#but i kind of like this one in particular

[conkreetmonkey]

Fun story: My last job was at a restaurant. They hired me among many other workers all at once. This is because the kitchen had recently burnt down, thankfully after hours and without hurting anyone, so they had to temporarily close and rebuild; can't very well run a restaurant with no kitchen, after all. Presumably they'd laid everyone off and were completely restocking their labour pool in like a week. My first day was wonderful. People were patient about training me, the manager was sweet and made sure everyone was staying hydrated, and she even personally brought me a glass of water while I was on my break. Like any person would have, I took this as a good sign. Then, over the next few months, things began to devolve. There's like 5 stories in there about the extortion, ER visits, second-degree burns, and explosive stress diarrhea, but basically that once sweet manager slowly became a demon, and my once fun and kind coworkers began doing things like threatening to harm my work bestie unless I performed unsafe work that was guaranteed to burn me due to inadequate PPE, or yelling obscenities at me for asking perfectly reasonable questions. It went from heaven to hell over the span of a single damp, mild autumn. So, as you can guess, I came to resent the place. But there's another element to it:

in my time working there, I would come to learn that the fire that destroyed the place was entirely preventable; there was a known gas leak in one of the deep fryers, and management knew, but refused to shell out the $15 to patch the line (just like they refused to give us PPE, or generally fix anything ever). Quite a long time after they found out and after many staff reports of this gas leak, one night, it somehow finally ignited, and a $15 expense suddenly turned into tens of thousands of dollars. One night, while I was manning the fryers, I noticed one of them was producing bubbles of opaque white smoke from under the oil. My coworkers assured me it was "normal" and "just some food stuck under there." I've worked many a deep fryer, and had been working those particular ones for months, and never seen such a thing before. It was pretty easy for me to put two and two together on that one. The lifers weren't having it and insisted I ignore it and get back to work. A few weeks later, I quit on the spot after getting cussed out over asking if anybody had put an order in the oven yet. My work bestie was fired shortly afterwards, for what she claims was written down as "disobeying orders." She was very allergic to the fryer oil we used, it made her break out in painful, swollen hives, but the lifers kept insisting on making her clean the fryers, so it was probably that, I imagine. Who knows, though? There came a point where it was never enough, no amount of speed or cleanliness or quality. We were always understaffed, and now they'd fired one of their best workers. I met another one of the coworkers I'd bonded with working elsewhere. It was retail, under a notorious asshole boss, but at least it wasn't there. Her arms were covered in deep burn scars the day she'd walked in, so I imagine she's used to it. I hope she'd okay. I should probably try to check in on her, actually. I never asked if she left or was fired. I know they never patched the leak. They didn't the first time. Of course they didn't learn their lesson, the whole place was just a number in the bloated investment portfolio of some silver spoon fatcat from Toronto, he didn't give a fuck. None of us ever even met him, or learned his name. Fully hands off. We'd pull like $15,000 or even $20,000 some nights, but all made minimum wage, and were always one call-in away from total collapse. They kept cutting hours. They would send people home in the middle of dinner rushes because "we're spending too much money on labour." Schedules became mere suggestions. We were never given end times to begin with. 11 or 12 hour shifts weren't uncommon on my end, but sometimes I'd only get 3. It was a coin flip every night. My point is, the place was managed, on all levels, by people who'd drown if it rained. Thinking about how perfect the place could have been still makes my heart rate increase. It filled a niche with absolutely no local competition. Our profit margins were absurd. And yet the dullards filling the office chairs didn't understand that you need cooks to produce food, and the place began creaking under their weight. I left before something gave. I suppose me leaving was something giving though, in a way. I worked my ass off for that place. I made them thousands, IN PROFIT, every night. I feel like maybe that triggered the exodus that followed, idk. Don't want to aggrandize myself too much. As far as I know, the second burning hasn't happened yet. But it will. It's all but guaranteed to. I hope that, just like last time, nobody's there when it happens. But I also hope that, unlike the first time, this time the entire place completely, unsalvageably burns down to ash, reduced to a concrete foundation. I hope there's nothing left to rebuild. I hope the cycle finally ends. I pretty much never got to take my legally mandated break again after that first shift, btw. Should have seen it as a sign, but it was just one shift right? They needed me, they said. They needed me.

[checkeredflagggs]

Pole Position

Pairing: logan sargeant x stripper!reader

summary: after a(nother) bad race, logan does as anyone in Vegas does — drinks himself into a couple of bottles, meets the newest stripper in the club, and marries her? …wait what??

a/n: @sinofwriting is an enabler and shouldn’t be talked to at 3am…

a/n2: I support sex work of all kind — if you disagree, don’t come crying to me

a/n3: still working on story of us: chapter 3 but it just keeps getting longer and longer — people keep trying to flirt with y/n. It was just supposed to be a short bridge chapter 😭 but I work better under stress so I WILL have it out by Wednesday

a/n4: no particular year for this piece btw but mostly 2024

sweet_as_cherrie_pie

liked by user, user, user, and 1,124 others

tagged: the_lumberyard

sweet_as_cherrie_pie: training? done 🥳

view all comments

user1: 🥵🥵🥵

↳user2: oh so excited for a new dancer…

user3: 🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦🍑🍑🍑???

↳user4: disgusting behavior

↳user3: this is a stripper’s page?

↳user4: and you think she deserves…you???

user5: Stop this ungodly behavior at once young lady!

↳user6: not to repeat those disgusting comments above — this is a strippers page.

↳user5: it’s a page of filth

↳user6: so how come you’re here?

user7: you’ve got this!

user8: I got to see some of your training and woooweee mama the dedication and physicality of it…

↳user9: I tried it once (looking for a new workout routine) and that was ENOUGH

↳user9: congrats girl!

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, user, and 790,469 others

tagged: williamsracing

logansargeant: I’m sorry guys — not the race we wanted this weekend but we’ll learn and come back stronger next time

view all comments

alex_albon: next time for sure 💪🏻!

↳logansargeant: absolutely!

↳user15: keep on dreaming — you suck

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user16: what a fucking waste of a seat

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user17: Williams I beg — drop the dead weight

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jvf1: next time

↳user18: well that’s ominous as shit

oscarpiastri: just gotta keep learning mate

↳logansargeant: we absolutely do!

↳user20: you do! Oscar isn’t the giant loser you are

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user21: never been so glad for a break in the calendar — gotta forget this disaster class drive(r)

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f1_gossip

liked by user, user, and 2,193,924 others

f1_gossip: what a wild night Vegas turned out to be! Pierced together from several drivers’ stories last night, the party started early and lasted for a while — it looks like someone now has a lifelong commitment actually

view all comments

user22: WHAT??? WHO???

↳user23: where’s that detective chick? Or the obsessive Bluesky users? WHO GOT MARRIED

user24: my bet is Max and Kelly — they celebrated his win a little to hard

↳user25: I always thought it would be charles to be the one to get drunk married…

↳user26: …yeah ok I can see the vision

user27: that head of hair? Carlos! Definitely 💯

↳user28: I’m throwing my money in on Lando? He totally gives off Vegas wedding vibes

oscarpiastri: …🧐🧐

↳logansargeant: …😬

user29: I was gonna say Daniel but Oscar and Logan are making me suspicious…

↳user30: yeah…now who do we think?

↳alex_albon: my money would be Lando

↳user31: sounds just like something someone with something to hide would say

↳alex_albon: im cuddling a plastic flamingo and am too drunk to make sense of that sentance

landonorris: maxverstappen1 you are never mixing me a drink again…anyone know where i am?

↳user32: LANDO?? DID YOU GET MARRIED LAST NIGHT??

↳landonorris: MARRIED?? TOWHO??!?

↳charles_leclerc: you got married and didn’t invite me? 🥺

↳maxverstappen1: or me?

↳carlossainz55: mate…

↳maxfewtrell: without your best man?

↳landonorris: im nOT MARRIED???

Private Messages, Boss and Cherrie

Private Messages, Logan and Cherrie

logansargeant

liked by sweet_as_cherrie_pie, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, and 1,344,924 others

tagged: sweet_as_cherrie_pie

logansargeant: I guess what they say is true…what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas. I’m glad though that you said yes (again)

view all comments

sweet_as_cherrie_pie: it’s the blue eyes. They make me stupid

↳user33: I have never agreed with anything more faster in my life oh my god?

user34: you married a stripper

↳logansargeant: I guess I did

↳user34: 🤮🤮🤮

this comment was deleted

↳user34: great pick — either a gold digger or a used whore

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this user was blocked

oscarpiastri: so it WAS you who got married!

↳logansargeant: Apparently 😂

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: yeah I guess those Elvis chapels are actually legally binding? Idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

↳user35: I’ve had cherrie for only a minute but if something happened to her, I’d kill everyone then myself

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: extreme but I get it

alex_albon: YOU GOT DRUNK MARRIED IN VEGAS???

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Watch your tone when talking to my husband.

↳user36: wow that period is the most threatening thing I’ve ever seen

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: it should be.

↳alex_albon: logansargeant help?

↳logansargeant: …sorry Alex but I got your flowers babe liked by sweet_as_cherrie_pie, user…see more

user37: wow I really had it being Lando who got married

↳landonorris: WHY. IM DEFINITELLY NKT THE TYOE TO GET DRUNK MARRIED

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Is there something wrong with that Mr Lando Norris, 123 Monaco Street Monaco?

↳landonorris: WHY DO YOU KNOW MY ADDRESS logansargeant HELP

↳logansargeant: 😂

↳landonorris: stop laughing at my pain

jvf1: I expect you back at the Grove by Friday Logan

↳logansargeant: Yes Sir

↳user38: uh oh

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Oh I’d love to meet you.

user39: when she’s (violently) protective 😍😍

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Oh im ride or die for my people liked by logansargeant

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 1,123,221 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n_sargeant: when he has big blue eyes and looks good on his knees…you say yes (twice)

view all comments

user40: girl I don’t think you can actually say that

↳y/n_sargeant: who’s gonna stop me?

user41: the name change though…

↳logansargeant: oh im not letting her get away

↳y/n_sargeant: locked in for life �� (and Cherrie was just a stage name anyway…)

↳user41: 😍

oscarpiastri: I think I’ll like getting to know you y/n

↳y/n_sargeant: same pastry boy

↳oscarpiastri: 🙄🙄

↳user42: oh I love this friendship already

alex_albon: …you’ll be coming with Logan then?

↳y/n_sargeant: you couldn’t pull me away

↳alex_albon: for how long???

↳y/n_sargeant: Well considering I got fired for getting married? Forever.

↳user39: still loving that (violently) protective bond

landonorris: no??

↳y/n_sargeant: Yes Mr Lando Norris, 123 Woking Street England

↳landonorris: HOW DO YOU ONOW THAT ADDRESS???

↳georgerussll63: Oh I’m going to love getting to know you y/n_sargeant liked by y/n_sargeant

logansargeant

liked by y/n_sargeant, oscarpiastri, and 993,234 others

tagged: y/n_sargeant

logansargeant: must be too fast for my own good — I got married before I started to date her. We’re fixing that now 🩵

view all comments

y/n_sargeant: ♥️♥️♥️ love you hubby

↳user43: I am so so jealous (and so single)

user44: no but dating your wife…

↳logansargeant: always

↳user44: ok just call us sad and single little vroom vroom boy

↳y/n_sargeant: trust me — there is NOTHING little about him

↳logansargeant: babe 😆

user50: ok but what kind of pie is that?

↳logansargeant: cherry! It’s y/n’s favorite

↳y/n_sargeant: actually you’re my favorite

↳user49: still don’t think you can say that… liked by y/n_sargeant, logansargeant

lilymhe: alex_albon take some notes

↳alex_albon: y/n_sargeant how long are you staying again?

↳logansargeant: forever and ever and ever liked by y/n_sargeant

user51: ok but who won the uno game?

↳y/n_sargeant: i did

↳logansargeant: she’s absolutely ruthless

↳y/n_sargeant: 🥹🥰

↳y/n_sargeant: but no I don’t take prisoners — not even my husband

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,234,924 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n_sargeant: oh yeah he’s all mine 🥵🥵🥵

view all comments

user52: im seeing the vision

user54: yummy 🤤

logansargeant: yeah Williams wants you to go through pr training now

↳y/n_sargeant: I will not but thanks for asking

↳williamsracing: it was really less of an ask and more of a requirement

↳y/n_sargeant: still gonna be a no

↳williamsracing: understandable queen — thanks for your time

↳user55: it was that easy?

oscarpiastri: i'm glad we’re in a different hotels

↳y/n_sargeant: Don’t worry about it. 😁 I’ve got time.

↳oscarpiastri: ominous

↳y/n_sargeant: Yup!

user56: is that…is that Logan pole dancing???

↳logansargeant: well I’ve got a great teacher!

↳y/n_sargeant: 🥵🥵🥵 you keep working that pole baby!!

↳logansargeant: whatever you say liked by y/n_sargeant

williamsracing

liked by y/n_sargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,948,138 others

tagged: logansargeant

williamsracing: AND THAT’S P1 FOR LOGAN! IN HIS FIRST EVER F1 PODIUM, HE CINCHED THE TOP STEP HERE IN ABU DHABI

And congratulations to Alex for his p5!

view all comments

y/n_sargeant: HE DID IT!! THATS MY MAN

↳user57: HE’S ON THE TOP STEP?!

↳y/n_sargeant: not just on the top step 🥵🥵

↳user57: we really can’t keep defending you girl

↳y/n_sargeant: im getting so railed tonight i don’t even care liked by user57, user…see more

user58: Williams points?

↳y/n_sargeant: WILLIAMS LOGAN PODIUM

user59: petition to have y/n come to every race ever — she’s clearly Logan’s lucky charm liked by logansargeant, y/n_sargeant

↳y/n_sargeant: absolutely!

↳user60: clearly! Her pole dancing translated to pole positions liked by logansargeant, y/n_sargeant

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 2,823,183 others

tagged: logansargeant, alex_albon, williamsracing, jvf1, liakblock

y/n_sargeant: thanks for getting drunk and marrying me in Vegas baby — and congrats to the Williams Racing Team for a good last race!

view all comments

user61: did…did you dump a container of Gatorade on JAMES?

↳y/n_sargeant: gotta give him some of that good ol’ American hospitality right? liked by user61

logansargeant: that was the best impulse decision I’ve ever made!

↳y/n_sargeant: it really really was

↳user62: ok this is calling me single in more languages then I know how to speak

oscarpiastri: congratulations man!

↳logansargeant: you too! Constructors Champs!

↳landonorris: papaya rules!!

↳y/n_sargeant: Did you forget something Mr Lando Norris, Room 344 Abu Dhabi Hotel Abu Dhabi?

↳landonorris: SERIOUSLY HOW ARE YOI DOING THAT!!

↳landonorris: also congrats on p1 Logan!

↳y/n_sargeant: I have my ways

alex_albon: congrats dude! Knew you could do it!

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah he can!!!

↳logansargeant: thanks man! And congratulations to you too!

↳y/n_sargeant: and congrats to you too Alex!

jvf1: My office. Now.

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah we’ll see you next year dude

↳logansargeant: sorry sir. We’re on our way

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah alright I guess…

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby

[earlgraytay]

So, you've probably all seen this post going around, about how The Chuds Want Gentleman's Clubs (but can't afford to go to the things called "gentlemen's clubs" today, so wouldn't have been able to in the past either). And I hate to say it, but that post isn't accurate.

The things we call "gentlemen's clubs" today and the things that were called "gentleman's clubs" in the past are not the same thing; the one is descended from the other, but they used to be a lot more common and served a purpose that they don't really serve anymore.

The modern equivalent of the historical gentleman's club isn't the thing currently called a gentleman's club; it's the premium airport lounge. And by losing the concept for all but the turbo-rich, I think we genuinely have lost something! Let me explain.

(NOTA BENE: This is mostly about England and from about 1880-1930, and most of my experience with this is from fiction written in that era. I know enough to know what I don't know, but I also know menswear guy is wrong about this.)

So- gentlemen's clubs started in *wiggles hands* the late 1700s, and mostly served a particular purpose: they were places you could stay in a city if you mostly lived in the country, instead of staying in lodgings or owning your own place. Finding a place to stay in London was kind of a misery at the best of times, and owning your own house in Town wasn't practical for a lot of people, even rich people. If you were, say, a young man, just starting out in life, and you hadn't inherited your father's wealth but also weren't set up to live on your own? Having a place you were guaranteed to be able to stay was a fucking godsend. And as time went on, even people who lived in London most of the time started joining clubs, because they served another important purpose- they were a place you could go if you didn't particularly want to be at home, for whatever reason.

The way that historical gentlemen's clubs worked is, you got recommended to the club by a friend who was a member, you paid dues to the club, and in exchange, you'd get to use the club's facilities. * Most gentlemen's clubs had, at minimum, a dining room (with waitstaff, natch), a library, a couple of nice places to sit and hang out, a game room, and a bar. Many of them also had rooms you could sleep in overnight, fitness equipment, or stuff related to the club members' interests. Most of them had a room or two where you could invite friends who weren't part of your club and spend time with them. In the era where phones were a thing, a lot of them had a phone. You could write letters there and get your mail sent there.

Here's the thing: in the period I know best, gentlemen's clubs weren't just for the turbo-rich. They were the province of rich guys, yes- you had to be a 'gentleman' and know the right people to get in. But men who were doctor/lawyer/software-developer rich were most likely members of a gentlemen's club. Anyone who was rich enough to travel regularly was part of at least one club, because having somewhere to crash when you were going between (say) London and Delhi and back again was worth the cost.

Most gentlemen's clubs were owned by their members- not an outside corporate body. The club leaders were elected, usually by a small committee.

And a lot of gentlemen's clubs founded around specific interests, as time went on. There were gentlemen's clubs specifically for Guys Who Were Really Into Radio. There were clubs specifically for men who spent a lot of time traveling. There were clubs specifically for dudes who wanted to talk your ear off and clubs for old dudes who mostly wanted to nod off in their chairs and talk about The War and clubs for dudes who did not want to be percieved at all.

There were clubs for men who were really into science, or the arts, or sports. And one perk of being in a club like this is that you had access to equipment that you might not have been able to buy on your own. You didn't have to shell out for an entire library of scientific and medical books; you could go to your club and read in the library there. If your club had, say, an art studio, you could go paint at your club and not have to keep a studio space of your own.

There were gentlemen's clubs specifically oriented around specific political or social views. There were socialist clubs. (And a lot of them admitted women, which was !!!SCANDALOUS!!!) Like, they were still the province of goddamn rich people, there were a lot of trust fund baby socialists and not many working people, but there were socialist social clubs.

...I don't want to pretend that gentlemen's clubs were some kind of idyllic haven. 99% of these clubs were For Men, and For The Right Sort Of Men at that; if you didn't have a friend who was a member, or you weren't "respectable" enough, you didn't get to join. There's a reason that most of these clubs are gone now. Part of the point was excluding the Wrong Sort of People, and that became gauche over time. After a certain point, being part of a club became a thing for stodgy, out-of-touch rich men- not just "men who happened to have enough money to be part of a club"- and so most of the men who could join one didn't, and people stopped forming new ones. Only Old Money assholes (who will continue to do what they've always done, current trends be damned) keep the concept alive.

But like... the thing that replaced gentlemen's clubs for 99% of the people who would have had one a hundred years ago... is the premium airport lounge, and the premium gym membership, and the ~coworking hub~.** Anyone can join, yeah, as long as they're able to pay. You pay a corporation a chunk of money for similar amenities, and the amenities are ... fine? But because the entity is driven by profit, most of the money you're paying them goes into running their other business concerns and paying their CEOs a fat paycheck.

I think... as exclusionary as gentlemen's clubs were back in the day, there's the seed of a good idea there. I think the guys who wish they were still an attainable thing for a middle-class person have a point, and I wish we could inject some fucking nuance into this conversation.

A community-owned space that gives you a place to crash when you need one, has community-owned resources for its members, and isn't beholden to a corporation is a good thing. Third spaces that don't have to turn a profit are a damn good thing.

At the end of the day, my politics are 'everyone should get to have the kind of luxuries that were historically reserved for the rich'. Everyone should get to have the best life has to offer- leisure, beauty, good craftsmanship, and community. And so, you know, if this kind of community space sounds like a thing you'd like to have, maybe it's something you could work towards creating, too.

*TBF, this is still how they work today! But the networks are much smaller.

**I do find it very funny that apparently one of the biggest problems facing the few remaining Actual Gentlemen's Clubs (TM) is that people are trying to use their space to telework-- a lot of them are trying to ban laptops and business talk to "keep the club's character" (read: "we're too rich to have to work here").

[anhedoniawrites]

it’s not a date, we just kinda fuck around.

gif by @reidgif

june baby - victoria canal

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader.

summary: the two youngest BAU agents go on a first date

genre: fluff💌

word count: 8.5k

warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, none! (this is all foreplay for the smut that’s coming)

masterlist!

You never thought Spencer Reid would actually work up the courage to ask you out. Yet here you were, standing in your apartment with only ten minutes to spare, staring at your closet like it held the answer to life itself. Nothing seemed good enough, and you still had no idea what to wear. If you’d had even the slightest inkling that this day would come, you would have pre-planned outfits for every possible scenario—a casual coffee shop, a romantic dinner, even an impromptu museum date. But you hadn’t, because as much as you’d daydreamed about it, you never thought it would happen.

Spencer Reid had always been a harmless work crush. Brilliant, kind, and charming in his uniquely awkward way, he was the type of man you admired from a distance, assuming he was far too shy—or uninterested—to make a move. Yet somehow, against all odds, you were, nervously getting ready to go on a date with him.

The memory of how it all unfolded still made you smile. You’d been in the work kitchen, fixing your usual afternoon coffee, when Spencer had wandered in with his signature blend of distracted focus and nervous energy. You glanced up as he approached, expecting nothing more than a quick hello and maybe some small talk about the latest case. Instead, he surprised you.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. He stood a little too close to the coffee pot, fiddling with the lid as if it held the courage he needed.

“Hey, Spencer,” you replied, smiling warmly.

They chatted about nothing in particular—books, coffee, the endless intricacies of caffeine preferences—until, without warning, he blurted out the question.

“Would you, um… would you ever want to get coffee together? Like, outside of work?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a sweeping declaration, but it was undeniably Spencer—quiet, earnest, and completely endearing. You’d barely managed to contain your excitement as you said yes, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again.

Now, standing in your room, you glanced at the clock. Seven minutes. You grabbed a dress—something simple yet flattering—and slipped it on, your mind racing. You’d been waiting for this moment since the day you joined the team, and now that it was yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how the evening would go. Would he be his usual awkward self? Would he surprise you again with something bold and unexpected?

Whatever happened, you knew one thing: Spencer Reid had already managed to surprise you once.

Seven agonising minutes—each second stretched out like an eternity. The silence was suffocating, gnawing at you from the inside out, until the sudden knock at the door broke the tension. Your heart leapt in your chest. He was here. Spencer was finally here, and your nerves threatened to spill over.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before opening the door with a forced smile. The sight of him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously, only made your own anxiety rise. He looked just as uneasy, maybe even more so. His usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding yours for a moment before he met your gaze.

“Hey, Spence,” you greeted, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Hey, I- um…” Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft, uncertain. He stepped forward, pulling a bouquet of lilies from behind his figure. The delicate white flowers were a perfect match for your taste, and you couldn’t help but smile, your nerves easing just a little. “These are for you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, your smile widening. “Spence, you shouldn’t have,” you said, reaching out to take the bouquet, feeling a warmth in your fingertips as you touched the smooth, delicate petals. The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in the fragrance.

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to say. “I, uh… I thought you’d like them.”

You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You thought right. Come in, Spence.”

He followed you into your apartment, his presence oddly comforting despite the tension still hanging between them. You quickly moved toward the kitchen, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the storm of emotions churning inside you.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. The apartment was far from pristine. The cluttered coffee table, the dishes piled up in the sink—it wasn’t the welcoming space you’d imagined showing him. “I’m so sorry the place is a mess,” you said, your cheeks warming with self-consciousness. You carefully set the lilies down on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you arranged them.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he glanced around, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine,” he reassured you, his voice gentle. “You should see my place.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and nervous. As you filled a vase with water, you thought back to the little things he had taught you, like how to properly cut the stems of flowers to help them last longer. You carefully angled the scissors and snipped each stem at a diagonal, the sound of the cut echoing in the quiet kitchen. You remembered him telling you that the angled cut would help the flowers drink better, and you did it now without thinking. The thought of him lingered in your mind as you worked, a smile playing on your lips.

The bouquet was finally settled in the vase, its elegant white petals standing out against the cool glass. You stepped back, admiring the flowers, but it was Spencer’s presence in the room that made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

“Much better. Thank you, Spence,” you said, your voice soft with appreciation as you glanced at the flowers on the kitchen counter. Their vibrant white petals stood out against the cool, clear glass of the vase, the room suddenly feeling a little warmer, a little brighter. You grabbed your bag from the chair, the familiar weight of it grounding you. You turned to face him, your nerves still fluttering, but your excitement growing as the moment approached.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light but with an undercurrent of anticipation.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor for a split second. He wasn’t sure if he was ever truly ready, especially not when it came to dates. His stomach twisted in knots, but that nervous energy was overshadowed by the excitement of being with you, of sharing a moment like this.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he replied, a nervous but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

With that, they were out the door, stepping into the crisp air of Washington. The city felt alive around them, the hum of the streets, the distant chatter of people, the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. They strolled side by side, both holding their coffee cups, yours an iced concoction with a splash of cream, his steaming hot with a swirl of cinnamon. He wasn’t usually one for aimless wandering, but as he looked over at you, he realized that this moment was worth it.

Your face, illuminated by the golden afternoon sun, was pure contentment. Your eyes sparkled as they took in the world around you, lighting up at every little thing. Whether it was a street performer, a stray cat lazily sunning itself, or the way the city skyline framed the horizon, you had a way of making the mundane seem magical. And he, well, he would do anything to keep seeing that smile on your face, to be the reason your eyes shone with that infectious joy.

As they passed a little street corner, your gaze drifted across the road, and your eyes lit up once again. There, nestled between a café and a bookstore, was a small record store with a neon sign flashing softly in the window.

“Can we go in?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement, your fingers already tugging gently at his sleeve.

Spencer followed your gaze, his heart doing a little flip at the eagerness in your voice. You had that effect on him—the way you made even the simplest moments feel special. “Of course,” he said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere. “Lead the way.”

And just like that, they crossed the street together, the world outside fading into the background as they stepped into the warmth of the record store. The air smelled faintly of old vinyl and coffee, and the soft hum of music played in the background, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to lose themselves in.

“Smell that?” you asked, your nose lifting to the air as you inhaled deeply, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That’s the smell of the best way to listen to music.” The scent of aged vinyl, dust, and nostalgia filled the space, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. You laughed at yourself, a light, airy sound that seemed to match the atmosphere of the record store perfectly. Spencer couldn’t help but join in, his laugh a little quieter but no less genuine, his eyes softening as he watched you.

“You spend too much time with Rossi,” Spencer teased, his fingers flicking through the rows of records, his gaze scanning the colourful covers. He was looking for something—anything—that caught his attention, but his mind was more on the way you lit up in places like this, surrounded by things you loved.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence as you met his gaze, your hand pausing mid-air over a stack of albums. “I am offended by your words, Dr. Reid,” you replied, your tone playful, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge.

Spencer smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up into something warmer as he continued flipping through the records, pretending to be serious. “You should be. That’s a direct quote from Rossi himself,” he said, holding up a record sleeve and giving it a quick glance before setting it back down.

Your laugh filled the space again, bright and free. You pulled another record from the shelf, this one with a faded cover you recognised from years ago. “Well, if I spend too much time with Rossi, then I guess I’m doomed to become a vinyl snob,” you joked, flipping the record over to check the tracklist. You ran your fingers over the edges of the sleeve, feeling the familiar grooves of the cover, the little imperfections that only came with time.

You glanced over at Spencer, watching him for a moment as he flipped through his own stack. There was something so easy about being with him here, in this small, dimly lit shop filled with memories and melodies. “I mean, how else are you supposed to listen to music?” you asked, raising an eyebrow dramatically as you glanced down at the album in your hands. Then, with a theatrical flair, you placed your free hand on your hip and tilted your head back, doing your best (and rather exaggerated) impersonation of Rossi. “It’s the only way to really appreciate it. The crackle, the warmth… it’s like you can feel the music,” you said, making a show of puffing out an imaginary cigar and letting the smoke trail into the air.

Spencer’s laughter was immediate, loud, and genuine, as he looked over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh my God,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are way too good at that.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “I’ve been practicing,” you said, striking a mock pose, your hand still poised as if holding the cigar, before you finally broke into another fit of laughter. Spencer couldn’t help but join you, his smile wide and full of affection. “Rossi would be proud,” he teased, his voice light, but there was a fondness in the way he looked at you.

You winked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, if I’m ever in need of a new career, I think I’ve got this down.”

By the time you reached the end of your long search through the endless rows of records, you had carefully chosen a couple you were willing to splurge on. Cradling the records against your chest, you joined the line at the register, the buzz of the store humming around you.

When your turn came, you placed the records on the counter, chatting casually with the cashier as you fied through your bag for your wallet. Your voice was light, a touch distracted as your fingers rifled through your belongings.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had stepped closer, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. Without a word, he slipped his card onto the reader. The machine beeped, signalling the completed transaction just as you finally found your wallet and looked up.

Confused, your gaze darted between the cashier and Spencer, who was already sliding his card back into his wallet with an air of nonchalance.

“Spencer!” you gasped, stepping out of line with him as they headed toward the exit. You gave him that look—the one that said he didn’t have to do what he just did. Your lips parted to speak, but he beat you to it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, your voice laced with both gratitude and protest. Your hazel eyes darted to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him, catching the warm, self-assured look in his own. You didn’t like people spending money on you when you had plenty of your own. The records weren’t cheap, either.

Spencer, however, shrugged it off with a quiet confidence that surprised even himself. “I wanted to,” he replied simply. His voice was calm but firm, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a gentle smile. “I asked you to come out with me, didn’t I?”

You sighed, your protest melting into a small, affectionate smile as they stepped out into the crisp air. It was such a Spencer thing to do—thoughtful and kind, but completely unnecessary. Yet, as they walked side by side, you couldn’t deny the warmth his gesture left in your chest.

You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with a playful edge as you broke the silence. “You’re lucky I agreed,” you teased, a grin tugging at your lips.

Spencer chuckled softly, glancing down at you. “Oh, I know,” he said, his voice low but filled with humor. “Trust me, I’m very lucky.”

They continued to walk aimlessly, the crisp evening air brushing against their faces as they strolled. Spencer was mid-thought, caught up in some internal musing when your voice broke through.

“Oh my God, Chinatown, Spencer!” you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement, like a child spotting a candy store.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on the colourful archway marking the entrance to Chinatown. You couldn’t quite explain it, but Chinatowns had always been your favourite places to visit. Maybe it was the vibrant atmosphere, the intricate details of the buildings, or the way everyone seemed to know one another, creating a sense of community that felt warm and welcoming. You loved every bit of it.

Without realizing it, you grabbed Spencer’s hand and tugged him along with you, your excitement bubbling over. Your grip was firm but warm, and Spencer—despite the suddenness—didn’t resist. In fact, he found himself smiling as you led him toward the bustling street.

Your face glowed brighter than he’d ever seen as you took in the sight of the ornately decorated gate ahead, its vivid reds and golds shining under the string lights that crisscrossed above the street. He didn’t know if it was your enthusiasm or the way your joy seemed to radiate outward, but he was utterly mesmerized, trailing behind you like he was under a spell.

“We should get noodles—if you’re okay with that?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you with a soft, almost dreamy expression. The way you looked at him then—like he was the best person in the world just for being here with you—made his heart skip.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. Without thinking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

Your cheeks flushed at the small gesture, and Spencer caught the faintest flicker of a smile as they continued walking hand in hand. The streets were alive with energy, from the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting from carts to the hum of chatter in the air.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a quaint bakery that led to an underground noodle bar tucked just below it. The combination was irresistible. As they waited for a table, your eyes lit up when you spotted cheese-filled mooncakes in the bakery display.

“I have to try one of these,” you said eagerly, placing your order while Spencer watched you with quiet amusement.

Moments later, you held the warm pastry in your hands, your face glowing with anticipation. “This is going to be the best cheese pull you’ve ever seen,” you declared, laughing with a childlike excitement that made Spencer’s chest tighten.

You took a bite, and as you pulled back, the melted cheese stretched from your mouth to the mooncake, just as you had promised. Your eyes widened with delight, and your laughter rang out, light and contagious.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head in amazement. You were like a child in the best possible way, unguarded and full of joy.

“You were right,” he said, still chuckling. “That’s definitely the best cheese pull I’ve ever seen.”

Your grin widened, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the bustling streets around them. All he could see was your—glowing, carefree, and absolutely captivating.

The waiter called out, “Sī bīn sài Ruì dé?” his tone polite and slightly accented as he scanned the small crowd in the restaurant’s waiting area. Spencer Reid’s head lifted, recognizing the sound of his name rendered in Mandarin. He gave a small, sheepish smile, adjusting his scarf as he turned to look at you.

You arched an amused brow, gesturing toward the waiter with a tilt of your head. “That’s you, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded, his hand lightly brushing against your lower back as he led the way down the narrow staircase into the cozy, warmly lit restaurant below. The rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil wafted through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of diners enjoying their meals.

The waiter guided them to a private booth tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wooden walls offering a sense of intimacy. Spencer gestured for you to slide in first, always the gentleman, before settling across from you.

The two opened their menus, the glossy pages filled with enticing photos and descriptions of diyous written in both Mandarin and English. Spencer scanned the list with the precision of someone cataloging data, while you took a more casual approach, letting your eyes linger on the pictures.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Spencer asked, glancing up at you. His hazel eyes held a mix of curiosity and hesitation, likely calculating the probabilities of making the wrong choice in an unfamiliar culinary landscape.

You smiled, leaning slightly over the menu to point at the dishes you had your eye on. “I was thinking Beef Noodle Soup and maybe a fried rice platter. If you wanted to share?”

Your suggestion was casual, but you knew Spencer well enough to recognise that sharing food might not be his first choice. The germaphobic tendencies you’d seen surface in the past made your offer feel like a gamble. If he declined, you’d simply adjust your order—no harm, no foul.

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the menu. “Sharing…” he began, his tone thoughtful. “It’s not usually my preference, but—” He paused, studying your face as though weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of his comfort zone. “I think I could make an exception. Just… no double-dipping,” he added with a faint smile, his attempt at humour not lost on you.

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Deal. I’ll even promise to use the serving spoon if it helps.”

His smile widened, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “That would be appreciated.”

As the waiter returned to take their order, Spencer let you take the lead, quietly observing your interactions. The way you spoke with ease, your smile lighting up the space between them, was something he never grew tired of.

After the waiter left, the two settled into conversation, the hum of the restaurant serving as a comforting backdrop. You caught him glancing at you from time to time, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Two Beef Noodle Soup and fried rice,” he mused after a moment. “Good choices. Did you know Beef Noodle Soup is considered a national dish in Taiwan? There’s even an annual festival where chefs compete to create the best version of it.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest. “I didn’t know that. How do you even know things like that off the top of your head?”

Spencer shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I read a lot.”

You laughed, leaning forward slightly. “Of course you do. But that’s one of the things I love about you, you know. You always have the most random, fascinating facts tucked away in that big brain of yours.”

His blush deepened, and he ducked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.

Their food arrived not long after, the diyous steaming and fragrant, the aroma instantly making your stomach rumble. You reached for your chopsticks, but before you could start serving yourself, Spencer gently took the plate from your side.

“Allow me,” he said, his tone soft but resolute, as though he had been planning this move.

You blinked in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all. I was starting to wonder.”

Spencer shot you a mock-offended look as he carefully portioned out some of the sizzling stir-fry onto your plate. “Hey, I can be chivalrous. I just… don’t get much practice. Sharing food isn’t exactly in my top five skills.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You don’t say. Should I feel honoured or concerned?”

“Definitely honoured,” he replied, finishing your plate with an exaggerated flourish. “This is a rare occurrence. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely documenting this,” you teased, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick photo of him mid-serve. “The great Dr. Spencer Reid, putting others first. What’s next, you’re going to offer me the last bite?”

Spencer smirked as he served himself. “Let’s not get carried away.”

As they began eating, you picked up a particularly long noodle with your chopsticks and dangled it in front of your face. “Do you think this could double as a jump rope for ants?”

Spencer nearly choked on his bite of rice, laughing. “That is… an incredibly specific visual. Why ants? Why not, I don’t know, mice?”

“Too predictable,” you replied, twirling the noodle like you were considering its durability. “Ants have more finesse. They’d appreciate the artistry.”

“Ah, yes, the ant gymnast community,” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses and leaning forward as though about to deliver a lecture. “You know, ants can actually carry up to fifty times their body weight, so a noodle would be the perfect workout tool.”

You grinned, using your chopsticks to make the noodles “jump” across your plate. “You’re making my case for me. Ant Olympics, here we come.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” you said brightly, slurping the noodle up with a playful flourish.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and then, without a word, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious. “If I were an ant, this would be like carrying a wrecking ball.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your chopsticks. “You’re so weird!”

“Only because you bring it out of me,” he replied, popping the dumpling into his mouth with a small, triumphant smile.

They continued their meal, each taking turns to make the other laugh with increasingly absurd food-related jokes. Spencer even attempted to balance a broccoli floret on his nose, which ended with you snorting and him losing the floret mid-laugh.

By the time they finished, your sides ached from laughing, and Spencer looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in weeks. As he reached for the bill, you caught his hand and grinned.

“See? Sharing isn’t so bad,” you teased.

He smiled back, his eyes warm. “Only with you.”

Once they left Chinatown, the streets of Washington, D.C. buzzed with life, but Spencer and you were lost in their own little world, laughing uncontrollably over the events of the day. Every inside joke and playful jab sent them spiraling into fits of laughter, their shared energy a bright spot in the bustling city. For Spencer, the date had already been perfect, but he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. He had one last plan to cap off the evening, though it wouldn’t come into play for hours. Until then, he just needed to keep you distracted.

You nudged him playfully as they strolled along. “Alright, something you never got to do as a kid but always wanted to,” you said, your tone suddenly serious despite the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes.

Spencer hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. “I don’t know,” he began, his voice soft. “I’ve always liked reading books and spending time with my mom.” He glanced at you, embarrassed by how ordinary his answer sounded.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “That’s sweet, Spence,” you said softly. “But come on, there’s gotta be something.”

He exhaled a small laugh, his gaze shifting to the pavement as he admitted, “Well, I always wanted to play Laser Tag.”

You stopped in your tracks, your hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait. You’ve never played Laser Tag?”

Spencer shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “I mean, no, not really. It just never came up.”

You were already shaking your head in mock horror. “That’s unacceptable. We’re fixing this right now.”

“It’s fine. We don’t have to—”

But you were already tugging him along with determined speed. “Nope. This is happening. You’re about to experience the childhood you missed out on, and it’s going to be amazing.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm, your energy was contagious. Before he knew it, they were standing at the counter of a nearby arcade, you grinning ear to ear as you requested two tickets for Laser Tag.

Spencer tried one last time to protest. “Really, you don’t have to do this—”

“Consider it my treat,” you interrupted, handing over your card to the cashier. “A thank-you for the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

The sincerity in your voice silenced his objections, and he felt his heart swell. As the cashier handed them their gear, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, strapping on your vest. “Let’s see if all that genius-level intellect helps you out on the battlefield.”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to regret this. I may not have played before, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to win.”

“Bold of you to assume,” you shot back with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the arena.

As they stepped into the dimly lit room filled with neon lights and fog machines, Spencer felt an unexpected rush of excitement. You turned to him, your face illuminated by the glowing lights, and he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he’d been missing out, but with you by his side, he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

The neon lights flickered, casting an otherworldly glow over the Laser Tag arena. Fog swirled around Spencer and you as they ducked behind barriers and navigated the maze-like layout. The sound of distant footsteps and laser beams zipping through the air made it feel like they’d stepped into a sci-fi movie.

Spencer crouched low, trying to strategize his next move, but your sudden battle cry made him jump. You darted out from behind a glowing pillar, your laughter echoing through the arena as you fired your laser, landing a direct hit on his vest.

“Gotcha!” you shouted triumphantly, your grin wide and uncontainable.

Spencer stumbled back in mock defeat, his hands raised. “Okay, okay, truce! I’m still learning!”

You rolled your eyes, playfully wagging a finger at him. “No mercy, Reid. You’re my bitch now.”

You turned to sprint away, but Spencer surprised you by diving behind a barrier and quickly firing back. The red lights on your vest lit up, signalling a hit.

“Ha! Who’s the genius now?” he teased, standing up with a victorious smirk.

You clutched your chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded. “Betrayed… by my own date!” you gasped, collapsing onto a nearby barrier.

Spencer burst into laughter, his usually reserved demeanor completely melting away. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he helped your back up.

“And you love it,” you quipped, sticking your tongue out before taking off into the maze again.

The game continued, a back-and-forth of sneak attacks, exaggerated reactions, and endless laughter. Every hit was met with playful banter, and every moment felt like peeling back the layers of their guarded hearts. Spencer, who had always been so serious and calculated, found himself letting go, caught up in the pure, childlike joy of the moment.

At one point, they both ended up crouched behind the same barrier, breathless and laughing so hard their sides hurt. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your face flushed from running. “Okay, I admit it,” you said between giggles. “You’re pretty good for a first-timer.”

Spencer glanced at you, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I had a good teacher,” he replied softly.

For a moment, the chaos around them faded. They were just two people, sitting side by side, finding solace in each other’s company.

You nudged him gently. “See? Childhood dream fulfilled. What’s next on your list?”

He chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glowing floor. “Honestly? I think this might be enough for one night.”

“Enough?” you teased. “We’ve barely scratched the surface! Next time, we’re doing bumper cars.”

Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’m going to need a lot of next times with you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll make that happen,” you promised.

As the game timer buzzed, signalling the end of their session, Spencer and you made their way out of the arena, still laughing and teasing each other. A leaderboard lit up on the screen near the exit, and Spencer froze, his eyes widening.

“No way,” he murmured, stepping closer to the display.

You leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw his name at the top of the list. “You won?!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm and shaking it excitedly. “Spencer Reid, first-time Laser Tag champion! I’m so proud of you!”

He turned to you, his grin almost bashful but undeniably proud. “Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face lighting up with genuine excitement. “You crushed it out there! I mean, I’m a little salty that you beat me, but still—you’re officially a Laser Tag legend.”

Spencer laughed, the sound bubbling out of him with pure joy. “A legend, huh? I’ll take it.”

You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. “You better. This is a big deal! You’ve got bragging rights now.”

As they stepped out of the arcade into the cool night air, you looped your arm through his, your energy still electric. “Okay, next time we’re teaming up. Imagine what we could do together!”

Spencer looked down at you, his heart warm and full. “I think we’d be unstoppable,” he said, his voice soft but confident.

As they walked down the busy streets, still laughing and recounting the best moments of the game, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he’d won more than just Laser Tag. With you by his side, he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing—a piece of joy, of freedom, of connection that made him feel whole again.

As they continued down the lively streets of D.C., Spencer’s smile lingered, a quiet sense of contentment radiating from him. You were still buzzing from the Laser Tag victory, your hand resting comfortably in his as they walked.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you said playfully, looking up at him. “What’s next on this magical mystery tour of a date? Because if it’s as fun as Laser Tag, I might actually burst from happiness.”

Spencer chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Well,” he began, his voice soft but teasing, “I do have one more thing planned. But it’s a surprise.”

Your eyes widened with curiosity. “A surprise? Spencer Reid, you’re full of secrets tonight. What is it?”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

“Always,” you said with a grin, letting him guide you down a quieter street.

The hum of the city faded as they walked, replaced by a peaceful stillness. You tilted your head, trying to guess where he was taking you, but Spencer kept quiet, his excitement barely contained. Finally, they rounded a corner, and your breath caught as the grand façade of the National Gallery of Art came into view, illuminated beautifully against the night sky.

“Spencer,” you whispered, awe in your voice. “The art museum? It’s closed right now.”

He smiled, his fingers lacing tighter with yours. “Not for us.”

As if on cue, a side door to the museum opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped out, waving at Spencer.

“Dr. Reid!” the man called warmly. “Right on time.”

“Thanks, Jacob,” Spencer said, his voice full of gratitude. He turned to you, his expression soft. “Jacob’s a curator here. He agreed to stay late and let us in. Just us.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked between Spencer and Jacob. “You’re kidding. We get the whole museum to ourselves?”

Spencer nodded, his heart fluttering at the pure joy on your face. “I thought you might like it. I know how much you love art, and, well… I wanted to do something special for you.”

You blinked back a sudden wave of emotion, your chest tightening with affection. “Spencer, this is… this is incredible. Thank you.”

He smiled, a little shyly. “You’re worth it.”

Jacob opened the door wider, gesturing them inside. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

As they stepped into the museum, the quiet echoed around them, amplifying the beauty of the vast, empty halls. The dim lighting highlighted the paintings and sculptures, making it feel like they’d stepped into another world.

You turned to Spencer, your eyes shining. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to give you something memorable. Something… magical.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “You’ve done more than that, Spence. This is perfect.”

He smiled, his heart swelling at your words. “Come on,” he said softly, leading you toward the first exhibit. “Let’s explore.”

And together, hand in hand, they wandered through the museum, the art and the quiet intimacy of the moment weaving a memory neither of them would ever forget.

The museum was humour, the kind of quiet that invited reverence and reflection. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved through the halls, pausing here and there to admire a painting or sculpture. Spencer’s hand lingered at your lower back, a subtle gesture to guide you but also to stay close, as if the intimacy of the space demanded it.

They came to a room filled with sculptures, the soft lighting casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Your attention was immediately drawn to a particular piece—a sculpture of two women, one older, one younger, the younger standing on the shoulders of the older as if reaching for something just out of sight.

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching slightly. Spencer noticed your stillness and took a step back, letting your take in the piece without interruption. Your expression shifted, your usual brightness giving way to something quieter, deeper.

After a few moments, he couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice soft so as not to disturb the moment. “How does it make you feel?”

You didn’t turn to him right away. Your eyes remained fixed on the sculpture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of your thoughts.

“Seen,” you said simply, then paused as if to find the right words. “In a weird way. I don’t think I’d be who I am without my mother, and this piece proves it in a way. It makes me feel less alone too, like I’m not the only one who sees myself this way.”

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze flickering between you and the sculpture. He could see it now—the younger woman’s outstretched hands, the older one’s steadying stance. The balance between them spoke volumes about trust, sacrifice, and love.

“You feel like you’re standing on your shoulders,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You nodded, finally glancing at him. “Yeah. Every step I’ve taken has been because you let me stand on your foundation. Even when things weren’t perfect, you were still there, holding me up.” You smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of your lips. “It’s nice to see it represented like this, you know? It’s like… someone else understands.”

Spencer took a small step closer, his voice gentle. “You’d be proud of you. I don’t think anyone could look at what you’ve built for yourself and feel anything less.”

You turned fully to face him now, your hazel eyes soft but shining. “Thank you, Spence. That means a lot.”

He gave you a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he glanced back at the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Just like the way you see the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a small chuckle, “but I mean it.”

For a while longer, they stayed there, side by side, letting the sculpture’s quiet power wash over them. In that moment, it wasn’t just art—it was a connection, a shared understanding that went deeper.

The weight of the moment lifted as they moved on, wandering into another section of the museum. The air between them felt lighter now, a quiet understanding still lingering but giving way to the playful energy they always seemed to share.

It started with a chuckle from you, your hand covering your mouth as you stopped in front of a sculpture of a stern-looking man with an exaggeratedly large nose. “Okay, tell me that doesn’t look like Hotch when he’s annoyed,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

Spencer glanced at the sculpture and bit back a laugh. “It’s the eyebrows,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You gasped, pointing. “The eyebrows! Yes! It’s like he’s about to say, ‘Reid, stop overexplaining.’"

Spencer laughed, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. “Okay, okay, but look at this one,” he said, leading you to a nearby bust of a man whose face was frozen in a hilariously exaggerated scowl. “Tell me that’s not Rossi after someone forgets to bring him coffee.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” you managed between giggles.

They moved from sculpture to sculpture, pointing out ridiculous expressions and coming up with stories for each one. Spencer, ever the genius, concocted elaborate backstories for the pieces, each one more absurd than the last.

“This one,” he said, gesturing to a marble figure of a man dramatically clutching his chest, “was probably just told that his favorite gelato shop ran out of pistachio.”

You doubled over laughing, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. “Stop, you’re going to get us kicked out!” you said, though your laughter made it clear you didn’t mean it.

“You’re the one who started it,” he teased, his grin wide and unrestrained.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a statue of a cherub with a particularly mischievous expression. Spencer tilted his head. “This one’s definitely plotting something. Probably planning to steal cookies from the other cherubs.”

You wiped a tear from your eyes, still laughing. “You’re too good at this. Have you been secretly practicing?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

As they continued exploring, their laughter echoed softly through the empty halls, their joy filling the quiet space. For a little while, they let themselves be kids again—carefree, silly, and completely immersed in the moment.

Spencer, usually so reserved and composed, felt freer than he had in years. And you, watching him let loose, felt your heart swell with happiness. It wasn’t just about the art or the laughter—it was about being together, sharing a moment that was uniquely theirs.

When they finally paused to catch their breath, leaning against a wall in between fits of giggles, Spencer looked at you with a soft smile. “This might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a museum.”

You grinned, your eyes shining. “I told you, you just needed the right partner in crime.”

He nodded, his expression warm. “I think I found them.”

And with that, they set off again, hand in hand, ready to see what other treasures—and laughs—the museum had to offer.

As they wandered back toward the grand central hall of the museum, the playful energy between them began to settle into something softer, quieter. The warm lighting of the space casts a golden glow over the room, highlighting the details of the sculptures and paintings around them. You paused by a large marble statue of a couple intertwined in an eternal embrace, your gaze lingering on the delicate way the sculptor had captured the curve of their hands and the tilt of their heads.

Spencer stopped beside you, his eyes following yours to the statue. He said nothing, but the air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The laughter from earlier seemed to hang in the distance, replaced by a gentle stillness.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression soft, your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Spencer’s gaze flickered from the statue to you, his heart stuttering as he caught the way the golden light played on your features.

Neityour of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Spencer’s hand reached out, slow and hesitant, his fingertips brushing against yours. The touch was featyour-light, but it sent a ripple through both of them, grounding them in the moment.

Your eyes searched his, questioning, yet trusting. He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his face hovered close to yours. The world around them seemed to blur, the art and the quiet fading into the background as the only thing that mattered was him—his eyes, his presence, the warmth of him so close.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. You gave him the faintest nod, your lips curving into a soft, encouraging smile.

It was painfully slow, the kind of moment that stretched on forever, but neither of them rushed it. Their foreheads brushed first, a tentative, intimate touch that sent shivers down your spine. His nose bumped yours lightly, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

And then, finally, achingly, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, and unhurried, a perfect balance of tenderness and curiosity. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished You leaned into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself as your heart soared.

Time seemed to stop entirely. There was no overthinking, no second-guessing—just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

When they finally pulled back, their faces still close, neither of them spoke right away. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “That felt… right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It did,” he agreed, his voice equally quiet.

And as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the museum, they both knew they’d just shared a moment they’d carry with them forever.

Hand in hand, they made their way back toward the main entrance of the museum, their fingers still entwined as they shared quiet smiles and the lingering warmth of the kiss. The halls, now empty of their playful laughter, seemed to hum with the remnants of the night’s magic, a soft kind of peace wrapping around them.

When they reached the front, they were met by Jacob, who was standing by the gift shop, a welcoming grin on his face.

“Did you two enjoy the private tour?” he asked, clearly amused by the soft glow in their expressions.

“It was perfect,” You replied, your voice light with contentment. “We couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

Spencer gave Jacob a small nod of thanks, and they made their way toward the gift shop. Of course, you, ever the curious soul, immediately started scanning the shelves, your eyes lighting up as you spotted a section of artist books and unique prints.

Spencer stood back a little, letting you take it all in. It was clear from the way you were absorbed in the display that you were in your element. Your fingers traced the spines of the books, your eyes lingering on the vibrant art, the words, and the stories behind them. It was a rare thing to see you so lost in admiration, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, appreciating the way you connected with the world through art.

You picked up one of the books, flipping it open to the first page. “Spence,” you called softly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “Which artist was it who made that sculpture of the two women?”

Spencer walked over to you, his gaze following yours to the shelf where the artist’s work was displayed. He didn’t need to think twice. “Julie Rrap,” he replied.

You nodded, your fingers brushing the cover of the book titled Body Double. You seemed almost hesitant at first, as if deciding whether or not to pick it up. But then, with a quiet sense of reverence, you carefully opened the book and placed it in your hands, holding it close to your chest for a moment before glancing back at Spencer.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. There was something in your eyes—something that said this moment meant more to you than you could express.

Spencer smiled warmly, his heart swelling a little. “I’m glad you like it.”

You ran your thumb along the edges of the book, your gaze still soft as you flipped through the pages, your eyes drinking in the art and the words. It was as if the world had slowed down again, and they were both wrapped in the quiet, intimate moment of shared appreciation.

“I think I’m going to get this,” you said, your voice thoughtful, almost to yourself. “It’s… I don’t know. It feels important.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze still on you as you carefully placed the book in your arms, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s yours. You deserve it.”

Spencer reached into his pocket as they approached the counter, his hand finding yours once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He placed the book and a few other items you had picked out onto the counter. Jacob, who had been standing nearby, gave them both a knowing smile as he rang up the items.

“You two seem like you had a good time,” Jacob said, his tone light and friendly.

Spencer smiled, pulling out his wallet. “It was a perfect night, thanks to you.”

You turned to Jacob with a grateful expression, your eyes bright. “Thank you for letting us stay after hours. It really made the evening special.”

Jacob nodded, giving you a small wink. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed it. You two have a good rest of the night.”

After Spencer finished paying, he gathered the items and handed them to you, who accepted them with a soft smile. “Thanks again,” you said, your voice warm.

With a final wave to Jacob, they left the gift shop and stepped into the cool night air. The city was quieter now, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As they walked toward Spencer’s apartment, the evening felt like a perfect bookend to a day full of laughter, art, and unexpected moments of connection.

Spencer, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, pulled you closer as they walked. “So, what do you think? A quiet night in to wrap things up?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

You smiled, your eyes glinting with excitement. “Sounds perfect.”

They continued down the sidewalk, their footsteps in sync, the world around them fading away as they looked forward to whatever came next—together.

thank you for reading!

please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

part two!

masterlist!

[ao3commentoftheday]

This really connected with a group of people, and I'm glad to see that. But I also think that a lot of people stopped reading the middle stack when they saw the word "research"

I don't research for the kinds of stories I prefer to tell, but I still need that middle stack. That stack is where I'm deciding what happens next in a chapter. It's where I'm choosing which point of view will best get my point across. It's where I'm figuring out what tone of voice or expression a character has when they're saying a particular line. It's when I decide that one or more of those decisions wasn't the right one and I need to cut that part out and try it again.

Mostly, the middle stack for me looks like daydreaming because I write my stories in my head a million times before I ever type them out.

The point of the graphic wasn't to focus in on any particular activity you do. I was trying to capture all of the thinking you need to do, in a million different ways, in order to get from that cool idea to a finished product that does what you want it to do.

The middle stack is whatever process you use to get from idea to story. For some stories, that process is a hundred books high. For others it's only ten pages - but it's never nothing. The middle part is where the writing part occurs.

memes are fun and relatable and all that, but don't let them discourage you. all of that stuff that doesn't make it into the final product is part of how the final product gets made

[elryuse]

jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

[gingerteafairy]

𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒑 (𝒅𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒘𝒔𝒌𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Dave can't stop staring

tags n warnings: suggestive fluff, boob kink, est. relationship. word count: 463

Dave simply couldn’t stop staring. It was as if there was some sort of super glue between his eyes and your neckline. In his defense, it wasn’t entirely his fault. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away or focus on anything else. It was his favorite part of you.

Obviously he had others. He absolutely loved you from head to toes. You were perfect to him. He couldn't even understand how someone so perfect like you could love him back.

If he could rank his favorite things about you, your personality would undoubtedly take first place, your eyes second, and your hair third. But that particular part held a special place in his heart. And, honestly, it was kind of a pun.

“Can you believe that?” Your voice jolted him out of his trance, and he quickly wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, nodding frantically.

“Yeah, pfff. Totally. Absolutely agree,” he stammered, laughing awkwardly as if trying to cover up his obvious distraction. His hand shot up to his face, covering his mouth in a vain attempt to look composed.

“Uh-huh…” You raised an eyebrow, your expression skeptical, not entirely convinced by his sudden enthusiasm for how lightning is formed by electrical discharges. “Anyway… as I was saying, the ice crystals…”

And just like that, Dave’s eyes drifted back to that place he found so captivating. It wasn’t his fault it looked so… warm. Like the coziest, most inviting pillow. His favorite pillow, to be precise. If it were possible to choose a way to die, it would be suffocated in the cleavage of your breast, squeezing his face. You always looked so beautiful wearing that tank top with your necklace right there, hanging beautifully on his favorite spot.

“Dave.” Your voice cut through his daydreams, and his head snapped up. He blinked, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his brain. “My eyes are up here.” You laughed softly, fully aware of where his focus had been the entire time. Dave Lizewski might be a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.

“Right…” He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks glowing crimson. “But, uh, I was looking at you. They’re… they’re part of you, aren’t they?”

Your laugh came out in a bright burst, and your body swayed with the movement. Dave’s lips curled into a goofy grin, his chest tightening at how effortlessly charming you were, catching how your boobs perked with your laughing. This time, he managed to keep his focus on your eyes—well, mostly. Occasionally, his gaze slipped a little lower, but he always brought it back.

He was trying to be strong. After all, strength was one of Kick-Ass’s defining traits, wasn’t it?

taglist: @courta13

[midnite-c6]

Watching the daily dose of sunshine makes me think of a au, where nam-gyu goes to rehab and his main doctor is timid!reader, like he’s always teasing you for being so shy and everything!!

I LOVE YOU. SO SO MUCH. sorry guys i gotta confess, i know doctor x patient is weird esp if its IN a mental hospital, but if i was kim seowan's doctor in ddos i would've FOLDED so fast (sorry).

patient!nam-gyu x doctor!reader <3 warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, manipulation (please read at your own risk!!)(kind of a ddos au!!)

*⁠.⁠✧ : he SCARED you so much during the games, how he was killing people left and right (esp during lights out), how he was practically one of the strongest people there. he made you feel incredibly small, he'd constantly mock you, constantly humiliate and embarrass you because you were just. so. quiet! luckily for you, and for him i guess, player 456 successfully stopped the games half-way thru leaving some of the players to stay alive.

for some reason, to everyone's surprise, he'd try to change for the better. as soon as he got that 400 million something won distributed among all the other players, he'd go to some nice rehab center, he was traumatized, definitely. he'd wait patiently for his doctor to prescribe him some shit since he was definitely on the brink of overdosing himself during the games, but when he looks up to see your face, he flinches, and every self-development in his body crumbles as he grinned widely.

"you?" you gasp, your heart dropped from seeing him again. it was like you were the one who needed therapy right this moment. "what are you d- ahem, good afternoon, sir." you'd carefully sit down on the other side of the desk. "it's really a small world." he plops his arms on the table, resting his head in his arm as he gives you the snarkiest smile. "so? you're a doctor..? you sighed, trying to ignore him, ".. it says here in your file that-" "shhhh." he shushed, placing his finger atop your lips. you are now thankful for the desk between the two of you since he's already uncomfortably close to you now. "miss, are you capable of making me feel better?" he'd ask in a voice and expression you'd truly feel bad for, if it just was anybody else doing it. "..you barely did anything during the games, how could you save me?" he tilts his head. you'd only do what you were most familiar of doing, avoiding his gaze and looking down, you weren't like this with any other patients who'd come to you, but nam-gyu truly traumatized your very being.

"tsk." he'd grab your chin to look up at him. "look me in the eye, doctors should be social. right, miss?" your heart would beat faster, his tone sounding just like the ones he'd use during your first encounter. he'd give you that same look of terror, as if trying to make you fear him, which infact works, and you'd sit there staring at him with a big frown! he only laughs after a couple of seconds, "jeez, looks like you need a doctor for your own." his laugh had broken you from that distracted trance, you were a doctor for christ's sake!! "sir, you've confessed into taking alot of substances during the past month, leading to a potential overdose, i'd advise you to stay here to sober up." you say straightforwardly before he could respond anything else. he'd tuck his long black hair in behind his ears and hum, "that was so fucking cute. you being professional and all that.."

---

he did stay, as it was advised by the one and only you, you'd given him check-ups from time to time and you'd see him with the other patients, but one particular day, he'd occasionally crashout, making you keep an eye on him more frequently. he'd call for you from his bed..and as to not lose your job, you'd come in an instant. seeing him laid down, in his hospital gown,. "miss. c'mere.. please." he whined, a 180 of his own character. "yes? sir, how are you feeling..?" he'd reach out to cup your face, looking into your eyes. "i just can't seem to forget... i've watched so many deaths, right infront of my eyes.. " you nod, listening intently, for a brief second you'd feel your utmost sympathy towards him. "and i was gonna get something like ketamine to forget about it again." - he'd cut you off before you could scold him: "..but, i know i'm here to become sober, so.. i wanna know.. what else are you good for, miss?" like a muscle memory, you know what to answer, "obviously-" but he'd cut you off AGAIN. "..and i don't want those stupid medicine shit." he'd pull you in closer to him, where you could feel his breath tickling your face. "c'mon, you were there too, don't you want to forget, aswell ..?" he'd place a soft peck on your lips, letting it linger before lightly biting your lower lip. why didn't you pull away? that's really the big question. why didn't you? you wanted to.. but.. you know very well about his crashouts.. or how he'd act out.. but in these moments you'd find out you're the worst doctor ever.

nsfw below!!-> (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

he'd use up all his remaining strength to pull you ontop of him, letting out a low groan of relief. he'd now keep a tight grip on your hips, knowing that you'd probably gain some consciousness right about now.. but you don't.. you're stupid. you're a fool to his tactics. "oh wow..." his hands would slowly explore your body, with light feather touches. and you'd only stare at him in shock, wondering why you've let him break that patient and doctor relationship dynamic, "fuck. you're even cuter like this." he'd press your body against his, nothing was covering him underneath that hospital gown, so you could already very much feel his everything. to his surprise, he'd see your face contort from the pleasure, whatever's happening right now is just as fucked up as him. "hmm, you like that?" he'd moan out loud, "it's working on me," he'd tore apart your silly pencil skirt, why were you wearing that as a doctor, anyway? his thumb pressing down on your clothed clit. he'd push your panties to the side, making your juices drip on his hospital gown. "let me feel you for real, miss."

it didn't take long, he was so whiny about it too! you could see him biting his lower lip as you fully take in his dick. "miss.. god, i need you." you swear you were gaining control over him, hearing him whimper so submissively, but he knows that wasn't the case, his little whines were so deceiving. you're grinding on your patient's dick right now, but every request of a patient must be returned! and this was his request.. "haah. such a good girl." he'd hold you down against him, "you'd do anything to save your patients won't you? what a hero." feeling your cunt throb for that was crazy, he thought you were crazy.

both of your pleasure-filled moans were echoing inside the room, you'd thank god not one of his nurses would come in here. at such an unfortunate time. his breathy moans were driving you crazy! "fuck.!" he'd finally get to coat your insides with his nut, how he'd make you roll your hips faster to chase out his high, you were much more sensitive than him anyway. "i think.. you've cured me.." he looks right into your eyes so calmly, not matching your exhausted moans. "bet whoever's watching those cctv cameras is jerking it right now." he snickers, making you look up at the camera, oh shit. you'd forgotten some patients need to be watched 24/7. "your moans were so cute, afterall, miss."

guys i NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM URHGNS one of my fav imagines everrr i love jaewon sm i love SEOWAN sm and ik he was depressed in that kdrama but i genuinely would let him do anything to me bye. . . 😭 hes so whiny here. i might post part 3 of that one thanos fic, nam-gyu included !! (spoils). someone request myunggi guys!!🥺

[thinkingaboutbees]

Hi, I'm the OP of this thread on Bluesky. I thought I'd come on here and upload some of the analysis I've done in later-additions to this thread, which weren't online when Tumblr-OP @carucath made this post, as well as a recent interaction with Rhianna Pratchett, all of which I think are useful bits of contextual info/expansion. I've seen a few people in the notes/reblogs saying things about the fan-desire to rush to defend their faves etc., and kind of discounting my analysis because of that. While I agree that fandom spaces absolutely do have a huge problem with that, and that retrospectively reading Neil Gaiman's work looking for 'signs' that he was a piece of shit the whole time isn't actually constructive/doesn't really add anything useful to the discourse, my intent with this thread wasn't to try to absolve PTerry or put distance between him and Gaiman (though I can see how it reads that way). I'm more interested in looking at how 'known' people like Gaiman move within fandom spaces, as well as how our parasocial relationships with public figures, and the cult of personality which some people build up around them, can often help to protect them or even enable their behaviour (worth remembering that a number of the women Gaiman assaulted/abused have talked about being fans of his work, or meeting him through fandom spaces, or, even when not fans of his work as in the case of Scarlett, still being a bit over-awed by his fame and reputation). I suspect that Gaiman's embellishment of his relationship with PTerry helped to build up his persona in SF/Fantasy fandom spaces after Pratchett's death, contributing to his personal Cult of Personality and fandom parasocial relationships with him. Over the last 5 years especially, Gaiman has had a pretty meteoric rise in the public eye outside of online SF/Fantasy fandom spaces & conventions. In particular a number of his works have been adapted for TV across various large streaming-platforms following the success of Good Omens, with high-profile names attached to them, and large marketing campaigns. By positioning his Good Omens adaptation as 'Terry's dying wish' of him, Gaiman has gained a lot of attention for it and for his other work, increased his own public standing, and thus directly profited off of Pratchett's legacy and the public perception that the two were close friends. (Obviously GO was adapted with the support of Rhianna & Rob, but, as you'll see in these other threads, we probably should think of it as being primarily a PTerry novel, with some minor input from Gaiman). Some personal context: I hold two degrees in English literature (both with Firsts, or a 3.7-4.0 GPA for the Americans on this thread), as well as a research-Masters degree in Creative Writing (with a high 2.1, because I developed a chronic illness which made me bedbound for 6 months of that degree lmao). I have a long-standing personal and academic interest in both Gaiman and Pratchett's work, and have written multiple essays on Terry Pratchett's style & his approach to genre, including some for my Masters degree. I generally stay out of fandom spaces these days, and these threads have sprung out of my own prior research and academic work. While I'm yet to seek a PhD, I have previously been employed by the English Literature department of the main university in my city, where I was the tutor for one of their undergraduate courses (this means I was responsible for organising and running the weekly group tutorials/workshops which make up the other contact-hours for students outside of lectures, providing one-on-one support and feedback for students who asked for extra guidance but didn't feel it was complex enough to go to the head lecturer, and for marking student-essays). I do eventually hope to go in to academia/lecturing, but right now am taking a few years off from studying since finishing my Masters to pay off some of my student loan debt, get my health back on track, and to focus on my creative practice and writing career.

There was an interesting thread on Bluesky dissecting Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's relationship

TL:DR - It seems like Gaiman has been exaggerating the level of closeness between them for YEARS

[tragedy-machine]

“Edwin, do you ever think about… what it’d be like if we went to school together?”

“I cannot say that I do, Charles.”

“I do, sometimes. About how life would be like if we were both alive and attending St. Hilarion right now.”

“I assume your vision does not include any of our classmates being killers?”

“Nah, ‘course not. Times are different now, aren’t they? So… what do you think?”

“Well, you would be a star of the cricket team, no doubt. And you can certainly bounce a ball without letting it fall for a very long period of time, so maybe a football star, as well.”

“I don’t know about being a star, but– cheers.”

“Of course. Indeed, given your natural charisma, one might readily surmise that people would be most inclined to gather about you. If they possessed any sense whatsoever, your classmates should eagerly seek to make your acquaintance. You would graciously give everyone the time of day, much as you do with our clients, and they would be endlessly charmed by you. ”

“Now you’re really overdoing it, mate. What about you?”

“Me? Oh. I would… greatly delight in the study of languages. I have heard it said that schools nowadays offer a wider array of them within their curriculum. Literature, too, holds a special allure for me; indeed, I might even volunteer my services in the school library, simply for the opportunity to spend more time there or attend a study club. Science has also been a source of fascination for me—chemistry in particular, I could well imagine devoting a lot of time to it.”

“Mhmm, go on.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“What of your friends?”

“I have not considered– perhaps other members of the literature club? Our recent adventure in the States have shown me that although people are decidedly still not my forte, it is possible for me to make acquaintances with them if they share my interests. If they are not dreadfully insufferable, that is to say.”

“And…?”

“And?”

“C’mon, how do we meet?”

“Oh. Realistically, I do not think our paths would cross. You would have more than enough friends interested in sports and music and other activities you enjoy, and I would never set foot near a gymnasium or a music room. We are an unlikely pair, after all.”

“...what? You don’t think we’d be friends if we were at school together?”

“I merely mean to say— as I have mentioned— with a sufficient company of good and worthy friends around you, you would have little cause to seek me out at school, particularly as we would be spending our time entirely differently.”

“Edwin, that’s horrible. A load of tosh, if I’ve ever heard one. I refuse to believe that. We could meet in class, or– maybe I’d have trouble with English, it’s never been my favorite, could never get my letters correct, could I? And since you’re so good at it, you’d offer to tutor me.”

“You believe I would offer?”

“‘Course, you’re proper kind like that, aren’t you? Or I’d ask you and you wouldn’t be able to say no to me.”

“So certain I would not be, even right from the beginning?”

“Isn’t that how our first meeting went?”

“...touché. You can be quite persistent. However, that does not mean you would have to befriend the boy who tutors you.”

“I liked you right when I met you, didn’t I? It’d be the same.” 

“You are awfully confident regarding the matter.”

“Yeah, mate. Think about it, we may be an unlikely duo, but against all odds, we met. We stayed together. And will stay together. We’d find each other in every universe, just like we had in this one.”

“...who is the one ‘overdoing it’ now?”

“Come off it, mate! But just think about it, we’d go to uni together, you’d study– English or, or Law, you’d make a great lawyer, you know, and I– I don’t know, I’d study something too, and we’d live together.”

“Would we start a detective agency together as well?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Alive Boy Detectives does not have the same ring to it. Neither does Alive Men Detectives.”

“We’d figure something out.”

[dj-of-the-coven]

“Unable to slot Jews into a clearly defined role within their political agenda, most of the left tended historically to regard them with considerable ambivalence, and, in some cases, extreme hostility. While supporting universal human rights, the left never saw antisemitism as a primary concern. Instead, it was a secondary issue (if an issue at all) that would be resolved as a side effect of the general social liberation that the left was pursuing. Intrinsic to this approach is the view that Jewish particularity is, in itself, a defect to be remedied through assimilation and disappearance. […] Any attempt by Jews to make the struggle against antisemitism into a separate problem deserving of the same passion devoted to other progressive causes was rejected as a diversion from the main issues that animate the left.”

- The New Antisemitism, Shalom Lappin

On Antisemitism: An Open Plea.

Over the course of 2024, I was physically assaulted for being a Jew three times: once by a man waiting outside the JCC, and twice while working the desk at an anarchist bookstore.

All three of these attacks were done by men, all almost immediately after identifying me as a Jew. One of my assaulters, a white man with scruffy facial hair and a bucket hat, clearly identified as some kind of Christian—he wore three cross necklaces and a blue shirt with the Virgin Mary on the front. One man was black, wearing pressed slacks and dark leather dress shoes. One man was college-aged, white, wearing a band hoodie and jeans. Two of the encounters were one-off incidents, whereas the Christian man searched for me multiple times at the bookstore while I was not present. I am a fairly large person, and one with a lot of combat training, so I was lucky that none of these incidents resulted in the worst possible outcomes for an early-20s woman confronted alone after dark. Many people are not so lucky when they are put in my place. Particularly Jewish women.

And as a quick aside, people don’t tend to take the Jewish part of “Jewish woman” seriously. When I add this comment to the story, a lot of people scoff. I can somewhat understand why; despite the curls, if you were to look at me, you might think, “How did they even know you were Jewish?”. For two of these men (the ones who didn’t see me coming out of the Jewish Community Center), the answer is fairly simple. When they heard my name, they paused and asked. I don’t like to assume the worst in people, and thus I confirmed, though in the time since I have gotten much sparser with revealing that information to strangers. This is how I know they were attacking me for that reason. When you reveal yourself to be a Jew, or are recognized against the odds, things can often become unsavory quickly.

Any leftist worth their salt would call these attacks against me unconscionable—I doubt that most would be willing to defend this behavior—but make no mistake. None of the men who attacked me were acting out some kind of exception to a rule, nor was I particularly surprised that these incidents all occurred in or around spaces that should be safe for Jews. This is the reality that the Jewish people live in. Wherever we are, we can expect a roughly equal reaction from the population, left wing or right wing, and the largest point of difference between the two is whether they will call you “Zio” or “Kike” before grabbing you by the collar.

I was attacked only three times last year. Yet, countless more times I have watched the people in my communities ignore the rhetoric that led to these attacks, wave them off as radicals, as zealots unrepresentative of their peers, and continue to live their lives as if these incidents don’t happen regularly.

This is a major problem on the left.

Yes—the left.

The American right-wing is axiomatically predisposed to this type of behavior. If they aren’t the ones committingthe hate crimes, then they are often the ones most comforted by them, affirmed that their goal of a pure-white America is one step closer to being attained. It’s never surprising for a Jew to encounter a conservative with just one or two comments to make about us being “good with money”, “owning the banks”, “controlling the media”, and other examples of kindergarten-level political opinions. On the other hand, one wouldn’t automatically assume that a leftist would hold such opinions. Being opposed to race-based and religion-based discrimination, it would be a bit counter-intuitive for leftists to say such things about Jews. Wouldn’t it?

You would be surprised.

If there’s anything that the last year has taught me, it’s that the left is much more susceptible to antisemitism than ever previously understood, despite its long history within progressive social movements. So long as you stipulate “Israeli” and/or “Zionist” before saying the word “Jews”, any and all manner of violent hate speech can be considered revolutionary sentiment: I have seen fellow leftists call Jews, not just "Zionists", inhuman, bloodthirsty, real-life monsters, scum, vermin, pollutants; capitalist pigs and agents of genocide; a fake people with a fake identity and a fake claim to safety and dignity. And pointing this out will net you with a number of other responses, questions of whether you support the actions of the Israeli government, as if the point of the discussion was ever about that and not about the antisemitism being lobbed at you in broad daylight. Talks of antisemitism are always shafted into talks about Israel regardless of where in the diaspora you happen to be. Those of us who are staunch leftists, who want nothing but peace and solidarity with Arabs and Muslims—which is a majority of Jews—are pressured into remaining silent about our worsening mental health and safety for the sake of the cause. We’re told to speak later, when the most important voices have spoken first: every ethnic, gender, and sexuality minority first, then maybe the Jews. It was only recently that I realized this mythical “later” will never come.

Largely, Jews just want peace. Jews want safety. Jews want recognition of our suffering, regardless of the actions of a government that might not even be ours, depending on who you’re talking to—but Israeli Jews deserve these things as well. There is nothing wrong with criticizing the Israeli government, but when will goyische leftists realize that Israel’s government, like all governments, is not a true representation of its people? When will goyim realize that it’s not okay to dehumanize Jews, no matter what their political opinion is? When will they finally wake up embarrassed by their own behavior, realizing that my Jewish peers, my cousins, my extended family, my community—all of us are just people who are entitled to the same respect and empathy as any ethnic group in the world? Will they ever learn to recognize their own bigotry? Will they ever see the world from a pair of Jewish eyes?

The answer is, for all intents and purposes, no. But I don’t want to stop trying just because it feels hopeless.

If you are a leftist goy and you’re still reading this, I would like to ask of you only one thing: stop talking and start listening. If you don’t know anything about Jewish history, don’t talk about it. If you know less than four Jewish people, and you keep them at an arm’s length in case they turn out to be “evil baby-killers”, then you shouldn’t mention your Jewish friends. If you believe only Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews count as “real Jews”, you shouldn’t be weighing in on which Jews count as white. If you couldn’t name any Jewish holiday besides Chanukah, you shouldn’t bother to call yourself educated on my people and our traditions. If you believe that the Jewish people, alone among all peoples, deserve to be oppressed for the crimes of a vocal few, then frankly you should not consider yourself a human rights activist at all.

If you are a Jew, all I have to say to you is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to speak up on your behalf; on behalf of all of us. I’m so sorry that everyone is acting like this is fine. I’m sorry that our lives have been shrinking ever-smaller as we’ve been made unsafe in queer spaces, disabled spaces, online communities and real-life ones, spaces that should belong to everyone. I wish I could fix your pain. I hope you’ll accept my attempt to chip away at it.

This is not the first time a Jew has come forward to speak about this, but I hope that adding my voice to the conversation will help at least one more person realize that what has happened to us is wrong. There is no world in which the collective punishment of an entire ethnic group is justified. No matter what Israel has done, no matter what tragedies and injustices have been inflicted on Palestinians by the IDF, there is no world in which this mass-scale vilification of Jews can be called real justice. There is no world in which these means justify the ends. And what ends do you even want to this? For all Israelis to blow up and die? For all Jews to stop practicing our faith? Or do you want the long-proposed answer to the Jewish question—the total annihilation of all Jews from the planet Earth?

Of course not. But if you don’t make an effort to educate yourself on antisemitism, then the answer to that question will make itself known in your mind, and in your heart, before you even know it. There is no genetic difference between you and a Nazi.

[barrenclan]

do you think asphodelshine would’ve liked eberhart ?

I think everyone would like Eberhart. She's very cool. Asphodelshine in particular probably would've been kind of jealous of her at first, but warmed up eventually. I think they would arm wrestle, or whatever the cat equivalent is.

She's very fast and athletic, and has a reputation for being able to escape any situation and do cool parkour moves around the city. One time when she was racing against some other cats she tried to jump through a window she didn't realize was closed and slammed her face into it. It was the funniest shit anyone had ever seen.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Have a little good news to start the week. One little butterfly may not seem like a big deal, but every species we manage to save means better biodiversity and a healthier ecosystem overall. Moreover, there is something profound in knowing that you've helped to protect a unique evolutionary lineage that has fluttered on for thousands of years, and which once lost would be gone forever.

I know the world can feel overwhelming at times, with extinctions happening at a much higher rate than normal, ecosystems worldwide in peril, and headlines focusing primarily on the negative. But remember that there are also so, so many people working every day--right now, in fact--to protect these most precious, wonderful beings and their homes that we share this planet with. The above story is just one of thousands, most of which never hit the news cycle, but which are still having a positive impact quietly, behind the scenes.

I think it's an important thing to remember in these days. I know this particular Gandalf quote only came from the Hobbit movies, not the book, but I still think it's appropriate here: "It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love." And what else motivates someone to save a tiny butterfly, but an intense love for the natural world?

[cookiekissers]

I got an idea that would be hilarious! Royal margarine x a reader who is so sweet yet oblivious...like they'd mistake flirting as compliments, gestures of flirting as kindness, 'accidents' such as tripping and pinning y/n against a wall as legit accidents...even checking his wrist to see if they're OK.

Just all the way to the point where royal margarine has to be as blunt as possible...like to the point of him shaking y/n and being like 'I AM TRYING TO FLIRT WITH YOU! NOTICE THE HINT! I LOVE YOU! NOTICE ME!!!'

can be hcs or a story...heads up, might send a future request of shadow milk with the same reader to see how he would do the snap of 'ok subtlety clearly isn't working, I have to be as blunt as possible!'

On My Knees [Royal Margarine Cookie x Oblivious Reader]

[oneshot] [fluff]

Royal Margarine Cookie was at the end of his rope. With his face in a mug of ale, he lamented all his woes to his dragon companion, Buttercream.

"And then, I gave Y/N Cookie my most dashing smile, and they didn't even notice!" He complained. Royal Margarine Cookie pouted and leaned against Buttercream's side as the dragon tilted their head in confusion at him. "Oh, Buttercream, how can such a cute Cookie be so oblivious?" He mumbled. "Do I have to get down on my knees and beg?!" Royal Margarine Cookie shouted to no one in particular. He tossed his wooden mug in frustration out of the stables, and it bounced off the cinnamon cobblestone streets, sliding to a halt at the feet of another Cookie.

Royal Margarine Cookie sighed heavily and let his head hang in defeat. Buttercream turned their attention to an approaching Cookie, they urgently nudged their drunk rider with their snout to get his attention, but Royal Margarine glumly swatted the dragon away. At the sound of footsteps, Royal Margarine Cookie lifted his head sadly and nearly jumped out of his dough at the sight of you staring at him curiously.

"Royal Margarine Cookie? What are you doing?" You asked in confusion.

"Y/N Cookie?!" Royal Margarine shouted in surprise. In his tipsy state, the dragon rider struggled to rise to his feet gracefully.

Concerned that he might stumble and hurt himself, you reached out a hand to steady him. Royal Margarine Cookie tried to regain his composure. He quickly smoothed back his pale blonde hair with his butter knife and flashed you a charming grin. Unable to contain yourself, you laughed, which caused Royal Margarine Cookie's expression to shift to one of confusion.

“W-What's so funny? Ahem, what are you doing out so late? It's not safe to be out alone at night.” Royal Margarine Cookie sputtered.

It was charming in a strange way. Seeing the charismatic dragon rider covered in hay while babbling to his dragon. You gingerly picked a piece of straw from his hair and smiled.

"I always like to take night-time walks." You explained. Royal Margarine Cookie gawked at you, his cheeks flushed. You picked another dry stalk from his collar and flicked it away.

Royal Margarine Cookie quickly grasped your hand.

"You're right! It's such a beautiful night, Y/N Cookie. So why don't you and I take a romantic flight on Buttercream, hm?" He purred. You blinked and furrowed your brows slightly in concern.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to fly while drunk, Royal Margarine Cookie." You pointed out. "Why don't I walk you home?" You offered kindly.

Royal Margarine stared at you in disbelief as you gently tugged on his sleeve to get him to follow you.

You jumped as the dragon rider suddenly dropped to his knees and sobbed. Royal Margarine Cookie shuffled on his knees and wrapped his arms around your legs, nearly making you fall.

"Y/N COOKIE!!" He cried pitifully.

"R-Royal Margarine Cookie? What in the world has gotten into you?!" You shouted. Buttercream emerged from the alleyway, and you glanced up at the dragon for some kind of explanation, but they just watched silently.

"Y/N Cookie, please, notice me!" Royal Margarine Cookie blubbered. You tried to console the dragon rider awkwardly while he clung to your legs. You glanced around nervously.

"What? What do you mean?" You questioned in confusion.

"I LOVE YOU, Y/N COOKIE! I LOVE YOU, PLEASE PLEASE GO OUT WITH ME!! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" Royal Margarine Cookie exclaimed desperately. You stared in disbelief as the words registered. There's no way he meant that, he was completely drunk. Since when did Royal Margarine Cookie have a crush on you?

"You've had way too much to drink..." You muttered.

"No!! It's true, Y/N Cookie! I've loved you from the beginning! I've been flirting with you for months, and you haven't noticed! Why haven't you noticed!?" Royal Margarine Cookie shouted. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and drool stained your pants as you desperately tried to control his drunken grip on you. You glanced behind you in embarrassment to see if anyone else was seeing this, but thankfully the street was deserted.

"Don't you remember those flowers I brought you? I went to a very frightening part of the Dragon's Valley to pick those rare flowers just for you! I wouldn't do that for anyone else, Y/N Cookie! I love you!" Royal Margarine confessed.

Suddenly, everything clicked in your brain. All the letters of admiration on freshly picked bouquets of flowers, the flood of compliments, him buying you dinner so many times... you had thought he was just being nice. At the realization, your face turned red.

"IS THAT WHY YOU WERE ALWAYS ACTING SO WEIRD?!" You exclaimed bashfully. Royal Margarine Cookie gasped and looked up at you with teary eyes.

"You did notice!" He cried in relief. Royal Margarine Cookie desperately climbed up your frame until he could stand. He threw himself on you, making you stumble back as his arms wrapped around your neck, and he kissed you passionately. You froze at first, surprised by his sudden gesture, but then you melted into his embrace. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you returned his kiss with equal passion.

You broke away with a gasp, the taste of ale on your tongue.

"Y/N Cookie... please go out with me." Royal Margarine Cookie pleaded. Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt dizzy. You leaned against Royal Margarine Cookie and buried your face in his shoulder.

This could have happened a lot sooner if Royal Margarine had just been straightforward about his feelings from the beginning.

"Yes... I will." You replied shyly.

[avelera]

Weird little critique that is not of any particular fic but of a trend because it's soooo widespread, but it's sort of bizarre to me how many smut fics just brush over describing the actual moment of orgasm?

Like, even in fics where the whole point is tons of build up over pages and pages, they'll get to the actual climax and just be like "oh yeah, and he came, anyway" like... buried in the middle of a paragraph and it's like, wait, that was the part I was looking forward to?? Why would you skip over it so quickly?? We don't get any sensory details, no visual descriptions, nothing but checking off that it happened? Never mind how few actually bother to describe both partners in any kind of detail, even if one gets a description it often means the other doesn't.

I truly don't understand the reason behind this trend so, idk, I'm just throwing it out to the audience for this one as a rather baffled observation.

[christinaroseandrews]

Gods does this strike a chord.

So my family's first dog was a collie mix of some kind. Super smart. Had opinions. Looked like a fox. No really. 35lbs of sheer nanny dog energy. My parents got her literally the day after they got back from their honeymoon and a week before they moved from Chicago to Denver. (There's a story here but it's not relevant to the context of this post.) The thing you do need to know is that my parents got marred after knowing each other for less than 3 months so their were some personality conflicts that needed to be addressed. Unfortunately this often devolved into arguments and even screaming matches. Except this dog decided that yelling=barking, and if she wasn't allowed to bark at the mailman, then my parents couldn't yell/bark at each other. She got downright insistent about it. grumbling at them, trying to herd them into separate corners by nipping at their heels, or at least stop yelling. She was a canine marriage counselor.

And it worked.

My parents have been married for 56 years. Or as they put it... 55 great years and one not so good one (their first year of marriage). And it's thanks to that dog. Which both of my parents credit with saving their marriage. So in a very real way, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her.

This wasn't the only rule the dog made up.

The second that I know of was when my parents got their second dog, a puppy that had been a stray living on the streets for a few weeks. When that dog piddled in the house, as puppies are wont to do. the first dog looked at the new puppy, then looked at my parents as if to say "Are you doing to do something about this or do I have to do everything around here?" Apparently my parents didn't give her the answer she was looking for, because she had a conversation with the new puppy and that dog never piddled in the house again.

When I was born some years later, my parents were minorly worried about how the two dogs would react to me. This wasn't an idle concern. The stray puppy grew into a 130lb goliath, who unlike many dogs knew how big he was.

They needn't have been worried. The first dog once again made up rules for the family regarding me.

The first rule was for my parents/the dogs, I wasn't allowed to cry. So when I did, the first dog would get up from her new sleeping spot under my crib to go to my parents' room and get them up. This continued until the day she died. Nightmare? She'd go get my parents. Stubbed my toe? She'd go get my parents/caregiver. Got scared by something? You know the drill. She also directed the other dog to stay with me and provide comfort. One of my earliest memories is being in my crib and having the nose of a giant fuzzy dog stick itself between the bars and try to lick/nuzzle/comfort me.

It worked.

The second rule was for me. I could do pretty much anything I wanted to those dogs except for two things. I couldn't pull their tails and I couldn't ride them. Did that mean that I used the dogs as a moveable support while I was learning to walk? Yes. In particular, I would clasp the jowl/lip of the 130lb dog and toddle around the house like that. It also meant that both dogs were my pillow for when I wanted to take a nap on the floor. If I violated the rules, I'd get a growl or a yip first as warning. Then if I pushed it, which I rarely did, I got a nip. Not enough to draw blood or even do more get a feel of teeth, but it was enough to get my attention.

There are probably more rules I'm forgetting. That dog had a personality and I still miss her.

fun thing about herding and/or generally neurotic breeds: they are really good at following rules you have instituted, but they will also make their own Dog Rules they will follow stringently whether or not you like it