#and then dead end comes back and is like That was MY job. I was supposed to come back and do that. What the fuck dude

[hardly-an-escape]

inspired by this gorgeous art by @newtkelly 🌹💕

It's just a normal Tuesday. They're about two hours out from the end of their shift and Buck is upstairs in the kitchen, finishing up the dinner dishes, when Chimney's voice floats up from the floor below.

"Hey, uh... hey Buck? I think you have a visitor."

He sounds a little weird, almost like he's trying to hide something. Buck frowns and grabs a dishtowel. "Be right down," he calls back.

He hops down the last few steps, rounds the front of an engine at a jog, opens his mouth to ask what's going on and – stops dead.

Tommy is standing in the middle of the ambulance bay, feet planted like he's expecting someone to come along and shove him out the big garage doors – and from the slightly murderous glare Eddie is throwing his way, it might be a valid concern. He's wearing a cream colored Henley and his hair is tousled, a couple artful locks falling over his brow.

But what stops Buck in his tracks – what roots his boots to the floor and makes his mouth drop slightly open – are the flowers.

Tommy's arms are absolutely overflowing with roses. There's got to be at least two dozen, maybe even three, wrapped in classic brown paper with a bright ribbon holding it closed. They're full and perfectly opened and a deep, rich red, with a handful of pink and white carnations scattered through the bouquet that, rather than distracting from the roses, just make them look even more luxurious by comparison.

"Hey," Tommy says. "Happy Valentine's Day, Evan. Can we talk?"

Buck spends at least two and a half seconds fruitlessly opening and closing his mouth.

"Valentine's Day isn't until Friday," is what eventually comes out. He can practically hear Eddie's eye roll from behind him.

One corner of Tommy's mouth lifts in a tight little smile. "I know," he says. "But this is the day I knew for sure you'd be on shift, so."

"Oh. Right," Buck says stupidly.

"These are for you." Tommy hefts the armful of roses and Buck automatically steps forward to take them. His fingers brush the backs of Tommy's hands as he does so.

He could swear he feels a spark. Maybe it's just static electricity. But Tommy's eyes widen minutely, so he must feel it too, whatever it is.

"You, uh. You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. Yes." Tommy clears his throat. Buck is intensely aware of the fact that they have an audience. Eddie is still frowning, Chim is doing a very bad job pretending he's not hanging on every word they say, and even Bobby has paused what he was doing to lean too-casually against a wall, arms folded and carefully neutral expression on his face. "I have thought... so much about what I want to say to you. I've gone around and around, telling myself if I could just find the right words, I could make you understand. And then telling myself I haven't even earned the right to try." Tommy takes a deep breath. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to get my shit together and come talk to you. You deserved better than that, Evan. But I... I'm here now."

"I'm listening," Buck says. He's glad he can hold the flowers, because he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Tommy seems to be having the same problem; he clasps them awkwardly in front of himself, then unclasps them, then goes to shove them in his pockets and seems to change his mind, rubbing them briefly against his hips instead.

"Thank you. Thank you for being willing to listen," he says. "I... I never found exactly the right words. But I know what I want to say. First, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I fucked up, and I panicked, and I just kept panicking until it felt like it was too late to do anything else. Second, there are still things I hope we can talk about, things I tried to say that night that I couldn't get out right. Stuff about my past, and questions about the future. But most important... Third. I do want a future with you, Evan. Everything you said that night, I want it so... so badly. And it took me walking out to realize that, because I'm an idiot, and a coward, but all I learned by being without you these last couple of months was..."

Tommy trails off. His eyes have never looked so blue. "Was how much I don't want to be without you," he says simply.

There's a long moment of silence. You could hear a pin drop in the firehouse. It's as if everyone in the building is holding their breath. All Buck can see is Tommy – Tommy, with his broad shoulders, and his fidgety hands, and his blue eyes, full of hope and tears.

"Can someone come take these flowers, please?" Buck says over his shoulder, without unlocking his eyes from Tommy's. Chimney comes up behind him and gently takes the bouquet from his hands, stepping back without a word.

Buck takes a step forward. And then another. And then Tommy steps too, and then their arms are wrapped tightly around each other, cheeks pressed together, and it's as if the entire station heaves a sigh of relief.

"You are an idiot," Buck whispers fiercely into Tommy's neck.

"I know."

"This doesn't magically fix the fact that I'm still really mad at you."

"I know, Evan. I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I promise."

Buck pulls back far enough to look Tommy in the eye again, and what he sees there reassures every uncertain inch of him: sincerity. Hope. Apology. Even – he dares to hope – love.

He begins to lean back in, but before he can crush his mouth to Tommy's, the bell rings – because of course it does – and the alarm squawks, calling the 118 to a house fire a couple neighborhoods over. Buck reluctantly tears himself loose and heads for the engine.

"Don't you dare leave!" he yells to Tommy, pointing a dramatic finger at him.

"I won't! I'll wait right here for you!" Tommy yells back.

Chim claps Tommy on the shoulder and shoves the bouquet back in his hands as he runs past. The last thing Buck sees before they pull out and round the corner is Tommy's smile, blindingly bright above a cascade of red roses.

[hederasgarden]

Do you have any darker thoughts about your fav ATJ characters?

Bestie, I have so many thoughts, and I’m totally blaming @otaku-girl-ao3 for this. A few weeks ago, we spent an afternoon on Discord brainstorming what the ATJ characters would be like as dark versions of themselves and how that would manifest in distinct and interesting ways.

Just a quick note��this is quite a departure from the usual content on my blog and the type of things I typically write about. Recently, I’ve been gathering the courage to explore some darker themes in my writing (I blame BookTok for introducing me to a lot of questionable tropes). Please be kind and let me know if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing from me!

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter), Friedrich Harding (Nosferatu), Tangerine (Bullet Train), and Ives (Tenet) Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Dead dove, do not eat. VERY dark, depraved, and horny thoughts direct from me to you. Not all themes are tagged. Read at your own risk.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

Sergei is a meticulous planner, taking his time to observe you and learn your habits. He likely comes across you by chance—perhaps while on the job or visiting his brother. It’s your scent that first grabs his attention, but it’s not what draws him back. It’s the softness and sweetness in your demeanor, the vulnerability you exude, completely unaware of the dangers around you. You’re the easiest prey he’s ever tracked, unaware even of the most basic threats. You’re always buried in a book or your phone, headphones on at full blast. If it weren’t for his quiet intervention, you would have been robbed or worse on your way home at least twice. 

He takes you because he believes you're not meant to be on your own. You need someone to care for you, to protect you from the world that you don’t fully understand. Really, it’s lucky your paths crossed. He’s certain you’ll come to see things his way in time. Until then, he’s turned his home into a beautiful little cage for you to live in, complete with an entire library filled with your favorite books, cozy blankets to keep you warm, and all the ingredients for the meals you love to cook and enjoy. He’s done his research on what you like and he’ll bring you anything you ask for. Afterall, he’s a provider at heart.

There’s no concern of you running away. You've seen the large snow leopard that prowls around outside, and the one time you made a foolish attempt to escape, Sergei was quick to show you that he wouldn't always be so gentle or understanding. As @writercole suggested, once he has you back, he’ll also end up keeping you tethered by the ankle for a while, a lesson that if you try to run, he’ll leash you.

After you recover from that experience Sergei finds you’re a much better pet, settling into your new life and role. You start cooking for him when he's home, and willingly crawl into bed beside him, seeking out his warmth on those cold winter nights. Soon, Sergei knows you’ll be ready for the next step: starting a family of your own.

Friedrich (in a modern AU) strikes me as the type who would quietly manipulate situations to his advantage, working behind the scenes to ensure things unfold just how he wants. He’d spot you working at a cafe or store he frequently visits and, from that moment, start working on a plan to make you his.

Rather than using overt force, he’d rely on subtle pressure and gaslighting, making you doubt yourself and your choices. He’d skillfully set up circumstances to undermine you—ensuring you miss out on a job you desperately need, getting you fired, or putting you in a position where you have no choice but to turn to him. When you're at your lowest, he’ll swoop in as the savior, the one who appears to protect you. His goal is to make you dependent on him alone, carefully ensuring that when the time comes for him to make his move, you're in no position to resist. Consent would be questionable, but he'd remind you every time you hesitated that you said yes, that you asked for his help, and that you invited him in.

I can also see him isolating you from friends and family, slowly pulling you away from the support system you once had. He’d definitely be the type to love-bomb you, showering you with overwhelming attention and affection, using his money and influence to manipulate you further. 

He strikes me as a baby trapper, sabotaging your birth control or tampering with his condoms to ensure you get pregnant. He believes you'd be the perfect wife and mother—you just need his help to realize that. Once he has you, he’d be the most loving and attentive husband, always caring, but beneath that sweetness lies an unshakable belief that he knows what’s best. He’s the one who makes the decisions, subtly guiding everything with quiet confidence until, over time, the balance shifts in his favor and you start looking to him for help with even the easiest things. Despite all of this, Friedrich would likely still view himself as a good person, firmly rejecting any notion that he is abusive or in the wrong.

Tangerine is on the opposite end of the spectrum, much more inclined to use brute force and physical violence to make you understand your place. He has a short temper and struggles with impulse control, especially when you don't follow his demands. There’s no slow build-up with him—he has no time or patience for romance. The moment he sees you on the street, he decides you’re coming home with him, and that’s final. Or maybe Tangerine and Lemon are sent to kill your husband but when Tangerine sees just how sweet you are, completely unaware of who and what your husband really is, he decides to keep you for himself. After all, no one's going to miss you. They’ll assume you died in the house fire with your husband. 

Once he had you he would try and spoil you with a beautiful place to live, fine clothes and decadent food. He’d want you to look and dress a certain way for him. A darker version of him would fit the profile of a classic abuser—lashing out at you in anger, only to later show up with flowers and a hollow apology, turning the blame onto you as if you were the one who provoked it.

“Why do you have to make things so fuckin’ hard, huh?” Tangerine questions, caressing your bruised skin. “I hate when you make me do this to ya luv. You need to listen better.”

He’d definitely be the most terrifying of all the dark versions of the ATJ characters because of his unpredictability. (I do not know why but I have such a strong sense he’d pop you in the mouth/back hand you with those rings on and just….yeah.)

If Ives were to go dark, he’d likely abuse his power and authority in the workplace, targeting someone beneath him—someone who wasn’t military and who he could easily manipulate using his strength and knowledge. Maybe you’re his admin, someone he works closely with, and no one questions the fact that you’re often in his office with the door closed or staying late to finish tasks together. He’d be blunt about his intentions with you, setting clear expectations for how things would unfold. His actions would be predictable—if you were a good girl, you’d be rewarded; if you misbehaved, there would be consequences. Ives would be a steady, unyielding force, confident that, with time, you’d fall into line.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part ten

Not to randomly air out my business but getting my heart viciously broken a few days before Valentine's Day was not on my 2025 bingo. Jesus Christ. Lmfao, anyway! Here's a new chapter!

Warnings: Rossi once again knows Hotch too well, Hotch makes A Decision (a choice is certainly made...whether or not we agree with it is tbd), these two bickering their hearts out

That night, Hotch agrees to Rossi’s offer of a drink at the hotel bar, albeit with an ulterior motive.

They’re barely two sips into their whiskey when Rossi reminds Hotch that he’s smarter than him. “So. You heard us talking.”

Hotch almost laughs as he hangs his head. Nothing will ever get past David Rossi, will it? Honestly, Aaron should know better by now.

“Yes,” Aaron replies, thumbing at the condensation forming on his glass from the ice. “And…” He sighs, figuring he might as well admit what he’s done. What Rossi told him not to do. “I had Garcia pull her file.”

Rossi freezes. “Aaron…”

“I know,” he says before Rossi can even start. He raises one hand in surrender. “I know.”

Rossi shakes his head. “I told you to let her come to you.”

“Well she hasn’t,” Hotch argues. “And she won’t, Dave, I know she won’t.”

Rossi hums, like he’s having the strangest sense of deja vu. “You think she needs help?”

“I think keeping this a secret is impacting her ability to do her job.”

Rossi scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming her because we haven’t found the guy yet.”

“What?” Hotch reels back, clearly offended at even the thought of that. “No. What makes you think that I am?”

“You two get under each other’s skin, Aaron,” Dave laughs. “You’ve said multiple times, to each other, even in front of all of us, that you don’t like one another and would rather work with anyone else.”

Aaron scoffs. “Yeah, but we don’t actually mean it, it’s…” It’s how we’ve always communicated. We don’t know anything else.

“Don’t you?” Dave asks, that damn knowing look on his face. “If you don’t mean those things, you should probably tell her.”

Aaron’s eyes widen slightly. “Did she say something to you?”

“Nothing I’m going to disclose,” Dave shrugs. “And before you ask, no, it's not impacting her ability to do her job.”

Aaron hangs his head for real this time. “Alright, I walked into that one.”

Dave takes a sip of his whiskey, leaning onto the bar. “You’ve got to trust her, Aaron.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

“She does,” Dave says. “Even if she doesn’t like you.”

Ouch. Walked right into that one, too. 

Hotch straightens up, sipping his whiskey before hitting Rossi with the next thing. “So you met her when her father was caught.”

Rossi smirks. “I was wondering when you’d put the pieces together on that one.”

Hotch shakes his head through a laugh. “You could’ve just told me.”

“With how you’ve been about her? No, no I couldn’t,” Dave says with a incredulous laugh. “I wasn’t positive until yesterday, and I didn’t need you to confront her about it before I even had a chance to ask her. And I wasn’t so sure you wouldn’t turn that same anger on me.”

“Sorry,” Aaron grimaces. “I’ve been trying to…cool it.”

“Hm, good luck with that,” Dave says, tilting his head with a sigh. “If you two are on good terms now, you better cherish it while you have it. The second she finds out you pulled her file behind her back, she’s not going to be happy.” He pauses, fixing Aaron with a look. “And I can’t help you there.”

Aaron knew already that it wasn’t his brightest idea, but surely it’s justified. When the safety of an agent is at risk, that has to be worth something?

After talking with Rossi, he’s not so sure anymore.

+++

The unsub never strikes again. 

The BAU stays in town to further investigate and chase down any leftover leads, but all have dead ends. You wait for an entire week. Nothing.

“It’s…It’s pissing me off!” Garcia’s frustration can be felt through the video screen. She squeezes a stress ball so tightly you’re worried it’s going to pop. “It’s like this guy doesn’t even exist!”

“I know, babygirl, I know,” Morgan sighs.

You lean into frame, almost resting your head on Morgan’s shoulder. It’s been a long week and you’re bone-tired. “At least we’re coming home this afternoon.”

“I know,” Garcia says, dropping the stress ball to prop her chin in her hand. “I just wish it was because you caught the guy.”

“Me too,” you murmur, finally giving in and dropping your head onto Morgan’s shoulder.

Through the blinds of the conference room, you see Hotch and JJ talking with the other detectives, giving them the inevitable news. The BAU will continue to be just a phone call away should they need anything, but there’s nothing else they can do. They can monitor things just as well from headquarters in Quantico, and, unfortunately, there are more pressing issues to return to.

The “pressing issues” are just the usual mountain of paperwork, Morgan says. You hope that’s all it is, but something in your gut is telling you otherwise. Your meeting with Strauss flashes in your mind, namely a certain prisoner who seems set on speaking to you again one day.

You still have no idea what to do about that one.

“Travel safe, my loves,” Garcia blows a kiss with a sad smile. “I’ll be here when you land.”

“See you soon,” you reply, waving as she signs off.

You close your eyes as Derek shuts the laptop, letting out a sigh.

“I know,” he says, leaning his head onto yours. “I know.”

You practically jump when Hotch’s voice sounds out damn near right next to. He somehow walked in here without making a single noise, and of course Derek couldn’t warn you.

“We’re heading out,” Hotch says, eyeing you from your seat next to Morgan. “Got everything?”

You nod silently. You and Derek were already packed, your bags loaded into the trunk of the car that you’ll take to the airstrip in town. Your plan is to curl up on the plane and pass out the entire ride.

You and Hotch have gone back to your speaking-non-speaking terms. When you have spoken, it’s been about the case. When you’ve argued, which hasn’t been as much as you anticipated, it’s about the case— you blame your lack of sleep for your lack of witty comebacks. He doesn’t ask any prying questions like you were certain he was gearing up to do, and he overall doesn’t bother you.

Except when he, you know, breathes too loud in your general area.

Or when he looks at you too much, like he’s doing right now.

“What?” you don’t mean for it to come out as forcefully as it does. “Do I have something on my face, or…?” You touch your cheek, expecting to find pen ink there.

“No,” Hotch says, but he doesn’t look away.

You roll your eyes, standing up from your chair. “Then take a picture or something. And blink like a normal human being— thank you.”

He looks away from you then, after you thank him for blinking, of all things.

Hotch has tried his hardest to “cool it” as he told Rossi he would, and it has seemed to do absolutely nothing to calm your attitude toward him. It’s a losing battle, and he has no idea why he’s even bothering to try.

As Hotch watches you and Morgan finish gathering the last remaining things from the conference room, he spots Rossi taking an evidence bag from a detective.

A moment later, Rossi comes into the room with the bag in hand, giving Hotch a look he doesn’t see often. Alarm.

“This was left in the mailbox outside the door,” Rossi explains. “They’re checking the cameras now.”

“What is it?” you ask, ears perking up when you hear Rossi’s tone. He’s never sounded…startled like that.

You stand a little too close to Hotch on accident, apologizing when your shoulder brushes his arm as you try to get a good look at what was left.

It’s just a simple card in a white envelope, except where the addressee’s name should be, it just says Behavioral Analysis Unit. The note inside only has one word: gambit. Hotch flips the bag over to read the back of the card: Are you ready to play a game? 

In the bottom corner, in tiny script: see you soon.

You take the bag from Hotch, blaming the spark you feel in your hand as your fingers brush on the chills you feel when reading the words before you. 

Morgan reads the words from beside you and scoffs, “Oh, so he’s taunting us now?”

“We don’t know,” Hotch says.

“We can’t just leave,” you argue. “Not after a note like this. Leaving is what he wants us to do.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Hotch replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the universe.

“Are you serious?” The anger is back, always simmering just below the surface when you’re this close to him. “He’s going to strike again the second we’re gone.”

Hotch levels his gaze on you. “You don’t know that.”

“Hotch, I don’t like the sound of this,” Morgan chimes in, holding up the note. “This guy doesn’t do anything for a week, and then just drops this off?”

“We don’t know that the unsub dropped the note—”

“Who the fuck else could it have been?” you nearly yell. Judging by the detectives who turn their heads, you aren’t as quiet as you hoped. You try again, lowering your voice, but keeping your glare focused on Hotch. “Who would do that, if not the unsub?”

“We’re leaving,” he says firmly, looking both at you and Morgan. “My decision is final.”

You look to Rossi for help, but find none. He doesn’t look like he particularly agrees with Hotch, but he doesn’t disagree either, and that’s just as bad.

“You’re making a mistake,” you say.

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Hotch deadpans. “But I won’t let my team feed into this unsub’s delusions.”

“It’s not—”

“This is not up for debate, Y/N,” Hotch cuts you off. “We’re leaving. End of discussion.”

He turns and holds his hand out in front of Morgan, silently asking for the note. Morgan looks about as delighted as you feel as he hands it over. He shakes his head after letting it go, grabbing his bag and heading out of the room. Rossi follows behind him.

You wonder if either of them realized what they were doing. Leaving you alone with Hotch once again. If either of them realize the inevitable.

“I’m not finished,” you say, catching Hotch’s attention when he tries to leave. You cross your arms over your chest. “Give me one good reason why we can’t stay.”

Hotch shakes his head. “I’m not arguing with you about this.”

“Tough fucking shit, Hotch. All we know how to do is argue, so you know damn well that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Tell me.”

For a second, you think he’s going to turn and walk out of there without answering you. Leave you standing alone in your irritation. He takes so long to answer, so many seconds stretch out of him staring at you, looking down at the note, then back to you.

“If we stay, the safety of this team might be at risk,” he starts.

“What about the women in this town?”

“He hasn’t struck in a week,” Hotch fires back. “Before it was every other day.”

“I know the facts of the case, Hotch.”

“I didn’t say that you don’t,” he replies, unusually calm. “But we can’t stay. We need to return to Quantico. They’ll call if they need us.” He pauses. “And this note? The unsub is trying to taunt us. If we unpack everything now and change our plans, we look scared. We can’t look afraid. We have to leave, like we’ve planned to do, and we’ll continue to monitor the case from Quantico.”

“That’s not good enough,” you murmur, voice unusually quiet. You don’t like this — not the leaving, but the way you’re both talking. It’s not like either of you to not get angry, to not yell, for one of you to not storm off. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, only this time, he sounds genuinely remorseful. “We can’t stay.”

When he walks away, he pauses just outside the door to glance back at you, nodding for you to follow him.

You don’t know why, but you do. You admit defeat, and you follow him out of the precinct.

+++

On the jet, you sit toward the back by yourself, not caring that you must look like a child pouting because they didn’t get their way.

Maybe half of that is true. You didn’t get your way because you wanted to stay. But that’s not what you’re upset about — not really. Sure, it’s a piece of it, but it’s nowhere near the biggest piece. Not even close.

The biggest piece, though, you can’t say. Not out loud. 

You can’t help feeling like it’s somehow your fault, that this unsub wasn’t caught. The same way Lila’s kidnapper got away, too. Even with the sketch artist’s drawing — because Lila’s mom did eventually convince her to speak with one — there haven’t been any new leads. It turned into a dead end, just like this one.

Aside from the cryptic note, there’s nothing to go on. The precinct’s cameras don’t show anyone dropping the note off on its own. The best they can assume is that it was mixed in with the regular mail, but there’s no way to trace that. Another dead end.

You curl up into the seat, looking out the window as the clouds fly by. The first two cases you work on with the BAU, and both end with the unsub getting away. You must be a bad luck charm, or something. There has to be some explanation, but clearly you can’t see it yet.

Distantly, over the whirring of the engines, you can hear Reid rambling about the note and what it might mean. No one seemed nearly as confused and upset as you and Morgan about leaving right after the note appeared. 

Granted, it’s not like Hotch gave them much choice. He didn’t bring out the note until the jet was already in the air.

You aren’t even angry with him. Not really, you guess. You don’t know what’s eating at you exactly. When it’s too many things at once, it’s hard to pinpoint.

Reid goes on and on about the definition of a gambit, specifically in chess. How they’re used, why they’re used. To get multiple steps ahead of your opponent.

You’ve never liked chess when you’ve played it, but you especially don’t like this feeling you have now — because it seems you’re in the middle of a game you’re inevitably going to lose.

[gingerteafairy]

𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

Somethings drag on for too long.

tags n warnings: carmy berzatto x reader, language, longtime friends, suggestive, slow burn past. word count: 2.4k masterlist

Everyone knew Carmy was a little bossy. Well, it was part of his job. Maybe he didn’t like giving orders, especially when they often ended with someone yelling or feeling desperate. However, your relationship with him seemed too close to be labeled as authoritarian abuse, free therapy sessions, or toxic interactions. Damn, you had known him for so long. You’d gone through so many seasons together—trends, wines, changes. Everything seemed to evolve except for the complex dynamic between you and Carmen Berzatto.

“That’s wrong.” Carmy’s voice cut through the kitchen noise, as if he could telepathically sense you skimping on a few sealing seconds out of sheer laziness.

“I know,” you replied without looking, reigniting the flame and moving forward. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be good enough.

"God, Carm,” Marcus grumbled, drying his hands to return to his station beside the chef. "Chill."

“She knows how I am,” was all Carmy needed to say, putting a quiet end to the conversation. Each of you returned to your tasks. "She has known me for a long time. Knows how i work."

“Hands!” you called, plating the dish in the designated container. Everything was just as perfect as Carmy had wanted.

“Chef, can you grab my knife from the other station, please?” Carmy asked, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’m only doing this because I love you,” you teased.

You smiled as light as a feather, heading to the sink to wash your hands before fetching what he needed. The air in the kitchen thickened—though perhaps it was floating rather than heavy—because everyone could see the shared sweetness in the smiles you and Carm exchanged over that dish he was finishing with Marcus.

Handing him the knife, your fingers lingered on his for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the sugary tension in the air, and an involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you returned to your station. Maybe you had known Carm for too long to change anything now.

Carmen found himself watching your back, like he was trying to figure out what expression you were wearing without having to ask. He knew you were focused. The little curve of your lips when things didn’t turn out how you wanted. The way your brows knit together before you relaxed, remembering how frowning could cause wrinkles. He even pictured you mentally griping about your oily skin and how no cream ever seemed to help. The worst part? He was dead-on. And like you, he felt like he’d known you too long to want anything to change.

You could feel his eyes on you. Your cheeks warmed—not from the kitchen’s heat, but from the sparks in Carmy’s blue eyes. You knew his tells: how he scratched his nose when he was nervous, or how Marcus teased him for staring at you too long for just a boss.

Everybody knew. You both knew.

This unspoken game always made time fly. Maybe just the idea of being close to Carmy was more addicting than the idea of actually being with him. Fear of rejection? Probably. Mostly from him.

As the shift wound down, he quietly set a small slice of pie on your workstation and slipped off to check something in the fridge. His shoulder brushed yours as he passed—so subtle, but deliberate.

You found yourself smiling as you packed up and finally rewarded your taste buds with another one of his masterpieces. You’d wanted to go to Copenhagen with him. Not just for the work. You wanted to share those nights on that tiny boat. To bump into him while moving around, bicker over who got the bathroom first, and watch each other over morning coffee.

You took your time with every bite, savoring each piece like it was gold. In the fridge, Carmen lingered. He tried cooling his body, his mind—maybe his whole life. He worried the pie had come out too dense. He didn’t realize he’d been gone too long until the silence got heavy, and he timidly twisted the lock.

You were still there, pie half-finished.

Damn. Too dense. His chest tightened at your slow chewing, not realizing it was for the opposite reason—it was light as air, like the curls brushing his forehead. You just wanted to savor every second.

“Hey, you wanna head out?” His voice was soft as he scratched the back of his head. He often drove you home after work, but tonight it felt… different.

“Sure.” You took another bite, speeding up to finish. Not a crumb left behind.

“Where to?” He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. Definitely nervous. That was rare for Carmy. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him this jittery around you.

“I’ll go wherever you go.” You pulled off your apron, stepping toward the lockers.

“Cool. Follow me.”

“I will.”

It felt like a familiar song—something you’d heard a hundred times but never got sick of. Carmy followed you, your lockers side by side. You bent to grab your bag, and his stubborn gaze followed before he quickly looked away as you stood. You both exchanged smiles before heading to his car.

He’d driven you countless times, yet it always felt new to him. You climbed in, and he started the engine. The destination felt as unclear as it did certain—a pull leading you both somewhere.

“There,” you pointed toward a park. He nodded.

It wasn’t too dangerous—people still strolled here at this hour. You gave a small, awkward smile, realizing couples often came here to kiss or lean on each other under the trees. But this was Carmy. What could you do?

He parked and turned off the engine. Neither of you moved. Realizing it, he switched on the heater and reluctantly turned to you. You’d already been looking at him for a while.

“How you doin’?” His voice broke the quiet. You paused, then turned toward him.

“Good. I think.” You didn’t want to overthink it. Life wasn’t bad—just… monotonous. “What about you?”

“Good.” He shifted in his seat, hands gripping the wheel. Then he exhaled. “Actually, no. I’m good, but I’m nervous. I’m always so fucking… wired.”

“Same.” You sighed heavily. “You still in therapy?”

“Yeah… Actually, AA. I told you.”

“That’s right. Sorry, I forgot.” You unbuckled to sit more comfortably. He did the same, resting his hands in his lap. You pulled out your phone. “How are you today?”

The app showed a smiley face that changed with his input. Carmy chuckled, sliding the bar to neutral. Neither positive nor negative. But when he looked at you again, he changed it to a smile. "Good day."

“Where’d you get that?”

“Found it when I was feelin’ pretty low and wanted to track it,” you explained, tucking your phone away. “You’d be surprised how many neutral faces are logged in there.”

“I wouldn’t be any different.” He let out a soft laugh. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with my future. Makes me anxious.”

“Same.” You laughed, though it felt more bittersweet.

Carmy’s phone buzzed. He checked it, shaking his head with a smile.

“What’s up?” You leaned in. He lowered his phone.

“Richie. Sending pictures of half-naked dudes and saying happy birthday. And it’s not even my birthday.”

“That’s your idea of ‘heavy’?” You teased as he put his phone away.

“Yeah… guess it’s not heavy.” His smile lingered as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smother the laugh bubbling up.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What do you think about dating?” Your heart wavered, but your voice stayed steady. Carmy clicked his tongue, seeming to chew over the question.

He scratched his head, sighing before answering. “I never got far enough to have an opinion. You know that.”

“I know.” You responded, feeling a little more awkward this time. “Have you had your first kiss?”

“Yeah. Actually… I had my first kiss when I was, like, 3.” He laughed, the ridiculous memory shaking through his body. “I was trying to copy… I dunno… something I saw on a soap opera.”

“What were we thinking, huh?” You chuckled with him, the mood lightening, opening up a little more. “I’ve had a few. But I dunno. It’s like, when things start heating up, I kinda lose interest. Like, ‘well, I’m here now.’”

“Yeah… exactly. There are highs—everything’s great for a minute, then…” He traced a sudden dip with his hand, shaking his head. “It just disappears. And I’m stuck there, same as before.”

“Feels like the idea of being close is way more interesting than actual closeness.” You said thoughtfully, and he stopped, snapping his fingers.

“That’s it.” He licked his lips, glancing around before settling his gaze back on you. “We’re cut from the same cloth.”

“Yeah…” You exhaled, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence. “Wanna kiss?”

“Sure.” He laughed, the sound growing louder as you puckered your lips dramatically. “What’s that?”

“A kiss.” You laughed, blowing him an air kiss that he caught and pressed to his chest. Then his hand moved up, pressing to his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Kiss.” He whispered, resting his hands back on his lap. His lips insisted on curving into a smile. You turned your head to hide yours, just like he did.

For a brief moment, you wanted the playful game to continue—wanted something different. But who knows? Maybe that moment had come and gone. Maybe it had stretched too long.

The silence stayed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something unspoken hung in the air—heavy with expectation. Carmy let out a long breath, rubbing his hands on his thighs like he was trying to work out some kind of nervous energy.

“You think we’ve been putting something off?” he asked, his gaze fixed straight ahead, like he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

Your heart jumped at the question. Of course, you’d thought about it before, but hearing it from him made it feel real.

“Maybe,” you answered, softer than you intended. “But if we are… what do you wanna do about it?”

Carmy finally turned his head toward you. His blue eyes locked on yours—intense, but laced with uncertainty. “I’m not good at this. Like, saying what I want. What I feel. It’s just easier when I’m working.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be perfect? What if it just… happens?” you suggested, hoping to ease the weight pressing on his chest.

A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips—one of those rare, genuine smiles. “You always make things sound simpler.”

“Maybe because sometimes they are. We just make ‘em complicated.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment. The warmth of the car heater wrapped around you both, making the space feel even more intimate. Carmy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before he let out another deep breath.

“Wanna take a walk?” he asked, his eyes flickering away for a second before landing back on you.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile, sensing the shift in the air.

You stepped out of the car together, walking along the park path. Distant sounds of footsteps and laughter filled the night air, mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves. Conversation came easier—work stories, childhood memories, even a few half-formed plans for the future.

After a while, Carmy came to a stop. He turned to face you, hesitation mingling with a newfound determination in his expression.

“Can I try somethin’?” he asked, voice low and careful.

“Yeah. You can.”

He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking until the air felt charged, heavy with unsaid words and possibilities. The sounds of the park faded into the background—the faint rustle of leaves and distant footsteps no longer mattered. The only thing you were aware of was him.

Carmy hesitated, his gaze searching yours as if silently asking for permission. There was a vulnerability in his eyes—an openness he rarely let anyone see. His hand twitched slightly at his side, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he should. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned in.

Time seemed to slow down. His breath mingled with yours, warm against the cool night air. He moved with that same mixture of care and uncertainty that was so distinctly him—measured, cautious, but also raw with emotion.

When his lips finally brushed yours, it was gentle—like he was afraid to break something fragile. Yet there was a quiet intensity beneath it, a weight carried by all the moments you’d both left unspoken. The kiss lingered, neither of you willing to let it end too soon, hands taking a slow path to each other's side, gripping gently on your waist.

When he pulled back, his eyes stayed locked on yours, his breathing slightly uneven. He didn’t move far—just enough to study your face. He was searching for something—for regret, hesitation, or anything that might tell him he’d misread the moment.

But there was nothing like that. Instead, your gaze held his, steady and sure. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips—a silent reassurance that you were exactly where you wanted to be. And slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

“Was that… okay?” he asked, his nervous smile giving him away.

“It was more than okay.” You reached out, your fingers lightly grazing the back of his hand. “It was… how do you say? Ottimo?”

“Yeah, ottimo.” He chuckled, roaming your face, his eyes resting on your lips.

“Ottimo.” you echoed, trying to suppress a terrible fake italian accent coming through. “Did I do great?”

“Attagirl. Molto bene."

“Yeah… whatever this is.” you laughed, licking your own lips, umid on his taste. For the first time, it felt like all the waiting—all the second-guessing—had finally led you both to the right place.

He took a deep breath, like a weight he’d carried for years—maybe even decades—was finally lifted off his shoulders. He clicked his tongue, glancing around to check for any strangers or suspicious movement nearby. But there was nothing—just the warmth radiating from both your bodies.

“I feel like a hypocrite now,” you teased, his hand resting firmly on your hip, giving a gentle squeeze as you chuckled.

“How come?”

“Intimacy doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” you admitted, letting yourself get carried by the lightness of your laugh.

“Doesn’t seem bad at all.” His smile softened, shy as ever but now intertwined with something deeper. Everything you hadn’t said to each other—but that the whole world seemed to know—hung between you. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer before he finally spoke again. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

“Okay.”

The way he said it wasn’t just casual. It was a quiet promise—a subtle acknowledgment that something had shifted. And as you both started walking back to the car, it was clear: things wouldn’t be the same after tonight.

[andrevasims]

looking at these old TS2 music videos made me remember that pop songs used to be longer lol

like they were all 3½ to 4 minutes long, even the "short" songs still got really close to being 3 minutes long - now a lot of them are 2½ minutes long or even shorter

I knew it was like A Thing but also I kinda forgot lol

mainly I didn't dwell on it that much because if a musician can't come up with something for their song that would make it worth listening to for 4 minutes then I would prefer it if they just kept it short instead of adding filler for the sake of filler - which actually becomes kind of obvious in specific 2000s songs if you think of it that way, like the "breakdown" part that sounds totally different than the rest of the song lol

also songs used to be shorter before the 2000s too, one I personally know is Keep on Dancing by The Gentrys from 1965 is a little over 2 minutes long

except it was actually more like 1½ minutes long, because they just put the beginning part of the recording in there twice to stretch it out - it would play every single day at my old job, and the way it's edited there's a completely dead silent pause between the end of the original recording and where the first part repeats, so you hope the song is over but then it literally starts repeating!!! it drove me crazy lol

but anyway relating that back to TS2 music videos, creating a 4 minute video in TS2 is a lot different than creating a 2 minute video in TS2 lol

[bluvlet]

Okay, some of my rambling, first viewing impressions of Stage/Fright below the cut! (spoilers for the show!)

Always returning to that all encompassing obsession of mine when it comes to in9 - grief. The whole stage show is, effectively, a funeral service for in9.

Like 'Plodding On', it provides quick stop references to the history of in9. It's like the show's life is flashing before our eyes (christine, anyone?); off the top of my head, here are some I picked up on:

the first half is a retelling of 'Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room' (which itself is an episode about grief and looking back and catching glimpses of a beloved past).

the kidnapper's sketch is an obvious 'A Quiet Night In' reference with Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto, the outdoor lights gag, Reece + Steve's costuming looking identical to Ray and Eddie, and their briefly mentioned future job stealing a painting. There's a single black, man's shoe ('Diddle Diddle Dumpling') in a wardrobe, which is at one point enigmatically stuffed with people ('Sardines'). I also think Steve's (Len's) performance was very much giving Barry Baggs -- a fun TLOG reference. The guest that night was Dara Ó Briain, and at one point during the sketch the guys actually all broke to laugh at each other, which was hilarious.

The La Terreur De L' Asile segment reminds me a lot of 'The Trolley Problem' and 'The Riddle of The Sphinx', particularly Steve as Vince as Dr. Goudron, playing another predator who drugs and assaults vulnerable women. (I promise I still am working on my Trolley Problem and Sphinx comparison, which deals a lot with the parallels between Blake and Squires, and now probably with a tiny segment for Goudron...)

The inclusion of a horror period piece is also just like in each series of the show.

The segment with the actors of La Terreur De L' Asile was very 'Seance Time' to me: Marcus reminded me a lot of Terry, the vengeful that ghost haunts the cast, and the construction of it to conceal that the Asylum section is staged mirrors how 'Seance Time' was presented.

That section also brought 'Deadline' to mind -- especially the brilliant work with the screen and the camera and all the creeping around back stage (thinking of the camera on Reece's head during ‘Deadline’) Also the metatextual element of (fictional) Reece and Steve disturbing the peace of ghosts who died in show accidents and go on to disrupt in9 in return.

And of course there were tons of other little one-liners that instantly transport you back to an episode, or recurring jokes amongst in9 enthusiasts ('Sheridan Smith', the whole 'one of was dead the whole time' joke Reece makes after Steve dies).

The show ends with the fiction versions of Steve and Reece having died (and another callback to BCDR with their dance number). The stage show is quite literally the death of the in9 versions of the two. I'm sorry I really cannot articulate this point properly yet. The underlying emotional through line is that Steve himself is remembering Reece by imagining him still performing alongside him (another BCDR reversal like in ‘Plodding On’); by having (real) Reece performing all night, us as audience members unknowingly partake in (fictional) Steve's grief. And as it turns out, Reece has been haunting the theatre the entire time. Moreso, they point to the audience at 'laughter is my memory of you.' -- it's a memorial service for us too, from Steve and Reece's perspective. We mourn Reece and Steve as they do us, but it’s all about mourning in9. What is a ghost story if not a love story?

Another thing that strikes me is the metatextuality of it all. The show goes through every length to remind you constantly that it is a show. All of the segments take advantage of the theatre and its history and its capabilities as a space and an art form. I find it all utterly brilliant. Again, the fictional versions of R & S return, and references to Stage/Fright itself as we watch a show within a show within a show (at times) within a show. I don't have any fully formed thoughts about this yet, but I am thinking a lot about Stage/Fright's self awareness.

The whole trip was a very late present for my 19th birthday last summer from my mate, Luke (who has been mentioned on my blog before as the mind behind the interpretation of Blake being from working class roots). He's a very casual in9 fan and mostly just entertains my rantings about it, but after the end of the show he turned to me and said: 'I understand why there's RPF of them now.' I’m not into RPF but I find this genuinely hilarious.

Apologies if I've misremembered anything! I usually need 2-3 watches of things before anything properly sinks in, so you'll have to bear with my single viewing and shoddy memory.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Truly the grief for shows with 20+ eps a season is so indescribable, not everything needs to be 8-10 eps with 45+ min each episode!

And honestly, so true? Agree heavily here. I love the drama of the scene (mostly), Cecil v. Mark, ex. Mark thinking Cecil would outright try to kill him, b/c Mark's prob seeing the Nolan in Cecil, who takes the rejection of obedience into outright violence (presumably?). But still! Lacking! This would hit harder if there was more built up to Mark's trust in Cecil, any mentor-like advice, or paralleled Nolan in Cecil as it did Mark! But, Mark's difficulty in vocalizing his own morality, like you mention, just kinda leaves me a little confused on this whole conflict between them. It retracts from scenes with Oliver, too, it retracts the drama of A LOT, if it just leaves same outright squinting at the screen, 'cause the very foundation, what Mark knows and thinks is right, isn't exactly solid and established.

Like, why doesn't Mark vocalize the importance the HELPING people? Some classic spidey "great power, great responsibility", why is my guy going through the motions, and clearly STILL struggling? I feel like s1 does make some point to highlight Mark does want to help people, or trying to prod at his idea of what helping people means, even if it ends up going terribly wrong. Him failing to rescue a dying woman, him roped into fighting Machine Head, does prod at his ideas of what his job can/doesn't mean, but it feels like they never dive back into that properly? Which is strange, 'cause that's another potential Eve, Mark tie-in, as Eve realizes she can't do everything yet, Mark tries to figure out what he can do. Then they're both learning! Even supporting each other while pushing character growth! But it seems his only goal posts are Don't Be Dad (somehow? vaguely? no sub-goals, here), and Punch Bad Guy...? It's so strange.

Rewatching clips of s1's Mark vs Nolan fight rn, and Mark's weirdly unspecific morality is even weirder? He was trying to save ppl in that battle, desperately, no? I would think post-Nolan fight, he'd want to work real hard in gaining public trust again, and getting real emotional when ANY civilians die. Nolan outright tells him it's his fault ppl died, and Mark, later, learns Nolan is dead ass serious (pun intended lol) about replacing him, why wouldn't that message sink in further? Make him try to saving people first, over fight? Why not show Mark struggling with taking out the bad guy to stop threat, OR saving people whole the threat lingers, unable to choose a higher priority or outright choosing the wrong one, ultimately taking any mistake as proof the s1 fight was his fault.

Truly, some good ol' flashbacks into Guardian dynamics would be so thrilling, because yeah, it seems they were all in good terms! I also just want it so bad. How dare you gimme bootleg Justice League and then don't give me the dynamics. Outright entertainment robbery. YES TEAM DYNAMICS MY BELOVED FOR REAL. The deprivation of small, but so TELLING character moments make me so ill, because it's SO NEEEDED!!! Same brain waves, because the outright visual communication of these characters is NEEDED and would make me so ill in a good way. The budget issue limiting this show will never NOT drive me insane because Amazon HAS THE MONEY FOR SURE, but refuses to make this show something that, even if the writing isn't exactly fantastic, the FIGHTS could be legendary, if not playful. Also WHY did all of them go fr????? That's such a stupid decision? Especially if limiting it down further could have more character moments, even if small visual cues the show lacks!

I feel I violently check out when it comes to romantic focused media to not fully click this trope is so persistent and so ODD? Like HELLO? That's such a backhanded gift at best, inpersonal and one-sided, and outright cruel if I really wanna go there 'cause like you said, you don't know them. Even making a JOKE out of what's supposed to be a meal meaning gift is crazy??? Like this is fiction, a gift is GREAT way to demonstrate intentionally who these characters are and their relationship to each other. Don't remember the episode or if you're there already, but Justice League has an episode where Wonder Woman + Batman get Superman a bday gift before plot happens, (tho it's strange tbh, in the comics WW's gift is actually Batman's? But they switch it for the show if I'm not mistaken???) and GREAT moment!

Kate and Immortal piss me off so bad but we've already discussed why, like this girl isn't a character istg, EXPLORE HER DAMMIT, but seriously! We got a secret identity plotline BRIEFLY before dropping it and then just straight up functioning on how it's not a thing at all like hello????? Can this have any consequences or impact, even if it's people just look the other way? Which is so odd when it's a common staple for the hero genre, too, but I suppose they don't want to explore it? Perhaps too much of a staple to be interesting for them?

AND TRULY i am so tired of mark getting kicked around, bro, what the heck? Do something before the eleventh hour? But characters being genre savvy would be so funny, imagine somebody just pretends to be hurt to get Mark to actually focus lol.

THE ROGUE GALLERY IS SO SAD AND IT MAKES ME SO UPSET. How we get a bootleg JL and no actually good rogue gallery????? CRAZY WORK. Like part of the WHOLE FUN of superhero media is the villains, like, batman villains are crazy interesting or always just entertaining to SOMEONE, poison ivy, harley quin, penguin, etc, which usually reflect back on batman's character in some way if ya wanna dig into it, or just enjoy a good villain! Instead... it's just sad and empty. Currently foaming at the mouth for ANY super villain to be a mark parallel (like a former villain sidekick trying to step out the shadows of their mentor), or straight up used to be Nolan's nemesis and just tries to keep it up with Mark, insisting they're the same for example IDK. Villains are also good at establishing the world!!

ALSO SO TRUE? I don't think it's ever been actually acknowledged??? Ever?? Why doesn't he explore being mixed raced???? My guy is mixed race AND half human, there is SOMETHING to say here. ALSO SO FUCKING TRUE? WHY CAN'T OLIVER AND MARK BOND ABOUT BEING HYBRIDS? ABOUT HOW OLIVER CAN'T PASS AS EASILY?? My guy can't even go to school 'cause he grows up too fast, like can we talk about this??? Can Oliver be a person??? That could put some conflict / added conflict in the relationship?? Can Mark think about what it's like be HALF ALIEN? Can this mf have some unique oddness because of being a hybrid, I BEG. This is why the lack of self introspection in the desert makes me utterly insane. IT WAS RIGHT THERE.

Also you're telling me we got demons, billion dollar teleporters, cursed family lines, aliens, but nothing to instantly make Oliver look human so he can walk around? Easy way for Mark to feel indebted to Cecil, or Oliver trusting Cecil, something???

Cecil is so fucking interesting because he truly must be Like This. Which is even funnier because you'd think he'd be easier to guess with a focus on his, like, trajectory but no???? At least to me. I am squinting, personally. One would think you'd want needed allies close by and endeared to you, control 'em better, but Mark threatens, and he threatens back even harder, like I GET WHY but also DAMN. Instant escalation. Never threaten this mf, he'd take you AND himself out. It's also funny because like Oliver kills and Mark struggles articulating why it's bad, but also Cecil is presumably A-OK with killing (now) but only when he says so (assumingly). Like, don't kill because we could use them, isn't a because it's bad :( argument???

So, I'd imagine if he had to tackle training/mentoring Mark and Oliver it'd be a challenges in the opposite direction. Like No, Oliver you can't kill them ALL. Yes, Mark you DO have to kill sometimes. I'd kill to know what that looks like. Does Oliver get a whole team dedicated to training him, and Cecil check-ins?

But back to his side of things, I just wanna shake him furiously. Like, you point out, you're telling him to stand down WHY inducing pain AND beating him the fuck up like HELLO? You did not make Mark seem dangerous, now YOU look unhinged in dangerous in a desperate power grab/for control. You're basically tazing someone and telling them to calm down LMAO. Which also like did you try calling them off or is this legit an error here? Which yes, yes, characters can make wrong decisions or have flaws and ruin things despite their best intentions, paved roads and all that, but also it so funny if you tilt your head. Cecil why. I get it yes, but also Cecil, no, Cecil no.

Also exactly, when it's TOO vague I just stare the doc. There's no jumping point to push it's anything goes and how hard do I want to overthink it?

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[vitrificvitriol]

You can't just leave food lying around, Dead End. Someone else is gonna come in and eat it when you're away

[chaotic-bells]

🤷🏻‍♀️ meh

[sskk-manifesto]

\

[davidayer]

omg, daphne! thank you for tagging me in yet another exciting round of jake!boys and their potential prompts! i'd say i'm pretty happy about who i rolled on (except for one lmao jk... kinda 😒). anyways, i'm back with my weirdo vague writing, wahoo!! lets go! happy valentines! 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨💞

Holden Worther - A Double Feature at the Drive -In Movie Theater

Holden had been spending most of his time escaping into his books whenever he didn't have someone in his checkout line as way to hold onto his sanity in the prison known as Retail Rodeo. Most days he was ready to fall into a story and let it whisk him away from the soul-crushing dullness of his job and other days he was content to stand there and simply rot away as he stare emotionless into the void.

Life was a unimaginative chore, something he deemed not worth his time. It made him contemplate coming into work and going postal just to spice it up. That was until something interesting did happen.

Joe the Bread Man came in on schedule with crates of fresh loaves to replace the old on the shelves and had a new helper in tow.

It was rare to see a new face in Retail Rodeo just as it seemed rare to see a new face around town. If he had to guess, Joe's help was around his age but Holden couldn't place them. He couldn't recall seeing someone like them in elementary, middle or high school, not even the local college he briefly went too. Admittedly his memories of school were muddled and inconsistent as they were just another useless thing to life. If he couldn't draw inspiration off of something for his writing, then he didn't care about it. Holden held his spot behind the register despite the spark of interest, content to simply watch Joe and his help restock the bread aisle. He felt like he wouldn't be seeing them too often. Joe has gone through many partners as rumor was that pay sucked at the factory he worked for.

It wasn't until the third time Joe came in with his helper that Holden decided he was bored and curious enough to wander their way when they were done and ready to go. He didn't want Joe to oversee or eavesdrop on their potential conversation as Holden liked his privacy. Their conversation was quick as they were behind schedule, but it left Holden in a good mood for the rest of the day. He had noticed a band logo peeking out from their uniform shirt, a band that he highly enjoyed listening too when he was pushing through a writer's block and they agreed to talk to him about it next time they were in the store.

Holden looked forward to it. He felt that there was a connection to be had just off that little known information and he was determined to be proven right. He was surprised when they popped into the store a day later with no uniform on and was oddly relieved to hear that they had the day off. Holden took his lunch and they sat outside with him to talk.

It goes better than he could have ever expected and at the end of his lunch, Holden is left feeling like he had made a worthy friend. That this person.. understands him. For years he has yearned for that and for once in his pathetic life his wish has been answered.

Over time it became a thing, where Holden would wander over to the bread aisle to talk when they were there and the store was dead, leaving him free to do as he pleased and they would pop in on one of their off days to hangout during his lunch.

It didn't take long for Holden to understand that he was in love, and he wasted no time in making things official. At twenty-two with grandiose ideas of his future, Holden felt like the clock was ticking and he had wasted enough of his life rotting away. Now was the time to live life to the fullest and make every moment count. He was in love and he wanted to ride that high forever. He was in luck when Valentine's rolled around and he made plans to to meet them for a Double Feature at the Drive-in. Well, as he didn't have a car, his date was to pick him up at his house but he was ready to pay for admission and popcorn in return. It was lovely to be snuggled up in the backseat of their car, pressed together with their head on his shoulder and their hands entwined that it made it hard for him to pay attention to the movie. He had other things on his mind. Well, a specific thing, but that was beside the point. He couldn't concentrate and one of Holden's hand began to wander.

It earned him a giggle and his name said in a light warning. He didn't stop, and he got in a quick kiss and grope of soft flesh before he was pushed away. "Holden, come on. I want to watch this." "What? Don't you want me? Aren't you interested in me?" He couldn't help but whine as he felt rejected. "Of course, but I also really want to watch this. I thought this is why we were here." "I've written stories like this all the time. I already know how it's going to end." "Well, don't tell me. I'm invested." He sulked but he let it go. It wasn't until the start of the second film that Holden tried his moves again. This time he was happy they were able to get further before they pumped the breaks again and pushed away. "Now what is it?" He asks, petulance dripping from his tone. "Did you forget where we are? Hello? We're at the Drive-In, with other people around." They rapt their knuckles on the top of his head like it was empty. Holden sighed dramatically but already had a solution. "Then let's get out of here and hit up a hotel or something. Please? I really want you right now." They laughed and playfully rolled their eyes as they made their way up to the front seat. "Okay, let's go." Holden perked up with a bright flashy smile. "Oh, by the way I don't have any money. I spent it all on the popcorn and movie."

Louis Bloom - Coffee and Bookstore Date

** This one isn't much of a date, as Lou stalks his love interest. It's a date to him, not to them. 🙃

He's seen them around the news station. A new intern looking to someday be a newscaster themself. Lou is a planner, and when he laid eyes on them he started planning. He envisions someone he could mold, a direct line of further connection into the station. Lou had been wanting more say into the news operation and found that this could be an extremely beneficial opportunity. Also, he found himself physically attracted to them as well. He saw a future with them. Wanted a future with them, and Lou loved getting what he wanted.

Little did he know that his interest was warned of him, which made his plans a bit hard to execute, but Lou was not a quitter. He'd keep trying no matter what. They kept their distance from him, which wasn't hard as Lou split his time between the field and the office. Conversation were kept short or were not to be had at all. It was frustrating for Lou. He felt like he was getting no where, even when he kept on his charm in an effort to soothe their bias of him. He thought about spending more time at the station to be around them, but he couldn't give up the thrill and excitement of the LA streets. He felt like a God out there.

Instead he had to change his plans. He started to follow his interest to learn more about them. Where they went on their off days. What they shopped for. What they liked to eat. What kind of businesses they liked to go to. All of it. He'd drip that information in conversation, trying to get a catch. Each time he attempted he swore that they showed interest in him more and more.

Valentine's was around the corner and Lou managed to pull himself away from work, entrusting his team to make him proud as he spent the extra time spying on his interest. He gathered they weren't into the lovey-dovey holiday and that was fine. Neither was he but he could use it to his advantage.

Valentine's Day they had the day off, so Lou took it off as well. He dressed his best and went out on the prowl. He watched them leave their apartment and stop in a nearby cafe for breakfast and coffee. He loitered around, occasionally passing the window to catch a glimpse of them at their table as he waited, biding his time for the perfect moment. It came when they later slipped into a bookstore, to-go coffee in hand. Lou gave them a couple of minutes to browse alone before he stepped into the store and meandered about until he bumped into them. In that time he made sure to turn on and dial up his charisma and charm. He can't risk spooking them on this important day.

He clocks the way they're surprise to see him which melts into skepticism. "Oh, Lou. What are you doing here?" "What does anyone do in a bookstore?" He quips in response. "I'm shopping for a book of course."

He looked down at the book in the hand of his interest curious about their intended purchase. The title he did not recognize but the cover gave him the confidence to assume it was some kind of romance. "I like a bit of on the page romance myself as well, but I currently don't have a lot of time to read due to work." He offers to see if they'll take the bait. Their body turns towards him, a good sign of their own curiosity.

"I wouldn't have guessed someone like you would enjoy romantic stories." Lou gives a casual shrug, acting like a secret had been revealed. "What kind of books do you think I read?" "Textbooks. Or something like manuals." They awkwardly laugh at their answer, hoping Lou wouldn't take offense to it. "Non-fiction. My final answer is non-fiction." His smile is genuine as a warm thought dashed into his mind that they might have been paying attention to him as well. It's a rare occurrence, but he has been known to have a book in hand from time to time and non-fiction was what he liked.

"Bingo. I do prefer non-fiction and I can offer some recommendations if you're interested in hearing any, and I am more than happy to look into any recommendations you could give me. Again, I don't have much time to read due to work, but I did make my New Years resolution to carve out more time in my busy schedule to sit back and enjoy a good book."

"Uh, ...sure. I'd like that. ---" anything that came out of their mouth after that was nothing but static as Lou continued to smile at them, thinking how this Valentine's was indeed going to be special. He felt like his plans were falling into place and even though he can be a patient man, he couldn't wait to get to the end result.

Jimmy Livingston - Line Dancing

Jimmy wandered the Las Vegas strip by his lonesome, not sure where he lost Slim and his crew but he was too caught up in the flashing lights, and colorful people who filled the streets with bustling energy he swore he could feel through the protective plastic of his bubble that he couldn't care that he was wandering alone. His mouth hung open and his head swept side to side as he tried to process everything that was happening around him. Never in a million years would he have thought he would get to see such wonders.

Jimmy notices a tall being, towering over the crowed as it slowly made it's way down the sidewalk. Effortlessly it glided amongst the sea of people and Jimmy stopped walking to watch as the costume person walking on what he now recognized to be stilts passed by. "Wow!" He exclaimed before he found his view twisting and turning as he tumbled around in his bubble. When the world was still he realized that he was faced down on the ground and someone was repeatedly apologizing to him. He popped up and saw the most gorgeous person his eyes had ever fell upon.

Jimmy blushed and shyly smiled. "Aw, that's alright. I'm use to being bounced around due to my bubble suit. It can be hard to move around in this." "Why are you wearing it? Are you a street performer?" Jimmy laughed and easily explained the suit like he has had to many people before.

Among conversation Jimmy revealed that he had lost his friends and was looking for them as he walked the town alone and was ecstatic when this lovely person offered to accompany him in the search of his friends.

Together they walked and talked, sharing facts about who they were and where they were from while occasionally stopping to watch a performer or a fight. Jimmy pulled them over to see the Eifle Tower and they pulled him along to see the Statue of Liberty. Jimmy liked how their hand lingered on his gloved one. It gave him a funny feeling low in his stomach. Deciding on what else they wanted to experience, Jimmy said he had already tried the slots and passed when it was suggested and he already saw a rock concert so another show was off the table. "Hey. Hey, what about that?" Jimmy pulls away as he shuffles past people towards a bar filled with people dancing. "This looks awesome! Let's try it." "You want to try Line Dancing?" They questioned, unsure as they had never participated. "What if everyone stares at us because we don't know what the moves are." "Yeah! It looks fun. I think if we watched them for a minute we can figure it out. Come on." Jimmy motions for them to follow as he awkwardly shoves and pushes him and his bubble suit through the door. They couldn't help but laugh at such a silly sight, finding it endearing how Jimmy effortlessly didn't care how he looked.

Jimmy found a spot on the dance floor after bumping into a few people until everyone decided to give the bubble boy a wide birth. He stared down at the feet of the dancers around him as he did his best to mimic their moves, and they followed his example. After a few minutes of learning the rhythm of the dance they were able to focus less on the dancers around them, and were able to focus on each other. Jimmy started to throw his own moves into the dance, grinning as he got laughs of approval from his date.

Oh, dear. He couldn't really call them his date if he never asked. "Hey, can I ask you something?" Jimmy shouts over the music. "Yeah, sure what's up?" "Well, I uh, I've, uh, I've never been on a date before and I really like you. I was hoping that this could be one."

I just want to randomly add, and to make a long story short; this was not my first batch of characters. I actually got Robert Smith, Danny Sharp and Jerry Brinson; characters I never put much time into thinking about. So I rolled again and got this batch of characters. I was happy I didn't get Lou the first time, but lmao, he got me again. 💀

jake boys - valentine's edition

how are we feeling about another round of spin the wheel activities, dear Jake delegation? and yes, they are heart shaped and taste of sugar.

Rules:

spin this wheel and get your boy(s)

spin this wheel and get your date(s)

share your results in the comments or reblogs or tags, please sate my curiosity

let us know in the poll how happy you are with your valentine

(bonus points if you're feeling inspired and want to share your thoughts about your results, like people did here)

a huge shout-out to my baby @gyllenhaalstories who helped me with basically all of this. ilysm 💖

you can look up former community shenanigans here

Shamelessly tagging the crew (hit me up if you want me to stop annoying you):

@gyll-yee-haw @gyllenhaal-j @charliehoennam @cassiopeia-grimm @jennaajoseph

@davidayer @det-loki @gyllenflower @ascorpionstale

@anunusers @frozen-hearts-club @caffeineplusmypen @gyllencevans8 @greenparadiseperry

The crew=every blog that comes across my dash and interacts with Jake content. If we've never talked: hi! If you want to be part of the crew, dm me. ✨🫶🏻

divider: @saradika-graphics

[popponn]

mysme is doing wonders for my mental health i miss you so much my defender of justice 707 my love my star my planet the light of my life the bfest bf to ever bf the earth

[namelessprince]

grand finale ! BITB!! rand is the spiral. kian is the corruption. rolan is the stranger.

[creative-hanyou-girl]

Y'all I so want to participate in InuKag Week but I don't think I even have the energy to pick up a pen let alone draw stuff 😩😭

[ii-zi]

i want a nice big house. a garden with trees, creeping thyme as a ground cover, and flowers. a nice big catio. tons of storage. a living room. proper trashcans. my own bedroom. well planned windows for proper ventilation. solar panels. roof access to see the stars. well planned water system so we have fresh water available in summer and warm in winter without spending thousands a month. outdoors lighting. a backyard door. a fence. enough space to steal my baby and my grandma and give them the life they deserve. a desk. space to build whatever the fuck i want. house decor. proper doors. less stubby ceiling heights.

[yuribalisms]

Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that