every time we meet up with your brother and Pacifica,” Zera said, winking. “At least from now on I guess I won’t have to wear a disguise around the house.”

“You can keep it on if you want,” Mabel said, leaning in close and holding back just before planting another kiss. She ran a finger slowly down her wife’s cheek. “We can have fun in whatever body you want.” Zera’s blushed a pale green colour, but their privacy didn’t last long.

They heard the screech of tires, followed by Dipper striding in from the garage, journal in hand. He was clearly in the middle of a lengthy conversation. “Then we need to work out some kind of mechanism to disperse the excess energy. Maybe something magnetic, a grounding element.”

“I think the first priority will be making sure we can contain them.” Pacifica followed, with Wendy still hanging from her sling. She unhooked the baby and Mabel offered to hold her. Grateful, Pacifica rubbed her eyelids before sitting down beside the couple while her husband continued to pace.

Last to enter, Merrise, wringing her twelve fingers together, guided her grandparents into the living room. They were still in a state of shock and perched on the spare couch without arguing. Unhappy with all the sudden commotion, Apep slithered out past them to find a quieter spot, leaving the nearly immobile Waddles alone to put up with the noise.

“Good, we’re all here,” Dipper said, flipping through the journal with his back to everyone while he tried to put his thoughts in order. “That chimaera - Errata, he said he was called - spawned roughly three major offspring constructs. If we can gather them all back together we can draw him out of hiding and figure out what to do next.” It was like he was giving a lecture, his focus entirely on the task at hand. Zera scowled, envying Apep and wishing for some time to recuperate first.

“What’s even the cause of all this?” Pacifica asked, having missed the initial formation back at the golf course. “One minute I’m having coffee, the next a giant amalgamation is disrupting traffic in downtown.”

“It’s to do with the journal. Or journals, rather.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Merrise said with eyes wide. “Journal 9’s been glowing every now and again. You said it happened back in-”

“-An event that happened in Sapphire Bay,” Dipper said, impatiently. He closed the book and placed it on the table. Pacifica and Mabel leaned forward to examine the golden stars on the inky black cover, which seemed to have dimmed back to their usual intensity at least. “When I was visiting Mabel four months ago the journal was briefly subjected to a uniquely powerful summoning spell, courtesy of Mabel’s friend Sam.”

Mabel picked up the story. “She was doing this whole ‘magic revenge-scheme slash hunt for her missing brother’ thing by using an incantation on some old maps. But all it ended up doing was bringing a bunch of freaky creatures from ancient myths to life. You’d have liked it Paz, I chased an Ancient Greek Sciapod, and Dipper and I fought a Ziphius, and-” Dipper coughed and Mabel got the hint. “Anyway, in the end Sam channelled her magic into the journal to save us both. That was supposed to be the end of things. Right, Dipper?”

“That was the plan,” he muttered. “The journal was only meant to be a temporary source to stop the original intent of the spell until Sam could fully stop what she was trying to accomplish. When I got back home to Gravity Falls I checked in case there were any more creature manifestations, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Well, as much as anything in the Falls is ordinary. I thought there hadn’t been any side effects and it was all over.”

“Guess it’s another one of those ‘comes back to bite us’ things,” Pacifica said ruefully. “This spell, the original one, what was it meant to accomplish exactly?”

“Basically it was meant to turn ideas into reality. It didn’t work properly though, and clearly whatever issue happened back then has affected the journal too, which isn’t good given their extensive contents.”

“If it was full of all this magic then why didn’t this happen sooner?” Merrise asked. “Your journal’s been glowing for ages now and nothing happened.”

Dipper stroked his chin. “I suspect it’s because of the proximity to all our other journals. When they were crammed together in the crate it was like the energy was fermenting. Picking up traces, not just of the words, but of the emotional states when all those hundreds of entries were written.”

Mabel snapped her fingers. “And I bet it got a final kickstart from your emotional turmoil after Mom and Dad saw Merrise’s blood. A huge smörgåsbord of crazy adventures to feast on, the right kind of matching intensity from one of the authors, and boom!”

“One big problem,” Dipper finished. “Then later in the street it was starting to flag, before it sloughed off some of itself into those tulpas.”

“Tulpa?” Mabel asked, squinting. “Like the rapper?”

“Yes, like the rapper,” Dipper deadpanned before rolling his eyes. “Tulpas are manifestations of conscious thoughts. In this case the accumulated memories and impressions of all the authors of the journals. anthropomorphised. Just like the mythological entities we saw in Sapphire Bay, except those were conjured from cultural depictions. The creatures running amok in the city right now are just imitations, copies.”

Pacifica gave a short laugh. “As fake as Mabel’s counterfeit jeans - yeah, I know girl, don’t try to deny it.”

“Deny it? It’s a point of pride that I don’t pay full price.”

“Can you two pay attention?” Dipper said, waving his hand in their faces. “We could potentially have to face every supernatural threat we’ve ever encountered. They’re going to replicate the originals, which means they could cause who knows how much damage.”

“Plus we already trashed Amazing Al’s,” Mabel said, sighing. “What a total clusterfudge.” She suddenly sat up. “Hey, but if they come from the journals then all the good monsters will be a part of them too, right? Multi-Bear and Mermando and the Manotuars and huh a lot of M’s, weird.”

“Possibly.” Dipper shrugged and started pacing again. He picked up the journal and skimmed through it while he rattled off his theories. “Hypothetically there could be all sorts of different ingredients sloshing around inside the tulpas. Friends, foes, inanimate objects, Their forms are likely highly unstable. The plasmic energy they’re made up of will be in constant flux. I imagine they won’t be capable of assuming the images of any big-hitters - no Bills or a-mortals or other universe-destroyers - too much energy to maintain for any stretch of time before falling apart. I wonder if they’re partially intangible, given their inconsistent appearances, maybe we could test some traps-”

“Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on!” a voice shouted.

Dipper turned on the spot. He’d been so wrapped up he didn’t even process who’d interrupted him at first. He realised it had been his mother. Her face was red and twisted into a scowl. His heart began to sink in his chest.

Through all his discussion with the girls, all his explanations of events, his parents had been quietly stewing on the couch. They’d been sitting there in a kind of fugue state, so overwhelmed they let everything wash right over them. Mrs Pines couldn’t take it any longer and had snapped. Everyone in the room, even Zera squinting from beneath the ice pack, turned to stare either at Dipper or his mother, eyes darting back and forth and waiting for the either one to say something.

Dipper stood there, almost as paralysed as he’d been back at the golf course. His mother’s gaze drilled into him. He’d never heard her sound so angry in his entire life; she was usually so timid. The extraordinary events had pushed her into new territory. “Well Mason, are you going to just stand there? I’m talking to you!” The use of his name, so normal from Pacifica, stung with the tone Mrs Pines had used. She wanted rational answers for everything. Despite all his plans, his entire reason for being here in Piedmont, Dipper couldn’t come up with anything. “You run headlong towards an enormous monster, you come back here and you immediately try to come up with solutions like some kind of mad expert. What is all this? Why can’t you tell us?”

Mr Pines put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He seemed to be taking the revelations somewhat more calmly, though with an undercurrent of irritation. He hadn’t liked being left in the dark either. “Now Mary, be fair. They do seem to know what they’re talking about.”

“Exactly! This is familiar to them, all this danger. This isn’t something new. They’ve known about it all along.”

Dipper stared at his feet and mumbled. “Um. The journal. I was going to start with that.” He fell back on the one thing he’d tried to set into motion before the chimaera appeared. He furiously turned the pages as if they could hold the answers. “Um, I can show you all sorts of stuff. How about this,” he pointed at a random page, “it’s a rhino-beetle - not the little kind, a full on giant behemoth, on this alien jungle planet, where it was raining, and-”

“Mason, that’s not helping.” Pacifica stood up and gently placed a hand on his arm. He was practically shaking with energy. Her touch soothed him. “I get what you’re trying to do, but your parents can’t dive in headfirst. You have to explain how things started. You know what that means?”

He did, of course. It meant revealing how far back the lies went. Dipper dumped Journal 9 on the coffee table in resignation and inhaled. “I found the first journal when I was 12.”

Mabel knew what was coming and jumped in to help her brother, though she couldn’t meet her parents’ eyes. “We showed up in Gravity Falls to meet Grunkle Stan the day before. Dipper was putting up signs in the woods nearby, to bring in more tourists. Don’t know what tourists would be doing in the middle of the woods, but hey, Stan always was a keen businessman so who were we to argue.” She laughed, nostalgic for her old Grunkle. “Then Dipper found the book.”

“Hold on one second,” he said. “I- I swear this will make it easier to follow.” Apologetically he dashed out of the room and upstairs. Mrs Pines turned her glare on Mabel, whose eyes suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. When Dipper returned he was lugging the crate of journals. He set them down and removed Journal 3. “This was it.” He showed the golden hand to his parents. “Great Uncle Ford wrote it originally, but I won’t get into all that. Suffice it to say the journal was full of impossible claims, descriptions of fantasy species, sites of magical power, and new branches of undiscovered physics that boggled the mind.”

“I’m not interested in any of that,” Mrs Pines said, cutting through Dipper’s attempt to explain and rendering him speechless. “It’s obvious what’s going on. I’m not blind, I saw the… apparitions today. I can’t begin to comprehend… Whatever, it’s real, I can accept it.”

“Then what-”

“You knew about this. That’s what scares me the most. That you could possibly hide this from us.”

“Hold on,” Mr Pines said, again seemingly trying to be the voice of reason. “We don’t know the full picture.” He looked at both his children, disappointed but willing to understand. “Maybe they had a good reason-”

“A reason?!” Mrs Pines exploded, on the edge of tears. “They lied to us Marcus! For twenty years! Look at them all, how easy they’re treating this calamity. A 9-foot tall enchanted behemoth spreads out of thin air and they’re already laissez-faire about the concept.” They all guiltily looked away, unable to justify themselves. Mrs Pines suddenly sank back in her chair and whispered, “Through all those meet-ups, every pleasant conversation - all those Christmas dinners - you were just lying through your teeth? Were we such awful parents that you couldn’t talk to us?”

“It became natural, compartmentalised,” Dipper said, trying to be honest after so long hiding in the dark. He ran a hand through his hair and sat awkwardly on the couch beside his mother. He was more tired than he’d let on, mostly running on adrenaline for the last half hour. “If you want the truth, I didn’t think it would cause a problem, as long as you never found out.” He flashed a grimace, but it didn’t seem to help. “Then Pacifica got all wrapped up in things too, and I got so scared that I’d never see her again if you knew how much we were risking our lives on the regular.”

When Mrs Pines spoke she was incredibly quiet. “I remember when you first opened up about dear Pacifica. I thought there was something strange going on. You were so nervous but I put it down to teenage hormones. I should have seen-”

“No, don’t blame yourself. It was my fault.”

“Our fault,” Mabel added, and Pacifica nodded too. It may have been Dipper’s decision once upon a time, but they had all been complicit.

Dipper continued. “After a point we hadn’t seen you in person for so long - we’d grown up, it was part of life - and I realised that we’d ended up with the exact outcome I’d tried to avoid. We were distant, with nothing to connect over. It didn’t help when I ended up driving Mabel away for five years either.”

“Yeah,” she said, “we kinda screwed everything up for a while.”

“But then we fixed that relationship and made it stronger than ever.” Hope crept back into Dipper’s voice. “That’s why I thought it was finally time to stop concealing our past.”

Mr Pines ruminated on this. His eyes fell on Zera, still nursing her head, and he went pale. “And Zera. You’re one of those big secrets too.” Zera didn’t muster up more than tilting her head in his direction and giving a lazy wink. Mrs Pines blanched at the sight of the dull, shark-like eyes, glistening at her. “That’s… a lot to take in.”

“Maybe I can help,” Merrise said. She’d been toying with her gold medallion during much of the conversation. “I’m part of the reason Dad wanted to tell you the truth.” Without giving anyone time to argue, she took off the perception filter. Her human face melted away, revealing the dark pits of her sclera, her rubbery pink skin, and her complete lack of body hair. Both her grandparents shrunk back in shock. Merrise clutched the medallion to her chest and started crying. “I’m not weird, or some freak, or something scary. I’m me!” She was imploring them to understand, to see who she really was.

Dipper clenched his fists and stood up. “This is what I was afraid of. A bad reaction like this. Or in the past it was the thought of you acting the same way to Mabel and me.” He sagged. “I suppose I was scared of rejection. Of losing something that brought me so much joy in life.”

“So, you and Merrise,” Mrs Pines swallowed. “How did you… come into contact?” She was phrasing her words carefully, trying not to further upset the tearful 10 year old in front of her.

“Merrise was-”

“I’m from a planet called Tengosa.” Merrise was tired of her father taking it upon himself to shoulder everyone’s burdens. She had kept the secret too, albeit for only a few days, but now it was hers to reveal. “There was a big war, my parents died, and Dad found me. We left my home behind, on this important quest, and so I could escape living on the streets. Dad and Pacifica adopted me a few weeks later. This was right before Wendy was born.”

“Our whole lives have been like this,” Pacifica said, almost bored of the topic now. “Discovering paranormal cryptids, using magic, making friends. All thanks to Gravity Falls.”

“What’s that place got to do with anything?” Mr Pines asked, incredulous.

“Come on Dad,” Dipper said, “you’ve been to Gravity Falls, you stayed with Grunkle Stan. You can’t tell me you never saw or felt something even the slightest bit weird.”

“Apart from the townsfolk being a bit odd, but all small towns have their kooks.”

“You missed all the gnomes?” Mabel asked, drawing confused looks from her parents. “Little dwarf men with pointy hats? They’re all over the place in Gravity Falls.”

“Maybe the Society of the Blind Eye got him,” Pacifica muttered harshly.

“Things were always happening to us that first summer, it seems impossible that you could’ve missed everything,” Dipper said. He handed Journal 3 over to his parents. “I know, let’s start with Waddles.”

“He’s not an alien too, is he?” Mr Pines blurted out.

“No, he’s just an average pig.” Dipper craned his neck to watch the sleeping animal. “A bit overweight and senile nowadays, but normal, totally normal. And on the day Mabel won him at the fair I ran into a device that let me travel through time.” Mr and Mrs Pines stared incredulously at one another. “That was just a random afternoon. Or take the time I wandered into the woods and found a tribe of Minotaur men hopped up on testosterone. Even in Piedmont Mabel and I spent our teen years tracking down supernatural elements.”

“Our last 20 years have been like that,” Mabel said. She went and put an arm around Merrise, who still stood warily apart from Mr and Mrs Pines. “Once you know it’s there it’s hard to miss.”

While Dipper’s parents slowly turned the pages of Journal 3, glancing in shock at the sketches and descriptions, he strided around the room. “I wish I could tell you all about Stan and Ford’s role, but there honestly isn’t time. The journal constructs are out there in the heart of the city right now and unless we do something then people might get hurt.” He caught the journal crate with his foot and slid it into the middle of the room. “I was going to use these to introduce you to our history, an education right from our own words. Maybe afterwards we can still do that. Until then these represent our greatest source of knowledge to combat the current threat.”

“Jeez, make it sound like a military campaign, why don’t you?” Pacifica said harshly. “I think you’re still forgetting that we have no way of tracking down all these tulpas.” She said the word like it was taboo, something not to repeat in polite company. “They could be anywhere in the city by now.”

Mabel, who’d been flipping through Journal 5 at random, spoke up. “Uh, Paz, I think you’re forgetting we aren’t in an isolated rural town like Gravity Falls. There’s an easier option this time.” She scooped a remote off the table and angled for the on button. “Alley-oop.”

The TV flickered to life on a news channel. A female reporter was frantically reading out the headline. “-magical incursions in San Francisco, citizens are advised to stay out of the following danger zones.” A map of the bay area was displayed as an infographic. “Keep watching for our round-the-clock coverage as this event develops.”

“There’s your lead, Nature’s Greatest Warrior. I guess we should divide into groups and tackle them separately.”

“Wouldn’t one at a time be safer?” Zera said, contributing to the conversation for the first time now her wife was offering to put her life on the line.

“Dip said we needed to take them out fast. We can handle a few shapeshifting spooks. I mean, we’ve already defeated anything the journal can throw at us at least once before. How hard can it be?”

Dipper turned to his parents with an expression of determined steel. “Mom, Dad, I know you’re angry. We let you down. We can figure where we stand afterwards. For now, I know you haven’t got any experience like the rest of us, but will you help us stop the trouble we caused?”

Mr and Mrs Pines looked at Zera, prone on the couch. They saw Merrise, fearful of them and cowering half behind Mabel. Finally they looked at one another. “Marc?”

“Yeah?”

“Our kids need us.”

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

How about the sending the Christmas card 15 years later in whatever AU you want? Maybe the Pacific Rim AU? 👀

As much as I love the Pacific Rim au....I couldn't figure out how to make it work sadly lol but I'm bringing back an oldy but a goody for this one! The au where Ronnie got pregnant during their FWB days!

|| prompt list ||

prompt: I wrote you a Christmas card 15 years ago confessing my feelings. Now it's time to send it.

au: the maisie au

word count: 1090

warnings: pregnancy mention, fluffffff fluff

When Ronnie found the card a week before Christmas, she had to wonder how it even survived fifteen years without being thrown away. They had gotten back together, gotten married, had another kid, and moved house since then. And yet the card remained — tucked away in that shoe box full of other little trinkets that apparently she could never find the heart to get rid of. 

It was all sealed up in a faded red envelope. The edges whitened by time. She could still picture clear as day what was written on the inside, what she had tucked into the fold of the card. His name was even written on the front, waiting for the address to go underneath. But the address was never found and the card was never sent. 

Now was as good a time as any, she supposed. This night before Christams day when the kids were all fast asleep and it was just the two of them. Wrapping a few more presents for “Santa” to bring despite the kids very well knowing that he isn’t real.

Ronnie grabbed the card from where she had stowed it in her nightstand and headed back down to the living room. 

Jake sat in the middle of the floor, wrapping paper scraps crunched up in a ball at his side as he finished up wrapping Maisie’s gift. A paleontology book with two tickets to the Montana Badlands tucked away inside. A summer trip to dig up fossils just father and daughter. 

“Ready for a break, Captain?” Ronnie asked as she sat down on the floor with him, back leaned against the couch. 

“I certainly can be,” Jake groaned as he stretched, knit sweater pulling up to reveal a bit of softer stomach before he scooted back to sit next to his wife. He pointed to the red envelope twiddling between her fingers. “What’s that?”

“For you.” She handed him the card. “From me — fifteen years ago.” 

He took the the card between his pointer and middle finger with raised brows, leveling her with a look and slightly red cheeks. Both of them knew just what he was doing fifteen years ago, and just what she was doing fifteen years ago too.

“Ronnie…” he started, green eyes falling to the envelope wearily. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, hand reaching to stroke the back of his head as she pulled her knees to rest in his lap. “I don’t want it to make you feel bad — or guilty. I just thought you still deserve to know what I wrote…After all this time.” 

Jake nodded as he took a breath. Then he tore into the envelope, expertly pulling the flap away so as not to compromise the entegrity of the paper. It made Ronnie smile to watch his methodical way, wondering if he would have done the same if she actually would have been able to send it over a decade ago. 

It was a Christmas card. Traditional with it’s winter scene and scrawled cheesy greeting. It made a small snort push out of his nose before he actually opened the card. A taped shut bit of paper fell out and into his lap. Jake quickly reached for it, but got distracted by the words written on the inside of the card. 

Merry Christmas, Jay. 

I’m pregnant, and it’s yours. I’m not telling you this to guilt you or to ask you for support or whatever. I just thought that you deserved to know, and to know that I’m keeping it. If you want to be in their life, that’s okay, and if you don’t, that’s okay too. You didn’t want this and I understood that from the beginning. 

But somewhere along the way I think I got lost. Because I fell so very in love with you. And I don’t know if you love me back, but sometimes I could feel it. In the way you would hold me, in the way you looked at me sometimes. God, I’m not saying THIS to make you feel guilty either. If I read that wrong, that’s okay too. Just another thing I thought you should know…

Here’s my number and email that I’m sure you deleted if you wanna talk…

Jake was quiet as he broke the tape holding the piece of paper together. He drew in a sharp breath, Ronnie squeezing the base of his neck in comfort, when the sonogram was revealed to him. It was an early one. Maisie nothing more than a bean shaped blob. But still, that was his little girl. 

His thumb passed over the black and white image reverently as he said, “She’s a teenager now.” 

“I know.” Ronnie snuggled in closer to his side. “Kinda crazy.”

Putting the sonogram back down on his thigh, Jake read the card over again. 

“I did love you — back then,” he muttered, swallowing something thick. “But I was scared to.” 

“I know,” she reassured. 

He set down the card on top of the sonogram and turned his head to look at her. There were a few greys in her dark hair now, ones that she wore with pride. He tucked a few strands behind her ear before he cradled her jaw. Then he kissed her, gentle and sweet and full of years upon years of love silent and spoken. 

“Ew, they’re kissing,” a voice whispered from behind them. 

Jake and Ronnie twisted around, and over the back of the couch they could see Noah and Maisie both hiding behind the stair railing — definitely trying to get a peek at their presents. 

“Hey, you two!” Jake shouted playfully as he got up from the floor. “You’re supposed to be in bed! Santa’s never gonna come if you don’t go to sleep!” 

Maisie had the sense to dash up the stairs as soon as her father rounded the back of the couch, but ten-year-old Noah just sat there giggling as Jake approached. Jake lunged with a shout and grabbed Noah around the middle, increasing his laughter into shrieks as he was hoisted over his father’s shoulder. Back to bed with you, Jake said as he climbed the stairs with Noah wriggling and laughing the entire way. 

Ronnie watched the whole thing from her spot on the floor with a smile. The card was on the floor now, unsure of it’s fate now that it was finally opened. Many what-ifs floated through her mind as she looked at the words she wrote so long ago. But in the end, she wouldn’t change a thing.

[mermaidsirennikita]

after stalking your recs like a mad person, I finally have the balls to ask something myself :)))) any enemy-to-lovers HR recs? I do apologise if you already answered this one before and I missed it. I know some might find the trope overdone or forced, but for me it’s like catnip. and yes, beligerant relationships like Lillian & Westcliff do count

I'm so glad you did! Honestly people, I can be pretty blunt with my opinions but I'm always happy to give recs. :)

I love enemies to lovers! And honestly I read a lot, so if you ask a question and then a few months later someone asks the same thing, I may have new recs.

A lot of HR has a "hate to love" dynamic at first, or belligerent sexual tension, but for me there's a big difference between a sustained enemies to lovers dynamic and something short term.

I'd recommend:

Wicked in His Arms by Stacy Reid. They hate each other basically at first sight, but they also are in intense lust at first sight, especially on his end. He's uptight and cold, she's vibrant and girlish. This one is super fun, and also quite hot.

A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare. A classic in the genre; he's a slutty rake, she's a resentful nerd who wears glasses and likes to study fossils. They go on a road trip together, and there's often only one bed...

I'm Only Wicked with You by Julie Anne Long. He's a rough American, she's a refined English rose with a rebellious side. Much of the first chunk of this book is them saying veiled things to get a rise out of one another in public and getting ridiculously turned on in front of her parents.

A Daring Pursuit by Kate Bateman. This whole series is about warring families and people falling in love, but I've only read this one. Another ice prince/rebellious miss pairing, but he's been lusting after her for years against his own will. Also, there's a sex deal if you're into that.

The Bride Goes Rogue by Joanna Shupe. The hero and heroine actually are in an arranged engagement set up by their fathers, but she gets PISSED when he tells her he has no intention of going through with it. One masked sex club incident later, and.... Extremely hot.

Married by Morning by Lisa Kleypas. She's a proper governess, he's the rakish, recovering alcoholic employer who gets under her skin and makes her all hot and bothered. I've said this before, but the scene where he won't touch her until she specifically says she wants him touch her pussy is..... a lot.

Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyt. The messy, slutty pleasure garden owner and the uptight sister of his patron who's trying to get him fired, basically. Then he starts teaching her about the ways of the secular flesh.

Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt. Proper high society girl hates her fiancé's rakish, scandalous brother--then they start fucking. A lot. Hatefully.

Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt. Enemies to lovers by way of cat and mouse, I'd say. The hero is a vigilante, and the heroine finds out his identity and threatens to expose him if he doesn't help free her brother from prison. Then. It's on.

The Scot Beds His Wife by Kerrigan Byrne. An American woman begins a land dispute with a Scottish lord, and she has SECRETS. Enemies to lovers that turns into marriage of convenience.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath. Read recently it's one of my favorite reads of the year thus far. Scoundrel gambling club owner with a dark past is told that he's the inheritor of a late duke's estate (and the guardian of his son) even though he barely knew the man. He moves in, which puts him up against (in more ways than one) the duke's proper widow, who hates him and his COARSE MANLINESS.

When A Rogue Meets His Match by Elizabeth Hoyt. A brutish mercenary threatens to quit before his boss gives him a deal--if he does one more job, his boss will let him marry the woman he's always wanted... his boss's niece. She hates him and totally plans on screwing him over, but now they're married oops.

The Return of the Duke by Lorraine Heath. The hero wants to get his dukedom back, which requires working with his dead father's mistress... who he's super attracted to. Naturally, he resents her and she hates him.

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ the same eyes as you ]

prequel to ‘it’s good to be home’ (read here)

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.5k words

contains: slight angst, tsukishima is a FATHER

anon: henlo can you do one with tsukishima where he breaks up with reader and the reader just found out she's pregnant with his child, and then time skips he saw the reader with a child and he's like shookt and you can do whatever you want after that shhsahagag that's all i got. Sorryy if that's too weird.

a/n: omg YES PREGNANT!READER BUT MAKE IT ANGST !! i’ve been so excited to write this one and ngl it’s a bit short but i hope you like it !!

months ago, you would have never thought you’d be hiding a positive pregnancy test from tsukishima. in fact, he would be the first person you would show it to. in your mind, you could still see the way his eyes would light up despite the nervous quiver of his mouth at finding he was going to be a father. 

but after the fight you two just had, after hearing tsukishima say the words that put a period on your relationship, you kept the information firmly to yourself. you didn’t care if the child in your belly was also tsukishima’s. he said he no longer wanted you in his life and so, you were going to walk out of it. 

maybe months ago, you thought he would make a good father. 

“so, are you going to have the baby?” your friend asked. you decided to move into her place after leaving the apartment you and tsukishima once shared. you bit your lip, placing a hand over your belly, trying to imagine another beating heart inside of you. 

as much as you wanted to, you still couldn’t bring yourself to completely hate tsukishima kei. you wished things to go back to the way they were, that you would open your eyes in the morning and find his arm wrapped around you again or hear him mumbling an apology in your ear and a ‘don’t go’ that you were more than happy to oblige to.

you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of this baby and you were willing enough to raise them, even if tsukishima was no longer in the picture. 

...

tsukishima would rather die than admit that he quite liked it when he had to tour for school field trips. of course, he hated it when kids were rowdy but he found that they weren’t as annoying as adults said they would be. most of the time, tsukishima found that they were interested enough about the museum exhibits to be silent and pay attention. 

and most of all, tsukishima loved the funny questions that they would ask. his favorite one from the tour he just did earlier was when this young girl asked if it was possible that dinosaurs were furry or had hair since the fossils didn’t exactly said that they wouldn’t.

‘you sure are going places,’ tsukishima laughed to himself, shaking his head as he left the floor for another tour guide to take over with a fossil-digging activity. tsukishima suddenly remembered that at one point, he did consider having kids.

except, the person he wanted to start a family with was long gone. 

tsukishima was still filled with regret for saying those things to you years ago. after you left, the realization that the apartment, that was now technically his, was too empty. the bathroom didn’t have its usual amount of your skincare and hair products. the kitchen cupboards didn’t have your favorite cereal and tea. and the bed. it didn’t smell like you anymore. tsukishima actually stopped sleeping there for a week because it felt so wrong

he had half a mind to call you up and ask you back but you also changed your contact info, much to his surprise. and when he finally did get ahold of your number, tsukishima couldn’t press ‘call.’ 

after everything he said to you, would you really want to come back?

tsukishima did try to move on, tried to open himself up more to new relationships and meeting new people. but in the end, things never quite worked out. and tsukishima would always know that you were the one that got away.

‘no point in dwelling in the past,’ tsukishima reminded himself as he entered the museum cafe to get some lunch, which was funny because that’s exactly when the past caught up to him.

right when he sat at his table was when you sat at yours and when you looked up across the two tables between the two of you, your eyes landed on your ex-boyfriend.

“tsukishima kei,” you involuntarily said aloud.

“y/n,” you heard him say in reply. his eyes widened as he took in the sight of you. the fact that you were older was a given, but he couldn’t deny that you looked well. especially since the last time he saw you was when you were leaving his apartment.

“well,” you felt a wry smile tug at your lips. “look at you.”

you couldn’t put a pin exactly on how you were feeling. maybe years ago you would have turned away at the sight of him. but you had raised a whole child by yourself without his help. at this point, there wasn’t anything you were afraid of facing head.

“yeah,” tsukishima swallowed. “how have you been?” 

you had a feeling that tsukishima was drifting in and out of his comfort zone at this point so you knew you had to take some control. and with that, you decided to sit at his table.

“quite alright, actually,” you smiled. “got a job and a house and all that fun adult stuff,” you chuckled. with a pang, tsukishima realized you were playing on an inside joke between you two. he remembered that day you two went shopping for apartment furniture, laughing at the fact that you two were now ‘finally becoming adults because we bought a dishrack now’.

“ah, same here,” tsukishima nodded.

“you work here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the museum.

“yeah, curating and doing tours,” tsukishima said. he knew very well that he wasn’t being conversational but that’s because he wouldn’t be able to control himself. years ago, you left because he hurt you and he wanted you back for so long. and now, you were right here in front of him.

and then, you decided to finally drop the bomb.

"when i left, i was pregnant,” you said. tsukishima felt his world go cold as he stared at you in disbelief.

“did you...?”

“i kept it, her, actually,” you laughed before falling silent and looking softly at your child’s father. “...she has your eyes.”

as if on cue, a young girl ran into the cafe and into your arms. “mommy!” she exclaimed. tsukishima watched with wide eyes, recognizing the little girl as the one who asked the funny question about dinosaurs earlier during the tour. aside from his eyes, tsukishima could see that her hair was just a darker shade of blonde than his. but her smile, that was yours.

“hey, honey. how was the tour?” you smiled, fixing the ribbon on her hair that had come loose.

“it was great! there was this really big triceratops skeleton that was even bigger than you and then we had a fossil digging activity and i dug up a lot of them!” your daughter continued to chatter. over her head, you had a clear view of the look on tsukishima’s face. his mouth hung slightly open and other than the rise and fall of his shoulders, you couldn’t tell if he was breathing. his eyes looked close to watering.

“oh, it’s mr. tour guide man!” your daughter grinned, turning around to face tsukishima who looked like a deer in the headlights now. “mommy, do you know him?” 

“he’s... an old friend,” you said, patting your daughter’s hair. “now, why don’t you run along first? mommy’s only going to talk for a few minutes,” you smiled.

“grown-up talk?” your daughter wrinkled her nose.

“yes, grown-up talk,” you chuckled. your daughter hopped off your lap, waved a little goodbye at the man she didn’t know was her father, and ran off.

“i... i have a daughter?” tsukishima whispered, watching her leave. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“i don’t think it would have fixed anything, between us, i mean,” you sighed.

“but, i could have at least known,” tsukishima said. “i... all this time...” he sighed and hung his head, finally opening about what he wanted to say.

“i wanted to reach out to you, to get you back.” 

“why didn’t you?” you asked. “all this time, i thought you wanted nothing to do with me.” 

“i guess we’re even,” tsukishima chuckled mirthlessly. “but, i hurt you more. you had to raise her by yourself, didn’t you?” 

“pretty much,” you pursed your lips, remembering those first few months when you definitely needed someone around.

tsukishima swallowed. he had no right to ask for this, not after everything he’s done or rather, failed to do. but he wanted to at least let you know that he wanted this. “can i be there, for the rest of her life? for the rest of your life?” 

“not going to lie, i’ve been having a hard time letting people in after we broke up,” you said. “but... i have missed you, tsukishima kei.” 

it felt as if a huge weight was lifted off tsukishima’s chest. he didn’t deserve this second chance, but now that he had that, he wasn’t going to let that go.

“we could start small,” he offered. “i could come see you guys once a week if you like.” 

“that sounds good,” you nodded. “she’s a lot like you, you know? one hell of a smart mouth,” you chuckled. 

“i better brace myself then,” tsukishima laughed, genuinely now. “what’s her name?” 

“hikari,” you smiled. 

“hikari,” tsukishima nodded, looking out the window of the cafe and watching hikari, his daughter, laughing with her friends in the museum lobby. “she has your smile, y/n.” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in!): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @tpwkatsumu

[amjustagirl]

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

Wordcount: 2.4k

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

AO3 Link here 

Masterlist here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pleathewrites]

Candles in the Sun

chapter 1: the one who drives all evil away

When Ryomen Sukuna was born, the ground shook.

A weeping mother cradles her baby in her weak arms. The sweat cools off her skin with the gusts of rain-scented wind pushing past an open window. Her baby’s heart beats - she can feel it through the pads of her fingers - and she sighs.

Her eyes do not betray her.

She looks at her child and begs the Gods for mercy to be given - for this world to treat her child as kindly as she vows to because she cannot feel anything but infinite gratitude as her baby looks up at her with bright, red eyes.

Both sets.

Her child has been born with a gift - the blessing of 4 eyes and 4 arms.

*

When Itadori Yuuji is born, his first breath matches the last of his mother’s.

A weeping father holds his daughter’s baby to his chest and begs for the Gods to bring her back.

His prayers are futile, as his daughter’s unblinking eyes remain downward towards her belly, awaiting the arrival of a child she never got the chance to hold.

With the tips of his fingers, using the gentlest pressure, he lowers his daughter’s eyelids and lets her rest.

Her baby cries.

He prays for the strength to give this child the same love and protection he had for his own. He feels the ache in his chest, lungs rattling with every inhale.

He begs his body not to give up on him.

*

It’s an odd feeling, Sukuna’s mouth stretching over his cheek.

He was in the middle of packing up the extra things that had been left behind in his move to Jujutsu High when he had stumbled across the frame that had used to stand upright on his grandfather’s dresser.

“Oh, is that a baby picture? Let me see,” Yuuji feels the words before he hears them.

His knee-jerk reaction is usually to deny the curse, for whatever he’s asking.

“What, no -”

“Let me see or I won’t leave you alone this whole day,” The King of Curses demands, rather childishly.

Yuuji sometimes forgets this guy is supposed to be a thousand years old.

He stares at the picture between his fingers. It’s a capture of one of his earliest memories, a blurry thing that Yuuji only really has random flashes of. He doesn’t remember what the occasion was, but he remembers the exhibit of huge dinosaur fossils and the vibrant green of grass against a rough picnic blanket. He doesn’t remember what they ate for that lunch, but he remembers his grandfather asking an elderly to take a picture of them in front of the museum entrance.

This maybe-five-year-old Yuuji has his mouth open in laughter while his grandfather swings him up to sit on the concrete pillar of a staircase.

His heart mourns.

Sukuna starts to let out whining noises that pull irritatingly at the skin under Yuuji’s eyes. Yuuji grumbles and holds the photo up for the curse’s eye to see.

Sukuna lets out a coo, “You were so cute. Fat,” and just when Yuuji feels the side of his lips tilt up in a smile at the comment, Sukuna continues, “You’re so ugly now.”

Yuuji squawks, “Fuck you!” and slaps his hand over the offending mouth.

The sting against his cheek lingers, though the curse does not.

*

Sukuna is five years old the first time he levitates.

The boy had stomped into his house with muddy shoes, and his mother had asked him to take a bath. He said he didn’t want to. She told him to take one anyways.

He screamed.

And the next thing they both knew, he was 5 feet above the ground, his feet dangling uselessly beneath him, and the tips of his shoulder-length hair brushing the ceiling of their home.

He sees his mother’s eyes widen, and his own breath stutters in the childish fear that maybe he’s doing something bad, and just when he’s about to try and return to the ground, the expression on his mother’s face changes.

She’s laughing.

The first laugh is blurted shock, the second disbelief, and the rest are consistent peals of happy - proud - laughter.

On that day onward, Sukuna’s mother discovered her son’s curse energy bleeds into his temper tantrums.

*

Fushiguro Megumi makes Yuuji’s soul wiggle, Sukuna observes.

The first time Sukuna notices, they’re in an abandoned school and the brat is about to get himself killed by a Special Grade curse that Sukuna could pulverize with a flick of his finger.

He tells Yuuji as so, tells the boy that he could easily help him out, but that he won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in the way.

Sukuna’s no hero, after all.

When Itadori Yuuji tells Fushiguro Megumi to run away, the energy of Yuuji’s soul seeps into Sukuna’s domain and messes with the physics of the place - and for a split second, Sukuna feels breathless.

Sukuna smiles, ‘Could it be?’

After defeating the Special Grade, Sukuna decides to test something out.

He beats Megumi within an inch of his life, and when he has the boy’s full attention, he rips Itadori Yuuji’s heart straight out of his chest.

Megumi's soul cries.

Sukuna lets out a manic laugh, ‘So it’s true.’

His plan will succeed.

However, when Megumi begins to speak, he foolishly speaks directly to Yuuji about why he had saved him and Sukuna feels the same watery jolt of the brat’s soul and he is immediately sucked back into his Innate Domain.

*

Sukuna burrows further into his cloak as he rummages through the village market.

He huffs.

He hates the townspeople. They always gasp at the sight of his arms and chase him away with their brooms.

But his mother grows weaker every harvest, and the walk from the mountain to the village center takes her nearly half a sun cycle, whereas Sukuna can make the trip in a third of that time.

He tries to recall what was written on his mother’s list when he’s pushed roughly from behind, a gust of wind and scrape of cotton breezing through his side. When he regains his balance, he opens his mouth to yell in complaint only to stop when he notices the person who pushed him is another kid, perhaps around his age, sprinting.

He looks behind him to see an older man - horribly familiar, especially with that stick of his - running toward the kid’s direction.

Sukuna sends a small wave of curse energy aimed at the man’s feet and trips him.

When the man falls flat on his face, Sukuna hurries in the direction of where the kid had run.

It only takes him a few seconds to locate the other kid.

One glance around the area with his four eyes confirms their privacy. Sukuna brings two hands to cup near his mouth and yells, “Hey!”

The kid freezes, at both Sukuna’s voice and the fact that they were running into a dead end.

They turn around, and Sukuna swears his chest rattles.

Stone green eyes shine back at him.

Sukuna swallows, “I know a place you can hide, but we have to go now. That old man won’t stay down for too long.”

The kid nods quickly, and Sukuna leads them through several back alleys of the town until they reach a rundown temple on the outside edge of the village. The two climb up jagged rocks that stick out the sides of the temple, and they don’t stop until they reach the highest floor, climbing through the window into the building.

The kid slides down the wall and tips their head back, swallowing the much-needed air back into their lungs.

When their chest stops heaving, they turn their head towards Sukuna and narrow their eyes at him. Their voice cracks when they ask, “Why did you help me?”

“Why were you being chased by the tomato vendor?” Sukuna counters.

Their lips close and tighten in frustration.

A gust of wind pushes through the temple’s window and knocks back the hood of Sukuna’s cloak, revealing the face he forgot he was hiding.

Emerald eyes widen.

Sukuna’s heart jumps to his throat. He knows he should run, but he’s frozen in place, waiting for a reaction. He can’t help it - his mother told him, time and time again, to never care what other people think of him, and, usually, he listens, but something is rooting him down in his place, faint and inaudible whispers behind his ears, telling him to, ‘Wait.’

“So, you are the boy,” are the next words breathed into the air.

Sukuna doesn’t know how to respond. He both knows and doesn’t know what this other kid is talking about - yes, he is the village monster, but the words, ‘the boy,’ have never been uttered like that.

Like sanctity.

“My mother used to speak of you,” the other continues, using their hands and knees to crawl closer, and closer, until they are close enough to block out the evening sun from Sukuna’s view, “But, we thought you were a myth. In the past ten harvests, she’s never seen you, but she always stayed firm. How odd, that only a year after that she - that I…” they leave off, and Sukuna doesn’t even notice the hand inching towards his face until they stop themselves, their shadow-tinted hand hovering in the air.

He startles backward, head thumping painfully on the stone wall.

The kid retracts quickly, “I’m sorry!”

Sukuna rubs his throbbing head, and the motion lifts his cloak, revealing the second arm that rests beneath his primary, “I-It’s ok,” He tells them, watching the way their eyes stare at the two arms on his left side with something that looks like wonder. He continues after another moment of silence, “What - uhm, I mean… What did your mother…?” He doesn’t know how to ask.

When the child looks back up, kind emerald eyes greet him, “A blessed child, birthed eleven harvests ago. Born with a soul four times as bright.”

Sukuna gasps.

(“Why do I look like this, Mama?”

His mother pauses, before setting her threaded needle on the table. She beckons her son with an outstretched arm, and he follows all the way up to her lap. She smiles warmly as Sukuna repositions himself atop her knee to face her. He waits.

“Sukuna, my boy… You are blessed. A child born with a soul four times as bright.”

The ruddy pink of his eyebrows furrow, “... four... times?”

His mother nods and thumbs under his lower left eye, “Four eyes,” the same hand slides down in a quick movement, and when her fingers wriggle into Sukuna's side, he shrieks in laughter, the sight causing his mother to let out a few giggles of her own, “and four arms!”

“M-Mama, s-stop it!”

Her hand stills and she presses a kiss to the crown of her son’s head.

“A soul brighter than four souls put together.”)

The child assumes his surprise to be fear and reaches out to hold the hand of his lower arm.

“Do not worry, I will not hurt you, or decieve you. I… I would like to be your ally.”

Sukuna thinks he would like that, as well.

“What is your name?” He asks. His mother told him once that he could, ‘obtain a glimpse of a person’s soul by the way they wear their name.’

The child beams, a missing tooth mirroring the one he had lost himself earlier that year, “Chiyoko! You can call me Chiyo, though. I think it’s cute.”

Sukuna thinks so, too.

“My name is Sukuna.”

SUKU - NA: The one who drives evil away.

CLICK TO READ REST OF CHAPTER

[nautiscarader]

Nautiscarader’s Wendip Week day 3: Prank War

geez, this one took a while. I apologise, and let’s hope next one will arrive faster

 (ao3)

============

Someone standing outside of The Mystery Shack might have thought that the living room contained a very predictable lighting bug, or at least that someone inside was broadcasting a rather boring Morse code message using light signals.

In reality, it was just Wendy and Dipper, slouched on the sofa, surfing TV channels, giving each of them at most three seconds to entertain their bored minds. So far, none of them stood up to the challenge.

But as Wendy continued the only physical activity she had the energy for, i.e. pressing one button, something finally caught their attention.

- "What's up everyone? It's your boy, the Prankster Prancer!"

A loud, obnoxious, blonde man in his twenties, wearing spiky, gelled hair rode into the shot on a fake unicorn, face-hugged the camera, filling the wide-angle lens and made both Dipper and Wendy jump in their seats as loud horn noise shook the air around them.

- Wait, I thought this guy was only on the internet! - Wendy raised her brow - Did he escape to the real world?! - Come on, who in the right mind would give him a show? - "So, first of all, thanks to our station, The Cheese Network, for giving me the chance to entertain you guys..."

Dipper and Wendy groaned in collective understanding.

- "...and for giving us some cheese to pay for our last week's prank!"

The screen dimmed and the camera changed to an aerial shot, containing not only fires and flood, but also several military helicopters.

- "So last time we did some EPIC prank during the gender reveal party and we've made a hole in the ozone hole!"

The man made extra effort to extend every vowel in the last word, to an equally obnoxious collection of sound effects.

- Wow. That looks... bad. Even by our standards. - Wendy watched the footage. - Yeah. Good thing this dude stays away from us. - "And now it's time to reveal the next place for our EPIC PRANK!"

The man took a baseball bat and unceremoniously smashed the unicorn doll in half, and stuck his hand in the fake guts, revealing an envelope.

- "And this one is a suggestion from my top commentator on-line, that girl leaves comments under every single one of my videos, so I could not ignore her request".

The envelope was opened, and suddenly, a girl's voice began reading it.

- "Dear Prankster Prancer. I love your videos, and how creative your calamity can be..." - Wait a minute - Dipper sat up, as his eyes widened in horror - Is that- - "My name is Mabel Pines, and I am staying in a small town called Gravity Falls, in Oregon...".

Dipper and Wendy looked at each other and understood each other at once.

- Barricade the doors!

But it was too late. As Dipper ran towards the lobby, the door were smashed to the ground, seemingly under the power of the air horns, and flooded the Shack with lights. The same blonde man walked inside, as if he owned the place, leading with him Mabel Pines.

- What's up birches? Is that how you call people living in the middle of a forest? - he shoved his face to the camera again. - More like, in the middle of nowhere! - Mabel added, high-five'ing him - Thankfully, me and my Prankster Protégé are gonna rock this place! - he shouted.

Dipper Pines stood up and cleaned himself from the dust and debris, watching as the two rock their heads to some aggressive tune.

- Hold on a minute! Mabel, why did you invite him here? If anything, there's too much going around in here! - Ugh, this is my little brother, Dipper. - Mabel rolled her eyes - I'm-I'm not little! - Dipper stomped in place - We're twins!

Somewhere behind him, Wendy snickered.

- What, you just look adorable when you're angry.

Dipper turned back and stormed towards his sister.

- Mabel, do you have amnesia or something? Gravity Falls is full of amazing things! We've been on treasure hunts, found all sorts of monsters in every lake, glade and a cave... You wanted to date a zombie on out first day here! - Yeah, sure, kid, as if I could just walk into a forest and find a dead body... - the Prankster took a sip of soda, looking somewhat nervously. - Mabel, we've seen living dinosaurs here! - Yeah, like I can see one now!

The Prankster pointed to the kitchen and very confused Grunkle Stan in his pajamas.

- What in the DMV is going on here? - Check this out, a living fossil!

The Prankster jumped towards Grunkle Stan and unceremoniously took a selfie with him.

- Oh no, my eyes! The light is coming towards me instead of the other way around!

Stan cried when flash of light blinded him, and with a sleigh of hand, the blonde man undid his belt, causing Stan to nearly trip and fall, if it wasn't for Wendy.

- Hey, you! You're not a prankster, you're a jerk!

At the sound of those words, the man stopped laughing and turned his attention, as well as cameras, towards Wendy.

- What's that? We've got ourselves a HATER!

An air horn was about to blow her hat off, but Wendy swiftly grabbed it and twisted it.

- Yeah, that's what I've said, you're a jerk. I like pranking people, but not to hurt them. - And watchu gonna do, leave a mean comment? - No, we're gonna prank you. - Wendy reached and brought Dipper towards her. - Cos we've done some pranking together ourselves! - Like what? - Like... when we've made our friend think his inflatable tube could talk!

The Prankster shot them with a dead stare.

- You know what, I don't even have time to play the "wah-wah" soundbite. But if you want to lose, your call. Tomorrow, we're gonna get an EPIC PRANK-OFF!

And he shot a pose in front of the camera.

- Right, now tell me where's someplace to eat. And they better have unlimited refills. - Lazy Susan is neat. And there's water tower nearby...

And with that, he and Mabel walked off, leaving the small destruction behind them.

- Wendy! - Dipper turned at once towards her - Are you crazy? He has entire film crew! And money! And very little empathy! He's gonna plough through us! - Chill out, man, we're gonna trick him, one way or another.

And she gently smacked the edge of his hat.

- Er, I know you guys like to babble all the time, but I still can't get up. - Grunkle Stan grumbled from the floor.

=============

The next day, Wendy woke up at the break of dawn with unbridled optimism. Dipper less so, and he was a bit nervous when Wendy gathered him and her crew in the small lumberjack shack in the woods to explain the plan of action.

- So, any questions? - she asked

At the same time, every teenager in the small room raised hands.

- So, how does exactly the can of whipped cream is supposed to work with the rake? - Tambry asked - And what do we have to do with the rat-shaped balloons? - Thompson asked shyly. - And can't we just... punch him? - Robbie suggested, mimicking the action. - Ugh, you guys!

Wendy groaned and hid her face in her hands. hearing the murmurs of doubt across the room, Dipper quickly stood up and continued.

- Guys, this jerk is giving us, pranksters, a bad name! We gotta prank him in a way that shows we are better... Because we can do better!

He watched as faces of the older teenagers brighten with his speech. Several of them even smiled.

- Plus he could, like, sue us for millions of dollars, so we gotta stay clean.

With newly gained optimism, the gang rushed to Thompson's van and readied themselves for the prank.

- Thanks, man, for giving me a hand. - Wendy suddenly patted Dipper's back. - Oh, no-no problem. - Dipper spoke, wondering if she noticed his blush.

=========

- Alright, we're all in places.

Wendy spoke to her phone, and observed the places, leaning from behind the wall. Her eyes moved from Robbie, hidden in the abandoned ice-cream stall, to Thompson, on top of a tree, to Tambry, pretending to read a large newspaper, and finally, to Dipper, holding a bag of provisions.

- We-Wendy, I'm not sure if this is gonna work. - Now!

She commanded, as Prankster walked nonchalantly out of the store. He thre away the half-eaten sandwich he just bought and was about to walk into the string that would have activate the whipped cream... if he didn't make a sudden jump.

He then threw something into the stall.

- Oh, crap, it's a grenade!

Robbie stormed out, tripping on the same wire he helped setting up, which resulted in his black hair covered in white goo and sprinkles.

Tambry was supposed attack next, but Prankester was already next to her. He took a bucket of soapy water and dumped it over her, destroying her diguise that covered her pruple hair.

For Thompson, he didn't even have to do much - he threw a mouse toy into the air, and listened how the boy tumbles down, shrieking.

And finally, he took something big and colourful out of his backpack and tossed it onto the street, watching as Dipper and Wendy rush towards it.

- Limited edition Giraffeoala!

They realised the two were after it when it was too late. Their heads collided with each other, just as the elusive plushie was yanked from their hands, back into his bag.

- Seriously, guys? You wanted to outsmart me? There like five of you and you couldn't do it. - Ha! That was a good one! - Mabel emerged from behind his back and did another high-five. - But I couldn't do it without you. - he pointed at her. - Me? But I didn't do anything... - Of course you did.

The Prankster lowered his sunglasses.

- Last evening at that stupid bar. You told me you were friends with everyone here. You told me how one of them likes gloomy, dark places. Like another one is afraid of mice. Like another one never looks away from her phone...

Mabel's ecstatic, radiant smile faded with each word the Prankster spoke, and her eyes, widened from excitation began to fill with tears.

- And, well, you told me what these two dorks are obsessed about... amongst other things. - Mabel! - Wendy and Dipper cried at the same time. - But-But I didn't... - Aw, really? You feel sad for them? LAME. - he pushed her aside and waved for his crew that followed him anyway.

For quite a while, all the small town could hear was Mabel Pines sobbing, until someone closed his arms around her.

- There, there, sis. - Dipper spoke quietly. - I guess you see why were so angry now. - I-I didn't know he would...

Dipper hugged her, letting her cry as much as she wants into his vest.

- It's not your fault, Mabel. - Wendy added, taking a knee and gently patting her. - But-But it is! - Well... Kinda... - Robbie added, and received a cold, piercing stare from Wendy. - Jerks like that like to... use people. And they know that the best ones are those, who are most trusting and kind.

Mabel's sniffing stopped, as Wendy continued.

- But you know what? - Dipper spoke suddenly - I think I got an idea...

He let go of his sister rushed to the Prankster, sitting on one of the toy unicorns, tossing quarter after quarter, while two children in queue began to tear up.

- Hey, you! - Ugh, you again, twerp. What, want me to reveal more secrets about you and your stupid hobbies? Or, like, who is your biggest crush after a toy plushie from the 90s?

Dipper's face reddened, but he remained unperturbed.

- We're not done yet. Tomorrow we're gonna prank you for good. Double or nothing! - Ugh, sure, fine. - the Prankster didn't even look at him - It's not like I can do anything until my lawyers clean up the whole "gender reveal party" fiasco. Like, who cares if the whole state is now inhabitable for life?

==============

By the next morning, the battleground was set. Cameras and tons of equipment surrounded the small grassy meadow in front of the Mystery Shack, where Dipper and Wendy were sitting in their chairs with their arms crossed, both wearing much more confident smiles. And the fact that Mabel was with them added them extra layer of morale.

When the clock struck 12, a mighty roar shook the place, as monster truck drove from behind the tree line, smoking and setting nearby branches on fire. The Prankster Prancer jumped out of it, and, drowned in the flashes of cameras, walked into his place.

- So, are you twerps ready for the FINAL PRANK OF YOUR LIFE? - he roared into the microphone, rolling his tongue back and forth as if he was about to eat it. - Nah, we're not gonna prank you. - Wendy shrugged - But someone else will.

The newly reinstalled door to the Mystery Shack opened, and a new figure appeared. An elderly woman walked out, being led by Grunkle Stan that gallantly helped her, for once not sneaking his hand into her purse.

And when she looked up from behind her glasses, the confident smile on Prancer's face disappeared at once.

- Grandma?! What-What are you doing here?! - Oh, don't you know? - Grunkle Stan rushed with explanation - We, old folks, all know each other. And I simply couldn't let her miss her grandson's grand day! - I'm so glad I can see you, Archibald!

The elderly lady used her cane to hook him by his neck and brought him into his arms, despite his best efforts to avoid any interactions.

- G-Grandma, don't- don't call me that! - Why not? - she continued, seemingly ignoring her grandson efforts to escape her tight hug. - I am your grandma, and I will call you by your full name, Archibald Roderick Sebastian Eugene!

Somewhere behind them, Dipper, Wendy and Mabel were having the time of their life, trying to hide their laughter.

- So, wait, his initials literally make him an... - Grandma! Make them stop! They-they are laughing at me! - Nonsense! Those young folks told me all your fans would love to see me talk about you. So I've send them some photos via the eclectic mail!

The blonde man looked to the side at Wendy and Dipper's faces. Their wide smiles told him everything, and in the act of ultimate desperation, he gently shook his head, silently mouthing his plea. He then looked at Mabel's, but hers was filled with spite.

In response, Mabel simply pressed a button.

The enormous screen behind them lit up, showing an adorable newborn blonde boy in diaper, giggling at the baby rattle.

Several more followed, showing his equally naked body in progressively embarrassing positions.

The screen changed, and the same boy was now three-years old, wearing a strict haircut as well as a bowtie. And the worst part was, he looked happy.

The Prankster Prancer fell to his knees, as tears began rolling from his eyes, which his grandma quickly dried with her handkerchief.

- Oh, yes, I do tear up a little at this one too. Oh, but the next one makes me so proud!

Prancer's eyes widen, if possibly even more, and throwing away all the pretence, he rushed to Wendy and Dipper and began begging them for mercy. But it was for nothing. He knew they have seen the photo already.

And with another press of a button, a seven-year old Prancer was shown, wearing a blue cardigan, sitting in an armchair with a big book in his hands, smiling at the camera, proudly showing his braces.

The scanned photo displayed a title, written in crayon over it.

"I love school!"

Flocks of birds flew into the air from the nearby trees in response to the shriek that reverberated the air, full of remorse, despair, and unmistakably, defeat.

- Nooooo!

The Prancer hit the ground with his fists, for which he was quickly reprimanded by his grandma ("You're going to make them dirty!"), while Wendy and Dipper high-fived each other, before giving Mabel a warm hug.

=============

- So I guess that will teach him? - Dipper asked Wendy as the two lay on the sofa, flicking through the channels again. - Pfh. I wish it did. - Wendy reached for her phone and showed Dipper a familiar blonde man waving his arms uncontrollably. - "What's up Prankster Pros? It's ya boy, and I've got this sweet book deal full of my MOST EMBARASSING photos! Look at that baby bottom! Only for $99.99..." - Geez, I guess they never learn. - Nope. But at least he's not here...

For a while the room dimmed every few seconds, as Wendy searched for anything interesting, but something else was on Dipper's mind.

- So... about those Cuddle Buddies...

The remote fell out of Wendy's hand.

- Uh, yeah, so, I just...

She shied away and mumbled her answer, until she saw a polite smile on Dipper's face.

- So, like, remember ever since you wanted to win that Duck Panda for me? I... kinda got into them, you know. Not like, obsessively collecting them, but... you know. - Yeah, I do. For cuddling.

The two looked at each other and exchanged the same, warm smiles.

- So which generation you like the most? - Well, gen 2 obviously - she rolled her eyes - What? Five is the best. - The best as sucking, perhaps. - Come on, they had changed the lead designer and everything, but they're still Cuddle Buddies...

For quite a while, the channel stayed on, as neither of them bother to change it. And when the night fell on, Wendy and Dipper realised that they might have discovered something new to talk about.

[gusu-emilu]

orange segments

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Qin Su (one-sided, sorry JC)

Summary: Jiang Cheng and Qin Su share a few moments (and an orange) with Jin Ling and each other.

Rated G, Fluff, brief mention of canon-typical violence

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

* * *

A-Ling passes the orange back and forth between his tiny hands, nearly dropping it once. His eyes shine bright with mirth at this simple game.

He's still so little. Jiang Cheng has seen plenty of children in Lotus Pier, yet he is always surprised by how small A-Ling is if he thinks about it too much. Both of his hands, still fiddling with the orange, could fit in Jiang Cheng’s. His nose is a little bump; his oversized ears stick out and somehow make him look even smaller.

Perhaps it is so difficult to process how little A-Ling is because it seems like every time Jiang Cheng visits Jinlintai, A-Ling is a bit bigger. Today he's two years old—and a half, as he’s been proclaiming.

With a sudden peal of laughter, A-Ling places the orange on the floor and rolls it to Qin Su, who is kneeling in front of him with Jiang Cheng. The round fruit gently thuds into her knee. “Shenshen!” A-Ling calls. “Make it for me?”

“Alright,” Qin Su says softly. She glances at Jiang Cheng with a smirk, then picks up the orange, cleans it, and begins peeling it. “How come you don’t make your jiujiu do any work?”

“He makes me do plenty,” Jiang Cheng counters before A-Ling can erupt into one of his new favorite remarks to offend him. It doesn’t make a difference.

“Jiujiu is too busy pouting!” A-Ling says through giggles, and Qin Su laughs with him. He undoubtedly learned this jab from her.

Qin Su has only been in Jinlintai for several months, her lavish wedding to Jin Guangyao still a fresh memory in the cultivation world, yet she has taken a liking to teasing Jiang Cheng quite rapidly. Somehow, they’d become friends over A-Ling after just a few times meeting each other. Qin Su, eager for a child of her own and perhaps even more eager to make pleasant acquaintances outside her maids—a difficult task in the snake pit of Jinlintai—latched onto him and A-Ling quickly. Although Jiang Cheng is not sure how he counts as a pleasant acquaintance.

As for how he ended up taking a liking to Qin Su…he supposes that anyone who treats A-Ling well will inevitably gain his favor. The fact that Qin Su is warm-hearted and sensible, intelligent and down-to-earth enough to see through the vacuous opulence of her new clan, and stubbornly cheeky enough to poke fun at Jiang Cheng of all people—and also that maybe Jiang Cheng is a bit lonely—that could have something to do with it, too. Potentially.

He might also have a miniscule crush on her.

But Qin Su is a married woman, expecting her own son in the coming months, and even if three quarters of the matchmakers have blacklisted Jiang Cheng like he’s some threat to womankind, he isn’t so much of a monster that he would dare disrespect Qin Su’s honor. A crush is not an idea he can entertain.

They're just friends who happen to look after the same little boy.

“If I did pout,” Jiang Cheng says, shooting a stern look at Qin Su, “which I don't, it wouldn’t incapacitate me so much that I can’t peel an orange.”

“Ah, this is good to know,” Qin Su says as she delicately removes another strip of orange peel, then holds the fruit out to Jiang Cheng. “Then I suppose your scowl right now will not hinder you from finishing my work for me.”

A-Ling cackles. Little brat. He probably doesn’t even know why he’s laughing.

The boy watches with twinkling eyes as Jiang Cheng sighs and takes the orange. The bittersweet fragrance of orange rind swirls around Jiang Cheng as he peels the fruit, while Qin Su starts playing a clapping game with A-Ling.

These moments in A-Ling’s room every few weeks hold Jiang Cheng over until the summers, when A-Ling lives in Lotus Pier. Although, now that Jiang Cheng gotten used to Qin Su's company, he’s beginning to wonder if he will miss her during the months he no longer needs to travel to visit A-Ling.

He’s formed comradery with his senior disciples during the war—the cultivators he’d trust with his life—in a way he’d never been able to while he was still the sect heir during times of peace. Watching your home be burned to the ground and fighting back-to-back soaked in blood and mourning the lost can build strong bonds with one's clansmen, if not happy ones.

But this is different.

This might be the closest glimpse of something like family that Jiang Cheng has had since…since two years ago.

Peace, for once.

Half an hour later, A-Ling falls asleep, and Qin Su tells Jiang Cheng about her hometown as they watch over him. Her voice is soft and quiet as she speaks about trips to the ocean and the time she and a friend found a giant sea creature’s fossils sticking out of a crumbled cliffside after an earthquake. Jiang Cheng tells her about the boat racing games he’d play on the lake and the time he got buried under lotus pads, although he doesn’t mention who accompanied him back then.

It’s nice, to share these lost memories, with a child’s cheerfulness between them to break what otherwise might be sorrowful. Qin Su has been separated from her hometown. Jiang Cheng lives in an empty hometown.

Sometimes, he wonders what his life might be like now if it had been he, not Jin Guangyao, who saved Qin Su during the Sunshot Campaign, and if she had pursued him instead. He had never truly wanted a wife (or he at least tries not to think about the one time he considered it), but if marriage could be like this…comfortable, like sitting beside a friend…

What is he doing thinking this way? Even if these wandering delusions weren't about a married woman, he has seen how marriages fail. With his days and his entire mind revolving around his sect when he isn't with A-Ling—or isn't wallowing in his own miseries or isn't lashing out in anger—he's just tired. Callous. He has so little care to offer that the matchmakers were probably right to blacklist him.

Qin Su slides an orange slice between her lips. “Jiang-zongzhu. May I ask—your birth name is Jiang Cheng?”

Surprised by the sudden question, Jiang Cheng just nods.

“Cheng as in chengzi (orange)?” She smiles wryly.

He crosses his arms. “No. Cheng as chengqing (clear). No parents would name a sect heir after a fruit.”

“I think it would have nice imagery. A river of oranges to go with the lotus lake.” She separates a piece of fruit and hands it to him. Although he glares at her, he takes the orange segment, careful not to brush her fingers. But just as he is about to eat it, she adds, “It could also be inspiration to give the Jiang Clan robes a makeover.”

His hand drops to his side, fist closing over the orange segment. “You don’t like our robes?” he asks with more distress in his voice than he intended.

She laughs, eyes bright. “I do. Don’t worry. Violet is a nice color.” She focuses her gaze back down on the orange half she holds in her hands, lips quirked. “You know that I was only pretending to insult you; do not insult me. Eat the piece I gave you.”

“Hmph.” Jiang Cheng pops the orange slice in his mouth and looks away.

“Thank you, Chengzi.”

“You—”

She shushes him. “If you start yelling, A-Ling will wake up.”

Across the room, A-Ling breathes deeply, eyes closed, one side of his faced smushed against his hand. The sight calms Jiang Cheng, although he is still offended.

“Have I ever yelled at you?” he asks.

“You haven't,” Qin Su says thoughtfully. “You can be a bit loud, though.”

Heat rises to his cheeks.

Qin Su doesn’t look over, but somehow she notices the faint blush, as if she has some magical sixth sense for detecting embarrassment. “I enjoy the color violet, I enjoy the company of people who are a bit loud.” She gestures toward A-Ling with the orange in her hand. “So does he, when he's not napping."

"Understood,” Jiang Cheng says, and nods. "A-Ling...A-Ling likes your company, too."

Qin Su smiles and hands over another orange segment. Holding back a smile of his own, Jiang Cheng eats it quietly.

The comfort of a friend, and a glimpse of something like family, is already satisfying enough.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3! :D

江澄 - Jiāng Chéng - "river" and "clear, transparent" 江橙 - sounds exactly the same! - "river" and "orange" hence the "river of oranges" joke shoutout to @qi-ling for mentioning this a few days ago lol

I'm not sure if shenshen (father's younger brother's wife) is what Jin Ling would call Qin Su but I think it's right? Feel free to correct me.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 6

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

relationship: Fem!OC/Spencer

content warnings: discussion of mental illness (schizophrenia)

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

the thing about growing up in a place where there are so many dinosaur fossils is that you start to search for them everywhere. my friends and I, in elementary school, saw the enormous bones, those huge sockets where eyes used to sit. and even though there was nothing in them now, they seemed to glare back at us. if you stood right in front, face-to-face, it felt like looking down the barrel of a gun. a several-ton, reptilian gun. petrifying.

and it wasn't like there was much to do in Montana, anyway. sometimes the sheer expanse of that place, especially if we drove a bit out of town, was enough to put fear in me. like we'd been abandoned there.

when my mom got her migraines, I dug holes in the front yard. occasionally, I'd find something-- a funnily-shaped rock, usually-- and it would look enough like a dinosaur tooth that for a moment I'd deceive myself into thinking that I'd made a discovery. it didn't matter that actual remnants would be buried much, much further in the ground than I could turn with my small hands. but I liked the slight rush it sent through my body, seeing what other people hadn't. sitting back on my heels and brushing off the excess, the only thing I could hear was my breath. there's something quite serene about that, the focusing in on something which normally I would never think about. my heart pounding. and I collected my findings so that I would be able to put them together again when there were enough pieces.

but this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly not when I'm short on time and staring at an upsettingly pathetic evidence board.

"the unsub said we needed a book, didn't he?" Spencer brings me to attention. there's an unfolded paper on the board that Hotch's wife dropped off an hour ago. he's talking to her in his office about who delivered it; we don't know anything else. all it has is a bunch of numbers written in neat black ink.

"yep." I bite the end of my pen and frown. "one that 'inspired many an adventure.'"

"then it's a book code," Reid says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I arch an eyebrow and he continues. "each one of these sets of numbers represents a specific word. page 118, line 30, word 3." he points one long finger at a certain spot, and I follow it.

"so we just need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks," I lean forward in my chair, cradling a cup of coffee that's starting to grow cold. "except what book are we looking for?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. I lean back in my seat; if Reid doesn't know, we're all screwed. "the thing is that it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book."

"that's encouraging." I sigh. the useless feeling puts me in a bad mood. we're wasting time by sitting and learning nothing. although there's nowhere to go.

I'm not sure how long we're there; hours, at least. night becomes less heavy, hues of a purplish pink sky slotting through the blinds and reminding me of just how exhausted I am. not enough to sleep. bone-tired.

Spencer crosses his arms, leans his chin on his fist and stares at the numbers like they'll suddenly make sense. and maybe they will; I don't know how his head works. some miracle that has eluded us for the past few hours might appear now. but the longer I stare, the more confused I get. instead, I start to sift through the pile of other evidence pieces scattered around the table. we could be missing something.

"you know, I can understand how this guy got our addresses and phone numbers, but there's no way all that information about JJ's butterfly obsession or Rossi's trips to baseball games would be in our personnel files." I frown. those things wouldn't be relevant.

Spencer isn't even listening to me, though. he's muttering to himself, eyes flickering over the floor.

"'never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,'" he says it more loudly, then finally focuses on me. "it sounds familiar-- I think I've heard it somewhere before."

I also get the feeling that I've heard it before, except it keeps slipping my memory. a lot of rhyming poetry leaves my mind after I finish reading it, and I don't want to lead us in the wrong direction, either. he uncaps a dry erase marker and hurries over to the white board, writing "Possible Book Titles" in messy scrawl, staring at it. I watch him for a moment, the way he talks to himself as he works through his thoughts, certain words floating in the air.

"how many books do you think are published every year?" I ask. maybe if we can narrow that down, we can get a better perspective on how to proceed. Spencer doesn't even look up.

"thousands. easily." he sighs dejectedly. and then his head snaps up. "year... every year."

he spins and starts to push all the evidence bags aside on the table, scrambling to grab something. I don't know what to say about his fervent behavior. I'm speechless when he finds the baseball card. he shoves it in my face. "1963."

"what about it?" I take the card.

"if the book has to be the right volume and the right publication date, why is this from 1963?"

his eyes are enormous. wide pupils that urge me to catch onto his line of thought. for a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about. my eyes run over the baseball card for what feels like the millionth time, examining the date. I slam the thing down on the table and we look at each other.

"Rossi said 1959." I say. he nods.

"so the book must be from 1963, or it wouldn't fit the pattern," Reid straightens and runs his hands through his hair, his spine finally straightening as he takes a deep breath. I can practically sense the electric current that radiates from his body while he thinks. "I'm gonna go ask Garcia about something."

he's gone before I have a chance to respond.

...

the rest of the day gets really weird really fast. as all of us are focused on finding the unsub, I fall into a daze. I don't eat, don't drink anything other than tankards of coffee while my eyes start to burn from looking at the board.

we've finished talking on the phone to a librarian at some facility in Virginia, where the exact edition of the book we've been seeking is housed. it took about half an hour for us to go through each blank in the code with her. somehow, that prompted Spencer to think of his mom, so he called her and requested she be flown out here from Las Vegas immediately. the whole time he's on the phone, he rocks back and forth on his heels and keeps glancing at me.

I pretend to be focused on the pile of evidence, not wanting to intrude. he already told me about his mom, and I'm assuming this has something to do with her being a professor of medieval literature. it's not really my place to question it.

when he hangs up, he doesn't say anything to me. there's quite literally nothing else for us to do. I clear my throat, lick my lips, and sit a bit straighter. he's still standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"um," I wrack my mind for anything that would take our minds off the waiting. "do you wanna play cards?"

Spencer tries to smile. it looks more like a wince as he nods. with Prentiss and Morgan talking to the guy who delivered the code papers and Hotch and Rossi on their way to interview the parents of the missing girl (whose name is Rebecca Bryant, apparently), we're kind of aimless.

I head to the bullpen to grab my favorite deck, then return and close the door behind me. there are plenty of other employees out there bustling around, and the noise probably won't help his anxiety. he's sitting in the chair next to where I was, leaning his elbow against the table while he presses his knuckles to his temple. he looks incredibly pensive.

"here." I plop down next to him.

"thanks."

"mhmm." instead of starting a conversation, I just shuffle the deck. the only sounds are the flutter of paper against paper and the slap of the cards on the table's surface. his eyes follow the movements of my hands, the way I bend and mix them up, before eventually dealing them out.

it should be awkward, but it's not. the weight of his thoughts fills enough of the space for the both of us; I can practically hear him running through scenarios in his mind, ever.

we start to play for a couple minutes in silence, and I'm in shock when he's the one who initiates a game of war. all I do is smile to myself as the pile in the middle of the table begins. we get caught up in it; both of us are tense, and he finally slaps his hand down on the pile before I do. my hand is covering his, evidence of my defeat.

"hey!" he cheers, looking up at me with a surprised grin and dragging the pile towards him. I narrow my eyes.

"I was distracted." I roll my eyes.

"yeah?" he starts to laugh as he sets forth another card. "by what? how I'm crushing you?"

"you get one hand and suddenly you're the master, now, huh?" I can't help but giggle. he nods and smiles like, yeah, pretty much. I scoff and we continue to play. halfway through the next round, he speaks up.

"I forgot she always used to read me that poem."

"what poem?" I frown.

"The Parliament of Fowls-- it's how we figured out the book title."

the name slides into place for me at last. I must have read it in college or something, because it didn't leave that big of an imprint on my memory.

"Chaucer?" I raise an eyebrow. his head startles up from staring at the table.

"yeah." he smiles a little. 

"I'm not entirely stupid." I wink before setting down another card. he makes a noncommittal noise.

he seems to get uncomfortable, shifting, then gives up on his previous train of thought. "it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

I just give him an inquisitive look.

"I should have realized sooner. nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collected butterflies except for me." he isn't looking at me, but I notice that he does seem more relaxed than before. his shoulders aren't so hunched over, and there's even a hint of a thoughtful smile on his face.

"that's sweet." I reply softly.

"people tell me their secrets all the time," he stops putting out cards. I stop, too, although he doesn't even notice that we're no longer playing the game. his back is reclined in the chair. "I think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to."

my heart sinks in my chest at the implication. his tone is a bit melancholy, but there's something else in it, too, that I can't quite place. like a resigned loneliness. I want to say something, though I'm not sure what. and I don't think it would make a difference anyway. he continues on before I have to, thankfully.

"except my mom. I tell her... pretty much everything." he looks up at me when he says the last part, smiling. his eyes sparkle, and something about the low tone of voice and the way he gives up all of this at once makes me think that Spencer hasn't spent much time telling his own secrets. only hearing others', storing them away.

"I don't think anyone would mind." I reply.

"you know, I write her a letter every day." his laugh is really lovely. my heart stutters.

"I think that's nice."

"well, it depends on why I write her."

"what do you mean?" this time I frown, my fingertips fidgeting with each other under the table. I hate that I'm nervous right now, worried that I'll somehow ruin the moment.

"I write her letters... so that I don't feel so guilty about not visiting her." each syllable like its own individual battle for him.

the admission is like a cement block between us, something ridiculously heavy that he has compressed and repressed until it's too solid to hide anymore. and he's avoiding contact when he says it, and the moments after. his fingertips mess around with a stray paper clip, twisting the thing into oblivion.

"did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?" he asks, then peeks up to gauge my reaction. schizophrenia.

"how long has she been diagnosed?" my own eyes are barely able to hold his. everything in my body wants to reach out and hug him, even though that would only ruin this. Spencer isn't a fan of physical touch.

"since before I was born," he shrugs, poking his palm with the end of the paper clip. "she was on meds but didn't get placed in Bennington until I was eighteen." this also seems to be bitter in his mouth. "you get used to it. it's just... I won't know for a while."

I nod. it likely won't manifest for a couple years with him, but that only puts a ticking clock over his head. and, judging by the way his body is sinking into the swivel chair, he senses it constantly. I wish I could tell him that he doesn't have it, that he won't have it, except I can't. there's no way for anyone to find out right now.

"I'm sorry, Spence." it's a weak thing to say-- stupid, really. I've never had a way with words. instead, I pour every ounce of my emotion into it. I don't want him to feel alone. I guess I'm sorry for that, too, along with everything else. nobody deserves to deal with that by themselves.

"it's okay," he smiles. "it is what it is, right?"

"I mean, I think it's a little more complicated than that. but yeah." wow, really fucking eloquent. he chuckles at this, though, brushing his fingers over the top of his deck of cards. he flips the top one over and we return to playing, leaving the conversation to lie open between us.        

...

my body feels like it's been dragged through a corn field by the time we get back to the office. I think I'm still a little in shock, honestly. this whole day has been jam-packed with things, easily the most intense case I've had yet. my morning was occupied by a code-cracking book search, then a series of out-of-place card games with Reid, then his mother arrived and I left them to talk so as not to overwhelm her.

we rescued Rebecca Bryant-- Spencer did, I mean. it was chivalric, how he went into the house and tried to talk down her kidnapper (who happened to be her father). the guy blew himself up, and Morgan tells me that they barely got out of the way in time. I was on the main level with Hotch, trying to find Rebecca. again, Reid came to the rescue with that eidetic memory, recalling the puzzle pieces and a photograph that included an illuminated basement light. the key he received in the mail slipped into her shackles with ease, unlocking her before we carried her out onto the lawn and watched the house burn into an ash-covered shell of itself. I remember the way the smoke billowed into the air, how sparks fluttered out of the windows and dissipated into nothingness.

I stood there like a rock, Reid stumbling up next to me. his face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair was curlier than usual. the heat must have ruined whatever he usually used to smooth it down.

"hey." I'd said, putting my hand on his shoulder as if to offer some kind of stability. he glanced at me with something like unease, then tried to straighten up.

"hi."

"I heard you were a hero in there."

"did Morgan say that?"

"yeah, why?" I laughed. Reid chuckled, shook his head slowly.

"he's teasing me."

"for what?" I frowned.

"pure irony. you know how he always calls me 'pretty boy' and stuff?"

"I sure do." my fist came up to softly slug him in the shoulder. Spencer stumbled a bit and my eyes went wide as I tried to right him before he fell. he made a face as he regained his footing and then I giggled. "you okay, there?"

"I'm fine." he tried to be annoyed, but he was hiding a smile.

"is Rebecca gonna be okay?" I nodded to the ambulance, where he had just spent the past couple minutes talking to the paramedics and checking her condition.

"she'll be okay-- physically, I mean."

"seriously," I watched them close the doors to the vehicle, closing her up inside before they sped off to the hospital. "two years in there."

he nodded and we started to walk to our cars to meet up with the team and head to the office. we both knew his mother was still at Quantico, probably anxiously awaiting his return after she helped him crack the case. but he didn't seem to want to talk about it, so I asked something else that was on my mind.

"do you ever go back and look at old cases?"

"old cases?" he stared at the ground beneath his feet, kicking up the gravel as a way to distract himself. I cleared my throat.

"like, ones that you guys have solved. have you ever gone back and checked to see how the victims are doing now?"

"I haven't worked here long enough for that, really." he had shrugged. I remember how the air felt in my lungs, a little bit poisoned by smoke. still breathable as I inhaled it deeply.

"really makes you think."

"what do you mean?"

"'saving' people has to be more than just sweeping them out of harm's way at the last second, right?" I put air-quotes around the word.

he thinks this over, nodding.

"sorry, I know you're tired." one look at him and I realized that the question I'd posed was one for another time. he walked like there was some unconscionable weight on his shoulders, like he didn't think he deserved his moment of glory for saving that girl's life-- and ours, probably, too.

he looks the same now, pushing the glass doors of the BAU open and immediately focusing in on the windows of the conference room, where the blinds have been lowered to make Diana feel safer. I watch as he runs up the stairs, returning to her as soon as possible.

I wonder what it is to love someone that much, that fear for their well-being that puts you on edge.

Emily places a hand on my shoulder.

"you okay?" she asks, draws my attention away from the closed door of the round table room. I smile and nod cheerfully.

"yep. just ready to go to bed."

"no kidding," she scoffs, slamming her go-bag on her desk. "I feel like I've been up for days."

"so it wasn't just me?" I laugh as I set my things in my own space. she shakes her head slowly and Morgan walks over, his own gait seemingly heavy with exhaustion.

"plans for tonight, ladies?" he jokes.

"with my couch and takeout." Emily replies. once my bag is all packed up, she and Morgan and I wander out of the office. Rossi stops us at the last minute, joining before we head into the hallway to take the elevator downstairs.

I peek once to see Hotch sitting in his office, settled in with the light on like he's been there all day. my brain almost short-circuits at the thought of doing more work in any capacity right now.

"does he ever sleep?" I ask quietly as though he can hear me from all the way over here. Rossi glances at the unit chief through the window, shaking his head slowly and letting out the kind of knowing chuckle that only older people have.

"nope."

"wait," Morgan sees our small grouping, almost does a head count as JJ emerges from her office and sidles up silently next to me while we wait for the steel doors to open. "where's the kid?"

"Spence is flying his mom back to Vegas." JJ replies right away. when I saw him disappear into that room, I knew they wouldn't leave for a while; moving her around so much can't be good for her mental state. but I guess they're eager to get her to the sanitarium, which also makes sense.

"oh, okay." Morgan shrugs. I chance a look in that direction. the blinds are still drawn. Medieval literature. huh. part of me begins to think about all the things she must know, must have passed down to Reid.

...

"I'm gonna say... three." my voice is uncertain at first, but then the flavor coats my tongue and I smack my lips. "yeah."

Spencer's nonresponse is damning. I hear the puff of air he exhales in frustration as I lift the sleeping mask up from my eyes. I got it from my go-bag; we've decided to repurpose it for the morning in the office. technically, we could just close our eyes and keep it simple, but I thought it would be sort of funny because there are two huge cartoon eyes printed on the front.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I smirk, eyes landing on his crossed arms and taut expression. he shrugs.

"I think you're cheating."

"how am I cheating?" I laugh.

"I don't know, but you are." he shakes his head as I wrap my fingers around the handle and take a sip of the coffee. we're taste-testing to see who's better at finding the sugar content. it's become a pattern of ours: I make him a cup and he makes me one and then we drop in the sugar packets while the other keeps their eyes covered. it's actually pretty fun, especially because I'm good at it.

"your turn, then." I take off the sleeping mask and hand it over to him. he slips the thing over his eyes and waits patiently for me to put the sugar packets in. I chew on my bottom lip as I decide what number to do.

as I do this, JJ stands behind my shoulder.

"nap time, Spence?" she asks him with a chuckle. I explain before he has the opportunity to slander me with more cheating accusations.

"we're trying to see how good we are at detecting the number of sugars." I pick up six packets, knowing it'll definitely overload his senses. this'll teach him to call me a liar. JJ's eyes widen.

"cover your ears, Reid, I don't want you to hear me tearing them open." I order. he obliges, and I can sense the frown on his face while I dump in the sweetener.

"okay." I mix it with the stirrer before placing it in front of him.

"this thing smells like lavender." he observes randomly in reference to my sleeping mask.

"it's got scented stuff inside the fabric." I say.

"interesting. did you know that lavender is actually proven to be much more effective than--"

"Spence, just drink the coffee. I have to go talk to Hotch about something and I wanna see how this ends." JJ cuts him off light-heartedly. I purse my lips because I was sort of interested in what he was going to say, but he takes the not-so-subtle hint and lifts the mug.

I expect him to be repulsed by the sweetness, or at least to show some kind of discomfort. however, he takes a long draw before setting it on the table. his hand clutches onto the mug, still, as he pulls the mask off.

"five. this is my usual concoction." he clenches his jaw in complete seriousness. I have to fight an enormous grin, though it just turns into me twisting my mouth to the side of my face and JJ raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"what? am I wrong?" he gets nervous, voice going up an octave as he glances between the two of us. JJ averts her eyes, smiling.

"you lose!" I cackle, throwing my hand up for JJ to high-five. Spencer looks at me like I've stolen his life's savings.

"no! there's no way--"

"I forgot how many you usually put in there and I still won." I feign an awed expression.

"it's okay, Spence. you can always practice." JJ pats his shoulder sympathetically and then leaves us, running up the stairs to Hotch's office. I'm still smirking triumphantly as he glares at me.

"don't hate the player," I sigh, throwing my hands up. "hate the game."

"well, the player also happened to invent the game, so I think I'm entitled." he counters. I snort at his quickness.

"can I try this?" I point to the mug. "I've never had one with six."

he pushes the drink in my direction with his fingertips, almost having given up on trying to fight the loss. "there were six? that's only one off."

"yeah, but you need to get it right to win, dummy." I take a sip of the coffee. it's so sweet, though, that I shake my head and set it back down. "what in God's name is that?"

"you made it!" I sort of like the way his voice gets higher-pitched when he's vehement about something. it's cute.

"I wish I hadn't." I shove it over to him, half-expect that he'll not touch it now that I've taken a drink from it. but he continues to take ingest the caffeine, undeterred. I quirk an eyebrow silently, watching him.

"what?" he asks.

"nothing," I stand up. "come on, we should get some work done. I don't want Hotch to come down here and yell at us."

[sun-summoning]

"Nine Months” Summary: Zuko’s having a baby. A baby dragon, that is. Note: Shameless Zutara. Ignores all finale kisses. 

i.

Zuko isn’t at all tipsy when he sneaks into the room his coronation gifts are stored and begins trifling through everything. And why should he be sneaking, he wonders, not at all drunkenly stumbling into the chest of sacred scrolls someone had given him. He groans as he bends forward to rub his knee. Then he loses his balance and nearly falls flat on his face. 

Fortunately, Katara is there to stop him, catching his shoulders and helping him stand straight. “You okay there, Fire Lord?”

He tries to focus on her but mostly goes cross-eyed. As the three Katara’s wave their hands in his face, he thinks he might throw up. If he threw up on her, she’d probably be furious. Especially because that would mean he ruined her dress. Perhaps she could bend it away? Was vomit-bending a thing?

“I’m fine,” Zuko replies. “I’m the Fire Lord.”

“Oh, I heard. Today was your coronation, after all.” 

His coronation! Zuko perks up, now remembering why he asked Katara to play ninja with him again and sneak into the room the servants brought all the gifts into. Sokka didn’t look all that impressed with the term “play ninja”, but since Sokka was the one challenging him into a drinking contest, he wasn’t really in a position to fight. He was so far gone that Suki had to bring him back to his room. 

“Why did we need to sneak in here?” Katara asks. “You’re the Fire Lord. Can’t we just waltz in?”

“But I don’t want to waltz.”

“That’s not what I--”

“Oh, swords!” 

Zuko runs to the set of broad swords Master Piandao gifted him like Sokka on a shopping spree. He draws out both blades and Katara is quick to grab his hands and make him put them back down.

“You said we were here for an egg?”

“Right.”

Zuko puts the swords back on their decorative stand with only a small pout. When he remembers the reason he came here, he rummages around the piles of presents. He finds a few more weapons that peace time will only allow him to admire and not use. He finds scrolls that will bore him and scrolls that might actually interest him. He even finds some pieces of jewelry that he assumes are supposed to go to the future Fire Lady but that he’ll offer to Katara instead. Not that he assumes she’ll be the Fire Lady, of course--

“I think I found it!”

Zuko rushes over to her side, nearly knocking her over in the process. Katara has to balance both of them as Zuko leans over the box she opened and marvels at the dragon egg. He reaches in to pick it up, but Katara grabs his wrist.

“Are you sure you want to pick that up right now?” Katara asks. “You’re a little, well, inebriated.”

“I was literally just playing with the swords.”

“Yes, but if you stab yourself, I can heal you. Whereas if you drop the priceless fossilized dragon egg, that’s it.”

Zuko decides that he’s heard her warning, respects it, and isn’t going to listen. He plucks the egg out of its box and holds it delicately enough. The shell is surprisingly smooth for the scales that line it. Like virtually everything in the Fire Nation, they’re a deep red, but at certain angles the scales flash gold. Zuko turns it slowly, amazed that something barely bigger than his head could grow into the majestic beasts he met with Aang months ago. He lowers his hands to put the egg back into its case, but pauses when he feels a beat.

“Huh?”

Zuko frowns. He brings the egg closer to face, looking for something but unsure of what. The egg pulses in his hands, as if burning with life. Zuko’s hands begin to shake, so he places the egg back in the chest it came in.

“Katara?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think that dragon egg is a fossil.”

-

ii.

Zuko tracks down the gift giver, an eccentric old merchant that was old friends with his uncle. He explains that the egg truly had been a fossil for dozens of years, sitting in one of his smaller warehouses as a lump of black rock that he held onto for sentiment’s sake. However, that warehouse caught fire during the day Zuko returned to the Fire Nation to claim his rightful place, and among the ashes, he found the egg restored, ready to hatch after nine months. Considering it an auspicious sign, he simply knew the dragon egg would need to be given to the new Fire Lord.

The next day, Zuko announces his impending fatherhood to the rest of his friends. 

Sokka is quick to pick up the knife he’d been using on his breakfast before Katara explains that Zuko is having a dragon baby, not a human one. 

“Oh.” Sokka sits back down. “Wait. What? A dragon?”

“A dragon,” Zuko confirms.

Aang looks ecstatic. “That’s so cool, Zuko! When your dragon gets big, you guys can race me and Appa!”

Toph punches Aang’s shoulder. “No way! The first thing that dragon is doing is taking me on my life-changing field trip.” She scowls at Zuko’s general direction. “I’m still waiting, you know.”

“I think Zuko needs to focus on, you know, reforming the Fire Nation, Toph,” Katara points out.

Toph sighs dramatically. “You’ve really changed, Sparky. How dare you.”

Later at dinner, Sokka tells them that he spent the day in the library. That isn’t much of a surprise to anyone because Sokka absolutely loves the palace library and often only leaves when he’s told it’s time to eat.

“I was reading about dragons today,” he explains. “Did you know you have tons of books about dragons?”

Zuko did not. “Of course I did.”

“Well, okay, so where’s the egg?”

“Still with the other gifts?”

“Zuko!” 

Sokka stands with a small shriek. He takes off running. The rest of them resume eating until a few minutes later, Sokka returns with the egg and a long length of cloth that may or may not have been a banner.

“Sokka!” Katara yells. “Don’t run with the egg! What if you dropped it?!”

Sokka ignores his sister and deposits the egg in Toph’s lap. “Here, hold it.”

“Yeah, that sounds safe,” she grumbles.

“I’ll hold it!” Aang says.

“No!” Toph folds over where the egg sits. “It’s mine!”

“No fair!” Aang pouts as he turns to Katara. “Katara, Toph isn’t sharing!”

Katara sighs and tells them to take turns.

Meanwhile, Sokka succeeds in making Zuko stand with his arms outstretched. As he works, he explains that the books all said that the egg needed to stay warm at almost all times, meaning Zuko would need to use his natural body heat to take care of his future dragon. Sokka proceeds to wrap the cloth around his middle and shoulders, leaving a small pocket on Zuko’s chest. As Toph finally agrees to let Aang have a turn holding the dragon egg, Sokka plucks it away and tucks it against Zuko.

“Behold, the Dragon Daddy...Carrier...Thing.” Sokka holds his arms out as he shows Zuko’s new look off to their friends. Everyone regards Zuko in his formal attire with a dragon egg strapped against his chest. “Super manly, am I right?”

Katara crosses her arms, utterly unimpressed. “There’s nothing manly about it.”

Sokka glares at her and Zuko looks positively offended.

She rolls her eyes. “What I mean is that women have been doing that for centuries, Sokka. You’re hardly a genius.”

“But I’m still manly right?” Zuko asks.

“Sure?”

They resume dinner and Sokka regales them with all that he’s learned about dragons. When they’re done, Aang reminds everyone that he still didn’t get a chance to hold the dragon egg. 

Zuko says he can have his turn after dessert.

-

iii.

On rare occasions, Zuko is told that he cannot bring his egg into particular meetings. His advisors are generally accepting of this minor eccentricity, but he knows when to pick his battles, and relents. After all, some other attendees might not take him seriously with a sling strapped across his abdomen. During those moments, Zuko entrusts his egg with Katara. 

Katara looks significantly less weird with the egg held against her body. She’s still too young to be a mother, but she certainly looks like one like that. And it doesn’t help that she’s flanked by Aang and Toph who are both touching the egg and commenting on how the scales feel.

When he’s done for the day, he heads their way. Toph notices him first, turning her head in his general direction. Aang and Katara see him next, the former waving excitedly while the latter smiles in that way that makes Zuko’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” Zuko says when he’s in front of them, “for, um, watching my egg.”

“That sounded weird.” Katara makes a face. “I hated that entire sentence.”

“Well how else am I supposed to say it, Katara?”

Her lips twitch in amusement and Zuko can’t help but smile back. He wracks his brain for something clever or maybe even flirtatious. Naturally, he comes up short.

Aang breaks the silence and eye contact though by tugging Zuko’s sleeve. “Hey Zuko, next time you need to look like a super serious Fire Lord--”

“I am a super serious Fire Lord.”

“--can I eggsit? I’ll be super responsible, I promise! And I can actually firebend, so I can be warm for the egg too!”

Zuko considers Aang’s hopeful grin while also considering that he and Toph thought it’d be a great idea to airbend a pair of ostrich-horses onto the roof for a race. There was nothing responsible about that. Toph couldn’t even see! Aang could be trusted with restoring balance and taking bending away from bad people, sure, but eggsitting Zuko’s future dragon? No way.

“Aang, yesterday you made a mini cyclone in the garden.”

“Yeah, but that’s because Sokka wanted to see what it’d look like on a smaller scale than the ocean.”

“That...no. No, you don’t get to eggsit.”

“Boo!” Aang crosses his arms and pouts. “Fine. I guess only Katara gets to hold your egg.”

Zuko frowns. “Yeah, I hated that entire sentence.”

-

iv.

Every few weeks, Toph confirms that the dragon is indeed a healthy thing. With the egg on the ground and her hands holding it in place, she tells Zuko that it has a regular, steady heartbeat. Of course, she doesn’t really know how a dragon’s heart should beat. For all she knew, it wasn’t actually beating at the proper rate and the dragon was doomed.

“Nah,” Sokka says. He begins tapping the floor. “It should be like this.”

Katara raises an eyebrow. “How would you even know that?”

“I read about it.”

“You read about dragon heartbeats?” Katara frowns. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“It’s absolutely a thing!”

Zuko drowns them out as he picks the egg up from where it sits before Toph and carefully tucks it back into his sling. His hands rest upon it while Aang leans in close to marvel at it too. 

“Man, this is so awesome, Zuko!” he exclaims.

“Yeah.”

“A dragon. For the new Fire Lord.”

“Yeah.”

“And--” Aang pauses. He rises to get a better look at Zuko’s face. “Are you...crying?”

“Of course not!” Zuko bites out. “There’s just something in my eyes!”

Toph snorts. “Yeah, alright.” 

She makes a joke about how Zuko does this every time she checks the heartbeat, while Aang suggests maybe using waterbending to see if it’ll be a boy dragon or a girl dragon. Toph laughs and says Zuko won’t be able to hide his crying if that happens. Zuko carefully blinks back tears before he snaps back at them for being right.

-

v.

Zuko joins his uncle for tea in the afternoon. His uncle has been busy with the efforts to reestablish peace, and they certainly still have more work ahead of them, but Zuko is happy to have him home again.

“I’ve heard rumours, nephew, that you have...secured your legacy.”

Zuko nods. He will never share the legacy of the Fire Lords before him, conquerors and tyrants alike. No, Zuko will be the bringer of peace and its champion too. He will teach kindness and compassion. He will restore culture, reform education, and continue to reinvent to match his people’s needs.

“Yes, uncle.”

“That’s good to hear.” Iroh pauses. “However, you are not married.”

“I...am not, uncle.”

“Perhaps--”

“There you are!” 

Zuko looks up to find Katara entering the room. In her arms is the dragon egg that he’d dropped off to her that morning because of some commitments. 

“Hey,” Zuko says, letting Katara’s settle the egg in his lap.

Katara then ignores him and decorum by rushing over to his uncle’s side. 

“Iroh!” she greets. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It is good to see you as well, Master Katara.” When she draws away, Iroh examines her up and down and then frowns. He quickly covers that up with a smile though. “Please, won’t you join us for tea?”

“I’d love to, but I promised I’d help Aang with some stuff. Are you free tomorrow morning?”

“For you, Master Katara, I will be.”

Katara laughs and sets a time before making her way out again. When she’s gone, Iroh looks at Zuko and stays silent.

“What?” Zuko asks. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly it’s something.”

Iroh purses his lips, as if unsure if he should say what’s on his mind.

Zuko doesn’t understand why he suddenly seemed so disappointed. Zuko had just confirmed that he would no longer carry on their family’s legacy of destruction. Shouldn’t that make his uncle happy? But instead he saw Katara and looked sad. This was obviously Katara’s fault then. Katara’s fault for being--

Zuko stills. He looks down at his tea and then back up at his uncle’s solemn face. He exhales and finds angry steam coming out of his nostrils.

“Uncle,” he begins slowly, because he is a kind Fire Lord and kind Fire Lords don’t lose their temper with people, even gossiping uncles. “Were you under the impression that I...and Katara...” Zuko’s features contort into a scowl. He refuses to even say the words. “Uncle!”

“Now, now. You must forgive an old man for chatting with old friends over pai sho, nephew.”

“About my love life?!”

“But of course.” Iroh grins. “It is a very popular topic all over the world.”

“Uncle, please!”

-

vi.

As an ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe, Katara’s stays in the Fire Nation are long, but not permanent. She spends her last evening there with Zuko and the dragon egg.

“Based on everything we’ve read, the egg shouldn’t hatch for another three months.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll only be gone for two months.”

“Correct.”

“I’m going to be back on time for the birth.”

“I know you will.”

“I’m going to be so upset if I miss it...”

“Don’t worry,” Zuko reassures. “Druk will wait for you.”

Katara grins. She likes the name he picked. She knows he spent a lot of time poring over a list of names of the dragons that used to be partnered with members of the royal family. The original Druk belonged to a Fire Lord from centuries ago whose reign was one of peace and prosperity. He was a huge patron of the arts and Love amongst the Dragons was written in his time. 

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone, okay?”

“Obviously.”

“Make sure you eat three meals a day.”

“I already do that!”

“Because I make you!”

“I missed a meal one time--”

“Yeah, per day!” She pokes his shoulder. “And make sure you sleep.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“Yeah? How will you manage that, waterbender?” 

The question comes out more coyly than he ever would have intended. And calling her anything other than her name has always seemed more flirtatious than intended. Granted, maybe he did intend it. Zuko smirks for effect, hoping he seems as cool to her as he wants to be. 

Katara narrows her eyes, lifting her chin a fraction and crossing her arms and--

Agni, it was happening. 

They were officially flirting. 

Zuko willed his beating heart to be still.

“I have my ways,” she drawls with a little grin of her own. But that soon fades into sadness. “I’m going to miss you, Zuko.”

Zuko nods. He’s going to miss her too. Katara has been around since he defeated Azula. He got used to her presence when they were still fighting in the war and he became at home with it during their stay in the Fire Nation. 

“Zuko...”

Katara leans forward and Zuko’s heart begins to race. Actually, it was already racing. Now it’s just beating ridiculously fast. This might actually be a health hazard, Zuko realizes. Perhaps Katara wasn’t good for him after all if she was going to make his heart go crazy and make his stomach hurt in that weird, stupid fluttering way all the time. Her lips twitch, puling into a pucker, and Zuko knows this is it. 

This is it. 

He closes his eyes, ready as if he hasn’t been ready for months now, and then--

Nothing.

He blinks, confused, and catches the back of Katara’s head as she stands back up and grins sheepishly. She pats the dragon egg strapped to his chest.

“I had to give Druk a kiss goodbye,” she explains.

“Right,” Zuko mumbles. “Druk.”

He tries not to pout. Really, he does. But apparently he doesn’t try hard enough because soon Katara is giggling. She reaches up, one hand cupping his cheek as her thumb brushes his skin.

“I’m going to miss you,” she tells him.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

Her gaze flickers to his lips and he watches the way she swallows nervously. Deciding it’s now or never, Zuko leans in, and is pleased when Katara meets his lips half way. It’s a bit of an awkward lean considering the dragon egg between them, but Zuko wouldn’t change a thing. He kisses her softly, unwilling to rush what he knows is going to be a good thing. 

Eventually they draw apart and Katara smiles shyly. “Will you see me off in the morning? Well, Ninja Zuko, not Fire Lord Zuko.”

Zuko nods, still a bit breathless. “Of course.”

-

vii.

Fire Lord Zuko’s less than standard choice of outfit is expected at this point. Gone is the initial sash Sokka made when they first realized the egg needed to be held at all times. He has new ones in a variety of colours. Some have even been gifted to him by other dignitaries on their visits, so Zuko has half a dozen shades of green. Today he wears the yellow one that Aang so eagerly gave him the other month. 

He looks ridiculous, therefore he stands out. And because he stands out, it makes an attempt on his life that much easier.

Of course, Zuko has the best guards in the entire world, and his attackers are dealt with swiftly.

Panicking, Zuko unwraps the yellow silk and carefully inspects the dragon egg. He frets until he finishes. 

“He’s okay,” Zuko breathes in relief.

“Good,” Suki says, “because I don’t think you were the target.”

“What do you mean?”

Suki nods to the egg. “They were aiming for that.”

“Druk?”

“Great.” Mai sighs as she looks up at the ceiling. “He already named it.”

“Of course I did!”

“I think Druk is a great name, Zuko!” Ty Lee says. 

Suki continues searching the room with her two new recruits. “Why would someone want to assassinate a dragon?” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” Mai turns to Zuko and finds him rewrapping the yellow silk around his body to cradle his dragon egg close. “A new Fire Lord supported not only by the Avatar, but by a dragon. No propaganda can beat that in the Fire Nation, especially when you started walking around with the real thing. They probably think you’ve been chosen by the spirits.”

“But dragons are extinct, Mai,” Ty Lee points out.

“So, what, that’s a toucan puffin then?”

“If someone wants Zuko out of the way,” Suki muses, “they know they need to get rid of that dragon before it’s born.”

“Exactly.”

Zuko rises, scowling in his Fire Lord regalia and the sling wrapped around him. Fire shoots out out of Zuko’s clenched fists. He might look absurd, but his expression is fearsome as he all but growls, “They can try.” 

-

viii.

Katara returns a few days earlier than expected. Maybe the tides had been kind to her ship. Maybe there was a master waterbender on board. Who knew. Fire Lord Zuko requests the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador join him for dinner, which she arrives to after a long day of napping. 

Zuko feels a weight lifted off his shoulders when he sees her again. She’s safe, she’s healthy, and if that smile is anything to go by, she’s happy too.

She tells him all about how much they’ve done to restore things to how they were back when she was a girl, along with all the other innovations Sokka’s bringing about. She talks about her grandmother’s cooking, her father’s leadership, and her brother’s antics. Tomorrow will include more official topics about the Tribe’s needs, but tonight is for catching up.

“I guess you enjoyed your stay,” Zuko mumbles, happy for her.

“Definitely. But if I’m being honest, towards the end I...” She meets his eyes for a moment, something akin to longing in her gaze, before she looks down at her plate. She shrugs. “I started to miss it here towards the end.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I really like swimming. And surfing. And...stuff.”

Zuko clears his throat. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, you know. Permanently, even!”

“That’s not really how ambassadors work, Zuko.”

“Yeah. I know. Maybe in, um, a different capacity?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh...”

A voice that sounds suspiciously like his uncle’s says Fire Lady, but Zuko will never ever say that to her face. Yeah, he’s probably in love with her. Oh, how he’s in love with her. And he’s vaguely positive Katara has feelings for him too. And they kissed before! But Zuko could never ask that of her right now. 

“I don’t know,” he says to save himself. He doesn’t do a good job, but Katara doesn’t push the topic.

“There’s still a lot of work to do,” Katara eventually replies.

Zuko manages not to groan at the understatement.  

“Here in the Fire Nation, but around the world too. These past few years have taught me that the world is wide and that I’m in a unique position to be helpful. If I don’t use what I’ve learned to help people in need...that just seems irresponsible.” She grins. “But I’ll come back. I’m always going to come back.”

“Wouldn’t you want to go...home?”

“Of course I’ll visit the South Pole, but...” She shrugs. “Home is very spread out now,” she explains with a small laugh. “Aang and Toph are going back to the Earth Kingdom after Druk is born, Sokka is already back with the Tribe, Suki is going back to Kyoshi when she’s done here, and, well, you’re here, Zuko.”

“I’m...home?”

Katara blinks, taken aback. “Did you think you weren’t?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything, too rattled by the admission, too overwhelmed by its meaning. Katara considered him home. Katara held him at the same esteem as people as precious to her as her family. Katara wanted to come back to him. Katara considered him someone worth coming back to.

“And now home is this guy too.” She rests her palm upon the dragon egg, dangerously close to his pounding heart.

Zuko’s hand rises on its own, settling gently over Katara’s. She looks up at him, startled, and he takes a breath.

“Katara, this is my home. It kind of has to be. But it’s, um, better when you’re here.”

“O--oh.” 

Katara’s hand shakes. Or maybe it’s his hand shaking and he’s affecting her too. It doesn’t matter though, because Katara turns hers over and laces her fingers through his. She holds his hand and she smiles. 

Agni, he loved her smile. Agni, he loved her.

His hand begins to grow sweaty. “Uh,” he self-consciously coughs. “Do you want to hold Druk?” Zuko pulls his hand away and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s been a while for you.”

Katara opens her arms to him and his dragon baby. “I’d love to.”

-

ix.

The first crack comes some time after midnight when Zuko is reading a report from the ever-growing stack in his office, with the egg nestled in his crossed legs. Zuko looks down, but doesn’t really see anything strange, so he keeps reading. But a moment later, the egg begins to shake. Eyes wide, Zuko finds himself frozen.

The egg wobbles as the single fracture on the side begins to grow like a web.

“Katara!” he hisses. “Katara!”

In this moment, he’s grateful she deigned to linger in his office and read those trashy romance scrolls Ty Lee shared with her. 

“What is it--oh!” Katara sucks in a sharp breath when she notices the way the egg moves. She rushes to his side and kneels down. “Is it--”

“It is!” Zuko, unable to move with the leg in his lag, grabs her hand. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I--I don’t know! I’ve only delivered babies!”

“This is a baby!”

“A dragon baby, Zuko!”

They both yelp when a clawed, red appendage breaks through the cracks.

“It’s...” Zuko reaches out for Katara’s hand, squeezing it as the little dragon inside continues to push his way out. “That’s it, buddy,” Zuko encourages. “You’re doing great.” He feels Katara place her free hand on his shoulder. She tells him to breath because at some point he stopped. He doesn’t do a good job listening though, so she begins to loudly inhale and exhale so that he can follow.

Soon another arm comes through, and one moment later, a little head pops through the top of the egg. 

Zuko makes a noise that might be a sob and lets go of Katara to help peel away the bits of shell stuck of the little dragon’s head. He blinks at Zuko with dazed golden eyes before his mouth opens into something that can only be deemed a yawn.

“Hi Druk,” Zuko whispers, holding his hand out to the little dragon.

Druk slithers out of what’s left of his shell and sniffs Zuko’s hand. He’s just a bit bigger than a newborn turtle duck, so it’s not a problem when he settles on Zuko’s awaiting palm.

Amazed, Zuko turns to Katara with the widest smile she’s ever seen on his face. “He likes me!” He begins to laugh as Druk crawls up his arm and over his head to the other shoulder. He presses his head against Zuko’s cheek and nuzzles him.

Katara rolls her eyes fondly. “Of course he does. I’m sure he recognizes that you’re the one who kept his egg warm for nine--”

She yelps when Druk takes advantage of Katara’s hand still on Zuko’s back, using that arm as a bridge to climb on her shoulder. His claws are tugging at her hair, albeit only lightly, and soon he’s rubbing his little head against her chin. 

“He likes you too!” 

Reminded of Zuko, Druk’s golden eyes snap back open and he leaps off of Katara and into Zuko’s lap. Fortunately, he’d had the sense to push the empty shell away when Druk was climbing around. Druk circles the space of his lap before finally curling up and settling down.

Utterly amazed, Zuko gathers his resting son into his arms and stands. He’ll need to prepare a place for Druk, but Katara says she’ll take care of that for now.

“Spend time with your newborn, Fire Lord.” 

At the window, Zuko considers showing Druk all that the light touches, but realizes it’s night and so he should wait until tomorrow. He laughs, still utterly astonished by this turn of events, and silently thanks the man who gifted him with the egg at his coronation. Druk twitches and resettles in his arms. He yawns and then he huffs with a little burst of fire escaping his mouth. 

Zuko looks down at Druk with adoration and excitement in his eyes. 

“I have a dragon.”

[phobylee]

Okay. So this is really old. Was gonna be a roadtrip au I guess but I never got around to finish it. Gonna post it here before I forget about it forever. Maybe I'll finish it one day..

___________

At least a week of planning had gone into this. It was a trip Ford had been planning for a little while now, taking the time to jot down various locations they'd be passing through, maybe even a gift shop or two for Stan's sake. It was going to be long, so they'd drive in shifts. All Stan knew was that they'd be going back to Jersey to see Sherman, who recently moved back up there to "revisit old memories", according to him.

Everything was going great. Stan was busy packing the car, stuffing a cooler of food into the trunk, along with other luggage. Ford insisted they bring protection, claiming you could "never be too safe", which Stan had a hard time arguing with. He knew the dangers of the world first hand, tasted blood and nails, chewed and spat his way out of nearly dying plenty of times. Ford was being prepared, and that was completely understandable. Well, it would have been if the stuff didn't keep coming.

"Ford," Stan murmured, watching Ford drag a box toward the car, "don't y'think we've got enough stuff packed in here already?"

"Nonsense," Ford replied, hoisting the heavy box into the trunk anyway. It just barely fit, snug between the suitcases and the cooler, not too far from various other supplies they might've needed.

Stan was starting to see how this would become an issue, especially if they found souvenirs. He wanted to stop by a few stores and get something for the niblings (though he'd have to put them up for a bit).

"You're gonna weigh the poor girl down with all the junk you're bringing, Sixer." Stan complained, but he shut the trunk and headed to the front anyway.

As Ford slipped into the passenger seat, map and notes in hand, he passed Stan a glance and shook his head. "So, this will take around 40 or so hours. Almost two days of driving, and I've got everything planned out.. So we'll stop by.."

Stan tuned out after that, trying to find a station on the radio that wasn't complete garbage. Ford continued to blabber about all the landmarks they'd be seeing: monuments, statues, even a museum. With all the stops they'd be making, this might as well be a week's trip, and it would be expensive. He'd rather at least be a little surprised when Ford dragged him through the woods to visit some alien graveyard or something.

It took Stan a while to realize that Ford was still talking. He found some lone rock channel and turned it up, high enough to drown out some of the yap.

"Stan--?" Ford groaned over the music, trying to make himself heard. That didn't work. Stan just turned it up more. He caught the hint and pushed himself against the seat, looking toward the window.

Stan slowly turned down the radio with a smirk, not even looking as he began to back out of the driveway. "Don't you know about surprise at all? You're telling me everything we're gonna see. I'd rather you give me the directions and lemme figure it out for myself."

Ford gave a disappointed huff and continued staring out the window, a map clenched within his fingers. This was fine. He wasn't upset right now.

As they drove down that old gravel road, heads lolling up and down from the potholes and rocks, Stan found the quiet was a bit much. Sure, it killed the headache that buzzed in his ears, but it was unlike Ford to stay quiet an entire trip. And he wasn't the only one, because not a moment too soon--

"Alright, just listen, Stan," Ford piped up, "I've taken this exact trip once before, almost. The way I planned the route will be like a trip down memory lane. We can stop by the-"

"Nope."

"It'll just be a-"

"Stop it, Sixer."

"We can stop by the museum of rocks and minerals. I know how much you like gold and precious metals, and they've got that. I don't want you stealing anything. We go through the gift shop, you get a mug or a bobblehead or something-,"

"Ugh..."

"And then we're back on the road." Ford concluded with a bright smile, but it faded when Stan didn't return it. He didn't know why Stan was so... agitated. Lately he'd been more and more upset, and sometimes he even murmured things to himself in his fits of frustration. It was like he was trying to calm someone down? It was concerning, but whenever he asked about it, his brother claimed it was nothing and ended the conversation right there.

"I say surprise me, and what do you do? The opposite. You do the complete opposite, Ford." Stan sneered, trying his best to focus on the road. He hadn't noticed just how Ford blanched, or how his face paled and he clammed up and bit his tongue.

"Sorry, Stan," Ford murmured, attention back on the window.

_

They had arrived at their first stop in about an hour. It was a museum, though it wasn't as big and as fancy as most. Instead, it was small and quaint looking, somewhat resembling a house.

Ford had squished himself against the door, so unbuckling was a bit awkward, but soon he was up and on his feet. He held the door open with his free hand and stretched, looking at Stan.

The other man was silent.

As Stan lifted himself from the bench and stood, closing the door behind him, he made his way tiredly to Ford. He was seemingly already exhausted, but they had only been driving for an hour.

"Stan, are you okay? You look like you might faint.."

"I'm fine," Stan growled testily, gritting his teeth with a shake of his head. That angry expression flickered into a smile so fast, it shouldn't have even been humanly possible. He slung an arm around Ford, leaning against him. He was coming close to knocking the poor researcher over. Ford was a smidge taller, but Stan was always heavier, larger by body mass.

"I'm fine, Sixer.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get mad. Hey, this place looks nice. How's about we go ahead inside?"

Something was horribly off. Ford squinted suspiciously and nodded, trudging forward to the double doors with one of Stan's heavy arms still wrapped around his shoulder. It felt like a hug, one they shared a lot as kids when Stan was sticking up for him, but right now it felt so… odd. He didn't want to think about it.

Ford breezed through the doors, feeling the cool air hit his face. It felt wonderful inside, and it smelled nice too. The smell of iron and freshly-cut wood hit his nose, but it wasn't the rotten iron smell blood had. This was a nice place.

There were walls lined with ancient rocks, minerals, all shapes and sizes. Some made of magma or lava, others filled with crystals, and a few were shiny like glass. And from what he could see, they had a selection of fossils as well.

"We don't need a tour, do we?" Stan hummed, pulling his arm from around Ford. The sudden lack of warmth made Ford wince, but he ignored it in favor of staring at the rocks all around. "If we got a tour guide, you'd start fact checking him." Stan cackled.

The laugh was Stan's laugh, a tad bit wolfish and filled with rasp from years of drinking and smoking. Ford found comfort in the fact that Stan's laugh was his own and no one else's. He let himself relax even more, pinched shoulders loose and slack again. Yes, this was fine. He was just being paranoid.

__

"Don't tell me you're scared to drive, Ford," Stan snorted, thoroughly amused. Now it was his turn to relax, legs propped up with an elbow on the door. "Did they not have those herky-jerky space cars where you were?"

"They weren't 'herky-jerky'. At least they could actually run. How did you keep this thing going after all these years?" Ford huffed, gripping the wheel with both hands, shoulders pinched up to his ears. It had been ages since he'd even attempted to drive a car. Since his drive to Gravity Falls, he assumed. He was never an amazing driver, and with how nervous he looked, this would be no exception.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Stan rolled his eyes, snapping his seat belt tight. "Just try not to crash, alright? I'd rather not die before we get to Jersey."

And for a while it went like that. Stan yapped Ford's ears off, making mostly harmless, smart remarks while he continued driving like a cat out of water.

[matt0044]

“You can only be the best by winning.”

Seems like a Broken Aesop yet also sums up Power Rangers in essence. :/

Izzy is training for a big race against her greatest rival, some... Asian girl. Seriously, we don’t even get a name for her competition. We do get a name for her cousin and coach, Lily, somebody who I suppose has Asperger Syndrome as well as her New Zealand Accent intact. Mind you, I don’t know for such since I’m on the high functioning end of the spectrum so I dunno if I’m a good judge. :/

I can say that I appreciate the way Lily was handled in terms of not making the conflict be about her disability. I know that Tokenism is a concern but it never feels as though she’s a “special character” so to speak. Credit where it’s due for portraying this group fairly respectably compared to other media in the past.

Solon deduces that the Tiger Claw Zord and Stego Spike Zord are nearby where the Nephrite Orb was discovered but need a device to hone in on them far better. All the while, Jane and J-Borg are at the park showing children public safety around Sporix with an admittedly catchy jingle for the Ranger hotline too.

It’s corny but I still like that this season has the enemy as a legit public concern to the point that PSAs are given out about them. I feel like that should be played with like with parodies of YouTube videos ranting about Sporix. Wait... a threat to the public that’s spread out thin and can attack within close proximity?

I’m not saying that this predicted CO-VID but...

A Sporix hatches in front of the kids as the Jays urge them to keep calm... until Mucus and Boomtower come to collect Brineblast. I feel like they should’ve screamed, “Panic!” like it’s a Spongebob cartoon. The Rangers arrive in time so they can show off Izzy and Javi’s full morphing sequence. I feel like they should’ve taken the roll call from the more dynamic Ryusoulger in this regard.

Speaking of Ryusoulger, Amelia and Ollie are preoccupied with the Hengemen while Izzy steps it up with Zayto in order to take on Brineblast using Boost Keys. Javi gets into a row with Boomtower with sharp reflexes in using a Shield Key when he’s too close to dodge a blast. Mucus hangs back to hear about the Rangers seeking out the Tiger Claw Zord and reports right back to Void Knight.

Izzy finds Lily to be a no-show due to helping a friend shop at the last minute and decides to rely on herself to prepare for the upcoming race. Of course, we later learn that Lily’s friend broke her leg and needed to get things all the way on the top shelf. Once again, I do like they opted to not have Lily’s disability be the reason why Izzy’s all fed up but rather something neurotypicals can bungle.

Void Knight discovers a map in Area 62′s archives that indicates that they found metallic readings under the Earth they couldn’t identify, pointing to a fossilized Zord. Brineblast is sent back out to distract the Rangers by going giant while Mucus and Boomtower drill down to destroy the Zord with a bomb.

Warden Garcia encourages Izzy that she’s not the best if she’s not winning. Stepfather of the year everybody! Okay, obviously this isn’t an attitude that’ll stick as tends to be with most Power Rangers parents but all the same, yeesh. In any case, Izzy starts the race along the mountain where her Zord is likely laying. Soon, she will settle her rivalry against whats-her-face once and for all.

The Jays set up posters for the Ranger Hotline when Brineblast reaches his giant stage. The ladies dive into the dumpster and roll down the hill while ringing up the Rangers. I feel J-Borg should scoop up Jane and head for the hills Scooby-Doo style. Dumpsters are so Victor and Monty. Also am I the only one who has just realized that J-Borg sounds a lot like Tensou from Megaforce?

Izzy tries to finish the race before joining the Rangers in the Megazord until her rival trips and falls down a slope. Even with a strong lead, she stops to help the competition in the usual wholesome Power Rangers move. It even gets her to think about Lily’s talk about how sometimes there’s more than only just winning.

It also gets her to discover Mucus and Boomtower drilling a bomb down to her Zord and causing her to spring into action on the double. In order to avoid losing out on her giant robot death cat, she gets the Megazord to bring the battle with Brineblast over to the mountain where they can free it “accidentally.”

Thus the Tiger Claw Zord escapes the explosion just in time and gives Brineblast a run for his money. Hell, it even does a Matrix Bullet Time Dodge. Say what you will about how the design might seem too toyetic even for Toku but the XFX artists are clearly doing damn well with the assets they are given.

We also see that Izzy’s Zord can interface with the current Megazord, swapping out some of Zayto’s components for her own with a thrusting finisher to boot. Not so sweet is Boomtower collecting the now dormant Brineblast for Void Knight’s secret weapon. I still like how the villains can technically win despite losing their monster. It keeps them from not feeling ineffective until they aren’t.

Izzy finishes up the race as Warden Garcia concedes that she did good by helping out a racer in need. She even reconciles with Lily as well. Meanwhile, our intrepid duo get a ticket for recklessly driving a dumpster into a police car. I’m guessing this is the shtick: white women and their robots be ackin’ cray-cray.

[heli0s-writes]

As it Was II: His Girl

Summary: You haven’t always been his girl. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST! Thank you for all the feedback and love! As it Was will be a 3 part series. Part 2 is told from Bucky’s perspective. See you next time for Part 3 :)

It’s always relief that washes over him first when he pulls into the road, seeing the house the same as when he left. The pinwheels, the mailbox, the swing you shove him into even though you know he doesn’t fit.

His playful girl with a stubborn streak.

It’s been two weeks without his girl and his home. He’s been on longer missions, but two weeks is two weeks too long, just as they all are.

The second emotion he feels is anticipation. Excitement for the embrace he’ll give and receive. The kisses, the fingers through his hair, the knowledge that you will be rushing downstairs and into his arms.

Sundown arrives late in the evening when summertime’s daylight spans nearly fifteen hours in the heat of June. The meadow buzzes alive in the breeze, ruffling winged insects through the tufts of wild grass and blown dandelions. His boots tread through the path, startling the idyllic soil beneath them.

There are no footsteps to herald his return, today; Bucky comes home to your back in front of the kitchen window. The door creaks open as he steps in, duffel bag in tow. He always imagines he would surprise you after these long trips, but that damn door and its loud hinges will never allow him the chance.

“Darlin’?” He calls, pushing it shut gently with his foot, “You alright?”

You turn, chin tucked into the hollow space of your collarbone and shoulder. The loosened braid of your hair sways over your spine, saffron half-wilted blossoms of Black-Eyed Susans gazing at him sadly.

The setting sun scatters against the window, streams through those sheer embroidered curtains you love so much, even though he says baby, they don’t do anything. His stubborn girl scoffs and fluffs then anyway.

He’s glad for those useless curtains now as the light illuminates your side profile. The corona of your shape from across the house makes him sigh in wonder.

His girl, wrapped in floating cream gauze. His girl, standing by the sink with oranges. His girl, soft and beautiful and bright, waiting for him.

You haven’t always been soft.

You haven’t always been his girl.

He knows something is wrong when you remain immobile, clutching the edge of the counter, abandoned cup of hand-squeezed juice and the carcasses of two halves next to the reamer.

“Honey? I’m coming over to you. Stay right there.”

You collapse in his arms before he gets the chance to lock them around. You smell crisp and clean, just a little briny with sweat from time spent outside. The jars on the counter and table are full again, this time accented with plucked sprigs of lavender and a small cattail from the pond.

“Oh, Buck,” You press your face into his shoulder, scrubbing your brow on the rough fabric of his jacket, “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He pauses, fingers prodding lightly over your body, searching for some physical aspect that might explain your ailment. Nothing. You hold tighter to him, letting your weight press down, and he supports you easily, nose rubbing the exposed skin of your neck.

“Where’s our little guy?”

“He’s sleeping. He chased ducks and then they chased him. Planted completely in mud. Bath time was… exhausting.”

Both of you chuckle at that. Little James, that precious boy had a rowdy streak in him, always too eager to rile something up— sometimes even his mother.

The laughter subsides as he continues to rub your back, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. Your heartache seeps into him, dampens his eyes and mouth, licking its way into his belly.

This happens, sometimes, because it’s bound to. The grief comes and goes, and when it arrives hard and grim, he cradles you in his arms regardless of how much he wishes his love is enough to keep you happy.

Today seems to be one of those days.

And it’s because you haven’t always been his girl.

He used to worry himself to sleep, straining to see your outline in the deep darkness of the bedroom. The house, sheltered by tree and leaves, lies so far away from the city that on a moonless night, he felt lost in a sea of ink.

The house once belonged to someone else. His place in the bed, too. The impression of a body larger than him, grander than him, a body you loved more than him. It would cradle him in its unsympathetic crease, and he would lie awake, listen to your deep breaths, soothe your nightmare sobbing, call your name when you would stutter Steve.

Steve. Steve. Steve.

The shadow that had hung over you both.

Steve was always ‘til the end of the line, until he wasn’t.

He wasn’t for Bucky, and he wasn’t for you.

Bucky had come back into the world five years later, found you and Steve elbow deep in the trenches of alien bodies and death—watched a love that had bloomed so fully continue to thrive, and it gave him hope.

Hope for himself, hope for the next day. Until it just… wasn’t.

Steve left Bucky, and Steve left you.

The cabin that evening had been illuminated by a single campfire in the front yard. The smell of burning objects and scorched kindling coaxed him forward. In front of the blaze, you stood, hair fixed into a tight knot. That shaved side he always liked glowed orange and red diagonal lines.

You knew, of course, way before he even arrived. You were always the quickest of them— alert, perched, could give Clint’s arrows a run for his money.

Hey.

He had never heard that gravel in your voice before.

In the flames were photographs, corners eaten away and twisted with heat until they turned black. Clothes, bed sheets, books, even the sketchbook— that old, leather-bound thing Steve always kept close to his chest. You had thrown them all in.

Wanna roast some marshmallows? Let’s get fat on sugar and chocolate. The world is safe.

A spark crackled in the fire the same time your voice did, but Bucky closed his eyes. Let you regain your composure because he knew you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you cry. Your voice was strained, full of resentment.

Everyone’s gone back to where they should be.

He smiled, lopsided and broken.

Not me. I’m here eatin’ marshmallows with you.

And then, joylessly, you had pointed to the dwindling pile of Steve’s fossils strewn about.

Throw some shit in. It feels good.

Your hand links itself inside of his as you tug him out of the kitchen and towards the living room couch. You place the glass into his palm, watch him drink the juice and kiss the corner of his mouth where a droplet remains. He loves it when you’re sweet, told you once it’s his favorite thing about you—that you can rot his teeth and hurt his stomach and he’ll still come back for seconds.

Thirds. Fourths. You scoffed, fixed on the anecdote of food, your appetite will bankrupt us.

He agreed then, kept the joke running.

“What is it?” Bucky’s hand finds your jaw, lifts it gently until he can see your eyes crawling with veins and lined in red, puffed, swollen. Crying again. “What is it, hon?”

Since James, you’ve started crying a million times more than he ever thought a person could—when he gets a fever, you cry. When he falls, you cry. He thinks it’s ridiculous, that you—his girl who can stab a man better even than he can—that when James cries, you cry. Darling, he is two and he will cry because a leaf dropped.

But you haven’t cried like this in months, almost a year—not like this, not split open and prolonged.

Bucky heart swells with dread when he thinks about why your face is raw with rubbing. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, “Steve… he’s back. Stopped by earlier.”

His tongue feels like lead, sinking into his throat to strangle him. He hadn’t heard Steve’s name from your mouth in almost a year. The world had turned and turned without Steve Rogers, and when it seemed like both of you might have finally let go of the ghost, he comes back.

Where does Bucky start?

His girl, burrowed into his chest, tucked away in his arms, hides her face now. His girl, will she still be his girl?

It was only a few years ago that a new love sprung from the ashes of a dying one. And the corpse had lived a long life, full of memories that haunted you both. Bucky and Steve had quite a long life together, too.

He clutches tighter, rubs his arms up and down yours, squeezes like he is hoping you might just sink into his chest. Stay safe inside of him where the pain can’t find you anymore.

“Can we go to bed?” You sob suddenly, shaking in his hold, “Please let’s go to bed.”

He hated that bed for so long.

You used to lie in it for days at a time. He would come by and you would be upstairs in the loft on your side and staring out the window. Hey, Buck. The whole house smelled like earth and salt, as if you had flooded the wood with tears and it was still drying out.

Have you eaten? Have you slept? Have you done anything?

You only laughed dryly and burrowed deeper into the brand-new sheets, like everything else that used to be shared between two people. Do what? Go where? Sleep to dream of him? No, thank you.

Bucky had stomped downstairs, rummaged through the cabinets, found the half open bag of marshmallows from three weeks ago- stale and slightly stiff, and shoved handfuls of it into your mouth. You said we’d get fat on sugar. You better fucking eat this.

When both your cheeks were full and the sad tears turned into happy ones, he sat back with his arms crossed at the edge of the bed and huffed. And you’d spit the enormous, drenched, sticky pile out down your shirt and held your head in both your hands. I’m so fucked, Bucky. I’m screwed. I’m fucking screwed.

He didn’t know what you meant, because he was grieving too, but that string of panicked statements rang a thought more desperate than any he could have. Bucky didn’t feel fucked without Steve. Bucky felt… discarded. He felt… abandoned, forgotten, small. But he didn’t feel fucked.

It took two more visits, two more weeks, and an extraordinarily rainy night before you told him the truth.

There was shattered glass against the wall and your body slumped down on the opposite side of the kitchen. There was wracked sobbing, fingernails digging into your scalp and shoulder until he peeled them away pricked in red. Two months had passed, and you were pregnant. Did Steve know? Did you tell him? He would have stayed, if he knew.

Bucky had suddenly grown hopeful for a past that already passed. Steve would have stayed. Did the chance slip from you, to tell him? Did you know too late?

I had just found out. But then he told me his news first and … fuck him. Fuck him for leaving. Why would I tell him? So he could stay for a clump of cells and not me? So he could love an obligation and pine for a ghost? Fuck him.

And then suddenly, the clawing resumed, and Bucky wrestled to keep your hands away from your body, wrapping his legs over yours, holding you tight until your squirming died. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, gripped your back to his chest, and you both rocked on the floor. It’s gonna be okay. I got you. I’m here with you.

It rained the night you told him. It rained again when the boy arrived.

Nine months you carried him inside of you, hated him, hated his father, hated yourself.

Helen came to the cabin, because you couldn’t be bothered to leave. You were happy to die in labor, you had said with a grin. Bucky stood by her side, mouth set in a firm line and told you to shut the fuck up.

At that, you genuinely laughed so hard you had to cover your entire face with your hands and when you pulled them away, suddenly, Bucky thought that the glow some women get when they’re pregnant must have been twice as true for you.

The boy came with a clap of thunder.

Bucky had known carnage, but the birth was terrible and horrific and when you went pale with the loss, he swore that if you got what you wanted, he would die with you. Helen yelled at him to get the water, get the rags, and the bucket, and the needle. Wash the boy, wrap him, hustle, Sergeant!

The bundle thrust into his arms was softer than sand, wetter than water, crimson and sluiced with blood. Two blue eyes gleamed out of the swath of blanket and even though people say newborns are beautiful, he could only see a red and angry thing, tearing the life from you with the eyes of his old best friend.

Now his old best friend has returned for his old girl and his new baby boy.

And Bucky’s girl is still in his arms, pleading for him to let her rest.

“Okay, darlin’, let me clean up first. I’ll tuck you in.”

You grip his collar and tangle your hands in his hair, clambering to get into his lap. The skirt of your dress folds over all four entwined legs and you suddenly press your mouth to his in a blistering kiss.

“Let’s make a baby,” you sob distraughtly. “W-we… I-I want to make a baby with you, Bucky.”

He quiets your rambling, stills his own heartbreak for the sake of attending to yours, and returns your fever with softness.

“We’ve got one, hon’. He’s in bed.” He presses his forehead against yours and smiles, tries to make it look real so that you believe him, “Baby, we got a boy and he’s wonderful, even if he makes his mama chase him through mud.”

He loves that boy. He loves him like his own flesh and blood, and he’ll be damned if Steve thinks he can take him away.

Upstairs, a whine signals your attention, followed by a sound of choked crying before the wail of your son breaks loose. “C’mon,” Bucky urges.

He climbs slowly, waiting for you each step of the way. You linger, feet heavy along with your heart. By the time you make it through the doorway, Bucky already has James in his arms, rubbing his back, humming to him.

The boy fists Bucky’s hair, squeezing a handful in pulses, blubbering and singing a tuneless song. “Daddy’s home. Daddy, daddy. Sunnyshine outside.”

Bucky laughs, “James, it’s nighttime.” He kisses the top of James’ head anyway, “Can’t blame you, though, you’re too small to see out the window. We gotta teach you how to tell time.”

“Time t’ play?”

“No… time to go back to sleep.” Then, Bucky puts his head on top of James’ and pretends to snore loudly, the sound vibrating from his chest and into those golden locks. A shrill giggle escapes him and he pulls away just to come back and press his cheeks to his father’s face.

Bucky walks over to where you stand with your eyes pressed to the heel of your palms and tilts James up to your face. “Mama’s tired too, let’s all go to bed, yeah?”

Blessedly, the boy relents. He reaches over almost teetering out of Bucky’s arms and pulls on the thumb by your ear. “Night mama, love you.”

 On the edge of the bed, the old imprint has been pressed out. Bucky takes off his shoes, stretches his back and motions for you to come next to him. He kisses your fingertips and brushes the hair from your face, combs out the wilted wildflowers and you lean into his touch.

It’s been silent since James fell asleep. He can hear crickets and cicadas outside the window, woodland creatures coming alive in the twilight.

He watches the way your lips bend and fold inside your mouth to keep yourself locked away.

Sometimes your love is hidden inside a puzzle his hands are too clumsy to place together. There are pieces missing, he thinks, but still, he tries. Sometimes you blissfully help him with the task and sometimes you’re away from the table.

Tonight, you’re far from him. Lost somewhere in the memory and possibility of two hands many times more delicate than his.

Steve. Steve. Steve.

And he wonders if your heart will ever beat his name like that old rhythm it had known so well.

Your weight dips the mattress, and you lean your head onto his shoulder. “I love you.”

He hears it, but he never really hears it.

Not in the way it used to leave your tongue. Stevie, I love you. You giant idiot! You meatball, Steve! Full of ringing laughter right before you would crush your mouth to his, tug him by the collar into the dark of Cap’s compound bedroom.

The only flames Bucky knew were shared in moments of desperation, when the pain was too much and the fire was necessary.

James tucked into his crib, you crumpled on the floor. Bucky would sit by your side night after night, as he had been doing for the last thirteen months. It was dark, then, not even illuminated by a moonbeam.

You held on to his shirt, pushed him down, pressed both your hands to his neck and whispered. Thank you. Thank you. I love you. I love you.

The first kiss shared was wet and salty, tears slipping into the space between two open mouths. Teeth clicked, nails scratched, and you wouldn’t even let him pull away enough to ask if you were sure about it.

He knew you were beautiful. Seen it for years and years. But when you slipped off the shirt from your shoulders, the moon seemed to shine right out from your skin.

He worried himself to sleep next to you that night.

 “What do you want to do?” He asks now, pushing his fear away, “I’m here for you, whatever you want. Whatever is best.”

Your chin jabs his shoulder, “You are best. You are best for me, and James, and Bucky—d--” Tears roll down your cheeks, plop big, wet, crystal balls onto his arm. “Don’t you dare.”

For the second time that night, you crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. “I love you, idiot. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth, “I won’t.”

The flame burns tonight. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The dress stays on your waist, rucked up, its straps tugged down and the top pulled open to expose your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Bucky. Bucky. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

He’s not sure if you’re convincing him or yourself.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the mission and the drive, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest. He doesn’t attend to himself until you’re underneath the covers, breathing deeply.

Then, Bucky lies down too, runs his hand through his hair and sobs into that inky night.

“Bucky?”

His heart stops beating in his chest. He’s frozen and caught.

You turn on your side, hand finding his damp cheek with some difficulty in the dark. “Baby,” you sigh, “Oh, Bucky...” A loud sniffle, a choke, and then your nose rubs against his. Your lips pat his tears away, kitten licks over the line of his sharp jaw.

“You’ve always been so good to me, baby. Always so good.”

 He’s heard those words before from your lips, after the boy came with the rain. Your eyes had fluttered and closed as Helen leaned against the doorframe, tearing off her gloves.

She’s okay, Sergeant. She’s just resting. You should, too.

He refused her, watched the baby in the makeshift bassinet as Helen unpacked her overnight bag in the guest room. He wiped your forehead with a damp towel, listened to the rain crash against the window, and sat down in the chair.

The room was a closed chamber trapping in the smell of wet pennies and sweat. He tugged the windowpane open and placed towels on the floor to catch the downpour. You woke with a yelp, jerked awake by thunder and a streak of lightning. It was only for a second, but Bucky held onto your hand, let you slip back to sleep.

Helen roused you both in the morning, let you hold the baby, taught you how to turn him on his stomach, how to settle him down, how to nurse. Bucky had stood up, ready to dismiss himself before he caught your wide eyes, terrified of the life in your arms.

He stayed as Helen guided your hand to massage the boy’s cheek. Little fists clenched the slipped-off hem of your shirt, his mouth opened, and you cried when he latched on.

The rain had subsided in the late hours of the night and the sun was rising high, streaming luminously into the loft. Helen moved to draw the curtains and give you some reprieve from the rays, but Bucky stopped her; you needed the sun and its warmth.

She nodded and agreed, and he slowly went to the bed and kneeled, looking up into your red eyes soaking your face.

Hey. He had smiled, wiping the trickling streams, Look. He nodded to the illuminated window, bent finger stroking the boy wrapped in cloth. No more rain, darlin’, it’s sunny out.

Outside was gold. Like the boy’s head. And you thought, like Bucky’s heart.

You’re so good to me. You cried, even though he quietly asked you to stop, because if you didn’t, he would start, too. You’ve always been so good to me.

Nine agonizing months and Bucky Barnes had been your rock and center and lighthouse in the dark.

Bucky, I love you.

It was a sunny morning when he wept and held his little family in his arms.

Next