#it's the grief and the everything else i know

[endearng]

Firsts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: You and Spencer navigate through your firsts throughout your life as childhood friends.

WC: 6k

Warnings: death, grief, use of drugs to cope with grief, uhhhh i guess that's it

A/N: HELLO!!! It's been so so long and I'm sorry I took forever to update — uni's kicking my ass but now I'll try to write a bit more during holidays season. I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 Feedbacks are highly appreciated!

| masterlist

"Do you think we'll stay friends?"

"I'm sure we'll stay friends."

For a genius, your best friend, Spencer Reid, never seemed to notice some of his speech patterns — he would echo you sometimes, which you honestly found adorably funny, and he also had a tendency for rambling, even if it wasn't that appropriate at times. When you two were alone, you didn't mind; in fact, you encouraged him and let him talk to you all the way. When there was someone else, like either of your parents or a teacher (these were your regular companions), you would try to tap him on the arm subtly so he would know when to stop. Although it broke your heart, he said himself once that he appreciated when you helped him look more normal.

Right now, things are everything but normal. Spencer had graduated high school at the age of 12 while you were still in seventh grade and he was leaving to study at Caltech. You didn't dare to compare yourself to him, but you would definitely miss him around, since he was the first person you saw everyday (besides your parents, of course) and the one who walked you to school and then went on the way to his. Right now, you are sitting on the floor of your front porch, while Spencer is laying his head on your lap and you have your hands on his hair. You always said to him that he's got nice hair, no matter how he styled or decided to cut it. He blushed every single time.

"You know… I'm gonna miss you, Spencer."

"I'm gonna miss you. But you'll still be in my life."

"Will I?"

"I'm leaving, but I'll try my best to keep in touch. We can call each other. I'll spare a couple hours of my week so you can talk to me." A small grin stretched on his lips when he mentioned talking to you. A crease made its way between your brows when you thought you'd only talk to him weekly.

Trying to play it cool, you asked, just to be sure, just to check if the pang in your heart felt less intense, less hurtful. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will."

Despite having him in your lap, you couldn't see his eyes, for they were closed in delight from your gentle touch. You saw him smile softly and you could see just how relaxed he seemed with this big change — honestly, if you were him, you'd be terrified. Quickly trying to get rid of your sad and fearful thoughts, as you ran your hands through his hair, you poorly fought the urge to chuckle when you thought about braiding his hair. He felt the air that left your lungs hit his face when you did.

Curious, as he always had been, he inquired, "What is it?"

"You'd look good with braids."

"I'm not letting you braid my hair," even if his tone was one of mock offense, a chuckle made its way out of him.

"I didn't ask to."

You saw as he bit back a grin. Little did you know, but he's is heaven, here in your presence. In dire need of some place safe to just be, without the expectations and the big things that are expected from him and to happen to him. As you unknowingly soothed his thoughts with your gentle touch, he thought about how strange it is having someone touch him and not being utterly opposed to the idea. He also thought about how, for one time in his life, he didn't know something, which was the feeling spreading on his chest. Nevertheless, there was a ghost of a small, shy smile on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

He was happy.

—

As you made your way home from your sixteenth birthday dinner, something felt odd. Looking out the window, the city lights seemed to run from how fast your dad is driving. In the backseat, all alone, you tried to figure out what made you feel so empty all night long. As the car went over a bump, you instinctively looked to the side, and then everything made sense. Spencer wasn't there. Usually, after whatever family celebration you'd go to, he would be there (because you'd insist on taking him with you), by your side in the backseat of your dad's car, laughing at whatever funny thing had happened during the event. He was your company to every single thing you did, and you had been missing him quite more often as the contact between you two became more and more scarce.

Turning to look out the window again, your mom saw the frown on your face and sighed quietly, knowing precisely why you weren't chatting like you normally did. The specific pair of ears that you wanted to be listened by were not here. And she didn't blame you one bit.

As you got home, your frown was quickly replaced by a hopeful feeling on your chest and in your features when you found a voicemail addressed to you.

Hey! I hope you get home before midnight so that you won't think, not even for a minute, that I have forgotten about you. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! I'm really stressed right now because there are too many things happening at the same time and I'm here all by myself, so... I guess you know, better than myself, how I feel. You… You know me so well. It is nice to be known by you. Anyway... Um... I'd like to wish you a happy birthday and, ah, I also would like you to know that I wish I could have been with you today. I'm really sorry because I know how much you love your birthdays. I'm sending you a gift, but I'm not sure if it will arrive on time. I miss you. I miss you and whatever Taylor Swift song you were always humming when we were walking back from school.

Anyway, er... I miss you—hah—I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much I miss you. And how much I miss our time together. Uh, happy birthday!

You didn't know when, but you had teared up at some point listening to him. You didn't know whether the cause was hearing his voice again or because he remembered you or because he told you he missed your time together or that he remembered the silly songs you'd sing when you were walking back home together. Before going to bed, you let your bedside table lamp on, as you always did before so Spencer knew, from the house beside yours, that you were up or you didn't care if he called you in the middle of the night. Either way...

You were happy.

—

Underneath the Christmas tree, the glow of the warm white fairy lights you and your mom had picked out was almost blinding. Yet, you and Spencer couldn't care less. You were both too infatuated by the blinding brightness that punished your eyes to care about having problems later. Closing your eyes, you smiled to yourself, happy to be doing something so ordinary, so dumb, with your best friend. Behind your eyelids, the light was not as relentless and it granted some relief from the current sight, which sort of looked like a kaleidoscope of... white. You heard when Spencer turned his head to look at you, but you missed his soft grin.

"It was overwhelming me," you explained.

"I know." He replied, still looking at you.

Your profile, under the yellowish glow, looked almost ethereal. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, everything was forever ingrained into his memory. By now, Spencer could map out every single freckle on your face — especially the particular one on your lower lip. He sighed at the sheer thought of your lips. You were now seventeen and so was Spencer. Puberty had been way gentler on you than it was on him and he noticed with a blush that you were growing up, just as he was. You were a little taller, for sure, and you had put on some weight in all the right places, not to mention your style that matched your personality. As for him, he had that voice pitch swing that he hated greatly, still wore thick glasses and overall went with the nerdy stereotype that everyone picked on him for… while you looked like you were glowing.

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. You were so close that it almost hurt. Inches separated Spencer from what he thought would be the best feeling of his life. From the person that had him lying awake for hours, tossing and turning on his bed until the sun began to rise. "I can't wait to give you your gift. I think you'll love it!"

He grinned. "I'll be happy with anything." From you, he meant to say, but he didn't finish.

You closed your eyes again, a grin of your own on your face. He wondered... What if he got closer? What if he kissed you? What if you pulled away? What if you didn't pull away? What if you cut him off?

Almost unconsciously, he inched closer and closer to the point your breaths mingled together. You didn't pull away, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned in, getting ever closer to him than you ever had been before. The fairy lights made you look even prettier than before. You looked like a dream.

"I was thinking..."

"About what?" He asked. Despite his gaze being lost in you, he was acutely aware of the words coming out of your mouth.

God, your mouth.

"It's stupid..." You muttered, looking away from his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me." It's not stupid if it's you.

"Okay... okay." You breathed in. "Me and the girls were talking about first kisses. And I felt so, so embarrassed because I haven't had mine yet."

Spencer felt dizzy. Even if he wasn't the best at social cues, if he was reading this right, you wanted him to kiss you too. He exhaled softly, trying to clear his thoughts. His voice was weak when he asked, "And?"

"Have you had yours yet? I know we talk about everything and all that, but... have you?"

He chuckled at your question. How could he, the scrawny little nerdy boy have had his kiss and you hadn't? "You're joking right?"

"I'm not! I'm genuinely curious."

He didn't know, but your heart was in your throat, too scared of a positive answer.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet."

Somehow, that did nothing to calm your racing heart. Inching even closer, you muttered, "we could have it together."

If Spencer didn't pass out with your words, he was sure he would be unshakable for the rest of his life. Whatever life threw at him, it wouldn't matter as much as this moment of sheer strength and self-control, because he didn't pull you in immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I'd be fine with kissing you. You're my best friend. I—I know you won't judge me and you know I won't judge you either. And—and... even if things are... embarrassing... i—it will still be a good memory in the… future." As your soft voice reached his ears, he felt like he was in heaven.

Your arguments for kissing him made him wonder if you had spent that much time considering it as he did. "Okay, you've got a few points. I'm—I'm not... opposed to the idea."

Your heart burned. You both inched closer and closer, a hair width separating your lips. As your eyes fluttered closed and you placed one of your hands on the back of his neck, both hesitantly and surely, Spencer mimicked you and pressed his lips to yours with the lightest pressure as his hand found your waist tentatively. Your lips felt so soft and sweet. He knew he would feel you for days — and hoped you'd feel him for days, too.

Encouraged by him, you pressed your lips a bit harder against him. He gasped softly and you took the opportunity to capture his lower lip between yours and kiss it gently. Spencer could feel his heartbeat drumming on his ears and he tightened his hold on your waist the tiniest bit. Internally, he thought he died and went to heaven and that's how he was welcomed there. Your lips fit together so nicely and he felt his heart burning for you and he knew back then that he would do anything you asked him to in a heartbeat.

You pulled back to lick your lips and fitted them into his again. He sighed, again, moving to your accord as he tried focusing on how good it felt to be kissed by you rather than how you could regret it later. Distancing yourself, your eyes slowly fluttered open, finding his dazed ones already looking back at you. You grinned at him. Another secret between the two of you; but this time, it wasn't an embarrassing one.

He smiled back.

Later that day, Spencer sat on his bed, touching his lips, feeling the tingle yours had left behind. Smiling like an idiot, he wrote that date on the wood of his nightstand, black marker holding the evidence that tonight had actually happened, if he were to ever forget. If anyone asked, well, he would have to come up with something to hide the fact that he was relentlessly in love with you, but he would replay the best memory of his life in the back of his mind as his mouth stuttered out a little white lie.

He was so confused. And screwed. And so utterly happy.

—

At Caltech, at the ripe age of eighteen, on a working day, as usual, Spencer typed aggressively on his keyboard, writing an academic paper on a topic that had come to his mind during one of his classes and later inspired fully by a conversation with this one professor. Looking at the time on his computer screen, he cursed. It was already time he was supposed to be on his way to class, which was unlike him. There was a reason, though.

Last night, he had gotten home late. He had lost track of time talking to a girl whose name was Alex. They were both at the university library, and they hit it off immediately talking about Literature and then more mundane things — he had found out that she was a high schooler having classes with grad students, just like himself a few years back. Getting home late, his entire schedule for the day ahead had been ruined, so everything felt odd as he tried to navigate through his last obligations. He had gone to bed later than usual and overslept for some reason unknown to him.

As he got up abruptly, he knocked his knee on the desk, which was now getting very small for the size he had grown into. Shutting his eyes and suppressing a whine, he breathed in. As he opened his eyes, his line of sight caught glance of one of the two only photos he had hung up on his wall. The first was him and his mother, Diana. The second was you and him.

It was short after your fifteenth birthday, and he finally had had the time to go visit. You had greeted him with a very warm hug. That very same day, you had dragged him to your bedroom, which now didn't have the pink walls and the posters of the bands you liked so much anymore. Now, the walls were a cool tone of sage green and your walls were cleaner, the posters being replaced by photos of you and your friends from school. He had felt a tinge of jealousy, noticing just how much he was missing out on your life. Despite the lingering feeling, he tried to not let it get to him.

You thanked him so much for the gift he had given you, one of those polaroid cameras. He had spent so much time saving money to get you that present. The excited, happy tone in your voice during the phone call you had made to thank him made him feel like it had been worth it to spend that much.

"Hey, here she is! I named her Marie. From Marie Curie, of course." You explained, holding your camera carefully as you both entered your bedroom

"You named 'her' Marie?"

"She has a special place on my heart."

He chuckled. "You're so material, sometimes."

"You gave it to me!"

"I gave it to you." He whispered, a hint of a smile dancing around his features.

You smiled. "Come on, let's take a picture. It's her first. I waited a whole month so you'd be here to take this photo with me. It's only fair you're the first person to be photographed with me by Marie."

"Oh... okay..."

Holding the camera with both of your hands, you held it out so that it would capture the two of you. "Smile." You said, and, without checking his pose, you pressed the button, a big grin on your face, for the photo, of course, but also from being so madly happy that you were with him again. Spencer didn't know what do to, frozen on the spot because you were so, so close. He just looked at you, dumbstruck gaze on him as he watched you smile so beautifully at the camera.

His heart was doing somersaults.

After the flash in your face, you blinked rapidly, chuckling to yourself. "Oooh. That's uncomfortable, heh." You open your eyes and the first thing you see are his beautiful hazel ones, looking straight at you, as if he didn't even blink upon the bothering aftermath of the light on your faces. You nearly had to gulp under the intensity of his gaze. Then, you quickly regained consciousness and started fanning the small piece so that the picture would appear faster.

The result was the one now stuck to his wall: you, with the biggest smile on your face and he, lovestruck, dumb, lost gaze as he looked at you.

Sigh.

Spencer quickly shook his head, not meaning to be later and even more stressed than he already was. He missed you, though. And he let himself relish in that feeling of longing for a minute. Glancing at the photo, he couldn't help but think you were already eighteen. And that he had loved you from the first time he saw you — when he was twelve.

He sat on his bed, having removed the photo from the wall. As he held it delicately between his fingers, he thought of you. He always did. In spite of being late, in spite of everything telling him he had to go through his days, he felt something tugging at his heartstrings, a longing feeling that he should be somewhere else, something that told him something, so he knew.

It was time to go.

—

Back in his hometown, even the air felt different, despite exuding an aroma that reminded him of his younger days. It had been some time since he had visited, and the distance between you and him only grew further. Driving past your house — the state of California had finally issued his license —, he saw a somewhat big crowd of people, all dressed in black.

He felt like the noise around him didn't fully reach his brain. Like he was under water.

Robotically stepping out of his car, he approached the house cautiously. Almost as instantly as your mom welcomed him, he saw you across the room, dressed in black. Bloodshot eyes found him instantly, and a flicker of relief passed your expression — unable to muster up a smile, but oh so willing to show him that you were grateful for his presence. You felt frozen to the spot and had been standing in that corner for hours. A man placed his hand on your shoulder and that's when you looked away from Spencer. He noticed it, of course, and was obliged to acknowledge the blonde man by your side. You didn't smile at him either.

Spencer approached, somewhat relieved that you were okay, but so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation. Almost unwilling to believe whatever bad thing had happened, because he had been so happy with you in that house.

Once he was within your earshot, you greeted weakly, "Hi."

"Hi."

Silence.

"Can we talk?"

Something about the look in your eyes told him that you desperately wanted, no, needed, craved it from him, his presence. With a subtle nod, you excused yourself from the man and lead him to the backyard. Sitting on the same bench you did when it was too late and you talked about the stars together, you reveal softly as you stare into the distance, "Dad's gone."

Spencer felt like he had been punched and all the air had left his lungs after your confirmation of something he was suspecting already. Finally, he blurted out, sitting down by yourself, "W—what?"

"He didn't wake up."

"He didn't wake up?"

"No... Last night, Spencer..." You begun, your voice thick with emotion, "he said that everything was alright." You frowned, tears streaming down your face, "That he... loves... loved me and mom... and that... that had been his role on Earth."

He stood quiet, waiting for the rest of what you had to say, still shaken by the news. Your broken voice and distant gaze were enough to skyrocket the pain he felt. Spencer absolutely adored your dad, and he was one of the few that Spencer confided in wholeheartedly when things got too rough for him to bear by himself. Even though your dad was the quiet type, Spencer would go as far as saying that he was somehow his dad as well.

With your silence, he had a little time to see past the pain. Analyzing your figure, he knew. He knew you had to leave. If you decided to stay, you'd be rooted to the spot and you wouldn't be able to grow any further, forever stuck into the never ending, relentless force of grief. Spencer knew that because, besides knowing you better than anyone else, he had left in hopes to escape the person he thought he was doomed to become. Your voice brought him out of his reverie. "I laughed. I thought he was joking."

"Maybe he was joking."

"Maybe he knew he was leaving."

Silence.

You look up at him. Asking for answers. For something. For comfort.

Sitting down beside you, he held your shaking shoulders as you let tears fall freely and you lost your breath and you choked on your own saliva. An ugly, guttural, desolate crying. Spencer held you through it all — he was ready to scream at anyone on the garden if they had the nerve to go there, but, actually, in that moment, you didn't care that somebody could see or hear you. The effect of the pills your mother had given you had started to wear off and you felt things way more intensely than when she first broke the news.

Dad's gone, was all that you could hear her voice say as Spencer turned his body to fully embrace you, placing your head on his shoulder and sobbing your pain as an effort to quell the ache of your loss.

It took every single ounce of self-control for Spencer not to break down with you, because in that moment, he preferred to swallow his own pain so that he could be your safe space instead. As your sobs slowly subsided, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make the pain that invaded your whole body go away.

"I think..." you started, but never finished.

Silence.

"I think you should move away."

You looked at him, baffled, puzzled, hopeful.

"What?" You whispered softly.

"I think staying won't do you any good. And you know I'm right." His gaze never faltered.

You took a deep breath. "M-my mom... Spencer... she doesn't have anyone else. I-I can't do that... to her..." You gulped. The meer thought of leaving felt exhilarating, but you had to stay. You were rooted.

"Your brothers are always around." He replied.

"Not anymore. Much has changed since… since you... left."

"I didn't leave." He said, defensively.

"I didn't accuse you. At least I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Would you consider it? Leaving, I mean?" Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Come with me.

"I would... I don't know, Spencer." Your voice was broken. "Too... too much is going on. I can't just... go."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's dad. And now mom. And that stupid college... I don't know where I fit." You fit next to me, he wanted to scream at you, but he realized it wasn't fair of him to demand anything from you at that moment. "I don't know what path to take without my dad here to guide me." A wet chuckle made its way out of you. He hugged you again.

On a sudden wave of boldness, he stated, "If you stay, this will be your life. If you go, you'll have somewhere to come back to if things go wrong. I—I… I know, um, that I sound very insensitive right now, but that's the truth. Why do you think I went away?"

"I can't." And your tears began again, even harder this time.

He sighed, holding you against his chest once again. Despite the unbearable pain of not being able to help, to persuade you, he decided to respect your decision.

“My father's in a casket. I have got no plans.” You muttered softly. His heart broke for you all over again.

“You've got me. And I've got you.”

Looking up at him, your eyes glimmered with hope. Desperate to believe him, desperate to leave. With him, if he'd have you.

But that wasn't how it worked.

You buried your face on his chest again, willing the tears to stop, to have some control over yourself again.

He held you through it all. He was there for you.

Spencer's stay didn't last long, even though it was filled with an unspoken, desperate beg for you to come with him, even if he didn't quite know how things would work once you accepted. After some thinking, he realized he was asking too much of you for the sake of trying to protect you from what he knew was going to happen. Losing his own father, albeit for a different reason, had changed him permanently and he was scared that you, losing yours, would turn into a different person too. The mere thought of losing you to grief was too much to handle, even if he understood that his pleas were unfair to you, not to mention absurd.

Spencer's brain was turned into a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them desperate to find a way out of this situation, to find a way out to get you out of that place — both physically and mentally. As he stood by your side during your dad's burial, he let you squeeze his hand as if that would somehow make the pain less intense for you. It didn't, but it felt nice to have someone to carry the weight with you.

—

Spencer had joined the FBI at the age of 23, when you were graduating from college. The difference was staggering and it made you laugh the same as it had when he was going to college and you were going to seventh grade. It had been years since you had last met in person, after all, Diana was the main reason he'd go to Vegas, and he didn't go there much because he was often too busy with his studies and his career. Once, he had confided in you, saying that he secretly wished that it would be enough of a good excuse to avoid seeing his mother in a facility and saving them both from the pain. Tonight, though, that would change. You were visiting him in Virginia.

A little nervous, you knocked on his door. Once he answered, you took in his appearance and your heart swelled at the sight. In your eyes, he'd always looked the prettiest, but now… It's like something had shifted: Spencer was all that you saw. And you didn't want to look at anything else anymore.

“Hi,” you greeted in a weak voice. Perhaps the intensity of your smile stole away your will to speak properly.

“You're here.” Spencer muttered, eyes filled with many emotions, but that you decided to read as relief.

“I am.”

“God, it's been so long,” he says, closing the gap between you and him, wrapping his arms around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder, not so subtly trying to smell your perfume. And failing to hide the overdrive when he noticed it was the same from all those years ago, from when you had first kissed.

Pulling away slightly, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and took in his shiny eyes, the ones that you adored so much and now met yours with a new perspective on everything. Once entering his apartment, you found that the place screamed his name, from the scattered books and the endless piles all over his living room. His TV had a documentary in a foreign language on, and you smiled to yourself. Spencer had never changed and, at his core, was still the boy you were once close friends with.

Spencer filled you in on the things you missed. You knew they were mostly about his job because he wasn't one to step out of his comfort zone — not that you'd judge him for it. “I miss having you around, tapping my arm so I know when to stop,” he revealed softly as you two shared a tub of ice cream.

Forget germs, forget pathogens, forget viruses, forget everything. She is here.

You giggled. It set his heart on fire. “Ah, Spencer… You know I only did it when other people were around. Other people are just other people. You're you. And rambling is part of who you are. Don't let that disappear.”

He smiled. You were still you.

“In fact, I have something to tell you.”

His heartbeat fastened, thinking of every possible scenario, reliving every single one of your experiences in the back of his mind. “You… you have something to tell me?” He echoed. He was still him.

Chuckling softly, “I'm glad you're still you, Spencer. I still say your name when people ask me who's my best friend. It's an excuse to relive our favorite stories as I tell them all about you.”

Spencer was left speechless, bashfully looking away from you as he resumed to talk about his days at the FBI. He told you all about his team, the people and what they found on a daily basis. “Do you think it's weird that I study what I do study?”

“No, Spence. You've always had a curious mind. Why do you ask?” You inquired back.

“I don't know… sometimes I think that people find me weird.”

“You're not,” you said, simply. “Your interests are very diverse, and anyone who talks to you will find that out. Being a profiler is not weird.”

He grinned. Your words or arguments about his insecurities throughout your friendship weren't always the most complex, but he always felt better by talking to you. He was never ashamed, never too scared of admitting something or voicing his needs. You made him feel like it was okay to speak, to want, to be. Whatever his limitations were and whatever words he left unspoken, they were never your fault. You'd never frowned at him, not once.

As the night progressed, he filled you in on what he had been doing for fun, mentioning his current readings — one of them on his nightstand. Giddily, you went over to his bedroom to find the novel that he was talking about, so that you could hear him talk about it and recite, by heart, quotes that illustrated his points and interpretation from the book. Upon entering his bedroom, you smiled to yourself. So Spencer. The sand-colored walls, the neat and clean floor, his slightly wrinkled bedsheets, a pile of laundry on top of his bed, a few scattered items on his nightstand — which, by the way, was the same in his mother's house. You had always found it amazingly pretty, the light wood and the black paint that covered the iron of the drawer pulls.

As you reached the piece of furniture and removed the book, you found something scribbled right under where the object had been lying. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him not to ruin the perfect nightstand, but as you turned on the lamp to try and find out what was written there, the writing in black ink made you shiver. You fell silent. It was the date of your first kiss.

Time stopped. Why was that date written there? And why did the possibilities both scared and thrilled you so damn much? You felt someone behind you. “So, you found the book or what?” The question made its way out of his lips in a teasing tone. But, as you turned around softly, the book still clutched tightly in your hands, your eyes questioned him back. Not accusingly, only… curiously.

When he realized what you had discovered, the air left his lungs and he tried desperately to come up with an excuse. It turns out that he hadn't been asked by many people about the meaning of that date — and it's not like he had many visitors, anyway. “I… You… You… Did you… see it?” You managed to nod, weakly.

“What does it mean?” You asked, eyes never leaving his.

Looking away, he replied, “I was scared to forget.”

“Forget?” You inquired, shifting your weight.

“About it…. That night, I mean. about��� us.” You gazed at him understandingly once he answered.

“About us?” Funnily enough, now you were the one parroting him. It would have made you chuckle if the situation wasn't that serious.

He breathes out, “Yeah, us.”

A beat of silence. You take a step towards him, and his breath hitches. “Have you forgotten?”

He searches your face. Upon finding nothing but support, he reveals, “There's not a single day I don't remember that moment.” You gulp and he takes a step closer, which makes your grip on the book tighten even more. You closed your eyes — a silent invitation, but it makes him falter once he doesn't have your eyes to navigate him through what he's supposed to do.

I'm glad you're still you, Spencer.

Encouraged by the memory of your words from moments ago and the presence of you, he closes the distance between you, once and for all. There's nothing that could hold him back from loving you once your lips touch and press together in a kiss that makes the book fall to your feet as your hands find their place on the back of his neck.

On any other day, Spencer Reid would be pissed upon seeing someone drop a book, let alone a considerably heavy one, on his feet — that's absurd. That moment, though, he couldn't care less as he squeezed your waist, as if trying to convince himself that you were there, that it was real, and that he finally got to do what he has always wanted.

Spencer and you had been through many firsts during the time you've known each other; some good firsts and some pretty bad firsts. But, there was a quote, from ‘Doctor Who’, that you always reminded him and yourself whenever things got too tough:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."

As long as he had you to soften the bad things and had your company during the bad things that made the good ones unimportant, Spencer figured that life would be a pile of more good than bad things.

[xoxo-sarah]

Okay here is another idea because I love spamming you with them! It’s for our Stevie boy! Okay so basically neither Steve or the reader have had good role models for relationships. So because of this they kinda have a bad relationship, but know this so they sit down and talk and make a promise not to yell or storm out. So they fight and the reader is like whatever and leaves but Steve yells. It’s just their way of showing they care(the reader doesn’t like to fight so they leave to cool off and Steve needs to talk it out). Again this one is really just for me because I’ve never had a good relationship and my one relationship I had I dipped when things got semi hard 🤦🏼‍♀️ but like she tries that after they had their talk and Stevie won’t let her blah blah happy ending please because I need happy endings

Promises Between Us

(The headers have nothing to do with the fic but I didn't know what else to put)

↝a/n: quick fic. thank you for requesting! Enjoy 🩷 ily 💋

↝pairing:Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: relationship problems, bad family issues, parent issues/ arguing, Steve's parents mentioned, crying, not proofread & rushed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 12.23.24

Steve was terrible at relationships.

He had never been good at them and would let you know if you were to ask him.

Growing up, he didn't have the best examples to follow. His parents were always away, and when they were home, they barely spoke to each other. Out in public, they had the "white picket fence and happy couple" fecade perfected. Honestly, it irritated how fake his parents were. They were the perfect couple to anyone who looked their way.

You, on the other hand, had your own set of issues. Your parents fought constantly, and you learned early on that sometimes it was better to just walk away. All the grief you felt as a child, stuck with you through your children, teenage years, and the start of your adulthood. It probably always will.

When Steve and the you started dating, you both knew it wouldn't be easy. You both cared deeply for each other, and tried to make it work with everything in your being.

But the past made it hard to navigate the complexities of a relationship, some days. You had your fair share of arguments, and more often than not, they ended with you storming out and Steve yelling after you. You always came back, and Steve always apologized. He made sure to make it up to you. You spent more time together, talking, asking each other about the other's day. Anything to erase what was said in the heat of the moment.

Today was one of those days where it was all too much. Steve came home from work, pissed. You simply woke up in a mood. Those two didn't mix well together. After one small comment, it all unravelled.

"You're not listening!" The words echoed through the house, yet seemingly not making their way to Steve, who stood heaving in fury.

"I don't want to deal with this right now- i shouldn't have to!" Steve scrubbed his jaw, feeling it clench.

You two stood across from each other, tired, yet too stubborn to see it from the other perspective.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, "Whatever, Steve." And walked to the bedroom, already getting ready for bed at 5 P.M. Steve stayed in the living room, grabbing something to drink. You both needed to cool off, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

Steve tiptoed his way to the bedroom, with night having already fallen. He stood in the door way, watching as you read a book while leaning against the bedframe. His chest fell.

"I'm sorry."

When you looked up, Steve immediately wanted to kick himself. Around your eyes was red, along with under your nose. The tissue box on the bedside table didn't help extinguish his assumption. You had been crying.

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have brought it home and taken it out on you." He moved forward, toward you. Putting the book down, you sniffled, before nodding.

"Yeah, and I should've been more understanding." You watched as he sat beside you on the bed, before he grabbed your hand.

" I don't like arguing."

So, you both made the promise: no more yelling, no more storming out. You would talk things through, no matter how hard it got.

But promises are easier made than kept.

A few weeks later, you found themselves in the middle of another argument. This time, it was about something trivial, but it quickly escalated. You felt the familiar urge to leave, to cool off before things got worse. The living door invited you more and more as the argument escalated. Air, and quiet. That's all you wanted in the moment.

"Whatever, Steve," you said, turning towards the door.

"Wait," Steve's voice broke, desperate. His dark eyes were pleading, any hint of anger long gone. "We promised, remember?"

You stopped, hand on the doorknob. "I just need some space."

"No," he said, stepping closer. "We need to talk this out. I can't lose you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I don't want to fight." The air that had become thick from the tension, released. Vulnerability aired out the living room, nipping at your fingertips like the cold weather in December.

"Neither do I," he said softly, taking your hand. "But leaving won't solve anything. Please, stay."

Looking into his eyes, you saw the sincerity there. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

You sat back down, and for the first time, you both really talked. You shared your fears, your insecurities, and your hopes for the future. It wasn't easy, but it was a start.

By the end of the night, you were both exhausted, but there was a new understanding between you two. You knew it wouldn't be perfect, but you were willing to try.

Steve pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

"Me neither," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[griefabyss69]

A Day After

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'TIME' wc: 485 | rated: T | cw: Canonical character death, Grief

Steve writes to Eddie.

Even though he wakes up every single day, celebrates holidays when he's supposed to, and shows up to work when he's scheduled, Steve never feels the passage of time.

It's like he's stuck outside of it; like maybe whatever affliction the Upside Down had, he has it too, and he's made of nothing but mold and rotten water.

I dunno though. he scribbles in his notebook.

It seems like it's just me, nobody else feels the like, weight of all of it. Once the graves were all shut with dirt it's like everyone forgot how many fresh ones there were, like it got erased from their minds.

What does that make me? Too caught up in the past, right? It's the new decade tomorrow and all I can think about is four years ago. I shouldn't write to you still, but I keep doing it anyway.

Robin says she's gonna make me do psychotherapy, but it doesn't feel like it's all just in my head, it feels like I got some of those spores into my DNA or however that works. Now I'm just another demo-whatever without the gruesome teeth.

I dunno.

There's always unfinished business, right? But I can't figure out what the hell it is that I need to finish up. I want to move on but anytime I try nothing happens.

Maybe I died too. Maybe I'm a ghost and don't know it. Ghosts get stuck in loops too, maybe I'm just ghost-hallucinating it when I change the calendar.

Whatever. I know I'm being a downer. Maybe something good will happen soon. I promise if it does I won't forget you.

Goodnight Eddie. I'll write to you tomorrow.

Steve closes his notebook and buries it under everything else in its drawer. It'll be time to buy another one soon, this one is getting full. He has a shoebox of the old ones hidden in his closet under a bunch of porn mags. He hopes that somewhere Eddie's ghost thinks that's funny.

He gets ready for bed and doesn't look himself in the eye when he brushes his teeth. Despite how crazy it is, he still thinks maybe someday he can show Eddie some of the letters he's written to him. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps him going, even though when life feels more normal he's too embarrassed to even think about it.

As soon as he falls asleep that night, just like every night, invisible fingers brush against his cheek and soft invisible lips press a brave kiss to his mouth.

Eddie lays at the edge of the bed and Steve instinctively makes room for him, though he technically could just float or literally share the space. He passes through people quite easily. He watches the furrow between Steve's eyes ease away with satisfaction.

"Hang in there," Eddie says with a voice like staticky TV snow. "Something good is coming."

[jams-sims]

I understand Octiva so well and feel bad for her. I think she getting some unneeded heat. Stolas did abandon her, shes not the audeince memeber. She doesn't get to see how he struggled. All she knows is her dad was deeply unhappy, was on medication she had no clue about. She knew the marriage was bad but whos to say, she doesn't just see that as normal rich parent bullshit.

Then without warning on national tv he rennounces his money and status for his boyfriend. An shove you onto the back burner- this is where stolas piss poor commuication skills doesnt just start with Blitz but extends to other relationships in his life.

Because from Via point of view thats fucking insane. The guy your dad has been in an off again on again relationship is now his boyfriend for real. You've known this guy as your fathers body garud, and you had ONE conversation with this guys daughter and that was pretty cool. But otherwise ypu have no idea the shit your dad is going through. She basically watched her father in court say fucking everything and everyone take all of it. Stella can have all of my money and take the house. Then a month later realized he should have added an asterick and went

'Stella can have everything but i want custody of my daughter.'

Would it have been messy to lowkey invite your daughter over to your new mans house right after the divorce aYES but ya'll are already messy to begin with.

Also Stolas should have just talked to his daughter at some point, any point, to explain to her his situation better. Should he have told her everything NO god no. At least telling her that he was unhappy in his marriage earlier on would have saved him a lot of grief. Could she have come up with the same mindset, that she is just a burden, yes. But at least then he has a stepping stone foundation, to prove her wrong by coming to get her.

Also I think next season, there should be maybe a few episodes dedicated to Blitz showing up for Stolas daughter. Octavia is younger than Luna and she's very much still connected to her parents and Blitz wants someone he can be a father to fully. Loona Loves Blitz but she is still almost a grown-ass woman. Clearly not as young as Octivia- I think if Blitz had a connection, with her it would null out the narrative that he stole her father from her. I think Blitz would be more upset that a child thinking, he would hurt them than anything else. Especially, someone so close to the man that he is in love with.

[waynes-multiverse]

Love the details you're weaving into this, like 187 being the code for murder in the California Penal Code.

As someone who loves all things crime (true crime, crime tv shows, movies etc), I really enjoyed building my very own murder case for this story 😅🤍 I'm not psychotic I promise

Oohh… no wonder Carla wasn't happy to see her in their first meeting in Montana.

Right??? lol

Watching the show, I sometimes felt bad for Carla, even though she was such a bitch 99% of the time 😂 But it felt like there was more to the story? And Beau's spiraling and pushing her away after Randy's death (what was managed on the show) explained a lot of it for me... Anyway, I might have given her a little redemption in this one ❤️‍🩹

It really showed their grieving and how it changes with the passage of time.

Yes! 💯 It's also clear reader grieved "easier" and faster since she carried less guilt about his death (and therefore everything else afterward). But Beau having some feelings for her, even before Randy died, and feeling responsible for the warehouse incident definitely amplified his grief and how he felt about everything that happened with the reader 💔

Oh no… the breakup flashback. I had a feeling we would come to this one at some point, and I wasn't ready 😭

Writing their break up legit broke me 😭😭 And then pretending they were only casual and not totally in love??? Killed me 💀

I don't know why I love angst so much and hurt myself like this, honestly 😂

Polaris – Chapter 5

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, angst & some hurt, more murder mystery and flashbacks

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments on the last part! They really make my day 🤍 We'll take a small break next week, but hopefully, the spice in this chapter keeps you afloat 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 5: Illicit Affairs

You felt his lips ignite your skin, a trail of love down the back of your neck and shoulder blade as the sun filtered in through the trailer’s blinds behind you. You sighed blissfully, a smile dancing on your lips as you stretched your limbs in his embrace.

Your hand wandered above you, finding his full head of hair, fingers carding through the dark blond and soft strands. You could feel him grin against your skin before you felt his bulging erection pressing against your butt, causing you to push further into him on instinct.

“Mornin’,” he chuckled against the shell of your ear, his hand wandering to your front and diving between your legs. His fingers ran through your slick and stroked your sensitive bud.

“Oh God,” you whimpered and bit your bottom lip harshly. Your pussy throbbed at his touch, already feeling yourself fall over the edge. Beau could tell as well.

“Jesus,” he groaned with a gentle bite of your shoulder. “Someone’s ready.”

When his other hand snaked around your body from underneath and pulled you flush against his own like the lightest feather, his palm cupped one breast roughly, fingers playing with the pert nipple.

“Fuck me,” you mewled deliriously, your cunt screaming to be filled as his hands teased you to the brink of existence.

“I believe that’s what I’m already doing, darlin’,” he drawled, chuckling.

“Beau, please,” you begged, pushing even more against him as you searched for friction.

“Alright.”

Abandoning his teasing, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled your thighs, prying your legs apart. His fingers did the same with your asscheeks before he threaded the aching tip of his cock through your arousal and nudged at your entrance. With one thrust, he pushed inside you till his pelvis met your cheeks. You moaned out in ecstasy when he stretched your walls with a pleasurable burn.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek.

One of his hands gripped the headboard above you while the other one steadied you at your waist. His hips rolled slowly as he slid in and out of you, his cock stroking your cunt at a lazy early morning pace.

It still was enough to tip you over that sweet cliff of pleasure, especially when the hand on your waist traveled to your clit and gave it a few skillful rubs with his fingers. His thrusts then gained speed, hearing his ragged breaths in your ear. Your screaming climax was muffled as you buried your face in the fluffy pillow, fingers fisting the sheets tightly.

Beau’s hips came to a stuttering halt as your cunt pulsed around him. With his last stroke, he pushed into you as deeply as he could, burying himself to the brim. His cock twitched inside your velvety walls and filled you with his warm release. He cried out and let himself drop on top of you, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck until his orgasm passed.

You could’ve easily drifted back into sleep now, your eyelids heavy as he slipped out of you with one last wet kiss to your shoulder and rolled onto his back next to you as best as he could.

The bed was small, barely fitting two, and pushed against the wall at the very end of the trailer. But it was cozy, and you liked the tight space, considering it practically forced you two to cuddle all night.

“Guess I can save the workout this morning,” Beau said, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You chortled. “As if you would’ve actually worked out.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve hiked this summer, alright? Those mountains are no joke,” he quipped.

“Actually, I do know ‘cause Cassie told me, and she said you weren’t all that impressive,” you retorted teasingly. You could feel him rise onto his forearms behind you as the mattress dipped, looking down at you with an arched eyebrow.

“‘Scuse me, I think I just showed you impressive,” he countered, making you laugh. Chuckling himself, he pecked the top of your head. “Got a surprise for you this morning.”

“I think I’ve already gotten your surprise,” you teased and rolled onto your back, smirking up at him.

He smiled down at you. “Hilarious. But I actually think you’ll like this one even better.”

“Better than your dick? Consider me interested.”

Beau nodded with his chin to the little kitchenette. “Look over there. It’s on the stove.”

You acrobatically rolled yourself to the edge of the bed, one hand touching the floor as you stretched your neck enough to spy his little surprise for you.

“I always knew you were flexible, but damn, girl, where’s that move been?” he joked behind you. You playfully slapped his arm, Beau tickling your sides in revenge.

“No, no, no tickling!” You squirmed through your giggles and tried to fend off his attack, almost plunging out of the bed before his arms caught you and pulled you back in. Then, you finally spied his surprise. “Aww, you got me one of those Italian coffee makers for the stove. I love those!”

“Oh, I know. I remembered you have one of those at home,” he said. “Figured it’d save you some gas before you bolted to the next town over for coffee.”

“Thank you.” You grinned broadly and showed your gratitude with a deep kiss, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“You’re welcome, although you can’t keep kissin’ me like that,” he said, smiling against your lips.

“Why?”

“‘Cause if you do, you and I are gonna be very late for work,” Beau quipped, but his palms already slid up your sides, pulling you closer to him.

You only smirked in response and draped your arms around his neck. You repeated the same deep kiss and straddled his thighs, pushing him back into the mattress.

“Guess we’ll be very late.”

September 2021

A beam of light hit your eyes as you groggily blinked awake. Your skin felt sticky under the thin layer of sheets, close to burning as if you’d slept next to a radiator all night. The digital alarm clock on the nightstand read 7:03AM and 80.3°F, and it took you a strong arm tightening around your middle to realize where you were, what happened, and why you were so goddamn hot.

Beau’s breath felt like a welcoming breeze against the nape of your neck, a cool draft of air that tickled your skin. His little snores in your ear made you smile, a serene and steady lullaby that could rock you to a peaceful sleep. Something you could get used to.

Your eyes then focused on the hands that held you. Massive and calloused. Reliant and durable. Protective and safe. Your fingers found themselves mindlessly playing with his, interlocking as if they refused to ever be separated.

He stirred, and you took a deep breath to inhale his scent and memorize it, scared he would take it with him when he decided to leave. Somehow a part of you knew it wouldn’t last. It was too complicated, too intricate, too messy. It was illicit, clandestine, and sinful.

It was everything you shouldn’t want but wanted.

“Hey,” Beau rasped behind you, his voice heavy with sleep and the great unknown.

You rolled onto your back, careful and slow as not to disturb the arms that held you. You didn’t want them to retreat. “Hey,” you said in a shaky whisper, your voice jittering in rhythm with your heart.

Yet, you couldn’t help the smile that rose to your cheeks when you looked into his eyes. There was a flicker of something in them that made your whole body rejoice.

An apprehensive swallow caused his Adam’s apple to bob as if he had to will himself to choke out these next words. “Any regrets yet?” he repeated last night’s question, the look on his face anticipating you to break his heart with your answer.

Tears crept to your eyes, but you did your best not to let them fall. You’d spent over a year crying out of sadness, never believing you’d find it and feel it again. But here you were, with tears of happiness stinging your eyes, falling in love all over again.

You cupped his cheeks, fingers carding tenderly through his beard. He watched you with a curious, hopeful, and awaiting look in his eyes, unlawful glances as your noses were so close they could touch at any forbidden heartbeat.

When you shook your head, you could feel his heart expand with relief. “Mm-mm, no. I don’t regret it at all. Not you, not anything,” you assured him.

His mouth twitched to a smile, his lips quivering against yours when he kissed you so criminally ardent you thought the world might be ending outside.

And yet, you ignored the warning in your heart, foreboding this love affair between you wouldn’t end well.

It was another long afternoon as you, with the help of Jenny, Cassie, and Beau, went through tons of files, looking for a connection between the victims. You’d been at it for a week now – and that was only the time you’d spent in Montana.

The whole case had already dragged on for months and several states, each new victim making you feel like a failure. The past months were strenuous, and you were growing tired of running in circles.

You were glad about the new helping hands and fresh eyes, though.

When Beau and Jenny had to work on other cases, it was just you and Cassie. Sometimes even Denise stopped by the station to help sort through the stacks of documents and make sense of them. Most of all, she would bring a little sunshine and make the dark days feel significantly brighter.

Denise would even bribe you with baked goods if you were willing to share some intimate details about her favorite sheriff, or in her words – the big details.

Cassie threw her a scolding look at that comment, whereas Beau gave you one when you sold him out for a deliciously homemade apple pie. The taste was well worth every inch you revealed.

However, aside from the few jokes that were shared between all of you, the case itself demanded long hours, a lot of brain cells, and an abundance of strong caffeine and greasy junk food.

While the victimology was clear, you still didn’t know how the killer found out about the cheating. Every partner had been pretty discreet about their infidelity, as were the women they cheated with. No one blasted their illicit affairs over social media. After all, what sane person would?

Most of them didn’t even bring their closest friends into the loop. Some workplace liaisons were even so hush-hush not a single co-worker knew about it until a screaming wife showed up.

There was no pattern in the furtive relationships, either. Some were classics like banging the secretary, the nanny, or the hot divorcee neighbor. Some were star-crossed love affairs that started with innocent meetings in cafés, in parks, or in elevators.

Not a single thing connected each of them.

So, how did your killer pick their victims and know for sure they had the right ones?

“I think I’ve found something,” you said on the eleventh day of research and narrowed your eyes at your laptop screen as the others around the table looked up from their stack of files and glanced curiously at you.

“What did you find?” Beau asked first and got up from his seat to stand behind you, leaning his hands on the backrest of your chair. Sometimes, it felt like he wasn’t ashamed to use any excuse to be close to you, and it made your goddamn cheeks blush, your knees weak, and your heartbeat faster.

“So, apparently, some of our victims visited a site called ‘doublecross(dot)com.’ It’s a website where people who’ve been cheated on can exchange stories and seek comfort. Sixteen of our twenty-four victims all made an entry on the site’s forum. Some of them even went into great detail about their spouse’s supposed escapades.”

“What kinda detail?” Beau questioned more out of curiosity than anything else.

“‘His secretary still had his cum on her lips when I visited him at the office last week. Guess it’s a new chapstick trend no one told me about,’” you read one entry and glanced over your shoulder to catch Beau’s scrunched brow behind you. “That’s from a victim in Wyoming, Margaret Davies.”

He gasped in disbelief. “They wrote that on the internet? Why would they do that?”

“You’re such a guy,” Cassie teased him with a chuckle.

“Various reasons,” you answered his question. “Some wanted to rant, some just wanted listeners, some comfort, revenge ideas, advice… You name it.”

“Did all the victims post on the site?” Jenny asked next to you and leaned closer, looking at your screen.

“I haven’t checked them all yet, but so far, yes. The four victims in Montana did. As did two in Wyoming, four in Texas, and three in Utah and Colorado each,” you said.

“There were five victims per state, right?” Beau spoke up and mused, “We’re at four right now, so how long we got until the fifth?”

“She takes a victim every five weeks. Ten between states,” you told them.

“Alright, five victims, five states… So we’ve got three weeks left to find her,” Beau concluded with a determined nod. “What’s next?”

“First, we should find out if the remaining vics made accounts on that site as well. Then, we should crosscheck all the comments and replies on each entry and see if we have a common denominator. Maybe there’s a user who talked to every victim. That could be our killer,” you explained the next logical steps.

“Everyone takes four victims, and we cross-reference?” Cassie proposed, and everyone nodded in agreement. “Meanwhile, I’ll tell Denise to check if the other victims were on the site as well.”

“Fine.” Beau sighed dreadfully behind you and sauntered back to his seat. He hated paperwork. He was more of a “go in, guns blazing” kind of cop.

“We should keep this under wraps for now,” you advised. “Closest circle only. If I’m right, the killer is watching us. They can’t know we’re onto them, or they might spiral.”

“What about the DA?” Jenny asked.

You nodded. “I’ll meet with Newton next week and can clue her in. Let’s hope we find something till then.”

July 2022

A thin layer of sweat covered your entire body, your hair damp from the summer heat, beads forming in the nape of your neck and running down your spine. Your hand left a print behind on the fogged car window as you adjusted your grip. You always thought that was a movie cliché, only to be stunned and find out that it was indeed true.

The glass was cool for a brief moment, giving you the sensation you had craved as the heat made your head dizzy. It was not just insanely hot but downright sweltering.

“Fuck, I love that angle,” you sighed breathlessly as your cunt stroked his cock, rising your hips till he almost slipped out before you slid back down.

“Me too,” Beau groaned and smirked up at you.

Massive hands cupped your tits and held your waist as he fucked into you. Your thighs straddled him, one palm on his heart as you met him thrust by thrust. With one last roll of your hips, you came, your orgasm shaking your entire body to the point of passing out. An animalistic scream rocked the car.

Beau’s climax hit right behind yours as your pussy milked every drop of his. Pantingly, you dropped down, your hands finding better rest on his broad shoulders. He kissed your lips firmly and passionately as you both came down from your highs, his fingers dancing up and down your spine.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” you noted in breathless exhaustion as you laid your head on his chest, bodies sticking together.

“Yeah, I mean, I always knew we’d do it in the car at some point, but that even exceeded my expectations,” Beau said.

You laughed a little and grinned at him in amusement. “I meant the weather.”

“Oh.” His brows rose in realization, and he chuckled. “Yeah, that too.”

“I can’t believe this is our last night here,” you said with a quiet sigh. Your voice sounded almost sad. Probably because a part of you was.

While the circumstances of your Mexican stay were arguably the worst, you’d still miss it. The last one and a half years felt like a welcomed escape from reality. From your grief. At home, there was nothing and no one waiting for you anymore.

And then, there was the man who was currently underneath you, inside you, and kissing your lips. You didn’t know what you and Beau even were. You’d been entangled in bars, cars, and under stars in motel rooms for ten months now. Was it casual? Was it serious? Was it misguided friendship? Was it love?

You never said the words out loud or talked about your feelings, but there was always a certain heaviness in the air between you two. It was never loud. It always came in quiet moments, when you were kissing in bed and laughing and staring at each other for hours.

It felt like the two of you were caught in a bubble floating through time and space. A bubble, which was about to burst.

Could your relationship survive the reality back home?

“You okay there?” Beau had grown quite accustomed to your facial expressions and their different meanings. At this point, you were an open book to him, and he could read you flawlessly.

“I’m fine,” you replied and forced your best smile onto your lips.

Beau saw right through you. “Yeah, I’m a little sad, too,” he admitted and assured you, “Nothing’s gonna change, alright?”

Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded in response and hoped he’d stay right.

Beau debated whether he should be honest about his feelings, but it seemed too soon. Too soon after his divorce. Too soon after Randy’s death. No amount of time ever seemed to be enough.

What if you weren’t ready to hear it? What if he wasn’t ready to say it? What if the guilt in his heart, mind, and soul was right all this time and you were never his to take?

What if you would never belong to him at all?

After wiping the station’s whiteboard in the conference room clean, you wrote one single username on the surface.

femmefatale187

All of you had narrowed it down to that user. Denise had confirmed that the other eight victims had made accounts and written entries as well, which brought you to a total of twenty-four posts. And that particular user was the only one who had engaged with every single victim without fail.

Not only that, the comments even suggested a deeper relationship forming with all of them. The killer acted like their friend before a knife was aimed at their backs. If that user was indeed the killer, as Beau liked to remind you.

The four of you then had the tedious task of reading through every comment that account had ever made, going back years and several hundred user interactions. The one that piqued your interest the most, however, was the very first entry that had started it all.

“Does the number mean what I think it means?” Beau asked as he stared pensively at the whiteboard.

“Pretty sure. 187 is the code for murder in the California Penal Code. It’s gotta be. Otherwise, it’d be a weird coincidence,” you mused as you put the cap back onto the marker. “The name in general is pretty obvious. I don’t like any of this…”

“What d’you mean?” Cassie looked at you with a questioning brow.

“I mean she literally put ‘murder’ in her username. It’s too easy. It almost seems like she wants to be caught,” you explained.

“Like writing ‘redrum’ on the wall,” Beau muttered, and you pointed an eager finger at him, nodding in agreement.

“Exactly,” you said and sat back down in your chair. “I already gave everything to our tech analysts at the FBI. If she is as smart as we think she is, she hid her IP addresses and used VPNs, torrents… If they do find a name and an address this username is connected to, we should assume it’s a trap.”

“You said the first entry gives hints to her backstory,” Jenny spoke up and leaned forward in her chair. “Can we use it to track her down this way?”

Nodding, you rose from your seat once more and grabbed the marker, writing down some bullet points as you talked.

“Apparently, she was married and trying for a baby, but without any luck. She then caught her husband cheating but forgave him when he assured her it was a one-time mistake. Turns out he was actually sleeping with tons of women during their entire relationship and got five of ‘em pregnant. Meanwhile, she also discovered he’d been slipping her birth control pills in her coffee every morning.”

“Well, that guy probably won’t win ‘Husband of The Year,’” Beau quipped, chuckling, earning him a borderline scolding look from all three women.

“It’s probably why she chooses victims that ended up going back to their partner,” Cassie speculated.

“She’s punishing women that made the same mistakes she made,” Jenny concluded. “You think the husband is still alive?”

“Honestly? No,” you replied. “The username suggests she had already made up her mind when she started posting. I believe her husband and maybe the women he cheated with were her first victims.”

“Maybe we can find her that way?” Beau pondered.

“Would be a long shot. We don’t even know what state she’s from, when she was married, her husband’s name…” you explained. “Our best bet is the IP address of the username. Until that, we just gotta sit tight, I guess.”

“I hate that.” Beau sighed in frustration.

September 2022

When Beau’s lips left yours, you whined, your hands trying to keep him pressed flush against you, pulling him back into bed.

Beau chuckled. “We have to get up at some point.”

“Do we?”

“I have to get to work, and so do you,” he reminded you with a smile and pecked your lips once more. “How about you hop into the shower, and I get the coffee started, huh?”

“Fine. I guess I can be persuaded to leave this bed for caffeine,” you relented playfully. “Hey, uh, I was thinking maybe we could get dinner tonight? There’s this new pizza place I wanted to try.”

Beau swallowed, his head bobbing with a scrunched brow. Your heart twisted, only knowing too well by now what that expression meant.

“Yeah, uh, do they have take-out?”

“They do, but I figured we could go out for a change. Leave this apartment every once in a while,” you pressed.

Maybe you were being pushy, but you were getting tired of hiding. Ever since the two of you had left Mexico almost two months ago, you had been hauled up in Beau’s apartment and barely ever left. And whenever you did step out, you could tell he was nervous, always looking over his shoulder. He wouldn’t hold your hand or even touch you. The idea of kissing you in public would’ve probably sounded downright insane.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” he replied as expected and averted his green eyes to the floor.

“Houston has over two million other people, Beau. It’s very unlikely we’ll run into someone we know,” you argued calmly and tried to sound understanding of his feelings. It wasn’t like you didn’t get his inhibitions at all, but it still hurt your heart all the same. “If it’s Carla you’re worried about, maybe we should tell her, you know? It’d make things easier. It’s not like she’s still hung up on you. She’s been dating Avery for a year now.”

“Yeah, no, I know. We’ll get to it. I promise, okay?” Beau assured you with a smile and pecked your forehead, but his voice sounded far from convincing.

Ever since you came back to Houston, he’d been withdrawn, moving further and further away from you. You had a feeling, though, it had actually little to do with Carla and more with the guy both of you had loved.

Everywhere you went reminded you of him, his ghost still lingering around. But while you welcomed that feeling, like Randy was still watching over you, you knew Beau hated it.

He still blamed himself for what happened, no matter how many times you told him he shouldn’t. And now, the guilt of being with you had entered the equation as well.

As Beau brewed some coffee, a knock on his door forced him to leave the kitchen and answer it. As he opened it, he almost turned as white as the ghosts he was running from.

“Carla, what-, uh, what are you doing here?” Beau’s wide eyes probably showed his surprise. She’d never visited him here before in all those weeks since he’d been back. Emily was always dropped off by the building’s entrance, so he had thought himself safe here. Clearly, it’d been a false sense of security.

“Oh, Beau, don’t look so surprised. I’m not here to yell at you for having your laundry lying around,” Carla huffed in her annoyed voice. He knew that one well. “I’m not here to disturb your bachelor pad. I just need to talk to you about something important, okay?”

“It’s not a–” Beau started to argue and defend himself, but then stopped, figuring it was no use. They were already divorced. “We can talk, alright? But I’m running a little late for work. Can we do this tonight or something?”

“Alright, sure, I’ll call you at lunch,” Carla accepted, but then the sound of the shower turning off made her head tilt past him. Her brow furrowed before she let out an annoyed sigh. “Are you having someone over? Is that why you don’t wanna talk right now? Look, I don’t care if you’re seeing someone. We’ve been divorced for a year now, Beau. If we could just do this now, you’d both save us some time.”

Beau had tried several times to interrupt her, but he’d always been unsuccessful with that endeavor in the past. It was hard being married to a lawyer, especially a good one like Carla.

“Carla, no, I-… Can we please just do this tonight? I have to tell you something, too, okay? But I don’t wanna do this here right n–”

“Hey, by the way, we’re out of Pop Tarts,” you called out as you casually strolled out from the bathroom with only one of Beau’s button-ups covering your naked body. “We should go to the store la–”

As you passed the front door on your way to the kitchen, you stopped – both talking and walking. You stared at Carla like a deer in headlights and felt like Bambi’s mother shortly before she got shot.

The divorced couple stared right back at you. Beau’s eyes then closed as Carla’s lips parted in shock – and anger. She definitely looked furious.

“Carla, hey.” You forced a jittery smile to your lips, although all color drained from your cheeks. You almost choked on the giant lump in your throat.

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief before a scoff followed. She shook her head as if she wanted to shake the image of you, half-naked in her ex-husband’s shirt, in his apartment, out of her mind.

“You gotta be kidding me…” She smacked her lips with a seething glower aimed at her ex. “I’ll take it back. I do care who you’re fucking seeing.”

“Carla, listen–” Beau tried to calmly interject and keep the peace, even though he knew it was too late for that. He knew what she was thinking. They had several talks about it. Fights, actually. Fights you knew nothing about.

“I knew it!” Carla exclaimed and felt almost validated. “All this time I knew… I knew you two hooked up in Mexico. I asked you several times if there was something going on, and you kept denying it.”

“And I’m still denying it,” Beau maintained with the same firm anger she was showing. “We didn’t start dating until after the divorce.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe that? How stupid do you think I am?” she snapped. “You know, I came here to talk to you about Emily’s future and give you the courtesy of having a say in the decision, but now I don’t think you should. Not after the shit you pulled all year! I put up with a lot from you – the drinking, the spacing out, the disappearing to another country for months… But I draw the line here!”

“Carla, wait–”

But for once in his life, Beau couldn’t speak fast enough as she bolted down the hallway to the elevator and was soon out of earshot. He glanced back at you, his look halfway asking if you were okay after witnessing all of this, and partially asking if he could follow his ex-wife to clear things up.

“Go,” you told him and nodded in understanding. But your heart twinged as you watched him leave.

When everyone had filtered out of the department and the night shift arrived, you knocked on Beau’s office door to announce your presence before peeking your head inside.

“Hey.” You smiled softly when his crinkled green eyes found yours with the same loving look on his face. “Ready to head home?”

His palms drummed on the table, one last glance at the files on his desk before he rose from his chair with a keen nod. “Uh, yeah, let’s go, darlin’.”

As you approached his desk, you chuckled a little, picking up the familiar football, a myriad of memories flooding your brain. “I can’t believe you still got this thing. Same one?” You doubted he’d thrown it away but found yourself still wondering.

“Course, I’d never toss this old thing out.” He smiled and caught it when you playfully threw it at him. His palms pressed into the leather. “I still do it, you know? When I’m stuck on a case, I grab the ball and pretend I’m still throwing it around with Randy, spittin’ theories.”

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “Yeah, I still do it, too… talk to him.”

“You do that a lot?” Beau scratched his throat, tucking his lips between his teeth as he found himself curiously cocking his head, hoping the gesture hid the worry underneath well enough.

You shrugged. “Sometimes. Not as often as I used to,” you confessed and ignored the drops of guilt that oozed from your heart. “He was a part of my life for a decade. I can’t pretend he wasn’t.”

Beau swallowed at your words, his brow braided into soft crinkles. He struggled with the truth that festered in his heart like snake venom. The guilt of having you was one thing, but the shame of always wanting to have had you was another. If he had seen you first, if he hadn’t been married when you’d met, if he had asked you, would you have picked him?

“I know. And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about it… him.”

You closed the distance between you, taking his hands in yours and interlacing your fingers. You squeezed them reassuringly. “He’d want us to be happy,” you reminded him and then snorted a bit in amusement. “Maybe not with each other, but the dead don’t get a say in it anymore, so it doesn’t matter. He’s my past. You’re my present… And probably my future?” Bashfully, you bit your lip at the end of your question, a smile carved into it.

“Actually about that…”

Playfully, you raised your brow and laughed. “Uh-oh.”

Beau cracked a laugh, too. “No, nothing like that. Never like that again, alright?” He cupped your cheeks in his warm and safe hands, looking deeply into your eyes as he uttered those words like an unbreakable vow, his raspy voice imparting a comforting promise.

You nodded in his hands and stretched up to kiss him, searing and slow. “So, what do you wanna tell me, Sheriff?”

“Date,” was the only word he said at first. A smile formed on his face that reached his eyes. “I wanna do it right this time. Go out, do stuff, live life. That was my biggest regret when it came to you. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice,” he shared. His lips claimed yours, adventurous and decisive. “So, you and me ain’t going home. We’re going out. Whatever you’re in the mood for, darlin’.”

With mischievously pursed lips, you pondered your choices for a moment, although only one truly came to mind. “Mmmh, Mexican.”

“Ah! I knew it.” Beau grinned broadly. “I know a great place. Amazing Quesadillas. You’re gonna love it.”

September 2022

Beau hadn’t spoken to you in almost two weeks. After chasing Carla down to the street and having a public argument on the sidewalk that turned several heads, he eventually convinced Carla that nothing had happened during their marriage and calmed her down enough.

Then, they talked for another hour, where his ex-wife informed him of her engagement and her impending move to Montana. She also made it quite clear that he had no say in the decision, especially after that particular morning.

He wasn’t delighted about it by any means, but he accepted it. As long as Emily was happy and taken care of, he didn’t care what Carla did. But the fact he wouldn’t be seeing much of his daughter killed him.

As he trudged back to the elevator, he came back to an empty apartment, however. You were gone, only leaving a note behind that said you had to get to work. He couldn’t really blame you for leaving. The morning already hadn’t started well, and then his ex showed up with a package full of drama on top of that.

Beau constantly felt like he was failing and disappointing you. He knew you were unhappy since the two of you had come home to Houston. But it was hard for him being back here. He fought his feelings for you every minute of every day. And then, the anniversary of Randy’s death rolled around, and he felt himself even more spacing out and withdrawing from you.

He never tried to compare himself to Randy, because any attempt to live up to him would’ve been futile. But Beau felt like the second choice. Like he didn’t deserve you. Like you weren’t truly his and never would be.

You never said or did anything to make him believe that. On the contrary, the way you looked at him made his heart melt every single day. You treated him like one in a million. You cared for him, listened to him, and even though you had never said it, he knew you loved him on some level.

You made him feel like he was the one.

Beau knew it was all in his head, but it felt like a lie. Because how could that be after everything he’d seen? After everything he knew? And in the brief moments when it didn’t feel like a lie, it felt like the biggest betrayal.

No matter what, he couldn’t win.

For two weeks, he was plagued by indecision, guilt, confusion, the need to do the right thing, and his feelings for you.

Beau loved you like he’d never loved anyone before, but it felt like a slow poison that rotted him from the inside.

He called and texted you every day, never sure what to say or do, though. He almost felt relieved whenever you came up with an excuse for why you couldn’t see him. That was his first warning sign that things needed to change.

And by the end of the two weeks, the indecision faded, and he’d arrived at a conclusion.

That final night, Beau had called you, and you told him you were working late at the office. That wasn’t true, though. He could see the lights of your apartment were on when he stood on the street outside. So, he knocked and found your surprised face in front of him before you averted your gaze in shame.

He didn’t fault you for that either, though.

“Beau, I-, uhm…”

“It’s fine,” he said gently, knowing you were about to apologize for your little white lie. And it was fine. He knew why you’d been avoiding him. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

He hated saying those words. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they meant. It was universally understood. And by the look on your face, he knew that you were aware of why he was here.

You let him inside with a crestfallen nod of your head, crossing your arms in front of you like you were trying to hug yourself as you prepared for the worst. The two of you then stood silently in your foyer for a minute, the air between you punishing.

“So this it, huh?” your voice bitterly broke the silence. The hurt in your eyes and the coldness in your face tore his heart apart.

As soon as he looked at you, he started to doubt his decisions again. Was this really the right thing to do? Would he regret it? Would he hate himself for it?

His best guess was yes.

“Look, uhm, this is hard. I didn’t make this decision lightly,” he started.

“Just get it over with, Beau. Spit it out,” you bit.

Nodding, he scratched his scruffy throat. “Carla’s getting married and moving to Montana. I can’t be this far away from Emily. I wanna see her grow up,” he explained earnestly.

“Makes sense. So you’re moving,” you deduced. “What d’you want from me?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said. That was where the lie came in. His heart pounded against his ribcage, demanding to be freed from its prison, but Beau kept it cuffed and jailed until it broke. “I’m still in love with Carla. I have to get my family back before it’s too late. It’s just-… It’s the best for all of us, you know?”

With a harsh swallow, you nodded, your gaze glued to the floorboards underneath your socks. “Yeah, no, I get it. You should go with your family. ‘S okay.”

“Y/N–” Your name fell from his lips in a pained sigh.

“No, really. We’re good,” you tried to assure him, forcing a tight-lipped smile to your doleful face. “It was nice while it lasted, but now it’s over. I get it. We were just each other’s rebound. It didn’t mean anything, right?”

Your look was full of bitterness as you stared at him, your features haunted by agony and hardened by resentment. It broke his heart all over again.

Yet, there was no turning back.

“Yeah,” he choked out, swallowing the tears down that fought to escape. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a distraction. For both of us.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you said with all the remaining power left in you.

Beau tried to compel a smile to his lips, but it was only a sorry excuse of one. “Hope we can stay friends.”

“Sure.” You held the same unconvincing smile as you uttered your lie. Then, you strolled to the still-open door and leaned your back against the wood. A gesture that told him it was time to leave. “You should go now. I might have lied about the office, but I still have a shitload of work to do.”

With his head low, he walked past you, each step of his lethargic, heavy, and reluctant. As soon as he crossed that doorstep, he spun, his eyes finding yours one last time. Every ounce of him wanted to grab you and kiss you till you both stopped breathing.

But he didn’t.

Silently, you closed the door, a piece of meaningless and unforgiving wood between you that both of you stared at for several relentless heartbeats. You waited till you heard his footsteps recede farther and farther away from you. Till there was just empty space.

As the harrowing silence consumed the air in your lungs and the love in your heart, you fell to the floor and shattered. Sobs wrecked your body like an incurable disease, and you knew at that moment you could never caulk the cracks again and return to who you were.

Chapter 6: Curses And Cries

Whoop, probably a good time to remind y'all that this last scene was a flashback and that they're happily together in the present 😇

We'll be back soon! Decided to take a little break since I can't keep up with all things tumblr these days, no matter how hard I try. Hopefully, this will give me some time to catch up properly. Love y'all 🤍

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

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@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

I’m sorry. I can’t. I try not to get involved in fandom foolishness too much. But egad, the vile treatment of Neve because she romances Lucanis if (AND ONLY IF) Rook romances neither of them is…horrific.

How, BisexualDisaster, you may ask?

1) A lot of critiquing that Neve is uncaring, unempathic, not supportive.

2) At least one claim (getting a lot of agreements in the notes) that Lucanis only gets together with Neve because it’s “easy.” She doesn’t “fix” him so he can just go on being I guess broken somehow?

3) A lot of references to her being too sexual.

4) Insinuations that she’s the type of woman you hook up with, but not the type you marry.

5) Insistence that because she is cynical, she isn’t overtly emotive in the way they would expect, she is unfeeling.

I just…..it’s awful. Why is it so awful? Well, let’s break that down point by point.

1) This is completely contradicted by canon. She goes out of her way for just about every companion to help them, even ones she isn’t super close to. She provides a sounding board and emotional support for Taash and Bellara explicitly in their quest lines. People are disregarding everything she actually says and does in the game to cast her in a role that seems entirely based on sexist and racist stereotypes.

2) There’s no basis for this either. Moreover, this is a truly troubling way to view mental health and healing. Lucanis is not a broken toy or a fixer-upper home. He doesn’t need someone to “fix” him. Nor is he too traumatized to make his own romantic choices. This argument infantilizes him, diminishes his own agency in his healing, and is sexist to boot. It’s ableist, misogynistic, and shitty.

3) This is such a common racist belief about WOC that I hardly know where to start. We are all hypersexual, and if we aren’t we are frigid and prudish and angry. I can’t even. What’s wrong with you all?

4) I’m inclined to agree that Neve isn’t a homemaker, but good grief, how tradwife can you get? I’M not a homemaker. My husband did the bulk of domestic labor in our relationship before he became disabled. Not every relationship needs to look like Leave It To Beaver, and insisting it does is wildly sexist. Oh, and this is also relying on the stereotypes of WOC all being sex-seeking ladies about town to boot.

5) This harkens to two stereotypes. The first is sexist: that women are expected to be outwardly emotive and fawning. That’s neither accurate nor fair. The second is racist: this is a subtle version of the Angry Black Woman stereotype. That WOC aren’t sweet and nurturing and only demonstrate Negative emotions.

This is ridiculous. It’s awful. It’s racist, sexist, and ableist all at once. In an effort to, what, make it so that if you don’t romance Lucanis with your Rook he can’t be with anyone else? It’s not a competition between Rook and Neve or Lucanis if your Rook is romancing them, because your LI CHOOSES ROOK. No one is stealing anyone from your Rook. It’s only if you romance neither that they get together, and the weird possessive idea that if you don’t have Lucanis no one should is deeply troubling.

Is your favorite movie Swimfan? Is it because it made you feel seen?

JFC.

Get it together, people.

Sincerely,

A WOC married to a sweet white man who knows how to cook

[bcacstuff]

It’s the end of an era: Sophie Skelton has starred as Brianna in Starz’s Scottish historical fantasy drama, Outlander, for 10 years. How does she feel about it all coming to an end? Mixed emotions, from the five stages of grief to feeling positive about ending on a high. For us viewers at home, however, there’s still plenty of time to say goodbye: the season 7B finale will air on 17 January 2025, while season 8 is slated to air in the second half of 2025. We sat down with Sophie to hear all about it – plus what the actress will star in next.

Interview: Sophie Skelton

Hi Sophie, how’s life going at the moment?

Good, thank you. I’m still processing 10 years of the end of an era! Caitríona [Balfe] and I have been talking about it for a while, because you go through the five stages of grief a little bit when you finish something like this. It’s such a rare occurrence for TV to go that long, and there’s no manual of how to deal with the end, so I think it was quite a roller coaster of, well, the grief process. But we’re both feeling quite at peace now. I for one feel like I’m in a good place – just winding down for Christmas so I can hit the ground running in 2025!

It’s the end of an era! How did it feel when you kind of got the news that Outlander season eight would be the end?

I think originally season 7 was going to be the end, and I’m just speculating here, but maybe part of the reason they split it into two is because they knew that season 8 was going to come. Maybe they were trying to bridge a gap with the strikes… I don’t know! But I feel like Brianna is in a really good place. I feel like I’ve done everything I can do with that character. She has been through more than most people would go through in multiple lifetimes. 

I think it’s always good to tap out while you’re ahead and not to milk something, so hopefully we’re ending on a high. Season 7B is great, but season 8 is honestly the best season – so I think it’s good to leave it there.

Are you all wrapped on season 8, too, then?

Officially, yeah. We were holding on by an emotional thread for a while, because we were sort of finishing, and then there was a second unit going, and then we had press, and then we had reshoots. But we are officially done. I think we’ve all had three wrap days, but the last one was really sweet. Caitríona wrapped and then she came in for my final scene, and then she hugged me, and that made me break down crying. Then she and I went to the next stage over for Sam [Heughan]’s final scene, which was the last one. Then we had a little hug, the three of us, so it was a really nice way to close it off. It felt very peaceful in the end. 

How would you describe Outlander season 7b?

For Brianna, honestly, quite lonely. It was an interesting season for me. We shot it about two years ago, so thinking back, I spent a large amount of the time with the kids. As they say, acting with animals and children are the two most challenging bits, and on Outlander we have a plethora of that going on! In terms of storyline, it’s one of the sides of Brianna that I really admire. She’s really come into herself as a mother, and seeing her click into action mode and the lengths she’ll go to to save her children is really admirable. Sometimes when she has to defend herself, she’s not as brazen, but as soon as it’s for someone else, especially her children, we see a side of Brianna that we haven’t seen before.

Rosa Morris (“Mandy”) and Sophie Skelton (“Brianna Fraser MacKenzie”) in Outlander season 7. (Starz)

You’ve played Brianna for a decade now. Is there anything special you do to get into character?

One thing we’re lucky with on Outlander is that the sets are so magnificent and vast. Whether we’re on location or they’ve built a fake village, as soon as you’re on set, you feel halfway into it. It’s the same with me having an American accent and the wig and the clothing – you’re halfway in already, so that does a bit of your prep for you. I know Brianna inside out now, so honestly, it’s quite easy to just stream into set. But to stop myself from coasting, I do research. And there were a lot of things I felt I could channel from my own life into Bri this season, so that helped.

Is there anything in season 7B you’re really excited for people to see?

I really enjoyed the scenes with Chris [Fulton], who plays Rob Cameron. That was a really fun dynamic. And as I say, because I spent a large amount of the second part with the kids, it was nice to have some adult energy. I really like his way of working. He’s quite similar to me in that you just don’t know what you’re going to get, and every take could be completely different. We really bounced off each other, and it kind of felt like being in a play, especially because some of our scenes were quite physical. There are a few more modern day action sequences from Brianna, too, which was a different form of stunts than we’ve done before. So I’m sure people will enjoy a little injection of 80s fight scenes.

Is there anything you can tease about Outlander season 8?

As ever with Outlander, there will be some reunions. There are probably going to be some deaths. The heartstrings are going to be a little bit torn… One of the most exciting things about it is that you’ve got so many old and new faces back. It just feels like a really big ensemble, and I think that that’s such a magnificent way to go out. It’s like a big bang.

Any standout moments from rehearsals or filming?

It’s quite rare that a lot of us get to do scenes together, so the dinner scenes where we have a large amount of the principal cast together are really fun. It always feels quite sentimental because they’re rare, and we never know if that’s going to be the last one. That wasn’t necessarily different, but season 8 had the extra layer of upcoming loss. But they’re always just lovely because Outlander is heavy, you know! We work in really tough weather conditions. We do long hours, we do long weeks, and we’re pretty much just in the dark, wind and rain of Scotland all the time. So when we get these indoor scenes where it’s really intimate, there’s candles, it’s all of us together, they’re really fond moments. It feels like you can really just relax and enjoy the day a little bit more, as opposed to battling all the elements constantly.

Are there any locations from filming that have stood out as a favorite, or anything that you would go back to in your own time?

The Clava Cairns are so beautiful. When you go there, honestly, it sounds quite corny, but you can feel the weight of the land. The air is dense. Not in a heavy way, but you can almost feel the energy of the history there. And the land is just so quiet. There’s always a beautiful moon or a beautiful sunrise. We actually had one scene there where the moon looked too fake. The real moon looked too fake! They had to blot it out and put a fake moon in, because they were like, ‘no one will believe this is real’. It’s always windy and icy cold and it’s brutal, but it’s absolutely stunning. Especially when we do night shoots there, the calm and the quiet and the stars… It’s just surreal.

Outlander is coming to an end, but the universe is going to continue in a different series. Are you excited to watch it? How did you feel about that when you heard the news?

It’s a funny thing with the prequel coming out, because we were on our final season when they filmed, so it was very different energies, having the two side by side. They’re all coming in fresh, whereas we’ve done 10 years of this. We want to make sure that we see it through and do it justice. We really wanted to make sure that our attention wasn’t split, so I don’t know too much about the prequel. 

I know that there are rumors of some other spin off series, too, and I know Diana might have written some other spin off books. It’s one of the biggest shows in the world, so I’m sure that those series will do super well. It’ll be exciting to see if there are any mini Briannas that spin off. It would be very interesting to see who takes her over at some point. 

Sophie Skelton (“Brianna Fraser MacKenzie”) in Outlander season 7. (Starz)

Looking at future projects, are there any genres you’re craving?

It’s not necessarily about genre for me; I think it’s more that I’m looking for completely different characters. A different accent, a completely different time period for a while, let’s get rid of the corset for a bit! But honestly, loads of different things. I started in musical theater on stage, so to do something in that realm would be amazing. I also love really gritty dramas – psychological stuff. Something like Black Swan would be the perfect merge of everything.

Have any of your other projects stood out to you as a career highlight?

I just finished quite a tricky shoot during the strike, a small independent movie called Row. It’s about the first team crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and semi based on a true story before it goes a lot more thriller-y. I’m playing this blonde hippie-ish girl from Surrey and filming was going to be in Malta, so I was like, ‘Yeah, cool, this is different to Outlander. Different accent, I’m on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but it’s Malta, great!’ There’s one scene where she’s in a bikini on the boat. Sounds fantastic! Then a couple of weeks before shooting, they said, ‘because of the strikes and everything else, we’re actually going to film it in John o’ Groats’ – which is pretty much the most northerly part of the UK. We had super bad weather – 100 mile per hour winds – so we had to stop shooting a lot and we got behind. We were just on a rowing boat in the middle of a water tank right next to the ocean on a cliff. It was intense. But honestly, I think the film is going to be beautiful. It looks really gritty. It’s so fun to play something different. I’m excited to see it.

Who has been your favourite actor to work with in the past?

I worked with Nick Cage ages ago, which was great. He was so lovely to me; that was a good shoot. On Outlander, working with Tobias Menzies was amazing. It was great to work with quite a lot of seasoned actors like Maria Doyle Kennedy, too.

Which co-star did you learn the most from?

Caitríona is amazing. She knows how to fight for her cast and crew, she will make sure that everyone’s looked after. There’s often a lot of hierarchy in TV and film. She’s number one, and she could easily stomp that around, but she doesn’t. She puts everybody on a level playing field and treats everyone the same. I really respect that.

Do you have a dream role?

I love biopics. I love going down a rabbit hole of research and having to perfect little tics that the real person has. I was thinking about La Vie en Rose the other day, the Edith Black one with Marion Cotillard. Something along that route would be really cool. And hey, if there’s ever an Audrey Hepburn biopic, I would love to do that.

Who is a writer or director you’d love to work with?

Jesse Armstong and the Duffer Brothers. I think their writing is just so smart. It flows beautifully, and it’s just so gritty.

How do you find balance in your personal and work lives?

Not sure if I’ve mastered that yet! I’ve always been a very hard worker. Even as a kid, I’d be in ballet every day, and 1000 hobbies. I’ve always managed to fit more in a day than most people. I’m not very good if I’m not busy, so I am trying to manage the shut off between the two now by writing music, doing art and playing piano.

How can we all live a little bit better?

Do small acts of self care for yourself all the time. Someone said it to me recently, and I hadn’t really realised it was a thing. They were like, ‘you’re very good at doing little things that set you up for success for your future self’. It sounds so silly, but it’s the smallest things, like putting stuff away the night before so you don’t wake up to a dirty kitchen in the morning, or just biting the bullet sometimes because you know that it’s going to matter more to your future self than it might do now. Small acts of kindness to yourself. Career wise, it’s so easy now to look on Instagram, for example, compare yourself and just feel shit, frankly. I just have this daily reminder: put on your blinkers and win your own race.

Sophie Skelton Recommends…

I’m currently watching… Shrinking

What I’m reading… The Best Minds by Jonathan Rosen

The last thing I watched (and loved) was… Poor Things

What I’m most looking forward to seeing… Gladiator II and Conclave

Favourite film of all time… Good Will Hunting and Uptown Girls

Band/singer I always have on repeat… Taylor Swift

My ultimate cultural recommendation… Talking to different cultures about how they celebrate the festive season.

Cultural guilty pleasure… Going to the pub for a roast every Sunday – the bottle of red with it is the guilty part!

[cherryblessing]

📎— let yourself fall, satoru.

The world seemed heavier that evening, burdened by the weight of unsaid words and unacknowledged grief. Satoru sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows propped on his knees, fingers tangled in white strands of hair that usually glowed like starlight but now looked dull under the dim light.

He wasn’t invincible here. He wasn’t “the strongest.” He was just Satoru. And tonight, even that felt like too much to bear.

You stood quietly at the threshold, hesitant to intrude on the fortress of his solitude. But you knew he needed someone to step through, to remind him that even the tallest walls weren’t insurmountable.

“Satoru,” you called softly, almost afraid your voice would shatter the fragile silence.

He didn’t look up, but his fingers stilled. “I’m fine,” he said, the words hollow and far too practiced.

The song played faintly in the background, a melody wrapped in threads of hope and sadness. "It's okay now," it whispered, but Satoru didn’t seem to believe it.

You crossed the room slowly, lowering yourself to the floor in front of him so that he couldn’t avoid your presence. “You don’t have to be fine all the time,” you murmured, the tenderness in your voice cutting through his barriers.

His head dipped further, chin brushing his chest. “If I stop, everything falls apart,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your hand brushing against his knee—a gentle anchor, grounding him in the here and now. “Maybe it’s time to let someone else hold the pieces for a while,” you said, your voice steady, even as your heart ached for him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. But then, slowly, his hands dropped to his sides, and his gaze met yours. His eyes, usually so bright and full of confidence, were red-rimmed and tired, a storm barely restrained.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of vulnerability.

You shifted closer, your hands cupping his face with a care so gentle it felt like a balm against the cracks in his armor. “You don’t have to know,” you said, your thumbs brushing against the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “Just let it out. I’ll be here to catch you.”

The dam broke, and his breath hitched as tears spilled over. He didn’t sob or wail; he just trembled, his tears falling silently as you pulled him into your arms. His head rested against your shoulder, his long frame folding into your embrace as if he was finally allowing himself to be small, just for a moment.

You hummed along to the song playing in the background, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s okay now,” you whispered, echoing the words, letting them sink into the cracks of his heart. “It’s okay to fall apart. You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Satoru allowed himself to believe it.

©cherryblessing.2024

[twopoppies]

I am sincerely despising the way so many people in our fandom are pouring their grief for losing Liam on the boys. Obviously those four are suffering, it shouldn't even be specified, what happened is shocking and they'll have to deal with it for a veeery long time, it’s one of those things that literally changes your life. But this doesn't prevent them from resuming their lives, their work, to do things that bring them joy, relief and positive feelings: mourning is a process that takes time and everyone approaches it in the healthiest way for their physical and mental health and no one NO ONE should judge such a personal and delicate situation, but unfortunately I've seen so much disgusting stuff that makes me think that these people have never lost anyone dear (lucky them) or, I don't know, maybe they simply feel joy and satisfaction in throwing their anger on someone else. It's now clear to me that for many people they should stay in bed crying for the rest of their lives because otherwise in their mind everything else results in a lack of respect for liam and his memory and this is extremely sick.

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[orcelito]

I'm tired of the mood swings man like wtf is my problem

[rogloptimist]

LAKE MISSOULA x JONAS VINGEGAARD

credits under cut!

lake missoula - richy mitch and the coal miners // jonas vingegaard - team presentation, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard, tadej pogacar, and remco evenepoel - podium ceremony, tour de france 2024 (belga images) // tadej pogacar and jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // wayward son - rainbow rowell // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // it's down to legs - caley fretz // jonas vingegaard - stage 20, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // a poem on hope - wendell berry // jonas vingegaard and remco evenepoel - stage 19, tour de france 2024 // quora user shulamit widawsky // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 (getty images) // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (flobikes) // 'now the fight is over': jonas vingegaard concedes tour de france battle for yellow, but still aims for second - adam becket // jonas vingegaard - stage 19, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (flobikes) // video: jonas vingegaard and matteo jorgenson consoled after heart-breaking end to stage 19 of 2024 tour de france for team visma | lease a bike - kieran wood // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // 'probably the hardest moment of my career'-- jonas vingegaard on his crash and fight to be ready for the tour de france - stephen farrand // jonas vingegaard's tour de france was a venn diagram - iain treloar // rise up and salute the sun: the writings of suzy kassem - suzy kassem // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2023 // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // vingegaard exhausted after tour de france: may cut season short - sjoerd valkering // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 20, tour de france 2024 (belga images) // the thing is - ellen bass // "if you had told me four months ago that i would be second, i wouldn't have believed you" - jonas vingegaard disappointed but proud of his tour de france - ondrej zhasil // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (nbc sports) // alfred lord tennyson // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // remco evenepoel and jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - tour de france 2024 // matteo jorgenson and jonas vingegaard - stage 19, tour de france 2024 // matteo jorgenson and jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - podium ceremony, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and wout van aert - tour de france 2024 (team visma | lease a bike)

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I know that people are rarely their best selves at a funeral, but do you ever just watch your family move through the process of mourning the Patriarch and have a sudden and violent and vivid understanding of Why Everyone Is The Way They Are

[deadrlngers]

ocs as patron saints

i was tagged by @katsigian and @ecofear to take this quiz for some of my ocs, thank you both so much!!! loved doing this sm, two things i love obsessing over: saints and ocs <3

patron saint of relics. patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

patron saint of bones. patron saint of frameworks. of structures. of solidity. patron saint of things that break. patron saint of things that are left behind. the bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest has gone? what do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? who holds the bones?

patron saint of heartbreak. not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.

tagging (under the cut!):

@marictheirins @mojaves @ruvviks @devilbrakers @dragonaqe

@pinkfey @aezyrraeshh @shadowglens @risingsh0t @ncytiri

@baelavelaryon @kibellah @pawnguild @roguette @hexmaturgy

@tethrras @lucaanis @auricfog @thedeadthree

and anyone else who wants to do it!!

[madamescarlette]

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[avspol]

it was absolutely foul of araki to name polnareff's sister sherry (phonetically very similar to cherry) and then decide that kakyoin would be associated with cherries and that he would be like a brother to polnareff and that he would also die . why would you do that

[idontmindifuforgetme]

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