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gghostwriter · 11 months ago

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You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

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The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face.

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.”

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.”

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.”

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?”

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?”

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice.

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?”

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.”

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.”

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?”

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater.

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?”

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk.

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation.

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?”

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed.

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth.

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.”

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory.

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up.

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who.

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.”

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?”

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them.

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language.

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?”

“What? No! No, of course not!”

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow.

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend.

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue.

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course.

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down.

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking?

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time.

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk.

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement.

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered.

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement.

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with.

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance.

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest.

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.”

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #gw fics

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clementine-kesh · 1 year ago

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i do wonder if people getting their politics from fiction instead of actually reading theory is why many purportedly left-wing types get so up in arms when they see marxist/decolonial/feminist critiques of “progressive” media. like yeah of course if your only conceptualization of a utopian society comes from fucking star trek instead of having a material basis in reality you’re gonna get defensive about it

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self-made-purgatories · 5 months ago

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The Betrayal of Irritation: Part 1 of my thoughts on Star Trek TMP. The "Spirk divorce arc" in Star Trek TMP is not new, or unexpected, or a surprise. It starts in TOS, with Requiem for Methuselah. A theory. Long post again!

I just finished watching the Original Series, followed by The Motion Picture, and holy fuck the two are SO interconnected. But the timing makes it really confusing.

There was about a ten-year-gap in real life between the end of TOS and the start of TMP. And yet, the wounds of failed Spirk appear to still be completely unhealed at the start of the movie.

The movie itself denotes at least a two-and-a-half year gap since Kirk was last aboard the Enterprise. (Kirk tells Scotty, "two and a half years as Chief of Starfleet Operations may have made me stale, but I wouldn't exactly consider myself untried." Decker reiterates this time period by saying Kirk hasn't logged a single star hour in two and a half years.) It could have been more time since Kirk and Spock last saw each other, but it's unclear.

There is a lot of discussion akin to "Why are the characters acting so weird in Season 3?" as well as "What the hell happened between the series and the movie that made Spock run off to kolinahr like that?" I actually think that there is no missing information; rather, these two questions are connected. In fact, both questions have the same answer. Here is my theory:

In my opinion, Season One of TOS doesn't start at the very beginning of the five-year mission.

Season One does not start with everyone boarding the ship for the first time and meeting their roommates. The relationships between the characters are already far too well developed to be brand new. Think of the fact that by episode 2 (Charlie X) Kirk is already saying, "I need him" of Spock.

By episode 4 (The Naked Time) Spock is offering to Kirk a thinly veiled confession of love tainted by repression and internalized homophobia ("Jim, when I feel friendship for you, I'm ashamed"), during which they slap each other repeatedly (keeping in mind that physical fighting is a stand-in for sexual intimacy in this show. My personal theory is that their serious relationship starts around Amok Time, but there is definitely something already happening there).

By episode 7 (What Are Little Girls Made Of?), Spock trusts and knows Kirk intimately enough to identify a well-disguised Kirk imposter in just two key words ("half-breed interference"); two hurtful words that he not only understands as not Kirk, but actually somehow a secret message from the real Kirk.

These are not newly acquainted coworkers. I posit that the three years of TOS are not an exact one-to-one correlation to the first three years of the five year mission. My theory is that the two years that are missing are actually towards the beginning, not at the end.

(Disclaimer: I have not yet seen TAS, which, from what I understand, is meant to fill the gap of the last two years of the mission, but since it is considered "questionable canon" I will disregard it for now, for the sake of argument.)

I have written extensively about how, in season 3, Kirk and Spock suffer irreparable damage to their serious relationship in Requiem for Methuselah, and then continue to fight about it for several episodes. Then Spock lives an allegorical journey to hell and back in All Our Yesterdays, showing the extensive inner turmoil that he is still going through. By Turnabout Intruder, the last episode of the series, the two have broken up and it's affecting their interactions.

So my theory is this: the end of TOS is actually quite close to the end of the five-year mission, the Requiem for Methuselah wounds are still fresh in Spock's mind, the All Our Yesterdays turmoil is still very real, and Kirk and Spock have quite recently gone through a very painful breakup.

(Even if I'm wrong about this part. You can imagine two more years of that painful Turnabout-Intruder-level intimacy, where they undeniably know each other like the other half of themselves, and yet there is no joy in that connection and no way to bridge the rift between them. It would be enough to make anyone want to run away.)

Doesn't it just make sense that after the season 3 spirk fight arc, Spock would be ready to put some distance between himself and Kirk?

Can we also talk about what Spock was doing on the five-year mission in the first place? A half-Vulcan, raised on Vulcan, who feels he has something to prove as a Vulcan, and is trying desperately to repress his human side, elects to spend five full years in the unceasing and exclusive company of humans. Why?

What if Spock felt unfulfilled in that life as a Vulcan? What if he wanted to try out his human side? What if Spock meant for the five-year-mission to be a sort of rumspringa from Vulcan mores, during which he could try out this other world like a piece of clothing, to see how it fit?

But in the end, those five years of connection, of love, and then loss, only led to heartache and overwhelm. But, while Spock never confesses to heartache and overwhelm, what he does confess to? Irritation.

Think back to the start of the series. In Where No Man Has Gone Before, when Spock is trying so hard to repress his human half that he still refers to his mixed parentage as "one of my ancestors married a human female," Kirk tells him that he plays a very irritating game of chess. Spock coyly answers, "Irritating? Ah, yes. One of your Earth emotions."

And then, in Space Seed, we have this exchange, where Kirk is being so absolutely gentle and patient and loving with Spock that it makes me want to cry:

Both of these "Irritation? Never met her" exchanges are in Season 1.

But look how much things have changed by season 3: This is what he has learned in his time among humans.

From Day of the Dove:

Irritation is, actually, the perfect emotion for Spock to finally allow himself to express. It has almost a medical bent to it, as in the sort of irritant that causes a skin reaction. He's been expressing irritation all along with that telltale eyebrow, of course, but allowing himself to say the word out loud is a big step.

Then, upon being called "you pointed-eared Vulcan" by Bones in All Our Yesterdays:

His descent into the allegorical hell and the barbarism of his ancestors brings out this outburst of emotion against Bones, the only other bright spot (besides Jim) in this human world. It is a step beyond irritation, to "I don't like that. I don't think I ever did, and now I'm sure." But it shows that this particular irritation has been brewing for a long time, repressed under layers of Vulcan control.

And finally, this, from Plato's Stepchildren. Not irritation, but relevant:

Ouch.

Spock always felt out of place in his Vulcan world. And he feels even more out of place in the very human world of the Enterprise. But Kirk is the one thing that makes that life worthwhile. The one safe harbor, the only safe person in the whole world of both humans and Vulcans. Spock is never at home anywhere, but he is at home with Kirk. But then it turns out that the safe harbor is perhaps the most dangerous place of all. He risks everything to allow himself to love, but then he has his heart completely broken by Kirk. This human world was already perhaps not a great fit to begin with, but now it's painfully, excruciatingly obvious that he is not at home here either.

Remember, also, what one of the spectators said of Spock during his emotional torture in Plato's Stepchildren: "Cupid's arrow kills Vulcans." WHAT.

So of course Spock's response to this failed five-year experiment is to say, "Okay, this did not work out. I tried it on, but this living-with-humans garment did not fit me. Fuck this shit, this being-around-emotional-humans shit, this pain-from-other-people's-emotions shit, and FUCK THIS ONE MAN'S BULLSHIT IN PARTICULAR, I am now off to join the Vulcan priesthood. Not only must my life's answer be on Vulcan, it is the most Vulcan version of Vulcan I can think of. I will give up all of my connections, all of my emotions, everything that makes me me so that I can finally become the ultimate Vulcan. Maybe if I get rid of my emotions altogether, it will also get rid of this pain."

And that is how he ends up here at the start of the movie.

But of course. It doesn't work.

He is running away from life, away from love, away from Kirk, rather than running towards enlightenment.

It was never going to work.

And when he suddenly senses that Kirk needs him, his instinctual reaction is to refuse to complete the kolinahr. He is not rejected from it (at least that's not how it starts), as so many people say. He rejects it himself by raising his hand to stop the priestess. She simply agrees with him that he has work to do elsewhere.

What does he feel, though? It is hard to say. It looks more like confusion or disappointment than love or longing. But might it even be... Irritation?

"Okay, fine," he says to himself. "If I must, I must. I will go and save that man's sorry ass one more time. I will go get a nice haircut. I will go put on my makeup and an ABSOLUTE BANGER of a little black revenge dress. I will glide onto that bridge like I own the fucking place. I will make that man cum in his pants as soon as he sees me. And I will not even deign look at him." And so he does.

Irritation does seem to be his main outward emotional state when he makes his first appearance back on the Enterprise. He is trying so hard to project himself as an emotionless brick wall, but he is actually radiating irritation in every direction. He greets Chekov with thinly veiled irritation, doesn't even let him finish his sentence:

And then he does what he came to do; he glides onto the bridge like he owns the fucking place. He looks so damn good and Kirk notices, his whole body snapping to attention. Spock looks all around the bridge, but not at Kirk standing right in front of him.

But, of course, he can't not look at him. He makes it a full eight seconds before he finally lowers his gaze and stares straight into Kirk's very soul without saying a single word out loud.

He then busies himself around the science station, taking charge, getting to work, ignoring the pleasantries erupting from all the old friends and colleagues around him. Irritation, irritation, irritation. He cuts all the discussion short and plunges headlong into the science, completely ignoring the way that Kirk is practically on his knees in front of him. But he sees. Of course he sees.

And yet, this outward irritation is simply a betrayal of his inner feelings: the fact that he cares. If he didn't care, he wouldn't be irritated. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have come at all.

But now that he is here, now that he is back, anything is possible.

#star trek tmp #star trek the motion picture #spock #james t kirk #spirk #k/s #kirk/spock #the premise #tos spirk #spirk angst #season 3 spirk fight arc #turns out it's actually a season 3 to tmp spirk fight arc #long post #analysis #star trek meta #spirk divorce arc #sim speaks #my posts

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yeah-thats-probably-it · 7 months ago

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@noandnooneelse

How does Star Trek Universal Translator™ translate the accent? We see people like Chekov speak, and he has an accent, but I'm not sure why. My main thought is that he is speaking English, so the translator's does not have to do much work in regards towards other English speaker, such as Kirk and Bones. It's not actually translating in that regard, just kind of letting him speak normally towards other English speakers, and then translating towards other other non-English speakers. It becomes interesting when you consider that he might be speaking Russian, and in that case, where does the accent come from? Another point is Spock. Vulcan's have their own language, and arguably with their own accents and dialects varying on regions. However, when he speaks, he sounds like he is just speaking English with an American accent. Now, Logically it could be that he just learned English from his mother, an American, and speaks it on a ship where English is most likely the dominant language for clarification sake, but lets humor the hypothetical. If he's speaking Vulcan and it's just getting translated, then naturally the translator just defaults to an American Accent, which makes sense given that Star Fleet is based within the United States. However, also humoring the hypothetical, Chekov is speaking Russian, and yet he's being translated with a Russian accent. So, let's just say for the sake of the argument that he is speaking Russian throughout the whole series. That would mean that Chekov is being translated with an accent, and Spock is not. What's the criteria for that? Does the Vulcan accent just not make sense in English language, and therefore the translator just cuts it out? It's also interesting to note the other side of things. Going back to Chekov only speaking Russian, how would that get translated on his end? Would Kirk be speaking Russian with an American accent? Would it just be a regular Russian accent cause the translator isn't translating that? What about Spock only speaking Vulcan? Would Kirk be translated with a Vulcan accent or just a really butchered one? I also want to bing up Worf, as he was raised Russian. His parents, if I recall. correctly, have heavy Russian accents, once more bringing up my point with Chekov, but Worf does not. Assuming Worf speaks Russian and only Russian, then why does he get translator with more of an English/American accent compared to his parents? I also wanted to bring up Picard, with him being French yet speaking with a British Accent, but I think it was told in the series that French became obsolete by the 23rd/24th century, so people learned English instead, explaining his accent despite being French. Am I overanalyzing this? Absolutely. More likely than not, it was just the dictators wanting to show diversity amongst the crew and not taking the implication of the accents too seriously. The logical option, as well, would be that a majority of them learned English prior to going Star Fleet, and therefore the translator doesn't have to work as hard to translate them for other people, so they can retain their accent.

#we were talking about this for like two weeks i can’t recap the entire discussion here #well i could but i don’t have the energy right now #but one thing we thought was a viable possibility #was that since afawk the ut works by translating concepts from your brainwaves and then applying grammar #it might have something to do with how the speaker perceives themselves or how the listener perceives the speaker #chekov is a russian for whom russian identity is important. therefore he sounds russian #this doesn’t explain worf and spock though #since klingon identity is important to worf and vulcan identity is important to spock #maybe so few klingons and vulcans actually learn english that the ut doesn’t really have a database for what klingon or vulcan accents sound #like? alternatively if it has something to do with the listener’s perception maybe chekov’s colleagues just perceive him as super russian #on account of his always saying that everything was invented in russia #whereas worf is super klingon but his colleagues probably don’t have a frame of reference for what a klingon accent sounds like #i think it’s likely picard is simply speaking english. however even if he were speaking french i think either of these theories could still #apply. speaker side‚ picard loves shakespeare and english literature and does not seem to be hugely attached to the idea of frenchness #and i would bet that IS the accent he has when he IS speaking english (because he almost certainly speaks english) it would make sense that #he’d want to be translated that way #listener side‚ picard is the most british fucking frenchman who has ever lived #you agree. i don’t need to explain this #i myself constantly forget he’s supposed to be french and i would bet his colleagues do too #doylist explanation is of course that they wanted to show diversity as you said #and simply didn’t take accent into consideration during casting #but it IS fun to overanalyze the implications of how this would actually work #i also really like the idea about t’pau!!#those ungrammatical thees somewhat bothered me so i will take that explanation #especially since this was tos era and the ut wasn’t as good yet #//#star trek #universal translator

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whoopsyeahokay · 5 months ago

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October Sun

summary: it had been settled. everything had gone to shit and then everyone had had front row seats to watch how that'd happened. back in the theater, no one had known what to say, how to describe what they'd seen, how to reconcile that whoever had been behind the circumstances haunting Split River High could've been anyone.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.27

"Love this for me."

Charley scanned the area, confused, disoriented, nervous. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, he shuddered, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he began to trek in the direction he hoped would take him back to civilization.

This wasn't how he imagined finally being free from the school. Lost in the middle of nowhere, dense trees as far as the eye could see. There weren't many wooded areas around Split River. A couple of parcels here and there, wilderness parks, but not like this, and he had to wonder if the forest was actually native to the land.

Finally, he found a trodden path in the dirt and decided to follow it. What did he have to lose? There was no danger. He couldn't die twice. Food, sleep, shelter weren't required despite he and the others keeping up those habits in the afterlife at Mr. Martin's guidance. Still, what you'd mentioned on the rooftop the night before—about how your great-aunt or your mother could erase his soul from existence—made Charley paranoid.

What if he'd landed here just for an evil witch to use his ghost for some nefarious plan to make her young and beautiful again? He'd seen Hocus Pocus. And it didn't matter that he was technically too old for that spell to work. He was stuck at 17 until he moved on and he wasn't keen on having a wicked witch absorb him for the sake of vanity.

Which, okay, Charley reasoned, sounded ridiculous, but one couldn't blame him. After a tornado had manifested in the theater and he'd been transported to some creepy, dark forest alone; he wasn't going to criticize himself for the insane theories his brain churned out.

He followed the path until it brought him to a winding, unpaved road. Turning left, he trailed down the edge of it for what felt like hours. It'd started raining halfway through his journey to wherever the hell, and night had fallen before the road widened into a bare plot of land stretched in front of a dilapidated farmhouse, its shadow a fanged monster raking toward Charley's ankles.

"Oh, that's not freaky at all." Charley muttered, quickly glancing over his shoulder and debating whether or not to go back the way he'd come. The darkness blurring the unpaved road seemed to push toward him as if discouraging him from turning around. He groaned in despair, "I hate everything about this," wanting the universe to take pity on him and return him to—God help him—the safe and familiar halls of Split River High.

It was Movie Night, he winged internally, and Wally had agreed (with conditions) to watch Ghost—shut up—and Katelynn and Bernadette were in charge of snacks which meant there'd be a smorgasbord of good options because Mr. Martin always filled the table with carrot sticks and his homemade tuna salad ("Just like my mother's! Doesn't it taste like home?"—"Why is it in jell-o?"—the '50s were a heinous decade, Charley thought, green around the gills at the memory).

Today was supposed to be a good day. A day of progress. A day of togetherness. He and Rhonda and Wally, and now Maddie, a united front against the mystery of Maddie's.....well, not-death, Charley supposed, because you'd debunked that. But against the mystery of Maddie's situation, nonetheless.

Except he was here, wet and cold and lost; an Addams Family-esque farmhouse towering in front of him like a bad omen and no one to turn to for answers.

"It can't get worse," Charley sighed, about to ascend the first of the front steps.

As his foot set down on the wood, the screen door creaked and someone emerged, using their back to push the door open so they could exit. When they turned around, Charley nearly jumped for joy. He knew that face! That was your face! Your face... Charley reeled back. Your face was coated in blood. You were coated in blood. Hair, hands, jeans.

"What happened!?" He questioned, pitching toward you to scan you for injuries.

You didn't seem to be in any pain, not favoring a leg or curling over a gut wound. Beneath the thin red film on your face, Charley couldn't spot a gash, a cut, a scrape, nothing. He panned to the front door, speculating in startled flashes what lay beyond it. The color drained from his face as he thought about it and he decided, no thanks, he didn't want—didn't need—to know.

The most unnerving part, however, wasn't the Evil Dead amount of blood on you. It was how your eyes stared ahead, completely blank; the same dissociative gaze Charley had witnessed on Emilio's face in the wake of Charley's death. Like Emilio's mind had evaporated while his brain repressed every bad thing that'd ever happened just to keep him upright.

Charley wanted to ask if you were okay but the words lodged in his throat when he finally noticed that you had something—someone—bundled in your arms. Small, child-sized (probably because it was a child, Charley, he chided himself), wearing Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. A queasy sensation flushed through him as he watched you fumble down the stairs, gaze fixed ahead, arms fastened around the little body.

When Charley shifted to follow you, the screen door creaked again then slammed closed. Another person hurried out, clomping down the steps to chase after you. Small. Child-sized. Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. Charley's expression twisted with sorrow. He bit the inside of his lip as he turned and walked beside the little boy who contemplated his boots as he squelched through the mud.

"Where are we going?" The little boy asked you, stomping into and out of a puddle.

You answered, "I'm taking you home," your voice light as a feather and far, far away.

"Will mommy be mad at me?" The little boy paused, big green eyes on your back, worried that he'd be in trouble for...for what? Charley couldn't discern. For dying?

"No." You said, dragged your feet with effort, your Converse not made for soft, sinking ground. "She'll know what to do. She'll make it all better, Aiden, I swear." On the last word, your voice cracked, but your face didn't change, your gaze still distant.

Charley kept pace with the little boy, Aiden, until you came to the end of the unpaved road. You were shaking, probably freezing, soaked to the bone and in shock. The unpaved road intersected a tarred section of old, narrow highway, a rusted mailbox keeping vigil in the tall grass that lined the shoulder.

Part of the name was scraped away by time and weather. Still, Charley could make it out: Meheive. A name Charley had had hammered into his skull in Grade 7 History. The name of one of the three industry men who'd founded Split River in 1800.

"Oh," He commented mildly, "It gets freakier. Fantastic." Then, as he lifted his foot to continue after you, he simply couldn't. He tried again, again, again, walked in place as if on a treadmill while an invisible force kept him at bay. "Never mind," He gulped, "Now it's freakier." At least he wasn't being shot back to the cafeteria at speed, he mused glumly when he took the time to feel the identical vibrations he felt when he got too close to the barrier around the school.

Slanting his attention to the side, he saw Aiden standing alone, face pinched, lower lip trembling and eyes filled with tears. "Sissy May, wait... I can't follow you..." He stuttered several breaths, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Sissy May!"

You didn't turn around. "It'll be okay, Aiden. Mom will fix it. She'll know what to do." Charley heard you murmur, dreamlike, detached, as you began to walk along the shoulder of the highway, adjusting Aiden's weight in your arms. "She'll fix it..."

Charley came up beside Aiden, watching you blend into the dark the further away you got. Aiden sniffled, squeaked before he coughed out a sob. He craned his neck to look up at Charley in devastation. Briefly, Charley was surprised though that settled into sympathy the longer Aiden blinked those green eyes up at him.

"I don't want to be alone," Aiden whimpered and took Charley's hand, his grip limp, his fingers tiny.

There was nothing to say to that. Charley didn't want Aiden to be alone either, and if he had to stay with Aiden for eternity, he would. He knelt down and pulled Aiden into a hug, his voice wet as he said, "You aren't alone, buddy," the way he would've comforted his younger cousin, Luca.

Unfortunately, the moment the words slipped out of him, Charley was snatched away and dragged through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Where Charley couldn't follow, Ajay did. Down the shoulder of the unlit highway, stomach rolling as he observed how you swayed and stumbled as you pressed onward, Aiden's dead weight becoming more and more difficult to manage. A car had stopped, a woman had called out to you, and Ajay had heard her on the phone with the police, asking for help.

It was as if you hadn't heard her. Ajay doubted you had, the state you were in, mumbling gentle promises to your brother as you carried him home. "Mom will know what to do, Aiden..."

Twenty minutes came and went before an ambulance and two squad cars screeched to a halt meters in front of you, lights flashing, red blue, red blue, red blue.

When the EMTs tried to take Aiden from you, you put up a fight; kicked, gnashed, snarled, screamed. Not words, just noise, like a provoked animal. Deputy Baxter managed to get you in a submissive hold so an EMT could sedate you before he helped settle you into a stretcher. Strapped you in, just in case, the corners of his mouth severely turned down and his eyes shuttered to conceal the heartbreak Ajay had caught a glimmer of.

"Take them to St. Vincent's." Deputy Baxter instructed the ambulance driver. "I'll call their mother." He moved on to order the second unit that'd arrived with him to follow the ambulance, that he would check the road, "For anything that'll tell us what the hell happened here."

"Austin, are you sure you want to do it alone? If someone's responsible, they could still be out there. They could be armed." Deputy Hayes voiced her concern through the passenger-side window. She was new. Too new to understand that Sheriff Stallow had a protocol when it came to certain matters. Especially those involving your family and a handful of others.

A protocol that Deputy Baxter was responsible for overseeing himself. For a substantial fee, of course, pulled from a vault that had been collecting wealth since before Split River had been established.

Deputy Baxter shook his head and reassured, "I'm just going to see what I can find along the road. If anything comes up, I'll call it in." He straightened and peered down the highway in the direction you'd obviously come from, a deep-seated foreboding frosting beneath his skin.

He was at a crossroads, his gut told him. Something terrible waited for him in the dark and whatever choice he made to deal with it would change his life forever. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. He just prayed to God that he'd still be able to be there for his own little boy in the after. That he'd have the chance to hug Xavier and tell him the world might not be safe, but his dad will always be there to protect him.

In the side mirror of his vehicle, Deputy Baxter stared at the retreating image of the ambulance and squad car as they blared down the highway toward the town. Once the sound of the sirens faded, he shifted the gear into drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and he drove to the only building in the area for miles.

Once Deputy Baxter was gone, Ajay vanished through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Five.

Does the Monster die?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon's eyes flew open and he jolted upright, waking abruptly in a cold sweat. The sky was dark outside his closed window, his room pitched black, and his mother was tugging at his shirt.

He barely registered her words, you told the police you'd return the phone tonight, get up, as she fussed over him, fuming, lecturing him in Tagalog as she switched on the overhead light and pinned him with a strict expression.

He scrubbed his face to wake himself up. Dragged his hands through his hair, eyes drifting to his closet. He could've sworn... Hadn't there been...? The door was open and, apart from the two rails of clothes and the shoe rack, it was empty.

"Hurry up, iho! Before your father gets home." His mother commanded before she turned on her heel and left the room.

In English, Simon responded, "I'm going, I'm going..." and rose from his bed. He felt weak, exhausted despite having apparently slept through the day. Again, his gaze settled on his closet as if the person who'd been crying in there had just tucked themselves in the corner and would pop out any second now that the coast was clear.

But nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Simon stood and treaded to his closet. Just to make sure; just to see if it had really all been a dream. There was nothing inside to indicate anyone had been hiding there. No displaced clothes to suggest Simon had shoved them aside to get a better look at the little boy who'd quivered beside the shoe rack. No puddle from the rain that had dripped from the little boy's hair and Spiderman rainboots. No scuff marks in the carpet. No mud. No little boy.

"She's gonna hurt him," The little boy wailed into Simon's hip. "She's gonna take him and she's gonna hurt Sissy!"

Simon tripped backward, away from the closet, breath suddenly ragged as the memory flooded his mind. Because it had to be that. A memory. He'd had vivid dreams before, but never like that. He could still feel the little boy's tight grip around his waist, could still feel the wet and cold of the little boy's body through his Looney Tunes sweater when Simon had instinctually returned the embrace.

"She wants t'take them!" The little boy sniffed thickly, "You gotta help! You can't let her!" And then he added as if he'd been reprimanded enough times by his mommy, imploring "Pleeease!"

"Who are you talking about?" Simon asked. Leaned back and crouched so he was eye-level with the little boy, his hands holding the little boy's boney shoulders, "Who's going to get hurt?"

Simon grabbed his sweater and his car keys, calling out, "I'll be back soon," to his mother who'd installed herself in front of Wheel of Fortune. He had to get to the school. He had to see Maddie. To tell her what he'd dreamt or prophesized or hallucinated because, guess what, he'd apparently graduated from unwitting medium to Nostradamus.

As he trotted down the front walkway, he checked his phone. 7 missed calls from Nicole. 2 missed calls from Mathilda. 3 texts from Nicole asking the same question—are you okay?—and a novel from Mathilda that detailed the lessons he'd missed and what he'd have to make up for over the weekend, but don't worry, I'll help you. And 1 text from you. Short and sweet, sent that morning just after Simon had returned home from the police station.

"We found something to get Mr. A. I'll meet you at the bus stop when you get here."

Simon hoped it wasn't too late. That you'd stayed behind to wait for him even though he hadn't answered you. Unlikely, but he tried to remain optimistic, even as he took a moment to collect himself once behind the wheel of his car. That dream...it lingered like a bruise.

The little boy's voice stuttered through rough breaths, "Sh-she said she needs to find M-Maddie, but Maddie's gone, and that she c-can't use Sissy without Maddie. She can't do it w-without trapping more people."

Simon started the car and pulled into the road.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? You mean because Maddie died?" Simon pushed, but the little boy wasn't listening, sobbing about 'him' and 'Sissy' and how they were in danger. Simon grabbed the little boy's face between his palms, soft but firm, and God, his cheeks were so cold. He looked the boy straight in the eye, "What can't 'she' do without trapping more people?"

He rolled down the window to let the fresh air soothe his anxiety.

Eventually, the little boy quieted though tears continued to stream down his face, "She can't have a new body." He said in a little voice. "Now she needs more people because Maddie got away."

And what the gentlest fuck did that mean?

Simon still didn't know who the 'Sissy' and 'him' were that the little boy had referred to. The little boy had been too distressed to divulge their names, talking as if Simon should already know everything. Just 'Sissy' and 'him'. 'Sissy' and 'him' and Maddie and someone named Janet.

Did Simon know a Janet? He wracked his brain, trying to summon the names of everyone in his class who could have a connection to Maddie's death. There was a Jessica and a Jennifer and a Jayden. No Janet.

Then there was the matter of 'she' wanting a new body. Because that was sane. And impossible. Right...? Fuck, what if Maddie's death had been some nutcase's idea of a ritual sacrifice. What if another teenage girl was about to be murdered because, lo and behold, magic isn't real and Maddie just died instead of ceding her body.

The devil on Simon's shoulder quipped, "But ghosts are real," which, fair. If ghosts were real, surely they weren't the only eldritch phenomenon to exist in the world.

Maybe there were cursed mummies or body snatching aliens out there scheming to take over America via its youth. No child left behind. Jesus Christ. Simon was spiraling, brain spitting random images of every creature feature he'd ever seen at him. Had the little boy been trying to warn Simon about mummies? Aliens? Was it aliens!?

As he stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, he stared—definitely too intensely—at the young woman who passed in front of his car. Like he could see straight to her bones and determine whether or not she was really human. The woman picked up her pace, shoulders up, head down, and folded her leather jacket tighter around her.

Don't be suspicious, Simon, he admonished himself, ashamed of his behavior, eyes darting to his lap until the woman was safely on the other side of the road.

"What even is my life anymore?" He wallowed. Ghosts and Mystery Inc. side-quests and pinning crimes on teachers. He felt he'd lived a hundred lifetimes in the last week and was seriously considering becoming a hermit the minute Maddie moved on.

There wouldn't be much reason to stick around after that anyway...

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mina Volkov hadn't left the theater since 1987. She was a looper. She performed the same tasks every day, from morning to night to morning. She didn't sleep. She didn't eat—except for the paper bag lunch she'd brought with her the day she'd died. She didn't stray. Mina had to make sure that what had happened to her wouldn't happen to someone else.

There was safety in her loop. Not just for the living students she protected through her hard work, but for herself. Her loop allowed her mind to remain clear, focused entirely on the task at hand. She didn't have to think or reflect or question why her soul had lingered after being squashed by a stage light.

Rhonda had called it denial when she'd visited Mina a week after Mina's death. Rhonda had been sizing Mina up, prodding and poking to see how Mina would react.

Mina had simply gone about her safety checks and Rhonda had eventually gotten bored. And had never come back.

Sometimes, her loop veered off-course. Sometimes Mr. Martin came to check on her. Just to say hi. Never to invite her to those stupid meetings he hosted in the gym. The ones Ajay attended and would tell Mina about later when they picnicked on the stage or between kisses in the green room.

She liked Ajay. He was kind and thoughtful, and he respected her loop. He didn't complain when she prioritized double-checking the lighting cables and tightening ropes and cordage for the dropdown scenery. He'd simply sit and talk to her. Recite poetry or passages from books she never intended to read. Ajay was smart. Ajay was handsome. Ajay was...

Ajay was comatose. Slumped on the floor along with the others, his face, like theirs, twisted in anguish. Whatever measures Mina used to wake him up didn't work and she had no idea how to help. But she knew she needed to. Not because New Girl had brought Mina flowers. Or because Hawaiian Shirt Man had caused her so many headaches since the start of the school year and they'd found something to make him stop banging around under the stage. But because Ajay needed Mina to be brave.

He needed help and she was going to help him. Which meant Mina had to leave the theater. She had to find Mr. Martin.

Though Ajay often thought Mina didn't listen when he spoke, he was wrong. She held onto every word like a treasure that she'd tuck away in her heart and savor in the moments she was alone.

Mr. Martin took his privacy in the fallout shelter in the basement. Mina had been there before she'd died. Several times, in fact. It'd been an opening night ritual conducted an hour before curtain. The cast and crew piled downstairs and hid in the fallout shelter to pass around a spliff.

Mina hadn't been responsible back then, not like she was now. She'd partaken because she'd wanted to feel like part of the group when she'd so often felt like an outsider the actors and other crew members made fun of, "for being such an airhead, God, Mina, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

Standing slowly, Mina regarded the theater door. Her heart slammed against her ribs, palms clammy as she tightened and loosened her fists. A comforting motion to calm her nerves as she stepped carefully to the door and placed her hand on the exit bar.

Mina hadn't left the theater since 1987. But today, she would.

For Ajay.

She spilled into the hall, the world spinning in her panic, and took off at speed to the other side of the school. Down two flights of stairs, through the door that led to the basement.

Most of the basement had been bricked off which had narrowed the hallway, making it feel like a catacomb. Poorly lit and spooky. The fallout shelter was at the far end, directly below the gym. Its door was open as Mr. Martin usually kept it. A practical solution given how regularly he had to come and go during office hours.

It hadn't been his idea originally. No. It'd been hers. The woman currently speaking through the janitor's mouth as she stared Mr. Martin down.

"I've canvased the area and several others every night since that traitorous little bitch escaped." Mr. South stated, "There's no sign of her."

Helplessly, Mr. Martin explained for the second time, "I don't know what you want me to do, Amelia. I've done everything you asked me. But my students need me to keep them present. I must prioritize the shift I noticed in the wakers."

Mr. South—Amelia—snarled, "I agree, Everett, but I'm not asking you to participate in a search and seize. I simply want you to tell me where that conniving piece of shit would have gone! She confided in you, you told me that. So, tell. me. where she's most likely to go!"

Mr. Martin shook his head, a cowardly expression miring his face, "I've told you everything I know, Amelia, please. I've given you her notes, her journal. Every piece of information I had is already in your hands."

Pained, "How have you allowed everything to unravel this much?" Amelia wanted to know

Quite unexpectedly, a frightened voice interrupted from the vault door, "Mr. Martin?"

Mr. Martin whipped his head to the side, his eyes going wide in panic when he saw Mina stood just over the threshold, inside the fallout shelter. What was she doing there?

She looked ashen. Scared. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her brown eyes slid away from Mr. Martin's face to rest on Mr. South for a second before returning to Mr. Martin.

Mr. Martin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, anything to explain why he was mid-conversation with the living school janitor, when suddenly it didn't matter anymore.

Mr. Martin choked as he watched Mina glance down her body. Her chest seared like paper in a candle flame. She looked back up, fear contorting into betrayal, before she quietly burned away into oblivion.

Unable to reconcile what he'd witnessed, Mr. Martin merely stared at the spot Mina had just been standing, expression slack in horror. His chest rose and fell heavily, "Why?" he rasped, and it took every ounce of self-preservation not to lash out.

Behind him, Amelia lowered Mr. South's hand, scoffing, "Oh, don't look so sad, Everett. She didn't feel a thing," but Mr. Martin didn't believe it. Still, he was too intimidated to argue. He knew what Amelia was capable of.

Virtuously, Amelia commented, "We need someone to step in for Janet." A look of distaste, "Since it appears you truly are hopeless at managing things here on your own."

"I—" Can't, but he choked on the word, unwilling to say it aloud.

Amelia rounded on him, beautiful blue eyes flashing in anger, "I gave you everything you wanted, Everett, and, yet you repay me with failure."

"I haven't," Mr. Martin argued weakly.

"Oh? You've forgotten the one you let slip out of your grasp when we were so close to securing him. A problem I must now fix." She reminded him, "Don't forget this, you silly, little man. I can take away everything I gave you like this." She snapped her fingers as she stepped closer, Mr. South's nose practically touching Mr. Martin's. "You will do as I tell you, or all your little lambs will be slaughtered and I'll leave you here to rot. Alone."

And then she turned on her heel, her demeanor shifting to breezy and aloof.

"Do it soon. I can't afford any delays." In Mr. South's lumbering body, she picked across the floor like a debutante, "Time is valuable, Everett, especially mine." Then she was out the door and around the corner to return Mr. South's body to the storage room Mr. South used as his office.

Alone in the fallout shelter, Mr. Martin buckled to his knees.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Operating with half his mind still on aliens and mummies, Simon waited in the bus shelter. He was grateful you hadn't left, had responded to the text he'd sent when he'd arrived at the school: "See you in 5," you'd told him. At the metal crack of the side entrance opening, Simon stood up from the bench and faced the school. He frowned when he saw who emerged.

Steps uneven, Xavier exited the school. He stopped when he noticed Simon, stood still like a deer in headlights. Damn, Xavier looked like he'd seen a ghost. Pale and bug eyed and jittery.

They watched each other for a moment. Simon nodded his head in greeting. Xavier didn't return the gesture. Instead, he gazed down at his chest and then followed a trail to Simon's.

With a frightened look, Xavier lifted the hood of his sweater and veered toward the parking lot, skulking off with his head down.

A minute or so later, the door opened again and this time it was you. And Maddie. Together. Followed by a tall guy in a varsity jacket, a girl in a newsboy cap, and a boy with frosted tips wearing a lot of denim. The trio of strangers stayed by the door to watch as you and Maddie—together—approached Simon.

When you and Maddie were within earshot, Simon said, "Okay. What the hell is this?" To Maddie specifically, "How can I see you right now?"

Maddie shrugged, glanced at you, but you just kept your eyes on the ground.

"Not sure." You murmured, voice like air. You at least had the decency to look apologetic when you finally brought your gaze up to meet Simon's.

"So you can see ghosts." Simon stated, irritated.

"So can you." You returned, but your heart wasn't in it. In fact, you seemed as rattled as Xavier had been when he'd come out of the school.

Although he wanted to chew you out for having lied to him, Simon wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?"

His demeanor softened as he took you in. Puffy eyes, flushed cheeks, red nose. You'd been crying. And Simon would never be angry enough to let that trump being there for a friend who needed him. He bundled you into a hug, one hand rubbing your back, and asked Maddie with his eyes what was wrong.

In his periphery, he saw Varsity straighten and move to take a step forward. His friends each grabbed an arm and appeared to shut whatever idea he'd had down because he shifted back before shaking them off.

Urgently, Maddie told Simon they'd discuss everything, "Later," and ushered him back into the bus shelter. He kept an arm slung around your shoulders, a shoulder to lean on, though had to release you when you decided to lean against the interior glass. Simon took what was becoming his usual seat on the concrete base and Maddie folded herself onto the bench.

When neither you nor Maddie spoke, Simon took the lead, "Mr. Anderson totally played us," he began, glancing between you and Maddie. "I mean, the cops are convinced I helped Maddie run away."

Maddie immediately defended, "Seriously? That's—"

"I know. They only let me come back here because I promised I'd get Anderson's phone and turn it in."

You cleared your throat, "Okay, well, before you do that..."

Maddie continued where you trailed off, "I think we might've found something that can help maybe keep the cops off your back." She fished something out of her back pocket and handed it to you which you, in turn, handed to Simon.

Stunned, Simon gawked at the piece of paper, eyes darting between it, you, and Maddie several times before finally resting on the paper. "We're just...not going to acknowledge how insane this is?" He sputtered, flapping the paper to indicate what he meant.

"Just go with it for now, Si." Maddie implored, "Let's take down Mr. Anderson first."

"Yeah," Simon agreed and examined the paper. It was a receipt for new band uniforms.

He pulled out his phone when Maddie informed him he'd have to call the company the receipt was from and punched in the number. As the line connected, Simon cast to the three people at the school entrance. "Quick question, and not to alarm anyone, but who are they?" He asked as he waited for someone to answer the phone.

You and Maddie looked to the three people then at each other, Simon, the three people, each other, and ended with open-mouthed stares at Simon.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Simon deadpanned. You and Maddie nodded. Simon kissed his teeth. "Of course they are."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After all was said and done, Simon had watched Wally—the tallest of the three ghosts Simon had seen outside—drape his varsity jacket over your shoulders and stamp a kiss to your head. Simon had seen Wally hold you protectively in the wake of Simon's impassioned announcement to the table of Split River High staff.

He'd heard Wally whisper comforting words and stroke your cheek with his thumb and, wow, you hadn't been joking about saving yourself for the hot ghost on campus.

It was a mindfuck, to be sure, but Simon adjusted. Or he was in shock. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.

Wally had mentioned to the group at large as they huddled in the hallway that he and Charley—denim on denim—had needed to go lest Mr. Martin—whoever that was—get suspicious of their absence at Movie Night. Which could've been dead dove, do not eat, or could've been ghost code for watching the living go to the bathroom.

"Dude, we don't do that." Wally had cringed, offended.

Charley had raised his brows in consideration, "Well, not all of us."

Afterward, you, Simon, and Maddie had holed away in a classroom to watch Mr. Anderson be escorted into the back of a squad car. In a line at the window. Discussing in solemn tones what you and Maddie had seen in the theater. How it related to Mr. Anderson. How whoever was behind Maddie's death—no, not-death, Simon emended, since you'd brought him up to speed. How whoever was behind Maddie's missing body could be literally anyone.

That was if Maddie's circumstances were related to the terrors you and she had experienced in the theater earlier.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Maddie asked faintly as she watched the deputy close the back door of the squad car.

"He'll be questioned," Simon said. "Probably arrested."

Angry, Maddie replied, "But not for abduction. Not for bodily injury." A weighted pause. "I swear to God, if he did this to me over some stupid band uniforms..."

His voice tinged with hope, "Maybe he'll confess."

"Or," Maddie offered the alternative, "You'll hand that phone over to the cops and we'll never know who he was working with. Or why he said he gave me money... I'll never know what really happened to me."

Maddie turned. As soon as she settled against the windowsill, you shuffled closer to her and put a supportive arm around her shoulders. Fuck if that didn't make Simon's heart ache. He wanted so badly to be the one to do that for her. To be there for her. To comfort her.

"We'll figure it out, Mads." You reassured, though you still looked haunted. You glanced over your shoulder, watched the flashing lights until they faded and then sighed. "This is going to sound awful right now, but..."

"You don't think Mr. Anderson has anything to do with me. Do you." Maddie said, and closed her eyes against the fact that there was so much more at play now. After the theater, it seemed Maddie agreed.

You shook your head apologetically, "I don't."

"And that's not just because he's your uncle's friend?" Simon ventured, studying you closely.

You shook your head, "No. I swear, Simon, I really think Mr. Anderson and whatever's actually going on are two separate things."

Simon believed you.

"Whatever he's involved in, maybe it'll bring us one step closer to what actually happened. We can't rule it out." He implored as he gazed between you and Maddie.

It couldn't be for nothing that they stumbled upon Mr. Anderson's secret. He might not have been involved in hurting Maddie or relocating her body without her in it, but he'd given her money for something.

"At least for now," Maddie said, gazing up at Simon, "some of the heat will be off you."

Her words struck Simon's soul. After everything she'd been through, she cared about what happened to him, and it made him yearn to show her how much that meant to him. Seeing you in Wally's varsity jacket gave him an idea. Slowly, he peeled off his sweater and hung it over the back of a chair. It wasn't enough, but at least he could do this.

"What are you doing?" Maddie asked.

Voice rough with emotion, Simon said, "I was thinking... I can't hug you, but my sweater can."

You pushed away from the window and positioned yourself between Maddie and Simon, voice pitched just as low as Simon's as if not wanting to disturb the somber atmosphere that had befallen the classroom.

"I can do you one better." You said with a small smile and placed one hand on Maddie's shoulder. Your held out your other hand to Simon which he took, curious as to what you were going to do. It seemed Maddie knew because she came closer and then—God—she wrapped her arms around Simon and held him tight.

Without a second thought, Simon returned her embrace with his free arm, putting everything he had into it. All the grief, all the solace, all the love. He hiccupped a weak sound of overwhelm and pulled Maddie as close to himself as he could. She felt warm. Alive. Like she was right there in her body.

With wet eyes, Simon peeked up at you, "Thank you."

"You're my friend, Simon." You said easily, "I'd do anything for you in a heartbeat."

He dragged you into the hug; you and he and Maddie holding each other, leaning on each other, needing each other. And for that small segment of time, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Everette Martin had always needed to be needed. Something he'd been denied in life.

His parents had never supported him, teaching a job for women, not men. The school had let him go due to a rumor that another teacher circulated when she'd caught him outside of school and misunderstood that he'd been helping a student. His fiancé had turned her back on him because she couldn't 'see a future' with him anymore as a result.

All he'd ever wanted was for people to look to him for guidance, accept his help, rely on him. Life had been a disappointment.

In death, however, he thrived.

He loved his students like his own. He knew Amelia had her reasons for collecting them. She'd framed it as a gift. Allowed Mr. Martin to nurture them so long as he stuck to a short list of rules. Rules he agreed to because, if he didn't follow them, his students would inevitably leave him just as everyone else had.

Yes, Everett knew Amelia had something sinister up her sleeve, likely involving his students, but it'd already been 65 years and nothing had happened, so he assumed her plans didn't involve him or them. That she needed them simply to exist within the school to keep it sick. The presence of lingering death has that effect on a place, Amelia had chuckled prettily.

Amelia's powers were connected to the sickness in the land, and to maintain them, Everett had to maintain the status quo amongst the school's ghosts. A job he took seriously as well as reveled in.

He was so proud of them all, even the loopers. Such a contrast of personalities somehow finding common ground in the afterlife. It was marvelous to behold how they sparked friendships they probably wouldn't have had in life.

Especially Rhonda. Her death had turned her sour and Everett had had to be extra patient with her. At least she continued to join the Group sessions, and had made friends in Charley and Wally. Anything else, though, was a hard sell. She stubbornly refused to participate in activities unless they resulted in chaos and drama.

Which was why Everett was surprised when Rhonda marched into the gym and pulled up a seat.

It wasn't the first unusual thing Everett had noticed of his Group that night. He had the sense that something felt off. Ajay had been morose when he'd entered, but Bernadette and Katelynn had puppy piled him on the stack of gym mats and were comforting him with cuddles.

Always upbeat and charismatic Wally had been reserved until halfway through the film. Perhaps he was truly taken by Demi Moore's performance, though Everett suspected there was more to it.

Charley hadn't made any sarcastic comebacks to Everett's purposefully cheesy jokes about the film before he'd played it, either. Studying Charley and Wally, Everett had entertained the idea that the two had had a falling out. Teenagers were fickle beings. Even those in their forties and fifties.

Of course, Everett could be seeing things that weren't there. Reading too much into every small shift in behavior because he'd been on edge since Amelia's impromptu visit. A shiver ran through him, cold as ice, as he recalled what he'd witnessed and what he'd been ordered to do.

Banishing the memory, he forced a smile to his face, "Rhonda. You usually boycott movie night."

Rhonda stiffened in her seat, gaze fixed determinedly on the screen even if it seemed to go against every value she'd upheld up to that point.

"Is everything alright?" He probed when she didn't say anything.

Rhonda took her time to answer, but eventually, "I've been here for sixty years. Sixty graduations," She explained, jaw tense, as if her words were being forced out of her.

Rhonda rarely shared and, when she did, she'd smother the sentiment beneath myriad barbed wire remarks and threatening stares so no one examined what she'd revealed too closely.

As Rhonda disclosed what had motivated her to join Movie Night, Everett heard Amelia's voice in his head, "I need someone to step in for Janet."

"—I've made my peace with it because nothing changes...but now..." Everett listened, giving Rhonda his full, undivided attention. Rhonda didn't elaborate on how her views had shifted, rather redirecting to claim, "I know I'm not always a joiner but," her voice was raw, "I gotta get outta here."

She was outright doing her damnedest to hold back tears and it shook Everett to his core. The sight made Mina's image flash in his mind, the pain and fear in her eyes as she'd silently begged him to help her before being disintegrated into nothingness.

When Rhonda admitted, "I'm willing to try anything," Everett was brought back to the present, Mina fading from his mind.

What Rhonda said next made his smile falter, a pang of regret in his heart. He wasn't sure how he felt about 'replacing Janet'. He had a vague understanding of what Amelia had been doing with Janet and it unsettled him.

But, there was nothing else for it, his hand forced, because Amelia would find a way, with or without him, and without him could potentially be brutal.

It was easier when the participants were willing. But Rhonda needed to say it right. She needed to mean it without Everett's direct interference.

And, just like that, she did.

He ignored how his gut wrenched as he heard Rhonda speak into the ether, "So, whatever you did to help Janet, I want in."

He felt Rhonda's words vibrate through the veil. He forced another smile. However, turning back to the screen, his smile faded completely as Mina's final moments crowded his mind again. The fear. The helplessness. One of his students...gone.

His conscience kicked and screamed and berated him. Challenged him. Brought his face right up to the hundreds of mistakes he'd made leading up to Mina's permanent erasure from all planes of existence.

Everett had had no choice, a milder, more detached part of him reminded, and it was too late to undo what'd already been done. If he wished to continue guiding his students—teaching them, guiding them—he had to stay the course.

With that in mind, he offered Rhonda his bowl of popcorn and told her, "I'm glad to hear it."

💀___________fin.____________

PART TWENTY-SIX - OCTOBER MOON

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

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rootspiral · 6 months ago

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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

(this is a sad one, apologies in advance)

agatha just had the unimaginably traumatic experience of her mother's evil ghost possessing her body, so of course she cracks jokes. she's shaking like a leaf, but hey, coping mechanism gotta cope!

when evanora tried to execute agatha, stealing secrets or whatever was only an excuse, she was punishing her daughter for the sin of being born. whatever she says, her so called worry for these other witches is also an excuse. she's simply furious that someone has begun to think of agatha as a person rather than a monster. it's once again a selfless VS selfish paradox, evanora is always framing her actions as selfless and for the greater good, but her hatred for agatha is undeniably raw and personal. I would love to learn what evanora's life was like, who were her parents? what turned her into such a hateful mother?

(look at how angry rio already is. and alice always protecting the person closest to her by default.)

this is the ultimate humiliation for agatha, someone who has always kept her past and struggles so close to the chest. now one of her deepest traumas is laid bare for everyone to see and judge. she's always trying to come off as strong and unfeeling and formidable, but here she is, a sad little girl abused by her own mother.

btw I see you all have strong feelings about ghosts and billy's powers! lol I got so many comments. I see you, I see you! Granted I'm not actually super invested in my ghost theories, this being a made up marvel show and all, but here's what I think:

agatha says to wanda, "you have no idea how dangerous you are, you're supposed to be a myth, a being capable of spontaneous creation, and here you are, using it to make breakfast for dinner!" agatha, one of the most powerful witches ever existed, could not create food for nicky. like, the scope of wanda's powers (and billy's by extension) is the kind of scary that can reshape reality itself and truly and properly fuck up the Sacred Balance or whatever rio calls it.

when I say billy created a ghost evanora, yes it's a copy but in the same way a Star Trek transporter makes a copy, you know what I mean? whether the orignal stays behind or not, billy's evanora is the real evanora. and if you believe in souls, that gets even more complicated! did billy take evanora's soul from the afterlife and plopped her in here, or did it copy it too? and was wanda actually able to create billy's and tommy's or did she catch the wandering soul of stillborn twins?

see I don't think evanora was a ghost prior to this (again, I might be proven wrong in the future, but this is where I'm at right now). if that were the case, you know she'd been haunting agatha's ass, wouldn't have given her a moment of peace. maybe rio took extra care to send her to the afterlife, idk. now rio looks shocked and angry to see evanora, like this is a new development.

rio's voice is literally roaring with anger

like i cannot overstate how much rio hates and despises evanora for what she did to agatha

evanora zeroes in on rio, approaches. rio takes a whole step back and makes herself smaller. she's nervous. she says that ghosts are cheaters, but it goes beyond that, doesn't it? rio understands life and death, but a ghost is neither, or both. it goes beyond all her control and expertise, and for the first time since we've known her, she's at a disadvantage. ironic, isn't it, considering what happens to agatha in the finale?

agatha, who's been cowering in a corner, chooses this moment to approach. does she want to protect rio and billy and the others? or is she so desperate for an ounce of love and affection from her mother that she, coward as she is, actually wants to put herself in arm's way?

while everyone is focused on agatha, alice looks at rio. she is putting together evanora's words, agatha's terror and rio's hatred. jen is being selfish. alice, generous alice, could never be selfish

the last time agatha saw her mother she was still a kid. now she is a mother herself and the mere thought of not loving, not wanting to protect your child, of actually going out of your way to harm them? it's simply inconceivable to her.

the shock. the tears forming in her eyes. the same heartbreak she felt when she realized her mom was about to kill her at the stake. she's feeling small and wretched and unloved like only a parent can make you feel

it's the matter-of-fact tone she uses. it's worse than hatred. she despises agatha beyond hatred

there is a moment in a child's life when they see a parent clearly for the first time, their weakness and their flaws. this is especially true for an abused child, it comes a day when you realize that despite being called bad and evil and blamed for the pain happening, it was never really your fault. agatha knows what a parent's love should look like now. and this is not it.

rio visibly deflates. she is the only person in the room agatha opened up with about her mother. there is nothing she can do to spare her pain now. she has no power against evanora

alice has a blinding moment of shock, realization, pity. she knows only too well what generational pain and trauma can do to a person. but she still had a mother who loved her. agatha didn't.

jen, who used to be a healer, can no longer feel compassion. jen has had to learn to protect herself above all others. because evanora hurt agatha, and agatha hurt jen in return.

and when it's all said and done, agatha will always beg. all her power, her brains, her experiences are nothing. she regress to that girl at the stake. I can be good. please.

alice, who's always been the first to jump to everyone's defense, who always puts others before herself. she has seen agatha bare and helpless, she has seen that raw core that agatha has always hidden and, in her final moments, she's accepted agatha in her coven. it's more instinct than rationality, but alice has always been a heart over head kinda girl. if she can see the harpy, if she can see the pain, by GOD she'll do something about it.

“The Knight of Wands.” full of fire, fights bravely.

lilia's gut-wrenching scream. she knows what is happening. agatha already told her.

a succubus who hasn't fed in so long. I keep thinking, there was never anybody who loved her enough to teach her control, to seek alternative solutions to satiate her hunger. rio never could, rio cannot interfere with who lives and who dies. but could a coven together have fed her? could a big coven have donated power little by little, and kept her safe and valued and protected? nurtured her in every way? or was she always doomed from the start? was evanora right, did alice sign her death warrant the moment she chose to love agatha? I know what my answer is to all that, but what do you guys think?

and another question for you: billy casts around desperately for help, nicky answers. was nicky, or rather a shadow of nicky, created by billy too? or was the son of Death powerful enough and scared enough to reach out on his own, maybe with just a little push on billy's part?

a name was all it took for agatha to pass her trial, and look how much was needed to get it out of her. only billy's chaos could do the impossible: drag agatha's ravaged and wrecked heart to the surface. billy only wanted to help her heal, but he's a just a boy with the power to shape the universe. it took evoking ghosts and dredging up horrible trauma to make all of agatha's defenses crumble and raw-beat her into admitting her pain, into maybe, if we're lucky, starting on the road to recovery. oh, billy. you don't know how to handle things gently yet, with your big man's hands and your young, too young soul.

she stops IMMEDIATELY. she didn't know how to control her hunger, until now. the monster was human all along

by. as in, by billy, because he did it all. and also, good-bye. good-bye, mama.

oh, alice. there are no words.

and now they're no longer just numbers, just fools she conned and killed and abandoned on the road. now it's the girl with the big luminous heart, who sang the Ballad with her, who shared her same pain, the first human being in agatha's life who wanted to selflessly help her.

there is a moment, in a child's life, when they see a parent clearly for the first time.

go to episode 5 part 5

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #agatha harkness #alice wu gulliver #billy maximoff #rio vidal #jennifer kale #character analysis

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arbiterlexultionis · 26 days ago

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Prompt: Oops I’m a King Now

So, I absolutely love Ghost King Danny fics. The way the zone just kinda points at this kid like “that’s him officer! That the one who now where’s the crown!” With Danny unwillingly becoming king and either being really good at it or the ultimate gremlin. Simply Magnificent.

But what if Danny accidentally became the king of ghost without becoming the High King Of Ghost, successor of Pariah Dark?

It started off real simple. Danny started to (somewhat) civilize his rouges gallery, getting them to almost behave while in the human realm. Just enough for him to be able to live his half life and not spend the other half shoving them into a "Cylindrical Container Of Doom". Desiree could grant all the wishes she wanted so long as she did so in a way that could be passed off as luck, usually good but with the Phantom seal of approval when it came to monkey pawing the wishes of people who are due for some karma. Lunch Lady getting the chance to cook for people in need so long as she didn't go full Murderous Mystery Meat on them for having dietary restrictions. Getting to try and beat the stuffing out of him at regularly scheduled intervals that don't just so happen to fall on the days he needs to study and take important test and the like. That sort of thing.

This all resulted in him spending more time in the Infinite Realms then ever before. Learning about culture and society in the zone, making friends and figuring out how to do the whole Be A Ghost thing. Most of that was done in a small community not to far from where the Fenton Portal opened up in the Realms. They weren't the most important society, they didn't have some valuable export, no advanced industries like the Far Frozen's technology, no exceptionally strong ruler or ally like Necropilis had with Pandora. But what they did have in spades was kindness. They taught him what they knew, shared what they had and treated his wounds the best they could when he wasn't in a good enough condition to make the long trek to the Far Frozen. They were some of his first actual ghost friends, rather then just being people that kept trying to beat him to half death but occasionally helped him out, usually for the sake of their own self interest.

So when he found out that a small gang of ghost(small by Danny "Guardian of the Dead, Protector of the Living" Phantom's standards, so not small at all) had been launching periodic attacks on the community, he just couldn't sit back and do nothing. But even with time in the Realms passing around seven times faster then it did in the Living Realm he straight up didn't have the time to sit around and wait who knows how long to defend the town the next time the gang attacked and, hopefully, take them all down in one fell swoop. Even if he did, What good would it do? He couldn't just End every last one of them, and they would know it would only be a matter of time before he was need back in Amity. Fighting them off himself would be a stop gap measure at best.

So, plan B it was. If he can't protect them himself he would make sure they could protect themselves. Run some drill, teach some tactics, set a patrol schedule, that sorta thing. Nice and simple. In theory. In practice, it was anything but simple. His friends were a simple and very small subsistence farming community. They grew what they needed and not a single grain more, and they all worked together to do it. it was a group effort because it had to be, with them only having what by modern standards would be considered incredibly primitive farming technology, tools and knowledge. If someone put down their plow and pitchfork to pick up a spear, someone else would starve. Ghost naturally filter feed ectoplasm from the air in the zone, which provides them energy and a small amount of some simple nutrients so starvation isn't as fast and serious a threat to them as it is to humans. But their bodies, cores especially, need proper food and water to function and being deprived of food for to long can and will bring about their End. Slowing food production to train a militia and protect the town would, once again, be a stop gap measure at best. A stop gap measure that required torturing his friends via starvation in every way that mattered to Danny.

Plan B won't work, but Danny doesn't have a Plan C so he'll just have to figure out how to make it so Plan B can work. The village can't spare any farmers because they can barely produce enough to feed them all as is with their less advanced farming technology. The answer to this conundrum, like most issues the modern teenager faces, is the smartphone. Or rather, is modern technology. Danny spends days at a time in the village pouring over every textbook he can find on agriculture, its history, the technology, modern practices, bribes Ghost Writer into letting him browse his library for long forgotten and not yet written human texts and tomes of food-bidden ghost knowledge on crops and agricultural sciences in the Infinite Realms. Spends a day or two getting his parents to consider Ghost Trees an imminent enough threat to make a purpose built gadget in the form of an overgrown stake with an egg shaped head that when pounded into the ground would evenly spread anti-ghost herbicide across a large area and deep into the soil but with a little modification could easily be used to spread fertilizer and plant seeds at record speeds.(and promptly Gasslit, Gatekeept, Ghostbossed them into thinking they dreamed making the device and it was a bad idea after removing all evidence and saving the blueprints.)

The whole nine yards, and not an inch less for his first true friends on the other side. When he was finally ready he brought it all before people of the village, by the end of the night he had them all agreeing to give this fancy shmancy "Techmogy" a try, and by the end of the week, Living Time, is well on his way to revolutionizing the villages agriculture. They can not only afford to start training and maintaining a small(again, small by Danny's standards) defense force but also export extra produce and begin to develop other specialized, though still low tech, industries. When they've finished dealing with the raiding issue the village starts regularly just kinda handing over a small percentage of their harvest, and at first Danny's super confused cuz like Why??? but then just convinces himself "Oh, they just want me to keep maintaining the militia. Yeah that checks out."("How much taxes did Mister Phantom say we're supposed to pay for all this?" "He just kinda... Didn't? I don't think he expects us to?" "Thats unicorncrap and you know it. And we are not taking advantage of his kindness. Sherral had to give him that 'I'm not Mad, Just Disappointed' look for twenty minutes yesterday to get him to stop working long enough to eat." "You know what, fair. He's gonna be properly compensated whether he likes it or not.")

Danny uses the extra to have a few of his Friends in The Militia keep an eye on the Fenton Portals opening in the Realms, keeping the non-sentient ghost from wandering into the human world and keep track of who passes though/keeping people on the no go list from going and kicking up a fuss.(A Neverborn who has never been to the Living Realm: The Fucks a Passport? What do you mean you have to search me for contraband? Why are you putting on a rubber glove? What's a cavity sear-*High Pitch Traumatized Screaming.*)

As it turns out the reason they had to deal with all the raids in the first place was because the two larger communities to the northwest(well, the "Northwest" as Danny calls it, he just kinda considers towards the Far Frozen to be north) are in the middle of a minor war that initially started due to food scarcity issues, with all the fighting destroying farmlands and bringing laborers away from the fields and into the battlefields only worsening the problem. The so called "Dangerous Bandits" were just starving people fleeing the war and bloodshed that had consumed the only home the Neverborns had ever known and Last Wills had known sense all that they had ever been and knew was ripped away from them. Upon hearing that all this trouble is a result of a famine that's been going on for the last few years Danny just lights up like "Starvation? Food scarcity? Those things that I just spent ages figuring out how to help? I can Help Them? I'm Going To Help Them!" and promptly goes frolicking through an active warzone trying to befriend the locals and share his new found knowledge and technology. Full on golden retriever mode. He makes lots of friends! As the help he provides begins to show results word of him spreads and his reputation grows, more and more people of both waring communities begin searching him out.

It's not long before the oligarchy that rules over one and the queen that rules over the other start hearing about how much good this "Sir Phantom" has done for the people they rule over, hear that good being compared to they good they have done. Then they start hear whispers about people being being jealous of the first friends that Danny helped, jealous of their freedom, technology, lower taxes, safety and prosperity. They start hearing the peasants first whisper and then shout that they might just be better off under Phantom protection and guidance then theirs.

The next three times Danny wanders into the area to try and provide what is essentially humanitarian aid to the locals he is attacked. The time after that it's a full blown assassination attempt, poison coated blades and arrows seeking out his core. When he next meets up with all his ghost friends he complains about it because he's like 73% positive that that one book he read on ghost etiquette said that trying to destroy someone's core was a Big No No. All of a sudden a whole bunch of his "Friends in the militia"(His soldiers. He doesn't know they're his soldiers but they are. They will metaphorically and if necessary literally march along side him into the depths of hell, even if he doesn't actually know he's their leader. Yet.) are coming out of nowhere talking and absolutely refusing to let him head back out there without some sort of escort.

So he and a, by his standards, small escort start going into those territories. They eventually start establishing small outpost from which to distribute aid and leave militia men to protect the civilians. And they start giving him what food they can afford too, they’re so nice!

Word spreads about the Oligarchy and Queen signing some sort of temporary true to handle “A grave threat to their people’s future” and Danny’s so excited for them. Finally, they’re starting to put aside their differences and work towards giving their people a better future!

His good mood is unfortunately cut short when hears about a group marching on his friends community. He rush’s back and finds said group between his community and the warzone, coming to the conclusion that they are more bandits fleeing the conflict. They are also probably the most well put together and organized bandit group he’s ever seen. They’ve got uniforms, supply carriages, banners and even start getting into a battle formation when they see him watching. The people that seem to be leading them have him a little confused though. A lady that could be considered the personification of the term “overdressed” and a bunch of old dudes who a clearly from the wealthier side of society. Half the reason he noticed them at all was because of how shiny all their jewelry is and even from a distance he’s like, 90% positive that’s all worth enough to feed like half the villages he’s been providing aid to for months. So he’s not to sure why they’re leading a raid against his friends for food, but he guesses it doesn’t really matter in the end.

Danny figures that facing an organized force would be a good training experience for the militia and good practice leading for him so he gathers up the militia and leads them to battle. Dispute being out numbered by a pretty significant margin it goes pretty well. As expected of bandits fleeing a famine, most of the enemy is half starved and their morale is in the mud so despite being pretty disciplined they can’t really put up much of a fight.

Once the militia gets a hang of fighting against enemies in proper formation and seems to have learned all they can from the battle Danny calls them back and moves in to sweep up. Most of the “bandits” are captured and he sends the rich weirdos packing. Or rather, sends them flying at high speeds one at a time. Spends some time making sure all the captured “bandits” get some food and medical care. Works on the logistics of getting them brought into the militia at the suggestion of the commander he left to lead it.

By the time Danny gets back to the war zone it’s, apparently, no longer a war zone. Everyone’s partying and celebrating, as while he was off fighting those bandits a brave and mighty hero had freed the people from the rule of Wicked Queen and Oligarchy. He goes on a tour of the territories, just to do one final check for issues and stamp out the last of the fighting and such. But nearly every village and town he stops in are pretty worried about the future of their nations, what with most of their governments being metaphorically and literally kicked out of the country and what’s left actively collapsing. So he decided to stick around a bit longer, grows the militia to better keep the peace, spreads some more modern tech to boost the economy. “Man y’all’s infrastructure is falling apart. Ah don’t worry about it, I’ll get some people working on it.”

This process just kinda repeats. Slowly but surly Danny finds more and more people in need of help. So he helps them. Makes friends. Gathers allies. Princess Dorothea was for some reason worried that being his friend would come at the cost of her crown but once she finds out that’s not the case she was more than happy to work with him. Gave Walker a new rule book to enforce when it comes to those under his protection. Pandora was pretty happy with the technological advancements he brought to Necropolis.

Getting the Far Frozen under his protection is probably the easiest of them all, and he even gets a really cool helmet out of it. Or well, he calls it a helmet but it’s not really all that helmet-y, as it’s mostly just a ring with a bunch of spikes poking out he top but it’s a really cool ring with spikes.

Made from the rarest and most valuable form of Eternal Frost within the Far Frozen the Nihil Glacias, it normally reflects and gives off absolutely no light. But as his power flows through and fills the ice microscopic imperfections and impurities within it become places where his energy gathers and collapses in on itself, creating brief beacons of light winking in and out of existence like stars in the night sky. When Danny first gets it he spends three hours in front of a mirror learning how to control it so he can make specific constellations appear and in the process learns that if he pours enough energy into it the excess power will begin branching out in ribbons of light, wrapping around him and flowing out like an aurora borealis. The fact that is multiplies his power a few times over and greatly accelerates the rate at which he grows stronger too is cool and all, but it’s his favorite accessory because of the stars. Apparently Frostbite got it for him so that his people would always be able to identify him, which makes sense. He wants them to know they can always come to him when they need help, and having a nice identifying feature so they can pick him out in a crowd or find him in an emergency will go a long way in ensuring they can.

Apparently Pandora’s something of a competitive gift giver as not long after word about how much Danny liked his new helmet got around she presented him with an enchanted ring, forged from a piece of the hope that resides within her box. Allowing him to not only sense the emotions of his people and always know when they are in danger but also draw power from the hope and faith they have in him, it very quickly rises to the position of second most prized possession. Just behind his fancy helmet because ✨Stars✨(and because it was a gift from Frostbite, the first adult in his life to ever actually Adult Properly for him and be there to support him. But Danny’s not gonna admit that part.)

Eventually Danny

Creates rules and laws

Funds and organizes a force to enforce the laws

Manages the economy to ensure continued growth and stability

Funds the construction and maintenance of public works and infrastructure

Raises and trains army’s to protect his people from outside threats

Appoints officials to act in his name and carry out a number of jobs

Danny, wearing a crown, sitting on a thrown, in the royal palace: Pft, no. I’m not a king or anything lame like that. I just help out around these parts, make sure everyone’s okay and all that. They’re all my friends!

What Danny Says: You guys wanna be my Friends?

What people hear: I’m annexing you. Accept my rule quietly or End Screaming.

Pandora does wind up a competitive gift giver. At first the ring she gave Danny was a calculated political move, meant to ensure her and Necropolis remained in his good graces and that the Far Frozen wouldn’t wind up with to much of The Kings favor. But then she finds out that her ring, which she spent weeks crafting by hand, put her heart and soul into, forged from a piece of Her Hope, was only the second favorite gift not because of any practical or even political reason. But instead Because ✨Stars✨. Alright Frostbite you fuzzy bastard, this just got Personal. She Will be the best and She Will be Danny’s favorite. Frostbite is more than happy to compete if it means Danny gets more cool stuff that makes him happy and safer and starts actively making the best gifts he can. This eventually results in Pandora becoming the other Adult in Danny’s life who Actually Adults and Supports Him. One day when she was trying to get Danny away from his paperwork and in bed she heard him call her Mom in his sleep and she most certainly Did Not cry happy tears. Anyone who says otherwise Will taste the steel of her blade.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #fic prompt #dp au #story prompt #dp #whoops I’m the ghost king AU #Danny accidentally overthrows corrupt governments #repeatedly #and every time he does he hears about this brave hero that did it and gets sad he didn’t get to meet them #Danny does not know he’s king #everyone knows Danny is king #Danny is OP #all the ghost Danny fights are OP #this gives him a *Slightly* inaccurate idea about what is or isn’t Strong or Weak #Danny: You only brought 50 dudes to try and kill me?? I have never been so disrespected.#he says less than 2 hours after getting his face shoved into the tolilet by Dash

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theseventhdimension · 6 months ago

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Connections 101: How Not to Overthink It

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.7k+

DNI: Everyone is welcome!

Author's Note: Season 2 Spencer Reid save me, my man ya'll.

Me on my way to not upload for 2 months AGAIN. I'M SORRYYYYYYYYY (Enjoy though, honestly forgot how much i love writing :P)

Not beta read chat, forgive the "Speeling" and "Granmma" mistakes

Spencer Reid is someone who doesn't know who he is.

Well, biologically he is a male, 25, has brown eyes and brown hair. He is smart, a certified genius with an IQ of 187 who can read 20,000 words per minute with an eidetic memory.

But.. is that it? Is that all there is to him?

Connections are hard, despite how much he knows about the human brain and how they interact, of course he does, he's a profiler.

Apart from understanding why people are the way they are, he doesn't understand himself, and why he is the way he is.

He has great friends in the BAU, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareu (JJ), Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotcher (Can he even consider Hotch a friend? He's technically just his boss.), and Jason Gideon.. but he's more of a father figure.

And.. then there's you.

You..

Curious, clever… captivating. You have a way of moving through the world that feels deliberate, like every step, every glance, is part of some intricate choreography.

You’re thoughtful, quick-witted… achingly kind. It’s in the way you listen, like, really listen, even when Spencer’s rambling about statistics or obscure facts, hell, even his Star Trek theories. The way you remember the little things—his favourite tea, the way he likes his books stacked, the fact that he prefers jazz when he needs to focus.

You’ve always had this way of existing in Spencer’s orbit that confuses and grounds him at the same time. Where others see him as the walking encyclopedia (Though he does appreciate the.. compliment?), the awkward genius, you see… him. And that terrifies him as much as it fascinates him.

You’re not like the others. You don’t approach him with curiosity laced with pity, or frustration thinly veiled as camaraderie. No, when you look at Spencer, there’s something in your gaze that feels like it might burn straight through him. Not in a hostile way—no, it’s softer, warmer, like sunlight streaming through a window on a cold morning. It’s disarming.

At first, he didn’t know how to handle you. He expected you to lose interest, to grow tired of the way his sentences sometimes trail off when his brain moves faster than his mouth, or the way he rambles about a topic long after others have stopped listening. But you never did. You listened... Actually listened.

It was unnerving, how you broke through the defenses he didn't even realize he had. You laughed at his jokes, even the awkward ones he muttered more to himself than anyone else. You noticed the little things, like how he fiddles with his watch when he's anxious, or how he taps his pen against his lip when he's lost in thought.

"Don't do that," you once teased, taking the pen gently from his hand and laying it on the table. "You'll smear ink on your face, and I'll have to explain why our resident genius is walking around with a blue mustache."

He blinked at you in a fluster, but the warmth of your smile melted the embarrassment almost immediately.

With you, things feel… easier. Not easy, no, because nothing about Spencer's life is ever truly easy, but easier. You have a way of making the world seem less sharp-edged, less overwhelming. When he spirals into overthinking or gets stuck in his own head, you're there to ground him-not by fixing things or offering advice, but simply by being there.

You don't push, you don't pry, and somehow, he opens up in ways he never has before.

"What's going on in that big brain of yours?" you asked, your tone light but laced with a genuine curiosity.

He hedged, his fingers clamping down on the edge of the file he'd been holding. "Do you ever get this feeling that you know everything about the people around you but nothing about yourself?"

His question hung in the air, soft and unobtrusive, yet it unraveled something in him, finally letting it out, loosening the tension in his shoulders. Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting down to his hands before flicking back to you, as you lean forward, humming in thought.

"All the time," you admitted with a small smile, leaning back in your chair again as if to give him the space to breathe. "But I've learned that figuring yourself out isn't really a.. how do I put it, a one-time thing?" You furrow your brows, trying to find a way to put it into understandable words. "It's… like reading a really long book. Sometimes the chapters don't make sense until you're further along."

He cocked his head, considering your words. "What if you never reach the end? What if you're just… incomplete?"

You shrugged, your expression open and kind. "Then you keep reading. And maybe you stop worrying about the ending so much."

It wasn't the kind of response Spencer expected. You may have thought he was expecting you to say, "well, it gets easier; or he is overthinking this." Instead, you ..basically accepted the uncertainty of this and allowed him to, also.

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but charged with connection he rarely experienced. You watched him, your eyes steady but not pressing, in some way giving him a choice to say more, or nothing at all.

Spencer took a deep breath. "Sometimes I feel like I'm more of an observer than a participant. Like I'm watching other people live their lives, and I'm just… cataloging it.

You leaned forward, propping your chin on your hand as you regarded him with an easy curiosity. "Maybe that's because you catch things others miss, Mr. Profiler. It’s not a bad thing, Spence. It.. just means you see the details that make life more interesting. Comes in handy for cases, doesn’t it?"

His lips quirked into a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but still carried a flicker of appreciation, his brown doe eyes softening slightly. "You make it sound less… isolating."

"That's because it doesn't have to be," you said simply. "Well, not with me, anyway."

Spencer’s chest ached at your words, a gentle warmth seeping into the emptiness he’d grown so used to. He didn’t understand how you always managed to see through the barriers he’d built—barriers he barely understood himself. But somehow, you did, effortlessly peeling them away.

He found himself studying your face, the soft curve of your lips as you spoke, the way your eyes stayed on his like they were searching for truths he wasn’t ready to say aloud.

You leaned back slightly, a thoughtful smile playing on your lips as you continued to watch him, your expression open and inviting. It wasn’t the kind of scrutiny he was used to—clinical, curious, detached. No, this was something warmer, something that felt like sunlight breaking through the cold fog he so often lived in.

“You don’t have to figure it all out today, you know,” you said softly, your voice dipping just enough to make his heart skip. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Spencer’s breath hitched. How was it that you always seemed to know exactly what to say, the words slipping past the walls he hadn’t even realized were still standing?

He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, unsure of how to express what he was feeling without fumbling it. His gaze dropped to the table between you, his fingers twitching with the impulse to reach for something—anything—to steady himself. Before he could, your hand moved into his line of sight, your fingers brushing his wrist lightly, grounding him.

“Hey,” you murmured, your tone gentle yet insistent. His eyes lifted hesitantly to yours, drawn to the quiet confidence in your expression. “You’re allowed to take up space, Spencer. You’re allowed to just… be.”

The way you said his name—soft, deliberate, with a kind of affection that made his pulse stutter—felt like a balm to something raw and aching inside him. And then, as if to completely disarm him, you smiled. Not just any smile, but the kind that reached your eyes, crinkling at the corners, warm and unguarded. A smile meant just for him.

The corners of his lips twitched in response, and for a fleeting moment, the weight on his chest lifted. He felt seen, truly seen, in a way he hadn’t thought possible. It was terrifying, yes, but also exhilarating in a way he couldn’t explain.

You didn’t pull your hand away, and he didn’t want you to. The warmth of your touch was steadying, grounding him in the moment. “You know,” you said after a beat, your voice light but tinged with sincerity, ��for someone who spends so much time looking for the truth in others, you deserve someone who does the same for you.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush, the words wrapping around his heart like a protective shield. He’d never been good at letting people in, never good at trusting that they would stay once they saw the mess inside him. But here you were, sitting across from him with a patience and understanding that made him want to believe.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your curiosity genuine.

“Make everything feel…not as,” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “heavy..”

Your smile softened, gently cupping his hand with yours. The quiet act, so simple and tender, made Spencer’s heart race in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He didn't pull back. Instead, he let the moment linger, the warmth of your hand against his, grounding him in a way nothing else had before.

“That’s easy,” you said, your fingers lingering as you trace the bumps on his knuckles, the calluses from years of writing.

“You’re worth it.”

Spencer’s heart skipped again, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he searched your eyes for any trace of insincerity and found none. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to retreat, to rebuild the walls you so effortlessly dismantled. Instead, he let himself lean into the moment, into you, even as the fear of the unknown lingered at the edges of his mind.

Because somehow, with you, the unknown didn’t seem so daunting. It felt… manageable.

Maybe even a little beautiful.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #x male reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #x gn reader #spencer reid x gn reader #x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x gn reader #Seventh Writes

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zineobiology · 1 year ago

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Welcome to the Zine O’Biology (closed! Release January 25th 2025)

A multi-fandom Star Trek Zine.

Do you have strong opinions on Vulcan fra’als, Cardassian tails, or how the heck Trill symbionts reproduce? We want to hear from you!

The Zine O’Biology is a fictional comparative xenobiology academic journal set in the Star Trek universe. If you’ve always wanted to wax eloquent for up to 3000 words about your theories on alien biology, welcome to your new home!

We want all your theories about all your favorite aliens! This is a friendly but competitive academic journal where the content of every paper is a little bit suspicious (is this paper based on rumor or fact? What is the methodology?) and some competing authors leave snarky comments on one another’s work. So just like a real academic journal, except ours features the Great Green Anthurium.

We welcome xenobiology articles on all Star Trek aliens from all series!

The final format will be a PDF that you can scroll at your leisure or print at home in order to have a physical copy of the Zine. (This way there is no money involved.)

--SEEKING SUBMISSIONS FOR--

Alien biology articles

Alien biology artwork

In-Universe advertisements

Letters to the editor

ALIEN BIOLOGY ARTICLES

How do Andorian genders work? Are Cardassians actually lizards? Why do Klingons have so many redundant organs? What’s the biological purpose of Bajoran nose ridges? What’s the best cement mix for emergency surgery on a Horta?

You’ve been pondering alien biology for years. This is your chance to infodump all your favorite theories to an eager audience of your fellow nerds!

Articles will be separated into two categories: reproductive biology or general biology. Yes, we also want all your theories on what every species is packing downstairs…and how they use it.

Journal articles should be fun and engaging, but also written in your interpretation of a pseudo-academic style, since this is a highly respected Federation xenobiology journal. If you want to keep things more lighthearted and less academic, check out the section on Letters to the Editor.

ALIEN BIOLOGY ARTWORK

If you have independent illustrations about alien biology we would love to see them! If you would like to provide illustrations for one of our journal articles, tell us what species you want to illustrate and we’ll do our best to match you up!

Art should be in a square, scaleable format, printable at high resolution at 4x4 inches.

JOURNAL ADVERTISEMENTS

Even in a post-need future, academic journals will need a little extra funding. Submit your ads for Ferengi Oomox Creme, Self Sealing Stem Bolts, Gently Used Federation Technology, and, of course, “reproductive aids.” The weirder the better! Have fun with it!

All art needs to be printable at high resolution

Ad Sizes:

full page: 4.5" x 7.5"

Column: 2.21" x 7.5"

Half Page: 4.5" x 3.75"

Square: 2.21" x 2.18" (i know its not a perfect square but trust me)

Half square: 2.21" x 1.1"

Banner: 4.5" x 0.83"1.75

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Do you have a great idea, but it’s not enough to fill out a 3000 word article? Submit it as a “reaction” to a previous journal article. Feel free to lay into a mythical researcher who does NOT understand why their biological theory is wrong and yours is right!

Max length 800 words. Enjoy making these plenty frothy!

WE NEED SUB-EDITORS!

The creators of this Zine are all notorious Vulcan Fuckers. Since we want the Zine O’Biology to be open to all alien species, it is only logical that we seek your expertise.

We’re seeking fans from all over the Star Trek universe to spread the word that yes, it’s time for us to all come together in the spirit of explaining how our favorite aliens come together.

Sub-Editors will be in charge of helping us solicit articles and art for their specific race of aliens and editing those articles in order to fit into the Zine. If we don’t have a sub editor for a species, we’ll do our best, but the chapter on that species won’t be as good as it would be if folks with real fanon knowledge were involved.

WANT TO GET INVOLVED, BUT YOU’RE NOT A WRITER OR ARTIST?

WE NEED:

Graphic designers to help with Zine layout

Social media promoters

Alien art and article wranglers (ie: get your fannish friends involved!)

--HOW TO GET INVOLVED--

Fill out the Art or Writing (Applications now closed) Google Form letting us know your interests or reach out to the Editor in Chief at [email protected]

DEADLINES:

August 1, 2024: Last date for everyone seeking an art or writing partner to submit their request. We don’t guarantee you’ll be partnered up. It depends on how many people are interested and what aliens they want to draw/write.

August 18, 2024: Art/Writing partners notified. NOTE: it’s both fine and encouraged if you want to submit as a team from the start! This is for people who do not have a partner and would like us to find them one.

August 30, 2024: Final call for all journal authors, artists, and advertisers to let us know what species they’re working with, how many submissions they plan to send, and whether their submission will be general or reproductive biology.

October 30, 2024: All art, advertising, and journal submissions are due

We hope to have the Zine O’Biology ready for your enjoyment by New Year’s Eve 2024. We all have full time jobs and lives, so that date may change depending on the volume of submissions.

FAQ

What if my biological theories are totally different from another author’s?

Yes. Perfect. We love it.

We want to see everyone’s theories! Canon gave us scraps, but together we will make a meal! Expect to see many mutually contradictory articles. That’s part of the fun!

What about Smut?

Yes, we are accepting E rated submissions! The journal will be separated into two sections:

General Biology

Reproductive Biology

General Biology is everything but the genitals

Reproductive Biology should include actual descriptions of the mechanics and biology. Think of it as creating reference material for smut writers and artists.

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starberry-cupcake · 3 months ago

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we're back!!!! and oh boy did things happen in this one

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general recap tag

CHAPTER 16 (a building?? a tower?? I mean, considering how things go to hell, the tower is correct from a tarot standpoint...)

nona is unceremoniously woken up from her nap time by honesty coming in like a thunderbolt, announcing necromancers are putting on a show

everyone has opinions, except for kevin, who only says "ugh" and wants to be left alone

we love kevin

I think kevin could kill the emperor in like 5 minutes

born in the morning...I'm sorry, born in the morning

(still not over whatever that was)

says that necromancers are lying because they can't do anything to them due to varun

there are mixed opinions on this

angel teacher tells the kids not to go to the necromancer movie screening because it's dangerous and doesn't want them to end up hurt or taken in by authorities

she says "that's going to add to the fracas"

idk what "fracas" means and I couldn't find it either

everyone promised not to, except nona (who wasn't asked)

but sriracha girlie crossed her fingers, so clearly she's up to no good

and nona is onto her

angel teacher is very responsible and looking out for the kids, making sure they're protected and that they're properly picked up by family or staying somewhere safe

nice to see some responsible adults

I think abby the fifth would have done the same

abby and magnus adopting all these lost boys

in an au in which they weren't part of the people who are enemies to these kids

and they were alive

but things aren't nice and cozy for long, because camilla is late to pick up nona

I'm worried af about that, where is my wife

palmolive istg if you made her bleed again...

angel teacher notices that nona is distressed about that, so she tells her to take out noodle

sriracha girlie offers to go with her and so does honesty, but honesty has to sit tf down

honesty wants to do business and quit school but also wants to draw and open windows and go take noodle outside, there's a lot going on with honesty today

my guy is overstimulated over here

sriracha girlie tells nona, as they take noodle out, that the person in the car that dropped angel teacher checked all the doorways and entrances of the opposite building in a professional fashion

which sriracha girlie considers sus

very in character with her nature of jumping into the worst possible situations, sriracha girlie wants to escape to watch the necro movie with nona

nona disagrees and says that, if they do that, angel teacher is never going to trust them again

to which sriracha girlie replies "the asset doesn't have to trust you"

*sriracha girlie shoots me in the head*

the masterplan is to put a note in noodle's collar and make him go upstairs while they go watch the necro movie show

nona feels uncomfy with the plan but, once she decides to go, she thinks she'd better be in it 100%

and she remembers someone telling her "Once you've stepped in, you're in. This isn't the Hokey Pokey"

LET ME BRING BACK MY THEORIES

I mentioned in my last recap that a third option was that this could be ice cube barbie aka annabell lee aka alleged alecto in harrow's body

this additional data would fit that theory, because the hokey pokey being dropped there sounds like something either dr reverend emperor john asshat or a lyctor would say

it sounds like such a dr reverend emperor john thing to say, actually

I'm gonna add the hokey pokey as a point for ice cube barbie

that sentence out of context would get me checked for a concussion

the girls get into the place where the screen is being set and there's a sea of people in there, which sounds like a full on nightmare to me

it reminds me of the overcrowded planet from star trek

the overcrowded planet called 'gideon'

necromancer music festival vibes over here

so, at first there's no image and only a disembodied voice who is talking about terms of surrender or, how they're framing it, "negotiation"

one part I'd like to point out from the whole initial speech is that they state that if one fraction of the population goes against the terms, everyone will be considered accountable for it

textbook oppressor move to put the oppressed groups against each other, especially in times of internal turmoil

so, the screen turns on finally and immediately, by nona's description, before any additional information, I know this is yandere twin

"their huge screen-magnified eyes were quite pretty, Nona decided: blue, with brown bits"

yeah, absolutely yandere twin

yandere twin continues listing demands and the last point of them is that those who belong to the houses and didn't make themselves known

(aka our gang, coronabeer and judith)

have 24 hours to turn themselves in

she introduces herself as "Prince Ianthe Naberius the First, the Lyctor Prince, the Saint of Awe"

but, we've got bigger problems

because next to yandere twin is gideon's body in a very peeta-mellark-taken-by-the-capitol situation

"the only alive thing about this second person was their hair, neatly arrayed with a wreath of fingerbones and white, springlike blossoms: wildly red hair, red enough to make the electric hexagons struggle with it. It was the face of the girl in her dream"

so, let me just say one thing

HOW DID WE LOSE GIDEON'S BODY, PEOPLE????

THIS IS THE TRUE "OVERSIGHT BODY"

WE HAD HER, SHE WAS WITH CORONABEER AND JUDITH AND CAMILLA

HOW TF IS SHE THERE NOW

WHO'S FAULT IS THIS

"Her Most Serene Highness, Crown Prince Kiriona Gaia, heir to the First House, the Emperor's only daughter"

(Most is written with emphasis)

I want to gut this secondhand god alive

if we can't kill his ass, we can surely pull a prometheus on him

chain him to a rock and have a mythological creature eat his guts every day

let him regenerate, do it all over again

maybe we can try that

let kevin loose on him

not only because they have gideon's very clearly not responsive body, also because they're forcing her to present femme

how dare they

"gaia" I get, because goddess of earth, the personification of earth, the mother of all things

I don't know who "kiriona" is and I'm not gonna search because I can get spoilers

"curiously, Nona noticed she didn't even seem to be breathing"

yeah, we've got a classic case of soulless body

the video ends and sriracha girlie is shook

she says "they're not people" and "they're not real"

a real pain in the ass is what they are, these lyctors

lyctor, singular, sorry, Lyctor Prince Im-The-Only-One-Left-So-I-Can-Get-A-Title-For-It

remember when there was a competition thing to become one of these assholes? we were young and didn't know better

thank god camolive dodged that bullet

ANYWAY

nona uses the techniques to help others calm down that she learned with camilla to assist sriracha girle through her panic attack

she does really well, I'm proud of her

pat in the head for nona

she deserves a treat for this

(which reminds me, I found my puppy chewing a pencil yesterday and nona came to my mind like that scene in ratatouille)

nona maneuvers sriracha girlie through the dense crowd of arguing people, but then someone fires a gun

all hell breaks loose, sriracha girlie activates and they escape through very unsanitary passageways

nona cuts her hand

thankfully, in comes angel teacher in her sus car and picks them up

angel teacher says kevin was in hysterics

why are we putting kevin through bad situations, he should be our priority

now that our top priority of preserving gideon's body HAS BEEN RUINED

WHO FUCKED THAT UP

sriracha girle and angel teacher try to check out nona's cut and nona is very insistent that they don't, so that they don't find out that she has regenerative powers

which is another point in the thing I was saying before, that this wasn't the Secret she shared with sriracha girlie

otherwise, she'd be crucified in the square right about now

but this provides further confirmation that this wasn't it

so many freakin' lose ends and clues for later and breadcrumbs I have to pick up

unknown baby driver apparently has a good handle of House

and is freakin' pissed with angel teacher for having to drive around, collecting kids

they ask where they can drop nona off and when she says she lives in "the building" "really truly" baby driver almost dislocates their head trying to turn to stare at her, exorcist style

baby driver and angel teacher proceed to have a sus conversation

"Pretending you can bandage bipeds? Teaching snot-nosed kids about particles?" "If people knew this was how you spent your time, Aim—" "Now I see. Chance to be her, huh? A little independent living for once?" "It is my enormous privilege to be they."

is angel teacher some kind of politically or militarily important figure? a very important vet? why the change of pronouns? who's her? who's they?

DON'T TELL ME

when they get into the gate for the building everyone kind of minds their business and looks away from them

nona thinks maybe it's because of the grille

idk though, everything about these two is strange

angel teacher asks nona to promise to go to school the next day, because it will be a safe place for them

bless angel teacher, someone doing something to protect the kids in these trying times

baby driver should respect that

nona tells angel teacher she loves her before going into the building, though she didn't mean to say it out loud

when she comes in, camilla is there, waiting anxiously

THANK GOD, I CAN'T TAKE MORE PROBLEMS RIGHT NOW

THANK GOD YOU'RE ALRIGHT CAMILLA, MY BELOVED

but not everything is good because pyrrha was supposed to pick up nona from school and never showed

gosh darn it, pyrrha

so much chaos and I still have a lot of book left to read

how is there so much happening at all times

JOHN 19:18

"There they crucified him, and with him two others—one on each side and Jesus in the middle."

well, alright then

starting out strong over here

dr reverend emperor john is scared of water, apparently

I don't know if this is the River or otherwise

there was a part of the River that almost gets his ass, so it could be that

he's talking directly again to alleged!harrow, who might not be harrow and might be ice cube barbie, but idk yet

"every time you breathed funny, we wet ourselves"

he says some people flaked from the whole thing but he didn't care as long as he had his diehard soon-to-be-lyctors with him

and his two toy corpses

on that note, he says that he was frustrated that they were unable to respond, even if he could make their hearts and brains work

because they don't have a soul

like gideon right now, who's kinda like these two, sitting there but looking dead

he can revive the body but not the soul

they didn't know about the river yet

they keep arguing with the authorities about their project and its limitations, including maternity, which seems to be a problem

mercygirl was against a plan that "incorporates reproductive injustice"

the authorities wanted to evacuate the whole population and had managed to find a way, but it wasn't really tested and they argued that it might not work

the plan was to send one ship first and then use it as a tugboat to get the rest

dr john god says he should have killed the conspiracy theorists instead of the cows, because they are using the cows as a way to protest that he's unhinged

(at this point in the recap process there was a massive power outage and I almost lose everything, so thank you hellsite and thank you tab)

augustine and mercygirl say that this is all lies and the billionares are probably gonna bolt in the ship and leave everyone behind

which checks out not only with disaster films but also with reality

augustine said that they were going to use things they came up with to leave everything behind

and then, dr reverend emperor john butt says

"They left you, they left you. They saw you suffering on dollar-shop life-support, and they didn't look back. They didn't give a fuck about trying to save you. They left." "I don't remember" " I can't forget"

is he talking about the Earth? like the planet? is this like some sort of personalization of the planet or...????

it feels like he's talking about the whole planet and not just one person but what do I know

gonna have to put a pin on that thing I said about gaia and the personification of earth that I mentioned before, I guess

don't make fun of me, my theories and my process please

thank you

and that is all for now!!! starting day four next time!!!! things are happening!!!

#luly reacts to tlt #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #long post #tlt #tlt spoilers #gif cw

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