#i dont think jeff was going for the joints | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petersbaby · 2 years

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HI YOU LEGALLY HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS SONG WHILE YOU READ THIS FIC ITS A LAW I DECLARED AND IF YOU DONT ILL CATCH YOU

I adore you - Gareth Emerson x reader

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, some angst, smut, loss of virginity so a bit of classic and obligatory awkwardness. Gareth is aged up to 18

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip

Just so I can adore you

I want the entire street out of town

Just so I can be alone with you

And I'll go when you're ready

My head's gettin' heavy

Pressed against your arm

I adore you

♡

“No, dude, I don’t wanna go. Besides, we were supposed to practice tonight.”

“We practice plenty, Gareth, we’re fucking great.” Eddie says, as if it’s the most obvious ‘duh’ statement ever said.

Jeff walks back into the room where they were hanging out.

“What do you say, practice or party?” Eddie asks the boy, who looks confused.

“Uh, I think we should just practice. You know, like we usually do.” He stammers, looking between Gareth and Eddie who both wanted him to side with them.

“Yeah? I heard Y/N is gonna be there.” Eddie offers, and Gareth’s heart drops into his stomach.

“And her friend too? The hot one?”

“Yep.” He nods.

“Party.” Jeff decides immediately.

“God damn it, fine, but only to get out of being forced to babysit while my parents go on some gross date.”

“You know me, right? Like, do you know me at all?” You ask, laying on your bed while your best friend applies lipgloss in your mirror.

“I do, and you’re lovely, but you’ve gotta come out of your shell.”

It had been almost a year since you got here, and you had a small group of friends. She was definitely the best, even though she sometimes pushed your boundaries. Your best friend is a popular girl, one who sort of took you under her wing from the beginning.

“This,” you gesture broadly at your bedroom, “is my shell. And I like it in here.”

“What if I told you I got the host to invite the freaks?” She smiles convincingly, wiggling her eyebrows.

Gareth. That meant Gareth.

“W-wha- why would that change anything?”

“You can mingle with them, they’re pretty awkward too, and I know about your crush on the drummer kid.”

“Okay so first, I’m not awkward, you’re insulting me. Second….”

You trail off.

“Thinking about him? The fluffy hair and the red shirt with the arms cut off?”

“Fuck.” You sigh. “Fine.”

“There we go. I did you a favor. Let’s find you something to wear and get a little makeup on you.” She turns to you and starts picturing your look. She goes to look through your closet, which feels weirdly personal for some reason.

You end up in a dress you’ve never worn that she promises is sexy but feels all too exposing, with mascara applied and vanilla gloss on your lips. Then, it’s a waiting game, counting down til it’s time to go.

“Ooh, I see some of my good friends. I’m gonna run over to see them. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re just abandoning me? You can’t just leave me.” You whisper-shout.

“You’ll be okay. Drink, it’ll help you have fun.”

You sigh and go to the kitchen, getting an alcoholic beverage that tasted like kool-aid and battery acid. It was strong, whatever it is, getting a buzz going rather quickly and you soon felt a little less intimidated by this whole thing. You take a moment to kind of just sit back, and watch.

“Oh, shit, they’re already here. That’s her car.” Jeff comments excitedly, pointing at your friend’s shiny blue sedan.

Gareth shuts his car door, putting his keys in his pocket and joining his two friends to walk into the party together. He decided to drive himself because he knew he’d probably end up wanting to leave early, Eddie and Jeff rode in Eddie’s van.

“Oh, god.” Gareth groans quietly. His stomach is full of dancing butterflies and his chest is all of a sudden pounding. He definitely should’ve smoked a joint before this, or something. Anything.

They get to the door, the long dark haired boy clutches the handle of a beat-up old tin lunch box.

“I’m gonna start finding customers, you two do whatever but nothing weird enough to get us kicked out of here.” Eddie pats both of them on the shoulder and disappears.

“We should drink, right?” Jeff asks uncomfortably. There were a lot of people.

“Right. Definitely.”

They both head to where a group of people were congregated, some of them giving dirty looks and disapproving frowns. The crowd dispersed, and the stared at two options: shitty cans of beer, or a giant tub of mystery liquid that everyone is dumping there solo cups in. That can’t be sanitary.

Gareth gives him a look when he reaches for a cup.

“What? It’s better than beer.” He defends.

“Hard pass.” Gareth shouts, grabbing a beer and popping the tab. He takes his first sip and nearly chokes on it when he sees you just then. Across the kitchen, sipping on your drink, you looked beautiful.

Little black dress but with converse instead of flats or heels, hair straightened and flowing, lips glistening while you try not to bite them. You lock eyes with Gareth, you both looked a little overwhelmed and scared so you decide to just come up to him. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Y/N, hi,” he blurted out, and you smiled. Already tipsy.

“Hi. Are you having fun?” You ask, knowing the answer.

“Well, I-“

“Hey Y/N, where’s your friend, the hot one?” Jeff asks loudly, and Gareth punches him hard in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry for him, he doesn’t usually drink.” Gareth explains. “Stop interrupting people and being an asshat.” He says the second part to his friend.

“Fine, I’m just gonna go find Eddie. He’s not such a buzzkill.”

He walks off, not seeing Gareth roll his eyes.

“Do you wanna… hang out?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“I came with my friend but she left me.” You gesture to the space around you.

“I know how that feels.” He takes a big swig of his beer.

“Do you smoke? I’m dyin’ to get some fresh air.”

“Uh, only socially.” He lies. He doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but you don’t really know that so it sounds convincing.

“Well let’s go be social outside.” You giggle, pulling his wrist.

You both end up at an outdoor patio table, you sit down and take out two cigarettes and your lighter from your bag. You light yours, but he doesn’t, placing it behind his ear instead.

“I’ll save it for later.” He explains.

While he watches you, he sees that you’re slightly shivering and shifting around awkwardly.

“You don’t usually dress like that. It’s pretty, but it’s not you.” He comments, looking at your dress.

He sees me, he looks at me enough to know how I dress.

You remain calm, casual, smooth, despite your thoughts.

“You are very right. It was not my outfit of choice, trust me.” You laugh. His gaze lingers for a moment too long and becomes a stare, eyes practically boring a hole in your body. You take the last hit and toss your cigarette butt onto the pavement, standing up.

“Back inside?” You ask, and he nods, cheeks tinged pink.

You finally finish the last bit of drink that was in your cup, swallowing it quickly due to the taste.

“You want me to take that? I’m out too.” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.” He nods and walks to the kitchen with his head down.

You scan the room for your friend, or really, any of your friends. All you see is a bunch of vaguely familiar faces who’ve passed you in the hall.

“I’m back,” Gareth blurts out, suddenly right beside you.

“Jesus, Gare, you scared me.” You laugh, clutching your chest.

The nickname you just applied to him pulls at his heartstrings and makes him almost feel like passing out or perhaps… waking up? This could all just be a good dream. He was spending time with the girl he liked most, the girl he adored and never even dared to compare himself to. You were on another level, out of his league. Beyond.

He has another beer in his hand now, but doesn’t drink it, just to have something to hold.

“Do you wanna dance?” You ask him, grabbing his wrist again. He hesitates.

“I don’t really- I don’t uh…”

“C’mon. Sure you do.”

You pull him to the “dance floor,” which was just a living room. The room was dark with flashing colorful lights and strobes and music filled the atmosphere.

Still tipsy, you start to dance to the music, carefree and getting lost in the moment. He just stands, stunned, watching you. His mouth is ever so slightly parted open as he gazes at you and appreciates the way your body moves. After a few songs, you look to see him still there, same spot you left him in, still.

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. I just don’t dance, like I said.”

“You will with me. Next slow song, you’re dancing with me.” You giggle drunkly. You notice it, too, and decide to set the cup down. Good decision, probably.

“Please.” You add.

A heart meltingly sweet smile spread across his face that he couldn’t help.

“Maybe.”

“Okay, so this is like, so simple. Your hands go on my hips, mine go on your shoulders. Yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” He nervously brings his hands to your waist and gently moves them downwards to come to rest at your hips. You draped your arms over his shoulders and just swayed together, in the music.

Everything else was a blur, everything else didn’t even exist, it was just you two. His eyes have a glimmer in them that you can’t really place.

It was want, desire, possibly love. He couldn’t say that out loud, though, couldn’t fully face that fact. For some reason, the time feels right, so you lean in and press your soft lips against his.

He gasps, taking in a sharp breath without meaning to, and you stop. Before you could ask if something was wrong, he reconnected your lips together. Yours tasted of cherry and cigarettes and vanilla, and he filed that away to remember forever.

You were perfect. Your hands move from his shoulders to his face, placing a hand on each cheek and pulling him impossibly closer.

After a while, you begin to remember that you are not actually the only people in the room and the kiss was getting pretty deep.

“You wanna find an empty room?” You bite your lip.

“S-sure.”

You head up the stairs and he follows behind you. Once you find a bedroom rather quickly, you shut yourselves in and lock the door. He presses you up against it, tongue returning back to your mouth, teeth clashing.

It’s so vulgar and so intense that you subconsciously start to moan into the kiss, lightly. The situation and the sounds you were making were gonna drive him insane, he was so turned on it almost hurt but he just wanted to kiss you for as long as possible in case this never happens again.

“C’mon, the door is locked.” You remind him, moving to the bed. You plop down, laying flat on the mattress, and you spread open your legs when he approaches. You wanted it now, you needed it now. Straight to the point, bold.

“Jesus Christ.”

He looks away, like he’s seeing something he’s not allowed to be looking at, but returns his gaze to you once he shakes the awe off. He comes to slot himself between your legs, dress riding up to your hips and exposing your green lace panties completely to him.

You squirm as he stares, silently begging him to do something. You try to pull him by the shirt on top of you, but he doesn’t quite let you.

“Wait.”

“What?” You ask, clueless and a little frustrated.

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

You just blink, tears stinging in your eyes.

“Why not?” You ask, voice breaking. You really fucking liked him and he was standing in front of you, rejecting you.

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that. I want to. It’s just… the situation.”

You tilt your head to the side like a confused puppy.

“You’re drunk, are you not?”

“Well yeah, a little..”

“It’s just- this would be my first…. time. If it’s gonna happen, it has to be different, better. Not drunk, not impulsive, not in a stranger’s bedroom.”

“Your first…” you trail off, an “oh” expression forming once you put the pieces together.

“It’s okay. We can just.. we can just go back to what we were doing.” You pull your dress back down, standing up, and a sniffle escapes.

“Did you really want to? Me? If I hurt your feelings, I didn’t-“

“It’s okay, Gare. I guess not.”

You leave the room quickly, embarrassed. You felt guilty for getting upset that he didn’t want to have sex with you. That was shitty, but you just couldn’t help but take it to heart a little. You weren’t special enough.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Gareth says to himself. He feels he just fucked up a once in a lifetime chance. If he left it like this, you were likely to never speak again.

You go back out to the table by yourself, pulling out and lighting a cigarette between your lips. Once you finished it, you were gonna go in and try to find your friend to tell her you wanted to leave.

In case she says no, that she doesn’t want to leave just yet, you try to think of someone else who could come pick you up and bring you home.

“Hey.” The sounds of footsteps come from behind you and the fluffy haired boy sat down near you.

You didn’t respond, just looked at him and took a drag of your cigarette.

“If you want me to go away, I will, I just wanted to try and explain.”

You just nod, slowly.

“I’m really putting myself out there by saying this and may regret saying it but I like you a lot. Since the day I saw you, the day you showed up at our school. You were wearing those same converses.” You look down at your feet and back up at him.

“And this has been the best night of my life, I got to fucking kiss you and that’s far more than I ever expected. It was amazing and I loved every second, I just don’t want you to have sex with me because you’re drunk and you think you like me tonight. I just didn’t want it to mean nothing to you.”

Silence fills the air besides crickets and the muffled music.

“I like you too, dumbass. Yes, since that day too.”

“Oh. Wait, are you being serious?”

“Yes, I am. Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know, I just- you’re beautiful and I’m me and it doesn’t make sense.”

“So what’s the point? What are you saying?” You shrug, emotionally numb and becoming closed off from him.

“I’m saying… god, don’t make me say it out loud.”

“You wanna fuck me after all?” You guess.

He blushes.

“I do. I really do, but I want you to be sober. Can you give it a couple hours?”

You nod, starting to understand. You sort of made a big deal out of nothing.

“A couple of hours at my house, maybe? I honestly don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Uh, sure. You’ll just have to give me directions on the way.” You smile at each other and stand up, walking to his car. He doesn’t think about his friends or how he’s leaving them behind, that doesn’t matter.

You hop into the passengers seat and he mentally curses himself for not opening the door for you. You happily tell him all the right turns to make to get to your house.

You pull up to the house, and he turns the car off. He follows you as you fumble for your house key and unlock the door, then leading him to your bedroom.

“It’s uh, it’s messy. My friend made me try a bunch of different outfits before this.” You gesture to the clothing piles in the floor as you set your stuff down onto your bed.

“If you think this is messy, I definitely shouldn’t let you see MY room.” He laughs. “Nobody’s here. Isn’t it scary to be all alone at night?”

“Eh. Sometimes. I’m used to it, though. Do you want something to eat?”

“Yeah, sure.” He agrees.

You both head to your kitchen and you find some pizza in the fridge. You show it to him as if to say ‘this good?’ And he shrugs, so you heat it up.

“You can go sit down, I’ll bring you yours.”

He walks over to the couch, sitting, really relishing in the silence.

When you come to join him, you notice it more than you usually would, so you suggest turning on the tv for some sound. It was kind of spooky, now that you think about it. Too quiet.

You watch a movie and eat your pizza, making comments and laughing at all the super corny and cheesy parts. During the last half of the movie, you had your head leaned on his shoulder and he gently played with your hair.

With food in your stomach, you felt back to normal again, albeit just a little sleepy.

“So… my bed is okay?” You say once the credits finish rolling.

“Wha- how are you still fucked up?” He looks flabbergasted.

“I’m not. I’m completely sober, and yes, I still want you.” You say, seriously.

He’s surprised for some reason, expecting your feelings for him to dissipate magically once you were back to your normal self.

“Shit, yes, your bed is good.” He agrees, quickly.

You giggle and run down the hall to your room and he dumbly follows, closing your door for no reason other than to feel private even though there was nobody else around.

You take his face in your hands, pulling him in to kiss you. You run your tongue along his lips, silently asking for permission and being granted it.

It gets heavy quickly, just like before, and you both move closer and closer to your bed until he practically pushes you down on to it, climbing on top of you.

You spread your legs open again for him, and this time he doesn’t panic. He presses against your core with his jean-clad boner and it makes you whimper needily.

“Fuck,” he says into your mouth. “You sound so pretty.”

You push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, trying to help him get you undressed. He reaches behind you and unzips it slowly and then pushes it down off your body. You’re left in your bra and panties, vulnerable under his gaze as he marvels at your beauty.

“I-I can’t tell if you’re staring at me in a good or a bad way,” you chuckle lightly, waiting for words from him.

“So good. It’s so good. I just- holy shit.”

“You can touch me, you know, if you want to.”

He touches your stomach first, canvassing the warm skin of your hips and abdomen, snaking around to your waist. You let him explore, but when he slows down, you take his hands in yours and guide them to your breasts, squeezing his hand beneath yours.

He gets enough confidence to continue on his own, and you let your hands fall away as he takes generous handfuls and squeezes, groping you just right. Your lower half tries to seek out any feeling, rubbing your pantied cunt up against his harder than ever cock through his jeans.

His breathing is heavy, hard. Intense. He was feeling so many things that he didn’t know what he’d even say if he were to speak right now.

“Take them off, we can make each other feel so good. Please.” You beg him, looking up into his eyes. His eyes lock with yours and he melts, submitting to whatever you could possibly ask of him.

His hands leave your body to take the clothes off his own. He gets his jeans off, and he has a huge tent in his boxers, which you gaze upon subtly.

“Shirt, too, or…?” He asks, unconfidently.

“Whatever you’re comfortable taking off.”

“Okay.” He takes his layers off, leaving on the plain white wife beater he was wearing beneath his shirt and jacket.

“So handsome.” You compliment, genuinely. This is the most you’d ever seen of him and he was so, so lovely.

“Stop it.” He blushes, not knowing what to say to that, trying to brush it off.

You reach between your legs to touch yourself while you looked at him, shamelessly staring.

“God, that needy?” He asks jokingly. His attempt at cracking a joke did not land in this situation, and you answered him seriously.

“Mhm. Need your cock, need it now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He groans at your vulgar words towards him.

“Please. Whenever you’re ready, please.” You whine, still rubbing circles over your clit.

“Can I turn the light off?” He asks suddenly. It felt a little too intense, he felt self conscious to an extent in that moment.

“Mhm. Whatever you want. I’ll just turn the lamp on instead.”

He gets up to flick the light switch and you reach to your bedside table to pull the string on your lamp, turning it on and providing a nice sun glow.

“Better?” You ask, and he nods.

His hands return to your tits and you take it upon yourself to remove your bra, the barrier. Your nipples pebbled when the cool air hit them and he gently runs his fingers over them, pinching ever so slightly.

He seems to find a fascination with your tits, and you encourage him to explore them with his mouth as well. He kisses your collarbones, all over your chest, between your tits, the top of your tits, then finally takes a nipple into his mouth.

“Ah, fuck, Gare. Your mouth is so fucking good.”

This only encouraged him to lick and such harder, almost forgetting to give attention to the other breast as well.

This wasn’t all about you, you reminded yourself. You just whine beneath him while he has his fun, and you know that your panties are beyond soaking at this point.

You hook your fingers in them and wiggle them off, because they don’t really serve any purpose. You buck your hips up against his, trying to grind against him wherever you can. He eventually noticed your desperation but still seemed a bit nervous about this next part.

Regardless, he pushes his boxers down and off, climbing on top of you. He jumps straight to pressing the tip of his leaking pink cock right against your entrance.

“I’m so wet for you, it’s all for you. Such a good fucking boy.” You moan.

He groans in response, that last part ignited something deep inside him that he decided he would unpack later.

“Can I put it in? You ready?”

“Yes, please.”

“Shit, alright.”

He applies more pressure, tip slipping inside first.

“Oh, god. Oh, shit.”

More. He pushes in even further, sinking into you with no resistance.

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

He was overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. A way he never could’ve imagined feeling. You didn’t get a good look at his cock, but it was big. You knew that. You stretched more with each inch you took, pussy swallowing and sucking him in.

“So big, Gare, feels so good. Mmh, feels so fucking good.”

His head falls forward to rest on your shoulder, and he keeps up his movements, bottoming out and groaning out loudly once he does.

You moan even a little louder than him, knowing nobody’s home gives you the opportunity to do that. Your noises and your words of praise were killing him, he wanted to be good for you forever. A good boy.

He fucks you still with his head buried into where your neck and shoulder meet before finally bringing it back up so you could see his face. His hair was crazier than ever and a couple of strands of hair stick to his forehead with sweat.

He feels it coming, rapidly approaching, but doesn’t want to underwhelm you. You notice his thrusts soon become faulty and haphazard as he tried to restrain himself, but you granted him relief. You didn’t want him to struggle.

“You can let go, sweet boy. Want you to cum.”

In a few more thrusts, he does, and you feel it painting your walls and his cock pulsing against them.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t hold it any longer,

He keeps lazily fucking into you until he’s completely milked, finally pulling out and laying down beside you.

Once he finally catches his breath, he realizes something.

“I didn’t make you- you were supposed to-“ he turns to look at you, worried. You had already climbed under the sheets, covering your body with them and laying down.

“Don’t worry about me right now. It was amazing, no matter if I finished or not. Was it good for you?”

“There’s no way you’re seriously asking me that.” He says incredulously.

“Just wanted to make sure,” you shrugged, “you know what you can do for me though?”

“What?”

“Cuddle.”

You open your arms and reach them out, giving grabby hands. He smiled and climbed beneath the covers with you, taking your naked body in his arms and holding it, close and tight.

After a while, he breaks the silence, overthinking.

“Are you just trying to make me feel better? I mean, was it actually any good? I can take the truth, and I wanna know how I did.”

You giggle.

“Do you want me to be blunt, Gare?”

“Definitely. I think so, at least.”

“You were very good, and at times, I wondered if you really hadn’t done anything before.” You start, “So good that it made me question your supposed lack of experience. Are you happy with that?”

He nods, blushing, and he hates that he’s blushing.

“But I still didn’t…”

“You’re so sweet. If you want to make it even that badly, I can teach you some things. Not now, though, but someday.”

“There’ll be a someday?” He asked, a little child-like excitement in his voice.

“Yes, there will be, if you want there to be.” You smile. “Special enough?”

“Absolutely. God, I’m so lucky.”

#gareth emerson imagine #gareth emerson x y/n #gareth emerson fanfic #gareth the great #gareth x reader #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson smut #stranger things smut #Spotify

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audible--silence · 1 year

Text

Sayu/GDL quotes / promises to self while drunk as shit

Que eres un baño?!

“Im so used to shit going wrong that it just doesnt phase me anymore”

“If i go into an office job id have to wake up in the morning, which i just don't wanna do”

A bar without a manager

Nothing feels better than going home but nothing feels better than leaving home too.

“Be a traveler not a tourist”

“I been keepin busy! No idea what with though. I just been smokin joints playing guitar and surfing”

One more bus

One more uber

One more hostel check in

One more round of storytelling how we got here

One more gig

A few more beers

Una mas cerveza

One more night

Una mas noche

No more waves

No more taco stands

No more in jokes

No more calling directions in spanish

No more setting up the tent in excitement

No more packing down the tent in a hurry

No more Duolingo sessions in a hammock

No more chess games

No more joints rolled at the last minute

No more joints smoked at all hours of the day

No more “you hungry?”

No more tracking down vegetables

No more long bus rides spent sharing snacks

No more movies on your shit tablet

No more pringles, principe and stoner snacks

No more reminding each other to get our shit together

No more jamming guitar

No dancing while doing simple tasks

No more of your tunes

No more guac n beer

No more two aussie dickheads

“Phone wallet shoes nothing on my head that im gonna lose”

“Adios Cabron”

“His drip dope, you gotta be 70% homeless, 20% gay to be fly”

“Whats the 10%?”

“Opium”

“Stoner! I choose you!!”

“Yeah well, fuck off” on cross cultural relatability

hope is a hell of a drug

The enemy was defeated, in a valiant battle with three little Mexican girls with long hair and cute gold glasses, not far from the stargazers, at midday, with ice cream. Or the youthful romantics, an archetype that seems to transcend every culture since society itself. Watched on in silence by the cute, erratic yet robotic, overly friendly squirrels. A picnic without snacks, soundtracked by Jeff Buckley in the shade of a well watered bush

Manifestation is gaslighting yourself

The heat of hell is ever so slightly warmer for you isnt it”

“You sound like a constitution”

“We need to rebrand politics but with much more sex”

“Dont smoke”

W dart in mouth

“A bar for a football team that never wins, for fans that never succeed”

“If you commit suicide you cant go to the pub”

a british guy

“Yeah but if you commit suicide, guess where we go? The fucking pub”

another british guy

A game of football can mean two very different things depending on who’s watching

A taco is only as a good as what you can put on it

Am i going to regret not going out? Enjoying it all? Being young n stupid in Mexico and everywhere else?

Will I regret not knowing what any of these drunk messages to self mean? Probably.

Booze is fuel for survival. I am a bartender who hates going out. A socialite who cannot stand socializing.

words from a drunk aus fuck in Mexico, solo, with a kiss on the cheek and a cuddle”

“Its fuxkin mexixo ya prick”- on uber eats, n walkin for street food

2.12 - the minute of the end of the phonecall w ya nan, the only pure soul left in ya life

Thanks for finding me phone - from a welsh cunt who likes flashing his dick

I love thinking while drunk because I don’t have to deal with the realizations

Chinga su madre but with a car horn

“We’ve literally sat down all day”

“Thats what traveling is about. Traveling halfway across the world just to sit down”

dive bars, tacos with drunks and adele on the roof till 4am

“I dont identify as American I identify as a marxist”

The more decrepit and dilapidated the restaurant looks, the better the food is.

Weathered hands make the food, not fresh paint on the walls

“Theres more to life than dating everyone you meet, i guess”

“I either need tequila or a sweater and im not sure which it is”

“The cartels comin” shoot ya drink

“You look good bro!”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, he’s just happy”

deja vu from a rooftop w some beautiful Mexicanos in GDL

“How dare you show so much grace so many time zones away”

feel like we gon spend the rest our lives searching for the thrill of skating to the ellenbrook hungry jacks at midnight for snacks while on a videogame bender

Lessons from seeing your favorite band in a new place: It’s better with your friends. In the place you came to love them, even if its less fun

“We have this saying in Mexico that says “Las bonitas tambien quiermbaila“ which means “the pretty woman also wants to dance”

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e-munson666 · 2 years

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DENIM OR FLANNEL (2)

++Eddie Munson x Gareth Emerson x F!Reader++

(Gareth and Eddie always promised not to let a crush come between them, they weren't usually into the same girl, but when it came to you they were both enamored. It puts a strain on their friendship when your attention is focused on one them over the other) [[Eddies POV]]

Warnings ⚠️: 18+ language. Jealous Eddie, Jealous Gareth. Lots of angst. Some fluff, pining, pushing/shoving, name calling. A/N: I adore Gareth and he gets far less recognition than he deserves!

(Pt1)

Taglist: @dylanmunson

🖤xoxo

After lunch, Eddie had been thinking about you all afternoon. Turns out he was lucky enough to have one of his last classes with you, and was even luckier that you chose to sit right next to him, in the sea of other empty desks. You smiled at him as you sat down. "Hi Eddie" you whispered to him, causing Eddie to blush. "Hey Y/N" he returns, flashing you a cool smile.

Around 20 minutes into class Eddie gets bonked on the head by a paper ball. He quickly looks around and sees you giggling next to him. "Im sorry" you mouth. "Open it!" You point to the paper.

"Hey you" :P

Eddie grins. He quickly scribbles something back and lightly tosses it to your desk.

"Hey sweetheart"

"Can we hangout later? We can catch up....and......." Underneath is the two of you as stick figures, smoking a joint.

"Id love to princess, I'll pick you up at sunset"

"Can't wait, pretty boy" ;)

Eddies ears went hot when he read your words, and he couldn't help but notice the intoxicating smell of your perfume coming from the paper. He looks over and sees you wink at him as you shove a little bottle back into your bag. "She sprayed it on the fucking page" he whispers to himself. "Fffuuucckkk me" he thinks as he carefully folds the note and sticks it in his jackets chest pocket.

Eddie waited in the parking lot after school, hoping to chat with you again before heading home, when he saw you walking with Gareth. Huge sweet smile on your face, as Gareths arm draped over your shoulder. Eddie was instantly jealous. "Son of a bitch!" He mutters to himself as Gareth walked you passed him. He almost tackled Gareth to the ground when he saw the sneaky middle finger his friend gave behind your back, knowing right then that the two of them needed to talk.

"What about the pact Munson?" Gareth asked, crossing his arms as he made his way closer to the van.

"I know you like her man" Eddie began taking a step forward, "And you should know I do to"

"Yeah" Gareth laughed, matching Eddies movement, "I noticed.....and?"

"And? What are we gonna do about it?" Eddie asks, now only a few feet away from Gareth.

"About what exactly?" Gareth scoffs, trying to remain calm.

Eddie's trying to egg Gareth on, he knows Gareth has a short temper, and is easily frustrated. Eddie takes the note out of his jacket pocket and shoves it into Gareths chest. "This, Emerson"

Gareth reads the note and looks back up at Eddie, face hot, ears red. "Really laying it on thick, even for you Munson" Gareth mumbles, this just makes Eddie grin widely.

"So it's settled then?" Eddie says, snatching the note from Gareths hand. "Im asking her out when I see her" he adds.

"Whatever asshole, I'm not backing down" Gareth scoffs, shoving Eddie into the van behind him.

"Oh I know you won't Emerson, just dont be a little bitch when I get the girl this time, kay?" Eddie returns, shoving back a little harder.

"We'll see about that" Gareth mutters shoving Eddie once more before storming around his van to get in the drivers seat.

"Gotta go get ready to pick her up anyways!!" Eddie yells, flipping Gareth off as he peels out his parking spot and speeds away.

Dustin and Jeff were watching the interaction from the other side of the parking lot, wondering if they needed to step in. Jeff was tense, having been around the last time he saw his two best friends at each others throats like this.

"This is REALLY bad" Jeff says, turning to Dustin, who had a confused look on his face. "The last time they fought over a girl it almost destroyed the band.....and Hellfire....."

"Shit....." Dustin replied.

"Yeah...." Jeff adds, "Fuckin Shit"

A/N: a little short for this one. Please comment if you want the next part, it's a doozy.

#fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie the banished #eddie munson x female reader #gareth the great #gareth emerson #gareth x reader #love triangle #love trio

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bioodorange · 4 years

Text

||How I See The Pastas||

This was originally supposed to be how they looked but I decided to go for mental aspect and explain why as well PLEASE like, reblog and share your thoughts on this in the comments or inbox

Below the desciptions are images i’ve compiled and some art (if you know the creator please tell me so i can credit them) for a visual

dont forget to like reblog and share your thoughts with me, I spent a few days on this so i’d appreciate this

Jeff the Killer

So lets start with the obvious- jeffs pasty white toothpaste lookin skin

But realistically he wouldn’t be completely covered in scars

It would be blotchy, with pink fleshy patches among the burns

He most likely has contracture scars, third degree burns that turn the skin a pale white and tighten the skin

This explains his gaunt features and skin color

Now we have to take into account the vodka that was splashed on him, he’d probably have worse burns there with exposed flesh and damaged nerves

This would result in gnarly exposed skin, a damaged scalp and maybe damage to his teeth and eyes

Realistically, Jeff wouldnt have burned off his eyelids that alone would have resulted in blindness and death

Than his smile, his signatuure mark would probably be more of a gangly bloody scar mess

Pastas heal faster and aren’t really human, he’d have to recut his smile pretty frequently making it pretty jacket up because ltes be honest hes far from clean

ANd than his hait being chard black is very unlikely because as nasty as he is he s h o w e r s

not very frequnetly given his living situation and untreated burns but people can figure out how to wash hait and not much else

also i think its funny he’d shower with a plastic bag on his face to avoid getting soap in his nasty infected scars-

His hair would probably be dry and cut unevenly, more of a dark brown color with blonde undertones

Not to mention his burned scalp, hair probably wouldn’t grow there so he’d have a cool unintentional side shave

Jeff would also be a tall individual, he cant really eat, snacking on things from his victims homes giving him a more skeletal build

His personality and mindest is about as pretty as his face- but he most likely has a very screwed up headspace

Lacking in self care, maturity and sanity its fair to say he’d be a brash and violent person

Fun Fact: While researching this I learned that some versions of the joker had facial scars in the shape of a smile

Ticci Toby

So tobys age, unlike a lot of pastas, is pretty well agreed on, 19

So unlike when he was first a proxy toby most likely has stronger facial features and facial hair

Because shaving and hygiene isn’t first priority for pastas (gross-)

He stands around 5′7 and has grayish skin

Toby i feel is picky about foods, not only is it hard for him to eat its hard for him to keep food down

He’s malnourished explaining his thin figure and grayish skin

His hait is dark brown and a curlish mess, unkempt but short so it doesn’t get in his way

I’ve always seen him with a small gap in his teeth, because I can

And since toby can’t feel shit I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to eat rocks simply because he fuckin could

So some chipped teeth that are a bit uneven

Along with his CIPA and not eating enough Toby would bruise easily and have lots of scars, from things like cutting his finger on accident or getting mauled by a racoon

I wouldn’t be surpised if some of his joints were a bit screwed up, because whenever theyd beak or fracture he wouldn’t notice, this would probably happen a lot causing them to not heal correctly

One of tobys habits is nailbiting but he cant te;; when too far is too far

His fingers may be abit odd looking, knobby and discolored nails because of how exetreme his habit is

Would most likely have bandages around his fingers frequently to prevent the habit

So theres a lot of debate about tobys cheek was it the CIPA or the car accident, I beileve the accident because his other cheek is completely fine, theres damage from the OUTSIDE to inside and considering his sister died in the accident its unlikely he survived unscathed

Fun Fact: only a small handful of people have ever been diagnosed with CIPA, less than 500 (documented) cases around the world

Bloody Painter

So Helen is often seen as quiet emo painter boy

but uh no <3

Personaly i beileve he suffers from narcisistic personality disorder, exetreme importance and that he is always victorious and gets what he wants

This sporuts from the constant heavy invalidation from classmates, toxic friends and neglect from his parents

He doesn’t hang out with people because he doesn’’t lie them its because they never let him in the past and he beileves he’s better than them

But this also links to deep rooted insecurity and social anxiety/being inept completely

Him being nice is basically so you like him, he wants validation amd admiration not love

Unlike the other pastas he’d be a more clean well kept one a helthy figure and some tattoos bevause he can

I beileve he lives in socity, finding hus victims in girls and men alike who fall for his charm

he uses hhis skill and ordinary appearance to blend in on the streets

From his behavior helen most likely keeps his hair a bit shorter and clean

He always looks his best

Has chapped, and picked at lips because of his anxieties

Aswell as his breakdowns- his identity is completely in his head, he is very unsure of who he is and takes the delusions in his mind as reality

Unrelated but paino fingers-

And finally in order for his art to be as perfect and amazing as him, he has to be apart of it

Thus using his own blood in his pieces and the body parts of those he admires

Covers his scars with clean bandgaes

But his paintings turn brown and dry out, he’s always in need of a new medium

Is most likely anemic from all the blood he looses and has a paler skintone

Clockwork

ahh yes finally someone who knows what self care is-

helen, i love you buddy but you need to stop

But anyway natalie has a stronger, athletic build

She often chases her victims and gets in altercations, relying on strength most of the time

on that same note, this would defintelty cause many scars on natalie

Wether it was a bite mark or scars from a kitchen knife, shes got lots of scars

A few even on her face

Now, for the clock in her eye that thing is like holding her skull together at this point, realistically

She is probably delicate and cares for it becaise 1) it hurts 2) if it gets screwed up that could cause a lot of problems

natalie would be a smart person, I wouldn’t be surprused if she had a few other stray stitches or bandgaes wrapped around a fresh wound

For more visual-ish things uh m u l l e t (credit: @cum-looking-sock-mf in a chat like 4 months ago)

She has one, fight me on it

but also thick and curlish hair so I also riase you

Undershave

just y e s

I can also see her getting tattoos over certain scars on her arm, just to make them look not so ugly

I feel like clockwork wishes things worked out better

Wishes for another chance but knows she’ll never get one

Thus her taking goof care of herself

Natalie throws herseld into her “work”, keeping her body in shape and killing people

Its a way to avoid her life and that it is- a huge, sad mess

Shes an outgoing impulsive individual, confident but questions her actions

She’s also unstable- protective and loyal but explosive and strong

Jane the Killer

Jane is the final one, im sorry I couldn’t do more theres a photo limit and I wanna bash my head into the wall

Now a main different between her and jeff is she had surgery and lie treatment

Janes skin is still greatly scarred but it is greatly healed

She takes care of it and had skin grafts

Her face is disfigured, a scarred smile and burns around

But unlike Jeff she doesn’t recarve the cut so its a cleaner line and a lot healthier

Janes hair took a rather long time to grow back, but it did!

She has a slightly long pixie cut a bit choppy but she doesn’t mind

Her wife definetely cuts it for her and you can fight me over that

I can see Jane having a lot of facial trauma, scars around her nose and cheeks

She was young when she started killing and went for the over the person, pin them down kill which didn’t work out

She switched to a silenced pistol after awhile, you know like a smart person

Janes arms and legs are in alright condition where most of the burn trauma is on her back

She has a leaner but healthy figure but like boobs-

Like clockwork and Helen she takes care of herself

She doesn’t kill as frequently, going after a few of jeffs victims before him and is of course, actively hunting him down

Her eyes are a pale green and she wears makeip to fill in her eyebrows because those bitches take a long time to grow back

fun fact: jeff has no eyebrows, fight me

#jeff the Killer #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #slenderverse #slenderverse headcanons #jeff the killer head canons #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby #bloodypainter #bloodypainter headcanons #clockwork headcanons #clockwork #jane the everlasting head canons #jane the everlasting #jane the killer #jane the killer headcanons

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halorocks1214 · 5 years

Text

the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that��s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil…) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #alan tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #the hood #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

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zanesgirlfriend · 5 years

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Banana Bread | Jeff Wittek

Requested by anonymous: another jeff imagine but where people have been stalking their address and they break in OR jeff has another prison scare and tries to keep it from the reader because he doesnt want her to be involved x

I chose to do the first one!! i also went fuckin ham on it and made it hella angsty and crazy so I hope u dont mind

TW: stalking, kidnapping, shit like that

_____

It started with y/n looking over her shoulder. Little ruffles in the leaves, flashes in the windows at night. She felt like someone was watching her.

"Y/n, nobody's outside." Jeff reassured her as she peered out the window. "And if they ever tried to hurt you I'd kick their ass." He smiled before dragging her back down into bed with him. She snuggled into him, feeling the comforting sense of security as his strong arms wrapped around her.

It was eating away at her. She'd never had these feelings before, and she just knew that something was wrong. The thoughts spiralled around in her mind. What did they want? Her or Jeff?

"What if they're following you, not me?" She asked him, crunching on some toast and spinning lightly on her stool. He looked at her, slightly annoyed with the subject.

"Nobody's fuckin' stalkin' us." His tone was loud, but not aggressive. She stopped spinning the stool and glared at him.

"Okay, but what about the flashes in the window?" She asked, as if he could dispute it. They both saw them.

"Lightning." He sat down next to her and started to eat.

"Lightning, every night for a week, and only in one window?" She raised her eyebrows. "You're just in denial." She huffed and took another bite of toast.

"What do you mean, 'denial.' Denial about what?" The piece of bacon between his fingers waved around the air as his hands moved. Y/n took a sip of orange juice before answering his question.

"You always focus on the positive side of life. Like, the optimistic side." She started. "You're in denial that something could go wrong. That something bad could be happening."

The reality and seriousness of the situation finally started to hit Jeff. "Well, we can't really do anythin' about it, can we?" He rubbed her back as they both thought about what they could do.

"I guess we just wait it out." And wait it out, they did.

She wasn't supposed to be home that day. Nobody was. Her and Jeff's apartment was normally always full of people, in and out, all day long. Whether to shoot a video, walk Nerf or just hang out. Today was His one chance. Everyone was supposed to be either at work, on a hike, or with friends. Even Nerf was gone. But y/n missed her alarm, and her manager told her just to stay home.

She was asleep on Jeff's side of the bed, head under his pillow, buried in blankets, being comforted by his scent even in his absence. That's why He didn't see her. It was the creak in the balcony door that woke her up.

Her heart was racing. Jeff wouldn't be home until after dark, so she knew something was up. She turned her phone on silent and hid under the blankets while she called Jeff.

Jeff didn't pick up.

She heard Him enter the room so she tried to stay as still as possible. He went about his business. Taking pictures of everything and making his way into the bathroom. She heard plastic bags being opened, not knowing He was filling them with her and her boyfriend's hair. This was her only chance to escape. She crawled out of her bed, avoiding the floorboards that she knew would squeak.

She made it out of the room and looked around, attempting to find a quiet exit. There was no way she could jump from the balcony, and the front door would be too loud. She was too focused on escaping to hear Him appear behind her.

She screamed. Adrenaline and heavy breathing only allowing the chloroform to take effect more quickly.

She woke up on concrete. As she looked at the cell she was locked in, she attempted to remember everything she's seen on TV or in movies that could possible help her. There was nothing to break the lock, nothing to hit the man with, and no openings big enough for her to fit through.

"You finally woke up!" He smiled at her as he walked up to the bars, his unusually perfect teeth seemed unsettling.

"Who are you?" She croaked. She noticed her phone plugged in and sitting on a table near Him.

"I'm Jeff." The way He said Jeff's name made her angry. This prompted her to actually look over the man. He was wearing a wife-beater and Adidas track pants. His hair was slicked back, it looked like it had been recently dyed.

The more she looked at Him, the more she saw what was going on. He even had Jeff's tattoo crudely drawn in the same spot as Jeff. "No you're not. What's your real name?" She knew she shouldn't be aggressive, not knowing what He was capable of, but she couldn't help herself.

"Tomorrow morning, it will be Jeff." He remembered the legal name change he had the next day and got excited.

"Why did you take me?" She decided to calm down and change the subject, any information she could get from Him would be helpful. He smiled again, but this time his hand twitched, as if something was wrong.

"Well I wasn't supposed to take you yet," His words sent a chill down her spine. "But there was a change of plans." He sat down next to her phone, somehow knowing the password to unlock it. If she could just talk to Jeff for a moment, things would be okay.

"You didn't answer my question." She said more forcefully now. She watched him pull a small box from his pocket, placing it on the table and taking a joint from it.

"Do you want a hit?" He said as he flicked his lighter, remembering the nights he watched y/n and Jeff get high together. He wanted that.

"No, thanks." She tried to be polite, realizing the best way to deal with Him would be to cooperate and be nice. He took a hit before finally answering her question.

"Jeff had you, so I had to have you."

The only light in the room came from a small window near the top of the wall. He disappeared and she watched the sun set, thinking about all the things she needed to do to survive. It was dark when he returned.

"Get against the wall." He pointed at her, the outline of a gun in his waistband forcing her to comply. She stood against the cold concrete as he unlocked her cage. She barely noticed the rather large box he was carrying.

He placed the box on the floor and the smell of Chinese food wafted towards her. It was then that she realized how hungry she was. "I got your favorite." He said as he exited and locked her cage again.

"Thank you." She said as she went to open the box. She was very picky, and couldn't tell if she was creeped out or relieved that he knew her usual order. Inside the box was the food, a bottle of water, two blankets, a pillow, and a small toilet. One that would usually be used to potty train a toddler.

"Once we trust each other, you'll be sleeping with me." He sat down at the table with her phone on it. Opening up his own Chinese food. It looked like Jeff's usual order.

"How long have you been watching us?" She asked as she unwrapped her plastic fork, wondering if she could somehow stab him with it.

"Long enough." He said before shoveling food into his mouth. The more he talked, the more y/n noticed that he was attempting to imitate Jeff's accent.

"Okay." She said as she took a bite. The food was delicious, but she felt very unsettled, and suddenly not hungry.

"After dinner you're gonna call Jeff." The man stated as if it was nothing. Her eyes lit up. This would be her opportunity to get help.

Dinner went by slowly. She was finished far before he was, and she couldn't help but think he was eating slowly on purpose. Dragging her out longer and longer so she'll comply with his wishes easier.

"There's no service down here, so we'll have to go upstairs." The man walked over to her, unlocking the cage as she scooped up her trash. "Pull any bullshit and you'll never talk to anybody again." He grabbed her wrist tightly, before dragging her up the stairs.

It looked like something out of a movie. The stairs led straight into his bedroom closet, and into his bedroom. His bedroom was crazy. She felt her chest tighten as she saw it all.

Pictures of her and Jeff adorned the walls. Screenshots from Instagram, YouTube videos, and the pictures He took through their bedroom window. Varying degrees of nudity, times of them eating, cuddling, and even having sex. Bags of their hair. Lost articles of clothing. The bracelet Jeff gave her for her birthday, the one she cried for a week over when she lost.

Y/n tried her hardest not to cry. She had to sound okay for Jeff. "Tell him you had to visit your mother. She fell in the shower. Any mention of me and he's gonna hear me blow your brains out." His hand gripped the gun on his waist as unlocked her phone. He pulled up Jeff's contact, hit call, and put it on speakerphone.

"Hey beautiful, where are you?" The sound of his voice brought her to tears, but she held it together.

"My mom fell in the shower and had to go to the hospital, I just got off the plane, sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She'd never lied to him before, but she knew she had to.

"Okay, well call me and tell me what's up when you get to her. I miss you." His words had a new meaning.

"Don't forget to pick up more food for Nerf, and the banana bread in the fridge needs to get eaten before I come back." She told him. His heart dropped.

"We need a code word." Y/n said to him after waking up in the middle of the night.

"For what?" He asked groggily, sitting up and looking at her.

"In case something goes wrong. Like, if one of us is in danger, and we can't just say what's going on over the phone."

"That's smart. What should the word be?"

"Banana Bread."

"I love you." Jeff told her. She could hear the strain in his voice. He understood her. "So so so so so so so much. I really fuckin' love you."

"I really fuckin' love you too, I'll talk to you soon, bye." Tears fell from her eyes, all the emotions from the day's events came pouring out. Getting stronger as she looked around at all the creepy shit in this man's room.

Jeff immediately called the police. Y/n's location was turned off, and he had no idea what had happened to her. There was a whole team dedicated to her case. Jeff basically lived at the police station, trying to get any information on where she could be. They dusted the apartment, attempting and failing to find any information on the man who broke in.

Two weeks passed. Y/n and the man had developed a trust, but she was still stuck in her cage. She lost weight rapidly, going through periods where she was too in her head to eat. "When can I talk to him again?" She asked as soon as the man walked down the stairs.

"Tonight." He mumbled as he unlocked the cage. She backed against the wall as he refreshed her supplies. She noticed his shoulder. It now had an exact copy of Jeff's tattoo. It was fresh too, as if he'd just been at the tattoo parlor. It was crazy that he looked so much like Jeff, but so different at the same time.

He was missing all the little things. The way Jeff waved his hands around as he spoke, the way his accent got thicker when he was excited. The way they would wink back and forth at each other until they were both just rapidly blinking, and then bursting out into laughter.

She really missed Jeff. The real Jeff. And the night never seemed to come fast enough. She was crawling in her skin by the time He came to get her.

Jeff woke up to the sound of his ringtone. "She's calling!" He stood up abruptly and ran to the table with the investigation team.

"Pick it up." They said, doing something on the computers he didn't quite understand.

"Hey beautiful, how's your mom?" It was code for 'are you okay?'

Y/n smiled to herself, the sound of his voice made her feel happy and secure. "She's doing okay, some days are worse than others. I hope she'll be released from the hospital soon." Her words were careful and slow, giving the police enough time to find a location on the call.

"She'll probably be released sooner than you think, don't worry."

"Being with her makes me miss my dad. You two are very similar." She hoped desperately that he got the hint.

"We got it." A detective said as she pulled up a map. The call pinged off of two local towers, giving them a five mile radius of where to search. Y/n was forced off of the phone and Jeff looked at the map.

"Hey that's my apartment building." He pointed to the center of the circle area. Things were starting to come together.

"What did she mean by 'my dad reminds me of you?'" Jeff didn't understand that part of her code.

"Maybe she was talking about the man who kidnapped her. Wasn't he stalking you before she was taken? Maybe he wanted to be you." A cop shrugged her shoulders, not knowing how accurate her theory was.

It wasn't long before the figured out who the suspect was. "Jeff Wittacre. Formerly known as James Wittacre. He got his name changed. . . right after y/n was kidnapped." He lived on the ground floor of Jeff's apartment building, and they ran into each other quite a bit. They said 'hey' in the hallway, or in the mailroom, they even took their trash out at the same time. It was slightly weird how often they ran into each other, but now Jeff knew why.

"I'm fuckin' moving out tomorrow." Jeff told one of the cops as they raced over to his home. Once inside the building, they refused to let Jeff go any farther.

"You have to stay out here." The head of the team asserted. Jeff puffed up.

"No, I'm going in." He demanded. They had to hold him back as they burst through the door.

James acted as calm as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about." He would shrug as they asked where he kept her. They destroyed his apartment, throwing things, banging on walls, breaking anything they thought he could keep her in.

She was asleep when the broke in. The banging woke her up. Screaming might be the wrong move if nobody's actually there to rescue her.

Jeff broke out of the arms of the officers, strangling his copycat until he decided to answer. "Where the fuck is she you sick fuck?!" He slammed the man against the wall as the other officers found the man's bedroom.

"We found something!" Someone screamed as they noticed all the photographs of Jeff and y/n. Jeff immediately let go of the man and ran to where they were. Officers held James back, taking his gun from him.

"Y/n!" He screamed, thinking they found her.

"Jeff?!" She screamed back. She knew that was his voice. Everyone was immediately quiet. "Jeff!" She screamed more urgently. She picked up her small toilet and banged it against the wall, not caring what spilled out of it. Any noise she could make was helpful.

"Where are you?" An officer shouted, not seeing anywhere in the bedroom to hide her.

"Through the closet!" She screamed as loud as she could. The officer stormed the closet and James broke out of another officer's grip. He charged at the officer, pushing him down the stairs.

Y/n screamed in horror as she watched an officer tumble down the concrete stairs. His ankle snapped and he cried out in pain.

Upstairs, Jeff charged at James, launching both of them down the stairs. All the other officers followed them down.

"Jeff!" Y/n screamed as she saw his floppy hair. He kicked James in the stomach before running over to her, not caring how much pain he was in himself.

"Y/n!" He banged on the cage, trying anything to get it open. Both of them were in tears as officers arrested the fucked up man.

Y/n reached through the bars and grabbed Jeff's hand. She saw the tiredness in his eyes and the stress on his face. "You're okay." He told her, kissing her hand.

"I'm okay." She repeated, pressing her face into the bars to kiss him.

They broke the cage down. She was covered in piss, and hadn't showered in two weeks, but neither of them cared. Jeff wrapped his arms around her and cried like he'd never cried before.

"You're never leaving my arms again." He told her as he kissed her forehead over and over.

"Okay." She muttered into his chest before looking around. She was shaking, but Jeff helped her up the stairs.

"Where are we?" She got a familiar feeling as they exited James' apartment.

"The first floor of our building." He told her as he led her outside. She cried even harder as Jeff walked her toward the ambulance.

"You mean, I was right here the whole time?" She realized. Jeff nodded. "We're moving." She said matter-of-factly.

"I'm already ahead of you there." He smiled and held her shoulders as he looked her over. "I love you."

"I love you too." She smiled, kissing him once again.

"I'm so proud of you." He showered her with compliments. She smiled, feeling like she could finally make a joke again.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm craving some banana bread though." She smiled and let out her first laugh in weeks.

"I'll make it from scratch." He smiled before hugging her once more.

#vlog squad #davids vlogs #david dobrik #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad imagines #jeff wittek #jeff wittek blurb #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek imagine #jeff x reader #david's vlogs #jeff imagine #jeff #Jeff Wittek #JEFF WITTEK

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harryseyebrows · 4 years

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Ooh that’s fair. Maybe tour in 2021 is the final straw then? Like she’s upset by him being gone all the time? Or just realizing with the time apart they’re both happier? So sometime 2021 whether before or after tour. And then how do we want custody to go? Cause theoretically Harry would have at least 2 years no touring so they’re on even ground that way. And thennn... how long until Harry and Jeff get together? And how does it happen?

so heres a good breakdown of how joint physical custody can work. as for harry and jeff...hm. i think it would be hard to really quantify solid dates? simply because theyve known each other for so long and maybe there have been feelings on both side inter-dispersed over their long history???? but i dont think either of them would be comfortable taking a concrete step forward in that way until at LEAST a year after the dust kinda settles from the divorce?? but im thinking that harry probably moves in with jeff so just kinda.. living together and whatnot

#Anonymous

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scribbles97 · 5 years

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Scribbs rewatches TAG season 2- Inferno

Under the cut for spoilers and length

London… is penny going to be in this episode

Of course dubai had a bigger building

I agree with Mccreedy… nothing is safe, especially on a TAG episode

I wouldn’t have liked to have been in that building when it was being raised

‘Take that dubai’ childish much

Why’s the guy so worried about the lights

Ooo McCreedy isn’t happy

Uh Ohh I don’t blame her

Ummm fire perhaps?

Only 3 people for that whole building?

If it’s dark in London I wonder what time it is island time?

Ooo what are the little ball things??

Cool! I wonder if they’re developing those things in real life?

Noooo the door!

Erm that one failed I think

I don’t think you can shift that concrete

And that’s where Virgil comes in

Ooo Virgil’s painting

And Alan is posing

It isn’t nighttime like Mccreedy suggested

Hehe oh Max

Wow they got there super quickly

‘If you can’t find a door make one’ nice one Jeff

Virgil has a different suit to normal, is this a special fire suit?

And that jump will leave a bruise

1500 what?? I hope that’s fahrenheit

Really Virgil you can lift 8 tonne?

Yeah I didn’t think it’d be no sweat

VIRGIL!!! DONT FALL INTO THE FIRE

This gives me lion king feels

Phew they got to him to pull him up

Hehe McCreedy shook his claw

Supercharged the bbq… oh Virgil

Isn’t that a bit of a flaw if the fire suppression system is a poisonous gas?

I swear that music is the blue peter theme tune redubbed

Wow that’s some clever tech

OOOO that’s left a mark on two

Ahhhh now I’d hoped that elevator might have been below you

That will have put some strain on your joints Virgil

How do you know it’ll work for ten seconds Virgil?

You mean you haven’t thought how you’re gonna get them out Virgil?

Hehe off hand comment taken seriously

Paint me like one of your French girls

Can someone actually do that please? I think I need a drawing of Virgil like that

McCreedy!!

Virgil don’t you dare unclip your rope

You stupid man

What would you say if Scott did that???

Can TB2 take the strain of that?

At least the extinguishers work effectively

Okay so I can see why they didn’t air the episode after Grenfell, but I feel like they could air it now such a time later

They saved everyone mister yost

Really spending your vacation fire fighting

Aww Virgil it wasn’t Alan’s fault

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds series 2 #inferno #Virgil Tracy #alan tracy

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i-am-the-spaceman · 5 years

Text

Trade all of my past for a looking glass

Upon reflection, I think I've made significant progress with repairing my relationship with my parents. I rose above the generalized existential resentment of a mismanaged childhood, seeing as the ball is in my court now.

There are 2 major moments that I hope mean as much to them as they do to me.

With my father: I sort of resented him for leaving me and my brother to fend for ourselves with my generously unpredictable and often malevolent mother when I was 3yo. But he actually fought for our custody my for whole childhood, but my mom knew how to pull the strings. She twisted our minds to think "if he really loved you, he'd be here". So he involuntarily became a C-lister throughout most of my development. But there were a multitude of crisis moments where he put his life on pause to help me and my brother--to bail us out and provide us a safe-haven from the hellscape of a dictatorship I was subjected to under my mother and her new husband. Yeah, I might have been the "problem child", but he went above and beyond on so many occasions. It took me a long time to see the sacrifices Jeff made in effort to give us a better life by proxy of joint legal custody.

So on his birthday this year, I gave him a call, and I thanked him for his unconditional support despite receiving the bum end of parenthood. I thanked him for always trying to make visits with him unique and memorable with trips and activities. From ordinary excursions to the zoo or museums, to expertly planned adventures to Florida, Tennessee, Yellowstone and beyond.

I thanked him for providing shelter when the abuse got bad.... for fighting for us when we showed up with bruises on our wrists and guts and backs and eyes... for advocating for us legally, even tho he knew Sallie was too crafty to lose, and Hennepin County CPS was to incompetent to do jack shit about it because my mom made more money than him. I thanked him for picking me up from the police stations and foster homes when I got myself into real trouble, driving me to court in suitcoats and ties he borrowed me. For visiting me in the hospital after my overdose. For driving down to Austin to see me after one of my attempts landed me locked up in residential. There were so many sacrifices he's made over the decades, and I acted so entitled to them, but now that we're both older and over the worst of it, it's my time to make it up to him. <3

~~~

The other moment of reconciliation Ive had this year was with my mother. We went out to eat, as we do every 6 months or so. This has just about been the extent of our relationship since a couple years after I moved out. (When I moved out, it involved a black eye and a police officer shaming me for trying to press charges on my oWn MoThEr). We dont celebrate holidays or birthdays, so I never really have any conventional incentives to interact with her or Harold. But this spring we went out to a Vietnamese restaurant and I paid for her meal. As we were waiting for our food, she pried into my life, cast judment on my appearance (hair, piercings, tats, etc.), and my asked me about my love life. I give her all superfluous answers, as Ive learned to. The less she knows about me, the less she can use against me. Im not even exaggerating. Eventually, after she realized I wasn't going to open up, she began to ask me about Jeremy. Both of my parents love to vent about my little brother, voice their grievances over him, speculate about his mental health and condemn his every decision like hes void of individuality because of lack of ambition to concede to anyones projections of the sort of life they think he should live (thats a run on sentence if Ive ever seen one). He's a smart kid--kind and creative. But just as flawed, troubled and confused as you'd expect from who's been thru what we have. I usually respond fairly straightforward to any shit talking about my brother with a very harsh conversation stopper like "not my problem, thats between you and him". But before I could, she asked me a groundbreaking question: "why do you think he's like this?"

And, the rest, verbatim (with context), is a richly encumbered exchange.

"Because he's mad at you" I responded insightfully, but bluntly.

She paused, then asked "Are you mad at me?"

"I dont see any reason to be" The words rolled off my tongue without skipping a beat. My mind had nothing to do with the formation of those words. My heart, which had agonized for ages and only wanted peace, spoke that sentiment.

"I dont see any reason to be"

There was a heavy silence as my mom looked down and grinned a relieved grin. I looked out the window and glew, because in that moment of objective truth, I had lifted the clichéd weight of decades of lingering spite. I thought about that exchange for the rest of the day, the week. And even think about it now, every once in a while.

It wasn't much, but a true release of resentment a spirit of amiability is the greatest gift I can give to her right now. And I think by relinquishing that power I had over her, I have created a fair playing field and potential for something healthy between us for the first time in 25 years. Since then, we've been able to have a more open channel of communication. Hopefully we can grow from there.

~~~

Im shaking as I write this. I hate this. But this is progress. This is overcoming the human condition. We all incur unjust injuries, but to heal with full knowledge of the pain is something monumentally human.

#i am the spaceman #self

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shirlleycoyle · 5 years

Text

daSharez0ne’s Admin Explains Why They Endorsed Bernie Sanders

On the eve of the Iowa caucus, Bernie Sanders has secured yet another crucial endorsement, this time from daSharez0ne’s Admin.

Admin, of course, is the person or people who run daSharez0ne, one of weird Twitter’s best accounts, a wholesome skeleton who posts lots of sick memes. Our very own Rachel Pick described the account as "an aesthetic mash-up of what guys who own Harleys and stoned 14-year-olds think looks cool."

When Motherboard asked Admin what Sanders did to win over their long-decomposed heart, the skeleton was clear:

“#1 HE SAID HE WOULD LEGALIZE WEED IMMEDIATELY. AND WE NEED THAT BECUASE COP'S USE IT TO PUT MINORITY'S IN JAIL AND ALSO BECAUSE WEED ROCK'S AND ITS BETTER FOR YOU THEN DRINKING.

#2 TAX THE BILLIONAIR'S SO THEY GIVE US BACK THE MONEY THEY MADE FROM US. FUCK JEFF BENZOS”

Admin gave some suggestions for how Sanders could separate himself from the pack:

“HE NEED'S TO GET A CARDBOARD STAND UP OF A FEW POWERFUL GUY'S LIKE RAMBO AND THEN 1 OF GEORGE BUSH (OLD ENEMY) AND 1 OF A COP AND THEN KICK THEM ALL DOWN WITH AS MANY DIFFERENT NINJA STYLES AS POSSIBLE. TO SHOW HES POWERFUL .,” Admin said.

Near the end of our conversation, Motherboard asked Admin whether they would look into deploying resources in support of Sanders:

“HE DOSENT NEED MEMES HE ACTUALLY DOES SHYT INSTEAD OF SITTING ON HIS ASS,, INSTEAD OF RETWETTING HE HANG'S OUT WITH CARDI B AND SHOOT'S HOOPS, SO HE FUCKEN ROCK'S, AND AS SOON AS HE GET'S ELECTED HES GOING TO LIGHT A HUGE JOINT AND BLOW THE SMOKE ONTO THE MICROPHONE. AND HE WILL SAY ‘WEED IS NOW LEGAL’ AND CONGRESS HAS TO DO IT BECAUSE ITS EXECUTIVE ORDER. ITS A SIMON SAYS THING I DONT KNOW THE DETAILS BUT IT SOUNDS LEGIT.”

daSharez0ne’s Admin Explains Why They Endorsed Bernie Sanders syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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dwdelaney-blog · 5 years

Text

feb2019!

https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=1mPZV8dfL391iwu-L0qW9VJcPHJ9rPz8I

https://fox2now.com/2019/01/27/pritzker-appoints-new-head-of-illinois-air-national-guard/amp/

Pritzker appoints new head of Illinois Air National Guard

BELLEVILLE, Ill. – A U.S. Air Force colonel based at Scott Air Force Base is being promoted to general and will head the Illinois Air National Guard.

The (Belleville) News-Democrat reports that Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker appointed Col. Peter Nezamis to the post. He’s replacing retiring Maj. General Ronald Paul and will serve as the acting adjutant general before being promoted to brigadier general.

Nezamis commanded the Air National Guard’s 126th Air Refueling Wing based at Scott for 12 years before being named as the Illinois National Guard Chief of the Joint Staff in March.

In his new position, Nezamis will oversee about 3,000 people at the refueling wing at Scott, the 182nd Airlift Wing in Peoria and the 183rd Air Wing at Camp Lincoln in Springfield

1/29

Ierc - names

From dwdelaneyierc - see esp

Special projects - mary cowles

Asst secty - jannell courtright

Photos – chuck courtwright, dean Williams

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IERC – 97

Prez – Claudio pecori

Vp – jane van hoos

Admin coord – mark seger

Admin asst – jim boyle

Mbrshp coord – Debbie cimarossa

Asst mbrshp chair – dan bollman

Secty – john riech

Asst secty – jannell courtwright

Trsr – mark bartolozzi

Asst trsr – matt gairani

Sgt at arms – randy Ferreira

Asst sgts at arms: larry Andrews, paul ray, bob claton, roger strothman

Scrp chair – irv smith

County liaison – ruth payson

Board mbrs: Jeanie blackman, dick bond, “doc” bredemeyer,tom Cavanagh, nick ciaccio, pete cimarossa, tony libri, jim lobmaster, carl oblinger, bruce stom

Special projects coord – mary cowles

Special projects assts: paula allmon, bob ankenbrandt, brian brewer, geo christofilakis, bill cowls, Juanita donley, mark Dudley, troy gullo, paul harris, Cynthia hopper, ed Jackson, gary krebs, bob klosky, Charlie palazzolo, joe randall, bob radmacher, terry sanderfield, danny scarlett, dawn seger, bob sellinger, andy shandor, Robbie strayer

Club liaison – ramon menendez

Distribution – don and dewana adamski

Editors – bob shurig, matt penning

Photos – chuck courtwright, dean Williams

83 - 2001

claudio pecori was prez of ierc

2/1

33rd - horse people - roth - recruiters - stl - deps - under the radar - cle - d&d - penny marshall - ing - lol - laffers - carmine ragusa - 404 chem - iaff - 37 burton - klutzo - licensed killer - dead bug dale - jeffe ron - op - cifa - clapper - usss - homicidal threats frame - tx - perry gwb - copeland - vala - see site at valacopeland - lone wolf - curveball - servicemaster - franchise - zito - chem - team nix - servus - bunn - ache brackey - miley - haspel - memo - hillen vendors - h&k - pr - ackerman hires - herschell bc04 - cwlpdir utils plows - maps - tracking - nsa - ovp - dm - blessac clergy ft detrich - beanbag - xa enlow - vann - paprocki - wojcicki is at chiefs - thats why the shg baiseball is - untouchable

Sent from Fast notepad

2/1

Northendkc - 4/2006

2/5

Kingmakers - rauner - facio

Lobsters - baiseball - mel sembler -

In media - the people behind the lens - in production - call the people in front of the lens the - talent - its not a compliment - theres an ex - tape on the floor - stand here -

Kurtz - doesnt exist

Suggested that hs classmate involved in chem - war college thesis links to chem - deployment of mechanized infantry in ww2 - I guess some russian genl - xa lincoln cab - scso squads - op upwind - ind cars - etc - clown cars - trucks - amb kurtz - possible reference to stalingrad - stall - delay - stall1 - ildeptag - horse barns - stalls - horse people - it seems like I was intentionally misled about about an important part of my case - disinfo - to make me appear less credible - russian disinfo - im not into ww2 hist or war college theses - how would I know - wanted to use the link to usccb - and kurtz doesnt make sense - maybe it does - I didnt search very long - seems like nonsense - ive got a lot of people telling me a lot of different things - how would I know whether a lot of this stuff is right

2/14

Who is jacob wife - is it rachel - xa chad jacobs - winston - strawberries - ftl fishing - brooks bros - mitch mcconnell - jacob & gal - fu - engel marx - engels - wolfman - criminal record - alpharetta - bullhorn -

New site at flo

2/18

Selective enforcement - increased discretion at local level - the push behind sanctuaries and law enf - is a wider natl effort to decent auth down to local po - just the opposite of what it appears - usgop wants to ignore legal judgement and keep any cities from protecting me from defs - the stated topic - immigrants and incarceration are used to push a more expansive agenda - very sophisticated legal theory involved here - but ive understood the talk show hosts decrying the evil of sanctuaries as a reference to me for years - could be wrong but when I hear them say - this thing could tommorrow if we got rid of the sanctuaries - I hear what they are saying

feb 20

INA - is an end run - around my case - they used immigration language to sell it politically - intentionally drafted to allow application to me - when they say sanctuary cities - they mean places that abide by the court order allowing me to get sleep - thats why ive been able to sleep for several years now - cant remember when I started getting sleep - I remember hearing someone on a radio saying this thing would end real fast if we could just get rid of sanctuary cities - it didnt seem uncertain - maybe a local radio guy - not sure of the town - but I remember thinking this guy is talking about me - hes wanting to have people keep me from sleeping until - until I just say whatever it is they want me to say - 953.

2/21

Ive never been sexually abused - im not comparing my situation to that

I believe the catholic church has been and is - involved in keeping me living like this - through its fraternal org - kcs - nationwide - it has knowingly and intentionally undertaken a coordinated - systematic effort to marginalize me - and conceal evidence of such - using materials and methods taken from chemical warfare and/or pest control - this series of aggravated battery has not escaped prosecution - they were accused by me and charged - they used their political power to evade judgement - found liable - they have continued with the exact course of conduct which formed the basis of the original claim - I believe that those that might want to speak out against this nationwide campaign - extending for a period of time longer than twenty years - have been told that speaking truthfully about my situation risks their relationship w/ the church - im not catholic - my family is catholic - those people should be able to say what they think is true w/ out the church telling them that doing so means they will go to hell

Gidwitz - rauner - myelin repair - rg - jeffe ron - baise - silly - idea - itel -

2/25

site addrs - google - wordpress - flickr - medium https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneyfeb2019/ https://www.dwdelaney.wordpress.com - flickr - https://www.flickr.com/photos/151524170@N03/ “2/22” https://medium.com/@dwdelaney/2-22-17ba9a027575

https://youtu.be/X2EU1lCVlrE

2/26

Gardner peckham - atl - bksh - units of force - spfld - reticle - cross herrs - swimmers - gable cravens - gonzaga - resurgens - ailes - mews - hic - sjh - roadrunners - medium page - belleville gregory - alton - spitzer - callis - slu -

I dont think peckham is in this thing - his name just matches the others - hard to say one way or the other - I can only be certain of the things that happen to me - thats why I post things that arent in question - things that most people can agree upon

2/27

List of all sites w/ audio - video - text Google sites Google photo Google drive Flickr Pcloud Mega Mediafire Medium Youtube Wordpress site addrs - google - wordpress - flickr - medium Google site for feb 2019 - text https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneyfeb2019/ Folder for

feb2019 docs etc. https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=1mPZV8dfL391iwu-L0qW9VJcPHJ9rPz8I Wordpress site at - https://www.dwdelaney.wordpress.com

flickr site - flickr - https://www.flickr.com/photos/151524170@N03/ Medium site is at - this is the initial post - “2/22” https://medium.com/@dwdelaney/2-22-17ba9a027575 Mediafire - havent had to use this yet - folders are empty Mediafire - link to audio - voice recorder https://www.mediafire.com/folder/p2ckxcctksa4v/Music Mediafire - link to video - https://www.mediafire.com/folder/2u9704u2chhc9/Videos Youtube site has videos of voice recorder

https://youtu.be/X2EU1lCVlrE

https://m.youtube.com/user/dwdelaney The pcloud and mega should be copies of things that have been synced to google - google didnt work for several months and original audio is on pcloud - nothing new at mega - should be just an extra copy - when sites dont work - I get worried Google photo is the same images from google drive and flickr - handwritten notes - from 2004 and until I started using digital voice recorders and posting messages as recordings

Links to pcloud and mega stuff is at google site pages at page for specific month or other name. Pcloud has link to page. Mega is just a copy. Wordpress page also links to pcloud - google - flickr

2/28

Sea wall - galveston - 2004

Xa ftl2001 - spk 2002/3

notes - deps - ports - hanson - longies o rorke - cleat - hou civaff - hpd complaint - referral to homicide & epa - legal complaint - wal - kappa - seeing things in black culture - hip hop and rap music - up all night to get lucky - cannot understand where this stuff comes from - links from spfld to tx - liuna ed smith had tx in his region - worked day labor jobs for years - pain on jobs and when not on jobs - ushse - spkr - hanson ports - comcast capranica - kc - hou baseball - fl ric scott - bunn busch - homicidal threats frame - gov perry - gwb - usss copeland - vala - gray & vala - generate ac - robert urich - kurt spencer - gag gifts - laffers - thats the kurtz - amb - deployment - emts are ibt - 916 - clatfelter - cogfa - wife at ioicc - sherman - sherman pd - TRU - pages - texas - galveston - donna - tx22

Kurtz - rodavis - psyops - operant cond - ecole - sylvanus - carlyle - skinner - erbacci cerone - aaron schock - mu - cl&e - res - henkle kindred - sleep deprivation and fibro - king of the hill - dales dead bug - h/k - dennispmoore - ftl urinary tract infection - principles - see cite carlyleinspi - bunn - airport site - landmark - frito lay trucks - hillen tracking maps - terr frame - pow - enemy combatant - urine vited - I hear dustin dimond is doing porn now

https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneytexas/

Ft worth is vann - xa usccb - dfw - fudd - the seidl stuff from tx22 is gold - zito cellnet - spfld - spfldconsulting - kaiser spk - spkattys - carlson link from spk to tx - and note preston gates - boeing - aluminum - deripaska - hecla - nethercutt - cletus - mark few - the house on boone was where the video was - haspell - guy breaks my nose to create the fibro link to coinfection at nasal turbinates - aggravated by sleep deprivation - dod in spk ran out of ovp - xa link from zito cellnet to ovp - halliburton tx - wolfman - key chainey - lon monk - slave & master - team nix - op - jeffe ron - chem lon - franchises - egyptologists - note esp influence w/ doj - see site inginspk for dod in strange places - xa generally sangamo meters - bunn - natsec personell - most important man nobody has ever heard of - ima - cofer black - geo w bunn - oc - cellnet smart meters - collect data - wattage is usage signature - its invasion of privacy - see generally dutton bonilla - kid rock - duane gibson - a celebrity we can get behind - ache - fu - 2 - zito - cwlp - cwlpdir - hist - icc - frasco - gaming the system - oclincs bunn - chris cox - dan tanna - gettum dan tanna - vegas - bilbray lahood - ubc - calneva - ima baise mark denzler - ideas silly - gidwitz - execs for natsec - chi chamber -

https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneydonna

https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneytx22

https://sites.google.com/site/dwdelaneygalveston

Note esp - carlson site - links spk to tx - kaiser - usattys - mcdevitt

Dont piss on my head and tell me its rainin Yellow rain - poison - disinfo - Addiction frame bogus

The 'Bee Feces' Theory Undone

By William Kucewicz. Wall Street Journal, Eastern edition; New York, N.Y. [New York, N.Y]06 Sep 1985: 1. Publisher logo. Links to publisher website, opened in a new window.

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Harvard biochemist Matthew Meselson now admits that his original "bee feces" theory of Southeast Asian yellow-rain deaths -- that deadly toxins were not biochemical weapons but natural contaminants of feces -- "is not very attractive anymore." But you wouldn't know it from an article he and four colleagues have published in Scientific American this month.

In that piece, Meselson & Co. repeat at length their view that yellow rain is "a phenomenon of nature, not of man." They do not, however, report what Prof. Meselson acknowledged in a telephone interview last week: that samples of bee feces he and a colleague brought back from a celebrated expedition to a Thailand jungle last year show no traces of the mycotoxins that are widely believed to have killed thousands of people in war-torn areas on the frontier of the Soviet empire.

Profs. Meselson and Thomas Seeley of Yale got to test their hypothesis in Thailand with the help of a $256,000 "genius" award to Mr. Meselson from the MacArthur Foundation (though the areas they visited were not ones ever associated with a chemical attack). The two academics returned in March 1984 to say they had been "crapped on" by Asian honeybees. "We were caught in one of these yellow rain showers," they said. "It lasted about five minutes and deposited approximately 200 spots per square meter." The scientists collected samples of the bee droppings, along with foodstuffs from Thailand, "for chemical analysis to test the possibility that mycotoxins reported in environmental samples and the blood of refugees occur naturally in Southeast Asia." They concluded their joint statement, saying: "A detailed scientific report of our findings will be published."

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It had been Mr. Meselson's hypothesis, first laid out at a meeting of scientists in Detroit in 1983, that the deadly tricothecene mycotoxins discovered by other scientists in the bodies of Southeast Asians were a naturally occurring phemonenon of the region. Bee excrement and foodstuffs, this theory held, hosted the growth of the organisms. The U.S. government has maintained, on the other hand, that yellow rain is a Soviet-supplied toxin used in Laos, Cambodia and Afghanistan in violation of the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention.

Their article in Scientific American, however, includes no mention of the results of those chemical tests.

"They were all negative," Mr. Meselson responded in the interview. He said that he had sent 13 twin samples of food and feces from Thailand to two laboratories in Canada and Britain. (Mr. Meselson is not expert at conducting such tests himself.) The chemists didn't find any of the trichothecene mycotoxins previously identified in yellow rain.

There wasn't room to include these negative results in the article, Mr. Meselson explained. He said that the editors at Scientific American had set strict length limitations and "lots" of data had to be left out.

Mr. Meselson said that he now generally accepts the work of Canadian toxicologist Bruno Schiefer showing that trichothecene mycotoxins don't occur naturally in Southeast Asia -- at least not to any significant extent that might cause a health problem. That means the Harvard scientist, whose theories have become the watchword of Western doubters and Soviet propagandists who challenge the U.S. government's position, must now square his own stance. If yellow rain poisons aren't springing up on their own, and if refugees indeed are suffering and dying from them, who's the perpetrator? For scientists who've cautioned against accusing the Soviets over the matter, it's a dilemma -- and one that the critical omission in Scientific American would allow them to skirt.

Mr. Meselson's out, in the interview, was to suggest that perhaps there were no toxins to begin with. This takes the whole debate back two years, reopening issues that were seen as settled at the time Mr. Meselson first suggested that the toxins were natural products. A 1983 essay by Lewis Thomas in Discover magazine, for example, calls for more exploration of the natural-occurrence thesis in the following words:

"There is no question in anyone's mind about the existence of mycotoxins produced by the Fusarium fungus in the samples taken from the leaves and rocks in places where yellow rain attacks are said to have occurred. Nor is there any doubt about the reports by Chester Mirocha, an acknowledged specialist in mycotoxins at the University of Minnesota, that high levels of trichothecene toxins (and their metabolic derivatives) were present in the blood and tissues of patients from the same areas. What remains in question is whether this fungus species has always existed in nature in Southeast Asia, and whether its toxin might be present in the kinds of plant foods consumed by people during seasons of near starvation."

The only thing left to dispute, in short, was the hypothesis Mr. Meselson has now abandoned after negative results with his own samples, and in the face of the work by Mr. Schiefer. The Canadian's latest findings show that the unnatural combination of three different mycotoxins found in the yellow rain samples collected by the U.S. government and ABC News is a "superb" killer -- much more potent than the toxins individually or in other combinations, a cocktail put together by someone who knew what he was doing.

Mr. Meselson, it would seem, can support reopening the old inquiry only by directly challenging the findings of Minnesota's Prof. Mirocha and Joseph Rosen of Rutgers. Does he think their laboratory work in error? "I'm not saying that," he replied.

Prof. Meselson did find it telling that a U.S. Army laboratory at Aberdeen, Md., failed to find the toxins in yellow rain samples that previously tested positive by Mr. Mirocha. While Mr. Meselson uses the Aberdeen negative test results as a foil, he fails to mention that that same Army laboratory did find the toxins on two Soviet gas masks retrieved from Afghanistan in 1982.

Profs. Mirocha and Rosen, meanwhile, stand by their work. In subsequent tests on toxin-infected corn, for instance, they have never turned up any "false positives," which would have indicated that their techniques were faulty. Besides, they both noted, the U.S. Army's laboratory had great difficulty setting up its own testing procedure and delayed a year and more the analyses of many yellow rain samples; during that time, the toxins could have been consumed by bacteria in the samples or otherwise deteriorated. Even Mr. Meselson admitted that that's possible.

So what are we left with? Mr. Meselson has found bee feces, and the U.S. government has found dead bodies. Indeed, detailed medical data about a yellow rain casualty appeared in the April 1985 issue of the peer-review Journal of Forensic Science. The authors are Charles J. Stahl, the former chief pathologist for the U.S. military and now a professor at East Tennessee State University; James B. Farnum, another East Tennessee pathologist; and Christopher C. Green, formerly the Central Intelligence Agency's yellow rain expert, who holds an M.D. degree. These medical experts concluded that the yellow rain victim died from a chemical warfare agent and not from any natural infection.

As they explain for the first time, an encampment of Khmer Rouge guerrillas at Tuol Chrey in Cambodia, near the Thai border, was hit by an artillery bombardment from Vietnamese forces on Feb. 13, 1982. Three shells exploded upwind of the camp, and the soldiers smelled a sweet, perfumelike odor and experienced the rapid onset of incapacitation. There were at least 100 casualties. They suffered from tearing of the eyes, blurred vision, bitter taste, nasal obstruction, vomiting, rapid heartbeat, muscle tremors, and, in some cases, collapse or paralysis.

One of the victims, taken to a hospital, soon showed signs of recovery and was released. It was known that he had been a victim of an earlier yellow rain attack the previous September. On March 11, 1982, he was again admitted to a field hospital after his condition worsened. Five days later, he died after vomiting and urinating blood -- typical signs of trichothecene poisoning. An autopsy was performed, and tissue samples were sent to the U.S.

Both Profs. Mirocha and Rosen found traces of the mycotoxins in the samples. Pathologic examinations of the tissues showed severe damage to the heart, lungs, kidneys, stomach and liver. The victim died from "acute pulmonary edema." All of these symptoms are associated with trichothecene poisoning. The "pattern of injury," said the pathologists, "suggests the direct effects of toxic agents, as well as the possibility of hypersensitivity reaction related to the previous chemical exposure on 19 Sept. 1981."

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union has had a field day with the bee-feces conjecture. The Russians have used this theory in their disinformation campaign to cover up their chemical-warfare crimes in Southeast Asia and Afghanistan. Most recently, Joseph Adamov, a Radio Moscow "commentator" who speaks English with a Brooklyn-like accent, told an American television audience on CBS's "Face the Nation": "There is a fantastic anti-Soviet campaign on in the United States today, including the socalled spy dust, which is completely absurd, just like that yellow rain was, that turned out to be the excrement of bees."

Nicholas Wade of the New York Times shares the same sentiments. In a recent editorial-page article, he wrote: "Yellow rain is bee excrement, a fact so preposterous and so embarrassing that even now the Administration cannot bring itself to accept it." He called the U.S. government's evidence "a speck of dubious data."

What remain, of course, are the corpses and refugee reports.

Rep. Jim Leach (R., Iowa) was at the scientific meeting in 1983 when Messrs. Meselson and Seeley first announced their bee-feces hypothesis. Mr. Leach's response was direct: "We have the bodies, we have the witnesses. When you listen to a father describing his son dying in his arms from a yellow and white rain falling from the skies, you are not one to disbelieve."

---

Mr. Kucewicz is a member of the Journal's editorial board.

Word count: 1652

Browse this issue

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Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists; Chicago Vol. 57, Iss. 5, (Sep/Oct 2001): 57-63.

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By William Kucewicz.

Wall Street Journal, Eastern edition; New York, N.Y. [New York, N.Y]14 Mar 1985: 1.

California Energy sweetens its offer for Magma by 10% to $924 million

Quintanilla, Carl.

Wall Street Journal, Eastern edition; New York, N.Y. [New York, N.Y]24 Oct 1994: A5.

I. EQUILIBRIUM SEDIMENTATION OF MACROMOLECULES IN DENSITY GRADIENTS WITH APPLICATION TO THE STUDY OF DEOXYRIBONUCLEIC ACID. II. THE CRYSTAL STRUCTURE OF N,N-DIMETHYL MALONAMIDE

MESELSON, MATTHEW STANLEY.

California Institute of Technology, ProQuest Dissertations Publishing, 1957. 0205275.

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