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occams-painting-knife · 3 months ago

Text

Something else to miss

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Male Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mild smut (making out, fade to black)

Other content: Domestic Fluff, established relationship, second-person point of view, no use of y/n

Summery: Spencer returns home from a case, and you decide to take care of him.

Author's note: This one-shot is a bit older, but I finally had the head-space to figure out how to properly post on here and I am not immune to the joys of domestic fluff <3

Read on Ao3

Spencer stared at the pages of his book, pretending to read when all he wanted was for the flight to be over, to finally land in Quantico and get home.

»What has you antsy, kid?« Morgan asked, his grin dimmer than usual after the gruelling case, »Is there a date I should hear about?«

»Just want to sleep in my bed again,« Spencer replied lowly, feeling himself blush.

Yes, he missed his bed and flat - the routine he lost whenever they left for a case.

But in the last few weeks, he had something else he pinned for far more than the comfort of his four cluttered walls: You.

The thought of your name was enough to make the blush worse, and of course, Morgan noticed. He always did.

»Oh, does the pretty boy have a pretty girl now? Come on, Spencer, you’ve been like this for a month! - JJ, back me up on this!«

»Play nice, children,« she murmured, half-asleep on her seat beside Morgan, but her lips twitched into a smile. She was more amused than annoyed by the antics.

»There is no girl, Morgan,« he said, hoping to end the conversation.

You were decidedly not a woman but very, very pretty. Spencer wasn’t biased or anything. You were objectively perfect. And wonderful. And somehow, despite the statistical improbability, his boyfriend.

He needed to stop thinking about you, or he would get more fidgety and flustered before seeing you.

Spencer’s mobile, rarely used outside work, was like a pleasantly heavy weight in his pocket. He had sent you a quick message before the departure, telling you he was coming home. Your answer had taken but a minute:

Wonderful news! - Have a safe flight :)

Want me to pick you up from the station?

Yes, yes, he needed to see you. If he were less scared of annoying you with his neediness, he would’ve asked you to pick him up from the HQ (Spencer knew you would do it if he dared to ask. Without any evident basis for it. It only made him more hesitant to strain your goodwill - the affection you have for him).

His answer had been a simple yes, and when you asked if he would like to pick up his usual order from their Indian restaurant, Spencer gave another positive response.

The consideration in your questions (some might call it simple, but it wasn’t, not to Spencer) was almost enough to melt him into a puddle, and the last message (Can’t wait to have you back, handsome <3) did not help the matter. At all!

You didn’t care much for routines, spontaneous to an extent Spencer was equally awed and terrified by, but you made them part of your life for him.

Small things that weren’t small at all.

You have his favourite brand of coffee in your pantry despite you only drinking tea.

Once a week, whenever he was home, the two of you got take-out from the Indian restaurant a short walk from the apartment building and ate while watching old episodes of Doctor Who or Twilight Zone. The latter made Spencer crawl into your lap more often than not - and if he was playing up how scared he was (nine times out of ten, not at all), you had yet to call him out on it. He got to cuddle up to you, basking in the warmth and listening to your heartbeat that was steady like a metronome. Comforting.

Safe.

And then your cat would complain that Spencer stole her favourite spot in the apartment. He loved that part of the routine as well, the fluffy head bumping against whatever limp the feline could reach while you cooed at her, talking with her like the beloved, spoiled little pet she was.

Spencer thought that was the first thing he noticed about you — your gentleness.

Meeting you had been by chance - You had moved into the same apartment building as him - on his floor no less - and your cat, not pleased with the sudden change of environment, had slipped away the second you hadn’t watched.

That is how Spencer had come home after a hours-long flight from a gruesome investigation and found a cat inspecting his door.

He had been perplexed, but while dogs didn’t like him, this little beauty had come to him almost immediately when he knelt and coaxed it. She started purring at once when he petted her, flopping onto her side to demand more attention - Spencer had been enchanted.

That was how you found him, kneeling in the middle of the hallway, petting your cat with what Spencer could only assume to have been an expression of absent-minded delight.

»You found my wayward charge.«

Your voice had him look up and then immediately down again, flustered and tongue-tied.

The cat had jumped up with a soft meow, rushing over to twine around your legs - not at all sorry for her escape, but happy to see you regardless.

Spencer had felt jealous of the pet in ways he hadn’t dared to put into words.

Instead he stood and awkwardly accepted your thanks and managed to introduce himself somewhat gracefully after you did - Which meant he stuttered through his own name and academic title like he had learned them two minutes prior and wondered why you weren’t laughing yet.

Instead, you had smiled, your eyes bright with… something. Spencer had felt like he might throw up, the sudden nervousness and excitement entirely too much for his overstimulated, exhausted body.

»Nice to meet you, Spencer - Can I invite you for dinner sometime? To thank you properly for saving my little troublemaker?«

The cat had meowed from her place on your arm, likely complaining that she hadn’t needed any rescuing. But Spencer must’ve accepted despite the increasing fog in his mind. He would’ve thought you to be a fidget of his imagination if he hadn’t found a neat little card in his mailbox the next day - with your phone number and an invitation to that promised dinner.

All that had been almost a year ago, and Spencer could hardly put into words how much had changed for him since then.

Before anything else, you were his friend, and he wasn’t used to steadfast companionship, to someone listening to his ramblings and taking an interest in his hobbies.

You were terrific in every way imaginable, and when you started to flirt with him, Spencer had been ready to believe you were merely teasing. By then, he had known you well enough not to think you were mocking him for his terribly obvious, hopeless crush on you.

They should’ve revoked his profiler status when he had been shocked into speechlessness by your sweet, »Behaviour analyst or not, I apparently have to spell it out for you, handsome - May I kiss you?«

He wasn’t sure if he had ever wanted something as badly as that first kiss. And the second right after. The third…

Spencer was less aware than you should’ve been of his surroundings, drowning in thoughts of you while he exited the plane and during the commute home.

Three steps outside his station, he spotted you patiently waiting for him.

It bordered on unfairness, how good you looked, how attracted he was to every aspect of you. How you smiled at him, his heart skipping a beat or three...

Knowing you made him aware of how terribly susceptible he was to romanticising everything about this. You. Your relationship.

But you wrapped him in a warm embrace despite the cool night, and it didn’t matter.

You were slightly taller than him, and Spencer quietly loved how you could take his weight as if it were nothing when he leaned against you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and forgetting the rest of the world existed.

»How about I take you home, handsome?« you murmured into his ear, making him shiver.

»Yes,« he agreed, voice all but giving out.

You ordered the food ahead of time, you two only need to dip into the restaurant, where both of you get greeted by name and take a bag of deliciously smelling dishes.

Usually, you sit at your favourite table and wait for the food to be ready, and when Spencer asked about the change, you simply answered, »You are exhausted. No need for you to sit in a crowded restaurant on a Friday night.«

»… I didn’t say anything?«

He never did say when something bothered him or if he felt less than great - a sore spot in the otherwise fairytale relationship (one Spencer was glad for, made him believe this was real instead of a vivid hallucination). That and your habit of reading fanfiction until four am despite having to work the next day.

»Your text message had a typo,« you say if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was as if it didn’t make Spencer feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy.

The walk home was peaceful. He was content to listen to you talk about your job, some news from your family - a college friend you were still close with was finally going to marry their long-term girlfriend…

»My place or yours, handsome?« You asked when the two of you exited the elevator.

»Yours.«

He didn’t have to think about it. Spencer knew he was allowed to stay over and did not want you to have to leave early to care for the cat. Really, it wasn’t a decision at all.

You walked past his apartment directly to yours, and as soon as the door fell shut behind them, Spencer felt the tension from the days of another case, of death and suffering he couldn’t prevent, lessen.

Safe. Like the way you embraced him.

Your apartment meant home as much as his own, if not more, and he didn’t know when that had happened, but he wasn’t going to question it.

Spencer blinked at you when you helped him out of his coat, hanging it next to yours on the rack, and then you went to your knees in front of him. You were merely unlacing his Snickers, but the sight of you like this -

You smiled up at him, equal parts affection and teasing. You had to have heard the embarrassing sound he made - something between a moan and a whine. The desire that had been simmering in his belly since you embraced him (since the message before takeoff)(since you said goodbye a week ago)(since the last time you slept with him) sparked into want.

»Please,« he whispered.

It always ended like this, him turning into a mess of helpless desire when you put as much as a finger on him - if you, like now, took care of him as if he deserved it.

You gently pulled the shoes from his feet, one after another, before you stood up again, crowding him against the door (he loves that you are taller than him, has he mentioned that?)

»Hungry, Spencer?«

Hungry? - Famished. Starving!

His hands curled into your shirt, tugging you closer, angling his head to wordlessly beg to be kissed.

Spencer's eyes fell shut as you leaned closer and - cruel, incorrigible tease you are, kissed his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and he loved hated loved it.

You were gentle with him, holding his face in your warm hands, treating him not as something fragile but deserving of care, and it just about broke him.

»Please,« he said again when your mouth traced along the bridge of his nose, the line of his eyebrow, »I… - Please!«

When you finally (finally, finally!) pressed your lips to his, the contact was electric. Spencer was shuddering, whining against your mouth. His IQ slashed to sixty (if that), and his PhDs scattered into the four winds.

This was all that mattered, being kissed by you and -

Spencer blanked there for a moment, your voice less than the fact your lips weren’t on his any more, dragging him from the pleasant haze of desire.

»You need to eat something,« you said softly, smiling at him and stroking his cheek.

Part of his brain knew you meant food. The rest (the bulk) was busy imagining sucking your cock, filling his mouth with warmth and a pleasant heft that made his mind shut up like nothing else.

A finger under his chin made him look up when his gaze had been slowly, steadily wandering lower on your body, »Food, sweetheart,« you said as if you had been reading his thoughts.

If you could read his thoughts, Spencer was questioning why your hands weren’t busy turning him around and bending him over yet - or at least in his pants!

»Food,« you repeat, despite how dark, how hungry your eyes have grown.

For some unfathomable, fortunate reason, you liked him barely coherent and desperate for your touch.

»Sweetheart, I would love nothing more than to make you come as often as you like, but we both know you’ll fall asleep right after. Whenever you are on a case, you live on the sugar you shovel into your coffee.«

Spencer didn’t argue since he couldn’t think of a good argument, but mainly (or so he told himself) because he was still panting.

»Come on, sweetheart, you love chicken tandoori,« you coax him along gently, luring him to the kitchen table with the promises of good food (it did smell delicious, and his stomach was grumbling in response) and a hot shower and a soft bed afterwards. It sounded so perfect he almost burst into tears. Almost.

(He did get misty eyed when you put the dessert you made earlier that day on the table - chocolate cake with coffee frosting that tastes amazing, rich and sweet and Spencer fell a little more in love with you)

(It shouldn’t be possible when each of his heartbeats sounded like your name)(But it happened regardless)

Spencer made you stay seated after your late dinner (so late, by some semantics, it could be considered breakfast). He was no good in the kitchen, but loading the dishwasher and pushing leftovers into the fridge was the least he wanted to do for you.

When he was done, he turned and - and needed to lean back against the counter. You were watching him, eyes full of tender feelings they haven’t bothered to spell out yet, and a blatant desire that made Spencer flush, his stomach clenched, and his knees threatening to give out.

He wasn’t used to it, to being wanted like you want him - you watch him as if you think of all the ways you could devour him - and yes, please, now!

Your relationship was new, on the cusp of three months mark, and you were his first - not his first kiss, but every other first and Spencer was still unsure of… of everything.

But he had missed you, and you were smiling at him, warm and inviting, and he dared to walk over to you on numb legs. Another moment of hesitation before he climbed onto your lap, strong arms curling around him to pull him closer, and he almost started to purr like a cat.

»Missed you,« he whispered, his hands fluttering to your face, neck, chest, and soft hair, wanting to touch everywhere at once.

Your hands rubbed his back, racing pleasant shivers down his spine, »Missed you, too, Spencer.«

He loved how his name sounded when you said it like you were savouring it (he was reading too much into it)(but this won’t last, good things never do, so he might as well revel in it before it got snatched away).

Your thumb gently rubbed the crease between his eyebrows, »What’s going on in that incredible mind?«

Instead of an answer that will spoil the night, Spencer kissed you - a testament to his inexperience, it was a shy peek, a schoolboy’s kiss, and he wished he could make you feel dizzy with it like -

A hand in his hair pulled him closer, and your lips pressed fully against his. Spencer almost whined when you took the lead, giving him what he wanted and more.

He did whine when your tongue slipped into his mouth, warm and tasting like the dessert you made for him.

Spencer was a life wire, making a litany of sounds he should be more embarrassed about, but it was hard to worry over anything but how good you made him feel.

He had come from this before - squirming on your lap, his touch-starved body reacting to every caress like a desert to monsoon, equal parts cracking and flourishing.

The only reason he pulled back was that the alternative was passing out from lack of oxygen, and he could not, would not miss any of this.

He moaned your name when you lavished attention on his neck instead, kisses and a hint of teeth that made him paw at your shirt.

Spencer hated how often he was away from you, but coming back to you meant this, feeling as if you were touching him for the first time like he was worthy of it, new and untainted by his past, his job or -

You sucked a love bite at the crook of his neck, low enough to be hidden by his clothes. Spencer almost begged you to do it again, right under his jaw, an undeniable mark from you Morgan’s teasing be damned.

»Need you,« he managed to whisper between pants and moans.

»You have me.«

But despite the teasing words, you leaned back, your thumb gently rubbing along his lips. You looked at him like you appreciated what you were seeing. Spencer wasn’t certain what that might be, his clothes were rumpled and his hair a mess, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.

»Tell me what you want, sweetheart, and I’ll give it to you.«

The words had all the remaining tension drain from his body, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

»Bed?« he crooked, his flush becoming worse by the second, »Please.«

It wasn’t easy for him to say what he wanted, and you understood that in a way that should’ve qualified you as a profiler in your own right.

»Yeah?« you asked softly, »Want me to take you to the bed and make you feel good, Spencer? Make that lovely brain of yours shut up until we get another noise complaint from the neighbours?«

»Y-Yes,« he whimpered, knowing you’d want a verbal reply.

»Such a good boy,« you murmured, kissing the hollow of his throat - when had you started to unbutton his shirt? - »Telling me what you need. I am so proud of you.«

The praise was somehow worse than your mouth against his skin (it always was), a pour of barely comprehensible pleas falling from his lips until you stood up, holding him close. You swayed a bit - Spencer was lean but tall, and you weren’t into weightlifting. But he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, his legs around your waist, and this closeness alone was worth anything. You wouldn’t let him fall.

A minute later, you pressed him down onto the bed, the feeling of your weight above him turning his brain to goo.

»What do I do with you…« you whispered into his ear, hands wandering along his torso, his stomach - his muscles fluttered under your touch. Did you feel it, too? How every inch of him was straining for a single caress from you, like iron shavings clinging to a magnet?

He slurred your name, voice thick with desire, worse than when you had him against the door - Spencer had been hard since you started kissing his neck. Now, you were so close that you could drown in the smell of your aftershave, and if you were not going to do something about it, the BAU would need a new genius because Spencer would’ve lost his mind!

You pulled back, his legs reflexively tightening around your middle wanting to keep you, and your fingers found the still-closed buttons of his shirt, »Let’s take this off?«

»Yes,« he murmured, »Yeah. Off. Please.«

Spencer melted into the mattress, trusting you to take care of him, tilting his head back to give those ruinous lips better access to his neck.

»Oh yes,« he whispered breathlessly when he felt your fingers at his belt buckle, »Yes. Please.«

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #x male reader #x reader #spencer reid x you #no use of y/n #domestic fluff #fluff #mild smut #they are in love

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bytewire · 6 months ago

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Your analysis-style posts make me sooooo happy!!! I'd love to hear if you have any opinions about a few of the voicelines at the beginning of the 'hope' conversation. Specifically when Robin talks about a hypothetical where the Architects have gone through a 'system update' which is why Al-An can't hear them.

Al-Ans responding voiceline just feels/sounds so hopeless? I know its probably because Robin threw out wildly differing numbers but it still gets me a little bit. Even the fact Al-An doesn't outright refute the idea, like he could actually have gotten left behind in his 1000 year isolation, that thats a real issue he might have to face..

Thank you! Analyzing media is something I very much enjoy, and I’m glad that others are getting something out of it! Here are my thoughts on the hope dialogue.

The Hope Poem dialogue between Robin and AL-AN is one of my favorite parts of Below Zero. Not only is it an absolutely classic poem, but it is also a clear show of Robin's empathy towards AL-AN. It’s part of her realizing that he isn't just an unthinking alien; it’s part of him realizing that she isn't a lesser being. It’s what ultimately drives them to emotionally connect.

Robin, as she further explores and finds artifacts, comes to learn bits and pieces about AL-AN and Architects. Understandably frustrated with him at first, but as more details emerge, she sees that this isn't just a one-dimensional being of logic but instead a person who is isolated and in an unfamiliar situation. Someone dealing with the implications of potentially being the last of their kind.

He is part of a race so technologically advanced that death is an unusual circumstance, and even in death their memories and contributions are uploaded to the network. Their ideas live on ad infinitum. It makes sense that he wouldn't understand how to deal with being disconnected from the collective.

Robin picks up on notes of AL-AN’s unsaid distress. His expressions are subtle, but humans thrive with subtlety. He has lost the life he knew and is thrust into this completely foreign situation. Understandably, he is pessimistic about this, so when he begins to voice these complicated feelings that come with being isolated from the network for so long, she comforts him. Trying to broaden his perspective and promote optimism even if it might be illogical. To encourage him to keep looking despite the dim situation. Her stubbornness is more so perseverance above all things. The drive to keep going even if it's hard—even if it hurts.

“Call it whatever you want if it keeps you from lying down and giving up!”

The whole conversation about hope sparked because AL-AN mentioned his feelings about being unable to discern remnants of the network. Not knowing if his species is alive or dead: Not knowing how to cope with a situation so alien to him. That feeling of emptiness he experiences when not being connected to his network. Of course, in a situation so improbable, he would be hyper-focused on everything that could go wrong. Preparing for the worst outcome.

AL-AN is used to seeing things as purely logical. Relying on statistics and probability to conduct his actions. It's drilled into him through his own experiences that it is inefficient to do anything else. After all, let’s think about what happened last time he did something impulsive.

AL-AN doesn’t have a definitive answer to the fate of the collective. He has no idea what happened and is searching for any traces. Paralleling Robin’s situation with Sam. They are so entirely different but they're both looking for answers and dealing with loss. Robin, despite everything she is already going through, chooses to console AL-AN. Goes out of her way to scan artifacts and build a new vessel he can inhabit.

Existence as an individual is complicated for him. It’s stressful having to fully rely on such an unfamiliar being, one so argumentative at times. A member of a species he does not understand due to their vast differences, but one who nonetheless is comforting in a moment of vulnerability. One that absolutely does not have to, yet because their circumstances are similar, expresses empathy.

I think this sticks with him.

Hope is human. Robin sharing the poem with AL-AN is sharing herself with AL-AN—her empathy—an integral part of who she is. It is her expressing herself in a very human way. She mentioned that Sam loved that poem. She is offering to share this raw part of herself. It’s her attempt at confiding in AL-AN’s loss with her own. To express and be vulnerable with her own grief to comfort him. A small reminder to AL-AN that he is not alone in this situation. It is an unfortunate aspect of life, but what pushes one to continue on.

He may not fully understand humanity, but ultimately he tries to connect and communicate with the only person he has left. Robin is the only other sapient being he has talked to in a millennium. AL-AN adding hope to the databank is a genuine attempt at understanding her for who she is instead of just a means to an end.

Hope may just be a survival instinct, but Al-AN realizes the impact it has on him. These emotions are real; they are important. Mimicking Robin finishing Sam's work, AL-AN seeks to get closure of his own by abiding by Robin's direction to not give up. Going to his homeworld despite all the improbabilities. To see for himself the fate of his people. Because now he has someone. Even if his species did not survive, he still has a reason to keep going.

AL-AN has found hope. Robin is a string no louder than his own. Her story is now intertwined with his. She doesn’t ask of him and provides reassurance even when things seem bleakest. Throughout everything that happens, Robin certainly never gave up on Sam, and she never gives up on him either, so he won't give up on himself. It'd be illogical. He managed to survive after so much. While the future is uncertain, AL-AN chooses to continue on that path forward with her. Robin is the personification of hope for AL-AN.

“With you, I am ready to face whatever awaits.”

#al-an #robin ayou #al an subnautica #sbz #subnautica below zero #subnautica architects #subnautica precursors #lore thoughts #hope is described as a bird #robin is the name of a bird :)

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astra-aeterna · 2 months ago

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aced it - chapter 14

something about you felt like fate

the final chapter. oh my god. this has been my first long-fic for the acotar fandom and i can't thank you all enough for the support and love you've shown me and this fic. i love you all!!!

catch a snippet under the cut

"Ugh," Cass groaned softly. He was driving the RV while everyone else slept — save for Feyre, whose eyes didn't seem to want to close.

"What's up?" she muttered, crawling into the empty passenger seat. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well keep him company.

He smiled softly at her. "Just thinking about how we have to go back to classes in two days. But life isn't all road trips, Feyre."

"Sure isn't," Feyre sighed wistfully. The week they'd spent driving around Prythian had been perfect, laughing and bickering and teasing each other as they drove to random destinations and explored nature preserves and wooded walking paths and whatever small towns they came across. It had been the perfect escape from the stress of the real world, but she'd have to return to the pressure cooker of the end of her third year all too soon.

At least she and Rhys were in it together. And together for real.

Finally.

"Thinking about the end of the year now?"

She huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Thanks for that. I was having such a good time not sleeping."

Cassian glanced over at her for a quick moment, wry grin on his face, before turning back to the road. "I'm sure I can find something to talk about that'll put you to sleep. Ooh, what about hockey statistics?"

"You have one thing on your mind ever, and it's hockey."

"Hey! Unfair," he complained. "I also think about the gym. And sex."

"You are such a stereotype of a man."

He just grinned, then handed her his phone. "Here, why don't you pick some music that'll keep me from falling asleep at the wheel."

Soft rock filtered through the speakers as Feyre selected a playlist that looked upbeat enough for night driving, then set his phone back down. The dark environment around them passed in a blur, all black and grey and barely distinguishable.

Except for the stars overhead.

Feyre stared out the windshield at the sky, watching as the stars shifted ever so slightly in the sky as they flew down the highway. She curled up in the passenger seat, thinking about the improbability of her life — but thanking the Mother and the Cauldron that she'd made it to whatever this phase of her life was, with Rhys and his family that was slowly becoming her own, with happiness and success and comfort. And without realizing it, her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Transitioning back into the chaos of spring semester schoolwork was difficult.

Free time was a thing of the past, and within a week, Feyre wasn't sure she even knew the meaning of the phrase. When she wasn't in her own classes, she was in the class she was a TA for. When she wasn't in any class at all, she was at VUAC. When she wasn't on campus, she was doing her own homework or grading her students' assignments or sleeping tucked into Rhys's arms.

Those late hours where she was asleep next to her boyfriend (she was still getting used to the fact that Rhys was her boyfriend, mentally) were the only restful hours she had.

And normally, she thrived on being busy like that.

Don't get her wrong, she wasn't running straight toward burnout, and she wasn't any more stressed than a usual semester, but it was different now.

It was different because she didn't dread the conversations she'd have to have when she went home. She didn't worry about whether or not her boyfriend would want subpar sex. Instead, she found herself wanting to share dinners with Rhys, Cass, Az, and Mor. She missed the easy evenings they had often shared, each doing their own studying in the living room and occasionally bickering with each other for 'writing too loudly' or tapping on computer keys too hard. And she wished she had more time to spend in bed with Rhys. Not sleeping.

Sex with him was unlike anything she'd had before. Certainly not the childish fumbling she had when she lost her virginity to her friend Isaac (just to get it over with). And definitely not the chore that was sex with Tamlin, where she just laid there as he took his pleasure.

No, Rhys was… thorough. Attentive. Mind-blowing, even. He would always prioritize her pleasure, bringing her over the edge repeatedly with his mouth or fingers or cock, and do so until she was a mess, writhing and sobbing and so thoroughly wrung out that she quite literally couldn't take another. When they had time, anyway.

Recently, they'd been relegated to quick fucks before bed or before getting out of bed in the mornings, where he'd prepare her for him with his mouth and slide into her, working both of them expertly to orgasm. Just one.

'Just one' was certainly far better than anything else, but she missed when they had time to play.

Oh well. They'd have all summer to explore each other's bodies.

Right now, she was waist-deep in a pile of weekly quizzes she had to grade, and they were… a mess, honestly.

Something about meiosis was just stumping them. She didn't blame them — they'd done a basic overview of mitosis and the regular cell cycle before getting into the complexities of gamete production, but… wow.

She glanced down at the packet she was working on and laughed. In answer to the question Why are gametes haploid?, the student had written 'because… it HAPpens? idk!'

Not exactly correct, but at least it was creative. Feyre sighed and marked a little note in her blue pen. 'Gametes are haploid because two need to join to create a fertilized embryo with the correct (diploid) number of chromosomes.'

Grading the weekly quizzes was mildly entertaining at first, but after five or so packets, she was just bored and praying for her pile to start dwindling so she could do literally anything else. There were only so many times she could correct one single question on every quiz before it became frustrating. Thankfully, she was almost at the bottom of that week's pile, and it was Friday.

Friday meant she and Rhys might actually get to spend some quality time together that didn't involve their own classwork or TA responsibilities.

That thought spurred her on, giving her the energy to make her way through the last half dozen quizzes she had to grade. And then she was done, done for the day, and she could go find Rhys and curl up with him on the couch.

Once she was curled into his side on the couch, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder, hand skimming her collarbones, Feyre felt like her entire soul exhaled in comfort. Tension and stress were things of the past.

"I'm so glad we only have like three weeks left before finals," she sighed. "I need summer break now more than ever."

He smiled down at her, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "Indeed. I've been missing you lately."

"We see each other every day."

"That doesn't mean I get to spend good quality time with you every day. We're in class or at work or sleeping in the same bed, not really spending time with you."

Feyre pressed her body more fully into his in agreement. "I know. I've missed you too."

"See?"

"Shut up," she complained. "Don't brag about being right, just take advantage of this time we have without any other responsibilities."

His violet eyes lit up, multitudes of stars sparking to life within. Before she could even register his intentions, Rhys had her scooped up in her arms and was heading to the stairs.

"What are you doing?"

The question wasn't a very effective deterrent when she was giggling and clinging to him like a barnacle, but she'd be damned if she'd make things easy for him. There was a 95% chance that he was whisking her upstairs to take her so thoroughly apart with his mouth that she wouldn't be able to speak for a while after he was done, but Rhys didn't need to know she knew that.

"Taking advantage of the time we have, naturally," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear before nipping teasingly at the lobe. "I want you all to myself for a while this evening."

She shivered in his arms as his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck, a flush already blooming on her cheeks, warmth already pooling in her core. "You have me, Rhys."

"Oh, I intend to."

#aced it #fic update #feysand #feysand fic #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #acotar fic

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redfilledfantasies · 2 months ago

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First Sight (Chapter 5 of 7)

The Manhattan Cardiology Clinic cast long shadows across the empty sidewalk as Carmella approached, her fingers tightening around her leather satchel with unnecessary force. She had arrived seventeen minutes early, allowing ample time to prepare the examination room with meticulous precision, but the sight of Audrey approaching from the opposite direction sent an unexpected flutter through her abdomen. Their synchronized arrival—a statistical improbability that her analytical mind immediately calculated at less than 3.8%—triggered a cascade of autonomic responses that Carmella catalogued with clinical detachment even as she experienced their effects.

Audrey moved with athletic grace, her red hair pulled back in a functional ponytail that exposed the elegant architecture of her jawline. She wore simple workout attire—compression leggings and a fitted top that revealed the exceptional musculature Carmella had observed with such inappropriate fascination. The freckles across her collarbones seemed to form patterns like cardiac rhythm strips, and Carmella forced her gaze away from this inappropriate association. "Perfect timing," Audrey called, her voice carrying across the empty plaza with surprising intimacy. Her green eyes reflected the morning sunlight with unusual clarity, the pupils already beginning to dilate despite the brightness—a physiological response Carmella noted with both professional interest and personal satisfaction.

"Yes. Precisely noon," Carmella confirmed, adjusting her glasses with fingers that betrayed a fine tremor—approximately 8 Hz, suggestive of elevated epinephrine levels rather than essential tremor or other neurological phenomena. She extracted her key card from her satchel with mechanical precision, the familiar motion providing momentary shelter from the storm of her inappropriate thoughts. The clinic doors parted with a whispered hiss, revealing a reception area conspicuously devoid of its usual occupants. No receptionist greeted them from behind the curved desk. No patients flipped through outdated magazines in the ergonomic chairs. The silence wrapped around them with physical presence, transforming the familiar space into something altered and expectant.

"As I mentioned, the facility is closed on weekends," Carmella explained, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the empty space. The antiseptic scent—a mixture of isopropyl alcohol and hospital-grade disinfectant—filled her nostrils with clinical familiarity. "We have complete privacy for the examination."

Audrey's posture shifted subtly, her spine straightening to full extension, shoulders rolling back to accentuate the perfect symmetry of her clavicular architecture. "Complete privacy," she repeated, the words carrying weight beyond their literal meaning. "That sounds ideal for thorough testing."

They moved through the reception area toward the main corridor, their footsteps creating syncopated echoes against the polished floors. Carmella maintained a precise distance between them—approximately 76 centimeters, close enough for conversation but establishing professional boundaries. Yet even this calculated space felt charged with potential energy, the air between them vibrating with unacknowledged intentions.

"The weekend scheduling ensures access to all equipment without interruption," Carmella continued, falling into the familiar rhythm of clinical explanation. "Cardiac stress testing requires focused attention and controlled conditions. Any disruption could compromise the data."

The corridor stretched before them, doorways to examination rooms spaced at precise intervals, each labeled with antiseptic clarity. The emptiness amplified every sound—the soft swish of Audrey's workout pants as her thighs brushed together with each step, the controlled cadence of her breathing, the almost imperceptible click of her teeth as she smiled at Carmella's explanation.

"I appreciate your commitment to thorough examination," Audrey replied, her tone carrying a warmth that registered in Carmella's nervous system with precision of a 12-lead ECG. "I've always believed the best results come from privacy and focused attention."

Carmella's pulse accelerated by approximately 22 beats per minute—a tachycardic response disproportionate to their leisurely pace. She catalogued her symptoms with habitual precision: peripheral vasodilation manifesting as flushed skin along her neck and chest, elevated core temperature of approximately 0.3 degrees Celsius, pupillary dilation despite the bright fluorescent lighting.

"The examination room contains all necessary equipment for comprehensive cardiac assessment," she explained, her voice maintaining its professional timbre despite the flutter in her abdomen. "The treadmill stress test will establish baseline cardiovascular parameters, while the Adenosine test provides comparative data through pharmacological stimulation."

As they passed the darkened nurses' station, Audrey's hand brushed against Carmella's—the contact brief but electric, sending synchronized signals through both peripheral and central nervous systems. Carmella's breath caught in her throat—a momentary respiratory arrest that lasted approximately 1.8 seconds before her diaphragm remembered its essential function.

"The silence is striking," Audrey observed, her voice lowered to a near whisper that created an unexpected intimacy between them. "It makes every sound so much more… noticeable." As if to demonstrate this point, she drew a deliberate breath, the expansion of her thoracic cavity visible beneath her fitted top. The movement drew Carmella's gaze to the pulse point at the base of Audrey's throat, where the carotid artery pulsed with visible force.

Carmella estimated her heart rate at approximately 82 beats per minute—elevated above resting norm for an athlete of Audrey's caliber, suggesting autonomic arousal rather than physical exertion. "Yes, sensory input becomes more pronounced in the absence of ambient noise," Carmella agreed, her clinical explanation failing to capture the visceral impact of their isolated presence in the sterile environment. "It's a principle we utilize during cardiac auscultation—the elimination of environmental distraction enhances perception of subtle cardiac sounds."

They approached examination room three, Carmella's preferred space for specialized testing. Her fingers found the keys in her lab coat pocket, extracting them with scientific precision that belied the tremor in her hands. The metal clinked against itself, the sound sharp and intimate in the hushed corridor.

"This is where we'll conduct both stress tests," she explained, the key sliding into the lock with momentary resistance before yielding with a satisfying click. "The room is equipped with advanced monitoring technology and emergency response capabilities, though I don't anticipate any complications with someone of your obvious physical conditioning."

As she pushed the door open, fluorescent lights automatically illuminated the space, revealing the clinical tableau within—examination table centered against the far wall, cardiac monitoring equipment arranged in precise configurations, treadmill positioned for optimal observation. The sterile orderliness of the room provided stark contrast to the disordered thoughts that now consumed Carmella's usually methodical mind.

Audrey stepped past her into the room, her proximity sending another surge of awareness through Carmella's heightened nervous system. The trainer moved with confident familiarity despite never having entered the space before, her gaze sweeping across the medical equipment with appreciative understanding. "Impressive setup," she noted, turning to face Carmella with unnerving directness. "I'm looking forward to seeing what these machines can tell you about my heart."

The statement hung between them, its literal meaning overlaid with suggestions that Carmella's analytical mind parsed with uncomfortable clarity. She closed the door behind them, the soft click of the latch engaging like a final confirmation of their isolation. The room seemed suddenly smaller, the air charged with the potential energy of their unacknowledged intentions. "Shall we begin?" Carmella asked, her professional mask settling into place like armor against the vulnerability of her desire. She moved toward the monitoring equipment with practiced efficiency, her hands finding comfort in familiar tasks despite the unprecedented nature of their arrangement.

Audrey nodded, her green eyes bright with anticipation that transcended clinical interest. "I'm ready whenever you are, Doctor." The examination room hummed with expectant silence, broken only by the soft beep of equipment coming online under Carmella's practiced touch. She moved with automatic precision, her body following familiar pathways as she calibrated the treadmill's incline settings and initialized the cardiac monitoring system.

Her back to Audrey, she allowed herself a moment of focused concentration, gathering the professional detachment that had defined her career. The space between her shoulder blades prickled with awareness of Audrey's presence, but she pushed this distraction away, channeling her attention into the preparation of electrodes, the arrangement of monitoring leads, the careful inspection of the automated blood pressure cuff.

"The stress test protocol is standardized," she explained, her voice steady as she adjusted the ECG machine's sensitivity settings. Her fingers moved across the control panel with practiced efficiency, each motion precise and economical. "We'll start with a twelve-lead baseline reading at rest, then progress through incremental stages of exertion until we reach eighty-five percent of your age-predicted maximum heart rate."

She retrieved her stethoscope from her bag, draping it around her neck with the ritualistic care of a priest donning sacred vestments. The weight of the instrument against her clavicles provided momentary grounding, a connection to her professional identity that had become increasingly tenuous in Audrey's presence. "Your current attire is suitable for the treadmill component," Carmella continued, focusing on the calibration of the blood pressure module, her back still turned to where Audrey stood. "The compression garments won't interfere with electrode placement, though we'll need to position several sensors directly on your skin for accurate readings." Her fingers found the alcohol swabs, arranging them in precise rows on the instrument tray—each packet aligned at exactly the same angle, the pattern providing visual confirmation of her control. She selected the electrodes next, counting out ten with methodical precision, though the protocol required only six. The redundancy was unnecessary but comforting, a reminder of her meticulous attention to preparation.

"I'll need you to remove your top for proper electrode placement," she explained, her clinical tone maintained through years of professional practice. "We can provide a gown if you prefer, though many athletes find the material restrictive during maximal exertion testing." Behind her, Audrey made no verbal response. Carmella heard only the soft rustle of fabric, which she interpreted as compliance with her instructions.

She continued her preparations, measuring precise lengths of electrode leads and arranging them to prevent tangling during the test. The sound of movement continued longer than expected, but Carmella maintained her focus on the equipment, her back deliberately turned to provide privacy.

"Once we've established your baseline cardiovascular parameters," she continued, her voice filling the clinical silence, "we'll proceed to the Adenosine stress test. The pharmacological agent mimics the effects of physical exertion on the cardiac system without requiring actual exercise."

Her hands moved to the syringe tray, selecting the appropriate gauge needle for venous access. The familiar ritual steadied her, though her pulse remained elevated at approximately 92 beats per minute—a persistent tachycardia that reflected her autonomic state rather than any physical exertion.

"The injection will cause temporary vasodilation and increased heart rate," she explained, her back still turned as she arranged the Adenosine ampules in a precise line. "You may experience flushing, shortness of breath, perhaps a sensation of chest pressure—all normal responses to the medication that resolve quickly once the short-acting agent clears your system."

The silence behind her registered with sudden significance. The rustling of fabric had ceased entirely, replaced by a stillness that seemed to vibrate with potential energy. Carmella felt the hairs on her neck rise in unconscious response, her peripheral nervous system detecting a shift in the room's dynamic before her conscious mind processed it.

"I'm ready for the examination, Doctor," Audrey's voice carried a note of quiet amusement that triggered an immediate response in Carmella's autonomic system—a surge of epinephrine that sent her pulse rushing to approximately 110 beats per minute. Carmella turned, the stethoscope balanced in her hands, her expression composed with the professional neutrality that years of medical practice had perfected. The mask shattered instantly.

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating from approximately 3mm to 7mm in less than half a second—a physiological response that had nothing to do with changes in ambient lighting. Her lips parted involuntarily, the precise arrangement of words she'd prepared dissolving into unformed breath.

Audrey stood completely naked in the center of the examination room, wearing only her athletic sneakers. Her freckled skin caught the clinical fluorescent light, creating a topography of light and shadow across her exceptional musculature. She made no attempt to cover herself, her posture open and confident, shoulders back to accentuate the perfect symmetry of her breasts, weight shifted slightly to one hip in a stance that emphasized the curve of her waist.

The stethoscope slipped in Carmella's suddenly moist palms, the metal disc dangling precariously from her trembling fingers before she tightened her grip with desperate force. Her breath caught in her throat—a momentary respiratory arrest that lasted approximately 3.2 seconds before her diaphragm remembered its essential function with a sharp, audible inhalation.

"I—this isn't—" Carmella began, her usual precise vocabulary failing her completely. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, the mucous membranes responding to the sympathetic nervous system activation that now flooded her body with inappropriate arousal. Audrey remained perfectly still, allowing Carmella's gaze to map her naked form with the same attention she might give to complex cardiac imaging. The trainer's body was a masterpiece of functional development—large breasts with perfectly symmetrical areolae, abdominal muscles defined with anatomical precision, thighs displaying the exceptional quadriceps development that Carmella had previously observed beneath compression leggings.

But it was the pattern of freckles across her skin that captured Carmella's attention with painful intensity—constellations that created a unique topography she found herself desperately wanting to explore. A flush spread across Carmella's face, the capillary dilation extending down her neck to disappear beneath the collar of her blouse. She registered her core temperature rising by approximately 0.8 degrees Celsius, the heat radiating from her skin in an undeniable physical manifestation of her arousal. Her fingers tightened around the stethoscope with unnecessary force, the pressure sensor at her fingertips registering with uncomfortable clarity.

"The protocol requires athletic attire," she managed finally, her voice barely above a whisper, the professional tone cracking beneath the weight of her desire. "For accurate stress test results." Audrey smiled, the expression transforming her already striking features with a warmth that registered in Carmella's nervous system like a direct electrical current. "I thought we might skip directly to the more interesting tests," she replied, taking a step forward that reduced the distance between them to approximately 68 centimeters.

"Unless you'd prefer to maintain the pretense?" The word hung between them—pretense—stripping away the final layer of clinical justification that had allowed Carmella to frame their meeting in professional terms. Her carefully constructed research proposal, the elaborately justified stress tests, the medical framework she had built around her fascination—all dissolved under the impact of Audrey's naked presence.

Carmella's hand rose to adjust her glasses, the habitual gesture failing to provide its usual stabilizing effect. The movement exposed the fine tremor in her fingers—approximately 9 Hz, visible evidence of her autonomic arousal. Her clinical mind continued its automatic assessment, cataloging her own symptoms with detached precision even as she experienced their effects with unprecedented intensity. "Your heart is racing," Audrey observed, her gaze dropping to where Carmella's pulse visibly throbbed at the base of her throat. "I can see it from here. Would you like to listen to mine? That's what you really want, isn't it?"

The question struck with surgical precision, exposing the core of Carmella's fascination with devastating accuracy. Her fixation on Audrey's exceptional cardiovascular function, her obsession with the imagined sound of the trainer's heartbeat—the fantasy that had consumed her thoughts for days was now offered as reality, and the impact left her momentarily speechless.

"I—yes," Carmella admitted, the word escaping before she could contain it. Her professional mask slipped completely, revealing the raw intensity of her desire. "I want to hear your heart." Audrey took another step forward, entering the intimate space that Carmella maintained even with patients during examinations. The proximity sent another surge of awareness through Carmella's already overwhelmed nervous system.

Audrey reached out, her freckled hand closing over Carmella's where it gripped the stethoscope. "Then listen," she said simply, guiding the instrument toward her naked chest with deliberate slowness. "Isn't that why we're really here?" The stethoscope's metal disc hung suspended between them, centimeters from making contact with Audrey's freckled skin. Carmella's breath came in short, shallow gasps, her respiratory rate elevated to approximately 22 breaths per minute.

The examination room—with its clinical equipment and sterile surfaces—seemed to contract around them, the professional environment transforming into the setting for something far more personal than any medical procedure in Carmella's experience. Her need was palpable, the intensity of it more real than the stethoscope she held. The pulse of her own heartbeat, wild and frantic, was a vivid declaration of the attraction she could not escape. The final threads of her professional composure unraveled completely as she surrendered to the force of her desire.

#female heartbeat #heartbeat kink #heartbeat #beating heart #cardiophile thoughts #cardiophile #dr. carmella hill #audrey o'rourke #red filled fantasies

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landoom · 1 year ago

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F1 FANFICS REC LIST - High School/Uni AU's - Part II

Silent conversations (7350 words) by belovedbees Rating: Not Rated Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, Background Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen Summary: Oscar found himself saying, “The sky’s looking nice tonight, isn’t it?” He thought that, maybe, if he started some sort of conversation, it would naturally trickle into them talking about what had happened. “Very pretty,” Lando said, his eyes never leaving Oscar. - Oscar and Lando attend a party, they play truth or dare and everything that ensues from a certain dare.

oOoOoOo

say what you mean (2735 words) by strongestavenger Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell, Arthur Leclerc/Oscar Piastri (background), Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc (background) Characters: Alexander Albon, George Russell (Formula 1 RPF), Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles Leclerc, Arthur Leclerc Summary: After the rush of opening night, Alex and George finally get their shit together.

oOoOoOo

running home (to your sweet nothings) (2119 words) by lemonadedino Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: But the worst part is that the stranger is so clearly interested in Oscar. Everything about his body language screams "Hello! Please rail me and then I’ll take you to a really nice dinner afterwards at a place where the prices aren’t printed on the menu and maybe you’d like to start a family as well while we’re at it? They will all take after me and be very posh and look like they have a stick up their ass." That bothers Lando a little bit. Because yesterday, Lando finally realized that he’s in love with Oscar. Which is why he's standing here now, bouquet in hand, confession on the tip of his tongue.

oOoOoOo

hits different (11622 words) by piastrism Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Oscar Piastri/Max Verstappen Summary: “I just… found it on my bed. Saturday morning.” Oscar is pretty sure his whole face looks like a tomato. “And I don't even remember taking it! I swear it wasn’t, like, conscious!” Max finally takes the jersey out of Oscar’s hands. Oscar still can’t look him in the eyes. “Wait,” Max starts, voice slow. “Did you… steal my jersey to get off?” Or, after a little administrative mishap, Freshman Oscar gets roomed with Max on accident. It’s all sunshine and rainbows (it’s not, actually) until Oscar, in his rut induced haze, steals Max’s football jersey.

oOoOoOo

a collection of statistical improbabilities (9000 words) by leoleaf Rating: Explicit Relationships: Alexander Albon/Logan Sargeant Summary: Logan’s two month study abroad is thrown into jeopardy when his housing falls through. Looking for new accommodations last minute, he meets Alex, a grad student behind on rent, with a fold out couch.

oOoOoOo

all these little games (4974 words) by theommin Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, background Alex/Logan, background Charles/Max - Relationship Summary: “Is this a thing now?” Lando grins, leans on the counter and tips closer, “maybe. Would you like it to be?” Oscar bites his lip and flushes a little – which is an image Lando is not going to stop thinking about for the next five hours – considering. Lando distantly wonders what pros and cons he’s weighing. After a few agonising seconds, he shrugs. “Sure. Keeps things interesting.” Lando is absolutely going to take that. Lando is completely normal about the cute barista working at his local coffee shop. So normal, in fact, that he creates a points system based on how flustered Oscar gets over his pickup lines.

oOoOoOo

shark bait (12865 words) by miamis Rating: Explicit Relationships: Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant Summary: “Why’d you even kiss that other guy?” Oscar can’t keep himself from asking. There’s an implication, somewhere—when it was me you wanted the whole time—but Oscar can’t bring himself to say it; doesn’t think the cocky-leaning words would fit in his mouth right. Logan chuckles softly into his skin. “Liam thought it would be funny,” he says, words imbuing themselves into the thick of Oscar’s veins. “And I was hoping you’d see it.”

oOoOoOo

contact-drunk (4033 words) by miamis Rating: Explicit Relationships: Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant Summary: Oscar’s unsure of how he even ended up here, at a frat party, flirting with one of the brothers. But Logan is pretty handsome.

oOoOoOo

Like a spark catching fire it don't happen all the time (But when it does it changes everything) (21053 words) by TheWiseOne12 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris Summary: He turned the corner to see George and Alex curled on the couch with a stranger settled in between them. The stranger’s eyes were closed but he didn’t look calm, chest still heaving slightly. He had Charles’ favourite nesting blanket, a thick and fuzzy grey one, wrapped around his legs. Seeing that raised his hackles and he desperately wanted to reach out and rip it out of his grasp. “What is going on here?” he hissed, mostly directing the question at his two flatmates. “This is Lando,” Alex introduced, innocent expression on his face as he stared up at Charles.

MASTERPOST

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 fic rec #fic rec #fic rec list #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 rpf

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skitariiposting · 1 year ago

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Dear Jerry,

I write to you again to ask for a boon. I am starting up a Warhammer 40k Wrath & Glory campaign, and i wanted to know if i could feature you as a potential NPC in some missions. Also, if you're familiar with the system at all, do you have any suggestions or warnings for new players?

A friend,

I haven't really looked into Wrath and Glory, no, but I am always down to be an NPC! Notes on "Jerry the Character" rather than Jerry the me: Jerry is a Skitarii Alpha designation [JRY-240] (I believe that was the number I settled upon. Either that or I made the 420 joke, but 240 is probably better.)

Jerry's awful with technology, at least by Admech standards. That means he's likely still far more adept with tech than your average human, but he's a black sheep amongst the Skitarii Alphas for being 'just average' at equipment maintenance and requiring his subordinate skits to take a second to help him with it on occasion.

What he lacks in technological skill, he more than makes up for in fire-fights. You don't become a named character in 40k by dying day one after all. His aim with a galvanic-rifle is deadly and he'd ran out of space on his gun to put tally marks after fighting against the notorious uprising of Gene-stealer Cults on his home planet of Morod before the eventual evacuation and Tyranid consumption of it. His performance and his statistically improbable survival during the evacuation netted him a rank up to Skitarii Alpha. (Yes Jerry is a self insert for Day of Ascension by Adrian Tchaikovsky, I love the subtext of an uprising against a machine that uses people as fuel and the story is good.)

More off-putting is the fact Jerry is so cheerful despite the inherit trauma of losing his home-world and the constant day-to-day war on all sides. Jerry is optimistic and typically obeys orders with an "okiedokie" rather than the usual "confirmed." I mean, he hums little tunes while he aims for the machine spirit's sake! What skitarii hums?! Granted it sounds more like the synthesizer from Jump by Van Halen rather than actual humming due to the mandatory vocal cord replacement augmentation; but it's still weird for a skit to do that! The techpriests believe the trauma may have fried some part of his brain or biosensors and now he's stuck as a happy-go-lucky murder solider. But on the bright side, he's fiercely loyal to the mechanicum, efficient on the battlefield, and a zealous omnissiah worshiper, so no need to fix what ain't broke.

Jerry is a xenarite supporter behind closed doors. Despite seeing the results of xeno influence on Morod, Jerry still believes the best way to combat xenos is to use their own tech against them. Will he broadcast this for the nearest Magos and Inquisitor to hear? Absolutely not. But, should the conversation come up somewhere private, he certainly won't shy away from the idea of using it.

Feel free to modify the character however you need to for your setting though, this is just what I have, not a character bible. Also if you want to include Goober, you've also got my blessing. He'd likely be more of a player favorite than Jerry.

#ask-itarii #skitposting

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yupuffin · 1 year ago

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Thinking back to a conversation I had with a coworker recently whose child with ill was what they suspected was a cold, due to said child testing negative for COVID (I'm assuming at-home tests) three consecutive times, until said child suddenly lost their taste/smell, which effectively confirmed that it had indeed been COVID the whole time. And said coworker commented on how weird it was that the kid tested negative three whole times!

So I mused about how I'd read statistics that claimed at-home tests are IIRC what, roughly 60% accurate at this point when it comes to positively identifying COVID?

And coworker was like yeah, so it's really unlikely that they'd test negative three times!

So we did the mental math and at the time came up with a little under 10%, though the actual calculation for hitting a 40% probability three times in a row comes up with a 6.4% chance.

Coworker insisted that this counted as "very unlikely."

My rationale, however, was that, given a sufficient number of trials (i.e. lots of kids getting tested for COVID), in the grand scheme of things, this was actually not all that improbable.

IDK, maybe I've just rationalized my way through too many gacha probabilities, and maybe I just know too many people who have done spontaneous pulls on gacha banners for the sake of "building pity" and then gotten salty about pulling a limited character they didn't want because they assumed the 0.5% chance was experimentally equivalent to 0%, but to me 6~10% doesn't seem so unlikely as to be unforeseeable.

#soliloqyu #my tendency to (over?)rationalize everything gives me a VERY interesting relationship with gacha XD #that i am still trying to figure out

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lewispullmanitws · 27 days ago

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Lewis Pullman Is Sorry for Making You Sob During ‘Lessons in Chemistry’

The actor spoke to Cosmopolitan about playing board games on set with Brie Larson and why he was okay taking a role where (spoiler) he dies two episodes in.

If you’re coming here because you've been personally victimized by Lessons in Chemistry (aka you sobbed hysterically into your popcorn and glass of wine while watching episodes 2 to 8), welcome. You’re not alone, and we’re here to help. Actually, we’re mostly here to talk to Lewis Pullman, who stars as Calvin Evans in the series that follows Brie Larson and Lewis as the titular chemists who fall in love but in a flew-too-close-to-the-sun kind of way before tragedy strikes. Lewis has the very-difficult job of helping to construct a believable and complete love story in only two episodes. And spoiler alert: He does it.

We asked him about working on that task with Larson, why he loved Calvin and Elizabeth’s dynamic and why acting feels a little bit like being a clown sometimes.

Editor’s note: There are many more spoilers ahead for Lessons in Chemistry, so if you haven’t finished the show yet, don’t say we didn’t warn ya!

I’m wondering how the conversations about this role went with your agents when they were like, Okay, Lewis, role looks great. You do die in episode 2. Tell me about how this came about for you.

[Laughs] Nail on the head there—that’s kind of how it went down. It’s a no-brainer to get to work with Lee Eisenberg and Brie Larson on a story that is so beloved. But that also comes with a lot of fear. You don’t want to be the one stick in the spokes.

If you were to look at my grades from high school, I was unsure whether I could fake being a scientist. I love their relationship, and I love his personal history and him as a character, but I’m honestly so bad at science. Luckily, they had all these incredible scientists on set to help us. I had to ask them to explain it to me like I was a 2-year-old.

You and Brie have such wonderful rapport in the first few episodes of the series. I’m wondering what the chemistry read process was like for the two of you.

We didn’t have a chemistry read for Lessons in Chemistry. We tried to build the scaffolding by workshopping a lot of things and not being afraid to try and fail and land on exactly what it was about these two people that made them such magnet to each other. They found each other in such a rare, statistically unlikely scenario, especially because they’re such particular people.

And Brie is so great. She brings a whole basket of games on set and has such a lively and playful approach to her work. So we would be playing games in between takes with the whole cast and that immediately makes it feel like a family.

What kind of games? Like, board games or card games?

Like Boggle and Catch Phrase. She had a whole plastic tub of them. It was so fun. And you’d do a scene and then you’d go back and you pick up right where you left off in the game.

What was your favorite part of the Calvin and Elizabeth dynamic?

It’s a very fresh-feeling romance and they are these very awkward people. They don’t abide by a lot of social norms and they don’t like most people or they don’t get along with most people, which makes the likelihood of them finding somebody that they get along with decently, let alone fall in love with, extremely improbable. It’s so fun to play people who aren’t used to being in romantic relationships. It’s almost like the age-old alien comes to Earth and tries to assimilate with humanity.

I liked how earnestly they were into each other. There was no cynicism in their relationship.

Especially once they finally accept it, because it is so hard when you’re used to being alone for so long. It must feel like an impossibility. And everything feels dissonant. And even the best things that feel so good, they’re new, so they feel uncomfortable.

I want to fast-forward a little and talk about your character’s death. I’ll admit I had not read the book, so I was surprised. And I was literally watching it with my goldendoodle on my lap, sobbing hysterically. What was it like to film?

Oh no! That was one of those moments where I was like, I’m a clown. What I’m doing for a living is that I’m a jester, I’m a fool. We had to shoot that three different ways: one where the camera was static, one where I’m trying to pull a fake dog, and one without a bus, where I mime being hit by a bus. We’re in Pasadena with all these onlookers. But it even surprised me when I finally watched the whole series. It happens in such an abrupt and in a way that has a violence to it that is realistic without being too gory. And that final shot on Six-Thirty is heartbreaking. That dog really stole the show there.

Have you had any friends or family text you being like, “Thank you for making me sob, Lewis”?

My mom was like, “No more dying in movies, please. Can we stop?”

For the rest of the series, you appear in flashbacks. How did you wrap your head around playing a character that the audience knows has since passed away? Do you alter your performance in any way?

When I read it on the page I was like, Oh, this is easy. I just come in and comfort her. But I’m not exactly playing Calvin. I’m playing Elizabeth’s perception of what she would hope Calvin might do in that moment. When you lose somebody, you can’t help but try and fill in the blanks of how they might support you or respond to you or what questions you wish you could ask them and how they might answer it. And so in some ways, those scenes were less Calvin, and more trying to be a physicalization of Elizabeth’s grief and almost a hologram of what she predicts or she fantasizes about what he would be doing or saying.

Yeah, he’s almost a dream to her at that point.

Yeah, totally. I got a little too accurate on some of it because I would just come around the corner and console her and Mad, and I was like, Where am I coming from? What am I doing in my office? Was I doing work or did I have a ghost mask and I was just like, haunting the halls? That was something that was not on the page.

What was your favorite scene to play in the series?

I love the Christmas scene montage. Brie and I got to play and dance and try and bring to life to their relationship, the manifestation of their bliss. You’re also creating memories that you know Brie’s character is going to look back on, so the richer, the better. And that was such a fun, playful day.

My last question for you—it’s a very serious one: The outlet Decider called you a “mega dreamboat” in the show, and I’m wondering if you’d like to respond to that.

That’s such a high compliment. I didn’t know about that. A “mega dreamboat,” that’s a double whammy. That’s a high honor. I think there’s many others heads fit for that crown. I wouldn’t put myself on the list, but I’m honored to at least spend the rest of this afternoon pretending.

#2023 #lessons in chemistry #cosmopolitan

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rd0265667 · 2 years ago

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Danielle x Reader: Lightning and Thunder

A/N: Not gonna lie, this inspired by a bolt of lightning, and I share Danielle's fear of thunder, for the same reason she does. Make of that what you will

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon@justme-idle

Danielle was sunshine incarnate, the constant bright speck in an otherwise colourless world. So one would wonder, does Danielle harbour hate in her heart? Is that heart so pure and full of light like one would assume? Turns out, no, as she just revealed in an interview, she hated Thunder. But a cursory observation would avail you to the knowledge that she wasn't afraid of Thunder. So why does Danielle Marsh, Little Miss Sunshine, hate something like Thunder?

You always hated Thunder. The flash and snap and crackle and boom, it scared the life out of you. Made you go white. If it got bad enough, you'd have to hide, the panic and fear bubbling in you. That's why Danielle Marsh hated Thunder. She hated how Thunder made you feel, the fear she felt for you whenever a lightning bolt struck.

That's how the two of you met too. Danielle was strolling across the school corridor, her attempts to enjoy a nice walk in the school courtyard thwarted by the rain, the dew crashing on the ground in a deafening tune. As she skipped and hummed a tune played on her phone, she noticed a figure shivering under the table. Parts curious and Parts Worried, Danielle entered the room, seeing a bundled up figure, shaking and flinching whenever a flash of lightning shone through the sky, precipitating the thunder. Witnessing your guttural reaction to thunder, Danielle knew what was going on, quickly removing her earphones and placing it in your ears, making you now privy to her presence, looking up in awe at Danielle, the light shining behind her, an angel incarnate, sent from the heavens to save you. She offered you her hand with a smile that shone so bright that it lit up the dark room, a hand which you gratefully took, all the while left mesmerised, paralysed even, under her gaze. A short and curt introduction from you was quashed by the overwhelming enthusiasm and passion Danielle had in just her introduction.

Something about Danielle was magnetic, you couldn't explain it. You found yourself attracted to the Angel who saved you, Gamaliel protecting you from the attacks of Barbiel. Maybe it was the way she got you to open up, adopting the poor introverted kid and showing you around, introducing you to all her friends. Maybe it was the way she had the ability to make you happy just with her presence. Or maybe it was the way she'd jump in her seat when Lightning flashed, quickly turning to you and cupping your ears, holding you to help you stay calm. Your heart grew attached to the Aussie, like a lost puppy following a master, you grew famous amongst Danielle's friends as the +1 to Danielle, seeing one without the other was a statistical improbability. Though you wanted to tell her everything, how you felt about her, but you thought to yourself, this was how Danielle treats everyone, isn't it? Of course it wasn't, Danielle liked you ages ago. She wanted to confess, but curiously, her panache for human conversation seemed to slip through her fingers when she tried to approach the subject with you. It vexed her. Frustrated her that the skill that helped her through her life so far, failed her at this critical moment, when she needed it's help the most. She eventually mustered the courage to do it, sharing a nice ice cream with you as she did. It's a memory she still cherishes.

The two of you found yourselves laying on your bed, exhausted after one of Danielle's manic playing spree. "Do you think I'm shy?" Danielle suddenly asked, causing your head to swing toward hers, a look of curiosity and slight exasperation. Danielle Marsh? Shy? "Oh yeh Dani, I think you're super shy." You sarcastically quipped, Danielle chuckling at the intonations you would make when you mocked someone, a light push to your shoulder as she giggled. "It's like, I don't know, sometimes I want to say something and I just get nervous and I don't say it and it gets really frustrating because I want you to know that I like you but like I can't get to the point and I-" Danielle rambled on, the last few words catching your attention as you couldn't process what she had just said. "You want me to know what?" You tried to clarify, filled with disbelief that you had heard right. Now realising what she had said, Danielle grew red, turning away from you as she tried to find a way to weasel her way out of it, but there didn't seem to be a way. "I like you." Danielle quickly said again, before hiding her face in her hands, terrified about the repercussions she would have to endure should this go wrong. Just as you were about to reply, a ground shattering strike of thunder struck, Danielle's hands flying upward toward your ears covering them, trying to shield you from the noise, holding your face toward her, locking eyes with you to reassure you she was there. In the moment, you were unable to control yourself, and following the confession from Danielle, you crashed your lips into hers, shocking her as she let her hands off your ear. But in that moment, that magical moment, the thunder held no power over you, it's grasp on you loosening as you fell into Danielle's embrace, Danielle still in shock over your sudden action. "Does that mean the feeling is mutual?" Danielle asked as you chuckled "What do you think?"

There it is. Cut and dry. Fairytale ending. Danielle Marsh hated thunder because you did, and she wanted to protect you. That's all. Right? Disney would want you to think so. Danielle Marsh? Not so much

Danielle wished she could say that the relationship was happy through it all. For what its worth. it was. Even if it was only for a short while. The first months of bliss and happiness, a feeling not foreign to most couples. You both graduated from school, both uncertain about what the future would hold, but optimistic, driven toward a joint future, a happy future, together. After awhile, the two of you decided what you were going to do. Danielle wanted to be a Kpop artist, so she applied into SM Entertainment, successfully becoming a trainee. You on the other hand, decided to continue your studies, pursuing higher education geared towards becoming a doctor. Through the first 3 months of your relationship being rarely able to see each other, things were good. Danielle stayed in the SM dorms while you stayed at the hostel of your university. Danielle called you whenever she could have her phone, mostly at night as she'd talk to you to ease your mind, together with hers as well. What raised eyebrows around SM however, was seeing Danielle, regardless of fatigue or exhaustion, bolt up whenever thunder struck, scrambling to the trainers or anyone who would listen to lend her a phone, or allow her custody of her phone again. As the thunder struck, she'd call you, anxiously tapping her feet as the dial tone droned on monotonously, breath held till she heard your voice, reassuring her that you were okay, or allowing her melodious voice to calm you back down. It was magical.

Then, as the weights began stacking up on the glass pane Danielle painstakingly built, the glass began to crack. As Danielle continued her life as a trainee, things got more hectic, training went on for longer, dances got more tiring, vocal sessions more intense. It took everything out of Danielle, but she would crawl to her bed, exhausted beyond belief, but still pull her phone out, a smile on her face as she called you. Things weren't much easier for you. You had begun residency at a nearby hospital as part of a work study program offered by your university that you had foolishly thought yourself capable enough to cope with. Your daily routine became waking to go to work, then going to sleep, barely enough time to do the things that made you feel human. Your only reprieve from all that was your calls with Danielle. The light of your life.

Danielle always thought that you two would have worked, if you had worked for it Try as you two might though, the fatigue took a toll on your relationship, and Danielle wasn't able to do anything about it. It begins small. You miss a call from her while cramming for an exam, and don't bother to call back till she calls back. Then it slowly snowballs. You ignore her calls as you crash onto the bed, rolling your eyes at the notifications as the exhaustion sets in. Her voice memos telling you to rest and how much she loves you go unanswered, ignored by you. Danielle Marsh is capable of great love, and she directed it all toward you. A love any normal person, any good person would appreciate and reciprocate to the best of their abilities. It's a love you brush off to the side. Tunnel vision setting in, chasing your career in the medical field as Danielle's love begins to feel like nothing more than an afterthought. A tolerated love that deserved to be appreciated, celebrated. In Danielle's eyes, it was her fault. Her trying to begin a career as a Kpop Idol forced her to cut almost all contact with you, and it put a strain on her relationship with you. So she tried her best to mend it.

"Dani, this is insane, you can't possibly do this." Aeri whispered, looking about frantically down the corridor, hoping no guards noticed them "It's going to be fine unnie, don't worry." Danielle smiled back, clutching a small Tupperware of your favourite soup that she had squeezed out precious time to make. Worried after a few days of radio silence from you, Danielle devised a plan, sneaking out of the dorm to surprise you with some food in case you hadn't eaten, and maybe steal some moments together with you. It was foolproof. Or so she thought. The windows around the SM dorm were filled to the brim with trees, making it easy to climb out of the windows. What made it not as easy, however, were the thorns and pricks that made climbing it less than pleasant. Still, Danielle persevered, a little blood wasn't going to keep her from you. After much struggle, she finally arrived at your doorstep, taking a moment to compose herself before ringing your doorbell. Then again. And again, only to be met with silence. After some delay, the door finally opened, Danielle with a wide smile on her face as she was excited to see you after all this time. "Oh, it's you. Come in." You monotonously said, not sparing Danielle a second glance as you walked back to your work station. Danielle was slightly taken aback by the coldness, but she paid it no mind, skipping into the room as she saw you looking through some folders. Danielle laid on the couch behind you, beginning to talk and ask you about what had been going on, only to be met with stoic one word answers. You must be tired, and you must be angry at her for all the neglect, Danielle thought to herself. She wanted to make it up to you. Walking up to you, Danielle gently set the tupperware on your work desk, an action you barely registered, much less acknowledged. Danielle then tried to wrap her arms around you, but you quickly shrugged her hands away. "I'm busy." Was all you said, an icy tone adding to the pain your words caused Danielle. "Baby, is everything alright? Did I do something?" Danielle tried to clarify, ignoring the blood on her thigh now staining her pant leg. "Jesus, not everything is about you Danielle. Can't you see I'm busy? I'm here trying to get through this semester and here you are crying for attention like a spoiled brat. For fuck sakes Danielle, can you pull your head out of your ass just once and see that I'm far too busy to indulge in your wants, alright?" You lashed out, turning to stare down the stunned Danielle, not even a hint of remorse evident on your face. You turned back to your work, as tears welled up in Danielle's eyes, but she tried to hide it. In her mind, this was her fault, abandoning you to begin with for her career as a Kpop artist. "I'm sorry, I'll go." Danielle whispered, walking to the door. "Wait." You spoke, Danielle perking up as scenarios bolted through her head. Did you want her to stay? Did you notice her injuries? Were you going to apologise? "Yes baby?" "Take your soup."

Aeri laid uncomfortably on her bed, worrying about the safety of Danielle, her worries being temporarily alleviated as she saw the Australian girl slink back into the room, tupperware in hand, eyes puffy, legs bloodied. "Jesus, Dani, what happened?" Aeri asked as she quickly ran up to the girl, checking on the scratch wounds on the girls leg, but she only forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong Unnie, go to bed. We have an assessment tomorrow. Go rest up alright?" Danielle tried to reassure Aeri, but Aeri ignored the pleas of the clearly downtrodden Girl, pulling Danielle into her embrace as she slowly began to sob

Danielle should have left you, right then, right there. But how could she? She loved you too much to let what could be perceived as a bad day to let you go. You did eventually apologise for that outburst, though Danielle chose to ignore the lack of warmth behind your words. This carried on for months. Danielle would do all she could to spend time with you, efforts that worked to varying degrees, Danielle would try her hardest to make you happy, but it was ultimately for naught, and each time, it was almost identical, an attempt by Danielle, followed by an outburst, then an apology. The only difference Danielle ever noticed, was how the love behind each apology seemed to slowly dissipate, where you were just going through the motions. But the two of you could make this work. Right? Not unless someone did something. And Danielle soon did make a choice. One she would regret

Danielle stood in front of the elevator, hands slightly shivering as she brought along a suitcase. It was a tough goodbye, Aeri both disapproving of Danielle's choice, but also sad to see her go. It was going to be worth it, Danielle thought. She didn't want to be a Kpop idol if it was at the cost of her relationship with you, so she took a step toward mending the relationship. This was close to 2 years of her life, for naught, but for you, she would forsake two more years, and two years after that. Slightly trembling as she stepped out of the elevator, her eyebrows furrowed, thunderclouds beginning to form. Keeping it in the back of her mind, she went to ring the doorbell, which you answered after a short delay. "Good, you're here, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." You said, turning your back to her as she struggled to pull her suitcase into your apartment. "Yeah, me too." Danielle said, barely able to keep her excitement contained as she wondered how you would react to the news, the newfound freedom of having her again, turning the once fleeting stolen moments into everyday occurrences "Let's break up." you said, crossing your arms, sitting opposite Danielle. "What?" Danielle could barely stutter out, in disbelief at what she had just heard. "Let's break up Danielle." You repeated yourself, an astonishing lack of any emotion, any unease behind breaking up with your high school sweetheart. "No, wait, we can make this work. I'm not a trainee anymore, I can spend more time with you now. Please, we can make this work!" Danielle pleaded "What do you mean you're not a trainee anymore?" "I left the agency, for us." Danielle whispered, desperate to get back what she once had. "That's the problem Danielle. In the face of our careers, my career as a doctor, your once promising career as a K-pop idol. This takes precedence over some silly high school love." You said, turning around to grab a box, filled to the brim with the Danielle's stuff. Looking at the box, Danielle's tears welling up more, seeing the objects you had deemed useless. Danielle's letters, ones Danielle had packed with such love and adoration, such care and concern, still sealed shut. Small gifts Danielle had sent to you, untouched. In her distress, Danielle noticed lightning flash in the periphery, bolting forward to attempt to cover your ears, only for you to swipe her hands away. Danielle looked in shock as you stared at her unflinchingly, the primordial thunder that shook the earth having no effect on you. Falling to her knees, Danielle sobbed as she held the box for support, fist clenched as rage filled her body "You never loved me, did you?" Danielle whispered, looking you in the eye "Take your things and leave Danielle."

So that's the truth behind it all. Hidden behind a smile, Danielle lied about it all, saying she chose to leave SM for health issues, eventually joining HYBE as a trainee, debuting with NewJeans, only the girls in NewJeans privy to the real reason Danielle left SM. Even now, she lied, the host noticing her reaction to the lightning, then probing to find out why. A half lie, that Danielle Marsh hated thunder. It wasn't completely wrong. Danielle Marsh did hate thunder, she hated it because you hated it, and she hated the fear she would feel for you when thunder struck. She hated thunder because every time it crackled, Danielle would bolt up, a need to protect you bursting to the surface, only to remember that you didn't need her anymore. The day you made it clear, that she was not needed, that you didn't love her. That you never did. She hated the way she still felt the need to protect you. The way she still loved you.

The truth is, Danielle Marsh hated Thunder. But she hated you more.

#angst #rd0265667 #danielle #danielle x reader #marsh danielle x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans danielle #danielle fanfic #marsh danielle fanfic #new jeans marsh danielle fanfic #mo jihye #mo jihye x reader #mo jihye fanfic #danielle marsh

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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 9 months ago

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The Popular Kids

Season One Masterlist

Derailed

Bloody Hungry

Summary: Apparent Satantic rituals brings the team to a small town where a high school jock is killed and his girlfriend goes missing. Meanwhile Spencer starts having nightmares.

Warning: Death of teenager(s); Misunderstanding, Spencer drinking too much sugar, Zoe being a little mean to Spencer, Nightmares, Guilt, Schizophrenia statistics (not sure if they're totally correct); ADHD rant in the bottom notes; Talk of post-mortem C-sections

youtube

"I'd rather be a lone wolf than a popular sheep."

November 30, 2005

Spencer poured more sugar than usual in his morning coffee in his labeled coffee mug.

"Easy there, tough guy." Morgan teased, "Have some coffee with your sugar."

"I need something to wake me up." Spencer said.

"Ooh. Late night?

"Very."

"My man." Morgan praised.

"Not that kind of late night." Spencer blushed, being very much a virgin. Never having so much as kissed a girl and barely been on a date with one and increasingly falling in love with his best friend who is closed off to romance or normal relationships in general.

Morgan chuckled, pouring his own cup of coffee, "Okay, so tell me, what does keep young Doctor Reid awake at night?" Spencer drank his more sugary than usual coffee and turned around to watch Morgan tease him. "Wait, let me guess. Memorising some obscure textbook? No, no, no. Working on cold fusion. No, I got it, I got, I got it. Watching Star Trek and laughing at the physics mistakes."

"Actually, there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors." Spencer informed him.

"Right." Morgan said and went to leave.

"Hey, Morgan?" Spencer asked and Morgan turned around. "Do you ever have dreams?"

"I'm sorry?" Morgan asked.

"I guess, uh, nightmares would be a more accurate description." Spencer said.

"Is that what's keeping you up?" Morgan asked, his tone was now rarely serious from his concern for Spencer.

"I used to get them occasionally, but lately it's like I have them every night." Spencer confessed.

"What are they about?"

"This. What we do." Spencer replied and after a moment he asked, "Do you have nightmares?"

"Reid, I'm not sure if I'm the right person for you to talk to about this." Morgan said.

"Why not?" Spencer asked.

"It's just, uh... Did you ask Gideon about it?" Morgan asked.

"No." Spencer shook his head.

"You should."

"I'd normally ask Zoe but I think she's mad at me about something but I don't know what."

"Good luck with that." Morgan said, Zoe seemed to always be mad about something.

Spencer just gave him an unamused look and Elle interrupted the conversation, "Hey. Hotch wants everyone in the Round Table room." She looked between the two, the tension wasn't like it usually was with Morgan teasing Spencer and Spencer annoying him with facts Morgan deemed useless. "Something up with you two?"

"No." Spencer lied and turned to move to the round table room.

JJ entered with Hotch, Gideon, and Alexander on the other side of the room, "McAllister." She said, "Western slope of the Massanutten Mountain in Virginia. Two bodies discovered in the woods, both with apparent blunt trauma to the head."

"Skeletons?" Spencer asked.

"One of them." JJ said. "The second victim was just killed this morning.

"How do we know there's a connection?" Elle asked.

"Found about seventy-five feet apart with nearly identical head wounds." Hotch said.

"Where's the rest of the case file?" Morgan asked, picking up the thin file.

"There isn't one. The sheriffs are on the scene waiting for us."

"The location's only a half-hour away by plane. We're just waiting for Zoe to come in." JJ said.

Zoe entered, she had her purple helmet with small devil horns still on her head with the visor flipped up and her hair was messy from the short motorcycle ride.

"Zoe's been here." She said, she sounded annoyed to be called in on her day off.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Morgan asked.

"It's called a motorcycle, Grandma Morgan." She sassed. "Come on, get in your little scooter and let's go."

"What's the rush?" Morgan asked.

"Well, there was evidence on the scene that could cause a bit of public uproar." Hotch said.

"Satanic cult." Alexander said, "Your specialty, Zoe."

Zoe smiled but it was full of bitter sarcasm rather than actual mirth or even her usual deadpan sarcasm.

They started to disperse, except for Zoe who finally took her helmet off and was fixing her hair and Spencer who stared at her, while shifting his weight on his heels slightly as one does when extremely socially awkward and preparing to talk to their crush who was rather intimidating.

Morgan gave him a gentle push and went to speak to Gideon and Hotch.

Spencer took a few moments to gather his courage before going over to Zoe.

"About this specialty in Satanism?" Spencer asked Zoe.

"It's nothing." She said, coldly. "It's none of your business."

Spencer blinked at her tone, it was even colder than the tone she had been using towards him since the train incident.

"I just... I thought we were friends."

"We're work friends, Reid. There's a difference." She said and he flinched at her calling him by his surname.

She was peeved at the way he described Bryar as a "delusional psychotic", not being anywhere close to stable herself. She was so determined to find a reason to hate Spencer to push him away. Communication had never been her strong point.

"Oh." Spencer said, more hurt than he wanted to admit. "Well, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." He got up and walked to the other side of the plane.

———————————————————————————

Sir Peter Ustinov said, "Unfortunately, a superabundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares."

Hotch placed a photo in front of JJ as he addressed her, "JJ, we need to obviously keep this out of the press for as long as possible."

"I'll do what I can."

"Why is that so important?" Elle asked.

"There was a nationwide scare in the nineteen-eighties involving Satanic ritual killings and abuse. The 'Satanic Panic,' it was called. It began after the publication of a book about repressed memories being recovered through hypnotherapy. Memories of growing up with devil worshippers who used children in their rituals and ceremonies." Spencer explained, with not as much enthusiasm as usual.

"Most of the claims were later found to be false or just impossible." Zoe added, without looking up at her file.

"Still, numerous therapists accepted the assertions as true and began searching for similar signs in their own patients. After one year, thousands of people reported the exact same 'repressed' memories."

"But the Bureau conducted an investigation and concluded that most of the ritual killings or abuse were more urban legend than anything else." Alexander said.

"You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worshipping?" Elle asked.

Zoe had a sardonic snorting scoff sound.

"Not at all." Gideon said, ignoring Zoe. "But most of the Satanism we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries. To my knowledge, there's never been a proven case of a Satanic ritual killing in the United States."

"Well, maybe there is now." Morgan said, looking at the picture of the scene with the skeleton.

———————————————————————————

Gideon, Spencer, JJ, Zoe, and Alexander arrived at the scene. Zoe met quite a few Satanists in those eight months, now the cult that had formed around her hadn’t been explicitly Satanist, in fact, a large part of them were like so many UnSubs and twisting the word of God to suit their own agenda so much that it was essentially Satanism. But Zoe hadn’t gotten a lot of chances to see or at least, she had no memories of seeing anything.

There was a tilted pentagram and under it written into the tree with red was: Satan Lives LOD

"It does look like a ritual site." Alexander said.

"Eh." Zoe shrugged.

"What's that mean?" Alexander asked his daughter.

"There's... something off about it. I can't tell what though." She said, staring at the star.

"Morning! John Bridges." The sheriff introduced himself to JJ.

"Hi. Yeah, we spoke on the phone." JJ said, I'm Agent Jareau, this is Agent Gideon, Agent Noble, Doctor Reid, and Doctor Noble-Valdez with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Thanks for coming out so fast." Bridges said.

"Yeah, of course."

"There was an in-service in Charlottesville last year. Said if we ran into any unusual homicides we were supposed to call you folks." Bridges told them, "Sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, they were right." Gideon said.

"So, is this unusual enough?" Bridges asked.

"It certainly is interesting." Spencer said.

"You guys must get a lot of this, huh? Satanic stuff?" Bridges asked.

"Not really." Gideon said.

"Some more than others." Zoe said, she still hadn't looked away from the pentagram.

"What does that mean?" Spencer asked her but was ignored

"Who found the body?" Alexander asked.

"Hiker found the first one at the trail." Bridges replied, " "My deputies located this one while searching for evidence. Don't even know if it's a man or a woman." Bridges said and Zoe finally looked down at the skeleton where Spencer was using a stick to lift the clothing covering the pelvis.

"It's a man." Zoe and Spencer said.

"Male pelvis is more narrow and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped as opposed to oval." Spencer explained.

"I'd say this guy died about a year ago. He decayed much quicker due to the elements. Animals. Bugs." Zoe added.

Spencer poked the wax with the stick, "Melted wax?"

"Candle wax?"

"Candles are used in rituals." Spencer said.

"Also used on birthday cakes." Gideon said.

"Actually, they were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a Pagan ritual." Spencer said.

"What kind of doctor are you?" Bridges asked.

"He has three PhDs, he's kind of our go-to guy on... everything. I'm the medical doctor." Zoe said.

"Does 'L.O.D.' mean anything to you two?" Gideon asked Spencer and Zoe. Zoe was still staring at the star

"Mmm-mmm." Spencer said, "I don't know of any significance in Satanism either."

"Zoe?"

"Never heard of it before." She said

"Well, I'd have Garcia research this L.O.D. thing if I could get a call out." JJ said, trying to get a signal.

"Not much of a chance of that out here." Bridges said.

"Are there any cults in the area that you know about?" Alexander asked.

"Secret groups? People you see you don't know much about? People who stay to themselves mostly?" Gideon added.

"This is a very religious area. Church on Sundays, fellowship on Wednesday, Bible classes." Bridges said, "If there was a secret group I'd probably know about it.

"That's an inherent contradiction." Spencer chuckled.

"Excuse me?" Bridges asked.

"He means, if there was a group being secretive, you probably wouldn't know." Zoe clarified.

"Look, people out here just want a quiet place to raise their kids." Bridges said, "What I know is none of them are capable of doing this."

———————————————————————————

Zoe climbed up the steep hill with little problem while Gideon, Alexander, JJ, and Spencer struggled.

"Find anything interesting down there?" Hotch asked them.

"Yeah, it does look like some kind of ritual site." Gideon said, helping JJ up the hill and leaving Alexander and Spencer while Zoe helped Alexander and then Spencer with a somewhat steely look.

"Have any of you ever heard the expression 'Lod'? Or the acronym 'L.O.D.'?" Spencer asked.

Morgan shook his head and Elle said, "Not me."

Suddenly a woman started shouting, "Cherish? Cherish!" An officer stopped her, "Sheriff Bridges!" She shouted when she saw him.

"It's okay, Harris. Let her in." Bridges said.

"Was Adam Lloyd killed out here?" She asked, ducking under the police tape.

"Who told you that, Veronica?" He asked.

"Was he? My daughter was with him! They went out running together this morning." The woman cried, "Oh, my God, I can't find her. Cherish is missing! Cherish is missing! Help me, please!"

———————————————————————————

The officers took Veronica home once she had calmed down a little, as much as she could given the situation. Morgan and Elle had gone to scout the area.

Gideon approached the team, "We're looking for someone who can overpower a victim. Abduct a girl from a traveled path without being seen."

"Certainly fits with the cult theory." Spencer said, "More than one UnSub to control multiple victims."

"But if the attack were ferocious enough, a single UnSub could, too." Zoe pointed out, "Kill Adam and grab the girl while she's in shock.

Morgan and Elle came back, panting slightly.

"This is some rough country. We only went a quarter of a mile and we almost got lost." Elle said.

"The UnSub has to be from this area. You don't just stumble onto a place like this." Morgan said.

"JJ, where did the Sheriff go?" Gideon asked.

JJ looked up from her phone, still trying to get ahold of Garcia. "He's setting up a search party."

"Tell him we want him to use volunteers from the area. Locals." Gideon said.

"Do you want him to know why?" JJ asked.

"No, not yet."

"Is it wise to alienate him?" Hotch asked.

"Well, he thinks we're looking for a monster. If we tell him we're looking for volunteers so we can profile who shows up, he might call the whole thing off." Gideon pointed out.

Zoe, Alexander, and Spencer soon followed after JJ as Bridges was about to get into his car.

"Hey! Can we come with you guys?" Spencer asked, running oddly like he always did again, "I need to call Quantico and have them research that whole L.O.D. thing."

"I'd like to help spread word about the search party and maybe speak to some of Cherish's friends if they come?" Zoe said. She usually took her motorcycle but she left it at the police station. "I can also help make a geographic map of the area for the search party and assign certain clothing to make it easier to move through the area."

"Yeah, sure. Hop in." Bridges said.

———————————————————————————

They arrived at the police station and a man asked Bridges, "What's happened, John?"

"Reverend Paul Burke, this is..." Bridges stepped next to the man to look and introduce the agents. "I'm sorry, I forgot your names."

"I'm Agent Jareau. This is Agent Noble, Doctor Reid and Doctor Noble-Valdez." JJ introduced.

"Everyone calls me Zoe." Zoe said.

"They're with the FBI." Bridges said.

"FBI?" Burke asked. "It's true, then? Adam's dead?"

"Cherish Hanson is missing, too." Bridges said.

"Is there anything I can do?" Burke asked.

"Actually, yes. We're putting together a search party. Could you call the congregation?" Bridges asked.

"Of course. Of course, I'll go make some calls." Burke said and headed off to do so.

"Thanks, Reverend. This way." Bridges said and he escorted the four agents into

You can use any phone, Doctor Reid. Just dial nine to get an outside line. I've got an emergency phone list back here in my office." Bridges said and turned to Zoe, "I'll get you some maps, Doctor Noble-Valdez."

"Please, just Zoe, it's less wordy." Zoe said, "thank you."

Zoe took out her phone, finally able to get some service, checking to see if she missed any texts.

"Did you play ball?" Asked a voice and Zoe turned to see Spencer checking out a football.

Spencer let out a scoff-laugh at the idea of him ever playing football. "No."

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't have either if not for my father."

"Oh, yeah, I get that." Zoe joined in and she smiled, "Zoe Noble-Valdez."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Cory."

He turned to Spencer as he introduced himself. "Spencer Reid."

He looked at Cory's books, "Who's that, Nietzsche? 'Thus spake zarathustra' was rather antagonistic of the Judeo-Christian world view for this town, isn't it?"

"I don't think too many people here would've bothered to read it." Cory said, "if they had, they wouldn't have bothered to read it. Might as well be a Hawking essay on Quark Theory."

Both Spencer and Zoe got the reference and chuckled.

"Yeah, well people don't like to be told that heaven's not real or really debate the basis of good and evil or live up to his recommendations." She held out a finger with each view of the philosopher, "Own up the envy, don't be a Christian, never drink alcohol and God is dead. People like to live in bliss ignorance."

Cory was impressed and so was Spencer but he didn't show it, only with a slight smile.

"Hey, nobody's ever got that reference before or known really anything about Nietzsche."

“Yeah, well, when most kids were having their parents read them bedtime stories, my dad read me philosophy and grisly crime cases.” Zoe said and then she reconsidered. All three of her father figures (Alexander, Gideon and Rossi) had started out with normal bedtime story books, well for genius twins, they had only briefly done the thick children's books that were made of some kind of board so they wouldn’t be easily ripped by the pudgy hands of developing babies and children, before going to chapter books, the favorites being “Well, Uncle David did and I annoyed my dad into doing so.“

"Is my father around? The sheriff?"

"He's in his office with another agent." Spencer gestured the football in the direction behind his shoulder.

"Agent?" Cory asked.

"Yeah, we're with the FBI." Spencer said.

"The BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit." Zoe added.

"Profilers." He said, slightly surprised.

"Yep. Runs in my family. My dad's with your dad, he's a profiler too."

"This is mad cool. I got like a hundred questions I go..." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait, why would FBI profilers be here in McAllister?"

"There was a murder and a kidnapping outside of town on the mountain." Zoe said.

"A murder and a kidnapping?"

"It's Cherish, son." Bridges said from behind Spencer.

"Cherish Hanson?" Cory asked.

"We're putting together a search party. I need you to get the rest of the team together and meet us out at the trail about a half mile south of the Point."

"Yeah. Okay."

"Cory, do you mind if I ask you who Cherish's friends were?" Zoe stepped up to ask, "So I can inform them of the search party?"

———————————————————————————

Later Zoe departed in the group assigned to her and JJ and Alexander went back to the station to talk to Garcia about the background check on the volunteers.

"Man, this is one Peyton Place of a town. Most everyone lives well above the median income of the country. You have doctors, lawyers... One guy owns a bunch of shoe stores up and down the Eastern Seaboard." Garcia said.

"Is he married?" JJ chuckled.

"Yeah. Story of my life, sunshine. Reverend Paul Burke. Looks like he became born-again in prison."

"Prison?" JJ asked.

Reverend Burke was in Spencer's group.

"Yeah. Two years as the guest of State of Ohio for embezzlement."

"Inmates converting happens more often than you think. Zelena did a paper on it." Alexander said.

"I'm seeing a lot of tax sheltering and various hanky-panky here, but I'm not sure what would suggest potential Satanic cult members." Garcia said. "Hold on."

"What, you got something?" Alexander asked.

"Yeah, I got a guy with a ton of debt. Spotty work history. His house is in foreclosure. He's got a record, too. Assault with a deadly weapon three years ago."

"Wait, does it say what the weapon was?" Alexander asked.

"Baseball bat."

"Our UnSub used a blunt object." JJ said.

"Bats are blunt, aren't they?"

"What's this guy's name?" JJ asked.

"Dent. Henry Dent.

"Okay, here he is." JJ found him on the list. "Grid B-5." She looked on the map. "That puts him with... Zoe."

"I'm sorry, are you telling me that my daughter who was kidnapped by Satanists is with potentially the satanic murderer."

"Zoe was kidnapped by Satanists!?"

——————————————————————————

Zoe walked along the forest floor, she was wearing purple mid-calf hiking boots. She bent down to readjust the knife sheath hidden in her boot when Henry Dent approached Zoe and reached hand out.

"You all right?"

Zoe had sensed his presence and hadn't flinched.

"Yeah," She stood up, "I was readjusting my boot."

"My name's Henry." He smiled.

"Zoe." Zoe introduced. "Short for Xiomara."

"That's a different kind of name."

"It's Spanish. It means battle or inner beauty or most beautiful star in the universe. And my mom and her sister had ‘Z’ names.”

"You're with the FBI, right?"

"Yep. I know I seem young and well, I am, Doctor Reid and I, but we're geniuses."

"That must be exciting. Being in the FBI."

"Yeah, my mother and father were FBI, all my mom's side is in law enforcement, just about.” Yeah, the sides are criminals or in mental hospitals. “A legacy." Still she had a hint of pride in her tone.

"It's dangerous too."

"That's why I like it, that and the good I get to do."

"I mean, you have to go after killers and things. Bad guys. You ever have to shoot..."

"Hold on a minute, I see something." She said with her gloved hand took down a bloody letter and read it, 'Satan commands the virgin be sacrificed at the next full moon'."

"That's tonight, isn't it?" Henry asked and pointed at the red on the letter, "what's that?"

"Blood."

———————————————————————————

That was all they found from the search and went back to the police station. Spencer yawned, still a bit tired from the nightmares, as they prepared the profile.

"Tired?" Hotch asked.

"I'm fine." Spencer lied.

"We all get them sometimes." Hotch reassured him.

"Get what?" Spencer asked.

"Nightmares." Hotch said.

Spencer looked at him and then he glared a mistrustful look at Morgan who was on the phone and he looked back at the profile, his guards up and slightly embarrassed.

"It's not that bad." Spencer dismissed.

"If you want to talk about it, you know where I am." Hotch told him, patting his arm.

"They're ready." JJ said.

Hotch went to the front to address the room, "Contrary to popular belief, there has never been a proven case of Satanic ritual killing. Never a verified human sacrifice. Having said that, there have been isolated cases of animal sacrifice. And many, many cases of vandalism in the name of Satan."

"Now, that doesn't mean that ritual Satanism is impossible." Morgan said, "And, more importantly for our purposes, there have been cults that killed. Just not in ritual fashion."

"The Reverend Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple." Spencer said and he took Hotch's place in front of the room, "His followers killed a U.S. Congressman and three people before committing mass suicide, leaving over nine hundred people dead. And perhaps the most widely known of the killer cults, the Manson Family, under the direction of Charles Manson, killed nine people in a four-day period in an attempt to initiate a race war."

"Killer cults do exist. And they all have one thing in common." Elle said, "Invariably, they're headed by charismatic megalomaniacs."

"You're looking for that leader. He's who will stand out. He'll be memorable to somebody. People who aren't in his group will see him as strange, weird, scary." Spencer said.

Hotch stepped next to Spencer, "Since we're dealing with professed Satanists, which is often practiced by younger males, we may be looking for teenagers. Heavy metal music is often associated with Satanism, and these kids and their leader may reflect that in their look."

"Most likely there'll be sex, drugs and alcohol." Morgan said. "Now, the leader, he'll be older. It's part of his charm.

"And he is from this area." Hotch confirmed and Bridges looked up. "He's definitely local."

"These woods are too thick and confusing for a visitor to get around in." Elle explained.

"You think one of our own people is doing this?" Bridges asked.

"We're sure of it." Hotch confirmed.

"I would know if someone was capable..." Bridges said.

"Dad? I know somebody like that." Cory interrupted.

Bridges brought the team and Cory to his office for Cory to tell them who it was.

"His name is Mike Zizzo. He graduated about five years ago. He's in his twenties, but he still hangs out with high school kids. He's got a group of them. They follow him everywhere. They all get high and listen to heavy metal. He calls them 'The Lords of Destruction'."

"L.O.D." Spencer said.

"How do you know this, Cory?" Bridges asked his son, Cory hesitated, looking down, "It's all right, son."

"I've been there. Where they hang out. Drinking beers. He talks about Satan all the time. Says he's the one true God." Cory said.

"Where is this place?" Gideon asked.

"On the other side of the mountain. The old Jenson house." Cory said.

"It's out of my jurisdiction." Bridges said.

"Not ours." Zoe said, standing up, flipping her hair so it slapped Spencer in the face and waltzed out.

Alexander gave Spencer a look like, good luck with that, as he passed him.

———————————————————————————

Zoe insisted on going on the raid while Alexander argued the whole time. Gideon had seen a girl watching and passed on the raid to talk to her.

They pulled up to the place where loud heavy metal music played.

"Ugh, what is that noise?" Zoe groaned, covering her ears. Zoe was a fan of rock music but not this kind of music where it sounded like the singer was yelling rather than screaming.

The front door was unlocked and it seemed like this was more of a beads place. Morgan entered the room first shouting, "FBI! DON'T MOVE!"

"Chill out, man!" A girl shouted. She had a point.

"McAllister County Sheriff's Department." Bridges shouted.

"Where's Zizzo!?" Morgan grabbed someone, pointing his gun at him, "Where's Zizzo?"

"Morgan!" Zoe shouted, pushing his gun down, "Chill the hell out! Excuse me, where's Zizzo!?"

Someone pointed and Zoe moved past another beads thing and found Zizzo standing with his arms extended in front of a correctly painted pentagram. Zoe's first impression was that Zizzo did not scream maliciousness but more rebelliousness.

They arrested Zizzo and Zoe's eyes landed on the symbols drawn on the wall. she had no violent reaction until her eyes landed on an eye symbol. Flashes appeared behind her eyes and she shook her head, looking down. She breathed sharply and headed out of the house.

———————————————————————————

Zizzo was in the interrogation room with Hotch, Elle, Zoe, Alexander, and Bridges.

"Is someone going to tell me why I'm here or are we just going to play staring games all night?" Zizzo asked.

"This was found where Cherish Hanson went missing." Hotch said, take the baggie with the note out.

"No wonder everyone's all freaked out. McAllister's perfect debutante is in trouble." Zizzo snarked as Hotch slid it in front of him.

"Read the note." Elle said.

He sighed and picked it up and read it and he chuckled, softly.

"You think someone threatening to kill this girl is funny?" Hotch asked.

"No. I think someone calling Cherish Hanson a virgin is funny." He corrected.

"You a Satanist, Mike?" Bridges asked.

"Sure."

"You worship the devil?" Bridges asked.

"You even know what Satanism is?" Mike asked him.

"Educate us." Hotch said.

“The word Satan comes from ancient Hebrew. It just means 'opposer’ Satan opposes the hypocritical morals and dogma of the so-called Holy Church and its followers. If you grew up in this town with God shoved down your throat every day, you’d oppose it, too.” He said. He had a point, some Satanists didn’t even believe that the devil was an actual being but take on the title as an ideal choice when confronting Chruch versus State sides. Their religion is largely focused on secular humanism and hedonism. “It’s all hypocrisy. Do this, don’t do that, and all the time the adults are the ones screwing up. So basically, we’re just atheists. Aggressively atheist.”

Elle placed the photos of Adam's body, the skeleton, and the "Satan Lives L.O.D." down in front of him.

"How aggressive, Mike?" Elle asked.

Zoe examined his face, there was evident horror in his eyes at seeing the pictures of Adam's body and the Satanism of it.

"What the hell is this?" Zizzo asked.

"Why don't you tell us, Mike?" Hotch asked.

Zizzo looked up, looking properly scared, he looked around, realizing why he was there. "I've never seen this before."

"Pentagram, body, candles, L.O.D." Elle pointed as if that wasn't already obvious.

"Lords of Destruction." Bridges said.

"I've never seen this." He repeated.

"From where I stand, Mike, it looks like you signed it." Hotch said.

"Look, we draw stars upside down, get drunk and listen to metal." He insisted. "That's it. Okay? We don't kill people."

"This is your chance to make this right, Zizzo." Bridges said.

"You don't want to make it right." Zizzo snapped, " You want to blame someone who doesn't conform to your view of how people should act and think."

———————————————————————————

"I've got to give the Sheriff a report. I'll be back as soon as I can. You guys need anything?" Deputy Harris said to Morgan and Spencer who were watching by the house.

"Coffee would be nice." Spencer said.

"He takes about a quart of sugar in it." Morgan joked.

"Two teaspoons is fine.

"You got it."

"Uh, and Zoe—Doctor Noble-Valdez—should be coming soon. She'll take a hot chocolate if it's not too much trouble." Spencer said, even when she was upset with him, he was considerate towards her.

While some studies stated that sugar was bad for ADHD, the overall research is inconclusive. Despite society's popular belief sugar DOES NOT cause ADHD (neither does bad parenting or video games or any other the other things not supported by, you know, research). Also a lot of research for ADHD were on children rather than adults and many studies rely on information from questionnaires given to parents or caretakers of kids with ADHD rather than direct observation or interviews with kids with ADHD.

Zoe however seemed to feel that sugar helped her think, which made sense since sugar intake can increase norepinephrine or noradrenaline which people with ADHD tended to have a lesser amount of than those without ADHD (along with dopamine). Norepinephrine affects alertness, affective arousal (which is a state of being activated, feeling awake, and highly reactive to stimuli), and attention. Her personal preference was hot chocolate.

Then as Deputy Harris drove off, Spencer went to confront Morgan, "Morgan, you knew I didn't want you to tell Hotch about my nightmares."

"Reid, that's something they need to know about." Morgan said, calmly.

"What do you mean 'they'?" Spencer demanded.

"Hotch, Gideon, Alexander, and Zoe."

"You told Gideon, Mister Noble, and Zoe too!?"

"It's okay, kid."

"What if they think I can't do this job? What if they want to pull me off the team? Zoe's already pissed at me for something I have no idea about!"

"They won't." Morgan reassured him.

"Oh, yeah? How do you know that?" Spencer demanded.

"I just do."

"You had no right, man. I-I confided in you. This is—you know, this is exactly what I get when I trust someone. It gets thrown back in my face."

"Mine started six months after I got into the BAU." Morgan told him. "Yeah. Mine." He stepped to the car and leaned back on it. "We were working a strangler case in Montana. Four victims. Me? I was still pretty young at the time. So, you know, I was feeling myself. I was cocky. I was arrogant. The locals, they didn't have anything, so I stepped up. I said, 'I can nail down a profile for you just as soon as I get what I need'."

"More victims." Spencer knew.

"She was found the next day. So I went down to the scene to do my thing. And as I was looking over the body,that's when I saw them. Her eyes, Reid. They were wide-open. And there was something different about them. It was like they were looking right at me. Like she knew. I asked for a victim. Well, here she was. That's when they started for me. Night after night I would fall asleep and I would see those eyes. They were dead eyes, accusing eyes. And it got to the point where it was happening even when I wasn't asleep. Reid, everywhere I went, I saw those eyes."

"What did you do?" Spencer asked.

"Gideon. He knew. I didn't tell him. I was like you. I didn't want anybody to know. He just... He knew. And he sat me down and he... He just kind of talked me through it. I still have the nightmares to this day. Just not nearly as often. But when they come back I know how to handle them better."

"What did he say?"

"I think you need to talk to him first." Morgan said. It was silent for a moment before Morgan spoke in a teasing voice, "So lady trouble with Zoe, huh?"

"Shut up." Spencer groaned, throwing his head back as he blushed, furiously, "Zoe isn't... she's not my type."

"Uh, no, she's exactly your type. She's beautiful, she's a genius, she's funny." Morgan corrected. Spencer looked at him. "Not my type and she's literally told me she'd rather be 'serial killed' than date me."

"She's my boss' daughter, not only that, he's extremely overprotective of her. You saw how he was when she was held captive.”

"She's your best friend."

"Yeah, well I'm not hers. We're just work friends." Spencer said, sharply, "She told me so herself."

"Reid, how much do you know about women?" Spencer opened his mouth and Morgan interrupted, "not statistics but being around women."

"Practically nothing." Spencer said, bluntly.

"Word of advice, women are never direct. Especially Zoe. She's stubborn and traumatized and she thinks she’s cursed or something and runs from her feelings. Not only that she jumps out of windows to avoid them like fire. Alexander’s sworn she’s done that before. You just need to talk to her and break through that mean thing she does."

Some lights lit up the area and Zoe's MTT Y2K pulled up and she got off it, "So, any sign of her."

"What are you doing here?"

"Dad was being fussy." She said.

"Get anything out of Zizzo?" Morgan asked.

Zoe opened her mouth but then a green car pulled up.

It was Cory. "Did you find her? Cherish?"

"No."

"Did Zizzo say anthing?"

"Uh, just that he's more of an atheist. Satanism is more refusal to conform but I don't think he's the UnSub. But when he saw the photos, he looked genuinely horrified. I don't think he did it. It seems like someone's trying to frame him." Zoe replied.

"No. He is. He has to be." Cory said. He kept pacing around.

"Cory, calm down." Spencer said.

"How am I supposed to calm down? Cherish is missing. Did you check all over?" Cory asked.

"We searched the whole house." Spencer confirmed.

"There's not a lot to hide in there, there's only one door in the whole place." Zoe said.

"What about the outbuilding?" Cory asked.

"Outbuilding?" Morgan asked.

"Did you check the other area? Back in the woods?" Cory asked.

"No one told us there was another area." Zoe said.

Yeah, it's like a sluice structure or something." Cory said, "He took me there once. It's this way." And he started to move further into the woods and the three agents followed him.

"It's up here." They came upon a building that was far from structurely sound, "This is their secret place."

Morgan and Zoe shined their flashlights until Zoe's landed on the door, revealing another pentagram with "LOD" written under it.

"Guys." She said.

She looked at the others and they nodded. She stepped towards it

"Is it structurally sound?" Spencer asked.

"Uh," Zoe said and she bent to the side to look under the house and Spencer's cheek burned a little before she brought herself back up. "Doesn't look like it but I'm the lightest person here. I'll try not to be murdered."

She entered the building, the floorboards creaking under her weight.

"I can't believe this is happening. This kind of thing, it doesn't happen in McAllister." Cory said to Spencer.

"You said you read the profiling books. You know bad things happen anywhere. Anywhere at any time."

Zoe was engulfed in darkness but she didn't sense anyone in her surrounding and she was pretty good at that. Her flashlight hit the back of the room and lit up a pair of white running shoes, her light shone on the brown leggings attached to it until it hit the paled skin of a hand splattered with blood, another hand and arm, showing more blood and then her beam of light reached Cherish Hanson's face, her unseeing eyes, her neck splattered with blood, blood had trickled out of her house, and the source of the blood was a head wound.

"Morgan! Get in here!" She shouted.

When Morgan entered, Zoe was mchecking Cherish's pulse, not necessarily looking for a pulse but feeling her temperature.

Zoe exited the building, hesitantly behind Morgan.

"She in there? Is she alright?" Cory asked.

"Cory..." Spencer said.

"She's in there." Morgan said.

"Is she dead? She can't be dead."

"It wasn't Zizzo." Zoe said.

"What? Of course, it was." Cory said.

"A body takes twelve hours to feel cool to the touch after death and twenty-four hours to cool to its core. This body is barely cool. She's been dead for barley twelve hours and witnesses place Zizzo in his crackhouse passed out from the drugs and alcohol the night before" Zoe said.

"That's impossible. Maybe you're wrong. Shouldn't we get an actual medical examiner?" Cory insisted.

"I'm a medical doctor. I am an actual medical examiner." Zoe said, slightly offended and Cory, seeing the way she narrowed her eyes at him, backed off.

Morgan had walked past them, trying to call Hotch but getting no signal. "Reid, Zoe. I want you two to go to the house and see if the deputies have come back."

"What?"

"We need the Sheriff and the crime scene team here." Morgan said.

"But..."

"Reid. Do it. And fix whatever's goin' on between you two." Morgan said.

"Morgan!" Spencer hissed, blushing.

Zoe slowly turned away from the building, she had been staring at the star on the door.

———————————————————————————

Spencer and Zoe walked through the woods in relative silence. When Morgan told Zoe about Spencer's nightmares, she went over all she knew about Spencer and came to a conclusion she had overlooked the past week and realized she wasn't being fair to him.

"I'm sorry, you're having nightmares." She said.

"I didn't want Morgan to tell you."

"I know. You're stubborn and clearly scared of what your mind can conjure. And I'm sorry for acting like a bitch."

"I-I wouldn't call it that." He stammered.

"Yeah, you don't curse a lot or ever."

"Why? Why were you hating me?"

"I misunderstood you. When you called Bryar a delusional psychotic. I hate that term. I thought you were like Morgan. Morgan can be aggressive towards our UnSubs and a lot of them, it's not their fault. I thought that's how you see them... but there's a reason I can understand them so well."

"Zoe, you're not delusional or a psychotic."

"Yeah, you say that now." She looked down.

"Zoe, you can tell me anything." Spencer said, softly.

“Spence, did you know that babies can start dreaming as early as to up to two weeks? Studies say they can have nightmares as early as four to six months, but I know different. I was almost two months old when I started having them. The doctors said it was unlikely because they require an imagination and rational fear but… I was never like other babies. I was always more advanced and not always for the better. As genius as Zarah turned out to be, I was always described as being noticeably advanced beyond her. I would wake up screaming but after a while I realized I was bothering Zarah and Dad so I stopped, I think I was about five or six months old, again rather early for a baby to develop empathy. So when I’d wake up, I’d just lay there, silently crying but sometimes not so silently.”

“Do-do you know what the nightmares were?”

"Yes. I remember having nightmares of Mom. I had PTSD and I hadn’t even been born for the thing that traumatized me. I can still hear her voice from the womb, my memory of it. Not her last moments but her begging. Not for her to live but for me to. But one day when I was about eight months old, Gideon’s son had woke up Gideon and told him that I was crying and Gideon talked to me like I wasn’t a baby. Like I was just a person. He talked to me about my mom and whenever I would have a nightmare about my mom, I’d wake up or call Gideon, Rossi, or Dad… until I stopped.”

“Why’d you stop?”

Zoe hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Things happened that I couldn’t talk to people about. I could talk about it to Dad but he blames himself for what happened and besides, I don’t know what happened but it still traumatized me."

"I'm sorry. My nightmares they used to be occasionally, now I seem to have them every night."

"Yeah, but at least, you only see them when you're sleeping. I see mine even when I'm awake. Perks of having C-PTSD your whole life. Just because I don't remember what happened those five days when I was twelve, doesn't mean I don't have trauma for it and then I was missing for eight months and... the cult that formed around me, it... it wasn't strictly Satanic but their methods were very similar, brutality wise. There wasn't a leader like most cults, it was like a mix of all of them centered around me but they did do Satanic cult things, the bad kind, so it was categorized as it, based off my memory."

"Zoe... what happened?"

"Do you... do you know what a headbox is?"

"Oh God..." Spencer breathed.

Of course, he knew what a headbox was. Colleen Stan had been a twenty-year-old hitchhiker and the last victim of the couple Janice and Cameron Hooker—Cameron Hooker had been an unclassified killer, a ephebophile, and a serial rapist who kept Colleen as a sex slave for seven years keeping a twenty-pound headbox on her while Janice had mostly been an accomplice. "I rarely got to see the people, I only heard their voices and... it enhanced my other senses and I had to make a world in my head. You know, the memory technique, method of loci, the mind palace technique. I did that by imagining people to help me get through it. I filled in the blanks that my vision wasn't seeing. And it stuck with me just as much as the nightmares have."

Spencer got an idea of what she was hinting at. That she could see things. That she could see hallucinations as a possible a part of her PTSD.

“You know schizophrenia’s not as genetic as people think.” She said suddenly.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked. Did she know? How did she know?”

“Only six percent of children of schizophrenic parents develop it. And some research says there's only a ten to fifteen percent chance of them getting it despite others saying there's a ninety percent change because we just don't know enough about the inherence pattern."

“Why-why are you saying this?”

“No reason. I’m a doctor with trauma hallucinations and ADHD and cyclothymia. Who know why I could be talking about something or other?” She shrugged. "And can you do me a favor? One day will you tell me about your past?"

"I... Zoe..."

"I know. It's not easy but it's not easy for me to tell someone about my past. I'm here for you. Let me know that you know it. Talking about my sister, about Zarah's it's not easy but you make it a little better. A little easier. I have another best friend again, I didn't think I'd ever have that again and I’m not trying to replace Zarah with you, she's still alive, I know she is."

"I believe you." He said, softly.

"But you, I don't know, give me hope because she's as smart as you are and I know she can get through that hell..."

"You did."

"She's not me. I-I was weak. I am weak. I couldn't protect her."

"You're not weak. You're far from weak. You're the strongest person I know. It's not your job to protect her or me." Spencer said, "We protect each other, because we're a family. I know you've only really known me for eight months but... honestly, you're more family to me than my dad ever was. Can I ask you a question?"

She hummed in confirmation.

"Why… why did you feel the need to protect Zarah and do feel the need to protect me?”

“My mom was kidnapped by an axe-wielding maniac after she gave birth to Zarah but not to me. She wasn’t locked up or chained up or tied up. She could’ve gotten out but it would’ve risked my life. At the least, that’s the best we can predict. She died moments after my dad found her. I killed her.”

“No, Zoe…”

“Yes, I did. I killed her and they had to do a post-mortem c-section before I died in her body. I’m the reason Zarah and I don’t have a mother. The reason my dad’s alone. The reason he had to raise his perfectly normal if slightly ADHD eldest twin daughter and his rebellious little monster with ADHD and Cyclothymia who couldn’t sit still or listen or focus on one thing and heard hallucinations.”

“Zoe!” Spencer shouted, grasping her shoulders, “No. You did not kill her. She chose to do what any good mother should do. She chose to give her life for yours and… you help me too. I’ve never really had a best friend before, well, there was Ethan but he dropped out of the FBI academy, I’ve never had anyone be as smart as me. My whole life… being the smartest kid in the room is like being… being the only kid in class. Everyone just looks at you like you’re another species but not you. Even if you refuse to take any IQ tests, you remind me, I’m not alone. I’m not the only kid in the class anymore. I’m not fighting in the world by myself anymore.”

“You know, when I was a kid, no one understood me, Zarah didn't have it as bad. Her's was more the typical internal symptoms for girls with ADHD while mine was a bit external. Dad, I didn't want to bother him, I didn't want to distract him from helping someone who needed it more than me, he already brought us along to towns with rapists and murderers and kidnappers and that…that didn’t always end too well. My mom’s family… there’s some mental health history there but they either hate me for killing my mom, would kill anyone for making me think I was less than, criminals, worse off mentally-wise, or refuse to understand how much of a toll, ADHD and Cyclothymia has on me. I longed for someone who is as sympathetic and empathetic and understanding as you are, Spence. You... I feel as long as there's people like you in the world, Zarah will be all right, one day."

"And we're going to find her." He reassured, warmth spreading within him. "I..." He pulled out a small notebook, "I've been writing down everything I've learned about those guys who had you, I've been trying to find any signs of them through America, where Zarah is. I just learned today that brutality equal to Satanism was involved so... I'll cross-match that when we get back home... I-I... Zoe..."

Zoe was hugging him and he felt his heart pound and despite the cold November night air his face burned and he felt warm inside as he hugged back. Then she suddenly pulled back, looking down, looking a bit embarrassed.

"I-I'm sorry. Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one still looking." She suddenly looked up, "Mars is bright tonight." He didn't get the Harry Potter reference. "You need to read more fiction books. Zarah and I used to stargaze. I continued to do so after she..." She sighed.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"The pentagram's wrong again." Zoe said.

"What do you mean?"

"First of all, the pentagram was originally used in ancient China and Japan to symbolize the five elements of life: fire, Earth, metal, water, and wood as they were believed to have magical properties. Then Christians used it as a representation of the Star of Bethelhem which represented harmony, peace, and health. And now it represents Satanism and Pegan witchcraft, but no real Satanist would draw it this way. Uh, Zizzo, he referred to God being shoved down your throat in this town, and Neitzsche, he didn't believe in God, he was an actual atheist and so is Zizzo, that's why he has the pentagram in his house because he doesn't know it's not an actually Satanic symbol,”

"His works have been associated with Satanism due to his beliefs." Spencer recalled.

"Cory's been sort of, butting himself into this crime. He keeps being right. Could be too much of a coincidence. Cory did it. Come on."

Spencer and Zoe came back and saw the scene between Cory and Morgan.

"You also knew about Zizzo and the Satanism."

"I was only trying to help."

"Well, you did that. We couldn't have found this place without you

Spencer moved forwards to intercept before Zoe could stop him.

"Hey Morgan, no one's up there." Spencer said, coming back to the now tense and confrontational scene.

"Get over here!" Cory growled and pulled Spencer to him, holding a gun to his head.

"Reid! Reid!" Morgan cried out, taking out his gun and pointing it at Cory.

"Don't move!" Cory told Spencer.

"Cory!"

"This got all messed up." Cory stated the obvious.

"Don't be stupid." Morgan said calmly.

"She wasn't supposed to be with him. It was his run. He runs it every day, not her!" Cory shouted.

"Cory, listen to me. We can fix this. But you've got to let Reid go."

"I never meant to hurt her. But make no mistake I will shoot your boy right now." Cory said as Zoe slowly approached him with a dark predatory look in her eyes like a predator who took thrill in the chase and the kill on the hunt. Zoe's steps were silent, quiet as a ninja's.

"No, you won't."

Cory cocked the gun. "Tempt not a desperate man. Put the gun down!"

"Okay all right. You win." Morgan said, putting his hands in a surrender while still holding the gun.

"Drop it. Drop the gun!" Cory shouted.

"Ok. Ok. You win. I'm putting the gun down. " Derek said and he dropped his gun. "You're in control, Cory. Let him go."

"For the evil is man's best force. Man must become better and eviler." Spencer blurted out.

"What?" Cory asked, understandably confused as to why Spencer was quoting Nietzsche.

"That's what this is about, right? Zarathustra? The superman? There's no moral obligation for killing someone if you're superior to them? But Nietzsche was speaking metaphorically about evolving as a species. " Spencer said, distracting Cory.

"You're just a horny kid who wanted to get rid of the cheerleader's boyfriend." Morgan spat.

"No!" Cory shouted.

"Yes!" Morgan shouted.

"That was never my intent—" Cory shouted and Spencer pushed Cory's arm away from him to escape his grip.

Zoe grabbed Cory's arm, jerking it to the side, making the gun go off harmlessly into the woods, he pressed her pointer and middle finger against his wrist, making his grip loosen and she pulled the gun away from him and she threw it on the ground after clicking the saftey on, she twisted and circled his arm until it was locked behind his back as she kneed him in the groin from behind.

Apparently in the confusion, Morgan had accidentally tackled Spencer when he thought Cory almost escaped.

"You all right?" Morgan asked as Zoe handcuffed Cory's hands behind his back.

"What happened?" Spencer asked.

"Him bringing us down here was way too much of a coincidence." Morgan explained.

"No, I got that. I mean, why'd you tackle me?" Spencer asked.

———————————————————————————

Playwright Eugène Ionesco said, "Ideologies separate us, dreams and anguish bring us together."

On the jet, Zoe was curled up in a double seat next to the window with The Handmaid's Tale open on her chest. Spencer looked at her as she slept in an observational fashion but not in a creepy way but like he was wondering if he could ever get the full story on her past or if she'd always be a puzzle to him while Gideon sat across from him.

He took out his wallet and got Spencer's attention, "Reid." He showed Spencer a picture of a blonde woman with her family. "Deborah Louise Addison. Her husband, Tim. The kids are Amber and Keith. Eight and six. 1985, Deborah Louise was walking home from school, she was abducted. She was thirteen. We profiled the UnSub and we were able to locate her before he harmed her. She writes a letter to the BAU every year. She updates us on her life."

"That's nice, but..." Spencer trailed off, still confused.

"We all have bad dreams. Everyone on the plane. Who wouldn't? We hunt the worst of humanity, we see the depths of depravity. We dream of monsters..."

"In my dream, there's a baby in the middle of a circle and there's someone on the other side and I can't get to her before I..." Spencer trailed off.

"Every night I look at Deborah. Helps me. Helps me go to sleep thinking of the victims we've saved. Don't always beat the monsters to the babies, but we do enough to make the job worth it. Keep the nightmares bearable." Gideon said.

Spencer smiled, appreciatively. "Can I ask you a personal question? Zoe said she had been having nightmares since she was two months old and you somehow got her through it. How?"

"Zoe was always an intelligent child. She always looked like she knew what we were saying. She said her first word when she was six months old. By the time she was a year old, she had the cognitive understanding of an eight-year-old. My boy, Stephen, is just a year and a half older than her and would sleep in the same room as the twins in the early days. One day he told me that Zoe was having trouble sleeping that she would cry silently as opposed to her screaming so one night I was working a case when I went to check on them. She was crying but silently. I took her out and she was calling for her mama. That's when I knew she remembered. Her intelligence and memory has often been a curse on her, she wanted to help too young, made her first profile when she was three, but this was perhaps the worst one. So I just talked to her about her mom. All the wonderful things Zelena did. How she, while six-months pregnant took down the UnSub who kidnapped Deborah, and comforted her all the way back to the BAU where she was reunited with her parents. All the good memories I had about her mother to help replace the bad one she had. She's very much her mother's daughter. So was Zarah. Zelena had a way of seeing the good in everyone, Zoe's hardened over the years but she still has that."

———————————————————————————

*I posted this but while it doesn't seem this series is very popular (I write it because I enjoy it and have had this idea for almost as long as I've been watching Criminal Minds which is like over a year) no one seemed to be liking this one and when I brought it up the first time, it said there was an error while when I X'ed out and brought it back up again, it did bring it up, I wasn't sure if it was for everyone else, so I decided to delete it, edit it a little and then repost it. I haven't posted the past few days because I've been copying and pasting my written episodes of the rest of season one and the first episode of season two (since it was part of the season one finale two-parter) and I took all of yesterday to write an original scene between Zoe and Spence because I was originally going to have it be sooner but I changed my mind, which I'll explain when we get to the episode I was going to have it in.*

*There is no evidence that sugar directly influences ADHD, I've never believed that sugar was bad for ADHD, even I was a child. (I've had ADHD since I was three but technically I wasn't diagnosed until I was five, back then they couldn't test until you were five... ugh, that makes me sound so old) ADHD is also not caused by bad parenting, while I didn't have the best parenting. My dad was the one with ADHD and he was... neglectful... I mean before I was two years old I had to get stitches in my head twice because he wasn't paying attention (once in the bottom on my lip because I fell out of my crib because I was reaching for the light switch and he kept pushing the crib away even though my mom told him not to, and I climbed out of my playpen while my mom was getting ready for work and my dad wouldn't get out of bed and I had to get stitches in my head) and also I locked myself in the dryer when I was like eight (I was trying to do that Scooby-Doo hiding thing and didn't realize that when you close a dryer door it locks... my mom didn't find out for ten more years when I causally mentioned, I just assumed she knew). This not the cause of my ADHD, despite ADHD being one of the most common disorders in the world, perhaps second to Dyslexia, it is not researched enough (Dyslexia is not researched enough either. What are doctor-scientists doing all the time? What do you call that? Google says a psychologist but that seems more like people who diagnose disorders not actively research them?) Playing video games also not does cause ADHD, that is very stupid. I didn't play many video games, growing up, mostly at my dad's place until I was around nine or ten and we got a Wii at my mom. My mom didn't like video games because my half-brother never played them until my dad got him into them and she seems to not like things that he did out of principle (Like XBox or video games or Bluetooth ear pieces). The real cause of ADHD is unknown but research suggests that it's likely a combination of genetics and environmental factors. Children with a parent or siblings with ADHD have an increased chance of developing it (my dad has ADHD). Problems with the central nervous system during development may also play a role as ADHD kids have lower levels of dopamine and lower brain metabolism is area that control attention, movement, and social judgement. Now for the environmental factors, it's NOT BAD PARENTING. That is stupid and sounds like an excuse that other parents say just to gossip. These factors include: exposure to lead as a child (I'm not sure what that has to do with anything though), brain injuries (early brain can be a cause, not the cause but one of the possible causes), low birth weight, smoking/alcohol/drug use during pregnancy (my dad was the only one who ever smoked, my mom doesn't drink alcohol now or ever in my memory, I'm almost twenty-four—ugh—and I've never drank, smoked, or done drugs, even if I wanted to which I don't, I have no possible way of getting my hands on any), and being born prematurely (I was supposed to be born on November 14th but due to something which my mom blames on the doctor, they didn't an C-section on Halloween, but I was completely fine, there was no complications other than the C-section and this way my birthday is on Halloween—yes, that's why Zoe's birthday is on Halloween but is there a cooler day to be born on?). But genetics are considered to be the primary cause, according to Google, genetics are likely responsible for up to 75% of ADHD cases

I know a lot of this is "kids with ADHD" but if you look it up, most ADHD research seems to be towards kids, which is odd because ADHD when you're a kid versus when you're an adult is different, I'm not sure if whatever scientist studies ADHD think that studying ADHD in kids is more important than in adults or something, but it's just odd and it kind of enforces the neurotypical belief that only kids have ADHD. Or maybe, it's like with me, I have a hard time describing my ADHD because I don't know what it's like not to have ADHD. I've had it basically my whole life, so ADHD is my normal while it's not normal to other people. The only reason I know these lesser-known things about ADHD is because I do research and I think a lot and because of my ADHD, I think in ways that other people don't but at the same time I am oblivious to what is obvious to other people. This is why I love Spener Reid so much, he has a very neurodivergent way of him, perhaps it's his autism or slightly schizophrenic nature or even because his character grew up with a schizophrenic mother, but I always love characters like him that make me feel like I'm not so alone.*

Link I used info from in ADHD info dump in story: The Link Between Sugar and ADHD

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