#one that is uh…not always scientifically sound too

[darkwood-sleddog]

Bro I did NOT just see a dog trainer compare using an e-collar to correct a dog for dog aggression behaviors to fucking Veterinary care. The “balanced” people are off their mf rockers.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

THE BOY IS MINE ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ ariana grande — the boy is mine ♩

pairing: mayor!rafe x catwoman!reader.

cw: supernatural abilities, hybrid!reader, a whip, leather, violence, drugging, sexual content, dubious consent.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day one.

mayor rafe cameron was a fascination.

he had a way of captivating an audience, without necessarily being smooth speaking and self assured. there was something… off about him. confident in himself, dare you even say arrogant — but with each press conference his eyes dart around, pupils enlarged, tongue poking out to lick his lips and he would often grow passionate and jump over his words. each night when you’d tune into his speeches on the television, claw grazing the static of the screen you would wonder — how could someone so untouchable seem so… human?

“and uh, to target this rat infestation across the city… we will be releasing the stray cats.” he speaks into the podium microphone, illuminated by the flashes of the paparazzi and press.

“yes, you will.” you whisper, face so close to the screen you could hear the buzzing of the electrics. he was just perfect.

you’d always figured ‘love potions’ were a little phony. how could a feeling induced by oxytocin and noroadrenaline be replicated with a drug? how could it replace the feeling of first locking eyes, or the warm tingling feeling in your stomach when you hear their laugh? desperation costed you sleepless nights in your apartment, failed scientific concoctions upon failed scientific concoctions until you reached a breakthrough. perhaps it wasn’t to be so phony after all, but you had one perfectly crafted dose — and there was only one way to find out.

you don’t like to waste time, so the next thing you know you’re standing in the pouring rain, suited up in skintight black, feeling free. you’d let your true self take its form, fangs glimmering in the city lights and twitching ears perfectly cupped by your suit hood. what was the point in hiding? if all went to plan, rafe cameron would love you for you.

leaping across the skyline, you travel to what can only be described as the most luxurious penthouse in new york city — the perfect place for the man of your dreams to rest his head. you figured it would be harder to find his address, but for someone who could create a love potion from scratch — it was child’s play. you wondered if you could see this place being your home too, resting your head on the pillow beside him, perhaps curling up on the windowsill.

the large window looking into his warmly lit apartment allows you perfect access. your heart pounds so fast with excitement that you think you might pass out as you squat over the view, large pupils darting about the room until they fall onto him. the mayor, in the flesh, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

he wouldn’t think to look up and see you there, watching him. of course not — what human being would be able to scale a building just to gaze through his window? he should have been perfectly safe.

should have been. it was a good thing you weren’t human. not fully, anyways.

you gaze over him as he goes about his nightly business, blazer removed and top button undone now as he looks over papers and sips at his drink. you take a moment to groom yourself, tongue rolling over the back of your knuckles to lay down the fur on the back of your ears over your hood out of habit as you practically salivate over him. rafe cameron was even more gorgeous in person, especially candidly, more relaxed, when he thought no one was watching.

he wanders off to the bathroom, and you take your opportunity, slithering in through the window he’d left open. he always did like the sound of the pouring rain, there wasn’t so much of that back in the outerbanks, where he was originally from (according to his wikipedia page, anyway.)

it had been a rough day for rafe, dropping his glass down on the sink counter as he leans against it — staring down his visage in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. he wasn’t always sure if he was cut out for mayor. really, releasing the stray cats to tackle the rat infestation problem? there was a myriad of reasons that could potentially create more problems, bring disease and an even dirtier appearance to new york city — but he was lost on what to do. times like this, he wondered if this was what he truly wanted to do rather than what he knows his father wished for him.

he cups his hands beneath the running water, leaning down to flush his face with the cool liquid. another problem for another day, he decides. for now, he could clear his racing mind with none other than the beloved white powder he told himself he was quitting. who cares, today was a special occasion.

rafe stands up straight, and before he can bother to fix his messy curtain bangs, now a mess and haphazardly stuck to his wet forehead — he could have sworn he’d seen a dark black mass lurking by the doorway. it disappears as quickly as he’d spied it, and he blinks the droplets out his eyes as he stares through the mirror. he couldn’t tell you what he saw, its appearance too quick for him to comprehend — but it had unmistakably existed.

“hey…” he drawls, wiping his dripping chin with the back of his wrist as he edges towards the door. one footstep, another, he continually creeps through the hallway until he’s back to his large, luxurious bedroom — now the scene at which you sit, ever so casually on his bed. just… smiling. “wh— who the hell are you, huh?” his voice trembles. he’s even more gorgeous close up.

“you shouldn’t leave your window open, mayor cameron. might let in a stray.” you practically pur,

he looked like his soul left his body. you expected that, expected some pushback — it’s why you had the dosage ready, the syringe of abnormal pink potion sucked up and ready to deploy into his delectable veins.

“alright look, i’ve got security armed to the god damn teeth downstairs okay so — so i suggest you get the hell out.” he licks his lips, irritation that you’d even try to invade his space crawling up the back of his neck in a wave of frightened heat. your clawed hand curls around the whip tucked into your side, tilting your head with a mischievous smile. he’s too busy taking in… you to notice, and just as he does you take action — cracking it right at him, the leather coil curling forcefully around his ankle and with a yank, he’s falling.

“jesus— the hell do you want?” he hollers as you drag him closer, closer. you’re walking to meet him halfway now and his eyes just won’t leave you. everything about you is so feline, down to the way you walk— hips practically rolling in a hypnotising fashion side to side. if he wasn’t so frightened, well — he just might fall in love organically.

“c’mon mr mayor cameron, be nice t’me. i wanna play.” you pout, and his struggles stop in awe once you lower himself over him to straddle him, his big body encased by your leather clad thighs. in all honesty, he was too confused and entranced to fight harder. rafe always had that weak spot with women. “hands by your sides or i’ll slice you open, handsome.”

he reluctantly does as you say, but when you present the syringe, he starts to struggle again — so you tighten your legs around him. “hey, hey— wh—what is that?” he raises his voice and you furrow your brows, a clawed finger pressing to his lips, surprisingly silencing him.

“shhhhh, shhhh.” you hush, before your finger slides down to his chin, grazing the skin with your claw. it slides lower and he daren’t move now, the extension of you so sharp that he fears it could slit him if he wasn’t careful.

“think you’re gonna get away with this, huh? breaking in like this?” as your claw slides directly down to his chest you smile, so casually — not a care in the world. you rip his shirt open, buttons clattering against smooth wooden flooring and his eyes widen, just so you can access the skin over the hard planes of his chest.

“you wouldn’t turn me in.” you tell him confidently, and he actually huffs out a laugh of disbelief, jaw tense and eyes wild.

“oh i wouldn’t huh? alright uh— and why the hell not? who the hell are you?”

you pierce his skin with the needle and his jaw drops, injecting the potion directly into his heart.

“the love of your life.”

rafe cameron’s eyes flutter shut, and it’s only a few hours later when he comes to— laying in the centre of his bed.

“hu—huh wait uh—” he croaks the second his eyes flutter open, only to be silenced by a claw over his flushed lips just like before. it was dark now, all artificial lights cut — you always preferred the light of the moon anyway. his eyes hadn’t adjusted and yet he knew it was you, felt your familiarity, your warmth all around. he pants, and you shush him.

“shhhhh, shh shh shh.” its like dragging your fingernail along velvet — soft, addictive, feeling each tiny feathery bristle caress the vulnerable skin beneath your nail. he stares, wide eyed and parted lipped, somewhat aware of the fact his hair is a mess. he doesn’t care to fix it.

you’re straddling him, all of your body weight and yet somehow you’re feather light — knees pointed upwards, the leather of your suit glowing and catching the light.

“you’re finally awake.” you hum, a vibration behind your voice, a true purr — like the hum of an engine. something below ignites, his crotch heats.

he’s overly aware of the fact he doesn’t mind you there, wishing nothing but to observe you for the moment. you lean back, bone coloured claw hooking into the zip at your neck as you drag it down, lower and lower — revealing the glow of soft skin beneath. rafe can’t look away, you’re like nothing he’s ever seen before. you’re beautiful. you’re… beautiful? the woman who trespassed onto his property? he urges himself, with everything in him to fight — and suddenly he’s catching you off guard, gripping your neck and flipping you onto your back.

you seem taken aback, a break in the confident routine as you blink up at him, the colour of your eye no longer visible, overtaken by inky black pupil. as your back hits the mattress, your plush tits bounce with the movement, now nearly completely exposed by your unzipped catsuit, cool metal zip below your belly button. at the sight of this, rafe winces — overcome by his desires and can’t help but press his erection harshly against the mound between your legs.

“the hell is goin’ on, alright — who — what did you do?” he emphasises with a hard squeeze to your neck making your eyes flutter, and yet your smile — all curled and deranged and your canines glimmer in the low light, the purring sound only getting louder.

“dont fight it, mr cameron. just do what feels good.” it comes out strained from the way he’s squeezing your neck and he lets go, sitting up on his knees but making no move to leave. dragging a hand down his jaw, he results back to staring. “cat got your tongue?” you whisper, sweetly amused. he licks his lips instinctually, moving to choke you again, stop you, but his hand rests there lightly — the two of you locking eyes. angrily, he leans down and kisses you, wet and sloppy.

you take the opportunity to lock your legs back round his waist and flip him back onto his back, grinding your crotch down onto his, making him groan.

“thats better, can’t have you trying to kill me again.” you tease before pushing his ripped shirt open to touch his skin. he winces, irritated and overwhelmed when you drag claws down his chest hard enough to leave chemtrails of pink skin down the muscled planes.

“yeah? thought you cats had nine lives?” he grumbles, gripping your hips and grinding you harder on his lap, causing you to mewl — digging your mouth into his shoulder and sinking his teeth in. “jesus— okay.” he squirms, unsure if you bit hard enough to draw blood.

he decided he didn’t care if you did. what was he so mad about again anyway?

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[harrywavycurly]

What You Deserve Part 10: It Counts

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies @marshmallowgem @ang3lc @angelina16torres-blog @transparentenemypenguin @alilstressyandlotdepressy @josephquinnsfreckles

A/N: I know y’all will enjoy this one and I’m very happy with the progress you and Eddie are making in this whole situation you two have got going on✨

“Did you have a good time tonight?” “Of course…I always have a good time with you..but you know you don’t always have to bring me flowers right?” “Well that’s the thing…I figured you’d eventually mention which ones you like the best and I’d just get you those but…you say every single bouquet I get you is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen so…I can’t stop until I find your favorite…” “you could just ask me what my favorite flower is?” “Where’s the fun in that?” “Well don’t let me ruin your fun then…but these…these are top three for sure.” “Really? Okay…tulips are in the top three…I’ll remember that.” “So…uhm do you want to come…uh inside?” “Right now?” “Uh yeah? Only if you want? I don’t-” “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to sound like I don’t want to…I just have an early morning-” “it’s okay…I get it…uhm can..can I ask you something?” “Of course…what’s on your mind sweetheart?” “Do you find me attractive?” “Excuse me?” ��Like…do you…think I’m cute?” “Cute?” “Yes?…” “No…cute is for jr high school crushes…you’re beautiful.” “Oh..uhm thank..you.” “I’m sorry I clearly don’t make that known to you enough…I’ll work on that.” “You don’t have to uh tell me I’m like…beautiful all the time it’s..okay but uhm so…if you think I’m…pretty or uh whatever…how come you…haven’t tried…anything?” “Tried anything?….oh…ohhhh right…well I just didn’t know that was something you wanted from me?” “I just assumed it was part of the…arrangement?” “And if it wasn’t? Would that…change things for you?” “No no it wouldn’t change anything I was just wondering if that’s something…uh…you wanted…out of this?” “Sweetheart you should know me well enough by now to at least know out of all of this I just want to make you happy…you just have to help me learn how.” “But would…that…kind of stuff…make you happy too?” “Uh..yes.” “Why’d you hesitate?…you hesitated with the yes.” “I didn’t want to seem too eager but yes…I wouldn’t mind that kind of stuff being added to our…relationship but please understand I do not want you to do anything that will make you feel uncountable or that you’ll regret okay?” “Okay…I understand.” “Good.” “We can take it slow…like you hold my hand a lot now so maybe we can uhm…like kiss? Sometimes? Maybe?” “Are you trying to ask me to kiss you?” “Yes…does it count as our first kiss if I had to ask for it?” “I’ll let you decide after we kiss how does that sound?” “Sounds-” “Sorry you just kept biting your lip and-” “it counts…that totally counts…holy shit.” “It was good then?” “Shut up you know it was good you did that hand thing.” “Hand thing?” “Yeah you grabbed my whole face with your big…nice..warm man hands and kissed me…I need to go take a shower…can I get one more? For scientific purposes?” “Well yeah…anything for science.” “God how do you just…kiss people like that?…you’re so not fucking real…” “goodnight sweetheart…I had a great time tonight.” “Goodnight Eddie…text me when you get home please.” “I will.” “See you tomorrow?” “Sure I’ll stop by the Video store and bring you some lunch.” “Perfect.” “You want another one don’t you?” “No…maybe?…yes..” “last one then you’re going inside and getting ready for bed.” “Wait till I tell Steven how good of a kisser you are.” “Goodnight baby…” “goodnight Eddie.”

[tuliptired]

hi! could you write anymore little looks at a humanities ta!reader x egon in college?

Do Wah Diddy Diddy

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Reader is drunk for most of it

The egon/reader tag is so barren ;( Why nobody else dressed like a slut tonight?

INSANELY better formatting on Ao3!

 Egon left his lab, surprisingly, stressed. His major didn´t often stretch him too thin, he knew what he was doing and how to do it best, but it was just that time of year. Lots of work, and not a lot of time to do it. He always managed, with lots of coffee and little sleep, it was just a fact of academia.

The outside world reflected the inside ecosystem of his fellow students, buzzing with life and blazingly hot. Plagued by the heated air trying to cling to the classroom, you cracked a few windows open as you taught in place of the absent professor. This wasn't out of the ordinary- the man trusted you enough to run a class, and you ran it like a natural, admittedly. But today was a little strained, your daily seminar not getting to the level of intensity it usually did. Egon would’ve made a comment on it as he got the last word in, but he decided against it. While you were a TA, there was more emphasis on the “A” in times like these, evident in how you scoured through notes for other classes when you had a spare minute.

They worked independently, before you lifted your head out of a notebook, one of many fans blowing some of your hair off of your forehead. You glanced at the clock, before quickly setting up a projector and unboxing a handful of identical, thick books.

“Big assignment,” you started, a few complaints sounding from the students, “it wasn’t even me this time, blame Mr. Coulms.” 

He left the lecture room in a worse mood than he entered it, the thick tome under his arm. A play. He was a great reader- he could read each edition of Tobin's Spirit guide cover to cover in an hour if he was looking to cite something. Scientific journals were light entertainment to him. But plays? You actually had to dissect a play. To dissect it, you had to read it- well. 

He leaned against a bookcase, in the not-leaning-but-leaning way that he does, so as not to disturb the books. He would be searching for something like Ray was, crouched on the ground and investigating the bottom shelf, but he wasn’t in the mood, glaring at the text he was given before placing it on an empty shelf beside him. 

They were tucked away in the basement of the Public Library- it was one of the few places that they could ask for books about harnessing pure protonic energy and campfire stories of the 30’s without being looked at weird. Peter messed with the straps of his bag, ready to go and saying so for the 3rd time.

“In a minute, Peter.” Ray placed a few books next to him, searching for the right one that happened to be inconveniently smaller than the one’s surrounding it. He looked up at Egon sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, Spengs. But I did this one in high school, and it was a lot of fun!” His optimism was cut short as the rest of the books along the wood fall towards the middle like dominos. 

“It won’t be hard, Egon. Do the voices.’ Peter procured a rubix cube from his bag. Egon seriously didn’t know why he carried it around, as it was never once solved.

Ray fumbled with the books as he tried to Dewey-Decimal their placements in his head. “I’ll help. Just, uh…” He looked around at the mess he made. “Can you look around for ‘Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian’? We’re gonna need it, too.” Egon only nodded, eager to clear his head a bit. He remembered the author well enough, weaving through aisles to find the proper section. 

He didn’t make it far, there was a reshelving cart in his way, his feet coming to a halt. As he looked up from the roller, you were standing there, hands on your hips. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re studying very hard.”

He sighed a puff of air out his nose, as you peered over his shoulder. You saw two men on the ground, grabbing handfuls of discarded books. “And your friends are messing up my hard work.”

He glanced back at the men, then back at you. “Is there anywhere you don’t work?” He didn’t intend to be in a confrontational mood this afternoon, but a bad class will do that to you.

You pointed to a pin on your chest, which read your name in small print under ‘BOOKKEEPER’.

 “Nope. How many people do you know have a gold plated name tag?”

“Waste collectors and prison guards.”

“Did you need a book? Because you’re in the library?”

He had his hands resting on the handle of the cart, not noticing until you dragged it to the side, taking away the partition between you. “Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian by Gregory Lederer.” He expected you to not know what he was talking about, and stand there dumbfounded. But you pushed past him, making your way to the “L” aisle of the General Knowledge section.

Your eyes scanned the spines of various options. “I don’t remember this play taking place in Appalachia,” you moved on to the next row. He followed you like a dog, unsure of what to do while you helped him.

“It’s personal. Scientific.” 

“The title’s a little oxymoronic, then, no?” You finally found it, examining the covers quizzically.

As he reached out for the book, you pulled your hand back. Egon wanted to be annoyed, but it wasn’t in him.

“Actually read the play. Do the voices.” Your own voice had the tone of someone trying to reason with a child. He reached his hand out, again, and you placed the book into his palm, conceding. 

Though you had a modest smile, Egon couldn’t help notice your tired look, under eyes darkening despite your efforts otherwise. He could understand, this was a hard time for everyone, no matter their field. Before he could show you his commiseration, against his better judgment, you let the book go limp in his grasp, passing by him with a small “see you, Mr. Spengler”.

Peter appeared in his line of sight amongst the maze of shelves, as Egon stood dumbly. A voice told him to “clean up my basement” as he passed by.

“It appears we’re not wanted here. Let’s go, Egon.”

When it was officially late, you sat in your dorm, finally having time to sit and work. You had to skip a proper lunch, mindlessly putting a baby carrot in your mouth every 10 minutes as you snuck a binder under your desk at the Public Library. By the time you were on your bed, feverishly taking notes, checking notes, and reading notes, you were barely halfway done with your studying itinerary. This week was sufficiently kicking your butt, to say the least.

The door opened and shut, revealing your roommate, Christine, setting her bag down on the chair nearby. You barely verbally acknowledged her, looking for a specific page in your textbook. She gave you a once over, before making her way to the fridge, but unable to stop taking you in. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Christine asked you, skeptical.

“Don’t think so-” Page 392.

She poured herself a glass of something, eyeing you as she did. “I said, you need to relax a bit.”

That was easy for her to say. As much as you appreciated her and her companionship, all Christine did was relax. Still, your flow was disturbed, and you reluctantly put your materials down.

She continued now that she had your attention. “You don’t hang out anymore. It’s Friday.” She crosses to stand in front of your spot on the bed, effectively tapping you in the conversation.

“There’s some guys in my advertising class throwing-” You can tell what’s coming next, and you shimmy past her as she exclaims in protest.  

“Come on,” she follows you around, nearly pleading with you. You sighed, stopping as she leaned up behind you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like fun, or being with friends- parties just stopped being your scene a few semesters ago. How’s that for maturity?

“I’m telling you like I’ve told you a million times before. That’s just not my domain.” Christine spun you around, intent on not giving up until you caved.

“You guys always get drunk, then you get pissed, then I’m dragging you home and helping you puke it all up.” She rolled her eyes.

“We’ll only have a little- and,” she pointed an accusatory finger to your chest, “to be fair, you wouldn’t have to do all that if you drank a little yourself.”

You pointed the same finger back at her. “So we can all puke together? What a fun night.”

Christine made the sign of the cross then, pointed her fingers to the sky virtuously. “I swear on my life; we’ll know when to stop.” When she opened her eyes, you still weren’t convinced.

“Pleeeease? If it’s lame, we’ll leave and rent a video and get a pizza. But you might have fun.” She looked at you with those big blue eyes, and it took all of your strength to resist. She pleaded with you again, until you finally broke, covering your ears.

You groaned dramatically. “Alright, fine, fine. I’ll go to your stupid frat party and get smashed on cheap beer.” Christine cheered, making her way over to the phone. 

“I’ll call Dean and Lisa and-” you flopped back onto your bed. Staring at your long forgotten work, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Egon read the line, waiting patiently for Ray to respond from the copy he borrowed himself, as the man read for all other 11 characters of the play. It was about two rulers from warring countries forced to live together in a dungeon, but he just couldn’t grasp what was so special about that. It was late into the night, the dorm only illuminated by a few lamps and the little bit of light pouring in from under the door. After hours of trying to evade it, both men had only made a small dent in the long drama.

Ray pushed his reading glasses up. “You need more conviction, Egon, I don’t feel like your wife right now.” Egon closed his copy, putting his forehead in his hand against his desk.

“I don’t think this is working.”

“Are you doing improv? ‘Of course it’s not working, you-”

“No, Raymond. This book isn’t working.” Egon slid it away from him, the bright red cover hurting his eyes, and his pride.

Ray looked sad for his friend, taking off his glasses. “The only way to do it is to read. I’m sorry.” He tossed his book onto his bed. “But we can take a break. Whaddya wanna do?”

Egon remembered it was Friday, the day most young adults would use to unwind. He reached into the drawer beneath him, emerging with a miniature Tesla coil Ray had fashioned.

“You read my mind, Spenges!”

The two men were engrossed with messing around with it, placing numerous objects on and around the transformer- granted that any other flammable or conducive thing they owned was moved out of the way. As Ray teased the sparks with a pencil, he suddenly recalled something, eyes flashing and wide as he dropped the writing utensil.

“Peter has my car!” He grabbed each side of his head, almost comically as he could picture it- a nice, clean Camaro being trashed by beer and bodily fluids.

Ray was just short of spiraling, stuck on either racing down to the party himself or bawling in the spinny chair. “I’d go there myself- and strangle the life out of him,” he nearly wept, covering his eyes.

Egon let his eyes shut, before willinging himself to his feet. He’d never, ever associate with any sort of party, let alone one at a fraternity. But Ray loved that car, his dad’s graduation gift to him that’s been his pride and joy since freshman year. His friend barely even drove it around, afraid to raise the mileage too much. He didn’t doubt Ray’s conviction, or ability, to show it to Peter for going against his wishes, but the engineer was in hot water with the hosting students. One complicated party trick gone wrong, and the front lawn was ablaze quicker than he could control the little ball of plasma. It was their sophomore year, but he still wasn’t welcome near the block of brownstones he managed to devalue.

“Thank you, Egon, I promise I’ll repay you,” Ray’s eyes were glossy with tears as he pressed his face impossibly close to the glass of the window, trying to spot his baby driving somewhere down the street.

Time lessened the heat, Egon thought to himself. It was dark, but not a long walk off campus and a block or two away from the party. It wasn’t hard to find it, either- the music was loud and the bacchanal activities spilled out onto the street and into neighboring yards. No sign of the car. He wrinkled his nose. In the last stretch of freshman year, Peter tried convincing him and Ray to join a fraternity, rattling off a laundry list of reasons that it’d be a thrilling experience for the trio. He was obviously unsuccessful, and dropped the idea when he realized that it’d be hard to make friends in the already tight knit community. 

Egon didn’t dare touch the doorknob, evading people lounging on the stoop as he entered the large house after someone, using his foot to keep the door open. It smelt strongly of booze in the hot, dimly lit apartment, music still blaring from an unknown source. Not to mention the hazy smoke that was billowing through the air, hard to avoid with his height, much like the sounds of two people making out behind the couch. Infection central. How were all these people still going this late? He had to step over the passed out body of some guy without a shirt to get to the kitchen. 

As he stepped from the carpeted area to the tiled floor, arms quickly wrapped around his middle. His head snapped down, and there you were, head buried in his chest.

“Hi, Egon,” you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes glazed over and voice syrupy, not as precise as you made sure it was. He blinked a few times, noticing not only your shoes standing on his, but the fact you called him by his first name.

“Hi.” He reveled in the confusion, before pulling you away from him, gently. “Have you seen Peter? Peter Venkman?”

You thought about it, before the memory flashed back into your recollection. “Dr. Love? He left with my friend Christine.” Your voice slurred the words “left” and “with”, the same way Ray did when he was so smashed he couldn’t stand. Junior year was a sight to behold. 

He remembered how he handled drunken Ray, noting how warm your shoulders were under his fingers. “You’ve been drinking?” He asked despite himself. Being a gentleman was above personal vendetta. It was odd, seeing you dressed like this, out of the professional attire you took pride in every day. Your ability to pick clothes with an anal retentiveness rivals even him- the only college student in a pressed dress shirt, a sweater vest, and slacks. 

“Like, one or five. Itsfine, I’mfine,” you waved your hands around dismissively, before placing them over Egon’s. “I didn’t know you could party, Egie.” He ignored the heat that stung the muscles in his cheeks.

“I don’t.” He went along with it as you started swaying the two of you back and forth lightly. “Did you come with any other friends?”

You went silent, thinking again. It was evidently hard to think and sway, and you eventually fell back into him, unable to keep your balance. “DeanandLisa went to get…food. And they told me to stay here. So I took’a nap.” You nodded to yourself.

“When?”

You couldn’t answer. He peeked sideways at the clock- 3:19. Wherever your friends went, they weren’t going to be back for a long time. 

Your arms were still around him, head back on his chest as his hands hovered over you, awkwardly. It was barely audible, but you were mumbling along to the song playing throughout the rest of the house. He should’ve felt a smug pride, watching you who were once so confident drool on yourself, stumble over your words, and paw at him, but he couldn’t. Egon felt a lash of guilt at the idea of leaving you behind, telling Ray that Peter was long gone, and going to bed. You were obviously inebriated- with no friends and too juiced to know not to sleep on the floor, he couldn’t just let you stay in this dump. 

That’s how he ended up herding you out the door, but not before you stumbled about the apartment, saying good night to everyone. He was on your heels as you banged on a socked-bedroom door, bidding whoever was on the other side farewell, but he wasn’t quick enough before you were shouting your goodbyes down the stairwell of the basement. For being wasted, you were surprisingly fast. He finally got you outside, the skin under his fingers actually cooling as you left the cramped party.

“I didn’t take you to be a party-person,” he confessed, hand on the small of your back to stop you from running across the street to greet the cat staring you down.

“I’m- wait,” you did in fact run, having to kick off your shoes for efficiency before bending down rather ungracefully to pet the feline like a child would, fingers splayed and pushing its ears back unintentionally. He watched on as you skipped back to the sidewalk, grabbing a street sign for stability when you reached him.

“I’m not,” you resumed as he steered you on. “But- it was Christine! She showed me her’fake eyelash…es and convinced me!” You looked to him to share your disbelief as you told the story, shoes waving around as you moved your hands. “I’couldn’t say no!”

Egon found himself smiling. “I have a roommate very similar.” You were surprisingly easier to talk to when drunk. He wasn’t burning up, or scrambling for his words like he normally did when you teased him, making the scientist detest you more and more for your ability to confuse him. His thoughts ceased, as you got closer to campus, but walking with increasing difficulty.

It was when he had to catch you before tripping over yourself that he swallowed his inhibitions, wrapping a hand under you. He wasn’t the strongest out there, maybe even a little weak, but he could support your weight until you reached home. As you let out a small noise of surprise though, he felt a primitive sense of manliness, your figure pressed to his in a bridal carry.

“Soooo strong.” You praised him, voice trailing off as you let your head hit his shoulder. He had to remind himself that you were drunk, none of this really meant anything. You’d wake up, and decide to torment him after taking an aspirin. His grip weakened as his smile did.

“Don’t drop’me,” your hands clawed at the fabric of his shirt, and he adjusted his hold.

“I won’t,” he watched you close your eyes, face content. “I won’t.”

 You were halfway back to the dormitory. He could feel you stirring, looking down and finding your eyes fixed on the night sky. 

“What’s up there?”

“Ursa Major.” You pointed lazily.

“That’s a plane.”

You stiffened in his arms. “No, it’s’not. I know this. It’s the bear.” You managed to cross your arms over yourself while in his hold. He felt bad, provoking you while inebriated. 

“Then it’s the bear.”

“Put me down,” you hit him on the chest a few times, willing him to reluctantly place you on your own two feet. You shook off his attempts at still holding you, intent on trying to make it home on your own. You stormed off along the path, nearly veering off into the grass.

“Where are you going?” He couldn’t hide the concern behind his voice, trying to keep up with you as you took on a sudden irritation towards him.

“Home.” You kept your pace, before slowing, battling something in behind your eyes in your drunken state. “You think I’m dumb.” Egon stopped in his tracks in a moment, before walking behind you again.

“That’s not true,” he said simply, throwing away his feud with you when sober. He thought of you as one of the smartest people he knew. And you managed to make him look like a mere child while baring your smile at him.

“Maybe I’like being drunk,” you retorted to no one in front of you. As you slowed, so did Egon, watching on as you looked on down the dim, street lamp lit path. When he followed your gaze, he saw nothing but the darkness of night ahead of him. Suddenly, you fell forward, uncaring and weightless. He wasn’t quick enough to catch you, heart dropping to his toes before you simply rolled over onto your back. Your knees were scraped, rapidly drying blood mixing with the gravel and dust of the ground over your lacerated skin. Before he could worry too much about it, you merely laughed, full of glee as your eyes were transfixed on the stars, arms out like you were a star yourself. 

You passed out pretty quick after that, a little heavier in his arms. To say Egon was uneasy was an understatement, but at least you were out for a bit. He struggled to get the door to the building open, and even more so getting up to your dormitory floor, only narrowly avoiding hitting your head against a door frame every so often. Taking a quick look at the plates on each door, he was relieved at finding your surname printed on one. After a few discreet knocks, however, no one opened up, either passed out themselves or simply not home. Searching for solutions, he sighed, again, gently laying you against the baseboards. It wasn’t his most elegant idea, but it’d have to do as he reached in his pocket for a pad and paper. He simply scribbled the words “Passed out, sleeping in 244. Please pick up when you get home.” Pressing it in the space between the room number and the wood, he picked you up for the third time and made the trek back to his own place.

You looked peaceful, as Egon decided on putting you in Ray’s bed, alcohol and cotton pads ready. Ray wasn’t home himself- and it’d be unbecoming of him to put you in his own. He hummed to himself, your current state reminding him of the deuteragonist in the play you gave him. They were affluent and sybaritic, imprisoned while drunk and jovial, to the aggravation of the protagonist, tied to tradition and analytical. He hoped that whoever you were in chains with took the liberty of cleaning your open wounds like he did. 

Apparently, the sting of disinfectant is enough to rouse the unconscious awake, as the liquid being pressed to your skin made you jolt back to the present, sucking in air between your teeth and nearly kneeing him in the nose. You rushed to sit up as properly as you could, bringing your legs to your chest.

“What’re you doing?” The pain must’ve been worse in this state. He suddenly felt very, very bad about not waiting until you were awake to take care of it, but he remembered that you couldn’t make proper decisions for yourself like this. He wet another pad, though warily. Who was Egon to say that he could make proper decisions for you, sober or otherwise?

He approached you gently, showing you his materials. “Sanitizing. It could get infected.” Maybe that was a bit overzealous, but germs love untreated, open flesh.

You calmed, letting your legs dangle over the bedside again, the exaggerated idea of losing a leg scarier than the cleaning agent in his hand. “Oh.” He figured you were sobering up, even by a bit, from the way your words slurred less and you clung Ray’s blanket to yourself, night’s activities catching up with your tired body. You looked around as he worked quickly, taking in the room.

“You’re messy.” Egon raised his eyebrows once at that, prepping another pad.

“We’re scientists. And Peter.” He could hear you laugh weakly above him. It felt nice, to make you feel nice. Egon felt oddly at ease, on his knees, cleaning you up- as dubious as it sounded. He moved on to your other leg, remembering your situation. “Would you like to stay here? Your friends aren’t home.”

Silence as he wiped away the grime. Your voice sounded again. “A sleepover.”

He resisted a yawn, letting it escape through his nose before catching sight of the clock. “Sure.”

You didn’t say anything else. Better for him- he was sure you didn’t have a key and he was a terrible locksmith. You were leaning back on your hands.

“My doctor.”

He bit back the smile and blush that spread over his face with a clench of his jaw. You were still drunk, no matter how coherent. And wrong. “Not yet a doctor.” He was done bandaging both your injuries some time ago.

“Doctor Egon,” you drew out the word, giggling to yourself. He’d let it slide, this time. Misused titles were disdainful in academia. But he supposed being a stickler didn’t matter so much, now.

Eventually, he rose to his feet, eyes honing in to a surface level scratch on your cheek from the fall. He held your jaw lighty, thumb careful to not graze too much over it. It wasn’t severe, but he assumed you’d prefer to not have a deep scar there for the entirety of the summer to come. He thought about summer. He’d be here, on an internship, while you’d be away, probably away with your friends again. You’d get drunk, seemingly trusting the people around you far too much until you’re hurt- worse than you are now. Whatever meathead you’d spent the night with wouldn’t know first aid if it was thrown at him. Egon soaked in his jealousy, eyebrows falling over his eyes, before coming back to his senses, soaking one more piece of cotton and gently tapping it to your face, a small adhesive placed to protect it. 

“Kiss to make it better?” He let go of your face, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as you giggled to yourself again. It was awfully late, now.

“You should get some sleep,” he dried his hands off. He would miss you, but time was the only fool-proof remedy- and daylight was quickly approaching.

“No fun,” you complained, but you still settled into Ray’s bed, pulling the comforter around yourself. He contemplated what to do, get into his own bed or just wait for you to sleep instead. You rolled over to face him.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help with the play? I’m not supposed to, though. But I can do the voices.” Right. The play. He eyed the book, forgotten about in the corner of his desk.

“I’d rather you rest.” 

“You should sleep, too.” He could tell you were fighting your own exhaustion. He pulled out his chair, moving Ray’s coil to the side to make work of his assignment again. 

“I’d rather you did, first.” He opened to the page he left off on.

“Egon.” You sounded scarily sober. He turned in his seat to face you.

You freed yourself from the blanket a bit. “You’re tired. You always look tired.” Another state of inebriation was taking hold of you. Maudlin. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

He chewed at the inner part of his bottom lip before speaking again. “You’re very stressed. And you’re going to wake up feeling like hell.” He searched for the right words to convince you to let yourself go. “I’ll sleep too, and we can talk to each other in our dreams.” A little ridiculous, but it’s not the craziest thing he’s said to a tippler.

The hammered part of you was contemplating it, before you smiled and nodded. Before he went back to his work, you called for him one more time.

“Egon?”

“Yes?”

“I need a lullaby.” You had the same devilish, teasing look in your eye as you did when you were sober. He looked around in confusion as you looked towards him expectantly, before he surrendered, winding up a small snow globe that Peter kept out, even in Spring. As it played, you shook your head.

“No, sing the one by Manfred Mann.” He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over your head as you laughed uncontrollably to yourself.

“Goodnight.”

Egon had fallen asleep over his book some time later. As he came to, he looked back, hopeful to still see you, sleeping soundly. His hope faltered as he took in the empty space, neither his roommates returned or your spot on Ray’s bed filled in by your shape. There was a strange emptiness in his chest, knowing you were gone in a matter of hours. The only proof of your presence was the used bottle of isopropyl in the corner of his desk.

His breath slowed, light of the early morning burning into his eyes as he slowly rose out of his chair. Walking off, not sure if he was going to shower, or eat, or what, he noticed a small paper on the pillow. He picked it up, wondering if it would disappear in his hands.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He folded it back. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. But he still smiled.

[sadevergreen]

THIS IS WHAT JADE IN THE EPILOGUES COULD HAVE BEEN

(ramblings of a lunatic about meat timeline of the epilogues as of part 23? im very passionate ig despite being VERY LATE to the party)

heavy inspiration from Marceline in Obsidian (and her song Woke Up). the epilogues fucked her characterization SO BADLY !!! hhhhhh >:(( I WANT TO SEE WEREWOLF ROCKSTAR THAT TOURS HEAVILY AND WHO HAPPENS TO BE MAKING HUGE SCIENTIFIC ADVANCEMENTS IN HER FREE TIME AND THUS IS RARELY HOME SO IT DIDNT FEEL RIGHT TO SETTLE DOWN AND GET A PLACE SO INSTEAD SHE COUCH SURFS AND SLEEPS AROUND/ CANT HOLD A RELATIONSHIP BECAUSE SHES ALWAYS ON THE GO!!! LIKE THAT IS A BETTER EXPLANATION HHHHH!!!! maybe exploration of aromantic pansexual jade? that could be a cool arc!! IDK i just need something to work with here because jade that can calculate that 86.234% of her romantic advances on karkat and dave were outright rejected and assumes that means it’s accepted BUT CANNOT CALCULATE HOW MUCH IS BEING RECIPROCATED??? makes no sense to me. but jade being slightly more out of touch because of her fame AND THEN trying to just mend or deepen friendships could be interesting and even a middle ground. i think jade would’ve cared about seeing john more too. i think anytime jade was in his area she’d show up and crash at his house, and then kick him out of bed and into therapy!!! or make him hang out with his friends!! get this boy on some anti anxiety/ depressants because he is sounding remarkably like my older sibling with extreme social anxiety who, when finally put on meds, moved out within the year and got a girlfriend !!! john’s battle with depression and living in the past without being able to move on just makes so much sense. i wish they focused more on that. i want him to be able to explore that. GRAIN OF SALT BECAUSE IM NOT FINISHED READING YET UH WHOOPS- so maybe some of this has been dipped into, but not from what i can see. karkat and dave are honestly keeping me reading. im in love with them. (i think it was dirk but correct me if wrong) fuck dirk for calling dave the weakest of the strider/lalondes!! MY BOY IS RECOVERING FROM CONDITIONED CHILDHOOD TRAUMA FROM A VERSION OF DIRK!!! ofc mid transformation Ulta Dirk fucking thinks that, Bro was the one to instill that dave was week and he needed to train him. dave disengaging and allowing himself to be soften by karkat is g r o w t h !!!! so fuck off fr

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Summary: When Gandra needs help creating a virtual laboratory, she enlists the help of fellow misunderstood scientist Fenton Crackshell Cabrera, who agrees to help with only one stipulation: that their partnership remain strictly professional this time. How hard can that be? (Set somewhere between The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee! and Beaks in the Shell! missing moment; canon compliant.) Word Count: 4234 a/n: I decided to post this as a oneshot here on tumblr, but it's posted as multiple chapters on ao3, so if you'd like to read it that way, that's an option as well! Taglist: I don't currently have a taglist for DuckTales or Fendra fics! if you'd like to be added to one, let me know!

Strictly Professional

 "It's now or never," Gandra muttered to herself, opening up her phone for the millionth time and typing in the contact name SUIT.

 Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it again, she hit the call button, almost hoping he wouldn't pick up.

 "Hello?" the voice on the other line came back, confused but not entirely appalled, which was a good sign.

 "It's me, Gandra."

 "Uh, yeah," he said, "I've got this great new invention that they call 'Caller ID.' Let's you know pretty quickly when a crook is on the line."

 "Really?" Gandra asked, trying to hide her surprise and offense with a calculated sarcasm, "and here I assumed that you'd deleted my number by now."

 "I never got around to it," he replied, "I've been pretty busy these past few weeks."

 "Too busy to help with a project?" Gandra asked, and after a moment of silence, she let her feigned confidence fall. "Listen, Suit, you've got every reason to say no to me, but I'm working on something bigger than me, and I need someone like you to help me out. No one else understands what I'm doing."

 After another moment of silence, a strained reply came back.

 "You're right that I have every reason to say no," he grumbled.

 "This was a mistake," Gandra thought, but before she could stumble through an apology and hang up, he continued:

 "But, in the name of scientific curiosity, what is it?"

 "A major coding project that's going to revolutionize indie tech," she said, "one that I can't work on alone."

 "That's not very specific."

 "It's not something I can tell you," she said, "it's something I have to show you. Does the Gizmoduck helmet have VR capacity?"

 "Oh, you'd love to know that," he huffed.

 Right. He also had every reason to be protective of the Gizmosuit around her.

 "Well, if you have a VR headset," she backtracked, "and you want to be part of the next scientific revolution, just follow the link I'm about to text you."

 "That sounds awful fishy."

 "It's legitimate," she said, "you can run a triple spyware check on it— you won't find anything."

 "I'll be the judge of that."

 "And once you've judged it correctly and your natural 'scientific curiosity' gets the better of you," she said, "I'll be waiting."

 With that, she hung up, sent him the link, and then put on her own virtual reality headset.

***

 It always took a few seconds to adjust from the dark corridors of FOWL to the well-lit virtual laboratory she'd programmed. She blinked a couple times as her surroundings flickered into view— in the distance, a crashtest chamber and a large worktable, as well as an enormous whiteboard scribbled with calculations and a lab table covered in beakers and test tubes that had multiple tubes and coils connecting them. In front of her was a disorganized desk, and she got up and took a seat on the edge of it.

 The lab was the only thing that made joining FOWL worth it, her one sanctuary from all the small-minded voices calling her a freak. This had been her safe space the past few months, a place all her own, and she had taken a big risk in inviting someone else to invade it.

 She'd started out this project starry-eyed and ambitious, but the longer she worked, the longer she knew it would take her, and the more she realized she'd bitten off more than she could chew. If FOWL found out what she was doing before she got it finished, everything would be lost. As much as she hated admitting it, she needed help.

 It wasn't long before her virtual solitude was interrupted by a rift in the system, followed by the entry of a familiar face sitting across from her at her desk chair.

 "Blathering blather…." he began, but his trademark phrase trailed off when he saw her.

 "Didn't think you'd actually show up," Gandra said, not entirely untruthfully.

 "Where are we?" he asked, looking around with astonishment.

 "This?" Gandra asked, gesturing around the room with her hand. "My lab."

 "Remarkable," he said, touching the handles of his chair with astonishment at their solidity, "a virtual laboratory."

 "And check this," Gandra said. She waved a hand and a beaker appeared in each of her hands, "chromic acid and acetic acid."

 She watched the fear on his face as she poured the two chemicals together. Predictably, they exploded in her hand, sending virtual shards of glass around the room. She then held her hand up, unscathed, showing there'd been no cause for concern.

 "Perfectly safe," she said.

 "No real elements, no real danger!" he smiled.

 "Exactly," Gandra said, "once we get this server up and running, the scientific community will be able to perform any experiments we want, without all the big shots calling us crackpots."

 "We?" he asked, the wonder on his face replaced with apprehension.

 "I can't do this alone," Gandra said, her calm airs wavering. "I need your help, Fenton. For the name of science?"

 She held a hand out for him to shake, and for a second, the look in his eyes said he was considering it— but he then closed his eyes and shook his head.

 "Don't you work for FOWL now?" he asked.

 "I work for myself," Gandra clarified, "and as soon as I've finished pirating FOWL tech for this, I'm leaving them for good."

 "But that doesn't change now, Gandra," he said. "You're running an entire server right under FOWL's nose and putting everything shared here at risk."

 Gandra took a deep breath. This conversation was still going a lot better than she'd realistically expected, but nowhere near as great as she'd hoped it would. Without his help, she'd never get the cloud up and running before FOWL found out.

 "As a proud McDuck Enterprises employee," he said, "well, technically, two McDuck Enterprises employees, if you count Gizmoduck, either way, as a McDuck Enterprises employee, I can't support this project."

 "I figured," Gandra said. She started to put her hand back down, but he quickly took it and shook it firmly.

 "But from one scientist to another," he said, "you've got yourself a partner."

 She smiled. "Partner?"

 "Professional work partner," he said, quickly letting go of her hand. His tone shifted from lighthearted to serious, "strictly professional."

 Gandra nodded. After what she'd done, that was only fair for him to request as well.

 "You've got a deal," she smiled, "partner."

 Fenton's touch on the lab was revolutionary. With a fresh set of eyes, he pointed out things that she had grown a little too accustomed to to notice.

 "Why do scientists always have to work in these cramped lab spaces, anyway?" he had asked, early on.

 "It's a controlled environment," she'd replied.

 "This whole world is a controlled environment," Fenton said, "can't you just imagine being able to work on even the most delicate of experiments outside, with no spacial limits or threat to public safety? Why work inside a box for ideas that think outside of it?"

 It wasn't a bad suggestion at all, and they'd spent the next two weeks creating plants, trees, and multiple different environmental backdrops.

 "We need quick-access lab tables," Fenton said, sometime later after the third daily digital trek to the labspace from their current outdoor work area, "all the essentials from privately built laboratories right at your fingertips."

 It was a great idea, and Gandra set to work on it immediately.

 "This place needs some kind of time function," he said, a few weeks later.

 "What do you mean?" Gandra asked.

 "Optional day and night cycles, or built in alarms after extended sessions," he said, "it's easy enough to get lost in your work in the real world, and it's proven easier now that we're up in the clouds. The amount of times I've gotten out of the cloud late and M'ma had dinner waiting a little too long…."

 Gandra couldn't remember much more of what Fenton said in the rest of that sentence, only that it continued for at least a minute or two before Gandra could get a word in edgewise, and that, while it wasn't the first time she'd been party to one of his rambles, and it wouldn't be the last either. Though she could see how others might be annoyed by his constant rambling, she was almost endeared by it. Too long she'd worked in silence, and she didn't mind him filling it.

 What surprised Gandra the most about their whole operation, though, was how well she and Fenton worked together. She'd expected some awkward tension, arguments over the best way to do something, a struggle for power over who gets the final say.

 Instead, they made a great team. Fenton's big ideas paired perfectly with her recklessness, especially with no real threat of danger to hold them back. His tendency to stay on task helped her stay focused, and once she realized how easily time crept away from him, she started reminding him to take more frequent breaks. Somehow they both made up for the areas the other lacked in knowledge. Despite her fears about this joint project, she almost wished she'd enlisted his help sooner.

 "Blatherskites, Gandra!" Fenton said one morning as he signed onto the server, "Are you still at it?"

 Gandra didn't look up from her microscope. 

 "Good morning to you too, Suit," she grumbled.

 "Did you manage to figure out the bug in the system?" Fenton asked.

 "I think so," she said, pulling a glitching object spawn out from underneath the scope, "turns out, the bug was an actual bug." She pulled up the task manager with a pinch of her thumb and her index finger. "If I restart the program, that should fix the whole thing."

 She watched as the bug in her hand curled into a ball, then popped back to life and crawled away across the table, not a single pixel popping out of place.

 "That's incredible," Fenton said.

 Gandra looked up at him for half a second, half a second too long.

 "It's no big deal," Gandra smiled, and the mere fact that she was smiling at Suit told her more than she was willing to listen to.

 "Sure," he said, though he shook his head as he did, and it took conscious effort not to watch as he walked away to begin the day's work.

 Moments like these kept happening, despite her best efforts. A little too much appreciation here, a touch too much eye contact there, a growing acknowledgement of admiration for each other— all of this was adding up into something she couldn't let happen, not again.

 Later that day came the first of the worst of them all. Fenton had this awful habit, one that only grew over his time spent in the cloud, where whenever he was lost in his own little bubble, as though he were the only one who could hear himself, he would start singing.

 This would've been an annoying habit if he was moderately alright at it. It would've been irritating if he was horrible. But, unfortunately for Gandra, he was the worst thing of all: really, really really good at it. The first time she'd heard him, she'd almost thought he was just testing out the cloud's mp3 capability, and it took her a second to realize that no, that was Fenton's singing voice, and even more startling was that she enjoyed hearing it.

 Today was no exception, as he absentmindedly started singing some showtune that carried from his workstation across the way to her. For reasons she wouldn't bring herself to admit out loud, she stopped her work and just listened, and watched the look on his face as he sat at his desk, fully engrossed in his work and lost in the melody he was singing.

 What washed over her next was a wonderful feeling, and the horrible realization that came with it.

 She was falling for him.

 "Hey, Suit," Gandra said, leaning over the edge of his desk.

 "Hey, Gandra," he said.

 "I think I finally got the day/night cycles worked out," she said.

 "That's great," Fenton smiled.

 "I might need a second pair of eyes to monitor them with me," she said, "just to make sure I didn't miss anything. Know anyone who can help?"

 "I'm your man," he said.

 "I wish," Gandra thought.

 "Besides," Fenton said, minimizing his desk, "I needed a break from the physics coding."

 "I think the optimal spot is right over here," Gandra said, generating a blanket on the ground in front of them, and reclining on it, "that way we can best get a visual on the sunset, and then get a check on the constellations and make sure those aren't funky either."

 "Sounds great," Fenton said, and he took a seat on the blanket as well, just about as far from her as he could be while still sitting on it.

 "Note to self," Gandra thought, "next time, program a smaller blanket."

 No, this wasn't her best idea, not by a long shot, but in the past week and a half, her falling for Fenton had only exponentially increased in acceleration. She'd agreed to maintain a strictly professional relationship with him, and she wouldn't risk the project to ask him out on a date or anything like that— no, not at all. Surely, though, there was nothing more professional than getting a second opinion on your contribution to a shared project, right? And if it happened that they were watching a beautifully programmed sunset together and spending a few hours stargazing afterwards, that wasn't really her fault, was it?

***

 "Suit," Gandra said, hurriedly, trying to play it cool as Fenton logged into the server, "I finally finished that project of mine."

 "Does that mean I finally get to find out what it is?" Fenton asked.

 "Yeah," Gandra smiled, "remember last week when I fixed the bug where you get thrown out of moving vehicles?"

 "The fix we tested with that long drive together down the backroads of the cloud?" Fenton asked.

 "Yeah," Gandra sheepishly replied, then regained her confidence, "I thought today we'd really put that to the test. Behold!"

 With a wave of her hands, a wrought iron fence with a wide-open gate sprawled before them.

 "What's that?" Gandra asked.

 "Carnival," she said, and she walked through the gate, with him following close behind, "I figure it has everything we need to really put those vehicle mechanics through their paces: drop tower, ferris wheel, carousel, rollercoaster, scrambler, tunnel o' love, bumper cars…"

 "Is that really necessary?" Fenton stopped in his tracks.

 "Bumper cars?" Gandra asked, "oh sure. The crash testing alone is…."

 "The 'tunnel o' love, Gandra?'"

 "Don't be ridiculous, Suit," Gandra said, "of course it is. We haven't done any real testing so far on boats, running water, lighting, or realistic sound quality in tunnels, and that way we can kill four birds with one stone."

 "Alright then," Fenton smiled, "let's start there."

***

 "I just had another thought," Gandra said one afternoon, as if it wasn't something she'd been thinking since at least their carnival experiment last week, "we've put a lot of testing into users interacting with the physical world."

 "Indeed," Fenton said.

 "But we haven't put much test into users interacting with each other."

 "How do you figure?" Fenton asked.

 "Well, I know that when I touch something," Gandra said, reaching across her desk to tap a fist on Fenton's desk, "I can feel it. I don't pass through it."

 "That's right," Fenton said, "there's a mass effect applied to each individual object, otherwise we'd spend all our time here in the cloud falling through the terrain."

 "Right," Gandra said, "but can we interact with other users in the same way? Can we pull them out of the way of a stupid mistake, or high-five them when they get something right?"

 "We can find out," Fenton said. He held a hand up in the air, and Gandra high-fived him, letting her hand linger a moment longer than she'd intended.

 "Perfectly fine to me," Fenton said, and he turned back to his work.

 "But does the system have any issue with sustained contact?" Gandra asked, "and on another note, is there an auditory lag between server accesses?"

 "I hadn't considered that," Fenton shrugged, "I suppose we could brainstorm some tests."

 "Oh, I have an idea for one," Gandra said, tucking her hair behind her ear, coyly, as though the idea had come on suddenly and not been premeditated before the conversation even began.

 "What is it?"

 "This is gonna sound silly," Gandra said, "but what about dancing?"

 "Dancing?" Fenton looked up at her, a bit nervous.

 "Yeah, it was a silly idea."

 "No," he quickly interjected, "no, I think it'll work. The musical accompaniment provides auditory testing, and attempts to keep in time with the music and each other should take care of the rest."

 "Perfect," Gandra snapped her fingers and cleared away their desks, replacing them instead with a standard jukebox, one that, coincidentally, only played ballroom dance music in three fourths time.

 Fenton generated a coin into his hand and dropped it into the slot of the jukebox, then pushed a couple buttons.

 "The Blue Danube" Gandra said, recognizing the song as it began playing.

 "You hear it too?" Fenton asked, "good."

 "So that part of the test is working properly," Gandra nodded, "now…."

 "Miss Dee," he asked, holding out a hand to her as the music swelled in the background, "shall we dance?"

 Prince Charming in all his glory couldn't've looked better in that moment than Fenton, still with a virtual labcoat over his standard garb, the digitized ballroom music from the jukebox playing in the background.

 "For the sake of science," Gandra said, "I suppose I ought to say yes."

 She took his hand and tried not to show her delight as his other hand rested on her side, or at the smile on his face as she placed her own hand on his shoulder.

 "Have you ever danced the waltz before, Gandra?" he asked.

 "Once or twice," Gandra said, hoping she wouldn't have to reveal that all of those times were in the last week, in preparation for this very moment, "have you?"

 Fenton sighed, and began moving with the pace of the music, Gandra following suit.

 "M'ma enrolled me in dance lessons when I was younger," he said, "I suppose I should thank her for it. A lot of the principles I learned there really come into play for Gizmoduck."

 "Really?" Gandra asked.

 "Oh, sure," Fenton said, and as the music twirled, so did they, "don't tell your buddies at FOWL, but if they sent a ballroom dance virtuoso against Gizmoduck, they'd win every time."

 "My lips are sealed, Suit," she said.

 At exactly the right moment, he spun her out, then back towards himself with magnificent flair, and she found herself closer to him than she'd been before. She also noticed that the daylight they'd been in when they started had shifted to another perfect sunset. Had she been a bit more focused, she would've pondered the sudden change in the skies, a change hours ahead of schedule. She might've even begun to wonder who, between the two of them, had the thoughts and ideas that began this change, settling in a new ambiance, replacing what had been with a gentler, almost romantic mood as they danced across their virtual outdoor laboratory. Had she been paying attention, she probably still couldn't've been sure which of them set the early sunset in motion, anyways, so maybe it was for the better that she chose not to think of it and instead focused that attention on her partner.

 "And where'd you learn to dance?" he asked.

 "I've been taking lessons," she said, "I've gotta keep my skills up and make it at least look like I'm trying next time Gizmoduck gets the jump on me. Word around the street is that he's getting pretty good at what he does."

 Febton smiled like an absolute dork, which was fortunately the way Gandra liked him.

 "I'll have to tell 'Gizmoduck' later that you said that," he teased, "he has such little self esteem these days."

 "I don't see why," Gandra said, with a smile, "I happen to think he's a pretty great guy."

 "I am? I mean, he is?" Fenton asked, and though he stumbled over his words, his feet didn't falter.

 "Yeah," Gandra smiled.

 "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, "you know, you're not so bad yourself, for a FOWL agent."

 "Is that all I am to you?" Gandra asked, and though her words maintained the lighthearted tone set by their light footwork, she meant it, having been wondering for weeks why he stuck around so long on this project in the little minimal amounts of free time he had between jobs.

 "No, not quite," he said.

 Against her better judgment she asked, "then what am I?" and for a terrifying second it seemed he might answer.

 But instead, as they followed through the steps of the music, he led her into a dip and held her there, as though frozen in time.

 She looked up at him as a star or two began to twinkle into existence in the lavender skies behind him. His arms, wrapped around her, supporting her back, were strong but gentle, and so were his eyes, overpowering, intense, and yet resting on her with the most gentle softness she'd ever known— and all that intensity and passion seemed to be directed at her.

 If she could've stayed there forever, her hands around his neck, their beaks inches apart, his eyes washing her in their rich beauty and hers doing the same to him, she would've done it in a heartbeat. As it was, he already held her there a measure longer than the flow of the song necessitated, and then another and another, as though building to some beautiful unspoken climax.

 But that climax never came. The song behind them ended, not naturally, but suddenly, so suddenly she expected to hear a record scratch.

 In that same moment, Fenton sighed, and averted his gaze from her as he stood her back to her feet and let her go.

 They both stood in front of each other for a moment, Fenton still not looking her in the eyes.

"You need to continue the project without me," he said, quickly and quietly.

 "What?" Gandra asked, hoping she'd misheard him, "I can't do this without you, Suit."

 "You can," he said, coldly, "you're one of the most brilliant minds I know."

 "I need you here, Fenton," she restated, and she knew she wasn't just referring to the project they'd started.

 "I can't," he said, "not now. Not anymore."

 "Why not?" Gandra asked, hoping she could soften the blow and slow the shattering of her suddenly very heavy heart.

 "We made an agreement when we started, Gandra," he shook his head and tucked his hands into the pockets of his labcoat, "but I feel I can no longer continue a professional working relationship with you."

 "Why not?" Gandra asked, "if it's something I…"

 "It's not you," Fenton said.

 "Then why can't you stay?"

 He closed his eyes and answered quietly, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Because I'm still in love with you."

 Her heart stopped and started all over again.

 "What?" Gandra asked.

 "Do I have to spell it out for you?" He asked, with frustration in his tone that didn't seem to be directed at her. "I never stopped loving you. I fell for you when I first met you, and that never changed. After you betrayed me, and then came back to help me, then left again without a word, you'd think I'd start to like you at least a little bit less! Somehow," he shook his head and took a deep breath, "somehow I like you even more. Why do you think I agreed to work with you again? Why do you think I'm even still here, Gandra?"

 "But you said when we started," she said, "'strictly professional.'"

 "I needed to remind myself of that," he said. "The first time I trusted you, it almost hurt a lot of people, people I care about. I can't have that happening again. I thought maybe this time I wouldn't get attached," and he stopped just a moment, and he looked her in the eyes for half a second, before shaking his head and turning away, "but even the great Fenton Crackshell Cabrera can't do the impossible. I have to go."

 "No," Gandra said, "no, you don't. This time's different."

 "Really?" Fenton asked, "what makes this time any different from last time?"

 Some feelings had always been natural for Gandra: disappointment, insecurity, regret. But this feeling? It was a totally unfamiliar territory.

 But unfamiliar territory was what science was all about. She took a step closer to him, and took his hand in hers, and he looked down at it in surprise, and then back up at her.

 "Because this time I like you too, Fenton."

 He smiled that same dorky smile again.

 "Really?" he asked, but then let his guard back up, "and how do I know I can trust you?"

 He'd turned his face away from her again, but she placed her hand on his cheek and tilted his head back towards her.

 "Look into my eyes," she said, "I trusted you with the virtual lab, and now look at what it's become— look at what we made together."

 "We do make a pretty good team," he said, with a halfhearted chuckle.

 "Suit," she said, "I trust you, and I like you. Can you trust me too?"

 He smiled, and wrapped his hand around hers as it rested on his cheek.

 "I trust you," he said.

 She smiled, and though she'd be reluctant to admit it, she may have giggled a little as he kissed her forehead.

 "So," she asked, "partners?"

 "Strictly professional workplace partners?" Fenton asked, with a raised eyebrow, "or strictly 'only professional when we're in the workplace, otherwise, perchance, daresay, romantic and wholesome and loving partners?'"

 Gandra laughed. "That second one sounds about right."

 "Then you've got yourself a deal," he said, "partner."

 And this deal they sealed not with a handshake, but with a hug and a kiss, the beginning of the most lovely partnership any two scientists had ever begun.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fictober 2024--Aurora Borealis

Day 14: “Let’s Try This.” 

It's the Len Snart as a Green Lantern AU!

Len Snart was sitting in his rundown motel room, flipping through a newspaper, when a particular article caught his eye. It was about the Flash, the superpowered crimefighter who had recently popped up two years ago in his hometown of Central City—and who was sure to be a real pain in the neck. Evading the cops was one thing. All that took was caution and timing (although having glasses that could intercept radio bands from squad cars definitely helped). Evading a man who could run fast enough to break the sound barrier? Len was no scientific expert, but even he knew that that was probably impossible. 

Impossible unless there was a way to slow him down…and this article said that some scientist types were publishing an article on the Flash’s speed. If Len could get his hands on that article, maybe it would give him some ideas of how to evade even the city’s new so-called superhero. 

Len snorted. Superhero indeed. Superpowered cop was more like it…and where had the cops been when his old man took a beer bottle to his shoulder? Or when he’d gone after his little sister with a lit cigarette?

Lookin’ the other way, that’s where. Because his old man had been a cop too, and even though he’d been kicked off the force, he still had enough connections to get them to turn a blind eye. And like as not, the Flash would be the same way. Which meant Len was going to do everything he could to stay out of his way—especially since the Flash had been the reason he’d spent the last couple of years in the state pen. 

He’d look into getting his hands on that scientific article tomorrow. But for tonight, he was going to suffer through tonight’s Cubs game. Len reached for the remote and was about to turn on the TV when he was suddenly enveloped in a bright green light. His motel room disappeared, and suddenly found himself standing in a large empty field. Central City’s skyline was still visible in the distance, so he hadn’t been transported too far away, but that didn’t explain how he had been in his motel room one second and outside of the city the next. 

And it definitely didn’t explain the wrecked spaceship, which looked like something out of the science fiction comics that his grandfather had given him when he was a kid. So either aliens were real, or some weirdo had blown a ridiculous amount of time and money on pranking him. The only way to find out which was to go into the spaceship. 

“I must be losin’ my mind,” Len muttered as he made his way toward the crashed spaceship. For all he knew, this might be some sort of alien trap—but while he’d always been cautious, he’d never been one to avoid a situation just because it might be dangerous. If he had, he’d still be under the thumb of his old man. 

“Come in, Earthman,” a voice suddenly said. Len followed the voice to see a pink-skinned, yellow-eyed guy, dressed in some sort of green and black uniform. He was basically human in shape, but something about him told Len that this wasn’t some guy in makeup. This was a real alien—and he didn’t look so hot. 

“Who are you? What’s goin’ on here?” Len asked. 

“My name is Abin Sur. I am not of Earth, but of a far distant planet. And I am dying,” the alien said weakly.

“Uh, if you were tryin’ to call a doctor, you got the wrong guy. I don’t know the first thing about medicine. If you need help, you should probably use whatever fancy tech you used to teleport me here to teleport us to Central City General Hospital,” Len said. The hospital might not know how to treat an alien, either, but they would be a lot more likely to be able to help than some borderline-illiterate ex-con. 

“No. It is too late to help me. Besides, I must speak to you on a matter of great importance,” the alien replied. 

“You’ve gotta tell someone about somethin’ more important than your life—and you grabbed me?” Len asked. He was starting to think that this alien guy must have gotten brain damage in the crash. 

“Yes. Look at this battery, Earthman,” the alien said. He pointed to his right, where Len saw something that looked like the old-timey lantern his grandfather had owned—only glowing green. 

“Looks like some kinda…. green lantern.”  

“Yes….in your words, a green lantern. But actually it is a battery of power, given only to selected space patrolmen in the super-galactic system, to be used as a weapon against the forces of evil and injustice.” 

“So you’re some sorta space cop?” Len asked. 

“Indeed. We call ourselves the Green Lantern Corps, and it is our duty, when disaster strikes, to pass on the battery of power to another who is fearless—and honest. The battery has already selected you as one who has been made immune to fear. Come closer to me, Earthman, so that I may use my ring to scan you and measure your honesty,” the alien replied. Len actually laughed. Was this alien really trying to recruit him as a space cop? 

“Much as I hate to disappoint you, pal, I think you got the wrong guy. Maybe your battery got damaged when your spaceship crashed or somethin’, I don’t know, but I’m an ex-con. Been in and out of jail since I was eighteen. I don’t think I’m somebody the other space cops would wanna take on as a rookie,” Len said. The alien didn’t seem to care, though, as he pointed his hand at Len, and a beam shot out from the ring on his finger—a ring that was shaped to look like a lantern. Apparently the space cops liked to stay on brand. 

“Hey! If you really are dyin’, quit wastin’ your time on me and teleport the Flash here. He’s all noble and upstandin’ and crap, and he’s even got powers. He’s the guy you wanna make a space cop.” 

“By the green beam of my ring, I see that you do not put up pretenses. You are exactly as you appear to be. So you pass both tests.” Len’s theory that the alien was brain damaged was becoming more and more likely by the second. 

“Sure, I don’t make no bones about what I am—but what I am is an ex-con! A cheap crook! And you’re tryin’ to recruit a new space cop! For all you know, I’ll use the badge as a cover to rob people blind without gettin’ caught!” 

“No. You won’t,” the alien replied.

“What’s gonna stop me? You’re about to kick the bucket, ain’t you?” 

“What’s going to stop you, Leonard Snart, is you. Though you have been a criminal and an evildoer, and thus have no love lost for the law enforcement of this planet, you still despise those who cover their acts of wickedness and evil with the badge of righteousness. You would not join their number—for if you did, you would be exactly like your father.” 

“How do you—”

“When the ring scanned you to measure your honesty, it also allowed me to probe your mind and learn of your history.”

“It did what?” 

“There is still much to tell you, and only moments left! My ship was battered…in the deadly radiation bands surrounding your planet. A terrible yellow light, similar to your aurora borealis, blinded me at the controls. Then I crashed.”

“And how does any of this make me a good candidate for bein’ a space cop?” 

“Only seconds left to tell you…once you have the battery, you will have power over everything—except that which is yellow!” 

“Yellow? Like, the color? 

“The unique metal which charges the battery with its wondrous power has a yellow impurity in it. Strangely enough, if that yellow impurity is removed, the battery instantly loses its power. It is this impurity in the battery which will make you powerless over anything yellow!” 

  “So the ring will let me read minds like a creepy weirdo and teleport terrible choices for new space cops anywhere I want, but I’ll be up a creek without a paddle if someone comes at me with a banana?” 

“Now, take my ring. Let me put it on you. With this ring you will drain power from the battery, effective every twenty four hours,” the alien said as he grabbed Len’s hand. If he hadn’t obviously been on his deathbed, Len would’ve socked him in the nose, but even he wasn’t quite low enough to punch a dying guy in the face. He took the ring from his finger and slipped it onto the ring finger of Len’s right hand. 

“Seriously, you should really go find the Flash for this. Or an Earth cop. Or anybody who, you know, isn’t a criminal,” Len said. 

“The battery has chosen you, Leonard Snart. I do not pretend to understand why, or how, but it has—which means there must be some good in you.” Len snorted. 

“Sure there is. Which is why I knock over liquor stores.” The alien fixed him with a really intense stare. 

“Your grandfather was a good man, Leonard Snart. For his sake, and as my dying request, I charge you: swear to use this ring to fight for justice, and to atone for the life of crime you have led.” 

Len had always known on some level that his grandfather wouldn’t be real happy if he had been alive to learn about the line of work he had taken up, but he’d never had anyone directly confront him with it before. The guilt that stirred up, combined with the force of someone’s last request, swamped his better judgment. 

“Okay, okay. I swear.” 

“In order to charge your ring, you must touch the ring to the battery and recite the oath of the Green Lantern Corps,” the alien said. Len walked over to the battery and touched the ring to it. 

“Now, repeat after me. In brightest day—” 

“In brightest day.” 

“In darkest night—” 

“In darkest night.” 

“No evil shall escape my sight.”

“No evil shall escape my sight.”  Len wanted to ask if that “evil” included him, but decided against it. The alien was about to kick the bucket, after all.

“Let those who worship evil’s might…” 

“Let those who worship evil’s might.” 

“Beware my power—Green Lantern’s light!” 

“Beware my power—Green Lantern’s light!” The ring and the battery both glowed a bright green, and Len suddenly found himself dressed in a black-and-green costume identical to the one the alien was wearing. The appearance of the costume was followed a few seconds later by a rush of energy that wasn’t like anything Len had ever felt before. If this was the power of a Green Lantern, no wonder the oath warned people to beware of it. 

The alien slumped, as though he had used up the last of his strength. 

“Now, I have told you all. Do not fail me.” The alien’s eyes closed and his body fell still, and Len didn’t need a super-powered ring to know that he was dead. Len wondered if the guy had an alien family. Since Len had apparently been chosen to be his replacement, was he supposed to track them down and tell them about his death if he did? How was any of this supposed to work? 

“Abin Sur leaves behind a son, Amon Sur, a sister, Arin Sur, and a niece, Soranik Natu,” a robotic voice said. After a few seconds of panic, Len realized that the voice was coming from the ring—which meant that the ring could answer at least some questions. 

“Am I supposed to—” 

“No. The news of Abin Sur’s death has already reached the Guardians of the Universe, to whom all Green Lanterns report. They will send a messenger to inform his loved one of his passing.” Len sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was to have to tell a total stranger—a total stranger from another planet, no less—-that his old man had died. 

“They gonna pick up the body, too?” 

“No. Abin Sur considered all the planets in Sector 2814 as his own, and requested that he should be buried on the planet where he died,” the ring replied. Len swore. He didn’t particularly like the idea of having to dig somebody’s grave, but even he didn’t feel right leaving the guy’s corpse to rot. Which meant he was gonna have to bury Abin Sur. 

Two hours later, Abin Sur was buried, and Len used the ring to mark his grave with a glowing green tombstone. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t an undertaker. Hopefully his efforts would keep the space cop from rolling over in his grave, at least.

“Rest in peace, I guess,” he muttered. Then he looked down at his ring. 

“You mind takin’ me back home? Standin’ around a dead guy’s grave is startin’ to give me the creeps.”. The ring enveloped him in the green light, and after a few seconds he found himself back in his motel room. The battery had apparently come along for the ride, since it was resting next to the bed. 

“And can I have my regular clothes back? You might’ve chosen me to be a space cop, but I ain’t exactly on the clock right now.” There was another flash of green light, and Len was relieved to look down and see that his clothes were back to normal. It would’ve been kind of hard to explain to the motel owner why he was wandering around in a green-and-black leotard. 

Len yawned, and decided that he could plan out his next move in the morning. He walked over to his bed, laid down on it without even bothering to take off his clothes, and was soon fast asleep.

****************************************************************************** When Len woke up, he rolled over on his bed—only to see the power battery. He swore. So much for his hope that his encounter with the alien space cop had been a dream brought on from eating week-old takeout. 

Which meant that life as he had known it had come to a very sudden end. Len sighed wearily and looked down at the lantern-shaped ring on his finger. 

“You have some sort of space cop manual or something? ‘Cause I ain’t got the foggiest idea of what I’m supposed to do now,” Len asked. 

“As a newly recruited member of the Green Lantern Corps, your first task is to report to the Guardians of the Universe on the planet Oa,” the ring replied. 

“Wait. I have to go to another planet?” Len didn’t even like leaving Central City!

“The journey will not be arduous. I am programmed to be able to transport you to Oa instantaneously.” Len’s first instinct was to say that there was no way he was leaving Earth, but then he realized something. If he allowed the ring to take him to these Guardians of the Universe, they would realize that the ring—or maybe Abin Sur—had been damaged in the crash and chose the wrong guy. Then they would give the ring to someone who would actually make sense as a space cop—someone like the Flash—and Len could go back to his normal life.

“Then take me there.” There was a flash of green light, and Len suddenly found himself standing in front of a massive building, one that wasn’t like anything he had ever seen on Earth. He was also back in the green-and-black leotard, but he didn’t really mind wearing it for the sake of the trip that would allow him to get rid of it. 

After a few seconds of wondering if he should go inside the building or wait for the Guardians of the Universe to invite him in, he was approached by a huge creature with a face that kind of looked like a cross between a pig and a bulldog. He had to be at least eight feet tall, and Len was tensing himself for a fight when he noticed that the creature was wearing the same uniform that he was. The bulldog pig was a Green Lantern, just like Abin Sur had been. 

“Are you the new Green Lantern from Sector 2814? Abin Sur’s successor?” he asked. 

“I guess so, yeah. I…wasn’t exactly expecting to be chosen for the job,” Len replied.

“I’m Kilowog, the Green Lantern of Sector 674. I’m from the planet Bolovax Vik, and I’m here to take you to meet the Guardians of the Universe.” 

“Len. Len Snart. I’m from the planet Earth.” Kilowog’s face seemed to scrunch up.

“Your planet’s named ‘Dirt’?” Len shrugged. 

“I didn’t name the planet.” Kilowog laughed. 

“Well, it’s good to meet you—even if I am going to really miss Abin Sur. He was one of the best of us,” he said. 

“He seemed like a decent guy. Even if I’m not sure that he made the right choice for a successor,” Len replied. Kilowog nodded. 

“Every Lantern feels that way when they’re first chosen by the ring. I know I did. I thought, I’m a genetic scientist. What do I know about fighting criminals? It took me a while to get the hang of the job, but I managed—-with the help of my fellow Green Lanterns, of course. And now I’m an instructor for the rookies.” 

“Which is why you’re takin’ me to the Guardians?” 

“Exactly. So, what did you do on Earth before the ring chose you as a Green Lantern?”

“I knocked over liquor stores.” Kilowog’s mouth dropped open. 

“You’re a criminal?” 

“Look, I don’t understand it any more than you do. The best I can figure is that either Abin Sur got brain damage from the spaceship crash that did him in and didn’t realize what he was doing, or the ring itself got busted and chose the wrong guy,” Len replied. 

“Come on. The Guardians have to be informed of this right away,” Kilowog said. His cheerful demeanor from earlier was gone, and he practically dragged Len inside the building where the Guardians of the Universe were, presumably, hanging out. 

“Guardians, I think something went wrong in the selection of the new Lantern for Sector 2814,” Kilowog said as he and Len entered a large, circular room. 

“Explain yourself, Kilowog.” It took Len a few seconds to figure out where the voice was coming from, but once he did, he had to stop himself from laughing. Whatever he had expected the Guardians of the Universe to look like, it definitely hadn’t been a bunch of short blue men in robes. 

“Tell them who you are,” Kilowog snapped at Len. 

“My name’s Len Snart. I’m from the planet Earth, where Abin Sur crashed, and I think that the crash that killed him must’ve also damaged his tech or given him brain damage or something, because he chose me to be the next Green Lantern of Sector 2814.” The Guardians of the Universe looked confused. 

“And why do you and Kilowog believe that this means that a mistake was made?” 

“Because I’m an ex-con—a criminal. I’m not exactly space cop material. So either the ring is busted, and it made a mistake, or whatever injuries did in Abin Sur also caused him to misunderstand what the ring was tellin’ him,” Len replied. 

“The ring does not have the power to teleport you to Oa against your will. If you are a criminal as you say, then why did you come here with it? Why did you not simply use its power to enrich yourself?” It was a good question. Why hadn’t he just done that? 

Except for the fact that it would make him exactly like his father, of course. 

“Because my old man was a crooked cop, and I’d rather die than be anything like him. I’m not gonna stand here and pretend I’m anything other than a thug, but there’s stuff even I won’t stoop to,” Len replied. The little blue guys muttered to each other, and then one of them stepped forward, pulled out some kind of ray, and shot a beam of light at Len.

“The ring is undamaged,” he said. 

“Okay, so Abin Sur hurt his head durin’ the crash or somethin’. I don’t belong here. Send me back to Earth, and let the ring choose whoever was actually supposed to be Sector 2814’s new space cop,” Len replied. 

“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Snart. There was no mistake. As improbable as it may seem, the ring has chosen you to be our newest Green Lantern.” 

“But–” Len and Kilowog said in unison. 

“Leonard Snart, you have served your time for your previous offenses, and you are not currently wanted for any new crimes. As such, you are in effect an ordinary citizen of your planet—and eligible to be deputized as a Green Lantern.” 

“But I’m not—” 

“If you are caught using your power illicitly, we will confiscate the ring and punish you accordingly, as we would with any other Green Lantern. But as the situation currently stands, you are the Green Lantern of Sector 2814,” the little blue alien said. 

“And I can’t, like, give the job to someone who deserves it? Someone who’d actually want to do it?” 

“Leonard Snart, when I scanned the ring, it informed me that you promised Abin Sur on his deathbed that you would take up the position of Green Lantern in order to atone for your past crimes. Are you going to renege on that promise now?” Len swore. He had promised to do the job—not just to Abin Sur, but basically to his grandfather as well. 

“I’ll always keep you safe, Lisa. I promise.” 

He had broken that promise by leaving Lisa alone with their father. 

He couldn’t break this one. 

Which meant that he, Leonard Snart, a lowdown thug who distrusted cops on the best of days, was going to become a space cop. 

How did he get himself into these situations?

“I did promise. So— I guess if you’re really sure you want me, I’ll take the job. I’ll be the Green Lantern of Sector 2814.” 

“Excellent. Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps, Leonard Snart.” 

“Don’t tell me you expect me to baby-sit an ex-convict,” Kilowog protested.

“We don’t expect you to baby-sit anyone—but we do expect you to help train our newest corpsmember,” the little blue guy replied. Kilowog groaned.

“Fine. But I’m going to be watching him like a hawk.” Then he turned to Len. 

“Follow me, poozer. It’s time for you to learn what being a Green Lantern is really all about,” he said. 

“Come again?” Len asked. 

“Kilowog is our drill sergeant, and will be responsible for teaching you how to utilize your ring,” the little blue guy explained. 

“Wait. Nobody said anything about any kind of boot camp. I can’t just up and disappear from Earth for six months or whatever! I got bills to pay,” Len protested. 

“Then you’d better learn fast. You promised Abin Sur that you were gonna become a Green Lantern, and if you wanna keep that promise, you gotta go through boot camp just like the rest of us,” Kilowog replied. He turned on his heels and started walking towards the door, and, after a few seconds, Len reluctantly trailed after him. 

“Okay, fine. I’m coming.” As much as he hated the idea of being away from Central City for any length of time, he had promised Abin Sur that he would do this space cop thing, so he was going to do the space cop thing. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d never had to put his life back together from scratch before. 

“Your first lesson is this: there’s no room for rogues in the Corps. You’re obviously not much for authority. That’s gonna change right now, or you’ll never get out of boot camp,” Kilowog said as the two of them walked out of the room and down a hallway. Len swore. This was gonna be a rough couple of weeks. 

“Oh, and if I catch you breaking a rule—any rule—I’ll bust you down to basics again. Even if you’re about to graduate.” 

“Gotcha. So, uh, if you don’t mind me asking—when do I get paid?” Kilowog laughed.

“Lanterns don’t get paid, poozer. Especially not during basic training.” Len didn’t think that that was very fair. Did the Green Lantern Corps really expect their space police to work for free? 

“How’m I supposed to support myself back on Earth if I ain’t getting paid?” Kilowog just laughed. 

“I give it a week before you wash out,” he said.

Len was going to make Kilowog eat those words. 

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

Len graduated from space cop boot camp in five and a half months. It wasn’t a record or anything like that—not least because Kilowog had meant it when he had told Len that he would bust him down to basics if he broke a rule—-but he hadn’t washed out, and he had actually completed his training well ahead of schedule. 

“I’ll give you this, poozer. You’ve gotta be the most persistent cadet I’ve ever trained,” Kilowog said as he handed Len what Len could only describe as a holographic diploma—which, now that he thought about it, was the first diploma he’d ever earned. 

“And you’re the biggest pain in the neck I’ve ever met—-but you’re a good teacher. Anybody who could steer me to a diploma’d have to be,” Len replied. As much as he hated to admit it, Kilowog had really grown on him over the past few months. 

It had helped that, unlike a lot of the other Lanterns, he’d been upfront about the fact that he didn’t trust Len one bit. Since Len knew that most of them didn’t really trust the ex-con in their ranks, he’d appreciated that Kilowog had the guts to be honest about it. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you just might have what it takes to make Abin Sur proud,” Kilowog said as the two of them shook hands. 

“Careful. You’ll make him roll over in his grave,” Len snarked. Even if he had promised to make up for his past crimes—even though he was going to do it—-he knew that he was a thug at heart. He would never be good enough to be a real hero.

Kilowog laughed. 

“Good luck out there. The first week of patrol is always a doozy,” he said.

“Thanks. See you around, Kilowog,” Len said. One of the Guardians of the Universe floated up to them. 

“Are you prepared to return to Earth, Leonard Snart?” Len had tried to convince the little blue men to just call him “Len”, but had gotten nowhere. 

“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to get back to Central City!” Len exclaimed. Lisa was probably worried sick about him by now….

“In that case, you are free to begin your first patrol, Green Lantern of Sector 2814—and may good fortune go with you.” 

There was a flash of green light, and Len was back in Central City. 

“Home, sweet home.” 

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

The first thing Len did after arriving on Earth, besides using his ring to change back into civilian clothes, was call his little sister on the phone. 

“Lenny?” Lisa asked. 

“Yeah, sis. It’s me,” Len replied. 

“Where have you been? No one’s heard anything from you in six months!” Lisa exclaimed. Len wasn’t quite sure what to say. 

“Sorry for not calling for so long. I was…uh…out of town on a job,” he said. Saying “I was in space cop boot camp on another planet” wasn’t something you could casually drop into a conversation. 

“Out of town? What do you mean, out of town? You never leave Central City! I thought you were dead!” 

“I’m really sorry, sis. It’s just…things came up and—-well—I had to get out of dodge for awhile.” There was a snort—the Snart snort—on the other end of the line. 

“If you’re on the run from the cops, you can just say so, Lenny. It’s not like I don’t know you’re a criminal.”

“Actually, I’m not anymore,” Len said. 

“I gathered as much, seeing as you’re calling me. I guess the heat died down?”

“No, I mean I’m not a criminal anymore.” 

“Wait. When you said you had a job, you meant that you got an actual job?”

“Yeah.” 

“What kind of job is it?” Another question Len wasn’t sure how to answer. Saying “I got hired by a bunch of little blue aliens to be a space cop” sounded crazy, and there was no way she would believe that he had been hired to be a regular cop.

On the other hand, he was going to need a second job. One that actually paid a salary. So maybe he could just make up a job and then go get hired in that position before Lisa could find out he’d lied to her. 

As an ex-con. With a felony on his record. That was never going to happen. 

Telling the truth it was, then. 

“Okay, first of all, you have to believe me when I tell you I’m not crazy.”

“Because that’s exactly what people say when they aren’t crazy,” Lisa replied. It was at this point that Len realized that he actually had a way to prove his sanity. 

“Sis, where are you?”

“I’m in my apartment. The one I stay in when I’m not on tour. Why?” There was a flash of green light, and Len materialized in his sister’s apartment. 

“Hey, sis,” he said. 

“Lenny? How—-how did you—”

“It’s kind of a long story, but the gist of it is that an alien space cop called a Green Lantern crash landed on Earth. He was fatally wounded in the crash, so he did a sweep of the surrounding area, lookin’ for people who don’t scare easy, and came up with me. Then he teleported me to him, passed on his power battery and ring to me, and told me that the ring—-it’s some sort of super-advanced tech the Green Lanterns use—had chosen me to be the next space cop of Sector 2814, which is where Earth is. It seemed totally crazy, but he was dying and really really insistent that I had to replace him, so I…kind of promised him that I would do the whole space cop thing. And then he died. I thought for sure that he’d made a mistake, so I had the ring take me to the Guardians of the Universe, these little blue guys who run the Green Lantern Corps, to tell them that they needed to find a new space cop, and I was transported to a planet called Oa.” 

“You went to another planet?” Lisa asked. 

“Yeah. It’s the one where the Guardians of the Universe live.” 

“And you’re sure you’re not crazy?” 

“Could I teleport before?” 

“Okay, fair point. So what happened after you got there?” 

“I told the Guardians that the ring had made a mistake, and they said that it hadn’t. I’ve technically served my time for all the crimes I’ve committed, and I guess that made me eligible to be chosen. But before I could be a full-fledged Green Lantern, I had to go through space cop boot camp—and that’s basically where I’ve been for the past six months. But I passed. I’ve got a diploma and everything. I’m a deputized space cop now,” Len said. He pulled out his holographic diploma, and was surprised at how proud he felt to be able to show it to his sister. 

“That’s actually really cool. I’m so proud of you, Lenny!” Lisa exclaimed.

“Thanks.” 

“Do you have a uniform? What does it look like? Can I see it?” 

“Sure, sis.” The ring glowed, and his civvies were replaced by the Green Lantern uniform.

“Wow! You look great!” Lisa exclaimed. 

“I dunno. I’m not crazy about the skintight spandex…”

“Trust me, you pull it off.” 

“If you say so.” 

“So, how much money do you make as a space cop?” Lisa asked. 

“Well, that’s the one problem with the gig. Green Lanterns get fed and sheltered on Oa, but they don’t get paid. Which means that, since I ain’t about to live full-time on another planet, I’m gonna need a second job,” Len said. Lisa grinned. 

“I know the guy who owns Central City’s ice skating rink. He’s been talking about how they need someone to run the Zamboni for months. If I recommended you, I bet he’d take you on,” she said. Len smiled.

“Well, I’ve always liked the cold. If you really think he’d hire me…that’d be great.”

And two days later, the Green Lantern of Sector 2814 was hired to be the official Zamboni driver for Central City’s biggest ice skating rink. 

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

“In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might beware my power—Green Lantern’s light!” The ring glowed brightly, and, now that it was fully charged, Len took off on his first official patrol. Since he had been out of the underworld loop for six months, he couldn’t exactly go chasing down specific crooks, so he was going to be limited to just sort of flying around and stopping whatever he came across, but he was definitely still  jumpy. This was his first day on the job, and he really didn’t want to make a total idiot out of himself.

And he really didn’t want to stumble across any of his former colleagues before he had some experience under his belt. Because running into them while he was still a rookie would be very awkward and might also result in him ending up very dead. 

“Guess nobody ever said this space cop thing would be easy,” he muttered to himself. 

The first hour or so of the patrol passed more or less uneventfully. Aside from some jaywalking, which wasn’t exactly the sort of evil that the power of a Green Lantern was intended to fight against, there’d been no sign of any trouble or anyone who was planning to commit a crime—and as an ex-con, Len was pretty good at spotting criminals who were trying to look casual before starting a job. 

He had been about to leave and head for a new city block when he suddenly heard a piercing scream coming from one of the apartment buildings. After using the ring to determine that the scream had come from an apartment on the third floor, he flew over to the window to see a man knock his wife to the ground. A little boy, no more than five years old, was standing nearby and sobbing. 

“Where were you today? Where were you?” the man screamed. 

“I was only at the grocery store, Ronald! I have the receipts—I can show you!” the woman pleaded. 

“Don’t lie to me! I know you were with another man! Who was it?” The little boy ran between his parents. 

“Daddy, please! Leave mommy alone!” he exclaimed. The man raised his hand, but before he could hit him, Len used the ring to open the window, and then to create an energy wall between the man and his son. 

“What the–?” the man asked. Len flew through the window and landed next to the man. 

“If you want a fight, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” he asked. 

“Who are you?” 

“Name’s Len. Len Snart. But to you, I’m the Green Lantern,” Len replied. 

“I don’t care if you’re the Flash. You ain’t got no right to interfere with my personal life.”

“Maybe not—but I ain’t gonna just stand by and let you knock your wife around and beat up your kid,” Len replied. 

“What I do in my own house in my own business.” 

“The man who slammed a beer bottle into my shoulder when I was twelve said the same thing. And I think you’re both full of crap,” Len said. He walked through his energy wall and extended a hand to the woman. 

“You okay?” The woman took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. 

“I…I’m fine. You should go, really. Ronald isn’t normally…isn't normally like this. He’s just had a rough few days.” Len knew it was a lie. He remembered saying exactly the same thing to social workers as a kid.

 And he also knew that there probably wasn’t anything he could say or do to convince this woman to tell a stranger the truth. 

“All the same, I’m not gonna leave until I’m sure that you and the kid’ll be okay when I go,” he said. 

“If you don’t get outta my house, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” the man spat. Len laughed. 

“Go on, then. Call the cops. I’m sure they’ll be real interested to know why your wife’s got a black eye—and why you’ve got a bunch of dope and a sawed-off shotgun hidden under your couch.” Len knew from his own time as a crook that no small-timer in this situation would call the cops unless they were absolutely convinced that they were going to die. The chance of getting arrested alongside whoever was causing you the problem was way too high. 

Sure enough, Ronald didn’t call the cops. Instead, he pulled the shotgun out from underneath the couch and fired it over the energy wall—only for the bullet to be stopped by a red blur. A red blur that solidified into the Flash. 

“Somehow I doubt that you have a license for that gun,” he said. Len dropped the energy wall, and the Flash zipped over to Ronald and grabbed the shotgun out of his hands. Len took the opportunity to pin the guy to the wall with a glowing green clamp. 

“Nice work. I didn’t know there was another superhero in Central City,” the Flash said.

“I’m…uh…kinda new to the job. I only became the Green Lantern of Sector 2814 a couplea months ago, and I basically just got out of boot camp.” 

“The… Green Lantern?” the Flash echoed. 

“Yeah, a Green Lantern. A space cop. There’s one for every sector of space, and they’re run by these little blue guys who call themselves the Guardians of the Universe. Abin Sur was the last Green Lantern of this sector of the universe—2814—and since he died on Earth, he passed the ring on to me, ‘cause I ain’t afraid of much and I don’t pretend to be anything other’n what I am. Or somethin’ like that. I’m still half-convinced the stupid thing was busted when it chose me, but hey, what’re ya gonna do? Somebody has to do the job, and I did promise the guy I’d do it,” Len replied. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. What brought you to this apartment? I came running because I heard the shotgun blast, but you were obviously here before he pulled that out,” Flash asked. 

“I heard a scream comin’ from the buildin’, so I flew up to the window to see what was goin’ on. When I looked inside, I saw our pal over there knockin’ his wife around in front of his kid. The kid ran over to try an’ protect his mom, and I stopped the creep with an energy wall just before he could slap his son around too. He started givin’ me all the usual crap about how I should get out and mind my own business, and when I told him I wasn’t gonna just fly off and let him go back to beatin’ up women and little kids, he pulled the shotgun on me. Thanks for the save, by the way,” Len replied. The Flash looked horrified. 

“He was going to hit his own child?” Len nodded. 

“Hate to say it, but it happens all the time. My old man broke my arm when I was about that kid’s age,” he said. The Flash’s mouth dropped open. 

“My parents never hit me. I…I couldn’t even imagine.” Funny. Len could barely imagine what it was like to have parents who didn’t hit you.

“Not even when you acted up?” 

“No. Never.” 

“You’re lucky, then.” 

“Do you mind if I run this criminal to CCPD Headquarters? I can get him there faster than you probably can, but I can understand if you want to get the credit for stopping him. You did most of the work, after all,” the Flash asked. 

“I don’t mind. I figure if I keep up this space cop gig long enough, I’ll end up with more credit than I know what to do with. So go ahead and take him,” Len replied. The Flash disappeared, and then reappeared about a minute later. 

“Sorry it took so long. I had to tell the police what I’d arrested him for,” he explained. Then he turned to the woman. 

“Are you all right, miss? Is there anything I can do for you?” The woman responded by bursting into tears. 

“You’ve done enough! What are Andy and I supposed to do without Robert? He was the only one bringing in any money!” she cried. From the look on Flash’s face, it was clear that he hadn’t been expecting that reaction.

“Before you ask, that ain’t uncommon either. It’s part of why women like my mom don’t call the cops on the guys who beat ‘em up—-they ain’t got the education or the money to make ends meet as single moms,” Len said quietly. Instead, he pulled out his wallet, fished out some fifty dollar bills, and handed them to the woman. 

“Will this be enough to hold you over for awhile?” he asked. As much as he would miss his baseball tickets—and his beer—he’d be alright without the cash. And if he was going to do this whole hero thing, he might as well do it all the way. 

The woman looked up at him suspiciously. 

“What’s the catch? What do you want? I…I won’t testify against Robert. I…I can’t,” she said.

“No catch, lady. Just take care of yourself—and your kid.” The woman gave him a weak smile.

“Where do you work?” the woman asked. 

“At the big downtown ice rink. I keep the place in shape—and run the Zamboni,” he replied. 

“Then I’ll swing by once a week and bring you some of my fried chicken. Everyone says it’s the best in the neighborhood.”  Len grinned.

 “That’d be great. See you soon.” Len looked over to the Flash, who looked like he was going through his own pockets, and put his hand on his shoulder. 

“I know what you’re thinkin’, but don’t. If you give her money, it’ll embarrass her.” The Flash gave him a bit of a strange look. 

“You gave her money.” 

“I can get away with it. I’m a poor high school dropout too. She can repay me, one way or the other. But from you it’d be charity,” Len explained. The Flash nodded and stopped going through his pockets. 

“Miss, is there anything else you need?” he asked. 

“No. We’ll be fine. And—I’m sorry about yelling at you earlier. It’s just…I married Robert when I was seventeen, right after we both dropped out. He told me that he would take care of me, and that I didn’t need to work, and—and—I was just so scared of the thought of not having his support for Andy,” the woman said.

“I understand. You were worried about your son, and I definitely forgive you.” Then the Flash turned to Len. 

“If you’re okay with it, I can get the two of us back on the streets in a flash.” 

“Sure. Why not?” There was a rush of light not too different from the one Len saw when the ring teleported him, and then he and the Flash were standing outside of the apartment building. 

“You know, Green Lantern, while I don’t think that woman is any threat, I’m not sure if you should go around telling people where you work as a civilian. If that information starts circulating, criminals might get a hold of it and use it to go after you when you’re off the clock—or worse, to go after your loved ones.” Len shrugged. 

“I appreciate the concern, but seein as I ain’t married, I don’t got kids, my sister’s an ice skater who spends most of her time touring the country under a stage name, my mom’s been AWOL for years, and my old man’s on the Candy Man’s payroll, I don’t figure I’ve got too much to worry about. I can take care of myself pretty well, even without the fancy ring,” he said.  

“If Green Lantern rings are awarded on the basis of fearlessness, I can see how you earned one,” the Flash replied. 

“Don’t give me too much credit. Anybody’d be fearless after a childhood of bein’ smacked around by their father and a couple of years fightin’ off wannabe cell block kings in state prison. You survive that and there’s not much that’ll scare you anymore.” 

“Wait. You’ve been to prison?” the Flash asked. 

“Uh-huh. Did two years for robbin’ a drug store on Fifth and Main, thanks to a certain red blur,” Len replied. The Flash’s eyes widened. 

“That gang—the one with the glasses that let them intercept police radio bands! I thought those green glasses you’re wearing looked familiar!” he exclaimed. 

“You got a good memory.”

“Who are you?” Len snorted. 

“Weren’t you just goin’ on about how I shouldn’t be tellin’ people about myself?” 

“That was before I knew you were a criminal!” 

“I was a criminal—but I ain’t one now. I wasn’t lying when I said I worked at the ice rink. Or about the space cop thing, for that matter.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit wary to trust someone I know I put behind bars, and who therefore has a good reason to hold a grudge against me.” Len sighed. Well, it wasn’t like he actually cared if anyone knew who the Green Lantern really was. 

“Name’s Len. Len Snart,” he said. 

“Leonard Snart, then. You’re twenty-five years old. Arrested six times, convicted four times. You spent three months in jail for getting caught with burglar’s tools when you were eighteen, eight months in jail for stealing a fairly cheap necklace, starting when you were nineteen, another eight months in jail for stealing a couple hundred dollars from a liquor store, starting when you were twenty-one, and then two years in prison for robbing a drug store, starting at twenty-two.” 

“And you’re either a cop, a lawyer, or a warden, because nobody else knows that much about the criminal record of some cheap thug,” Len replied. 

“How in the world did you get deputized as a police officer, in space or otherwise?” Len shrugged. 

“I have no idea. I told ‘em I was an ex-con—repeatedly, because I wasn’t originally too keen on the whole space cop idea—-but they said that since I’d served my time for the old crimes, and hadn’t committed any new ones, I could be a Green Lantern. And since I’d promised the dying Green Lantern who passed me the ring that I’d go straight and take up the job, well—I decided I had to do it. I have all the paperwork and everything if you wanna see it.” 

“So you aren’t going to try to put me six feet under for sending you to prison?” 

“Even if I was still a criminal,  I wouldn’t be tryin’ to put you six feet under for sending me to prison. No crook needs the kinda heat killin’ a cape brings down on you. It’d be like killin’ a cop—maybe even worse.” 

“A… cape?” 

“Yeah. That’s what crooks—-at least the low-level ones—call costumed heroes. Capes,” Len replied. 

“And you’re serious about turning over a new leaf?” 

“If you’d asked me if I’d ever say this a year ago, I’d have laughed in your face—but yeah. I’m turnin’ over a new leaf,” Len replied. The Flash grinned. 

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. It’s a nice change of pace to know a person I arrested is changing for the better instead of plotting ways to kill me.” 

“And you’re sure you don’t mind havin’ an ex-con runnin’ around playin’ super-hero in your city?” 

“It’s not my city. You live here, too. In my mind, that makes it our city—and if you really do want to help people, I’m certainly not about to stop you. Even a man as fast as I am can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Guess that makes us allies, then.” The Flash nodded. 

“It does—and, although I really hate to run off on you, I think I’d better get going. I have a date at 8:00 PM sharp, and my girlfriend will be furious if I’m late again.” 

“Then I hope you’ve got the money to buy her a nice gift, ‘cause it’s 8:25.” 

“It is?” 

“Almost 8:26. Do you not own a watch?” 

“Several, actually, but somehow it doesn’t seem to help.” Len shook his head. 

“Good luck with your girlfriend—-and hey, I guess I’ll be seein’ you around.” 

“Good-bye, Green Lantern, and stay safe. With any luck, I’ll be seeing you in the newspapers before too long,” the Flash said. Then he disappeared in, well, a flash. Len smiled. 

“Who woulda thought I’d ever work with the Flash?”

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

The Flash turned out to be right about the newspaper thing. Less than a week into his career as Green Lantern, Len stopped a crowded bus from crashing into a restaurant when its brakes went out, and suddenly his face was all over the newspapers—-and the TV channels, too. 

“Lenny, you’re famous!” Lisa exclaimed over the phone. She was in New York City with her ice skating company and had seen the reports about the rescue on the news. 

“I…uh…kinda noticed,” Len replied. 

“Everyone’s talking about Central City’s new superhero, even here in New York. And I swear, half of the people who skate for Futura want to know if I can get them your autograph,” Lisa said. 

“They ain’t the only ones. It’s getting a little overwhelming to go out in costume during the day, what with all the fans and all.” Lisa gave the Snart snort. 

“Welcome to the limelight.” 

“You got any tips for dealing with this sorta stuff?” 

“Of course. You’ve come to the right place, big brother.” 

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

After a year and a half of being the Green Lantern, Len fought one of the Flash’s supervillains for the first time. While Len fought crime in Central City whenever he was on Earth, since he was the Green Lantern of all of Sector 2814, he had to be off in space a lot to fight off alien invasions and to help stop crime and natural disasters on the other planets in his sector. Because of this, the costumed criminals—who had started showing up within a few months of his debut as Green Lantern—spent most of their time fighting the Flash. 

He was patrolling Morrow Street, waiting for the weekly drug-related shootout to start, when the window of a nearby grocery store suddenly warped and twisted, and a man carrying a pretty good-sized bag of loot, and wearing an orange-and-green costume, stepped out of it. As he looked at the guy—the Mirror Master, if he was remembering right—Len found himself revising his opinion of his Green Lantern uniform. He still thought the spandex looked stupid, but at least it wasn’t orange and green.

Len used his ring to create a giant green claw, and used it to grab the bag of loot from the Mirror Master, who let out a cry of surprise. 

“Green Lantern?” 

“That’s right. And from what the Flash has told me, you must be the Mirror Master.” The Mirror Master smirked. 

“The one and only.” Len tried to remember the supervillain’s civilian name, but couldn’t come up with anything. Whoever he was, though, he was very cocky—cockier than Len had ever been as a crook. 

“How long you been out of prison?” 

“A few weeks. State prison’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. So I arranged an early parole for myself. How long have you been back in Central City? Last I heard, you were in space,” the Mirror Master replied. 

“I got homesick, so after I stopped a flood on Agraria 7, I made my way back to Earth. I’ve been here for a couple days now,” Len said. 

“And you’re wasting your vacation on stopping me?” Mirror Master asked. 

“You surrender quietly, and that’ll open up a lot of free time for both of us,” Len replied. The Mirror Master laughed. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I don’t want the kind of free time I’ll end up with if I surrender,” he said. He pulled out a strange-looking prism, and, when Len fired a beam at it in the hopes of knocking it out of his hands, the prism didn’t just reflect the beam back—it split the beam into a rainbow of seven differently-colored light beams, all of which shot in Len’s direction. Len automatically threw up a shield, and realized a second too late that the yellow beam wouldn’t be blocked by the shield. This beam hit him square in the chest and sent him hurtling towards the ground. He managed to save himself from colliding with the ground by quickly creating a giant pile of green blankets, but the impact was still enough to knock the wind out of him—and to send the Mirror Master’s bag of loot flying out of his hands.

“My prism shield works even better against your Green Lantern beam than I predicted it would!” the Mirror Master exclaimed. As Len struggled to regain his breath and get back on his feet, Mirror Master pulled out another device, and suddenly there were dozens of Mirror Masters.

“As much as I’d love to stick around and engage you in a battle of light manipulation, I have places to go and jewelry to fence. So…catch me if you can!” All of the Mirror Masters started moving at once. Len blasted several to pieces, then realized that he was being stupid. If he wanted to catch the Mirror Master, all he had to do was command the ring to find the real one. 

“Mind findin’ the actual human in all those reflections?” he asked. A few seconds later, a green light appeared over one of the Mirror Masters. He was one of many who seemed to be carrying the bag of loot. He didn’t want to take any more chances with the prism shield, so instead, he grabbed the Mirror Master from behind with a giant green hand. The Mirror Master reached for what was probably another weapon he had hidden on his costume, but before he could get to it, Len ordered the ring to create a pair of green handcuffs around his wrists. Then, just to be on the safe side, he also ordered the ring to remove any hidden weapons from the costume. A few seconds later, an improbable number of mirrors, prisms, and ray guns were floating in the air, suspended in green bubbles. How in the world did the Mirror Master manage to fit that much stuff in such a skintight costume? 

Len then used the ring to lower the Mirror Master, his loot, and all of the confiscated weapons back to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the giant hand vanished, but the handcuffs remained, and the weapons continued to float in their green bubbles. 

“How’s that for light manipulation?” he asked as he started floating the weapons down to the ground. 

“Don’t break any of the mirrors! Don’t you know that’ll bring seven years’ bad luck?” the Mirror Master shrieked as one of the mirrors hit the ground. Len snorted. 

“It must really suck for somebody who fights using mirrors to be superstitious about breakin’ ‘em,” he said. The Mirror Master continued to struggle against the cuffs—and then, all of a sudden, his costume gave off such a bright light that even Len, with his goggles that were designed to filter out excess light, was nearly blinded. 

The costume was gimmicked—which meant that he needed to get it off of the Mirror Master before he got away. There was a flare of green light, and then Len could see again. Although since the first thing he saw was the Mirror Master wearing nothing but a gray undershirt, blue socks, and yellow polka-dotted underwear (seriously?), he wasn’t totally sure that was actually a good thing. 

“What did you do? Where’s my costume?” the Mirror Master screamed. 

“You were blinding me with it, so I told the ring to get it off of you. Believe me, I’m regretting it as much as you are. Who wears polka-dotted underwear?” 

“It was on sale!” As the initial shock of seeing the Mirror Master in nothing but his underclothes wore off, Len started to focus on the younger man’s features, which he could now see a lot more clearly. Perfectly styled brown hair, big brown eyes, ski-jump nose—-wait. He’d seen this face before, and not just on wanted posters. 

“And give me my costume back! You can’t drag me to CCPD Headquarters in my underclothes at two in the afternoon. I’d never be able to live that down.” 

“Sam? Sam Scudder?”

“Of course I’m Sam Scudder! It’s not like my identity’s a secret. Now give me my costume back!” 

The Mirror Master’s identity might not have been a secret, but it was news to Len. Apparently, while he’d been off in space, the pretty boy he’d had to save from getting shivved when they were in prison together had become a supervillain. 

“Do you remember a guy named Len Snart, by any chance?” he asked. Sam looked at him with obvious confusion. 

“Yeah, I remember him. He was in prison with me while I was serving my sentence for robbery, and he saved my life while he was there. If he ever shows up again, I owe him a favor—but why do you care about that?” 

  Len let the glasses vanish from his face. He was sure the Flash would probably blow a blood vessel in his brain if he saw him doing this, but hey—it wasn’t like his identity was a secret, either. 

“Because you’ve found him. It’s been a long time, Sam,” he said awkwardly. After a full thirty seconds of staring in open-mouthed shock, Sam finally found his voice. 

“The Green Lantern is an ex-con? An ex-con that I know?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“How did a convicted felon end up as part of the space police?” Sam asked. 

“I get asked that a lot. And I still have no idea,” Len replied. There was an awkward pause. 

“So, what’s it like working on the other side of the fence?”

“A lot more rewarding than I thought it’d be.” It was true. Even though he had promised to become a good guy, Len had initially assumed that it wouldn’t be very much fun. He had been wrong. Sure, there were still days—a lot of days, really—where he missed the rush of living by his wits, outwitting the cops, and taking whatever he felt like, but that rush paled in comparison to how good it felt to know that what he was doing was saving lives. To know that his sister could finally be proud of her big brother, and that his grandfather would be happy to see how he had turned out. 

“Rewarding?” Sam echoed. 

“Yeah. You probably won’t listen to me, because I wouldn’t have before I got a wake-up call in the form of a literal crashing spaceship, but—turnin’ over a new leaf and goin’ straight’s the best thing you can do for yourself—not to mention for everyone around you,” Len replied. A dark look spread across Sam’s face. 

“You want me to do what you did? Give up crime and become some sort of superhero?” he asked. 

“Why not? If I can do it, somebody with a brain like yours would have no problem.” Sam shook his head. 

“Because I know what being a superhero gets you in the end. It gets you killed.” 

“Is that a threat?” Len asked. 

“From me? No. Never. I owe you my life—and I’m not one for killing anyhow. It would take the glamor out of being the Mirror Master.” 

“Then why’d you say it?”

“As a warning.” 

“You got a funny way of warning people, Sam.”  The Mirror Master cocked his head and seemed to ponder something. 

“This isn’t working. So let’s try this. Since you’re determined to hear what I said as a threat, take it as a threat from the rest of the underworld. There are plenty of them who don’t have the standards that I have. If you keep interfering with them, eventually one of them will kill you. Growing up under the Candy Man’s thumb taught me that.” 

“I ain’t afraid of the Candy Man,” Len replied. 

“I know. You aren’t afraid of anything, if what I understand about the Green Lantern ring is true. But you should be. I don’t want to watch anyone else I know get killed playing hero.” 

“I’ll be careful. I always am. Now, let’s get you to CCPD before—” 

“Green Lantern! Green Lantern! How did you capture the Mirror Master?” 

“Before the paparazzi shows up,” Len muttered. As the cameras flashed, Sam’s cheeks went bright red, and he darted behind Len. The Mirror Master was still going to be on the front page of the newspaper in his underclothes tomorrow, but Len couldn’t really blame him for wanting to hide. 

“So, you know how I said I wasn’t going to kill you?” Sam hissed. 

“Yeah,” Len replied. 

“I meant it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make things very difficult for you if we ever fight again.” 

“Hey, don’t blame me for this. If you had surrendered quietly when I asked, this wouldn’t have happened.” Sam gave out a sad little whine. 

“I’m going to be the laughingstock of the underworld…” 

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

Len had thought he had done a good job at keeping in touch with Lisa. Over the seven years he had been the Green Lantern, he’d visited her every time they were both in Central City, attended at least four of her shows every year, and talked to her on the phone at least once a month. 

“I don’t care if he’s your partner, Lenny! I want the Flash to suffer—the way I suffered when he killed my boyfriend!” 

Len was starting to get the feeling that he hadn’t done quite as good a job of keeping in touch as he had thought. 

“You have a boyfriend? You never mentioned him before.” 

“I couldn’t tell you, because I knew you wouldn’t approve.” Len sighed. 

“Lisa, I’m an ex-con. Who exactly were you dating that I would have had a leg to stand on in terms of disapprovin’ of him?” 

“Roscoe Dillon—but you probably know him better as the Top,” Lisa said. Len’s mouth dropped open. 

“As in the supervillain who died of a brain aneurysm a few weeks ago? That Top?” Lisa nodded. Well, that explained why Lisa had thought he would disapprove. Even aside from being a supervillain, the Top had been a stuck-up snob—one who was freakishly obsessed with tops. Of all the Flash’s supervillains, he was one of the last ones Len would have wanted his sister to date. 

“Yes. Flash’s vibrations induced Roscoe’s aneurysm the last time they fought. He killed my boyfriend—and I’m going to make him pay!” Lisa shrieked. 

“Lisa, it was an accident. You know it was an accident. Nobody could’ve ever guessed that—” 

“What I know is that my Roscoe is dead because of him!” 

“It was an accident! If I had killed somebody accidentally, would you want their girlfriend to kill me?” Len asked. Lisa’s eyes narrowed. 

“Lenny, I didn’t come here for you to talk me out of this. I’m here to warn you to stay out of my way,” she said. 

“I can’t do that, Lisa.” 

“What do you mean, you can’t do that?”

“The Flash is my friend, and he’s a good man. I understand you’re upset about your boyfriend, but—I can’t let you kill him because he accidentally caused a supervillain to die.” Lisa burst into tears.

“Lenny, you don’t understand! I need this! I need to make him pay! Revenge is all I have left, now that Roscoe’s dead and you’re gone all the time!” Len swallowed hard. 

“Lisa, please. If you attack the Flash, I’ll have to arrest you. I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t wanna send my little sister to prison,” Lisa’s eyes went wide with shock.

“You’d side with the Flash over your own sister?”

“If it means keepin’ my friend alive? And keepin’ you from becomin’ a murderer? I have to,” he replied. 

“You promised you would always protect me! Are you going to break that promise again?” The words twisted like a knife in Len’s gut. 

“I promised I would protect you, and I will. I’ll never leave you alone again. But that don’t mean I’ll stand by and let you kill an innocent man!” 

“So that’s how it is, is it? You’re going to choose your cop friend over me?” Lisa demanded. 

“No, Lisa. But I’m not gonna choose you over him either.” The look of icy hatred in Lisa’s eyes sent a shiver down Len’s spine. 

“You’re just like our father. So I’ll tell you what I told him the last time I saw him. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” 

As Lisa turned on her heel and walked away, Sam’s voice echoed in Len’s mind. 

“Since you’re determined to hear what I said as a threat, take it as a threat from the rest of the underworld. There are plenty of them who don’t have the standards that I have. If you keep interfering with them, eventually one of them will kill you.” 

Len hadn’t been afraid of that prospect at the time. But back then, he had never thought that his sister would be one of the crooks trying to kill him.

He was more than scared now. He was terrified. 

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

Lisa was a Snart. When she attacked the Flash, Len had shown up to stop her—and she had kept her word. She tried to kill him, and, even though she hadn’t succeeded, she’d killed a part of him all the same when she’d forced him to fight against the little sister he’d only ever wanted to protect. 

It wasn’t quite enough to make him wish he’d never taken up the superhero gig, not with all the good he’d done, but it was still awful. His little sister was in prison, and she wanted him dead. How was he supposed to move on from that? 

Suddenly, one of the mirrors in his apartment warped and twisted, and the Mirror Master stepped out. 

“If you’ve changed your mind about killing me, go ahead. You’ll never have a better chance than now,” Len said weakly.

“I’m not going to kill you. You’re a pain in the neck, and your constant attempts to get me to reform and put myself in the line of fire are really getting old—but I still owe you my life. And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about what happened with your sister. You didn’t deserve that,” Sam said. 

“Why’re you here, Sam?” 

“I’m here to tell you that I’m going to try to keep an eye on your sister and make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble–either while she’s in prison or when she escapes. Because you know she’s going to. She’s a Snart, just like you.” 

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. She tried to kill me when I got in her way, and I’m her brother. I don’t think she’d even pause before killin’ you.”

  “Who said anything about getting in her way? I’m no hero, and I’m not about to try to stop her. I’m just going to tip you off if she needs help—or, more likely, if she’s coming after you and you need to be on guard,” Sam replied. 

“Well—thanks, then. But this don’t mean I’m gonna just let you go the next time I catch you stealin’ somethin’,” Len said. Sam laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Without you and the Flash, life would be far too easy—which is why I’m not actually here.” Sam suddenly shattered into a million pieces on Len’s floor. Len swore. 

Another mirror duplicate. 

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Len went over and opened it. The Flash was standing on the other side, holding a gallon of Len’s favorite chocolate crunch ice cream. 

“I…I understand if you don’t want company right now, but I wanted to check in on you just in case you did. And bring you that ice cream you like,” he said. 

“Come on in. I could probably use the company—and I could definitely use your speed to help me clean up the mess my last guest left me with,” Len replied. The Flash glanced over to the pile of glass that had been the Mirror Master duplicate. 

“I take it the Mirror Master dropped by?” he asked.

“The guy can make holographic images that vanish without leavin’ a trace. Why does he always insist on sendin’ mirror duplicates that break into pieces when he wants to talk to me without gettin’ caught?” Len replied. The Flash promptly zipped over to the pile of glass, and after only a few seconds, all the glass was stored in some plastic bags and the bags were in Len’s trash can. 

“Thanks.” 

“It was nothing. Where should I put the ice cream?”

“The mini fridge is—” There was a red blur, and Len just barely saw the fridge door open and close. 

“You ever thought about hirin’ yourself out as a pizza delivery guy? You’d make a mint.” 

“If I ever lose my job as a police scientist, I’ll keep that in mind,” the Flash replied. Then he actually pulled off his mask, to reveal a blonde man with bright blue eyes. He was a lot better-looking than Len had ever been, and if he hadn’t known how desperate the Flash was to keep his identity a secret, he would’ve wondered why the guy even bothered to wear the mask. 

“My name’s Barry Allen, and I work for the CCPD’s forensics lab.” 

“You’re giving up your secret identity? Why now?” Len asked.

“Because you just risked your life to protect me from your own sister. If that wasn’t enough to earn my complete trust, I don’t know what else would be.” Len was suddenly struck by a horrible revelation. 

“Wait a minute. If you’re Barry Allen, then when Lisa was goin’ after Iris West-Allen, she was goin’ after your wife,” Len said. Barry nodded. 

“I’m afraid so. Len—I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re sorry? What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be apologizin’! My sister was tryin’ to murder you and your missus!” 

“She tried to kill you, too. I know how much you love your sister—-and I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have my own sister try to kill me,” Barry replied. 

And suddenly the dam broke, and Len found himself crying for the first time in decades. 

When the tears finally ran out, he looked up at Barry wearily. 

“The funny thing is, the worst part wasn’t her tryin’ to kill me. It was when she looked me in the eye and told me that I was just like our old man. You…you know what he was like. That’s how much my sister hates me,” he said.

“You know, Len, if you wanted to stop operating as a superhero in Central City, I wouldn’t blame you. I can’t ask you to risk getting killed by your own sister.” For a second, Len seriously considered it. 

But then he thought about the people he’d saved, and the friends he’d made, and decided against it. As much as he loved his sister, and as much as he hated the idea of having to fight her again, he couldn’t leave Central City in the lurch. 

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easily. Central City’s my home as much as it is yours, and I ain’t gonna abandon it just ‘cause things got tough for me.” 

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

Len had been Green Lantern for ten years when the Flash—Barry Allen— died saving the universe. 

The mantle didn’t sit vacant long. Barry Allen’s sidekick, Wally West, took up the job. He was still just a kid—barely twenty—and, though he’d had a good amount of experience as Kid Flash, that wasn’t quite the same thing as being the Flash in his own right. 

Which was why Len had to spend a lot of time giving the kid pointers—pointers which he more often than not ignored, and then fell flat on his face. 

If a thuggish ex-con like him had managed to become the Green Lantern, he had no doubt that the kid would be able to make his mentor proud one day—but sometimes that day seemed really far off. 

After an exhausting few hours of trying to referee a fight that had broken out between the kid and his current girlfriend, a police officer named Julie Jackam, Len was sitting at home and eating his chocolate crunch ice cream when there was a knock on his door. He took the ice cream with him as he opened the door–and nearly dropped it when he saw his sister on the other side. 

“Hi, Lenny. It’s been a long time,” she said. She looked older and wearier than he remembered her looking, but since she had spent the last three years in and out of prison and on increasingly-crazy revenge attempts, that probably wasn’t too surprising. He knew from personal experience—-a decade ago or not, some memories stuck with you—how exhausting being a crook could be. 

“Lisa?” he asked.

“I think this is the part where you close the door in my face. I tried to kill you, Lenny.” 

“Why are you here, sis?” Len asked. Lisa sighed. 

“I’ve spent the past three years trying to make the Flash suffer for hurting me. And now he’s dead, and I’ve got nothing to show for it. I’ve thrown away my skating career and my clean record, and I’ve burned every bridge I ever had—-and Roscoe’s still dead. I…I don’t know where to go from here, and, well—you’re the only person I know who might be able to tell me what to do next. Not that I expect you to after I tried to kill you,” she said. Len gave her a small smile. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to trust Lisa the way that he once had—it was really hard to go back to baseline after someone tried to kill you—but Lisa was still his little sister, and he was very glad to have her back. 

“Lisa, I promised I’d always look after you. And I’m gonna keep that promise.” 

“You shouldn’t. Lenny—I was horrible to you.” 

“Can’t argue with that. But I ain’t got a lot of room to throw stones when it comes to bein’ a criminal,” Len replied. 

“You never did anything like what I did.” 

“I never had someone I love die like you did, either. If you’d died while I was still a crook, I hate to think what I might’ve done.”

“This was a bad idea. I should go.” Lisa turned to leave, and Len used his ring to make a green stop sign appear in front of her.

“We’ve already lost each other twice, sis. Once because I made a bad call, and once because you did. I don’t want us to lose each other again,” he said. Lisa spun back around. 

“You can’t save everybody, Lenny.”

“I know. But I’d be a pretty lousy superhero if I didn’t try to save my own sister. Want some ice cream?” Lisa gave him a small smile. 

“Is it chocolate chunk?” 

“It’s always chocolate chunk.” 

The two of them were sitting together on Len’s couch, eating the last of the ice cream, when Wally suddenly came flying into the room through the door Len had forgotten to close. And for some reason, he was in nothing but his boxers. 

“How did Uncle Barry do this?” he asked. 

“Is that the new Flash? He’s kind of cute,” Lisa said.  Wally’s face went as red as his hair. 

“Who’s she?” he asked. 

“I’m Green Lantern’s crazy sister. My name’s Lisa Snart, but you probably know me as the Golden Glider,” Lisa said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Wow. You’re even more gorgeous up close,” Wally said. Len groaned. The last thing he needed was for Wally to decide to strike up a romance with his sister. That would only end horribly for both of them—not to mention Julie Jackam. 

“Kid, focus! Why the heck are you runnin’ around in your boxers and nothin’ else?” Wally sighed. 

“It’s Dr. Alchemy! He’s back!” “Which one? Dr. Albert Desmond and Mr. Element, or the creepy gremlin?” 

“The gremlin. He transmuted my costume into oxygen in front of everybody, and now  the whole city thinks I’m a total idiot!” 

“In that case, kid, maybe you should—” 

And Wally was gone. 

“This must be some sort of cosmic payback for the headaches I used to give Kilowog,” Len muttered. 

Still, he wasn’t surprised when Wally found a way to triumph over Dr. Alchemy a few hours later. 

“Kid’s got the makings of a great hero in him. He just needs to slow down and learn how to control that temper of his.” Lisa smiled. 

“Well, if anyone would know what it takes to make a great hero, it would be you, Lenny.”

[truths33k3r4]

What are each of the SIW turtle’s pet peeves? Even like those pet peeves that are oddly specific 😂

Hello, Anon!!! :)

Ohohohohhhh this is gonna be FUN to answerrrrr~

STRAP IN MY DUDES. I've had these facts in a list on google docs for MONTHS.

I'll go through each turtle one at a time. :)

Leonardo- Leo hates it when his schedule is thrown out of whack, his family is put in danger, or when there's loud chaos that he can't keep under control. All of these things coincide when it comes to his charming (troublesome) brothers.

As seen here in this little comic based on my friend's childhood story, Leo suspects that his little brothers are in danger once he begins to hear crying. However~ Once he rushes in, he finds that it was just a dumb prank gone wrong by the two little gremlins. He finds it bothersome when such stress is THRUST UPON HIM by his mischievous siblings. He really doesn't need anymore, thank you. Also whenever he fails at anything ever- and Sensei or his brothers watch it happen. He dies a little on the inside every time there's an audience for his failures.

Michelangelo- This comic also goes over Mikey's pet peeves. He absolutely hates it when one of his jokes goes too far; When it hurts someone's feelings, isn't laughed at, or is just ignored. He never has ill intentions with any of his jokes or pranks. It's always in good fun! But the times when his jokes force an angered Raph to go stomping into his room and lock the door, or make Don yell at him cause it could've been dangerous, makes him feel like the worst brother in the world.

Donatello- Don absolutely DESPISES loud noise when he's trying to work his shift. Or when he's trying to repair another leaking sink or faucet. Or when he's existing at all. He also hates it when his twin, (Raphael) will fool around about his allergies to meat. (Don has Alpha-gal syndrome, which causes his body to react with the following symptoms if he digests mammalian meat: Hives or itchy rash. Nausea or vomiting. Severe stomach pain. Heartburn or indigestion. Cough, shortness of breath, or difficulty breathing. Drop in blood pressure. Swelling of the lips, throat, tongue, or eyelids.)

He also~ as seen here~ HATES IT when an event occurs and has no scientific explanation. Here he is training Lotus in baking. And uh... things do not go according to the recipe. (Definitely not speaking from experience AT ALL.)

Lotus- She can't stand loud sounds. Any kind of *BOOM* or *CLANG* that emanates through the lair sporadically and without warning. She hates not feeling prepared for it, and especially how vulnerable she feels when it happens. The first night she's allowed with some of the brothers to the surface was not easy for her to handle.

(Some old Whumptober art from last year.)

Surprises. If someone leaps out in front of her, they will get a fistful and an earful. Mikey quickly learns to not mess with her after a particular situation that ended with him having a full-on black eye.

Last but not least, she gets very annoyed when someone is lying about how they feel. As someone who needed to rely on her instincts to tell if a new doctor would be sincere and kind, or ruthless and apathetic, she learned through the years to recognize masking and lies in a person's facial expression and body language. So when someone in her adopted family is exhibiting these signs, she feels extra offended by the fact that the family member doesn't trust their emotions with those who love them so dearly.

Raphael-  Raph hates it when it’s WAY THE FRICK TOO NOISY. (Just like his temperamental twin.) He also gets thoroughly annoyed by overly emotional people. Those who demand his attention and will drown him in their sob story. This is evident when he's clicking through channels on the tv, and "America's Got Talented People" pops up on screen.

He has the thing called "empathy" deep within him. It's especially obvious when his family is in danger or hurting and he does whatever he can to protect them. If he's forced to, he will take the role of "comforter", but you'll have to drag him into it kicking and screaming.

Thanks for the question, Anon!! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[impala-dreamer]

You Should Probably Leave

A Short Story

~Jensen and Y/N run lines at his apartment and the sparks begin to fly~

Jensen Ackles x Reader

945 Words

Warnings: SFW. Longing. The Sexy Build Up

“You are… the most amazing creature I have ever encountered.”

Green eyes drifted down her beautiful face, watching the blush rise to her cheeks, the iris of her eyes grow. He knew he had her.

She smiled. “Creature? You make it sound like I’m some sort of scientific wonder.”

He leaned in, left hand rising to cradle her soft cheek. “You are.”

Plump lips parted slightly as they bent down, reaching for hers. She sucked in a deep breath, steadying herself, waiting for and craving his kiss.

Papers rustled beside them and Y/N pulled back at the last second, clearing her throat as a wave of unexpected lust swept over her. “And… then they kiss,” she read, citing the script in her hand. “Awesome.” She smiled awkwardly up at her incredibly handsome costar and backed away a step.

Jensen’s hand fell from her cheek and he cleared his throat as well, coughing a bit as he shoved down the arousal. “Uh, yeah. Kiss. Boom.” He grinned slyly but was dying inside, realizing how much he wanted to practice the kiss.

“Thanks for uh- running the lines with me. I don’t know why I can’t get this scene in my head,” she admitted, hating her inexperience.

He shrugged. “Sure thing. We all need to practice. Sometimes I can’t find the real emotion until I’m moving with the words. Does that make sense?”

She bit her lip, nodding. “Yeah. Totally. Like, I couldn’t really feel it until you put…” She shivered. “...your hand on my cheek…” She mimicked his movements, lifting her own fingers to hover over her cheekbone.

Jensen watched her eyes flutter closed and he had to clench his fist to keep from touching her again. “Yeah… same.”

They’d only known each other for a few weeks and working on a new show was stressful as anything. Even so, they seemed to click in all the right ways, always joking, smiling and laughing on set, but off- there was something deeper lying just beneath the playful shoulder slaps and touching knees. He just hadn’t realized how deep it went until now.

Y/N shuffled on her feet. “You… wanna go again?”

He nodded a bit too quickly and she smirked.

The awkward grin on his lips faded as he snapped into character, stalking towards her with hunger in his eyes.

“You are the… most… amazing creature I have ever encountered.”

His gaze drifted over her beautiful face and she shivered. He knew he had her.

She bit into her bottom lip and smiled. “Creature. You make it sound like I’m some sort of… scientific wonder.”

He leaned in, hands rising to frame her face. “You are.”

Her breath caught as he dipped down, rosy, puckered lips reaching for her. Her eyes fluttered closed, entranced by the desire in his eyes and the heat of his fingers on her skin.

“Jensen?”

“Hmm?”

He felt her reaching, pushing up on her toes, about to kiss him and he panicked, backing up and spinning away. He wiped a hand down his face and laughed. “Wow.”

Y/N exhaled hard and blinked until reality returned. “Yeah.” Her script had fallen to the floor so she bent to pick it up. “I should probably leave-”

“No!” He cringed, knowing he’d answered too quickly, too willing to have her stay.

“I mean…” Y/N looked around, trying to focus on anything but the spray of freckles across his nose, so obvious without the mountains of stage makeup. “It’s kinda late.”

He pivoted on the spot, looking for an excuse to keep her there, to stay close. “Uh- have a drink with me? Before you go?”

“I guess so.”

One drink turned to three and they found themselves sitting on the floor, backs held up by the sofa.

Y/N dragged her hands over the floor and laughed. “I like your carpet,” she teased, digging her fingers into the fibers. “Nice… pile.”

Jensen opened his mouth and then promptly snapped it shut. “I was gonna turn that sexual but realized that’d be bad.”

Her laugh was stunning and he held his breath, listening, soaking it all in.

“Were you gonna say you liked my carpet too?”

He nodded, laughing into his glass, and swallowed down too much cheap whiskey. He came up with a cough and let his head fall back against the couch seat.

Y/N couldn’t help being drawn to the thick lines of his throat, the stubble on his jaw, the sharp cut of it all. She sank back too, her shoulder touching his as she kicked up a knee and balanced her drink on top.

“You’re adorable,” she whispered, licking her lips as her stare locked onto his plump mouth.

Jensen turned to face her and gasped; she was so close, so beautiful, so warm. Without thinking, he reached for her; hand resting against her cheek just as before. “You really are amazing,” he breathed, shocked at his own drunken candor.

Y/N smiled and looked up through thick painted lashes. “Ditto.”

He hesitated, staring into her eyes, debating everything.

She grabbed at his collar and tugged him close, taking matters into her own hands. She kissed him hard, smashing her lips into his and closing her eyes. He licked into her mouth and moaned at the taste, wanting more, wanting all of him to slide as easily inside.

She pulled back with a gasp, eyes half mast, staring in awe.

Jensen swallowed hard, his thumb grazing her cheek. “You should probably leave.”

Y/N agreed, nodding even as she climbed into his lap and ran a hand through his short hair. “Yeah. I should…”

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

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[bbqfrank]

EggCarton SMP Log#22 PART1

Conversation. ((this is a continuation to a previous discussion that I forgot to take screenshots of but short summary Soup and Sky realize that Vee is acting strange and decides to casually question her while they are conversing "lava" is the name soup gave to magma so that V33 doesn't act strangely Soup asks V33 to give them a tour of her house.))

V33: I'm not sure what you mean I think you probably zoned out.

Soup: Haha yea how about we just go back to sky and lava? we already saw this statue so no reason to come back.

(they walk over to where magma and sky are)

V33: Hey we were just checking out that statue over there.

Soup: Was there anything else you wanted to show us on the tour?

V33: I mean there's not much here left to see.

Vee: We could always go to the home far away

Soup: Sound's like a plan what are the coords?

Vee: How about I just take you there myself

Soup: Sound's Perfect

(While Walking to the place that leads to Vee's faraway home V33 come's back)

(Soup saves it by directing the subject to the rain that was currently falling)

(Once the rain clears vee and the others leave the cave noticing a C.A.T)

Vee: was it spying on us..?

Soup: Look's like it.. Maybe we should let it be it seems scared and looks tired.

Soup: What are doing with it lava-(magma)

Magma: Playing with it

(in regards to the far away home)

Vee: I think I can show you guys we might have to drop off that C.A.T though at the place with the other C.A.TS at withers house.

Soup: Uh yea but you can stay here while we take it back

(Soup and magma return)

Vee: I found this cute little duck while you guys were gone Im going to take it with us! :D

Soup: So where are we going?

Vee: Right, follow me

(Vee leads them to the far away home)

(They arrive at the home)

Vee: Ive been staying here for a while...

Soup: It's so nice here, but why? seems isolated

Soup: Lots of sunflowers here too..

Vee: I just needed to get away from it all

Soup: That's fair everyone needs theyre space

+silly picture

Vee: I remember doing a lot of writing in this house but not what i wrote.

Soup: you like writing? me too I keep a journal Its peaceful helps me keep track of things so I don't forget

(They go outside to talk magma stays inside playing with the duck Sky watches the conversation and upon going outside V33 come's back and kills the duck)

V33: I would like all the resources I can get.

Soup: I see..

V33: I'm sure you have something of value aswell..

Soup: uhh well depends on your definition of value What might yours be?

V33: Knowledge ofcourse.

(Soup recognizes that V33 tends to overshare so pushes them into giving information)

Soup: In that way we're alike haha love learning new things what kind of knowledge are you looking for?

V33: The knowledge *id get from* conducting studies on a new subject It would be rather useful to me.

V33: I could for hours talking about my best inventions and scientific discoveries.

Soup: Is that so.. I could listen for hours! but tell me. Under her belt what subject could interest someone like you? you seem like someone who has a lot of past subjects.

V33: You'd be surprised to know ive only kept one subject to test on and with enough data I have come to the decision the creature "BlueBell" would be best suited for my studies.

(Soup tries to change the subject but V33 persists)

Soup: the uh.. The flower, right? Isnt that a flower...

V33: say what does an "alligator" look like?

Soup: Uhm.. I'm not sure

V33: My employee gave me useful information about this "bluebell" and described her as an "alligator" sadly I have spent many years away from the world in which "alligators" did exist.

Soup: I see sounds exciting sadly I wouldn't know either as I told you before, I also came from somewhere else Do you know anything else about this creature? that way I can let you know if I spot one.

V33: well she was also described to have a "caretaker" called "Wither"

Soup: I.. Don't know what that is.. are you sure youre in the right place?

V33: Oh I'm sure of it I made sure to send my previous subject to the correct world.

Soup: Oh you put your subjects to work

Soup: Sounds efficient

V33: who wouldnt.

Soup: Well I know a few scientists who wouldnt.

V33: Clearly they arent doing theyre jobs right.

Soup: In books I mean that ive heard of..

Soup: Depends on your goals

V33: I only have one goal.

Soup: Ohh and what is that :)))

V33: well originally my plan was to find a way to bring mass "destruction" to just about ANYONE who wasnt me. Buuut that quickly changed.

Soup: ah! personally its nice to hear that changed sooo, what happened? I'm so curious! I love learning after all

V33: Well I aged. Obviously, and realized that I wasn't going to live forever and create new things to better my own world.. So I decided to *dedicate my life's remaining years to developing a cure to aging by testing on creatures who seemed tough. At least tougher than the previous subject "rats"

Soup: I see clever

V33: In order for that to actually pan out the way i'd Hoped it would I need to actually find this creature first.

[spectacular-supernova]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRESIDENT OF TONARI CLUB!

I, uh, m-made something f-for you.

Know that I'm totally embarrassing my ass over here, so... Don't laugh loud enough that I can hear you from over here!

Aaaaaand now, per Lyndis tradition, I'm gonna overexplain shits and turn a simple Ask into a whole ass Ramble!

-----------------------------(why is there no "Read More" partition in an Ask? I'm so embarrassed right now goddamn it)-------------------------

If you're short-sighted, try removing your glasses or contact lenses and look at this picture. I just did and it's suddenly even prettier!

I actually planned to draw your Sonicsona at first. And then I realized I deadass couldn't even draw Base Sonic. Then I thought I should draw a mole. I realized I also couldn't draw a mole. I thought I should just go for the easiest shit and draw ToFu. I realized I could not draw either one of them, too.

Because I cannot draw, I cheat! I mean I turn things into shapes (chiefly triangles, though not all of them) and then color them and hope that something shows up. This is me using this scientific /+ philosophical concept called Emergence.

No, I didn't just say THAT to sound like I have a technique of any kind, trust. It's so totally a technique—my very productive ass told me.

I remember you saying your favorite color is something like pink, blue, and stuff? It was from that tag game from last year. Hence, I decided I should create a context so I could draw an obscene amount of pink and blue.

If I'm being honest, it took me less than a millisecond to come up with the exact context—Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom is abundantly blue.

And since I always wanted to sneak ToFu in, I thought I would make a purplish-pink dusk. And then I will sneak those stargazing two in.

Come on. Everyone knows those ToFu panels. Even someone like me, who had not seen that part of the manga yet, knows.

Bless Tonari for being so relaxing to color.

HOWEVER! Fushi's limited-ass color presented a big problem for my cheat-drawing. How many combinations of "white" can you even make before you zoom out and see... nothing?! So I basically sabotaged them. That's what you get for being difficult, you mopey, neck-crick-possessing, fragile-enough-to-be-blown-by-the-wind cutie doofus.

I made up the color of their pants. I didn't even refer to their Nameless Boy drip when I decided on the color. I assed that part.

Yes. I admit I put a shit ton of effort into coloring Zelda. This version of Zelda is my kin, you know. Anyway, I like the way her, uh, shirt turned out.

I also like how the Master Sword turned out, but there was so much blue I ended up requiring outlines to distinguish it from Link's shirt and the sky. Told ya I have no technique or skill. I cheat through and through

I was too lazy to draw those sky islands. Besides, the ToTK side is already saturated with details.

What the fuck issa "proportion?" Everyone's head is an orange. The difference, Nova, is whether it's a Mandarin Orange or an Orange.

I don't know if I overdid Dinraal's draconic mane. It looks like she's wearing a wig. At least she is different from how she initially looked—a red tapeworm outfitted with chicken legs.

I admit I put more effort than any Past Me would have into Dinraal because a certain mutual is very, ah, particular about dragons.

Drawing two of your favorite ships for their show of devotion was a completely deliberative choice on my end. Did you also realize that both Link and Fushi had a short, small, low ponytail and that both Zelda and Tonari had similar hair? I believe it's due to me hitting my drawing skill limitation.

There is actually an Easter Egg of some sort in this picture. It's not the ugly doodle thing, no. That thing is me. I'm not an Easter Egg; I'm a ghost.

I'm not telling you what that Easter Egg is. I'm fine with it never being discovered; it'd be like those secret levels in old video games.

But if you DID discover it, come tell me what you think it is!

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

I hope you like it enough! Instead of it giving you a migraine, that is. Surely my """art"""... doesn't require a trigger warning... right?

Have a good one, mai bruzha!

---Lyn

A RAMBLE FROM YOU LYN IS THE BEST POSSIBLE BRITHDAY PRESENT I COULD HAVE EVER RECEIVED!!!! COUPLED WITH ART BY YOU????? AND OF MY FAVORITE FELLAS????? What did I deserve to be so blessed ;A; 💕💕💕

I’ll spare us all a little extra scrolling on my part by adding that read more you were fretting about, I have my own ramble upcoming!

I KNOW YOURE ON YOURSELF ABOUT NOT BEING ARTISTIC OR WHATEVER BUT THIS IS ART!!! AND DAMN GOOD ART TOO!!!!!!! This is!!!!!!!!!!! I want this made into stained glass I want to make this the permanent window to me bed roOM LYN THIS IS AMAZING THIS IS ALMOST CERTAINLY GOING DOWN AS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ART STYLES!!!! There’s no such thing as cheating in art, it’s all art!!! “Cheating” is a style, no technique is a style!!! I should know I have none either, hehe -w-‘ your art may be some type of cubism? Hehe idk I’m not an art student :3 Either way this is absolutely gorgeous I’m in LOVE!!!

It’s so creative and well done and I LOVE your eye for detail, the lighting is inspired!!!! Like the way the sun hits the space behind Zelda is so pretty, AND ZELDA IS SO PRETTY!!!!!! EVERYRHING IS SO PRETTY, I CANT FOCUS ON ONE THING BECAUSE I KEEP JUMPING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN ALL THE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT IT (every thing, every last detail!!! Is that a little you in the middle? Is that the Easter egg???? I could just pick you up and pat your little head!!! 😭 I know you don’t love hugs but that’s how I’ll be standing if you’re ever ready for one!!!)

I should slow down maybe and pick a few things to focus on BUT I JUST CANT I LOVE IT ALL!!!! The two scenes just blend so well into one another that my eyes are just naturally being drawn back and forth between both of the scenery! Dinraal, who turned out AMAZIING BY THE WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT OVERDONE, if anything I’m so glad you had fun working on her!!! She’s so gorgeous!!!! I bet your friend is so so proud of how well she looks!!! Oh but anyway, Dinraal naturally leads my eyes over to the sun/moon (and the 24, hehe, thank you!!! /)//(\ Your memory is astounding!!), which have their own beautiful rays of light leading down onto the adorable couples 😭 I love love LOVE the moonlight leading down onto Tonari and Fushi, and the fact that she’s pointing at it too like she can almost reach it? Beautiful! Gorgeous!!! And it just leads my eyes down to them too, there’s just such a natural circular flow here, no wonder I keep getting caught in a loop of admiration! 😁

The blues and the pinks, and the stars on the ToFu side!!! I just noticed them and they’re everything to me!!!! Hahaha I’m so glad Tonari was relaxing to color hehe, same for me, something about her is just so lovely and calming when she’s relaxed 🥰 As for Fushi’s colors, I didn’t notice! Even after you pointed it out it looks good to me! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this is from someone who never references colors though, I’m so loosey goosey about everything -w- BUT YOUR SOLUTION TO YOUR PROBLEM WAS GREAT, THEIR SHAPE IS VERY VISIBLE AND EASY TO MAKE OUT hehe :3 I love their crossed little legs 🥰

Zelda being your kin is so good to know hehe, I’ve always been drawn to all versions of Link myself! I think we’ve been perfectly set up to “play dolls” with these characters in the future, so to speak! Aaaahh they can’t have been easy to draw, there’s a reason I almost never dabble in drawing those two and their intricate outfits, but you make it look effortless!!! Zelda’s shirt turned out amazing, and I’m stuck looking at her little triangle braids!!!! I don’t know why I’m so fixated on that it’s just adorable!!! 😭💕 What a lovely technique, man, I’m so enchanted! AND THE MASTER SWORD, I know you called it cheating BUT I LOVE THE LINE WORK, it makes the sword stand out, almost like you lined that specific part with some sort of melted gold??? Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

This is gorgeous and beautiful in every which way and thank you!!!! For everything!!! For this beautiful drawing and for giving me a chance to ramble and giving me something gorgeous to look at for the rest of my day, and for indulging in both of my silly little ships /)//(\ I’m so glad I don’t need glasses because I love every inch of your art, thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!!! Gosh it’s so so so lovely 😭💕 you’re so lovely!!!!

I don’t know how to say goodbye so I guess I’ll just say good night for now! Thank you for thinking of me… I’ll have a wonderful day, so long as you promise me you’ll have a wonderful night along side me 🥰

Goodnight, Mai Bruzha!

- Nova

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey Is: Chapter Fifteen: I'll Listen

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

As was always the way of things, silence and solitude were easier to bear in board daylight with the TV on, its volume just a tick or two away from being too loud. Focusing on the game he’d chosen to play helped too. Maybe it was a crutch to lean on that when he really should try to just get over it already because it was rather pathetic but so what? At least he hadn’t run over to Dr. Coomer’s place across the street the moment Benrey left the house.

Even with that being the case he hadn’t been at it for long before a knock sounded on the door and he eagerly stood to answer it. Someone coming to him was fine, he wasn’t being needy. Out of habit, not neediness, because the Black Mesa living space doors didn’t have peepholes or windows to check one’s visitors before answering a knock, he went straight to opening it.

“Hello Gordon!” Dr. Coomer said with his usual endearing tone and smile.

“Hello Dr. Coomer. What’s up? You wanna come in and hang out?” Gordon stepped back and gestured him inside. “Benrey left on a walk but I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Dr. Coomer strode in pretty much just far enough for Gordon to close the door behind him but made no move for the couch. “I saw him storm off and decided to come over to see how bad your fight was. Do you need a shoulder to cry on about it?”

“Uh… no. And it wasn’t a fight… or at least I don’t think it was, not this time anyway. I was being kinda nosy about what he is and his past and stuff but only because I care… or no, not only. Some of it is scientific curiosity but I was upfront about that and he seemed fine with it and it’s mostly because I care, which I was also upfront about. He doesn’t know if he was made in the lab or if they found him as an egg and decided to keep him as a pet science experiment. That’s sad, right? You’re with me on that being sad?”

“That is quite tragic, yes.”

“Exactly. And so, I was asking him questions about stuff, trying to see if I couldn’t spark any clues or whatever which he seemed mostly fine with.” No way was Gordon going to admit to the blood experiment. “But then I guess I hit a sore spot or something when I asked him if his current form is like… his true form or whatever. ‘Cause he can shapeshift so he might have like ‘this is what he really looks like but can change it’ kind of thing going on. He didn’t seem mad but uh… I guess it’s kinda hard to tell with him sometimes. It for sure wasn’t a fight though. He just said he was done talking about it and left. I figured it was best to leave him be but… you think I should call him to apologize?”

“I’m not sure. I just wanted to see if this was the big fight before you reconcile and end up kissing in the rain.”

Unable to keep still, Gordon had set to pacing a little while he talked. Now though he stopped, turning to face Dr. Coomer again. “Excuse me?”

Dr. Coomer met his gaze, his expression the same as always. “Hello… h… We could go back to Black Mesa and see if we can’t find his records. That should tell us if they made him in the lab or if they found him. We are far from done with salvaging everything after all. We could volunteer to go on the next trip and go straight to Benrey’s department while we’re there. We’ll have to ask Benrey to come with us or for him to tell us where in the facility his handlers stored information about him.”

“Uh… hold onto that idea for a moment and go back to the the thing you mentioned about me and Benrey… kissing in the rain? I misheard that, right?”

“Nope, that is exactly what I said. I suppose it probably won’t be in the rain though. It doesn’t rain much in the desert. But, don’t worry, I’m sure it will still be plenty dramatic.” Neither Dr. Coomer’s voice nor face cracked even once, seemingly he was serious.

“Why would we kiss at all?”

“Because that’s how these things usually go.”

“What things?”

He was silent for several seconds. “These… things.” He gestured vaguely with his hands as if indicating the world as a whole. “So Gordon, what do you think of my plan to look at Benrey’s records?”

There was nothing else to do but sigh and give up on figuring out where Dr. Coomer had pulled that idea from and so… “It’s uh… a good idea, actually.” How had Gordon not thought of it before? Rather made in the lab or stolen from somewhere, research data and records on him would be stored somewhere in the facility. Which would answer all such questions about him and more. “We’d have to ask Benrey though, huh? ‘Cause that stuff’s probably sensitive?” It’d be like looking at someone’s detailed medical records.

“It is possible his records don’t exist anymore. The computers they and their backups are stored on might’ve been destroyed. I doubt this though as they likely would be in a deep part of the facility, safe from the bombings. It is still possible they were shot with guns or destroyed through other means of violence. It’s also very possible his files are among the devices already salvaged from the facility. Which would mean we would need to look through the data storage devices already gathered in the new lab.”

“Fuck, you’re right. And if that’s the case, it uh… kinda puts a damper on our whole ‘keep Benrey a secret’ thing. Someone else at Black Mesa seeing those records might not be good. He can’t die… or I guess he doesn’t stay dead so it’s probably pretty obvious he’s still around somewhere. They might decide to go looking for him. So we should probably for sure find them then.” Maybe that’s where Dr. Coomer had gotten the idea that Gordon and Benrey might kiss. Gordon had gone from wanting him gone and willing to help contain him again to now immediately wanting to go out of his way and possibly risk losing his job if he was caught stealing Black Mesa’s experiment files to keep Benrey’s freedom a secret the moment he’d learned of a potential threat to it. But he was perfectly capable of recognizing the way Benrey had been treated was wrong and care enough about that and him as a person to want to stick his neck out for him without also wanting to kiss him. “And we probably wanna be sneaky about what we’re looking for.”

“Ooh, I do love a good stealth mission.”

“It’s not really a stealth mission, just a few lies about why we wanna dig through the data stuff. When Benrey gets back, we’ll talk to him about it. Before then though uh… when I was having that talk with him earlier, he mentioned that you have a the Black Mesa Sweet Voice too. Is that correct?”

“That is correct, yes. Would you like a demonstration?”

Damn, Gordon apparently was that stupid. “Sure.”

Dr. Coomer took deep breath and then did indeed let out a stream of sweet voice; blue to green, meaning he’s not mean. His tone was different, it was distinctively a human voice singing a note. Still pretty but not as much as Benrey’s. He also couldn’t hold it as long. Which wasn’t to say how long he did hold it for wasn’t impressive, just not as inhumanly long as Gordon had seen Benrey hold his a few times.

“Awesome, thanks,” Gordon said as it petered out. “I’m not sure how I missed that but… whatever. But um, While you’re here and while we wait for Benrey to come back, I’ve been meaning to ask you if you could help me move the couch and TV and stuff into I guess what’s gonna be the gaming room.” It did make some sense to have all the gaming stuff in one room.

“I am quite good at lifting things so sure, I’ll help.”

***

Benrey leaned in the kitchen’s doorway as Gordon, sitting at the kitchen table across from Coomer, explained the idea the two of them had come up with to extract the files Black Mesa had on him either from the lab directly or the stuff already salvaged from the lab. If it were just to look to see what he was or where he’d come from, Benrey would’ve told them not to bother. Even if he was curious now thanks to Gordon, it’d be a lot of work and would instead be easier to go back to not thinking about it. But if they didn’t find his records, likely the rest of Black Mesa eventually would.

Dealing with them trying to get him back would be annoying. With his files they’d likely know how to contain him too which would make it even more of a pain in the ass. So keeping those files out of their hands just in case would be nice.

On the other hand though, the thought of Gordon going through them made Benrey’s insides feel as if they were squirming. What all they contained he wasn’t sure of but Gordon looking through all of them might be… not good. He was already interested in Benrey scientifically, which was fine because he’d also said he cared about Benrey earlier – not a sentiment often shared with him. But what if having all of Benrey’s science info at his fingertips pushed him to seeing Benrey more as a science experiment than a friend?

Given their rocky history and how Gordon used to not like him at all, that thought perhaps shouldn’t be as disconcerting as it was. Gordon viewing him like that wouldn’t necessarily mean Benrey had to stop hanging out with him or disown him as a pet. Having only one person studying and performing experiments on him wouldn’t be too bad. Presumably the gamer pad would still be his. His prior handlers had conceded to him having such a place once they found out about it, so Gordon, kinder than them by far, surely would too. But… but… he liked what they had now. And what if the option of moving out on his own was removed? Just because he wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to take it didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy having it be an option. Even if such was the case for no other reason than because he’d never had such an option before.

“And of course if uh… you don’t want us looking at them, we’ll just delete them. Or if you want them for yourself, we’ll just copy them over to a flash drive and give it you,” Gordon said, ending his explanation.

Oh, perhaps Benrey could have the best of both worlds after all. But… “Don’t you wanna look at them?” He was the one with the questions and who cared what Benrey was enough to feel sad for him not knowing.

“Yeah, I do. So if you’re like… okay with me looking at them, that’d be neat. But it’s a privacy thing so I wouldn’t look if you didn’t want me to.”

“Or he would try not to,” Coomer added, lifting a hand. “Curiosity is a powerful beast and whoever finds your records will have to look a little bit no matter what to make sure we have the right files and that we have all of them. It would be easy to accidentally look a little more than is necessary to sate it.”

“Uh… yeah, that. So I guess it’s still a risk no matter what. But better any of us look a bit too much on accident than Breen trying to get you back into custody or something. … Would he even be able to do that? Like you can phase through stuff, right? So you should be uncontainable unless there’s a material you can’t phase through or a way disable that power or… just your powers in general.”

“They could contain me before, maybe they have the stuff still, I don’t know.” And Benrey wasn’t going to tell him how because the less people who knew, the better. Being locked up was lame and boring beyond anything else in existence except for maybe watching paint dry.

“All right, we should definitely do something about that then… unless I guess, you don’t want us to for some reason. Which I don’t know why you wouldn’t but what do I know?”

“Nah, get rid of them. Or uh… actually, I want them. Yeah, find them and give them to me.” If they had to be found anyway, Benrey might as well get an answer to the question of if he had a true form and what it was if so. And then he could tell Gordon if he was an alien or made in the lab from alien stuff so Gordon could finally stop being sad for him.

“We’ll need information from you then,” Coomer said, “if your information is already in the lab we need to look through it to find it and thus, we need to know what to look for. We might also need to know where to go if we do end up needing to go back to the old facility to obtain them.”

Damn. But if Benrey wanted his best shot at obtaining those files than at least some of his mysterious backstory would end up being revealed to them no matter what. Unless he decided to look all by himself. But if his stuff was amongst the information already being moved to the new place, he might be caught and then if Breen or someone else recognized him, they wouldn’t just be reminded that he was out and about but know exactly where he was. Which would potentially be very annoying, he’d rather not deal with that. So probably it was worth it. And well, it’s not like he had anything better to do. Participating in a heist with his pals to steal some top secret scientific records sounded like fun.

He pushed off the wall and walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, pulling out the one remaining chair to join them sitting at the table. “Uh… Benrey’s the name I chose for myself. They called me, um… Subject X, just X for short. The files are titled like that or at least some of them are anyway. I never looked at all of them.” Only now did the idea seem at all appealing. Gordon’s fault because he was a dumbass who cared so much about things that didn’t matter to the point it was rubbing off on Benrey.

“Damn,” Coomer said, “Gordon you’re right, he is quite tragic. Even Bubby got a name even if it was based off his serial code. Benrey just had a letter.”

“It’s not tragic. Just boring and uncreative ‘cause uh… they were boring and uncreative. And I’m not human anyway so maybe a single letter would’ve been fine. I’m not lame and boring though so I named myself.”

The look Gordon gave him, very similar to the look he’d given him earlier after he’d shared his earliest memory, said he disagreed and found it tragic as well. Humans were so sensitive about things sometimes, it was annoying. Some things were just the way they were without it being worthy of dwelling on enough to elicit an emotional reaction.

Thankfully Gordon didn’t make any move to say anything dumb this time. Though he did reach out to lightly touch Benrey’s hand where he had it resting on the table in front of him. Benrey let him because why not? If trying to comfort him made Gordon feel better then he’d put up with it. But if they were touching hands anyway… Benrey lifted his and pushed his into Gordon’s, entwining their fingers together. Gordon flinched and gently tried to retreat but Benrey didn’t let him. He’d started it so if he wanted to pull away, he had to put real effort into it.

“Anyway,” Benrey continued, leaning a bit more onto the table but not changing his tone to hopefully make it even more awkward, “choosing my own name’s better. Every time someone at the lab did a name change ‘cause they didn’t like their first it was like… a big deal. Everyone talked ‘bout it and some people didn’t like it and always had to say so. A bunch of dumb nonsense, easier to just chose a name I like from the start, right?”

“I guess uh… I can’t argue with that.” Gordon had apparently accepted his fate was holding Benrey’s hand now as he made no more moves to try to free himself, instead staring down at center of the table. “It uh… would’ve indeed been been easier to just pick my own name from the start, I guess. But uh…”

Coomer cut in as Gordon trailed off. “What part of the Black Mesa facility did your handlers work in?”

“If you go, I’m going with you.” It’d be more fun that way. “So I’ll lead the way.”

If Coomer noticed or felt any certain way about Gordon and Benrey holding hands on the table he didn’t show it as he replied. “Fair enough. We will also probably want to inform Bubby, Tommy and perhaps Darnold of this plan. Especially if we do have to sort through all the data we already have. I’m sure having their assistance with that will be quite helpful.”

Damn. If Benrey was going to reveal his letter thingy to everyone he’d have preferred to just do it all at once instead of having to bring it up multiple times. Too late now though. “Tell them in the group text thingy.”

“Shouldn’t you tell them?” Gordon asked as Coomer was already pulling out his phone.

“Nah, Coomer types faster.” He didn’t want to deal with their possible reactions in case they also thought it was tragic or whatever.

“No worries, I will convey all the relevant information.”

~

After wishing Coomer a farewell, Gordon closed the front door and turned back to Benrey. “Also, I uh… apologize if I upset you earlier.”

Damn, just when Benrey thought the talking was done and they could play some games instead. “Nah, wasn’t upset just… surprised. Never considered I might have a true form or whatever.” He’d also never considered possibly have a family too.

“Well, sorry for springing that idea on you. But… you okay?”

Benrey turned the TV and opened the Game Cube before answering. “Why wouldn’t I be? What you wanna play?” There was no way he was going to let Gordon’s first day off work go by without pulling him into a longer than normal gaming session.

“Whatever you’re in the mood for is fine with me. But um… I was just thinking, a lot of heavy conversation happened about you today and you revealed some… stuff. So I just wanted to check in or whatever, make sure you’re doing okay.”

Benrey stared at the games lined up like books next to the TV stand before pulling out Mario Party 5. They could set the turn order really high and play until one of them won or went insane. After popping it in, he looked back up at Gordon. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Gordon sighed as he moved over the couch, accepting the controller Benrey handed to him. “Kinda hard not to, dude.”

“I’m not human.” Benrey sat next to him. “That stuff doesn’t affect me the way it would you.” Even if he was a ‘social animal that was emotionally abused’ and had been sad about it once upon a time, it was over now so he was good to go. Gordon didn’t need to bring it up or feel bad about it.

“Maybe that’s true, I don’t know enough to say but… I have trouble believing that you’re entirely indifferent to it. Otherwise it wouldn’t take so much to get you to share.”

“Not fair, I shared a lot today.”

“Yeah, after weeks of barely sharing anything about yourself, you share a grand total of like two solid things and that’s considered a lot. And both of them are sad and fucked up as fuck. But that’s besides the point. What I want to say is I’m not good at this shit, being comforting or whatever, but if you ever do want to talk about it, I can listen. Heck, if you don’t want me to say anything or even try to offer any kind of comfort, that’s fine, just you know, if you ever need to talk to someone about it… It’s not like you can go to a therapist and hoped to be believed. So… yeah, I’m here for you or whatever.”

“Fine, if I ever need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll pick yours, ‘kay?” Assuming he could cry anyway because now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he could. Vaguely he remembered maybe crying in the past when he was young but such memories weren’t the type he had any desire to poke at. “Now can we stop being emotional and play some damn video games?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore either.”

Despite it not being his turn, Benrey picked Luigi before Gordon could. That’s what Gordon got for feeling bad for Benrey when Benrey hadn’t asked him to care that much and for being the one to bring up all the stuff he was feeling bad for Benrey over. It’d be easier for both of them if he just didn’t try to ask about anything he knew would have an answer he would find tragic.

~

Gordon held Benrey like a almost like a pillow; arms wrapped around him, head resting on his chest. Whether he knew knew Benrey had shifted to make himself more comfortable for him – less dense and thus less heavy where he lay on Gordon’s arm and a little bit softer – was hard to tell. The main benefit of the position was it left Benrey’s hands free to play the Game Boy, or for now, to run his fingers through Gordon’s hair, straightening it out after being pulled up in a pony tail all day.

“You should let your hair down sometime.” It would probably look nice with the waviness it had going on.

Gordon let out a small groan. “It’d get my face all the time if I did.” As if it didn’t escape and end up in his face halfway through the day anyway. Though that did largely have to do with his inability to make the ponytail particularly tight using only one hand. Perhaps Benrey should start offering to do that for him. Tommy brushed Sunkist’s fur fairly frequently after all so Benrey should perhaps do the same with his pet. Or alternatively if Gordon found it annoying…

“You could cut it?”

“I like the way it looks long even if it is kinda a pain. … Or maybe I should cut it, it’d be easier.”

“Hmm… I like the way it looks long too.” Honestly, Benrey could imagine him without long hair, it just wouldn’t feel right.

Gordon hummed an acknowledgment but otherwise didn’t respond. Even now that this had become set in routine, they didn’t talk much while cuddling. The goal was Gordon sleeping after all. But also, limiting their conversation options somewhat, talking about it was still a thing neither of them did by unspoken agreement lest they made it awkward again.

Because they never talked about it, making it possible to pretend it didn’t happen, Benrey letting himself purr to help Gordon fall asleep had become easier over time. Tonight though… something was different. Gordon was still delightfully warm and soft, so much contact with him a pleasant ‘a lot’. But Benrey couldn’t relax into it as much he normally did no matter how long he lay here, stroking Gordon’s hair.

Emotions were dumb and stupid, thinking about them even more so. But the looks Gordon had given him after sharing his earliest memory and assigned letter had haunted him off and on all day. Now lying in the quiet dark, in his arms, it was a bit harder to push such thoughts out his mind. … Gordon feeling bad for him had rubbed off into Benrey feeling bad too. Not for himself though, for sure, he couldn’t be permanently hurt after all, especially not by people he’d never liked, he just… felt bad for making Gordon sad. Yeah, that was it. His status as an experiment in Black Mesa wasn’t worth thinking about due to it being boring, not because it was tragic or whatever. That’s why he never shared much about it and now that he had, he wasn’t sad because he’d been thinking about it when he normally didn’t but instead because he’d made his pet, Gordon upset.

Alas, figuring out the unfamiliar emotion roiling inside him didn’t make it go away. If anything it made it worse, filling him with an odd uncomfortable energy that made it hard to keep still and quiet. Gordon wasn’t asleep yet though; by now he was well versed in the way Gordon’s breathing deepened and slowed as he drifted off. Purring always did seem to make him fall asleep faster but Benrey didn’t seem able to muster one right now. Ugh! It was all Gordon’s fault for being sad about things he didn’t need to be sad about. As frustrating as that was though, Benrey couldn’t just leave him to fend for his own sleep. Sometimes he had nightmares even when Benrey held him. Blue sweet voice fixed it, though going to that length always woke him, but it was still clearly a problem for him that wasn’t going away any time soon.

And so because he couldn’t move but had to do something… “Remember earlier when uh… you said I could talk to you ‘bout stuff?”

Gordon shifted, tilting his head and pulling away enough to look at him properly even though in the dark without his glasses he couldn’t see, right? So why move? “Yeah. Got uh… something you wanna talk about?”

“Nah, just um… you too. Anything you wanna talk ‘bout, spill your trauma and all that, I’ll listen.” He’d thought about saying so not long after Gordon had made his offer to do the same but hadn’t wanted to bring the chatter back around to stuff like that when they’d finally escaped it. Here though, it wasn’t so bad.

“Oh, okay, thanks. I’m good though so I don’t need to...”

Benrey cut him off with a scoff. “Yeah ‘cause I help you fall asleep every night ‘cause you just like cuddling me that much, huh?” Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up but how else was he supposed to respond to Gordon trying to claim to be okay? Benrey might not know much about trauma, the causes or the ways it showed up in humans, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. The nightmares leading to this arrangement they’d made weren’t normal; Gordon wasn’t okay. Maybe that’s why he was so worried about Benrey, he was projecting and by worrying about Benrey’s perceived problems, he could more easily avoid his own.

“I uh… guess you have a point.”

“Yeah, I do so get back here.”

With a sigh, Gordon obeyed, snuggling into Benrey once more, holding him a bit tighter. “I’m just… being pathetic. I survived, right? So it should be fine now but… it’s not. My hand’s still gone and… and I can still remember what all the dead things smelled and looked like. And there was a bit there when I was sure I was going to die alone and no one would care or even know. Everyone left me to die alone and I… I’m sorry, I’m being weird.”

“Nah, dude, I just said you could talk me to so it’s fine.” Benrey returned to petting Gordon’s hair, his other arm holding him around the shoulders. “Some of that’s my fault… sorry.” In his defense, he hadn’t known how big a deal it was at the time. Hadn’t known Gordon’s hand wouldn’t grow back. His belief that the outcome wouldn’t be nearly as bad as it had turned out didn’t make said outcome any better though.

“Hmm… guess I should maybe still be mad. But I just… this is nice, helps a lot. Thank you for… this and stuff.”

“You’re welcome.” Benrey was a good pet owner. Even if he’d played a part in causing what was wrong, he was doing his best to make it better. That had to make up for some of it at least, right?

Gordon chuckled slightly as he loosened his tight hold a little, adjusting himself slightly but making no move to pull away again. “Gosh, it’s interesting how knowing each other better makes so much difference, huh?”

A lot had changed between them at the same time so many other things had changed for Benrey too. All of it for the better, more than he deserved probably. … “Sorry ‘bout the hand in particular.”

“I uh… guess I forgive you. You didn’t know. Intentions aren’t everything but they matter. And uh… honestly, an apology’s more than I got from the others so… thanks for that too.”

Benrey wasn’t sure how to respond so he just kept stroking his fingers through Gordon’s hair because petting was supposed to be soothing, right? It’s what Tommy did for Sunkist whenever she got antsy about something. Seemingly it worked here too because even though Benrey continued to be unable to muster a purr for him, Gordon did eventually drift off. Benrey could gently free himself and get up now or just reach for the Game Boy but… it had been a few days since he’d last slept and today in particular had felt quite long so a nap or even sleeping through the night wouldn’t hurt. Waking up with Gordon in the morning was kind of nice.

~

Next Chapter

[turnipstewdios]

Half-Lives, chapter 13

For all its flaws, and there were many, many flaws, Gotham actually had decent road maintenance. 

Oh there were plenty of areas of the city where the roads were shit. The areas where the rich people lived were always given first priority, and nobody in city planning really gave a fuck about Crime alley or the Bowery, but large sections of the city road network were reasonably well maintained. Bludhaven’s were not. So Jason always had to be careful when he brought his bike over this way, lest he ram into one of the bottomless potholes that littered the cracked pavement. It was even worse with a passenger, and he didn’t want to rattle Danny around too much. The actual road to the Zoo itself was halfway decent, mainly because it was on the outskirts of Gotham rather than in Bludhaven proper. But the side trip he had planned for later would be rough. 

Still, he managed to get to the Zoo’s parking lot without rattling himself or his passenger halfway back to death, and found a decent parking spot that wasn’t too far from the entrance. It was also close enough to the toll-booth that no one should be tempted to try stealing it. Not that they could, his baby’s security was way too good for that. “So, where should we head first?” Jason asked as they walked towards the entrance. 

“Eh, I don’t have a preference. I would like to tour the walk-in aviary at some point though.” Danny replied. “That’s about halfway through the main loop. Let’s just pick a direction and walk.” 

“Sounds good.”

Jason paid for admittance as they went through the check-in. Almost immediately, something seemed to catch Danny’s eye. There was a big, open enclosure full of flamingos near the entry, and Jason saw Danny perk up when he noticed them. Looked like they’d be going that way to start. “You like birds, huh?” “Eh, sort of? I haven't gotten the chance to see many of the ones the pamphlet says they have here.” He leaned on the railing, and watched as a pair of the enormous birds wandered by. “Amity actually did have a zoo, but they had a lot of temporary exhibits. For some reason they never had many birds.” “I thought Amity was a smallish town? How’d they get a zoo?” Danny chuckled. “I, uh, think that might have been Sam’s fault.” “Your friend? How does that work?”  “Sam’s parent’s were kinda rich, and Sam was big into conservation and endangered species. I think her parents funded the place.” He scoffed. “Not that she really liked it. She wasn’t a fan of keeping animals in captivity, and kept complaining about their living conditions.” “Huh.” Jason watched as a flamingo wandered close to Danny, eyeing him over the top of the fence. Jason had stayed a healthy distance back from the enclosure. 

Animals didn’t tend to like him much. He’d wondered briefly on the way here if that was because of the ghost thing, but Danny seemed to be doing fine. It was probably because of the pits. “Wait a minute.” Jason thought back to something he’d heard from Babs the other day. “Wasn’t there something about Amity Park and endangered Gorillas?” To his surprise, Danny… groaned. Loudly. “God, don’t remind me.” He rubbed a hand down his face, seeming to forget about the bird for a moment as it wandered off. “Why? What’s the matter?” “Uhg. Bad memories. Amity hosted one of the two Purple-backed gorillas that was alive at the time for a bit. There was… a thing. That happened.” Oh, Oh yeah, Jason was remembering more of the conversation now. “Don’t you have your name on a research paper about them? It was like the only bit of scientific literature the family could find.” Danny’s head thumped into the wooden rail on the fence. “Yeah, yeah. Figures that would make it out.” “Hmm.” Jason wondered if he should have picked another destination for the day. “I think there’s currently a Purple-back gorilla exhibit here, at this zoo. Should we avoid that?” He asked. “You're kidding.” Danny looked flatly at Jason out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Damn.” He sighed. “It’s fine. We may as well go see them, and we just got here, I’m not about to leave now.” He began to walk down the path towards the next exhibit. “Just so long as I don’t end up spending the whole night watching them, or getting attacked by a ghost who wants to skin me.” Jason stood staring after him for a second, trying to process that. “Skin you? Danny? Danny?! What?” He chased after him, determined to get an explanation for that. Read the rest on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48120073/chapters/123852799

[burning-love-letters]

Hello.🙂

🧸, 👾 & 🎃 for whoever likes to answer?

(Hi, hi! 👋🏾 I'm still working on my selfship AUs, so if any of this is inconsistent/confusing, I apologize. —👑💌)

🧸 What does your bed look like? Is it just you and (S/I)? Are there stuffed animals? How many blankets and pillows do you have? Do you prefer the bed to be hot or cold?

None of us really sleep in Fran's bed. She usually comes over to one of our places. —🩷💌

I've been there plenty of times, though. Not to brag. 😏 It's pretty nice. Lots of purple, which William loves, of course. She's got about three blankets and a couple of pillows. One of those long ones, too. —👽💌

As for stuffed animals, she has her Fredbear plush. A gift from me, of course. —💜💌

Makes a mocking fart noise It was a gift from both of us. —🦊💌

Of course, how could I have forgotten. —💜💌

»»———-　💌　———-««

👾 What are your favorite things to do with (S/I)? Who’s better at them?

Favorite things to do, with Fran, eh? ... Am I allowed to say what I'm thinking? —🖤💌

I mean, we're all thinking it. —🦊💌

I was thinking about going to the Planetarium. Fran and I love talking about new scientific discoveries, especially when they have to do with space. —🕷️💌

Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerd! You sound like my uncle Henry. —🦊💌

I've been meaning to talk to your uncle, I want to ask him about his robotics. The advancements he and your dad have made are astounding! —🕷️💌

And, now you sound like my dad. —🦊💌

Uh, guys, we're supposed to be answering questions here. What I like to do with Fran is cook and bake. We come from very different cultures, and I feel closer to her every time we share a meal. Not to mention, I love her home-cooking. She's an amazing cook. —🐲💌

... I like listening to music with her. I don't always get her... girl music, but. It's usually pretty nice. —🦊💌

»»———-　💌　———-««

🎃 Are you or (S/I) artsy at all? Do you ever hand-make things for each other?

Well, Fran is a writer, as you may know, but my art is ballet. I've given up the spotlight in favor of raising a family, but the two of us practice when I have the time. Keeping limber is a must once you've gotten older. As for crafting, I don't do much of it myself, outside of holiday decorations, but Fran will make us things. Usually drawings and love notes. —🩰💌

Thanks for the ask! It was a pleasure to answer! —👑💌

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

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

"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