#i'm trying not to buy more stuff than i will use on maybe ten books because it's hard to say if this is a ten-book hyperfixation or

[incorrectbatfam]

Do you have any angsty headcannons of Damian Wayne

Sometimes I wonder if he has any insecurities about being the youngest and the fact that he's fifth (sixth? seventh?) in a long line of batkids who have already done pretty much anything he can think of. Blowing up the League of Assassins? Tim did that. Starting a superhero team? Sure, Damian's done that, but it's kinda derivative of his siblings'. Dying? That's literally Jason's whole schtick. With older siblings, he's gonna invariably end up with some hand-me-downs and it's a lot harder to carve his own unique identity.

He's over the whole "blood son" thing, but he can't help but feel a little jealous when Bruce talks so fondly about the others' Robin days, meanwhile Damian is still referred to as "having potential" and needing to work on this or that. It's like when your siblings have a bunch of trophies and you know you're just as capable, but you haven't been given the chance.

As Robin, everything he did was measured up against his siblings. Dick stuck the landing better. Tim was more careful with evidence. Steph decoded the riddle faster. Jason could take on twice as many goons. Though Damian tries to do things his own way, Robin never feels like something that's fully his.

Even though the Waynes can buy ten of everything, he still ends up with some of his siblings' stuff—Dick's sweatshirt, Jason's books, Tim's old camera. Damian can try and pretend they belong to him, but then he comes across a scribble in the margins or an old picture of Young Justice and it's a reminder that he's still tethered to the people who came before him.

And maybe that's why he still picks fights and gives people a hard time. At his age, he'll do anything it takes to stand out so someone notices him, and being difficult accomplishes that. As an immediate result, he gains individuality by being known as the Demon Brat. And because he gets that instant gratification, he keeps doing it over and over.

It's no secret that he and Tim aren't always on good terms. I think part of it has to do with Tim being the next closest predecessor and Damian has an easier time picking him apart compared to facing off against Dick or Jason. Because of that, though, I think Tim would be the first to pick up on why Damian is this way.

Do they communicate about it? Mmm not yet. This is the most emotionally stunted family we're talking about, so instead of indulging Damian's behavior, Tim flat-out ignores it and it's one of those instances where ignoring works because Damian stops, at least with him.

But then he moves on to Steph, but her tolerance is way lower than Tim's and she lets Damian know that. She straight-up tells him, "Hey, quit being obnoxious. It works now because people are going easy on you, but one day someone's gonna screw you up and you won't have a Batman to run to."

He doesn't really believe her because 1) he was never one to care what strangers think about him and 2) getting the job done was more important than being liked to him.

Cut to school being back in session. Damian mainly keeps to himself—partly to lay low, partly because he never got along with other kids before and didn't see the point in trying again. His grades are stellar and for the first month or so, teachers praise him all around for being a model student.

But that eventually slows down as his straight-A's and thesis-sounding papers become routine—it's his norm, and teachers stop pointing it out as something remarkable.

And just like before: when being Robin stops working, be the Demon Brat.

He keeps his grades up, but the teachers start sending emails home about things like chewing gum and using his phone in class. Every time, Bruce just reminds him to behave.

One time Bruce offhandedly mentions how Jason was a well-behaved student and Damian can't help but think, "That's the point. I'm not Jason."

The emails pile up, now with new problems like extended bathroom breaks, breaking the dress code, and even one incident where he forged himself a note to get out of class early.

But the thing that lands him in detention is a snide comment to the wrong kid that spirals into a schoolyard brawl. And even though Damian pulls his punches, it still ends in bruises and a bloody nose, and it takes two teachers and the football coach to break it up.

And just his luck, Dick's in Bludhaven, Alfred has a doctor's appointment, Tim and Bruce are at a business meeting, and Jason wants to stay out of this, so guess who's there to pick him up at the end of the afternoon.

Steph doesn't beat around the bush. Her first response is, "What did I tell you?" And it pisses him off because she's right.

That evening, they go on a long drive where she eventually gets an explanation out of him. And she gets him, 100%. She tells him how she had big shoes to fill as Batgirl and how she always compared herself to Cass and Babs.

Then she says: "Robin isn't a personality you grow into or break out of. It's just a costume. Who you are underneath is who Robin becomes."

For good measure though, she goes to Bruce later like, "Hey, do you need a laxative? 'Cause you're so emotionally constipated that you forgot your son is his own person, not a work in progress or extension of someone else." Then she swipes his credit card and takes Damian to the arcade to make him feel better since he still has a week's worth of detention plus Alfred giving him double the chores.

After that, people will still occasionally slip up, but when Dick ruffles his hair and says they'll ace a mission "the Damian way," it's reason enough to believe that things are looking up.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

You ever wonder what you would do if you ended up in trevat?

probably the most fun thinking exercise i've had for a bit hahah

ended up rambling on for like five minutes so it's under the cut

assuming this is an unnanounced isekai of sorts where i wouldn't want to touch the plot with a ten foot pole (bc that sounds far more interesting than just- what if i lived there),

plan a) book it to liyue harbor avoiding wangshu inn just in case xiao can sense i'm not from teyvat, convince uncle tian to let me sleep in his boat until i have money (he looks like he'd let me in exchange of stories), become a storyteller, tell stories from a faraway land (any and all stories from here, be it plots of books, movies, fanfics, whatever man), profit, make casual friends w beidou to lower the chances of ningguang sending yelan to look into my untraceable past, try not to make it obvious i know zhongli knows i'm not from teyvat (if he ever appears by my storytelling corner) and ensure he likes my stories (this will boost my corner's reputation), buy a house outside chihu rock, befriend xiangling by sharing recipies from here, learn liyue recipies and how to use teyvat ingredients from her, befriend a gaggle of millelith by feeding them 'new and interesting foreign dishes' bc the fastest way to a man's heart is thru his stomach – they will now ensure the area around my house won't get jumped by random treasure hoarders and slimes or geovishaps, travel around once i've made enough money, always return to liyue and live out a chill life w the millelith's protection, the qixing not interested in bothering w me, and zhongli unbothered by my unthreatening presence

plan b) book it to fontaine. this could go two ways depending on if i break some random law immediately upon arrival: b.1) if i don't break any law then i befriend navia by sharing baking tips w her n convice her to let me stake it out at the spina's outpost in fleuve cendre until i make money, write mystery whodoneits (hello recovered manuscript bootleg sherlock holmes) for starting cash and then slowly make the switch to villaness novels w extra mystery (you can't tell me they wouldn't be a hit there) thereby avoiding the likely fierce market competition of plain whodoneits and gaining more fame, profit, buy a house in the countryside to reduce the chances of breaking a random law by reducing the amount of gardes around, keep in touch w navia n be rightfully grateful to her (this will keep the spina on my side), befriend the melusines by sharing stories n cooking tips (they can try me w their weird concoctions) n thus further lowering the chances of me getting randomly arrested, live a chill life (also travel around n stuff obviously) with furina/focalors entirely uninterested in my existance, the gardes and neuvillette seeing me as a normal citizen, and the just-in-case friendly connections to the phantoms via the melusines and the spina via navia (and maybe the surveillance patrol if chevreusse likes my novels) b.2) if i do break some random law immediately upon arrival or too early into plan b.1, then i plead guilty and get sent to meropide (nobody down there will ever bother to look into my untraceable past and trying to argue innocent will only bring attention i likely can't afford), work dilligently until i've made enough friends among the staff, become the prison's storyteller and bard and gain credits like that, become a friendly face nobody will have any interest in harming and likely won't dare to bc i'll have made friends w all sorts of prisoners by then (plus why would you want to fuck with the guy who's literally only singing songs and telling stories. like nobody else is doing it. half the prison would jump you i think), stay down there after my time is up for the same reasons i chose to go down, hopefully be a nice helpful prisoner and a welcome fixture in the fortress, live a quiet and chill life

and lastly, the last resort plan c) book it to mondstadt, beg charles for a gig at the angels' share, sing covers of songs from here and pass them off as melodies from distant lands, avoid venti and his knowledge of music like the plague, avoid kaeya and the knights like the plague also before they realize i'm not From There, get a house in springvale, if diluc ever bartends then try to subtly let him know i'm w him on the knights issue, hopefully this raises my chances at becoming part of the staff of the tavern n the likelyhood of the rest of the staff helping me avoid the knights' suspicion, ideally just live a quiet life in springvale, if by some miracle diluc decides to hire me for the winery then go there instead and live a quiet life as one of the workers, the main objective here is to fly under the knights' radar and position myself in life in a way that venti won't either want to, be able to, or feel the need to get curious about me and try to make contact (i realize dealing w music is counterproductive to this but it's the only gig i can think of that'd work there, would require no starting budget, would allow for flexible hours so i can skedaddle if needed, i wouldn't suck ass at, and would get me a step closer to who is likely going to be my only and/or most accessible ally in staying away from the knights: diluc)

[tobiasdrake]

I kind of want to break stuff out of spite. Like, even if we fail, our deaths won't untrash the place. It will be a lot of work to get it all livable again. So that's a small victory.

Then again, judging by all those cobwebs and the swirling clouds, I'm not sure the Dweller uses this place for much anyway. I'm pretty sure the mist is supposed to be spooky horror mist but given the state of this place, I think it's just a thick cloud of dust.

Seems pretty obvious that her main hobby is just wandering around replacing and relighting the oh my god why are there so many candles in order to maintain the spooky atmosphere.

In any case, there's an interesting book over there, so we should--

--burn it, apparently. The books are a trap.

*sigh* No wonder Roro doesn't read them.

Well, that's me eating crow. The spooky mist vanished after we burned the books. I should make a note of that for the future.

"Old Person Physical Media is Evil". Got it.

Oh, I would but I'm jazzed up on caffeine now. Thanks for the offer though.

In any case, we're now set for a full-scale de-cursing.

And yet, I'm clearing it out of each room with less than a minute of mayhem. It really makes you stop and think about how much more effort goes into creation than destruction. Violence can unmake in seconds what took weeks or months to build.

I would be mad about that given that you're a ghost but Garl is the best chef this side of ever, so you've got yourself a deal just so I can show his talents off. You're lucky I'm egotistic.

Eh, I know someone who eats banana and mayo sandwiches. We all have our weird tastes.

Fuckin' told you. Don't mind me, I'll be over here beaming with pride as if I was the one who somehow turned that nonsense of a recipe into something not only edible but phenomenal.

:D I am such a great manager!

A small detail that I really appreciate is that the Waltzers come in both opposite- and same-sex varieties. That's neat. Even among the undead, love is love.

Well, now we know where all the Maleficent Thorns in the forest came from. The Botanical Horror's responsible. I bet these things are, like, its buds.

That's fine.

Me and my buds are gonna torch this whole place.

And Teaks will record it all. For history.

OH NO THAT DEFINITELY NEEDS TO DIE. That's about an 8 on the Botanophobia Scale right there. FUCK THIS THING.

Now to see how Erlina and Bugraves are doing. Bet their part isn't going so well, given that we need some reason to explore the other part of the mansion before we fight the Dweller.

Oh. Uh. Bye? Didn't expect her to peace out this soon.

We should probably have asked her to take Garl with her, if it's. Y'know. Time. I really don't want him losing another eye on my account.

...she might be trying to avoid Moraine, given that she waiting until we were isolated from him to pop in and then popped back out before we hooked back up with him.

I suggested that she might be Yoyo earlier, but she also could be Momo. I still don't think she's either though, on account of her visible youth.

Momo's kid, perhaps? I dunno. I do think she's trying to avoid the more professional Solstice Warriors.

Thanks, we did it all by ourselves. Yep. I'm just awesome like that. Zale helped. A little.

No more postponing, Dweller. By the unstoppable might of the moon and slightly more stoppable might of the sun, we're here to conquer!

This does seem about that time.

Probably should have asked Serai to take him with her. We'd have to come up with an excuse for what became of him, but I'm sure Moraine would buy, "He realized it was a mistake to be here and bailed."

Simple enough. You hold up the piñata while the rest of us celebrate my birthday.

It's the winter solstice. We're nowhere near it. But Erlina, Brugaves, and Garl all missed like ten of them so I'm owed a belated party.

Aww, you shouldn't have. It's just what I wanted.

Wait, is this not going well? I thought this was going well. Okay, so maybe I was a little cocky but we seem to be doing pretty well.

So that's a yes. Something is definitely going awry that I am not aware of.

Any way we could, like, blast a hole in the ceiling?

HA! Just like that, our poor decision to bring a normie along is fully vindicated. If we win this battle, I am never letting Moraine live this down.

...sorry, I'll stop being smug and focus on the fight.

HOLY SHIT, GARL.

I'll stop being smug and focus on the fight but you'd better prepare yourself for at least a week of insufferable smugness when we're done here, Moraine!

You know what? I take back that piñata stuff. I regret cracking this thing open to see what's inside. I liked her better when all the disgusting horror was on the inside.

Nowhere to go now but through. We're committed to this.

With, like, a Moonerang? I don't remember this part of my--

WHY NOT!? @_@ WHAT THE FUCK, SERAI! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS. We did an aggravated robbery together and every--

You know, maybe I need to learn to be a better judge of character.

[journeytothewest-daily]

New volume! Thanks for keeping on! I took some notes for chapter 26!

Wukong (no more Wade Giles uwu) demands that Tripitaka receive his three meals and six teas every day. That's not bad for a mendicant ascetic! I'd quite like to be guaranteed that, hahaha! There's a typo calling him the Tank Monk later in the chapter, very funny.

It's funny how reading Pinyin, which is all anyone uses now, feels unusual, while individual trees having names like Long-life grass of reverted cinnabar seems normal. You can really get used to anything.

I was quite surprised that the immortals are described as youngish-looking! We usually imagine a Greek philosopher-looking sage here, but even Plato was a virile, hairy wrestler once, I suppose! They always carry around gourds with stuff in them; I've seen the like in movies, but were they ever made of gourds, do you think? Pumpkins weren't around in Tang times, at least I think not.

Is Eight Rules and Idiot the same character? The switching between in the same paragraph seems to go against best writing advice, but I daresay I'll not write anything that will survive 500 years! Incidentally, he quotes a saying "put on the cap to increase riches." Is that a real saying or did he misunderstand something comedically?

There are several beautiful poems about specific natural sites here, and I wondered where Chinese people would learn these. Would they have to read them? Are they carved into stones near these rivers and mountains? Is poetry a part of the curriculum? Accented Cinema on youtube said poetry is a large part of Chinese culture, and I'm jealous. We all disliked it in Norwegian class :(

These supposedly rural and simple immortals have jade tea cups and wine goblets! That sounds nice! They should redistribute them to me! Hahaha! They have eternal life, after all, and isn't time worth at least as much as money?

Also, shout-out to the peach thief! Can't believe we got another peach thief here!

1. Same! I too struggle with having that many meals and teas (no money). To be a Tang Monk...

2. About the looking young thing, East Asians have a gene whose name I've forgotten that makes them mature more slowly than other ethnicities. My biologist s/o will kill me if he knew I've forgotten the name. So yeah, in my fantasy or historical despictions even of older people, they won't have many wrinkles (in others do). Remember that Taoism is about prolonging your life, so it's only normal that saints are young looking, while in the West ™ our idea of wise and saintly is Plato, Saint Patrick, etc.

3. I think that the only original to Asia gourd is the Wax Gourd, so they might have been using that.

4. Yes, Idiot and Zhu Bajie are the same and I too dislike a bit the constant change of name. I looked up the saying in English but couldn't find anything, and my chinese isn't good enough to try to translate it back into Chinese and look it up. I know that some of you are reading the OG Chinese book, could you tell us if it's a real saying?

5. Poems are very important in all cultures I'd say, and of course also in China. People who got an education in the past not only had to learn how to write poems but also to learn them from memory. For the imperial exams you were examined on your poetry. I think normal people like you and me in China would have learnt them from memory when a passing singer said them and retained. People used to work their brains more in the past, methinks. If you cared for poetry and you were a peasant, you'd try to memorize it and say it to others so you weren't a base man, but an intelligent peasant, closer to heavens because poetry comes from heaven etc.

5. It's only normal that immortals have jade things :) Maybe they lack in other commodities, but would you rather have a precious jade cup or ten IKEA mugs? I am sure they didn't even buy it, but they just sprung out of thin air in their house when they became immortals.

Thank you for your analysis :)

[televinita]

Things I Am So Excited To Do With My 1-2 Days Off*!!!

*1-2 days not yet guaranteed but I got to quit at 2:00 today (have to go back for at least part of tomorrow) and I am ready for a weekday break before the next project because I have crammed in soooo much fun lately, with more on deck, that I can barely remember it all at this point.

1. Process The Fall Guy: queue gifs, form some words about it maybe?, novelize!!!! do u know how long it's been since I loved something on screen enough to transform it into narrative for myself. (I do. Seven months, Loki S2. I used to have stuff, multiple things!, every week) Also figure out what actual romance novels I want to find to finish working through it.

1.5. Probably also watch it again. Maybe even in theater?? oh shoot I would have to do that tomorrow for the cheap tickets...

2. Process the Abbott Elementary finale, which somehow was incredible and actually made me ship Gregory & Janine again after the season from hell so bad that just last week, I actively declared that I was so done with them and their excruciating secondhand embarrassment and cringe interactions that I would actually be angry and icked out now if they got together??

3. Process the Survivor finale and the 2700 feelings I am having about EVERYONE in the final 3 (so good!! which I would not have believed at the beginning of the season if you'd told me) and, once again, the several novels through which I would like to process this.

4. Reading triage? / generally process the absurd amount of library checkouts I already have and yet just replenished again so I can make some kind of reading plan to actually enjoy them

5. Sit outside and read! (I did this for a bit today, was great)

6. Write Goodreads reviews (I am like 10 behind)

7. Find a new movie to watch because I finally splurged on a bag of fire-roasted sweet corn flavored popcorn and omg the flavor is amazing, even better than the best microwave popcorn. I've only let myself sample a small taste so far because it would be so perfect with a ridiculous movie.

8. Process the (possibly absurd) number of things I found at Half Price Books this weekend during their 20% off sale because i did something bad (pretended I did not already buy an absurd # of books at library sales last month and went to four locations. but all their clearance sections were so full and fruitful even on the 3rd and final day of said sale!!)

9. Clean?? I would like to clear the area around the work table enough to vacuum it out. The entire dining nook, if possible. Maybe even move the table all the way off the rug, shake it out and vacuum underneath that? (this is definitely a full-day project...but I also have two books I'm specifically interested in listening to as audiobooks, at regular speed)

10. Write my book posts for the other blog for June 11th & 18th, two weeks I will absolutely be too busy to focus on for such fun Top Ten Tuesday topics.

11. Off #7, sample the many delicious things that either I or my husband have bought lately (we each have our favorite grocery store that the other basically never goes to, and we have cleaned UP on sales and/or splurged on limited-edition items lately. it will actually take me multiple days to work through even trying them, so as not to overload my system with too much junk)

12. Visit parents

13. Get books ready to sell to Half Price (there's no way I'm going even make a dent in undoing the absurd hauls, but I gotta at least try! the thrill of the new books pushed at least four titles I was on the fence about relinquishing firmly into the "bye bye bye" camp)

14. Take at least one nice long walk; the weather is so good this week!!!

15. LAUNDRY

16. I have to return at least one library item and make two pickup stops also (but I think, I hope??) that's it for the errand-running I have to do at least

17. Catch up on BookTube!! Ohmigosh I've been so busy having fun offline I haven't watched any videos in like a week.

[meandmyechoes]

since there's no serial star wars until august and it's a series i'm not sure i can sit through i'm gonna turn this into sentai brainrot.

i like kingoh this much i've watched every episode at least three times and trying to piece together all the information. i love rita so much i'm planning kingoh FLT and dissecting their costume and sewn a plush and possibly will buy a toy during its run

now i'm just racing to finish kingoh brainrot before May 4 so I can concentrate on Visions vol 2. After Sixth debut I probably had to put things on hold for real to do school work. I hope.

it's plot-heavy and serial unlike your typical sentai but almost typically anime/shonen with a heavy fantasy setting and character designs. but do you need more reason than 'rita kanisuka' to watch it. and the tokusatsu action/direction is so good.

practically:

i started a toku sideblog @mofffun anyway so i will be free-r over there. kinda wanna post opinions here and gifs over there lol. maybe polished gifsets here and random gifs over there. my queue is low in the tens but i certainly have many SW stock. i won't remove that completely just, not actively going for it? i'd still do regular tag searches on top of what came on my dashboard, but i might not write/talk about SW for a while? i still have a couple books to read

it feels weird because i became an SW centric blog since I came back 3 years ago. Not to say I didn't have other stuff chimed in but it's been 95% SW running non stop for 3 years. It's weird to have a sudden shift that stays. It's even weirder when you think when i first started this blog in 2012, it's as multifandom as you can get with 5 regular ones. so fuck it. i care about followers and feel a duty to provide? like an editor to a magazine? but probably just overthinking it. i won't force anyone to continue following if they are not into what i'm putting out. it feels weird but i'm just gonna talk about kingohger as much as i want to now. maybe change the blog description in a bit so that i don't feel disconnected. it's MY blog.

Talking about fixating on kingoh. I love the thrill of collecting clues and unraveling its plot. I love thinking again. I love that it gave me a reachable goal to work towards. Though half the time i'm just shouting RITA KAWAII/KAKKOUI i don't really pay attention to what's being said. It's been saccahrine the past 48 hours and i'm exhausted and elated. they got me crawling my ass up sunday at 8 to watch nitiasa live again.

compared with star wars it's just, ₻₻₻ (<- scribble). Mando s3 was a letdown and nobody cares about tbb. i can't stand how hype ppl are for the ahserka series and it feels like a minefield getting to know others with that hanging. sometimes i had to listen to ill-informed forum bros dissing, and when i look at official stuff, i begin to question who's actually keeping the lore.

it's not all negative. i still haven't done a totj!togruta analysis (even though i don't really want to think about totj itself because all it is to me is episode 5). i'm still super excited about SWC2025. i still love ahsoka (yes holding that throne against rita). I know I will be blown away by Visions as well. But I've been letting that define and govern me for too long it's time to let somebody else have a chance.

I'm crazy scared i won't be able to finish work this time. i'd hate that. i'm working the courage to tell my fam i need some space but, every time i actually said that, it's no use anyway. because i'm special. i'm responsible. what i do will never be enough.

i also try not to think to much about the society or where i will be in five years. it's like, some of the things i ultimately want can't happen unless you give it a few years of effort but i don't dare to dream that far. eh

well good thing ko let me think all that. i like thinking. i like writing.

[survey--s]

457.

What are your plans for the day ahead? It's nearly 8pm already so just watching TV and messing about on here until it's time for bed. What was the last thing you cleaned? I washed the dishes a couple of hours ago.

When do you go to your soonest appointment? I have to go and feed Benny tomorrow morning, so in about 13 hours or so. It's not at a set time, it's just whenever I get up.

What did you last order online? Cat food.

Can you see any bottles from where you’re sitting? Nope.

What time do you usually try to wind down in the evening? It depends on what time I finish work, but I guess normally 4-5pm.

What’s something you have been putting off? Hmm, nothing in particular.

What restaurants do you frequently eat at? Local places - normally pubs as they're dog friendly and more affordable than fancier places.

Do you like banana pudding with a lot of bananas or more vanilla wafers? We don't have banana pudding here.

How many books would you guess you’ve read in the last 5 years? Uh, maybe about ten. I don't really read much at all these days.

What was the last message you sent? It was just to Tracey to say I'd left the window open for Benny when I went round. Benny is a cat by the way, lol.

Have you ate anything green today? What’s your favorite way to add greens to your diet? Yeah, peas and pesto with my pasta. I'm not a huge fan of green stuff but like cucumber and peas, mostly.

When did you last light a candle or incense? I have one burning right now.

Is it currently warm where you are? It's about 8-9 degrees which is unseasonably warm for February.

Have you ever fallen out of bed? As a little kid, sure.

What do you like on your hot dogs or burgers? I'm not really a fan of hotdogs, but on burgers I like bacon, mushrooms and blue cheese.

Are you currently listening to anything? I'm watching random stuff on TikTok.

What did you last put in storage? Spare boxes of cat food.

What’s your favorite thing to do outside? Walk the dogs, ride.

Are there any celebrities that you are a big fan of? Nah, not really. I don't really care much about celebrities.

Do you ever watch award shows? No.

Do you usually run out of shampoo or conditioner first? Conditioner. Do you have any LED lights in your home? Yeah, all our lights are LED.

What is your biggest challenge? I don't really have any major challenges in my life, thankfully.

What was the last sweet thing you’ve eaten? An apple.

Do you prefer buying new clothes or thrift shopping for clothes? New clothes.

What is something you need right now? Sleep, for sure. I got my period this morning and it always wipes me out lol.

What’s something you like that is blue? The sky in the summer.

Have you treated yourself today? Sure, I had a lie-in and breakfast in bed, lol.

Have you ever traveled alone? Sure, plenty of times.

What color is your most worn jacket/hoodie? Black or purple.

Who is someone you would like to get to know more? Jade. We met up with the dogs last night and it was actually really nice to get out and socialise a bit.

What toy do you miss the most from your childhood? Polly Pockets! Or this little laptop thing I had that had loads of so-called "educational" games on it. I just googled it and it was a V-Tech one and you can still buy them, hahah.

Have you ever lost something valuable to you? Yes, a few times.

What or who has impacted your life the most? Being born.

Would you say you are toxic in any way? Not nowadays, but I've definitely had toxic traits in the past. But looking bad, I was in a really fucked up relationship and it's hardly surprising that I was insecure and needy.

What’s one of your favorite memories from the past year? Galloping down the beach in the sunshine.

How often do you use a straw? Uh, only when we go out for meals really, but even then they're not really the norm these days.

What’s your current favorite song? Sarah by the Derina Harvey Band.

What are some books you’d recommend to someone? Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, Alice in Wonderland, Alice by Christina Henry, Harry Potter (all of them).

[helle-bored]

@marzipanilla. You have have opened the floodgates. :P

If I were a different and more patient person I might have started out practicing with elmers glue and cardboard, honestly. But I jumped right in instead, and here's the stuff I use:

Here you've got my regular sewing, gluing, and paper-cutting supplies. (Not pictured: bookcloth, fancy marbled cover paper, cardstock, an extremely scuzzy old ball peen hammer (heehee) I rummaged out of the machine-shop of random tools in various states of dubious usability we inherited from the previous owner of the house.)

Sewing a textblock uses linen thread & beeswax (for the thread), darner or chenille needles, an awl, something to punch into (cardboard), a marked paper to mark your signatures with (the white paper with notches), and a bone folder for creasing folded pages (black thing at the back). Thicker books also require (sort of a strong word, but most people seem to do it) some sort of fabric tape; I have grey twill tape that I got from Joann's.

Gluing uses flour paste for some things and a sturdier PVA glue for others. I do have a brush, but I often just use my fingers tbh.

Before you glue it you can see the tapes when you flip between signatures -- once it's glued the pages are all nice and flush. :) The unglued one on the left is Blackbird by sixpences and the glued one on the right (and the one in most of these pictures) is Weather With You by @thewuzzy, who has kindly allowed me to flail occasionally in their direction while putting together a couple copies of their fic, lol.

I format in Word and print booklet-style from adobe pdf reader with 8.5x11 inch six-page signatures, which works out to be twenty-four 5.5x8.5 inch book-pages in a signature. This means a 360 page book only uses 90 actual full-sized pages, which is good, because I have the paper custom-cut so the grain runs in the right direction. Shipping paper isn't cheap, it turns out.

My family is all aware of my new hobby and they think it's really neat, so they helped me build a press, which is how I glue and round the spine. Above on the right you can see the twill tapes and how I sew the signatures together; this book is about 350 pages or 100k.

Today I was working on rounding the spine and giving it shoulders (that mushroom shape) and sewing on headbands for WWY. This copy has a dark grey-blue thread alternating with blue metallic sewn directly into the top and bottom of the spine.

Those grey boards on the sides are what the case will be made of -- but they're too short. :( There's something I could try, but I'm probably just going to end up buying new boards because I'm kind of terrified of fucking it up, lmao.

The copy with headbands is ready for covering the spine with cloth and paper. Then I need to figure out my board dilemma so I can build the case and put it in there and slap in endpapers and cry when it's a bit crooked.

So anyway. Hours and hours and hours and hours of work, and honestly it's one of the most fun things I've done in months. There's a discord I'm in and everyone is cranking out amazing stuff every day and it's just really fucking neat to see this much love for fanfiction, which is what most of us bind.

(You should bind some star wars stuff! :P lots of people in the server do star wars things.)

[vanillann]

real or not real? (natasha romanoff x reader)

a/n: this is based off the hunger games because i just finished reading the books!! also a little badass woman fic because of international woman’s day!! love all woman, I MEAN ALL WOMAN!!

word count: 1.6k

natasha romanoff masterlist

As I finally landed, I watched everyone face drop once they recognized who I was. My brain felt like static as I took the steps to where the team was camped out.

I watched Steve Rogers, I think that’s what the file I was given said, stand up and look at the other members of the squad. As he approached I felt flashes of memories, or maybe memories, flood me.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” The blond approached me but stopped a few feet away. He tried to keep his voice clear of emotion but it was useless, I couldn’t be trusted yet.

“I was told you needed back-up,” I didn’t bring up how the nice blonde woman, I think she said her name was Pepper, argued with Mr. Fury for days about me re-joining the team.

“Well you came just in time.”

By the look in his eye, I didn't want what he wanted in the slightest.

I followed him to the tents that were hidden among the trees, a shiver going up my spine when I made eye contact with any members of the team.

I could see old versions of myself interacting with each, but some felt so real and some felt so fake I couldn’t put them right in my mind.

One I caught the red head, Natasha, eye I felt my body grow stiff. She was common in my memories, some of her gentle and meaningful and some of her enraged with bullets flying at me. Tony had informed me that most of the bad memories are Hydra’s doing, that they were never real. I couldn’t help but wonder how true that was as she backed away from me when I walked past her.

“(Y/N) was dropped off for back-up,” Mr. Rogers spoke from behind me, taking the seat next to the brunette with the metal arm. I had spoken to him twice when I was in the hospital, apparently he had something to do with my capture and refused to see me more after that.

“Um, Cap?” Clint, or was it Carl, spoke up. He gave me a few side glances but said nothing else until he was pulled aside.

As soon as they were out of ear shot I watched them go at each other, arguing about who knew what, most likely me. I did my best to ignore the eyes on me, but I couldn’t help but snap.

“Have something to say?”

All eyes flooded off me, except for Natasha who crossed her arms and stared me down.

“You aren’t going to try and kill me again, are you?”

Her question enraged me, but I had no reason to be mad. I was the one who attacked, but I swore she was after me.

“I thought you were a threat,” my words felt icy as they hung in the air.

“I wasn’t before and I’m not now,” her words were just as cold, running in my blood like a river in December. 

“Look I’m sorry, okay? I have all these memories and I can’t tell what’s real or not, so yes I attacked you,” I sat against the log farthest from anyone, so I couldn’t hurt someone.

“Then ask.”

Mr. Rogers came back, taking the seat he took seconds ago and watched me closely. He looked more opened to talking then the C man that came back with him.

“Will that work?” I looked to Banner, the doctor who checks on me often when I was strapped to the hospital bed.

“It can’t hurt,” he shrugged his shoulder and continued to look around the group. They spoke with their eyes and I couldn’t help but wonder would the old me under their silent conversation.

“I was a part of your group, real or not real?”

“Real,” Rogers spoke up, nodding to each member as if to tell them it was okay, but I couldn’t be sure of that.

I nodded, letting the fake and real memories flood me within every inch of my brain. I had enough questions to keep them up all night.

“I was kidnapped in my sleep by Hydra, real or not real?”

“Real,” the man with the metal arm spoke this time, giving me the nod this time and I felt as if he was letting me join their secret conversation.

“It was a few months ago, we couldn’t get to you in time,” Banner filled me in more.

I could vaguely remember the screaming and the way my bed-sheets felt that night, but everything else was slightly blurry.

“Natasha tried to kill me, real or not real?”

“Not real,” she was quick to set me straight, giving me a look I couldn’t read but I didn’t mind it, not when it was coming from her.

She was the only person being straight with me, not jumping around the conversation that I needed to have for my sake.

“You’re favorite color is Orange, real or not real?” I didn’t take my eyes off her, the conversation felt so intimate even if everyone was watching.

“Yes, and yours in red because you say it reminds you of my hair,” she looked to her hands, rubbing them up and down the side of her thighs.

“Okay,” I nodded as I absorbed the information about myself, the first piece of information I’ve heard that wasn’t in a file.

“I think we should start getting some sleep, we have a long day ahead,” Rogers pointed to his tent, his voice soft yet firm.

Nobody disagrees, each telling the other goodnight while I got head titles and I'm waves. The only people to tell me goodnight were Rogers and his friend, who I think was named James but I remembered his face clearly now.

I was once his friend too.

I didn’t move from my log, I couldn’t sleep much anyways and I couldn’t be shoved into a tent alone and expected not to go crazy. I said nothing as Natasha moved a few logs closer to me, staring at the ground as she waited.

“Anymore questions?”

“Plenty, but do you have the answers?” I ducked my head, hoping to get a glimpse of her eyes but I was memorized when I did.

Her face flashed over my brain, the same red but straighter and her eye shined under a street lamp. Her lips were as soft as hotel pillows and her touch was like magic as it ghosted over my shoulder.

She looked like magic before the sight was gone and I watched her slightly dirty hair hang in her eye, that wasn't as bright, and the memories started to fog again.

“You kissed me, real or not real?”

The silent felt like screaming as she chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for her words to work.

“Real.”

It wasn’t as confident as her words before, but it felt so much more honest than anything I remembered.

“How did I think you wanted to kill me then?”

“Hydra turned all your memories of me to shit, all the ones they knew about,” she rolled something in-between her finger and I wanted to ask but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

“Do you remember any good ones?”

She held back a laugh, finally looking up from the ground to me with a sad smile stretch on her lips.

“Plenty,” she nodded, going back to the object in her hand.

“Tell me about them, please?”

The ‘please’ sounded so desperate in my head, but it seemed to bring her ease as she moved her body to face me.

“We used to window shop like crazy together,” she looked up at my confused face and continued, “it’s like walking around and looking at stuff you’ll never buy.”

The memories of walking on a sidewalk with her filled me up, the feeling of gentle flowers brushed against my skin filled me.

“Then one time, after we kissed, you pulled me into this antique store and told me to pick something. We argued about it for ten minutes before you gave me this look I could never say no to, so I grabbed the closet thing and told you it’s what I wanted. It was the locket, I hate wearing it because it's so big so I keep it in my pocket,” she held out the locket in question, waiting for me to draw closer and once I did she opened it.

Inside was a photo of me, rolling my eyes at the camera but a hint of a smile on my lips. I looked so content for someone rolling their eyes, I wonder if I always like that.

“You were, never took many things seriously,” I didn’t realize I spoke out loud, but I was glad I did when she almost laughed at the memories.

That when it started to really hit me, not just the memories but the feelings. They laughs and the jokes, and all the inbetweens. I didn’t really know what I was saying, not for a while, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You love me, real or not real?”

Her answer wasn’t hesitate, even with the same pause, she knew as soon as I asked she just wasn’t ready to say it.

“Real,” her voice was barely above a whisper but I heard it.

I wanted to respond with ‘me too’ or something along the lines, but my answer was much more complex and I couldn’t only hope she understood.

“I think the old me loved you back, from how I feel when I think of the little things, and I can only hope the new me can remember why.”

I was scared when she said nothing, as if I made an impossible situation worse, but when she looked up at me her eyes twinkled again and her hair appeared redder.

“Let me know when you do?”

“You’ll be the first to know, Nat.”

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[burningcowboyhoagietaco]

A Way to Learn a Lesson

written by:

@burningcowboyhoagietaco

illustrated and edited by the amazing, the one and only:

@lenle-g

Before I publish the story id like to thank @lenle-g from the bottom of my heart for being patient with me, being nice to me the whole time, and for making my story even better and more exciting. Without her I would have stayed in my normal, not that good English story. so thank you for everything!!! <3<3

And here's my part at @tagminibang submission:)

☆☆☆☆☆

Scott, no!!! No way! I am not going to give any lectures to anyone." John's voice comes out tight. "Especially not in front of a crowd. No way."

"Why not?" Scott raises a brow, his voice honeyed with ‘big brother wants something’. "It's not like you're gonna get executed by some children just for talking space at them, right? You love talking about space. It's all I've heard since you were, like, seven."

"No, that's not it." There's a sharp shake of the ginger’s head, "Scott, come on!" John knows for a fact that his oldest brother knows he's the most socially awkward person to have ever lived on Tracy Island (and maybe the entire planet). "You’ve lived with me long enough to know how much I hate social.... anything." John complains. "Why would you ever think I'd want to do this?""

"Well, yes, I know that," Scott shrugs, "I've seen that look you get on your face when there's a lot of people around." He’s well aware that his brother is an introvert who hates socializing with anyone, so he quickly changes the subject to try and make his younger brother feel a little more at ease. "But hey... everyone knows how much you like it when anyone talks about space or anything about astronomy. You'd be amazing at it."

"That's a different thing." John says flatly. Flattery, it seems, wont get Scott very far. "It's like, whenever you guys ask me anything about space, I like to answer them for you, but from random people…? And in huge crowds? I just simply can't." Surely he doesn’t have to explain himself much more than that?

"Oh trust me, everything is going to be fine." Scott was a flippant hand around, talking without really thinking, because all he wants is for his brother to get out of Thunderbird 5, to visit Earth for a little bit, to mingle with people a little. It can't be that bad. "If anything happens, Gordon and Alan'll be in Thunderbird Five doing Space Monitor duty, me and Virgil are gonna keep an eye on everything, and you’re in safe hands with Lady Penelope and Parker. It's all set up, so please go have some fun for once and teach the children something cool."

"My answer is still no." John says persistently, without hesitation. He's pretty sure it'd be worse than being in the middle of a hurricane, or testing one of his Grandma's new cooking experiments. It’s lucky Scott misses his involuntary shudder.

Scott, though, is so done with him at this point, that he's pretty sure there's no choice but to use plan b and hope that that works instead on his unwilling, stubborn, red haired brother. They've got to get him down from orbit and to that lecture somehow. Scott's just not going to stand for anything else.

"Are you sure that's your last answer?" Scott asks, with a heavy sigh, already planning the best way to call in the big guns.

"Yes," John scowls, arms folded. "Yes, it is."

They'll see about that.

...

"Is everything ready?" John adjusts his sleeves, smoothing down his vest and putting the last touches on his collar. Neat, simple, formal. Can't go wrong. "My presentation papers, laptop, and my mini simple dimple?”

"Yes, all in the bag." Scott calls back, rapidly checking everything, "But do you really need that little fidget thing of yours?" He picks his younger brother's old toy up between forefinger and thumb to examine it, remembering the day John made their Mom buy it for when he gets stressed.

"What fidge- oh, yes I need it." The look on John's face leaves no doubt about that. "I've used it ever since Mom bought it for me."

"Hey… Mom would've been proud of you, you know?” Scott tells him, in a quick flash of brotherly pride. “For, you know, going out of your safe zone for a little while and teaching the children and all that."

"Yeah, I know…" John finds him a nervous smile, "But I'm not doing this voluntarily, you've forced me with that plan b of yours."

The second John says that Scott's cheeks dimple, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he grins victoriously, his teeth a bright white in the earliest rays of morning sun.

“All I had to do was make a call." He shrugs, "Lady Penelope did all the talking and somehow convinced you to go." Scott got a little more excited. He took a couple of steps forward, slightly standing on his toes reaching John's level asking"How did she convince you?" Clearly waiting teasingly for an answer to come out of John's lips

"Huhhhh." John exhales loudly, a little despairing. "She promised me we'd go to the Pagasa Astronomical Observatory after I finish the lecture with the children." He shrugs, keeping his eyes down, embarrassed.

"The what now?" Scott stares at him, thoroughly confused.

"The Pagasa Astronomical Observatory in the Philippines.” John says, like that was obvious, “It's equipped with a 45-cm computer-based telescope. It's so powerful that astronomers and astronomy enthusiasts can now conduct effective observations of stellar bodies and other distant space objects! Scott, it’s been my dream to go since I was, like, 17."

Scott always knew how much of an astrophile his younger brother is; he never cared about his physical appearance, nor his poor eating habits and he always used to make excuses to read his books alone, yet no one has ever interfered in his personal life.

"Okay okay space lover boy,” Scott grins at him. He'd expected Penny to be persuasive, but resigning herself to hours stuck with John in full excited-about-space mode would hardly be in his top ten. Either he's gonna owe her one, or Penny's more resilient than him. “You can go, no one is holding you back."

The short silence between them was broken by a ringing sound from a nearby table, which John answers.

“...Mhm, yes? Oh, the lecture." It must be Penelope calling, "Yeah, I'm ready, I'll head out now." John grabs his bag, wandering toward where the FAB1 must already be idling on the Tracy runway. "Time to go."

"Mhm,” Scott makes an agreeable noise, watching him go. “Please stay safe and please don't make an idiot of yourself." He's teasing… mostly.

"Yeah yeah," John waves at him over his shoulder, not even looking back. "I won't."

…

"Are we there yet?" Despite the consistently amazing views out of FAB1’s windows during the flight, John’s found himself mostly looking down, fidgeting with his fingers. He’s worrying, just a little, about what awaits him in the Philippines - a whole different tropical island to his own, though still in the South of the Pacific Ocean.

"Just give Parker ten more minutes, darling,” Her Ladyship smiles at him, “We'll arrive in no time."

There’s a moment of silence before, unexpectedly, it’s broken by a call flashing up from, of all places, Thunderbird Five. There’s a prickly sense of discomfort as John realises that, of course, it’s not him calling. Gordon must be trying to reach them.

"Heeeeey Lady Penelope,” The kid greets, as Penny flicks it on, seemingly a lot less bothered by the change than he is. “Oh, and Mr. Tracy.” There’s a huge smirk on his face. “How's our newest teacher holding up?"

"Firstly, my name is John.” John points out, flatly, “Second, I'm not your teacher so please don’t call me Mr. Tracy ever again. Thirdly…” He concedes, quirking an eyebrow, “Yeah, I'm good for now, but fourth… How are you holding up, up there in my Thunderbird? She’s not much like Four, is she?"

"Ooooooooo that's a good question,” Gordon looks half like he’s considering it, half like he’s really missing his own ‘bird. “I'm holding up pretty well thanks to Alan. He’s taken all the Monitor duty stuff, so all I gotta do is keep an eye on you guys." He sounds a bit… sarcastic about that. “It’s pretty boring, honestly. How do you survive up here without a pool?”

"Young Master Gordon, are you quite done talking?" Parker glances, unimpressed, at the little floating hologram of John’s brother in his rearview mirror, "Because we're about to arrive at our destination."

"Huh… oh yeah,” Gordon doesn’t seem too bothered about that, but he waves merrily at them all the same, “Okay bye and John, please have fun, you too Lady Penelope, okay bye guys."

It’s only a few moments later that Parker opens his mouth to tell them that they’ve arrived at Chino Roque Theater, pulling up out front to let them both climb out.

John's eyes widen: it’s nothing like what he saw on the internet. It was more enormous, more luminous, more spectacular than anything he’d seen or read online. All he remembers reading is that it's a sphere shaped building located in the Philippines, in Anilao Hill, but the pictures on the webpage didn’t do it justice like being there in person does.

The building was smooth and round; the auditorium shaped like a massive egg nestled in amongst the other buildings. They were early enough that the sun was just cresting the horizon, colouring the sky with reds and oranges, visible through the geometric front of the building - where giant triangles of glass intersect together to give the people inside an amazing view of the sky at night.

"M'lady, you and John can go ahead. I'll park FAB 1." Parker said, before going to the parking lot - unaware just how tiring and long his journey to find a place to park is going to be.

They both head inside the building, admiring the sweeping glass fractals of the roof high above them. It’s incredibly beautiful, really a feat of engineering. So much so, that John almost forgets why he’s even there, until he spots a couple of buses arriving on the other side of the building, and the panic sets in. He was expecting to be a little bit anxious, but this feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He presses a hand hard against it, trying to calm his racing pulse and stop the sudden shake of his fingers, and Penny must notice, because a little hand settles, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

"Hey John," Lady Penelope looks him steadily in the eye, projecting warmth and reassurance. "They're just a small, mixed group of children and teens. They can’t possibly hurt you, now can they? They just came to have a small lecture because all of them like space and astronomy just like you. Imagine yourself at their age, meeting a real life astronaut.” John tries very hard not to remind her who, exactly, his Father was, as she goes on - trying to visualise being a kid that didn’t get ‘take your son to work days’ at NASA’. It’s a pretty horrifying concept. “Most importantly,” Penny adds, “it's only for an hour or so, so you don't need to worry so much." She had to smile just to reassure him. “You’ll have filled their heads with space facts and be out before you know it.”

"O-okay,” John takes a deep, steadying breath, “I don't know if I'm supposed to trust you on this, or whatever, but I really don't have any other choice." He also wants to add that they forced him to go, but at the last second he remembers that they never forced him - he agreed to go because Lady Penelope promised him a trip to the observatory.

It seems like a pretty weak reason, now that he’s outside the stage door, knees shaking.

"Mhm, I think it's time to go inside.” She nudges him callously in the right direction, and John’s palms meeting the solid metal of the double doors is the only thing that keeps him from following gravity’s call and landing on his face. “Again, if anything happens, I'll be at the back of the room and I have a plan b if things get too much." John, pretty shocked by just how many plan b's the Lady Penelope might have prepared for the day, can only shake his head, bemused. “So stop worrying and get out there!”

She vanishes off into the atrium, and John can’t help the loud exhale that escapes his mouth before he musters up all the courage he can, and enters the room.

Bright lights startle him for a moment, and he’s pretty sure he does an awful, awkward impression of a blind baby giraffe as he stumbles out onto the stage and freezes as he notices the first smatterings of audience are already taking their seats.

The moment he placed his foot on the smooth wooden floor, his heart had started to beat faster, his hands began to sweat, the more steps he took forward the more he felt anxious. It was, he’ll think later, one of the toughest moments of his life, and he’s been to space. Multiple times.

Come on John. He tries to straighten up, shake off his anxiety, This can’t go worse than your first EVA.

Taking another deep breath, John waits patiently for all the attendees to take a seat inside the room. Waiting doesn’t help his anxiety levels at all, and he can feel them increasing by the second, but, determined, John doesn’t let it stop him from starting his lecture.

"H-Hello everybody,” He starts, incredibly conscious of the hushed silence that falls across his audience. “I'm John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons,” he rattles off his credentials, his nerves almost blurring them together, “I worked with NASA as an astronaut for three years before going… uh… solo in my astronomical studies, and I'll be your guest lecturer for the day.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, as a ripple of hushed oohhhs and ahhhs goes through the crowd. John’s pretty sure his face has gone bright red. “Thank you for having me at the Chino Roque Theater,” He goes on, before his embarrassment can bet the better of him, “I hope everyone’s had an amazing day so far. We'll be spending the next hour or so talking about astronomy and space physics, so shall we get started?" John thought it was a good opening, and yet his back was really wet from all the people's eyes on him. Glancing offstage, Penelope throws him a thumbs up, and he feels a little better.

"Um,” He blinks. “So does anyone here know how old the universe is?" John ventures, only to be surprised as almost everyone answers at once;

"Almost 13.8 billion years!"

"Yes,” The edge of a smile works its way onto John’s face. Clearly this was going to be a shout out the answer kind of lecture. He can work with that. “That's correct, now does anyone know how the universe started?"

"The Big Bang!" Most of them answer, and John feels a surge of relief. These guys really are into space.

"Okay, okay, not bad at all." He nods affirmatively at them, and the screen behind him lights up with an artist’s rendition of the Big Bang happening. "Now if I were to go and search ‘how old is the universe’ in, say, Google, the answer would be 13,772 billion years. It’d be the same thing if we looked at NASA, or even Wikipedia - so how did people get to know the age of the universe? How do you even start calculating something that old? Well I'm going to explain it for you in two ways: the good, nice way, and the kinda not that good and not that scientific way." There’s a bit of an awkward pause as John wonders whether or not he’s explained that well. When only silence greets him, he very quickly realises he needs to press on.

"So, uh, the good way.” He folds his fingers together behind his back, trying to resist the urge to fidget. “Well, in the middle of the previous century, as telescopes developed, we noticed something strange. We found that stars in very distant galaxies tend to look red… Umm, which is something that’s not supposed to happen.” A chuckle escapes John and, to his relief, the audience laughs with him. Scott never gets his space jokes. “So why’s that?” He asks, “See, if a chemical element gains or loses energy it’ll emit light in certain frequencies, thereby creating certain colors.” A small movement of his hand signals the slide to change, and a picture of the visible section of the electromagnetic spectrum appears, colouring the room with rainbow light. “For example,” John goes on, bathed in blue and violet, “Consider something like… a desk lamp, as like an element. If you give a lamp electrical energy, it’ll release that energy in the form of heat and light, yeah?" There’s a murmur of uncertain understanding in the room. “Electricity goes in, the bulb gets hot, and it gives off light. Well, we know stars do pretty much the same thing - only powered by nuclear fusion rather than a nine volt plug.”

"From studies of the sun and stars that are near Earth, we know that they’re made of helium and hydrogen, yes?” There’s another murmur of agreement in John’s crowd, “Well, hydrogen and helium can create red light, but they don't have the ability to create these shades of red that we see in deep space." The slide behind John clicks to a comparison of the two shades, on two different stars - making the difference clear.

"So, if stars are made of helium and hydrogen then why do distant stars have different colours? Are their compositions different?uh, well It’s possible, but not likely. The strongest explanation is that the color difference is due to the movement of the stars." The room gives a soft gasp at this news, and John knows he’s onto something good.

"So there's something called the redshift and blueshift phenomenon that says that if an object radiates light and approaches you, the color of the light begins to turn blue, and if the object is moving away from you, the color will turn red. This happens because the wavelength of light contracts and expands with movement meaning that something stretching equals red and contraction equals blue."

"And the strange thing is,” John adds, his audience listening raptly, “That most, if not all, stars show the same behavior, so, if we think about it, if all stars are moving away from us, that means that they were close to us at some point, and if we follow their path, we find that everything in space meets at a point named ‘singularity’."

"It was believed, in the past, that everything in the universe, or at least in the visible part that we have observed, that is to say,” John flicks to a graphic on his next slide. “All the galaxies, planets and stars, were all gathered at one point - the singularity. The theory is that this point exploded in what we call the ‘Big Bang’, and from that time onward, the universe has been in constant expansion.”

"So it’s with data from this knowledge that we can calculate the age of the universe:” With a wave of his hand, John puts a series of bullet points up on the screen behind him, then reads them aloud.

“One, the universe began as a very small, single point.” He reaffirms, “Two, the universe is constantly expanding outward from that point, and three, from these we have the ability to calculate the expansion rate of the universe, by calculating the speed of the stars that are moving away from us. If we take the furthest accelerations and enter them into this equation,” John’s board merrily does it’s thing behind him, “Then, we get the age of the universe."

"And, so we don't forget, all this talking was about the good way. There is another way to calculate the age of the universe, the, uh, not as good way, or, more specifically, the less scientific way.” A ripple of laughter goes through John’s audience - and he relaxes a little more. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe these are his kind of people. Scott’s never laughed at a space joke for sure. “There's no problem with it,” He quietens them again with a gentle gesture, “and it does support our theory and calculations, so I guess we should talk about it."

"Since ancient times, humans have been looking at the sky, watching the stars, and giving them names like Cygnus, Canis Major, Orion.” All names any young astronomer in the Southern Hemisphere would recognise, and be able to enthusiastically point out in the night sky. “In those days, there wasn't the internet so they were looking up at the stars instead.” Much like John himself, when he’d been a boy.

“As a way of calculating the age of the universe, astronomers set out to search for the oldest celestial bodies in space.” He goes on to explain, “The idea was that if we find a star whose age equals X, then the age of the universe must be greater than the number X. So we pointed our telescopes up there and started trying to find out their ages from birth, to youth, to their old age until their end."

"Can anyone guess the age of the oldest star we've found?" A lot of answers were guessed, some of them were pretty close, but some, amusingly, were way too far. "Ok, ok…” John puts his hands up to pacify his excited crowd, “Umm I see there are a lot of answers, but the oldest star people discovered was actually estimated to be 13.5 billion years old. The HD-140283, or as you might know it, the Methuselah Star. That number is very close, you’ll notice, to our estimation of the age of the universe."

"But if we found a star that is 13.5 billion years old today, then we could find an even older star next week and that would ruin all of that,” He chuckles, mostly to himself, “We also should note that this method alone isn't suitable for determining the universe’s age, but as long as we have two methods with corroborative results, we can be reassured that the estimate is correct.” He pauses for a second, “So, does anyone have questions?" A couple of hands raised, and John found himself suddenly answering a lot of questions - but he managed all of them despite his fear of the huge crowd.

He’s starting to feel more than a little overwhelmed.

"Umm… W-well that was a lot of questions,” John tries to pull it back in, his allotted lecture time ticking away on the big clock at the back of the hall. He feels a little panicky from the bombardment, and his palms have gone sweaty. “We’d better move on.” To distract himself from the people, as much as anything, “Our next topic is the theory of relativity, so l-let's get started on that."

Lady Penelope, from her fold-out seat at the back of the room, frowns. It’s clear John’s terrified and she wants to use plan b, but as long as he’s still standing on his feet, and giving the lecture, he's probably fine for now. If anything, it’d cause more of a disruption to drag him away now.

"Umm,” John takes a breath, trying to centre himself in the science of it all. “Let's start with a supposition, a hypothesis if you like, and consider it together. Okay, you’ll have to bear with me on this one, but let us suppose that we were all asleep, and the universe suddenly inflated by a thousand times.” There’s a murmur in the crowd at how odd everything abruptly getting that much bigger sounds, “Your bed, your pillow, your desk,” John extrapolates, “even the meter we measure stuff with. If humans became a thousand times bigger, when we woke up would we feel something strange? Would we even notice anything had changed? You’d think so, but no.” John’s settling back into his rhythm now, “So why is that? Because the bed and everything became a thousand times more inflated and our bodies also inflated a thousand times, with everything scaling in parallel relation to each other so that this percentage, this scale, was preserved throughout the room. You’d never know the difference."

"Henri Poincaré, the well known mathematician and theoretical physicist, says that we will never be able to discover that something like this has happened, even if we use all the mathematics and calculations ever invented.” John drives the point home with another illustrated slide, “This hypothesis is called the Poincaré hypothesis, and simply, because the meter with which we measure things will have also expanded a thousand times, there’s never going to be any equation or calculation or any analysis possible that could lead us to the truth, because the ratio is preserved in all parts."

"Now, this is important, because the same thing also happens with time. If everything suddenly got a thousand times faster, we’d still never feel anything different. Why’s that?” He asks, rhetorically, “Because time is also a thousand times faster, your heartbeat is also a thousand times faster, your body would function a thousand times faster to keep up with it all. As long as everything is increased by the same amount, the ratio is preserved, and none of us will be able to detect any change."

"So Poincaré asked the scientific community; is there no way to know that time increased or that things inflated?" John tells the room, "Well, it was Albert Einstein who answered him, deciding that the one and only way to tell, would be to have someone observing what happened to the world from another galaxy, from another world, lightyears away. For someone to point a telescope in our direction, and look through it at us, and say what happened to the Earth? Why are humans walking a thousand times faster than in the past? But this person who realized the situation,” The astronaut waves a flippant hand, starting to feel much more confident again, “would have to be a person standing on a fixed external platform in a different world, so that what happened to us was not also happening to him."

"But, as Einstein commented, this hypothesis is impossible for a simple reason and it's that there is no fixed platform in the universe - the entirety of it is in constant, turbulent motion. For example, the Earth rotates at a speed of 460 meters per second, revolving around the sun at 30 kilometers per second, and at the same time, the sun and it’s planets and dwarf planets and moons and asteroids, all revolve around our galaxy, The Milky Way, at a speed of 300 kilometres per second, and so the whole universe revolves. That's,” John takes a deep breath, finding himself out of air after so much explaining, “why it's impossible for us humans to completely accurately judge the motion of any astral body."

"Because there is no fixed berth, we can only offer relativity. This is the first part of the theory that Einstein came up with, in summary; it cannot be said that the monotony of a body is absolute motion."

"Another thing he said was that, because of the vastness of the universe, it’s impossible to synchronize, what does that mean? Well, I will give you an example.” He flicks his slide, “Say I’m a person in the Philippines, and I'm talking to someone from the United States. We synchronize, and hear each other in real time, because we have a method of fast communication. I can hold my device and say; hello, how are you?” John holds up the slim, sliver slice of his phone to show the audience, “How’s the weather there? And they’d answer me with something like; I’m fine thank you, it's night here so it’s a bit hard to tell what the weather’s doing! What’s the weather like there? And I’d answer them; it's daytime, and maybe ask them something like, what are you eating? They’d answer me; a burger, and then I’d tell them that I'm eating kaldereta, and it’s much better than a burger."

In the audience Penny quietly hopes that Gordon, who's probably listening in with the rest of his brother’s, missed the fact John was making jokes on stage. The poor little bugger’ll never live it down otherwise.

"These two events, each person talking to the other, are compatible.”  John goes on, absolutely oblivious, “It’s possible because the two wireless devices, be they mobile phones or more sophisticated comms systems, are on the same globe, creating a fast means of communication.”

"But,” John postulates, “If I was talking to someone from another galaxy and I used the same means of communication to make a call, do you know how long it would take to get to them? It would be about five to six thousand years until my signal reaches the phone of our friend, and they’ll have married, had children and died, and their children would have married and had children and died, and so on, for thousands of years before then."

"And that's why it's impossible to synchronize between the ends of the universe,” John balances his palms like he’s weighing two invisible ends, “It rather puts a damper on our chances of finding and communicating with extraterrestrial life, for sure, but at least it’s possible to synchronize within one system, like the system of the Earth. "

"This is a thing that also applies to light, for example: any star you could look up and see now, the light emanating from it may be coming from thousands of years ago. This means that it’s possible that the star you see shining could have exploded and disappeared, and hasn't existed for a long time. Why? Because it takes a couple of thousand years for the light from that explosion to reach us."

"There isn’t any proof for the hypothesis that the universe is linked by time, but the thing that happens that we’re sure of is that the universe is made up of, sort of, separate islands of different times that have no connection between them. The connection between movement and time in space is something we all know about, for example, a day on Earth equals twenty-four hours, yes?” There’s a chorus of agreement from the audience, “But on Saturn, a day is ten hours because it rotates faster. Astonishingly, a day on Mercury is the same as fifty-eight whole Earth days, which, infact, is also a Mercurian year, because the planet revolves around the sun for the exact same period as it revolves around itself."

"Okay, so, to what extent is movement related to time?” John asks, well and truly into this whole teaching thing now, “Well, Einstein was the first person to discover the connection between them and suggested that; suppose you’re on board a very fast rocket, 100,000 miles per hour for example. The mechanical watch on your wrist would be delayed over the flight, but you wouldn’t feel like time is being delayed. Why’s that? It’s because the rhythm of your heart would slow down - all of the vital processes in your body that are inside the rocket will slow down."

"As you move more, something called the dilation of time will happen.” He steps to the side, as if to illustrate the point, only to find himself stumbling a little, like if the ground beneath his feet had moved. “T-Time slows down,” John tries to recover it smoothly, but everything’s starting to feel, weirdly, like it’s shaking, and he doesn’t think it’s the anxiety anymore, “and that's-"

John doesn’t get to finish his sentence because there’s an abrupt shift and a loud cracking from under him, and getting off the stage suddenly seems like a good idea. Someone screams outside, and the volume in the room skyrockets as the children start panicking. John’s one hundred percent sure this wasn't anything planned.

He knew he shouldn't have come.

Earthquake? He wonders first, then; Tsunami? Ground slip? Hurricane? Whichever it is, John has to prioritise calming the people and evacuating them out of the building. The giant glass panels above them are trembling with the force of the shaking, and, as a professional at this sort of thing, Thunderbird Five’s Space Monitor doesn’t like the look of it one bit.

"Everyone calm down,” He has to shout to make himself heard over the roar of people, even with the microphones pointed his way, “This is a normal thing. All we have to do is evacuate immediately, as calmly. as. possible. I don't want anyone crowding the exits, do you all understand what I just said?" The front rows, white faced with fear, nod encouragingly at him, and he watches as they begin to lead the way toward the glowing green signs that signal the emergency exits. Immediately after making sure the crowd is moving, John pulls up his comm to contact Gordon.

"Gordon, are you on the line?” John’s a little breathless and he climbs down from the precarious stage, into the throng of terrified bodies, “We have a situation in here."

"Let me guess, you caused it?" Gordon seems so excited to hear something other than his brother's boring lecture that humour has outweighed his professionalism.

"Gordon,” John grits his teeth, “I'm being serious right now, there was a huge movement in the ground beneath the Chino Roque Theater, and it's still ongoing. Tell Alan to do a check on what's happening beneath us using the Ground Penetrating Radar." He orders.

"F.A.B." Comes the far more serious response, before Gordon clicks off the line to do just that. Squashing down any fear he’d about the now swelling, shuffling crowd, John opens his arms wide and walks toward them, the motion sort of like he’s trying to herd sheep, as he tries to evacuate the people safely out of the building.

He’s not exactly an expert at being on the scene during rescues.

"John, there's a landslide going on right now,” Alan’s worried little voice comes ringing out of his comm speakers, “Right next to the theatre. You’d better get out of there. I’m monitoring the situation, but it’s looking like you’re going to need International Rescue to get you and the people out of there. The debris field is spreading fast." John would do almost anything to be up there instead, at his own screens. “I've contacted Virgil and Scott, I’m patching them through now.” Alan clicks Scott and Virgil, both clearly just finishing their suit up sequences, into the conversation. It seems important to keep them up to date with John's developing situation.

"Hey Mr. Tracy, how are you holding up?" Scott jokes over the roar of his launching Thunderbird, the sound filling the background of the call with white-noise, "Oh, and how was your lecture?" John thinks he sounds far too casual in contrast to the impending danger all around him.

"Oh my God, Scott, is now really the time?” John groans, and a kid with mousey blond hair not dissimilar to Alan’s looks up at him, very confused, before the astronaut waves him on, “You are an adult person,” He reminds his big brother, “Please don't be like Gordon right now. He’s practically still a child."

"Hey!” Gordon had clearly overheard the conversation between his brothers, and springs up to defend himself. “I'm only two or three years younger than you!" He complains, not about to do the math.

"Gordon, we don't have time for arguing about that now,” John frowns, “and Scott, I'm holding up alright at the moment. Please don't ask me anything about the lecture until I get back home." If his voice cracks a little on that last bit, he’ll never admit it.

"Okay, okay I won't ask anything about that,” Scott reassures him, his amused, big brother grin very much in place, “Keep on evacuating the people safely until we arrive John, you’re doing great. It won’t take us that long. ETA at 15,000 mph is sixteen minutes.” He reassures, “We’ll be there before you know it."

"F.A.B. Scott." He reluctantly signs off. Now that he’s finished talking with Scott, John’s pleased to see that a lot of people have already made their way out of the atrium’s three sets of double doors, evacuating the building to get as far away from the landslide as possible. His fingers itch to pull up the schematics from Thunderbird Five on his comm, no matter what the people around him might think. He quickly caves, and it feels worth it to be able to see the incoming tide of slipping land.

They don’t have much time.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, chivvying. He’s a little breathless with the tension, so he keeps things short. “Come on! Let’s move guys!”

From his vantage near the crumbling stage, John can make out Lady Penelope and Parker by the main doors, ushering people through, and the sight of them fills him instantly with immense relief.

“Okay, that's a good amount of people out.” John has to jog to catch up with them, skirting around a little old lady with a zimmer frame and taking a second to correct her course, “Lady Penelope, Parker, I think you should go and check on the people who’re out. They could have minor injuries from the stampede, and International Rescue are still ten minutes out. I'll make sure the last few stragglers exit safely."

Penelope just nods, pale and worried. Her blond brows are all pinched in together, nervous and Parker looks practically haggard as he claps a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, her faithful old companion following her pink shape dutifully out the doors. Hopefully they’ll go make sure that no one was badly injured in any way.

Turning back to the slow cascade of cracking rubble behind him, John finds the stage area has been all but obliterated, and his heart aches for the patrons of the Chino Roque Theater who’ll have to rebuild from scratch when this is over. He imagines the Tracy fund can contribute a significant amount toward that though. They often do for worthy causes.

John pushes the damp curl of his slightly sweaty bangs out of his eyes and climbs over what looks like a twisted piece of ceiling girder toward the sound of people, possibly trapped stragglers, who are calling for help.

"I miss Thunderbird 5 so much,” John mutters, keeping it under his breath so that no one hears him, as his palms are scraped raw against the concrete he’s trying to clamber around. There’s a rippp of fabric on a jagged piece of metal and the knee of his previous pristine brown jeans meets much the same fate as his poor, scuffed hands. “Oh, come on!” He’s having no luck today, “I'd so rather be assisting the situation from space. I can’t believe I’m stuck here." John grumbles, to no one in particular. He’s just not built for this kind of thing. Heavy labour and getting sweaty pulling people out of scrap heaps is what his other brothers do. At least rescues in space don’t have all this… gravity to contend with.

"John?” The crackle of a comm cut’s across his complaints, “What’re you still doing in there?” Gordon’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, little brother’s tone heavy with concern. “The building could fall any moment! You're so lucky the landslide isn't moving very fast, but it’s not gonna stay that way forever." Gordon was really worried about the fact that his older brother was still inside. “It could engulf the building! You need to hurry it up, bro.”

"I'm evacuating the people as fast as I can,” John gets both hands under the armpits of a boy who couldn’t be older than seven, and swings him above a pile of rubble toward safety, “I'll be out in no ti- Ah!"

John’s voice gets cut off with a startled cry, and it takes Gordon a second or two, time John might not have, to remember how to breathe so that he can yell in any way coherently into his comm. His eyes are wide, his anxiety levels through the roof as he tries, and fails, to rouse his brother on the other end.

"SCOTT! You need to get there now.” Gordon’s aware that he’s totally losing his cool, panic creeping in over his weak layer of professionalism, “I just lost contact with John.” He gasps, “He was evacuating people and I heard him yell and now he’s not responding! And- and it's not just him. There were other people he was trying to get out."

"Hey Gordon,” Scott tries to keep his voice steady to inject some kind of stability into the conversation, “Don't lose your cool yet. I'm sure nothing that bad happened to John. Just stay your positive self, okay? I’m arriving right now and Virgil isn’t far behind me."

Thunderbird One is panning over the city, low enough to ruffle the hair of people looking up, but it’s not a problem until the usually so sure and steady pilot finds his hands nearly slipping off her controls as Scott catches his first, horrific glimpse of the building that he knows his younger brother is inside.

“What the…?”

The Chino Roque Theater is almost flat.

"Virgil,” Scott swallows hard to try and remove any of the tremor from his voice, “A-Are you seeing what I'm seeing right now?" He almost succeeds.

"Scott this isn't a joke, it looks like half of the building has come down with the landslide! John’s in there!" Virgil sounds more terrified than Scott thinks he’s ever heard him. What scares him the most is that the exit was on the side that has fallen in, which means that a lot of people are trapped under it, their John included. "Scott, we need to help them right now.

"Okay, here's the plan,” Scott’s hands tighten white-knuckled on the steering yoke, “You wear your exo-suit and go clear the debris out of the way so that we can save them, and I'll get rid of that roof with Thunderbird One and check for life signs. Remember that saving lives is our top priority, got it? No matter what’s happened to John."

"F.A.B." Virgil sounds incredibly tense. He lands Thunderbird Two as fast as he can in the crowded, limited space. Local people are beginning to make their way out of their houses to see what all the commotion is about, and the cramped city streets aren’t ideal for International Rescue’s four hundred and six ton workhorse.

Two’s pilot struggles into his exo-suit, rushing to get the Jaws of Life prepared despite Scott’s insistence that he focus and take things slow and sensible. It’s not long until he finds himself digging among the debris looking for buried people and, in the white rush of it all, Virgil’s not even sure how he got there.

"Scott,” he presses on his comm, “Please tell me you’ve got something?"

"Fortunately and thankfully yes,” It’s hard to find the hopefulness in big brother’s clipped Mobile Control voice, but it’s there to Virgil’s expert ear, drizzled in nervous relief. “I've got a whole cluster of life signs,” Scott reports, “BPM signalling in the green. "I think they’re just trapped under the debris." Alan’s echolocation report came back suggesting that there’s a big space under what could be folded sheet metal from the ceiling, that they’ve huddled in. I'm really sure there's nothing that bad, but still we have to continue otherwise it will take a bad turn for us and the people in there."

“I can use the grappling cables in Thunderbird One to take the strain off the roof,” Scott adds, “But I need you in there to get those people out.”

“Already on my way,” Virgil ducks under some rebar, skirting around the rubble and pulling away loose debris as he goes. His heart is loud in his own ears, and Virgil hopes the creak and groan of metal and concrete above him is Scott lifting the weight off the roof, keeping it from collapsing any further onto the people below, and not anything more sinister. Virgil gets peppered by a slide of small stones, but the roof holds steady.

He presses on until he catches sight of the cluster of around forty people, all huddled together around a tall, central figure with a shocking amount of rubble dust smeared over his face, and powdered through his ginger hair.

“John!” Two’s pilot makes a beeline for his brother, despite the fact three of the people are stuck under rubble. Clearly John’s in control of the situation here, and he’s never wanted a mission update from their Space Monitor so much in his life. He can’t help but hone in on the fact John's left arm is crudely wrapped in a piece of cloth from his sleeve, which he must’ve ripped off in order to tie it.

"You have to tell me exactly what happened,” Virgil drops the controls for the Jaws of Life, and grasps his brother’s biceps in both hands instead, resisting the very strong temptation to pull the spaceman in for a hug. “And what happened to your arm?!?" There’s a river of blood seeping from beneath the make-shift bandage, but John, it seems, isn’t bothered by it in the slightest.

"Not now Virgil.” His concerns get thoroughly dismissed, “We’ve got to get these people out of here, and then I'll tell you everything." Virgil didn't like the idea that something happened to his brother and he's silent about it, but after all John was right about saving the people first since his arm is under control for now.

John crouches by the nearest injured person; a pale, skinny teen with a sizable piece of rebar keeping him pinned.

“You’re gonna be out of there in just a second, Lito.” Virgil watches him reassuring the young man for a long moment, “Uh, Virgil?” John prompts. “Any time?”

“What?” He blinks, “Oh, yeah!” His brother is clearly waiting expectantly for him to use the Jaws of Life to get the poor kid out. "I’m on it, but you better tell me everything after we're done saving them." Virgil demands. “But, uh, Scott’s kind of holding the roof up right now, so you’re probably right.”

"Okay,” John literally rolls his eyes, busy stealing a pair of blue rubber gloves from the Med Kit Virgil brought with him, and snapping them on to protect his hands and the fine cuts he’d gotten from climbing over rubble. “I promise I'll tell you everything, but can we start actually rescuing them now?" Rolling his eyes right back, the bigger man uses his exosuit to heft the rubble off Lito, before John swoops in to apply pressure to his injuries.

“Give me the fold out stretcher from your sash.” He orders, hands bloodied “Then go get the next person out. Efifania, Sergio?” John beckons a pair of nearby dad’s in closer, clearly having singled them out as capable stretcher bearers. “Think you can manage Lito here for me?”

As Virgil starts removing the rubble from above the other two trapped people, a middle aged man and a younger woman, it becomes immediately obvious that both of them have more severe wounds than young Lito. They both need medical treatment immediately.

“I’ll carry one of them.” Without the three extra sets of hands he’d need, Virgil has to leave a couple of crowd members applying pressure to their wounds, as he moves back to where John is helping Lito unsteadily to his feet. “Think you can walk, young man? We’re gonna need that stretcher for the big guy.”

“I won’t let you fall.” John promises, and Virgil feels a real swell of pride at how well his brother is handling the situation whilst being outside of both his space station and his comfort zone. It looks like having a rescue and a job to do really gives him no time for anxiety. "I agree that that's our best plan.” He adds, nodding, short and sharp, to confirm it, then John turns, an arm around Lito’s waist and the kid’s arm slung over his shoulder, to address the crowd.

“Anyone not so severely hurt needs to help get the injured out of here.” John instructs, the small crowd listening raptly. The look on the faces of these scared people is one Virgil is all too familiar with, but he knows John has far less experience of in person. They’re really looking to him as their saviour. “Virgil here is going to lead us through the path he just made.” Which is news to Virgil, but does seem like the best plan. “International Rescue will then be able to take us all to the hospital to get checked out, and then I’m sure you’ll be released to go home to your families before you know it. Got it everyone?"

In that moment Virgil finds himself struck with amazement at how John seems to have become almost as fearless as Scott, as they started carrying the two injured people out to safety. It was really a new side to him that Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

"Virgil… I need you to check on Lady Penelope and Parker.” John’s keeping pace at his side, helping the boy they’d dug out along as he goes, “I told them to check to see if anyone was hurt."

"Hmm, yeah you're right.” Virgil frowns. If Penny and Parker have any more injured party members, even minor ones that just need a check up, Thunderbird Two will need to evacuate them to the hospital as well. “Have you got any idea where they might be?"

"Well, I told them to get somewhere away from the landslide,” John frowns, as their limping, shocky party stumbles out into the bright light of day, to be greeted by the roar of Thunderbird One’s engines high above them. “They should be near here.” He yells over the sound of it.

As usual, it turns out that John is completely right. Penny and Parker are waiting for them, but neither John nor Virgil find the look on Lady Penelope's face all that reassuring.

"JOHN!” She rushes toward the battered, bloodied spaceman, her arms outstretched. Virgil very quickly and carefully finagles poor Lito out of the way as his brother gets ambushed. “Are you okay?!?” Penelope demands, frantic, “What happened to your arm?” She reaches for the bloodied bandage, and John winces, “I'm so sorry,” All of John’s carefully constructed rules around personal space are shattered as she cups his cheek, inspecting his face for injury. It’s lucky that John is by far the most patient of the Tracy boys. “I shouldn't have left you there.

"She’d been so terrified, perhaps more than anyone else here. The horrific view she’d seen with her own eyes is going to haunt her for a long time yet. One second she was getting out of the building to reassure and check up on the people, and the next she was watching half the structure collapse completely, with John under the side that fell. She still feels a little sick.

"I'm so, so, so sorry John,” She repeats, before he can get a word in edgeways to reassure her, “Please, you must tell me if there's any way I can make it up to you. Ask me anything and I'll do it."

"Okay guys,” Virgil chuckles, “while you talk things out I'll go to get the injured people aboard Thunderbird 2. Make it quick though, we’ve still got people who need immediate medical treatment, got it?"

"F.A.B. Virgil.” John nods, “We'll be quick. Penny, I..."

“I’m so sorry.” She repeats again, and pulls his good arm over her shoulder as if to steady him as they make their way at the back of the crowd toward the big green Thunderbird.

"No no no, Penny, please stop apologising.” John’s fingers tighten for a quick moment on her shoulder, in brief reassurance, “I'm not going to ask you for anything because it was never your fault.” He insists, “It was just some bad luck, that's all. Fortunately I, and most people, got out safe with no severe wounds. These things happen.”

“Your arm.” She points out softly, hoping that all that blood looks worse than it is, “John I can’t believe you stayed behind like that, it’s so...”

“Tracy?” He grins, amused but very weary.

“Scott Tracy.” She corrects, scowling a little as she holds on just that little bit tighter around his waist as his adrenaline from the rescue starts to flag. “I thought you had more common sense.”

“Hate to disappoint.” She feels the warmth of him chuckling, “I’m lucky it was nothing worse than his cut from some shattered glass that fell on my arm while I was helping one of the guys who got stuck. I don’t think any arteries or anything have been damaged, but it is... kinda deep." And he might be getting a little lightheaded from the blood loss. Still, he really wants to reassure her, just like she had reassured him before he’d gone in to give the lecture.

"Hate to interrupt your moment, but are you guys done?" Scott pops up from who-knows-where amongst the crowd to yell at them. He’s clearly joined the relief effort. "Virgil’s just finished getting everyone aboard Thunderbird 2, and he's ready to launch." He adds, squinting at the pale, wobbly mess of his brother. "And you really do need to check your arm. That looks nasty.”

"Yeah Scott,” John wipes a tired hand over his dirty face, dislodging dust, “We're done. Don’t let Thunderbird Two wait for me, I'll hitch a ride with Lady Penelope, uh,” He turns to her, bashful, to check, “If that’s okay?"

“Of course,” Her Ladyship concedes, “Scott?” She is mildly concerned that big brother might want to have the injured member of his flock under his wing so he can smother him.

"Yeah sure, ride whatever you want.” Scott flip flops a dismissive hand at them, “You can ride a pod, I won't care as long as your destination is the hospital."

"How about you, Gordon?” John knows his little brother is still on the line, probably sulking. “Is it okay if I take the ride with Lady P?"

"W-what do you mean by that?” Gordon sounds confused and maybe a little embarrassed, like he’s been caught out. “Scott already said you should go, why’re you asking me?"

"Well, she's your girlfriend.” John grins, teasing, as Penny helps him into the back of FAB1. “Of course I have to get permission from her boyfriend.

"Penny swats at him for that, amused, but careful not to hit his injured arm. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but it is fun to see Gordon squirm - especially as Scott and Virgil both crack up, and even Alan in space starts teasing him.

"What?!?” Gordon’s face, bless that darling young man, has gone bright red. “J-Just go already." He ducks off the comm screen to try and hide his embarrassment, but it’s far too late for that.

He’s lucky that Penelope finds it incredibly endearing.

"John,” She nudges him, as the Tracy’s all click off the line to go do their actual jobs. She’s a little concerned that he’s looking a bit spaced out, if you’ll excuse the pun, and it’s probably a good idea to keep him talking. “You know we're still going to The Pagasa Observatory, just like I promised you, right?"

"Wait really?” John’s head tilts, a little floppy, towards her from where it had been sinking into FAB1’s luxurious headrests. He’s looking a little grey, but it’s good to see his eyes open. “After all that happened?” A ginger eyebrow quirks, “Are you sure there's time for that?"

"Well, we’re on our way to the hospital now, but there’ll be plenty of time this afternoon.” As long as the medics give him a clean bill of health. “You can change your clothes after we're done checking your arm then there should be time for you to go see that big telescope you've been dreaming of visiting. After all, I did promise you we’d go there after we're done."

"Well, that sounds good to me!” John smiles like there’s a supanova fuling him, “Penny you’re the best."

They reach the hospital a little after International Rescue has dropped off the fourty or so injured people, and so there’s quite a wait for a Doctor to be free so that they can have a look at John’s poor, sliced arm. Penny seems to be doing a worried hover at his side, while he waits, shaky from blood loss, and though he’s not used to having so much company, John has to admit it’s nice to have a chance to catch up with his old friend with no rescue alarms blaring.

Alan reports in that the two worst injured in the landslide have been hospitalized as fast as possible, that they were stable - the doctors have said their prognosis looked good. He also tells him that Lito’s family had been asking after the redheaded lecturer who’d helped him out of the rubble, and that John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons, should probably expect a gift basket in the mail quite soon.

John gets quite flustered about that. He’d just been doing his job.

The spaceman's arm was eventually treated, and Scott calls in to ask what actually happened to his arm. It still hurts, a properly bandaged throb just under his elbow, but not like before. The painkilling injection and little bit of morphine they’d given him when they stitched it up had probably helped with that.

Alan’s reports dug up that the landslide had been caused by a water main leaking under the building, and destabilizing the soil. Over time, water can do a lot of damage, washing away vital infrastructure if it’s not been properly reinforced during construction.

As the Chino Roque Theater was a new build, there must have been a mistake in the installation of the pipes during construction.

Someone was getting a big lawsuit heading their way, and Tracy Enterprises will be more than happy to fund the lawyers for the theatre.

As Lady Penelope promised him, they found John a change of clothes and went to the Pagasa Observatory. Penny’s quite sure she’s never seen anything as wholesome as the moment John sees the telescope - his eyes went all shiny, and the smile on his face was massive.

"Lady Penelope, Parker come take a look at the stars!!!” He calls, over his shoulder, with the enthusiasm of a boy half his age, “They’re really beautiful from here!" With such a high-powered lens pointed up at the cosmos, it rivals even his view from Thunderbird Five.

"Indeed, they are." Lady Penelope and Parker both step up to take turns, but John was the one to look through the telescope the most. With all the stealth her years as a secret agent offered her, Lady Penelope took a picture of him.

"Parker, come take a look." She whispers, beckoning her old companion gleefully over. "He looks so happy and innocent in this picture. Wouldn’t it be lovely to see his face like this always?"

"We still have some time before they close,” Parker points out, a sly grin creeping onto his nosey old face. “How h’bout we leave him like this for a little longer?"

"That, Parker.” she smiles, “Is an excellent idea.”

The End

[love-fireflysong]

yIt's done. It took me waaaay to long to write this piece out but between June and my computer apparently deciding to kick me in the teeth this month, the fact I made it to 5 full squares completed anyways I will gladly take as a victory! And, just fyi, this WILL be the last piece for this month. I know that there is still another four days left of June, but I am sick and tired of dealing with my keyboard so this is the last fic you're gonna see from me until I get a new laptop hopefully fairly soon. (Unless I decide that I'm desperate enough to try and write things out on my tablet of course...)

Anyways, the First Date trope was specifically requested by @jesus-hotsauce-christmas-cake when I let her know that the one she did guess (road trip) was going to be a second chapter of a twoshot. Which you still might get because I'm very likely going to be sharing the short little summary blurbs I had written down for each trope so people can very easily bully me into writing them anyways if people still wanted to read them. And even though it would be like months and months late, still post them under this bingo board because I can and I had a cool idea for what I was doing with the colours and layout before life decided to say 'NO!' in a very firm voice. (Unless of course the three lovely ladies that came up with this idea in the first place say no obviously)

Rambling over though now I promise. Chocolate Covered Confessions can be read over and AO3 of course, with the full fic also under the readmore as well.

Chocolate Covered Confessions

Trope: First Date Fandom: Until Dawn Characters: Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley Words: 8214 Rating: General (though reader beware there is some almost scandalous hand holding and a couple of scandalously public kisses. You have been warned...) Authors Notes: Oh look, more chrashley fluff. Who da thunk it? Pride month? What pride month? This is just me apparently figuring out how many different ways I can get Chris and Ash to confess their feelings. Because you only read like three of them, I still have another two waiting in the wings. Plus at least three others if you count climbing chrash lol.

Something was...weird. It wasn't something that Ashley could put her finger on just yet, but something was definitely off that was for sure. The problem of course was that she didn't even know where to start looking in the first place, because for the most part her day had been extraordinarily ordinary.

She, Chris, and Josh had planned to go and see a movie Saturday morning a few days back and then hang out the rest of the day. But seeing as they were, you know, best friends that certainly wasn't the issue. Not even close. They always made plans to do stuff like that together. And yeah, okay, so maybe Josh had 'coincidentally' texted them just before the movie started to let them know that something unavoidable had come up and he wasn't going to be able to meet up with them. And when her and Chris had brought up just waiting until a later showing when he was free, he had immediately been quick to affirm that nope, he was going to be busy the whole rest of the day actually. So the two of them could continue with their original plans and they could make it up to him another time.

While certainly suspicious, that wasn't what was wrong though. Josh had been flaking out on their plans more and more, especially when it was plans that took up an entire day. Ashley Brown wasn't stupid. No siree Bob she was not! She knew exactly what Josh was trying to do by leaving her to spend the day with Chris. Alone . And she appreciated it (she really did!), but if Chris was going to make a move then he would have done it ages and ages ago, because she sure as hell wasn't going to do it! Ashley Brown wasn't stupid, but she also wasn't exactly what you would call brave either.

Not that Chris had seemed to notice what Josh was pulling though, he had just sighed and rolled his eyes with a grumbled "fucking typical", and then the two of them had entered the theater to watch the movie. And as per their usual shtick when Josh wasn't there with them, Chris paid for the tickets while she paid for the food and drinks. Or, at least, that was how it normally went. Instead, when she had decided to take a run to the bathroom while he held their spot in the long concession line, she had come back to Chris waiting for her with the pop and popcorn already in hand. After brushing off her flustered apologies, he had explained that shortly after she had left, another cashier had popped on till so the line had gone down in half the time either had expected. And it seemed like a dick move to just wait there until she came back so he had just decided to get the food instead.

She still felt a little guilty about it honestly, even after swearing that she would get both the tickets and food next time.

And, to be completely fair to Josh, he hadn't exactly been missing out on a lot by skipping out on the movie. It wasn't a horror flick (he would never even think of skipping out on that after all) so it wasn't one that he would feel the need to make the two of them watch again with him. Which was more than fine honestly, because if she was to describe the movie in a single word, well, that word would definitely have been 'dreadful'. If she was given a few more words, then she would have easily elaborated and stated that it was 'a boring, plot-hole driven mess, with only extremely over-the-top action scenes and explosions every five minutes to carry any semblance of the extremely loosely written plot'. In other words, she had lost interest in the movie barely half an hour in, and considering that Chris had started scrolling through his phone bored, she wasn't alone in this boat either.

Still, Ashley had resolved herself to sit through this over-budgeted explosion fest if only because movie tickets were horribly expensive. Not to mention the fact that Chris had shelled out money for both the movie and the food. But then he had turned to her, asked if she was as bored to tears as he was, and once he got that confirmation, asked if she wanted to just ditch the movie entirely. And she did—she really, really did—but didn't want Chris to waste the money he had spent more. And then yet another explosion...exploded on screen, and she realized that she was wasting precious hours of her life that could be used to do something more fun and less mind-numbingly boring.

Like watching paint dry. That at least had a semi-cohesive plot.

And so the two of them had walked out, continuing to share the extra buttered popcorn between them (the movie may have been awful, but the popcorn certainly wasn't) as they left the movie theater behind and wandered into the nearby mall. That wasn't the strange thing either. The mall and subsequent window shopping had absolutely been part of their day plans after, even if those had been unexpectedly pushed forward a couple of hours.

Admittedly the art show that the mall was running in one of the empty storefronts was unexpected, but  it had been simply a nice surprise and a great way to kill time. So after paying the $2 entrance fee, the two of them had continued to share the popcorn as they looked at some of the paintings and sculptures that had been on display, giggling childishly at most of them. And okay, so one of the curators had been glaring at them( or rather, at their greasy, butter-covered fingers) the whole time, but that had just been a little rude and insulting. Not strange. And that had stopped almost the moment they had run out of popcorn, Ashley nudging him in the stomach with her elbow as she licked her fingers clean, and the two of them laughing under their breaths at the curator who had looked exceptionally much more at ease once Chris had crumpled the empty bag into a ball.

The rest of their day in the mall had just been spent following the rest of their day's plan, wandering from shop to shop and browsing at all the things that caught their eyes, and then taking a break after a few hours to have a late lunch in the food court. The two of them checked out another couple of stores, these ones to try and get some ideas for Josh's birthday in another month, before moving onto the small arcade on the top floor. As part of their deal and agreement since it had just been Josh and Chris (Ashey not joining the duo until five years later), Chris bought the tokens needed while she scouted out the various games for an empty console and claimed it until he could join her in another couple of minutes.

They spent the next hour in there, trying to beat each other or work together depending on the game in question. They almost never played a game twice before moving onto the next one, in hopes to both try as many games as possible before their self imposed hour ended and to see if they could beat their previous high scores or make it onto the leaderboard in only a single try. But as the hour came to a close, they both made their way over to their final game: one of the racing simulators scattered around the arcade. And as had been done for ten years now, played to determine which of them would be paying for the tokens next time they came.

And once the race ended, with Ashley winning by photo finish for the third time in a row (and celebrating her winning streak by maturely sticking out her tongue and doing an awkward little shimmy dance in the seat while Chris jokingly sulked and pouted), they had finally left the mall altogether and got into Chris's truck. There, he had surprised Ashley with the novel she had been eyeing in the bookstore (or at least, eyeing closer than all the rest she had picked up) and that he had somehow been able to buy without her noticing. And that certainly hadn't been weird, because it had been so exceptionally sweet of him, sweet enough that Ashley had so badly wished that she could thank him properly. But as mentioned before, Ashley Brown was a coward pure and simple, so she had just clutched the book to her chest and beamed at Chris in heartfelt thanks instead.

He may have said something in reply, but Ashley had already settled into the passenger seat and opened to the first page of the book, so she was already long gone. A fact that Chris had anticipated, if the light chuckle he had let out before starting the truck meant anything. And no, Ashley reading a book while Chris drove them to their usual game store across town was not the strange thing either. If Chris hadn't wanted her to read on the drive over and talk to him, then he never would have given her the book now of all times. He would have waited until he had dropped her off home, or not even bought the book in the first place. After over a half a decade of friendship, if anyone knew what would happen after giving Ashley Brown a new book, it was Chris Hartley.

The drive over is done quicker then she had expected, and even then Chris still hadn't let her know that they had arrived until she had finished her chapter. Yes he had certainly teased her about it the entire time, joking about how she would never find someone as understanding of her reading habits then him (he didn't know how right he was, that she didn't want to find anyone else), but the fact that he had just continued to let the music play in the truck and distracted himself on his phone was so unbearably sweet that she decided to let it lie.

The fact that Ashley and Chris hung around in the game shop comparing dice and looking at new books while wincing over the prices for nearly two hours wasn't what was off either. Hell, if anything the fact that they only spent a couple of hours there before leaving was weird! Her, Chris, and Josh could easily spend almost half a day in there flipping through comics and rolling dice to test them out, only leaving because a tired employee was forced to ask them to leave for making too much noise and taking up a table when they weren't playing anything, especially when there was a group that had been waiting for a table for close to an hour now.

Which brought Ashley to where she was right now, sitting at a sticky plastic table under the shade of a cheap umbrella while Chris had run off to get them some ice cream before dropping her off at home. Her new book was open in front of her, the pages crisp white even in the umbrella's shade, but her mind wasn't on the book anymore. A random line had a character mentioning that something had been feeling off all day ever since they woke up ('like everything had been moved three centimeters to the left, so while it all looked normal, nothing felt right anymore'), and Ashley had also realized that hey, wait a second, her day was also feeling just a little wonky too! But no matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. Today had just been a normal day hanging out with Chris after all. They went to see (and bailed) a movie, spent hours hanging out in the mall and at the game store, and now they were each going back home. Nothing unusual had happened, so why did it feel like something hugely monumental had been going on all day?

"Oi. Earth to Ash, you okay in there?"

A light flick to the center of Ashley's forehead has her blink in surprise, and she finds herself back into the present once again. Chris is standing next to her, carefully balancing the two cones in his right hand and his left ready to flick again if needed, and a bemused smile on his face.

"Oh, uh, sorry Chris. Got a little too into the book I think." She closes the book, not wanting to get melting ice cream all over its crisp white pages (and she really hasn't absorbed a single word for nearly ten minutes now), but Chris doesn't hand her the cone just yet.

"Yeah, I'm not buying that," Chris says as he snorts in disbelief. "I know your 'praise be to books' look, and that was not it. That was your 'head full, too many thoughts' look."

"Excuse me? What? I do not have a reading look! Or a thinking look for that matter!"

"Oh you do. You really, really do. Trust me. You may have been staring at that book but there was no way that you were reading, I would bet my own ice cream here on it." Chris brandishes his double chocolate cone at her, then seems to reconsider and switches to show off her own dipped soft serve that he still has yet to actually let her eat. "Actually, you know what? I would eat your dipped monstrosity if I'm wrong."

Ashley sighs, but she can't keep the smile from her face. "It's not that bad this time, oh my god. It's chocolate ice cream dipped in blueberry syrup. This is actually a normal combination for people who go out of their way to order more exciting cones then two scoops of chocolate." She leans forward and places her elbows on the table to support her head in her hands. "But I wanna see you do it anyway, so tell me exactly why you're so convinced that I wasn't reading."

Chris opens his mouth, but immediately closes it a second later, as though he didn't realize exactly what he had signed himself up for here until now. Ashley of course takes it as a sign of victory. "I knew it. So let's see this Chris, I wanna see you eat something that isn't—"

"When you read you get, like, super attentive." Chris's face is pink, and not looking at her but at the book on the table as he bashfully continues. "You become so drawn in to whatever you're reading that you ignore everything going on around you, because all of your attention is now on that book. Pretty sure a bomb could go off right next to you and you wouldn't even notice sometimes. And it's always so easy to tell what's happening in the book when you're reading too, cause your face is always so expressive. Like your eyes get big when something exciting or surprising happens, and when you're really enjoying whatever it is you're reading, you start giggling like a loon."

Ashley is too stunned and, quite frankly, her heart is beating too fast for her to even think of a proper response to that . She manages to squeak out a quiet little "oh, um" but Chris doesn't notice. Not when he's still babbling and not looking at her at all.

"But when you get deep in thought, you're not like that at all. All of your attention goes inward, and everything around you disappears cause all the important stuff is going on inside your head right now. Your mouth falls open just a little, sort of like you're gaping at all the information in front of you. And-and sometimes you'll mouth out what's going on inside your head as you try to fit the pieces of everything together so it's neat and tidy like a puzzle. And even though you have the, like, blankest stare imaginable, it's not empty at all if that makes any sense. Cause your eyes narrow and your forehead scrunches just the tiniest amount so you have a small little wrinkle form like right here—" with his unoccupied hand Chris points at the bridge of his nose right between his eyes "—and it's weirdly, insanely cute? But when you finally figure out the puzzle in your head, your face lights up like a kid on christmas morning and...and..." He lets his words trail off and stops awkwardly there, as though finally realizing exactly what he's been saying this entire time.

His face is almost beet red now, and Ashley is pretty sure hers is too. "Oh, uh, wow. I-I didn't realize you paid any attention to me when I was like that..."

Somehow his face only gets redder, and though he mumbles the words under his breath, Ashley can still make them out. "I'm always paying attention to you."

But not close enough attention it seems, she thinks sadly. If you did then you would have noticed something way more obvious than that. But she doesn't want to embarrass him anymore than he already is (then she already is), and she isn't sure what else she could possibly say that wouldn't be her blurting out that she likes him, so instead she pretends that she hadn't heard a single thing and wordlessly accepts the ice cream that he hands to her, accepting her defeat as she takes a small bite of the blueberry covered chocolate soft serve.

...The blueberry covered chocolate soft serve that he had bought for her. Or, you know, the ice cream he had paid for himself. Just like he had paid for everything today. Kind of like it was almost a, uh, date. Like he had taken her on a date.

Oh .

"Oh boy, let me guess: I was right and your ice cream really is a crime against taste buds?"

Ashley comes crashing back down to reality to see Chris, his face still a little red but the playful smile back on his face as he teased her. And yet, that only makes it worse as she can't help but feel the usual gymnastics routine the butterflies in her stomach perform at that particular smile, only they're a thousand times worse now that's she's realized exactly why today had felt so strange. And she can't help thinking how much everyone else would classify what was just a day hanging out with her best friend as a date. And how much she really, really wished it was one.

"Nope," she unfortunately squeaks out, and clears her throat so she can continue in a more normal tone of voice. "Nope, sorry to disappoint Chris, but the ice cream tastes fine." She takes another bite for proof (and to her credit she's not lying, it tastes more than fine). "Just, uh, realized something funny that's all." And the moment the words leave her mouth she realizes just how badly she's screwed everything up, because there is no way in any world that Chris Hartley is just going to let that comment lie.

"Funny? Oho, well now I'm interested. You mind sharing your glorious epiphany with the rest of the class Miss Brown?"

Taking another small taste of her ice cream, Ashley averts her gaze as she gives what she is kicking herself for is obviously an extremely forced laugh. "Did I say funny? I meant boring, just super boring actually."

"Well now I just want to hear it more."

"No, you don't. Trust me, you really, really don't."

Chris's brows furrow in concern. "Ash? You okay?"

She isn't, of course she isn't. She's now realized exactly what a date with Chris would be like, and it would be exactly like this. With them going to all the same place and doing the same things but she's allowed to hold his hand and kiss him when he does stupid sweet things like buying her the book she's been eyeing and talking about all day. She's never wanted something to be so true so badly in her life. And it's likely this thought in her mind that causes her to blurt out "A date." before she even realizes what she's said.

That only makes the confusion on Chris's face go deeper, which is appropriate considering she's sinking deeper and deeper into her chair in a futile effort to hide or escape as well. "What? Are you saying that you just remember what date it is today? Or that you had something you were supposed to do today instead? I'm not really following you right now Ash..."

This is perfect. It's the perfect excuse, she could laugh and say that she totally forgot what day it was and that she had an essay due pretty soon, or that she was supposed to babysit for a neighbour tonight. Anything really, the sky was quite literally the limit. And instead she just bit her lip and stared at the ice cream melting in her hand before weakly admitting "No, a, uh, date. As in, the romantic kind. I realized that today probably looks like a date to anyone else. Funny, huh?"

She's not sure how Chris would react to that. Maybe a startled laugh, and hand wave as he brushes her off. A scoff as he assures her that this definitely isn't a date, cause they're just friends and that's all they'll ever be. Whatever the reaction she expected, it was certainly not the fumbling for his ice cream as he nearly drops it in his shock, and how absolutely flustered he sounds as he trips over his own tongue. "W-what? I-I-I, uh—I mean, th-this obviously isn't—Who would even—? Wh-what would even give you the idea that we could um, possibly be on a date?"

Ashley shrugs weakly. "Isn't it obvious Chris?" She ignores his even more flustered babbling that no, he absolutely did not see what was so obvious as she continued on, still too nervous to look him in the eyes. "You've kind of paid for everything today."

"I wha—? I mean, no I haven't!"

"You kind of have, Chris. The theater?"

"You know I always pay for the tickets, and it would have just been really rude to make the line even longer!"

"The art show?"

"It was just a couple of toonies! And you saw the face of the worker there, they would have kicked us right out if they'd had to break a twenty. It was just easier."

"Lunch?"

"They-they'd had a special on for a two-person meal at that stall in the food court, and they wouldn't let each of us pay half..." he neglected to point out that Ashley could have easily paid for their lunch, and probably should have, but before she had been able to offer he'd already been swiping his debit card.

"The arcade?"

"Okay, that was my turn to buy the tokens, you know that. That one doesn't even count."

Ashley lifted her eyes from the ice cream to the book that sat menacingly and innocently all at one at the center of the table, it's pristine cover mocking her. "The book?"

"T-that was just a gift! You seemed really into it at the store and friends buy each other gifts all the time—"

There was no describing how soft and nervous her voice got as she asked the question that would put the final nail in the coffin. "The ice cream?"

"I, uh, it was just—um..." Chris let out a breath in a weak chuckle. "Shit, I guess I kind of did, huh?"

Ashley doesn't say anything, and neither does Chris, as the table goes silent. She's bracing herself  for when Chris inevitably shoots her down and confirms that it doesn't matter. That the two of them will never be anything more then friends and that she never should have hoped for anything more and by revealing this she's ruined their friendship for good—

"Hey, uh, Ash?" He sounds so nervous that it immediately takes Ashley out of her anxiety driven thoughts of doom and gloom, but she can't do anything more than just shakily nod to let him continue. "It's, uh, probably like a really, really, really stupid question but—" he takes a nervous breath "—did you want this to be a date?"

Her head immediately shoots up as she stares at him with wide eyes, her breath caught somewhere in her throat where her heart is currently lodged. She frantically rakes her eyes over Chris's face looking for any hint that he's mocking her, or playing some cruel joke on her and her feelings, but all she sees is just nervousness all over a pale, shaking face with what she thinks ( prays ) is a glimmer of undisguised hope. But it's still too much uncertainty, and she's too scared to risk it all on a mere glimmer that she is likely only imagining because she wants it so badly to be real, so she throws the question back at him instead.

"...would you have been opposed if this was actually a date?"

"Nuh uh, I asked you first."

Ashley realizes that he's just as scared at what the answer might be as she is. She wants to tell him, has wanted to tell him for years and years and years. And maybe this is the chance she's been waiting for her whole life. The two of them sitting at a sticky plastic table under the early evening sun, long forgotten ice cream melting in their hands, and she can finally tell him that she's had such a huge crush on him since she was twelve.

"Yeah." The word is less choked out than it is released. Like it's a breath of fresh air and she feels simultaneously lighter and heavier for it. "I-I think I would have liked that. I would have liked that alot."

Chris snaps his gaze up to meet hers, and the glimmer of hope that she had seen earlier has now nearly taken over his face at the disbelieving smile that's threatening to crack his face in two. "Really? I-I mean, uh, I would have been alright with the idea too. More than alright actually."

She can feel her own smile start to nervously match his, and then the first giggle breaks out. His own ecstatic laughter quickly follows her own until the two of them are both giddily laughing at the table, but too embarrassed and bashful to even look at each other now. The giggling abruptly cuts off when Chris lets out a yelp of surprise when he realizes how much of his ice cream has melted onto his hand and Ashley joins him in trying to finish off their ice cream before it's melted entirely. But there's definitely a change in the atmosphere around them now. The contentness and laid back ease that always formed between them whenever they hung out was still there, but there is a charge that hadn't been there before either. An excited anticipation that only surges higher and higher whenever Ashley shyly glances in Chris's direction to find he's looking at her with the same disbelieving smile beaming on his face.

They never say anything more about it as they both finish off the ice cream, but Ashley knows. With that little agreement, the entire day had changed. This wasn't just them hanging out as friends anymore, this was an actual, factual date now, pure and simple. So when Chris hands her a couple of extra napkins to clean herself off, she may have let her fingers brush against his for just a moment. The resulting blush and dumbstruck smile on his face when he cautiously took his hand back so he could clean up the rest of the mess on the table was oh so worth it. And when he returned from his trip to the garbage can and held out his hand as an offer to help her up from the chair, she accepted it readily.

Once she's back on her feet, the two of them drop their eyes to stare at their still clasped hands, realizing that they could easily hold hands the entire short walk back to Chris's truck if they wanted. And she does want that—horribly in fact—but it seems it's still a little too early for either of them to make that teeny tiny but monumental jump to hand holding so they let go awkwardly and slowly, letting their fingers linger against the others before letting go completely. As though giving themselves a taste of what may yet actually come to pass in the (hopefully) very near future.

The short walk back to the truck is filled with both anticipation and dread alike, but unusually silent. Ashley knows it's because she's now a buzzing ball of nervous energy, terrified that saying anything at all will shatter this dream that's apparently coming true before her eyes, but Chris is different. He looks more like he's trying to work up the courage to say or ask something, and is spending all his energy on that alone. So when he reaches out to open up the passenger side door for her, Ashley can feel her heart pick up speed when he stops with his hand on the door handle and looks at her nervously. His mouth opens and shuts a couple of times as he tries to work up the courage to say whatever it is he wants to say, and all she can do is stare at him expectantly as she struggles to hold back an excited smile.

"Hey, Ash, ca—nevermind. It's, it's stupid. Don't worry about it." A second later, he has the door opened for her and the moment she can't see his face, she lets her smile fall crestfallen. But only for a second before a polite one replaces it as thanks when he closes the door for her and continues to his side of the truck. It's fine, she supposes as she buckles herself in, while the two of them have been hanging out all day, it's only been an actual date now for barely ten minutes. And once he drops her off home in just another few short minutes it's going to be over. The fact that she even managed to get this far is franky mind blowing, so expecting anything more from her dreams would just be extremely selfish. She can't have everything she wants all at once, no matter how long she's been waiting for it.

The drive back to her place is also quiet, filled with only the droning of the radio playing in the background. Ashley's returned back to her book, but she knows that Chris knows that she's not absorbing a single word, hasn't turned a single page even. She keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he nervously taps at the steering wheel, and then tightening his grasp when it looks like he's going to say something, only to return to the nervous tapping when he inevitably backs out at the last second and returns to the frantic pep talk he's likely giving himself. The air that fills the vehicle is heavy and thick with anticipation and it's taking almost everything in Ashley to not start shaking the question out of Chris at every red light they stop at.

But, eventually, they pull up in front of her place and Chris stops the truck. There's a moment where the two of them just sit there, not wanting to leave because leaving means the end, and Ashley schools her face into a cheery smile in an effort to hide as much of the disappointment as she can when she turns to face him and bid him farewell, only to have it fall to confusion when he starts fumbling at his own seatbelt.

"Chris? What are you doing?"

He struggles further at it, frustrated that the buckle's apparently decided that now is the perfect time for it to stick once again. "Trying to get this fucking thing off."

"Yeah, I figured that much. But why are you trying to take it off, you're just gonna leave right away again anyway."

He slows his fumbling as cheeks start darkening in embarrassment. "I, uh, I just thought that was something you were supposed to do after a date, walk them to their door to stay goodnight. I mean, at least I think this is a date now? And, and only if you're okay with it! I can stay in here instead if you don't want me to. I was just hoping..."

The once forced cheery smile on her face is certainly not being forced any longer, if anything she's trying not to show how much the idea of Chris walking her to her door thrills her. "N-no!" Well, so much for trying not to show how desperately she wants that. The startled look he gives her at the unexpected outburst had her trying to control her voice into something less desperate, but considering she doesn't think she's ever going tame the frantic butterflies that have been flapping around non-stop in her stomach ever since the ice cream realization, she's probably doing a terrible job of it. "I-I mean if you want to, it's completely up to you after all..."

"Cool. Cool cool cool. Just, just give me a second." He continues to struggle with his seatbelt buckle, letting out more and more agitated curses escape the longer the thing continues to stick, and Ashley is getting the feeling that if he was able, Chris would have ripped the entire thing straight out of the seat by now. Broken safety laws and ensuing repair costs be damned. The moment he finally manages to unstick the traitorous buckle it's with a cry of victory and relief so exuberant that Ashley finds herself laughing in disbelief and awe that he had wanted to walk her the short ten or so feet to her front door that badly. Thankfully, for both of them, her seatbelt unclicks easily and much more quickly in comparison, only taking another couple of seconds to grab her bag from the footwell and joining him.

The far too short walk up to her door is over before either of them realize it. One second the two of them had been standing awkwardly and nervously by the truck as she fought the urge to reach out and grab his hand, and the next they're standing just as awkwardly and nervously (if not moreso) in front of the front door. Both of them waiting for the other to say or do something to break the tension, but cleanly aware that doing so would signal the very final end of the day, and the date. In fact, just knowing that Chris doesn't want this to end just as badly as her, is what gives her the courage to look at him with a surprisingly heartfelt and soft smile.

"Today was fun."

Chris lifts his eyes from where they had been staring at the dried leaves on the doorstep to match her smile. "Yeah. It was."

"And thanks. For the movie, and everything else." Ashley raises her hand to give the new and still shiny paperback a small wave. "And, you know, the book too. Of course."

"Yeah, it was no problem. Anytime." There's something with how he says the last bit—not really emphasizing it but making it clear all the same that he means 'anytime'—that causes her face to flush giddily as she pulls her lower lip in between her teeth in a weak effort to fight back against the ecstatic smile that forms anyway. And when she sees his eyes lower just a smidge to follow the motion and the way his shoulders stiffen in reaction, Ashley very quickly also finds she's trying (much more successfully) to hold herself  back from just saying 'to hell with it' and throwing her arms around Chris so she can finally kiss him silly and until they're both breathless. But considering that she's too much of a coward to initiate something as innocent as hand holding apparently, there is absolutely no way that something as...as scandalous as kissing him on her doorstep is ever going to happen. Clearly.

And yet, she gives Chris another few seconds to try and work past that blockade in his throat, but when he still can't muster a single word, she decides to just put the both of them out of their misery. Or further into it. It's probably just the same thing really. "I guess I'll see you next time. I'll talk to you later, okay?" She turns away and puts her hand on the doorknob, and tucks the book under her arm so she can dig into her bag for keys, but is stopped when Chris's hand abruptly snakes out and wraps itself firmly around her wrist before she can reach into the bag. And it works—boy does it ever —turning back to him and the hand wrapped around her wrist as excitement just starts to bubble up inside of her.

A second later though, his brain has apparently caught up with the movement he clearly hadn't intended to make, because his face goes beet-red and he's dropped her hand so he can shove both into the pockets of his jeans. He averts his eyes so he's back to staring at the loose gravel and dried leaves under their feet.

"Oh, uh, sorry about that. I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine, Chris." Ashley tries to smile softly at him in reassurance, but it's considering she's gripping the doorknob in an almost vice-like grip in anticipation, it's likely far more eager than she would like. "What is it?"

Somehow, his face goes even redder and he blurts out the question so fast that it may as well have been one word. "CanIkissyou?!"

Immediately, Ashley's gaping at him wide-eyed and her mouth open in shock as her heart's beating so fast that she's pretty sure it's ready to burst out of her chest at any moment. "Wha—"

"I-I mean goodnight. Can I kiss you goodnight? That's what people are supposed to do on dates, right? A-a-a-and I think we agreed that this is a date now, or at least I really, really hope we did. Cause I've wanted to go on a date with you for the longest time and-and-and I didn't want Saundra or-or-or any of your neighbours to see cause I know that would just really embarrass you and me but I've been trying to ask you for the past thirty minutes now cause I've wanted to kiss you since forever but I was scared about how you would react cause I really, really, really like you Ash and I just wanna to kiss you so fucking bad right now you have no idea and—"

Ashley would like to believe that she's brave enough to throw her arms around Chris and drag him down into that searing kiss she's been dreaming about forever and ever, but she doesn't. Even with a confession that is everything she's ever wanted to hear and more. That's not to say that she doesn't want to do it—god does she want to do it—but she's so frozen in place from shock that she physically can't. So instead she just continues to gape at him as he (adorably) rambles on and on, and giggles out an elated little "okay".

His nervous rambling stops dead in its tracks, and he finally looks back up at her, nervous relief evident all over his face. "Really? I mean, are you sure? I'd understand if you didn't want to—"

" Chris ."

That immediately shifts the relief to a different kind of nervousness entirely, one of excited disbelief, but even then neither move to actually initiate this promised kiss for several seconds. Instead just staring at each other waiting for the other to be the first to move, Chris with his hands still in his jeans pockets and Ashley glued to the doorknob with her other hand frozen as it hovers over her bag. Finally, Chris is the first to slowly bend down to meet her awkwardly half turned body, and she unsteadily tries to rock herself onto the tips of her toes without losing her balance completely and falling over. And still, they both pause about an inch away from each other's faces, though whether to give the other an out if needed or just to work through the logistics of how to do this exactly without their foreheads or noses smashing into each other or Chris's glasses getting in the way is anyone's guess.

But finally, mainly due to the fact that Ashley can't lean forward anymore without falling completely on her face, Chris closes that final bit of distance and kisses her. It's a nervous brush of the lips really—a quick peck at best —but they jolt back from each other so quickly that the single action may as well have activated some hidden magnetic repel function that neither had been aware of until this moment. Both of them are staring at each other wide-eyed and breathless as the magnitude of what they had both finally managed to accomplish hit them. The kinda-sort confession and the almost hand holding meant absolutely nothing in comparison to this. Those she could have (and would most likely have) brushed off as her reading too much into innocent statements and gestures when she thought over everything that had happened today in the safety of her room later tonight. But this? This was physical proof .

Looking back, Ashley's not sure which of them moved first. One second they had been staring at each other in disbelief, stuck in the same awkward bent and leaning stature from before, and the next it's as if the magnetic attraction between them reverses its flow entirely. Chris is cupping her cheek with one hand as he kisses her in the way she always dreamed he would, his other hand slowly skating across the back of her neck so he can pull her up closer to him. The book that had once been clutched protectively under her arm was completely forgotten about—fallen to the ground with a sharp crunch as it crushed the dried leaves beneath their feet—as her arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders as she props herself as high as the tips her toes will allow her. She can still taste a hint of the chocolate from earlier on his lips, and the small part of her that isn't being blown away by all of this is wondering if he can taste the blueberry and chocolate on hers as well.

She's not sure how long the two of them stood there on her doorstep, kissing for all the world to see, but she does know that they still separate much, much too soon for her liking. Not that they fully separate of course. She may be back on the soles of her feet, but neither of them have removed themselves from the embrace itself. And with the way that Chris is lightly brushing his thumb over her cheekbone as he just stares at her with the same stupidly giddy grin she's got, Ashley would be perfectly fine if they could just stay standing like this forever.

"So..." she starts, and stops to take a moment to giggle when Chris bumps his nose into hers. "I think that was a perfectly acceptable first date if you ask me."

Chris doesn't let go of her when he leans back to consider her, the comically raised eyebrows in shock doing nothing to take away from the absolutely thrilled beam of his smile. " First date? Why Miss Brown, are you perhaps asking me out for a second one already?"

"I mean, if it's not too presumptuous of me, I suppose I am. I-if you're not opposed to it of course." She can't help the way her nervousness starts to bleed through with that last sentence, already panicking that she's somehow completely misread everything that's just happened and that maybe that kiss didn't mean as much to him as it did to her after all.

His next words completely derail those fears entirely. "Of course I'm not, I would love nothing more than to go on a second date with you. Followed by a third and fourth and even a fifth if you have the time for it."

"I mean, I'm a pretty busy girl but I think I can open up as many days in my schedule as it takes if I need to."

Before she knows it, the two of them are leaning in for another kiss when the sound of pot being dropped in the nearby kitchen through the open window jarringly brings them back to reality and the two of them let go of each other red faced and embarrassed. Oh no, how much of this had her mother heard? Or worse, saw? She wants to leave the doorstep (which is rapidly becoming her favourite place in the whole entire world) even less now, but the longer she takes the worse the excited interrogation from Saundra will be so she starts digging back into her bag to try and find her keys once again.

"I'll text you later, okay? And, maybe, we can talk some more about that second date...?"

The reply from Chris is flustered but eager. "Yeah, totally. I-I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Cool. And um, the next one's one me. The date that is. It's only fair after all."

"Yeah, right. Only fair. Totally. And, uh, your book..."

She finally finds her keys from where they had sunk to the bottom of her bag, and looks up at him and the paperback book that had fallen during their, uh, intimate embrace. "Oh! Uh, right. Thanks." She could easily leave it at that, but the last few minutes have made her bold so when she reaches out to take the book back from him, Ashley curls her fingers over his and bounces onto the balls of her feet so she can give him one last kiss on his cheek—almost the corner of his mouth really—before finally stepping back with the book and keys in her hand. "I mean it. Thanks . For everything."

"Yeah. No problem. It was my pleasure."

She lets herself have one last glimpse of the stupefied grin on his face just as he turns to walk just a little unsteadily down the path back to his truck. The only sounds being the leaves crushing underfoot and the jangle of metal as she sticks her keys into the door to finally unlock it. A sound that it quickly interrupted by not only the click of the door unlocking, but a muffled shout.

Alarmed, she turns quickly expecting to see Chris having accidentally shut his coat into the door as he is sometimes known to do when the weather gets colder, but instead watches in elated shock as he continues to keep energetically flapping his arms and fist pumping into the air and screaming what she can vaguely make out as 'yesyesyesyesYESYESYES' over and over again.

Suddenly it hits her. Despite the shy confession over ice cream, and then the much more rushed and rambled one only minutes ago, and followed by the kiss(es) that are still sending her heart into rapid fire, Ashley still hadn't believed what all the evidence had been saying. Chris liked her. He really, really liked her. Possibly as much as she liked him even! This wasn't just a one-off event that would now make things awkward between them for the rest of their lives. This was happening. They'd just had a first(!!!!) date and after Chris had kissed her goodbye, she had asked him out for a second one.

And he had accepted .

Ashley fumbled with the door and the moment she was in the house, slammed the door behind her, not even bothering to lock it. She let her bag fall from her shoulder to the floor with a soft thump and slowly slid down the door until she was sitting against it with her eyes wide and breathless. She ignored the surprised clatter coming from the kitchen as Saundra immediately dropped whatever it was she had been doing in and held up the book so she could stare at the once innocuous cover in amazement.

He had bought her this book and the ice cream because he liked her and he had gladly and excitedly accepted to go out on another date with her. And even more if he had been serious about that third date and beyond line.

And not that either would ever know it, Ashley mirrored Chris at that exact moment by placing her head into her hands and screaming as the built up joy and bliss finally exploded out of her.

[castielific]

Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story. 

Summary: 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day. 

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

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

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens. 

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles. 

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate. 

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!" 

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before. 

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east. 

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off. 

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby. 

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now. 

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone. 

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today. 

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin. 

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky. 

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet. 

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear. 

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin. 

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex? 

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze. 

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them. 

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek. 

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar. 

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint. 

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't. 

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone. 

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures. 

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck. 

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes. 

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile. 

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here. 

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled. 

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way, 

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint. 

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'. 

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this. 

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer. 

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not. 

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it. 

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough. 

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces. 

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass. 

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here. 

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey. 

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole. 

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes. 

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?" 

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal. 

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her. 

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments. 

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse. 

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely. 

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off. 

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout. 

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up. 

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand? 

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away. 

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant. 

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair. 

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face. 

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything. 

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…". 

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there. 

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash. 

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!" 

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really. 

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly. 

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?" 

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?" 

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.  

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

 "I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know. 

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile. 

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled. 

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time. 

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension. 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods. 

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day... 

You can read the rest on AO3

[mysticmistral]

I just beat Pokemon Sword, haven't started the DLC yet. Have some memes about one of my favorite characters.

Totally not based off of real life events.

Just my thoughts and opinions on the game below....

Bede deserves to have a good life not under Chairman Rose, make is own goals and not think about appeasing someone who forgot his name even though apparently Rose took him in. He probably sees Rose as a father figure after loosing his parents and is trying to get the chairman to acknowledge his achievements for once and not focus on the champion Leon. It must suck to lose your chance at proving yourself to someone endorsed by the very being you want to defeat just to get your father figures attention.

I felt bad for beating Hop. Not as bad as I did defeating Wally back in ORAS but still. Hop gives off the feeling of someone who was always in his brothers shadow, who's just known for being the champions little brother. I feel like his family didn't help much at all with now much Hop is obsessed; he breaths to become the champion to just feel equal. Maybe he wants his family to notice him for once, no longer neglected. He loves his brother clearly, but he's a bit over obsessed. I like that he becomes a Professor Assistant for Sonia and doesn't focus on trying to be Leon, but to be himself.

Leon is an okay champion, I kinda got tired of everyone being 'undefeated' this and 'undefeated' that. If I was at the legal age to buy alcohol and swore to start a drinking challenge, I would be dead. It was his only trait, and a trait shouldn't be your accomplishments. His little gimmick of getting lost is fine, it was mildly amusing at times. He seems to treat Hop like another Galar citizen, not his little brother. Like another person who idolizes him. I don't know if he was just never around, but I would think an older sibling would try to tell the younger to follow their own path and make their own goals, not allow an unhealthy about of idolization (is that a word?) He got the champion title at the age of ten, so what did he do for the years after? Never see his family?

Sonia is okay, but she's more of a book than a character, that and a Revive giver. I think we as players should be the one discovering the lore of Galar, not her. She got an arc more than the player and she did literally nothing but point out The Darkest Day, something I feel like the player could've done and it would've added a bit more accomplishment for the player in figuring out.

I miss petting Pokemon. That's kinda weird, but it added a bit more bonding to the whole thing, not just swinging around a toy or throwing a ball. Why would some Pokemon even find that amusing?

Chairman Rose is eh. I liked how he wasn't all 'take over the world evil' like others, he had good reasonings but nevertheless, he is a businessman and political figure who the people look up to. They know how to cut corners, but Oleana is there for that. He's too busy and focused on work, like how he doesn't care about the champions words or spend time with Bede, as he forgot the kids name at one point. He's so passionate about this future like Lysandre was in Kalos, and yet he just gives up after you defeat him? Never to be seen again? Lysandre died after standing his ground for his beliefs (cool motive, still murder), no matter how flawed they were. I mean, Rose is a bit more... Mature I guess, to accept the Jail time, but I think one last conversation would have been great. Oleana is just boring, her theme is great along with Rose's but we don't know anything more than she's the party pooper assistant who does the more extreme stuff to make sure Rose's goals are achieved. One Marcos Cosmos (Is that the groups correct name?) guy asks if he have dang LIFE INSURANCE. As in, you die and your loved ones get money. Sure the after conversation is he had some other kind, but Oleana would definitely kill people. The company would do something about it.

Ghost Girl Paula. Rest in Peace. Kid in Frank's house.. Who da HECK you talking to?

There's no Absol in the game, I refused to get the game until I could get my hands on one. Once I get through Crown Tundra I'm getting an And I with Super Luck, get some eggs from them, put them in Pokemon Home, get them out and use an Absol for my journey when I restart.

The animations are... Ehhhh. I love that you can't see the pixels and stuff like the 3Ds. I wish the game had a flying animation for the Flying Taxi, not gonna lie. But Hop's animations are just Hau's from Sun and Moon. But the Pokemon still are stiff and just hop??? There's no turning animation??? The Pokemon can't follow you even though there sprites are in the game? The SCALING! A TREEVANT IS NOT SMALLER OR EQUAL HEIGHT THAN A LUCARIO! Everything is so dang out of proportion! Treevant looks like the size of a kid!

I personally would've liked to see some familiar faces. I liked how Looker appeared in all of the 3Ds games and had a major role in XY and Sun and Moon. Or maybe that was Ultra S/M, I can't remember. I want to see Lillie as a fully fledged Trainer, or Lusamine back in the good light, or Emma from XY who was left to look after Looker Bureau or AZ, or fricken Zinnia from Oras who left! I've been wanting to see Zinnia for so long! Those after story characters who grew on you, unlike those annoying Sworbert and Shielbert guys. I wanted to kill those guys. The only -bert I care for is Siegburt.

And I wish they had color wheels for skin tone, hair and eyes.

That is all I have to say about it. It's a good game, just not one that sticks out. Kinda sad about Megas being gone but I guess Dynamax and Gigantimax is fine too...

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

OPEN WOUNDS.

Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes x Reader

Anon asked: how about an imagine in which you an ez fight because of emily

Chapter index

Chapter four (final)

Word count: 2.1k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. This is the final chapter. Gif credits: @angels-reyes .

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @wrcn9fvlcver 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

When the car stop in the rest area, you get out of it walking towards the trunk to rest you waist there. Lightning a cigar in your lips, crossing both legs, you have a deep breath of the thick smoke. You're off. Totally down. And only when the Mayans are far enough, buying some coffees or refueling, you let go all the pain turned into tears in silence. Last night you feel like you were at home when EZ hugged you, falling again, giving him another chance. Believing that maybe there's a place for you in his life. But it's not. With Emily by Galindo's side, it could be easy. But, now? No. Not now. You're losing again, and she's winning as always.

Shaking the ashes, you have another puff, breathing it till scratching your throat. Spitting the smoke by your lips, you kick the air full of anger. You fought for him. You never gave up. You went every week to the Stockton prison, waiting outside till he decided he wanted to see you. You wrote him letters, sent presents, books... You really cared about him and you were the first person he looked for when he got free. Emily doesn't deserve anything. Anything good. She destroyed his life. She didn't care about his mother, or what happened with his father, nor Angel. You were there, by their sides unconditionally. You earned it.

One finger longer than yours, tangling to your forefinger pushes you back to reality. You can't look at him. You don't have the strength enough to do it. Since you left Charming, you have been in silence, answering him with one or two words when he has asked you about something. Or mostly, shrugging your shoulders. Cleaning your tears with the back of your hand, being careful to not burn yourself with the cigar, you grab the coffee he's offering you. EZ knows that you're hiding something. He knows you read the message. He knows you're not okay, and that you think that everything between you two are done. That Emily goes first. And it's painful for him too, after all he's has shown you. But it makes sense that you can't trust him. 

Ezekiel has a drink of his coffee, before leaving it supported over the trunk, without letting go your finger. He uses that arm to surround your nape and your throat, pushing you closer while he takes off of the pocket his phone. You have another puff, not knowing what he's gonna do, twisting your neck a little to expelled the smoke before placing your gaze on the screen. He types the secret code by heart, the same you know, sliding his thumb over it to open the text app. Then, he shows you. EZ shows you the message that Emily sent to him, and the one you read before him. But when he's sure you read it again, he guides his finger to the right corner to press the menu and delete the text, before blocking the number. No words needed. The Mayan grabs again the cardboard cup, with his gaze on the horizon, resting his body against the car. He also pulls you closer when you throw away the cigar, between his legs to facing each other.

“I showed to Taza this mornen', when you were with Bishop at the workshop. He told me to delete it, simply. And block the number. But I wanted to show you, although... you seen it before, rai'?” You nod biting your inner lip. “I don' care. I'm here. I'll always be here”.

You nod again in silence with your eyes on your fingers, getting tangled in his shirt. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. EZ knows that no one's gonna take care of him as you did and as you do. He loves you and he's showing it. He's trying hard to make it up to you. He wants to be with you and you're starting to believe it, that maybe you don't have a place in his life, because he's completely yours. And before you can say anything, EZ presses his lips on yours, dearly and peaceful in a soft kiss, taking away your air. Your hands traveling up to his neck, touching his nose with yours when your lips finally move tasting the coffee on his. You enjoy it, as you did last night after all this time separated. But again, he pulls you away some inches, not wanting make you feel uncomfortable.

“I'm not leavin' you. Not again, (Y/N)”. He says, doing the reference to his staying at jail. “There will be no more secrets, no more lies. Nothen' that could hurt you, nor hur—”.

“Kids, let's go!” Creeper's voice interrupt him, but you nod at him anyway before getting up from his body, to walk back to your seat.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

After ten hours of a long travel, between the stops and the traffic jams, you finally arrive to Santo Padre when the sun is going down and you're wishing come back to the ranch so you can have sometimes alone with Taza. The voice of wisdom. He always know what to say to make you feel better, and you also want to know what he thinks about everything happened these two last days. But first, you have to go to the clubhouse. And when you reach it, you suspect that something isn't going okay. The front metallic door is opened. Chucky and Letti are there, but also a white car you can't recognize parked in the alley between the car scrapping and the club. 

Ezekiel parks yours next to the motorbikes, when you two start to hear Taza yelling for no reason. Getting out of the car, you discover what's happening. Emily is there. And so far away that makes you feel sad or down again, your blood starts to boil inside your veins. The younger Reyes stops you by grabbing your left wrist. He's furious, and you can see it in the way he has to frowning. He walks towards the blonde, who is being reprimanded by the Vice and the President, with Angel trying to kick her out of the yard.

“The fuc'you doin' here, Emily?” With a penetrating and rough voice, Ezekiel asks to her.

“You didn' reply”. She says, setting free herself from Angel.

“'Cause I don' give a fuck”.

“EZ, listen”. She begs with tears filling her eyes, trying to reach him.

“Go home, Emily, or wherever you want. But far away from me, my girlfriend and my club”. He sentences with his fingers on the kutt lapels.

“Ezekiel, please. I love you”.

Those words are pretty enough to make you move your feet. Four big steps, and your right fist goes straight her nose.

“Holy shit!” You hear Angel or Coco, or both, cursing. You don't know.

“Who the fuc' taught you to punch like that?” Riz asks while Emily is falling down to the floor, 'cause everything is happening too fast. And you can see sideways Taza smiling proud.

“Calm down, (Y/N)”. Ezekiel tries to stop you, but not even the devil could fight against you right now.

Bishop holds EZ to take him away from you, whilst leaning to the blonde woman to tangle your fingers on her hair dragging her above the floor. She tries to set herself free again, stirring under your grip, with you pulling her strongly right to the front door. She's screaming because of the pain, sobbing and drowning with her owns tears. And you're fucking enjoying it, so do the crew, who are totally freaking out. 

“Next time, I'm gonna break something else than you're fuckin operated nose, bitch”. You growl getting her up grabbed by her clothes to push her out of the clubhouse.

You run the door to close it without more words. Shit, it's feel so fucking good that you're stunned walking back to your car so you can have the cigar packet in it, to light one between your lips.

“Hey, prospect”. You can see how Taza places an arm on EZ's shoulders. “Why don' you bring my kid a beer and some ice to her hand, ah?”

“I'm scared as fuck to say ‘no’, so she could punch me too”. Ez swallows saliva, nodding before going inside the club.

You support your body on the body car by the left side, having a puff that leaves your throat seconds after as an agonic howl. Che takes the cigar, having a smoke, and resting his weight next to yours. Then, he looks at you drawing a smile on the corner of his lips.

“You have to lift up a little more the elbow, when you hit someone”.

“Yea', I know. You told me. But I was tired”. You chuckle, shaking your head for a moment.

“Stay tonig' with him, he earned it, don' you think?”

“Yea', I did it too”.

“Damn, baby girl... You had so much contained in such a little body...” He breaks in laughter, shaking the ash to have another smoke. “You know? Last night Bishop and me had a... talk 'bout you?”

“Yea'?”

“Yes. We talked about the... possibility that when Ezekiel get full patched, maybe you could join Mayans too”.

“How's that?”

“Chibs told us about some women in SOA being members, when Jax was the president. So we could change the statutes, and you could start as prospect”.

“But I don't know how to shoot”.

“Six month to go, (Y/N). I have enough time to teach you”.

“Why you... really do all those things fo' me. I mean, this is not only because you felt sorry for me that night”.

“You said yesterday. We're more into family stuff”. He says kindly touching your temple with his. “I know you can do it, and you're already part of our lives. It's time to level up, don' you think?”

“Yea', maybe...”

You don't know how to feel right now. You're excited, but confused, and happy but scared. It's not the same take care of some animals, that have a gun behind your back ready to being shooted. But even so, you want to do it. Taza brings you back the cigar, when EZ walks towards you, offering the beer and taking your hand to place the ice on your knuckles.

“Get full patched soon, kid. The new prospect is waiting fo'”. Che palms his back, before leaving you alone.

Ezekiel has a raised eyebrow, staring at you waiting for something that could explain the Vice's words. Having a sip of your drink with pursed lips, you shrug softly.

“You heard him, prospect. Don't fuck up Mayans' business and get full patched in six months”.

“You have to be kiddin' me”. He laughs putting your palm on his to stretch your fingers, so the ice can cover more space.

“No, I'm not. Taza and Bishop talked 'bout it last night”.

“So... I have to teach you how to clean properly the bikes?”

“Yes, 'cause I know where you keep the Jose Cuervo and the Coronitas'”.

“And what 'you know about mechanic?”

“I know how to puncture wheels”.

The younger Reyes nods with pursed lips and both eyebrows raised. The loud horn of a car, and some lights flashing outside the yard, claim for your attention. You turn at the front door, with the crew coming out of the clubhouse confused. Tranq is the one who opens it, and you two staring at the black SUV driving inside, without moving a single inch of your bodies. A man with black braids get out of it, opening the back door and letting Miguel Galindo walks outside the car. He doesn't looks good, nor happy, not even angry. He looks more like disappointed. And he walks towards you, but the guys block his steps.

“I just want to talk with the girl”.

“Above my dead body”. Taza spits every word.

“The hell you want?” You ask then, seeing the Mayans turning towards you.

“I want to say that I'm sorry for any inconvenience my wife provoked you”.

“Anything else?”

“I hope this... trouble doesn't suppose a problem between Mayans and the Cartel”.

“Don't worry, your drugs and money are safe. I don't mix bullshit with the club, even if I'm not a member yet, but part of the family”.

“Yes, I'm now sure about that”. He says keeping his hands inside the pockets of his pants.

“But let me tell you something”. You walk between the crew, till you reach him, facing each other. “I don't give a fuck who you are, what you do or who the fuck knows you. Next time your wife comes closer to anyone of my family, the only thing you're gonna find is a collar with her teeth”.

No one says anything. They don't dare to do it.

“And now, get the fuck outta' my club”.

[greylunar]

Hey!! I'm a hot mess right now who cant enjoy art anymore so if you could help me solve this out I would appreciate but i understand if you can't so here's the deal: Is being rich while people are starving unethical? And if so how can I enjoy my favorite artists, rich people, knowing this? I mean it's obvious you want you and your loved ones to live comfortably but there's a point where is just too much, right? And all these big artists that I love they are way above the threshold of too much.

This is probably my favorite ask I’ve ever gotten only because I wasn’t really expecting anyone to ask me about this particular political and philosophical question, and I, an anarcho-socialist English major, have some thoughts on the subject, to say the least. Let me preface this by saying there’s no right answer to this question, as much as I wish there was one, and I can only give my opinion and how I’ve chosen to go about my life. That said the majority of people on this site are still pretty young. I’d encourage you to take my opinion with a grain of salt and ask other people you trust and read more theory so you can form what you think is the right way of going about consuming art for yourself! Regardless, I’m really proud of you for asking this and interrogating these sorts of topics within yourself, it can be hard to maintain the balance of keeping hope while attempting to live ethically within capitalist society, but the fact that you are trying is commendable, and it’s my hope that more people asking questions like this will bring about the change we wish to see in the world c: 

Alright, answer under the break!

For starters, yes, I do believe being rich is unethical. While there is a multitude of reasons for this being the case, the one you brought up (hunger) is more than enough reason on its own. Now, no one rich person could end hunger, or at least not permanently. Estimates on how much it would cost to end world hunger range from 7 billion to 265 billion USD annually according to the IFPRI, which sounds wild right off the bat, since those are two unfathomably different numbers, but basically the difference boils down to the 7 billion dollar approach aiming to reduce malnutrition to World Health Assembly goals in about 15 years, and the 265 billion plan aiming to actually end world hunger (reach a “zero hunger target”) within about 20 years by targeting the sources of hunger, mainly being poverty and agricultural infrastructure. 

So when you hear people say things like “why doesn’t Bezos end world hunger” one short answer is that he can’t. But the fact that he can’t doesn’t really matter because what really matters is he’s not trying. Without getting into liquidizing stocks and all that nonsense, if the ten richest people in the world made a one-time donation of 60 billion each, we would have enough and then some for the first two years of that zero hunger target plan by that alone. And the “poorest” of those ten billionaires would still have a net worth of 15 billion, which is still an unfathomable amount of money. 

I say all of this to point out why it still matters to say the rich aren’t doing enough to end world hunger, and not to say that this is my ideal plan for solving it (which involves a lot more social restructuring and abolishing the value-form). I think if someone wakes up with billions in assets it a capitalist society in which the median “living wage” (which includes covering basic expenses, building savings, and having “fun money”) in my country is roughly $67,700, they must have woken up on one of those days and thought “oh hey what if I ended hunger in my home town” or “oh hey what if I funded a food co-op in a food desert nearby” or maybe even “what if I fucked around and tried to end world hunger” and then they didn’t. They turned around and went back to sleep, or went to a business meeting where they continued to exploit their workers or did whatever it is they do that I will never understand. And I think that is unethical. 

Here’s the thing, and I’m sure some people will disagree with me on this one (I’m more than happy to read anyone’s replies and take them into account going forward) there’s a difference between corporate wealth and celebrity wealth. Do I fucking hate looking at pictures of Drake’s mansion? Yes, completely. Do I think that, like Mark Zuckerberg, he should be tried for crimes not limited to aiding and abetting ethnic violence in Ethiopia and failing to remove a militia event in Kenosha in which people planned to kill BLM protesters and then did, proceeding to lie about it in order to continue to profit off of the traffic and internet buzz white supremacists provide his site with? No, because Drake is not Mark Zuckerberg and there is a difference between what crimes it takes to make and uphold a 170 million dollar net worth versus a 98 billion dollar one. While I’m not jazzed to say the least about millionaire celebrities lounging in their wealth, in a way they are a very successful worker being rewarded by a capitalist society in exchange for a service they provide. So yeah, I feel more comfortable cheering on John Boyega for succeeding in a system set against him than I do any corporate capitalist.

That said, there are ways to support the art you love and strive to consume art more ethically. Support local artists, black artists and other creators of color, artists who support sustainable printmaking or give part of their proceeds to charities you care about. In terms of music, for every band you like that has problematic views there are thirty small bands with similar sounds you can support if you go looking. If you find a band you think is doing great work, support them on Bandcamp or buy a CD, and if you really want to listen to Kanye’s Power because its just that kind of day, listen to him on Spotify, where they’re literally paying people jack shit for it.  If you’re going to participate in a capitalist society (and if you’re not, let me know how since I haven't figured that one out yet haha), reward the people you feel good about supporting. 

Speaking of which! One of my favorite rappers noname has an online bookclub that uplifts POC voices by featuring two books a month.  It’s awesome, noname is awesome, and I feel good whenever I listen to their album for the thirtieth time because telefone is the best. There’s art out there for you to feel good about loving. Sometimes it just takes a little digging to find.

I think my last note is going to be this: art is human. Art isn’t capitalist. People have been making art before capitalism and they’ll be making art after, art is an expression of the pain and hope and past and future of us, and we need it. To try and cut yourself off from consuming art to distance yourself from capitalism won’t work, because we need art to be human, and it was never capitalist in the first place. You aren’t evil or unethical for wanting to consume art, that’s the most natural urge in the world. It is a sign that our system is unethical if it makes us feel guilty for the things that make us human. So consume art, love it, love the people who make it, because its the good stuff. It’s the stuff that makes the rest of this more hopeful and more worth it. I know this can all feel like so much sometimes. But you’re not alone. There so many people out there working to make the world better and brighter, and making art to get us through it. I love you, and I hoped this helped even a little bit and I’m sorry its so long haha. I hope today is a little better for you than yesterday, and tomorrow’s even better than today c:

[brideofcthulhu10]

Eek! I requested but tumblr was being dumb, so I dunno if you got it or not! I remember it though! - I'm happy to have made your day! I relate to you on the insomnia, especially sleeping at 4 am. I hope you get some sleep! I think I just need some fluff right now, (it's 4:19 am and I'm playing with my piercings while reading and listening to music, so perhaps something involving the insomnia we share? I dunno) and who better to be fluff with than Marko? Right? The boy just needs some love 🥺❤️

Sounds perfect! I just so happen to have some perfect fluff in my handy dandy notebook!

MARKO FLUFF

Marko is my sweet baby, I adore him, I'll take any excuse to write more about him!

Marko gets a tad fidgety before bed, very similar to a toddler with that sudden burst of hyper just before the sun comes out. He'll take a good few hits of Paul's wacky tobacky to curve his energy. He knows the sun is rising, he should be tired... but he can't help it, his mind is going a million miles an hour! The best way to describe it is a loopy kind of tired, he'll usually either get giggly, or try to keep the other boys from falling asleep so he's not awake alone, or start asking the most ridiculous questions. Just hanging upside down in the cave with his hands behind his head as something will randomly pop in his head

"Psst, Paul. Paul. Hey man, you still awake?"

"Yeah dude, what's up?"

"Do you think pigeons get nightmares?"

"I dunno... maybe? Probably I guess. Like cats and stuff?"

Cue David in the most half asleep, mumbled monotone he can muster through his teeth.

"I'm going to give you two ten seconds to shut the fuck up and go to sleep"

He does secretly miss the sunset, the way it used to light up the whole sky in fire. It's one of the few things he misses about being human. Thankfully with the plethora of cinema now he can be content with watching movies. The beach waves really help him sleep, it's something he could never be bored with. The seagulls trying best in their cave, that gets old quick. When he first turned he would still try to peek at the sunset, but of course any glimmer of sunlight would char his undead skin. Cue him sulking for a few hours in the cave, arms crossed with a pouting lip.

Wrestling is pretty common amongst the 4 boys when bored out of their skulls. Marko is quick with a headlock, laughing like an idiot when Dwayne lifts him by his belt and flings him over his shoulder. Doesn't stop him from flying onto the ceiling then dive bombing Paul. Noogies for all, beware! Four teenage guys under one toppled, hole filled roof? Roughhousing will ensue, and furniture is not against the rules. Well, really there are no rules at that point. 

"Dudes, boardwalk's having a movie night we gotta go!" Waves flyer as he runs into the cave, leaves out the part he only found it because the wind slapped it up against his head on his way back from a food run. He'll beg to go, which doesn't take much convincing since it always got slower around winter time. Popcorn is a must, and he'll plop down in the comfiest spot. It's gotta be just right, middle not too close, not too far away. Definitely one to shush you if you try talking over his favorite scenes. His favorite movie is probably either Aliens or Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Who doesn't love cartoon violence? I absolutely picture him being a secret scifi nerd, like loving all the futuristic space stuff , "buying" tabloids with the most ridiculous titles (ie "I Married a Wolf Man"). He's not really a conspiracy theorist or anything, but he's definitely curious what else could be out there

When Chinese food grows old, his next favorite food is a good, classic burger. Honestly he's a bit of a foodie, he loves trying whatever weird concoction they have brewing on the boardwalk. He'll ride down to the nearest burger joint and order a chocolate shake and a double bacon cheeseburger with chili fries- hold any garlic. He'll of course get something for everybody, carrying a little scrap of paper with the various requests. You don't tell him what you want, fine it'll be a surprise. Paul of course has to steal some fries, to the point that Marko will get him an order even if he says he doesn't want any.

"My fucking fries count as wanting fries, man."

Believe it or not he does read when bored, but even better if someone reads to him. Hopeless romantic is too strong a word, but he does secretly wonder about how it'd be to have a mate. Laying on their lap, listening to them read aloud while playing with his hair. The thought always makes him smile. His favorite book is Lord of the Flies, second being The Crucible, it makes him wonder if there really are witches. He figures if vampires exist, why not other things? David is the first to dismiss said questions. It's not like knowing would make much a difference, he's content with what they already know. Fair enough, but he still keeps his little questions locked in his own mind. On lazy nights he'll lounge on a torn up couch with his feet propped up zoning out to a good read, sinking until he's practically being eating by the cushions. He'll definitely fall asleep on the couch with the book covering his face if you leave him there

Red hands is a favorite boredom game he'll challenge Paul to. Rock, Paper, Scissors was too predictable. Both are pretty evenly matched and snicker like idiots every time to other flinches. Lots of cussing whenever they lose, and you bet they count flinching as a reason to lay down a quick SMACK!

"Two for flinching!"

"It's only one you ass!"

Eventually try to challenge Dwayne to it and pester him until he agrees, only become increasingly frustrated when he repeatedly loses. When he finally gets a hit in, he definitely gets over excited and it's like being slapped by a bear. They've since stopped bugging him to play. Paul was ballsy enough to try and challenge David, and Marko had never seen him move so fast. Paul lost five times in a row and just rage quit by that point.