#for reference there IS a very clear stopping point i could use to split the chapter

[definitelynotshouting]

alright fellas im giving into my demons, cast your votes on what you want me to do for the upcoming hunger au chapter

[joelsprettyprincess]

Taming of the Shrew - Part 1

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: After you finally call it quits on your on-and-off relationship with the outlaw, Arthur is forced to find a different way to make you stay. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.3k A/N: I am very, very excited for yall to read this. It was so fun to write. Unfortunately I girlbossed a little too hard and it's almost 10k words. 😭So, this 'mini-series' will be split into 3 parts. As for accuracy, I did try, but the timeline is a little off. Just ignore that.. And what do we think of the series name?? Bonus points if you know the reference! I felt it was appropriate. Also, there is no smut until Part 2. Sorry! And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe

Part 2 is out!

“Just leave me alone, Arthur!”

These words flew from your mouth like bullets that struck him in the chest.

“Excuse me?” he said in a low growl, stepping towards you. You were both by his tent in his gang's current camp, and it wasn't exactly isolated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kieran watching them curiously over by the horses.

You sighed, running a hand over your hair. “I'm just so tired of this.”

“Tired of what, exactly?” Arthur inquired dryly. He crossed his big burly arms and gave you an annoyed look.

“Everything, Arthur. The runnin’, the stealin’…the killing. I'm sorry, but I am not meant for a life like that.” You crossed your arms as well. A soft wind blew; inappropriate weather for the pressing conversation the two of you were having.

He came even closer. Those eyes…they were piercing yours with that discerning stare. “You say that like you've actually done any of it. I'm the outlaw, not you, sweetheart.”

You threw up your hands. “That's exactly the problem. If my daddy knew, he'd just about kill me, then hunt you down too. You know I can't…I can't…”

Arthur grasped your hand roughly, but you threw him off. You stomped away to where your horse was hitched, and of course he followed.

Arthur called your name, trying to stop you. Mary-Beth was watching you now too, but he didn't seem to care. Luckily most of the camp was out doing whatever it was this gang did for fun. Robbing, most likely, you thought, snorting.

“Quit the games,” Arthur spat. “We both know you're just gonna run back to me. You need me– and I need you. Don't leave.” 

“I most definitely do not need you, Mr. Morgan,” you snapped. “Why don't you go back to that Mary girl? I've seen them letters.”

A shadow passed over his face for just a second. “...Just go home. You are heartless, woman.”

You felt a little bad, but swallowed the feeling down. “I'm leavin', and I ain't coming back,” you cried, getting on your horse. “I've had enough of this gang's shenanigans. Don't come near me neither. I can't guarantee I won't let my daddy shoot you.”

With those cold parting words, you sneered at him and rode off towards Rhodes.

Regret sat like a pit in Arthur's stomach as he watched you leave Clemen's Point. Relationships were like a curse in the Van Der Linde gang. Inevitably they would be struck by death or divisiveness. Arthur had tried hard not to fall into the same patterns, but it seemed his loves were doomed from the start.

He paced around camp as he decided what to do. You and him had not been together long, only perhaps 3 months had passed since he first crossed paths with you at the saloon. 

You'd looked so out of place, sitting stiffly at a table in the corner with your maid. He'd watched you down a cup of brandy and immediately start coughing. It was clear you weren't used to the rough environment of a bar.

Arthur decided then, that he would show you.

And show you he did. You were initially attracted to his shadowy aura and western roughness, but spending more days with him revealed the genuinely caring man underneath. Arthur showed you so much of the world; he took you out for long horse rides through the forests, winding through the trees before making camp for the night and perhaps fucking before drifting off to sleep underneath the stars. 

He introduced you to a new way of life, one that was fading due to civilization, but exciting nonetheless. The first time you saw him shoot a man, you weren't sure whether to feel incredibly aroused or disgusted. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe the way of the outlaw was your path?

That is what you thought, until he brought you back to camp. It was a pretty bit of land, flat and grassy, but the people were something else. The men were loud, stinky, and violent, and the women were like men themselves. They all knew how to shoot, to steal, to survive. 

And you didn't. You were a wealthy girl; your father made his fortune in oil. You'd slept on a bed with silken sheets almost your whole life, and the closest you had come to a gun was looking at the ones your father had on display in his office.

Your mother was a society lady, obsessed with gossip and flirting with the help.

Both of your parents disgusted you, but you knew the privilege you had. You were their only child and therefore would receive a sizable inheritance upon your father's death. As cruel as it seemed, that was the only reason you tolerated them.

However, this was now threatened by your romance with one of the most wanted men in the country. Of course, you hadn't known he was wanted so badly when you first met. It wasn't until he had shot that bounty hunter that he'd told you the truth.

“I've got a price on my head,” he admitted to you while cleaning off the blood at a nearby stream. “A pretty big one.”

“How big?” you'd asked, sitting on the grass near him.

He dabbed at his shirt with a damp rag. “Er, about…five thousand dollars.” He mumbled that last part.

You whipped your head up. “Excuse me?”

“Five thousand dollars,” he repeated gruffly. “I know, I know.” He chuckled. “You can turn me in, if ya want.”

“Arthur,” you exclaimed, standing up. “That's…that's just so…who are you?!”

“Just somebody who's made a lot of dumb choices over the last 20 years. Listen, sweetheart, it's fine. I been runnin’ all this time and they ain't caught us yet.”

“Yet,” you said, then paused. “So…you killed a lot of people, then?”

He shrugged. “You really wanna know?”

“Good point.”

You weren't willing to completely submerge yourself in the pool of crime,  and Arthur couldn't quite blame you for it. He knew you were a society heiress, destined to hold luncheons, not revolvers. 

But that did not stop him from trying. Would not. That thing with Mary…well, he didn't like to think about that. It would not happen again.

Arthur jogged across camp to his horse…then realized that following you was probably not a good idea. You were angry right now, and you would cool off eventually, but right now you probably needed some space.

He sighed. Dutch was right. Women had so many needs. 

Arthur spent the rest of the day doing chores around the camp, plotting and thinking. And his thoughts got angrier and darker as time went on. Who did you think you were, anyway? Refusing Van Der Linde's most trusted associate? One of the most feared men in America? You were so uppity, with your silk dresses and thoroughbred horse. 

He slammed his axe down on the chunk of wood in front of him, frowning deeply and squinting his eyes against the sunset. Perhaps he should just tie you to his horse and bring you to Tahiti with the gang. Maybe then you would lose that damn attitude.

Arthur hit the wood so hard it burst into pieces, going everywhere. He grunted, then dropped the axe to the ground and trudged over to his cot. 

He could not pretend like your passionate declaration was unwarranted. You had seen the gang do violent things, things that made you think that being a sheltered rich girl wasn't so bad.

But the taste of freedom kept drawing you back like a drunkard asking for one more shot. You liked how the gang didn't answer to anyone but themselves, not dominated by any law or person or expectation.

It was a war of ideals, and his side was nearly out of ammo. Arthur really couldn't offer you anything but his love. It was no wonder you were running back to your parents. 

But his love was deep as an ocean, and as all-consuming as one too. After Mary closed the book on their romance (or was it just a fling to her?) forever, Arthur had been sullen and angry for a while. He swore he wouldn't let any woman make a fool of him again.

And then he met you. You, who was even richer than Mary, with twice as much sass and the same sweet Southern accent. You were drawn to each other like a ring of oil and a match. 

It was a love that was sure to burn and destroy.

Arthur slept fitfully, still angry at your rejection. He was hoping you were just caught up in the heat of the moment, but if you weren't, well…he would cross that bridge if he came to it. Tomorrow he would visit your father's manor.

After leaving Clemen's Point, you rode your horse back to Rhodes, fighting tears. That man! Arthur was an enigma sometimes. He was a stupid man if he thought you would really give up your life for him. No matter how handsome and broad-shouldered he was…

You were not returning though. You had a bad habit of pushing Arthur away, then coming back within a week. The two of you had an unpleasant cycle of affection: after you inevitably returned to his arms, he would act kind enough, then subtly become more obsessive and manipulative and suffocating until you’d had enough. He never chased after you too hard, knowing you would be back. 

And you always were.

Just before this latest rejection, Arthur had been angry because you didn't express much interest in learning to shoot.

“‘S not like we'll be sending you on missions or anything. Just think you should be able to defend yourself, is all,” was his reasoning.

“I thought you would protect me?” you had countered. He'd promised you wouldn't have to lift a finger if you stayed with him, that he would do everything for you.

“An’ I intend on doin’ that,” he insisted. “But it don't hurt to know how to use one. You see Molly? She don't know how to do much of anything, and you see how Dutch treats the girl. I don't want that for us.”

“It just feels like you misled me,” you huffed, smoothing off your riding dress. “I didn't know this lifestyle was so…so…”

“Well, newsflash, sweetheart,” Arthur said snarkily. “We survive out here. Ain't no oil money for us to fall back on. If that's the way you feel, then, just leave, ‘cause you obviously hate me.”

“Arthur!” you chided him. “You know I love you–”

“You sure?” he cut in. “It sure seem like you just came here lookin’ for a good time. I've bared my soul for you, and you can't even do this one thing for me.” He shook his head, disappointed.

That had set you off and caused you to take your leave, yet again.

But this time it was really going to stick. You were done running around with a criminal, especially since your parents were starting to notice how often you were absent. And if Arthur came around, well, you'd get your father to shoot him!

Arthur woke up early the next morning, still feeling annoyed from yesterday. The snooty look you had given him when you got on your horse pricked his mind like a thorn. 

He needed you…to behave. To submit. To love him. Violent feelings were coursing through his veins. This was different than with Mary. When she left, he'd let her go, knowing it was useless.

But you…you were different. You actually had an affinity for the lifestyle. Maybe you just needed…a little push?

He hopped on his horse and started towards your home. He was going to convince you, no matter what. Dutch was still talking about taking them to Tahiti. Arthur bet you would like it there, better than your stuffy manor, surely.

Arthur rode fast and hard. Usually he met you quite a ways away from the town to avoid anyone possibly seeing and recognizing you, so he'd only been around your home once or twice, which was north of Rhodes, near the Kamassa River.

He was really tired of this running around. You needed to commit, now, and stop the bullshit that kept spouting from your mouth.

A good bit of riding later and he slowed, seeing the stately silhouette of your manor. It always made him vaguely uncomfortable.

He hitched his horse nearby, then took up a position that would allow him to observe the front of the house without being seen. He just needed to talk to you.

Arthur was used to staking out locations for hours, so he settled in. You had never dared to sneak him into the house, so he wasn't sure which window was yours– but he would wait. Oh, yes, he would. You were not going to escape that easily.

After perhaps an hour and a half of watching the help come and go, Arthur finally saw you emerge from the house, alone. About time, he thought gruffly.

He hung back, waiting till you got on your horse and start towards town before quietly mounting his horse and following you.

Arthur waited till the path was isolated on either end, then easily rode up beside you. “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted you cheerfully.

You squeaked in surprise, then turned and looked. “Arthur?! What– what’re you doin' here?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said firmly. “You ran away so fast yesterday, didn't even give me time to defend myself.”

“Ain't nothing to talk about,” you replied. “We're done.”

“We ain't.”

“We are. Leave me alone.”

“This is what you want in life? Stayin’ in some giant empty home with cash to burn? No excitement or nothin’?”

“Maybe,” you said annoyedly. “What of it?”

“I know that's not what you want,” Arthur said firmly. “I gave your life meaning, and I'll be damned if you try to deny that!”

“You have no idea what I want, Arthur Morgan,” you snapped, riding faster. He kept pace with you.

“I know you want more than this. I know you love me…or at least, I thought you did. Maybe I'm a fool and you've just been using me this whole time. Is that it, princess?” he demanded.

“No, Arthur–”

“No, Arthur,” he repeated in a squeaky voice. “You always say that. I can't believe it! I've been such an idiot this whole time. You never loved me. You just wanted a– a chaperone. You women are such cunning creatures. I gave you my whole heart, and you just stomped on it.”

“Arthur!” you cried, feeling guilty and angry at the same time. “You know that's not true. You know I love you. But the truth is…if my father were to ever find out about you, he'd surely disown me, and cut me out of the will. How could I risk that?”

He snorted. “All you care about is money, huh? Listen to me, sweetheart. It doesn't matter if you get that inheritance or not. You'll be alone forever. You will never, ever find someone like me. No one else puts up with your bullshit like me. Maybe you'll find a nice enough banker, who'll give you a kid or two out of duty, maybe you'll live in this house and hold parties just like your mother. But you will never be fulfilled like you would with us. You'll be surrounded by fancy possessions, maybe, but you'll always regret not coming with me.”

“Arthur,” you said hoarsely, staring at the dirt path ahead. This is how he got you everytime. He knew your biggest fear was being unfulfilled in life. He knew, and he never hesitated to use that against you.

Arthur knew you like a priest knows sin. He'd listened to your confessions for days on end, and now he was using them to break you down.

“I…I…” It was difficult to articulate your thoughts. He was very skilled at making you feel bad.

Before you had a chance to answer, a shot rang out and a bullet zipped between you two. Your horse neighed loudly, reared, and you fell off with a shout. You fumbled, getting tangled in your skirts, trying to crawl away.

Arthur cursed, then vaulted off his horse to grab you and drag you to the nearest cover. He stowed you behind a large rock, then peeked over and started trading shots with whoever was trying to apparently kill him.

“Arthur Morgan!” a masculine voice called out. “Turn yourself in or we’ll be forced to put a bullet in you!”

“Who is that?!” you screamed, terrified. 

“Another damn bounty hunter, probably,” he grunted, switching to his rifle. “Just keep your pretty head down.” 

You covered your ears and cowered. A few shots later, and the only sounds remaining in the forest were your horse’s panicked neighs and Arthur’s labored breath.

He sheathed his rifle and wiped off his forehead, leaning his head against the rock. “You okay?”

“Barely,” you said angrily. “You see what I mean now? I can’t live like this, Arthur! I’m sorry! I can’t risk it.”

Arthur went silent for a bit, and you glanced over at him. He had his hat pulled down low to where you couldn't make out his expression. “I’m gonna see who was huntin’ me,” was all he said before getting up and going over to examine the bodies.

You had no desire to see any mangled corpses, so you stayed behind the rock while Arthur investigated. 

You heard a shout, then a sick groan. What the hell? You lowered your head even further.

Arthur came back a couple minutes later. “We’re clear,” he said. “Just some idiot who thought he could really capture me.”

He had blood on his hands and his shirt. That coupled with the sweat that was shining on his forehead, made him look kind of attractive to you. Wait, what? 

“He wasn’t quite dead,” was his explanation.

You shakily stood up, dusting off your skirts. “D-D-Don’t ever talk to me again, Arthur. I want nothing to do with this.”

Arthur examined you for a while, and you grew uncomfortable under his stare, but you looked right back at him.

He finally sighed and shrugged. “If that's what you want.”

You watched in disbelief as he got back on his horse and left, apparently riding back towards Clemen's Point.

What just happened? 

That little nymph. 

Arthur was internally raging, gripping the reins of his horse so hard it was sure to leave angry red marks on his palms. If it weren’t for that damned bounty hunter! He was sure he could have convinced you to come back.

This was going to require something more drastic. Something…serious.

He rode back to camp while he thought about it. Luckily things were pretty calm for now, besides those hunters. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of something urgent. Dutch and Hosea were working on locating some gold that apparently existed around these parts, and were opting for the long run instead of going in, guns blazing. That worked out for Arthur, who had no desire to leave you anytime soon.

The question was this: What would not only bring you back to him, but make you stay permanently? Hmm…some sort of pressing situation, obviously.

He couldn't threaten you; that would be a bad foundation for your relationship.

The untimely demise of your parents, maybe? No, you would most likely be sent to a relative’s house. 

Speaking of parents.

Arthur felt a good idea forming. He furrowed his brows in concentration.

Speaking of your parents…you had spoken about your fear of being disowned.

Would that push you back into his arms? If you had nowhere else to go, would you turn to him?

But under what circumstances would you be disowned? If he made an appearance on your estate, you would probably be disgraced but not disowned, and he would be shot on site with any subsequent visits.

He needed you so bad it fucking hurt. Even just the thought of never seeing you again made Arthur desperate enough to try even the craziest plan.

An inkling of an idea was taking shape…

Perhaps, instead of a death…maybe a birth?

End of Part 1.

[gaijinhunter]

I am writing this as a Tumblr post because I don't want to make a video, as I feel this person is just trying to engagement bait me so he can grow his channel. Looking at his videos, he has seen an increase in views for videos that have been clickbait or trying to "call out" something. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to grow your channel, but I am not about that.

Iixxion recently made a video and for the third time already, is rambling on about how he has been annoyed that he ran into people that referred to the portable series of MH games as being developed by a different "B team" than the ones that make the non-portable game's "A team". Of course, that notion is incorrect, anyone with a brain knows that both lines of MH games are created by Division 2 in Capcom Osaka and that there is plenty of overlap between titles in terms of staff. He argues that this misconception is the cause of tribalism and animosity in the MH community and is the single most dangerous issue in terms of growing the user base. My perspective is that there is indeed a divide on people who like the portable series and those who don't (which is fine!), and released platforms also contributed to that division, but no one is writing off any mainline game (MH, MHF, MHG, MHF2, MH2, MHFU, MH3, MH3U, MHP3, MH4, MH4U, MHGen, MHGU, World, Iceborne, Rise, Sunbreak) because it was made by some separate unrelated team.

The issue is that he blames me for this apparent misconception and points to my video from 2020 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhpDnFU6lAo) where I cover the rich history of KH games and how each of the games and the portable series' games, have influenced the franchise as a whole and what features each entry introduced. He says that my video is one of the main sources of this division and that it is somehow my vague wording around the different teams on each MH title has caused horrible damage and that I am irresponsible and lazy for this. (BRUH)

Not only was my video just 4 years ago and focused on the development history and features of each title, if there was tribalism between console and portable games, that existed long before 2020. But he uses a Staw Man argument to "call me out" which is to argue against the notion of an A team and B team that are completely separate from each other, which isn't something I ever said in the first place. When i corrected him, he counters with "so you agree with me then" and that is when I realized it would be useless to discuss with him and took a look across his past videos and found a pattern of engagement farming, so I decided to just delete my comments on his videos and walk away from it.

If you want to make an argument against vague wording, it could be him saying the only consistent difference between the members that work on a "console" game versus the "portable series" games is the Director. That OFC is not true.

Some fun data looking at staff rolls.

Very natural overlap in the areas that you'd imagine with game design and programming being the main specialized fields.

Now if you want to argue semantics, then there isn't even a "monster hunter team"--it simply doesn't exist. Only Capcom developers exist and if you had to split them into distinct teams, that is Division 1 and 2.

He would likely say "see, he is supporting my argument, told you!" or "why weren't you this clear in your history video" but that is because he is making a false connection between some crap he read online, and my video and he sees me as the main cause of this "tribalism". A very disappointing conclusion he came to. My video wasn't about team compositions, it was about the franchise title history, and I pulled and used data all from official sources and interviews with the directors themselves.

I guess when you work hard across multiple years to make fun and hopefully informative videos on a franchise, the more you get targeted with bad faith arguments or engagement farming. Doesn't make it less tiring...

Stop worrying about reddit user tribalism over console/portable games, the games do have a different game design philosophy and on different consoles, so some division is to be expected, and we have so much cool news to focus on than to waste time creating drama for clicks. Be better.

-Gaijinhunter

[invinciblerodent]

I was originally piggybacking off another post, but with just how long this rant got, I feel like I don't want to burden OP with it, but it bears for me to repeat it yet again- at least once more, until I stop coming across so many takes that fall exactly into this trap.

One of the central features and core themes of the Dragon Age franchise (which I think is a very clever way of approaching a series that encompasses such a long time, both in a real-world sense and within its fiction), is that people are imperfect, and eyewitness accounts are unreliable.

Ambiguity has always been a feature, not a bug: every event (except for what we see with our own eyes, which is informed by our own character's perspective- that's the very premise of Origins) is told to us by someone with a (conscious or unconscious) agenda, or an imperfect memory, or is filtered through centuries of imperfect accounts littered by a series of paradigms that stem from people's own backgrounds and upbringings, or all of those things at the same time. Even the codex entries are canonically all written by someone in-fiction, and that gives the writers a lot of purposeful wiggle room with the facts of the setting's history.

As a very good example that illustrates exactly this (one that's a bit more easy to observe throughout the series than ancient elven history) is "contemporary" Tevinter: Which is a story roughly about how a debate, allegedly over Andraste (a woman who may or may not have existed, and maybe was either a prophet, or a liar, or a general, or a mage, or possessed, or a spirit, or had or didn't have visions from the Fade or the Maker) (who btw also may or may not exist; with fact pointing towards “may not”), and Maferath (who may or may not have betrayed her) and Hessarian (who may or may not have shown her mercy) caused (through a long succession of convoluted and vaguely connected events) a Chantry schism, and a clear and volatile split between the North and the South of the continent.

Over time, the animosity that to this day exists between the North and South of Thedas turned into a very clear-cut, harsh split, which then informed, among others, the perceptions of Ferdinand Genitivi (a respected scholar, but a Fereldan man, and a laybrother of the Southern Chantry at that), resulting in him writing literally the most cited and most widely read publication until "Hard in Hightown" overtook it: "In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar".

In that book, which is quoted dozens of times in the series, all over the South (which is where we've been all this time), he wrote that Minrathous is “buried in the layers of filth that the Imperium's decadence has accumulated over the ages” and that the Imperium as a whole is “little more than a dilapidated old slattern [...] drunkenly cursing at passersby to recall her faded beauty." (which, c'mon Ferdinand, tell us what you really think).

Then, with that perception placed purposefully into our minds, we met the slavers in Denerim, and later Fenris, who both present two perspectives that show us the worst possible goddamn facets of the county that we can see. Then we met Maevaris, and Dorian, and Krem, and Alexius, Felix, Marius, Miriam and Nadia, Rezaren and Elio, and many more, who all present different faces of the Imperium- all before we would get to go there ourselves!!!!! in Veilguard, and see it both with our own eyes, and through Neve's perspective, which puts yet another spin on it all!!!!

And just like that, we are proven to have been wrong, Genitivi is proven to be wrong (inviting the question, what else could he be wrong about? he "wrote" most of the reference books too after all!), and the truth exists somewhere in-between the experiences of these handful of characters, who all have their own reasons for saying what they're saying.

See what I mean? Yes, it's a narrative device, the ambiguity is used and stretched by the writers on purpose, but it being purposeful doesn't change that I could go on a same type of rant about the ancient elves, the Qun, and the Crows, the Circles of Magi, and so many different parts of the story that wouldn't be even half as compelling, imo, if they really just gave us the cold, hard facts in a play-by-play of the exact events that went down.

I don't know about you all, but I genuinely do not recall anything in Veilguard that stood out to me as an objective, egregious change of an event I knew to be a true fact. I've only really seen characters lying, concealing their motivations, or misremembering things, presenting a different perspective, or learning that history they thought they knew to be true was wrong.

And that doesn't make me upset, it makes me giddy. It makes me excited to learn how much of this world I love is not what I thought it was, because -same as the characters- I believed what was told to me, and there are so many things and plotlines that illustrate that very same feeling: Solas obviously, but Jaws of Hakkon and Ameridan's entire story are probably just the clearest and most obvious ones, and there's also Morrigan, Flemeth and Mythal, Bellara's and Harding's whole storylines are ostensibly about this, the whole of DA2 beats you over the head with it all being filtered through Varric, and even the whole Urn of Sacred Ashes questline in Origins- it's always been about subjectivity. The Inquisitor's entire persona is said, canonically, multiple times, by multiple characters (Sera, Varric, Dorian, Vivienne, Josephine all come to mind), to be a larger than life figure that people misrepresent, and misunderstand, misremember, and see as both more and less than a person because of that, even in their own time- which then also is echoed by Rook themselves idly remarking on how they had their own preconceived notions about the Inquisitor. (at least my Rook remarked on my Trevelyan's nobility, cleearly not knowing how little power his name actually holds now, which I thought was a really nice touch.) (But that, I've been going on about for god, who even knows how long, that's its own post lol.)

Just imagine what we might turn out to have been wrong all along in the next game. How can someone not be excited?

[dingodad]

why can their only be one mother grub

okay there actually isn't that much to this one it's just that the comic pretty explicitly only ever refers to her as "THE mother grub" and the reasons i tend to hear for why there should or could be more than one are always based on shaky logic.

first and foremost that it "doesn't make sense" or "isn't practical" for all trolls to be born from a single cave when i think it's pretty clear that the strangeness and impracticality of one mother grub is basically the point. what we know about troll reproduction is that it is by its very nature incestuous, and that despite being in control of an empire spanning across a galaxy, once their home planet was gone the whole race was fucked. reproductive strategy - as demonstrated by Sburb, the reproductive strategy of universes themselves - is a key theme in Homestuck, and in that respect the reproductive strategy of the troll race a) starkly contrasts the reproductive strategy of humans on earth and b) fits in perfectly with Lord English's strategy for rising to power. almost all humans are capable of creating their own young (with some help) and therefore live independently from the colony, and in the same way, a widespread beta release of Sburb allowed humans lots of chances to recreate their race anew after the Earth's destruction. but English is the god of the inevitable, and of putting - in this case very literally! - all of his eggs in one basket. trolls all come from the one place, bred for one purpose, so they can play one single session of Sgrub and ensure Lord English's one, singular favoured outcome.

to that effect, by having a single brooding mother the trolls' life cycle reflects their social structure. the Alternian empire is an insect colony who, despite having spread across an entire galaxy, have only one queen; and while it is true that in the troll culture the roles of brooding mother and ruling queen are split across two individuals, that there is only one of the latter clearly demonstrates the methods of consolidation and control at play. while it would be more practical for the condesce not to slaughter the members of her bloodline who could be put to better use helping her control such a vast empire, one empress means only one voice to listen to. and when you're trying to keep a clean gene pool like the trolls are, having only one source of offspring to keep an eye on is just commonsense. this is another thing clearly indicated at in Act 6; when the condesce took control of earth she decided that it would suit her purposes better for humans to all donate their genetic material to a central cloning lab rather than be allowed to reproduce freely.

another suggestion i used to see a lot but i guess not so much anymore is that the trolls could, or perhaps would even need to, establish reproduction on the planets they've colonised, which I think stems from a misunderstanding of the whole reason adult trolls are sent into space. it seems to me like some labour under the presumption that, prior to the summoner's revolt, there were no trolls in space, and that the reason the adults were all sent away was to conquer a new frontier. but this isn't the case: we know that when the Signless was alive - which was many centuries before the Summoner could even have been born - he was part of a war "across the planet and throughout the galaxy." so when the condesce "fully decentralized the race from the homeworld [by scattering] all but the children throughout the galaxy", the purpose can only have been to separate adults from children, specifically. if there are more troll children being born on other planets in the empire then not only are the adults and the children no longer separated, but Alternia stops being a planet of any significance at all. it's just one planet where some trolls are born. we should also keep in mind that, as above, the relationship between parent and child holds thematic significance in Homestuck. the separation of progenitor from progeny should always be thought of as a more important motivator than simply expanding Alternia's empire - which, it should be noted, isn't even a goal that furthers English's plans for the trolls! turning the young into emotionless killing machines, on the other hand, does further those plans.

and in the same vein as the clown thing, am i really just the only one who finds the idea of Alternia's subterranean regions being wholly dominated by this one huge overgrown bug - of a scale no living troll could ever comprehend in its entirety, pumping out offspring on a galactic magnitude - really cool. like why do you think trolls talk about this thing like it's a god. why do you think there needs to be a highly specialised and deeply secretive coven of vampire nuns looking after it 24/7

[agenericplaceholdername]

Sensei Wu and Hanlon's Razor [Ninjago Theory]

"I see you've found the Allied Armor, Morro, yet you haven't summoned your friends." -- Sensei Wu, Winds of Change (Possession E1)

This quote makes absolutely no sense. Let's break it down:

First, Wu makes it clear that he recognizes the Allied Armor of Azure. This makes sense -- he's been around a long time, for all we know, he was involved with putting it in the Ninjago Museum of History. But wait a second, if Wu knew about the allied armor, why not use it in Season 4? The Greatest Fear of All ends with the Elemental Masters all split up. The ninja spend time recruiting random civilians in The Corridor of Elders. Couldn't Wu have just gotten the Allied Armor and summoned the Elemental Masters along with other allies? And of course, Garmadon didn't need to sacrifice himself since the Allied Armor can summon ghosts from the Cursed Realm!

But fine, maybe he didn't think about it given the limited time, or he didn't know where the Allied Armor was. Maybe it got put in the Ninjago Museum of History post S4. But he could have used it to free Garmadon afterwards! Enough time passes between seasons for Wu to open a whole tea shop. He seriously didn't realize the key to bringing back his brother was just in Ninjago City sitting there? Did he even look? The only reasonable explanation is that he did know, but wanted Misako for himself and then let his nephew's father remain trapped in Ninjago hell!

Now let's look at the second part. What friends are Wu referring to? He could have said other ghosts, but "friends" implies a specific group of people. The only people Morro summons later are other ghosts. Was Morro friends with Wrayth, Soul Archer, Bansha and Ghoultar while he was alive? If so, how did they escape the Cursed Realm? Or were they alive as well, and cursed later? But if Wu knew that, how come he didn't know that Morro had been cursed? He says, "I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm" in Ghost Story, not "I was saddened," implying that he only found out upon seeing Morro possessing Lloyd. At no point in the flashbacks in Ghost Story do we see Morro interacting with the living or ghostly forms of his ghost crew. But they can't have first met while in the Cursed Realm, since then Wu wouldn't be asking Morro about them!

The cleanest explanation was that Morro was friends with them when they were all alive, Wu knew them, and then figured that upon returning to Ninjago, Morro would summon his friends (now apparently mortals in their ~60s) using the Allied Armor. A mystical artifact with the unique power to summon ghosts probably wouldn't have been necessary to get the gang together, but I don't see how Wu could have known that Morro's friends are ghosts if he didn't know Morro was one until he encountered Morro at Steep Wisdom!

Lastly, one final question. This is unrelated to the opening quote, but still along the same line of thinking. Why does Wu not tell the Ninja that water can stop a ghost? Yes, I understand why it has to be done for plot reasons. But even if Wu doesn't realize that Morro's friends are ghosts, he knows that a) Morro is a ghost and b) Morro can summon ghosts. He tells Nya later, but not the Ninja? Yeah, yeah, "There's something I never told you" is a common Wu line, but this isn't Wu hoping to avoid unpleasant conversations about his past failures (Morro, Aspheera) or details about villains Wu thinks are either gone (the Overlord) or that he thinks he can fight alone (Acronix). He knows a key weakness of an enemy who has stolen his nephew's body. It's very possible hitting Morro with water would force him out of Lloyd's body. Any ghosts Morro summons can be defeated by water. And Wu says NOTHING????

Hanlon's Razor states, "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity." So which is Wu?

TL;DR: Wu knowingly left Garmadon to suffer in the Cursed Realm, has seemingly impossible-to-know knowledge about Morro's friendships, and forgets(?) to tell the Ninja their enemy's only weakness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is mostly a joke, but I'd love to hear some alternate, in-universe, explanations for Wu's actions here!

[blackjackkent]

OK! Resuming our entry into the world of DAV, Helena Mercar edition:

So far I am finding it a rather different experience liveblogging DAV compared to BG3. I got very used to BG3 having a dialogue history to refer back to, and not having it definitely makes this all a lot more complex. DAV also seems to have more dialogue in walk-and-talk, which is a little more complicated to get good screenshots of and keep track of all the dialogue.

There also doesn't appear to be a quicksave/quickload? Which is... bizarre and I'm not a fan.

However, DAV has a photo mode out of the box and it seems pretty robust, so that's nice. :D

Anyway, welcome to Minrathous!

It's a cold, damp, drizzly night. Nothing unusual for Tevinter, or for Helena who is used to walking the dark alleyways of this city almost every night.

The searchlights from the Ring(*) are a bit of a surprise, though.

"The Archon's palace," Varric says, sounding unimpressed. "Something must've gotten them riled up."

Helena shrugs, falling into step with him. The folks up top are always pissed off about something, and it probably doesn't have anything to do with her threatening to rough up a random bartender all the way down here.

All the same, though, it makes her a bit uneasy. Not scared, mind you. Just... uneasy.

"Should we be in more of a hurry to get out of here?" she asks Varric casually.

"We don't want to look conspicuous," he answers, equally cool. "Just get out of here nice and casual, find Neve Gallus, and stop Solas."

(A/N: I'm not yet clear on exactly how Rook ended up helping Varric with this hunt. Varric calls her his 'second-in-command' but that could very well be a joke. Until the game contradicts it, I'm running on the assumption that Varric hired her as a local who knew the city, to help him track Neve down.)

"You still think you can talk him down before he starts his big ritual?" she asks curiously. Her tone is bantering, belying the seriousness of the subject matter.

She likes Varric, from what she's seen of him so far. He's less in-your-face than she is, but comfortably talkative - and a whiz with that crossbow. She suspects that under less apocalyptic circumstances, he might be fun to hang out with.

But... from what he's told her, these circumstances are pretty damn apocalyptic.

"That ritual is going to tear down the Veil," he says now, grimly. "The only thing separating us from the Fade and an endless number of demons. I *have* to talk him down."

As her face passes through the shadow of a nearby alleyway, Helena grimaces.

Again, it's not so much that she's scared. Course not. Scared is pointless; you either do things or you don't. You either live or you die, and there's no point in worrying about it ahead of time.

But it sure sounds like a hell of a shitty way to go.

Before she can make a sardonic comment about this, though, a siren sound splits the air, and one of the searchlights from the Ring comes to an abrupt halt near Helena's boots.

The light has fixed on one of the locals walking along the mud-drenched streets.

"YOU THERE! HALT!" barks a magically amplified voice.

"Wait! But I didn't do anything!" the woman sputters fearfully, as the other locals around her scatter away in terror.

"Get down!" Varric hisses, shoving Helena back against the alley wall behind her. They're still out of sight, just barely, watching as several guards sweep out of the darkness.

Shit, Helena thinks. "Are they after us? Is it because of the bar?" Why would the Archon give a shit about that?

"Word travels fast in Minrathous," Varric says tightly.

Helena flexes her fingers against her daggers, takes a step forward. "We've gotta help her," she says. Not the first time she's seen someone probably-innocent get swept up by the guards - or the first time she's stepped in.

But Varric shakes his head, pushes her backwards.

"We don't have time to get arrested," he mutters. "Especially if--"

He's cut off by a low, rumbling whirrrrrrr that resonates through the air strongly enough to prickle up goosebumps on Helena's skin. She looks up, and watches with astonishment as the air within the Ring... splits.

An unearthly pale green light floods the street, melding with the bright white of the searchlights.

"Ah, crap," Varric growls.

"We're too late--" Helena says faintly. Still not scared. Still not scared. But definitely... definitely starting to be concerned.

"The ritual's started. But if we hurry, we can still stop Solas before it finishes," Varric says curtly. He breaks into a jog, darting out from the alleyway back into the drizzling rain. "Let's go. Harding's up ahead. She'll get us to Dumat Plaza - then Neve will get us to Solas."

-----

(*) IDK if the locals have an in-game nickname for this thing but I am making the executive decision that Helena does. :D

[idislikethissite]

Note: this is a matter of personal narrative preference, not a problem with the writing per se.

This most recent episode (All Lovers Part As Dust) exemplifies two gripes I’ve had: one with horror as a genre, the other with how my understanding of the gods in The Silt Verses has diverged since season 1 with how they’ve actually been written.

In the first case, this splits into a few more specific things: whether or not horror and tragedy are by necessity synonymous, and the use of narrative unreality as a social critique. There is certainly value to tragedy, and writers often use it in ways that are expressive and piercing (I Am In Eskew hit hard, and personally, to the point where I found myself stopping 2/3 in). But it seems like horror and tragedy are often becoming synonymous; that recognition of things being horrific, that there are terrible choices made, inevitably (though in the particular way of tragedies where there could always have been other possibilities, but events only) end in something awful, something hopeless���in tragedy. This has been explicitly referenced in the episode with Hembry, with The Watcher in the Wings giving Hembry the impression that only tragedy “satisfies”; whether the writers of TSV will affirm or deny this through the series as a whole remains to be seen, but it is certainly a trend in the genre more broadly (eg The Magnus Archives).

Of course, perhaps that is only because of the particular horror media I’ve happened to see; in recent movies, the trend is far weaker. Nope, for instance, ends relatively positively, while Midsommar and Talk to Me fit the tragic horror combination, and The Ritual falls somewhere between.

To clarify, by narrative unreality I’m referring to when there are events in the story which would be “unreality” for the characters, and which at some point the audience is similarly uncertain of. Narrative unreality, similarly to tragic horror, can be a piercing method in writing; it’s used well in Hembry’s episode, as well as the movies Talk To Me and (probably most famously) The Matrix series. The Matrix series (at least the first and most recent installments, as I haven’t seen the middle ones) and Talk to Me use it very well, because in both cases it reinforces the themes of the story, those themes being (in part) criticisms of social structures. These criticisms work well within the wider story because they tie in with the other themes of it.

In the episode of TSV All Lovers Turn To Dust, there’s a contrast with an earlier episode which uses narrative unreality in a similar way: that in which Hembry appears, And Rend Us Both To Dust Below. There, the Watcher in the Wings interacts with Hembry and Paige in a way which makes clear a major theme of TSV: that stories, while powerful, are malleable to human action; including action by changing the story. This is established most clearly when Paige interrupts Hembry’s monologue, saving Hayward’s lofe in the process:

Paige:

—And he stops.

This establishes not only the fallibility of the gods, but the capability of humans to change the story (and consequently the gods themselves, or to oppose them). This is undermined in All Lovers Turn to Dust if taken as an endless failure of Seb to save Dev, and of either of them to escape. Yes, this is only one possible interpretation; perhaps the ending is instead a flashback or nightmare after they have escaped. But that the first interpretation is both feasible and (based on the posts already made within a day of its release of sentiments like “oh this is the silt verses, of course nobody could escape the gods”) is often taken as the course of things, is a hole torn in the thematic cohesion of the story. This interpretation would point to the gods as practically omnipotent, and (potentially) that the protagonists—Paige for instance—are the only ones who could possibly oppose them because of somehow being “special”.

Which leads into the other nitpick: the gods in season 2 and (particularly) season 3 appear to have differed from how they seemed initially. Reliable enough that anyone could make someone a saint (every time saints have been used for combat, eg the saint-rockets, the battle of Paraclete’s Gulch, and Elgin’s mention of confidence in the saints of the Many Below), having power over reality rather than being a piece of it, having power over people regardless of those characters recognizing narrative tropes as well as that they’re dealing with a god, and being personified to a greater extent than ever before (Babble & the Watcher in the Wings each required Whisper & Hembry to act as a conduit, respectively, each of whom interpreted their god through their human framework of experience). These are the most noticeable shifts; I’d like to reiterate that having this apparent change is a valid writing choice, and my quibbling is a matter of personal distaste for what seems inconsistent.

Of course, The Silt Verses remains in progress at this point; Jon Ware and Muna Hussen have surprised and impressed many times before with their writing, and this episode was somewhat of a one-off (unless Dev & Seb come up later, becoming relevant and confirming that they did end up escaping). I am excited to see what’s to come as the many plotlines culminate through the rest of this season!

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Head-Wigs and Not Even an Inch

Abigail Thorn made me cry last night.

I mean, I knew this was not outside the realm of possibility. I presumed she would produce a work of stunning artistic beauty and overwhelm my jaded brain with some Profound Meaning. Or, fat chance, maybe she’d trip over something I’d written and tear it to pieces like a hamster going to town on a cardboard tube. Or maybe I’d go back to London, and spill my drink on her shoes in a dark club, and she’d thrash me with a riding crop — that’s slightly more likely than someone with a decent platform noticing my writing, at this point.

But, uh, no. That’s not how it went.

We pay money to get the bonus episodes of Kill James Bond. You should too. In fact, if you don’t, you’ll be lacking some context for this. But most of my work goes out into the void without context, so to hell with it. You can watch a theatrical version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch for free, on YouTube. Or you can probably pirate the film version with a clean conscience, I don’t think any of those performers are seeing much compensation from sales at this point.

We haven’t been listening to the bonus episodes in order. We often try to watch something close to the version of whatever-film they’re doing, and then listen to the episode with context. We’ve heard them mention Hedwig, and it seemed to be a profound, emotional experience. I really wanted to see Hedwig first. Well, we found a Hedwig available for free and we watched it. They tried to update it a bit, and I found that off-putting. A lot of the tropes in play are dated — “#problematic” in some ways, and genuinely hurtful in others. If you’re going to update something like that, you can’t just throw in a reference to Harry Potter and Title 42 and call it good. Preserve it in its original messy form for us, or rewrite the whole thing — if they’ll let you.

The way the actor playing Hedwig moved and sat in her (the character uses she/her and I have no idea about the actor) short skirt bothered me too. She had shorts on underneath, but I don’t think we were supposed to know that yet. “Nobody has ever told this person how they’re supposed to sit in a skirt,” I said to the spouse. Like, it wasn’t even as if she knew and had decided to ignore it. If one were transfeminine, or faking it to get out of East Berlin, someone would’ve mentioned it. “Maybe it’s for the character,” he said. Maybe it was. You could read it that way. But there’s a read on this where transness is artifice, and I don’t like that read very much. I hope that wasn’t what they were going for.

The ending could be read that way too. It’s all very surreal and that has the potential to be read a lot of different ways, but a male (or male-presenting) actor winds up bare-chested in shorts and the female one ends in a wig and a dress and they both seem very happy about it. One could say, “Well! Glad all that gender confusion’s cleared up! Now they’ve stopped pretending to be something they’re not!” I don’t like that the possibility is left open like that. It feels slimy and centrist.

But the music was great and there were some excellent moments and I was eager to hear the whole thing get dissected by some trans folks.

About a half hour into it, they were discussing John Cameron Mitchell, who identified as a gay man at the time and has since refined it to nonbinary with he/him pronouns. Hedwig’s gender is messy — she’s a fictional character written by an enby who was still in egg form, from a time before people were expected to define their transness as binary or nonbinary. Abi acknowledged the nonbinary actor/writer/director, and mentioned that there’s a lot of pressure to define your gender neatly these days… And said, “No.” That’s not it. Hedwig is a woman like her. Period.

I had been saying to the spouse (we talk over the podcast; we get excited) that I saw a lot of myself in Hedwig’s disaster gender, and in that way you could read the ending as her deciding to stop splitting herself between her popular, cis-passing, sellout persona, and the real, messy her. And then Abi cut me off, and I said, laughing, “Oh my god, just hip-check my identity right into the orchestra pit! What… What…” And I started to cry.

I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t expect it. And I’d never taken a hit quite this way before. This wasn’t being denied the validity of my existence, this was the validity of my artistic merit. Abigail Thorn, a demonstrably smart person with a lot of theatre experience who loves writing and acting, will not be requiring me or John Cameron Mitchell for her interpretation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Not even as a possible read. Please, go find yourselves in some other character, enbies. Let the transwomen have her.

…To the point where “Hansel” is treated like a modern-day deadname of a real person, when all we know for sure is that the character got rid of it to get out of East Berlin and she doesn’t use it anymore. It could be like that, but by the end of this, “Hedwig,” another name and gender she did not choose for herself, might be a deadname too. I’m not saying it has to be like that, but it’s not so ridiculous that we need to dismiss it unsaid, is it? Especially given that the goddamn originator of the character has been on a similar journey and decided to keep “John” and he/him for the moment. A person can do that and still kick their assigned gender to the curb, you know?

I didn’t need Hedwig to be about me and only me, I just needed the possibility to be left open and discussed a little bit. Another trans egg movie, but perhaps a nonbinary one this time. Like Speed Racer, it went hard and fell short! That’s all. I didn’t even know I needed that! Until Abi said I couldn’t have it.

The spouse stopped the podcast and comforted my surprised tears. He gave me a nonbinary read — which is not hard to do! — and said I deserve to be seen. I said, “I know why she said it. I do. It’s too close to their (hers and Alice’s) own experience and they don’t want to see anything else. It’s emotion-based. But… But… Nonbinary actor (and writer/director/producer/singer)! …What about Dev?” Dev really took a backseat on this one. They saw themself in Yitzhak, and Yitzhak isn’t the main character, and Abi and Alice were so into Hedwig, and they’re all friends. Yeah. I mean, I understand that too. Back off and let your friends have this one, it’s clearly important to them both.

I wanted to hear the rest of it, because it made Alice and Abi feel seen, and a lot of other trans folks too. Yeah, there’s a lot in it that aged like milk — cringy and outdated even when the film was made — but there’s a lot of valid queer experience in there, too, warts and all. I was surprised as hell that, in the end, Abi supports the “Tommy isn’t real” theory and believes this is a story about uniting one person and making yourself feel whole. And yet, she reiterated, “No.” It’s not about being nonbinary. It’s about reconciling with the male-gendered stuff you try to cut out of you when you transition. Dev and Alice were at least willing to allow that nonbinary was possible, if not quite willing to delve into it, but not Abi. Splitting yourself in two is a binary trans thing! As are many, many other things about Hedwig that I related to.

As an enby who came up with the “splitting yourself in two” metaphor while still in egg form, for a fictional character of my own who is also still in egg form, please let me tell you — please let me tell someone — that that’s not true. I didn’t meet Hedwig until last night, but I know about performing your acceptable, cis-passing, assigned gender and hiding all the “garbage” that doesn’t fit. I know what it is to be crammed into a false persona that gets a lot of love, while the real you, when you let it out, is only worthy of snarling punk lyrics into a mic at a dingy seafood restaurant with a hostile audience.

And, oh my god, do I know what it is to have a piece of you that will not come off, and prevents you from fitting fully into either binary gender. It can feel like a broken piece, like a scar, like a botched surgery you didn’t need that was inflicted on you… But it doesn’t have to be literally that. Hedwig, both the play and the person, doesn’t seem to have much use for physical reality. She’s here to unload her emotional reality, and she doesn’t care about any other real things she might damage along the way.

KJB were rather amazed that Hedwig chose to redefine herself by a (medically impossible) surgical accident. How brave of her to own her trauma like that. But I wonder, is it trauma? Or is it the only path a nonbinary egg in 1998 could see to gain an outside that expressed his inside? This isn’t what any of you wanted me to have, this isn’t even what I want to have, but it’s still me. It’s what I have to work with. (All signs point to “Tommy,” as a character, being at least a closeted gay guy who would’ve been fine if the “front of” Hedwig had been a penis, but it isn’t. It’s not quite anything at all, and he flees because that’s just too much for him to handle. Hedwig already is one of those androgynes she envies; she doesn’t need an Adam, she doesn’t need him. But she loves him/her cis-passing self, and she’s not yet ready to let him go.)

I don’t know what it is to actually try living as the other binary gender, I wasn’t active enough in queer circles to really feel that pressure to conform to the binary before I hatched. But I see it now, and I feel the same instinctive revulsion that Hedwig feels about being a divorced housewife in a trailer in Arizona. That’s not me either! Did I spend all this time and energy escaping one box, only to be trapped in another? Must I content myself with this simply because I don’t want to go back to the way I was? Is this only way I can get a green card that lets me access a queer space? To put on an ugly wig and pretend I’m more palatable?

To me, the revelation about wigs is not “I could be happy as ANY woman!” but, “This is a performance… This is all a fucking performance! This isn’t me, this is a hat someone put on my head. It comes off! I can have another hat! I can have all the hats!” And, selfishly, she denies Yitzhak that same joy, because he wears it better and seems happier. Hedwig clings to her suffering so tightly, it’s such a fundamental part of her identity, that she can’t bear to be around trans joy. No. There is no room for trans joy here, only trans spite. This story is about me. I don’t like transwomen, I don’t like transmen, and I sure as hell don’t like myself (yet)! In the end, after a lot more suffering, she’s willing to let that go.

In the end, Abi says she knows a lot of transwomen who seem to model themselves on Hedwig, and she wants them to know that isn’t how they have to be. They don’t have to choose between being just like a cis woman, or being a monstrous, chaotic, damaged other. You can be… Better than cis! Yes, says the cast of KJB, laughing, we are better than you! We are THE FUTURE! Three friends, having a ball on a podcast, trans joy at its finest — but you don’t find humour in feigning cruelty if you haven’t had some of that cruelty directed at you. This joy formed around a grain of spite. Not only does one often feel they have to be better than cis people, but when you’re still unhatched and stuck on the outside looking in, trans folks really do seem better than you. At least they know what their deal is.

I get it. I do. Because Hedwig fits me too. We all have our reasons to put on that perfectly ridiculous blonde wig and take the form of Hedwig, the Destroyer. Hedwig, the Chaotic. Hedwig, the Liar. Hedwig, the Truth. Hedwig, the Unrepentant Disaster. Hedwig, give me strength! But, it comes off. Look. It is literally a head-wig, a costume for your brain. I know sometimes you find a new wig and you really, really like it, and you become very attached and you want it to be just yours forever and ever, maybe even to the point of calling it your real hair, but… Someone else could still wear that same wig and feel just as happy as you, or maybe even happier. Maybe you’ll find a wig you like even better too. Transitioning isn’t just one and done, and Hedwigs don’t have to be forever. We do know this, don’t we?

Gender is a performance. Gender is a Hedwig. A lot of other things that you consider immutable parts of your identity are Hedwigs too. They are as real as any other social construct, but if you don’t like them or need them, you can just take them off. Sometimes it’s hard and it hurts, but I promise you can. Like Hedwig the character, or whoever that is, does. Inevitably, she must pick some new clothes, maybe new pronouns and a new name, too, but she’s not obligated to do that on camera for us. We can’t force her to say “Aha, see? This identity suited me all along!” No. We’re not entitled to know her or define her. She will be doing that for herself, later, as a whole person. What is so scary about the ending, what makes it look like a detransition instead of a synthesis, is that we insist on gendering her naked body as a male head-wig. Wouldn’t she wear something else if that wasn’t who she was? Well, maybe not. Or maybe so, but it’s her decision, not ours. Self-expression is not the Self, it just helps to define and validate the Self. Hedwigs are extremely fucking important for defining and validating the Self!

So, you know, you have to be willing to share.

[madame-mortician]

Analysing the Songs from Trap (2024)

So earlier this year the film Trap came out and a huge part of it was the concert. Saleka wrote and performed songs for the movie and I wanted to do a quick analysis on most of them, and how they relate to the themes of the overall story. Spoilers for Trap obviously.

Also a TW for mentions of Suicide and Killing.

Don’t Wanna Be Yours

A lot of the songs in this movie are very obviously representations of Cooper’s character. This song is no different. As the introductory song is sets the stage for the plot nicely with one of the reoccurring lyrics being:

“There’s no graceful way out of a death trap, babe.”

The song seems to be from Cooper’s point of view as it plays out his more playful side, foreshadowing the kind of shit he’s going to get up to. This plays before he even knows he’s in a trap, but the lyrics still hint at what he’s thinking.

“I might cause a scene.”

The middle of the song hints at Cooper’s mental state, especially by the end of the film, after he’s tried tirelessly to hide his serial killer life from his family.

“Don’t fight back, don’t ever complain

I might snap, I might restrain

All my life, I’ve been steady

I do what’s right, don’t get messy

I calm my mind and if they get me

I’m right back up again.”

By the end of the film it’s revealed Cooper has some sort of OCD, and purposefully keeps makes sure his Butcher lifestyle doesn’t overlap with his Father lifestyle. He considers it steady and if it crosses over then it will become messy. Even so, after he’s caught at the end he gets away multiple times. He always gets back up no matter what.

Now the actual chorus itself I personally believe is related to his backstory. We don’t know much about his past, except that he had an unhealthy relationship with his mother. It’s likely she was either abusive or he was obsessed with her or both. The main line of the chorus is:

“Tell me how to live in peace

I don’t wanna be yours anymore

Everything I need is in me

I don’t wanna be yours anymore.”

To me this seems like Cooper’s internal struggles with his Oedipus Complex and how he doesn’t want to be a killer but can’t stop himself. It’s heavily implied in the movie that Cooper killed his mother, which could relate to the line “I don’t wanna be yours anymore.”

Save Me

Cooper doesn’t exactly have a split-personality disorder but he definitely has two distinct lives that he likes to keep seperate. This song in the canon of the film, like all the other ones, are simply songs by Lady Raven usually about a romantic partner. Her songs use the reoccurring theme and imagery of death and insanity which is an obvious parallel to Cooper and the Butcher.

Here the chorus seems to be between Cooper’s “father” life and his “killer” life.

“Come save me from myself

He only tells me lies”

Cooper again, isn’t a good person. He is willingly and unsympathetically killing people yet it seems he doesn’t want to. It’s clear he loves his family and that’s why he chooses to balance two lives instead of just choosing one. Despite this, he can’t stop both lives from bleeding into the other. Deep down, he wants to be saved from both the hurt of lying to his family and from being a killer.

“It’s not good for my health

But I still want him”

Cooper knows he’s a bad person, and he doesn’t try to deny this. Even in his “father” lifestyle he does things that bleed into his Butcher life. He knows it’s not good for him to keep this façade up but he still chooses to. He doesn’t give up his killer side because he still wants to be the Butcher, even though he knows it’s bad.

“I want my own demise

There’s no way this goes well

I must be out my mind”

Throughout the film Cooper makes constant references to killing himself. He doesn’t seem depressed but he is most certainly mentally ill and with his aforementioned OCD and his constant need to keep his two lives separate, he ends up becoming distressed when he gets caught and both lives are ruined. He plans to off himself after killing his wife in a murder-suicide. He also tells Lady Raven that he will kill himself after one final murder. Even so, the entire film he tries multiple crazy shit to get out of his situation, inadvertently digging himself into a bigger hole, which he knows.

“Been away and I’m feeling clever

I see the games when I need to sever

Then you come my way it’s a wasted effort

No escape I’ll be here forever”

At the start of the movie Cooper catches on to the security and after getting confirmation that the police are looking for him, he decides to play a cat and mouse game with them. He seems to find it fun if not irritable sometimes, and only really at the end when he’s desperate to escape does he realise he should probably stop. The song could be referring to Lady Raven here, with how he spent so much time and effort keeping his double life a secret, but Lady Raven and her concert have wasted his effort.

Hiding

“You’re all I want my dear

Can’t breathe with this on my chest it’s getting higher

Please don’t make me confess on my desires

Maybe it’s for the best

I can’t keep hiding from myself”

I’ll be honest I only really want to analyse this song but I thought I should do more because the other songs have great stuff too.

Anyways here it’s clearly referring to Cooper and his desire to keep his lives seperate. The stress of his situation has him actually becoming worried he might get caught and it makes sense. His one motivation is to keep his two lives separate and far from each other, so with this concert forcing them to overlap it’s pissing him off. The last thing he wants is for his family to find out what he does. Even so, he himself knows he’s dig himself into a hole with only one way out and it is the healthiest option ironically. To confess and to reveal his true self. Keeping an entire half of himself secret from his loved ones was causing him to become more mentally unstable so the best thing to do is to stop desperately trying to hide himself from everybody and to show everybody his other half.

Russ’s entire rap verse (which I won’t quote because it’s long) is about daddy issues and having to take care of himself because of his absent father. I think this can work for two things. First of all it could relate to Cooper’s relationship with his mother, who he is implied to have killed. His Norman Bates-esque relationship with his late mother could be reflected with these lyrics and how Cooper was both obsessed with and hated his mother, and now he has a horrible Oedipus Complex because he’s got mommy issues. The second way the rap could work is with Cooper’s daughter Riley. She clearly has a very good relationship with her father and doesn’t suspect a thing but by the end of the film with her now knowing he’s a notorious serial killer and him being arrested, that’s gotta cause some strain on their relationship. It’s almost a guarantee that she will have major issues with Cooper if she ever even sees him again, which would work with the whole “absent father” lines from the song, albeit her father is only absent because he got caught for murder but y’know.

Release

This song as a whole I feel speaks to Cooper and Riley’s relationship. It mostly seems to relate to Cooper’s internal struggles with keeping his killer side tucked away from his loving family, and how he doesn’t want to ruin everything but at the same time he can’t hide it from them.

On the other hand, the lyrics are specifically written about a daughter and her upsetting thoughts about her shitty father. Of course at this point Riley still loves her dad and has no idea what he’s done, but by the end she’d likely be thinking things akin to what Lady Raven writes about her father. It’s pretty obvious the parallels between Lady Raven’s relationship with her father, Riley’s relationship with her father and Cooper’s relationship with his mother what the central theme of the movie is.

“Can I keep the love but release us from the pain?”

Cooper subconsciously wants to let his family know about what he does, but also knows it will tarnish their relationship.

“I won’t grieve

I won’t plead

I’ll release you from me”

By the end of the film, after his family is aware of what Cooper has done he chooses to let them go, twice. The first time he attempts to do a murder-suicide with his wife, in an attempt to get revenge for her ratting him out, but also because he thinks he needs to get rid of himself. The second attempt is when he lets the police arrest him at the end. It’s likely be escapes at the end, but whether he returns to his family again is unknown.

[livedtoserve]

Flora Lore Meta 01 - Regarding Birthright

Given that Flora in the Birthright Route of Fates is (a) not recruitable, (b) only relevant for 2 maps hey I guess that's better than CQ/Rev's 1 though! and (c) heavily shown at face value, practically coming and going after her death, I have decided to lay out Flora's activities from once the route split begins to her showdown in BR chapter 17. This is very relevant to how I portray her with TOA, and does include reference to other Fates muses. Any current muses in TOA (which only amounts to Iago, honestly) have been asked for use in this meta.

Oh, and for reference, I will refer to Birthright as BR, Conquest as CQ, and Revelations as Rev in this meta. Additionally, I refer to "Corrin" within this meta under the assumption that they are male or female (hence the default "they/them/their" pronouns).

Part 1: Route Comparisons (CQ and Rev vs. BR)

To start, I would like to quickly go over where Flora is/ends up on all 3 routes. Flora is battled in Birthright in Chapter 17, Conquest in Chapter 8, and Revelations in Chapter 12. Let's start with CQ, where she is met the earliest.

CQ CHAPTER 8 - COLD RECEPTION

Probably the most "similar" to BR thanks to the reuse in map and general matchup of Corrin vs. Flora. One obvious key difference off the back is the purpose of fighting Flora: to put down the Ice Tribe's plans of rebellion against Nohr. Along with that, Flora only serves as a mini-boss rather than chapter boss, playing more defensively with a Steel Dagger and Freeze staff. That is because the actual boss of this map is Kilma, the current Ice Tribe chief and father of Flora and Felicia!

...we never see him outside of this chapter. Don't worry about that.

When it comes to narrative, Corrin naturally resolves to clear tensions non-lethally, refusing to harm any villagers after clearing the map. Flora appears briefly in the aftermath, concerned if she can still serve her liege after threatening their life. They tell her to not worry, where Flora truly devotes her loyalty to Corrin. However, she only joins Corrin's army in their pocket dimension after Chapter 18 (likely lying low with the Ice Tribe to act like the rebellion was truly quelled).

A few highlights of information from this chapter (some possibly unrelated to the task at hand): several snippets of Felicia-exclusive dialogue seem to imply Felicia is slightly aware of their status as Nohrian hostages, yet she still seems to hesitate on finer details.

Felicia: Flora! H-How could you say such a dreadful thing? Fighting was supposed to be a last resort! Can't we talk this out? Or at least try to? Flora: Felicia, dear sister... You've always been ignorant to the ways of the Nohrians. War is the only language they understand. Side with them and you'll pay the price! (Cold Reception Pre-Battle Cutscene)

Flora: You really don't understand, do you? This goes beyond words. Don't you realize, all of our time in that castle was... I mean, it was just... Felicia: What are you saying, sister? Flora: Forget it, there's no point telling you now, after all that's happened. Let's get on with it. You may be my sister, but I won't go easy on you! (Cold Reception Felicia vs. Flora)

Additionally, this is one of two times Flora admits feeling for Jakob, the other being in their BR boss dialogue.

Flora: Jakob... In the b-beginning, I never swore my allegiance. I refused. After all, we were little more than hostages. Taken as children... All to prevent this from happening, to stop the Ice Tribe from rebelling. I often thought of running away, but I never did. I stayed...because of you... Jakob: Flora... Flora: I don't want or need your pity, Jakob! Let's finish this! (Cold Reception Jakob vs. Flora)

Her feelings toward characters can be saved for another day, but to sum up; this chapter heavily implies Flora planning to leave her maidly duties to pursue her life's true meaning in rebelling against the Nohrians that have kidnapped her.

REV CHAPTER 12 - FROZEN SEA

I won't go into as much detail here as the CQ section, partially because it feels like a heavily abridged version of her purpose in other routes. This time, she collaborates with Camilla in attempting to kill Corrin by freezing the sea they are currently traveling on. Her tribe is being threatened with death if the traitor isn't killed, similar to what will happen in BR. Also, shoutout for Flora being the boss here instead of Camilla? Maid power.

There isn't even any unique boss dialogue to go over here, and Felicia/Jakob's dialogue pre-battle is disappointingly very copy-paste of one another. Otherwise, the post-battle involves Flora holding off from joining Corrin due to needing to keep the Ice Tribe and her father (wow he gets mentioned!) from Garon. She does join later in the game just like CQ, this time joining after Chapter 22.

I wish there was more to go over here, but Flora is not immune to having to share the space of literally every other playable unit that is squished together throughout Rev.

BR CHAPTER 17 - LOST IN THE ICE

Her canon event.

I would like to be brief here, as the main meat of the meta is meant to cover how she gets to this point in the first place. Flora leads Corrin's party into the Ice Tribe village after the events of the previous chapter, in which Iago attacked the party within one of Garon's villas while Flora was conveniently present as well. While she fronts this route as a practical way to avoid the Nohrian troops stationed on the main path, Flora traps them within the village in an attempt to kill Corrin and Felicia.

The map is shared between CQ, but this one has a neat twist. While in CQ, the player races the enemies in visiting villages to prevent them from summoning reinforcements, BR has it so only the player visits villages, with most containing sneak attack reinforcements. This can be taken as the villagers being more prepared for battle compared to in CQ; able to react to Corrin's movements rather than surrendering immediately.

The boss-specific dialogue and post-battle is where Flora mainly reveals her resolve in battling. Before the fight, she claims she is acting on her own free will, only to debunk that after losing. She claims Garon himself threatened to murder her people, and she was forced to choose between them or Corrin and Felicia. She is faced with such immense guilt in failing to live up to protecting either choice, ultimately deciding to end her life.

Fun fact! If f!Corrin is chosen, Felicia joins right before Chapter 16 so that she doesn't miss the death of her sister. This also means that a player can get all of the boss dialogue in one run and does not miss out based on Corrin's gender. Unfortunately, said boss dialogue is rather generic, although this exchange with Corrin has always tickled me:

Corrin: Flora! Why are you doing this? Please! There must be a reason. Flora: I told you already. You betrayed Nohr. Now quit asking about it! Corrin: This isn’t you... Flora: You don’t even know the real me. Now it’s time for you to die! (Lost in the Ice Corrin vs. Flora)

Similar to her guilt after her CQ chapter, Flora implies that her time at the Northern Fortress was merely a front and that she never cared about living there despite being Corrin's retainer.

BR is definitely Flora's most interesting route on a story-front (slightly backed up by her appearing in Chapters 16 and 17), however there have always been loose ends for me. For one, where the hell is Kilma? He is never mentioned here, and even though Flora claims she must speak with the elders before returning with soldiers...

Corrin: Brr! Where's that warm cabin you promised, Flora? Flora: Just a minute, Lord/Lady Corrin. I need to check in with the village elders. Corrin: By all means. But please, hurry back—we're freezing out here! (Lost in the Ice Pre-Battle)

...I want to go against what the Fandom wiki states and believe this line is not referring to Kilma; Flora uses this excuse as a front to rally the villagers to battle. Where is Kilma then? Good question!

Flora also produces a heavy nationalistic front for Nohr in this chapter, though this front is easily teared away once she has failed in her mission. Why would she do this if her general aim throughout these Fates routes is to defeat Corrin and protect the Ice Tribe?

These questions and more are what I hope to answer throughout this meta. I would like to use the information provided in the other two routes to create a general narrative that explains how Flora ends up in the villa during BR - and later crossing blades with them.

Part 2: The Offscreen Narrative

To start, Flora's actions nearly parallel how CQ plays out. After Corrin departs from the Northern Fortress and ultimately makes their route choice, Flora is dismissed from the fort. She spends a small amount of time serving the Nohrian royalty until taking her chance to escape and reunite with her father in the Ice Tribe village. With all of the chaos of a new war breaking out, they agree that this is the best time to finally rebel against their oppressors and rise up against Nohr.

Only, two problems. For one, Nohr holds the clear advantage at the start of this conflict, wasting little time in sending an anti-rebellion force to the Ice Tribe, once again just like CQ. But problem 2, and unlike CQ, Corrin isn't assigned to stop the rebellion this time. The army is much more in-character, and stops at nothing to crush the last-second rebellion.

I'd like to propose that Hans leads this force. His appearances in BR are rather back-loaded, only showing up in Chapter 13 and 24, so whatever he gets up to in early game is up for grabs. In a sense, his purpose here can be similar to what Garon did to Corrin in CQ: seeing the Ice Tribe uprising as a simple obstacle to throw a pawn at to prove their loyalty. Plus, CQ loved to show how Hans handles stopping a rebellion in Cheve...

Either way, the Ice Tribe stands no chance against a Nohrian army that lacks mercy. It likely plays out much like the aftermath of CQ Cheve, where even innocents are not spared from their wrath. It takes until the tribe leader and her daughter are captured for the needless killing to end, and both are taken to Garon at Castle Krakenburg. They are kept prisoner there for some time, holding back from being murdered due to Flora's previous relations to Corrin. An asset that he can manipulate and get use from.

Eventually, after Corrin begins to swing the war in their favor, he comes up with a plan. A plan that requires the help of Iago...as well as Flora.

Flora is released from captivity and promised that the Ice Tribe will be spared on one condition: she collects the heads of Corrin and Felicia, her twin that has recently left and is now also branded traitor. Even when considering the lives of her sister and the prince/princess she has raised for many years, Flora cracks and chooses to save the lives of the people she has always expected to lead. While she prefers this execution to be silent and brief, Iago has a more dramatic and fun idea.

He takes her to Palace Macarath, one of Garon's vacation villas. The Nohrian troops are purposefully decreased within the building, with the idea being that Flora ends up running into the Hoshidan army, who sneak in with a false sense of security. Prince Takumi turning ill is only a boon, allowing Flora to heal him and look more innocent before an inevitable betrayal.

Flora would not be alone, though, as Iago arrives on the scene shortly afterwards. He gleefully plants doubt in Corrin's mind while putting on a grand show with Flora. The maid acts as a neutral party, only to be slapped down three times by fire magic. A theatrical they planned in advance, yes. Though the choice of fire certainly stings.

Once defeated, Iago continues to grow those seeds of doubt before departing and setting up Flora to do the rest. When Corrin even mentions the potential of a traitor in their party, Flora ignores the comment. Likely just because she is quick to care for the sick Takumi, but it is a rather chilling word to wake to, one that falls perfectly in line with her own future actions.

The rest of the events play out similar enough to what is shown in-game. Flora offers the Hoshidan army refuge within her tribe's village, only to turn on them and desperately kill her closest allies and win back favor with King Garon. Afraid of finding out her fate after failure, Flora decides to take the lethal way out, preventing her father, Corrin, Felicia, or anyone else from being disappointed by her.

-

Now that we are finished with the timeline, I would like to answer and discuss some specific details. For one, the giant elephant missing father in the room. He was captured after the failed rebellion, yes, but what about his fate afterward? In Flora's mind, when Garon threatened the state of the entire Ice Tribe, that included her father as well. So when she decides to follow Garon's command, she is doing so to protect the village and her father. And when she ends up failing?

Garon no longer has need for Kilma. You can make of that what you will.

Furthermore, it would be strange for Garon and Iago to rely entirely on Flora to take out Corrin's army, even if the move is moreso emotional manipulation against Corrin. Flora, just like her initial forced recruitment as a maid, is merely a pawn in Garon's eyes, an additional piece that can be moved only for the sake of moving.

As for Iago, BR as a whole has Iago playing a lot more defensively, especially so once Corrin marches into Nohrian territory. Even if the plan of sending Flora against the army isn't an ideal or optimal one, Iago sees it as a dispensable plan, one to stall for time while he comes up with a more sound strategy. Hence his future preparations to trap Corrin in Fort Dragonfall and the final attempts to stop them.

Lastly, regarding Flora's contradicting nationalism during her boss fight...to me, I imagine her speaking these as the empty words they are. She is not fighting for Nohr, she still sees this more as fighting for survival. In the case that Nohrian eyes are still on Flora, however, she must act faithful until the very end. Anything for her people.

Conclusion/Timeline

To conclude this (very) long meta, I would like to provide a simpler, bullet-pointed list to outline what Flora does between her departure from the Northern Fortress and her defeat at the Ice Tribe Village in BR.

After Corrin leaves the Northern Fortress, the servants are dismissed from the location and sent to other areas within Nohr. As a trusted maid, I imagine that Flora is sent to Castle Krakenburg along with Felicia/Jakob to serve the royal family.

Flora bides her time while serving the Nohrian princes/princesses, eventually capitalizing on the confusion thanks to Corrin's betrayal to escape and return to her father in the Ice Tribe Village.

Garon is already aware of the Ice Tribe planning rebellion, and learning of Flora's departure is the last straw. Hans is sent to quell the rebellion, a task meant to prove his loyalty to Nohr.

Hans and his forces squash the rebellion army easily, going beyond and slaughtering innocents before they finally surrender with the capture of Kilma and his daughter.

Flora and Kilma are imprisoned in Castle Krakenburg for a while, until Flora is brought out with a deal: deliver the heads of Corrin and Felicia or else her entire village falls. Flora puts her people above her liege and twin sister.

Together with Iago, Flora sets up a scheme of betrayal where she will meet with the Hoshidan army within Palace Macarath and act as an ally to lure them into her village.

Flora fails and melts down from the surrounding pressure.

I hope this meta serves well in illustrating Flora's actions throughout Fates' Birthright route and explain why she feels the way she does toward her allies/foes on a general level.

[sterlingarcher23]

All for ONE and ONE for all

The lie of One... "It's never true"

The Musketeer chocolate bar clue is about the Musketeer's motto "All for One and One for all" - similar to the dialogs esp in S4, this chiasmus works in a similar way by referring AND containing several Ones or better: two of them. Like in Eleven.

All for ONE/1 and ONE/1 for all = 11

But it makes a distinction between the two Ones, they are separat but connected. Sounds familiar?

Brenner’s dialog initially refers to Henry/Edward as One but through Owens we also know that El is One.

- "I'm thinking...you are One of the good Ones."

Looking at Brenner’s "If you want to stop One" and compare it with the exchange between El and Owens ("Stop him - her") about Max it is clear that Max is also One although mirrored to Henry/Edward.

Max is part of the NINA project scenes even though she isn't visible there. Ruth has a population of 371 according to a 2020 census. And the letters are the initials of Running up that hill which is incidentally connecting El and Max. Ob, and NINA isn't just the name of a opera but also the name of the main character in Black Swan that shows signs of DID and makes out with her alter personality (more in an upcoming post).

Mirrors explained:

Like a shot of the Russian scientists on the left side looking to the right and the Americans standing on the right side looking to the left. (Don't have the pictures) Saying: they are similar but on the opposite side of the ideological spectrum.

Note that many scenes in Stranger Things are NOT parallels but mirrored shots and therefore meaning swaps. There are definitely similarities but also huge differences. Parallels can be mirrors but not all mirrors are parallels so to speak but the opposite. (As someone said once that Lumax and Mileven parallel each other in the opposite way. Yeah, that's a mirror.)

Just take look at of these this moment as an example for mirroring shots. With Brenner and Owens on the opposite side (which is also connected to Henry's and Max's dialogs down below) or in the scene with Kali, just with Max now in El's place on the opposite side of the frame.

Those are clearly mirrored shots. And there are literal mirrors used in a mirrored way as some pointed out - the problem comes with the way they are meant. In case of Kali, Max, El it is a positive association.

Semantics

Very similar to these scenes and the semantic differences that are screaming it into your face or to say it with the Master:

The first lines are more complex: He is blaming the world, while she defends her father.

The next one is interesting: A lie is deceptive, it's intentional falsehood. Things can be "Untrue" can be mistakes, errors, a misunderstanding but are not necessarily a lie.

And of course the "I", refering to One and egoism, while the "We" refers to two (Ones) and co-working/a team.

That's why One's dialog refers to "could" as a hypothetical and Max's "We"/Ones is definite. Egoism is doomed to fail, a team effort wins.

"Henry"/Edward is One =I = 001

Max is One. El is One. 1 & 1 =We = 011

And I think even V refers to Max as One in a line?

There are at least three Ones in this Game:

Visuals

One and One & One

And Max is actually wearing the number in question on her sleeves. Two white lines: II as in 0II or Eleven.

Or, just take a look at these images. One casts a long shadow, the other a mirror image with a walkie talkie nearby. The shadow is Vecna/Edward and the mirror image is El.

Thanks, Belloq.

In the newest game we have an artwork depicting "El" in a similar fashion.

Note that her mirror image has a split face and Max's mirror in the gym's floor is also "split" and since these two are shown having mirroring images, that connects these two Ones like their couple accessories of the blue hair tie and yellow watch.

Trophies

The trophy and first price isn't a reference to "One" as in "Henry" but to Max.

The Trophy shows a female character with wings, such as in "A wrinkle in time" Mrs Whatsit transforms into a centaur a horse like being with wings.

"A star that sacrificed itself to fight evil that became an astral traveler" - the writers even point to said character in their tweets.

- What

- Sit (writers)

- is that a command or a clue

- 🕵️‍♂️

What...sit

(the horse appears in the painting, Lucas who is actually a ranger on it, and in El's room is a unicorn too. As in One)

A winged female, a horse with the color coding of the blue hair tie and yellow watch. The victory can be achieved with the help of this winged being... Max. And El since she needs to fly. With Max.

El is One & Max is One = 11.

All for one and one for all.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Brothers & Batchmates [Part 1]

Warnings and Information: Made a real mess for myself in the NTMYB narrative by giving one Jedi command of both a battalion and a legion, which just goes to show I didn’t plan this far in advance from the beginning when what was meant to be a one-off has become a Whole Thing. (Ah well. You live and you learn who the hell’s in charge here. This is me fixing my mess and fleshing out the story.) I missed writing about my boys. Reference and allusion to canon-typical violence and war crimes. Reference and allusion to death, injury and loss. More takes on Clone culture. Still no use of Mando’a here. Star Wars and real-world swearing. The usual use of narrative and stylistic italics. Clone OC Scuffle is his own damn warning (perhaps just for this installment as a whole). *Use of a character’s deadname. Reference to the transgender Clone named Sister. Like her Clone OCs, the author can’t stop making up fake birds.  *Jedi OC Caelen is genderfluid, and while any pronouns are applicable, they/them is primarily used in the story for clarity. Caelen’s deadname is brought up ONCE in an establishing flashback, as a warning, to those who are sensitive to such things. (I want it to be very clear it is not done with disrespect, however.)

Word-count: 6,272

The combined unit eyes the three-dimensional map with bated breath. They were warned this morning that the commander and captain needed to conduct a last-minute mission to move against the Separatist forces - an opportunity to deal a critical blow - but they could not take the entire combined company. There is a chance many brothers will have to be apart, a very long twenty-four hours for some. 

All Clones are brothers of course, though batchmates are most often the closest of all brotherly bonds. And for those who have been adopted into these batch-bonds, the potential to be split apart proves more stressful. 

But duty takes precedence over such feelings. 

Their commanding officers are apologizing before they even make their verdicts, who will be going with the commander, and who will be staying with the captain. "We're sorry for what's to come; we never want to split our forces unless necessary of course after growing used to this… unusual arrangement. However, Captain Law and I have agreed this could make the difference between an early victory or a crushing defeat in this sector of Republic space." Hundreds of brothers reply that they understand in the affirmative, however begrudgingly for some, and however anxiously for others. 

"Commander Juke will take volunteers first, and if necessary following that point, we'll select and recruit additional troops into the task force." Captain Law further explains, switching the holonav off for the time being. 

One soldier steps forward out of the lineup, picture of perfection in formation position with his helmet carried in the crook of his arm. There is a jagged notch cut out of his right ear that makes him stand out. This is Nockite, one of the oldest brothers in the combined forces under a singular Jedi’s command. 

"I will go." Nockite’s simple pledge is an unwavering oath, and the first break in the ice of hesitation for many of his other brothers. If Nockite will go, many who look to his example will follow.

He's thanked for volunteering himself, but Commander Juke doesn't need them right away. The only timeframe they are supplied with is “soon enough”. Juke says he is only telling his brothers now to give time to think it over so the call doesn't come as a complete surprise. Where he can avoid it, it is not in the commander's nature to create rude awakenings for the men, whether they be from his battalion, or Law’s legion. He’s proved he cares about preventing the decay of overall morale on many occasions before.

They’ve taken many blows as it is, these brothers. 

The death of General Kalsamm. 

Many of these last planets, festering with CIS battle droids, have proven for staggering losses of life in the name of tentative victories. 

Knowing that though they’ve proven capable thus far, one singular Force-wielder cannot maintain the command of a legion and their late master’s battalion on their own forever; the arrangement brothers have grown used to will eventually come to an end…

Fortunately this dividing line - when that time comes - will not have too great an impact on a group of Clones who admittedly have grown very dependent on one another, in one sense or the other. Canvas, the baby brother of one batch, now adopted into the fold of another, would have been utterly inconsolable if he had been separated from the one brother who’d come to mean the galaxy to him. And Scruffy, equally attached in his own fashion to not just Canvas, but his batchmates Stick and Cypher and twins Carver and Cairn too, would not be capable of taking such orders without challenge. Join the ranks of the battalion without his chosen brothers? Remain in the legion without the brother who spent the most time ensuring he did not die a rookie?

Sat together, not far from where the COs had made this announcement, Scruffy and his brothers consider if they should volunteer to go to assure they don't become fragmented. Do they just say nothing and hope enough brothers will volunteer themselves? Commander Juke is taking a relatively "small" response force for this opportunity, maybe only fifty or so brothers, so surely these slots would fill fast between the legion and the battalion, right? 

The more they all sit and think about it, the more one of them grows nervous about particular possibilities. "Maybe we… should? If we tell the Captain we volunteer to go together then we won't be split up." 

"Is that what you wanna do, Vas?" Scruffy asks, carefully picking leaf after leaf from Canvas’s tight curls of hair. He’d fallen in a patch of bluefern this morning, chasing after a Seppie probe droid. Damn thing nearly got away too, had the Clone with five scuff marks on his chest plate not recklessly thrown himself forward in hopes of catching the thing by one of its many thin appendages and succeeded. 

Lost his helmet in the process, but Canvas looked so damn proud of himself for slowing the recon unit down just long enough for a marksman to turn the droid into scrap-metal. Captain Law had been proud too, once he had talked himself out of lecturing his brother on account of the recklessness. 

"I think so. While it's not that I don't like the look of the situation, I don- can't lose my brothers…" Canvas replies, screwing his eyes shut in his admittance. "I just can't." Out of all his fears - and there are many - the thought of losing his brothers paralyzes him. Battle droids don't frighten the Clone who bears the marks of his dead batchmates like they once had, save perhaps BX commando droids and for every good reason. 

On more than one occasion since being accepted into Scruffy's fold, Canvas has woken up in a bundle of emotionally shattered nerves with hot, thick tears trailing down his face after waking from a dream about losing his batchmates, and then his closest brothers; leaving him all alone. Sometimes the worry stone that sits in his utility belt helps. Other times it's nothing more than whittled wood that has become smoothed through repeated use. 

Cypher looks up from his datapad at long last, breaking away from studying his page on a specimen of carnivorous invertebrates. "Should we ask the Commander before you change your mind?" 

Canvas scuffs the dirt before him with the toe of his boot, taking a moment to ponder. Should they? What if the others didn't want to go? The twins hadn't said anything since Commander Juke and the captain informed them of the plan. 

"Cairn? Carver? What do you think; do you want to do it?" 

"I'm still considering it." Carver admits in a grumble through gritted teeth. Someone has his vibroknife for the time being, and he's been somewhat unhappy without it. He’s always thought best with his hands occupied. His twin, Cairn, on the other hand has his mind made up. 

"I'd go. I'd love to lay waste to a couple of clankers. Tear 'em limb from limb!" 

"Cairn, you worry me." Scruffy's batchmate Stick says plainly, grimacing in concern after sharing a glance as the oldest and next oldest. Yeah, this is normal for him, welcome to my galaxy little brother. "And you too, Carver. You're not usually so… moody." Stick adds with a shrugging gesture. 

"I can't think when I don't have my knife on me." Carver reminds him. 

"That is kriffing terrifying, thank you." Stick replies hurriedly, no longer grimacing, but actively recoiling from the grumpy brother beside him. "I wasn't aware the knife was quite that important."

"It's part of his identity. How he got his Name." Scruffy explains, fishing out a folding blade that's part of his batch-brother's kit after Cypher says he's welcome to take it and use it for the time being ("I needed to collect some cuttings the last time I used it; just… don't get anything on your armor.") apologizing for the purple sap stuck to the edge of the blade. "Back before Canvas had his name, he added Faro, Gunnar, Cryfar and Fluke's scuff marks into his armor after Fluke died. Took him about an hour to do it with nothing but the rough edge of a rock. Carver found an old vibroknife somewhere, and dug a couple of designs into his helmet after watching what Canvas had done. You can guess the rest from there." 

Stick plucks up the whittler’s helmet to examine it for himself at Carver’s invitation when admitting he’s never noticed the designs before. Simplistic renditions of marching bantha and the twin suns of Tatooine. “Heh. Reminds me of the day the captain was talking about naming us Bantha Company, for a while. Not half bad at all, Carver.”

Having honed his skills as quickly as he has, Carver often hates much of his early work; there are at least four known exceptions. His worry stones, the General’s Mudhorn, Canvas’s whittled bird’s nest, and now the helmet carvings. “Thanks. Think that’s what I had on my mind that day as well. Some day, I want to add a great, big old Mudhorn on the other side, now that we’re the Mudhorn Company.” Yeah, maybe he’ll look like a kiss-ass by adding the captain and Jedi’s favorite creatures to his helmet, but so what? (He’d have to add Commander Juke’s favorite creature - a scarab - to really sell the idea anyways.)

“Could paint one for you,” Scruffy offers before reminding him he needs to start thinking on his decision since getting him the temporarily-loaned knife to think, “but you’re not allowed to blow me up in order to make that happen.”

“Don’t worry. Was considering breaking my favorite arm instead.” Carver promises, continuing the gallows humor a moment longer, “Or provoking stone-stacker to.” A small pebble glances off his thigh armor with a sharp tok! in response from Cairn; something Scruffy quickly puts an end to before the behavior escalates, as it often does. 

“Cut it out,” he warns in a paternal tone, confiscating the next pebble from the palm of his brother’s hand, “now’s not the time.” Carver is fixed with a firm look next, one disapproving and unimpressed. “You know he doesn't like that nickname. Let's not have another fight if he's going to come along and you stay behind.” This will be all Scruffy needs to add to make his point to each brother out of the twins before returning to picking out the tiny bits of powder blue foliage from Canvas’ hair. 

“Hold on a second,” the researcher among them requests as he remembers something, reaching for Cairn's right hand which he had recently injured, “I’m not certain you should join the task force with a healing tendon injury.” 

They're unable to recall what he'd done to sprain one of the major tendons in his hand and wrist, and with no great way to treat it out here in the field other than pain-killing stims and compression wraps, Cairn had been given certain restrictions in how much he could safely lift. 

“Oh shit- ow!” Cairn mumbles as Cypher experimentally rolls and prods Cairn’s wrist, and finds it responds less than favorably even now, “I'd already forgotten about that. Maaaaaybe I should reconsider…” 

The brothers and batchmates have made up their minds, now that they're certain Cairn has come to his final decision. Carver and Cairn will be staying behind, and Canvas, Scruffy, Stick and Cypher will be volunteering to join the ranks of the task force. There are precautionary goodbyes, just to be safe. With few specifics given, there’s no telling what is in store for these brothers, what they’ll face in the line of duty. 

That reality is concerning, but it’s what they were made for. That’s how they serve the Republic. 

"Captain Law, we'd-" Canvas begins to volunteer himself and his brothers, but the C.O. holds his hand out, flat palm and splayed fingers, to halt him. 

The scarred brow belonging to his superior officer furrows harshly. "Actually, Canvas…" Captain Law looks to Commander Juke for a moment, for confirmation, and the furrow deepens when all Juke offers is that solemn nod. The decision is final. “I’m… I’m afraid you can’t go.”

Getting hit with the stun setting from their DC-15s when doing training drills with the Carbines hurt less than this, worse than the total-body paralysis that follows after the tsunami of numbness. What does his captain mean he can’t go?

Risking wrath or reprimand, he challenges the call. “But, sir, I-” His mind races, but he tries not to give into the rising panic. “Why can’t I go? I want to go.” What reason does his brother, his captain, have for retaining him? He’s a willing and able soldier, according to his last evaluation. Does the captain know differently?

“Sir, Vas hasn’t been talked into this by any of us, he’s more nervous about staying than going if this is about his anxieties.” Scruffy steps in to not only defend Canvas’ claims, but of course to support his brother. “Honest, he wants to go.”

“This isn’t about his anxiety-” Captain Law begins insistently at risk of being interrupted, “- this is about other things, boys. The rest of you may go, but Canvas needs to stay behind.”

Before Canvas can get in a word about talking to the captain in private for a moment, Scruffy turns his voice steely and defiant, and that’s unlike him. 

“Then I’m not going either.” 

“Son, mind your tone.” The commander’s warning to Scruffy is more out of habit than true distaste for how his brother is conducting himself right now. He understands the how and the why of the behavior, fully prepared for this. “Let’s not be so hasty. There’s still time to deci-”

“Respectfully, there’s nothing to decide, Commander Juke.”

No, that’s definitely enough now, Canvas decides. “Scruffy… can I have a minute to speak to the captain, alone?”

If he can speak with Captain Law, one on one, maybe he can make more sense of this decision. Maybe he can sway the mind of his immediate commanding officer, and together they can have a discussion with the commander about his participation in the task force. Then he still gets to go. He still gets to prove himself a capable, competent soldier for all of his set-backs and faults, and his older brother won’t get himself in trouble with their even older brothers. 

Canvas feels confident that this discussion could reverse the captain’s decision, if he just has the chance to speak without Scruffy interjecting on his behalf. And though Captain Law agrees to humor him, suggesting they speak a short ways off from everyone else, the pained expression on his face does not bode well.

“I’m sorry, brother… I know you’re hoping to convince me, but I’m afraid the decision was not mine to make in the end…” Captain Law begins, hoping to ply Canvas with apology and reasoning as he reaches forward and takes the younger by their shoulders. “I wanted you to go, too, little brother. I truly did.”

He is not going to cry like a child who didn't get his way. He is a grown man, a soldier. He knew this was a risk from the moment he was old enough to partake in the tests and the training on their motherworld that he would either lose his brothers, or be separated from them, at some point in this war they would be fighting. Every damn one of them knows this. 

I was created to march a war that had not yet started. I was created to serve, to fight valiantly and loyally. I was created with my brothers, and I will lose many of them in this war. If… when… I lose them, all I will have to remember them by is a cut scrap of their body glove. No helmets. Only my memory and their smell in my nose. 

Canvas has the scraps of their black bodysuits all Clones wear under the plastoid armor that once belonged to his batchmates - Faro, Gunnar, Cryfar, Fluke - though unfortunately, they no longer smell like his brothers. 

Captain Law has apologized again and again for what he's had to do. Commander Juke has taken him aside and tried to say something to him too, but the reaction remains the same. 

"Please just try to stay safe." If he speaks anything beyond these six words, Canvas knows how it will end. How his resolve will crumble. How he will accuse his commanding officers of singling him out, babying him like a cadet and lying about it. Abandon the logical understanding of why he has to remain behind with the Captain and why Scruffy, Stick and Cypher are going to be a part of the task force. 

And the General from a planet called Little Archossi… they haven't liked the arrangement either, but the Force-wielder has given full control of this strategized attack to their officers. When they come and speak to Canvas themselves, using the affectionate terminology of their culture and homeworld, they are very, very careful not to sound as though they mean to infantilize anyone.

"Young one, I heard you won't be going with your brothers. I am surprised to see you look so calm."

Canvas can only lift his shoulders stiffly before they are quickly dropped. He doesn't know what he should say to that. He certainly doesn't feel calm, and the Jedi Knight can probably sense that. "Captain Law explained why I'm staying behind, why my brothers have been asked to go. I know what's been asked of me, General." His statement makes the gray-skinned General frown sharply, and he worries he's made it sound like he's waving off sympathetic efforts. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be… like that." 

"It is only understandable, young Canvas, to feel as you do. To understand that your task keeps you here while your brothers will walk another path with trust and acceptance speaks to your training." A calloused hand is laid on his shoulder for a moment, an expression of comfort and compassion. There is understanding when the General speaks next, but also some pride. "And to understand that while you are perhaps very upset about this, you still conduct yourself in spite of your feelings in a way that speaks to your maturity. You prove time and time again that you understand your duty to the Republic without forgetting these are your brothers." 

"I don't always feel very mature, General." Canvas admits gently, shamefully. He can't decide if the admittance is supposed to be bitter, or regretful, or full of remorse and disappointment instead. His feelings are too much of a tumultuous tailspin to make sense of everything on his own. What would the General sense from him? "I'm not like the others…" 

They seem taken aback, short of balking in surprise, starmelt yellow eyes blinking rapidly. 

"No, in a sense you are not. But whatever do you mean, little one?" 

It's too much to explain. Canvas isn't sure where he should start, if he did. Did he tell his General that now that he's been away from Kamino for a while, he suspects one of the Trainers there of abusing the soldiers? Would it be a good idea to tell them that he doesn't always think he's fit to be a soldier; there's some "minor" defect or a mishap with the equipment during his development that explains why he has a perpetual undercurrent of anxiety beyond the pale for someone in wartime? Does he explain that more recently, he dreams he's… decommissioned? Or reconditioned if he's lucky? 

"... nevermind, General. It'd take too long to explain."

"I see, then... perhaps another time. I would like to understand what it is that troubles you."

Canvas thinks on it, seeing no real harm in the General knowing, but ultimately he decides against what he initially had to say. "Perhaps another time would be better to talk about that, yes… but I did have a question about something else. Something I just want a little clarification on, if it's okay." 

The Force-wielder blinks curiously. "What would you like me to clarify, young Canvas?" For a moment, they must believe it's another case of confusion regarding the gender-presentation of the temporarily combined unit's leader. The matter of gender fluidity wasn't a completely rocky concept for their men to navigate like it has been elsewhere in the galaxy, remembering how their first days of command played out.

“You look troubled, my friend. Come.” Master Kalsamm tells them privately, ushering his former pupil into one of the battered command tents. 

There in the sparse shade, the Togruta can find the thin cloths they’ve used before to soak in water, where they then apply it to the sun-flushed skin of the other. Coming from a small world where much of the people are nocturnal, his pada- former padawan does not have certain adaptive traits that protect them well from the light of the sun. Ideally, tolerance to ultraviolet rays would have continued to build over time, but with the state of the war, his former padawan had grown somewhat impatient, and believed the time had come to brute force it instead.

It will be the physical trial I will willingly bear if it means I am able to protect the peace of the innocents of this galaxy before it is too late, Masters. 

His heart pangs, knowing that though they have tried to hide it, these developing sunburns are among the worst his student has suffered. “You’re in great pain today, my friend. Pulling away every time I put down another cloth, shielding your thoughts from me… Are you regretting your decision?” Kalsamm has always had such a trusting bond with his student, very rarely does the other find thoughts have been concealed from the greater current of the Force. 

“I’m sorry, Master Kalsamm. There’s just a lot on my mind. Feel like an overwhelmed padawan again with everything I feel I must remember.” the newly-appointed Jedi Knight admits as their teacher lays another cooling rag to burning skin, doing their utmost to remain still this time. “I do not regret my decision.”

The 302nd Legion of the GAR is mine to command. A Clone captain named Law who offered to find me a new name today after one of the few conversations they had together so far.

“We know you introduced yourself to us as General Caelum, but is there a name you'd prefer to that? Or a name we could… give you? Like we give our brothers?"

They blink in confusion, unfettered curiosity. Scarcely met their commanding officer, explained that though they were born with the body of a boy, they are not limited to this ‘singular capacity of self’. When explaining ‘he is sometimes she is sometimes he’ only a short time ago, already, the one who called himself Law has shown more understanding than people they've spent significantly more time with. 

“You don't seem confused, Captain Law. I am… surprised.” 

Law was only newly promoted, unused to the change in rank, then. It's him who balks next. “Well, um, I don't see why it's something to be confused about. It's not my identity to question, only to respect, General.” 

Indeed… didn't Master Kalsamm try explaining before that the Clones were engineered with things like obedience and respect for command in mind, given that the Kaminoans view them as… property? How heartbreaking. 

If only I could let others feel what I do - that unique sound in the Force every lifeform takes, like a fingerprint. Captain Law: he is a beating heart, keeping time with the slow but relentless surf. 

“Speaking with experience, young one?” they ask habitually. Most Clones haven't gotten used to the cultural quirk. Some hate it. Some don't care for it, nothing more. Others still, after buffeting the initial confusion, love it. 

Captain Law does not indicate disdain for it. 

“Young one's definitely applicable here because she's a couple of Growth Cycles older than me, I imagine, but… Yes.” Captain Law answers with a knowing chuckle and affirmative nod. “Yes, there's a Clone among us who was named Sister, by other brothers. So she knows she belongs.” 

A new name can be thought up by the legion, so the General knows that they belong, too… If that's what they want.

Whether it is shouted across the battlefield in a rally cry, or whispered out of fear when the night is darkest, or spoken with naught but reverence, hearing their new name, given to them by their brave men, sparks a little more love for it with each passing day. 

"Are Jedi forbidden to love, General Caelen?" 

Caelen smiles gently, fondly. Firstly because of the use of the gifted name, followed shortly after by the surging feeling of interest and wonder. They cannot promise the best explanation, only their best effort to give it. "We are not. Love is only natural. It takes too many forms to make it forbidden, too. Compassion and empathy are siblings to the greater concept of love. To live is to love something, someone, not just other than yourself, but along with yourself. It is attachment that is… discouraged. Yet, attachment is only too natural. Jedi are not forbidden from loving, or to love. Common misconception." A gentle and curious 'why do you ask?' remains unspoken for now.

Canvas chews his bottom lip in thought for a moment, one of his hands grazing a scuff mark that mars his armor kit. "I see… Thank you, General Caelen. I was just curious. It's… something I've been wondering about." 

"It was something Gunnar wondered." General Caelen deduces, recalling which of Canvas's batchmates that scuff mark once belonged to prior to him adopting it. "And something rooted up the memory within you, recently." 

Canvas does not, or perhaps cannot elaborate at the time, instead only capable of nodding. Glancing towards the heavens, he studies the Jedi cruiser where it sits just out of reach of the planet’s gravitational pull. 

The Harmonious. This ship was at one point under General Kalsamm’s command; but with Kalsamm’s untimely demise (which General Caelen emphasizes was a test meant for them, by the Force), it has been turned over to Caelen’s command instead. Same as the battalion, for the time being.

Ironic that he spent two weeks growing increasingly paranoid out of his mind on the Harmonious, after what happened to Scruffy, honestly. If the Force is capable of doing things like providing tests to (for?) the ones who can harness the many gifts and abilities within it, is it capable of having a sense of humor as well? (Albeit, a twisted one?)

“I still think of your batchmates, young Canvas,” Caelen shatters the otherwise contemplative silence that has elapsed between themself and their soldier, “though perhaps not as often as you, granted. While they were courageous men I had the honor to fight alongside, for a time, they were so much more to you.” Caelen omits the word only here, refusing to boil down any part of that memory where it is not necessary (like discussing matters regarding the Clones with the long-necks, whose discussions must reluctantly be carried out in terms of property and product for the duration of). 

“I sensed at one point you were deeply ashamed, or perhaps embarrassed by how much Gunnar once disliked me. Perhaps… even hated me, for one particular moment.” General Caelen admits. 

‘We’re their cannon fodder, they don’t care about us. Throw enough brothers at the problem until it goes away and then don’t so much as mourn us.’

Canvas can do little but wince when the words come back to him. Those bitter, stinging words said in a moment of great frustration after five long, grueling days of trying to brute-force their way into a Separatist outpost. So many brothers had been hurt, or picked off by enemy fire. The respective medics of the legion and the battalion had sacrificed so much of their sleep, their sanity, tending to the wounded and the dying in vain hopes of helping them limp along until the next volley, the next thermal detonator, the next anything. He still remembers the way Gunnar’s face fell just a fraction, chipping that shell of stoicism, when the brother’s body suddenly went limp almost the moment the medic, Rid (short for Riddance), took over. 

“You didn’t deserve what he said about you, General…”

“It’s okay, young one. I harbor no hurt in my heart for your brother’s words.” General Caelen assures Canvas, “Grief takes many forms. For Gunnar, it was anger. For Faro, it was protectiveness, was it not?”

Maybe it was. It felt more like it was more a matter of having an impatient, second shadow, honestly. 

Keep up. Don’t fall behind. Yes, it’s not fun to lug a 4.15kg gun, but that’s no excuse to leave it laying around. 

If something happened to you… I’d never forgive myself.

“I guess.” Canvas admits with a shrug. “I’m sure what you saw of Faro was… different, General.”

The Jedi from Little Archossi bobs their head, the movement slow. “He was always so reserved. But, I never once questioned for a moment how much he cared about the larger cause when he did not devote his time to your batch.” The General pauses here for a moment, offering a wistful, but reflective expression to accompany the smile. “While the Force could not tell me everything in the times I meditated for answers, answers I sought trying to meet the needs of my men while aiding my former teacher in his assignments, it told me enough. Faro would have sooner deserted the GAR than bury another batchmate were it not for the guilt of abandoning all his other brothers just to save you and Fluke, on the days his grief was strongest.”

Short of accusing the Force-wielder of lying, Canvas challenges that claim. “I don't know if I believe that… that doesn't sound like something Faro would do.” The notion is disturbing to him, immediately speaking. Desert the GAR? Discard his sense of loyalty and honor for something so… so selfish and self-serving? All because of grief? 

He can't imagine that of Faro, he tells the general. He doesn't want to. 

“No… of course. I'm sorry for upsetting you to suggest such a thing.” General Caelen apologizes in earnest. “I was wrong to do so. Forgive me, for any malice.”

A solitary trill sounds from their respective comm devices, a warning. It’ll be time for the task force to depart ten minutes from now. Canvas won’t have the time to finish, maybe even amend, the conversation with General Caelen and see Scruffy before he has to leave like his brother asked. So it’s time to smooth the ice, “I should go see Scruffy like I promised; but General, before I go… Please don’t be so hard on yourself, just as you encourage us. I know what you said wasn’t meant in malice. I swear it.”

The Force-wielder born on a strange little planet before spending many years in the Jedi Temple to hone their connection to the great galactic tapestry sacrificed not complete connection to, but rather a full immersion in the culture of their home planet. The Chossi conduct themselves in a clan-like structure, placing great importance in paying penances for their acts or words of malice, if they do not feel it is deserved or justified. 

Fact of the matter is that Caelen sees their unit of troops as a clan on a symbolic level; to say I swear it acknowledges the process of offering penance has started, but will not be necessary. 

And so Caelen returns the acknowledgement. “So you swear it. Thank you, young Canvas.” 

He has been dismissed, so he wastes no more time, calling “May the Force be with you, General!” as clearly as he can before breaking into a run; knowing where he will need to go in order to find Scruffy is some way off, and he needs to hurry if he wants to get there with time to spare. 

“Ouch!” “Ow!"

They'll likely bruise one another's brains with the force their buckets have knocked against each other, given how Canvas didn't slow down in the slightest as he was bottoming-out the small hill he had just run down to get here. The stars in the fuzziest edge of his vision are only just beginning to clear, fire in his lungs sputtering out. 

He doesn't let a little thing like the fretful way Scruffy gives his helmet a once-over for any chipping (the same way a young nat-born’s mother inspects a scraped knee, minus the cooing and fussing) give him any pause in what he has to say. 

"You gotta promise me to come back." 

Scruffy looks at his little brother from the same Growth Cycle, a different Batch, with nothing but deep, emotional pain and hurt. "Canvas you… you know I can't. You know what Commander Juke says about those kinds of promises." 

The desperation in him does not care. Not right now. "Yeah-yeah-yeah the poetic kark he read somewhere, but please -" Strong arms throw themselves around him, and helmets knock against one another a second time as Scruffy initiates one of those hugs he's become famous in the combined unit for. Hugs where he pulls you in close with one arm, cupping the back of your head, reminiscent of how one holds an infant's head when they're adorably too young and floppy to support the weight of it themselves. 

War has not stolen all Scruffy's warmth and tenderness, his love for his brothers. It has not made him bitter. It has changed him; chewed him up in its cruelty and jagged edges and spit him out with little regard for how softly he will land… but Scruffy has not lost his spirit in spite of all that. 

Nor his patience. "I will do my best, Canvas, okay?" Scruffy pulls Canvas tighter, if possible, and he hopes Vas can’t hear the heavy swallow in his throat. It may prove difficult, but he’d rather not cry if it can be helped. With a clearer head, the shame has hit him that he was so… oppositional with his commanding officers. Defiant. He should be punished for daring to be so- so insubordinate! He’s never given them problems before, why did he have to start now?

“Maker, I should be in so much more trouble for talking back to Commander Juke like that…” 

Canvas hums thoughtfully, not quite in agreement, while pushing back from Scruffy. Let me go, please, it asks. He’ll feel constricted before long if Scruff had his way in this state. He agreed to stay on the task force only because the time to depart was getting down to the wire, and no other brothers had volunteered themselves. He’s there, admittedly if only to make it less of a hassle for Commander Juke, and to keep the peace. 

“I don’t know. Maybe the commander will let it go…” It seemed plausible, to Canvas. At least in the moment. “You do a good job of hiding it, but you tend to take things pretty hard when you feel you’ve messed up ever since the… well, the tripwire. You’ll punish yourself worse than any reprimand.”

There’s a soft and breathless chuckle from under the helmet. “Do I, now? What gave it away?” When Canvas doesn’t answer, perhaps considering how best to explain, Scruffy changes his tune after a note of the time. “Actually, pretend I didn’t say anything: not exactly a lot of time before I have to go.”

He probably had five minutes at the most before Commander Juke called upon his brothers and it was time to embark on this mission. It would be strange, seeing as they are doing this without General Caelen to guide them, lead them, for the first time since the Togruta Force-wielder perished. They’ve just grown so used to this arrangement; attached to it even, if they had to admit to it. And they have. But the Clones recognize this isn’t the healthiest situation for the Chossi-born General. 

This is so much responsibility for you. You were only ever meant to lead one legion. You can’t do this forever. It’s just not feasible. 

“Give those clankers hell for me.” Canvas requests when the call comes in to board the gunships on Scruffy’s comms. Quickly and gently as he’s able, he and Scruffy touch their helmets together, hoping the other is peering through the t-visor back at him. “For the General, too.” Canvas softly adds, knowing that while his brothers will embark this mission alone out of trust, the Jedi would still desire to accompany them out of principal and bond. 

This, Scruffy can promise. This is what he was made to do, after all. This is what necessitated his very creation: to fight the coming pan-galactic threat it was believed the Republic would one day face. A being of flesh and blood, far superior to any metal amalgamation. This is the grander purpose he’s been made to believe his every breath is dedicated to. 

And it is true. But it isn’t everything his breath is given for.

Scruffy leaves his younger brother with an oath before he must run for the LAATs, mustering as much conviction as he can into a soldier’s creed to make it as meaningful as any loving expression. 

“For the Republic. For my brothers.”

[FFF Masterlist] [Clone Masterlist] [PREVIOUS] [B&B Part 2]

[baddest-grammar-blog]

OOCC #01 - Take Care Fox

And here we are. April 2nd, 2025. 

I want to first start out by saying thank you. The amount of resources this class has opened up to me is truly unbelievable. 

I want to be an HVAC technician and in order to do so I need to be self-sufficient. I will not be able to get my Universal EPA 608 certification sitting in classrooms or hauling  metal scrap in [REDACTED].

This has motivated me to make the decision I am making today.

I am a college graduate with a BA in Communications and Media Marketing. I am a certified lifeguard with over a decade of rescue and first aid experience. I am the only Black man in my family who can swim at a competitive level. I say all this not as a brag but to cement my position as a man who can get things done in spite of the hurdles we as Black people must face in society. 

In the past few weeks I have become dissatisfied with the quality of class.

There seems to be a clear aversion (1) to other knowledgeable people being in your teaching space. In your attempt to stop us from misinforming one another you restricted our ability to communicate among our peers which is not only a fundamental part of education, but is also a necessity on the worksite for workers and supervisors alike. 

I was so excited when you assigned our groups by row. I had the assistance of four seasoned older gentlemen (2). However within a few days my group was a shadow of its former self. Keith and Prince refused to share their knowledge with the group going forward after you shut them down several times regardless if they were right or not. You isolated Noah from the rest of the group as he was struggling even though Brian, Chief, Keith (3) and I were all helping him get his bearings and feel more confident in both electrical and flooring. That’s what teammates are supposed to be there for. Last I checked, he is still on Circuit #1 and his receptacles are still upside down in their boxes. 

However, as you have probably surmised, my personal gripe with you stems from yesterday’s completely unacceptable meltdown at the very mention of Peavy giving me a note about where to place port caps when they’re off. Access ports are chapter 5 of the HVAC book. You told us you wanted us to be done and familiarized with everything that book had to offer at this point. Instead you grilled me about it in front of my peers because you didn’t like that I shared it as a safety tip. I apologize. I was unaware that port caps and cleaning up after yourself were such important information that only professors or administrative staff should be privy to it. 

So where does that leave us? 

My semester ended April 1, 2025. I will not be returning to class. I do not care about my grade.

I have completed my workbook in full but it is more valuable to me as a reference and a study guide than it is as a grade. I will not return to submit it. I completed the continuity tests between station S1 to station S11 with accompanying documentation. I have completed a circuit with a single pole switch. I have completed a circuit with a GFCI, a 4 way switch and 3 way switches. I was a major contributor to the flooring process in the tool shed. I also maintained a record of my group’s safety meetings. As for the hands-on HVAC experience and soldering practice? [REDACTED], where I live, is utilizing a split-system Trane XB 1000. The unit manufacture date is 2000 and it has R-22 flowing through it. Both the rating plate and pressure tests I have performed on the system confirm this. Along with the lengths of copper I saved up to buy specifically so I could practice my own soldering and brazing; (4) I have all the hands-on opportunities I need right here. 

[REDACTED] prices Peavy’s program at nearly 3 thousand dollars (5) for Core, Type I and Type 2 certification. That’s per semester without finaid or grants which I do not qualify for. The universal certification test I plan on taking costs about $85. This is not to disrespect Peavy or any of the blue collar programs offered by [REDACTED] but rather to show that I have done the research I need to make this decision. 

I will be an HVAC technician.

This class has given me the confidence to go out, hustle, study and become truly skilled. However, whether or not I can walk the walk will depend on me. Which means this class is no longer necessary. Is it a bit foolish to stop when the finish line is only a few weeks away? Absolutely. However regardless if I finish, withdraw, P/F or drop dead I still owe [REDACTED] money and my account is on hold until I pay. 

Your class is 16 hours a week that I cannot get back.

Unlike a job, where I am compensated for my time with currency, college compensates me with a GPA. I rather spend my time looking for work, taking care of my mother and grandmother, exercising, studying and assimilating into life living in [REDACTED]. I hope to have my firearm, hunting and fishing licenses before my 28th birthday. 

I want to thank Miss T for always keeping me in check so I didn’t fall into a cycle of complacency in class.

I want to thank Prince, Chief, Brian, Keith, Bert, Robert, Dante and of course you for helping me (6) understand basic carpentry.

I want to thank you personally for being a (7) professor who is passionate about his work. 

Have a blessed day. Take care.  

EDITOR'S NOTES

(1) - this line was changed because I didn't like how it read. Original text: "with the idea that your authority is either being challenged or superseded".

(2) - Sentence shortened for brevity.

(3) - Just noticed Chief and Keith lol. That was not on purpose. This was submitted to an educational institution.

(4) - Still working on when to use semicolons they look so cool when used correctly.

(5) - edited for erroneous statement. The program was approximately 2500 to 2900 dollars per semester for a two year program. I initially had it as 4000 to 5000 dollars.

(6) - Changed from "through my lack of skill in".

(7) - edited to reflect my true feelings. "Professor" was "diligent professor" (he is not) and "is passionate about his work" was "who actually cares" (he does not).

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Shadow Mountain

Hey guys, I was just directed to this site from /x/, where I not so coincidentally wrote the following creepypasta post by post several months ago. It is based on a real camp experience of mine and a story I heard while at camp, both of which I have tweaked to write this. Hope you enjoy it:

When I was a kid I used to go to this camp in North Carolina every summer, up in the mountains. It was a great camp with tons of fun activities, I really enjoyed it. One of the programs I could have done without, however, was the dreaded hike up Mount Pinnacle, sometimes referred to as "Shadow Mountain" because of the huge shadow it would often cast over the camp. This was the trek taken only once during our stay at camp, a several hour hike to the top of a nearby mountain followed by an overnight camp out. Now the camp out part was really fun. We would split into our cabin groups and walk to our respective camp sites after the long hike. At night we would sit around the fire and tell scary stories, which always ended up being a really bad idea given that we were basically sleeping in these deserted woods with no protection whatsoever. Waking up in the morning to find that I was indeed still breathing was always a relief.

One year, however, things did not go as smoothly as they should have during the overnight on Shadow Mountain. I was probably about 12 or 13 years old, and used to the camping routine by then as I had been going to the camp since age 8. The long hike had already passed and my cabinmates and I were sitting around at our camp site and talking. One of our two counselors approached us. "If you guys want us to cook you dinner you're going to have to go find some firewood. You'd better hurry up too. It'll be dark out soon."

We looked at each other with mild annoyance. Of course we didn't want to go scavenging for sticks. That was work, no matter how menial. Our stomachs sided with our counselor, though, so we split into smaller groups of 2 or 3 and headed out. I don't know about you, but I'm an adventurous type of guy. I try to add a little fun wherever I can, so I decided to transform this quest for wood into a fun little exploration expedition. Sure, we picked up a few twigs and branches along the way, but we now had a new goal to venture through some unofficial trails on this vast mountain. In all honesty I didn't have very high hopes for us. Like I said before, I had been camping here before and I hadn't ever stumbled across anything worth mentioning. But this was a new year, a new camp site, and a pleasant surprise awaited me. Or so I thought.

My friends and I searched around the area, eager to find something that might peak our interest, if only for a moment. After about 15 minutes I was ready to give up. I'll admit again that even from the start I wasn't expecting much. Suddenly one of my friends stops abruptly. The two of us that are still walking quickly stop and look back at him. He smiles a mysterious smile and slowly points his hand to the right of him. Our eyes follow his hand to what at first glance seems to be just another leafy bush bordering our current trail. Then I saw it. A pathway, just beyond these few green leaves. A road paved with dead leaves and dirt and sticks and rocks. It stuck out now, and I wondered how I could have missed something so obvious. We laughed in victory and, pushing the leaves out of our way, began down this new path of wonder.

The path led us along its wavy bends for much longer than I had expected. At least ten minutes had passed before we actually reached the end of it. But it wasn't an end. It was more like a new beginning. This mystical path had led us right into a very large clearing, an open area of forestry that was just so blatantly different from any other part of the mountain I had ever encountered that I was immediately enthralled by the whole of it. It was like a place of wonder and disbelief. It was so natural and yet so unreal at the same time. Dusk was setting in but we didn't notice. The evening light only magnified the magic in the air. I scanned the area quickly and saw, off in the distance, a large tree that had fallen on its side. It had fallen at a precise location that allowed its long trunk to serve as a bridge over a small "gorge". "Just like in the movies" I thought to myself. I pointed this out to my friends and we headed over to the tree's roots. We intended to climb across the trunk to the other side because it looked like the path continued over there. First my friend Ben crossed over. He actually walked across, which I felt was too dangerous. My minor fear of heights was overcome by my desire to explore, and I crawl/walked across the trunk-bridge after him. I turned back to look at my third friend, whose turn it was to cross.

This friend, we'll call him Brandon, was definitely the more cowardly of the bunch. I could tell from his expression that he did not want to cross the trunk, so naturally Ben and I pestered him to do so.

"Come on Brandon, cross over! It's not even a big deal."

"I don't know guys. This thing doesn't look too sturdy. And it's getting pretty dark out. Everybody is probably wondering where we are. Why don't we head back and just check this place out more tomorrow morning?"

Although he was obviously making excuses, he did have a valid point. I hadn't realized it until now but it was much darker than it had been when we had first come here. The shadows were slowly merging into the night and we would be in deep shit if it got too dark for us to find our way back to the camp site, so in the end we did decide to head back. Once again Ben crossed back over the trunk before me. Now I was all alone on the far side of the path. My friends stood there and waited for me to cross, but I still had this burning urge to dig deeper, to find out what lay ahead. I had a feeling we wouldn't be able to come back to this place the next morning. I had come this far, I might as well go a few steps further. "Hold on one sec, I'll be right back" I shouted to them quickly, and I darted around the corner and down the path just a few feet more. It was getting really dark now and I couldn't make out every single detail as I took a cursory glance around, but my eyes instinctively locked onto something a short distance away. It seemed to be a dark figure that looked like it was leaning against a tree. I was scared shitless but at the same time I knew my mind was just playing tricks on me, so I peered even harder at this enigma. It wasn't too tall, just about my height actually, maybe a little shorter. But it stayed perfectly still. As the seconds flew by I became more and more sure that I was staring at somebody or something living. What really got me was that it never moved once, not even an inch. It terrified me.

I snapped out of my apparent trance to the sound of my friends calling my name and asking me what I was doing. The crickets were chirping now. I ran as fast as I could back around the corner and across the log without a second thought. My heart was still beating a mile a minute as I imagined the shadowed figure chasing me with inhuman speed.

"What were you doing back there?"

"Nothing man, I just had to take one little peek at what we were missing. I didnt want to come all this way for nothing"

I managed a forced chuckle. It's not like I was lying to them, there was just a little more to the story now. I decided not to tell them what I had seen for a few reasons. First of all, I was still trying to convince myself that I had imagined it, though I was now almost positive that I had seen something horrifying. Even if I did tell them, they would probably think I was playing a stupid prank on them. I have been known to lie for a good laugh on numerous occasions, so it was very likely that they would see this as just another gag. And the last thing I wanted was for one of my friends to hear my story and then decide to prank me. You have no idea how scary those overnights can get. I swear, we literally just sleep on the ground in sleeping bags under an overhang. There aren't even any walls, just forest. When that fire dies out and the only light you have left is the moon it gets creepy, and I was already going to be up all night now. I didn't need one of my friends standing off in the distance while I'm trying to sleep so he can spook the shit out of me. I was paranoid now, obviously.

We made our way back to the site where we were questioned, first by the counselors: "Where the hell were you?" "We got lost. Sorry" And then by our friends: "Where the hell were you?" "Oh nowhere, nowhere at all"

The standard campfire rituals commenced. Marshmallows, smores, scary stories, etc. The counselors always had the best scary stories, which didn't exactly help my current situation. I was on edge to begin with, but I took it all in and just waited for bedtime. I just wanted to get to sleep so I could wake up so I could leave. Finally it was time for bed. Being an occasional insomniac I usually find myself awake long after the last of my friends have nodded off into dreamland, so the comfort of others only lasted for so long. I tried to fall asleep fast, I really did. But the harder I tried, the more I thought of the reason why I wanted to sleep. What was that thing? Was it here right now watching? Waiting for me to close my eyes long enough for it to- No, I was being paranoid again. Just shut up and try to sleep...

Sometime later, still during the middle of the night, a faint but persistent noise broke the silence that had been mocking me for hours. I was still woefully awake and I turned my head to hear better. It sounded like...barking. Barking and howling and rustling off in the distance. Somehow this was comforting to me. Dogs I could deal with. Wolves even, I could deal with. I went so far as to delude myself into believing that they served as some kind of protection for me, and soon enough I slowly drifted off to sleep.

I awoke the next morning in a less than peaceful manner. I was being nudged, pulled, shaken hard. Somebody was saying something to me but I didn't want to listen. Now that it was morning and I was safe, all I wanted to do was sleep. The words were repeated to me, now a little less blurred. "______ ______ _____ _____?" "What?" I said as I opened my eyes to my counselor's very nervous expression. This was not something I wanted to wake up to. I immediately became frightened again. Now I listened carefully for him to speak again.

"Have you seen Matt Jenner? Come on Jason this is serious! Wake up!"

I hadn't seen Matt Jenner. I barely even knew the kid. He was a year younger than me and in a different cabin. Apparently a 2/10 had been called over the walky talkies. This was an emergency code used by the camp staff whenever something potentially disastrous had happened, like, say, a camper gone missing. Nobody seemed to know where he was. Not only that, but one of Matt's counselors was also missing. This wasn't of quite as much concern at the moment. As I listened to what was going on, a wave of fear suddenly overtook me. This couldn't have possibly been related to last night, could it?

Credit to: hack3r

[mercy-burning]

She’s An Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer discovers that Reader has a rather promiscuous personality behind closed doors, and he can’t help but give into her. Category: SMUT (18+), (there’s a lil fluff at the end, but it’s mostly filth lol) Warnings: Language, heavy flirting and sexual tension, female/male-receiving oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, innocence kink (kinda?), breeding kink, dirty talk Word Count: 10.8k

***EDITED: 7/23/2021***

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, guys! This is my entry for @willowrose99 ‘s 1-Year Writing Challenge Celebration! My prompts were: Only Angel by Harry Styles (fun fact, this is my favorite Harry song! And the notes/texts that Reader sends to Spencer are lines from the song), stealing clothes, and the dialogue “You know, I kinda like it when you call me -pet name-” I hope you all enjoy it! I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!!!

Also! Little fun fact: sex and metaphors/references to religion is like... my favorite thing in the whole world, so I made a tiny playlist for you to give a listen if you’re interested! If you have song recs so I can add them, please let me know! I’m always on the lookout for new stuff :) Enjoy!!

***

He didn't think much of it the first day she started working at the BAU. If anything, Spencer was glad that they had an intern— someone who could share some of their responsibilities without completely changing the dynamic of the work. She even became part of their family, going out with them after cases, attending every workplace gathering, whether it be a wedding for a co-worker they didn't see often, one of Rossi's dinner parties, or Henry's birthday party.

It wasn't until they were setting up for the BAU office Halloween party that he noticed something was... different.

Y/N and Spencer were put on decorating duty while everyone else brought food and music, and whatever else. They stopped by extra early to set up, meaning they would be there together, alone, for at least two hours before anyone showed up.

Normally that wouldn't have been anything to worry about, but Y/N showed up in costume, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Now, he wasn't one to really care whether or not people used Halloween as an outlet to dress like sexy nurses or cheerleaders or whatever else. Sure, he'd rather go with something on the scary side, something with a creepy mask or intricate makeup, but in the end the holiday was everyone's to enjoy how they wanted to. And one way or the other, he never saw anyone in a sexy Halloween costume and found himself tempted by them in the slightest. In fact, it was rare that he ever saw anyone in one at all.

So, when Y/N slowed up to the office wearing a very skin-tight, tiny schoolgirl costume, and his heart leapt out of his chest, mouth going dry and blood running hot at the sight of her?

He was a goner.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, dropping the large bag she was carrying to run over and give him a hug, which he shakily returned, trying to snap out of his daze. Suddenly he felt a little underdressed, not wearing his costume yet, and truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to wear one at all now, fearful that she'd think it was too immature.

Even more frightening than the holiday itself was the fact that Spencer found himself caring about what Y/N would think of his costume when a minute ago it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly before she released him from her hug, hoping to expel his fear and remember that she was his friend and she'd never actually say anything bad about his costume. Not that that'd even mattered in the first place. It shouldn't have mattered, right?

God, pull yourself together! She's just a pretty girl dressed in a suggestive costume, it's nothing you haven't seen before...

Though, he wasn't even sure he could call her a pretty girl right then.

Because when she pulled away from him, talking about some of the decorations she brought, he had ample opportunity to get a good look at her costume up close. And she wasn't pretty. She was downright sexy, all legs protruding underneath a short plaid skirt and adorning shiny black heels, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders in pigtails. Her shirt was so low, most of the buttons undone to reveal a black lacy bra underneath. She wore a pair of glasses that sat cutely on the tip of her nose and minimal makeup, the only noticeable thing being bright red lip color.

That wasn't what was different, though.

Sure, she'd never worn anything that scandalous around work or even on nights out, but it wasn't the fact that she'd done so now that felt strange. No, it was the way she looked up at him, her head hung low and her eyes looking up through eyelashes. When she got excited to tell him something, she pitched her voice higher. And often times, she'd put herself in compromising positions, and it seemed like it was on purpose.

At one point she stood right in front of him trying to hang a streamer on a beam she was most certainly not tall enough to reach. Her arms stretched high, all fabric on her body rising up and exposing more skin. Spencer quickly tried to avoid any problems, offering to help so she wouldn't hurt herself, first of all, but also so that he wouldn't find himself staring too long when he shouldn't have been staring at all.

The whole time they were decorating, she found excuses to drop things and pick them up, to stumble and hold onto his arm for steadiness, to accidentally brush past him... And that's what was so different about her.

He didn't want to assume she'd been drinking before coming to the office, and if he'd known any better he wouldn't have assumed it in the first place. But that was the one and only thing that crossed his mind that could have been the answer to her strange behavior, despite the lack of alcohol on her breath. (The only reason he knew her breath didn't smell of alcohol was because at one point, she hugged him again and pulled back to look in his eyes, brushing stray curls from his face and telling him they did a good job finishing up the room they'd been working on.)

Now they were in the conference room, and Spencer was hanging streamers as Y/N sat in one of the chairs, wheeled back to the middle of the room so she could observe everything. Well... observe Spencer was more correct. At least that's what he figured, anyway. It was like he could feel her eyes burning into the back of him. Or maybe he was just still unable to get over the fact that she and her stupidly hot costume had had that big of an effect on him.

He stood down from the chair and asked Y/N to hand him more tape, refusing to look at her.

"Spence, are you alright?" she asked sweetly, rolling her chair over to the table so she could reach the tape. The innocent concern in her voice had that same suspicious tone to it that wouldn't leave him alone, like it was nagging him and calling to him... begging to confront her.

He flicked his gaze down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the table. "N—Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She picked up the tape and toyed with it between her fingers, which were manicured a light pink color. He couldn't help but stare at them. "You seem a little... on edge."

With a swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back to his throat, Spencer shook his head. "I'm... No, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I've been working with you profilers for some time now, and... I think I can tell when you're lying. Was it... something I did?"

There she went again, her voice high and soft. Innocent. Like she was in character.

Spencer looked at her face again, and then immediately he regretted it. She was half pouting at him, doe-eyed and head tilted to expose her neck. He swallowed again, trying to figure her out while also figuring out what to say.

"No," is what he settled on, audibly nervous.

She could tell, too, because he thought he saw her smirk for just a split second. But then it was gone, replaced once again by her pout. "Oh... Good. Because I thought for a second that you didn't like my costume."

She obviously had to be up to something, right? Was she... flirting with him? And more importantly, did he want her to flirt with him? He'd never really thought about Y/N in that context before, but she was single, beautiful, and... well, truthfully that's all he really knew about her. They'd been friends for about a year now, and he couldn't put together one single thought about her other than the stuttering, muddled confusion over the fact that she was in a sexy Halloween costume and most likely openly flirting with him.

What was that Emily said once about his IQ dropping in the presence of a pretty woman?

Y/N had rendered him utterly thoughtless.

And speechless, too, apparently, because he stood there, staring at her without saying a single word.

"Spencer," she called out softly, almost like a lullaby. Her chair rolled back, away from the table to give him a better view of her legs as she un-crossed them and very slightly opened her knees. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

As if he wasn't already practically burning inside-out since the moment she arrived at the office, now his blood ran hot, and he was suddenly very uncomfortably warm. "U—Um, y—yes, you're... You're beautiful, y—your costume... It's nice, it looks nice on you."

Her pout slowly turned into a smile as she patted her knees. "Thank you... I wore it just for you, you know."

Is this some sort of bizarre dream? he wondered, his knees almost buckling at her words, their tone, and the meaning of it all.

"Y—You did?" he whispered brokenly.

"Mnmm," she drawled as her fingers toyed with themselves. "You teach, right?"

"Sometimes."

Y/N hummed and nodded, her legs still closed enough that he couldn't see anything... extra promiscuous. "You know, I bet you have quite a few students who find you attractive... Tell me, do any of them dress like this?"

She leaned back in the chair and started to run her hands slowly up the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. "Do they ever... Sit in the front row and... spread their legs just enough for you to see the pretty panties they picked out... just for you..."

By now her hands were resting on the inside of her thighs, her legs spread in exactly the way she'd described. He couldn't help himself. There she was, offering herself to him, and in his line of vision was the faintest glimpse of baby pink fabric that matched the color of her fingernails.

He didn't even know how to verbally respond. By now he was sure his face was beet red, and his palms were sweating so badly and struggling to keep him upright as he leaned forward on the table. Ah, the table— the only thing separating him from her, a fact which he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful for or not.

The spell she had around her broke when her phone rang. And just like that, it was like she was... herself again. At least, the 'herself' Spencer had always known. She sat up and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her phone from her bag, reading the screen as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's Penelope. She has a costume emergency I have to help with. Are you good putting the rest of these up?"

"U—Um, yeah. Yeah, go."

Y/N smiled and grabbed her bag, thanking him as she walked past and left him behind.

He heard her call back as her figure was etching itself into his brain, ready to remain there until the end of time. "Can't wait to see your costume!"

***

Luke and Tara were having a conversation that he was supposed to be paying attention to, but Spencer's mind was still occupied by Y/N and her... outward display of sensuality.

Her voice was echoing in his brain, replaying over and over how she'd dressed up for him. And the longer he tried to wrap his brain around everything, the more he wound up confused. Where had her forwardness even come from? Had she been actively interested in him this whole time and he just hadn't seen it until now? A possibility, but why had she chosen to go to that extreme rather than just tell him the truth? Maybe she'd just found being overtly sexual an easier tactic than others?

Or maybe, in the end, she was just messing with him. Even though Derek had moved away, it was entirely possible that he'd somehow concocted one of his ridiculous pranks and roped Y/N into helping him since he wasn't around to do it himself. A smart move, though it was highly unlikely.

Spencer just didn't know what to do. Depending on how the rest of the night went, he was probably just going to have to muster up the courage to ask her what her intentions were. And depending on what she says, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted from their relationship... Did she want just sex? Did he want just sex? Did she want to go out with him? Is that something he would want as well?

He was just about to mull it over when Penelope's boisterous laugh sounded from the other side of the room. Spencer looked up, eager to see if Y/N was with her, since she'd been called away on a costume emergency. Penelope was dressed as a devil, red sparkly horns on her red-streaked, curled hair. She was dressed head-to-toe in a red dress and shoes that felt very much like her, with feathers and sequins, and her makeup was also red and black and absolutely glittery.

And sure enough, behind her stood the woman who'd been occupying Spencer's mind for the past hour and a half. Though, she wasn't dressed as a schoolgirl anymore.

He found himself swearing under his breath as he took her in, shimmering where she stood, dressed in all white.

She was an angel.

An actual angel. Her hair fell loose around her, accessorized with a headband with a golden halo attached to it. Her dress was still pretty form-fitting, though nowhere near as scandalous as her previous outfit. It was long and flowed out at the bottom until it hit the floor, a ring of gold at the hem. The sleeves were also long and bell-bottomed, accented with gold at the end.

And from where Spencer stood, even that far away, he noticed the glitter that surrounded her eyes, gold to compliment the color on her dress. Her lips were still bright red, and her glasses were gone. And the wings... As small as they were—most likely to keep from taking up too much space—they stood out in any crowd, purely white and outlined in gold, just like the rest of her outfit.

Why had she changed? Did... she actually change at all? Had he truly only imagined their encounter hours ago?

"Any... specific angels crossing your mind?" Spencer heard Luke say, punctuated with a pat on the shoulder.

He blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Y/N... She makes a pretty good angel, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, I—I guess so."

Luke and Tara laughed, obviously amused by all of this. But they hadn't seen her earlier. They hadn't been there to witness her seducing him and acting like she'd done it a million times over. They didn't know what she was doing to him, inhabiting every corner of his brain and driving him mad trying to figure it all out.

But it wasn't uncommon for his friends to tease him about the female attention he got sometimes. And when it was obvious that he was flustered, they kept the friendly teasing going. And every time, he settled on leaving it alone, because he knew it would pass and he wouldn't have to worry about it again, at least until the next woman hit on him in public.

And Y/N? She worked with them. As long as she was in his head, he was afraid he'd never stop being flustered in her presence.

So he had to know. He had to talk to her and see what was going on, no matter how awkward it might get.

For now though, it was Halloween, and he was going to spend the night with his friends while doing the very rare amount of drinking and the more frequent amount of laughter.

The night didn't come without a few looks in Y/N's direction, though. She never came up to him directly, though a few times he'd catch her looking at him. And each time, she'd wave and continue on her merry way, laughing with Emily or doing some silly dance with Penelope in their coupling costumes.

Honestly, if earlier hadn't happened, he would have thought nothing of it. She was being completely normal. Happy, friendly... Simply Y/N, as he'd known her for the past year and a half.

He just finished saying goodbye to JJ, who was leaving early to go trick-or-treating with her kids, when she finally approached him. At the sight of her getting closer, her otherworldliness making his blood go warm again, he tried to compose himself. After all, there was no way she'd do anything sensual in public like this, right?

"I didn't get a chance to compliment you on your costume yet," she said brightly, her voice not carrying that higher tone from before. "You make a very believable zombie."

He looked down at his tattered clothes, a small laugh escaping him. "Thank you... It's no high-level makeup job, but I tried my best."

When he looked back up to her, the shimmer of her makeup basked her in a glow that made it incredibly hard to breathe. She really was pretty. Still sexy, of course, but in an understated way this time.

And he couldn't help but bring up the difference. "You... changed."

Something sparkled in her eyes then, giving them a devious glint that inherently contradicted her costume, and the mere implications of that made him tremble, especially as she said, "Mhm... I figured the schoolgirl costume was a little too inappropriate for the workplace. And besides... I did say I wore it just... for you..."

So he hadn't imagined the whole thing... On the one hand he was relieved to know he wasn't freaking out over something that hadn't actually happened. But... on the other, what did that leave him with?

It left him with a woman who was standing in front of him, dressed like an angel while giving him all sorts of devilish feelings.

Once again she'd rendered him speechless, though now his thoughts were filled with images of those pretty, glimmering eyes above him, watching as he worshipped her between her legs... Of her hands twisted in his hair as he showed her just how much he wanted her, to show her how beautiful she was.

Those thoughts were interrupted when she got closer, toying with a stray curl that stuck out from his head. She twirled it around her finger and looked up at him, doe-eyed again as she purred, "Happy Halloween, Doctor Reid."

She was gone too quickly, whisked away by the throes of an office holiday party that, one way or another, served as the beginning to a long, tempestuous affair.

***

In the weeks that followed, Spencer went about his days as normally as he could, focusing on work, and getting ready for another month of teaching, where he'd be away from his friends and, therefore, also away from Y/N.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be away from her... Yet, after constant flirting with no direction other than his dreams filling with filthy images of the two of them together and no actual outlet for it, he figured a break would do him some good. Of course, he wasn't sure what would await him when he came back—if she'd forget about all of it and give up or if she'd come at him stronger than before.

It was his final day before leave, and so naturally, Y/N had to make it hard on him. He was sure that's what she was doing.

Since it was getting colder, she strayed away from skirts, though occasionally she would show up to work in a longer dress or a shirt that hugged her in all the right places, especially on the days that he would be working with her more. She had the BAU's schedules on hand always, so she had to be using that as a way to get to him.

On those days, she often used her higher pitch when she spoke to him, and her eyes were always adventurous— they wandered over every part of his body and sometimes quickly blinked away when he caught her, accompanying an embarrassed smile. (Though, Spencer was convinced she really was absolutely not embarrassed.)

Other times she pulled the "Oops, I dropped something," trick, and "You know, it's almost Winter but it's still so warm in here, don't you think?" followed by a stretch of her body as she slowly put her hair up or dragged it over her shoulder. 

His plan was to wait until he got back from leave, assess their situation from there after he'd cleared his head for a while, and then talk to her about what the hell was going on. Though the thought of confronting her scared him a little, he knew he couldn't let this go on any longer without some sort of conversation about what was next... What it all meant. It would drive him crazy otherwise.

With all the sensual, suggestive looks and actions she was throwing at him, though, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten to that point already.

As if she'd figured this out—because of course she would have found a way to get into his brain and know what he was thinking and feeling before he could even do so himself—Y/N stood by a storage closet with a clipboard. She pretended to write things down, when in reality she was looking up at him every so often, biting her lip and crossing her legs where she stood. She looked utterly desperate for something, almost like it was painful for her to be deprived of whatever it was she was looking for.

Spencer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that was. And the thought sent a wave of electricity through his veins. All day she'd been going extra hard in attempts to catch his attention, and since it was his final day before leaving for a month, he knew that had to be the reason why.

If catching his attention was her goal, she'd definitely succeeded.

Across the room, and across a small sea of co-workers who were head-down, going through paperwork, he caught her eye and waited, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out to her. She tilted her head to the side and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, staring back at him like she was in a daydream.

And sure enough, she was standing underneath a light, one singular beam that sat atop her head like a halo and bathed her in a soft glow.

Even without the costume, she was an angel... For a moment Spencer wondered if maybe she'd planed on it all from the start— making her move by dressing like an angel on Halloween for one night and then finding any way on purpose to replicate that presence without actually dressing up again. Was it a way to mess with his head, to make him believe that she was calling to him? That she would... save him somehow?

He had to know what she was doing.

So he gave in and stood up, his eyes keeping contact with hers as he got closer and closer. Before he could get to her, though, she winked and then turned around, entering the storage closet and disappearing before his eyes. Still, he followed her, desperately hoping that's what she wanted.

And with a silent prayer that felt ironic as he thought it, Spencer opened the door and entered the adventure that awaited him. Whether it would be heavenly or otherwise he wasn't sure, but either way he was ready to confront it.

Y/N had turned on a desk lamp, its orange glow the only source of light in an otherwise pitch-black space. She leaned back against a table, still standing with her legs crossed over each other, hands bracing themselves on the tabletop. "How's it going, Doctor Reid?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost immediately after she greeted him. Now that he was alone with her, away from unassuming eyes, he exhaled and visibly showed his confusion through pleading eyes. "Please, I need to know what you're doing..."

He barely saw the contours of her face through dim lighting as she smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Y/N... Don't do that." He took a step closer, even though the quick beating of his heart signaled that it might have been a dangerous move. "Tell me..."

"Isn't it obvious?" she cooed, her hands coming out to toy with the hem of her frilly skirt.

As he looked down at it, he had to wonder if there really was a God out there, some higher being that sent this angel down to destroy him. How else did it stand to happen that even though it was nearing the end of November, the one day it was warm enough for Y/N not to freeze while wearing a skirt was the final day he had before leaving for a whole moth?—Before it was inevitably snowy and she wouldn't have the luxury to tease him with her skin?

She must have caught his lingering gaze on her legs, because she laughed softly, spreading them to stand a bit further apart while her fingers very lightly pushed the fabric of her skirt up. "I've been trying to get your attention ever since I got here... But you never seemed to notice. So I figured... Why not be a little more... forthcoming..."

"Y—You could have... said something," he whispered, forcing himself to look at her face. But as he was learning, he couldn't look at any part of her without his whole body going up in flames. 

By now she was walking closer to him, small, languid steps that perfectly showcased how her body could move. "Well... Truth is, I was scared... Every time I tried to talk to you, I got really nervous..." Her voice was demure, apologetic almost... Embarrassed. But it had to have just been part of the allure, right? Part of her show? "You're just so... intimidating."

Spencer swallowed, a small laugh coming from him as he tried not to collapse at her closeness. "I'm... I'm really not..."

But she laughed, finally close enough to reach out and grab his tie, which is what she did. She held the fabric in her hands for a few seconds before letting it drop, bringing her pointer finger to gently trace patterns on his chest. "Not in a mean way, silly... You're... incredibly smart, and you're good at your job... You're always so nice to everyone... And I bet you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

He found himself trembling under her touch again as she brought her hand down to meet his. She leaned up to nudge his chin with her nose as she moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. It was only the slightest of touches, nothing rushed or passionate about it. In fact, Y/N seemed more taken with the idea of using her touch to draw everything out— to make him pine for it, lose all semblance of sanity until he finally gave in and did whatever he wanted to her.

"Don't you wanna know what it feels like to touch me?" she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. Meanwhile her hand guided his own farther up her skirt, until he felt her skin getting warmer and warmer with each millimeter. His throat was dry, breath shaky as he fluttered his eyes closed and embraced the moment, embraced the guidance... "To feel how wet you make me?"

His heart practically leapt out of his chest once his hand was finally met with said wetness. Her panties were damp and oh so warm, and he couldn't stop the whine that left his throat as she pressed his fingers hard into her against the fabric. Her fingers covered his like a glove, guiding them in small circles over her clothed clit as she sighed into his neck.

"You feel that?" she asked, nuzzling into his skin. "That's what you do to me, Doctor.  From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd ruin me..."

He breathed a laugh then, finding it utterly ironic how that's how she felt. She could have just been toying with him, but there was enough longing and desperation in her voice to let him know she really meant it. She'd been waiting for him to come along and whisk her away...

So that's what he was going to do.

Spencer removed his hand from her then, walking them over to the table and pulling her right to him by gripping the waistband of her panties and keeping her still. The gasp she let out fueled him in a way that would have wrecked him if the job hadn't already been done. As he looked down at her, her body was basked in the soft orange luminescence of the desk lamp, a sight that aesthetically added to his desire and farther fueled the heat that had been accumulating in his veins, waiting to be released.

"Is that what you want, angel?" he breathed, the words even taking him by surprise. His sexual experience was far from non-existent, but it was limited enough that he'd never acted this feral before. Never had a partner ever had this strong of a hold on him, so tight that he found it a struggle to breathe. Add on the fact that he wanted to embrace that struggle if it meant being this way with her, and you had a man who was completely unraveling under the allure of one single woman until she ultimately brought forth his demise. "You want me to ruin you?"

Though he was giving in, like he assumed she wanted in the first place, Y/N hummed, tilting her head again and blinking up at him. "You know, I kinda like it when you call me angel..."

Spencer gripped the fabric tighter, and she whined. "Is it what you want?" In other words, Do you want this? 

Y/N nodded, and then he crashed his lips with hers as he tugged at her panties and let them drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him more, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her with liveliness. She was more than welcome to embracing it, verbally giving him praises in the form of whimpers and physical ones in the form of her hips rolling forward to get more friction.

As one of his hands found purchase under one of her thighs, he thought back to Halloween night, and how he'd imagined his head between her legs. The memory had his entire body tensing with pleasure, and without a second thought, he pulled away and dropped to his knees, looking up at her with what he hoped was the purest form of desire.

He looked up at her, admiring the way her face looked in the dim light, as he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. Still keeping eye contact, he tilted his head and kissed the inside of her leg. But eventually he let his focus lean to immersing himself in her pleasure, tearing his eyes away from hers and completely shifting his head to face her leg. His lips trailed upwards, taking his time to remember the taste and the feel of her soft skin. 

The higher he got, the heavier her breathing became, and it wasn't long before he fully had his head under her skirt. She tried to move the fabric so she could see him, but he gripped her wrists and pinned them at her sides, eliciting a laugh from her that quickly turned into a whimper once he brushed his nose over where she ached for him.

Without being able to stop himself, Spencer inhaled, breathing her in and letting out a shaky breath as he inched closer and involuntarily closed his eyes, completely wrapped up in her like he'd never felt before. He was intoxicated by her, even more so when his mouth finally made contact with her dripping cunt.

Feeling her shudder above him was almost as heavenly as the way she tasted, sweet and bitter and oh so delectable. He'd never craved anything more than her in that moment, his tongue lapping her up and making a point to taste all of her. He explored and worshipped and praised her just how he'd imagined he would, though now that it was actually happening and he'd really had a taste of her, he wasn't sure he could ever go back.

Not that he wanted to. Especially as she whined and rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pleasure as she tried to be quiet in the closet.

Spencer, though he knew the importance of keeping it quiet right then, couldn't say he was the same way. Since his head was hiked up her skirt, and his sounds were muffled by her skin, he was as loud as he wanted to be, groaning into her and mumbling praises in between while catching his breath. He reveled in the feeling of her wetness coating the lower half of his face and the sounds that both pairs of her lips were providing. It truly was better than any symphony or choir he'd ever heard, and if he could spend the rest of his life down there, worshipping at her altar and giving her everything she desired, he would have.

But they were at work, and if they were gone too long, it would get suspicious.

So, as much as he wanted to draw out her pleasure—and by association, his own—he focused on getting her to her peak, flicking his tongue out over her clit and letting her hips rock forward to get her exactly where she wanted to be.

He knew she was about to come when she stopped whining and whimpering altogether, the leg she had draped over his shoulder curling and tightening around him to keep herself steady.

His tongue was relentless, keeping at what it was doing while Spencer imagined what her face must have looked like. Were her eyes rolling to the back of her head or were they squeezed tight? And her mouth— was it hanging open? Was her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she attempted to keep herself from yelling out? And as her hands struggled in his grasp, trying to escape most likely in favor of gripping his hair, he imagined them tied up above her head, attached to his bedframe as he took his time, drawing out every little sound she could have possibly made until she was just as unraveled as he was.

And then her grip loosened all around him, a whiny sigh escaping from her mouth, and Spencer reluctantly drew himself away from her. He dropped her leg from his shoulder and licked at his lips, tasting as much of her as he could before he had to return to work. And then, when he was moving to remove his head from under her skirt, he caught sight of her panties on the ground, picking them up and sliding the garment lightly up along her leg as he stood.

The only thing was, he wasn't putting them back on her.

No, they hung loose between his fingers as they tickled the inside of her legs, and when he finally stood tall enough to tower over her again, he got as close as he could to her, bringing the fabric up between her legs, right where he'd just been, and pressed them firmly to her sensitive pussy.

"Time to clean you up, angel," he whispered, swiping his hand forward and doing exactly that. Y/N whined against his mouth, faintly tasting herself on his lips as he cleaned her.

He kissed her then, gently, removing his hand from under her skirt and depositing the damp fabric right into his pocket.

If Spencer hadn't known already that he was done for, he would have figured it out right then, when he pulled back far enough to see the high, blissed out look in her pretty eyes. She blinked at him and sighed, telling him one final thing before she pushed past him and walked out into the office with no underwear and half-wobbly legs.

"I miss you already, Doctor..."

***

He missed her, too.

The month-long leave was supposed to assist in letting him clear his head, but the longer he was away from her, the more it drove him mad. Occasionally he'd still taste the sweet tanginess of her on his tongue, and no amount of coffee could rinse it out. Sometimes he'd be grading papers and daydream about hearing her whimper out his name as he took care of her.

It didn't help that she also sent him texts, little things that would have sounded innocent to anyone else but had a way more promiscuous meaning to the both of them. They mostly involved the discussion of angels, of course, as she left him with a quote or a song lyric, and other days with a fact about a specific angel.

Today, the morning before classes started, she sent him, She's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see... Spencer didn't know what it meant, what it was referencing, but it was innocent enough that he didn't think anything of it until lunch rolled around and he checked his phone to see another text.

...When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. All day, even as he was trying to distract himself by lecturing, all he could see in his mind was Y/N. Sometimes with her angel costume on, but mostly with nothing on, her body fitting into his like a puzzle piece as she sighed out his name like a prayer.

And to think, he had one more week until he would see her again.

But then he was looking through his students' quizzes, small sheets of paper with some terminology and matching definitions they needed to pair together. Since there were only about five minutes left until the class was over, he let his students spend the rest of the time how they chose, not really in the mood to burn himself out speaking when he knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped and said something about Y/N that he shouldn't.

The next quiz he grabbed was folded in half, unusual, but he opened it and was looking to go about his merry way regardless. But then he saw a post-it note right in the middle of the paper, reading She's an angel, my only angel, and punctuated with a pair of red lips.

The first thing he did was drop the pen that was in his hand. Not like he did it on purpose, though, he was pretty sure all joint and muscle function was lost upon reading the handwriting he knew so well, and a reference that only she could make.

And then he looked up, eyes scanning the sea of students to find her. She had to have been there, right? A few of the students found it odd that he was just looking through all of them, but all he was worried about was finding her.

And there she was.

Y/N had tucked herself all the way in the back, her eyes locked directly onto him. She winked then, when she knew she had his attention, and all Spencer could think about was how it must have been another dream. Her texts from earlier had gotten to him more than usual, and because of it, he was seeing her everywhere, seeing what he wanted to see.

Even though he wanted to keep looking at her, to try and figure out if she was really there or if she was just a figment of his devilish mind, he didn't want anyone to catch him. To anyone else it would look like he might have been staring at another student, and with the lust he knew was definitely swimming in them, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble like that.

So, to his dismay and reluctance, he slipped the note into the drawer beside him and quietly finished grading, even though he was longing to see how else he could let Y/N destroy him.

Even as the bell rang and everyone filtered out, Spencer kept his head low, refusing to look up until everyone was gone and only one person remained.

The quieter it got, the harder he could feel his heart beating. And then the only thing that cut through the silence was that unmistakable, angelic high pitch that would surely never fail to bring him to his knees.

"Did you get my note, Doctor?"

Only then did he allow himself to look up, and when he did, seeing her closer to him than she'd been in almost a month now, it was like the stars aligned. "Yes," he whispered, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk to be as close to her as possible.

She laughed and met him in the middle, nearly trapping him between herself and the desk. Her hands reached out to grab at his suit jacket and he wished that she'd touch him somewhere else. Anywhere else, just to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

"And my texts?" she cooed, taking another step and actually trapping him between her body and his desk.

"Y—Yeah, I got them."

"Oh, good. I've been thinking a lot about how you left me..." She slid her hands then, under his jacket and across his stomach until they reached his waist. "The second I got in my car to go home, you were already on your way here... And I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing with my panties..."

They were currently back in his hotel room, in the drawer and laying atop of his own clothes, a vision that had him reeling, wondering if she was wearing any now. So he asked. "Are... Um..."

Well, he tried to ask, anyway.

Y/N caught on, though, beaming at him as her hands removed herself from him and slipped up her skirt. "You wanna see the pair I'm wearing now?"

"Y/N... There's... Someone could come in, I..."

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, don't worry. I'll just... Give you a quick peek."

She didn't wait for him to respond, lifting the hem of the skirt and stepping back so he could see the front of her underwear, which were white and printed with black cursive lettering.

Angel.

As soon as he exhaled, loud and obviously very turned on at the sight in front of him, she dropped the skirt and smiled. "You like them? I needed to buy a new pair since you felt the need to steal my others..."

Spencer really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and the tightening of his pants was extremely dangerous since he had another class in a half hour and there wasn't enough time to take care of it unless they did something right now. And even then, they were in a public area with hardly anywhere to go. His best bet would be to go to the bathroom and be as inconspicuous as possible to take care of it himself. Or, Y/N needed to leave immediately so he could settle down and just let it go away on its own.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have a hard time denying her of anything.

Which was why he didn't stop her when she sunk to her knees.

As she undid his belt, looking up at him  with sparkling eyes, she spoke to him. "Honestly, I had every intention to just make out with you a little, just enough to satiate myself until I can see you again next week, but... Well, I'm wearing lipstick, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He'd made out with a woman before, who'd worn lipstick, and surprisingly it was pretty easy to remove, so he knew she had to have been lying as some part of a bigger scheme, but... he couldn't quite figure out what that was. Obviously she had plans to take care of his erection for him, so why make up the story?

But then she kept talking, only slightly pulling down his pants and palming him through his underwear. "And then I thought about how pretty you'd look covered in lipstick kisses, and, well... It's always good to start somewhere, don't you think?"

Oh...

His stomach did flips when she traced his dick through the fabric covering it, gently with her middle finger. And then, looking into his eyes from below, she pulled it out and slowly stroked it with her hand, a low hum coming from her throat. "Mmm, I can't wait to mark up this pretty cock..."

That's when he lost all semblance of control, a strained groan falling from his lips, coming from the great depths of his chest, just from her words alone. And she took that moment to lean forward and press the gentlest of kisses to the base of his dick. She held her lips there for a second or wo before removing them and moving just a little higher, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her kisses trailed higher and higher, centimeter by centimeter until she reached his tip, where she ever so slightly flicked her tongue over the slit at the top, tasting his precum. And then gave him one final kiss—one final red mark.

The temptation to grab her hair and hold her there while he fucked her throat was strong, but as he looked down at her, she was examining her handiwork with a seductive hunger that made him realize that no matter how strong his urges got, she would always be the one in charge. Even if she acted all innocent and submissive, she was the one who held the key to his sexual desires, and therefore she was the only one who had the ability to unlock them.

So, he contained himself as she looked up at him, winked, and quickly tucked his hard dick back into the confines of his pants.

And when she stood up, she leaned up to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, leaving behind a red mark and all all his sanity with it, quickly turning away before he could catch her.

"See you later, Doctor," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Spencer let out a long, unsteady breath, debating on whether or not he should take care of his situation in the bathroom or right there in the classroom, behind his desk and into the trash can underneath it while he still had ample time to do so.

He sat in the chair about a minute later, his hand moving furiously under the desk as he breathed out hushed whispers of her name.

***

No matter how badly he wanted more alcohol in his system, he wasn't going to allow it. After one drink he was already starting to feel the affects, veins buzzing right along with the low hum of the music from inside. The single streetlight above him provided only the dimmest of lights as he took deep breaths in and out, focusing on the bitter cold from the December air and the soft pelting of snowflakes upon the skin of his cheeks.

Y/N's touch still burned him, right along his inner thigh where her hand had firmly rested while they and the rest of their friends ate dinner at the bar. All night so far, she'd been teasing him to no end, whether it was a brush of her hand against his crotch or a tiny kiss on the shoulder when no one was looking.

How no one had figured them out yet was a mystery.

Spencer rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm when he felt it. She was behind him.

"You've been out here for a while, Spence, is everything okay?" Even when she wasn't speaking to him in her angelic higher pitch, he still felt like succumbing to the sound her voice regardless.

He turned around to face her, and sighed. It figured that even surrounded by a street that was covered in brown-tainted snow, she wouldn't have let it taint her beauty. He was convinced that no matter where she was or what she looked like, she'd always be perfect— capable of knocking the breath out of him every time he looked at her. "Honestly, you've been driving me crazy."

"Oh," she said, her eyes slightly shifting to the ground. "Maybe I... did take it too far, I... I'm sorry." The slight tinge of embarrassment and maybe regret that filtered through her voice nearly ran him to the ground— How could she ever believe that he would feel overwhelmed by her? Sure, to some extent, he was extremely overwhelmed by her, but it was never a negative thing.

"Oh, angel, that's not what I meant," he explained softly, taking a few steps towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes doe-eyed and sparkling, though not as they usually were. This time they were swimming in a softness that made him yearn for her even more. "What?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm absolutely mesmerized by you... Y/N..." Spencer brought a hand to lightly caress her face, and when she leaned into his touch it made him so warm he thought it would melt all of the snow. "I can't get you out of my head, and I... I don't know if I ever want to. I mean that."

"Y—You're not... weirded out or anything?" she asked softly. "That I just... sprung all my feelings and my lust out onto you all at once? B—Because I know it was sudden, and I came on really strong so fast, I just... I thought you liked it, and so I just kept going, but really I should have stopped and... I don't know, asked if you were okay with it..."

He'd seen this softness in her before— When she watched over JJ's kids in the office sometimes, and when she helped Penelope set the table for their 'family dinners'. Every time, on the rare occasion that she actually went on cases with them, when she helped JJ comfort the families who'd lost their loved ones, he saw it. And even through all the lust, that sweetness in her soul was what truly made her an angel. Even though the lust is all he'd been swimming in since Halloween, deep down he really knew that it was only a small part of who she really was.

So, he said to her, "Y/N, I'm enchanted by all of you. I don't... I don't know what happened to make you want to come on strong to me, but... I'm glad you did. Believe me when I say, there is nothing about you that would scare me away."

He didn't know how she was feeling, but she practically visibly melted at his words, right in front of him. "You really mean that?"

With a smile, Spencer stepped even closer and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I mean it, my angel."

She laughed then, her hands wrapping themselves over his waist. "Your angel, huh?"

"Mhm... If you'd like to be..."

Y/N leaned up and pressed her lips to his in answer, firmly and with all the sweetness she had nestled inside her soul.

But the longer they stood there outside the bar, kisses growing warmer and hungrier with each passing second, Spencer realized that he didn't want her sweetness any longer, not tonight anyway. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling the fire in his veins come alive when she whined into his mouth and willed herself closer.

Before he could say fuck it and decide to take her right there outside, he pulled away, still needing her but not entirely willing to get themselves caught for public indecency.

Y/N spoke before he got a chance to, her higher pitch coming back and almost bringing him to his knees.

"What do you say you take your angel home and show her a good time?"

***

She didn't even get a chance to close the door to his apartment before he was on her, his hands tugging at her coat to get it off.

It was a frenzy, at least while they were stripping. Jackets and boots and scarves were strewn across the entryway and leading into the living room, until each of them only had two layers: their regular clothes and what they wore underneath. And that's when they finally allowed themselves the luxury of wrapping their limbs around each other.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he grabbed ahold of her ass to keep her steady. For added support, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him the whole way to his bedroom, but not without a few stumbles. Either way, they were so quite literally wrapped up in each other that the imperfections didn't matter.

Like she could ever come with imperfections... Spencer thought as he set her down, immediately bringing his hands to the back of her dress.

Meanwhile she unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling around so much that he thought she might choose to rip it open, and selfishly he wished she would have. But she got it open without tearing any buttons, and the fabric slid easily off his shoulders at the same time her dress slid off her own.

He was going to kiss her again, but once he caught a glimpse of what she'd been hiding under her dress, there was nothing he could physically do but rake his eyes over her figure and pray for forgiveness for all the devilish things he wanted to do to her.

It was a white set, all lace that was detailed to look like feathers as it hugged every curve of her body perfectly. She wore a set of garters that attached to the panties, which he was pretty sure were crotch-less and outlined in a pretty gold shimmer.

"I knew you'd like it," Y/N drawled sweetly. The pure innocence that dripped from her tongue would have thoroughly wrecked him had her appearance already not taken care of that. And she seemed to understand how immobile he'd become at the sight of her, because she moved of her own accord, gliding over to him and reaching her hand out to undo his belt. "I'm gonna take your silence as a good sign..."

"You're stunning," he breathed, just barely, and she gave him a smile through softly biting her bottom lip.

"You're too good to me..." Her hands pushed down his loosened slacks and waited until they fell to the floor. And then she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and leaned into his neck. "And I think your kindness deserves a reward..."

Her lips gently pressed to his neck before she dropped to her knees once again, and as she descended, her hands and his underwear did the same, leaving him completely bare and open for her to do whatever she wanted. No matter how badly he longed to throw her on the bed and get to showing her just how much she'd inhabited his every fiber of being, he didn't dare stop her as her tongue darted out and licked a featherlight line along the length of his hard cock.

He let out a sigh and twitched at her touch, a feat that must have pleased her, because she smiled and hummed happily as she repeated her action. Only, this time her tongue was more firm on him— not teasing anymore, but it brought him to damnation all the same.

And then she fully wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, slowly gliding herself down until he hit the back of her throat.

The sound he made was inhuman.

She wasted no time then, bobbing her head at a steady rhythm and moaning around him as she did so. It didn't take long for saliva to start gathering above her chin and dripping down onto the exposed area of her breasts, just above her bra. Occasionally she would hold him at the back of her throat and choke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and the sight of his little angel happily crying with his dick in her mouth sent Spencer into a tailspin.

But as tempting as it was to paint the back of her throat white, he knew he'd prefer to take that action to a more interesting place. So he pulled away from her and breathed out, "Please, not yet..."

He looked down at her as she smiled, wetness coating her skin in the form of tears on cheeks and saliva on breasts. Her hands rested at the tops of her thighs, even as she stood up and blinked a final stream of tears down her left cheek. "Why, is there somewhere else you'd rather fill me up?"

"Please," was all he said, his breathing labored as he imagined what she would feel like.

Thankfully she seemed to take mercy on him— Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed, where she laid him down at the headboard and straddled his thighs. "As much as I love spreading my legs for you, I think I'd much rather take a ride..."

"Anything you want," he told her, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she got comfortable. She was, in fact, wearing crotch-less panties, and the feeling that coursed through him at the sight of her glistening pussy in decent lighting (AKA when he wasn't under her skirt in a storage closet) sent him straight to Hell all over again.

He sighed out as she played with herself, gliding her fingers delicately along the planes of her body, from her thighs to her clit, and eventually she gripped his dick to line it up, lifting her hips above him.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently, rolling her hips to slick him up with her arousal.

"Always ready for you, angel..."

The pet name sprung her into action. She sunk down slowly onto him, and he willed his eyes to stay open so he could watch as her mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back into her head as she moaned out deliciously. He let out a groan himself, the feeling of her tightly wrapping around him like velvet almost too much to handle.

"Ohhh, you fill me up so good," Y/N sighed, gently grinding her hips in slow circles as she finally had all of him inside her. "Just like I knew you would..."

Everything she was doing, between the gradual increase of the speed at which her hips rolled and the way she looked down at him with pure desire, had Spencer wondering what he'd ever done without her. What had he known before knowing the feeling of her nails gently digging into the skin of his stomach as she rode him, before knowing the sound of his name falling from her lips in a whisper? It couldn't have been anything good, because as far as he was concerned, she was as good as it would ever get.

But at some point it felt like he needed to take more. She was giving him her body, offering it to him like the most precious gift she had to offer, and yet he wanted to tear into it and leave nothing behind except her voice, calling out his name into the heavens above. He longed to give her something in return, something that would leave her just as ruined as she'd left him.

And, as always, she could tell.

Y/N laughed seductively as she leaned down, her hips still rocking into his. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his before she spoke. "Everything alright, baby?"

All he could do was let out a broken moan as she clenched around him on every upstroke.

"Aww... You want more? Huh, you wanna lay me down and give it to me good? Show your little angel what it feels like to be fucked so good she can't even speak?"

"Don't... tempt me," he was finally able to choke out, and she laughed.

"Aww, come on... Show me what you got..."

Spencer wasn't sure when he actually did it, but one second she was nipping at his bottom lip, challenging him to take control, and the next he was on top of her, her legs spread as wide as they could possibly get as he rocked his hips into her at a deep, bruising force.

She laughed amusedly through whimpers of pleasure, her hands spreading out at her sides like wings as he gave her everything he had. Looking down at her, head thrown back and hair fanned around her head like some sort of angelic crown, he soaked it all in and wondered if this was what Heaven was— the feeling of her succumbing to his lust, the sight of her lost in the throes of weeks of pent-up sexual tension that never entirely got released, the sound of her near-incoherently whining at how good he was...

If it wasn't Heaven, it was surely something pretty damn close.

He was almost there, tension stretching out inside the pit of his stomach, when Y/N grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her lower belly. He felt himself slamming into her at full force every time, the small bump against his hand bringing him further along the road of release.

"You feel that?" she whined, keeping his hand there. "You know what that means, don't you?"

It could have meant a lot of things, but his brain was too far gone, lost in in the fog of pleasure to even begin to think about what it was. But then she answered for him, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard come from her mouth.

"It means I'm all yours... to do whatever you want with... to fill me up with your cum as much as you want... maybe turn your little angel into a mommy..."

With a loud, guttural groan, Spencer held himself still, deep inside her, and gave her every last drop, his hand remained pressed firmly to her stomach. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his cum spilling out and filling her to the brim through the barrier. She pulsed and came around him at the same time, warmth spreading between the two of them like a drop of water would soak through fabric, until it completely enveloped them like a heavy blanket.

And then they'd given everything, their bodies clinging to each other for dear life as they settled into the gentle aftermath of such a heavy feeling of ardor. Their breaths slowed and their lips explored each other tenderly, hands doing the same until, finally, they felt themselves drifting off.

***

Spencer dreamt of Heaven that night, glimpses of a future he'd always longed for with other people, but that he would get to spend with her.

A wedding dress, white, but haloed by a gold fog as the woman wearing it glided along the aisle and made her way to him.

A house, small, but fenced in and just perfect enough for the two of them and the baby that was on the way.

A picnic table, damp, but drying out in the sun as it gradually became littered with plates of birthday cake and a little candle that was shaped into the number 3.

A woman, old, but beaming as she showed a photo album to her multitudes of grandchildren, telling them stories about the wonderful life she lived with her husband who always called her Angel.

And when he woke up, seeing that old woman as she was now, sleeping in his bed as the sun beamed through the curtains and basked her in a heavenly light, he knew what Heaven really was.

It was her.

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