#not sure how much else i will read though

[dissapointu]

Thinking about Arcane with a partner who is terminally ill and has to stay in bed hooked up to a bunch of needles and tubes

Thank you for all your work you are amazing <3

Thank you so much for your kind words!

I swear we are allergic to happiness-

Jinx

Jinx hides her pain behind manic energy, trying to make you smile even when it feels like her heart is shattering. She brings you handmade gadgets, some of which are purely for fun—tiny robots that dance or explode into colorful sparks, filling the room with chaos and laughter. But when the exhaustion hits, she curls up beside your bed, her fingers tracing the tubes and needles with a quiet reverence. In those moments, her vulnerability surfaces, and she whispers about her fears of losing you.

Vi

Vi hates feeling powerless, and seeing you like this is her worst nightmare. She refuses to leave your side, bringing you books and stories of her past to keep your mind off the pain. Her hands are always gentle when adjusting your blanket or holding yours, but her emotions often spill over. When no one else is around, she breaks down, pressing her forehead against your arm, her tears soaking into the fabric as she begs you to hold on just a little longer.

Sevika

Sevika is practical, channeling her pain into action. She spends hours ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible, fixing equipment when it malfunctions and running errands for anything you need. At night, when she thinks you’re asleep, she sits by your bed, nursing a drink and talking to you like everything’s normal—about work, about Zaun, about how much she admires your strength. If you catch her in a rare moment of vulnerability, she’ll brush it off, saying, “You’re the tough one here, not me.”

Silco

Silco is a man of control, and your condition reminds him of his helplessness. He spares no expense in seeking the best care for you, but he’s always haunted by the sight of you so frail. His visits are quiet but full of unspoken devotion—he reads reports aloud, his voice calm and steady, though his eyes flicker to your face more often than the papers. Late at night, when no one else is around, he gently brushes your hair back and murmurs promises he knows he might not be able to keep.

Vander

Vander is a steady presence, his warmth grounding you even in your worst moments. He sits by your bed, holding your hand as he tells you stories from his youth or hums a soothing tune. He often brings the children by to cheer you up, their laughter filling the room. Vander tries to stay strong for you, but his hands tremble when he thinks you’re not looking. His love is unwavering, and he’ll remind you every day how much you mean to him.

Ekko

Ekko struggles with the weight of seeing you like this, but he refuses to let despair take over. He spends his time crafting small inventions to make your life easier or bring a smile to your face. When the silence becomes too much, he talks about his dreams for the future, painting vivid pictures of what could be. He clings to hope, even when it feels fragile, and does everything in his power to make sure you know you’re not alone.

Jayce

Jayce throws himself into researching treatments, convinced he can find a way to help you. When he’s not in the lab, he’s by your side, his hand resting over yours as he explains his latest breakthroughs or reminisces about the moments you’ve shared. He hides his fear behind his optimism, but when you tell him it’s okay to let go of the facade, he breaks down, resting his head on your shoulder and letting his tears fall freely.

Viktor

Viktor is no stranger to pain and illness, and he understands your struggles on a deeply personal level. He spends hours at your bedside, quietly tinkering with gadgets or reading aloud from books he thinks you’ll enjoy. His touch is gentle, his words soft, and his presence unwavering. He hates that he can’t fix this, but he makes sure you never feel alone, offering comfort in the form of quiet companionship and shared understanding.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn is your pillar of strength, calm and composed even when her heart is breaking. She works tirelessly to ensure you have the best care, pulling strings and calling in favors to get you what you need. She’s a constant presence, her hand often resting on yours as she talks about the world outside. When she’s overwhelmed, she steps outside for a moment to compose herself, returning with a renewed determination to make the time you have left as meaningful as possible.

Mel Medarda

Mel is a force of grace and composure, but your condition shakes her to her core. She fills your room with beauty—art, flowers, and soft fabrics—to make your space a sanctuary. She sits with you for hours, her voice soothing as she shares stories from her childhood or discusses philosophy and politics. Her mask only slips in the quiet moments, her hand lingering on yours as she murmurs about how much she loves you, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa is not one to show weakness, but your illness makes her feel a vulnerability she hasn’t known in years. She takes charge of your care, ensuring you’re surrounded by the best physicians and resources. Though her visits are often brief, they’re filled with quiet intensity. She sits by your bed, her large hand covering yours as she promises to protect you, her voice steady even as her heart aches.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie is practical and nurturing, spending her days by your side to ensure you’re comfortable and cared for. She’s always quick with a joke or a story to lift your spirits, her warmth a balm against the cold reality of your condition. But when the laughter fades and the room grows quiet, she leans her head against your shoulder, her voice soft as she tells you how much you mean to her, her heart aching with every word.

Lest

Lest hates seeing you like this, but she channels her emotions into quiet devotion. She watches over you like a guardian, her sharp eyes scanning every tube and needle to ensure everything is in order. She often sits beside your bed, her tail curling around her legs as she talks about the world outside, filling the silence with her soothing voice. When you catch her staring at you with a mix of love and sorrow, she quickly looks away, her ears twitching, but her hand remains firmly in yours.

[ineffectualdemon]

I have talked about how Shen Qingqiu is just as obsessed with Binghe as Binghe is with him if not MORE and that that is evident to anyone who has spent more then 10 seconds in his presence (except Binghe)

But I would argue he's also just as possessive of Binghe as Binghe is of him. He just doesn't think he's allowed to be

As much as he enjoyed meeting wives he also got disgruntled with them for not being good enough for Binghe

With White Lotus Binghe he kept Binghe away from the other Peak Lords as much as possible. Ostensibly to give less of a reason for Binghe to resent them I guess? But I think it's more he wanted to keep his sweet lotus to himself.

He felt conflicted about Binghe's clinginess and felt he should push him away and create distance. Not because he wanted to but because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to push Binghe into the Abyss.

But then he'd see Binghe and forget to do so because he wanted to keep him close. And there wasn't a desire that was sexual. It was the possessiveness a fan feels about their favourite character at first but later grew to be more about his favourite actual person.

but at the same time by the time they reached the immortal alliance conference there was probably unconscious attraction mixed in with his jealousy and possessiveness because he was distinctly unhappy with future harem members touching or talking to Binghe.

After Binghe returns there is annoyance and irritation that Binghe is with Huan Hua even though that's in keeping with the plot

He continues to say Binghe is his disciple as much as Binghe insists on calling him Shizun

He reacts not just with fear to Binghe but irritation that he went to someone else. Relied on other people rather then him and heartbroken that it isn't him that Binghe runs to anymore

It's most clear from the Holy Mausoleum onwards but from that time on Shen Qingqiu is like "Luo Binghe is MY disciple. He is MINE. I decide if he has done wrong or should be punished because he belongs to ME"

Luo Binghe's possessiveness is obvious because he's aware he's possessive and eventually so is Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu is less aware of his own feelings so since you're reading it from his pov it's less obvious. But if you take the time to see it from any other perspective he's clinging to Luo Binghe just as much as he's being clung to

In fact all the times he sends Binghe away it's mostly to keep Binghe from being taken from him. If Binghe leaves he can return. If he's taken he's not sure when he'll get his Binghe back

They are ridiculous and I swear Shen Qingqiu is just as possessive as Binghe

Like for fucks sake Binghe says he'll murder everyone except Shen Qingqiu so Shen Qingqiu will have to chose him and Shen Qingqiu's response is a genuine "if I was to give birth to you" speech!

Which becomes interesting if you think about what might happen if Xin Mo ever influenced Shen Qingqiu

[wolvietxt]

𝓭aryl 𝓭ixon…

and quirks he has in a relationship !

pairing : daryl dixon x reader warnings : fluff, slight angst?, a bit of hurt / comfort, some quirks aren’t necessarily good, set in alexandria era but i think i kinda slipped up sometimes wc : 1.5k

ᰔ he’s always checking his weapons. daryl’s obsession with his weapons is no secret. he’s constantly checking his crossbow, knives, or any other tools he’s carrying. even when he's around the house, you’ll find him quietly inspecting them or making sure everything is in place. you’ve lost count of the times he’s done this right in front of you, like when he’s sitting on the couch, half-watching tv, but still fiddling with his knives. when you get frustrated and ask him why he can’t just sit still for a minute, daryl’s response is usually a gruff, "ain’t nothin' wrong with being prepared." he might not fully understand why it's annoying, but when you give him a pointed look, he’ll eventually stop and sit next to you, placing his weapons out of reach to show he’s trying to be present.

ᰔ he takes forever to get ready. daryl's not exactly the type to spend time in front of the mirror, but he’s got a peculiar routine when it comes to preparing for a trip or even just heading out for a short errand. you’d think a guy like him would be quick to throw on some clothes and go, but no - he’ll spend ten minutes checking his gear, making sure his jacket's right, his boots are clean, and that every tool is in place.   when you complain that he takes too long, he’ll just shrug, but if you get antsy or start giving him the silent treatment, he’ll throw his jacket on faster than usual and give you an exaggerated, "see? i'm ready. all set." it’s his way of apologizing, though he never really admits it.

ᰔ he’s a very attentive listener. daryl may not say much, but he listens to everything you say. when you’re talking, he’s paying attention, even if it’s just with a nod or a soft grunt of acknowledgment. when you need him to, he’s there to offer support or just quietly be by your side. you can tell he cares by how seriously he takes everything you say.   when you point out how good he is at listening, he might get a little embarrassed, but there’s no denying that he values your words. "i’m just listenin’," he’ll say, though it’s clear he’s more invested than he lets on.

ᰔ he’s always running late. while daryl doesn’t have a problem being punctual for important things like group meetings or during a crisis, when it comes to hanging out with you or something less urgent, he’s always late. it’s like he gets too caught up in his own world - whether it’s tinkering with his bike or cleaning his weapons - and forgets the time. you’re always the one waiting, tapping your foot impatiently.   when you point out that he’s late again, daryl’s awkward about it. he might grumble something about losing track of time, but if you call him out on it, he’ll try harder next time. when he finally shows up, he might bring you something small, like a coffee or a random flower he found on his way, trying to make it up to you in his quiet way.

ᰔ he’s super stubborn. daryl’s one of the most stubborn people you'll ever meet. once he has his mind set on something, there's no changing it. whether it’s about a decision or how to do something, he refuses to listen to advice, even from you. this makes it hard when you’re just trying to help or offer your thoughts on something.   when you get upset with him for not listening, daryl can get defensive and shut down for a bit, but if he notices you’re genuinely frustrated, he’ll quietly give in. it’s subtle, but he might come around later and admit, "maybe you were right about that," though it takes a lot for him to say those words directly.

ᰔ how he always remembers the small things. daryl doesn’t forget the little things about you - your favorite snacks, the way you like your coffee, or the book you were reading a few weeks ago. it’s not obvious to everyone else, but he picks up on these tiny details and quietly makes sure to remember them.   if you thank him for remembering something, he’ll look away, muttering, "wasn’t hard to remember." but you can see the small glimmer of pride in his eyes when you mention it. it’s just his way of showing he cares without saying it outright.

ᰔ he’s not the best at communication. daryl’s not great at expressing his feelings or talking things through. when something’s bothering him, he bottles it up until it eventually comes out in a gruff comment or an angry outburst. when you try to talk to him about it, he shuts down or deflects, and it leaves you feeling like you’re hitting a wall.   if you get upset by his lack of communication, he might get frustrated with himself, but after a while, he’ll sit down beside you and mutter something vague like, "i’m just not good with words, alright?" and while it’s not a full apology, it’s his way of showing he’s trying, even if it's not perfect.

ᰔ he’s very protective over you. it’s not always obvious, but daryl’s incredibly protective of you in small, subtle ways. whether it’s walking on the side of you closest to the road or keeping his eyes on you when you're around people, he makes sure you’re safe without saying much. his protectiveness is instinctual, and even though he tries not to be overbearing, it’s clear that he cares.   if you point it out, daryl might just grunt and say, "it's just how it is," but if you tease him about it, he’ll give a slight smile, even if it’s hidden behind a gruff exterior.

ᰔ his little, quiet gestures of affection. daryl's not big on grand gestures, but he has his own ways of showing affection. maybe it's putting his hand on your shoulder when you're cooking or a quick, unnoticeable touch to the small of your back when he’s walking beside you. these little actions are his way of staying connected to you, always. even if he’s not always vocal about it.   when you tease him about being more affectionate, he’ll act tough and deny it, but if you catch him staring at you for a moment too long, his cheeks might flush slightly, and he’ll grumble something under his breath like, "ain’t nothin’ wrong with it."

ᰔ his awkwardness around you when he’s nervous. daryl’s a lot more awkward than he lets on, especially when it comes to you. he has this habit of fidgeting with his hands, running them through his hair, or avoiding eye contact when he's nervous or unsure about something. it’s endearing, and you can’t help but smile when you catch him looking away quickly.   if you point out how cute it is that he’s acting all nervous around you, he’ll roll his eyes, but there’s a small part of him that warms up to your teasing. "shut up," he’ll mutter, but he’s secretly grateful you notice his little quirks.

extras:

ᰔ his stubbornness can cause fights. daryl’s stubborn streak is a part of him, but sometimes it gets in the way. like the time you tried to convince him to let someone else take over a chore so he could rest. he brushed you off, muttering something about not needing anyone's help. you let it go at first, but when you pressed him again later, he snapped with a sharp, "just leave it, alright?" the comment cut deeper than he probably meant it to, and you walked away without another word. later that night, you heard him fumbling around outside your door. eventually, he knocked, muttering, “ya awake?” when you opened it, he stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. "didn’t mean to bark at ya earlier," he said quietly, looking at the floor. "just... don’t like feeling useless." his honesty softened your frustration, and when he finally glanced up, the genuine regret in his eyes made it hard to stay mad.

ᰔ he struggles with communication, and it can leave you upset. daryl’s not great with words, and sometimes his silence feels like a wall between you. like the time you asked him what was wrong after a long, tense day, and all you got was a gruff, "nothin’." you tried to push him gently, but he just shrugged and walked off, leaving you feeling shut out. it wasn’t until much later, when he found you sitting outside alone, that he tried to fix it. he sat down beside you without a word, passing you one of the beers he’d been holding. after a long stretch of silence, he finally muttered, “ain’t good at this kinda thing.” you looked over, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “don’t mean i don’t wanna talk to ya. just... takes me a minute.” it wasn’t a perfect apology, but it was enough to remind you how hard he was trying, even if he didn’t always have the words.

🌀 daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke, @hhiggs

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[jhilsara]

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.

She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes

|Next

The one with the late night bookstore    

If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.    

Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.    

He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.    

The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.    

Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.   

“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”    

He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”    

“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.   

“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.    

He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.    

Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.    

He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.    

-   

Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.    

There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.    

You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.    

You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”    

You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.    

You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.   

Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.    

It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.    

You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.    

“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.    

“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.    

Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature.  She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.   

Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.    

He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.    

He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.   

“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.   

You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.    

“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.   

It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.    

You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.   

“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”    

Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.    

“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.    

“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.    

You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.    

Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.    

“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.    

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.    

You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”    

Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.    

You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.    

“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.    

The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.    

You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.    

“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.    

You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.   

Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.    

“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.    

You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.   

“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.    

You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.    

“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.    

You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.    

The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.    

“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.    

The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.    

Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.   

She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.    

Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.    

“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.    

You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”   

The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”    

Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.    

He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.    

Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”    

You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”   

Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.    

If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.    

“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.    

“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”   

Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”    

He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.    

The one about Halloween    

You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.    

There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.    

To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.    

You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.     

“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.   

“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.    

You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.   

“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.    

Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.   

“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.   

You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.   

Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.    

He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.    

-   

 “Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.    

“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.    

You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”   

Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.    

You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.   

“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.    

Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.    

Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”    

“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.    

Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.    

You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.    

-   

You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.    

“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.    

Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.    

“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.   

The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.   

“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”    

You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”    

Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”    

He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.    

“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.   

Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”    

Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.    

You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.    

You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.   

“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.    

Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.    

“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”   

You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.    

Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”    

You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”    

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.   

It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.    

“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.    

“But you love it?” Spencer asked.    

You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”   

You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.    

“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.    

“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.   

Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.    

You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.    

-   

Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.    

Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.   

 It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.   

There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.   

Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.    

“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.    

“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.    

For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.    

For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.    

After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.    

“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.    

Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.    

“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.    

He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.    

You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.   

After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.    

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.   

“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.    

“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.    

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”    

“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.    

He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.    

“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.   

You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”    

He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.   

“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.    

Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.   

“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.   

You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.    

You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.    

When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.   

“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.    

You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.    

“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.   

“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.   

You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”   

“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.   

“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.    

“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.   

“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”    

Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”    

You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”    

Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.    

“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.    

“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”    

“South?” he asked.    

You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.    

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”    

You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.    

Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.    

Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.    

“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”    

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.   

You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.    

Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”   

Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.    

“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.    

“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.    

Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.   

The one after Haley’s funeral    

You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.    

You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.    

You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.    

You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.    

You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.   

His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.   

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”    

Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.    

The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.    

Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.    

There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer���s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.    

You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.   

He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.    

“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.    

Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”    

He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.    

That love had cost him Haley’s life.   

“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”    

He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”    

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”    

Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.  

You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.    

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.    

“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.    

You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.    

Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.    

“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.   

He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.    

You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.    

“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.   

“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.   

Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.    

“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.   

“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.    

“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.    

You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.   

You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.    

You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.   

You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.    

Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.    

Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.    

“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.    

Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.    

You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”    

You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.    

Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.    

You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”    

“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.   

“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.   

Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.   

“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.    

He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.    

You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.    

“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.    

Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.    

“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”   

“Someday.” you reaffirm.   

The one about family    

Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.   

One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.   

What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?    

The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.   

Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.   

When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.    

Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.    

You look like a zombie, barely functioning.   

You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.    

Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.   

“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.    

Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.   

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.   

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.   

You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.    

Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends�� private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.    

You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.    

“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.    

You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.    

You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.   

You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.    

“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.    

“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.    

You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.  

“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.    

You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.    

“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.    

“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.    

“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.   

“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.    

Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.    

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.    

Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.    

You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”   

Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”   

You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.    

You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.    

“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.    

“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.    

Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.    

“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.    

“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.   

“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.   

You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”   

He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”    

You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.    

Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”    

You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.    

-   

It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.    

There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.    

What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.    

“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.    

You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.    

“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”  

You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.    

Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”    

Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.    

“Birdie-”    

“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.    

“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”    

“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.   

She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”    

You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.    

“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.    

Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.    

You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.    

“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.    

You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.    

You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.    

Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.  

“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.  

“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.  

“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.    

You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.    

“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.   

You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”    

You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.    

Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.    

“This is so kind thank you.”    

Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.    

Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.    

You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.    

“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”    

You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”    

Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.    

“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.   

Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott    

Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.    

Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.    

You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.    

Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.    

You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.   

When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.    

Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.    

You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”    

He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”    

You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, ��Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.   

Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”    

“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.   

Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.    

You shine bright like a star, like the sun.  

[4ngelsstar]

Imagine:

A Yandere!Jinx breaking into your house immediately after finding out you’d stolen something from her during a time when you were being.. intimate, to say the least. She’d been smitten with you, but upon figuring this out? She was completely enraged. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, but she was going to do SOMETHING!

Maybe she would kill you, but perhaps she was too infatuated?..

She still has to think about it.

After all, she’d killed people for you just because they flirted with you or looked at you in a way she particularly didn’t like. She’d spent so many of her moments with you, practically groveling at your feet. She’d begged for you to stay with her, to love her. And you said you did!

Maybe that was a lie.

And upon arriving in your room, pistol in hand, she finds you sound asleep. But, looks like you left a small hatch beneath the rug open.

She scoffs, thinking this is way too easy. After stashing her gun away, she begins to descend down the ladder, Jinx glances back up at your sleeping form as you stir. She.. honestly doesn’t know how to feel, she doesn’t even wanna look at you right now until she figures what to do next about all of this, given the fact Sevika’s on her BACK about this being an important plan they need to execute. Something he would’ve done as well.

A huff escapes her and finally goes all the way down, being sure to close the hatch quietly before fully getting down. She was now a rather dark and dusty room. She waved her hand in front of her mouth and nose, wanting to cough.

But who’d know if that’d wake you.

So, Jinx restrains it and decides to start searching around for a light source, given she didn’t bring one of her own.

It doesn’t take her long until her hand feels up a string connected to, what she suspects, to be a light source. Quickly, she pulls on it, and light illuminates the room. To her amusement, she grinned in delight.

Though upon inspecting the room?

She’s met by practically an entire SHRINE dedicated to her, and her alone.

Various photographs with the banal hearts surrounding her, scribbling out anyone else if there even was.. you seemed to have just cut that part off. Most of those photos are connected with more papers, reading out dates in red ink with little notes talking about what she was doing, how pretty she looked, and so on. But, there were some that were pinned to the walls around. There were dozens upon dozens of crumpled papers littered around, a bunch of her possessions now prized in this room like they were crafted by a god themself.

Not only that, but there’s a small journal on a nearby desk, along with writing which has been obsessively scribbled upon the walls of the hidden room.

And she began to read them..:

‘I love her so much.’

‘She’s mine.’

‘So pretty.’

‘♡’

…

She stands there, completely dumbfounded upon what she’s found.

Her mouth remains agape.

..So that’s why you took those plans from her: because you thought she wouldn’t notice, thinking that they weren’t going to cause that much of a deal, and henceforth - allow you to continue indulging in your obsession with..

Her.

And that’s when she hears the creaking of the hatch opening once more.

.

.

.

Dividers: @cafekitsune & @strangergraphics-archive

[notpixl]

Realizing they’re in love with you! HSR Edition

(Ft. Robin, Acheron, Blackswan, Feixiao)

Y’all this came up to me while in class the voices told me to write this okay or else they’ll delete my accounts 🥲

Also, Beauty amidst Death will have an update. I’m just cringing at the fact that I decided leave it in strange place and am wondering how to continue it…

GN!Reader as usual. I want all sides to be happy

—————

———

—————

Robin

It’s… weird?

Well, she does get the usual fans declaring their love to her and all but somehow you’re different??? Like what-

Nowadays, whenever you two hug she’s always a blushing mess! And how come she just noticed that you’re… really, really close…

Too close…

There’s like this feeling on her stomach whenever you two are together. It doesn’t matter if it’s a call, a meetup, or just hanging out! It… It’s always there!

And whenever your name is mentioned her ears perk up! Like… what did do you to her?!

Eventually she’ll consult about these feelings with Sunday but he just chuckles it off, leaving her to guess what it is. (At least give her a hint!)

Though the answer would come knocking at her door

It was a simple gift

From you

There’s a little note etched into the cover

“For someone that means so much to me :)”

Opening it revealed a pretty little necklace

With a Dove as its Pendant

…come to think of it don’t they represent something?

She’s sure it was something about…

Peace…

Freedom…

And Love!

Wait…

Love…?

Oh

Oh

She slowly covers her face in embarrassment

Why… did it take her so long to figure this out?!

Aeons, she’s so dumb!

“All this time I was in love with them…”

Acheron

She’s met many people

Countless if you will

But why…?

Why is it that in this ever current flow of forgetting and remembering…

She just can’t seem to forget your lovely face?

She’ll rush to the libraries, read the news, heck, even threaten ask the greatest philosophers on what this feeling means!

Perhaps that Memokeeper knows something…?

Oh forget it!

She’ll tackle this head-on!

…by asking you herself.

“Ah… so that’s it is… Love.”

Black Swan

Hmm… what a quaint feeling she’s having when you’re around

Love, isn’t it?

She’s only seen and heard about it… but not once has she ever had the chance to have a feel…

…would you reciprocate these feeling as well?

Although that possibility comes in mind…

She’d rather hear it from you than face the harsh reality of rejection

Then again…

Would her as a whole be enough?

She’s never considered using her body to charm someone, let alone the person she has come to love…

Perhaps…

Perhaps you will

“The possibilities are endless… but I’ll never stop it from blooming.”

Feixiao

She’s rather perplexed

Wait- no… yeah no that actually works-

All it takes was one glance during her walk and now she’s stumbling on her way to work with this… strange feeling

There’s no point in running away, she already has Moze tracking you down

She’d talk to Jiaoqiu about this, only receiving a shrug and scraps of determination to “find it out herself.”

Cheeky Foxian…

Hmm…

Maybe she should ask from the source itself?

———

You lay in bed, already done with today’s schedule when you notice a shift in weight on your waist

Your eyes hesitate to open

“That’s not a good way to greet guests, isn’t it?”

Moving won’t help

“Look at me.”

You’re met with such a pair of eyes you can’t even begin to describe them

Scary? Beautiful? I think that shouldn’t be your main concern right now-

“I’ve got a question…”

Her grip tightens on your shoulders

“What did you do to me?”

—————

———

—————

Um… no comment down here

I hope you enjoyed/hated it

Asks are always open I guess if you want to force me to write and die and sob and and and a sn

[pipwasreal]

Ooh very interesting, thank you! I did wonder what was going through particularly Charles' head in his Hell mirror scene, and Jayden's answer is so sweet!

Transcript under the read more...

George: Hi Nat! It's George and Jayden here, for the Dead Boy Detectives. Thank you so much for supporting these cameos. Sadly, we're coming to the end of them now, um, but we've had a really, really lovely time loving the show with all of you, so thank you for your part of that. I'm gonna jump straight in. Now, you have said you're "always intrigued by Charles and Edwin's reactions to seeing their reflections in Hell." What would we say went through their heads at that moment?

Jayden: I can say for me, I remember, obviously, embodying Charles in that moment, I remember just having in my head that, you know, there was obviously a task at hand, he was in Hell to save his best friend, and I think that was a moment of looking at himself being like, "okay, d'you know what, you're not like your dad, you are a hero, and... let's just go and save your best mate."

George: That's lovely, that is. And, actually, off the back of that, I was on set with Jayden when he played that moment, and it was so powerful because, you know, there was something really, um... really profound and ironic about these boys who've travelled through mirrors every day, but because they're human mirrors, they're mirrors on the mortal plane, they can't see their reflections. Um, whereas in Hell, they're magic mirrors, which meant that they could see their reflections.

Jayden: And they couldn't hop through them.

George: And they couldn't hop through them!

Jayden: As you can see I... Charles tried to.

George: Yeah exactly, so the bit where Edwin sees his reflection...

Jayden: Unless you're going to... a different realm.

George: True.

Jayden: You get dragged in.

George: The bit where Edwin...

Jayden: Yeet!

[George laughs]

George: ...could see his reflection, um, was actually not in the script. I just played that moment, 'cause I thought there was something interesting to it, and then Steve, our showrunner, just hopped in, he was like [whispers] "Can you say 'my reflection'? Just to help make it really clear what's going on." Um...

Jayden: "How do you think Edwin was affected by being a teenager in World War One and knowing he might have to take part in it?"

[George gasps]

George: Great question.

Jayden: Have you ever been asked that before?

George: I don't think I have. I've spoken a bit about World War One. I mean, St Hilarion's is a school for the sons of military personnel, so I think the idea of discipline and the sort of vocabulary and the lifestyle around uh milit... everything to do with the military would have kind of been ingrained in him. So I think he kind of wouldn't have expected much else, in a way, I think it would have been to be expected. But there would have been a lot of fear, and I'm sure that fear would have contributed to the joy and escapism he found in those detective comics.

Jayden: You've said here that the show has touched you very deeply, and it has inspired you to reach out to people again, which you hadn't done in a long time.

George: Wow.

Jayden: Well, we are so, so glad to hear that. I think that is, that is what the show is all about, you know, reaching out to people in times of need, and, you know, creating new friendships, new bonds, and we really hope that that continues for you. And if you ever feel as though, you know, it's kind of doing this... [gestures in a downward trajectory] you have a lovely show back here, and two lovely dead boys here that support you and are proud of you every day, so thank you so much, Nat, take care.

George: Bye Nat!

So I wasn't sure if I was going to share my cameo because it's a little bit more personal towards the end, but I decided I rather wanted to share the video than just transcribe their answers to my questions.

I asked them about their thoughts on Charles and Edwin seeing their reflections in episode 7 and about Edwin's experience as a teenager during WWI.

[trixy812]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ You have all my support ɞ˚‧｡⋆ pt 4

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: nanami x reader, fluff, college!Nanami, college!Reader, that's what you get when you read shojo!

ִֶָ࣪☾. Synopsis: It was inevitable. Kento Nanami was leaving the jujutsu world.

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: omg! this is really long! i hope you guys don't get bored with this part! as I am writing this series I get so excited, i am so proud of this and I hope you guys are enjoying. I am definetely planning to write more omakes for this series :) please let me know what you think!

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the curtains of your room, bathing the space in a warmth that felt nothing short of comforting. Nanami sat at the edge of your bed, a book in one hand while the other absentmindedly ran through your hair. Your head rested on his lap as you pretended to watch TV, though your attention was far from it. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where just being together was more than enough.

Suddenly, Nanami broke the silence.

“What will you do after graduation?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. He already knew the answer—you’d discussed it countless times. You’d take a semester off to work full-time and save money before pursuing your dream of studying nursing. So it was clear he wasn’t asking for himself. This was his way of starting a conversation about his own future.

Turning your head slightly to look up at him, you smiled gently and asked,

“What about you, Kento? What do you want to do after graduation?”

Nanami carefully closed the book, placing it aside with precision, and let out a deep sigh. The weight of it was palpable in the way his chest rose and fell.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” he began, but stopped short, leaving his words hanging in the air.

Alarmed by the serious look on his face, you sat up, removing your head from his lap. Until that moment, you hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying on his shoulders. A wave of guilt washed over you. How could I not notice? I’m supposed to be supporting him…

Nanami stared at his hands, fiddling with the corner of his book as if searching for courage.

“I’m not sure if I want to remain a sorcerer,” he admitted finally.

Now it was your turn to comfort him. You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair, hoping to offer some solace.

“Why not?” you asked softly.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if the act might make explaining easier.

“Because the world of sorcery is rotten,” he said bluntly. “They use us. I saw what happened to Haibara, and I can’t stop thinking that if I stay, I’ll end up the same. Or worse, someone else will suffer because I wasn’t strong enough.”

He paused, looking out the window, searching for answers in the horizon.

“And then there’s Geto…” he continued. “I know what he did was wrong, but I can’t blame him. Honestly, I understand why he chose that path. This system is broken, y/n. Every time I return from a mission, I wonder if I’m making any difference at all—or just delaying the inevitable.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Nanami rarely opened up about his feelings, always so stoic and composed. Seeing him like this, raw and vulnerable, made your heart ache.

“Kento…” you whispered, struggling to find the right words.

“I want your honest opinion,” he said, meeting your eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation settle around you.

“Alright,” you said, “but don’t blame me for being straightforward.”

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you finally spoke, letting your emotions guide you.

“I don’t think you should stay,” you said firmly. “It’s not fair. Why should you keep giving your life to a system that doesn’t even value the people who fight for it?”

Nanami looked at you, surprised by the intensity of your tone, but didn’t interrupt.

“Look at what they did to my parents,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “They fined them for using my technique—to help people! What do you think they’ll do to you, someone they see as nothing more than a tool? They’ll drain you dry, Kento, until there’s nothing left. And then what?”

He swallowed hard, still silent.

“You’re incredibly smart,” you said, your voice softening. “You don’t need this. You could go to university, study something you’re passionate about. You always talk about books. Maybe literature. Anything. But staying there? For what? For who?”

You cupped his cheek, gently turning his face so he would look at you.

“Your opinion isn’t completely objective, is it?” he asked quietly, a small smile playing at his lips.

You glanced away, feeling exposed.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s not. I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered. “And if you stay there, I feel like I will. Sooner or later.”

Nanami was quiet for a long moment, your words clearly weighing on him. Finally, he nodded slightly.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But… it’s not an easy decision.”

You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, hoping to convey what words couldn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be easy,” you whispered. “But you don’t have to make it alone. I’m here, Kento. Always.”

Though he didn’t say it aloud, the look in his eyes told you that those words meant more to him than you could ever imagine.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

The energy of the day buzzed in the air. Flowers, speeches, and the chatter of excited students filled the auditorium. As you stood among your classmates, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd for the blonde boy you loved.

Nanami wasn’t at his own graduation. He’d deliberately skipped it, knowing the ceremony held no meaning for him. But your graduation? That was different.

When you returned home with your diploma in hand, you found Nanami waiting at your doorstep with a small chocolate cake. It was simple, understated, but what left you speechless were the words written in vanilla frosting—“Congratulations”—spelled out in your parents’ native language.

“Kento… Did you make this?” you asked, your voice filled with emotion.

He nodded, holding the cake with pride.

“I knew you’d like it,” he said calmly. “And I thought your parents would appreciate it even more.”

Your mother emerged from the house at that moment, gasping as she took in the sight.

“What a beautiful gesture!” she exclaimed, pulling Nanami into a warm hug.

Your father smiled, though he added teasingly, “It better taste as good as it looks, young man.��

“Dad…” you scolded, embarrassed, as Nanami’s typically composed expression faltered just slightly, a faint redness creeping up his ears.

The evening was filled with celebration. Your mother had prepared a feast, the dining table overflowing with traditional dishes.

Nanami leaned over as you poured him a glass of water. “Does she always cook this much for occasions like this?”

You smiled. “My mom thinks food is the best way to show love.”

As the meal progressed, your father set down his glass of wine and looked at you seriously.

“y/n, we’ll support whatever you decide,” he began. “But are you sure about nursing? In Japan, nurses don’t earn as much as they should. Have you thought about studying medicine instead? You’d earn more, and you’d never have to worry about anything.”

You rolled your eyes, placing your utensils down.

“Dad, we’ve talked about this. I want to be a nurse. I don’t care about the money—it’s my dream. Didn’t you always tell me to follow my dreams?”

Your parents exchanged a glance, and you could almost hear their unspoken thoughts: We're going to have to keep giving her money for the rest of our lives.

It was then that Nanami, who had been quiet the entire time, set his glass of water down with a deliberate clink.

“I have something to say,” he began, his tone steady and commanding attention.

Your parents straightened in their chairs, and you turned to him curiously.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said firmly. “I’m leaving the world of sorcery. I’m walking away.”

Your eyes widened in shock as his words sank in.

“Are you serious?” you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. “Kento, that’s amazing—”

“Wait, really?” your mother interjected, her voice tinged with concern. “But Kento… are you sure? It’s such a big change.”

“It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time,” he admitted. “It’s what’s best for me.”

Your father dramatically placed a hand on his forehead. “No sorcery? Our future grandchildren won’t find interest in it. It’ll be tough for them with parents in such… ordinary professions.”

Your face burned with embarrassment.

“Dad! We’ve only been dating a few weeks!” you blurted out.

Your mother laughed softly. “To us, it’s been two and a half years,” she teased.

Nanami looked down at his plate, but not before you caught the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Can you guys not?” you groaned, but they only laughed harder.

After dinner, you and Nanami went for a walk to clear your heads. The night breeze was cool and refreshing, the sky clear and dotted with stars.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, “what do you want to study in college?”

He paused for a moment before answering.

“Finance,” he said.

You stopped in your tracks, looking at him like he’d just suggested becoming an astronaut.

“Finance? What happened to literature? You love books!”

He shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips.

“I also love making smart decisions,” he said, slipping his hand into yours. "I want to make sure you never lack anything," he explained calmly. "I want you to be able to follow your dreams without worrying about anything else."

Your cheeks flushed as you processed his words.

"Also," he continued, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "I liked what your parents said about grandkids."

You were left breathless, warmth rising from your neck to your ears.

"Kento..." you whispered, unsure of how to respond.

"I imagine a future with you," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'll work hard, earn enough to retire young, and you can keep working if you want. You won't have to worry about the details—"

You silenced him with a sudden kiss, your heart pounding.

"That doesn’t matter now," you said softly. "I just want to be with you."

And under that starry night sky, with his fingers intertwined with yours, Nanami knew he had made the right decision.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

Nanami's lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. A message from Gojo.

Nanamiiiii,

Even though your coldness is unbearable, I’m going to miss you. But I’d rather miss you than see everything go to hell, so go ahead and live your boring college life. I’ll handle the dirty work (as always).

P.S. When you get tired of “normal” and want to come back to the interesting side of life, I’ll be here. But I doubt someone as bitter as you can handle how much fun it is working with me.

P.P.S. At least tell me that girl’s worth it. How is it we still haven’t gone out, the three of us?"

Nanami sighed and set his phone aside. He could read between the lines: "I don’t want you to end up like Geto." Though Gojo expressed himself in his uniquely ridiculous way, his words reminded Nanami why he had made the right decision.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, noticing his distant expression.

He shook his head, bringing his attention back to you. "Nothing important. Just Gojo being Gojo."

You leaned closer, curious, but before you could insist, you exclaimed excitedly, "Oh! I got the waitress job!"

Nanami raised an eyebrow. "Full-time?"

"Yes," you replied enthusiastically. "Once we start college, I want to find my own place and live alone."

His expression shifted, growing slightly more serious. After a few moments of silence, he said, "What if we lived together?"

Your smile faltered. "Kento, that’s really sweet of you, but no."

Nanami frowned, clearly affected by your response. "Why not? I thought… it’d make things easier for both of us. We’d be together."

You took his hands in yours, smiling at him gently. "I want to know what it’s like to live alone. I need that space to grow as a person. It’s important to me."

Nanami nodded, though his eyes held a flicker of sadness. "I understand. But I won’t blame you if you change your mind."

Six months later, you both started college. Nanami had changed his appearance—his hair was shorter and slicked back, and he often wore dress shirts and jeans. His mature, polished style didn’t go unnoticed.

In the hallways, you noticed the stares he received, from both women and men.

"They’re looking at you again," you whispered, slightly annoyed, as you walked together to the library.

He glanced at you with a faint smile. "Are you jealous?"

"No, of course not," you replied, though your furrowed brow said otherwise. Still, you couldn’t help but feel proud. You knew that no matter how many looks he got, he was yours and yours alone.

Despite your busy schedules, exam weeks were always different. It had become a tradition to study together, either at your place or his.

Well, studying was the initial plan.

Night had fallen, and your apartment was quiet, save for the rustle of notes scattered on the floor, forgotten. You and Nanami were on the couch, completely absorbed in the moment. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his careful hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing it up, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He kissed you with a slow, deliberate intensity, as if trying to memorize every sensation. His lips moved with a restrained passion that felt ready to overflow at any moment.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but he didn’t let you move far. His mouth trailed down to your neck, leaving a path of heated kisses that sent shivers through your body.

"Kento," you murmured, trying to sound firm, though your voice came out shaky. "We should be studying."

"I can’t focus," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and laden with desire. "Not when you’re this close."

You tried to pull away, but he cupped your face with both hands, gently guiding you to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a mixture of tenderness and need that always left you defenseless.

"Let me stay like this a little longer," he confessed, his tone almost pleading.

You were just as lost in him—in the way his hands traced your back, slowly moving up to your shoulders, as if rediscovering you. His lips found yours again, this time with a softness that contrasted with the earlier intensity but was just as overwhelming.

"Kento," you tried again, with little conviction. "The exams…"

"I love the way you say my name," he whispered against your lips, a small smile forming. "There’s nothing more important than this right now."

His hands slid back to your waist, holding you with a firmness that made you feel both secure and deeply desired. You gave in to the moment, letting him guide you, feeling the weight of books and responsibilities melt away.

A soft gasp escaped your lips when he brushed your cheek, and the sound made him pause for just a moment. He looked at you, his expression now softened by overwhelming tenderness.

"Do you know what you make me feel?" he whispered, his voice barely audible but heavy with emotion.

"What?" you managed to ask, still trying to catch your breath.

He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment, as if anchoring himself in your presence. "That no matter how much time we have, I’ll always want more of you. It’ll never be enough."

Your hands caressed his face, tracing the lines of his jaw as you gazed at him with equal intensity. "I love you," you said, letting all your reservations fall away.

He kissed you again, this time softer, as if your words had soothed the fire within him—though only slightly.

Finally, you were the one to create some distance, though your body was still trembling. "Hey, handsome," you said with a nervous smile. "If we keep this up, we’re going to fail our exams."

He sighed with a faint smile, smoothing his hair. "Fine," he said with resignation. But before you could move, he added, "Though I want it on record that I’m against stopping."

Blushing, you began gathering the notes scattered on the floor. Nanami watched you, his gaze still full of adoration and desire. He couldn’t help but think how much he wished time would stop when you were like this, together.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

The years passed quickly. Both of you graduated college. You found a job almost immediately at the hospital where you had completed your volunteering, excited to begin your specialty in palliative care.

Out of respect for Nanami, you decided not to use your cursed energy technique anymore. You knew he appreciated that gesture more than he let on.

Nanami, on the other hand, entered the world of finance and quickly excelled as a stockbroker. His success surprised no one; he was meticulous, efficient, and dedicated.

One sunny afternoon, Nanami invited you to look at apartments. He insisted it was "just for fun," now that he was considering moving closer to his office. You went along, thinking it would be a casual distraction from your routines, but as soon as you arrived, you were taken aback.

"This place is... incredible," you said, your eyes taking in the sleek, modern facade. "Are you sure this isn’t out of your budget?"

He gave you a faint smile, the kind he reserved for moments when he was about to surprise you. "Let’s go inside and see."

Stepping into the apartment, your eyes widened. The space was bright and open, with large windows that let in warm, natural light. The kitchen was modern, with impeccable finishes, and there was a spacious living area and a small balcony with a breathtaking view. You walked slowly, admiring every detail, while Nanami followed quietly, watching you intently.

Finally, you stopped at the balcony, gazing out at the city with a soft sigh. "It’s perfect. It’s… too perfect."

Nanami approached, resting a hand on the balcony doorframe. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," you admitted with a smile. "If this is what you’re looking for, I think you should go for it. It’s amazing."

He cleared his throat, clearly nervous—a rarity for him. "I want to get this place, but not just for me."

You turned to him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Nanami slid his hands into his pockets, as if seeking something to steady himself. Then he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours. "I want us to live here together. You and me."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Nanami took a deep breath. "And this time, you can’t say no."

You frowned, confused, but before you could respond, he pulled a small black box from his pocket and opened it. Inside, a simple yet elegant ring sparkled in the golden light of the setting sun.

"Because I don’t just want us to live together," he said, his voice lower but steady. "I want to build a life with you. I want this to be our home. I want you to be my wife."

Your mouth fell open in a soft gasp, tears welling in your eyes. The silence stretched between you, not because words were lacking, but because the gravity of the moment spoke for itself.

"Will you marry me?"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

[gatorbites-imagines]

I actually caught you when your asks are open this is spectacular

I know you write for Plastic Man, but I don't know about Negative Man? Larry Trainor, comics or show. So you can do this with either one you want.

Male reader who's similar to the invisible man – Not criminal, maybe backstory, but at least was a scientist who turned himslef invisible but a tad more realistic, blind but in the more Matt Murdock way, or just blind, I don't mind either. Hcs or anything else of any kind, but hcs would probably be easier.

I alao don't mind if it's ftm reader or the explicitly of it!! So sorry if this is all over the place. I didn't want it to be long😞

Lawrence “Larry” Trainor x Male reader

Headcanons

I don’t actually know a lot about Larry, so this is based off the wiki. The reader is also somewhat based off the 1933 movie The Invisible Man but with my own spin, since I wasn’t sure what else you might have been referring too, hehe. I hope my lack of knowledge still makes this good to read.

I got major Morticia and Gomez vibes from these two as i wrote.

You were no superhero, nor were you a villain. You were just a man who flew too close to the sun and got burnt on the way to discovery. The sun had so much to give, something you knew so many years ago before Superman appeared, and you learned his power source was the sun.

You barely kept track of when you were born nowadays, there was no need too. From what little you could gather, you didn’t age, you didn’t hunger or thirst, you didn’t even need to sleep. But you knew you had been around before radioactivity was discovered.

You had been around before the major superheroes became a thing, it wasn’t something that interested you a lot. There were a couple you knew, like Alan Scott, and Jay Garrick, you had even met wonder woman once or twice. But you were no hero.

So, it was no shocker that you didn’t know about this so-called doom patrol. How would you. Its not like you owned a tv, and you didn’t care much for the news stations on the radio nowadays. It was all ads and dramatic sound effects.

You were never sure what to call yourself. Alan used to call you a scientist, and Jay did too even though he hadn’t visited in a long time, at least it felt like a long time. But you had heard he got married and had kids, so of course that was more important. You still sent them both holiday cards though.

As a scientist you had studied radioactivity before it was discovered by anyone else. You had always had a habit of being consumed by your work, so when you climbed out of your pit of research, someone else had already claimed the discovery.

It didn’t matter though, as what interested you was the sun and the power you just knew it stored. Of course, it didn’t end well. Going invisible, blind, deaf, and losing pretty much every other sense hadn’t been on your list of predictions. But that’s what happened.

You could still see, hear, smell, and so on… in your own way. It was impossible to explain, but you didn’t truly exist the same way everyone else seemed to do. The radioactivity from the sun had given you other powers too.

But those powers weren’t used a lot. Why would you need to fly, or phase through things, or channel the power of the sun to blast somebody. You were anti-military and anti-government, that’s why they never supported your research and buried your existence from the history books, so you weren’t gonna fight.

When you finally learned about this so-called doom patrol you almost felt a little bashful, or could you say miffed? It was like one of them had stolen your entire look. Well, most of it anyways.

You were both wrapped from head to toe in bandages, though his seemed much thicker and sturdier than yours, like they were inlaid with something. And his clothing were more modern, and looked more practical.

What could you say, you were a sucker for the fashion you grew up with. So, what if your clothing, furniture and everything about you screamed Victorian era. Some of the younglings Jay brought along when he visited said you looked very “antique” and that “old stuff is in”.

You also didn’t wear shades like Mr. negative, Larry, you later learned, did. You were blind as a bat and had no physical eyes anyways, so why wear shades in the first place?

It was hard to explain how your body worked, it had the form of a human when you wrapped it, but it also… didn’t exist. You always just blamed it on the undiscovered art of radioactivity and science so advanced the world hadn’t gotten there yet.

It did look slightly entertaining to see you in your Victorian era dressing robe, in a pair of your best slippers with a glass of brandy you couldn’t really taste, beside Larry, who had very clearly seen better days.

Both being wrapped in bandages created a kind of comradery between you two in the beginning. Lary had thought maybe you were like him, especially when you explained how you got where you were, since his accident was based around radioactivity too.

Only for you to shock him, but unwrapping your head and revealing… nothing. Literally nothing. You even grabbed his hand and brought it to where your head would be, only for it to pass through it like nothing.

Your body seemed present when you wrapped it, a phenomenon you were still studying to this day. Right now, your results were pointing in the direction of it being mental, but who truly knew at the end of the day.

Larry hadn’t been willing to remove his own bandages for very obvious reasons, no matter how many times you told him it wouldn’t hurt you, and that it wouldn’t matter. You were raised too well to make any demands.

Instead, you pulled out your very old photo album and walked him through your family, happily pointing out pictures of yourself and how you looked, only scowling a little as he laughed at your hairstyle and outfits of the time.

In the end you touched him by accident. There was some accident in your lab that tore some of the bandages on his hand, and without a second thought you took his hand and wrapped it again. Obviously, nothing happened to you, you didn’t have a body that could be hurt, but it was still a shock for Larry.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Larry was as touch starved as he was. Not having any human contact for so long would drive anybody mad, except you that is, but you also were convinced that that was some mental result of your accident.

So, you didn’t turn him away when Larry would start appearing in your giant Victorian era mansion, far out in the mountains, so far away from anything that whatever radioactivity you worked on wouldn’t reach.

You also didn’t mind that Larry started searching you out for contact. He started small, just sitting closer to you as you had tea together, where it evolved to sitting up against you as you went through your papers, to Larry going as far as laying his bandaged head in your lap as you read aloud from one of your many books.

Larry was so sweet, in his own hesitant way. He even let you study how his own powers worked, but to no surprise you two didn’t reach a certain result, but neither of you had expected that.

Hell, Larry even got more comfortable going around in public, as you would hook your arms together and almost strut along, as if the wide eyed and sometimes hateful stares didn’t touch you.

That was also how you finally met the justice league. The only one that interested you was Superman, and he wouldn’t let you study him as much as you wanted. Your extreme studies of the sun at least caught Batman’s interest, enough for you two to have very long difficult conversations about science. You later learned you reminded him of his butler, which you took as a compliment since he was spoken so highly of.

The doom patrol wasn’t your favorite, you didn’t trust that Chief guy, and rightfully so. But who were you to tell Larry who he could and couldn’t forgive, you just made it very clear you weren’t gonna help that guy.

In the end, the relationship you two shared was strange, but soft in ways that was hard to put into words. Your first kiss took months to happen, as you didn’t have lips when you unwrapped your bandages, and Larry needed so long to grow comfortable to pull his off.

Holding hands, or tapping your foot against each other’s became how you expressed love. That, or giving gifts. You made place in your giant mansion for his many gifts, wanting to show them all off.

And Larry? Larry got a whole new wardrobe as well as many other trinkets he might need. You even dove head first into the tools and armor market, wanting to give Larry something to keep him safe. You couldn’t have cared less about the rest of his team, they weren’t really your friends, just Larry.

Those items might have gotten your usual Victorian flare to them too, even if they were sleek and modern in their abilities and storage. It was a bit like your way of marking Larry as yours.

It was still difficult for Larry to feel safe without his bandages in your mansion, not just because of how dangerous it was, but also because he found himself so hideous. You didn’t find him ugly, not at all. You also knew it would take Larry a long time to believe you, so you didn’t force him to accept it, just left the opportunity open.

You two made a strange but surprisingly strong couple, when you finally visited the outside world. Those few times were either to have tea with Batman’s very smart butler, or to blast somebody with the power of the sun for hurting your dear love. No matter what though, you always left an impression, not that you cared. All you cared about was leaving one with Larry.

[overtaken-stream]

Is there a “Sanji as a boyfriend” headcannon list i readed your Zoro one and just wanted to ask if there was one for Sanji as well? (Or even Ace?)

Well, there is now! (Also, sorry this took forever😭)

The flirty face Sanji puts on in front of women falls right off the second you invite him to just sit on your bed. No matter how close you and him were before, Sanji was shy during the earlier days of your relationship. Even if he declared his love for you every day of the week, he still could not believe you agreed to be his partner.

Sanji's love language is cooking and gift giving. During dinner, he doesn't treat you any different than the crew, like before your relationship, he adds extra of your favorite ingredient, just like everybody else. However, you now taste test his experimental dishes, ones he isn't quite certain about, or is insecure to try due to the preparation it needs. You're special to him, so he wants you to feel special and be involved in activities he finds soothing. Whenever he leaves the ship to stock up the supplies, he'll find something nice to give you as a present, such as: pearl accessories, eye-catching earrings, or a souvenir from that island. All paid by Nami's treasures, who definitely helps out Sanji with the said presents, who do you think knows your taste the best? Your boyfriend or your best friend??? You better choose a correct answer : )

He's extremely considerate of your feelings, acting like a butterfly around you, fluttering his feelings carefully and gently so as not to seem too desperate to taste the sugary nectar you provide with just a smile.

During arguments, he definitely tries to apologize first, doesnt matter if he's the one that was right. He will apologize the second after it's over. Even when you say you need some space to cool off, he doesn't let you go, he wants it to be resolved as fast as possible. For his own sanity.

His best tasting dishes are driven by guilt, so you are guaranteed to get the juiciest, most flavorfilled, nutritional plates of hot food that just satisfyingly melt the moment it's in your mouth. It's also followed by a nonalcoholic drink that he knows you like.

Despite knowing you love him, he is often in need of reassurance, though because he has you, it doesn't mean his self-sacrificial tendencies are any less potent, so he makes sure to always say how much he loves you before stepping on an island, or splitting apart in groups, obviously he desperately wants you to say it back, in case something goes wrong and he can't reunite with the rest of the crew.

No one took the Whole Cake Island incident as hard as Sanji. He cured his very existence for betraying your trust and loyalty. He is unable to treat women badly, so yes, he will still be kind to Pudding since this situation was something neither wanted. He is a gentleman but not a cheater.

[lilithofpenandbook]

Out of everything that traumatised Neville, Snape isn't one of them. If he is, that's not because Snape is abusive, it's because Neville is literally weak. That's not an insult, that's his flaw- being unnecessarily scared of everything. The other children are not afraid of Snape himself. They're more afraid of the consequences of angering Snape (house points lost, detentions, scoldings) rather than Snape as a person.

Neville's feelings are shockingly enough, not valid. Those feelings of fear, that cowardice? A flaw. Just as much as arrogance, spitefulness, being overly afraid is a flaw and in his case makes him a danger to others, as does his clumsiness and forgetfulness. Now, forgetfulness isn't something you can choose, I'd call it a weakness more than a flaw, but at the same time there are ways to manage it. But the cowardice? That's a flaw that needs to be corrected.

Neville's trauma comes from his family. His uncle is awful to him, as is his grandmother, and seeing his parents in such a state is enough to mess anyone up. He comes from a messed up family. It does not come from Snape.

People also like to say that "Oh look his boggart is Snape even though his parents were tortured!!!" but here's the thing: Neville was probably never even present.

He probably never ever even saw his parents tortured. He knows what happened, but was most likely never a witness. If he was present would he have actually lived? Of course not. So of course he's not going to have that as his worst fear. It's not going to come to mind in school. Not when he just got grilled by Snape.

Neville's been through traumatic events, that's undeniable. But Snape is not one of them. Snape isn't obliged to be nice to Neville. Snape's job when it's Neville is, by some point, just making sure Longbottom doesn't kill them all. Neville's cowardice and clumsiness aren't reasons to coddle him. If I was teaching Potions, I'd have kicked Neville out by second year- no way am I risking a whole class because one child can't follow basic instructions.

Neville's family is the real problem in Neville's story. They're supposed to look after him and care for him. If we're going to be talking about this boy's trauma, we need to discuss how he was more alarmed at the thought of his grandmother being his boggart than Snape was to the point that he didn't mention her, Lupin just mentioned her to give Neville an idea of how to sort out the boggart

And let's also talk about why Lupin decided to essentially completely humiliate a colleague that is already not respected by the children. Making his likeness look ridiculous is so petty and unprofessional. Lupin could have easily told Neville to do literally anything else that would have made the situation funny without making a mockery of Snape, but he didn't. He chose to suggest the grandmother's clothes to humiliate the real Snape- look at what happened at Christmas when Snape got that hat from his cracker, he was clearly upset by it, he clearly knew why the boys were laughing-and not only that, he prompted Neville through the entire thing. He didn't simply say "imagine Snape in your grandmother's clothes", he dragged out the entire thing to make it as ludicrous as possible (like, why the handbag? Why did he prompt Neville to also describe her handbag? Obviously to add to the ridiculousness). That's his colleague. He's leading the kids to disrespect his colleague, their teacher. When you read that scene, it's fairly obvious Snape was likely to be Neville's boggart due to him literally making a remark that embarrassed Neville seconds prior that Neville visibly reacted to (and in all honesty, it was a fair warning. Sarcastic, but fair- Neville should not be entrusted with anything dangerous and DADA involves doing things that could hurt others). If you want to talk about the boggart scene, acknowledge how Lupin had a full conversation with Neville to prompt him to imagine something to humiliate Snape with. "Oh, it's just a boggart" But it's not. Something like that is going to be spread, gossiped about, it will ruin whatever little respect the kids have for Snape. Lupin was behaving absolutely unprofessionally and honestly when I looked at it just now, it made me feel a little sick the way Lupin was talking.

And I'm not even going to discuss Trevor The Toad, I've already gone on about him multiple times before. It's probably the most misunderstood and misused scene against Snape. Like, it only takes two seconds to realise that if Snape's intention was to hurt or kill Trevor, he would have just squished Trevor when Trevor was reduced into a tadpole (was it a tadpole?). As it was, he didn't even leave Trevor as a tadpole and make Neville make the counter-potion, he administered it himself and was specifically mad that Hermione helped Neville after being told not to. Once again, Snape's not being abusive or a bully for the sake of it- he's trying to be a teacher. It's the kind of thing you hate as a child but grow up to realise that actually, the adult had a point. Even if it seemed unfair at that moment.

Anyway, people geniunely don't give a shit about Neville's trauma, and when they do, it's to use it against Snape without acknowledging that actually, it's far worse that his Boggart could have easily been his grandmother but Lupin didn't allow it (he didn't even question why he was so afraid of her). It's far worse that his uncle treated him so badly. It's far worse that the people who were supposed to raise Neville were cruel to him. And it's far worse that McGonagall, who IS supposed to care for Neville, is just as mean to him as Snape is.

The fact that people (Marauders Stans) only care about Neville's trauma to bash Snape. It's always Snape was his boggart never McGonagall risked him dying twice and humiliated him in front of everyone. Or his grandma treated him like shit and his great uncle nearly killed him several times. They literally don't care about Neville. It's Snape fans who actually care more about him (even if they don't care about him) because they don't treat him/his trauma like a tool (which is a very low bar). I feel really sorry for him. After everything he went through, his trauma is not talked about enough.

[sanguineterrain]

Hi Sanne! Could I please request a Wally x reader where she’s super clumsy and kinda shy so when he flirts with her she gets all flustered and clumsy and Wally thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world? Thank you!

got this request AGES ago and forgot to post. hope you like! I don't know much about wally's personality admittedly except for the few comics I've read with him 🫣

gn!reader. wally makes your body and mouth clumsy. kissing and confessions. drinking.

****

"So what exactly is this again?" Roy asks, peering at his glass.

"It's a mocktail," you say.

"No, I get that, but why is it blue? And sparkly."

"It's supposed to be the ocean," Dick says. "Duh."

"Oh, sure. As usual, I'm the idiot. Never had the creative mind to find worlds in drinks. 'S like I'm drinking a snow globe."

"I can get you something else," you say, laughing.

"No, I like the snowglobe." Roy curls his hands around the glass protectively. "My snowglobe."

The team's decided to try their hand at a trivia night at a local bar. It's gone better than you expected, with only one near-blowup and no glasses thrown. All in all, a good night.

"I would like another daiquiri, please," Donna says, holding up her glass. "These are delicious. What flavor did you say this one was?"

"Passion fruit."

She nods. "Indeed. I'm passionate about this fruit."

"Don't get my team too hungover," Dick says, eyes shining and cheeks pink from two drinks.

"I'll do my best," you say.

If only Wally were here, you don't say. He'd be a big help in getting everyone back to the Tower. You have no idea how you're going to manage the Wonder Twins and Garth wobbling all over the sidewalk. Roy, though perfectly sober, will provide zero help, too busy giggling at Dick's lack of motor skills.

You take Donna's glass because she deserves another passion fruit daiquiri if she wants it, darn it. You order that and another two baskets of fries. Dick's got the tab. Everyone's taking advantage.

"Need a hand?"

You turn with the fries cradled in one arm and the daiquiri in your other hand. You don't anticipate Wally to be standing as close as he is.

The baskets go flying.

"Whoa!" he says, darting out to catch the food. He does so perfectly, of course.

"Oh!" Your face goes hot as Wally grins at you.

"Careful," he says. "All those heroes and not a single one came to help you carry the food? They should be ashamed of themselves."

"They're, um, having a good time. It's okay, really." Did you manifest him being here? "I was just thinking about you."

Wally's grin widens. "Oh, yeah? Anything in particular?"

Now, why did you say that? Your tongue just gets so clumsy around him.

"I was—I mean, it wasn't—I was thinking about how helpful it would be if you were here. I was hoping you'd come."

"Well, hope no more! You've got an official superhero on your side."

Wally wriggles the glass out of your hand and gestures for you to go ahead. Now you're carrying nothing. You go, knowing that protesting does no good with Wally.

"Seems like wherever you go, Wally isn't far behind," Roy says, waggling his eyebrows. "You two psychically linked or something?"

Dick and Donna exchange smiles. You look at Wally, mildly mortified by the teasing.

"We're soulmates, actually," Wally says, and that makes your whole body hot. "Wouldn't expect you to understand, Arrow Boy."

"Dude, I'm hurt." Roy clutches his chest. "I thought we were soulmates."

"You wish. Where's Garth?"

"Bathroom," Dick says.

Donna makes grabby hands for the drink. She takes a long sip and gives you a thumbs up. You return it.

"We should play pool!" Dick says.

"No way, you cheat," Roy says.

"I do not! Donna, do I cheat?"

"Physically, Dick doesn't cheat, but he has a long history of psychologically manipulating opponents," Donna says.

Roy snaps his fingers. "Bingo."

"I don't cheat, I'm just that good." Dick smirks. "Anyway, I'm tipsy, so my aim will be off."

Roy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. No bets. I can't afford to lose anymore money to you."

"Fine. You two joining us?" Dick asks, looking at you and Wally.

"I don't know how to play pool," you say, a little embarrassed. Working on a team of superheroes, the least you could do is know how to play pool. Pool is obviously a cool people game. Batman probably taught Dick pool when he was, like, eight.

"That's fine, we can teach ya," Roy says.

"No, we suck at teaching," Dick says. "Remember, Roy? Remember how we suck at teaching people? Wally's way better at teaching."

Roy glances at Dick, then at Wally. He nods slowly. "Ah... yeah. Our, uh, shortcomings as teachers—yeah, we suck. Wally, you're up!"

Wally squints at them. "What're you talking about? You guys are better at pool than me."

"Not true! You can calculate physics in your head and shit. Go on. Shoo, fly," Roy says, waving him away.

Wally looks at you, questioning. You shrug, trying to play off how nervous you are at the prospect of being alone with him.

You follow him to one of the pool tables. He takes down a cue stick and gives it to you.

"You really don't have to teach me," you say, suddenly self-conscious. "It's not a big deal."

"I don't mind," he says, smiling. "Plus, what if you're a pool prodigy and we never find out because I never taught you and unlocked your ability? Tragic."

You laugh. He beams. You back up against the table and the wooden edge hits your back. You wince.

"You okay?" he asks, inspecting you.

"Fine." You sigh. "Okay, I'm ready to unlock my special abilities."

"Right on. So you're gonna hold the cue like this."

He puts it in your hands and adjusts your grip.

"Okay, and you're gonna stand like—uh, is it cool if I touch you?"

"Uh-huh," you say, hoping your voice isn't high and breathy.

Wally gently bends you forward and moves your hips so your legs are planted. He's behind you, mouth near your ear.

"Alright," he says, and your whole body goes aflame. He's so close. "So pull back..."

You pull back the cue and promptly elbow Wally in the stomach. He grunts and you drop the stick, mortified.

"Oh my God," you say, spinning around. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. God—"

You dart away, the humiliation too overwhelming. You're making a beeline for the bathroom when Wally appears in front of you. Damn superspeed.

"Hey, hey," he says, hands on your shoulders. "I'm okay. Seriously, don't even worry about it!"

"No." You shake your head. "I give up. I'm too uncoordinated for this stuff. There's a reason I'm not out on the field."

"Aw, c'mon, none of that," Wally says, rubbing your arms. "You're a valued member of the team even if you don't go onto the field. What you do is important. You're like our Oracle."

"I've been tripping over my own feet all night," you say, looking down.

No guesses as to why you've been so clumsy. Starts with a W, ends with a Y.

"Well, I'll always be there to catch you," Wally says warmly. "I have great reflexes. It's kinda my thing."

You busy yourself with picking at a loose thread on your shirt, so Wally won't see your response to that.

"I'm still sorry for elbowing you." You cover your face at the memory. "Ugh."

He laughs. "Nah, it's okay, honestly. I'm a tough guy. Put on my own suit and everything."

And now, your mind is inundated with images of Wally in his suit.

He carefully tugs your hands from your face, gaze soft. You're caught off-guard as Wally rubs your knuckles with his thumbs.

"Listen, I..." He glances around as if searching for words. You've never seen Wally at a loss for words. He's usually talking too fast for anyone to keep up. "I don't know if maybe I'm misreading this. I don't think I am. But if I am, feel free to elbow me again."

Your eyes widen. "I would never—"

And quick as anything, Wally leans in and pecks your lips. It's warm, like a shock of electricity. You barely have time to process it.

"Oh," is all you can say.

Wally smiles nervously. "Is that a good oh or a 'I'd like to punch you in the face' oh?"

"I like you," you blurt.

He relaxes into a grin. "Know what? I kind of suspected. Especially after those idiots practically forced us into playing pool. I'm dumb but I'm not that dumb."

"You're not dumb, Wally."

"When it comes to this stuff, I really am. But I'm happy you like me because I really like you. Like, a lot."

"Yeah? Elbows and all?"

Wally laughs, draws you in again for a kiss. "You can elbow me any time, babe."

[dear-ao3]

hi it's me the person from like a week ago who's writing that college paper about f1 i was gonna respond and then i immediately forgot lol. the paper is on the different media strategies and narratives of the fia, teams, drivers, gp locations, etc, and how they interact with each other. and also how the ways liberty media and the fia are marketing the sport and drawing in new fans is actually alienating people and suppressing the authenticity of the sport. especially post drive to survive.

i'm a comms major lol i am a massive public relations nerd

also a couple questions: idk how well versed you are in business stuff but how would you say f1 has changed its branding, especially pre liberty media to now? and how were drivers marketed before the era of portraying them as like,, pop stars? when was that shift? also if you have any specific examples (or places i could find examples) related to that stuff or sexism in f1 or just how f1 tries to control the narrative i would appreciate it because jesus christ the lack of research is terrible

ok dump over the essays not due for another like 3 weeks but when its done i can send it to you if you want to read it :)

aaaaa this got lost in my ask box i hope i’m not too late posting it :/ unfortunately i have no real sources for you. i know the shift was post drive to survive, but i think it also depends on the country because like f1 hasn’t really been a huge Thing in the us, but like ferrari has been italys second religion for years. so it might make sense if you focused it on a country. like in the time since dts first released they added two more us gps: miami (2022) and las vegas (2023). i know there’s a lot of british bias, especially by sky sports and sometimes in the penalties as well. i think fernando alonso called that out this year (?) and max also usually mentions it a few times (at brazil this year he definitely called out the british press) i know there’s also interviews of drivers saying post dts people recognized them way more (maybe this was daniel? or lando?) but some of them really like it (daniel) and some of them don’t (like max) you could also play the angle from social media, like george used to i know at least run his own twitter way back in the day (might have been pre f1 but i think he was still running it loosely in 2019 or at least tweeting himself) and now he doesn’t really touch social media At All cause of the comments he gets. lando used to run most of his own social media also until i think like 2020? 2021? (as in i don’t think he had a social media team) before he passed it off to someone else, though i know he still goes on for sure. i think a lot of them definitely cleaned up their media presence post dts (like lewis was certainly a pr nightmare at one point earlier in his career which a lot of people don’t realize or remember and we’re not even going to talk about fernando alonso). the sport has gotten more tame for sure over the years, they used to get away with doing and saying way more but that could also just be a general cultural shift, there’s also i know pockets of people who are like oh this sport used to be so respectful and manly and blah blah blah and like. there’s photos of michael schumacher at a party in a wedding dress. david coulthard used to pretend to kiss his teammates on the lips in front of the cameras. as for sexism, there have been female drivers before, usually only doing short stints. i know susie wolff has talked about this with the f1 academy how pretty much only lewis consistently shows up to support it. i think max (?) said earlier this year that academy is great but if they want them to make it to f1 they need to give them faster cars. there’s also the whole horner fiasco from earlier this year.

idk if any of this is useful. or if you’ve already turned in your paper. in any case, good luck :)

[uniquexusposts]

Forbidden territory | F. Alonso

Summary: Y/n is the daughter of a good friend of Fernando Alonso. She has always had a thing for the good-looking Spanish driver. Note: I can't stop thinking about the TV series Rivals, oh goodness. I am obsessed. This one shot is based on the book/TV series - Taggie and Rupert - created by Jilly Cooper :)

The terrace was alive with soft conversation and the clink of glasses as the evening unfolded in the warm, golden glow of the Spanish summer. It was an evening to celebrate the mid-summer break of Formula 1 - the dinner was hosted by a good friend of Y/n’s father. Y/n tried to focus on the light chatter around her, the familiar sound of her family’s voices mixing with the laughter of friends. Her mind, however, was miles away, fixed on a far more complicated subject.

Fernando Alonso. 

She couldn’t help it. Even though he was surrounded by a small crowd, his presence was undeniable, pulling her attention like a magnetic force. She had thought she could keep it together, thought she could pretend that the way he looked at her; those brief, searching glances - meant nothing. But the truth was, every time their gazes met, her heart raced a little faster.

She glanced over at him now, pretending to adjust her hair, but her eyes locked with his before she could look away. Fernando didn’t look away, though. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and there was something unmistakably knowing in it. He was talking to someone next to him, but he kept looking into her eyes with a grin on his lips. 

It was just like him; too sure of himself, too good at this. Too aware of the effect he had on her.

And yet, there was something else in his eyes, something softer, a little more vulnerable, hidden beneath that cocky exterior. Fernando had always been so confident, so untouchable. But there was a shift in the way he looked at her tonight. A shift that made Y/n feel both alive and dangerously exposed.

She quickly turned away, pretending to engage in a conversation with her father, but her pulse didn’t slow down. She could feel his presence in the area like a weight pressing down on her chest. He wasn’t even near her, and yet, it was as if he were the only person in the world.

Fernando wasn’t like this with anyone else. Y/n had seen it. He was always charming, always witty, but he never seemed to linger like this, not like he did with her. They got introduced to each other two years ago, and ever since the first moment she looked at him, something changed within her. Which was weird, because she was only 20 years old at that time, and he was 41 years old. He practically could be her father. 

Her mind raced, but she fought to keep her composure. Then, as though he had read her thoughts, she saw him rise from his seat, moving through the crowd with that confident ease of his. Every step seemed measured, calculated, like he knew exactly how to get to her.

When he slid into the seat next to her, so naturally, so casually, it was as though nothing had changed, as though they were two people who had always sat here, side by side. But Y/n could feel the difference. She could feel the intensity in the air, thick with unsaid words, too much tension to ignore.

“You know, you’re looking a little too serious for someone who just watched a race,” Fernando said, his voice light, teasing. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow casually resting on the table, so close that their shoulders brushed, sending an unintentional shiver down her spine.

“I’m just tired,” she said, too quickly. Too defensively. She hoped her words would mask the rush of adrenaline she was feeling. “It’s been a long day.”

“Long day,” he repeated, his lips curling in a smirk. There was something about the way he said it that made her heart skip. Something about the way he wasn’t just looking at her, but seeing her. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.

Her gaze flickered over to him, catching the playful glint in his eyes. 

He wasn’t fooled by her words. He never was. “You know,” he continued, leaning in just a little closer, “you might be better off saying what you really mean.”

Y/n’s breath hitched in her chest, but she refused to let him see it. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re thinking about something,” he said, voice soft, but each word was laced with a teasing challenge. “Something you don’t want to admit to. I can hear your brains work, Y/n, all the way from the other side of the terrace.” 

His eyes held hers as if daring her to deny it. And damn him, it was hard not to. He was right, of course. She could feel the tension in her chest, like a string pulled taut, but she refused to let it show. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence affected her.

“No,” Y/n said, her voice firmer than she felt. “I’m just enjoying the party, processing the weekend, mentally preparing for the upcoming workweek.” Too much excuses. 

Fernando raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Are you, though?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/n tried not to let it faze her. But he was so close. So close, with that knowing, amused expression. Fernando had always been like this; smug, unflappable, the kind of man who would make a joke at the expense of anyone, especially if it made him seem even more irresistible. And he knew just how to use that power.

He was dangerous.

Forbidden territory. 

She glanced away for a moment, trying to gather herself, but when she turned back to him, he was still watching her with that quiet intensity, as if he could see through her every facade. It made her heart skip.

“What did you think of the race?” he asked, casually taking a sip of his drink, but his eyes never left hers.

“I thought you drove brilliantly,” she answered, trying to keep it light. She needed to keep it light. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Of course,” Fernando said with a chuckle. “I always know when I’ve done well.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the cockiness in his tone. It wasn’t arrogance, really, it was just… certainty. An unshakable confidence that made everything he did seem effortless. She tried to settle into the moment, forcing her attention back to the conversation at hand. But her mind was still buzzing from their exchange. There was a tension in the air now, thick and electric, but she did her best to ignore it. After all, this wasn’t the time or place for anything more. She needed to stay composed.

Fernando, however, was still too close. She could feel the weight of his presence even though he wasn’t saying anything. His quiet intensity was almost too much, like the calm before a storm. And then, just as she was starting to think she could breathe a little easier, she felt him shift in his chair.

A woman, dressed in a sleek black dress, approached their table, speaking to Fernando in soft tones. Y/n watched as he stood up, offering her a polite smile and a casual wave to Y/n.

"I’m afraid I need to step away for a moment," Fernando said with a half-smile. "Excuse me, please.”

The woman’s voice was low, her words inaudible to Y/n, but the way Fernando turned toward her, offering his full attention, was enough to make Y/n’s stomach drop. There was something about the way he seemed so… interested, so ready to follow her, that made something twist uncomfortably in Y/n’s chest.

Her breath caught, but she forced a smile, her gaze flicking to her drink. “Of course,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. He had already turned his back to her, following the woman toward the other side of the terrace.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to let herself feel anything about it. She wasn’t about to let it bother her.

But it did.

Y/n tried to push the feeling aside as she picked up her glass, taking a long sip, the cool liquid barely soothing the fire that had ignited in her chest. He was just being polite. That was all. There was nothing to it.

Still, she couldn’t shake the image of him with the woman, the way he had given her his full attention. It was... something.

To distract herself, Y/n looked around the terrace, letting her eyes roam. It wasn’t long before she found another person she recognised; someone her own age, a man who was a friend of the family. She gave him a smile, the easy kind that she used to cover up whatever was swirling inside of her.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, trying her best to sound casual as she slid into the seat across from him.

"Of course," he said, flashing her a grin. "I’m happy for the company.”

Y/n began talking to him about the latest news in Barcelona, keeping her focus on the conversation, on anything but Fernando. But even as the words left her mouth, she felt the familiar tug of his presence.

She glanced toward the other side of the terrace, almost unwillingly, and there he was. Fernando. He was standing beside the woman now, his side turned to Y/n as he spoke with her. The woman was laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and it seemed like they were getting along far too well. Y/n’s gaze lingered just a second too long, but she quickly forced herself to look away. She focused back on the man in front of her, offering another polite smile, though it felt more strained now, like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t.

But then, again, her eyes betrayed her.

Fernando was looking at her.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but to Y/n, it was unmistakable. Their eyes met, just for a second, before he quickly turned his attention back to the woman. Still, the brief flicker of awareness between them was enough to make her heart race. He had noticed her, even from across the terrace.

Y/n’s breath caught, and she looked down at the table to hide the flush that had crept into her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why it affected her so much. She shouldn’t care. It was none of her business. 

The conversation with the man in front of her continued, but it felt distant now, like she was only half-listening. Every few moments, her eyes would unconsciously flick back to Fernando. He was still talking to the woman, but every now and then, his gaze would meet hers again, brief but intense, like he was checking in on her.

It wasn’t enough for her to accuse him of anything, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, after all, but it felt like something was building between them, something that couldn’t be ignored. He was trying to stay composed, just as she was, but there was an unmistakable pull between them. 

She cleared her throat and tried to focus. “So, what about the new project you’re working on?” she asked her conversation partner, forcing her mind back to the present. She couldn’t let herself get lost in thoughts of Fernando. Not now. Not when he was over there, talking to someone else.

But even as she spoke, her eyes would wander back to him, drawn to him like a magnet. She couldn’t stop herself. There was something about the way his gaze would flick back to hers every few minutes, like he couldn’t quite leave her alone, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment between them end just yet.

And every time he looked at her, her heart would beat just a little faster.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let it show. She wasn’t going to let herself care.

She forced a smile as her companion spoke about a recent project, but her thoughts were elsewhere. There was no denying it now: Fernando was aware of her. More than that, he was watching her.

And maybe, just maybe, she was watching him too.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @ironmaiden1313@blodwyn4u@sltwins@heart-trees

[dadrielle]

I am going to treat this as being in good faith even though I know you have copy pasted this same response on multiple posts.

It's fair enough to see this post and roll your eyes about it. I am being a sarcastic lil bitch about implications that really aren't meant to be there! Liam absolutely didn't mean to do this as an "Orym doesn't trust them" or "Orym doesn't respect their boundaries" thing, and I know that. And I know no one in game is gonna read it that way, either. I didn't tag this Orym specifically because I was picking at a small thing irritably and I fully acknowledge that.

But! There are 3 things I want to say to this on a more serious note.

First, I think we must acknowledge that the implications of listening in on one's friends over listening in on one's enemies are quite different. People have different reactions to different applications of Observant because the social stakes and boundaries are situational. It means something much different to punch an enemy combatant in the face than it does to do the same to your best friend, you know? And Orym is not omnipotent; he does not just automatically know everything that happens, despite how we all joke that he can see god with his high perception. When he chooses to listen in should matter, as should the implications. That's actually my main issue with this whole thing, but I'll get to that in a moment.

Second, I would just like to say while I'm sure you believe it's true I and others critical of Orym don't talk about any of Orym's actual flaws, the fact of the matter is there are many fans who do most of our character discussion privately with our friends instead of tumblr or god, even worse, twitter. And my Orym feelings aren't identical to every other person who is critical of him. As I said in the initial tags for this, I don't think this was the worst thing in the world, it just bugged me! That was just an emotional response, and those often pass. There are lots of moments in stories where my initial reaction is a strong negative emotion, because I am feeling the feelings of the moment, but then I love the full picture it creates. Imogen and Laudna's "did we break up" phase is a great example of that, especially Laudna's ongoing insistence that she was a dead end. It hurt to watch! It made me sad! But it really enriched the narrative! My actual, continuing issues with this Orym moment have nothing to do with Imodna, or the meanings of this moment in particular. It's just another expression of something I've been grousing about among friends for ages. I actually WISH it was Orym being fucked up, that it was something that would come up again later, something he might get push back on. I wish the implication that he feels the need to monitor Imogen and Laudna, that he isn't thinking about how they might feel about it, was a flaw that would be explored with the other characters. Instead it was just kinda there and I imagine no one else will ever have a reaction to it one way or another.

And that leads to the final thing: my biggest issue with Orym listening in is that it DOESN'T matter. It feels like at some point, Liam stopped having Orym engage with other characters and the narrative as actively. It's started to feel very repetitive, and I am deeply frustrated with it. I know he is a reserved, PTSD-laden soldier who uses his hard line morality and sense of duty to hold himself together, who refuses to tell his friends how he feels because he doesn't want to be a burden. I know this! And I think it makes for an interesting character and I want to love Orym as much as I used to. But this is an interactive game, an ongoing narrative, and after a certain point, choosing to have your scenes be solo and keeping your character from changing any of their stances starts to feel like refusing to give other people room to react and challenge your character, and refusing to engage with how others' narratives have changed. What Imogen expressed about not running in this episode isn't a revelation. She has, at this point, been saying some variation of it for about half the campaign. And he has told her he is proud, before. It was nice, then! But listening in to their conversation here and feeling proud in isolation didn't add anything new to the narrative. It could have, if it was a conversation, if he had talked to Imogen directly. But instead it feels so empty to me. Disconnected. It even sort of re-framed the moment as if it was about Imogen Finally Choosing To Not Run, instead of being about Laudna trying to reaffirm a future that keeps slipping from their grasp, one she only just started to believe in again on the precipice of Imogen possibly sacrificing herself for the world. It makes it seem like Orym has barely moved on from the solstice, like he hasn't registered how Imogen's narrative has developed since then.

There are so many things I would love to see from Orym that require acknowledging that things have changed. I wanted him to talk to Dorian instead of chasing after Dorian's dad to say he should be proud of Dorian, especially since Dorian had already had his big cathartic conversation. I wanted him to ask why Dorian has come to hate the gods so much, to ask him why it wasn't just the Spider Queen he was mad at. I wanted him to talk to Fearne about the fact that people outside the party have treated her with the same anti-Ruidusborn suspicion as Imogen, particularly in light of their conversation about taking Imogen out pre-solstice. I wanted him to actually internalize that he was wrong about there being nothing beautiful in Exandria before the gods, and to talk to Ashton about it in a way that starts with him actively listening to Ashton instead of just repeating the same arguments, even if he came out the other side still disagreeing. I wanted him to realize that there hasn't been any danger of Imogen running and that the core of her struggle now is with the fact that she's being asked to sacrifice herself. I wanted him to talk to someone about his guilt over killing Zathuda. I wanted him to acknowledge the hardness he put on when he tossed the locket on Bor'dor's corpse and declared this was war and what that hardness did to him. I wanted him to work on his flaws and talk to people! But instead, he listened and reacted in isolation. The fact that his reaction to Fearne asking him if he was ok as late as episode 95 was just "then why ask? You know the answer" instead of opening up is narratively a problem for me. The few times he has opened up a little have been wonderful but he's still holding most of it to the chest. So many emotional Orym scenes are people talking to him about his emotions and him not responding. We're in too deep, man! "If not now, when?" doesn't just apply to kissing Dorian, you know? He is running out of time to open up.

So. Do I still think listening in on that moment was sucky of him, even beyond the hyperbole? Sure. I think generally purposefully eavesdropping on something like that is sucky. It's a small kind of sucky, though. A blip. Because this is a story, the big sucky thing is that it didn't mean anything for any other character and felt just narratively disconnected. And I find that so frustrating because there are so many potentially meaty, interesting things possible in Orym's story, and I desperately want that richer narrative for him and for Dorian and for all of them.

You might not agree and that's fine. To paraphrase Orym's own words, every one of us forms our own interpretations with the lenses or prisms we see life through. Of course I'm gonna get more het up when this ongoing, general Orym frustration touches on something Imogen or Laudna related - they're my favorites! Of course that influences how I see things. I know they aren't everyone's favorites, so something like this moment won't be a domino-kick on tangentially related, piling frustrations for everyone. But it is for me. I'm not really trying to convince anyone I'm right, here, just to explain why I feel this way about it.

Sure would be fucked up if Imogen and Laudna, until only recently, had every single one of their private moments observed against their will, and then their friend decided to observe possibly their last private moment against their will, huh? :)

[jujus-bizarre-blog]

SOC and CK allegories for the queer characters (and other thoughts)

I was going to make a separate blog to yell about books but I decided to do it here.

I AM NOT DONE CROOKED KINGDOM AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS SO EVERYTHING I SAY IS HAVING ONLY READ HALF THE BOOK SO FAR.

The Grishaverse doesn't seem to have any form of homophobia, but SOC and CK are chalk fulllllllll of what I can only see as plots that mimic queer experiences for the queer characters in the main group.

We have four queer characters (that I know of at the moment): Jesper, Wylan, Nina, Kuwei.

So let's start with the obvious, three of the four are Grisha. Obviously not all Grisha are queer, but all the Grisha in the party are. This gives them an automatic plotline of "hide who you are".

It could be said that since Nina is Ravkan she wasn't raised that way, and no, she wasn't. However since leaving Ravka she has been forced to hide for her safety, and not only that but she is frequently told she's "too much" which sounds a lot to me like what some people say about queer people when they think queer people should be less queer. Also Matthias is all about being "traditional" and "proper" and Nina's whole thing is that she is neither. Traditional and proper sound a lottttt like some people's arguments to be homophobic.

Jesper's I think is rather obvious. His father has a clear concern for his son being Grisha since it can put your life at risk. In Jesper's argument with his dad he goes off and asks his dad why did he never let him go to Ravka where he could be himself and learn about himself and his powers. Oh not to mention the fact that him and his dad talk around him being Grisha like it's some sort of virus that can be caught by simply speaking the word.

Kuwei's took a second to hit me but when it did I was like "ah yep, makes sense" and this is probably because it took me a hot second to realize Kuwei was queer. Yeah, apparently him being jealous that Jesper only looked at Wylan a certain way didn't tip me off... ANYWAY THOUGH. Kuwei is also told to hide who he is, but his dad goes the extra length of literally making a drug to help him hide himself. Is it giving anyone else Dorian's dad from Dragon Age vibes??? Blood magic for the gay son???

FINALLY, I will talk about my baby, the character I love more than anything else. Wylan. Here's the thing about Wylan, while I was reading SOC I wasn't sure if homophobia existed in this world yet and I was half convinced that his dad disowned him because gay. While his dad obviously didn't do that, I still think at the end of the day it portrays an experience that is very similar. Wylan is shamed, hidden, and ultimately his dad tries to have him killed, all because he can't read. His dad loathes him over such a stupid reason, especially since Wylan is absolutely brilliant at tons of stuff and the cutest lil guy. But I think it's that hatred of his son over something so trivial that really lends itself to being about something else entirely, Wylan being queer.

All four of our queer characters in the main group have different plots, but ultimately they all circle around the idea of hiding who you are and being ashamed of who you are. That sounds like a very common queer experience if you ask me.

I don't know if this was intentional or just a huge coincidence. As a writer myself I am all too aware of how easily accidental metaphors and symbols can happen. But I think about it a lot as I'm reading so I wanted to shout about it either way. I also have no clue if this is a common idea or not, I just know when I pointed it out to my friends who had read the books prior, one of who loves and reads them yearly, they both kinda went "oh damn, you right," but didn't see it before I mentioned it.

Anyway, if I missed things (or you wanna yell at me about how wrong I am, which is usually the more likely option) I'd love to know thoughts :)

AND BONUS THOUGHTS

This one is super obvious but I just wanna say it. Jesper is ADHD and no one will change my mind in the history of ever. This man cannot sit still, has been described as having limitless energy, and he seeks constant immediate gratification in the form of gambling and adrenalin rushes. COME ON MAN. I know I know, there's a lore reason, something something Grisha not using magic blah blah. No. No. He is ADHD and you cannot tell me otherwise. And I love him dearly.

Also, not a theory or anything but, y'all, I love Wylan so much. I just wanna give him a hug and a lollipop and tell him it's okay. He's so cute.