#and i think we Both Know that communication line is LYING

[salstray]

I was tagged by both @killerspinal​ AND @captains-price​ two absolute angels that i don’t deserve in the slightest to post my lock screen, last song played, and last photo saved. 

SO here they are!

I don’t think the song surprises literally anyone- BUT my lockscreen is my cat, Jinxx!

And that last photo was something i had to send to the Group Chat cause I am the token Straight and I thought it would make them laugh-

Thank you both SO MUCH for the tags!! Its always such a welcome shock to wake up to stuff like this <3 <3 <3

I’d tag people but.... honestly y’all would probs be the only ones I’d tag, rip-

[sovasleepy]

jealousy (valorant x reader)

[ chamber, gekko, sova, omen x gn!reader ] — in which valorant men get a little jealous

tw: jealous and a little overprotectiveness but they’re (mostly) healthy about it. a little cursing for some flavor. random guy flirts with you in chamber's but hes not creepy about it. different guy is also creepy in omen's but its not talked about in detail. chamber makes a sexual joke in his.

CHAMBER ━━━

hot take: he’s so protective at all times idc idc

but he hides it so so well

he’s absolutely enamored by you, there’s no denying that. that’s only half the reason why he tries to show you off so much though

the other reason is because that means he is showing you off as his. he’s staking his claim on you in his own odd little way, but it works and neither of you mind it too much

━━━━━━

“are you sure this shirt doesn’t make me look weird?” you asked, tugging at the material.

as much as you loved it, you couldn’t quite tell me if it was ‘you.’ you stepped out of the changing room of the store you were in and into the hallway, where chamber sat patiently waiting. he loved a fashion show if it was yours, after all.

he pretended to inspect it thoroughly, leaning forward in his chair and narrowing his eyes.

before he could answer, however, a different voice sounded out. it came from the door next to yours, where a different man had walked into the hallway to look at his own clothes.

“it looks good,” he spoke, smirk creeping its way onto his face. “but i imagine you’d look good in anything, huh?”

both you and chamber sat still and quiet for a few beats, as if registering what had just happened. the line was well delivered, but seriously? could he not tell that you were with chamber?

“well,” chamber spoke loudly. “they do look good in anything. and in nothing. we could see how you look when the shirt is on our bedroom floor, how’s that, ma cheri?”

you attempted to ignore the warmth that rose in your face, but failed. again, you were stunned. the opposing man blanched and retreated back to his changing room, where he quickly shut the door.

“come now, love. i think a thousand dollars in one shopping trip is enough, no? or should we stop by one more store?” chamber was overly loud once again.

and lying through his teeth, as well — you’d come to retrieve a single shirt for an event. that said, you couldn’t help but laugh as the occupant of changing room next to yours fumbled over himself, apparently knocked something down, and released a string of curses.

he didn’t have to know chamber was lying, and you didn’t have to know chamber was lying because he knew he’d earn a laugh from you.

GEKKO ━━━

gekko has like. a normal amount of jealousy?

he’ll bite back the small senses of it whenever you’re giving another guy a little more attention that he would like you to

or he’ll politely explain to you that he doesn’t really like you doing something because of how it makes him feel and you’ll talk it through

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just needs that extra little reassurance

if you’re willing to give up doing something to give him that peace of mind? all the better. if not? he can work on it, no questions asked.

overall 10/10 v good communication skills i love him

━━━━━━

you could tell that gekko was uneasy. from the way his nails picked at his fingers and the constant bouncing of his knee, to the avoidance of eye contact and the way his speech was quiet and mumbled, gekko’s demeanor screamed something was wrong.

you watched him carefully as you sat back down at the table. again, his eyes didn’t move from the place they were locked onto.

a few moments passed as you thought of what could have been wrong. the two of you were at some company party, with loud music coming through the speakers and an unholy amount of people piled into the room. everyone was dressed formally in either dresses or suits, their makeup done perfectly and not a hair out of place.

maybe that’s what was wrong. perhaps the music was too loud or his suit was too tight.

“mateo?” you had to yell over the music, despite wanting your voice to be soft as you spoke to him.

he finally looked up to you, soft eyes scanning your face. he didn’t speak, but he hummed to acknowledge you audibly.

“is everything alright? you seem a little off.”

the question seemed to stun him for a few moments as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked back down to the table. after a deep breath, he finally answered. “i just felt a little… i dunno. saying i was jealous feels a little funny, but there was this guy earlier you were talking to? he was kinda tall, darker hair. and uh- anyway, you went to grab a drink and he seemed to be really funny i guess. you didn’t stop laughing the entire time you were talking and before you left he kissed your cheek.”

you thought about it for a second, trying to recall the interaction, before you let out something like a laugh.

“he’s from mexico, he told me it was a common thing there? i dunno. i’ve known him since i joined the protocol.” you said, smiling at him. “it’s nothing, but if you don’t like it i’ll tell him next time. i highly doubt there’s gonna be any hard feelings about it on his end. is that alright?”

he nodded, sending you a soft smile. his face had relaxed significantly in the past few minutes. "thank you, amor."

SOVA ━━━

he rarely gets jealous,, he thinks

he has a hard time exactly placing the emotion, and it’s mostly shrouded in protectiveness more than anything

he loves you, he knows you love him, and there is not a doubt that trickles into his mind

…..for the most part, anyway

there is the occasional time when that warmth spreads in his chest and the overwhelming urge to take you under his wing spawns, only to realize you aren’t in any danger

so why does he feel the need to protect you?

━━━━━━

sova had never had any ill-will toward phoenix. the two of them weren't particularly close, but they had worked and lived together for long enough that they were closer than one might expect.

maybe thats why sova agreed to play games with he and a few others the other night. they played stupid ice-breaker games, despite mostly having known each other for years. a few embarrassing stories of his friends' youth were shared, including the time jett ate brownies without knowing weed was baked in, and the time raze got caught sneaking out in her teens.

at some point, sova was asked who he had feelings for. it was the late hours of the night, and you had long since passed out on the couch next to him. he'll never figure out how you slept through the laughing and talking, but you did. without saying a word, sova had smiled softly and nodded over to you.

there were a few gasps, and then there was the laughing and cheering of a few others. phoenix held out his hand, to which jett passed him twenty bucks with a disgrunted face. evidently, they had had a bet about his feelings.

little did he know that telling them--phoenix, in particular--about his feelings toward you would go on to be one of the worst decisions he could have made.

ever since that night, phoenix had made it his goal to flirt with you as much as he possibly could when sova was around. he would send the russian a wink and a smile after every interaction with you, driving the stake deeper. though you thought he was just being friendly and joking around, the interactions never failed to spark a sick feeling in his gut.

and currently, he was almost at his limit.

he was normally fairly calm, but his patience with phoenix had been run thin over the past few weeks and the interaction between you two was getting a little too close for his comfort. not that he had some sort of claim over you; you weren't dating, so why did he have this feeling?

"could you hand me my water?" you asked from your spot on the couch. you gestured to the bottle of water placed in front of phoenix, who was sitting beside you.

he watched as phoenix took your hand and brought it gently up to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "anything for you, my love." his voice was dripping with sultry as he spoke.

in a few quick steps, sova got up and grabbed the bottle before phoenix could. he stepped around the coffee table and handed you the bottle, sending a glare over to phoenix when he stepped away. the other man raised his hands in mock defense and leaned back into the couch. with a sly smile, he positioned his arm around the back of the couch and pulled you into his side. you laughed, but didn't push away.

"ok, fine." sova finally spoke. he had been glaring daggers at you and phoenix for the better part of two hours, and you couldn't figure out why. "what the hell is it for, phoenix? why are you doing this?"

you leaned up from where you were leaned against the man in question. "doing what?"

phoenix smiled impossibly wider and leaned forward. "yeah, doing what?"

sova grumbled. he huffed and took a moment to collect himself. "leave, y/n." he looked at you and his eyes softened. "please."

despite the look he sent you, you weren't leaving. you crossed your arms in defiance and glared. phoenix's hand came up to rub your back.

"that!" sova finally spoke again. this wasn't how he wanted to confess to you, but so be it. "i told you weeks ago that i had feelings for y/n and you have since made it your life's mission to flirt with them. you don't have the same feelings for them, so why? what do you gain?"

phoenix, painfully calmly, got up and walked to the other side of the room. "for one, you finally confessed. don't have to deal with your 'longing gazes' anymore. secondly, jett now owes me twenty more bucks."

OMEN ━━━

omen would like to pride himself in the fact that he was rarely jealous.

insecure? sure. a little self-depreciating? of course.

but jealous just wasn’t him. as much as he was dissatisfied with himself, he had full trust in you.

however, that didn’t stop the rare inkling of a feeling that you truly would be better off with someone else, especially when they flirt, and even more so when you don’t notice

━━━━━━

one more time. that was all it was going to take.

just one more time for that guy to slide his hand up your arm, one more stupid joke to roll off of his tongue, one more laugh from you. omen knew he didn't exactly initiate physical touch all that often, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it. he would kill right now to have that be him, for you to be so close to him, for you to be laughing at his every word like you were laughing at that guy's.

he had told you that he would come with you to grab some supplies. a kingdom worker had been at the facility at the time, however, and the two of you seemed to be getting along perfectly well. to hell with the company you had asked from omen, he supposes.

and of course there it was again, his arm coming up to rest gently on your back as he guided you down another hallway. omen was a few steps behind the two of you, not that either one of you seemed to be paying him any mind.

fine. he could go back to his room.

his disappeared into a cloud of smoke, materializing again in the darkness of his own room. the events of the last thirty or so minutes replayed in his mind, a taunting loop of your smile as you looked at the man responsible for it. its not that he hated seeing you smile -- he loved it. but it was a different thing entirely when you smiled so big because of a man he could never be. maybe in another life, but not now.

the thoughts swirled in his head for what felt like hours. it was likely barely half an hour in reality, being that it took fifteen minutes alone to get up to his room from where the two of you had been before and likely another few to finish your work.

finally, a knock on the door of his room regained his attention.

"come in." he spoke, not looking away from the ceiling tile he'd been fixed on.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" you asked, clearly angry.

the phantom sat up, looking over to you incredulously. "what?"

"why the hell would you leave?"

"wasn't interested in watching him flirt with you." he was curt, as always.

"oh, yeah," you said dramatically. you were walking over to him now, standing in front of him. "because i was enjoying it so much. loved it even more when my boyfriend got tired and left me alone with him."

oh. that makes more sense than you blatantly hitting on him in front of your own boyfriend.

"really? sure seemed to find him so funny."

"because what am i supposed to do? tell him that he's not funny and to shut up?"

"you could have told him not to touch you."

"i did! and you didn't see me brushing his hand away and walking faster so he wouldn't rest his hand on my back? or were you too busy wallowing?"

the reality of this set in on him suddenly. he really had been too caught up in his own mind to realize what was happening. he had left you in an uncomfortable situation all because he was too stubborn to listen to what was actually happening.

"i'm sorry." he finally spoke.

"its okay," you sighed, and crawled your way into his bed. "i'll file a report or something later. we deserve a nap."

[awordsmith]

fingertips 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer constantly have had accidental moments over the years that always meant more to one than the other thought.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s7 category: fluff content warnings: proofed! reader kidnapping, mentions of torture, constant flashbacks, yes sarcastic sarcasm is intentional, hidden feelings, tension, no smut (I'm working my way up to that one), reid with warmth word count: 9k a/n: ahhhhh, i just created a community radio (it can be found on my masterlist or pinned page) so feel free to send in song requests to be added! enjoy!

Your breath coated the window of the coffee shop, fogging it. You wiped it with your sleeve, waiting for Spencer to get back from ordering your drinks. The dim yellow light lit up the shop with a soft, mild glow; it was late, most sane people would be at home by now.

The bustling in the background caught your attention and your gaze caught on Spencer, still standing in line. He'd asked you to meet him here a few days ago, when you were working on your last case before your small–unavoidable–break. It was Christmas Eve. It was Christmas Eve and he had asked you to meet him days prior. He had every second to cancel, to change the date... Sitting here now, you knew–without a doubt–you were about to have a conversation long over due.

It made you think about how it all had gotten started, all your firsts, and when you knew you'd always love him more than a friend should. From your fist meeting to the feeling that someday it would hurt, because you could never let him go.

The first time we met, you thought, a calm smile settling over your face.

"And this, is Dr. Spencer Reid." Jason Gideon, your new boss introduced.

You nodded, a tight smile on your face, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement. Almost robotically, you shoved your hand forward, "it's nice to meet you–Doctor" you added quickly to the end.

An awkward expression came over his face as he stared at your hand, "oh, uh, he has a problem with physical contact." Dereck Morgan, your new team member, snorted.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you glanced at Morgan, your eyes swiftly turned back on Dr. Reid with a question lying just beneath the surface. He raised a single eyebrow back–though if it were on purpose you didn't know.

"You know," he said after a moment, after Gideon had walked away, up into his secluded office that you've only been in a few times. "It's actually safer to kiss."

Your eyes widened and Morgan snorted another, louder laugh, clapping his hands in the process. Dr. Reid's face had taken on a bit of mortification.

"I–of course I was just–I mean–I was saying that as–a fact–not that–"

"Just stop while you ahead, pretty boy." Morgan's contented sigh came to rest and he stood up. Dr. Reid still looked rigid, though, and you felt a little bad. Where you were nervous, he seemed just as awkward.

Morgan patted the poor doctor on the back and walked away, toward the staff room, it seemed. You both watched as he walked, a pep in his step, for a lack of better words. When Spencer turned back to you, fear written in his creases of his features, you offered a pleasant smile, "don't worry about it," he seemed to relax at that, which is why you couldn't help adding, "pretty boy."

His head jerked back toward you and you bursted into laughter, already feeling the tension and stress in the back of your head decrease a sizable amount. Thank you, Dr. Reid. You thought as you stared back at him, kind and gentle eyes, once again making him relax. He didn't know why he all of a sudden felt easier, but he did, and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to question something.

Music pulled you from your thoughts, the old jukebox in the back corner of the shop had began playing. An old man was now making his way back to a woman, whom you assumed was his wife. They looked cute, happy, and whole.

Your heart swelled, would you be able to have that kind of love one day? Would someone be able to talk about you as fondly as old men spoke of their first loves? Spencer called your name from across the shop, "you just want the coffee? Nothing else?"

You smiled warmly, though, a bit nervous, "no, no I'm fine." He nodded and typed something into his phone, which you had forced him to upgrade a few years back, you haven't been able to get him to upgrade since, but maybe, just maybe if he received a gift from Santa...

The old couple caught your attention, they were standing, and you watched as they–ever so slowly–took to the emptied space in the middle of the shop. Butterflies shot through your chest, and you felt like you might be sick–it was so cute.

It reminded you of–you turned back to Spencer, your cheeks reddening not just form the frostbite that had accompanied you when you'd first arrived.

That night...

You've been with the team a year, and tonight is the first night you've ever stayed at the office. You were tired and you wanted to go home, but you had to get this paperwork done and you did not want to be working a few feet away from your bed, where the promise of warmth and sleep–deep, deep sleep–awaited.

Thankfully, though, you weren't alone. Both Hotch and Reid had work to do too. Which wasn't odd for Hotch, but Reid, well, he normally went home, like the rest of you. Gideon sure went home right after, which still made you pause, he seemed to love his office so you wondered what his house had that his office didn't.

"You're staying late right?" Reid's voice carried through the empty bullpen as he rounded your desk and sat in Elle's desk chair.

"Yep," you nodded, pushing your hair out of your face. "Hey," you tilted your head toward him, "you wouldn't happen to have a hair tie, would you?" He grimaced and you chuckled, "thought so."

Sighing, you stood and walked the few paces to Elle's desk, leaning over the side of it, rummaging around. Spencer tensed, watching you closely. The single light that still loomed over the room traced the angle of your face. He caught his breath hitch when you pulled back and tilted your head upward, tying your hair back.

You brushed any remaining strands out of your face and tucked them behind your ears. "What?" Your face lit up in happy confusion.

"No–" he cleared his throat, "nothing."

You nodded complacently, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth, "really?" You leaned in, pushing your face as close to his as he would allow. You held onto Elle's chair and desk with your hands to keep yourself balanced.

His eyes averted from yours to the floor multiple times and he cleared his throat again. You were only messing with him, his reactions were always worth it though, Penelope and Dereck had taught their new child well.

Reid contemplated what to do for a moment, he knew you were teasing him, you did this sometimes when you two were alone, it always started the same–where he'd get flustered over something dumb and you'd take the opportunity to make fun of him for it. He knew you were doing it out of endearment, so he normally didn't mind, but–he couldn't get that image of you, your exposed neck in the almost completely dark room, out of his head, so keenly unaware of the dangers that could be lurking.

Reid sighed, latching his right hand onto your right wrist and yanking it back. You stumbled slightly, Reid had never used his strength on you before–you'd always thought it was because...well, he had none (but that's beside the point!). He certainly seemed to have it now, did he grow these overnight? You thought, taken aback, though your attention was pulled to his–avidly aware of the closeness between your bodies.

His eyes traced yours, looking for...you didn't know what, but it was something alright. You swallowed and couldn't help laughing nervously, the grip he had on your wrist was strong but careful, you had no doubt if you tried pulling back, he'd let go immediately.

You didn't, for a while. His touch was a sensation you had never felt before. You'd brushed fingertips multiple times, but this–this felt like the Darcy hand scene in Pride and Prejudice–the place where his skin met your burned all around. Not just physically in your hand, it burned in your chest, in your throat, and your head was probably steaming too.

Were it not for Hotch coming out of his office at the exact moment he did–you shook your head, no, that was a completely unprofessional thought.

"You two are still here?" Hotch asked taking–and almost falling–down the stairs.

You and Reid turned away to contain your giggles, which was only harder once Hotch said, "That was a smart move on both your parts. I'm going home early–" The three of you paused, allowing the silent end of that sentence to simmer. Early for Hotch. "In any case," Hotch cleared his throat, "don't stay too late: long day tomorrow."

"Yep," Reid's voice was clipped, but you said nothing at all, opting for a silent nod instead. Hotch left the bullpen and when you heard the elevator ding, you spun around and headed back to your seat. Spencer stayed at Elle's, which strained your focus, anytime he leaned back or stretched, your eyes would wander over to him.

It irked you for an entire thirty minutes, which is when you had enough and yanked out your headphones. Light music helped you focus–it cleared the other surrounding noise from your ears and kept your thoughts from sidetracking too often. In this case, it should've been perfect, and it was, for a time–until you were just about done with your work and they died.

You huffed a loud sigh, pulling them off your head and throwing them across your desk. Spencer raised a brow and turned to you, he'd been watching you carefully from the corner of his eyes. Every time you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, he'd thought you were glancing at him, but then you'd pulled out your headphones and he was sure he had been daydreaming.

"What's wrong?" He heard himself ask, surprised to feel a tingle throughout his body–was he... excited he had something to talk to you about?

"My headphones–" you motioned toward your useless item now laid strewn on your desk, "just died."

"Oh," was the first thing to pop into his head, and apparently he didn't have enough control over his motor mouth because he said it out loud too. You glared at him slightly before deflating against your chair.

"And I just got to the last wha–hun!" You whined, smacking your hands to your face. Spencer wouldn't admit it at that moment, but your tiny tantrum brought an equally tiny smile to his face; he found you incredibly endearing.

"You know," he spoke up softly, getting you to pull your hands away slightly to watch him, "...you could always play your music on your computer."

Your eyes lit up, "really?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, waving his hand around, "there's no one here."

"You're here." You stated.

He gave you one of his "come on now" looks. A few guys tried giving you that face, thinking it was cute, but it always made you cringe–the fact was, though, it was cute on Spencer, and you fell for it every time.

"Okay, fine, but you better not be mean. My taste in music is superior, anyway." He chuckled, sliding out of Elle's chair, and taking two long strides to your desk.

"Alright, let's hear it then." To his surprise, the notes that rang through your computer's speaker were not ones that he was prepared for. "This is Tchaikovski."

You nodded, "I prefer the André Rieu's version, honestly, but the playlist is on shuffle.

He nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah, I can see that."

"Huh?" You raised a brow, standing and stretching, "what's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, but a cheeky grin attached itself to the corner of his lips, "You just...seem like you would."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the urge to ask more, "Are you done?"

He twisted his body to glance over at the desk that was not his–but was the one closest to you. "Yeah, just finished." Actually, he had finished ten minutes ago, but he didn't want to leave you alone. Well, I can't just leave her, he'd rationalized, it wouldn't be right. So he sat there, shifting his documents until you'd thrown your headphones off.

"Okay, I just have this page left, wait for me?"

He hid his smile by looking down, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Yeah, sure." You were done fifteen minutes later, Spencer caught you stacking your papers and shoving them in your drawer, "all done?"

"Yep," you stood and stretched, pulling your arm over your head. You yawned and turned to him as he approached you again, his steps hidden by the music that was now fading in. Your head turned and a smile tugged at your lips, "It's Rieu."

He focussed his attention on the morodo, listening, "Oh, yeah, it does have the nostalgic familiarity." You raised a brow, but he shook his head.

"Do you ever close your eyes and picture yourself dancing?" You asked, letting your eyes flutter shut as your body swayed a little.

Spencer was about to say no when a thought formed in his head, he didn't like the term "idea" or "plan" because that wasn't what it really was. It was more of an urge and it really did just...pop into his head, "Do you want to dance?"

Your eyes shot open, an enticingly daring expression flooding your face. "You dance?"

He shrugged, but a smile he couldn't control was again tugging at his mouth, "I'm a quick learner."

You nodded, though you thought it, you didn't say you weren't much of a dancer yourself–you didn't count the concerts on your bed or in the middle of your room because you mostly shook your head back and forth, no choreography detectable.

You took charge because although you didn't know much about popular dancing, you knew some ballroom...well, what you'd seen on TV and had tried copying in your living room.

"Put this on the back of my shoulder," you tapped one of his hands, mimicking the action with the arm. The crescendo was building, so you took his free hand in yours and moved back, "one," you said, "two," another step, "three."

A few seconds later it seemed he was now the one teaching you. He even attempted spinning you, which you had not attempted nor planned out before. You almost spun right into a wall, but thankfully, Reid yanked you back to him in time and you fell against his chest instead.

"Maybe," you whispered, out of breath, hearing the song fade out, "we should stick to catching criminals."

"Yeah," he dropped your arms and leaned a hand on the nearby stair railing while you bent to your knees, "maybe we should."

You huffed a laugh, "Oh you look horrid."

He snorted, "Not much more can be said for you."

"Okay, yeah, whatever, help me clean up."

"No," he whined, throwing his head back against his arm, still holding the railing of the stairs, but one warning glance sent him dashing after you.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer's eyebrows scrunched together as he took the seat across from you.

You shook your head, sighing softly, "No," your eyes flickered back to the old couple, then meeting Spencer's once more after a brief moment, "you order?"

"Yep," he nodded, his earlier Rudolph nose now down to a slight tint of pink.

"What do you think the other's are doing right now?" You turned toward the window next to you, desperate to draw this out. Your nerves were all too clear, it felt like you were dying–slowly–with the way your mind was floating through these memories so clearly.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "but to be perfectly honest, I'm not worried about them right now."

You nodded, gulping, how to distract him? How to steer him away from the inevitable conversation, you weren't even sure why he'd wanted to meet you tonight, it was nothing special, yeah, sure, it was Christmas Eve, but the date didn't signify anything for you two.

"Hey," you said, finding yourself coming up with another memory, "do you remember when we had that team dinner, but everyone bailed?"

"Everyone except us," he snorted.

"Yeah, what was that all about?"

His eyebrows scrunched together, "what do you mean?"

It was the first time you'd been out of the office with Spencer alone–that wasn't work-related...kind of. "Well, they never really told us why any of them bailed, don't you remember, aren't you curious?"

Her chuckled, "I mean no? It was what four–five years ago?"

"Yeah, but...

The night was almost as annoying as it was cold, the team had cancelled–everyone had something to do and not one person deemed you worthy enough to know what it was, but you had been looking forward to this dinner for the past month. You were not about to let it slip through your fingers.

You had never been to a fancy restaurant and the reservation was still made, it wasn't as if Rossi would have thought to cancel it and you planned to add everything to his tab anyway. (It wasn't stealing if he had offered to pay before.)

The hostess led you to a large round table with multiple seats you were expecting to be empty–but to your surprise, there was someone there, "Reid?" You called, confusion written across your face.

He turned, his face brighting, "oh, hey, where's everyone else?"

You tilted your head, sitting in the seat beside him, "didn't you get the text?"

"I don't have a phone," he shifted his body to face yours, "well, I do...but Penelope called it an abomination so I just don't use it."

You raised a brow, "what about email?"

He shook his head–you pressed your mouth together and patted him on the back, "It'll be okay."

"What?" His eyebrows shot up.

"I have to go to the bathroom, tell the waiter to bring out the menus, pretty please."

When you returned, you found Reid had followed your instructions and was now leaning over a small rectangular board. "Oh, you're ba–"

He paused, his eyes trailing over your body, "jeez, Reid, take a picture."

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, scooting out of the table a bit so as to follow you with his eyes as you rounded the table and sat back down, "I guess I just didn't notice before–you look beautiful tonight."

"Wow, thanks," you replied with sarcastic sarcasm, laughing when he began sputtering out an explanation.

He stopped and watched you with awe, it was as if he thought you'd never stop laughing like you were, but only if he was quiet enough. You stopped eventually–of course you did, it wasn't as if he really did think you wouldn't.

"What's that look for?" Your laughter ceases and a calm smile comes to rest on your face as you angle your head upward.

"Hmm?" His face scrunched up but he couldn't help smiling at being caught, "I don't know what you're talking about," his voice went high and he turned his head toward the lights above you, his smile ever present.

"Oh," you grinned, smacking his arm right when the waiter came and asked for your orders.

The rest of that night you spent with him, joking, laughing–ignoring the world around you. He walked you out to your car, which is when you found yourself not wanting to get in–to leave–just yet.

Instead of dragging out the conversation, however, you sighed and went silent for a moment–it was late, he must be tired–before thinking too much about it, you grabbed his wrist, and in the quiet, lamplit car park of the fancy restaurant, said, "thank you, Reid, for being you."

He chuckled and shrugged and right then and there–you had a wisp of a precarious thought that left you as soon as it appeared, "I don't know how to be anyone else."

"I know," you sighed, knowing it was probably time to get in your car and head home, but something–some unseen force–was holding you back, "that's what I like about you."

You both paused. You didn't say love. Normal friends would have said love, but you didn't, you said like; normal friends dislike each other, siblings dislike each other–lovers...lovers, don't hate each other, or do they? "Thank you." He tilted his head down to hide the shy smile that overpowered the rest of his facial features.

Okay, maybe you'd been thinking about it too hard–wait since when did you overthink things? And about Reid?

"You know," he murmured," pulling your eyes back onto his, he looked up at you through those long eyelashes Penelope always threatened to steal, head still turned down slightly, "you should call me Spencer."

"Huh?" Your cheeks burned, you could feel them heating up in real-time and you were hoping he didn't take notice of the way you shifted in your stance.

"Well, it's just–I mean I use your first name, and you're only a year younger, so–I mean it's normal for everyone else, but–I don't know–never mind."

He turned, embarrassment taking over, "Spencer." You called, eager to throw him off guard. But when he faced you again you stopped breathing, that would be the only explanation for the lack of oxygen in your body. The only logical explanation, anyway.

"I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah, uh–hu-h," you sputtered like an idiot, watching your coworker disappear between the cars.

"...but what?" He pushed his head toward yours, "You went somewhere just now, where did you go?" You couldn't very well tell him you were sifting through the memory archive of your relationship with him–not when you were trying to steer the conversation away from it–well, for as long as you could.

"I...don't," you shook your head, closed your eyes, and sighed with a smile, "sorry, I'm just a little out of it tonight."

He frowned, "anything you want to talk about?'

You pressed your lips together, "Nope."

He nodded, and slipped off his scarf, setting it on the table. He turned his head from side to side, massaging the tension between the muscles. Your brain shifted and then you weren't seeing Spencer massaging his neck, you were seeing yourself–that first night in his apartment, the very first time you'd slept over.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the events leading up to the mentioned massage.

"Thanks again for letting me crash at your place," you sighed contently.

"No problem," Spencer chirped, opening his door. "How did you lose your keys again?"

"Ugh," you ran a hand over your face, "I don't know, they must have fallen somewhere." You groaned, "I'll have to get the locks changed–jeez–my landlord is gonna have a cow."

His chuckle turned into a sigh, "well, you can stay here as long as you need."

"Oh," you turned, "by chance, do you mind if I borrow a few clothes as well? It'll just be for tonight, I can buy something in the morning."

He pressed his lips together, giving you a small nod, "whatever you need."

"Thanks, Spence," you gushed, yanking him into a tight hug, "ugh, what would I do without my pretty boy?"

"Okay, okay," he pushed you away, "you–do know I'm older, right?"

"By a year," you rolled your eyes.

"Just making sure," he concluded, flipping on the light and heading into the kitchen as you stopped to look around. It was clean and a lot of the furniture looked old, especially the bookshelves, but it was definitely Spencer's. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He called.

"Do you have any frozen fruit?" You asked, stepping in front of one of the shelves and running a hand along a row of spines.

"Frozen fruit?–" he sounded confused at first, and then his sentence completely fell off, so you turned around, he was in the entryway to the kitchen, "see anything you like?"

You faced the shelf once more, "they're all Econ and Mathematics," you said, almost indifferently, "got anything romantic?"

He smiled, "those treasures are hidden in my room."

"Why yes, Spencer, I would gladly take your room for the night, I'm so glad you asked." Your smile widened as you spoke, placing a hand to your heart, "What," a shake of your head, "a," shake, "gentleman."

His mouth hung agape, but it looked as if he was trying to hide a smile, "you're unbelievable."

"Don't hate the player, Spencer," you spun around and headed for the kitchen, "hate the game."

He scoffed, his frown hanging on for dear life so as not to disappear, but it was losing its grip–quickly.

Spencer let you get in the shower first, but when you got in, you had to stand there, contemplating just how exactly you would tease him for having only shampoo and a bar of soap. A. Bar. Of. Soap.

"There's not even conditioner," you threw your head back, groaning.

A knock came from the other side of the closed bathroom door, "you okay in there?"

"Yep," you shouted, "just..." another sigh, "...peachy..."

Ten minutes later you were stepping out, grabbing the towel Spencer had lent you, it was his spare. You should have grabbed the clothing you wanted to wear before, but a hot shower after a day of dead girls–yeah, you needed the shower.

You heard Spencer moving around in the kitchen, making alfredo with cilantro and broccoli–oh you could already taste the pasta on your tongue, its smell wafted toward your nose and your mouth watered. You hurried to his room, deciding to lotion your body after you were dressed.

You pulled on the bra you'd been wearing before and rummaged through Spencer's drawer's for a t-shirt. Of course, he only had two, the rest were socks.

Frowning, you headed for his closet to see if you could find something better, thankfully, you found rows of white collared shirts, and in pulling one over your head, you grinned at the thought of seeing his face crumble, so maybe you were a bit of a sadist when it came to him–it was only all fun, really. If it meant that much to him, you'd just buy him another tomorrow.

You were about to walk out when you realized you were pant-less. You thought about reusing your underwear, but that would just be gross, so, you would have to go commando.

But... you still needed pants. After a while you sat on his bed in silence, frowning at the disappointment of not finding anything comfortable, then–just like a lightbulb, it occurred to you he might have sweats hidden somewhere.

You began pulling open the rest of the drawers when another knock–this time on his door–came. "Are you decent?" His question muffled by the door.

"I'm about to be," you replied, standing with your prize. You shoved your legs into them, the length dragging past your feet, you had to manually knot them with the strings to keep them up, and even then it was still falling. You sighed, pulling the linen shirt over the pants. "Alright," you brushed your hair down, "come in."

His eyes caught the shirt you wore, then they dipped toward the grey sweats; he smiled, tilting his head as he let his eyes track back up toward your face, "new style?"

"Oh shut up," you glared, feeling a similar smile come over you, as you shoulder-checked him out of the room. "Is the pasta done?"

"Almost," he nodded, "hungry?"

"No, I'm perfectly full," you rolled your eyes.

His laugh sent a tingling sensation through your body and your stomach dipped, "I'm gonna get in the shower, okay? Feel free to finish cooking."

"Aye-aye captain," you saluted him, turned, and marched toward the kitchen.

Spencer stood there for a moment, he's known you for about three years now, and yet he still couldn't figure out what this was, what you were–to him... He was considered a genius by normal standards, but around you, he felt his whole world shrink until it was only big enough to hold a young woman, and then he wasn't such a genius.

He often grumbled idioms to himself whenever he found he was losing his shit–which is how he stepped into his shower tonight, uttering idioms under his breath, all while knowing they were pointless.

Rossi had taught Spencer how to cook–not just cook, but cook. He'd only been with the team a year, but he was quickly sliding into a nice rhythm with everyone and you thought he might even be helping Spencer in the way only Gideon used to...maybe.

You loved that zio.

Spencer was right, the pasta was almost done. Which meant you could start grabbing plates, "...left cabinet near the sink..." you mumbled to yourself, trying to remember where Spencer said he kept dishes.

"Hey, all done?" Spencer walked into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt.

Your smile dropped, "you were hiding that weren't you?"

"How could I?" He raised his brows, leaning his back against the counter in front of you. You had just turned off the iron holding the pot boiling the noodles, and now you turned around to mix the sauce, ordering, "poor the water out please."

He moved swiftly, careful to only hold the handles. You watched him from the corner of your eyes, though you couldn't see them with the sweatshirt he was wearing, the ease in which he tilted the large pot told you those muscles you'd noticed during your first overnight at the office with him, were still there, and possibly even growing.

You turned away and cleared your throat when he set the pot back down, "alright grab the plates."

He smiled, and it was almost like you were dancing with the way you spun to let him pass. He laughed and you couldn't help but smile, this was nice–this was fun.

After dinner, Spencer began cleaning the dishes and you began cleaning the table, when you finished before him, you hip-bumped him and said, "I got this, go find a movie we can watch–preferably horror."

He sighed, shaking his head, "yes Hotch."

You your jaw dropped, but he could see your smile through it, "you did not."

He laughed and it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard. It warmed your chest and for a second you felt lightheaded; dizzy.

Upon finishing the dishes, you found Spencer strewn across his couch, head leaning forward as he rubbed the back of his neck. The paused movie on the tv screen was parallel his long couch, waiting for you.

"It hurt?" You took slow steps toward him.

He jerked as if he hadn't known you were there until you'd said something. "Not really," he turned back toward the screen, "ready?"

You don't really know what it was that made you keep on your journey toward him, probably that unseen force from before. "Let me see."

He tensed when the buds of your fingertips prodded up and down his warm neck. Logically it was probably from the coldness, but you hesitated, almost pulling back for fear of making him uncomfortable.

"Sorry–"

"No, I–" he grabbed your wrist, holding it down on his neck, "it's fine...please?" It was so small, so quiet, so overwhelming in that space between you and him, and that question–that word–...it shrunk it even smaller.

"Yeah, okay," you spoke quietly, fearing if it were any louder the moment would turn to ruins.

You pulled away, breathing on your hands so they wouldn't feel so cold, then, you moved in, working the tenses muscles first, just like your dad had taught you. For a second you recalled the child labor he put you through during your childhood, nose scrunching at how he started giving you half a dollar every foot massage after you'd brought it up.

Spencer's groan yanked you to the present instantly, you smiled, "I'm no chiropractor, but I'm not completely clueless."

Spencer's snort earned him a smack on the shoulder, leading to you both laughing. A few passable seconds and you were now at the base of his neck, where his shoulders formed the arch. You were so focused on your work–a vein must've popped out–when Spencer turned his face and suddenly you had that loss of breath sensation again. Your mouth went dry and–unwillingly–your eyes ran over his lips, but when you blinked you forced them up again.

"Thank you," a boom in your chest, and you fell backward, onto your butt, your legs sprawled, but your knees somehow still tucked beneath you, Spencer of course was worried, jumping up immediately, and asking if you were alright.

The thing was, though, you weren't. Not in the mental sense, because your mind had spent years trying to figure out just what all the moments and feelings over the years meant. And yet, you couldn't put it into words until now.

You were absolutely, positively, irrevocably in love with him. Your coworker, possibly your best friend–and–and–how could you not know until now? You've had your fair share of crushes, you've had boyfriends, even, but have you ever been in love? No–this was a first. And–and you just couldn't grapple with what that meant. If it even meant anything at all.

You offered him a kind smile, "Yeah, sorry, I must have just...lost balance."

He looked at you for a moment, nodding, "If you say so, here, let me help you up."

You sighed, realizing you were still on your knees–get up girl, you're not freaking praying–

"Thank you," you murmured.

"You don't have to thank me," he replied cooly.

Your brows furrowed, "what?"

"I said you don't have to thank me," he led you to the couch, "I have free will, I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to, so, you don't have to thank me."

He held your eyes and for only a timid instant, you thought it may have been a confession, but no–there was no way. You nodded, "All right, then–the same goes for me."

After a tic, he nodded, "Right."

You blinked and suddenly you were in the coffee shop again, but Spencer wasn't in front of you. You nearly jumped up shouting his name before you noticed he was walking over to grab your drinks. That was odd, had they called it out? Why hadn't you noticed?

Your eyes tracked his movements when he reached out to grab your cups, his forearms hidden beneath the nerdy plaid sweater, one of many–you knew–were in his closet.

You smiled at your joke, recalling the first Christmas you'd spent with him–well, okay it was with the team and it wasn't on Christmas day, and yeah, it was for Secret Santa, but it was the first time you had pulled his name since joining the BAU and becoming part of their little but many traditions.

He spun around and started walking toward you, and you couldn't help thinking his eyes had that same glint that they did when he'd opened your gift.

You had tried to make it as uncommon and unexpected as possible, but still as about him in some way. His reaction...you felt sickly sweet thinking about it; like you might throw up. And the gift he'd given you–because he'd pulled your name from the bowl for the first time that year as well–you could feel your heart grow ten sizes...

The lights around the bullpen were dimmed so as to appreciate the blue weather outside. There was only one window, but Penelope brought a few candles so as to capture the very essence of the winter spectacle.

When you had retrieved Spencer's name from the bowl a week ago, you'd being thrumming with both excitement and nervousness, you'd gotten Gideon the first year, which scared you to absolute bits, but Hotch helped you...somewhat. Then Elle left and Emily joined the team, and you'd gotten her, last year it had been Penelope. This year, well–you just had to go all out.

You had felt it a few months ago, in his apartment, you'd even admitted it to yourself, but you couldn't tell him, nor could you let anyone else know. This was your secret, yours and yours alone.

You'd spent hours searching stores, but nothing seemed to fit, there were so many people out doing their annual gift shopping and it just all seemed too crowded to brave the storm of people again.

It was last Wednesday when you stumbled across the gem of a store, well, it wasn't much to the normal person, but as they say, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'–and though he hadn't been there, you knew the shop would have driven him mad with happiness.

Upon entering, multiple little trinkets had caught your eye, but you'd wanted to filter around for a bit, and you did just that until you came across a teddy bear wearing a plaid vest. Now, you didn't know if it had been fate, but the teddy bear was holding a small chess piece, the queen. You recalled Gideon constantly beating Spencer at chess when you first joined the team, and how Spencer had been humbled with each loss.

You now watched with anticipation as Spencer shook the gift in his hand, it was light and cheap, and a little old, but you were sure he'd love it, after all, what was all that ancient woodwork in his apartment? He grinned, clearly just as excited to open the gift as you were. "What is it?" Emily asked, glancing at you.

"Tell him to open it," you motioned toward him with a hand.

"Open it Reid," she turned toward him, the other's murmuring similar comments.

And he did. His eyes widening when they pulled out the small, plaid-vested teddy bear. "Is–is that a stuffed animal?" Morgan questioned, jumping when Penelope smacked him on the arm.

"It's holding a chess piece," Spencer ran his fingers along the tiny queen. His eyes caught yours in a manner that had you planted to the floor, you tried swallowing, but your throat was dry, you felt as if he were trying to communicate with you through his eyes. Like he was saying, "thank you," only that was too small, it was deeper than that and yet as simple as a smile. Your heart thudded and you had to turn away because if he saw you. He'd know.

You had no doubt. Not a single sliver of it–he'd know in an instant, and well, you don't know how he'd react, and you loved how things were now, so you turned away, not from your feelings, but from the damage that might ensue, should he find out. "Mmhmm," you rocked back and forth on your feet.

"Alright, who's next?" Rossi called, "Reid, who'd you get?"

His eyes flashed to yours as he set the small bear down. "Actually," he pulled a finely wrapped square gift, it was the largest of the gifts this year and you hadn't a clue as to what it could be nor who had brought it in.

As he slid the firm gift into your hands, he said, "be gentle, it's fragile."

Now, you were undoubtedly curious. It was skinny but heavy enough, so you set it down and began clawing at the wrapping, gently, just like he had said. When it was unveiled, your words caught in your throat. You looked up to him, holding it in between you two.

His smile grew bashful and he rubbed the back of his neck, "I know you don't, but I have a record player, and you're welcome to come over and use it any time."

Your jaw hung open and it was only when Emily shared a look with the rest of the team that one of them finally said something–it was Rossi–"Are we missing something?"

Your smile hurt with the way it stretched across your face. "Thank you," you set the gift aside stepping forward to hug him, but then remembered the rest of the team around you, so you awkwardly tapped his chest, but he looked like he knew your intent and for that you were grateful.

He had gotten you an André Rieu's Swan Lake record. How could someone be so–so perfectly him? As the gift-giving went on, you leaned over and whispered, "Thank you," again.

He stepped closer toward you, leaning over subtly, "remember what we said?"

The low tone in his voice sent shivers running down your spine. "Right..." you gulped.

"But," he continued, walking around you, pulling your gaze back to the record, in prime condition, you had no idea how he did it because you were pretty sure Rieu's Swan Lake did not exist on records, and yet here it was, in the very palm of your hands.

"But?" You asked, brimming with butterflies.

You swear you felt yourself beginning to tremble with them before he said, "if you ever need a dance partner, I'm always available, and I might be open to a little 'please'."

You smacked him laughing, thinking he was about to say something serious. He covered his chuckles with a hand, placing his other on the desk to hold himself up.

You both paused when you realized the chattering around the room had stopped, and when you looked up, everyone was staring at you, even JJ had her brows raised, Hotch–he looked like a dad catching his daughter with a boy in her room for the first time.

Spencer cleared his throat and asked, "What did everyone bring for the potluck?" His voice, once again, squeaky and high.

You smiled at him, with a few years of practice you had stopped saying thank you to each other, it was in your eyes; it was like saying I love you: pointless if you both knew it already, so why waste breath on something that could be better used for anything else?

"It's hot, so be careful," he handed it to you and your fingertips burned at where you touched his hand.

"So," you said, "what did you want to talk about? Why did it have to be tonight?"

He smiled, and to your surprise, it didn't falter. Although, should you really be surprised? You knew you loved him. You have for years now. You've known he's loved you since he pulled you out of that damned basement, it was so clear, not in the way he had reached for you, not in the way he had yelled, sounding both terrified and relieved for the paramedics to "fucking do their job", not even in the way he cried out your name, face contorted in something so close to agony–no. Not in any of those ways–but in the way his eyes had pleaded with you.

The way they had been the only thing you'd remembered after waking up, the only thing you saw clearly when you'd fainted when the world had gone black for the first time, suddenly disappearing all at once–like you were dying, though you might have quite literally have been.

The light was dim, you didn't know how long you'd been here, or where here even was. It had to have been days–days without light, days without food, you'd barely sustained enough water to keep you from dehydrating.

You tried remembering how you got to this point. You were undercover–God how long ago was that? You wanted to cry but you refused to give in, to let him see you like this. It would turn him on, you remember that–at least. You couldn't–you just couldn't give him what he wanted, and for that, he kept you alive.

It was both a matter of survival and of stubbornness and until you gave it to him, he'd keep you ailing, he'd probably torture you in the days to come. Gosh–you were so incredibly weak, you didn't want to waste energy on trying to recall anything else.

But moments would come to you in bits and pieces. You had offered yourself to go undercover, you were his type–the unsub–you were the youngest on the team, but they trusted you and you trusted them to have your back. Most of all, you trusted Spencer, you knew he wouldn't let anything happen to you, and you knew he was probably looking for you right now, probably not sleeping, maybe even torturing himself for losing you.

How long had you known him? Four years? You had no doubt. None. He was looking for you, doing everything in his power to find you, to locate this son of a bastard who was keeping you prisoner for his sick, twisted needs.

"All you have to do," his voice would croak through the speaker he had set in the top corners of the room. You were pretty sure he had a monitor on you as well but tried to disregard that thought as you squinted through your hazy vision. "Is submit yourself to me."

"And then you'll let me go?" You would sometimes ask when you had enough energy, though it was always sarcastic and accompanied by a dry laugh.

The chains he'd linked you to had enough room for you to move around in your tiny prison cell, but you never did, you were normally too exhausted. He wanted to wear you down, this was his tactic, the one Hotch or someone–you couldn't really remember now–had concluded in the profile.

How long had it been? Time either moved too fast or too slow. "I've already told you I would." But it was a lie and you knew it. It was the game he played: get the unwilling participant to confess their secret, undying love for him, you had been messaging him for a few days under an alias before meeting up. That was supposed to have been it, you'd had him, but he wasn't guilty of anything until he tried something.

You were at a club, Emily was stationed on the floor, Spencer was sitting at the bar, Hotch and Morgan were acting as bodyguards at the entrances and exits, and Rossi had been somewhere on the second floor–that was all that had come back so far, everything else was still a mystery.

Regardless, you knew for a fact the unsub wouldn't let you go, he'd get you to confess and then he'd torture you depending on the way he felt that day, then eventually kill and dump you somewhere.

It was the confession, to him it was like a green light to do whatever he wanted, it was like the consent to kill you was hidden behind what he referred to as "the submission".

You stayed in the makeshift bed most days, only moving to keep bedsores from appearing. Despite the lack of physical torture–if you took out the starving and lack of vitamin D–the mental obstacles you went through just to keep yourself sane were another kind of torment.

It had only been a day later, but it felt like weeks of agonizing solitude before they found you. You were still in the clothes you wore to the club. You recalled the bright light, that was the first giveaway, you thought he might have had enough, but then you heard it, your name, your real name, falling from the lips of the only person who could say it like that.

"Spencer?" Your voice was raw, you'd eaten a slice of bread and an egg the day before, at least, you think it was that, you'd been given a single glass of water, which in your state couldn't drink without throwing up.

Spencer had been going insane–and fast. The team had never seen him so erratic before, not even his addiction had made him so lifeless, he wouldn't sleep, he was working nonstop and it got to a point where Morgan had to slip a sleeping pill into a cup of his coffee.

They hated forcing it on him, but it came from a place of love–they would never tell him and if he started showing signs again, they'd take responsibility and work with him, help him–but the kid needed rest, and he wasn't going to get it willingly.

When Garcia finally–finally–obtained an address, they wasted no time. Spencer–not giving a damn about a warrant–shouldered the door down, surprising Morgan and even Hotch, he needed to find you, he needed to. You weren't dead, he could feel it in his heart, you couldn't be. They hadn't found a body–and as long as they hadn't found a body you were safe. You had to be–you just–had to be.

Tears sprang in his eyes and fell down his cheek when he saw you. It'd been a week, they'd never–never–spent this long on a case before, you were a wreck, a pile of almost nothing. His heart broke at seeing you in such a way. He called your name, hoping you were still there, hoping you hadn't given in, that you hadn't gone through all the things he'd seen the other victims–God he couldn't even think of you in that way–you were so much more. So much more.

He'd been trying to fight the feelings, it wasn't appropriate and some part of him was sure you didn't even feel the same, but now–at a time like this–he didn't give a damn about what anybody else thought. Not of you or his feelings, if you hated him afterward then he could live with that. What he couldn't live with was seeing you fucking dead.

"Spencer?" You called and his expression broke free of the mask he'd been wearing up until now. He didn't want the other's to worry so he avoided crying in front of them, whenever he had that urge, he'd hide in the bathroom. But now–now?

He was ugly crying, a beak down if you will. His face came into your vision and his eyes, his bright, sad, glossy, warm brown eyes. It was like a hug, and then he was actually hugging you, your face buried in his chest, you could hear other voices but they were all drowned out by the silence that came over you and you could see nothing but Spencer's eyes. The way they looked as if you built the sky and added the stars just for him.

When you'd disappeared from the bar–he had been right next to you–right bloody next to you, and when he blinked you were just–gone.

You might forgive him, but he knew he would never forgive himself. You had given him everything, and he didn't know it until this very moment that he didn't care about being professional as much as he loved you, and he knew you knew, he didn't say it, but in the silence shared between you too you knew, and you didn't say thank you when he found you, because you knew he could see that in your eyes too.

It was unspoken, but in the silence–it was enough.

"Let's...walk," he stood suddenly.

"Wait, what?" Your eyebrows dipped in confusion, but you scrambled to follow him nonetheless. "Spencer, it's snowing!" You shivered right as you stepped outside.

"I know," he replied, walking down the sidewalk, stores were closed at this time of night, and the coffee shop was no doubt about to close as well, it was almost midnight, you were actually surprised they were still open, today of all days, but perhaps it was good for business.

"Then–why?"

He stopped and began heading toward the park around the corner. It didn't have a big playground, but it had a large field that normally filled with snow around this time of year. The kids were more drawn to it, naturally, though no kids were in sight upon reaching the destination he seemed to have planned.

You sat on the stairs of the small structure, snow blowing around you in the dark atmosphere, only alight by the stars and the park lamps.

The parking-lot had been desolate, not a single car in sight and you almost regretted not driving as you would now have to walk all the way back to the coffee shop, but Spencer, well, he could make anything worth the struggle.

"You know," he spun closing his eyes, coffee cup in hand as the mini blizzard coated him and his attire. He'd grabbed the scarf from his scarf from the table and wrapped it around his arm, now it was loose, the wind pulling at it slightly, "we should make a snowman."

"Now?" You questioned with a lift of your brow. "I mean, it's kind of late."

"So?" He set his cup down, raising a brow at you, "scared?"

You sighed, succumbing to his stupid challenge, "Fine, I give."

"You always do," he grinned, and something about that grin made you want to forgo everything and just kiss him, but you were the one to drag this out, so perhaps you should play along.

You'd been beating around the bush all night, the both of you; it was as if you were so comfortable with each other, so easy with your current relationship, that it was uncomfortable talking about a change.

So, you built the damn snowman. Spencer wrapped his scarf around it afterward, admiring his handy work, though it looked more like a bear with its oval mouth and no carrot nose. You rolled your eyes and snapped a photo of the snowman. "He looks just like his dad," you muttered.

A strange look came over Spencer's face just then, and you knew–you just knew: he was in love–but haven't you always known? He didn't say it because he didn't have to, it was all in his eyes. With the wind swirling around you–you heard your feet crunch in the snow as you stepped forward–and with the moon being your soul witness, you kissed him.

...

Or he kissed you, it was all a blur really: you kissed each other, adoring eyes meeting over and over again like a silent declaration, thank you and I love you.

All this time scared by a change, your fingertips had always burned with the knowing outcome.

a/n:  any way to say ahhhhhhhh differently? i don't know, but thank you for reading, and be sure to check out the community radio (i'm actually so proud of it)

[thalfbloodloser]

i wish we had alloaro representation in media. a charming character who fucks - both literally AND aesthetically. one that makes other characters go "wow! they're so cool and good in bed, but ultimately un-datable, because as soon as they sense any romantic intention on you, they flee" (kinda like lucifer morningstar from "lucifer". he's aroallo in my heart)

a character who's funny and has a horrifyingly 80's sense of fashion (they have a curly combed-out mullet and mismatched earrings. you'll find them at pride wearing a corn costume because it "matches the aroallo flag" and they're "being subtle") or one who's the embodiment of a 60's greaser (their motorcycle helmet is themed after the aro flag and the back of their leather jacket says "LOVELESS / LOVE LOSES") or one who's a girly fanfiction writer that has more ships than a star wars movie (their fics are muntifandom-ly famous and most their stuff is covered in yaoi/yuri patches and stickers. everyone thinks they're a hopeless romantic because of it, but that's exactly why they're so big on the fiction ≠ reality discourse) or...

anyone else, really. just ultimately a HUMAN who's casually aromantic. one who doesn't make it a parade but isn't subtle about it, either. will they hold other character's hands? maybe. kiss their cheek? perhaps. hang out with them, on picnics and walks along the river? can't see why not! but platonically. or maybe have them be genuinely romance-repulsed & not so eager to participate in anything socially perceived as romantic. that would also be amazing.

let them express themselves sexually! let them fuck. give them a..."fuckbuddy", if you must. or a best friend who's sexually involved with them - classic romcom material, i know - but without it being "complicated"; because there's no romance involved to complicate it.

give them funny scenes. another character tries to kiss their lips or ask them on a date? they laugh nervously, the scene cuts and we get a hilarious shot of them escaping through the bathroom window. or audibly saying "ew" and then regretting it. another character is struggling to write a romcom/romance book without it being corny? we get a scene where our character casually describes the most romantical (and, to them, unappealing) plot ever - because, much like aces acing the smut department, they're far from misunderstanding what is or isn't heartstopping for alloromantics - only to have the other character stare at them like "?????????? HELLO????". give us a scene of them being confused as to why their hookup is yelling at them for acting "so casual" and responding with a quotable shitty line ("just because we had sex last night i can't call you "bro"? / "what? expected me to marry you or something? get off my bed, it's 9AM" / "would you rather have me mad? sad? what's happening here. give me a hint")

but give them complicated scenes too. scenes portraying the loneliness that comes with being aromantic but not asexual, the lack of community. them talking about how hard it is to maintain sexual relationships just sexual. the painful "breakups" because one of their friends declared their undying love for them but they cannot possibly match that energy, even if they wanted to. have them weep because somehow that keeps happening. the unfairness in being accused of heartlessness and selfishness by other queers. the shame on being told they're fetishistic and the reason why queer men/women/people are seen as sex-crazed or impure.

...anyways, i'm rambling- do y'all have any aroallo ocs? or ideas for alloaro characters? maybe aroallo headcanons? i'd love to know what you think! :)

(don't tag as #ace / #asexual / #asexuality)

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 11

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: well, well, well.... anyone wants a drink? let me know your thoughts (and prayers) for this one

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2013, Shanghai International Circuit

Everyone is staring at Sebastian.

It wasn't uncommon for Sebastian to be stared upon when he enters the track. He was the reigning champion so he has been used being the center of attention. He has been looked at by people before but this time it feels very different. A hint of judgement and anger was communicated by their gazes so if looks could kill then he would be seven feet under the ground now.

"It has been two weeks, why are people not getting over it"Sebastian grumbles.

Britta, who was walking alongside him, shakes her head. Sebastian seems to forget about the fighting words that he stated in an interview not so long ago.

"They felt like you are being arrogant with the whole I don't apologize for winning statement Seb"Britta reminded.

His bad, Sebastian admits.

Maybe its a mix of pride and ego that's why he callously stated those words. But Sebastian stands firm on that because he had a chance and he simply seized it. If he was born to concede then maybe he should look for other careers instead of being a Formula 1 driver.

"You have to be in a good mood today" Britta states "You have some interviews and conferences lined up"

"Who's on it?"

"You are partnered with Bianchi, Ricciardo, Bottas, and Alonso"

It was far from his usual pairings of his grid friends. Sebastian thinks Britta has a hand on this in order to lessen the fanfare. And besides, Alonso has his fair shares of controversy, surely he would understand

A slight scoff from a passerby brought him out of his thoughts. The stranger bumped him with no apologies or whatsoever as they only glared at him.

"Rude"

Sebastian could feel more muttering of the people as he gets closer to the media room. He puts up a brave face like he doesn't hear them but he will be lying to say if they didn't hurt. He felt truly wronged being portrayed as someone villainous when he is just doing his job.

The only thing that Sebastian is looking forward to is talking to Y/N.

With all the chaos, he has a sense of relief that Y/N understands. She was the first person who talked to her after everything that happened. She had understood the why and the whole situation. It brought him some sort of comfort that there is someone by his side.

Sebastian was craning his head all around the paddock to look for the girl, she must be here somewhere. He also tried looking for Jenson as they are often paired together but he had no luck with the McLaren driver as well.

And then he finds her busy with her laptop talking with Jenson. Sebastian made a beeline to the duo despite the protest of Britta.

"Y/N, I tried picking you up a while ago but then your hotel-"Sebastian explained.

"Seb"she was looking side by side as if afraid to be caught talking to him "We have to speak later"

"What's going on?"

"We have to go"Jenson excused.

There was a strained smile on both of their faces. They hurriedly exited the room which made Sebastian frown.

Did he say something wrong? Why are they acting weird?

"I heard some rumors about that"Britta piped in "They say that after the whole fiasco last time, McLaren is not allowing interactions between you, Mark, and Y/N"

That's the most bullshit that Sebastian heard. He could have handled the stares and the murmurings but this was his breaking point.

"This is so unfair. What does my fight with Mark have to do with them"

"Bad press, you know how Jenson is still recovering from his bad public opinion"Britta sighs.

But this is still unfair. The expression cannot be removed from the German driver's face. He felt like the anger that he has been trying to keep at bay is ready to burst out.

"Don't worry, this may be only temporary till things die down"Britta assures.

But those words fall on deaf ears. Sebastian has already made up his mind that if they truly want a villain then a villain they would get from this whole fiasco.

2013, Bahrain International Circuit

"Can we talk?"

This feels like a common occurrence between the two Webber siblings. Frankly, Y/N is a bit tired because she knows that this may lead to another argument again.

"I'm busy and I'm under strict orders not to talk to any of you"Y/N brushes off.

He knows that. Jenson had sent him a text that they are refrained from speaking to them publicly. This is why Mark waited until the end of the race where everyone is packing up and busy to talk to her.

"Please Y/N"Mark held on her wrist "I am just extremely worried about you"

There was a concern evident on his eyes. For Y/N, she truly missed that from her brother. How long have she longed for the hate and the irritation to disappear from his eyes. She felt like she could cry on the spot.

"I'm okay Mark"she assures.

"Are you really? Is McLaren keeping the media away? Aren't you getting bombarded? Are they treating you okay?"Mark's rapid question started.

He had been stupid for so long to allow his track rivalry to ruin his relationship with his sister. He made up his mind when he saw how she have been crowded by reporters that he would try to be better. He would try his best to earn her forgiveness and to stay by her side no matter what.

"I'm okay, you don't have to worry"she replies.

But it has been a difficult few weeks for Y/N. She felt very alone and very restricted with her moves around during the weekend. She felt watched by McLaren team for a single wrong move. She was afraid to be kicked out and be left out of the only world she knew.

"I know we have our differences but you have me by your side"Mark pulled her in a hug.

And this is where the waterworks started. It has been a long while since the siblings embraced each other. With all the drama and the stress that they shared the past few years, this brings a different kind of comfort.

"I'm really sorry when I said awful things to you Mark"

"No apologies, you were just hurt"Mark soothes "I should be the one apologizing for pushing you away and being a shit brother"

They were away from the eyes of the public but little did they know they have been spotted by someone else. Sebastian could only turn away with a hurt feeling thinking that Y/N choose a side in this rivalry and it was not by his side.

The necklace that hangs on his neck feels heavy. He quickly unclasped it and he holds it tightly in his hands. It was a reminder of Y/N and her support, now it seems to be mocking him.

Sebastian quickly left without making his presence known. The necklace tossed somewhere that he can't quite remember.

2013, Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

"I think Seb is mad at me" Y/N was worried.

It was a common practice that even if they are not allowed to see each other physically, they would message each other. However, ever since Bahrain, Sebastian was acting off and cold. It was seriously stressing Y/N out.

"Look at you all troubled"Jenson has the audacity to giggle at her misery "And you say you don't love him"

"Jenson, this is serious"

"You are soooooooo down bad"he teased.

"Why did I ever think that I'll get a decent advice from you"Y/N huffs.

She could have asked Nico or Lewis for help. Or even Michael and Corinna but here she was sitting in Jenson's hotel room and wondering for advices. She classifies this as a desperate situation which is why she is asking Jenson's opinion.

"Hey hey"Jenson sits closer "I'm your lad for this one, you can trust me to give you the other perspective so you can figure out what's wrong"

"So tell me what's wrong"

"Well usually when guys are acting like that then maybe they simply want your affection or your attention to dote on them."Jenson explains.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Doesn't he get a lot of attention from the media and everything?"

It caused Jenson to laugh. He had to remind himself to take it easy on Y/N because Sebastian is about to be the first relationship that the girl is entering in.

"That's a different kind of attention"Jenson states "Maybe Sebastian was just feeling very alone with everyone being against him and maybe he just needs a little extra TLC from you"

"I have always tried to make him feel like I support him"Y/N notes.

"Yeah but maybe you can do something like making him letters or maybe a cheer up basket. I'm pretty sure you could get some people to deliver them to him, it will really cheer him up"Jenson listed out.

Y/N reopens her phone and saw the text messages that she has sent. She tried cheering him up because he lost a podium for the first time this season. He hasn't replied yet or even looked at it.

"Hey cheer up, Sebastian is too in love with you to lose feelings for you"Jenson reminds "He had been in love with you for ages and it took him so long to tell you so I'm pretty sure that he won't simply leave you there"

"You really think so?"

"Oh I know so, you have no idea how Sebastian nearly pushed me off track because I was close to you"

"No, he did not!"

And in another part of town, the man of the hour is in a very crowded area. The flashing lights, the smell of smoke, and overflowing alcohol was not his typical scene. However, Sebastian felt like he needed this break from everything that has been happening since Malaysia.

"Another round of shots for the world champion"someone pushed an array of tequila in front of him.

He gave them a smile as he chugs them all down.

Now he knows why some drivers opt to have drink after a miserable weekend. It makes the pain less and his mind is free from any of those thoughts that he could have done better.

"Sebastian?"a voice called out "Oh my god, I can't believe its you"

His drunken state has clouded his vision. He only made sense that the voice was a female and it was awfully familiar to him.

"Youu can come zit wid me" words were already slurred.

"Sebastian, I'm really happy to see you! I have been looking for you this weekend but you seem occupied"

"Y/N?"Sebastian could only think of one person that would have looked at him this weekend.

"No, I'm not Y/N. I'm-"

Maybe its the club's loud music but Sebastian didn't hear it. He proceeded to get closer to her until he envelopes her in a hug. He felt at peace suddenly being with someone familiar in a place full of strangers.

"Y/N, I missed you so much"Sebastian murmurs.

It was the very first mistake that he has made that night. The second one was bringing the woman back to his hotel and to his bed.

[isak-dot-gov]

Growing Stronger (Lie to Girls Pt. 2)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Singer!reader

Word count: 1065

Part 1

My masterlist :)

...........................................

The flight back to Storrs felt like an eternity, the hours dragging on as you replayed your last conversation with Paige in your mind. The promotional tour for your album, Short n' Sweet, had been a whirlwind of interviews, performances, and long hours. You were exhausted but relieved to be heading back home, even if it meant facing Paige after everything that had happened.

As you stepped off the plane and made your way through the terminal, you couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and apprehension. You had missed Storrs, and you had missed Paige, but you were also anxious about how to navigate the conversations and emotions that lay ahead.

When you arrived at your apartment, you saw Paige standing outside, her posture rigid with nervousness. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. Her expression was a blend of hope and trepidation, and you could see the strain in her features.

“Hey,” you said, your voice soft as you approached her.

“Hey,” Paige responded, her voice wavering slightly. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, feeling the familiar pang of anxiety as you unlocked the door and led her inside. The apartment was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie calm. You set down your bag and motioned for Paige to sit on the couch.

“Let’s talk,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Paige sat down, her eyes scanning the room before finally settling on you. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she began, her voice trembling. “About everything that’s happened and about the lies I’ve told.”

You took a seat beside her, your heart racing. “And what have you come up with?”

“I’ve come to realise how much I’ve hurt you,” Paige said, her eyes filling with tears. “Listening to your album—especially ‘Lie to Girls’—made me understand just how deep my mistakes went. I’ve been lying to you, and it was wrong.”

The room was filled with a heavy silence as Paige’s words hung in the air. You could feel the raw emotion in her voice, and it was clear she was deeply affected by your music. The pain in her eyes mirrored the hurt you had felt.

“I know I can’t undo the damage I’ve done,” Paige continued, her voice cracking. “But I want to make things right. I want to prove to you that I’m committed to being honest and transparent from now on.”

You took a deep breath, trying to process her words. “It’s going to take time, Paige. Trust isn’t something that just comes back overnight.”

“I understand,” Paige said earnestly. “I’m willing to put in the effort. I’ve been working on how I communicate, how I handle things. I want us to be able to talk through our issues, not just avoid them.”

You looked at her, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. “How do you plan to show me that you’re committed to changing?”

Paige reached into her bag and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. She opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet with a heart-shaped charm. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, her voice soft. “As a symbol of my commitment to making things right and to remind you of how much you mean to me.”

You took the bracelet, your eyes welling up with tears. It was beautiful, a simple yet meaningful gesture. “Thank you,” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “It’s really thoughtful.”

Paige smiled, relief evident on her face. “I want to do more than just give you gifts. I want to show you through my actions that I’m serious about making changes.”

The conversation shifted to more personal matters as you both began to open up about your feelings and experiences. Paige talked about her struggles with honesty and how she had been working on improving her communication skills. She mentioned seeking advice from her teammates and even talking to a counsellor to better understand herself and her behaviour.

As the evening wore on, you found yourselves reminiscing about the good times you had shared. You talked about your favourite memories, your plans for the future, and how you could rebuild your relationship. Paige listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours, as if she were drinking in every word.

“I’ve missed you,” Paige said softly, reaching out to hold your hand. “I’ve missed us. And I want to make sure that we don’t just get back to where we were but that we grow stronger from this.”

You squeezed her hand, feeling a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “I’ve missed you too, Paige. It’s going to be a journey, but I’m willing to take it with you.”

Paige nodded, her eyes filled with determination. “Thank you for giving me this chance. I won’t let you down.”

As the night grew late, you both decided to watch a movie, something lighthearted to take your minds off the heavy conversation. Paige made popcorn and settled on the couch beside you, her presence comforting and familiar.

The movie played in the background, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the song, “Lie to Girls.” The lyrics had been a mirror reflecting the truth of your situation, and it had been painful to confront. But it had also been a catalyst for change, a way for Paige to see the reality of her actions and work toward making amends.

After the movie, Paige walked you to your bedroom. “I know you’re tired,” she said, her voice gentle. “But if you want to talk more or if you need anything, I’m here.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of calm as you prepared for bed. “Thank you, Paige. I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

As you lay in bed, you felt a renewed sense of hope. It was clear that Paige was committed to making things right, and you were ready to see where this new path would lead. The road to rebuilding trust would be challenging, but with open communication and mutual effort, you believed it was possible to create something stronger and more enduring.

You closed your eyes, thinking about the future and the possibilities that lay ahead. You had faced a difficult period, but with Paige by your side, you felt a glimmer of optimism. The journey would be long, but it was one you were willing to take together.

................................................

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think it's possible that Trey actually hate Riddle and baking?! I mean I never thought about that nor I thought about it until nowdays but I have read Trey's labwear vignette and some spoilers from the current chapters of book seven and I'm confused (I play through the English account only but I don't mind spoilers)

To recap for those who haven't read Trey's Labwear vignettes, it's a story that centers around him growing strawberries which he will use in a strawberry tart for Heartlabyul's next tea party. I will only be discussing these vignettes in this post, as the book 7 Heartslabyul update that's out so far currently does not cover Trey's dream and I believe what's already present in the vignettes is sufficient to answer Anon's question.

So firstly, here is how Rook responds when Trey tells him about his plans for the strawberries: "Heh, and here I thought you were just a strawberry enthusiast. But the real reason was Riddle—the Roi des Roses. [...] Such profound loyalty! That's what makes you the Chevalier!" Trey replies with, "Profound? That's laying it on a little thick. Riddle and I go way back, so I happen to know what he likes. That's all there is to it."

The vignettes continue and lead into Trey giving his strawberries away to Jade, who needs them to replace the fruit meant for an important customer's birthday cake. (Floyd ate the fruit, lol) In exchange for doing Jade this favor, Trey asks that he acquire a strawberry tart from a very fancy and exclusive bakery so he can present said tart at the Heartslabyul tea party. This surprises Rook, who says, "I was wondering if a strawberry tart made with your love might make Riddle happier, that's all." Trey just replies with, "Ha ha. As if."

Both Rook and Jade express that they believed Trey was "the type who'd rather feed Riddle homemade treats baked with love", only for Trey to shatter their expectations of him. "Just what kind of guy do you think I am, anyway?" Trey asks. "I mean [...] I can see how others would get that impression of me... But honestly, love has nothing to do with it. My main priority is keeping my housewarden/dorm leader from going berserk with his tyrant mode. That way, all's right with the world, as they say." Rook then states that though he thought of Trey as Riddle's loyal knight, perhaps his perception of him was off--because, in reality, Trey is very cunning. Trey just laughs it off and claims to be "normal".

Now, based on just that summary alone, it's easy for someone to judge Trey's comments as uncaring towards Riddle. He doesn't claim to have a profound loyalty to Riddle, dismisses his knowledge of Riddle's tastes, is willing to take shortcuts to obtain something for him instead of handmaking it, and then outright admits he doesn't bake with love in mind. However, this does not mean Trey hates or even dislikes Riddle or the act of baking itself.

Trey states "I DO enjoy cooking [...]" (which also includes baking) in these same vignettes, so the latter claim that he hates baking is already debunked. If you want to believe he’s lying, that’s up to your discretion. However, I believe he does have a real interest in it, as he bakes even in situations where he is not expected to serve others, like in Science Club. Furthermore, Trey considers an internship in the food industry and potentially getting a patisserie license. If he despised cooking or baking, why would this be a consistent part of his career plans and free time?

To debunk the idea that Trey actually "hates" Riddle, we need to read between the lines and seek out supporting evidence.

You also need to keep in mind that Rook and Trey are the two main conversationalists in these vignettes, and these two have VERY different perspectives and ways of communicating. Rook is over-the-top and emotional, whereas Trey is grounded and realistic. If Rook is going to claim Trey is a total Riddle loyalist, it's quite an extreme comment and of course it's gotta be Trey to remind him to tamp down his expectations. Their personalities will inform how they act and interact with one another.

We should also remember that Trey—yes, Mr. “I am Normal” Clover—is a student selected by the Mirror of Darkness. That means that he, like everyone else at this NRC, has problems with being honest about his emotions and being open “friends” with others. However, it’s also true that Trey is often mistaken for a nice guy and a caring older brother figure because of how often he plays mediator or helps others out. Trey is aware of this perception that others have of him as well (“[…] I can see how others would get that impression of me…”).

In any case, the focus here isn't Trey rejecting a love for Riddle, he is rejecting the notion that he bakes "with love". As in, he doesn't subscribe to being all sentimental about his cooking. He just... makes food, and is honestly probably sick of it given how often he has to take charge of the baking for the tea parties they have (see: his own Dorm Uniform vignettes). Trey has to cook for his younger siblings when he's at home too, maybe even help his parents with the bakery. On top of that, he has to frequently manage other people and make sure they don't cause a mess (and if they do, he has to help clean it up). It's so routine yet also so demanding to him, so the guy probably wants a break. And honestly? Is there genuinely something wrong with wanting to take a shortcut once in a while (especially when you already work your ass off) and buy a nice high-quality snack instead of making it yourself? It was the easier way for Trey to save himself the hassle (not to mention the time, effort, and ingredients) by buying a cake. It's not even like he's cheaping out or providing an inferior product in the place of the strawberry tart Trey would have baked. In the end, he would still achieve the same result with a lot less pain on his part. Riddle would still be given a tasty treat, he would still be satisfied. Trey says as much himself: ""[Riddle]'ll be delighted when he finds out this's from a famous patisserie. I don't have to make a whole tart from scratch for him to be happy."

As vice dorm leader, Trey has to deal with a lot of things. Chief among these things and exclusive to him is managing Riddle's temper, which Trey clearly states ("My main priority is keeping my housewarden/dorm leader from going berserk with his tyrant mode."); this conflict is also present several times across the rest of the main story, events, and other vignettes, like Trey's Ceremonial Robes ("Well, we managed to avoid having Riddle explode in a blaze of anger, so I'd call today a success."). Can it be stressful to deal with someone who's very anger-prone? Yes. Does it wear on Trey to always have this job fall to him? Also yes. But does he despise Riddle for this? No. If anything, Trey is INCREDIBLEY patient with him, and he grants him this grace because they are friends and he understands Riddle's background, where that rage and the need for control is learned from. (You may also want to consider that Trey himself may harbor guilt about the role he played in Riddle's trauma; that's a topic I have written about at length in this analysis.) Rook remarks on this too: "From where I'm standing, your bond appears to go far deeper than that."

I think it's made pretty clear in book 1 that Trey cares a lot about Riddle, even if he may also get worn out with him at times or not always want to put 100% of his efforts in. Recall that it was Trey that intervened when Riddle summoned rose bushes to attack Ace--because he didn't want to see his friend turn into a murderer. Recall that it was Trey who called out to Riddle after his OB--because he doesn't want to lose him. This might be hard to visualize from the in-game assets alone, so I implore you to read the official manga adaptation. Trey's raw emotions really come through in his expressions. The concern, the sorrow, the fear he feels witnessing one of his childhood friends spiral into his worst tendencies, reliving his trauma... and then there’s Trey’s stone-cold determination to pull Riddle out of the dark… It's all there:

***Lots of images from the manga below the cut!!***

And then???? The relief and joy Trey wears when he realizes Riddle is okay… that he can finally apologize for not being there for him… that Riddle is improving as a person… that he can still laugh with him, advise him… This is a genuine friendship here.

Look at this splash page as well! Trey is glancing in an almost forlorn way at Riddle. The text, as well as the framing, implies a longing to be closer—to reconnect after so long apart and emotionally distant.

The had so much fun together as children too!! And look at how heartbroken Trey looks after having lost the ability to hang out with Riddle 😭

BUT THIS PART REALLY GETS ME THE MOST…

In Twisted Wonderland, hands are a very important symbol. It's what links--what connects--two people. The hand beckoning you in the mirror begins our journey, NRC's prideful students refuse to hold hands or to band together, etc. And what do we see recurring in Trey and Riddle's friendship? That's right, it's hands.

Trey offers his hand to Riddle when they first meet as children. You can tell from the panels just how hesitant Riddle is to accept him. Then, in modern day, when OB Riddle has been defeated, he reaches out toward a keyhole which is shining with a light. As the blot drips away from his flesh, Riddle finally comes back to reality... and whose hand is he holding? Whose hand is he squeezing so tightly? Yeah, it's Trey's--and I think that this, in of itself, speaks to the strength of their bond.

The light novel makes Trey’s care for Riddle even more obvious. There is an entire chapter dedicated to Riddle’s post-OB flashback, and towards the end of it, Riddle remarks that he hears a voice calling out to him gently. He wonders if it is his mother, but the next chapter then opens and it’s made clear that it was Trey all along.

I genuinely don't think that Trey, would go to so many of the lengths that he does if he secretly hated Riddle. He supports him, advises him, and eventually stands up to him (when he was so hesitant to do so before).

I definitely don't think we're supposed to interpret Trey's Labwear vignettes as "oh, he hates Riddle". It's meant to be more of a piece on Trey's cunning and how he's not as 'nice" as many other characters see him as. He's willing to take conveniences that are offered to him, and he'll make deals with others to get those conveniences--but at the end of the day, it's all for a good cause: maintaining the peace.

[beomgyubestie]

The rinko mania scene is pretty interesting.

The first time I saw that scene, I wasn’t mileven supporter anymore cuz, after s3 I just didn’t enjoy their interactions, and I wasn’t yet a byler supporter neither knew about them, but Mike is my favorite character since day one so I always pay attention to him, and I actually liked his friendship bond with Will.

In s4, Will’s feelings were kind of obvious from our POV, that’s actually Will’s POV, so when they didn’t say hi, when he was focusing on Eleven and then the “we’re friends’ line, at first, my thought was “does Mike know about Will liking him and he’s trying to block him or something?” But even then the dialogues didn’t match.

Will’s POV (our POV) was about El having troubles, lying to Mike and him being the third wheel. But Mike’s speech was totally out of that context.

Then, when I read the whole “Mike thinks Will likes a girl, probably called Angela, he made her a drawing and he’s acting weird” then it hit me.

If that was Mike’s POV, the scene perspective changes 180° and it makes sense. Then Will’s and Mike’s lines complement each other giving the message to the audience, if it reaches of course.

“Will does like Mike, but he’s totally focused on El’s crisis and he puts his friendship first”

“Mike is not ignoring Will, he’s actually paying him more attention than he should, specially considering El’s situation”

“Will thinks Mike is totally pissed about Eleven lying, which Mike didn’t show to care that much, he just wanted her to feel better, even when he didn’t do it right”

“Mike thinks Will is doing fine without him, he’s having crushes, new friends, giving paintings he doesn’t know about and even keeping secrets from him, which made him think he’s losing him”

both of them can communicate at a deep level, they’re always honest with each other, but… then, if they do complement all the time, in our POV we know about Will lying, that means Mike is lying too. I just think Mike is not totally aware of himself either. I think, it wasn’t about him gaslighting Will or El, he was gaslighting himself.

[sylwritesstuff]

Aziraphale and Crowley don't communicate and it stems from their first meeting.

Let me explain.

Before the Beginning, Crowley is at his most honest and his most vulnerable. He tells Aziraphale so excitedly all about stars and how long it's hoping to take for them to form.

Aziraphale is also bluntly honest (a trait he never really loses but does learn to temper) in telling him about the 6K year timeframe.

Crowley then mentions creating a suggestion box and Aziraphale frets over him, concerned already, and we all know how much trouble Crowley got in for asking a few questions.

This sets the tone for everything after.

Crowley stops being honest - "I'm a demon. I lied." - which also means Crowley has been disparaging his own demonhood at least since Aziraphale looked at him askance on a wall and said, "You're a demon. That's what you do."

Aziraphale stops trusting him, but he never stops being polite. Crowley doesn't attack him, so he doesn't attack either. Not at the Ark, and not with Job's goats. Aziraphale is still vaguely seeing the angel he saw in the stars.

Crowley even gives him the permit so he can doublecheck that everything's above board, so to speak. Then we've got Crowley lying straight to Aziraphale's face about killing Job's children because Crowley still sees the angel in the stars who told him the world and his nebulae were going to prematurely end.

The angel who let kids die in the Flood.

Yes, the angel who shielded him on the wall and gave away a flaming sword, so there's some comfort that he won't instantly get smote - "smitten" 😇 - but still the angel who staunchly toes the party line.

After all's said and done and Aziraphale cries about being fallen - cries over being just what Crowley is, even after seeing Crowley circumvent Hell's rules - Crowley tells him he won't tell anyone.

Crowley is good at not telling anyone things, but so is Aziraphale.

Season 1, we get this. Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale about the hellhound until the last minute. Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley about finding Agnes's book. Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley he's meeting with Nazis, and Crowley certainly never tells Aziraphale how he knows them. 

Season 2, we get more. 

Things Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley:

• Deringer in a carved out book and gun license

• Drivers license he's had for 90 years - as long as Crowley's had the Bentley

• Why his French is so bad (not until he's asked a direct question)

• He knows Crowley likes to rescue him

Things Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale:

• Beelzebub dragged him to Hell and made him an offer

• He'd never shot a gun before

I'm sure there are more things I'm forgetting, but those are some of the big ones.

More evidence of their continued lack of communication after the Apocanot is the apology dance. (Although I love it and do need to see Aziraphale do it too.)

Crowley is not wrong, and Aziraphale is not right. They are both both. But that never gets discussed, which is why Crowley never has to talk about being brought to Hell. He never talks about Aziraphale being threatened by Extreme Sanctions.

Aziraphale doesn't know why Crowley comes back, but he very likely assumes it's because Crowley wants to do the right thing after all. Aziraphale is still thinking about the angel Crowley was (season 1, "You were an angel once") and sees every single instance of good as PROOF that Crowley could/should/wants to be an angel again.

Additionally, some of the things they do say don't get heard. Aziraphale likes to tell someone he's doing good now that he's no longer reporting to Heaven. Crowley teases him for it twice, back to back. Tone of voice and "doing good again, angel?" after Maggie says something about the rent.

Aziraphale craves being told he's doing the right thing. Aziraphale has been pushed into a place where he won't get that from the place he always has because Heaven is out of reach. If he'd communicated this to Crowley, who is doing everything he can as always to keep him safe, that Crowley would keep teasing him? That Crowley wouldn't gesture to someone in need and say, "Right. Have fun, angel." Anthony J'acts-of-service Crowley would absolutely let Aziraphale have all the bouncy fun miracles in the world without shame. 

Also, when they discuss how to make Nina and Maggie fall in love. Crowley's idea - canopy, rainstorm, vavoom - is absolutely informed by his own experiences, but he doesn't leave it at that. He says he "saw in a Richard Curtis film." He won't let that uncomfortable truth live in reality, pushing it off to humans and film. The realm of fiction, as Aziraphale immediately latches onto.

They don't talk about themselves. They don't talk about being an US. They said their side without getting into the nitty gritty of what that means to the point where neither knows where the line is.

Aziraphale says our car and when Crowley refuses because my car, Aziraphale also says they both get use out of the bookshop. Our car, our bookshop. It's a melding that Aziraphale assumes is perfectly natural, but Crowley hasn't seen it that way. They haven't talked about it.

And when they finally do, Aziraphale is running on the assumption that because Crowley does good and was happiest as an angel, looking over a colourful nebulae - so happy with it, he didn't want to lose it and ended up Falling for it - of course Crowley would want to go back. Of course Crowley would want to be in charge (second in command) since it means doing what they do on a larger scale.

Crowley, however, is still keen to keep going as they have been. Alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz, fixing up the bookshop like nothing happened, getting Muriel away so it can just be the two of them. Crowley is ready for the status quo. Although he does have new knowledge that the car and the bookshop are theirs, he and Aziraphale still carried the plants back to the Bentley.

They are still not talking.

And when they do, it's too little and it's too late. And they never ask each other why.

Next season, they need to learn how to ask why. And I have faith they will.

[dandylions101]

Poly Xianle Quartet Dynamics Headcanons/Thoughts

Okay so first we have our main big ships: Hualian and Fengqing

Xie Lian x Hua Cheng: our star-crossed lovers duo. Constant heart eyes. We know them. We love them. It’s very important to me that they both love each other the same intense amount tho.

Feng Xin x Mu Qing: Rivals to lovers type. I think they both definitely had a crush on each other when they were younger, a bit of a “fuck this guy but also he’s kinda pretty wait what-“. I think post-canon they finally try and do get over their general angst and bad communication and become a duo that really make a fantastic team when they can. Like. Not kill each other enough to actually listen. The Martial Gods of the South. They’ve been at each other’s side (and at each other’s throats) almost always since they’ve met, and I think that fact really is the foundation of their dynamic.

Alright, now the more fun stuff.

Xie Lian x Feng Xin: ‘Body Guard x Royal’ dynamic my beloved. I think they’re very much childhood friends to lovers too. Like saw each other in diapers type. I think Feng Xin was born to a noble family (with a strong martial background) that was mostly dead by the time the kingdom fell, and therefore was one of the few people deemed high ranked enough to be friends with the Crown Prince. Which makes him like. The person Xie Lian knew the longest. Intensely loyal, especially post-canon once they get over their angst. Honestly I think they may be a little bit codependent for a bit, but they ease out once they’ve settled into their relationship again. There’s definitely more to say here but I’ll leave it at that for now.

Xie Lian x Mu Qing: Ah yes, it’s the Unrequited Love complex they both nurtured for me. I read It’s In Your Warmth, I Feel The Coldest, by PeacefulDiscord on ao3 (it’s great you should check it out). And they wrote a line which really pinned down their relationship for me; “I always thought of you as my beauty,” Xie Lian says. His gaze is firm even as his hand gentles where he’s still holding Mu Qing. “My jade. My love for you drove me mad, it made me too harsh when I believed you to have discarded me so easily.” And that right there has to be the crux of their relationship. I think they both crushed on each other when they were younger, and they found each other’s differences fascinating. But that difference in class made it so difficult for them to actually understand each other. I think post-canon, once they both have lived closer to the contexts of each other’s childhoods, they both have a much better understanding of the other person. They both had strong insecurities when it came to each other, a balancing act when they never knew what the other might take the wrong way. And the power imbalance that Mu Qing was always intensely aware of and that Xie Lian never even considered. Which made them lash out the minute they felt unsure. Assumptions galore. I think after a long chat post-canon, they settle into a sweet and close relationship again, and I think their experiences after they parted lent them a new understanding of each other they bask in now. The intense admiration (and love) they have for each other goes unshadowed now.

Alright, now probably the most juicy dynamics (at least in my opinion):

Hua Cheng x Mu Qing: I headcanon that they knew each other, when they were kids. Same impoverished neighbourhood type. I’m not sure how close that relationship was, but I think they definitely had one, even if it was just Mu Qing lying about Hong Hong’er’s whereabouts when his family or some other kids try to hurt him. They have lots of animosity to get through, especially regarding the whole Xie Lian stuff. And I think because their childhoods were similar, it made Hua Cheng even less inclined to forgive Mu Qing for what he viewed as his abandoning Xie Lian (especially cause I wouldn’t have done that, he thinks to himself). I think Hu Cheng also envies him the relationship he had with Xie Lian when they were younger, thinking him undeserving. I think any headway they make happens after an explosive verbal fight, which is probably how their other two lovers learned they knew each other when they were young. Once they actually talk out the resentment, I think their relationship eases a bit. The spark of admiration they had for each other when young erupts into a whole forest fire pretty quickly after that. (Mu Qing was definitely Hua Cheng’s gay awakening when they were younger, and Xie Lian was Feng Xin’s. Mu Qing’s was Feng Xin, to his eternal despair and Feng Xin’s eternal smugness. And Xie Lian’s was obviously his San Lang, it was almost Feng Xin tho, but he was too oblivious). They turn that lingering animosity into gossiping and judging people together, it’s their favourite bonding activity. I think their shared background eventually makes Hua Cheng the person that can read Mu Qing the easiest, and Mu Qing the person that catches Hua Cheng’s insecurities the easiest too. Their relationship is surprisingly soft. Theres is a slow burn.

Hua Cheng x Feng Xin: These two bitches might actually be enemies to lovers. Hate at first sight. Hate for a long while after. They have no basis for a relationship outside of their assumptions about each other, and the early post-canon years consist of snide remarks and actual fist fights sometimes. Their own unique relationship with Xie Lian means they have no qualms about throwing him at each other’s face, and it wasn’t until they almost made him cry doing that they finally calmed down a little. Still. Lots of animosity that doesn’t get solved until some sort of mission together forces them to actually exist around each other enough to not try to explode each other with their brains. They realise, after a fraught silence, that they’re both quite similar. Especially with loved ones. Especially when it’s loyalty. And they both, respectfully, hate this new understanding of each other. “What do you mean I can’t get mad at him for doing the most for someone he believes and is loyal to?!” “What do you mean I can’t hate him for leaving our shared lover because he proved more loyal when being asked to leave?!”. Unfortunately for them, this does prove to be the ice breaker for their relationship. They end up bonding over their shared drive to keep their loved ones safe, and they understand each other’s intense more than anyone else. It’s a slow surprise to both of them when that starts to include each other as well. But they find it’s nice to be the object of someone’s intense for once too.

Alright that’s all for now. I clearly had more thoughts than I assumed.

[zepskies]

Omgosh I loveeee the imagines for Sam having a crush on deans gf!!! And the part 2 SO ANGSTY. And you write dean and readers interactions so well! (Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna do this) But I'm so curious to know how the conversation went between Dean and the reader after finding out! I just need to know how dean talks about the situation with them!! Anyway HAVE A GREAT DAY 🩷🩷

Hello my lovely anon!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those angsty little imagines. 😂 For those who don't know, they're referring to these:

You are Dean's one exception. (In which Sam is in love with Dean's girlfriend - and how Dean reacts.)

Sam crosses the line. (The sequel: Sam finally sees his chance with you after he's hit by a witch's spell.)

I tried to imply what followed between the reader and Dean after this section:

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest.

Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat.

But since you asked so nicely, this is my headcanon for that conversation between the reader and Dean (after Sam is knocked out by Rowena lol):

Of course, you would demand to know why Dean didn't tell you earlier.

Your heart and mind are a maelstrom of emotions: shock, not wanting to believe it's true, anger and hurt at both of these men for lying to you for so long about what's been going on.

Because a lie of omission is still a damn lie.

Dean is quiet at first, and you're forced to read into his silence. You peer at him closer, grabbing his wrist.

"Dean...did you really think it would change anything?" you ask incredulously.

His brows furrow. "No."

But you don't quite believe him.

"I just...didn't want you to have to deal with this shit, that's all," he eventually admits.

Your eyes narrow as you stare up at his face. You're trying to discern the truth.

"Is that really why?" you ask.

"Yeah, okay?" His voice is gruff and frustrated.

You move in closer, gripping the open edges of his plaid shirt. He knows what you're demanding in your gentle silence.

Don't lie to me.

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, a tender gesture that softens him. Your thumb brushes across his lower lip.

"Good," you reply. "Because if I have to remind you that I am entirely, undeniably, irrevocably in love with you, then I might just have to punish you."

A slow smirk spreads across your man's face.

"Oh yeah?" he says. His hands find your hips, drawing you closer. You're satisfied by the hint of doubt washing away from his demeanor. From his tight shoulders loosening.

"Just outta curiosity, what might that entail?" Dean asks.

Your lips curve. "Oh, you'll find out, after we fix your brother... Dean, I'll need to talk to him."

Dean's burgeoning good humor fades, but you take his face in both your hands and make sure he meets your gaze. You are firm in your convictions, and he sees that.

He nods in acceptance, before he dips down to press his lips to yours. It's gentle at first, but all too soon becomes claiming, born of hidden frustration and passion.

When he parts from you, it's slow, reluctant. His fingers draw a strand of hair behind your ear.

In his eyes, you see the true depths of him. Something not many people get to see.

It's there that you always know that you're loved.

I hope that satisfied you, my dear! 😘 I miiiiight do a more official 3rd part to this imagine-verse where Sam gets his happy ending (with Eileen).

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[augiewrites]

“scott street” - richie jerimovich

summary: y/n is back in chicago for the first time in years and reunites with an old flame (inspired by phoebe bridgers’ scott street)

pairing: richie jerimovich x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, grief, family/parental death, the usual warnings that come along with the bear

a/n: i love emotionally unintelligent men

Y/N was never good at making decisions. Big, life changing decisions? No big deal. Abandon everything they know to move across the country for college? Didn’t even think twice. Their last living family member was not-so alive anymore and left a massive mess behind with no one to clean it up? The U-Haul was packed before the week was over.

The cooler of soft drinks in front of them right now? Y/N had been staring at the frosted doors for well over five minutes, periodically opening the doors but taking nothing out.

“Y/N?”

Holy shit, he grew up.

“Carmy?” Y/N smiled at the young man, pulling him into a brief embrace, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could, uh, ask you the same,” Carmy smirked.

“I’m taking care of Ma’s old building.”

Carmy’s brows knitted together, “Right—I’m sorry about your mom, by the way. Shame.”

“Yeah,” Y/N shuffled their feet, “you avoiding the question?”

“Maybe,” he smirked, “I took over the Beef. Been back in town for a few weeks.”

“Oh? How’s that going for you?”

Another smirk. “It’s not, really.”

“Wow, look at us,” Y/N knocked his shoulder with theirs, “both said we’d never come back and here we are…dealing with a couple steaming piles of shit.”

He let out a breath that slightly resembled a laugh, “Yeah—listen, you should come by for family tomorrow afternoon. Take a look at the pile for yourself.”

“Oh, Carmy, I don’t know—”

“I’ll make sure he stays in line.”

“We both know that’s not possible, Bear.”

“Still, everyone would love seeing you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Carmy opened the cooler and wordlessly pressed a Diet Coke in their hand before walking out of the store.

It took everything in them to not cry.

_________________________________________

Y/N knew it was a bad idea, but the next day they found themselves standing outside the Beef, willing themselves to go in.

They scoffed and opened the door.

Pussy, they chastised themself.

The restaurant was pure chaos, and Y/N stood there for a moment, completely unnoticed and taking it all in. They would be lying to themselves if they said they didn’t miss the mayhem.

Unsurprisingly, Richie was the first to notice them—he had a habit of doing that.

“Yo, what the hell?”

Y/N was barely able to get a word out as they were suddenly flanked by Tina and Ebra, who were simultaneously saying how good it was to see them and chastising them for being gone so long with so little communication.

It was Carmy that intervened, gently pulling Y/N away with a small laugh and saying, “okay, guys, let ‘em breathe.”

Richie was frozen in his spot behind the counter, feeling like he just saw a ghost.

Which, in a way, he did. It had been years since he saw Y/N, and no matter how much he tried forgetting about them, they haunted his thoughts. They had been high school sweethearts, and even though things didn’t end well between them he couldn’t help but still care deeply for them.

First loves were like that.

Y/N’s mind was on overdrive as Carmy walked them around and introduced them to the new faces working in the kitchen. Richie was being too quiet. Usually when he was avoiding a topic he didn’t like, he talked about everything else under the sun. Richie being quiet was dangerous territory.

They were pulled out of their thoughts once Tina slammed a large pot in the center of the larger tables in the dining area and yelled, “Family!”

Y/N took a seat between Tina and Fak, and was for once thankful for the man’s dedication to rambling. He was currently going on about how he should come inspect the building they were now the owner of, despite the building already having been cleared by state inspectors and having a fully staffed maintenance team.

“I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you, Fak,” Richie broke in, “it’s only a matter of time before they leave and make that place someone else’s problem. Right, Y/N?”

Y/N didn’t have it in them to fight back, even though they knew that was what the man wanted. They were too tired.

“That’s what you do best, huh, Y/N? Run away from all your problems and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces?”

Carmy sent Richie a warning glare, “Cousin.”

“No, Cousin,” funny how Richie can manage to make a term of endearment sound like an insult, “you had no right inviting them here.”

“I have just as much a right to be here as you do,” Y/N glared at Richie.

“That’s a load of shit, and you know it, toots.”

That was all it took for a screaming match to break out between the former lovers. Their voices drowned each other out, and all Carmy could make out was a slew of insulting names, curse words, and years of unpacked baggage.

He let them go at it for a couple of minutes before he dragged Richie out the front door with a cry of “enough!”

Y/N could hear the two men arguing outside from their place at the table before deciding that they’d had enough. They muttered a lame “excuse me” before moving through the kitchen to the back alley, their face heating up in embarrassment. It was nothing that most of the Beef’s staff hadn’t seen before, but Y/N could feel themselves reverting to a version of themself that they hadn’t been for a long time—they couldn’t help the embarrassment that came along with it.

They were halfway through their second cigarette when they heard the back door open and a familiar pair of track pants entered their field of vision.

“I got you those over a decade ago,” they exhaled the smoke and pressed their lighter into Richie’s outstretched hand, “isn’t it about time you get some new clothes?”

Richie kicked his leg around, inspecting the pants, “Ain’t nothing wrong with ‘em. Why get rid of something that works?”

“Big words coming from you.”

He met their half-assed glare with a furrowed look, “you were the one that left.”

“Not before you ended it.”

“We would’ve gotten back together. Always did,” a scoff, “You left.”

“And you moved on, had a kid—seems like things worked out.”

“Toots, if this is things working out, I don’t wanna know what it would have been like if they hadn’t.”

Y/N needed to change the subject before the tension killed them.

“How’s your girl doing, anyway?”

Richie grinned at Y/N, “Ev’s doing real good. Loving her new gymnastics class. Just turned nine last month.”

“Shit, that makes me feel old.”

“Well, what does that make me?” Richie asked with a rough laugh.

“Fucking ancient.”

Another laugh. Maybe things would be different between them this time.

“You in town for good, then?

“Yeah, I think so. Got a good thing going. Think I might start renovating some of the units in the apartment next year.”

“Hmm, sure,” Richie muttered absentmindedly around his cigarette.

Y/N decided it was better to not say anything.

Richie finished off his cigarette, tossing it in the general direction of a makeshift ashtray.

He made to walk back to the back door before turning and offering Y/N his hand, helping them pull themselves off the ground. He wiped his hands off on his track pants before finally going to move away.

“Anyway,” he gave them one last look before turning around and walking away, “don’t be a stranger.”

~~~

part two

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men #8 - Raid on Graymalkin

I think I've come to terms with the fact that the target demographic for the line is quite a distance from my desires and expectations. I'm still grieving Krakoa and the kind of follow up we could have had but I've accepted it's not happening in any form. If anything, I'd call From The Ashes the anti-Krakoa. With that in mind, X-Men #8 was pretty damn good!

Uh oh.

The issue has an unknown timeskip from where #7 left off, but it's implied that it's a matter of days not weeks. As shown in solicits, Beast is in Graymalkin prison and the president of Terra Verde is there to hold him accountable for the genocide during Krakoa. What's made explicit is that Warden Ellis is going to sell him to them for a show trial and execution. Why a show trial? Hank McCoy did those things. Not this one, but is that common knowledge? Either way everyone's motivations are clear.

Especially Cyclops', as he is not happy about Hank getting snatched and declares they're breaking the prison. Psylocke tries to calm him down, suggesting he's not thinking clearly, but despite some justified anger I'd say he's clear-headed. It would have been wise to talk to Rogue (something they're capable of doing instantly) but it's a crossover. People don't communicate in those. The X-Men figure out exactly what happened very quickly and form a plan.

Warden Ellis hasn't had any page time in this book, so it's necessary to show how awful she is for folks who only read adjectiveless. We also get a better idea of how many inmates they have - at least 30 but likely more. Hank, Jubilee and Calico aren't delighted to find themselves in a prison drama mess hall, and find the time for some light inter-team rivalry. I had thought Jubilee was working with both teams but it seems she's picked a side. This Beast has never met Jubilee, but they make nice.

Ellis tells Calico she'll be free to go due to her family donating to the prison. She accepted her mutant status very suddenly during the last issue of Uncanny, but there's a reason she fled - they're the kind of people who donate to a gulag. Unless Ellis is lying here to break any solidarity she formed with this affidavit. Wouldn't surprise me. Calico isn't having it, chowing down on the gruel that is 'mutant food.' Saucier would be horrified by that but it's a nice character beat here.

Her tears definitely help sell it. Calico has had a very sheltered life up until she ended up here, escaped (I think,) lived in the woods for who knows how long, and now she's back here. Ellis orders her beaten but Hank steps up and absorbs the beating for her.

'Is that all you've got, screw?' is an excellent line and declaration of defiance. Fuck prisons and the people who run them. The guards beat the shit out of him though he doesn't try to defend himself at all. Ellis leaves to deal with a commotion and orders the guards to keep beating him. It's brutal and it shows Hank at his best.

Said commotion is the X-Men, who teleported the Marauder into the yard and trashed a lot of their ordinance as well as the main power. My purple prose makes it seem slower, but this happens early in the issue. One of my issues with this book so far has been one of pacing. There's been so many disparate threats and plot elements plus an entire issue dedicated to a Morrison/Quitely psychic rescue homage - but the pacing here is sharp and purposeful.

Magik's reinforcements are demons from Limbo and she explicitly asks what the murder parameters are. Scott insists on no killing. Appropriate character beats for them both and even a nice nod to their war-forged friendship. Rule of cool is absolutely in play, adding to the beats as opposed to standing in for them.

Here they are! I wonder what the deal is with Limbo right now. Maddie Pryor was in charge in recent Infinity Comics after Magik gave her the crown, but I can't pretend to be an expert on Limbo demon politics. It shows Cyclops' pragmatism as a commander, using all resources at his disposal, and the guards are delightfully terrified. Good.

Cutting to Ellis frames it as a contest of commanders, zooming out from the battle without losing either side's front line POV. With so many characters in play I think this kind of formalism is necessary and it works well here. That they're ideological opposites heightens the tension and drives the conflict forward. Nobody is backing down here.

I wonder how Juggernaut feels about his childhood home as a gulag he's about to break into. I hope that's touched on.

One of the big challenges with set piece battles is keeping track of where everyone is and what they're doing. If a character just appears at an objective there's no tension, whereas showing us where each combatant is and what they're attempting sets up the spoken plan guarantee so it can go wrong. We know where the pieces are so when something goes wrong the heroes have to improvise and pivot with the unexpected.

The X-Men have momentum and the advantage right now, but Ellis has further assets to deploy.

Gotta love the coordination of the psychic Discord allowing Temper and Psylocke to take advantage of vertical space so Cyclops can unleash an optic blast. It's sharp, kinetic action as well as a display of competence before the unexpected flips everything on its head.

Using Psylocke to get up to date intelligence on enemy tactics reinforces this while signalling that the turn is right around the corner. They don't want to fight mutants but they may have to. Ellis' trustees have been seeded all through Uncanny and it's horrifying to learn the extent of it. The X-Men know before we do, so our imagination briefly goes wild before we turn the page.

Blob AKA Fred Dukes has been wonderfully rehabilitated in the last five years, first in Age of X-Man and then as the dutiful, friendly barkeep of Krakoa's Green Lagoon. Seeing him like this sucks, but it's earned and should concern Scott who's been fighting him since he was a teenager. They don't want to hurt him though they do know how to neutralize him.

Then the action and adrenaline screeches to a halt as they come face to face with the Uncanny team. It's an effective cliffhanger to end on and the first explicit scene to say 'yes, this is a crossover.' It speaks well of the issue that Mackay waits until the last page to show that the Uncanny team are doing the same thing as the X-Men - a prison break.

I don't love that the tension between the teams has not been built aside from Logan (whose eyes are healed!) inexplicably hating on Scott. Rogue is effectively calling Scott out for standing by and poor communication, but both apply to her too. It's a cliffhanger within a crossover, so it's doubly unlikely they start fighting immediately, but I do wish we'd been given more reason for them to be at odds. Solicits suggest they don't come to blows until Uncanny #8, so hopefully they're able to cooperate in the short term. There's been a lot of editorialising about an ideological divide between the two, and a heated, dangerous situation is a good place for that to happen.

I've made no effort to hide my disappointment in this area, but the slick execution of this issue gives me some hope. Time will tell. I'll be frank and say that crossover events are often rife with needless conflict and mischaracterisation. However, so far so good, as Jed Mackay has had a great week of X-Men. He nailed Avengers #21 and X-Men #8 was a huge step up from the tenor of the run so far. The pacing is top notch, the characters are acting like themselves, and all the pieces are in place for some messy escalation. I've been harsh on his work so far, so it's only fair to give credit where it's due. X-Men #8 is a banger well worth reading.

[tonydaddingham]

i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

[bi-chimneyy]

There’s a particular emotional honesty and maturity in Buck in this coming out storyline that is actually really interesting.

Because on the surface, he’s just rushing into a relationship, the same way he always does, and it’s like not much has changed…

But when you actually look at what he’s saying, how he’s saying it, and to whom, he’s not just wearing his heart on his sleeve in terms of his ACTIONS, but also his words.

He stumbles a bit on the date, but otherwise, we see him in the loft trying to explain to Tommy feelings that he doesn’t even 100% understand himself yet, because he doesn’t want to leave him in the dark… We see him go IMMEDIATELY to Maddie to try to process his guilt and uncertainty about lying to Eddie about the date… We see him open up honestly to Eddie about the fact that he can’t stop thinking about Tommy, even after he ‘ruined’ the date… And we see him put it on the line to call Tommy… Not to hook up, but to explain, and to hear Tommy out too. He doesn’t try to hide his hesitancy from Tommy, he lays it out as “Look, I don’t know what this is, and I don’t 100% know how I feel, but I like being with you, and I’d like to see where this goes.”

We’ve seen Buck be self-reflective before. But in his romantic relationships, we much more see him rushing in with actions and gestures, rather than sitting down and analysing and discussing his feelings.

That's totally how I saw it, is he rushing? Maybe a bit, we don't actually know for sure how long him and Tommy have known each other or what the amount of time between their coffee date/meet-up and the wedding is, but Buck (and let's be real pretty much all of the other characters) has a tendency to commit hard and fast, especially romantically. But he's already been more vulnerable with Tommy than we've ever seen him be with his LIs, and Tommy's facilitated that communication by also being open and vulnerable with Buck. They're both taking a chance and telling each other that they're willing to work for it at the same time as respecting each other's boundaries. Hopefully we get to see Buck come into his own more as the relationship progresses. It's something new and hopefully it'll be explored well over the coming eps (and potentially *fingers crossed* next season?).

[etraytin]

Just a note to let all the moots and buddies know that my family and I are safe and well after several days completely incommunicado after Helene. I admit to a certain amount of personal arrogance before the storm; I spent all of Thursday working a Red Cross shelter in Swannanoa (Western North Carolina was flooding even before Helene made landfall) and went home to sleep, confident that I would be largely unaffected there and come back to help the actual damaged areas after the storm. I didn’t even fill our goddamned bathtubs, what the hell, past me?

In any case, the storm hit us like the fist of an angry god, and while I was incredibly lucky that my home was spared, the winds caused a huge amount of damage to the power grid, which in turn wiped out water (all wells in my area!) and communications. We were still better off than other more low-lying places, where they got the wind and the water both, to devastating effect. I picked my way carefully back to Swannanoa on Saturday because my entire Red Cross chain of command was a black hole of no comms and this was the last place I’d seen them, but the shelter had been closed and moved because the damage was too extensive. I had to drive around a huge car shed that had been set down in the middle of the highway and past a sinkhole bigger than my van just to get to the place, so it was understandable. The weird thing is, Swannanoa had cell signal so I sat in the parking lot of a closed and washed-out gas station for about an hour just to call our loved ones and try and figure out what had happened to us.

Living in a communications blackout is very interesting and strange. You’d think it would be like rocketing back into the past, but it is not. People had ways of communicating before the internet that have not survived the internet. Radio stations are so rarely local now, and how many of them are actually good at relaying emergency information anymore? The most infuriating of our local stations would offer bumpers promising news and wither, then directing people to their website which we of course could not access. Nobody has landlines anymore to talk on the phone. Even people with “landlines” have digital phones through their cable service, not real telephone lines. Ham radio operators are rarer than hen’s teeth. When I got back from Swannanoa, I walked up and down the very steep hill that is my street, visiting my neighbors and telling them that I had gone to visit the internet and come back with news!

My trip did provide us with an action plan and a route out of town, at least. Only one major road out of Buncombe County was open, and it was the one furthest from us, but we hoped we could do it. Both cars had a third of a tank of gas left, so we picked the one that got better mileage, packed up and crossed our fingers. The evening before we left, we invited all the neighbors over and grilled all the meat in our freezer, now thawed and on the edge of ruin. They brought stuff too and we had chicken, burgers, brats, hot dogs, salmon and shrimp. It was really nice and didn’t break up until dusk when we all had to go home by flashlight. In the morning, we left as soon as it was light, hoping to avoid traffic, and with no maps and a vague idea of where we were going, headed for Charlotte and the modern world. It took us about four hours to go what would have been ninety miles on the normal route, including time waiting in a very long line for gas, but we got to my sister’s house where we got showers and cold drinks and basically just fell into bed.

So that’s how it stands now. We are safe, we are out, we are going back soon even if the power doesn’t come back. The Red Cross still needs me and our house is going to get very yucky all closed up to mildew in the post-storm humidity. We are taking this time to rest up and stock up on supplies and batteries, then it’s back into the void. Please send good wishes our way, and maybe donate to the Red Cross or other orgs working out here because it’s a huge, huge job.