#i don't ever claim to be good at taking pictures of myself . for the record

[quinngefail]

Had to pull out the gay pride shirt for Saw II tonight..... If we're gonna be watching A Saw then I just have to dress for the occasion, dude

[pinkeoni]

The Great Jonathan Byers Conspiracy

(Or, Jonathan was framed and I'm going to prove it)

So I started a rewatch of the show and I'm on episode two of s1. I get to the part towards the end where Jonathan is taking photos of Nancy. So I think "Okay. This is the part where we see Jonathan take a photo of Nancy topless, right? We see him notice Nancy take her top off and then raise the camera to take another photo, right?"

But that's not what happened

The scene happens as follows. We see Jonathan snap a photo of Nancy— with her shirt on— before the scene cuts inside of Steve's room.

Nancy then removes her top. Nancy and Steve start making out and we cut back to Jonathan who lowers his camera.

This is the part where I expected Jonathan to lift his camera up and start taking more pictures. That's how I remember it happening. But no, we instead see Jonathan focus his attention back to the pool and snap a picture of Barb instead.

So what the hell? Am I being gaslit?

I remember so distinctly a moment where we see Jonathan consciously raise the camera to take another picture of her topless, and yet it's not there. I do still want to clarify however, that the topless photo of Nancy does still exist. We see it clearly in the following episode. So yes, Jonathan did still take a photo of Nancy topless, we just don't see him take it.

But according to a lot of people online, we did see it, the Duffer Brothers just removed it.

I remember hearing about this when it first cropped up, which was partially prompted by the Duffers joking to "George Lucas" Will's birthday in season 2, which they never ended up doing anyway. They also stated on Twitter that no scene had ever been digitally edited, and didn't plan to in the future.

So the Duffers must be lying, right? Otherwise why how would so many people remember seeing that scene? I guess there’s no way to be sure without a DVD or Blu-Ray of the show.

But wait, I have a DVD of season one. I got it for Christmas! But I’m staying at my parents house and I don’t feel like driving three hours just to prove a point. I guess all is lost for the moment.

Unless…

It was at this part of my spiraling that I sent a crazed two minute voice memo at 11:00 at night to my roommate and good friend @lemonsoured filling him in on my conspiracy, and then leaving instructions to go downstairs, locate my season one DVD on the living room shelf, put the DVD into my PS4, go to the end of episode two and take a phone recording of the scene in question.

And lo and behold, the scene of Jonathan taking pictures of Nancy, exactly as it appears on Netflix.

So I am aware that in the video there isn’t much to indicate that this is in fact a recording of the DVD and not a recording of the Netflix version, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. But still, ask any DVD or Blu-Ray owner for what is on their disk, and I can garuntee that they’ll all give the same answer.

Because the shot of Jonathan taking the photo of Nancy never existed. The Duffers aren’t lying. The masses collectively lied to themeselves.

But how did this happen? How did a massive audience full of people, including myself, come to believe that there was a moment of Jonathan consciously taking that photo?

I’ll tell you why. It was a psyop to defame character!

Usually when a new season of Stranger Things rolls around, there comes the flow of comments on twitter saying “Hey, remember when Jonathan took a photo of Nancy changing and now she’s in a relationship with him?” which is usually done in the name of trying to bring down Jonathan and build up Steve.

And I’m not doing this to try to claim that Jonathan is a completely innocent baby who actually did nothing wrong. After all, the topless photo does still exist and as @notmybabies pointed out in the replies of one of posts, Jonathan chose to go through the process of developing it anyway. So he’s not completely off the hook. If the Duffers did want to eradicate Jonathan’s faults, then they would have digitally edited the topless Nancy photo to a different one, something that would have been possible.

But you ever notice how it’s always “Jonathan is a creep” and never “Steve called Nancy a slut and Jonathan a queer?”

I adore Steve, but what I’m trying to see is people seem to try and diminish the depth and complications of both of these characters, and it usually results in fans making Jonathan out to be a sex depraved pervert who has always had it out for Nancy, while Steve is their angel who could do no wrong. Steve couldn’t have had a good redemption arc if there wasn’t a place for him to grow from!

They never want to acknowledge that Jonathan was a lonely kid who made a bad mistake which he apologized for while looking for his brother and that Steve was a different person before he decided to change. Eliminating these character’s depths is eliminating what makes them interesting characters! Neither are completely pure and neither are completely evil!!

So in conclusion:

[nineteenthmay]

Something that bothers me about a lot of Dair stans and is part of the reason why I don't like Dair as much (even though apart from the fandom I realized on rewatch Dan and his ships are more problematic than I thought) is how they co-otp Serena's abuse from Chuck and pretend to care about the issue and her when they generally don't care as much or are ignorant but ignore how emotionally abusive Dan was to her by verbally degrading her, especially later, and will hate on her outside of that and act like the abuser was all her and exaggerate how good he is cause he comes off better than Chuck. They also lie so much about canon that I've had to distance myself to keep brain cells. Like for instance they often claim Serena in 6x4 said Dan enjoyed being part of the sex tape even though she used present tense and was talking about him enjoying writing slanderous articles about close ones:

S: Wow, I can't believe I ever loved someone who could write such awful things about his friends and family.

D: Right, 'cause you were thinking about my feelings when you made that sex tape.

S: You know what? The worst part is you actually seem to be enjoying it.

They also ignore that Dan committed a sex crime by posting a picture of Serena's tits being visible when they were 15 and the few that do acknowledge claim he can't be blamed for it cause it's OOC for his character and "Gossip Girl reveal" was a last minute decision while blaming Serena for the sex tape which can easily be argued as OOC, which I believe to be less in character than Dan. That logic is faulty to me cause Dan slept with a girl that he knew roofied her multiple times while already drunk and tried to have an adult force himself on her and record a sex tape that she tried to blackmail her over. Yeah after Serena found out they had sex at NYU she told Dan she was ok as long as he's happy and keeping her at a distance cause Georgie had issues but he got his dick wet the first time without finding out Serena's feelings. And he was a serial cheater so cheating again was unsurprising. But because he committed a sex crime with the picture I'd say whatever sex he had with Serena before she found out about GG was dubious consent as argued for the sex tape case but I've never seen anyone call out fuckboy Dan for the questionable consent. Also Dan was said to kiss her while giving her wine in 3x22 despite the emotional state she was in because of being in a low place with her dad and family, Nate, Jenny, etc and the fact that he knew in addition to her mental health she had a history of substance abuse and poor decision making or getting taken advantage of by adults under those circumstances that she often agonized over and I feel it's worth mentioning that Serena was the first and also more in expressing guilt over what happened that Dan was quick to take personal offense and even while guilty and depressed she tried to reassure him. I don't understand how Dair fans can claim Chuck/Jenny was noncon because of her emotional state when Chuck was in a similar state (it'd be more credible if that wasn't the case) but ignore that Dan was mentally stable unlike Serena when he kissed her and immediately flirted when she showed regret. They also lie that Serena made him drink even though I doublechecked the ep and she never asked or told or handed him a drink; he was already shown drinking cause it was a party. What Serena did was bad, but unlike him who posted her picture for the world she had the decency to delete the video although Georgina unfortunately stole her phone and found it in her recently deleted and was shamed before and after the tape was released and she apologized to Blair the tape and admitted she "acted really badly" out of insecurity. She should've apologized to Dan too but then again he didn't apologize to anyone for the picture and romanticized it as getting power to move up and had the moral high ground the whole time and said Serena manipulated him as if he didn't manipulate her and he barely called out Georgina after she released the tape but tormented Serena and acted like she was the biggest attention whore. Found it weird how Dan was happy he was getting female attention from the tape while Serena wasn't happy about being hypersexualized over his GG post. I like Serena better cause she didn't act like she was morally superior to him while hiding her skeletons to him. Dan is a terrible boyfriend, terrible brother, and terrible writer and I don't like Chuck either, but I hate how fans shame others for who they like and act like Dan is a better person than he actually is.

I assume that this the same message split in two parts, so I put it together. :)

What can I say? I think those dair fans you discuss here have some alternative series going in their head, they don't understand what they watch, they don't understand the characters and they only care about their own fantasies that have little to do with the actual series. It's useless to argue with these folks and I can only recommend to ignore them and enjoy what you like.

Obviously I like Chuck better than Dan for many reasons. One reason is that Chuck had more character development than any other character and his character demonstrated uplifting trajectory. I think it's often forgotten that Gossip Girl is a coming of age story, when we first meet the main characters they are teenagers and by the end of the story they are adults in their early twenties. By the rules of the genre, they are supposed to have issues, to make mistakes, to learn along the way, to grow up, to mature, to fix their issues. And Chuck did just that. He owned his wrongs and mistakes, admitted them, learned from them, felt remorse, worked on his issues, and that all helped him to make his life better, to grow up, to become more stronger, mentally more stable and to not repeat his wrongdoings. If we compare Chuck in Season 1 and Chuck in Season 6, we can see the difference and how much he has matured, like we don't see him doing anymore desperate and crazy actions he was prone to do earlier under similar circumstances.

With Dan it's opposite. His story, for me, is about moral degradation. Like, Dan, although not without his flaws, in Season 1 is more likable, than older Dan in Season 6 where he throws temper tantrums left and right and blames everybody but himself for his troubles. And don't even get me started with Dan's career as Gossip Girl. I don't accept the argument "the Gossip Girl reveal was random and ooc and we will ignore it", first, because I don't think that making Dan Gossip Girl was a random decision, second, because however poorly it was executed, Dan being Gossip Girl is the series' canon and should be taken into account discussing his character. But even without the Gossip Girl matter (for which, btw, he didn't feel any remorse or regret, but instead congratulated himself smugly in the finale like for a well-done job), Dan had plenty of flaws, wrongdoings and mistakes. But more often than not, and the series nearing its end, he refused to admit them. Like that bit of a dialogue between Serena and Dan regarding the sex tape is actually very characteristic to Dan. Did Serena wrong by filming them having sex? Yes, she did, she shouldn't have done that. Does it make ok Dan writing those articles? No, it doesn't, Dan is doing wrong as well. Furthermore, Serena didn't force him to have sex with her, it was his decision as well. Yet, Dan refuses to take any responsibility for it and admit that he did wrong regardless of what Serena did, and shifts all responsibility to Serena. He has a very similar dialogue with Blair too in 6x05 when the sex tape is revealed, making Blair to realize that he is a total hypocrite and it's better to be alone than with him (btw, it was not the first time Blair calling out Dan's hypocrisy, she did it in Season 2 finale too).

Dan envied Upper Eastsiders for their wealth, privileges, and power and wanted to be a part of their world while considering himself morally superior to them, he was self-righteous, he lacked self-reflection and tended to exploit people around him for his writing purposes without any remorse. I find it hard to sympathize with him in the end.

[coal15]

I know I'm being super extra about promoting this Good Omens fic, but I'M JUST SO FUCKING PROUD OF IT! I mean, I don't dislike any of my published fic otherwise I wouldn't have published it--but it's like I have a more sentimental attachment to this one. It reminds me of back in the day when I was writing Protected (queliot/the magicians fix-it fic). I have so many feelings about that one. Anyhow, here's yet another sample from All Roads Lead Back because apparently I've turned into that obnoxious mama who needs to show everyone A MILLION PICTURES of their new baby. I apologize. But also, no I don't.

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

Crowley had spent the entire drive back to London swearing to himself (and the Bentley) that he would just find a decent flat, settle in, and get on with the unavoidable task of getting over Aziraphale. But now here he is. Stood on a street corner glaring at the signage above the bookshop door, resenting every letter as if they also betrayed him. Vicious vowels and conniving consonants.

“Come onnnnnn you git,” he mutters to himself. “Just get back in the car and drive away.”

After a few moments’ waffling he does take his own advice, but no matter which street he turns down they all land him back at the bookshop. Like that whole magic-y business with the Buddy Holly records. 

Is this seriously happening?

Over and over again he tries. On the final effort he drives a full hundred miles out of London before making any full turns. Finally, he attempts a sharp left.

“And HERE WE ARE AGAIN!” He screams, furious as the Bentley emerges onto the street outside the bookshop. “WHY WON’T YOU LET ME LEAVE?!?” He parallel parks and sits motionless, grumbling various complaints and obscenities under his breath. A well and truly pissed off Demon. 

Is it the Bentley not letting me leave or is it the shop pulling me back? He wonders. And either way, WHY? It takes a full forty three minutes for him to calm down and accept the situation, but as soon as he does something strange happens. A feeling of optimism creeps in on tiptoe. He tries to swat it away, but it’s a stubborn bugger. Gets all the way under his skin and clings tight.  

“Six thousand years. Hell of a long time.” he muses. “And he and I always . . . we’ve always . . .”

While Crowley sits blathering away to an entirely disinterested vehicle, Muriel is sat in the shop just finishing a book about a boy who never wants to grow up. He only wants to remain happy and innocent forever. They find it a charming tale. Now, no one would claim Muriel to be among sharpest of tools in Heaven’s shed, but they are the nicest. A darling little thing with good intention, but very little grasp on the ins and outs of, well . . . anything. 

“Were you meant to return?” They yelp, startled when Crowley comes bursting through the door easy as you please. “I thought I was meant to mind the shop alone, was I supposed to have a room prepared in case you came back?” 

“No and no.” Crowley grunts, shuffling and struggling to see around the large potted plant he’s carrying. He hefts it up on the nearest available counter space, then spins on his heel to face Muriel. “Been driving all over this stupid little island for weeks, intended to use the time to get my head right, but d’y’know what I did instead? Went round visiting all the spots where Aziraphalel and I spent time together and making myself incredibly sad. But then-” he exits the shop to fetch another plant from the car and upon return continues the narration exactly where he left off. “-I realised that in six thousand years no matter how bad our falling out-and we’ve had our share-neither of us has ever abandoned the other for terribly long, even when we absolutely intended to. Which means,” he plunks himself down in a chair and swings his feet up on the nearby desk with a confident grin, “this whole quasi-divorce situation isn’t nearly as bad as it seems, is it? A waiting game, that’s all it is. Plain and simple. Aziraphale may be an idealist but he’s not stupid. At some point he will have to admit Heaven was never intended to function the way he wants to believe it was, all holy and righteous.”

“It-it wasn’t?”

“Nope.” Crowley shakes his head. “Anyhow, next step is he tries to deny it, then fails, then gets upset, then comes to his senses and comes back to me-to earth.” He quickly tacks on in a vain effort to disguise how badly he longs for the Angel’s return. “And he’ll come dashing right back here to this bookshop straight away.”

“Will he?” Muriel finds Crowley's certainty fascinating. 

“Of course. And I fully intend to be here to make him do the ‘I Was Wrong’ dance the instant he does. Actually, I think I might make him do it over and over again for several days.” He gazes into the middle distance, visualising the absurd scene. “Yes. Decision made. He gives me several days of the dance on a loop or else I’ll ignore him completely.”

“I suppose that is one way to go about getting an apology. But, um, is there a particular reason you think Aziraphale will return to this bookshop? ” They cast their eyes around the room. “With all the lovely places on earth, what makes you so sure he wants to be here?

A cheeky grin slides onto the Demon’s lips. “I have . . . faith.” 

Muriel’s eyebrows furrow. “Faith?”  

“Yes, faith.” Crowley hops out of the chair and goes in search of a nice bottle of wine with which to toast his evolving outlook on things. “Blind faith for the first time ever, because in the long run he and I are incapable of letting eachother down. Always have been. Ha! Yes, here we are!” He exclaims upon finding a bottle of Old Vine Mourvedre stashed on a shelf beneath a dusty countertop. “You ever had wine, Muriel? Care to join me for a glass?” 

Muriel squirms and shifts on their feet, the very image of timidity. “Oh, well I, I suppose so,” they giggle, stepping forward to accept a glass. “I like trying new things.” 

“Good on you!” Crowley cheers. “Anyhow, even if it takes a century or five, or twelve, my ridiculous Angel-and he’s being especially ridiculous right now-will come back. And as for how I know it’s here he’ll return to? Simple. Emotional attachment. He likes ease, cosiness, and familiar things. Loves every book in this place, loves me whether he wants to admit it or not, and not only does this place have all the books, it’s the last place he and I were together.” 

“Ah.” Muriel nods. “I see.” 

Crowley grins and draws a deep, soothing breath. “All I have to do is be patient, stay put, and wait for the inevitable.” He takes a generous swig of wine straight from the bottle before pouring himself a proper glass. “I might need to keep a gentle buzz going in the meantime so all the waiting around doesn’t annoy me too much.” He downs the glass and pours another. “But it is a price I am willing to pay.” This second glass he holds aloft to clink against Muriel’s. “You, you clink it Muriel, it’s called toast. Clink the glass. Clink-here, like this.” He gently taps his glass against the befuddled Angel’s.

“Oh yes, I see,” they smile, then smash their glass against Crowley’s, shattering both to bits.

“We’ll work on it.” Crowley assures, carefully brushing wine and shards of glass off his hands. This is going to be like training a puppy, isn’t it? Never particularly wanted a puppy, but here we are.  

[nancydrewwouldnever]

This is going to sound like a rant because well it's a rant and I'm getting the worst colds in my life this month and I'm under the effect of powerful meds lmao

First things first. Thank you so much for sharing the beautiful ❤️ picture of your sweetest bestest boy Billy, and very sorry for your loss.

Then, been reading your last posts as well as the one from yesterday (?) about mourning the image Chris had sold and i can't agree more but i have my own take. I hadn't been a fan for long, started around 2019, i never cared about cap or marvel, came to like him because he seemed a decent actor and not too problematic (had heard about his philandering, fuckboi ways, knew about minka & jenny, etc etc) and tbh it's not only the disney pr machine, his interviews where he parrots about wanting a wife and kids without actually doing anything conducive to that, or my own delusions (i don't think too highly of myself lol I'm not a raging beauty or anything special so of course I thought a peasant like myself would never have a chance with Captain all american internet bf), but there were people inside the fandom who were also hardcore promoting that image of him, that he was essentially a nice guy who was looking for stability. I believed those tall tales. I found the lily james stuff annoying already but stuck around. Enters instagram. All i see is young girls (I'm on the older side, therefore too old for grandpa evans) going nuts about likes and follows. Didn't really pay too much attention, i wanted to believe he was better than this. Then along comes Alba. A literal nobody -for reference I'm typing this from Europe, yeah no one knows her here- and all the assumptions i had made about him come crumbling down. She's an unknown and untalented 'actress' who dropped out of hs, not tall or particularly beautiful and the only thing she's good at is looking younger than her actual age and also taking off her clothes. It sounds ridiculous and parasocial yup but there were a couple nights i couldn't sleep because one of my faves had become a total joke in my eyes. I'm staying not even for the dragging but for people like you, maddy, ginger, mar and the female friendships i made on here and insta. I'm repulsed by him. I think he's the typical creep who once they turn 40 they start chasing the young ones to relive their glory days. He'll never find the love he claims to want, cuz prob he doesn't really want it. It's obvious he hasn't grown a bit not even after Slate. He hasn't learned a single thing, about himself, women, life... He'll remain stunted. And i agree with what you're saying about his self-esteem, but he's said arrogance is his biggest flaw so I do think now his 'pissiness' w the fandom and why he doesn't anything only trollba dumps is because he's somehow mad his fans didn't fall for his shit this time, girls found her nasty roles and photoshoots and let's be honest i doubt his hollywood colleagues are impressed with his sugar baby. I don't think he'll ever change or get therapy, which is sad. And i also have the feeling he only went public with this chick because his fans once again caught him with the hand in the cookie jar. So he's still trying to sell that he's a great serious committed bf. Who flies you back in economy, draws stuff on your chin and records you while he makes you look stupid. Sorry for the length of this, i needed to vent

Personally, I don't think it's a hand in the cookie jar situation (because that cookie jar was breadcrumbed from for months before the first NYE trip took place), but don't know exactly how to explain the whole mess.

[aoyama-division]

Luis's Thoughts on Katsushika Division

Akihisa Mashiro

"...I don't fully know much about my father's time in the army. I know he was a decorated general, but as for what he actually did during his time in the war, that's something I know nothing about. And quite frankly, I don't think I want to know. But I do know he may or may not have had to do a lot of unscrupulous things. I'm not foolish, ya' know. I know that in war, you have to do things that you're not proud of. But like I stated, I don't know much about my father's time while he was serving."

"But I do know that he made an enemy out of this man, Mashiro Akihisa. Apparently, my father and Tomi's led him into a trap and had him captured by Chuohku. I don't know whether my father did it to protect his reputation, to save his own skin from Chuohku, or because he felt intimidated by this man. But when my father heard that he was free, he was one of the many who opposed the Prime Minister's decision. Peh, a lot of good opposing it did..."

Touya Kisaragi

"I remember this kid. It was a busy night at my restaurant, and while I was cooking, one of the staff members said they saw a vagrant or something scrounging around in the trash outside. Now for those of you that don't know me, let me state for the record: I have nothing against the homeless, vagrants, orphans, or people who are less fortunate. In fact, I always try to provide a helping hand to those if I can. I'm not a saint or an angel, of course, but I feel if you can provide a little kindness here and there, then you're making the world a better place."

"But this kid... if it were anyone else, I would have gladly welcomed them into my place for a bite to eat. But when I saw his face, I instantly knew who it was. The one who had been killing all of those people throughout Japan. I was tempted to call the police on him, but instead, I just chased him away. I don't know why, maybe I was still in shock because I didn't think I'd actually see the Sweetheart Killer eating out of my trash. But anyway, I put a lock on the dumpster and went back into the shop. I didn't see him again, after that. And I'm not at all sad about that."

Rintaro Himura

Luis's eyes turn red and a glare appears on his face as he stares at the photo of the pyromaniac. "This bastardo... he almost took the life of my Abuela. You all recall how Tomi said that several city blocks here in Aoyama were burned to the ground? Well, this bastardo is the reason for that. I don't know how, but there was so much fire everywhere, it was like a scene out of hell. And in one of those city blocks... was my Abuela's house." Luis is steadily losing his composure.

"Thankfully, she wasn't home when the fires occurred. But... she had lost her home. Everything that she had owned. Her pictures, her wedding dress, her childhood memories... all of them were lost, burnt to the fucking ground! And all because of this maldito bastardo! He didn't care about any of the lives he destroyed! And I don't rightly care for them, myself. But no one messes with my grandmother!"

"You claim to love fire, Himura? Well, I'll show you just how dangerous fire is, you follador. I'll show you a side of fire you've never seen before. You think the fire you suffered during your childhood was bad? No, compañero. That fuego was nothing. I'll show you fire like you've never seen before. That's right, boyo: you and me, we're taking a one-way trip to Infierno. And when, if you return, we'll see if you'll have the gall to ever look at another flame again."

Death Row Block

"Like Tomi and Karada mentioned, the Prime Minister is making a mistake setting these men free. ...But I suppose that is none of my business. I simply hope that once these men commit a crime, she will be prepared to accept the consequences of her actions. But that is neither here, nor there."

"If these men wish to fight, then I will gladly accommodate them. ...And as for you, Himura..."

Luis lights a cigarette and looks at the screen, his face and eyes red as he speaks with a fervor that you only hear when he is trying to contain the rage inside him.

"Quise decir lo que dije, bastardo. Pagarás caro por casi matar a mi abuela. El infierno tiene un lugar especial para personas como tú, Himura. Y te voy a enviar personalmente allí."

"Así que mientras tanto, te sugiero que aprecies tu libertad mientras puedas. Porque cuando nos encontremos en el D.R.B., te prometo que la muerte estará esperando. Dios te ha juzgado. Y yo soy su verdugo."

("I meant what I said, you bastard. You will pay dearly for nearly killing my grandmother. Hell has a special place for people like you, Himura. And I'm going to personally send you there.")

("So in the meantime, I suggest you cherish your freedom while you can. Because when we meet in the D.R.B., I promise you, Death will be waiting. God has judged you. And I am his executioner.")

[heresathreebee]

That G-D Ring of Yours

High Fidelity’s Robyn Brooks X Female reader

Summary: You seek comfort from your neighbor Rob

Masterlist

There's probably gonna be a part 2

Word count: 2.5k words

Warning(s): +15 | implied cheating, internalized homophobia, heterosexism, author and Rob swearing, no hate to polyamorists but major hate to bad faith players, shameless self insert, no beta, barely edited, long as fuck I'm so sorry

Author's note: I'm having anxiety for no discernable reason and my brain has decided this is ideal fuel for a fic, so please enjoy. EDIT: ha ha yeah still anxious but we're doing stuff about it

-------------------------------------------------------

"-- And she just touched my hand by accident and I just felt this–  this spark between us…" 

It was so sweet how he was talking about it. Or at least it would be were this not your fiancé explaining how he had been seeing another person behind your back. Had you rushed into things with him? Gotten hitched after three months because of familial pressure to settle down and start your family? Quite possibly.

But it didn't make that stabbing in your gut hurt any less. 

You had been a little gung-ho from date number 1, but he had been right there with you the whole time. Date number 2 happened the following weekend and then you just kept seeing each other more and more until before you knew it you had been introduced to each other's extended families and announced your engagement on Valentine's Day. 

You started to suspect something was amiss on Sunday, when you were braiding your hair on the bed and he had gone to take a shower. He accidentally set his phone screen aside with a text chat still open. Thinking nothing of it (he had already told you he was talking to Mark about getting drinks tonight), you looked at the name and saw it belonged to a woman you had never heard of before. Your immediate reaction was 'she must be a new coworker or a cousin,' but then you glanced again and saw the text conversation mirrored the same kind of ‘sentiments’ he texts you. 

The dirt burned into your brain for eternity: 

You had looked away then. You were actually not going to say anything at all to him that night– had planned to bring it up after Tuesday dinner with your auntie's family, but something came up. It turns out that Jessabelle also frequented the same Starbucks as you (and she's your age, not a teen like you worried). You can't even find it in you to be mad at her since it seemed like she had no idea who you were when she showed you the picture of her date at a baseball game. You tried not to puke as you asked for her number and to send her that picture "for her contact profile." 

You hadn't heard a word your fiance had said since the beginning of the phone call and you cut him off with some excuse you barely remember. You tossed your phone carelessly onto the couch and laid back on the cushions in defeat. What now? 

You weren't really a drinker or a smoker, and you didn't exactly have friends who would be supportive right now. You could hear them now, your family too– asking you what you did wrong, telling you to just forgive him or how to get even, or simply saying 'well what do you expect? Boys will be boys.' 

Maybe… no, you definitely need to get this off your chest before you do something stupid like pretend to forget about it. You had a bad habit of that because you tend to fall fast and hard. Perhaps your neighbor could give you some advice. 

Thank the Lord for fire escapes. Rob lived on the floor beneath you, always playing something good from her huge collection of vinyl records. You've told her at least a hundred times before if she played nothing but Phil Collins for the rest of eternity, you could die happy. You crossed your fingers and hoped you weren't being weird or invading her privacy. 

Thankfully, she seemed to be expecting you. She even motioned that the latch was undone and waved you inside. Ok the second wine glass made your face grow hot. 

"I'm not interrupting am I?" 

Rob gave you a warm smile. "I could hear you pacing around your kitchen for about an hour. Was about to come and get you actually." 

She pressed the glass into your hand and you made an effort not to grimace. Rob liked her drinks cheap and strong and she never held back. You tried a sip just to be polite, and she snorted at the face you pulled. 

"That's right, you like that sweet stuff. What's it called again?" 

"Stella Rosa," you mumbled, grateful when she takes the glass back and hands you a water to replace it. 

"Favorite flavor," she asked looking at her phone. 

"Uh… the peach and the rosé. They're all pretty good, not gonna lie." 

"OK, take this, grab a blanket from the hall closet, and tell me what's going on." 

You curled up on Rob's couch and put your feet up. There were piles of records all over the place, empty beer cans and a pizza box or two on the coffee table. Your neighbor tapped away at her phone screen before silencing it and slipping it in her back pocket. She gave you a minute or two to speak up, sipping her drink like you two had all night. Which actually you did as you did not want to see your fiancé right now. 

You felt two fingers gently tap your forehead. "Come on, dreamer, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." 

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I feel a little over dramatic saying my life is about to fall apart." 

Rob raised her eyebrows at you. "Damn, OK." 

You rush to correct yourself– explain your weird sentiment in more detail but you end up just vomiting words until your voice is hoarse. 

"I mean– like– like it's not falling apart per say or whatever– I… the rest of my life is fine its just my relationship that's screwed. Which I guess I'm more worried about because it's gonna screw up all my other relationships for a while too– dang it, let me start over–" 

"Babe! Slow down. Breathe." Rob switched drinks with you and against your better judgement you took a sip. Oddly enough it did calm you down. "So… it's your fiancé, right? What did he do?" 

You stared at her trying to unscramble your thoughts. "He… I found out he was kind of... dating another person. After I found out, he tried to explain that he didn't think I would mind–" 

Rob barked, "let me guess: he didn't think you were exclusive? Pull the Main Chick, Side Chick schtick? Tried to claim 'polyamory' after he got caught?" 

Two and two clicked together at last. "Yeah… yeah, he did!," you scoffed, "and it's not like it didn't ever come up in conversation: we spent our third date talking out our, like, sexualities and fantasies and fetishes and shit. If he was polyamorous, wh- why wouldn't he have brought it up then?" 

"That is so fucked." 

You took a deeper draft of her wine, coughing before setting it aside. Up until now, you've been numb. Now there's this wave of anger boiling up to the surface and you hear yourself getting louder. Rob doesn't flinch but she does give you this look of empathy unlike anything you've seen before. 

"If he– if he would have just asked me, I would have told him it was fine. My family does shit like that all the time: nobody bats an eye! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, he wouldn't have been so freaking sneaky about it. He literally lied, Robyn!" 

You whipped around and for a brief moment you knew you looked crazy. "He said he was going out for drinks with his guy friend, but he was making plans to go to a baseball game with a girl I've never heard of! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, or if he 'thought I would understand,' then why would go out of his way to lie about who he was with?" 

Someone buzzed Rob's door and she left you on the couch momentarily, coming back quickly with two bottles of your favorite wine. "Damn girl, these are kinda bougie: Peach or Rosé?" 

"I--"you choked, "Robyn you didn't have to–" 

"Peach it is!" She unscrewed the caps and handed you the whole freaking bottle of white, downing the last of her merlot and getting a fresh glass for you. 

You felt a little guilty she had spent money on you. But then again it had been her choice. If she didn't want you there, Rob wouldn't have let you in in the first place. Maybe you were just a tinsy bit worried you shouldn't be here. 

You and Rob took a break from talking to put on music and get a little tipsy. It came much easier with the help of the Stella Rosa, though Rob initially complained it was 5.5%, she did get accustomed to the sweetness pretty fast, and after consuming half the bottle, realized it was a little easier to get carried away with a drink like this. She admitted it was her first time trying rosé and now she was hooked. Eventually you started talking again, just spilling your guts out with no filter anymore. 

"I really think I just hate myself," you said cuddling the cool glassware. "When I found out, I wasn't even thinking of it as a betrayal of my trust– it felt like I was trying to come to terms with it so I could continue with the relationship. Not because it would make me happy but because… I don't know… it's what everybody else wants me to do. They don't even know about it and I was fully prepared not to tell them even though they'd want me to marry him whether they knew or not." 

Rob barked a laugh of surprise. "Doh-K!" 

"What?" 

"Nothing, nothing…" she said, "keep going." 

You stared off into the middle distance and leaned into her side. She was a tiny bit warm despite her lithe figure. Made you want to throw your blanket over her shoulders and share your greater warmth. 

So you did (you're not great at acting out your desires but this is nice!)

"It's just easier," the words left your mouth unbidden, "I don't even know what that means, but it's true. I don't want to marry him anymore but I don't want to break it off. Not marrying Fiancé means disappointing my family. It means having to find an entire new man to marry sooner rather than later because I'm already 'behind' and lowering my already low expectations. 

"It's not gonna make me happy, but I just think it's easier to keep this wedding going because at least I won't have to find somebody new who might not be as good for me just because I didn't want him. Another man won't make me happy so there's no reason to drop him... except that I don't want him." 

Rob's brow furrowed. "Are you saying it's easier for you to please your family than it is to be happy?" 

"Yes? I– no, I– … I don't know," you sigh. "I guess you could say my priorities are a little… mismanaged." 

"Sure, you could say that." Rob wrapped her arms around your shoulders and you inhaled the scent of her soap and cigarettes. "What if you tried… like… not doing that anymore...? You just said you do whatever your family wants you to do. So, just like do what makes you happy for a change." 

It really does sound so simple the way she puts it, doesn't it? Why are you doing this to yourself? You're not dependent on them for money or security or happiness for that matter. So... why has your whole life been centered around pleasing them? 

"I think… I think I've never really sat down and thought about what makes me happy," you admitted. "I think it's just been that way forever and I might have been too scared to try anything else." 

Rob hummed. "Are you still scared now?" 

Are you? You look into her eyes and ask yourself a question that has never crossed your mind with such depth. You used to be scared– but what is it about your happiness that you are so afraid of? OK, let’s start a little simpler: what are things that make you happy? 

“I like…” you swallowed, trying to break down the barriers you’ve built years and years ago. “I like… coffee. I like… short skirts. I like… girls– I like… my job. I like… music. I think I’d enjoy camping, you know, some day…” 

Your words… these things seemed so arbitrary and trivial. But in your house, these things cause dissent. “My family has an opinion about everything. There’s no right way to live in all of their eyes, but I think I figured out a way to get past it. Keep my head down and do what’s expected of me. Graduate college, get a respectable job, find a man to marry, drop the job and become a mother. Just… don’t make waves. It seemed better because the cousins who didn’t or couldn’t… well they became the butt of every joke at the family dinner. Lisa had one miscarriage so she was a ‘failure’ and Don never dated girls so he was gay and that was ‘bad,’ but grandma Zelda did everything a good Christian woman could do and they still gossiped about her behind her back… 

“And I just… I just let their ignorance control me for my entire life.” God, you could cry right now, but somehow it just felt too good to say it outloud. “That.. that is so fucked.” 

Robyn snorted, and you turned to her as if you’d forgotten she was there. There it was again, that sympathy. Not pity, she did not burden you with tears of her own or try to be angry for you. She just listened and understood. You twisted the diamond encrusted ring on your finger and stared at her. You felt it, that feeling in your heart. No one else had given you that look, like she could really see you. 

“You’re not going back to Fiancé, are you?” Her question was equal parts worrisome and hopeful and you already knew the answer in your heart. 

“No.”

And that was it. Decision made. Actually easier than you'd thought. Maybe not down the road but it felt good for now. There's the telling your fiancé it's over, the moving out, the public announcement, the inevitable feeling of failure, your family, god, his family too. Untangling your lives would be long and hard. You're not sure if you have that level of commitment and motivation in you but fuck it. Problems for tomorrow.

You rest your head on Rob's shoulder and hope your not pushing any boundaries. She doesn't stop you though, in fact she snuggles you deeper into her. You get the feeling she's been here before though your not sure which side or how bad it was for her.

"I like you way more in the few times I've met you than any man I've ever dated," you heard yourself say. "I'm sure that means something but I'm too tired to decide anymore. No tonight at least."

Rob chuckled. "I like you too, sugar."

If you made it this far, hi 💛 appreciate you, leave me a comment! Or just comment "💛"

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter twelve

genre: angst, tiny bit of fluff

pairing: season 11 and 12 spencer reid x oc

warnings: panic attack

word count: 12.4k

summary: change is wonderful. but there’s some changes that are far too drastic for spencer and amelia to handle.

pay attention to the pov changes and the time jump or else you’ll be confused!!!!!! it’s about to get good.

AMELIA

Months go by, and life goes on, and that's about all I have to say about the last few months. Spencer works and I bask in the successful, metaphorical glow of my last exhibit. I do some light work here and there but mostly, I take some time off and resort to lounging around and drawing in my sketchbook. Spencer complains though because he claims that if I have all this free time then he should too. But regardless, he leaves bed every day to go to work and fight the monsters of the world.

But nobody more than me knows that things change quickly. I accepted that a long time ago and the nature of Spencer's job just reiterated that sentiment, especially after he got shot. So even though it’s a bit too overwhelming when he comes home with cuts and bruises on his face, or get upset when he misses loosely planned dates because of cases, or we disagree on where to order dinner from or if we should even order at all instead of just cooking, nothing surprises me anymore.

It doesn't surprise me when Spencer calls me from work and tells me he needs to go to Houston for a case, and that he might be gone for a while. He tells me he loves me and that he'll be home as soon as possible, to be safe, and to drink a glass of wine for him. So I tell him that he's the one who needs to be careful and remind him many times of my love, then I force him to promise that he'll be careful. He does, and I send him in his way with one more proclamation of love.

Spencer has been through a lot. He's a very strong person, and he tells me a lot, but I know he doesn't tell me everything. He only wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to his feelings for me, but not with anything else. He's not an open book when it comes to work and the horrors he sees on a daily basis and relives in his dreams. I wish he was, but I know that part of the reason he doesn't is so he doesn't affect me. I wish he didn't think that way. I wish he could just confide in me without worrying about upsetting me. 

That being said, he doesn't cry. As I lay on my couch and listen to one of the records Spencer bought me for Christmas, a glass of wine about to fall out of my hand, my eyes closed, I try to remember a time Spencer cried in front of me. I scrunch up my nose when I realize I can't think of a specific time. Well, maybe he has cried. Maybe he did in the hospital. Maybe he did when he revealed what happened with Maeve, or his drug addiction. I don't have his memory. Maybe my worries are for nothing and I don't need to waste my time worrying over him so much.

But the days pass and I hear very little from Spencer, so I distract myself with my friends. We go out and we spend nights at clubs and we congregate at someone's apartment to watch movies and it's a wonderful distraction, but it doesn't fill the void that Spencer leaves. So I often find myself leaving him quick voicemails in bathrooms and balconies and bedrooms, telling him that I hope he's safe and that I love him and to let me know when he's coming home so I can see him. I don’t ever hear back.

Friday's are normally easy and Friday's are brunch days with my friends. So I wake up and shower and dress for my day, pulling on my skirt and blouse, singing along to the records playing downstairs. I finish getting dressed and fall back into bed, reaching for my sketchbook to occupy me for another half hour until I need to leave.

"Amelia?" Spencer's voice comes through my apartment, frantic and panicked, as the door hits the brick wall and rattles the picture frames. "Baby, are you home?"

"Spencer?" I respond, and his head whips up, landing on me. He looks like an utter mess in a loose tie and disheveled suit, messenger and go-bag having already clattered to the floor. His hair can be likened to bed head and I can see from here that his eyes are red. I immediately rush down the stairs and forget everything I was just about to do. "Sweetheart, what happened?" I grab his cheeks, performing my normal routine of checking for injuries, and when I find none, I become utterly confused and even more concerned.

Spencer's lips quiver as he sniffles, but he can't hold anything back when tears start to pour down his cheeks. "I-" his hands reach for my waistline, grasping my skin and drawing me closer, "I missed you so damn much, Lia, god."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" I ask when he pulls me even closer, our bodies pressing together and I can feel his rapid heartbeat against my chest. He tucks his head into my neck as he shakes his head no, arms finally circling my waist. "Okay," I whisper, coursing my fingers through his hair, closing my eyes as I breathe in the faint scent of his cologne. "I've got you, dove. I'm right here."

It only takes a second for Spencer to break down in tears, clutching my body like his life depends on it. Hearing his whimpers and feeling his shaking form breaks my heart, but I hold it together, rubbing him back, petting his hair, cooing in his ear, and telling him everything will be okay. His knees eventually give out so I lower us to the floor, landing in a weird position where I'm half in Spencer's lap while he cries in my neck. But neither of us seem to pay any mind to the fact that we're on the floor in the middle of my apartment. I just hold him and mutter sweet nothings and cheesy nicknames and pray to myself that he's okay.

"Spence, my love, can you talk to me? Can you tell me what's going on?" I whisper, trying to keep my voice low. I know that whenever I'm needing his comfort, his calm and low voice always helps me, so I try to provide the same for him. "I'm right here, sweetheart, talk to me," Spencer hiccups a few times as he lifts his head, and I reach forward to wipe his tears. "Take a breath, love. Just breathe, you're okay, I'm right here.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and grasps at my thighs, and his head hanging forward. "I-" he takes a long, shallow breath, "you were clearly about to go out. Don't let me interrupt you."

I scoff out a laugh, shaking my head and pressing a kiss to his. He leans into my touch in a way that nearly makes me swoon. "Absolutely not, I'm not leaving you like this. You were on a case, is this about the case?"

Spencer nods slowly, keeping his head down. "You know about the whole thing with the group of assassins we've been hunting? The dirty dozen?"

"The people who've been targeting Penelope?" He nods again, and his hands tighten around my thighs. "Nothing happened to her, right?"

"No, no," Spencer finally lifts his head and sniffles again, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand, "she's fine. Actually, she's finally able to go home now because of this case."

"Okay, tell me what happened. Something must have happened if you're crying," I put my hands on top of his and brush my thumbs over his knuckles, hoping to bring him extra comfort. He brings them against his chest, allowing me to feel it rise and fall a little too quickly for liking.

Spencer gulps. "I had to pose as a married man who wanted his pregnant wife killed so I could lure the last hitwoman out of hiding so we could capture her. We'd gotten everyone else, it was just her. She was so smart and she saw through the whole thing. She knew my ring was fake right off the bat. She set a timer on my phone and was asking me all these questions about me and how we found her and about me and my family and-"

"Your family?"

"After she got rid of my ring, she asked if I had a girlfriend and I said no and somehow, she believed me. And then she was telling me that the only person who would actually date me would be a brat and an idiot."

“I mean, I guess it’s up for debate but I wouldn’t categorize myself as either of those things.”

Spencer giggles, just a little bit, but a joyful noise nonetheless, and that’s enough for right this second. "Then it turns out that she had a partner in the restaurant the whole time who had rigged bombs in the basement. She threatened to kill all these innocent people if I didn't let her walk free, but I couldn't do either of those things." He's getting worked up again and his eyes are tearing up and his breathing is shallowing and it just breaks my heart.

"Bub," I whisper, squeezing his hands, "breathe, okay? You're here now, you're okay."

Spencer lets out a heavy breath that sounds painful. But he squeezes my hands tighter and continues. "The only way I could throw her off her game was by lying to her. Her father had, um," Spencer glances up at me with a nervous look in his eye, "killed her mother when she was young and she was fostered," oh, that's why he was hesitant to say that, "and I had to tell her that I went looking for her father and that I found him and he just didn't recognize her, but that wasn't true. I couldn't find him at all. But then when Morgan moved in to take her down, he lied and told her that her father was at the restaurant and I just-” he shutters, “it was so horrible. I was so scared. She had a gun on me the whole time and I've had guns pointed at me so many times but I knew she wanted to shoot me and I knew she hated me and I knew she would have no problem killing me at any time. It was- god, it was so horrible."

I scoop Spencer into my arms again as he collapses into a new fit of sobs, body trembling. "Spence, I'm so sorry. But you did the right thing. Just think about Penelope. She's safe now, right? She can go home now and she can sleep peacefully knowing that there aren't hitmen coming for her and that you helped take them down. That hitwoman is in prison and you won't have to see her ever again. Now you're here with me and you're safe, okay?"

Spencer doesn't answer. He just lets me hold him and whisper in his ear and part of me hates that he's not talking. He shuts himself off and just barely hears what I’m saying, and only reacts when I touch his hair. He doesn’t return any verbal or physical expressions of love, not that I’m the one who needs them right now, but he just lays limp in my arms and whimpers like a kicked puppy.

"Hey," I whisper, pulling him up a bit and holding his face in my hands, "why don't you go change your clothes and maybe take a shower, if you want, and then come back down? Maybe you'll feel a little better."

Spencer nods and pushes himself up. Without another word, he grabs his two bags and trudges up the stairs to my bedroom, and just a moment later, I hear the bathroom door open and then the shower running.

With a heavy sigh, I locate my phone and text my friends to tell them I won't be making it to brunch. I don't bother to wait for their inevitably irritated responses before tucking my phone away, rushing around my apartment. I find the basket I'm looking for and then snatch the blanket from the back of the couch. I toss food and snacks and drinks into the basket, listening carefully to the running shower upstairs. When I've assembled everything I need, I take a seat on the island and wait for Spencer to be done in the shower.

It's almost half an hour before Spencer comes strolling down the stairs in jeans, a tee-shirt, and his converse. His work attire and weekend attire have too much of a layover, in my opinion. He’s always wearing his trousers and cardigans, occasionally a blazer. I’ve only gotten the pleasure of seeing him in jeans and a tee-shirt a handful of times, so despite the fact that he's the one with the fancy memory, I try to commit the sight to memory.

He's running his fingers through his wet and growing curls when he enters the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows. "What's all this?"

"We, my dove," I quip, reaching my hands out for him, "are going on a picnic."

Spencer's eyebrows pitch up while he half-heartedly puts his hands in mine and steps closer to me, standing between my legs. "A picnic? Where? On the balcony?"

"No, silly," I giggle, leaning forward to kiss his nose. It makes him scrunch up his nose in the most adorable way. "We're gonna go to the park. It's nice out today and it's rare that I get to have you home during the day so let me cheer you up. Just- humor me, okay?"

Spencer glances beside me at the basket and the blanket, then back at my pouting face. He sighs, resigned. "Okay, sure."

"Good," I grin, leaning forward to press my lips to his briefly. “Let's go before it gets too late."

Spencer grabs the basket and helps me off the island, leaving me to grab the blanket. I lock up my apartment and we head off, walking hand in hand, silence looming over us. We would both usually attempt to fill the silence on a walk, but this time, it feels appropriate. We let the silence exist and distract ourselves by swinging our hands between us. I’m content with it though and I can only hope Spencer is too. I can only hope the silence isn’t letting Spencer get lost in his thoughts.

We finally reach the park and pick a spot to set up, using our shoes to hold down the edges of the blanket before taking our seats. We unload the basket and pass snacks to each other, avoiding the wine I brought, just in case we wanted to let loose. But this clearly isn’t the time for alcohol. So I work on my pretzels and watch a little boy giggle as he flies a kite with his mom.

"So, um," Spencer eventually hums, staring down at the container of walnuts in his hand, "I actually, um, I lied to you."

My hands freeze when they reach for a water bottle, my eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?"

Spencer lets out a breath. He reaches for a walnut but doesn't eat it, and just swirls it between his fingers. "I did go to Houston but it wasn't for a case. I went to see my mom. I asked Garcia to cover for me if you asked or went to the office."

"Why'd you have to lie about that? Is she okay? Spence, I could've gone with you.”

"I know, I should've told you and I feel bad that I didn't but I just wanted to deal with it myself."

"So what happened? Something happened. I can tell. What happened?"

The walnut in his hand slips out and falls onto the blanket, and now that his distraction is gone, he hangs his head again. "I got a call from the facility and they said the medication they were giving her wasn't working anymore. She was agitated and angry and they wanted me to go see her. So I went and when I went into her room, for three seconds-" he lets out a shaky breath and I find myself wondering if he even has any more tears to fall, but I quickly get that answer, "she had no idea who I was. So I had her tested and I found that night that she has an early onset of dementia."

I'm speechless for a moment, just processing that heavy information. I surely don't know as much as Spencer does but I know that this is not apart of schizophrenia. I've never heard stories of Diana not know her own son. I’ve never seen him so upset after a visit with his mom. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this intensely sad. Usually, if he’s upset from a case, I can spend an hour or two distracting him and then I’ll be blessed with seeing his smile again. But after this, I don’t know if he’ll ever smile.

"Oh, Spencer," I lurch forward and hug him for what seems like the millionth time, but he doesn't make an effort to hug me back. His arms hang loosely at his side and he just noses at my neck, not even caring enough to kiss me or hug me or touch me at all. "Love, I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I don’t know what to say other than I’ll be here for you and Diana and I’m always gonna be here to help you if you want it."

Spencer still doesn't respond and he still doesn't hug me back. So I let go and drop my arms to my side, chewing on my lip. I want to comfort him. I want to help. But he seems so lost in his own head, and that's the most dangerous place to be lost in. I know what it’s like to be trapped in your head with your thoughts, and I know Spencer does too, and it’s not a nice place to be. But I have no idea what I’m doing and I have no clue how to help him.

My eyes stray from his to the park around us. There are kids running around and dogs on leases and people going on runs. It's a stunning day out, and when my eyes linger up to the sky, squinting at the sun, I smile. I shift my body and lay down on my back, reaching back to rest my hand on Spencer's knee as I stare at the vast color that seems to match my eyes, or so I've been told. 

"I think," I say softly, pointing upwards, "that one looks like a dinosaur." The clouds roll along in the sky and I study each of them quickly, searching for distinguishable shapes that I can point out. "And that one kinda looks like, well, I was gonna say an alien but now it looks more like a turtle," In the corner of my eye, I see Spencer tilt his head up to stare up at the sky. "And that one," I point to a passing cloud, "looks like a hat."

Spencer grabs the hand that is resting on his knees and intertwines our hands before laying down beside me. "I still don't get it. They're just clouds,"

"Then tell me about the clouds," I quip, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. "Educate me."

“Well, there are three main types of clouds. Cumulus, stratus, and cirrus. Stratus clouds are flat and featureless, like layered sheets. Cumulus clouds are puffy. Cirrus clouds are thin and wispy and are usually high in the sky.”

Spencer surely educates me. He goes on and on about the different types of clouds and the variations of them, and which produces the most rainwater and which form the fastest. I think he talks for close to half an hour, going on and on with his beautiful voice about something I never really give a second thought to. But I stare straight up and barely move a muscle, keeping my head on his shoulder and my hand laced in his.

"I talked for a while," Spencer chuckles as his lecture comes to an end, and he twists his neck to kiss my forehead. "Sorry."

"I enjoyed it. Can't say I'll remember it, but I like hearing you talk," I smile, turning to capture his lips in a kiss. "But I think that one looks like a lamp."

"I still don't see any pictures," Spencer sighs, returning his gaze up to the sky.

"That's okay. You will one day. It takes practice," I pause, squinting my eyes. "That's definitely a car. Like, a pickup truck," I reach my free hand over and grab Spencer’s cheeks, twisting his head for him at the passing cloud. Cumulus, I think. “There. That’s the pickup truck.”

"Thank you for taking my mind off everything," Spencer whispers, and his head breaks free from my grasp to look over at me. My hand drops to his chest. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I think I'd go crazy. I truly don't know what I did before you and I don't know what I'd do if you-"

"You-" I cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, "don't have to worry about living without me because I'm not going anywhere. That's a camera, no doubt."

Spencer laughs, returning his gaze up. "Whatever you say, beautiful."

“You know,” I drag my hand down to his stomach and brush my thumb over the soft fabric of his shirt, “this might sound a little stupid. But the day we met, when I left my apartment for the cafe, when I looked up, there was a cloud in the shape of a heart. And I don’t know why but I just knew it would be a good day. Is that stupid?”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Spencer says. “Actually, if we were characters in a fiction novel, that heart cloud could be considered an objective correlative. That’s a symbol or event or group of things that are meant to represent emotions in the story. So in a movie, it could be thunder and lightning before a bad event or feeling a chill go down your spine. Or the cloud could be considered foreshadowing, even though foreshadowing doesn’t exist in real life. And if it does then it’s just a coincidence. Yeah, I guess for you it would’ve been a coincidence. A good coincidence. An accurate one because, you know, you kinda fell in love after you saw the heart cloud.”

It's my turn to look at him now, and I study the curve of his nose, his jawline, the outline of his lips. He's stunning. The sun illuminates his features, even the sweat gathering at his hairline, and I can’t remember a time when I was this utterly, wholeheartedly in love with him. With everything about him. The good and the bad. "Spence, I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything is gonna be okay," I whisper, moving closer to him, nuzzling my nose against his neck while his arm wraps around my waist. "And even if it's not, I'm gonna be right here, holding your hand and staying by your side the entire time. I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me. No way."

"I wouldn't want to," Spencer quips, moving his arm around my waist. "I love you too much."

"I love you too. Come here," I sit up just a bit and draw his lips closer to mine, letting my eyes flutter closed. "Everything is gonna be okay, dove.”

///

ABOUT SIX MONTHS LATER

///

"Ow! Fuck, Spencer! That's way too hot!"

"Then turn it down."

"Well, my hands are a little tied right now."

"That's not my fault."

"It kinda is your fault because you made the stove too hot!"

Spencer laughs and comes up behind me, his arms circling my waist, resting his chin atop my head. "I'm sorry. You know cooking and baking aren't my forte."

I send Spencer a sharp look over my shoulder, huffing. "You're so lucky you're cute."

He rolls his eyes and then moves beside me, gently grabbing my wrist. "Let me see," he pulls my hand from under the running cold water to inspect my finger. "It's fine, just a little red."

"I know," I smile as Spencer brings my pointer finger up to his lips to lay a sweet kiss on my skin. "You're just so adorable."

"I try," Spencer shrugs innocently, making me laugh. "Okay, let's finish chocolate covering these strawberries and get them in the freezer."

I hum in agreement and move back to the stove, the heat setting now turned down by Spencer, post finger burning. So I reach over Spencer and grab another strawberry and dip it into the chocolate before setting it onto the wax paper. Once we've run out of strawberries, Spencer puts the tray in the freezer. I go skipping into his living room and curl up on the couch, turning on the tv and waiting for him to arrive.

It's only a minute before he's curling up beside me, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "It's amazing you didn't get called into work today," I say. "I guess since you had to miss our birthdays and Halloween this year, the serials killers decided to let us celebrate our two year anniversary together."

Spencer laughs as he pulls me even closer to his chest, placing a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm glad they did. I mean, I wish they let us spend every day together but I'm glad they let today be an exception."

I settle my head against Spencer's chest and keep my eyes on whatever's playing on the tv, brushing my fingers up and down his arm aimlessly. He hums contently and a smile comes to my face. These moments of quiet are rare. And getting to have these moments on days like today, our two-year anniversary, are few and far between. We have to take advantage of them while we can.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, "I've got a question." I hum in response, flickering my eyes up to him for a moment. "So, you know, you're always spending your time here and I'm always spending my time at your apartment," I immediately look back up at him, already understanding what he's about to ask. "We're always together so doesn't it just make sense that, you know, we live together?" He raises his eyebrows, then sucks his bottom lip between his teeth out of anxiousness. "We always make a point to get together when I'm home, and I know you sometimes stop by here when I'm away on cases. We should- doesn't it make sense? We'd get to see each other more."

My grin spreads across my face as I tackle him to his back, squeezing his waist. "Spencer, that sounds perfect. I'd absolutely love to move in with you."

"Seriously? You'd actually wanna buy a house with me?"

"Of course!" I giggle, bringing my hands to his jawline, holding his face in front of me. "Why do you think I’ve stuck around so long? Yes, Spencer, of course I do," He attacks me with kisses, quickly lifting me up and carrying me towards his bedroom. "Dove, the strawberries-"

"I don’t want the strawberries right now. I want you."

It was silly of me to expect that moment to last forever. Our second year together was amazing. Well, as amazing as it could have been. Spencer hunts the worst people in society and parts of him break every day and I start a new exhibit, but we still meet up when we can and hold each other and make each other laugh and cook and look at clouds (with only me describing shapes) and just comfort each other. It was completely foolish of me to expect that happiness bubble not to burst.

Spencer doesn't like change and that's not hard to tell. The change of dating me was hard enough for him and I've learned that it was hard for him to get used to a new daily routine with another person in it. But then the BAU team changes and that almost makes Spencer spiral. Alex Blake left a while ago and Spencer was crushed, and then Kate came and he loved her. But then she left to have a baby. Then Morgan went through a trauma and decided to leave to protect Savannah and his baby. He lost Morgan and then soon lost Hotch.

Hotch was targeted by a serial killer that I only know by the name of Mr. Scratch. He sounds horrible, especially since he captured Hotch and drugged him, then tried to get him to kill his team. Then there was a prison break that sounded absolutely terrifying and made me almost spiral when I heard about it, and Mr. Scratch escaped. And the first thing he did? Stalk Hotch and his son. Hotch decided to leave the team in the hands of Emily Prentiss, who I've learned is an old team member who left to work for Interpol after a very complicated sequence of events, and entered Witness Protection to keep Jack safe. Spencer learned so much from Hotch and looked up to him, so losing the unit chief was a huge hit. It was a hit for everyone on the team, but this huge change meant creating another new routine.

Although losing those valued team members was horrible and stressful, they gained amazing replacements. Tara, Emily, Luke, and Stephen are amazing profilers who jumped into the BAU pool with both feet in, and the rest of the team appreciated that. They give their all to the team and together, they're taking down the escaped serial killers who got away during the Rawdon prison break.

But then Spencer starts to get some phone calls. It started out as one, interrupting a late-night dinner date on the balcony after Spencer got home from a case. He didn't think much of it at first, not even going inside to his apartment to talk privately. Turns out, his mother wasn't reacting well to the new trial he just got her into. Spencer didn't take this news well and our dinner was ruined. He stormed inside and spent the rest of the night at his desk, reading the same stack of books about experimental medicine over and over. I cleaned up our plates and went home. That's when I first started to see him pull away from me. From life. From everyone.

The calls became more frequent after that and the books piled up on his desk. The dinner dates and the hookups and the mid-case phone calls stopped, and our before-work cafe dates have been completely nonexistent. Spencer put every ounce of free time he had into helping his mother and her condition, and I had to respect that so I didn't say anything. I let him research experimental medicine and do all the fancy doctor things that I'll never understand, and I just kept my focus on my art.

He decides to go out and visit her and insists I don't come, that he can do it alone. I try so hard to convince him, but he doesn't budge. So I concede and he takes a week off of work to go, and I practically lock myself in my studio. My friends come by and I keep my concerns about Spencer to myself, but then I rant when it's only Jenna around. She's confused too, understandably, but offers no valid advice. I don't blame her, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't have a clue what to say. And when Jenna asks me if we've found a house that we like yet, I tell her that we haven't even started looking yet. Spencer has been too occupied with more important things.

When Spencer returns, a selfish thought comes to mind. I think maybe everything has been solved. I think that maybe all those hours Spencer spent ignoring me and focusing on his mom and researching experimental medicine have paid off and he's solved world hunger and now his mom is cured. It's absolutely horrible. It's maybe the worst thing I've ever thought. No, it's definitely the worst thing I've thought. But am I wrong for wanting things to go back to the way they were? Am I wrong for wanting my boyfriend back? No. Yes? I'm not sure. But all I know is that I'm worn down and no amount of wine can distract me.

When Spencer returns, he sits me down. And when he sits me down, I know my selfish thought was too selfish. My selfish thought made karma come back to bite me in the ass. He's got a solemn look on his face and he's not holding my hand or touching me at all, he barely even wanted to kiss me when he showed up at my apartment.

"So," Spencer sighed, running his hand through his grown-out hair, "um, the clinical trial that my mom is in isn't helping. She's not getting better." I had raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to get to the horrible and dark, inevitable punchline. "I'm gonna bring her here to live with me."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, eyebrows turning in. "What?"

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "She isn't getting better but whenever I go to visit, she seems to be fine. So I'm gonna bring her back here with me and she's gonna live with me. I'm gonna hire a nurse to watch her while I'm away on cases."

"Spencer, that's-" I let out a breath, tangling my hands on my hair. "I love you and you know that but I really don't think this is a good idea. Maybe this trial isn't helping her but another might. Find something close to here so you can see her more often but taking care of her yourself is going to be so hard. I don't think you realize what-"

"I've made up my mind, Lia," Spencer said stubbornly, as if ending the conversation there. "I've spent too long away from my mom and I don't want to anymore. She always feels better around me and I want her to get better already."

"Spencer." Just speaking his name made my heart hurt because I could feel the foundation under us crumbling. I could see it crumble when he doesn’t soften at the sound of his name from my mouth. That used to always happen. "This is a bad idea. Please reconsider. You're so busy with work already and then you're gonna go home and have to take care of your mother. You're not gonna have time to see me, or Henry and Michael and Hank, or do literally anything else. Spence," the selfish thoughts came back, "I'm sorry to be like this but you asked me to move in with you."

Spencer sighed, and that was all I needed. I stood from his couch and he quickly followed me to the door where I had already started pulling on my shoes. "Amelia, please. I know I asked you to move in with me but she's my mother and I can't abandon her-"

"She needs professional help!" I exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "You went through this pain when you were eighteen and you're gonna force yourself to go through it yet again when you don't even have to. Hey, Spencer, did you notice I got a new piercing?" I pointed to my ear and watched his face fall. "Yeah, I got my tragus pierced. But you've been so caught up in this experimental medicine thing that you haven't even noticed that. Just imagine how much more time you won't have when your mom starts living with you."

Spencer shook his head at me, just tucking his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes. "You're not listening to me." And then I left.

We didn't talk much after that. I texted him to make sure he was doing okay during his cases and got minimal responses. He eventually told me that he found a nurse to take care of Diana, and that he'd be traveling to Houston to take his mother out of the trial. It was surely the worst decision for Diana, but I guess I have to support my boyfriend.

So after Diana is settled into Spencer's apartment as much as she can be, I head over. She knew who I was right away from the two times I'd met her before, and Spencer and I were both surprised about that. I expected her to not recognize me and Spencer expected her to accuse me of being a spy. I didn't fully understand that, but when he explained how Diana had accused the nurse of being just that, it made sense. Kind of. I don't know how Spencer couldn't see it, but Diana didn't seem comfortable in his little apartment. Or maybe he did see it and just ignored it because he liked having her so close after so long.

Exactly what I predicted happened. I barely saw Spencer for two weeks and in the few times that we got to text, I found out that Diana wasn't doing well at all. She flooded the apartment and ran out the first nurse and now Spencer couldn't go on a case until he found a new nurse. She hated the taste of her medicine, which is odd because I've never found that pills have much of a taste unless you hold them in your mouth too long, and didn't want to take it. But Spencer is a hardass about medicine. I know that from experience when he complained I wasn't taking medication for my panic attacks.

But eventually, Spencer finds a wonderful nurse named Cassie who agrees to work with them and Spencer goes off on a case, and I accept that I'll never get to see him again. We text occasionally but I haven't heard his voice in weeks and we haven't gone on a proper date in maybe months and god knows we haven't had sex in forever. All those selfish thoughts return to make me feel like a horrible person, but am I horrible? Diana needs to be in a care facility, not her son’s apartment where he leaves every few days, and with a stranger who Diana believes is a spy.

I was completely ignorant to believe that our happiness bubble wouldn’t pop. No, the harsh beginning of our relationship would prove that no happiness lasts. We couldn't even get through a year without something tragic happening.

And it sounds so horrible, but at this point, I'm incapable of creating my own happiness. I need Spencer to be happy. I need him to be able to enjoy my tea in the morning. I need him to enjoy watching The Polar Express. I need him to find shapes in the clouds. I need him to make my spontaneous trips to the BAU to see Penelope. I need him so I can be happy. It's codependent and maybe it's toxic but he's my whole world. He's the reason I live and breathe.

///

SPENCER

///

I'm good at holding myself together. I'm good at putting on a smile and helping others before I help myself. It's become a skill of mine over the years, and maybe one that I shouldn't be so good at. But it is and I pride myself on not alarming my teammates when anything is wrong. But stalking cases are a whole other story. I do my best to keep up my world-class poker face when I see that the object of the unsubs affection is a brunette with bangs, but it proves to get harder and harder throughout.

I commend myself for keeping it together. I commend myself for keeping it together when the unsub kidnaps the brunette after we arrive. I commend myself for keeping it together when we witness the unsub send a bullet through the brunette's head. I commend myself for keeping it together as I slap handcuffs on the unsub and shove him in the backseat of a car. I even manage to keep it together through questioning from the whole team. Emily, Rossi, Luke, Tara, JJ, Stephen, and Garcia all ask me if I'm doing okay. Seriously, even the new people. I promise I'm fine. It was a while ago, I tell them, I'm fine.

I should be proud of myself for keeping it together until I get back to the hotel. I keep it together through the wrap-up interviews with the unsub and the goodbye with the local police, ignoring the images that are circling in my brain, now adding another set of images to resurface when I wish they never would.

I don't break down until I'm lying in my hotel room bed. It doesn't happen at first. I just lay down and stare at the ceiling and then my eyes start to burn and then suddenly, there are tears dripping down my cheeks. And as soon as one tear falls, there's a waterfall that follows.

I reach into my pocket and rip out my phone, searching for Amelia's number. I'm blinded by my own tears but I hiccup and hold the phone up to my ear, curling up on my side, ignoring the way I feel so uncomfortable in my trousers and converse and way-too-tight tie. After the phone rings twice, I accept that she's not going to answer, but then she does, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

"Hi," she answers softly, and then pauses. "Spencer, what's wrong? What happened? You're crying."

"I know you're mad at me," I cry helplessly, squeezing my eyes shut, "but I really need you right now."

"Of course. I’m right here," she answers in her beautiful, sweet, calming voice. "What do you need? Are you okay?"

I hiccup again, bringing my hand up to my eyes and trying to wiping my cheeks. "It was-" I sniffle, "a stalking case.”

"Oh," Amelia answers, fully understanding. "Okay, dove, do you have your medallion?"

I suddenly remember that and I sit up, hastily grabbing my messenger bag and digging it out of one of the many pockets. "Y-Yeah, I have it now."

"Good,"

"Could you pick me up? I don't wanna drive home."

"Of course. I'll be waiting when you get back."

///

The ride up the sixth floor is excruciating. I'm cramped with everyone else and I just want to go to sleep. I just want to be with my girlfriend. Emily looks over at me and smiles, but I don't bother to profile her smile. Whether it was pity or sorrow or just plain friendliness, I don't care at the moment.

I'm the first one out of the elevator when the doors slide open and my eyes wander inside and to my desk, and my feet glue to the floor. Everyone passes right by me and into the bullpen, but I just stare at the beautiful scene in front of me.

Amelia is sitting on my desk with her legs crossed, dressed in oversized sweats, which are definitely mine, with her curly hair in a bun and her glasses on. I can't blame her for her outfit choice, it is nearing midnight. But she's got her sketchbook in her lap and she's speaking to Henry who's sitting in my desk chair with a notebook in his lap, and she's clearly instructing him on how to draw something. He turns his notebook to her and she grins proudly before giving him a high five. Henry encourages her to teach him something else and they both flip their pages. Amelia leans in with her pencil in hand to show him something else.

"Hey," JJ comes from behind me and lands at my side, following my line of sight. She grins and watches the two interact perfectly, and Amelia gives Henry another high five. "You know, if we don't get a case this weekend, I'm available to go look at rings."

I just start to nod slowly, my head fuzzy with the amount of love I'm feeling for my girlfriend. We haven't been in a good place with our relationship and that's not really a secret. She isn’t happy with my choice to bring home my mom, and she's upset that she feels like her life has to suffer because of the choices I've made, and that's completely valid. But here she is, dropping everything to come and comfort her crying boyfriend at midnight on a Wednesday night, despite how upset she is with me.

So I just look down at JJ, nodding, and her smile grows as I say, "Deal."

///

AMELIA

Change can be such a beautiful thing. Change can be the thing that encourages people to start over and become a new person. A big enough change can transform a life. My life has been change after change after change that I've embraced it and welcomed it. If I don't accept something that happens so constantly in my life, where would that get me?

But sometimes change isn't good. Sometimes it's imperative that things stay the same. There are times where life is too hectic and busy and it would be detrimental for change to make an appearance. Change, then, makes life far too stressful and just plain unlivable.

I thought I'd gone through enough change since meeting Spencer. Dating an FBI agent, specifically, someone in the BAU, changes enough. But then he gets injured and he misses important dates and he works with the man who arrested my serial killer father and he brings his paranoid schizophrenic mother with dementia home to live with him. That's enough change for anyone, and Spencer hates change. I've never met a person who hates change more than him.

I've learned to keep a normal routine since I met Spencer. Well, as normal as I can. Even though I may not be doing anything in a day, I always get up and get dressed, whether Spencer is around or not. I've gotten used to not changing things and I've found the comfort in it.

I don't let today differ from my other days. I wake up in my cold, empty bed and stumble into a cold shower, washing away the throbbing between my legs and the oil on my skin. I blow dry my hair and get dressed in a white sundress that Spencer once told me is his favorite, tying half my hair back with a bow. I do my makeup and put in my piercings and clean my new piercing and go about my life, checking my phone for a text from Spencer. But all I find is groupchat texts from my friends and a text from Jenna asking me if I wanna go out tonight, so I put my phone away and go make myself a cup of tea.

My tea tastes wrong today. I've put in too much sugar and it doesn't taste right when Spencer's not making it for me, or when he's not holding my hand, or when he's not stealing kisses before rushing out the door for work. Life just isn't the same without him and I wish that he could come to his senses about his mother.

I'm halfway through my cup of tea when there's a knock at my front door. The irrational part of my brain perks up and thinks it's Spencer coming home from his trip to Houston, but the rational part of my brain knows that he would go home to his mother first. His mother comes first now. That is a change I need to get used to. Selfish.

"Coming!" I call, setting my cup of tea down on the island. I double-check to make sure I've turned off the stove and the kettle is safely moved aside before rushing to the door.

I pull open the door and instantly, my heart sinks to my feet. Seeing Penelope and JJ standing at my door would usually make me smile and pull out a bottle of wine, but today, it makes my hands sweat. I know this isn't good. I can tell it isn't good by the way JJ is staring down at the floor and by the tears stains in Penelope's makeup.

Spencer is dead. That's it. He's gone. I don't know how it happened but he's dead and gone and I'm all alone. My head starts to spin and I grip the doorknob in my hand so tight that I think I might break it off.

JJ's head pops up a moment later and she gives me a quick, tight-lipped smile and I notice her grab onto Penelope's hand. "Hi, Amelia," she says, her voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it before. "We, um, we gotta talk to you."

I gulp, my chest burning as I nod and open up the door a little bit further for them. The two step inside and even though they've been in my apartment a few times, when I was invited to ladies nights and hosted, they walk as if they're strangers. They're uncomfortable strangers who would rather be anywhere else.

I close the door and the three of us linger in the entryway. I almost regret not putting on a record this morning because the silence is choking me. Garcia is avoiding eye contact and looking around and JJ is doing something similar, but her eyes are stuck on my wall of pictures. And it seems to be the picture of Spencer and I. It was one that had taken hours to convince him to take and when I'd finally pressed the button on my camera, we were giggling relentlessly and Spencer was clinging to my side. It's one of my favorite pictures of us, which is why it's on my wall. I look at it every day and wish we could go back to that moment.

"Do you guys want a drink or anything?" I offer because I just don't know what else to say. I truly don't want to hear what they have to tell me.

Penelope turns her head back to me and shakes her head. "Um, no. No thanks."

"Amelia," JJ states, her voice sharper than I imagined. But then she brings her eyes to mine and her face softens. "Do you, um, do you wanna sit?"

"Tell me what happened to him." I sputter, bringing my hands to my hips. I'm already breaking and there are already tears in my eyes. They wouldn't be here during a work day just to tell me that Spencer is happy and healthy at work, about to get on the jet so they can go to their case.

Penelope lets out a whimper and puts her face in her hands, pulling her hand away from JJ's. JJ sighs and looks between me and her friend. "Spence is, um," she lets out a breath again and forces out whatever words are painful on her tongue, "he got arrested in Mexico. He was in a car chase with the Mexican police and then he was found with a huge amount of cocaine and heroin in his trunk, and he was high out of his mind. Emily, Rossi, and Luke went down to Mexico to investigate and they found a body and they're now charging him with drug possession with the intent to distribute, and manslaughter."

Like I said, some change is good. Changing bed sheets, changing clothes after a workout, changing your mind on a restaurant for dinner. Change is necessary for life to go on. Not change like this. I could never accept a huge change like Spencer getting arrested in a foreign country while being high. All of that is absolutely ridiculous and I almost roll my eyes when JJ tells me. But her face stays stoic and I know it's true.

Sometimes, I can feel myself getting pushed into the ground. I can feel my feet melt into the hardwood floor and I watch as the room starts to spin like a carousel. But there's no eccentric horse and no cheerful children. It's just me and my tears and my trembling knees.

"Amelia?"

There's a voice but I can't tell who's it is. Maybe it's JJ. Maybe it's Jenna. Maybe it's Penelope. Maybe it's Spencer. Maybe it's my mom. Maybe no one spoke at all. I can't even tell what's real anymore. If Spencer is high and getting arrested then we surely, must have entered a new dimension.

"He was framed, Amelia, we know it."

There's the voice again, and suddenly there's a hand on my arm, but my whole body tenses. My eyes glaze over and I can't even breathe, my chest heaving every time I try. Silent tears fall down my cheeks and I know that the longer I stand here, the more pain I feel.

But the glue under my feet has taken a liking to this specific spot of the floor and I'm stuck. So utterly stuck in this spot, in my head, in this lifetime. I can't breathe anymore. My lungs are flattened and they won't inflate.

"Amelia, you need to breathe."

I move my lips but no words come out. I'm grappling for words and gasping for words and I know what's happening but I can't stop it. Spencer always stops them. He always speaks to me in his soothing voice and waits to touch me until the nonverbal part of my attack has passed and then he hugs me up until I almost bruise.

But thinking about Spencer makes my knees buckle and I crumble to the floor, staring down at the hardwood as my tears create a puddle. I hang my head and ball my hands into fists, trying to find something to ground me but there's nothing. JJ and Penelope don't know what to do and Spencer can't magically appear to help me. They can't even call him because he's been arrested. Arrested.

My boyfriend has been arrested. My FBI boyfriend who wasn't happy to bail me out I when I was arrested for spray painting a brick wall that was public property. And now he's getting arrested for being high, being in a car chase, narcotics possession, and now murder? My boyfriend? My boyfriend who walks around with his sobriety medallion and cringes when we even see a scene on tv of someone doing drugs. This isn't him. This isn't My Spencer.

"Emily, Luke, and Rossi are with him. They said he's hazy and missing time but he's okay."

He's not okay. God, no. He won't be okay. He relapsed and once he comes down, he's going to be crushed. Absolutely pulverized. He'll never want to look at his medallion again. His medallion. Where the hell is that?

Time passes. So much time passes. It feels like forever. My hands bleed and my knees ache and my back is sore and my head starts to pound. I eventually collapse onto my side, almost curled up in the fetal position, my eyes squeezed shut. I need Spencer. I need him to hold me and to tell me he's going to be okay and to come home. Someone needs to tell me this has all been a cruel, disgusting, horrible prank.

"Amelia?" It's Penelope this time, that I know.

"Amelia, can you hear me?" And now it's JJ and she's crouching right beside me. I nod weakly and she sighs of relief. "Can I get you something? Water?" I nod again, and she goes rushing off to my kitchen.

Penelope helps me sit up again and leans me against the wall, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Her touch feels nice but it's not the same as Spencer's touch. Nothing will ever be the same.

"We're gonna save him," she whispers to me. "We're gonna prove that he was framed and we're gonna bring him home."

JJ returns with a glass of water for me and joins the two of us on the floor, crossing her legs. I sip slowly, my hands still shaking and my knees pulled up to my chest, protecting myself. My thoughts are shooting around in my head and I can't stop them.

"We've been fighting recently," I confess quietly. "Ever since he decided to bring his mom home, we have. On our anniversary, he asked me to move in with him and we agreed to buy a house, then he brought his mom home and started ignoring me. He cared more about experimental medicine than he did about me."

"That's not true," Penelope murmurs, placing her hand on my knee. "Anyone with eyes can see that Reid loved you more than himself. He'd lay down his life for you. He looks at you like you put the clouds in the sky," The statement makes my head spin quicker.

"Why don't you," JJ speaks next, "pack up some stuff and come to the BAU with us? You probably shouldn't be alone right now and you could use some company."

"Plus, we can keep you updated on Spencer when you're closer," Penelope says. "Go pack and we'll drive you."

I put the glass of water on the floor and manage to push myself to my feet. I trudge away from the girls and up the stairs to my bedroom, lugging a duffle bag out from under my bed. It almost doesn't feel real as I put a few things in the bag. It feels like someone else is controlling my body. I’m not moving like this. I’m not living in this dimension. 

I make my way back down the stairs and see the two women still lingering in the doorway, not even speaking. But they give me pitiful smiles when I enter, and they don't say anything when I grab my keys and open the door. I don't clean up my water glass or my cup of tea or double-check anything. I just need to leave.

///

Stephen and Tara's heads pop up when the elevator doors open, but I keep my head high. They're profiling me, as they always are with everyone, but I don't want to give them the power to see me so broken. So I keep my face neutral as I march right past them and down the hallway, directly into an empty interview room and slam the door shut.

Maybe it's wrong of me to be so cold to the team that is doing their best to help Spencer, but I can't help it. And maybe I'm mad at him. Maybe I'm fucking furious. How could he do this? How could he go to Mexico and put his life at risk, being a federal agent and being such a big target? How could he neglect to tell me that he was leaving the country? How could he do this to his team and his mom? How could he do this to me?

"Amelia?" Tara's knocking at the door, entering before I can even say come in. "I'm just checking in on you. I'm sure you're upset. We all are."

"He's stupid," I'm not sure why that's the first thing out of my mouth, but it is. "He's a fucking idiot. I've always known that but I didn't think he'd be this stupid."

Tara sighs and leans against the wall, dropping her head and trying to stay calm and level for me. "Did you know he was going to Mexico?"

"He told me he was going to Houston to meet with a doctor, that's all," I shake my head, ripping the too-cheerful bow out of my hair and letting it fall to the floor.

"When Garcia looked into his travels, it turned out that he crossed the border three times." I can't even bother to react. My body just feels numb and no new information can get past the shield I'm putting up. "You had no idea of any of this?"

"He always told me he was going to Houston. I never would've thought he was going to Mexico. Tara," my teary eyes travel up to meet hers, "JJ and Penelope said he was framed. Who is trying to frame him?"

Tara grabs a chair from the table a few feet over and sits in front of me. "Did Spencer ever tell you about someone named Mr. Scratch?"

"Him? I thought he was going after Hotch."

"He's coming after all of us. He came after me, he kidnapped my brother and drugged him, and we know that he did the same to Reid. It's our job now to find the evidence that points to Scratch." Stephen is at the door now, giving me a pitiful smile before gesturing for Tara to follow him out. She pats my knee before standing. "We're gonna get him home. You're obviously welcome to stay here, and if you need anything, let us know."

///

I thought that being apart of one FBI-involved case was enough for one lifetime. I don't miss being in this stale interview by myself while the BAU does their work, scrambling for evidence that supports Spencer and gets him home. But there's clearly not much or else I would have heard something. All the horrible memories of my childhood in police stations surface and swirl around my brain, leaving me frantically covering my eyes to will them again. I’m a kid again, laying on an uncomfortable couch and watching officers go back and forth without even looking at me. I’m a kid again, lost and confused with nowhere to go and no one to love me.

JJ and Penelope stop by over the day to check in on me and bring me food whenever they order some, but I don't eat much. I just spend my time staring at the wall and trying not to cry. I eventually leave the room just to change into sweatpants and a hoodie, and when I return, my phone is buzzing with a call from Jenna.

"Hey," she answers, and there's quite a bit of commotion from her end. "You were supposed to be here a half hour ago and The Bachelor starts in twenty minutes, so are you coming? Everyone else is already here and Frankie said he's gonna eat your Popeye's order soon."

"No," I answer quietly, "I'm not gonna make it. Sorry. I forgot to call."

"Are you okay? You sound off," Jenna's no profiler but she's always been good at hearing when I'm off. "Did something happen? Is Spencer okay?"

I cover my eyes with my hand and let out a shaky breath. "No, Jen, he's not."

There's a moment of silence on her line and the shouting from our friends gets quieter as she gets further from them. "Are you guys fighting more? What'd you guys say this time?"

"It's so much worse than that," I cry, curling up on the couch as the waterworks start yet again. "He got arrested." And so I start the story, relaying the details as I know them.

It's now that I accept the situation. Spencer is being framed by a criminally sophisticated serial killer who organized a prison break from behind bars. There won't be evidence. No, actually, there will be evidence and it will all be planted to point to my boyfriend. The minimum sense for murder is twenty years and the maximum is life. No matter what, he's going away for a long time or for forever. I might never see him in my bed again, or on my balcony, or buy a house with him, or have a family with him.

And so I cry to Jenna for hours. She misses The Bachelor and she has no idea who gets sent home or who gets a rose, but I don't think she cares. She listens to me cry over my tainted life plans. The wedding I'll never have. The kids I'll never birth. The mortgage I'll never pay. The college acceptance days I'll never attend. The birthday parties I'll never throw. It may never happen. And I've never been a pessimist, but this is the perfect time to be one.

I know that I fall asleep on the phone with her because when I wake up, my phone is on the floor of the room and it's still unlocked, telling me that it's nearly three in the morning. I'm wide awake and plagued with memories of the times I used to sit in bed with Spencer at this early morning time, eating Chinese food or ice cream and sometimes playing dumb card games that he lets me win or watching movies in a language I don’t speak or teaching him how to braid my hair.

I leave the dark interview room and wander into the dimly lit bullpen, finding right away that the four members of the BAU that are in the country are still in the conference room. They're working through the night and I wish I had the energy in me to thank them.

I push open the doors with every intention of forcing yself to have to energy to thank the team, but I pause when I get to Spencer's desk. His cardigan is still on the back of his chair, and there are more books covering the desk than I’ve ever seen. My pinky promise note has never moved from its spot on his computer and there are now two framed pictures of me on the desk. One is the same one that's hanging in my apartment, and the other is just me on my balcony, grinning at the camera. I hated the picture at the time and I still hate it now. Clearly, Spencer loved it enough to get it developed and put it on his desk. Every time I come here and see this picture, it makes me fall in love with Spencer just a little bit more.

I sit in the cardigan-covered chair and open the top drawer, finding basic office supplies. The next drawer is full of case files and paperwork that I don't have the stomach to go through, and besides, I'm sure I'd be the next to get arrested if I go through them. Federal business and all. I already know what is in the bottom drawer but I open it anyway, and I find that the stash of snacks I supply is still held there. I smile when I find that there are new snacks there, meaning that Spencer has finally learned and eats more when he's at work, even taking it upon himself to buy things other than what I provide for him.

I swivel the chair to the other side and open the only drawer on that side. This drawer is filled with the sketchbook/journals that I've provided for him, and at this point in our relationship, after two years, I've provided him with six already and he's working on his seventh. Each one is decorated differently and uniquely and each one is filled with whatever Spencer decides. I also find one of my hair scarves in here but I don't dare to touch it. I lost this scarf very early in our relationship and I realized I left it at Spencer's apartment, and I knew he'd never give it back to me. I steal his clothes and he steals my hair scarves.

The last thing I find is Spencer's medallion and I quickly pull that out, slamming the desk drawer closed. I'm not sure what to think of this. Did he leave it behind because he was tired of being sober? Did he leave it here on accident? Did he leave it here because he was framed and he didn't plan on getting drugged in a foreign country? I juggle the medallion between my fingers like I've seen Spencer do so many times and wonder if Spencer remembers his promise. I wonder if he remembers that he promised to always come home to me, that he'll always go north and he'll come home to me. Does he remember that?

"Hey," Penelope leans against the desk, giving me a small smile, "I've got a tiny bit of good news."

"Good news?" I echo, not at all convinced. How could they have good news that's tiny? The only good news in my book right now would be Spencer is released from custody.

"Yeah," she nods eagerly, "it turns out that the woman who was killed was a Mexican and an American citizen. The case was just extradited! They were gonna move Spencer to El Diablo Maximum Security Prison but instead, he's gonna go to federal jail here and await his trial."

I just nod at this news, because it's not really good. He's not proven innocent, in fact, plenty of people seem to think he's guilty if he was supposed to go to a Mexican prison. He still has to go to jail and stay there to wait for his trial and he still has to be proven innocent. It's not good news.

"Amelia, it's good, I promise. This means that we can control the case." But I still don't look up from the medallion as it passes between my fingers, and I only look up when she speaks again. "They're on their way back now and they're stopping by here first before bringing him to the federal jail."

"Really? Am I gonna be allowed to see him?" I perk up, the medallion rolling out of my fingers as I jump to my feet.

"Yeah! He's supposed to keep his handcuffs on but if we get you guys into an interview room or something, I'm sure we can make an exception for you," Penelope rubs her hand up and down my arms, smiling. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything's gonna be okay."

I scoff out a laugh, already retreating back to my lonely interview room. "It's funny, that's what I said to Spencer when he was upset over a case once. Guess I was wrong."

///

"Amelia, he's here." Penelope beams, waving me out of the interview room.

When I get to the elevator, Spencer is already hugging JJ. She sighs as she's nudged by his jacket-covered, handcuff-bound hands, hugging him as best as she can. I hear her promise the handcuffs are only because there are other people around, and Spencer nods in understanding. He looks horrible- exhausted and disheveled and nothing like the man I fell in love with. But as soon as I see him, a new wave of overwhelming, painful emotions wash over me.

Spencer lays eyes on me and his face crumbles, stepping past JJ to get to me. "I'm sorry," he whispers, but I'm not quite sure what it is he's apologizing for. There's a mountain of things it could be for. But I don't care.

I forget all the horrible things I was thinking before and pull the jacket away from his hands, ducking down and moving inside his circled arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. I squeeze him as tight as I can because I know he can't really hug me properly, and I hear him sigh contently. He melts into my embrace. His arms just hang around my waist but I barely pay mind to them. He's here and that's all I care about. He’s here and he’s touching me and he’s not okay, but he is alive and that’s all I care about.

"Are you okay?" I murmur into his neck, my eyes closed.

"No," he answers, and while I'm happy with his honesty, I'd do anything to change that answer. "I relapsed. After all those years, I relapsed."

"Spencer," I pull away and put my hands on his cheeks, staring into his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, "did you do it? Did you kill that woman and did you take those drugs and did you intend to distribute that stuff?"

"No, absolutely not," he answers quickly, shaking his head. "I-I was there," he looks over to make sure the team has left and they have, to give us privacy, "to get medication for my mom. I'm missing time from the drugs but that's the only thing I'm sure of. The medicine she was on wasn't helping and I found this experimental treatment but this doctor would only give it to me in Mexico and Scratch must have found out and used it against me and I'm so, so sorry, Amelia."

"Okay," I whisper back, nodding. "I believe you, dove. Whatever you tell me, I believe, you know that. The team believes you too and they're doing everything they can to prove your innocence."

He glances into the doors of the bullpen where the team is surely debriefing, now together after almost a week of being apart. Then Spencer brings his gaze back to me and rests his forehead against mine. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"Don't worry about me," I give him a tiny smile. "You worry about you."

"You had a panic attack." He quickly concludes, his face contorting into one of concern. "Where were you? Were you alone? Were you-"

"I was at home and I was with JJ and Penelope, but you know that you're the only one who helps. Anyone other than you just makes them worse. But it's fine, I'm fine. Don't waste your energy on me."

Spencer sighs, resigned, his eyes fluttering for a moment. "Can I give you a kiss?"

I savor the kiss. I savor the moment. I savor the way Spencer tries to get his hands on my back. I know that life is changing for a while. My pessimism is rearing its ugly head and I can't stop it. And whether I'm the only pessimist here or nobody else is confessing what they're thinking, I'm the only one acting on it, it seems. I kiss Spencer with everything I have because as soon as he's here, he's gone. He's sitting in a jail cell and he's staring at all without me and without his team. But this is the change that life has brought us. A change that I refuse to adapt to.

TAGLIST

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[xxisxxisxxis]

Shining Star | Part Two

[Axl Rose x OC]

Words: 3.1k

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of suicide

Tag list: @teller258316 @reigns420 @xpoisonousrosesx @oskea93 @blowinmeupwithherlove @redlipscrystalskies14 @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @sublimeprincesswasteland

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

"Pretty as a picture." I say to myself, swiping lipstick across my lips in the bathroom mirror before I click the tube shut and make sure my hair looks good. 

My stomach churns at the thought of seeing Tommy...and Vince. 

I haven't spoken a word to Vince since he got Tami pregnant a year and a half ago, and I haven't spoken to Tommy since he leapt out of my bedroom window after 3 minutes of awkward sex. 

"Do you fuck all of your friends?" My mother's words come back to bite me in the ass as I groan out in frustration. 

The only plus to any of this is that I'll get to hang out with Viv. 

There. Viv. Just focus on Vivian. 

I leave the bathroom and glance around to see if I see any familiar faces. 

Nope. 

I pull the skirt of my dress down a little and rub my lips together, people passing left and right, looking either too drunk to be bothered or too busy. 

"Tansy?" I hear a confused voice and look straight ahead, seeing Vivian by the payphone. 

"Hey!" I reply excitedly, rushing to her as fast as I can, being careful not to trip over my feet adorned in red heels. 

Vivian Sixx—Kinston at that point—had a ballet scholarship to Juilliard, never missed a Sunday church service, and was one of those annoyingly gorgeous girls that genuinely thought they were ugly. She couldn't stand her red hair because she was teased in middle school and called "firecrotch," she hated her freckles and her height because she'd been compared to a giraffe--"tall as shit with brown spots"--and the fact her mom was a batshit crazy Jesus lunatic never helped matters…but that stuff was all in her head because after middle school, guys looked at her differently, Jesus-lover and all. She saw annoying traits, but most people saw legs a mile long, a unique hair color that stood out in the sea of bleach blonde, freckles that framed emerald green eyes, and a heart as kind and beautiful inside as she was on the outside. 

She's always said I was the most gorgeous woman she'd ever met, but she is, to me, the most stunning. 

She didn't have to try to get anybody's attention, she walked in a room and she had it--so much so that Matt Sorum called her "Fire Woman" after The Cult song because he claimed that's the first thing that came to mind when he first saw her walking back stage at his first gig with Guns N' Roses. "She could give me the fucking clap and I'd kiss her feet for it." He told me, his facial expression mimicking someone who'd been struck by lightening twice…

People always looked at her like that but she rarely noticed because she'd be too busy looking up at Nikki with utter hearts in her eyes, but we'll get into that later.

"What are you doing here?" She asks me curiously. 

"Vince called me and wanted me to come." I explain and she raises her brows. 

"Vince?" She asks and I nod. "The same Vince that cheated on you multiple times Freshman year? And your entire relationship?"

"It's been, what, four years?" I ask, in reference to how long it's been since he and I started dating. "Maybe he's grown up a little." I suggest and she just clears her throat, cueing the hollering of an angry girl.

"Fuck you! Piece of shit! Motherfucker!" She shouts, the sound of her hitting Vince gets louder and she stomps down the hall as he follows after her, continuously trying to get her attention by saying "babe" repeatedly. 

"My pants! Babe!" He's fully in sight now as she stomps off...and he's fully naked.

"Fuck you!" She calls back to him, leaving him behind. 

"I fucking love those pants." He whines, disappointed, cupping his dick. 

"Your swimsuit parts are out." Vivian tells him, and he and I make contact over her shoulder, my nerves tensing up anxiously as he looks at me with a grin. 

"Hey, Tans." He says to me, about to come closer but Vivian stops him. 

"Go put some clothes on." She orders to him and he rolls his eyes, turning and walking away, his butt shining as he leaves. "You had sex with that." She reminds me and I frown slightly. 

"Yeah, he hasn't changed a bit has he?" I ask her and she shakes her head a little. 

"He's gotten worse." She states. "Alright, c'mon, let's go see Tommy." She takes my hand and leads me to where he is, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. 

How awkward is this going to be? 

We turn the corner and see him and two other guys standing in their street clothes, and when Tommy sees me, all my nerves dissipate because he completely makes me forget our awkward sex never even happened. 

"Tansy fucking Reilen!" He exclaims excitedly as I walk to him to hug him. 

He leans down to reach my 5'3" height and wraps his arms tightly around me. 

"Hey, Tommy!" I reply, just as happy. 

This is the first time he, Vivian, and I, will be hanging out together...Viv's been having to hangout with us separately because we've been avoiding each other for the most part. I guess we don't have to, anymore. 

He releases me, immediately turning to the ball of teased, jet black hair. 

"This is Nikki," he informs me, "the band's bassist." 

Hazel eyes--nearly green--look down at me behind his hair, traveling down my face, to my chest, down my legs, and back up again, the tiniest, mischievous smirk on his lips, and I raise my brow a tiny bit…

Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Is exactly what Nikki was, and it was all he and I could get ourselves into for years to follow.

"And this is Tansy." Tommy tells Nikki, oblivious to how he's looking at me.

"Nice to meet you." I tell Nikki. 

"Yeah." He replies. 

"And Mick, our guitarist." Tommy says next, nodding to the shorter man who's also got jet black hair. 

"Hi." I say to him. 

He just gives a small smile and mumbles, "hey."

"He's a little quiet but when you get to know him he opens up." Tommy says to me, quietly as Vince reappears with clothes on. "We were about to head to the rainbow," he starts next, his eyes flickering to Viv. "If someone's willing to stay out late." 

"Fine." Vivian doesn't argue, sighing out. 

"Hallelujah. Thank fuckin' God." Vince pipes, sliding his arm around my shoulder, making me roll my eyes. 

The entire time to the Rainbow, Vivian and Nikki are constantly back and forth, tearing each other new assholes and going for each other's throats. I don't know what beef they have with each other but it's brutal and borderline sex fueled. 

Once we get to the bar and grill, I drag Viv to the bathroom with me so I can touch up my makeup. 

"So…" I start, looking in the mirror, "...have you lost your virginity yet?" 

"No." She says it as if she's slightly offended. 

"Oh." 

"Why?" 

"It's just…" I start but quickly decide that it'll just piss her off, probably. "Nothing." 

"Tansy." She sighs, irritated. "What is it?" 

"Nothing. I just thought you and that Nikki guy have messed around." I shrug and she looks like she's seen a ghost. 

"I—ew why would you think that? We haven't." She insists and I hold my hands up in surrender. 

"I'm sorry, I just thought you had." I tell her. 

"What makes you think we have?" 

"There's a tension." The words are framed by a smirk and she widens her eyes. 

"There is not a tension. There is so not a tension." She gets it out without laughing although I can tell she wants to. “We argue. All the time. He thinks I’m a self-righteous prude and I think he’s the spawn of Satan. If there’s a tension, it’s because we hate each other.”

"You don't have to like someone to have sex with them." I inform her, speaking from experience of the guys who've had sex with me without giving a damn, and me having sex with guys I didn't necessarily like just to make them happy. "I really like him for you, though. You get all riled up and firey when he's around." 

"Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. 

“I just met the guy and I can tell he has you acting different. You used to be so quiet and shy around people you don’t really know, now you’re jumping in to conversations just to piss him off and prove him wrong.”

“Because I don’t like him.” She shakes her head. “And he doesn’t like me. That’s where the tension comes from. See? It’s full-circle.”

"Hate-sex is always an option." I suggest. 

"Do not even start." She scolds me, pointing her finger. 

"What? It gets rid of all the aggression and ill feelings." I explain. 

“So does their shows. Did you know they encourage people to get their feelings out during a show so they go home chilled out and not so uptight?” she tells me and I look at her, not even the slightest bit convinced. “And it works.”

“Yeah, until he gets off stage and then you get all hot and bothered.” I reply with a grin. 

“I get hot because he’s Devil-Spawn and the heat from hell radiates off of him and I get bothered because he’s an arrogant idiot.”

“Or you like him and don’t know why you do so you displace your frustration and confusion on to him.” I shoot back. “I was honestly joking about the hate sex okay? I don’t want you to go jump in to bed with him if you don’t want to but you two were fighting like cats and dogs the whole time we were on our way here. I think you should try to let whatever kind of bravery he evokes in you come out in a way that’s not in the form of riled up anger or fiery hatred.” I recommend and she nods a little. “Now, c’mon because I have a slutty blonde waiting.”

That was the night Mötley Crüe was signed to Elektra records by rock-god signing Tom Zutat, who's responsible for record companies grasping ahold of a plethora of leather-patented hair metal douchebags that could make good music and snort their way through long enough power rails of coke that once they reach the end of white powder without flinching, China's on the other side. But you want to know a secret? It was all bullshit. Every person I've met in that rock scene, you know, the ones that despised the term "hair metal" yet teased their hair two feet above their heads and played heavy metal? Yeah, them. Every single one of them had this "I was made for this shit" attitude. 

Some of them nearly put bullets through their head, OD'd, hung themselves, turned their cars on and locked themselves in their garage...even the ones that hadn't purposely tried to take themselves out either almost pushed it too far and died accidentally from too much booze or drugs or vehicle accidents, or did push it too far. 

They weren't made for it. 

Nobody's fucking made for millions of people wanting a piece of them every single night, management running them to their grave for more money, dealers keeping them numb, all their relationships just exploding in their faces, all of their "friends" wanting more and more and more. 

They thought they were made for it because when someone gets a taste of what they decide the universe or God or whoever or whatever destined for them to become, they take it and run with it without reading the fine print. 

They see the fame without the lack of privacy and hangers-on. 

They see the fans without the people who hate their guts and make it known. 

They see the money without the gold diggers. 

They see the excess without the high risk that comes with taking advantage of having everything with the snap of their fingers. 

They see the glutton without the punishment. 

Until they're standing on the railing of the balcony of their Hollywood penthouse, their best friend trying to talk them down while the police are on their way. 

And then of course when they do turn up dead by suicide, people talk their typical, "how awful, they killed themselves in their mansion, surrounded by their expensive furniture, wearing their expensive clothes, with millions—possibly billions—in their bank account, how sad for them, boohoo." 

As someone who's been dirt broke, to the point of getting my water cut off and having to shower at a friend's house, but then growing up to have more money than I knew what to do with aside from blow it on drugs? Money doesn't buy happiness, jerkoffs. It can buy distractions to buffer pain and suffering, sure, but once the high wears off, or that new car loses its luster, or that new house starts to feel fucking empty, all while that wall full of awards and plaques and magazine posters cementing your fame and worth and stake in the industry you sold your soul for just reminds you that you don't even recognize who the hell you are anymore and nothing can change that...you get fucking depressed. Hate to say it. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, that even though you're poor as shit and are depressed as shit that even if you had money and fame you'd still be fucking sad. But I'd rather tell you the truth than sell you the fallacy that me and everybody else I was friends with bought, that landed every single one of us in situations where we felt we had no other way except to just off ourselves all while remembering when we were stupid enough to proudly say: "I was made for this." 

People are made for this like Matthew Trippe replaced Nikki Sixx, which—if you want the truth—is complete bullshit.

“He said we could possibly score a five album deal, Viv, why aren’t you happy about this? I thought you wanted us to get signed?” Tommy asks Vivian as she slings her keys across the guys' shitty living room, pissed beyond measure.

“You just told me you were dropping out of school, Tommy! We are so close to graduating, can’t you just wait?!” 

“No, I can’t! I can’t just wait because what I wanted is happening and I need to focus on the band right now more than ever!” He argues while motioning to Nikki and Vince, who, like me, are being smart and staying near the door incase we need to get out of sight once Vivian and Tommy kill each other.

“Your education should be your main focus, at least until you graduate! You are so close to being done, Tommy, why can’t you just—“

“Because I don’t give a fuck about school, Vivian! What I am passionate about doesn’t require a diploma, and I’m sorry if me dropping out makes you feel like I’m leaving you behind or whatever the fuck you feel, but I’m not sorry for wanting to focus on my main priority!”

“What I’m hearing is that I wasted hours of my time throughout school trying to tutor you and help you all for you to throw it away on the idea of being some hot-shot rockstar with girls and drugs and booze—”

“Oh, my God, you act like you would have had better things to do with that wasted time!” He sounds like he already knows he's gonna lose the argument while Vivian just rolls her jaw. “And it’s not a fucking idea, it’s fucking reality and you’re only mad because you have no control over it!”

“I’m mad because we talked about this and everything we agreed on, everything we promised each other, is absolute void to you now that it’s actually happening!” 

“Shit changes, Viv, people change! What I considered important junior year is completely different than what I consider important now.” He calms down, sighing. 

“We agreed we would both graduate high school and I could either put off college or drop out if I needed to...” she trails off, her voice shaking slightly with oncoming tears, making me feel bad for her. “That was our plan to avoid this from happening. To avoid you leaving me behind.” Now it's crystal clear why she's freaking out over them being offered a record deal. “You considered me important junior year when you came up with that plan. When you promised me you wouldn’t go on to bigger things without me and forget me. And now...” She takes a step back, while Tommy attempts to walk to her. 

“Viv, I didn’t mean it like that.” He tries to tell her. 

“No, you’re right.” she replies, her body shaking a little. “Shit changes.” I raise my brow because I've never heard her curse before. “People change.” She keeps on. “Glad this is happening now, though, so I don’t waste any more time on a completely different page than you, Tommy.” Her voice cracks a little and she grabs her keys quickly.

“Viv—“ Tommy tries to grab her arm as she heads to the door but she snatches away from him. “Fuck you.” she cracks, her voice barely coming out as tears spill over her  lashes. 

Nikki and Vince step aside to let her leave all while I contemplate following her, but if I know Vivian, I know she likes to think about things when she's upset, rather than just talk them out with someone. Which is the only time she likes to be alone. 

She just slams the door on us, and Tommy. 

Most definitely wouldn't be the last time she did that.

"Tommy, are you—"

"—I'm goin' home." He grumbles, grabbing his keys, and me and Nikki and Vince all look at each other. 

"Tommy, you are home?" Nikki reminds him. 

"I'm stayin' with my folks so I can vent to my sister because she's the only one who knows Viv good enough to know she's being fuckin' unreasonable." He states. 

"I barely know her and I can tell you she's unreasonable." Nikki scoffs, earning a glare. "Sorry, man." He mumbles in return. 

"Bye." Tommy says, closing the door behind him. 

"Well...I'm gonna go find a chick to fuck." Vince says, stretching.

"You got one right here." Nikki chuckles looking at me and I raise my brows. 

"Not since I knocked Tami up." Vince reads my mind and I nod. 

"Exactly." I reply. 

"Who?" Nikki asks. 

"Nobody. Don't wait up." He tells us, opening the door and leaving, too, more than likely heading to the strip club down the street. 

"So, like, how old are you?" Nikki asks. 

"Why?" 

He just gets a shit eating grin on his lips. 

[the-fangirl-way]

2: Ink

I looked up Harry's file, I had looked at it before on the FBI page, but it was the standard documents, medical history, school records, and his background.

I pulled out the access code Mr. Callahan had given me and typed it into the systems network, instantly at least thirty more documents on Harry came up, these were the very private documents that only officials such as Mr. Callahan and the higher ranked officers were allowed access to.

The newest up to date picture of Harry had been his mugshot from six months ago, back when his skin wasn't so pale it was almost gray, or when his cheeks weren't so sunken in from malnourishment. His hair was tamed, still long, but not as long as it was now.

Harry had been an attractive guy at one point, although I would never admit that to anyone.

Reports of Harry's recent run in with the law came up and I wasn't shocked to find out he had ties with several drug busts and had been caught using more than once. It was minor charges of marijuana, nothing heavier than THC.

The next few files were smaller accusations, a DUI, and a claim of property damage, the dated year was Harry's senior year of high school, no doubt a stupid high school prank.

Nothing really seemed to stand out, but I jotted down the small accounts in the file.

The next couple of pages were more or less just added information, court dates, tickets, so on and so forth.

It wasn't until about the fifth page I found the one document that could be my potential next lead.

Mr. Samuel Tracey, the owner of the handgun found in Harry's car that night.

It looked like I was going to have to pay Mr. Tracey a visit.   

Samuel Tracey lived six blocks from my apartment, he wasn't hard to find.

I knocked on his door and waited patiently, I could hear shuffling from the other side. Finally a gruff voice hollered "Who is it?"

"Detective DeLaney. I'm looking for a Samuel Tracey." I said holding up my badge to the peephole, the deadbolt clicked and the door cracked open before an old man with a beard submerged from behind it.

He was wearing glasses and a sweater vest, those were the first things I noticed about Mr. Tracey.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Tracey, have you ever seen this man?" I asked holding up a picture of Harry from the folder in my hands.

Tracey studied the picture for a second before nodding slightly.

"I've seen him. Why? What has he done?"

I looked around, his house was located on a busy street, cars and people passing by.

"It's kind of a personal matter, mind if I come inside?" I asked and he paused before slowly moving out of the doorway allowing me to step inside.

His home was warm, and smelled old.

"Have a seat." Tracey grumbled before taking a seat himself on the recliner across from the couch.

"So what's he done?"

"Well, Mr. Tracey-"

"Call me Sam." He corrected.

"He was found about six months ago with a handgun in his car, this particular handgun belonged to you." I said and he sighed a long exasperated sigh.

"Damn kids." He mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I asked and he rubbed his hands together sitting forward.

"Harry and my boy were friends, Douglas," He said gesturing to a picture of a young man about Harry's age hanging on the wall.

"Douglas was killed about two months ago in a drug heist." Tracey said clearing his throat and I instantly felt sympathy for him.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, he was always getting into trouble, hell from the time he was in elementary school I was getting calls for his behavior, I didn't expect much more out of him as he got older." He explained, I noticed then the bottle of scotch and glass sitting on the coffee table. Mr. Tracey poured himself a glass before offering me some which I declined.

"My wife Laura," He continued, "died giving birth, leaving me to raise Douglas. I tried my best by him, worked three jobs to give him the best life I could give him, but he took it for granted." He said taking a sip of his drink.

"Mr. Tra- Sam," I corrected, "You said Harry and your son were friends?" I asked and he nodded.

"Harry and Douglas went to school together, and they were friends all the way up until about six months ago when Harry disappeared. They would hang out after school and once they graduated my son and Harry would hang out almost every other day or so, no doubt both doing things they shouldn't do, which leads me to ask again, what did Harry do?"

I sighed and opened the folder containing Harry's file.

"About six months ago the police found Harry's car outside of a Mr. Wesley Langston's home, he had been waiting there for about four hours for Mr. Langston to return home, and he had your handgun in the car with him. He also had some rope, sheets, duct tape, other various items, so the intent was clear what he was planning on doing." I said and Mr. Tracey's features changed to surprised by the news.

"Harry?" He asked and I nodded.

"Harry was such a good kid, I mean, he got into trouble like Douglas but Harry would never try to kill anyone.."

"I would like to think so too Mr. Tracey, but as of right now Harry is still pledging guilty until proven otherwise." I said and Tracey sighed.

"I don't know anything about the gun. I realized it was missing about two weeks ago when I was going through my things trying to find something to sell to pay my rent," he said taking another sip, "since Douglas passed I've let myself slip, I lost all three of my jobs, of course, the government takes no pity on people like me. So I decided to try and sale some of my things to get money to get back on my feet until I could find a job, I didn't even know the gun was gone until then." He explained and I nodded sympathizing.

"Well, the gun will stay with the police for evidence until the trial is over and decided, if you want it back-"

"I don't want it back." Tracey said cutting me off.

"Tell them to keep it, I'll even sign my name over to them, I just, I don't want it back. I'm old," He started, "I'm old and I'm at the point now, my wife is gone, my son is gone, if someone breaks into my house with the intent to kill me, well, I'll be ready." His eyes were misty and I swallowed a lump, such a sad thing when someone doesn't value their life anymore after all the trials and tribulations they had been through.

"I understand." I said finally, gathering my things to leave.

"I'll let the police department know that you want to sign the title over to them, I'm sure someone will contact you within the next week or so to do it."

Tracey nodded and then he too stood up.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help." He said and I shook my head.

"No, you were a good help, I can mark this off my list." I said and he smiled a small smile then offered to walk me out.

"Thank you for your time Mr. er, Sam." I corrected.

"You're quite welcome Ms. DeLaney."

I headed to my car, it had started to rain, shocker.

My phone began to ring and it was Lennon.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." He said from the other end and I could practically hear his flirty smirk.

"Are you off today?" I asked.

"I am, I was actually wondering if you wanted to get some lunch?" He asked and I wanted to say yes, but I knew I had far too much research to do.

"I would love to, but Callahan has me on Harry search all weekend."

"Oh, I understand." He said sighing.

There was a silence.

"So I'm guessing our dinner plans are off for tonight then?"

I felt my heart sink, I had forgotten about our date.

"Tristan I-"

"No really, it's fine." He said sincerely although I knew he was really disappointed.

I thought about it for a minute.

"You know what? How does takeout sound? My place tonight? Maybe you can help me with my research." I said and I heard him chuckle.

"Sounds great. Seven?"

"Seven." I agreed before hanging up.

I drove to the library, it was always quiet there and I figured I could get some more research done.

The wind whipped around me creating goosebumps on my arms and legs, I was glad I had chosen to wear slacks today.

As I stepped through the library door, the warmth welcomed me, I always silently adored libraries, the smell of books and the serene calm of the silence of those going into parallel universes created in their minds by the turning of each page.

The librarian, Doris, knew me well, she lived in our building for while after Devlin and I moved in and I had come to this library many times in the past to do research on cases. She smiled fondly at me as I walked over the help desk.

"Detective DeLaney nice to see you."

"Doris, I told you, call me Avery." I said smiling and she laughed.

"I'll try to remember that."

I smiled at at her and headed over to the table I usually sat at, pulling out my laptop and connecting it to the internet.

The next four hours I spent looking up every single detail I could get about Harry, his mother Anne, his sister Gemma, his father Desmond, all of the people in his life. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which only infuriated me more that I wasn't getting anything.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I stepped outside to take the call, it was Devlin.

"Hey Ave, I'm on lunch wanna grab something?" She asked and I thought about declining but the growl in my stomach told me otherwise.

"Where?"

**

I met Devlin at Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant, she was sitting in a corner booth clad in her scrubs, today was Minnie Mouse.

"I ordered you a tequila sunrise." She said smirking and I rolled my eyes.

"It's midday."

"And? You walked here didn't you?"

I started to protest but the waitress reappeared with a large glass of orange and red liquid, an umbrella and orange wedge sat on top.

"Thank you."

She took our order before disappearing again.

"So, any news on Styles?" She asked dipping a chip in salsa.

"No, and the only lead I got turned out to not really be a lead at all. Turns out the gun that was on him belonged to a friend of his father, his son, Harry's friend, was killed a couple of months ago and he doesn't want the gun back." I said and she looked sympathetic.

"How sad."

"Tell me about it."

"So what now?" She asked and I shrugged tugging on my hair.

"I have no idea Dev, Callahan wants all this information on Styles by Monday and I have nothing."

"What about the other guy? Langston right?"

"I haven't done a lot of research on him yet, but the police already talked to him and said he cleared." I said and she nodded.

"You should still do some research just in case they missed something."

"You're right." I agreed and the food arrived.

We ate and talked some more about the case and her job.

"I'm telling you, if he asks again I'm tempted to do it." She said and I laughed.

"I think you should, he's good looking, smart, he's obviously got money.."

"Yeah, yeah." She said waving her hand.

"What about you and Officer sexy?" She asked talking about Lennon, I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"He's actually coming over tonight."

Her eyebrows lifted and she smirked.

"Oh really? Should I occupy myself with something tonight and leave you two...?"

"No, it's not like that." I said rolling my eyes, "He's just coming to help me with the case."

"Mmhmm, I hope you shaved your legs."

I rolled my eyes but could feel my cheeks blazing again.

"I mean it's not like you haven't-"

I blushed even harder and avoided her gaze.

"Oh my God, you haven't slept with him yet? Seriously?"

"Shut up." I said and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"Ave! Get on it! I mean literally get on it. "

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying!" She said throwing her hands up and then checking her watch.

"Shit, I have to get back to work."

I nodded and slid out of the booth behind her, laying a tip on the table as we walked out.

"I'll see you at home." I said and she shook her head.

"Oh no, I'm not coming home until late, I'll leave you and Officer Hot Pants to it."

I smacked her on the arm and she laughed again before hugging me and departing in the opposite direction to her car.

The walk back to the library was short, but I was freezing by the time I got there.

**

My muscles were stiff from sitting so long and when I checked the time I jumped in panic to realize that it was going on five thirty.

I put my laptop back in my bag and my things before waving goodbye to Doris and leaving the library.

The air outside had dropped measurably and I shivered getting into my car putting the heat on full blast.

When I got to the apartment I took a quick shower, shaving my legs I felt the heat return to my cheeks, Devlin could be right.

**

I was in the kitchen when I heard the doorbell buzz and I headed to the speaker.

Come on up." I said and within a few minutes I heard a light tap on the door.

I opened the door, expecting to see Tristan on the other side, but who was there instead had my heart pounding, my head swimming, and the feeling of vomit creeping up my windpipe.

He was leaning up against the door frame, his arms crossed, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of black jeans; his inky tattoos snaked up his arms and across his torso visible through his thin tee shirt. His hair was now tamed and swirled in waves around his face, a smirk placed on his full lips, his green eyes burning dangerously into mine.

"Hello Avery." Greeted Harry.  

[traincat]

I was wondering if you could explain Peter and Tony Stark's relationship in the comics. I was reading something along the lines of that they are friends but that Peter did in fact look up to Tony as a father figure once but after Civil War they remained as friends. I don't think Peter ever saw Tony as a father figure but I could be wrong although I do doubt it. Can you help? :)

Sure, I can do that, especially with Endgame Eve upon us and the inevitable return of my gritting my teeth every time someone refers to Tony as Peter’s father figure within comics continuity as well as in the MCU. First things first: I have to say that when I talk about this relationship, I’m speaking as someone who has read far more Spider-Man than Iron Man, and as someone who is far more interested in Spider-Man than Iron Man, although when I first got into Marvel I did read quite a bit of Iron Man-focused things. 

That being said, a lot of times when this conversation comes up among people who are fans of Peter Parker in the comics (and who are not fans of what the MCU has done with the character and how they chose to tie him to the Iron Man franchise) it takes on a comics!Tony bashing tone, which is not something I’m interested in doing because I’m not interested in breeding bad feelings between different factions of Marvel fandom – and because I don’t dislike Tony Stark as a character. So my goal here is not to paint Peter as The Good Character and Tony as The Bad Character in some sort of conflict, but to break things down and illustrate that Peter as a character has always been his very best when he’s independent, and that this dynamic wasn’t, ultimately, good for Peter – I suspect it also wasn’t good for Tony, but the fallout from Civil War was a trip for everyone, because Civil War was a very manufactured event that had its characters act in accordance with the plot instead of shaping the plot around the characters. Comics! Anyway: this is a bashing free zone on my part when it comes to the comics, with the exception of Marvel themselves. Marvel, I’m gonna insult. That being said, this is probably going to look lopsided, first because I have to discuss Civil War, because the area around Civil War is where most of this relationship exists, and second because I think the fallout of this relationship is important to discuss and Peter is very, very angry during the fallout.

First things first, and this isn’t exactly the place for this because it’s a much larger topic, but I think both pop culture and fandom have a big problem lumping a whole host of older man/younger man dynamics together: mentor/protege, boss/employee, team leader/team member, and father/son are not all the same dynamic and shouldn’t be treated as such. If I had a dollar for every time “he’s his dad” cropped up in relation to characters (not just Tony and Peter but in general) who just have, like, an age gap between them, I would be sunning myself on a private yacht right now. Not every older man is every younger man’s father, figurative or otherwise, and especially not once both characters are into adulthood. That’s not how relationships work; to simplify them like that removes nuance. In the interests of transparency, there are a few panels where Peter and Tony banter and joke: when Tony is telling him about the features in the new suit he’s building him, Peter jokingly whines “dad c’mon” (Amazing Spider-Man #529), and at one point I believe he makes a joke about wanting to borrow the keys to the car. But these are, you know, clearly jokes coming from a highly sarcastic character who is prone to these kind of wisecracks. There is one panel off the top of my head from One More Day where Peter says Tony was “like a father to him”:

(Amazing Spider-Man #544) As you can see, it’s not a happy scene. I should note this is after Peter has broken into Tony’s home, punched Tony in the face, webbed him up, and forcibly wrenched his faceplate off, if we’re going to talk supposed filial piety. Personally I’ve never liked this line, in part because it doesn’t make sense – this is part of what I was saying about conflating different dynamics with a certain power dynamic at play and then labeling them all father/son. Peter certainly, in the events leading up to Civil War, trusted and respected Tony. He certainly let Tony lead him. There was definitely a mentor/protege thing happening, with Tony doing things like taking Peter to Washington DC with him. But to put it simply: in 616, Tony Stark is simply not old enough for Peter Parker to view him as a father figure. Like with how Peter Parker is often thought of as much younger than he is in fandom, Tony Stark seems to be thought of as older. (This is probably because of either the mustache or the MCU.) Realistically, there can’t be more than a decade between them. Older brother, if we’re going to go the familial feelings route, would be more appropriate than father. It’s also a bit ridiculous to think that Peter, who is a married adult who has lost his own child and has lived through events like his own father supposedly coming back from the dead, would be desperate for a father figure at this point in his life, especially when he wasn’t interested in having one from the superhero set in his teen years. That being said “you were like an older brother/very young uncle to me” doesn’t pack the emotional punch we’re conditioned to register with “you were like a father to me” and I suspect that’s why this line is here for the reader. Alternatively, from a characterization standpoint, if you are both very angry and very desperate and you need someone to do you a large favor even though they won’t be inclined to at that point in time, you might want to pull out the big emotional manipulation guns, and while it’s not stated as such that that’s what Peter’s doing deliberately on the page, if I wanted to reconcile the line with who Peter is in canon, I could buy it. As it is, it just kind of sits there allowing for people to claim that Peter honestly viewed Tony as like a father to him in comics by denying greater context. I’d say if the comics wanted me to buy that Peter honestly felt Tony was like a father to him, they should have done more work, but the problem is that this event happens with decades of characterization behind Peter, and looking at the big picture I just don’t see it happening even if they had put in more work.

(As a person concerned with the integrity of the overall Spider-Man character and narrative, I should say I’m very anti-father figures in Peter’s canon – not only does it erase Peter’s independence, a key component of the character, but it tends to gloss over May as Peter’s primary parental figure, and it warps the narrative around Norman’s twisted desire to have a Perfect Heir in the form of Peter. That being said, if we’re talking about father figures in Peter’s life: shortly before Peter joins the New Avengers, he encounters an older man named Ezekiel who also has spider powers and who tells Peter he can tell him much more about his own powers. Though he’s incredibly enigmatic, Peter develops a fondness for Ezekiel and grows to trust him. Then Ezekiel tries to sacrifice Peter to further fuel his own spider powers. So Peter shouldn’t have much of a taste for father figures at this point in time anyway.)

This got exceedingly long! More under the cut.

Let’s backtrack to the early days of Spider-Man. I’ve mentioned before that independence is very important to Peter, but that doesn’t mean he’s never tried to join a team. In Amazing Spider-Man #1, after all, he tried to join the Fantastic Four – until he learned they didn’t pay. Similarly, in Amazing Spider-Man Annual #3, some years later, the Avengers try to decide whether they should issue an invitation for Spider-Man to join their ranks, and ultimately decide to test him. Peter is unsure whether he really wants to join the Avengers, although he is tempted by the idea of financial security and the public’s respect. His temper’s still pretty hot at this point, and he doesn’t react all that well to the notion of being tested:

In the end he goes along with the test, passes it, but then decides to pretend like he didn’t because he didn’t care for the actual test. There’s not a whole lot of interaction between Peter and the Avengers for a while in general, beyond the occasional team-up – I’m partial to the one with Jan Van Dyne in Spectacular Spider-Man #105-106. Peter’s got a particularly vibrant supporting cast of his own, and they tend to outshine his hero teamups. I was trying to think of any Iron Man and Spider-Man content I could remember around this point and while they’re probably is some other stuff, what comes to mind is the fight from Amazing Spider-Man Annual #20:

For the record, this isn’t Tony Stark, but Arno Stark, the Iron Man of the future. Peter, however, does not know that; he definitely thinks he’s punching his native Iron Man. (First law of Spider-Man’s aggression: is it an adult man? Peter is willing to punch him in the face. Captain America? Done it. His own clone? Tried to choke him out. It’s just how he is.) So nothing really is sticking out for me re: Peter and Tony specifically having any type of relationship at this point in time. Peter does at one point become a reserve Avenger, although he voices doubts about whether it’s really for him:

“Maybe I oughtta reconsider my reserve Avenger status!” (Amazing Spider-Man #357) 

On the subject of Peter and other heroes, I like this panel from Marvel Knights Spider-Man #2, where Peter talks about how Mary Jane says he has a bad attitude around other superheroes:

This is admittedly after he broke into Avengers Mansion ostensibly for help but just ended up fighting and arguing with them, so, she’s not wrong. (I pulled this up because I went to reread this scene because I couldn’t remember if Tony is in it, but he’s not.)

So here we are, north of the year 2000, and I would say Tony and Peter don’t really have much of a relationship. There have been times they’ve found themselves in the same battle, and I wouldn’t say either of them dislikes the other, but I don’t think they really think of each other much, either. Peter’s closest superhero connections are, at this point, as they traditionally have been, Daredevil and the Fantastic Four. So what happened?

The answer is simple. In two words: Event hell. 

If you’ve spent any time in comic book fandom, you know people have Feelings about events – those big company wide storylines involving every other character and their butler that used to happen every so often and now are basically nonstop. Mostly negative feelings. Events disrupt the flow of individual books, can screw up already in progress storylines, and somebody’s always totally out of character. I’m actually not an event hater in theory; I think they can be done well. On the other hand, these ones I’m about to discuss really suck for Spider-Man, not even in terms of characterization at the time but in terms of getting the ball rolling on what I personally think led us here, to the worst Spider-Man characterization period I have ever seen reading comics. And it starts with Spider-Man becoming a real, full time Avenger. 

During a story called Avengers: Disassembled, the Scarlet Witch has a breakdown and as a result kills several Avengers, including Hawkeye and Ant Man. The Avengers disband as a result. Six months later, a supervillain prison breakout brings together a collection of heroes including Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Man. Steve and Tony reform the Avengers, and this time invite Peter to join them. Thus, Peter becomes a headliner on the New Avengers title, along with Spider-Woman, Wolverine, and Luke Cage. I’ve said before that I don’t think Peter functions well on team books, and for one reason: he gets underused. With the New Avengers, you had your smart guy (Tony Stark) and you had your strong guys (Luke Cage and Wolverine – even though, in practice, Peter is much stronger than Luke, and has pummeled Wolverine before). He’s not even the only spider-person on the New Avengers lineup. Moreover, New Avengers was written by Bendis, and as much as it pains me to say this about the most vocal Marvel writer supporter of a canonically Jewish Peter Parker: I don’t think Bendis writes a good 616 Peter. The jokes take over. His dialogue lacks his particular 616-ish steel. In short, Bendis writes Peter with too much bark and far too little bite. It’s very noticeable during this period if you compare how Peter is written in New Avengers to how he is written in his own solo, Amazing Spider-Man, which at the time had JMS, who writes an absolutely incredible Peter, on it. Even the way JMS has Peter interact with the other Avengers in ASM is leagues ahead of Bendis on New Avengers:

(Amazing Spider-Man #522) 

A lot of stuff happens at this point that further binds Peter to the Avengers and, with the Avengers, Tony: an ex-classmate of Peter’s turns himself into a military science experiment gone wrong and burns down Peter’s apartment as well as Aunt May’s home in Queens. Tony then invites Peter, Mary Jane, and May to move into Avengers Tower, which they do. When Mary Jane is caught going into Avengers Tower late at night, a tabloid story starts circulating that she’s having an affair with Tony. Also around here Peter eats a psychic vampire, “dies”, molts, comes back, did I mention he ate a psychic vampire? But nobody ever mentions that part. And at this point, we hit the road to Civil War. 

(Amazing Spider-Man #529) I mean, I think you could argue that the Avengers on the whole are like a family, but sure, whatever. I’ll be honest: I think the comic itself at this period in time uses words like “family” in order to foster a sense of a longer relationship history that doesn’t actually exist, although at this point in time Jarvis and May were dating, so I guess that could make things a little in-law-y. It’s also, in story, being used to get Peter to agree with what Tony is pitching him. Anyway, I probably don’t need to explain Civil War but the cliffnotes: big superhero-caused explosion kills a bunch of children, a law is proposed that would make superheroes register with the government the superhero community becomes divided between two sides. There’s the pro-registration side, headed by Iron Man and also by Reed Richards, which favors cooperation with the government. Then there’s the anti-registration side, headed by Captain America. Peter originally starts out on the pro-registration side, swayed by the opportunity Tony presents him to finally unmask to the public and buoyed by his claims that with this movement they can keep Peter’s family safe, which is the reason Peter has kept the mask on all these years – concern that, should he take it off, Mary Jane or May would pay the price. (Wait for it.)  Through Tony’s directive, Peter unmasks himself and reveals his identity during a live television press conference. Tony had also made Peter a new, more high tech suit called the Iron Spider, which in addition to being in the Iron Man colors of red and gold also has several golden mechanical spider’s legs. 

This alliance between Tony and Peter is shortlived. Peter becomes disillusioned with the pro-registration side and defects, but not before he and Tony have a showdown:

(Civil War #5) You can see how I might have issues with how the MCU has reworked this particular storyline for their movies in regards to Spider-Man’s part in it. It’s not that I think anyone, including Peter, was written to their best during Civil War, but I think it’s disingenuous to take this storyline and attempt to remake it into a father/son dynamic, not only because it severely undermines Peter’s independence, something that marked him as very original as a teenage hero. 

So Peter joins the anti-registration side, there’s a big superhero fight, etc etc. Things come to a close when Captain America surrenders, and so the pro-registration side is, technically, victorious. This leaves Peter a fugitive, and Mary Jane and May, who had been hiding out in a motel, his accomplices. Their stint on the run is short; with their safety no longer protected by Peter’s secret identity, his enemies do go after his family. When an assassin targets them, Peter manages to cover Mary Jane before she’s shot – but the bullet hits May as a result. Which brings us back around to the first panel I posted, in the scene where Peter does say Tony was “like a father” to him. With May on life support in the hospital and Peter and Mary Jane unable to reveal her name, Peter goes on a rampage looking for killer. This is actually one of my favorite Spider-Man storylines, called Back in Black, and it takes place between Amazing Spider-Man #539-543, which some absolutely stunning Peter characterization. He’s also incredibly angry at both Tony and at himself during this period.

(Amazing Spider-Man #544)

(Avengers: The Initiative #7)

At this point, Tony and Peter go separate ways. Peter sells his marriage to Mephisto for May’s life (comics), and with that deal his secret identity is restored among the general public and Peter continues with his daily life, becoming engrossed in his recently resurrected best friend Harry’s affairs and fighting crime. Tony, iirc, becomes Director of SHIELD, and later deletes his brain (comics) to keep the database containing the identities of other heroes from falling into Norman Osborn’s hands when Norman Osborn essentially takes over the government following his killing the Skrull queen during the Secret Invasion event (comics). 

Since then, Peter and Tony have worked together and been on teams together (as much as I would like Peter’s Avengers status to never crop up again because the character simply wasn’t built to function on this kind of a team and nobody seems to know what to really do with him on it except have him crack jokes, with the MCU’s influence I don’t see that happening any time soon) and can get along. 

(I do not have the issue number for this panel! But it’s from a fairly recent Invincible Iron Man series.)

I wouldn’t call them close. They’re not going to be the first person either of them calls on in an emergency unless there’s something specific to one of them that the other needs. I definitely wouldn’t call them familial, or say that, in current comics canon, Peter considers Tony to be anything close to a father to him. They’ve been teammates, I’m sure they’ll be teammates again, and at best I think you could call them friends, albeit not especially close ones. And in my opinion, that’s fine; not every character has to be best friends with every other character, and sometimes superheroes are just so far apart in how they operate that they don’t mesh well together, even though they’re both smart guys. I did not mean for this post to get so long, but I hope it helped! 

tl;dr: the idea that Peter Parker viewed Tony Stark as a father figure is the byproduct of a very brief period of canon that was necessary to maneuver the characters into the roles they were going to inhabit for the Civil War event – which ultimately went very badly for both of them. The dynamic – or any genuinely close relationship between them – didn’t exist before that, and did not continue to exist afterwards, and it’s my personal opinion that saying Peter looked up to Tony as a father rather than as a mentor is taking the words on the page slightly too literally.

[xtruss]

Goodbye Ted Dexter, Free Spirit, Cricket Thinker, Renaissance Man

The England and Sussex captain had aura, flair, majestic batting, and impossible glamour - and that was just on the field

— Mark Nicholas | 27 August, 2021

Ted Dexter batting in a ring of close-in fielders in Sydney, January 1963 Getty Images

I don't know when the Ted Dexter affectation started but I can guess. The last thing my father did with me before he died so young was to take me to see the 1968 Gillette Cup final at Lord's. This was during Ted's short comeback and when the great man strode to the wicket, I leapt about in excitement, cheering his name for all I was worth. He didn't get many but no matter, I had seen him live. That evening Dad bowled to me in the garden as I imitated every Dexter mannerism and stroke I had seen just a few hours before.

"There is about Dexter, when he chooses to face fast bowling with determination, a sort of air of command that lifts him above ordinary players. He seems to find time to play the fastest bowling and still retain dignity, something near majesty, as he does it." — John Arlott

I fell for the aura, and for the flair in those back-foot assaults on fast bowlers. Not for a minute do I think I saw the 70 in 75 balls against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's in 1963 but I feel as if I did - the power, the poise, the sheer gall of it. Nothing, not even the Beatles, could drag me from the television screen when he walked to the wicket, seemingly changing the picture from black-and-white to glorious technicolor as he took guard. Frankly, much of the Test cricket of the time was pretty dull but there was a frisson, an expectation, with Ted, just as there is when Ben Stokes is on his way today. It was all too brief, he had retired for good before I started proper school.

The West Indians of the day - Conrad Hunte, Garry Sobers, Wes Hall - thought that innings the best played against them by anybody, though Dexter himself would modestly say it was just one of those days where everything came together and the bat swung freely in just about the right arc. He was well miffed to be given out lbw, however, insisting later that the DRS would have saved him. Who knows how many careers might have been changed by the sliding doors of the DRS.

The word majesty sits well with Dexter's batting, primarily because of the way in which he attacked through the off side off his back foot. This is a stroke so difficult to master that more prosaic batters choose to ignore it. It is no great surprise that Dexter thought Gordon Greenidge and Martin Crowe the two most technically correct right-hand players that he saw, citing their ability to stay sideways-on and to play the ball alongside their body as the prime reason for the accolade.

He was a huge fan of Joe Root and became near apoplectic during the England captain's relatively lean spell a while ago, when he became square-on to the bowler and was playing in front of his body. This niggled so much that he wrote to Root without mincing his words. Though at first put out, Root soon saw the kindness in a man of Dexter's age and knowledge who bothered to write, and therefore returned an email of thanks with the observation that he took the point. Who knows to what degree? It is enough to say that this year Root has batted about as well as any man could have done, and no one has enjoyed each of these innings in Sri Lanka, India, and now at home as much as Dexter.

One final appeal: Dexter (fourth from left) watches as umpire Charlie Elliot gives John Inverarity out off Derek Underwood, The Oval, 1968 Getty Images

For the best part of a year now, Ted has been banging on about Dawid Malan: simply couldn't understand why England didn't pick him to bat at three. He cited the hundred in Perth in 2017 and this year's big scores for Yorkshire before predicting near-certain success with the method that brought those runs. It is sad, indeed, that he didn't live to see the fulfillment of his prophecy in Malan's fine innings yesterday. He liked the look of James Vince and Zak Crawley too, cricketers who stand tall and play with freedom. He got a lot right, this man of Radley, Cambridge, Sussex and England.

Tall himself, strong, handsome and impossibly glamorous, Edward Ralph Dexter caught everyone's eye. With the golden Susan Longfield on his arm, they cut quite a dash and cared little for the sniping that came from those less blessed. The enigma in him - and how! - was often confused with indifference, and though cricket has remained his other great love, it was never the be-all and end-all for him - a fact that made his appearances all the more cherished and his company all the more engaging. It is remarkable to think that he first retired as far back as 1965, before returning briefly in 1968 to make a double-hundred at Hastings against Kent and be immediately recalled to the England team for the Ashes. In the brilliant photograph (above) of the moment when Derek Underwood claims the final wicket at The Oval, Ted is caught spinning to appeal for lbw with a face that smacks of a lifelong instinct for competition and achievement.

"Ted was a man of moods, often caught up in theories, keen when the action was hot, seemingly uninterested when the game was dull... a big-time player, one who responded to atmosphere, liked action and enjoyed the chase and gamble. Maybe this was the reason he was drawn to horse racing so that a dull day stalking the covers might be enlivened for him by thoughts of how his money was faring on the 3:15 at Ascot or Goodwood." — John Snow

Richie Benaud and Dexter in Sydney during the 1963-64 Ashes Frank Albert Charles Burke / Fairfax Media/Getty Images

And Snow would know for he was not the type to rise above those grey days of county cricket when the stakes were so low. Snow and Dexter, my first heroes, along with Jimmy Greaves and George Best, Muhammad Ali, the Beatles and the Stones - all of them important figures at 29 Queensdale Road, where the young Nicholas grew up with vinyl records and cared-for willow, narrow-grained and well-oiled for the garden Test matches that England forever won.

Much of the 1960s were about rebellion, revolution even, in response to the age of austerity. After the long and mainly drab post-war years, the young simply broke free and changed pretty much anything they could get their hands on. Music and fashion led the way, leaving sport's establishment to stutter in their wake. Only a few precious players could transcend the inertia, using both their talent and expression to delight the crowds and influence the young. Cricket was my thing, Dexter and Snow were the wind beneath my wings.

In Snow there truly was rebellion, against authority and the system it supported. This was not so in Dexter's case, though his free spirit and somewhat cavalier approach to responsibility gave the impression of one determined to ruffle feathers. From the outset he adored sport, worked harder than some might think at his books, and embraced diversions with the enthusiasm of a man who had more to do than could ever be done.

In many ways Ted was a contradiction: at once a conformist, as shaped by the early years of his life at home and school, and a modernist, whose lateral thinking did much to reform the structure of English cricket during his time as chairman of selectors. Richie Benaud observed that Ted's imagination and drive "will be of great benefit to English cricket in years to come. Equally, I'm in no doubt that others will take the credit for it." The rebellion in Ted was hardly radicalised but he loved to challenge conservative thinking, to take risks and to invest in his life as an adventure. Both on and off the field, this made for a terrific watch.

The best of Ted: Dexter on his way to 70 against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's, June 1963 PA Photos

He thought the Hundred a good wheeze and admitted he would rather like to have played it himself. He was, of course, the original thinker about one-day cricket, supporting its conception as early as the late 1950s and then leading Sussex to the first two 60-over titles at Lord's in the Gillette Cup. He paid close attention to the tactics and convinced his men that following them to the letter would do the trick. Which it did. He pushed for four-day county matches 27 years before they were incorporated and he founded the idea of central contracts for England players long before other teams caught the bug.

He was proud of his part in the development of the spirit of cricket, applying golf's moral high ground to the game that made his name. Through his own PR agency, he became a pioneer in cricket's digital-technology revolution by inventing the system of Test match rankings that first announced itself under the banner of Deloitte and is now the ICC international rankings.

On a Zoom call a couple of months back, with tongue firmly in cheek, he said, "Having a rather high opinion of myself, I can safely say that had the rankings been in place sometime around the mid part of the 1963 summer, I would have been the No. 1-rated batsman in the world." We had special guests on these calls - Mike Atherton, Michael Vaughan, Ed Smith, Robin Marlar, Sir Tim Rice and more - all keen to share a drink, chew the cud and have a laugh with the game's most original and forward-thinking mind.

Champagne days: (from left) Fred Trueman, Dexter, David Sheppard and Colin Cowdrey celebrate after winning the Melbourne Test, January 1963 PA Photos/Getty Images

We cannot jump past golf without mentioning the game at the Australian Golf Club in Sydney when Ted partnered Norman Von Nida against Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player. So enamoured of Ted's golf were they that Nicklaus suggested Ted follow him back to the USA for a crack at the tour. Player has long said that Ted was the best amateur ball-striker he ever saw and Von Nida just thanked him for securing the one-up triumph that day. Eighteen months ago Player told me that in their one head to head with each other, Ted beat him up the last at Sunningdale, receiving only four shots. "Little so-and-so," said Ted, "we played level!" They were due for a game last summer but Covid stood firmly between them. The last time I played with Ted, two summers ago now, he beat his age, shooting 83 round the Old Course at Sunningdale without breaking a sweat.

This was a man of Jaguar cars, Norton motorbikes, greyhounds, race horses and an Aztec light airplane that, in 1970, he piloted to Australia with his young family beside him, to cover the Ashes as a journalist. They flew 12,000 miles and made about two dozen stops at British military bases along the way.

Ted married the very beautiful Susan soon after returning from Australia and New Zealand in the spring of 1959. How she is hurting today. So too Genevieve, Tom and the grandchildren.

There was an eccentricity in him that was occasionally misunderstood but otherwise immensely appealing and it is with that in mind, that I turn to the man himself for the final word. It comes from his blog, which is a splendid read and will remain a platform for the family to share their thoughts about this husband, father and grandfather who brought us so much joy.

Dexter and Frank Worrell at a BBC interview with Peter West, August 1963 Harry Todd / Fox Photos/Getty Images

It was in my last term at Radley College when I had a hard game of rackets in the morning, scored 3 tries with two conversions for the 1st XV in the afternoon, was heard listening to operatic voices in the early evening, before repairing to the Grand Piano in the Mansion and knocking off a couple of Chopin preludes. "Quite the Renaissance man it seems" said my Social Tutor and I admit I liked the sound of it, if not quite knowing what it meant.

The Encyclopaedia Brittanica description of Renaissance man (or polymath) is as follows: one who seeks to develop skills in all areas of knowledge, in physical development and social accomplishment and in the arts. A point is made that you do not need to excel at any one activity. It is enough to tackle it seriously and see how far you get. I like the physical development bit obviously and I feel the social accomplishment bit is covered by my willingness to take on responsibilities all my life. Perhaps the arts bit is a bit shaky but a love for music, and particularly opera, and love of language - being fairly fluent in French, Italian, rudimentary German and Spanish - may be some modest qualifications."

Some different cat, huh. What a man. What a cricketer. Goodbye Ted, and thank you.