#suit eval

[ron456]

✨If you can't handle me at my Chris Thurser, you don't deserve me at my Christine Canigula ✨

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil’s Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

It’s the way that I am BURSTING with excitement about posting this fic 😈🫣

Warnings: nothing here really, just talk of Haley and Jack’s deaths

Don’t forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter is posted!!

One: All along we called it normal — “The News” by Paramore

“Please say your name and rank for the record.” The tape clicks. Across from you, Strauss sighs.

“Supervisory Special Agent Y/N L/N,” you reply confidently, “with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”

“How long have you been with the BAU?” Strauss asks.

“Four years.”

She takes the seat across from you, crossing her legs, and opening a file folder. “Did you work under Agent Hotchner the entire time?”

“Yes ma’am,” you reply, lacing your fingers together on the table. “I did.”

“How would you describe your relationship to Agent Hotchner during this time?”

“Professional,” you say firmly, knowing exactly what she is trying to get you to say. “Strictly professional.”

+++

When Hotch returned to the BAU’s offices, he headed straight into a meeting with Strauss. She didn’t know he was coming, and a meeting wasn’t scheduled, but he knew if he went straight to his office that she’d call for him immediately. He thought he might as well beat her to it.

He stepped off the elevator and turned toward Strauss’s office. She locked eyes with him through the glass walls of her office, her expression frozen in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Strauss asked, right to the point, barely letting Hotch shut the door first.

“I’m here to get back to work,” Hotch replied, just as blunt.

Strauss was unamused. “Did you even think about the retirement offer I showed you?”

“I did. I’m declining it.” It was a nice offer, really, but it made no sense. He’d have more free time than ever before, but he didn’t need free time. He needed to be occupied constantly if he was ever going to make it through this mountain of grief.

“It’s been two weeks,” Strauss stated. “You need a month of bereavement, Aaron. Minimum.”

“You’re getting two weeks,” he said with a defiant shrug.

Sensing a losing battle, Strauss caved, settling on a compromise. “You’ll need to pass a psych eval with flying colors, then.”

“I will.”

“Today,” she said. “You’re going to wait here until they arrive.”

Hotch put up no fight. “Alright.” He turned and took a seat on her couch while she placed a phone call, ordering an immediate evaluation.

It took an hour for the psychologist to arrive, and they appeared to have rushed there. In truth, Strauss made the situation sound much more dire than it was.

Hotch stood and shook the psychologist’s hand, already securing a good impression before the evaluation had begun. Strauss led them down the hall to a conference room for some privacy.

Hotch hadn’t been in many psych evals, but he was well aware of how they work. Passing this one was easy, much to Strauss’ displeasure, and he was cleared for work by the afternoon.

“I will be watching you, Aaron,” Strauss warned.

“Don’t you already?” he quipped, pushing through her office doors.

+++

The team was in a frenzy when Hotch walked through the BAU’s glass doors, wearing his usual suit and tie, briefcase in hand. Like nothing had happened.

“Is that…?”

“Already?”

“Why is he here?”

You lifted your head from your paperwork and stared, jaw dropping ever so slightly as Hotch walked past your desk. Your eyes followed him up the stairs to his office, unlocking the door and flicking the lights on.

“Did you know he was coming back today?” Emily asked from her seat next to you.

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from your boss. “No. Not at all. Hasn’t it only been two weeks?”

“If that,” JJ said.

“Is he even allowed to be here?” Morgan asked.

“Standard bereavement time is three to seven days,” Reid quoted, chewing nervously on his nails. “But it varies based on the relationship to the deceased. He should’ve gotten at least a month, or maybe two, since it was Haley and Jack…”

“He definitely shouldn’t be here,” you murmured to yourself mostly, but Emily voiced her agreement.

“He needs more time,” she said quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. “We know he’s a workaholic, but this is…”

“Way too soon,” you finished, and JJ nodded.

Rossi exited his office next door and walked into Hotch’s, immediately embracing him in a hug. You couldn’t hear what they said, but Hotch cracked a small, barely-there smile. It was more than you expected.

Hotch turned his head and locked eyes with you, and you looked away, embarrassed. You really shouldn’t stare. You just didn’t expect him to be back so soon.

You returned to your work, feeling like a kid caught red-handed. Minutes passed before you started to hear Rossi and Hotch’s voices a lot clearer, as they walked down the stairs into the bullpen.

“Hey,” you heard Emily say, smiling gently.

“Long time no see, boss,” Morgan joked lightly.

You lifted your head again, seeing Hotch say a small, “Hi,” and nod. He looked down at you, offering another nod.

“Hey,” you murmured. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Hotch said, directing his answer to the entire team. “I’m glad to be back. I need something to keep me busy.”

You nodded solemnly. You figured that was the reason, but it didn’t make it any better. You still felt like he should’ve waited a few more weeks at least.

“Well, we missed you,” Rossi said, filling the silence.

Everyone murmured their words of agreement, even you. You probably missed Hotch more than anyone else, but it wasn’t a competition.

“I have some cases to review,” JJ said, gesturing in the direction of her office. “I was just about to bring them to Rossi, but if you…”

“We can review them together,” Rossi offered, nodding with Hotch.

“Sure,” Hotch said. “Just bring them up to my office.”

“Coffee?” Rossi suggested. “I’m sure the pile is as high as ever.”

Hotch seemed strangely comforted by the fact, and by everyone’s attempt to behave as normal as possible, as everyone would have worked before Haley and Jack’s death.

The two men fell into easy conversation, as old friends tend to do, and headed over to brew a fresh pot of coffee. JJ headed to her office to retrieve the case files. Emily, Reid, and Morgan shared looks with you before sinking, defeated, back into their chairs.

Garcia came through the glass doors, her empty mug in hand, and stopped in her tracks when she saw Hotch standing in the small kitchen.

“Sir,” she said. “What are you doing— I mean— Welcome back!” She hugged him, unable to help herself.

“Thank you, Penelope,” Hotch offered a tiny smile, hugging her back.

Garcia set her mug down on the kitchen counter and came over to share her confusion with the rest of the team.

“I saw his psych eval get posted,” she whispered hastily. “What is going on?”

You shrugged. “He said he’s ready to be back.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Babygirl, we know,” Morgan shushed her. “He won’t listen.”

You snorted, knowing that was the truth. Above anything else, Aaron was stubborn. You didn’t know why you didn’t expect him to pull something like this. In fact, you felt stupid for not seeing it coming. You should’ve known.

You gave him a few weeks, depending on how many cases came through that needed the BAU’s attention, but nothing more. He’d realize he needed a break eventually, and then he’d most likely take a month off.

Or he’d retire. But you didn’t want to think about that.

You wanted him to have his time to grieve and heal, but you didn’t want to lose him entirely. The BAU wouldn’t be the same without him.

You were not alone in that sentiment, either. Garcia asked you a few days earlier if you thought Hotch might take Strauss’s retirement offer. You didn’t know what to tell her, not really. If he did, you’d understand. But you’d miss him even more than you had these past two weeks.

+++

Your relationship with Hotch had always toed the line of being inappropriate, ever since you began at the BAU a few years ago.

After his divorce from Haley was finalized and she seemingly wanted nothing to do with him, you felt less guilty about your lingering looks. The guilt evaporated entirely when Hotch began sharing the looks, and added small touches.

At first, it was nothing to concern yourself with.

He always sat next to you on the jet, so these times were no different — although he began sitting closer. Thighs nearly touching, forearms brushing, always bordering on too much, but never enough to raise any suspicions.

His fingers brushed against yours while he handed you files, your bulletproof vest, or a piece of evidence. He started putting his body in front of yours when gunfire was involved, even though you both had the same level of protection on your bodies.

And when he could, he paired you with him for interviews, interrogations, or general splitting of the team. The two of you never shared a hotel room, but he and Rossi always get their own rooms. You did notice, however, that your room was often next to his.

You were tempted, many times, to knock on his door, but you never did. Foyet’s terror began, and then Hotch’s family was targeted, and his attention was torn away from you.

Not that you blamed or resented him for that, of course. It made perfect sense for Hotch to turn his focus to his ex-wife and his son when a serial killer was after them. Disappointment crept into your body, but you pushed it away. Bigger problems were at hand.

You comforted Hotch as best you could during those times without crossing any lines.

“We’ll get him,” you remember saying one night, among other things that you probably shouldn’t have uttered. But your words worked and he thanked you for talking to him, even though you’re sure Rossi and others said similar things.

We’ll get him, you all had said. We’ll catch Foyet.

And you did, but there was no “we” involved. Aaron knew where Foyet was going and was already headed there by the time the team figured it out. He was on a one-man mission, no matter what anyone says to try and make it seem less so.

With Hotch back in the office, feelings were resurfacing, though you tried quieting them. The circumstances now seemed even more inappropriate than before, so you kept yourself under a close watch.

It didn’t help, though, that Aaron had gone back to his old ways.

When the team boarded the jet for the first case since his return, you took your seat first, expecting him to sit elsewhere, but he took the seat directly to your right, effectively boxing you in. Not to mention, he was closer than he had ever sat, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

So, you behaved as normal.

“Alright,” you exhaled. “Let’s figure out what the hell we’re dealing with here.”

The case was standard, reminiscent of a thousand others you had worked on already. In a way, you were glad that this was the first case Hotch was back on. You thought maybe it would help him to work on something so familiar.

Your hopes were confirmed when the jet landed, and the team headed to the precinct. Hotch was behaving as his usual Unit Chief self.

+++

It didn’t take long for your relationship with Hotch to get back to where it was, and for it to take the step further that you wanted it to way back then.

It only took two cases, three months, for you to be in bed with him.

You didn’t knock on his door like you always wanted to. He knocked on yours.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, your lips just barely touching his cheek. He hovered over you, his arms bent at the elbows and resting on either side of your head. His entire body was pressed into you, the weight comforting.

His heavy breathing filled your ears. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re drunk,” you said, not upset by the fact, just aware of it.

“I’m not,” he said, shaking his head, but you could smell the alcohol on his lips. You could taste it.

He wasn’t lying. He had one drink, one glass of whiskey, but that was it. He wasn’t drunk. He was buzzed. He’d remember this in the morning. And he wanted to.

“If you’re not,” you murmured, “then what are you doing here, Aaron?”

He lifted his head, his eyes raking over every inch of your face. “What I’ve wanted to for a long time,” he said. “If Foyet hadn’t come back, I would’ve…”

He shook his head, and you shushed him, wanting him to stop this train of thought before it continued. “Don’t. Shhhh, don’t, we don’t have to talk about that right now,” you cradled his face in your hands. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

He nodded. He thought for a moment, regret and shame passing over his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you hated it, even though you really wanted to. But you knew it was the right decision for the night. “You should sleep.” You paused, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You should stay.”

“Can I?” he asked softly, like he knew he shouldn’t. “Just for tonight?”

“Yes,” you murmured. “Stay.”

He did.

[anteroom-of-death]

When We Meet Again, part 1

Synopsis: A new teacher at Roundview has to deal with her first Parent's Night. She meets a man that has quite the large amount of baggage and gossip around him.

a/n: a fic! From me?? Nah son. Thats crazy. Multi-chapter love for this man coming tho. Slowly. One day. Love you alllllllll.

Parent’s Night, the bane of any teacher’s existence. Truly a hell on Earth, between those parents that thought your job was just to babysit and those that were willfully ignorant about their children’s behavior in school, you couldn’t take it.

At least those were miles better than the ones that took their children’s academic prowess as a mark of their own success.

The student who’s father was coming in now, the mother eloped with some German man, was named Sid. Your heart went out to him. Really. His home life was in shambles. Said father was recently in hospital for something about his heart.

Local gossip mills and the teacher’s lounge still shattered with the grips of poor Sid’s tragic, dramatic home life.

You’d be a bit more supportive if it was only that; his home life.

Sid seemed to be intent on dragging everyone else in the school with him, however. Hopeless, truly.

What a time to get into teaching!

The man wobbled in, he wasn’t unattractive. The mother was insane for running off. You marked the whole explosive thing as probably personality-based. That’s why people cheated in mostly. Personality and boredom. Usually, appearances had seldom to do with cheating. Super models got cheated on all the time…

Maybe he inherited his father’s personality?

You suddenly didn’t fault the mother.

His eyes seemed perpetually wet as he sat down across from you. They were lovely. Not quite blue, not quite green, grey and gold flecks throughout, rimmed with an exhausted red line. The sudden locked contact of them shot through your core. Framed with lush, arched brows and pretty little lashes…

“My wee boy, how’s he been?” The man; Mark, according to your records asked. It was earnest. “I’ve been trying my best to get his grades up.” He swallowed as you caught a glimpse of the scar from surgery under his wrinkled, wrongly-buttoned shirt.

You swallowed back. He seemed gravely concerned, with genuine love for Sid bubbling forward. The way he asked seemed so gut-wrenchingly genuine and paternal concern that broached towards reverent.

Definitely not inherited personality faults from him, you walked back your previous guess.

“Not good, his grades continue to slip. He keeps moping about some girl named Cassie. I keep telling the school councilor to get involved. He seems unreachable.” You went for brutal honesty. A man who was briefly declared dead would appreciate that, right?

He let a few choice words. It felt well-suited. Duly earned.

You felt for him truly…

Leaning forward, you laid out a sympathetic hand on the man…

“He’s nearly catatonic. It might not be a matter of skills.” You reasoned. “He has gone a through a lot…maybe try to get him in for a psych eval?” You tried to give seasoned advice and speak from what little experience you had.

He sighed.

“Just tell me what to do.” Mark resigned himself into a self-conscious slouch. “He has to do better in life than me or even his grandfather did.” He seemed content to all but hover above the surface of the desk.

Definitely not personality-based cheating, you thought as you rolled back your previous observation. Unless this was a new personality based on his health scare and Sid driving him to his limit.

Oh well, so much for gossip-based psychology!

You put a caring, cautious hand on his shoulder. (Bony, yet firm you remarked.) He was close to breaking into tears. It wasn’t fair.

“He’s already got a good support system in you and what the school administration can provide. Get him the mental health care he needs. It may not be a perfect fix, but it’ll help.” You felt yourself rubbing soothing circles into this near-perfect stranger’s upper back.

His back felt almost muscular. Thin, oddly spaced out. But firm. Just like his shoulders.

It wasn’t all that bad to touch.

Something overtook you as you produced a post-it and wrote your number down. It was a bad, possibly sideways move. Definitely not in the teacher’s handbook.

You shook yourself. You just didn’t want to see this man fall into disarray further because of his son. The boy was this close to falling through the cracks completely. People usually inherited their mental health struggles from their parents…

Nothing else. Clearly not a sudden desire to see this man again.

“Why don’t we meet up outside for a coffee and we can discuss this somewhere cheerier?” You slid it forward. “Ring me on there and we’ll chat, hopefully somewhere with outdoor seating.” You laughed a small laugh as of to diffuse the situation and show your metaphorical belly.

“Aye. That’ll do.” He took the post-it and slid it into his jeans pocket.

“I know you cannae waste all your time on me. You’ve got parents queuing up for miles.” He said as he got up and shuffled clumsily to the door.

You went back to your notes about said meeting as some other kid’s parents trotted in.

You couldn’t wait for your coffee date.

Or whatever it was.

Definitely not a date!

[narcissistcookbook]

Obsessed with the psych evals. Whatcha got for someone whose faves are Ghost Stories, Apple, PHYLACTERY, and Good Morning Sunshine?

celestial being trapped in a meat suit dysphoria

[chthonicillness]

i hate how they describe your appearance and presentation as part of the diagnostic comments in psych evals. oh my attire was age appropriate??? my hygiene was adequate???? good to know. so glad i live up to your exacting standards. your suit was ill fitting and your facial hair trimmed unevenly. do i get to put that in your medical records

[sizeworks]

The warm up to join that program was intense. To get ready for the BroDrone Squad, you had to train for months, and have all kinds of psyc evals. Once your training suit comes off and the real deal gets put on, it doesn't come off. You're your own person, sure, but your need to flex and grow and show off and grope and BE groped and be a party animal may override everything else! What a shame... Right? Nah.

[spaciebabie]

hey i have a question since you are a springtrap simp

if you did have the chance to see and or be with springtrap would you do it? Also would you fix him by just making him less rotting or fix him by bringing him peace of mind?

there is absolutely no way ta bring him any sort of peace of mind he is SO FUCKED IN THE BRAIN ITS UNREAL

honestly i would love ta see him in some sort of enclosure and study him. hes so fascinating ta me that if given the option i would probably try ta talk ta him. ive said this already but i just wonder what goes on in his head. id bring a clipboard and shit skjfskjfsjkdf HES SUCH A DISTURBING CONCEPT AND HES SO COOL I MEAN??? I WANNA KNOW HOW HE WORKS DO A WHOLE PSYCHIATRIC EVAL N SHIT

as for the second half of that question

uhhh hmmm LISTEN IRL HE WOULD PROBABLY NOT BE THE BEST PARTNER BUT MY SIMP HEART FLUTTERS AT THE THOUGHT OF BEING WITH HIM AHSDAKJHDLSAJKDFLSKJDFJKSAKLJJASDFKJDFS

IM SHY LKSADFJKLAG

he would hafta have a bath...a PROPER ONE. his suit is FUCKED but probably the only thing holding him tagether and i dont wanna mess w/his rotten bits so id like help patch him up or something OPKAY THATS AS MUCH AS I CAN HANDLE TYPING OUT IM FLUSTERED ALREADY JSFSKDFJKSFKSFLKS IM INSANE

[lpmurphy]

Spring in Tchakova Park

Read on AO3

Master List

Chapter Playlist

Summary: Green was the color of the grass where he used to walk in Tchakova Park.

In which John meets a stranger in the park, Violet learns of the care and keeping of Spartans, and Cortana offers dating advice. (Complete 5/7/24)

Chapter Seven: First Aid

John’s feet carried him from the transit station to the walking paths that lead to her apartment. The park was busy again as the sun returned. Families gathered on the green grass of the field, children played and laughed together on the banks of the pond. The noise of the park drowned out the heaviness he carried after each deployment, no matter how much action was seen.

But as the sun dropped towards the horizon and warmed his back as he walked, the heaviness felt lighter; it felt quieter. He didn’t find himself lingering in the same ways he usually did as he trailed the path to her apartment. He didn’t pause to count the lights on the water, nor to watch the geese glide across the pond. Musicians played in the amphitheater, the music carried on the breeze, mingling with the chatter of joggers passing by. His eyes stayed locked on the apartment window on the fourth floor of the white building, light flooding through the open windows of the balcony Sadie slept on.

Debrief had dragged on, feeling impossibly longer than usual. His eyes darted to the chrono more than they ever had before as he counted down the minutes to the time she got off. He had left immediately once dismissed to shower and change, the team filtering into their barracks minutes after he did with knowing smirks when they saw him in his civvies.

Cortana had chirped at him the entire walk, chattering on as he walked off the lift to her door. He had made himself exceptionally clear with the AI that her interruptions would not be tolerated during his time with Violet as he walked over. It seemed as if she was using every second until he reached her door to get it all out of her system as he knocked on her door, his jaw clenched as she talked. And talked. And talked.

Sadie howled from within the apartment to announce his arrival, her nails clicking against the wood floors as she ran up the entryway to the door. He could hear Violet’s voice above the barking inside as she attempted to correct the dog that scratched on the other side of the door.

“I wonder if she will kiss you at the door. It appeared from her body language that she was going to when she saw you on the lift. Until she saw the team, that is.”

“What did we talk about?” He muttered under his breath.

Cortana sighed and repeated back to him the clear expectation he had set with her on the train. “I know, I know; I don’t speak unless one of you is in imminent danger. I’ll just be here; pretending I don’t exist, enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself. Good luck flirting without me, ‘big guy’.”

He rolled his eyes at her use of Violet’s name for him and opened his mouth to snap back at the AI. The sound of her lock turning interrupted him. Her door opened quickly. John grunted out in surprise as Violet thudded against his chest. She threw her arms around his middle, her cheek pressed to his chest as she hugged him tightly. He tensed at the unexpected embrace, looking down at where she stood pressed against him, unsure of what to do. He wrapped his arms around her slowly in return. He liked the way it felt.

“Hey, goose.”

“I was so worried,” she whispered against his chest. She released him from her surprisingly strong grasp and took his hands in her own, looking over him as if inspecting him for any sign of harm, “and you’re not hurt?”

Her gentle inspection was unlike the med evals he was regularly subjected to; always cold and clinical, drenched in procedure. Her eyes scanned over him, full of concern and care as delicate as her touch. It was the first time he could remember someone seeing him after a deployment and worrying for his safety; not for the integrity of the suit or the success of the mission. His injuries were treated as deterrents to his performance and were treated swiftly. He looked over her; her hair now dry and tumbling over her shoulders, at the thin blue dress she wore that skimmed her body in a way her uniform didn’t. He’d take this over a med eval any day.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, Violet still scanning over him with the efficiency of a scientist, “We didn’t even see combat. A whole lot of space travel for nothing, really.”

She nodded, releasing his hands and stepping back, obviously satisfied. Sadie bounded out of the apartment into the hallway to jump up on him excitedly. Violet grabbed her by the collar and tugged her down gently before directing her back through the open door. She waved John in, still smiling up at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bombard you at the door,” she said sheepishly, “And I’m sorry about earlier on the lift. I hope I didn’t make things weird with your team. I just-.”

He caught her hand as she walked past him. Violet turned to look up at him.

“I missed you, too.” he finished for her.

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest? Sorry, I’ll go away.”

He couldn’t tell if the pink that flooded across her cheeks was that pretty little blush, or the sunburn that painted her cheeks. She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go, stepping towards the kitchen. Her apartment was filled with the aromatic smell of cooking vegetables and herbs, a far cry from the shitty MREs he had spent his week forcing down. Violet breezed into the kitchen, bare feet padding against the floors, the hem of the dress that hugged the curves of her waist swaying with her steps.

“Dinner won’t be ready for thirty minutes or so,” she called over her shoulder, “I wasn’t sure when you would get here.”

She moved through the kitchen, collecting a cutting board and knife from the block. He looked over the surfaces of the kitchen, messy and disorganized as she cooked, lacking the order his whole life had surrounded. It felt natural compared to the militant sterility he was accustomed to; lived in and worn. He leaned against the island and watched her rummage through the fridge, her skin glowing blue in the light. She procured the produce she searched for and tossed it onto the cutting board before twisting her hair up atop her head, exposing the smooth column of her neck.

“Can I help at all?” he asked, watching her turn to stir something on the stove. He doubted he would be of much help- every meal he had ever consumed had been prepared for him or came out of a box.

“Nope,” she responded, her back still turned to him. She tapped a spoon against the side of the pan before turning to face him, “You can go sit down. You’ve spent the whole week taking care of others, let me take care of you for a bit.”

“But I-.”

She pointed towards the couch, giving him an authoritative stare as she repeated herself, “Go sit down, John. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Violet smiled again as she stepped towards him and pressed her hands to her chest as she had done nights ago. She lifted herself onto her toes, pressing her lips to his jaw. He leaned into her lips; to the sweet, botanical smell of her shampoo and gentle kiss.

She pulled away but her hands still lingered on his chest. “Welcome home, big guy.”

She pointed towards the couch again as she passed him towards the balcony, Sadie’s tail thumping against the couch cushion she waited for him on. That word echoed through his mind; home. He lowered himself onto the couch. The springs creaking under him as Sadie leapt into his lap and rolled over to present her belly for scratches.

Violet stepped out onto the balcony, the hem of her dress fluttering around her shins in the breeze that carried in the sound of the musicians playing at the amphitheater; a guitarist, his voice garbled in the microphone by the distance. John watched her seize a pair of gardening shears to cut herbs from the hanging planters on the balcony, the setting sun casting her in a glow of gilded hues as she pushed herself up on her toes, mouthing the words to the song the guitarist played from beyond the balcony. Sadie sighed happily in his lap, resting her face on his arm to peer up at him. Home must feel something like this, he thought.

Sadie had begun to snore, her face still pointed up at John, ears twitching in her sleep. The dog let out a long sigh, pressing herself against his arm. An involuntary yawn slipped from his mouth as he sank back into the couch, the rhythmic snipping of her shears and faraway sound of the music filling the apartment. He felt himself relax as he leaned back into the cushions, relishing in his first bit of unoccupied time in the past week. Violet passed behind the couch on the way back to the kitchen, a hand sliding against his shoulders as she passed him. Each touch felt like the first, his skin tingling pleasantly under it. The sink turned on in the kitchen as she washed the clippings under the faucet.

“Why don’t you put your head back for a bit?” she called, “You look exhausted. I can wake you up when dinner is ready.”

“I have time to sleep later,” he argued back. Sadie tucked her nose between his shoulder and the back of the couch, “I haven’t seen you in a week.”

“Okay,” she called back with a skeptical tone, “You’re barely keeping your eyes open over there, but, hey. Your call.”

“I am not,” he protested. Violet snickered in the kitchen.

“Uh huh,” she laughed, the bell-like sound filling his head. “Let me guess; Spartans don’t nap?”

“Nope.”

“Sure,” she giggled, turning off the sink.

He rolled his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze through the open windows and weight of Sadie against him. His eyelids grew heavy. “Tell me about your week? Since I can’t tell you about mine.”

He listened to the repetitive sound of chopping from the kitchen. “Well,” she began, “Not much to tell… Oh! The night you left, I had to send someone down to The Jungle to get samples from Audrey- she’s, well it I guess, is this huge carnifloria vorax who is just a total dickhead. So, I sent down one of our new guys hoping that the horticulturists would train him on how to extract venom samples without getting bit. Well, they didn’t. She bit the shit out of his hand. He had to go to the med bay for stitches and antivenom, so I spent most of that afternoon filling out accident reports-.”

He was asleep before she finished her story, Sadie snoring against his side as he rested his head against the back of the sofa.

—

“Fuck!”

Her sharp gasp and the clatter of a knife against the counter pulled him from his dozing state. He was up from the couch and beside her in a matter of steps, the blanket that had been thrown over his lap falling to the floor as he stood. Sadie grunted out her disappointment as she slipped from his lap and followed him to the kitchen where she immediately laid back down. Violet’s fingers were wrapped in a paper towel, red blossoming across it.

He took her hand, Violet smiling at him weakly, “I wasn’t paying attention and my hand slipped. It’s not too bad-.”

A soft gasp punctuated her words as he wrapped an arm around her waist, hoisting her up onto the counter of the island. He took her hand again, unwrapping the bloodied paper towel and examining the identical cuts that sliced across her fingers above her knuckles.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked, ripping another paper towel off of the roll beside her.

“Really, John, it’s not that bad of a cut. I’m fine.”

Violet hissed out a breath as his fingers came into contact with the injury to replace the soiled towel with a fresh one, flinching slightly. He raised an eyebrow, “You were saying?”

She stuck her tongue out at him, John chuckling as she pointed towards the cabinet under the sink. He followed her finger, Sadie licking his cheek as he bent down to retrieve the white box where it was kept. Violet continued to protest as he pulled items from it, setting them beside her on the counter.

“I’m the one supposed to be taking care of you tonight, you know.” She reminded him, “I can handle this. You go back into the living room and relax.”

“I can’t relax if you’re hurt.”

He took her hand again, gently rubbing an antiseptic pad across the cut. Her lips pulled up into a soft smile as her protests ceased, instead watching him dress her wound silently. She turned her hand to allow him to apply bandages to the damaged fingers and revealed the smooth skin of her inner wrist. He noticed the small fern leaf inked into her skin there, running his thumb along the length of the tattoo.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her fingers found his, pressing her palm against his own. He could curl his fingers over the tips of her own, her hand feeling impossibly small in his own. She twisted her fingers into his, fitting them together like cogs in a machine. She brushed her thumb against the side of his hand, letting them rest in her lap.

His eyes followed their intertwined hands to her lap, the slit in her dress riding higher on her thigh than it had when she stood. From between the panels of pale blue fabric he could see the scar that marred the smooth skin of her thigh, as thick and raised as the ones that decorated his own body. It began just above her knee, trailing up her thigh and disappearing into her skirt.

She followed his stare, waving a dismissive hand, “Oh that old thing? I had a climbing accident back during my junior year of college. Boring story really; I took a few friends up to my parents’ kiva in the mountains for a weekend. A couple of them were climbers, my friend Meredith had never been and wanted to learn, so we took her out to the cliffs.

Long story short, she didn’t anchor her rope correctly and none of us bothered to check it. She slipped as soon as she start to belay and I tried to catch the rope to keep her from falling. Low and behold, I wasn’t strong enough to save my rugby player of a best friend from the fall and ended up going down with her. The fall completely shattered my leg.”

“I knew I didn’t like you on that cliff for a reason,” he smirked.

“Hey, it was my only accident in fifteen years of climbing. Well, major accident that is,” she said in mock protest, giving his shoulder a playful shove. He rolled his eyes at her quip, her fingers still wrapped in his. “It resulted in a ton of physical therapy and a titanium rod being screwed to my femur to hold it together for a few months while it healed up. The scar they left behind removing it was far worse than the one I got from the break.”

She ran her thumb over his own, “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He shrugged, “It was a far better reason to get up than what I’m used to. How long was I asleep for?”

“Only about fifteen minutes or so,” she smirked, “You snore.”

“I do not.” he scoffed.

“You do,” she laughed, “You should hear yourself! It's horrendous, both you and Sadie going like that!"

He chuckled, shaking his head as she giggled. His eyes fell to the scar again, following the path it cut up her leg into her skirt. John’s fingers brushed along the length of the scar, matching her same tenderness in her own touch. His hand brushed against her skirt, the panel of fabric falling to the side, exposing more of her to his touch. She jumped slightly as his fingers trailed up her leg, her eyes locked on his when he looked up from her scar.

“Did I hurt you?” He murmured, trying to place the heated way she looked up at him that made his skin feel too small. He liked it.

“No,” she whispered breathlessly, “it just… tickled.”

“Kiss her!”

“Cortana…”

“No, you’ve made me be quiet all night! Kiss her! Before I make you do it myself!”

He traced his fingers along the length of the scar again, Violet’s eyes following the motion of his touch. “Does it bother you?”

“Do yours?”

Her own fingers traced along the scars on his arms, some from battle, others souvenirs of his augmentations. She traced the length of the thick, old scar just below his elbows on his forearms, her touch featherlight as her fingers glided down his forearm into his hand. His fingers curled around hers as her bandaged hand traced the identical scar on his other arm. It took a moment for her question to meet his ears, John distracted by the feeling of her soft hands on his skin; her touch warm and tender as she examined the scars.

“No,” he murmured, watching her fingers glide down his forearm to a scar he had earned during a deployment years ago, giving it the same feathery touch as the others. She studied his skin with the same gentle intensity he had seen her examine her plants with, as if cataloging each one.

“How old were you?” she asked, John knowing the implications of her question without need for further explanation.

“Fourteen,” he admitted. Violet’s eyes returned to his, wide and full of hurt for the boy he had been.

“You were a baby, John.”

“They made me a Spartan,” he responded, his eyes tracing her lips, realizing how close she had leaned to him. Her fingers caressed his skin again, handling each scar as if it were a stray bloom in need of rescuing. He swallowed, his question leaving his mouth as a whisper, unsure if he wanted to know her answer if it was anything other than what he hoped for. “Do they bother you?”

“No,” she breathed, tugging him by the hand towards her. He allowed her to move him closer, pressing his hand against the cool countertop as her hands ran up his arms, her forehead touching his own. Her hands found his cheeks as she brushed her lips to his, his face in her hands as she kissed him, “No.”

He leaned into her, his hand still on her leg as she kissed him. Her lips moved against his, gentle and cautious before she pulled away, her forehead still pressed to his. She looked up at him with those green eyes that rivaled any plant that sat within her greenhouses, her hand still on his cheek as she watched him as if waiting for confirmation that she hadn’t crossed some invisible line.

Suddenly, the roar of battle no longer pounded in his ears as he stared down at her. The heavy mantle of his duties were weightless upon his shoulders in that moment. There was only her in that heated gaze; in the way she looked up at him through her eyelashes, flushed and lips parted. In the symphony of the muffled songs of the musicians floating in through the balcony mingling with Sadie’s snores from where she lay on the kitchen floor. All he could hear, all he could see, all he could feel was her.

He remembered life after removing the pellet; it had felt as if he was seeing color for the first time. The world, the war, his life; all of it had been so black and white, little room for anything other than a few shades of gray. And there she sat, like every hue of every shade he could possibly experience wrapped up in that fucking dress. She was as golden as the lights that illuminated the pond beyond the windows, a vibrancy he had never experienced and didn’t want to step out of.

He moved his hand to the small of her back and slid her to the edge of the counter to him in one swift motion, his lips crashing against hers. She pressed herself against him, his hand pressed to her back, the other knotting in her soft hair as her arms curled around his neck. Her lips moved against his, a soft sigh escaping from her as his hand returned to her thigh, tracing the length of her scar to her hip.

Home must feel like this.

[paramouradrift]

Febuwhump Day 6 - "You Lied To Me"

Fandom: Avatar/Mirror's Edge crossover AU

Characters: Zuko, Azula

"You Lied To Me"

Zuko threw open Azula’s office doors. She spared him a glance from her seat at the desk.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” she said into her gridLink. “Something urgent has just come up.”

The two of them couldn’t be more different: her with her neat, pressed corporate suit, not a hair out of place; him with his enforcer civvies, messy hair, and bandaged eye. She was made for boardrooms and office work. He looked like a street thug.

“You lied to me,” he said.

“About what, specifically?” she asked.

“How is it that I learned I’ve been passed over from the company newsletter?” Zuko spat, storming up to her desk. “You said you were pursuing an independent project!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Azula rolled her eyes. “Look at your resume: disciplinary notices, two demotions, and your psych eval does not inspire confidence. Did you really think Father would choose you as heir to his business empire?”

“OSec is the backbone of this corporation,” Zuko sneered. “I worked my way up through the ranks and understand its workings better than you. Your summary of my resume left out my commendations for field work, and all my certifications.”

“Let’s call it a mixed bag,” Azula said with a dismissive wave. “So you’ve experience with our security divisions. While you were studying bending and crowd control, I was learning business, finance, and negotiation. You may be able to manage OSec, but I’m the one with the skills to govern Ozai Holdings.”

“I guess I should’ve expected this of you,” Zuko said. “You always went out of your way to get Father’s special treatment.”

“And how’s that burn?” Azula said, a slight edge to her tone. She stood. “I admit, I may have fibbed a little about your prospects in this company, but you’ve only yourself to blame for gaining Father’s disapproval. Will that be all?”

Zuko grunted and turned on his heel. His hand was on the door handle when Azula called out to him.

“I see you’ve been enrolled in the ShockSec Division.” She was checking her tablet idly. “You know, I’m friends with Commander Shin. If you’d like, I could invite you to join us for dinner next weekend. He has a daughter two years your senior, and she’s single.”

Zuko nearly snapped the door handle off. Azula raised an eyebrow at his thunderous expression, waiting a beat for him to respond. She smirked.

“A true leader doesn’t rise from the bottom,” she said. “He claws his way up to the top to stand above the rest.”

“Enjoy your promotion,” Zuko spat. He didn’t slam the door behind him—he was 18, he was a full adult in the eyes of the Conglomerate, he was above such childish displays of pique—but he did close the elevator door in the face of a hiCaste secretary. The punching bag in the training room was reduced to cinders.

Azula was now the sole heir to Ozai Holdings.

Zuko had been sidelined.

[mwolf0epsilon]

How Much is that Akk Dog at the Window?

Summary: Sponge is very good at training animals. It's a bit of an under-explored gift.

[A continuation to last night's drabble, because obviously Sponge wasn't going to let Geoduck's problem go. For what it's worth, their plan is a game changer for him.]

---

Had they not been forcibly assigned to become a medic, Sponge could have very easily gone into animal handling. That much had become clear when they'd first began training Beautiful.

She made for a perfect service barghest, with how easily she picked up tricks and how intuitively she detected injuries.

Perhaps, once the war ended, they could professionally train service animals to help their vode better acclimate to the civilian life. Maker only knew how many of them would undoubtedly be left with severe battle fatigue and disabilities, that the Republic would undoubtedly not feel so inclined to help them deal with...

But those were thoughts for another time. Another life.

Right now they needed to focus.

The scans and psych eval had confirmed their suspicions on what was causing Geoduck's "little problem". Sponge's oldest batcher, their ori'vod they'd been convinced hated them just as much as Conch did, had suffered a severe traumatic brain injury that had gone untreated for literal years.

It could have killed him.

It should have killed him.

The human body truly was a mixed box of chocolates whenever it came to medical oddities of absurd percentages.

Coric and Kix had stared hard at the scans, read the results once, twice, trice for good measure, and then looked just as flabbergasted and afraid as Sponge had.

The last time a clone had come down with such a distinct mental disorder as this one... Well, the vod had killed his entire squad because he was absolutely convinced they'd all been replaced with advanced spy droids. Acted on the paranoia that followed Gooey everywhere he went.

It was nothing short of luck that Geoduck had reacted more rationally than fearful towards his plight. Been more than aware that it'd be impossible to replace his entire battalion and general with fakes, despite his brain erroneously trying to convince him otherwise.

It had always been in his nature to doubt his own thoughts and explore every option until he was down to a solution, and that had saved a lot of vode a lot of potential horrors...

Impulse control was Gooey's strongest suite.

Fear of the human psyche and its degredation aside, the medics all agreed this was a case that could not go ignored and untreated. Gooey had been suffering alone. Had suffered more than anyone should, with something that should have been spotted and dealt with far earlier in his short life. They had to find some kind of a solution.

A treatment plan.

Disability aid.

Anything that'd make his life less of a disfuncional mess whenever he had a bad day (and they were horrified to learn that there were a lot of those).

For what it was worth, general Fisto seemed to like and support Sponge's idea. Which was why the 501st medic was currently training a most friendly and very inquisitive akk dog puppy.

She was no Beautiful, but Pearl certainly took to her training well. And she was very good at recognizing faces and signalling in specific ways that Sponge would later make a chart for, so that Geoduck knew what each gesture she made actually meant.

Hopefully a service animal would help their older batcher feel a little less lost in a crowd. And if not... Then at least Gooey would feel like he had at least one friend he could recognize. He hadn't had any issue identifying the pup thus far.

[lgcnina]

✰ ◞ TEAM UNKNOWN SOLO EVAL. seo nina performing ' siren ( 사이렌 ) ' by sunmi.

nina can't remember the last time she'd been evaluated like this.

during the earlier years of her trainee life, this had been a far more consistent occurrence, lessons increasingly excruciating in their difficulty, all preparatory, culminating with solitary performances to cap off the month and ring in what was to come— expectations were either exceeded, matched, or flatlined, and while they'd never been cause for nerves in her past, current times are different.

before, nina generally knew what was to come after all was said and done.

now, nina found it rather difficult to predict anything.

there are barely any indicators as to what the past eight weeks had the potential of producing, their oddball of a group only a continued cause for independent speculation and questioning— the brunette could simply not wrap her head around this reality. what the hell was all of this? what are they being made to do all this for? what was it waiting for, by her own assumption, a select few once this project came to an end?

while nina knew her unending trail of questions weren't the healthiest to continuously stew over, not when she now had so many other things that needed her attention, she was still only human.

at least, for the moment, she had the strength to quiet her more intrusive thoughts. they were unnecessary now, merely a hindrance to her concentration— they would do her no good while performing, stood in one of the many familiar rooms within the company building. nina isn't nervous, not necessarily, but there's bitter anticipation rooted on the tip of her tongue. the taste is vile, unwanted and pestering, but all she can do is bare it until she is finished. she does well to keep her features straight, neutral, save for the easy smile she's able to put on. despite her vague apprehension and caution, nina wants to perform, wants to provide a proper showcase for all the improvements the company no doubt wants to see from her.

nina can feel it within herself, as cheesy as she hates to sound. all she needs to do is to express that growth.

her song of choice is one she feels suits her rather well, strong on a vocal front, perfect for flaunting a steady pitch, tonal variations, and a versatility she doesn't think she's been able to truly share before. that, coupled with a choreographed routine just as engaging, manageable enough for nina to do without being too easy, makes her feel as though she really is showing herself in the best light possible.

there's an underlying lightness to it all, frisky in the same vein as it was strong, something nina can appreciate— nina hasn't ever been the brightest person, her general resting face alone often cause for avoidance from those who liked to make quick assumptions, and while she valued her solitude, there was no denying the good that could come out of looking even the slightest bit more approachable.

if she couldn't be welcoming based off of first impressions, the least she could do was make herself look more open, more inviting, more intriguing, when on stage.

that, at the very least, could be what puts her over the edge.

[dxsole]

@parvamundi | Liked for a starter!

Leslie had to admit that out of all the criminals he worked with on a daily basis, Johnny had to be the most amicable. Which was saying something as Johnny seemed to take great pleasure in teasing Leslie— he's used to it. He understands that he's very bullyable.

But Johnny didn't threaten to rip his head off and eat his spleen like some of the criminals he's had to do psych evals on, so Leslie categorizes him as a pretty nice guy.

Plus Johnny could be helpful on occasion. Loose bills and two packs of smokes were handed over, Leslie then pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Listen, this is strictly need to know." And no, he hasn't told the police yet. He's not ruining his tip just so some flatfoot can go in a steal his thunder. "It's gonna take exactly two more days before the cops catch wind of this thing, so I'm paying you extra to just...drag your feet when they ask you if you've heard anything."

Leslie is jumpy, but he usually is, always looking over his shoulder, always slightly hunched over like he was constantly making his presence smaller, less noticeable. "You seen anyone hanging around the corner of Conway? Near that uh, abandoned...bike factory or somethin'." It's an eyesore of a place, already crumbling and succumbing to the elements.

"Wouldn't be a vagrant...someone that looks more like a...community worker. No suit and tie but clearly a professional of some sort. Might have a van. Talks to a lot of homeless people in the area? Anything like that?"

[unbelievablekittygrim]

in my dreams I butcher boys

All my life a dog has followed me. Report cards, passive aggressive playground remarks, psych evals - studded with notes of teeth bare and gritting, nails digging and thrashing and screaming and Anger Issues!!!!  with several red underlines. I was BORN angry. As the doctor held my shriveled purple infant self I cried at his audacity to cut my mother open, just so he could have his high holy days. Yom Kippur baby, eldest daughter, atonement and forgiveness were thrust upon my body from the start. But I was born holding a grudge. I was born disoriented and violated by men who get paid to look at vaginas and gods who want me to forgive them. I was born bloody and barking. 

Men are like lantern flies. Parasitic, invasive, itching to be popped like a particularly satisfying pimple. I LOVE popping a good lantern fly. Human beings, of course, are a bit more difficult, but I manage. In senior year a guy in my writing class read a story he’d written about a man who saw women gathering as a meat market. He spoke in detail about the different cuts, filets and flanks, their limbs hanging on chains in crowded stalls and displayed in freezers being sold by the pound. I didn’t hear what he said. I couldn’t. My blood was doing donuts in my ears and my focus was preoccupied by my attempts at activating hidden telekinetic powers. Like Matilda… or more aptly, like Carrie. I wanted to see him pop. I wanted to carve him like his women, peel layers of thick fat back and revealing the marbled cuts of wagyu and fatty bacon. I wanted him skewered and on tea sandwiches, crusts cut off. I wanted him dead. When he finished reading his head was still intact and I was too hungry to care. The dog that follows tore his leg off and ate it. 

In my dreams I butcher boys. It suits my anger well, relentless violence I fund with furious cackles and well-earned schadenfreude. I don’t mind the smell or the buckets of blood. I don’t mind their slobbery screams begging for forgiveness, either., iIn fact, that’s HONESTLY the best part of the job. Yom Kippur baby holds a grudge like they hold a knife: constantly. My dream carcasses are only men who’ve truly wronged me - so most guys I know have fallen under my cleaver at some point. The crunch of their bones as I pry apart the joints and tendons, separating torso and arm, thigh and calf, carving out the hearts and livers to feed the dog that follows. She eats well in my dreams. We eat well in my dreams. 

I eat to control. I slaughter to maintain a make believe standard of equity native only to my nights tossing and turning atop a stained pillowcase. I know its wrong - not morally, of course, but factually, literally, I am not what I wish I was. I am not dripping with the blood of freshly drained livestock, but instead engulfed in fear and shame and a deafening rage that hides under my tongue and between my teeth. I need them to know, though. When they read me, not as a girl but as a dog, when they see the whites of my eyes and my teeth in my smile and my ears pointed back, when they look at my knuckles clenched in a fist that holds a cleaver, I need them to know. I need them to know I dream of slaughter and itch for their blood. I need them to know I butcher boys. 

[izder456]

i saw this fast inverse sqrt function somewhere online, and it fascinated me to no end. (the left is the fast inverse, and the right is the `math.h` impl)

`main()` is just some crappy test suite i whipped up for testing purposes

the code in question was made for quake III arena’s gameengine.

here’s a video that explains it pretty well:

i was thinking, how would i achieve the same level of elegance, but in the context of lisp?

my notes (probably not super accurate, but probably still interesting to see how my brain tackled this):

thinking lisp brain here:

i came across this stack-exchange question:

i can treat the array as a sequence of nibbles (four bits), or a “half-byte”, and use the emergent patterns from that with the linear algebra algorithm in this post.

we can predict patterns emerging consistently, cos i can assume a certain degree of rounding into the bitshifted `long`. because of that, each nibble can have its own “name” assigned. in the quake impl, thats the `long i;` and `float y;`

instead of thinking about it as two halves of a byte to bitshift to achieve division, i can process both concurrently with a single array, and potentially gain a teeny bit of precision without sacrificing on speed.

i could treat this as 2x4 array.

each column would be a nibble, and each row would be 2 bits wide. so basically its just two nibbles put next to eachother so the full array would add up to one-byte.

the code is already sorta written for me in a way.

i just need a read-eval loop that runs over everything.

idk if it’s faster, if anything it’ll probably be slower, but it’s so fucky of an idea it might just work.

a crapshoot may be terrible but you can’t be sure of that if ya never attempt.

[agent-bash]

Landed in Vancouver, and I am just getting into editing today's chapter while we wait for our next flight in a few hours. But I got the go-ahead that it's cool to talk about this in a public setting. So here we go: the reason I was busting a gut with laughter yesterday is under the cut if you're curious (and no it has nothing to do with a certain former CPD cast member's latest news.)

So we've had two people trying to sue the department in recent months. I have no clue how these got as far as they did, but the first (SPOILER ALERT: and last) hearings for both of them took place over the last few of days. One was for an incident on one of my shifts (and I was actually messaging a few people about when it happened), and one was not. But they're very similar, so I'm gonna hit on both.

For the one that involves me and the rest of my shift: way back in early October, we had a dude run full tilt into one of our rigs. The Ap (garage) door was open, the truck was parked; it was actually having some maintenance done on it. And Dude just *SMACK* right into it. He starts hollering, rolling around on the ground. Talking about how he was gonna sue us; we ran him over; blah, blah, blah. We do our diligence and make sure he's not hurt as we put in a call for the cops and mental health response. THEN, Dude wedges himself under the truck. Some rigs they've got a decent amount of room between the bumper and the ground. This is not one of those. It's got like a foot, at best, and this fine gentleman is ... heavier-set. He went under okay-ish, but getting into a space and getting out of one are two entirely different things. Yeah, he was STUCK.

But we got him out, with cribbing and airbag, and he went to the hospital to get checked (and have a psych eval.) We thought for sure there was no way he was going to try and file a suit. Evidently, we were wrong. However, we have an ace up our sleeve; the whole thing was recorded. The firehouse has security cameras. LOTS of them. I don't know a single firehouse in the city that doesn't have security cameras. But apparently, and despite the fact all this was turned over months ago, Dude was all

when the footage got played.

A super similar thing happened with the other suit. A woman crawled under a truck parked at a scene and set herself at the wheel. She started moaning and whimpering like she'd been run over. And she did this right in front of a cop car. Now not all municipalities have dash cams in their cruiser...but we do! And they run constantly. Again whole thing is on tape, and the department's lawyers turn it over as they have to, the other side has had the footage for months and ... didn't watch it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

IDK if these...upstanding people were repped by the same lawyer, same firm, representing themselves, or what but yeah... I'm laughing. Still. I can't stop laughing. About any of it. And I'm pretty sure the department's lawyers have never had an easier time getting not one, but two suits chucked.

[ddagent]

“Scary Movie”

John/Delenn | Fluff | FR12 | 427 words John shares one of his favourite things with Delenn. Inspired by 1.01, ‘Midnight on the Firing Line’. 

Check out my autumnal/Halloween collection! 

If, a year ago, someone had told John Sheridan he would be sitting on his couch watching a horror movie with a beautiful Minbari, he’d have told them to head to Medlab for a psych eval. Yet, here he was, sitting on his sofa with a big bowl of popcorn and the most beautiful woman John had ever seen in any star system right beside him.

“Explain this to me again,” Delenn asked, leaning close; close enough for John to catch a whiff of her perfume. “Why does the young woman run into the house rather than away? Does she believe she will run faster with no garments upon her torso?”

John rubbed the back of his neck, not sure how to explain the gratuitous sex and violence of twentieth-century horror movies. Maybe he should have put on one of those old sci-fi horrors, like Species or Alien. But John wasn’t sure how Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari Federation would have responded to murderous aliens massacring the Human population. Babylon 5 was all about creating the peace and – since John had been announced commander of B5 – he and Delenn had decided to singlehandedly focus on learning more about the other. A good thing, too, with the Centauri and the Narn at each other’s throats, John thought, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. After the Council sessions of the day, both he and Delenn needed to blow off a little steam.

Hence Summer Camp Slasher or whatever was on the movie network.

“It’s a little cheesy but I love it. Love the mystery, the tension.” John offered Delenn the bowl. She brushed a strand of dark hair over her shoulder (another concession to peace, made before the station had even been operational) and reached over to retrieve a single kernel. “It’s popcorn. Its traditional movie food.”

Delenn nibbled at the kernel as if she were a mouse eating a cob. Her gaze caught his, a blush high on her cheeks, as John shoved another mouthful of popcorn into his face. Delenn, following suit, pushed the entire piece of popcorn into her mouth. John watched her instead of the movie; watched the expression of her face change from confusion to utter delight at the fluffy texture and burst of sweetness from the sugar. John readily offered the bowl to Delenn as the young woman was quickly dispatched off-screen. Or on. Honestly, John didn’t remember much of the movie after that. A better show was happening right beside him.