#(not sure where that came from but rest assured there was much happy laugh stimming today)

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

SCREECHING

HEHSJDJHSJSJEBD

GRGHSJSHAIKSBXKSJS

WE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE EXISTED

DIPPER PLUSH????

WHAT DO YOU MEAN EXCLUSIVE FROM COMIC CON?????

AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

popcorn & pronouns

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Janus, Remus, Roman Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Dukeceit, Creativitwins  Warnings: Not much to warn for in this one. Language, a little bit of suggestiveness, vague non-detailed descriptions of a horror movie.  Word count: 3402

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

Dukeceit Week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: A movie night date leads to an important conversation. Already being t4t makes it a lot easier. Or, in Remus's own words, “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess. Huh.”

Notes: Day 6 of Dukeceit Week 2021! Almost there! @dukeceitweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, where each piece can be read without any context. Takes place 9 months after college; at the start of the story, Janus uses only they/them pronouns. 

-- 

“Ooh, popcorn! Can I have some?” Roman popped his head into the kitchen of the apartment he, Remus, and Logan had shared in the nine or so months since they had all graduated college.

“No, Jan and I are having a date in twenty minutes,” Remus said, waving Roman off without looking away from the air popper.

“Okay, I don’t see how that’s relevant to my question.” Roman pushed himself to sit on the counter by the sink. “I mean, that’s really cute, I hope you have fun. But can I have some popcorn?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Make your own when I’m done.”

“But you make it better!” Roman pouted overdramatically.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “All I do is plug in the machine?”

“Right, which is better than me doing it.” Roman grinned at them. “Less work for me.”

“Hey!” Remus swatted his arm. “The transphobia, honestly—”

“Well, if you making it for me is transphobic to you, then you not making it for me is—” Roman broke off quite suddenly, his expression undergoing several shifts very fast that Remus could not make sense of. Which was… unusual, to say the least. Roman was normally the one person they could always count on understanding. They didn’t like this new development one bit.

“Ro?”

“Iiiiiit’s… queerphobic to me,” Roman said at last, a worried pinch to his eyebrows. He laughed, and it almost didn’t sound forced. “So we’re at a tie, so you should just make me popcorn.”

“First of all, I’m queer too, make your own damn popcorn. Second—” Remus turned away from the popcorn machine and gave Roman his full attention, leaning back against the kitchen island and tilting his head to the side. “Do you wanna talk about whatever the fuck that was?” So far as Remus knew, Roman was bi; that was the label he’d been using for years and years, so long that it practically felt like forever. Since almost the very beginning of high school. Since before Remus had questioned their gender, even. Only last week, he’d called the light switch biphobic without hesitation when it broke.

Whatever had happened to make him so very deliberately not call himself bi just now, it was new.

Roman’s expression closed up very fast indeed, but not before Remus caught a flash of something he was almost certain was fear. “No.”

“You know it’s okay to question, right?” Remus inquired awkwardly. “No matter what specifically, and no matter what the outcome is? Yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know I’d still love you no matter what, right? Even if you were, like, a straight man—like, I would make so many jokes about not agreeing with your lifestyle, but—Ro, you know everything is always gonna be okay, right?”

Roman glared at him. “Remus, I don’t want to talk about it.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I’m definitely not straight.”

Remus blinked and raised their hands. “Alright. I didn’t mean literally straight, I just meant—you could be literally whatever, and it would be cool. That was—like—the most extreme example I could think of, you know?”

Roman let out a slight huff of laughter. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly after a pause. “It’s nothing, though.”

“Bullshit,” Remus said immediately.

“It—” Roman swallowed. “I need it to be nothing, okay?”

“If anyone’s making you feel shitty, I’ll beat them up,” Remus said immediately. “Even if it’s Patton. Just drop the names. I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Remus, it’s fine. I want to stop fucking talking about it now!” Roman snapped.

Remus hesitated, fumbling for what to do or say next, everything about the conversation feeling just a little wrong and sideways.

Roman sighed. “Sorry.” He pushed off the counter, went to the fridge, and stared into it for a solid thirty seconds, then took a cheese stick out of the door. “I’ll make my own popcorn later,” he mumbled and retreated back to his room.

“Damn, alright,” Remus said to the empty room. “Be like that, I guess.” They flung their hands into the air and went to get the butter they’d been melting in the microwave before Roman’s appearance.

Roman would talk to them about it, whatever it was, eventually. He always did. And whatever was bugging him, Remus would figure out a way to bug it back until it stopped and Roman was all happy and bubbly again. Because that was what Remus always did. It would be fine. It was just a waiting game.

Remus sighed. He always hated waiting.

***

“Mmkay,” Remus said, when Janus had arrived, and they had worked together to move the TV out of the living room and into Remus’s room, and they had settled in on Remus’s bed—Remus sitting up against the headboard and Janus half-laying in Remus’s lap with their long thin legs stretched out along the bed and their head on his chest—and the popcorn had been set beside them where they could both reach it, and the blanket nest had been fluffed once more. “What shall we watch?”

Janus was silent for a long moment. Actually, come to think of it, they had been quiet since they’d arrived at the apartment—even more quiet than usual. But Remus was almost certain they weren’t nonverbal, seeing as they had exchanged a few fond words with him. It just hadn’t been very many words.

“Janny, baby?” Remus leaned forward, over their shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of their face.

Janus had their fingers knotted in the blanket that was spread over their lap, fidgeting with it anxiously, a thinking-hard expression on their face.

“Baby?” Remus curled one hand lightly around theirs. “You good?”

“Choices are too hard right now,” Janus said at last.

“Okay, that’s okay. Do you know what you need?”

“I want to watch a movie.” Janus frowned. “I just can’t choose.”

“Gotcha. No problem.” Remus pressed a kiss to their cheek. “I’m really good at choosing.” He threaded his fingers through Janus’s long hair, scratching soothingly at their scalp in just the way he knew they liked, and pulled up the library of movies, switching from Roman’s profile to his own.

“How’s some really cheesy horrible horror film we can make fun of sound?” he asked, scrolling with the remote and still playing with Janus’s hair with his other hand. “I know we have a bunch of those, I loved ’em when we were kids and I think they’re funny.”

“That sounds fine.” Janus nodded and relaxed a little further against Remus.

“Good.” He kissed the top of their head. “Do you need anything else?”

Janus shook their head. “I’ve just been kind of stressed lately. Work’s been shit, and all that. It’s fine. I just want to cuddle and things.”

“Ooh, ‘and things,’ I like the sound of that,” Remus teased, sliding his hand gently to their chin and drawing them to twist around far enough that he could kiss them soft and slow.

“I didn’t say what kinds of things,” Janus said innocently, their eyes still closed and so close to Remus that their lips brushed against his as they spoke. “Perhaps I could be persuaded later.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare my best arguments,” Remus said, leaning slightly up to kiss their forehead and then back down to their lips for another lazy kiss, taking his time and exploring Janus’s mouth until they sighed and melted against him.

“A compelling preview,” they murmured, their eyes still closed and the slightest smile curling at their lips.

Remus meant to make some kind of witty quip in return, really he did, but all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, awed, “Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful, Jan.”

Janus’s eyes opened and met his for a moment, soft and vulnerable, before they turned and hid their face in his neck. “Love you,” they whispered against his skin.

“Mm, I love you too,” Remus said happily, wrapping his arms securely around Janus and kissing the top of their head. “Love your pretty eyes and skin and hair and body, love how clever you are, love your scary goth clothes, love your snark, love your stims, love you—”

Janus whined wordlessly into his neck, pressing kisses to it and fisting their hands in the front of his shirt.

Remus chuckled, taking a handful of their hair and gently tugging until they looked up at him once more. “Do you want to watch a movie at all, or do you just wanna make out? Cause I’d be good with either, but if you wanna do a movie, we should get on that before we’re too distracted.”

“Oh.” Janus leaned their head back a little until it was resting against Remus’s hand. “Not that I don’t want to make out, but—”

“Nah, I gotcha. Gotta at least get through the popcorn, am I right?” Remus cast about for the remote, lost in the blanket pile, as Janus shifted about until they faced the television again.

“There it is!” Remus snatched the remote up, clicking through the library on the television until he saw the particular film he was thinking of and pulled it up. “This look good?”

“‘When moving into their new house, little do our protagonists know it is haunted by a demonic serial killer. Will they get out in time? Or will they be his next victims?’” Janus read the summary aloud. “Sounds absolutely thrilling. Extremely original. Love the bad Photoshop on the cover. I’m sure the acting will be of the highest quality.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s so shitty, I love it. So many cheesy effects and fake blood, it’s the actual stupidest shit,” Remus assured them. “I love it, though. Went as the demon thing for Halloween when I was nine. Nobody fucking knew what I was, but I had the time of my life. And got fake blood on Roman when he wasn’t looking. It was great.”

Janus chuckled, reaching up to brush their fingertips against Remus’s cheek. “Well, with such a glowing review from someone so attractive, how can I resist?” they said fondly.

“That’s the spirit!” Remus hit play.

Remus had watched this particular movie more times than they could count over the course of their childhood. He peppered commentary throughout the film:

“This is my favorite part, if you pay attention you can see her real fingertips holding onto the fake hand she’s about to get chopped off!”

“There’s a jumpscare in this scene, I know you hate those—okay, hit the skip-ten-seconds button in three, two, there. Perfect. Dumbass demon movie can’t even trust itself to be creepy without cheap scares.”

“Look, I know the mom is supposed to have some kind of hot blonde thing going on for the horny straight men in the audience, but she’s got nothing on you.”

“For some reason they made a director’s commentary and it actually includes the fake blood recipe they used, I’ll show you sometime!”

Janus, in turn, provided brilliant, extremely snarky roasts, mostly of either the actors’ absolute lack of skill or the gaping plot holes:

“Oh, yes, going alone to the attic at midnight without so much as a candle is a fantastic idea, nothing bad could possibly happen in this scene.”

“Listen, I can excuse the children because they’re about eight years old, but do you think this man has ever even heard of acting? Or even, like, speaking in a non-monotone?”

“I am truly fascinated by the special effects department’s understanding of human anatomy.”

“So, the demon feeds on misery? Why hasn’t it taken up residence in a large office building? I mean, come on, hundreds of souls in an environment designed to grind out constant levels of misery? It’s perfect. The poor thing must be starving out here in the two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog suburbs, every meal it gets is tiny. I would be so much better at its job than it is.”

At last the credits rolled.

“Wanna see pictures of the costume I made?” Remus asked.

“Sure.” Janus sounded amused.

“Lemme just—” Remus scrolled through their camera roll for a minute. “Oh, here they are.” They displayed their phone to Janus; tiny nine-year-old Remus, who sported long tangled brown hair in two ponytails, was draped in a black curtain, donated by his great-aunt, that he had very enthusiastically taken a pair of scissors to to create a tattered effect; the curtain was splattered with bright red goo, and tiny Remus had a pair of plastic knives in his hands, which were blurry in almost every photo because they’d hardly stopped making stabbing motions all evening. To their right, their little sister Gabby, who’d been six at the time, was dressed as Elastigirl and making a punching motion; to their right, Roman—who had already been a full three inches taller than Remus, even at nine—was wearing a Belle dress with a poofy skirt and a sword strapped around his waist and a huge smile that was missing one front tooth.

Remus swiped through the photos; a delightful scene unfolded, as tiny Remus posed for a few pictures, then in one was blurrily turning towards Roman, then dumping something on him, then Roman was screaming and Remus was laughing as red goo dripped down the poofy yellow skirt; Gabby watched with both hands clapped over her mouth, eyes huge.

“You two really have not changed at all, have you?” Janus asked, stifling laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Remus agreed with an answering laugh. “I think the most that either of us ever changed was when I chopped off all that hair and dyed it green.”

“When was that?” Janus asked.

“Sophomore year of high school. I did not have permission to chop it all off, but I did get permission to dye it afterwards, so that was pretty sick.”

“And that didn’t go against dress code?” Janus inquired.

“No, actually. Not sure how. But I bet my parents would’ve kicked up a big stink about it if the school tried and made me change it; they were always super big on self expression and shit.” Remus gestured towards the picture, indicating tiny Roman in his princess dress. “We always got to wear whatever we wanted, and shit like that. It was nice. Made gender shit way easier when that became a thing for me, you know?”

“It sounds nice,” Janus said softly. “I’m happy you had that.”

Remus nodded and pressed a kiss to their forehead, reaching for a handful of the popcorn dregs in the bottom of the bowl.

Janus shifted in their arms, rolling over to face Remus and propping themself up on their elbows. “Actually,” they began.

Something on their face told Remus that whatever this new topic of conversation was, it was important. He swallowed the half-chewed popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, baby?”

“Speaking of gender.” Janus picked at the edge of the blanket.

“I love speaking of that, go on.” Remus tousled Janus’s hair fondly.

Janus took a deep breath, staring at the blanket in their hands. “I want to start using he pronouns again. In addition to my regular ones. Or.” They wrinkled their nose. “My current ones, I guess. So, he/they.”

“That’s great, he/they pronouns are very sexy,” Remus said at once.

Janus laughed, looking up at him at last. “That’s true, you are the sexiest person I know,” he said fondly. A shadow passed over his features. “But,” he went on slowly, chewing on the inside of their lip and picking at the blanket once more.

“Yeah?” Remus encouraged.

“I really don’t like the idea of telling anyone else about that.” Janus grimaced. “I keep worrying I’ll get asked stupid questions about ‘oh, so are you a man again now?’ when—like—no, and I never was one in the first place. So.”

“Oh, that sounds gross,” Remus agreed at once. “I can see why you’d be worried about that.”

Janus nodded. “I just—I don’t want to explain. And I don’t want people to ask questions. And they might. And I just—I don't want any of it. I want to skip to the part where they know and it’s all how I want it to be.”

“That’s reasonable,” Remus agreed. “But, I mean, if they can get me using he/they pronouns and being nonbinary, they had better fucking wrap their minds around the concept of you doing it too. Yeah? Or I’ll make ’em. Violently, if you want.”

Janus snorted. “I appreciate the offer, darling.” They reached up and touched his cheek. “I… don’t know if I want to tell anyone else yet. But I did want to tell you.”

“You got it, cutie.” Remus booped Janus’s nose once. “Just let me know if anything changes. I’ll punch people for you. Anytime. They don’t even have to have done anything. Just point me at them and consider it done.”

Janus did laugh at that, outright, scrunching up his face and burying it in Remus’s chest. “I should not be this into you offering to punch people for me,” he said wryly.

Remus grinned and flipped their hair. “Nah, I think it’s definitely very sexy of me and should absolutely turn you on.”

Janus smacked Remus’s arm. “I did not say that!”

“You implied it.”

“Not… necessarily. That was one possible interpretation—”

“Oh, right, I see, mmhm, very interesting.”

They smacked his arm again. “You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little bit. You’re so pretty when you get all flustered.” Remus bent their head at a somewhat awkward angle to kiss Janus’s lips gently. “Are there any new words you want me to use, by the way?” they asked. “Besides updating pronouns?”

Janus tilted his head to the side, considering. “I think… I still like all the sorts of things you call me already. Pretty, and partner, and—and baby, and so on.”

Remus smirked. “That’s good, I like calling you baby.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Janus hid their face in their hands.

“Why, baby?” Remus asked innocently.

Janus made a strangled noise, and after a pause carried on. “I do think I wouldn’t mind adding a little bit of… masc terminology? I guess? If that makes sense? Adding that into the mix. Not all the time, and not as much as the things you already call me, but… just a bit would be nice.”

“Gotcha.” Remus nodded. “I can do that. So, like, my baby is very pretty and handsome?”

Janus’s cheeks went bright red in an instant, and he hid his face in Remus’s chest again, letting out a tiny wordless scream. “Yes. That. That—that’s nice,” they managed after a pause, sounding almost entirely composed.

Remus chuckled and ran their fingers through Janus’s hair. “Good to know,” he said teasingly. “I will definitely keep this in mind.”

“Oh my god,” Janus mumbled. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Absolutely, but only in a sexy way of making you happy.” Remus kissed the top of their head. “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess,” they mused. “Huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, something’s clearly eating at someone else we know, and I think they’re going to tell me about whatever it is within the week. That’s all. It was just funny timing.” Remus kissed the top of Janus’s head again. “So, the movie’s over,” they noted, which, sure, was a blatant and deliberate change of subject, but he felt this was justified, both for avoiding-speculating-about-Roman’s-personal-information purposes and, more importantly, for fun-after-movie-things purposes.

“That it is,” Janus said, a particular innocent tone entering their voice. Excellent, he was of a similar mind to Remus, then.

Remus grinned and drew them up for a kiss. “So, what does the very pretty and handsome and lovely human in my arms want to do now?” he inquired.

Janus made another small, wordless, flustered noise and promptly dragged Remus into another kiss. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“What, about how you’re the loveliest—prettiest—sexiest—” Remus pressed tiny kisses to Janus’s lips with each word, until at last they caught his lips with their own in a proper kiss to shut him up. “Pretty sure I can say it, actually,” Remus murmured against his lips. “Cause it’s true.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Janus said, sounding very pleased indeed, and kissed them again.

--

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @theimprobabledreamersworld @peruviandesertfox

[readyourimgaines]

The Little Things

Summary: Derek knew fully well that moving in with Spencer was going to bring around some changes. Dr. Spencer Reid was different and Derek loved him for it. There were little quirks that the doctor showed at work and some Derek was still learning. So there must be some at home.

And a special thanks, of course, to @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ for helping me compile this list!

1. Alphabetizing Movies by Title

“Pretty Boy?” Derek was crouched down in front of their TV looking for their movie while Spencer did the dishes. The latter hadn’t seen Happy Gilmore and Derek couldn’t let that stand. 

“Yeah?” Spencer called from the kitchen. 

“I can’t find it?”

“What?” Spencer stepped away from the sink and went to the living room. Water dripped from his fingertips. “The movies are alphabetical. It’s between Hamlet and Ice Age.” He went to Derek’s side and gestured to the movie. “I was going to order them by director, but Hotch said most people don’t know directors very well. Which is a shame because J.J. Abrams destroyed Star Trek but Guy Riche-” 

Derek pressed a kiss to Spencer’s lips with a fond smile. Spencer blinked. 

“Sorry,” the doctor blushed. 

Derek just chuckled. “You know you’re adorable, right, Pretty Boy?” 

“You may have mentioned it a time or two,” Spencer laughed. 

“You can tell me all about directors later,” Derek promised. “I know a bit about the mainstream guys, but not a whole lot.”

“All you really need to know is that J.J. Abrams kills anything he touches and Peter Jackson doesn’t get as much attention as he should.”

*****

2. Morning Rituals

One thing that Derek very quickly learned about Spencer was that he 

had a specifically timed morning ritual when not on a case. And that if it was broken or disturbed, the whole rest of the day would go down hill like a train on greased tracks. 

He woke up at 6:17, was in the shower by 6:25, eating breakfast by 7:00, his bed made by 7:30, and shoes on his feet by 7:32. The last half hour before they left at 8:00 was free game. 

The first morning in their new place was the roughest. Spencer went 

about his usual morning, but Derek didn’t usually wake up until 7:45 because he took less time to get ready and ate in the car. So when Spencer finished breakfast and went back to their room to make the bed but Derek was still asleep… He paced for the next fifteen minutes and his head nearly went through the ceiling when Derek’s alarm went off. 

Spencer almost had a panic attack as he fumbled his way through making their bed and cramming his feet into his shoes. Needless to say, the extra half hour was spent- in vain- trying to calm the doctor down. None of the rest of the day lined up properly and Spencer was on edge and fidgety. Hotch even had to gently remind him to focus a few more times than the usual redirection of infodumps. 

That was the first and only time Derek didn’t follow Spencer’s morning routine. He found the same day that Spencer had a much simpler night ritual: Snack (sometimes) at 10:10, teeth brushed by 10:25, in bed by 10:35, reading until (supposed to be) 11:18, and then lights out. This routine was much more flexible and relaxed.

Derek found waking up and going to bed at the same time every day made the former much easier. He also found that Spencer reading to him most nights- no matter the book or topic- was very relaxing. And of course there were nights when Derek read to Spencer.

*****

3. Sugary Coffee

Derek took a sip of coffee from his travel cup and whistled. “Think I got yours, Pretty Boy. There’s enough sugar in this to hype up a six year old’s birthday party.” 

Spencer braced himself and took a sip of the coffee in his own cup. He was pleasantly relieved when the bitterly sharp taste expected never came. “I-I put sugar in both of them. I wasn’t thinking,” he said sheepishly. 

Derek shrugged. “You know what they say: I’ll try anything once.” He chuckled. “I’ll just brush my teeth for an extra three minutes.” 

Spencer scoffed as he got into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. You don’t get the caffeine drop when the eight hour half-life is over.” 

“Is that why you put so much sugar in coffee?” Derek raised an eyebrow, thinking he already knew the answer. 

“And coffee tastes like battery acid. I’d rather drink vinegar than black coffee.” Spencer shuddered. 

Derek chuckled but didn’t say anything else as he pulled onto the street.

*****

4. Cuddly Sleeper

Even though Spencer wasn’t huge on PDA like Derek was, he sure was a cuddly guy. The second the door closed, he was a six foot koala. That included in bed- but usually not until after he was asleep. 

Some nights, Spencer would fall asleep reading. So Derek would take his book, close it, gently remove Spencer’s glasses, and turn out the lamp. Nine times out of ten, Spencer was curled up against his side before Derek was asleep himself. 

At first, Derek found himself wondering why Spencer wasn’t nestled against him before sleep took him. But after a while, it sunk in that the doctor unwound by reading. 

The look on Spencer’s face when he curled into Derek’s side always sent the older man over the moon. The absolute peace on the doctor’s face. One night, Derek almost woke Spencer up laughing. Derek rolled over to out the lamp and Spencer had gripped Derek’s arm tighter and whined in his sleep. Derek then had to assure his boyfriend- in soft whispers as to not actually wake him up- that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Spencer never thought to question why his book and glasses were gone when he woke up.

*****

5. Leaves Books Everywhere

Anyone who had a 30 second conversation with Spencer- anyone who glanced at Spencer- could tell the man read more than he did anything else. 

Derek picked up the doctor’s satchel once and was moderately surprised the slim man hadn’t dislocated his shoulder with how heavy the bag was. But Spencer didn’t only keep books in his bag. No. They were all over the place. 

Their bedroom, the craft room where Derek made floor plans for his renovations, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Even both bathrooms and the basement. 

When the two first moved in together, Derek debated building an extension onto the living room for a library. He still debated it from time to time (just in case). But as time wore on, Derek grew to appreciate the countless (if seemingly random) books around the house. 

Spencer would read when Derek was working on floorplans, so Derek would read when Spencer worked on an academic paper or consult. 

“What’re you reading?” Spencer asked one night, finally looking up from his notebook. He was writing an essay on how handwriting analysis could help catch a serial killer and/or rapist. 

“I don’t even know,” Derek chortled. “Uh..” he looked at the cover, “it’s Introduction to Law by Joanne Banker and Yvonne Ekern.” 

“Oh! Hotch loaned that to me yesterday,” Spencer noted. “I should get that back to him soon.” 

Derek just shook his head. “You know, Pretty Boy, I didn’t read this much in college.”

Spencer smiled. “See? Maybe there’s a good side to not spending thousands of dollars on building a library,” he teased.

6. The Nightlight

In the bedroom, in the outlet closest to the door was a nightlight. But not just any night light. This nightlight made the move in the front pocket of Spencer’s satchel. 

“So what’s the story behind this platypus, Pretty Boy?” Derek had to ask one night as Spencer turned it on. “Because you’ve had this since before we were dating.” 

“My uh- my mom’s went on a sort of field trip with her hospital a couple years ago. It was on one of her good days. She saw this in the aquarium’s gift shop and bought it for me.”

“That’s pretty cute,” Derek encouraged. He knew Spencer didn’t open up about his mom often so Derek tried to learn everything he could about the woman during the rare occurrences. 

“We named him,” Spencer laughed. “Alfred Nicholas Brian Reid.” He giggled. “I just… He helps.”

*****

+1. Bleeding/Infected Hangnails

Spencer usually had something to stim or fidget with. A strip of paper, a pen or pencil to twirl, a shirt with a loose thread, something. On the off chance that he didn’t, the doctor somehow decided that his fingers were good enough. If Spencer didn’t have a hangnail, he’d start one. 

This was the one and only thing about Doctor Spencer Reid that Derek Morgan hated. He could see the minute flinch when Spencer held a utensil wrong and it pressed on the swollen skin. He heard the soft hiss when Spencer got tomato or orange juice in the broken skin. 

What Derek hated even more than that was when the hangnail would get infected. The skin around the nail or turn a greenish-yellow and harden. Which, in turn, gave Spencer another thing to pick at. 

“Pretty Boy, you gotta stop,” Derek sighed. He’d gone into a convenience store to get them something other than coffee- but tastier than water- to drink. While inside, he bought a box of Band-Aids and a tube of anti-bacterial cream. 

Spencer snapped out of his daze. “What?”

“Picking at your nails.” To prove his point, Derek took Spencer’s hand in his to show him, as well as to stop his current picking. “I know you’re worried about the case, Baby, but we’ll catch the son of a bitch and put his ass behind bars like we always do. You gotta stop destroying your hands.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” he admitted. 

“I know,” Derek said softly. He applied the cream and a Band-Aid to each finger that needed it (five in total between both hands). “We just gotta get you a couple of those fidget cubes Garcia has.”

Tag List: @mayonnaiseismycomfortfood​

[tanyawritesstories]

Sons of Kamino | An OC story

I wrote this little piece about my OC Clone Battalion and their General just for fun and thought I'd publish it. I'm extremely nervous about posting OC stuff because I don't think it's that good, so please be nice 🥺 I hope y'all like it, if not, I finished writing a sequel to Frozen Miracles that I should have published soon 😊

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: none just post-Order 66 angst

•••

It was silent. He had never been in a ship that was pure silence. All that could be heard was the whirring of the thrusters and occasional footsteps as one of his brothers got up to walk around. He looked up from the floor for the first time in half an hour, glancing around he saw only pain and anguish. So many of his brothers lay on the floor of the ship in pain. Not all of their pain was physical, in fact most of it was mental. They had all just gone through the biggest betrayal they would ever see in their lives.

The entire army, every single one of their brothers, the Republic they fought for, their own bodies, had betrayed them. They were all still struggling to comprehend it, some doing better than others. He had known about it before it happened, but it was still horrifying to see a brother of his raise his weapon against him. They hadn’t killed anyone, not a single soldier of this battalion had died and for that he was proud, relieved.

Their battalion was one of the best out there. He remembered all the adventures and missions he had gone on, remembered how happy civilians were to see the droids gone and the clone soldiers in their place. The 607th Elite Stealth Battalion. He huffed in amusement. To think that name would never be heard again was haunting. He was brought out of his reminiscing by a tap on his pauldron, he looked up to see their medic looking back at him.

“Are you alright, Commander?” He asked. Concern could be seen in his brown eyes that were a shade lighter than the rest of his brothers. “I’m fine, Chance. Just tired,” he answered, before chuckling, “The war is over, I’m not technically your Commander anymore.” Chance sighed as he looked over his brother. He’d never seen his Commander look so broken and vulnerable before. “I’ll get you a stim, sir,” Chance said, turning around. “No,” he stopped him, “I don’t need one. Save them for everyone else.” The medic sighed again but left to check on the others.

He didn’t feel like their Commander right now, he felt like a failure. The battalion was small, only about 100 men and every single one was on the mend. The chips had been removed and destroyed along with all their comm devices, no one could contact them, the General had made sure of that. They were ghosts right now and that was exactly what they needed to be safe.

He forced himself to look up and take in the sight of his men. He knew every one of their names, it didn’t matter if they were shinies or the first few men in the battalion that had managed to survive the entire war. His eyes landed on his two ARC troopers, Trigger and Ace. They were tough men and amazing soldiers, batch mates and two of the closest troopers he’d ever seen. The two war hardened men sat next to each other hugging, both looked tired and lost. Trigger was the more talkative of the two, loud and boisterous, almost always seen with a smirk on his face and his beloved DC-15LE slung over his back. He was probably one of the best snipers in the GAR with that thing. Ace was more quiet and observative, he preferred to listen and watch. When he did talk, not a single pointless word came out of his mouth. He was just starting to open up a little, finally coming to terms with his sexuality and the fact that he preferred men over women when everything collapsed again.

The medic, Chance, was doing his best to stay strong for his brothers, and for himself. He had confessed a dangerous secret to his Commander two deployments ago. He was surprised to learn that his Commander stood for it as long as it stayed a secret. Chance had a family in progress, he had met a woman on Coruscant almost a year ago and fallen in love with her. He had learned not too long ago that their attempts to have a child were a success, he had a wife and unborn baby he wanted to spend the rest of his days with.

The Commander’s eyes panned over to one of their newest troops. Hotstuff was normally always joking, laughing or flirting with someone. Also, usually a pain in the Commander's ass. Now he sat on the cold floor, head in his hands, stone faced and silent. A few feet away, Arrow sat watching everyone around him, helping where he needed to. He appeared to be the one taking this the best, Arrow was used to trauma. He used to be in the 327th until he was discovered one night by the General of the 607th, tied to a wall, bloody and bruised having just been sexually assaulted. The General had saved his life, killed his abusers, and had him transferred to the 607th after spending a month of recovery in the General’s private apartment in the upper levels of Coruscant.

The Commander sighed again, his head lowering back to the floor of the ship. They’d stolen the ship from the Separatists and were now headed Maker knows where, as far away from the core worlds as possible. He reached up and ran his hand over the shaved sides of his head where he knew the wing tattoos lay on his skin. He had been thinking of growing his hair out in those spots, this would be a perfect time. He wanted to forget who he was.

“Commander Finch!”

He closed his eyes and stood up, looking to see who called him. It was Track, their explosives expert, another usually fun and energetic man who was now drained of energy and enthusiasm.

“What is it, Track?” He asked the man currently jogging towards him. “General Akana wants to speak to you,” Track informed. Finch looked towards the cockpit doors, the General had been locked in there for the past hour, only checking in on them over the ship speakers. He sighed, “thank you, Track.”

Finch made his way to the cockpit door and knocked. “It’s me,” he said softly. He didn’t need to speak loud or specify who he was, his General knew it was him. He heard the door unlock and it slid open, he entered and made sure it closed behind him. He saw the outline of the General against the bright lights of hyperspace. Finch noticed that the autopilot light was on.

“How are they?”

He sighed and walked to stand behind the pilots chair. “How are you?” He asked. “You haven’t come out of here in almost two hours.”

“I’m fine, how are the men? Do they need my help?”

Finch walked closer and swiveled the chair around to face him. The blue lights of stars blurring by cast light on the General’s face. Even in this state, Finch thought she looked beautiful. “The men will be fine. How are you feeling?” Finch knew it was a stupid question, given what she had felt through the Force and the reaction she had when the Order struck.

“I’ll be fine, I knew it was coming,” she said briefly. “Just because you knew it was coming doesn’t make it hurt less,” Finch told her. “I’ll be fine, Finch, trust me. I’ll get through it,” she tried to assure him with a fake smile. She swiveled the chair back to face the controls and aimlessly pressed a few buttons.

“I’ve been your Commander long enough to know when you’re lying,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?” She looked up at him with a sad smile on her face. “No, Finch, you’ve already done more than enough.” He sighed and watched her stare out the viewport, the minimal light letting him see the dried tear stains on her face. “You felt it all, didn’t you? Through the Force,” he questioned. She closed her eyes and he knew he had asked a bad question. When she opened them again he saw the light reflecting off her once again glassy blue eyes, filled with tears.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, turning around to leave. "Wait," she turned around and stood, grabbing his arm to keep him from going. "I'm sorry, I should have told you what was happening when I collapsed," she said, letting go of his arm and blinking back tears.

"It's just...I could almost see that red lightsaber as it cut through his stomach," she was barely able to finish her sentence before breaking down in tears, covering her face with her hands. Her knees gave up and Finch caught her, lowering her slowly to the ground beside him. He just held her in his arms whispering comforting words to her and rubbing her back. She was young and had lost so much, first her parents, then her adoptive mother, then her best friend, and her lover, she was broken.

He knew she’d lost people to the Order by the names she had called out. Kit. Anakin. Cody. Plo. Rex. Jesse. Aayla. Ahsoka. Those were just a few.

Finch held his General until she stopped crying and got up to return to her seat. “Tell the men we’re stopping at Florrum to pick up a few things, then we’ll be heading to Coruscant to rescue Chance’s wife and Zip’s girlfriend,” she informed, her steel stern walls already back in place. “Yes, sir,” he said.

She had promised her men everything, a new life wherever they wanted doing whatever they wanted. Chance was planning to live on a desolate planet and raise a family where the Empire couldn’t reach him. Trigger wanted to become a bounty hunter once everything settled down, most likely Ace would go with him. Zip wanted to marry his girlfriend and become a writer. Neil wanted to try and start a school with Flanker and Nash as teachers. Arrow wanted to start a shelter for victims of sexual abuse. They all had wants and goals, only they looked attainable now that they were free. Finch wanted something too but he was almost certain his wish was unattainable.

He was sure he wasn’t the first clone Commander to fall in love with their General.

He looked down at his hands, the armor covering the back of them engraved with the Republic symbol. This was not his symbol anymore. He was free, not property, he could do what he wanted. He may have been born in a test tube, a clone with millions of look-alikes, but he would always be a soldier. Only now he didn't have a leash.

[pink-ink-goblin]

Darkmark or darkstache: "um... What did two lines mean again?"

((Double sorry mysterious being. One for taking so long to get to this. And two, for making you wait forever for me to essentially tell you no. I don’t do male pregnancy fics. At least, not with the ending you’re probably thinking of. No judgement from me on your proclivities, it’s just not something I like writing. That said, how about a disorganized, light series of probably completely unfunny events instead?))  

It had been a quiet day for the most part. No one was fighting, no one had died, and Dark hadn’t found a single squirrel darting around. It was a strange but very welcome sort of peace, so the demon took advantage of it by making himself scarce so he could not only enjoy it, but concentrate on the various more corporate aspects of maintaining a building full of unpredictable, and infinitely frustrating, beings as well. It was more than just watching over them after all. They did not reside there for free and silence was not a cheap item to buy, regardless of how much smooth talking there had been.

But that was honestly the easy part. The rest of the neatly stacked papers, however, were written requests from the more active egos submitted via form because Dark was done dealing with their whining face to face. The one in front of him currently was from their resident game show host, and Bim was requesting permission to expand the studio. He must be at odds with Wilford again if he was beseeching Dark about it.

However, despite enjoying the silence, he couldn’t ignore the strange fact that his main interruption had been absent all day, making the silence take on a more suspicious air, but Dark wasn’t concerned enough to go look for him and ruin his potentially quiet afternoon. Nothing was broken, nothing was flickering in and out of existence, and no one was screaming, so if it didn’t warrant world ending interventions, then he was happy to step back and let be.

True to form, however, his blissful solitude wasn’t meant to last long, and, with the sound of a bubblegum pop, Wilford was in front of his desk, fingers already reaching out to fiddle with his pen stand as he often did when he needed to ask something. It was less a nervous habit and more a plain annoying one, but one that Dark had grown used to so long ago.

“Yes, Wilford?” Dark droned, not even bothering to look up. What were the legal repercussions of letting Host run his own Podcast? As long as it couldn’t be traced, then he could have at it. Approved.

“Um…” Wilford hesitated, seeming to be trying to find the proper words for his question oddly enough, before settling, as he usually did, upon being blunt. “What did two lines mean again?”

Dark’s pen paused in his writing, considering the confusing nature of the words presented to him. He was more than certain Wilford was looking at him expectantly, the sentence of course making sense to the being but not quite registering that they may be puzzlingly vague to someone else. In the small stretch of silence, the pastel-themed being’s deft fingers had left the pen stand and were already reaching for his magnetic container of paperclips, but Dark reached over and snatched it away, still without looking up.

“That’s a very broad question,” The demon finally replied patiently, flipping a paper over and placing it neatly into another pile. “Why not ask Google? He’d be happy to list every single instance of significance that two lines can have in this dimension.”

“Because,” Wilford retorted somewhat petulantly, mostly at being denied optimum stimming material, before tossing something skinny and cream colored onto Dark’s desk that bounced to a stop right on top of his paperwork. “I’m asking you.”

It took longer than the demon would care to admit to recognize not just the stick, but the minimal information Wilford had provided with it, and when it clicked, it made him finally sit up in confusion.

“I can’t remember what the box said,” Wilford admitted, oblivious to Dark’s reaction. The pink ego had a habit of doing the same thing when he cooked, but instead of fishing the box out of the garbage with an air of defeat like a sane being, he would continue on stubbornly and then grumpily whine to Dark when everything went wrong. “Something about one line or two meaning something or other.”

“Wilford,” Dark said slowly, refusing to touch the offending thing with an air of disgust. “This is a pregnancy test.”

“So?” Wilford cocked an eyebrow at him, but Dark could see the man didn’t understand what Dark was implying. He couldn’t possibly actually be this oblivious.

“So you’re a male. Males don’t get pregnant. And, considering you are not a sea horse, I doubt you have anything to worry about. Once again, I implore you to ask Google for clarification. And also get this off my desk.”

“But what do the two lines mean?”

“Two lines usually means-” Positive… Wait, what? “Wilford, did you use this?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“A week ago. I forgot about it.” It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep Dark seated after that statement. Had Wilford just been sitting on that information for a week, or had he only just checked it now and thought to ask? Dark supposed it didn’t matter at this point, but it didn’t necessarily stop him from being not only irate, but also deeply concerned.

“And there’s no chance anyone else could have gotten a hold of it?”

“No, it was in my pen cup,” And with that, Dark made note to never touch anything on Wilford’s desk ever again. “Dark, what does it mean?”

Dark sighed heavily, fingers pressing into his temples as he prayed for patience. “… It means we need to have a chat with our good doctor.”

——

It was only natural that their resident doctor’s immediate reaction was to laugh. It was a short bark because the man valued his life, but it was still enough to have Dark only just resisting the urge to throttle him. The demon supposed that if their roles had been reversed, maybe he might have found humor in it as well, but as it stood, he was much too irate to consider it from any side other than his own, and he didn’t even want that perspective either.

They stood now near the door, Dark with his hands behind his back, trying to pretend nothing was wrong with anything he had just said, while the doctor stood across from him, hiding his smile rather poorly as he leaned a hip against the nearest hospital bed with his arms crossed. Wilford, naturally, had become quickly disinterested and wandered off in the moderate space allowed because he was no longer being directly referred to.

“Okay, disregarding Wilford,” The doctor started quietly, the last of the humor finally working its way out of his system. At least for now. “Surely at least you know how this is all physically impossible?”

Dark gave him a flat look. “Why do you think I came to you?”

“Wait, so you don’t know?” Dr. Iplier’s face fell at the prospect of having to give ‘the talk’ to the last two beings he would ever have expected to give it to.  

“Of course I know how it all works,” Dark hissed dangerously, something bleeding out into his voice to distort it in his sudden offence, before he took a calming breath and composed himself once more. “That’s the problem. It’s a logical fallacy with a single point of truth.”

Despite the outburst, Dr. Iplier took a rather relieved breath. Thank God. “Well, yeah, it is, but there are too many issues with the theory of ectopic male pregnancy for me to even begin to take that single truth with any modicum of seriousness. It’s just not possible.”

“I understand that,” Dark humored. “Believe me I do, but why then was the test positive?”

The doctor shrugged. “Faulty maybe? They aren’t really an exact science, especially in a commercial setting. Or, you know, there have been cases where males have jokingly used them only to receive a true positive due to having prostate cancer. But I can almost guarantee you that Wilford doesn’t fall under the standard definition of human male even remotely enough for that to be a possibility.” Dr. Iplier paused to sigh before relenting, “Honestly, maybe he is actually pregnant. Who knows what the hell Wilford actually could be.”

“I’ve known him long enough that I can assure you that Wilford is more or less designed like a male human, proclivities included,” Dark vouched, turning to watch distastefully as Wilford raided the doctor’s lolli cup. Dr. Iplier made a subtle face through his own side glance but otherwise let him go at it. This had come to be expected every time the being came in anyway. “That should mean he has no organs to accompany such a thing.”

Dr. Iplier wisely chose to ignore the idea of how Dark could even begin to know that. “And I would be inclined to absolutely agree with you, but with you extra-dimensionals, I’ve seen a lot of weird crap that throws normal right out the window. Have you tried making him take one again?”

“No,” Dark admitted, mood growing more sour by the second. “Because I know for a fact that he’s incapable… Maybe.” Dark rubbed at his face wearily. “Don’t you have a test of your own you could use? Perhaps take some blood?”

“I’ve plenty of cups he can pee in, but not a single machine or any chemical strips to test it with. That’s not my field.”

“You have lab equipment in the back room,” Dark stated, gesturing to the lone door next to the doctor’s corner desk. He even remembered helping Dr. Iplier acquire most of what was in there even if he wasn’t sure what half of it did.

“Yes, for trauma. I treat anything from superficial injuries to life threatening wounds, not deliver babies and happy news.” The doctor replied with equal flatness. “With maybe a minor degree in pathology. Go find an OB-GYN if you’re that insistent.”

Dark was tempted to remind the doctor of his revoked license purely out of spite. “Very well. Could you at least look at the brand and tell me if it’s trustworthy?”

Dr. Iplier shrugged again, looking like he wanted to reiterate what he had just said, but instead settled on a simple, “I can do my best.”

“Wilford, come here,” Dark commanded. Wilford looked up from the mess he had made on Dr. Iplier’s desk - some kind of paper fort built of pens and paperclips that had no business being able to maintain structural integrity given the current physical plane they were on - and wandered over obediently, two suckers in his mouth, three in his shirt pocket, and, when he got close enough, one held out to Dark jovially. Dark plucked it from his fingers and placed it in his own breast pocket to later add to his collection of stolen lollipops in his desk drawer. “Give the Doctor the stick.”

Wilford fished it out of God knew where and handed it over, mouth too preoccupied with the sugary treats to speak. Dr. Iplier took it without the air of disgust Dark had given and, after a good moment of scrutinizing, an inappropriately humorous smile began to spread across his face.

“What?” Dark asked suspiciously.

“This brand’s pretty trustworthy.”

Dark’s eyes went wide with sudden concern, voice almost cracking from the sudden tightness in his throat. “Jesus Christ, you’re joking.”

“Not a bit,” The doctor responded cheerily as he was want to do when delivering bad news. “But, see this?”

“Yes, that’s the second line.” Dark confirmed, unsure what he was getting at. The whole thing was a little faded, given Wilford had left it alone, but… Wait. “Why isn’t it the same color as the first one?”

“Exactly. The color’s off because… it was originally negative. This is what happens when you let them sit out too long after using them. They give a false positive. Also why you should probably follow the directions on the box.” Dr. Iplier quipped in quick tones, turning to toss the stick into a nearby trashcan. “Tough luck. Looks like you’re both doomed to a childless future.”

Dark could feel it on his tongue, the expletive that wanted to explode out of him and eviscerate Wilford where he merrily stood, but he reigned it in with a slow deep breath, swallowing a good portion of his irritation in the process. He should honestly feel relieved, so that’s what he decided to cling to. After all, this was probably the most harmless thing Wilford’s carelessness had ever done, emotional wear aside, and considering past exploits, Dark should be counting his lucky stars that Wilford hadn’t had to have come into the clinic with anyone else.

Maybe the man was sterile. Dark could really only hope. A quiet cough brought Dark back to earth and face to face with the rather mischievous smile of the doctor with something else on his mind.

“What?” Dark humored tonelessly.

“At the risk of being eviscerated,” Dr. Iplier said slowly, taking a few steps back to ensure he was outside of Dark’s immediate reach. “You two make a horrifying and cute couple.”

“… Run. Now,” Dark watched the doctor flee from his clinic, coat flapping behind him while the threat did nothing to remove that smug grin from his face. He’d be back later when he was sure both of them were gone from his clinic. Dark also knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the doctor sharing this either, for if there was one thing the man wasn’t was a gossip, but all the same it still wore on him greatly that someone else knew of this draining experience. What an afternoon.

A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and heavy despite his aura and he looked over his shoulder to see the source of many of his daily irritations smiling at him, having finished the two suckers, but not yet spitting out the sticks. Dark sighed, about ready to ask why Wilford had even thought to buy one of those damn pregnancy tests in the first place, when, mid-turn, his elbow bumped something that made him freeze. Something very round and yellow.

And distinctly attached to Wilford’s abdomen.

Dark jumped back like a scared cat, thrusting himself out of Wilford’s grip and stumbling back in absolute shock and horror. He was about ready to freeze up or bolt when Wilford started laughing. The sudden flip to confusion was enough to ground the demon and make him pause to take a closer look, now realizing he could see something white and cloth-like poking out from between Wilford’s shirt buttons.

“Gotcha,” Wilford chuckled, patting the top of his faux-stomach hard enough to elicit dull, rustling cloth sounding thumps.

“Get that out of your shirt,” Dark demanded sourly, giving Wilford the harshest of looks while the being pulled the bed sheet out and unceremoniously threw the rumpled ball onto the nearest bed. He turned away and started walking out, Wilford trotting to catch up unprompted as Dark always expected him to. “What possessed you to buy one of those damn things anyway? Was this some kind of test?”

“I dunno, did I pass?” Wilford answered cryptically, and when Dark went to give him another beseeching look, he was met with Wilford grinning at him, lolli sticks stuck in his upper lip to look like tusks. Whether the effect was intentional or not, Dark suddenly found his mouth unwittingly pulling at the corners despite it all. A laugh, small and quiet as it was, even managed to sneak its way past his lips.

It was official. The ridiculousness of everything had finally hit him. He couldn’t even be mad anymore, so he just accepted that he would probably never know. Wilford was an enigma, even to himself, so it was always better to just let it go.

Dark reached out and looped his arm into Wilford’s as they made their way to the elevator, the pink ego’s grin turning smug with victory as they locked elbows.

“You know what?” Dark said, pressing the button for the top floor. He looked at the being, tilting his head as his own smile turned amused. “Why not?”