#He did this for a Forensic Anthropology course

[noyzinerd]

Stiles: Sometimes I watch gangbangs. You know, the ones that have one woman and an entire room of men.

Stiles: Not to jerk off or anything. I just like watching the line of guys in the back and trying to imagine what they're talking about to each other as they awkwardly stand around, waiting for their turn. Stiles: Like, can you imagine two guys, that only just met that morning, desperately trying to stay hard as they make small talk about how congested L.A. traffic has gotten recently while they wait for the eight guys in front of them to finish up?

Stiles: Meanwhile, the girl is having the time of her life delegating which guy gets to fuck which hole and for how long, like a queen sprinkling gold coins off her balcony at the peasants.

Stiles: Anyway, that concludes my report on "Powerful Women In History".

[Later]

Derek:

Derek: I can't believe they gave you a 75 for that.

Stiles: Eh. It was extra credit anyway.

[tlou-reid]

okay i know i literally posted the first blurb of popstar!reader x spencer but i can’t stop thinking about them so this is how i picture them meeting

popstar!reader x spencer reid au

spencer checked his watch with a sigh, doing his best to increase the pace of his steps, hoping to make it to his guest lecture on time. the head of the anthropology department had set this up months ago, spencer couldn’t ruin it now.

despite it not being one of spencer’s many masteries, he was here to educate the department’s students on forensic anthropology; the study of human skeletal remains. it was a skill he used a lot in the field, and was more than excited to be able to talk to all of the students who signed up to visit the lecture. he wasn’t sure how many it was, but he looking forward to it nonetheless.

all had been going perfectly, until his train had been delayed due to the track being icy. he understood the dangers, but was really tee-ed off at the situation.

so, here he was, trying not to embarrass himself on campus. it felt like his college experience all over again, except he was just over college age, rather than multiple years below. the ground was slippery, so he looked like a white mom with the way he was speed-walking.

“excuse me,” a chipper voice called out. there was no one around, meaning she was definitely talking to him. spencer debated ignoring her, but didn’t want to be rude, especially if she was one of the students. “hello,” he answered, trying his best to hide his annoyance. covering up his emotions was never one of spencer’s strong suits.

“do you know where the stadium is? i’ve been looking around forever, but i can’t seem to find it. the map has faded out, it definitely needs to be repainted.” she asked. “follow that path,” spencer gestured to one that split between two buildings, “to the right and it’ll be straight down.” he’d barely finished his sentence before he was trekking along, desperately trying to make it on time. “thank you, professor!” she proclaimed.

professor?

that crisis was one spencer would have to deal with later. he knew his ties and dressed pants made him blend in with an older crowd, be he’d at least thought he’d be labeled as a master’s student at most.

oh well, he has somewhere to be.

“i’m so sorry for the delay,” spencer said as he arrived to the large lecture hall. he sat his bag down, before going to shake the professor’s hand. “it’s no issue, dr. reid. it’s not like we had much of a turn out, anyways.” for the first time, spencer directs himself to the seats. six of them are full.

“i’m sorry if this is a disappointment,” the professor said as spencer dismissed it with a head shake, “we had a lot more sign up, but once they announced who was playing at the festival, a lot of plans changed.”

“festival?” spencer’s face twisted up, not understanding what the professor was talking about. a student interjected, a blonde boy with glasses, “yeah it kicks off the start of holiday festivities. it’s usually really lame, but y/n is playing it this year and her ep was a banger.”

spencer nodded, pretending he knew what the word banger meant. “i’ll try to be quick so you guys can make it to see, too.” spencer smiled at the students who did show. he appreciated their dedication, especially since there was somewhere else they could be having a lot more fun. the students smiled back at him.

talking fast is a skill spencer had mastered, so he ended up using 50 of the 90 minutes he was allotted, and sent the students off to the festival, telling them to have fun and be safe.

“they really appreciated you letting them go. i heard danny and rebecca talking about how much they wanted to be there, but they needed the extra credit for one of their courses.” the professor smiled at spencer. he remembered having professors like him, and hoped one day he could be similar.

“you should go check it out too, i heard y/n’s really good live.” the professor said as he stepped out into the hallway. spencer nodded, and finished packing up his things.

after some internal debate, spencer decided he would. he was using his first PTO day all year, so he minus well spend it doing something that could have some semblance of fun. he followed the same path he’d directed someone down earlier, and used his guest pass to come in through the side. he was standing side-stage, watching y/n perform her last song. while pop wasn’t usually the genre he chose, he could admire how strong she was vocally, especially considering the way she danced across the stage.

he smiles as he realizes that y/n is the same girl he’d given directions too. it was nice to know someone else was running late to something important today.

“thank you!” she says, waving goodbye to the crowd of students. she’s moving closer to spencer before he can even realize it. he didn’t know that he would be standing where she exited, but he wasn’t upset about it all.

“professor!” she cheers when she sees him, wiping down some sweat that had accumulated at the top of her head. “how’d you get back here?”

spencer’s cheek went red almost immediately, feeling like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “i-i just followed the path i sent you down,” he stuttered. she giggled at him, “well, i hope you liked the show.”

“i did!” spencer squeaked, with a small voice crack, before relaxing himself a bit and adding, “i just made it in time for the last song, but it was really good.” all of the knowledge he possessed about music and music theory was wiped away when she got close enough to him that he could see the individual specs of glitter on her eyelids. he wished he could compliment something technical about her performance, but his mind was blank.

“guess i’ll just have to get your number so you can come to a full show,” you smiled at him. if spencer’s head was empty before, it was full now, with nothing but thoughts of you. “y-yeah, that’d be cool.” you giggled again, reaching for his hand. “my phone’s somewhere backstage, but here,” you held his arm steady, using the sharpie you’d been given to sign autograph with to scribble your personal number across his arm.

“use it, sometime.” you declared, skipping off when you were done. spencer nodded at no one, trying to forget about the amount of chemicals seeping into his skin from the permanent marker.

shit, he thought, i’m gonna have to get a phone i can text on.

[rmoonstoner]

Kinktober 18+

1 - First Time

Pairing: Virgin Jake Lockley x fem Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, angst, p in V sex, virgin Jake, not virgin reader, Jake as Khonshu's Avatar is hinted, reader is vaguely aware that Jake works a dangerous job, yes they both are attending university, small Easter eggs to show Marc and Steven are still there.

I DID NOT GET ANYONE TO PROOF READ.

***

You had been dating a wonderful man for a long time. About a year to be exact. His name was Jake Lockley, and he was everything you had ever dreamed the perfect man to be. He was tall, dark, mysterious, and sometimes brooding, but you had managed to brighten his world so much, he never brooded around you. Loving him was easy, right from the very start.

You met him one night after one of your night classes at the campus that you attended. Your class had gotten out just minutes after the last bus, which left you humming and hawing about a way home. You didn't live on campus, and your home was a good hour away if you walked. You didn't want to walk.

Luck seemed to be on your side, because you could spot a cab parked in the farthest edges of the parking lot. The driver just happened to be turning his car lights on with the press of his fob button as he approached his vehicle. You found yourself breaking into a brisk jog towards him, the poor cabbie having no idea someone was booking it towards him.

You could see the man opening his trunk and putting what appeared to be a laptop bag and his light blue canvas jacket away. As you got closer, you could see him grabbing a new jacket, this one bigger and in a bluish slate grey. He pulled it on, then switched his shoes from grey sneakers with velcro, to nice looking black leather dress shoes. He started putting on a dark grey flat cap, what appeared to be a black tie, and some black driving gloves as well. He looked like a student who was getting ready for work.

You were almost there, feeling like you were close enough to shout at him and possibly gain his attention, and that's what you did.

"Excuse me! Sir!" You yelled between your heavy breaths from running.

The man went rigid and he slowly turned around to see you barreling towards him. He wore an uneasy look on his face and he seemed to back up against the trunk while moving one of his hands to the interior of it.

"Please, sir. I saw your cab, and there are no more busses tonight. I was hoping you were on duty?" You panted as you stopped just about six feet away from him. He seemed to relax a bit and he slammed his trunk shut.

"Sí. Sure. Just getting on shift, actually." The man replied as he procured a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He put one of the cigarettes between his lips and lit it, then he looked you up and down.

"Student?" He asked, probably trying to gauge the type of fee he needed to charge.

"Yeah. I'm majoring in a few different things actually. You look familiar… Do you also go to this campus?" You asked him as you studied his face. He looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn't place why. He appeared to be surprised, but then he smiled charmingly. That made your heart flutter to see. That smile paired very nicely with his dark brown eyes.

"Sí. I do." He said.

"What are you majoring in? I'm doing mechanical engineering, physics, robotics, and computer programming." You tried to see what classes he took, and he seemed nervous about answering you.

"Ancient civilizations, specifically Egyptology. I am also taking anthropology, archeology, astronomy, automotive mechanics, and forensic sciences." He listed off the things he was taking, and the last two were surely a surprise given all the other courses he was taking. You smiled at him, looking him up and down. He did not look like the type to be interested in any of the things he mentioned, except the last two.

"Oh, wow. That's pretty amazing. Which one is your favorite?" You asked, and he smirked, his eyes seemingly catching the moonlight just right. They appeared like a sheet of glowing white for a brief moment.

"My favorite is forensic science. It's fascinating yo see how criminals get caught." He said, then he took a long drag of his smoke, while the other reached out for a shake. You took his hand, noticing how soft the expensive leather of his glove was. His hand was so much larger, nearly engulfing yours.

"My name is Jake Lockley." He finally introduced himself to you. You smiled and squeezed his hand as you told him your name.

"So, about that ride, doll?"

***

That was a year ago today. Today was the day you decided to plan a test anniversary date on him. Your actual anniversary was in a month, when you two started officially dating. You had gone the whole nine yards for this, hoping that today would be the day you could move on from just making out, heavy petting, and him giving you the best oral you had ever experienced.

You got everything did. New lingerie, new dress, new shoes. You had your hair cut, dyed, and styled, then had your makeup done, and a mani and pedi all done that morning, while he was away on a weekend business trip for his boss, Conrad.

He was due back around the early evening.

Right now, you were just putting the final touches to your plan. You had the whole flat cleaned yesterday, and you had added a whole hoard of LED candles to the entire flat, with some real scented candles in the mix. They were scents you knew Jake loved. Cinnamon, coffee, citrus, and pine notes.

You had his favorite dinner roasting in the oven, a large rack of beef ribs, slathered in his favorite homemade barbecue sauce. It was a sweet and smokey, brown sugar, with jalapeños in the rub, coated in honey and maple syrup. For the sides, you made thick potato wedges and a very nice hearty salad. For dessert, you had made a butter pecan pan of cinnamon rolls with a thick and gooey icing.

It was absolutely perfect. You were sure this perfect night would finally knock the last brick loose in Jake's wall. The one that allowed you access to whatever goods he was packing. Fuck, you wanted so badly to have sex with him. He was so good with his hands and mouth, you imagined his dick would feel even better.

Nothing could derail this night for you.

Or so you thought.

The first thing that went wrong, was that Jake didn't come home in the early evening, which would have been a little after six. He had texted you to let you know he had blown a tire on his car, and he had to change it. Okay. No big deal. That would maybe take him what, thirty more minutes, tops?

But then, at around seven, nearly forty five minutes later, he sent another text to inform you there was a road block, so he had to take a detour. That would force him to double back about twenty minutes, only to take a new route that would add another hour to get home that you both hadn't planned on. By now, you had turned the stove to a holding temperature, and had cracked open one of the beers you had bought for him while you watched videos on the internet.

By eight, Jake still wasn't home, and he had not sent any more messages. You sighed heavily and turned to the stove, turning it off completely and putting the food out, cooling on the counter so you could put it away into containers.

By nine, Over half of the LED lights had gone out, the batteries dying from hours of use. The scented candles were still going strong, though, only being about a third of the way through.

And now it was ten. At this point, you were ready to accept defeat, and possibly go to bed once the food was cooled enough to put away. You felt like you had wasted the day. All that effort and planning, ruined because of a slew of bad luck that you couldn't control.

You slowly peeled off your pretty new dress and stared at yourself in the mirror for a bit. Perhaps you would at least leave the lingerie on, just in case, and you hung the dress up over the mirror by his bed. You grabbed one of his graphic tee shirts that you honestly had never seen him wear. It was a night sky print with a full moon on it and you basically were the only one who ever wore it.

You came back out to the kitchen and started to pack up the ribs into containers with a heavy sigh. At least your man would have a good lunch for work tomorrow. Just as you were putting the first container into the fridge, you heard the front door. The locks came undone, and the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was Jake, shoulders slumped, duffle bag at his side, and a wilted bouquet of flowers in one of his hands.

His face showed how tired he was, and it also showed you that something had happened to him. As he stepped into the low light of the room, you could see a bloodied plaster over the bridge of nose. His lower lip was split, and he had a black eye. You saw the slight limp in his step as he went to the shoe rack and toed off his dress shoes that were now almost completely destroyed and caked in crusty mud. He made sure his dirty shoes didn't touch the heels you had discarded earlier in the night. Heels he knew you hadn't even worn yet.

"Oh, Jake! Did you get into a fist fight again?" You asked and clicked your tongue as you came over to him. He set his bag down on the couch and turned to look at you with open arms. By the way one of his shoulders was significantly lower than the other, you knew he wasn't asking for a hug. He needed help removing his jacket.

"Hola, mi amor. I did." He answered you with a rough and scratchy voice. He sounded like he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in a few hours. He smelled it too.

"Did Conrad at least help this time?"

"Yeah. Fucker owes me a new car, though." Jake murmured with a wince as you helped him out of his jacket, then his blazer. The moment they came off, you could see multiple splotches of blood soaked through his blue dress shirt, holes in almost every patch of blood.

"For fuck's sake. What happened to it this time?" You asked him calmly. By now, you had grown accustomed to him coming home from work like this. It was a silent understanding that you wouldn't ask more than he told you. In his words, a private detective of sorts that used his cab as a clever disguise to blend in easily.

"Shoot out. Took the scumbags down. Conrad covered the clean up." Jake huffed while you removed his shirt and went to grab him a cloth.

Whatever happened, must have happened right before he left to come home, as he still had open wounds all over him. You knew Jake had some sort of weird healing factor that he never fully explained, and you didn't question it one bit. He was always forever grateful that you never harassed him about it and that you always took the time to help clean his wounds when the healing was taking longer than expected. You knew by morning, he would be free from any marks.

As you cleaned him up, he gave the air a good sniff and he noticed the half put away pot of ribs. His stomach growled loudly and you giggled as he gave you a cheesy smile.

"Are you hungry? I made your favorite." You asked while wiping the last bit of blood from his stomach.

"Sí. It smells really good. You made that for me?" He husked the question as he pulled away to look at the food.

"Yes I did. I was just putting it away in the fridge when you came home. Would you like me to reheat some for you while you go have a shower?" You said. He shook his head with a grunt and started to grab a plate and fill it up, before popping it into the toaster oven.

"Okay. There's salad and dessert in the fridge, too. Cinnamon pecan rolls, with lots of that icing you like." You said. Jake hummed and when mentioned the dessert he groaned.

"¡Mierda! You're so fuckin' good to me, mi vida. I hope you didn't wait for me." Jake said as he dove into the fridge to grab the salad and the tray of cinnamon rolls.

"Actually, I did. I haven't eaten yet." You replied sheepishly. He whirled around and pointed his finger to you, his face showing his obvious annoyance.

"What have I told you about that? If I am more than an hour late, don't wait." He scolded you, and you looked down.

"I'm sorry." You quietly replied while playing with the edge of the shirt you borrowed. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes from everything not going the way you had planned.

Jake's eyes skimmed your form and his expression softened. He set the salad bowl down and padded over to you. He placed his hands on the side of your face and tilted it up so you had to look at him. He finally noticed the makeup on your face that was slightly smudged, the tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

"Hey, no, don't be sad, cariño. I just mean that you should not go hungry while waiting for me, okay?" He whispered, his voice suddenly several octaves softer.

"I know… It's just… This was supposed to be a romantic dinner, and now it's cold, and you're all banged up, and…"

"Shhh, no. No, don't think that way. It's my fault." Jake hushed you and drew you in a firm embrace. He stroked your hair and back and he started to sway with you to muted sounds of the radio that was playing in the kitchen. It did but it also didn't help. The flood gates opened, and you sobbed into his shoulder.

"¿Lo entiendes? Do you understand?" He asked, and all you could muster in reply was a strangled 'yes' and a nod.

"Why was tonight so important to you, mi vida?" Jake asked, sounding genuinely baffled about it. You took a deep breath in, and buried your face into his neck. You didn't want to tell him why, because the reason sounded so stupid and pushy.

"Nothing-"

"I don't think it's nothing." He said as he noticed the smell of your hair products. The fancy ones you saved for dates with him. He sighed and pulled back as he found your hands. He looked at them, seeing you had a fresh manicure.

"There must be a reason. You did your makeup and hair. Your nails are done up, and your brand new shoes are by the door." He listed off all the things you had done in preparation for the night, and you felt even more defeated.

"It's just the anniversary of the day we met. I wanted to do something special for it. You've changed my life for the better. I felt that day was just as important to celebrate as our anniversary…" You whispered and he squeezed your hands gently.

"Oh, cariño… I am so happy that you remembered that day. That's why I brought you flowers. Though, now they are wilted and useless." He paused for a moment and went to cup our cheek.

"I thought you would be upset when I came home so late."

"No. I am not upset with you. I'm upset things didn't go according to plan." You replied while moving your hands up into his sweaty hair. He sighed and rested his forehead against yours.

"So, even though it's later than intended… How about we have that dinner you made together, hm?" Jake suggested with a smile. You smiled back and nodded.

"Okay, though I didn't intend to have a romantic dinner in one of your tee shirts… Haha."

"That's okay. I didn't intend on coming home, covered in bloody holes, a black eye, and a busted nose and lip with wilted flowers. If it makes you feel any better, I'll go have a quick shower, and you can put whatever it was you had on before. We will pretend it's six o'clock again." He said, then checked the toaster oven.

He had just enough time to have a very short shower and get redressed. You nodded and dabbed at your eyes with his shirt. The idea didn't sound bad at all. It meant you could somehow salvage this night just a little. You just wanted him to relax, and now maybe when it was over, you could curl up to him in bed and have a good sleep. The sex part of your plan was long forgotten.

While he showered, you changed back into your dress and put your heels back on, then you touched up your makeup so no one could tell you cried. You quickly set the table and moved one of the unscented candles to the center, along with the flowers you put in a vase. Most of them were too far gone, but four of them were still as fresh as when he bought them. Just as you grabbed the reheated ribs from the oven, Jake came strolling out of the bathroom in the same outfit he was in, minus the jacket, shoes, hat, and gloves when you first met him.

His hair was slicked back, making him look sleek and clean. When he grinned at you, his eyes went wide as he took in your dress and shoes. You watched his face contort into look of longing with his brows furrowed, pupils blown, and his lower lip between his teeth. You noticed the plaster on his nose had been replaced with a fresh one. His black eye didn't look so bad with the mud and blood washed from his face. You could see his week's worth of stubble, with not a speck of grey. He smelled like his blood orange soap and his woodsy cologne, making your nose tingle with the pleasant and fresh scent.

"¡Dios mio!" His words sounded almost punched from his lungs as he came up to you and held you flush against him.

"You're so beautiful, mi amor." He murmured right before capturing your lips with his. He seemed almost desperate as his fingers spread out on your lower back and ass, trying to pull you somehow closer. You blushed as he let go and gestured to the food.

"We should eat, cariño. I know I am starved, and you must be as well."

You both ate without talking. All that could be heard were happy grunts and slurping as you dug into the ribs and salad. Jake had two plates full of ribs, and a fairly large portion of the salad. He always ate so much, you wondered where he put it other than his delectable ass, thighs, and chest.

When dinner was finished, Jake cleaned up the dishes, while you did the table and reheated the buns. When they were sufficiently hot, you took the pan to the couch and sat down to eat them while watching an old mobster movie he liked. Half way through the movie, and half the pan of cinnamon rolls later, Jake had become a little restless.

He was fidgeting with one of his Rubik's cubes in one hand, his other twitching on the back of the couch behind your shoulder. One of his legs was bouncing up and down, which was a tell tale sign that he was nervous. You couldn't really fathom why.

"Hey, can we… Uh, can we go to bed now?" Jake asked in a slightly timid voice. You looked at him, seeing that he looked like he definitely should be going to bed, and you smiled.

"Of course." You replied with a quick kiss to his cheek as you got up and took the pan away to deposit back into the fridge.

Jake had scrambled up and to the bathroom the second you got up. What you didn't see, was him doing a quick once over of himself. He brushed his teeth and applied another half spritz of his cologne, then he used the facilities. He fixed his hair from the neat and sleek look, to slightly messy with just a curl or two hanging loose over his eye on his left side of his face. When he came out, you were sitting on his side of the bed just about to take off your shoes.

"Por favor, mi amor… Leave those on for me for just a little longer." His voice was a little deeper with a slight whine to it.

He sounded almost needy as he padded over to you and fell to his knees between your legs. He rested his forehead against yours and sighed as he wrapped his arms around you. You put your hands on his shoulders and rubbed his sore feeling muscles as he whimpered and nudged his nose to your neck.

"Te amo… I hope you know that, mi vida." He rumbled softly. You smiled brightly while creeping your fingers up the collar of his shirt.

"Yes, Jake, I know. I love you, too." You murmured, hands rubbing his neck, finger tips slipping into his hair. You could feel his lips mouthing at your skin, right on your sensitive spot.

"I think I'm ready… To take things to the next level… If you are?" He groaned with a firm nip to your pulse point. You whimpered and tugged on his hair.

"Oh fuck, Jake. Yes, please…"

Jake hummed in response as he went to pull off your dress. He was used to seeing you naked, so he was utterly unprepared to see lingerie. Pretty white and black lace framed your breasts and hips, and he let out a deep groan at the sight. His rough hands came up to cup each breast delicately with his hands.

He was always so gentle and delicate with you. Sure you hadn't had real full blown sex yet, but he was accustomed to your body through his mouth and hands. He was so good at eating you out and fucking you with his thick fingers, that you honestly had been satisfied with that alone. He knew every sensitive spot on your body and how to make you gush for him.

You likewise knew most of his erroneous areas. You had only ever given him touches through his clothing. He never let you pull his cock out to see it, and he never accepted your offers to suck him off. You never knew why, and you almost thought that perhaps something was off with him. He clearly found you attractive, and his dick got hard for you almost at the drop of a hat or a suggestive whisper. You thought a man like him surely would have been a stud in the pasture before you came along. He was sexy, gorgeous, beautiful, and handsome…

You were brought out of your thoughts as his hands moved down from your breasts, fingers ghosting over your stomach in a twitchy manner. He seemed nervous this time, more so than he usually was. You cupped his face and forced him to look at you.

"You're nervous… You don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." You whispered to him. His reaction surprised you. Full on tears filled his eyes. He bit his lower lip and pushed his forehead against yours, his eyes sliding shut.

"Mi amor… You're always so patient with me. You don't push me for more information about me, like you should. You don't question where I go for days or weeks at a time, and you always welcome me back without question… I love you so much."

"Jake… Sweetheart… Why are you so upset?"

"It's just… You deserve so much more than I can ever give you. I don't deserve a woman like you." He said solemnly as the tears fell down his cheeks.

"Honey, no… You give me everything I could have ever dreamed of. A loving, caring, and protective boyfriend. You're sweet and very smart. You're the man I love, and if you don't want to have sex with me right now, you don't have to-"

"No. It's not that." He interrupted and opened his eyes.

"Then what is it?"

"I… I've been keeping secrets from you. I am afraid you might leave me…"

"What sort of secrets? You're not married, are you?" You jokingly asked. His face stiffened up and he huffed.

"Oh God… You are married-"

"No! I am not married. I… I just… Fuck it's hard to explain. All of it is."

"Well then… Take your time." You said and kissed his nose. He smiled weakly then took your hands in his.

"Mi amor. I truly do love you. With all of my heart. You accept me for me, even though I am a dangerous man. I gave you a key to my flat, to allow you into my life more. To open up… But I have been dishonest with you…"

"Jake, whatever it is, we will be fine. I promise." You said and then rubbed his knuckles with your thumbs. He sighed and sat back on his heels.

"You know how I said I have two flatmates that are barely ever here?"

"Yeah. I found it odd how there's only one bedroom, though. Is it a timeshare thing? It would explain the baseball stuff, and the desk and shelves you won't let me touch. And all the little notes I find on the fridge or the fish tank."

"Yes… I… They aren't flatmates. There is reason you never see us together." He replied flatly as he searched your face for a reaction.

"Okay… Care to explain that further to me so I don't make assumptions?"

"The notes you find are from Marc and Steven. They are… They are like my brothers, but aren't. And no, don't let your mind wander. They aren't fuck buddies, either." He started to say, then he squeezed your hands a bit more.

"You know how we never really run into each other at the university?"

"Yeah. I thought it odd you never told me I could come to any of your classes, except the automotive one. I find it weird you're taking so many classes, yet you are also always busy working for Conrad." You remarked and he winced.

"There's a reason… I… Fuck this is so hard to explain. Again, I… The automotive class is far away from all my other classes. None of my classmates there are in any of the other ones I take. It is also the late night class, so I can just go straight to work in my cab. What I am trying to say is… I'm only Jake in that class. All of my other classes, I go by Steven Grant…"

Your brain nearly broke when he revealed to you this information. Steven Grant was one of the people that supposedly lived in this flat with him, and one of the two people who always left notes around.

"... Except for the astronomy class. That one I go by Marc. I lie and say it's my middle name to get around the fact that all of my paperwork is under Steven Grant Marc Spector…"

"So you mean to tell me that your name isn't even Jake Lockley?" You asked, your head tilting to the side in confusion. Jake huffed and let go of your hands to grab at his hair.

"No. My name is Jake Lockley. It is. I promise you it is. It's just… I have a disorder that was brought on by childhood trauma. Back then, before the trauma, there was only Marc Spector. Then after the trauma, there was Marc Spector, Seven Grant, and then me…"

"Oh. Okay. So you have that multiple personality disorder. Uh, disassociate… Uh, dissociative identity disorder?" You bumbled your way through the term and he seemed to smile at how calm you were. You seemed more concerned about saying it correctly, then him having the disorder.

"Yeah. That one. I'm sorry I never told you… I was so scared that you would leave me. I begged my headmates to be nice to you, and let me front when you were around."

"Oh… Okay… Have I met the others?"

"Yes and no. I was so tired last month after I came home from Spain, but I promised you a movie night. I couldn't keep my eyes open to save my life, and you were holding me and rubbing my back. I felt so safe, that slipped away into the back, while Steven came out to watch the movie with you. He didn't talk for a reason, because he sounds nothing like me. You haven't met Marc."

"Oh… Are they okay with us dating?"

"Sí. Are you okay with me having two other dudes in my head?"

"Yes, so long as they aren't mean to me. I would, however, like to meet them and get to know them as well."

"That's it? You're seriously okay with this? With them, and me?"

"Yes, Jake. I am seriously okay with this, with them and you. We are okay. I thought this was going in a different direction, honestly." You giggled a bit and ran your fingers through his hair.

"What do you mean, mi amor?" He asked with a small smile.

"I thought you were going to say you were a virgin, and that's why we haven't had sex yet." You said with a teasing smile. His smile slowly faded when you said that, with him looking down at your lap with a frown.

Oh no. Was he a virgin as well?

"I've never… I've never had sex before. I'm a virgin. I don't want to disappoint you."

"Oh… I am so sorry… I didn't mean… Fuck, now I feel like an ass. Are all of you virgins, or just you?" You asked, hoping to not sound rude. Luckily he let out a small laugh.

"Marc isn't. Steven is."

"Okay. I understand. It is okay if you are a virgin. That doesn't change anything for me. It does let me know why you won't let me touch your penis." You replied with a chuckle and pulled him close, putting his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair. He let out a small chuckle as he hugged you tightly.

"You're not mad at me?" He questioned. You kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders.

"No."

"Can we… Do you want to have sex with me? Even if it's my first time and I might suck at it?" He asked while sounding a lot less nervous.

"Of course, my love. Tell me how you want this to go."

"I want you on your back, head on the pillows. I want to hold your hand and your hips up as I fuck into you nice and slow. I want to make you moan, and come all over my cock while we kiss. I want to keep going until I come inside of you." He explained to you what he wanted, which made your heart swell. That was so intimate and passionate sounding.

"Yes. I love that idea. Let's try to make it happen." You purred as you gave him one last kiss to his nose and scooted backwards to the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Jake chased after you while he discarded his clothing. By the time he got to you, he was naked, his cock throbbing and leaking.

"Fuck… Baby, you're so beautiful…" You cooed to him as you reached out and stroked him. He groaned and rutted into your hand.

Jake slowly took a pillow from beside your head and he put it under your hips. He smiled as he reached down to slip his fingers inside of you. You groaned and arched your back, feeling the pads of his middle and ring fingers press against your gspot. Jake growled, his other hand slipping your panties off and throwing them over his shoulder. He sighed when you whined and tensed, your pussy squeezing his fingers as you soaked his hand.

"Mierda, that's so hot." Jake murmured as he took his wet hand and stroked himself, mixing your slick with his generous amounts of precome.

"Can I make love to you now?" Jake asked, his voice sounding sweet and desperate.

"Yes." You nodded and opened your arms, beckoning to him.

He leaned down and kissed you hard, his free hand finding one of yours. He laced his fingers with yours and he slowly slid himself inside of you. He groaned with every inch that he sank, his eyes closing as his tongue danced with yours. He bottomed out with a growl and he pulled away to look down at where your bodies were connected.

"You're so big… Jake… So good… Please…" You whimpered for him. Jake hummed and started to move his hips, his eyes glued to how he slipped in and out of you. The sight made him feral, and he moved to kiss you again.

"Mi vida… Mi amor… Te amo." Jake whispered as his hips sped up. You groaned and held on, feeling him hit that perfect spot inside of you.

"Jake! Oh, yeah… More… Harder, please…" You gasped and wrapped your legs around his waist to encourage him. Jake grunted and went harder, dipping himself even deeper with each thrust. He started to grind and rock into you, causing you to come undone and soaking the bed under you.

"Te amo… I'm not gonna last much longer, mi amor." He grunted as he moved a hand down between you. He was quick to find your clit and make sure you came at least once more before he filled you.

"I love you, Jake, fuck, fill me, please!" You begged him as he drew another shattering orgasm from you. He groaned and kissed you as he pressed as deep as he could go. He went rigid and spilled inside of you as he whimpered your name.

"Thank you, mi via. Te amo."

"No, Jake… Thank you. Te amo." You whispered back and then drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

***

Tags: @snippychicke @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @queenofclassy @clairewinchester14 @promiscuoussatan @mona-has-friends @lazyotakujen @timeless-crow @crazylittlereader2474 @bibibeu @novagonz3elz7799

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 44

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

44. Wave of Mutilation

Spencer looked up from his book at the knock at the door, tossing it onto the coffee table without bothering to mark his page. He’d already read it twice, anyway. He crossed to the door and pulled it open, grinning as he spotted Cassie on the other side. She was bowed under the weight of her backpack, her hair tumbling out of its bun, her glasses slightly askew. She was still wearing her clothes from work—she must have come straight from her consult. 

“Sorry for being late, I know we agreed on seven-thirty,” she said quickly, offering him a paper shopping bag from his favorite bakery Downtown. He knew it was meant as an apology she didn’t owe him.

“I already told you before, it’s fine—it’s not like movie night can’t wait an hour or two. How’d it go?” He said, ushering her inside. She dropped her bag in the chair by the door, rooting around in it for her phone charger, shoulders slumped. 

“They brought in this forensic epidemiologist from Yale who was about three steps away from re-extolling phrenology before we’d even finished the reconstruction, and then he just looked at it and asked for tissue samples. From fully skeletonized remains. So I spent three and a half hours putting this fucking skull back together so he can take a look at the new growth bone on the floor of the maxillary sinus and tell me whether it’s indicative of meningitis or some modern form of sinusitis and he looked at me like I had three heads. ‘How am I supposed to tell from just looking at the bone?’ Idiot.”

“Why would he fly in for a consult on something he doesn’t know how to do? I mean, he knew it was from the forensic anthropology department, right?” Spencer asked, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know, it was a huge waste of time. He probably just wanted to be able to say he’d consulted for the Smithsonian.”

“So what do you think it is?”

“Viral meningitis, which was why I requested the consult, because the pitting is atypical.”

“Hopefully whoever you get in next will at least know what they’re looking at. Of course, you almost need someone who’s specialty is archeological epidemiology instead of forensic, which I’d guess is a very small pool to pull from.”

“Are you in the market for a fourth doctorate, Boy Genius?”

He hid his smile, pretending to think about it. “You know, I’ve been wondering what to do with my mountains of free time and extremely consistent schedule.”

She huffed a laugh, just staring at him with a soft smile. “I guess that’s fair.”

He wrapped his arms around her and she melted, closing her eyes as she laid her head on his chest, knotting her hands in the back of his shirt. 

“Tired?” He asked, already knowing the answer. She nodded. 

“Alright, go change into something comfy and I’ll set everything up, okay?” He said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He smirked at the way it made her flush before she crossed to his bedroom. He clicked through the settings on the TV, flipping on the DVD player before turning back towards the bedroom door.

“Did you eat?” He called.

“Did you?”

“You’re deflecting, so no,” he called back, picturing the grumpy, scrunched up face he knew she was making. It made him laugh. He peered into the fridge, looking for something he could whip up, but it was mostly empty—he hadn’t managed to go grocery shopping since they’d returned from their last case three days ago. All he had were some leftover chicken wings and half a jar of chunky peanut butter—and he knew for a fact he didn’t have bread. 

He grabbed his cell, dialing the familiar number for Mario’s and ordering a large Secret Garden with no mushrooms and broccoli on only half. Spencer didn’t think broccoli belonged on pizza. Cassie told him he was wrong.

It was his favorite argument.

“I ordered pizza,” he said as she emerged wearing an oversized t shirt and sleep shorts. She hadn’t been bothering to cover up her scars as much around him anymore, something that left a warm feeling in his chest. 

“With broccoli?”

“On half.”

“Thank you,” she said, standing on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled him toward the couch, fingers interlaced with his. He flopped down, pulling her so she lay across his chest as he pressed play on the remote. She idly traced her fingers across his ribs as the movie began, brow furrowed as they watched the opening sequence. He could feel the tension coiled in her muscles, even if she seemed utterly unaware.

He knew she wasn’t really watching, her mind no doubt still ruminating on the implications of the possible viral meningitis. He knew if it hadn’t been for their plans she’d still be at the lab trying to puzzle it out, that she didn’t seem to have the ability to turn that part of her brain off. 

He’d noticed it more since her graduation, since she’d taken on a larger role at the lab—she’d worked it out with Hotch that days they worked at Quantico she’d work seven to three before heading back to DC to work at the lab until seven, though it was more often than not eight or nine if they didn’t have prior plans. It was a grueling workload, but she barely seemed to blink at it. In fact, most of the time she was wired after finishing at the lab. 

“Sweet girl,” he said softly, watching her face carefully as she looked up at him. “You’re all knots. Sit up.”

She hesitated for a moment before doing as he asked. He followed suit, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her neck before digging his thumbs into the knots in her shoulders. They were worse than he’d expected, her left rhomboid major in full spasm. She let out a shaky breath as he eased the tension from them. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

“Of course. I like taking care of you, Cass. You make it a challenge.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for it to spark a bubble of anxiety. 

“Cassie? Is everything okay? I didn’t mean to imply anything—“

“No, I was just—I was thinking about love.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about my mom and dad.”

“Oh, Cass—“

“Not—not what happened. Not really. Just before. The whole dancing in the kitchen, reading poetry to each other every night kind of thing. How happy they made each other. You know?”

“I don’t,” he said, thinking back in a childhood of arguments that always bled through the closed bedroom door, of how easy it was for his dad to walk out on him and his mom and never look back. “My parents didn’t love each other. Not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“You didn’t know. It’s not like I talk about it. My parents got divorced when I was nine, it was just me and my mom after that, and she was sick, so there weren’t a lot of Hallmark moments.”

They sat in silence for a moment before he pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What was it like?” He asked, trying not to let the longing seep into his voice. He knew all the statistics on happy, stable childhoods, could rattle off decades of peer-reviewed research in the area, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around what it really meant. 

She stood and crossed to her bag, pulling out her computer. She clicked through a few pages before setting it on the counter. Soft music filled the apartment as she gave him a small, almost contemplative smile.

'Feels like I’m standing in a timeless dream…’

She walked to the couch and grabbed his hands, drawing him back to the open floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips as she pulled him into a simple dance, little more than swaying back and forth in a circle. She grinned up him, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.

“Like this. That warm, almost giddy feeling in your chest. Like always being excited for what came next, never afraid,” she said, taking the opportunity to take his hand and spin him. She had to stand on her tip toes to do it and he laughed, focussing on the feeling she described, the warmth in his chest, the anticipation without anxiety. He surprised her by dipping her back and she shrieked, though the sound was quickly overwhelmed by giggles. 

“There was always music, and laughter, and the sound of turning pages. Nightmares weren’t real, and they were solved with a hug and a glass of water. The world wasn’t frightening, it was endless and exciting and safe.” She spoke wistfully, unconsciously stepping closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter. She lay her head on his chest, fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“If you’re not careful I could get used to this,” he said, meaning for it to come out teasingly, but instead only as hushed longing. 

“Promise?” She asked, her voice vibrating through his chest. 

The wail of a cell phone cut through the moment before he could reply. It was Cassie’s, the siren-like ringtone the one she set for BAU recalls. She sighed, dropping her arms and crossed to answer, listening intently on the other end. 

“Of course—yes, I’ll tell him. Text the address, we’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Cassie stared at the familiar apartment without really seeing it, eyes locked on the blood staining the sheets. She didn’t look at the woman’s face—she’d known from her quick glance that it was Sarah, known from the grey tinge to her face that she was dead, that she had been for at least an hour and a half. She knew she should confirm, begin collecting environmental data that could be crucial in making sure there was no doubt that Gideon played no part in the horror. 

But she just stood and stared, the sheets morphing into pine boards, the heavy copper smell of the blood drowning her. She could feel the bite of hempen rope at her wrists, the sting of the lacerations being pulled wider as she struggled—she turned as quietly as she could on her heel, digging her nails into the heel of her palm to ground herself enough to make it out the front door and down the two flights of stairs. She crossed to the rear of the building and crouched down behind a bush, emptying what little she had in her stomach. 

She didn’t know how many minutes she spent retching, dry-heaving when there was nothing left to throw up. She didn’t care. All she could think of was the smell of all the blood, of the terror she knew Sarah felt as she was brutally murdered, the pain, of the fact that he’d done it in Gideon’s bed. 

She hadn’t known Sarah, really. She’d met her in passing once at a museum opening and she’d been kind and clever. But she was more taken by the way she made Gideon smile—really smile. He’d talked about her a handful of times, mostly when they’d been out in the Monongahela bird-watching. About how the timing had always been wrong, about how he’d adored her in college, how she challenged him. 

And now she was dead—dead in one of the worst ways you could be. 

She hated Frank, hated him with the same vehemence she’d only ever hated Hadeon and Tobias. She wished she’d simply put a bullet between his eyes when she’d had the chance, wished she could have, and not risked the lives of the twenty or so third graders he’d kidnapped. She wished they’d come up with some way to tail them, someway to go back on Gideon’s deal. She wished he’d died in the desert, died a miserable death from dehydration only to be picked apart by carrion birds and gila monsters. 

She sighed, pushing herself back to her feet, ignoring the way she shook. She should know better than to waste time on wishes. She rinsed her mouth out in the lobby bathroom before making her way back to the stairs, hoping that no one noticed how long she’d been. 

No one but Spencer gave her a second glance when she returned, too focused on their discussion. She tried to listen, but the words sounded muddled, as if from underwater. She could still smell nothing but the overwhelming stench of copper, the smell alone enough to set her heart pounding against her ribs. She shallowed her breaths as much as she was able, hoping it would limit its potency enough that she could at least act as if she wasn’t falling to pieces.

She couldn’t imagine how Gideon was feeling.

Or rather, she could vividly imagine exactly what he was feeling. It rose another wave of nausea in her.

“Hey, Cass and I are going to see which buildings nearby have security cameras, see if we can put together a list for Penelope. Then we’ll at least know what direction to head,” Spencer said, crossing to the door as Hotch nodded his assent. He subtly grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her out of the apartment. 

“It—it would probably be best to start with the corner stores on either side of the block. He’d have to pass by one of them. Then there’s the traffic cams on Third and Hollis, that would give us an idea of where he might be heading,” she said, rattling off the familiar landmarks. Spencer nodded, searching her face. 

He let his hand slip down to grasp hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to stop him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He let go of her hand and motioned toward the nearest convenience store so they could start gathering Frank’s movements. 

---

“What’s that?”

“It’s his murder book,” Hotch said.

“Murder book?” Pretiss asked, brows furrowed. 

“When he opens it to the first page it reminds him why he does what he does,” Hotch replied.

“It’s a list of all the people he’s ever saved. Names, dates, personal details,” Spencer chimed in. Cassie couldn’t help but glance over at him. Gideon had never told her about the notebook. 

“And now Frank has the list.”

“Frank said ‘I’ll kill them all.’ That’s who he’s going after,” Spencer said. Cassie stared blankly ahead, mind whirring. 

“At least the ones he can get to, the ones that are nearby.”

If Frank had that list—was her apartment on that list? Her name, the one she’d gone by for the past fourteen years? Her job at the Bureau, the Smithsonian? Who else was on the list, how many names from the files before she’d started, the people she’d helped to save since joining? 

They’d already been put through hell, survived it and now—now they’d have Frank to contend with. It wasn’t fair, they were supposed to be free, supposed to be able to move on with their lives, as best as they were able. 

They were supposed to be safe.

“Cassie, come on. We’ve got to narrow down the specific victim pool,” Spencer said, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah—yeah of course.”

---

Cassie was off. She had been since they’d gotten the call from Hotch. 

Spencer didn’t blame her—he too was still reeling from the fact that Frank had resurfaced, that he’d killed Gideon’s girlfriend in Gideon’s apartment.That Gideon was now hiding out from the local cops while they tried to track down Frank. They were all on edge, all looking for the quickest way to finally get Frank behind bars, ensure his sick fascination with Gideon went no further.

The others didn’t seem to notice anything was off, which wasn’t surprising, considering how well Cassie masked emotion. It wasn’t unusual for her to duck in and out of a crime scene when they first arrived to collect samples and data and whatever else she needed, wasn’t unusual for her to be quiet, especially in the initial stage of an investigation. She’d never been one to present theories before she’d had the chance to properly flesh them out, until she had some sort of backing evidence. 

He glanced across the table to where she was busy pouring over files—there was nothing on her face that indicated anything was amiss, not a clenched jaw or furrowed brow that was different from any other case. But her hand gave her away, the left one, which had been intermittently clenched in a fist since they’d arrived at Gideon’s apartment, clenched in a way that allowed her to dig her nails into the meat of her palm. He’d seen the livid red indentations, the small flecks of blood on her sleeve, but she’d brushed it off when he’d tried to bring it up. He’d let her, considering that they had Frank to contend with, though it didn’t stop him from worrying, didn’t stop him from remembering how rattled she’d been the first time they’d had to deal with him out in Nevada, the first time he’d seen her have an anxiety attack after they’d rescued George. 

It had been the fresh blood, she’d said, and he knew she hadn’t been lying—he saw it now during her examinations of victims, noticed the split-second hesitation before getting started, the slight wrinkling of her nose at the smell, the way all of her muscles would tense slightly, as if fighting her brain’s decision to move forward. 

It was more than that, though. He’d seen Cassie investigate dozens of crime scenes, conduct dozens of autopsies and he’d never seen her knocked off-kilter like she had been by the Winnebago in Gloconda. Sure, he’d seen her upset after the fact, after she’d done her job and had a moment to breathe, but he’d never seen her winded like that from a scene, like she’d been punched in the gut. 

It was hard to grapple with the fact that Cassie was most likely scared, that she could be. He knew it was a stupid thing to think, knew everyone got scared, but Cassie never seemed to blink at all the horror. He’d hated that about her, hated that it all seemed so easy for her to deal with.

Now he hated that she was afraid.

There must have been some sort of parallel between Frank’s crimes and what had happened to her, something dredging up all the memories of her torture. She’d told him enough and he’d seen enough of the evidence on her skin to know the extreme level of sadism in the wounds, that whoever had done that to her had done it with the express intent of hurting her as much as possible for as long as possible. Frank too, got off on the terror, the pain, just with an expedited timeline. 

Cassie looked up at him, a deep furrow between her brows. “Is that the last of the files?”

“I believe so.”

“That leaves us with nine potential victims within the radius then. That’s too many for us to cover—“

“Let’s just go tell the rest of the team. We’ll see what Hotch says. If we call in locals too, we should be able to keep an eye on all of them.”

“He has almost three hours head start on us, and he’s devolving. It’s not even really about the sadism anymore, it’s about the killing, it’s about punishing us,” she said, running her hands over her eyes. Spencer grabbed the stack of files and gave her shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze before setting off to the conference room.

Cassie would follow, he knew, but she was right—Frank was spiraling wildly out of control and they’d be lucky to limit the amount of bodies he racked up before they cornered him. 

---

Cassie couldn’t make herself go into Rebecca’s room. She could smell the blood from outside the door, knew what she would see on the other side of the door and she couldn’t make herself do it. Not after seeing Sarah, not after seeing Gideon’s apartment soaked in crimson, not after knowing what Rebecca had already survived. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It was supposed to be over, she was supposed to be able to move on, to have her happily-as-it-would-ever-get-afters. She was supposed to have suffered enough. She’d read her case, back when she’d first joined the BAU—she’d very nearly been burned alive, held captive for two years, and now she carved up and dead in the bed she’d thought was safe. 

How many more would they fail, before they found Frank?

She stepped back into the hall and leaned against the wall as the rest of the team went in, letting her gun fall slack to her side. She’d tucked three extra magazines in the inside of her coat pocket, double-checked all three of her weapons before they’d left the BAU, but it didn’t make her feel any better. 

All the guns in the world wouldn’t matter if you got dosed with the amount of ketamine Frank worked with.

She could hear the others talking in the other room, knew she should be listening, but she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing, her blood to stop rushing in her ears. All she could keep thinking about was the blood—all the blood. Soaking the sheets, the floor, the walls, splattered across the ceiling. It would stain the floorboards, the paint—it’d never properly come out. They’d have to paint over it, cover it up, but it would always still be there, lurking, just under the surface—

She dug her nails into her arm, hoping the pain would halt the train of thought. The last thing she needed now was to have a full-blown panic attack in front of Hotch and the rest of the team. She’d assured him her case didn’t effect the others she worked, wouldn’t effect the others.

“Distal, middle, proximal, metacarpal, trapezium—“

“Cass? JJ’s got a lead on Jane, we have to—Cass, come on, come on, come on,” Spencer said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her from the apartment building. 

She tried to focus on the feeling of his fingers around her wrist, on the fact that she could feel the cool night air, on the damp edge of it, but the thought of dampness only circled back to the crimson that painted the walls, that soaked into every surface it touched, tainting it—

“Cassie, it’s okay. Take deep breaths.”

She swore, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to steady her breaths. She could feel bile rising in her throat, know if she wasn’t carful she’d be sick all over the sidewalk.

Just like the last time. 

“Sorry. Sorry—“

“Just breathe. Was it the blood?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had to focus on finding Frank, not on her own bullshit, especially when it was not only pulling her off the investigation, but Spencer, too. 

And they needed him, needed his brain and his eidetic memory and he was out here with her because she just couldn’t compartmentalize properly. 

She had to get a hold of herself. 

Gideon had been the one to recommend her to the BAU, had pushed for her appointment and now she was fundamentally failing him when he needed her most. 

“We have to find the others, we have to save them.”

“We’re going to. Just—are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be fine. We just have to focus on tracking down the bastard.”

Previous Next

[generallybrontidefeelings]

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

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

You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

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

That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

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

“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

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

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa has 8 stories at Gossamer, but there are even more X-Files fics at AO3 and her website. She writes Mulder and Scully in a very lovely way. I've recced 3 of my favorites of her fics here before: Bird in Snow, Fall: East on M St, and Skuamorph. Big thanks to Tabula Rasa for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm always extremely pleasantly surprised to get kudos (or, very rarely, a comment) on my old fic, but I'm always happy to see it! I did post them all (I think) to AO3. I'm not surprised people are still reading fic, though. It's an iconic show and now with streaming, it's really easy to watch older shows and natural to want fic about them!

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

XF was my first fandom, definitely my first online fandom, and so it will always have a special place in my heart. Also... I had a great time! I stumbled upon and joined the Scullyfic email list by accident, but it was the best thing I could have done. I learned a lot about how to be a writer and how to be in fandom, and those lessons are still important to me. Foundational. Also, in terms of modern fandom drama, XF was more low-key on the drama (although it didn't seem like it at the time!). But I learned something that's always served me well: find like-minded people, and hang out with them. Don't worry about the rest.

Also... you can't control the show, but you kind of can control the canon.

Because of Scully, I ended up taking a forensic anthropology class in university-- and now I have a Master's in a forensic science! Part of the Scully Effect, and proud of it!

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Definitely mostly email list! I never really got the hang of message boards. Posting fic was exhausting, and tbh I never figured out how to work Ephemeral. I checked it every day, though! I loved, after a new episode, everyone sending in their thoughts and reading everyone's experiences together. Fandom was a lot more work back then, tbh!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

That fic can be just as good, or better, than traditionally published works. There are works of XF fic that have stuck with me for years now, far more than some books I've read. That fan writers can know the characters better than the show writers. The fandom in general was really smart, and mostly more adult than me (I joined fandom when I went away to college, so I always felt at the younger end of the scale. That was good though!).

Also, my first time reading and writing porn. Not gonna lie, I was shocked the first time I accidentally read smut. But I adjusted fast. lol

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was still a kid (now we would say preteen) when the show premiered- I think in middle school. But I was already into ghosts, aliens, monsters, solving mysteries, and I'd already imprinted on the dynamic thanks to Square One (really)! I was also just old enough to start developing celebrity crushes. Hilariously, I did not twig to the fact that I'm bisexual the entire time I was in XF fandom, despite having enormous crushes on BOTH Mulder and Scully. Ahhhh!

Also, my whole family was into the show, but I was definitely the one with the hyperfixation. I used to take notes and record the episodes as I watched. It just had the right stuff and hit at the right time. And I've always been obsessive.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As a kid I also really liked Star Trek, and someone had given my dad a book about the history of Star Trek, which I read. This included mentions of fandom and fanfic. As soon as I had a private-- and perhaps more importantly fast-- internet connection (in college), I went looking for XF fanfic, and that was that. Hooked immediately. Also I shipped them A LOT so that's what I went looking for.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I tend to not go back to a fandom once I have a new fandom, so I wouldn't say I'm in it. I did hang around the edges for the revival, of course, because I wanted to experience that with the same people, but since the revival was mostly not that great (with a few exceptions), I didn't get pulled back into it. But I still think of the people I knew in the fandom a lot, and always hope they're doing well.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I've never left fandom, and I've been in a BUNCH: Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Bandom, Supernatural, now CQL/The Untamed and other Chinese-media fandoms, with many smaller ones in between or on the side. I feel like at their core fandoms tend to be similar, although where you host the fandom makes a big difference: Livejournal, tumblr, twitter. I think that because fandoms now tend to be bigger and more diverse (which is good) there tends to be more wank (which is bad). In some of them I was close to a group of people, some of them not. Honestly the best thing is when someone you know from an old fandom is in your new fandom. It's so much fun. I have really good friends thanks to fandom, and I've had them for YEARS. Like. 15 years.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to focus more on ships than characters, but some of my all-time favs: Scully, Hermione, Sirius Black, Castiel, Lan Wangji, Xie Lian. That's just fandom-oriented ones, otherwise we'd be here all day. :D

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I don't often rewatch episodes any more, although if I come across an ep on tv I might. I definitely still think about them though! For example, I'm a teacher now, and just a couple weeks ago one of my colleagues mentioned he'd heard the students saying they shipped two of their classmates, and he was like "Ship? I don't get it" and I was like "HOO BOY, do I have a story for you!" And I explained how shipping came from XF fandom, and why. That was fun. I definitely still think about Mulder and Scully too-- I mean, they're cultural touchstones, so they do come up sometimes in greater pop culture. Also, I was in Hannibal fandom for a while, and Gillian Anderson is still The Best.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I haven't read XF fic in years, even the ones I remember as being really significant/important to me. I still have my all-time favs saved on an external HD though! Fic in another fandom- every day lol.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Blinded by White Light by DashaK has stuck with me. Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the Ruby-Throated Warbler by I forget I'm so sorry -- that's lasted as my ideal post-canon MSR and as an interesting and different way to tell a story.  [Lilydale note: It’s by rah.] I was always thrilled to see fic by Brandon, JET, MaybeAmanda, Syntax6... and, frankly, everyone on the Scullyfic/ Emuse list. So many talented people in that fandom!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Things Outside, which is the only thing I've ever written based on a dream, and I'm really satisfied with it. It was hard to write but so much fun to revel in the weirdness. I always kind of wanted to write more because I know a lot more about the situation, but otoh, I like the open, ambiguous ending (usually I am very HEA).

In other fandoms, King & Country in bandom (MCR) and in Supernatural I'm very proud of Hope and Clay. I struggle to write casefics even though I love to read them, but that one really worked out.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I don't think I'll ever write something new. There is an old fic that may be done but it was smut so I was too shy to post it at the time. In theory if I find it and it's decent, I could post it!

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do! I write fic very slowly, but I do write still! I have a million ideas for stories, but I'm so slow at the actual writing part.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I usually take a jumping-off point from canon, or of course, something I need to fix or expand on. Or sometimes I start telling myself a story as I fall asleep and the idea grabs me long enough I can manage to write it.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I was getting into fandom and realized people didn't use their real names. I flipped through my history book looking for inspiration, and decided tabula rasa was a great name for a writer. I tend to add an X because it's rare to get "tabularasa" as a username, and the X is indeed for X-Files (so I'm something like tabulaxrasa most places). I usually go by Tabula Rasa or Tab, though. And I still use it because 1) it IS a great name for a writer; and 2) it's not fandom-specific so I can keep it in every fandom.

I identify with it so much I have answered to this name in class (oops). I have a "Tab" t-shirt (as in the soda, but I have worn it to Comic-Con for ease of ID-- better than a nametag!). And my mom got me a necklace with a "tab" typewriter key as a charm, which I adore. Yes, I have accidental merch of myself.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

As you can tell from the above, my family knows (my family being my parents and sister). They are supportive! I think my mom read a couple stories? But obviously she has to know the fandom to get it... I got my sister into fic, and we even wrote a couple fics together (in Gundam Wing). She's a lot more selective about fandoms, but she's joined fandoms on her own, too. She's just not in one constantly, like me. :p

I tend not to tell not-online friends unless I have felt them out and know they're super fannish, or they bring it up first.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Most of my old fic is now on AO3 and I hang out on twitter a lot, @tabula_x_rasa

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I'm really glad people are still in this fandom! It will always be so important to me. Thank you Lilydale, for this nostalgia trip!

(Posted by Lilydale on March 30, 2021)

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Can you really determine height and weight and spinal curvature with a foot like Dr. Robotnik claims he did like in the movie?

Great question!

You can determine height, weight, and curvature of the spine by studying a footprint, along with a few other things as well! Lots of forensic anthropologists do this in their line of work. (I do feel the need to make this note: I am an Art Historian and a Cultural Anthropologist, I know the basics of forensic anthropology due to my introduction course to the subject).

Now, the reason why this question took forever to answer was because I, myself, was trying to figure out Sonic’s height, weight, and spinal curvature.

(These were the best and the most HD/Clear images that I could find of the infrared scan of Sonic’s foot, as well as Sonic himself).

Looking at this, we can determine:

Flat arch in the foot:

The flesh/muscles surrounding the phalanges and metatarsal bones are flat, implying that he runs toe-to-heel first instead of heel-to-toe.

Flat arches in the feet show that a person, or in this case an alien-hedgehog, is on their feet all the time. (We can see from the photo in the introduction).

This also shows that he’s athletic, but we already knew that😅.

When he isn’t running toe-to-heel, he actually stomps his foot instead of allowing the foot to naturally glide and plant firmly into the ground.

(The GIF is my example of him stomping/running in his Gremlin shoes).

When he gets his PUMA Dare shoes, the way that he runs changes to heel-to-toe.

THIS IS BEFORE HE GETS PUMA DARE SHOES, AFTER GETTING THEM HIS RUNNING IMPROVES.

He’s got bad posture:

It’s bad, but not as bad as you think. The white line is his spine, the blue are the other types of spinal curvatures of animals and human beings.

The white is his spine now, but the reds lines are predictions of what his spine COULD be if he doesn’t fix his habit. (That is how I seem to be interpreting it).

He stands with his ankles and his feet as a means of support rather than allowing his spine and legs to support his posture, which can be seen down below:

(Best example that I could find of him full bodied and displaying his stance. If anyone else has a fantastic photo for me to use for this example, please let me know! I will update).

He stands with his knees bent more to keep him upright rather than them being relaxed and standing properly.

He stands with his stomach and his chest puffed out, which makes the spine form into a “Lazy S, close to a C” rather than it being a strong “S” shape.

Very similar to a “sway-like spine.”

Yoga with Pretzel Lady can help him feel better, as well as daily stretching and working with the muscles in his legs.

His feet are, actually, hurting him... could be more than what he lets on to Jojo:

That’s due to the nature of his poorly made Gremlin/Hobo shoes.

Poor conditions of shoes could, and will in the future, lead for foot, ankle, femur, spinal, and hip problems... which is why he stands the way he does in the movie.

When he isn’t running, he really should be wearing compression-based socks, as well as slippers.

(I just wanted to share a photo of his shoes, I love that one has Velcro Straps while the other as shoe laces duct taped down).

Sonic weighs around sixty pounds:

Later on it was confirmed to be exactly sixty-two pounds.

Sonic himself said it in an interview here.

(And he’s a natural blue, but that’s a bit off topic here😂).

Sonic is around 2"5 to 2"7 feet tall:

That’s the equivalent to being 0.6 metres tall!

You must measure from largest toe to heel in order to get the height! (Source!)

(This technique in the article that I put in the “Source” tab can also be used to find the shoe size of a kid as they’re growing up).

Another way of measuring his height would be his stride that he takes when he walks. You can measure that from the tip of the toes to the back heel of the foot.

He’s smaller than Modern!Sonic, but taller than Classic!Sonic... SMOL BOY...

(Another note, as of April 2020, there has yet to be any further resources stating his height. I know, I’ve checked several times before making this post).

And that, my friend, is what I have determined from studying his foot characteristics!

Now, if you don’t like the analysis that I’ve presented, I can present you with another idea.

This one involves with us looking at the dog cage that Sonic was placed in when he was unconscious.

I’m assuming here that Ozzy is between 23-24 inches tall, 26-28 inches long. Normally a dog of that size will need to be in a dog cage that is roughly 28 inches by 30 inches. We can see that Sonic himself is almost 30 to 32 inches tall anyhow. It’s pretty basic, but it gives a visual idea of how tall he is.

Now, I know what you’re gonna ask me: “here’s an idea! Why can’t we just use the baseball bat that Sonic plays with to get his arm length and then calculate his height that way?”

Great question!

In short, you can’t. The kids that play on the team are much taller than him. The human children that play the game are a good couple of feet taller than our lovable space creature.

Also, if you look at the baseball bat itself, Sonic struggles a bit to hold onto it. It’s too big for him to play with. In order to find a perfect fitting baseball bat, you measure an arm length from your heart to the tip of your middle finger to find a bat that would be comfortable to play with. Getting a measurement that way wouldn’t work. The bat itself looks to be around for kids between the ages of 10-12 and a height of 4 feet(1.2 metres) to 5 feet (1.5 metres) tall.

So, as always, I hope that this answers your question! This was fun to do!😊

(Thank you @movie-robotnik-positivity and @the-brucest-fan and @indieblitz for supplying me photos and proofreading my stuff! You all are wonderful!❤️).

[thegirl20]

Witcher Femslash February - Crown

Prompt from @bamf-jaskier’s list.

This is probably related to this previous ficlet: Graves.

Yennefer potters around, tidying up the kitchen and wiping down the surfaces. She's just put a casserole in the oven for dinner and it can be left for a few hours without attention. As she works, she listens to the conversation happening at the kitchen table where Ciri and Tissaia are 'doing crafts'.

"This is going to be a beautiful crown, Ciri," Tissaia says, head bent over the project they're working on. "You'll make a wonderful princess."

"Uh huh." Ciri nods, sticking something sparkly where Tissaia is attempting to neatly colour the white paper yellow. "When I'm a princess, I get called Cirilla."

"Oh, of course." Tissaia looks up and catches Yennefer's eye, she smiles and rolls her eyes. "Princess Cirilla it is, then."

"My daddy says it sounds more posher."

Yennefer catches a laugh and turns it into a cough, turning away from the pair so that she doesn't make Tissaia laugh.

"He's right," Tissaia tells her. "It's terribly posh." Silence returns as they work on the crown.

"Do you know any stories about princesses, 'Ssaia?" Ciri asks, after a while.

Tissaia flashes Yennefer a panicked look and Yennefer takes pity on her. "Yes, she does," she says, coming to sit at the table opposite the other two. She lifts her eyebrows at Ciri. "She knows a story about a Queen who rescued a Princess."

Ciri gasps. "From a tower?"

"No!" Yennefer widens her eyes. "This princess was trapped underground! So deep that there were no windows, and no light coming in and she had to squint to see anything." Yennefer narrows her eyes and leans across the table, peering at Ciri. Tissaia is watching her, amused and confused. "The Princess had locked herself away, because she didn't like the world very much."

"She locked herself away?" Ciri's brow is creased. "That's not what happens, mummy. Princesses don't lock themselves up."

"Well, this one did. She was fed up of having to listen to stupid people tell her what to do, and she had decided that she would never fall in love with anybody, because they were all too boring," Yennefer says, seeing realisation dawn on Tissaia's face.

After a fairly horrific childhood, Yennefer had grown tired of the world and everyone in it. A one night stand with Geralt had resulted in Ciri, who she immediately gave Geralt custody of; how could she possibly be a parent when she had no clue even how to take care of herself? She visited her often, and loved her fiercely, but she was terrified of hurting her somehow.

She'd closed herself off to attachments, choosing instead to keep her head down and work hard, progressing quickly in her chosen career of forensic anthropology. She liked the fact that most people thought old bones were creepy and didn't necessarily want to spend a lot of time in her office or her basement lab. The dead are good company and require very little by way of conversation.

She had been called to give evidence at a court hearing one day and had met Tissaia De Vries QC. And everything had changed.

"And what did the Queen do to rescue her?" Ciri says, her expression still a little sceptical, even as she asks for more detail. "Did she climb up the Princess' hair? Or fight a dragon?"

"She did fight a dragon, as it happens," Yennefer says, watching Tissaia's lips curl into a smile. The case they'd met on was that of a father who had abused his wife and children for years, before murdering them and disposing of their bodies. Tissaia had rigorously and meticulously led the case against him, and won. "But she didn't climb the princess' hair." She smiles at Tissaia. "She asked her out for a drink."

Ciri wrinkles her nose. "That's boring." She rolls her eyes. "Was the queen pretty?"

Clearly this story can only be salvaged by beauty, so Yennefer lays it on thick. "Pretty? Oh, no. She wasn't pretty." She purses her lips at Tissaia's raised eyebrow. "She was the most beautiful woman the land had ever seen. She had long, shiny brown hair, almost down to her waist." It had been hidden under that hideous wig at the time, but Yen decides to leave that bit out. "Her eyes were so magical, they changed colour every time the Princess looked at them. Sometimes they'd be blue, like the ocean. Sometimes green, like the grass of a meadow."

Tissaia is shaking her head, but there's a faint blush covering her neck.

"She wore a long, flowing black cape that billowed out behind her when she walked."

"She sounds like a baddie, mummy," Ciri says. "Like Maleficent."

A laugh bubbles out of Tissaia's throat and she leans in to kiss Ciri's head. "You're right, darling. She does sound like a baddie." She turns to Yennefer and tilts her head. "How did the Princess know she wasn't a baddie?"

"Because the Princess found the Queen after she'd slayed the dragon," Yennefer explains, holding Tissaia's eyes. "She was in the ladies toilets, crying about all the boys and girls that evil old dragon had hurt. So the princess knew she was very, very good."

Tissaia presses her lips together, blinking fast.

Ciri sighs. "That was a rubbish story, mummy."

Yennefer and Tissaia both laugh at the honesty and Yennefer notices Tissaia dabbing at her eyes.

"Well, it's my favourite," Yennefer says, reaching over to poke Ciri's nose. "Now, is this crown about finished or what?"

"Yeah, we're finished." Ciri shoves the paper towards Tissaia. "'Ssaia needs to cut it out and put the sillytape on it."

"I'll grab the sellotape while 'Ssaia does the cutting." She pushes up out of her seat. "Then we can hopefully get you crowned in time for dinner.

--------

With the crown assembled, it's time for the coronation. Ciri is sitting in the biggest armchair they have, her feet dangling well above the floor. Yennefer stands dutifully by with the elaborate paper crown held on a cushion from the sofa. Tissaia stands by the other side of the 'throne', a rolled up piece of paper in her hands.

"May we commence, Princess?" Tissaia asks.

"Yes." Ciri nods once, looking straight ahead, no doubt at her adoring subjects.

Tissaia unfurls the paper and clears her throat. "My Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, Earls and Countesses-" Yennefer's stomach twists when she realises she's using her fancy lawyer voice. It always does funny things to her. "-may I present to you, upon this day of her coronation, Princess Cirilla of Cintra, the first of her name, ruler of all she surveys."

"Say the other bits," Ciri encourages, head held high, nose in the air. "About my dad being the king and stuff."

"You are right, of course, silly me." Tissaia unfurls the piece of paper further. "Ah yes, I hadn't got to that part yet." She clears her throat. "Princess Cirilla of Cintra, first of her name, ruler of all she surveys. Daughter of Kings Geralt and Jaskier of Rivia and of Queen Yennefer of Vengerberg. Her birth has united the kingdoms and-"

"And you!" Ciri frowns up at her like she's an idiot. "Daughter of Queen Yennefer and Queen 'Ssaia."

Tears spring to Yennefer's eyes at the same time panic grips her chest. She and Tissaia have never really discussed what Ciri is to her. It's not the same as the relationship she has with Jaskier. Jaskier has been around since Ciri was a tiny baby. She's lived with him and Geralt as a couple almost all her life, and certainly for all of it she can remember. But Tissaia came along later. She's always been 'Ssaia. She's never been 'mum'. But this seemingly doesn't matter.

Yennefer looks to Tissaia for a reaction, and she sees that she's struggling with her emotions. She tilts her head in question, checking that Tissaia is alright with this interpretation of their complicated little family. She gets a tiny nod in confirmation. She moves closer, taking the 'scroll' out of Tissaia's hand, giving her the crown instead.

Yennefer flicks the paper and swallows. "Princess Cirilla of Cintra. Daughter of King Geralt and his court jester Jaskier-" Ciri giggles, but doesn't make her stop. "And daughter of Queen Yennefer of Vengerberg and Queen Tissaia of Vries-" She meets Tissaia's eyes over the top of Ciri's head. "Slayer of Dragons and Champion of Justice."

She gets a watery roll of the eyes and a genuine smile in response before Tissaia kneels in front of Ciri and places the crown on her head. She takes her little hand and kisses it, giving it a squeeze.

"I wish you a long and happy reign, Princess."

Yennefer squeezes Tissaia's shoulder. Ciri slides off the chair and wraps her arms around Tissaia's neck.

"Thanks 'Ssaia." She pulls back. "Can I have a biscuit? I'm starving."

Usually Tissaia would be strict about eating junk before dinner, but she just smiles. "I think a Princess deserves a biscuit on her Coronation day." She stands and holds out her hand. "Let's go and get one, shall we?" They head to the door where Tissaia pauses. "Are you joining us for the post coronation biscuit?"

Smiling, Yennefer nods. "As you wish, Queen 'Ssaia."

[salemroleplayhq]

❝Culture is the widening of the mind and of the spirit.❞

MEET…

Noelle Chung

Age: 38

Birthday: 29th November, 1982

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Female, She/Her

Hometown: Kensington London

Length of time in Salem: 2 years

Occupation: Cultural forensic anthropologist

Faceclaim: Gemma Chan

THEIR STORY

tw: racism, war, death mention 

Noelle Chung's first memory was the United nation trucks coming into town. Being was born in Iran to a Chinese diplomat and his cellist wife, Noelle spent the first ten years of her life, living in an environment which was always on the edge of war. But when her parents nearly died in a bomb explosion in the min city, the family were then shipped off to London . London was a far cry from everything she ever knew and although she adapted well, she felt out of place when her parents sent her to the most prestigious school in London. Noelle became fascinated by culture and anthropology, which was not what her new parents wanted, they wanted her to go to law school.

Eventually, her parents got their way and Noelle went to Oxford the first few months, where she was bullied every day, racist slurs and cruel comments have thrown her way and after a political event happened between the middle east in the news, she was beaten unconscious by three girls. Her parents gave her their support when she changed her course from Oxford to St Andrews and from Law to Anthropology. She was accepted into St Andrews as a student, first thing she did when she joined was take a course in self-defence. Noelle was treated with respect and with that she blossomed until she passed the degree top of her class. She followed that by doing a masters in cultural anthropology. when she passed, Noelle spent the next year moving round countries researching the cultures and the history of the tower of babel, resulting in a book which became a best seller. This book caught the attention of the Salem cultural society and she was offered a job as a forensic anthropologist at the Salem Historic site. Noelle's job was to deal with dead remains of excavations and the culture behind the deaths such as cults or witch related events from 16th century onwards, she also dealt with bodies that had been exhumed and within a year she was settled in her new job and dating a baseball player.

Life seemed to be good in every way until she ended up in bed with her best friend after a drunken night of partying, both women pretended nothing happened, but Noelle couldn't keep it secret for too long and confessed to her partner and they split up. Although she loved her partner, Noelle needed a break and moved into her own place and he left town. Switching up late nights drinking for early morning surfing and kickboxing. Noelle has learnt how to look after herself and is very good at figuring things out, her job may be a little unusual but she loves the challenge and the fact she can help put someone to rest. Lately, she has become more social, she still does her daily kickboxing and pilates, but on weekends she likes to hang out with friends and maybe even go out to the clubs. Noelle can also be found over at local ranches at times as she loves to horse ride. She has settled into Salem life well and hopes she will be there for the long haul.

PERSONALITY

+  calm, kind, intelligent

-  distant, sarcastic, cold

Noelle is played by FERN.

[secretsantasides]

Gift #14: Colorblind

Gift for @forestwulf​

Prompt: Intrulogical Soulmate AU.

        Logan massaged his temples as the nightclub music pounded in his ears, “I don’t know why you insist on coming here.”

        “It’s twinks drink free night,” Patton said, sipping his appletini.

        “You stopped being a twink ten years ago,” Logan muttered.

        Patton sighed, “I’m going to ignore that because you’re my brother and I love you. Speaking of love-”

        “Don’t,” Logan said. “Not this again.”

        “Listen to me,” Patton said. “I’m worried about you, Logan. I know you’re a little robot and you don’t need romance in your life or any friends but-”

        “I have friends,” Logan said.

        “But,” Patton said. “You’re thirty years old and it’s starting to make mom sad on the holidays. When I met Ethan, it wasn’t sitting around at home and moping. I mean how long has it been since you were touched by another human being?”

        “Soulmates,” Logan sighed. “Don’t start, Pat. I’ll gouge my eye out with this tiny umbrella.”

         Patton rolled his eyes, “Logan it’s not just nonsense; it’s science! Just because you think you’re some kind of lone wolf doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. Your eyes wouldn’t be grey if you weren’t still waiting for your person. So you can deny it all you want. It won’t change the fact that they’re waiting.”

         “I don’t have time for a soulmate, Pat. You and Ethan just work better; you have time to be in love and he’s patient enough to deal with… you.”

         Patton faked an offended gasp, “Just for that I’m not getting you a free drink next round! But you’re right, Ethan is perfect. However-”

         “There is no however.”

         ”However,” Patton continued. “It doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone out there who’s just as patient with your bullshit as Ethan is with mine. Now look you made me swear. I hope you’re happy.”

         “I think the three appletinis made you swear,” Logan said. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

         “Actually I’m going out of town in two days with the girls so they gave me time off.”

         “Out of town? That’s this week?” Logan asked.

         Patton finished his drink, “I love how much you listen when I talk. The pandas are being moved to the zoo in Atlanta so their enclosure can be remodeled and we’re hoping to get some breeding done while we’re out there. That’s why I told you that you have to take mom to the optometrist on Monday. If you forget that, Logan-”

         “Right right,” Logan said. “No I’ll remember it’s… it’s in my phone.” He looked at his empty glass of whiskey but pushed it aside, deciding he’d better stay sober, “So what’s Ethan thinking about this longterm separation?”

         Patton snorted, “One of his retics laid a ton of eggs and she bit his face when he was pulling the clutch. Now he’s walking around like Crocodile Dundee. Plus the whole clutch is viable so we’re looking at a lot of new snakes to add to the national program. He’s in talks with a zoo in Taiwan too about some bloodline trades. It’s really annoying sometimes. He gets dozens of babies a season and I’m lucky if I’ll see more than two or three in my career.”

         “Well you chose the pandas,” Logan said.

         “I’ll have you know the pandas chose me,” Patton said. “You want another drink?”

         “Nah, I’ll drive you home,” Logan said. “Go flirt with the bartender and see if he’ll pretend to think you’re young some more.”

         Patton laughed as he slid out of his seat, walking over to the bar. On the dancefloor Logan saw a small group of students, a few of which he recognized—one in particular a large pain in his ass. Remus Prince, Quarterback of the university football team and well-known idiot. Logan wished Remus was the typical jock idiot, uncaring and arrogant, one he could easily fail without a second thought, but Remus was bound and determined to make up for his own shortcomings with hard work and extra credit. It meant that half of Logan’s office hours were spent patiently explaining things to Remus again and again, and accepting an outlandish amount of extra credit work.

         And—even more annoyingly—through it all Remus was cheerful, friendly and actually interested in what Logan had to say. Worse still, Remus was a senior, only four years younger than Logan who was the baby of the science department and didn’t he just hate that little nickname? Remus was like a peer, but worse, a jock, the kind of person that would have made Logan’s life miserable if they’d ever walked the same halls together as students. The revelation that Remus was gay was… interesting? No, not interesting. He’s a student and you don’t care. Logan rubbed his eyes and sighed, jumping when Patton returned with two appletinis. He sat down and stared at his brother matter-of-factly, “Guess how much these cost me?”

         Logan raised an eyebrow and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, “How are we related?”

          Patton was a lot heavier than he looked when he needed to be carried, and Logan struggled up the stairs to the door of the apartment, knocking on the door. It was a cute place, all brick and right on the street, divided in half horizontally to make a duplex, but it was roomy and it was nice for two people on zookeeper salary; it was inexpensive—for Florida. Ethan opened the door and Logan gasped, “Ethan, your face!”

         Ethan did smile, and there was more than a little pride in it, “Don’t worry. She hit above and below my eye but the doc said to keep a full dressing on it at night so I don’t rub anything off. He cool?”

         “Vodka drunk,” Logan said, hauling Patton inside and laying him on the couch. “Not too bad but I told him I’d stay sober and I think he needed to drink off some stress.”

         “The move, yeah,” Ethan said, following Logan back to the door. “And my face. He’s not really loving how many times I take the bandage off to show people but it’s my first big tag! You wanna see the pictures from the ER?”

         “Gosh I’d love to but I have class in the morning so-”

         “Ethan!” Patton called from the livingroom, “Come sex me up, Mr. Snake Whisperer!”

         “Good luck with that,” Logan said. “Tell him to call me when he’s less obnoxious.”

         “Will do,” Ethan said. “Bye Logan.”

         Logan snorted when Patton called again and started down the stairs, “Good luck!”

                   Logan looked at himself in the mirror after taking out his contacts and smiled at his grey eyes; grey was distinguished, and he didn’t mind having a constant reminder—for himself and others—that he was beyond all of this soulmate nonsense. He was a lone wolf, just like Patton said, and his true love was forensic anthropology—or biology, as he was currently teaching. His application was top in line for the anthropology department, however, and he had consulted a time or two on actual cases. So, despite Patton’s—and his mother’s—insistence that his life was somehow incomplete, Logan couldn’t be happier. He turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, thinking back over his tasks for the day, all of which he’d completed before he ever set foot inside the gay bar with his brother. It was the same way he lulled himself to sleep every night, assured of all of his accomplishments, large and small, and how every day was a blank slate.

         Sleep came quick for him, thanks to the single glass of whiskey and the exhaustion of dealing with his drunk brother—and his sober brother-in-law. His dreams were blurry and immemorable until suddenly his vision was filled with green. There were calloused hands on his skin, warm lips on his cheek and breath in his ear, and he was held against a solid body with a grip that was surprisingly strong. He closed his eyes and still all he could see was green.

         Logan gasped and sat up, checking the clock and scowling; it was still the middle of the night and he was baffled by the strange dream and irredeemably hard. He sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, heading back into the bathroom and turning the shower to cold, stripping off his pajamas. Who the hell did he know that was associated with green, anyway? He didn’t even like the color green, his favorite color was indigo, far from the blinding lime he’d been accosted with in his dream. Any thoughts of the dream went screaming from his mind when he stepped into the water; his chest tightened and he exhaled involuntarily, “F-fuck!”

He tightened his hands into fists and endured the water, somehow preferring cold-induced heart palpitations to ward off an unwanted erection than perhaps the more obvious—and less miserable—solution. It was easier to be stubborn and miserable than to admit—and revel in—the fact that something had gotten him going, and that it had to be the dream. Whiskey wasn’t exactly known for facilitating physical arousal, and he’d barely had enough to taste in the first place.

                           “Morning!” Remus announced as he knocked on the open office door.

         “Good morning,” Logan said, “Come in, Mr. Prince.” He cleared away the end of his desk where Remus usually worked and stacked up the papers elsewhere. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

         Remus laughed, his cheeks a bit pink; Logan wondered if he was getting a cold—and how much that would panic the other professors about the state of the football team. He took a sip of his coffee as he sat down. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Well I have the three essays to turn in, and I did the makeup dissection test with Professor Picane’s Zoological Anatomy class… the uh… feral pig?”

         “Fetal pig,” Logan said, putting his coffee cup aside. “He sent your scores up to me. Good work. You got everything right except for the microscope work. We’re still struggling with cellular identification. I spoke with Emile and he said you actually seemed to have issues where things were similarly colored, so I took the liberty of emailing you some color-blind tests. I’m also inviting you to come in during my freshman course tomorrow. I use different dyes in my slides and I think you’ll benefit from it.”

         “Great!” Remus said. “You really go above and beyond to help me, Professor Heart. I um… well, thank you so much.”

         Logan crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, “You know, Remus, I think you’ve got a lot of potential, and I think you’ve been pushed through classes due to your athletic prowess—to your detriment. I really want to help you understand that you’re not lacking in intelligence, you understand. You’ve got the answers, we’ve just had to learn how to get to them, right?”

         “Right,” Remus said, ducking his head shyly. “You’re always right.”

         “Now, with these three essays and with you making up the microscope work tomorrow, there’s no need for anymore extra credit work. You’ve got this, Mr. Prince. All you have to do is attend all of the lectures and you’ll be on track for a strong grade in this class. Do you feel like you need any more help?”

         Remus hesitated, “I  mean… you’ve done so much. I know you’ve basically changed my life, and how I feel about science—school in general! I um… I guess if I need anything I’ll just schedule a day before finals. If you think I can do it, I think I can do it.”

         Logan smiled, “Very good, Remus. You’ve got this.”

         Remus set the three essays down on the empty part of the desk and looked over them, “I can’t believe this is it, you know? I’m going to graduate in less than a month.”

         “Another year on the books,” Logan said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

         “You’re not old,” Remus said. “You’re still in your twenties too. Oh!” He picked up his backpack and dug through it, pulling out a small cardboard box. He set it on the desk. “I know your real interest is anthropology, like the cop kind, and I um… well, my dad works in the big museum uptown. They got a few of these and they gave my dad two of them.”

         Logan took the box and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he took out a human skull, obviously prepared and preserved professionally. “This is a nicely intact specimen. You’re certain this is alright?”

         “Yeah my dad said he’d rather it go to somebody who wants it than just gather dust in our basement or the museum’s basement. Oh they said it had uh… crouton disease?”

         “Crouzon Disease,” Logan said, standing up. “Hyperostosis Frontalis Interna, very interesting. Thank you Remus this is incredibly thoughtful.”

         Remus watched Logan put the skull in a central place on his shelf of books and specimens; it looked good, but Remus wasn’t really paying attention to the skull, especially when Logan turned and gave him a smile, extending his hand. Remus jumped up and shook it eagerly, “Thank you again, professor. You’re my hero. You’re especially my parents’ hero.”

         Logan chuckled, and the touch was mildly electric, probably static, but it made Logan shiver, “You’re the hero, Mr. Prince. Remember that, hard work got you this far, and it’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

         Remus nodded, slowly releasing Logan’s hand and stepping back to grab his backpack. “Well, see you in class tomorrow! Eight, right?”

         “Right,” Logan said. “And don’t forget the possibility of a pop quiz tomorrow in your actual class.”

         “Possibility,” Remus chuckled. “Good one, Professor Heart. See you then.”

         Logan watched him go and sighed, turning to admire the skull, a warmth blooming in his chest he’d never really felt before. It really was a nice skull, he supposed.

          Logan drove home with that feeling intact, almost floating into the elevator and riding it up to his floor. After making it down the hallway, and the obligatory avoidance of his neighbor’s eyes, he stepped into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He felt bone-deep exhausted—probably from the dream-cursed night before—and he went straight to the bathroom to take out his contacts. Once his contacts were safely back in their saline baths, he brushed his teeth, grabbing his glasses off of the vanity and putting them on. He admired his eyes—his green eyes. Logan gasped and squeezed his eyes closed, opening them again, still green. He took off his glasses, and his reflection was blurry, but clearly green eyes stared back at him. The warmth in his chest suddenly became a sharp icicle, and he realized. Green, Remus Prince. “Fuck!” Logan shouted, turning off the light and rushing out to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing his brother.

         The phone rang several times, and went to voicemail; Logan swore again and dialed the home phone, “Come on Pat come on.”

         “Hey Logan! What’s up?”

         “Ethan? Oh, is Pat… oh shit.”

         “Alabama,” Ethan said. “Yeah. You ok?”

         “No, not at all… oh god. Can we talk? Like do you have time?” Logan stood up, pacing around the bed. “I have… an awkward situation.”

         “You? I don’t believe it.”

         Logan sighed and Ethan laughed, “I’d like to be serious with you for a moment.”

         “Of course,” Ethan said. “Go ahead.”

         “When you realized you were Patton’s soulmate, was there a feeling?”

         “Hm,” Ethan said. “Actually, yes. I thought I had heartburn, actually. Just like this warmth in my chest? It sounds a bit stereotypical but yeah. I felt warm. That night when I was washing my face I realized my eyes had changed. You doing a study?”

         “Um… no,” Logan admitted. “My eyes are green.”

         “Oh! Oh my god! Did you tell your mom?”

         “Please, Ethan. I have only told you.”

         “Do you know who it is?” Ethan asked. “Any clue?”

         “One of my students,” Logan said. “The… football player.”

         “Oh yeah I remember Patton mentioning him, the stupid one right?”

         Logan bristled, “He isn’t stupid. He’s…” He sighed, rubbing his temple, “Well, thank you Ethan. You’ve answered my question.”

         “Text Pat,” Ethan said. “He’ll lose his shit.”

         “Goodnight, Ethan,” Logan said.

         Logan hung up and set his phone on the nightstand before undressing, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and climbing into bed. He turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket over his head, willing himself to sink into the earth.

          The following morning’s class was a blur of barely-controlled panic and dread, but luckily Remus barely even spared him a glance, intent on taking and passing his cellular identification exam. Logan pretended to grade papers when Remus came up to his desk, and his heart surged like it had, warming to Remus like a rock in the sun, “See you in class.”

         Logan gave a noncommittal sound, and Remus left the classroom, allowing Logan to finally breathe. Ignoring this wasn’t going to be easy, and Logan was already getting frantic texts from his brother demanding an explanation. Logan briefly wondered how hard it would be to vanish without changing universities. The worst part, without question, was how badly he wanted Remus to touch him, even just a brush of his hand. His body was like a magnet and his hands were shaking even though their closeness had been brief. At least his upcoming class was taking a pop quiz, and they were to clear out as soon as answers were submitted.  

          Logan remained more or less glued to the desk during the hour between classes, grading the microscope work—Remus hadn’t missed a single slide, so Picane’s catch on the colorblindness had been spot on. Logan had felt a stab of jealousy, absurd as it was, that he hadn’t realized it sooner, first, because Remus was his soulmate—his.

         “Mine,” Logan muttered to himself, then his face heated up when he realized what he’d said, and he looked down to realize he’d written it on Remus’ exam answers. Quickly scratching it out he pushed the test aside and lowered his face to the desk. “What a nightmare.”

         “What’s a nightmare, Mr. Heart?”

         Logan looked up to see his first student sliding into her desk, and he forced a chuckle, “The state of the economy in nineteenth century Luxembourg.” He stood up and began writing on the board.

         “Will that be on the final?” another student asked. The classroom had started filling up.

         “Not unless I’ve ever written it on this board,” Logan said. “We start final prep next week, don’t forget.”

         He finished filling out the board as the rest of his students filed in, and once his watch beeped cheerily that class had started, he heard a voice pick up behind him, the same girl from before, “Is that your favorite tie, Mr. Heart? You wear it a lot.”

         “It’s my favorite color,” Logan said without turning around. “As charming as the distraction is, I haven’t forgotten the pop quiz.” He turned around and Remus was staring at him, mouth open in shock. On either side of him, his linebacker buddies were looking at one another, and Logan realized his mistake in revealing his favorite color—because he knew better than anyone what color Remus’ eyes must be now. Wincing, he adjusted his glasses, “Alright, please take out a clean sheet of paper and answer the questions I’ve written on the board. When you’re finished please leave them up here and you may go.”

         Logan sat at his desk and pretended to be working, jumping when the first student turned in their quiz, but calmed and kept his eyes down as the steady stream of quizzes landed on his desk. He was starting to feel safe when most of his students had gone, and he made the mistake of looking up when a loud pair of sneakers stopped at his desk. The room was empty, and Remus Prince was standing at his desk, quiz in his hand. He set it down with the others and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Your eyes are green. I never noticed.”

         Logan paled and stared up at Remus, “I um… it’s recent.”

         Remus nodded, “Me too, indigo, right? It’s a weird blue for eyes. My brother said they look like Liz Taylor whoever that is.”

         Logan let out a nervous little laugh, looking down at the paper he’d been doodling on only to realize he’d been writing the word mine over and over, “Yeah. She had um… dark eyes. So I suppose you’ve met your soulmate then, congratulations, Mr. Prince.”

         Remus looked around and then back at Logan, “You’re going to pretend it isn’t you?”

         Logan was feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, but at the same time heat was playing in his chest. He pushed his chair back and stood up, tensing when Remus reached to grab his wrist, “I’m not-” Logan tried to pull away but Remus shook his head, “I’m not pretending anything I… damn it. Damn it I’m afraid, ok? You’re a student!”

         “Not for long! Like two weeks from now I’m taking the final, and unless I stop showing up entirely, there’s no way I’m failing. I did the math which I know will impress you because I’m such an idiot.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, then sighed. “Remus… is this even something you want? A relationship dictated by some… some system we don’t even understand? By colors and chance and… what, fate? You want to let the universe stick you with someone… someone like me?”

         Remus laughed and released Logan, covering his face with his hands, “You don’t fucking get it, do you? You really don’t.”

         Logan wrapped his arms around himself, blushing and adjusting his glasses, “Don’t get what?”

         “I have wanted you since before I started in this class!” Remus said. “My brother, the attention whore? He had me come here last semester to pick up a paper for him, remember? If it was just fate shoving us together it would have happened then… but it didn’t. I thought you were hot, so I signed up for your class because I figured I’d cheat my way through and have a hot prof to stare at right?”

         “Hot?”

         “Just let me finish,” Remus said. “When I came in here and sat down at that desk and I listened to you read the syllabus… and all of your weird bone jokes and that thing about the swamp mummy?”

         “Bog bodies, the Tollund Man, yes,” Logan said. “You remember that?”

         “Yeah because you cared, like you actually cared about it. You’re not just here because you couldn’t get a career and you’re not just here to waste time. You really care about what you’re teaching us, and I know you’re trying to switch departments but whatever, you know what I mean… there’s a lot of passion there and it made me give a shit. It took me forty-five minutes to fall in love with your stupid class, and maybe two or three classes to fall in love with you… but still it didn’t happen. Because it didn’t happen until you fell in love with me.”

         Logan was silent as he stared at Remus, his mouth hanging open; he took a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Jesus.”

         “Well? Am I right?” Remus said, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s the mustache right? My friends told me that’s the reason you didn’t tell me. Because you hate it. I don’t even care. I’ll shave it off, ok? I don’t care if it’s good luck I-”

         Logan crossed the short distance between them and kissed Remus, cutting him off. Remus grabbed Logan’s collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Logan’s mind spun, and his knees went weak. Remus had no trouble holding him up, and when they finally broke the kiss, Logan smiled sheepishly. “I don’t hate the mustache, as much as I wish I did. I really don’t.”

         Remus buried his face against Logan’s shoulder and laughed, “Great because I really need to keep it if I’m going to get drafted. Three of the NFL scouts commented on it.”

         “Yes I’m sure you’ll bring back the seventies mustache. Your parents will be ecstatic.”

         “Yeah… so um… are we dating?”

         “No,” Logan said, then off Remus’ look he hurried to elaborate. “Not until you pass this class of your own merit. Like you said, it’s no big deal and then, the second your final grade is logged in the university database… we can date.”

         Remus smiled, smoothing down Logan’s shirt as he stepped back, “Right, cool um… hey I should probably go then, right? Got studying to do. Bye teach.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, sinking back down into his seat once Remus was gone.

         It was going to be a long couple of weeks.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Matching Antlers - Seeley Booth

Pairing: Seeley Booth x Reader

Characters: Seeley Booth, Angela Montenegro

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 721

Author: Hannah

Some people had always told you that when you worked closely with your colleagues, they were likely to become your family rather than just the people you worked with.

A part of you had never really understood the sentiment, not until you’d started working at the Jeffersonian that is.

You’d gone into the Jeffersonian on the recommendation of Jack Hodgins, who had been your friend throughout your childhood despite being a few years his junior.

Your accomplishments as a forensic officer, specialising in anthropology as well as firearms, had gotten round to his parents and so his parents had told him.

The job offer came out of nowhere but you knew you’d be an idiot to pass it up.

Fast forward three years and you couldn’t imagine working with any other team – even Seeley, who you had grown very close to.

As it was coming up to Christmas Angela had taken to decorating the lab, you’d counted about five Christmas trees so far and she wasn’t anywhere near finished.

Angela had announced that there was going to be a team Christmas party up on the balcony and everyone knew better than to refuse Angela.

“Ange is all of this necessary?” you questioned when you got to the balcony.

She turned to face you with reindeer antlers in her hand. “Oh, it’s always necessary Y/N/N.”

You caught the antlers when she threw them over to you and as you put them on you saw Seeley coming up the stairs in a pair of antlers that matched yours perfectly.

Before you made eye contact with Seeley you shot a look towards Angela who gave you a wink – she’d clearly taken Christmas as an opportunity to match make.

Seeley came over to you, smiling as he did so. “Looking good in those antlers,” he greeted you.

You laughed at his words. “We seem to be matching.”

“I can think of worse people to match with,” he told you and you could tell he was trying to flirt which you weren’t going to say no to.

The two of you walked over to the railings of the balcony in order to wait for when Angela was finished setting up.

“So, what’re your thoughts on Christmas?” he asked as he continued to smile.

You shrugged. “I understood the appeal more as a child, but then as I grew up, I enjoyed being able to make other people happy rather than myself being happy?”

Seeley couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, he already had a crush on you of course but he couldn’t wrack his brain around how someone could be so amazing for other people.

“How about you?” you questioned. “I bet you love making the day great for Parker.”

He sighed. “Parker is spending Christmas with Rebecca this year; I get him over New Year but that’s only because she wants to go out.”

You placed a hand on his arm, knowing how much he missed Parker. “How about I come over New Year to spend it with you two? We’ll get some fireworks to set off and sparklers for Parker.”

Seeley smiled at you, taking a deep breath in before deciding to make a move towards you.

He took your hand from his arm and lifted it up so he could press a kiss to your knuckles.

“And how would you feel about spending Christmas with me too?” he asked once you hadn’t flinched away from his kiss.

Seeing the blush rise to your cheeks made him feel amazing, he’d liked you for a long time but never thought you’d like him back – he felt like a schoolboy half the time.

You smiled at him, a million thoughts going through your head but before you could answer him Angela chimed in from across the room.

“I don’t know if you noticed but there’s some mistletoe right there,” she pointed to above your heads as she spoke. “And I don’t think the kiss on Y/N’s knuckles, as sweet as that was, counts.”

Turning back to face Seeley, you saw the smirk he had on his face. “How about it Y/N?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer him as he leant down and kissed you gently, under the mistletoe with matching antlers on your head.

Maybe Christmas could be good for you after all.

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

In Theory

Happy Birthday @whelvenwings!!! Hope it was a great one, nerd. 

AO3

1.9k~

“I told you we should have bought two.” Castiel said, eyeing Dean as he cut off another large portion of the recently purchased funnel cake and dangled it over his mouth before dropping it inside. “But, no. You said you weren’t hungry enough for a whole one.”

Dean held up a finger as he chewed, and Castiel waited for the explanation.

The sounds of the carnival around them had been distracting at first; loud screams from those who braved the Super Loop, bangs and whistles from various games, and loud chewing noises from Castiel’s roommate. Most of those noises had faded into the tapestry of the carnival experience that Dean had dragged him to the moment he’d learned of its existence.

“That was my last bite, I swear.” Dean said, wiping a sugar-coated smile and holding the plate of fried dough out towards Castiel. “Maybe. Actually, wait -” he took the plate back and cut off another piece and shoved it into his mouth so quickly he lost his grip on the fork and it fell into the grass- “ah shit.”

“Ah, Icarus,” Castiel said, handing Dean his own mostly-unused fork with a pitying smile, “You flew too close to the sun.”

Dean looked slightly chagrined, but took the offered gift anyway with a nod of thanks.

Castiel nudged Dean as the line of people in front of them stepped forward.

“Actually, we need to finish it before we get on the ride, so eat up.” Castiel said, standing on his tiptoes to see how far away they were from the front of the line.

“Don’t you want any?” Dean asked as he cut another large piece off and stabbed it with the fork he’d just been gifted, holding it out for Castiel to eat.

Castiel glared at the fork, and the smug grin Dean was trying to hide, and took the bite before he could think too much about it.

“Is that funnel cake good?”

Dean and Castiel both turned to look behind them at the boy who’d asked. He looked like he was maybe thirteen or fourteen, looking between the two of them expectantly.

“Incredible.” Dean said with a thumbs up and a wink. “Highly recommend.”

Castiel nodded in agreement as he finished chewing.

The boy turned to the man behind him and gestured towards the two of them like it meant something important.

“See, dad? I told you it’s good. We should get some.”

The dad, with one hand gripping the hand of another child, and the other holding a plastic cooler, let out a sigh.

“I never said it wouldn’t be good, Max. I said we brought our own snacks so we wouldn’t have to pay for any here.”

To emphasize the point, he held up the cooler.

Max pouted.

“It was outrageously expensive.” Castiel said with a nod, “Especially for a food that someone has only eaten a few bites of while the other has eaten most.”

“Hey, you just said to hurry and finish it!”

The dad laughed as he set the cooler down briefly, fishing an apple out from it and handed it over to Max, who took it begrudgingly.

“So, do you two live around here?” The dad asked conversationally.

Castiel nodded, then pointed to Dean.

“Well, sort of. He’s local, but we both go to school here.”

“Roommates?”

“Unfortunately,” Dean said, using the fork to emphasize dramatically, “It’s just ‘dead guy’ this and ‘unsolved mystery’ that, twenty-four seven with him. Gets real boring after a while.”

The dad raised an eyebrow at Castiel.

“I’m an anthropology major.” Castiel explained, then elbowed Dean. “And that’s an odd complaint coming from the man going into forensics.”

Max’s eyes widened at the two of them as his interested seemed to be piqued.

“That’s cool!”

Dean was grinning, now.

“Mine’s a little bit cooler though, right?”

“That’s unfair - he might not even know what ‘anthropology’ means.”

“Sure he does! Everyone knows it means you work in a clothing store.”

Castiel let out a long sigh while Dean laughed at his own joke.

“Apologies. He uses that joke at least once a week and still thinks it’s funny.”

The dad cracked a smile and handed an apple to the younger girl whose hand he was still holding.

“So, where are you from, if not from around here?” The dad asked, nodding his head towards Castiel.

Castiel hadn’t been to a carnival in a very long time, but he was beginning to get the sense that sometimes small talk between customers in line to kill time wasn’t out of the ordinary. Dean didn’t seem bothered by it, at least.

“Washington.” Castiel answered while using his fingers to rip of another piece of the funnel cake, and immediately regretting the sticky coating he knew was going to be difficult to get off. “But I’ve been here for a few years now.”

“Wow, a big move huh?”

“Definitely.” Castiel said with a nod. “I kind of miss the rain.”

“Aw, Cas, why didn’t you tell me?” Dean made a pitying face at him, “There’s a car wash down the street you could go walk through - I’m sure it’s exactly the same.”

“I also miss the peace and quiet.” Castiel said flatly.

Dean snorted.

“He doesn’t. He loves me.”

Castiel opened his mouth to argue the contrary, but opted for rolling his eyes heavily.

“Dad -”

The little girl was tugging on her father’s arm.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

The dad nodded and set the cooler of food down into the grass next to Max.

“Watch this, Max. We’ll be right back.”

Castiel watched the pair of them hurry off towards one of the nearby Honeybuckets and hoped that the line didn’t start moving before they returned.

“Hey, you’ve got -”

Castiel looked over just as Dean wiped a forceful thumb across his cheek with an impish smile and nodded at him as Castiel scowled.

“- got it.”

“I did not.”

“You super did. You’re lucky I’m here.”

Castiel glared at Dean, who only continued to smile until Castiel finally couldn’t resist and cracked one of his own.

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me -”

The sound of the voice behind them grounded Castiel back to the carnival and the line they were standing in, and Max, who was staring at them with a look that tugged on Castiel’s heartstrings in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“What’s up?” Dean said, scooping up the last bite of the funnel cake.

Max pursed his lips and ducked his head shyly before seeming to steel himself for something with a deep breath.

“Are you two... together?”

There was a brief moment where Castiel nearly opened his mouth to tell Max that, yes, of course they were here together, couldn’t he tell? But the deep, meaningful look that he gave the two of them caught him off-guard before he could get a word in.

Oh.

Oh.  

Castiel looked over at Dean, who was looking back like he’d picked up on Max’s implication almost instantly, and didn’t know what to say.

They… were not.

Technically.

They lived together, spent an excessive amount of time together, teased each other, and were often mistaken for a couple - not that it had ever bothered them before. They’d just corrected the mistake if they needed to or ignored it if it didn’t matter.

Castiel sort of liked when it happened.

Max, though. . . he didn’t look like he wanted a correction. The way he was looking at them - like he was so hopeful that the answer would be yes - Castiel didn’t want to crush that hope.

He remembered what if felt like to be him.

Had it just been him there alone with Max, he probably would have said yes, but he didn’t want to have to drag Dean into a lie with him that he might not be comfortable with.

“Well, uh,” Castiel glanced away from Dean and cleared his throat. “No. We’re not.”

Max’s shoulders sagged just enough to be noticeable, and it broke Castiel’s heart.

“Hey, but - in theory we could be!”

Castiel nearly pulled a muscle in his neck because of how fast he turned to look at Dean. His cheeks had a pink flush to them, and he was leaning forward ever-so-slightly in a way that made him seem more earnest.

Dean met Castiel’s questioning gaze and the pink in his cheeks grew more pronounced.

“Uh, you know, like -“ Dean swallowed and turned back towards Max, “- it’s totally fine that you thought we were - together. You know. And we could be! But we’re not. But not because….we think we can’t.”

Castiel presses his lips together to avoid laughing at Dean’s floundering.

He understood where it was coming from. How could he let Max know that just because they weren’t together didn’t mean he was alone?

Castiel crouched down to Max’s level and smiled at him softly.

“I think what Dean’s trying to say is that we’re not together the way you think we are, but we don’t mind.” Dean made an affirming sound from somewhere behind him. “And if you want a secret: the only reason Dean and I aren’t together is because he doesn’t like pineapple on pizza.”

Max lifted his chin up a little and a small smile began to form on his face while Dean made some sort of protesting sound.

“Really?”

Castiel nodded seriously.

“It’s unreasonable for a boyfriend to hate Hawaiian pizza. Remember that, Max.”

Max full-on grinned as Castiel stood back up just in time for Max’s dad and sister to jump back in line.

And the line moved forward.

Castiel and Dean stepped forward onto the rickety carnival Spin-O-Rama and took their respective seats in the ride, neither of them saying anything.

There were a few moments of silence before Castiel turned to Dean.

“‘In theory we could be?’” He teased, looked at Dean with a crooked smile.

Dean threw up his hands.

“I panicked!”

Castiel covered up a laugh with one hand in case Max and his family was somewhere nearby. The last thing he wanted was for Max to think they were laughing at him.

“I didn’t want him to get all disappointed! Did you see the look on his face? The kid needed support.”

Castiel nodded once and held up his own arms as a man stopped by to check on their seat belts.

The two of them laughed quietly to themselves at Dean’s expense for a few more moments, leaning against each other in their small cart.

“Shame about your awful opinion on pizza, though.” Dean said after they’d calmed down enough to clear his throat. “To think we could have been dating this whole time.”

Castiel opened his mouth, closed it, and cocked his head at Dean curiously, feeling a bit braver than he had before Max.

“Really?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders once, trying and failing to hide a smile.

Castiel’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“Yep. Damn shame.”

The ride lurched forward, and Castiel felt a hand slip into his own, squeezing tightly.

“Just in theory though.” Dean said, and the interlaced fingers were anything but theoretical.

[psychvamp25]

53 🙈

53. I’m flirting with you

Gendry didn’t know why he put himself through this, he hated most public places and most of the public too. But, he sat alone at a booth in the off-campus bar all the same because Hot Pie and Lommy had begged him to come out tonight. Wednesdays were $1 beers and bacon baskets, and he just couldn’t miss it. They were edging closer to the half hour late mark, he gave them until he finished his current drink or he was leaving. 

His eyes drifted to the door briefly when a group entered but he gave them no real attention. They settled at a table not too far away, but with only the main section open, options were limited. The bar was pretty dead, two loners sitting at different ends of the bar top, four frat boys at one of the pool tables, and Gendry himself. The group of five almost doubled the customer count, but he was sure the waitress would appreciate the chance at extra tips. 

He was so focused on his phone afterwards that he didn’t even notice that someone had walked up to his booth until a voice said, “Gendry?”

His eyes immediately snapped up and were met with grey eyes he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade, he smiled and said, “Arya?”

She nodded, her dark hair was cut short to frame her face, and slid into the other side of the booth, “I wasn’t sure if you were going to remember me.”

He nodded, “Of course I remember you. We were best friends for a whole summer.”

“I actually tried to find you on social media but I didn’t have any luck.” She admitted, her fingers playing with a beer she had brought with her.

Gendry was surprised she had tried to find her, and shyly admitted, “I don’t have anything but an Instagram for my business. There isn’t anything for you to find.”

“Your business?” She asked, a genuine smile on her face.

He nodded, “I’m trying to start a custom metal work business. Right now I just do commission through there, but I want to try and get a real shop set up, with a showroom and stuff.”

“Gendry, that is amazing!” She said, and then looked confused, “Why are you at a college bar then?”

He laughed, “I go to KLU part time, trying to get a business degree. It looks better on small business loan applications I was told.” He paused before saying, “What about you?”

“I’m studying anthropology, I don’t have a focus yet but I’m leading towards forensic anthropology.”

The waitress stopped by before he reply, she gave them each a new beer and a fresh basket of bacon, “Your friends said you would need these.”

Gendry thanked her and finished off the little left on his old beer, the cold one would be much better. When he looked back up he noticed Arya was having some sort of silence conversation with her friends at the table, “If you need to go back to them…”

“No.” She said quickly turning back to him, “No, I see them all the time. I want to catch up with you.” Her smile fell, “Unless, are you waiting for someone? And I just sat here without…”

He held up his hand, “Arya, I promise you aren’t intruding. My friends didn’t even bother to show up after begging me to come out tonight. You are more than welcome.”

She smiled, “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with a date or anything.”

He laughed, “I’d have to date for that to be a problem.”

She frowned, “You don’t date?”

He shook his head, “Between my paying job, my classes, and trying to get my business going I don’t really have a lot of free time. That did not sit well with the last few girls, so I just have put the whole dating thing on hold.”

She scoffed, “Those girls loss I guess.”

He chuckled, “Thanks. What about you, got someone waiting for good night text?”

She shook her head, “No, haven’t met anyone who sparks my fancy. Not yet anyway.”

He took a swig of his beer as she looked at him, he was awful at figuring out when someone was flirting or just being friendly. He was really hoping that this was the former, she had found his relationship status in a roundabout way. Surely that meant she wanted to make sure he was single before going further. He was just about to ask for her number and for a chance to see her again when Hot Pie and Lommy walked up. The smell floating around them explained why they’d been late and he groaned.

“Hey Gen, sorry we’re late. Surprise you stayed this….oh, I see why you stayed.” Lommy said, giving him a wink.

He rolled his eyes, “Arya, these are my friends Hot Pie and Lommy.”

“Nice to meet you.” She replied with a shy smile and a light flush on her cheeks.

“Arya and I knew each other as kids, we were just catching up.” He told them, giving them a stare he hoped said ‘go away’.

“You guys keep catching up, we are going to play some darts.” Lommy said and nudged Hot Pie to followed him.

Hot Pie leaned down and in a loud whisper said, “Don’t forget to flirt.”

Gendry let out another groan as his friends walked away, laughing at his clear embarrassment as they did. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to figure out what to say to move past the awkward situation that had just been created.

She beat him to it, “I’m flirting with you already.”

He looked at her face in shook and she just gave him a sweet smile, and he returned it, “Good, I was hoping you were because I was going to ask for your number.”

Her smile morphed into a playful smirk, “Good, because I want to give it to you.”

As they continued to talk, drinking cheap beer and eating bacon, he found he was very happy he’d agreed to come out tonight afterall.

Thank you so much for the ask!!! This was a real thing a bar by my college did by the way, it was called White Trash Wednesdays.

[clowngremlin]

i had a crying fit because my dad and brother were arguing but my brother kept telling me i needed to get a job AND go to school for these two semesters because im moving out of my dad’s house in the spring and i lost my student loan for a few semesters because i failed my classes due to being mentally ill, (moving out is being forced upon me, its not truly my choice and its making me lose my mind from anxiety.....just one of the many things causing me to have panic attacks lol) and i keep trying to explain to him that im applying for disability assistance because my therapist thinks i’d qualify because i have such debilitating anxiety i have panic attacks almost every day (i have had a lot less since being put on the new medication when i went to the hospital, so i dont get them every day but i get them often enough) and sometimes cant even go outside because im too scared/anxious, and then my dad tried to tell my older brother that i CANT work and get disability payments at the same time, and it made them argue even more and i got so overwhelmed that i started crying.....my brother just wanted to rag on the government for not helping disabled people, i dont think he really cared if i was going to be poor or not, and he seems to romanticize being poor and working class and keeps telling me i have to work AND go to school, even though i cant do that because it causes me so much stress and anxiety that i end up doing poorly at school and i cant afford to do poorly at school anymore!!!!! like i fucked up my grades so bad at the last school i went to and i need to do better at school to get my student loan back!!!!! and my dad was frustrated with me because i dont have a lot of life skills and because im mentally ill, but i’ve been doing a lot better with my mental health since being put on seroquel, but i do get anxious about starting tasks and so i put them off because idk how to start and i get overwhelmed, but my therapist gave me coping skills for when i get overwhelmed by trying to start a task and its to do the task in small chunks and eventually i will have it all done!! i also told my dad that i find it helpful if he gives me a time frame to do the tasks in, like yesterday i had to phone the doctor to make an appointment, and he told me to do it before he got back from walking the dog and so i did it, and so idk having a specific time frame to do something in helps me get started.....idk where im going with this, im just kind of stressed out and overwhelmed rn and my family doesnt really seem to care lol.....im almost 24, like next month i’ll be 24 and i feel like such a fuck up because i have problems doing every day tasks and managing my money (i am doing better at that though! i am trying really hard to budget and show my dad that i can manage my money by myself!!) and idk how to cook things like meat unless its in a stir fry or like ground beef in a pan for spaghetti sauce, and that sometimes i get so anxious i cant even go outside because im so scared of getting the coronavirus..... i am trying to be better though, but no one in my family seems to acknowledge it, like i basically am recovering from anorexia with minimal support because i can only afford to see my therapist once every month and a half, i also weight restored myself because i used to be dangerously underweight from the anorexia, the coronavirus situation is hard for EVERYONE too, like everyone is having a hard time coping with it and i have predisposition  to having severe anxiety and panic attacks, and i wasnt even on the proper meds for my bipolar disorder until last month, like i was only on a low dose of an antipsychotic and like prozac, and i was literally just put on a mood stabilizer in december after i had a psychotic episode and had to go to the hospital, but i have found the new medication to be really helpful, im doing a lot better with my depression since being on it, and im not having psychotic symptoms anymore, and its even helping with my anxiety, but today i got overwhelmed because my dad and my brother were like yelling at each other in front of me while my brother tried to be incredibly negative and berate me under the guise of “looking out for me” and then my dad got mad at me because he was mad at my brother and so i started crying, but my dad stopped yelling at me and we talked about it in a constructive way and came up with ideas on how to help me do better and get some skills, and then i went and did some things for starting classes tomorrow which was really good and made me feel better because i was doing something productive and a task i needed to do (putting all the important upcoming dates and assignment due dates from the course outline for my forensic anthropology class in my little planner!!) and then i had a snack and talked to one of my friends, and now i guess im just writing this to get it off my chest because i just needed to vent but i didnt want to like vent to anyone in particular or in the vent channel in the server i mode for so im just making this post and i dont really expect anyone to read it but i just needed to get it off my chest and out of my head to feel better!!!  

[cristobalrios]

Conspiracies Unraveled (Zack Addy)

[ @ncthingstars ]

La Sirena was on autopilot as they quietly headed back towards Federation Space from Coppelius, as Raffi had insisted that they do not take the Borg Transwarp Conduit again, which is fine. It’s easier on the ship to go the normal way, anyway. The past few days have been rough on her and Rios was worried about sending her through the conduit without the proper shielding again. But that just gave them time to settle down.

Rios was in his cabin, scrolling quietly through the holo screen over information about a young Vulcan (former) ensign he once knew, now a forensic scientist on Vulcan. It feels like a lifetime ago. He can’t stop thinking about the last time he saw him and all the lies he had to tell, to him and to the rest of the crew, but it was hardest to do to him because he knew it was a lie. They’re all lucky he didn’t cause any trouble with it, though. Or unlucky? Would it have been better if they’d fought against it? Not be complicit in the cover-up? It likely would have gotten them all killed. No indication on his record of having served on the Ibn Majid, of course. It doesn’t list where he had been assigned to complete his doctoral dissertation in Forensic Anthropology, but apparently that hadn’t hindered his work on Vulcan, where he has been working ever since the Ibn Majid was recalled and subsequently erased. That was a relief. He’s glad the Ibn Majid didn’t mess everyone up as much as it did him. Not that it would have. Most were fairly unaware of any of what had happened that ended their mission.

He has had this open for hours trying to build up the nerve to actually contact him. He hasn’t had contact with anyone from the Ibn Majid since the all-too-brief, suspiciously brief “investigation” into the incidents had concluded. But now that he knew the truth behind what really happened on the Ibn Majid, he owed certain people explanations since they sure as hell aren’t going to get them from Starfleet. To hell with the consequences. He’s not afraid of them anymore (a lie, but a lie he would profess with his last breath. He can’t let them control him anymore). Zack was the first person he thought to contact. He was actually aware of Jana and Beautiful Flower’s deaths, as he had unfortunately been in the room when Rios had to have their CMO confirm their deaths to send the report to Starfleet Security to prove they had followed orders. Their CMO was supposed to be the only other person to know, and Rios had tried to keep Zack in the dark but he had seen the bodies anyway and asked to examine them, as that was his area of study. Rios had to deny any knowledge of the bodies, tell him he was mistaken, and every second of it killed him. His hands were shaking but he pressed record anyway, trying not to seem as disturbed as he felt.

“Hey Zack, it’s Cris Rios. I know it’s been -- close to ten years now, and I’ve been sort of MIA to, well, everyone -- but I finally have some answers to those... questions you asked about last time we met. If you’re interested, let me know and we can meet up in person to talk about it when I’m back in Federation space.” He smiled gently. “I’m glad you seem to be doing well with your work on Vulcan. I’m sorry I haven’t been around, but I’m proud of you... Bye, kid.” After a moment of hesitation, he hit send before he could over-think it and spend a few more hours contemplating it. It was vague, but he didn’t want it to seem too suspicious in case it was intercepted. Raffi had taken some security measures when he told her what he was going to do (and she encouraged him to reach out, at least to someone), but you never know what Starfleet or the Zhat Vash could do. Better safe than sorry.

[brightwasright]

not here for long. just getting a couple things out before i take my cat to get her sutures out and then off to work for me. my intention is to write some replies up tonight after work, queue them, and then spend the rest of the night studying for my forensic anthropology exam tomorrow. that’s the only one i’m worried about tbh -- the sociology of deviance? easy. law enforcement? easy. contemporary psychology? easy! me, in forensic anth: the head bone is connected to the ... neck bone...

it’s fascinating, don’t get me wrong. forensics is my shit. but when i have to remember every bone in the human skull and the axial skeleton, plus their features, plus what side they belong on . .. which rib is this one? is it false or true? which vertebrae is this one? Y’ALL. WE DID NOT TAKE A FIRST YEAR ANTH CLASS AND I DON’T HAVE TIME !!!!!! to raise a child, work 4 days a week as a manager and focus on and study for 4 full course loads.

anyway, the above is my cover letter for CSIS, please take me as an unintelligence officer thanks, i need the pay and also i think i will be a beneficial dumbass to your organization.

also, if you haven’t already, please go send @anihiila / @ofhomeland / @levautour​ some love because he’s sick as hell and needs to recover in 3 days time because my ass is going to visit him.