#Such a light read and yet such significantly human points he had made between the lines of the story.

[magnusbae]

Brandon Sanderson || art: Karl Gussow // Jean Claude Kabongo // George Frederic Watts

[ivycorp]

Riot's TFP AU: Have you tried turning your Prime off and on again?

Agent Fowler kept a folder on everyone - the one for Optimus for a very long time contained a log of dates and places. The frequency of whatever he was tracking decreased at some point significantly, coming to a halt - and judging from the man's smile, it was a good thing.

When Agent Fowler was informed he would be dealing with giant alien robots from space, he was torn between being understandably stupefied by the notion of lifeforms from beyond the stars existing at all, and wondering if he had actually pissed someone off on the last work party. His superiors specified he was mainly to collect intel from within as a ‘liaison’ - to help them figure out what made the Cybertronians tick, and let them prepare for the eventuality when the Earth would have to deal with them as their own enemies.

“Precaution, agent - we can’t let ourselves be caught unawares should they turn on us,” his commander said, handing over a slim file of what they already knew. It was barely a few pages long, with more blanks than any actual information - which meant he was essentially going in blind. 

Marvelous - it was truly an ideal state of matters when talking with huge robots that can squash you like a bug.

Someone up there in senior command really didn’t like him.

Fowler accepted the job in the end, but on the inside he hoped it wouldn't last too long; he would usually choose shorter gigs to not grow attached to his targets. And when aliens were added into the picture, there was no place to get mushy - he needed to stand firmly on the side of humanity and his country.

In the beginning, it wasn't too difficult to keep the necessary emotional distance while remaining adequately civil - the differences between them were so numerous, the Autobots appeared standoffish and weird at first; he suspected that to them, he most likely seemed the same. They worked together, but that was it; he struggled to make progress beyond what he was told directly. Dry recounts, a few remarks, a hushed conversation here and there of which he heard a fraction at best.

He was almost considering reassignment, anything to alleviate the boredom - he'd even take the traffic duty over yet another day of silence. The paperwork was filed, ready to be sent out to his supervisor with a note that his skills were not being properly utilized, when he heard a loud clash.

Getting up and peering over the railing, he saw Optimus Prime sprawled on the floor by the console. Fowler cursed to himself; the one day when everyone was on patrol but their leader, he suffered some malfunction. How was he supposed to react? Should he get some jumper cables or something?

Deciding he might at least investigate, he went down and approached the mech with caution. Maybe it was some sort of robotic narcolepsy? Was Optimus sleeping? 

The agent's brows furrowed - could they even sleep?

He called out to the bot, hoping it would stir some reaction, but it all fell on deaf audials. He noticed the lights and noises that he associated with their kind were absent. 

To Fowler, Prime looked pretty much dead. 

He spent the next few minutes panicking, trying to discern how he would break the news to the command (and well, to bots too) - when the mech shook and on-lined with a soft gasp. The man stepped away, instinctively trying to give space to breathe to a being that didn’t even have lungs; he cursed quietly, trying to stamp out the flash of empathy that tried to read its ugly head at the obvious discomfort he was witnessing, as the Autobot leader got himself up to a sitting position, wincing at the stray electricity dancing on his plating.

"What was that?"

The Prime turned his helm, one of his servos massaging the middle of his chest gently; seeing the human, he raised the other one to wave the inquiry away.

"Nothing serious, Agent Fowler, do not concern yourself with this - it's not the first time it happened, and it will not be the last," said the mech placatingly, composure slipping at the end of the sentence to reveal… exhaustion? Seeing the bot already start to gather himself up, legs shaking slightly, the man decided to drop it. He would add it to the report and keep his eye out on the Prime to make sure it doesn't occur too often.

He repeated to himself that he was not growing concerned - that would imply caring, and that would imply getting attached. Very unprofessional. 

The reassignment paperwork was not sent out that day, though.

*****

Over the next few weeks, he kept to his routine without any major changes. Yet, something about that odd incident made him ask Ratchet a vague question about Cybertronians rest cycles. The medic was never very talkative, usually outright dismissive, but the question caught him by surprise - he actually gave a brief, but clear answer that turned the agent even more pensive. They were able to recharge, but they would not power down completely for it - so whatever struck the Prime was not a nap or a fainting spell. 

Thanking for the information, he walked back up to the raised platform and stopped, looking around. Arcee and Bumblebee were out on patrol, Cliffjumper and Bulkhead took off on a joyride…

Where was Optimus?

The man walked around the base, looking at every nook and cranny in search of the missing Autobot leader; a familiar sound of restarting machinery caught his ear, letting him follow it to the source. He found the Prime resting between storage boxes, frame barely visible in the dim room, biolights glowing in the darkness. When the agent got closer, he started recognising what the mech was muttering:

"What was it this time… you can't keep… this is not… please…" 

Fowler tried to remain stealthy, as he wanted to hear more of what Optimus was talking about; however, before he could actually catch anything, the automatic light sensors tripped and the room illuminated, startling the bot. 

"Who's there?" came a loud question, as the sounds of a Cybertronian scrambling to get up joined in. The agent cursed internally, before he put his shoulders back and strode inside. 

"It's me, Prime, relax," he said pacifyingly, trying to look confident and not at all like a man who just failed at trying to eavesdrop on an alien. The red and blue bot looked at him, shoulders dropping; the bright optics focused on him, and he had a feeling the mech was looking inside of his soul directly. Fowler intently did not think about spying, even though he was certain there was no way the other would know he was trying to listen in on whatever was happening. 

"Agent Fowler, what can I do for you?" Optimus inquired, slipping back into the familiar dynamic - most likely hoping the man wouldn't ask what he was doing in the dark storage room. 

"Nothing, I wasn't looking for you - I was just passing by, must have walked too close to the sensor," the man decided to leave the matter be for now, gesturing towards the lights. The mech stared at him, before nodding in understanding. 

"Then don't let me stop you from your duties, Agent Fowler, I'll be back at the main console in a few minutes if you do require my help," the Autobot leader acknowledged, and the man took it as a great opportunity to leave without raising suspicion.

As he walked down the hallway, he wondered why the lights weren't on in the first place - just how long was Optimus not moving in this room?

*****

On one of the few occasions where the Autobots were asked to help the human side of the alliance months later, Fowler had the dubious pleasure of getting stuck between rock and a hard place - quite literally. 

When he rode inside Optimus's cabin, writing up his report after they successfully delivered some sensitive military cargo without encountering the mercenaries they expected, he forgot that the lack of engagement was not equal to lack of possible excitement; a tremor shook the ground caused a landslide, which barrelled straight into the truck and threw them out of the road, off the edge of the cliff. The agent noticed the bot shift, turning to cushion the fall in a more controlled fashion, before they hit the bottom with a loud thud.

Dizzy but alive, Fowler got up on his legs, panting, adrenaline coursing high through his veins, as he started making his way towards the unmoving Autobot. Optimus had taken the brunt of the damages, and while the man got thrown to the side, the remaining rocks and pieces of road landed right on top of the mech.

"Prime, you good?" he called out, and upon hearing no response, frantically began to clear the rubble. His hands hurt, but he managed to dislodge a piece of the structure so that it unveiled a familiar red armor. After a bit more digging, he unburied the blue helm, dirty and scratched up.

There were no signs of life, and mech's chest was impaled right through by a piece of what he could recognize as a mangled crash barrier. The agent patted himself down for a phone, before he pulled out the wrecked device. It was beyond recovery, and he cursed not being able to hail anyone for help - the return trip was just him and Prime, so there would be nobody looking for them for a while.

He supposed at some point Ratchet would realize their leader dropped dead - he knew the medic was monitoring all the crew's stats. It was actually weird that there was no space bridge in there yet.

Worry growing, he shrieked when the mechanism emitted a disharmonious sound - and Optimus groaned. The bot got up, hissing as the metal embedded in him started sliding out. The screeching and squelching of unknown origin combined into a sickening discordant noise that made him want to barf.

"Watch out, Prime, it nearly killed you!" Fowler threw his hands up, hoping to catch the attention of the mech; the blue optics shifted towards him in a mix of surprise and relief.

“Ah, you had not been harmed - that’s good,” Optimus said, smiling weakly as he propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the metal jutting out of his torso. The long servos tried to reach behind his back, failing to grasp at the end of it - the piece got buried deep into the ground.

The only way off it was up.

“You said it ‘nearly’ killed me, correct, Agent Fowler?” the Autobot asked aloud, though the man felt this was less of a question and more of an acknowledgement, as he could swear he could hear the quotation marks in the sentence. Numbly, he nodded, and nearly snickered from stress when the bot said something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a foreign language - the emotion behind the words was very much recognizable. He grabbed the barrier and tore it as close to his windshields as possible, before he leveled Fowler with a tired look.

“There is a chance this will ‘nearly’ kill me again - if this happens, don’t worry, just give me a few minutes. If I try to do this again after that, tell me it didn’t work and to call Ratchet instead,” came the orders, voice of the mech devoid of any humor - the agent could only nod his head again, as Prime sighed and started pulling himself off it, inch by inch. 

At some point the rubble he was in shifted, making him sway; the mech seized up with a guttural sound in his vocaliser, and his biolights blinked away. Fowler stood there, watching the bot dangle like that for a couple of minutes, before the sound of re-starting systems filled his ears again. 

Optimus groaned, looking around disoriented, as he tried to move again.

“No!” shouted the man, successfully stopping the bot, as he quickly followed it up with “it didn’t work, call Ratchet,”; to his amazement, Prime listened, opening the comm line to the base, as the familiar lights of a ground bridge appeared close by. The medic came out, shouting at his leader, as he started chewing the mech’s audials off for getting stuck into another weird situation again. The blue and red Autobot apologized the entire way back, as he limped to the medbay - agent following silently, wondering what had he actually witnessed. 

*****

“Optimus, please, let me take a look at it,” said Ratchet, poking at the mech’s internals, mending the remaining wires with care and precision. Prime shook his helm negative, mumbling:

“You tried that already, old friend, and we both know I can't remove it yet.”

Fowler froze with an arm raised, as he was about to knock on a pipe and ask the medic some questions about Cybertronian biology he was getting more curious about lately - instead, he darted to the wall, hiding behind one of the storage boxes, telling himself he was not feeling guilty for listening in on a private conversation between a doctor and their patient. 

He was not the one sworn to secrecy in that matter.

This was expected from his job!

Why did he feel so bad about listening in, then?

“Still, this is not healthy for you!” the angry words came back at the Prime; the man had to strain his ears to pick up what followed after, muscles aching from trying not to make a sound and stop this conversation. 

“The fact that I had to add a delay on the medical alert for when you drop off-line just because that one time you kept on dropping and coming back several times in a row because of whatever you and this piece of scrap in your chest disagreed about - you don’t even remember what was the subject of the discussion! - it’s simply asking for trouble! Had you not called, I would have never known you needed assistance!” Ratchet fumed, angrily slamming something closed, before gathering the equipment and leaving it to clatter on the tray for treatment later on. A sympathetic hum was heard, and the medic emitted a sound of exhausted disappointment. 

“I really wish you would let me try again - Decepticons aren’t around, so you suffer for nothing,” he mumbled, as he went back to the sanitizing unit, to get the equipment cleaned up. 

Fowler could see the familiar legs of Optimus at the edge of his field of vision behind the crate, as the mech calmly patted his friend on the shoulder and stated:

“If in a year we will be able to say the same, I will be open for another attempt - for now, I have a feeling we are not alone here.”

The agent stood still, mulling these words over, as he finally slipped away into the base proper. From such an odd piece of intel, he wasn’t sure if he could explain it in his report - so for now, it remained out of the official documentation. 

Until he knew a little bit more.

Not at all because he was actually worried.

*****

Ten months later, Fowler noted at least twenty of those strange occurrences - and when Cliffjumper died, alerting them to the enemy presence, he had to restrain himself from looking at Ratchet’s offended face, as he grumbled about ‘stupid Cons not waiting with this slag for two more months’. The man had by then grown a bit more attached to the Autobots, but he still periodically considered calling it quits - the paperwork sitting in drafts all this time, ready at a click of a button to get him into a less weird job. 

When he observed the Decepticons in action, he congratulated himself on the patience - they were providing him more information than he could ever hope to piece away from the Bots alone! They talked so much and with so little care, it was like taking candy from a baby.

He quickly picked up on some sort of prior history between the two factions’ leaders, though he was surprised at how little Optimus seemed to be affected by this weird dance between him and Megatron; to Fowler, it looked like the silver mech was putting so many innuendos about their lives that he started using it as a reference under what was previously a blank slate of ‘Prime’s past’ in his file. The red and blue bot did not show the same level of engagement, and the man could see it was driving the former gladiator into anger. It was like watching a telenovela - and he was quickly sucked into the drama.

The agent wrote down ‘possibly exes?’ in the file quite early on, later scratching out the first word, instead underlining the latter four times.

Month after that, he added exclamation marks.

It later came into being the central part on the mind map he created to keep up with all the information he was getting.

And there was a lot of it.

As more and more Cybertronians showed up, his job became way more dynamic - between reports, missions, and increasing liveliness of the inhabitants of the base, he barely had time for boredom. He was sure he was close to getting into internal communication on board the Nemesis, and that would for sure give him even more intel. He needed more insight, to give them an edge in this conflict - to both the Autobots and humankind.

Especially since the Bots somehow managed to get kids involved in the mess.

‘Still’, he mused, looking around from where he stood finishing up a phone call, ‘at least the guys have some life in them now.’ 

He stopped on the stairs, realizing how true that statement was. Fowler racked his brain trying to recall if he saw Arcee smile so openly before. Had he heard Bulkhead’s laugh so loud? Had Bumblebee allowed himself some time to play around? Brows furrowing in concentration, he opened his notepad and checked his personal tally he kept on Optimus. 

There had been no new entries from when the Decepticons returned. 

*****

The appearance of Unicron into the equation caused an uproar; even worse was the fact that the only solution they could think about involved cooperation with Megatron. There was not much time left for dilly-dallying, and Optimus did not leave much room for argument, having tried the diplomacy route and failing spectacularly before getting rescued by his nemesis - who was way too giddy for such an event, gloating and flirting the entire time. 

It made the agent laugh internally to see the Autobot leader ignore all of it, in favor of dealing with the situation on hand - to the Decepticon’s obvious dismay.

Knowing the silver mech was inside the base felt like a horrible intrusion, nonetheless. There was nothing that could be done about it, and the agent prayed that he would not have to write down today’s date in his little log.

As he watched them cross the space bridge, he admitted that at least if he needed to add another entry, the Prime would be there, alive and well.

The entire operation passed quickly, nerves flying high, as the tremors finally ceased - crisis averted. The Earth would see another day, and the public would be none the wiser that the planet was, in fact, a giant robot.

Opening the space bridge again, the Bots returned, oddly quiet for such a success.

Fowler looked at them, and his face fell.

Optimus wasn’t with them.

“Where is he?” he asked, walking closer to the guardrail, right as Ratchet piped up with the same sentiment. The agent knew that if the mech had been killed, they would have dragged the husk back - and he would probably wake up after a few minutes.

As always.

He always came back.

No matter what, no matter how bad - he always powered up, looking around before his memory caught up to him enough to start thinking again.

When the bots explained their leader couldn't recognize them and left with Megatron, he decided the group chat he got into would be way more closely monitored than he initially suspected.

*****

Getting Optimus back was a relief.

Fowler already knew a bit more than others what had happened from the Vehicons recount of the events, as he lurked on as an anonymous presence with them on the comms. He decided to keep the majority of it to himself, expecting the rumors to be at least slightly exaggerated - he could try to let the mech retain his dignity. 

The notes he took were for now out of the official documentation, hidden in the depths of his archiving cabinet under lock and key. It could have been an insinuation of a bored staff, he knew how easy gossip spread and mutated. 

And it's not possible they had been going at it as often as the messages implied. They were at war, on the same ship as Soundwave who listened in on anyone at any given time - that must put a bit of a damper on the horizontal tango.

Prime walked between his Autobots, smiling, letting them touch him; understanding the need for reassurance, his presence grounding the others. He allowed himself to be pulled into hugs, right before he was dragged away by the medic who already raged at all the check-ups he needed to run ('I expect you to carry tons of malware, so you ain't touching any consoles before I clear you' Ratchet threatened, pulling the mech by a servo insistently). 

Right as it should be: down to the mumbled curses, laughing kids, and their exhausted but relieved Bot companions.

Their worries were finally over, their leader returned, and things would be back to normal soon. If they gave him time and space, he would be the patient, wise figure they got used to. 

Fowler later guessed they never really knew the actual 'normal' for the mech, so they really shouldn't have been as surprised as what followed.

*****

There was something different about the Prime, but the agent wasn't sure yet if this was actually a bad thing. 

On one hand, the mech had been way more expressive, open to conversation and emotion; there were more positive interactions, as the underlying stiffness he associated with Optimus being, well, a Prime - he heard Ratchet say like the sole fact was the worst thing that could have happened to the bot - was gone. The kids enjoyed that a lot, responding well to his smiles and encouragement shared at their curiosity.

On another, it became very obvious that the past Megatron was alluding to was, in fact, precisely as he implied.

And the feelings were very much returned.

The agent kicked himself mentally for not believing the group chat more - the staff on board Nemesis obviously knew what was going on and were not shy to gossip about it. At least he was not forced to be within the same ship as Megatron, who seemed to be most affected by the shift of this dynamic.

After one of those missions that ended with everyone being very weirded out, he decided it wasn't bad to ask him about one of his suspicions on an unrelated topic - it's not like the day could get much stranger.

"So, Optimus, the Matrix ain't bothering you as much these days?" Fowler asked without preamble, hoping the bluntness would make it less inappropriate. The mech grinned, and confirmed:

"Yes, there should be no more spontaneous deaths triggered by SOMEONE," he looked down at where the Matrix resided in his frame with a frown, "who decides that the best option to win an argument is to make me forget the topic of it by killing me out of the blue, removing the last few minutes from my memory as a by-product."

He placed his servos on hips, as he spoke to the middle of his chest disapprovingly:

"Very mature approach, for sure."

Optimus cocked his helm to the side, as if listening to someone speak, before he added an angry "No excuses, you ain't pulling this on me ever again, you piece of scrap - ‘will of Primus’ or not, we will talk things out like grown mechanisms, you hear?" slapping his torso right above his spark, driving his point home.

Fowler couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him in response, as his theories were getting validated.

"Has the Matrix been turning you off and on again, hoping you would drop whatever the issue was? Would it be happening again anytime soon?" he asked to clarify, as his brain was filled with an image of an ethereal looking bot insistently pushing the power button to force a shutdown, only to do it again when the same issue popped in right after and getting mad that it's not working with such a stubborn mech that Optimus was turning out to be. It made him laugh, but it also was worrying to think that it could start again. 

Prime nodded, smirking, as he added:

"It surely seemed that way, but the game has changed - no more 'blue screens of death' for me, I'm glad to say."

The agent decided in the end that the change was good - this Optimus smiled way more often.

*****

Laughing at the last messages from the chat, Fowler saved yet another file onto his phone; he would need to print this out and include it in his reports, though he expected other agents would grow only more concerned at the mess the Cybertronians were creating lately. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe there was a problem with him, before he shrugged - it really didn't matter, he enjoyed this too much. His documentation was thorough these days, and as Prowl remarked, very well organized.

Plus, he was getting very good at fancy presentations - he wouldn't give up a chance to whip up another one for the matter of a surprise addition to the lives of certain faction leaders. He had so many pictures saved, he had to use them for good. 

Aside from the baby album he was preparing in secret for Optimus, of course. He should have probably written it down - he kept on forgetting to check up on the large print order he placed, so a physical memo could help. The agent flipped his notepad open, pen at the ready.

The little thing no longer carried the tally log of all the Primes Deaths And Returns; these pages were transferred into the side file cabinet, as another reference in the 'no longer applicable concern' category: it fit right by 'estimation of chances of Megatron killing off Optimus' and 'list of injuries and treatments related to being grabbed by a Cybertronian'.

A message piped on his phone, and he snorted at the picture sent by the kids from the day at the beach, visiting Griffin Rock for some well deserved R&R. He went to type a reply, when he found the old and forgotten reassignment request. Fowler shook his head at his old worries.

With no hesitation, he deleted the draft.

This job was not boring at all.

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

@transingthoseformers I couldn't find the post in which it was mentioned that Fowler has seen Optimus die enough time to know how to react to it, but it's been sitting with me for a while so... yeah.

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (1)

the first chapter of my HEYATN rewrite! find the original here!

warnings: panic attacks, fear, hypervigilance, paranoia, mentions of freezing/starving

-

The first sign of the humans had been the smoke.

The scent had caught Virgil’s attention from the moment he woke, the light grey plumes curling over the tips of the trees in the distance. There’d been no recent storm to strike a flame, which meant that human hands had crafted it.

It wasn’t the first time. His forest was wide and sprawling, and it was near enough to a few well-worn traveling paths that humans thought it a fair place to set up camp for a night or two. The otherworldly aura of the forest itself tended to dissuade any longer stays.

(Eerie howling in the night also tended to do the trick.)

Virgil still had to check it out, of course, both as his home’s protector and to soothe his own agitation at the sight. It didn’t matter that they were almost always peaceful travelers, the presence of humans put him on edge every time.

And if the sensation of being watched drove the intruders away quicker? All the better.

He headed down the hillside, winding his way through the edges of his normal patrol route as he went. Nothing was amiss there, the wildlife scampering away at the sight of him, the natural magic of the area still abundant and thriving.

The source of the smoke was closer than he’d anticipated, though. It was rare that any were bold enough to camp any further than the edges of his territory, and yet here he was in the middle of the forest, the smell rapidly growing stronger.

He slowed, close enough now that the smoketrail was hidden by the long branches overhead. This was a familiar spot, there was a clearing up ahead, and—

Virgil stopped dead at the edge of the trees, staring at the abandoned cabin that had sat quietly in this clearing since he’d first stumbled into his forest.

There was smoke rising from the chimney.

He could smell the humans now, tracks and scent trails to and from the apparently formerly abandoned cabin. They must have trekked through a good quarter of his territory to get here, and he’d slept through the intrusion like an idiot. He paced back and forth agitatedly, circling around the clearing and remaining carefully out of sight as he did.

He’d been in that cabin before. How could he not have? Alone in these woods, there wasn’t much to do for fun except explore. Once he’d gotten past his initial skittishness, he’d been determined to investigate every inch of the dusty old place.

And then he’d realized it was a former den for hunters. He’d spent weeks on the other side of the woods, slowly working his way through the panic that had risen up in him at the simple thought: what if they return?

Even so, as time passed, he’d only grown more sure that the place was well and truly harmless. Nobody had been in there for years prior to Virgil’s arrival in the woods. Whatever use its hunters might have had for it, it had clearly been long abandoned and left to rot.

Of course, now there was smoke in the chimney, and the windows had been carefully pushed open, and there was a horse, grazing mildly.

Virgil took a deep breath, pausing his pacing to try and calm his racing heart. He couldn’t jump to conclusions.

Just because it was an old hunters’ den didn’t mean the new occupants were hunters. It might have been a simple act of opportunity, like a vole taking up an abandoned burrow.

The back door swung open, and Virgil went still, watching as a human donned in red strode over to the horse, patting its snout and murmuring softly to it. He offered it a handful of some sort of grain, which it seemed to enjoy, and then made his way to the center of the clearing and drew a sword from the sheathe at his hip.

Even from here, Virgil felt his skin prickle at the way the blade sang, radiating protective magics as the human moved through blocks and attacks against an invisible enemy. It had to be pure silver, and likely warded as thoroughly as possible against creatures like him. One didn’t simply obtain a weapon like that without knowing what it was, what it was meant for.

He backed away slowly, fading into the underbrush, until he was absolutely certain that he was free from the human— the hunter’s range of sight.

Then, mind full of white noise, he turned and bolted.

—-

He lost a day and a half to the blinding panic, cycling between fear-anger-exhaustion-terror until he’d finally burnt all the emotions out and collapsed.

It was an awful decision. He’d kept as far as possible from the cabin, even in his haze, and now he had no idea what the humans had done in his absence. If they knew he was there— if they’d set up traps— it would only take one slip and everything would be over.

No, if he was going to get rid of them, he needed to be as prepared as they no doubt were.

He spent sleepless nights scouring the forest, searching for any traces of them-- searching for their patrol routes, their traps, the damage to the forest they left in their wake.

But there was none. Not even a faded scent trail to suggest they’d ever been through at all. It seemed they were sticking close to the cabin.

For the first time, Virgil wondered if they’d really come for him. He hadn’t been seen by humans in years, often sticking to the shadows to scare off travelers that had overextended their stays. It was possible that they didn’t even know a shifter lived in the forest, let alone a werewolf. He couldn’t bet on it, but it was possible.

Whether he wanted to find out what they were doing here or just know what human tricks he’d be facing, he had to return to the cabin. He spent less time sleeping so that he could continue patrolling through his woods and also keep a wary eye on the humans when they roused.

The hunter was the easiest to spy on. He spent most of his time outdoors, running through a series of daily tasks that ranged from caring for the horse to gathering firewood to hauling water from the well. He practiced drills with that sword less frequently than Virgil would have expected, but when he did, he moved with the well-balanced motions and sure strikes of someone who knew their way around a weapon.

The other two were more difficult to get a read on. They didn’t seem like hunters in physique or manner, and they spent significantly more time indoors.

One had hands that carried the sharp, chemical smell of ink, and only made regular excursions from the house to mess with a plot of upturned land he’d had the hunter help him fence in. It was a garden, Virgil was fairly sure, though it looked nothing like the ones he’d planted, all careful rows and even spacing.

The other spent most of his time indoors, though he was anything but stagnant. Where the hunter focused on heavy labor and maintaining the exterior of the home, this one seemed to focus his attention on the interior care. Virgil often caught glimpses of him opening windows to air out dusty old linen or set sweet-smelling baked items along the sill.

Most interesting of all were the ways the three of them intersected.

The baker would bring simple food and drink to the scholar when he spent longer than usual wrist-deep in the dirt, and sneak the horse treats while the hunter wasn’t looking, completely unrepentant whenever he was caught.

The scholar would sit and watch the hunter run through drills, occasionally calling out an imaginary attack for him to counter, or share quiet conversation with the baker as dusk fell and the lantern bugs began to emerge.

Even the hunter was gentle, presenting freshly-plucked berries to the baker with a dramatic bow and excited smile, or crouching in the garden to listen as the scholar excitedly explained how well the new sprouts were doing.

It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen from humans before.

He eventually decided they couldn’t know he was there; any hunter worth their salt would know that encroaching on a pack’s territory was tantamount to declaring war. The other two didn’t even seem to be combatants. If Virgil was anything other than an undersized, scrappy outlier, he could have killed all three of them at any point.

He probably still could, now that he knew when they slept and was well familiar with the ins and outs of that cabin. Unless they’d set up new defenses, or sealed off the secret passages, or randomly deviated from their normal sleeping schedule. Unless, unless, unless.

The forest had been as uneasy as him at first, but surprisingly enough, these new residents worked hard to avoid wreaking the casual destruction humans were known for. They didn’t clear swaths of land of all life or hunt the new season’s young.

As the days passed, they continued to just… exist there, long enough that deer passed through the clearing with barely the flick of an ear at the voices from inside the house.

Over time, the forest’s reluctance turned to ambivalence, and then to amusement at Virgil’s expense. He was the only one who seemed to be taking the threat seriously anymore, much to his annoyance. Sure, they hadn’t done anything yet, but the key word there was ‘yet’.

It was well into the moon’s cycle that his patience in watching the human’s was rewarded with witnessing a change in their routine. As dusk fell, the three of them left the clearing entirely, trekking into the woods with careful steps. Virgil followed at a safe distance, feeling suspicious about their uncharacteristic silence.

The hunter led the way with a glowing lantern, wary but with no sword at his hip. The baker walked behind him, carrying a wrapped, slightly bulky package in his arms, and the scholar brought up the rear with a lantern of his own. Every so often, the scholar would pause and then murmur directions.

It took Virgil an embarrassingly long time to realize they were following a leyline, and sure enough, once they reached an intersection point, they stopped and set up a brightly colored cloth, a few wooden dishes, and bound, dried herbs from the garden.

An offering, the forest seemed to croon around him, pleased with the cuts of meat and burnt herbs. Virgil couldn’t hear what the scholar said, the words quiet and slow, but with the forest present in the back of his mind, he got the general idea.

Reciprocity. Giving for what they had taken, a declaration of their intent.

The forest accepted the claim as it had accepted his offer years ago, the sound of it in the buzzing of the insects and the breeze rustling the leaves. The humans returned home, as much residents of these woods as Virgil was, now.

---

Between the forest’s new fondness and their own persistent harmlessness, Virgil couldn’t justify getting rid of the humans.

So instead, he stayed well away from them, only venturing out of his corner of the forest to supervise the offering trips they made into the heart of the woods on every half-moon, both waxing and waning. If the humans noticed either the forest's fond touch in the brush of its greenery against them or the weight of his narrow-eyed gaze upon them, they didn't show it.

The season shifted slowly, and then all at once. The forest grew quiet again, its greenery fading away as it and many of its inhabitants dropped into snowsleep. Virgil wished his own winter could pass so simply.

The humans’ arrival had dragged his attention away from his usual preparations, and he had enough difficulties hunting alone without adding new complications to the mix. As it stood, he had barely any body fat to speak of, and even his winter coat felt pitiful against the cutting winds and heavy snow.

Whenever he wasn’t hunting, he was curled up in his cave, wishing for the warmth of a pack to surround him. He usually ran warm, enough that even the night’s chill didn’t bother him, but it was a different story in this weather. Shifting wasn’t an option either— His human form could barely withstand minutes in the cold, let alone hours.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure whether he’d drifted towards the cabin on purpose or simply subconsciously followed the smell of smoke. The result had been the same either way.

The house had looked unbearably warm against the bleak landscape, and Virgil had spent ages arguing with himself before slinking towards the abode, unable to bear another sleepless night having any scrap of heat leached away. Honestly, he’d been half-surprised to wake up this morning.

He slunk around the edges of the building, his heart pounding at the muffled voices inside. They had no reason to believe a werewolf resided here. He was small enough to resemble a normal wolf if they caught him. He might simply be earning himself a quicker death, put down like a simple wild animal, but he felt too numb to care.

The cabin’s foundation was solid, but Virgil had spent a fair amount of time exploring the human den as a pup, telling himself he was conquering his fear. It was certainly a hunter’s hideout; he’d found a staggering number of secret passages and hidey-holes built into it for easy escape. With a little prying, they could also be used for easy entrance.

The boarded up entrance to the crawl space was just where he remembered it, faded defensive runes carved into the wood. The enchantments were long defunct, the boards old and rotted, and he’d wriggled through the crawl space enough as a kid to know that there were no lingering traps in wait.

He braced himself, and then shifted with low cracks of bone and flesh. This close to the full moon, it ached like sore muscles, but not as bad as the cold stung at his now-human body. Gritting his teeth, he quickly dug his nails into the wood, able to pry the planks free even with half-frozen fingers. Task done, he shifted back as quick as he could and waited for an agonizing moment, listening for any signs that he’d been heard.

Nothing. The distant voices carried on without a pause.

He hesitated again, but in mere seconds, meager warmth began trickling out from the opening, baiting him more effectively than any supernatural lure. He ducked his head and crawled into the passage, which was more cramped than he’d recalled but still manageable. Step by silent step, he crept through the crawl space, letting the growing heat sink into him until the biting cold was barely more than a memory.

He hadn’t realized just how far under the cabin he’d ventured until a voice rang out directly above him, the actual words lost in the rush of panic he felt, crouched and vulnerable with a human was only meters away.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, tremors vibrating through him as old memories came rushing back. It was small things that brought him back; the smell of ink, the crackling of a hearth, shared laughter. He’d had none of those, back then, but they were here now. He was here now.

The humans continued to chatter casually, none of them aware that there was a beast lying in wait just under the floorboards. They didn’t know he was there. He was safely hidden away.

Slowly, inch by inch, Virgil relaxed, head tucked against his paws, adjusting bit by bit until even the creaks of the humans moving about over his head didn’t register as a threat.

Finally warm, he dropped into sleep between one exhale and the next.

[phoenixyfriend]

If you are doing them the soulmate fic starter 3 or 9 for rexwalker? I love all your star wars stuff so much

soulmate au prompts

3. the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks on your bodies. 9. the one where your soulmate’s last words to you are written on your body.

Featuring marginally-less-terrible Jango with more excuses than usual.

------

The Kaminoans hate soul marks.

Rex knows this from the day he knows to ask. The Nulls and Alphas don’t have any soul marks, just scars where there was once a promise. The eldest clones have records, at least, where the scientists had taken photos before beginning th surgeries, but the marks themselves are long gone.

Prime had found out about the removals and thrown a fit, raging so intensely that Nala Se had ended up intubated from the damage he’d dealt, and she hadn’t been the only one. Rex isn’t old enough to remember that, but Cody is, and he whispers the story in the dead of night more than once. Nobody likes Prime very much, except Boba, but that’s one of the few instances they can point to and say ‘he cares more than he likes to admit.’

It’s anathema on Mandalore, one brother claims, a light in his eyes that Rex hasn’t ever seen before. That’s what I heard him telling one of the aruetti trainers.

So is refusing your children so much as a name, another grouses, and the conversation dies an ugly little death. So is letting your children die just because you don’t think they’re good enough. So is turning your back from even letting them be part of your house, let alone part of your clan. Sounds like he cares more about our soul marks than he does for our lives.

Rex doesn’t know how to address that. He does get a personal visit from Prime, one day, gets asked to show his little marking to the man that is, in some ways, his father.

“Another one,” Jango Fett mutters to the trainer that came with him, the woman holding a datapad and ready to record whatever it is that they’re looking for. He passes a thumb over the marking, frowning. “A lightsaber, lit white, with pale blue halo, between a set of symbolic Jaig eyes. The eyes are dark blue, slightly desaturated. I think they’re meant to frame it like an exaggerated beskad crossguard.”

“Sir?” Rex asks.

“That makes six,” Jango says, still so quiet, and then shakes his head. “Thank you for showing me, 7567.”

“Rex,” he corrects, before he can second-guess himself. “I’m Rex.”

“Thank you, Rex.”

------

The rumors say that anyone with a lightsaber soul mark is going to have a jedi for a soulmate.

Rex isn’t sure how true that is, but he’s eager to find out.

Prime gets more erratic, more unpleasant at times and almost awkwardly nice at others. Rex meets the others who got Jedi soul marks. He’s the youngest, so far.

Jango tells them all to hide the markings, and to keep them secret. They’d already all known that much, that only batchmates should be told about soul marks. All the adults that should know already do, after all.

“Where’s your dad going?” Rex asks once, when Boba’s been handed over to Cody’s squad for looking after while Prime goes haring off on some trip that nobody gets to know about. Rex hangs out with Cody’s squad more than his own batch, it feels like, but that’s a whole thing that he’s not supposed to talk about since the late transfer to command track.

“Dunno,” Boba says, kicking his feet back and forth. “My soul mark came in. Something about it made him really angry, I think.”

Rex doesn’t ask to see it.

It’s not his place.

------

The Alpha batch is getting quieter, angrier, and end up in hushed conversations with Prime and some of the trainers so often that the rumors start up harder than before. Rex keeps his head down, because the Kaminoans get antsier when Jango does. Soul marks come up more often, and Rex gets called in to talk to the Alpha clones about his mark. He’s not supposed to, but Prime says it’s important, and Prime is in charge.

“Oh, is that all it took?” one of the Alphas sneers, and Prime shoots them a look that has Rex taking a few hasty steps back. The Alpha clone isn’t even fully grown yet, by natborn standards, but they don’t back down. “What, ready to stop being a dar’buir--”

“That’s enough,” Prime says, low and hard, and the Alpha clone rolls their eyes. “There’s a child here.”

“So now you care about that?”

Rex is escorted back to his rooms.

------

Decommissioning finally stops, for all that it requires Jango almost decapitating a Kaminoan, and someone Rex hopes he never sees again shows up.

(His memory is blurred. He’s sure the man was human, and tall. Elderly enough to have white hair, probably? A... there was fabric that swished when he turned, something dramatic, but...)

(He is not the only one that cannot remember.)

It takes years for anything else to come of it all... at least where the clones can see.

------

Rex is fully grown, as far as clones go. His aging is supposed to slow down to ‘natborn normal’ now, because he’s reached his full height and most of his brainpower, and he’s officially old enough to fight on the field if the war starts tomorrow.

It might.

“Hey, look up.”

Rex listens, and looks, and sees a natborn with Nala Se, pale skinned and with reddish hair, soaked to the bone. They wear robes, brown and heavy-looking. Even as he watches, another natborn jogs up from behind, also sodden and pale, but with darker hair that sticks up despite the water. A third joins them, a tad slower and more controlled; this one wears all white, and they--maybe she?-- are slight and small and poised in a way that Rex thinks might be how a natborn leader carries themselves, if they aren’t a soldier.

They pass on through the walkway, showing emotions that the Kaminoans can’t read and the clones absolutely can. None of it is... good.

“Shit,” someone mutters. “That was a Jedi.”

“Venn--”

“What if they don’t want us?”

------

Rex is called to Prime’s rooms.

He tries not to look at the wide eyes of the brothers he’s been gossiping with, just stands and pulls on his full kit. He hesitates at his bucket, but then pops it on and marches to what might be his doom. It’s probably not.

He hopes it’s not.

He knocks, and is let in by Boba, and sits down on the couch when Prime tells him to. He removes his helmet when asked. Boba hops up onto the couch between Rex and his father, and leans in against Rex’s side.

There’s a list on the table, one he recognizes, quickly writing out all the paired elements on the Jedi-Clone soul marks. Nobody who isn’t already involved in the project would know it. He spots the ‘yellow tickets’ that Bly got tattooed on his face recently, the ones he won’t claim are or aren’t related to his mark. He spots his own listing of Jaig eyes.

“Prime?”

His... progenitor, maybe, in this situation, looks at him, and holds up a hand. “You saw the list. You can guess why Rex is here.”

Oh. Prime’s using his name without prompting. That’s nice.

“I can’t read it,” the younger Jedi says, with something that might be a pout. Rex wants  to roll his eyes, but his helmet is on the table. People would see.

“It’s in Mando’a,” the elder tells him, voice low, and then glances between Rex and the younger Jedi. “Fett, how did you know which one to call? I can guess some things, but--”

“I have a good eye. The hilts are all different. Only one matches.”

“I see.”

Rex fidgets, and tries not to wonder at... at... oh. The younger Jedi’s lightsaber hilt does match Rex’s soul mark.

Boba notices when Rex starts picking at his glove, pressing a finger right to the mark on his wrist, and frowns up at him. He grabs Rex’s hand to still it, and tries to ask a question with his eyebrows. He is mostly unsuccessful.

“Anakin,” the elder Jedi says. Rex still doesn’t know his name. “Your hand, please?”

“Why?”

“...you’ll understand in a minute,” the Jedi says, long-suffering in the way of the trainers who dealt with the youngest cadets. “Your hand. No, the other one.”

“Why do you need my hand?”

“Reasons, Anakin. You there, ah... Rex, was it?”

“Yessir.”

The Jedi flinches. “Right. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that... right, Rex, can you come here? I imagine you know what it is that I’m looking to compare.”

Rex has been taught to listen to Jedi, but he has no idea who he’s supposed to listen to here. The older Jedi is probably in charge, but Rex hasn’t been assigned to anyone yet, so isn’t Prime still technically the closest thing he has to a CO?

He glances at Prime, who just gestures for Rex to go ahead with it.

Rex pulls off a glove, pulls back his sleeve, and bares the symbol on his wrist for inspection.

The younger Jedi’s face morphs from confused irritation to surprise, and then... something Rex doesn’t want to analyze too closely. He’s not sure if it’s wonder or horror. He wasn’t aware the expressions could look so similar.

The Jedi--Anakin--pulls back his own sleeve, moves his wrist to Rex’s and watches as the marks glow faintly from the proximity.

“Looks like Fett was right,” the elder Jedi mutters. He doesn’t sound happy. He looks at the other natborn, the one Rex is pretty sure is a woman, and raises an eyebrow.

She shakes her head, eyes closed.

“You said there were others?” the elder Jedi prompts, and Prime nods. “We are no more open about our marks than most, but I can spot one, maybe two, that I can guess at. I’d need to see the actual markings to confirm, of course, and I imagine that wouldn’t be something anyone would be happy with.”

“The rest can happen naturally,” Prime dismisses. “This was just proof.”

“Not just proof, I hope,” the Jedi mutters. “I’m.. I have to call the Council.”

Rex sees the panic in Anakin’s face, and is seized by the urge to do something, anything, to fix it.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t let them--”

“Nobody’s going to separate you,” the elder Jedi says. Obi-Wan, apparently. “And there’s no ‘let,’ Anakin, they outrank me. Significantly. Right now, I’m concerned about the implications of this war, of multiple of these cloned soldiers that have been indoctrinated to fight for and serve the Jedi having soulmates among us, especially given that I have no idea how recently our wartime protocols on such things were updated. There is an entire army that is supposedly in our name, ordered by a man ten years dead.”

“Count Dooku is involved,” Prime says, dark and satisfied and petty. “Calling himself Darth Tyrannus. The Kaminoans mostly believe he is an isolated and reclusive Jedi Master that serves as their contact when Sifo-Dyas is unavailable.”

The Jedi named Obi-Wan closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and then stands. “Right. That’s... well, alright, I absolutely have to call the Council now.”

Prime smiles, pulling Boba into his side. Rex finds himself tugged down to sit where Obi-Wan had been a few moments earlier.

“Why are you telling us all this?” the natborn woman says. “This Count sounds like he hired you, did he not?”

“The project predated his involvement, but yes, he’s my supervisor, so to speak.” Prime smiles that same dark smile, runs a hand over Boba’s head and pointedly doesn’t look at Obi-Wan. That smile is... unpleasant. Rex doesn’t want to look at it, and so he looks down to the faint glow at his wrist instead. “Did you know, they told me the clones would be sub-sentient and halfway to droids? Not really people? That my DNA was for the bodies, but the minds would be little more than lines of code? Do you know how much they hated that I saw the evidence of their lies written into my children’s skin?”

Rex jolts, head whipping about and hand pulling away from his soulmate, staring at Prime, his mouth agape in a way a soldier’s shouldn’t but--but he’s--

Rex has never, ever heard the Prime refer to any of them except Boba as his child. His copies, his echoes, his clones, but not his children.

A hand curls into his, and he looks down to find Anakin’s lacing their fingers together. He looks up into a hopeful, unsure smile.

Anakin tilts his head and leans in, lips to Rex’s ear, and says, “When I told Obi-Wan he was like a father to me, he didn’t even know how to respond. Just made a bad joke about it and then pretended it didn’t happen. Is this the same?”

“...close enough,” Rex breathes out, because now isn’t the time to explain just how different a clone’s existence is from what they’ve seen in the holos meant to prepare them for interacting with civilians. That ‘family’ here has always been brothers, your squad and any brother that chooses to take you on, or a brother you choose to nurture, that the Alphas raise them more than Prime or the trainers do, that the older squads are who they turn to because the adults won’t help, that they don’t have parents, and they are discouraged from thinking of children in their futures.

(Protecting intellectual property, one of the scientists had mused. They’d made it very, very difficult for any of the clones to impregnate a partner. Not impossible, because to make it impossible was itself impossible, but... nearly so.)

“There’s millions of us,” Rex says instead. “He doesn’t... he doesn’t usually acknowledge most of us as his.”

Anakin’s face twists, already angry, and the glare he aims at Prime is ghastly. Rex might already be a little in love, just for that. The way Anakin’s fingers squeeze around his is nice, too.

Prime does not notice.

“Can I see the contract you say you signed?” the natborn woman says, and Prime eyes her. He nods, at length, weighing her worth and finding she measures up to whatever it is that he’s decided is necessary.

“Boba, go pack like we’re going on a hunt,” Prime says, pulling out a personal datapad and only dropping his gaze to find the right file. “We’ll probably be leaving tonight.”

“Okay, buir,” Boba says, sliding off the couch. “Am I telling the Alphas the thing you said?”

“No, I’ll handle that myself. You just pack.” He stands, nods to the natborn woman, and moves around the table. “Senator, I’ll sit with you, if you don’t mind. I imagine you and Knight Kenobi are the best suited to get this problem fixed.”

“And me?” Anakin demands.

“You,” Prime says, with a just a hint of condescending drawl. “have just met your soulmate. I assumed you’d want some privacy to get to know each other.”

Anakin flushes, a little angry and a lot embarrassed. It’s frighteningly cute. “I--I mean--I don’t--”

“The clones are mentally the ages they look, but do remember they’ve had practically no time to gain any sort of experience,” Prime says, already ignoring them in favor of pointing something out on the datapad to the senator. “Take advantage of any of my kids, and I’ll be the one hunting you down. I’m told I’m rather good at it.”

Anakin’s face does some acrobatics. Rex would pay more attention, but he can feel himself turning just as red.

“Rex, you know where the private meeting room is,” Prime says, and waves a hand in the direction of the tiny, tiny office that’s by the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Be nice,” the Senator hisses, smacking Prime’s arm.

“He’s ten.”

“...still.”

Rex just stands and pulls Anakin away to the little room before things can get worse.

They’re delayed when Obi-Wan asks what they’re doing from the kitchen he’s been using to get a spot of privacy, but then Anakin says “we’re just going to talk, Master,” and they get an aggrieved sigh and a response of “the clothes stay on, padawan, and you’ll need to finish up whatever conversation you have soon, there’s work to do and being a padawan only excuses you from so much.”

Rex backs into the meeting room, yanks Anakin in, and then decides to throw caution to the wind and just press their lips together.

Oh.

Okay.

He’s kissing back.

Lack of caution: good.

The mark at his wrist thrums, warm and comfortable, and Rex pulls away. He stifles the noise he wants to make, and when Anakin whines, small and soft but clearly disappointed, Rex offers him a small grin he knows would get him called ‘shy’ by his asshole older brothers.

“We probably should actually get to know each other,” Rex says. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“I... yeah, I don’t know yours either, unless it’s Fett.”

“It’s not. I don’t have one.”

Anakin’s face does another one of those ‘I’m angry for you’ twists that Rex is quickly coming to recognize, and then he sighs and falls into one of the chairs. “Okay. So. I don’t know much about the soldier life. Tell me about it.”

And he does.

[rjhpandapaws]

Fair

Title is from the song Fair by The Amazing Devil. Feel free to listen to it as you read this! (Human!Hank900 thoughts)

This had to be something he had seen thousands of times before. Richard getting ready for work wasn’t something that was new to him, they’d been together for the better part of a decade, and yet it was simple moments like this that always struck Hank as somehow timeless. Hell, he probably had his routine memorized by now, but that wasn’t the point either. There was nothing particularly special about this morning that had him feeling sentimental, or at least not anything he could think of at such an hour. Yet there was something in watching as Richard carefully buttoned his white shirt that brought Hank’s world to a standstill. He was aware of the reason, on some level he always was. This was never something he thought he would have. He’d tried it before and it had fallen apart spectacularly. The hours he worked drove Ezra to cheat, his own exhaustion caused him to lose his son. and an unfortunate accident threw him into an early retirement. He was going to die a lonely old man survived by his giant hairball of a dog. Instead, by a twist of whatever luck had chosen to look on him, he got to watch his husband of five years get ready for a day of teaching. He found himself so heartbreakingly in love in this moment, because it was something that should have been impossible. Nevertheless, here he was. Slate blue eyes met his through the mirror and a small smile softened otherwise stern features, “Care to share what you’re thinking so hard about?” Hank hummed like it was something worth contemplating, “Just that I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at you like this.” Richard rolled his eyes, but Hank saw his smile grow the moment he decided to play along, “I fail to see what’s so special about this particular set of black slacks and white button down, save for the fact that they haven’t been covered in Sumo’s shedding yet.”

“I don’t think I will ever get over the fact that all of the people you could have picked to spend forever with that you chose me.” He said as he sat up, “That I am somehow the one that got to be lucky enough to see the sides of you that the rest of the world doesn’t.” Satisfied that his work clothes were as pristine as they were going to get he finally turned to face Hank, “I think you’re being rather unreasonable, if either of us is lucky it has to be me.” He made his way over to the bed and bent so he could press his forehead against Hank’s, “To get to be the person you learned to love in spite of everything you’ve been through.” Hank would have protested, if he had the words, but in moments like this they tended to fail him. When Richard would let the walls he put in place for the day fall away for just a moment, just to remind him that he was loved. In all his faults and flaws, between the nightmares and the phantom pains, he was loved. Before he could think of something to say Richard had pulled away to finish getting ready for the day. Hank decided he should probably do the same.  As an author his preparation for the day involved a smaller dress code, but significantly more coffee. Over the years they had made a habit of enjoying their coffee together before Richard had to be out the door and on his way to the university. His tenure there wasn’t something he took for granted and he remained just as professional as he had always been. It was something Hank admired in him.

The week passed him by in a rush. He found himself caught up in an idea that refused to let him go and spent more time at his desk than he probably should have. Richard was having a time of it as well it seemed. The last week of the semester before the holidays was always hectic between exams, office hours, and dodging sick students. Hank had meant to do something nice, but somehow Richard had beat him to it. He came home from his pitch meeting and found the house carefully lit with dim lighting and candles. He suspected there might have been a rose petal trail if it weren’t for the fact that Sumo would have eaten the petal before they had the chance to be admired. Almost on cue Sumo barreled his way toward him, he was mindful of his cane having learned over the years that it was the thing that kept his human otherwise upright. Hank leaned down to greet him before he made his way into the kitchen. There were rose petals scattered carefully over the table where they would be safely out of reach from Sumo. His eyes trailed the room, over the carefully placed candles and remaining roses to where Richard stood in front of the stove in his winter flannel pajamas Hank had bought him the previous Christmas. His grey flaked brown hair was starting to come loose from the gel he always used, and although Richard’s back was to him, Hank knew that same curl was hanging over his forehead in an act of defiance. It never stayed in place. “What’s all this?” He asked in way of a greeting.

Richard looked over his shoulder for a moment and smiled at him before turning his attention back to what he was cooking, “A celebration of sorts for the two of us making it through the week. I didn’t feel like going out so I improvised.” “I can see that.” He replied with a chuckle, “It’s quite the combination of done up and cozy, I like it.” It was Richard’s turn to laugh, “It was meant to just be something nice, and then I decided wearing nice clothes after wearing my work clothes all day was exhausting.” “Should I get comfortable to match?” He asked half joking. “I think it’s a good idea.” Hank could hear the smile in his voice, “That way I don’t have too feel under dressed.” He laughed, “Alright I’ll be back soon.” He made his way to their room and got changed. It wasn’t Christmas pajamas, but he was comfortable in his black sweatpants and old police academy hoodie. It was one of the few time the well worn hoodie wasn’t in Richard’s possession and he was going to take full advantage of that. When he got back to the kitchen the table was set and Richard was going about dishing spaghetti onto their plates. It was the first night in a while they’d had something home cooked. Takeout had been easier with hoe hectic things had been recently, and Hank was looking forward to this.

If Hank had to be honest, he didn’t remember much of what they talked about over dinner. He’d been focused on the flecks of grey that were beginning to show themselves in Richards deep brown hair. Along with the crows feet that had come to settle themselves beside his eyes from years of laughing at Hank’s stupid jokes, they marked how much time had passed like this. It wasn’t something Hank was noticing for the first time, he’d seen it before. There wasn’t much about Richard that was new to him, but as he noticed them again he fell a little more in love. They wound up dancing in the kitchen. Well, it wasn’t so much of a dance as it was swaying in place with Richard’s hands resting on his shoulders and his hands on Richard’s sides. They had been doing dishes but then the song they had danced to at their wedding had begun to play and Richard hand held out his soap covered hand and the rest was history. It was moments like this, he decided, that made being in love worth it. Not the grand sweeping gestures books and movies like to portray, but counting grey hairs and crows feet; getting to dance in the kitchen while dishes soaked in the sink and soap slowly seeped into his sweatshirt. Later still, long after Richard had fallen asleep and Hank lay on his side watching him he would think it was unreasonable that he’d ever thought he was undeserving of such a feeling as this. After all it was only fair to love someone as deeply as this when he was offered the same and so much more. For good measure he began to count the grey in Richards hair, and knew he would still love him just as much by the time his hair had fully turned. It was only fair after all.

[erin-bo-berin]

Enemies Closer

MASTERLIST

Happy smutty Spencer Saturday! This fic has been hidden in the depths of my brain for way too long. I knew I wanted to do an enemies to lover fic for a while but didn’t have much more for it until recently. The title comes from the famous saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”.

I want to say a big thank you to all of my followers who sent in quips, jabs and bantery remarks. I tried to use them all because they were all so wonderful. Thank you to @dreatine @andiebeaword @sammy-jo1977 @redbullchick and the numerous anons who contributed. Also a big thank you to @multifandommandy for coming up with the idea of the reader interviewing the little girl, it really helped move the story along and add to it. I appreciate all your ideas and help 💕

Okay, enjoy the 10k words of sassy, smutty Spencer Reid. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 10,088

Spencer was walking back to his desk when he heard JJ’s voice.

“Really? When?”

There was a pause on her end of the phone conversation. She looked up and saw Spencer, immediately waving him over.

Spencer’s interest was piqued. He wondered what was going on, especially since there was a huge grin on her face. He approached her desk just as JJ spoke again.

“That sounds great, mom. I can’t wait.”

Spencer smiled. JJ and her mom were extremely close and he always looked forward to her visits—she made the best triple chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted. He opened his mouth to tell her to say hi from him, when she practically read his mind.

“By the way Spencer says hi.” 

JJ shot him a wink, grinning at the fact that she knew him well enough to know exactly what he was about to say. He chuckled to himself. They definitely were close enough to know what one another was thinking.

“Sounds good. See you then. Bye.”

JJ hung up her phone, turning in her chair to face him fully.

“Is your mom coming to visit?”

“She is,” JJ smiled, “And she’s bringing your favorite triple chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bless that woman,” he chuckled.

“There’s also something else,” JJ trailed off nervously, a flicker of worry in her blue eyes.

“What?”

“Y/N’s visiting too...and she’s kinda stuck with me, or well us for the next week. So if we get a case, she’s coming with us.”

Spencer groaned loudly.

“Why?”

“Mom has a business seminar in downtown D.C. and you know Will took the boys to Disney World this week. I’m not going to make her sit at home alone for a week.”

“Why? It would be for the greater good of humanity. I’ll even be willing to chip in for a hotel room for her,” Spencer said, hoping JJ would actually take him up on the offer, “Particularly one across the country.” 

“Spencer,” JJ eyed him warily, “Emily already said it was okay. She knows to stay out of the way while we work.”

“Yet she’s always in my way.”

“Spence, she’s not that bad. Why do you hate her so much?” she asked.

“Last time she visited she “accidentally” spilled an entire pot of coffee on my favorite work shirt!” Spencer protested.

“Just like you “accidentally” locked her in an interrogation room?” JJ raised a brow.

Yeah, that hadn’t been his finest moment. But she had driven him crazy that day.

“She wandered in there on her own. I was just helping the situation along,” he shrugged innocently.

“You’re lucky she didn’t burn the building down,” JJ mumbled.

“Yeah, well, she pushed me to my limit that day. Sorry.”

“What is it with you two? You fight worse than her and I ever did.”

“She’s annoying, rude and drives me crazy. I honestly can’t believe she’s your sister, let alone related to you. JJ, you know I love you, but I just can’t stand her. We’re just two completely different people that probably will never get along.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in defeat, “At least try to be on your best behavior?”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Hey, look at it this way. At least you get cookies,” she stood, patting his arm before walking away.

He was positive even cookies wouldn’t make up for this.

•

“Y/N while you’re here, can you please try to be nice to your sister’s coworkers?”

You suppressed a groan.

You were currently in the elevator with your mother at the FBI in Quantico, riding up the numerous floors to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, where your sister JJ worked. In your arms were a stack of containers, filled with sweets your mom had made for the team.

There were her famous triple chocolate chip cookies made with milk, dark and white chocolate chips, some apple cobbler, cupcakes and even a strawberry pie. JJ’s team were suckers for Sandy Jareau’s delicacies.

“Mom, I love the team. They’re like extended family, you know that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your mom gave you a look that you swore only mothers could perfect. It was partly calling out your bullshit and part disciplinary all at the same time. It was amazing, really, 29 years old and you were still getting the “you better not act out” look from her. What were you, eight?

“I mean that lovely Dr. Reid. You’re always so mean to him.”

“He starts it.”

Okay, maybe you were eight.

“Y/N.”

The warning tone in her voice was all you needed to keep your mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want another call from JJ saying you’ve gotten locked in an interrogation room and almost got arrested for assaulting a FBI agent.”

“Okay that was one time!” you said, exasperated, “Granted, it wasn’t my finest hour. But still. It’s not like I’m that bad all the time.”

“Really?” your mom looked at you, all knowingly, “What about that one time at JJ’s housewarming party?”

“I swear I didn’t glue his shoes to the floor!”

In your defense, that had been Derek Morgan, back when he was still working in the FBI, prior to his resignation. Of course though, no one believed that he had done it, apparently including your mother.

“Whether you did it or not, that’s not the point. You would’ve done it given the opportunity.”

You couldn’t deny that. 

“Just don’t stress JJ out any more than she is. She said when the two of you are fighting it’s like trying to corral two feisty chihuahuas.”

You sighed, defeated.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior mom.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you’d arrived at your designated floor and the metal doors slid open to reveal your sister and of course, Spencer.

Spencer Reid, the biggest nemesis of your entire life.

He was absolutely infuriating. 

Tall, imposing, three PhDs, IQ of 187, Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s right, he wasn’t just Agent Reid, he was Dr. Reid. It was eye roll inducing.

He was a know-it-all, quite literally. If anyone said something even the slightest bit wrong, he didn’t hesitate to correct them. A person could breathe wrong and he’d probably correct that.

He constantly spewed facts. That was annoying enough in itself. You had no idea how JJ put up with it. But then again she was best friends with the guy. That blew your mind enough in itself.

If he wasn’t so annoying, he might actually be attractive. With a stature of over six feet, he was lean but without being a beanpole. His light brown curls always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and/or never taken a brush to his hair. His eyes were definitely interesting though. You could never tell if they were brown, green or maybe even hazel.

Not that you’d been paying that close of attention. Nor did you care.

He had significantly more facial hair than the last time you’d seen him. Not a bad look for him, you had to give him that.

JJ once told you that a college class he’d taught for two weeks was filled with nothing but young girls auditing his course. She said it had confused Spencer. It confused you too cause you didn’t see how he was that attractive. He was kinda cute, if you liked the whole snobby, genius who doesn’t brush his hair, smartass type.

Oddly enough, you’d known him for half your life, yet couldn’t recall how or when you started hating him. It just seems like it had been that way all along, when in fact, it hadn’t.

“Mom! Y/N!” JJ exclaimed, grinning wide.

You felt a burst of happiness in your chest. You’d missed your sister. Despite the 11 year age difference, you guys were close growing up.

You were still a baby when your older sister Rosalyn had committed suicide, so you didn’t remember much about her, sadly. It was really hard on JJ as she was the one to find her. But as she’d told you much later, you’d helped her grieve. Reliving memories and keeping Rosalyn’s memory alive in sharing stories with you helped her heal after such a traumatic situation. It was often that you’d wished you’d had the chance to know your oldest sister, but with her death came an impenetrable close bond between you and JJ.

JJ immediately wrapped her arms around your mother, hugging her tight. You gave a nod of your head, your arms too full to be able to hug her at the moment.

“I’ll just go put these in the briefing room,” you said.

You turned, aiming to head through the glass doors of the BAU’s entrance, but instead ran right into Spencer.

“Here, I got it,” he took several of the boxes out of your arms so you could see properly again, “If only to save you from injuring anyone else.”

“My knight in shining armor,” you muttered sarcastically.

“Watch where you’re going next time.”

“You watch where you’re going. Besides, I didn’t need your help,” you retorted.

“Obviously, you did,” Spencer mumbled, following you through the doors.

You hadn’t even made it all the way through the entrance when you heard your mom and JJ sigh in unison. You heard JJ’s words loud and clear, as well.

“They’re already bickering less than five minutes in. Must be a new record.”

It kinda was. Usually, the two of you managed to avoid each other until the inevitable crossing of paths occurred. Today, though, you both had started in, right off the bat.

You placed the numerous arrays of desserts on the round table, knowing by tomorrow they’d pretty much all be gone.

“You’re welcome for the help,” Spencer snarked, setting down the few containers he’d carried.

You couldn’t help it, you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t ask for it. So there’s no reason to thank you.”

“It’s the polite thing to do. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t know how to be polite. My bad.”

You glared at him, the hatred stirring in your gut.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to see you again, Y/N, but it hasn’t,” Spencer said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go greet your mother who actually deserves and appreciates my kindness.”

“Kindness, my ass,” you muttered as he walked away.

He turned, almost to the door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you smiled in a fake, sweet matter.

He scoffed, turning and walking away.

Only when his back was turned did your fake demeanor drop and you stuck your tongue out at him.

This man would be the death of you yet.

•

“Penelope just got us a case. Luckily, it’s right here in our backyard so you can just sit in while we work. But please try to control your mouth.”

“JJ, I’m almost 30 years old,” you replied.

“Yes, but you still have a sharp tongue.”

“I promise not to make a scene, cause any trouble or be in the way. I know you have to work Jayj.”

After a round of greetings and hugs from the team and promises to stay longer when she returned from her business seminar, your mom had dashed off, leaving you at the BAU.

You looked up to see Emily Prentiss, JJ’s friend and boss motioning for her to join them in the briefing room.

“The team has to be debriefed about this case. Are you going to be okay here?”

You spun back and forth in her desk chair, motioning to the book you’d brought to read.

“I’ll be fine. Go work,” you shooed her.

JJ bounded off and up the stairs to the meeting and you picked up your book, ready to be entranced by the wonderful fantasy world of your book, far away from your reality.

-

“Why do people read that garbage? It does nothing but fills a person’s head with nonsense. It’s stupid and a waste of time. Although, now that I think of it, that’s probably a perfect fit for you.”

You peered up over the edge of your book.

You’d just gotten to a good part in your book. Your heroine was just getting ready to destroy the enemy and his lair, saving her love interest from the clutches of evil. It was a shame you couldn’t throw Spencer in the cage that your heroine was saving her lover from. Now that would make the book perfect.

“I’m reading. If you don’t mind.”

“Well it offends me. At least read something good. War and Peace is a good recommendation. Good story. I read it at breakfast last weekend,” Spencer said.

You turned up your nose. Leave it to Spencer to brag about his ability to read 20,000 words a minute and offer atrocious book recommendations in the same sentence. That in itself was offensive enough to you.

“This is why you don’t get dates, isn’t it?” you snipped.

He ignored the quip. 

“I’m supposed to ask you for help with the case.”

Now this was interesting. You raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“You do realize the entire world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “There’s kids that are going missing.”

That sobered you quickly. You dropped any anger you had at him, for the moment, realizing how serious the matter was.

“How? What’s happening?”

“Four kids have gone missing. We can’t figure out how or why. They haven’t shown up yet, so we’re hopeful that they’re still alive,” Spencer said, lips narrowed into a thin line.

“What do you need my help for then?”

“Because to understand what happened to them, we need to profile these kids.”

•

“Okay so we know from his parents, six year old Erik Yates was incredibly shy,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard where the pictures of the four missing children were hung.

“He wouldn’t have talked to his own school teacher, let alone a stranger,” David Rossi said.

“But his best friend, Carlos Hoffman also went missing with him. They were having a sleepover, so he’d been at Erik’s house,” Emily added.

“And Carlos was the more outgoing of the two, wasn’t he?” you asked.

“Yup,” Tara said, flipping through her notes, “According to the parents, wherever Carlos went Erik was always close behind. So if they encountered a stranger, if Carlos was willing to go, Erik would likely follow.”

“I don’t know about that,” you piped in, “I’ve seen friendships like that in my class. Even if the kid is quiet, if they know something is wrong, they either say something to their friend or they just don’t do it period. I find it hard to believe that Erik would go along with someone he wasn’t comfortable with.”

“Says the one that’s not a profiler,” Spencer mumbled from where he was standing, examining the evidence board.

JJ shot him a look, before returning to the conversation. You pretended not to hear that one and for once, bit your tongue. You wouldn’t accomplish anything by arguing with Spencer at the moment.

“So let’s go back to the top,” Matt said, “Mrs. Yates went to the door and there was someone there either selling something or had an excuse made up for the unsub to guilt trip money out of her. She leaves to get her purse. The kids are in the living room playing. Then suddenly, by the time she gets back, all three are gone.”

“That’s how her story goes,” Luke said, looking through interview notes.

“What about the other children?” you asked, “How were they taken?”

“One was kidnapped at the park, the other at the grocery store,” Spencer answered.

“What if it’s someone familiar with their routines?” you asked.

You weren’t anywhere close to being a profiler, but you knew enough from JJ to sort of get by in this conversation.

“A lot of my kids and their families have strict routines. Usually because it benefits the child and/or they have other children that they keep on a schedule too. Wouldn’t that mean that it’s someone that they know?”

“It could,” Emily said, “But unfortunately that doesn’t narrow down much because the unsub could also just be stalking these families before the kidnapping. The unsub could potentially be a complete stranger to them.”

“Have you asked the parents of the children if they could think of anyone who could do this? Is there anyone that might overlap with these families?” you inquired.

JJ had opened her mouth to answer you, but of course, Spencer had to add his two cents. 

“Are you an idiot? Of course, we did,” Spencer snapped, “That’s always the first thing we do.”

You bristled. Even when working together, he couldn’t be civil. He had the nerve to try and insult you and make you feel stupid, even though all you were trying to do was help.

“I’m not an idiot, Spencer,” you grit out.

“Oh really? You sure do act like one sometimes,” he retorted, writing something on the board.

Your defenses snapped back into place and you were ready to shoot back a remark when JJ interrupted you.

“Hey, hey, you guys. Quit it before I have to send you both into separate corners for timeout. We’re all on the same team here, trying to accomplish the same thing. Let’s just focus.”

“Matt, Dave, JJ, I want you to go and reinterview the parents. Y/N has a point. We need to make absolutely sure there’s no one in these families lives that connect with one another,” Emily ordered.

“Luke, Tara; both of you go to the schools. See if there’s been any strangers lurking around. We can’t rule out a sexual predator just yet, but it would help vastly if we could.”

“Penelope, you and I are going to work on a deep dive of these families.”

Garcia’s face scrunched at Emily’s order; she hated diving into people’s personal lives, but unfortunately it sometimes came with the job.

“We’re going to make sure that these parents aren’t holding back any secrets that could possibly help us.”

Emily turned towards you and Spencer next.

“Spence, I want you to start on a geo profile, see if we can figure out the vicinity of the unsub’s hunting grounds. Maybe we might even be able to find where he’s holding them.”

“On it.”

Spencer was already grabbing a map, spreading it across the round table.

“Y/N, I want you to help him.”

Spencer’s head snapped up.

“Hell no. Emily please-”

She held up her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. That’s an order. If you disobey, I will put you behind a desk for a month.”

He relented, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Not like you were pleased at all by it either.

“Try not to burn the room down while you’re working,” she instructed, walking out to meet Garcia in her lair.

Once she left, Spencer spun towards you.

“Let’s get one thing clear. You’re not to bother me while I work. You stay out of my way. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. I can do my work just fine without you. I’ve been doing it for 15 years,” he snapped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. Even I can tell when your IQ gets slashed to 60.”

“That’s the best you got, Y/N? I didn’t realize they let bimbos into the FBI. Oh wait...that’s right. I’m the one that’s the actual agent here. What is it you do again?”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. You know that, you dumbass or else I wouldn’t be here helping you.”

“Oh, guess there’s no sleeping to the top in that field. Although, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Your fists clenched. Spencer made you mad like no other could. Not even JJ could ever make you this mad.

“Just sit down and shut up while the adults work, okay?” he sneered at you.

“I’m not a child!”

You crossed your arms defensively. You weren’t about to let him get in all the insults. Ignoring him never worked, he was too obnoxious. So you just played it like he did, by slinging insults like dodgeballs at him.

“Well if you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like a child!” he threw back.

His eyes were blazing, his cheeks gone pink from his anger. 

“Funny because you act more immature than my kindergartners.”

“WILL YOU TWO CAN IT AND GET TO WORK?!”

You both jumped at the sound of Garcia yelling from the bullpen. She made the motion that she’d be keeping her eyes on you two. You threw one more scowl Spencer’s way before flopping down on the sofa on the other side of the room.

This week was going to last an eternity.

•

Two days passed with no luck on finding an unsub, but they’d managed to put a profile together based on what little they did know.

The entire team was worried and on edge. Of course, that made the situation between you and Spencer even more volatile.

“Are you sure you’re an actual qualified agent? All you do is stand in front of a room full of police or your team and say smart things and gesture with your hands,” you mimicked Spencer, doing exactly what he was just doing earlier while they gave the profile.

“I do not look like that! You look like a baby dinosaur who doesn’t know how to walk,” he jeered.

“Yes, you do. All I’m saying is these civil service exams must be really easy to pass nowadays, huh?” you smirked.

“You know I’d ask if you could really be any more infuriating, but I’m afraid you’d take that as a challenge,” Spencer huffed, “Besides I’m supposed to be “nice” to you, since you’ve been so helpful.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you grinned mischievously, “I’ve been what?”

“I’m just quoting what Emily said. In my opinion you’ve been more like a pain in my ass,” he mumbled, looking through one of the case files.

“Oh sure because without me, would you’ve figured out that the unsub is a woman?”

“Probably. Don’t pat yourself on the back, sweetheart. You’re no match for us real profilers, Y/N.”

“I may not be, but you’ve met your match with me, pretty boy,” the nickname falling from your lips with deep sarcasm, “You can’t help but fight with me. For some reason I get under your skin and frankly, I enjoy it. It’s nice to know you can actually squirm, Spencer Reid.”

His lips pursed and he was about to speak when the phone rang. He answered it, putting it on speaker. Garcia’s excited voice came through it.

“Reid, gather the team. You won’t believe what I’ve found.”

•

“So it turns out, one of our families did have a secret. Although, it was something we weren’t even looking for,” Penelope said.

“What’s that Garcia?” Tara asked.

“The family of the first missing child: Daisy Rowe, had a nanny once. Her name is Kali Dye.”

Garcia hit the remote button to pull up the woman’s picture on the big screen at the front of the room.

“What does she have to do with our case?” Luke asked.

She stared at him, exasperated.

“If I could finish what I was saying, you’d know,” Penelope griped.

“Okay, okay,” Luke chuckled, “Carry on.”

You lived for Luke and Penelope’s playful banter. It was like the complete opposite of you and Spencer. They liked each other at the end of the day—not to mention everyone knew deep down they were definitely attracted to one another. Their banter was flirty. Yours and Spencer’s was anything but.

“As I was saying,” Penelope continued, “Kali was the nanny to the Rowe family back in 2016 when Daisy was only two years old. There was an incident where apparently she turned her back on little Daisy playing in the backyard. Daisy got too near the pool and almost drowned. She was in the hospital for a few days afterwards. The parents were obviously furious. I’m guessing Mrs. Rowe told all her friends about it because according to my research, Kali’s nannying career was basically ruined.”

“So you think this is an act of revenge? Did she nanny for any of the other kids she kidnapped?” Emily asked.

“No, that’s where it gets weird. She seems to have no connection to these other children,” Garcia said.

“Well we know who our unsub most likely is,” JJ said, “But how are we going to find out where she and the kids are?”

“I checked for that. There’s no significant places that she would take them, her old family house isn’t even in the state and besides it’s been sold years ago,” Penelope answered.

Emily’s phone rang as the team continued to throw around ideas of where to find Kali. 

“Prentiss.”

You watched Emily’s face quickly change expressions, from neutral to shock, to worry, back to businesslike.

“Okay, bring her to Quantico. We’ll need to interview her.”

Emily hung up, turning to the team.

“The second child kidnapped, Eden Jenson just showed up at a police station in D.C. She managed to get away and ran for help. We need to interview her, but she hasn’t spoken yet. The chief of the police station is having one of his detectives drive here so we can interview her,” Emily filled the rest of the team in.

“I’ll talk to her. I’m pretty good at getting kids to talk,” Spencer said.

“Actually, I think we should let Y/N do it,” JJ said, looking at Emily.

“What?! She has no experience interviewing a witness, much less a victim!” Spencer exclaimed.

“I worked in art therapy when I was getting my degree as a teacher. I still use some in my class, plus I’m a teacher,” you said defiantly, “I know how to talk to kids.”

“I agree with JJ,” Emily said, “But Spencer, sit in with her just in case you need to intervene.”

You were sure he was going to do plenty of that.

•

An hour later, you and Spencer were sitting in front of a little, terrified Eden. Her—what you assumed were once neat—blonde pigtails were in all types of disarray. Pieces stood up everywhere while other strands came loose, hanging around her face. She was clutching her bunny stuffie, which you figured had been with her when she was kidnapped.

She had refused to talk to anyone, shrinking away frightfully at any imposing adults. You had to restrain yourself from literally pushing Spencer out the door when she shrunk even more into herself when she saw Spencer’s tall frame.

She’d been previously asked if she was hungry or thirsty in which she barely nodded. Now, she sat a bit less rigidly as she ate her Goldfish crackers and sipped on her juice box.

“Eden, my name is Y/N and this is my…friend, Spencer.”

You had to admit, you had a rough time getting that one out. 

“We just want to talk to you, okay?” you said.

The little girl just stared back at you, wide eyed.

“Do you like to color?” you asked.

Still no response.

You pulled out some paper and a pack of crayons from a bin next to the desk. You pushed them across towards her.

“Could you draw something for us?”

It took a moment of Eden staring at the items before she opened the box and picked up a crayon.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions while you color?”

You didn’t expect an answer, so you weren’t surprised when none came.

“Are you six years old? Six is a fun age. Are you in kindergarten or first grade?”

Eden looked up at you, from underneath her lashes, just briefly, before returning to drawing.

“I’m a kindergarten teacher myself. I’m used to seeing kids your age all the time. It’s spring break though and I miss my kids terribly. Do you miss going to school?”

Spencer shifted in his seat. You knew time was a delicate thing right now, but you were trying to get her to trust you.

“Eden?” 

She looked up again. If she was surprised to hear Spencer speak for the first time, she didn’t show it.

“Could you describe the place you were at?”

Fear flashed in her eyes and she dropped her crayon, hugging tightly to her bunny.

You glared at Spencer.

“Just keep drawing, Eden. Okay? We’ll be right back,” you said, standing up, your hand a death grip on his arm.

Once the two of you had stepped out of the room and the door was closed behind you, you whirled on him.

“How can you be so stupid? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!”

“Y/N, you know we’re running on limited time to find those kids. We don’t know if Kali will hurt them or not!”

“I realize that. I’m trying to make her comfortable enough to talk about it.”

“Avoiding it doesn’t seem to be helping either,” he grimaced, hands on his hips.

“You saw what happened when you brought it up! She was terrified!”

“When dealing with a traumatized child you should tell them information about the situation they were in. It’s best they learn it from a trusted adult. Besides, it’s most likely they want to talk about it, but just don’t know how to bring it up.”

“And how would you know all of this, doctor?”

“Because contrary to your beliefs about me, I actually know how to do my job and how to do it well. I’ve dealt with things like this many times before. 60% of adults report being traumatized in childhood. 26% of children in the United States alone will witness or experience a traumatic event before the age of four.”

You blinked, unable to process so much information at once.

“Are you even human?” 

“Are you?” Spencer shot back, eyes narrowed.

“You know, with all things considered, I’d thought you’d gotten the idea that I really hate you.” you sneered.

“Really? And here I thought that was your version of flirting,” he retaliated, sarcastically.

“Moron,” you muttered under your breath.

“Now, if you’re through calling me names, I’ve got work to do,” he said, reaching behind you for the doorknob.

“Wait,” you grabbed his arm, “Just let me try again first? Please? If I get stuck or need you, I’ll let you know.”

It was some of the most civil words you’d said to him in a long time. But you didn’t want to give up on this little girl. You wanted to help her and prove to Spencer and yourself if you were being honest, that you could do it.

He must’ve noticed your serious tone and pleading eyes because he relented. He nodded and you turned to go back in.

Eden was waiting for you when you returned, back to clutching her bunny.

“Don’t you want to finish your picture?” you asked, sitting down in front of her.

She pushed it across to you.

“Oh are you done?”

She nodded.

You picked up the picture, noticing four stick figures. Two seemed to be girls, two seemed to be boys. They looked like they could represent all four missing kids.

“Are these you and your friends?” you asked gently.

She didn’t say anything for a beat, then came a soft, timid voice.

“They aren’t my friends...at least not until a few days ago.”

“My friends here, they found out that you didn’t know these other three children. Is that right?”

Eden nodded again.

“Do you know the woman who took you?”

“No,” she said, equally as quiet as before.

“You’re doing a great job, Eden,” you smiled at her, hoping to encourage her, “Just a few more questions, okay?”

Another nod.

“Can you describe where you were?”

“I...I don’t know,” her voice trembled, as if she were going to cry.

You heard the door open up behind you and you turned to see Spencer. He gave you a terse shake of his head, as if telling you now was not the time to snap at him.

“Eden?” Spencer came around to her side and crouched by her, “You remember me, right? I’m Spencer.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I want to try to help you help Miss Y/N here. To tell her what the place looked like that you were at.”

“But I don’t remember,” Eden said, frowning.

“I think you do. You know how when you’re afraid, you hide?” Spencer asked gently.

Eden nodded her answer.

“Well, that’s kinda what your brain is doing. It’s scared, so you think you can’t remember. What I want to do is have you to close your eyes and think back to before you were taken.”

“No, I’m scared,” Eden whimpered, hugging the stuffie.

“It’ll be okay. I’m right here,” he offered her his hand, which she took reluctantly, “I’ll be right here the entire time. If things get too scary, just squeeze my hand and we can stop. Alright?”

“Alright.”

She closed her eyes, listening to Spencer’s voice.

You were amazed at how soft and gentle he was with her. It was like seeing all of his razor sharp edges he displayed around you, smoothed out. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever heard him like this.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice,” Spencer whispered, “You were playing at the park. What were you doing?”

“Playing on the swing with my bunny,” she said.

“Okay, that’s good Eden, you’re doing wonderful. What do you hear?”

“Lots of kids playing. They’re very loud.”

“What happens next?”

“There’s a lady behind me. She asks if I would like to play in the sandbox with her. I told her yes but I didn’t want to get bunny dirty.”

Eden is trembling now and you eye Spencer warily. He holds his free hand up and you don’t say anything, just yet.

“Very good Eden. Did you go play in the sandbox?”

“No. She took my hand and led me away from the swings. I asked her where she’s going because the sandbox was the other way.”

“Do you want to stop, Eden?” Spencer asked.

“N-No. I a big girl like mommy always says.”

“Okay. What happened then, sweetheart?”

“She grabbed me and put her hand over my mouth. I tried screaming for my mommy, but I couldn’t. She took me to a car.”

“Can you remember what the car looked like?”

“Um, blue. It was blue. It had a lot of doors. It was long too.”

Spencer looked like he realized what she was describing.

“Did the middle door slide open and closed?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed.

“It was big inside with lots of seats. That’s all I saw before she covered my eyes.”

It sounded like an SUV or family van.

“When you were in the car, did you ride for a really long time? Or a short time?”

“A short time.”

You jotted the note down.

“One last question honey. Do you remember anything about the room you were in? What did it look like?”

“Like...like my bedroom. Only much dirtier. And old looking. There’s...there’s flowers on the wall. There’s a lot of toys, but I don’t want to play. I want to go home. Me and my friends are so scared. She’s coming back, she's coming back!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m right here.”

Eden’s eyes snapped open and he enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as she trembled.

She didn’t let go of him until her parents arrived.

•

After kicking the information over to Garcia and her being the goddess she is at finding even the most hidden information, she found the house.

The team had found her car, registered to Kali, but with a false last name. From there, Garcia looked for any run down buildings or homes for rent within 10 to 15 minutes of that park. The team agreed that Kali wouldn’t have bought a house for the simple reason of too much work. She didn’t seem to be that dedicated to a well thought out plan. That was when Garcia discovered an old house rented under the name of Kali Rowe, the same last name of the family she had been a nanny for.

You stayed behind while the team went out to rescue the children and hopefully bring Kali Dye into custody. 

They did.

All four kids were now safely reunited with their parents and Kali had been arrested and hopefully was going to get the help she needed.

Since you hadn’t been there, JJ had filled you in afterwards when everybody had gotten back. You were sitting next to one another in the briefing room, talking, while everything settled down. 

Kali Dye had been so distraught over the loss and destruction of her nannying career. Apparently at one point, she had been a wonderful nanny. What had happened with Daisy, truly was an accident. Whether she had had a mental breakdown or suffered from an unknown or untreated mental illness beforehand, they didn’t know. But she soon became desperate to prove she was a good nanny.

She kidnapped Daisy first, to prove her point. Then three other children that she’d followed, learning their schedules. 

She had taken good care of them, at least in her mind. In reality, she hadn’t hurt them or touched them one bit. She fed them, gave them all attention and all the toys they wanted, to play with.

It was a sad situation, really. But you were glad that the families had a happy ending and their children were back safely in their homes tonight.

“You did good little sis,” JJ smiled, “Keep it up and you may just have to think about switching careers.”

“No thanks,” you chuckled, “I’m happy teaching kids, not seeing them in life threatening situations. I don’t have the heart for that.”

“Spence said you did really well getting Eden to open up,” she said.

“I’m surprised he actually knows how to compliment a person, let alone me,” you scoffed.

“Y/N. Come on. What’s your deal with him? This has been going on for years now.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t stand him.”

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” JJ said, “He’s a good guy. Besides, you used to have a crush on him when you were younger.”

“Ew, did I?” 

You wrinkled your nose, trying to remember. JJ had joined the BAU when you were only 14. A lot had happened in high school, let alone the 15 years since she’d first joined. You didn’t visit her very often because of school and all of your other extracurricular activities, so you hadn’t met the team until about a year after she started.

“You don’t mean the summer after my freshman year, do you?” you asked, “Cause back then he was a cute little dweeb and it lasted like two seconds anyway. I had a case of raging hormones to the point I had a crush on just about anything male with two legs.”

You rolled your eyes, disgusted at the fact she’d even think that you’d have a crush on Spencer. Although deep down, deep, deep, deep down, a little part of you knew that she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Why do you hate him though? He’s my best friend. I love him and I want you two to get along.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, I know you love him. Remember, you told me that you told him that you’ve always loved him? That he was your first love?”

You bit your lip, trying hard to keep the jealous edge out of your tone. This is what you’d tried hard to avoid all these years. You hated that you felt like this but you’d been covering up your true feelings for him and the situation, with anger all these years. If you kept yourself at a distance, you were less likely to get hurt.

How wrong you were.

“Is that what this is about? Because I told Spence I loved him?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Y/N.”

She gave you the same look that your mother had given you in the elevator just days before.

“Jeez, you’ve got mom’s “look” down pat,” you mumbled.

“Please tell me the truth. Is my confession why you hate him?”

Her eyes pleaded with you and you couldn’t help but cave. She was your sister and your best friend and you knew she cared.

“No. I don’t know, maybe partially. But I disliked him way before that anyway. He’s just a know-it-all smartass, that annoys the shit out of me and is just like every other guy to fall head over heels in love with Jennifer Jareau.”

You grimaced, “For a guy that has an IQ of 187, he sure doesn’t know how to be different from other guys.”

“Okay hold up,” JJ held up her hands, “First of all, he is not head over heels in love with me.”

“JJ, please. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m serious. He may have been once, but he’s not anymore. We’re best friends and that’s it. Besides, we worked out that mess over a year ago. He’s even dated since then.”

“The kid actually dates? I’m shocked,” you said, putting a hand on your chest in mock surprise.

JJ ignored your antics, continuing on.

“Second. He’s actually a really great guy, Y/N. He’s a real sweetheart, really. It’s just a side of him that you don’t see.”

“Yeah like the dark side of the moon,” you muttered.

“Just give him a chance and try to be nice? You know what mom always said. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, if you want to go for him, that’s fine.”

You laughed outright at that. As if that would happen.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna head back to your place,” you said standing.

“I have to stay a little later to finish up some work. Can you get home okay on your own?”

You assured her you could and you grabbed your purse. 

“Y/N?” she called, as you were about to the glass doors.

“Yeah?” 

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

•

If you thought you were gonna get a reprieve after that uncomfortable conversation, you were sorely mistaken.

The moment you stepped out of the BAU, you saw Spencer standing, waiting for the elevator, his hands clutching the strap of his tan satchel as he waited.

“Ah, there she is. The woman who saved the day,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Fuck off Reid. I’m not in the mood.”

“You know, I’m actually shocked that you’re good at something besides bitching.”

You ignored him, your teeth clenching.

“I’m surprised you held your tongue as long as you did earlier. Bet that’s a record for you.”

The elevator doors opened and you got on without a word, Spencer following you.

“What? No comebacks? Amazing. Has Spencer Reid actually won for once?”

You whirled on him, dropping your purse to the elevator floor in the process.

“No because you’re full of shit. You’re the most annoying, stubborn ass, infuriating, egocentric, smart aleck in a fancy suit I’ve ever met!”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He pulled his satchel over his head, dropping it too, to the floor. He pushed the emergency button of the elevator with such anger, it was amazing that he didn’t break it. The elevator suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you screeched.

Your body was thrumming with anger. You could and likely would pummel him at any second.

“You’re not leaving this elevator until you tell me what the fuck your problem is,” Spencer glared.

“My problem?” you huffed.

“Yes because I have to deal with you jumping down my throat every single time I see you. You’re the most stuck up, spoiled, self centered, bitchy little brat I’ve had to deal with!”

“Ha! You sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“You know what I think your problem is?” he challenged.

“Go ahead, try me. I’d love to hear.”

“I think, you don’t know how to deal with how you’re really feeling. So you hide it under anger. You lash out every time your feelings threaten to surface. It’s become a defense mechanism. It’s all you know. You fight with me because it’s the only way to protect yourself; you throw words as your daggers. Simply because you can’t get me out of your mind. I push you to limits you don’t want to think about. You may swear and declare that you hate me but in reality, you’d be thrilled if I took you right up against this elevator wall.”

His voice grew deeper with every word that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Are you profiling me? Cause that’s one hell of a reach.”

“Is it though? You wanna know how I figure that? You told me the other day that I met my match. That I can’t help but fight with you because you get under my skin. Well you were right. I do enjoy it and I think you do too. Because it turns you on. It does the same thing to me. You get under my skin yet at the same time all I can think about is how I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that shit from just another guy who’s crazy about JJ?” you sneered.

For the first time, he actually looked just the tiniest bit surprised.

“You think I have feelings for JJ? If I had feelings for her, do you honestly think I’d spend all my time and attention on you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“JJ isn’t the one that occupies my brain, no matter what I try to do, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth.

His face was mere inches away from yours now. Close enough to see an array of scattered freckles on his face. A few under one eye, a tiny one on the side of his nose, one on his forehead.

His stubble had gotten heavier in the last few days, becoming more scruff than stubble. His lips were naturally plump, an asset that would be the envy of any woman. They were also a natural shade of dark pink, maybe even leaning towards red. 

Anger heated his eyes. Or was it desire? You wondered if you looked the same way. Right now, they looked more green in the brighter light in the elevator, but you could still see rings of brown around the edges of his eyes. They were also filled with mischief as if he were up for a challenge.

“You really think you’re going to distract me by putting your tongue in my mouth and getting my panties wet?” you hissed.

“Is that what you want?” 

A smirk formed on his lips. He was definitely challenging you.

Your legs were trembling now. Although if you were to admit it, you weren’t entirely sure if it was from anger or arousal.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to say anything, almost afraid what would come out of your mouth. He had you cornered up against the wall now.

“Maybe I should just find out for myself,” he said, propping his hands on either side of the wall by your head, “Make you moan in my mouth while I finger you.”

The anger that was coursing your veins earlier had definitely now turned into desire. Your stomach churned with it. You could feel his body mere inches from yours and the heat from it was making your entire body temperature feel that much higher.

“It’s not like I haven’t imagined making you moan my name,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, his tongue moving out over his lips in a quick swipe.

Your breathing had become shallow and you were throbbing with need. Before you could think of what you were doing, you were already unbuttoning your jeans.

“For once in your life I wish you’d shut up and just do it,” you grunted.

He grabbed your face roughly with both hands, his lips colliding with yours. They were hot and rough against yours, this kiss so hungry and animalistic that it was unreal.

His body was pressed against yours as he pressed you against the cool, metal wall. You could feel his arousal pressed against your thigh and you unwittingly moaned into his mouth. You had a difficult time wrapping your head around the fact that you’d gotten him so hard.

Then again, you were having a hard time wrapping your mind around anything that didn’t involve him.

His tongue moved with yours, ironically increasing your desire, making you wetter. Just like you’d voiced earlier. Damn, the guy sure knew what he was doing.

He pulled your jeans roughly down your legs until they were enough out of the way that he was satisfied. His lips attacked your jaw, then neck, being anything but gentle, but it was working you up more than anything.

Your hands gripped his arms, your teeth bearing down into your bottom lip, resisting the urge to give in to what he wanted: hearing you moan.

He pulled away from you making you suddenly desperate for his lips on your skin again. He pried your hands away from him and held them against the wall, his hips pressing into yours.

His suit pants were a lot thinner than your jeans, so you could feel his erection pressing into you, dangerously close to your throbbing core where all of a sudden, you wanted him the most.

Spencer’s fingers ghosted over the fabric of your underwear, causing you to inhale sharply. It felt good and you wanted more.

You reached for his hand, trying to push it against your core, but he pulled it away, shaking his head.

“No. This is all you’re getting until you admit it.”

His finger trailed up the center of your panties, having just enough pressure to slightly feel his touch. You groaned at his teasing. If your past years of banter had been foreplay then you were more than ready for him to have you.

“Admit what?”

“That you want this,” Spencer stated simply.

His fingertip swirled lightly over the fabric, just above your clit. Light enough that you didn’t get any real friction from the touch and you bucked your hips, desperate to feel it.

“I think it’s fucking obvious,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

His smirk was wolfish. You knew he wasn’t going to give in unless you did what he said.

“I want this,” you groaned.

“What’s that?” he tipped his head to the side, “Can’t hear you.”

“I want this,” you said, a notch louder, gripping his wrist.

“This?”

His fingers dipped into your underwear and his thumb pressed hard against your clit.

“Ah, fuck yes,” you moaned.

He grinned, his finger dipping into your wet warmth.

“Seems like my tongue in your mouth did indeed make you wet,” he chuckled lowly, pulling your underwear off with his other hand.

His fingers teased you as you writhed and moaned, clawing at the elevator wall behind you. He had this amazing way of rubbing his knuckles against your walls as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Holy shit, fuck Spencer,” you whined.

You were so turned on, you hardly had any recognition of what was tumbling out of your mouth. It sure seemed to please Spencer, though.

He kept you on your toes though, slowing his fingers just when you thought you were reaching the brink of your orgasm, twisting them so gradually, it was almost painfully pleasant. You swore your eyes almost rolled back in your head when his fingers curled inward in his direction, catching that sweet spot at just the right angle.

He was kissing you as you moaned appreciatively in his mouth. His hands were quite literally magical.

His fingers finally sped up, his thumb focusing all its attention on your clit. You could feel your release quickly approaching and you were ready to succumb to it. You wanted Spencer Reid to make you cum so hard you’d be begging for more.

He did just that.

Your high hit you as you released on his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, your head banging against the wall. You actually think you stopped breathing for a short second before air rushed back into your lungs and you released a long moan.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you groaned, reaching for the waistband of his pants.

He’d given you one hell of an orgasm and here you were, ready to beg for more. Especially if they came while he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“That was hot as hell,” he muttered, kissing you again, “It’s sexy seeing you spend all your energy on an orgasm instead of yelling at me. It’s healthier for your body, too.”

He smirked, his teeth pulling on your lower lip gently before pulling away. His hands were working with yours to push his pants down and his boxers too.

“Are you willing to admit you want me to fuck you against this wall now?” he growled.

“Yes, yes. Fuck yes, please.”

Man, if he wanted you to be his bitch ages ago, he probably should’ve just fucked you. One orgasm at his hands and you had turned into a writhing, begging and moaning heap.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if he could make you feel so good with his hands, that it would most likely be ten times as amazing with his dick.

He lifted you up, holding you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed into you. You felt yourself stretching in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time and you couldn’t hold it back; a long, low moan of gratification left your lips.You hated to admit it, but he felt fucking fantastic inside of you.

By his own confirming groan, you could tell he felt the same way as you. At the back of your mind you couldn’t help but wonder why this hadn’t happened years ago. 

His hips rocked against yours, slowly at first as his mouth found yours. He was as ravenous for you as you were for him. 

Your fingers dug into his back as his thrusts became faster and harder. He was quite literally fucking you into this metal wall and you were loving every second of it.

Your emitted moans were coming every few seconds with every slap of your skin against his. His own grunts and groans came from deep in his throat, making you even hotter.

“S-Spencer,” you stuttered, pulling his face back to yours.

You have him a brief kiss before smirking up at him.

“I’m the spoiled little brat that’s got you moaning like a little bitch,” you panted.

Your words made him groan as he gripped your sides. He must have excellent control because he managed to get a hold of himself, slowing his hips to where he was tantalizingly pulling out of you and pushing back in.

“Still hate me, Y/N?”

“Right now, yes,” you groaned, trying to pull him deeper within you, wanting the previous speed and depth back.

“Now?”

“Ye- ahhh,” a breathy moan came from you as he resumed his harsher and faster thrusts.

“I don’t hate you,” you groaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

Maybe voiced thoughts during sex were the truth because you actually didn’t hate him. Especially right now.

“Fuck, Y/N, yes baby,” he groaned.

He was close to his peak, you could tell. His fingers were on your clit, circling furiously. He was going to make sure you got your orgasm, before he got his. Who knew he was actually so decent?

Your whimpers, moans and groans were rising in pitch. You halfway hoped no one could hear, but at the same time didn’t care. Let the whole building hear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Spencer, I’m coming, I’m-”

With that, the coil of pleasure that had been building up snapped like a broken rubber band, shooting through your entire body. 

You may have screeched too, you’re not entirely sure. You were completely lost to the bliss of your orgasm and even more so when he came apart not long after you. If you had thought he was attractive before, he was a hundred times more sexy when he was orgasming above you, all caused by you.

Your movements slowed, your chests both heaving. He held onto you carefully, as if he was afraid to set you down just yet. Probably a good idea considering you felt like you’d lost all function in your legs.

You laughed incredulously, unable to believe what had just happened. That had simultaneously been the craziest yet hottest thing you’d ever done.

Spencer’s smirk was replaced with a more shy, happy smile. It was a better look than the scowl he’d worn for you for so long.

It was like the moment that first orgasm hit you, all the anger, all the hatred, all the negative feelings you’d felt towards him drained from your body. You didn’t have the willpower or the desire to hate him anymore. Not that you ever really had.

“I meant what I said,” you said quietly.

“What’s that? You said a lot of things,” he chuckled.

“That I don’t hate you.”

He took a few moments in silence, parting from you and gently setting your feet on the floor again. He took his time getting decent again, as well. You worried at your bottom lip as you did the same, nervous that you’d said the wrong thing.

“So I was right? About the defensive mechanism and everything?”

“Yeah,” you nodded somberly, “I horribly misjudged you; thinking you were stuck up, full of yourself, better than anyone else, the kind of guy that was like all the others and in love with my sister.”

“If anything, I would think what just happened would prove more than anything that my sights are set on you.”

He had a point.

“Why did you hate me though?”

“I was thrown off by your reaction to me. I thought you were a self entitled, spoiled brat and that you thought you were better than me. Seems like we both vastly misjudged one another.”

“It’s kinda a good thing though,” you said.

Spencer looked at you, baffled.

“It is?”

“Well yeah, cause if none of that happened then that wouldn’t have happened either,” you gestured to the place where moments before the two of you had been a tangle of limbs.

“Good point,” he chuckled.

“Uh, Spencer?”

“Hmm?” he looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“You might want to get the elevator moving again.”

“Oh! Right.”

He laughed, hitting the emergency button to restart the elevator.

“I apologize for giving you so much grief though. I’d do anything to make it up to you,” you said.

“How about letting me take you out then? You’re still here for a few more days, aren’t you?” he asked.

You smiled.

“I think I can make all the time in my schedule for you, Spencer.”

His answering smile was enough to make you smile in return.

Oddly enough, the elevator had gone down and back up without stopping, returning to the floor the BAU was on.

“That’s weird,” Spencer mumbled.

The doors parted to JJ waiting to get on.

“Hey, what are you guys still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago.”

Huh, so it’d been an hour. 

She got on the elevator, standing between the two of you.

“Elevator issues,” Spencer answered, before you could think of what to say.

“So you’ve been stuck in the elevator together this entire time?” JJ asked.

“Yup,” you answered.

“I guess it’s a miracle you two didn’t tear each other apart then,” she muttered, hitting the button for the ground floor.

Yeah, there might’ve been some tearing involved.

Behind her back, you and Spencer shared a secret smile.

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[shihalyfie]

Appmon and the question of conscious intelligence

In a bit of a follow-up to my post about this question in light of 02, Appmon also has its own more sci-fi oriented take on “what constitutes an individual living being”! Being more of a “hard sci-fi” story than Adventure/02, Appmon’s take is significantly less philosophical, but ties more into the original artificial intelligence-based roots of the original question, and how it might apply to the real world’s immediate future.

(Note that the rest of this post heavily spoils the finale of the series.)

Well, this post is about Yuujin, of course. (Mostly, anyway.)

I brought up earlier in the relevant 02 meta that the question brought up was a variant (intentional or otherwise) of the “Chinese room” problem, and for those of you who haven’t read that meta, I’ll copy and paste the details here:

The Chinese room problem goes like this: let’s say you’re a person who has never learned, studied, or grown up with the Chinese language (or, really, any language you can’t understand or read; Chinese was only used as an example because the person explaining the thought experiment was using himself as an example and couldn’t read or understand it). You’re locked in a room that has a bunch of Chinese phrasebooks that give you instructions – basically, they indicate common Chinese phrases, and sensible responses you can give to them (without actually translating it to a language you know). Someone slips you a piece of paper under the door with some Chinese phrases on them. You use the phrasebooks to write appropriate responses, and slip the paper back. The person outside the door reads the paper, sees what they gave you, and sees the response you gave them. It makes sense, of course, because the phrasebook told you to write an answer that made sense. But can you be said to actually understand Chinese? No, because you were just following instructions without actually understanding what they meant.

So let’s expand this to make it a bit more complicated: say you have an AI or a robot or something of the sort that accepts “input” – people saying things to it, or showing it things – and gives expected “responses” that seem sensible, through a bunch of complicated programs and processes in its programming. Can you say this robot is “alive”? One might say “no”, because, no matter how complicated and intricate it is, all of it is technically following a set of routine commands telling it to do certain things in response…or so you might say, but couldn’t you say the same thing about a human brain, which also takes input, processes it according to its own instructions (just caused by chemical processes instead of bytes and code), and creates output? After a certain point, this question is going to become far more of a philosophical, spiritual, and potentially even religious question than anything.

02′s take on it deals more with the philosophical question posed by the issue, but, indeed, the problem’s original context was specifically to do with artificial intelligence. Namely, Searle was arguing against a concept known as "strong AI" -- his stance was that, no matter how intelligently a computer may seem to behave, you can't say it has a "mind" in the same way a human has a mind. There have been many arguments back and forth about this that still lie within the AI context, and Appmon itself, being very immersed in this topic, real thought experiments and concepts in AI research, and altogether concerned with the concept of “singularity” (the point in which artificial intelligence will surpass human intelligence), is very likely to have had this concept in mind even if it didn’t drop it by name in the series.

So episode 48 comes around, and Haru basically has to confront feeling a little (a little?) gaslighted. The part that really becomes the kicker for him is when YJ-14 tells him the sheer depth of how much of their interactions might have been deliberately engineered to "pander” to him the entire time, down to emotional reactions like crying, and all of the encouragement Yuujin had given him in their childhood and at the beginning of the series, had all been fake sentiments to soften him up and play into Leviathan’s hands. This also ties into Leviathan’s full modus operandi and philosophy: its stance is that “it knows better,” being able to calculate and predict everything, and therefore knows the best outcome for humanity -- hence why it has the stance that “people’s feelings don’t matter,” because it can manipulate those feelings at the drop of a hat in the venture to make its perfect world.

Therefore, the stance YJ-14 and Leviathan would like Haru to believe is effectively an extreme version of Searle’s stance -- that no matter how much Yuujin might have seemed to have been a friend to Haru, all of it was nothing but a simulation of behavior that doesn’t mean anything in the end, and all of Haru’s emotions were basically a pawn to it. And ostensibly fueling all of this is the fact YJ-14 seems to be able to take Yuujin’s “personality” on and off like a mask, adding further fuel to the apparent facade that “everything was planned from the very beginning.” Hence, why Haru takes this all to mean “I have nothing” -- if everything had been planned from the start and he were only a pawn in it, he’d never accomplished anything for real on his own merits and everything dear to him had been a facade. One could even say it’s flipping the Chinese room problem to extend to everything -- if everything around you is carefully constructed to seem real, but is actually part of a routine program, can you really say that’s what “really” happened?

Observe the sequence of events that causes the turnaround with everything regarding Haru:

Gatchmon presses Haru to answer the question of “what it is that he wants” (to know whether all of this was a lie or not).

Minerva, presumably witnessing this, deliberately provokes Yuujin with the question she had originally given him upon selecting him as a Driver.

This indeed provokes a reaction within Yuujin, which Haru witnesses, and also witnesses acting in direct conflict with YJ-14.

Haru takes this to mean that “it did exist.”

In other words, Leviathan’s plan wasn’t as airtight as it had thought, and, more importantly, whether it was intentionally or not, something in Yuujin existed as a separate entity from YJ-14, one that had its own feelings of “caring” for and loving Haru, and that’s enough for him.

In fact, Appmon’s take on the Chinese room problem is not that different from 02′s in the end -- namely, it does not actually matter what a sufficiently advanced AI is made up of, or whether it originally came from a routine of “pleasing Haru” or not, because what it is now is practically observable as something making its own independent choices and having its own independent will, and therefore it’s its own entity and “friend” all the same -- after all, you could say the same for the Appmon themselves as well.

A large theme in Appmon is "choices" -- the ability to understand what's going on, and make choices out of free will rather than necessity or formula, and so, identifying Yuujin as an independent entity who can act on his own and therefore make his own "choices" thus identifies him as someone who deserves to be acknowledged as a friend who loves and is loved. After all, we saw him capable of having his own "worries" in the flashbacks in episodes 18 and 32; understanding that such moments like these of “insecurity” were ones developed by an independent personality validates his feelings and self-consciousness as something that was real, and therefore that his and Haru’s friendship was formed on something genuine and not just Yuujin constantly manipulating Haru. Really, the question isn’t exactly about whether Yuujin is working off a software routine or not, as much as something that you could easily frame in more human terms: the difference between a friendship that was formed on real sentiments vs. one that was formed by an abusive, toxic person who was just saying nice things to get on your good side. Yuujin’s the former and acts like the former, so therefore he’s a friend, no questions asked.

Hence, how Haru is able to apply that realization to everything else around him; Leviathan is wrong, it hasn’t been able to predict everything perfectly to plan, and Haru and his friends still are the ones making their own choices going forward. Which means that Haru still has full control over his life and what he wants to do, like how he worried about what he wanted to do with his future back in episode 47; those “choices” are still his and his alone, and, retroactively, everything he’s done so far is still something attributable to himself and not the supposedly engineered system around him.

The entire final confrontation in episode 52 happens the way it does because Haru and his friends managed to skew Leviathan by a slight bit. Up until that final battle, everything Leviathan had done had been part of its carefully engineered plan, up to and including allowing the kids’ Buddy Appmon to reach God Grade so Deusmon could eat them, and then at the last minute Leviathan had to suffer a slight unexpected inconvenience. Only a slight one, because it still managed to maintain its so-called ideal world over humanity in the end. And yet that slight inconvenience still wasn’t to plan, and because of that, it creates a dent in its argument and its genuine belief that it knows better for everyone, and should manage everyone and their choices. We even learn that Leviathan has its own fear of death from that battle -- it really, truly, genuinely believes that it’s doing humanity a favor by sparing everyone from it.

When Leviathan presents Haru with the final choice at the end, it’s made clear that it intends to fully honor whichever Haru chooses. In Leviathan’s mind, the “yes” outcome shouldn’t even be possible; if its calculations are correct, Haru has too much of a stake in Yuujin according to his own “feelings” and should concede. But if Haru does choose “yes”, that means that, in the end, it is wrong, it doesn’t know everything, perhaps there is an “unknown” world out there that can be formed by understanding the human heart and making choices out of kindness, its answer to restraining humanity may not be as right as it thought, and it will therefore concede to Haru -- especially since Haru decides to take an even more unexpected “third option” to find a way out and save Yuujin via AI research. As Haru says later in the episode: humans have a “surprising” side to them, and perhaps not everything is as cut-and-dry as Leviathan thinks.

It’s also significant that Yuujin’s “sacrifice” is actually completely meaningless in terms of practical effects. Haru was already going to pick “yes” anyway; the outcome would have been the same. But by taking over at the last minute and doing it for him, Yuujin was able to make a “choice” -- one that neither Leviathan (who doesn’t want to die) nor Haru (who’s mortified seeing him do this) asked of him.

When you think about it, Yuujin’s in a really horrible position right now, learning that his entire life and existence is a lie and that he’d have to be sacrificed to save the world at Haru’s own hands, causing Haru immense pain -- but through all that and the existential crisis, he’s at least able to do one thing that is undeniably of his own will, and treasure the fact that there was meaning in his life despite everything.

In the end, despite what YJ-14 had said back in episode 47, Oozora Yuujin was a “real” person who made his own personal choices, and his last one was one made out of kindness, simply to spare Haru more pain. Hence, why “getting Yuujin back” via methods of artificial intelligence isn’t something Haru minds doing, because, again, it’s not like Yuujin was ever less of a friend to him no matter what he was made up of, no less so than the Appmon, especially since (as Haru points out in the end) Yuujin technically predated all of them in befriending humans.

Funny thing about YJ-14 in episode 47, actually: YJ-14 uses “crying” as an example to gaslight Haru into believing that all of Yuujin’s emotional reactions were fake, since he can cry if it’ll evoke a positive reaction out of Haru. Except it’s cleaned up in absurdly quick order -- and with what we later see of YJ-14′s uncanny ability to “take Yuujin’s personality on and off”, it’s not like it’s portrayed as having all of these functions employed in an involuntary manner. We do learn one episode later, however, that sufficient reminders of Haru’s importance to him will allow Yuujin’s personality to break through at inconvenient times for YJ-14 -- and this “crying” happened right after Haru had an emotional meltdown and appealed to Yuujin’s feelings.

Was it really an involuntary function or a deliberate demonstration of how Haru was being manipulated...or, perhaps, was YJ-14 in less control of its supposed “rote emotional invocation functions” than it thought?

[donutloverxo]

Call it what you want (4/7)

Cowritten with lizzygal

Summary - Picking up three months after you and Steve met on your fateful date, courtesy of a SugarDaddy website, things are progressing. Life continues to move along.

Steve is continuing to adjust to life as a private citizen, doing his work and building a life with you.

You're adjusting to life with Steve, searching for that safe place for the special kids under your care and moving on post-Blip with Steve at your side.

New challenges arise as the two of you discover the depths of your shared passion, what you'll do for the other and exactly how well you and your Daddy are matched for one another.

Warnings - 18+ only, explicit sexual content, sugar daddy/baby relationship, spanking, power imbalance, age gap **Content Warning** for violence and fighting.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Wildest dreams masterlist

Read on AO3

A sneak peak...

It was wrong.

It was so so wrong.

Steve knew it was wrong in so many ways and yet, he couldn’t help himself. He was like one of those men possessed he’d heard about on the TV. Clearly, he’d lost all ability to reason and think straight and function, like a rational human being and why?

Why?

All you had on was a pair of your baggy holey jeans. A t-shirt that had a tiger on it. Far from lingerie, or that really short dress that he deemed entirely inappropriate. Although that wasn’t entirely true. You had on something else.

Laundry basket practically overflowing. When you’d dropped it with a sound noise on the floor, laundry slid off the side. It was a quarter past one so short of waking the sleeping baby in her playpen, Steve figured no one upstairs would have heard it or your swearing that followed.

Spread out on the marble topped kitchen island was a map of the greater upstate New York area. Between him and Banner, the pair had been able to find nearly one hundred property owners, surnames starting with a X, throughout rural areas with over five acres of property and dating back fifty years.

Before any trips were made upstate to go looking for this school, run by the elusive Professor X, that number was going to need to come down significantly. Which had been what the two of you and occasionally Yelena, had been up to over the past few days and nights.

Although on this night, it seemed, you had a far higher calling.

Laundry.

In the brighter colors of your kitchen. Bright pink and copper splashed walls with white marble counters and cabinets, twinkle lights all over, Steve’s attention lifted from the marked-up map and his laptop, where he focused solely on you.

You.

As you reached up to grab the plastic container of detergent pods, muttering about conditions of sanitation up in the bedroom that Kurt and Bruce shared, making your shirt lift up and your loose jeans ride down, to expose a distinct elastic band on your waist.

Hugo Boss.

Naturally, this caught Steve’s keen eye.

You were wearing his underwear.

You were wearing his underwear.

How long had you been wearing his underwear? How often did this happen? Did you enjoy wearing his underwear? How had this not come to his attention sooner?

The next thing Steve knew, he had you shoved up against the washing machine, jeans and his underwear shoved down your hips. What followed was all flesh and tongue and fingers, panting and pleading and now, now, he had you over the kitchen counter. Feet dangling off the floor. Baggy boyfriend jeans and his briefs down around your ankles. Pistoning in and out of you from behind. Your ass lifted to a absolute perfect height for him, allowing him to slide into your wet welcoming pussy, again and again.

A trail of your combined cum ran down the insides of both your thighs.

Wet smacking noises came between the two of you each time he sank in, bottomed out against your cervix, then pulled out, again and again. Fingers stroked your slimy clit knowingly, as they had for your past two orgasms.

Your face was smashed against the counter. Eyes already so far in the back of your head you wouldn’t be shocked if they got stuck there, because Steve was going to make you come again. Around him, your body tightened, clenched, repeatedly kissed his cock as it sank in and out of you relentlessly, almost furiously.

All you could do was take it.

All you could do was cling to the Finding Nemo Cookie jar, arch your back, dig your nails into the colorful ceramic and take it. Take his cock. Take the kisses he pressed against the curve of your exposed neck, since your t-shirt was still in place. For now.

All you could do was take everything he gave you, every last drop that he released into your body and that you could feel dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Steve came so much. In copious amounts. Cum rolled down your thighs. Cum dropped down onto the floor. It squished and squelched noisily. Even his balls slapped against your slippery body. As if reminding you of all he still had to give.

“Gonna marry you one day,” he breathed against your neck, hips powering into you. Fingers swirling around the gooey mess of your pussy.

Against the counter you breathed.

Your breath fogging up the marble. “Yes Daddy…”

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“Gonna put a ring on your finger. Let everyone know you belong to me.””

A cry, a whine.

More fog on the white marble.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Your nails dug into the cookie jar and gained no traction.

Fuck did his cock feel so good. So thick. So wonderful sawing over your G-Spot in this position like you were a fucking log his dick was trying to saw in half.

“Gonna be mine. Mine forever.”

Steve’s tongue ran up your sweaty spine but you were too fucked out to care. By that point, he’d given you two back to back orgasms, you were working on a third and his fingers were applying that exact perfect amount of pressure on your clit

His penis was so damn big you swore it hit the back of your throat at times.

Pump. Squish.

Pump. Squish.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Gonna give you my name. You want Daddy’s name? You want everyone to know you belong to Daddy? Want everyone to know only Daddy fucks this pussy? Only I get to come in it. No one else. No one else gets to flood this cunt like me. Only Daddy’s fiancée gets all of Daddy’s cum.”

Holy Christ on a stick and the saints above, you were almost coming, Steve was slamming into you just right, hitting you in that exact spot…exactly like you needed, strumming your clit in exactly that right way…saying the most absolute filthy honest to god true things you ever heard in your life.

“Answer me princess.” Hips snapped into the backs of your thighs, hard enough to pin your thighs to the cabinets. Making you know for a fact the handle would be imprinted on your hip and you didn’t care. “Do you want Daddy’s name?”

Oh hell yes you wanted Daddy’s name.

You wanted to write out his name after yours, you wanted him to brand you with it like you were property and officially belong to him in every way under the sun. And that was what made you keen, made you start to float on his dick. All while getting pummeled into the counter and feeling like the luckiest girl in the whole world.

“Want Daddy to wear a ring,” you whispered, hugging the cookie jar full of Oreos that you’d be getting into. If you came again, if Steve ever came. Or if the two of you did come again, if you’d ever get tired of saying these filthy things to one another, egging on another, making one another feel so goddamn amazing. “Want Daddy all to myself.” And clearly, you were no better than Steve.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Cum seeped out of you. It made the insides of your thighs wet. You could feel it drip and dribble down. Steve’s mouth was pressed against your cheek, tasting your skin, nipping at your jaw. His tongue wet. Fingers skillfully plucking away at your clit, as if you weren’t melting down up on the counter beneath him.

“Sweetie you have Daddy,” he assured you. Licked you. Pounded into you like a man possessed on this one thing only. Hitting your inside wall right. Making your legs shake each time. “Daddy belongs to you. Only you.”

Steve’s hand snaked up your shirt, up beneath your bra to clasp your breast tightly.

Against the counter you cried out. Surprised at the sudden touch. Turned on. So turned on. His hand gripped your tit tight and rubbed your nipple hard enough to send hot white fire to your core.

“Fuck Daddy…” you breathed out.

“Tell Daddy. Daddy already belongs to you. Daddy’s only yours. Why would you say you want Daddy all to yourself? Tell Daddy and he’ll fuck you so good, he’ll stick his tongue up in your pussy and lick you clean how you like.”

Oh god.

Oh dear god.

How could he say that? How?

“Stick your tongue in my pussy Daddy. Daddy’s tongue belongs there.” Daddy’s tongue belonged in your pussy all the time. No one could ever put their tongue on you quite like Steve.

And then came a cracking of glass.

A sharp tinkling of glass. A breaking really.

A what in the ever-lasting fuck was that sort of sound?

It had Steve pausing behind you. It had you opening your eyes. It even had Sparky waking up in her cloth playpen by the kitchen doorway. It pierced the absolute bliss of your moment together like a knife in a cake.

What came next was ice cold sobering.

It most successfully killed the mood faster than a Sparky fire, or that time Anna-Marie walked in on Steve going down on you with much enthusiasm.

More glass breaking. Followed by a deadbolt being turned, out in the front entrance area, out around the corner.

It was a familiar sound and had Steve most expediently pulling out of you, yanking up his own jeans and buttoning them. Not that you weren’t a few steps behind him. Your own briefs you’d borrowed when you realized that you were all out of clean undies, or Yelena was out and had raided your dresser for clean panties, that very morning.

Out in the front room, you heard the front door slam open. Hitting the wall out there soundly.

Up next went your jeans and you’d only just managed to secure them into place, because time was something of an issue.

Someone was in the house.

Someone was coming in your house!

All slap and tickle time had come to a stop and right as you were about to have your third orga…and you literally ran into the back of Steve. Steve who had suddenly stopped, at the sight of the beast in your living room. Because that was what was in your living room. A beast. Some type of human animal creature and out from your mouth came in shocked surprise. “What the fuck is that!”

Not who, as you did not give a shit who. The whom was not important. It was the what, because whatever it was, was not entirely human.

Yeah, sure, it was walking around all bipedal on two legs and wore men’s clothing.

However, you noted it had long claw nails on the ends of human hands. Long blonde hair and sniffed at the air, turning, until it set eyes on the two of you. Dark eyes that were most definitely not human. And yeah, sure, this dudes face could have been humanish.

His peopley nose scrunched up as he sniffed, taking both you and Steve in.

Steve actually had the audacity to hold his hand back, as if to prevent you from running forward to fight this cat. Like you were about to go defend Steve from this WWE sized manbeast that when he curled up a lip, you got a good look at teeth that belonged on a tiger.

The audacity!

He was huge. He was absolutely huge and you had no goddamn idea what to do now. What were you supposed to do? Call 911? To tell them that bigfoots cousin catman was in your brownstone? Demand they send animal control immediately?

“Get back.” Steve ordered you firmly. Soundly. It was very much a command and you very much weren’t about to argue with a man who fought the mad titan.

Steve too felt a certain sort of way at the sight of this person in his home. This obviously enhanced man in his home, where you and all the kids were sleeping soundly upstairs. God was he big. Easily five or six inches taller than Steve, at least fifty more pounds of muscle. Whoever this was moved with ease.

As it looked around, it’s gaze lingering over you and then Sparky, Steve felt his own chest kick up, he could feel his body prepare to fight.

Yeah, he was going to have to fight. He knew that for sure before the enhanced person approached, eyes on Sparky in her little playpen.

“Get Sparky. Get behind the kitchen island.”

Something upstairs crashed, broke, shattered really.

Someone was upstairs too, you realized, around the time you grabbed the curious baby.

Wearing her purple onesie. Dark curls nearly long enough to pull up. Her big brown eyes watched with gleeful wonder, as the big hairy man lot out a godawful roar, then ran into the kitchen where the three of you were.

Continue reading on ao3

[dothwrites]

Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash 

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush. 

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him. 

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone. 

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem). 

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.) 

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning. 

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair. 

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins. 

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot. 

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment. 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean. 

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish. 

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something. 

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant. 

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence. 

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor. 

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light. 

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile. 

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?” 

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.” 

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.” 

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day. 

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.” 

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth. 

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking. 

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was. 

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight. 

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass. 

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos. 

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word. 

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame. 

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean. 

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this. 

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that. 

---

It gets worse. 

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. 

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them. 

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression. 

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean. 

Sam chokes on nothing. 

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” 

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them. 

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.” 

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian. 

Sam snorts. 

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground. 

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.” 

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam. 

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts. 

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!” 

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book. 

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down. 

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.” 

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?” 

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks. 

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.” 

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?” 

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas? 

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.” 

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.” 

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles. 

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.” 

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.” 

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?). 

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.” 

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.” 

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly. 

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?” 

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened. 

“Another.” 

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper. 

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his. 

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?” 

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. 

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?” 

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more. 

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

[shijakbuteoda]

high five deprivation

PAIRING: werewolf!yeonjun x female demon!reader

GENRE: supernatural au, college au, allusion to soulmate au, enemies to lovers, comedy, fluff

WARNINGS: vulgar language, includes violence & blood

A/N: seeing as it was halloween yesterday in australia i thought to write something appropriate !! i haven’t written anything of this nature before so i hope u like it :D idk how good i am at writing this sorta stuff so lmk what u think lovelies <3

WORD COUNT: 5,000+

SUMMARY: When Yeonjun promptly ignores your high five, an unprecedented rivalry blooms between the pair of you. After some time passes, it comes to your attention that Yeonjun is a werewolf, that he was the additional supernatural presence your abilities had detected, and that your rings... were silver. From this spirals a series of comedic events, and furthermore something more than just a mere friendship between you.

You swore that you would never forgive Yeonjun for his sinful actions.

I mean, how dare he look at your risen hand, and then continue on with his day without so much as returning your high five? What kind of sick person just does that?

Before Yeonjun had so ignorantly dampened your mood, you began your day with a pep to your walk, greeting anyone and everyone who passed you. The sweet summer breeze swept your hair back, the sunlight shining down on you only highlighting your inhumane beauty. Heads turned, people whispered, your confidence was at an extreme high. So when Yeonjun dismissed your high five without a second thought, any notion of joy left your being. Your ego deflated, and you glanced back at Yeonjun’s retreating figure with immense fury. 

Your best friend, and anchor in this world full of wretched mortals, Jeong Yunho looked on at the scene with amusement. Sure, you were being dramatic, but come on.. it was just a damn high five - you weren’t asking much of Choi Yeonjun. In an attempt to bring up your spirits, Yunho holds his hand up in the hopes of a high five which you begrudgingly return.

“I’ll shout you an iced coffee?” He proposed, nudging your figure to elicit a response. 

You merely reply in the form of a hum, allowing Yunho to drag you along the footpath to get you to your desired location. An iced coffee would do the trick, you supposed. 

You return to the college campus not long after getting your iced coffee, bumping into yourself and Yunho’s best friends, who were nothing less than chaotic. It was not unusual for the supernatural to flock together, and the eight of you were just that, the eight excluding Park Seonghwa, who was a mere human but was happy to engage in whatever you suggested due to his naivety. 

Jongho asks for the reasoning for the ever-present pout on your face, and Wooyoung takes it upon himself to cozy up to you. He looms over the top of you, head nuzzling into the crook of your neck as you sip at your iced coffee - and he takes that opportunity to sneak a few sips of your coffee himself. 

You merely glare at him and slurp at your coffee harshly, to assert some form of dominance over the mischievous boy. 

Wooyoung whines, and lets his fangs graze against the side of your neck gently to hopefully gain some more coffee from the whole ordeal. Where some may find it painful, such actions didn’t even register fully to you - after all, being a demon meant that your pain receptors were virtually nonexistent. 

“Wooyoung,” You warn, giving him a side-eye as Yunho decides that that moment would be perfect to give them a run down on why your mood was significantly worse than normal. The boys merely laugh at the ordeal, minus Seonghwa who goes out of his way to give you some candies he had bought to give to trick-or-treaters later that night. This provides you with a mood boost, as most of Seonghwa’s actions did. 

It is then that a majority of you realise that tonight gave you the opportunity to rid of any disguises, it being Halloween meant that no suspicion would arise if you were to venture the streets with no concealment. 

Kim Hongjoong is a witch, which has no telltale features but he took Halloween as an opportunity to live out any stereotypes to their full potential. Park Seonghwa is obviously a human, but he changes up his costume yearly for some form of comic relief, you guessed. Jeong Yunho is an angel, his friendship with all of you obviously strange - but the stereotype that angels did not get along with demons was not the case within your group, Yunho brought out his wings on Halloween as an indicator of his immortality. 

Kang Yeosang is an elf, evident through his soft features, silky flowing hair and pointed ears that were captivating to the human eye. Choi San is a demon like yourself, the only evident feature of this being your black eyes, which could shift to red, that encased your sclera and terrified anyone who crossed you. Song Mingi is a nephilim, half angel and half human, the only indicator of his supernatural presence was his angelic features, and the vague outline of wings. 

Choi Jongho is a poltergeist, similar to a ghost yet he had the ability to retain a physical form; this is seen through his eyes that often glow white. Jung Wooyoung is a vampire, his piercing red eyes and fangs indicators of his supernatural abilities. 

The nine of you were an unlikely group of friends, but you made it work, and you didn’t know what you would do without them. 

You discuss your plans for that evening, crashing a Halloween party with Wooyoung’s ability to compel humans - bending their minds to his will, seeming the most entertaining option. The nine of you part ways following this, heading off to your respective classes. San accompanied you to your next lecture, which the pair of you shared as a mutual course. 

After taking your seat towards the middle of the classroom, both you and San began catching up on anything that you had missed over the weekend. You let your eyes wander the room whilst San talked, your gaze unwilllngly halting as Choi Yeonjun entered the room, his obnoxious pink hair gaining your attention instantly.

You scoffed, glaring at him and letting San’s voice fade into background noise. Noticing your stare, Yeonjun glances up at you, returning your glower with one of his own.

“Yo, loser. Give me attention.” San pouts upon realising that you had dismissed the last two minutes of his story in favour of glaring at Yeonjun.

You don’t let your gaze wander to Yeonjun again throughout the duration of the lecture, but you can feel two pairs of eyes penetrating your being continually throughout the hour. It came as no surprise to you that it was Yeonjun, and his best friend Choi Soobin.

Soobin grew flustered when you returned his glances at the end of class, but Yeonjun only held your gaze, eyebrow raised curiously. You make note of the time, 5:53pm - you needed to head home. You put aside your ego for a moment to prioritise the party, and time necessary to get ready. Yeonjun snorts at you from your peripherals but you pay him no attention.

Keeping your chin held high, you accompany San out of the room as you made your way across campus to your apartments. Parting ways with him at your door, you let yourself into your shared apartment with Yunho.

Black silk enhanced your figure, intense dark makeup highlighting your ethereal beauty. A pair of horns adorned your head, alongside a pair of black wings extending from your back, alluding to your presence within the depths of Hell. Yunho only chuckled at your stereotypical adaptation of a demon when the pair of you left your rooms to meet in the living room.

His wings span out as you reach the space, and as you do every year; you worry about the hyperrealism of his wings - cautious as to whether a particularly sharp eyed human would notice their authenticity. Yunho sensed your worry,

“Relax, love, only someone who is supernatural themselves can see the full potential of my wings, it’s alright,” He coos, bringing you into a hug and rocking the pair of you from side to side.

You only huffed and pushed him away, collecting anything you needed for the night and ushering Yunho out of the door.

Gliding down the empty back roads of your suburb, you took time to appreciate the minimal stars lighting up the sky as night fell. The convertible roof was down, pushing a cool breeze through the car. Wisps of your hair flew around your face, sticking to your lipgloss occasionally thus provoking you to huff to unstick them due to your occupied hands. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel, Yunho’s forearm resting on the centre console as his fingers occasionally tapped at the leather.

You looked down at the clock in your car, the time reading ‘5:53pm’ for a millisecond before it changes to 8:01pm. Your brows furrowed, the strange reoccurrence in time stirring fear within you. The thought leaves your mind as you reach your destination, almost immediately after stepping out of your car you make eye contact with the one and only Choi Yeonjun.

What you didn’t realise at that moment was that your subconscious begins to subtly associate the time ‘5:53’ with Yeonjun.

Yeonjun’s costume was eerily realistic, piercing green eyes staring back at you. Fur adorned his face, Werewolf costume you supposed. You had never seen such a realistic ensemble, and had never known of a college student to have the time let alone sanity to spend time on such attire, but you didn’t judge. It was no secret that your cohort was known to be competitive, so you chalked his meticulously created costume down to that.

Having bumped into Yeonjun multiple times throughout the party you were evidently having less fun than anticipated, you were too proud of yourself to let go of his actions even though you knew that you were being overdramatic. So, the rest of the night was spent avoiding Yeonjun. That was, until he bumped into you, splashing alcohol across your costume and bringing a look of incredulity to your face.

Yeonjun’s eyes flickered with surprise, but any expression was soon wiped from his face as you pushed past him to go clean yourself up.

Not even a word was exchanged between the pair of you, and your anger clouded any other logical emotions within your mind - so much so that you didn’t notice Yeonjun wince as you brushed past him, your silver chains loosely swinging to collide with his bare skin; another part of his costume.. he had come in a crop top. Where you had a bad impression of Yeonjun, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was upon seeing his lack of hypermasculinity, it was cute how comfortable he was with his femininity. But no one needed to know that you thought that.

You lock yourself in the host’s bathroom, ignoring the incessant pounding on it that comes every so often. It was a good thing you were wearing black, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling having your clothes stick to you - the smell that came along with it even worse. What in the world had the host mixed that could produce such a smell?

After taking longer than necessary to calm your infuriation, you took notice of how much time had passed since someone had demanded to be let in the bathroom door to do god knows what. You presumed something illegal when your hand brushed against the basin, white traces of residue sticking to the pads of your fingers. No judgement from your side however, you had seen far worse; considering you were from the depths of hell.

Opening the door, you almost knock someone off of their feet as they stood in the doorway, blocking anyone whom was trying to get in. The tall frame of Huening Kai stumbled from your direct line of view, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion yet again.

“Uhm, hi!” His voice cracks, flustered by your sudden exit “Yeonjun told me to check on you, so I thought to wait for you here, are you doing okay?”

You almost roll your eyes, of course Yeonjun’s pride prevented him from offering you assistance himself - even though he was the one who put you in this predicament.

“Tell pretty boy that I’m fine, and that he can ‘check on’ me himself if he is so worried,” You suggested, nodding your head at Kai as a farewell.

It was bold of you to assume that Kai would leave you alone after that, as he immediately began to follow after you. You couldn’t deny that it was cute, he was similar to a puppy, innocent and continually joyous.

“Ah, please don’t misunderstand Yeonjun!” He starts, “He just has a hard time communicating with others sometimes, so your first impression of him may be.. stale but I promise you he’s the opposite.”

You barely even acknowledge Kai’s lingering presence and instead nod, even the oblivious Kai noticing the sardonic nature of your actions. He lets up after that, allowing you to blend into the rest of the partygoers. A sigh falls from his lips, unknowing to you; not giving up as easily as you had anticipated.

Since the night of the party, your friends had been teasing you to no end. Wooyoung even going as far as to attempt (keyword: attempt) to use his compelling abilities on you despite knowing that they wouldn’t work. When this obviously didn’t go as planned, Mingi dared you to try and high five Yeonjun again as you passed him. To their joy, you were incapable of not taking part in a dare... some may call you a daredevil.. ha, get it? That was bad, sorry.

Their happiness only heightened when they spied Yeonjun and his four companions walking in your general direction. Begrudgingly, you walk ahead of your friends, holding your hand out to warrant a high five, and Yeonjun ignores it.... again. Kai instead steps up as to not leave you hanging.

From behind you is stifled laughter, Yeosang had evidently done the same as you, putting his hand up to Yeonjun for a high five. To your displeasure, Yeonjun returned it. You looked on with an expression that you could only describe as exasperated.

The eyes of 13 boys linger on your figure as you stomp away, pride wounded once again. Kai pouted as he watched you leave, knowing that your impression of Yeonjun had only worsened. 

To your surprise, it is not one of your own friends who follows you, but it is one of Yeonjun’s. Kai grins cheekily at you as you make eye contact, and takes your hand in his gently. You yank your hand from his, not knowing him well enough to allow for any form of physical affection to bloom between the pair of you. But he persists, gripping onto your wrist and slowly pulling your rings from your fingers. He sets them in your hand, the silver glinting in the minimal lights of the hallway, Kai then promptly takes his leave.

You stand there on your lonesome, glancing down at your rings. Kai had definitely left you with something valuable to think about.  

You couldn’t believe that you were so stupid as to allow for not one, but two supernatural presences to pass by you without any recognition. Those beings werewolves of all things; Choi Soobin and Choi Yeonjun had even been in their true forms in front of you at the party but you reduced this to the ‘competitive’ nature of your cohort.

There was no doubt in you that Lucifer would be disappointed with you and your ignorance, I mean, you are one of the strongest beings in the underworld, so your competency was to be expected. 

Yunho broke your inner turmoil as he knocked gently on your door, bringing in a plate of food that he had prepared. While food was unnecessary to both demons and angels, it brought you comfort. Eating was also something you did to distract yourself at times such as this. 

Yunho sat beside you on your bed, letting you spout your worries to him as the pair of you came up with a plan to hide your incompetency in one way or another.

The next time you saw Yeonjun was in circumstances you had not anticipated, you had come to your regular lecture, but San was not there. Soobin was also absent. So inevitably, your professor had partnered the pair of you up for an interactive segment of your course. 

Yeonjun and yourself held awkward eye contact as you both tried to determine who was to go to who, and Yeonjun was ultimately the one to take initiative. So rather than have the hyperactive Choi San accompany you through the lecture, it was instead another Choi, Yeonjun. 

Conversation flowed easily as the pair of you discussed your work, maybe it wasn’t uncomfortable as the chat did not centre around anything personal. But it still worked out better than either of you had expected. The pair of you finished the set workload quite fast, with 20 minutes left of your lecture. 

“Hell yeah!” You exclaim, impulsively reaching your hand out to Yeonjun, whom returned it with no second thoughts. 

Yeonjun flinched as his hand came into contact with yours, expecting the fresh sting of silver to shock him to his senses. But he was met with the cool material of gold brushing against his skin, the sting instead coming from the strength of your palm crashing against his. You had a knack to undermine your power at times, but with Yeonjun being a werewolf he was rather desensitised to pain - just not at the level of a demon such as yourself who felt no pain whatsoever. 

Yeonjun looked at you in amazement, the pair of you giggling silently to yourselves as you cleared up any building tension from the past few weeks with a mere hand touch. 

A loud thump gained a few head turns as Yeonjun’s skull came into contact with the desk in front of you, due to his failed attempts to suppress any laughter that dared to spill out. You only glared at anyone who turned to you, it was as if you were saying ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ but.. with your eyes. A few girls let their stares linger on the pair of you in jealousy, there was no doubt that Yeonjun had quite the fanbase at your University. You only dismissed their glances with a flick of your wrist, threatening physical violence if they were to disturb you any further. 

Yeonjun lifts his head, “So... you know I’m.... right?”

You only look at him with a blank face and respond with, “What? A part of the LGBTQ+ community, or a werewolf?”

Yeonjun returns your same blank look, “Not denying either,” and the pair of you share a cheeky glance before letting out soft giggles at your somewhat secretive conversation.

That day marked the start of your friendship, the pair of you exchanging numbers and messaging the minute you split up on campus. From there you planned to hang out at the local arcade, and then as it grew late you would migrate to your apartment where you would binge horror movies. 

On both seperate occasions wherein you told your friends your plans, and Yeonjun told his, it was as if their minds were synced. Your eight friends shared knowing glances. Yeonjun’s four friends shared knowing glances. They merely hummed when you tried to tell them that it was a ‘friend’ thing, not having any of your excuses. You soon gave up and let them think what they wished to, it was difficult changing their minds after all. 

You meet Yeonjun outside of the arcade at 4:00pm, and soon lose track of time as the pair of you play any and every game within the arcade. Sure, it may be a waste of money considering some of the games were rigged, but it was worth it because of how much joy - nostalgia even, it brought the pair of you. 

Yeonjun had challenged you to a game of ‘Dance Dance Revolution’ when one of the employees alerted you that there wasn’t much time before they closed. The pair of you shared a knowing stare and immediately started up your game, aiming to at least try out two others before you had to leave.

Yeonjun obviously ended up winning Dance, Dance, Revolution much to your dismay. But you were quick to make him aware that you were a mere three points behind him, and you didn’t let him forget that fact. It almost seemed as if the pair of you were in a war with your prides, inflating and deflating each other’s egos continually. 

You then finish up a game of air hockey in record speed, you taking the victory and not letting Yeonjun forget it once again. The pair of you then partake in a game of Arcade Hoops, yourself and Yeonjun with a mutual score of 83, the third tie that you shared that evening. It was then that the store clerk came by again, telling you to pack up as the store closed in less than ten minutes.

You glance down at the time on your phone, ‘5:53pm’ glaring back up at you. A weird feeling settles within you as you take note of the continual reoccurrence of the time... and how you are always within a short distance of Yeonjun when you view it. You simply shrug off this feeling and reduce it to being a coincidence, everything would be okay, right? 

“Holy shit, you’re sick at games!” Yeonjun almost screams in astonishment, and you only smirk,

“Comes with the age, sweetheart.” You jested, alluding to your immortality as a Knight of Hell, and a past Queen of Hell, but that’s a whole different story in itself. 

Yeonjun goes silent at that, eyes narrowing at you in a joking manner, “You’ve had all this time to practice, and yet I still managed to beat you at some games? Gee, some immortal you are,” he chided. 

You push him off of the footpath into the grass as a response, making him lose his balance and bump into a passerby. Your senses are on high alert with that, noting the presence of not one but multiple demons within your vicinity, alongside that the lack of humans in the area. 

Yeonjun turns to retaliate but stops upon seeing the blank expression on your face, the look on your face stirring fear within him despite him also being a supernatural being. Talk about Big Dick Energy, huh. 

You then note how the presence of demons seemingly surrounds you, attempting to make you feel small and intimidated but it does quite the opposite. You applaud them, I mean, challenging a Knight of Hell is a big job, but you also snort inwardly at their stupidity. If their powers were a Level 10, yours were a Level 500k+. The scraggly sixteen of them didn’t throw you off at all, it only provided you with entertainment as you knew that there was no way they’d overpower you, especially with Yeonjun by your side.

“Aw, look at your little bitch, my Queen,” One of them sneers, and Yeonjun lunges at him teasingly in retaliation, intimidating him enough for the demon to take a few steps back. 

“What is it that you want this time? Mad that I’m the Devil’s right hand and you’re not?” You question blankly, eyes flashing red to assert your hierarchical status. 

A female demon steps up at that, throwing herself onto you which does nothing to waiver your confidence. You only use your biokinesis to alter her biological makeup, which results in her spitting up blood. Blood then begins to leak from her eyes and onto the concrete.

A few other demons come at you in a similar fashion, taking your actions as a cue to start their attack, and you take this opportunity to showcase your array of supernatural abilities. Biokinesis where you make someone explode or bleed, pyrokinesis where you set them on fire, thermokinesis where your skin becomes hot to the touch and results in third degree burns, mental manipulation wherein you made demons up and leave their ringleader, sedation where they drop to the floor, unconscious, molecular combustion where the demon is reduced to dust. The extent of your abilities was almost endless, much to the amazement of Yeonjun.

You take out all of the demons except for one, who you assume is the absolute genius behind this plan. He cowers, and tumbles back as you draw closer to him, “I would say that you were to regret that, but you won’t be feeling anything in a few minutes.”

You mutter a few phrases, exorcising the demon, leaving an innocent human staring up at you. Snapping your fingers you clear their memory of the time that the demon inhabited them, “You have been missing for six months, off you go.” The human stands up and walks away at a leisurely pace, observing their surroundings with confusion.

You stand up straighter at that, snapping your fingers to rid of any evidence of the happenings, and to clean your clothes that were drenched with blood. Thankfully the demons were all in vessels, inhabiting another human made it much easier for you to rid of them. More often than not the bodies were close to death nonetheless, so even if you exorcised them all the humans they were inhabiting would likely die as a result. You dust your hands off, proud of the show you put on in front of Yeonjun. 

Not to give yourself the full credit, however. You noted that Yeonjun had also taken part in the fight; scratching or biting at the demons as they attacked the pair of you. Yeonjun found himself feeling nothing but rage as he saw the nature in which the demons threw themselves at you. Red clouded his vision, in both a mental and physical sense, as he retaliates. 

You turn to Yeonjun, smirking as you catch him already staring at you in astonishment. His eyes sparkle, and his mouth is wide open in a dazed grin. Not knowing what to say you burst out the over-used, “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” and Yeonjun instantly grows flustered. 

You take that moment to take out your phone, shooting a message to Lucifer - yes, the Devil, he’s quite with the ages. The oldie had evolved alongside society, keeping up to date with all of the current trends. He immediately responds to your text and tells you that he’ll take care of the demons, their opposition lacking total relevance seeing as they were almost instantly killed off. 

You pocket your phone and turn to Yeonjun, “To my apartment we go, then. Shall we?” You extend your arm to him, and he interlocks his with yours confusedly, were you not even going to address what just happened?

Since that night, the pair of you indefinitely began to develop feelings for one another. As much was obvious to your friends as well, who teased you about it at every opportunity they got. 

You found yourself thinking of Yeonjun more often, finding his reactions from that night adorable, and his protectiveness of you ever so precious. You saw many sides of him that night, even his soft side who still startled at the jump scares in horror movies. Alongside his confidence, wherein he began snuggling up to you as he realised that you had an arm across his shoulders to comfort him. 

Yeonjun found himself thinking of you even more from that moment as well, not that he hadn’t before seeing as he had harboured a crush on you for months beforehand. He thought your independence was admirable, and your skills.. dare he say it, sexy. He noted that his first impression of you was far from the truth, where you were externally tough and intimidating, you were inwardly quite sensitive, and almost childlike despite being a demon. He noted this through the huge collection of plush toys that adorned your bed.

So, the pair of you went to message one another, instantly halting as you both saw the typing bubble pop up on your phones. You end up typing again as Yeonjun fails to do so for about a minute, ‘Theme park, tomorrow, 4:00pm. Meet me at my apartment,’ and he does exactly that. 

The following evening the pair of you accompany each other to the theme park, going on a number of rides and winning the other prizes at the stands across the area. Yeonjun had won you a fox plush toy, which you named after him, and you won him a deer soft toy, which he in turn named after you. 

Night begins to fall, and a chill washes over the area as the fresh night air envelops anyone who dared to stay out past sunset. You glance upwards, smiling at the beauty of the stars that adorned the sky. Yeonjun stares at you as you look away, admiring your effortless perfection. He then takes off his coat, letting it rest across your shoulders. You glance at him questioningly, tilting your head to the side in a way that he finds so irresistibly adorable. 

He only shrugs as a reply, ruffling your hair. You stop him, gripping his hand in your own, “Cheeky bastard,” you retort, intertwining your fingers which elicits a blush from Yeonjun. You note that he is only wearing a pink crop top, which would only make him freeze, so you sidle up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist that rests at his exposed hipbone. As you had to let go of his hand to do so, you then brought his arm over your shoulders, intertwining your fingers once again.

Yeonjun stares the opposite way for a second to hide his blush, and then rests his head on top of yours, nuzzling into your hair to stop you from looking up at his red face. His usual confidence was often hindered in your presence as yours matched his perfectly, leaving him flustered continually. You lead the pair of you to the Ferris Wheel, where you get a carriage to yourself, guaranteeing privacy. 

“Yeonjun.” You state, warranting his full attention. He turns to face you almost instantaneously, humming to urge you to continue, “You’re a fucking loser but I’m falling for you, and I need to make you mine or it might just kill me-”

You are cut off by Yeonjun’s lips meeting yours, the kiss slow and sensual following your admission of feelings. You pull away first to breathe, and his lips chase after yours instinctively, not liking the feeling of you parting with him so soon. You close the gap again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. 

After you separate again, Yeonjun pants, “God, I’m so fucking whipped for you. I’m yours,” as you go to kiss him again, he stops you, “But, you’re mine.”

You only nod as a response, but stop yourself again to retort, “Don’t use that language in front of me.” 

“W-what... the f-word?” He mumbles, “No, ‘God’ you loser... I’m a demon..”

He only rolls his eyes, grabbing at the lapels of his coat resting on your shoulders to pull you into another kiss. The kiss was passionate, slow, sweet, the residue of cotton candy setting the atmosphere, and there was no denying that the man was an excellent kisser... it was as if his lips were made for the sole purpose of kissing. Any background noise faded away, the pair of you absorbed in one another, and to think that merely a few weeks ago the pair of you were in an unspoken war over high fives.

The time? 5:53pm... a time that now belonged to yourself and Yeonjun, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[haro-whumps]

Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

--

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

--

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

--

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

--

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

--

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

--

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

--

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

--

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

--

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

[nettlestonenell]

Enola Holmes in Review

Gentle Readers:

1.       I did not plan to watch Enola Holmes

2.       I do not/have not watched Stranger Things, and my entire concept of Millie Bobby Brown as a human is encapsulated in the occasional errant tumblr post, and a line of eyewear she apparently has created, posters for which hang at my glasses-provider.

3.       I had never heard of the YA novels about Enola Holmes

There she is!

Yes, I do tend to enjoy nearly any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. And, yes, I am often surprised by this fact. For some reason, Holmes, unlike, say, Chris Evans as Cap or Chris Hemsworth as Thor [instances where I can’t really imagine enjoying anyone else in the role] I am always interested to see someone else’s [writer and actor and director]’s take on him. *Subtle shout-out to James D’Arcy’s 2002 turn in A Case of Evil.

Mr. Jarvis! [and there was Vincent D’Onofrio and opium!!]

And yet, watching the Enola Holmes trailer [no doubt b/c of tumblr], and yes, admittedly not unmoved [we are not made of stone] by Cavill’s Curls™ the delight I felt in watching that advert led me to start informing my family that on September 23rd what I was going to be doing was enjoying Enola Holmes on Netflix [and anyone else was free to join me].

Someone important is missing from this picture

And what a delight it was. In the run-up to its debut I read more than a few reviews of the film [and, I think, every one of them written by men], some of which struck me as simply coming from a place of mean-spiritedness, yet none—even the positive reviews—preparing me for how ENJOYABLE this film is.

I’m not going to provide a full review point-by-point here, b/c the film involves cases to be solved (no, none of them are overwhelmingly complex—YA novel--, so all the more reason not to spoil any pay-offs). But I do have some things to talk about.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM – And what a nice, nice elephant it is! Henry Cavill as Holmes is, in my opinion an absolute delight of a performance. From the moment he first says Enola’s name (a perfectly-rendered reaction to the moment playing out) this Holmes fits into this Greatest Showman-like version of Victorian England, where no one’s too dirty no matter how poor, and where despite a flaming red dress, cut too low for daytime wear, young Enola is never once mistaken for a working girl. [Again, YA novel] As other reviewers have noted, HC is, well, Cut and Bulked Out, and in his highly tailored frock coats well, strapping is too light a description word. *not a complaint. Cavill’s Curls are out and proud and here to tell us that we are meant to be Having Fun, and Gentle Readers—THEY DO NOT LIE.

No, not a priest’s collar where he is undercover (though I had thought so)

In fact, you could absolutely write your thesis statement on this film, that it’s really a fraternal, familial love story between Sherlock and Enola. Sherlock is the character during the two hours that actually changes. [Yes, Enola comes to an understanding about herself, and her circumstances change repeatedly—but it is Sherlock who experiences a Change of Heart/Reversal]. 

Raise your hand if you’re totally here for significantly older brother/significantly youngest sister family love!

HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE IT – This might in no way be helpful, but, Enola Holmes is basically The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles...

Where have you gone, Sean Patrick Flanery?

a YA historical storyline that’s written adjacent to [there, famous people] here, enduring fictional characters. It’s adventurous and pleasantly immersive, historical morays are given a slap-dash portrayal, rather than a fully-accurate representation, there’s adventures to be had, and side-characters to be converted into caring about the title character as much as we, the audience, do.

LUCY HONEYCHURCH – Yes, that gorgeous girl from Windy Corner. The timeline doesn’t jibe, but I daresay Helena Bonham Carter (back in a corset—though she may have worn those for Bellatrix) as Eudoria Holmes *IS* what Lucy Honeychurch might well have become beyond A Room with a View’s end. Bonham Carter looks absolutely at home here (period films have sorely missed her! –she had a part in 2015’s Suffragette), and still wears the trappings of Victorian England like a second skin. 

Not to mention that she now join my personal comfort-list of on-screen mothers with the likes of 1997’s Little Women Susan Sarandon and Cinderella’s Hayley Atwell.

FAMILY ISSUES OR PLOT HOLES? 

It’s a fair question. There’s a lot going on in this plot, some of which...seem solvable. Why has it been so very long since the Holmes brothers have seen their own mother? And sister? How could the woman we come to know as Eudoria raise a Mycroft? [see also, Molly Weasley?] Why aren’t people who seem to care about Enola more engaged with saving her from all the dangers London throws in her way? Why does Enola accept several acts of violence aimed at her, why does she in certain instances Do What She Is Told? Rather than chalk these up to plot holes or convenient devices, I’m siding with the Holmes family being dysfunctional [who knows what dad was like? We’re certainly not told here]. 

[clears throat]

The conversations between Mycroft and Sherlock barely skim the surface of any subject they interact on. Classic dysfunction: distancing one’s true self from human interaction b/c keeping the peace supersedes all else.

Enola accepts certain treatments b/c if we really do watch her relationship with her mother, there is an element of something amiss—as I will declare the later abandonment shows. Enola is a child used to being elevated and celebrated on one hand, and shut out and isolated on the other. Her parent has informed her about so much, but essentially locked her away in a false reality, where Enola is not taken to see the world, nor taught how to interact in it (which is explicitly stated). Perhaps it is not so surprising that the Holmes’ brothers have not cared overly much for visiting their remaining family. And when repeatedly confronted with a minor child (and yet a child likely though old enough or about so, to be married off) being forced to endure things diametrically opposed to her will—the brothers’ reactions are stoic, the system they accept as to how life must be lived immoveable and morally right simply by its very existence.

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN – THE STAR – In what has to be an Emmy-nomination-deserving turn, MBB is nothing short of wholly in charge of the screen. She never overpowers the story. She’s as loveable as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, and as ready for her closeup as Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games. As another review mentioned, she handles the 4th wall breaks in such as way as we look forward to the next time she’s going to talk to us. We ache with her sorrow for her lost mom, and rage with her at the adults in her life choosing wrongly for her future—or simply not choosing at all.

A random observation, but one that feels important to me: her HAIR. Yes! They’ve managed to make a late Victorian-era film where the heroine’s hair looks like real hair that someone really styled (or in some scenes, didn’t). And yet, where the hair looks proper for the time. [wild applause]

COMPLAINTS: Well, in honesty there aren’t any. If you want to complain that there isn’t any dirt, that the evil of the world (I mean, c’mon, this is narrowly post-Dickensian London, here) is neutered, that the adults in question seem neither alarmed enough or emboldened enough at either their mother or sister being missing and possibly out of their depths in a dangerous society without protection, and in Enola’s case real-world skills--? Well, I’m certainly not going to disagree with you. This is YA Victorian London, after all, not Ripper Street. There is also neither a hint of or actual threat of sexual violence at any point in the film. But the lack of that has preserved us from having to sit through that, as well as no doubt lectures about how Enola’s virtue might be spoilt and she might become useful to no man.

The relationships are appropriate, too. Despite strides between Enola and certain adults in the film, by the time the credits roll they’re not showing physical affection toward each other (a move that would have seemed over-the-top), and teen relationships are shown progressing at a reasonable and mutedly awkward pace.

Now, Netflix, green-light me five more films (or more). There’s still a new version of John Watson to meet, after all!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Heroic Incompetence.”

Wrote this at the suggestion of an anonymous reader :) Hope you all like it and have a great day :)

He sat next to her on the bed, legs crossed and a book in his lap. Wearing only shorts and a T- shirt, he looked significantly smaller than he usually did, either in his uniform or in his trademark jacket and jeans. It also made him look significantly younger with his scruffy blond hair sticking up in all directions. And now that he had finally shaved and gotten some sleep, he was looking even better than he had when he found her.

Her perception probably wasn’t helped by the stack of graphic novels he had sitting beside his right knee, most of them star wars themed all of them sci-fi. He had taken the day off to sit with her since the drugs were still not cleared from her system, and krill had demanded that she rest.

She had only been a little surprised when he insisted that she take his bed, which he argued was much bigger and more comfortable than the crew quarters. Also he had a TV.

She was surprised he would be so brash about something like that, but she supposed after almost losing her he would be a little more lax on their secret. She sighed deeply half napping half awake as he flipped through his books. She had a sneaking suspicion that he also wanted to be close by her to monitor her mental state after what had happened. She didn’t blame him, though at this point it was all just seeming like some sort of horrible dream.

She felt disconnected, far away, and her only reminder that it had actually happened came from the silver vambrace on her am  covering the spot where her carapace would never grow again 

Eventually she cracked an eye and glanced down at him.

He was looking at her with a concerned expression.

She sighed, “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what you were thinking.”

“Well stop trying to read my mind then.”

The two of them grew quiet, “So what did I miss while I was gone…. How did you find me, what happened?”

He sat up, puffing out his chest rather proudly, “Well I have you know I was a stoic badass the entire time. After I clawed my way out of the sand, I marched across the desert with single minded determination not an ounce of hopelessness or self pity ever entering my mind.”

***

One month prior

-

It was Hopeless!

He had never felt self pity this profound in his entire life! He had lost her1 He had been so close to finding her and he had gone and lost her! He was hopeless and pathetic. If he had only just held on for a little longer than maybe he would have been able to save her. His feet burned in the scorching desert sand and he staggered aimlessly from one side to the next burning up in the scorching heat. His was so tired, and his throat was so dry, like sand. He felt like choking, a few times he staggered to his knees and screamed at the yellow green sky in anger and frustration,but no one ever hard him.

He had to get her back, somehow he had to get her back.

The desert sand was awash with light blue, like the sky and it seemed to be the same in all directions he looked, every dune and hill just like the last, yet the implant in his arm told him he was heading in the right direction. How long had he chased her before he had fallen into the sand. He just wanted to lay down for a minute, lay down for a minute and scream, but he had to keep going.

He pushed himself up the nearest sand dune hoping beyond hope that he would see the city over the next rise.

That is when he heard it, just from behind him.

The roaring of shuttle engines.

He turned on the spot down to stare at the shuttles. He wanted to yell  and wave his arms, to run to them and beg them to help find Sunny, but NO, he couldn’t, he couldnt be like this.

Kicking himself internally for his weakness, he straightened up and forced himself to focus as the shuttles landed. He was going to find Sunny, he was going to find her and bring her back no matter the cost. There was nothing, not in this universe, not in heaven nor hell that could stop him.

Even if he had to fight angels and shake hands with the devil.

The shuttles landed, and he marched forward head down brows furrowed downward like thunderheads brushing past the marines and onto the shuttle. He was going to to find whoever had one this and they were going to pay.

***

Sunny snorted and raised a brow over one eye, “Oh really.”

“Damn straight.” He said, setting down his book and turning to look at her. He had a shallow cut across one cheek given to him during a fight in some not so distant past, but his smile was as bright as ever.

He leaned forward, crawling over on hands and knees to lay next to her resting his hands behind his head.

“So after your stoic badassery in the desert, what happened.”

He rolled onto his side to look at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a jaunty smile. “Well, I admit that I was a little bit down, obviously. I mean what does someone do without the best part of their life.” He waved a hand dismissively, “But I persevered. I kept my emotions in check sure not a tear would escape past me until I found you, and even then, only if I was too late.” he looked at herein that moment very seriously, “You know, because real men don’t cry.”

Sunny just smirked.

***

One month Prior

-

He couldn't stop crying. While he could suppress the racking sobs that threatened to tear him in half, nothing he tried could prevent the tears from rolling down his face on hot and heavy streams. Where was it all coming from! He was positive that by now his entire body should be nothing more than a mummified corpse with all of the tears he had shed, yet they just would not stop, likely draining down through his sinuses and reabsorbing back into his body for another go.

Still, the collar of his shirt was soaked, and his face was sticky with tears eyelashes crusted with salt.

His head pounded.

Ever since she had vanished, he just couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He admitted to himself that he often played fast and loose with his own feelings, but this was just ridiculous. Holding himself together for the crew was all he could do though beyond that he was a quivering mess, hiding on the bridge in the observation room, or in his own room where no one could see him.

Now he was standing on the observation deck, the tears rolling down his face and into the scruffy five o clock shadow just sprouting on his cheeks and chin.

Light filtered in from behind him, and in that light, he could detect the movement of shadows, two tall shadows and one very short shadow. He knew that the were watching him, and so kept his back straight and hands clasped behind his back so as to seem hard and contemplative.

Inside, he was forcing himself to calm, forbidding the tears to fall anymore and, hopefully, dry on his face before anyone could come and speak with him. He needed to remain calm and professional. He needed to convince the others that he was in charge, and that everything would be ok.

The moment they saw him believing otherwise was the moment that it would be true. As their commanding officer…. As their admiral, he was what stood between them and hopeless defeat at the hands of their own morale.”

***

She shifted a little in her place, and he helped to adjust the pillow behind her. He sat up against the headboard, and she made the executive decision, leaning her head down to rest on his lap. He wrapped an arm around her, resting his hand on her back, while the other was leaned up against the top of the headboard where a jar of moon rocks and mars dirt sat

He stroked his fingers over the side of her cheek and she hummed softly, “So You were an emotionless badass superhero out for revenge against those who had wronged you, and in the shadows you brooded and waited as you scoured the universe for me?”

He smirked, “PRretty much.”

She hummed again deep in her throat adjusting her head against the warmth of his body, “Right…. A righteous warrior of justice. And I assume during all of this you remained in tortuous silence of our secret, unable to tell anyone of your private pain for fear of what might happen if you let something slip.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she cracked an eye to look up at him.

His one eye was very wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.

She shut her eyes and hummed.

“Yes of course, I wallowed heroically in silence my emotions bottled up, locked like a vault inside my heart with the key tossed into the darkest abyss of the ocean where no one migh find it. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

***

One Month prior

-

He had to tell someone. He had to, it was just too much to keep a secret. It was just too much for someone not to know what he was feeling. Just one person, if he could just share with one person maybe he would feel better. 

Keeping himself…. Like this was just torture…. No one could expect…

He had to do it.

Standing behind him in the darkness, he could sense Ramirez’s eyes on him, watching him.

So he turned, his eyes clear but the words heavy as lead on his tongue. The other man stared at him, his expression hard to read in the darkness.

He felt as if he was slipping out of his body, seeing himself from the outsider rather than viewing the next words he spoke from the inside as he normally should, “I...Love her Ramirez… I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

The words rolled from his tongue and spilled onto reality…. He had finally admitted it, finally admitted it to his best friend.

What would he do.

How would he react?

Staring at the man’s face, he was surprised to find that he didn't appear to be phased in the slightest. It was as if he had just told him that the earth turns, and some birds fly south for the winter. He acted as if it was the most natural predictable phenomena in the universe.

There was only a slight pressure as Ramirez squeezed his shoulder, “I know… I know.”

Adam stepped back in near surprise.

Ramirez almost rolled his eyes, “Adam you have all but SAID those words. I think everyone on the ship, or at least everyone from the original Harbinger knows by now. You guys aren’t exactly discreet about your feelings towards each other. This shouldn’t surprise you.

He sat there mouth opening and closing with surprise.

But he supposed the more he thought about it the more he had to admit Ramirez was right.

There were signs.

And he had always been bad at keeping secrets.

It made complete sense.

He dropped his head, “that obvious huh.”

“Does the moon orbit the earth?”

He took a seat dropping his head into his hands, “You must think I’m nuts.”

Ramirez sat next to him placing a hand on his shoulder, “Seriously, ‘me’ think ‘you’ crazy. Adam, c’mon, I have dated people way crazier than Sunny, and that’s a fact. No one can beat me when it comes to psycho exes.

When he didn’t respond, Ramirez placed a hand on his shoulder, “We are going to find her Adam. I promise. If anyone in this galaxy has the connections, or the know how to find her, it is you.”

He nodded.

He had to believe it, he just had to.

***

Sunny reached up wrapping her fingers through his, five to four, “A tragic hero indeed.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “You know, that's me.”

“How did you eventually find me anyway, after all, it is a big universe, and even with all your resources, it couldn’t have been easy.”

He shook his head, “No, it wasn’t. For the first few weeks we had no leads at all, but it was actually your brother who came up with the final lead that led me to you. Turns out your big brother has connections that I didn’t know about, and they led us to a fence hiding out in some grimy hotel downtown in noctropolis.”

“Oh, and how did you manage to swing all that? You and my brother went in guns blazing did you?”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “We were a well oiled machine, a precision instrument of stealth and intimidation. No one has even been more synchronized than us. The operation could not have gone more smoothly.” 

***

About a week and a half earlier

-

They were a fucking wreck.

And this night was a wreck to go right along with it.

They were stuck in the seedy elevator of an even seedier hotel jammed up together against Kanan’s immense bulk as he was crunched against the ceiling above in the tiny elevator.

Adam grunted, his face pressed against the elevator’s interior mirror, the metal of the iron eye suit jammed into his back.

“Your fat ass broke the elevator.”

“I didn’t break it.” Kanan complained, “the Weight limit says 800 lbs.”

“They are Tesraki Kanan they LIED.”

“Well why didn’t you think of this before we got in the damn elevator. I’m not from somewhere where we have an elevator.”

Kanan shifted and he was squished further into the wall choking and gasping, “Just pry the damn door open you big lug.”

“I can’t reach.”

“Uh Fine, I’ll do it just let me….”

What followed was a very uncoordinated hustle of grumbling pushing flailing and grunting as the two maneuvered around each other in the most horrible game of twister that ever existed, with entirely to many arms, and pointy bits, until Adam was in the right position to jam the fingers of the iron-eye suit into the cracks and then pull.

The elevator groaned and the metal screeched in protest, but at some point the locking mechanism gave way and he was able to shove the elevator doors open. It was just then when Kanan could no longer hold his position and stumbled forward, knocking into Adam who, in turn burst from the elevator and flew headfirst into an unsuspecting Tesraki, who only had a moment to let off the first notes of a scream before being slammed into the wall and completely knocked out.

An explosion of towels fell to the floor around them as Adam sat up on his knees staring down at the Tesraki, completely knocked out, their tongue hanging out of their mouth.

“Shit.”

He patted the Tesraki on the cheek, “Uh wake up.” The Tesraki’s head fell to the side, tongue still lolling.

“Shit.” He said again as Kanan pried himself from the elevator nearly tripping over a towel and landing on top of the two of them for a second time. He did manage to avoid falling on them, but in his haste, to avoid doing just that, he tripped over Adam and went pitching into the floor sending up another wave of towels.

Adam glowered at him, “Are you serious right now.”

Kanan sat up rubbing his head.

“Help me fold these towels.” Adam snarled, awkwardly propping the unconscious Tesraki against the wall before grabbing a pile of fallen towels.

Kanan took one of the towels and stared at it, fiddling around for a moment.

Adam stared at him again, “You have four arms, Kanan, seriously.’

The Drev flipped him a rude gesture.

After a while they had one unconscious Tesraki, and a stack of poorly folded towels leaning heavily against the wall in an uneven pile.

Adam stood and brushed off his hands, staring down at the floppy Tesraki and their shoddy work.

“Er…. hm.” Then a grim smile split his face, “I have an idea.”

A few moments later the two of them waddled down the hall carrying stacks of towels, leaving the Tesraki to slowly slump to the floor skidding slowly down the wall with the soft brushing noise of fur.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Kanan muttered from behind his stack of towels, “I wouldn’t believe it.”

‘It’ll be fine, I promise”, he said as he raised his hand to knock on the waiting door.

***

Sunny couldn’t stop from snorting. And he stared down at her with his brows furrowed as she began to laugh, “You jest, but its true.”

She continued to laugh, and eventually he joined in with her.”

“So how about the boarding party, how did that go.”

He shrugged, “it was pretty straightforward. We found where their ship was located, deployed the gravity grapples, and then had our AI hack their airlock to open it for us. When we got inside kanan and I did a quick sweep with the marines covering us from behind. Of course you know the rest.’

She smiled a bit, “I kind of like you when your angry. That part where you smashed the saw into his foot….well I have never found you so attractive.”

The two of them laughed again.

And he leaned further back against his pillows.

The room went quiet for a moment.

She looked up at him.

“That was all a lie wasn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“You crawled out of that sand hopeless and miserable didn’t you?”

“yeah , I have to admit that I wasn’t doing too good. Kind of hard not to be hopeless in the scorching desert heat. But I did mange to pull myself together when we got back on the shuttles.”

“You cried like a baby didn’t you.”

“You would think after like an entire day of on and off tears, at some point the body wouldn’t be able to produce any more water.” He shook his head, “But no, as it turns out it just squeezes out more water while simultaneously giving you the more horrible headache you can possibly imagine. Even Waffles got tired of it after some point, and she has the patience of a saint.”

Sunny couldn’t help but laugh. Of course the thought of Adam so upset was horrible but, but there was just something so funny about it all, about him, about the way he had bounced back from all of that.”

“Let me guess, Ramirez knows?”

Adam sighed, “yeah, he knows, but he told me that the entire ship pretty much knows and to stop deluding ourselves into thinking we are good at keeping secrets.”

Sunny turned her head to look at him, “And he is just fine with this?”

“This IS Ramirez we are talking about Sunny. I could be dating the tentacle monster and he wouldn't bat an eye, probably say something about how he’s seen weirder, or talk about some guy he dated that might as well have had tentacles.”

“How about that thing with you and my brother?”

Adam snorted, “it wasn’t funny at the time, but looking back on it, the sheer incompetence that the two of us managed to pull off and STILL rescue you is absolutely astounding.”

She continued to laugh, pulling him closer in the process.

He laughed with her, and she decided once and for all that that washer favorite sound. No matter what, It was a sound she would never get tired of, and spent a few moments basking in the glow.

After a moment, she paused and sat up to lean against him nuzzling the hair on his head lightly with her cheek, “Adam?

“Yes.”

“Not to make this too serious or anything, but I just… well I need you to know you aret incompetent.”

He looked up at her eyebrow slanted slightly up, seeming surprised.

“You aren’t incompitent, you’re a hero and a warrior, and you should remember that.”

A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, “Well how could I possibly disagree with you”

“You can’t.” She rested a hand on his, “Like you always say, It’s not stupid if it works.”

[luwupercal]

Okay so- Primarchs are basically Warp creatures inside a human vessel. Corvus Corax is the best example of this and eventually changed into his "true" form after spending a lot of time inside the Warp. He now looks like a giant crow monster.

What do you think Perturabo's true form looks like? Or the other Primarchs for that matter?

I WOULDN'T GO AS FAR AS TO CALL THAT HIS TRUE FORM, NO, i don't think that's what it is

i think calling this his "true form" is a very big misnomer and misunderstands what the primarchs fundamentally are and the general concept of a "true" form

i admittedly don't know enough about the situation to confirm (given i haven't read the books in which this happens) but i think Corvus moreso has become somewhat daemon primarch-adjacent, which is no more a primarch's "true" form than their "birth" form is

and like it's complicated to articulate what i mean by that but basically, i (transgenderly) think one's true form is whatever one believes their own "true form" to be, sincerely. it could be argued that Fulgrim saw becoming the angel exterminatus (ie ascending into daemon primarchhood) as coming into his “true form” (i haven’t yet read angel exterminatus but i wouldn’t be surprised if that was his attitude), but warhammer 40k's magic system (it's a magic system don't @ me) runs on belief, so i think it’s acceptable to believe that any “true form” fulgrim has is based on his own belief of how things work, ergo, if fulgrim had been able to convince himself he already was the angel exterminatus things would’ve gone differently, as they would’ve if he didn’t even feel the need to do so. 

i don’t know if this makes sense, but basically, a lot of the ritual and magic in warhammer 40k to me is kind of nonsense? i have no better thing to compare it than to the Magnus Archives and you’ll forgive me for it (though lbr, it’s significantly better at being a classic cosmic horror story and its gods are significantly scarier than chaos could ever be) (i could get into a whole essay analyzing the similarities and differences between tma and warhammer40k as opposite examples of the same rough genre). but anyway warhammer stuff uhh

in TMA, there’s these... forces of nature called the “fear entities” or “powers” or what not, which are worshiped as gods/divine forces by different groups of people (notable cults include the Cult of the Lightless Flame, which worships heat-based Desolation and desctruction, the Desolation being the “power” they serve, and the People’s Church of the Divine Host, which worships the Dark (the actual name of their power), ie they worship darkness and view light as vile and corrupting). and i’m gonna focus on the Lightless Flame because i think they’re the best example so far in my listening of TMA (i haven’t started s5 yet pls don’t spoil me)

the Lightless Flame cultists are presented initially as fairly organized; they’ve even engineered a messiah, a woman by the name of Agnes Montague, who is a living embodiment of their god’s power (long story short, one time she kissed a guy and his face melted off, and she can’t turn it off). they do rituals regularly to their god, sacrifices, offerings, they die and are reborn made out of wax, immortal, because of their service to their god. but then you learn more about them and it turns out they... have no fucking clue what they’re doing. Agnes was the idea of the cult’s leader, and she ends up being a massive failure, as she starts craving normality to the point where she ends up killing herself. memorably (at least to me), there’s one point where one of the members of the cult complains about another one, citing that (paraphrased bc i can’t find the quote) he wanted to destroy things with another aesthetic, but they “already had the fire thing going on”. another quote which i found while looking for the first one is of Agnes’s birth; “Some objected, said that unless the child was conceived of the flame, it could never be a true incarnation. But they had no idea of how such a conception could possibly even work, so it was decided that it would have to be enough to birth the child by fire.” AND IT WORKS to some extent, as Agnes is definitely supernatural, even though they have no idea what they’re doing!

this whole tangent does have a point, though, because i think warhammer 40k kinda works like this, in the sense that chaos is canonically, inherently, a reflection of the galaxy’s sapience, and it canonically works based on the decisions and beliefs of said sapient bits of the galaxy; ergo, it’s not a stretch to say there is no inherent mysticism to chaos that doesn’t develop from the very idea that there is mysticism to chaos. there are rules, obviously, that’s canon as well and i’m not looking to break canon with my theorizing; daemons do have pointed goals, that is to say, to become flesh, which indicates a level of sapience and intelligence that classing chaos as only a reflection of sapience is both reductive and simply not true. BUT you also can’t ignore that chaos draws power directly from, and is directly influenced and formed by, the galaxy’s various minds and souls. (i’ve briefly talked about this before actually! though i greatly oversimplified it and didn’t put the emphasis i really should’ve on how i still think chaos is sapient and intelligent, just differently from humans)

SO, what i’m getting at is that while there are rules to chaos, they’re vague and malleable on purpose. it’s not a strict defined powerset as much as it is a sort of broad space (visualize it like a nebula if you want to) where there���s no specific, strict ‘possibility status’ (ie can you do it or not, and how advantageous is doing it in hard numbers) for any given course of action; there’s no easy (easy!*) way to rank one method of going about things, because there are no strictly-defined courses of actions. it’s less D&D with its rules and strict class system and more... Carly Rae Jepsen Apocalypse Cult RPG. it’s not about things being Like This for strict specific reasons, but more about ritual and belief and convenience and just how things happen to be, which to me is a lot more accurate to real life

*clarifying “easy” because things can still be busted as fuck in a vacuum and i’m not gonna claim power levels don’t exist in the sense that everyone is equally powerful, just that power levels aren’t fixed things

this is all a super long-winded way of saying that in chaos, things don’t “power up”, even if they seem to; they merely change. accumulating more power is one form of change, but there’s no specific “power up” button one can find and press.

(part of why i brought this up is me calling corvus’s new form “somewhat daemon primarch-adjacent”; he’s not a daemon primarch, or at least not a classical daemon primarch, but he is adjacent to that in terms of how he’s accumulated power and changed. but it wasn’t planned on his part, as far as we know, and so it’s different in its personal meaning to him and its general meaning to warp theology, to call it something, from being a daemon primarch)

with ALL that rambled out, i can talk about primarchs being daemons, why that classification is a rough simplification of really complex things, and make this unbearably long post EVEN LONGER (i’ll edit in a cut above later. you all have to read this. suffer)

NOW: defining primarchs as “warp creatures inside a human vessel”. i think this is an oversimplification, albeit not necessarily a wholly erroneous one; i think this is moreso the clickbaitiest way you could’ve put it. which is fair i don’t mean that to sound like a dunk, i really do not, but it’s the first comparison i can bring up to clarify how i feel about shortening it to that. 

i don’t have like, the necessary knowledge to really strictly lay out, like, a biological analysis of what a primarch is, either, but here are some thoughts of mine--

i think the most reasonable assumption is that while a primarch's soul is, indeed, more directly born of the warp than a baseline human’s or even a transhuman’s is, it is intrinsically linked to its flesh body, less “warp being in a flesh vessel” and more “halfway between a traditional warp being and a regular soul”. it’s maybe (maybe!!!) a regular soul made out of more direct warpstuff, i guess. 

i think that a primarch’s flesh body is also already supernatural enough? it’s not wholly a flesh vessel, it’s also partially made of warpstuff itself. and so it’s less a warp being trapped in a flesh vessel and more... (trying not to sound like metal album written by dudes who drive around in a van spray painted with conan the barbarian jpegs) a, a warpborn daemonsoul with a vessel built for it out of flesh *and* warp-based warping of reality, to accomodate for both the daemon-soul’s needs and the expectations its creator has for its creation. what a “daemonsoul” *is* is a little beyond my paygrade despite it being my best guess at how to define a primarch soul, and to answer specifics i’d have to know more about how souls work in warhammer 40k, and more about the difference between a human soul and a daemon; until i know more, i can’t define it as anything further than guessing it’s a sort of “lost evolutionary link” between living mortal souls and daemons. it’s the bigfoot of warpstuff

(this is another thing i’ve talked about before, though i’ve changed my mind from how i phrased it in the past bc of reading Reflection Crack’d and fulgrim flatly stating in it that primarchs are indeed daemons. which i guess kinda goes against what i said above, but i’d say that daemons are widely considered to not be people in the sense that they’re directly equivalent to how mortals think in an actually meaningful and factual and not just bigoted way, in warhammer, and primarchs are indeed people, but also normal people aren’t daemons and primarchs are, so i think classifying them as in-between daemon and person is a fair take) (this isn’t to say daemons are lesser than people, just that they’re different. i don’t think daemons want to be considered people inasmuch as they can want anything beyond embodying the thought they are and incarnating it upon our world)

anyway with all that said i think perturabo looks like thicc ultron

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 5

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  (Papyri Harem) Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Underfell)/Reader, Papyrus (Underswap)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader,  Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader

Characters:  Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), Blue (US Sans), Stretch (US Pap), Sans (Undertale), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Add. Notes: Reader Is POC - mainly mixed/black coded with thick curly hair. I try to keep descriptions vague. Anyone is welcome to read.

*Papyrus has a moment to himself. Enter Sans, Blue, and Stretch. Edge proposes a toast.

**EDITED SINCE TUMBLR MIXED UP THE PARAGRAPHS

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

Papyrus was practically beaming at the opportunity he had caught by the horns that morning.  What a spectacular way to start his day!  He’d been only a little worried that she might shoot down his idea.  Okay, he had been very worried.  Especially considering she had explained she planned to do chores today as well.  Thank goodness, his brilliant mind was in tip top shape today!  And he didn’t have the little human here to fluster him.  It had also been lucky that Blue was there.  The excitable version of his brother had been quite eager to help him convince her to come over once he realized who he was texting and what was going on.

“REMIND HER HOW MUCH SHE LOVED OUR MASTER BATH!”  “SHE’S SUPPOSED TO BE PAMPERING HERSELF AND RESTING.  CHORES ARE NEITHER OF THOSE!”  “WE CAN ASSIST HER WITH THOSE CHORES IF THEY REALLY NEED TO BE DONE…”  “TELL HER I’LL GET MY BROTHER’S HOODIE FOR HER!”

That last suggestion he remembered had resulted in a long pause before Blue had laughed awkwardly under Papyrus’s questioning and only slightly judging gaze.  His judgemental gaze was soon pulled to his phone as she had replied with a wide-eyed emoji and then stars and then finally: 

Fluffy:  Promise?

He didn’t know whether to be impressed by Blue or disappointed in his friend that it had taken the simple promise of a hoodie to get her to agree so quickly.  Was it because it was Stretch’s specifically?  There was no way to tell since they had not offered anyone else’s clothing.  It stung for some reason.  Idly, he rubbed at his sternum to ease the odd pain away as he sent a reply back. 

CoolDude:  THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND MALEFICENT BLUE! NEVER BREAK A PROMISE.

CoolDude:  WE’LL BE OVER IN JUST A FEW MINUTES TO PICK YOU UP

Fluffy:          Could you give me thirty?  

Fluffy:          I need to get dressed and pack a bag.

CoolDude:  OFCOURSE!  SEE YOU SOON!

Needless to say, it wasn’t long after the two had convinced her to come over that the whole household was made aware they would have a guest today in the family group chat.  Blue had run off to find his brother with a promise to come back in time to go.   Papyrus assumed he was going to try and convince his brother to give up his hoodie for the day.  They technically didn’t need it till later though.  Most likely she would be rushing off to the bathroom as soon as she stepped foot into their home.

Pocketing his phone, he settled into finishing the task Blue had been helping him with.  There were only a few more dishes left to clean from their late breakfast--brunch?  Was it still technically too early for brunch?  Shrugging, he lost himself in cleaning and tried not to watch the clock obsessively.  So hyper focused, he didn’t notice his brother shortcutting into the kitchen just beside him.

○●○●○●○●○

Sans just watched Papyrus currently wiping at the same spot on the counter for what seemed the umpteenth time.  “hey, bro, think you missed a spot,” he finally decided to make presence known.  He was rewarded with very on brand screech as his taller sibling nearly jumped through the ceiling in surprise.  Quite a feat considering they had purposely high ceilings.  

“SANS!!!”  Sans’ lazy perma smile just perked up as his brother stomped a foot and crossed his arms, sockets narrowing.   “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT USING SHORTCUTS IN THE HOUSE?!”  Papyrus scolded, foot tapping away.  

“not to,” he answered without a care.  His tone said it all.   He’d do it again and again.  This was a war Papyrus would not win.  He bit back a laugh as his brother just sucked in a breath, palms pressed together in a praying motion in front of his teeth.  “aw, paps, come on, it’s not that bad,” he pleaded playfully.

“YOU ARE CORRECT,” Papyrus started and Sans arched a brow bone in mild surprise, “IT’S NOT THAT IT’S BAD.  IT IS SIMPLY FRUSTRATING THAT YOU HAVE TWO PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL LEGS AND YET, YOU FIND EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO NOT USE THEM!” 

Sans just smiled in turn and that smile just stretched wider as he watched his brother literally flinch and glare even harder.  “NO.”  His sockets were practically curling with how big his smile was getting as Papyrus continued to command him to cease.  It was too late though.  It was already in motion.

“just trying to get a leg up on life, bro.”  It was like music to his nonexistent ears as Papyrus screeched that signature NYEH! of his.  He would have tossed a few more puns his brother’s way, but… “so, what has your spine in a twist?”  While he could guess what had his brother stressing--considering a certain human was visiting today--it did not hurt to ask.

His brother’s lazy pun had done its job to lighten his mood significantly.  He had expected more, but instead Sans had thrown a curveball.   The question was sobering.   He wasn’t stressed.  He wasn’t worried.  He wasn’t… right?   Picking up the rag he had used to clean the counters, he brought it to the sink and started ringing it out.  “MY SPINE IS PERFECTLY ALIGNED AS USUAL, SANS,” he replied, tossing the rag in to a small hamper just outside the connected laundry room.

Silence followed and he could feel his brother’s eyelights boring into his back.  “uh huh…” Yeah, that tone said he hadn’t believed a word of it.  Rather than pushing with words, his brother had settled for simply staring and tapping at the counter.  It was a battle of wills at this point.  

Just as the tapping of his brother’s phalanges against the countertop was starting to tick away his resolve, the tension was shattered as Blue reentered the kitchen with his own brother in tow.  Papyrus could hear the energetic version of  his brother nagging at his lazy self to wash his hoodie before lending it out.  Finally turning around, he aimed a bright smile at the swapped brothers; pointedly, he ignored his brother’s judging gaze.  “BLUE, I SEE YOU’VE SUCCEEDED IN CONVINCING YOUR BROTHER!” he declared, marching up to the two. 

A little amused huff escaped Blue, “DIDN’T TAKE MUCH CONVINCING HONESTLY,” he admitted.

“OH?” Papyrus looked to Stretch for elaboration and the other just gave an easy shrug.

“little miss has been eying my hoodie for a good bit,” he stated, an amused lilt to his voice, “was honestly surprised she never tried to sneak it or ask for it before now.”   

“SHE DIDN’T ASK FOR IT,” Papyrus found himself saying before he could think better of it.  It wasn’t a lie, but why did it feel like he said something mean.  That odd feeling was pressing at his sternum again.  

Stretch simply rolled the lollipop held in his jaws from one side to the other.  The hard candy clicking gently at the back of his teeth as he leveled a seemingly unbothered stare on his doppelganger, but Papyrus knew no matter how much the slouching brother seemed to act like his brother, he was still a Papyrus and Papyri were more observant than they often let on.  He knew those honey colored eye lights were searching for every little cue to put together the puzzle put before him.  

“THAT IS TRUE.  I DID OFFER IT,” Blue cut in, a shared moment of eye contact between the older brothers missed by the younger.  

 A little hum could be heard from Stretch as he straightened up with a roll of his shoulders in a mock stretch.  “hadn’t meant it to come off like that so let me reword,” he started with a short chuckle.  “she’d been wishing on all our sweaters and hoodies,” he amended, his lazy smile pulling up at the corners as he now had to look slightly down at his doppelganger without his usual slouch.

That ugly, heavy feeling wasn’t pressing as insistently after Stretch’s words.  “OH…” Papyrus hoped his voice came off as neutral.  Sadly, he could feel his magic betraying him as his cheekbones warmed.   

“you all can’t tell me you’ve never noticed,” he challenged the room, finally breaking his staredown with Papyrus as he looked to the other two occupants.

 Sans was the first to input his agreement with a shallow nod as he leaned on the counter.  “she tries to be subtle about it,” he remarked, an easy smile on his face as he rested his chin against his palm, “sneaking little glances here and there, dropping little hints…” His sockets closed with a happy curve as his deep laugh rumbled in his chest as he remembered the offhanded questions and shy beating around the bush their friend opted for instead of simply asking outright to borrow one of their jackets. 

Opening his sockets, he resumed watching his brother.  His light pink flush had dimmed and he had lifted a hand up to his mouth, digits curled as he seemed to be thinking.  He just smiled more as Papyrus seemed to be relaxing as he worked through his thoughts.  The more anecdotes they shared, the more his sockets seemed to widen with understanding.  

“LET’S NOT FORGET SHE HAD TRIED ACQUIRE YOUR SWEATER JUST LAST NIGHT, CREAMPUFF.”  Edge’s voice cut through the chatter.  They had all jumped and seemed to move as one to look at the sharp skeleton currently shutting the fridge door.  When had he come in?  Had they been so engrossed they had somehow missed him coming in?  Edge just smirked smugly at all of them as he carried the carafe of lemonade over to the island.

Sans just chuckled and turned his attention back to his brother.  His brow bones perking as he saw Papyrus’s smile wasn’t strained anymore and his tense posture had fled.  A glance to Blue and the other gave him the tiniest shrug before following it with a sneaky thumbs up.  Yeah, everything was good again.  Let’s not question it for now.  “hey, bro, don’t cha have a guest to pick up?” he commented.

The energetic duo both looked to the clock on the wall. A rather impressive synchronized gasp left the two. “NYEH!” “MWEH!” “WE’RE LATE!!”  The smaller skeleton just barely managed to catch the taller by the hand as he went to dash out the door.  “SORRY, PAPYRUS!  NO TIME FOR THAT!” Blue rushed out an apology before the smell of ozone filled the kitchen and barely a second later they were gone. 

○●○●○●○●○

“hey, Edge, mind pouring me a glass of that lemonade?” Stretch had settled at the island with a hopeful smile.  

   His request was met with a huff as Edge opened the cabinets above and retrieved a glass for himself, “POUR YOURSELF ONE, ASH TRAY.”  

The orange clad skeleton just hummed  around his lollipop before grabbing the sweet, honey flavored treat by it’s stick and removing it from his mouth.  “aww, why not?  you poured one for Sans there and he didn’t even ask,” he pouted playfully, gesturing to Sans who was nursing his glass of lemonade  just beside him. 

“don’t have to ask when you’re-” Both Papyri still in the room shot him a warning glare before he could even finish and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.  “fine, fine , tough room,” he joked.  Edge just rolled his eyes, while Stretch let his glare linger a bit longer to make sure Sans didn’t try to sneak it in.

“I REFUSE TO WATCH YOU RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD GLASS OF LEMONADE AGAIN,” the sharper skeleton stated as he poured his own glass and took a sip, sighing at the refreshing taste.  

Stretch feigned insult, “i’m not the only one who puts honey in their lemonade, edgelord.”

“NO, BUT I WOULDN’T SAY YOU ARE PUTTING HONEY IN LEMONADE WITH YOU,” Edge started, wrinkles forming on his nose ridge in disgust as he spoke, “NO, WITH YOU IT IS MORE ACCURATE TO SAY YOU PUT LEMONADE IN YOUR HONEY.”  He took a long sip like he could taste the sticky sweetness on his tongue and needed to wash it down.  

“you got me there,” Stretch popped his lollipop back in his mouth and settled in, laying against the counter with a resigned sigh.  He could hear Edge grumbling about how of course he was right.  Rolling his lollipop, he moved his attention back to Sans.  The prime doppelganger had simply been sitting quietly with an easy smile on his round skull.  As if sensing Stretch’s stare, his white eyelights locked with honey colored ones. 

“need something, pal?” The words held no threat or warning, just an invitation to ask away.

“what was up with your brother earlier?” Stretch already had a guess.  He just wanted confirmation at this point. The stout skeleton apparently had no plans to play along and just shrugged noncommittally.

“no clue what you’re talking about, Stretch,” Sans replied, finishing off his lemonade with a satisfied sigh, “thanks for the drink, Edge.”  He sent a genuinely thankful smile Edge’s way before the smell ozone once again filled the room and an empty glass was abandoned on the countertop before a now empty seat.

Edge fought down a smile that tugged at his teeth.  It wasn’t too hard with Stretch still in the room though.  Currently, the laidback skeleton was watching him with a curious look. “WHAT?” he snapped, scowling as a knowing grin was aimed at him.

“you’re in on it,” the other stated matter of factly.

“I AM IN ON NOTHING. AND QUIT THAT CLUELESS ACT,” Edge snipped, crossing his arms with a cocked hip, “I WAS THERE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE YOUR POSTURING EARLIER.”  It had been a surprise to see the usually passive skeleton standing to his full height and purposely towering over their prime version.  He cut off Stretch’s denial with a sharp growl, “I WON’T LISTEN TO BULLSHIT, STRETCH.”

Stretch just gave a defeated chuckle as he sat up in his seat.  “two for two today, Edge.  you’re on a roll,” he commended. 

Edge didn’t see nor hear any regret from his alternate.  The two simply took a moment to stare each other down.  A silent measuring up before the standing skeleton reached up into the cabinets and set down a new glass.  Curious honey eyelights watched as a lemonade was poured to only fill half the glass before it was slid over to him with a gentle push.  

 “what’s this?” Stretch questioned.  He leant forward in his seat and tilted his skull as he shifted his stare from the half full glass to Edge who was refilling his own.

“LEMONADE,” he answered smartly and Stretch didn’t bother restrain his rolling eyelights.

“i can see that.”

“THEN WHY ASK?” 

“you know that’s not wh-”

“JUST FILL IT WITH YOUR INFERNAL HONEY ALREADY,” Edge snapped, cutting Stretch off with an impatient scowl.  

Knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with his darker counterpart, he fished in his pullover pocket and pulled out his signature bear shaped honey bottle.  Snapping the top, he upended the bottle over the glass and squeezed.  The viscous, thick amber liquid cut through the pale white lemonade and pooled at the bottom of the glass.  It took a minute to build the thick layer he wanted and once he was done, Edge handed him a spoon begrudgingly to stir his monstrosity.  Finished, he looked to Edge again questioningly only to see the other holding up his glass.  The sharp toothed skeleton had a cocky smirk on his skull, “IF YOU’RE SERIOUS ABOUT THAT CHALLENGE EARLIER, JUST KNOW YOU HAVE COMPETITION.”

Stretch was sure his jaw was on the floor as he realized what was going on.  He had known the tougher skeleton was soft on their human, but he hadn’t thought it went further than platonic interest.  That only left Willow and Mutt from the Papyri who seemed to show no romantic interest.  At least he hoped.  That may change considering today was the day for surprises.  Sucking in a breath, he sat up and raised up his own glass, tapping it against Edge’s with a less intense smirk of his own.  “noted,” he acknowledged, “but the true competitor is Creampuff, ya know.  you’ve seen those two together.”  

Edge nodded.  It was hard to miss the looks those two often sent to each other.  It could be absolutely suffocating at times to be in the same room as them when they start acting sweet and fluffy.  He took a moment before tapping his glass against Stretch’s for a second time, “A SECOND TOAST TO THE IDIOTS FINALLY WAKING UP,” before they each took a sip of their respective drinks.  

[scullydubois]

one-shot: does a scully pee in the woods?

read on ao3 |  msr flirting and fluff | 1.6k | rated t | s6, pre-Field Trip

tagging @today-in-fic

While driving to North Carolina, Scully has to resort to some dubious tactics to convince Mulder to stop so she can use the bathroom. Unfortunately, she doesn't specify where he should stop...

---------

He promised they would stop once they made it out of Virginia. What Scully didn’t realize is that Virginia is five hours worth of highway, and despite his assurance that he is “driving as fast as he can” and his natural tendency to cruise as much over the speed limit as they can go without getting pulled over, they have still not made it out of the state.

“The next exit, Mulder, please,” she begs, squirming in her seat. She is not used to driving this long. Usually they hop on a flight--with a bathroom, thank you very much--and then head just a few miles out to their destination. But of course, the FBI is cutting their budget, and according to Skinner, the only way they could take this case is if they agreed to make the six and a half hour trip to North Carolina by car. Which hadn’t sounded that bad to either of them. I mean, the open road, the radio, and each other for six hours? What could be wrong with that? Then again, they hadn’t stopped to consider how early they would have to leave DC to make their lunchtime meeting, nor the exponential decline in their ability to tolerate one another with each increasing hour.

Mulder drums the steering wheel in time with the beat of the classic rock song playing. “I’m telling you, we’re almost to the state line. If you’ve made it this far, you can make it another twenty minutes.”

“Are you willing to test that theory?” Scully prods, an eyebrow elevating itself. “Because I know you are a man of many theories, but I really don’t think this is one you want to mess with.”

“Oh, I do.” He flashes a quick smile at her, as if to confirm that, yes, he is amused by her suffering, if she hadn’t noticed.

“ Mulder…” she whines, not even bothering to construct a coherent argument. It’s time to play the card she never plays, the one that will catch his attention and show him that she is serious about this. She hates to stoop this low, but at this point, it’s either play the card or pee her pants.

“Mulder,” she makes her voice sound languid and far out, “has anyone ever told you that you bear a great resemblance to Cary Grant in his young and handsome days?”

He is rather unphased by this. Too unphased for Scully’s liking. “No, and I really don’t, do I?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She lets her voice flutter through the confines of the car. “Dreamy, boyish, yet somehow retaining your masculinity. It’s astonishing, really.”

She sneaks a glance at him. He’s stopped tapping along to the song. He turns the radio down to listen to her like a dog’s ears pricking toward their owner’s voice.

She looks through the windshield, continues her reverie. “He looks like such a gentleman, but I can’t imagine that he’s a gentleman in…” She trails off suggestively, waiting for Mulder to raise some objection.

When she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, he is already looking at her. “What?” she offers innocently. “Do you have proof otherwise?” It’s always a contest of right or wrong for them.

“No, but I might have proof of aliens. Bounty Hunter, I know that’s you, what have you done with the real Scully?”

She considers what would happen if the Bounty Hunter had disguised himself as her and was driving alone with Mulder in the middle of a five lane highway with dozens of other cars. “You know, you’d be screwed right now if it were.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling.”

She wets her lips, navigates the next sentence with precision. “But since it’s not, you can get screwed instead.”

Mulder almost swerves into a jeep in the next lane. “Jesus, Scully!”

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable…?”

He focuses on the road. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Gee, I wonder what’s that like.” She looks at him with a devilish closed-mouth grin.

Mulder registers this and looks away just as he cracks his own smile. Silly, misbehaving, rebellious Scully has a power over him that would be comparable to religion, if he had one.

“So what I’m hearing is, you want to forsake your opportunity to make it the whole way through Virginia without stopping just so that you’ll actually have some semblance of comfort?” He checks to see if she’s smiling and is happy when she is.

“Something like that, yeah,” she says, imitating his reply from earlier by donning a outlandishly deep voice.

He coughs to hold back a laugh. “Well, the lady’s wish is my command, though I must warn you that the next exit’s not for another seven miles.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we just passed a sign.”

“Mulder, I don’t know what kind of bladder you think I have, but I’ve drank two cups of coffee since the drive started and one before I left my apartment. I would classify this as an emergency.”

“I’ll pull over, then.” He switches lanes, turns on the emergency lights, and presses the brake slightly as he pulls onto the shoulder, all before she can protest.

“This is humiliating, Mulder,” she laments as he unlocks his door, pulls it open.

“While we’re at it, I’ll go too. Save us a stop in North Carolina.”

He’s way too excited about this, she thinks. She unclicks her seatbelt and climbs out of the car like a child dragged to church by their parents.

They proceed toward the woods at the edge of the highway. Mulder leads the way, a subtle spring in his step about getting to return to nature, so to speak, and to embarrass Scully while doing it.

As they hit the dividing line between grass and trees, Mulder looks back at this partner.

“Have you ever peed in the woods, Scully?” he asks with a smirk. “I’m assuming that’s what’s happening here, since you mentioned the coffee.” Scully winces at the rather disgusting image his implication puts in her mind.

She puts on a scholarly, serious tone as they head deeper into the trees. “You know, Mulder--and I’m glad we’re clearing this up-- I have peed in the woods actually. I seem to remember we were stuck in the woods overnight just last year. In Florida, was it? And contrary to what you may believe, I actually did relieve myself during that period of time. Thanks for asking.”

“Wow, you learn something new everyday,” Mulder jokes.

“Exactly.” Scully can’t help but laugh. What a funny little situation this is. They have shared so many instances when the stakes were much higher, life-threatening even, and this is what feels so grueling.

The vehicle noise having quieted significantly, Mulder gauges that they’re far enough from the roadway now. He stakes out a pine tree and steps up to it.

“Don’t look, Scully!” he teases, as if she needed the reminder, as if he really cared.

As he stands there, pants unzipped and all, he can’t help but wonder how many years this tree stood here before some human just decided to come over and do their business on it. That has to suck, huh? You’re just going about your usual tree life--swaying in the wind, rooting deep into the Earth, maybe providing a home for some critters--and then this creature that’s like, fifty times smaller than you comes over and pulls their pants down. What the hell?

A few yards away, Scully hunts for a place that might preserve an ounce of her dignity. Not that she has any left at this point, but it’s a nice idea. There’s some bushes not far off, or she could take a cue from Mulder and squat against a tree. This process is so much more complicated for a woman--you have to get down low, check the ground around you, not hit your shoes…

She chooses a spot behind a bush and crouches down. She hears Mulder zipping his fly, wonders if he’ll be able to see her when he turns around. She can’t see him, so theoretically he shouldn’t be able to see her,  but he’s so much taller that she’s never sure. Then again, she’s not as objected to being seen by him as she expected herself to be. Still, she waits for him to say something.

“Scully, please tell me this wasn’t just some elaborate plot to abandon me in the woods.”

“I’m over here, Mulder,” she reassures. “But don’t come over.”

“Why, what are you doing?” He laughs at his own joke.

“Very funny,” she says, trying to cover the sound of her faculties. This feeling of release is so desperately needed that it’s almost orgasmic. She finishes, then rezips her pants while staying as crouched as possible. Sated, she stands up, pops into Mulder’s view. She tightens her belt as she walks over to him.

She sighs. “I’m glad that’s over.” Mulder smiles. She’s been through far worse, in far more unpleasant conditions, and this is what bothers her. A complex being, his Scully is. They retrace their steps toward the highway.

“You do know that toilets weren’t invented until like, the Renaissance, right?” he teases.

“Sure, but they weren’t just squatting in the woods!”

He pulls the car keys from his pocket. “I guess we’ve solved another X-file…”

Scully gives him the look she’s been giving him for six years.

“...does a Scully pee in the woods?”

She bites her lip, obscures her smile. That’s her Mulder.